2022 Book

Katerina Standish
Heather Devere
Adan E. Suazo
Rachel Rafferty
Editors
The Palgrave
Handbook of
Positive Peace
The Palgrave Handbook of Positive Peace
Katerina Standish • Heather Devere •
Adan E. Suazo • Rachel Rafferty
Editors
The Palgrave Handbook of

Positive Peace
With 28 Figures and 24 Tables

Editors
Katerina Standish Heather Devere
National Centre for Peace and National Centre for Peace and
Conflict Studies Conflict Studies
University of Otago University of Otago
Dunedin, New Zealand Dunedin, New Zealand
Adan E. Suazo Rachel Rafferty

National Centre for Peace and Department of Criminology and
Conflict Studies Social Sciences
University of Otago University of Derby
Dunedin, New Zealand Derby, UK
ISBN 978-981-16-0968-8 ISBN 978-981-16-0969-5 (eBook)

ISBN 978-981-16-0970-1 (print and electronic bundle)
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5
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Preface to The Palgrave Handbook of Positive
Peace
Positive Peace is a conceptual objective that grasps and seeks to craft a world
without violence. The Palgrave Handbook of Positive Peace is a twenty-first century
expansion of a theoretical construct that originally imagined Positive Peace as the
absence of direct and structural violence, later, the absence of direct, structural, and
environmental violence, to offer the Quadrant of Positive Peace which envisages
Positive Peace to result from four practices of peace including nonviolence, social
justice, environmental sustainability, and positive relationships.
From its inception, this project has been driven and carried forward by two main
tenets. First, a thematic consensus by the editorial team that Positive Peace, like
nature, is more than a portrait on a wall: it is a wide landscape comprised of a
plethora of elements and participants, each contributing to furthering its study and
understanding. From the beginning, we strove to make this handbook both a
publication and a venue for our authors to elaborate unique perspectives, and
practices, which collectively embrace a holistic view of Positive Peace.
And second, this project has been anchored on the acknowledgment, respect, and
admiration of the editorial team for our authors’ work. Each contribution in this
handbook reflects the tireless dedication of researchers, practitioners, and commu-
nity leaders, each making a crucial difference in their own field of study and practice.
The coming together of these voices is helping us progress and refine the theoretical
and practical underpinnings of Positive Peace and redefines the boundaries of its
study. This work seeks to advance the field, to provide a comprehensive platform of
building peace in the twenty-first century, and to incorporate avenues of
peacebuilding that frequently, but need not, labor in isolation of one another.
The editors of this book see these curricula as instrumental – contributory to a
world without violence in their comprehensive perspective: nonviolence without
positive relationships can estrange, positive relationships without social justice can
maintain oppressions, social justice without nonviolence and positive relationships
can alienate, and nonviolence, social justice, and positive relationships without
environmental sustainability are not only negligent of the impact of human “doings”
on nature, they ignore the destruction of our shared ecology, the Earth.
Ultimately, the editors and authors of this handbook consider Positive Peace to be
a platform of engagement, of action, and of change; a way to see conflict as a signal
that needs attention and an opportunity for positive and integrative transformation.
v
vi Preface to The Palgrave Handbook of Positive Peace
As you will see in the voices and vantage points present in this handbook, Positive
Peace is not an incarnation without violence, it is an interconnected appreciation that
building peace in one part of the Positive Peace Quadrant is not enough; we need to
participate and partner in building peace that amplifies and incorporates nonviolence,
social justice, environmental sustainability, and positive relationships. This hand-
book is a gathering in and illumination of one aim – that positive peace is possible,
and that we can work to support a healthy planet, to foster a just and dignified
humanity, together.
The editors of this handbook wish to thank the generous, creative, and persever-
ing authors who have contributed their words, worlds, and wisdom to this work.
Entering into a relationship is an act of connecting to someone or something beyond
ourselves. Positive relationships are marked by concern for the well-being of the
other and by recognition of the inevitability of human interdependence with one
another as well as the natural world. This work is rooted in positive relationship, and
each one of the authors in this handbook has not only offered their writing and
worldviews, they contributed their time, their attention, and their humanity. Out of
nothing, together we have created a wonder and our gratitude for your work is
boundless.
Contents
Volume 1
Part I Introduction ....................................... 1
1 Defining the Platform of Positive Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3

Katerina Standish, Heather Devere, Adan E. Suazo, and
Rachel Rafferty
Part II Personal Nonviolence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25
2 The Nature of Reflective Choice and Nonviolence as a Personal

Practice of Yoga . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27
Tatiyana Bastet
3 Personal Peacebuilding and COVID-19 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41

Katerina Standish
4 Humor as a Major Intellectual Device for Thriving in

Complexity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 61
Marianella Sclavi
5 Contemplative Practices and Nonviolence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 79

Joseph Llewellyn
6 Resilience and the Claiming of Voice by Marginalized

Communities . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 99
Lacey M. Sloan and Cathryne L. Schmitz
Part III Interpersonal Nonviolence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 125
7 True Colors: Nonviolent Communication in the Postcolonial

Workplace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 127
Tatiyana Bastet
vii
viii Contents
8 Forgiveness: A Nonviolent Resolution of Interpersonal

Conflict . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 145
Ann Macaskill
Part IV Social Nonviolence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 165
9 Peace Education ....................................... 167

Heather Kertyzia
10 Classroom Resistance: Peace Education in a Time of Rising
Authoritarianism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 195
Cheryl Lynn Duckworth
11 Nonviolent Resistance, Social Justice, and Positive Peace ....... 211
Jonathan Pinckney
12 Pragmatic Nonviolence and Positive Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 227
Joseph Llewellyn
13 Women in Environmental Nonviolent Action . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 247
Marty Branagan
14 Satire and the Public Sphere: Ethics and Poetics, Reverse
Discourses, Satiractivism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 271
James E. Caron
Part V International Nonviolence .......................... 293
15 Unarmed Civilian Peacekeeping . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 295

Ellen Furnari, Berit Bliesemann de Guevara, and Rachel Julian
16 Diplomatic Heroism and Positive Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 313
Peter Grace and Robert G. Patman
17 International Conflict Transformation: The Pursuit of
Positive Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 329
Laura E. Reimer and Cathryne L. Schmitz
18 Conflict Transformation in the Arab World . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 347
Engy Said
19 The ABCs of Measuring Positive Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 369
Preston Lindsay, Ane Cristina Figueiredo, and Sean Byrne
Part VI Social Justice: Types of Justice ...................... 415
20 Retributive Justice: The Restoration of Balance .............. 417

Vicki A. Spencer
Contents ix
21 Restorative Justice: Blending Western and Indigenous

Restorative Justice Principles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 429
Heather Devere and Kelli Te Maihāroa
22 Promoting Peace via Inclusionary Justice ................... 441

Susan Opotow
23 Transformative Justice: Exploring the “Relational” in

Transformative Gender Justice . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 455
Natasha Teresa Jolly
Part VII Social Justice: Rights . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 473
24 The Right to Peace: From Just War to Just Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . 475

Heather Devere
25 Women’s Rights/Gender Rights: Positive Peace as Indigenous

and Womxn’s Rights . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 489
Sylvia C. Frain
26 Disability Rights: Positive Peace Through a Disability Lens . . . . . 501

Roberta Francis Watene
27 Indigenous Rights: Colonial Chimera? The Illusion of Positive

Peace in a Settler Colonial Context . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 519
Pounamu Jade William Emery Aikman
28 Refugee Rights: Essential for Positive Peace ................. 531

Rose Joudi
29 The Rights of Children: Tensions Between Protection and

Participation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 543
Penelope Carroll
Part VIII Social Justice: Freedoms .......................... 557
30 Media Freedom: A West Papuan Human Rights Journalism

Case Study . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 559
David Robie
31 Freedom from Violence: A Samoan Perspective on Addressing

Domestic or Family Violence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 583
Michael Fusi Ligaliga
32 Freedom from Discrimination: On the Coloniality of Positive

Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 611
Mahdis Azarmandi
x Contents
Volume 2
Part IX Environmental Sustainability: Conceptual

Approaches . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 623
33 Ecocide, Speciesism, Vulnerability: Revisiting Positive Peace

in the Anthropocene . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 625
Rimona Afana
34 Searching for New Ethics in the Era of the Capitalocene ....... 643
Silviya Serafimova
35 Environmental Sustainability: The Missing Pillar of Positive
Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 661
Ayyoob Sharifi and Dahlia Simangan
36 A Framework for Grassroots Environmentalism in Academic
Settings . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 681
Shir Gruber
Part X Environmental Sustainability: Local Perspectives . . . . . . . . 703
37 Decentralizing Consumption to Recenter the Land . . . . . . . . . . . . 705

D. P. Rice
38 When a Sense of Place Lies at the Heart of a Community from
the Upper Paleolithic to Glenorchy, New Zealand . . . . . . . . . . . . . 723
Leslie Van Gelder
39 The Rule of Benedict, Positive Peace, and “Place” . . . . . . . . . . . . . 737
Rosemarie Schade
40 Food Justice and Positive Peace in Waikatere . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 749
Heather Tribe
Part XI Environmental Sustainability: National and Regional

Perspectives . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 759
41 Resources, Climate Change, and Implications to Positive Peace

Among the Pastoral Communities in Kenya . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 761
Wyclife Ong’eta Mose
42 Environmental Degradation and Conflict Resolution . . . . . . . . . . . 775
Engy Said
43 Water Abundance, Hydropolitical Disputes, and Their
Implications for Positive Peace in Aotearoa–New Zealand ...... 797
Adan E. Suazo
Contents xi
Part XII Environmental Sustainability: International

Perspectives . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 811
44 Regional Environmental Cooperation: The (Lost) Potential

for a Sustainable Future in the Arabian/Persian Gulf . . . . . . . . . . 813
Mohammad Al-Saidi
45 Collaborative Environmental Conflict Resolution Practices in
the North American Great Lakes Region . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 833
Olga Skarlato
Part XIII Positive Relationships: Concepts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 853
46 Relational Ethics: The Possibility of a Caring Positive Peace .... 855

Reina C. Neufeldt
47 Social Capital and Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 869
Walt Kilroy
48 Solidarity and Allyship: Engendering Positive Peace . . . . . . . . . . . 889
Sorcha Tormey
49 Ethical Responsibility for the Other Arrested by Epistemic
Blindness, Deafness, and Muteness: An Ubuntu Perspective . . . . . 909
M. B. Ramose
50 Empathy and Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 935
Daniel J. Christie and Daniel M. Morrison
51 Positive Peace in Political Reconciliation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 959
Hyukmin Kang
52 The Importance of Trust in Achieving Positive Peace . . . . . . . . . . 979
Thia M. Sagherian-Dickey
53 From Liberal Peace to Positive Peace: Security Sector Reform
in Deeply Divided Societies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 999
Alejandra Ortiz-Ayala
Part XIV Positive Relationships: Practices . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1031
54 Positive Peace Through Personal Friendship: Franco-German

Reconciliation (1974–1995) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1033
Yuri van Hoef
55 Contact Programs and the Pursuit of Positive Peace:
Reframing Perceptions of Equality . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1051
Rachel Nolte-Laird
xii Contents
56 Transforming the Way We Speak, Transforming the Way

We Listen: Dialogue and the Transformation of Relationships . . . 1069
Julia Chaitin
57 Education for Peaceful Relationships . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1085
Silvia Guetta
58 Weaving a Culture of Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1101
Jacqueline Haessly
59 Restorative Justice as Restoration of Relationships . . . . . . . . . . . . 1127
Jeremy Simons
60 Generating Discursive Resources: Storytelling for
Positive Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1149
Jessica Senehi
61 Peace Communities . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1169
Cécile Mouly
Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1189
About the Editors
Katerina Standish
National Centre for Peace and Conflict Studies
University of Otago
Dunedin, New Zealand
Dr. Katerina Standish the director of research and
senior lecturer at the National Centre for Peace and
Conflict Studies at the University of Otago,
New Zealand. Her research projects and scholarly pub-
lications include content related to COVID-19, suicide,
femicide, conflict transformation, decolonization, story,
humanistic sociology, hope, gender, social, cultural and
political violence, encounter theory, education and con-
flict, peace education, human rights, social justice, per-
sonal peacebuilding, principled/pragmatic nonviolence,
and academic research and writing. She is the author,
co-author, or co-editor of Suicide Through a
Peacebuilding lens, Yogic Peace Education, Cultural
Violence in the Classroom, Conflict Transformation,
Peacebuilding and Storytelling, and Expanding the
Edges of Narrative Enquiry: Research from the Mauro
Institute. Dr. Standish has published academic journal
articles in Peace Review, Peacebuilding, Journal of
Peace Education, Journal of Peace and Justice Studies,
In Factis Pax: Journal of Peace Education and Justice
Studies, Peace and Conflict Studies Journal, Peace
Research: The Canadian Journal of Peace and Conflict
Studies, Humanity & Society, Journal of Gender Stud-
ies, Diaspora, Indigenous, and Minority Education,
Nationalism and Ethnic Politics, Nordic Journal of
Studies in Educational Policy, Global Journal of
xiii
xiv About the Editors
Peace Research and Praxis, Peace Studies Journal,

Peace and Conflict Review, International Journal of
Development Education & Global Learning, Journal
of Intervention and Statebuilding, Journal of Human
Security, and Geopolitics. Dr. Standish is the editor-in-
chief of the Peace Review: A Journal of Social Justice,
senior editor of the Palgrave Handbook for Positive
Peace, and sits on the editorial boards of the Journal
of Peace Education, In Factis Pax: Journal of Peace
Education and Social Justice, International Journal of
Advanced Peace and Gandhian Studies, and Global
Journal of Peace Research and Praxis. Dr. Standish is
a community peacebuilder, certified conflict coach,
somatic trainer, and trauma informed instructor.
Heather Devere
University of Otago
Dr. Heather Devere is director of practice at the Te Ao
o Rongomaraeroa/National Centre for Peace and Con-
flict Studies at the University of Otago in Aotearoa,
New Zealand. She has completed her doctoral thesis is
in politics at the University of Auckland and examines
women’s attitudes to civil rights issues. She has taught at
several universities on topics such as conflict resolution,
indigenous peace traditions, ethics, social justice, and
politics, and acts as an advocate for mediations involv-
ing not-for-profit organizations. Dr. Devere is founding
co-editor of AMITY: The Journal of Friendship Studies
published by Leeds University. Some of Dr. Devere’s
publications include Friendship Studies: Practices
across Cultures (with Dr. Graham Smith and Professor
John von Heyking), Decolonising Peace and Conflict
Studies through Indigenous Research (with Dr. Kelli Te
Maihāroa and Dr. Michael Ligaliga), Peacebuilding and
the Rights of the Indigenous Peoples (with Dr. John
Synott and Dr. Kelli Te Maihāroa), and The Challenge
to Friendship Studies in Modernity (with Professor Pres-
ton King).
About the Editors xv
Dr. Adan E. Suazo

University of Otago
Dr. Adan E. Suazo is a senior policy analyst at the
Ministry for the Environment (New Zealand) and a
research associate at the National Centre for Peace and
Conflict Studies at the University of Otago (New Zealand).
His research examines the conditions that influence the
emergence and intensification of water disputes. He also
specializes in the design and implementation of stake-
holder identification and engagement strategies for
peacebuilding and policy development. As the founding
coordinator of the Loyola Sustainability Research Cen-
tre at Concordia University (Canada), he worked on
sustainability and peacebuilding projects with the Inter-
national Secretariat for the Convention on Biological
Diversity, the United Nations Environmental Education
and Training Unit, and Future Earth.
Rachel Rafferty
Department of Criminology and Social Sciences
University of Derby
Derby, UK
Dr. Rachel Rafferty works as a lecturer in sociology at
the University of Derby, United Kingdom. Before join-
ing the University of Derby, she worked as a lecturer in
peace and conflict studies at the National Centre for
Peace and Conflict Studies at the University of Otago,
Aotearoa, New Zealand. Before Dr. Rafferty moved into
an academic career, she gained several years of work
experience in the charity sector. She worked for over
5 years coordinating community peacebuilding projects
in post-conflict Northern Ireland. This work involved
activities such as facilitating dialogues between different
religious groups, coordinating collaborative art projects,
and working with schools to promote peace education.
She has also previously worked with New Zealand Red
Cross coordinating youth humanitarian projects.
xvi About the Editors
Dr. Rafferty’s areas of expertise include collective mem-

ory in ethnic conflicts, peace activism, and refugee
resettlement. She has published a number of journal
articles and book chapters on topics such as post-conflict
peacebuilding, international conflict resolution, and ref-
ugee resettlement. Dr. Rafferty holds a PhD in peace and
conflict studies from the University of Otago.
Contributors
Rimona Afana Vulnerability and the Human Condition Initiative, Emory Univer-
sity School of Law, Atlanta, GA, USA
Pounamu Jade William Emery Aikman Wellington, New Zealand
Mohammad Al-Saidi Center for Sustainable Development, College of Arts and
Sciences, Qatar University, Doha, Qatar
Mahdis Azarmandi School of Education, Health, and Human Development,
University of Canterbury, Christchurch, New Zealand
Tatiyana Bastet Simmons University, Boston, MA, USA
Berit Bliesemann de Guevara Aberystwyth University, Aberystwyth, UK
Marty Branagan Peace Studies, University of New England, Armidale, Australia
Sean Byrne University of Manitoba, Winnipeg, MB, Canada
James E. Caron University of Hawaiʽi at Mānoa, Honolulu, HI, USA
Penelope Carroll SHORE, Massey University, Auckland, New Zealand
Julia Chaitin Sapir College, Doar Na Ashkelon, Israel
Daniel J. Christie Ohio State University, Columbus, OH, USA
Heather Devere National Centre for Peace and Conflict Studies, University of
Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand
Cheryl Lynn Duckworth Department of Conflict Resolution and Peace Education,
Nova Southeastern University, Fort Lauderdale, FL, USA
Ane Cristina Figueiredo University of Manitoba, Winnipeg, MB, Canada
Sylvia C. Frain The Everyday Peace Initiative, Auckland, New Zealand
Roberta Francis Watene Donald Beasley Institute, Dunedin, New Zealand
Ellen Furnari Webster University, Webster Groves, MO, USA
Peter Grace University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand
xvii
xviii Contributors
Shir Gruber Faculty of Science, Department of Earth and Planetary Sciences,

McGill University, Montreal, QC, Canada
Silvia Guetta University of Florence, Florence, Italy
Jacqueline Haessly Peacemaking Associates, Milwaukee, WI, USA
Natasha Teresa Jolly Peace and Conflict Studies, University of Otago, Dunedin,
New Zealand
Rose Joudi Psychology, Mount Royal University, Calgary, AB, Canada
Rachel Julian Leeds Beckett University, Leeds, UK
Hyukmin Kang Kangwon Institute for Unification Studies/Kangwon National
University, Chuncheon, South Korea
Heather Kertyzia University for Peace, San Jose, Costa Rica
Walt Kilroy Institute for International Conflict Resolution and Reconstruction
(IICRR), Dublin City University, Dublin, Ireland
Michael Fusi Ligaliga Te Tumu School of Maori, Pacific and Indigenous Studies,
University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand
Preston Lindsay University of Manitoba, Winnipeg, MB, Canada
Joseph Llewellyn University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand
Ann Macaskill Sheffield Hallam University, Sheffield, UK
Daniel M. Morrison Bay Village, OH, USA
Cécile Mouly Facultad Latinoamericana de Ciencias Sociales (FLACSO) Ecuador,
Quito, Ecuador
Reina C. Neufeldt Conrad Grebel University College, University of Waterloo,
Waterloo, ON, Canada
Rachel Nolte-Laird National Centre for Peace and Conflict Studies, University of
Wyclife Ong’eta Mose School of Security, Diplomacy and Peace Studies, Kenyatta
University, Nairobi, Kenya
Susan Opotow John Jay College of Criminal Justice and The Graduate Center, City
University of New York, New York, NY, USA
Alejandra Ortiz-Ayala University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand
Robert G. Patman University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand
Jonathan Pinckney United States Institute of Peace, Washington, DC, USA
Rachel Rafferty Department of Criminology and Social Sciences, University of
Derby, Derby, UK
Contributors xix
M. B. Ramose Department of Clinical Psychology, Sefako Makgatho Health

Sciences University, Ga-Rankuwa, South Africa
Laura E. Reimer University of Manitoba, Winnipeg, MB, Canada
D. P. Rice Dawson College Peace Centre, Montreal, QC, Canada
David Robie Pacific Media Centre, Auckland University of Technology, Auckland,
Aotearoa New Zealand
Thia M. Sagherian-Dickey Tilburg University, Tilburg, The Netherlands
Engy Said Jimmy and Rosslyn Carter School for Peace and Conflict Resolution,
George Mason University, Fairfax, VA, USA
Rosemarie Schade Environmental Sustainability, Loyola College for Diversity and
Sustainability, Concordia University, Montreal, QC, Canada
Cathryne L. Schmitz University of North Carolina Greensboro, Greensboro, NC,
USA
Marianella Sclavi Milan’s Polytechnic, Rome, Italy
Jessica Senehi Peace and Conflict Studies, University of Manitoba, Winnipeg, MB,
Canada
Silviya Serafimova Institute of Philosophy and Sociology, Bulgarian Academy of
Sciences, Sofia, Bulgaria
Ayyoob Sharifi Network for Education and Research on Peace and Sustainability
and Graduate School of Humanities and Social Sciences, Hiroshima University,
Higashi Hiroshima, Japan
Dahlia Simangan Network for Education and Research on Peace and Sustainabil-
ity and Graduate School of Humanities and Social Sciences, Hiroshima University,
Higashi Hiroshima, Japan
Jeremy Simons University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand
Olga Skarlato Peace Studies, McMaster University, Hamilton, ON, Canada
Lacey M. Sloan University of Vermont, Burlington, VT, USA
Vicki A. Spencer Politics, School of Social Sciences, University of Otago, Dunedin,
New Zealand
Katerina Standish National Centre for Peace and Conflict Studies, University of
Adan E. Suazo National Centre for Peace and Conflict Studies, University of
Kelli Te Maihāroa Kaihautu Te Kahui Whetu, Otago Polytechnic, Dunedin, New
Zealand
xx Contributors
Sorcha Tormey Australian Catholic University, Lismore, Australia

Heather Tribe National Centre for Peace and Conflict Studies, University of
Leslie Van Gelder Richard W. Riley College of Education and Leadership, Walden
University, Minneapolis, MN, USA
Yuri van Hoef Department of History, Erasmus University Rotterdam, Rotterdam,
The Netherlands
Part I
Introduction
Defining the Platform of Positive Peace
1
Katerina Standish, Heather Devere, Adan E. Suazo, and
Rachel Rafferty
Contents
Defining the Platform of Positive Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4
Defining Positive Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6
The Multifarity of Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6
Overview of the Positive Peace Quadrant . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9
Nonviolence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9
Social Justice . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10
Environmental Sustainability . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12
Positive Relationship . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12
Positive Peace Quadrant Chapter Contributions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 16
Nonviolence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 16
Social Justice . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17
Environmental Sustainability . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20
Positive Relationship . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 21
Concluding Remarks of Invitation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 22
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23
Abstract
After a brief introduction of typical notions of peace, this chapter ventures to trace
the idea of positive peace in recent scholarship to establish how the term is
utilized in the PACS world. It then endeavors to introduce each editorial domain
within this handbook including a synopsis of each form of intervention theoret-
ically followed immediately by a summary of the chapters that inhabit the
PALGRAVE Handbook of Positive Peace.
K. Standish (*) · H. Devere · A. E. Suazo

National Centre for Peace and Conflict Studies, University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand
e-mail: Katerina.standish@otago.ac.nz
R. Rafferty
Department of Criminology and Social Sciences, University of Derby, Derby, UK
© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2022 3
K. Standish et al. (eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of Positive Peace,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_1
4 K. Standish et al.
Keywords
Positive Peace · Peace and Conflict Studies · Social Justice · Nonviolence-
Environmental Sustainability · Positive Relationships · Positive Peace Quadrant
Defining the Platform of Positive Peace
Introduction
The following introductory section and the contributed chapters in the PALGRAVE
Handbook of Positive Peace seek to contribute a theoretical and practical appreci-
ation of the contemporary scope of research, scholarship, and practice into positive
peace. The authors of this handbook and its editors come from diverse and divergent
disciplines, fields, and endeavors and from a variety of perspectives ranging from
challenging to complementary. Despite the multiplicity of voices and vantages the
root of this theoretical pursuit emerges from what is often termed Peace Research,
Peace Studies, or Peace and Conflict Studies (the term Peace and Conflict Studies is
utilized to signify a pursuit explicitly concerned with both conflict (and violence)
and peace (or nonviolence)) because that is the field (the field encompasses many
disciplines as well as inter-disciplines) concerned with the construct and construc-
tion of building a peaceful world.
Peace and Conflict Studies (PACS) is a field that analyzes conflict and violence
and champions nonviolence. PACS has emerged since the 1960s as a distinct domain
of inquiry in the social sciences concerned with research, theory, and practices that
seek to transform conflict and foster peace. While first presented in 1954 by Quincy
Wright, the concept of a “positive peace” was amplified and “made more visible” by
Johan Galtung who is considered a prime mover in Peace Studies (Regan, 2014,
p. 346; Galtung, 1964, 1969). For much of that disciplinary history of the field, the
incarnation of “peace” considered, pursued, and attained is defined by most scholars
in the Galtungian sense as “negative”; negative peace is a peace achieved through
the cessation of direct violence.
“Techniqs” (Avruch, 2003) or practices of conflict transformation involve inter-
ventions termed “peacebuilding.” (Peacebuilding is distinguished from peacemak-
ing and peacekeeping as building peace involves a conflict intervention whereas
making peace and keeping peace refer, respectively, to acts of political treaty or
ceasefire creation or military (or civilian; see ▶ Chap. 15, “Unarmed Civilian
Peacekeeping” by Furnari et al. this volume) intervention to stop active conflict
and provide a period of support and “cooling off” of acute, often violent conflict.)
Negative peace peacebuilding typically includes a cease fire and demilitarization
(demobilization of weapons) following the establishment of a nonaggression
“peace” treaty. When overt violence is arrested, there is a return to “peace” but
this conceptualization narrowly defines peace as simply the absence of war (orga-
nized violent conflict) or militant antagonism of some sort. This dichotomous
perception of peace as the opposite of war also generally assumes that conflict is
between groups, at times symmetric and others asymmetric, and that groups exist in
1 Defining the Platform of Positive Peace 5
contestation with one another for a variety of reasons along a spectrum of conflict.
This spectrum concept includes a range of impact or interaction ranging from
assistance to full warfare. And, along this conflict spectrum various levels of
association are considered and referred to in three distinct but contiguous domains
of relationship: pre-conflict, conflict, and post-conflict. To negative peacebuild is to
aim intervention in such a way as to cease overt conflict and traverse to a post-
conflict (but possibly also pre-conflict) state. In this model, peace is simply not war.
While negative peace is the cessation of overt violence (termed direct violence in
Galtung (1969)), positive peace is far more encompassing, interconnected, and
elusive. Positive peace is not merely the cessation of direct violence but also
structural violence (termed indirect in Galtung (1969)) and incorporates “social
structures that deny individuals and groups the ability to satisfy human needs such
as survival, well-being, recognition and freedom” (Standish & Joyce, 2018, p. 30).
Although the binary of negative and positive peace insinuates “vacancies in
violence” where violence is absent it is important to remember the multiplicities of
violence, and that
Every culture holds some form of violence permissible. Whether it is racism, homophobia,
gendered constructs of power, just war doctrine, caste systems or ethnic prejudice, these
cultural forms of violence have physical and structural limbs that act to harm and marginalize
both individuals and groups. (Standish, 2015, p. 1)
Positive peace does not suggest a space completely free of violence but rather
envisages conflict (and also violence) in more comprehensive terms which leads to
greater awareness of its presence. In positive peace the aperture of conflict con-
sciousness (apparent, possible, or potential) is expanded, appreciated, and reflective,
and therefore it includes conflict that is latent, systemic, invisible, and prospective;
and as violence is connected and intersected so must be its remedy – a remedy that
begins with discernment, understanding, and inclusion. Negative peacebuilding
necessitates a halt to overt aggression whereas positive peacebuilding must be
holistic intervention; positive peacebuilding must be sustainable, legitimate,
far-reaching, and conceptually comprehensive so that conflict/violence interventions
do not create harm in one arena while seeking to decrease harm in another.
Positive peace acknowledges the continuum of human nonviolence that has
characterized much of our history (and prehistory) on this planet; a dynamic tapestry
of living that is upset and unsettled by the violence of colonization, contemporary
technological warfare, and the precarity of modern life (Fry, 2007). An alignment to
building positive peace is a return to an interconnected and networked perception of
life where peace may remain elusive in a “complete” sense but far more enveloping,
comprehensive, and emancipatory. Positive peace seeks to reimagine and
reincorporate fragmented humanity – to reconnect marginalized and collateral
aspects of ending aggression that incorporate the more-than-human world of nature.
Positive peace, as we imagine it, seeks to recognize the connection between
means and ends in order to foster peace practices that integrate nonviolence as a
first principle in intervention and to conceptualize humanity within an ecological
space of deep and critical meaningfulness. Positive peace perceives of the world as
natural and social systems of actions and interactions that emerge from cultural,
transactional, dynamic, and embedded relations. Positive peace acknowledges the

interconnection and enmeshment of the human and natural world and recognizes that
in order to maximize planetary well-being relationships need to be positive and just,
actions need to be nonviolent, and our worldviews and world visions need to
encompass more than tier one political and militaristic circumstances. It is not
enough to simply leave peace to politicians. Our global climate, poverty, insecurity,
and ideological crises are apparent to any who care to look. As a solution to these
problems is not singular our perception(s) and agency(s) must be multifactorial,
multifaceted, and multifocal.
To live in a world of violence(s) is to live in a state of deprivation and suffering
but the first step in rising to the challenge of transforming violence is to begin to
“see” violence and potential violence transformation with new eyes. So we thank the
readers of this work for looking and hopefully seeing and then, with any luck, joining
us in the work of building positive peace together.
The purpose of this handbook is to clearly expand and demarcate the positive
peace platform in social scientific and humanities academic disciplines and to
demonstrate the inherent multifactorial, multifaceted, and multifocal interdisciplin-
arity of positive peace. The Handbook of Positive Peace brings together diverse
contemporary contributions from four domains of inquiry and intervention to expand
and interconnect the work of building positive peace in the twenty-first century.
Defining Positive Peace
There are many diverse and divergent conceptualizations of peace and this handbook
seeks to recognize different definitions of “peace” to then distinguish and theoreti-
cally corral positive peace as a nexus of four distinct but interconnected domains of
intervention: nonviolence, social justice, environmental sustainability, and positive
relationships. After a brief introduction of typical notions of peace this chapter will
venture to trace the idea of positive peace in recent scholarship to establish how the
term is utilized in the PACS world. It will then endeavor to introduce each editorial
domain within this handbook including a synopsis of each form of intervention
theoretically followed immediately by a summary of the chapters that inhabit the
PALGRAVE Handbook of Positive Peace.
The Multifarity of Peace
Peace (pax in the original Latin) used to be a treaty that ended a war. In the modern
world, peace has a far greater and at times ethereal sense: peace refers to circum-
stances, predispositions, relational bonds, and levels of discord; things can be
peaceful, one can be at peace or peace can be yearned for yet absent. Peace is a
place (without violence), a time (before or after conflict), or a feeling (give me
peace!), and like many terms with both tangible and intangible aspects, peace means
many things to many people.
Today, peace has many conceptions globally and has definitions that are both
relational and mental, encompassing interactions as much as temperaments. Peace
has behaviors and dispositions; peace has prohibitions that “secure” peace and
taboos that “break” it – peace can be fragile, breakable, or enduring and peace can
be fleeting, inauthentic, limited overdue, in dispute, or denied. Peace in PACS
(to name but a few) has been termed sustainable (Lederach, 1997), as stable
(Boulding, 1978), as just (Annan, 2005), as perpetual (Kant, 1903), encompassing
the whole world (Walker, 1988), and durable (Wagner & Druckman, 2017). And
although there have been calls to widen and expand the notion of peace as more than
“in a non-war state” in the PACS world, peace has largely emerged as a contrast of
negative (absence of direct violence) or positive (absence of indirect violence) peace.
And when “peace” was uttered in much of the last century of PACS scholarship and
research, it has largely been negative peace and concerned with peace between
nations and groups within nations. There is no edge to what bounds peace concep-
tually but its articulation as “positive” is a brief and identifiable chronicle.
Political philosopher, friendship expert and indigenous peacebuilding scholar
Heather Devere (2018) traced the Western twentieth-century disciplinary roots of
positive peace back to Jane Addams who first expanded the threshold of peace away
from simply an absence of war to “positive ideals of peace” (1907, p. xvii). Devere
identified the call from Martin Luther King (1964) for “love and justice” and Galtung
(1969) encapsulated positive peace as “the presence of symbiosis and equity in human
relations” (Galtung, 1969, p. 14). All of these calls for a “positive peace” expanded the
landscape of “peace” but also, crucially, began to identify positive peace as relational.
Later research echo’s Galtung’s “symbiosis and equity” in aspects of social justice
that seek to eradicate “exploitation” (Bockarie, 2002), institute more “comprehensive”
peacebuilding (Newsom & Lee, 2009), and see building peace as a process of “social
justice, social equity, cooperation, community engagement, collaboration, effective-
governance and democracy” (Shields & Soeters, 2017, p. 324). Peace educator Ian
Harris (2004) spoke of peace in broad and multifaceted terms:
Inner peace concerns a state of being and thinking about others, e.g. holding them in reverence,
while outer peace processes apply to the natural environment, the culture, international
relations, civic communities, families and individuals. Within each one of these spheres it
can have different meanings. Within the international sphere it can be construed as a peace
treaty, a ceasefire or a balance of power. Sociologists study cultural norms that legitimize
non-violence and condemn violence. Intercultural peace implies interfaith dialogue, multicul-
tural communication and so forth. Peace within civic society depends upon full employment,
affordable housing, ready access to health care, quality educational opportunities and fair legal
proceedings. Psychologists concerned with interpersonal conflict provide awareness of positive
interpersonal communication skills used to resolve differences. Environmentalists point to
sustainable practices used by native cultures for thousands of years. (2004, p. 7)
This disciplinary expansion of “peace” and recognition of peace as much more than
an inter- or intrastate condition of nonaggression (at least militarily) also expanded
the work to include building peace between humans, the self, and the natural world.
This embracing peace both enlarged the pool of peacebuilders and magnifies the
aims of building peace in the world.
And Western notions of positive peace owe much to the writings and work of
Gandhi whose revolutionary nonviolent resistance to the British occupation of India
included the notion of satyagraha or love as a force of peace. In Gandhi’s work he
saw the transformation of violence within acts of patience and compassion for one’s
opponent making the “work” of building peace nonviolent, an act of social justice
and relational. And Gandhi was aware of the suffering an individual undergoes
when in the process of facing violence and the temptation to reflect violence with
violence so he made certain that the work of resistance was via peace, by nonvio-
lence and therefore in accord with the ends desired in overthrowing a violent regime.
Termed satya (truth) graha (force) Gandhi believed that we must begin by transforming our
own inner violence before we can use compassion and patience to change the hearts of our
opponents. For Gandhi, violence was proof that we perceived of the “other” as separate from
ourselves. If we perceive of the unity of all life then violence is no longer an option.
Gandhian ahimsā affirms the unity of all sentient beings is both a restraint (from violence)
and an observance (of love). (Standish & Joyce, 2018, p. 18)
To Gandhi, the act of gaining “peace” must be peaceful (nonviolent) and this
all-encompassing view of peace as an act of nonviolence infuses positive peace
with an understanding that you cannot use violence to build peace – something
completely legitimate when working toward negative peace.
Galtung views positive peace as the absence of structural violence, Gandhi sees
positive peace as a nonviolent interrelationship to bring justice (Bharadwaj, 1998),
and Harris and Morrison (2013) see positive peace in a triad of nonviolence, social
justice, and environmental sustainability. This handbook combines all three plat-
forms (Galtung, Gandhi, and Harris and Morrison) into a quadrant of positive peace
(see Table 1) to purposefully include non-harming life affirmation, justness, sup-
portive, caring, and equitable relationships within a holisticism that incorporates and
encompasses the human and the more-than-human world.
Nonviolence is an action, a system, or an inner state of non-harming. The premise
of nonviolence expresses the Gandhian precept of “ends and means thinking,” which
intones that we may not be able to control the outcome of our endeavors (ends) but
we can control how we behave (means). To attain positive peace, we need to
recognize violence but respond nonviolently.
Social Justice is the advancement of the concept of inherent human worth and
dignity and interactions that seek to recognize and respect humans, groups, and the
natural world. The construct of social justice includes three facets: justice, rights, and
freedoms. Socially just societies are a key component of positive peace.
Environmental sustainability begins with an introspective exploration of the
human bond with nature. The rhythm of resource consumption to which societies
have been accustomed since the Industrial Revolution is no longer sustainable.
Table 1 The positive peace quadrant (Standish, Devere, Suazo, and Rafferty this publication)
Nonviolence Social justice
Environmental sustainability Positive relationship
Positive peace requires prioritizing the survival of all living systems in human and
natural worlds.
Overview of the Positive Peace Quadrant
Nonviolence
Nonviolence can be separated into principled and pragmatic forms (Weber, 2003).
Principled nonviolence, including pacifism, comes in a variety of intensities that
espouse everything from living so as to minimize personal harm done to other living
beings to refusing to participate in certain forms of organized violence (such as
military service). Pragmatic nonviolence encompasses dozens of separate and
targeted methods to bring about political and social change and includes acts of
civil resistance, civil disobedience, nonviolent defense, and noncooperation (Sharp,
2005; Weber, 2003). What both strands – principled and pragmatic nonviolence –
share is an orientation and commitment to address violence with nonviolence
(Firchow & Anastasiou, 2016).
Standish and Joyce summarize the nonviolence thusly:
Pacifism is a refusal to participate in violence (especially state organized violence), prag-

matic nonviolence is a strategic discipline that works to change society or obtain a political
outcome whereas principled nonviolence contains an internal dimension that comprises an
ethical restraint on expressions of any form of violence for any reason. Simply put, a
principled nonviolence advocate never feels that violence is permissible where a pragmatic
nonviolence advocate feels that nonviolence is more successful when working toward social
transformation. What all of these nonviolent traditions share is a sense that violence is
unacceptable and an unacceptable action, even in response to violence. While some consider
violence discretely, others include all acts that have the potential to cause harm. (2018, p. 19)
While nonviolence is often approached as a mindset it is also frequently considered a

strategy of conflict transformation (Stephan & Chenoweth, 2008) whether one
considered it an ideological stance or behavioral predisposition a key appreciation
of nonviolence is where it “sits” in terms of our cultural and interactional landscapes
as humans. To “sit” in a space of violence lies within the Paradigm of Violence,
whereas to “sit” in a space of nonviolence places one firmly within the Paradigm of
Nonviolence (also termed the Paradigm of Peace) (Table 2).
Table 2 Paradigms of violence/nonviolence

Paradigm of violence Paradigm of nonviolence (peace)
Is the understanding that violence is an Is the understanding that nonviolence is the only
acceptable instrument to manage conflicts acceptable instrument to manage conflicts
between individuals, within society and between individuals, within society, and
between states for the purpose of bringing between states for the purpose of bringing about
about change. change.
Violent conflict is natural, normal, and Violence is not natural; it is cultural and it is
necessary. unnecessary.
While the ideas and actions encompassed by nonviolence ascribe to an intention

and impact that does not result in harm, nonviolence is clearly based on the
awareness that violence is a choice and therefore, by the same logic, nonviolence
is also a choice. Not something passive or not-doing, nonviolence is a comprehen-
sion and accomplishment of deliberate humanization. Undergirding the nonviolence
mandate (to do no harm, no hurt, and no violence) is the deeply held belief in the
unity of life, a belief that both acknowledges the connectivity of thought and
experience but further, that nothing done to others as an act of dehumanization
does not also affect the perpetrator. Martin Buber’s theory of connectivity captured
the arc of dehumanization as the perception of another as an it (1970). This perception
of another human as an object (not a subject) makes permissible numerous thoughts,
beliefs, and actions that negate the human propensity for consideration, care, and
compassion. To consider another person an it is to deny them full humanity – to
dehumanize them – to turn them into an object to which one holds no duty of care.
And in addition, the reflection of the act of objectification firmly returns to its
sender. This was the what Gandhi considered in the unity of life mandate; there is no
thought, word, or action that does not also affect the instigator – to do harm to
another is to harm the self. Double the violence, double the harm. To embrace and
practice nonviolence is to understand this connection and to refuse to dehumanize
others. As a foundational pillar of positive peace, nonviolence not only acknowl-
edges violence but acts to actively transform violence.
Social Justice
Social justice is a necessary component of peace. The terms “justice” and “social
justice” are used often interchangeably in any context as related to positive peace
(Lambourne & Rodriguez Carreon, 2016). As defined by Caritas, social justice “is
the promotion of just societies and treatment of individuals and communities based
on the belief that we each possess an innate human dignity” (2020, para. 1). Peace
education scholar, Betty Reardon (1995), also emphasizes universal human dignity
but adds in the environment, claiming that social justice can be realized fully “only
under the conditions of a positive peace based on the respect for individual persons,
social groups, human cultures, and the natural environment” (p. 7).
In this handbook, we are considering positive peace within the framework of a
quadrant that comprises nonviolence, social justice, environmental sustainability,
and positive relationships. We focus in this section on the social justice part of the
quadrant but acknowledge the interlinking of the four parts of the quadrant as
essential to fostering positive peace. Not only is social justice a vital aspect of
peace but it requires conditions of positive peace including a sustainable environ-
ment, nonviolent responses to challenges, and just relationships.
As with other complex concepts, there is no one definition of social justice.
Injustice is more easily recognizable. Strier refers to social injustice as the “systemic
subordination of specific social groups through the institutionalized use of unjust
power and authority” (2007, p. 860). Essentially institutional and structural social
justice is not necessarily present even in societies that are ostensibly peaceful, so
while it is essential for positive, sustainable peace, there can be situations where
injustice is present, but there is no overt conflict. This points to the importance of
addressing structural violence. Injustice can be present particularly in situations
where a focus on harmony can disguise underlying, or even overt, discrimination,
and oppression. Often so-called justice systems, even in peaceful democracies, are
themselves inherently unjust and unequal. These situations are examples of negative
rather than positive peace.
Chizhik and Chizhik (2002) explore the concepts of privilege and oppression in
the language of social justice where there is social structural inequality based on
race, social class, gender, and disability, as well as “other discriminatory practices
that involve unequal power distributions” (e.g., age, language, immigrant status,
land) (p. 792). Social justice therefore requires the redistribution of power between
those with power (the privileged) and those without (the oppressed). There are
international studies that make the link between disparity gaps showing that coloni-
zation has determined social [in]justice, resulting particularly in inequitable access to
health, housing, and education (see, e.g., Griffiths et al., 2016). Justice systems in
Western nations often continue to fail to prevent racial injustices that prevent human
equality (Randle, 2016).
The language and conceptions of justice and human rights, while claiming to be
universal, are part of a Western construct and philosophy that often ignores the
cultural differences that exist between and within societies across the globe.
What types of justice are needed to ensure peace? Justice comes in a number of
forms. Retributive justice, a system of criminal justice that uses punishment, has been
found wanting, for not focusing on rehabilitation, so how effective is it? Restorative
justice that focuses on reconciliation between offender and victim is meant to put
things right again, but is it able to do that? Transitional justice aims to redress abuses
in countries emerging from conflict, but is it enough? Relational justice that focuses
on processes of cooperative behavior, agreement, negotiation, and dialogue recog-
nizes the importance of getting relationships right, but does it address everything that
is necessary? Distributive justice which provides moral guidance about the distribu-
tion of benefits and burdens can address some of the inequalities to bring about a fairer
society, but does it work? And how does Transformative Justice fit in?
In terms of human rights, the 1948 Universal Declaration of Human Rights
(UDHR) stated that “all human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights”
(Article 1). However, despite “everyone” being entitled to the rights and freedoms as
set out in the Declaration, many people are unable to access these and live in states
who do little to address such insufficiency. There have been attempts over the
subsequent 80 years since the creation of the UDHR to address some of these
inequalities. There are obviously gaps and attempts to fill such gaps with the passing
of multiple “instruments” of Human Rights in various “declarations” for women,
children, the disabled, the Indigenous, etc. but how does the discourse of Human
Rights relate to building positive peace? How have declarations that support and
enshrine women and gender rights contributed to positive peace? To what extent
have disability rights been addressed? Have the rights of Indigenous peoples
improved? Are children seen as having separate rights to those of their parents?
Many questions remain as does the question of rights vs freedoms.
A society where there is positive peace includes some basic freedoms. What
sorts of freedoms would be needed? How fundamental is freedom of religion?
Should there be any restriction on the freedom of movement? How much freedom
to protest or resist should be allowed? How essential is freedom for the media?
How can we ensure freedom from violence? How would it be possible to have
freedom from poverty, from fear and insecurity. Would rights include the right to
self-destruction?
We engage with this debate as we seek to understand some of the different types
of justice that impact peace; and the rights and freedoms that need to be upheld in
order to establish and maintain positive peace.
Environmental Sustainability
Modern human systems are intrinsically dependent on a properly functioning and

stable natural environment. Yet as Golden points out in a 2016 editorial, humans and
their environment have grown increasingly apart through decades of urbanization,
increasing commodification, and through departures from agricultural practices and
subsistence patterns of living (Golden, 2016). As population growth influences an
increase in natural resource demands, questions emerge in terms of how human
infrastructures can endure in the face of the breaching of the so-called Planetary
Boundaries of Earth (Steffen et al., 2015). Simply put: Humankind needs to rethink
its current relationship with its Planet if it wishes to stand a chance of survival.
As it currently stands, peace and conflict literature shows striking asymmetries
with how environmental and human systems are studied, and understood: Human
systems tend to take priority over their nonhuman counterparts. Reconceptualizing a
new Human-Nature contract entails revising one’s own relationship with the natural
environment, an exploration that inevitably leads to a disruption of humankind’s
ongoing and self-centered domination of Nature. A human-centric mind frame, or
anthropocentric thinking, is defined as an act or thought, which is inherently at odds
with Nature and nonhuman animals (Boddice, 2011). Transcending anthropocen-
trism requires more than just a peripheral interest in environmental systems: it
requires a profound infusion of environmentalism in any human-conceived system,
process, or relationship. This section is a collection of deep reflections of how this
infusion can occur and at what operational levels.
Positive Relationship
Relationships are intrinsic to human social life. The basic dictionary definition of a
relationship is “the way in which two things are connected” (Cambridge Dictionary,
n.d.). This definition provides a starting point for further conceptualizing how the
parties in a relationship respond to that connectedness, and what role relationships
play in constituting society. Examining how human beings relate to one another is an
essential element in understanding why societies take different forms, with some
characterized by domination and violence while others exhibit high levels of equity
and peacefulness.
Relationships can be said to have perceptual and behavioral components. Where
the other party is perceived as our equal in dignity and rights, to paraphrase the UN
declaration of human rights, where they are viewed positively, we will most likely
act benevolently towards them; we will include them in decision-making, will
cooperate with them in the pursuit of shared goals, and will act in solidarity with
them when they seek to redress injustice. Conversely, if the other party is perceived
as less-than-fully-human, as alien and separate to us, we are much more likely to
ignore their suffering when they are impacted by direct or structural violence, and if
we perceive them as our enemy, we may even engage in actively harming them.
Relationships, then, develop out of how we view self and other, and these percep-
tions shape everyday behaviors at the individual level and the development of a
system of laws and institutions at the societal level.
A number of social theories call attention to the importance of the relational in
both our everyday lives and in the constitution of our societies. These include social
capital as a means of understanding the extent and quality of interactions in a society
(Bhandari & Yasunobu, 2009), social cohesion as a conceptualization of the degree
to which society members perceive themselves as part of a whole (Manca, 2014),
and relational ethics as a philosophical framework for exploring our ethical respon-
sibility toward others in our environment (Austin, 2012).
However, there is space for much more conceptual development in this area. We
can benefit from deepening our understanding of how to define and examine the
quality of relationships in a society. The extent and quality of connections between
individuals and between groups can have important implications for democracy,
collective action, and social inclusion. In particular, understanding how relationships
guide social behavior is particularly relevant to exploring how violence emerges in
our societies, and may give insight into how violent societies might be transformed
in the direction of positive peace.
The Role of Relationships in Positive Peacebuilding

While relationships were not directly examined by Galtung (1969) in his original
conceptualization of positive peace, in his more recent “mini theory of peace”
(Galtung, 2014) he describes peace as a state of relationship:
Peace is a relation, between two or more parties. The parties may be inside a person, a state
or nation, a region or civilization, pulling in different directions. Peace is not a property of
one party alone, but a property of the relation between parties. (para. 1)
In this work, Galtung goes on to elaborate that there can be three basic qualities of
a relationship: negative, indifferent, or positive. He equates a positive quality of
relationship to a state of harmony and asserts that harmonious relationships are
central to a state of positive peace.
However, an important distinction needs to be made between harmony as an end

goal that results from positive peace, and harmonious relationships as a means to
achieve positive peace. As a number of authors in this handbook explore, challeng-
ing negative relationships characterized by domination and violence can require an
assertive approach, while developing harmonious relationships when social injustice
remains unaddressed risks embedding structural violence. As a result, the role of
relationships in both enabling violence and in motivating collective action in pursuit
of positive peace must be examined with careful attention to the nuances of different
contexts and to the consequences of particular forms of relationship for those who
are most vulnerable in our societies.
It is not surprising, then, that while a number of scholars working in peace and
conflict studies and adjacent fields have developed conceptual frameworks that
recognize the role of relationships in building peace, these scholars do not always
agree on what form these relationships need to take in order to achieve peace. The
divergence seems to be closely related to whether scholars are focused on reducing
direct violence in the short-term, such as ending a cycle of violent conflict, or on
reducing structural violence over the long-term, pursuing a more just and inclusive
society by surfacing latent conflicts and confronting powerful interest groups
(Lederach, 1997).
Hence, for example, conceptualizations of reconciliation tend to center on the (re)
establishment of a positive relationship between former antagonists, with a focus on
apology and forgiveness (Bloomfield et al., 2003). Taking a more holistic view of the
social changes required to bring about sustainable peace after armed conflict, conflict
transformation theory recognizes that reestablishing positive relationships must
occur alongside meaningful institutional changes (Lederach, 1997). Alternatively,
scholars working in societies where mass direct violence is rare but structural
violence remains high, understandably tend to focus more heavily on how relation-
ships of solidarity can be established in order to challenge social, political and
economic injustices (e.g., hooks 1986, 2013). One challenge for the field of peace
and conflict studies, then, going forward, is to further conceptualize the particular
forms of relationship required to overcome both direct and structural violence across
a variety of contexts. It is in this area that the “Positive Relationships” section of the
Handbook of Positive Peace seeks to contribute.
Conceptualizing Positive Relationships

Philosophers from both Africa and Europe have argued that the relationship between
self and other is central to our humanity (Levinas, 1978; Ramose, 2001). From this
perspective, to dehumanize another is an act of self-harm that leaves us isolated and
self-absorbed, incapable of realizing our full potential as ethical beings. Similarly, an
“ethics of care” rooted in feminist scholarship has emerged to articulate how
deciding on an ethical course of action can only take place within a comprehensive
understanding of our relatedness to others (Gilligan, 1982). This scholarship signals
the importance of understanding what ethical, humanizing relationships look like in
practice, as well as of identifying the transformative potential of such relationships at
the societal level.
As developed in this handbook, the concept of “positive relationships” refers to

those relationships that have the potential to support the development of positive
peace. However, the precise nature of such relationships deserves careful consider-
ation. A nuanced conceptualization of the varying nature of social relationships is
necessary for identifying which relationships in a given society can be understood as
positive, meaning that they enable both direct and structural violence to be reduced
and hence can contribute to achieving positive peace. While there is more fulsome
development of the nature of positive relationships in the relevant section in this
handbook, as a first step three aspects of relationships can be identified as having the
potential to contribute to positive peace.
The first aspect is whether a relationship is engaged or disengaged. An engaged
relationship is one where both parties recognize their interdependence and direct
efforts into their behavior toward one another. Conversely, a disengaged relationship
can be understood as one where the parties do not recognize their interdependence,
where the other is ignored or seen as unimportant, and behavior is characterized by
avoidance rather than engaged activity.
The second aspect of a relationship that is relevant to positive peace is whether the
relationship involves vertical or horizontal power relations. In other words, is the
relationship one where one party is treated as superior and the other as inferior, or is
the relationship characterized by equity and mutual respect?
The third aspect to consider is whether the relationship is characterized by care
and concern for the other, or whether it is characterized by a desire to dominate and
harm the other for selfish gain. This quality of care can be exhibited by one or both
parties, but it is likely that, in time, consistent behavior by one party will be mirrored
by the other.
It is important to consider how each aspect relates to the other two, in order to
arrive a more comprehensive understanding of a “positive relationship.” For
example, a relationship could be engaged and caring but also vertical leading to
situation that is patronizing and disempowering for the party viewed as inferior.
This would represent a relationship that does not have the capacity to support the
development of positive peace unless the power imbalance is equalized. Similarly,
while a disengaged relationship would often be destructive through a process of
neglect, it could have some positive potential if the disengagement was founded in
a degree of respect and care, recognizing perhaps that a minority group needs to be
left alone to determine its own destiny. There is value then, in attending to which
aspects of relationships can best contribute to positive peace in a given set of
social circumstances.
That said, broadly speaking, the relationships that are most likely to support
the development of positive peace are those where both parties are actively
engaged in maintaining a relationship characterized by equitable power relations,
and by a genuine concern for the well-being of one another. These are relation-
ships where the other is humanized, recognized as having equal intrinsic value,
and equal right to contribute to collective decision-making. It is difficult to
conceive how violence can be tolerated, let alone committed, where such rela-
tionships are present. Hence, violence is rare in healthy families and
communities, but it is much more common between nations that view themselves
as entirely separate from one another, and as entitled to dominate one another in
the pursuit of the national self-interest.
Positive relationships can be found at multiple levels of analysis; between
individuals, between social groups, and between nation states on the global stage.
The chapters in the positive relationships section of this handbook provide a valuable
starting point for defining and conceptualizing how different aspects of relationships,
and different relationship-building practices, can contribute to the development of
positive peace across a variety of contexts.
They provide a conceptual foundation for future research that could empirically
explore the links between the quality of relationships and the degree of violence
parties exhibit toward one another. Moreover, the transformative capacity of
relationships deserves to be examined in depth in future scholarship, with a
focus on how changes in the quality of relationships may motivate and support
social change.
Positive Peace Quadrant Chapter Contributions
Nonviolence
In the nonviolence section of the handbook 17 scholars have crafted pieces relating
to building positive peace that include personal nonviolence, interpersonal nonvio-
lence, social nonviolence, and international nonviolence.
Personal Nonviolence
Personal nonviolence relates to both an inner and outer dimension of building peace
that centers on the thoughts and actions of the individual. In the first chapter Tatiyana
Bastet engages with the notion and practice of reflective choice via yoga as a fulcrum
of building positive peace. In chapter two, Katerina Standish presents a conceptual
platform for personal peacebuilding utilizing the COVID-19 global pandemic as a
hypothetical context. The next chapter, by Marianella Sclavi, looks at the role of
humor and listening in dealing with the unpredictable, the surprising and the
unexpected in life. In chapter four Joe Llewellyn engages with the role of contem-
plative practices in contributing to positive peace, and in the fifth chapter Lacey
Sloan and Cathryne Schmitz examine the act of “claiming voice” in marginalized
communities to foster resilience.
Interpersonal Nonviolence
Two facets of interactional nonviolence are examined in this part: communication
and forgiveness. In the first chapter, Tatiyana Bastet explores the role of cultural
nonviolence communication in the workplace as a vehicle for positive peace and in
the second chapter, Ann Macaskill investigates the fulcrum and function of the
human practice of forgiveness.
Social Nonviolence
Social nonviolence relates to aspects of deliberate non-harming among and between
groups. In this part the first chapter looks at peace education as a vehicle of positive
peace as contributed by Heather Kertyzia. The second chapter, by Cheryl
Duckworth, looks at peace education as a site of resistance during authoritarianism.
This is followed by Jonathan Pinckney’s exploration of the role of nonviolent
resistance in achieving positive peace. The next chapter, by Joe Llewellyn looks at
the role of pragmatic violence and positive peace. Marty Branagan contributes a
chapter on the work of women in nonviolent environmental action in Australia, and
James Caron provides us with an avenue to appreciate the role of satire in the public
sphere.
International Nonviolence
Nonviolence in the international realm concerns nations and groups globally work-
ing towards positive peace. This part begins with a chapter from Ellen Furnari, Berit
Bliesemann de Guevara, and Rachel Julian on unarmed civilian defense. The next
chapter examines the role of diplomacy as envisaged by Robert Patman and Peter
Grace. The third chapter, by Laura Reimer and Cathryne Schmitz looks at conflict
transformation in the international arena, while Engy Said contributes a chapter on
conflict transformation in the Arab World. The final chapter in this part looks at the
possibility of “measuring” positive peace in a framework for analysis offered by
Sean Byrne, Preston Lindsay, and Ane Cristina Figueiredo.
Social Justice
This part of the handbook explores the social justice quadrant of positive peace. The
13 chapters range from a discussion of different types of justice, to some of the rights
that are important for positive peace, and some of the freedoms that are needed to
ensure societies can operate in positive peace. Each chapter refers to aspects of social
justice that are not sufficient on their own, but need to be interwoven with other
aspects of positive peace for sustainable peaceful societies.
Types of Justice
The first chapter by Vicki Spencer looks at Retributive Justice that is often criticized
for being a “primitive form of retaliation.” Spencer argues that while retribution has
its limits, this form of justice remains crucial as a contribution to positive peace as it
helps to restore balance to transitional societies that have suffered from unjust
governments or war atrocities.
Restorative Justice is discussed in the chapter by Heather Devere and Kelli Te
Maihāroa as a form of justice where the main purpose is reconciliation rather than
punishment. Aotearoa New Zealand is used as a case study to explore the influence
of Māori principles and values on restorative justice practices, and the authors argue
that a focus on human worth, dignity, responsibility, acknowledgement of the other,
inclusion and tolerance contribute to the maintenance of a peaceful society.
Susan Opotow in her chapter describes Inclusionary Justice as “a foundation for

building and sustaining peace drawing on psychological scholarship on justice,
conflict, and peace.” Opotow focuses particularly on the scope of justice, demon-
strating that moral exclusion can gain momentum quickly producing a “spiral of hate
and destructive conflict and harmful behavior,” whereas moral inclusion that can
operationalize peaceful change in society, is a “more fraught and fragile process that
is slow and subject to setback.” Opotow recognizes that transforming an exclusion-
ary dynamic into an inclusionary one is “a daunting challenge,” nevertheless it is
possible and can “mobilize cross-group collaborations for social justice.”
The last chapter on types of justice focuses on Transformative Justice. Natasha
Jolly advocates including the concept of the relational in transformative justice
processes in peacebuilding for societies that have experienced extraordinary abuses.
In this chapter Jolly examines the power dynamics and privilege that result in gender
disparity in traditional processes that have ignored gender-based violence. She
describes this as the crisis of gender relationality in social conflict. Drawing on
peacemaking criminology, Jolly advocates a “non-violent and compassionate social
justice plus a positive peace ideal that promotes equity and harmony, alongside
accessible procedural justice.”
Rights and Responsibilities

International human rights law, developed with the purported intention of facili-
tating social justice within and across different nations, has been accompanied by
critiques the claim that rights can be universal. The chapters in this part disclose
some of these debates in so far as they relate to the importance of human rights for
positive peace, and the responsibilities of the governments and authorities to
ensure those rights.
It is only very recently that there has been a formal Right to Peace. The first
chapter in this part by Heather Devere traces the development within Western
philosophy of moral principles starting with Christian pacifism through justifications
for war, to fighting a “just” war, to the right to peace expressed in the UN Declaration
on the Right to Peace. In Devere’s chapter, the link between negative and positive
rights and negative and positive peace is also explored.
Next, this handbook turns to the unmet rights of specific groups of people or
sectors of society. Sylvia Frain’s chapter on Womxn’s Rights uses the United States as
a case study to ask what are the barriers to positive peace, and how Black, Indige-
nous, and womxn of color contribute to positive peace. This chapter conceptualizes
white feminism as false feminism and argues that there is a significant lack of
positive peace in white feminism that impacts Indigenous and womxn of color
negatively.
Disability Rights are discussed by Roberta Francis Watene in her chapter that
looks at positive peace through a disability lens. Francis Watene provides a platform
where discussion about the role of disabled people “within positive peace research,
literature and practice can take place” to makes some practical suggestions and
express a call to action to include those with disabilities when building cultures of
positive peace.
Millions of people become displaced as a result of conflict and their status as

refugees entitles them to protection as expressed in United Nations instruments. In
the chapter on Refugee Rights, Rose Joudi demonstrates that often these rights are
not met, vulnerable displaced groups are not protected, and they are also subjected to
discrimination. She argues that, until there are durable solutions put in place for
refugees and displaced individuals, lasting positive peace will not endure.
The two final chapters in this part take Aotearoa New Zealand as their case study
for discussing rights unmet. The chapter on Indigenous Rights by Pounamu Aikman
argues that positive peace can only be an illusion in the settler colonial context unless
the dispossession of Indigenous lands is meaningfully addressed. Aikman provides
evidence not only of structural violence, which is largely invisible to the privileged,
but also the very obvious physical violence perpetrated against Māori – the Indig-
enous people of Aotearoa New Zealand. Aikman alerts us that negative peace for
Māori is a persistent reality in what is often considered to be a peaceful country.
Penelope Carroll points out that children, while they are undoubtedly human, are
not often included in universal rights instruments that presume adulthood. Carroll
looks specifically at Children’s Rights and the protections available to children to
examine the tensions between protection and participation of children as citizens. In
this chapter two projects with children in Auckland, Aotearoa New Zealand are
referenced to explore children’s rights and to advocate for children’s participation in
the public realm.
Freedoms
The other side of justice is freedom, where negative freedom is the freedom to be
able to do something with no or minimal interference, and positive freedom requires
facilitating that freedom.
Fundamental to social justice is freedom of the media to investigate, challenge,
and question. In his chapter on Media Freedom, David Robie investigates the case
study of human rights journalism reporting on West Papua, arguing that media
freedom is essential for positive peace. Peace journalism or human rights journalism
challenges the propaganda and prejudice of war journalism that can fuel the fires of
conflict. Exposing systemic human rights violations and repressive structures, such
as those of the Indonesian authorities in West Papua, can be dangerous for journal-
ists, but gives hope to the West Papuans, builds global coalitions, and leaves open the
possibility for eventual positive peace.
The fundamental Freedom from Violence is analyzed by Michael Ligaliga who
incorporates peace and conflict theory and an Indigenous perspective to examine the
situation in the Pacific and Samoa in particular where levels of domestic violence
have been rising in the last decade. Ligaliga demonstrates that taking account of the
cultural aspect of domestic violence is essential for positive peace.
In Freedom from Discrimination, Mahdis Azarmandi unpacks the concept of
positive peace in the light of colonization. Azarmandi argues that although positive
peace “acknowledges multiple layers of violence” and offers a transformation of
society where structures of oppression and exploitation are removed, the concept is
intrinsically aligned with western thought, and risks reproducing “the very many
violences(s) positive peace seeks to overcome.” In this chapter Azarmandi focuses

on colonialism and the examination of racial justice to query the term of “positive
peace,” and concludes that what is needed is decolonial, inter- and transdisciplinary
peace research that challenges coloniality and the epistemic violence(s) it produces.
In this part of the Handbook, 14 authors consider how environmental sustainability

is conceptually considered and is followed by ruminations that look at this facet of
positive peace from local, national/regional, and international perspectives.
Conceptual Approaches
This part starts with an analytical overview of Nature’s past and current commod-
ification process. In this chapter, Silvija Serafimova argues that a feasible Positive
Peace framework is inherently dependent on the undoing of what she calls “Cheap
Nature.” This chapter is followed by Rimona Afana’s exploration of speciesism,
the dominance of the Human sphere on Earth, and its impacts on socio-
environmental fragilities. Building on these concepts, Ayyoob Sharifi examines
the interconnections between the concepts of sustainable development and Positive
Peace, and offers a vision of how such connections can become materialized.
Lastly, this part presents Shir Gruber’s work on environmental activism within
the context of student politics, and argues that university policies and processes
with greater environmental content and youth involvement are vessels for the
implementation of Positive Peace.
Local Perspectives
Building on some of the theoretical explorations above, academics and practitioners
highlight how the nexus between environmental sustainability and Positive Peace is
experienced and implemented by local communities. To this end, Diana Rice lays
out an exposition of environmental sustainability as the prescriptive tool for Positive
Peace and community-building. Similarly, Leslie Van Gelder adopts an archaeolog-
ical approach, and analyzes how the questions of self, community, and environment
(space) intersect in the small New Zealand town of Glenorchy to advance a local-
made version of Positive Peace. By examining religious communal living in Ger-
many, Rosemarie Schade sheds important light on the concepts of spirituality, space,
and environmental sustainability in order to build conceptual and practical connec-
tions between the old and the new. Heather Tribe develops an examination of how
the concepts of food security and positive peace intersect in the local community of
Waikatere, New Zealand.
National and Regional Perspectives

Beyond perspectives of Positive Peace within local settings, authors also examine
other national and regional perspectives of Positive Peace. For instance, Wyclife
Ong’eta Mose explores how climate change and resource scarcity impose significant
challenges for Positive Peace within pastoral communities in Kenya. Lastly, Engy
Said devotes his efforts to the study of environmental degradation in the Middle
Eastern-North African region, and focuses on how environmental decay contributes
to a diminished state of Positive Peace in the context of Syria.
International Perspectives
As economic and political decision-making become increasingly interwoven,
important questions emerge with regard to how the international system can
contribute to the betterment of environmental and human systems. To this end,
Mohammad al-Saidi examines the question of interstate relations within the
context of environmental cooperation in the Persian Gulf. He argues that chal-
lenges exist in the area that impedes the flourishing of Positive Peace within its
states. Also examining the question of international cooperation, Olga Skarlato
provides an account of how inter-state cooperation mechanisms can open impor-
tant avenues for community-level Positive Peace. She does so by examining
environmental resource sharing along the US-Canada border, and by outlining
the different actors involved in the development and sustainment of mutually
beneficial relationships.
Positive Relationship
The positive relationships part takes a relational perspective on understanding how

certain forms of relationships can contribute to the development of positive peace.
Taken together, these 15 chapters highlight the multiple dimensions of social
relationships and expand our understanding of the many ways in which the achieve-
ment of positive peace in our world requires the establishment of positive relation-
ships between individuals, social groups, and nation states.
Relational Concepts
The chapters in the first subsection engage with a range of relational concepts,
outlining their relevance to positive peacebuilding. The first chapter by Reina
Neufeldt explores the importance of developing our peacebuilding practices in
light of an ethics of care that is rooted in a specific cultural context. The second
chapter is authored by Walt Kilroy and uses a social capital lens to consider the
importance of relationship-building for developing a sustainable peace in post-
conflict societies. This is followed by a chapter from Sorcha Tormey that elaborates
how the concepts of solidarity and allyship are essential to confronting structural
violence in our societies. Next, there is a chapter from Mogobote Bertrand Ramose
on how the African philosophy of Ubuntu can be mobilized as a challenge to the
direct, structural, and epistemic violence of colonialism and its ongoing legacies.
This is followed by a chapter by Daniel Christie and Daniel Morrison taking a peace
psychology perspective on how empathy is a precursor to challenging both
direct and structural violence, nationally and internationally. Next is a chapter
from Hyuk-Min Kang exploring the potential of various theories of political recon-
ciliation to contribute to the development of positive peace in post-conflict societies.
This is followed by a chapter by Thia Saghery-Dickey examining the concept of trust
and its potential role in achieving positive peace. Yuri van Hoef examines how
personal friendships between state leaders have an under-recognized potential to
contribute to developing positive peace at the international level and in the final
chapter in this part Alejandra Ortiz-Ayala offers a rumination on security sector
reform from Liberal Peace to Positive Peace.
Relational Practices
Meanwhile the chapters in the second subsection examine a range of relational
peacebuilding practices and explore how these can be mobilized to support the
development of positive peace. The first chapter by Rachel Laird critically
reexamines intergroup contact practices and argues for the need to recognize
and address intersectional disadvantage within these spaces if they are to con-
tribute to achieving positive peace. The second chapter is authored by Julia
Chaitin and explores the potential of intergroup dialogue to awaken concern
and respect for the other, as precursor to developing more peaceful relationships
between social groups. This is followed by a chapter from Silvia Guetta that
elaborates how education can develop students’ relational competences in ways
that are important for achieving a more peaceful world. Next, there is chapter by
Jacqueline Haessley that outlines the elements necessary for weaving a culture of
peace in our world, founded in a cultural paradigm that rejects domination and
war. This is followed by a chapter from Jeremy Simons that explores restorative
justice as a relationship-building practice with the potential to contribute to
developing positive peace at the level of local communities and national socie-
ties. Next, there follows a chapter by Jessica Senehi that examines the potential
of storytelling practices to contribute to achieving positive peace. Finally, the
part concludes with a chapter authored by Cecile Mouly that introduces the
practices of peace communities in Colombia and examines the multiple ways
in which these communities support the development of positive peace in their
region, in the face of both direct and structural violence.
Concluding Remarks of Invitation
This volume of work progresses from the perspective that there cannot be “peace” as
long as environmental degradation, social injustice, targeted, structural and cultural
violence, and negative relationships persist. The quadrant of Positive Peace indicates
an interrelationship and enmeshment among the four aspirational and operational
domains of nonviolence, social justice, environmental sustainability, and positive
relationships. It is hoped that the establishment and consolidation of this quadrant
will form a formidable foundation or platform for future visions and manifestations
of building a more peaceful and peace filled world.
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Part II
Personal Nonviolence
The Nature of Reflective Choice
and Nonviolence as a Personal Practice 2
of Yoga
Tatiyana Bastet
Contents
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 28
An Understanding of Yoga: Philosophy and Practice . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 28
An Understanding of Emotion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31
An Understanding of Mind . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36
The Nature of Sacrifice and Power of Choice . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 37
Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39
Abstract
Personal discord, anxiety, and suffering are all too often viewed as resulting from
a lack of choice. These feelings may be exacerbated by the contemporary notion
of sacrifice as actively giving up that which brings pleasure and nourishment.
How then, do we recognize choice, both passive and active? How does our
understanding of sacrifice inform choice? Examining Vedic and pre-Vedic phi-
losophy and practices, including yoga and the concept of ahiṃsā (nonviolence),
facilitates not only an exploration of choice, but of the understanding of sacrifice;
noting that we can choose to sacrifice that which no longer serves us. The
sacrificial act is then transformed into a practice of self-reflection, active choice,
and self-nourishment, creating an internal cycle of positive peace.
Keywords
Personal choice · Self-sacrifice · Sacrifice · Yoga · Nonviolence · Indian
mythology · Indian philosophy · Reflective choice · Syncretic practices
T. Bastet (*)
Simmons University, Boston, MA, USA
e-mail: Tatiyana.bastet@oilofantimony.com
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_2
28 T. Bastet
Introduction
When listening to discussions regarding yoga and nonviolence in modern western

practices, one hears such things as “striving to not have violent thoughts against the
self or others,” “controlling the mind,” and “what we give energy to is what will be.”
Of these three, the first two are anathema to yoga – neither the philosophy nor the
practice are about striving but seeking, and the mind cannot be controlled. The third
point though is salient. What we choose to give energy to in thought, attention, and
action will grow. What we choose to neglect or, even to sacrifice, will atrophy and die.
Yet, this is easier written or said than to achieve in daily life. The practice of yoga
offers various ways of understanding and reflecting on our emotions, allowing us to
make more conscious decisions. As with anything, over time and with practice, these
methods become second nature. How is this nonviolence? Choosing to be healthy,
happy, and continuing to take pleasure in the experiences life has to offer, not at the
expense of others, is the practice translated as nonviolence, nonharming, or ahiṃsā.
Yoga therapist Monica Hanson writes that “ahiṃsā is an attitude, a dedicated
quality of mind . . .it can be experienced as a letting go of judging . . .and fixing”
(2010, p. 80). And how does letting go, often seen as passive action, coincide with
making a decision? Letting go is a decision in and of itself. A sacrifice. To experience
life fully and deeply, reflect, and let go. It is as taking a full breath in to energize and
enjoy, then exhaling to release.
An Understanding of Yoga: Philosophy and Practice
Prior to any discussion of yoga, yogic practice, or yogic philosophy, it is imperative

to understand what yoga is. Yoga is not simply a way of exercising, nor is it a
religious practice. It is a philosophical system, one of six Indic philosophical
systems, that focuses on “human nature and the relationships between the physical,
sensorial, intellectual, and spiritual aspects of the human being” (Daniélou, 2003,
p. 14). In this sense, practices developed to assist people in adopting the philosoph-
ical system are deeply personal and experiential.
Of the six philosophical systems, Sāṃkhya, Vaiśeṣika, and Nyāyá are completely
nondeistic and nondual (Daniélou, 2003, p. 14). These three systems focus on how
we investigate, experience, and know the world around us as well as how to
articulate those different perspectives. As such, they can be taught alongside any
philosophical systems, generally without conflict. The other three Indic systems:
Yoga, Pūrvā Mīmāṃsā, and Uttara Mīmāṃsā focus on investigation and develop-
ment of physical, psychological, emotional, and metaphysical relationships
(Daniélou, 2003, p. 14). These are all pre-Vedic, which is critical to our current
understanding of yoga. The famous philosopher Śaṅkara sought to offer a synthesis
of philosophical thought in a more simplistic manner, and the evolution of Vedanta
(and now Western Vedanta) began. While syncretic, this evolution removed much of
what the previous philosophies offered (Daniélou, 2003, pp. 18–20). It was not
perhaps so much of a conscious removal as it was a leaving out of certain practices
2 The Nature of Reflective Choice and Nonviolence as a Personal Practice of Yoga 29
and philosophical precepts with the intention of creating a cohesive system. The
modern Vedic interpretation often has many yogic practices read and taught at the
literal level only, and with Western Vedanta’s popularized yoga, practitioners are not
necessarily asking questions that will lead to the deeper levels of experience.
Walking through some basic translations of “yoga” and “ahiṃsā” will illustrate
the difficulty modern seekers have in understanding the philosophy of yoga and its
practices. The understanding, however, leads to a deeper practice and experience of
the literal and over-simplified “ahiṃsā ¼ nonviolence or nonharming” equation and
what both the construct and practice of nonviolence involves at a personal level. As
Tull states, ahiṃsā has “a history that is best known for its elusiveness” (1996,
p. 223), because of the quagmire created by taking the syncretic path. It is this
elusive construct of nonviolence, what it means, and how it is practiced that we are
most concerned with.
Although the meaning of the word “yoga” is most often translated as “to yoke” or
“union,” Oguibénine (1998, pp. 199–200) traces the term back to harnessing and the
practices of harnessing behaviors. Without an understanding of the Sanskrit lan-
guage, how it is designed, and how it interacts with the practices developed from
yogic philosophy, these translations are literal rather than philosophical or experi-
ential. The experiential being obtained through practices of yoga and, themselves
having different interpretations dependent on the practitioner’s level of awareness
and understanding (Shastri, 2004). This relationship is stated in the first of Patañjali’s
Yoga Sūtras but the language we’re left with as part of Vedanta is so bare that
scholars struggle to do anything other than translate a literal “Now the exposition of
yoga” (Feuerstein,1989, p. 24). The translation is sometimes verbalized as “now the
study or practice of yoga begins,” with either version requiring pages of explication
based only on the author’s knowledge and experience. Returning to the pre-Vedic,
yoga is one system of philosophy that offers different modes of practice and
expression; the interpretations of which are increased exponentially when combined
with other philosophical systems such as Nyāyá, with the understanding of the
practitioner/teacher taken into account.
Part of the reason why sūtra 1.1 noted above is not translated into so much as an
understandable sentence is that Sanskrit, like Hebrew and other older languages,
builds words, phrases, and sentences by adding concepts together. These concepts
are not only understood at a literal intellectual level, but also philosophically and,
through correct pronunciation, experientially. This is to say that unlike the English
language that leverages sound produced primarily in the head, using the mouth and
nasal cavities and is understood intellectually and psycho-emotionally, Sanskrit uses
the entire body to produce sound. Sanskrit also assumes that a full diaphragmatic
breath is used so that some sounds will emanate from the belly or chest while others
will come from the throat. Even the teeth and tongue are used to articulate sound
differently. Vocalizing the OM, for example, is often done by taking a breath in and
exhaling in the chest, throat, and mouth so that the sound resonates in the mouth. OM
is, in fact, a three part sound of “ah-oo-mm” (usually transliterated as AUM), such
that on exhale, the “ah” is vocalized from the belly, “oo” from the upper abdomen
just below the heart and into the chest, “mmm” into the throat and head including
30 T. Bastet
mouth and nasal cavities. The experience of AUM is how the concept is best
understood, and there isn’t always language available for the experience.
Returning to ahiṃsā, it is one of five yāmās or “things to be avoided,” as stated in
the Yoga Sūtras of Patañjali, specifically sūtras 2.34 and 2.35 (Feuerstein, 1989,
pp. 83–84). They are: ahiṃsā (nonviolence), brahmacarya (walking the middle path,
or the “right” use of energy), satya (truthfulness) asteya (nonstealing), and aparigraha
(nonpossessiveness or nonavarice) (Aiyar, 1914, pp. 173–176). Here we have an
issue of translation and interpretation. If a yāmā is something to avoid or abstain from,
and ahiṃsā is nonviolence (also not harming or killing), then the practice described as
“virtuous” is to avoid nonviolence. While yāmās are translated in Vedic texts as things
to avoid, restraint, or control, the term “Yāmā” refers to death in older traditions. In
order to avoid death, we restrain ourselves or avoid certain things so it’s not so much a
mistranslation, as it is one interpretation of the concept (Kinsley, 1997, p. 180). This,
however, does nothing to resolve the “avoidance or restraint of nonviolence.”
To further complicate rather than simplify, the Bhagavad Gita is a text that
recounts the struggles of Arjuna, a follower of yogic philosophy and practices who
must become a warrior and fight. Here Arjuna is being told that it is yogic and part of
his duty to fight in a war and kill the enemy (Easwaran, 2004). How do we reconcile
such seemingly diametrically opposed viewpoints?
Pausing for a moment: if the yāmās are a distillation somehow of other philos-
ophies and practices then a comparison of the five yāmās with five similar, older
practices such as the pañca tattva (Kinsley, 1997, p. 54; Svoboda, 1986) may prove
beneficial.
Pañca
Yāmās English interpretive Tattva
(Sanskrit) translation (Sanskrit) English interpretive translation
Ahiṃsā Nonviolence, nonharming, Matsya Fish – relating to the pose or
not affecting vitality leading asana that represents taking a first
to the practice of prāṇāyāma full breath and, subsequently the
practice of prāṇāyāma
Brahmacarya Walking the middle path, the Maithuna Sex, pleasure
“right” use of energy
Satya Truthfulness Māṃsā Meat relating to the substance of
that which we take in and give out
– speech
Aparigraha Nonpossessiveness, Mudrā Parched grain, gestures made
nonavarice with the hands and other parts of
the body to invoke certain
energies, satsang – choosing your
community
Asteya Non-stealing Madya Wine – amṛta or elixir
Two things become apparent via this simple comparison: the yāmās are prescriptive
behaviors that express a definite sense of right and wrong; the last two, asteya and
madya, are not related nor can they be said to have equivalent qualities, though the
others map fairly easily. There is perhaps a third observation that the pre-Vedic
philosophies and practices focus on choice and pleasure. Recall that pre-Vedic schools
of philosophy are both nondeistic and nondualistic. There is no right or wrong, no black
or white, only the investigation of the world around us and our experience of it. It would
seem that more took place than a distillation of multiple complex philosophies to create
a simplified system. The socio-political reasoning for how and why this distillation of
thought came about is a discussion of its own. Since there are, however, similarities
between ahiṃsā and matsya, further examination is required.
Satapathy (2016) conducted an analysis of the meanings of ahiṃsā based on
18 commentaries of the Yoga Sūtras as well as the etymology of the word and its
components. The results show that ahiṃsā has an older meaning of not injuring or
affecting the vitality of a living being (Satapathy, 2016, p. 43). This interpretive
concept is derived from a meaning of hiṃ or hiṃsā as cold, frost, and snow (as in
Himalayan mountains) (Shastri, 2004). Taking this interpretation, ahiṃsā is moving
away from cold that leads to death (Yāmā), with a- being the negation of hiṃsā. This
is a more logical fit in relation to other practices such as prāṇāyāma, where prāṇā is
the vitality or life force contained in breath and Yāmā is death. Prāṇāyāma is the
practice of “controlling” the breath, which isn’t so much controlling as it is playing
with or conditioning. Control and restraint are terms that inherently express sup-
pression and/or oppression and, therefore, violence. This also speaks to the Indic
belief that a person is born with a certain number of breaths before dying. Shallow
breathing then leads to a shorter life. Shallow breathing affects the vitality of life as
suggested by Satapathy’s analysis. Therefore, any trigger that produces a shorter
breath, gasp, or other disturbance in the regular flow of breathing could be consid-
ered violent or harmful (or moving towards cold). Add to this that Satapathy’s results
showed this disturbance of vitality as hiṃsā for any living being, ergo at a personal
level, anything an individual does or experiences that causes a disturbance in breath
could be considered violent to the self.
Returning to Sanskrit pronunciations and the production of sound. Recall that on
the exhale, “a” is open, “hiṃ” constricts the breath, and “sa” can either further
constrict breath so it doesn’t reach the belly. Alternatively, it can open the flow of
breath into the belly allowing the body to relax. What determines the final constric-
tion versus relaxation? Primarily it is emotional response. When we act or react
based on fear or uncertainty, this often causes a disturbance of breath. When we act
or react based on desire, we open and relax. Although we may identify a whole range
of nuanced emotion, there are two primary emotions: desire and fear (Daniélou,
1997). When we act or react based on fear and uncertainty, it is easy to choose anger
and revenge. Therein lies the critical path of the practice of ahiṃsā: allowing and
accepting the right and responsibility to choose both action and reaction
(Maheshananda, 2009, personal communications).
An Understanding of Emotion
Yoga philosophy and practice does not suggest that we suppress our emotions, but
rather that we feel deeply but without attachment or judgment. Vairāgya or cultiva-
tion of nonattachment described in the Yoga Sūtras is not based on denial of
experience. It is founded in the nonjudgment of experience and emotion – within
32 T. Bastet
the self or others – and in discernment of reflection (Maheshananda, 2006, personal

communications). Through reflection, an appropriate vehicle and choice of direction
can be found with respect to reaction.
Sir John Woodroffe, writing as Arthur Avalon, in his commentary on verse 34 of
the Ṣaṭ-Cakra-Nirūpaṇa, states “and sorrow is not my share” (1974, p. 401). If
sorrow is not our share and neither is suffering, then we are looking to operate based
on desire not fear. The self desires manifestation so that it may know itself in all
forms and to experience itself in all ways. This manifestation is how we interact with
the world and people around us, which includes a full spectrum of being, acting,
reacting, and experiencing. To do this, another philosophical concept needs to be
introduced: māyā. Māyā illuminates all aspects of self and all are good or pretty, how
could they be? Yet most of humankind adamantly explains away what is perceived as
negative, unfair, and unjust thereby discounting much of life and self.
The concept of māyā is defined by Śaṅkara as illusion (Subramuniyaswami,
1997, p. 759), by Campbell as magic (1986, p. 33) and by Kinsley as false
consciousness (1997, p. 284), the veil of unreality that separates permanent from
transient and real from unreal. These definitions would lead one to believe that māyā
is asatya or untruthful. As such, māyā is described as that which consciousness must
move through to come to understand the real, permanent, transcendent truth of
undifferentiation (“still the mind” and “dissolution of self” are both phrases in
popular western Vedanta that come to mind). Contracted to focus solely on human
experience, māyā is seen as a means by which to understand human suffering,
injustice, natural disasters. It is also the manner in which any other painful, hurtful,
or confusing experience that does not appear to have a satisfactory explanation or
meaning is explained. The notion that māyā is merely a veil of illusion within
consciousness or is an aspect of consciousness relegates māyā to an operation of
mind. If this is the case, then surely māyā is found to be an affliction of conscious-
ness as defined in the Yoga Sūtras – yet it is not. Māyā is named as neither a kleśa
(affliction of consciousness) (Feuerstein, 1989, p. 30) or a yāmā (Feuerstein, 1989,
p. 80). Vairāgya (cultivation of nonattachment) described earlier is prescriptive of
how to interact with the force of māyā rather than a description of that force’s nature.
The magic of māyā does not lie in illusion or deceit, but in cosmological creation
(Subramuniyaswami, 1997, p. 759).
Creation – of any kind and at any level – itself is a somewhat contentious concept
as human centric understanding attempts to struggle with the “why” of creation over
the “how.” If, as the texts and myths say, in the beginning there was darkness, an
ocean of undifferentiated energy, the absolute, ultimate, unmanifest “truth” of what
is (Daniélou, 1997, p. 273), then why create anything? The same experts who assert
that māyā is a function of mind also put forth the hypothesis that creation is simply
the result of universal energies at play. This hypothesis is problematic as it pre-
supposes a want or need to play which gives limitation, definition, and differentia-
tion to that which has yet to be differentiated.
Hillman says, “If soul [dark matter] is a prime mover, then its primary movement
is deepening, by which it increases its dimension [. . .]” (1979, p. 26). That is to say,
that as we know ourselves, as we reflect and connect with ourselves and others, the
“soul” becomes both bigger and deeper. Deepening and expanding are both func-
tions that require spatial distinction. Movement itself requires differentiation and so,
if soul or dark matter is to move, deepen, and expand, it must first exist as an entity.
For a thing to exist, it must exist in relation to something and be, therefore, distinct
and differentiated (Daniélou, 1997, p. 7). If soul or self is a mover then it would
follow that there is a desire to move. The ocean of undifferentiated energy – Kālī –
discovers a desire to move and, at some precisely unknown moment, an event occurs
to release a tremendous amount of kinetic energy as heat. Desire creates the
conditions necessary for the release of kinetic energy as heat and the birth of
maya. Māyā then creates time, space, place – differentiation.
Referring back to the Yāmā and Pañca tattva chart, this is an example of
maithuna. Creation at a cosmic level that is born of desire and can be experienced
in the creation of anything that is desirable or pleasurable. Since it is a movement
towards heat and away from cold, it could also be experienced as a practice of
ahiṃsā. Māyā, then, is not as random or purposeless as some would have us believe.
Transience of experience is not merely a whim or fancy of the universal, but a
product of desire. The desire to move, to distinguish oneself as different, unique, also
indicates a goal of some kind. Texts, myth, and modern science point to the absolute
knowing and experiencing itself in all combinations and permutations possible.
“[. . .] entering the underworld is like entering the mode of reflection, mirroring,
which suggests that we may enter the underworld by means of reflection, by
reflective means [. . .] such reflection is less willed and directed; it is less deter-
minedly introspective like a heroic descent into the underworld to see what’s going
on there” (Hillman, 1979, p. 52). Self-knowledge then becomes motivation or desire
that creates the condition for māyā to facilitate existence and reflection. This descent
into the underworld, the allusion to death or yāmā as a journey to take, touch, and
return from references not only prāṇāyāma but several other practices including
śavāsana (little death or corpse pose), and nidrā, a state of mediation that can mimic
sleep or almost death depending on the experience of the practitioner.
Self-knowledge is acknowledgment of the many reflections, manifestations, or
facets of self in the myth of the creation and manifestation of Ṣoḍaśī (Kinsley, 1997,
pp. 119–120; Maheshananda, 2006, personal communications). Kāmā, desire, is
bored and sitting with Śiva; Kāmā tries to distract Śiva from his meditation in order
to create some excitement. Irritated with Kāmā’s attempts to distract him, Śiva opens
his third eye and tries to burn Kāmā. Kāmā darts behind a huge bolder to save
himself. Realizing that Śiva is not in the mood to engage him, Kāmā turns to Kālī.
Knowing that Śiva has pledged himself to be the sole love and consort of Kālī and all
of her manifestations, Kāmā tells Kālī that he has seen Śiva with another woman.
Kālī is incensed. She asks Kāmā to describe this woman. As Kāmā weaves his tale of
beauty, Kālī sees that this woman whom Kāmā describes is not any of her known
manifestations. In a fury, Kālī uses the power of māyā to become a young beautiful
woman so that she may rival whoever is attempting to take her place in Śiva’s heart.
Kālī, in her new manifestation, goes to Śiva and demands to know who her rival
is. Śiva says, in complete honesty, that only Kālī is in his heart. Kālī demands to look
in his heart for proof. Śiva turns to her and Kālī sees in his heart a young beautiful
34 T. Bastet
woman she has not seen before. She becomes inconsolable and is convinced that
Śiva has betrayed her love and his vow. Śiva, however, understands that Kālī simply
doesn’t recognize this new manifestation of herself. For Kālī, this is the first time
seeing herself in this new aspect. This reflection of herself has not yet been named, it
is not yet known. It is only when Śiva names this new form of Kālī – Ṣoḍaśī – that
Ṣoḍaśī can be recognized and released. The process of self-referential self-transcen-
dence leads to expansion (Muller-Ortega, 1989, p. 138) and so if Kālī is to know
herself then māyā exists to provide the means by which she can reflect, manifest,
and grow.
With the relationship among Kālī, Ṣoḍaśī, and Śiva, their emotions, based on
desire and attraction, burn with heat, illuminating all reflections and aspects of self
rather than concealing them. Kālī’s actions and reactions in the myth, as an
individual’s feelings and responses, have positive or negative social connotations.
The actions and reactions can, however, also be seen as the same process of
particles attracting and chemicals reacting. The process does not create good or
bad and the positive/negative label doesn’t relate to a value judgment but is a
descriptor of the process that occurs, it seeks self-knowledge without judgment.
Once Kālī understands Ṣoḍaśī as an aspect of herself, Ṣoḍaśī is recognized and
released into being.
Another way of noting this is unconditional acceptance. Kālī’s initial reaction of
anger is released and she sees and accepts this new side of herself that she was
previously unaware of. Reflection, as the myth suggests, is an integral part of the
process of self-knowledge. Now, if Śiva had not told Kālī what she was seeing, or if
Śiva had chosen to goad her (taking Kāmā’s bait to produce drama), Kālī may never
have recognized this new aspect of herself – Ṣoḍaśī. If we see māyā’s power as
reflective energy rather than kinetic energy, the identification of self is not made and
we interact with the reflection as though it is someone or something else.
How did Kālī see and understand that the reflection in Śiva’s heart was herself?
The myth shows how fluid the ego can be and how easily a new aspect of self can be
accepted and allowed to operate freely. Śiva vows to love Kālī and only Kālī in all
her forms, facets, and manifestations. If Kālī can see a reflection in Śiva’s heart, a
being that he loves without reserve, then that being must be a manifestation of herself
(Svoboda, 1986, p. 15). The love referred to is not love manifest, but undifferentiated
and, therefore, unconditional. Śiva is, in a sense, the primary reflection of Kālī and
the primary reflection is that of love. Any new behaviors or aspects of self, illumi-
nated by māyā, reflect love first and foremost. This is not a romantic, filial, friendly,
or gender-based love. It is simply love. Kālī, Śiva, Kāmā, and Ṣoḍaśī can all be
identified as aspects of self and how we interact with those aspects internally. The
love does not judge, just as there is a relational flow between Kālī and Śiva, each
reflection of self, each realization of self, each experience of self is reflected and
loosely bound by love. Śiva’s is a love that knows. Śiva recognizes Kali’s new form
before she does. It is a quiet love that allows Kālī to react to the new form while Śiva
sits and holds space – space provided by māyā specifically for this purpose. Kālī is
able to settle into the space (pranayāmā), to trust Śiva’s love and see (mudrā and
maṃsā). This is yoga and ahiṃsā in the sense that self-knowledge, self-reflection,
and decisions based in desire and out of love allows us to grow in ways we may not
even be aware of.
Many yogic practices are illustrated and their depth expounded through story and
mythology. Most, if not all modern yoga-class participants, will be aware of the
warrior poses. There is a birthing of warriors story in yogic mythology. Satī (another
aspect of Kālī), a woman born to a self-righteous priest who held to ritual over the
experience meant to be contained within ritual, calls to Śiva to be her husband. The
priest is not impressed as Śiva is not something he understands, nor does he want to
understand. Satī and Śiva marry against her families wishes. A few years later, Satī’s
father invites the couple to a day of ritual ceremony and celebration after not having
seen his daughter since she married. The father knows that Śiva will not come, but
believes that Satī may return home. Satī does go to see her family and is horrified to
find that there is an offering for every god except her husband Śiva. Satī realizes that
she is the sacrificial offering to her husband (Calasso, 1998, p. 84). Her father only
says, “Where shall I find you again?” (Calasso, 1998, p. 84). One version of the story
says that Satī’s father pushed her into the sacrificial offering pit. Calasso’s version
has Satī burning from the inside out, to ash, beside the pit. Both versions serve as the
secular explanation for the rite that bears her name Satī. This rite is cultural, with a
history of its own, but widows are burned on the funeral pyre with their dead
husbands. A sacrifice of self, but without consent. We will look at sacrifice and the
rite of sacrifice a little later.
Śiva having learned that his wife Satī has burned to death, ostensibly by her
family. In his grief and anger, he stomps around decimating entire villages underfoot,
his emotions larger than life itself and without restraint (Calasso, 1998, pp. 85–86).
He then unleashes three armies of warriors in succession, from his heart, without
purpose but full of rage and grief. Once the emotion is spent and he sees the
destruction he has caused, he retreats in anguish to meditate.
While some attempt to take these warrior stories literally and call it sanctioned
killing (Satapathy, 2016, p. 45), how many of us have been at some time or other,
completely consumed by an emotion? The issue is not Śiva’s rage or grief, but that
the energy of the emotion could have been used differently. Instead of unleashing
destruction, had there been a moment of reflection at the time, perhaps he could have
found a connection with his wife’s family in their joint grief and fear of loss or
aloneness. The desire could also have been to change the local customs such that
alternatives to family differences would not necessarily result in violence. This
would have meant potentially creating a different kind of army and warrior. Not
one borne from violence, but from a desire to give meaning to such an acute loss in
order to release the loss felt.
Judgment, oneself or others, is an attachment to a particular mental construct
temporarily seen as correct or incorrect. According to the Yoga Sūtras, it is this
judgment that needs to be transcended and not the ego or “I-ness” (Bharati, 2003).
Understanding of mind, emotion, and true desire along with taking that crucial
moment to breathe before responding allow for a conscious and conscientious, active
choice to be made. We have discussed emotion, action and reaction, desire, and
holding space for reflection, but decision comes from the mind.
36 T. Bastet
An Understanding of Mind
The mind is never still, thoughts come, and mind follows them with a childlike
wonder and innocence. In yogic mythology, the mind is imagined as Hanumān, a
monkey, ever restless and chattering (Saraswati, 2001, p. 3). Attempts to restrain,
ignore, or empty the mind generally prove as futile as attempting to restrain or ignore
a puppy, or attempting to empty a waterfall. The more a mind is forced, the louder
and more aggressive it becomes. In order to cultivate an understanding of mind, it is
necessary to follow a method of engaging mind in a disciplined and experiential
manner.
Hanumān, the son of the wind Vayu, is said to be the “Mind of all minds”
(Lutgendorf, 2007, p. 43; Saraswati, 2001, pp. 77, 103). As the son of Vayu,
Hanumān is, therefore, the nature of mind as well as wind. Wind, or vāta, is the
only element that is said to never be at rest, but forever in motion (Svoboda, 2006).
Wind or air, prāṇā, is also life force. It is the element that animates and on whose
currents we move through life and, ultimately, into death. As one born of the wind,
yet tied to the world of matter manifest, it is not surprising that Hanumān should be
seen as a personification of mind (Saraswati, 2001, p. 77).
Reimagining mind as a mythic character allows a relationship with mind to
develop in a more tangible manner; it is easier to follow a monkey than to attempt
an abstract understanding of such an amorphic energy as mind. The mischievous and
playful Hanumān and his mythologies offer an accessible experience of mind that is
easily relatable.
Hanumān’s primary discipline is the practice of prāṇāyāma (both ahiṃsā and
matsya) – using the awareness of breath to develop an awareness of the play between
life and death, matter, and emotion manifested and dissolved. By bringing the flow
of prāṇā to the forefront of consciousness, the practice assists in developing an
awareness of prāṇā but also an awareness of all things that flow in prāṇā and blow in
the winds or Vayus. The practice provides an avenue for developing an awareness of
pranic activities and to begin to discern, upon reflection, the subtleties, and nuances
in the dance and play of life. By engaging this practice of prāṇāyāma, the initial
reactionary perceptions of life’s difficult or unjust moments may, over time, be
transformed into an understanding of the flow of panic energy and the possible
roles each of us may choose to play in any given situation.
In a Bengali story, Sītā, a queen, gifts Hanumān with a necklace of pearls telling
him that it is precious. According to Hanumān, anything precious holds Rāma and
Sītā (his King and Queen) within it, so Hanumān proceeds to bite into each pearl
trying to find them. Sītā becomes upset and asks why Hanumān is destroying the gift
she has given him. His response is simply that she lied to him by claiming that the
necklace was precious since anything precious must contain Rāma and Sītā, and
none of the pearls do. An exasperated Sītā attempts to reason Hanumān and explains
that although he is precious, he does not hold Rāma and Sītā inside him. The pearls
are precious not only because they are beautiful and valuable but because they were
given with love. Hanumān opens his chest to reveal, sitting in his heart, none other
than Rāma and Sītā (a variation of this story is found in Lutgendorf’s Hanumān’s
Tale: The messages of a divine monkey). This act of devotion is a pranic activity that
shifts the perception of what is logically possible in a world of matter to reveal
worlds not perceived as easily, and each with layers of possibility.
In breathing and taking even a few moments to concentrate on the move-
ment of breath, deepening the breath, the head is cleared and we begin to see
what we couldn’t even a moment before. Had Śiva done this prior to releasing
his rage, perhaps he would have been able to see something else in his heart
beyond pain.
Illuminating Hanumān’s continuous and engaged play with māyā is necessary to
an understanding of the nature of mind as well as a vital aspect of pranic activity. The
Samakotamocan Hanumān Astaka, in fact, ends with a call for an increase in all
forms of māyā so that Hanumān may display his wisdom and skill in playing the
games we devise for our learning (Saraswati, 2001, p. 138). After all, what fun is
there in a game if there isn’t any awareness that a game is being played?
The same “rules” apply to the perception of energies affecting the body or mental
state. In understanding the flow of prāṇā, it is easier to notice where and how
blockages form that result in disease. In many instances, an undisciplined mind
that is carried on the winds without an awareness of the game being played and
without engaging in the movement of self-knowledge and self-reflection is likely to
develop anxiety or other disorders. If Sītā’s response were not singular to that
situation, but if seemingly small things were constantly upsetting to her, this may
result in regular and cumulative anxiety. Engaging Hanumān provides a means of
discourse with the mind, self, and prāṇā to facilitate an active rather than passive role
in life, the games we choose to play and perception of events and outcomes along
the way.
The outcome is to cultivate an understanding of mind such that conscious choices
can be made, regardless of thoughts, emotions, or circumstance via the practice of
prāṇāyāma or breathing. This is the element that animates and on whose currents we
move through life.
The Nature of Sacrifice and Power of Choice
“I simply took a step, and then another. Ever forward, ever onward, rushing towards
someplace, I knew not where. Then one day I turned around and looked back, and saw
that each step I’d taken was a choice. To go left, to go right, to go forward, or even not to go
at all. Every day, every [wo]man has a choice . . .and the sum of those choices becomes your
life.” (Roberts and Dahl 2015)
Everything we do is a choice, actively or passively, consciously or not. Active

choice, based on the practice of prāṇāyāma and meditation, is an expression of
ahiṃsā. Whereas passive choice and/or fear-based choice results in a kind of mental
and emotional self-imprisonment, perpetuating both self-harm and harm to others
(Tiwari, 2011; Maheshananda, 2012, personal communications). The choice ulti-
mately is what we give to versus what we give away or sacrifice. Giving should be a
38 T. Bastet
voluntary act performed with an open heart. Traditionally an offering made with love
and devotion, sacrifice is an opportunity to offer the best and most beloved of
possessions. Yet, somehow, the term sacrifice has come to have an aura of negativity.
A sacrifice, in modern times, is a reluctant act made only out of absolute necessity. It
is not simply a reticence to part with the most loved of possessions, but a belligerent
determination to not part with anything. Out of this perspective arise the moral
judgments against the self and others. It is in the mind that truth and experience
become distorted. Out of these moral judgments arise the perspective that sacrifice is
something to be feared.
In the past, blood sacrifice and animal sacrifice were common and however much
the practice has been frowned upon, it persists. Tull notes that the sacrificial ritual is
likely the origin of the practice of ahiṃsā (1996, p. 224). Here again, we look beyond
the literal meaning to the experiential. Blood symbolizes life, vitality, prānā. If that
vitality is flowing outwards, draining, hurting, then where is it going? Is there any
reciprocal pranic flow? Prānā flows out to anything that we give our attention to:
television, phone, complaints, joy, excitement, friends, people who take without
giving, advertisements telling us what we should desire and a myriad of other means
by which to lose prānā. But remember that ahiṃsā is about keeping vitality and
pleasure, or having a reciprocal exchange with someone or something that creates
vitality and pleasure for both parties in the connection. As the story of Hanumān and
Sītā indicated, we are all connected – Rāma and Sītā were ever present in Hanumān’s
heart.
If an exchange or experience is disruptive to pranic flow, what is sacrificed or cut
away is the bond to that thing or person. This releases the disruption and restores
vitality. This is also where the monkey mind can play tricks, the mind may create all
manner of attachment to that which is hiṃsā. It may be attracted to the play of hiṃsā
to ahiṃsā, or it may have attached itself so strongly to the story of a moment or
experience, that it is unable to see, as Śiva was. This is when the mind becomes an
instrument of self-imprisonment. By sacrificing the current story for a new one, we
release the bond of imprisonment. We let go, moving forward to the next experience,
to release self into being as Kālī did with her new story Ṣoḍaśī. Instead of looking
back and seeing a string of passive decisions, we see that there is continuous active
decision making.
If hiṃsā is cold and frosty, and ahiṃsā is the negation of that, what is the
opposite? The opposite is gharma, which does not simply mean heat or hot. More
specifically and traditionally, gharma refers to both the sacred vessel or cup and the
hot beverage drunk during sacrificial rites (Oguibénine, 1998, p. 212). The idea that
the vessel and the beverage are designated by the same word is as Tull states, central
to the Vedic sacrifice and an act of autophagy (1996, p. 228), a self-sacrificing of that
which is deemed to no longer serve the vessel. Oguibénine not only sites the vessel
and beverage as the same, but the beverage and the word (1998, pp. 212, 214),
breath, or prānā as being the same as well. It is a completely reciprocal and cleansing
exchange – a sacrifice or offering of that which does not serve, then to drink the soma
or amrita. The Rig Veda (8.48.3) uses soma to refer to the physical drink and amṛta as
the form of prānā, mudya from our list of pre-Vedic practices.
The active sacrificing of that which no longer serves us leads to a replenishment

of that which revitalizes, like the taking of a deep full breath of fresh air. A
continuous and conscious choosing to remain in that which is pleasurable to each
of us personally, without judgment or attachment.
Conclusion
The practice of ahiṃsā has been little investigated either as a term, concept, or
practice beyond the basic “nonviolence” because it is not singular, but part of a
complex system of philosophies and practices that coalesce in a life that is full of
vitality and conscious choice. As a practice born in the heat of sacrificial fire, the
fullness of experience is one that I’m not entirely sure can be characterized as what
we would consider to be nonviolence given the modern dictionary definition, this is
perhaps better defined as “nonharming.” But as Eswaran noted, ahiṃsā stems from
an internal practice that, like the ripple effect, is seen outwardly (1987). If life is lived
fully from a place and practice of self-knowledge and self-reflection, with a focus on
ever increasing vitality, the result of that, though not always a smooth ride – because
what’s the fun in that – must certainly be that of one lived in play, joy, and curiosity
for the next experience to come.
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Calasso, R. (1998). Ka: Stories of the mind and gods of India. New York: Vintage International.
Danielou, A. (1997). The myths and gods of India: The classical work on Hindu polytheism from the
Princeton Bolligen series. Rochester: Inner Traditions International.
Danielou, A. (2003). Shiva and the primordial tradition: From the tantras to the science of dreams.
Rochester: Inner Traditions International.
Easwaran, E. (1987). The Upanishads. Berkeley: Nilgiri Press.
Easwaran, E. (2004). Bhagavad Gita (E. Eswaran, Trans.). Boston: Shambhala.
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Inner Traditions International.
Hanson, M. (2010). Ahiṃsā and awareness: Core principles overlooked in yoga therapy. Interna-
tional Journal of Yoga Therapy, 20(1), 80–82.
Hillman, J. (1979). The dream and the underworld. New York: Harper & Row.
Kinsley, D. (1997). Tantric visions of the divine feminine: The ten mahavidyas. Berkley: State
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University Press.
Misc (Upanishads). (1914). Thirty minor Upanishads (K. N. Aiyar, Trans.). Madras: Vasanta Press.
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Muller-Ortega, P. E. (1989). The triadic heart of Siva: Kaula tantricism of abhinavagupta in the
non-dual Sahivism of Kashmir. Albany: State University of New York Press.
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Oguibénine, B. (1998). Essays on Vedic and Indo-European culture. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass.
Rig Veda. http://www.sacred-texts.com/hin/rvsan/index.htm
Roberts, M. B. (Writer), & Dahl, J. (Director). (April, 2015). The reckoning [Television series
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Personal Peacebuilding and COVID-19
3
Katerina Standish
Contents
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 42
Personal Statement . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43
Peacebuilding . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43
The Self as a Peacebuilding Domain . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44
A Genesis of Personal Peacebuilding . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 46
Encounter Theory . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47
Theorizing Personal Peacebuilding . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47
Physiological Nonviolence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 48
Interpersonal Nonviolence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 49
Immanent/Transcendent/Biotic Nonviolence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 49
Social Nonviolence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 50
The COVID-19 Pandemic . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 52
Life in Lockdown: . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53
Domestic Violence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53
Child Abuse . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 54
Gendered Inequality of Labor . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 54
Suicide . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 55
Personal Peacebuilding During the Pandemic . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 55
Conclusions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 57
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 57
Abstract
Personal peacebuilding is a form of nonviolent learning and action associated
with self-knowledge, wellness, and positive encounter with others and the non-
human world. In personal peacebuilding, the “peacebuilder” is the work. This
chapter introduces the four facets of personal peacebuilding as complementary
avenues or approaches where the act of being-with results in nonviolence.
Following a brief exploration of the breadth of peacebuilding and an
K. Standish (*)
e-mail: katerina.standish@otago.ac.nz
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_3
42 K. Standish
encapsulation of Encounter Theory, this chapter theorizes personal peacebuilding

as physiological, interpersonal, immanent/transcendent/biotic, and social. These
four facets generate eight principles of personal peacebuilding including: care,
patience, understanding, compassion, inquiry, alignment, reflection, and action.
After describing personal peacebuilding, this chapter encapsulates life stresses
under COVID-19 including domestic violence, child abuse, gendered inequality
of labor, and suicide and then establishes how to actuate the eight principles of
personal peacebuilding using the novel coronavirus pandemic as a fulcrum of
intervention.
Keywords
Personal peacebuilding · COVID-19 · Encounter Theory · Positive peace ·
Suicide
Nonviolence is the summit of bravery. . .As a coward, which I was for years, I harboured
violence. I began to prize nonviolence only when I began to shed cowardice. (Gandhi, cited
in Finklestein, 2012, p. 360)
Coming to voice is not just the act of telling one’s experience. It is using that telling
strategically—to come to voice so that you can also speak freely about other subjects.
(hooks, 1994, p. 148)
I have come to believe over and over again that what is most important to me must be
spoken, made verbal and shared, even at the risk of having it bruised or misunderstood.
(Lorde, cited in Byrd et al., 2009, p. 39)
Human existence cannot be silent . . .To exist, humanly is to name the world, to change
it. (Freire, 2003, p. 88)
Introduction
Personal peacebuilding, a form of nonviolent learning and action associated with

self-knowledge, wellness, and positive encounter with others and the nonhuman
world, makes building peace the work of individuals too. In this Lorde, Freire,
hooks, and Gandhi inspired chapter, I wish to give voice to a facet of positive peace
that is most important to me. Both Lorde and hooks advocated for a literacy of living
that sought to both occupy and alter the “form” of communication permitted from
feminist and female voices. To hooks, critical consciousness, a form of self-
knowledge, was the root of violence transformation. And for Lorde, the action of
using her voice, even in the face of backlash, meant (finally) being her authentic self.
Freire’s work urged us to revolution, to change the culture of silence that takes away
our humanity. Freireian dialogue is humanization, to speak and listen, write and read
brings us into a space of encounter as equals. Freedom, to Gandhi was fearlessness, a
person can only truly become nonviolent when they run towards danger with love.
My hope in writing this chapter is to signal to my authentic community and welcome
3 Personal Peacebuilding and COVID-19 43
others on the precipice of nonviolence. Welcome. You are needed. There is much
to do.
In this chapter, I wish to offer a cogitation, a thinking through and conceptual
manifestation of personal peacebuilding. In 1990, Johan Galtung offered a key
rumination upon cultural violence which continued thinking that began in 1969.
Cultural violence built upon his contribution entitled Violence, Peace and Peace
Research to produce an expanded conceptual framework of appreciation. It is
possible to see the threads of Galtung’s violence triangle (1990) in his earlier work
where he more fully explores violence in direct, indirect, and cultural form. In this
chapter, I challenged myself to “speak freely” about the work of transforming the
violence of the self, to expand my previous thinking and offer a new framework for
conceptualizing peacebuilding. Following a brief exploration of the breadth of
peacebuilding and an encapsulation of Encounter Theory, this chapter will then
theorize personal peacebuilding. After describing personal peacebuilding, this chap-
ter will encapsulate life under COVID-19 and establish how to actuate personal
peacebuilding using the novel coronavirus pandemic as a fulcrum of intervention.
Personal Statement
For the last two decades, as a community peacebuilder, academic, and peace
pedagogue, I have dedicated my life to the work of understanding conflict and
violence and contributing to a nonviolent world. I don’t measure this “work” by
publications, workshop feedback forms, or teaching evaluations. I measure the
success of my work by looking inside of myself for my violence, my anger, my
fear, my insecurity, and the toxic chatter that tells me I am not enough. I know, when
those voices get corralled, quieter, or more distant that I have achieved what, to me,
has been missing for the majority of my life – the visceral and exquisite understating
that what is inside of me is connected to what I am capable of and that I can
transform what is inside of me. I believe I can only be an instrument of wellbeing
for others if I am first an instrument of my own wellness. I can only contribute to a
world of nonviolence, if I first tackle the violence inside of myself. I wrote this
chapter to say something I think is essential and missing that may help in contrib-
uting to a world of positive peace – personal peacebuilding.
Peacebuilding
There are many forms of peacebuilding. For our purposes, we can consider it an
intervention that seeks to stop harm. In Peace and Conflict Studies, peacebuilding is
a technique that seeks to recognize, minimize, remove, or prevent conflict, violence,
and injustice. There are many forms of peacebuilding, some relate to the “kind” of
peace one is aiming for. Examples include negative peace, positive peace, and just
peace which have complementary peacebuilding techniques, but most well-known
incarnations of peacebuilding involve group interventions or interventions into
44 K. Standish
groups, for example, “Inter-Ethnic Peacebuilding,” “Inter-religious Peacebuilding,”

“Co-existence peacebuilding,” and various deliberate techniques which can include
conflict resolution/management or transformation of social or cultural discord. We
can add to this theoretical peacebuildings between groups which are both concep-
tualizations and methods such as “liberal peacebuilding,” “local peacebuilding,”
“strategic peacebuilding,” and “everyday peacebuilding.” Finally, we can consider
peacebuilding from a stakeholder or “actor” perspective looking at “grassroots
peacebuilding,” “Track I or II peacebuilding,” “reciprocal peacebuilding,” or “multi-
track peacebuilding.”
What this expansive typology of peacebuilding signifies is that peacebuilding can
be multidisciplinary, multifaceted and of concern to ethnic, religious, class, national,
racial, gendered, economic, social, or political peoples that aim to tackle violence,
conflict, and injustice. And all of these aforementioned forms of peacebuilding are
built on a fundamental human bridging, binding, and bonding technology: the
relationship.
The focus on relationship and the aim of positive relationship is a key driver in
peacebuilding where strained, broken, nonexistent, and violent relationships are
considered evidence of conflict and avenues of address (Lederach, 1997). Intergroup
discord can be measured, monitored, revealed, and reconfigured. Conflict between
isolated groups can be amended through building relationships and through strength-
ening nascent ones. And as historically peacebuilding has been the work of groups or
individuals working with groups to manage, resolve, and transform conflict and
build positive relationships, we can easily see the architecture of relationship in
intervention. Conventional peacebuilding can include mediation, negotiation, third-
party intervention, and conflict resolution, whereas contemporary forms of
peacebuilding include dialogue processes, intercommunal engagement, restorative
justice pursuits, and forms of peace education (to name only a few). What is apparent
in these forms is that the “work” of building peace is focused on “other” people or
ideas. While there may be aspects of personal transformation that result from each of
these techniques of address, the purpose of these peacebuilding(s) is the transfor-
mation of conflict, not the humans in conflict. That is where personal peacebuilding
diverges. In personal peacebuilding, the point of departure for conflict transforma-
tion is the self. The self – as social, as natural, and as spiritual – in personal
peacebuilding, is the derivation of nonviolent change.
The Self as a Peacebuilding Domain
Building upon previous research into the individual as an instrument of change

(Standish & Joyce, 2018; Standish, 2019) and agent of nonviolent and life-
nourishing encounter (Standish, 2020a), personal peacebuilding is conceptualized
to inhabit four domains: the physiological, the interpersonal, the immanent/transcen-
dent/biotic, and the social (see Table 1).
In this form of peacebuilding, the “work” is an intervention that transforms
conflict and prevents violence in the self, to the self and by the self. This is not an
Table 1 Four facets of Physiological Interpersonal

personal peacebuilding
Immanent/transcendent/biotic Social
oppositional form of peacebuilding (and not a criticism of existing and emerging

forms) but a complementary and critical embodiment of nonviolent change. The
notion that building peace is a toolkit – filled with techniques or recipes of transfor-
mation – makes the work of nonviolent transformation separate from the worker
utilizing it. Personal peacebuilding aligns the eradication of violence to, by, and
within the self with the annihilation of violence in relationship, community, society,
and the environment.
In many forms of peacebuilding, the person intervening is trained to disappear in
the process or to mobilize a technique that erases the self (and indeed the multifac-
eted identities, experiences, and perceptions of the individuals within the
peacebuilding process). This relates to many professional, ethical, and procedural
constructs of engagement that surround peacebuilding. For example, a mediator or
negotiator often works in legal circles with rigorous rules of practice, a social
psychologist may operate with strict methods of engagement, a dialogue coach
will work with established parameters of interaction, and a peace pedagogue does
not enter a learning space empty handed. A third-party negotiator may bring
personality and relationship into a conflict intervention but they leave with (ideally)
a treaty or peace accord, not a personal epiphany regarding the connection between
nonviolence and mindfulness.
The four facets of personal peacebuilding all emerge from the self as the foci, loci,
and implementation of nonviolent transformation. In personal peacebuilding, the
“worker” is the “work.” And through the work of personal peacebuilding, conflict,
and especially violent conflict, is recognized, minimized, removed, or prevented.
This acknowledges the inherent human capacity in each of us to recognize, reflect,
reconfigure, and remedy personal violence. Conflict is more than discord between
groups, it is an aspect of living – it can be as hard as discrimination or assault or as
soft as shame or disagreement – hitting you like a brick or a light wind touching your
skin. It comes from thoughts, mindsets, cultural constructs, symbols, and messages.
It comes through words, through pictures, and through our technology. It comes
from the voices of our opponents, strangers, and ones we love. It comes out of the
blue and in a perpetual drum beat that has never been absent. Conflict simply is and
always has existed but cultural intolerance for conflict in the forum of the real means
we need more ways of meeting conflict than ever (Boulding, 2000).
How personal peacebuilding differs and in fact offers potential is that the funda-
mental vehicle for transformation, the relationship, in personal peacebuilding,
emerges first from a nonviolent relationship with the self. This form of peacebuilding
has internal and external facets, related to disposition, culture, and behavior as well
as identity, community, and the environment but in both these internal and external
spheres, the purpose of personal peacebuilding remains constant: recognize conflict,
encounter conflict without violence, and manifest nonviolent and life-nourishing
behavior in community with other people and with nature.
46 K. Standish
A Genesis of Personal Peacebuilding
The connection between “inner” existence and “outer” reality emerges from disci-
plines as diverse as philosophy, theology, neurobiology, and business – in psychol-
ogy, in sports medicine, and in politics. The connection between cognitive
awareness, practice, and the manifestation of reality is another toolkit of establishing
change, of altering consequences, and of maximizing outcomes. In many of these
concerns, the “result” of action is the purpose, like how conflict transformation is the
goal of peacebuilding. In personal peacebuilding, the self is not an instrument of a
desired result, it is the outcome. Let’s unpack this.
Similar to other scholars working at the interstices of nonviolence and personal
transformation (Ruiz 2018; Bolliger & Wang, 2013; Noggle et al., 2012), Standish
and Joyce (2018) offered a platform of individual violence transformation comprised
of four characteristic and interconnected actions:
1. “Cultivate” compassionate self-awareness

2. “Change” the human instrument through physiological practices
3. “Teach” individuals how to attune their human instrument toward life-
nourishment and natural nonviolence
4. “Ripple out”
These four practices were offered in Yogic Peace Education: theory and practice
as a pedagogical means for transformation that locates conflict transformation in the
self. While the majority of peacebuilding techniques are delivered, utilized or
involve groups of people, in Yogic Peace Education the individual was identified
as an instrument of change. This chapter seeks to further the framework of personal
peacebuilding offered in Yogic Peace Education by considering how the individual
can practice nonviolent conflict/violence transformation in a world that includes
others, the unseeable and the natural world. In essence, personal peacebuilding is
about transforming relationships with the self to foment nourishing and nonviolent
relationships with others, and the nonhuman world. This means engaging with
discord, confusion, diversity, and dissent in the self and with others and connecting
or reconnecting with the more-than-human world. Based on relationship, the work
of personal peacebuilding requires being-with the world of the self (my body, my
mind, and my spirit), interaction (being-with) alongside people and ideas that
surround an individual, with an ecological awareness (being-with) that extends
beyond the material trappings of domestic life to include the natural, nonvisible,
and inadvertent world. This commitment to constant and incessant presence is much
more difficult than being distracted by the circus of life, the sights, the sounds, the
desires of the ego, the demands of the crowd. But how?
To assist us to do this, it may help if we first discuss an underlying construct of the
Peace and Conflict Studies field which undergirds the premise of personal
peacebuilding. The below exploration with Encounter Theory, a space of mindful
engagement, will be followed by a theorization of the four facets of personal
peacebuilding and a prospective utilization of personal peacebuilding during the
Covid-19 pandemic.
Encounter Theory
Encounter Theory (Standish, 2020b) is a method and mindset for engaging with
difference without violence. It does not deny, erase, or avoid conflict but is a mindful
and nonviolent engagement with difference in a world of constant and unceasing
discord. It is not possible for us to live in humanity without conflict, and the four
pillars of action in Encounter Theory are:
1. Connection
2. Nonviolent engagement
3. Inter-relationship
4. Humanization
Connection is about moving out of isolation, nonviolent engagement character-

izes interaction, inter-relationship breeds community, and humanization determines
my existence, and yours, as life-nourishing. The most important part of this theory is
the premise that violence (and conflict) is relational – comprised of discord between
people or missing bonds of association. This means that in all four facets of
Encounter Theory, the remedy or intervention is also relational. Connection breeds
association, nonviolent engagement conditions connection, inter-relationship breeds
continuity and trust, and humanization creates positive, compassionate, and caring
reciprocity which bonds relationships tighter. Positive relationships are nonviolent
relationships, caring relationships, relationships characterized by consideration and
obligation, kindness, and solidarity. We should seek to manifest such bonds, not
because we are all the same, or should be, but because we can learn to encounter one
another, and one another’s ideas and ways of life, as a mindful and nonharmful
engagement with difference. And difference is all around (and within) us.
The reason we needed to foreground Encounter Theory in personal peacebuilding
is because while the root of personal peacebuilding is the self, the arena of the self
exists both within and outside of personal consciousness and physiological mani-
festation. To “work” on the “worker,” we need to comprehensively appreciate that
encountering “other” involves encountering the self. The present self, the self-aware
and conscious self, is the prime mover of Encounter Theory and the seat of
transformation in personal peacebuilding.
Theorizing Personal Peacebuilding
The four facets of personal peacebuilding described below are complementary

avenues or approaches where the act of being-with results in nonviolence. To be in
nonviolence is to live an integrated life that does not value or create toxic interactions
and mindsets. To be in nonviolence is to continually connect the benefits of living
without violence to wellbeing. I am better when I am nonviolent. We are better when
we are nonviolent. Hurting people hurt themselves and others. To strive toward
nonviolence and manage to be nonviolent is nonharming, health-giving, tranquil,
and constructive. To work on the worker is to remove conflict/violence in personal
48 K. Standish
practice and whenever possible, interactions outside of the self. While conflict is
discord, conflict can easily lead to and perpetuate violence. The engagement of
conflict in personal peacebuilding incudes violent conflict. In this conceptualization,
violence is incidental and potential acts, mindsets, or participation (which can be
passive) – harms or threats of harm. Violence is present where a hindrance or
impairment denies, denigrates, or degrades the integrity and full human potential
of a person or group.
All of us come in different bodies with different experiences of living. For many
of us, illness and injury are constant companions and notions of hierarchies of human
form (healthy vs unhealthy, abled vs disabled, and perceptions of race, gender, and
aptitude) comprise categories and incarnations of supremacy and subordination that
deserve both our attention and removal. All humans, whatever their circumstances,
are “fully” human and worthy. But that does not mean there is no work to be done or
needs that diverge. It also does not mean the playing field is even or accessible to all.
In sharing this framework, my goal offers a potential avenue for addressing violence
and conflict in the self. While this aspiration may not be available to all, for some, it
may assist you to become nonviolent.
Physiological Nonviolence
Physiological nonviolence results from holistic care and an aptitude to perceive of

the human instrument for living (the body) as a house of awareness (via conscious-
ness and sensing) and manifestation of matter and energy (in constant intake, output,
and flux). The first principle of physiological nonviolence is care: as we are able, we
need to investigate what our bodies consume, how we inhabit our spaces of
existence, and how we move within them, and we need to begin to tune in to our
inner landscapes (which extend far beyond the parameters of the mind) to enable our
egress from toxic, harmful, and traumatized mindsets, limiting cultural ideologies
and metaphysics of inequality. The second principle of physiological nonviolence is
patience: there is benefit in resisting impulsive behavior, waiting to (re)act, and
watching for a new thought to arise in the mind’s eye. In patience, we experience the
impact of our choices, whether sustenance, thoughts, or interactions. The messages
we receive from mindfulness cannot be heard in calamity. Care and patience provide
us with the information needed to mindfully choose next time (where possible), what
to bring into our physiologies, and what to send outward from them.
What becomes immediately clear to us is that physiological nonviolence takes
time and resources. That means there is an economy to wellness that also relates to
capacity. Limitations are real (as are challenges, interruptions, and compromises) but
resistance to what is harmful, quietness in the face of rising discord and thoughtful
engagement with patterns of destruction breed an understanding of “self” only the
self can access. There are manuals and handbooks all over the world for “how” to
maximize, expand, optimize, functionalize, increase, improve, amplify, and invite
bounty into your physiology. Self-knowledge does not need a 24-step program. It is
far from easy, but it is also not difficult: eat, drink, move, think (stop thinking),
breathe, be and notice change. In this relationship with the physiological self, you
will begin to naturally attune and choose a way of living and thinking that is
nonviolent. You are the teacher that you need. Learn you.
Interpersonal nonviolence begins with competency forged from physiological non-

violence. To consider the domain of the interpersonal is to conceive of the space
where two or more selves meet. Two (or more) selves share space in person, in ideas,
and incarnations from media and cultural outputs and while we need to consider the
reception of “things and ideas” that come from others, the work of interpersonal
nonviolence is not about them – it is about you. You do not need to be a psychologist
to comprehend how your actions and words affect and are encountered by others.
But you do need to watch, listen, and reach out mindfully. Mindful interaction is a
mixture of discerning and humane contemplative action. The first principle of
interpersonal nonviolence is understanding: there is a bulk of information that can
be appreciated in mindful engagements with others. In interpersonal nonviolence,
you are less reactive and more responsive when you are able to profoundly listen, ask
for further information, and take the time to process a thoughtful response – or its
opposite, silence. This does not mean that you need to “be” a certain way, or “speak”
in a particular manner and it does not mean you temper or modify your interpersonal
interaction in an inauthentic way, it means, that coming to interpersonal nonviolence
with care and patience (the two principles of physiological peacebuilding) you are
more naturally attuned to hear signals and see signs that permit you to understand
others. In that place of understanding, you not only receive information about the
other but from a place of physiological grounded-ness glimpse your role and your
purpose in interpersonal interaction. The second principle of interpersonal nonvio-
lence is compassion: the ongoing effect of being present in your interactions with
other people will be an open-heart and feeling of kind confidence. If we think of
interpersonal nonviolence as emerging from a present-ness that permits you to
be-with others, the next step takes you out of your cognitive appreciation of a
situation, person, or their thoughts and into your emotional humanity. In compas-
sion, we see the other as fully human and therefore deserving of consideration, being
valued and entitled to unconditional love. It does not mean we are responsible for
them or their ideas (or that we can and must change them) but that we project and
reflect towards the other, an open and fearless affection. This practice is a large part
of many contemplative traditions that seek to employ the tools of mental clarity and
compassionate purpose with others.
Immanent/Transcendent/Biotic Nonviolence
The domain of Immanent/Transcendent/Biotic (ITB) nonviolence is about being

open to the more-than-human world and through a deliberate practice of ITB
50 K. Standish
nonviolence you entrain your human instrument to sense, perceive, and invite a
connection (or reconnection) that pervades your humanity. Humans need other
humans, yes, but we also need to appreciate our place in a universe with nature,
with spirit and with others who also hold space for more-than-human connection.
I write this as a nonreligious, agnostic, spiritualist who practices feminist yogic/
tantric discipline. I understand immanent and transcendent spirit as inner (what is
immanent is in all places including inside of me) or outer (transcendence is
independent or apart from me). And I understand the biotic as what lives within a
particular biome – the animate dwellers and inanimate living spaces in nature.
I “sense” in my spirit practice and yogic/tantric discipline. I “feel” when I am in
nature or its opposite. And I “believe” that simply because I cannot see a
particular form of more-than-human reality that it does not exist. The first
principle of ITB nonviolence is inquiry: to be curious and receptive to what I
cannot see and whether it is appropriate for my pursuit of a nonviolent life. This
means that I keep my human instrument away from states of certainty that
disallow or devalue the holders of other conceptions of what cannot be seen.
But also that I allow myself to be inquisitive and open to seeing the world with
new platforms of understanding that emerges from nonviolent inquiry. To each
their own. But we are not alone. To live without a connection to the more-than-
human world – whether spirit or nature or spirit-in-nature – denies a person an
opportunity to experience being-with things that create succor, comfort, and
relational connection. The second principle of ITB nonviolence is alignment:
this means that building upon the other domains of personal peacebuilding (care,
patience, understanding, compassion, and inquiry) you deliberately attune your-
self to a lifepath and behavior that aligns with purpose, with intention and with
outcome. Alignment is an act of bringing oneself into an arrangement of suste-
nance. The same way we glimpse our role and purpose in interpersonal nonvi-
olence, when we consider the relevance of where and with whom we live and
what our efforts result in, we can begin to align ourselves with our true and at
times temporary purpose. Through contemplation with spirit, with nature, and
with the self, we begin to leave behind patterns of thought and behavior that take
us out of alignment. When we are present in ourselves and in our existence
(which includes spirit or nature or both) and care for ourselves, this leads to a
caring or compassionate interaction with the more-than-human world, conscious-
ness, or the natural world breeds care of the same. Interpersonal and ITB
nonviolence takes us out of ourselves into the world around us. When we are
able to fortify ourselves in these three domains of nonviolence, we can then
venture safely, nonviolently, into society.
Social Nonviolence
All of us live in society. Society is the human world that surrounds our existence
and is occupied by others, like ourselves, but with vastly different lifepaths,
experiences, circumstances, and purposes. To live in society is to exist in a web
of relationships that occupy symbolic landscapes – spaces of comprehension and

spaces of misunderstanding. Society, and societies, is comprised of individuals
who hold myriad cultural and corporate standpoints, with obstacles and access to
resources of advantage and disadvantage. The purpose of social nonviolence is to
understand ourselves as individuals who exist in community and society. Whereas
communities are comprised of individuals who occupy a geographic, identic, or
topical area, societies are comprised of multiple symbolic signifiers of social
interaction.
Included in society is the state or infrastructural architecture of living – think
hospitals, postoffice, and education systems – but also cultural conventions –
think driving on the left side of the road, or gender norms. Included in commu-
nity is the practice of making space for others where you belong too. To
participate in social nonviolence is to both discern the social from the individual,
interpersonal, and ITB domains but participate in society (and with community)
nonviolently. The first principle of social nonviolence is reflection: reflection is
more than contemplation or the reception of signals it is deliberate attention. In
reflection, contemplation is directed toward our reality – our experiences, our
feelings, our actions, our reactions, and their reflection or echo in our humanity.
When we use our minds to deeply consider something, when we ask ourselves
questions, dig deeper and seek more profound answers we learn. This is not
passive or a reflex, it is a difficult and enduring process of being aware and open
to great insight. After reflection, a deep understanding that emerges from dedi-
cated attention, the second principle of social nonviolence is action: action is a
deliberate act based on inquiry and reflection. The action is followed by further
reflection which then leads to greater awareness and alignment with nonviolent
purpose. Termed praxis by educational theorist Paolo Freire (2003), the individ-
ual in a continuous state of social reflection and action maintains a nimble and
viable social connection. Social nonviolence builds upon the other principles of
personal peacebuilding to permit us to meaningfully and intentionally learn our
worlds to transform them (see Table 2).
Now that the edges of personal peacebuilding have been delineated, how would
we perceive of a practice in real life? I can think of a current circumstance where
feelings of anxiety and powerlessness will lead many of us to experience trauma and
insecurity in debilitating ways. And, in our socially distanced and quarantined
existences, it may be a suitable avenue of life-nourishment. Perhaps, though dire
and multifaceted, we can consider personal peacebuilding, and its utility as libera-
tory nonviolence, in the face of the pandemic.
Table 2 Eight principles of personal peacebuilding

First principle Second principle
Physiological nonviolence Care Patience
Interpersonal nonviolence Understanding Compassion
ITB nonviolence Inquiry Alignment
Social nonviolence Reflection Action
52 K. Standish
The COVID-19 Pandemic
The Council on Foreign Relations wrote on May 21 that,
The novel coronavirus has infected millions, killed hundreds of thousands, and affected the
well-being of billions more. The COVID-19 pandemic is a transnational threat that requires a
global response, but the outbreak has laid bare divergent national approaches to managing
global epidemiological interdependence and exposed broader structural weaknesses in the
global governance system. Nationalist and inward-looking policies could lead to the loss of
millions of lives and global economic disaster. (para, 1, 2020)
In a global pandemic, many possibilities are present. In some cases, a stable

country with good public health, political stability, and resources, like in
New Zealand, will be able to address the threat of the virus even if the public health
response temporarily weakens other societal stabilizers such as employment and
education. In states with health and wealth inequality, insecurity will rise creating
more uncertainty, more violence, and a greater inability to reach equilibrium. In
fragile states the pandemic will continue to destabilize communities but also poten-
tially trigger outbreaks that increase risk of transmission.
In this way, the pandemic both creates human suffering related to health, wealth,
and wellbeing but also exacerbates and perpetuates underlying and potential insta-
bility. But let’s be clear, the global experts are saying that there will be no return to
“normal.” And for too many of us, “normal” was not nonviolent and not life
sustaining which means a return to “normal” is not good enough.
Quarantine, self-isolation, social distancing, and PPE are now as familiar to
our ears as the sound of traffic whizzing by. The result of this pandemic can be
appreciated as a global calamity to which the history books will align. Similar to
pre-9/11 and post, there is a new ripple in the timeline, pre-Covid, and inevitably,
hopefully, whatever comes afterward. What we are all going to have to face, as
cultures, nations, communities, and individuals, is that we are witnessing the
eradication of an old global order, in “living history” yet stuck in an indefinite
present, where future plans are postponed, cancelled, and unimagined. We are
surrounded by information with a perception of the scope of this calamity that
extends far further than any other generation of knowledge contained. Our
screens and the algorithms are creating realities for us that have permitted us
to connect from our quarantines, yes, but also to increasingly understand our-
selves as public health pawns on a global chess board. We get to see and
compare ourselves to other nations, territories, cities, and various indicators
leave us with symbolic suffering, indefinable shame, arrogant satisfaction, and
intolerant prejudice.
This pandemic has taken us out of our communities of affiliation and interest
(online and IRL) into a desperate digital need to consume and attempt to digest
information that has great impact and echo in our humanity. Some of that data is
hopeful and inspiring. Much of it is perilous, false and is leading us to further
upheaval and tragedy. For every twitter post declaring someone has “beaten”
coronavirus, there is a YouTube video claiming coronavirus is a hoax. Conspiracy

theorists rant in media spaces that it is a plot to destabilize Western supremacy, and
actual adult humans deliberately spit on front line service staff or demand
employees “work” despite and without ignorance of the mortal risk. The line
between good and bad information has never been so blurred and its result will
reverberate for decades.
Globally, Covid-19 has taken a disproportionate toll on communities of color,
the elderly, Indigenous groups, vulnerable people, and front-line “essential”
workers who risk survival to address the impact of the virus (Power et al., 2020;
van Dorn et al., 2020; Williamson et al., 2020). There are increases in hate-crimes
and harassment and racism and sexism are amplified with every Asian person
blamed for the “Chinese-virus” and single-mother forced to serve customers at risk
(Tai et al., 2020). With every person who can’t afford the luxury and privilege of
social distancing or the ability to persevere when their livelihoods, read: income
generation for others, has ceased. The virus has permitted millions of financially
stable individuals and companies to furlough the humanity and dignity of their
employees as benefits from governments get pocketed by nefarious criminals
(Sokol & Pataccini, 2020). These are just some of the outcomes, there are millions
of others.
Life in Lockdown:
By all indicators inequality will increase: past pandemics have shown that the vast
majority impacted by the Spanish flu (1918) SARS (2003), H1N1 (2009), MERS
(2012), Ebola (2014), and Zika virus (2016) are low-skilled or unskilled workers and
their families, that pandemics raise income disparity and redirect income to the rich
(Furceri et al., 2020; Cheung et al., 2008; Wasserman, 1992). In a world of rampant
inequality, the scales tip further toward those without need. This is illustrated by
campaigns of “wash your hands” which clearly are not options for communities
without access to advantages of heated and safe homes with clean water and
sanitation. It’s being reported that US billionaires have profited during the pandemic
to the tune of billions already.
Domestic Violence
While stemming community transmission, lockdown increases risk and incidences

of domestic violence. Unemployment, financial uncertainty, stress, anxiety, and the
inability for people to leave violent spaces has led, in many countries to a second
epidemic of domestic violence (Sharifi et al., 2020; Usher et al., 2020). Despite the
word, bubbles are not safe spaces and where relationships were already frayed and
violent patterns established the incidences of this form of violence is increasing
behind closed doors.
54 K. Standish
Child Abuse
The global escalation of violence against women is also seen in violence against
children (Usher et al., 2020). Country statistics of requests for help and intervention
are showing rates 2–3 times higher than before the pandemic. As this form of
violence is often not reported at all that is staggering when the person committing
the violence is likely in the next room. In some cases, 40–70% increases in pleas for
help and these in developed countries with helplines and support networks. Despite
the notion of protective isolation, children are not safe during quarantine, they are
moving targets for violence (Bradbury-Jones & Isham, 2020).
Gendered Inequality of Labor
Women are getting crushed by the pandemic. As work moves into a domestic space
already highly unequal and oppressive for women, the pandemic has exposed and
exacerbated the gender fault line. Working from home may change the way we work
but it is also highlighting the challenge of who is doing it (Power, 2020). All genders
are suffering from the pandemic but the social and economic burden of COVID-19 is
not universal. “The COVID-19 pandemic will have a disproportionate negative
effect on women. . .[and] effects of this shock are likely to outlast the actual
epidemic” (Alon et al., 2020, para 4).
Women are already living in poverty more than men, earning less, with less or no
savings and in precarious and low-paid work. The addition of both “unpaid, invis-
ible, and unvalued” work that women do in the home hits single parent households,
extended female households, the households of refugees, and internally displaced
individuals even harder (McLaren et al., 2020). Pandemics effect everyone but after
pandemics men bounce back and women and girls stay in shock. Lifting quarantines
doesn’t change this, it just makes it less visible, again.
This gendering of work also relates to a critical aspect of the pandemic that
needs further inspection. Women comprise the front line of essential workers
(Wenham et al., 2020). Health care workers, cashiers, drugstore pharmacists,
care aids, and the bulk of the disposable labor of the nonprofitable during the
pandemic retail sector are also women. These jobs, like most jobs that women
hold, are underpaid, unstable, unpredictable, and undervalued. The lifelines that
keep the world together are lines held by women, women subsidizing the formal
kyriarchal economy all over the world (Williamson et al., 2020). The pandemic
will not alleviate this. After the frontline comes home, there is elder care, child-
care, health-care, home-based education, hygiene, and sustenance and this is not
isolated, globally women take on between 4 and 7 times more home responsibil-
ities than men. The motherhood penalty, pink tax, wage inequality, period poverty,
structural violence, denial of adequate and timely health care, abuse, inadequate
community support, and housework mean that women, especially disabled women
and girls, are not able to experience their full humanity, and the crisis won’t
change that.
Suicide
Which brings us to suicide, the leading cause of intentional death in the world
(Standish, 2020a). Suicide rates have been impacted by the virus (Lennon, 2020).
Several tales emerge so far to bring hope and concern (Kawohl & Nordt, 2020).
Despite increased financial stress, social isolation, limited community support,
decreased physical, and mental health care during the COVID-19 epidemic suppresses
suicides (Standish, 2020c), except for physicians, especially female physicians who,
like all doctors, face difficult work environment, and the additional risk factors of
burnout, moral and ethical harm, and PTSD. But women physicals are also relied on
for the second shift in homes and families and extended communities, as we see, 4–7
times more than men (Zhan et al., 2020).
In addition, the pandemic is creating and exacerbating conditions that can lead to
future suicides. The levels of social isolation, anxiety, unemployment, depression,
lack of social support, and grief are all factors that lead to suicide (Gunnell et al.,
2020; Standish & Weil, 2021). The need for independent, individual, and personal
forms of peacebuilding, to prevent suicide, means that in the absence of social and
interpersonal support, many of us will increasingly need to rely on “ourselves” for
support (Standish, 2020c). And the pandemic, which we can consider to have begun,
globally in January of 2020, is far from over and far from contained in most places in
the world. This means that in addition to the stress of life in a pandemic, we will
likely not gain stability any time soon. The need for alternative forms of
peacebuilding has never been greater.
The point of this chapter is to ask of ourselves, I ask, what could surviving the
Covid-19 pandemic succeed in manifesting? Not just what form of new reality we
collectively want but what kind of life do we need to emerge from this pandemic in a
more robust and resilient state? Because this is not an ending, it is the beginning. But
the beginning of what?
And this is where the four domains of personal peacebuilding come in. The world
feels out of control right now and even in places that are meeting the crisis and
managing, the reality is that not everyone has the same toolkit for facing conflict and
it can make you feel powerless, as if the past and future are blurring and that we are
stuck in a perpetual present, a crouch waiting for the next catastrophe. This makes it
hard for us to see cracks that let in the light, and difficult to feel like we are
contributing personally, that we have value, that we belong, and that our lives are
meaningful.
Personal Peacebuilding During the Pandemic
Physiological Nonviolence: you are not your body but it is your vehicle for life and
appropriate care, mindfulness, movement, and self-awareness are foundations for
living. Want to contribute to a changed world? Start by changing yourself. The
principle of care calls us to change destructive behaviors, violent thoughts, biases,
and inhumanities. We can learn to more clearly receive signals, to choose better, to
56 K. Standish
foster wellness, and to check our privileges and champion our accomplishments, no
matter how small. The principle of patience asks us to keenly listen, to have time to
process before action. To only act in ways that permit us to maintain self-care and
therefore care for others. During the pandemic, don’t forget yourself, protect your-
self, fortify yourself. You cannot be there for others if you are not there for yourself.
Interpersonal Nonviolence: all of us have bubbles and many of us have learned to
erase, ignore, and outcast people who are different from us and hold different views.
Want to embody full humanity? Treat others as fully human too. If your ability to
encounter difference leads to indifference and dehumanization, you are part of the
problem. The principle of understanding means that we learn how to listen, to ask,
how to unpack our own violence towards others, towards ourselves. The principle of
compassion means that we are able to mindfully, and therefore when appropriate,
build and sustain relationships with radical love and compassion. That compassion
begins with love of self, you are worthy and worthy of love.
Immanent/transcendent/biotic Nonviolence: We humans are a species comprised
of matter and energy. Our connection to the self to others and the more-than-human
world defines us. We are not islands. We can reconnect with spirit and nature around
us, within us and between us. The principle of inquiry means that you open yourself
up to connection with the more-than-human world. Social distancing and social
isolation (loneliness) are part of this pandemic. Being on your own or in limited
human company can lead to many destructive circumstances. Reach out to other
forms of life, other parts of the universe to hear other messages. The principle of
alignment permits you, even in the face of bubbles and quarantines, to begin to figure
out what is right for you. If we can take this calamity as an opportunity to learn and
listen to find a new way of being during and after the pandemic – like the return of
the dolphins to the canals of Venice after 100 years, or the clear skies after the planes
stopped flying, we will see things we have never seen before. This will not be the
same journey for all of us. You may worship while I wander, I may meditate while
you pray. But all of us live on this planet and her messages need to be listened
to. Connection is food for your spirit and none of us can heal if the earth is hurting.
Be open and glimpse your purpose.
And finally, Social Nonviolence: community means shared fate, a people and a
place, both the vessel of humanity and its contents. Being in community breeds
obligation, love, and care. Social personal peacebuilding is about understanding
ourselves within community and society. The principle of reflection lets us perceive
of our social networks and circumstances with dedicated attention. This leads to the
principle of action, aligning our knowledge based on a nonviolent physiology, inter-
personality, connection to nonhumanity, and constant and compassionate awareness
of our social realities. This lets us not only practice positive personal peacebuilding
as individuals, it permits us to be with others in meaningful, supportive, life-
nourishing ways. Want to be healthier, happier, and more resilient? Be there for
yourself and be the pillars holding up the roof for others too.
This technique of peacebuilding will not be for everyone, just like many forms
and functions of intervention, this form of peacebuilding is a cultural construct based
on a number of assumptions that will not apply to all of us. Those without the space,
resources, and support to embark upon these principles in action will conceivably
face obstacles. As a dedicated (and frequently lapsing) personal peacebuilder, I can
attest to the difficulty of consistent and dedicated attention to these eight principles. I
can also confirm that when I do adhere to these maxims of nonviolence, I am more
human than when I do not. And in my humanity, I champion your own.
Conclusions
In order to peacebuild in any of the four intervention domains of personal

peacebuilding, it requires association, connection, and a determination to relate to
the self as an instrument of wellness – wellness in the self, in relationship, in the ITB,
and in society. Despite cultural individualism humans not only need one another in
order to “be human,” we neither come into this world alone nor live that way. In
personal peacebuilding, a pathway or theory of connection to authentic self, society,
spirit, and ecology is offered to bring the work of conflict/violence transformation
into the self. Personal peacebuilding makes it possible to live without hurting nature,
hurting others or hurting ourselves. You are not powerless; anyone can contribute to
a new and better world. And whoever is left standing after the pandemic, we need to
be standing together.
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NEJMc2005696
Humor as a Major Intellectual Device
for Thriving in Complexity 4
Marianella Sclavi
Contents
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 62
The Architecture of Humor as a Training Ground for Creativity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 65
Humor as a Story (Gregory Bateson) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 65
Humor as a “Bisociation” (Arthur Koestler) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 67
Humor as a “Double Illumination” (Sigmund Freud) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 69
The Humoristic Dimension in the Creative Conflict Transformation in Everyday Life . . . . . . . . 71
The Humoristic Dimension of Interlinguistic and Intercultural Communication: How We
Can Transform Typical Intercultural Mishaps into Bridge-Building Processes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 74
Conclusions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 77
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 77
Abstract
The idea at the heart of this chapter is that the pattern of humor, as it has been
explored and described by numerous scholars throughout the twentieth century, is
deeply connected with those of creativity and active listening, and that the
dynamics of humor are now to be considered a fundamental capacity for living
happily in the complexity of the contemporary world. Starting from the similar-
ities and differences between pre- and postmodern sapiential culture, this chapter
illustrates how humor has become nowadays both the key to an epistemology of
complex systems and a vital skill, which can be acquired through training by
anyone interested.
Keywords
Humor · Art of listening · Active listening · Creative conflict transformation ·
Bisociation · Intercultural experience · Negative reflexivity · Emotional self-
awareness
M. Sclavi (*)
Milan’s Polytechnic, Rome, Italy
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_4
62 M. Sclavi
Someone who makes you laugh is a comedian. Someone who makes you think and then
laugh is a humorist-George Burns
The wit makes fun of other persons; the satirist makes fun of the world; the humorist makes
fun of himself-James Thurber
Introduction
The idea at the center of this chapter – that humor and the art of listening are two
deeply intertwined ingredients that are fundamental to gain insight into the com-
plexity of life and to learn how to deal with the unpredictable, the surprising, and the
unexpected – is a very old one. Most of the religious and folk premodern wisdom
(sapientia) was passed from one generation to another through a patrimony of oral
stories and parables in which these skills are featured as the key for a successful
solution to some otherwise insoluble situations and as the viaticum to wisdom.
Let me give you a couple of examples illustrative of the “humoristic” dynamics of
the art of listening and creative conflict transformation that can be found with few
variations in the story telling of the Chassidic movement, the Zen and Sufi traditions,
and in most of the major ancient religious cultures.
First Story: The Parable of the Wise Judge

Two litigants bring their case before a judge. The judge listens to the first litigant with
serious and considered attention before delivering his verdict: “You are right.” He then
listens to the second with the same considered attention and pronounces: “You are right.”
Someone from the gallery stands up and objects. “Your honor, how can they both be right?”
The judge pauses for a minute before responding, “And you too are right.”
Second Story: the Story of the Poor and Pious Peasant
Once upon a time in a village, there was a very poor and very pious peasant who was
living in a hut together with his wife and his old mother who had become blind. Every
morning at dawn he would reach the Shrine to be ready to address everyday concerns and
troubles with a new heart and a serene disposition. But one morning. . .
God: “In order to reward your faith and charity, tell me a desire of yours and I am going
to fulfill it.”
Peasant: “I do not know what to ask for! To make up my mind I need first to consult my
wife and my mother. May I come back with an answer tomorrow?”
All upset by the emotion, trembling and shaking, on his way towards home he meets his
mother.
Mother: “My son, if you are going to ask God to restore my sight, I’ll always be grateful
to you and I will bless you and the whole family till the last moment of my life.”
At that moment the wife arrives.
Wife: “Whaaat? Do you want to waste such an extraordinary gift to restore the sight of an
old woman who will soon be dead ?? You must ask God to bless us with a son, who will be
our source of strength and consolation and who will take care of us in old age!!”
The two women started blaming each other of paltriness and selfishness and beating the
living daylights out of each other. The peasant, totally dejected, goes disconsolately to ask
for help to the village’s wise old man.
Peasant: “A huge blessing has reversed into an absolute disgrace. Whatever wish I
choose, conflict and chaos will reign in my family. My mother wants back her sight, my
wife wants a son while I for my part would look for a minimum economic welfare, to ensure
the daily bread.”
4 Humor as a Major Intellectual Device for Thriving in Complexity 63
Old man: “Your only disgrace is your way of thinking. What sense is there in asking if it
is better to favor your mother against your wife or vice versa? Your mother is right when she
wants back her sight, your wife is right when she desires a son and you are right when you
wish some economic welfare. Relax, sit on this couch and you’ll see that at dawn you will
see the way out of this puzzle.”
And in fact, this is how it was. At dawn the peasant woke up feeling a whole new person.
He hugged the wise old man, his eyes hugged the sea and the sun and light and smiling
almost dancing there he went to the Shrine.
Peasant: “Dear God, I thank you infinitely for having granted me your grace and the time
to think it over with my mother and my wife. Here it is our request. My mother is old and
blind and her greatest wish before dying – shared by all of us – it is the following: to be able
to see a grandchild who grows up healthy and happy because he is never in danger of being
undernourished or hungry.”
Both of these stories take us aback, they surprise us and make us smile, but on the
whole, they sound far-flung from real life. Once upon a time, it wasn’t like that, at
other times these stories were told and listened to as benchmarks of wisdom, as
occasions to ponder upon the fact that often to tackle the difficulties of life one must
think out of the box and enact behaviors and dynamics at first sight absurd,
paradoxical. As the modern era’s rationalism has permeated all spheres of life, the
aspiration to wisdom has been weakened and lost. Today we take for granted a series
of naive simplifications concerning the dynamics of communication that make us
blind in face of the growing complexity of our societies and life. Here is a list of
some of the most common ones:
A. If in a dispute we agree with one party, we automatically disagree with the other.
B. Trying to understand the reasons of a party who is wrong undermines our authority as
educators; our respectability depends on how clearly we can explain why he is wrong
and show him the right way.
C. The truth is one and objective. The true interpretation is the result of sticking to the facts
and keeping any personal emotion and subjective point of view out of the scene.
D. If we try to understand the reasons underneath every contrasting position, we will never
be able to make a decision. We will be stuck. To make a complex decision you must have
the guts of dissatisfying somebody else.
Actually, in the course of the twentieth century, a growing number of scholars in

all areas of science and knowledge reached the conclusion that the way of thinking
summarized in the ABCD points above is too linear, simplistic, and inadequate
(reductionist) in face of the growing complexity of the world around us. These
scholars and researchers would subscribe without any hesitation to the exclamation
of the old wise man to the peasant: “Your only disgrace is your way of thinking.”
The main difference between the “two sapiential cultures,” the pre- and postmod-
ern, both wisdom oriented, is that in a premodern cultural context the systematic
learning of this way of thinking was the legacy of a few sages, more often than not
shrouded in mystery and magic, while ordinary people would interpret it as the
manifestation of cunning, the kind of guile that the Greek called “metis,” with
Odysseus being the embodiment of, it as well as his wife Penelope with her
expedient of the shroud. What is new today is that over the last 100 years, we
have gained enough epistemological, theoretical, and practical knowledge to make
64 M. Sclavi
us (at least in principle) capable to describe and teach the know-how of complex
systems to everyone who is interested. At the same time, we must admit that this
kind of knowledge has not yet permeated our everyday life and that there are a lot of
resistances and obstacles along the way. My point of view is that the understatement
and trivialization of the position of humor in human communication might be part of
the reason for this.
My vantage point is that not only is humor in its construction one the most
complex products of the human mind, but that a humoristic mode of thinking and
dealing with difficulties must be incorporated into any good (“serious,” adequate,
not superficial) description and understanding of complex environments and situa-
tions. The humor and wit I am interested in is not crafted mainly to convey laughter,
but to bring a deeper insight, and possibly also laughter as a consequence of a deeper
insight.
This might be a case where the postmodern approach needs to keep up with the
premodern. Take the story of the wise judge. This parable’s humorous switch is a
very effective illustration of the following definition of “Active Listening”: “In order
to understand what another person is saying, you must assume that he/she is right
and ask him/her to help you understand why it is so” (Sclavi, 2003, p. 63, see the
window “the Seven Rules” in this article) and clearly suggests that to truly listen to
another person you must set aside a judgmental approach in favor of an explorative
one, “let us find the more general assumptions that give substance to every position.”
Moreover, the story of the poor and pious peasant shows very effectively that the
either/or approach adopted by the main character was preventing him from looking
for a both/and possible solution. In this story, the humorous dimension is clearly
strictly interwoven with active listening (the old wise man’s advice) which in turn
enhances the multiplication of options and the packaging of the creative solution.
Thus, in these old stories, we can see that the art of listening (nowadays called
“pro-active” or simply “Active Listening,” AL) and creative conflict management
(nowadays often called Alternative Dispute Resolution ADR) and Humor (Hu) are
not only deeply interwoven, but in a certain sense – as we shall later see – each one of
them incorporates the other two. All three can be considered very “complex
capabilities.”
In a world that, as a result of globalization, is characterized by an exponentially
growing social fragmentation coupled with a deepening sense of communal
interdependence, community relations tend increasingly to resemble the situation
confronting the judge, the litigants, and the public. The parable of the wise judge, as
we shall see, is not just an amusing anecdote but a very real reflection of the
structural dynamics underlying successful communication in a complex society.
Those simplifications that cause one to ignore the possibility of another’s differences
(the different, implicit premises which are taken for granted) create a crisis in the
dynamics of establishing open communication and common ground.
Building on the contributions of Arthur Koestler and Gregory Bateson, Mikhail
Bakhtin and Ludwig Wittgenstein, Edward De Bono, Carl Rogers, William Ury,
Paul Watzlavick and many other scholars and practitioners, the topics of the follow-
ing paragraphs will be in the order:
• The architecture of humor as a training ground for creativity

• The humoristic dimension of positive conflict transformation in everyday life
• The humoristic dimension of interlinguistic and intercultural communication: how we
can transform typical intercultural mishaps into bridge-building processes
The Architecture of Humor as a Training Ground for Creativity
Mark Twain used to say: “Explaining humor is a lot like dissecting a frog, you learn a lot in
the process, but in the end you kill it.”
Since we are interested in humor as a very active and lively piece of our
intellectual toolbox, in examining some jokes and witticisms we will leave in the
background the approaches that focus on the strictly psychological motives of
humor, its ability to transform painful and frustrating experiences into something
pleasant. The point of view we adopt is in a sense complementary, and in another the
opposite. Instead of looking for the motives, we are going to focus on the “how” and
instead of seeing humor as a helpful nonsense, we are going to consider it as a very
“rational” tool when it comes to complex systems. Our point of view is that humor is
the best tool available to human beings to obtain a deeper, more complex, and
adequate understanding of the world and ourselves in it. And we want to probe
this idea.
Let us start with the following quip:
Mark Twain: “It is not true that it is hard to stop smoking. I stop every day”
The architecture of this and any other witticism can be examined from a number
of angles.
a. As a story
b. As a bisociation
c. As a double illumination
Once we understand this architecture, this peculiar and complex pattern, it will be
easier to see its links with the dynamics of active listening and emotional self-
awareness. The main authors on whom I draw in this section are Gregory Bateson,
Arthur Koestler, and Sigmund Freud (a “not strictly Freudian” approach to Freud).
Humor as a Story (Gregory Bateson)
The structure of this remark is typically composed of a first statement where “to stop
smoking” is understood by all of us according to common sense, that is “to quit
smoking for good,” followed by a second statement, a “punch line,” that evokes an
opposite meaning. The interlocutors’ expectations are suddenly denied, proven
wrong, but they, instead of being hurt or miffed or mystified and of reacting with
an adversarial attitude, react with a merry gleam in their eyes and sometimes all (the
joketeller included) break into laughter. If we compare this with a common –
66 M. Sclavi
“serious” – communication, it seems like something of a miracle. A joke has two

features, which when taken together, make this miracle happen: first, the story is
embedded into the larger frame “this is play,” “it is not serious,” “it is not real” and
second, we know that the trick is based on being taken aback. The listeners, instead
of wanting to avoid the unexpected and the displacement, expect it and are disap-
pointed if it does not show up, if it does not happen. Humor is a context that seeks
and welcomes unexpected events, denials. This is a first aspect to keep in mind,
which can be useful in many other circumstances. A central aspect in the dynamics
of active listening.
According to Gregory Bateson, humor and the play frame are two models that
allow us to give a more adequate and less reductionist description of the specific
communication which occurs whenever a change of frame is happily managed. The
most complete text which helps us to understand this approach is a study by William
Fry called Sweet Madness: A Study of Humor. Fry was one of the members of
Bateson’s team during the 1950s, who worked on the project “The Role of the
Paradoxes of Abstraction in Human Communication.” The team was to study this
theme within psychotherapy and particularly within the communication of the
schizophrenics, within theater, ritual, humor, oriental philosophy, and above all
within Zen philosophy. Fry “specialized” in the dynamics of humor and pursued
that research in close collaboration with Bateson.
The two questions Fry began with were: what is necessary for a game to be
playful and for humor to be humorous. In the case of the game, the answer is: the
putting into action of a dynamics of negative reflexivity. Actually, the “architecture
of play,” as Fry- Bateson worked it out, is the purest and most effective representa-
tion of “negative reflexivity.” Let’s analyze it. It is through nonverbal play cues that
the play frame is constituted. The words “let’s play” not accompanied by pertinent
bodily nonverbal play cues are confusing; they are not capable to set up the play
frame. These nonverbal messages can be translated in words such as: “Be part of this
unreal relationship” or “Co-operate with this unreal dance.”
Bateson found out that when we try to translate the dynamics of the playful
relationship into words they turn out to be analogous to Epimenides’ paradox: “I’m
lying.” If he is really lying, then he is not lying; but if he is not lying, he is lying, in a
circular and never-ending paradox. The nonverbal play cues set up the whole relation
as unreal, including themselves as an integral part of the ongoing process. Within a
relationship, which is unreal, the message “this is unreal” is unreal and the truth is
that the relationship is real and so forth, in a circular paradox. “Play would not be
playful if it were not for this kind of paradox. The paradoxical alternation or rather
once-at-the-same-timeness of real and unreal is what makes play what it is” (Fry,
1968, p. 134).
The play frame per se can create laughter, happiness, but not a “humorous” laugh.
To achieve humor something more is needed. Humor needs: a play frame, a story, a
punch line. It needs a climax that causes un unforeseen reversal of meaning. Studies
on humor, Fry says, usually focus on the relationship between climax and process as
a vital one (on the perceptive cognitive switch), but they take for granted the
fundamental relevance of the encompassing play frame. It is the play frame,
interacting with the climax-process relationship, which accounts for humor. The
simply incongruous or surprising is not funny, it is the play frame typical of humor
that gives the interlocutors the possibility to manage that incongruity in a creative
way, to learn something new about the possible different ways to deal with
unexpectedness.
Thus, the witticisms, the jokes, are “linguistic traps” that train us to understand
three things: (1) that common sense does not exhaust the possibilities of interpreta-
tion, (2) that the presentation of other possibilities upsets us, is experienced as a
“denial,” and (3) to which you can react with fun instead of with resentment.
Typically, a conflictual experience is a context of denial, a context in which we
feel that our interpretative authoritativeness is threatened. When I say A and he says
non-A, my automatic reaction is of resentment, of offense. In the case of the joke,
laughter takes the place of resentment and there is collaboration in welcoming the
unexpected thanks to the “playful,” “not serious” context.
Here is another aspect to keep in mind, which we find it difficult to recognize. A
dimension of “play” is fundamental in all situations of conflicts managed creatively,
even the most dramatic.
Humor as a “Bisociation” (Arthur Koestler)
Arthur Koestler is another author who has investigated human behavior in terms of
the persistence of deeply rooted habits and the specific dynamic pattern, which
occurs whenever a change of frame is happily managed.
Habits are the indispensable core of stability and ordered behavior; they also have a tendency
to become mechanized and to reduce man to the status of a conditioned automaton. The
creative act, by connecting previously unrelated dimensions of experience, enables him to
attain to a highest level of mental evolution. It is an act of liberation. (Koestler, 1964, p. 96)
In his book The Act of Creation (1964) Koestler demonstrates not only that
creativity has a pattern, which in its making follows a precise and complex
dynamic configuration, but that this pattern is the same in the fields of scientific
investigation, art, and humor. “All patterns of creative activity are tri-valent: they
can enter the service of humor, discovery or art” (p. 27). “The three domains of
creativity, humor, discovery and art shade into each other. The first intended to
make us laugh, the second to make us understand and the third to make us marvel”
(p. 27).
There are no frontiers where the realm of science ends and that of art begins, and the Uomo
Universale of the Renaissance was citizen of both. And the boundaries between discovery
and comic invention are equally fluid. That the Jester should be brother of the Sage may
sound like blasphemy, yet our language reflects the close relationship: the word ‘witticism’ is
derived from ‘wit’ in its original sense of ingenuity, inventiveness. Jester and Savant must
both “live on their wits” and Jester’s riddles provide a useful back-door entry, as it were, into
the inner workshop of creative originality. (p. 28)
68 M. Sclavi
All creative activities arise from some sort of systematic training in looking for
possibilities that are “at the same time impossible and perfectly logical, but of a logic
not usually applied to that particular type of situation” (p. 35).
He coined the term “bisociation” in order to make a distinction “between the
routine skills of thinking on a single ‘plane’, as it were, and the creative act, which,
as I shall try to show, always operates on more than one plane. The former may be
called single-minded, the latter a double minded, transitory state of unstable equi-
librium where the balance of both emotion and thought is disturbed.” (pp. 35–36).
Among the abundance of interesting and amusing examples in all three fields
brought by the author in this 750 pages book of his, one that I particularly like is “the
pendulum experiment” that the psychologist Carl Duncker performed on his stu-
dents. In this experiment, Koestler wrote,
the subject was led to a table on which had been placed among miscellaneous objects, a cord
with a pendulum-weight attached to its end and a nail. All he was asked to do was to drive
the nail into the wall and hang the cord with the pendulum-weight on the nail, but no hammer
was provided. Only fifty per cent of the students found the solution: to use the pendulum-
weight as a hammer.” This experiment, Koestler wrote, illustrates “the stubborn coherence of
the perceptual frames and matrices of thought in our minds. The visual gestalt of weight-
attached to cord, plus the verbal suggestion of their venerated teacher, made the pendulum
weight stick to its matrix like an insect caught in amber. (pp. 189–190)
The “stubborn coherence of perceptual frames” is absolutely central to Koestler’s

theory of bisociation, which can be represented pictorially as the partial overlapping
of two ovals with the object or situation to be seen on more than one plane inscribed
in the overlapping space (Fig. 1).
In one oval (called alternatively “plane of thought and vision,” “frame,” “field,”
“perceptual-evaluative-matrix”), the pendulum weight is seen uniquely as the pen-
dulum; in the other oval, it is seen as a hammer. What it takes to see both ovals as
“true” or legitimate in a specific and contingent situation is an intrinsic part of
Fig. 1 Carl Dunker’s Pendulum Experiment

Koestler’s bisociation theory. A “bisociation pattern” can be used as a way of

exploring and inventing multiple perspectives (which are surprising, unexpected,
may seem absurd, and out of control). It is a good exercise to discuss – for example –
given a certain joke or – better – a single plane description of a situation, what
remark should be written in each of the ovals/frames and in their intersection and
why. It is an expedient to familiarize yourself with the experience of multiplying
points of view and how it feels to swim against the current. For example, the
previous witticism by Mark Twain can be represented as shown in (Fig. 2).
I find that the graphic form of the bisociation is very suitable to offer an
immediate vision of the complexity of the process we are dealing with, as it makes
it easier to not confuse two aspects: the content of the perceptive Gestaltic switch and
the paradoxical dynamics given by the coexistence of two opposed “both logical”
frames. This distinction is central not only, as we will see below, to distinguish the
comic from humor, but also and especially to highlight another very delicate and
important aspect: the relationship between humor – knowledge and arrogance. In the
story of the pendulum told by Koestler, I find compelling his observation concerning
the relationship between knowledge and authority, knowledge and power. “The
visual gestalt of weight-attached to cord, plus the verbal suggestion of their vener-
ated teacher, made the pendulum weight stick to its matrix like an insect caught in
amber” (p. 190) Wow!
Humor as a “Double Illumination” (Sigmund Freud)
In the introduction to Jokes and their Relation to the Unconscious, Sigmund Freud
reports what he considers the most interesting understanding of “the technique of
jokes” elaborated up to then, called “bewilderment and illumination” or, alterna-
tively, “double illumination.” He illustrates it using a little story taken from Heine’s
Fig. 2 Mark Twain: “It is not true that it is hard to stop smokine. I stop everyday”
70 M. Sclavi
text The Baths of Lucca. Here Heine introduces the delightful figure of a lottery-
agent, Hirsch-Hyacinth, of Hamburg, who boasts to the poet of his relations with the
wealthy Baron Rothschild, and finally says:
And, as true as God shall grant me all good things, Doctor,

I sat beside Salomon Rothschild and he treated me quite
as his equal, quite famillionairely.
In this specific case, as in many witticisms, incongruity arises from the divergence
between habitual ways and eccentric ways of expressing oneself. The nonexistent
word “famillionairely” in this context sets in motion an interpretative dynamic that
can be described as follows:
Phase 1: Astonishment and annoyance in the face of an unintelligible, wrong,

nonexistent verbal construct
Phase 2: First Illumination. We laugh at the loss in which we have fallen, when – as
in a flash – we realize that it is two words “Familiar” and “Millionaire” that
ingeniously fused together transmit a surplus of meaning: the gratitude and
wonder of the lottery agent and that mixture of affability and sufficiency typical
of millionaires in regard to the poor devils.
Phase 3: Second Illumination. We laugh at ourselves for the component of arrogance
and haughtiness that was implicit in assuming that our first interpretation (“does
not make sense,” “he does not know how to express himself”) was the only true
and possible. Laughing we ride the wave of a double incongruity: the displace-
ment related to the obscure meaning of the message is accompanied by the one
related to our claims of control over reality and to the fact that a small thing like a
meaningless word in normal linguistic use has managed to get us in trouble.
The first insight is typical of the comic and the incongruity concerns the content
of the story. We laugh because we were at first taken aback and then we “got it,”
because humor cannot live without the listener’s ability to grasp the joke and we are
at the same time victims and winners, we were trapped and collaborators in the
smooth running of the trap. And so instead of feeling silly, we feel smart and united
by the common ability to accommodate something extravagant and unexpected,
something that goes out of the box. At this level the main, if not the only, purpose of
humor is to produce this kind of pleasure and to provoke a common cheerful laugh.
In the second enlightenment, the encounter with the incongruous is seen as an
occasion to reflect on the hubris implicit in our linguistic and mental constructs. This
illumination adds to the comic laughter a dimension of self-irony and of self-
reflexivity that is typical of humor in the proper sense, distinct from the comic. It
is no coincidence that Freud, in an essay on humor in 1927, speaks of the ability to
practice this type of humor as the main prevention of paranoia. The discovery of
“other” points of view that in the first enlightenment is understood as a fiction
without consequences beyond the pleasure of laughter here becomes an extremely
important epistemological and moral insight and full of consequences in real life.
The architecture of humor, as noted by the authors cited here, reflects the need,
when we are to manage the tensions and conflicts typical of complex environments,
not to be prisoners of classical logic, but to know how to get out of the implicit
premises and taken for granted frames (the move that Charles Pierce called “abduc-
tion”) and being aware of and knowing how to make use of the cognitive input of
paradoxes and emotions.
The Humoristic Dimension in the Creative Conflict

Transformation in Everyday Life
Scholars of complex systems have focused attention on the group dynamics that
prevent or favor the ability to transform diversity, tensions, and conflicts into
cognitive resources and opportunities for creative collaboration. These studies
consisted and still today consist basically in a collection of a number of stories of
conflicts which, in the opinion of all the interested parties, have reached positive
solutions and have succeeded in the examination of all the elements of diversity
(from the macroscopic to the apparently more marginal ones), with respect to similar
conflicts that are perpetuated or have escalated. Even though this research has been
carried out by scholars with partially different theoretical backgrounds and in a vast
span of time, the convergent conclusion is that in the conflicts that have a positive
and creative outcome, the parties do not consider themselves friends or enemies, but
explorers who use active listening to arrive at a shared definition of common
problems
As I have previously stated, the main weakness of these studies is their underes-
timation of the role of humor in human communication and specifically its centrality
in active listening.
Everything seems so clear and rational when you read it in books or you practice
it in the simulations. Even the statement: “This is a counter-current approach” (see
William Ury’s or Watlawick’s approaches) sounds so reasonable and rational. But
most of the time it turns out absurd, irrational, ridiculous, and full of obstacles when
you want to put it in place in the thorny situations in which it is required. Not only
the emotions of the interlocutors, but also our own emotions are opposed to a
creative opening of the situation. Let us try to explain better, with a couple of
examples, in what sense humor is the missing link.
One of the first and simplest examples found in all textbooks is that of the mother
who enters the kitchen where her children are fighting for an orange: “It’s mine!”
“No, I took it first!” “Leave it to me!” Impatient, she scolds them, grabs the orange
and cuts it in half. Wrong move! Both children hurled against her. In fact, the girl
wanted to scratch the whole peel for a cake and the boy to make a juice.
This story illustrates two principles of the art of listening. The first: even when the
meaning of a certain event seems absolutely obvious (each of the two children behaves
like a selfish person, wants the orange all for themselves), we would do well – especially
if it is a conflict – to check the interpretation of the other parties involved. If the mother
had done so, the solution would have been different from the one hastily put in place.
72 M. Sclavi
Secondly, this example makes it clear that an answer to the question “What is going on
here?” cannot be limited to a simple description of the facts. The facts are important (the
children are in the kitchen and they are contending for an orange) but “alone” do not
speak, they lend themselves to a multiplicity of interpretations. To understand “what is
going on,” the facts must be integrated from the point of view of all the participants in
the scene.
By behaving according to these principles, the mother does not renounce her role
as an educator; on the contrary, she imparts to the children with her example a very
precise and precious lesson: that it is always wise to listen and understand the
different points of view before deciding and acting. To find a shared solution instead
of “mine” against “yours,” we must not be in a hurry to reach conclusions and
assume that in many cases “active listening is the best answer.”
But at a closer look we can realize that to move from an attitude “so it is” to that of
opening to other interpretations of the same facts, the mother must in a sense “create her
own humorous joke.” The transition from judge to explorer is not a smooth one, it is not
a new point of view entering the same frame, it is a leap, a voluntary self-displacement.
To do this, the mother must “not take herself too seriously.” Those who adopt an active
listening attitude are very similar to a humorist who is inventing a joke.
You could object: “She is angry and should adopt a humorous attitude? It’s
ridiculous!”
That’s exactly what I mean: it is ridiculous. The message “is ridiculous” can mean
“stop, you are about to lose face” or “careful, you are entering in a change of frame.”
And in order not to be blocked by a sense of ridicule, of meaninglessness, you must
not take yourself too seriously.
In today’s world everybody should know the difference between a change inside a
taken for granted frame and the change of that frame. In the first instance, the feelings
of the ridiculous and the absurd can be rightly interpreted as: “stop!” “you are going
in the wrong direction” and in the second as: “go ahead, explore, be creative!”
Let us try to find a joke that illustrates this point:
A man is worried because it seems to him that his wife is becoming deaf. He asks a friend for
advice. The friend advises him to do a little home test: “When your wife is behind you, ask
her a question, first four meters away, then – if she does not answer – two and then one.” The
man returns home and finds his wife in front of the stove busy cooking and so from the
corridor asks her “Dear, what’s good tonight?” No reply. At this point he enters the kitchen
and again asks the same question. No answer yet. Finally, he goes right behind her back:
“Dear, what are we eating tonight?” The wife turns and screams: “Dear, for the third time:
chicken!”.
Figure 3 is a visual representation of the bisociative dynamics:

As the second rule of the art of listening (see “The Seven Rules” window) says:
“What you are seeing depends on your point of view. In order to see your point of
view, you have to change it.”
A second equally classic example is that of the librarian who knew how to listen.
In a library, two users are quarreling loudly because one of them has opened a
window and the other protests for the airstream. A normal librarian would impose
Fig. 3 “Looking for Evidence,” husband and wife
silence and close the window. But our librarian practices creative conflict manage-
ment (it is foreseen in her job description) and she first of all listens to the two parties.
She asks the first person why he wants an open window. Answer: “I need fresh air.”
She asks the second why he wants a closed one: “The current disturbs my concen-
tration.” It is important to underline that in this case no new element of knowledge
emerges from the answers. That one needed more air and the other wanted to avoid
the currents had already been said during the fight. The difference lies in the way and
quality of listening. In the altercation between the two litigants, the window always
remains in the foreground: “more air” ¼ “open window,” “no to the current” ¼
“closed window.” Thanks to active listening, the librarian leaves the window in the
background and brings the motives in the forefront. She redefines the problem in
terms of: how can we get more oxygen without causing a current? This is a Gestaltic
switch from problem solving to problem setting, which opens up a number of new
possible solutions. The original version of the story reads: “We can open the window
of the next room, leaving open the passage door, so that there will be more oxygen
without a loop of air” (in Fisher et al., 1991). But if there isn’t a next room, another
proposal might be: take your books home or at the bar, or photocopy that article or
that chapter and so on. It’s the sense of being heard (“I take care of your problems
and I commit myself in all ways to try to solve them”) that creates the conditions of
trust that favor the search for solutions of mutual agreement.
As the Gestalt theory explains, the meaning of a sentence or an event always
involves organizing the myriad of information in terms of focusing on what interests
us, which seems important to us and relegating to the background what we consider
to be marginal (see Rule 5 of the Art of Listening, in the window).
Here, too, to highlight the relationship between Gestalt and humor, we can resort
to a humorous story. It is the joke that Gregory Bateson used in his lecture on the role
of humor in human communication at the Macy Foundation.
A worker at an atomic power plant at the end of the shift comes out carrying a wheelbarrow
full of sawdust. To the guard who stops him, he explains that in any case it would have be
thrown away and instead he is going to use it to fertilize the garden. The guard checks with
the metal detector that there is nothing forbidden in the middle of the sawdust and lets it pass.
But when this happens two, three, ten times, the watchman exclaims: “That’s enough! Either
74 M. Sclavi
you confess what’s underneath or, sawdust or not, I denounce you to the director! “The
alarmed worker replies: “All right, all right, I tell you, but do not report me, we do half the
booty. At this point I have twelve wheelbarrows at home.” (Bateson, 1953)
The joke in this case causes a sudden change of focus from the sawdust to the
wheelbarrow (that we, like the guard, had “under our noses” all the time, but we did
not notice) and with this the whole story takes on a previously ignored meaning.
An enormous amount of misunderstandings and conflicts are perpetuated by not
wanting to admit and acknowledge that what seems to be irrelevant to one can
legitimately be centrally significant and meaningful to others.
The Humoristic Dimension of Interlinguistic and Intercultural

Communication: How We Can Transform Typical Intercultural
Mishaps into Bridge-Building Processes
The interlinguistic and intercultural experience is particularly suited to highlight

“taken for granted” frames and how “the same things” have different meanings in
different contexts. Translations from one language to another offer a multitude of
examples. Take a word like this: “sale.” Depending on whether read by an English,
Italian, French, or Spanish, its meaning is completely different, as well as the
pronunciation. We can display a multi-bi-sociation, as follows (Fig. 4).
It is very clear to everyone – in this case – that the meaning of this word depends on
the linguistic context in which it is located and that it makes no sense to look for a
unique “true” meaning and dispute what it is. Moreover, we can discover that the
same word “sale” even in the same language, for example, in Italian or in Spanish, can
assume a variety of disparate meanings, depending on the contexts in which it is
Fig. 4 The word SALE in different linguistic contexts

inserted (e.g., in Italian it can mean salt, large rooms, or the third person of the verb “to
climb”). The principle that the social construction of concepts and meanings cannot
be separated from contexts, that there are no “context-free” meanings, can be
neglected or even denied only by the inhabitants of Flatlandia (Abbott, 2008), by
those who are prisoners of social and cultural horizons that are restricted and closed.
The more complex the environment, the more likely communication occurs in
situations in which “the same things and same events” take on different and incom-
patible meanings.
Here is another small exercise suitable for reflection on the role of frames in the
social construction of reality and on the language of emotions. Whenever I propose it
in my seminars, the public reaction is the same.
“Imagine the following scene: in the center of a large European city, a motorist parks his car
on a sidewalk. An indignant passerby calls him: ‘This is a space reserved for pedestrians!’
(Little pause. . .) Now imagine this scene in Munich and in Rome.”
At this point, at least in Italy, punctually the audience is shaken by a series of

laughs. Someone observes: “In Germany it would not be conceivable!” and another.
“Maybe he’s an Italian just arrived from Rome!” I ask: what are in the two contexts
the most probable differences in the reactions of the motorist and of other passers-by
who witness this occurrence? Figure 5 is a summary of the discussion presented in its
undeniable bisociative pattern.
What causes laughter is the switch due to the fact that the same scene in the two
contexts has different and opposite meanings and developments. The two ovals can
be read as two opposite conversational fields: in one the protesting person collects
the active and choral solidarity of the other passers-by and the owner of the car feels
humiliated and guilty; in the other he/she finds indifference, ironic smiles (“who do
you think you are”) and calls to let go or voyeurism (“let’s see if they enter a real
fight”) and the motorist reacts annoyed and doesn’t feel guilty, but offended.
An Italian who in Munich naively behaves “like in Rome” makes the impression
of the typical moron, the protagonist of so many jokes, on the other hand a German
who starts to protest in Rome because one is parking on the sidewalk is taken for a
bully, when not a fool, an excellent subject for a caricature.
Fig. 5 Car on the sidewalk: Italy/Germany

76 M. Sclavi
Most of the changes that must be promoted today are changes in conversational
fields, that is, changes that are not resolved by discussing, but by listening. Changes
in which the positive solution arises from feeling at home with an epistemology in
which a central role is played by paradoxes, the circularity of communication,
polyphony, dialogical comprehension, and the art of listening.
For example, I am an inhabitant of Rome who, having lived for many years
abroad, considers the absolute respect of pedestrian spaces, one of the signs of
urban civilization. So, among other things, I’m against parking on sidewalks. And
yet, it is clear that the issue cannot be resolved by resorting to blaming of the city’s
drivers or outlawing these behaviors and fining them (in fact, they are already
outlawed and susceptible to being fined). If we want to find solutions to this kind
of complex, multidimensional problems, we have to go back to the more general
absence of an urban policy built on shared values of civil coexistence, values that
emerge creating contexts of mutual learning, in which all the parties in question
listen to each other. Today, this intercultural ability is often called upon in
relationships between parents and their children, between husbands and wives,
between teachers and students, between administrators and the public, between
urban planners and residents.
Even in the great intractable conflicts (see the Israeli-Palestinian conflict), the
main obstacle arises from the fact that those who wish to dialogue with the opposing
party are considered “traitors” on their side. Therefore, the basic question becomes
how to create contexts in which common background values can emerge, contexts
where it is clear that being seen as ridiculous or as a traitor is an optical and cognitive
effect that accompanies each exploration of new solutions and that they are those
who persist in habitual behavior that betray the possibilities of a desirable future
for all.
As all of my favorite authors have long supported, in complex environments the
way to the correction of errors is not to create a feeling of guilt, but of emotional self-
awareness (Kurt Lewin in the 1930s, the inventor of action research, and Mikhail
Bakhtin, theorist of polyphony, see: Bakhtin, 1968; Todorov, 1984). The secret of
emotional self-awareness is that the language of emotions, being metaphorical and
nonverbal, can be correctly understood only through active listening
We are not our emotions, we are the dialogue with our emotions. Emotions are
always right for the simple reason that they indicate the possibilities in progress (I am
reacting in a hostile way . . .) that can coexist with different and opposite ones.
Shakespeare docet. We can be at the same time “angry” and “curious about other
possibilities.” We can feel part of what is going on and look at it in a detached way. It
is enlightening and fun. And we urgently need to practice it, emotions are the door to
the special savoir faire of systemic reflexivity.
An environment in which these elements are lacking becomes a madhouse. It
produces anxiety, neurosis and psychosis, schismogenesis (the escalation of con-
flict), and it ultimately becomes turbulent and uncontrollable. Blindness and a lack of
sensitivity to contexts, an inability to appreciate the “pertinence of context to
meaning,” is catastrophic in a complex environment. This is the disease of Western
culture, and it needs to do away with this type of hubris.
Conclusions
Someone once said that in kindergarten we learn how to listen so that we can
un-learn it in all subsequent school years and get to perfection (in not knowing
how to listen) at the university level. One thing is certain: if we do not learn how to
listen, we are condemned to switch between conflict avoidance and conflict persis-
tence and escalation. On the other end, as the seventh rule of the Art of Listening
states: “To become an expert in listening you must follow a humoristic methodology.
But when you have learned how to listen, it is humor that will follow you.”
Seven Rules of the Art of Listening by Marianella Sclavi
1. Never be in a hurry to reach conclusions.

Conclusions are the most ephemeral part of your research.
2. What you are seeing depends on your point of view.
In order to see what your point of view is, you have to change it.
3. In order to understand what another person is saying, you must assume
that he/she is right and ask him/her to help you understand why it is so.
4. The emotions are basic tools of knowledge if you understand their language
which is metaphorical and analogical.
They don’t tell you what you see, but how your body is interpreting that
situation.
5. A good listener is an explorer of possible worlds.
The signals which he or she finds most important are the ones that seem
both negligible and annoying, both marginal and irritating, since they
refuse to mesh with previous convictions and certainties.
6. A good listener is happy to accept the self-contradictions that come to the
fore in personal thoughts and interpersonal communications.
Misunderstandings are accepted as opportunities for entering the most
exciting field of all: the creative management of conflict.
7. To become an expert in listening you must follow a humoristic methodology.
But when you have learned how to listen, it is humor that will follow you.
*These Seven Rules are the leitmotif of the book Arte diAscoltare e Mondi
Possibili (not yet translated into English) and the reader can find them at the
end of each chapter.
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Bakhtin, M. M. (1968). Rabelais and his world. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press.
Bateson, G. (1953). The position of humor in human communication. In H. von Foerster (Ed.),
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Contemplative Practices and Nonviolence
5
Joseph Llewellyn
Contents
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 80
Buddhist Contemplative Practices and the Mind . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 82
Overcoming Anger . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 85
A Buddhist View of Anger . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 85
Anger and Activism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 86
Overcoming Anger and Fostering Compassion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 88
Anger Distorts Reality . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 89
Meditation to Make Us More Effective . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 91
Collective Politics Without Anger and Positive Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 91
Final Thoughts: The Mind and Positive Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 94
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 95
Abstract
Contemplatives from many traditions around the world have been proponents of
nonviolence. Rather than looking at nonviolence in terms of how to wage
collective struggle, as Gene Sharp and other have done, many contemplatives
have discussed how our ability to be nonviolent, as individuals, can be honed
through a range of contemplative-meditative practices. However, as shown by
Gandhi and others, individual nonviolent practice and collective nonviolent
action do not have to be seen as separate. There are many contemplatives who
argue that utilizing meditative practices, in order to make oneself nonviolent in
thought and action, increases one’s ability to act to create peace in the world. The
main aim of this chapter is to highlight what contemplative practices are and
explain how they could be useful for nonviolent activism and peacebuilding.
Specifically, this chapter discusses how contemplative practices could help peo-
ple to recognize anger for what it is, develop patience as an antidote to it, and
J. Llewellyn (*)
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_5
80 J. Llewellyn
replace anger with compassion as a motivator for action. This is explored using
the using the logic and philosophy of the Buddhist tradition that came out of the
Nalanda University in India. This is followed by a discussion about the Gandhian
and Tibetan nonviolent struggle as examples of how contemplative practices have
been connected to nonviolent politics.
Keywords
Nonviolence · Contemplative practices · Buddhism · Anger · Meditation
Introduction
The focus of this chapter is on what the contemplative traditions of nonviolence can
offer to the creation of positive peace. Much recent work on the theory and practice of
nonviolence has focused on the power of collective nonviolent resistance, but histor-
ically nonviolence studies has encompassed more than this. Since Gandhi showed the
world the potential of collective nonviolent action to create revolutionary social change,
three broad categories of research on nonviolence have emerged (Schock, 2013). The
first focuses on the actions of individual proponents of nonviolence, discussing their
worldview, their nonviolent methods, and is often biographical or semi-biographical.
(Much work on Gandhi fits into this category. For example, see Dalton (1993) and
Shah (2009).) The second focuses on how to use nonviolence. This includes the
pragmatic nonviolence literature, as developed by Gene Sharp. It shows how nonvio-
lent methods can be used to undermine authority in order to create social change (see
Sharp, 1973, 2011). Rather than taking a principled position against violence, this work
shows how to wage struggle without weapons. A third set increasingly utilizes the term
civil resistance rather than nonviolence. This work is positivist and empirical and has
measured the success rate of nonviolence compared to violence and has explored how
nonviolence is more or less successful in different situations (see Chenoweth &
Stephan, 2011; Schock, 2005; Nepstad, 2011). This work has gone a long way to
increasing our understanding of the mechanisms of collective nonviolence.
The focus of the increased interest in nonviolence over the last decade has
focused almost exclusively on the pragmatic side of nonviolence. This has played
an important role in demonstrating that nonviolence is a viable and successful way of
engaging in political struggle. However, this research, often intentionally, has
neglected aspects of principled assertions of nonviolence and pacifism, which is
rarely taken seriously in political discourse (Jackson, 2017). Despite this, the
nonviolence of Martin Luther King and Gandhi, two of the most famous examples
of nonviolence that inspired further nonviolent action elsewhere, was heavily prin-
cipled. Furthermore, Gandhi’s nonviolence was based not only on large-scale non-
violent resistance but also individual nonviolence practice, which he saw as
complementing and assisting collective nonviolence. Gandhi and his followers
aimed to be nonviolent in thought, speech, and action (Shah, 2009). They saw it
as necessary to work on themselves to achieve this. This key element of Gandhian
5 Contemplative Practices and Nonviolence 81
individual nonviolent practice emerges from contemplative traditions, of which there

is a rich history throughout South Asia.
The key aim of this chapter is to highlight what contemplative practices are and
explain how they could be useful for nonviolent activism and peacebuilding. Spe-
cifically, the main focus of this chapter is on how contemplative practices help
people to recognize anger for what it is, develop patience as an antidote to it, and
replace it with compassion as a motivator for action. According to the Buddhist view,
anger is a state of personal suffering that is inherently destructive and can lead to
physical violence. It is therefore antithetical to nonviolence. Multiple Indian philo-
sophical and religious traditions have strong roots in nonviolent practices that reduce
and remove anger. They have emerged and been sustained in various traditions,
including Jainism and Buddhism, for over 2500 years. The contents of this chapter
draw upon the Buddhist contemplative practices and the theory of nonviolence as it
evolved out of Nalanda Mahavihara (university), in what is now the Indian State of
Bihar, between third century BCE and the thirteenth century CE. Using the logic and
philosophy of the Nalanda tradition as a way of exploring why contemplation may
be useful for practitioners of nonviolent action today, I will then point to Gandhian
nonviolence and the Tibetan nonviolent struggle as examples of how contemplative
practices have been connected to nonviolent politics.
Before it was destroyed, Nalanda was the largest university in the world. A range
of subjects were taught in the institution and it housed 30,000 Buddhist monks.
Scholars traveled to Nalanda from as far as Japan, Indonesia, Greece, Tibet, Turkey,
and China to learn and debate (for Tibetan accounts of Nalanda, see Buton (2013,
pp. 1290–1364)). In the Mahayana Buddhist tradition, especially as it was preserved
in Tibet, the work of many Nalanda scholars remains highly significant. In Tibet,
where the most complete record of Indian Buddhist texts survived after the decline of
Buddhism in India, 17 scholars are highlighted as especially important and remain so
to this day (Tsonawa, 1984). It is beyond the scope of this chapter to discuss the
individual scholars writing in any depth, or the nuances between their works. This
chapter is largely built upon the arguments made by the Nalanda scholar, Śāntideva.
This is because his writing provides ways for people to overcome the destructiveness
of anger, foster compassion, and see the world as it truly exists. The arguments made
also draw heavily on Thurman’s (2005) work on anger, which in turn draws on
Śāntideva. However, the arguments below will draw upon knowledge presented by
multiple Nalanda scholars, passed down through the centuries. (It important to note
that this tradition is by no means the only contemplative tradition in India and the
world that has meaningful insights to contribute to this topic. For example, there
are Christian contemplative traditions that could also speak to the topic, as well as
others – Jain, Hindu, and Sufi – within India, as well as other Buddhist traditions
(Wallace, 2014).)
Rather than discussing nonviolence in terms of how to wage collective struggle,
like Sharp (2011) does, the Nalanda scholars discuss how our ability to be nonviolent
can be honed through a range of contemplative meditative practices. Contemplative
practices, meditation, and meditative practices are used as interchangeable terms
throughout this chapter. Contemplation refers to profound thought on a particular
82 J. Llewellyn
topic, whereas meditation is an activity where the mind is trained to cultivate a

certain quality. It is “a precision tool for exploring consciousness and the universe
scientifically” (Wallace, 2014, p. 1). It is not, as is often assumed, a form of worship,
or simply about stress relief or relaxation (Wallace, 2014, p. 1). On top of helping
people to overcome anger, be more compassionate, and see the world differently,
contemplative practices can increase our ability to hold attention with less effort
(Wallace, 2010). This is helpful for carrying out any task more effectively, but also
assists a practitioner’s ability to engage in other contemplative practices. These
practices also have the potential to help us be happier and better cope with stress,
which again can make people more effective activists and peacebuilders who are at
less risk of burn-out.
While, according to the Nalanda tradition, these practices can help us to become
happier, kinder, and more effective individuals, the practice is done specifically as a
means of more effectively engaging in the world. Unlike most Western political
traditions, the Indian contemplatives from the Nalanda tradition and elsewhere see
that action is required on an individual level as well as a collective one if change is to
occur. Below, this point of view is explained in three steps, by: (1) providing an
overview of the Buddhist model of the mind; (2) explaining the Buddhist view on
anger and how and why contemplative practices are used to remove it from the mind;
(3) pointing to examples of politics of nonviolence that hold contemplative practices
at their core. The combination of these points serves to countering the claim that
engagement in contemplative practices is violent promoting or, at best, an anti-
politics (Žižek, 2003, p. 26; 2006, pp. 252–254).
Buddhist Contemplative Practices and the Mind
Buddhism states that by working on our own minds we can become free from the
suffering and dissatisfaction that pervade our lives. The ultimate end point of this is
enlightenment: a state where all mental obscurations have ceased and one has the
maximum potential to help other beings (Dalai Lama, 2009). Put simply, the purpose
of contemplative practice, from a Buddhist perspective, is to understand and train the
mind. In many political circles, discussions about the development of inner peace
have often been rejected or ignored. A rejection of contemplative practices by
activists – because they see it as incapable of creating social change or see it as an
enabler of violence – is captured in Žižek’s (2003, p. 26; 2006, pp. 252–254)
position on so-called Western Buddhism. He asserts that Buddhist practice is a
capitalist ideology which allows privileged Westerners to selfishly focus on their
own lives and either ignore or choose not to intervene in the problems of the world
(Møllgaard, 2008). As a result, his argument is that rather than creating social
change, these practices in fact assist violence, especially the violence that results
from capitalism. From this point of view, Buddhism, at best, can only serve as an
anti-politics and an enforcer of individualism.
Of course, there are people who will engage in contemplative practices purely as a
method of self-care or relaxation. These people may or may not be acting to create
peace in the world on a large scale, such as by challenging capitalism, as Žižek

highlights. However, conflicting with Žižek’s argument, Buddhist contemplative
practice (and many other contemplative practices) goes beyond this. Mahayana
Buddhism, which the Nalanda tradition fits within, puts a very strong emphasis on
helping alleviate the suffering of others, which is the primary aim of one’s practice.
The cultivation of bodhichitta is central to Mahayana practice (Bodhichitta is the
compassionate wish to achieve enlightenment in order to help sentient beings).
Contemplative practices play an important role in cultivating bodhichitta. If
bodhichitta is cultivated by someone they can become a bodhisattva, a person
whose sole motivation/purpose is to reduce the suffering of all sentient beings and
acts for the good of sentient beings effortlessly and spontaneously. Śāntideva’s
(1979) eighth-century masterpiece Bodhisattvacharyāvatāra, otherwise known as
A Guide to the Bodhisattvas Way of Life, articulates the Buddhist path to how this can
be achieved.
Factors other than meditation, such as ethical behavior, are seen as necessary if
somebody wants to become a bodhisattva (Rinchen, 1998). However, using
meditational techniques to understand one’s own mind and the world around you,
as well as to cultivate positive mental qualities, is seen as essential within this
tradition. To understand why this is you need to look at the Buddhist model of the
mind. From this perspective, the mind is not physical. The mind is a continuum or
stream of thoughts and is defined as mere clarity and awareness, meaning that it
experiences things (Dalai Lama, 1991a). Berzin (2018a, para.1) explains this:
Clarity means giving rise to cognitive appearances of things, similar to mental holograms,
and awareness refers to cognitively engaging with them. Mere implies that this occurs
without a separate unaffected, monolithic “me” that is either controlling or observing this
activity.
Mental consciousness has gross and subtle levels, with the gross levels of conscious-
ness reliant on the brain and sensory organs. There are different types of cognitive
events including sensory perception and mental states. Six primary consciousnesses
are listed – eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind – as crucial for these events to take
place. They merely cognize “the essential nature of an object” (Berzin, 2018a,
para.7). Fifty-one mental factors accompany these primary consciousnesses (Differ-
ent numbers are given by different scholars depending on how they are categorized.).
Berzin (2018b, para.1) writes that:
Mental factors are ways of cognizing an object that qualify or help with its cognition. They
include factors that establish a cognition, such as interest; factors that help maintain one,
such as concentration; and emotions that colour it, such as love or anger.
The Nalanda scholar, Vasubandhu and, following him, Asanga (2001), split these
51 mental factors into categories: 5 ever-functioning, which are always present when
cognizing so that we can apprehend an object; 5 which allow objects to be
ascertained; 11 constructive emotions; 6 root disturbing emotions; 20 auxiliary
disturbing emotions, which emerge based upon the root disturbing emotions;
84 J. Llewellyn
4 changeable mental factors, which are called this because the ethical status of them
changes. My focus here is not to explain them all, but to discuss the root disturbing
emotion of anger which is inconsistent with nonviolence. Vitally important to
understanding how contemplation can help do this is a realization that disturbing
emotions – built out of the three poisons of ignorance (about how we, everyone, and
the world exist), anger/aversion (to what we do not want) and attachment (to what we
want) – come from our own mental processes. Our negative actions are ultimately
built out of these root delusions/poisons. From thoughts rooted in them we perform
negative actions. They are states of suffering/dissatisfaction (for an overview of the
Buddhist conceptions of suffering, see Yongey Mingyur Rinpoche (2010)).
As anger comes from mind, the key to overcoming or controlling it is mental. All
of our actions come from our thoughts, our mental processes. We do not perform any
action without a thought to do so. Of course, we experience these negative mental
states in relation to our surrounding, but our experiences, our thoughts, are always
mental events. This does not mean that we should not act outwardly in order to make
the world a better place, as Žižek says Buddhism does, or that our experiences are
not very real to us. Nor does it suggest that we should simply suppress negative
emotions. However, it does suggest that if we have little control of our mind, we
cannot engage in the world as effectively as we could.
Even if you are not Buddhist, contemplative tools have the ability to make our
engagement with the world more effective and less stressful. These are psycholog-
ical tools, so there is absolutely no need for conversion to a religion to get benefit
from them. In fact, H.H the Dalai Lama (2012), who calls himself a son of the
Nalanda tradition, has often said that people should not convert from the faith they
were brought up in and advocates for secular and inclusive approaches to social
change. On top of this, the Buddha himself asserted that people should test the
content of what he was teaching and not just blindly believe him. Based on this, the
Nalanda scholar’s work is based on reason, not belief.
In fact, the methods provided have a scientific basis. They have been practiced,
and the results of them replicated, by many practitioners for century after century
(Wallace, 2014). Practitioners have recorded their findings and passed them on. In
recent decades, scientific research has also supported the positive effects of medita-
tion. For example, meditators with between 10,000 and 60,000 h of practice have
been shown to have higher compassion responses, with the more hours practiced, the
greater response (Goleman & Davidson, 2017; Ricard, 2015, pp. 248–249). Other
studies show that participation in contemplative practices result in improved atten-
tion, increased empathy, less discrimination, and in people becoming more commu-
nity minded and feeling a deeper sense of belonging (see Goleman & Davidson,
2017; Ricard, 2015; Wallace, 2014). On top of this, the discovery of neuroplasticity
suggests that neurons change in response to experience, our thoughts (Ricard, 2015,
pp. 241–243; Wallace, 2014, p. 28). The placebo effect also points to our mind’s
ability to make change when we have faith in a treatment (Wallace, 2014, p. 55).
Both of these findings suggest that the mind can change and that we can change it.
In the same way as physical training, honing these skills requires practice and
maintained effort and commitment. Like muscles grow if you eat protein and lift
weights, and the functioning of your respiratory and cardiovascular system improves
if you run up hills, so too can your mind be trained to be better focused, more
altruistic and content. As you would not go for one run and expect to then be
miraculously fit enough to run a marathon, you cannot expect these changes to
occur from one meditation session. Instead sustained practice is required. As H.H the
Dalai Lama (2016, p. 118) states:
If a person has a really deep interest in spiritual growth, he or she cannot do away with the
practice of meditation. That is the key! Just a mere prayer or wish will not effect this inner
spiritual change. The only way for development is through a constant effort through
meditation! Of course, at the beginning it is not easy. You may find difficulties, or a loss
of enthusiasm. Or perhaps at the beginning there will be too much enthusiasm – then after a
few weeks or months, your enthusiasm may wane. We need to develop a constant, persistent
approach based on a long-term commitment.
There are many types and methods of meditation. Within the Buddhist/Maha-
yana/Nalanda tradition there are two broad types of meditative practice: Shamatha
(“concentration”), and Vipassana (“analytical”), although further divisions can be
made (see, e.g., Wallace (2011, pp. 2–3)). Analytical meditation uses techniques of
logical reasoning to examine something. Concentration meditation hones your
attention so that you can better attend to an object. Both support each other
(Wallace, 2010). Within these, there are thousands of different techniques for
different purposes, some more suitable for different people and their individual
dispositions than others. In this chapter I will not give any meditation instruction.
Instead, I will make an argument for why different types of meditational practices
could assist adherents of nonviolence in various ways. (There are plenty of teachers
who can help people do this, if it is something that people want to pursue. This
tradition emphasizes the need for an experienced teacher to guide you through these
techniques and to help select the best techniques for an individual’s disposition.) One
way that they can assist people is by helping them work with their anger.
Meditational practices could be helpful in order to control and remove anger,
which shares a close relationship to violence.
Overcoming Anger
A Buddhist View of Anger
Anger, from a Buddhist perspective, cannot be the cause of peace. As the Buddha
(in Thurman, 2005, p. vii) said: “Here in the world, anger is never pacified by anger.
It is pacified by love. This is the eternal truth.” Anger is viewed as an addiction or
poison. It is a response to an object or event that is not how we want it to be. At its
root it is about removing, destroying, or hurting the person or object that we do not
like. Śāntideva (1979, p. 57) points out that anger is not controlled, but is instead a
habitual instantaneous reaction, rather than a thought-out response. Even one
moment of anger can be very destructive. At worst it can lead to people lashing
86 J. Llewellyn
out and killing others. When institutionalized, it can lead to militarism and war (Loy,
2006, p. 48). Thurman (2005, p. 8) nicely summarizes the Buddhist view on anger as
he states:
Anger when bound up with hate overwhelms the reasonable person with a painful vice-grip
and uses him or her as a slave or tool to injure or destroy the target of that hateful anger,
regardless of whether this action destroys the tool in the first place. It is never useful, never
justifiable, always harmful to self as well as others.
If this definition of anger is accepted, anger is incompatible with nonviolence

because its aim is violent. Within pacifist literature, means/ends consistency is
considered necessary to create peace (Cady, 2010). Therefore, violence cannot end
a cycle of violence. What is added here is that people often perform violent actions
because of a preceding thought of anger. Therefore, adding more anger to violent
situations can continue cycles of violence, even if the anger does not produce direct
violence in that very instant.
Many people will not find this description of anger particularly shocking or
confronting. If we stop to think about it, it is clear that we do not feel happy when
we are angry. In one moment of thought, we cannot be both happy and angry at the
same time. In a moment of anger, anger consumes our minds. A moment of anger
can often quickly escalate into a larger problem, which is why the Buddha compared
anger to a spark next to a bale of hay. In a fit of anger we can do things that we later
regret, damaging relationships. People do not tend to enjoy being around angry
people, especially they are the target of someone’s anger and even more so if that
anger results in physical violence. Anger is also damaging to health (Chida &
Steptoe, 2009; Staicu & Cuţov, 2010). Because of all of this, anger produces the
opposite of what conflict resolution techniques aim to foster: dialogue, respect, and
level-headed conversation. Anger produces fear responses in the other, and this
influences the people involved in negotiations (Kleef et al., 2004). Given its effects
on social and physical well-being, it cannot be considered a healthy state of mind or a
positive factor in building peace.
Anger and Activism
While anger is often seen as problematic in interpersonal relationships, many social

activists do not see anger as problematic within their activist activities. This is
reflected on the literature on pragmatic nonviolence, which unlike many iterations
of principled nonviolence makes no link between anger and violence. There are two
reasons for this, outlined by Thurman (2005, pp. 18–19): first, anger is seen by a
wide array of activists as a powerful force for creating change, and second, anger is
often seen as something that is inevitable. From this perspective, anger is needed and
is a natural or normal reaction. It is a motivator or a change creator.
As can be seen above, Thurman writes from a Buddhist perspective and does not
see anger as productive. However, rather than dismissing the view of activists and
advocates of social change who embrace anger, Thurman recognizes an important

reason for why they do this. Some argue that, while anger can be destructive,
reclaiming the right to anger can be important so that they can:
Make use of it to help them throw off male chauvinist intimidation, domination and
oppression. . .. They feel that in their situation of long-endured, unrelenting oppression, it
operates invisibly, underground in oppressive economic, cultural, and social relationships,
and will inevitably harm them if not brought out into the open and wielded and directed
away from themselves. (Thurman, 2005. p. 18)
This position is understandable, as anger has traditionally been something which

has been respected in powerful males; however, when women get angry, they
and their opinions are more often written off as people label them “shrewish and
hysterical” (Thurman, 2005, p. 17). Racist and sexist responses to women and
people of color’s anger are common (Walley-Jean, 2009).
While anger is often seen as unacceptable by activist groups when it is directed at
internal group members, it can be accepted when it is directed toward to the outside
group that is being challenged. Here, it may be seen as acceptable to show anger
toward police or right-wingers at a protest, but it is not acceptable, internally, within
organizations. Many social activist groups do their upmost to remove violence
within their groups and their procedures. One of the reasons for the acceptance of
anger in protest may not be because it is seen as productive on a strategic level.
Instead, being able to be angry might be viewed as a step away from the hopeless-
ness of not previously being able to speak out against injustice and violence.
While Buddhism sees anger as a purely negative emotion, it certainly does not
advocate judgment or condemnation of people and it would be supportive of
activism to promote positive social change. It is totally understandable that people
who experience oppression feel anger. Anger arises in all unenlightened minds.
However, the path of embracing anger as a method of change is not one that is
consistent with a Buddhist approach. Not taking away from the fact that some feel
that anger provides a step away from hopelessness, for the reasons outlined above, it
is not an end point for happiness. Nobody says, “I had such a great day today, I was
so angry!” because anger is a state of personal suffering that often causes suffering
for others.
Key to understanding this position is that, from a Buddhist point of view, it is
entirely possible to act for the good of the world and move away from hopelessness
without anger, as will be discussed more below. While it is not discussed within
pragmatic nonviolence theory, many pragmatic nonviolent actions move away from
anger. For example, the Otpor movement, which ousted Slobodan Milosevic in
Serbia, embraced humorous and often joyous actions (Popovic, 2015). They treated
the security forces with respect, sending them a message that in their personal lives
they were also victims of the regime. Protestors read Dostoyevsky to police, held
prettiest police officer competitions, gave them food, and often tried to make sure
that they were greeted with smiling faces. This creates a different atmosphere but
also gives people involved an uplifting sense of empowerment through action and
community.
88 J. Llewellyn
Keeping nonviolent discipline is seen as important within Sharp’s (2011) prag-

matic nonviolence theory and in empirical research (Nepstad, 2011; Schock, 2005).
This suggests that it is advantageous to remain nonviolent during action, and
creating actions that are humorous, joyous, and or respectful could help to prevent
angry outbursts that lead to violence. Attacking nonviolent protestors may even
result in more people joining due to outrage, or the perpetrator questioning the
morality of their actions (see discussions of moral and political ju-jitsu and backfire
in Sharp (2005, p. 549)). In principled nonviolence, this is also recognized, but angry
actions against the other are also avoided because principled activists are often trying
to move beyond anger and not harm others. It is open to the other, even within
coercive action, that allows Gandhi’s nonviolent coercion to remain nonviolent
(May, 2015, pp. 74–79).
Overcoming Anger and Fostering Compassion
Contemplative practices offer two key things: (1) they can help us to control our
anger and eventually remove it; (2) they can help us to cultivate the opposite of
anger, compassion, as a more effective motivator for action and for overcoming
hopelessness. From the Buddhist point of view, this helps us to act nonviolently all
of the time. The Nalanda scholar, Śāntideva, is probably the most significant author
on this subject within the Nalanda tradition. He starts his discussion of anger by
talking about the cultivation of patience. The chapter on patience within his
Bodhisattvacharyāvatāra is key here (Śāntideva, 1979, pp. 53–75). Śāntideva argues
that by cultivating the discipline of patience, we undermine anger’s destructive
potential. Multiple factors allow patience to be developed. We need to see the
value in being patient and the negativities of anger. We need to be aware of our
minds. We need to familiarize ourselves with positive mental states. He also dis-
cusses the cultivation of compassion, which a bodhisattva fully embodies.
The first point has already been outlined above. The second requires mindfulness,
which is about remembering a certain object (the Buddhist definition of mindfulness
differs from broader definitions (Wallace, 2014, pp. 61–65)). This allows observation
of the state of body and mind, all of the time (Śāntideva, 1979, p. 52). We need to
analyze anger to see if it is helpful or destructive (Thurman, 2005, p. 58). (As a result
of not seeing or acknowledging the negative consequences of anger for yourself and
others, and not seeing any possibility of moving beyond this “natural” state, people
will not see a need or possibility to explore anything different (Thurman, 2005,
p. 20).) We can then catch anger with mindfulness and apply the antidote of patience.
Through meditation we learn to be more aware of the contents of the mind and we
train the mind. By watching our own minds and emotions, we better recognize how
anger makes us feel and this then changes our perception of how others feel when they
are angry. Contemplative practices allow one to guard or protect the commitment to
nonviolence. You cannot be aware if you are not mindful (Śāntideva, 1979, p. 39).
The result of engaging in mental training is that we become less angry, and
this eventually requires less and less effort and becomes a habit. Śāntideva (1979,
pp. 70–71) suggests that to help do this, we should view those we are angry with as
teachers of our patience. Without them, we could not practice patience.
This leads to the third, cultivating positive mental states. Familiarizing ourselves
with compassion is done through various meditational techniques, including what is
known as tonglen, the exchanging of self for others. Here, practitioners visualize
taking on other people’s suffering and, in exchange, giving them their own happi-
ness. As has been stated above, there is evidence for the effectiveness of these
techniques from the experience of practitioners over the centuries and scientific
research. We are in fact interconnected and suffering together. Peoples actions
toward you, if violent, are likely motivated by anger too. Thurman (2005, p. 87)
argues that it is therefore anger we should angry at, not the other person who is
deluded like ourselves. Gaining a realization of this situation can lead to us looking
on others more compassionately, but before moving onto that, there are some clear
reasons while embracing this perspective can help transform society – the aim of
nonviolent activism – and create new ways of being. Compassion also overcomes
hopelessness in a more complete way than anger because anger still has our
dissatisfaction at the center of it. Compassion is purely focused on others and
Buddhist teaching states that we will be happier if we think and act altruistically.
Compassion gives a different drive for activism, through the want to end suffering
rather than destroy whatever we perceive as problematic. It is an option that is
neither passive nor violent, neither meek nor angry. Ultimately, this tradition sug-
gests that it is possible to use the fire or energy behind anger, to harness it and use it
for nondestructive ends. This is advanced practice that requires a level of control
over your mind that is unlikely to come about without training. As Thurman (2005,
p. 8) argues, “Anger usually monopolises fire, turning it to destructive ends. Our goal
surely is to conquer anger, but not to destroy the fire it has misappropriated. We will
wield that fire with wisdom and turn it to creative ends.”
The aim is not to deny anger or punish ourselves for feeling it. Instead, it is about
watching our anger, analyzing why it arises, and what reaction it creates in ourselves
and others and then committing to act in ways consistent with the fostering of
nonviolence and training ourselves to do this. When you cultivate patience and
compassion, there is no space for anger. Rather than bursting out in anger at
situations that frustrate you, you are free to level-headedly and with energy commit
to your actions to end suffering. This reduces mistake and harm cause by anger,
hence why it can improve nonviolent discipline during nonviolent action. Anger is
more habitual for some because they have practiced it more. Therefore, this task is
more difficult for some people compared to others. One should not be passive in the
face of injustice, but utilize the energy behind anger and be actively and forcefully
compassionate.
Anger Distorts Reality
As well as learning to recognize anger and its effects, it is also important to recognize
its causes, which according to Buddhism are rooted in our ignorance of how things
90 J. Llewellyn
exist. The Nalanda scholars argue that all things are empty of inherent existence. The
view of emptiness is central to many of the Nalanda texts, especially those of
Nāgārjuna. It is also the subject of the emptiness chapter in Śāntideva’s Bodhisatt-
vacharyāvatāra. Nāgārjuna (1995) argues against svabhāva, which has been trans-
lated in multiple ways, including inherent existence, substance, or essence
(Westerhoff, 2018). Westerhoff (2018) writes that there are two dimensions to this
concept; one is a cognitive and the other is ontological. The term emptiness does not
imply that things do not exist. In short, emptiness implies that objects exist in a
certain way and we tend to view them incorrectly. The Tibetan yogi and scholar, Je
Tsongkhapa (in Garfield, 2015, p. 31) describes it like this: “since no phenomena
exist other than those originating in dependence, no phenomena exist. . . other than
those devoid of intrinsic existence.” I will now unpack this further.
According to this position, ontologically, all things exist dependent on other
things. Tibetan teachers often start to talk about emptiness by describing a cup,
which arises dependent on other things, or using Tsongkapa’s terminology, origi-
nates in dependence. The cup is made from a range of materials that come together to
make it. A range of people gathered these materials, shape them, put them in a kiln,
paint, and glaze them. The cup is also dependent on its parts, such as the handle, the
bottom, and the body. Cognitively, we then label the cup. Cup is a concept, a mental
label that we put on the object. Rather than seeing the cup as what it is – a
dependently originated object that is impermanent – we see it as intrinsically
existing, as if it has svabhāva, which, according to this reasoning, it cannot have.
From this point of view, we misinterpret how everything exists, including ourselves
and our mind. Hence, Tsongkapa’s assertion is that phenomena exist, but they exist
in a way that is impermanent and dependent on a range of factors. However, we often
mistakenly view phenomena as inherently existent and permanent.
As the essence of the cup cannot be found in its parts (i.e., the handle is not the
cup), our sense of “I” cannot be found in our bodies. My hand, my teeth, my hair, my
brain are all described as belonging to this “I” which cannot be found in any of them.
Our “I” is a mental label put upon our body and a series of stories about ourselves
that we recall. “I” is dependent on these things. From the perspectives of Nāgārjuna
and Tsongkhapa, mind is also empty in this way. The mind is made up of a series or
stream of thoughts, and in this way is always changing. It is not the same as it was
when we were children, or even earlier today. It is not the same from moment to
moment. From our ignorance of reality, we grasp at objects that we think will make
us happy. This leads to attachment and then anger/aversion when we do not get what
we want, and we often feel justified in doing this. Anger is “I”-centric, and aggres-
sors normally lash out with anger thinking that they themselves have a just cause
which vindicates their attack on another (Beck, 2010). From the root delusion of
anger, an array of negative emotions appears, such as hatred, resentment, envy, and
cruelty, among others.
Dependent existence tells us that objects do not exist separately from causes and
conditions, including the labeling from our own mind. We create the world con-
stantly. This is why different people can experience the same object in different
ways. It is why an angry activist might shout at a police officer, but that police officer
has family and friends who love them. Anger distorts our reality, not allowing us to
see the person in front of us as who we are because we either exaggerate their good
qualities, or exaggerate their bad qualities, because of our attachment and anger. This
rises out of our confusion or ignorance about reality. When our minds are clouded by
anger, it prevents us from hearing the other. The contemplative traditions of Bud-
dhism help us to understanding this. Through meditation we loosen our false grip on
reality, loosen our attachment to self and the “I” which we launch our anger from.
If we are not so self-centered, we are less likely to make decisions that serve our
own interests and have less attachment to power (Loy, 2006, p. 52). This does not
dismiss structural factors that are important for creating peace, and people can have
good intentions to make change for others without this, but without analysis it can be
difficult to separate those interests for other beings and our self-interest because we
are so caught up in ourselves. This also applies to organizing within a movement. We
get attached to organizations and the positions that we hold within them, not wanting
to let go as we see them as part of our identity, the stories we use to identify
ourselves. This can cloud our vision, prevent others from getting involved, and
make us short sighted. Contemplative practices can help us analyze this as they make
the “I” a little less solid.
Meditation to Make Us More Effective
Finally, shamatha or concentration meditation carries its own benefits. Meditational

practices associated with what has been outlined to this point would be mostly
analytical. However, as mentioned above, analytical meditation is supported by
concentration meditation. This is a set of practices that originated in pre-Buddhist
Vedic traditions. If we improve our concentration, we become more effective in all
tasks (Wallace, 2010). Buddhism suggests that we can achieve high levels of
sustained and effortless concentration. When we are trained in it, concentration is
not tiring but blissful. This has been reported by many contemplatives over the
centuries, although few scientific studies have explored it, instead focusing on
untrained attention, or attention deficits (Wallace, 2010). It should go without saying
that better and stress-free concentration would assist everyone, including activists.
Burn-out is common within activist groups due to high workloads and the serious
of the situations they are in, as well as the impact of the violence that they are often
challenging. Buddhism presents these practices as a way of becoming free of
suffering and developing the optimal skills to help others. While enlightenment is
its aim, engagement in any of these practices can act as essential self-care through
helping us to be more resilient and have happier states of mind.
Collective Politics Without Anger and Positive Peace
Contemplative practices are individual approaches to change. By engaging in them,

an individual can only work on their own mind. However, it is wrong to state that this
only serves to remove oneself from the world’s problems. As has been outlined, the
motivation for doing this is to more effectively help others by becoming
92 J. Llewellyn
bodhisattvas. But how do contemplative practices connect to the creation of nonvi-

olent politics? Two well-known advocates of nonviolent politics that strongly
embrace contemplative practices are Mahatma Gandhi and H.H the 14th Dalai
Lama. The philosophies of both hold that it is possible to wage nonviolent mass
political action, while continuing to foster individual, internal, contemplative prac-
tices in a mutually reinforcing way.
While Gandhi did not explicitly draw upon the Nalanda scholars, a similar logic
to what has been presented above was recognized and practiced by him. Both the
Gandhian and Nalanda traditions have expressed their affinity with each other. H.H
the Dalai Lama describes himself as a follower of Gandhi; Samdhong Rinpoche, H.
H the Dalai Lama’s official representative and former head of the Tibetan Govern-
ment in Exile, is a professor of Gandhian Studies in his own right; and Vinoba
Bhave, Gandhi’s primary disciple, had strong links with Buddhism and Buddhist
nonviolent practice (Bhave, 1994). In this way, it seems appropriate to discuss them
together.
Gandhian political action is based on engaging with adversaries without hate and
maintaining openness to dialogue with oppressors while engaging in nonviolent
struggle (May, 2015; Llewellyn, 2018). While doing this, he was no pushover. He
demanded very high levels of courage from those who struggled with him
(Finkelstein, 2012). Satyagrahi’s were expected to act with love as they engaged
in satyagraha and they had to be willing to suffer the consequences of their actions
(Vinthagen, 2015, p. 249). (Satyagraha is Gandhi’s method of nonviolent resistance
and is often translated as truth-force. A satyagrahi is a practitioner of satyagraha.)
Their action embraces a radical politics of action rather than demand. Gandhian
action embraces a form of politics that makes a revolutionary break from the political
status quo. This a step further than nonviolent discipline. Gandhi encouraged
satyagrahi’s to live a certain way of life which would form the basis of their
nonviolent action. This included meditative practices.
Life in Gandhi’s ashram (“spiritual community”) included morning mediation.
He prescribed a kind of shamatha mediation to overcome anger, as remembered by
his grandson, Arun Gandhi (2017). Gandhi’s use of the charkha (“spinning wheel”)
to produce khadi (“home-spun cloth”) acted as resistance to the British cloth
industry, empowered people as it helped them become self-sufficient, but also
acted as a concentration meditation which people would engage in every day.
Gandhi’s ashrams were used as training grounds, which one would then leave
when the time was right to engage in political action. Gandhi and Vinoba both
retreated to the ashram at various points in their lives to rethink their strategies before
launching new campaigns. Vinoba led Gandhi’s movement after his assassination.
He was an adept yogi who fully embraced internal peace work as well as external
peace work as he gathered millions of acres of land for the landless in his bhoodhan
(“land-gift”) movement and set up communal peaceful villages in his gramdan
(“village-gift”) movement (Bhave, 1994; Llewellyn, 2018). This was a large dem-
onstration of political thought an action with a strong basis in contemplative practice.
Another example of politics rooted in contemplative practices is put forward by
H.H the 14th Dalai Lama who is the spiritual leader for the Tibetan people and for
much of his life was also their political leader. H.H Dalai Lama’s political position-
ing is remarkably peaceful. He comes from a Tibetan culture that had almost
completely removed its military and what remained of it was small with very
dated weaponry (Van Schaik, 2011; Hopkirk, 1995). If people wanted to dedicate
their lives to nonviolence – to the contemplative practices described and to learning
Buddhist philosophy – they would be supported by the community. This was central
to Tibetan society to the point that before the invasion of Tibet in the 1950s, between
10% and 15% of the population and 20–30% of males were living in monasteries and
nunneries (Goldstein, 2010). Tibet may not have been a perfect society or wholly
nonviolent, but these facts suggest that it was dramatically different from any other
large society on earth at the time and since.
Following the colonization of Tibet and the subsequent killing of over 1.2 million
Tibetans, H.H Dalai Lama presented a peace plan for Tibet. It has the well-being of
all people at its heart, as it aims to transform Tibet into a zone of peace (Dalai Lama,
1991b). In H.H Dalai Lama’s middle way approach to the resolution of the Tibet
conflict, there is no grasping of power or drive for nationhood or statehood. There is
a recognition of the people of China as equal and also deserving of peace. The focus
of his political vision is purely about helping people live better lives, free from
violence. His lack of want for power was shown as he removed himself from his
political duties in order for Tibetans to democratically elect their leaders. On a
personal level, he engages with all people with kindness and openness, much like
Gandhi did. This objection to holding personal power was also seen in Gandhi’s
actions. At the moment of Indian independence, he was walking barefoot through
villages trying to quell communal violence and then launching a hunger strike to
stop it.
This kind of action does not, of course, only come from engaging in contempla-
tive practice. However, both these examples of figures who embrace it and speak
strongly of its value act as a strong counter point to Žižek’s claim that contemplative
practices, Buddhist or otherwise, fit with a capitalist ideology of the privileged, who
aim to remove themselves from the world and ignore others suffering. The proof of
the pudding is in the eating, so to speak. This is not to suggest that the politics of
these figures are perfect, that they offer a comprehensive path to peace in all
situations or that they will result in 100% success, or that people have to adopt
their ideologies. Gandhi did not achieve the society he sought, and H.H the Dalai
Lama still waits to return to Tibet. Loy (2006, pp. 50–51) is most likely correct when
he says that Buddhism does not give all of the answers to what a nonviolent society
could look like. Nevertheless, they demonstrate a bridging of individual and collec-
tive peace, which they argue, and their actions show, can be reinforcing of each
other.
On top of this, their examples, which have still achieved considerable success,
showing a way of doing politics differently. In the process they point to the potential
of a politics where the individuals involved have more energy, are happier, more
level headed, have means/ends consistency, and therefore do less harm to others. It is
conceivable that engaging in contemplative practices helps us to deeply engrain our
ethical commitment to peace so that we are effortlessly and spontaneously
94 J. Llewellyn
nonviolent and compassionate. We therefore achieve Gandhi’s aim of being consis-

tent in thought, word, and deed.
Final Thoughts: The Mind and Positive Peace
In conclusion, this chapter has presented an introduction to the contemplative

practices of the Buddhist Nalanda tradition and how they relate to nonviolence.
According to the Nalanda tradition, a major way that contemplative practices can
assist nonviolence is through: (1) the reduction of anger, which is closely related to
violence; (2) the fostering of compassion; (3) fostering better attention skills. The
politics of Gandhi and H.H the Dalai Lama suggest that engaging in contemplative
practices is not a way of disengaging from the world’s violence but can be a basis for
peaceful political action that is even radical, disobedient, and forceful. From the
perspective of Buddhism and the Nalanda scholars, the mind is central to peace. The
mind is where action comes from and it is through the mind that we experience and
react to the world. The contents of this chapter do not represent a moral judgment on
activists who embrace anger, or a rejection of radical politics, as the Gandhian
example demonstrates. It simply describes a different worldview and philosophy
based on the contemplative traditions outlined.
From the Buddhist perspective, the mind is central to flourishing (a point recog-
nized within Western Psychology; see Maslow (1943, 1954, 1969)). Working on our
minds alone is not sufficient for the creation of peace, as recognized by H.H the Dalai
Lama who constantly encourages nonviolent action and peace work. (On the flip
side, as Martin (2014) points out, there are ways of organizing our societies to help
well-being.) However, there is reason to take this approach seriously, as many
contemplatives who are committed to nonviolence have over thousands of years.
An argument for both internal and external peace work was presented nicely by the
Beat Generation poet Gary Snyder (in Barnhill, 2010, pp. 110–111), who wrote in
his essay on Buddhist-anarchism:
The mercy of the West has been social revolution; the mercy of the East has been individual
insight into the basic self/void. We need both. They are both contained in the traditional three
aspects of the Dharma path: wisdom (prajna), meditation (dhyana), and morality (sila).
Wisdom is intuitive knowledge of the mind of love and clarity that lies beneath one’s
ego-driven anxieties and aggressions. Meditation is going into the mind to see this for
yourself – over and over again, until it becomes the mind you live in. Morality is bringing it
back out in the way you live, through personal example and responsible action, ultimately
toward the true community (sangha) of “all beings.”
Snyder suggests that the individual and the collective can never be separated. We
are interconnected and exist in relation to one another and our political structures are
nothing more than a set of relationships (Landauer, 2010 [1910], p. 204). By
working on the individual and the collective, peace work could be much more
comprehensive.
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Resilience and the Claiming of Voice by
Marginalized Communities 6
Lacey M. Sloan and Cathryne L. Schmitz
Contents
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 100
Colonialization . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 101
Neoliberalism: Another Shade of Colonization . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 102
Whiteness, White Supremacist Patriarchy, and White Nationalism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 103
Trauma, Healing, and Resilience . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 104
Exemplars . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 105
Kenya: Colonization and Reclamation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 105
Somaliland . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 108
Yukon River Watershed (USA and Canada) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 111
The USA: Slavery, Radical Reconstruction, and White Supremacy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 113
Discussion and Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 116
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 119
Abstract
Despite European expansion and colonization starting in the fifteenth century that
resulted in long-term trauma and inequality for those who were colonized (Sloan,
Joyner, Stakeman, & Schmitz, Critical multiculturalism and intersectionality in a
complex world. Oxford University Press, New York, 2018), colonized peoples
are resilient. In this chapter, we first examine colonization, White supremacy
patriarchy, and neoliberalism as strategies that resulted in our current state of
racial, social, and economic injustice. We then turn to healing and resiliency of
colonized peoples by describing countries on two continents that found ways to
reclaim voice, advocate for peace and environmental justice, and heal. We
provide exemplars that exemplify local, Indigenous, nonviolent, and relational
L. M. Sloan
University of Vermont, Burlington, VT, USA
e-mail: lmsloan@UVM.edu
C. L. Schmitz (*)
University of North Carolina Greensboro, Greensboro, NC, USA
e-mail: clschmit@uncg.edu
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_6
100 L. M. Sloan and C. L. Schmitz
models of reclaiming voice, exhibiting resistance, building resilience, and

establishing agency. We also examine the strategies used by African-Americans
to reclaim voice and heal from trauma during the post-Civil War Reconstruction
Era. In each case, we include the historical context, the peacebuilding process,
and an examination of factors that contributed to, or hindered, peacebuilding.
Keywords
Colonization · White supremacy patriarchy · Peacebuilding · Nonviolence ·
Resilience
Introduction
European expansion and colonization starting in the fifteenth century resulted in

long-term trauma and inequality for those who were colonized (Sloan et al., 2018).
Rich with resources, colonizer invasions often began with enslavement, control, and
economic inequality (Engerman & Sokoloff, 2005). The sixteenth-century ideas of
Whites as superior to non-Whites (James, 2016) provided moral grounds for the
enslavement and control of Indigenous Peoples. As colonized nation-states were
created, violence, enslavement, and restricted suffrage left Indigenous Peoples with
little or no voice.
Despite the abolishment of slavery in the nineteenth century and the withdrawal
of imperial powers from many colonized African countries following World War II,
colonial occupiers did not leave North America, South Africa, and Australia. The
legacy of historical trauma from colonization – through attempts to decimate culture,
families, and spirituality – has been passed down through the generations and
compounds the ongoing traumas inflicted on Indigenous Peoples today. The eco-
nomic policies of neoliberalism serve to perpetuate the violence, trauma, and
economic, social, and political inequality of those who remain or were previously
colonized based on structures of White supremacy and White nationalism. Although
the negative impacts of colonization continue to this day, Indigenous Peoples are
resilient. This chapter examines how colonized people are finding voice to reclaim
agency and restore the ecological environment through nonviolent means.
The negative impacts on colonized people can be seen around the globe. For
example, in the USA, which remains an occupier of Indigenous lands both inside and
outside its borders, Indigenous and formerly enslaved people continue to experience
more violence and higher rates of poverty than their White colonizers. Of all racial-
ethnic groups in the USA, Indigenous People have the lowest median household
income, followed by African Americans (US Census Bureau, 2017, 2018). Poverty
rates for Indigenous Peoples are three times that of people who are White, and for
African Americans, twice that of people who are White (US Census Bureau, 2017,
2018). And, Indigenous women are twice as likely to experience sexual assault as
White women (Rosay, 2016); Black people represent 49% of all homicide victims in
the USA, even though they comprise only 13% of the population (Harrell, 2007).
6 Resilience and the Claiming of Voice by Marginalized Communities 101
In South Africa, a formerly colonized country in which White colonizers still own
90% of the land, the poverty rate for Black Africans is 38 times that of those who are
White (Gradín, 2009, 2012, 2013). Australia, another country colonized under the
value of White supremacy, is still occupied by its colonizers with dire consequences
for Indigenous People who experience a poverty rate that averages 31% (versus 13%
for the White population), and infant mortality and suicide at twice the rate of
non-Indigenous People (Australian Bureau of Statistics, 2018). When Australia
became a nation in 1901, it was as a White-only nation under the White Australia
Policy which remained in place until the 1960s (West et al., 2010). This policy
allowed immigration only by people of European descent and prohibited immigra-
tion of Asians or Pacific Islanders (West et al.).
Before the exemplars are explored, we first examine colonization, neoliberalism,
White supremacy, and White supremacist patriarchy. European colonization in the
fifteenth and sixteenth centuries advanced under the assumption that non-White
people were inferior to White people (James, 2016). This idea of White supremacy,
which is inherently rooted in patriarchal structures (hooks, 2006, 2015), continues to
dominate across the globe. Modern capitalism is thought to have emerged during this
same time (Burnham, 2003). The current neoliberal economic policies and structures
continue oppression based on race/color and gender (Alexander, 1994).
Colonialization
The history of conquest of colonized lands is an ugly one that still holds sway today in the
ways that modern nation-states such as Canada, the US, Australia, China, Russia, Brazil, and
many others subordinate Indigenous Peoples . . . [There] is harsh violence that is inevitable
during a powerful people’s colonization of lands occupied by another people. (Appolloni,
2016, p. 243)
Although expansionism and colonization go back millennia, Western colonization is

generally described as beginning in the fifteenth century with European expansion to
the Americas, India, and Asia in search of trade routes (Ferro, 1997). However, trade
was not the only purpose of European expansion. By the eighteenth and nineteenth
centuries, European colonization of Africa, India, and Australia also focused on
spreading Christianity and civilizing the world (Ferro). The USA joined in the
expansion and colonization through its westward occupation of the land now
known as the USA. The USA also holds several countries as its territories: Samoa,
Guam, Puerto Rico, the Virgin Islands, and Northern Marianna Islands.
Even in the countries from which colonizers have withdrawn, the trauma of
colonization and its consequent destruction of people, culture, and land impacts
millions to this day. Unimaginable terrors were inflicted on the people and lands of
Africa, Asia, Australia, and the Americas by Europe, Russia, China, and eventually
the USA, as the latter countries invaded and colonized the former (Appolloni, 2016;
Robinson, 2001; Snyder, 2018). An imperial mindset supported the colonizers as
they destroyed existing communities and political entities, not recognizing the
existing inhabitants as fully human (Snyder). With expansion, the USA signed
“treaties with native nations and then disregard those treaties on the logic that
those nations were not sovereign” (Snyder, p. 74). Genocide, forced assimilation,
environmental destruction, and depletion of resources were part of colonization
(Robinson); the violence and oppression continue, supported by neoliberal economic
policies. No compensation has been paid by Europe, Russia, China, or the USA in
the aftermath of colonial exploitation, slavery, and the destruction of “viable social,
political, economic, and agricultural systems” (Robinson, p. 229).
Patriarchal systems of White supremacy informed imperialistic, capitalistic col-
onization (hooks, 2006, 2015). By the late seventeenth century, the idea of classifi-
cation by appearance permeated society as lawmakers in the early colonies of North
America began to use White as a classification for themselves, rather than English-
men or Christians (Sloan et al., 2018). The classification of people by race/color
created a permanent class of slaves in the New World by homogenizing and
identifying Europeans as White and creating other categories of people based on
physical characteristics (Smedley, 2007). These systems of patriarchal White
supremacy served as the justification for the colonial exercise of domination, slavery,
genocide, forced migration, segregation, and exploitation (Villanueva, 2018).
Patriarchal White supremacy continues to be enforced through economic, polit-
ical, and social systems that advantage people who are White and economic elites
(Villanueva, 2018). As noted earlier, even though South Africa is an independent
nation, White colonizers still own almost all the land (Gradín, 2009, 2012, 2013).
Similarly, the USA continues to occupy Indigenous lands, and the original Peoples
suffer exclusion, high unemployment, and poverty, denial of religious freedom, and
environmental degradation of sacred lands (Weaver, 2019). The naming and legiti-
mizing of neoliberalism in the late 1970s allowed those who benefited from colo-
nialism to entrench their political and economic power even further.
Neoliberalism: Another Shade of Colonization
Neoliberalism emerged from an economic model stressing private property, free

markets, and trade as key to human well-being (Harvey, 2005; Mudge, 2008). It was
reframed, legitimated, and highlighted by the Reagan and Thatcher Administrations,
strengthening and spreading in the 1980s (Harvey; Mudge). While it is touted as a
new economic system, processes were engaged that reapplied and legitimated the
structures of colonialism. Since neoliberal economic policies returned to favor in the
last decade of the twentieth century, colonized and other marginalized people around
the world have suffered. As systems across the globe were reorganized following
neoliberalism, the wealth of the top 10% now equals the wealth of the bottom 90%
and their growth in wealth outpaces all others (Giridharadas, 2019).
Neoliberalism’s laissez-faire orientation has resulted in increased economic
inequality, movement away from democracy, and increased environmental degrada-
tion (Sayer, 2015). Neoliberalism’s moral commitment to the free market with
minimal government regulation puts money above people, the environment, and
the sovereignty of nations. Neoliberalism resulted in a redistribution of wealth and

income with increased control of labor; deregulation of industry and environmental
protections; increased privatization of natural resources, pensions, and education;
and loss of employment benefits (Harvey, 2005; Mudge, 2008).
Currently, those countries and individuals with power and wealth are marketing
themselves as the ones who can save people who are less economically advantaged
(Giridharadas, 2019). These power elites fashion themselves to be rescuers as they
work to set up systems in which they control resources and power. For example, the
World Bank’s loans to the global south have crippled the development of many
countries due to mounting interest on debt. In this way, those in power control social
change so that it does not threaten them. “In an age defined by a chasm between
those who have power and those who don’t, elites have spread the idea that people
must be helped, but only in market-friendly ways that do not upset fundamental
power equations” (Giridharadas, p. 8).
Whiteness, White Supremacist Patriarchy, and White Nationalism
I have myself heard a man, educated, and a large proprietor of sheep and cattle, maintain that
there was no more harm in shooting a native, than in shooting a wild dog. . .he maintained
that there was nothing wrong in it, that it was preposterous to suppose they had souls.
(Aboriginal Heritage Office, 2007, np)
White supremacist patriarchy was a critical pillar of colonization. Whiteness was

privileged in support of colonization to condone the enslavement of Indigenous
Peoples. Whiteness became a major marker of those who belong and those who do
not in areas of housing, immigration, employment, and/or education. In the 1600s
and 1700s, Whiteness was established as a system of race privilege that divided
classes and supported the enslavement of Indigenous Peoples (Allen, 2012). These
racial distinctions are embedded into the political, social, and economic systems,
marking colonization in countries including South Africa, the USA, and Australia.
There are many examples of White supremacy in Western colonization. In the late
1700s in South Africa, White Dutch colonizers legislated separation from Indige-
nous Peoples (Sloan et al., 2018). The Land Act of 1913 codified this segregation
and domination in South Africa as the White minority claimed the majority of land
and moved the Black majority to special reserves (Davenport & Saunders, 2000).
When Lt. James Cook landed in Australia, he claimed the island for Britain,
declaring there were no inhabitants (Davenport & Saunders). The 400 nations of
Indigenous Peoples were labeled “Black” as a negative stand-in for subhuman which
denied their humanity and their rights (Aboriginal Heritage Office, 2007). Similar
practices occurred in the newly formed USA, as the Indian Removal Act of 1830
called for the removal of all Indigenous People to reserves west of the Mississippi
River, and out of the new states (Law Library of Congress [US], n.d.). One hundred
years after the Indian Removal Act, the USA began a policy of termination through a
series of laws ending federal recognition of over 100 tribes, effectively eliminating
the existence of these tribes in the eyes of the US government (Law Library of
Congress [US]).
Overt acts of White supremacy appear to be on the rise again in the USA, western
Europe, and Australia (Southern Poverty Law Center, n.d.). White supremacists
believe they are intrinsically better than people of color (DeWolf & Geddes, 2019).
Acts of White supremacy include a range of policies and practices such as discrim-
ination in housing, suppression of voting rights, employment discrimination, slavery
in the USA, apartheid in South Africa, and the fascism of Nazi Germany. The
endgame of White supremacy will always be elimination of those who are not
identified as White, because there is no such thing as an acceptable non-White
presence under White supremacy (Cheney-Rice, 2019).
White nationalism is another form of White supremacy in which supporters
believe Western countries should rightfully be dominated by people who are
White (Southern Poverty Law Center, n.d.). During the last five years (2013–
2018), White nationalists killed 49 people in a mosque in Christchurch,
New Zealand (Cai & Landon, 2019); 11 people in a synagogue in a Pittsburgh,
Pennsylvania, USA (Robertson et al., 2018); 17 students in Parkland, Florida, USA
(Fortin, 2018); 9 people in a church in Charleston, South Carolina, USA (Cai &
Landon); and 6 in a Quebec City, Montreal, Canada mosque (Cai & Landon).
Unfortunately, it seems that at least one-third of the attacks committed since 2011
were inspired by those who committed similar acts before them; the spread of these
ideas via social media enhances the ongoing global threat (Cai & Landon).
Trauma, Healing, and Resilience
Trauma can be understood as a wound inflicted upon the mind (Vernon, 2012). The
historical trauma experienced by many Indigenous People today are the result of the
global history of colonization and White supremacy. Western colonization arbitrarily
separated or combined communities that existed prior to White contact, raped the
lands of resources, and devalued the people. When conflict and/or occupation are
ongoing in a country/region, entire generations can grow up under the tyranny of
violence, causing collective trauma across the community. The traumas of “margin-
alization, lack of self-esteem, fear and cynicism. . ..have accumulated over centuries”
(Maathai, 2009, p. 77).
Despite the continued impact of historical trauma from colonization, and the rise
of White nationalism, White supremacy patriarchy, and inequality of neoliberalism,
marginalized populations have found voice and engaged local processes that bring
peace, decolonization (reclaiming of land and culture by colonized people), and
reclaiming of dignity (Weaver, 2019). The original Peoples of colonized lands have
been resilient and reclaimed Indigenous strategies to heal from historical and current
traumas (Weaver). Resilience is characterized by the ability to adapt in the face of
adversity (Lederach & Lederach, 2010). As shown in the exemplars, many commu-
nities have found resilience in the face of crises and/or structural oppression by
coming together to tell and retell stories of atrocities, giving voice to traumatic
wounds, and validating this reality for those individuals and communities who have
experienced it (Vernon; Weaver). This type of dialogue can transform harmful
attitudes, rebuild trust and relationships, and allow Indigenous cultures to be
reclaimed and reaffirmed.
While identifying strategies with the potential to mitigate the traumas and harms
of colonization that continue, it is important to ensure that the processes are
restorative, support positive relationships, and assist in decolonization (Villanueva,
2018). “Social healing sparks collective voice and creates social echo that simulta-
neously moves inward and out, fostering a sense of belonging and purposeful action”
(Lederach & Lederach, 2010, p. 208). It requires local, regional, and international
collaboration to ensure that Western countries do not continue colonizing behaviors
(Maathai, 2009). People who were/are colonized have a right to reject the messages
of colonization and “believe in themselves again. . . honor and practice their
cultures. . .[T]hey no longer need to be indebted – financially, intellectually, and
spiritually – to those who once governed them. They must rise up and walk”
(Maathai, 2009, p. 20) without becoming dependent on foreign aid.
Exemplars
In this section, we describe countries on two continents that are finding ways to
reclaim voice and advocate for peace and environmental justice. Exemplars were
selected that exemplify local, Indigenous, nonviolent, and relational models of
reclaiming voice, exhibiting resistance, building resilience, and establishing agency.
The exemplars were selected by the authors because of their use of local, Indigenous,
and nonviolent methods to reclaim social, political, and environmental justice (Soma-
liland, Kenya and the Yukon River Inter-Tribal Watershed Council). We also chose to
examine the strategies used by African Americans to reclaim voice and heal from
trauma during the post-civil war Reconstruction era. Although cut short by additional
violence, African Americans continued rebuilding across the twentieth century to
present time. These exemplars highlight processes used to reclaim land and culture. In
each case, we include the historical context, the peacebuilding process, and an
examination of factors that contributed to, or hindered, peacebuilding.
Kenya: Colonization and Reclamation
The seventy years of colonial rule in Kenya were characterized by punitive economic, social,
and political policies. Most outstanding among these policies was racial discrimination.
Huge fertile land was alienated for white settlement, and harsh labor laws were enacted to
force the Africans to work at low wages on settler farms and public works. (Embassy of the
Republic of Kenya, n.d., paragraph 6)
Among many of the devastating consequences of British colonization was the

destruction of tribal structures, systems, and power (Ndege, 2009). Yet, Kenya has
forged a path forward in the aftermath of British colonialism.
The Berlin Conference of 1884/1885 set the framework and boundaries for
colonial rule as European powers divided up East Africa (Ndege, 2009). In 1895,
British colonial rule began when they established a protectorate over what is now
known as Kenya (Ndege). The territories of 40 Indigenous tribes were changed with
the formation of Kenya; boundaries were destroyed with some tribes split while
others were forced together (Maathai, 2009; Ndege). The British imposed imperialist
and capitalist economic, political, and social structures that established themselves
as the economic benefactors (Ndege). Local traditions and Indigenous leadership
were stripped from Indigenous Peoples through ongoing campaigns of violence
including genocide and forced migration as land was claimed for settlers and
taxation was established along with forced labor (Ndege). Race and ethnicity were
at the core of power under colonial rule (Ndege). Political participation was limited,
sparking protest movements as early as the 1920s (Embassy of the Republic of
Kenya, n.d.).
In response to stolen land, racial oppression, forced labor, low wages, and lack of
political power, Black Africans formed political associations, organizations, and
alliances, assuming leadership and creating pressure for change (Maathai, 2009).
In the 1950s, frustration with slow political and economic change led to the Mau
Mau Rebellion (South African History Online [SAHO], 2018). The British
responded by evicting entire villages from their land if one member participated in
the uprising (Gutheru, 2005). Those loyal to the Rebellion were held in concentra-
tion camps, where torture and executions were used to extract information and force
them to reject their allegiance to the anti-colonial cause (Furedi, 1989). Given the
severity of the British brutality and the longevity of the battle, the British people
eventually tired of the conflict, increasing pressure on the British government to end
colonization in Kenya (Embassy of the Republic of Kenya, n.d.).
Although Kenya achieved independence from British rule in 1964, the suffering
and trauma did not end. Seventy years of colonial rule left the original Peoples of
Kenya struggling with violence, environmental degradation, and oppression (Reimer
& Schmitz, Forthcoming 2020). Human rights crises intensified as complaints were
ignored within a context of ethnic and gendered oppression. For example, ethnically
based structural violence continued under autocratic local leaders who lacked
accountability (Mamdani, 2018; Ndege, 2009). As a legacy of colonial relationships,
Kenya has been left with a heavy debt burden and unfair trade practices that kept
them anchored in poverty (Maathai, 2009).
It is within this context that Wangari Maathai organized women to engage in
environmental healing. Maathai brought a resilience to leadership that comes from
diverse life, cultural, and educational experiences. She was raised in a Kenyan
village, experiencing a sustainable ecosystem. In Kenya, she attended Catholic
boarding schools; she then completed baccalaureate and master’s degrees in biology
in the USA. While there, she was exposed to the concepts of citizen participation in
the government and the rights of women to be self-reliant and outspoken (Maathai,
2006). Finally, she completed her PhD at the University of Nairobi, the first woman
in East Africa to complete a doctorate. She married, had three children, and became a
professor and department chair at the University of Nairobi. As a strong, outspoken
woman, these positions were appropriated. As she experienced loss and the poverty
of single parenthood, she developed a resilience that strengthened her leadership.
Peacebuilding The presidency of Daniel arap Moi (1978–2002) was one of vio-
lence and corruption that neither supported the people nor ecology. This scenario set
the stage for the growth of the Greenbelt Movement. This was one strategy that
enabled the people of Kenya to reclaim voice, heal from the trauma of colonization,
and change the way forward for the country. The Greenbelt Movement was devel-
oped to address environmental destruction and, along with that, gendered oppression
and violent conflict (Powers et al., 2018). The movement did not draw the attention
of the government because the organizer – Wangari Maathai – was a woman
organizing other women and women were not seen as a threat to male power. As
women mobilized in the local community to germinate, then plant, trees to reclaim
the community ecology that was destroyed, they built relationships and, over time,
started organizing to bring peace to Kenya (Merton & Dater, 2008).
When it became apparent that the Greenbelt Movement engaged a nonviolent

change process that empowered and educated women, the government opposed the
movement, threatening the safety of Dr. Maathai and increasing pressure to disrupt
the work of the Greenbelt Movement (Merton & Dater, 2008). Women, along with
an ever-expanding community of supporters, fought gender oppression and govern-
ment tyranny (Maathai, 2006). Interactive workshops – the Community Empower-
ment and Education program (CEE) – were organized to educate community
members on civic engagement (Merton & Dater). People learned to face their fears
about questioning and confronting the government as they were educated about
democracy, advocacy, and government accountability (Merton & Dater).
In 1989, the Moi government decided to demolish Uhuru Park – the only park in
Nairobi – and replace it with an office complex (Maathai, 2006; Merton & Dater,
2008). As Dr. Maathai heavily pressured European donors, they withdrew their
funding for the new office complex. Her success at thwarting the Moi government
plans ended with people recognizing that they could change the government (Maa-
thai; Merton & Dater). Labeled as a “disobedient woman,” she was at risk of violent
reprisal; the community watched over her as she modeled taking action in the face of
fear. In the process, she was careful to use nonviolent means and never break the law
(Maathai; Merton & Dater).
Another critical action occurred in 1992, when a strike was organized demanding
that the government release political prisoners (Maathai 2006; Merton & Dater,
2008). Within a few days, an increasing number of community members joined,
including former prisoners. The government grew increasingly violent. While they
were attacked and beaten by government troops, the protesters continued to employ
nonviolent means (Maathai; Merton & Dater). For example, the women used a local
Indigenous method to shame the men who attacked them by stripping in the men’s
presence and shaking their breasts (Maathai; Merton & Dater). Despite violent
attacks requiring the hospitalization of strikers, the nonviolent strike continued for
11 months until the prisoners were released.
Contributing Factors Indigenous, nonviolent methods were used to confront the

government, protect the environment, and strengthen communities. The ongoing
commitment to peace with the undoing of the structures of colonization was further
embedded through formal and informal processes for keeping community members
informed. Local leadership emerged as women felt responsibility for building the
health of their communities. Through the CEE, people were actively engaged in
questioning the government and themselves. They took responsibility for environ-
mental and community change while also demanding government accountability.
The women became leaders educating other communities, sharing the growing of
trees as a communal process. The knowledge and process was shared from peer to
peer and community to community, avoiding hierarchical processes.
As the size of the resistance to domination grew, political wins began to create
more change for the country. In 1998, when the Moi government planned to divide
up parts of the Kakura Forest and give it to his supporters, Maathai worked with
tribal leaders to ensure that ethnic disagreements would not lead to divisive conflict.
Instead, a critical mass of people came together across ethnic lines to protect the
forest. In 2002, Moi was defeated and replaced by a coalition government with a
commitment to peace and the ecological environment. Maathai became a member of
the parliament as the community and military developed joint efforts to protect the
ecology and the country (Maathai, 2006; Merton & Dater, 2008).
Somaliland
Somaliland’s location on the eastern Horn of Africa made it an important location for
strategic military defense and trade. Like the Omanis (from the country of Oman)
before them, and the Portuguese before the Omanis, European powers sought control
over this area for purposes that benefited the colonizers, not the colonized (Metz,
1992a). Because of the 1884/1885 Berlin Conference that divided the Horn of Africa
among competing external entities, Somalia was divided into five different parts,
resulting in many Somalis becoming vulnerable minorities as members of new
countries (e.g., Ethiopia) or colonies (e.g., French Djibouti, British Somaliland,
Italian Somalia, and British Kenya) (Kapteijns, 2015). The area now known as
Somaliland became a British protectorate.
The British saw the location of Somaliland as an excellent source of meat
products to supply their soldiers based just across the Gulf of Aden in Yemen; the
base was vital to protect British-occupied India (Metz, 1992c). As shown when the
Somalis attempted resistance at the turn of the twentieth century, the British colo-
nizers were willing to engage in war to maintain the divisions they created (Hess,
1964; Metz, 1992b). Twenty years of war, including aerial bombardments, resulted
in the death of thousands (Hess; Metz, 1992b) and environmental devastation that
would eventually lead to decades of famine. Although the Somaliland resistance was
defeated, it depleted British funds. With little money left to spend on Somaliland,
colonial rule became an act of neglect (Metz, 1992d).
In 1960, as colonial powers retreated, the Italian colony of Somalia was united
with the former British protectorate of Somaliland to create the Republic of Somalia
(Omaar & Mohamoud, 2015). Due to British neglect of Somaliland, and Italian
investment in Somalia, the latter was able to exert control over the former. When,
through a military coup, Mohamed Siad Barre took control of Somalia, foreign aid
and investment flowed into Mogadishu (Elmi, 2002). Power continued to consolidate
in Mogadishu to the exclusion of clans from Somaliland, which eventually led to civil
conflict (Elmi). As violence escalated, international funds were withdrawn leading to
the collapse of the country (African American Registry, 2019). In 1991, after three
years of active conflict resulted in the deaths of over 500,000 people and the
displacement of another 600,000 people into Ethiopia, Barre’s reign ended (Elmi).
When Barre’s reign ended, Somaliland declared itself an autonomous state,
although it is still not internationally recognized as such (Felter, 2018). Unlike
Somalia, Somaliland was able to restore peace using a traditional system of nego-
tiation between clan elders. The lack of international recognition, and subsequent
isolation from international intervention, has been cited as a significant factor that led
to the peace brokered by traditional elders and maintained by the people (Omaar &
Mohamoud, 2015; Phillips, 2016). By this time, over a century of occupation,
neglect, war, and exploitation had devastated Somaliland (Felter).
Peacebuilding Declaring itself a sovereign nation did not stop the violence in
Somaliland, but it opened the door to several peace conferences that eventually
resulted in declarations of peace and reconciliation (Inclusive Peace and Transition
Initiative [IPTI], 2017). The Somaliland Women’s Development Association
(SOWDA) organized women to protest the war “through activities such as demon-
strations; open protests in the battle zones; press conferences denouncing the evils of
war; mass prayers; meetings with traditional government leaders and the leaders of
the opposition groups” (Elmi, 2002, paragraph 6). This brought clan elders (all men)
together to negotiate the peace process through the traditional guurti system (Farah
& Lewis, 1997; IPTI; Pegg & Kolstø, 2015).
Using a traditional, Indigenous model for transforming conflict, a council of clan

elders – the guutri – worked for months to create consensus on challenging issues
(IPTI, 2017). In the guurti, clan elders are empowered to speak for their clans, and
make decisions on their behalf. Because the majority of people in Somaliland were/
are nomadic, this local model allowed for mediation of disputes; no meeting was/is
ended until consensus was/is reached (Debating reform, 2013). The peace process
followed in Somaliland helped to lay the groundwork for recovery, despite – and
some would say because of – a lack of much international investment. As commu-
nities came together to create and maintain peace, they also worked together towards
environmental and economic sustainability (Pastoral and Environmental Network in
the Horn of Africa [PENHA], 2005, 2018). The guurti system was formally incor-
porated into Somaliland’s bicameral government (IPTI; Farah & Lewis, 1997).
Although women were, and continue to be, excluded from the guutri, it was
women organizing for peace and environmental restoration that brought the clans to
the negotiating table (Friends of the Earth, 2016). Many authors note the importance
of women’s presence in pressuring the elders to continue, carrying messages, and
influencing the resolution of differences between their husband’s and father’s clans
(IPTI, 2017; Farah & Lewis, 1997; Phillips, 2016). Several women were granted
observer status to the peace conferences enabling them to be involved in the process
through their traditional informal means of influencing family. When negotiations
stalled, women petitioned the government to stop the violence and return to nego-
tiate peace (Elmi, 2002). The women also provided financial support for the guutri
peace conferences.
Women have played a significant role in the economic recovery and sustain-
ability of Somaliland (PENHA, 2018). Despite cultural resistance to women in the
marketplace as entrepreneurs, economic necessity and organizing by women has
quelled much of the objection. Recent government actions removing barriers for
women resulted in an “overwhelming number of women seeking trade licenses,
microcredit and technical support from the ministry” (Guelle, 2012, paragraph 7).
Women are more likely to keep income they earn in the family and community.
Therefore, they have been targeted for microloans to encourage entrepreneurship;
they are also employed to do the actual work of peace (PENHA, 2005, 2018).
Providing income to women has reduced the pressure on families to cut trees to
sell for firewood or make into charcoal, reducing environmental degradation
(PENHA, 2005, 2018). “It’s not possible to achieve environmental sustainability
without gender equality, because women work in the environment, they put food
on the table, bring water” (Fatima Jibrell, as quoted in Friends of the Earth, 2016,
paragraph 24).
Contributing Factors Indigenous, consensus-building methods were used to unite

the people of Somaliland to create and maintain peace. The commitment to peace
and rebuilding Somaliland in its own traditions and culture kept clan elders at the
peace conferences negotiating for months. Negotiations included agreements on
restoring grazing rights for pastoralists, while still supporting environmental resto-
ration. The lack of international interference allowed unrestricted use of local
processes. These traditional systems were incorporated into the government formed
in Somaliland.
Although excluded from the guutri, women’s role in peacebuilding, economic

development, and environmental protection is clear. Through organizing in coali-
tions, women used their voices to demand peace. Women’s informal role in
peacebuilding was an important factor in bringing clan elders to the table to
negotiate for peace. They also used their own valued, traditional roles in the
family and community to resolve difficult issues. Women have been critical to
rebuilding the economy, while restoring and protecting the environment. Diversi-
fying the economy through entrepreneurship reduces the pressure to turn trees into
coal. And, diversification of the economy provides one of the best safeguards
against conflict.
Yukon River Watershed (USA and Canada)
By the mid-1700s, as part of expansionism, European and Russian colonizers arrived

at the Yukon River, drawn by the desire for sea otter pelts and other furs (Peter, n.d.).
The establishment of the first Russian trading post (ca 1830) was followed by a
smallpox epidemic (1838), influenza (1848), measles (1900), and another influenza
epidemic (1918), which decimated local and Indigenous Peoples (Griffin, 1996). By
the late 1800s, fur traders were replaced by gold miners who arrived by the
thousands, destroyed mountains to remove gold, and left mine tailing pools of
arsenic, heavy metals, and acid seeping into the river (Williams, 2010). The scars
left by mines extend beyond the physical scars from blasting, crushing, and dispos-
ing of rock; they “are long-lasting, and the environmental impact can extend well
beyond the limits of disturbed ground through air pollution and water contamina-
tion” (Hodges, 1995, p. 1308). Abandoned mines across the Yukon River watershed
continue to pollute rivers and lakes when contaminated water is released during
flooding (Asif & Chen, 2016). In addition, most of the mines used cyanide, and
sometimes mercury, to extract the gold, resulting in frequent fish kills and the death
of migratory birds (Asif & Chen).
With fur resources depleted by the mid-1800s, Russia sold Alaska to the USA in
1867 (Office of the Historian, 2018). The USA immediately placed the Army in
control, a power that was eventually passed to the Navy, and finally, with WWII, the
Air Force (MyBaseGuide, 2018). The arrival of the military brought people, machin-
ery, and chemicals for road, bridge, base, airfield, and communication systems
construction (MyBaseGuide). In all, the USA established over 600 military sites
across Alaska (Williams, 2010). The US military left behind “pools of hydrocarbons,
and approximately 150-200 thousand contaminated 55-gallon drums spread out over
a 58-mile radius in the middle and lower Yukon River area beginning in Galena”
(Rosenfeld, 2003, p. 2). More injuries occurred from a creosote plant that released
chemicals into the Yukon River.
For almost a century, mining, military, and heavy construction equipments were
brought into the Yukon River watershed area, but not removed, leaving toxic waste
and rotting metal along the river (Williams, 2010). Local people started to notice
increases in health problems, such as cancers, in the human and wildlife populations.
In addition to health consequences, contamination of the watershed area impacted
the economic and spiritual well-being of the Indigenous People (Harvard Project on
American Indian Economic Development, 2005). Indigenous spirituality of the
region was/is based on connection to the land and place, with water seen as the
source of life. The destruction of land and water interrupts the life-giving nature of
water, which provides food and other essentials for adequate quality of life.
Peacebuilding In 1997, 56 Indigenous chiefs and elders gathered in Galena,

Alaska, to discuss increasing health problems along the Yukon River basin (Office
of Indian Energy Policy & Programs, 2011). The leaders shared painful stories of
toxins and waste impacting communities along the Yukon River (Rosenfeld, 2003).
Two years later, leaders representing 36 Indigenous tribes, and other organizations,
met again and agreed upon environmental protections (Rosenfeld). They developed
guiding principles, based on traditional wisdom and inclusion, for the Yukon River
Inter-Tribal Watershed Council (YRITWC). Each agreed to clean up and protect the
area of the Yukon River in their communities (Rosenfeld). This agreement was made
formal with the Intertribal Council Accord; 47 tribal governments were signatories
(Rosenfeld). Over 70 Indigenous nations are now part of this international treaty
(Cornell Lab of Ornithology, 2011).
The YRITWC, with a goal of being able to drink the water directly from the
Yukon River, began to measure water quality up and down the river. Following the
elder’s directive to “go out, take the pulse of the river,” Jon Waterhouse, a former
staff member of YRITWC, undertook a canoe trip down the Yukon River collecting
water quality data, gathering stories from local people, and observing the river
(Waterhouse, 2012, paragraph 3). YRITWC now trains local communities on the
use of this scientific equipment, creating a network across the watershed (Rosenfeld,
2003). Over the years, the YRITWC has expanded to a global network of govern-
ment, nongovernmental organizations, and private industry committed to protect
local waters (Rosenfeld).
With almost a dozen federal, state, and province level governments having
regulatory authority along the Yukon River, the YRITWC joined with Indian Law
Resource Center (ILRC) to educate communities on relevant laws and treaties
(Rosenfeld, 2003). This provided a valuable resource for local communities seeking
accountability from those who left messes behind, or were still creating messes
(Waterhouse, 2012). Because YRITWC uses water monitoring equipment approved
by the Environmental Protection Agency, the results can be used in court (Harvard
Project on American Indian Economic Development, 2005). Within ten years, over
15 million tons of waste and pollution had been removed from the river (Cornell Lab
of Ornithology, 2011).
As much as the work of the Council is about protecting the Watershed, it is also
about protecting the culture of the tribal communities along the river. As previously
noted, Indigenous Peoples have a spiritual relationship with the river, in addition to
the sustenance it provides. Restoring the river has allowed for traditional practices to
be reclaimed that are friendlier to the environment and healing for communities.
Along with the work of healing the river, Indigenous communities along the Yukon
are also reclaiming their rights of self-governance, at least in Canada (Council of
Yukon First Nations, 2019).
Contributing Factors The work of YRITWC is grounded in Indigenous spiritual-

ity, culture, and traditions. The Council used a variety of nonviolent strategies
including direct action, advocacy, relationship building, and research to protect
and restore the health of the Yukon River and the people who rely on it (Harvard
Project on American Indian Economic Development, 2005). To ensure the sustain-
ability of their efforts, much attention has been given to educating local communi-
ties. This education enables communities to monitor local water quality, build
relationships with local governments and regulatory bodies, and restore traditional
behaviors that are friendlier to the environment.
Joining together to protect the Yukon River, communities have been strengthened
(Harvard Project on American Indian Economic Development, 2005). The Council
follows culturally appropriate principles that include “inclusiveness, listening,
patience, knowledge, wisdom, and tenacity” (Harvard Project on American Indian
Economic Development, p. 4). YRITWC combined traditional knowledge, Indige-
nous storytelling, and science to restore water quality and community. As the
wounds of the river are healed, voice and power have been reclaimed.
The USA: Slavery, Radical Reconstruction, and White Supremacy
After Africa was colonized by various European powers (all except Ethiopia), many
of its people were enslaved and sent to the Americas. The reification of Black racism
framed a system of enslavement based on the dehumanization of Black Africans.
This was fundamental to colonization which required economic enslavement as a
base for nation building of the USA. Slavery based on White supremacy became the
cornerstone of southern elite economies and social structure (Gates et al., 2019;
Gates, 2019).
When the USA declared independence in 1763, the system of violent enslave-
ment of people based on race was legal in all 13 colonies, driving the economic
engine for the young country. However, the morality of slavery was already under
debate, so when the Northwest Territory joined the USA in 1787, slavery there was
banned (United States Continental Congress, King, Johnson & Continental Congress
Broadside Collection, 1785). As agriculture in the northern states was industrialized
(1815–1860), the debate continued, and more northern states banned slavery. In the
decade before the civil war (1850–1860), the conflict intensified between the
northern states, where most had abolished slavery, and southern states, where slaves
comprised a major source of wealth (Goodwin, 2018). When Abraham Lincoln, an
abolitionist, was elected president in 1960, several southern states seceded from the
USA. In 1861, southern rebels attacked the USA and the civil war began (Goodwin).
The war continued for four years until the USA defeated the southern rebels.
In 1863, the Emancipation Proclamation declared southern slaves free, but this
did not apply in areas already under the control of the North (Goodwin, 2018). The
enslavement of people who were of African descent remained legal in several border
states between the North and South until the enactment of the 13th Amendment in
1865, which outlawed slavery (US Const. amend. XIII). “In 1865, four million
enslaved people were emancipated, and six hundred thousand soldiers lay dead as
a result of the Civil War” (DeWolf & Geddes, 2019, p. 15).
Peacebuilding In the years immediately following the civil war, during the Recon-
struction era (1865–1877), there were economic, political, legal, and social gains for
African Americans. Black conventions and newspapers across the South called for
full civil rights for African Americans. In 1866, the Civil Rights Law was enacted –
after Congress overrode the president’s veto – which gave all persons born in the
USA citizenship with equal rights under the law (Sumner & Daniel Murray Pam-
phlet Collection, 1874). With the passage of the 14th Amendment July 9, 1868,
citizenship was granted to persons born or naturalized in the USA (US Const.
amend. XIV); with the passage of 15th Amendment February 3, 1870, men of
color, including those formerly experiencing enslavement, were granted the right
to vote (US Const. amend. XV). The Reconstruction Act of 1867 made southern
states accountable to enforce the new rights and laws as they rejoined the USA.
Black men, joined by White allies, took control of the southern Republican party.
Voting in large numbers, Black voters impacted presidential elections, elected over a
dozen Black men to Congress and hundreds to state legislatures across the South.
Black and White legislators governed together. Black representatives, understanding
the need for literacy, voted for the first state-funded public schools, benefiting both
Black and White families (Gates et al., 2019; Gates, 2019). They also passed laws
banning discrimination in housing and transportation, funded railroads for the South,
and made taxes more equitable (Library of Congress, 2008a).
During Reconstruction,
black and white teachers from the North and South, missionary organizations, churches and
schools worked tirelessly to give the emancipated population the opportunity to learn.
Former slaves of every age took advantage of the opportunity to become literate. Grandfa-
thers and their grandchildren sat together in classrooms seeking to obtain the tools of
freedom. (Library of Congress, paragraph 3)
Independent Black churches were established. These churches became center of the
African American community, fostering empowerment, solidarity, mutual support,
civic dialogue, and learning. Black colleges were established, Black singers came to
prominence internationally, and families separated through slavery were reunited
(Gates et al., 2019; Gates, 2019). Freedman’s Townships were established, either on
land bought or squatted, which gave African Americans full control to govern their
communities (Sitton & Conrad, 2005).
Reconstruction ended in 1877 when Rutherford B. Hayes removed the remaining
federal troops from the South, allowing the Reconstruction governments to collapse
(Stampp, 1965). Nonetheless, progress continued for African Americans. By the end
of the twentieth century, the majority of African Americans were literate (Library of
Congress, 2008a). African Americans claimed agency in owning and telling their
stories through journalism, photography, music, and intellectual leadership. Rich
tradition developed in music, poetry, and the adept use of photography to tell their
narrative (Gates et al., 2019; Gates, 2019). Advocacy and civic groups such as and the
National Association of Colored Women formed in 1896 and the National Associa-
tion of Colored People (NAACP) formed in 1909. NAACP and the National Urban
League (NUL) were founded by “blacks and their white allies to insure that the nation
provide ‘freedom and justice to all’” (Library of Congress, 2008b, paragraph 4).
Because the 13th, 14th, and 15th Amendments established political and legal
equality (Gates, 2019), States could not legally disenfranchise African Americans,
but they could suppress those rights through coercion and deception, disrupting
enforcement (Stampp, 1965). The White supremacist group, the Ku Klux Klan,
formed in 1865 to terrorize African Americans and prevent the newly earned rights
from being pursued. Then, in 1875, the Supreme Court invalidated Civil Rights Act
of 1865 and, in 1896, the Court sanctioned racial segregation (Stampp). Nonetheless,
rights organizations, including the NAACP and the American Civil Liberties Union
(ACLU); Black colleges, fraternities, and sororities; and Black churches have kept
the process of education, advocacy, development, and change alive across more than
a century (Gates et al., 2019). The Civil Rights Laws of 1965 reinstated many rights
lost after Reconstruction.
Black sororities, with a history reaching back into the 1870s (Kimbrough, 2003),
took hold in the early 1900s. Four sororities formed in the early 1900s, starting with
Alpha Kappa Alpha (1908) and Delta Sigma Theta (1913) (Ross, 2001), impacted
the African American community and society at large through their commitment to
human rights and social, economic, and environmental justice (Johnson, n.d.). They
pass down the history as they empower, educate, and mentor upcoming generations
(Ross) while contributing to the legacy of leadership championing environmental
justice (Willis, 2019).
Contributing Factors When slavery was abolished through the civil war and the
passage of the 13th Amendment, citizens of African descent claimed voice in healing
and rebuilding their lives. They organized voters and voted, they built community
through church and freedman’s colonies, built alliances, actively engaged in educa-
tion, and pushed for equality for all people. This era was a period of hope with early
successes socially, legally, and politically. During Reconstruction, African Ameri-
cans claimed identity, nurtured values, and resisted despair and segregation (hooks,
2009). Important rights were encoded in law and African Americans exhibited skill,
ingenuity, talent, and forward-thinking leadership.
White elite southern leaders, however, dug in to reclaim economic and political
control which was grounded in White supremacy as the rationale for Black racism
(Gates et al., 2019; Gates, 2019). They set about trying to demolish the gains of
Reconstruction, steadily working to reinstate patriarchal White supremacy as the
base for poverty and subservience enforced through economic, political, cultural,
and physical violence, including the use of White paramilitary organizations and
vigilante violence with the murder and execution of Blacks (Gates et al.; Gates).
“This discrimination was designed to keep people of African descent permanently
disenfranchised, disadvantaged, and living in fear, and it resulted in collective,
cumulative, systemic, and structural trauma” (DeWolf & Geddes, 2019, p. 15).
What White southern elites could not accomplish politically, they accomplished
with overwhelming and persistent violence and a rewriting of history. They devel-
oped new narratives about slavery, the civil war, and African Americans which they
marketed heavily across nation. The new civil war narrative was socially constructed
to downplay the role of race-based slavery and instead emphasized states’ rights as
the reason for the war. Slavery was mythologized as a happy time with Whites
destined to be superior. Based on White supremacy, Blacks were reified as inferior
with theories developed to legitimate economic and social inequality requiring
separation of the races (Gates et al., 2019; Gates, 2019). Through widespread
campaigns, the elite drove a wedge between the collaborations developing across
Black and White workers suffering under poverty, luring White workers with the
possibility of pride under the umbrella of White supremacy. Rights that were gained
through violence ended through violence.
Even though the peacebuilding process was disrupted through political, social,
and physical violence that institutionalized segregation and economic inequality, the
work has been carried forward and advanced (Gates et al., 2019; Gates, 2019). The
13th, 14th, and 15th amendments, along with civil rights laws, provide anchors in
the continued work toward change (Stampp, 1965). Black churches, sororities and
fraternities, civic groups, and rights organizations, many started during Reconstruc-
tion, continue to forge the way forward. Black communities exhibit resilience in
finding new avenues to build lives, reclaim rights, and develop educational and
economic opportunities. Advocacy and affiliation groups have continued progress
toward the dismantling of economic, social, and political oppression (Gates et al.,
2019; Gates, 2019).
Discussion and Conclusion
Tragically the power of dominator culture to dehumanize more often than not takes prece-
dence over our collective will to humanize. (hooks, 2009, p. 49)
The trauma of White supremacy patriarchy, colonization, slavery, and structures of

oppression, as carried forward through neoliberalism, remain a wound for millions
around the globe. Western cultures are deeply marked by the history of a coloniza-
tion firmly grounded in White supremacy patriarchy. Colonization allowed the
economic desires of White supremacist patriarchy to be fulfilled. The division of
people by color became the base for economic and social oppression which con-
tinues to this day. Neoliberal economics maintain the structures of White supremacy
patriarchy to legitimate oppressive policies, structures, and practices that have led to
increasing economic, social, and political inequality alongside environmental
destruction.
Nonetheless, the peoples in these exemplars, despite violence, oppression, and
environmental degradation, show resilience and strengths. They engage processes
for moving beyond the negative peace that comes with the cessation of physical
violence to engaging processes for building positive peace, which involves the
cessation of structural violence. This positive peace is founded on nonviolence,
building justice, and establishing a balance with nature (Galtung, 1969; Harris &
Morrison, 2012). Each exemplar demonstrates how people at the local level, through
nonviolent (often Indigenous) processes based on relationships, alliances, trust,
dialogue, and education, engage in fruitful peacebuilding. Each community

exhibited a commitment achieving peace, addressing inequality, healing trauma,
and protecting the ecological environment. As Lederach and Lederach (2010) ask,
“How do people with collective experiences of violence reconcile and heal from
experiences that penetrate below and beyond words?” (p. 2). Through coming
together in nonviolent resistance, knowing history, and reclaiming culture and
voice, a future can be imagined and resilience achieved. Without this base, “We
are caught in history’s pain, living it again and again” (Davis, p. 73). Reclaiming
voice and healing from the traumas of colonialism and White supremacy patriarchy
can be achieved through local, Indigenous, nonviolent, inclusive methods.
In Kenya, women organized in opposition to the violent, oppressive neoliberal
economic policies and politics of their government. They revitalized the environ-
ment, built trusting relationships, and educated themselves about civic engagement.
While they planted trees across the country, they engaged others in environmental
protection, community empowerment, and building agency and resilience among the
women. When the government tried to divide the forest for economic gain, a critical
mass of people came together in nonviolent resistance. These same relationships
were used to form a coalition government with a commitment to peace and the
environment.
In Somaliland, Indigenous consensus-building methods were used to create
resilience and maintain peace. Using a traditional structure that brought clan elders
to the negotiating table, they worked patiently for months until consensus was
achieved. The final commitment to peace balanced the needs of diverse communities
while still protecting the environment. It was women who pressured and funded their
communities to come together for peace and were critical to the completion of the
final agreements. Women’s role in maintaining the peace and protecting the envi-
ronment continues to expand.
The North American exemplars share a history of dehumanization and violence
perpetrated by colonizers and nation builders based on economic and social struc-
tures that privilege White supremacy. The USA was founded on a legacy of trauma
beginning with the extermination, forced removal, and destruction of traditional life
of Indigenous Peoples from 1492 to 1676 (DeWolf & Geddes, 2019) and beyond.
This was followed by the subsequent transport and enslavement of 12.5 million
people from Africa between 1619 and 1807 (DeWolf & Geddes, 2019). Based on
White supremacy and embedded racism, they were subjected to oppressive eco-
nomic and social structures that continue to be perpetrated through neoliberalism.
In the Yukon River watershed area, change is grounded in Indigenous spirituality,
culture, and traditions. Forming a coalition of over 70 Indigenous and Tribal nations,
the Yukon River Inter-Tribal Watershed Council engages in patient, open, and
respectful dialogue focused on protecting and healing the river. This healing also
restored traditional practices that are friendlier to the environment and promote
healing and resilience for communities (Grayshield et al., 2015). The Council is a
model of self-determination, governance, and collaboration.
During the Reconstruction era that followed the US civil war, African Americans
achieved multiple gains and acquired significant legal rights with the passage of the
13th, 14th, and 15th Amendments. African Americans claimed agency, empowered
themselves, and accessed education. They reclaimed voice through engaging in civic
dialogue, and telling their narratives. As they created communities, reconstituted
families, and formed social and political organizations, they began the process of
relational and structural healing. Black women came into their own, considering
themselves essential agents for change with a long-term commitment to social and
environmental justice. Journalistic leadership kept the story alive in the face of a
national rewriting of history to delete knowledge of the growth.
Demoralized White elites, defeated through war, slowly undermined change
through the use of economic, cultural, and physical violence. Most of the gains made
between the civil war and the end of the nineteenth century were lost by the beginning
of World War I. Violence (i.e., war) was engaged to achieve freedom from slavery and
was again engaged to silence and bury the agency of African Americans. Peace,
however, is not “a static ‘end-state’,” it is “a continuously evolving and developing
quality of relationship” (Lederach, 2003, p. 20). Almost 100 years later, following
decades of relationship building, advocacy and nonviolent action legislative gains were
made during the Civil Rights Movement. Through federal legislation, the second Civil
Rights Act (1964) was passed and followed by the enactment of voting rights and
fairness in housing (Goodwin, 2018). Black Americans, and White allies, continue to
fight for the enforcement of rights, work for criminal justice reform, and struggle to
regulate neoliberal economic policies that benefit only the wealthiest among us.
Healing trauma and ecological destruction from the impact of White supremacy
patriarchy and neoliberal economics requires solutions that are inclusive, process
oriented, locally driven, and multilevel (Davis, 2019). This is consistent with the
work of Olsson and Jarstad (2011) who stress the importance of local ownership in
the transformation process. People find voice and connection through local context and
space (Lederach & Lederach, 2010). As seen through these exemplars, local ownership
allowed Indigenous/local processes to build peace and embrace the ecological envi-
ronment. The processes used promoted resilience, healing, and social transformation
while building relationships across the individual and the collective (Davis, 2019).
Coalitions, dialogue, connection to the land, education and training, and nonviolent
methods were key. The importance of creating change on a foundation of building
trusting, collaborative relationships led to the commitment to work for months, and
even years, on peacebuilding and healing from the trauma of White supremacy
patriarchy (hooks, 2006, 2015). The inclusion of women is core to healing, develop-
ment, and peacebuilding (Anderlini, 2007; Porter, 2007). Reclaiming voice, culture,
and traditions are evidence of the resilience of people, even in the face of violence and
enslavement.
“Until we engage in a collective process to face and transform this pain, we will
perpetually reenact it” (Davis, 2019, pp. 73–74). Moving forward must be inclusive
of people and beliefs previously silenced and marginalized. Those supporting White
supremacy patriarchy and White neoliberal economics must be challenged to unlearn
racist [and gendered] beliefs and patterns (Davis, 2019). To achieve a positive peace
with true economic, social, and environmental justice, we must create nonviolent
structures and systems within a restorative frame (Harris & Morrison, 2012).
Through ongoing advocacy, nonviolent action, and alliances that support eco-
nomic, social, and environmental justice, people continue to strive for rights to be
fully realized. This provides a demonstration that the healing process “represents the
capacity of communities and their respective individuals to survive, locate voice, and
resiliently innovate spaces of interaction that nurture meaningful conversation and
purposeful action in the midst and aftermath of escalated and structural violence”
(Lederach & Lederach, 2010, p. 208).
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Part III
True Colors: Nonviolent Communication
in the Postcolonial Workplace 7
Tatiyana Bastet
Contents
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 128
Models of Communication . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 129
The Colonial Legacy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 130
Changing the Color Construct . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 135
Finding your True Colors and Building a Team . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 138
Is It That Simple? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 139
Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 142
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 142
Abstract
While efforts to decolonize school curriculums, workplaces, and media insti-
tutions (among other things) have been brought to the forefront of agendas
and action plans, we must first understand what it means to “decolonize”
something. The colonizers will not be removing themselves from any social,
cultural, or physical structures. The alternate “indigenizing” is equally
perplexing as it often implies returning to a preindustrial way of life. Are
we then looking at degrees of removal? Or are we truly talking about a
restructuring of sociocultural and political constructs that is more egalitarian?
Knowledge of how these constructs evolved and why is foundational to an
understanding of embedded colonialist structures are, particularly as it relates
to corporate organizations and economics. Given how deeply rooted some of
these constructs are, can they be restructured as quickly as people are cur-
rently demanding? Or do we change the content of the constructs and redefine
who we are within those constructs? This chapter explores the possibility of
understanding a person’s worth to a business in terms of both innate and
T. Bastet (*)
Simmons University, Boston, MA, USA
e-mail: tatiyana.bastet@oilofantimony.com
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_7
128 T. Bastet
learned skills, communication styles, and an awareness of how that style

changes when under stress. Taking the opportunity then, to capitalize on a
person’s natural abilities, rather than a value based on an outdated colonial
model.
Keywords
Decolonizing · Communication in the workplace · Nonviolent communication ·
Workplace equality · Models of communication · Team building · Cooperative
competition
Introduction
Communication is not simply knowledge sharing but is also about self-expression. It

is how we interact with each other and the world at large. Yet no matter how specific
or concise we are with our communications, they are given and received within a
greater context of personality, individual experience, understanding, and culture to
name but a few aspects. A workplace adds to this list: hierarchy, corporate culture,
perceptions of performance, career goals, and a plethora of new forms of commu-
nication in the form of the all-hands call, team and corporate newsletters, and emails
sent from upper management to all employees.
Communication in the workplace can be challenging in and of itself as channels
are expanded from the traditional verbal and nonverbal forms of communication to
the increasingly impersonal (or overly personal) instant messaging, text, and email.
Complexity of communications is increased by workplace and group dynamics,
differing communication styles, and the nature of introverts versus extroverts (Cain,
2013). Infuse this with the multilayered nuances of a postcolonial workplace where
even further power hierarchy and stereotypes may still represent colonial constructs
and, while not recognized at an organization level, are part of the individual
experience (Ulus, 2015, p. 890), and communication becomes fraught with layers
of meaning and nuance that are being acted upon without being fully recognized or
understood.
Since, as Warren states, “the average working American spends more time
devoted to work than to family, leisure, or even sleep,” it stands to reason that the
lens of an individual’s perspective is colored by communications and interactions in
the workplace (2011, para. 1). It is also probable that this perspective is then carried
over from the workplace into other areas of life, thereby influencing all communi-
cations and interactions. Yet it is more common for a workplace to avoid, ignore, or
even suppress conflicts that arise, creating an environment of negative peace, than it
is to encourage conflict resolution, valuing each person’s perspective and experience
of any given situation or issue (Noll, 2000). To better understanding the underlying
factors influencing this corporate “normal” of negative peace, an exploration not
only of communication but of possible origins of this corporate cultural “normal” is
required.
7 True Colors: Nonviolent Communication in the Postcolonial Workplace 129
Models of Communication
If the intent of communication, particularly in a work environment, is knowledge

sharing, cooperative collaboration, or furthering a team project, it should be clear,
concise, and respectful. The person communicating should also be open to feedback
and constructive criticism. Those providing feedback should be respectful and clear,
focusing on ideas and the work rather than the person. Differences in age, gender,
and culture can all contribute to how we perceive received communications and,
therefore, how we respond. Perhaps the most pertinent though is corporate culture as
this provides parameters for both expected and tolerated with respect to forms of
communication. Models of communication then should include not only the work-
place and its structure, but its culture as well as the various facets of personal context
and background.
In 1970, Barnlund proposed a Transactional model of communication that took
into account the emotions and experiences of each person participating in a com-
munication (pp. 83–92). He mapped multiple feedback loops within single commu-
nications, as well as noting that each person has a combination of filters due to
experience and culture, through which communications are both given and received.
Although a complex process and mapping of a communication, it could be said that
Barnlund’s view of communication illustrated the way in which we create and
maintain social realities. That is, we don’t just communicate to disseminate infor-
mation, but to build a view of ourselves and our world by way of feedback loops
from others and our environment. Whether we feel heard or valued are also aspects
of this view of the self. The transactional model includes a mechanism not only for
self-expression but to create expressions of self from feedback received. If we are
constantly receiving feedback that our viewpoint or experience isn’t relevant, even
though there may not be any overt violent communication by way of abusive
comments or raised voices, the workplace may still be perceived as a violent
place. The feedback loop of irrelevance is not restricted to the workplace and may
enter into personal relationships or even areas of decision-making related to personal
situations and circumstances (e.g., an abusive personal relationship or medical
issue). In contrast, an environment of positive peace is one of blended balance,
where every person is and feels valued (Noll, 2000), also a self-view that could enter
into and influence other areas of life.
It is interesting then that later models of communication reduced Barnlund’s
model to simple transactions with much of the feedback and interaction removed.
Ellis and McClintock’s Transmission model of communication define a linear
process in which there is a sender, message, medium, and receiver (1990, p. 70).
The transaction ends with the message being sent and does not include the receiver
as anything other than a target for the communication to “hit.” Schramm’s Interac-
tion model (1997) includes not only the receiver of a communication, but also
feedback, meaning the response of the receiver whether thoughtful and intentioned
or reflexive. The Interaction model begins to take into account environmental and
psychological factors in communication again, but largely as noise around the
communication itself.
130 T. Bastet
More recently, systems such as the Canadian Institute of Cultural Affairs Focused
Conversation Method (Stanfield, 2000) and Daniel Goleman’s Emotional Intelli-
gence (1995) are constructed with the premise that psychological and emotional
responses cannot be removed from the communication equation. These processes are
both a return to and new understanding of Barlund’s Transactional model, indicating
that awareness of personal filters and those of the person(s) being communicated
with should be included and understood as part of successful and productive
communication. Along with these filters is an aspect of self-disclosure: how much
and what do we want to reveal to those we work with? Filters can also be understood
as part nature, part nurture. So a return to this more holistic approach to understand-
ing communication, and in particular, communication in the workplace, should bring
increased successful knowledge sharing and better personal experiences in work
environments. Yet Stanfield notes that “the earliest form of contribution is the
negative” (2000, p. 11).
In collaborative work discussions, when someone presents an idea, the immediate
response is to present an opposite viewpoint. If praise is the first response, it is to be
met with suspicion as there may be underlying, as yet unapparent motives. Stanfield
furthers the sentiment by saying that there is something “about the archetypes of
Western culture that do not readily let contrasting ideas lie side by side. If two views
are presented, they are often presumed mutually exclusive, as if thought were a
Darwinian battle for the survival of the fittest. [And that] we may try to oppose an
idea by discrediting the person who offers it” (2000, p. 12). It is the nature of
combative communication and what it affords that is particular to the postcolonial
workplace, often seen as a battlefield rather than a place of productive and collab-
orative work. The intent then of knowledge sharing and cooperative collaboration
would appear antithetical to a modern Western corporate culture, but why?
The Colonial Legacy
To better understand the foundations of modern Western corporate culture, and

therefore, postcolonial corporate culture, we need to better understand the establish-
ment and development of the modern corporation as well as what Quijano calls the
coloniality of power (2000, p. 533). English colonies and America specifically were
established differently from the manner in which previous colonies were held
(Quijano & Ennis, 2000, p. 534). Prior to America being established, conquerors
taxed or redirected portions of trade and revenues from the already established social
economies of the conquered. In America, the British pushed aside what was already
in place socio-economically since it was more localized and regional. They sought to
establish a society and economy in the colony for the sole purpose of bolstering the
wealth of the sovereign state (Quijano & Ennis, 2000, pp. 537–538). Everything
from landownership to trade and labor were orchestrated by representatives of the
sovereign state, seeking not only to make a name for themselves “back home” but
also to create a life in which they had power and social standing. The conquered
became little more than a workforce necessary to increase the wealth of the
conquerors. Yet since the immediately conquered Native American population was
pushed aside in favor of imported labor, the dynamic of conqueror and conquered
shifted.
The basic hierarchy, however, of:
with profits and taxes remitted to Corporate Head Quarters or the Sovereign Power is, as
Martinot notes “the corporate model, developed in the English colonies” (2018, pp. 4, 6)
which gave rise to the modern corporate structure and global economy. What this initial
model (illustrated in Fig. 1) lacks, however, is administrative staff, team leads, and actual
laborers. Without laborers to produce product, there is nothing to sell and no manner by
which to be profitable.
Initially, England sent prisoners to work in the colonies with a promise of freedom
once their contracted term or time served was complete. Representatives of the
sovereign, whether military, political, or aristocratic served as landowners and
decision makers by way of a new governmental structure. While Balaton-Chrimes
& Stead site this as governmentality that extends the sovereign’s power (2017, p. 8),
Maldonado-Torres does not see the colonial governmental structure as an extension
of the sovereign, but as rogue, divorced from the sovereign and structured within a
framework of a wartime mentality (2007, p. 247). This may explain how the colonial
corporate structure came to evolve differently to others in its stratification of
workforce and treatment of people. Since the conditions in the colonies were such
that a wilderness was being settled and culture cultivated far from the eyes of the
sovereign, there was no one to check those who held the power in the developing
colony or to see that people were treated fairly.
With British prisoners earning their freedom and expecting wages once their
servitude was complete, the colonies required a steady unpaid labor force to support
not only building local infrastructure, but to support businesses such as plantations
particularly while businesses were in the start-up phase. The slave trade – another
form of imported work force – served both the requirement for a steady and growing
labor force as well as commoditizing one sector or strata of labor (Quijano & Ennis,
2000, p. 550). As purchases, slaves were accounted for as part of a plantations assets
or wealth.
Fig. 1 Traditional corporate model mapping

132 T. Bastet
This precipitated another change, one of redefining race from geographical or

ethnic origin to one of color. Where people had been referred to as English, French,
Irish, Spanish, and African, they became dehumanized and disconnected from their
histories such that their new identities were based on skin color. Skin color would
then designate the appropriate socio-economic status within the forming colonial
hierarchy (Quijano & Ennis, 2000, p. 551). This commoditized the labor force and
multiple ethnic identities were collapsed into “racial” identities, stratifying the
workforce to create a global system of trade and economy not seen before on the
same scale under a single dominant sovereign that imposed a new identity on those it
colonized (Quijano & Ennis, 2000, pp. 545, 550).
Land was given by representatives of the sovereign to trusted people and required
that these people have the means to invest sufficient capital to build a home,
supporting buildings, and work the land as well as paying taxes. This precluded
many from owning land, making both land and business ownership solely for those
from the sovereign nation with both capital to invest and enough influence to be
entrusted by local colonial government agents.
Controlled labor was employed with the organizing principle being race not in
reference to a geography or personal history, but as a visual category and marker of
social order (Martinot, 2018, p. 4). At first, when British bond-labor was used, since
indentured laborers were counted as assets, as contracts ended the value of a
plantation diminished. Even if the landowner kept a former indentured British
worker once the initial contract had expired, it meant paying wages, not only
devaluing the plantation but also adding to liability. Yet the landowner was still
responsible for payment of all required taxes and production of goods. It was also
easier for English laborers to escape and not be identified, so that landowners didn’t
receive all labor purchased or provided in order to start production of sustainable
output of goods. African labor, slaves, could not only be purchased as property but
were easily identified (black) if they attempted to escape. Even if they were able to
leave, there was nowhere for them to go and no way for them to earn a living as they
were classified not as people but as a commodity known as slave labor.
The “othering,” without which this stratification could not have been established,
expanded the Cartesian “I think, therefore I am” to “I think (others do not think or do
not think properly), therefore I am (others are not or are dispensable)” (Maldonado-
Torres, 2007, p. 252). This dehumanization converted the previous understanding of
racial classification to what we know today, which is nothing more than a creation of
economy to solve what was a temporary problem of labor shortage as the colonies
were established (Maldonado-Torres, 2007, p, 255). Removing identity and history,
as well as physically displacing those captured for slave labor, it becomes easier to
see a person as a commodity – and something that cannot be communicated to or
reasoned with.
This distinction in forms of communication is why the British elevated those
people “from the Orient” (yellow, olive, and brown) from slave labor to waged labor.
People imported from the Orient were literate (arrived with language both written
and read). With this ability to create knowledge and to learn language in other forms,
the dominant (whites) created another labor category for those who could innovate
and advise (Quijano & Ennis, 2000, pp. 540–541). As these people could be
communicated with and understood with less effort, they were more useful and
valuable than manual laborers. The Orientals were given wages for labor, though
they were not allowed to own large amounts of land and had no official voice in
governing society. This reformulates Maldonado-Torres’ restatement of the Carte-
sian “I think, therefore I am” to:
1. I think, I am white, therefore I am

2. Orientals think, but not properly (insufficient othering to say that they are not or
are dispensable)
3. Blacks do not think, therefore are dispensable
This “othering,” based on socio-economic role, led to the following power matrix
(Fig. 2):
Natives were largely removed from the colonial socio-economic equation as they refused to
be subjugated, instead being pushed by the colonizers onto smaller pieces of land to support
themselves as best they could. (Quijano & Ennis, 2000, p. 534)
Waged versus nonwaged labor proffered the perception of white superiority and
privilege (Quijano & Ennis, 2000, p. 539). Those of mixed race who passed for
white or passé blanc could earn a wage, though without social status. Still, it
afforded a subset of the mixed-race group to leave slave labor and carve out a life
based on limited personal choice. To offset the opportunities gained by the passé
blancs, in the seventeenth century the Virginia Colonial Council passed legislation
prohibiting the marriage of whites and blacks and ensuring that children of mixed
race would not be eligible to inherit as they would hold the same status as their
mothers (in most cases black women) (Martinot, 2018, p. 8).
Decision-makers/
governance
Wages White
Landownership
Knowledge producers,
innovators Oriental
Wages
Commodity labor
Mestizo
Wages only for those who (mixed)
pass for white
Commodity labor
Black
No wages
Fig. 2 Coloniality of power matrix (Quijano & Ennis, 2000, pp. 538, 540, 541, 550, 551)
134 T. Bastet
Maldonado-Torres states that “Colonialism denotes a political and economic

relation in which the sovereignty of a nation or a people rests on the power of
another nation, which make such nation an empire. Coloniality, instead, refers to
long-standing patterns of power that emerged as a result of colonialism, but that
define culture, labor, inter subjective relations, and knowledge production well
beyond the strict limits of colonial administrations” (2007, p. 243). Quijano’s
coloniality of power, which includes a coloniality of knowledge (2000, p. 542),
speaks to the ingrained patterns of communication that started with colonialism but
continue today as part of coloniality and are very much considered part of the post-
colonial experience.
Though many American workplaces espouse diversity and equality, the fact that
the corporate and economic structure of the colonies hasn’t changed much over the
past few hundred years indicates that the underlying structure must, to some degree,
still be in place. If this were not this case, it would not be so easy to directly map the
upper management structure of colonial government to that of today’s corporations
(see Fig. 1). Hall says that “strategies for conflict resolution should ignore skin
color” (2003, p. 41), however, later writes that due to the legacy that is coloniality of
power, “a colorblind world is ineffective and is, in a colonial sense, unattainable”
since to do so would be to restructure the way we understand the socio-economic
fabric of post-colonial work places (2003, p. 46). These statements speak to both the
legacy of colonialism and the communications inherent within that construct. In
speaking specifically of conflict resolution, we return to Standfield’s observation that
communication in a work environment is treated as a battleground.
In modern corporate culture, the coloniality of power is reenacted in order to be
reinforced. However, as Ulus discovered in her 2015 study, it is not only whites who
reinforce the power matrix. Ulus, in her qualitative study that included executives,
found that people of color see the power matrix in place as employees. That is to say
that they see white people in roles they are not qualified for (Ulus, 2015, p. 897).
They see that white people respond more readily to those of their own ilk and are
able to, for instance, get meetings with a potential client where someone of color
may not be able to. The observations extend beyond color to accent, noting that
someone with a British accent will be more successful than someone with a colonial
accent (American, Australian, Canadian, Indian, etc.) (Ulus, 2015, p. 896).
Ulus also discovered that, though internally conflicted by the actions, colored
people in upper management and executive level positions will hire unqualified
whites because success in business is more important than changing the power
structure (2015, pp. 897, 899). She also found that colored members of the work-
force will intentionally use sarcasm (sometimes humorous) and other forms of
aggressive communication in order to resist or fight back (2015, pp. 900–901).
This resistance may create increased tensions and aggression in the workplace.
Hall contends that in order to maintain power, “light skinned groups will consistently
dismiss information. . . [to] reinforce the potential for conflict and ensures the
continuation of the present world order” (2003, p. 43). Moldonado-Torres refers to
this phenomenon as the coloniality of being (2007, p. 242). Though not part of the
study conducted by Ulus, Hall notes that passive aggressiveness acted out by those
in power is a way of maintaining the known power structure (2003, p. 43). This is
substantiated by Balaton-Chrimes and Stead who state that this is an accepted way of
maintaining the coloniality of power (2017, p. 2) and a form of communication that
may be employed by whites who are aware that they are in positions they are not
qualified for and yet feel entitled to obtain and maintain.
Violent communication is not only understood as loudness, overt intimidation, or
verbal abuse, but may also be expressed as passive aggressive behavior, belittling or
public humiliation, or giving someone responsibility without authority, thereby
creating a situation of failure. Violent communication can also come in the form of
silence or nonrecognition (Balaton-Chrimes & Stead, 2017, pp. 2, 5) where deliber-
ately not communicating important information becomes oppressive or undermining.
This can be expressed as not providing team support to complete work, consistently
not promoting or providing professional development training to a top performer,
and/ or consistently recognizing the contributions of under performers.
If then, the coloniality of power is grounded in racial identification and is
reinforced through violent forms of communication, how do corporations adopt
more holistic forms of communication without changing the power matrix? And if
the power matrix itself must be changed, how do we approach this without
destabilizing the way in which we do business on a global level?
Changing the Color Construct
If Hall is correct that conflict resolution is not possible without ignoring skin color
and that color cannot be ignored, then perhaps there is another way of moving
forward. Changing the overall construct that defines the postcolonial legacy is
challenging since it has apparently been internalized across the identified and
stratified socio-economic groups. Changing the content of the construct, however,
may allow for a shift in experience that forces a change in construct over time. If we
continue to use the basic color construct that starts with:
Color Color of skin Socio-economic status & Worth in the workplace

education
Then, start by changing this equation where:
color ¼ communication=work style
then,
ðindividual color þ self awarenessÞ þ understanding of other colors

¼ worth in the workplace
Miscisin (2001) defined four color styles of communication using the colors
orange, gold, green, and blue in her book titled Showing your true colors (now
136 T. Bastet
called Personality Lingo specifically for Miscisin’s system). This system looks not
only at personality-based communication, but how that person will communicate
when under stress. This allows coworkers to identify a person’s response more
appropriately such that they can adjust communications to better support the stressed
team member. Miscisin continues to explicate methods for bridging gaps across
communication styles by understanding what it is that individual styles require in
order to hear what is being communicated appropriately. This system in various
formats has been popularized by a number of consulting organizations helping to
introduce these concepts and methods into the workplace. Some of these organiza-
tions and variations, however, include white and yellow as color types. This
approach would seem to be taking us back into a coloniality of power matrix and
is, perhaps, worrisome in this regard.
Identification by race is one dimensional and dehumanizing based on the
coloniality of power. The Showing Your True Colors paradigm is not defined by
what we see visually, but by a different type of perception that requires listening,
understanding, and a degree of compassion thereby encouraging people to interact
and communicate in a different manner. Every color is valued and has a place in
accordance with the corporate culture, eliminating the distinction between waged
and nonwaged labor, or, in the modern era, earning potential versus salary earned.
Most people are “mixed” though one color is identified as “dominant” thereby
continuing to use the known and accepted terminology associated with racial
identification yet humanizing each individual. Though knowledge creation is dom-
inant in two colors, orange and green, it is assumed that there are few, if any, “pure”
dominants. It is, therefore, the secondary color that will then likely drive the
expression of the primary color. The colors’ structure identifies each person’s
primary and secondary colors to determine where best to place them within the
corporate structure in order to gain the most value from each team member. Using
this paradigm, the power matrix becomes (Fig. 3):
Note that even the axis of power has changed, making the colors equal but
different, acknowledging strengths and what each color has to offer.
In shifting the color equation from:
color ¼ skin
and the legacy narratives that it invokes to:
color ¼ communication=work style
then, diversity in the workplace is shifted from visibly perceived diversity to

diversity of work styles and skills. Self-awareness and ability to identify the com-
munication color of an “other” is to re-label the current construct and content. To
complete the shift, a full communication lifecycle must be addressed. This may be
done by leveraging Barlund’s model of communication along with Emotional
Intelligence. In addition to communication style, personality traits such as introver-
sion versus extroversion should be examined along with group dynamics.
•Suited to positions •Suited to team lead and

requiring product or project managerment
service creation positions
•Development of new
business models and Gold - Planner
methods Green - Thinker
Requires
Analytical,
organization,
intuitive,
defined
conceptual,
schedules &
innovator
budgets
Blue -
Orange - Mover
Connector
Action oriented,
Empathic,
charismatic, risk
compassionate,
taker
collaborator
•Suited to positions •Suited to positions
requiring requiring cooperative
collaboration & collaboration across
working with 'front teams and management
line' people
Fig. 3 Showing your true colors summary (Miscisin, 2001, p. 11)
Using the new matrix, the corporate construct is created using teams of people
with the right color mix to achieve optimal profitability. The right leader then is
one who can recognize what that optimal mix of personalities and abilities is and
which personalities are best suited to which roles given a particular line of
business.
Miscisin’s system offers a way out of coloniality and its combative legacies,
and into a way of valuing people for what they contribute while understanding
that each person has their place within an organization. It is, perhaps, also a
foundation for more equitable and holistic communication and collaboration to
be built without attempting to topple the construct that has been in place for the
past three hundred years. Though it stands to reason, human behavior is not
always logical, and much more study is required before proceeding with the
proposed notion of changing the color construct with desired results. Addition-
ally, further study may offer insight as to why some companies or teams within
companies have been able to embrace changing the construct while the attempt
fails in others, or why no attempt is made and the coloniality of power is
perpetuated unchecked.
There is also the challenge of claiming a postcolonial state, when language and
behavior both indicate a distinctly colonial ideation. How do we enter a postcolonial
state when current models of diversity and inclusion seek to create safe space via
segregation? Writers’ groups and student groups on university and college campuses
are increasingly racially driven rather than interest or cause based. The more we use
and reinforce the usage of coloniality of power language and labels, the more
difficult it becomes to move into a truly postcolonial space – culturally and not
simply politically.
138 T. Bastet
Finding your True Colors and Building a Team
As previously stated, Miscisin’s originally titled True Colors is now Personality

Lingo due to various copyright and trademark issues. However, the True Colors
system as developed by Don Lowry (which Miscisin based her system on) is very
similar and implemented in a similar fashion. Miscisin has a basic comparison table
of her system, Lowry’s system, and 21 other systems including Real Colors, Living
Your Colors, and Meyers-Briggs (Miscisin, 2015, p. 10). What all the “colors
systems” have in common is looking at communication and work styles. Miscisin
and those of the Lowry ilk differentiate themselves, by not only identifying com-
munication and work styles, but by identifying what types and styles of communi-
cation is required by a particular style in order to be heard (Miscisin, 2015, pp. 64–66
for gold/planners). Additionally, Miscisin looks at common stressors for each color
and the associated expression of that stress, how to support a particular color during
times of stress, which colors work best together, and how to bridge communication
style gaps (Miscisin, 2006). This more detailed assessment is often part of a paid for
engagement or service and generally leads to consultants providing communication
and common or standard team building exercise type workshops.
Workshops conducted using Miscinsin’s system start with members of an orga-
nization answering a series of questions (usually a paper-based or online question-
naire). The questions are based on Miscinsin’s identified traits and feelings both of a
particular color and how that color is perceived. For example, a gold person may be
perceived as rigid, boring, judgmental, and even a micromanager. In contrast, a gold
person would describe those same things, seen in themselves, as: reliable, consci-
entious, forthright, and responsible organizers, respectively (Miscissin, 2015). There
is a similar exercise for how a gold person communicates and behaves when at their
best versus when they are stressed. Once the questionnaires are complete, people are
given an overview of the colors, strengths, and weaknesses as well as how they
complement one another.
At the second workshop, generally held a week or two after the first, participants
are given the results of their questionnaires (paper-based) along with their color
combinations, the more detailed assessment referred to previously. Since we can
have a dominant style or even a dominant color-combination style, the results are for
an individual. This helps people not only better understand their own communica-
tion and working style but identify those of their coworkers and to understand the
differences. Some management consulting companies take this a step further, giving
each person four lego blocks, one in each color (red is substituted for orange). People
are encouraged to stack the blocks according to their color dominance. The lego
stacks are then placed visibly on desks and computer monitors to tell or remind
coworkers of an individual’s color. People are encouraged to take a moment before
approaching a coworker to potentially reframe or rephrase the question or concern
they were coming with in order to best suit the communication style of the person
being approached.
Each person then is not only responsible for their own communications and
interactions, but also for being aware of the differing styles of coworkers and
understanding how to modify interactions to achieve the best result. Participants of
these workshops include entry level staff and executives since the goal is to
understand one another as well as people’s strengths and complements in order
to build stronger, more efficient teams. People are also encouraged to make
allowances, everyone has bad days or can be short when a project milestone is
on the horizon. Here the current type of implementation ends. It then becomes the
organizations’ responsibility to continue to the commitment to the method and to
restructure teams according to communication and work styles as well as skillset. It
also becomes the organizations’ responsibility to continue to integrate the values of
true colors into the corporate culture. This may be difficult if the organization is
only willing to conduct the full set of workshops with regular full-time employees
and not with part-time or longer-term contract staff – it is an expensive proposition
to include all employees.
The values of the true colors systems encourage us to recognize each person
and their interpersonal relationships, to understand that these relationships serve
as both cooperative collaboration and cooperative competition, where cooperative
competition is defined as the desire to build on ideas and further innovation – both
individually and at a team level – to produce the best product or service. A system
in which each person is valued and recognized for what they contribute and
afforded the opportunity to grow, where each persons’ work and communication
requirements are acknowledged, with a cultural expectation of those needs being
met has the potential to produce an environment of positive peace.
From a primarily business perspective, cooperative competition approach enables
a different type of business case whereby someone with a particular cultural com-
petence (based on lived experience and not assumptive visual cues) may facilitate a
business’ entry into a new market, or, due to a specific cultural perspective, brings a
new strategy by which to grow business. In other words, a true colors approach is not
strictly cultural or social. The effects of stronger, more thoughtfully selected teams
may lead to increased productivity, better products and services, and, ultimately, a
good return on corporate investment. This, however, would not only require signif-
icantly more study of implementations, but the development of a true colors system
into a more complete business model.
While maintaining a hierarchical structure at the upper levels of an organization,
the lower levels lose the stratification which then becomes the mix of skills for a
particular team that will produce the best results for the company. Such that the
model changes from (Fig. 4):
to (Fig. 5):
Where Team 1 may represent the appropriate makeup of a larger team or
department, and Team 2 may represent a product or service development team.
The makeup of each teams would be driven by having the optimal skillsets,
communications, and work styles to produce the best results.
Is It That Simple?
Although it may seem that the path has already been laid for creating balanced work
environments that value positive peace and compassionate conflict negotiation, only
140 T. Bastet
Fig. 4 Colonial corporate

model Corporate
Head
Quarters -
white
Regional HQ -
white
Satellite Middle
Offices - Management
white - white
Developers/
innovators -
yellow
Labor -
mestiztos or
mixed
Labor - black
some initial steps have been taken. First and foremost, the model and its premise
challenges centuries of cultural thought and behavior not to mention corporate
models and even global corporate rules of engagement. Beyond that, will changing
the content of the construct, redefining colors and what they mean, then truly change
behavior? Or will it simply redefine the hierarchy so that the violence is perpetrated
against, for example, introverts or those who are less flexible in their thinking?
Keeping in mind that we are discussing a work environment, the logical response
would seem to be that the commitment to change comes from the decision makers in
the organization. This will require phased change that may include instituting
incentives to reward the values and behaviors of collaborative competition, educat-
ing people regarding the new business model, and insisting that all new proposals to
upper management include a proposal for how internal resources will be used, all in
accordance with the new values. It means that an organizational chart may no longer
line up neatly into columns and rows.
There is also the problem of how to manage those who will rebel against the
changes and exhibit violent or other inappropriate behavior in order to maintain the
Corporate Head
Quarters
Upper
management/
decision makers
Team 1 Team 2
Green/ Blue
Gold 6% Green/
Green
Orange/11% Gold
11% 14%
Gold
6% Blue/ Blue/
Blue/
Gold Orange Green
Orange
11% 14% 43%
11%
Green/
Orange
Orange
11% Green/
11%
Blue/ Orange
Green 29%
22%
Fig. 5 Proposed preliminary corporate model
status quo. How will they be mentored into the new system? How much of an
investment does the organization make in these individuals before deciding that
these individuals aren’t ready for the new system, and letting them move on to a
place that is more comfortable for them? To this end, the concept of the middle and
upper management roles would need to evolve such that management could coor-
dinate mentorship opportunities for those looking to expand their skillset rather than
move up the corporate ladder. This means managers who can identify a persons’
color or color combination to, not only get the most out of that person, but to provide
the best placements to facilitate growth of the person and the business.
And for the individual? What happens when the stress of seemingly endless
conflicts that define so many days is gone? Since it will take time for all these
changes to occur, there will be a natural period of adjustment. This adjustment
should, however, be supported such that it’s seen in a positive light, a gain rather
than a loss. A phased approach to change with periods of no-change to allow for
settling into the new way of doing and being may be best, meaning a multiyear
commitment to adopting a true colors system.
142 T. Bastet
These are but a few of the challenges that lie on the path to a true colors
implementation. That doesn’t mean it is insurmountable, it simply means that
commitment and vision are required at the executive level. Or, perhaps, enough
laborers and professionals choose to affect change from the ground up. Or, maybe, a
collaborative few companies begin the journey together, supporting one another
along the way.
Conclusion
The notion of coloniality, the legacy of colonialism, and in particular how it affects
our work lives is a very recent area of study. While we have been looking at the
effects of colonialism at a personal individual level and at a societal level, it is critical
now to include the professional and economic spheres as well. As communication
itself is multilayered and nuanced, ways of improving communications and under-
standing must be equally multilayered. What is clear is that there is a path emerging
for us to reach a point where violent communication in the workplace is not seen as
powerful, required, or normal but as problematic. Yet stopping there is a job not quite
started. Violent communication in the workplace should be viewed as something
undesirable and costly to corporations. Studies quantifying time taken off by
employees, health care costs, increased project costs, etc., due to violent communi-
cation and the resulting effects of stress would propel the case for implementation of
systems such as True Colors or Personality Lingo. As the colors shift, so do the
values. Studies noting the best color “mixes” for particular team and lines of
business would help to entrench the new socio-economic color scheme, at the
same time bringing understanding, compassionate, collaborative communication,
and cooperative competition to a de-colonized workplace as the standard.
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Forgiveness: A Nonviolent Resolution
of Interpersonal Conflict 8
Ann Macaskill
Contents
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 146
What Is Meant by the Term Forgiveness? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 146
Types of Forgiveness . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 148
How Does the Need for Forgiveness Arise? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 150
Alternatives to Forgiveness . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 152
The Process of Forgiving Others . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 153
Victimhood . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 154
Forgiveness and the Vulnerable . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 155
The Path to Forgiveness . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 155
The Power of Apology and Conveying Remorse . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 157
National and Group Apologies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 159
Guidance for Researchers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 160
Concluding Comments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 160
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 160
Abstract
Forgiveness is arguably the ultimate nonviolent response to interpersonal conflict
and a crucial component in the attainment of positive peace. Research demon-
strates that there are large individual differences in the ability to forgive with a
continuum of response with forgiveness at one end and unforgiveness at the other.
For some people, forgiveness seems to come readily even when they having been
very badly treated. For others, forgiveness is more difficult, and grudge holding
and seeking revenge are the more likely responses in situations where the need for
forgiveness arises. For most people, forgiveness has to be worked at and takes
some time to achieve. This chapter presents a psychological perspective on
forgiveness with an introduction to and critical appraisal of some of the research
literature, to enable readers to appreciate the complexity of forgiveness and
A. Macaskill (*)
Sheffield Hallam University, Sheffield, UK
e-mail: a.macaskill@shu.ac.uk
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_8
146 A. Macaskill
unforgiveness both at the interpersonal and group level. While forgiveness is

generally seen as the desired response, for vulnerable individuals in difficult
situations it can prolong their suffering and this needs to be considered. The
importance of apologies and conveying remorse to facilitate forgiveness at the
individual, group, and national levels are explored. Some guidance for researchers
is also included. Finally, forgiveness is described as a gift that is freely given and is
unconditional. This is indeed the gold standard, and while it seems quite rare, it
exemplifies a process that can be fostered by education and in social interaction.
Without forgiveness, positive peace cannot be achieved in conflict situations.
Keywords
Forgiveness · Peace · Interpersonal conflict · Revenge · Grudge holding · Conflict
resolution
Introduction
The human ability to forgive is quite awe inspiring. We read of Jewish concentration
camp survivors who have forgiven their captors and mothers who have forgiven
the individuals who murdered their children. Forgiveness is arguably the ultimate
nonviolent response to interpersonal conflict and a crucial component of fostering
positive peace. This chapter will provide a critical appraisal of current knowledge of
forgiveness from a psychological perspective and reflect on how this knowledge may
contribute positively to peaceful resolution of interpersonal conflict. This will be
supported by research findings where appropriate so that readers become aware of the
complexity around forgiveness and unforgiveness and their potential role in creating
peaceful relationships at the interpersonal and intergroup level. This is not a system-
atic review of the literature as space will not allow this, rather examples of and
conclusions from research are used to evidence points made where this is appropriate.
Issues for researchers to be aware of are also highlighted. The aim is to consider how
knowledge of the concept of forgiveness can be used to contribute positively to peace.
The alternatives to forgiveness are grudge holding, avoidance, and revenge seeking,
and these will also be examined. Here the focus is more on strategies to move
individuals from these negative often aggressive positions towards more peaceful
resolutions of conflicts. The aim is to consider how knowledge of the concept of
forgiveness can be used to contribute positively to peace. The alternatives to forgive-
ness are grudge holding, avoidance, and revenge seeking, and these will also be
examined. Here the focus is more on strategies to move individuals from these
negative often aggressive positions towards more peaceful resolutions of conflicts.
What Is Meant by the Term Forgiveness?
Psychologists have found it difficult to agree on a definition of forgiveness. This is

not unusual with concepts that are in common usage. We all use the term and it has
personal meaning for each of us, but a precise definition has been harder for
8 Forgiveness: A Nonviolent Resolution of Interpersonal Conflict 147
psychologists to agree. There is agreement on associated activities that do not

constitute forgiveness (Enright & Coyle, 1998; McCullough et al., 2000). This
includes pardoning; a concept that tend to be used legally and implies that techni-
cally forgiveness has been given but often has little to do with interpersonal
forgiveness between the victim and the transgressor. Condoning is similarly some-
times confused with forgiveness, although condoning implies that the perpetrator
was in some way justified in committing the offence and that forgiveness is not
required. Condoning is often used when there is a history of conflict between the two
parties. The term excusing is sometimes used less formally instead of condoning but
essentially it means the same thing.
Interpersonal forgiveness is broadly defined as consisting of reducing negative
thoughts, feelings, and behaviors towards a perpetrator and at the same time increas-
ing positive thoughts, and giving up any idea of seeking revenge on the perpetrator
or retribution with the ultimate aim of restoring relationships where this is possible.
Forgiveness of individuals that you are no longer in contact with by choice or due to
geography or even because they have died is possible. In these instances, forgiveness
is a personal act with no interpersonal element. These personal acts of forgiveness
can, however, bring emotional peace to the victim and allow them to move on with
their lives so are worth pursuing. Normally in interpersonal conflict resolution,
forgiveness is a more public event involving both victim and perpetrator in some
way as we shall see. The victim forgives and it is conveyed to the perpetrator that
they are forgiven.
While the definition of forgiveness adopted here, which is broadly aligned with
Worthington (2006), includes the possibility of reconciliation, some forgiveness
researchers treat reconciliation as being separate from forgiveness. Research sug-
gests that the general public tend to see the process of reconciling with the trans-
gressor as part of forgiveness, but this is not included in many psychological
definitions (Macaskill, 2007). When we consider forgiveness in the context of
restoring peaceful relationships, reconciliation would seem essential if people are
to move forward together peacefully and live with some level of harmony. It may not
be possible for individuals to be physically reconciled with each other but peaceful
feelings towards each other would need to be restored.
Some conceptualizations of forgiveness come with conditions attached such as
the need to apologize, show remorse, and/or make amends before forgiveness can be
considered. These do not truly encapsulate what it means to forgive; rather they are
often used as negotiating tools in conflict resolution. If certain conditions are fulfilled
then forgiveness may follow. True forgiveness results in relationships being able to
return to the way they were before the transgression that caused the need for
forgiveness arose. This represents a Christian view of forgiveness which has
influenced mainly Western societies for the past 2000 years. In this light, forgiveness
is a gift that the person hurt can choose to bestow on the perpetrator. There are,
however, large individual differences in our ability to forgive and unconditional
forgiveness seems rare. Researchers have found examples of unconditional forgive-
ness in priests and nuns and others very involved in practicing their religion
(Macaskill, 2005; Mullet et al., 2003), but such individuals report that forgiveness
can be difficult, they have to continually work to achieve it and it takes time.
148 A. Macaskill
There are a range of psychometric scales available to measure what has come to
be termed forgivingness. Each scale tends to have its own definition of forgiveness
and the research needs to be aware of this. More guidance for researchers is provided
at the end of the chapter.
Types of Forgiveness
Forgiveness has been classified by researchers along several dimensions, and these
will now be examined.
(a) Trait Forgiveness: Personality traits describe the ways in which individuals
typically think, feel, and behave. Psychologists conceptualized personality traits
as being on a continuum along which individuals can be placed according to how
forgiving they are, in this instance. Thus trait forgiveness describes how indi-
viduals differ in their natural tendency to forgive. It is sometimes called dispo-
sitional forgiveness or forgivingness stressing its conceptualization as a
personality variable. The question of where differences between individuals in
their propensity to forgive originate is still unclear. Mullet, Neto, and Rivière
(2005) in a systematic review of published cross-sectional studies examining the
relationship between personality and forgiveness where both were self-assessed,
reported that personality accounted for between 20% and 30% of the observed
differences in forgiveness between individuals. The consensus was that individ-
uals higher in the personality traits of agreeableness and neuroticism were more
likely to forgive. More recent meta-analysis suggests that agreeableness is the
most consistent predictor of forgiveness (Riek & Mania, 2012). Individuals
possessing higher levels of agreeableness demonstrated lower levels of aggres-
sion even in conflict inducing situations (Bettencourt et al., 2006). Individuals
with lower levels of agreeableness tend to be fairly hostile towards others,
display lower levels of trust towards them, and become irritated more easily,
with a greater need to punish others who have provoked or offended them in
some way. Such individuals have lower levels of trait forgiveness. Higher levels
of agreeableness are associated with a need to socialize with others and build
relationships with them thus making them less able to tolerate conflict in
relationships, so they are more motivated to end the conflict and ultimately to
forgive (McCullough, 2001).
While there are no genetic studies focusing solely on the heritability of
forgiveness, the ability to empathize has been shown to foster forgiveness
(Aragon, 2016; Macaskill et al., 2002) and the heritability of empathy has
been explored. Early twin studies suggested figures of up to 51% heritability
for empathy (Rushton et al., 1986). A recent large study involving genome-wide
analysis of empathy suggested 10% heritability (Warrier et al., 2018). This
suggests that education, socialization, and cultural experiences are likely to be
very influential in developing forgivingness which is good news for the promo-
tion of forgiveness. Parents and teachers could be taught to understand more
about the process of forgiveness and its importance for promoting peaceful
resolution of conflicts. In this way they could socialize children into more
peaceful resolution of their everyday conflicts and promote the virtues of
peace. Litigious cultures which are quick to blame and no longer seem to
allow for accidental damage also need to be addressed which is potentially a
more difficult task.
(b) State forgiveness: refers to an individual’s ability to forgive a specific situation or
event. It is normally measured by presenting a set of transgression-related
scenarios to individuals and having them assess the likelihood of them forgiving
the perpetrator using a Likert Scale (Likert, 1932). While trait and state forgive-
ness are generally found to be positively associated, the relationship between the
two is not always very strong. Trait forgivingness is generally self-assessed by a
questionnaire and is usually found to be at a higher level in individuals than state
forgiveness; the latter being forgivingness in action so to speak. There may be a
social desirability factor in the self-assessment of trait forgiveness, with indi-
viduals wanting to present themselves positively. The added complexity of the
situations where the need for forgiveness arises, results in lower scores when
state forgiveness is assessed via scenarios. More factors come into play in such
situations than just the individual’s disposition to forgive.
(c) Interpersonal Forgiveness: This has already been mentioned in relation to
defining forgiveness and refers to how individuals forgive each other. Interper-
sonal forgiveness, sometimes termed forgiveness of others has been investigated
most by psychologists. It is most relevant to peace the restoration of interper-
sonal or group relations so is the main focus here and will be discussed in more
detail later.
(d) Forgiveness of Situations: This has been studied least but is very relevant for
peace. Humans have a strong tendency to attribute blame even for naturally
occurring events. Macaskill (2008) in a mixed methods study on situational
forgiveness where the situations involved were natural disasters like tsunamis
and hurricanes, found that over 80% of young adults felt that attributing blame
occurred commonly. They agreed that it was illogical but it was felt that it helped
people to cope, as things happening without any cause were extremely anxiety
provoking. Governments were blamed, for not looking after the environment,
capitalism, human lack of care, and God were all some of the sources of blame.
These are not situations where it is normal to think of forgiveness being required
but addressing it may be a necessary part of the adjustment for survivors after
natural disasters have occurred.
(e) Forgiveness of God: has been less researched but from this work anger with God
for allowing negative things to occur has emerged as a phenomenon in some
religious individuals in situations such as natural disasters or conflicts and here it
creates a need for God to be forgiven (Exline & Martin, 2005). God provides a
target for the anger and/or fear associated with the event. If anger at God is
invoked by events, this can create additional stress for religious individuals and is
another issue that may have to be dealt with. This anger can cause serious conflict
with the religious institutions the individuals belong to and be very disruptive.
150 A. Macaskill
(f) Self-Forgiveness: Again, there is less research in this area. Self-forgiveness refers
to difficulties individuals may have in forgiving themselves for things that they
have done. Lack of self-forgiveness results in individuals being angry with
themselves, feeling guilty, blaming themselves and/or feeling ashamed. Self-
forgiveness has been shown to be important for health and wellbeing (Macaskill,
2012; Strelan, 2006), while lack of self-forgiveness can impact very negatively
on interpersonal relationships. Again, there are large individual differences in
terms of how self-forgiving individuals are. It is always worth exploring whether
individuals are holding themselves responsible for events and blaming them-
selves perhaps unrealistically. If they are doing this it will make it difficult for
them to engage with reconciliation realistically and focus on the future.
How Does the Need for Forgiveness Arise?
To understand the nature of forgiveness so that it can be encouraged to promote

positive peace, it is necessary to consider the psychological processes that are
involved when an individual is hurt by someone and the need for forgiveness arises.
Labelling of the individuals involved in such interactions is fraught with difficulties
but here for ease of communication the wronged individual will be called the victim
and the person doing the wrong, the perpetrator. While these are often seen as
emotionally laden blaming, or guilt inducing terms, this is not the intention. Appor-
tioning blame or guilt may be difficult if not impossible, even if it were helpful to do
so. Feeling wronged is a subjective interpretation of events in many instances and the
perpetrator’s perception may be different which adds to the complexity. While
the initial focus here, for ease of understanding is on interpersonal forgiveness, the
reality is that more than one person may be involved either as victim or perpetrator.
Family or friendship networks, workplaces, religious or racial groups or institutions
on a much larger scale may leave people feeling hurt or angry at the way they have
been treated by them. The basic process is essentially the same, but the addition of
more individuals adds to the complexity.
When the original wrongdoing occurs, the victim generally experiences shock,
accompanied by disbelief and feeling that it cannot possibly have happened. This is
quickly followed by feeling of hurt and anger at the perpetrator for treating them this
way. Underlying these responses are not always recognized or acknowledged is an
element of fear. Understanding the origins of this fear is important as it will influence
the way that victims respond. All relationships involve significant elements of trust.
When we meet a new person, the tendency is to take them at face value, and we may
reserve judgment on them until we get to know more about them often by asking
others about them. When we are getting to know people, we expect the “golden rule”
to operate, namely, if we treat them well and fairly, we trust that they will reciprocate.
In this way a sense of trust underlies all interpersonal interactions. When this trust is
violated by wrongdoing from a source we expected to trust, it can seriously disrupt
our faith in other humans. Feeling betrayed or treated unjustly by a perpetrator
demonstrates how in our social interactions with others we are actually giving others
power over us. The people we interact with have the power to hurt us and treat us
unjustly and this is where the element of fear comes in. If a victim has been betrayed
once it may happen again. Victims may feel unable to trust others. We are, however,
social animals, so for most people being a recluse is not an option. The wrongdoing
will have been stressful, and the victim has to try to deal with the situation and
interact with others.
We know from research that once the victim has got over the initial shock s/he
makes a series of judgements about the wrongdoing to determine what position to
take and how to act (Macaskill, 2002). This tends to happen very automatically, and
victims are not always aware of the processes they are going through, as they are
emotionally aroused and perhaps not thinking very logically. It is important for
mediators trying to restore peaceful relationships in such circumstances to be aware
of the cognitive processes of the victim as she/he makes an assessment of the
wrongdoing and the likely outcome that will follow. The judgement areas include
the following factors but not necessarily in this order:
(a) The degree of wrongdoing. Is it trivial or massive?

(b) How much distress has it caused? This may also involve considering the impact
it has had on others.
(c) How intentional was the wrongdoing? Could it have occurred by accident
meaning it will be judged less severely with less blaming of the perpetrator? It
may be the result of negligence and then blame will be allocated. It may be
judged to be wholly intentional and this brings a more severe rating.
(d) The size and frequency of the wrongdoing will also be considered. An isolated
incident from someone who has always behaved well in the past will be less
harshly judged than if it is part of an habitual way of behaving to others.
Sometimes especially with inter-group conflict historical factors are also brought
into the decision-making process.
(e) The nature of the previous relationship between the victim and the perpetrator is
a further consideration. How close was the relationship and of what duration? In
most instances, the closer and longer the relationship the greater the violation of
trust, and the greater the emotional response.
(f) The presence of any mitigating circumstances that can help to explain or be used
to help excuse the perpetrator’s behavior is an important consideration but
generally this is not part of the immediate response. For victims to allow for
possible mitigating circumstances some time usually has to have passed from the
wrongdoing so that the initial emotional reactions will be less raw. Introducing
possible mitigation in the early stages may simply increase the outrage being
experienced by the victim. It is important for peace keepers to be aware of this
and allow time for the initial emotions to die down.
(g) Has the perpetrator shown any remorse? Research suggests that the more
remorseful the perpetrator is the more likely forgiveness is to occur (Lazarus,
2004). It is not a simple calculation as the severity of the wrongdoing, the degree
of hurt and so on will influence the decision made.
(h) Has the perpetrator apologized? As with demonstrating remorse, the presence of
an apology is more likely to produce forgiveness, but it will depend on the other
circumstances. We will return to the role of apologies later in the chapter.
152 A. Macaskill
From this it is apparent that the decision-making process around the perceived
severity of wrongdoing, the culpability of the perpetrator and the likelihood of
forgiveness is very complex and there are differences in how individuals make
these judgements. They cover situational factors (Mullet & Girard, 2000), relational
factors (Aquino et al., 2001), and personality factors relating to the individual
(Mullet et al., 2005) which are all likely to influence the outcome. To reiterate,
most victims will be unaware that they are making these judgments. Beck (1962), a
founding father of cognitive behavior therapy calls these judgments, “automatic
thoughts” (p. 57) to stress how they are used very quickly and mostly without
conscious thought. These cognitive processes reflect the store of social knowledge
that we have built up throughout our lives based on our previous experiences and
learning. They embody cultural and social expectations of how people should
behave in particular situations and determine how we expect to be treated. Again,
this emphasizes the importance of socialization, education, and social values for
promoting conflict resolution and positive peace.
Once individuals have got over the initial shock at the perpetrator’s actions and
assessed the seriousness of the situation for them, several outcomes are possible;
they may decide to hold a grudge, seek revenge, and try to avoid the perpetrator
rather than forgive. The decision is very likely to be influenced by how others around
them respond to the situation. This initial decision is not necessarily definitive but
the longer it remains unchallenged, the less likely change is to occur without some
targeted intervention. Before exploring the process involved in forgiveness, the less
desirable alternatives are briefly examined.
Alternatives to Forgiveness
Grudge holding and revenge are the more violent, potentially destructive alternatives
to forgiveness. In grudge holding the individual maintains negative feelings towards
the perpetrator, is distrustful of them and likely to be ill at ease should they have to
interact with them. In such situations, the victim will harbor their ill will towards the
perpetrator but are not envisaging taking retaliatory action against the perpetrator.
Grudge holding especially where there is a continuing element of fear of the
perpetrator may be accompanied by avoidance of interactions with the perpetrator
if this is possible. This is likely to be the case where perpetrators are perceived by the
victims to be more powerful in some way. When avoidance is not possible as in work
or family situations, it can result in interactions becoming stressful for the larger
group that the victim and the perpetrator belong to.
Where revenge is the desired outcome, the victim will be searching for opportu-
nities to do harm to the perpetrator. This harm may take various forms either physical
or psychological and can represent a very serious obstacle to peace. Victims who are
holding grudges or seeking revenge will continue to think about the perpetrator. This
is termed negative rumination and has been shown to detrimental to physical health
and psychological wellbeing (Barber et al., 2005). Peace keepers can face a serious
challenge when faced with individuals in this position. Victims becoming aware of
the negative impact that grudge-holding and revenge seeking can have on their
wellbeing can, however, provide the motivation to work towards forgiveness for that
individual. It can be pointed out to victims that while the perpetrator hurt them in the
past, by continuing to ruminate about the event and plot revenge, they are continuing
to allow the perpetrator to negatively influence their emotional state. The time spent
in angry rumination and thoughts of revenge may be detracting from the individual’s
ability to engage positively with life. It may also impact negatively on their other
relationships as grudge-holding, revenge-seeking individuals can become bitter
towards the rest of humanity and as a result are less rewarding for others to interact
with so they can become more socially isolated.
Families, friends and colleagues tend to be very sympathetic to victims initially
but there is an expectation that people come to terms with situations and move
on. Continued focus on the wrongdoing can come to be seen as deviant and
supporters may become impatient and withdraw their support. When the victim is
behaving in this way, the perpetrator is still exercising power over the victim. The
victim is giving him or her that power although the perpetrator may be unaware of
it. Providing this analysis to victims can often provide them with the motivation to
work towards forgiveness or at least a less emotionally charged position. Behavior
change is seldom easy to achieve and when seeking peaceful resolutions like
forgiveness, consideration of how individuals can be motivated to change is crucial.
Appeals to their own wellbeing and to take back control of their emotional state can
be powerful.
The Process of Forgiving Others
More is known about the actual cognitive and emotional process involved when
individuals come to forgive others than about the dynamics of group forgiveness.
The assumption is that the emotional and cognitive processes are similar. Group
forgiveness is frequently initiated by a powerful individual who serves as a role
model for others within the group. This frequently charismatic leader initiates the
process and maintains the process and brings others along. In the South African
context, Bishop Desmond Tutu fulfilled such a role on the Truth and Reconciliation
movement. Therefore, it perhaps unsurprising that research to date has tended to
focus on the behavior and characteristics of individuals when trying to understand
the process of process interpersonal forgiveness.
An important initial distinction is made between making the decision to forgive,
so-called decisional forgiveness and emotional forgiveness, which describes the
actual cognitive and emotional processes involved in coming to forgive. What is
agreed is that to forgive completely to the position where reconciliation is possible
normally takes time (Worthington et al., 2000). The decision to forgive is the first
step in the process. At this stage, if the decision to forgive is shared and the people
concerned are in contact with each other, misperceptions between the victim and the
perpetrator are likely to occur. So-called emotional forgiveness requires time for the
individual to rebuild his/her trust in the perpetrator. How long this takes will depend
154 A. Macaskill
on the nature and severity of the original wrong doing and the closeness of the
original relationship. Betrayals by loved ones and others with whom we share close
valued relationships have greater personal emotional impact generally than offenses
committed by strangers or relative strangers. The violation of interpersonal trust is
perceived to be greater. If situations arise in the course of their interactions that
remind the victim of the original wrong doing, the victim may respond with distrust
or anger towards the perpetrator. Perpetrators may respond with outrage to this, as
they believe that they have been forgiven by the victim and more conflict may arise.
We are not always precise in the language we use to convey our cognitive and
emotional states to others. When victims initially say, “I forgive you,” what they are
likely to mean is that they have made the decision to forgive the perpetrator; but what
they actually mean to convey is, “I will work towards forgiving you but that may
take some time.” Interpersonal trust has to be rebuilt and this is likely to take time if
indeed it can be fully restored. The fragility of trust after wrong doing is portrayed in
sayings like, “I have forgiven but I have not forgotten.” This indicates that there is
still some level of distrust in the “restored” relationship. Understanding the nature of
these processes and explaining them to both parties can significantly increase the
chances of achieving peaceful resolutions of such conflicts.
Victimhood
What is seldom appreciated is that there can be significant benefits as well as costs
associated with being perceived as a victim of wrong doing. Work colleagues,
friends, family, and so on may be very sympathetic and provide additional comfort
and support to the victim. The victim may feel morally superior to the perpetrator, in
that they believe they are in the right and are justifiably hurt and angry and may feel
that they have a right to retaliate. They may even feel more powerful if leading
figures in their communities or at work or within their families are supporting their
case. In personal relationships where one partner has transgressed, the victim may
come to feel they have power over the perpetrator and can dictate terms for future
engagement perhaps even using their shared off spring as bargaining tools.
One of the difficulties associated with the sympathy that victims get from others is
that it can reinforce their angry feelings towards the perpetrator. This can make
forgiveness harder to achieve. To want to forgive someone in these circumstances
involves a change of mind-set and going against all the sympathetic comments and
negative judgments that their friends and colleagues have previously made about the
perpetrator. This could involve some loss of face and worry about what the sympa-
thizers will think or say about them. It is for this reason that empathizing with how
someone is feeling is preferable to sympathizing. It is an important distinction if the
aim is not to make forgiveness more difficult so peace can be restored.
Sympathizing involves recognizing others’ feelings and agreeing with them about
how they have been treated. It is usually accompanied by statements like, “I agree,
you should not have been treated like that, you did not deserve it. She should not
have acted that way towards you.” Empathy on the other hand is about trying to put
oneself in the victim’s shoes and acknowledging their feelings without making
judgments. An empathic statement might be, “I can see how upset you are and
that you do not feel that you have done anything to cause this.” Empathic statements
help the victim feel that the listener understands what they are feeling but they do not
reinforce the victim’s negative perceptions of events. This is important as it can
facilitate forgiveness whereas well-meant expressions of sympathy that are critical of
the offender can make forgiveness more difficult. The relationships between victims
and the sympathizers may also be more difficult should forgiveness occur. The
victim is likely to recall negative comments made about the perpetrator by sympa-
thizers and they may feel less positive towards the sympathizers if their relationships
with the perpetrator are restored and all is forgiven.
It is thus important to recognize that in choosing to work towards forgiveness the
perpetrator will have to give up any benefits that accrued from being a victim. Their
anxiety levels may also rise as they work towards learning to trust the perpetrator
again. It is likely that they are more observant and slightly more watchful in relation
to the perpetrator than they were previously. For most people forgiveness is not easy.
Forgiveness and the Vulnerable
Forgiveness is generally conceptualized as being a desirable outcome of conflict, but

this may not always be the case for victims. Forgiving the perpetrator can bring its
own worries and difficulties. If the victim then re-engages with the perpetrator,
he/she is opening him/herself up to the possibility of the transgressor reoffending
again. This may well be the case for groups or individuals who have been subject to
abuse and/or exploitation at the hands of the perpetrator. Such individuals are often
persuaded by such perpetrators that they, the victims have contributed to the abuse or
exploitation by the way they have behaved towards the perpetrator in the past. The
dangers of exploitative perpetrators reoffending with vulnerable victims needs to be
understood. These are cases where unconditional forgiveness and the restoration of
former relationships may put the victims at risk of further damage. This is an
important topic in grooming victims for sexual exploitation where the perpetrator
builds up a relationship where he/she has power over the victim. Such cases need to
be handled very carefully with appropriate professional support provided to victims.
In most instances, however, forgiveness is beneficial as a personal resolution albeit at
a distance.
The Path to Forgiveness
As mentioned previously, committing to forgive can involve costs as well as

conveying benefits to the victim. The motivation to forgive frequently comes from
victims coming to see that maintaining their negative rumination about the events
and the perpetrators is damaging their wellbeing and mental health. As long as they
continue to be upset and pre-occupied with the event, they are continuing to allow
156 A. Macaskill
the perpetrator to have a negative influence on their lives. Individuals often say they
are tired of being upset and want to move on and put the event behind them. Living
with unforgiveness is stressful (Maltby et al., 2007), while achieving forgiveness
lowers the physiological stress response and thereby improves physical and mental
health (van Oyen et al., 2001).
Exploring the costs and benefits of forgiveness is a good starting point. Victims
then feel they are making decisions and can begin to regain a sense of control over
their lives (Fincham et al., 2005; Goboda-Madikizela, 2002). Instead of forgiveness
being conceptualized as a somewhat frightening event victims can be helped to see it
as a brave, generous act on their part. In this way, they can be helped to move on
from the victim role.
There are several counselling intervention models of forgiveness and they share
similar features. One of the earliest is the Pyramid Model (Worthington, 1998) which
details five steps that victims need to go through to achieve forgiveness. It is
emphasized that the steps are not always followed in the same order, but the process
is the same. The acronym REACH is used to summarize the process as follows:
Recall the hurt

Empathize with the perpetrator
Altruistic gift of forgiveness is given
Commitment to forgive is made
Hold on to the wish to forgive and work at it
The other main model is the process model of forgiveness (Enright & Coyle,
1998) which again outlines phases in the journey to forgiveness. Beginning with an
uncovering phase where the event is discussed and costs and benefits analyzed,
followed by a decision phase where there is a change of heart and the decision to try
to forgive is made. The victim then works through empathizing with the offender and
offering forgiveness. The final stage is described as a deepening stage where the
victim tries to find meaning in the event and begins to experience better psycholog-
ical health.
In both these and other models, empathy is seen to play a crucial role. This tends
to develop in different ways. Some victims begin to speculate on the perpetrator’s
motives, and this may lead to different possible explanations to the one they
originally held. This acknowledgement by the victim that the perception of events
includes a large element of subjectivity is important in the change process. A range
of possible motivations for the same action can often be described. This may lead the
victim to re-attribute cause and see that perhaps the hurt was not as intentional as
they had originally assumed. This is empathy in action, where the victim is trying to
see the situation from the perpetrator’s perspective. At other times victims reflect or
can be encouraged to reflect on the fact that they themselves have made mistakes in
the past that have led to other’s being hurt or offended. This may have been
unintentional. These reflections over time can lead to some reinterpretation of the
situation and a less harsh attitude towards the perpetrator to emerge. The perpetrator
may be seen to have erred, but that is accepted as something that can happen to many
of us, so the judgement is less harsh, and forgiveness becomes a possibility. While
this is addressed systematically in therapy sessions, research has shown that indi-
viduals who have higher levels of empathy are more forgiving naturally (Macaskill
et al., 2002). This suggests that fostering empathy in situations where the need for
forgiveness arises is important for motivation and eventual resolution. Victims are
frequently admired for their generosity in bestowing forgiveness and this helps to
reinforce their position.
For some individuals their religious beliefs may include a moral imperative to
forgive and this will help with motivation. The steps to forgiveness, however, appear
to be the same and as discussed earlier anger with God may be an additional issue for
religious victims to come to terms with. The endpoint is that individuals lose the
extreme negative emotions, be they anger or fear that were associated with the
original event and while they may not see it as a positive event, they tend to
reconceptualize it as something that they have learnt from or even as something
that has brought something meaningful into their lives. There are many examples
where victims may get involved in organizations to try to ensure that others do not
suffer as they did. For some individuals the process of forgiving will be easier than
for others as there are large individual differences in the natural ability to forgive,
hold grudges, or seek revenge as we discussed earlier. This does mean that some
victims will need professional help if they are to forgive.
What is clear from all the research is that for the majority of people forgiveness
takes time (McCullough et al., 2003). Forgiveness is the endpoint of a complex
process of adjustment, involving getting over the initial shock, accepting what has
happened, allowing the initial emotional responses to reduce before thoughts of
forgiveness even arise. This takes time as does the development of empathy and the
reconceptualization or reattribution of blame related to the event. Next the trust in the
perpetrator needs to be rebuilt. Trust can be violated easily and quickly but rebuild-
ing trust takes longer. Victims may need lots of reassurance and some careful
handling when they are rebuilding trust in a relationship or in an organization, and
the perpetrator needs to be aware of this if reconciliation is part of forgiveness.
The Power of Apology and Conveying Remorse
The research evidence on apologies is quite sparse and spread over quite a long
period although a lot has been written philosophizing about the importance of
apologies. The consensus from actual research is that apologies especially if accom-
panied by signs of remorse significantly increase the probability that forgiveness will
follow, if they are given in the right context and delivered in a timely fashion (e.g.,
Davis & Gold, 2011; Fehr & Gelfand, 2010; Weiner et al., 1991). Apologies in
interpersonal offences have also been shown to reduce the level of negative emotion
felt by victims especially if they contain some reassurance that the event will not
recur (Davis & Gold, 2011). The more the apology is judged to express remorse the
more effective it is (Scher & Darley, 1997).
158 A. Macaskill
A review of existing research on apology in close relationships (Lewis et al.,

2015), concluded that apologies are more likely to occur the closer the relationship
between the perpetrator and the victim and that women tend to have a lower
judgmental threshold about what constitutes unacceptable behavior and thus requires
an apology. Women therefore tend to be more willing to apologize and apologize
more frequently than men do (Schumann & Ross, 2010). The focus of the apology is
also important. When perpetrators address the feelings and needs of the victim in the
apology and are seen to be making attempts to re-establish trust to repair the
relationship, the apologies are more effective than when perpetrators are more
focused on their own feelings and trying to release their guilt about the situation
(Slocum et al., 2011). These provide useful guidelines for peacemakers when
constructing apologies.
Unfortunately, we live in litigious times and apologizing for wrongdoing is
frequently discouraged in case it is seen by lawyers as an admission of guilt. The
law is, however, clear about this and apologizing is not sufficient grounds to
establish guilt in many countries (Helmreich, 2012). Research with patients who
have experienced medical mistakes has concluded that what such patients want most
is an apology and a reassurance that steps will be taken to make sure that it does not
happen to someone else (Vincent et al., 1994). When apologies are given levels of
litigation are reduced (Kraman & Hamm, 1999). Many patients do not want the
stress of litigation. Saying “sorry” can be very powerful and can diffuse a difficult
situation and restore peace. This is very apparent when victims are frequently heard
to repeat that the perpetrator did not have the grace to even apologize. For over
20 years there has been recognition in health care that apologies are important as it
reduces negative emotions towards the healthcare staff in patients who have suffered
mistreatment and also reduces litigation (Allan & McKillop, 2010). A review by Wu
et al. (2017) found that offering apologies in healthcare is now policy in many
countries and guidance is published for healthcare staff.
Despite the importance of apologies, there is relatively little research on the topic.
It has been suggested that context may be important so that for example apologies in
work contexts are likely to be different from those in more personal settings.
Differences in socio-economic status or power between victims and perpetrators
may also be an influential factor. Bedford and Hwang (2003) identified the impor-
tance of cultural differences in terms of factors like guilt and shame which often
provide the motivation to apologize in the hope of being forgiven. They reported that
Western type cultures tend to have an individualistic perspective, focused on moral-
ity, so that wrongdoing generates guilt in the wrongdoer which may provide the
motivation to apologize. Eastern type cultures such as the Chinese are more collec-
tivist, so that group concerns are given more importance than those of the individual.
Wrongdoing impacts on the group to which the victim belongs, be it family or wider
group and involves the loss of face. In such cultures shame, is the emotional response
that tends to be induced in wrongdoing as a way of maintaining social control. While
guilt and shame can be experienced together, shame is an emotion that focuses on the
self, recognizing we have behaved in an unacceptable way, while guilt involves an
awareness that what we have done has affected someone else badly. More research
on apology in different contexts and cultures is required so these differences are

better understood as apologies are powerful tools that can contribute to peace.
National and Group Apologies
Brooks (1999) points out that governments and other official bodies issuing apolo-
gies for historical and contemporary harms and injustices done to others has become
an international phenomenon and it continues. Governments have apologized for a
range of injustices such the treatment of indigenous populations, for slavery, for
apartheid, and so on. The aims of the apology are usually to acknowledge the wrong,
accept responsibility for it, and express regret and remorse in the hope of building
trust and fostering reconciliation. While forgiveness is the implicit aim, it tends not
to be mentioned in the statements as forgiveness has to be given by the victims and
cannot be demanded and this is recognized. Wohl, Hornsey, and Philpot (2011)
provide a good review of such public apologies. There is a dearth of research on the
effectiveness of national apologies and what there is reports mixed results.
One of the best known examples of national apologies is the South African Truth
and Reconciliation Commission. It, however, failed to promote reconciliation (Gib-
son, 2004). In a 6-year follow-up study of the commission, there was a marked
reluctance among victims to grant or even discuss forgiveness (Chapman, 2007).
Victims were more likely to want to discuss obtaining justice rather than forgiveness.
It appears that there may be a level of cynicism in the victimized population about
the much publicized and vaunted national or group apologies made to them. For
example, an apology made by the Canadian Government for a head tax that had been
imposed on Chinese immigrants at the start of the twentieth century was more likely
to be seen as an attempt to win their votes in the next election (Blatz & Philpot,
2010). The research suggest that victimized groups look for evidence of behavior
change following apologies and are skeptical about the level of remorse behind the
apologies. The message for peace makers is clear, apologies if they are truly meant
and sufficiently remorseful and followed by actions to institute change may begin the
process of reconciliation but it is not a straightforward journey and it may not lead to
forgiveness.
Group dynamics are complex and defining a common enemy can serve the
function of uniting disparate groups. Thus, for example in South Africa, different
tribal groups came together in their opposition to apartheid. The dominant white
group were the “enemy.” This identification of a common enemy associated with the
wrongdoing can be very powerful in uniting groups as in wars between nations. This
generates a target for group unforgiveness, grudge holding, or even revenge seeking.
This can be difficult to dissipate when the conflict ceases, and the wish is for peaceful
relationships to be restored.
As humans we seem to have a need for natural justice to take effect and this
usually involves someone being punished. Trials for war crimes and demands for
retribution are sometimes conceptualized as part of this process. They serve the
function of wider populations seeing that justice is being done and the perpetrator is
160 A. Macaskill
being punished. Again, forgiveness is not necessarily evident at the start of the
process, but it does arguably begin the journey towards forgiveness and perhaps
reconciliation.
Guidance for Researchers
A systematic review by Fernández-Capo, Fernández, Sanfeliu, Benito, and

Worthington (2017) has identified 45 scales that measure forgiveness in a range of
contexts. The scales cover both dispositional or trait levels of forgiveness, which
measure levels of forgivingness in individuals and forgiveness in particular situa-
tional contexts. The review helpfully provides recommendations for researchers on
which scales to use based on the psychometric soundness of the scales and what they
are trying to measure. The review also covers behavioral, biological, and more
implicit measures of forgiveness that have been used in forgiveness studies in the
last 20 years.
Researchers need to be aware when utilizing psychometric scales such as these to
measure forgiveness, that when researchers have developed these scales, most have
provided a definition of what they understand constitutes forgiveness and this is what
is being measured. The paper that describes the development of the measure will
include this definition and researchers will need to ensure that it matches the
conception of forgiveness they wish to measure. The scales are either published in
the papers or are readily available from the authors cited in the review.
Concluding Comments
Forgiveness cannot be demanded but needs to be conceptualized as a gift that the

victim can choose to bestow. Ideally, forgiveness is something that is given freely
and unconditionally. If someone truly forgives another, their relationship can be
continued as if the offence never occurred. Such unconditional forgiveness is
probably rare but it is the gold standard and should be celebrated when it occurs.
The fact that as humans we can be enabled to forgive bodes well for positive peace.
Research is beginning to show us how we can foster this process but much more
needs to be done in social and educational terms. The maxim for healthy, peaceful
co-existence should be slow to anger and quick to forgive.
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Part IV
Social Nonviolence
Peace Education
9
Heather Kertyzia
Contents
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 168
History of Peace Education . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 168
Defining Peace Education . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 171
Education About, for, and by Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 173
Debates and Critiques Concerning Peace Education . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 179
Original Critiques of Education for, About, and by Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 180
Current Critiques of Peace Education . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 181
Present Debates in Peace Education . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 183
Peace Education Research . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 185
Peace Education Effectiveness . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 187
Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 188
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 189
Abstract
This chapter examines the history, practices, debates surrounding, and research of
peace education. I will consider not only formal education (schools, universities)
but also informal education (organized by NGOs or non-school actors, but taking
place within some form of structure). Nonformal education (without organization
or structure, but still teaching and learning, e.g., parenting) is not considered in
this chapter, although there is a strong argument to be made that is perhaps the
most valuable contributor to cultures of peace. In this chapter, I will examine the
history of peace education (PE), summarize the different conceptions of PE,
survey the debates around PE, discuss PE research, and finally elaborate on its
effectiveness. Although there are difficulties surrounding the implementation of
PE, including defining PE in any given context, it is possible to identify aspects of
effective PE practice.
H. Kertyzia (*)
University for Peace, San Jose, Costa Rica
e-mail: hkertyzia@upeace.org
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_9
168 H. Kertyzia
Keywords
Peace Education History · Peace Education Debates · Peace Education Research ·
Peace Pedagogy · Effective Teaching Practice
Introduction
Both peace and education are terms that most people have used, which are generally
seen to be positive concepts; rarely are they interrogated or criticized in the general
public. Yet they are both “weighty” terms, carrying with them different connotations
and conceptions that depend highly on culture and personal circumstances. For the
purposes of this chapter, peace will be defined broadly using the concept of positive
peace (the presence of social justice) as opposed to peace as simply the absence of
physical violence. Following this, a culture of peace is a long-term process of
moving away from violence and domination to a culture of dialogue and negotiation,
and to achieve it the ties must be established between peace, development, justice
and democracy (Gómez Santibáñez, 2011). I will consider not only formal education
(schools, universities), but also informal education (organized by NGOs or
non-school actors, but taking place within some form of structure). Nonformal
education (without organization or structure, but still teaching and learning, e.g.,
parenting) is not considered in this chapter, although there is a strong argument to be
made that is perhaps the most valuable contributor to cultures of peace. In this
chapter I will examine the history of peace education (PE), summarize the different
conceptions of PE, survey the debates around PE, discuss PE research and finally
elaborate on its effectiveness. Although there are difficulties surrounding the imple-
mentation of PE, including defining PE in any given context, it is possible to identify
aspects of effective PE practice.
History of Peace Education
When PE is defined broadly as education for human betterment, and/or the avoid-
ance of violence, it can be traced throughout history, particularly in religious and
spiritual teachings (Burns & Aspeslagh, 1996). (For a complete exploration of the
relationship between spirituality and peace education see Brantmeier et al. (2010).)
Various Indigenous peoples around the world have a rich tradition of nonviolent
conflict resolution practices that have been passed down to promote peace (Harris,
2008a). In North America, First Nations’ spirituality has generally emphasized
reciprocity over competition and tried to nurture positive dispositions so that peace-
ful relationships are nurtured (Four Arrows aka Jacobs, 2010). In formalized reli-
gion, there have been several leaders who have engaged in PE including Buddha,
Jesus, Mohammed, and Lao Tse (Harris, 2008a). Buddhism, the Religious Society of
Friends (Quakers), and the Gandhian movement within Hinduism have all partici-
pated in education for nonviolence (Burns & Aspeslagh, 1996). In the Vedas and
9 Peace Education 169
Upanishads of Hinduism the concepts of a universal family and ahimsa (nonvio-

lence) can be found, but due to the variety of Hindu beliefs and practices it may not
always been the focal point, as it was for Gandhi (Upadhyaya, 2010). The Dalai
Lama has been another important peace educator focusing on the Tibetan Buddhist
belief in the interconnectedness of all life and therefore nonviolence and equality
(Luo, 2010). In addition, Confucius tried to spread the values of loving kindness,
selfless giving, virtuous action, acquisition of wisdom, and the building of sincerity,
trust, and faith by educating thousands of students in hopes of realizing an ideal
society on earth (Lin & Wang, 2010). Sufism is a discipline within Islam that also
seeks to develop peace on earth through teaching the individual to realize and
embody peace within themselves (Ayazi, 2010). Likewise Judaism focuses on
shalom (peace) in the individual, starting with the home and working outward, a
practice that has traditionally been taught in synagogues (Jacobson & Steigmann,
2010). That said, in Judaism peace does not signify the absence of war, as peaceful
individuals might still engage in war (Jacobson & Steigmann, 2010). Jesus’s teach-
ings broke from that tradition, focusing on universal compassion, mercy, gentleness,
and peacemaking (Oxford, 2010). Within Christianity there are three pacifist sects
that strictly follow the nonviolent teachings of Jesus: Quakers, Mennonites, and
Brethren (Morrison & Harris, 2010). Quakers have been particularly active in PE,
openly advocating for nonviolence and social justice, playing an important role in
the abolition movement, and focusing on cooperative learning and international
understanding in their schools (Morrison & Harris, 2010). PE as a part of a religious
practice, or as part of informal education within homes, has a long history.
Historically more formal ideas of PE, particularly as it applies to schools,
have tended to be based in the European or North American settler traditions. The
seventeenth century Czech educator Comenius was one of the first to advocate
formal education as a means to attain peace (Burns & Aspeslagh, 1996).
The International Peace Congresses held in Europe from 1843 to 1853 furthered
this cause, as the idea that education shapes morality and ethics emerged, and also
that education might be used to overcome political prejudice and traditional hatred
(Grossi, 2000). In 1863, Jean Macé founded the teaching league that worked with his
ideas on communicative pedagogy to combat ignorance as the root of war (Grossi,
2000). In 1891 the International Peace Bureau was established, developing links
between European and American teachers and focusing their efforts on history
textbooks, creating several pacific education textbooks to contest the nationalism
and chauvinism of standard texts (Grossi, 2000). This period in the late nineteenth
century saw increased internationalism and the development of multiple peace
societies that often developed education programs (Burns & Aspeslagh, 1996).
Monaco in 1902 hosted the 11th Universal Peace Conference that created an
international lending service for PE materials using lanterns to project images
(Grossi, 2000). These peace congresses and conferences continued to take place in
Europe during the first decades of the twentieth century and the majority addressed
issues of PE (Grossi, 2000). Meanwhile in the United States, the School Peace
League had chapters in nearly every state by 1912 and actively promoted interna-
tional justice and fraternity (Harris, 2008a). The progressive education movement
170 H. Kertyzia
and the New Education Fellowship were responsible for many of the early initiatives
in PE (Rohrs, 1994). The documentation of early PE initiatives has been centered on
developments in Europe and North American settler communities, in part due to the
lack of formal education systems in much of the colonized world at that time.
This trend of Western-centrism continues during the “War years” between 1914
and 1945, which saw a large moral disarmament movement grow and develop along
with internationalist and pacific tendencies (Burns & Aspeslagh, 1996). During this
time women’s voices were integral to the peace movement. In 1915 the Women’s
International League for Peace and Freedom was founded, the beginning of many
links between feminist standpoints and PE (Burns & Aspeslagh, 1996). Jane
Addams and Maria Montessori were extremely influential during this time and
were among the first peace educators working for educational reform (Harris,
2008a). Following WWI John Dewey also promoted PE as part of his progressive
schooling movement, particularly within the social sciences (Howlett, 2008). By the
mid-1930s the International Peace Campaign was active in over 40 countries and
enthusiastically moved for PE as action-oriented, aiming to convert public opinion
(Burns & Aspeslagh, 1996). The League of Nations also created a subcommittee
with the task of training young people for international cooperation (Burns &
Aspeslagh, 1996). The wide-ranging effects of the World Wars created urgency
within the Western peace movement that saw increasing formalized PE.
Following the World Wars the number of peace movements grew as did access to
formal education internationally, which led peace research and education to develop
widely during the following 70 years (Harris, 2008a). In 1948, the first peace studies
program was established at Manchester College in Indiana in the United States
(Harris, 2008a). That same year the United Nations published the Universal Decla-
ration of Human Rights that has become the basis of many PE programs. In the
1950s and 1960s the focus of PE programs tended to be on cold war politics and
colonial empires, which was followed by a shift in the 1970s to disarmament
education and simultaneously to structural violence as Freire’s work became popular
(Burns & Aspeslagh, 1996). The year 1974 was important for PE as UNESCO’s
recommendations concerning Education for International Understanding,
Co-operation and Peace, and Education Relating to Human Rights and Fundamental
Freedoms were established (Andersson et al., 2011). It was also the year that the
International Peace Research Association (IPRA) created its Peace Education Com-
mittee, which often looks at links between peace research, education, and action
(Burns & Aspeslagh, 1996). In 1980, the United Nations University for Peace was
founded with a specific mission to educate for peace, providing graduate degrees in
fields that contribute to peacebuilding. In the early 1980s there was a strong shift
toward a focus on positive peace and structural violence, which was followed by a
move for individual peace and psychological approaches in the late 80s as the notion
of a peace culture was developed (Burns & Aspeslagh, 1996). Since the 1990s the
growing influence of neoliberalism and neoconservatism has affected the growth of
education aimed at human betterment (Hicks, 2007). Nevertheless at the interna-
tional level, UNICEF, UNESCO, and the United Nations have continued to promote
PE. Koïchiro Matsuura, the former Director-General of the UNESCO, has stated that
“peace education is of fundamental importance to the mission of the UNESCO and

the United Nations” (as quoted in Page, 2008, p. xix). In 2010 the Santiago
Declaration on the Human Right to Peace was written, which declares in its second
article that each person has the right to receive education in and for peace and other
human rights (Silva, 2011). In recent years PE has become accepted in some
international circles and it is strongly advocated by the United Nations, which
supports formal and nonformal PE programs now being implemented internationally
in various manifestations.
Defining Peace Education
Due to the wide variety of PE programs and their contexts, there has been some
debate regarding the definition of PE. Each region has a different focus, but they all
try to change the world for the better in some way (Bar-Tal, 2002). The focus of the
PE program depends on the issues of violence and injustice that most deeply affect
that region (Reardon, 2012).
The definition of peace that is accepted by a society will affect the type of PE, as
different values, methods, concepts, and ideals develop in a particular historical
context (Burns & Aspeslagh, 1996). There is also the issue of context within a
society as any definition of PE must be flexible enough to apply to formal and
informal programs that work at the individual, interpersonal, community, national,
and international levels (Andersson et al., 2011; Ihejirika, 1996; Silva, 2011).
Salomon (2002) has argued that the context of PE also defines its goals as regions
in relative tranquility (not experiencing violent conflict) emphasize positive peace
and regions in violent conflict focus on negative peace and coexistence. Looking
beyond content, a wide variety of pedagogies have been employed as well: general
teaching about a culture of peace (De Rivera, 2010), storytelling and working
through multiple narratives (Bar-On, 2010), integrated schools for traditionally
conflicting groups (Gallagher, 2010 Northern Ireland; Maoz, 2010 Israel), radio
broadcasting (Staub et al., 2010), intergroup encounters (Maoz, 2010), whole com-
munity school-based interventions (Danesh, 2010), and peer mediation programs
(Johnson & Johnson, 2010) among others. No particular pedagogy or curriculum can
be applied internationally because it must relate and respond to a wide variety of
needs (Noddings, 2010). Peaceful Schools International recognizes that cultural
difference necessitates change to programs and each school must develop its own
vision based on the views of all school community members (van Gurp, 2001). In
practice, the term PE has been applied to a wide range of activities in very different
contexts, which may seem to have very little in common with each other beyond the
fact that they are all aimed in some way at creating a more just and/or nonviolent
world (Marks, 1983). The wide variety of content, contexts, methodologies, and
goals of various PE programs have led to a debate as to whether PE should apply as
an overarching term to all of these activities.
In many cases educators choose not to use the term PE, as there are multiple other
terms for forms of education that have similar goals but a different focus. Some
172 H. Kertyzia
educators in the co-disciplines of PE choose to align themselves with it, while others
prefer to develop their own terms without any connection to PE (Bajaj & Chiu,
2009). These co-disciplines are all engaged in some way in education for change, so
while they are fragmented there is a sense of commonality (Sterling, 2010). I have
summarized some examples of co-disciplines and their particular foci in the follow-
ing table. These particular co-disciplines were chosen as they are the topics I found
most often referred to in the literature on PE. There have also been changes in the
terminology used and the focus over time, for example, disarmament education was
very commonly referred to during the Cold War, but is not mentioned as regularly in
current literature. Also, environmental education now coexists with education for
sustainability, a relatively new term (Table 1).
When PE is defined broadly, all of the listed types of education can be considered a
part of PE, as they all work for positive change in the world (positive peace). However,
some have argued that subsuming all of these programs under one category blurs
important distinctions (Salomon, 2002). Others have avoided the term peace as it has
political associations and chosen instead to use less controversial terms (Yarwood and
Project “Preparedness for Peace”, 1990). There are also those that have chosen to use an
additive approach to peace education, such as critical peace education (Bajaj, 2015) and
yogic peace education (Standish & Joyce, 2018). The critical approach to peace
education further highlights the structural inequalities that are often discussed by
general peace educators, but with greater evidence on how asymmetrical power
relationships are at the root of violence and must be disrupted (Bajaj, 2015). Yogic
peace education focuses on violence within the self, and sees the praxis of self-
knowledge, self-awareness, and self-consciousness as the path to transform conflict
by developing the inner practice of peace to then “ripple-out” (Standish & Joyce, 2018).
Nonetheless, there are connections between all of these issues and practices, and that is
where the argument for a holistic view comes into play (Wessels, 1994), as PE can focus
on each of these topics and show how they are interrelated. Recently this holistic view
has been argued for by some peace educators, where environmental, human rights, and
feminist traditions come together in a comprehensive form of education, generally
either called peace education (Reardon, 2012) or sustainable education/education for
sustainable development (Bajaj & Chiu, 2009).
Different practitioners have included different themes in their definitions of PE as
they focus on topics of particular relevance to their work or region. Some peace
educators include most, if not all, of the co-disciplines in their definitions of PE,
while others are more limited in scope. In Table 2, we can see which topics some
peace educators have included in their work.
It is very clear that none of the peace educators view negative peace as sufficient,
and none have argued for that as the primary goal of PE. Authors who are often cited
in the field, such as Reardon, Harris, Bar-Tal, Danesh, and Solomon, include a wide
variety of themes within their definition of peace education. Among these five
authors alone all of the themes above are included in PE. Lipkin and Project
Preparedness for Peace (1990) has argued that the term that resonates best with the
target group of PE is the one that should be used. The point is not to argue about
language but to work effectively for positive change as defined by the community in
which PE is taking place.
Table 1 Types of education relating to PE

Type of
education Focus
Disarmament Assess advantages/disadvantages of militarization and national sovereignty
(Reardon, 2012)
Alternative security systems, human security (Bjerstedt, 1991; Reardon, 2012)
Military-industrial complex (Bjerstedt, 1991)
Conflict Nonviolent conflict resolution (Reardon, 2012)
resolution Sometimes larger societal conflicts and reconciliation (Reardon, 2012)
Behavioral changes in interpersonal conflicts (Harris, 2008b)
Citizenship Preparation to participate in one society (Luo, 2010)
Producing good citizens – understand government processes, build loyalty to
traditional values (Reardon, 1978)
OR critical responsibility to participate in society from a problem-solving
perspective – analyzing structures and values and constitutional process
(Reardon, 1978)
Multicultural/ Tolerance, respect for difference, understanding multiple world views
interreligious (Reardon, 2012)
History of racism/oppression based on ethnicity or religion (Kaplan, 1977)
Global International relationships and their effects (Luo, 2010)
How global events have domestic repercussions and vice versa (Pike & Selby,
1986)
Alternative world views and critical self-reflection (Pike & Selby, 1986)
Health of the planet consciousness (Pike & Selby, 1986)
Moral Traditionally linked to humanist or religious norms (Gur-Ze’ev, 2001)
From care ethics perspective aims to engage people in caring relations
(Noddings, 2010)
Human rights Refers specifically to international human rights law (Marks, 1983)
Human rights violations, what they are and how they are caused (Reardon,
2012)
Two major spheres – political and civil and economic, social, and cultural
(Reardon, 2012)
Environmental Relationship between human beings and their surroundings (Luo, 2010)
The Earth as one living system where each part is interdependent (Reardon,
2012)
Development Critical examination of social and international structures leading to quality of
life (Marks, 1983)
Satisfaction of basic needs on a global level (Marks, 1983)
Sustainability A personal, organizational, and social analysis of the systemic inhabited
world (Sterling, 2010)
Work on the affective, cognitive and intentional (practice) dimensions
(Sterling, 2010)
Build a healthy, durable, sustainable world (Sterling, 2010)
Education About, for, and by Peace
PE has also been broken down into education about peace, education for peace, and
education by/in peace. Education about peace focuses on the content of the teach-
ing, the cognitive side, presenting information and building knowledge about themes
such as those listed above: human rights, the environment, development, and so on
174 H. Kertyzia
Table 2 Peace theorists/practitioners and educational themes (year in column refers to publication
date)
Theorist/ Negative Positive Conflict Human

practitioner peace peace resolution Citizenship Global International Development Gender rights
Andersson 2011 2011 2011 2011
Bajaj and 2009 2009 2009
Chiu
Bar-Tal 2002 2002 2002 2002 2002
Brantmeier 2008 2008 2008 2008
Boulding 1972 1992 1984
Brock- 1985 1985 1985 1985 1985
Utne
Burns and 1996 1996 1996 1996 1996 1996
asp
Danesh 2006 2006 2006 2006
Galtung 1983 1983 1973
Haavelsrud 2009 2009 2009
Harris 2013 2013 2013 2013 2013 2013
Hicks 2007 2007
Marks 1983 1983 1983 1983 1983
Page 2008 2008 2008 2008 2008
Reardon 2012 2012 1978 1978 2012 2012 2012 2012
Salomon 2002 2002 2002
Silva 2011 2011
Search/act
Environmental/ Moral/ Multicultural/ Social for Equality/
sustainable ethical Disarmament interreligious justice Cooperation Spiritual alternatives diversity
2011 2011 2011 2011
2009 2009 2009 2009 2009 2009
2002 2002 2002 2002 2002 2002

2008 2008 2008 2008 2008 2008
1996 1992 1992 1984
1985 1985 1985 1985
1996 1996 1996 1996
2006 2006 2006 2006 2006

1983 1973 1973 1983 1983
2009 2009
2013 2013 2013 2013 2013 2013 2013 2013
2007
1983 1983 1983
2008 2008 2008 2008
2012 2012 2012
2002 2002 2002
2011 2011
176 H. Kertyzia
(Andersson et al., 2011; Brock-Utne, 2009; Burns & Aspeslagh, 1996; Yarwood and
Project “Preparedness for Peace”, 1990). Education for peace focuses on peace as a
process and looks at methods for attaining peace, dealing with the affective, working
for changes in attitudes and behaviors and building skills such as conflict resolution,
and respect for difference and the environment (Andersson et al., 2011; Brock-Utne,
2009; Burns & Aspeslagh, 1996; Yarwood and Project “Preparedness for Peace”,
1990). Education by peace, or by peaceful means, refers to the pedagogy of peace
education, the ways in which a practitioner engages with participants, creating an
environment conducive to learning. Education about peace, the possible content of
PE, has been discussed here in the section on defining PE (see Table 2), therefore the
following paragraphs will expand on education for peace and particularly on
education by peace.
The purpose of PE is essentially education for peace, that is, to provide learning
that contributes to the creation of a more just and less violent world (Reardon, 1978);
if it does not contribute to different actions or attitudes it is understood not to have
not succeeded. PE is where research and action meet, a combination of both theory
and practice designed to elicit critical problem-solving skills (Aspin, 1987;
Boulding, 1990). To be successful, it is argued that PE must examine values and
attitudes, develop skills and behaviors that promote peaceful relations, and encour-
age students to use these skills to take action for social justice and nonviolence
(Al-Smadi, 2008; Bjerstedt, 1990; Page, 2008). PE has been referred to as a
socialization process because it is concerned with internalizing specific values and
behaviors (Bar-Tal, 2002) and also as a humanization process as learners develop
their self-identity through self-discovery (Rohrs, 1994). Although both these state-
ments are true, the values and behaviors developed are also defined by the learner’s
society, so education for peace seeks to honor diversity while establishing common
ground (Brantmeier & Lin, 2008). Peace learning is praxis, reflection plus action,
which is relevant to learners and their contextual conditions (Haavelsrud, 2009).
This focus on education for peace, or action for positive change, is integral to PE,
and programs that do not incorporate this perspective are not considered to be fully
developed PE programs.
Well-executed PE also practices education by peace, which is the use of peace-
based pedagogy. Good pedagogy is defined by its context and cannot be reduced to a
single method (Giroux, 2010). Nordland (1996) argues that in PE there is no specific
handbook or set of methods that can be used internationally as problems in the
community and how they can be addressed within the cultural setting are varied. PE
is considered not to seek a positivist path to knowledge, as all knowledge is regarded
as being contextually situated, local, and Indigenous; instead it works toward critical
thinking (Semali, 2004). Although the design, content, and pedagogy will vary in PE
according to context (Wessels, 1994), it is judged important that PE still happens
within a peace-based environment (Danesh, 2006). To be successful it is essential
that PE practitioners are deeply committed to peaceful teaching and learning
(Brantmeier & Lin, 2008). Daniel Bar-Tal (2002) has developed eight guidelines
for PE practice, five of which refer specifically to pedagogy. In this section I will
accept and develop those five, leaving three for discussion in the section on debates
in PE. Bar-Tal (2002) states that:
1. PE is an orientation that provides a framework for learning. The goals, concerns,

and needs of the society that engages in it are the base of that framework.
2. The internalization of PE requires experiential learning, including an appropriate
classroom climate.
3. PE has to be relevant to current problems or social issues.
4. PE must be open-minded, addressing multiple viewpoints and using critical and
creative thinking.
5. PE is highly teacher dependent, as the teacher has to demonstrate the values,
attitudes and behaviors advocated by PE (pp. 29–33).
For education by peace to take place, all five of these guidelines must be
followed. If a PE program educates about and for peace, but fails to educate by
peace, it is missing an essential link in effective practice.
Although it has been close to 100 years since Dewey encouraged teachers to
break from customary pedagogy, and many individual reformers have done so,
according to Schrag (2009) a visit to the vast majority of schools will confirm that
traditional patterns still prevail. Traditional in this case does not refer to Indigenous
forms of education, but rather to the form of education that is familiar to many people
as it has been exported internationally from Europe through colonization. Generally,
traditional teaching practice involves a teacher who provides information to stu-
dents, who then absorb that information and then demonstrate that they have
acquired it through some type of testing. More details about traditional teaching
are provided in Table 3.
The question becomes is peace pedagogy (as outlined by Bar-Tal) or traditional
teaching practice more compatible with effective teaching practice as identified in
recent research? The following table compares Bar-Tal’s five guidelines for PE and
traditional teaching methods with the current research on effective teaching and
learning. It uses definitions of traditional teaching practice defined by its most vocal
advocates, Cox and Scruton (1984) and the Hillgate Group (1986) along with those
who have offered critiques, most prominently Freire (1996) and Dewey (1938). The
information on effective teaching draws from the synthesis of meta-analyses of
Hattie (2012) and Alton-Lee’s (2003) best evidence syntheses. Hattie’s work syn-
thesizes about 800 meta-analyses, which encompassed 52,637 studies on student
achievement from early elementary through tertiary, affective outcomes were not
included (Hattie, 2009). His work argues that “visible teaching and learning” has the
most significant effect on student achievement and he defines this as occurring when:
learning is the explicit goal, when it is appropriately challenging, when the teacher and the
student both (in their various ways) seek to ascertain whether and to what degree the
challenging goal is attained, when there is a deliberate practice aimed at attaining mastery
of the goal, when there is feedback given and sought, and when there are active, passionate
and engaging people (teacher, student, peers, and so on) participating in the act of learning. . .
178 H. Kertyzia
Table 3 PE pedagogy and traditional pedagogy – compatible with effective teaching practice?
Peace pedagogy
(Bar-Tal, 2002) Effective teaching practice Traditional teaching
Orientation for ✔ Learners must construct ✗ Should present problems that
objectives: knowledge and understand are remote and abstract from
community goals, learning intentions (Hattie, student’s immediate world
concerns, needs 2012) (Cox & Scruton, 1984)
Links are created between the Curriculum has been decided
school and other cultural elsewhere at another time
contexts of students (Alton- (Dewey, 1938)
Lee, 2003)
Experiential ✔ Create a safe learning ✗ Child centered learning leads
learning environment where to infantilization, has no
Appropriate exploration and error are benefit (Hillgate Group,
classroom climate welcome (Hattie, 2012) 1986)
Learning groups are caring, Teacher teaches, students are
inclusive communities taught (Freire, 1996)
(Alton-Lee, 2003) Teacher talks, students listen
(Freire, 1996)
Students do not actively
participate (Dewey, 1938)
Relevant to current ✔ Content must move from ✗ Content distanced from the
problems or social single relevant ideas to immediate and actual (Cox &
issues multiple ideas then relate Scruton, 1984)
them (Hattie, 2012) Teacher chooses content
Teaching is dynamic and without consulting students,
flexible and responsive to often well before meeting
student interests and needs students (Freire, 1996)
(Alton-Lee, 2003)
Open-minded, ✔ Development of critical ✗ Perception can be value and
multiple viewpoints evaluative skills is one of the prejudice free, no need for
Critical and most important purposes of multiple views (Cox &
creative thinking schooling, this includes Scruton, 1984)
understanding multiple Books hold wisdom and
viewpoints (Hattie, 2012) teachers connect students to
Teaching promotes critical that wisdom (Dewey, 1938)
thinking, pedagogical
practices proactively value
and address diversity (Alton-
Lee, 2003)
Teacher dependent ✔ Teachers need to be directive, ✗ Based on discipline and
Demonstrate the caring, and passionately order, not free expression
values, attitudes, engaged (Hattie, 2012) (Hillgate Group, 1986)
and behaviors Learning is not about Pupils are docile, obedient,
advocated by PE compliance/control but and receptive (Dewey, 1938)
addresses diversity (Alton-
Lee, 2003)
[The biggest effects on student learning occur when teachers become learners of their own
teaching, and when students become their own teachers. (Hattie, 2009, p. 22)
Alton-Lee’s (2003) best evidence synthesis had similar results including feed-
back, goal-orientation, and student metacognitive strategies, but had a few
differences perhaps partly because it also included social outcomes. Her work drew
on international research and compared it with New Zealand findings. Along with
the stated goals, she argues for a focus on caring, inclusive and cohesive learning
communities, and creating links to cultural contexts. The table shows the compati-
bility of effective teaching practice as evidenced by these syntheses with PE, but an
incompatibility with traditional teaching practice. (Traditional teaching practice is
also referred to as the banking perspective by Freire (1996).)
The table shows that education by peace is more compatible with effective
teaching practice than is traditional teaching practice. For example, learning should
be relevant to learner concerns and needs; caring, inclusive communities help create
an appropriate classroom climate and understanding multiple viewpoints is part of
developing critical thinking skills. Although Hattie (2009) has found that almost all
educational practice has a positive effect on achievement, there are some practices
that are more effective than others. I argue that it is important for PE programs to
engage in education by peace as this also corresponds to effective teaching practice.
Unlike student achievement and education by peace, there are difficulties in
evaluating education for peace. Hattie’s (2009) research clearly shows how aca-
demic achievement is affected by teaching practice, but long-term effects and
personal changes are more difficult to measure. Objectives of education for peace,
such as the internalization of values and skills, are difficult to evaluate (Bar-Tal,
2002). PE has been criticized about this issue as educational objectives that cannot
be easily assessed may be seen to have less value (Burns & Aspeslagh, 1996).
Traditional forms of assessment such as tests and examinations cannot be used as
they evaluate knowledge, not a state of mind (Bar-Tal, 2002). So although education
about peace can be easily tested to evaluate student retention of content, as can
different pedagogies in education by peace using those same tests and linking them
to pedagogy employed, education for peace is much more difficult to assess. Even
when appropriate tests related to education for peace are employed, from a research
standpoint it is still difficult to establish a causal link between changes to attitudes or
behaviors and PE, as so many external factors also play a role (Harris, 2008b).
Although education about and by peace can be evaluated for their effectiveness, the
criticism of the difficulties of evaluating education for peace is a valid one and a
challenge that peace educators still face.
Debates and Critiques Concerning Peace Education
In the early years of the growth of PE there were strong criticisms by educators who
were deeply against PE (e.g., Cox & Scruton, 1984) and today there are debates
among peace educators who have differing ideas about its practice, e.g., Gur-Ze’ev
(2001). Large parts of PE have been fairly uncontroversial, such as nonviolent
conflict resolution in interpersonal conflicts, but bigger issues such as disarmament
have caused more controversy (Bjerstedt, 1991). In this section I will outline the
original critiques of PE, some present critiques, and some internal debates discussed
by peace educators. I have organized the historical critiques around education for,
about, and by peace.
180 H. Kertyzia
Original Critiques of Education for, About, and by Peace
The Hillgate Group (1986) and Cox and Scruton (1984) were the most vocal critics
of PE and they commented on a wide variety of issues. They were critical of
education for peace, and the teaching of values and skills for nonviolent action. In
the British context they wrote extensively in their defense of traditional teaching.
They did not argue that values and skills do not have a place in education; it was
simply the kinds of values and skills that mattered. They believed that education
should give children the skills that prepare them for membership in society and that
children need a firm moral basis (Hillgate Group, 1986). However, they felt that the
morality should come from a spiritual basis in religious doctrine and that member-
ship in society requires respect for the law and British institutions through nation-
alism (Hillgate Group, 1986). They argued that PE and its “egalitarian propaganda”
had led society to believe that education should be used to help build a more
equitable society, but this new framework omitted moral standards, religious under-
standing, and patriotism (Hillgate Group, 1986, p. 4). Cox and Scruton (1984) refer
to teaching tolerance, cooperation, and conciliation as good manners, but they
objected to PE as a political ideology. Reardon (2012) points out that the form of
education that they endorsed also has a political ideology, one of nationalism and
patriotism first, instead of unity in humanity and a global perspective. While they
argued that education should not have an ideological commitment, their writing is
deeply steeped in the ideology and rhetoric of the Cold War. They saw PE as
encouraging nonviolence and helping the Soviet Union and the enemy. These
opponents of PE did not object to the teaching of interpersonal skills in conflict
resolution, but their concern was that at the international level, PE seemed to endorse
the values of communism rather than Christian values.
Cox and Scruton’s (1984) critique of education about peace was in terms of a
concern with maintaining educational standards, as they argued that the “old fash-
ioned curriculum” did not need change. They claimed that the traditional curriculum
had an accepted body of communicable knowledge, while peace studies lowered
intellectual standards and politicized education (Cox & Scruton, 1984). They stated
that peace studies makes no distinction between a government by consent or
dictatorship and that PE sees structural violence everywhere that inequality exists,
using the example of an orchestra and their conductor (Cox & Scruton, 1984). Cox
and Scruton stated that PE would see the unequal relationship between an orchestra
and their conductor as structural violence, although it is a necessary hierarchy to
create cohesion (Cox & Scruton, 1984). In their view, PE detracts attention from
serious forms of learning and takes time away from more important subjects, such as
mathematics or science (Hillgate Group, 1986). Cox and Scruton took issue with the
way the content was framed as education about peace, which they argued would
propagandize people into a particular point of view. They also (1984) maintain that
PE discourages critical thinking and, rather than being objective, encourages preju-
dice about peace, war, and disarmament. In response to this criticism, Reardon
(2012) makes a distinction between objectivity (without prior judgment) and neu-
trality (without value bias). She claims that all public policies are imbued with
values, PE simply openly acknowledges those values. To be objective does not mean
to be free of values (Reardon, 1988). One of the aims of PE is to make those values
visible. Page (2008) also argues that since war and injustice are generally seen as
inevitable, the suggestion of alternatives to this viewpoint by PE actually provides
students with an opportunity to choose, respecting their autonomy and allowing
them to avoid indoctrination in the invisible dominant discourse. For Ginsburg
(2000), education is political and “existing social relations are reproduced, legiti-
mated, challenged or transformed” (p. xvii) depending on the content and pedagogy.
Giroux (2010) sums this up in his discussion of critical pedagogy, stating that
education when done well aims for a:
socially just world, a world in which critique and possibility – in conjunction with the values
of freedom and equality – function to alter the grounds upon which life is lived. That is a
hardly a prescription for political indoctrination. It offers students new ways to think and act
independently. (para. 8)
Education by peace stresses critical thinking skills and understanding multiple

viewpoints as outlined in Bar-Tal’s guidelines (2002). A quality PE program works
against indoctrination as it uses education by peace to expand the number of
possibilities and ideas, not to limit them.
Current Critiques of Peace Education
Some of the criticisms of PE discussed above are still made in certain sectors today,
but in general the focus of the critiques has shifted. The most prolific critic of modern
PE is Gur-Ze’ev (2001). His arguments can be linked to the commentary of the past,
although he frames them in a different way. I have chosen to examine three of his
critiques here, separate from those examined above and to link these to similar
current criticisms of PE. Gur-Ze’ev states that PE lacks a philosophical basis, that it
is a particularly Western conception, and that it actually perpetuates violence, not
discourages it.
Gur-Ze’ev (2001) is very concerned about the lack of a theoretical or philosoph-
ical basis for PE. He elaborates three assumptions that PE makes. First, peace should
be sought; second, peace is the opposite of violence; and third, it is possible to
educate for peace and it is justified to do so. He states that most PE activities manifest
goodwill but do not elaborate their propositions, aims, methods, or effects from a
theoretical standpoint. Page (2008) has since written an extensive book on the
philosophical foundations of PE. In it he argues for PE based on the ethics of virtue,
consequentialism, aesthetics, conservative politics, and care (Page, 2008). As Page
explains, “ultimately, there can be no such entity as value-free education. The
question is whether the values that are expressed within education are defensible”
(Page, 2004, p. 8). He defends the values of PE, by emphasizing virtue as the
development of character, encouraging harmony and cooperation, and the need for
education to encourage such values. Using consequentialism, he argues that it is
182 H. Kertyzia
assumed that what we teach has an effect on the formation of society; therefore it is
vital to teach about the negative consequences of war and injustice. Drawing on
feminist ethics of care and the work of Noddings (1984) and Gilligan (1982), Page
elaborates how the ethics of care is based on relationships, rather than principles or
perceptions of justice, and how peace is ultimately about relationships between
individuals and between states (Page, 2004). Page’s integrative approach provides
the philosophical rationale for PE that Gur-Ze’ev demanded. It is true that many
peace educators in the classroom would not be able to elaborate upon the theoretical
or philosophical frameworks they use in the way that Page has, as many practitioners
may not have had an opportunity to do the extensive philosophical reading that Page
has. However, as Fang (1996) points out, these practitioners will nonetheless have
tacit theories and belief that underpin their practice.
Gur-Ze’ev and others have also criticized the Western moral dimension of
PE. Bekerman and Zembylas (2012) state that many PE programs are founded in
essentialized conceptions of human rights and positivist perceptions of truth based
on modern white Western notions. Gur-Ze’ev (2001) agrees that the moral dimen-
sion of PE, which is often based on universal human rights, comes from a religious
(mainly Christian) or humanist background. He argues that both Dewey and Galtung
are “Western, humanistic, liberal and enlightened” thinkers (Gur-Ze’ev, 2001,
p. 318). The Western tradition can also lead to individualistic conceptions of
peace, so PE programs identify problems in the individual mind to be addressed,
such as racism or nationalism, and they ignore the communal and contextual nature
of some conflicts (Bekerman & Zembylas, 2012). This essentialized understanding
of peace limits the space for representations of truth and various understandings of
justice (Bekerman & Zembylas, 2012). These are valid concerns that must be
addressed within PE.
Internationally United Nations’ definitions of peace tend to be accepted and
frameworks for education such as Universal Human Rights are engaged; and
these concepts are based in a Western humanist perspective (Goedde, 2011). So
peace educators need to be careful that their programs, although perhaps based
in these conceptions, not only leave space for, but actively encourage other ideas
to come forward from local and Indigenous perspectives.
Gur-Ze’ev argued that teaching is one of the main mechanisms for perpetuating
violence and injustice, and he included PE in that statement (Gur-Ze’ev, 2001). He
states that PE is a form of normalizing education that seeks uncoerced consensus and
that this normalization process is unjust (Gur-Ze’ev, 2001). He went so far as to state
that the quest for peace is a form of terror as it dehumanizes by sacrificing the
individual to the collective by convincing them to agree with the collective’s ideas of
security and values (Gur-Ze’ev, 2001). In his view PE reproduces dichotomies of
good and evil, victim and victimizer (Gur-Ze’ev, 2001). Bekerman and Zembylas
(2012) support him as they claim that peace as the absence of violence and conflict is
just another Western dichotomy. Gur-Ze’ev makes a fair point that PE is normalizing
as through the education for peace process, values of nonviolence and unity in
diversity are encouraged. Participants that originally reject these values could be
convinced by the dominant discourse in the group. To call this a form of terror or
dehumanizing seems extreme, as individual choice is still respected and people are
not threatened or intimidated into accepting the values outlined. However, peace
studies commentators such as Lederach also distinguish between violence and
conflict. Conflict is seen as natural and an opportunity for creative problem solving
(Lederach, 2003). The focus on creativity, critical thinking, and understanding
multiple viewpoints as outlined in the “education by peace” section means that
different perspectives that emerge within a PE program should be respected.
Although PE is normative, if education by peace is being practiced, it is not violent
or unjust, as individuals have the right to exercise their freedom and always have
choice.
Another frequent criticism made of PE is that peace is not possible and therefore
PE is a waste of resources. Palaima (2003) has stated that peace (implicitly referring
to negative peace) is an illusion and wars actually never end; the periods between
wars are simply when groups are preparing for the next war. Thereby any act
dedicated to working for a culture of peace is futile as peace never has and never
will exist. This claim has been countered by Bonta (1997), whose research has
documented more than 40 societies that have virtually or absolutely no recorded acts
of violence, thus making them peaceful, at a minimum in the negative peace sense of
the word. Pinker (2012) has also argued that society as a whole has become more
peaceful over the last millennia and instances of physical aggression at both the
individual and national level have decreased significantly. There is also the hypo-
thetical question that, even if a true culture of peace is impossible, a utopia that no
human will ever see, does that mean that it is not worth working for? If a goal is
valuable, is it not worth striving toward it, even if we might not achieve it? I argue
that even if PE, in combination with other efforts, never leads to international
widespread cultures of peace, every small step we make in that direction is still
worthwhile, just as all the actions taken so far have been.
Present Debates in Peace Education
One of the longest running debates within PE is in relation to that of freedom, as

theorists have questioned whether the traditional schooling system is compatible
with the ideals of PE (e.g., Galtung, 2008; Illich, 1971). Galtung (2008) has been one
of the strongest voices in this debate as he believes that the highly vertical division of
labor and one-way communication found in most schools is antithetical to PE, which
should permit feedback and bring people together instead of fragmenting them. Illich
(1971) argued that students within a traditional school structure are conditioned by
the institutional setting and transfer responsibility for themselves to the institution;
they can no longer think or work against the system as they have become a part of it,
reproducing the consumer society. As PE actively works for change in society, from
Illich’s perspective, it cannot take place in a traditional school system.
This argument falls in line with two more of Bar-Tal’s (2002) eight guidelines for
PE. First, that PE is difficult to implement without the legitimization of the society; at
least a significant portion has to support the objectives of the program. Second, that
184 H. Kertyzia
PE does not only relate to the pupils, but to the whole society and to be successful it
has to be applied more widely in other social institutions. From this perspective,
schools alone cannot be asked to solve the problems of the modern society, unless
the cultural setting and the nation-state support is already in place (Bekerman, 2012).
Schools evolve within a set of conditions, both cultural and as defined by the
government, and for PE to be successful in schools the conditions have to be
changed as well (Bekerman, 2012). Ideally this would be the case, that PE would
take place at all levels of society and that the society would generally support the
objectives of PE. However this may be a chicken and the egg situation, as PE is one
part of what can help change societal viewpoints. Although schools may not be
sufficient for achieving positive change and PE programs within them may not be as
effective if they are not backed by larger institutional changes, they are necessary for
society to move toward a culture of peace. The path to peace is a long one and as PE
evolves, hopefully schools will evolve as well; nonetheless, PE programs within
schools still have the potential to make positive change even if they are not yet
necessarily in the perfect environment (Farrell et al., 2001; Jones, 2004).
If we accept that PE does have a place in schools, the debate becomes about how
it should be implemented. There are four ways to engage in PE in schools: as its own
subject, through special efforts outside of class, through a common assignment for
all or several subjects, and as education for peace values and nonviolent interaction,
which is not directly subject related; all of which can be viewed on a continuum
(Bjerstedt, 1992) (see Fig. 1 below).
In the 1980s, Marks (1983) argued that teachers had a responsibility to familiarize
students with contemporary issues, but curriculum overload was a problem. He felt
that special courses and activities should be developed so that teachers would not
feel overwhelmed by the need to teach their standard curriculum plus peace, human
rights, development, or disarmament (Marks, 1983). However, research has shown
that a holistic approach where the whole school embraces PE is more effective than
when one teacher does it alone (Harris, 2008b). PE should not be compartmentalized
in subjects where it is segregated from the relevant community context (Bekerman,
2012; Danesh, 2006). It must be integrated across the curriculum at all levels and in
all school interactions and interaction with the community (Ihejirika, 1996; Rohrs,
1994). This holistic viewpoint of PE as context is considered to be integral to the
success of education about, for, and by peace.
A recognized pitfall that can affect PE programs is the possibility that studying
such “depressing” subject matter can leave students feeling despondent. Some critics
fear that exposing students to such difficult subject matter can instill a sense of
hopelessness and meaninglessness (Fleury, 2004). In fact, that feeling of impotence
One subject All subjects

Special occasions Continuous
Explicit PE – as text Implicit PE – as context
Fig. 1 Continuums of PE implementation (Bjerstedt, 1992, p. 5)

in the face of such dominant structures may be the strongest buttress of the status quo
(Reardon, 1978). However, education for peace provides students with the skills and
values to take action. The study of current realities has to be combined with
alternative visions and solutions so that hopelessness can be avoided (Reardon,
1978). Research into the effectiveness of programs and how they handle the emo-
tional well-being of learners to ensure that this bleak outlook does not take hold is
needed.
Peace Education Research
PE research tends to fall into three main categories: descriptive, evaluative, and
implementation and evaluation. Descriptive research simply describes a project or
program. Evaluative seeks to assess the effectiveness of PE. Implementation and
evaluation, both introduces a program into a new context and then evaluates the
results. By far the largest category is implementation and evaluation, as many PE
programs seek to do their own monitoring and appraisal to ensure that they are using
their resources wisely and to satisfy funders. The research tends to be qualitative,
often using interviews and surveys to look for changes in behaviors or attitudes. In
the following section I will outline some of the research, organized into the catego-
ries of descriptive, evaluative, and implementation and evaluation.
Purely descriptive research tends to be rare and commentary on the research can
blur the lines into the evaluative. Some comparative case studies have been carried
out, such as Carter’s (2004) work that asked teachers, administrators, parents, and
curriculum officers about social education that contributed to peace in both Florida
and Northern Ireland. Others have looked more broadly at the connections between
education and peacebuilding, such as the study done by McLean Hilker (2011) in
post-genocide Rwanda. In the United States, EdythWheeler (2003) and Alice
Stomfay-Stitz sent out an internet request for stories of PE in varying communities
and through their website and newsletters they share some of these stories. Other
descriptive research has sought to understand the values and behaviors of youth in
relation to peace and conflict without any intervention, as seen with Gokce’s work in
Turkey (2006). Descriptive research has been done in both formal and informal
settings.
Purely evaluative research has looked at teacher education in PE and programs in
and outside of schools. Some research has evaluated teacher training programs in
universities and made recommendation for change to formal programming such as
the work of Baker, Martin, and Pence (2008) and Quezada and Romo (2004), both
based in the United States. In Sub-Saharan Africa a study was conducted of teacher
training in nine countries that used seminars to evaluate training content and
methodologies that aimed at poverty alleviation and peace (Benavente et al.,
2008). Also working with adults, but from the general population Maoz (2010)
has used surveys to study the effects of PE many years after the implementation of
programs in Israel. In Colombia, “Aulas en Paz” or Classrooms at Peace, a primary
PE program, invited outside researchers in to evaluate their program (Blair, 2008).
186 H. Kertyzia
The researchers used interviews with principals, teachers, students, and parents
along with classroom observation to gauge the success of the program (Méndez
Méndez & Casas Casas, 2009). Also in Colombia, but outside of the school system,
external researchers were invited to analyze the Youth for Peace Network in Bogota
(Ballesteros De Valderrama et al., 2009). Using a mixed methods approach including
interviews, field diaries, and cine forum of students, teachers, and NGO members,
they compared youth in the network to nonmembers (Ballesteros De Valderrama
et al., 2009). Several researchers have also conducted meta-analyses evaluating the
effectiveness of various types of intervention and found that PE approaches do have
positive effects on student behavior, particularly when implemented at the whole
school level (Aber et al., 2003; Burrell et al., 2003; Johnson & Johnson, 2002; Jones,
2004). In all of these cases the evaluation of practice was done by external
researchers who gathered and analyzed the data.
By far the most common form of PE research is implementation and evaluation,
where peace educators design and enact a program then assess its effectiveness. This
has been carried out in various contexts with multiple learning groups. In the United
States, Harris (1991) used questionnaires at the beginning and end of peace studies
courses at the undergraduate level to gauge changes in attitudes and behaviors. At
the primary level, the Teaching Students to be Peacemakers Program undertook a
similar study in relation to their course concerning mediation and negotiation pro-
cedures (Johnson & Johnson, 2010). In Cyprus, Nicolaides (2012) looked at chil-
dren’s values and behaviors before and after a PE program in relation to the regional
conflict there. There have also been international external forces at work in the
region, such as when the UNDP sponsored a Turkish Cypriot Ministry of Education
program that had five objectives, two of which were to develop a PE training
program and to train teachers in Conflict Resolution Education-Peace Education
(CRE-PE) (Yaman, 2007). Following the implementation of the training program
they gathered written feedback from participants to assess its effectiveness (UNDP,
2007). The World Bank also initiates PE programs, including one in Sierra Leone
that used Australian PE researchers, publishers, and educators with local support
from the Ministry of Education, Science, and Technology to develop a PE kit for the
country (Bretherton et al., 2005). Although efforts were made to receive feedback
from local educators, the kit was written mostly in Australia by Australians, which
leads to some questions about ownership and cultural relevance. Nonetheless sur-
veying the schools that implemented the kit and comparing them with similar
schools in the same district they did find that it significantly contributed to changing
teacher practices (Bretherton et al., 2005). A comparable, although more pervasive,
program has been implemented in Bosnia and Herzegovina by Education for Peace
(Danesh, 2010). Led by a Canadian peace educator, this program started working with
teachers in a small number of schools, but was then adopted by the government due to
its success (Danesh, 2010). Throughout the process, Education for Peace has conducted
internal evaluation gathering feedback through interviews and more recently they have
invited external researchers who have continued that work (Danesh, 2010). The
program has been successful in achieving changes to attitudes toward other ethnic
groups and in the application of conflict resolution strategies in participants’ daily lives
(Close, 2011; Lowe, 2011). All of these PE programs that have been implemented and
then sought to evaluate their work either externally or internally face difficulties in
assessing their effectiveness in relation to attitudinal and behavioral change.
Peace Education Effectiveness
The efficacy of PE is difficult to assess for multiple reasons and perhaps it is unfair to
judge all PE programs as one large group. Although not all PE programs have the
same goals, there is generally some component that attempts to incite positive
changes to attitudes and behaviors. The efficacy of a program would be judged on
the frequency and depth of those changes. Some issues that affect the ability to gauge
effectiveness include access to students and records, the mobility of youth, costs, the
difficulties of finding control groups, and external factors such as parent beliefs and
the history of conflict, which both significantly affect student attitudes (Harris,
2008b). Salomon (2002, 2006) has suggested there is a difference between PE
programs that attempt to deal with the “meat” of a long-term conflict and those
that try to teach general conflict resolution skills and individual behavioral change.
He suggests that there are actually three categories of PE, which change depending
on their contexts: regions of intractable conflict with ongoing violent collective
narratives, such as Ireland, Israel, Cyprus and Rwanda; regions of interethnic tension
with a history of hostilities, such as blacks and Latinos in the United States; and
regions of experienced tranquility, such as Norway, although there are overlaps
between the three (Salomon, 2002). A region of intractable conflict is by definition
a complex situation with “historical, political, cultural, moral, legal, spiritual and
human dimensions” that has persisted for years with little change in direction
(Coleman, 2003, p. 3).
Substantial research has assessed the effectiveness of PE in regions of intractable
conflict, e.g., Danesh (2011), Bekerman (2012), and Harris (2008b). There has been
a positive difference made by PE school-based activities in regions of intractable
conflict in some contexts, but generally these are due to peripheral factors such as
decreased stereotypes, but not to the core issue of the collective narrative (Salomon,
2006). (In this context collective narrative refers to the “social constructions that
coherently interrelate a sequence of historical and current events; they are accounts
of a community’s collective experiences, embodied in its belief system and represent
the collective’s symbolically constructed shared identity” (Bar-Tal & Salomon,
2006, p. 3) following from Bruner (1990).) In Israel-Palestine, research shows
varying levels of success (Bar-Tal, 2004; Bekerman, 2012; Feuerverger, 2008;
Maoz, 2010; Noe, 2008). In Northern Ireland, results are also inconclusive when
looking at interethnic education (Harris, 2008b). In regions of intractable conflict, it
is debatable whether short-term programs can affect deeply held cultural convictions
(Salomon, 2006), which is why Bar-Tal’s (2002) guidelines state the need for
legitimization by the general society, and programs that work at all societal levels.
It is also why Danesh (2006), who works primarily in Bosnia and Herzegovina (also
an intractable conflict), argues for a comprehensive sustained curriculum of PE that
188 H. Kertyzia
includes parents and the community. This long-term comprehensive approach is seen
as the most likely to have a sustained effect in regions of intractable conflict.
Alternatively, in regions of experienced tranquility and interethnic tension, PE
programs are much more effective and tend to see positive results even after short-
term programs. In an analysis of 79 studies of PE programs from 1981 to 2000, Nevo
and Brem (2002) found that 80–90% were effective or at least partially effective.
Yearlong programs that teach conflict resolution skills in schools have also shown
positive effects (Bickmore, 2007). Generally, qualitative studies have shown conflict
resolution programs improve relationships, sense of self, and, in some cases, even
academic achievement (Harris, 2008b). This form of conflict resolution PE has also
been found successful in Colombia (Ballesteros De Valderrama et al., 2009; Méndez
Méndez & Casas Casas, 2009), which has arguably been a region of intractable
conflict, but does not fit all of the criteria described by Coleman. In Bogotá, students
who were involved in programs both outside and within schools showed less
aggressive behaviors, better friendship networks, and more responsibility and matu-
rity in diverse situations (Ballesteros De Valderrama et al., 2009; Méndez Méndez &
Casas Casas, 2009). These changes to attitudes and behaviors do not necessarily
affect the views held by youth on the dogmatic conflict. However, we do see them
applying these skills in their social lives even after short-term programs (Ballesteros
De Valderrama et al., 2009; Méndez Méndez & Casas Casas, 2009). The effective-
ness of PE programing is highly dependent on the context, both nationally and
locally.
Conclusion
In this chapter I reviewed the literature that is related to PE. First I outlined the
history of PE, defining PE follows, along with the critiques of PE and the debates
within it. I then gave an overview of PE research and the results of research into its
effectiveness.
Working from this broad perspective PE has a long history that can be traced from
international religious texts, but in recent decades the focus in the literature has been
on Western conceptions, although this is now expanding to include more interna-
tional and Indigenous perspectives.
There are many forms of PE and it is difficult to define due to the variety of
content and pedagogies that can be found. I choose to frame PE as education about,
for, and by peace. Education about peace focuses on the content of learning and
could contain: disarmament, global issues, human rights, environmental concerns,
nonviolent movements for peace and social justice, and more. Education for peace
deals with the values and skills necessary to live in and create a peaceful society, for
example: cooperation, conflict resolution, nonviolent communication, equity, and
unity in diversity. These lists are far from exhaustive and the content, values, and
skills included in PE will depend deeply on the context of the program. Education by
peace outlines the pedagogy of PE and, once again, there is a variety of options
available, but Bar-Tal (2002) has argued for eight general guidelines for PE
programs, five of which deal with pedagogy. Those five guidelines include: rele-
vance to current issues, experiential learning, open-mindedness, condition depen-
dent, and highly teacher dependent. These five guidelines are also consistent with the
evidence for effective teaching practice in relation to student achievement.
The most vocal opponents of PE, Cox and Scruton (1984) and the Hillgate Group
(1986) support a more traditional form of pedagogy that is inconsistent with the
research on effective teaching practice. They argued that education should not have
an ideological commitment, and yet defended the presence of nationalism and
religious values in the curriculum (Cox & Scruton, 1984). Reardon (2012) counters
that all education is imbued with values, the difference is that PE is open about that
fact. Gur-Ze’ev (2001) has also criticized this aspect of PE; not that values are
included in teaching, but rather that the values come from Western moral concep-
tions. There are other debates within PE, such as whether peace is compatible with
schooling, but the main concerns now revolve around the style and effectiveness of
implementation, for example, does a program need to work across the whole society,
a whole school, or with just a segment or class to be effective.
Although there are philosophical authors within PE, the majority of research
tends to deal with the implementation of programs. The research generally falls into
three categories, descriptive, evaluative, or implementation and evaluation. The third
category, where the peace educators design and implement a program and then use a
variety of methods to evaluate it, is by far the most common. The effectiveness of PE
seems to be related to its context. Salomon (2002) has argued that there are three
types of contexts: regions of experienced tranquility, regions of interethnic tension,
and regions of intractable conflict. Programs that teach conflict resolution skills in
regions of experienced tranquility have often been successful in achieving their
stated goals, but programs that try to deal with the deep issues in regions of
intractable conflict have been less successful.
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Classroom Resistance: Peace Education
in a Time of Rising Authoritarianism 10
Cheryl Lynn Duckworth
Contents
“The Trump Effect” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 199
“A Pedagogy of Truth” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 202
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 207
Abstract
Globally, on nearly every continent, scholars and human rights activists sound the
alarm regarding rising authoritarianism. It is the call and vision of peace educators
the world over to foster a culture of positive peace both locally and globally; thus
it seems urgent that we consider what new concepts and tools we will need to
protect schools, academic freedom, and the kinds of curriculum and pedagogy
needed to protect peace education from the autocratic threats that are manifesting.
Nonviolence, as we will explore below, is one essential tactic. First, we will
examine the kinds of authoritarian regimes consolidating today and why they are
appearing as they do. Next we will turn to what kinds of policy and pedagogy
seem to be best equipped for our divisive, misogynist, racist, and xenophobic
times.
Keywords
Pedagogy · Curriculum · Authoritarianism · Trump effect
Peace education, at least arguably, has always entailed resistance to authoritarianism

and autocracy. Some of our leading founders suggest this. Paulo Freire wrote
primarily during the military dictatorship that lasted in Brazil from 1964 to 1985.
C. L. Duckworth (*)
Department of Conflict Resolution and Peace Education, Nova Southeastern University, Fort
Lauderdale, FL, USA
e-mail: cd956@nova.edu
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_10
196 C. L. Duckworth
Founding Mother Maria Montessori’s writings, practice and public speaking were
preoccupied with human freedom and avoiding war, writing as she did just after
Europe was emerging from the fascism of the twentieth century. Their contexts, so
filled with violence, oppression, and repression, shaped their thinking and aspira-
tions. Today’s peace educators must respond to our own context of increasing ethnic
violence and hatreds, authoritarianism and open challenges to the notion of human
liberty, equality, and global citizenship.
In order to know how peace educators can best respond to rising authoritarianism,
we must know what conditions enable its rise. What seems to be behind the rise in
authoritarianism and why are we seeing it now? A complete analysis is beyond the
scope of this chapter, which will focus primarily on teaching and learning, but it
seems necessary to offer some observations as a basis for the education-specific
concepts and recommendations to follow. Scholars are in the midst of debating
exactly what we are seeing in North America and Europe, and why we are seeing
it. Snyder offers a clear and accessible guide for the general public regarding what
totalitarianism is, and once recognized, what to do (Synder, 2017). He emphasizes
especially what everyday citizens can do, such as dialoging with neighbors, and
protecting institutions with which they might be involved (such as schools). How
Democracies Die is explicitly framed as a warning to Americans about President
Trump in particular, detailing historical comparisons with such cases as Peru, Russia,
and Turkey (Levitsky & Ziblatt, 2017). They discuss in particular economic insta-
bility and extreme partisanship as key warning signs. Washington’s Farewell: the
founding father’s warning to future generations (Avlon, 2017) is in a similar vein,
identifying debt, military adventures abroad, and extreme partisanship as key factors
in a democratic society’s demise. My own study of civil resistance to authoritarian-
ism emphasizes the role of social movement framing as a means of building
coalitions broad enough to succeed in resisting tyrants (Duckworth, 2011), educa-
tional approaches which can impact broader social change (Duckworth, 2012), and
pedagogy for teaching “hard history” especially in post-conflict contexts
(Duckworth, 2015). Notably each work mentioned here discusses historical, ideo-
logical, and ethnic hatreds as key to helping autocrats consolidate power. Put plainly,
racism and sexism leave a society more vulnerable to tyrants, since those are the fault
lines they will exploit.
Political and financial corruption are other common themes of the newer literature
on authoritarians and how they consolidate power; corruption leads to the decay and
ultimately the collapse of the rule of law, as well as the impoverishment of working
people via kleptocratic economic policies. Another common theme in the literature
on authoritarianism is the so-called playbook by which authoritarians consolidate
power. This includes creating chaos and confusion to distract political enemies,
corrupting institutions responsible for the rule of law and exploiting both economic
pain and racial or ethnic divisions (Duckworth, 2011; Levitsky & Ziblatt, 2017).
This is something Trump does regularly with outrageous and/or untrue tweets, and
high-profile firings of staff.
Other literature related to authoritarianism discusses civil resistance and nonvio-
lence (Chenoweth & Stephan, 2012; Ackerman & Duvall, 2000; Sharp, 2012). This
10 Classroom Resistance: Peace Education in a Time of Rising Authoritarianism 197
is a rich and growing literature which demonstrates that nonviolence is often more
successful than violence as a strategy for resisting despots. Chenoweth and Stephan
discuss detailed data demonstrating this. Ackerman and Duval’s work relate numer-
ous historical case studies of collective civil resistance and the strategies, concepts
and techniques that make it successful. Gene Sharp (2012), a seminal figure in peace
studies, elaborated theory and practice for practicing nonviolence in cases where
oppression was too extreme for standard tools of conflict resolution, such as medi-
ation or negotiation, to reasonably be expected to work. Turkfici’s wonderful
research on the role of social media and its nexus with social movements and
authoritarianism (2017) examines the ways in which the internet empowers – and
imperils – resistance movements.
Unfortunately, much of the literature (e.g., Diamond et al., 2016, 2018), mostly
grounded in history, sociology, and political science, does not explicitly engage an
interdisciplinary perspective, let alone a conflict analysis or peace education
perspective (Gene Sharp is a notable exception). This of course is worthwhile
but of only indirect use to one of the most key institutions with a stake in resisting
authoritarians: public schools. Our public schools are vital and yet too often
invisible in such conversations. The vast majority of the history, sociology,
international relations, and political science literature overlooks schools entirely.
If public schools are to perform one of their most vital functions, which is to
develop citizens committed to and capable of (re)producing democracy, teachers
and curriculum writers must be equipped with new tools. Democracy is at least as
much about norms and values as it is about the structure of institutions; like
families, faith institutions, and the media, schools are powerful shapers of those
identities but (as I have written elsewhere too) almost always overlooked in
conversations about authoritarianism, democratic consolidation and democratic
decline. The conversation about their role in the decline or reproduction of
democracy tends to be limited to the research of educationists in particular, siloed
off from the wider conversation. That many education researchers and practitioners
are women is surely relevant.
Some important scholarship on curriculum and textbooks post-conflict works to
address this oversight (Cole, 2007; Korostelina, 2008; Christodoulou, 2018). This
literature tends to discuss the painful, political, and fraught process of writing the
history books after civil war or atrocities. Other similar work addresses the role
schools can play in developing a culture of human rights (Bajaj, 2012), in the
challenges around historical dialogues across conflict lines (Beckerman &
Zembylas, 2012) or integrated education as for example in Ireland (McGlynn &
Zembylas, 2009). This constitutes a vital and dynamic literature, but it does not tend
to address authoritarianism directly, or its observable rise in the past several years
and how teachers can best be prepared to respond. Much more must be done if we are
to escape our disciplinary silos and center schooling, education, and curriculum in
the conversation about authoritarianism and democracy alongside the current dis-
cussion that focuses on legal, political, and other such institutions.
Also noteworthy is that the scant educational literature which does discuss
authoritarianism outright tends to deal with cases outside the United States.
198 C. L. Duckworth
Perhaps this reflects an “it can’t happen here” bias. A 1992 article (Duckett, 1992)
argues that in South Africa, a higher level of education does not necessarily lessen
authoritarian tendencies (which would be the conventional wisdom), at least not
until a student reached higher education. A 1972 (Simpson, 1972) comparative
study argues quite reasonably that education can only reduce authoritarian tenden-
cies if it emphasizes critical thinking. The literature specifically examining educa-
tion and authoritarianism also offers a number of case studies, for example,
regarding Palestine (Affouneh & Hargreaves, 2015), Brazil (Da Matta et al.,
2015), Latvia (Abens, 2015), the Muslim World more broadly (Waghid & Davids,
2014), and Burma (Treadwell, 2013). Leading education scholars Giroux (2014)
and Apple (2017) continue their calls for resistance to commodified, neoliberal
approaches to organizing society in general and education in particular. A fasci-
nating US-based study noted a quantifiable link between anti-gay prejudice and
right-wing authoritarianism (Cramer et al., 2013) among college undergraduates. It
echoes a common peace education theme in its recommendation for humanistic,
engaged pedagogies such as role plays and dialogue. We can observe from this
that pedagogies of inclusion will be important to classroom resistance. Inclusion is
anathema to authoritarians who consolidate power by selling conspiracy theories
that scapegoat hated minorities (primarily immigrants and Muslims in the case of
the USA).
As one can see, many different oars are in the water, working to row toward
education’s contribution toward a more peaceful, just and inclusive culture. Civics
and human rights curriculum, anti-bias education, multicultural education, and of
course broadly defined peace education all have oars in the water. At the same time,
authoritarianism is a very particular beast with specific manifestations and goals, as I
hope to have suggested in the regrettably brief discussion above of recent scholar-
ship on its twenty-first-century manifestations. In addition, very few Americans
generally would consider that “it” could happen here; a belief in American excep-
tionalism in this regard constitutes a blind spot. While reasonably well educated
about the working of the USA’s own democratic government, one observes that we
are much less prepared to understand the early warning signs of despotism. Espe-
cially among American conservatives, one also still finds a habitual deference to
authority, and acceptance of tactics such as torture, which is obviously ripe for an
autocrat’s exploitation (Cramer et al., 2013).
Yet alongside this, we also find in the USA today more grassroots and civil
society organizing than perhaps anytime since the 1960s. The Women’s March
remains likely the largest march of humanity in history (Chenoweth & Pressman,
2017)! Activists continue to organize to demand a society in which black and native
lives matter. Heartbreakingly, young American students lead the march to simply
survive a school day free of a mass shooting. (The necessity of this two decades after
the massacre at Columbine in 1999 is itself a manifestation of both authoritarianism
and kleptocracy in the USA.) Given this, educational responses to the specific
phenomenon of rising right-wing authoritarianism warrant explicit consideration.
The present chapter should contribute to addressing this gap and present both
conceptual and classroom tools for teachers.
“The Trump Effect”
Two years into the Trump administration, the impact of the patriarchal culture and
racist, nativist values that he campaigned on are continuing to impact schools. While
much public and media focus has been given to the “Muslim ban,” building a wall
along the US southern boarder or other similar policies, as is so often the case,
schools and youth have received much less attention. Such policies are typical tactics
of an autocrat; outrageously divisive policies are pursued and engender outrage,
demanding the attention and focus of the opposition, who often find themselves
overwhelmed by the volume of harm and corruption then find themselves fighting.
Meanwhile, more subtly kleptocratic policies which help the regime consolidate
power, such as judicial appointments, reducing the economic safety net, consolidat-
ing control of the courts and the military, or slashing bank regulations are overlooked
(Levitsky & Ziblatt, 2017).
Yet some media, think tank, and other documentation of the “Trump effect”are
beginning to come into focus regarding the impact of the Trump administration on
schools. The so-called Trump Effect is understood to be the “trickle down” of his
hate speech to local communities and schools. Much of this discussion has focused
on the controversial Betsy Devos, the billionaire Republican fundraiser (who has
never been a classroom teacher) barely appointed as Education Secretary. Notably,
Devos is the sister of Erik Prince, whose private mercenaries in Iraq were found to
have committed such atrocities that Prince had to dissolve his company, Blackwater,
which is now renamed. Robert Mueller, the Special Prosecutor investigating if there
was a conspiracy with Russia to illegally swing the election to Trump, has recently
obtained some of Prince’s communications, as reported by ABC news (Meek, 2018).
Devos’s appointment illustrates another common feature of autocracies – the
privileging of personal loyalty over experience, expertise and the rule of law.
Devos’s extreme and reactionary policies have sparked noticeably bipartisan
anger even in this partisan age. Readers may further recall that Vice President
Mike Pence had to break a tie in the Republican-controlled Senate to gain her
confirmation because of a number of Republican Senators who voted against her.
Her policies of rolling back protections for students who allege abuse or discrimi-
nation, for students who are disabled, and her actions diverting public funds for
public education to private and charter schools are well known to those who follow
education issues. Less emphasized in the public discourse are the increasing rates of
bullying, hate crimes, and similar incidents since Trump’s election, some of which
the perpetrators themselves explicitly frame as connected to his Electoral College
victory. This section will document and discuss this challenge for peace and human
rights education (and education generally) here, in the context of the current political
reality for schools.
Aside from some of the policy impacts just noted above, another aspect of the
“Trump Effect” crucial for peace educators to understand is the way in which the
violent misogyny, xenophobia, and racism of his campaign, and his overt encour-
agement of violence against opponents (including Clinton herself and protestors),
have impacted school culture. Very few if any substantive studies of this have been
200 C. L. Duckworth
conducted yet. One of the only comprehensive works so far is from Teaching
Tolerance, whose study (Rogers, 2017) surveyed teachers nationally about their
perceptions of school climate after the 2016 election. This study asked them to
reflect on their strategies for fostering a civil classroom, perceptions of school
administrative leadership (or lack thereof) and observations of student behavior
after the election. In sobering results, teachers shared stories of white students
organizing to bully and threaten other students, focused on the social targets
Trump had handed them: immigrants, Muslims, women, and girls. Other students
responded by organizing human rights councils and getting involved in rallies or
registering to vote. Teachers interviewed, according to the study’s author, were very
clear that the students who engaged in bullying felt that Trump’s election had
empowered them to do so and that they were in a new environment where there
would no longer be accountability for racial, ethnic, or gender bullying.
A second important study (Huang & Cornell, 2019) works to deep our under-
standing of the “Trump Effect” quantitatively, and does indeed find some support
that the dehumanizing and violent language – manifested in public policy by the
Trump administration – empirically seems to have resulted in a rise in rates of
bullying by white students in Republican-leaning areas. As they conclude, “there
is correlational evidence from a statewide sample of seventh and eighth-grade
students that, in 2017, some forms of teasing and bullying were higher in localities
that supported the Republican presidential candidate. . ..These differences were
observed in school localities where voters favored the Republican candidate,
whose public statements have been criticized in general as modeling bullying and
in particular as expressing harsh and derogatory attitudes towards certain minority
groups” (Huang & Cornell, 2019, p. 12). While they caution that we need more
research, especially as regards the specific mechanisms involved (are students likely
to be modeling from the President himself? Parents? The media? Pastors?
Teachers?), their evidence is reason for concern. As they note, such increases in
bullying and the targeting of particular groups who are singled out for discrimination
by public policy (women, religious minorities, immigrants) damage the school
climate and thus academic achievement. In the context of this current reflection on
ways in which peace educators must deepen our awareness of rising authoritarianism
and how we might best respond, we must also remember the role schools have in
shaping student identity, modeling social behavior, and exemplifying in micro a
moral community. A school or school system that is not sufficiently able to respond
to bullying of Muslims, immigrants, African Americans, sexual minorities, and
others commonly targeted for bullying will reinforce the notion that it is acceptable
for such groups to be placed outside the moral community.
This then is the “Trump Effect” as we know it so far. Again, these studies by the
AERA and Teaching Tolerance study are virtually the only ones we have since the
election that I have been able to find which directly probe this damaging phenom-
enon, and so much more remains to be learned. As part of this reflection on how
peace educators can best respond to rising authoritarianism, I call for studies that
engage teachers and students directly in conversation as to what they are
experiencing.
To transform cultures of violence and authoritarianism in our schools, peace and

human rights educators must also resist and call out the political weaponization of
curriculum. Closely related to this – as a means of operationalizing it – is a right-
wing effort to ensure that parents can censor curriculum, not just for themselves but
for entire school systems. Florida has witnessed this already (Allen, 2017). Parents
can challenge history and science curriculum, regardless of credentials or expertise.
We have seen this weaponization, for example, in challenges to teaching about the
science of climate change, teaching about civil rights, gay rights and the Confeder-
acy. Given the rising anti-Semitism the USA has witnessed recently (as in an attack
on a Jewish school in Broward Co.), it ought to come as no surprise if someone
challenges teaching about the Holocaust. For obvious reasons this would alarm
peace and human rights educators, since Holocaust education, as well as teaching
about other genocides, the slave trade and Jim Crow, is so commonly used to
introduce key peace education concepts such as stereotyping, scapegoating, and
structural violence.
What this means is that our activism on behalf of public schools must move
beyond demanding better wages and conditions for teachers, and opposition to high-
stakes testing. We must run for state and local office and for school boards, and area
ceded for far too long to opponents of peace education. Also we must demand
curriculum that values authentic scientific expertise, the humanities, the arts and the
social, emotional development of young people. Peace and human rights educators
now face an openly hostile environment, a reality that has been percolating for at
least 20 years. I have written elsewhere about a professor sanctioned for teaching
about structural racism, and attempts to outlaw multicultural education (Duckworth,
2015). Attacks on the notion of public education are embodied in the selection of
Betsy Devos as Education Secretary; as discussed above, she has built a career on
Republican fundraising around issues that divert funds from public schools, such as
charter schools and vouchers. All of this is unfolding in a context of well-funded
activism to reduce public education to vocational and technical training. Such
training of course is important for careers and livelihoods, but must never been
seen as the sum total of what education is about in a free society. Regardless of what
career one may pursue, the skills of peace education (criticality, creativity, problem
solving, conflict resolution, empathy) are needed for life and for participation as a
citizen. This narrow, undemocratic view of schools advanced by Devos is antithet-
ical to democratic education and to peace education, and all too common in
autocratic societies where schooling is centered around rote memory, obedience,
fear, and glorification of the regime.
This challenging context suggests that a strategy of building as broad a coalition
as possible is necessary to protect democratic and peace education (and indeed, to
protect public education itself). Coalitions are vital to victory. This coalition should
include peace educators and human rights educators, those concerned with access for
special needs students, labor unions, those concerned with science and the environ-
ment, parents and others working on issues related to high stakes testing, restorative
justice advocates, those working for better mental health care in schools, and the
movement of youth demanding an end to gun violence in schools. Given the funding
202 C. L. Duckworth
and ferocity of attacks on public education in general and on peace education in

particular, this sort of new and broader coalition will be essential.
“A Pedagogy of Truth”
Beyond policy and advocacy, we as peace educators should consider issues of

curriculum and pedagogy too. For example, in an era of weaponized “fake news,”
peace and human rights educators can pursue a “pedagogy of truth.” We must help
students find a balance between understanding that everyone will come to the facts
from different perspectives, and that all perspectives which respect human equality
and dignity are welcome, while also discerning outright falsehoods and news that is
quite literally faked for purposes of profit and propaganda. Of course, teachers (and
school librarians, a tragically undervalued ally for peace education) who value
critical thinking have already begun with lessons on cyber and media literacy. This
has included teaching what fake news is, and how to spot it. Peace and human rights
educators can extend this by leading lessons and discussions using specific examples
of how autocratic leaders use “fake news,” to what ends and with what conse-
quences. Fascinating questions for student exploration can also include what might
induce someone to believe fake news. Are there social patterns we can observe? Is
there a distinct psychology? How does this apply to the students’ context? When and
if a leader lies, what is the impact? Is there a difference between everyday lies a
leader might tell (such as denying an affair) and autocratic lies? Autocratic lies are
distinguished by their goals. Such goals include dividing a populace, sowing mis-
trust in one another and in democratic institutions, and demonizing or scapegoating a
targeted minority. A “pedagogy of truth” can and should consider this.
An important understanding for students here would be that fake news as
propaganda is intentionally designed to divide and demobilize a voting populace.
The intention is to resonate with hatreds and biases already formed, and to heighten
fears already relevant. One example of this is “Blacktavist,” a faked account
(Parham, 2017) seemingly designed to play on white fears of growing minority
power. Writes Parham, “In late September, CNN reported on a Kremlin-supported
plot to invade the online communities of the Black Lives Matter movement, the
global network of civil rights organizations and justice-oriented nonprofits launched
in the wake of Trayvon Martin’s 2012 death. The pro-Kremlin Russian firm Internet
Research Agency had fabricated hundreds of accounts and bought $100,000 in ads
during a 2-year period; of the 470 groups it created to ‘exploit tensions’ in
U.S. elections, Blacktivist had become one its most accessible, signing on more
than 500,000 followers and well outpacing the official Black Lives Matters
account.” Students can be invited to explore what it means that a minority group
already at risk of state and other violence would be exploited and misrepresented in
this way. Further, students can use this example of propaganda as part of a “peda-
gogy of truth” to research other examples of propaganda, especially that directed at
black Americans and other minority groups. As always, students can be engaged in
critical and creative thinking, encouraged to ask such questions as whose interests
are being served by purveying such fake news, and how American schools, youth,
and communities at large can best respond. As always, in peace education, the kids
are the curriculum, meaning that relevance is primary. Young people consistently tell
us that they need time and space in the school day to address the conflicts they face
and they feel that this ought to be fodder for a complex and engaging civics and
humanities curriculum (see, e.g., Duckworth et al., 2012, 2019). They are growing
up in a chaotic and digital world that peace and human rights educators must
empower them to navigate.
Larger philosophical traditions, which we do not always address in peace educa-
tion, may also be useful in helping students understand the increasingly authoritarian
world they are growing up in. Nihilism, quite rampant in the USA today, threatens a
culture of peace by encouraging depression, cynicism, and apathy – all servants of
the status quo. We can invite students to reflect on what this worldview is and how it
can damage a democratic culture.
In a context where democracy is, so to speak, on the ballot, peace educators must
distinguish between the partisan and the political. Peace education in a context of
authoritarianism must include the information students need to understand their
context, a central principal of Freire’s work. Students, as age appropriate, can be
asked to investigate examples of waning human and civil rights as well as resistance.
Researching particular policies, such as women’s reproductive freedoms, voting
rights, racialized policing, or immigration, can serve as intellectual space for dia-
logues about human equality and dignity.
As part of this, we must involve students directly in the wider national debate
about power, protest, and civility. Where have calls for civility come from during
other times in history? Peace educators can provide examples circa the 1930s of calls
for Americans, especially American Jews, to remain “civil” in relations with Ger-
many during WWII. Debates raged regarding whether it was “civil” to shun or
confront American Nazis in public, echoing current debates about activists who have
shamed or confronted Trump administration figures such as Press Sec. Sarah
Huckabee Sanders or former Dept. of Homeland Security Sec. Kirstjen Nielsen.
This debate frame enables intolerance and those in power to evade responsibility.
Who made those calls for civility? What was their access to power, if any? And what
do we mean by civil anyway? Is nonviolent protest “uncivil”? Authoritarians often
paint them as such (both Trump and Richard Nixon are examples). Importantly for
the school environment, what can everyone in the school community do to increase
respect and kindness?
Students should also be encouraged to think through one of the most important
aspects of any conflict analysis, namely power dynamics. What does it mean when
those in power are abusive, yet call for civility from those that they abuse? What
kinds of creative, nonviolent tactics have civil society used in the past to stand in the
way of the abuse by the powerful? Teachers can even make use of Popper’s Paradox,
which observes that tolerance cannot be extended to those who are themselves
intolerant. As Popper wrote, “Unlimited tolerance must lead to the disappearance
of tolerance. If we extend unlimited tolerance even to those who are intolerant, if we
are not prepared to defend a tolerant society against the onslaught of the intolerant,
204 C. L. Duckworth
then the tolerant will be destroyed, and tolerance with them” (Popper, 1962, p. 668).
Students can consider what that means and how it is relevant today. What language
or behaviors cross the line? How must those who value equality, civility and
inclusion respond? All of these considerations constitute compelling and urgent
“anchor questions” for teams of student researchers to explore. They are relevant,
complex, and interdisciplinary, making them ideal for critical peace educators in this
present environment.
Other pedagogies might include exercises and dialogues about authority,
power, and citizenship. Students can role-play classroom scenarios of school
discipline, or write reflectively on how they think a classroom should be best
run. While this runs counter to the culture of centralized authority that both
teachers and students alike must grapple with in American schools today,
students can be active agents in creating norms, or if necessary, rules for their
school. I say “if necessary” as norms are more effective and powerful than rules.
Norms are organic and intrinsic, while rules are externally imposed. Student
leadership or advisory councils can be formed to raise issues or even make
decisions about curriculum and discipline. The important insight here is that
democracy is a skill that must be learned and practiced if we are to sustain it as a
form of government. Without opportunities to do so in school settings, students
will enter adult citizenship without those skills.
Some will argue that this simply is not practical in today’s context. Certainly,
what faces school administrators, teachers, and students today in our most troubled
schools is grim. Intrusive and indeed authoritarian testing regimes drive the daily life
of schools, distracting and draining resources from more authentic forms of learning.
One should be reminded here that a common theme of the literature on education and
authoritarianism notes how harmful, even violent discipline practices, as well as
testing regimes centered on competition and shame, shape students for a future of
rote work and obedience (Apple, 2017; Affouneh & Hargreaves, 2015). Yet we also
have examples of student leadership and restorative justice in places such as
New York (Hantzopoulos, 2016) and elsewhere (Gonzalez et al., 2018). Nurturing
and growing these spaces provides a path forward. In so doing, American peace
educators wishing to disrupt and resist the growing authoritarianism in the USA
must in particular highlight the leadership of women and students of color, as the
authoritarian tendencies in American history have always been rooted in misogyny
and white supremacy.
Generally speaking, peace education in the USA has focused on peer mediation,
anti-bias curriculum, Holocaust and human rights education, and preventing bully-
ing. This has commonly been the institutional discourse. All of them are worthwhile,
without question. Critical peace education, of course, has focused itself on critiquing
power and teaching students to identify and challenge the inequalities which prevent
peace from being possible. Yet in these times we need to distinguish between the
kinds of peace education we might undertake in a more normal context, and the
authoritarian culture, along with plutocratic attacks in terms of funding, which face
our schools today. Again, I would point to the common “it can’t happen here” bias.
Part of our work is to address this bias which is deeply ingrained in the American
psyche due to the narrative of American exceptionalism. I hope the above thoughts
on a “pedagogy of truth” offer a conceptual tool for peace educators today.
Yet other techniques are also possible. Perhaps one of the most important things
civics, literature, and history teachers who wish to practice peace education today
can do is expose students to techniques, histories, and literature of nonviolence in US
and world history. From a social movement framing perspective, it seems especially
important to demonstrate this in US history, as supporters of authoritarians often tar
opponents as unpatriotic or even quite specifically as being foreign agents. We have
seen President Trump work hard to deepen and aggravate this cultural divide for
political advantage to consolidate power. Consider for example his feud with the
NFL over players kneeling during the national anthem to protest police brutality
against minorities; he has even gone so far as to suggest players could have their
citizenship revoked! The Supreme Court has already found such an action to be
unconstitutional (Gajanan, 2016 online). Further he has lied about voter fraud, in an
attempt to suppress the votes of naturalized citizens and minorities. Any scholar of
authoritarianism recognizes these tactics (and per the literature review above, we
have been sounding the alarm). A curriculum approach that foregrounds classically
American values such as equality and liberty, while encouraging students to consider
when, how, and why we have failed those values, is necessary. Biographies of
nonviolent leaders such as King and Thoreau are essential. Not only do they provide
American examples of protest, nonviolence, and civil disobedience as a means of
challenging oppression, such an approach helps disrupt our tendency to teach history
as a series of wars. Critical peace educators today must focus on current experiences
of lived oppression, helping students to examine why they are happening and what
can be done. Equally we must search out pockets of peace and learn alongside our
students what is making these pockets of peace possible, and how they can be
protected and expanded.
Authoritarians often deploy symbols and narratives from a particular ethnic
group’s history to consolidate power. To counter and expose this, symbology can
be of use to peace and human rights educators here as well in our work to help
students understand what authoritarianism is and how to build a culture of peace to
defeat it. Symbols are central to statecraft, political and cultural identities and social
movements. Their use is widely studied in literature and writing classes. This is just
one possible avenue into facilitating discussion with students about the mobilization
of symbols by authoritarians and resistance movements alike. Teachers can point to
(or even better yet, invite students to research) specific cases of controversy over
symbols; the current struggle over Confederate school names and statues is an ideal
example. People can become symbols as well – consider the centrality of someone
like Mike Brown, Sandra Bland, Trayvon Martin, or Eric Garland to the Black Lives
Matter movement. Such a curriculum is ideal for several reasons. One, it familiarizes
students with civil disobedience exemplars. This can be even more resonant and
useful if the cases are contemporary and thus more relatable to students. It also
invites dialogue about justice and inequality. Studying the use of symbols by
authoritarians and social movements resisting them can help students understand
the power of narrative as a means of identifying and critiquing the narratives that
206 C. L. Duckworth
may be relevant to their own context. Further, it fosters critical and abstract thinking,
which is an expected outcome of most education systems in a democracy. Some
research suggests that this ability in and of itself can reduce someone’s vulnerability
to adopting an authoritarian worldview (Duckett, 1992; Simpson, 1972). In most US
states, the curriculum standards actually specify the ability to recognize the use of
symbols in novels and poetry so teachers adopting this approach will be meeting
professional requirements.
I argued above that peace education directed specifically in response to author-
itarianism is a specific approach; a general peace education approach of teaching
cross cultural or dialogue skills seems worthwhile but ultimately insufficient.
Students need information specifically to understand how authoritarians take
power (what tactics are in the playbook?) and how resistance movements
have succeeded – or failed. Another useful approach less frequently discussed in
peace education literature is self-reflection. This is a skill and we are in error if we
assume students simply pick it up along life’s way. Students can be introduced to
information and research on the authoritarian personality (as developmentally
appropriate – I have in mind here ages from middle and high school through
undergraduates in college). I personally have been startled to hear how few
students have learned about the classic Milgram experiments. Readers will recall
that during these experiments, participants believed they were giving electric
shocks to someone as a punishment for answering an authority figure’s question
incorrectly. Importantly the leader of the experiment was in a white lab coat,
imbued with the authority of status and expertise. The “victim” of the shocks was
a confederate and so not actually harmed, but the participants did not know that.
Based on the directions from a perceived authority figure, they continued giving
what they believed to be increasingly dangerous and painful electric shock to the
victim. This is just one example of a launching point for classroom dialogue about
submission to authority. When is it legitimate? And when not? What kinds of
public, social, or historical processes legitimize authority in different cultures? In
an increasingly authoritarian culture such as in the USA that has witnessed Nazi
marches in Charlottesville and swastika burnings in Georgia, such discussions
must become a part of any classroom that wishes to foster a culture of peace and
human rights. Students can reflect in art, music, role-plays, autobiographical
writing, and creative writing. Schools can invite guest speakers from organizations
such as Life After Hate, which is led by a former white supremacist who now
works to help others still trapped in such organizations to leave.
Because the language and rhetoric of dehumanization of vulnerable groups have
been so central to Trump’s rise to power, such examples constitute perfect curricu-
lum for student exploration, study, and discussion. They can gather, compare, and
contrast examples of such from the USA and elsewhere. Students can be invited to
critically consider anti-bullying programs and policies of schools. What is the impact
of the efforts schools are making when leaders use such language that incites
violence and that dehumanizes? How can schools best respond? In my approach to
peace education, I have long argued that problems make the best curriculum. That is
the case here as well. Too often we do not engage students in such conversations and
create space for their voices and leadership. In doing so we miss an opportunity to
teach skills needed for democratic citizenship, which is inherently an act of
resistance.
New research (Rogers, 2017; Huang & Cornell, 2019) and persistent headlines
demonstrate that peace and human rights educators face an increasingly authoritarian
context. In this reflection I hope to have offered both a call for peace and human
rights educators to respond to our challenging context, as well as a set of conceptual
and practical tools for doing so. These tools have included teaching principles of
nonviolence, involving students in a “pedagogy of truth,” and even repurposing
common literary tools such as symbology. Collaborative learning, relevance, narra-
tives, and dialogue, as ever, are essential in empowering students to name and
understand their worlds. How assuring and motivating that while it may seem that
we face unprecedented challenges, in fact peace education as envisioned by Freire
and Montessori was made for such times as these, and our core critical peace
education framework and principles can guide us forward.
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Nonviolent Resistance, Social Justice,
and Positive Peace 11
Jonathan Pinckney
Contents
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 212
The Problem of Positive Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 212
Nonviolent Resistance for Positive Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 214
The Success of Nonviolent Resistance . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 218
Limitations on Nonviolent Resistance . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 220
Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 222
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 223
Abstract
How does nonviolent resistance connect to positive peace? To achieve positive
peace, it requires fundamental shifts in existing unjust power relationships. Yet
these shifts are rare if ever granted without the exercise of some coercive force on
the part of those oppressed by such unjust power relationships. While some have
previously argued that this reality requires the exercise of revolutionary violence
to achieve positive peace, numerous examples and over a century of data shows
that violent revolutions, even when successful, typically fail to bring about a more
socially just political order. Nonviolent resistance, defined as the application of
political force outside normal politics and without the use of violence, provides an
alternative avenue for the oppressed to exercise coercive force that has a greater
track record of success than violence, and that more frequently leads to more
socially just political orders. Thus, nonviolent resistance provides a crucial
ingredient for any society to move toward positive peace.
Keywords
Nonviolent Resistance · Protest · Democratization · Positive Peace · Nonviolence
J. Pinckney (*)
United States Institute of Peace, Washington, DC, USA
e-mail: jpinckney@usip.org
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_11
212 J. Pinckney
Introduction
What is the role of nonviolent resistance in achieving positive peace? In this chapter,
I will argue that nonviolent resistance is crucial for positive peace at anything
beyond the individual scale. The steps in my argument are as follows: to be
meaningful, achieving positive peace requires achieving social justice. Yet social
justice is almost never voluntarily given by oppressors. Thus, achieving social
justice requires the exercise of coercive power. However, when coercive power
involves the use of violence, even when deployed for social justice, it tends to
destroy that socially just order. Thus, to achieve positive peace requires an alterna-
tive avenue for the exercise of coercive power. Nonviolent resistance – the applica-
tion of political force outside the normal bounds of politics and without the use of
violence – provides the toolkit through which to exercise this coercive power.
I present evidence to this effect from the growing literature on nonviolent
resistance, emphasizing three key ways in which nonviolent resistance advances
positive peace: first, through its practice, which prefigures and embodies a political
order of greater positive peace; second, through its ability to overthrow unjust
political systems; and third, through its positive long-term effects on political
order. I conclude by reflecting on the challenges and limitations that remain in
studying nonviolent resistance and applying it to achieve positive peace.
The Problem of Positive Peace
What is the shape of a political and social order characterized by positive peace? The
seminal answer to this question comes from Johan Galtung, who made positive
peace explicitly interchangeable with “social justice. . .egalitarian distribution of
power and resources” (Galtung, 1969, p. 183). In Galtung’s formulation, positive
peace goes well beyond the absence of direct violence (of which physical violence is
a form). It is an environment in which all human beings – and for some other thinkers
all living or sentient beings (Garner, 2013; Nussbaum, 2005; Singer, 1995) – are able
to reach their full potential in both mental and physical capacities.
Anything that prevents this by reducing the expression of human potential is
structural violence. Structural violence is indirect and does not involve the imposi-
tion of physical harm. Yet its effects on human thriving can often be even more
pernicious than direct violence. An environment of positive peace must therefore be
one in which both direct violence and structural violence are fully absent
Complete positive peace is an ideal, unachievable in the real world but nonethe-
less meaningful as a target for effort. While we may never reach a position of total
positive peace, certain political and social orders have greater positive peace than
others.
There are diverse barriers to moving towards greater positive peace. Yet we can
summarize many of these as follows: some groups and individuals benefit more from
an order lacking in positive peace than one with positive peace. Structural violence is
a strategy rationally pursued by those who benefit from it. Thus, any moves to
11 Nonviolent Resistance, Social Justice, and Positive Peace 213
change the social and political order towards greater positive peace will meet
resistance.
This contention is not meant to deny the constitutive effects of oppressive social
orders. Much of the power of deep systems of structural violence such as patriarchy
or racism comes not just because they differentially benefit some groups over others
but because of their ability to transform what the individual finds beneficial. Power
not only constrains subjects, it also creates them (Foucault, 1980). This does not
diminish the resistance that moves towards positive peace are likely to engender.
Instead it makes these moves even more difficult to achieve and the positions of
oppressive power holders that much more difficult to dislodge.
Theorists of oppression and struggle from many traditions have recognized this
core difficulty, as well as the conclusion that logically follows from it: achieving
positive peace requires coercive struggle. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. is perhaps a
prominent example of an activist and thinker who recognized this fact. King
characterized his perspective as one of realistic pacifism that, building on the insights
of thinkers such as Gandhi and Reinhold Niebuhr (1932), sought to blend ethical
persuasion with coercive power (King, 1958). As he reminds us in his Letter from a
Birmingham Jail: “Freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must be
demanded by the oppressed” (King, 1963, p. 5). This is certainly the case in
authoritarian political systems, but holds true even in nominally democratic systems
as well, where countering the disproportionate power of some groups and individ-
uals typically requires coercive action (Aitchison, 2018).
The necessity of coercively dislodging the powerful from their positions of
structural oppression has inspired theorists of violent revolution to argue that the
structural violence of oppression can only be met with similar levels of physical
violence from the oppressed. As Fanon writes:
If the last shall be first, this will only come to pass after a murderous and decisive struggle
between the two protagonists. . .from birth it is clear [to the “native” opposed to colonialism]
that this narrow world, strewn with prohibitions, can only be called in question by absolute
violence. (Fanon, 1963, p. 37)
Yet the record of violent revolution shows it to be woefully inadequate in

achieving positive peace. The literature on revolutions, building on foundational
events such as the French Revolution, has long recognized that the violent overthrow
of systems of oppression tends to lead, not to freer and more just political orders, but
rather to orders that involve even greater degrees of structural violence than those
that preceded them (Brinton, 1938; Skocpol, 1979). The French Revolution replaced
the monarchy with the reign of terror. The Russian Revolution replaced the Czars
with the Gulags. And perhaps most horrifically, the Chinese Revolution replaced the
Kuomintang with the greatest mass slaughters in history during the Great Leap
Forward and Cultural Revolution. When revolution overthrows systems of structural
violence, the violence is not quenched, but only rises again harder and stronger.
This relationship is not deterministic. There are historical examples of major
violent uprisings leading to political outcomes that plausibly incorporate greater
positive peace (Wood, 2000). However, these outcomes are the exception, rather
214 J. Pinckney
than the rule. And even in environments in which violent revolution initially leads to
higher levels of positive peace, over the long-term political orders founded on
violence tend to revert to violence. Violent conflict tends to lead to a recurrence of
violent conflict, the well-known ‘conflict trap’ (Collier & Sambanis, 2002; Walter,
2004). And political regimes founded on violence tend to themselves become violent
and oppressive over time. For example, while the Sandinista revolution in Nicaragua
plausibly initiated a political order with greater political freedom and economic
equality than the Somoza dictatorship that preceded it, it has led to a current political
situation of corrupt nepotistic political control and severe repression of political
dissent (Belli, 2018).
The mechanisms for this relationship have to do with violence’s personal, inter-
personal, and political effects. On a personal level, exposure to violence triggers
psychological processes that predispose individuals to greater use of violence in the
future (Bingenheimer et al., 2005), on an interpersonal level it tends to break down
bonds of social trust and degrade the social capacities for peaceful dispute resolution
(Hartzell et al., 2001), (Though there is scholarly debate over this point. For evidence
that violent conflict actually builds social trust, see Gilligan et al., 2014.), and on the
political level violence tends to centralize power in the hands of those with dispro-
portionate access to the means of violent coercion and willingness to use them
(Bermeo, 2003; Lyons, 2016). This is also a matter of debate in the literature. For
analysis of many of the relationships between violent conflict and greater political
freedom, see Fortna & Huang, 2012. For views that victory in civil wars by rebel
groups may encourage democracy see Toft, 2010.
We are thus faced with a dilemma and three poor choices to respond to it. We can
refuse to resist unjust political orders, giving up the possibility of positive peace. We
can ask the powerful to give up their positions of power, knowing that we will rarely
if ever succeed. Or we can seek to violently overthrow unjust political orders,
knowing that what will follow is only likely to harm positive peace in the long
term. None of these responses is likely to engender greater positive peace.
Nonviolent Resistance for Positive Peace
Nonviolent resistance provides an alternative avenue to the options presented by this

dilemma and thus a way to encourage greater positive peace. Yet to make this
contention, it is important first to define nonviolent resistance clearly.
Nonviolent resistance is related to and yet distinct from the broader concept of
nonviolence. By nonviolent resistance, I mean a concept with three core elements:
The application of political force outside the normal avenues of politics and without
the use or threat of physical violence. This definition draws on many of the existing
definitions of nonviolent resistance in the current literature. For instance, Gene Sharp
defines nonviolent action as “a technique of socio-political action for applying power
in a conflict without the use of violence” (Sharp, 1999, p. 567). (See also the
excellent introductions to the concept of nonviolent resistance and common mis-
conceptions about it in Chenoweth & Cunningham, 2013; Schock, 2003.)
A brief explication of each of these three components of nonviolent resistance is

in order. First, nonviolent resistance is an application of political force. That is to say,
it is an action involving at least the latent capacity for coercion. It is not a purely
communicative political act, nor does it solely rely on an appeal to the morality or
reason of an opponent. (Though nonviolent resistance does have crucial communi-
cative elements. For more on this see Martin & Varney, 2003.) The point of
nonviolent resistance is to apply force to compel an opponent to do something
they otherwise would not choose to do. It is limited conceptually as well to the
realm of politics. This is not to argue that the same or similar tactics cannot be
employed outside of the political realm, simply to limit the discussion for the sake of
clarity.
Second, nonviolent resistance takes place outside of the normal avenues of
politics. It is often, though not necessarily, illegal. (Thus, nonviolent resistance is
broader in scope than civil disobedience, which is the public violation of a specific
law. See definitions and discussion in Rawls, 1999, p. 320 and Bedau, 1961, p. 654.)
The key thing that separates nonviolent resistance from conventional politics is not
necessarily that it breaks laws, but that it runs in opposition to regular norms and
procedures. Nonviolent resistance is unexpected and abnormal. It refuses to play by
the rules of the current political game, typically because its proponents do not have
faith that those rules are effective in achieving a just redress for their grievances.
This characteristic means that the same kind of action may or may not be
nonviolent resistance depending on context. The typical protest march, for example,
may be a bold act of resistance in a dictatorship, but a normal part of the political
repertoire in an advanced democracy. Even civil disobedience can be normalized as a
regular part of politics, as in modern India, where getting arrested at a protest is a sort
of rite of passage for up and coming politicians. (See for example: Deccan Herald,
12-5-2011, “Rahul Gandhi Arrested Amid High Drama.” https://www.deccanherald.
com/content/160683/rahul-gandhi-arrested-amid-high.html.) We can identify nonvi-
olent resistance actions based on their departure from the norm and their capacity to
disrupt the regular patterns of achieving and maintaining political power.
Third and finally, nonviolent resistance does not involve the use or threat of
physical violence. To be nonviolent resistance, an action cannot involve the
intentional physical harm of another human being. Political violence relies on its
own distinct logic, through which threats to an opponent’s bodily integrity or the
bodily integrity of their supporters compel the other to meet one’s demands. This
logic can operate through both physical harm and the threat of harm (for instance,
by carrying weapons). Some scholars go further and argue that nonviolent resis-
tance movements should also not involve structural violence (Vinthagen, 2015).
While I agree with the logic of this argument, its empirical implications are more
difficult to consistently apply, thus I limit my definition of nonviolent resistance to
excluding direct physical violence. It rests on manipulating the basic human desire
for physical safety. One can compel powerholders to give up power by either
killing them or showing one’s willingness and ability to kill them through killing a
sufficient number of their soldiers and supporters. The understanding of power is
primarily material.
216 J. Pinckney
In contrast, the logic of nonviolent resistance rests on a more intersubjective

understanding of political power. Political power is not a material attribute of certain
powerful individuals. Rather individuals gain and maintain power through their
positioning within complex social systems. The continuation of these systems –
and thus the continuation of any individual’s power – require a critical mass of their
participants belief in the system and cooperation in its operation. Even those who are
disadvantaged or oppressed by the system almost always play a crucial role in
keeping it functioning.
Because of this, just as the oppressor possesses power over the oppressed, so the
oppressed possess power over the oppressor. The oppressed tacitly participate in
systems of oppression because of the costs that failing to participate would impose
upon them. Yet the imposition of these costs requires that a critical mass of the
oppressed continue to participate. If the oppressed collectively withdraw their
cooperation from systems of oppression then the system will no longer be able to
function. As Thomas Schelling says:
The tyrant and his subjects are in somewhat symmetrical positions. They can deny him most
of what he wants – they can, that is, if they have the disciplined organization to refuse
collaboration. And he can deny them just about everything they want – he can deny it by
using the force at his command. . .it is a bargaining situation in which either side, if
adequately disciplined and organized, can deny most of what the other wants, and it remains
to see who wins (Schelling, 1969, pp. 351–352).
At its core, nonviolent resistance is this withdrawal of cooperation. Through

applying force outside the normal bounds of politics, participants in a social or
political system break down the normal links that maintain the system. The with-
drawal of cooperation threatens the power position of the oppressors and thus gives
the oppressed a powerful point of coercive leverage. This coercion motivates the
oppressor to meet the demands of the oppressed, either because they fear worse
consequences or because the process of withdrawing consent has already broken
down their own coercive capacity (Sharp, 1973). While this “voluntarist” approach
to nonviolent resistance is typically associated with the foundational scholar Gene
Sharp, it draws on earlier work from thinkers more typically associated with an
ethical or principled approach to nonviolence such as Thoreau or Gandhi. For more
on this, see the explications of Gandhi’s political thought in Bondurant, 1958; Iyer,
1973; and Shridharani, 1939.
Henry David Thoreau’s analogy on the character of civil disobedience is appro-
priate here. Nonviolent resistance is “the counter friction to stop the machine”
(Thoreau, 2016, p. 7). Systems of political authority require that those participating
in them not counter them with friction. If enough counter friction is applied, the
machine can no longer operate and will break down.
How is this withdrawal of consent accomplished? Gene Sharp’s (1973) seminal
Politics of Nonviolent Action identified three basic categories of nonviolent resistance
methods: protest and persuasion, noncooperation, and nonviolent intervention, and
198 specific methods within these three categories. The practical experiences of
activists in nonviolent resistance struggles across many different political, social,
and cultural contexts have generated many more. (For example, see the listing of
additional methods of nonviolent action on the Swarthmore Global Nonviolent
Action Database: https://nvdatabase.swarthmore.edu/browse_methods.)
The methods of protest and persuasion are primarily mobilizational tools, ways
of signaling one’s own withdrawal of consent, communicating that to potentially
sympathetic populations, and gaining more supporters who will also withdraw
consent from the system. These tactics are crucial for coordinating the actions of a
sufficient critical mass to significantly disrupt the operation of an oppressive system,
particularly because socially unjust orders tend to also involve widespread prefer-
ence falsification (Kuran, 1991). That is to say, most people would prefer a more just
and equal order – since in most cases an unjust order implies the domination of the
many by the few – but they are afraid of signaling their preference without wide-
spread support. Tactics of protest and persuasion signal to those afraid of expressing
themselves that widespread opposition exists, and highlight the grievances that have
motivated them to protest.
Protest and persuasion include well-known tactics such as public marches and
demonstrations, as well more unusual tactics such as mock funerals and mass silence.
It may sometimes involve gathering large numbers of people in one place (tactics of
concentration) but also may involve spreading people across many different locations
(tactics of dispersion). (See Schock, 2005 for more on this distinction.) For example,
in the movement against the dictatorship of General Augusto Pinochet in Chile in the
1980s government repression made public marches and demonstrations too danger-
ous for activist groups to organize. So instead activists organized a cacerolazo protest,
in which, at a specified time, people all across the country banged pots and pans to
express their opposition to Pinochet (Ackerman & DuVall, 2000).
Once methods of protest and persuasion have generated opposition of sufficient
size, a nonviolent resistance movement can then more effectively move into the more
directly coercive methods of noncooperation and nonviolent intervention. The
methods of noncooperation involve withdrawing cooperation through engaging in
actions that are unexpected or refusing to engage in expected actions. The best known
and perhaps most widely used of these tactics is the labor strike, in which workers
refuse to continue at their jobs until certain demands are met. Strikes come in many
different forms, such as the ‘go-slow,’ the ‘sick-in,’ or the ‘work-to-rule.’ The most
extreme of these is the general strike, in which not just workers in a single industry
but the entire population of a country, region, or city cease all economic activity for a
predefined period. General strikes can have serious economic consequences
(Shrestha & Chaudhary, 2013) and thus provide powerful signals of a withdrawal
of consent even when only followed for brief periods. For instance, in the ‘Velvet
Revolution’ against the Communist government of Czechoslovakia, the opposition
organized a two-hour symbolic general strike, too short to actually affect the
country’s economy but long enough and widespread enough to signal that the
government had lost control of the country and needed to negotiate (Williams, 2009).
Nonviolent intervention involves directly physically intervening in a specific
situation to prevent an action from occurring. While noncooperation tends to involve
acts of omission, nonviolent intervention almost always involves acts of
218 J. Pinckney
commission. Sit-ins and other methods of nonviolent blockade fall into this category.
Occupations of public spaces such as in the Tahrir Square protests or the Occupy
movement of 2011, while they typically involve an element of protest and persua-
sion, would also fall into this category.
While tactics of noncooperation tend to be more diffuse and require large
numbers of participants, nonviolent intervention tactics can often achieve significant
impact with very few participants (Cunningham et al., 2017). For instance, in 1980
eight activists with the American Plowshares movement broke into a General
Electric facility in King of Prussia, Pennsylvania, destroyed several nuclear war-
heads and poured blood on security documents. This act of nonviolent intervention
took minimal planning and intervention, but its highly visible and dramatic nature
sparked a national and later international movement against nuclear weapons
(Nepstad, 2008).
Gene Sharp and the scholars in his tradition argue that through the widespread,
coordinated, and strategic use of these methods, nonviolent resisters can disrupt and
ultimately dismantle almost any system of political oppression. (See, for example:
Ackerman & DuVall, 2000; Ackerman & Kruegler, 1994; and Helvey, 2004.) Yet one
should be careful not to overstate the ease of nonviolent resistance. Choosing to
withdraw consent from an unjust system is by no means a simple process. In
particular, to effectively undermine an entire system of oppression, such withdrawal
of consent must be widely coordinated (Chenoweth & Stephan, 2011) and involves a
prior process of cognitive liberation whereby the oppressed become aware that such
withdrawal of consent is even possible (McAdam, 1982). Skillful application of the
tools of nonviolent resistance is also by no means guaranteed, but typically requires a
strategic capacity by the organizations seeking to practice it (Ganz, 2009). Nonviolent
resistance movements face several challenges during their life cycle, including
maintaining unity (Pearlman, 2011) and avoiding breakdowns in nonviolent disci-
pline (Pinckney, 2016).
Nonviolent resistance thus provides a conceptual way out of the dilemma of
either passively accepting oppressive systems of power or violently overthrowing
them in the knowledge that this process is unlikely to issue in greater positive peace.
This is a contention that has been long recognized and is indeed the fundamental
insight behind much of the classic work by practitioners and scholars on nonviolent
resistance (Deming, 1971). Yet the crucial question is whether this conceptual
insight can be matched by empirical data. Is nonviolent resistance indeed an
effective force for fostering positive peace? A growing scholarly literature leads us
to clearly and definitively answer yes.
The Success of Nonviolent Resistance
Nonviolent resistance has encouraged positive peace in three ways: constitutively

through its practice, practically through its ability to extract concessions from unjust
political regimes, and transformatively through its effects on long-term political
order.
The process of nonviolent resistance itself both prefigures and constitutes greater
positive peace. (On prefiguration in nonviolent resistance movements see Breines,
1982.) The experience of participants in nonviolent resistance movements tends to
lead to an environment of greater inclusion and human flourishing in an environment
of heightened agency. While there are exceptions, nonviolent resistance movements
tend to be nonhierarchical and participatory, encouraging the undoing of past
injustices within their own structures and embodying an order of positive peace
(Polletta, 2002). During the Egyptian revolution of 2011, participants spoke glow-
ingly of the environment of the “Republic of Tahrir” and the greater feelings of
dignity and self-respect that they experienced during their participation in the
revolution (Khalil, 2011). Describing many different movements from diverse
settings, Zeynep Tufekci (2017) speaks of the ability of movement culture to bring
together disparate social groups and elevate the position of the traditionally disad-
vantaged. Thus, the practice of nonviolent resistance alone has beneficial effects on
positive peace, no matter the outcome.
Yet the track record on nonviolent resistance’s outcomes is also very positive.
Nonviolent resistance has a demonstrated superior ability relative to violent resis-
tance to end unjust political orders and thus issue in societies with higher levels of
positive peace. The seminal work demonstrating this relationship is Chenoweth and
Stephan’s (2011) book Why Civil Resistance Works, which showed through statisti-
cal analysis of over 300 violent and nonviolent resistance movements from 1900 to
2006 that primarily nonviolent resistance movements were on average more than
twice as successful in achieving regime change, secession, or ending military
occupations as primarily violent resistance movements.
Nonviolent resistance played a crucial role in most of the major advances of
political freedom and social justice in the twentieth century. There is a long history
of nonviolent resistance promoting social justice before the twentieth century as well,
though much of this has been lost or is poorly studied. Examples of nonviolent
resistance to political oppression go back as far as the Jewish midwives resisting
Pharaoh’s order to kill the firstborn sons of the Israelites in Egypt, or the Plebeians
refusing to engage in military service for the Roman Republic until they were granted
greater political rights (Howes, 2015). Many historic national liberation struggles,
including the American Revolution, also had significant elements of nonviolent
resistance (Bartkowski, 2013). Nonviolent resistance was central in many of the
anticolonial struggles in places as diverse as India and Ghana. Nonviolent movements
touched off the ‘third wave of democracy’ with Portugal’s Carnation Revolution in
1974 and carried it through with a series of movements that brought down dictator-
ships from Brazil to the Philippines. And in perhaps the most powerful moment for
nonviolent resistance in recent history, a wave of nonviolent movements brought
down the Communist regimes of Eastern Europe and the Soviet Union in 1989.
Nonviolent resistance has also been effective in promoting positive peace through
increasing social justice in democratic societies. One of the best-known examples of
this is the 1950s and 1960s civil rights movement in the United States, which ended
legal racial segregation and significantly improved political and social rights pro-
tections for African Americans.
220 J. Pinckney
Finally, in addition to its ability to encourage positive peace by its superior

effectiveness in directly combatting political oppression, nonviolent resistance
also has strong long-term positive effects on political order. The most consistent
and well-replicated finding here is nonviolent resistance’s effect on democracy.
Nonviolent resistance tends to lead to better, stronger, and more robust demo-
cratic countries. In Portugal, the experience of the Carnation Revolution in 1974
created a wave of civic activism in which ordinary people developed powerful
ways of pressuring their government for progressive change (Fernandes, 2015).
In Poland, eight years of nonviolent resistance against Communism by the
Solidarity movement led to a political culture in which protest became a regu-
larized way of keeping leaders accountable (Ekiert & Kubik, 2001). The com-
mon dynamic across cases like these is a diffusion of power from elites to the
masses. The experience of nonviolent resistance against a dictatorship tends to
create a political order with high levels of public engagement and political
empowerment for ordinary people.
These country-specific instances of a positive, democratizing effect of nonviolent
resistance are borne out in a more recent quantitative literature on nonviolent
resistance and democratization. Scholars have found that nonviolent resistance
tends to make transitions to democracy more likely (Celestino & Gleditsch, 2013;
Chenoweth & Stephan, 2011; Johnstad, 2010; Karatnycky & Ackerman, 2005;
Pinckney, 2018), that democracies brought about through nonviolent resistance are
less likely to revert back to authoritarianism (Bayer et al., 2016) and have higher
democratic quality, particularly in regards to freedom of expression and association
(Bethke & Pinckney, 2016).
The effects of nonviolent resistance in improving political freedoms and thus
moving towards political systems of greater positive peace are strong and substan-
tive, with meaningful long-term consequences for those who participate, their fellow
citizens, and indeed for others around the globe who benefit from their knowledge
and example. Thus, the evidence of the scholarly literature shows that nonviolent
resistance does not just conceptually resolve the problem of resisting unjust political
orders without the use of violence. It is indeed a practical tool, with a proven track
record for creating more positive peace while being practiced, in its immediate
aftermath, and over the long term.
Limitations on Nonviolent Resistance
While there is significant evidence that nonviolent resistance can end unjust political
orders and thus create the conditions for greater positive peace, there are also
significant limitations on the effectiveness of nonviolent resistance that we must
keep in mind.
First, several scholars argue that nonviolent resistance’s ability to lead to positive
peace is significantly limited by contextual factors. For instance, Ritter (2015) argues
that connection to the West and the constraining influence of originally quasi-
democratic institutions prevented nonviolent revolutionary movements in the Mid-
dle East from being repressed, helping them achieve success. Lehoucq (2016)
similarly argues that preexisting social and political institutions, particularly levels of
government repression, largely determine whether nonviolent resistance is possible.
Thus, it is not particularly causally meaningful to focus on nonviolent resistance as a
force for positive change.
Nonviolent resistance is doubtless encouraged by particular social and political
structures. Nepstad (2015), for instance, argues that free spaces for civic organization
and the existence of cross-class coalitions are crucial. Svensson and Lindgren (2011)
show that polarization along ethnic lines makes nonviolent resistance more difficult,
and Thurber (2018) shows that nonviolent resistance is more difficult for politically
disadvantaged ethnic minorities. Other important works on the factors that increase
the likelihood of nonviolent resistance movements emerging include Braithwaite
et al., 2015; Butcher & Svensson, 2016; Dahlum, 2018; Karakaya, 2016; and
Schaftenaar, 2017. Several other contextual factors highlighted in the literature on
social movements, including the preexistence of facilitating organizations, the avail-
ability of mobilizing frames, and a favorable political opportunity structure, do seem
to at least play some role.
More research is needed into the contextual factors that systematically affect the
likelihood of nonviolent resistance emergence. Yet there are strong indications from
existing work that while context may provide some limits on nonviolent resistance,
nonviolent movements can emerge and succeed even in very unfavorable environ-
ments. Chenoweth and Ulfelder (2017) find that a wide range of plausible structural
predictors do poorly in predicting the onset of major campaigns of nonviolent
resistance, indicating an important role for contingency and nonviolent activists’
agency.
When it comes to the long-term effects of nonviolent resistance, Pinckney (2020)
finds that the most common structural predictors of democratization perform poorly
in predicting levels of democracy after successful nonviolent resistance movements.
If there are systematic predictors of both nonviolent resistance and positive political
change, they have yet to be definitively identified, nor do their effects eliminate the
independent impact of nonviolent resistance. Yet more research, including more
careful examination of specific cases of nonviolent resistance, is needed to shed
further light on this question.
A second objection to the positive relationship between nonviolent resistance and
positive peace has to do with the character of the political change that tends to follow
nonviolent resistance movements. While there has been extensive research showing
the ability of nonviolent resistance to lead to more democratic political orders, little
work has focused thus far on nonviolent resistance’s ability to also transform
systems of economic exploitation, A gap in knowledge that some attribute to
“Eurocentric Universalism” in the field (Chabot & Vinthagen, 2015). Thus, the
objection has been raised that the revolutions brought about through nonviolent
resistance are cosmetic and do not advance positive peace since their institutional
transformations only go so far as a neoliberal democratic consensus and do not push
for more fundamental economic change (Chabot & Sharifi, 2013). Nonviolent
resistance may be able to improve positive peace through ousting nondemocratic
regimes, but we know little about whether it can create deeper economic transfor-
mation that would lead to more fully just societies.
222 J. Pinckney
Yet even here there are many examples of both local and transnational struggles
that are transforming systems of economic exploitation. For example, Brazil’s
Landless Peasant’s Movement (MST) and India’s Ekta Parishad movements have
both employed nonviolent resistance tactics to successfully push for a more equita-
ble distribution of land in their respective countries (Schock, 2015). And transna-
tional social movements have used nonviolent resistance in many different
environments to push for greater economic justice (Smith, 2008).
In some cases, nonviolent resistance may also undermine the possibility for
positive peace through destabilizing political institutions. In countries such as
Thailand and Bangladesh, successful nonviolent resistance movements against dic-
tatorships have led not to stable political orders of increasing positive peace. Instead,
the factions of these movements turned against one another and initiated a pattern of
back and forth, all-or-nothing struggles in which the tools of nonviolent resistance
were deployed for their own narrow agendas. This ‘street radicalism’ (Pinckney,
2018) has led to increasing levels of political instability and, in the case of Thailand,
motivated a return to authoritarianism. There is little research so far on the reasons
why in some countries nonviolent resistance builds healthy civic engagement, while
in others it leads to this more destructive street radicalism.
Thus, while there is strong evidence that nonviolent resistance is a powerful tool
for improving positive peace, particularly when it comes to ousting oppressive
regimes and improving the protection of civil rights and liberties, there is much
that we still do not know about how nonviolent resistance movements emerge,
succeed, and have their long-term societal impact. More work is also needed to
look at when nonviolent movements can go past ending political oppression and
spark more fundamental economic transformations.
Conclusion
Achieving positive peace is a challenge not just because of disagreement over the
most effective ways to achieve it, but rather because groups responsible for violence
and oppression directly benefit from and thus seek to continue unjust and violent
political orders. The logical implication is that a political and social order charac-
terized by positive peace will not simply arise naturally, but requires an active and
engaged process of political struggle, and coercive force exercised on those who
maintain the current system of injustice.
Yet the necessity of struggle by no means implies that any means of pursuing the
struggle is equally useful. In particular, using violence to pursue positive peace is
typically misguided. The track record of violent revolutions indicates that the pursuit
of positive peace through violence is almost always doomed to fail. Even when it
succeeds, the political orders it brings into being are highly likely to regress to some
form of injustice in the future.
Nonviolent resistance, the application of political force outside the normal ave-
nues of politics and without the use or threat of physical violence thus must be a
central part of the agenda of any pursuit of positive peace. Unjust laws, institutions,
and political orders are highly unlikely to be transformed from within. They must be
challenged from without, through means that can both effectively undermine their
pillars of support and create the conditions for positive peace once they have been
undermined.
Research on nonviolent resistance has shown that when applied consistently and
strategically, this method of struggle is one of the most potent avenues for achieving
more just political orders, that is to say orders that approach closer to the ideal of
positive peace and reduce the amount of structural violence inherent in their
operation.
There is much we still do not know about nonviolent resistance, including the
degree of its ability to move beyond political change to deeper economic and social
transformation. Yet advances in the study of nonviolent resistance and the example
of countless millions of brave nonviolent activists should give us hope that this
method of struggle provides potent potential solutions to, as Dr. Martin Luther King
Jr. (King, 1964, p. 2) said in his speech accepting the Nobel Peace Prize, “the crucial
moral and political questions of our time.”
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Pragmatic Nonviolence and Positive Peace
12
Joseph Llewellyn
Contents
Nonviolent Revolution and the Pragmatic Nonviolence Theory of Gene Sharp . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 229
The Effectiveness of Pragmatic Nonviolence: Findings from Civil Resistance Research . . . . . 231
“The Violence of Nonviolence” and Positive Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 234
Sarvodaya as an Answer to the “Violence of Nonviolence” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 238
Concluding Thoughts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 242
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 242
Abstract
Pragmatic nonviolence is a term that describes the use of nonviolent techniques
that are used by social movements to wield power and create social change. When
successful, it has led to measurable increases in human freedom and democracy,
has removed unwanted rulers, and has prevented coups and invasions. On top of
this, research suggests that social movements have been more effective at achiev-
ing their aims by utilizing pragmatic nonviolent techniques than by using violent
methods. However, while the utilization of nonviolent methods over violent ones,
as well as the success of nonviolent movements, could be seen as a shift toward
peace, pragmatic nonviolence by itself may not lead to positive peace. This
chapter provides a basic overview of how pragmatic nonviolence works and
what research tells us about its successes and failures, highlighting its positive
elements and its shortcomings. Accepting Chabot and Sharifi’s (Societ Without
Bord 8(2):205–232, 2013) critique of pragmatic nonviolence, and their call for
forms of nonviolence that reflect the transformative and radical nonviolence of
Gandhi and his emphasis on swaraj (“self-rule”), an introductory overview of the
post-Gandhi Sarvodaya (“welfare for all”) movements attempt to create positive
peace is discussed. This approach offers a contrasting and possibly alternative
way of waging nonviolence to pragmatic nonviolence.
J. Llewellyn (*)
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_12
228 J. Llewellyn
Keywords
Pragmatic nonviolence · Principled nonviolence · Sarvodaya · Gene Sharp
Pragmatic nonviolence is a term that is used to describe the use of nonviolent

techniques to wield power and create social change. The study of pragmatic nonvi-
olence has greatly increased over the last decade, often under the term civil resis-
tance. Pragmatic nonviolence techniques have assisted many people all over the
world to achieve more human freedom and democracy, remove unwanted rulers and
occupiers, and defend against coups and invasions (Sharp, 2005; Chenoweth &
Stephan, 2011). It is immediately obvious why this is a field of interest for peace and
conflict studies because pragmatic nonviolence shows how downtrodden groups can
act to change society without killing and inflicting the same level of suffering and
trauma on society that is seen in war. It can also be utilized where techniques of
conflict resolution are undesirable or not possible (Sharp, 2011, pp. 18–22). The
costs the nonviolence can place on rulers are huge, but they are also reversible,
making it a much more peaceful option. Nonviolence does not destroy life or vital
infrastructure. Therefore, if it does not work, the direction of action and tactics can be
changed without the same suffering and hardship. The method of violence – killing
and destruction – is irreversible.
The question that will be discussed in this chapter is: Can pragmatic nonviolence
by itself create positive peace? The answer that is given is no. Despite the positive
outcomes that pragmatic nonviolence has achieved, it cannot fully move beyond
violence if it still embraces forms of structural violence or remains agnostic toward
them. There are pragmatic nonviolent movements and campaigns that have perpet-
uated various forms of violence (Chabot & Sharifi, 2013). This has been done at
different times either actively or through neglect, by not exploring or acknowledging
them. Chabot and Sharifi (2013) call this problem the violence of nonviolence and
suggest there are other ways of engaging in nonviolence that do not create the
violence that numerous pragmatic nonviolence struggles have produced. Galtung
(1969) pointed out when he coined the term positive peace that violence goes beyond
killing through direct violence. Galtung (1969, 1990) reminds us that structural and
cultural violence can cause as much harm as direct violence and should, therefore,
not be seen as less important in discussions about peace. As will be pointed to below,
there are many critiques of systems of government, control, power, and production
that can be seen as violent, such as capitalism, colonialism, racism, sexism, and the
state.
This chapter provides a basic overview of how pragmatic nonviolence works and
what research tells us about its successes and failures, highlighting its positive
elements and its shortcomings. Accepting Chabot and Sharifi’s (2013) critique of
pragmatic nonviolence, and their call for forms of nonviolence that reflect the
transformative and radical nonviolence of Gandhi and his emphasis on swaraj
(“self-rule”), an introductory overview of the post-Gandhi sarvodaya (“welfare for
all”) movements attempt to create positive peace is provided. This approach offers a
12 Pragmatic Nonviolence and Positive Peace 229
contrasting and possibly alternative way of waging nonviolence to the pragmatic

nonviolence described in the first half of the chapter.
Nonviolent Revolution and the Pragmatic Nonviolence Theory

of Gene Sharp
The founder of pragmatic nonviolent theory is Gene Sharp. Over his lifetime, Sharp
produced a wealth of work that showed how nonviolent tactics have been success-
fully used to pull down systems of power. He is an instrumental thinker on how to
conduct nonviolent campaigns (Nepstad, 2011, p. 8). A nonviolent revolution, just
like a violent one, is the overthrow and transformation of states or political regimes
that use nonviolent means to do so. Sharp (2005, p. 547) defines nonviolent action as
a “technique of conducting protest, resistance, and intervention without physical
violence.”
According to Sharp (1973), nonviolent action is conducted in three ways: through
acts of omission where participants refuse to perform acts that they usually do, are
expected by custom to do, or are required to do; through acts of commission where
participants perform acts that they do not usually perform, are not expected by
custom to perform or are forbidden to perform; or a combination of both (Sharp,
2005, p. 547). These pathways utilize specific methods that can be grouped into three
categories: nonviolent protest and persuasion, and noncooperation and nonviolent
intervention (Sharp, 2005, p. 50). Under these three categories he lists 198 methods
of nonviolent action, which are based on previously used nonviolent methods, show
activists how that can act and adapt, creatively, in different scenarios. Much of
Sharp’s (1973, 2011) work acts as a “how to” guide on how to plan a strategy for
nonviolent revolutionary campaigns and represents a major step forward in Western
political thought.
Unlike many of his predecessors, Sharp’s promotion of nonviolence does not
discuss morality. Instead, his theory of nonviolence is about being most suc-
cessful. Violence carries with it great risks. Sharp (2011, p. 6) states that “by
placing confidence in violent means, one has chosen the very type of struggle in
which the oppressor nearly always has superiority.” Oppressive regimes usually
have superior military force and technology to resist violent uprisings. Violent
uprising may also leave the population more helpless, feeling less capable of
making change, if the uprising fails (ibid.). The regime may also perceive
repression as an effective means of dealing with threats and use it more in the
future. In short, the state is very effective at using its military, and nonviolence
plays a different game.
To explain how one might conduct a successful revolution without violence,
Sharp provides a description of power that is rarely considered in much political
thought. Following the realizations of Etienne de La Boetie, Henry David Thoreau,
and Gandhi before him, Sharp concludes that power is pluralistic not monolithic
(Sharp, 1973). That is, power is given to elites through the cooperation, obedience,
and submission from a select proportion of the masses, as opposed to the most
230 J. Llewellyn
powerful being those with the monopoly on the ability to use force through violence.
Power resides with a variety of groups and in a diversity of locations, which he calls
a “loci of power” (Sharp, 1973, pp. 11–12). Any government in power must draw on
six sources of power, which (Sharp, 1973) are as follows: authority, which is about
people believing that a rulers power is legitimate; human resources, performing tasks
for the rulers; skills and knowledge required to rule and maintain control; intangible
factors, such as ideologies that make people more or less likely to accept authority;
material resources; and sanctions, such as the punishments that a regime can give
people or groups who step out of line.
The aim of a nonviolent movement is too sever these sources of power. If
cooperation, obedience, and submission to a regime are removed, the regime
falls without the need for people to commit violent acts. Robert Helvey (2004)
describes this through the Pillars of Support model. Every regime is held up by
pillars that represent the different members of society that allow the regime to
function. These pillars include the armed forces, the police, civil servants,
the media, workers, and civil society groups. If these pillars are removed
by the nonviolent movement through sustained acts of protest and noncoopera-
tion, the regime will collapse because the people who run the system no longer
participate in it. This analogy has come under strong critique (see Vinthagen,
2015), but remains dominant within pragmatic nonviolence literature. (Other
theories of power compliment Sharp’s. For example, Bueno de Mesquita and
Smith (2010) describe how leaders hold onto power using the selectorate model.
This model states that a leader’s primary concern is survival. In order to survive
they must retain support from the winning coalition, who are the people who
support the government. The winning coalition is drawn from a larger pool
known as the selectorate – of whom the revolutionaries may be a part of but
also of other people who are outside the selectorate. The aim of the revolution-
aries is to win over some of the winning coalition, as with the pillars of support
theory, so that the government no longer has the support base to survive.).
Sharp prescribes nonviolence when conflict resolution is not a possibility.
Sharp (2011) argues that when conflict arises around issues of human rights,
religious principles, human freedom, and the future development of a society, a
shift of power (through a nonviolent revolution) is the only way for an oppressed
group to safeguard what they are fighting for. Sharp (2011, p. 9) also asserts that
elections in a dictatorship cannot be viewed as a legitimate source of change
even if they are offered, as “dictators are not in the business of allowing elections
that could remove them from their thrones.” In cases of extreme power imbal-
ance it is difficult to trust what a regime says and promises, let alone reinforce
the agreement after it is made (ibid., pp. 18–22). Downtrodden groups rarely
have anything to trade in negotiations either (ibid.). Also, stopping action can
ruin a movement’s momentum and therefore dissolve their ability to exert power
(ibid.). Schock (2005) does, however, point out that techniques of political action
inside the normal political process often accommodate revolutionary struggles
but are not the primary cause of action.
The Effectiveness of Pragmatic Nonviolence: Findings from Civil

Resistance Research
Sharp’s work is particularly significant because it has been used successfully.

Research into nonviolence backs this up, whether revolutionaries within the move-
ment have utilized Sharp’s work or not. Possibly the most important, and certainly
one of the most cited studies, is by Chenoweth and Stephan (2011). From looking at
all major violent and nonviolent campaigns from 1900 to 2006, they find that
nonviolent campaigns were successful in achieving their aims 53% of the time,
compared to violent campaigns that had a 26% success rate. Chenoweth and Stephan
(ibid.) data comes from the analysis of 323 major armed and unarmed insurrections
from 1900 to 2006, recorded in the Nonviolent and Violent Conflict Outcomes
(NAVCO) dataset. On top of this, 20 out of 25 of the largest campaigns in this
period were nonviolent and of these 25, 70% of the nonviolent campaigns were
successful compared to 40% of the violent ones (ibid., p. 33). They also find that
nonviolent campaigns are six times more likely to achieve success under repression
than violence (ibid., p. 20) and often succeed where violence has failed, highlighting
three major examples of this: The Philippine people power movement; Nonviolent
resistance in East Timor; The South African movement against apartheid (ibid.,
pp. 3–5). Overall, the success of nonviolence has increased over time (ibid.). A key
reason that they think this happens is because nonviolence has low barriers for
participation, unlike violence, where you have to be fit, live a harsh life, and kill
people (ibid.).
Of course, using nonviolence is no guarantee of success, with just under half of
the nonviolent movements included in the NAVCO dataset failing. However, evi-
dence points to factors that allow movements to be more successful. Schock’s (2005,
2013) suggests that success depends on three factors: leverage, resilience, and
mobilization. Mobilization is about getting resources and people to support a
campaign. Resilience is about withstanding and recovering from repression that is
meant to stop the nonviolent movement. Leverage is the ability to sever the regime
from their sources of power. As a result, Schock (2013, p. 283) talks about the lever
of nonviolence rather than the hammer of violence, hammering the state through
armed assault. This is largely consistent with Sharp’s theoretical work, which could
be seen as a guide to assist nonviolent movements increase their leverage, resilience,
and mobilization.
A number of other research findings counter assumed political knowledge about
nonviolence and violence. One factor that does not appear to improve success of
nonviolent campaigns is the existence of parallel violent campaigns. Chenoweth and
Schock (2015) provide evidence that radical flanks (violent) hinder nonviolent
movements. This counters many previous assumptions from revolutions scholars
and traditions that advocate for a diversity of tactics. Chenoweth and Schock (2015)
show that mixed nonviolent and violent movements sit between violence and
nonviolence in terms of their success. Another assumption is that violence is
necessary for defense of a territory or revolutionaries themselves. Wallace’s (2016,
232 J. Llewellyn
2018) work suggests that people engaged in organized and planned nonviolent
resistance are less likely to get physically harmed or killed, compared to those
engaging in violent resistance. This is providing that the movement is organized.
On the other side, violence often leads to catastrophic outcomes, as seen in Syria as
resistance to Assad switched from nonviolent to violent (Wallace, 2018). Many
groups have used nonviolence to resist violence (Kaplan, 2013), including the
women’s movement in Liberia, the Gandhian Shanti Sena (Weber, 1996) and the
nonviolent peacekeeping initiatives that sprang out of it (Furnari et al., 2015).
It is a possibly surprising finding that violence emerges in less constrained
contexts and nonviolence in more constrained contexts (Cunningham, 2013).
Nepstad (2011, p. 4) states that nonviolent revolutions are possible “not only in
stable democracies with fair and reasonable leaders but under authoritarian regimes,
dictatorships and corrupt governments,” and cites recent revolutions, including those
in Serbia, Georgia, and Egypt. This is interesting because critics have often assumed
that nonviolence emerges in more free societies and that violence is necessary when
there are more constraints (Schock, 2013, p. 282). (The charge that violence only
works against “reasonable” opposition was often leveled against Gandhi, ignoring
the fact that the British Empire controlled the most powerful military conquering
force the world had ever seen and that it actively used direct violence in India. On top
of this, it had an active disregard for Indian life, as demonstrated by Churchill’s
decision to let millions of people starve during famine (Mukerjee, 2010; Tharoor,
2017). It is also leveled against Martin Luther King Jr., ignoring the reality of deep
racism in the Southern states, epitomised by segregation and lynchings.) More
constrained contexts may stop potential revolutionaries from accessing arms or
having spaces to train in violence.
While the civil resistance literature largely focuses on what nonviolent move-
ments do and how this impacts the likelihood of success and failure, it is likely that
structural factors are important in outcomes (Schock, 2005, 2013; Nepstad, 2011).
Nepstad (2011) identifies structural and strategic factors that help or hinder nonvi-
olent movement in a comparative study of successful and failed movements. She
finds that factors such as structural conditions and political circumstances are
important because “they generate widespread dissatisfaction with a regime or
strengthen the belief that change is now attainable” (ibid., p. 124). These structural
factors may be necessary but not sufficient for success and they appear to be
important for a movement to gain widespread momentum. From Nepstad’s findings,
these factors do not influence the likelihood of success past this point (ibid., p. 126).
In every case studied by Nepstad, successful or failed, an economic downturn
occurred which lead to more people being supportive of revolutionary ideas.
Nepstad (ibid., p. 126) states that free spaces where activists can “strategize and
develop oppositional cultures” were needed for all the above-mentioned factors to
result in a mass-participant movement. Nepstad (ibid.) also finds that security force
defections are important, as you might expect. External actors may hinder support,
either through their military or sanctions.
Nepstad identifies another factor that influences the likelihood of a nonviolent
campaign beginning successful, which is: “moral shock” where a regime commits an
act that leads to public outrage and subsequent public mobilization. This ties into
three important concepts in nonviolence theory: moral and political ju-jitsu and
backfire. This is about what happens when the powers that be are confronted with
nonviolence. Moral ju-jitsu is a term coined by Gregg (1935) as he tried to describe
what he was seeing in the Gandhian push for Indian Independence, from a psycho-
logical perspective. It is about the perpetrator. Here, nonviolence can have moral
force on the police, military, or whoever else is attacking people who are nonviolent.
It can make them question themselves and feel that they are doing something wrong
or unjust. Political ju-jitsu, as described by Sharp (1973, 2011), is about the
onlooker. Political ju-jitsu is about people watching what is happening and their
reaction when they see armed forces, or people with weapons, beating up unarmed
and often nonaggressive nonviolent protesters. The reaction of seeing a nonviolent
protestor, or a clown, or even somebody who is showing care or love toward security
forces being attacked is often different to seeing somebody with a gun or with their
face covered being attacked or arrested. Both can lead to backfire in a way that does
not happen with violence, although there is no guarantee. This can occur with
security force defection or by bystanders joining the movement in response to
regime brutality. Backfire relies on the event being “communicated to receptive
audiences” (Schock, p. 284). Nonviolent discipline is likely important here
(Nepstad, 2011).
On top of nonviolence having more success than violence in achieving its aims,
the long-term legacy of nonviolent revolutions tends to be more peaceful.
Chenoweth and Stephan (2011) find that there is likely to be a recurrence of civil
war within 10 years after a violent revolution but significantly less chance of war
after a nonviolent revolution. Short-term strategic victories won by violent cam-
paigns do not commonly lead to democracy or peace. Even failed attempts at
nonviolent revolution are more likely to result in more democratic and peaceful
societies (Chenoweth & Stephan, 2011, p. 202). Many violent movements also feel a
need to “purge the old guard” (Chenoweth & Stephan, 2011, p. 210) to consolidate
their revolutions by “re-establish(ing) the monopoly on force” and removing the
masses ability to rise up again (Chenoweth & Stephan, 2011, p. 60). This is less
likely to happen in a nonviolent revolution because, often, the “old guard” has been
won over to the opposition (Chenoweth & Stephan, 2011, p. 210). Having used
violence to gain power, violent movements are likely to have fewer inhibitions
against using violence to maintain power, and their ability to do so having gained
power increases. Although violent insurgency may sometimes successfully over-
throw a regime, the long-term consequences are not desirable and may lead to less
freedom for the masses than before as the new regime operates a state of security and
martial values (Chenoweth & Stephan, 2011, p. 208). Ackerman and Karatnycky
(2005) find that 67% of states designated as not free in 2005 had undergone recent
transitions marked by violence, adding to the evidence that violence besets violence.
Nonviolent movements result in more democratic societies than successful vio-
lent movements, even when they fail (Chenoweth & Stephan, 2011; Teorell, 2010;
Ackerman & Karatnycky, 2005). Also, the democracy achieved lasts longer (Bayer
et al., 2016). Celestino and Gleditsch (2013) basically demonstrate the reverse of
234 J. Llewellyn
this, finding that violent movements result in autocracy much more often. In
comparison, violence often “strengthen[s] hierarchy and decrease[s] diversity on
the dissident side, as nonconformists are purged or marginalized” (ibid., p. 391). A
reason for this is because participation in nonviolent action averages over 200,000
people – 150,000 more than in violent campaigns (Chenoweth & Stephan, 2011).
This is because they are not secret. They do not often have a vanguard and often do
not have a visible leadership. They are grounded in the community, and therefore are
not separate from society like guerrilla movements are, for example. Higher levels of
participation in the movement are likely to lead to higher political involvement after
the revolution (Chenoweth & Stephan, 2011, p. 207) which in turn leans toward a
more democratic system, especially when people feel that they can make a differ-
ence. This is likely after taking part in a successful revolution. Nonviolent cam-
paigns are more likely to use consent in decision-making processes (Chenoweth &
Stephan, 2011, p. 208), naturally favoring more democratic governance after the
revolution. Sharp (2011) states that violent revolutions are less likely to lead to post
conflict democracy due to their centralizing impact. He argues that in a violent
revolution the majority of the population have no say in the movement during
conflict, and through the weakening of civil society groups, they have little say
post-conflict. On the other hand, nonviolent movements tend to de-centralize power
which gives the masses a greater ability to hold elites accountable (Chenoweth &
Stephan, 2011, p. 61; Schock, 2013, p. 285).
“The Violence of Nonviolence” and Positive Peace
The literature above paints a promising picture of pragmatic nonviolence as a creator

of peace; however, it is not a guaranteed method of success. The word “success” is
important to think about when we are considering pragmatic nonviolence and
positive peace. Two major “successes” are outlined in the literature cited above:
(1) the ability to overthrow a regime, (2) democratization. While these outcomes
may make a society more peaceful than it was before, it does not mean that a society
will remove its direct, structural, and cultural violence as a result of a so-called
successful campaign. Many proponents of pragmatic nonviolence have either pro-
moted new manifestations of violence, or have done little to prevent them from
occurring. This argument is presented as the violence of nonviolence by Chabot and
Sharifi (2013). They argue, pointing to the examples of nonviolent revolutions in
Iran and Egypt, that pragmatic nonviolence has promoted “the spread of neoliberal
freedom and democracy, which causes multiple forms of visible and invisible
violence” (ibid., p. 205).
Using Galtung’s (1969, p. 171) description of structural violence as social
injustice, and cultural violence as what “makes direct and structural violence look,
even feel, right – or at least not wrong” (Galtung, 1990, p. 291); it is quite easy to see
truth in Chabot and Sharifi’s (2013) position. We could go further, stating that
successful pragmatic nonviolent campaigns have promoted much more violence
than the violence that has resulted from neoliberalism. Few pragmatic campaigns
have explicitly challenged the violence of capitalism, militarism, (neo)colonialism,

racism, sexism, and the state. All of these can be seen as creating violence and
operate in an interconnected manner. Capitalism creates vast inequalities, which lead
to suffering and unnecessary death (Leech, 2012). The state props up capitalism
(Weber, 1978, p. 353; Ingham, 2008, p. 33). It also maintains a monopoly on
violence, which it uses, with states killing an estimated 170,000,000 people outside
of war, four times that killed in war (Rummel, 1994, 1997). Racism and sexism mean
that women and people of color experience – currently and historically – more direct
and structural violence (Mies, 1998; Federici, 2012; Jaggar, 2001; Robinson, 2000;
Ramnath, 2011, p. 25). Militarism’s role in violence does not require explanation.
There are various theories, such as feminism (Frazer & Hutchings, 2014;
Vinthagen, 2015, pp. 47–51), anarchism (Ostergaard, 1982; Llewellyn, 2018a),
Gandhianism, and Marxism, that offer various critiques of different forms of struc-
tural violence and how to overcome them. Unlike these discussions, the focus of the
remainder of this chapter is on how to conduct nonviolent revolution in order to
create positive peace, rather than offer another critique of the various forms of
structural violence that said revolution would remove. If pragmatic nonviolence is
not capable of this, the question that then must be asked is, are there forms of
nonviolent revolution that can create positive peace?
Skocpol’s (1979) distinction between social revolution and political revolution is
useful for understanding what successful pragmatic nonviolence has generally
achieved. Here, a political revolution is a change in government. A social revolution
is a fundamental shift in society. It could be violent or nonviolent. For example,
Skocpal lists the French, Russian, and Chinese revolutions as social revolutions. It
would be fair to say that the creation of positive peace, as Galtung defines it, would
require a social revolution, whereas pragmatic nonviolence has not historically
aimed to create this kind of societal shift. Sharp (2011, pp. 105–122) states that
nonviolent revolutionaries must plan what is to come after a regimes pillars of
support have been severed, but this is not central to his theory and he dedicates little
space to its exploration. However, other nonviolent movements have.
Chabot and Sharifi (2013) end their article by pointing to Wallerstein (2000,
p. 152), who argues that a two-step process of revolution, that removes a regime and
then after seizing the state make changes to society, has failed. The second step is
rarely achieved. As a result Chabot and Sharifi (2013) call for the type of action
emphasized by Gandhi and the Zapatistas, experimenting in self-rule from the
beginning of the movement. This could be seen as an anarchist approach to revolu-
tion, as opposed to the traditional Marxist approach (Newman, 2004). The last
section of this chapter will give an example of an alternative conception of nonvi-
olent revolution that does not follow the two-step process described by Wallerstein
(2000, p. 152). The example is of the post-Gandhi Gandhian movement in India: the
Sarvodaya movement. But before that, it is important to delve deeper into the nature
of pragmatic nonviolent movements to outline what could be peace creating or
salvageable within pragmatic nonviolence, in order to create positive peace.
While pragmatic nonviolence does not overcome all forms of violence, it does
have some consequences that are positive in regard to creating peace. Using
236 J. Llewellyn
Skocpal’s definitions, while pragmatic nonviolence may not be able to create

positive peace (social revolution) it contributes to shifts that can make society
more peaceable (political revolution). It does this in various ways. First, it has
empowered people by assisting oppressed groups in their organizing and resisting
so that they can successfully overthrow their rulers. Therefore, it can help people
gain their agency. Second, in many of the places that this has happened, we can see
that people experience less violence in their daily lives. Third, the shifts achieved
appear to be more radical than what is often seen through the use of violence or
conventional politics (Schock, 2013). Fourth, on top of this, pragmatic nonviolence
has gone a long way to help dispel the myth that violence is the only option for
downtrodden groups to create radical societal change. It is likely that by participating
in it, people learn to be nonviolent, to think and act differently, and to have less
obedience to power. However, it is important to note that these points do not result
only from pragmatic nonviolence, but also principled forms of nonviolence, like
Gandhi’s, that offer more radical critiques of society and a broad rejection of various
manifestations of violence.
In some ways, the lack of radical critique in pragmatic nonviolence can be seen as
one of the advantages that pragmatic nonviolence has. Pragmatic campaigns that
achieve their aims tend to offer a series of simple demands that much of the
population can quickly be in favor of, such as the removal of an unpopular dictator.
This allows groups with different political aspirations to commit to the movement.
Some may be happy to oppose a dictator, but not capitalism, if that was what a
movement was pushing for. This may reduce potential allies, thus limiting with-
drawal of the regimes support in society. We can see how limited demands have
assisted nonviolent movements in toppling dictatorships. The Serbian movement to
overthrow Milosevic is a good example.
The Serbian nonviolent movement catalyzed by the Otpor movement overthrew
the authoritarian and genocidal rule of Milosevic in what was a textbook case of
pragmatic nonviolence. Cohen (2000, November 26, para.18) states that:
Otpor’s founding principles were straightforward. . .remove Milosevic because otherwise

nothing will change; spread resistance to the provinces; galvanize a cowed population by
providing examples of individual bravery; be funny where possible, in order to create a
contemporary message; avoid hierarchy because the regime will co-opt any leader.
The success of the movement was relatively quick. In October 1998, Otpor
started small actions in Belgrade, laying low during the NATO bombing as they
planned their movement. After NATO bombing ended, Otpor held Milosevic a
birthday party where they took gifts such as prison coveralls and a one-way ticket
to The Hague. They put up thousands of posters and graffitied everywhere to
familiarize people with their symbols and easily accessible message. They got
people involved in all parts of society, offing activities for different commitment
levels. They amped up their activity event by event. In the space of a few months
they went from a few thousand at events in 20 cities, to over 100,000 in 67 towns and
cities (York, 2002), demonstrating their ability to unite people under their message.
They then united opposition political parties under their principles to form a coalition
to challenge Milosevic in an election. When the elections took place, they trained
30,000 people to monitor them and confirmed Milosevic had lost. Unsurprisingly,
Milosevic declared that neither he nor the opposition had won and that there would
be another election. In response, the opposition called for a general strike and
protests as they amped up their activity. Key industry shut down, transport stopped,
and thousands headed to Belgrade. In the process the police stood down from the
barricades they had built on major roads, and eventually stood down at parliament.
The protestors took over parliament and found thousands of victory flyers printed by
Milosevic, which were burnt and thrown out of the windows. The result was that
Milosevic no longer had any power.
The Serbian movement is a great example gaining mass support, amping up the
level of force they could use as time went on, escalating pressure. They used a
variety of different methods, many of which were humorous. There are many
examples of positive and effective actions and organizing techniques here that
many radical movements could learn from. However, the end point was to get a
politician elected who would just slot into the broader systems of structural and
direct violence discussed above, which pervades the world. Serbia maintains its
military. It does little to challenge global capitalism and the violence it produces. In
this way, despite the removal of Milosevic making the country less violent in many
ways, Serbia has not laid the foundation for positive peace more than any other
nation. It is unknown what would have happened if Otpor promoted more radical
principles. While demands, such as removing a dictator, with no further critique or
rejection of violence could help gain mass participation – which the empirical
evidence outlined suggests in important for the success of these movements – it
also highlights the weakness of the movement.
While acknowledging this, pragmatic nonviolence appears to have more potential
down sides than positives, in regard to creating a positive rather than negative peace.
This is because: (1) its rejection of violence is limited; (2) its transformational
capacity is limited; (3) its conception of the positive society it wants to create,
namely democracy, is also limited. In regard to the first, it does actively reject direct
violence. It simply asserts that violence is not always helpful and that nonviolent
tactics are more likely to lead to success in many situations. From this point of view,
as violence is not rejected, it can be used again in the future (Clements, 2015). In
removing the violent dictator, few steps are taken to remove violence that is not the
direct result of the dictator, so we see capitalism embraced and militaries
re-established.
In regard to the second, in presenting nonviolence only as a contest that must be
won, it is not entirely transformative. Sharp (1973) refers to pragmatic nonviolent
tactics as “nonviolent weapons.” Pragmatic nonviolent conflict is basically a war
without weapons, and as a result, the transformative potential of pragmatic nonvi-
olence is limited in this regard. Pragmatic nonviolence’s war without weapons does
not help us image a radically different future, thus transforming global society. Nor
does it offer a way of moving beyond defeating your adversary.
In regard to the third, while it may reduce some violence and open up more
democratic spaces, it does not help us to deal with and transform conflict in a
238 J. Llewellyn
fundamentally different way. The democracy that it has created is extremely limited
from a radical perspective, as the measures being used to identify democracy do not
reflect a vision of democracy that truly gives people the power to determine their
own lives as much as possible. The measures used are largely based on whether or
not there are national elections every few years. Following these measures, racist and
unequal societies, which do not allow many people to live their lives unhindered, or
all voices to be equally heard, can be seen as totally democratic. If it is possible to
create positive peace, pragmatic nonviolence does not appear to even envisage it.
Sarvodaya as an Answer to the “Violence of Nonviolence”
Gandhi’s nonviolence sought not only the removal of those in power but total
liberation (Vinthagen, 2015, pp. 25–26) of society and individuals (Mukherjee,
2010). Chabot and Sharifi’s (2013, p. 227) suggestion that the Gandhian approach
is superior to Sharp’s for struggling for “autonomy, dignity, and global co-existence”
is due in large part the Gandhi’s emphasis on the constructive program (ibid.,
pp. 213–214). Resistance and the constructive program are like two wings of a
bird for Gandhi. Satyagraha (“staying firm to truth”) was Gandhi’s form of nonvi-
olent resistance that utilized many tactics that are seen in Sharp’s work. In fact, Sharp
(1961) started his early work by studying Gandhi. The constructive program was a
list of tasks that Gandhians would experiment in in order to learn how to construct a
new nonviolent society. This would be free of violence from capitalism, the state,
and colonialism. It would emphasize swadeshi (“localness”), which would help
people be self-reliant, self-confident, and reduce environmental damage. The aim
was to transform society, to create a positive peace. After Gandhi’s murder, those
who still followed the Gandhian path pursued constructive work with vigor under
the leadership of Vinoba Bhave.
Shortly after Gandhi’s death, a meeting that was initially called by the Mahatma
himself was held at Gandhi’s Sevagram Ashram; the center of Gandhi’s constructive
activities (Gandhi, 2007). Discussions took place between those who wanted to
continue following Gandhi’s path of constructive work, and others, such as Prime
Minister Nehru, who had embarked on a path of state expansion and industrialization.
Vinoba, who had spent many years in Gandhi’s ashrams, emerged as a new leader of the
Sarvodaya movement, along with Jayaprakash Narayan. This new phase of the Gan-
dhian movement seems like an appropriate one to highlight what Chabot and Sharifi
(2013) call for. The aim of this discussion, by briefly outlining Vinoba’s approach and
contrasting it with Sharp, is to demonstrate a different path of nonviolence that does not
follow a two-step – state-seizure and then societal change – method, a method that
many people might find difficult to conceive of without examples.
Vinoba Bhave was born in 1885. In 1916, after reading Gandhi’s writings, Vinoba
quit his studies and traveled to Gujarat in Western India to join Gandhi’s ashram
(“spiritual community”). Throughout the independence movement he alternated
between engaging in constructive work, study and writing, supervising satyagraha
campaigns against the British and untouchability, and spending time in prison. After
the end of British rule, the Gandhian movement had more space to focus more
intensively on the constructive program, which is exactly what it did. Upon becom-
ing a key leader of the Sarvodaya movement after Gandhi’s death, Vinoba embraced
and expanded the constructive programs. He set up voluntary organizations to help
guide and coordinate the movement, and set up annual sarvodaya conferences, thus
giving sarvodaya organizational structure (Ostergaard, 1985; Harris, 1987, p. 1039).
He then launched new campaigns that aimed to fundamentally change how land was
used and how people organized life in their communities. He describes his aims in
his own words:
I have aimed at finding out how difficulties of every kind in the life of society, and in the life
of the individual, may be overcome by nonviolence. This is my chief task. . . The things that
happened in this country immediately after independence had dimmed the hope of nonvi-
olence. Forces of violence showed themselves in India in great strength. After Gandhiji
passed away I was therefore trying to discover how a nonviolent social order might be built.
(Bhave, 1994 [1985], pp. 18–19)
The constructive program, including Vinoba’s additions that were added to

Gandhi’s initial program, contains 23 action points for living nonviolently in the
present and creating nonviolent society in the future. The 23 points are: communal
unity, removal of untouchability, prohibition, khadi (“home-spun cloth”), village
industry, village sanitation, nai talim (“basic education”), adult education, uplift of
women, education in health and hygiene, provincial languages, national language,
promotion of economic equality, Kisans (“farmers/peasants”), labor, adivasis
(“indigenous people”), lepers, students, cow protection, nature cure (“earth-based
natural and local medicine”), bhoodan (“land-gift”), gramdan (“village gift”), and
shanti sena (“peace army”). The constructive program represents a form of prefig-
urative politics (Gordon, 2007). It is the basis of action from which nonviolent
resistance is launched (Gandhi, 2015a [1945], p. 36).
This whole part of nonviolence practice, integral to Gandhian nonviolence, is
ignored by Sharp and the majority of the civil resistance scholarship. In this way, it
marks the most major difference between the two. Vinoba’s approach is about
creating nonviolent social change, but rather than trying to pull down or co-op
pillars of support, it aims to completely dissolve the pillars and create something
altogether new. Before this can happen, the pillars themselves still exist, but the
movement can see that they are built upon a Western model of the state and politics
and are considered violent in and of themselves. Vinoba did not want a state, and he
rejected political parties. According to Vinoba the state is a perpetrator of violence
and political parties exacerbate division (Bhave, 2015 [1962]). They perpetuate a
way of engaging with others that remains a kind of contest and promotes nativism,
and therefore does not transform social dynamics. Parties and the state are opposed
to democracy, not enablers of it. By focusing on the local and uplift of all at the same
time, Vinoba’s approach can be considered a decolonial nonviolence. It aimed to
decolonize society but also the minds of individuals who participated in it, as Gandhi
(2015b [1909]) had argued for, and others, such as Fanon (2001 [1961]), would
argue was necessary in later years.
240 J. Llewellyn
All of the points of the constructive program were to be pursued at the same time,
working together to undermine and remove all kinds of violence: structural, direct,
and cultural. While all are important, under Vinoba’s leadership, the two most radical
in terms of creating large-scale change were bhoodan and gramdan. Through the gift
of land to the landless and the gift of villages to the community, Vinoba’s plan was to
reorganize how space was used in order to get people to commit to using it
nonviolently. He also initiated a series of other gift campaigns, to help people assist
in various ways with material resources and time (Vettickal, 2002, pp. 193–194). It is
likely that if activists in many places suggested an approach of gifting in order to
reorder society that they would be laughed away by others and accused of being
hopelessly idealistic and naïve. It is not a nonviolent tactic that is noted by Sharp,
even Vinoba (Bhave, 1994 [1986], p. 136) himself was surprised, and overjoyed,
when it took off. It produced remarkable outcomes.
The bhoodan movement was launched when a group of Dalits (“oppressed,”
refers to people who were/are labeled untouchable) who owned no land asked
Vinoba for his assistance. While sitting in their village, Vinoba simply requested
that people donate land and one man responded by gifting 100 acres (Vettickal,
2002, pp. 191–192). Starting the next day, Vinoba walked for thousands of kilome-
ters, from villages to village, gathering tens of millions of acres of land (Ostergaard,
1985, p. 6). The next phase in the movement was to create gramdan where land
would be transformed into commons. It could then be worked communally, follow-
ing other points on the constructive program. The movement involved millions of
people in rural India, with 30% of all of India’s villages committing to gramdan
(Vettickal, 2002, pp. 195–196). In the state of Bihar, 95% of all villages committed to
gramdan (Ostergaard, 1985, p. 24; Ostergaard & Currell, 1971, p. 340).
Measuring the success of the movement beyond the mass participation in it is
difficult due to a lack of research and English language materials (see Llewellyn,
2018b). As will be clear, it has not yet achieved its desired aims as India is not a
nonviolent stateless society today. Gramdan and bhoodan appear to have had
different levels of success in different areas. In some areas, bhoodan land still
remains undistributed (John, 2017; Ostergaard, 1985; Linton, 1971). Other case
studies of villages seem quite successful (Shepard, 1987). Over 5000 villages remain
under gramdan and over 1000 constructive work organization are still operating
(Shah, 2011; Nagler, 2004). However, these have not been studied in any depth
(Suhrud, 2011). Despite the fact that the movement did not achieve the colossal task
of creating positive peace in the whole of India, the Gandhian constructive program
offers an example of action, involving millions of people, which does not aim for
state seizure and then change. It starts with change. On top of this, it has a
comprehensive rejection of all violence, unlike pragmatic nonviolence.
At other times, the movement proved it was also capable of overthrowing rulers
just like pragmatic nonviolence. Gandhi’s actions were hugely significant in chal-
lenging the British, and later on, Jayaprakash Narayan’s leadership of the Sarvodaya
movement would overthrow Indira Gandhi’s government. An important critique of
Vinoba is that, unlike Gandhi, he did not utilize satyagraha enough after Gandhi’s
death. To do so may well have prevented some of the land distribution problems that
did occur (Ostergaard, 1985; Linton, 1971). The movement reinvigorated its nonvi-
olent resistance under the leadership of Jayaprakash Narayan; a former Marxist
turned Gandhian, and well-known leader who participated in Vinoba’s movements.
He led mass resistance against Prime Minister Indira Gandhi’s emergency, which
gave the state unprecedented powers. This movement, which rose out of the
sarvodaya stronghold in Bihar, succeeded in overthrowing Indira Gandhi and
replacing her by uniting opposition parties. The movement seems to have realized
the need for striking the right balance between constructive nonviolence and nonvi-
olent resistance as it declined in influence in the 1980s (Ostergaard, 1985).
Despite the failures of the movement, Vinoba’s experiments in finding out how to
create a nonviolent social order offers a significant example for how to construct
positive peace in a way that pragmatic nonviolence itself does not. As Chabot and
Sharifi (2013) point to Gandhi and his constructive, localized, program as a way
forward, Vinoba shows a large and sustained attempt over a number of decades to
carry it out. Adopting this approach does not necessarily rule out many of the
techniques of pragmatic nonviolence, which may even be necessary, as Gandhi’s
use of satyagraha and Jayaprakash Narayan’s leadership also suggests. However, it is
the constructive program that challenges and replaces social systems that cause
structural violence.
If a movement is aware of it structural and cultural violence, nonviolent resistance
can also be employed to remove it. The Sarvodaya movement also demonstrates this.
Satyagraha was employed against both colonial rule and structural violence within
Indian society. For example, even before Gandhi’s death, Vinoba was involved in the
Vaikom Satyagraha, in Vaikom, South India, which targeted untouchability and
challenged the idea that Dalits could not enter holy temples. Untouchability is an
example of both structural violence, in that it is an unjust social system, and cultural
violence, as it is an idea that is seen as acceptable, thus leading to or allowing
structural and direct violence. Here, satyagraha undermines both the physical
restriction on temple access and the idea that Dalits should not be allowed access
because of who they are, the jobs they perform, and the family that they were born
into. With the constructive program as its base, it becomes clear how Gandhian
nonviolence can form the basis of positive peace, where pragmatic nonviolence, as it
is currently conceived, cannot.
On top of this, the Gandhian approach overcomes the violence of coercion by
constantly being open to the other (May, 2015, pp. 74–79). Vinoba’s dan campaigns
took this even further than Gandhi, giving plenty of opportunities for transformation
and participation of all. For peace, people need to be able to live together after a
conflict, regardless of whether the conflict was violent or nonviolent. Vinoba actively
encourages this during, not after, a power shift has occurred. This is not an argument
that there will be or should be no conflict. The Gandhian approach, just like the
pragmatic approach, aims to create transformative conflict. While courageously
challenging violence, it aims to also create a foundation to overcome division. The
end point is not to “win” and end up sitting on top of the pillars of power. The aim is
to utterly dissolve the pillars altogether and empower people so that they can prevent
the pillars from being built again.
242 J. Llewellyn
Concluding Thoughts
Empirical evidence suggests that pragmatic nonviolence creates much more favor-
able outcomes than violent struggle. Following Chabot and Sharifi (2013), it has
been suggested here that it is, however, insufficient in scope to create positive peace.
This is because it contains little analysis of structural or cultural violence and in its
revolutionary form it is only concerned with undermining political elites. As Chabot
and Sharifi (2013) point out, pulling down dictators in this way has often produced
violence in other forms, such as through the promotion of neoliberal reforms.
While outlining the theory and findings of pragmatic nonviolence, this chapter
has attempted to provide a balanced overview of what it is and what it has achieved.
Building off of Chabot and Sharifi’s (2013) suggestion that the Gandhian construc-
tive approach, which avoids state seizure, is preferable for removing violence, a brief
overview of Vinoba Bhave’s approach to expanding the constructive program has
been given. The reason for discussing this is that the Sarvodaya movement shows
one way in which constructive nonviolence has been spread and enacted on a mass
scale. Following the example of Gandhi and the experience of the post-Gandhi
Sarvodaya movement, it appears likely that both nonviolent construction and non-
violent resistance need to be practiced together if nonviolence is to be used as a force
and a method of building positive peace.
The argument presented is not that the only way of being nonviolent is to become
a Gandhian. Local solutions can be found in different places to fit their contexts, and
therefore a constructive program should be developed for each context. Different
places and peoples will have different needs and challenges to those that the likes of
Gandhi, Vinoba and Jayaprakash Narayan faced. Resistance occurs differently in
different social contexts (Vinthagen, 2015, pp. 46–47). Likewise, which tactics
described with the pragmatic nonviolence literature can be adopted and incorporated
into a radical nonviolent movement may also vary. To find out how to do this,
experimentation, as Gandhi advocated for, is vital. On top of this the recovering of
relatively unknown histories that are largely excluded from pragmatic nonviolence
literature, such as that of Vinoba, or from other places, such as the Zapatistas and the
Argentinian cooperatives that Chabot and Sharifi (2013, p. 227) point to, is vital.
This is a task that peace researchers can especially engage in, as they start to explore
forms of nonviolence that embrace a decolonial, anti-racist, anti-capitalist, and/or
feminist politics of positive peace, which opposes direct, structural, and cultural
violence.
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Women in Environmental Nonviolent
Action 13
Marty Branagan
Contents
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 248
Defining Nonviolence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 248
Women and Nonviolence Praxis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 249
Women and Historical Turning Points . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 251
Women in Environmental Activism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 254
Women in Australian Environmental Movements . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 256
Women’s Influence on the Franklin River Blockade . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 257
Women’s Peace-Making . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 258
Women’s Antinuclear Actions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 258
Women in Forest Blockades . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 260
More Women’s Peacemaking . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 260
Women’s Climate Actions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 261
From Protest to Planting . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 263
Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 265
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 265
Abstract
This chapter provides an overview of women engaged in nonviolent environ-
mental action, focusing on Australian women in recent decades. It complements
the few existing publications which illuminate this area and casts light on the
many women who have contributed enormously toward positive peace through
creating more peaceful and environmentally sustainable societies, yet who have
rarely been acknowledged due to patriarchal biases in the writing of history.
Women have often played key roles at major turning points of nonviolent
campaigns, as well as being leaders, central organizers, strategists, and artistic
activists, in numerous Australian environmental movements, from the 1980s
Franklin River blockade and anti-nuclear actions to 1990s forest blockades to
M. Branagan (*)
Peace Studies, University of New England, Armidale, Australia
e-mail: marty.branagan@une.edu.au
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_13
248 M. Branagan
contemporary climate activism, as well as performing vital functions as peace-

makers. Many have since moved from environmental protest to constructive
alternatives, such as landcare and permaculture.
Keywords
Women · Nonviolence · Environmental action · Positive peace · Sustainablity
Introduction
This chapter provides an overview of women engaged in nonviolent environmental

action, focusing on Australian women in recent decades. The chapter is designed to
complement the few existing publications which act as a starting point in illuminat-
ing this area, and to cast light on the many women who have contributed greatly
toward positive peace through creating more peaceful and environmentally sustain-
able societies, yet who have rarely been acknowledged. The chapter begins by
defining nonviolence, exploring the patriarchal bias of much of the literature on it,
and then setting a context through a discussion of women’s nonviolent action in
general. Next it focuses on their environmental action, starting with international
examples before homing in on Australian case studies. The chapter concludes with a
discussion of women who have shifted their activist focus from protest and block-
ades to earthcare and permaculture.
Defining Nonviolence
Nonviolence can be defined as “an active process of bringing political, economic,

social, emotional, or moral pressure to bear in the wielding of power in contentious
interactions between collective actors” (Schock, 2005, p. 6). It usually operates
outside the bounds of institutionalized political channels. It does not involve phys-
ical violence or the threat of physical violence against human beings. It involves acts
of omission – refusal to perform acts usually expected of people, and acts of
commission – performing acts people usually do not perform or are not expected
to perform or which are illegal. It consists of three main categories:
• Protest and persuasion (e.g., rallies)

• Noncooperation (e.g., boycotts)
• Nonviolent intervention (e.g., blockades)
It is a praxis which is widely used and has achieved some remarkable successes,
such as the overthrow of numerous dictatorships, oppressive regimes, and police
states (Ackerman & Duvall, 2000; Summy, 1995). It has been used widely to
preserve ecosystems, and resist oppressive systems such as patriarchy and racism
(Branagan, 2013; Merriman, 2009, p. 17). It is not always used under the name of
13 Women in Environmental Nonviolent Action 249
nonviolence - according to Pam McAllister, “Nonviolent actions were used long

before the word nonviolence was first used in print in 1923 by Clarence Marsh Case
in Nonviolent Coercion: A Study in Methods of Social Pressure (1999, p. 20). Nor
may it be recognized as such by its practitioners, and its successes have often been
put down to such nebulous movers as “people power” which supposedly rises
spontaneously, creates major change, and then disappears again (Summy, 2000).
The end of the Soviet empire, for example, was thought to be impossible until it
actually occurred, and then it was said to be inevitable. Nevertheless, behind such
monumental change are usually people with some grasp of the basic principles of
nonviolent action, often based on historical campaigns. Examples include 1960s US
civil rights activists such as James Lawson and Martin Luther King learning from
Gandhi’s satyagrahic campaigns (Ackerman & Duvall, 2000, pp. 307–308), who
then inspired 1970s Australian Aboriginal land rights protesters (Scalmer, 2002,
pp. 12–13; Perkins, 1975, p. 74) and 1980s antiapartheid activists, while Serbian
protesters learned from these earlier campaigns (York, 2002) and then supported
Arab Spring activists through organizations such as the Belgrade-based Center for
Applied Nonviolent Action and Strategies (CANVAS) (Amos, 2011).
Despite these movements and others such as the suffragette movement, discussed
below, having major influences on the world in the twentieth century, there is a
comparative paucity of literature systematically examining their dynamics. Although
school curricula are full of histories of the world wars (Lake & Reynolds, 2010),
bookshops are crammed with military histories, and millions are poured into war
memorials (Daley, 2016), far less energy and resources go toward remembering
nonviolent activists and the techniques they use.
Nevertheless, the long and proud history of nonviolence is finally seeing the light
of day, after centuries and even millennia of history from a military viewpoint
dominating. Examples include books such as Gene Sharp’s The Politics of Nonvio-
lent Action (1973), Howard Clark’s People Power: Unarmed Resistance and Global
Solidarity, and Tim Gee’s CounterPower: Making Change Happen (2011); films
such as Gandhi (1982) and Lemon Tree (2008); and documentary series such as A
Force More Powerful (York, 2000).
Women and Nonviolence Praxis
Even nonviolence histories, however, are lax at pointing out the vital role many
women have played in nonviolent struggles, with one notable exception being by
Pam McAllister’s 1999 “You Can’t Kill the Spirit: Women and Nonviolent Action,”
which mentions the struggle for women’s suffrage and the nonviolent actions of
Susan B. Anthony, Sojourner Truth, Alice Paul, and the suffragists, and examines the
incredibly courageous Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo who in the 1970s overtly
opposed “disappearances” by the murderous military regime of Argentina. It dis-
cusses the 1980s women’s actions for peace in Tokyo, at Greenham Common in the
UK, and Seneca Peace Encampment in the USA. She also extols the writing of
women such as Barbara Deming, Dale Spender, and Mary “Mother” Jones and
250 M. Branagan
exposes the almost total omission of women’s actions by nonviolence historians and
theorists, arguing that
Men like Thoreau, Tolstoy, Muste, Gandhi and King usually get the credit for the develop-
ment of active nonviolence, but women - around the world and from the beginning of history
have consistently experimented with ways to resist oppression and challenge injustice
without endorsing violence. In fact, most of what we commonly call “women’s history” is
actually the history of women’s role in the development of nonviolent action. (p. 21)
Maciej Bartkowski also challenges the patriarchal nature of much writing on

resistance, which has suppressed alternative discourses, including the recognition of
women’s agency:
Changing entrenched views about the effectiveness of armed resistance is particularly hard
as they are usually rooted in a warrior psychology that is shaped by violent masculinity and
patriarchy. Struggles for independence typically have privileged male leadership. As a
consequence, conspiracies of belligerent men plotting in small, secretive circles in an
atmosphere that congratulates violent bravery and rewards machismo, leave little room for
recognizing the importance of nonviolent alternatives or the contributions of women or non-
fighting-age young men to the struggle. In fact, the discourse of hegemonic victors tends to
conform to a masculinist construct that, as Jean Bethke Elshtain maintains, from antiquity
through to the present has divided society into “just warriors” (male fighters and protectors)
and “beautiful souls” (female victims and noncombatants). (2013, p. 341; see also Cox,
1996, pp. 26–37, 163–176)
Bartkowski highlights the “central place of women at the forefront of nonviolent

actions during nationalist struggles” including women engaged in “writing and
distributing petitions; organizing and leading demonstrations and protests; setting
up and running autonomous associations and educational institutions; and
supporting and participating in social and economic boycotts, strikes, and sit-ins”
(2013, pp. 341–342).
Unfortunately, the high-profile 2015 movie Suffragette tends toward the patriar-
chal stereotype, ignoring all the above actions and focusing on the isolated and more
extreme actions involving violence (for example, bombing a house), presumably
because they are more dramatic. Iron Jawed Angels (2004) is better in this regard,
highlighting public meetings, marches, journalism, and lobbying (see also Oldfield,
1992), with the drama centered around picketing, arrests, incarceration, and the
force-feeding and psychiatric stereotyping of hunger strikers.
Maria J. Stephan’s Civilian Jihad: Nonviolent Struggle, Democratization, and
Governance in the Middle East (2009) is a valuable work that shows how much
nonviolence has occurred in the Middle East and counters myths that all resistance
there is violent. Stephan also teamed up with Erica Chenoweth to contribute one of
the most important nonviolence studies, with their 2008 paper which examined
323 violent and nonviolent resistance movements between 1900 and 2006, combin-
ing statistical analysis with case studies of specific countries and territories. They
found that “major nonviolent campaigns have achieved success 53 per cent of the
time, compared with 26 per cent for violent resistance campaigns” (Stephan and
Chenoweth, 2008, p. 8). This finding fundamentally challenges the widespread
belief that violence is a more effective tactic than nonviolence, showing that the
opposite is true by a significant margin. That is, nonviolent campaigns are more than
twice as likely to succeed than violent ones, although they present the findings more
modestly:
Our findings challenge the conventional wisdom that violent resistance against convention-
ally superior adversaries is the most effective way for resistance groups to achieve policy
goals. Instead, we assert that nonviolent resistance is a forceful alternative to political
violence that can pose effective challenges to democratic and nondemocratic opponents,
and at times can do so more effectively than violent resistance. (p. 9)
The paper later became a 2011 book which won, among other awards, The
Guardian’s Book of the Year in 2011 and was further popularized by a 2013 TED
talk. In other important nonviolence articles, Kate McGuinness published in 1993 a
feminist critique of Gene Sharp’s “consent theory of power” while articles such as
Starhawk’s 2006 Reclaiming Nonviolence from Gandhian Puritanism challenge the
sexism of some nonviolence praxis. Eco-feminist, author, and activist Starhawk is
one woman who has done much to reverse the invisibility of women in activism,
through her emic or insider accounts of creative nonviolent activism within global
justice movements. She has also written eco-fiction which dramatizes the potential of
nonviolence, such as the Fifth Sacred Thing (1993), which she is trying to make into
a movie (www.kickstarter.com/projects/fifthsacredthing/the-fifth-sacred-thing).
Other notable articles include Pat Howley’s The Peacemakers (2002) on
women’s peacemaking in Bougainville, Erin Ladd Sanders’ Lysistrata: Make
Love, Not War (2010), Carolyn M. Stephenson’s Gender Equality and a Culture
of Peace (2009), Zillah Eisenstein’s Resexing Militarism for the Globe (2008), and
Cynthia Cockburn’s 2009 Women in Black: the stony path to “solidarity,” which
explores a now-global movement of women opposed to all forms of violence, which
began in Israel in response to the outbreak of the Palestinian intifada of 1987.
Women and Historical Turning Points
Although men like Gandhi and Martin Luther King are considered the main thinkers
on nonviolence, it is important to note that theory, as the Marxists say, arises from
action, and women’s actions have often proved to be turning points in nonviolent
campaigns, as discussed below. It is also worth noting that Gandhi studied in
England from 1888 to 1891 and returned there in 1906 and 1909, where he observed
suffragette protests and was profoundly influenced by them, praising their persever-
ance in the face of derision and enormous opposition, their inexhaustible “courage
and their capacity for suffering,” the willingness of even “respectable” women to
voluntarily undergo arrest, and “their unity, their readiness to bear pecuniary losses,
their intelligence” (Guha, 2018).
Although it would be hard to discover from history books, which tend to focus on
the great man theory of social change, women have played a huge role in cultivating
252 M. Branagan
ecological peace – indeed, peace in all its forms – working mainly at grassroots
levels that tend to go under the radar until they turn into mass movements, over
which men then tend to become the spokespeople and nominal leaders, and take any
political positions which arise from the movements.
Women have been at the forefront of peace activism – which counters the
environmental devastation of war and militarism (Branagan, 2013) – partly because
along with children they suffer the most from war (United Nations, 2003). (Increas-
ingly, violent conflicts impact primarily on civilians, with women and children
deliberately targeted. The safest places in modern wars are in militaries!) Bertha
Von Suttner’s famous novel Die Waffen Nieder (Lay Down Your Arms) has been
translated not just into English but also into Japanese by Kazuyo Yamane and
friends, “which took eight years while teaching, raising three sons, working for
peace, etc.” (personal communication (email) comm., 1 July 2018). The novel
inspired a flood of pacifist advocacy and the beginnings of an international peace
movement led by women like Jane Addams, Dorothy Day, and The Women’s
International League for Peace and Freedom. Such work continues today with
groups such as the Women in Black alliance (womeninblack.org) and women like
Jody Williams, who won a Nobel Peace Prize for her efforts to eradicate landmines,
and now works with five other female peace laureates to empower women to resist
violence, injustice, and inequality (TED, 2010).
In the mid-1950s, it was the Women Strike for Peace that finally ended McCarthy-
ism and its communism witch hunts. When its leaders were called before the House
Un-American Activities Committee, the group responded en masse and with civil
disobedience, exposing the bullying nature of the committee (Thomas, 1995, p. 172).
The Australian campaign against the environmentally and socially disastrous
Vietnam War was initiated by a group of mothers, called “Save Our Sons” which
grew from tiny actions into a massive movement at the height of which hundreds of
thousands of people gathered in the Morotorium marches in Melbourne and Sydney,
according to Verity Burgmann’s excellent anthology, Power and Protest: Movements
for Change in Australian Society (1993, p. 190).
Following an encirclement of the Pentagon by 2000 women in 1980, British
women’s actions at Greenham Common (subject of several Judy Small songs) saw
both the cruise missiles and the US Air Force personnel removed from there by 1994
(Thomas, loc. Cit.). Women also led peace movements in Bougainville, Liberia, and
Northern Ireland while a new group, the Raging Grannies, grabs headlines with its
colorful tactics (Roy, 2000).
In Australia, women formed the first gay liberation group (Burgmann, 1993,
p. 200), Joan Coxsedge campaigned against secret police and the clandestine
element in politics (Coxsedge et al., 1982), Jo Valentine led the Nuclear Disarma-
ment Party, the world’s first purely antinuclear party, while Dr. Helen Caldicott has
worked tirelessly for decades in a global campaign against nuclear weapons and their
devastating environmental impacts. The International Campaign Against Nuclear
Weapons (or ICAN) began in Melbourne with disarmament campaigner Felicity Hill
as the coordinator. Now with the support of artist Yoko Ono, and headed by Beatrice
Fihn, ICAN received the 2017 Nobel Peace Prize for successfully initiating a global
movement for the United Nations to outlaw nuclear weapons (Nobel Prize, 2017).
Lawyer and human rights activist Kellie Tranter has supported this work by shed-
ding light on secret sales of weapons to Middle Eastern countries embroiled in the
bloody Yemen war, a conflict dogged by accusations of war crimes and indiscrim-
inate civilian killings (Welch et al., 2018).
According to Birgit Brock-Utne, women working for peace share three charac-
teristics – nonviolent techniques, actions, and strategies; they value all life in nature
and especially children; and their work is transpolitical, reaching out to opposing
factions. There are parallels here with permaculture movements, which we will
examine below. Similarly, peace activists – such as Susan Carew the World Peace
Clown (www.worldpeacefull.com) – are like permaculturists in that they often
struggle for recognition, legitimacy, and fair recompense for their work.
In human rights activism, Harriet Beecher Stowe’s Uncle Tom’s Cabin contrib-
uted to the abolition of slavery (Brock-Utne, 1994, p. 205), Rosa Parkes’ refusal to
give up her bus seat was a vital spark for igniting the US civil rights movement,
while the turning point in the desegregation campaign was the timely questions of
Nashville’s mayor by Diane Nash at a major rally, which defused an escalating
argument and elicited the groundbreaking response by the mayor that the lunch
counters should be desegregated, creating front page news and leading to a success-
ful outcome (Ackerman & Duvall, 2000, pp. 326–327).
In Argentina, the mothers of people “disappeared” by the junta boldly formed Las
Madres de la Plaza de Mayo in 1977; they kept the flame of resistance alive when
few others dared (ibid pp. 267–279; McAllister, 1999, pp. 26–29). In Myanmar,
Aung San Suu Kyi led the Burmese struggle for human rights and democratization,
although she is currently being criticized for her inaction on the Rohingar issue
(BBC, 2018). Dr. Kiran Bedi, both the first and the highest ranked woman officer in
the Indian Police Service and voted among the most trusted and admired women of
the nation (Dangwal, 1995, pp. 9, 313), has been one of the most prominent minds in
Anna Hazare’s anticorruption movement.
In India, the Dharasana saltworks protest was a turning point in the independence
campaign, yet it was led not by Gandhi, who was in prison, but by the poet Sarojini
Naidu along with Gandhi’s wife Kasturbai. The actions required strong leadership to
maintain the incredible fortitude and discipline required as lines of protesters walked
toward the saltworks only to be savagely beaten by lathi-wielding police defending
the British regime (Ackerman & Duvall, 2000, pp. 89–90). Many people were
seriously injured and some were killed. Yet, hour after hour the marchers lined up,
stepped forward, and were struck down. Their act of repression lost them respect.
The eye-witness media coverage by journalists showed the British as brutal masters
capable of terrible violence, against unarmed men and women, and was distributed
globally, framed as Indian courage in the face of brutal repression. This removed the
veneer of British respectability, turned the international tide of opinion against the
British, and was able to “show the world at large the fangs and claws of the [British]
Government in all its ugliness and ferocity” (Kumarappa cited in Powers & Vogele,
1997, p. 152) (On a visit to London, Gandhi was asked what he thought of Western
civilization. He replied “I think it would be a good idea” [Tripathi, 2004].). The
254 M. Branagan
superior moral stance of those campaigners prepared to suffer rather than retaliate
gained international and national support for their cause. This is an example of what
Richard Gregg has called “moral jiu jitsu,” where violence against protesters back-
fires and may even aid the campaign (1935, pp. 43–65). The campaign finally
achieved its goal of independence in 1947.
An International Women’s Day demonstration in Petrograd on 8 March 1917 is
regarded as the first day of the Russian Revolution which led to the overthrow of the tsar
and the start of the communist empire (Figes, 2017). With banners such as “Feed the
children of the defenders of the motherland” and soon joined by female textile workers
who came out on strike in protest against shortages of bread, by the evening, 100,000
workers had come out on strike. This and subsequent demonstrations were probably
“more spontaneous than organised but that they had an internal organisation of their own
in the form of unnamed members of the crowd who shouted out directions” (ibid).
Poland’s Solidarnosc or Solidarity campaign was a major factor in the end of
Eastern Europe’s communist empire, an empire that the militarized might of the West
could not bring down. It began at the Lenin Shipyard in Gdansk, with the firing of
Anna Walentynowicz, a popular crane operator and activist, which galvanized the
workers into strike action. The strike would have ended prematurely, however, if
another woman, Alina Pienkowska, had not climbed on a barrel and convinced
workers not to abandon the strike even though a few minor concessions had been
granted by the regime. She urged them not to let the momentum slide or to sell out
their colleagues in the dozens of other factories which had joined the Gdansk
shipyard strike (Ackerman & Duvall, 2000, pp. 144–145).
This spontaneous, brave action saved the movement, yet Alina Pienkowska is rarely
remembered whereas Lech Walensa is famous, having become the strike spokesperson,
then Solidarity’s, and then the first President of postcommunist Poland. This seems part
of a trend where women often engage in the less formal, grassroots exercise of power –
such as unpremeditated protest that sparks larger movements – whereas men are more
likely to occupy formal positions later and gain awards and recognition in the history
books. Similarly, in 1990s Kosovo, women were “at the heart of the opening phase of
the nonviolent struggle and feminist questioning of patriarchal traditions broadened the
vision of change. This, however, was eventually subordinated to more militant nation-
alist and militaristic themes” (Bartkowski, 2013, p. 342).
Women in Environmental Activism
Turning now to women in environmental activism, it was Rachel Carson’s Silent

Spring (1962) which kick-started the modern environment movement with her
examination of the environmental and health impacts of DDT, while works such
as How the Other Half Dies by political economist Susan George (1977) first
exposed how the supposed “scientific breakthroughs” of the Green Revolution
feeding the world were largely corporate fictions, and gave early impetus to the
permaculture movement. Similarly, Frances Moore Lappe’s 1971 Diet for a Small
Planet, on the problems of the West’s meat-heavy diets, was groundbreaking. In
Germany, Petra Kelly was one of the founders of Die Grunen, the German Green
Party, whose ideals and practices have spread globally into a major political force in
many countries. In India, the women of Chipko were the original tree huggers,
preventing the logging of forests on which they depended for food and firewood.
Although popular nonviolent resistance to commercial exploitation of the forests in
the region began in 1973, the turning point came the following year when the men of
the area were away, and only 27 women remained in the village of Reni to oppose a
large number of professional axe-men. The women,
rushed to the felling site and clung to the marked trees while angry lumberers threatened them
with their glistening axes. They remained in the forest for the entire day despite the over-
whelming odds. The next day, their numbers increased as the women and men of about a
dozen villages arrived at the site to join them. The nonviolent protest continued for a month
while people spread the word by beating drums and singing Chipko songs. The women of the
region, who were usually confined to household work, began to take the lead because they
were the worst hit by the decline of the forests–collecting fuel and fodder for their domestic
needs had become more difficult, adding to their suffering. The women’s leadership and action
proved a decisive blow to the contractors, who came to realize that their objectives could not
be achieved. The Reni vigil continued for three years until 1977, when the Reni Chipko
Committee appointed by the Uttar Pradesh Government in 1974 recommended a complete ban
on logging in the area. (Dasholi Gram Swarajya Mandal, 2001)
The movement spread to the Bhyundar Valley and inspired people globally.
Women of the region became empowered through their successful actions, and in
many places they are managing the village and forests, including various village
development programs (ibid).
Also in India, Dr. Vandana Shiva’s inspirational education about corporate
agribusiness continues to inform engagement in both permaculture and global justice
movements. A physicist, she is most well known for her environmental activism,
antiglobalization stance, and extensive written work on a range of environmental and
human rights issues. She takes a strong stance against corruption and exploitation by
corporations who wish to genetically modify and patent seeds, and in 1991 she
founded Navdanya, a national movement to protect the diversity and integrity of
living resources – especially native seed – and to promote organic farming and fair
trade (see www.vandanashiva.com). Another environmental leader is Arundhati
Roy, with her savage critiques of India’s development – its nuclear tests and huge
dam-construction projects (Lewis, 2018). Indian Greenpeace campaigner Priya Pillai
made international headlines when she was stopped by Indian officials from travel-
ing to the UK to talk to MPs about the impact of a coal mine on a village in central
India. She had reportedly been placed on a government “lookout” circular, a list of
absconding criminals (Vaughan & Vidal, 2015).
Women’s environmental action can often have wider consequences. Wangai
Maathai involved Kenya’s National Council of Women in tree-planting – an innoc-
uous enough activity that led to the Green Belt movement (www.greenbeltmo
vement.org) which not only planted millions of trees but also empowered and
educated women and led to national anticorruption campaigns. It worked toward
changing ecological violence at a deep, structural level, advocating for greater
256 M. Branagan
political accountability and participatory governance, and supporting campaigns to

preserve public lands and forests. Though she was beaten and jailed, Maathai also
became a leading international spokesperson for “cancel the debt” campaigns, won a
Nobel Peace Prize, and was a government minister (Clark, 2009, p. 7). Similarly, the
eminent Indian activist Medha Patkar, who was the face of the “Narmada Bachao
Aandolan” (“Save the Narmada Movement”), became one of the key strategists of
India Against Corruption and helped to establish the National Alliance for People’s
Movements (Environmental Justice, 2014). These examples show that women are
not just single focus activists but capable of “big picture” thinking which allows
them to move to whichever issues seem most vital at the time.
Women in Australian Environmental Movements
Women were active in early conservation movements, and the contribution of

women to European Australians’ appreciation of the natural environment and to
scientific knowledge was often unrecognized (Hutton & Connors, 1999). They were
also involved in early prevention of cruelty to animals, as well as the peace
movement, social welfare, and of course, suffragette and feminist issues (ibid).
Women form the majority of environmental activists and are more likely to
donate to the environmental organizations but generally show a disdain for conven-
tional politics, forming only a token of overall numbers there (Pybus & Flanagan,
1990, p. 131). More women than men believe the risks of nuclear power far
outweigh the benefits, support the development of renewable energies, and are fairly
or greatly concerned about climate change (Bird et al., 2014). US findings include
that women have greater knowledge about climate change (McCright, 2010) and
perceive risks to be higher than men (Leiserowitz, 2006).
Women were involved at the start of the highly influential Green Bans, when the
middle-class Battlers for Kelly’s Bush crossed class lines (horrifying the conserva-
tive Hunters Hill Trust) and approached radical unionist Jack Mundey from the
Builders Labourers Foundation to help save an area of urban bushland in an affluent
Sydney suburb, and organized the show of community support he called for. Terri
McCormack (2008) demonstrates the importance of this:
Kelly’s Bush set a precedent for later Green Bans and established the connection between
union and urban resident action. Similar campaigns by unions and local communities saved
large areas of The Rocks, Woolloomooloo and Centennial Park. . . . The Builders Labourers
Federation . . . imposed 42 Green Bans to save housing, buildings and bushland. Later, Petra
Kelly cited the Sydney Green Bans as her inspiration for launching the world’s most
successful Green Party in Germany. (McCormack, 2008)
Also from a wealthy (although rural) background, the poet Judith Wright was an
enormous influence on Australian environmentalism, cofounding the influential Wild-
life Preservation Society of Queensland, struggling to protect the Great Barrier Reef
from oil drilling, and Fraser Island from sand mining. She also became an ardent
supporter of the Aboriginal land rights movement (Judith Wright Centre, n.d.).
Women set up “Householders for Safe Pesticide Use” in 1986 in Western

Australia (WA), “Residents Against Toxic Substances” in Queensland, and were at
the forefront of numerous Rainforest Action Groups (RAGs) such as in Sydney,
where women such as Sharon Gibson were a model of overt, disciplined nonvio-
lence. Engaging in pickets and hunger strikes (Sorensen, 1991), their passionate,
honest communication created excellent relations with police, media, lawyers, and
unions and led to some notable successes.
Leigh Holloway persuaded the Australian Conservation Foundation to campaign
against genetic engineering in 1988 (Hutton & Connors, 1999, p. 237) while Dr. Kate
Short and Marianne Grintner have been active campaigners against toxic waste.
Women have played key roles in environmental blockades in WA, including
Dr. Beth Schultz (cofounder of the Campaign to Save Native Forests and the WA
Forest Alliance [WAFA] and later chair of the Conservation Council of Western
Australia), musician Jarrah Schmah whose Ecofeminist Strategies for Change
(1998a) is a useful contribution to the literature, and Jess Beckerling, who has
continued her work in the Giblett blockade of 1997 and is currently Convenor of
WAFA (Chinna, 2018). Paula Vermunt worked tirelessly with both RAGs and CSNF,
and her photographs from risky covert visits to Sarawak, Borneo, to support the
Penan people’s struggles against rainforest logging were used widely. They were
even taken, along with videos of radical blockades in NSW, to Irish campaigns
against deforestation for new roads, by Australian activist Marita, to “give ’em a
few more ideas” (personal communication (letter), 11 February 1998). Let us now
examine in more depth some case studies from Australian environmental movements.
Women’s Influence on the Franklin River Blockade
In the successful 1980s struggle to preserve Tasmania’s iconic and wild Franklin River
from being dammed, many saw a strong feminist influence on the blockade’s methods
such as consensus decision-making, the use of affinity groups, and regular “sharings” to
deal with the emotional aspects of blockading (Browne cited in Blockaders, 1983,
p. 50). As is often the case in nonviolent campaigns, but rarely recognized in histories of
them, “a whole range of women took a pre-eminent role in organizing” (Brown cited in
Terry, 2013, p. 50). One arranged finance to buy a headquarters in Hobart, while another
led a group in opening a shop (Thompson, 1984, p. 105) which helped with the ever-
present problem of fundraising. Two women were the primary blockade organizers,
although one, Lilith (formerly Pam) Waud, confessed that it was all new: “we were
fiddling around in the dark” (cited in Terry, 2013, p. 51). Alice Hungerford agrees: “No-
one knew if it would work” as environmental blockading had only been tried once
before, at Terania Creek (cited in Starbridge, 2013, p. 43).
Campaign figurehead Bob Brown, an openly gay man in a hostile climate, put
women in positions of responsibility and gave them the confidence to succeed.
Cathie Plowman and Pam Waud ran the blockade headquarters in Strahan under
hostile conditions and with limited communications to the upriver blockade camp
and the Hobart office. Another woman initiated and organized a national tour for
Bob Brown. Evagreen Franklin would later recall that
258 M. Branagan
[W]e found our voice. We were guides, we drove boats, we did reconnaissance, we knew the
tracks, we read the maps, ran meetings, ran the communications, we liaised with police and
media, we cooked meals, minded children, dug toilets – and we got arrested in droves. (cited
in Hungerford, 2013, p. 231)
As a result of the gender-balanced dynamics, the campaign was well organized,

with fairly smooth personal dynamics among organizers. It lacked the machismo and
dangerous stunts with limited effectiveness that are common in more patriarchal
campaigns.
Lisa Yeates had been part of the radical and effective Nightcap Action Group
which had been urged to travel south to help at the Franklin, but was simultaneously
feared by the more conservative Tasmanian Wilderness Society. Yeates was an
essential part of the upriver camp, bringing expertise in blockade organization,
catering for a large, transient population, and living in a remote forest with minimal
resources. She also led the blockade’s music, which was ubiquitous and inspira-
tional. She had learnt at the earlier Terania and Nightcap protests the importance of
song for holding groups together, harnessing the energy of the group, and lifting or
changing moods. Alice Hungerford comments that:
The music had a far bigger role than just attracting attention: it helped us to deal with our
emotions. Whether it was to express the horror, or to calm things down, or to razz things up,
there was the whole gamut of emotions. (2013, p. 60)
I loved the camaraderie of singing. I loved encountering the voices . . . Down the long
years when I’m in despair about the state of the world, I’ll sing one of those songs –
‘Helicopters on the River’, ‘For a Walk in the Forest’. We should never forget to sing. Song
was a very important part of the action on the River – it was a powerful mood controller.
(Wren Fraser cited in Hungerford, 2013, p. 60)
Women’s Peace-Making
Another role of music was in calming people awaiting arrest, and in preventing tense
situations from becoming violent, as when 40 protestors, confronted in Strahan on
“G-Day” by 200 aggressive rock-throwing prodammers, spontaneously formed a
choir and sang nonthreatening music, accompanied by a lone woman guitarist. Jami
Bladel recalls that
They were going to attack the [TWS] shop. So we . . . just formed this group out the front, and
just sang, and sang, and sang. We went through every song we knew until they calmed down.
We just faced off this ready-to-riot angry mob and sang – held hands and sang, And they didn’t
attack – it was like they couldn’t attack singing people. After a while they dissipated. (cited in
Hungerford, 2013, p. 60; see also Waud in Blockaders, 1983, pp. 104–110)
Women’s Antinuclear Actions
After a violence-filled blockade of the Roxby Downs uranium mine in the South
Australian desert in 1983, women worked hard to create a more effective nonviolent
action the following year. This time there were comprehensive nonviolence workshops
involving discussions of theory, role-plays, and consensus decision-making practice.

They included a great deal of time expounding feelings, using “support groups to let off
steam, lots of group cuddles, and positive affirmations to balance the negativity that is
placed on people throughout their lives” (Theobold, 1984, p. 40). It was felt that
nonviolent practices needed to be instituted and affinity groups formed early, to deal
with the fraught environment predicted for Roxby II. Many women saw the nuclear
industry as being “inextricably linked to oppressive male power structures” and felt that
“it was extremely important for women to make distinct protests at Roxby” (Rigney,
1984, p. 13). An area of approximately 500 square meters was designated as a women’s
only space, for camping, meeting, and planning actions, such as women plugging a
mine-shaft with a 3-meter tampon emblazoned with messages such as “Womyn know
about hidden blood – plug the shaft – stop the cycle.” Another action involved four
women who walked to the pilot plant. Virginia Rigney wrote that:
These night actions had the potential to be seen as commando-style raids. Certainly the
straight media portrayed them in this fashion. The four of us decided that we wanted a
women’s only action to try and avoid such attitudes which we had seen being expressed by
some males at action planning meetings. (ibid)
The women had been determined to avoid any whiff of violence and held
vigorous debates over tactics before another action:
To plan this half-hour action we had three meetings which probably went for five hours over
a few days. At these, strong doubts were expressed by some women as to the validity of
doing a semi-violent action (i.e. pulling down a fence). Others did not see this as a violent
action, since it was not directed to an individual and we had only planned at that stage to
rattle the fence. Others saw that as women we could expose the fragility of such barriers by
taking direct actions. In the end we agreed that the action would have two aspects, that those
who wanted to be entirely peaceful could weave the cloth, and those that wanted to pull the
fence down, could. (ibid)
Although the Roxby campaign has still not succeeded in closing the mine, it
established networks and experience which led to a successful 1998 blockade of the
Jabiluka uranium mine proposal in the Northern Territory. This blockade was unique
in that, for the first time, a major Australian environmental blockade was led by
Aboriginal people. The primary spokespeople were both women – Jacqui Katona
from the Gundjhemi Aboriginal Corporation, and traditional owner Yvonne
Margarula, who achieved international attention when she was arrested for “tres-
pass” on her own land (Hintjens, 2000). Jarrah Schmach was highly critical,
however, of alleged sexual assaults and harassment of women by two men at the
blockade, as well as inaction and even blocking of action to deal with the issues.
How can we create a safe or peaceful world in the face of this kind of blatant sexism . . . I
mean the attitudes that come out of the mouths of many – male and female – saying that
‘we’re here to protest, not deal with this shit’ and delay discuss ignore. (Schmah, 1998b)
When people tried to exclude the alleged offenders, they were denigrated as being
“out for blood” or “lesbian conspiracy” types. Yet, a nonsexist approach is essential,
260 M. Branagan
because “sexist attitudes and ignorance about sexism are root causes of the environ-
mental crisis” (ibid). Sexism, racism, and other forms of social oppression are not
separate from global problems of environmental destruction and militarism but
mutually inclusive; none can be solved in
Isolation: “an ecological politics will be grounded in the world of everyday life, and it will
accept that all humans — masculine/feminine, white/black, young/old — are simply nature
in embodied form” (Salleh, 2014, p. 36).
Women in Forest Blockades
1990s antilogging blockades in northern NSW were led by the North East Forest
Alliance (NEFA), which used innovative forms of action later termed “active
resistance,” involving people using metal devices to lock onto large tripods or
pipes buried in the ground (see Doyle, 2000, p. 58; Branagan, 2013, pp. 111–142).
This was a radical departure from the orthodox or Gandhian nonviolence that
dominated the action philosophies of mainstream environmental organizations at
the time. The approach proved enormously successful and according to NEFA
organizer Aidan Ricketts the blockades led directly to the resignation of the NSW
Education Minister, and later to that of the Premier, and to groundbreaking endan-
gered species legislation (Ricketts, 2003, pp. 126–127). At the cost of many hun-
dreds of arrests, NEFA has preserved approximately 1,376,507 hectares of forest
(Daley, 2018), as well as having an important effect on the social and cultural life of
the region, by teaching skills and providing people with homes, community, and
purpose. Official recognition was given only, however, to Dailan Pugh and John
Corkhill with their Order of Australia awards. This is despite the fact that women
were heavily involved in all the campaigns, and some blockades were run largely by
women. For example, Georgia Beyer and Emma Kirsner were the main coordinators
of a successful blockade of Mistake State Forest, now part of Dunggir National Park,
while Megan Edwards was the inspirational driving force behind the successful
Mummel Gulf blockade, now Mummel Gulf National Park (Branagan, 2013,
pp. 93–95). None of these women received awards (although one NEFA woman,
“Black Carrie,” was the subject of a Penelope Swales song).
More Women’s Peacemaking
Criticisms were made that NEFA, despite its egalitarian rhetoric, was patriarchal,
macho and hierarchical – led by the “NEFA nonhierarchy,” as some put
it. Nonviolence was not well articulated, and attempts to raise its profile and
introduce training were ridiculed. One consequence was unnecessary conflict with
farmers who were potential allies, and a sabotage incident which ended a blockade.
Nevertheless, at Wollumbin, women featured in an extraordinary peacemaking
action of 40 women,
when a crowd of angry loggers approached the remote, unpoliced blockade. In this danger-
ous situation, the women quickly organized themselves for action. They ordered the men to
remove ourselves, and walked down the dirt road to confront the loggers. The latter, faced
with determined yet diplomatic women, departed shortly afterwards, and the situation was
defused. It had been a powerful and effective women’s action to prevent violence and
maintain the blockade. Elsewhere, similar confrontations had taken much longer to end, or
resulted in a riot. (Branagan, 2013, p. 99; see also Cohen, 1997, p. 188)
Because of the lack of nonviolence training, some activists tended to increase

rather than neutralize tensions with opponents and third parties such as farmers.
Although many applied nonviolence principles in trying to converse with or reach
compromise solutions with others, there was often a vocal minority who saw them as
irredeemable enemies to be triumphed over, and with nothing in common. When
women assumed the prime NEFA coordination roles, nonviolence was much better
articulated. Training sessions were organized, and an action where activists medi-
tated in the middle of an occupation of Coffs Harbour’s State Forests offices
involved both direct action and a gentler, more spiritual aspect (Rosenhek, 2002).
Women also worked hard to reduce violence in WA blockades, according to
Nandi Chinna (2018):
As a result of attacks by locals on the forest rescue camp at Wattle Block and other acts of
violence, two local Manjimup women from different sides of the forest debate organized a
gathering in Manjimup to promote zero tolerance for violence in the community. Shirley
Curo whose husband worked in the timber industry commented that, “I could have wept
when I heard about the business out at Wattle. No problems are solved with violence. It
achieves absolutely nothing.”
Women’s Climate Actions
Recent activism against coal seam gas (CSG) in inland Australia has been led by a
lock-on by “Green grandmother” Pat Schultz (Harris, 2014), who has also run for
parliament and leads frequent environmental education tours to the Pilliga, while
Carmel Flint left a promising career as a scientist with the National Parks and
Wildlife Service because she saw it as too politically controlled, too compromised,
and too favorable to industry, particularly logging. Arrested several times, including
spending more than 7 hours locked to a truck in over 40 degree heat (Nugent, 2014),
she has been joined in civil disobedience against CSG and coal by local farmers such
as Ros Druce (2014), while Nicola Paris from the organization CounterAct
(counteract.org.au) has trained many people in effective nonviolent methods for
these actions. Activist journalist Margo Kingston has both been arrested and covered
the blockades:
[I]f someone doesn’t go down on the ground and embed then it's not reported. I think my
Twitter reporting over the last three times I’ve been at Leard Blockade has been a real
eye-opener about who's coming and who’s interested and who’s prepared to put their body
262 M. Branagan
on the line for climate change. Before that, the other side has been able to get away with
saying, ‘They’re all feral dole bludgers.’ (Duncan, 2014)
The most effective campaign to date against unconventional gas extraction has
been at Bentley, NSW, which succeeded despite opposing a wealthy corporation,
Metgasco, supported by a Coalition state government widely believed to be in the
pocket of such corporations, and which was planning to send in 800 riot police to
quell the rising tide of civil disobedience and noncooperation (Broome, 2015).
Organizer Aidan Ricketts argues that this unprecedented coalescence of Aboriginal
traditional owners, farmers, and environmentalists is the fastest-growing social
movement in Australian history, with many women involved:
In general the movement consisted of older, often retired people and amongst this demo-
graphic in particular women were much more common than men. The ‘Knitting Nannas’
was one prominent specialist autonomous group consisting almost entirely of women.
(Ricketts 2018, interview)
Ricketts acknowledges that it has very strong and visible women in leadership,
such as sisters Carmel Flint and Boudicca Ceres who were the main campaign
coordinators. Other women organized the lock-ons “at the coal-face,” as well as
being involved with food, childcare, media and police liaison, health, and sanitation.
Morning alerts were unlike the militaristic, panicked mornings of earlier, more
patriarchal blockades, turning into invigorating sunrise yoga rituals with music.
Campaigner Amanda King observed that “By the end of the blockade, school
teachers were bringing their classes down to see the camp and discuss the issues”
(cited in Hinman, 2014). Sue Stock, deputy editor of the Nimbin Good Times,
claimed that Metgasco’s license suspension was a “historic moment,” ranking it
alongside the Franklin Dam victory and the 10-year community campaign that
contributed to finally ending Australia’s involvement in the Vietnam War (Hinman,
2014). The blockade’s strategic brains included Annie Kia:
Annie Kia, whilst not so visible to the public coordinated both the capacity builders group
which was a brains trust enabling the emergence of the mass movement and also
co-ordinated the gasfield free communities process. Kia also introduced others to complexity
theory as an approach to social movement work so she was very influential and also was
eventually snapped up by LTG [Lock the Gate alliance] to roll our gasfield-free communities
nationwide. (ibid)
Kia brought concepts from the health sciences into movement organizing, view-
ing movements as complex adaptive systems which are best when self-organized
rather than led hierarchically and with fixed outcomes. Different leadership styles are
accommodated to allow order as well as spontaneity and flexibility, while empow-
erment of large groups is encouraged. This system avoids some of the issues of past
movements, wherein as groups became formalized and some hierarchical roles were
created, these roles tended to be filled by men (though there was perhaps less sexism
than in mainstream society) (Gaard, 1998, pp. 168–169). Rodda (cited in Schmah,
1998a, p. 30) recommends affirmative action and other strategies (like separate
meetings for women) which can ensure that women’s voices do not become drowned
out by men’s.
The blockade was supported by Danielle Mulholland, Mayor of Kyogle, who
occupied a tripod at Bentley, and by Jenny Dowell, Mayor of Lismore, despite her
concerns: “The NSW Police had told the NSW government that it should expect two
or three casualties as part of Operation Stapler. That was keeping many people,
including me, awake at night” (Hinman, 2014). Blockade spokesperson Elly Bird
was later elected to Lismore Council.
The region has been notable for the prominence of women in the Australian
Greens, such as Jan Barham, who in 2004 became the first Greens mayor to be
popularly elected, and later was elected to the NSW Legislative Assembly (Echo,
2016). In 2015, Tamara Smith gained the state seat of Ballina after it had been held
for 27 years by the conservative National Party (Cormack, 2015). The local Greens’
commitment to both gender equity and youth empowerment saw Kudra Falla-
Ricketts, at 19 years old, the youngest candidate contesting the 2016 federal election
(Turnbull, 2016). Katie Milne was returned for the third time as the Mayor of Tweed
Council in the 2018 election, with the environment, flood recovery, and combating
climate change at the top of her list of priorities: “We must stop this archaic practice
of logging our magnificent forests, selling off our precious groundwater, and letting
developers continue to build unsustainable buildings” (Brennan, 2018).
NEFA’s Sue Higginson became a public interest lawyer working for the NSW
Environmental Defenders Office (EDO), eventually becoming CEO of that organi-
zation. Scathing of the regulatory systems in place for NSW forests, however, she
recently resigned, announcing her intention to run for parliament:
I’ve tried so hard on the ground with direct action campaigning, lobbying in parliament and
fighting in the courts. But I’ve got children and grandchildren now and when I see these
reckless politicians playing with coal in Parliament and laughing like it’s just hilarious, that
makes me go ‘right you guys, move out of the way. You’ve taken up too much air’. That’s
why it’s politics for me now. (cited in Daley, 2018)
From Protest to Planting
One phenomenon worth observing is how many women have moved away from
protest and into permaculture or Earth repair work. Environmental activism and
engaging in permaculture can be considered two sides of the one coin of nonviolence.
One side is resistance, protest, and persuasion that opposes ecologically violent prac-
tices such as old growth logging, uranium mining, and resource-intensive, polluting
monocultural agribusiness, with related actions including noncooperation with and
boycotts of those practices. On the other side is the constructive program of building
superior, alternative practices such as permaculture, the positive aspect of nonviolence
– a “Yes” which balances the “No” of protest and resistance.
Former NEFA blockade coordinators Georgia Beyer and Emma Kirsner are now
involved in biodiversity conservation and weed eradication, respectively, while their
264 M. Branagan
comrade Struan Ferguson, who initiated the successful Styx Forest blockade, has
been Secretary of the Armidale Tree Group (a not-for-profit NGO which sells native
trees and vegetable seedlings to the public and supports large-scale rehabilitation
projects), and is now Project Manager with Southern New England Landcare
(personal communication, 19 December 2018). She has also been President of the
Citizens Wildlife Corridor, an organization begun by Kath Wray, a woman now in
her 90s who has also worked since the 1950s with local unions to improve the living
conditions of local Aboriginal people (interview 2018) (Long-term activist with the
National Parks Association Lynne Hosking has written a poem about Kath [personal
communication (email), 6 December 2018]).
Wilderness preservationist in the 1990s, Belinda Nano, now teaches permaculture at
the local Steiner school and helped decorate Armidale’s Community Garden, which is
run primarily by Jo Leoni (see Leoni, 2018). Rainforest activists Paula Vermunt and
Sharon Gibson have also moved from protest to permaculture, with Vermunt
establishing a rainforest nursery in Uki (Vermunt, 2018) and Gibson now an award-
winning permaculture and sustainability trainer and project coordinator with a passion
for urban farming, local food projects, and community gardens, who experiments with
food preserving, dwarf milking goats, and cooking with unusual plants (Byron Com-
munity College, n.d.). Kathlyn Brown was a member of the Melbourne Rainforest
Action Group as well as campaigns against uranium mining, a proposed Nuclear Waste
Repository in South Australia, and logging of East Gippsland forests. She later joined a
progressive community in Nimbin, practiced conservation on 2 acres for 13 years but is
selling it in consideration of the number of families waiting to live in the area (Burrowes
et al., 2018). Women in Black activist Bea Bleile, who has also been involved in refugee
advocacy with Socialist Alliance, instigated rehabilitation of Armidale’s Dumaresq
Creek through “guerilla plantings” after years of council inaction. Barbara Finch is rare
in that her decades of eco-feminist, peace, and social justice activism was recognized
through an Order of Australia award (Northern Daily Leader, 2015); she too engages in
urban food gardening and bush restoration.
This connection has also occurred in the other direction. That is, a great deal of
nonviolent action has also sprung from permaculture communities. For example, the
“Rainbow Region” of Northern NSW houses many permaculture farms as well as
the Permaculture College Australia, run by the award-winning Robyn Francis, who
conducted with Bill Mollison the first Permaculture Design Course in India, at the
Central University of Hyderabad in 1987 (Agarwal, 2017). The Rainbow Region is
“the largest countercultural community in the Southern hemisphere,” and intentional
communities which engage in permaculture, such as Dharmananda, Serendipity, and
Tuntable Falls, have been the homes of many environmental activists. The region
was the site of some of the world’s first direct actions against rainforest logging at
Terania Creek, beginning at the Rainforest Nursery of Nan and Hugh Nicholson.
With parallels with the Chipko women, the Terania actions involved women and
men taking direct action against loggers after years of lobbying had failed, and their
success has been influential globally (Bible, 2017). The region is recently famous for
the successful Bentley blockade, discussed above, which involved experienced
activists from intentional communities such as Toonumbah’s Che Guava.
Conclusion
In conclusion, it is evident that women have been highly engaged in a wide variety of
forms of nonviolent environmental action, including protest-oriented activism such
as blockades at the Franklin River, at Roxby Downs, and the north east forests of
NSW. While it is important to avoid essentialist attitudes that confine women to
particular roles, it is worth noting that women have often played peacemaking and
strategic roles, helping to make nonviolent actions more effective, peaceful, and
attractive to a diversity of people. Nor have these women been confined to one
particular role, often moving between them as their life circumstances change or they
see particular needs or issues arising. Many moved from activism to the constructive,
alternative-building actions of permaculture practitioners, earthcare teachers, and
advocates, while some activism arose out of permaculture communities. Common to
all these women is that they rarely took on prominent political positions, were well
remunerated for their work, or gained widespread recognition in the media or history
books. This chapter has aimed to shine some light on their achievements.
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Satire and the Public Sphere: Ethics
and Poetics, Reverse Discourses, 14
Satiractivism
James E. Caron
Contents
Satire Today . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 272
Truthiness and Simulacra . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 277
Comic Parrhesia . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 278
The Strategy of Reverse Discourse . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 279
Satiractivism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 280
The Problem of Ridicule in the Name of Reform . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 285
Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 287
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 288
Abstract
The premise for this chapter is as follows: Dr. King’s idea of a productive tension
within a community bears a marked similarity to Jürgen Habermas’s notion of a
public sphere in which debate is necessary for social progress. A rational debate
carried on by free citizens – what Habermas calls “communicative rationality” –
is the necessary discursive milieu for achieving the goal of a positive peace,
namely, the presence of justice. This chapter presents satire as the comic mode
that supplements the communicative rationality of the public sphere. Satire is thus
the sign of the comic public sphere. Using concepts borrowed from J. L. Austin’s
theory of speech acts, this chapter argues for the recent presence of a new version
of satire, satiractivism, which entails a particularly robust presentation of satire’s
inherent intent to promote social reform. The digitized public sphere of contem-
porary culture therefore contains a significant segment of satire that resists, even
as it resides, in a postmodern condition, a segment mixing irony and earnestness
to create a hybrid structure of affect. That aesthetic of “truthiness satire” often
employs a strategy of reverse discourse to achieve a comic parrhesia while
J. E. Caron (*)
University of Hawaiʽi at Mānoa, Honolulu, HI, USA
e-mail: caron@hawaii.edu
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_14
272 J. E. Caron
navigating satire’s ethically fraught enterprise: wielding ridicule in the name of

positive peace.
Keywords
Comic public sphere · Comic parrhesia · Satire · Satiractivism · Speech act
theory · Silly citizen · Truthiness
In his famous “Letter from the Birmingham Jail,” written in the midst of the Civil
Rights movement, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. argued that his strategy of nonviolent
direct action had as its first goal the fomenting of a crisis – tension within a
community – in order that negotiation to confront the issue at hand could be initiated.
Dr. King was specific about the kind of tension he had in mind: “I have earnestly
opposed violent tension, but there is a type of constructive, nonviolent tension which
is necessary for growth” (King, 1994, p. 7). I want to suggest as a premise for this
chapter that Dr. King’s idea of a tension necessary for growth bears a marked
similarity to Jürgen Habermas’s notion of a public sphere in which debate is
necessary for social progress in a democratic polity. The tension within a rational
debate carried on by free citizens – what Habermas calls “communicative rational-
ity” – is the necessary discursive milieu for achieving the second goal of nonviolent
direct action, “a positive peace, which is the presence of justice” (King, 1994, p. 16).
Positive peace means not only the absence of violence but also the constructive
unwinding of conflict. Positive peace means that citizens have a say in the resolution
of conflict, without constraint and with respectful attention to the legitimate needs of
all concerned.
If the concept of a public sphere names the discursive space within which
constructive tension can function as a potential energy that powers a process of
communicative rationality leading to social justice, satire should be understood as
the sign of a supplement to that process, the comic public sphere. In what follows, I
will present satire as the comic mode that supplements in laughter-inducing fashion
the communicative rationality of the public sphere. Moreover, using concepts
borrowed from J. L. Austin’s theory of speech acts, I will argue for the recent
presence of a new version of satire, satiractivism, which entails a particularly robust
presentation of satire’s inherent intent to promote social reform.
Satire Today
Satire has become the most ubiquitous of comic modes in the twenty-first century.
Satire in the United States is not just surviving but thriving in a new cultural and
aesthetic moment, given the unrivaled ascendency of Jon Stewart, Stephen Colbert,
Bill Maher, Samantha Bee, and John Oliver as pop culture satirists. The popularity of
comic work by Tina Fey, Amy Poehler, and Amy Schumer, for example, like the
2016 addition of Samantha Bee’s Full Frontal (TBS) to the weekly line-up of
14 Satire and the Public Sphere: Ethics and Poetics, Reverse Discourses,. . . 273
broadcast shows, indicates the strength of gender-inflected satire. Larry Wilmore’s

The Nightly Show (Comedy Central, 2015–2016) briefly brought an African Amer-
ican sensibility to the broadcast scene memorably expressed earlier by Chappelle’s
Show (Comedy Central, 2003–2006) and more recently by Key & Peele (Comedy
Central, 2012–2015). Trevor Noah’s current version of The Daily Show (Comedy
Central, 2015–present) features an international as well as person of color’s satiric
point of view, enabled by Noah’s South African background. When Jordan
Klepper’s show, The Opposition (2017–2018), was added to this formidable line-
up, it indicated Comedy Central’s basic belief that satire continues to sell.
These examples suggest an unprecedented diversity to accompany satire’s
unprecedented visibility. A survey of satire in a stand-up format would easily
elaborate this televisual hint of its ubiquity and reach in popular culture (Krefting,
2014; Mizejewski, 2014). The literary scene over the past decade or so offers a long
list of writers, some more well-known than others, working in comic modes – Paul
Beatty, Alison Bechdel, Robert Coover, Lydia Davis, Amy Hempel, Chuck
Palahniuk, Guy Portman, Thomas Pynchon, Phoebe Robinson, George Saunders,
David Sederis, David Foster Wallace, Alexander Weinstein, Colson Whitehead,
Gerald Vizenor – to round out this picture of satire’s robust presence in contempo-
rary American culture, what Rachel Caufield and Rob King have called a new
golden age of satire (Caufield, 2008; King, 2012; cf. Freedman, 2012; Smith,
2015; The Point Magazine, 2017).
Outside the United States, satire also thrives, if two relatively recent collections of
essays on the subject are indicators. Satire and Politics: The Interplay of Heritage
and Practice (Davis, 2017) presents an Anglophone perspective, with commentary
on English and Australian as well as American satire, while The Power of Satire
(Drees & de Leeuw, 2015) presents a multicontinent view, with essays on British,
Italian, Dutch, French, German, Spanish, Egyptian, Dubaian, Kuwaiti, Tunisian, and
Moroccan satire. These examples chart the transnational public sphere in which
satire today necessarily operates, necessarily because the impulse to ridicule in artful
ways to promote reforms in the body politic appears to be embedded in any human
culture.
The ubiquity of satire has occurred, in part, via the newest mass medium, the
Internet, with its progeny YouTube, a video world unto itself. Podcasts and stream-
ing take their place as new formats in older media, existing alongside social media
platforms that have a potential for comic presentation.
Not only is satire a thriving aesthetic as well as commercial enterprise, not only
has it of late asserted itself as a notable force within the public sphere, but some
satiric efforts have ratcheted up public sphere involvement with a turn toward an
overt activism, a turn that threatens to blur the basic distinction between satire’s
function as comic political speech and actual political speech. This turn toward what
Sophia McClennen and Remy Maisel (2014) have called “satiractivism” has altered
what we might expect from contemporary satire, transforming at least sections of it
to a laudatory effort to engage citizens not just in the ongoing conversation that
constitutes a living democratic society, but demanding participation in civic affairs to
alter public policy on specific issues. Satiractivism directly insists that citizens
274 J. E. Caron
exercise their most basic rights of free speech and access to the ballot box. Thus,
satire understood as comic political speech apparently metamorphoses into political
speech routinely in its satiractivist strain. More precisely, satire as a kind of comic
activism presents itself as a rhetorical monster, part public sphere essay, and part
comic public sphere jokes and insults.
Defined most broadly, satire names a comic mode lodged within the discourse
that constitutes The Comic, a discourse in which all comic artifacts, formal and
informal, function as comic speech acts, that is, as a subset of J. L. Austin’s claim
(1962) that fiction is parasitic speech, not full normal speech, with the usual rules of
reference suspended. Within The Comic, then, satire has the baseline status of a
particular comic mode. As I have argued elsewhere, The Comic is “the domain of the
laughable, encompassing not just the artifacts of fine arts and literature as well as the
theory, commentary, and analyses of them, but also a manifold of everyday behav-
iors – such as banter, teasing, joking relationships – in the service of producing a
specific behavior: comic laughter (Caron, 2014, p. 22). Laugh-out-loud laughter
need not be produced to qualify a particular example as part of The Comic, an issue I
address in Caron (2020). Moreover, satire functions as comic political speech, that is,
satire conceptualized as a particular kind of speech act functions as a comic supple-
ment to the public sphere in order to effect metanoia, a change in thinking,
perception, or belief, even a repentance of the old way of thinking, perceiving,
believing. Satire operates as a comic public sphere because any specific instance of
satire has an intent to promote discussion and debate and thus encourage the
possibility of a civic reform that enables positive peace.
Satire as a specific kind of comic speech act manifests two structuring paradoxes.
First is its dual nature of being both serious and nonserious speech, referencing
actual events, issues, and people but with comic techniques. This duality enables
satire’s potential for real-world social impact well beyond other forms of comic
artifacts, despite the postmodern condition that continues to mark the present cultural
and aesthetic moment. Second is its methodological paradox: committed ethically to
promote the process of social change, yet also committed comically to use the
symbolic violence of ridicule and artful insult. Thus, the enterprise of producing
satire is always ethically fraught. Moreover, the postmodern condition exacerbates
the dilemma of how to construct an ethical ridicule. This dilemma has concerned
Western thought for centuries, and postmodernity’s apparent lack of centering norms
or standard values for making comic judgments inevitably complicates the contem-
porary production and reception of satire. Satire’s paradoxical nature as a comic
(nonserious) speech act that is nevertheless also serious has an analogy to the way
that light behaves in a quantum state, as both wave and particle. Satire paradoxically
behaving as both serious and nonserious speech causes confusion about how to
judge its efficacy. That confusion registers as a particularly notable problem when
examining examples of satiractivism.
Within the contemporary cultural scene, a significant segment of contemporary
satire resists, even as it resides, in a postmodern condition, a segment mixing irony
and earnestness to create a hybrid structure of affect. This structure retains the
postmodern problematic of unstable representation, but supplements it with an
undaunted belief in creative rescripting. The process establishes a discourse of comic

parrhesia (speaking truth to power) meant to substitute localized narratives and
truths for socially or philosophically outdated meta-narratives and transcendental
truths. Call this discourse of contemporary comic parrhesia truthiness satire. Ste-
phen Colbert originally coined “truthiness” as a mocking reference to the discourse
of divisive partisanship that signifies an antipublic sphere. Truthiness satire acknowl-
edges the corrosive nature of fake news and conspiracy theories to the public sphere
while at the same time insisting on its own civic engagement. Truthiness satire often
has the structure of a reverse discourse (Foucault, 1978; cf. Bhabha, 1994; Selim,
2014; Walker, 1988), rescripting antipublic sphere discourse into comic public
sphere discourse.
As a specific mode of comic speech, satire represents the surplus that exceeds
serious communication, a surplus meant to generate a particular kind of fun, what I
call a–musement, that is, a pleasurable reflection on the civic issue at hand. Though one
of the first dictionary meanings for “amuse” is “entertain,” other synonyms and related
words include “consider,” “contemplate,” “ponder,” and “meditate.” Comic laughter
engendered by satire, then, entails two steps for the audience: be entertained but then be
thoughtful about the critique embedded in the satire. As Stephen Colbert said during an
appearance on stage at Michael Moore’s one-man Broadway play, The Terms of My
Surrender: “‘When you’re laughing, you’re not afraid, and if you’re not afraid you can
think.’ Referring to the Trump presidency and his concept of truthiness, he [Colbert]
added: ‘We felt our way into this thing, and we have to think our way out of it’” (Tumin,
2017, para. 9). Satire as a comic mode, then, has a double aim.
Satire has a double aim because its basic elements of play, aggression, critique,
and laughter create its paradoxical structure: both serious and nonserious speech,
which enables a potential for social impact well beyond other forms of comic art. In
effect, satire can function as comic political speech, but it is not, strictly speaking,
political speech per se. Satire’s intent to aid in reforming the body politic through
ridicule, its claim to pursue truth as an act of parrhesia, even its apparent real world
impact, does not place it into the realm of the serious speech acts of policy statements
and civic actions. Nevertheless, the concept of satiractivism blurs that distinction,
suggesting more paradox (cf. Caron, 2021).
Colbert’s “truthiness” concept characterizes the postmodern version of satire’s
paradoxical ontology: a carnival of discourse, a mashup of fact and fiction, what
Geoffrey Baym (2005, p. 262) has called “discursive integration.” The new com-
munication platforms of social media have been particularly conspicuous sites for
this mashing-up or blurring of genres. Baym describes his concept as
a way of speaking about, understanding, and acting within the world defined by the perme-
ability of form and the fluidity of content. Discourses of news, politics, entertainment, and
marketing have grown deeply inseparable; the languages and practices of each have lost their
distinctiveness and are being melded into previously unimagined combinations. (p. 262)
Discursive integration can be read as another symptom of a postmodern condi-

tion, a consequence of rejecting meta-narratives and settled conceptual boundaries.
276 J. E. Caron
Baym’s concept of discursive integration underscores the complicated production of

satire within the contemporary cultural scene: the satirist’s voice reaches audiences
via the farrago of news, politics, entertainment, and marketing, as though conceptual
sound-tracks that discriminate discourses and boost signal-to-noise ratio cannot be
found. Jon Stewart’s portmanteau “info-enter-propa-gainment” (Caufield, 2008,
p. 4) also names this phenomenon of smudged or swirled-together discourses, a
phenomenon that has become prominent in the wake of cable channels appearing
since the 1980s. Moreover, the Internet has accelerated discursive integration, with
the examples of YouTube, Instagram, and Twitter as obvious twenty-first-century
sites for a grass-roots satire of the demos.
Given that the public sphere as Jürgen Habermas (1989) defined it had its
foundation in new spaces of social communication enabled by print technology,
clearly today’s digital technology has again created new spaces for social commu-
nication: the digital public sphere is the Enlightened Public Sphere, 2.0 (Melton,
2001, p. 4). Axel Bruns (2008) posits new digital spaces as public spheres that
challenge the standard mass-mediated (think print and TV) idea of a modern public
sphere by including bloggers and citizen journalists, for example, as new creators of
Habermas’s virtual stage that is the digitized public sphere (cf. Warner, 2005;
Roberts, 2014). Innovative communication technology once again mediates the
public sphere.
Even in the 1980s, Jean-François Lyotard understood these technological changes
as part of the process of re-writing modernity, a process he understands as consti-
tuting postmodernity. Bits have transformed from free forms of thinking or imagi-
nation to bytes, “units of information conceived by computing engineering . . . [and]
put together and made into a system” (1987, p. 9). Not just writing but all forms of
inscription in any medium – sounds, speeches, and music as well as visual images –
are subject to this machine systematizing. Lyotard resists saying that the resulting
communication system amounts to a network of simulacra, as Jean Baudrillard
claims (1994), but the potential can be easily glimpsed. Alan Kirby (2009) reiterated
Lyotard’s insistence on computerization as the most pertinent material fact for
postmodernity after the advent of television, dubbing the new phase
“digimodernism”: “The forms of Web 2.0 [wikis, blogs, social-networking, open-
source, open-content, file-sharing, peer production] are the most globally important
cultural development of the twenty-first century so far, and they lie at the heart of
digimodernism as we currently know it” (p. 101).
While digimodernism as a specific element of postmodern aesthetics helps to
frame the current production of satire in the United States in the early twenty-first
century, the public sphere as a feature of democracy continues its demand that
citizens remain informed on the issues of the day. Thus, good citizenship requires
good information. For the print culture of the original public sphere of the eighteenth
century, the emerging marketplace of news sheets provided a basis for obtaining that
information, and in England in particular, the coffee house provided the physical
space for discussing and debating issues implied and evoked by the news. For the
digimodernism of the Public Sphere 2.0, social media, broadcast and cablecast
media, as well as print, provide the virtual spaces.
Such participation does not just indicate digimodernism; it also implies a new
kind of citizen, instantly mobile and ready to coalesce into consensus, with a
postmodern penchant for irony and parody. Citizenship in that new public sphere,
then, has morphed, according to John Hartley (2010), who posits the concept of
“silly citizenship.” The silly citizen thinks of comic art – satire – as “the go-to source
for civic understanding” (p. 241). His concept of the silly citizen focuses on
teenagers, the most likely denizens of the planets in the social media solar system
such as YouTube, Instagram, and Twitter.
Hartley understands citizenship as a discursive practice that evolves, and he
develops a typology of citizenship in historical moments, though he says that in
the current postmodern moment all of these types can be experienced at once. The
key for my purposes is the last in his list, the Do It Yourself (DIY)/Do It With Others
(DIWO) model. Citizenship at this level thus manifests as a kind of consumer
productivity and exhibits affinities with Alan Digby’s concept of digimodernism:
choice-based affiliations and self-organized associations that create a silly citizen-
ship are tapped out by nimble digits on keyboards. Individuals proclaim their
citizenship rights in social-network markets.
Digital technologies enable ordinary folks to self-represent as citizens in ways not
possible before, and Hartley emphasizes the role of (children’s) play or silliness in
those self-representations. The silly citizen puts Michael Schudson’s idea of the
informed citizen into a comic mode. In Schudson’s model, citizenship is expressed
as “an individualised, private, rational calculus, based on objective information
conveyed by a dispassionate press to a reading public that is also the Republic”
(Hartley, 2010, p. 236) – in short, the citizen in Habermas’s public sphere. “Silly
citizenship” indicates the discourse that articulates the comic public sphere, and the
single most visible mode for that discourse is satire – the sign of the comic public
sphere.
Truthiness and Simulacra
The challenge for silly citizenship within the Enlightened Public Sphere 2.0: the
digital public sphere appears already corrupted into the regime of truthiness. Satire
placed within the public sphere as its comic supplement, when viewed from the long
historical perspective since the Enlightenment, underscores the crucial civic quality
of accurate information and the narrative form generally called news. The crucial
role of news narratives anchored the eighteenth-century version of the public sphere
first identified by Habermas; moreover, that role has continued into the twenty-first
century’s version. However, under the pressure of digital technologies, the word
news today does not necessarily signify a factual basis for reasoned debate, but rather
indicates a contested site in which counter-narratives circulate and political spin
doctors offer so-called alternative facts. Websites such as Breibart and Infowars
routinely construct narratives about current events to counter traditional news out-
lets, which have been tagged scornfully as “the mainstream media.” A White House
aide, Kellyanne Conway (2016), famously used the phrase “alternative facts” to
278 J. E. Caron
describe the spin of Sean Spicer, the White House press secretary, in his first briefing
Similar is Rudy Giuliani’s statement in reaction to CNN’s Chris Cuomo’s assertion
that “facts are not in the eye of the beholder.” “Yes, they are,” Giuliani said.
“Nowadays they are” (Morin & Cohen, 2018). Politics in the US – adversarial and
dominated by television performances – often shows the same desire to push
counter-narratives to support alternative facts. For example, in April 2018, a handful
of House Republicans wrote a letter to the Department of Justice demanding the
prosecutions of Hillary Clinton and other Democrats to match the Russia investiga-
tion by special counsel Robert Mueller and the FBI. As Matthew Yglesias (2018) put
it, “The point here is almost certainly not to generate any actual prosecutions so
much as it is to try to muddy the waters in the media.” News as a reference to
reporting events now signifies not just a range of newspapers and broadcasts or
cablecasts on TV, radio, and online, but a discursive space in which alternate realities
compete. There could hardly be a better example of consequences implied in Jean-
François Lyotard’s (1984) famous dictum about the delegitimizing of metanarratives
that characterizes the postmodern condition. In his analysis, the question now asked
about knowledge by “the State or institutions of higher education is no longer ‘Is it
true?’ but ‘What use is it?’” (p. 51). This shift in attitude about knowledge presents
the fundamental problem for news reporting and thus the public sphere, for “use” can
be turned any number of ways by the doctrine of alternative facts dispensed by spin
doctors and public relations experts. Arguably, the most (in)famous and far-reaching
example of alternative facts to create a false narrative that circulates in the public
sphere is climate denial funded by oil companies.
The doctrine of alternative facts mounts a potentially deadly challenge to the idea
of consensus built into Habermas’s public sphere, for it attacks the Enlightenment’s
basic narrative of progress both scientific and social. The danger arises by exchang-
ing the meaning of consensus as an agreement reached through dialogue and among
free agents with reasoning intellects, for a consensus extracted from a media
ecosystem that can be harnessed to political and economic institutions only inter-
ested in maintaining and improving performance, that is, in service to power. If
enough people circulate those alternative facts and the conspiracies they foster, what
Jean Baudrillard (1994) calls a “simulacra” of public sphere consensus appears.
Comic Parrhesia
To qualify as parrhesia, statements must entail risk for the speaker and must be frank
rather than rhetorical (i.e., the speaker must be stating his or her belief, not just
arguing a position to persuade), and the speaker must consider such truth-telling as a
citizen’s duty. Prominent pop culture satirists like Stephan Colbert or Bill Maher
may not qualify for status as parrhesiastes in the ideal manner of ancient Greece;
after all, the parameter of corporate sponsorship always remains in place. Neverthe-
less, in this current climate of social media activism, repercussions from the public
sphere can be immediate and consequential. Colbert experienced such pushback
with the #CancelColbert initiative in 2014, and Maher had his show Politically
Incorrect cancelled by ABC in 2002. In another broadcast arena away from satire,
Laura Ingraham in 2018 had numerous sponsor withdrawals from her Fox News
show for her statements about immigration detention centers and for mocking over
Twitter a survivor of the Parkland, Florida, school shooting. Similarly, NBC fired
Megyn Kelly in 2018 for defending the practice of blackface. In effect, these events
signify digital debate within the public sphere.
Satire publicly channels dissent, and its relationship to power very often presents
resistance and subversion, though satire can also support a status quo. Commentators
frequently deploy metaphors of contesting or pushing back against social norms in
analyses of all comic material because an irreducible element of unruliness powers
comic art and comic laughter. Hence, the common refrain that proper satire always
punches up.
When we contemplate the notion of truthiness ranged against the speaking-truth-
to power demand of parrhesia, the postmodern exhibits its own form of engaged
attitude with the untruth of alternative facts; that engagement remains necessarily
tricky because Enlightenment attitudes about truth have been rewritten by the
postmodern condition. Truthiness satire does not claim that Truth exists, but in
effect it decides what to do with a degenerative satire’s exposure of the problematic,
maybe impossible, nature of a universal Truth (Weisenburger, 1995). Truthiness
satire thus incorporates the instability of the postmodern sign into its poetics yet
claims a generative function for its art. Truth still matters, but truthiness satire locates
it in new ways, in the local forms of reverse discourses, maybe in particular within
comic inversions of racial and gender stereotypes, in a bid to insist on the postmod-
ern dictum of respect for all differences.
What the trajectory of satire’s recent history within The (postmodern) Comic
points toward in the contemporary scene is a reality TV president, fake news, and
alternative facts. Truthiness satire in mock news formats, what I will trace with
categories derived from speech act theory, represents comic pushback, that is,
laughable parrhesia.
The Strategy of Reverse Discourse
I have suggested that satire in a postmodern aesthetic, what I have elsewhere (Caron,
2016, 2021) called truthiness satire, has the structure of a reverse discourse, that is,
such satire displays its civic engagement by rescripting antipublic sphere discourse
into comic public sphere discourse.
A reverse discourse can be traced to an earlier discourse that uses identical
signifiers but which employs those signifiers for a reverse semantic effect; the author
produces, situates, and directs the discourse in clear opposition to the meaning of the
earlier discourse (Weaver, 2010). The paradigmatic example for a comic reverse
discourse could be Dave Chappelle’s parodies of PBS’s Frontline with his character
Clayton Bigsby (2003). Chappelle imagines a blind man, Clayton Bigsby, who does
not know he is black and who has become a prominent spokesman for white
supremacists. Bigsby spouts racial hate speech, but the clear satiric effect of the
280 J. E. Caron
sketch undermines its ideology. Chappelle employs the signifiers of white suprem-
acy but situates their use in a comic context that produces a clear opposition to their
original meaning, reversing the original discourse. As Simon Weaver puts it, “the
multiple meanings generated by the reverse comic discourse represent forms of sign-
slippage via appropriation” (p. 33).
At a basic level, the tactic of a reverse discourse appears as the unstable irony and
degenerative satire of deconstructive postmodernism, yet intends the stable irony
and generative satire of constructive postmodernism, a kind of rewriting or
rescripting. Satirically employing a reverse discourse in the name of social justice,
however, runs the risk of reinforcing the very conditions the satire critiques: “par-
adoxically, reverse discourses also contain a polysemic element that can, at times,
reproduce racism” (Weaver, 2010, p. 31). Jessyka Finley (2016) and Lisa Guerrero
(2016) have presented instances of satire that demonstrate the fraught nature of
employing caustic ridicule in the name of social justice. Finley’s investigation of
black women’s satire uncovers how stereotypes and associated affective states
register in gendered as well as racialized ways. Lisa Guerrero examines the prob-
lematic nature of what she calls “the interrelatedness of the postmodern condition
and the post-racial fantasy” (2016, p. 266) as expressed by black satirists. The central
comic butt of their satire targets the fantasy of a postracial America. Satire’s inherent
ethical risks become particularly problematic when satirists package ridicule as
parody, when their postmodern citation intends to rewrite, repurpose, and redirect
racial and gender discrimination.
Satiractivism
The turn to activism within the comic public sphere shows most visibly in satiric
examples that engage at different levels with the dissemination of news in all formats
– print, broadcast, cablecast, or online streaming. Such satires play with the genre of
news reporting. The basic structure of satire as both serious and nonserious has
enabled a generic mash-up that has blended, in varying degrees, news with mock
news; comic pundits mock serious pundits and sit-down or standup comedians mock
talk show hosts as well as the hosts of the Sunday political shows. That mash-up also
authorizes conceiving of satire as a performative speech act in relationship to the
public sphere and its reliance on informed citizens. Shows such as The Daily Show,
Full Frontal, and Last Week Tonight now function as news outlets for silly citizens,
that is, a significant portion of the body politic are not just entertained by the satiric
send-ups these shows routinely offer; many individuals receive news first-hand
from them.
In Austin’s (1962) theory of speech acts, he created distinctions among their
rhetorical effects: locutionary force, illocutionary force, or perlocutionary force.
These distinctions are useful to sort through the ways in which satirists employ
ridicule in the service of the public sphere within the specific realm of satires
premised on playing with the news. Theoretically, a full examination of specific
examples would be organized along a spectrum that highlights how satire’s
paradoxical structure of serious and nonserious can be manipulated with the possi-
bility of creating not just satire but a particular version, satiractivism. In Austin’s
speech act terms, then, many examples of satire based on playing with the news will
fall into three groups:
1. A group that most closely functions as a locutionary act, that is, most closely
resembles actual news reporting, with comic techniques operating as rhetorical
dressing.
2. A group that functions as an illocutionary act, that is, full-blown comic pre-
sentations with clear satiric butts, sometimes complete with an explicit, serious
statement of the needed action or reform.
3. A group that moves significantly from merely an illocutionary function toward a
perlocutionary function. This last group also has full-blown comic presentations
with clear satiric butts and (sometimes) a serious announcement of the needed
action or reform. In addition, this group completes its satire with an explicit call to
the audience as citizens to engage in the democratic process to achieve the needed
reform – that is, examples from this last group exhibit a quasi-perlocutionary
quality that distinguishes satiractivism.
One particular feature of satire in an illocutionary mode must be underlined: its

ridicule of comic butts performs the basic task of making desired public sphere
values visible by way of counter-example. However, often a satire does not rest with
its ironically laughable presentation; it also employs what rhetoricians call para-
lipsis, in which the desired values are explicitly stated. This move constitutes the
PSA moment, wherein the wished-for value, behavior, or reform is stated as though a
Public Service Announcement had been stuffed into the comic presentation. Para-
lipsis is not a recent invention. Swift uses it in A Modest Proposal. John Oliver’s Last
Week Tonight gains much of its special essay-like quality from its insistent educa-
tional thrust, as though he intends the satiric presentation of the main story in an
episode to be consumed as an extended PSA.
Though I have been insisting on a boundary between comic political speech acts
and political speech acts, McClennen and Maisel’s concept of satiractivism blurs that
boundary, as does Rebecca Krefting’s concept of “charged humor” (2014, p. 3). This
blurring entails tagging comic speech as illocutionary, with satire performing ridi-
cule in wielding comic speech, while tagging political speech as strongly
perlocutionary, with satiractivism apparently operating in a quasi-perlocutionary
fashion, that is, apparently moving beyond the weak perlocutionary force of meta-
noia (changing the audience’s mind), but without reaching the full perlocutionary
force of serious political speech acts. What we want to understand is how satire’s
built-in illocutionary force of performing ridicule along with its potential for the
weak perlocutionary force of metanoia – that is, its default status as comic political
speech – can be altered with the call for citizen action that characterizes the concept
of satiractivism and thus might be said to function as a form of political speech with a
quasi-perlocutionary force, a force that has a potential to further the cause of positive
peace with action.
282 J. E. Caron
John Stewart provides an excellent example of satiractivism, when he initially

hosted first-responders who had become ill after the Twin Towers came down
because a bill to compensate them, the “James Zadroga 9/11 Health and Compen-
sation Act,” was stalled in Congress. Within days of that Daily Show episode, the bill
was passed (Stewart, 2010). The follow-on for this fusion of comic and political
speech occurred on December 10, 2017, when Stewart appeared on The Late Show
with Stephen Colbert to ask people to contact their congressional representatives
about the Zadroga provision up for renewal in the omnibus spending bill then before
Congress (Stewart, 2017). Stewart did not just make an appeal, as one would at a
political rally, or even as he had done for the first iteration of the bill when he
featured testimony from actual first-responders. Instead, he mimicked presidential
candidate Donald Trump, complete with wig and Cheeto dust smeared on his face in
clown fashion – both props courtesy of Colbert – and parodied Trump’s blowhard
style of speaking to exhort people to express support for the renewal to their
congressional representatives.
Parodying The Donald using Cheeto dust for make-up certainly qualifies as
comic speech, but Stewart in that moment and in that costume explicitly asks for
political action on a very specific civic issue. The comic public sphere fuses with the
public sphere in that moment. Stewart exposes the real-world behavior of Trump as
ridiculous by employing it as the comic technique for the PSA moment. Moreover,
when he “Trumps it up” (Stewart, 2017) after the repeated urging of Colbert, he also
mocks the media for its obsession with Trump’s antics during the presidential
campaign. As Colbert says, the media (and by extension the public) will not pay
any attention to what someone says, however important for the public sphere, if he or
she does not speak like Trump. Using the theater that Trump had created with all the
media attention on him, attention which had been so corrosive to the public sphere,
Stewart rhetorically reverses that theater from corrosive to constructive. He a–muses
his audience and caps the performance with the call to action: the studio as well as
television audience interpellated as a gathering of citizens.
If Jon Stewart at particular moments pioneered the move from the simple comic
speech of satire to something approaching actual political speech, very likely a
thorough investigation of satiriactivism would nominate John Oliver as the decisive
factor in a turn toward this brand of satire, at least for cablecast TV. From the outset
of his program Last Week Tonight in 2013, Oliver has employed a different format
from the Saturday Night Live “Weekend Update” format, even departing from
Stewart’s tried and true formula of playing with the news on The Daily Show. Rather
than providing a comic summary of news items, or even a focused segment on one
topic, Last Week Tonight explores a topic in-depth for a significant portion of its
30 minutes. The result is a satiric version of a news magazine format, a comic
60 Minutes in half the time.
The form for Oliver’s main segment might also be called an essay. Like Stewart
and Colbert, Oliver uses large doses of comic insult as the entertaining delivery
system for the public sphere element, but unlike the others, Oliver’s central purpose
is not to comment on the latest news or to mock news-makers, but instead to
explicate the context and nuances of a particular issue, often one that has not been
the subject of recent news reports. In this essay format that retrieves issues from
mainstream media neglect, the educative function that appears in satire as the comic
public sphere becomes particularly obvious.
For example, early in the first season, Oliver (2014) decided to focus on the issue
of net neutrality, not because it was a so-called hot button issue, but rather because,
in Oliver’s view, it deserved the attention of the citizenry. Oliver in his satiric
presentation even jokes that “net neutrality” might be the two most boring words
in the English language and follows that quip with lots of other jokes about other
boring things. Such joking at the outset of the focus segment puts the audience into
the playful mood of the comic public sphere, but only as prelude to the serious
business of educating folks about the fact that the Federal Communication Com-
mission (FCC) is ready to change rules about net neutrality. The essay quality of
the segment then becomes apparent as Oliver marshals evidence that uncovers the
corporate pressure to end net neutrality and the likelihood that its end will be the
outcome: for example, Comcast is negotiating with Netflix; the lobbying budget for
internet providers like Comcast is second only to defense contractors; Trump
nominated a lobbyist for Comcast to head the FCC.
The segment ends with what people can do to prevent an end to net neutrality:
give public comment for maintaining it to the FCC. Oliver not only urges the
audience to exercise their rights as citizens; he also gives the internet address of
the FCC to facilitate public comment. The result was that the FCC website crashed
from the response only hours after the show (Holpuch, 2014). However, the best part
of this call to activism comes from the fact that Oliver directly addresses the “lovely
trolls” (2014) and haters on the internet who routinely make nasty comments about
all manner of topics and urges them to direct comments to the FCC on the issue.
Oliver does not simply interpellate his studio audience as citizens or even his
broadcast audience in general. In addition, he interpellates trolls in either audience
as citizens, persuading them to do something useful with their chronic rage and
anger. Notably, when Oliver (2017) reprised the issue, once again going after the
FCC and net neutrality, and he again asks viewers to become citizen commentators,
once again the FCC servers were overwhelmed with their citizen activism – no doubt
trolls and all (Roberts, 2017).
Jon Oliver, then, employs the postmodern habit of mixing satire with news in a
bid to expose in comic fashion the regime of simulacra. In doing so, three features
stand out with Last Week Tonight. First, Oliver creates the quasi-perlocutionary force
of satiractivism far more than any of his predecessors, and he does so in multiple and
creative ways, from creating satiric public service announcements in the form of
commercials, to employing mock hashtag activism. Second, Oliver does not so
much mix the news with satire, or even use the news as a pretext for satire so
much as he presents deep-dive yet laughable contexts for the news. In addition,
Oliver frequently uses his focus segment as a kind of long-form satire or satiric essay
that explicates a civic issue. In the comic public sphere, educating citizens remains as
important as making them laugh. More precisely, the great strength of Last Week
Tonight with Jon Oliver resides in its habit of combining public sphere education
with laughter to create silly citizens ready to respond to calls for civic action.
284 J. E. Caron
The best example of a satirist other than John Oliver who with some frequency can
be called a satiractivist is Samantha Bee in her show Full Frontal. In the third segment
of the September 13, 2017, episode, a few weeks after white supremacists marched in
Charlottesville, Virginia, Sam interviews a representative of an organization rehabil-
itating white supremacists called “Life After Hate.” Because the Trump administra-
tion had recently withdrawn a grant that the Obama White House had given the
organization, they have turned to crowd funding, and the segment closes with an
appeal to send them money via Samanatha Bee’s own website, samanthabee.com.
When Bee is interviewing the founder of “Life After Hate,” Christian Piccolini, a
former neo-Nazi, there is a PSA moment of paralipsis when she summarizes the work
of the group by saying that you “show them [the white supremacists] a way out with
love and support” in the form of job training and mental health care (Bee, 2017).
Piccolini ends the interview saying, in a semi-joking fashion, that Sam needs to hug a
Nazi. She demurs. However, beyond the clear paralipsis when Sam summarizes the
work being done by “Life After Hate,” this segment adds a second and postmodern
PSA as an embedded video featuring actors from the TV show Portlandia. The
second PSA is postmodern because it conveys its public sphere message when it
recapitulates what Piccolini tells Sam is the answer to the problem of white suprem-
acists – “hug a Nazi” – but it also parodies in comic public sphere fashion by
presenting a comic message to white folks about having the proper amount of
white pride – “mild pride” for such “beautiful white traditions [as] pumpkin spice,
the hammer dulcimer, hedge funds [and] white rappers” – just a quick thumbs up
because stronger displays are how the problem begins. The faux PSA even features a
logo of a hand with the thumb up; it conveys the serious thought comically, not by
alternating information with comic insults and jokes, as Sam does in her part of the
segment. Rather, the two spheres are delivered, in effect, as one utterance.
All of this evidence of satiractivism comes after the segment has dispensed
information from a former Homeland Security official about the fact that the
government almost completely ignores domestic white terrorists; video clips are
shown of officials, including President Trump, denying that there are such terrorists.
In addition, Bee provides a quick history lesson on the influence of white suprem-
acists in Oregon. Like John Oliver’s standard format in Last Week Tonight, this
segment of Full Frontal is not afraid to dispense facts along with comic bits and then
call for citizen action, in Bee’s case by officially allying itself with an organization
dedicated to social reform: practically a definition of the comic public sphere in its
satiractivism strain.
The height of Samantha Bee’s braiding together the public sphere with the comic
public sphere is perhaps Full Frontal’s app, “This is Not a Game, The Game,” with
its comic exhortation for civic mindedness: “Answer Questions, Win Money, Save
Democracy.” The app is a daily trivia game with a cash prize of up to $5000.
Participants try to answer ten multiple choice questions about the midterms and
current events – “and very important facts about democracy like in what 1980s
vampire movie Kiefer Sutherland played POTUS.” The game continues the
satiractivism tactic of using comic rhetoric to engage an audience as citizens, in
this case at the most basic level within the public sphere to achieve its avowed goal:
To get people excited about the midterms, maybe even excited enough that they’ll go out and
vote! America’s typical midterm election turnout SUCKS and we are 100% certain this game
will solve everything. We want America to learn facts, register to vote, and get involved in
the U.S. election process. Isn’t that beautiful? Don’t answer. We know it is. (Bee, 2018a)
A digital intersection of satire with online gaming and real-world politics, the app
went live on September 12, 2018, which meant that Bee devoted nearly all of the last
2 months before the midterms to touting the game on her show and the TBS website
(Reed, 2018). In another episode, Bee made clear the main demographic being
targeted with the app: the 18–35-year olds who vote at less than half the rate as
citizens over 65 (Bee, 2018b). In one of the many interviews Bee gave to promote
the campaign, she said that “Only 52% of people who watch the Sam Bee show are
registered to vote [so the] game felt like an opportunity to innovate, or just try
something” (Holmes, 2018, para. 5). Entertain and then inspire civic participation:
the theory of a–musement in a satiractivist mode.
The Problem of Ridicule in the Name of Reform
Satiractivism may function as a laughter-inducing aid to projects like get-out-the-

vote or positive peace, but its ridiculing efforts in the name of reform display comic
symbolic violence. What are the ethics of employing ridicule, a rhetorical weapon
that might be used for just purposes via instances of satire, but might not necessarily
be put to such purposes? Satire’s relationship to ethics highlights a particular
problem: a–musement versus morality. Any restriction is tantamount to censorship,
so we have the dilemma of having to choose between the pleasure of a–musement or
the good of morality.
Satire entails social responsibility and appears eminently dependable in its moral
or judgmental aspect, but its playfulness, its degradation of the comic butt, opens
satire to the charge of being amoral or unethical. Satire distinguishes itself with a
robust rhetorical capacity encased in comic abuse – raillery is the old-fashioned
word. How to defend its use, even in the general cause of positive peace and social
justice? Is it enough to say that the comic ridicule of satire becomes ethically sound
only when deployed against those in power, that is, in instances of what the ancient
Greeks called parrhesia – in the vernacular, punching up? (Foucault, 2015;
cf. Higgie, 2014; Jordan, 2008; Rossing, 2014; Warner, 2010). Framed by such
questions, a core issue for understanding satire becomes the possibility of an ethical
ridicule, an issue at least as old as Lord Shaftesbury’s 1709 “An Essay on the
Freedom of Wit and Humor,” which explores, in effect, the claim that ridicule can
be a test of truth (Cooper, 2000; cf. Gantar, 2005).
The insistence on a purposeful ethic for ridicule has a long history in Western
thought, one that pre-dates Shaftesbury. Stage comedy – from ancient Greece and
Rome to the plays of Molière and John Dryden on down to Oscar Wilde, Samuel
Beckett, and Tom Stoppard – was deemed a legitimate art form because what we
might call its satiric intent provided ridiculous counter-examples of how to behave.
286 J. E. Caron
When discussing the ethics of satire’s ridicule, we encounter a complicating axiom

for laughter-inducing cultural artifacts: the fundamentally unruly quality of comic
laughter and comic art. This unruliness always evades efforts to restrict comic
laughter and to install all comic artifacts within a totalizing regime of regulation,
control, or reason. In charting the West’s centuries-long negative reaction to this
unruly quality, John Morreall points to traditional links between laughter and
immature children, or laughter and madness, as well as noting that religious thinkers
routinely associated laughter with demons to underscore what Charles Baudelaire
calls its diabolical quality (Morreall, 2010; Baudelaire, 1964).
For Robert Elliott (1960), this unruliness has generated traditional representations
of satirists as monstrous or engaging in a kind of black magic, suggesting a primal
something underneath any manifestation in artistic form. Here we probe the very
nature of ridicule: it is dangerous though useful, like fire, and so needs rules for its
deployment, especially in the ostensible service of an ethical judgment. Ridicule can
function usefully as a vehicle for conveying that judgment, but under what circum-
stances does ridicule burn down what it should illuminate, and thus become amoral
or unethical? If rules are necessary, then whose rules should apply?
The terrible literal violence unleashed in 2015 by certain cartoons in the French
satirical magazine Charlie Hebdo offers an obvious example of the problem inherent
in tolerating the symbolic violence of satiric ridicule, even for an ostensible civic
good. Thus, public sphere conversation must address what constitutes legitimate
satire. Often, a controversy pits free speech against safe spaces; it can also be as
complicated as deciding when satiric speech descends into mere rant or insult and
from there degenerates into hate speech. What happens when a regime of trigger
warnings and microaggressions collides with the unruliness of an aesthetic that
proclaims, It is forbidden to forbid? Some examples of commentary on this topic
in the popular press: Trudeau (2015), Weissmann (2015), and Welch (2015). For
more comment on the dynamic of symbolic and literal violence in the Charlie Hebdo
example as well as other examples, see Lee (2015). A fraught activity, producing
satire necessarily entails ethical dilemma.
Here, we are concerned with the manner of a comic critique, which is not about
rational argument to probe weaknesses and expose assumptions and prejudices;
rather, it is about symbolic dismemberment. Thus, the ethical dilemma for satire:
does its brand of critique, its form of speech replete with mockery and ridicule,
interfere with the everyday mutual understanding necessary in the public sphere? As
Jürgen Habermas puts it: “a humane collective life depends on the vulnerable forms
of innovative-bearing, reciprocal and unforcedly egalitarian everyday communica-
tion” (as cited in Bernstein, 1991, p. 55, note 35). Because satire is in part defined by
its use of ridicule and artful insult, it constantly runs the risk of descending into the
mere insult of the antipublic sphere, into a rant or even hate speech. However, is it
fair to say that satire’s habit of using comic insult to power its ridicule only results in
polarizing citizens in the public sphere? Satire as the sign of the comic public sphere
can be understood as a positive force for the communicative rationality necessary to
democracy – its ongoing conversation – but does its recourse to ridicule always put it
in danger of being read/received as polemic, rant, or diatribe?
The answer has to be that satire can only be accused of being mere polemic if one
forgets about its element of play. Its laughably playful quality means that mere
earnestness cannot create satire; indeed, mere earnestness can lead to diatribes as
well as good arguments. Earnest and unrelenting presentation of ideology torpedoed
one effort to be satiric, The Half Hour News Hour (Sankin, 2007). And while satire is
always a comic form of symbolic aggression, and thus deliberately disrupts social
surfaces, laughing is not physical force or terroristic threats, so any claim about its
supposed coercive force should be met with skepticism.
Judging if utterances are mere insults or comic insults raises the issue of audience.
When Stephen Colbert represented political operative Karl Rove as Ham Rove,
using an actual canned ham adorned with glasses to suggest Rove’s facial features, is
that an instance of comic insult or mere insult? If one’s imagination can find enough
resemblance, the tactic should register as comic insult in its absurdity. However, if
one’s politics block an imaginative discovery of resemblance, the tactic probably
registers as mere insult (Colbert, 2011).
The real problem may be prior to any comic critique wielded via satire – the
discourse of the public sphere already too often operates by interfering with the
means of mutual understanding. Thus the most profound satire would be that which
ridicules such everyday interference, for example those who claim the existence of
alternative facts, what Habermas calls “systematically distorted communication”
(as cited in Bernstein, 1991, p. 46). The agonistic dynamic of news and mock
news and fake news that permeates contemporary public discourse already demon-
strates such a satiric battle in progress.
That dynamic and satire’s negative (i.e., ironic) support for communicative
rationality points toward the potential for satire embodying (demonstrating, drama-
tizing) a kind of practical knowledge, what the ancient Greeks called phronēsis,
which can inform its critique. Comic phronēsis means knowing what deserves
ridicule. Executing this knowledge leads to metanoia – maybe even satiractivism.
Clearly, the satirist has a complicated task to produce worthwhile satire; just as
clearly, the audience for a satiric performance or a reader of a satiric novel also has a
complicated task, not just to discern the comic mechanisms of the satire, or to
possess the requisite background knowledge of why a comic butt is targeted, but
also to maintain enough of an open mind to be a–mused and thus capable of
experiencing a metanoia.
Conclusion
To sum up. Satire signifies a comic attitude and a comic tactic and names a mode
within the discourse that constitutes The Comic. Satire entails a critique based on an
implicit or explicit (ethical) value often made with an intent to aid in reforming the
comic butt (target) of a ridiculing presentation. Reform does not reference a real-world
social or political policy change, but rather entails a potential metanoia, a change in
thinking, perception, or belief, even a repentance of the old way of thinking, perceiv-
ing, believing. As with all comic artifacts, satire must be understood within a play
288 J. E. Caron
frame. However, satire displays paradoxical structures. Analogous to light in a

quantum state behaving as both wave and particle, satire registers as both serious
speech and nonserious (comic) speech – apparently stepping out of and back into its
play frame. In addition, satire displays paradox in its design of using ridicule for an
ethical goal.
Satire is the most public of comic modes, always a parodic part of the public
sphere conversation within a body politic. Satire is the comic mode most involved
with civic issues and so most likely to have extra-textual references to current social
and political events. Satire signifies a supplement to the public sphere, namely, the
comic public sphere, because it implicitly advocates for the Enlightenment’s values
of reasoned debate, facts and evidence, accountability, and transparency that char-
acterize Habermas’s concept of the public sphere, no matter how laughable its
presentation. That implicit advocacy adds its comic force, especially in instances
of satiriactivism, to the effort to promote a constructive tension as prelude to positive
peace.
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Part V
International Nonviolence
Unarmed Civilian Peacekeeping
15
Ellen Furnari, Berit Bliesemann de Guevara, and Rachel Julian
Contents
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 296
What Is Unarmed Civilian Peacekeeping? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 298
How Does UCP Work to Protect People? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 300
How Can UCP Contribute to Enhancing, Promoting, and Maintaining Peace? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 305
Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 308
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 309
Abstract
Unarmed civilian peacekeeping (UCP) or accompaniment describes activities by
which unarmed civilians protect other civilians and themselves in the midst of
violent political conflict without weapons or threat of force. UCP’s foremost
focus is on the reduction or prevention of physical violence and would hence
first be associated with negative peace. In this chapter we argue that UCP also
makes major contributions to processes that may lead to positive peace. Not only
does the unarmed civilian peacekeepers’ protection and prevention work open up
safe(r) space for actors working towards life enhancement and peace cultures. The
way UCP works also crucially contribute to processes of positive peace by means
of providing role models, offering alternative conflict resolution strategies, being
inclusive, and supporting self-sustaining structures of conflict resolution and
prevention at community level. At times, these processes help reconnect
E. Furnari (*)
Webster University, Webster Groves, MO, USA
B. Bliesemann de Guevara
Aberystwyth University, Aberystwyth, UK
e-mail: beb14@aber.ac.uk
R. Julian
Leeds Beckett University, Leeds, UK
e-mail: r.julian@leedsbeckett.ac.uk
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_15
296 E. Furnari et al.
communities that have been fractured along ethnic, religious, or other lines,
which supports a deeper peace over time.
Keywords
Primacy of the local · Peacekeeping · Nonviolence · Civilian protection ·
Accompaniment · Nonviolence
Introduction
Unarmed civilian peacekeeping (UCP), also termed unarmed civilian protection, or

accompaniment describes activities by which unarmed civilians protect other civil-
ians and themselves in the midst of violent political conflict without weapons or
threat of force. This is the case, for example, when UCP organizations accompany
human rights defenders in Colombia and deter armed actors from carrying out
attacks against these activists through their presence and proactive engagement
strategies. It is also the case when UCP organizations use the network of relation-
ships they have built with all armed and unarmed parties to a conflict to negotiate
safe passage of internally displaced persons (IDPs) to a camp in South Sudan, or to
bring forcebly recruited youth back to their families in Myanmar. As these examples
suggest, UCP’s foremost focus is on the reduction or prevention of physical violence
and would hence first be associated with negative peace. In this chapter we argue,
however, that UCP also makes major contributions to processes that may lead to
positive peace. Not only does the unarmed civilian peacekeepers’ protection and
prevention work open up safe(r) space for actors working towards life enhancement
and peace cultures. The way UCP works – its rootedness in principles of nonvio-
lence, the primacy of local actors, independence, and civilian-to-civilian protection–,
and its key methodologies of proactive engagement, monitoring, relationship-
building, and capacity development also crucially contribute to processes of positive
peace by means of providing role models, offering alternative conflict resolution
strategies, being inclusive, and supporting self-sustaining structures of conflict
resolution and prevention at community level. At times, these processes help
reconnect communities that have been fractured along ethnic, religious, or other
lines, which supports a deeper peace over time.
Positive peace evolves from larger social structures, cultural systems, and policies,
as well as from individuals engaging in peace-enhancing efforts at the individual and
local community level (Galtung, 1996). With the focus of its efforts primarily at the
local community level, UCP can play a major role in supporting these processes in that
it complements high-level initiatives at peacemaking and peacebuilding. Unlike the
more common form of peacekeeping by the United Nations (UN) and regional bodies
such as the African Union, which usually operates with armed uniformed personnel
and uses or threatens violence in order to protect civilians, UCP works to help create
sufficient safety for local individuals and efforts to promote and expand peacebuilding,
conflict transformation, and other peace-related activities, and provides nonviolent
alternatives of doing so.
15 Unarmed Civilian Peacekeeping 297
In this chapter, we explore in detail how UCP contributes to processes of positive

peace in the transformation of violent political conflicts. The chapter proceeds in
three steps. In a first step, we explain what unarmed civilian protection is, highlight-
ing specifically its foundation in nonviolence and its focus on the local community
level. In a second step, we explain in more detail how UCP works, by describing its
core strategies of relationship-building as core method, ever-present process, and
vehicle of protection; encouragement of respect for human rights among armed
actors and deterrence of violence, which are often used together; capacity-building
and capacity-enhancement as ways to support sustainable peace infrastructures and
self-protection mechanisms, including processes for negotiation and mediation of
community conflict, without reliance on outside “enforcers”; as well as the provision
of a role model for nonviolent conflict resolution, and often a reminder of Indige-
nous/traditional nonviolent methods of conflict resolution, while including all mem-
bers of a community. We discuss the differences and similarities between protection
by outsiders versus communities’ self-protection, and also engage with limitations
and challenges of UCP work.
In a third step, we explore in more depth the ways in which UCP activities can
contribute to positive peace. These contributions include:
• The prevention of actual violence and harm (negative peace), in order to break
cycles of revenge and provide examples of nonviolent conflict resolution, which
will prevent local violence from spreading and provide safe(r) space for peace
initiatives (positive peace).
• The protection of specific actors who work towards peace and rights.
• The inclusion of grassroots people in peace efforts, which overcomes the pre-
dominant focus on high-level actors and instead promotes the involvement of
many people in processes such as relationship-building, dialogue, and training.
• The support, enhancement, and training of local people in nonviolent strategies to
prevent or self-protect from violence.
• The provision of role models for addressing conflicts nonviolently, which
together with a recognition of Indigenous/traditional cultural practices for nonvi-
olent conflict resolution may result in a change of attitudes and behaviors towards
positive peace.
• The purposeful involvement of groups such as women and youth who are often
marginalized but whose inclusion is essential to promoting positive peace.
• Finally, the promotion of nonviolent strategies of conflict resolution.
We provide short examples from different UCP projects around the world to
illustrate these linkages between UCP and positive peace.
In our conclusions, we summarize the main argument this chapter makes about
the supporting role that UCP can play not only in setting the conditions for, but also
contributing directly to, processes of positive peace. The very principles and strat-
egies upon which UCP relies, most importantly the principle of nonviolence and the
strategies of relationship-building and the primacy of local actors, nurture a context
that not only helps to ensure negative peace but is directly conducive to positive
peace. It is this affinity between UCP and positive peace, which should make UCP
the preferred choice whenever possible, when planning peacekeeping interventions

to support peace processes in areas of political violence.
What Is Unarmed Civilian Peacekeeping?
UCP has been defined as
[. . .] the practice of deploying unarmed civilians before, during, and after violent conflict, to
prevent or reduce violence, to provide direct physical protection to other civilians, and to
strengthen or build resilient local peace infrastructures. The purpose of UCP is to create a
safer environment, or a ‘safer space’, for civilians to address their own needs, solve their own
conflicts, and protect vulnerable individuals and populations in their midst. This ‘safer
space’ is created through a strategic mix of key non-violent engagement methods, principles,
values and skills. (Oldenhuis et al., 2015, p. 30)
This approach to peacekeeping by civilians for civilians seeks both to influence

perpetrators of violence to change their behavior as well as create the space for
unarmed actors to work towards peace.
Modern UCP has a track record of over 35 years of activities by a range of
organizations (see, e.g., Julian & Schweitzer, 2015; Moser-Puangsuwan and Weber,
2000; Gorur, 2013; Weber, 1993). It began with the activities of Peace Brigades
International (PBI) to protect activists in Central America in the 1980s (https://www.
peacebrigades.org; Mahony & Eguren, 1997) and subsequently spread around the
world through the work of a number of national and international nongovernmental
organizations (NGOs) such as International Fellowship of Reconciliation (IFOR)
(http://www.ifor.org/#mission), Witness for Peace (WFP; http://witnessforpeace.org;
Griffin-Nolan, 2000), and Nonviolent Peaceforce (NP; https://www.non
violentpeaceforce.org). According to the Unarmed Civilian Peacekeeping Database,
the transnational UCP community of practice has grown from 7 UCP organizations
working in 5 countries and regions in conflict around the world in 1990 to 42 orga-
nizations doing unarmed civilian peacekeeping work in 42 political conflicts world-
wide in 2017 (Selkirk College, 2018; cf. Janzen, 2014). There are also a number of
national and local NGOs and initiatives in conflict regions engaging in some form of
UCP work in addition to other organizational foci, which have not been accounted
for in this database. In addition, the United Nations (UN) has increasingly recog-
nized not only the protection of civilians as a major focus of its work, but also
unarmed civilian strategies as means of working used by some of its agencies such as
the OHCHR in Nepal (Mahony & Nash, 2012, p. 20). It is thus fair to say that UCP
has steadily grown into a field of practice that is increasingly challenging armed
approaches to peacekeeping and protection.
Among the NGOs that specialize in UCP, there is significant variation in imple-
mentation of UCP work in terms of underlying theories, preferred methods, and
organizational practices (Wallis, 2009; Furnari, 2014, 2016; Mahony, 2006;
Schweitzer, 2010; Oldenhuis et al., 2015). Some organizations engage only in
specific types of UCP strategies (e.g., protective accompaniment/presence), while
others make use of the wider spectrum of the UCP “toolbox.” Some organizations
are professionalized INGOs who deploy paid staff for longer stints in a conflict
region, while others work on the basis of volunteers sent out for a few weeks or
months only. Some organizations, for instance EAPPI (Ecumenical Accompaniment
Programme in Palestine and Israel), emphasize the role of volunteers when they
return home, providing education and bringing pressure on their own governments
to work more effectively for peace. Professionals as well as volunteers may work at
the frontlines in the midst of violent conflict or be involved in international advo-
cacy. Organizations also differ in how they choose to fund their work, that is,
whether they accept official donors such as governments and intergovernmental
bodies, or whether they rely exclusively on private donations or membership. This
difference is rooted in a more fundamental controversy about the role of nonparti-
sanship and impartiality in UCP work: while for some organizations, nonpartisan-
ship and impartiality are core principles which translate into relationship-building
with all armed and unarmed parties to a conflict, for other organizations, especially
those working in contexts of extreme power differentials between the conflict parties
such as in the conflict between Israel and Palestine, nonpartisanship is seen as
unworkable and being “on the side of the oppressed” as an imperative (for a
discussion of different organizations’ core principles, see in detail Coy, 2012;
Schweitzer, 2018a, b, 2019). These differences aside, what unites all UCP organi-
zations is their rootedness in the core principles of nonviolence and the primacy of
the local.
Nonviolence has been shown to be an effective strategy in relation to a range of
political activities including resistance (Stephan & Chenoweth, 2011) and communi-
ties’ self-protection from violence (Kaplan, 2016). In UCP work, nonviolence is used
to reduce the level of violence towards civilians by changing the behavior of armed
actors. The US-American feminist and advocate of nonviolent social change, Barbara
Deming (1971), has explained the effects of nonviolence through the metaphor of the
“two hands.” The first hand is raised to signal “stop,” indicating that nonviolence
demands a halt to violent and offensive behavior. In the case of UCP, this often quite
literally means engaging with armed actors and saying “Stop the threats, attacks,
retaliation and kidnap of civilians.” The other hand of nonviolence is outstretched,
offering the possibility of listening and dialogue as the most radical component of
nonviolence. The outstretched hand recognizes that people are more than their behav-
ior, and that all life has value. In UCP work, the approach of “proactive engagement”
with a wide and extensive network of as many actors as possible, both armed and
civilian, builds on this possibility of listening and dialogue. UCP relies on both
“hands”: it uses strategies of deterrence of violence against civilians as well as
strategies of encouragement of respectful behavior towards civilians amidst violent
political conflict for which dialogue is essential.
UCP’s activities take place at the grassroots level of communities in conflicted-
affected areas and are sustained over longer periods of time. Unlike their armed
counterparts who often live in bunkerized compounds apart from the population they
are to protect (Duffield, 2010; Fisher, 2017), unarmed civilian peacekeepers usually
live in the communities they work with, which allows them to be attuned to the
dynamics at the local level and to seek the involvement of local actors in their work,
thus taking the principle of the primacy of the local seriously in their situational and
conflict analyses and their program planning. Living and working in the community
contributes directly to accurate situational analysis and relationship-building. While
living in local communities may not always be possible for all staff members, e.g.,
due to travel restrictions for international staff by the host government (as is the case
in Myanmar) or due to violence being directed specifically at UCP personnel (as was
the case in Mindanao, Philippines, during a period of time), UCP organizations will
seek for ways to work directly with grassroots communities, e.g., by deploying
national staff to whom travel restrictions do not apply or by training communities to
self-protect where outside presence is impossible. In some cases, UCP work may not
be possible at all (Venturi, 2014); since it relies on armed actors’ acceptance, overt
hostility/violence directed at the UCP organization will cause it to withdraw at least
temporarily until the situation has changed (e.g., a Christian Peacemaker Team
withdrew from Baghdad after members had been kidnapped and one killed). That
said, UCP organizations have successfully worked in a range of violent political
conflicts of different types and intensities on all continents and encompassing
countries and regions such as the Balkans, Bougainville, Colombia, Georgia, Gua-
temala, Iraq, Mexico, the Philippines, Sri Lanka, South Sudan, and the USA, to
name but a few, testifying to UCPs versatility to adapt to very different contexts and
types of political violence (e.g., Beckman & Solberg, 2013: Coy, 2001; Easthom,
2013, 2015; Engelbrecht & Kaushik, 2015; Furnari, 2016; Gehrmann et al., 2015;
Gündüz & Torralba, 2014; Lindsay-Poland, 2016; McCarthy & Pinckney, 2016;
Moser-Puangsuwan, 1996; Peace Brigades International [PBI], 2004, 2009, 2011, n.d.;
Reiman, 2010; Schweitzer, 2012, 2018a, b, 2019; Schweitzer & Clark, 2002). So how
does UCP work in practice?
How Does UCP Work to Protect People?
UCP builds on a range of key methodologies around relationship-building, proactive

engagement using strategies of deterrence and encouragement, capacity develop-
ment among local communities to protect and work towards peace themselves, and
providing a role model based on nonviolent engagement.
Relationship-building is a core method, process, and vehicle of peacekeeping in
general and UCP in particular. Furnari’s research has shown how in many different
interventions peacekeepers viewed creating good relationships with others as essen-
tial to their work (Furnari, 2014, 2015, 2018; Oldenhuis et al., 2015). For UCP
organizations, building good working relationships usually means engaging with
most parties to a conflict. Being perceived as nonpartisan, independent, and unarmed
(i.e., nonthreatening) is seen by most organizations as conducive to this, although not
all UCP subscribe to the principle of nonpartisanship, as mentioned above. With
regard to the armed actors, good working relationships thus ideally include groups
on all sides (state military, insurgent groups, militias, etc.) and at all levels (from
commanders to rank and file members) though this is not always possible. With
regard to unarmed actors, relationship-building takes place with and within the local
communities who are to be protected as well as with stakeholders at regional and
national levels.
Good relationships with as broad a spectrum of actors as possible – i.e., ideally with
all state and non-state armed groups, authorities at different levels, other relevant local
stakeholders as well as the violence-affected communities and different groups within
them – will enable UCP organizations to carry out their work, or to carry it out more
easily. For example, in places as different as Indonesia and Colombia, PBI volunteers
have found that developing good relationships with soldiers at various check points
makes it possible to move more smoothly through the check points with those they are
accompanying. In Kachin state, Myanmar, local civilian monitors used their network
of established relationships with the Burmese army, the Kachin rebel group and
politicians to negotiate the safe passage of internally displaced persons, who had
fled from aerial bombings to the forest, into the nearest city, and to reclaim youth
that had been forcebly recruited into the armed groups. Relationship-building also
educates armed actors about the legal basis for the protection of civilians (such as
International Humanitarian Law, Human Rights Law, UN Resolutions on Women,
Peace and Security and Children in Armed Conflict, etc.), raising their awareness and
showing how the protection of civilians in armed conflict can work. Talking about
relationships developed in Mindanao, an NP staff member noted that as relationships
were built with government officials, the army, and other armed groups, the persons
they interacted with became interested in NP’s analysis and were influenced towards
preventing harm to civilians.
Due to the time-consuming task of networking and relationship-building, Furnari
and Julian (2013) have estimated that it takes a new UCP project about a year to start
being effective; however, where a UCP organization works with local staff who can
use already established contacts with armed groups and other stakeholders to the
conflict, project implementation may be quicker. In addition to good relationships
enabling UCP organizations to engage in direct protection tasks, they can also
mobilize these networks to connect different groups of society, facilitate communi-
cation and dialogue, and contribute to multitrack processes of mediation and nego-
tiation by linking local communities to higher levels of politics or other international
intervening organizations. If dialogue is the most radical component of nonviolence,
then building good relationships with all sectors of society is the foundation that
enables dialogue to happen. In this way, as Furnari et al. (2015, p. 8) have argued,
“the work of UCP contributes at times to both peacemaking and peacebuilding.”
UCP work involves both strategies of deterrence, which are mostly conducive to
negative peace as the reduction of levels of violence which provides safer space for
peacebuilding activities, as well as strategies of encouragement, which aim at
changing violent actors’ behavior, thus contributing more directly to structures and
institutions of positive peace such as alternative conflict resolution mechanisms or a
culture of respect for civilians’ rights. Proactive engagement through strategies of
interpositioning, protective presence, and protective accompaniment builds on the
logic of deterrence of violence through the provision of presence (see, e.g., Mahony
& Eguren, 1997; Mahony, 2006; Coy, 2001; Schirch, 2006). Generally speaking,
protective accompaniment of human rights defenders is probably the most classic

example of strategies of deterrence of violence by UCP organizations, employed in
many countries around the world. By watching (including monitoring, investigating,
and reporting) both those who are threatened by violence and those who threaten and
perpetrate violence and being visible in this watchful presence, UCP raises the stakes
for violent actors to harm civilians. In this way, the behavior of perpetrators is
changed at checkpoints, along paths women take to collect water, when people are
farming, and at meetings. Protective presence can work through interpositioning,
that is when UCP staff or volunteers stand between armed groups or armed actors
and their civilian targets, as well as through dissuasion, when UCP actors are seen to
be by the side of the armed actors, dissuading potential violations before they can
happen. In this sense, strategies of encouragement also play a role in protective
presence, and UCP organizations usually stress that relationship-building enhances
the prospects of protective presence. For example, in Colombia, when a human
rights activist was being threatened, perhaps by someone in the police, the interna-
tional UCP staff called on the police chief, praising him for his good work in
protecting people and stating they were sure he would protect this person. The
threats stopped, due to the intervention that both encouraged good behavior and
let the police know they were being watched.
Strategies of encouragement build hugely on good working relationships and are
enhanced by strategies such as monitoring of ceasefires or peace agreements,
multitrack dialogue, and confidence-building between groups. A large part of the
work of local UCP staff in Kachin state, Myanmar, for example, consisted in
building relationships with armed actors to inform them about the work of UCP
and about the bilateral agreement to protect civilians in the violent conflict, which the
army and the non-state armed group have signed and on the basis of which civilian
agreement monitors carry out their work. Making the terms of the agreement and
their international legal basis more widely known among the armed actors opened up
the space for UCP to work and helped raise awareness of and encouraged compli-
ance with the protection of civilians on all sides.
UCP works at the grassroots level of local communities and is based on the
primacy of local actors in their programming and implementation work. A large part
of this is networking, listening, and dialogue, as discussed above. Yet UCP organi-
zations also put a major emphasis on building and/or enhancing local capacities to
enable or strengthen communities to protect themselves and to work towards
peaceful mechanisms of addressing conflict. This can include: strategies of early
warning – early response (EWER), which help communities to plan ahead to avoid
violent attacks or displacement; mechanisms of rumor control to assess actual threats
and keep misinformation from escalating into violence; skills in mediation and
negotiation; and building local UCP infrastructures for self-protection. For example,
in Myanmar, a network of community-based peace observers has been developed. In
some cases, when these observers have learned of a violation of a peace agreement or
local laws carried out by an armed group or the army, they have been able to discuss
the violation with the group and get the group to change behaviors. This is only
possible because they are a network of observers, working together and pooling and
training their capacity for engagement with armed actors. Capacity building and
capacity enhancement ensure the sustainability of UCP work, as empowered com-
munities do not need to rely on the constant presence of “enforcers,” be they
unarmed or armed peacekeepers, for their own safety.
By using nonviolent methods, UCP organizations also provide a role model of
unarmed conflict resolution. They show that unarmed strategies can be highly
effective in protecting civilian lives, by involving people in their own protection
and using different methods of deterrence and encouragement to change armed
actors’ behavior in order to create safer space for people’s daily activities as well as
for peace initiatives and human rights work. The many cases of successful nonviolent
protection of civilians by civilians in different contexts have thrown into sharp relief
the widely held assumption that peacekeeping necessarily involves the deployment of
armed military personnel, i.e., that (the threat of) violence is necessary to change the
behavior of armed actors. In their comparative analysis of tasks carried out by
traditional armed peacekeepers and unarmed civilian peacekeepers respectively,
Julian and Gasser (2019) found that, with the exception of rebuilding security
institutions, all tasks of armed peacekeepers have also, at times, been carried out
successfully by unarmed civilians. In addition, unarmed civilian peacekeepers were
able to create and support “weapons free zones” or “peace zones.” Existing UCP
practice thus challenges the dominant mode of delivery of peacekeeping as requiring
armed military personnel. The authors warn that by using armed military to keep the
peace, the “cycle of violence” is reinforced through the message that violence is
necessary to stop violence, thereby often sidelining the impact and role of civilians
and civilian leadership in building peace (Julian & Gasser, 2019, p. 36). UCP offers
the alternative vision that unarmed civilians can reduce violence and also contribute
to longer-term peace by using nonviolence as a mechanism for peacekeeping.
UCP often also acts as a reminder for local communities of Indigenous/traditional
nonviolent methods of conflict resolution, which sometimes have been subdued by
the recent dominance of violence but may be reinvigorated as alternative ways to
conflict resolution, which often include larger parts of a community. For instance, in
South Sudan, cattle raiding between different ethnic groups has gone on for gener-
ations. The recent civil war with Sudan, and now within South Sudan, has flooded
the area with guns. Thus these conflicts have become much more deadly, lead to
larger levels of violence and are less likely to be resolved. One UCP project brought
traditional leaders together to discuss what to do, for several days, several times, thus
reviving an Indigenous mechanism for dialogue. This use of a traditional method led
to agreements to end the ongoing retaliations and to use these traditional meetings in
future to settle any disagreements, thereby avoiding further bloodshed.
UCP organizations also work to create new possibilities for community-wide
participation in protection and peacebuilding processes, e.g., by working directly
with groups such as women or youth, who are often marginalized as proactive actors
in protection efforts. The Women Protection Teams (WPT) in South Sudan are an
example of how the work with women, and their collaboration with men, empowered
these women as protection actors engaged in the safety of their own communities
(Nonviolent Peaceforce [NP], 2017).
All these key methodologies – relationship-building, proactive engagement using

strategies of deterrence and encouragement, capacity development among local
communities to protect and work towards peace themselves, and providing a role
model based on nonviolent engagement – can be implemented by international UCP
staff or “outsiders” to a violent conflict as well as by “insiders” such as local staff or
the communities themselves. In discussions over whether international, national, or
local UCP staff were best suited to provide protection to civilians, representatives of
different UCP organizations agreed that there was no clear universal advantage of
one type of staff over the other; rather, whether international, national, or local
unarmed civilian peacekeepers were most effective depended highly on the context
of UCP work and that often a mixture playing to the strengths of each group was best
(Schweitzer, 2018a). In this sense, visible international presence can be a plus in
protective accompaniment, for example, as it raises the stakes for armed actors such
as the military or the police, making it harder to get away with violations without
risking reporting. When engaging with armed groups who do not care about their
international reputation or build on an image of indiscriminate violence against
foreigners, however, international presence can have detrimental effects on protec-
tion prospects. Careful situational conflict analysis building on established networks
and involving the knowledge of local staff and beneficiaries will help UCP organi-
zations decide which course to take. Working closely with local staff, or enhancing
the self-protection of communities, will also make civilian protection more sustain-
able, as skills, methods, and knowledge remain available if and when an interna-
tional UCP organization exits a region or country. For example, in a project oriented
toward work in Syria, activists in community networks participated in trainings
outside the country, and then returned to their communities to develop UCP type
protection and social cohesion projects. It would have been impossible for for-
eigners, or even people from other parts of Syria, to do this work.
While the previous paragraphs have argued that UCP works to protect civilians in
the midst of violence and outlined the main methodologies by which it works, it
needs to be mentioned that UCP is not without limitations and challenges, of course
(see in more detail Schweitzer, 2018a, b, 2019). The foremost limitation is UCP’s
dependence on the general acceptance by the armed actors of its presence and work;
where violent actors directly target unarmed civilian peacekeepers and their strate-
gies of deterrence and encouragement have no leverage, e.g., due to the violent
group’s ideology, or where governments refuse to work with UCP organizations,
UCP work cannot be forced upon these actors. UCP projects have also been rather
small in scope so far, and the question of whether they can be scaled up to provide an
alternative to large UN missions is still debated. Nonviolent Peaceforce’s South
Sudan project (NPSS) has grown from around 10 staff in 2010 when it was
established to nearly 200 staff in 2018, constituting NP’s largest UCP project so
far. While this is still relatively small as compared to large contingents of armed
peacekeepers in the country, NPSS has been effective in protecting thousands of
civilians from violence. At the same time, however, NPSS’s growth has also shown
the challenges that scaling up of UCP work brings with it, not least the challenge to
recruit, train, and retain a large pool of staff with the right skill set and attitude to
carry out UCP work. Funding has been another challenge for UCP organizations
who, unlike their armed UN counterparts, have to engage in continuous fundraising
in order to carry out their work and who often face ethical questions around funding,
e.g., whether to accept funding from Northern governments who are involved in
military activities in the conflicted region (like the USA or the UK in the Middle
East, for instance). Fundraising is closely linked to project evaluation and documen-
tation, which may also prove difficult to carry out, especially in volatile situations of
violence which causes ongoing displacement, where tracking and monitoring of
beneficiaries can be difficult, such as during the urban warfare situations in Iraq and
Syria, thus making it challenging to provide funders with the evidence base of UCP
effectiveness.
It is challenges such as these that have prompted UCP organizations’ calls for the
recognition of UCP as an established field of practice with proven effectiveness that
should, if at all possible, be considered as a credible alternative to armed peacekeep-
ing in contexts of civilians’ protection from political violence and peacekeeping
interventions. It should also be considered, we argue, as a form of peacekeeping that
goes beyond the provision of negative peace and directly contributes to processes
that may result in lasting positive peace.
How Can UCP Contribute to Enhancing, Promoting,

and Maintaining Peace?
UCP intersects with many of the key areas of change that are required for positive
peace. By reducing levels of violence and increasing opportunities for (re)building
networks, relationships, and trust, successful UCP provides the space for local
people to create peaceful structures and institutions, which are essential for long-
term sustainable peace. And although UCP’s focus is on reducing levels of violence,
we argue that the UCP approach – precisely because it fundamentally differs both
from traditional UN military peacekeeping protection through its principle of non-
violence and also from the high-level peace processes and development plans of
international interventions through its principle of the primacy of the local – can
have a transformative effect in moving from a state of violence to a state of
sustainable peace. In the following, we explore six ways in which successful UCP
may contribute to building positive peace in communities living in the midst of
violent political conflict.
Firstly and most basically, UCP activities contribute to safer space, by preventing
actual violence and harm against civilians and sometimes by reducing overall levels
of violence, for example, when UCP interventions are successful in breaking cycles
of revenge, or when proactive engagement at the local level prevents localized –
sometimes even domestic – forms of violence from escalating into community or
regional violence. Safer space enables people to carry out everyday activities around
livelihoods, education, and community life, which usually suffer or even grind to a
halt during times of violence. Safer space is also the precondition for peacebuilding
activities to emerge and be implemented (Anderson & Olson, 2003; Eguren, 2015;
Giffen, 2013). While the reduction or prevention of physical violence is usually

rather associated with negative peace, UCP’s methodologies of halting or preventing
violence – the relationship-building, proactive strategies of deterrence and encour-
agement, capacity development among local communities, and provision of a role
model – implement this protection work in a specific way that goes way beyond the
mere deterrence of violent actors. By focusing on changes in armed actors’ behavior,
methodologies of relationship-building and dialogue, and capacities and strategies of
self-protection among violence-affected communities, the unarmed civilian version
of peacekeeping often lays some of the foundations for long-term peacebuilding
processes. For instance, as mentioned above, NP has supported the development of
Women’s Protection Teams in South Sudan. These groups of women are taking on
new roles in their communities and developing new relationships while they work
for peace (NP, 2017). This will last long after the present civil war and related
violence has ceased. Women play an important role in developing positive peace in
all manner of forms in their communities. In another example, Christian Peacemaker
Teams (CPT) in Palestine work to protect communities and people, while modelling
nonviolence, so that communities will still exist when the fighting finally stops while
also reminding people of nonviolent options (McCarthy & Pinckney, 2016; Schweit-
zer, 2018b; on CPT see Kern, 2009).
Secondly and more specifically, UCP makes a contribution to positive peace by
protecting specific people and organizations and thus enable them to continue and
expand their work in the midst of and after violent political conflict. Defenders of
human rights, labor rights, women’s rights, or Indigenous people’s rights, religious
leaders working for peace, social leaders working for land and environmental rights,
and many more, can all be threatened with violence because of their work. State
and/or non-state armed actors may try to stop these activists because they fear that
their violent or violating behavior could be exposed, or because they fear a curtailing
of their privileges such as land use or access to natural resources. Such rights and
peace activists often also hold the parties to a political conflict accountable in the
implementation of peace agreements. Colombia is a case in point, where violence
against social leaders and activists has continued at high levels even after a peace
agreement was negotiated and signed by the Colombian government and the guer-
rilla group FARC in 2016, with one activist or social leader being injured or killed
roughly every 4 days. By protecting rights and peace activists, UCP organizations
ensure that these important actors, who are key to achieving and maintaining the
legal, economic, social, and political conditions for peace over time, are able to carry
on with their work. Peace Brigades International (PBI), for example, has carried out
protection work for and with human rights defenders in countries including Colom-
bia, Guatemala, Honduras, Indonesia, Kenya, Mexico, and Nepal, adapting its
approach to the respective local context of carrying out this work (e.g., PBI, 2004,
2009, 2011, n.d.; see also https://www.peacebrigades.org). It is a specific character-
istic of UCP that, by virtue of its unarmed and nonviolent approach, it is a method of
protection which is suitable for those who campaign for peace because it matches
their values and work approaches. Additionally, due to the basic principle of the
primacy of the local, UCP does not try to influence activists’ work programs or
choices in activities. This has made UCP organizations specializing in protective

presence/accompaniment a valued partner for local actors working towards positive
peace (Eguren, 2015; Mahony & Eguren, 1997; Mahony, 2006; Coy, 2001; Schirch,
2006).
Thirdly, UCP contributes to a broader participation in peacebuilding processes
because it includes local grassroots people and communities in the peace efforts and
does not privilege or focus exclusively on armed actors, high-profile politicians, or
other powerful actors/institutions in its approach. By involving many people from
different sides and backgrounds in their activities, UCP organizations support
connections across divides, which are conducive to peacebuilding processes and
social cohesion beyond urgent protection needs (Lederach, 1997; Wallis, 2015). This
is achieved through UCP’s methodologies outlined above. UCP is based on building
relationships and connections with and, importantly, between local people and
communities, which is a basis for further interaction, communication, dialogue,
negotiation, and the like. This helps to (re)build social capital so essential for
positive peace. Relationship-building with many different people sometimes opens
up hitherto unrecognized ways of communication or influencing, and can unveil the
skills and capacities of hitherto ignored actors. Through their principle of the
primacy of the local, which guides UCP organizations’ planning and programming,
they also demonstrate that civilian leadership can have a significant role and voice in
processes that halt or prevent violence and build positive peace. And UCP’s meth-
odology of capacity-building or enhancement through trainings can enhance these
local actors’ ability to contribute to local peace processes. Since violent political
conflicts often manifest in locally specific forms, and local conflicts may escalate
into regional or national conflicts (Autesserre, 2014; Kalyvas, 2003), the participa-
tory work UCP does at local community level is essential to prospects of sustainable,
positive peace. For example, in Guatemala, peace and rights activists protected by
PBI eventually were elected to parliament and civil society leadership positions.
Fourthly, through its inclusive and broad approach to protection, UCP supports,
enhances, and trains local people in their strategies to halt, prevent, and transform
violence. This training can be directed at local communities to enhance their self-
protection strategies, for example, strategies that they can use to predict new threats
of violence (early warning) and prepare responses for when they erupt (early
response). It can aim at training local people in UCP methodologies so that they
can protect others. For instance, in Syria, activists trained in UCP have developed
programs and outreach in their communities and schools addressing not just violence
prevention and self-protection, but also tolerance for and connections across differ-
ences. It can also mean training the armed groups about UCP and civilians’ rights so
they understand their role in making sure civilians are not targeted as a result of their
actions. In both the Philippines and Myanmar, UCP teams have trained military
personnel in international human rights law and international agreements about child
soldiers, women, etc. that their governments have signed. In many cases, this has
been well received and appreciated, sharing information the soldiers did not have.
All these actions and responses build up knowledge that makes it more likely that
potentially violent behaviors are noticed early and that threats can be reduced. Being
based entirely on the principle of nonviolence, this approach may challenge funda-
mental attitudes about what is possible in terms of civilian-to-civilian protection,
especially in areas with a long conflict history where violence has become a normal
modus operandi, and thus provide a role model for nonviolent protection and conflict
resolution. UCP thereby also works towards a culture of peace, as it demonstrates
that protection and conflict resolution are achievable through the work of civilians.
And, as discussed at above, sometimes those civilians are reminded of and activate
traditional cultural practices of nonviolent conflict resolution that can contribute to
context-sensitive approaches to building lasting peace.
Fifthly, UCP purposefully draws groups often excluded from peacemaking,
peacekeeping, and peacebuilding processes, such as women and youth, into the
protection activities and recognizes and enhances their own existing protection
strategies and leverage for protection work. It thereby widens the scope of protection
activities that are necessary and available to use in building a safer and more peaceful
environment and lays the foundations of inclusion necessary for positive peace to
emerge. In Sri Lanka, a local NGO developed youth-led shanti sena peace army
teams to work in their communities to help bridge divides between different ethnic
groups (on the origins of shanti sena in India, see Weber, 1996). In South Sudan, as
already mentioned, Women Protection Teams are making a big contribution now and
change expectations of women’s work (NP, 2017). In Myanmar and in South Sudan,
UCP projects have developed specific programs to include youth in peace work.
Last not least, UCP operates in an environment where conflicts need to be
addressed and resolved, and although UCP itself is not a conflict resolution mech-
anism, it nonetheless promotes dealing with violent conflict in its immediacy, and it
does so by entirely nonviolent means (cf. Lederach, 2005). These nonviolent
protection strategies and methods demonstrate that violence is not the only option
for resolving conflict and they provide the tools to address future conflict nonvio-
lently as well. The ability for conflict to be resolved nonviolently is essential for
positive peace. For example, UCP teams in Mindanao have supported and become
involved in mediating rido – violent conflicts between family clans. This both
decreases immediate violence and its potential to expand to regional conflict, but
also helps to develop the practice of using mediation to resolve rido (Furnari, 2016,
pp. 136–174).
Conclusion
This chapter has argued that unarmed civilian peacekeeping (UCP), while primarily
focused on the reduction and prevention of violence, can make a major contribution
to processes that work towards positive peace by virtue of its basic principles and
core methodologies, which differ substantially from traditional peacekeeping inter-
ventions. UCP is sustainable and long-lasting in that it not only provides protection
to civilians in the midst of violent political conflict, but also works with local
communities in this task. Its methodologies and core strategies, based on non-
negotiable principles such as nonviolence and the primacy of local actors, do
much more than just reduce levels of violence; they have the potential to nurture the
context for positive peace by creating safer space for peace activities, protecting
peace and rights activists, broadening the ownership base for peace processes by
working with a broad range of people at the local level, providing a role model and
strategies of nonviolent protection and conflict resolution, and including those
groups that are otherwise often marginalized from peace processes. Its core meth-
odology of relationship-building, connecting actors from many sides and levels,
makes UCP more comprehensive than high-level attempts at protecting civilians and
resolving conflicts, and is more attuned to the context-dependence and logics of
political violence in its local manifestations and dynamics. Given its proven effec-
tiveness in violent conflicts of different types and intensity around the world, future
research could aim to address some of the challenges of UCP work, especially its
potential to be scaled up to become not only a credible but also a serious alternative
to violence-based peacekeeping and peacebuilding interventions (Carriere, 2011;
Furnari et al., 2015; Rossi, 2015; Venturi, 2015).
Acknowledgments This chapter was supported by the Network Plus “Creating Safer Space:
Strengthening Civilian Protection Amidst Violent Conflict,” financed by the Arts and Humanities
Research Council and the Global Challenges Research Fund, UK (project code: AH/T008024/1).
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Diplomatic Heroism and Positive Peace
16
Peter Grace and Robert G. Patman
Contents
The Fetters that Fly. Diplomatic Heroism and Positive Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 314
The Diplomat and Human Rights . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 315
The Diplomat and Democratic Institution Building . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 317
The Diplomat and Development Aid . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 320
The Diplomat and Coercive Diplomacy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 322
The Diplomat and Future Heroism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 325
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 326
Abstract
Diplomacy is, in many ways, a process that has nonviolence at its heart. Yet many
diplomats are bound by the interests of their own governments when it comes to
acting in a humane or peace-seeking manner. This often forces a choice between
observing diplomatic conventions and breaking them to achieve results. This
chapter looks at the role of the maverick and whistleblower in crises involving
diplomacy. It focuses on human rights, democratic institution building, and aid
and development as the diplomatic mechanisms for peace. It also looks at the role
of coercive diplomacy as a tool to avoid, rather than promote, violence. Future
opportunities for diplomacy and positive peace are where the agency of the
individual is replaced by the agency of collective action through digital
diplomacy.
Keywords
Diplomacy · Heroism · Positive peace · Human rights · Democratic institutions ·
Aid
P. Grace (*) · R. G. Patman

e-mail: peter.grace@otago.ac.nz; robert.patman@otago.ac.nz
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_16
314 P. Grace and R. G. Patman
The Fetters that Fly. Diplomatic Heroism and Positive Peace
It is by my fetters that I can fly,

It is by my sorrows that I can soar;
It is by my reverses that I can run;
It is by my tears that I can travel;
It is by my Cross that I can climb into the heart of humanity;
Let me magnify my Cross, O God!
– Gandhi, 1947 (Tendulkar, 1954)
Diplomacy is, in many ways, a process that has nonviolence at its heart. Sir Ernest
Mason Satow’s classic 1917 text defines diplomacy as “the application of intelli-
gence and tact to the conduct of official relations between the governments of
independent states, and between governments and international institutions; or,
more briefly, the conduct of business between states by peaceful means” (Roberts,
2009, p. 3). Yet, as this chapter will show, many diplomats are bound by the interests
of their own governments when it comes to acting in a humane or peace-seeking
manner. This often forces a choice between observing diplomatic conventions and
breaking them to achieve results. “Established procedures, practices and rules of
diplomatic management suddenly lose relevance in a proportional manner to the
intensity of the international crisis” says Bjola (2015, pp. 4–9). In this chapter we are
going to look at the role of the maverick and whistleblower in crises involving
diplomacy. We will focus primarily on human rights, democratic institution building,
and aid and development as the diplomatic mechanisms for peace. We will also look
at the role of coercive diplomacy as a tool to avoid, rather than promote, violence.
We will end by looking at future opportunities for diplomacy and positive peace,
where the agency of the individual is replaced by the agency of collective action
through digital diplomacy. While by focusing on individual cases rather than
institutional ones is by nature selective, these examples highlight the need for
diplomats to rank preferences when it comes to nonviolence and peace-seeking.
Gandhi’s poem above shows how adversity challenges the diplomat to make hard,
heroic choices to “climb into the heart of humanity.”
Diplomacy refers to people, institutions, and processes used by states to conduct
their political relations with another, typically by a country’s representatives abroad.
It involves communication, discussion, and what is often called the art of compro-
mise. The process of diplomacy is multifaceted and encompasses tasks ranging from
the relatively mundane issuance of travel visas to complex negotiations aimed at
resolving international conflicts. It should be emphasized that the use of diplomacy
to resolve disputes (and to build relationships more generally) on a nonviolent basis
does not mean it entirely rejects coercion. Diplomacy is conducted by states in a
decentralized or anarchical international environment, and there will always be states
who seek to revise borders, control populations, or alter the access to material
resources or terms of trade in their favor through the use of force, or the threat of
the force. Indeed, Kofi Annan, a former UN Secretary General, once observed: “You
can do a lot with diplomacy, but with diplomacy backed up by force you can get a lot
more done” (Annan, 1998, para 14).
16 Diplomatic Heroism and Positive Peace 315
Generally, however, diplomats see their work as being the avoidance of violence
through trust-building, transparency, the imposition of frameworks of rules, and
bilateral or multilateral consensus. Diplomacy seeks to incentivize good behavior of
states (through recognition, trade, the transfer of technology, and cultural exchanges)
and punish transgressions (through delegitimizing regimes, imposing sanctions, and
collective defense). Diplomacy is both a first and a last resort to avoid war. The
outbreak of war is often said to signify the failure of diplomacy. It also can also
provide a vital channel of communication and possibly influence during conflicts, a
factor which can help bring end armed violence.
Diplomacy is an instrument through which state actors attempt to achieve
national objectives. For Arnold Wolfers (1962, p. 59) the pressure on the diplomat
to abide by a “nationalistic scale of values” does not always sit comfortably with a
moral duty to promote international amity. These Westphalian values are assumed,
says Wolfers, “to justify the sacrifice of almost every other value whether it be life,
generosity, humane treatment of others, truthfulness or obedience to the law.”
As well as some embedded assumptions about values there may also be an
institutional reluctance to change. After all, diplomats are expected to implement
the policies formulated by political decision-makers. Dr. Simon Adams of the Global
Centre for the Responsibility to Protect believes diplomatic institutions are by nature
conservative and always lag behind changes in the real world (Williams, 2014, para 6).
For diplomats faced with institutional inertia in times of crisis the alternative is to take
personal responsibility to save lives Bjola (2015, pp. 5–8) believes the possible
responses for the individual diplomat are to become either the maverick, the congre-
gator, or the pragmatist, the latter two more likely to work within the rules of
diplomacy than to break them. They all have in common the resisting of international
pressure, challenging well held assumptions and “going against the grain.” They
impress upon the diplomat the need to “take risks, think creatively and adapt swiftly
to changing circumstances” (Bjola, 2015, p. 5). (“Mavericks,” states Bjola, “offer
strong ideas about how to handle the crisis, but they fail to inspire many others to
follow them. Congregators are consensus-builders. They rarely set out a powerful
vision for others to rally around and instead seek to bridge differences among parties.
Finally, pragmatists combine a bold vision for taking control of the situation with a
mutually resonating relationship with their audience.”) It may be these instances of
defiance, where the “fetters” of diplomacy are shaken off, that allow for human flights
of heroism in world history.
The Diplomat and Human Rights
The centerpiece of human rights based diplomacy is the Universal Declaration on

Human Rights, which was signed in December 1948 and binds all UN member states
to promote and protect the political, civil, economic, and legal rights of all human
beings (Roberts, 2009, pp. 110–112). The Declaration was the first time that an
international organization had attempted to define a comprehensive code of conduct
for the internal governance of its members (Patman, 2000, p. 1). The idea that human
beings have rights because they are human beings and not because they are citizens
of state A or state B was, in terms of the traditional practice of global politics
hitherto, a truly novel approach (Robinson, 1998, p. 118). For diplomats, human
rights often takes center stage in their efforts, particularly for those posted in
countries where the rule of law is applied arbitrarily. One example is the giving of
diplomatic asylum to refugees of the host state. Another is the giving of collective
shelter which notably took place in 1989 in Prague and Warsaw for East German
citizens whose occupation of the West German embassies precipitated the fall of the
Soviet Union (Roberts, 2009, pp. 110–11).
The Rwandan genocide of 1994 was a counterexample of government diplomacy
failing to step up to arrest the spread of human rights abuses (Roberts, 2009, p. 496).
The UN Commander Lt.-Gen Romeo Dallaire said Rwanda was seen as too difficult
by the Clinton administration in Washington and not of sufficient interest and value
to warrant humanitarian intervention to prevent the outbreak of violence. “I remain
mystified,” he said “that human life, the security of non-combatants, and the
prevention of such horrors as the genocide in Rwanda are, sadly, not sufficient to
act as a catalyst for a swift and determined response from the international
community. . .” (Muscat, 2015, p. 15). In a speech to the United Nations a decade
after the tragedy, Kofi Annan acknowledged the failure of the United Nations
Security Council (UNSC), and questioned whether a future crisis would inspire
action. “[A]re we confident that, confronted by a new Rwanda today, we can respond
effectively, in good time?” Annan asked. “We can by no means be certain we would”
(Annan, 2004, para 14).
Diplomats, on the other hand, have often displayed great personal heroism at
times of major human rights crises. Two notable examples are the Swedish ambas-
sadors Raoul Wallenberg (1912–1947) and Harald Edelstam (1913–1989). Wallen-
berg is credited with saving between 30,000 and 100,000 Jewish lives during his
posting to Budapest from July 1944 until his arrest by the Soviet NKVD in 1945
(Bierman, 1981, p. ix). He died, probably at the hands of his captors, somewhere
around July 1947. Wallenberg arrived in the Hungarian capital as Jews were being
boarded onto trains bound for the Nazi death camps of Auschwitz: four thousand a
day, with sometimes as many as a hundred people in each wagon. Though the
Swedes were neutral during the Second World War, they had downgraded their
mission from a full embassy to a legation in non-recognition of the Nazi puppet
government. Both the German and Hungarian governments relied on Swedish
representation in a number of important states during the conflict, and a number of
high ranking Budapest residents were worried about their culpability for the holo-
caust when the war ended. Wallenberg used threats, blackmail and bribery quite
judiciously to negotiate the release of the many thousands of Jews, including the
forging of a yellow and blue passport, decorated with the crown of the Royal
Swedish government, to aid their escape from Hungary. Cued to the success of
this official-looking paperwork, the Swiss Legation soon did the same. Wallenberg
worked tirelessly (and more conventionally) as a diplomat by negotiating with the
neutral legions of Budapest and the Hungarian government to forestall the mass
deportations to Auschwitz. When in late 1944 the fascist Arrow Cross seized power
Wallenberg immediately met with the wife of the new foreign minister, who hid her
Jewish ancestry, and reminded her that both she and her yet unborn child should
empathize with the plight of Hungarian Jews. As the Soviet Red Army edged closer,
the Nazi genocide efforts grew more feverish. In addition to his successful negoti-
ations with the foreign minister’s wife, Wallenberg physically drove around Hun-
gary, bribing the railway guards who organized the deportations, handing out food,
clothing, and medicine, and issuing his faked passports to those Jews he could save
along the way (Bierman, 1981, pp. 48–52, 77–83).
Like Raoul Wallenberg, Harald Edelstam also took great personal risks to save
Jewish people during the Second World War, this time while posted in Nazi occupied
Norway. Edelstam made the news in 1972 as the Swedish ambassador to Chile
during the time of the left-wing Allende government. Edelstam’s posting coincided
with a military coup that brought chaos to the Chilean capital and the bodies of
tortured political prisoners began to pile up on the streets of Santiago, in its rivers
and canals. At the same time the military dictatorship began a siege of the Cuban
embassy. Taking it on himself, Edelstam decided to take responsibility for the
embattled embassy, hoisting the Swedish flag in place of the Cuban one. This
effectively put not only the Cuban mission’s staff under his protection but also
created collective shelter for thousands of fleeing Cuban refugees. The next day
Edelstam presented the Swedish government with a fait accompli. “It was obvious
for everyone there was no time to ask,” says Peter Landelius, then Secretary to the
Swedish Foreign Minister. “Nobody told Edelstam to do what he did, or to undo
what he had done” (Bonnefoy, 2016, p. 5).
Yet it was not the Nazis who punished hero diplomats like Wallenberg and
Edelstam, but their own governments. Aristides de Sousa Mendes, the Portuguese
consul general in Bordeaux, was dismissed from his job after offering fleeing Jew
visas in 1940. Another, the American diplomat Hiram Bingham IV, was removed
from his post in Marseilles for defying his orders “to put every obstacle in the way
and. . . postpone and postpone and postpone the granting of visas [to Jews]”
(Holbrooke, 2007, pp. 135–138).
In a 2013 speech to launch an Edelstam prize, the Swedish Minister for Integra-
tion recognized that both Wallenberg and Edelstam had broken government rules of
diplomacy in the process of saving lives. “So when is it right to ignore rules?” Erik
Ullenhag asked. “Where do we draw the limits of diplomacy? Without going into
personal responsibility under public international law I will make it simple. Rules
should be ignored when it leads to the protection of human rights and especially
human lives” (Ullenhag, 2013. para 6).
The Diplomat and Democratic Institution Building
Public diplomacy is “an instrument used by states, associations of states, and some
sub-state and non-state actors to understand cultures, attitudes and behaviour; and
influence thoughts and mobilise actions to advance their interests and values”
(Melissen, 2013, p. 436) (Our italics).
Michael McFaul, the US Ambassador to Moscow from 2012 to 2014, is a strong

advocate of democracy promotion (Craft, 2009, para 4). For McFaul, who is also a
professor of international relations, democracy is an established constitutive norm of
the West. That this norm has been a tool of foreign relations policy for the USA is
summed up in this statement from the GW Bush administration in 2006:
In the world today, the fundamental character of regimes matters as much as the distribution
of power among them. The goal of our statecraft is to help create a world of democratic,
well-governed states that can meet the needs of their citizens and conduct themselves
responsibly in the international system. (Magen & McFaul, 2009, p. 3)
It is also a stated aim of the EU, which in a 2003 security policy document stated
that “[s]preading good governance, supporting social and political reform, dealing
with corruption and abuse of power, establishing the rule of law, and protecting
human rights are best means of strengthening the international order” (Magen &
McFaul, 2009, pp. 2–3).
McFaul’s ambassadorship to Russia focused on the Obama administration’s
“reset” in the relationship between the two countries. But for McFaul, who person-
ally believed there was no silver lining to the Putin regime, the relationship was
quickly deteriorating, not improving (McFaul, 2018c, para 4; Craft, 2009 para 20).
Already known for his academic writing on democracy promotion, McFaul now had
an opportunity as a diplomat to put it into effect on the ground. “In dealing with
countries like Russia,” he believed, “. . .Democrats should seek to engage both the
state but also societal leaders and organizations advocating democracy, human
rights, and the rule of law” (Craft, 2009). His friendship with opposition leader
Boris Nemtsov, who had been a reformist deputy prime minister under Yeltsin, lasted
two decades. Nemtsov was assassinated in February 2015. For McFaul, Nemstov’s
resistance against the Russian regime had made him a fierce patriot (McFaul, 2018b,
para 2). McFaul’s ideas did not endear him to his hosts while he was ambassador. “I
had written articles criticising Putin’s autocratic ways, some of which I know he had
seen. He was not going to like me” (McFaul, 2018a, p. 241).
McFaul was right about that. At a meeting in May 2012 between National
Security Advisor Tom Donilon and Putin, the Russian president suddenly turned
his eyes on a surprised McFaul and berated him for ruining U.S.-Russia relations
(McFaul, 2018a, p. ix). The new ambassador was constantly hassled in the street by
the pro-Putin youth group Nashi. One of his staff had his tires slashed, and others
their apartments broken into, with furniture rearranged or lights left on to unnerve
them. His security team counted almost 500 episodes of harassment against US
embassy staff in a 10 week period during 2012, a phenomenon which had not even
been recorded during the Soviet era (McFaul, 2018c, para 18).
While McFaul is an example of public diplomacy working in the interests of
democracy promotion his actions illustrate the contested nature of this practice; in
particular to established norms like the non-interference in another state’s domestic
affairs. For Melissen (2013, p. 439) this is a worthy debate that highlights the often
limited engagement diplomats have with civil society, particularly when posted to
non-democratic host states. Host governments may view public diplomacy as
“intrusive, threatening and undermining their country’s stability.” European states,

Melissen (2013, p. 439) believes, have been more rounded in their approach to
public diplomacy than the USA, which employed it after 9/11 in the context of
national security. In contrast the EU broadens public engagement to include issues
like immigration and integration, ethical issues, cross-border environmental, and
public health matters. These in themselves are now accepted as security concerns
and therefore speak to the role of the diplomat in promoting peace where the
potential for conflict is rising.
McFaul’s approach also emphasizes his dual role as scholar and diplomat.
Parmar (2013, p. 232) argues that democratic peace theory (a theory which infers
that a world made up solely of democratic states would be a more peaceful one)
became the intellectual rationale for America’s global role from the end of the
Cold War onwards. In a 2005 article McFaul had compared the downfalls of
Serbia’s Milosevic (2003), Georgia’s Shevardnadze (2003), and Ukraine’s Kuchma
(2004) to outline six factors for a color revolution’s “democratic breakthrough”
(McFaul, 2005, pp. 6–7). These criteria included a united opposition; the ability to
mobilize the masses; and divisions within the military and security forces, which
McFaul described as “a split between the guys with guns” (McFaul, 2005, pp. 6–
7). McFaul was posted to Moscow when the “Snow Revolution” (2011–2013) –
two years of protests against flawed election processes – was still a fresh memory.
He believes that while mistakes may have been made in the reset with Russia, the
role he played in engaging with the Russian opposition was not meddling, but a
decision to put himself on the “right side of history” (Beebe, 2018, para 5). He
argues that the USA ought to have done more to support and consolidate Russia’s
transition to democracy, and concentrated on institution building rather than the
economy (Beebe, 2018, para 5).
McFaul testimony to his years in Russia is told in his book Cold War, Hot Peace
(2018a). For the professor/diplomat, individuals matter. Speaking of Gorbachev (but
also perhaps of himself) he claims “when the conditions are ripe, individuals can
change the course of history, for better or ill” (McFaul, 2018a, p. 425). Assessing the
value of McFaul’s democracy promotion, however, is not easy. His treatment by the
Russian security apparatus and its extended family drew attention to the regime’s
heavy-handed tactics. This coincided with a distinct chill between the Obama
administration and Moscow and the latter’s decision to take control of Crimea,
side with the al-Assad dictatorship in Syria and undertake “active measures” in
Western democratic elections. In this climate the US Congress increasingly
supported Ukraine and leveled punitive sanctions against the Russian Federation,
the largest state to have been targeted since the Second World War (Gould-Davies,
2018, para 4). In July 2018 McFaul was again targeted by the Putin regime when it
requested that he and (sanctions based) Magnitsky Act champion Bill Browder be
handed over to Russia for questioning about “illegal activities” (Guardian, 2018,
para 1). The Trump administration initially appeared to be considering complying
with the request, sparking outrage that the USA would contemplate handing over a
former ambassador to a hostile regime (Guardian, 2018, para 2). While McFaul was
not questioned by the Russian “investigators,” this example further demonstrates the
distance between the diplomatic institution of peace making and the individuals
charged with representing and executing such policies.
A second example is the story of the controversial Peter Galbraith, who was fired
from his role as a UN special representative to Afghanistan when he went public
over fraudulent practices in the Afghani presidential elections of 2009. In response to
his dismissal Galbraith became a whistleblower. “The fraud in the elections – and,
frankly, the U.N.’s complicity - are literally killing American soldiers” he claimed
(Wallace-Wells, 2010, para 15). Galbraith published a personal letter to Ban
Ki-moon in the New York Times and claimed his direct boss in Afghanistan was
responsible for “downplaying the fraud” that helped Hamid Kazai win. A former US
Ambassador to Croatia, Galbraith has been described as “abrasive,” “self-impor-
tant,” and pompous and was criticized for his profiting in a deal between a Norwe-
gian oil company and Kurdistan (Wallace-Wells, 2010, para 23; Bromage, 2012,
para 11, 16). He has also had his work championed as “heroics” (Wallace-Wells,
2010) by former US Ambassador to the UN Samantha Power, is credited with
directing the CIA to the mass graves in Srebrenica and publicizing Saddam
Hussein’s poison gas attacks on Iraqi Kurds (Bromage, 2012, para 5). He contends
that difficult foreign policy problems are more likely to be solved by sticking to
moral principles rather than shirking them. “I understood that the moment you get
fired for taking a stand on principle, you’re finished as a diplomat,” Galbraith says.
“People may admire you, but nobody wants to hire a principled diplomat” (Wallace-
Wells, 2010, para 7).
The Diplomat and Development Aid
As we have seen, whether the diplomat chooses to work within the system or buck it,
when opportunities to make a difference require quick decisions and action the
bureaucratic process of diplomacy is often driven by institutional goals rather than
peaceful ones. Arguably this should be less true of aid and development, where the
aims are usually longer term and good processes may be more valuable than
lightning moral reflexes.
Development aid can be defined as “aid expended in a manner that is anticipated
to promote development, whether achieved through economic growth or other
means” (Minoiu & Reddy, 2009). It involves a number of institutions including
bilateral and multilateral development assistance banks, aid agencies, and non-
governmental organizations (Muscat, 2015). Many embassies also play a role in
overseeing the investments of donor states, or undertake direct aid projects them-
selves. For this reason, in recipient countries like African states, the ambassador has
often been a development expert rather than a trained diplomat (Malone, 2013,
p. 130). When it comes to using development aid to promote peace, this is often
categorized as “preventative diplomacy”; defined as a spectrum of international
activities that acknowledges the need to address radical structural changes but that
in practice focuses on bargaining, interest-based negotiation, and good offices. In
other words, working within the institution of diplomacy (Muscat, 2015, p. 28).
Preventative diplomacy recognizes the value in investing in development aid agen-

cies as instruments of conflict prevention, seeing this as a less costly solution than
coercive diplomacy. Andrew Natsios, the head of USAID in 2002, highlighted three
main objectives of US foreign aid: health, economic development, and agriculture.
Natsios claimed that “our democracy efforts can help stop the violent internal
conflicts that lead to destabilising and costly refugee flows, anarchy and failed states,
and the spread of disease” (Muscat, 2015, p. 18).
When the Obama administration launched the Global Health Initiative in 2009,
Amanda Glassman and Jenny Ottenhoff of the Centre for Global Development asked
what the successful characteristics of a global health ambassador might be. They
prioritized the need to rebuild trust in the US global health programs, to look at new
ways of delivering aid to large, lower middle income countries and to be more
analytical about what works and what does not work in the health aid process.
The Ambassador should also be willing and empowered to call out agencies that don’t report
in a timely and complete manner and that show consistent under-performance, [to work with
US departments and others to] increase the reputational costs of non-cooperative behavior
and bring issues to Congress when needed. (Glassman & Ottenhoff, 2012, para 5)
At the 2016 World Humanitarian Summit, UN Secretary General Ban Ki-moon

stated the humanitarian assistance system was “seen as outdated and resistant to
change, fragmented and uncommitted to working collaboratively and too dominated
by the interests and funding of a few countries” (Hall, 2016, para 4).
Sinead Walsh was the Irish Ambassador to Sierra Leone and Liberia during the
outbreak of the Ebola Virus in 2014. From an aid background (she worked for
Concern Worldwide and Human Rights Watch prior to becoming a diplomat in
2009) she had also worked in Sierra Leone prior to the crisis (Radford, 2018, para 9).
As ambassador she had a dual role of traditional diplomat and aid program manager
(Walsh & Johnson, 2018, p. 16). Walsh quickly became frustrated with the failure of
world health agencies to recognize what was happening on the ground in Sierra
Leone and their reluctance to respond, despite early calls from medics that the
epidemic was serious and becoming out of control. The WHO, says Walsh, hesitated
to call a national emergency and mobilize aid because it believed the local govern-
ment would see intervention as a “hostile act” (O’Carroll, 2018, para 15). “I was
livid and frustrated,” she says (Walsh & Johnson, 2018, p.84). Sierra Leone was a
country with only 136 doctors out of a population of 6 million, 12 of whom died
from the Ebola virus themselves. The average fatality rate was 74%. “In my naivety
in those early Ebola days I thought, ‘Right, health crisis – WHO are here. They know
what to do. . .” says Walsh. “I soon found out that not only could we not rely on
WHO to sort the response out or give the international community a realistic
assessment of needs, but that we donor partners could barely get a meeting with
them” (Walsh & Johnson, 2018, p. 84). Deciding WHO were not up the task, Walsh
went into overdrive: visiting Ebola hospitals to get an idea of how quickly the
epidemic was spreading, insisting a national common control center be established,
and even forcing the topic to get included on a governmental meeting agenda! For
Walsh, a great deal of her work was spent trying to convince both the local and
global authorities how serious the Ebola crisis in Africa was becoming. A historic
resolution by the UN Security Council recognized this and finally called it a “threat
to international peace and security.” Even this response came with disappointments
(Walsh & Johnson, 2018, pp. 199–200).
Walsh and a British doctor, Oliver Johnson, teamed up to write a book
documenting their experiences, titled Getting to Zero (2018). While deeply critical
of many of the international institutions involved in the epidemic, they decided a
book would be the best way to avoid the same mistakes happening again in the event
of a new outbreak. For Walsh, her role as a diplomat had allowed her to play a central
role in galvanizing action at the time, and illustrated how organizations work under
crisis.
Walsh did not let her experience of working with health agencies in Sierra Leone
stop her from continuing her humanitarian career. In 2018 she became the EU
Ambassador to South Sudan (Walsh, 2018, LinkedIn profile). She believes in
working with local NGOs, establishing partnerships, and seeking to professionalize
corrupt and ineffective aid programs. Even in this context, she is concerned about the
effect individuals can have on the delivery of aid. “In areas where few organisations
work,” she writes, “partnership will carry additional risk and organisations may have
no track record. In these cases, selection may entail assessing the integrity and
commitment of an organisation’s leader” (Walsh, 2008, p. 5). The theme of individ-
ual agency is echoed by Oliver Johnson. “I was really struck by the number of instances
when the actions of a single person made a big difference to how the outbreak played
out, for better or for worse,” Johnson says. “Often this was when someone – be they a
community health worker or an international politician – took leadership despite the
risks, and in doing so saved many lives” (Radford, 2018, para 3).
The Diplomat and Coercive Diplomacy
We are now going to turn our attention to coercive diplomacy, or the use or threat of
force to promote peace. Coercive diplomacy is defined as “forceful persuasion,” a
strategy that “seeks to persuade an opponent to cease his aggression rather than
bludgeon him into stopping” (Art, 2003, pp. 6–7). Despite the obvious inference that
it employs or threatens of military power to achieve its ends, coercive diplomacy can
also take in economic sanctions, international condemnation or isolation, and even
the promise of rewards like aid, loans, and technology transfer to steer a target state,
an elite group within that state, or even a non-state actor toward compliance (Art,
2003, pp. 6–7).
While not a career diplomat, former president Jimmy Carter certainly qualifies as
a man who has put the diplomatic pursuit of peace foremost. He was honored with
the Nobel Peace Prize in 2002 having devoted his post-presidential career to mis-
sions to North Korea, Bosnia, Sudan, and the Middle East, as well as others (Carter
Centre, 2019, para 8).
Carter was a long-standing advocate for the protection of democracy by the USA
and United Nations. In an op-ed in the New York Times dated October 1990, he
detailed Haiti’s troubled history with elections and called for the “full support of the
international democratic community” (Carter, 1990, para 1). In the elections that
followed 2 months later an activist priest by the name of Jean-Bertrand Aristide was
elected, to be deposed by military junta in September of 1991. In 1994, after 3 years
of getting nowhere, President Bill Clinton finally responded by sending Carter to
negotiate a solution, by force if necessary. Carter in turn asked Senator Sam Nunn
and former Chairman of the Joint Chief of Staff (and later Secretary of State) General
Colin Powell to join him. Both men were there more as proof of the US’s willingness
to invade Haiti, than as peacemakers (Pastor, 2003, pp. 119–122).
Indeed, it was the threat of military action that was to give the diplomatic talks
some grunt. The Haitian people were justifiably proud of being the first black
republic in the world, and of the popular revolt in 1791 that humiliated the great
military mastermind Napoleon. While these feats had never delivered the freedoms
intended – Haiti passed from one nightmarish dictatorship to another – it was
unlikely the proud and ruthless junta was going to back down just because the
USA asked them to. Moreover US power had been found wanting during the Somali
humanitarian intervention, and the junta doubted Clinton’s resolve. It would be a test
of Carter’s mettle, or the cold steel of the US military’s 20 helicopter gunships, that
would determine whether the Haitian generals would go peacefully or not (Pastor,
2003, pp. 119–122).
The USA was supported in its efforts to impose democracy on Haiti by the
Santiago Resolution (1991). Prior to this the Organisation of American States
(OAS) had opposed intervention in the domestic affairs of its members. By the
early 1990s, however, they were afraid that military coups, as in Haiti, would
undermine the further establishment of democracy in the region. In the event of an
overthrow of a democratically elected government, the OAS would meet under the
conditions of the Santiago Resolution to decide how to negotiate with the plotters to
reinstate democracy. The USA was also backed up by a UN General Assembly
decision that the Haitian coup was illegal. The suggestion that force was necessary to
resolve the situation was first moved by the Jamaican Prime Minister, Michael
Manley, but had been dismissed by GHW Bush’s administration. It was Clinton
who committed to restore Aristide to power, yet it took a good 18 months of
unsuccessful diplomacy before he agreed to match it with military might. His first
tentative effort was to attempt to land UN police advisers carried by the USS Harlan
County. Having been threatened by government thugs if they came ashore at Port au
Prince, the landing was abandoned. The USA responded by imposing tighter
sanctions than it had already, but this only succeeded in making the poor poorer
and the regime exploit the black market to get richer. In July 1994 UN Resolution
940 resolved to “use all necessary means to facilitate the departure from Haiti of the
military dictatorship”: the first time the UN had agreed to use force to reimpose a
democracy (Pastor, 2003, p. 126).
As the nominal leader of the mission Carter took control of the situation, and took
a risk of personal failure in his approach. The delegation met in the military
headquarters across the road from the Presidential Palace, the seat of the civilian
puppet government. The meeting was mostly made up of the Haitian military
hierarchy who believed both that Aristide’s return would result in civil war and that
their honor depended on resisting a US occupation. The US delegation was there to
not only return Aristide to his elected role but also to negotiate the exile of the junta
leaders and the imposition of a US police force of fourteen thousand troops on the
island. Carter knew he only had hours to negotiate a settlement: the Clinton
administration was set on using force and intended to do so in 3 days (Boyd-
Judson, 2011, p. 112). Having spent a day going around in circles with Haiti’s
coup leader, Lt. General Raol Cedras, Carter returned to his hotel room, sat down to
his laptop, and typed what became the diplomatic solution. The next day he
presented it to Cedras, and found the beginnings of compromise. Carter did not at
that time consult with or seek the approval of President Clinton. The president did
not learn of Carter’s proposal until after Cedras has seen it (Pastor, 2003, p. 133).
A turning point was the visit of the Carter team to Cedras’ house to meet his wife,
whose father and grandfather had been commanders in chief of the Haitian military.
It was evidently she, and not her husband, that would influence whether the junta
would fight or flee. With the gravitas of a former Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of
Staff, Powell spoke to her of the honor giving up power to save power, rather than
fighting to keep it (Pastor, 2003, p. 133).
By 2 pm on Sunday 18 September the negotiations took on all the drama of a
Hollywood movie. The midday deadline for agreement had passed and the navy
commander on the aircraft carrier prepared to invade. Watching the coming and
going of the parties on CNN, the navy commander agitated to have the Carter team
evacuated. The pressure escalated on both sides: at 4 pm the number two junta
member, General Philippe Biamby, burst into the room and told the assembled
negotiators he had heard the Eighty-second Airborne paratroopers were about to
invade. The Haitians had been betrayed, he shouted, and the talks were at an end. At
this point Carter asked to speak privately with President Clinton. When he returned
from his call he asked to be taken to the Presidential Palace to discuss the agreement
with the Emile Jonassaint, the 81-year-old puppet provisional president of the
regime. The Clinton administration had refused to acknowledge him (Boyd-Judson,
2011, p. 115). It was this diplomatic masterstroke that broke the impasse. Jonassaint
asked the key question: could Cedras’ forces defend Haiti if the Americans attacked?
The answer was no, and the agreement was largely settled (Pastor, 2003, p. 136).
Of coercive diplomacy, Robert Pastor, who was part of the negotiating team in
Haiti, says “the proper equation can compel leaders to recalculate their options and
choose a different course than they would have in the absence of adept diplomats
backed by force.” Pastor (2003, pp. 138–140) highlights three aspects to Carter
team’s success. First, they were given autonomy. For Carter, this meant a personal
guarantee he would make sure the terms of any agreement reached would be kept.
Second, they were able to put themselves in the shoes of their adversaries, which
included the skill of listening, and being seen to have listened. Finally, Pastor
distinguishes between the credible threat of force and the actual use of force. In
the Haiti situation, the threat of force brought the junta to the negotiating table, but
when they believed the threat was being carried out it almost scuttled the agreement.
Pastor praised Carter’s skills as a mediator, and says the former president focused on
the diplomatic job at hand and not the aircraft carrier waiting just outside of Port au
Prince. He needed to ensure the junta gave up power peacefully. “Carter was willing
to take those risks. He didn’t really mind,” says Pastor. “He knew what he was doing
was the right thing, and he just pursued that, and that gave him additional strength,
but in my judgement would have been inadequate in Haiti absent the implicit threat”
(Boyd-Judson, 2011, p. 122).
The Diplomat and Future Heroism
This chapter has reviewed the idea of diplomacy seeking positive peace focusing on
the role of the individual diplomat, particularly in times of crisis. A global trend in
recent years has been the apparent loss of influence by foreign ministries and their
staff to state leaders who want more political control over foreign policy, and other
ministries that deal direct with their counterparts (Cooper et al., 2013, p. 16). This is
particularly true under the current Trump administration, which under former Sec-
retary of State Rex Tillerson left senior positions vacant in the State Department and
effectively sidelined diplomats. (The US Foreign Service officer corps lost 60% of its
career ambassadors in the 12 months leading up to December 2017. See Goldgeier
and Saunders (2018, pp. 150–156).) Moreover, improved communications has
meant there is less requirement for a state’s representative to make decisions on
the ground. It is perfectly possible for political leaders with cellphones to intervene
in diplomatic negotiations or for diplomatic representatives to call home and request
political instructions. This suggests the role of the “autonomous” diplomat as an
actor who takes charge of a crisis may be diminishing, and the opportunities to “act
now and ask forgiveness later” may be vanishing forever.
Yet this is neither a completely new phenomenon nor one peculiar to diplomacy.
Multinational businesses have been devolving decision making away from the local
office for decades. Marcus Holmes (2015, p. 15) points out that the diplomacy
business has been slow to take advantage of internet communications technologies
(ICTs) and would benefit from using them more. He argues that diplomacy is a form
of change management in the international system, subject to top-down exogenous
shocks and bottom-up endogenous incremental shifting. Digital diplomacy, he
argues, is a strategy using digital tools and virtual collaboration to manage change.
While endogenous shocks respond best to traditional face-to-face meetings and
relationship building, and endogenous incremental shifting relies more on digital
tools and collaboration, there is overlap. Moreover, the digital diplomat has the tools
to engage with millions, and not hundreds of individuals. As we have seen, Raoul
Wallenberg may have saved between 30,000 and 100,000 Jews from Nazi extermi-
nation camps through his personal intervention (which in itself is an astounding
number), but how does this compare with the millions of refugees fleeing war-torn
Syria, or the outcomes of mass future exoduses from climate change ravaged states?
We will need to augment personal diplomatic heroism with political courage at the
level of foreign policy decision-making, and perhaps the combination of data sharing
and social media opinion gathering will help reduce the tendency for leaders to turn
the other way when confronted with evidence of terrible human suffering occurring
outside the boundaries of their sovereign states. It would be one way to further
institutionalize nonviolence in diplomacy rather than leave it up solely to the
contingency of human agency. It is unlikely to take away the symbolic and catalyz-
ing power of personal heroism in positive peace making, but it may also help to strip
the fetters that have restrained so many diplomatic opportunities to “climb into the
heart of humanity” (Tendulkar, 1954, p. 177).
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International Conflict Transformation: The
Pursuit of Positive Peace 17
Laura E. Reimer and Cathryne L. Schmitz
Contents
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 330
Merging Strands: Addressing Conflict and Engaging Peacebuilding . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 330
Transforming Conflict . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 332
Framework for Analysis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 333
Case Analysis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 334
Indigenous Canada: Slow and Inadequate Response . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 334
Kenya: Colonization and Reclamation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 338
Comparative Analysis Through the Lens of Conflict Transformation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 341
Indigenous Canada . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 342
Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 343
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 344
Abstract
Conflict transformation and its relationship to positive peace are explored. As an
evolving theory, conflict transformation allows for increasingly complexified,
multimodal, and cross-disciplinary practice recognizing the full dimensions of
conflict. Conflict transformation is explored as a framework for analysis and for
practice at the micro and macro levels, engaging and respecting local, national,
and global contexts. Case presentations illustrate diverse paths to transformative
change toward positive peace. While the original roots of the conflicts lie in
British colonialism, the conflicts and their transformation have evolved differ-
ently, yet similarly. The process embraces the complexities of history, ethnicity
and identity, cultural patterns, self-knowledge, and relationships.
L. E. Reimer (*)
University of Manitoba, Winnipeg, MB, Canada
C. L. Schmitz
University of North Carolina Greensboro, Greensboro, NC, USA
e-mail: clschmit@uncg.edu
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_17
330 L. E. Reimer and C. L. Schmitz
Keywords
Colonialism · Negative peace · Positive peace · Conflict transformation ·
Indigenous Canada · Reconciliation
Introduction
During the early years of peace studies, scholars examined war, direct violence, and
conflict in an effort to understand how these outcomes might be avoided. While
positional conflict traditionally suggests that each conflict has a winner and loser,
there are often common interests among all conflicting parties that can provide
bridges to transformation and truer resolution at all levels (Galtung, 1996). Conflict
is now recognized as a misalignment or disagreement through which there are real or
perceived threats to the needs, interests, or concerns of the parties involved; further,
conflict is recognized as holding the potential for positive change. With continued
scholarship and practice, conflict transformation has evolved. It is now applied at
multiple levels, as a framework, model, and theory (Thiessen, 2018). This chapter
explores conflict transformation and its relationship to positive peace, explaining
how it can be used for analysis and for practice at the micro and macro levels,
engaging and respecting the local, national, and global.
Conflict is arguably a constant factor in global politics (Lederach, 2003). Explor-
ing and understanding the causes of conflict by recognizing the type, category, and
characteristics of a conflict are critical tools for building positive peace. As an
evolving theory for understanding conflict, conflict transformation allows for increas-
ingly complexified, multimodal, and cross-disciplinary evidence of the full dimen-
sions of conflict (Byrne & Keashly, 2000; Thiessen, 2018). The absence of violent
conflict does not mean that a state of positive peace has been achieved. Conflict runs
deep and wide, across time and context; it is not resolved when the violence ceases.
The recognizable vertical and horizontal integration of the varied applications of
conflict transformation ultimately supports the building of positive peace.
Merging Strands: Addressing Conflict and Engaging

Peacebuilding
The articulation of positive peace emerged in the early peace and conflict studies
(PACS) literature amid efforts to address conflict and engage peacebuilding efforts
that would result in long-lasting, nonviolent peace. Johan Galtung (1969) established
the concepts of negative peace and positive peace in the academic literature by
observing that the absence of violence does not connote peace. The positive peace
platform includes the integration of conflict transformation, which is currently
understood to provide a relational link across inter- and intrapersonal conflict.
The embrace of conflict transformation as a route to positive peace has moved
through several stages of development (see Richmond, 2010). In order to understand
17 International Conflict Transformation: The Pursuit of Positive Peace 331
the application of conflict transformation, especially as it contributes to positive

peace, it is important to understand the evolution of peace studies (Botes, 2003). The
evolution of the PACS field has moved unevenly across its journey toward its current
explorations of conflict transformation at all levels and in all modes of conflict,
echoing the complexities and complications of engaging peacebuilding for the
desired result of positive peace. Through the development, practice, and analysis
of PACS, increasing clarity regarding conflict cycles has emerged.
In the post-world war years, conflict management provided a paradigm for
controlled responses to conflict at the state level. This reflected the realist political
paradigm of power and the long-held notion that every conflict has a clear winner
and loser. The best that was hoped for with conflict management was a war-free
world in which relationships between states or among groups were carefully man-
aged to avoid escalation to violence (Byrne, 2015). In this context, conflict manage-
ment provided the means to avoid war and was essentially negative peace. The
evolution of conflict analysis as management merged the roles of regional and
international institutions, serving as a safety valves t the global level (Byrne,
2015). The basic human needs approach recognized limited disciplinary explana-
tions of social problems in conflict management, and expanded research and practice
(Azar & Burton, 1986; Coser, 1956). According to the basic needs approach, violent
conflicts are caused by the deprivation of basic human needs of a population, rather
than a response to the interests, greed, or grievances of states.
The international climate after the Western Cold War provided groundwork for
multitrack diplomacy and the integration of elite and grassroots peacebuilding. This
moved the field toward conflict resolution, including the scholarship and application
of multitrack diplomacy, humanitarian aid, and the need to address genocide and
human rights violations from a systems perspective (McDonald & Diamond, 1996).
Peacebuilding efforts shifted from managing conflicts among states and nations
toward interactive problem-solving and conflict resolution among many relation-
ships. Conflict resolution, unlike conflict management, involved the engagement of
individuals and small groups, as advocated by scholar practitioners like Jay Rothman
(1997) and Ron Fisher (1997).
Upon these platforms, PACS moved broadly yet steadfastly forward and
established research-based foundations for the recognition of conflict transformation
as a more accurate conceptualization of the conflict cycle. John Paul Lederach is
often credited with introducing and establishing the term “conflict transformation” as
the natural evolution of the discipline beyond conflict resolution. True to PACS, in
which theory consistently emerges from practice and research, the original meanings
of conflict transformation are grounded in Lederach’s peacebuilding work in Central
America in the 1990s. Lederach’s Latino colleagues explained why the term reso-
lution was objectionable: it connoted a dismissal of important and legitimate social
and political issues, while also minimizing the potential for constructive change in
the interest of quick solutions (Lederach, 2003). Just as conflict resolution represents
a positive expansion beyond conflict management, conflict transformation allows for
the recognition and design of longer term constructive change within varied contexts
and cultures. In this way, conflict transformation merged the strands that address
conflict and engage peacebuilding by embracing, expanding, and then replacing

conflict management and conflict resolution to represent the language and practice of
the discipline.
Within the concept of conflict transformation is a deep recognition of strength,
community, agency, and resiliency. Conflict transformation is a comprehensive
framework that involves constructive change efforts toward the goal of deep and
lasting change, rather than specific problem-solving (Lederach, 2003). Critical to
this lens is the recognition that conflict shifts horizontally and vertically as it moves
forward and back, engaging a transformative process of change. Strategic
peacebuilding engages the transformation of relationships, the building of capacity,
and the development of relational skills (Schirch, 2004). There is an acknowledg-
ment that something has caused and resulted in a state of non-peace, and that
causation provides a bridge and framework for the work of positive peace.
Transforming Conflict
Just as the foundations of positive peace are found in the vertical connections of
interpersonal, intrapersonal, and intranational conflict, so too conflict transformation
is practiced and recognized as an integrated multilevel platform. PACS works toward
a process-based practice of positive peace (Galtung, 2000; Kriesberg, 1989; Ryan,
2000). When exploring the applicability of conflict transformation, it is of particular
importance that conflict is recognized as a motor of change (Lederach, 2003).
Scholars and practitioners acknowledge the circular nature of conflict: moving
forward, standing still, and sometimes seemingly moving backward, before there
is ultimately positive advancement and transformation toward positive peace.
It is by engaging in conflict processes that conflict transformation represents a
sharp departure from negative peace and from the historical recognition of winners
and losers in conflict settings. The foundational concepts of positive peace and
conflict transformation blend, providing both a vision and a methodology to analyze,
understand, and potentially transform conflict at all levels. Conflict transformation,
then, reflects the interconnectedness of patterns and relationships for building
sustained peace (Lederach, 2003). The complex nature of conflict provides motiva-
tion for change because it provides a vision that brings “into focus the horizon
toward which we journey – the building of healthy relationships and communities,
locally and globally” (Lederach, 2003, p. 5). Lederach (2003) states that conflict
transformation,
emphasizes the challenge of how to end something not desired and how to build something
that is desired (italics his). . .and . . . requires a capacity to see through and beyond the
presenting issues to the deeper patterns, while seeking creative responses that address real-
life issues in real time. (p. 39)
It is a framework that stresses conflicts as the “flow and return to relationships”

(Lederach, p. 17). Transformation engages the process and development of a
response, even with conflicts that do not demonstrate clearly identifiable sides or
adversaries.
Through the lens of conflict transformation, the impact of conflict on change at
structural, cultural, personal, and relational levels is appreciated and acknowledged.
The focus is on systems, structures, and relationships, including the connections with
history, with the vision of the future, and between personal struggles and public
concerns (Azar & Burton, 1986; Bathmaker, 2010; Miall, 2004; Mills, 1970). Even
at the international level, the relationships between and among players at all levels is
critical to building an understanding of how conflict grows, people respond, positive
or negative human and policy responses develop, and the potential intervention
processes and designs emerge (Lederach, 1997; Lederach, 2003; Reimer, Schmitz
et al., 2015). It is a lens through which root causes can be viewed alongside potential
causes, by explicitly recognizing and exploring the context of relationships sur-
rounding difficult or negative responses (Lederach, 2003).
Framework for Analysis
Conflict transformation is a framework for understanding what is, exploring poten-

tial responses, and engaging processes of development; it is a framework that pro-
vides both the foundation and the roadmap for building positive peace. There is
power in the broad nature and flexibility of conflict transformation as a framework
for respecting the processes of change. With the focus on the relationships inherent
in conflict transformation, the unarticulated conflicts built into institutions and
organizations like governments, corporations, and even civil society itself, are
relevant to study. The role of history and individual narratives are key components
of analysis in the process of shaping change (Lederach, 2003) and for examining the
development of conflict relationships.
A significant feature of this model is recognizing the multidimensional context
for gaining insight into personal experiences that take place within documented
histories and relationships, while allowing for the real influences of governmental
agreements and international interventions. The process is relational and
peacebuilding, describing the responses of people in conflict to enhance a framework
for analyzing conflict (Ryan, 2000). Justice happens when the multiple components
and relationships of conflict are explored and understood; social structures are then
created that sustain strong and healthy relationships (Galtung, 2000; Lederach,
2003). Peace is embedded in justice, which emphasizes the importance of building
respectful relationships between people (Lederach 2003). The principles of conflict
transformation constitute a holistic model recognizing conflict as embedded in
relationships (Lederach, 2003).
The components of Lederach’s model are a set of causal relationships arranged in
a circle. The circularity “reminds us that change, like life, is never static” (Lederach,
2003, p. 43). Part of the circularity is embraced in understanding the significance of
history and the historical evolution of relationships at the individual and collective
levels (Black, 2003; Wilmot & Hocker, 2007; Wolff, 2006). This is complicated yet
essential for transformation. By considering historical relationships, opposing cir-

cumstances, values, power, resources, and interpersonal relationships, conflict can
be explored to improve understanding and identify opportunities for potential
positive and constructive change. The nature of transforming conflict creates an
overall circle of change and reflection (Lederach). Circles of historical, present, and
future possibilities are linked as social energy moves back to history and forward
toward future possibilities. The process “goes beyond negotiating solutions and
builds toward something new” (p. 39). The depiction of conflict transformation as
circular allows for setbacks and underscores the continuous and inherently hopeful
nature of the process.
Case Analysis
Conflicts, currently and historically, unfold along with junctures holding possibilities
for precipitating and supporting the development of transformative change. Trans-
formation is not just one circumstance or one moment in time; it is not one relation-
ship or one event (Lederach, 2003) but rather the fluid interaction of many, including
the influences of history, context, culture and identity, and positionality. Models for
analysis, as often conceptualized, are focused on structure and therefore static.
Shifting the lens to embrace the centrality of process helps capture the intersecting
actions across relationships as change is engaged. As stories from people in conflict
emerge, the links between individuals and systems become evident and illuminate the
relationships across social systems and people, collectively and individually. The key
component is change toward positive peace (Rummel, 1981). Conflict transforma-
tion, embracing each of these factors, provides a framework for analysis.
The vertical and horizontal integration of the varied applications of conflict
transformation for building positive peace is exemplified through a review of two
complex sets of conflicts linking the historical story of Indigenous Canada and
through an exposure to the agency and resilience of local Kenyans with current
manifestations of the conflicts. Both are exemplars of the integrated complexity of
relationships that can be uncovered so that conflict can be understood and trans-
formed, so that positive peace may ultimately be achieved.
Indigenous Canada: Slow and Inadequate Response
Canada is a test case for a grand notion - the notion that dissimilar peoples can share lands,
resources, power and dreams while respecting and sustaining their differences. The story of
Canada is the story of many such peoples, trying and failing and trying again, to live together
in peace and harmony. But there cannot be peace or harmony unless there is justice. (Indian
and Northern Affairs Canada, 1996b, np)
Canada is nested between the Pacific, Atlantic, and Arctic Seas in North America.
The southern border, which closely follows the 49th parallel, is shared with Canada’s
only neighbor, the United States of America (USA). The country is vast, one of the
largest geographic regions in the world. The relationship between members of
Canada’s Indigenous nations and the government of Canada is complex and multi-
level. The influences of history, context, culture, positionality, and identity are
interwoven providing a view of a painful past with possibilities for a shared future.
During the early colonial years of what became Canada, Indigenous identity was
dismantled through deliberate decisions of the governments of Britain and France,
and after 1867, decisions of the Canadian government. This led to conflict that is still
unresolved, but it also provides a window into the potential for positive peace
through the lens of conflict transformation.
Colonialism and Imperialism

Current conflicts between Canadian democracy and Indigenous Canada have roots
over 400 years old. The original inhabitants of what became Canada shared a
common struggle: defending lands and cultures from the claims of imperialism
and capitalism, the violence of colonization, and the loss of home and community
through displacement. For most people, and especially for Canadians, it is the hidden
story of a relationship characterized by power imbalances, confused understandings,
and lingering, unresolved disputes (Indian and Northern Affairs Canada, 1996a).
The difference between this and many of the world’s conflicts, including Kenya, is
the notable absence of armed conflict (Wolff, 2006).
The land and its wealth of natural resources were the object of the colonial
interests of the French and British empires. Originally, the fur trade compelled
positive relations, including settlers and formal education, but the Industrial Revo-
lution changed the economic needs of England causing a decline in the importance
of the fur trade to Europe and signaling the end of cooperative relations between
England, France, and the Indigenous people. After losing the war of 1755 in Europe,
France ascribed its claims to parts of the land to Britain. Shortly thereafter, the
territory was claimed by the British Empire as part of King George III’s Royal
Proclamation of 1763 (Brooks, 2007).
Political, Cultural, and Economic Destruction

Canada became a country in 1867; along the way, different laws and agreements
governed the relationship with Indigenous people. In 1876, The Indian Act consol-
idated all legislation pertaining to the regulations and control of Indigenous (Indian)
people and lands, cementing the base for many structural conflicts that continue
today (Helin, 2006). In 1982, Queen Elizabeth II of Britain signed The Constitution
Act, to patriate the Canadian Constitution. With Royal Assent to this Act, all Treaties
and agreements, including those among France, Britain, and Indigenous people,
have remained the foundation beneath current Canadian law. There has been almost
no change to the legislation since the early days of the Canadian state, which has
serious implications for the development of positive peace.
Prior to European contact, Indigenous societies “were self-reliant, socially-coher-
ent, healthy and had a clear direction. They evidently thrived without welfare,
without unemployment insurance and without government transfer payments”
(Helin, 2006, p. 66). As the British empire expanded into what is now Canadian
territory, policies forcefully dismantled Indigenous culture and identity, mostly by
invalidating and outlawing social structures and institutions which are the building
blocks of positive peace (Fanon, 2004). British and then Canadian law used democ-
racy for control purposes (Galtung, 1971), imposing their own political organiza-
tions on Indigenous nations. The policy of relocating Indigenous people to reserves
distant from mainstream society and far from their original territories imposed the
loss of home and belonging, food sources, spiritual places, lifestyle, and freedom on
Indigenous people (Thira, 2009).
Traditional Indigenous cultures were self-defined and self-governed. The assault
on culture and customs focused on the Potlatch Ceremony of the west coast,
recognized as the heart of Indigenous government, spiritual activity, and a focal
point of the community. Potlatch and similar ceremonies across Canada were
outlawed from 1880 to 1951 under the prohibitions of The Indian Act (Cairns,
1999; Helin, 2006). Most public communal ceremonies were quickly outlawed by
the Canadian government. Despite grandiose displays for the media in the latter half
of the twentieth century and into 2018, the Canadian government has historically
only shown verbal interest in recognizing or resolving the conflict but has initiated
no meaningful structural changes to the Indian Act (Friesen, 1991).
Canadian legislation and literature insist that the Treaties are exchanges of land
for other benefits provided by Canada, including ammunition and farm animals
(Canada, 2009; Indian and Northern Affairs Canada, 2008). The signing of the
Treaties began a significant transition. The Treaties were and are significant in the
ongoing conflict, because for the first time in thousands of years, Indigenous identity
was defined by an external party and clearly delineated who qualified for a special
relationship for services from the Canadian government (Carter, 2008; Helin, 2006).
The gap between education levels, housing standards, and general health between
Canadian residents and Indigenous people is startling. Evidence of shocking and
extreme poverty and other social ills in Indigenous communities continue to emerge.
As early as 1991, public pressure resulted in the Liberal federal government of the
day establishing a commission of inquiry (Indian and Northern Affairs Canada,
1996a). In 1996, Canada’s government received the startling, multi-thousand-page
report from The Royal Commission on Aboriginal (Indigenous) Peoples. The Report
provided a graphic depiction of the life circumstances of Canada’s Indigenous
people and offered over 60 detailed recommendations toward a renewed relation-
ship. These included profound Constitutional amendments and specific change in
areas that included health, education, health and healing, family, and arts and
heritage. There was much passion and proclamation by government authorities,
including promises of millions of public dollars to address the disparities. The
funds were never allotted; consequently, virtually no changes were implemented
and the seeds for ongoing conflict were nurtured.
Conflict and Steps to Reconciliation

In 2006, the Government of Canada undertook deliberate action, making public
statements to acknowledge their responsibility in the conflict and speaking the
language of reconciliation. In line with peace scholarship, the state is a logical site
for resolving identity conflict and structural conflict (Byrne & Irvin, 2000; Carter,
2008). In late 2006, voters elected a Conservative government, and, despite no
precise statements of conflict transformation during the election campaign, deliber-
ate, constructive transformation began to emerge through public policy. Interest-
ingly, and with the astute observation of hindsight, this coincided with the efforts of
similar leadership systems in other former British colonies, in particular Ghana and
Botswana, that undertook steps to reflect the sociocultural contexts of those post-
colonial nations (Osei-Hwedie & Rankopo, 2015).
It was not until June 2008, that the Canadian government responded with remorse
and reconciliation. In 2008, Conservative Prime Minister Stephen Harper issued an
official statement recognizing that the long-standing “policy of assimilation was
wrong” and asking forgiveness from the survivors of harsh Canadian policies of the
past, and all Indigenous people in Canada (Indian and Northern Affairs Canada,
2008, para. 2). The apology was accepted on behalf of all Indigenous people by
leaders of Canada’s Indigenous groups, and is the pivotal transformation point for
this conflict.
Under the leadership of Prime Minister Harper, Canada formally began reconcil-
iation action that included compensation for ills, a public apology, and genuinely
inclusive consultations with Indigenous Leaders for legislative change. These
events, beginning in early 2007, began to transform the entrenched and seemingly
intractable conflict toward peace with justice. A Truth and Reconciliation Commis-
sion composed of Indigenous leaders chosen by Indigenous leaders was established
to explore and understand the deep impact of the residential school policy on
Indigenous individuals, communities, and nations. This resulted in the Calls to
Action recommended by the Commission but rejected by Parliament (Truth and
Reconciliation Commission of Canada, 2015). When Justin Trudeau was elected
Prime Minister of Canada in 2016, he promised to implement the 94 recommenda-
tions from the Calls to Action, many of which are beyond the scope and capacity of
the Canadian government. The implications are slowly emerging; it is unclear
whether the process further stresses relationships. Approached through the lens of
conflict transformation, however, this may be recognized as a normal stage of
transformative change.
The progression of conflict between Indigenous people and the European traders
and explorers that introduced Westminster Parliamentary democracy and capitalism
to North America is a story of protracted conflict. There have been catalysts within
the early years of the new millennium toward building respectful and responsible
peace, as several of the core causes of the conflict have been addressed (Northrup,
1989; Rothman, 1997; Wolff, 2006). The next phase will require legislative change,
in particular to The Indian Act.
Canada’s pursuit of positive peace remains precarious. Conflict could escalate
amidst promises on the part of the government to implement the 94 Truth and
Reconciliation recommendations. However, the symbolic and material apology by
the Canadian Prime Minister in 2006 for the wrongness of the assimilation policies
provided a positive foundation upon which reconciliation and transformation can
rise. For the first time in recorded history, peace with justice for Indigenous people
and all Canadians has taken its first tentative steps toward a positive shared future
and positive peace based on the actions of political leadership. This allows space for
the inclusion of local voice and engaged transformation vertically and horizontally
across Canadian society. The evolving relationship between Indigenous people and
democracy in Canada provides an example of the powerful effects and cautious hope
of conflict transformation.
Kenya: Colonization and Reclamation
. . . while colonialism was devastating for Africa, it has become a convenient scapegoat for
conflicts, warlordism, corruption, poverty, dependency, and mismanagement in the regions.
Africa cannot continue to blame her failed institutions, collapsed infrastructure, unemploy-
ment, drug abuse, and refugee crises on colonialism, but neither can these issues be
understood fully without acknowledging the fact of Africa’s past. (Maathai, 2009, p. 5)
Colonialism, Destruction, and Recovery

Kenya suffered under the same fate as the rest of Africa. Beginning in the latter half
of the 1880s, Kenya came under the grip of British colonialism; in 1894, a protec-
torate was established by the British. As Kenya was formed, the territories of
40 indigenous tribes were forced into the new State boundaries (Maathai, 2009;
Ndege, 2009). Ethnic communities were sometimes divided and in other instances
forced together. The British established the structures of imperialism and capitalism
so that they could have control of and benefit from the resources (Ndege). With
colonialism, the region was robbed of their independence, power, and local control.
Indigenous leaders were removed from power and cultures destroyed through
genocide and forced migration (Ndege). These were all necessary steps in the British
campaign to govern (Ndege; Maathai). The impact continued into postcolonial rule
(Maathai; Ndege).
With the end of British Protectorate in 1964, the structures of violence were
heightened (Mamdani, 2018; Ndege, 2009). Systems of leadership were established
which did not have oversight or accountability; they became more autocratic with
escalating violence and human rights violations (Mamdani; Ndege). The grievances
of the people were not heard as they struggled under violence, environmental
degradation, and ethnic and gendered oppression. Damage to food production and
the water supply negatively impacted community sustainability and health (Opido
et al., 2017). Further, the State has suffered the ongoing liability of unfair trade
practices and heavy debt burden (Maathai, 2009).
One vision for the postcolonial rebuilding is to embrace the three-legged African
stool as a way to “. . .escape the culture of dependency that leads to passivity,
fatalism, and failure” (Maathai, 2009, p. 5). The first leg is democratic space
where the rights of all (women, children, environmental/ecological, human) are
respected; second involves the “sustainable and accountable management of natural
resources for those living today and for those in the future” (p. 56); and, third, is the
development of a “culture of peace” that takes “the form of fairness, respect,
compassion, forgiveness, recompense, and justice” (p. 57). Maathai saw the
complexity,
. . . democracy doesn’t solely mean ‘one person, one vote’. It also means, among other
things, the protection of minority rights, an effective and truly representative parliament/ an
independent judiciary; an informed and engaged citizenry; an independent fourth estate; the
rights to assemble, practice one’s religion freely, and advocate for one’s own view peacefully
without fear of reprisal and arbitrary arrest; and an empowered and active civil society that
can operate without intimidation. (p. 56)
Maathai (2009) calls for the rediscovery of indigenous linguistic, cultural, and ethnic
diversity as a base for political and economic growth but also as a means for healing
old wounds.
The Greenbelt Movement Leads the Way

A model for change is found in the Greenbelt Movement, which helps
“. . .communities plant trees, and so improve their livelihoods, protect their environ-
ment, and, in the process, increase their commitment and persistence” (Maathai,
2006, p. 3). Cultural and biological diversity are both necessary to support the
development and maintenance of a healthy ecology and strong human communities
(Maathai, 2006). This movement models a holistic approach to addressing environ-
mental concerns from the ground up, and in the process, decrease poverty (Strides in
Development, 2010).
Activism and Activists The experiences of Wangari Maathai and the needs of a
community and a nation merged to create a path of change. Born in 1940, her life
transverses many of Kenya’s significant changes as they moved from a British
Protectorate to the formation of an independent Kenyan government plagued by
violence and corruption. She was born into a village which was lush and vibrant, still
embracing some indigenous beliefs and values.
The commitment of her mother and brother to supporting her education set many
changes in motion. With 12 years in Catholic Boarding School, she came to respect
the concepts of the common good, protection of human rights, and importance of
working with respect (Maathai, 2006; Merton & Dater, 2008). From there she was
awarded a grant supporting her studies in the USA where she completed undergrad-
uate and master’s degrees in biology. Here she found her voice and a respect for
citizen participation in government. Back in Kenya, she graduated with a PhD from
the University of Nairobi in 1971. She became the first women in East Africa to
acquire a doctorate, and, in 2004, became the first woman in Africa to be awarded the
Nobel Peace Prize (Maathai, 2004, 2006).
As a woman who believed that women have a right to their voice, she struggled.
While she married and had three children, the marriage was short. At the same time,
at the University of Nairobi, she took on the position of professor and department
chair (Merton & Dater, 2008); she also lost these roles and was denied parliament.
These losses and the resulting poverty she and her children experienced built
resilience with a commitment to follow her values and fight corruption. These
experiences “began her path as an activist and change agent to rebuild the ecosystem,
repair the fundamental connections of the people to their environment, and over-
come political violence” (Powers et al., 2018, p. 1027).
Back in her village, she encountered an ecology that was devastated. The
deforestation, unsustainable farming, and clearing took a toll, a consequence of
colonialism and the power grabs of the postcolonial era. Maathai started local. She
brought the women of her community together to identify struggles and possibilities.
High on the list was the lack of wood and clean water. Together, they identified the
need to plant trees, which became the base for rebuilding the ecology while building
community and empowering women (Graydon, 2005; Maathai, 2006). The Green-
belt Movement was born in 1977 of this endeavor.
The work of Greenbelt Movement resulted in a rebalanced ecology capable of
supporting sustainable farming (Maathai, 2003; Merton & Dater, 2008; Strides in
Development, 2010). The women relearned indigenous produce and methods,
increasing their success as they expanded their crops, bought livestock, and devel-
oped local markets (Maathai; Strides in Development). Opportunities grew as they
invested in the land and the future of their children’s education and health. The
Greenbelt Movement spread across Kenya, one community at a time. Dr. Maathai
pushed the women (and ultimately, the broader community) to look beyond the
symptoms to the root causes which included governance, economics, lack of self-
knowledge, fear, and inaction.
The presidency of Daniel arap Moi (1978–2002) provided the backdrop for the
development of a broader movement. It was a government of violence and corrup-
tion that mobilized against the growing movement once it was understood that it was
not just women planting trees (Merton & Dater, 2008). The women persisted,
empowering themselves, in spite of government violence. They fought gender
oppression and involved an ever-expanding community as they fought tyranny
(Maathai, 2006). The change efforts expanded into workshops and interactive
education on civic engagement which has become the Community Empowerment
and Education program (CEE).
The people learned about democracy and the necessity to hold the government
accountable; they overcame fear to become informed advocates (Merton & Dater,
2008). When the Moi government planned to develop a huge complex in 1989 at the
site of the only park in Nairobi, Uhuru Park, Maathai mobilized resistance (Maathai
2006; Merton & Dater). This became a pivotal point of change, raising awareness
about the impact of government on the environment. It would be necessary to
confront the process of governing in order to address the ecological issues, and to
learn the skills needed to create change in the government. Maathai contacted
potential funders, who pulled out their funding. She drew the wrath of the Moi
government as a “disobedient woman”; initially people avoided her out of fear but
when she was successful in stopping the development, people mobilized realizing
they could change the government (Maathai; Merton & Dater). She was now at risk
of government reprisal, but others watched over her, as she became a model for
overcoming fear to do the right thing. She challenged authority and engaged civil
society. She did not break laws and did not use violent means (Maathai; Merton &
Dater).
In 1992, the women coordinated a strike in the Freedom Corner of Uhuru Park to
demand the release of political prisoners (Maathai 2006; Merton & Dater, 2008).
Many of these prisoners were the sons, relatives, and friends of the women. After
3 days, others in the community joined, some had been political prisoners them-
selves. It was no longer just women. Strikers used nonviolent methods to hold their
ground as government troops attacked. An Indigenous tactic used by the women
involved stripping off their clothes and shaking their breasts; this scorned the men
who were to treat women the age of their mothers with respect. Many were injured,
including Maathai who was beaten unconscious. The injured were hospitalized and
the strikers returned each day for 11 months until the prisoners were released; during
that time, the number of protesters grew (Maathai; Merton & Dater).
Efforts were made to transform conflict nonviolently. In times of intense tribal
conflict, Wangari Maathai met with tribal leaders, appealing to them not to engage in
ethnic conflict. She maintained that the conflicts were manipulated by government
structures. Tribal conflict was escalated when a president came to power, giving the
ownership of resources to his tribe. This expanded Maathai’s understanding of the
ways environmental destruction and mismanagement is connected to national con-
flicts; change would require equitable use of resources.
The ongoing commitment to change was further embedded on multiple fronts
through formal and informal processes for keeping community members informed.
Local leadership emerged as women felt responsibility for building the health of
their communities. Through the CEE, the people were actively engaged in
questioning the government and themselves, coming to see that they had responsi-
bility for the direction of the government. This meant overcoming fear and taking a
stand.
The momentum intensified as a critical mass of participants mobilized to save the
Karura Forest. The rights to pillage the forest were granted Moi loyalists (Maathai
2006; Merton & Dater, 2008). Ultimately, the numbers of protesters grew large
enough for political wins. In 2002, the President was voted out of office and a
coalition government was voted in. Maathai was voted into Parliament with a 98%
majority vote. This new government expressed a commitment to reforms. There
were efforts to work together with the military to protect the country and the
environment (Maathai; Merton & Dater).
Comparative Analysis Through the Lens of Conflict Transformation
As the case presentations on Indigenous Canada and the Kenyan Greenbelt Move-
ment illustrate, the path to positive peace through the transformative process is
ridden with complexities of history, ethnicity and identity, cultural patterns, self-
knowledge, and relationships. The conflicts have similarities in key matters that can
be codified for analysis, but also demonstrate how different paths to conflict trans-
formation can manifest, evolve, and flow. The conflicts share similar roots in history.
Imperialism, colonialism, and capitalism robbed Indigenous communities of their

identity, lands, culture, and rituals. They experienced the loss and even banishment
of traditional leadership, values, religion, relationship patterns, and history. Despite
the shared histories with colonialism and the oppression of original inhabitants of the
land, the conflicts evolved and are transforming very differently.
Indigenous Canada
The Canadian conflict has structural roots in British and French colonialism. The
colonial governments, and then the Canadian government dismantled structures,
Indigenous identity, and Indigenous government through the imposition of the
Indian Act in 1876. Despite attempts, there was little transformative change until
2006. Though few, they were multilevel, involving government and Indigenous
leaders working together, public education, and governmental acknowledgment of
wrong doing with a formal, public apology.
Despite rapidly growing social education across Canada regarding the need to
recognize, address, and reconcile the conflict, Indigenous and non-Indigenous trans-
formation efforts have been primarily credited at the Canadian government level.
Indigenous leadership and local groups remain officially unacknowledged in legis-
lation. The Indian Act legislation of the late 1800s is in dire need of policy action
(Rummel, 1981). Placing confidence in government for real change is contrary to
much of the literature about positive peace, in which a reduced role for government
is a key principle (Galtung, 1969; Rummel), and strengthening Indigenous voice and
leadership is necessary as a base for transformation. The Canadian story demon-
strates how history, context, culture, identity, and positionality have been woven
vertically and horizontally creating conflicts, while also containing kernels for
transformative change. The recommendations of the Truth and Reconciliation Com-
mission and the Apology of 2006, along with the continued growing public educa-
tion about the challenging realities of Indigenous life in Canada, contribute to the
recognition that the relationships are in need of change. The foundation sits tenta-
tively waiting for reconciliation, positive peace, and a shared future. Which groups
will lead these next phases are not clear.
Kenyan Greenbelt Movement

In states like Kenya, the transformative road has not been forged by government and
legislation, but rather engaged local leaders and grassroots energy. The leadership
and growth of the Kenyan Greenbelt Movement honors the power of self-reflection
and local development and empowerment. In Kenya, a grassroots resiliency and
agency has emerged despite reluctance for real change from those who controlled
Kenya’s structures. Kenya was heavily impacted by imperial colonialism and also
endured the violence of the postcolonial government. At the national and interna-
tional levels, the voice of the people was ignored and disrespected. The processes of
change, empowerment, and growth started at the grassroots level. Leadership
emerged locally from a woman embedded in the local community and history. She
had international and educational experiences that she brought to a process of

change. The process began locally, building relationships and development pro-
cesses of change at the community level. Ultimately, leadership spread horizontally
as the movement was shared community to community with participants mentoring
and educating others.
The impact of the Greenbelt Movement was based concretely in rebuilding the
ecology, developing community, and building personal and collective knowledge.
The movement advanced beyond the local to fight for the rights of women, children,
and the environment. As participants grew in self-knowledge with the development
of a growing understanding of the issues of governance and the impact of violent
government structures, they expanded their engagement. Education and skill devel-
opment occurred through the workshops and seminars of the CEE. Community
members became activists, engaging in nonviolent action as they stood for human
rights with movement toward positive peace. It was the grassroots action that created
the change that led to the turning over of the government to a leadership that
expressed a commitment to reform, followed by action that included civic engage-
ment in protecting the environment and the communities.
Summary
Different paths were followed. A top-down process is highlighted in Indigenous
Canada, with heavy government involvement. There has been a reliance on recon-
ciliation and policy advocacy. There are, however, seeds of honoring and elevating
Indigenous voice. With the Kenya Greenbelt Movement, the process for change
emerged at the grassroots level. Communities empowered themselves through the
process of transformative change. Individuals and communities grew in their skills
and knowledge recovering indigenous knowledge, reclaiming the ecology, and
demanding a voice in governance. Each can be analyzed in terms of relationships,
the building of capacity, and the transforming of relationships. The analysis occurs at
a point in time which is part of a spiraling process requiring ongoing transformation.
While the original roots of the conflicts lie in British colonialism, the conflicts and
their transformations have evolved differently, yet similarly enough to recognize the
unmistakable signs of conflict transformation. Since those qualities include the
consideration of historical relationships, opposing circumstances, values, power,
resources, and interpersonal relationships, then the conflicts outlined can be explored
to improve understanding the change process in Kenya and in Indigenous Canada.
As the conflicts in Kenya and in Canada indicate, transformative change requires
engaging relationship patterns across time and at all levels.
Conclusion
Transforming conflict and cultures is an ongoing, circular process. The backbone for
the process is grounded in developing personal and interpersonal skills, building
capacity, and transforming relationships (Schirch, 2004). It is a process that cannot
be rushed (Strides in Development, 2010). It is one that is never ending as we strive
to spiral toward positive peace. In these important ways, the conflict transformation
model identifies opportunities for potential positive or constructive change on the
path to shared futures and respect for multiple voices.
As seen in the cases laid out,
. . .traumatic events and times have the potential to awaken the best of the human spirit and,
indeed, the global family. This is not an automatic process, however. It requires that we
acknowledge our own history and our enemy's, search honestly for root causes, and shift our
emphasis from national security to human security. (Yoder, 2005, p. 6)
Patterns, structures, and processes established with previous conflicts, impact current
change processes, with partial peace having the potential to spawn new/ongoing
conflicts between local and state actors (Fjelde & Hoglund, 2011). Building peace in
post-conflict systems is a process that can “. . .include a broad range of issues relating
to institutional transformation, economic reconstruction, social inclusion, and rec-
onciliation” (Fjelde & Hoglund, p. 11). National and international relationships also
influence the process, including the inclusion or exclusion of local communities and
indigenous cultures. Who the international or national communities recognize as the
local actors with local ownership of peace is key to the process (Olsson & Jarstad,
2011).
Scholars and practitioners, in an effort to establish positive peace, continue to
move toward understanding, healing, and reconciling conflict, understanding that the
“principles of conflict transformation constitute a circular and holistic model that
recognizes that conflict is embedded in relationships” (Reimer, 2018, p. 39). Unless,
however, we are striving for a shared future, the conflict transformation cycle may
manifest in a downturn toward negative peace and violence.
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Conflict Transformation in the Arab World
18
Engy Said
Contents
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 348
Part One: Understanding the Complexity of Contemporary Conflicts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 348
The Complexity of New Wars . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 348
Theories of Conflict . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 350
Edward Azar’s Theory of Protracted Social Conflict (PSC) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 351
Implications for Conflict Transformation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 352
Part Two: Conflict Transformation in Lebanon: Prospects for Syria and Iraq . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 353
The Civil War in Lebanon . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 354
Prospects for Conflict Transformation in Iraq . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 357
Prospects for Conflict Transformation in Syria . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 361
Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 363
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 364
Abstract
Conflict transformation and peacebuilding became subjects of intense research
since the end of the Cold War and contemporary conflicts in Arab countries
redirected attention to them. The Arab world has always been a paradoxical,
unstable hotspot in international relations. Since 2010, many Arab countries have
been witnessing waves of unprecedented violence and civil wars. This chapter
examines the prospects of conflict transformation in two of the most contentions
conflicts, namely Syria in Iraq, drawing from the Lebanese experience in the
aftermath of its civil war.
E. Said (*)
Jimmy and Rosslyn Carter School for Peace and Conflict Resolution, George Mason University,
Fairfax, VA, USA
e-mail: esaid@masonlive.gmu.edu
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_18
348 E. Said
Keywords
Conflict transformation · Civil war · Arab countries · Lebanon · Iraq · Syria ·
Peace
Introduction
After 7 years since the outbreak of Arab revolutions, many Arab countries remain
hampered by intrastate conflicts, terrorism, and geopolitical competition. Violent
conflicts and foreign intervention in national state affairs led to weakening or
destruction of state institutions, undermining their ability to perform major functions
and provide public services. At the time when the region is witnessing a wave of
unprecedented violence, envisioning prospects for conflict transformation in the
region becomes crucial. The process of conflict transformation provides an oppor-
tunity to resolve historical problems and tackle the root causes of conflicts, trans-
forming it from violent conflict to positive peace. Part one of this chapter examines
the complexity of protracted social conflicts, the concept of conflict transformation,
and its role in forging sustainable positive peace. The second part examines previous
protracted conflicts in the Middle East, looking at the process of conflict transfor-
mation in post-Ta’if Lebanon (1990 onwards) to understand trends specific to the
regional, and draws upon it for both Syria and Iraq.
Part One: Understanding the Complexity of Contemporary

Conflicts
The Complexity of New Wars
The end of the Cold War witnessed a sharp decline in interstate wars coupled with
surge in civil wars and intrastate violent conflicts. These wars reflected the decline in
state-capacity to respond to citizen’s needs and the erosion of authority that did not
cope with the changes of the international system. Post-Cold War violent conflicts
assumed different characteristics from conventional wars between states and civil
wars between a state and an armed group over power. Rather, contemporary violence
conflicts became more fluid, complex, and dynamic in nature making causality very
difficult to identify. With violence occurring in urban areas, civilians became more
vulnerable due to the use of military forces against nonstate armed groups (Duffield,
2005; Kaldor, 2006; Malantowicz, 2013).
Despite a decline in the number of conflicts since the end of the Cold War, a joint
report issued by the United Nations (UN) and the World Bank (WB) in 2018 entitled
“Pathways to Peace: Inclusive Approaches to Preventing Violent Conflict” observed a
dramatic resurgence in protracted violent conflicts with high-intensity warfare since
2010 in both low- and medium-income countries that led to high human and economic
costs ranging from high numbers of war-related death, massive numbers of internally
18 Conflict Transformation in the Arab World 349
displaced persons (IDPs), economic deterioration, and increasing terrorist attacks. The
targeting of civilians and absence of security results in large numbers of refugees and
IDPs who flee violence in search of safer places whether in neighboring countries or
abroad. These conflicts are transboundary with far-reaching impacts that cross national
borders. We have seen how the conflict in Syria has led to a migration crisis in
neighboring countries and even Europe, influencing the rise of a nationalist discourse.
Also, the emergence of the Islamic State in Iraq and the Levant (ISIL) (also referred to
as Islamic State of Iraq and Syria (ISIS) or Daesh or Islamic State (IS)) attracted foreign
fighters from across the world, undertook terrorist attacks beyond Syria and Iraq
impacting European capitals as Paris and Brussels and creating a problem of home-
grown terrorism in many countries. The tendency of violent conflicts to spread beyond
national borders reflects that violence can no longer be controlled by national borders.
These conflicts are complex and protracted, involving state and nonstate actors,
regional and international actors making them highly internationalized with regional
and international actors undertaking direct military operations in countries witnessing
conflict. The myriad of transnational connections and the proliferation of nonstate
armed groups make the distinction between the internal and external, local, and global
blur (Kaldor, 2006; United Nations & World Bank, 2018).
In this complexity, one of the major characteristics of contemporary conflicts is
the prevalence of identity-politics and mobilization along identity lines, be it ethnic,
religious, tribal, class, or cultural (Kaldor, 2006). In the context of the Middle East,
for instance, what began in Iraq as resistance against Western occupation trans-
formed into sectarian conflict between Arab Sunnis, Shia’s and Kurds, and what
started in Syria as nonviolent protests against the regime demanding reforms was
sectarianized and transformed into a conflict between Sunnis, Alawis, Shi’as, and
Kurds (I will raise the point later on how sectarianism was not a major factor in the
uprising). Furthermore, contemporary conflicts go beyond inequality, poverty, injus-
tice, and exclusion and are becoming increasingly linked to global challenges such
as environmental degradation, climate change, natural disasters, cyber security, and
transnational crimes (Kaldor, 2006; United Nations & World Bank, 2018).
Conflicts arise at the time when the state’s power is eroding and can no longer
respond to challenges, leading to enormous economic and humanitarian costs
(Kaldor, 2006; Institute for Economics and Peace, 2017; United Nations & World
Bank, 2018). Conflicting parties become heavily dependent on external factors to
finance their activities through external assistance or remittances from diaspora or
funds from neighboring countries, illicit trade in natural recourses such as oil,
diamonds and minerals, antiques, or smuggling of arms and drugs as well as traffick-
ing in human beings. We have seen in Syria and Iraq how ISIL’s control over natural
resources such as oil and illicit trade in antiques enabled it to finance its activities and
control territories, creating “caliphate” (Levallois & Cousseran, 2017). This creates a
new economy of war, one that is sustained through continued fighting, leading to
spoilers who maintain an interest in the continuation of fighting (Kaldor, 2006). The
UN–WB report (2018) suggests the violent conflicts are one of the major obstacles to
achieving the UN Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) by 2030 as more than half
of the people living in poverty will be in countries affected by violent conflicts.
350 E. Said
Theories of Conflict
For the purpose of this chapter, it is helpful to distinguish between three concepts
that are sometimes used interchangeably but have different implications for the
analysis of conflict and approaches of intervention, namely, conflict management,
conflict resolution, and conflict transformation.
Conflict management theorists see conflict as a result of differences in values and
interests within and between communities arising from existing structures, historical
relationships, or the distribution of power. They look at conflict management as a
means to positively and constructively handle difference and divergence. Conflict
management focuses on practical ways to bring opposing parties together into a
cooperative process, but it does not attempt to address the underlying root-causes of
conflict in a holistic way or to change the status quo in a systemic way (Bloomfield &
Reilly, 1998, p. 18).
Conflict resolution is a more comprehensive term. It seeks to transcend the
management of conflict by looking at resolution as a process that help parties to
explore, address, and transform the underlying roots of conflict. To put it in other
terms, “The task of conflict resolution has been seen as helping parties who perceive
their situation as zero-sum (self’s gain is other’s loss) to reperceive it as non-zero-
sum conflict (in which both may gain or both may lose), and then to assist parties to
move in the positive-sum direction” (Ramsbotham et al., 2016, p. 20).
Conflict transformation theorists take the field a step further. They argue that
conflict transformation is the deepest level of resolution as, according to Miall (2004,
p. 4):
Contemporary conflicts require more than the reframing of positions and interests. The very
structure of parties and relationships may be embedded in a pattern of conflictual relation-
ships that extend beyond the particular site of conflict. Conflict transformation is therefore a
process of engaging with and transforming the relationships, interests, discourses and the
very constitution of society that supports the continuation of violent conflict.
John Paul Lederach, one of the most prominent scholars in the field of conflict
transformation, suggests that conflict resolution is a short-term process that focuses
on immediate agreement between conflicting parties while conflict transformation is
a long-term process that seeks to pursue constructive change through transforming
relations between parties to the conflict. Conflict transformation seeks to restore
relationships and broken bonds within the society created due to the conflict.
Conflict transformation, hence, is a process that deals with not only structural
changes but also cultural structural changes to effectuate transformation in the
institutions and attitudes that triggered the conflict (Ramsbotham et al., 2016,
p. 11). In Lederach’s words (Lederach, 2014, p. 13), conflict transformation:
Seeks to create a framework to address the content, the context and the structure of the
relationship. Transformation as an approach aspires to create constructive change process
through conflict. Those provide opportunity to learn about patterns and to address relation-
ship structures while providing concrete solutions to presenting issues.
Edward Azar’s Theory of Protracted Social Conflict (PSC)
Edward E. Azar’s (1990) work had an important influence on conflict transformation

theorists. Drawing upon experience in his country, Lebanon, Azar suggested an
approach to deal with contemporary conflicts in developing countries. Azar was one
of the first scholars to write about and describe violent conflicts in the developing
world, particularly in communal or multiethnic societies, using the term “Protracted
Social Conflict” which he described in his book The Management of Protracted
Social Conflict: Theory & Cases (1990, p. 12) as follows:
Protracted social conflicts occur when communities are deprived of satisfaction of their basic
needs on the basis of the communal identity. However, the deprivation is the result of a
complex causal chain involving the role of the state and the pattern of international linkages.
Furthermore, initial conditions (colonial legacy, domestic historical setting, and the multi-
communal nature of the society) play important roles in shaping the genesis of protracted
social conflict.
For Azar, protracted social conflict represented “the prolonged struggle by com-
munal groups for basic needs such as security, recognition and acceptance, fair
access to political institutions and political participation” (Azar, 1990, as cited in
Ramsbotham et al., 2016, p. 116). Protracted social conflict is one that is character-
ized by ethnic diversity, unmet human needs, government provision of services
along ethnic or sectarian lines. For him, the role of the state – also in relations to
other states – was to respond to or repress communal needs, thus preventing or
igniting conflict (Ramsbotham et al., 2016). What differentiated Azar’s work from
other scholars is not only his focus on communal contexts but also his diversion from
the realist theory that focuses on power struggle between symmetric antagonistic
groups (interstate) to one that is focused on the structure and relationship between
asymmetric groups based on identity (intrastate).
In his theory, Azar looked at several variables that contribute to the transfor-
mation of societies from nonconflict to conflict situation, the most important is
the identity group and its relationship with the state and how their basic needs
are met. He linked this relationship to colonial legacy which created multiethnic
states whereby a single communal group dominates other groups. These divi-
sions led to a gap between citizens and the state in what Azar called “the
disarticulation between the state and society” (Azar, 1990, p. 7). Azar attributed
PSC to failure of authorities to redress grievances resulting from deprivation of
human needs which are usually expressed collectively. He listed four types of
needs that ignite PSC: political access, development, security, and identity,
linking conflict resolution to issues of the broader concept of development
(Ramsbotham et al., 2016, p. 117). He emphasized the important role of the
state in providing these needs through good governance. Failure to do so leads to
a legitimacy crisis. Finally, Azar looked at the extent to which internal policy is
economically and politically dependent on the international system, where he
saw that dependency exacerbates the denial of access to basic needs and distorts
domestic political and economic systems (Azar, 1990).
352 E. Said
Despite almost three decades, Azar’s theory is very relevant today. The joint
report by the UN and WB (2018) identifies grievances due to exclusion from access
to power, security, lack of services, and inequality across groups as the major drivers
for mobilization that could lead to violent conflict especially in weak states with
legitimacy crisis. To break out of the vicious cycles of protracted violent conflicts,
the report puts at its core sustainable development that addresses inequality and
redistribution of resources accompanied with inclusive policies and institutional
reforms in core state functions as means to prevent violent conflicts from occurring.
Implications for Conflict Transformation
While Azar’s theory is more analytical, it provides a solution for PSC. If states have
the capacity to and are able to respond to basic human needs through good gover-
nance, and if the international environment is supportive, states can accommodate the
needs of communal groups, who in turn may choose nonviolent forms of confronta-
tion. This can lead to a pattern of constructive conflict that promotes legitimate
governance and development. All these are conducive to the meeting of basic needs.
Vayrynen (1991) adopted a broader approach to conflict based on the idea of
transformation. This approach emphasized the importance of understanding that
conflicts evolve in a dynamic rather than a static way due to political, economic,
and social dynamics of societies. In this context, conflict transformation engages
with a complex of shifting relations in a wider system that is resistance to gradual
change through undertaking incremental transformation steps in elements that would
sustain violence (Ramsbotham et al., 2016, p. 206). According to Vayrynen (1991),
five types of interventions are suggested to transform protracted social conflicts:
1. Context transformation: refers to changes in the regional or international envi-

ronment of the conflict that may change parties’ perceptions of the conflict. Local
conflicts that witness regional or global intervention require changes in the
environment that triggers them so that they are resolved.
2. Structural transformation: refers to changes in the structure of relationships or
powers that led to the conflict, including the set of actors, their issues and
incompatible goals, or changes to the social or economic structure within which
the conflict is embedded.
3. Actor transformation: refers to changes in the goals of the parties to the conflict or
their approach or motivation. This may entail a change of leadership, change in
goals, or change in values and beliefs.
4. Issue transformation: refers to changes in positions that parties take on key issues
in the conflict in order to alter the agenda of the conflict.
5. Personal and group transformation: refers to changes of heart or mind within
individuals or small groups who have decision-making power.
In order to achieve these transformations, a wide range of actors are involved.

Miall (2004, pp. 13–14) identifies four main groups of actors who play a role in
conflict transformation: states and intergovernmental organizations (also known as

Track I diplomacy) who are the most influential; development and humanitarian
organizations who engage in rebuilding war-torn societies and provide humanitarian
assistance; international NGOs (track II diplomacy) that work closely with local
people to build their capacities to address root-causes of violence, identify opportu-
nities for development and engage in relationship building; and last but not least is
the important role undertaken by local people to the conflict or parties who act as
agents of change within the affected societies.
Conflict transformation can be seen as a means to achieve positive peace.
According to Johan Galtung, positive peace has two components: equity which
means cooperation for mutual and equal benefit, and harmony which is related to
attitude (Envision Peace Museum 2012). The major obstacles to positive peace are
trauma, or the violence of the past and unresolved conflict (Galtung Institute, n.d.).
Achieving positive peace hence requires tackling the root-causes of conflict and
healing trauma through reconciliation. The Institute for Economics and Peace (IEP)
also defines positive peace as “the attitudes, institutions and structures that create and
sustain peaceful societies. These same factors also lead to many other positive
outcomes which society feels are important. Therefore Positive Peace creates the
optimum environment for human potential to flourish” (Institute for Economics and
Peace, 2017, p. 7).
Part Two: Conflict Transformation in Lebanon: Prospects for Syria

and Iraq
In the first section, I tried to shed light on the nature and complexity of contemporary
violent conflicts. I looked at theories that explain these conflicts and approaches to
resolve them. I examined Edward Azar’s work on protracted social conflict in
multiethnic societies and how it informed the theory of conflict transformation and
then I made the link between conflict transformation and positive peace. In this
section, I examine conflict transformation in Lebanon after almost three decades of
signing the peace agreement and whether if it could provide lessons for the two most
contagious conflicts in the region, Syria and Iraq. Edward Azar’s work drew largely
on his experience in Lebanon. However, much of Azar’s work can be applied today
to protracted conflicts in Syria and Iraq. (It should be mentioned here that compared
to Syria and Iraq, Lebanon has a relatively proportional sectarian composition that
made the power-sharing system easy to implement. In Syria, the system is based on
an Alawi minority who are ruling a Sunni-majority while in Iraq the system after
2003 became ruled by majority Shi’a while Arab Sunnis represent a minority.
Furthermore, Lebanon did not have the challenge of dealing with a group with
aspiration for separation as the Kurds in Syria and Iraq. Despite the different
demographic proportions, the Ba’athist regimes in Syria and Iraq adopted a nation-
alist ideology based on Pan-Arabism, creating a sense of a common identity, which
is a factor missing in Lebanon. The process of sectarianization in Syria and Iraq is
354 E. Said
relatively nuance compared to the Lebanese one and many Iraqis and Syrians still
believe in the national identity.)
The Civil War in Lebanon
Lebanon witnessed a devastating civil war in 1975 that lasted for 15 years causing
severe damage to state institutions, basic infrastructure, the economy, and the social
fabric. The pre-civil war system was based on sectarian division of power between
Christians and Muslims whereby Christians held elite positions. (Joseph Bahout
provides a brief explanation of the colonial legacy and its role in shaping Lebanon’s
system of political confessionalism according to a sectarian distribution of power
since the Ottoman Empire and the inception of the administrative region of Mount
Lebanon during the nineteenth century. More information can be found at: http://
carnegieendowment.org/2016/05/16/unraveling-of-lebanon-s-taif-agreement-limits-
of-sect-based-power-sharing-pub-63571.) Tensions started when Muslims began to
demand greater share in the system to balance powers, but the civil war was triggered
by fighting between Christian militias and Palestinian refugees over the latter’s
armed struggle against Israel from Lebanon. The fighting transformed into a full-
fledge war between different Lebanese sects over the shape of the state and the
political system. Lebanon’s civil war reflected unresolved sectarian differences,
pressure of Palestinian refugees, as well as external intervention by Israel and
Syria. The war inflicted physical damages to the economy and caused massive
human suffering leaving from 90,000 to 170,000 deaths, 300,000 injured, 800,000
displaced and drove more than a million people to emigrate (Knudsen, 2005; Gaub,
2015; World Bank, 1995). Foreign powers such as Syria and Israel became involved
in the war. The civil war ended with the signing of Ta’if Accord in Saudi Arabia in
1989, an initiative by the Arab League that gained the approval of the United States,
the Soviet Union, and the United Nations and granted Syria the role of power broker
in Lebanon (Knudsen, 2005). Ta’if was meant be to transformative, calling for a
deadline for the withdrawal of foreign troops from Lebanon, the disarming of
nonstate actors and the gradual abolition of confessionalism and adoption of an
electoral law free of sectarian restrictions. (The National Accord Document – The
Taef Agreement can be accessed at: http://www.presidency.gov.lb/Arabic/
LebaneseSystem/Documents/TaefAgreementEn.pdf.)
Looking at Lebanon from the conflict transformation lens, one would find very
little, if any, effort undertaken to address the root-causes of the civil war. Structural
transformation did not happen as Ta’if created a flawed system of governance. The
prewar political system was based on power-sharing among Christians and Muslims
on a 55:45 ratio based on a 1920 population census. Taking into consideration
demographic changes, Ta’if re-adjusted the system dividing power equally between
Muslims and Christians on a 50:50 ratio and designating executive positions along
ethnic lines (whereby the President is Maronite, the Prime Minister a Sunni, and the
Speaker of the Parliament a Shi’a). This division of power was seen as essential to
end the war and provide assurance of equal representation to minority groups.
Nonetheless, it re-institutionalized the exact system that ignited the war. The power-
sharing system retained divisions along sectarian lines rather than creating an
inclusive and participatory system of governance, limiting political access to
power and establishing a parallel system of government tied to clientelism (Bahout,
2016; Yahya, 2017; Knudsen, 2005). As Joshef Bahout (2016, para. 25) puts it “the
culture of political sectarianism became gradually entrenched in the collective
consciousness and political practice of Lebanon’s political and social elites.” The
sectarian political system was reflected on social structures, creating a fragmented
network of civil society that are seen as a tool to reinforce the system (Haugbølle,
2012). Furthermore, sectarian contestations at the political level were reflected on
economic institutions, hindering the proper functioning of these institutions and
creating a system of clientelist redistribution. For instance, the Council for Recon-
struction and Development came under the control of Prime Minister, the Council of
the South under the Speaker of the Parliament, and the Fund for the Displaced
entitled the integration of the IDPs under the leadership of the Progressive Socialist
Party (Druze) (Attalah, 2012).
Lebanon did not witness a major transformation in actors as the sectarian
political system created a patronage system with the same political figures manipu-
lating the system to maintain their positions, reinforcing sectarian identities at the
expense of a national identity (Bahout, 2016). Furthermore, the amnesty law adopted
after the civil war granted amnesty to all militia personnel, enabling them to
participate in the political life without investigating war-related violations (Knudsen,
2005). This led to paralyzes of the political system where attempts to form national
unity governments failed leading to several political deadlocks. Despite amending
the electoral law to enable independents to run in the first parliamentary elections
that took place after 9 years (in 2018), the list made few gains in elections that
witnessed low participation rates despite enabling the diaspora to vote for the first
time. (Elections were postponed in 2013 over security concerns of the situation in
Syria and the highly polarized political atmosphere inside the country with
Hezbollah and his March 8 alliance supporting the Syrian regime while the Future
Movement and March 18 alliance supporting the Syrian opposition. For more
information on the elections, check https://www.lebaneseelections.com/results.)
From an issue perspective, many argue that the same conditions that led to the
civil war still exist. The power-sharing system limited political access, postwar
reconstruction activities focused on a distribution rule that preserved sectarian
stability by allocating funds according to confessional compositions, creating
inequality (Salti & Chaaban, 2010; Yahya, 2017). The concentration of economic
activities in and around Beirut and Mount Lebanon created regional disparities and
lack of economic opportunity for people in rural areas (Nasr, 2003; Yahya, 2017).
Failure to improve standards of living and employment enhanced communal divi-
sions especially among the poor who turn to their families or friends or sectarian
charities that revolve around militias or parties for the provision of goods and
services (Hamzeh, 2001). It also created a political-economic nexus that benefited
business elites, increasing the level of corruption (Knudsen, 2005). As for security,
postwar demobilization, demilitarization, and reintegration (DDR) of militias has
356 E. Said
been selective and failed to disarm Hezbollah which grew to play a political and
military role that challenge the authority of the state and weaken the role of the
armed forces, leading to “militarization of politics” (Picard & Ramsbotham, 2012;
De Clerck, 2012).
At the personal and group levels, Lebanon condones dealing with the past with
no serious postwar reconciliation processes. Haugbølle (2012, p. 15) attributes the
lack of reconciliation to “a state-sponsored amnesia that coexists with differing
politicized narratives of the war that are central to the identity of particular political
or sectarian groups.” Failure to achieve national reconciliation hindered the return of
IDPs and resulted in demographic changes whereby the majority of Lebanese live
within sectarian neighborhoods and have their own associations and schools. This
was particularly evident in Mount Lebanon (Knudsen, 2005). Furthermore, lack of
reconciliation and failure to address the past impeded efforts to create a commonly
acceptable narrative about history and identity that transcends religious particulari-
ties, reflecting the deep divisions in the Lebanese society (AbiYaghi, 2012;
Haugbølle, 2012). Attempts by some Lebanese civil society as union groups were
undertaken to engage in postwar reconciliation campaigns, but these efforts were
often plagued by political divisions (Haugbølle, 2012). This lack of concern for the
past was reflected on other issues. For example, the fate of those missing during the
war was unsettled. Additionally, it shaped the plans for rebuilding Beirut’s central
district which has attempted to deny the country’s war-time record and deprive the
city of its identity (Nagel, 2002).
Finally, one of the most important factors that contributed to the lack of transfor-
mation is the context. The lack of security and trust in the system made Lebanese
search for an outsider protection whereby the Shias turned to Syria and Iran, Sunnis
to the Gulf and the West, and the Christians became divided between the two,
increasing social divisions and the fragility of the state. The geopolitical competition
over influence in Lebanon between regional and international actors such as Syria,
Iran, Israel, Saudi Arabia, Qatar, the United States, and others intensified. Probably
the most important challenge to change in Lebanon is Hezbollah’s arms and its
growing role as a transnational militia. Disarming Hezbollah will not occur without
ending the Syrian conflict, resolving the Syrian-Israeli and Palestinian-Israeli con-
flicts according to UN-related resolutions and the wider Sunni-Shi’a geopolitical
competition between Saudi Arabia and Iran (Picard & Ramsbotham, 2012; Smyth,
2016; Abdo et al., 2016).
To conclude, while Ta’if brought an end to the civil war, it did not seek construc-
tive change that goes beyond resolving the conflict. Instead of working towards
rebuilding relationships and transforming the structures and issues that led to the
civil war, the accord reinstituted the same system that existed before the war. The lack
of political reforms, absence of reconciliation, and unequal distribution of resources
maintained rather than reversed the fragmentation of identities. The polarized polit-
ical situation in the Middle East led to further competition over influence in Lebanon,
contributing to tensions, polarization, and fragmentation. Lebanon could have gone a
long way if Ta’if provisions were put into effect, yet the slow implementation of the
accord made the key issues of the war remain unsolved.
Prospects for Conflict Transformation in Iraq
When looking at perspectives for postconflict transformation, one leverage that Syria
and Iraq have over Lebanon is the development in the field of peacebuilding since
the 1990s. One of the major developments is the introduction of the concept of
transformation which looks beyond the resolution of conflicts to addressing the root-
causes through changing attitudes, structures, and institutions that lead to the
eruption of violence, hence, reducing the possibility of violence and increasing the
likelihood of peace. In Lebanon as illustrated earlier, the conflict was resolved but
little progress was made in terms of transformation. Unlike Lebanon where sectar-
ianism represented the main feature of the state, Iraq, despite its diversity, was not
constructed around subnational identity. The decades long existence of a centralized
state in Iraq with a unifying definition of national identity is resurging against the
backdrop of service delivery and weak institutions.
In December 2017, former Prime Minister of Iraq Haidar Abadi announced the
success of the military operations against ISIL and the liberation of all Iraqi
territories previously held by the terrorist group. The post-ISIL phase provides a
new opportunity for Iraq to address the legacy of damage incurred in the aftermath of
the United States-led invasion in 2003 and move beyond a process that focuses on
building state institutions to a process that enhances social cohesion and reforms the
economy, governance, and security structures to respond to citizens’ needs. It should
be considered that the war on ISIL brought about a new set of variables that Iraq will
have to deal with. These include countering violent extremism, dealing with the
massive number of IDPs and refugees and providing support to communities
traumatized by ISIL particularly women who were subjected to sexual violence
and children who may suffer from physiological trauma and perpetuation of vio-
lence, while re-integrating them in the society. Given the complex political and
security conditions in Iraq, crafting a conflict transformation process for post-ISIL is
not going to be easy. Iraq faces formidable political, economic, humanitarian, social,
and security challenges that are not less important than the military victory achieved
against terrorism.
Before 2003, the Iraqi political system was a one-party system based on a secular
ideology based on Pan Arabism. Sunnis Arabs constituted the mainstay of the
educated middle class, dominating the political and economic structures, yet the
ideology of Baath was articulated to emphasize a cross-sectarian and cross-religious
Arab unity (Kaldor, 2006). After the invasion, the US Coalition Provisional Author-
ity (CPA) adopted a de-Ba’athification policy to eliminate the structure of Saddam’s
party and exclude its members from political participation (Kaldor, 2006; Diamond,
2006; Forman, 2006; Mansour, 2017). It also dissolved the army which was diffused
along a complex system of overlapping chains of command that enabled Saddam of
overwhelming control, creating a power vacuum (Kaldor, 2006; Diamond, 2006).
These policies led to the disintegration of the state institutions, changes in social
relationships, and power dynamics within the country (Mansour, 2017). This was
particularly noticeable for Sunni Arabs who in pre-2003 Iraq lacked a sectarian self-
awareness and looked at the country as one. This led them to be struck by the
358 E. Said
political changes that took place post-2003 and feel a profound sense of victimhood
and resentment towards the post-2003 state (Haddad, 2017). The state that emerged
after 2003 was a result of a Shi’a–Kurdish alliance, pushing Sunni Arabs to reject the
whole process of state-building and giving rise to sectarian politics (Kaldor, 2006;
Mansour, 2017; Diamond, 2006). This situation triggered an insurgency led by both
Iraqi nationalists and Sunni Arabs who constituted the majority of the military and
security personnel and found themselves unemployed and excluded, providing an
opportunity for radical militias to emerge and paving the ground for terrorist groups
to raise until ISIL, which was active in Syria, gained control of third of the Iraqi
territories in predominantly Sunni areas in 2014. The war against ISIL incurred the
Iraqi economy and society enormous losses, claiming over 67,000 lives and resulting
in a humanitarian crisis with IDPs estimated at 6 million Iraqis (Relief Web, 2018). It
also led to the destruction of infrastructure and basic services in the former ISIL-held
areas, contraction in economic activities, increasing poverty rates, and unemploy-
ment with overall reconstruction costs estimated at $88.2 billion (World Bank,
2018). Security threats still prevail, and asymmetric attacks cannot be ruled out in
areas where ISIL retains local support and will represent a serious security threat if
the government fails to meet the basic needs of citizens while transforming the root
causes of the conflict.
Having outlined the complex and interconnected set of challenges facing Iraq,
there are signals and yet more opportunities that increase prospects for conflict
transformation. Probably the most important element of change is happening at the
personal and group level, in what Curle considers as “the heart of change”
(Ramsbotham et al., 2016, p. 207). After 15 years of violence, many believe that
Iraqis both Sunnis and Shi’as aspire for reconciliation but do not know how to start
the process (Beehner, 2007; Aldroubi, 2018; Mansour, 2017). Successive Iraqi
governments acknowledged the need for reconciliation and embarked on several
initiatives towards this end, establishing a national reconciliation committee in 2015
and adopting a strategy for national reconciliation that addresses historical griev-
ances and tackles the contested issue of reforming state structures based on agree-
ment and consensus among Iraqis. (More information on National Reconciliation
Committee, its vision, strategy and outreach can be found at: http://www.iraqnr.com/
Home/.) Iraq also adopted a reconstruction plan that put reconciliation at its core in
order to forge a new social contract (World Bank, 2018).
Further grassroots initiatives were undertaken in a systemic approach that
engages local communities with NGOs and intergovernmental organizations and
thinks tanks to ensure wider civic participation of women, youth, and tribe leaders,
building on the existing customs and traditions to reconcile adversaries in areas most
affected by the conflict and facilitate the return of IDPs while preventing retaliation
(United States Institute of Peace, 2016). Tribal leaders have taken upon themselves
the role to reconcile Sunni Arabs and Shi’as as well as re-integrate families who
suffered from ISIL and families of ISIL members, particularly women and children
who were not engaged in ISIL atrocities, promoting a culture of tolerance and
moderation. These efforts reflect that Iraqis are capitalizing on their success and
feel a sense of ownership and empowerment. ISIL’s defeat was a helping factor as it
decreased the level of communal violence and persecutions for minorities including
Yazidis, Christians, and other groups often targeted by the terrorist group. It also
decreased violations against some segments of the Sunni population previously
living under its rule in especially in places like Mosul. Furthermore, efforts need
to be undertaken to reconcile with the Kurds. After the Kurdish referendum, relations
between Baghdad and Erbil reached its lowest level. The central government in
Baghdad needs to address the grievances of Iraqi Kurds and work on trust-building
measures with the regional government in Kurdistan. If Iraqi Kurds do not see a
change in the Baghdad’s approach towards them, the feeling of victimization
will grow.
Changes at the grassroots level were particularly demonstrated in the mass pro-
tests against the government in 2015 and 2018 whereby the issue transformed as
protestors demanded strengthening state institutions, better governance, fighting
corruption, and countering personality-based politics. The protests witnessed mass
participation from millions of Iraqis who gathered at the squares to express their
dissatisfaction over poor services and lack of water and electricity. According to
Mansour (2017), many Iraqis regard that competition among various Shi’a leaders
over state institutions undermines rather than enforces those institutions. Hence,
identity politics lost its appeal weakening prospect of a Shi’a coalition based on
identity-politics in favor of cross-sectarian alliances that can gain the legitimacy of
citizens and address their needs. These protests provided a space for citizens to have
a voice and reflected a growing Iraqi civic movement that prioritize national identity
over subnational ones and demand an end to the quota system that led to corruption
and weak institutions. The ability of this movement to forge change depends on what
John Paul Lederach calls “the critical yeast” which he identifies as “the quality of
relational spaces, intersections, and interactions that affect a social process beyond
the numbers involved” (2005, p. 100).
Issue and group transformations were reflected on actors’ transformation. The
political discourse adopted ahead of the parliamentary elections of 2018 did not rely
on sectarian rhetoric to mobilize voters but rather on anticorruption and socio-
economic issues. The results of the elections came in favor of al-Sadr cross-sectarian
alliance reaffirming that Iraqis are more comfortable voting for alliances running on
nonsectarian platforms (it won the largest number of votes but it’s not clear yet which
alliance is going to form the government). Furthermore, pro-Iran former Prime
Minister al-Maliki who is blamed for the sectarian policies that led to the rise of
the Sunni insurgency lost 85% of his support compared with the 2014 elections
(Al-Marashi, 2018). The low turnout ratio reflected how Iraqis are not interested in
changing few leaders but rather in changing the system (Mansour and Toorn, 2018).
Nevertheless, elections reflected how Iraqi sectarianism is highly political rather than
entrenched in the system and how Iraqis are eager for change.
This brings us to structural transformation. Iraq has gone a long way in
re-building state institutions that were dissolved in 2003. The defeat of ISIL and
the consolidation of government control over the country demonstrate this point.
July 2018 marked 1 year after the end of the military operation in Mosul, the second
largest city in Iraq, with almost 870,000 IDPs have been able to return to their homes
360 E. Said
from about one million who fled the city (Relief Web, 2018) and the Iraqi govern-
ment in cooperation with the Kurdish region were able to incentivize and facilitate
the return of 4 million out of the 6 million people displaced since the rise of ISIL in
2014 (United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs, 2018).
Yet challenges remain in bridging the gap between citizens and political leaders
through increasing access to power, reconstructing the economy in a way that takes
into consideration disparities between cities, and empowering local communities.
Furthermore, despite the success of the military operations against which regained
citizens’ trust in the security forces, disarming and reintegrating militias in the formal
security apparatus will constitute a long-term challenge to state enforcement. In
addition, relationships between the Baghdad and Erbil have been at its lowest since
the Kurdish referendum, requiring a dialogue between the two to resolve conflicting
issues. This dialogue must address historic grievances of the Kurdish region and
come to grips with the past in order to move together for the future.
At the context level, despite security challenges, the domestic context changed
with ISIL no longer in control of territories. Furthermore, there is a growing
sentiment anti-Iranian intervention in Iraq represented in the protest movement as
well as many Shi’a religious leaders’ resentment of Iranian interventions (Mansour,
2017). There is a growing Iraqi sense of nationalism and a desire to assert state
authority and reduce Iraq’s security dependence on Iran through a US counterbal-
ance (Mansour, 2017). Baghdad is also opening up to its neighboring Arab countries
who are expected to play a larger role in the reconstruction process. This was
reflected in improvements of relations between Baghdad, Riyadh, and Kuwait
(Rudaw, 2017; Mostafa, 2018). (For more info on the Reconstruction Conference
for Iraq, visit the official website: http://kicri.gov.kw/en/about-summits/.) This bal-
ance shall reduce the ability of any single state to have an overwhelming influence
over Iraq and manipulate domestic politics for its own benefit, yet the continuation of
geopolitical competition between Saudi Arabia and Iran, the ongoing conflict on
Syria which constituted part of ISIL caliphate with Iraq, the issue of Kurdish region
which provides an allegation for Turkish intervention, and the United States tensions
with Iran, Iraq’s two biggest allies, which put Iraq in a difficult position.
Iraq is standing at a critical moment that provides it with opportunities but also
challenges. Indeed, improving security conditions, holding elections on time, and a
growing of a civic movement postulate a breakthrough that must be capitalized on so
that prospects for conflict transformation are not ruined by spoilers or radical
extremists. Nevertheless, Iraq has been united over one common goal during the
past 3 years which is the defeat of ISIL. The question now is whether Iraq can tackle
the myriad challenges that were left undealt with. While success depends greatly on
the will of the Iraqi government to undertake transformative structural changes, a
long-term commitment from the international community to support the conflict
transformation process will play a central role in building up on the current momen-
tum. It is worth to mention that despite ranking 160 out of 163 on the Global Peace
Index, Iraq was the region’s most significant improver in 2018 due to improvements
in refugees and IDPs, political instability, level of terrorism, and intensity of internal
conflict which marked at a 10-year low (Institute for Economics and Peace, 2018).
Prospects for Conflict Transformation in Syria
Since President Hafez Al-Assad came to power in 1970, the Syrian political system
was an oppressive one with severe economic and political restrains, curtailing civil
liberties. Syria was governed by a strong central state in which state institutions were
spread across the country and constituted the main provider of services. It also
invested in infrastructure and intervened in the pricing of goods sold to consumers
and producers. The government was the main employer in underdeveloped regions
of the country as a consequence of weak private investment. When Bashar al-Assad
came to power in 2000, he sought to undertake major economic reforms that reduced
the role of the state. Public investment was on the decline and subsidies for most
goods and services were reduced. Economic reforms favored the services sector at
the expense of agriculture and labor-intensive industries (Yazigi, 2016). These
economic reforms led to the destruction of the social safety nets provided by the
government that kept people out of poverty such as subsidies and job provisions. At
the political level, Bashar made few steps towards reforms when he first came to
power but quickly the regime resumed its repressive policies (Ajami, 2012). In
March 2011, peaceful protests took place demanding political and economic
reforms, but they were quickly repressed by the military and what started as peaceful
protests escalated into a full-fledge violent conflict by the beginning of 2012 (Humud
et al., 2018). What started as peaceful protests for change were exacerbated by
regime repression, the emergence of ISIL, and regional and international interven-
tions that shifted the conflict from a local one to a proxy war making Syria an arena
of regional and international conflict.
Given the complexity and fluidity of the Syrian conflict, the intracity of military
operations, the numerous local, regional, and international actors, and the multiplic-
ity of political processes from Geneva to Astana to Sochi, the future of Syria is far
from certain. Many trajectories impose themselves on the final political agreement
that will be reached in Syria which, in turn, will determine the postconflict pathway
for peace that Syria will take.
At the moment of writing, the conflict in Syria is unfolding in favor of the regime.
Over the past 2 years, the Syrian regime focused on consolidating its legitimacy and
fostering its control over the country. It started a process to create legal and
regulatory authorities to implement a reconstruction strategy in which Heyedmann
(2018, para. 5) describes as “authoritarian stabilization” that focuses on re-imposing
the regime’s authority and consolidating its dominance over the postconflict recon-
struction process. Beals (2017) argues that the administration reform initiative that
the regime started implementing in 2017 aimed at strengthening the patronage
system that favors appointments of loyalists to ensure its control over critical
functions and sources of wealth. Fear is also rising from the Syrian regime’s
implementation of a property law that could alter demographic changes by striping
citizens of their private property in areas that are lucrative to investors to award its
supports. These measures threaten further marginalization and exclusion in postwar
Syria, a feeling that led to the eruption of protests in the first place. Yet the World
Bank (2017) figures show that despite the small number of returns, estimated at
362 E. Said
566,000 in Aleppo and Hama, 93% of them are staying in their own homes. At the
political level, a military victory appears close after the regime managed to re-take
territories and consolidate control over much of the country. The victory of the
regime makes prospects for political transition or power-sharing possibilities limited
and any political settlement will not be in favor of the fragmented opposition due to
power asymmetries. Furthermore, prospects for enhancing local governance are
limited as in areas where the government implemented local or reconciliation
agreements, administrative and governance structures shifted from the opposition’s
control to the government, reflecting a return to the prewar model of governance
(Adleh & Favier, 2017).
The destruction of basic infrastructure and the decline in economic activity
contributed to high unemployment and declining living standards, increasing the
disparity between cities, another key factors that led to the outbreak of protests in
March 2011. According to the World Bank (2017), the conflict has inflicted major
damage to Syria’s infrastructure, causing the partial or full breakdown of urban
systems in many cities. The most important impact of the conflict is on human lives
and immense demographic displacements where half of Syria’s population is
displaced. (According to the World Development Indicators, the Syrian population
stood at 20.7 million in 2010 while estimates of the International Organization for
Migration (IOM) put the population within Syria at 18.8 million as of 2016. The
casualties that are directly related to conflict are estimated between 400,000 (UN, as
of April 2016) and 470,000 (Syrian Center for Policy Research, as of February
2016). The conflict in Syria led to the largest forced displacement crisis in the world
since World War II. According to the United Nations High Commissioner for
Refugees, the total number of Syrians presently registered as refugees outside the
country in Lebanon, Turkey, Jordan, Iraq, Egypt, and North Africa is 4.9 million.
The number of internally displaced persons was at 5.7 million as of January 2017,
with 56% of them remaining within their own governorates.) It is not clear yet to
what extent can the allies of the regime or even the Syrian businessmen in the
diaspora address the dauting economic and humanitarian needs in Syria in the
conflict aftermath and whether if the engagement of Western countries would remain
conditional to political transition in Syria.
In these conditions, prospects for conflict transformation in Syria remain low.
From 2013 until 2018, Syria held the position of the least peaceful country in the
Global Peace Index (Institute for Economics and Peace, 2018). In such a complex
system with conflict of asymmetrical powers, a peace process might be a means by
the powerful to demolish the aspirations of the weaker and impose a solution that
favors their interests. Yet, thinking of transformation as a process that takes gener-
ations it becomes crucial to undertake small steps whenever possible to alter gradual
change and build up positivity in the system. As the Institute of Economics and
Peace suggests in its Positive Peace Report on systems thinking (2017), in a system
characterized by complexity and interdependence, altering change in one of the
factors of positive peace results in enhancing the whole system. It is in the Syrian
context that Lederach’s idea of the “moral imagination” comes to mind. Lederach
defines the moral imagination as:
The capacity to imagine something rooted in the challenges of the real world yet capable of
giving birth to that which does not yet exist. In reference to peacebuilding, the moral
imagination is the capacity to imagine and generate constructive processes that are rooted
in the day-to-day challenges of violence and yet transcend these destructive patterns (2005,
p. 29).
While structural reforms entailing inclusion, political participation and good

governance are unlikely to happen in the near future if the conflict ended in absolute
military terms, working on personal and group transformation represents an oppor-
tunity to bring the centrality of relationships and interconnectedness into focus. This
can be done through humanitarian assistance to provide basic needs that target the
most affected population and enable IDPs and refugees to return back to their cities.
Creating cooperation around the provision of assistance or around achieving devel-
opment and reconstruction or preserving the cultural heritage and identity of the
destructed cities given Syria’s rich history can be a step towards empowerment,
dialogue, trust-building and reconciliation. While reconciliation after violent conflict
poses a major challenge, it is important for Syrians to deal with their past to heal their
traumas and move for the future. Worth to mention that the Syrian political system,
as the Iraqi one, relied on a nationalist ideology. Despite not being a major factor in
the conflict, sectarian identity was manipulated as means to mobilize support by both
the opposition and the regime. As Pinto explains, “Sectarianism thus has no explan-
atory power to make sense of the Syrian conflict. It is, rather, a political tool that was
sharped and fostered by many actors in the conflict” (2017, p. 124). The sectarian
downturn that the conflict in Syria took raised the fear of minorities from Islamism,
the Kurds’ of Arabism, and the profound sense of grievances of Sunnis due to
injustice and repression by the ruling minorities (Yazigi, 2016). Reconciliation,
albeit difficult, will be necessary to heal the society, restore broken relationships
inflicted by the conflict, and lead the society towards the path for transformation.
Transformation is needed to change the dynamics of the conflict; otherwise, it will
keep repeating itself. To achieve reconciliation, it is important to address the past.
People tend to stick to their past when they do not reach a closure. Information on the
missing and detainees must be exposed, and people must be provided a space for
expression and grievance. Many nonsectarian Syrians and many Syrian NGOs,
religious leaders, businessmen, and actors within the local communities are
exhausting nonviolent means to rebuild their societies, an effort that must be
identified, acknowledged, and built on for a better future.
Conclusion
In this chapter, I attempted to make the case for conflict transformation as a means
for positive peace in the Middle East. The region is passing through a turning point
and prospects for peace in Syria, Iraq, and even Lebanon depend on how capable
they are of transforming the root-causes of their conflicts, address grievances and
marginalization, and forge more inclusive and representative institutions responsive
364 E. Said
to the needs to the people. The cost of conflict to the region has been high in terms of
development and humanitarian crisis. The existence of weak states enabled nonstate
armed actors to surge and grow in power, challenging the authority of the states. The
continuous failure of addressing the underlying causes of conflicts hinders breaking
the vicious cycle of violence and risks relapsing into conflict. Postconflict recon-
struction provides an opportunity for cooperation, inclusiveness, and empowerment
and constitutes an opportunity for transformation if there is a will and a long-term
commitment from local, regional, and international parties. Having looked at the
domestic dynamics in each of the countries examine, I must emphasis the fact that
attempts to resolve violent conflicts in individual countries without taking into
consideration the regional context will not be sustainable due to their interconnec-
tivity and interdependence. The conflict in Iraq had an impact on Syria since 2003 as
the exclusion of Sunni Arab minorities in favor of Shi’as and Kurds generated
sympathy from Sunnis in Syria. The conflict in Syria was symbolized by many
Sunnis in Iraq who feel repressed as a conflict between Sunni majority against Alawi
minority, raising sympathy with the Syrian opposition groups. Extremist groups like
ISIL thrived on these feeling of repression and victimization. The just cause of the
Syrian people for a better life was hijacked by terrorism and regional and interna-
tional proxy wars. The wider Sunni-Shi’a geopolitical competition impacts the
dynamics in Syria, Iraq, Lebanon, Yemen, and elsewhere in the region. The conflict
in Syria might escalate if Israel and Iran or Israel and Hezbollah decided to confront
each other on the Syrian front. Syrian refugees create pressure and threaten the
fragile stability in neighboring countries like Lebanon and Jordan. What the region
need is a peace culture, a culture that promotes reducing violence by peaceful means.
This requires adopting a comprehensive regional approach that enhances coopera-
tion rather than competition to confront current challenges and build resilience to
confront global challenges.
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The ABCs of Measuring Positive Peace
19
Preston Lindsay, Ane Cristina Figueiredo, and Sean Byrne
Contents
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 370
Context . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 371
Social Cubism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 375
Peace Poles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 375
Overview (Table 1) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 378
Peace Poles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 378
Socio-Political (Table 2) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 379
Health . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 379
Human Rights Security . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 381
Safety/Crime . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 382
Autonomy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 383
Environmental Sustainability . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 384
Socio-cultural (Table 3) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 386
Trust . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 386
Community Cohesiveness . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 387
Diversity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 389
Representations in . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 389
Racism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 390
Gender Equity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 391
Representations in . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 391
Space (Table 4) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 392
Walkability . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 392
Connectivity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 394
Access to Nature . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 395
Sustainable Materials and Structure . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 397
Environmental Stressors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 398
Locality . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 400
Economic (Table 5) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 401
Income Inequality . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 401
Happiness Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 402
P. Lindsay (*) · A. C. Figueiredo · S. Byrne

University of Manitoba, Winnipeg, MB, Canada
e-mail: lindsay5@myumanitoba.ca; figueiac@myumanitoba.ca; sean.byrne@umanitoba.ca
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_19
370 P. Lindsay et al.
Savings/Secure Retirement . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 403

Food Security/Hunger . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 404
Shared Economy Score . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 405
Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 406
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 407
Abstract
Johan Galtung conceptualized positive peace or social justice as reconstructing
unjust violent structures, systems, and institutions; reinstating positive people-to-
people relationships; and constructively transforming conflicts nonviolently. The
question then arises, how do we measure positive peace? This chapter discusses
23 pertinent quantitative indicators that can be used to measure what positive
peace is. Four peace poles include 23 indicators that incorporate health, human
rights security, safety/crime, autonomy, environmental sustainability, trust, com-
munity cohesiveness, diversity, racism, gender equity, walkability, connectivity,
access to nature, sustainability, environmental stressors, locality, income inequal-
ity, happiness index, savings/secure retirement, food security/hunger, and shared
economy score.
Keywords
Positive peace · Measuring peace · Infrastructures of peace · Quantitative peace
metrics
Introduction
Measuring positive peace is critical in empowering local communities, yet it has

proven to be inherently difficult. Perhaps this is in no small part due to the
systemically integrated complexity woven into the foundations of Johan Galtung’s
original concept. It was here Galtung first offered a peace definition that included
more than the mere absence of direct violence. He stated that deep structural
violence, but a lack of direct violence, is not in fact peace; or what we now call
liminal peace. Galtung’s (1996) violence triangle comprising direct physical vio-
lence, cultural violence (art, ideology, religion, science), and structural or indirect
institutionalized violence (discrimination, heterosexism, inequality, poverty, racism,
sectarianism) demonstrates the need to understand the relationships and intercon-
nectedness of all three forms (Galtung, 1996).
But why measure peace in the first place? Or put differently, how do
Non-Governmental Organizations (NGOs), International Non-Governmental Orga-
nizations (INGOs), International Governmental Organizations (IGOs), and other
governmental organizations know when they are actually building positive peace?
How do they (we) know certain processes are leading to the outcomes that build and
grow the roots of positive peace and her branches? Currently in practice, there are no
measurement systems that demonstrate this. Most organizations measure negative or
liminal peace, rather than positive peace. And most aren’t familiar enough with the
19 The ABCs of Measuring Positive Peace 371
peace literature to navigate the convergence of social, governmental, and economic

ecosystems through the lenses of positive peace. When these omissions are paired
with a lack of best-practices and processes-to-outcome measurements directly
connecting strategies to behavior change, what is left is confusion.
It has been over 50 years, now, since Galtung first derived and expanded this
transformative concept, and ever since it has proven near-impossible to measure,
with organizational bodies grasping at measures grounded in the foundations of
negative peace. In many cases, this process continues still. Whether it occurs through
continued use of negative framing, violent and enculturated languages themselves,
the absence of peace literacy, or the absence of sufficient technologies to measure the
systems, practices, and norms required to frame, calculate, and assess positive peace
measurements, as yet we have been unable to do so adequately.
This chapter attempts to begin the process of grounding infrastructures of peace
with a broad array of quantitative measurements of positive peace geared toward
bridging the conceptual divides among stakeholder groups for clarity and wider
peace literacy within academia and grassroots communities. These measures are
meant to be researched and used by the people in the localities themselves. They
know best the systems and processes of their regions, and they should have the
intellectual and social capacity and capital to implement or change them if they
see fit.
Peace and Conflict Studies (PACS), and earlier iterations of peace studies have an
atypical foci for academia in general: its original intent was to study peace to bring
about world peace – to solve the plague of violence that have risen and fallen
throughout our short history on this planet. This chapter and this assessment are
designed to assist all three tier actors and groups for a united focus on tangible and
actionable changes for community health and growth in an effort to meet these lofty
ends. We are under no illusion that these processes alone will accomplish this and
seek pan-disciplinary critique and guidance on what measures and indicators may
work better where appropriate. Our only aim is to create something that works; this
hopefully starts that process.
The measures outlined below not only align with the 2030 United Nations
Sustainable Development Goals (UNDP, 2015), but take matters a few steps further
by including lived-space as a pillar in itself to provide further stakeholder
actionabilities for heightened integration into eco-urban contexts (UNDP, 2015).
These measures utilize and synthesize nonconscious human cognitions within envi-
ronmental psychology’s sphere of study (Radovic, 2009), to further ground positive
peace into the lives of world citizens; literally building positive peace.
Context
Kenneth Bush was one of the first scholars to frame a patchwork of peace measures
in the attempt to create a peace and conflict impact assessment (Bush, 2009). Within
his measures were three key steps: (1) a mapping exercise for grounded dynamics
within the conflict area; (2) risk and opportunity assessment attempting to identify
ways in which the social environment could impact the practice; and (3) the actual
peace and conflict impact assessment, and where there may arise unintended exter-
nalities (Haider, 2014).
Susan Allen Nan has also engaged in conflict intervention, specifically interven-
tion coordination (Nan, 2003). Nan reports,
Intervention coordination is any effort to conduct pieces of a peace process for maximum
joint impact. When conflict resolution professionals engage in a peace process, they are
intervening. There are many interventions by international and local governmental and
non-governmental organizations in every peace process. When these professionals seek to
inform their own and others’ interventions so that they build a stronger overall peace process
together, that is intervention coordination. (Nan, 2003)
Roger Mac Ginty has also delved into the peace measures fray, directing it toward
a more grassroots driven and less of an external elite technocratic process matching
their means and ends (Mac Ginty, 2012, p. 57). In his critique of existing qualitative
peace indicators and internationally accepted economic measures, he points to their
inability to accurately portray societies at peace, and are more indicative of liminal
peace indicators at best (Mac Ginty, 2012, p. 58). He then points to the key fault
lying with the indicators themselves utilizing a lack of war recurrence as a measure
of peace success – which by definition is not peace. He goes on to describe the
possibility that quantitative measures are inherently problematic and are the result
from a typically top-down/power-over model (Mac Ginty, 2012, p. 59).
Given our interest in bottom-up indicators of peace, the imposition of a top-down template
would negate the exercise. A suggested mechanism is advanced to help envisage what
everyday peace indicators might look like, but the mechanism is likely to differ according to
context. The suggested guidelines and mechanism are unlikely to satisfy quantitative
methodological purists, yet methodological purity has often done little to connect with
local populations and produce data that is locally relevant or meaningful. The intention
instead is to propose a process that can be ‘robust enough’ so that it can report data that is
accurate and meaningful to both local communities and actors at the national and interna-
tional levels. (Mac Ginty, 2012, p. 59)
In order to accomplish these ends Mac Ginty borrows and proposes four guiding
principles from DeVries, namely, that measures should be, “technically sound,
understandable, relevant and cost-effective.” What Mac Ginty calls the everyday
peace indicators are not prescriptive but elicitive in nature and offer valuable guiding
principles. They should be: 1-Locally Based, 2-Non-Prescriptive, 3-Reflexive and
open to change, and 4-Safeguarded Against Elite Capture (Mac Ginty & Ozerdem,
2019, p. 57).
It may be that what these measures are meant to accomplish are the discursive
and symbiotic process itself, rather than actual measurements for positive peace.
However, without quantitative measures, PACS remains bounded by ill-defined
measures and ethereal realties that may perpetuate liminal grassroots peace. By its
nature it isn’t foundational, and doesn’t measure the systems operating in concert,
but is rather inclined to be specific to each location (with their own definitions),
and therefore more than likely not replicable, or even scalable where success may
be found.
More recently, Steve Killilea and the Institute for Economics and Peace have
crafted their Pillars of Positive Peace (Institute for Economics and Peace, 2018).
They are correct in their systems thinking approach to quantifying positive peace,
but as Johan Galtung stated in 2016, “PPI pretends to be an index of positive peace/
peaceful society. But is more like an index of positive for business environment; the
Institute for Economics and Peace is more economics than peace” (Galtung, 2016).
He continues, “All 24 [measures] serve business one way or another. PBI, Positive
Business Index, would be a more honest, indicative name.”
Perhaps Killilea’s pillars and measures do indeed take more of a business/
economic lens to define positive peace, embedding themselves in deep structural
violence and as such, fall far short of Galtung’s original definition of positive peace.
However, they have served as a starting point for NGOs, INGOs, and the private
sector to begin engaging peace more constructively (ReliefWeb, 2017). This does
not mean they actually measure positive peace, though.
The ease of accessibility and application on the international stage can also be a
drawback; however, as the measures lend themselves more to a top-down/power-
over methodology that may undercut an actual free-flowing and constructive middle-
out and grassroots led positive peace. Because of this, they have misbranded and
subsequently misled many as to what positive peace means and how it’s constructed
and flows. Killilea’s measures quantify a liminal, or negative peace more accurately
than a positive one; as true positive peace requires all systems working in a flowing
biome one with another. Galtung informs us, “Positive peace means something good
is flowing . . .[there is] cooperation with equity and harmony, sharing sorrow and joy,
through empathy including environmental [sustainability]” (Galtung, 2016). It is
clear Killilea’s measures don’t do this.
These measures should not be outright dismissed, however, as the potentially
greatest hurdle to founding a positive peace is peace literacy itself. And as mentioned
above, Killilea’s index has started this process more proactively (ReliefWeb, 2017).
Chuck Thiessen and Sean Byrne have also contributed to the discussion and
development of well-researched and peer-reviewed intervention strategies and inter-
ject that these strategies not be taken lightly. They noted that,
The promotion of disparate intervention methodologies is entirely predictable given the

existence of contested relationships between prominent underlying themes to the debates
around peacebuilding and development intervention: globalization, development aid,
inequality, and poverty, and their roles in inciting or preventing violence. These contested
relationships justify the cautious selection and interpretation of research findings by deci-
sion- and policy-makers. (Thiessen & Byrne, 2017, p. 1)
We would be remiss to go any further without addressing the deep harm

measurement systems and assessments have caused in the past, and the mecha-
nisms used to perpetuate them; particularly the application these measures and
methods have had on indigenous and minority communities all over the world
(Bateman, 2010).
Whether research has been used as a tool for displacement (Washington, 2019), to
justify removal (OHRC, 2018), to execute cultural and direct genocide (Mosby,
2013), or reenforce dominant group status (Calderon et al., 2006), research has the
power to cause severe damage. Indeed, the top-down/power-over dynamics so
prevalent in and out of the PACS discipline are the direct results of the measurement
apparatus and framing with which they have shaped the world (Firchow & Mac
Ginty, 2017). Pugh, while addressing the ontological and pedagogical limits of UN
intervention strategies, speaks to this when he writes,
[Their] sweeping endorsement of 1980s and 90s neoliberalism implicates the UN in the
enterprise of fusing peace with capital accumulation . . . Another pivotal, almost crusading,
task in peacebuilding has been transformation through the creation of favourable business
environments, empowering local entrepreneurs with enterprise zones, subsidies for small
and medium sized enterprises, and micro-credit initiatives. The last generates little employ-
ment and often results in merely recycling poverty. (Pugh, 2013, p. 16)
Unfortunately, these strategies have been the rule lately, and also the most likely
to receive funding, and political momentum. These measures and their assessment
ontologies have consistently exploited already marginalized communities and made
equity before international law a mere misplaced hope.
It should be no surprise, then, that there has been caution toward quantitative
metrics and their vehicles. Done correctly though, through grounded grassroots
organizing and multitier communication strategies, quantitative impact measure-
ments can and should be used to help create synergistic social ecosystems of the
kind Galtung, Allen Nan, Bush, and Mac Ginty speak to. This can be accelerated and
rooted further when it is the people in the region actually participating in and owning
the research process and the measures themselves.
Another area of interest and focus here, which has been most unfortunately
dismissed until recently, is the influence lived-space has on human cognition, and
subsequently, social processes. The fields of environmental psychology, architec-
ture, and design have known the impact of space on nonconscious cognitive
nudges for decades. And very recently Sarah Williams Goldhagen of the Harvard
Graduate School of Design Faculty wrote a seminal work in her book, Welcome to
your World, providing further depth to an already deep field of knowledge
(Goldhagen, 2017). One such example is the simple definition of spatial cognition
within environmental psychology; that is, “the process of how we acquire, store,
organize, and recall information about locations, distances, and arrangements in
buildings, streets, and the outdoors” (Gifford, 2007, p. 34). It should come as no
surprise that external environmental stimuli alter human behaviors. For instance,
building schools next to airports causes lower performance, and greater health
problems, in school children due to noise pollution (ACRP, 2017). Or the lack of
green public spaces in a city increase instances of depression (WHO, 2016). Yet,
PACS has been surprisingly mute on the subject, and in some instances, has
claimed outside influences on human cognition fail to alter behaviors (Bjorkdahl &
Buckley-Zistel, 2016). This simply isn’t accurate (Aghostin-Sangar, 2007).
In this vein, the premise of Goldhagen’s work claims that not only are better
lived-environments possible – as measured by biological and psychological needs,
that very much align within Burton’s basic human needs frameworks (Burton, 1990)
– but probable given the ever-increasing mainstreaming of such knowledge into the
public sphere (Lindgaard & Wesselius, 2017). These environs can be taken a step
further with Mary Clark’s work when she says, “. . . the problem lies in having
becoming blind to the kind of society that satisfies our deepest human needs, and in
having constructed, through a long series of deficient social visions, institutions that
deny rather than satisfy those needs” (Clark, 1990, p. 37).
Goldhagen goes yet another step further than Clark by claiming that given this
knowledge, it is the ethical and moral responsibility of governments and civil society
to see it done (Goldhagen, 2017, p. 47). Lived-space is of vital importance in
measuring positive peace, for it is in these lived places our politics, cultures,
connection, and social equilibrious/disequilibrious flows are on full display as
demonstrated by Goldhagen and the broad field of environmental psychology
(Fig. 1).
Social Cubism
The social cubism analytical conflict model comprises the interrelationships and
attachment of six social forces that need to be considered when analyzing social
conflicts (Byrne & Carter, 1996). The demographic, economic, historic, political,
psychocultural, and religious forces combined together provide a system’s level
analysis of complex problems (Byrne & Carter, 1996; Carter & Byrne, 2000;
Byrne et al., 2003). A social cubism analysis can indicate whether a tangible or
intangible issue is ripe in a protracted ethnic conflict at a particular moment in time.
For example, if the psychocultural lens seems to be indicating an escalation of
conflict, is it fear combined with identity and misperception that is fueling ethnic
unrest (Byrne & Nadan, 2011)? Social cubism can also assist in the design of the
multimodal and multilevel multitrack intervention strategy that is needed to
deescalate conflict (Byrne & Keashly, 2000). The three-dimensional social cube
while appearing simplistic can visualize the interrelated six-sided system to help us
fully understand the complexity and the nuances of protracted conflict.
Peace Poles
The peace poles framework draws heavily upon the analytical and intervention
methodology of social cubism and DeVries guiding principles while grounding the
process in local culturally appropriate measures. However, instead of utilizing it for
Fig. 1 Peace pole cubism synthesis
interventions or highly divided societies in particular, we use it more as the quali-

tative onus and directive of our proventive (Christie, 1997) critical peace assessment.
The methods we outline here are very much a critical emancipatory peacebuilding
methodology geared toward increasing actionable and very tangible community,
regional, and state assessments for cocreation of positive peace frameworks. Put
simply, this is a quantitatively driven conscientization process building off of Friere
(1972) and Lederach (1995), while integrating Scott Bollens (2012).
Roger Mac Ginty, Oliver Richmond, Séverine Autesserre, Annika Björkdahl,
Alpaslan Özerdem, Michael Pugh, Vivienne Jabri, and Timothy Donais from The
Critical and Emancipatory School of Peacebuilding critique the Liberal Democratic
Peace Paradigm noting the need to include local everyday people and indigenous
epistemologies and processes and hybrid systems to build sustainable peace.
Preston Lindsay, with the kindness, guidance, and counsel of Ane Cristina
Figueiredo and Sean Byrne has developed a quantitative analysis based on four
categories: Political Assessments and Proventions; Cultural Assessment and Pro-
ventions; Lived-Space Assessments and Proventions; and Economic Assessments
and Proventions. They are termed assessments and preventions due to each indicator
and measure both acting individually as positive peace assessments, and if then acted
on and implemented are also proventive measures to ground a local grassroots peace.
We will call these the Peace Poles. Under the Peace Poles are 21 various contextual
indicators, and with the subsequent measures totaling 97. In the tables below, the
four Peace Poles are entitled Socio-Political, Social-Cultural, Economic, and Space.
The 21 indicators are distributed among health, human rights security, safety/crime,
autonomy, environmental sustainability, trust, community cohesiveness, diversity,
racism, gender equity, walkability, connectivity, access to nature, sustainability,
environmental stressors, locality, income inequality, happiness index, savings/secure
retirement, food security/hunger, and shared economy score.
These 21 indicators were chosen from cultures living in relative positive peace on
a macroscale, and were further developed from their individual and collective
cultural values and pursuits grounded in what works in societies to bring about the
best health, social, and environmental outcomes while using the theoretical frames
and interpretations derived from positive peace literature.
The 99 individual measures under the 21 indicators have a range of 0–1; the
lowest possible individual measure being 0, the highest possible individual measure
being 1; the lowest possible overall score being 0, the highest possible overall score
being 99. It must be said, pains have been taken to create measures and indicators
applicable in any community, city, or state around the world. Each measure is
bounded within the area of emphasis under each pole, and should be taken within
that context for the assessment and/or provention. The assessments are designed to
be grounded in, researched by, and used as is appropriate to each locality. These data
sets are meant to be used as a critical peace assessment to empower localities toward
transformative peace through critical emancipatory peacebuilding as part of a pro-
ventive version of Nan’s (2003) collaborative action agenda.
At the core of each of these poles lies the ethos, or deeper purpose of that
functioning label’s ecosystem. For example, the purpose of good government is to
protect and nurture, while the ethos of culture is to instruct and train. Each of these,
though, lead to the deeper philosophical implications of just what it means to live the
good life. We will not address that question here, but defer to the United Nations
charter of Human Rights. But yes, there will be obvious spillover between each pole.
After all, these are active ecosystems, and in every ecosystem, there is bound to be
integration and dynamism.
Because there are 97 indicators within the four poles, we will keep descriptions
brief. Three descriptors will be used under each measure: (1) its intended use;
(2) what fields consistently utilize the measure and are applicable to; and (3) its
relevance to the infrastructures and measures of positive peace (Please note that due
to the nature of the gridwork and repetition involved, to conserve on space, number
3 in many instances will be a single footnote referencing the first used in a measures
section; in some instances, number two will repeat as well). It will be noted here, the
definitions and trajectory of infrastructures of peace will be drawn from the latest
UNDP and Berghof Foundation report entitled, “Embedded peace; infrastructures
for peace: Approaches and lessons learned” (Berghof Foundation, 2016).
Overview (Table 1)
Table 1 Peace poles
Political Cultural Space Economics
Health Trust Walkability Income inequality
Human rights security Community Connectivity Happiness index
cohesiveness
Safety/crime Diversity Access to nature Savings/secure
retirement
Autonomy Racism Sustainability Food security/hunger
Environmental Gender equity Environmental Shared economy
sustainability stressors score
Locality
Peace Poles
On the whole, the poles are subdivided into four to six sub-foci in order to provide
further directive and context for both researchers and pracademics. Under the Socio-
Political Pole lies the first subtopic of health; which we believe is fitting, as Galtung’s
original concept of positive and negative peace were derived from the field of health
(Grewal, 2003). The next subtopics are human rights security, safety/crime, auton-
omy, and finally environmental sustainability. Within the Socio-Cultural Peace Pole
reside the subtopics of trust, community cohesiveness, diversity, racism, and gender
equity. Under the Lived-Space Peace Pole are walkability, connectivity, access to
nature, sustainability, environmental stressors, and locality. And contained within
the last peace pole of Socio-Economics are income inequality, the happiness index,
savings/secure retirement, and finally food security/hunger. These headings and
sub-references are meant to guide the applicability and contexts that are so often
confounding and ambiguous the social science silos academia has created. They are
not perfect and have flaws to be sure, but we believe they could provide the
frameworks necessary to objectively, and with directive purpose, quantify the
measures of positive peace for starting points for communities worldwide.
Socio-Political (Table 2)
Table 2 Socio-political pole

Health HRS Safety/Crime Autonomy Envir. Sust.
Substance Political Crimes per capita Consumer price Waste
abuse voice index
Mood and Voter Homelessness Childcare Air quality
anxiety participation subsidies
disorder ratio
Obesity Volunteerism Core housing need Employment rate Regulatory
policy
safeguards
Smoking Poverty LICO-AT Food bank use Emissions
Heart attacks Brain drain Restorative/ Public versus Water
indigenous justice private school efficiency
integration ratio
Stroke Fossil fuel Integrated Passive public
consumption rate income housing transit
diversity integration
Leisure time
Universal
healthcare
Health
Substance Abuse
1. Most commonly, and according to research within the field, substance abuse is
used to avoid or provide an escape from reality (SAMHSA, 2016). This would be
an underlying structurally violent causal effect from a negative or liminally
placed peace society. The higher the rate, the higher the avoidance/escapism.
2. Medical field/addiction recovery/psychiatry.
3. Within positive peace frameworks/infrastructures of peace, the systems practices,
norms, and values used demonstrate the flow, or lack thereof, in said society
(Galtung & Fischer, 2013; Matyok et al., 2011; Geissmann, 2016) (The citations
for the indicators for grounding positive peace are repeated throughout the Peace
Poles. Indicators will use reference to (f): footnote; (#): when citation and
verbiage was first used in the indicators). This metric refers to substance abuse,
not substance use.
Mood and Anxiety Disorder Prevalence

1. Most commonly, and according to research within the field, mood and anxiety
disorders are indicative of unmet needs as referenced by Nan (Canada, 2014).
This would be an underlying structurally violent causal effect from a negative or
liminally placed peace society. The higher the rate, the potentially higher the rate
of unmet needs.
2. Medical Field/Addiction Recovery/Psychiatry.
3. (f-42).
Obesity
1. Obesity is located here within the politics pole because by and large, this
epidemic is completely preventable, and is the result of lobbying and policies
intended to create a food industry oligopoly, which undermine multiple systems
in societal health (IHME, 2014).
2. Food science, political science, medicine, best business practices.
3. This measure is rather straight forward. If people are dying at higher rates due to
obesity, which are the direct result of bad policy, it can in no way be considered a
positive peace flow. (f-42)
Heart Attack and Stroke Rates

1. This measure is a scary one at first, but as we pull back the layers of high
correlations and activity ratios, one indicator stands above the rest: stress (Amer-
ican Heart Association, 2018). Much of this can be avoided systemic policy
interventions as demonstrated by much of Europe, particularly northern
European countries (American Heart Association, 2010).
2. Medicine, political theory, best business practices.
3. If people are dying at higher rates due to heart attack and stroke, which again are
correlated to stress (American Heart Association, 2018), which in turn are
correlated to poor economic and food policy (Los Angeles County, 2013), it
can in no way be considered a positive peace flow. (f-42).
Leisure Time
1. This measure leans more toward quality of life indicators. Free time, particularly
paid holidays and a 35–40-h work week are highly correlated to healthier out-
comes (Constant & Otterbach, 2011).
2. Medicine, political science, best business practices, demographics.
3. (f-42).
Universal Healthcare
1. Perhaps nowhere but the United States is this measure still up for debate on how it
impacts quality of life. Where it exists as a part of the safety net, persons are better
off by far in almost every measure of quality of life (OECD, 2016). Its absence
indicates not only where a society’s values lay, but also is predicative of health
indicators across the board (OECD, 2016, p. 4).
2. Medicine, political science, policy.
3. (f-42).
Human Rights Security
Political Voice
1. This measure would be used to identify individual and communal liberty and
institutionalized protections (ODI, 2018).
2. Activism/political science/social psychology (Canadian Human Rights Commis-
sion, 2018).
3. 3- [Within positive peace frameworks/infrastructures of peace, the degree to
which individual and communal autonomy and expression are embedded struc-
turally is directly related to negative or positive peace flows and indicated by
levels of structural violence.] (Standard Two) (f-42).
Voter/Civic Participation
1. Though this measure may seem westernized on its surface, much of its power lies in
the cultural/regional interpretation. In western democracies, voter participation can
be directly tied to other indicators such as social apathy or a perceived lack of control;
this is what the measure is driving at. Do members of a community engage in their
political processes (whatever those may be)? These core mental and emotional states
belong to no governmental structure in particular (OECD, 2018a, b, c).
2. Political science, demographics, policy.
3. If people are not engaging socially and politically with their respective commu-
nities, research indicates societal dysfunction. People require a degree of control
over their lives for healthy mental states, particularly to avoid high fight or flight
mental states (Heminway et al., 2008). This is a particularly insidious structurally
violent invisible, as when persons are in these heightened states can they reason-
ably engage in constructive civic peacebuilding and secure protection of their
inalienable human rights. (f-42).
Poverty
1. Poverty is a wholly unnecessary blight on humanity. This measure would be used
to identify individual and communal safety from direct violence. Often, crimes
are committed due to a lack of resources and opportunity for disenfranchised and
oppressed individuals and communities (Noyes et al., 2009).
2. Activism/political science/social psychology/criminology, sociology, social work
policy.
3. (f-55). (f-42).
Brain Drain
1. Brain drain is derived from the Fragile States Index and would be used to
demonstrate the levels of community capital. This measure would be used to
identify individual and communal safety from direct violence (The Fund for
Peace, 2017).
2. Political science/social psychology, policy.

3. (f-55). (f-42).
Safety/Crime
Crimes Per Capita

1. This measure would be used to identify individual and communal safety from
direct violence. More often than not, crimes are committed due to a lack of
resources and opportunity for disenfranchised and oppressed individuals and
communities (Rattner, 1990).
2. Criminology.
3. (f-55). (f-42).
Homelessness
direct violence. Homelessness is less a result of individual responsibility, and
more the direct result of structures and systems designed to exacerbate disparities
(Homeless Hub, 2017).
2. Political science/social psychology/sociology/social work.
3. (f-55). (f-42).
Core Housing Need

1. This measure would be used to identify individual and communal unmet needs
versus met needs for the core basic human need of shelter (Homeless Hub, 2017).
2. Community planning, social work, political science.
3. (f-55). (f-42).
LICO-AT
direct violence. The low-income cutoffs are income thresholds below which a
family will likely devote a larger share of its income on the necessities of food,
shelter, and clothing than the average family (Statistics Canada, 2016). These
measures are determined by federal and local governmental authorities, in par-
ticular for who does and who does not receive aid.
2. Political studies, social work.
3. (f-55). (f-42).
Restorative Justice Practice Integration

1. This measure would be used to identify individual and communal safety from direct
violence. Research shows successful restoration and healing of persons imprisoned/
break the law are found in restorative justice systems (Fhéir et al., 2013).
2. Criminology, political studies, social work, criminal justice.

3. (f-55). (f-42).
Fossil-Fuel Consumption Rate

1. This measure would be used to identify individual and communal safety from the
direct violence of pollutants. Those with the highest consumption of fossil fuels
shift those externalities on those who most often can’t afford to relieve them in
their communities; most often out-groups (Ritchie & Roser, 2017).
2. Environmental studies, political studies, social work.
3. (f-55). (f-42).
Autonomy
Consumer Price Index

1. This measure would be used to identify individual and communal autonomy as
related to expenses versus costs to live in a society according to the baseline basket
of market goods. This measure alone, relative to inflation and the market value of
goods and services, contributes greatly to mass inequality and poverty in some
western countries, as well as the negative impacts of outsourcing and international
subsidization on local entrepreneurs and farmers These baseline measures are
typically set by governments and IGOs and therefore are placed in politics to provide
relief to them in their communities; most often out-groups (Statistics Norway, 2018).
2. Economics, political studies, social work.
3. (f-55). (f-42).
Childcare Subsidies
1. This measure would be used to identify individual and communal autonomy as
related to expenses versus costs to live in a society according to the baseline
basket of market goods, particularly the cost of having children in a society, and
what measures are taken by governments to accommodate its people (OECD,
2016). This measure alone, relative to inflation and the market value of goods and
services, can contribute greatly to mass inequality, the rising working poor, and
entrenched poverty (Whitehurst, 2017). These intervention measures are set by
governments (national and local).
3. (f-55). (f-42).
Employment Rate
1. This measure would be used to identify individual and communal autonomy and
welfare as related to availability of paid work in society (Thompson & Prottas,
2006). This measure is greatly influenced by public policy, and can be regulated
by policy measures (national and local).

3. (f-55). (f-42).
Food Bank Use

welfare as related to availability of food access and food distribution in society.
The higher the food bank use (or related culturally appropriate distribution) the
lower institutionalized distribution methods, the higher the hunger (and lower
health) (Ontario Association of Food Banks, 2014). This measure is greatly
influenced by public policy and effective economic infrastructures, and can be
regulated by policy measures (national and local).
3. (f-55). (f-42).
Public Versus Private School Ratio

welfare as related to equality of opportunity, and income in the society. The
higher the ratio of private schools, the related lower equality of access, higher
costs on societal trust, lower social capital, public poorer educational outcomes
(Hancock, 2011). This measure is directly influenced by public policy and
effective social infrastructures, and is a direct result of regulation.
2. Education, political studies, social work, economics, policy.
3. (f-55). (f-42).
Integrated Income Housing Diversity

welfare as related to egalitarian integration of shared community and space as
determined by government intervention strategies through zoning and other
coding procedures. The higher the diversity of income ratios among stratified
societal classes, the lower negative effects on social capital and societal trust
(Duke, 2009). This measure is directly influenced by public policy, and can be
regulated by policy measures (national and local).
2. Community planning, architecture, economics, political studies, social work.
3. (f-55). (f-42).
Waste
1. This measure would be used to identify the correlation between environmental
degradation and quantity of waste produced by a city, district, or country (Cui &
Shi, 2012). This measure is directly influenced by public policy, and can be
regulated by policy measures (national and local) (Ritchie & Roser, 2017).
2. Environmental studies, community planning, political studies.
3. (f-55). (f-42).
Air Quality
degradation, quality of life and health, and air quality in a region, district, or
country (Howes et al., 2017). This measure is directly influenced by public policy,
and can be regulated by policy measures (international, national, and local).
2. Environmental studies, community planning, political studies, international relations.
3. (f-55). (f-42).
Regulatory Policy Safeguards

1. This measure would be used to identify how many policies have been enacted in a
region, country, or city, and how effective they are at implementation and
enforcement; and how they align with scientific consensus on the topic (Howes
et al., 2017, p. 5). This measure is directly influenced by public policy, and can be
regulated by policy measures (international, national, and local).
3. Within positive peace frameworks/infrastructures of peace, the degree to which
environmentally sustainable practices are integrated into social infrastructures is
highly correlated to individual and communal safety, health, and longevity, and
are directly related to negative or positive peace flows as indicated by levels of
structural violence regulatory policy safeguards. (f-42).
Emissions
degradation, quality of life and health, and emission expended in a region,
district, or country (WHO, 2015). This measure is directly influenced by public
policy, and can be regulated by policy measures (international, national, and
local) (The World Bank, 2018).
3. (f-55). (f-42).
Water Sanitation and Efficiency Footprint

1. This measure would be used to identify the correlation between water use, water
access, environmental degradation, water waste, sustainability, stores against
drought, quality of life and health, taken in a region, district, or country (WHO,
2017). This measure is directly influenced by public policy, and can be regulated
by policy measures (international, national, and local).
2. Environmental studies, community planning, political studies, international
relations.
3. (f-55). (f-42).
Passive Public Transit Integration Ratio

1. This measure would be used to identify environmental impacts of not just a
multidimensional transit system, but a (zero emissions/positive footprint) passive
transit into city and state infrastructures and the costs associated with the absence
of passive integrated transit systems in a region, district, or a country (SPUTNIC,
2009). This measure is directly influenced by public policy, and can be regulated
by policy measures (international, national, and local).
2. Environmental studies, engineering, community planning, political studies, inter-

national relations.
3. (f-55). (f-42).
Socio-cultural (Table 3)
Table 3 Socio-cultural pole
Trust Community Diversity Racism Gender
Social network Civil society Workplace percentage Imprisonment Workplace
diversity group participation representation percentages percentage
representation
Sense of Quality of life Elected office Hate crimes Elected office
belonging percentage percentage
representation representation
Volunteerism Perception of Policy enacted Comparative Policy enacted
safety safeguards for employment safeguards for
representative diversity percentages representation
Personal safety Poverty Pay gap percentages Comparative Pay gap
poverty
percentages
Willingness to Residential
help a stranger stability
score
Trust
Social Network Diversity

1. This measure would be used to identify the correlation between the social
network diversity for individuals and groups connectivity within social groups.
It illustrates the level at which people are involved with their attributes or opinion
in their environment (Johnson et al., 2013).
2. Sociology, social psychology, statistics, graph theory, neuroscience, physics,
political science, economics, management science, computer science, engineer-
ing (Denny, 2014).
social network diversity is integrated to groups and structures is directly related to
the level of fragmentation in society (Snijders, 2011).
Sense of Belonging
1. This measure would be used to identify the correlation between sense of belong-
ing and civic participation, relating to the level of social inclusion (Community
Foundations of Canada, 2017).
2. Psychology, sociology, organizational ecology, conflict studies, statistics, public
administration (Community Foundations of Canada, 2017).
3. Within positive peace frameworks/infrastructures of peace, the correlation

between sense of belonging and negative/positive peace is high since it is directly
associated with nationhood and an individuals’ social inclusion and well-being
(Painter, 2013).
Civic Engagement
1. This measure would be suitable to identify the correlation between power of
volunteer actions and the increasing of awareness to improve the way society is
governed (OECD, 2018a, b, c).
2. Political studies, economics, sociology, public administration, statistics (Berger,
2009).
3. Within positive peace frameworks/infrastructures of peace, civic engagement is
embedded in social movements, which is directly related to positive or negative
peace. Also, it is associated to the different levels of societal engagement and
structural violence (Berger, 2009).
Personal Safety
1. This measure would be suitable to identify the correlation between personal
safety and the level of violence within a society (The Economist, 2017).
2. Psychology, economics, sociology, public administration, statistics. International
relations, development studies, peace and conflict studies, security studies.
3. Within positive peace frameworks/infrastructures of peace, personal safety is
embedded structurally, and is directly related to urban violence. Also, it is associ-
ated with the different levels of positive or negative peace (The Economist, 2017).
Willingness to Help a Stranger Score

1. This measure would be suitable to identify the correlation between willingness to
help a stranger and personal safety (Levine et al., 2001).
2. Psychology, sociology, public administration, statistics, development studies,
peace and conflict studies, security studies.
3. Within positive peace frameworks/infrastructures of peace, willingness to help a
stranger is highly correlated to levels of personal safety, which is embedded
structurally. It is also directly related to urban violence rate and trust rate within
societies. This measure is associated with cross-cultural helping behavior, and
different levels of positive or negative peace (Levine et al., 2001).
Community Cohesiveness
Civil Society Group Participation

1. This measure would be useful to identify the correlation between civil society
participation and actions taken to support civil movements as well as provide
understanding of the factors of these impacts in civil society’s strength and health
(Carmen & Volkhart, 2007).
2. Political studies, development studies, peacebuilding (Paffenholz, 2014).

civil society group participation is integrated to actions is fundamental to under-
stand social transformation, which provides space to develop sustainable peace
(Paffenholz, 2014).
Quality of Life
1. This measure would be useful to identify the correlation between the quality of
life and human well-being (Diener & Suh, 2017).
2. Political studies, development studies, peacebuilding, sociology, health studies,
sustainability, statistics.
3. Within positive peace frameworks and Burton’s theory on human basic needs, the
degree to which quality life is integrated within the system and practices is
directly correlated to infrastructures of peace permanence (Diener & Suh, 2017).
Perception of Safety
1. This measure would be applicable to identify the correlation among perception of
safety, violence rates, and human well-being (OECD, 2018a, b, c).
2. Political studies, development studies, peacebuilding, sociology, statistics, crim-
inology, psychology, economics.
degree to which perceptions of safety and social quality of life measures are
interlinked is highly correlated within the systems and practices of infrastructures
of peace permanence (OECD, 2018a, b, c).
Poverty Rate
1. This measure would be useful to identify the correlation among poverty rate,
health quality, and human development (Jalan & Ravallion, 2002).
2. Political studies, development studies, peacebuilding, sociology, statistics, crim-
inology, psychology, economics, health studies.
degree to which the poverty rate and human development are interlinked is highly
correlated within the systems and practices of infrastructures of positive peace
(Jalan & Ravallion, 2002).
Residential Stability
1. This measure would be useful to identify the correlation among residential stability,
poverty rate, health quality, and human development (Tsemberis et al., 2007).
2. Development studies, sociology, statistics, criminology, psychology, economics,
health studies.
3. Within positive peace frameworks and Burton’s theory on basic human needs, the
degree to which residential stability and human development are interlinked is
highly correlated within the systems and practices of infrastructures of peace
(Tsemberis et al., 2007).
Diversity
Representations in
Workplace
1. This measure would be useful to identify the correlation between diversity and
equality (Barak & Mor, 2005).
2. Development studies, sociology, statistics, psychology, economics, peace and
conflict studies.
3. Within positive peace frameworks/infrastructure of peace, it is critical to note the
degree to which representation in the work place and organizational inclusion are
correlated highly to levels of structural violence (Barak & Mor, 2005).
Elected Office
1. This measure would be useful to identify the correlation between elected office
positions and political representation diversity (Durose et al., 2012).
2. Political studies, development studies, sociology, statistics, psychology, gender
studies, public administration.
between elected office positions and governmental representation diversity are
highly related to the level of equality, representative democracy, and structural
violence (Durose et al., 2012).
Policy Enacted Safeguards for Diversity

1. This measure would be useful to identify the correlation between policy enacted
safeguards for diversity and under-represented groups (Durose et al., 2012).
studies, public administration.
between policy enacted safeguards for diversity and governmental representation
is highly related to the level of political representation and structural violence
(Durose et al., 2012).
Demographic Pay Gaps

1. This measure would be useful to identify the correlation between demographic
pay gaps and diversity groups. This measure directly influences the quality of
work when pay gaps are minimum in the workplace (Herring, 2009).
studies, public administration, demography.
3. Within positive peace frameworks/infrastructures of peace, the correlations
among demographic pay gaps, diversity, and equality highly correlated within
the systems and practices of infrastructures of peace (Durose et al., 2012).
Racism
Imprisonment Percentages
1. This measure would be useful to identify the correlation between imprisonment
percentage and racial disparity (Wakefield & Wildeman, 2011).
2. Peace and conflict studies, development studies, sociology, statistics, psychology,
criminology, public policy.
between imprisonment percentage and racial disparity is embedded structurally,
and is directly related to negative or positive peace flows as indicated by levels of
structural violence (Wakefield & Wildeman, 2011).
Hate Crimes
1. This measure would be useful to identify the correlation between hate crime
statistics and hate crime justification. Also, this measure is highly linked to racial
disparity (US Department of Justice, 2015).
criminology, indigenous studies, public Administration.
between hate crime and racial disparity is embedded structurally, and is directly
related to social conflicts and identity diversity. Also, it is associated to negative
or positive peace flows and indicated by levels of structural violence (Brax &
Munthe, 2015).
Comparative Employment Percentages

1. This measure would be useful to identify the correlation comparative employment
percentages and discrimination rates in the workplace (US Department of Labor, 2015).
2. Development studies, sociology, statistics, psychology, economics, public
administration.
3. Within positive peace frameworks/infrastructures of peace, the correlation between
comparative employment percentages with ethnic groups is embedded structurally,
and is directly related to the level of diversity acceptance and equality. Also, it is
reflected by levels of structural violence (US Department of Labor, 2015, p. 112).
Comparable Poverty Rates

1. This measure would be useful to identify the correlation between comparable
poverty rates and human development. Also, this measure is highly linked to racial
disparity (US National Library of Medicine National Institutes of Health, 2016).
criminology, public administration, economics.
between comparable poverty rates and racial disparity is embedded structurally,
and is directly related to social and racial conflicts. Also, it is associated to
negative or positive peace flows as indicated by levels of structural violence
(US National Library of Medicine National Institutes of Health, 2016).
Gender Equity
Representations in
Workplace
1. This measure would be useful to identify the correlation between gender equality
in the workplace and occupational gender gaps (World Economic Forum, 2017).
2. Peace and conflict studies, development studies, gender studies, sociology, sta-
tistics, psychology, public administration, economics, health sciences.
gender equity is represented in the workplace is highly correlated within struc-
tural violence (World Economic Forum, 2017).
Elected Office
1. This measure would be useful to identify the correlation between elected office
and diversity equality (United Nations Women, 2017).
public administration, economics, international relations, political studies.
elected office positions and diversity disparity are embedded structurally is
directly related to gender and diversity inequality, and indicated by levels of
structural violence (United Nations Women, 2017).
Policy Enacted Safeguards
1. This measure would be useful to identify the correlation between policy enacted
safeguards and equal participation of individuals in the decision-making pro-
cesses, in the national and international spheres (United Nations Division for the
Advancement of Women, 2005).
2. Development studies, sociology, statistics, psychology, political studies, public
administration, economics.
between policy enacted safeguards and gender perspective in decision-making
processes is embedded structurally, and is directly related to gender equality and
leadership. Also, this measure is indicated by levels of structural violence (United
Nations Division for the Advancement of Women, 2005, p. 124).
Pay Gaps
1. This measure would be useful to identify the correlation between pay gaps within
gender equity and how economies and societies succeed (United Nations Divi-
sion for the Advancement of Women, 2005, p. 124).
administration, economics.
between gender pay gaps and gender inequality is embedded structurally, is
directly indicated by levels of structural violence (United Nations Division for
the Advancement of Women, 2005, p. 124).
Space (Table 4)
Table 4 Space pole
Walkability Connectivity Nature Sustainability Stressors Locality
Walkscore Mixed use Urban park Locally sourced Noise Local culturally
density to citizen materials pollution expressive
ratio metric architectural
diversity
Pedestrian to Per capita Tree to Recycled Air quality Outdoor market
motor vehicle density citizen materials measure space
proximity ratio
Cleanliness Public Perceived LEED certified Symmetry in
transit natural or comparable public space
efficiency beauty
Natural light Walkability Natural Water efficiency Randomized
access light access rating continuity
Pathways Public space Passive score Temperature
continuity proximity variance
Proximity to Intensity ASCE score
transit
This section adopts theories and concepts from sustainable development plans
and feedback from Darko Radovic’s book, Econ-Urbanity. Eco-urbanity, according
to Radovic, is defined as the integration of environmental and cultural sustainability.
He narrates that,
. . .If we want sustainable cities, then we need to develop a profoundly different sociocultural
framework in which such settlements can happen . . . only cities possess the creative power
that can generate radical ways of thinking, a much-needed paradigm shift. That shift calls for
action against the powerful value system ruling us . . .[Eco-urbanity] is focused on urban and
architectural projects and practices that successfully combine complex environmental and
cultural responsiveness and responsibility, [celebrating] cultural difference. (Radovic, 2009,
p. 58)
Walkability
Walkscore
1. This measure analyzes the ease of walkability without use of a vehicle or transit
to nearby amenities (Redfin, 2018). This score impacts health, environment,
and financial outcomes. Everything the citizen needs would be within 5–10 min
walking distance. This proximity saves the city dweller from time-and-energy-
wasting travel to satisfy everyday needs for life, work, entertainment, and
recreation. [It also] increases the likelihood of social interaction, security,
cultural richness, and positive stimulations for the human senses, all of which
make for stronger communities and happier individuals (Redfin, 2018, p. 52).
This measure is greatly influenced by public policy and effective economic and
physical infrastructures, and can be regulated by policy measures (national and
local).
2. City planning, architecture, economics, political studies, social work.
3. (f-55). (f-42).
High-Flow Versus Low-Flow Pedestrian to Motor Vehicle Proximity

1. As part of Barcelona’s Urban Mobility Plan, this measure scores the safety of
pedestrians in tandem with high and low flow vehicle traffic (City of Barcelona,
2014). This score impacts health, environment, and economic outcomes. This
measure is directly influenced by public policy and effective economic and
physical infrastructures, and can be regulated by policy measures (national and
local).
3. (f-55). (f-42).
Cleanliness
1. This measure is adopted from Los Angeles as part of their Clean Streets Initiative.
Each street is given a score from one to three indicating cleanliness (ESRI, 2018).
This score impacts health, environment, and financial outcomes. This measure is
greatly influenced by public policy and effective economic and physical infra-
structures, and can be regulated by policy measures and social initiatives (national
and local).
3. (f-55). (f-42).
Natural Light Access

1. This measure addresses worker’s access to natural daylight (Wymelenberg,
2014). This score impacts health, environment, and economic outcomes. This
measure is greatly influenced by public policy and effective economic and
physical infrastructures, and can be regulated by policy measures and social
initiatives (national and local).
3. (f-55). (f-42).
Pathways Continuity
1. This measure addresses citizen’s access, continuity, and efficiency pedestrian and
bicycle lanes (City of Barcelona, 2014). This score impacts health, community
vitality, environment, and economic outcomes. This measure is directly
influenced by public policy and effective economic and physical infrastructures,
and can be regulated by policy measures and social initiatives (national and
local).
3. (f-55). (f-42).
Proximity to Transit
1. This measure addresses citizen’s walking (within 5 min) access to a transit station
(City of Barcelona, 2014). This score impacts health, community vitality, envi-
ronment, and economic outcomes. This measure is directly influenced by public
policy and effective economic and physical infrastructures, and can be regulated
by policy measures and social initiatives (national and local).
3. (f-55). (f-42).
Connectivity
Mixed Use Density

1. This measure is taken in connection to frequency of mixed-use zoning law
integration (or practice) into the urban landscape (Dovey & Pafka, 2017). This
score impacts health, environment, and financial outcomes. This measure is
and local).
3. (f-55). (f-42).
Density
1. This measure is simply the amount of person living and working in a land area.
Research shows that higher density paired with open public spaces and
walkability comes with increased sustainability and smaller environmental foot-
prints, and greater social equity scores and integration (Manohar, 2011a, b). This
score impacts health, environment, and financial outcomes. This measure is
and local).
3. (f-55). (f-42).
Public Transit Efficiency

1. This measure is a rating using the CCR and BCC efficiency scores for transit
efficiency (Min, 2017). Research indicates that where increased access and
efficiency to integrated and sustainable public transit is found, there is a higher
rate of community cohesiveness and health. Mobility for vulnerable populations,
in particular, is one of the preconditions for achieving the Millennium Develop-
ment Goals (United Nations, 2017). This score impacts health, environment, and
financial outcomes. This measure is greatly influenced by public policy and
effective economic and physical infrastructures, and can be regulated by policy
measures and social initiatives (national and local).

3. (f-55). (f-42).
Walkability
1. As the measure walkability is vital to this higher measure of connectivity, it must
be included again within these systems. The total score of walkability above is the
individual score of this individual measure. This measure analyzes the ease of
walkability without use of a vehicle or transit to nearby amenities (Redfin, 2018).
This score impacts health, environment, and financial outcomes. Everything the
citizen needs would be within 5–10 min walking distance. This proximity saves
the city dweller from time-and-energy-wasting travel to satisfy everyday needs
for life, work, entertainment, and recreation. [It also] increases the likelihood of
social interaction, security, cultural richness, and positive stimulations for the
human senses, all of which make for stronger communities and happier individ-
uals (Redfin, 2018, p. 52). This measure is greatly influenced by public policy and
measures (national and local).
3. (f-55). (f-42).
Open Public Space Proximity

1. This measure addresses citizen’s walking (within 5 min) access to an open public
green space (Taylor et al., 2011). This score impacts health, community vitality,
environment, and economic outcomes. This measure is directly influenced by
public policy and effective economic and physical infrastructures, and can be
regulated by policy measures and social initiatives (national and local).
3. (f-55). (f-42).
Intensity
1. This measure is density with accounts taken for the quality of urbanity, access to
services, and greater levels of social cohesion in denser areas (Radovic, 2009). This
score impacts health, environment, and financial outcomes. This measure is greatly
influenced by public policy and effective economic and physical infrastructures, and
can be regulated by policy measures and social initiatives (national and local).
3. (f-55). (f-42).
Access to Nature
Urban Park to Citizen Ratio

1. This measure addresses total green space (thus quantity and integration of nature)
to total citizen quantities. Again, this is a matter of integrated access to an open
public green space (Taylor et al., 2011). This score impacts health, community
vitality, environment, and economic outcomes. This measure is directly

local).
2. City planning, architecture, economics, political studies, social work, sustainabil-
ity studies, environmental psychology.
3. (f-55). (f-42).
Trees to Citizen Ratio

1. This measure addresses total tree populations (thus quantity and integration of
nature) to total citizen quantities. Again, this is a matter of integrated access to an
ecosystem and minimal human footprint (Kulwich, 2008). This score impacts
health, community vitality, environment, and economic outcomes. This measure
is directly influenced by public policy and effective economic and physical
infrastructures, and can be regulated by policy measures and social initiatives
(national and local).
2. City planning, architecture, economics, political studies, social work, sustainabil-
ity studies.
3. (f-55). (f-42).
Perceived Natural Beauty

1. This measure asks citizens how beautiful they perceive their surroundings to be
(Fluery-Bahl et al., 2017, p. 113). Though perceptually relative, this score is
grounded in nonconscious cognitions and impacts health, community vitality,
environment, and economic outcomes. This measure is influenced by public
2. City planning, architecture, economics, political studies, social work, environ-
mental psychology.
3. (f-55). (f-42).
Natural Light Access

1. This measure gauges citizens’ access to natural light in their living environments.
Research shows that with increased access to natural light comes increased
resilience both emotionally and in general health (Grandjean, & Gilgen, 1976,
p. 168). As such, this score impacts health, community vitality, environment, and
economic outcomes in a community, region, and nation. This measure is directly
local).
mental psychology.
3. (f-55). (f-42).
Sustainable Materials and Structure
Locally Sourced
1. This measure gauges the sustainability of architecture community development
by measuring how much of the resources used to erect structures and pathways
come from recycled/low-footprint materials (Koltun, 2010, p. 16). This score
impacts health, environment, and economic outcomes in a community, region,
and nation. This measure is directly influenced by public policy and effective
economic and physical infrastructures, and can be regulated by policy measures
and social initiatives (national and local).
mental psychology, sustainability studies.
3. (f-55). (f-42).
Recycled
come from recycled materials (Resource Recycling Systems, 2018). This score
impacts health, environment, and economic outcomes in a community, region,
and nation. This measure is directly influenced by public policy and effective
economic and physical infrastructures, and can be regulated by policy measures
and social initiatives (national and local).
3. (f-55). (f-42).
LEED Certified or Comparable

come from recycled low-footprint materials and processes (Canada Green Build-
ing Council, 2018). This score impacts health, environment, and economic out-
comes in a community, region, and nation. This measure is directly influenced by
public policy and effective economic and physical infrastructures, and can be
regulated by policy measures and social initiatives (national and local).
3. (f-55). (f-42).
Water Efficiency
1. This measure gauges the sustainability of water usage and water recycling within
communities (Water Efficiency Rating Score, 2018). This score impacts health,
environment, and economic outcomes in a community, region, and nation. This

3. (f-55). (f-42).
Passive Rating
1. This measure gauges not just the sustainability of architecture and functionalities
within a structure, but its footprint on the environment itself (Zeiler, 2011). This
score impacts health, environment, and economic outcomes in a community,
region, and nation. This measure is directly influenced by public policy and
3. (f-55). (f-42).
Environmental Stressors
Noise Pollution Metric

1. This measure grades auditory stimuli and its effect on persons in their lived
environments. Research shows that with increased exposure to noise, comes
increased stressors both emotionally and in general health (Murphy & King, 2014,
p. 26). As such, this score impacts health, community vitality, environment, and
economic outcomes in a community, region, and nation. This measure is directly
influenced by public policy and effective economic and physical infrastructures, and
can be regulated by policy measures and social initiatives (national and local).
mental psychology.
3. (f-55). (f-42).
Air Quality Measure

1. This measure grades air quality and its effect on persons in their lived environ-
ments. Research shows that with exposure to low quality air/pollutants, comes
increased stressors both emotionally and in general health (Viana, 2013, p. 219).
As such, this score impacts health, community vitality, environment, and eco-
nomic outcomes in a community, region, and nation. This measure is directly
and can be regulated by policy measures and social initiatives (national and local).

mental psychology.
3. (f-55). (f-42).
Symmetry and Passivity in Public Space

1. This measure grades aesthetic symmetry and its effect on persons in their lived
environments. Research shows that, with exposure to low quality air/pollutants
comes increased stressors both emotionally and in general health (Aghostin-
Sangar, 2007, pp. 16–24). As such, this score impacts health, community vitality,
mental psychology.
3. (f-55). (f-42).
Randomized Continuity
1. This measure grades aesthetic symmetry, scale and order on a scale, and its effect
on persons in their lived environments. Research shows that, with exposure to
low quality aesthetics comes lower social capital, specifically trust and sociability
(Aghostin-Sangar, 2007, p. 28; B’Ber Architects, 2018). As such, this score
impacts health, community vitality, environment, and economic outcomes in a
community, region, and nation. This measure is directly influenced by public
mental psychology.
3. (f-55). (f-42).
Temperature Variance
1. This measure grades temperature variance and its effect on persons in their lived
environments. Research shows that, with increased exposure to temperature
variance come increased stressors both emotionally and in general health
(Casas et al., 2016, pp. 73–87). This score impacts health, community vitality,
mental psychology.
3. (f-55). (f-42).
ASCE Score
1. This measure grades infrastructure and its effect on persons in their lived envi-
ronments (American Society of Civil Engineers, 2018). This score impacts
health, community vitality, environment, and economic outcomes in a commu-
nity, region, and nation. This measure is directly influenced by public policy and
mental psychology.
3. (f-55). (f-42).
Locality
Local Culturally Expressive Architectural Diversity

1. This measure grades integration of cultural locality and contextual markers in
a region (aka. The opposite of airports). When local buildings and structures
display a significant presence of old building fabric in high/low architectural
or historic value, they fare better (Perfect & Power, 2014). In other words,
locally sourced and built homes with French heritage and culture in Paris
should differ from locally sourced and built homes with Kenyan heritage and
culture in Kakamega. This measure effects community vitality, environmental
impact and footprints, and social outcomes in a community, region, and nation
(Perfect & Power, 2014). This measure is directly influenced by public policy
and effective economic and physical infrastructures, and can be regulated by
policy measures and social initiatives (national and local).
mental psychology.
3. (f-55). (f-42).
Outdoor Market Space

1. This measure grades the integration of market spaces and their effects on
communities (Project for Public Spaces, 2008). This measure effects commu-
nity vitality, economic vitality, environmental impact and footprints, and social
outcomes in a community, region, and nation. This measure is directly
local).
mental psychology.
3. (f-55). (f-42).
Economic (Table 5)
Table 5 Economic pole

Income Happiness Savings/retirement Food security/ Shared economy
inequality index surety hunger score
Gini Survey Living-wage to working Employment Employee
coefficient response poor-wage percentage rate ownership
score availability
Lorenz Work-life Government secure Homelessness Executive to
curve balance score retirement score employee pay
gap
Atkinson Maternity & Income to B-Corp to for-
index paternity expense ratio profit ratio
leave
Wealth Commuting Population to
inequality time food bank use
Trust score
Income Inequality
Gini Coefficient Score

1. This measure would be useful to identify the correlation between the gini
coefficient score and human development (Wilkinson & Pickett, 2010; Winnipeg
Regional Health Authority, 2017).
administration, economics, international relations.
between the gini coefficient score and human development is embedded struc-
turally, and is directly related to the level of equality and income distribution
among individuals. Also, this measure is indicated by levels of structural violence
(Winnipeg Regional Health Authority, 2017).
Lorenz Curve Score

1. This measure would be useful to identify the correlation between the Lorenz
curve score and the level of economic equality within a country’s population
(Economics Online, 2018).
between the Lorenz curve score and human development is embedded structur-
ally, is directly related to the cumulative income percentage versus cumulative
population percentage within a country. Also, this measure indicates the level of
equality among individuals (Economics Online, 2018).
Atkinson Index
1. This measure would be useful to identify the correlation between the Atkinson
index and inequality level within a state (World Bank, 2005).
between Atkinson index and human development is embedded structurally, and
is directly related to the level of aversion to inequality (World Bank, 2005, p. 100).
Wealth Inequality
1. This measure would be useful to identify the correlation between wealth inequal-
ity and economic gaps among individuals (Institute for Policy Studies, 2018).
between wealth inequality and human development is embedded structurally, is
directly related to ethnicity and pay gaps. Also, this measure is indicated by levels
of structural violence (Institute for Policy Studies, 2018).
Happiness Index
Survey Response
1. This measure would be useful to identify the correlation between reported
weights to enjoyment, meaning, anxiety, depression, etc. and people’s life satis-
faction (Helliwell et al., 2017, p. 123).
administration, economics, health studies, international relations.
between reported survey responses and level of happiness is embedded structurally,
and is directly related to economic and social factors and health. Also, this measure
is indicated by levels of structural violence (Helliwell et al., 2017, p. 134).
Work-Life Balance
1. This measure would be useful to identify the correlation between work-life

balance and happiness among individuals (Four County Labour Market Planning
Board, 2014).
2. Development studies, sociology, statistics, psychology, public administration,
economics, health studies.

between work-life balance and health is embedded structurally, and is directly
related to individual’s well-being and work productivity. Also, this measure is
indicated by levels of structural violence (Four County Labour Market Planning
Board, 2014).
Score Maternity and Paternity Leave

1. This measure would be useful to identify the correlation between maternity and
paternity leave and happiness level (Ray et al., 2009).
between maternity and paternity leave policies and high-income economies is
embedded structurally, and is directly related to gender equality and promote
health and well-being not only for the infants but also for the parents, reflecting in
their level of happiness (Ray et al., 2009).
Commuting Time
1. This measure would be useful to identify the correlation between commuting time
and human well-being (University of Waterloo, 2016).
2. Development studies, sociology, statistics, psychology, economics, health studies.
between commuting time and well-being is embedded structurally, and is directly
related to economic gap and mental health. Also, this measure is indicated by
levels of structural violence (University of Waterloo, 2016).
Trust Score
1. This measure would be useful to identify the correlation between trust and
happiness levels (Helliwell et al., 2017, p. 123).
administration, economics, health studies.
between trust and individual well-being is embedded structurally, and is directly
related to economic gaps, social crisis, and corruption levels (Helliwell et al.,
2017, pp. 180–183). Also, this measure is indicated by levels of structural
violence.
Savings/Secure Retirement
Living Wage to Working Poor Wage Percentage Variance

1. This measure would be useful to identify the correlation between living wage to
working poor wage percentage variance and human development (Canadian
Centre for Policy Alternatives, 2017).
2. Development studies, sociology, statistics, psychology, economics, health stud-

ies, finance.
between living wage to working poor wage percentage variance and individual’s
well-being is embedded structurally, and is directly related to health, education
level, economic equality, and happiness level. Also, this measure is indicated by
levels of structural violence (Canadian Centre for Policy Alternatives, 2017).
Government Secure Retirement Score

1. This measure would be useful to identify the correlation between government
secure retirement and human development (Gale et al., 2015).
economics, health studies, finance.
between government secure retirement and individual’s well-being is embedded
structurally, and is directly related to economic equality, public administration
gaps, and happiness levels (OECD, 2018a, b, c).
Food Security/Hunger
Employment Rate
1. This measure would be useful to identify the correlation between employment
rates and food security, since it is linked to economic purchase power (OECD,
2018a, b, c).
between employment rates and demography is embedded structurally, and is
directly related to education level and income support policies. Also, this measure
is indicated by levels of structural violence (OECD, 2018a, b, c).
Homelessness
1. This measure would be useful to identify the correlation between homelessness
and government’s human rights obligations (United Nations, 2017).
between homelessness and government’s policies is embedded structurally, and
is directly related to economic and social factors. Also, this measure is indicated
by levels of structural violence (United Nations, 2017).
Income to Expense Ratio

1. This measure would be useful to identify the correlation between income to
expense ratio and economic purchase power (Investopedia, 2018).
economics.
between income to expense ratio and economic factors is embedded structurally,
and is directly related to equality disparity (Investopedia, 2018).
Population to Food Bank Use

1. This measure would be useful to identify the correlation between population to
food bank use and food security (Food Banks Canada, 2016).
between population to food bank use and economic inequality is embedded
structurally, and is directly related to economic and social factors. Also, this
measure is indicated by levels of government’s initiatives and policies (Food
Banks Canada, 2016).
Shared Economy Score
Employee Ownership Availability

1. This measure would be useful to identify the correlation between employee
ownership availability and better economic performance (National Center for
Employee Ownership, 2002).
economics, business management, project management, administration.
between employee ownership and broad distribution of wealth is embedded
structurally, and is directly related to social equity, economic equality, and social
development (National Center for Employee Ownership, 2002).
Executive to Employee Pay Gap

1. This measure would be useful to identify the correlation between executive to
employee pay gap and economic equality (PayScale, 2018).
indigenous studies, economics, business.
between executive to employee gap and the rise of income inequality is
embedded structurally, and is directly related to education and class levels. Also,
this measure is indicated by levels of structural violence (PayScale, 2018).
B-Corp to for-Profit Ratio

1. This measure would be useful to identify the correlation between B-Corp to
for-profit ratio and corporate governance practices (Kimmel et al., 2016).
2. Development studies, sociology, statistics, public administration, economics,
business management administration, indigenous studies, international business.
between B-Corp to for-profit ratio and economic development is embedded
structurally, and is directly related to social and environmental concerns.
Conclusion
The Peace Poles aren’t perfect; no measure is. However, these measures and
processes may provide the means needed to tangibly begin building the infrastruc-
tures required for the first shoots of positive peace to break ground. Currently, PACS
doesn’t have any macroscale quantitative measures for positive peace. As Mac Ginty
(2012) pointed out, there is reason for this (p. 57). There is a very real danger in
providing frameworks to world powers and systems that may be bastardized and
perpetuate just another iteration of a colonialized world system (Pugh, 2005, p. 36).
Pugh said it well in “The Political Economy of Peacebuilding,”
[. . .] We are still entitled to ask the critical question: who is peacebuilding for, and what
purposes does it serve? The means for achieving the good life are constructions that emerge
from the discourse and policy frameworks dominated by specific capitalist interests [. . .]
Economic wisdom resides with the powerful. As Murphy notes, political inequality leaves
many with no control over the major decisions that affect their lives. (Pugh, 2005, p. 38)
The key in this, and we believe we may have accomplished the next steps, is
grounding the research and methods in the localities in which they reside as Nan has
also pointed toward as well (Nan, 2003). The aim is to assist all three multitier actors
and groups for a united focus on tangible and actionable changes for community
health and growth. These measures, as can now be seen, not only align with the 2020
United Nations Sustainable Development Goals (UNDP, 2015), but demonstrably
take matters a few steps further by integrating lived-space to provide further stake-
holder actionabilities for heightened integration into eco-urban contexts (Radovic,
2009, p. 12). The implications of these Poles are deep. If successful, they could
facilitate the processes, the questions, and conversations necessary to not just relieve
the oppressive structural violence so many world citizens currently live under, but
also prevent direct violence and war by facilitating communal solidarity by attaching
quantitative tangibles the world community can also easily understand, get behind,
fund, and help develop. These measures are operationalized positive peace metrics
geared toward provention and Pugh’s systemic transformational change and
paradigm shift (Pugh, 2005; Mac Ginty, 2013, p. 12). We welcome any and all
critique from PACS, as well as other fields of study to ground and to broaden the
processes to create a working framework to begin the systemically integrated
paradigm shift needed for our planet.
These measures have been built off and framed by the works of Galtung, Bush,
Allen-Nan, Byrne, Pugh, Broome, Mac Ginty, and Lederach while also drawing on
many pan-disciplinary fields for a critical emancipatory peacebuilding methodology
geared toward increasing actionable and tangible community, regional, and state
assessments for the cocreation of positive peace frameworks. It is hoped that by
using these quantitative tangibles to facilitate the peace processes a grassroots
synergy and emotional resonance (Center for Compassion and Altruism Research
and Education, 2017) will begin to flower and flow, creating a perpetuating locally
driven positive peace.
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Part VI
Social Justice: Types of Justice
Retributive Justice: The Restoration
of Balance 20
Vicki A. Spencer
Contents
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 418
The Key Elements of Retribution . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 418
State and Personal Revenge . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 421
The Emotional Need for Vengeance . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 422
Retribution and Positive Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 424
Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 425
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 426
Abstract
Retribution is one of the oldest justifications for punishment. In Western thought,
it is perhaps most famously evident in the Old Testament’s adage of an eye for an
eye, a tooth for a tooth, a life for a life. In modern theory, the eighteenth-century
German philosopher Immanuel Kant (1724–1804) developed this classic notion
further by linking its justification to the state’s authority. It has often been
criticized in more recent times as a regressive theory that is no more morally
superior than revenge. Retribution and revenge share a common structure. Unlike
the theories of deterrence and rehabilitation that are legitimated on the basis of
producing the future good of crime reduction, retribution and revenge are back-
ward focused. Both are performed due to a past wrong. This chapter explores the
differences and similarities between retribution and revenge and argues that while
retribution has its limitations, it contains important elements necessary to restore
balance in society and to create a positive peace. First, that the full extent of the
wrong committed is publicly acknowledged, and second, that unlike the dangers
inherent in revenge and deterrence, the punishment cannot create more harm than
was caused by the crime.
V. A. Spencer (*)
Politics, School of Social Sciences, University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand
e-mail: vicki.spencer@otago.ac.nz
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_20
418 V. A. Spencer
Keywords
Retribution · Revenge · Vengeance · Restorative justice
Introduction
This chapter examines the extent to which retribution, as a theory of punishment,

might contribute to or hinder positive peace for transitional societies that have
suffered from unjust governments or war atrocities. I argue that retribution has its
limits, but, contrary to those critics who dismiss it outright as a primitive form of
retaliation, elements of it remain crucial in the restoration of balance to society.
Section “The Key Elements of Retribution” outlines the main features of retribu-
tion and its relationship to revenge. It shows the importance of the idea of the
punishment fitting the crime central to retribution, despite a number of problems
with the pure retributivist position.
Section “State and Personal Revenge” further delineates the differences between
retribution and revenge, but I maintain that the theoretical differences become
exceedingly blurred when the state administers excessive suffering for crimes.
State revenge nonetheless is distinguished from retribution, which insists punish-
ment is for an injury and not a mere slight, and due to its proportionality requirement.
However, I argue that state revenge is entirely possible within a state’s legal
framework, something that retributivists often fail to acknowledge.
Section “The Emotional Need for Vengeance” challenges the dichotomy between
reason and emotion central to the retributivist argument that distinguishes it from
revenge. Victims’ anger needs to be distinguished from an irrational pathology and
must be addressed by society as legitimate, although more imaginative ways than
traditional forms of punishment are often better at realizing this objective.
The final section “Retribution and Positive Peace” shows in the circumstance of
widespread massacres and abuse that retribution through the courts is only ever
imperfect. Alternative mechanisms are required to assist the process of healing for
victims. However, the key element of retribution, that the perpetrators know what
they did and why it was wrong, remains essential. It is simply not possible for
individual victims or societies effectively to move forward unless the past is fully
and officially acknowledged.
The Key Elements of Retribution
First, according to theories of retribution, the reason we punish is that a wrong or

injury has been committed. The person who has not committed a wrong to another
does not deserve to be punished even if it is considered that such punishment might
serve the public good (Kant, 1996, p. 105). Its justification is based on the past,
unlike theories of deterrence and rehabilitation which both focus on preventing
20 Retributive Justice: The Restoration of Balance 419
future wrongs. Second, as Robert Nozick (1981, pp. 368–371) indicates, the purpose
of retribution is to show the wrongdoer that his or her act was wrong and why.
Retribution shares these two features with revenge and for this reason critics of
retribution often argue it is no better than revenge, as both seek to punish as a
“primitive” form of retaliation or “pay-back.” But while revenge is undertaken by
the victim, the victim’s family, or someone else personally involved with the victim,
and it is therefore a matter of subjective will, retribution is typically considered to be
impartial and rational as it is performed by a legal authority removed from such a
close personal interest in the particular offence (Gendin, 1971; Nozick, 1981,
p. 367). The determination of the punishment thus occurs in the public sphere in
contrast to the private judgment entailed in revenge.
Third, in committing a wrong, the offender has become indebted to society and
must pay that debt through an equal amount of suffering. The Old Testament adage
of a “life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth” exemplifies this principle (Exodus 21:
21–23 quoted in Canton, 2017 p. 15). In his classic defense of retribution, the
eighteenth-century German philosopher, Immanuel Kant (1724–1804) employs the
image of an old-fashioned set of scales that represents justice. The idea is that in
committing a crime, the offender has caused the scales to become unbalanced and
therefore needs to suffer in equal measure to restore balance back to society. Both
Kant’s and the Old Testament’s principle of retaliation takes the form of treating
“like for like” (Kant, 1996, p. 106).
The same sentiment of the payment of a debt incurred by committing a crime
underlies revenge, but, as Nozick (1981, pp. 366–367) indicates, there is an impor-
tant difference due to the notion intrinsic to retribution that the punishment must fit
the crime and the codification of that punishment in written law. Limits are therefore
placed on the extent of the suffering the offender experiences. By contrast, there are
no limits associated with revenge and a small slight could potentially lead to a
disproportionate response.
Nonetheless, despite the seemingly straightforward idea in the Old Testament of
an eye for an eye, what punishment fits a crime when it is understood in terms of
equal measure is, in reality, a contentious issue. The same fine imposed for a crime
will affect the poor person and rich person to different degrees and it therefore fails
in reality to constitute a punishment of equal measure. It also is simply impossible
for those responsible for mass murder to be killed more than once, so even the
death penalty for the murderer would fail to elicit the same amount of suffering.
And no one would seriously suggest we ought to codify in law that a rapist ought
to be raped.
As the ancient Greek philosopher Sophocles argues in Plato’s Crito (1990), two
wrongs do not make a right. The moral danger exists that the person responsible for
inflicting the punishment becomes as morally debased as the initial wrongdoer. The
idea that we perform an action to inflict suffering on another when we consider that
action wrong therefore strikes many as morally suspect. Indeed, according to
Sophocles, “One should never do wrong in return, nor injure any man, whatever
injury one has suffered at his hands” (Plato, 1990, p. 246). Inflicting suffering is
universally wrong, thus rendering punishment of any kind problematic.
420 V. A. Spencer
Retributivists, however, consider the infliction of punishment for one’s wrong-

doing a matter of just deserts and not an evil. There is a moral obligation on us to
punish if someone has caused harm to another. The nineteenth-century German
philosopher, G. W. F. Hegel (1770–1831), considered it emblematic of one’s respect
for the wrongdoer who is thereby treated as a rational agent responsible for his or her
behavior (Hegel, 1967, pp. 69–70). From Kant’s perspective, punishment is morally
right because the wrongdoer choses to commit a punishable action. It follows for the
pure retributivist that anyone found guilty of a crime must be punished for it. Hence,
Kant (1996) maintains that, even if a civil society were to dissolve through the
consent of its members, the last murderer left in prison ought to be put to death so the
people will not become accomplices to a “public violation of justice” (p. 106).
It is nevertheless possible to believe in the salience of holding someone respon-
sible for their actions while employing a less literal understanding of the principle of
the punishment fitting the crime than the Old Testament’s and Kant’s concept of “like
for like” suggests. Retributivists need not adhere to a “one-to-one ratio” (Burke,
2011, p. 165), which is literally impossible or morally abhorrent in many circum-
stances. With the exception of murder, Kant himself considers it more appropriate in
certain instances to employ what Peter French (2001) refers to as “similarity matching”
(p. 211). He also insists the murderer must be treated humanely, presumably even if
that murderer failed to behave in such a way toward his or her victim (Kant, 1996,
p. 106).
It is therefore more useful to think of the principle in metaphorical terms and the
concept of desert as a guide rather than a dictum we must strictly apply. Less pure
retributivists than Kant adhere to the idea that the punishment should not exceed
what is commensurate with the crime, but they do not demand punishment in all
instances (French, 2001, pp. 222–223; Braithwaite & Pettit, 1992, p. 156). The
circumstances of both the crime and the criminal need to be considered to arrive at a
more sophisticated and nuanced concept of fit (Solomon, 1995). Any form of
punishment, irrespective of its justification, is nonetheless bound to inflict a certain
level of suffering, or at least inconvenience, on the wrongdoer. Retribution remains,
however, distinguished in theory from revenge by the agent, namely, the state,
responsible for inflicting the punishment not seeking pleasure in any suffering
experienced by the wrongdoer due to its lack of personal involvement (Nozick,
1981, p. 367).
Despite these difficulties, the ideas of desert and the punishment fitting the crime
remain important in preventing over-zealous forms of punishments that are poten-
tially legitimate if our sole focus is to deter future crimes. As part of a deterrence
strategy in Australia’s Northern Territory, the imposition of 28 days imprisonment
under mandatory sentencing legislation for a 16-year-old boy, who stole a bottle of
water, clearly highlights the need to maintain the principle of fit as a guide (Law
Council of Australia, 2014, pp. 11–15). It is equally difficult to see how 38 years
imprisonment and 148 lashes for the alleged crimes of spying, propaganda, and
insulting Iran’s supreme leader handed down in 2019 to the human rights lawyer,
Nasrin Sotoudeh, adheres in any way to this principle (Rueters, 2019). The idea of
the punishment fitting the crime thus not only distinguishes retribution from
potentially limitless personal revenge, but also restricts what the state can legiti-
mately impose as a punishment.
State and Personal Revenge
To summarize, I have identified four main theoretical differences between retribution

and revenge. First, retribution is performed by a legal authority and is therefore
considered impartial while revenge is personal and a matter of subjective will;
second, retribution is performed in the public sphere while revenge occurs in the
private sphere; third, revenge is limitless while retribution is restricted by codified
written law; and fourth, retribution requires an injury to a victim to have occurred
whereas revenge could be a response to a mere slight.
Nozick (1981, p. 368) further indicates that there is “no generality in revenge” as
people undertaking revenge are not committed to inflicting the same punishment in
all cases but are only concerned with their own situation. Finally, it is often claimed
that revenge is emotional – often a response in anger – while retribution is based on
reason and is therefore objective (Gendin, 1971; Hegel). In definitional terms, it
would thus appear that the state is incapable of committing revenge in large part due
its public and impartial nature.
But the idea that the state is always objective and ruled by impartial justice is
contestable. Laws might be administered by disinterested parties (Gendin, 1971,
p. 1), but they are created by politicians, who can be just as subject to emotion and
subjective will as a person affected by a crime, whether it is their own emotions or, in
a democratic society, those of the people who can either elect or dismiss them from
office. There is also no mechanism that prevents a politician, who has been a victim
of a crime or known one closely, from pursuing legislation to increase the penalty for
that crime.
It is true that the person who chooses the legal pathway to create a punishment
ought to be distinguished from the lynch mob. But when the state enacts dispropor-
tionate punishments for crimes against the state and its leaders, and the state is both
the victim and punisher, the distinctions between retribution and revenge become
seriously blurred. State revenge is not the same as retribution, but it is certainly
possible within the sanctity of the legal system in the public sphere. The existence of
legal limits on punishment do not suffice to establish the nonexistence of vengeance
if those limits enable excessive suffering. Even if that excessive suffering is justified
in terms of future deterrence, these theoretical distinctions are not entirely convinc-
ing in cases like the punishment in Iran for Nasrin Sotoudeh. The nature of the
charges demonstrates that the state considered a slight, if not an injury, had been
made against it. And given also the extremity of the punishment, the relevant
distinction that begins to emerge is not between retribution and personal revenge,
but between state and personal revenge.
Retribution still differs from state revenge by the principles intrinsic to the former
of the punishment fitting the crime and the need for an actual injury to have occurred.
If we, however, look closer at some of the classic arguments in favor of retribution, a
422 V. A. Spencer
case could be made that, even when these requirements are fulfilled, it shares more in
common with state revenge than it might first appear to do. For Kant (1996), the
violation that the wrongdoer commits not only is one against the person or persons
directly injured, but is also a violation of the law and, hence, the state. According to
Hegel, too, punishment is necessary to right a wrong but the wrong, or evil, that has
been performed is not just “an injury to one member of society”; it “is an injury to all
others” so it “affects the mind and consciousness of civil society as a whole, not
merely the external embodiment of the person directly injured.” Revenge – or, in my
terms, personal revenge – is never justified for Hegel and so, society, or any part of it,
taking the law into its own hands is delegitimized. For Kant (1996), punishment
must also be handed down in a court of law. But if the entire society has been injured,
those who administer the law no longer appear as neutral and impartial as the
theoretical distinctions between retribution and revenge suggest.
Salient differences remain between personal revenge and retribution, not least
because it is not the directly injured who administer the punishment under the latter,
but the state. Nonetheless, state revenge is possible, and not only in cases such as the
United States’ retaliation for the al-Qaedea’s 11th of September 2001 terrorist attacks
on American soil with the invasion of Afghanistan without international legal
endorsement through the United Nations. It can also occur through the state’s legal
mechanisms when disproportionate punishments are imposed and crimes for mere
slights rather than actual harm are enacted in law. As Susan Jacoby (1983, p. 115)
indicates, in cases like that of South Africa’s former apartheid system, people were
punished for who they were due to the color of their skin rather than what they did. In
these cases, state revenge is distinguished from retribution, which insists that actual
harm has been performed and the punishment fits the crime. Nonetheless, the lines
here are also blurred when the punishment is imposed, not just for a direct injury to a
person or persons, but because of an injury to an entire society, something we might
instead think ought to be a secondary consideration in the case of harm inflicted upon
an individual, but is clearly of direct relevance when an entire society, or significant
sections of it, have suffered as the primary victims in war or under unjust tyrannical
governments.
The Emotional Need for Vengeance
Due to considerations such as these, Jacoby (1983, p. 115) maintains that the real
difference between retribution – in her terms, legalized revenge – and personal
revenge is the removal of private animus through the use of law and not the removal
of vengeance. Laws are intended to contain the desire for vengeance, not eliminate
it. Robert C. Solomon (1995) similarly argues that retribution “ought to be consid-
ered, first of all, as the expression of revenge.” Both thinkers accept the distinction
that retribution is distinguished from personal revenge due to the use of the legal
system. But in departing from the common condemnation of vengeance, they
challenge, in particular, the common distinction that revenge is emotional while
retribution is objective. The instinct that underlies retribution, they maintain, is the
same as the emotion behind revenge.
One of the problems with retribution, particularly when the wrongdoing is
perceived first and foremost as a matter of law-breaking and therefore as a harm to
society, is that the victim’s suffering paradoxically becomes all too easily ignored.
The main reason that, under a pure retributivist perspective, the victims’ feelings
about the injury they have suffered are not considered, is the danger that what
victims feel they are due could be entirely out of line with what justice requires,
viewed from a more impartial perspective. The punishment for the same crime could,
for example, range from nothing to the death penalty. Thus, as Sidney Gendin (1971)
argues, the purpose of retribution is not to make the injured party feel better. Since
people also respond differently to the same experiences and therefore do not feel the
effects of an injury in a uniform manner, trying to base punishment on these feelings
could render the law entirely subjective.
But, if the nineteenth-century utilitarian thinker, John Stuart Mill (1806–1873), is
correct that it is entirely natural for us “to resent and to repel or retaliate, any harm
done or attempted against ourselves, or against those with whom we sympathise”
(Mill, 1972, pp. 47–48), is it a deficiency of our system of justice to ignore this
instinct? Do the admonitions to “forgive and forget” and “to turn the other cheek”
unreasonably demand that the all too human become otherworldly saints? And if we
delegitimize victims’ feelings for vengeance by casting their emotions in pejorative
terms as “uncivilized” compared to the “civilized” rational process of retribution, are
we in danger of further victimizing the victims? According to Solomon (1995),
we can readily appreciate the need to limit or eliminate the escalation of revenge through
institutionalization, but if punishment no longer satisfies vengeance, if it ignores the
emotional needs of the victims of crime, then punishment no longer serves its primary
purpose, even when it succeeds in rehabilitating the criminal and deterring other crime,
which, in general, it evidently does not. The restriction of vengeance by law is entirely
understandable, but the wholesale denial of vengeance as a legitimate motive may be a
cultural and psychological disaster. (pp. 41–42)
In fact, if people who are unjustly injured do not feel anger or resentment, it is
highly likely that they fail to have sufficient self-esteem and self-respect. Anger, and
even hatred toward the perpetuator of a heinous crime, should not be confused with a
pathological irrationality (Murphy, 1990) or a desire in all instances to seek pleasure
in seeing their perpetrators suffer in return. Neither Jacoby nor Solomon, moreover,
suggests that we remove the limits the law places on victims’ emotions. But they do
challenge the strict divide between emotion and reason, which most retributivists –
along with the modern theories of deterrence and rehabilitation – insist upon, and
they direct our attention toward the all-important need to address the emotional
needs of victims.
The question thus becomes how society might best deal with victims’ pain. In the
past 30 years, increasing recognition of victims’ needs and the inability of the
modern criminal justice system in the West adequately to address them has resulted,
among other things, in the development of restorative justice. This field is now a
424 V. A. Spencer
highly diverse one with some seeing restorative justice as an alternative to the penal
system while others consider it an addition to it. Yet there are several common
features which define this approach to criminal justice, including the use of informal
processes between the victim(s) and offender(s) with a professional facilitator;
wrongdoers accepting responsibility for the harm they caused; and most significantly
paying attention to the victim(s)’ needs regarding the harm that has been inflicted on
them with crime understood not just as a matter of law-breaking against the state, but as
an injury to a person or persons (Johnstone & van Ness, 2011, p. 7; Sarre, 1999, p. 41).
Restorative justice does not, however, constitute an outright rejection of all the
elements characteristic of retribution as it shares the same backward-looking struc-
ture; neither retribution nor restorative justice are justified unless an injury has
been committed. A core purpose of both approaches is also for the offender to
know what they have done and why. Restorative justice differs from retribution by
combining these elements with a forward-looking approach that aims to transform
offenders and thereby prevent future offences through their admission of their
wrongdoing and their willingness to take responsibility for it. The interaction
between offenders and their victims has the additional future-orientated intention
of prevention by potentially enabling offenders to achieve greater awareness of the
extent of the impact of their actions, something that is often ill considered by
offenders. Restorative justice therefore provides an additional mechanism over the
penal system in an attempt to alleviate the harm that has been done to the victim, but
it is inappropriate, particularly in the case of violent crimes, if either the wrongdoer(s)
or victim(s) are unwilling to participate.
Retribution and Positive Peace
For societies that have suffered from war or unjust tyrannical governments, the
challenges facing a new regime in attempting to restore peace by addressing both the
wrongs that were committed under those circumstances, and the pain of the victims,
make any attempt to seek justice in terms of a pure retributivist position impossible.
Just the sheer scale of the wrongs means local law courts and the prison system are
often unable to cope with the volume of cases to be processed. Even with the
increasing development of international law and criminal proceedings to prosecute
those most responsible for atrocities committed against a people, it is doubtful the
scales of justice can ever be balanced.
Far more creative mechanisms are required to address the guilt of perpetrators and
the suffering of victims when once peaceable neighbors commit the most heinous
crimes against one another. In the 1994 Rwandan genocide, to take just one example,
an estimated 800,000–1,000,000 Tutsis and moderate Hutus were killed and
between 150,000 and 250,000 women raped over 100 days, with the crimes often
committed by their neighbors (United Nations, 2019a). Despite the United Nations’
establishment of the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda to prosecute high-
level members of the government and military, and the extensive use of local courts
for others, retribution is only ever imperfect in addressing the needs of the victims in
such circumstances. The two annual Rwandan public holidays dedicated to mourn
the genocide exemplifies the need to go beyond retribution to assist the healing of
society and the individual victims (United Nations, 2019b).
Yet, at the same time, a failure to hold wrongdoers to account for the harms they
have inflicted on others does not provide a pathway toward positive peace. The
Amnesty Decree Law adopted in Chile in 1978 to protect those responsible for the
1973 coup against the Allende government and the many violent crimes committed
by Pinochet’s military dictatorship against civilians did nothing to assist the indi-
vidual victims or restore social cohesion in its aftermath.
Tensions also continue to exist between Japan and its East Asian neighbors due to
on-going dissatisfaction with the unwillingness of Japanese governments genuinely
and wholeheartedly to address their culpability toward victims of Japanese military
conduct during the Second World War (Chiba, 2014, p. 85). Individual Prime
Ministers have, for example, issued various apologies since 1993 for imperial
Japan’s military coercing 50,000–200,000 women from Korea, the Philippines,
China, Indonesia and other countries into sexual slavery for its soldiers, but many
surviving victims continue to feel aggrieved by the failure to receive an official
expression of remorse through a state apology (Kuki, 2013; Digital Museum, 2019).
That Japanese governments have also objected to statues erected in memory of the
“comfort women,” leading in some cases to their removal, further belies Japan’s
failure to come fully to terms with its past, causing additional reason to doubt its
sincerity (Kyodo, 2018; Cho, 2010; Hauser, 2018). The desire of the victims for
Japan to acknowledge unequivocally its wrongdoing and why its actions were wrong
thus endures.
Conclusion
As a theory of punishment, retribution has its limitations. The dichotomy between

reason and emotion that retributivists have insisted upon to distinguish retribution
from revenge comes at the cost of ignoring the emotional needs of victims. It also
fails to acknowledge that state revenge with excessive punishments for mere slights
is as possible and problematic as personal revenge with no limits. The pure
retributivist position that insists the perpetrator of a crime suffers in equal measure
to the victim can lead, moreover, to morally abhorrent forms of punishment.
Nonetheless, the idea that punishment ought to fit the crime, when it is interpreted
by less strict retributivists as the punishment not exceeding what would be com-
mensurate with the wrongdoing, imposes crucial limitations upon the legitimacy of
the state to impose excessive punishments. Circumstances may mean no punishment
is appropriate. In cases of widespread atrocities, however, punishment may be
deserved but infeasible to implement. Far more imaginative ways to restore balance
in society are essential.
But a positive peace cannot be created if the past is simply ignored or denied in
favor of a solely future-orientated theory of punishment. The past needs to be
addressed if individual victims and society as a whole are to move forward. It
does not follow from the anger justifiably felt by victims of crime that they
necessarily seek pleasure in their perpetrators suffering in retaliation, as the desire
426 V. A. Spencer
for vengeance dictates. Victims’ emotions should not be dismissed as pathologically

irrational. At the same time, retribution remains necessary to place codified and
publicly agreed limits on punishment if peace is to be maintained or restored in
societies that have suffered from unjust governments and war-time abuse. But while
the retributivist aim is not to address victims’ feelings, the core element of retribution
that perpetrators of crimes know what they did wrong and why it was wrong – that it
shares in common with both revenge and restorative justice – plays an essential part
in victims’ healing. It is the full, public, and official acknowledgment of the injustice
victims have endured that distinguishes this key element in retribution from personal
revenge and is crucial for the creation of a positive peace.
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Restorative Justice: Blending Western
and Indigenous Restorative Justice 21
Principles
Heather Devere and Kelli Te Maihāroa
Contents
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 430
Māori Principles of Restorative Justice . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 431
Restorative Justice in Aotearoa New Zealand . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 432
The Youth Justice System . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 432
The Criminal Justice Sector . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 433
The New Zealand Education Sector . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 434
Community Restorative Justice . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 435
The Waitangi Tribunal . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 436
Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 437
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 437
Abstract
This chapter will begin by discussing the role of restorative justice in achieving
positive peace and will give some examples of restorative justice practices. A case
study of Aotearoa New Zealand will consider principles of restorative justice of
Māori as the indigenous peoples, before giving an account of the restorative
justice processes that have been adopted since the 1990s in Aotearoa New
Zealand. There is evidence of some good consequences of these practices and
that this works in favor of social justice, thus adding to the maintenance of
positive peace.
H. Devere (*)
e-mail: heather.devere@otago.ac.nz
K. Te Maihāroa
Kaihautu Te Kahui Whetu, Otago Polytechnic, Dunedin, New Zealand
e-mail: kelli.temaiharoa@op.ac.nz
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_21
430 H. Devere and K. Te Maihāroa
Keywords
Restorative justice · Aotearoa New Zealand · Māori · Indigenous · Youth justice ·
Waitangi Tribunal · Criminal justice
Introduction
The chapter will begin by discussing the role of restorative justice in achieving
positive peace and will give some examples of restorative justice practices. A case
study of Aotearoa New Zealand will consider principles of restorative justice of
Māori as the indigenous peoples, before giving an account of the restorative justice
processes that have been adopted since the 1990s in Aotearoa New Zealand. There is
evidence of some good consequences of these practices and that this works in favor
of social justice thus adding to the maintenance of positive peace. (This chapter
incorporates aspects of an unpublished paper by Devere, Te Maiharoa, Solomon and
Wharehoka “Restorative Justice and Positive Peace: A Case Study of Aotearoa
New Zealand”).)
According to Patricia Shields (2017), the concept of negative peace, or the
absence of war, is a much more straightforward concept than the important concept
of positive peace. For her, positive peace is “more organic, diverse, and dynamic”
and incorporates “a host of concepts and values such as justice, democracy, sympa-
thy, cooperation, effectiveness, freedom, engagement, order, harmony and collabo-
ration” (2017, p. 8). Restorative justice is recognized as being part of a process of
peacemaking and peacebuilding at all levels of society.
The concept of restoration involves mending something that has been broken,
giving back what has been lost or stolen, healing ills, recreating harmony.
Restorative Justice comes in various guises, from family or community group
conferencing to truth and reconciliation commissions, from victim-offender media-
tion to international reparations. Restorative Justice is described by van Wormer
(2009) as “a movement within (and sometimes outside of) the criminal justice
system, a victim-centered approach” (p. 109) where the purpose “is reconciliation,
rather than punishment, healing rather than retribution” (p. 107). It is a way to try and
redress social injustices through restoration rather than punishment, forgiveness
rather than revenge, rectification rather than destruction. The thinking behind restor-
ative justice is that, after conflict, the people who remain still have to live together, so
that an important part of conflict resolution is the restoration of relationships.
Community-based restorative justice schemes were set in place in Northern
Ireland during the peace process to provide an alternative to paramilitary systems
of justice (Ashe, 2009); in Cambodia there were attempts to combine retributive and
restorative justice principles in the aftermath of the Khmer Rouge regime
(McGonigle, 2009); on the Indonesian island of Ambon, a reconciliation process
based on restorative justice principles was used to help with peace-building after
deadly clashes that killed thousands in 1999 (Ruth-Heffelbower, 2000); in the
South African Truth and Reconciliation Commission, a reparations committee
dealt with compensation for victims of violence following the years of apartheid
21 Restorative Justice: Blending Western and Indigenous Restorative Justice. . . 431
rule (Mofokeng, 2000). In the Philippines, the indigenous Lumad have a history of
using restorative justice in their peacemaking (Simons, 2018).
Aotearoa New Zealand is regarded by many as a leader in the field of restorative
justice and is also considered to be a country with a peaceful culture. (According to
the Global Peace Index (2019), New Zealand is ranked 2nd after Iceland as the most
peaceful country in the world.) Two visiting scholars from the United States provide
a perspective on New Zealand’s position. Jantzi states, “Socially, politically and
economically New Zealand is influential in the world far beyond its size” (2001,
p. 1). Schmid (2001, p. 3), an American prosecutor, came to New Zealand “specially
to study FGC [family group conference] and other restorative justice initiatives in
New Zealand” because it “has garnered international acclaim for its youth justice
processes.” Schmid notes that Australia introduced conferencing into the Australian
criminal justice system in the early 1990s, adapted from the New Zealand model
(p. 19).
Schmid notes increased and high levels of satisfaction with the process (p. 30);
acceptance of responsibility by offenders (p. 32); some evidence of decreased
recidivism (p. 34); a problem-solving approach to crime (p. 37); and cultural and
ethnic “accommodation” (p. 39), with Māori researchers seeing benefit for Māori
and Polynesian society in particular from legislation:
. . . that acknowledges and strengthens the hapū and tribal structures and their place in
decisions regarding the wellbeing of young people and that provides them with an oppor-
tunity to contribute to any reparation and to support those offended against (p. 39).
However, there has been little recognition about the influence of Māori traditional
practices on the workings of restorative justice in modern New Zealand society,
although Janzi (2001, p. 7) did acknowledge that “current conceptions of restorative
justice and traditional Māori practice seem to share many common features.”
Māori Principles of Restorative Justice
As with many other indigenous people, Māori thinking is “wholistic, spiritual, and
interrelated” (Abolon, 2011, p. 55). Restorative principles in Māori society involve a
weaving together of various complex concepts, difficult to describe and interpret
outside of that cultural understanding. Some of the main concepts involved include
mana, tapu, take, utu, noa, and ea.
Durie (2000) points to the importance of the concept of mana within Māori
society. Mana is used to represent authority or power, but Durie, while noting that
there is a spiritual base to the concept, gives “ancestral status” as a near cultural
equivalence (p. 94).
All peoples and persons have ‘mana’, in larger or smaller degrees, which is shown in sound
conduct and personal bearing. The good attributes of mana, when displayed are attributed to
ancestors, family, and ancestral history, values and beliefs. . . However, mana is not depen-
dent on office. A person of great mana may be unemployed. Properly, mana refers to the
spiritual authority of persons or peoples. . ..
However, it is elusive in some respects. For example, people who claim to have
great mana are likely to be seen to be lacking in it for no one of such mana would
have the need to proclaim it for themselves. On the other hand, if one’s mana is not
recognized when the circumstances require that it should be, it would cause consid-
erable offence (p. 95).
Another important element of Māori values is tapu. This “goes to the heart of
Māori religious thought” and the notion of tapu, according to Mead (2003, p. 30)
holds even with those Māori who are followers of other religions, such as
Christianity.
[Tapu] is present in people, in places, in buildings, in things, words, and in all tikanga. Tapu
is inseparable from mana, from our identity as Māori and from our cultural practices. As
Māori we respect the tapu of places and buildings such as the ancestral meeting house. We
also respect the tapu of persons including our own (Mead, 2003, p. 30).
When there is a breach of important principles and practices, the breach becomes
a take, something that requires a resolution. This will include all those involved on
both sides – the wrongdoer and the wronged person or group. Firstly, there needs to
be an agreement that there is a take, followed by an agreement about an appropriate
utu (Mead, p. 27). Utu can be interpreted as compensation, revenge, reciprocity, or
equivalence and has the purpose of restoring balance (p. 31).
The notion of ea indicates “the successful closing of a sequence and the restora-
tion of relationships or the securing of peaceful interrelationships” (Mead, p. 31).
The concept of noa can also refer to restoring a balance and is often paired with tapu
to describe cases where in a crisis a dangerously high level of tapu has been
rebalanced, restoring health and allowing life to continue as normal. This state of
being where relationships have been restored “coincides with a state of ea or noa”
(Mead, p. 32).
Restorative Justice in Aotearoa New Zealand
Restorative Justice as practiced throughout various sectors in Aotearoa New Zealand

is a blend of Western and indigenous traditions. Processes are delivered through
some kind of restorative justice conference, where the victims and offenders or their
representatives are able to talk through issues of guilt, shame, harm, responsibility,
and consequences, with the aim of restitution and restoration of relationships.
The Youth Justice System
In 1989 the United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child highlighted “the
right of the child to be part of a family; the right of the child to have a voice in
decisions affecting them; and the responsibility of the state for ensuring children
receive the support and help that is needed for them to develop their full potential”
(Maxwell, 2007, p. 47). In New Zealand, there are concerns about the negative
impact of institutionalization on children, inadequacies in the legislation related to

young offenders, and concerns raised by Māori about the removal of children from
their families, with recent reports that Maori children are four times more likely to be
taken from their parents than Pakeha or white children (Duff, 2019).
A change in philosophy was evident in the Children, Young Persons, and Their
Families Act (CYPF Act), passed the same year as the UN Convention. The new
youth justice system that was introduced in this Act included a youth court that
would “consider and follow” the recommendations of family group conferences that
are “at the heart” of the new system (Maxwell, p. 52). Attending the family group
conference with the young person accused would be their family, the victim and their
supporters, a police representative, the facilitator, and “others who may be able to
provide useful information” (p. 54). When the matter is referred from the Youth
Court, there would also be a youth advocate.
As Deckert and Wood pointed out in 2013, New Zealand was the only Western
jurisdiction that had a mandated family group conferencing process for all crimes
committed by 14–17 year olds, except for murder and manslaughter. However, they
also admit that while family group conferencing in New Zealand is often discussed
in the academic literature as an example of the promises of restorative justice, there is
very little empirical research on this claim.
The Criminal Justice Sector
In a seminal report for the New Zealand Department of Justice in 1987, distinguished
Māori legal thinker, Moana Jackson, made recommendations to change the criminal
justice system. Introducing He Whaipaanga Hou, a new perspective, Jackson
focused on the need to incorporate socio-cultural principles in order to address the
problem of the high level of Māori incarceration. As Jackson established, for many
indigenous communities, in the instances of personal harm, remedies were sought
“by restoring the balance between the wrong doer and the victim through mediation
processes involving sanction and recompense” (Jackson, 2017).
Some of these principles have been incorporated into New Zealand law and into
community projects. The Sentencing Act and the Victims’ Rights Act both of 2002
introduced restorative justice for adults into the justice system (McElrea, 2007,
p. 96). The new Sentencing Act required courts to take into account restorative
justice processes where they had been followed and the Victims’ Rights Act required
that victim-offender meetings should be encouraged (p. 98).
The Sycamore Tree Project, a model of restorative justice developed by the Prison
Fellowship International for application within the context of a prison, has been
conducted at various New Zealand correction facilities since the late 1990s (Taylor
& Sims, 2000). This program brought “small groups of victim volunteers into
prisons to meet with small groups of prisoners to talk about their experiences with
crime” (p. 47). A faith-based program for male offenders, He Korowai Whakapono
(a cloak of faith) prison unit was also developed in 2003. This model was based on
biblical peacemaking and conflict resolution, designed to restore community peace
(Workman, 2007).
However, more than 30 years after the publication of Moana Jackson’s call for
better justice for Māori, there is still criticism of the criminal justice system in
particular for the disadvantages for Māori youth (see for example “They’re our
Whanau” 2018).
The New Zealand Education Sector
In the New Zealand education sector, peace education and restorative conferencing
began to be trialed in schools in the 1980s. The New Zealand Peace Foundation
offers peace education and the “cool schools” program in both secondary and
primary schools. These peer mediation programs help students to “develop skills
in identifying and solving problems using non-violent ways of handling conflict”
(Duncan, 2000). Restorative conferencing in schools was introduced in 1999.
Building on the practices of family group conferencing developed by the Department
of Social Welfare and using the principles of restorative justice introduced by
Howard Zehr (1990), restorative practices were added to professional development
for staff in some schools (Drewery, 2007).
Bishop (1996) maintained that solutions for Māori educational achievement lie
within the Māori culture rather than an education system which has served to fail
Māori. Restorative meetings, named “Hui Whakatika” (Macfarlane, 2007), which
can be translated as “meetings to make things right,” are designed to “seek resolution
and restore harmony” while also enhancing the young person’s cultural identity
(Berryman 2008, p. 6). The “Hui Whakatika” process is underpinned by four
founding traditional pre-European Māori principles:
1. Reaching consensus through a collaborative process involving affected parties

2. Reconciliation by working through grievances to an acceptable outcome to all
3. Examining underlying issues versus attributing blame
4. Restoration of harmony, re-balancing of relationships, and situation (Bateman &
Berryman, 2008, p. 8)
In addition, tools to restore the balance between home and school called “Hikairo
Rationale” have been identified by Macfarlane (1997, 2004, 2007), and an education
specific treaty-based framework termed Te Pikinga ki Runga (Raising Possibilities)
has been developed by S. & A. Macfarlane (2008). Restoring a person’s mana
(prestige) has been acknowledged as a culturally responsive pedagogy (Macfarlane
et al., 2011). The same principles are applied in early childhood education
(Macfarlane et al., 2019).
A study conducted in 2007 found that schools used a variation of restorative
practices such as “restorative chat,” “restorative classroom,” “restorative thinking-
room,” “restorative mini-conference,” and “full restorative conference” (Buckley,
2007, pp. 216–217). Schools reported:
. . . better student engagement as indicated by less truancy and absenteeism; greater achieve-
ment in all areas of school life. . .; safer, more inclusive and tolerant school climates; greater
community, family and caregiver participation in school activities; and fewer suspensions,
expulsions and exclusions (p. 218).
Another initiative from the Ministry of Education in 2009 was the introduction of
a program entitled “Positive Behaviour For Learning” (pb4l.tki.org.nz) which was
seen as an intensive “wraparound” service that included school life, teachers,
parents, and friends, with a strong component of Maori culture. Restorative Practices
are emphasized as part of this initiative (Ministry of Education, pb4l.tki.org.nz/
Behaviour-Support-Tools).
Community Restorative Justice
Community-managed Restorative Justice has become an established service in many

district courts and communities throughout New Zealand. Paulin and Kingi (2005,
p. 3) found that:
Many District Court judges have come to regard the programmes as a valuable service in
securing better outcomes in their courts. The programmes have also generated widespread
support in their communities.
Mansill (2000) reports on a community initiative in the 1990s that led to the
creation of a restorative justice practice group called Te Oritenga set up to promote
restorative justice as a peacemaking tool and to facilitate restorative justice practices
among young adults.
A Community Justice Panel (CJP) was set up in Christchurch in November 2010
(This was before the Christchurch earthquake of February 2011 which resulted in
cases being put on hold and relocation to the Nga Hau E Wha marae where it
resumed operation in July 2011.) as an alternative resolution process aimed at
reducing the number of prosecutions for low-level offending. A partnership initiative
between the local community and the Police, it is based on restorative justice
principles. To avoid charge and prosecution, offenders are required to complete
conditions that aim to “reduce and repair the harm caused by the offending”
(Alternative Resolutions Workstream, 2012, p. 1). The CJP in Christchurch has
been judged by the New Zealand Police to have had some success in reducing the
number of cases going to court and there are some indications that it could be
effective in reducing offending. It was recommended that this approach be expanded
into other communities as long as there is “strong community buy-in and ownership”
and that it is tailored to the needs of each community (Alternative Resolutions
Workstream, 2012, p. 2).
Shirley Julich et al. (2011, p. 223) review the work of Project Restore, a
restorative justice process organization that addresses sexual violence. They describe
Project Restore as unique in that it:
is driven by victim-survivors of sexual violence, that it is based on research, and operates

across community agencies that have extensive expertise and experience, addressing sexual
violence from the perspectives of victim-survivors, offenders and justice practitioners.
Funded by the government, and providing services throughout most of

New Zealand, it has developed “good practice guidelines to complement those
developed by the Ministry of Justice” (Julich et al., 2011, p. 223).
The Waitangi Tribunal
A framework for negotiating and settling the historical grievances of Māori in

Aotearoa New Zealand was developed “after a combination of protest, litigation
and negotiation” from the 1970s (Hickey, 2007, p. 222). This took the form of the
Waitangi Tribunal, named after the Treaty of Waitangi (Te Tiriti o Waitangi), the
document signed in 1840 between the British Crown and the chiefs of a large
number of Māori tribes or iwi.
Hickey (2007) has identified several elements of the Waitangi Tribunal that
accords with restorative justice processes. The process allows settlement through
negotiation rather than through arbitration by the court (although this is also an
option) (p. 224). According to Hickey:
One of the key restorative justice elements of the Treaty settlement process is that Māori
have the opportunity to tell their story and air their grievances through the Waitangi Tribunal
process, before they begin negotiating the resolution of those grievances with the Crown
(p. 225).
Another element is that almost all settlements include some form of Crown
apology, where the Crown takes “explicit responsibility for its past actions which
have breached the Treaty of Waitangi. . .” (p. 226). Apology and acknowledgment
of wrong go some way to redressing grievances and restoring relationships.
Commercial and cultural redress is also negotiated.
However, controversy continues over the working of the Tribunal, originally set
up to be an “on-going commission of inquiry” into breaches of the Treaty, “with the
power to recommend to the crown appropriate resolutions” (Moon, 2005, p. 458;
and see also Webster, 1998; Williams, 2013). While the Waitangi Tribunal makes
recommendations, the Crown process is imposed on the claimants and is at the whim
of the Crown policy of the day. The only real “control” that Maori have is the power
to say “no” to the settlement offer. As Williams (2013 p. 311) in his comments on the
Wai 262 Report points out, the Tribunal has “staunchly refused to entertain any
discussion of ‘ownership’ claims to Māori cultural property” but instead “focused on
‘perfecting the Treaty partnership’ between the two founding peoples of Aotearoa
New Zealand.”
A publication by Network Waitangi (2015), which links regional groups of
independent, mainly non-Māori educators notes criticism of the Waitangi Tribunal
including the arbitrary limit “put on the total of all settlements – even before the
evidence was heard” (p. 33); for “adopting a blanket approach . . . as opposed to
addressing hapū-specific claims which has interfered with traditional relationships
between and among hapū and has created new problems” (p. 34); and for setting an
arbitrary deadline for lodging claims with the Tribunal (p. 34).
A report by the United Nations Special Rapporteur, Professor James Anaya

(2010) on Indigenous Peoples also noted that “land returned through the settlement
process is only a small percentage of the land taken and cash payments are usually
less than two per cent of the value of that land” (cited in Network Waitangi, 2015,
p. 43). Instead of reducing the work of the Waitangi Tribunal, he recommended that
the Crown should engage in negotiations with Māori to agree on a fairer settlement
policy and process and that the Waitangi Tribunal should have “legally binding
and enforceable powers to adjudicate Treaty matters” (Network Waitangi, p. 43).
Progress is slow, but in 2019 Indigenous Māori groups, and Māori researchers
hosted a group of independent experts from the United Nations to assist the
Government and Māori iwi “in developing a strategy and plan for the implementa-
tion of the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples” (Ngā Pae o Te
Māramatanga, 2019).
182 years after the signing of the Treaty of Waitangi in 1840, the Tribunal is
credited with redressing some of the breaches to Te Tiriti. However, it remains
controversial with both advocates and detractors.
Conclusion
For peace to be maintained in a society, there needs to be justice upheld. Justice is

about fairness, equality, dignity, and respect, and restorative justice attempts to
redress social injustices through reconciliation, forgiveness, and rectification. In
looking at the case study of restorative justice in Aotearoa New Zealand, we can
see a melding of Western and indigenous thought and an overlap in important values
for the maintenance of peace in a society where Maori offer an indigenous lens
through which to view social justice. Network Waitangi (2015) suggests, “Māori
restorative justice practices may produce better outcomes, not only for Māori but for
everyone” including tangata Tiriti (non-Māori partners to the Treaty of Waitangi)
(p. 37).
Restorative justice may not be essential for positive peace, and as practiced in
Aotearoa New Zealand, it is not perfect, but it is an attempt to make decisions that
recognize human worth, dignity, responsibility, acknowledgment of the other, inclu-
sion, and tolerance. These efforts to restore balance do contribute to the maintenance
of a sustainable peaceful society.
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Promoting Peace via Inclusionary Justice
22
Susan Opotow
Contents
Peace, Justice, and Conflict . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 442
Conflict and Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 442
Justice and Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 443
Fostering Positive Peace Via Inclusionary Change . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 445
The Scope of Justice . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 445
Moral Exclusion and Social Injustice . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 446
Moral Inclusion and Social Justice . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 446
US Reconstruction: An Example of Inclusionary and Exclusionary Change . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 447
Discussion: Toward Inclusionary Justice and Positive Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 449
Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 450
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 450
Abstract
Though the longing for peace is eternal, the achievement of a stable, sustainable,
and positive peace is elusive. This chapter proposes that fostering a positive peace
requires a shift from moral exclusion to moral inclusion. It describes inclusionary
justice as a foundation for envisioning, building, and sustaining peaceful socie-
ties, drawing on psychological scholarship on peace, conflict, and justice. It
begins by defining these three key, interconnected constructs and then discusses
the theoretical focus of this chapter: Scope of Justice Theory and two related
constructs, Moral Exclusion and Moral Exclusion. The chapter’s final section
describes interconnections among peace, conflict, and justice to clarify the chal-
lenges of fostering inclusionary justice and its critical necessity for bringing about
and sustaining a positive peace.
S. Opotow (*)
John Jay College of Criminal Justice and The Graduate Center, City University of New York,
New York, NY, USA
e-mail: sopotow@jjay.cuny.edu
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_22
442 S. Opotow
Keywords
Scope of justice · Moral exclusion · Moral inclusion · Conflict · Justice · Peace
Peace, Justice, and Conflict
Peace is often characterized as an uncomplicated state of tranquility and harmony.

This glosses over the complex nature of peace and the complexities of achieving
it. Reardon (1988) has argued that peace is not only the absence of conflict (i.e., a
negative peace) but is also the presence of conditions enabling peace (i.e., a positive
peace; see Christie et al., 2001; Fahey & Armstrong, 1992; Mayton & Mayton,
2009). A positive peace is defined as “a dynamic social process in which justice,
equity, and respect for basic human rights are maximized, and violence, both
physical and structural, is minimized” (Reardon & Cabezudo, 2002, p. 19). Reardon
and Cabezudo emphasize that peace is not an end state. Instead it is an ongoing and
dynamic process that maximizes the applicability of justice by increasing respect for
human rights and fostering the well-being of all members of society while combating
manifestations of violence. Deutsch (1983) explains that peaceful processes are only
possible in social systems that avoid malignant conflict and its win-lose, competitive
orientation that can intensify conflict and harm. Peace depends on the development
of sustainable, cooperative social relations based on “mutually beneficial interac-
tions” (Deutsch, 1983, p. 28; emphasis in original). Cooperation, therefore, is a
foundational element of positive peace as it can advance individual and societal well-
being (Haavelsrud 1996) and produce societal conditions that are nonviolent, col-
laborative, and life enhancing (Opotow et al., 2005).
In this chapter, I describe a fundamental orientation toward others in society, what
I call moral inclusion (e.g., Opotow, 1990, 2018). This theoretical construct
describes facing up to normalized exclusionary norms and structures to bring
about greater equality and mutually respectful social relationships that foster well-
being for all (Opotow et al., 2005).
Conflict and Peace
A discussion of attaining a positive peace must start with a discussion of conflict.

Deutsch (1973) has defined conflict as incompatibilities, as ubiquitous, and as a
normal part of social living (also see Coser, 1956; Simmel, 1955). Conflicts can be
small or large, obvious or hidden, and brief or long lasting. They occur at all scales –
intrapersonally, interpersonally, intra- and intergroup, locally, nationally, and inter-
nationally – and they occur in all societal spheres. In schools, for example, conflicts
occur as tensions among students, staff, and community members and include such
complex issues as bullying, academic tracking, and educational equity (Deutsch,
1993a, b). Other examples include local, national, and worldwide environmental
conflicts about conserving natural resources and halting environmental degradation
22 Promoting Peace via Inclusionary Justice 443
(Opotow, 2012b, 2018; Opotow & Brook, 2003). And in countries with histories of
institutionalized oppression and racial disparities in well-being, there are acute and
chronic conflicts about unequal access to decent jobs, housing, health care, and
educational opportunity (Opotow, 2016; Liu & Opotow, 2014).
People with differing backgrounds can (and often do) live together peacefully
despite ethnic, religious, political, and other differences. Yet conflicts are inevitable
and have an important function in social relations as they permit the expression of
rival claims; prompt the adjustment of structures to eliminate acute or chronic
sources of dissatisfaction; and revitalize existing norms and contribute to the emer-
gence of new norms. Coser (1956) observes that the problem with conflict is not with
the conflicts themselves, but instead emerges from rigid systems that endanger
societal peace. He explains: “by suppressing conflict, [rigid systems] smother a
useful warning signal, thereby maximizing the danger of catastrophic breakdown”
(p. 154).
Many fear conflicts because of their potential to intensify and inflict injury. These
are indeed outcomes of destructive conflict, characterized by competitive processes
that intensify antagonistic interests, impoverish communication, increase suspicion
and the use of harsh tactics, and maximize one’s own well-being while disregarding
others’ interests and their well-being (Deutsch, 1949, 1973). Deutsch explains that
destructive conflict emerges from competitive processes rather than from the conflict
issues at hand. Relatedly, Coser (1956) states that in destructive conflicts, contending
parties no longer share basic values.
Constructive conflict processes, in contrast, are characterized by open communi-
cation, trust, and a desire to achieve mutual gains that benefit all (Deutsch, 1973).
Cooperative conflicts are characterized by problem solving as a joint endeavor and
challenging practices that advantage some at the expense of others (Coser, 1956;
Deutsch, 1973; Simmel, 1955). When cooperative processes fail to achieve consen-
sus, parties dissatisfied with the process or outcomes can still voice their discontent
through individual or collective protest and noncooperation without resorting to
violence (Sharp, 1973; Young, 2001).
Thus, peace building requires recognizing and facing the inevitable conflicts in
social relations. Conflicts can lead to peace when they are approached cooperatively
and constructively rather than competitively and harmfully.
Justice and Peace
Cohen (1986) describes justice as “a central moral standard in social life” (p. 1) that
attends to how “burdens and benefits are allocated among individuals, families,
gender-, and class-based aggregates, and nation states and how we understand what
benefits and burdens they are due” (p. 4). As a moral standard, justice is a construct
that encompasses what is at stake in human relations in light of one’s own and
others’ deserving, rights, entitlement, responsibilities, and obligations (Deutsch,
1985; Opotow, 2008, 2018). People’s beliefs about what is just emerge from their
ideas, opinions, identities, and ideologies which, in turn, are influenced by historic
444 S. Opotow
and contemporary political, social, economic, and legal events that include wars,
political regimes, and religious strife. Therefore, what constitutes fair treatment can
be based on societal stereotypes, one’s own beliefs, and consequent perceptions of
other people, including whether they are close or distant to oneself and whether they
are friends or strangers, allies or opponents. The meaning of justice emerges from the
contingencies, where, when, and who. As these contingencies shift over time and
place, they influence how people interact with others (Opotow, 2012a, 2016, 2018).
Scholarship on the psychology of justice has largely focused on distributive,
procedural, and exclusionary/inclusionary justice, which corresponds to three key
justice contingencies: what, how, and who (Opotow, 1996, 1997).
• Distributive justice centers on the justice contingency, what, in its attention to

norms that guide the distribution of resources. Deutsch (1975, 1985) has identi-
fied three key justice norms used to allocate resources – equality, equity, and need
– noting that other norms exist as well (e.g., see Rescher, 1966).
• Procedural justice centers on the justice contingency, how, that attends to how
justice can be achieved procedurally, focusing on key elements of fair process that
include consistency, impartiality, decision quality, correctability, voice, and eth-
icality (Leventhal, 1980; Lind & Tyler, 1988; Thibaut & Walker, 1975).
• Exclusionary and inclusionary justice centers on the justice contingency, who,
attentive to who is of concern in assessments of fairness, especially who is entitled
to considerations of fairness and who is not (Opotow, 1990, 1995, 2018).
These three justice models offer a lens for analyzing complex social issues that
concern structural disparities in well-being. For example, affirmative action policies
were initiated in many countries in the last third of the twentieth century as a vehicle
for fostering equal access to employment opportunities and therefore supporting the
extension of social justice. Affirmative Action programs seek to redress historic and
contemporary discrimination going forward by allocating such valued societal
resources as jobs and school admissions by taking gender and race/ethnicity into
account (Crosby & Blanchard, 1989). These programs can evoke competing claims
about what is fair and unfair, and stir up controversy as variously situated groups
advocate for their own well-being. I studied affirmative action fairness claims to
analyze how the three justice models are invoked in social justice conflicts. Claims
indeed relied on distributive, procedural, and exclusionary/inclusionary justice ratio-
nales to argue the fairness or unfairness of affirmative action (Opotow, 1996, 1997).
I compared support and opposition for these models in a 2 2 2 matrix
(distributively fair/unfair, procedurally fair/unfair, and whether the target group is
included in or excluded from the scope of justice). My findings indicated that support
for affirmative action was found in only one of the eight cells – the cell in which
support for affirmative action was viewed as distributively fair, procedurally fair, and
target group(s) were viewed as within the scope of justice. The other seven cells
opposed affirmative action on various combinations of distributive, procedural, or
exclusionary claims. This striking asymmetry suggests an interplay among the three
models of justice, specifically that the inclusion of a target group in the scope of
justice is necessary but insufficient for supporting affirmative action. Such programs
must also be seen as distributively and procedurally fair. It further suggests that there
may be more grounds for opposing than supporting an inclusionary social justice
initiative such as affirmative action (Opotow, 1997). In the next section I discuss
changes in the scope of justice in an exclusionary and inclusionary direction justice
and its relevance for a positive peace.
Fostering Positive Peace Via Inclusionary Change
Whether or not we are aware of it, we each have deeply held beliefs about the kinds
of people who are within our scope of justice and are therefore deserving of
considerations of fairness and those who are not (Opotow, 1990). Although the
scope of justice is implicit, it influences how individuals and groups think about and
behave toward others, and this, in turn, influences social relations in society and,
ultimately, peace.
The Scope of Justice
The scope of justice is a construct that is attentive to the social categories we do or do

not care about. Those within our scope of justice matter, and we have a sense of
moral obligation to foster their well-being. This is a construct that encompasses
individual and shared beliefs, attitudes, ideals, and values about the social categories
to whom fairness applies. This is also a construct that is elastic. The scope of justice
is ever-changing, expanding or contracting in response to contemporary social,
political, legal, and economic issues (Opotow, 1990, 1995, 2012b).
Deutsch (1975) discussed the scope of justice as an influential justice dynamic,
advising that “the narrower one’s conception of one’s community, the narrower will
be the scope of situations in which one’s actions will be governed by considerations
of justice” (p. 142). He observed that the scope of justice has limits and that a
shrinking sense of one’s community has consequences. Although he did not theorize
or study factors that modify the scope of justice, his thinking inspired my work on
this question (Opotow, 2006).
The scope of justice is a critical construct as it foregrounds what is ordinarily
unspoken: that there are taken-for-granted boundaries for concern about others. This
construct, then, names a tacit moral calculus about who or what (e.g., people, groups,
species of animals, habitats) are worthy of our moral concern. It therefore has
relevance for the societal issues that concern caring about others, including the
application of human rights to marginalized groups, including women, children,
ethnic/racial minorities, low wage workers, immigrants, people who are incarcer-
ated, sexual minorities, and others. Assessments of others’ worthiness for consider-
ations of justice underlie all societal policies with implications for justice, including
housing, education, and public safety. A wide scope of justice, therefore, is funda-
mental to fostering well-being and for a positive peace.
446 S. Opotow
Moral Exclusion and Social Injustice
Exclusion from the scope of justice (“moral exclusion”) emerges from shared
attitudes, conventions, and norms about the kinds of people that are outside our
scope of justice. Harm directed at those within the scope of justice typically triggers
concern, anguish, or outrage. However, harm directed at those outside the scope of
justice may fail to elicit concern or mobilize reparative responses because their well-
being does not fall within the bounds of our moral commitments. We may therefore
ignore or deny the dangers or injuries they experience, deny or minimize harms that
have occurred, or view harm they experienced as deserved because of who they are
as individuals or as members of specific groups. Any of these responses are a form of
denial, a self-protective way of coping with societal problems, including those that
emerge from structural inequality or injustice. Such denial exonerates us from
having played a role in inflicting harm (Opotow & Weiss, 2000). Indeed, when
harm experienced by others is cast as normal, acceptable, or inevitable, it can then be
seen as “the way things are” or ought to be. Normalizing harmdoing nullifies our
moral obligation to foster others’ well-being.
Excluded groups, including people who differ from the majority in some way,
such as poverty or political or religious beliefs, can be outside society’s safety net,
protective laws, and have difficulty gaining access to resources that would support
well-being, such as education, health care, and access to good jobs. Throughout
history, deadly conflicts have resulted from and given rise to exclusionary policies,
norms, and behavior at the level of the individual, the group, and the nation. Moral
exclusion, therefore, is associated with destructive conflicts characterized by vio-
lence as well as the derogation and exclusion of individuals or groups deemed
inferior (Liu & Opotow, 2014). When moral exclusion is a prominent dynamic in
society, it can fuel escalating conflict that quickly turns deadly. The 1994 Rwandan
genocide is a tragic example. It emerged from a period when colonial authorities in
Rwanda pitted Hutu and Tutsi ethnic groups against each other despite the fact that
these groups had lived in relative harmony as neighbors and intermarried for
centuries (Des Forges, 1999; Gourevitch, 1998; Prunier, 1995). The competitive
relationships that ensued ultimately sparked a genocide characterized by extreme
cruelty and mass murder.
Moral Inclusion and Social Justice
Like moral exclusion, moral inclusion is both a moral orientation to others and an
influential societal dynamic. It is the process of extending social justice, specifically
society’s benefits and protections, to groups that had previously been outside the
scope of justice and suffered as a result (Opotow, 1990). Moral inclusion is a
theoretical construct as well as a dynamic because it is the active project of
institutionalizing social justice, and it is a fundamental and strategic principle of
peace. As Reardon (1996) has described, moral inclusion is a principle that rejects
beliefs that some groups or enemies are not entitled to human rights. Moral
inclusion, therefore can “transcend the very concept of ‘enemy’ that is fundamental
to the war system” (p. 227).
As my research reveals, inclusion in the scope of justice can be measured via three
orientations toward others: the willingness to extend fairness to them, the willingness
to allocate resources to them, and the willingness to make sacrifices that would foster
their well-being (Opotow, 1990, 1993, 1994, 1995). Further research clarified that for
moral inclusion to be effective, it must be substantial and sustained in initiatives that
reach all levels of society and all subpopulations (Opotow, 2003). If inclusionary
gains are superficial or short lived, there can be a resurgence of unjust conditions and
destructive conflict. Therefore, achieving a stable, positive peace requires a societal
shift in an inclusionary direction in order to support social justice and peace. As
Reardon (2001) explains, peace is possible “when society agrees that the overarching
purpose of public policies is the achievement and maintenance of mutually beneficial
circumstances that enhance the life possibilities of all” (p. 5). An inclusionary shift in
society, for example, could make such protections as citizenship, safe and affordable
housing, and quality education and health care, and worker protections available
more broadly so that all people can flourish and contribute to their society.
Approaching peace as an inclusionary work-in-progress has the capacity to foster
equality and to reshape a society so that it can capably address the challenges it will
inevitably face constructively, collaboratively, and justly.
Although moral exclusion and inclusion are positioned as complementary, oppo-
site constructs, they are dissimilar in their temporal trajectory. Moral exclusion and
destructive conflict can gain momentum swiftly in an exclusion-driven spiral of hate,
destructive conflict, and harmful behavior (Opotow, 2005; Opotow & McClelland,
2007, 2020). Moral inclusion, however, is a slower, more difficult, and fragile
process. Given the realities of normalized exclusion in societal structures, it can be
difficult to achieve inclusionary gains, and gains achieved can be vulnerable to
setbacks (Opotow, 2008). This tragic asymmetry makes the study of moral inclusion
particularly important for understanding how to achieve a positive peace both in
theory and in practice. What follows describes shifts in the scope of justice to
illustrate the nature and challenges of inclusionary and exclusionary change.
US Reconstruction: An Example of Inclusionary and Exclusionary

Change
The fragility of inclusionary gains is strikingly illustrated by the period after the US
Civil War (1861–1865). This extraordinarily deadly war resulted from the
long-standing controversy between the Northern and Southern states over the
enslavement of black people in the United States (Blight, 2001; Stampp, 1965).
Reconstruction (1865 to 1877), the 14-year period after the Civil War, illustrates
sweeping post-war inclusionary changes along with significant challenges of
sustaining them.
After the US Civil War (1861–1865), the US Congress ratified three remarkable
post-war constitutional amendments that essentially widened the scope of justice to
448 S. Opotow
include formerly enslaved people (Opotow, 2008). The Thirteenth Amendment to

the US Constitution, ratified in 1865 just after the Civil War, abolished slavery in the
United States. The Fourteenth Amendment, ratified in 1868, granted citizenship to
all persons born or naturalized in the United States, including former slaves, and
guaranteed all citizens equal protection of the laws. The Fifteenth Amendment,
ratified in 1870, extended voting privileges and the right to political participation
to all men, including Black Americans (Foner, 1988). These significant inclusionary
changes conferred important rights on people throughout the nation.
These inclusionary advances, however, were resented in the 11 Confederate states
that had seceded from the United States to protect chattel slavery, what they called
their “peculiar institution.” From their perspective, the three Reconstruction amend-
ments disrespected their way of life, threatened the white supremacist ideology at the
foundation of their slave-owning society, and inflicted significant economic costs,
particularly on wealthy plantation owners (Foner, 1988).
At the same that the inclusionary constitutional amendments were proposed and
adopted, local laws, called Black Codes, were being written and instituted in
Southern states (DuBois, 1935). The Black Codes suppressed the new freedoms of
African Americans and compelled them to work in a labor economy that kept them
poor because of low wages and debt (Richardson, 2001). When Reconstruction
ended in 1877 and federal troops were withdrawn from the South, there was a
resurgence of subjugation, persecution, and brutality directed at Black Americans
that persisted in various forms through 1965 (Ayers, 1992) in a society deeply
committed to their exclusionary ethos that violently prevented Black Americans
from exercising their rights as citizens (Woodward, 1966). The Black Codes and
“Jim Crow” laws reaffirmed the subordination of Black Americans. The long-
standing cultural mores of slave-holding supported the brutal enforcement of racial
segregation and normalized the gruesome practice of lynching of Black Americans
(Wells-Barnett, 2014/1892; White, 2002/1929). These extreme, ghastly, and collec-
tive acts of violence persisted until 1950 and claimed more than 4000 lives (Alex-
ander, 2010). Thus, the dramatic inclusionary and exclusionary shifts over a hundred
years (1865 to 1965) reveal how post-war inclusionary initiatives can foster signif-
icant societal change. But it also exposes the fragility of these gains, which can be
thwarted by the tenacious persistence of an exclusionary culture.
In the century that followed the end of the US Civil War, the African American
community and its allies in the Civil Rights Movement worked tirelessly in collab-
orative, activist projects that included civil rights marches, sit-ins, and legislative
initiatives to achieve important inclusionary gains, notably the Civil Rights Act of
1964 and the Voting Rights Act of 1965 (Klarman, 2004). But these inclusionary
legislative achievements also proved fragile. In 2013, a US Supreme Court decision,
Shelby County v. Holder (2013), eviscerated the Voting Rights Act of 1965 and
permitted nine Southern states to change their election laws without advance federal
approval, resulting in the disproportionate disenfranchisement of voters who are
members of historically disadvantaged groups (Brennan Center for Justice, 2018).
And as societal indicators of well-being (e.g., employment, education, health,
income, and wealth) reveal, the full inclusion of Black Americans remains incom-
plete 150 years after the Civil War ended.
Another example of the long arc of inclusionary change is the US environmental

justice movement. This connects with racial justice initiatives because in the United
States and in many other countries, sites designated for toxic waste are often adjacent to
low income communities and communities of color (Opotow, 2018). In the United
States, community demands for policy changes to ensure environmental health has
been a multi-decade, uphill struggle (Bullard, 1993; Opotow, 2012a; Skelton & Miller,
2016). Like the Civil Rights Movement, the environmental justice movement has
required a multigenerational commitment to mount protests and seek protective legis-
lation (Bullard, 1990; Bullard et al., 2007; Lerner, 2010; Pulido, 2000; Opotow, 2018).
Writing this during the COVID-19 pandemic, it is clear that exclusionary policies
persist. In Louisiana, in large area called “Cancer Alley” along the Mississippi River,
predominately Black communities adjacent to petrochemical plants tragically have
the highest rates of coronavirus deaths in the nation, the likely result of the United
States Environmental Protection Agency’s suspension of rules that had been written
to protect these communities (Kasakove, 2020). And emerging death rates from
COVID-19 indicate that they are markedly higher for minority than white commu-
nities (Kendi, 2020; Mays & Newman, 2020). Like setbacks to the Civil Rights
Movement, environmental justice gains can be undermined by industry scientists
and lobbyists at national, state, and local levels (Michaels, 2020). They can also be
more subtly undercut when environmental activists who have led successful cam-
paigns are invited to join civic decision-making bodies as a gesture of inclusion. But
as scholars have documented (Checker, 2011; Barnett & Scott, 2007; Dryzek, 1996),
these seemingly inclusionary initiatives can silence dissent and mute activists’
demands because procedural rules in civic bodies often favor participants with
power (Young, 2001).
Because inclusionary gains are difficult to achieve, and because gains achieved
are subject to setbacks, realizing a more inclusive society that can foster social
justice and bring about positive peace can be a laborious process requiring broad
collaborations among groups in society and a multigenerational effort (e.g., Opotow,
2008).
Discussion: Toward Inclusionary Justice and Positive Peace
Having discussed interconnections among conflict, justice, and a positive peace, this
chapter’s final section focuses on the critical shift needed to convert moral exclusion
to moral inclusion. As noted, this laborious shift is the process of building and
sustaining a positive peace (Opotow, 1990; Opotow et al., 2005; Reardon, 2001).
History reveals that it is possible to achieve inclusionary change.
At its heart, societal change can depend on conflict to bring pressing issues to the
fore. Conflict, however, can intensify exclusion and violence as well as bring about
cooperation, inclusion, and peace. Deutsch (1973) emphasized that constructive
conflict outcomes result from cooperative conflict processes. He warned that if
conflict processes become competitive, destructive conflict outcomes can ensue.
Prominent historic conflicts that have sought to widen the scope of justice at the
societal level illustrate Deutsch’s theorem. The Civil Rights Movement in the United
450 S. Opotow
States (Klarman, 2004; Marable, 2007), Gandhi’s development of satyagraha –

nonviolent civil resistance – to advocate for rights for South Africa’s Indian com-
munity during the British Raj (Erikson, 1969; Opotow, 2014), the Historikerstreit –
the 1986–1987 Historian’s Dispute in Germany (Baldwin, 1990), the end of Apart-
heid in South Africa (Abrahams, 2001), and other social movements that have
challenged the status quo to widen the scope of justice offer examples of crafting
cooperative conflict processes to bring about constructive change. These very
different social justice efforts provoked conflict with authorities and within the
society, but the conflicts utilized such cooperative processes as open, honest com-
munication, engaging disputants with each other, keeping the larger public informed
and, in their negotiations with authorities, highlighting mutual interests (cf.,
Deutsch, 1973). Setbacks to their inclusionary projects could have ensued if the
conflicts had turned destructive and violent, whereas cooperative processes pre-
served the possibility of achieving more equal relationships in the future. Fanon
(2017/1961), however, offers a different, influential, and nuanced perspective on the
inherent violence of colonialism and role that violence must play in struggles for
decolonization and social justice.
Conclusion
The construct, inclusion, implies finality, as if an important change has been

accomplished. However, a realistic understanding of achieving inclusionary gains
to foster social justice and a positive peace must anticipate complications along the
way. Because inclusionary change is complex and can precipitate tensions, not all
gains can be accomplished at once. It remains a work in progress that is inevitably
incomplete. Sometimes partial change can be a tactic to undermine activism or
induce complacency in order to halt deeper structural change. But even partial
gains can signal that a period of societal transition is underway. Such limited justice
gains, what Lott and Webster (2006) call “small wins” (p. 129; also see Weick, 1984)
may not rework entire societal structures, but they offer gains that can serve as a
platform for forward momentum.
In this chapter I have delineated the interconnection among conflict, justice, and
peace. I have proposed that peace-enabling conditions include dealing with conflict
constructively to foster inclusionary justice. This, in turn, can bring about greater
equality and mutually respectful social relations as part of a constructive, long-term
project. These are critical ingredients for fostering and then sustaining a positive
peace.
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Transformative Justice: Exploring
the “Relational” in Transformative Gender 23
Justice
Natasha Teresa Jolly
Contents
Unpacking the Pieces of the Conceptual Puzzle . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 456
The Criminologist’s Viewpoint . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 458
The Educator’s Viewpoint . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 460
The Social Psychologist’s Viewpoint . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 462
A Springboard to Relational Theorizing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 465
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 466
Abstract
The institutionalization of transitional justice and peacebuilding in the post-
conflict arena has failed to reconcile local-international justice enclaves and
private-public gender violence. There is a need for a relational frame, char-
acterized by an ethic of care, to modulate expectations between these com-
partmentalized paradigms and ideate a synchronized and transformative
gender justice approach. It requires making sense of power dynamics, sub-
jectivities, and positionalities, which result in the intergenerational war-peace
continuum of sexual and gender-based inequity, oppression, and trauma. This
pearl diving exercise from a pragmatic and ecological standpoint draws from
peacemaking criminology, peace education, and peace psychology. It seeks to
explore the complementarity of transformative learning, psychosocial care,
cross-gender participatory peacebuilding, and restorative justice processes, in
order for a gender regime grounded in partnership and relational mutuality, to
be modeled.
N. T. Jolly (*)
Peace and Conflict Studies, University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand
e-mail: jolna134@student.otago.ac.nz
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_23
456 N. T. Jolly
Keywords
Gender based violence · Gender order · War-peace continuum · Relational
justice · Peace Education · Peacemaking Criminology · Psychosocial Care ·
Transformative justice · Social change · Partnership · Ecological approach
Unpacking the Pieces of the Conceptual Puzzle
No society can build a civilisation on borrowed values. (Waliggo, 2003, p. 9)
Community is a psychological, geographic, physical, and social concept.

Rebuilding a community in the aftermath of upheaval not only requires material
planning and regeneration, but also the recalibration of moral and relational values of
its members (Baker & Burnside, 1994, pp. 1–12). The introduction of “postconflict”
into the global lexicon has institutionalized the concepts of transitional justice,
peacebuilding, and conflict transformation and has spawned inter-disciplinary
study into attendant ideas. However, it is a field that has struggled to reconcile
local-international justice enclaves and private-public violence (Engels, 2014).
A review of academic literature shows that transitional justice is generally identified
as the “full range of processes and mechanisms associated with society’s attempts to
come to terms with a legacy of extraordinary abuses, in order to ensure accountability,
serve justice and achieve reconciliation” (Secretary-General, U. N., 2010, p. 2). It is
deemed to possess the potential to snowball into social cohesion, civic engagement, and
trust (Quinn, 2009, p. 267). Peacebuilding is noted as the art of creating durable and
sustainable peace, nurturing constructive relationships (across boundaries of gender,
race, class, religion, and ethnicity), and transforming deeply unjust societies (Reimer
et al., 2015, pp. 12–15, 53–61). Conflict transformation corresponds to envisioning and
responding to the “ebb and flow of social conflict as life-giving opportunities for
creating constructive change processes that reduce violence, increase justice in direct
interaction and social structures, and respond to real-life problems in human relation-
ships” (Lederach, 2015, p. 14). Lastly, in a classic positive rights-nondiscriminatory-
enabling approach, gender justice has largely revolved around protection of the vul-
nerable, prevention of exclusion on the basis of sex, and enhancement of human
capacities through public goods and services (Goetz, 2007).
An overview of these subfields reveals the need to adopt a relational frame
characterized by an ethic of care, to modulate expectations between the compart-
mentalized paradigms and configure a transformative gender justice framework that
melds all four. The incentive to enrich current scholarship with this perspective is the
reminder that social conflict (interpersonal, communal, or both) occurs at multiple
levels of relational engagement (local, regional, national, global – separately or
simultaneously), due to incompatibilities (non-negotiable or amenable) in identities,
values, and interests and an inability to meet reciprocal human needs (Marker, 2003).
This chapter reflects an acute awareness of the drought in nomenclature to make
sense of the power dynamics and privilege that result in gender disparity, inequality,
23 Transformative Justice: Exploring the “Relational” in Transformative Gender. . . 457
oppression, and violence. I refer to this social conflict as the crisis of gender
relationality. Social conflicts are continuous, dynamic, and pregnant with opportu-
nity to respond, innovate, and change. Therefore, the key to moving from transac-
tional to transformational relationships is building social capital through reciprocal
engagement, humanizing the other, and practicing reflexivity (Engels, 2014), instead
of exacerbating or reinforcing durable inequities. Constructing a transformative
justice agenda that facilitates this social change ideation requires diving for pearls
(Korsgaard, 2019), that is, putting together an assortment of vignettes from different
philosophical traditions in order to serve the purpose of finding pragmatic solutions
(Pearce, & Littlejohn, 1997, pp. 3–27). This bricolage (Kincheloe, 2011) will draw
from peacemaking criminology, peace education, and peace psychology. It is con-
comitant with an ecological standpoint on reconciliation that prioritizes relational
justice and relational ethics to create biophilous (life-affirming) change in
social structures (Stover & Weinstein, 2004; Ducommun-Nagy, 2010, p. 36;
Massey, 2006).
The enduring postconflict justice narrative has for long been focused on prose-
cution, retribution, accountability, and truth seeking (Crocker, 1998). In a sharp
rebuke to the prominent legalism that characterizes transitional justice, the parame-
ters of the discipline have been shown to be in serious need of recalibration into a
more emotionally intelligent and therapeutic format that serves victims, perpetrators,
and their communities across a war-peace continuum (Doak, 2011). Traditional
formulations of transitional justice accommodate notions of rectificatory justice
(trials, truth commissions, reparations), distributive justice (economic growth, equal-
ity, and political stability), and legal justice (law and order, prison-police-judicial
reform) (Lambourne, 2013; Mani, 2002). However, it patently suffers from an
overall lack of restorative principles such as mutual interaction, consciousness
raising, and learning. Mere institutional overhaul, material recompense, symbolic
apologies, and fact-finding cannot engineer a repair of human ties.
There have been rare instances of attempted transformative praxis (demonstrating
the complementarity of customary healing processes in collaboration with the
international human rights agenda), which offered means of direct apology and
varying degrees of social redress after conflict. Examples include Rwanda’s gacaca
courts, Bougainville’s community mediation practices, and Timor Leste’s commu-
nity reconciliation processes (Doak, 2011). But there is little insight available into
ways of kick-starting the re-ordering of relationships, elimination of direct violence,
and stemming of structural discrimination (Ni Aolain, 2012). For example, the
Liberian Truth Commission, the Northern Irish Legacy Commission, and the Com-
mission for Reception, Truth and Reconciliation (CAVR) in Timor Leste failed to
understand the undercurrents of conflict-related gender violence, its connection to
everyday domestic violence, and the impact of patriarchal and patrilineal norms and
laws (Swaine, 2015).
If law is a network of relationships, then clarity is needed on the relational
subjectivity of these social relationships, within a working rubric of transformative
justice. United Nations Resolutions, Conventions proscribing war crimes and crimes
against humanity, Millennium and Sustainable Development Goals, and Statutes of
458 N. T. Jolly
International Courts can set the normative foundations, steer the narratives, and
influence domestic agendas around issues of peace and security. However, law,
operating in a vacuum, is not a magic bullet that can transform hierarchical social
relationships or address culturally sanctioned violence (Campbell, 2007; O’Rourke,
2013). If transitional justice is to function as a legal and political mechanism to right
egregious violations, cognizance of the utility of alternative (primarily grassroots
and civil society led) forums of psychosocial care and transformative learning that
complement laws and policies is warranted. The postconflict canvas needs to be
re-assessed, at the micro, meso, and meta levels, to invert the sustenance and
mutation of preconflict dynamics.
Transformative justice is a critical conceptual response to wider systemic issues
that are neglected by the liberal peacebuilding model of institution building, democ-
ratization, and securitization. It expands the restorative in that it moves past the
immediate conflict scenario to tackle underlying social conditions (Gready &
Robins, 2014). Using gender as a prism, it would involve a triple-pronged approach
of investigating (a) individual level socialization, construction of self and identity
creation; (b) interpersonal dynamics, gender roles, cultural expectations, and inter-
actional cognitive bias; and (c) legal regulations, organizational practices, meta
ideologies, and resource distribution in the institutional domain (Swaine, 2018;
Risman, 2004). Without an additional fourth dimension of “relational justice,” the
connection between agency, crime, violence, and behavior will be inchoate, and
distinctions between consent, coercion, and complicity in wartime and peacetime
landscapes will be blurry (Boesten, 2014, pp. 1–95). The creation of this nonlinear
relational dimension requires the combining of theories and concepts from different
disciplines within the same paradigm (Bohm & Vogel, 2010, pp. 134–136).
The Criminologist’s Viewpoint
Human beings are the creators of the institutions and structures that ultimately dominate and
constrain them. Furthermore, as creators, they are capable of changing institutions and
structures. (Bohm, 2001, p. 116)
Peacemaking criminology is born out of this critical school of thought that aligns
with feminism, pragmatism, and humanism, wherein criminalization and victimiza-
tion are linked to inequality and alienation. It advocates a nonviolent and compas-
sionate “social justice plus positive peace ideal” that promotes equity and harmony,
alongside accessible procedural justice. Primarily concentrating on deterrence,
peacemaking criminology seeks to bridge escalating social fissures, address vulner-
abilities, and prevent recidivism (Fuller & Wozniak, 2006; Berger et al., 2005,
pp. 166–167; Siegel, 2012). It is ensconced in a radical “needs for all” approach
(Sullivan & Tifft, 2001, p. 8), which places the community squarely at the center of
rehabilitation and fellowship efforts. It abides by the following tenets (Barak et al.,
2010, pp. 270–272), which have been adapted to fit the theme of this chapter:
1. Expanding notions of crime and injury, as part of an evolving conception of

human rights and relational injustices, rather than as specific interpersonal
violations against a legal order
Extraordinary gender violence is undergirded by preexisting conditions of benev-

olent sexism in governance, sexual repression, sex-specific division of labor, patri-
archal violence, and spatial-temporal separation of those who identify as men and
those who identify as women (Welland, 2016; Sjoberg, 2016; Alam, 2016; Jacobsen,
2016). The achievement of common human security requires the eradication of these
hierarchies. Yes, strategic use of rape was prevalent in civil conflicts in Bosnia,
Rwanda, Darfur, and Bangladesh. And yes, there have been conflicts such as those in
Liberia, Sierra Leone, and Burundi, where widespread cases of rape were largely
found to be indiscriminate and opportunistic (Human Security Report Project, 2012;
Blanchard, 2003). The climate and political economy of war, poverty, and familial
insecurities can account for personal motivations, group cohesion, anger, and frus-
tration that prompt commission of conflict related sexual violence. However, the
social constructs of masculinity present in the communities from which the victims
and perpetrators hail play a huge role in wartime violence (Meger, 2010).
The preoccupation with wartime and postwar violence and crime masks the low
intensity, chronic, and persistent violence endured by women in nonconflict zones
(Wilding, 2012; Kelly, 2000; Bourgois, 2001). An average of 35% of women
worldwide experience violence, a majority of which is intimate partner violence
which occurs both during times of conflict and peace. The prevalence and intensity
vary on a country-by-country basis based on ideologies of gender and institutional-
ized inequality (Boesten & Wilding, 2015).
2. Acknowledging crimes as personal acts as well as collective expressions of social

arrangements
Learned behaviors, inherited legacies, individual and group antagonisms, as well

as intercultural and intracultural variation in social sanctions belie the phenomenon
of using gender violence, to discipline, terrorize, humiliate, and induce servility
(Pillay, 2001; Sideris, 2001; Turshen & Twagiramariya, 1998). In Northern Ireland,
when women were caught in the crossfire of sectarian violence, it evoked public
outrage and heightened use of police resources to combat paramilitary activity, in
order to avenge innocent victims of extraordinary crimes. But if a woman was
murdered or raped in a domestic assault, that is, in the sanctuary of her home,
there was no public consensus on the unacceptability of the violence and it received
little to no media and police attention (McWilliams & Ni Aolain, 2013, p. 29).
3. Recognizing conflict and violence as rooted in a society with particular

characteristics
The war-peace continuum of gender-based violence is born out of a society that is

structured on gender relational disparity and militarized hegemonic masculinity. By
460 N. T. Jolly
stopping the idealization of belligerence and upholding nurturance and benevolence,

a social system that denigrates the effeminate and champions masculine strength in
economics, politics, and sexuality can be transformed (Eisler, 1995, 1998).
4. Relying on avenues apart from the criminal justice system to counter crimes that
are rooted in ideas of domination and powerlessness
Modeling a partnership gender regime through transformative learning, psycho-

social care, and participatory peacebuilding interventions can complement an acces-
sible, regulatory state and a rehabilitative, restorative justice system. This pluralistic
justice model can cater to needs pertaining to victims, perpetrators, and the larger
community, in terms of social acknowledgement, moral responsibility, personal
healing, regaining trust, reconciling with adversarial parties, reintegration, and
restoring the social fabric (Zehr, 2015; Johnstone, 2013).
5. Simultaneously working to end other forms of intersectional subjugation, oppres-

sion and exploitation
While patriarchy can account for the baseline of gender bias, intersections of race,
class, sexuality, nationality, ethnicity, religion, etc., are the frames through which
gender is performed and redefined everyday (Engle Merry, 2011, pp. 127–178).
Although critiqued as too vague, utopian, and ambiguous to offer a logistical
blueprint for restructuring society, peacemaking criminology provides a relational
lens to acknowledge the multiplication of oppression, question the normative basis
and theory of change underlining violence prevention methods, explain why conflict
occurs or crime is committed, and deconstruct how social structures operate. At the
very least it can prompt the humanizing of police work, court proceedings, and
correctional facilities (Wozniak, 2008, pp. 141–155).
The Educator’s Viewpoint
You will need to learn to become unintrusive, unimportant, patient to the point of tears, while
at the same time open to learning any possible lessons. You will also have to come to terms
with the sense of alienation, of not belonging, of having your world thoroughly disrupted,
having it criticised and scrutinised from the point of view of those who have been harmed by
it, having important concepts central to it dismissed, being viewed with mistrust. . ..
(Lugones & Spelman, 1983, p. 580)
Once again employing gender as a lens, it is evident that the forward-looking arm
of the transformative justice framework is still nebulous. Scholarship on postconflict
transitions in Peru, Sierra Leone, Sri Lanka, Burundi, and the DRC, among others,
reveals how women are abandoned by their own kith and kin, subject to secondary
treatment, displaced and forced into exploitative scenarios to survive. Relations of
power at the societal, communal, interpersonal, and individual levels function
together to produce violence that regulates and is regulated by social norms and
practices (Shepherd, 2008, p. 45).
Hence, to combat facets of culture (religion, language, media, science, education)
that legitimize and essentialize power differentials, secondary socialization through
Peace Education is needed. It straddles the “social critique and problem solving”
paradigms by providing a transformative pedagogy that focuses on the affective
relational modalities of social change. The preferred type of transformative learning
is enriched by a specific normative rubric (such as gender relational equity), cultur-
ally defined (tailored to accommodate traditional ways of regulating human behavior
and managing disputes) and enriched by international praxis (Ndura et al., 2012).
Although the specific needs for peace education vary in conflict ridden and
tranquil societies, the common denominator warrants a diffusion of social norms
and communication of behavioral change that resonate with an ethic of care and
peace, without serving to further entrench hegemonic structures. Transformative
learning is a suitable model of adult education (Taylor, 2008) that can be actualized
by (Mezirow, 1978; Mezirow, 1991; Cranton, 2002):
1. Identifying a disorienting dilemma or integrating circumstance

2. Engaging in reflection and self-reflection
3. Assessing personal assumptions and traditional role expectations
4. Recognizing shared discontent and need for transformation
5. Identifying new ways of behaving within the old order
6. Exploring new roles, relationships, and actions
7. Planning a course of action
8. Acquiring knowledge and skills for implementation of plans
9. Testing and evaluating planned action
10. Integrating new perspectives into everyday life
The premise of this method is that cognitive reflection leads to affective changes,
which in turn result in social action (Baumgartner, 2012). Transformative education,
critical adult literacy, and consciousness raising can take place at an interpersonal
level (e.g., relational cultural therapy that employs psycho-educational techniques to
decrease aggressiveness and sexual delinquencies in men and boys (Jordan, 2017)),
within group circles (e.g., Freire’s culture circles which have been appropriated by
feminist pedagogy (Souto-Manning, 2010)), and as a collective (e.g., in antiwar and
battered women’s movements, where there is validation of the personal being
political, by using subjective experiences to formulate and clarify theoretical and
philosophical underpinnings (Longres & McLeod, 1980)).
If people bear witness to gendered injustices that incriminate institutions and
structures, and are socialized toward partnership rather than domination-based
gender relationality, then harassment, discrimination, and abuse become morally
impermissible. These aspirations arise through transformed encounters between men
and women that can overturn a gender order symbolized by the masculine corpus
and the feminine wound (Toit, 2009, pp. 13, 212). Also, an engagement of men in
progressive social movements to end gender-based violence against women and
462 N. T. Jolly
other marginalized men can encourage allyship and the emergence of “new
masculinities” (Messner et al., 2015).
An interactionist conceptualization of a gender system (Gerson & Peiss, 1985)
beckons the men and women who partake in creating, maintaining, nurturing, and
perpetuating it, to re-examine deep-seated beliefs and skewed dynamics through
collaborative and facilitated discourse, dialogue, and experiential peacebuilding
exercises (Keepin & Brix, 2013; Melandri, 2009; Pankhurst, 2008; Bloomfield
et al., 2003, pp. 13–17). Sonke Gender Justice, Gender Reconciliation and Equity
International, Promundo, MenEngage, United Nations Population Fund (UNFPA),
and White Ribbon are a selection of organizations and networks that campaign,
advocate, and educate for the creation of equitable gender norms worldwide
(Peacock & Barker, 2014; Kaufman et al., 2014). Their work relies on a four pronged
gender programming continuum that has been adapted from Gupta’s (2000) delin-
eation of interventions – gender exploitative, gender neutral, gender sensitive, and
gender transformative. The last one is the ideal and is defined as seeking “to
transform gender relations through critical reflections and the question of individual
attitudes, institutional practices and broader social norms that create and reinforce
gender inequalities and vulnerabilities” (Promundo et al., 2010, p. 14).
The Social Psychologist’s Viewpoint
Violence can never be understood solely in terms of physicality. . .it also includes assaults on
the personhood, dignity and sense of worth or value of the victim. The social and cultural
dimensions of violence are what gives violence its power and meaning. (Scheper-Hughes &
Bourgois, 2004, p. 1)
The transformative gender justice agenda must be molded within the everyday-
ness of people and the communities that have witnessed trauma (Pia, 2013). In the
past, war psychiatry focused on individual pathologies and neuroses. However, in
recent times, the concept of the psycho-social, which encompasses the circular
interactions between an individual’s psychological state and the social environment,
has come to be embraced by humanitarians (Agger, 2001, p. 307). While there is
little consensus on what it entails in terms of specific practices, there is increasing
recognition of the need to utilize a systems approach to deal with the psychological
toll of conflict within a social justice and human rights setting (Galappatti, 2003).
When a conflict ends, social functioning may decrease but memories and emotions
do not decay.
The choice of remedial process is dictated by the nature of the wrongdoing, the
time that has lapsed since it occurred, the local resources available, and the cultural-
historical rationale behind the commission of violence (Bloch, 2016; Paez et al.,
2006; Cardozo et al., 2003). Social conflicts produce relational challenges and it
remains evident through several community level studies that in the presence of
trauma, stress, and shattered security, high levels of social support are the most
beneficial buffers (House et al., 1988).
Although transitional justice scholarship has revealed a preoccupation with

“coming to terms,” “breaking with the past,” or “settling accounts,” global justice
sensibilities do not take into account the organic ways in which communities rally
together in strife-torn contexts. In fact, apart from claims about the sanguine benefits
of truth seeking and accountability mechanisms or harsh critiques of their purported
psychological benefits, precious little is put forth on alternative avenues that can
process the mixed bag of debilitations that develop in the aftermath of conflict. The
virtual nonexistence of mental health services, unreliability of evidence, forced
apologies and forgiveness, re-traumatization, compromised privacy, fear of retalia-
tion, stigma surrounding victimization, and ambiguities of narrative testimonies are
but some of the limitations that have accompanied the parens patriae nature of trials
and truth commissions at the ICTY (International Criminal Tribunal for the former
Yugoslavia), SCSL (Special Court for Sierra Leone), Peruvian TRC and
South African TRC, among others (Stover, 2004; Stepakoff et al., 2015; Laplante
& Theidon, 2007; Van der Merwe, 2008; Brouneus, 2008).
When victims are evidentiary canon fodder, case loads are large, investigatory
and adjudicatory procedures are over-formalized, emphasis is on civil and political
wrongs, firm parameters around expectations of emotional repair are lacking, and
forums are marred by top-down state agendas, a people-centric and service-oriented
community transformation and social repair cannot materialize (Lambourne &
Gitau, 2013; Doak, 2011).
There is a fine line to be drawn between over-dwelling on the past, devoting
energies into averting a relapse into conflict in the present, and preventing atrocities
in the future (Torpey, 2006). Although there is a moral trend toward ethical univer-
salism, a holistic conceptualization of relational justice that accommodates promul-
gations by lawyers, psychoanalysts, and educators, within a peace studies paradigm,
is missing. Uni-dimensional narratives of crimes before meta transitional justice
forums might lead to recommendations for episodic relief but given that communi-
ties are at the mercy of welfare organizations, governments, and other stakeholders,
it is natural that there is a clarion call for a restoration that does not merely indicate a
return to skewed relational conditions that were in existence before, but promotes
emotional reflection, communication, social service assistance, skills training, peace
education, medical treatment, outreach initiatives that educate the public on
entrenched inequalities, and solidarity networks that provide support. To stop the
domino effect (multiplied harms) of sexual and gender based violence, it is imper-
ative that reparations are participant driven and promise to move society in the
direction of greater cross-gender partnership (Duggan & Jacobson, 2009, p. 124;
Binetti, 2015).
Stand-alone international, regional, or national forums cannot aim to satisfy every
competing need for tangible recompense based on strict legal criteria, cognitive
recovery, recognition, dismantling oppressive structures, rehabilitation or catharsis,
to name a few. These dilemmas have been witnessed in countries like Bosnia, Kenya,
Peru, Guatemala, Sierra Leone, and Rwanda (Walker, 2015; Todorova, 2011; Smith,
2016; Rubio-Marín & Greiff, 2007). In Cambodia, for example, the Trial chamber of
the ECCC (Extraordinary Chambers in the Courts of Cambodia) warned against
464 N. T. Jolly
heightened expectations of moral reparations that went beyond monetary compen-

sation and public awareness creation through publishing of judgments. There was a
limit to the transformative role it could be deemed to perform to remedy the
consequences of the Khmer Rouge rule in Cambodia – during that period, forced
marriages were conducted en masse, nearly 1 in 5 Cambodian men had committed
rape and more that 40% escaped the ramifications of their actions with impunity
(Cambodian Defenders Project, 2013). The effects of these past harms still haunt the
victims and contribute to entrenching present day gender violence (Fulu et al., 2013).
Psycho-educational services offered by organizations like Transcultural Psychoso-
cial Organisation (TPO) Cambodia have helped to mitigate distress and
intergenerational trauma, thereby fulfilling a role that a judicial body could not
(van de Put & van der Veer, 2005).
This kind of complementarity has taken on multiple avatars – such as the Trauma
and Transition Programme of the Centre for the Study of Violence and Reconcilia-
tion (Bandeira, 2008) and the Khulumani self-help group (Hamber et al., 2000) in
post-Apartheid South Africa; CAFES and TAFES collective multifamily recovery
model in Kosovo and Bosnia (Weine, 2000); Healing the Wounds of History
Programme in Lebanon (Gill, 2015); La Benevolencija approach in Rwanda,
Burundi and the DRC (Staub et al., 2008); the IBUKA peer support group in
Rwanda (Macauley, 2013); Victims and Survivors Service in Northern Ireland
(Simms et al., 2014); the Psychosocial Working Group in Sri Lanka (Galappatti,
2003); Trauma Healing and Reconciliation Services (THAR) in Burundi
(Lambourne & Niyonzima, 2016); and liberation psychology therapy in Latin
America (Martín-Baró et al., 1996), to name a few.
These interventions share some or all of the following guiding principles:
1. Reject destructive social policies

2. Employ movement/arts/dialogue/narrative/memory/nature based healing
techniques
3. Encourage sharing of life experiences and coping strategies
4. Strive to be culturally, socially and gender sensitive
5. Promote human well-being along with social justice
6. Draw from multiple traditions of allopathy, psychotherapy, spirituality, and
cognitive behavioral change
7. Are community run and volunteer driven
8. Model an “integrative framework” (Silove, 2007) that take into account mul-
tiple stressors and issues confronting individuals and families in a society
9. Premised on public education and group recovery
10. Implemented in response to collective strife
11. Involve collaborative efforts in transposing transnational models to local
contexts
12. Advocate for elicitive social transformation and communal ownership of
projects
A Springboard to Relational Theorizing
If we think of the war system as having a cyclical or spiraling life, as a continuum over time,
proceeding from the discourse of militarist ideology, through material investment in
militarisation, aggressive policy-making, outbreaks of war, short firefights, prolonged stale-
mates, ceasefires, demobilisation, periods of provisional peace, anxieties about security,
rearmament and so on, and if we look closely at the social relations in which individuals and
groups enact these various steps, that is where it is possible to see gender relations at work,
pushing the wheel around. (Cockburn, 2010, pp. 149–150)
In patriarchal societies which set the masculine in opposition to the feminine,

and where women are seen as the transmitters of culture, a unique loss of safety,
security, identity, trust, and control is suffered in the wake of conflict-related
sexual violence. It is compounded by debilitating psycho-somatic conditions and
cumulative trauma that are attendant (Joachim, 2005; Mollica & Son, 1989). This
is reinforced when perpetrators and victims have to coexist in volatile domestic
settings postconflict. Unfortunately, most communities are ill-equipped to cope
with the reality of such events, as they are particularly linked with socio-cultural
taboos around sexuality (Hagen & Yohani, 2010). Hence, the function of a
dominator gender order, upheld by parochial norms and the manner in which
gender based crime is defined and designated by legal processes, needs urgent
problematizing.
In this theoretical excursion toward the end goal of positive peace and gender
transformative social change, I have attempted to put forth an argument for why the
following dimensions of knowledge require to be integrated (Arrigo, 2001, p. 91):
1. The person-world dialectic

2. The demystification of disciplinary institutions
3. The narrative of crime, justice, community
4. The nature of social activism or change
5. The role of transformation
There needs to be a theory of justice that is fundamentally rooted in the social. It

conceives of justice as a justice in relationships, because human life is a life lived
with others. This notion is in stark contrast to principles of procedural justice (due
process) or distributive justice (equal opportunity and division of social goods),
which proffer individualism and separation over connectedness. Relational justice
envisions the common good as not to possess but to share with others. Becoming
fully human is premised on learning more and expanding the parameters of our
intentionality; not to dominate and control but to collaborate, reciprocate, and form a
dynamic intimacy that becomes our heritage (Raines, 1989).
For, “often the ability to state a problem is as important as the capacity to solve it.” (Donati &
Archer, 2015, p. 123)
466 N. T. Jolly
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Part VII
Social Justice: Rights
The Right to Peace: From Just War to Just
Peace 24
Heather Devere
Contents
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 476
Just War: Rights and Protections During Conflict . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 476
Greek and Roman Concepts of Just War . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 476
Medieval Christian Concepts of Just War . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 477
Thirteenth-Century Developments of Just War Theory . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 477
Sixteenth-Century Developments of Just War Theory . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 478
Nineteenth- and Twentieth-Century Developments in International Humanitarian Law
and Justifications for War . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 478
Twentieth-Century Development of International Human Rights Law. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 480
Negative Human Rights . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 480
Positive Rights . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 481
Twenty-First-Century Right to Just Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 484
Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 486
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 486
Abstract
This chapter presents an historical account of international human rights law and
debates related to peace and war, from the ideas of moral justifications for waging
war, to “just” ways of fighting, international humanitarian law, and universal
human rights declarations, through to the declarations on the right to a just and
positive peace.
Keywords
United National Declaration on the Right to Peace · Just war theory · International
human rights law · Negative rights · Positive rights · Justice · Peace
H. Devere (*)
e-mail: heather.devere@otago.ac.nz
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_24
476 H. Devere
Introduction
The Declaration on the Right to Peace a recent resolution of the United Nations
Resolution 71/189, adopted by the General Assembly on 19 December 2019,
recognizes that “peace is not only the absence of conflict but also requires a positive,
dynamic participatory process where dialogue is encouraged and conflicts are solved
in a spirit of mutual understanding and cooperation, and socioeconomic develop-
ment is ensured.” It is acknowledged in this document that:
. . . the fuller development of a culture of peace is integrally linked to the realization of the
right of all people, including those living under colonial or other forms of alien domination
or foreign occupation, to self-determination as enshrined in the Charter and embodied in the
International Covenants on Human Rights, as well as in the Declaration on the Granting of
Independence to Colonial Countries and Peoples contained in the General Assembly reso-
lution of 1514 (XV) of 14 December 1960. (Declaration on the Right to Peace)
The Right to Peace is a current concern that has moved away from looking
primarily at legal protections during war. Developments in international law also
reflect the moral debate that has evolved from considering the right way to go to and
wage war (just war) to considering ways to bring about and sustain peace (just
peace).
This chapter presents an historical account of international human rights law and
debates related to peace and war, from the ideas of moral justifications for waging
war, to “just” ways of fighting, international humanitarian law, and universal human
rights declarations, through to the declarations on the right to a just and positive
peace.
Just War: Rights and Protections During Conflict
In the context of armed conflict and international criminal law, there has been a
history of legal attempts to minimize the suffering inherent in warfare, based on the
ethical principle of “just war.” Just war theory as proposed by St. Augustine enabled
the Roman Empire, recently Christianized, to justify the pursuit of war against its
enemies, rather than adhering to the doctrine of pacifism as originally espoused by
the Christian church. Over time, the concept of just war has evolved as the moral
justification for all sorts of wars, some of them very unjust.
Greek and Roman Concepts of Just War
Rules about the conduct of armed conflict have existed for millennia and over many
centuries these have evolved into customary international law (Breen, 2017, p. 206).
While most accounts of just war theory in the Western tradition start with St. August-
ine and the application of the theory in the Christian world, the philosophical concept
24 The Right to Peace: From Just War to Just Peace 477
of just war goes back much further. Thucydides’ account of the Peloponnesian War,
when Athens and Sparta were fighting for supremacy in the Greek World, justified
their position in terms of who harmed the other first. The first time the term “just
war” appears in Greek sources was by Aristotle to “describe wars by Greeks against
barbarians, where only moral principles and not law prevailed” (Delahunty & Yoo,
2012, p. 5). For the Roman writer, Marcus Tullius Cicero, the natural state of
mankind was peace. War therefore needed declaration and justification. He wrote
“No war can be undertaken by a just and wise state, unless for faith or self-defence”
(Delahunty & Yoo, 2012, p. 7). In fact, Cicero saw discussion as “appropriate for
human beings” while force was used by “beasts” (Delahunty & Yoo, 2012, p. 8).
Medieval Christian Concepts of Just War
Just war theory was developed significantly during the Medieval period. When
Christianity was established as Rome’s state religion by Emperor Constantine,
Christianity’s injunction to “love thy neighbor” created deep tensions with the
secular demands to defend the Empire from barbarian invasions (Delahunty &
Yoo, p. 10). St. Augustine (AD 354–430) resurrected just war theory as a way of
resolving this conflict. He argued that “A Christian could wage war when he did so
not out of malice or hatred, but out of love for his enemy.” War was permitted as long
as it was conducted in order to punish the sinners for the wrongs and prevent them
from sinning again, and it was not to serve any desire for glory or revenge. Augustine
borrowed from Cicero, but added a divine purpose “of waging war to advance the
will of God and biblical principles” (Delahunty & Yoo, p. 11).
Thirteenth-Century Developments of Just War Theory
From the thirteenth century, a number of different strands emerged in Christian

approaches to war. A group of canon lawyers, known as the “Decretalists,” sought to
provide a more legal form of just war, developing a number of criteria for a just war:
• War had to be fought by laymen, not members of the priesthood.

• War must be to recover stolen property or defend the country or the church
• There needed to be “just” cause for the war
• War should not be waged to punish but “to make whole”
• A prince, king, emperor of “proper authority” had to declare the war.
The Italian Dominican friar and philosopher, St. Thomas Aquinas, codified the
different strands of ideas about just war in his Summa Theologiae, trying to harmo-
nize canonical teachings with Aristotle and natural law, also incorporating
St. Augustine’s teachings. Aquinas is seen as significant because “his work provided
a comprehensive moral restatement of the Christian approach to war that provided
the jumping off point for later scholars” (Delahunty & Yoo, 2012, p. 14). The
478 H. Devere
concept of punishment as one of the justifications for war was reintroduced by

Aquinas.
Sixteenth-Century Developments of Just War Theory
The Spanish monk, Francisco de Vitoria, added some other justifications for waging
war based on the concept of “rights” in relationship to Spain’s colonization of the
Americas. Vitoria argued that Spain’s citizens had a right to travel, trade, settle, and
propagate their faith and were entitled to resort to armed force in protection of this
right. He also recognized that the indigenous people of the Americas might also have
a just cause in defending themselves. Another Spanish monk, Francisco Suarez, on
the other hand, proposed that war was a judgment against a nation that was
committing wrongs (Endy, 2018).
The development of modern public international law evolved out of the Protestant
Reformation and the related rise of the modern state, and there were fundamental
changes “in the ways in which European statesmen and thinkers viewed the rela-
tionship between justice and war” (Delahunty & Yoo, p. 16). Hugo Grotius has been
credited with incorporating just war theory into international law. The emphasis
switched from concern about justifications for going to war (known by the Latin term
jus ad bellum) to concern about the ways in which war was waged ( jus in bello).
New rules were developed to govern the conduct of hostilities.
Nineteenth- and Twentieth-Century Developments in International

Humanitarian Law and Justifications for War
In spite of the theories about the moral justification for war and the morally just ways
of waging war, wars between European states continued without much heed to just
war concepts. By the nineteenth century, according to Delhunty and Yoo, “so-called
‘preventative wars’ which did not adhere to just war sentiments were an accepted
and legitimate method of statecraft.” However, from the nineteenth century, the body
of customary international law was codified and humanitarian law has since then
rapidly expanded.
The International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) established in 1863,
primarily to help the thousands of dying and wounded soldiers left on the battlefield,
has been credited with being at the forefront of the development and codification of
many of the international legal standards to prevent or ameliorate individual suffer-
ing (International Committee of the Red Cross 2019). As the casualties of civilians
mounted in comparison to that of the military, international law has responded, as it
has to “changing weapons technology and its impact on combatants and civilians
alike” (Breen, 2017, p. 206).
The principal treaties governing conduct of armed conflict include the Hague
Regulations 1899 and 1907; the Geneva Conventions 1947; and the Protocols
Additional to the Geneva Conventions 1977 (ICRC Databases; Henckaerts &
Doswald-Beck, 2005). International Humanitarian Law is informed by two core

norms that have been described as “intransgressible principles of international
customary law”: the distinction between combatants and noncombatants, and
restriction on weapons and tactics of combat to avoid unnecessary suffering
(Breen, 2017). The First World War was followed by the Covenant of the League
of Nations 1920, the Kellogg-Briand Pact 1928, and eventually the United Nations
Charter 1945, which served not only to provide commitments that only “just” wars
should be waged, but also to preserve the existing international order, and state
sovereignty.
When America entered the First World War, the Catholic Church in the USA
began to play a significant role in the war effort. The US Conference of Catholic
Bishops arose out of what was considered to be a national crisis. The Council’s
efforts included “recruiting military chaplains, promoting recreational services for
servicemen, and via a women’s committee, encouraging war-related activities focus-
ing on displaced persons and child welfare” (Shaw, 2017). After the war, the bishops
decided to continue and expand their collaboration on a national level and the
National Catholic Welfare Conference came into being, approved by Pope Benedict
XV. During World War II, a Catholic Relief Service was established to provide
“material assistance to refugees and people in war-torn nations,” as well as later
anticommunist education (Shaw, 2017). Their collective pastoral letter “The Chal-
lenge of Peace” (1983) advanced the just war arguments in the face of the nuclear
threat. Their statement included the following points:
1. Catholic teaching begins in every case with a presumption against war and for
peaceful settlement of disputes. In exceptional cases, determined by the moral
principles of the just-war tradition, some uses of force are permitted.
2. Every nation has a right and duty to defend itself against unjust aggression.
3. Offensive war of any kind is not morally justifiable.
4. It is never permitted to direct nuclear or conventional weapons to “the indiscrim-
inate destruction of whole cities or vast areas with their populations. . ..” (Pastoral
Constitution, #80.) The intentional killing of innocent civilians or noncombatants
is always wrong.
5. Even defensive response to unjust attack can cause destruction which violates the
principle of proportionality, going far beyond the limits of legitimate defense.
This judgment is particularly important when assessing planned use of nuclear
weapons. No defensive strategy, nuclear or conventional, which exceeds the
limits of proportionality is morally permissible.
In 2005, all members of the United Nations at the World Summit endorsed the
justification for war to be extended to allow states to intervene militarily in other
states, based on concerns about genocide, war crimes, ethnic cleansing, and crimes
against humanity (Delahunty and Yoo). Known as the Responsibility to Protect
(R2P), the principle of self-defense was no longer the only justification for war.
R2P allowed the more powerful states to intervene in the armed conflict between or
within other states.
480 H. Devere
The invasion of Iraq by the USA following the 9/11 attacks in 2001 on USA soil
had breached even these conditions for waging a “just war.” Wester (2005), for
example, argues that “the use of military force by the Bush Administration against
the regime of Saddam Hussein does not meet the ethical criteria for ‘preemptive war’
set forth in the classical Just War tradition.”
Aware of the paradoxes, there have been calls by some commentators for more
flexibility and for a more “dynamic” and “parsimonious’ framework” for the Just
War Doctrine that needs to be “re-evaluated on context” (Patterson, 2005, p. 123).
This more pragmatic approach to the morals of waging war are countered by other
developments related to international human rights and the more recent calls for a
“just peace.”
Twentieth-Century Development of International Human Rights Law.
Parallel to the development of international humanitarian law, and largely in isolation,

developed international human rights law (Breen, 2017, p. 213). Rather than com-
prising the body of rules “that States and armed groups must follow, whether on their
own territory or on the territory of another State” as does international humanitarian
law, international law related to human rights was aimed at regulating “the uneven
distribution of power between the State and its own citizens” (Breen, 2017, p. 213). It
was not until the early twentieth century that the idea of human rights as a matter of
legitimate international concern clearly manifested itself (Baird, 2017, p. 151).
The Universal Declaration of Human Rights 1948 (UDHR) is described as
promising:
. . . to all the economic, social, political, cultural and civic rights that underpin a life free from
want and fear. They are not a reward for good behavior. They are not country-specific, or
particular to a certain era of social group. They are the inalienable entitlements of all people,
at all times, and in all places – people of every colour, from every race and ethnic group,
whether or not they are disabled; citizens or migrants; no matter their sex, their class, their
caste, their creed, their age or sexual orientation. (United Nations, 2015)
While the UDHR has remained unchanged since 1948, and there are significant
critiques that the rights declared are culturally specific and therefore inappropriate in
many non-Western contexts, nevertheless, it is part of a very important historical
development in the language used to define social justice concerns, and the legisla-
tive institutions designed to implement ethical reforms.
Negative Human Rights
One way of categorizing the rights contained in the UDHR is to identify both
negative and positive rights. Negative rights refer to rights that do not require another
actor to do or provide anything in order for that right to be upheld, they just have to
refrain from doing something. While there is always a debate about legal
terminology, it can be argued that the following rights contained in the UDHR that
require no action or interference are negative rights:
• All human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights. They are endowed
with reason and conscience and should act towards one another in a spirit of
brotherhood. (Article 1).
• Everyone is entitled to all the rights and freedoms set forth in this Declaration,
without distinction of any kind, such as race, color, sex, language, religion,
political or other opinion, national or social origin, property, birth or other status.
Furthermore, no distinction shall be made on the basis of the political, jurisdic-
tional, or international status of the country or territory to which a person belongs,
whether it be independent, trust, non-self-governing, or under any other limitation
of sovereignty (Article 2).
• Everyone has the right to life, liberty, and security of person (Article 3).
• No one shall be held in slavery or servitude; slavery and the slave trade shall be
prohibited in all their forms (Article 4).
• No one shall be subjected to torture or to cruel inhuman or degrading treatment or
punishment (Article 5).
• No one shall be subjected to arbitrary arrest, detention, or exile (Article 9).
• Everyone has the right to own property alone as well as in association with others.
No one shall be arbitrarily deprived of his [sic] property (Article 17).
• Everyone has the right to freedom of thought, conscience, and religion
(Article 18).
• Everyone has the right to freedom of opinion and expression (Article 19).
• Everyone has the right to freedom of peaceful assembly and association. No one
may be compelled to belong to an association (Article 20).
• Nothing in this Declaration may be interpreted as implying for any State, group or
person any right to engage in any activity or to perform any act aimed at the
destruction of any of the rights and freedoms set forth herein (Article 30).
Not all of these negative rights are available during peace time, but during war
even these basic negative rights are breached or severely restricted. War deprives
people of life, liberty, and security; often inflicts torture and cruel treatment; enforces
arbitrary arrest and property seizures; invades privacy; and punishes freedom of
speech and assembly.
Positive Rights
The remaining rights in the UDHR require some action or resources to enable those
rights to be met. These are civic, economic, or social rights. They require the
provision (usually by the government) of protections, remedies, hearings, trials,
legal recognitions, electoral systems, access to services, payment for work, a stan-
dard of living and education, identified as being essential for democracy. These can
arguably be identified as positive rights:
482 H. Devere
• Everyone has the right to recognition everywhere as a person before the law
(Article 6).
• All are equal before the law and are entitled without any discrimination to equal
protection of the law. All are entitled to equal protection against any discrimina-
tion in violation of this Declaration and against any incitement to such discrim-
ination (Article 7).
• Everyone has the right to an effective remedy by the competent national tribunals
for acts violating the fundamental rights granted him [sic] by the constitution or
by law (Article 8).
• Everyone is entitled in full equality to a fair and public hearing by an independent
and impartial tribunal, in the determination of his [sic] rights and obligations and
of any criminal charge against him [sic] (Article 10).
• Everyone charged with a penal offence has the right to be presumed innocent until
proved guilty according to law in a public trial at which he [sic] has had all the
guarantees necessary for his [sic] defence. No one shall be held guilty of any
penal offence on account of any act or omission which did not constitute a penal
offence, under national or international law, at the time when it was committed.
Nor shall a heavier penalty be imposed than the one that was applicable at the
time the penal offence was committed (Article 11).
• No one shall be subjected to arbitrary interference with his privacy, family, home
or correspondence, nor to attacks upon his honour and reputation. Everyone has
the right to the protection of the law against such interference or attacks
(Article 12)
• Everyone has the right to freedom of movement and residence within the borders
of each State. Everyone has the right to leave any country, including his [sic] own,
and to return to his [sic] country (Article 13).
• Everyone has the right to seek and to enjoy in other countries asylum from
persecution. This right may not be invoked in the case of prosecutions genuinely
arising from non-political crimes or from acts contrary to the purposes and
principles of the United Nations (Article 14).
• Everyone has the right to a nationality. No one shall be arbitrarily deprived of
his [sic] nationality nor denied the right to change his [sic] nationality
(Article 15).
• Men and women of full age, without any limitation due to race, nationality or
religion, have the right to marry and to found a family. They are entitled to equal
rights as to marriage, during marriage and at its dissolution. Marriage shall be
entered into only with the free and full consent of the intending spouses. The
family is the natural and fundamental group unit of society and is entitled to
protection by society and the State (Article 16).
• Everyone has the right to take part in the government of his [sic] country, directly
or through freely chosen representatives. Everyone has the right to equal access to
public service in his [sic] country. The will of the people shall be the basis of the
authority of government; this will shall be expressed in periodic and genuine
elections which shall be by universal and equal suffrage and shall be held by
secret vote or by equivalent free voting procedures (Article 21).
• Everyone, as a member of society, has the right to social security and is entitled to
realization, through national effort and international co-operation and in accor-
dance with the organization and resources of each State, of the economic, social
and cultural rights indispensable for his [sic] dignity and the free development of
his [sic] personality (Article 22).
• Everyone has the right to work, to free choice of employment, to just and
favourable conditions of work and to protection against unemployment. Every-
one, without any discrimination, has the right to equal pay for equal work.
Everyone who works has the right to just and favourable remuneration ensuring
for himself [sic] and his [sic] family an existence worthy of human dignity, and
supplemented, if necessary, by other means of social protection. Everyone has the
right to form and to join trade unions for the protection of his [sic] interests
(Article 23).
• Everyone has the right to rest and leisure, including reasonable limitation of
working hours and periodic holidays with pay (Article 24).
• Everyone has the right to a standard of living adequate for the health and well-
being of himself [sic] and of his [sic] family, including food, clothing, housing
and medical care and necessary social services, and the right to security in the
event of unemployment, sickness, disability, widowhood, old age or other lack of
livelihood in circumstances beyond his [sic] control. Motherhood and childhood
are entitled to special care and assistance. All children, whether born in or out of
wedlock, shall enjoy the same social protection (Article 25).
• Everyone has the right to education. Education shall be free, at least in the
elementary and fundamental stages. Elementary education shall be compulsory.
Technical and professional education shall be made generally available and
higher education shall be equally accessible to all on the basis of merit. Education
shall be directed to the full development of the human personality and to the
strengthening of respect for human rights and fundamental freedoms. It shall
promote understanding, tolerance and friendship among all nations, racial or
religious groups, and shall further the activities of the United Nations for the
maintenance of peace. Parents have a prior right to choose the kind of education
that shall be given to their children (Article 26)
• Everyone has the right freely to participate in the cultural life of the community, to
enjoy the arts and to share in scientific advancement and its benefits. Everyone
has the right to the protection of the moral and material interests resulting from
any scientific, literary or artistic production of which he [sic] is the author
(Article 27).
• Everyone is entitled to a social and international order in which the rights and
freedoms set forth in this Declaration can be fully realized (Article 28).
• Everyone has duties to the community in which alone the free and full develop-
ment of his [sic] personality is possible. In the exercise of his [sic] rights and
freedoms, everyone shall be subject only to such limitations as are determined by
law solely for the purpose of securing due recognition and respect for the rights
and freedoms of others and of meeting the just requirements of morality, public
order and the general welfare in a democratic society. These rights and freedoms
484 H. Devere
may in no case be exercised contrary to the purposes and principles of the United
Nations (Article 29).
Article 30 that concludes the list of declared rights aims to safeguard these rights.
“Nothing in this Declaration may be interpreted as implying for any State, group or
person any right to engage in any activity or to perform any act aimed at the
destruction of any of the rights and freedoms set forth herein.”
There is a close relationship between positive rights and positive peace. While
there is little reference in the UDHR to rights to peace, it is included in the right to
education. The second part of Article 26 relates to the purpose of education, that
accords very well with peace education as covered in this volume (▶ Chap.9, “Peace
Education”) and support for the United Nations in so far as this organization directs its
activities to maintaining peace. Article 26 states that education should include a focus
on respect for human rights and fundamental freedoms and all should “promote
understanding, tolerance and friendship among all nations, racial or religious groups,
and . . . further the activities of the United Nations for the maintenance of peace.”
Twenty-First-Century Right to Just Peace
There were two significant initiatives that occurred in 2016 to advance the call for the
right to a just peace. The first, in April 2016, was the Nonviolence and Just Peace
Conference held in Rome and co-sponsored by the Pontifical Council for Justice and
Peace, Pax Christi International, and other international bodies. For this the Catholic
Church, instrumental in introducing and promoting the concept of just war, advo-
cated for just peace instead. This was a call to cease teachings on just war and to
promote nonviolent practices and strategies. Pope Francis’s message for the 50th
World Day of Peace urged people everywhere to practice nonviolence and he noted
that “the decisive and consistent practice of nonviolence has produced impressive
results.” (Catholic Nonviolence Initiative 2016)
Several other churches are also promoting this move. The United Church of
Christ claims that the “Just peace church vision” has been a hallmark of its theolog-
ical identity for 30 years (United Church of Christ). The World Council of Churches
(2019), for example, claims that “Christians and churches are entrusted with the
ministry of peace and reconciliation.” And their 2012 Just Peace Companion
discusses in depth that this needs to be considered as part of the philosophical and
doctrinal debate (World Council of Churches 2012).
Valerie Elverton Dixon (2009) explains that just peace theory “is the middle way
between pacifism and just war theory that ‘recognizes the moral force of
non-violence and the goal of a world that solves its disputes through nonviolent
means’.” This also argues that just peace needs to be proactive rather than reactive,
and to prevent the crises that “can explode into violence”.
The second major initiative was in December 2016, when Resolution 71/189
“Declaration on the Right to Peace” was adopted by the General Assembly of the
United Nations. This brought together references to peace in a number of United
Nations covenants, recalling, reaffirming, acknowledging, and recognizing aspects

related to peace, while deeply deploring acts that harmed peace. The declaration
invites solemnly:
all stakeholders to guide themselves in their activities by recognizing the high importance of
practising tolerance, dialogue, cooperation and solidarity among all human beings, peoples
and nations of the world as a means to promote peace; to that end, present generations should
ensure that both they and future generations learn to live together in peace with the highest
aspiration of sparing future generations the scourge of war.
There are only five Articles to the Declaration on the Right to Peace:
Article 1: Everyone has the right to enjoy peace such that all human rights are
promoted and protected and development is fully realized.
Article 2: States should respect, implement and promote equality and
non-discrimination, justice and the rule of law, and guarantee freedom from
fear and want as a means to build peace within and between societies.
Article 3: States, the United Nations and specialized agencies should take appropri-
ate sustainable measures to implement the present Declaration, in particular the
United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization. International,
regional, national and local organizations and civil society are encouraged to
support and assist in the implementation of the present Declaration.
Article 4: International and national institutions of education for peace shall be
promoted in order to strengthen among all human beings the spirit of tolerance,
dialogue, cooperation and solidarity. To this end the University for Peace should
contribute to the great universal task of educating for peace by engaging in
teaching, research, post-graduate training and dissemination of knowledge.
Article 5: Nothing in the present Declaration shall be construed as being contrary to
the purposes and principles of the United Nations. The provisions included in the
present Declaration are understood in accordance with the Charter of the United
Nations, the Universal Declaration of Human Rights and the relevant interna-
tional and regional instruments ratified by the States.
Reconciling Peace and Justice

Increasingly, there are concerns about some of the tensions between peace and
justice, with scholars emphasizing that without social justice, peace is not sustain-
able. Positive peace cannot be achieved where there remains injustice. Attributed to
the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King is the statement “There can be no justice
without peace, and there can be no peace without justice.” (cited by Ballarmine
College 2020) The need for recognizing the interconnection between peace and
other competing concepts such as truth, mercy, justice, and reconciliation is a major
part of the conceptual framework for peacebuilding developed by prominent peace
scholar John Paul Lederach. Lederach (1995) does not consider either justice or
peace to be the over-riding or over-arching value. He argues that there is a tension
between these concepts but they are not mutually exclusive. Rather they are
486 H. Devere
interdependent, and peace, justice, mercy, and truth are all required for reconciliation
and the transformation of conflict into positive peace.
There are many peace organizations that recognize the vital interconnection
between peace and justice. The U.S. Citizens for Peace and Justice group (2020)
proclaims that “there can be no peace without justice.” The mission of the Oxford
Citizens for Peace and Justice (2020) is “to educate and act locally . . . to construct a
world of peace with social and economic justice.” The professional association for
scholars in the field of peace and conflict studies, the Peace and Justice Studies
Association (2020) is “dedicated to bringing together academics, educators and
activists to . . . share visions and strategies for peacebuilding, social justice and
social change.”
Conclusion
This chapter has described the way in which justice and the law, as a reflection of the
changing concerns of humanity, has evolved from a focus on finding moral princi-
ples to justify war to a recognition of the need for a dedicated Right to Peace. I have
traced the development of just war theory in the Western tradition from Greek and
Roman concept of principles for waging war, through the Medieval period when
Christians attempted to reconcile the principles of pacifism with the idea of punish-
ment for wrong doing to justify war. Other significant changes to just war theory can
be traced to the thirteenth century, primarily with St. Thomas Aquinas decrees, and
the sixteenth century, related to Spanish colonization and the rise of the modern state.
In the modern period, as international law was codified and as humanitarian law
expanded, legal changes were made in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries that
continued to provide arguments for wars to be entered into with “just cause” and to
be fought “in a just way.”
What has been described as “the greatest twentieth-century statement of ‘natural’
or human rights,” the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR) of 1948 led
the way to a range of international Conventions, Covenants, Declarations, and other
treaties that mostly came out of the United Nations (Raynor, n.d.). Attention is drawn
to the close relationship between the positive rights in the UDHR and the concept of
positive peace. Finally, the chapter looks at the Declaration of the Right to Peace as a
step further in connecting the idea of justifications for peace with the need for justice,
replacing the emphasis on trying to justify war and violence.
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Women’s Rights/Gender Rights: Positive
Peace as Indigenous and Womxn’s Rights 25
Sylvia C. Frain
Contents
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 490
Positive Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 490
Native Feminist Theories . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 491
Social Justice as Decolonization . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 492
The Haudenosaunee Confederacy + Gayaneñ•hsä•’gó •nah – The Great Law
of Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 493
White Supremacy, the Suffrage Movement, and Contemporary White Neoliberal
Feminism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 495
White Feminism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 495
The Future of Positive Peace, Rematriate this Space, The White Supremacy Workbook . . . . . 497
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 498
Abstract
This chapter uses the United States (USA) as a case-study to tackle two
questions: what are the barriers to positive peace and how have/do Black,
Indigenous, and womxn of color contribute(d) to positive peace? Through
continental US Native feminist theories, which offer a decolonial and gendered
critique of settler colonialism and heteropatriarchy, white supremacy is exposed
as a global threat to positive peace. Through a (re)learning of the previously
invisible history of Black, Indigenous, and “womxn” of color contributions to
positive peace, this chapter invites self-reflective scholarship and the utilization
of academic (and/or white) privilege to dismantle oppressive social systems,
including white feminism. This chapter offers resources to the alternative
models of justice needed to sustain a peaceful society and environment for
future generations.
S. C. Frain (*)
The Everyday Peace Initiative, Auckland, New Zealand
e-mail: sylvia@everydaypeaceinitiative.com
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_25
490 S. C. Frain
Keywords
Heteropatriarchy · Native Feminist Theories · Positive Peace · Settler
Colonialism · Social Justice · The United States · White Feminism · White
Supremacy · Womxn
Introduction
Social justice is one type of justice that is as needed to secure “positive peace”
defined as “the attitudes, institutions, and structures that create and sustain peaceful
societies” (Institute for Economics and Peace, 2018, p. 30). This chapter uses the
United States (US) as a case-study to tackle two questions: what are the barriers to
positive peace and how have/do Black, Indigenous, and womxn of color contribute
(d) to positive peace? Through continental US Native feminist theories, which offer
a decolonial and gendered critique of settler colonialism and heteropatriarchy, white
supremacy is exposed as a “US export” and a global threat to positive peace (Jipson
& Becker, 2019). Through a (re)learning of the previously invisible history of Black,
Indigenous, and “womxn” of color contributions to positive peace, this chapter
invites self-reflective scholarship and the utilization of academic (and/or white)
privilege to dismantle oppressive social systems, including white feminisms (Ashlee
et al., 2017; Green 2008; Saad, 2018, p. 120). To truly promote “positive peace”
activists and scholars must recognize they are on Indigenous land and look to the
past to plan for the future (Positivepeace.org, n.d.).
In Dr Monnica William’s piece from January 2019 entitled, “How White Femi-
nists Oppress Black Women: When Feminism Functions as White Supremacy,” she
describes White feminism as “a racist ideology that claims to speak for all women
while ignoring the needs of women of color and suppressing our voices” (Williams
2019, p. 1). This power dynamic is highly problematic to democracy and social
justice because it reinforces white patriarchy and declares everyone else invisible -
those on the front line of social movements in the US. To inquire deeper about the
patriarchal limitations of social justice, I examine the US as a settler-colonial nation-
state that upholds white supremacy, similar to Australia, Canada, and New Zealand
(Moreton-Robinson, 2002). In 2018, the US was ranked as the 10th most dangerous
country for women by the Thomson Reuter Foundation Annual Poll (Thomson
Reuter Foundation, 2018). While the poll’s data needs to be critically explored,
this signifies a lack of positive peace in the USA, which impacts Indigenous and
womxn of color to greater degrees.
Positive Peace
The Institute for Economics and Peace (IEP) states “a more ambitious conceptual-
ization of peace is Positive Peace [which] represents the capacity for a society to
meet the needs of its citizens. . .” (Institute for Economics and Peace, 2018, p. 30).
25 Women’s Rights/Gender Rights: Positive Peace as Indigenous and Womxn’s Rights 491
Through conflict prevention, individuals, communities, and societies “channel dis-

agreements productively rather than falling into violence.” IEP offers Johan
Galtung’s positive peace/negative peace dichotomy, with positive peace as long-
term, built through sustainable economic models and institutions by a society with
attitudes to foster peace and opposed the “structures and cultures of violence” and
negative peace simply as “the absence of violence or fear of violence” (Galtung,
1996).
The positive peace approach recognizes the mutual benefits of peace among your
family, community, and planet, and I suggest, perhaps inspired by Indigenous
worldviews (Frain, 2017, p. 103). Indigenous womxn and womxn of color have
not only contributed to the ideals of positive peace, but their efforts, voices, and
stories have been excluded. Their lived-experience includes an everyday reality of
interconnected power structures of settler colonialism, heteropatriarchy, and white
supremacy, issues women studies and white feminism have (previously) failed to
confront. While “intersectional feminism” makes progress in addressing white
privilege, it needs to continue to expand and evolve (Williams, 1994, p. 93).
Power does not function in isolation but instead gender “infuses” with other socially
constructed power structures such as race, religion, and class (Cohn, 2013, p. 15).
Native Feminist Theories
To explore the type of justice to secure positive peace, Native feminist theories
provide space, to begin with, a decolonized view of land/ocean/skies and recognize
that as academics and activists, we also occupy and produce (such as this chapter) on
[stolen] Indigenous land. Native feminist theories offer a self-reflective framework to
focus on the compound issues of “gender, sexuality, race, indigeneity, and nation,”
including my positionality and limitations (Arvin et al., 2013, p. 12). As a white
Peace Studies scholar who is actively working for positive peace, I encourage others
to collectively learn how settler colonialism is a gendered process substantiated by
white supremacist origins and continues as a system of governance made possible by
removing the people from the land through genocide and continues to be reinforced
by laws and legal frameworks created by a racist nation-state.
Grounded in continental United States (Turtle Island), Native feminist theorists
Maile Arvin, Eve Tuck, and Angie Morrill in their academic journal article,
“Decolonizing Feminism: Challenging Connections between Settler Colonialism
and Heteropatriarchy,” explain how the US functions as a settler-colonial nation-
state, with “settler colonialism [as] a persistent social and political formation in
which newcomers/colonizers/settlers come to a place, claim it as their own, and do
whatever it takes to disappear. . . destroy, remove, the Indigenous peoples that are
there” (12). Indigenous struggles for decolonization is a direct response to settler
colonialism and land theft.
Settler colonialism, through the removal of Indigenous peoples for the benefit of
white people (mostly men), is justified through the ideologies of white supremacy
(Wolfe, 1999, 2006). Settler colonialism continues to be a socially constructed
492 S. C. Frain
hierarchical structure and a gendered process, promoting social systems that only
tolerate heterosexuality and employ methods to categorize, prioritize, and distribute
power “symbolically associated with masculinity over femininity” (Cohn, 2013,
p. 3). Gender does not mean “women” or “female” and being male or female is
not an (or the) indicator of gender. Rather, it is related to masculinities and feminin-
ities; women can be masculine, and men can be feminine; men or women can be
“masculinized” or “feminized” (Frain, 2018, pp. 14–15). Native feminists expand
“women’s rights” to include anyone who identifies as “womxn” a “significant
departure from how gender and women’s studies are regularly understood and
taught” (Arvin et al., 2013, p. 8).
In heteropatriarchal societies, males are perceived as strong, capable, wise, and
composed and the female gender is perceived as weak, incompetent, naïve, and
confused (Arvin et al., 2013, p. 13). The male domination central to patriarchy is
perceived as normal and natural, and infiltrates power structures from the family unit
with the father as the leader, through institutions consisting of male bosses, up
through to the structures of the (racist/patriarchal) state, as epitomized by former
President Trump. While it is vital to recognize the varying layers of power, even the
idea of being a “woman” is an assumption and a “social construct” (Arvin et al.,
2013, p. 9). Today, settler colonialism continues to depend on heteropatriarchy and
white supremacy ideologies to maintain its power while preventing progress for
positive peace.
Exposing existing racist attitudes, male-dominated institutions, and unjust struc-
tures of settler colonialism, heteropatriarchy, and white supremacy, Native feminist
theories offer a framework to understand heteropatriarchy through a gendered lens
and as a monumental challenge to positive peace. Further, the application of Native
feminist theories is an embodied project, one that does not end with academic
publications but is ongoing, constant, and uncomfortable for folks who are not
used to being confronted. While social justice approaches are celebrated as modern
forms of pathways to create positive peace, Native feminist theories, centralize
alternative conceptualizations of social justice as decolonization and offer practical
actions to dismantle white supremacy in the various forms it manifests.
Social Justice as Decolonization
Social justice promotes dignity and respectful relationships among humans and
within the natural world, centralized through the Western concepts of “justice,”
“rights,” and “freedoms” (Miller, 1999). Social justice works for equality of all
people, through the fairness of institutions for socially just societies. Looking at the
various forms of “justice” and struggles for “equality,” Indigenous and womxn of
color question these terms and assumptions of what makes positive peace within a
society founded on white supremacy, genocide, that continues to restrict rights and
freedoms to the majority of the population while limiting to whom democratic ideals
extend.
Many social justice academics and practitioners remain unreflective about the
origin of the current dominant societal system of settler colonialism (Indigenous
Social Justice Association in Australia, n.d.). In A Survivor-Centered Indigenous
Approach to Conflict Resolution (2018), Meztil Projects explains the term “justice”
is directly connected to the settler-colonial system to justify the state’s occupation
and control over lands, skies, and peoples. The most common use of justice for
Indigenous communities, aside from the colonial justice system which
disproportionally includes non-white populations, is “restorative justice.” However,
this term remains “problematic for Indigenous communities, since it is based on the
premise of a ‘crime’” (Meztil Projects, 2018). Justice is seen as something that must
be re-stored, re-paired, and re-earned after committing a “crime,” as determined by
the settler-colonial, heteropatriarchal, white supremacist system. Further, Indigenous
womxn in Canada clarify that they do not want to be “equal to a settler society. . . or
to the colonizer. . . as an Indigenous woman means not reporting rapists to the police
because you. . . do not want to be seen as the problem in colonial justice systems”
(Indigenous Motherhood, 2019).
The concerns of Indigenous communities are often not about “achieving formal
equality or civil rights within a nation-state, but instead achieving substantial
independence from a Western nation-state – independence decided on their own
terms” (Arvin et al., 2013, p. 10). Instead, justice is conceptualized through varying
forms of self-determination, including political, cultural, social, and environmental
efforts to regain control over lands, seas, skies, and peoples. This interconnection of
peoples and the planet with a societal goal of collaboration over competition aligns
with the majority of Indigenous societies across Turtle Island. These women do not
“need” [Western] feminism, but rather decolonization from the settler state (Man-
ning, 2018, p. 2). Further, Indigenous concepts of “positive peace” continue to
evolve, as they have done for thousands of years before settler colonialism.
The Haudenosaunee Confederacy + Gayaneñ•hsä•’gó •nah – The

Great Law of Peace
Often referred to by the French colonial moniker as the “Iroquois Confederacy” or

the simplified English version as “Six Nations,” the Haudenosaunee Confederacy is
considered to be one of the oldest participatory democracies on earth (Haudensaunee
Confederacy, 2019). Formed at Onondaga Lake in present-day New York State in
northeast continental USA (and southern Canada), the alliance is based on peace,
friendship, and mutual respect between the Native American nations:
Hadinyeñ’gegá’ Mohawk, “The People of the Flint”; Hadineňyotga’ Oneida, “The
People of the Upright Stone; Onoñda’gegá” Onondaga, “The People of the Hills”;
Gayogweñģa’geh Cayuga, “The People of the Great Swamp”; and Hadi noñdowa-
neñh Seneca, “The People of the Great Hill” and Hoñdasgaýeñ’ Tuscarora, “The
Shirt Wearing People,” joining the Confederacy in the early 1700s (Neighbors of the
Onondaga Nation, 2014). Positive peace was sought after years of conflict among
the nations. The Founder, The Peacemaker, arrived on the shores of Onondaga Lake
494 S. C. Frain
in a White Stone Canoe. With him, he brought a message of peace, unity, and
democracy known as Gayaneñ•hsä•’gó •nah, the Great Law of Peace, or the “Great
Law.” The Peacemaker instructed the nations to put their weapons down under the
Great Tree of Peace, a white pine, with roots extending in four directions (Skä•noñh –
Great Law of Peace Center, 2019). With peace as the focal principle of the Great
Law, a democratic system of government was formed and continues to advise the
Haudenosaunee peoples. This peace alliance or “security regime” provided an
important structural model for the foundation of American’s representative demo-
cratic system, and influenced the development and drafting of the US Constitution
(Crawford, 1994, p. 346). This early form of officiating positive peace through a
multiparty contract is not included in most US history books.
Haudenosaunee women had a profound effect on “two of the earliest founders of
the US women’s movement”: suffragists Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Matilda Joslyn
Gage. Early women’s suffrage societies – groups who campaigned for the right to
vote – were referred to as “suffragists.” Suffragists believed in peaceful campaign
methods. By the twentieth century, a new generation of activists emerged known as
the “suffragettes” who were willing to take direct, militant action. Witnessing
Haudenosaunee women’s power and role in governance, motivated the nineteenth-
century white feminists to resist their subordinate positions, reject male dominance,
and combat their lack of agency in American and European political culture
(Wagner, 2001). Dr Sally Roesch Wagner outlines in the first section of her anthol-
ogy, The Women’s Suffrage Movement (2019), that “women voted before the United
States was formed” and had a political voice on this land a thousand years ago, and
that is not past tense (5). In a recent speech, she reminded the feminist audience,
Native women were autonomous for centuries (Salam, 2019).
Haudenosaunee women have “equal responsibilities with men in all aspects of
their lives – family, spiritual, government, economic. . . and no treaty would be valid
without the approval of three-fourths of the ‘mothers of the nation’” (Wagner, 1999,
p. 11). The governing Grand Council includes women and men in leadership roles,
with the elder matriarchs responsible for appointing chiefs and holding him to certain
standards with the power to remove him if he fails to measure up (Salam, 2019).
Through a gendered lens, the Haudenosaunee “concepts of ‘gender equality’ and
‘women’s rights’ actually has little meaning. . . it is simply their way of life. Their
egalitarian relationships and their political authority are a reality that, for many
non-Native women, is still something to strive for” (Wagner, 2015).
Learning the early stories of Haudenosaunee positive peace agreements, as well
as the women’s influence on the Western women’s movement, is possible through
decolonized and gendered approaches of Native feminist theories. By acknowledg-
ing that Indigenous womxn have been at the forefront of the struggles against settler
colonialism, heteropatriarchy, and white supremacy, long before the nineteenth
century, Arvin et al., reaffirm, “We do not need permission to be included in feminist
thought or writings; Native feminist theories already inform and have impacted
whitestream feminist theories” (14). Conceptualizing Indigenous women as the
earliest contributors to positive peace, we begin to gather that “almost everything
we know about women’s history is wrong” (Salam, 2019). History is recorded and
repeated within power structures of the United States functioning as a system of

white supremacy, allowing only for a particular type of (white) feminism, while
silencing alternative perspectives and previous contributions.
White Supremacy, the Suffrage Movement, and Contemporary

White Neoliberal Feminism
To briefly untangle how white women have always been involved in white suprem-
acy and continue to operate through ideologies of white superiority, I apply Native
feminist theories to contemporary narratives of online articles featured on US
“mainstream” media platforms. Beginning with historical examples to (re)learn
how white supremacy was fundamental within the creation of the US, and was
prevalent within the Suffrage Movement, I demonstrate how this history continues
today through “whitestream feminist theories” (Arvin et al., 2013, p. 14). The
various forms and descriptions of white feminism as “toxic” and “neoliberal” speaks
to how white women continue not only to exclude and discount other perspectives,
voices, and experiences but become defensive and divisive if challenged. While
magazine outlets, such as Teen Vogue and Harpers Bazaar, include articles about
such issues demonstrates a shift in where the conversation is taking place and indeed
the intended audience. An article in Teen Vogue argues that “For the most part,
women are not mentioned in history. . . when they are upholding a system as violent
and exploitative as white supremacy, they are pretty much ignored altogether”
(Jackson, 2017). However, even when featured in Time Magazine and Al Jazeera
articles, histories previously ignored are considered “opinion pieces” (Saad, 2018).
To merely be considered an “opinion,” reflects how US society continues to enable
white complicity (and comfortability) while the violent systems of power of settler
colonialism, heteropatriarchy, and white supremacy remain the greatest threats to
positive peace.
White Feminism
Early US settler-colonial systems relied on white women to play an active role in

upholding white supremacy while white women’s participation continues. One of
the earliest and most blatant documentations was with the formation of The United
Daughters of the Confederacy in 1894, “one of the most prominent groups to
participate in the preservation and purification of the failed white supremacist
regime” (The United Daughters of the Confederacy, 2019). Earlier, throughout the
four hundred years of enslavement of African peoples, “white women were working
in the plantation household to normalize white supremacy” (Jackson, 2017).
The embracing of white supremacy by white women continued throughout the
much celebrated Suffrage Movement. While notable work and tireless efforts were
made and women devoted their lives to the cause, the historical record is incomplete.
There lacks a proper acknowledgement of the role of Indigenous and womxn of
496 S. C. Frain
color play in creating positive peace, particularly the influential Haudenosaunee

women, an absence of the extensive history of African-American womxn’s efforts
for freedom, and the historical “successes” of the (white) Suffrage Movement
requires a deeper critical analysis.
In the nineteenth century, while white women celebrated their newly gained
rights, black women continued to be “defrauded by voting registrars or were driven
away from registration offices under threat of violence” (Staples, 2019). When the
black suffragist and civil rights leader, March Church Terrell, petitioned her white
sisters for help, they responded that the “disenfranchisement of black women was a
race problem – not a gender problem – and it was beyond the movement”
(McMillian, 2018). The organizers of a huge suffragist parade in Washington in
1913 pushed white supremacist ideologies and “demanded that black participants
march in an all-black assembly at the back of the parade instead of with their state
delegations” (Staples, 2018).
Currently, in the US, headlines of personal and state violence against non-white
people are commonplace, and the news stories rarely gain national attention.
Responding after another tragedy of a Black woman murdered, Rachel Cargle, a
lecturer at Columbia University, posted to her Instagram asking when will “your
white feminists say a single word?” In the caption, she explained, “this is a modern-
day manifestation of the racist roots of feminism. Just as the suffragists routinely
discarded black women from their movement. White feminists have historically only
acknowledged black women when they need them. . . but when it comes to returning
the sisterhood . . . [sic] it’s rarely ever there” (@rachel.cargle, 2018). In response to
her public call to challenge white forms of feminism, others joined, asking white
women to use their online platforms to highlight the tragedy with the “same outrage
of their black feminist allies.” While many did, “there were just as many white
women – women whose bios claim titles like ‘social justice warrior’. . . that some-
how took this call for solidarity as a personal attack” (Cargle, 2018). This form of
“white fragility” explains the white women’s’ defensive responses and denial of their
role and complicity within white supremacist systems (DiAngelo, 2018; Waldman,
2018). White women’s rejection allows oppressive systems to continue.
“White neoliberal feminism” priorities actions and responsibilities to the indi-
vidual rather than as structural or collective. The mutual benefits of dismantling
oppressive systems, a concept central to creating positive peace, is ignored, and
neoliberal feminism fails to disavow “the socioeconomic and cultural structures
shaping our lives” (Rottenberg, 2017). Entangled in this neoliberal mindset is the
justification for separate, white, and privileged forms of feminism and rights,
which are promoted as if the benefits will eventually “trickle-down” to
non-white women.
Why does this history matter and how does it relate to the type of justice needed to
secure positive peace? White supremacist systems, as well as the culture and logic,
survives with the support of white women in the USA. The 2016 election showcases
emboldened support for white supremacy, manifesting through the election of
Donald Trump. Despite his ableism, racism, and sexism, many white women
voted in support for him (Chria, 2017). Further, white supremacy is now considered
a “new global terror threat,” directly hampering global efforts for Indigenous rights,
womxn’s rights, and positive peace (Jipson & Becker, 2019).
The Future of Positive Peace, Rematriate this Space, The White

Supremacy Workbook
This chapter seeks to initiate a (re)understanding of Indigenous and womxn of color

contributions to positive peace, and the models of justice needed to sustain a
peaceful society and environment for future generations in the US. Moving away
from settler-colonial state-centric definitions of “justice,” Native feminist theories
propose space to reflect on settler colonialism, heteropatriarchy, and white suprem-
acy while (re)learning womxn’s histories, from the role white women play in
upholding these oppressive systems, to ongoing contributions of Black, Indigenous,
and womxn of color.
In the pursuit of positive peace, as students and academics, we begin by recog-
nizing “her-story” from diverse voices and experiences which was previously left
out of women’s studies (Mohanty, 1991, 2003). The efforts must be twofold: support
Black, Indigenous, and womxn of color who continue to work for positive peace
through unique processes and methods, and critically assess your participation in
society and the academy in a self-reflective manner. All feminists are encouraged to
“do the consistent work of recognizing that the land upon which they stand is
Indigenous land” (Matozzo, 2019). This type of recognition is possible through
nonjudgmental but critical self-reflection to (re)learn histories and (re)search through
diverse outlets and mediums. A commitment to structural change to dismantle the
oppressive systems of settler colonialism, heteropatriarchy, and white supremacy, is
necessary to achieve positive peace. Self-reflective work occurs within your imme-
diate spaces of (white, academic) privilege. Thankfully, Black, Indigenous and
womxn of color offer downloaded resources, lists, and how-to guides and guidance.
It is white women’s job to seek out these resources and not depend on their “friends”
to educate them.
Currently, Indigenous women of Turtle Island are “rematriating” their spaces and
experiences. Their primary goal is to “return balance to the world or ‘the Sacred to
the Mother’” and are “writing herstory” (Schenandoah et al., 2019). Rematriation
Magazine, a women’s online publication, features stories, videos, podcasts, interac-
tives, and other multi-media “on topics important to Indigenous women”
(Schenandoah et al., 2019). These resources are available to anyone interested in
establishing long-lasting and positive peace. They are “recalling a time when women
and the earth were honored- deepest recognition of all abuses against humanity,
beginning with the indigenous peoples of that land.”
Layla Saad, author of the Me And White Supremacy Workbook, a free and digital
resource, created the “first-of-its-kind personal anti-racism tool for people holding
white privilege to begin to examine and dismantle their complicity” through educa-
tion and personal activism (Saad, 2018). Her words and suggestions have been
498 S. C. Frain
incorporated throughout this chapter as an intentional act to continue to (re)learn and

grow as an “ally.”
Concepts and forms of “allyship” manifest differently for everyone in varying
contexts. Columbia lecturer Rachel Cargle, asks, “what does allyship actually look
like?” She suggests beginning with the acceptance of the reality of the US racists
institutions and power structures.
White skin yields white privilege and an ally is willing to use their privilege to fight with and
for those who are marginalized. Allyship means using your sphere of influence whether it be
your dining room table or the boardroom of your company to call out racist actions and
ideals. Allyship means uplifting the voices and experiences of people of color so that we are
not continuously drowned out and ignored. (Cargle, 2018)
The Montreal Urban Aboriginal Community Strategy Network in Canada created

the Indigenous Ally Toolkit, which explains allyship (to them) in three simple steps:
1. Be critical of any motivations.

2. Start learning.
3. Act accordingly. (Deer, 2019).
In addressing the central two questions of the chapter, what are the barriers to
positive peace and how have/do Black, Indigenous, and womxn of color contribute
(d) to positive peace?; I offered a brief historical overview and encourage further
inquiry of how Black, Indigenous, and womxn of color contribute to positive peace.
Through US Native feminist theories, the barriers to positive peace are settler
colonialism and heteropatriarchy, white supremacy. Finally, from a self-reflective
space of privilege, I conclude that to remain compliant within the system of
oppression, while attempting to advocate for positive peace, is not an option.
“Wherever feminist conversations are, wherever social movements are, remember
Indigenous women, and remember Indigenous peoples. Acknowledge them. Then
pass the mic” (Manning, 2018, p. 3).
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Disability Rights: Positive Peace Through
a Disability Lens 26
Roberta Francis Watene
Contents
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 502
Disability: An Overview . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 503
Positive Peace Through a Disability Lens . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 505
Developing a Culture of Inclusivity and Accessibility in Research and Practice . . . . . . . . . . . . . 507
What Can Peace Researchers and Practitioners Do About It? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 508
Who Is in? Who Is Out? And Why? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 509
Adopt a Rights-Based Understanding of Disability . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 509
Develop a Twin-Track Approach to Inclusion and Access . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 509
Ensure Research and Practice Is Transformative and Led by Disabled People
Themselves . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 512
Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 513
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 513
Abstract
According to the founding figure of peace and conflict studies, positive peace
refers to the absence of direct, structural, and cultural violence, as well as the
presence of social justice (Galtung, J Peace Res 6(3):167–191, 1969; J Peace Res
27(3):291–305, 1990; Peace, negative and positive. In: Young NJ (eds) The
Oxford international encyclopedia of peace. Oxford University Press, Oxford,
UK, 2010). But what does this mean for the diversity of human experience? It is
conservatively estimated that 15% of the global population lives with some form
of disability, the largest minority in the world (WHO, Disability and health.
Retrieved from http://www.who.int/mediacentre/factsheets/fs352/en/, 2018).
However, evidence suggests that even during times of “peace,” disabled people
experience higher rates of direct, structural, and cultural violence than the non-
disabled majority. With this in mind, the aim of this chapter is to provide a
R. Francis Watene (*)

Donald Beasley Institute, Dunedin, New Zealand
e-mail: rfrancis@donaldbeasley.org.nz
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_26
502 R. Francis Watene
platform from which an important and critical discussion about the role of
disabled people within positive peace research, literature, and practice can take
place. The chapter begins with an overview of disability, before violence and
peace is examined through a disability lens. Practical suggestions on how to
ensure peace research and practice is sensitive to inclusivity and accessibility are
then provided, before a call to action is presented to those who are actively
building cultures of positive peace within their communities and beyond.
Keywords
Positive peace · Galtung · Disability · Disablism · Ableism · Violence · United
Nations Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities (UNCRPD) ·
Universal Design · Inclusive peace
Introduction
What if it were me? This was the question racing through my mind as I examined the
photo of a damaged blue wheelchair balanced precariously on top of concrete and
rubble. The article below the photograph detailed how a group home for disabled
people had been targeted by an aerial missile attack during a protracted conflict.
According to eye witnesses and neighbors, the residents of the home were terrified
and confused. There was no way they could escape (French Press Agency 2014).
As I studied the image, a feeling of uneasiness began to grow. I too was born with
a disability – a congenital condition called phocomelia, which left my bones
underdeveloped and malformed. I learned to walk on a prosthetic leg that became
familiarly known as “Lucy Leg” and have always known that my right foot may
need to be amputated too. Would I have been able to escape an aerial missile attack?
Perhaps not.
Unable to erase the scene from my mind, I put my research skills to work.
Drawing on literature from a variety of academic disciplines, together with anecdotal
evidence and grey literature (such as media and field reports), two recurring narra-
tives began to emerge. The first acknowledged that disabled people are among the
most marginalized and neglected populations during times of war, conflict, and
displacement (Shivji 2010). The second narrative emphasized the absence of dis-
abled people’s voices from literature and research pertaining to conflict, flight,
displacement, return, resolution, and peacebuilding (Crock et al. 2012, 2015,
2017; Gottschalk 2007; Grove et al. 2010; Francis 2019; Reilly 2010; Shivji 2010;
Simmons 2010; World Institute on Disability 2014; Yeo 2017).
With these narratives in mind, the aim of this chapter is to provide a platform from
which an important and critical discussion about the role of disabled people within
positive peace research, literature, and practice can take place. The chapter begins
with an overview of disability, before violence and peace is examined through a
disability lens. Practical suggestions on how to ensure peace research and practice is
sensitive to inclusivity and accessibility are then provided, before a call to action is
26 Disability Rights: Positive Peace Through a Disability Lens 503
presented to those who are actively building cultures of positive peace within their
communities and beyond.
Disability: An Overview
It is estimated that 15% of the global population lives with some form of disability –
over one billion people (World Health Organization 2018) – making it the largest
minority in the world (United Nations n.d.). Although there is no universally
accepted definition of disability, this chapter draws on terminology used by the
United Nations Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities (UNCRPD).
By the UNCRPD’s definition, disabled people include:
[T]hose who have long-term physical, mental, intellectual or sensory impairments which in
interaction with various barriers may hinder their full and effective participation in society on
an equal basis with others (United Nations 2006, Article 1).
While “persons with disabilities” is the formal term used by the UNCRPD
(person-first language), in Aotearoa New Zealand “disabled people” is more com-
monly used (identity-first language)
The use of this definition is significant – not only was the UNCRPD developed
by, and in collaboration with, disabled people themselves, but it also firmly embraces
the ethos of the social and human rights models of disability (Degener 2016, 2017).
“Models of disability” are key concepts found in disability studies literature and the
disability sector. These help people to articulate their thoughts and ideas in relation to
impairment, and ultimately, form the basis from which responses and strategies can
be devised (Amponsah-Bediako 2013).
Although models can be a useful tool for understanding societal perceptions, not
all models are considered beneficial. Take, for example, the moral model of disabil-
ity which perceives impairment through a theological lens. That is, as a manifesta-
tion of sin, karma, or of divine favor (Bhanushali 2007; Mackelprang 2014; Olkin
1999). As one of the oldest, yet most persistent, models of disability, impairment is
considered to be a moral relapse or divine punishment, often leading to shame,
segregation, and denial of basic needs and rights (Bhanushali 2007; Olkin 1999,
2012). Similarly, the charity model considers disabled people as victims of their
impairment (Duyan 2007). Disability is a tragedy or misfortune, and the nondisabled
majority must assist in any way possible to fix or alleviate the concerned individual’s
suffering (Clare 2001; Duyan 2007). Disabled people are seen as “helpless victims”
(Davis 2013, p. 246), leading to feelings of sympathy and ultimately, the devaluation
of life (Henderson and Bryan 2011).
The medical model, on the other hand, is perhaps the most commonly held view
which considers impairment as a problem located within an individual that should be
fixed, managed, or eradicated through medical intervention (Garland-Thomson
2012; Smart 2009; Watermeyer 2013). However, during the disability rights move-
ment of the 1960s–1980s the notion of disability as an individual pathological
problem was unequivocally challenged and rejected by disabled people around the
world (Bickenbach 2000; Degener 2016). In response, the social model of disability
was developed. Championed by the slogan, “nothing about us, without us,” the
social model sees disability as a social creation. The primary focus of this model are
the social conditions that cause disability and the subsequent denial of disabled
people’s basic rights (Olkin 1999; Shakespeare 2013). As a model it challenges
society to think about how it can remove disabling barriers that restrict life choices
for disabled members of the community (Shakespeare 2013; Watermeyer 2013).
More recently, scholars have extended their discussions on the social model to
include the relational nature of disability and impairment within a human rights
framework (Degener 2017). The social relational model of disability moves away
from dialogue on impairment and disability as distinctly separate entities, and
towards discussions of power. Within the social relational model, disability is
defined as “[. . .] a form of social oppression involving the social imposition of
restrictions of activity on people with impairments and the socially endangered
undermining of their psychoemotional well-being” (Thomas 1999, p. 60). As such,
disability is caused when people with impairments are restricted by society from
participating in activities, and the effect that this has on the sense of self, identity,
self-esteem, and existential security (Thomas 2004a). Impairment effects, on the other
hand, refer to the restriction of activity that arise directly from impairment. For many
people, the lived experience of disability is therefore the interaction between, and the
accumulative impact of, disability as well as impairment effects (Thomas 1999).
As shown by these models, the way in which disability is perceived can have
critical and real-life consequences for disabled people. Even though the disability
rights movement and the development of the social model helped to advance a
significant shift in societal perceptions towards impairment, globally disabled people
continue to report being treated as “second-class citizens” (Isaac 2016) or “half-
citizens” (Py 2020). For example, research continues to show that disabled people
have lower health outcomes, lower education achievements, low economic partici-
pation, as well as higher rates of poverty, than any other sector of society (World
Health Organization 2017). This is especially true for those who experience
intersecting nondominant identities relating to disability, gender, ethnicity, sexual
preference, and so on.
So, why do disabled people experience such low socioeconomic outcomes when
compared to the nondisabled majority? Finkelstein (1980) posits that the marginali-
zation of disabled people developed over three key economic technological phases of
history: preindustrial feudal society, industrial capitalism, and postindustrial society.
As humankind transitioned between feudalism and Western capitalism, the consider-
able changes in politics, economy, and culture fostered the development of a lower
class of people who were considered redundant and dependant due to their inability to
contribute to the capitalist labor force (Finkelstein 1980; Thomas 2004b). A more
recent line of scholarship proposed by Campbell (2001) adds to this theory by
including “ableism” as a primary cause of marginalization, an ideology that projects
the “able-bodied” and “sound-minded” individual as being perfect, species-typical and
therefore fully human. While ableism refers to the preferential treatment of certain
abilities, those who deviate from acceptable standards and attributes – such as
productivity and competitiveness – are considered to be in a “diminished state of
being human” (Campbell 2001, p. 44). Take, for example, the Nazi euthanasia
program carried out in Germany during the early twentieth century, which attempted
to eliminate impairment based on the argument that disabled people made no contri-
bution to society. As a result, disabled people were “perceived as ‘useless eaters’ of
resources without capital to contribute to the human lot” (Johnstone 2001, p. 88). This
example also demonstrates the real-life impact of ableism, often referred to as
“disablism” meaning the “discriminatory, oppressive or abusive behaviour arising
from the belief that disabled people are inferior to others” (Miller et al. 2004, p. 9).
While disablism can be expressed in blatant ways (such as the brutal elimination of
“useless eaters”), it can also manifest in subtle and aversive ways. For example, in
much the same way that aversive racists may feel discomfort, uneasiness, disgust, or
fear towards people of color, aversive or subtle disablism elicits feelings of fear, pity,
and disgust towards disabled people (Gaertner and Dovidio 2000; Hughes 2012).
Positive Peace Through a Disability Lens
With ableist ideologies so deeply entrenched in historical norms and customs, and
with disablism as prevalent as it is, it is perhaps unsurprising then that disabled
people are among the most significantly affected by conflict and violence, and the
most excluded from peace research and practice (Francis 2019).
As highlighted by Francis (2018, 2019), to consider peace through a disability
lens it is possible, and in fact mutually beneficial, to draw together literature from
Disability Studies and Peace and Conflict Studies, to explore the links between the
two disciplines and understand the relationship between them. To do this, Francis
and other scholars have made use of Galtung’s violence triangle (Brittain 2012;
Francis 2018, 2019; Kerr 2013). In 1996, Galtung, considered to be the founding
figure of Peace and Conflict Studies, defined violence as “avoidable insults to basic
human needs, and more generally to life” (p. 197). Throughout his works Galtung
reiterates that there are different types of violence, such as direct, structural, and
cultural violence, and that even though each type has different characteristics and
perpetrators, they all serve to threaten life and basic human needs. The first type of
violence, known as direct or personal violence, refers to violent behavior such as
killing, maiming, and physical harm. That is, tangible acts of violence that are
committed by an identifiable perpetrator. It is the most visible and obvious type of
violence and includes any verbal, emotional, and physical violence that harms the
body, mind, and spirit (Galtung 1996). While the threat of violence exists in all
communities, it is of particular concern to disabled people, with anecdotal and
academic evidence showing that disabled people experience the same, if not higher,
rates of physical and sexual violence than their nondisabled peers (Hughes et al.
2012; Plummer and Findley 2012).
Structural violence refers to structures and systems that hinder some groups of
people from equitable access to life opportunities that would otherwise enable them
to have their basic needs met (Galtung 1969, 1990, 2010). Although structural
violence has real victims, it is a less overt, more subtle type of violence, with no
single concrete or identifiable perpetrator. However, it is still destructive of human
life (Galtung 1969; Høivik 1977). It is the injustice and exploitation built into social
systems that benefit some and not others based on class, ethnicity, gender, and
nationality (Hathaway 2013), as well as “abilities” (Brittain 2012; Francis 2018,
2019; Kerr 2013). Like direct violence, structural violence against disabled people is
widespread. Take, for example, the exclusion of disabled children from mainstream
schooling systems and the subsequent inequity of educational opportunities
(Nordenrot 2016); the absence of disabled people from sporting activities (Brittain
2012); or the experiences of offenders with intellectual, neuro, and psychosocial
disabilities within justice systems (Ortoleva 2010).
The third type of violence identified by Galtung is cultural violence. These are the
symbolic aspects of a culture that are exemplified through its religion, law, language,
art, science, and cosmology, and is enabled by institutions such as schools, univer-
sities, and the media (Galtung 1996; Galtung and Fischer 2013). Galtung’s work on
cultural violence helps provide a theoretical understanding for how prominent
beliefs can become so deeply embedded within a culture that they are considered
absolute and inevitable, and reproduced uncritically across generations (DeRoy and
Henry 2018; Galtung 1990). For example, as discussed earlier in the chapter the
moral, charitable, and medical models of disability have been strongly rejected by
many within the disability community for being what Galtung might describe as
culturally violent and ableist (Francis 2018, 2019). Most significantly, “Cultural
violence makes direct and structural violence look, even feel, right – or at least not
wrong” (Galtung 1990, p. 291). When all three types of violence are considered
through a Disability Studies lens, direct, structural, and cultural violence can be
represented by the triangle below (Fig. 1).
This leads us to the next question: What does disability have to do with positive
peace? In his writings, Galtung differentiates between two types of peace: negative
and positive. Negative peace, he says, is when there is no direct violence (Galtung
2010). This mindset holds that if there is no physical violence, then there must be
peace. Alternatively, positive peace refers to the total absence of all types of violence –
direct, structural, and cultural – as well as the presence of social justice (Galtung
1969, 1990, 2010). Galtung also holds that one of the major tasks of peace research
and the peace movement is the ongoing search for a culture of positive peace:
If the opposite of violence is peace, the subject matter of peace research/peace studies, then the
opposite of cultural violence would be ‘cultural peace’, meaning aspects of a culture that serve
to justify and legitimize direct peace and structural peace. If many and diverse aspects of that
kind are found in a culture, we can refer to it as a ‘peace culture’. (Galtung 1990, p. 291)
I draw attention to Galtung’s reference to the “many and diverse aspects” of a

“peace culture” as it seems appropriate to deduce that for peace to be positive it must
not only embrace diversity, but it must also be inclusive of, and accessible to, all
people. However, with research repeatedly showing that disabled people are dispro-
portionately affected by direct, structural, and cultural violence both during times of
Fig. 1 Galtung’s violence triangle (1990) through a disability lens (Francis 2018, 2019). [Image
Description] A picture of a triangle. The bottom right corner of the triangle reads “Disablism
(Structural Violence),” the bottom left corner reads “Ableism (Cultural Violence),” and the top
corner of the triangle reads “Disability Hate Crimes (Direct Violence).” (A picture of a triangle. The
bottom right corner of the triangle reads “Disablism (Structural Violence),” the bottom left corner
reads “Ableism (Cultural Violence),” and the top corner of the triangle reads “Disability Hate
Crimes (Direct Violence)”)
conflict, as well as during times of “peace,” it is pertinent to reconsider the legiti-

macy of peace that is afforded to some and not to others (Francis 2018, 2019).
Developing a Culture of Inclusivity and Accessibility in Research

and Practice
While there are many examples of violence that could be discussed, the final aspect
of this chapter addresses a type of structural violence that has been maintained and
perpetuated by academia itself. The examples of structural violence under examina-
tion are the barriers disabled people experience when participating in, and contrib-
uting to, research and practice – a form of structural violence legitimized by ableism
(cultural violence). For example, a 2018 review of relevant peace literature and
journals revealed that there has been little to no consideration of disabled people
within research and practice. Furthermore, existing references generally reflected a
medical model understanding of disability (Francis 2018, 2019).
The absence of the disability voice from peace research and practice is problem-
atic. For many years field workers and disability activists have called for the
inclusion of disabled people in humanitarian response during conflict and crisis. In
2016, more than 220 governments and nongovernmental organizations (NGOs)
signed the Charter on Inclusion of Persons with Disabilities in Humanitarian Action
(2016), in which stakeholders made a commitment to:
[R]eaffirm our determination to make humanitarian action inclusive of persons with disabil-
ities and to take all steps to meet their essential needs and promote the protection, safety and
respect for the dignity of persons with disabilities in situations of risk, including situations of
armed conflict, humanitarian emergencies and the occurrence of natural disasters. (p. 1)
In 2019, this was followed by the publication of guidelines on the Inclusion of

Persons with Disabilities in Humanitarian Action, established by the Inter-Agency
Standing Committee (IASC). As highlighted in the guidelines, a key aspect of this is
ensuring research includes quality data on the experiences of disabled people
affected by violence:
To monitor inclusion, data on barriers and on the requirements of persons with disabilities
are essential. Humanitarian data should include disaggregated data on disability to ensure
that humanitarian action planning, implementation and monitoring are accessible to and
include persons with disabilities. Data and information on risks and barriers faced by persons
with disabilities should also be collected and analysed. This will strengthen humanitarian
stakeholders’ understanding of the barriers to inclusion, which in turn will enable them to
remove them effectively and adopt measures to promote inclusion. (IASC 2019, p. 21)
While the guidelines represent a historical shift towards inclusion and equitable
opportunity for marginalized populations affected by violence or disaster, as previ-
ously highlighted, the reviewed literature suggests that peace research and practice is
yet to actively embrace inclusivity and accessibility. Not only is this detrimental to
the pursuit of positive peace for the obvious reason that disabled people are entitled
to the same rights under the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, as all humans
are, but also because such exclusion results in the loss of unique solutions and ideas
that are of benefit to the whole of society. Indeed, anecdotal evidence suggests that
the very nature of being disabled in a world designed for the nondisabled majority
helps to develop unparalleled problem-solving skills:
[People with disabilities] have a unique insight into problems in a frequency that is multiples
of what the average person will experience every day of their lives [. . .]This means that we
are constantly engaged in solving hard problems and constantly planning ahead for eventu-
alities in a world which is in many cases uncertain. It’s probably fair to say that people with
disabilities are some of the best forward-planners and problem-solvers in our society. (Joyce
2019)
What Can Peace Researchers and Practitioners Do About It?
Changing deeply embedded ableist ideologies that have been uncritically inherited
across generations is challenging and time consuming (Galtung 1990; Symonides
and Singh 1996). Having established the importance of diversity and inclusion as
key aspects of a peace culture, there are some simple and practical steps that positive
peacebuilders can take in order to familiarize themselves with the models of disabil-
ity, as well as the epistemological underpinnings of ableism as it applies to not only
disability, but also other marginalized groups (Francis 2018, 2019).
Who Is in? Who Is Out? And Why?
In his writings Slee (2011) encourages readers to reflect on who is included, who is
excluded, and why. When applied within peace and conflict research and practice
this might begin with a reflection on one’s own perceptions of what is “normal” and
what is “different.” This might involve actively looking for how people with diverse
life experiences are represented and portrayed within relevant literature, as well as
seeking out social and cultural perceptions that may impact research participants or
the target audience of the peacebuilding activity at hand. If disabled people, for
example, are absent from the literature or activity, their absence should first be
noticed, before investigating why they are neither present nor participating. What
systems have led to their absence, and how does this impact the wider pursuit of
positive peace (Francis 2018)?
Adopt a Rights-Based Understanding of Disability
The next aspect of developing a culture of inclusivity and accessibility within

positive peace research and practice is reviewing one’s own assumptions about
disability and impairment. Earlier in this chapter common models of disability
were briefly examined. Take, for example, the moral, charity, and medical models
of disability which are regarded by many disabled people as upholding harmful
stereotypes and misconceptions (Retief and Letšosa 2018; Seale 2006). However,
there are also other ways of thinking about disability and impairment that have been
developed by disabled people themselves, and that are considered to be beneficial in
the pursuit of positive peace (Francis 2018, 2019). For example, the rights-based
model of disability moves beyond the social model by providing a foundational
argument as to why disabled people have an inherent right to be legally recognized
before the law (Degener 2017). As reflected in the United Nations Conventions on
the Rights of Persons with Disabilities (UNCRPD), the human rights model of
disability encompasses both sets of human rights: civil and political, as well as
economic, social, and cultural (Degener 2016, 2017). Furthermore, the human rights
model holds that access to basic human needs is a right rather than an act of charity.
The model focuses on empowerment, which in the context of peace research and
practice requires scholars and practitioners to ensure the participation of disabled
people as active stakeholders. Second, the model calls for accountability, referring to
the duty of positive peacebuilders to uphold the rights of disabled people at all times,
while continuing to justify the quality of the implementation of those rights (Miller
and Ziegler 2006; Francis 2018, 2019).
Develop a Twin-Track Approach to Inclusion and Access
Having noted the absence of disabled people, reviewed personal and societal
perceptions of disability and impairment, and adopted a rights-based approach to
inclusion, the next step is to put concrete measures in place to ensure the presence
and meaningful participation of disabled people. The twin-track approach has been
utilized globally as a framework for ensuring disabled people have equitable access
and opportunity in any given circumstance (Francis 2018, 2019). The twin-track
approach recognizes that research should be designed in a way that all people can
participate in a full and meaningful way, while also recognizing that for some people
the nature of their impairment means that extra support is needed (CBM 2012). For
example, the national 2016–2026 New Zealand Disability Strategy defines a twin-
track approach as:
[M]aking sure mainstream services and supports are inclusive of, and accessible to, us and
that services and supports that are specific to us as disabled people are also available. This
approach is not about having to choose between the specific or mainstream option; rather it is
about having the right access to the right high quality support or service, at the right time and
in the right place. Some of us do not need any specialised supports or services, whereas some
of us do so that we can access mainstream opportunities. Our needs for either or both can
change over time too. (Office for Disability Issues 2016, p. 21)
The twin-track approach can be easily applied in positive peace research and
practice. For example, the first track embodies universal design, meaning “[. . .] the
design of products, environments, programs and services to be usable by all people,
to the greatest extent possible, without the need for adaptation or specialized design”
(United Nations 2006, Article 2). Universal design is good design that works for
everyone from the outset, rather than retrofitting for accessibility. Within research
and practice it is about ensuring all content and activities are accessible to, under-
stood by, and used to the greatest extent possible by everyone, without adaptation or
requiring little adaptation (Office for Disability Issues 2016; Francis 2018, 2019).
Within the context of research, universal design values can be applied at all stages
of the research process. From calls to participate, advertisements, information sheets,
and consent forms to interview and event locations, meetings, and peacebuilding
activities. For example:
• Plain language: Plain language is a style of writing in which the wording,

structure, and design of verbal or written information all works together to assist
the participant. A document written in plain language is easy to read, understand,
and act on after just one reading (Plain Language Association International 2020).
Plain language allows people who have low literacy or who do not speak the
presented language fluently, who are senior citizens, or people who live with
intellectual, neuro, or sensory disabilities, to participate more easily because the
information is easier to understand.
• Accessible text: For participants who are blind, have vision impairments, or low
vision, all digital information, communication, and content should be easily
accessed by screen-reader technology. Screen readers are software programs
that allow people with vision impairments to read the text that is displayed on
the electronic device with a speech synthesizer or Braille display. Often referred
to as “image descriptions” (Stanford 2020), all digital images should be described
using written text or the alt attribute – a phrase or sentence that is attached to an
image or element so that people who are using screen readers can identify what is
in the image (Slatin 2001). With regards to written communication, all extra
digital content (such as email attachments) should be provided in a “.doc format,”
as graphs, images, and Portable Document Formats (PDFs) cannot be recognized
by a screen reader. For people with low vision, the contrast, font, spacing, and size
of digital and print text are important; the larger, more spaced out, and contrasting
the text is, the easier it is for all people to see (Blind Low Vision NZ 2020).
• Captions: To ensure the participation of people who are D/deaf or hard of hearing
(HoH), all video and audio content should be captioned (In Deaf culture, there are
two different spellings for the word deaf. “Deaf” (with a capital D) refers to Deaf
culture, and those who identify with that culture. Alternatively, “deaf” (with a
small d) is often used to refer to people who do not identify with Deaf culture
(Ladd 2003).). This is also helpful for people who are not fluent in the spoken
language, as well as others whose comprehension is enhanced by print, audio, and
visual media.
• Accessible venues: Interviews, events, activities, and meetings should be held in
accessible locations. This includes ensuring there is easy and dignified access in
and out of the venue, at least one accessible bathroom, mobility parking, or the
provision of transport for individuals who cannot travel independently.
• Sign language interpreters: When advertising research or events, ensuring that
any advertisement or invitation states that access supports are available upon
request will provide disabled people with the opportunity to participate. For
example, a Deaf participant may need a sign language interpreter to participate
in a research interview.
• Data collection: As previously highlighted, collecting comprehensive data is an
important aspect of understanding the diverse needs of a population (IASC 2019;
United Nations 2006, Article 31). All peace research and data should not only be
disaggregated by traditional demographic details, but also by disability and
diverse life experiences (with participants’ permission) (Lee and Pearce 2017).
This will help peace researchers and practitioners to understand the unique needs,
perspectives, and rights of the disability community and will help to inform
strategies and action plans that are inclusive and generative of change.
The second track of the twin-track approach recognizes that some people will need
unique or specific supports to be able to participate in peace research and practice.
When coupled with universal design, disability-specific supports can ensure a more
equitable, inclusive, and accessible experience for everyone. Within the context of
qualitative research this means providing specific supports so disabled people can be
included in, and contribute to, positive peacebuilding. Listed below are examples of
ways that track two provisions can be applied within research (Fig. 2).
• Easy read: Easy read is a form of communication designed to support people with
intellectual and learning disabilities so that they can better understand written
information. While it uses the same principles as plain language, easy read builds
on this by utilizing pictures instead of words, clear spaces, fewer words, and no
jargon or acronyms. Easy read benefits people who find reading and
Fig. 2 Example of Easy Read

(Francis 2018, p. 225). [Image
Description] A screen shot of
a page from the author’s Easy
Read summary of their
doctoral research. The title
reads: “Why am I doing this
research?” Below the title are
the following four key points
and two pictures. “I have lived
in places of war,” “War is
where people fight and hurt
each other” (image of a
soldier), “This made me
wonder:”, “what happens to
disabled people during war?”
(Image of a person thinking)
understanding written information a challenge and can also be useful for people
who have low literacy levels, are not fluent in the presented language, senior
citizens, people who use sign language, or who have sensory conditions (People
First New Zealand n.d.). For example, the image above shows an example of easy
read used within a Peace and Conflict studies doctoral thesis:
• Comforting experience: Some people with neuro disabilities may not feel com-
fortable in certain environments due to lighting, noises, crowded spaces, long
queues, and so on. Careful planning around environments and sensory elements
can help reduce triggers or stress and can ensure that the individual and their
family can participate fully.
• Accessible information: It is important to invest in multisensory and flexible
options for participant recruitment, data collection, reflexivity processes, and
final outputs (Williams and Moore 2011). This includes Braille, augmented
communication devices, sign language interpreters, and video and audio media.
Ensure Research and Practice Is Transformative and Led by Disabled

People Themselves
A final aspect of developing inclusive and accessible positive peace research is

actively avoiding research that elicits information from disabled people (and other
marginalized communities) without working towards changing their social situation
(Oliver 1992). Historically, research relating to disability has been led by non-
disabled researchers (Oliver 1992; Kitchin 2000). This chapter has suggested that
inclusive and accessible research and practice begins by understanding who is in,
who is out, and why (Slee 2011); establishing a rights-based understanding of
disability; and employing a twin-track approach to research and practice design.
However, it does not end here. Developing a peace culture also means ensuring
disabled people are supported to lead their own research agendas (Nind and Vinha
2014); that we are present and participating in all matters that affect us; and that
selected methodologies and processes are transformative and contribute to change
(Mertens et al. 2011, Oliver 1992; Stace 2011). With this in mind, positive peace
researchers and practitioners are being presented with a unique opportunity to not
only embrace diversity through the inclusion of marginalized populations, but also to
lead the way in fostering the development of disabled researchers and practitioners.
In doing so, we are ensuring that the path to a culture of inclusive and accessible
positive peace is driven by lived experience.
Conclusion
This chapter has provided a platform for an important conversation to begin. It has
argued in favor of inclusive and accessible peace cultures, by proposing that peace
cannot be positive unless it is both these things. After providing a brief overview of
disability, the experience of disability was then contextualized within Galtung’s
violence tringle, highlighting the direct, structural, and cultural violence experienced
by disabled people, both during times of peace and times of conflict. Four recom-
mendations were made to inspire the development of peace research and practice that
is inclusive and accessible to all people. As highlighted by Catalina Devandas
(2017), former United Nations Special Rapporteur on the Rights of Persons with
Disabilities, “When we advance the rights of persons with disabilities, we are
advancing the rights of every single group in society.” A culture of inclusive and
accessible peace significantly levels the playing field, not only for disabled people
but for all people who have felt sidelined within peace research and practice. In this
way, there is no telling how significant the impact of an inclusive and accessible
positive peace movement might be.
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Indigenous Rights: Colonial Chimera? The
Illusion of Positive Peace in a Settler 27
Colonial Context
Pounamu Jade William Emery Aikman
HE TOHU MAHARA | DEDICATION

Ko ēnei kōrero e whai ake nei he takohatanga ā-ngākau ki
ngā tāngata taketake ake katoa puta noa i te ao, e mau pū ana
ki te mana motuhake, waihoki ngā uri o te kohu o Te Urewera,
koutou e noho taumaru ana ki raro i ōu pae maunga – ko
Huiarau, ko Panekire, ko Manawaru, ko Parekohe, ko
Tahora, ko Hao-ki-taha, ko Pukenuioraho – karanga mai rā
ki tēnei uri! Nā koutou, Te Kāinga o te Riri, arā, Te Rua Toki o
Te Tai o Ruamano au i manaaki, i tiaki, i whakatuwheratia
mai rā te kuaha o te tika, o te pono, o te māramatanga katoa,
kīhai i mau i te pōuri. Me i kore au i a koutou.
This chapter is dedicated to the multitudinous sovereign
Indigenous peoples across the planet, and particularly to the
illustrious Ngāi Tūhoe people of the Ruatoki Valley in
Aotearoa New Zealand who so generously shared their time,
energy, experiences, and perspectives of the world with
me. My heartfelt salutations to you all.
Contents
Landed Sovereignty . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 520
Negative and Positive Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 520
Invisibility of Structural Violence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 521
Patriarchal White Sovereignty . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 523
Perpetual Indigenous Dispossession . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 523
Peace in Our Time: Colonial Chimera? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 528
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 528
P. J. W. E. Aikman (*)
Wellington, New Zealand
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_27
520 P. J. W. E. Aikman
Abstract
In this discussion, I emphasize that positive peace in settler colonial contexts is
unrealizable without meaningfully addressing the dispossession of land and the
precipitated impacts of colonization upon Indigenous peoples. Drawing from my
research on the New Zealand settler colonial state (Aikman, Sites: J Soc Anthropol
Cult Stud 14(1):56–79, 2017; Terra in our Mist: a Tūhoe Narrative of Indigenous
sovereignty and state violence [Doctoral thesis]. Australian National University,
Canberra, 2019), I demonstrate how structural and overt violence continues to
typify Māori existence. This frustrates the desire to strive for peace in any form,
which is why addressing these historic, colonial injustices is the fundamental
precursor before reflecting on the possibility of positive peace in Aotearoa.
Keywords
Indigenous resistance · Settler state violence · Colonization · Positive peace ·
Indigenous sovereignty · Aotearoa New Zealand
Landed Sovereignty
Land is the central, defining feature of Indigenous existence, its dispossession

inversely the hallmark of colonization across the peopled, non-European world
(Aikman, 2019; Binney, 2009; Mills, 2011). I am repeatedly reminded of this amidst
the demands from Indigenous peoples for land and resources to be returned to their
rightful stewards (Carasik, 2016; Haunui-Thompson, 2019; Lindeman, 2020; Stew-
art, 2019), and equally so upon a deliberation of positive peace in a settler colonial
setting. In this chapter, I emphasize that positive peace in settler colonial contexts is
unrealizable without meaningfully addressing the dispossession of land and the
precipitated impacts of colonization upon Indigenous peoples. Drawing from my
research on the New Zealand settler colonial state (Aikman, 2017, 2019), I demon-
strate how structural and overt violence continues to typify Māori existence. By
“settler colonial state,” I am referring to a system of government, such as a Parlia-
mentary democracy, founded upon the dispossession of Indigenous lands, peoples,
and ways of life. This incapacitates the desire to strive for peace in any form, which
is why addressing these historic, colonial injustices is the fundamental precursor to
this process. I begin with an explanation of Johan Galtung’s concept of negative and
positive peace, before turning to explore how neither of these modalities is present
for Māori in Aotearoa New Zealand.
Negative and Positive Peace
Preeminently recognized as a world authority on peace and conflict, and lauded as

the founder of the discipline in the same name, Norwegian scholar Johan Galtung
has long dedicated himself to the study and exploration of peace (Galtung, 1967,
27 Indigenous Rights: Colonial Chimera? The Illusion of Positive Peace in a. . . 521
1969, 2000, 2015; Galtung & Fischer, 2013a, b; Kappler, 2017; Miall, 2011). Early
in the development of his scholarship, Galtung identified a distinction between
negative peace – the “. . .absence of direct (physical) violence” (Kappler, 2017,
p. 2) – and positive peace, or “the absence of structural violence . . . [and] the
presence of conditions in which people can realize their potential” (Miall, 2011,
p. 2; Galtung, 1969). As Stefanie Kappler observes, while negative peace is charac-
terized by the absence of overt violence and conflict, violence may still be effected
through the machinations of structural disadvantage and inequity, which, by their
nature, are far “less visible manifestations” (Kappler, 2017, p. 2) of what we might
understand violence to be.
Invisibility of Structural Violence
In settler colonial situations, this “invisibility” and “opacity” blinds many from fully
appreciating the disadvantage and discrimination Indigenous peoples have long
suffered, and continue to do so, at the expense of settler colonialization (see
Moreton-Robinson, 2005). (As in other contexts, but I speak here from my own
research base.) As it cannot be obviously “seen,” the fallacy often arises that
structural violence – that is, the institutional precipitation of harm through the
absence or lack of support and resources for Indigenous peoples, effected across
state and private sectors – does not exist at all. In this vein, a cry of voices demands
that Indigenous peoples be “grateful” for the “beneficence” given to them by the
settler state, expressed variously, for example, through expected indebtedness for
“civilising” a “savage” people (!), return of land and assets, or the state’s other token
forms of redressing historic colonial injustices. Perspectives such as these are either
ignorant of structural inequity, and how this intergenerationally precipitates vio-
lence, or outright dismisses such a possibility in the first place. This, again, tends to
rest on the implicit assumption that as structural inequity cannot be easily pointed to
and “seen,” it does not exist.
On the other hand, the state’s redress of historic injustices against Indigenous
peoples is immediately visible, through mechanisms such as Treaty of Waitangi
settlements, made conspicuous in the public eye through media and political
attention (see New Zealand National Party, 2020; Small, 2019). (“Treaty settle-
ments” refer to the Crown’s redress of historic breaches of its promises to Māori
under the Treaty of Waitangi. For more detail, see https://www.govt.nz/browse/
history-culture-and-heritage/treaty-of-waitangi-claims/settling-historical-treaty-of-
waitangi-claims/). This visibility, articulated as much in news publishing as in
chambers of political discourse, presents apparently compelling evidence that
Indigenous peoples receive more than they deserve, at the expense of “ordinary”
citizens. The way this typically unfolds in New Zealand is by white settler interests
decrying what has been termed “Māori entitlement,” perceived to be unfair
distribution of state support for Māori at the expense of Pākehā (New Zealanders
of British European descent) and non-Māori in New Zealand. (While my scholarly
training beseeches me to provide references for this statement, my own “politics of
citation” insists that I do not give these perspectives more oxygen than they have
already consumed. A simple Internet search of “Māori entitlement,” unfortunately,
more than suffices.) In one recent instance, property mogul and former politician
Sir Bob Jones authored an article insinuating “Māori should be grateful to Pākehā
for existing” (Johnsen, 2020a), calling for Waitangi Day – the annual national
commemoration of the signing of the Treaty of Waitangi in 1840, from whence
British presumed representatives of Māori ceded their sovereignty (they did not) –
to be renamed “Māori Gratitude Day.” Filmmaker Renae Maihi initiated a petition
calling for the revocation of Jones’ knighthood, receiving in excess of 88,000
signatures. Despite admitting to having never read the petition, Jones brought legal
proceedings against Maihi, claiming she had defamed him by “calling him a
racist” (Johnsen, 2020a). Jones withdrew his defamation case soon after proceed-
ings began (Johnsen, 2020b).
I am belaboring this point because of the omnipotence of structural disadvan-
tage experienced by Indigenous peoples. As scholars Aileen Moreton Robinson,
of Goenpul and Quandamooka descent, and Patrick Wolfe would insist, settler
colonies displaced and erased Indigenous sovereignties, dispossessed their lands,
and established white patriarchal societies atop them, premised upon the disap-
pearance of their erstwhile sovereign inhabitants (Moreton-Robinson 2015a, b;
Wolfe, 2006; see also Aikman, 2019; Watson, 2009). Such societies were never
designed to benefit Indigenous peoples, but rather allow for the growth and
prosperity of white settler communities thereupon. What we describe as “struc-
tural disadvantage” is a phenomenon of inequity directly caused by colonization,
and for Indigenous peoples, has manifested in inequities across education,
healthcare, incarceration, property ownership, and so forth. As the Special
Rapporteur on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples reported to the United Nations
in 2011,
. . .[one] cannot help but note the extreme disadvantage in the social and economic condi-
tions of Maori people in comparison to the rest of New Zealand society. While some positive
developments have been achieved since the visit of the former Special Rapporteur [in 2005],
more remains to be done to achieve the increased social and economic parity that is
necessary for Maori and non-Maori New Zealanders to move forward as true partners in
the future, as contemplated under the Treaty of Waitangi. (Special Rapporteur on the Rights
of Indigenous Peoples, 2011, p. 2, see also 17–19)
When exploring what positive peace might look like in Aotearoa New Zealand,
therefore, I am hesitant. Without meaningfully addressing the root causes of these
inequities – the usurpation of the primary economic base – realizing positive peace
is, by definition, unattainable. So long as the core structure of white colonial
societies continues to result in the disenfranchisement of Indigenous peoples, this
remains an impossibility. This is not, however, to dismiss or disregard the societal
and governmental movements to address these historic concerns, but rather under-
scores how the root cause of this disenfranchisement is irrevocably tied to the
dispossession of Māori land.
Patriarchal White Sovereignty
At this juncture, I would like to expand more deeply upon settler sovereignty, as
understood by Moreton-Robinson as “patriarchal white sovereignty,” and how the
structural and overt violence precipitated by this continues to epitomize Indigenous
existence (Moreton-Robinson, 2015a, see also 2015b, 2005). For Moreton-
Robinson, patriarchal white sovereignty is articulated through the logic of white
possession, a “mode of rationalization” centered on the exclusionary and hierarchi-
cal logic of race and racism. As she explains, white possession is “. . .underpinned by
an excessive desire to invest in reproducing and reaffirming the nation-state’s
ownership, control, and domination” (Moreton-Robinson, 2015a, p. xii), and is the
founding basis of settler states such as New Zealand, Australia, the United States,
and Canada (xi). “The regulatory mechanisms of these nation-states,” she continues,
“are extremely busy reaffirming and reproducing this possessiveness through a
process of perpetual Indigenous dispossession, ranging from the refusal of Indige-
nous sovereignty to overregulated piecemeal concessions” (xi). As I go on to explore
here, “perpetual Indigenous dispossession” precisely encapsulates the settler colo-
nial status quo in New Zealand.
Perpetual Indigenous Dispossession
In the New Zealand settler context, therefore, I suggest the experience of perpetual
dispossession – for Māori – is anchored around the two poles of structural violence,
and blinding acts of overt violence. I do not mean to imply the two forms are
mutually exclusive of one other, but rather hope to highlight how the existing state
of affairs for Māori is premised upon structural inequity, sporadically interpolated
with eruptions of state violence. Allow me to explain. New Zealand’s establishment
as a white patriarchal colony some 180 years ago presumed the negation and erasure
of the many Indigenous sovereignties that had long existed here before. This new
society had no meaningful place for Indigenous peoples, structured instead to foster
settler prosperity. Indigenous existence, occupying beyond the margins of this
architecture, became subject to structurally induced violence, disadvantage, and
inequity. This is manifest today across indicators such as wealth, education, health,
employment, and incarceration. A small collection of these include: a $2.6 billion
income gap between Māori and non-Māori (or $140 less weekly per working Māori
person) (Schulze & Green, 2017, p. 8); one-third of working Māori having no
qualifications (13); over half of the working Māori population being in low-skilled
jobs (2); Māori rates of poverty and youth unemployment nearly double those of
Pākehā and non-Māori, while Māori school leavers attaining a university entrance
qualification nearly half that of non-Māori (Marriot & Dalice, 2014, pp. 4–5); and an
obscene incarceration rate, with over half of all prisoners being Māori (while Māori
comprise only 15% of the total population) (Jackson, 2017, p. 11). More soberingly,
as authors of Indicators of Inequality for Māori and Pacific People Lisa Marriott and
Dalice Sim observe, “. . .while New Zealand has had some successes in reducing
inequalities, the gaps in inequality amongst [indicators such as the above] show
worsening outcomes for Māori and Pacific people [in the future]” (Marriot & Dalice,
2014, p. 27). This is the result of a system never designed for the prosperity of Māori,
a system that, at the expense of Māori, settler prosperity is maintained.
Acute flashes of overt violence against Māori intersperses this status quo, as the
second of the two poles. The instances I describe here are by no means exhaustive,
but provide a brief snapshot of how overt state-directed violence continues to shape
Indigenous existence and maintain white possession. In 1877, Hipa Te Maihāroa,
rangatira (ennobled chieftain) and tohunga (prophet), descendant of Waitaha, Kāti
Māmoe and Kāi Tahu, led a hikoi (march of protest) of 150 of his hapū (clan) to
Ōmārama, in the north Otago region of the South Island (Somerville, 2020).
Following the Crown’s mammoth nineteenth century purchase of the majority of
the land in the South Island, leaving little for hapū living there, Te Maihāroa’s hikoi
protested both settler encroachment upon the little reserves of land left for Māori
survival, as well as the Crown’s unfulfilled promise of providing support, infrastruc-
ture, and provisions for hapū (Devere et al., 2017, pp. 58–59). The hikoi, named “Te-
Heke-Te Ao Mārama” (“The Migration to Enlightenment”), and its party arrived and
established a new settlement close to Ōmārama, Te Ao Mārama (Devere et al., 2017,
p. 59). Here, “. . .[t]he land was cultivated, dwellings erected, and a large building
constructed, where Te Maiharoa held daily church services and established a school
of learning” (Somerville, 2020). Te Ao Mārama stood as a testament of Te
Maihāroa’s resolve in petitioning the government to uphold its cardinal promises.
Seeing things differently, however, the Crown responded with force (Devere et al.,
2017, p. 59). After Native Minister John Sheehan’s demand for Te Maihāroa and his
followers to disband Te Ao Mārama and return to the reserves, the government
deployed a militia in August 1879 to forcefully expel the community (Somerville,
2020; Devere et al., 2017, p. 59). Under Te Maihāroa’s direction of maintaining
peace, however, the community departed, watching the militia ransack the village
and burn the settlement to the ground (Devere et al., 2017, p. 59). Te Maihāroa’s
exhaustive pleas for the Crown to recognize the injustices of their own creation fell
upon deaf ears, but Te Ao Mārama existed as a defiant refusal to accept the
burgeoning status quo of land alienation and settler colonization. Nevertheless, as
Ross Somerville summarizes, “[Te Maihāroa’s] attempt to regain lost lands by
preserving Maori mana and autonomy was unsuccessful in the face of government
indifference to Maori claims” (Somerville, 2020).
The penchant to use militia, constabulary, or other forms of paramilitarised force
to dispel peaceful Māori land protests is equally manifest during the invasion of
Parihaka in 1881. Led by Te Āti Awa prophets Te Whiti-o-Rongomai and Tohu
Kākaki, Parihaka arose as a pacifist community protesting the Crown’s widespread
confiscation and alienation of land in the Taranaki region (Riseborough, 2002;
Binney, 2011; Ministry for Culture and Heritage, 2019). Te Whiti and Tohu preached
a gospel of passive and peaceful resistance, which came in the form of their
followers ploughing the land as a way to “. . .assert continuing Māori ownership”
(Ministry for Culture and Heritage, 2019; see also Binney, 2011). Support by Māori
for Parihaka and its cause was significant, as the repercussions of land alienation
were felt across the country. The government, deeming this to be a particular threat to
settler interests, responded with vehemence and determination. On November
5, 1881, over 1500 troops were deployed to “break up” the community and lay
waste to it (Binney, 2011). The war party was a gargantuan collection of soldiers and
weaponry, including:
. . .945 volunteers and 644 armed constabulary, of whom the 109 in A Company were men
specially selected ‘on account of their size and strength’ . . . [E]ach [column] carried two
days’ rations and 40 rounds of extra ammunition and were accompanied by pack-horses
carrying a further supply of ammunition. (Riseborough, 2002, p. 172)
As the militia descended upon Parihaka, they found its over 2000 inhabitants
sitting in silence as the invasion began (Riseborough, 2002, p. 172). Te Whiti and
Tohu urged peace at all cost, “. . .enjoining ‘peace and forbearance under any insults
or oppression’” (173). “Even if the bayonet comes to your breast,” implored Tohu,
“do not resist” (173). The troops razed the village, expelling its inhabitants in the
process. Te Whiti and Tohu were arrested, with the government quickly passing
legislation to allow for their indefinite imprisonment (Binney, 2011). They were
released in 1883.
Prophetic land-based movements occurred elsewhere in New Zealand as well. In
the early twentieth century, in Te Urewera, the illustrious home of Ngāi Tūhoe in the
Bay of Plenty, Rua Kēnana arose as a Tūhoe prophet at a time when the rapacious
Crown confiscation of Tūhoe land was precipitating untold devastation upon Ngāi
Tūhoe (Brooking, 2014, p. 214; Binney, 2009, pp. 433, 452–461). Rua established a
community of his followers at Maungapōhatu, the central gemstone of Te Urewera’s
mountains, and was resolved to “assert Tūhoe control” over the wealth of Te
Urewera for its peoples (Binney, 2009, pp. 512–515). Rua ardently opposed
the continued Crown acquisition of land through purchase (579), which ate away
at what remained of Tūhoe’s ancestral estate. The government, increasingly frus-
trated at Rua blockading the Crown’s attempts at land purchase, eventually found
cause for the arrest of the Tūhoe prophet and his manifesto. Sensationalized rumors
abounded that Rua was arming his community, and went so far as to assert the
prophet supported a German victory during the Great War (Binney et al., 1996,
pp. 83–84). Rua’s arrest was ordered in 1916 after he was found to be in contempt of
court (Binney, 2009, pp. 579–580; Derby, 2009, pp. 76–77), the catalyst which
unleashed a full-scale police assault on Maungapōhatu. (There is much more detail
to the raid on Maungapōhatu than what I have provided here. Consult Binney et al.
(1996) and Derby (2009) for more expansive detail.) On Sunday, April 2, 57 armed
militia cascaded into the small community to arrest Rua, equipped with “twenty .303
carbines” and a cache of revolvers (Derby, 2009, p. 79; Binney et al., 1996, p. 93). In
the frenzy, Rua’s son, Toko, was killed (likely murdered) by one of the commanding
officers, and the village was plundered (Binney, 2009, pp. 587–589). Having
imprisoned Rua, the acquisition of Tūhoe land by the colonial government
surged (594).
Some 60 years later, one of the greatest protests over Māori land unfolded at
Takaparawhā (Bastion Point), in the Waitematā Harbour in Auckland (Harris, 2004).
Recognized as “prime real estate,” the then-National government intended to sell the
land and develop it into luxury housing (Harris, 2004; Murray, 2018). However, the
land in question – the Ōrākei headland – had been acquired by the Crown for
national security purposes in 1859, with the clear expectation it would be returned
to mana whenua (the ancestral authority), Ngāti Whātua, when this need abated. The
great rangatira of Ngāti Whātua, Apihai Te Kawau, had provided 3000 acres of land
in 1840 to the colonial government for the establishment of the city of Auckland.
However, since that time, Ngāti Whātua was resolute that the 700-acre Ōrākei
headland remained tribal land “utterly unattainable by the Government or anyone
else” (Harris, 2004, p. 78). In time, however, through the corrosive operation of
mechanisms such as the Native Land Court (see Williams, 1999), coupled with the
government’s determination to alienate this land, by 1928 “. . .Ngāti Whātua retained
a mere three acres at Ōrākei” (Harris, 2004, pp. 82, 78–83). (This is a brief outlay of
the narrative of Takaparawhā. Consult Harris (2004, pp. 78–87) for more detail.) The
National government’s 1976 plan to further disinherit Ngāti Whātua by selling the
headland continued this destructive history of unfulfilled promises and aggressive
land alienation on behalf of the Crown. In protestational response, in January 1977,
the Ōrākei Māori Committee Action Group, led by Joe Hawke, initiated a 506-day
long occupation of the Ōrākei headland (Harris, 2004, pp. 78, 84–85). As support for
the occupation grew, the government’s tolerance rapidly evaporated. This came to a
head in autumn of 1978:
In April [1978] the Crown took an injunction against four of the protest leaders and had an
eviction notice served. On 25 May 1978 the Bastion Point protestors came face to face with
600 police and army officers, there to forcibly remove them . . . [In the end,] 222 people were
arrested[, and the settlement demolished]. (Harris, 2004, pp. 84–85)
The use of both police and military personnel (in mammoth numbers) during the
raid is alarming, and demonstrates the level of threat to settler interests the govern-
ment considered this to be. This, I suggest, along with the other examples I have
described thus far, is the operationalization of “perpetual Indigenous dispossession”
and the maintenance of the settler colonial status quo. Nevertheless, as Aroha Harris
observes, the occupation of Takaparawhā is “one of the hallmarks of modern
[New Zealand] activism,” and directly contributed to a settlement with the Crown
in 1991 (Harris, 2004, p. 86).
The deployment of significant force by the state is, therefore, quintessential to the
Crown’s dealings with Māori over land in the past 150 years. In my recent research, I
suggested these violent interactions demonstrate that Indigenous peoples and their
sovereignties remain an existential threat to settler colonial existence (Aikman, 2017,
2019). The originary foundation of settler states rests upon the ongoing dispossession
of Indigenous lands. This process is ongoing, I observed, because Indigenous peo-
ples, whose existence far precedes the advent of colonization, retain a sovereign claim
to the land that supersedes that of the settler state (Aikman, 2019; Moreton-Robinson,
2015a). In New Zealand, the fragility of white possession, and the anxiety around
land, belonging, and identity, results in a litany of violent encounters between the
Crown and Māori, as the state nervously stakes its claim to the land. This process is
par excellence the active negation of Indigenous sovereignty. So long as Māori exist,
therefore, so too does a superior sovereign claim to guardianship over the land in
perpetuity (Aikman, 2019, pp. 290–299). (As opposed to the Western notion of
“ownership.”) It is the state’s monopoly on force, however, through the police and
armed forces, that ensures the settler colonial status quo is aggressively maintained,
despite these existential implications. As we have seen, this existential unease results
in severe bursts of violence against Māori. The settler state’s recent interaction with
Ngāi Tūhoe in the early twenty-first century is similarly exemplary of this “appre-
hension.” For Tūhoe, this is set against a history saturated in violence, characterized
by the Crown invasions of Te Urewera in the late nineteenth century (Binney, 2009;
see also Aikman, 2019, pp. 129–136), the wholesale and legally dubious confiscation
of Tūhoe land in 1866 (Binney, 2009; see also Aikman, 2019, pp. 119–121; 107–116)
(coupled with devastating tactics such as the scorched earth policy (Binney, 2009,
pp. 129–131; Miles, 1999, p. 175)), and the violent police raid upon Rua’s commu-
nity at Maungapōhatu in 1916 (Binney et al., 1996).
In the Ruatoki Valley, this narrative continues to unfold today. Ruatoki is one of
the principal communities that make up the great Tūhoe estate in Te Urewera,
located inland from Whakatāne in the Bay of Plenty. Ruatoki became headline
news during the antiterror raids in 2007, when the police mobilized a massive
force of paramilitary and uniformed officers, descending into the small rural com-
munity. Police had alleged that there were terrorism training camps in and around
Ruatoki – an immoderate factual distortion – culminating in the valley being shut
down and sealed off on October 15, 2007. At gunpoint, people were ordered out of
their cars, and photographed. Homes were raided, and whānau ( families) were
dragged out onto the road by police wielding semiautomatic weaponry. A school
bus, carrying children from Kōhanga (Māori immersion preschool) to Wharekura
(Māori immersion secondary school), was stopped, and boarded, terrifying those
aboard (IPCA, 2013, p. 41; Jackson, 2008, p. 6; Aikman, 2019, p. 223–289). The
entire valley was subject to the police operation, even though relatively few were
under surveillance. This formed part of a larger nationwide police affair, termed
“Operation Eight,” which targeted numerous protest groups beneath the impetus of
antiterrorism (Aikman, 2017). The scale of force used against the Ruatoki commu-
nity was far beyond that deployed in simultaneous raids carried out elsewhere in the
country – some of which were, by contrast, located in relatively affluent areas of
Wellington (Devadas, 2008, pp. 134–137; see also Aikman, 2017). Tūhoe have long
been vocal about Crown injustices of the past, with a steadfast desire to maintain
mana motuhake (sovereign autonomy and independence) over Te Urewera. This
position, I suggested, is what the settler state finds so threatening – a superior claim
to landed sovereignty (Aikman, 2019, pp. 300–301, 291–301). Its paramilitarised
response in Ruatoki in 2007 should be read through this lens, and is equally manifest
in similarly violent police raids against Tūhoe in 2012 and 2014 (both in the Ruatoki
Valley), and in 2016 in Kawerau (a 45-minute drive from Ruatoki) (Aikman, 2017,
p. 69, 2019, pp. 274–278). These instances exemplify Moreton-Robinson’s
“perpetual Indigenous dispossession,” continually reminding Tūhoe that while their

sovereign claim may be paramount, the state maintains the force necessary to uphold
its (ungrounded) sovereign supremacy.
Peace in Our Time: Colonial Chimera?
It is difficult for me to consider the possibility of positive peace in Aotearoa

New Zealand amidst the precipitous violence that settler colonialism has and con-
tinues to rain upon Māori. As I have described in this chapter, settler colonial states
are founded upon the presumptive disappearance of Indigenous peoples and the
erasure of their sovereignties (Aikman, 2019; Moreton-Robinson, 2015a; Wolfe,
2006). The white societies established in their stead were designed for the prosperity
of settler communities, and the structural violence Māori experience today is symp-
tomatic of this originary causation. New Zealand may be considered by the world to
be a relatively peaceful country, but if negative peace denotes the absence of
violence and conflict, and positive peace the absence of structural violence, this
patently is not the case for Māori, who have collectively experienced the unbridled
force of the Crown since time immemorial. Moreover, if positive peace is the “. . .the
presence of conditions in which people can realize their potential” (Miall, 2011,
p. 2), then Indigenous potential in its fullest expression remains unrealizable in a
settler colonial framework. Central to this, I have suggested, are competing sover-
eign claims over land, to which Indigenous sovereignty will always have greater
claim, as the state is aware. So long as this is unresolved – that is, so long as the
settler state does not meaningfully address the dispossession of Indigenous lands –
then peace in both modalities is unattainable. I wait in anticipation of the result of the
occupation of Ihumātao, in Auckland, by its erstwhile sovereign guardians, the most
recent example in this process (Haunui-Thompson, 2019).
My discussion here is not at all to suggest we resign ourselves to despondency,
but rather urges us to continue to push for the celebration, recognition, and the
ultimate realization of Indigenous sovereignty. Indeed, there are possibilities before
us that can make real this hope, in developing different constitutional arrangements
within our legal system. This is ardently clear in the pivotal work of Matike Mai
Aotearoa, the Independent Working Group on Constitutional Transformation, that
outlines a series of different constitutional frameworks for New Zealand which
attempt to give effect to these principles (Independent Working Group on Constitu-
tional Transformation, 2018, p. 10). The profound potential these models contain
illuminate the possibility of striving towards a state of being uncharacterized by
perpetual Indigenous dispossession. Therein, perhaps, hope resides.
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Refugee Rights: Essential for Positive Peace
28
Rose Joudi
Contents
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 532
What Is Positive Peace? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 533
The 1951/1967 UNHCR Convention and Refugee Rights . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 534
The Current Refugee Dilemma . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 535
“Peace-ing” It Together: Refugee Rights and Positive Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 537
Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 538
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 539
Abstract
The refugee experience is one of uprooting, displacement, and search for stability
and safety. As they experience a considerable number of uncertainties and stress
during their displaced predicament, they may often find that they have few if any
enforceable rights in their country of settlement. When refugee resettlement
societies (host societies) ensure that the rights of refugees as mandated by the
United Nations 1951 Convention are met, we may see potential for the growth
and development of positive peace. The Institute of Economics and Peace (IEP)
has suggested that to sustain and maintain positive peace, it is important to
investigate the attitudes of the institutional structures of societies. Positive
peace is more of a holistic approach to our traditional understanding of
“peace.” It goes beyond the definition of nonviolence; it also encompasses
methods to allow individuals to reintegrate into society socially, educationally,
and economically.
R. Joudi (*)
Psychology, Mount Royal University, Calgary, AB, Canada
e-mail: rjoudi@mtroyal.ca
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_28
532 R. Joudi
Keywords
Refugee · Resettlement · Asylum Seeker · IDP · Refugee Rights · UNHCR
Convention
Introduction
The refugee experience is one of uprooting, displacement, and search for stability
and safety. Refugees flee conflict and often seek out countries and communities that
may welcome them and assist them in reestablishing their lives. However, as they
experience a considerable number of uncertainties and stress during their displaced
predicament, they may often find that they have few if any enforceable rights in their
country of settlement.
When we look at the topic of peace, it has been traditionally defined by Galtung
(1969) not just as the absence of personal violence such as assaults or terrorism
which is referred to as negative peace, but Galtung identified another form of peace
known as positive peace. Positive peace is the absence of structural violence such as
hunger, social injustice, poverty, and discrimination. It is the latter form of peace that
is addressed in this chapter as part of our understanding of refugee rights.
When refugee resettlement societies (host societies) ensure that the rights of
refugees as mandated by the United Nations 1951 Convention are met, we may
see potential for the growth and development of positive peace. By providing these
rights, the overall settlement experience is enhanced, it assists in the successful
integration of refugees, and it improves their quality of life and overall allows for
refugees to be productive citizens in their new country. Research on mental well-
being and successful settlement of refugees has focused on factors that promote their
integration such as employment, housing, health, and education (Ager and Strang,
2008). However, in addition to these basic needs, there are unique needs that may
also be essential to successful integration such as meeting faith, spiritual, or religious
needs (eg., Muslim Syrian refugees in Canada benefited from incorporating their
Islamic faith in therapeutic coping strategies proposed to them by mental health
professionals (Kuo, 2018; Qasim and Greenglass, 2018)).
When countries create an environment of understanding, inclusion, and active
engagement by allowing the main stakeholders (i.e., the refugees) to have input and a
say in certain programs implemented to assist refugees (Doná, 2002), it shows
refugees that the settlement country is interested in their well-being. It is also worthy
to note that the stakeholders are not only adults, but they are also children, that they
are not all male, but that more than 50% of refugees are female, and that they are not
all young and able, but they are also old and aging. Positive peace does not and
should not discriminate on these bases, and therefore, when incorporating our
understanding of positive peace and refugee rights, it is necessary to include all
those involved.
This chapter will looks at positive peace from the framework of refugee rights as
outlined by the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR). The
28 Refugee Rights: Essential for Positive Peace 533
chapter will begin by exploring what positive peace means within the area of refugee
rights and also itemizes refugee rights as proposed by the 1951 Refugee Convention.
Also, in this chapter, the challenges that refugees face such as displacement and
trauma and the effect these challenges have on refugee settlement experiences are
addressed. Finally, the chapter aims to connect the two topics – refugees and positive
peace – together and provides insight to the needs of refugees, especially needs that
promote successful integration and settlement as well as strategies that foster
peaceful societies.
What Is Positive Peace?
Peace tends to mean different things to different people. The meaning also varies
depending on the stakeholders being impacted by peace or lack of it. Positive peace
is a process that goes beyond living away from conflict. Positive Peace shifts
thinking from an overt focus on what makes countries violent to what makes them
peaceful and resilient. It requires the support and active participation of the local
community and ownership of this process. According to Galtung (1969) positive
peace is filled with content such as restoration of relationships, the creation of social
systems that serve the needs of the whole population and the constructive resolution
of conflict. Therefore, positive peace takes on a more holistic approach to peace in
that it targets the social, economic, and political causes of conflict. As such, positive
peace can be viewed as a true, lasting, and sustainable peace built on justice for all
peoples.
Price (2010) indicated that peace is not just about people agreeing to cease fire or
end hostility, rather it is about how those directly impacted by this hostility are
supported and provided with opportunities and tools to help them and their society in
the recovery process. Violence and unrest within societies have the potential for long
term detrimental effects on the society in the form of obstructing the development
and growth of these societies, potentially reversing years of development growth and
gain, reducing foreign direct investment, education, life expectancy, and inevitably
leading to poverty.
Positive peace is a sustainable solution to ending armed conflict as it helps
transform societies from areas of unrest and disruption to societies that have the
potential for both social and economic growth and development (Price, 2010).
The Institute of Economics and Peace (IEP) has suggested that in order to sustain
and maintain positive peace, it is important to look into the attitudes of the institu-
tional structures of societies (Institute of Economics and Peace, 2017). Concentrat-
ing on these attitudes may assist in shifting the focus to what make societies peaceful
and resilient rather than predominately focusing on what makes them violent. These
attitudes include opinions associated with societal characteristics that are deemed
positive and enhancing of a society’s growth, such as better economic outcomes,
measures of well-being, and levels of gender equality. The benefits of understanding
the impact of positive peace on societies and how it could help sustain stability
within regions can have long-term benefits. The IEP states that positive peace may
534 R. Joudi
also assist in measuring a country’s resilience or ability to absorb internal and

external “shock” in the form of violent outbreaks or wars, possibly reducing the
likelihood of conflict recurrence or relapse and potential future violence.
The IEP has proposed “pillars” or factors supporting positive peace, such as a
well-functioning environment, equitable distribution of resources, a sound business
environment, low levels of corruption, free flow of information, good neighbor
relations (neighboring countries), high levels of human capital or skills within the
population, and finally, acceptance of the rights of others.
Positive peace has been defined as a comprehensive “proactive” or “positive”
peace. It is much more than an absence of war or violent conflict. It is a process of
developing knowledge, skills, values, and attitudes that lead to behavior that pro-
motes peace and encourages conflict prevention and minimization (Baxter, n.d.).
As mentioned before, positive peace takes a more holistic approach to peace. It
goes beyond the definition of nonviolence; it also encompasses methods to allow
individuals to socially, educationally and economically re-integrate into society. So
how do we assist refugees into reintegration? According to El-Bushra (2006), it is
important when considering positive peace, to involve those who have stakes in the
integration process, such as the refugees. This way of thinking can assist in building
trust and positive relationships between refugees and the host society. This form of
confidence building can be perceived as a new social contract for positive peace
(Price, 2010).
The 1951/1967 UNHCR Convention and Refugee Rights
Human displacement is not a new concept. To deal with the millions of people
displaced during World War II, the international communities strengthened its
protection for those who were displaced and in need of protection and could not
obtain this from their state countries (Ormsby, 2017). The 1951 UN Convention
Relating to the Status of Refugees and the 1967 Protocol Relating to the Status of
Refugees were developed (LaViolette, 2009). The UN Convention also highlighted
an explicit obligation of states not to expel authorized refugees, the duty known as
non-refoulement. According to this principle, a refugee should not be returned to a
country where he or she faces serious threats to his or her life or freedom. (This
principle then became the cornerstone of the 1951 Convention contained in Article
33.) A refugee becomes entitled to other rights the longer they remain in the host
country, which is based on the recognition that the longer they remain as refugees,
the more rights they need.
The following rights are mentioned in the 1951 Convention. (The legal frame-
work for protecting refugees, UNHCR, 2011 document: The 1951 convention
relating to the Status of Refugees and its 1967 protocol.) The rights highlight the
obligations of refugees towards their host country. (This protection may not be
claimed by refugees who are reasonably regarded as a danger to the security of the
country, or having been convicted of a particularly serious crime, and considered a
danger to the community.)
• The right not to be expelled, except under certain, strictly defined conditions
(Article 32)
• The right not to be punished for illegal entry into the territory of a contracting
State (Article31)
• The right to work (Articles 17 to 19)
• The right to housing (Article 21)
• The right to education (Article 22)
• The right to public relief and assistance (Article 23)
• The right to freedom of religion (Article 4)
• The right to access the courts (Article 16)
• The right to freedom of movement within the territory (Article 26)
• The right to be issued identity and travel documents (Articles 27 and 28)
Unfortunately, and to this day, the UN Convention is not widely adopted, and
with the onset of global economic depression, expansion of refugee rights have
stalled or even contracted.
According to the United Nations Convention related to the status of refugees
signed at Geneva on July 28, 1951, a “refugee” is:
Any person who by reason of a well-founded fear of persecution for reasons of race, religion,
nationality, membership in a particular social group or political opinion, is outside the
country of the person’s nationality and is unable or, by reason of that fear, is unwilling to
avail himself of the protection of that country, or not having a country of nationality, is
outside the country of the person’s former habitual residence and is unable or, by reason of
that fear, is unwilling to return to that country. (UNHCR, 2007b, p. 6)
Therefore, the convention and its protocol holds states to account as they have
humanitarian duties and responsibilities to uphold when it comes to the protection of
this vulnerable category of people (Fekete, 2005). However, unlike human rights
which apply to everyone, refugee rights only apply to people once they have been
determined as refugees (Chetail, 2014). This definition not only assists organizations
and political bodies to establish who refugees are, but also the expected resources
that societies or governments should be providing to them.
The Current Refugee Dilemma
The refugee experience undoubtedly is one of trauma that is also associated with
uprooting, displacement and search for stability and a safe haven. Refugees experi-
ence a considerable amount of uncertainties, and stress before and after resettlement
in a host society (Miller et al., 2002). Years spent in camps with basic or minimal
human needs unmet, the uncertain yet lengthy time spent waiting to be accepted by a
foreign country, being smuggled on cramped boats, lack of language, cultural
knowledge, and accrediting qualifications, and the loss of family members are
some of the conditions which make a refugee a vulnerable human being (Fangen,
536 R. Joudi
2006; Simich et al., 2006). In addition, refugees experience multiple losses once they
flee their country, in particular losses of social and economic structures that under
normal circumstances play a role in preserving their identities (Moussa, 1992).
In 2001 there were 21.1 million people of “concern” to the UNHCR, this included
12.1 million refugees, 1 million asylum-seekers (Doná, 2002). As of 2017 and as a
result of escalating global persecution, conflict, violence, or human rights violations
there were 68.5 million forcibly displaced people worldwide who have fled their
countries and have been uprooted (UNHCR, 2017). (Source: https://www.unhcr.org/
globaltrends2017/ – accessed 12 January 2019.) This includes 25.4 million refugees,
40 million internally displaced people and 3.1 million asylum seekers (UNHCR,
2017). Sixty-eight percent of the global number of refugees come from five coun-
tries: the Syrian Arab Republic (6.3 million), Afghanistan (2.6 Million), South
Sudan (2.4 million), Myanmar (1.2 million), and Somalia (986,000). Millions
more continue to live under hard conditions within the border territories of their
own countries, as illegal immigrants or in refugee camps organized by the UNHCR
in various countries of asylum. The overwhelming majority of refugees are located
in the Third World, close to their country of origin (Hatton & Williamson, 2006).
Host countries include; Turkey, Pakistan, Uganda, and Lebanon. Enforcing the
rights of refugees as proposed by the UN Convention is typically hard to do in
these third world countries.
However, those fortunate enough to be approved for settlement are settled in one
of 18 “host resettlement” countries that are approved by the UNHCR and that have a
formal refugee resettlement program (UNHCR, 2007a). (The 18 countries that are
established to accept the resettlement of refugees through the UNHCR are: Australia,
Canada, Denmark, Finland, The Netherlands, New Zealand, Norway, Sweden,
Switzerland, and the U.S.A. Other countries who are undertaking the establishment
of resettlement programmes include, Benin, Brazil, The U.K., Burkina Faso, Chile,
Iceland, Ireland, and Spain (Source: UNHCR, Refugee Resettlement: An Interna-
tional Handbook to Guide Reception and Integration, 2002).) As of 2014, most of
these refugees have been settled in the Russian Federation, Germany, the United
States of America, and Turkey (UNHCR, 2014).
It can be argued that, since the 1951 Convention, policies meant to benefit and
protect refugees have moved away from their intended purpose. Instead a refugee is
often regarded as an unhealthy, unwanted, and dependent individual. In turn these
views have a negative and detrimental effect on the individual as it marginalizes
refugees and impacts negatively overall on their wellbeing and mental health.
Internally Displaced People (IDP)

Unlike refugees, IDPs do not have the same rights or are a less acknowledged
vulnerable entity. They usually are displaced within their country of conflict
close to a border of a neighboring country that may not wish for them to enter
its territories. As such they are trapped in a country experiencing conflict,
(continued)
possibly discriminated against by its own government which also fails to

uphold any responsibility to protect its IDPs. Therefore, they are most vulner-
able to continuous violence, lack access to adequate humanitarian resources
and as a result of them not crossing international borders are not subject to
protection under international law (Price, 2010). In 1998, the United Nations
published its first guidelines to protect the human right of IDPs “Guiding
Principles on Internal Displacement.” However it is not legally binding as it
emphasizes the responsibility of governments in protecting its own citizens.
Whether or not they do, is an entirely different story, and unfortunately it is one
which the international community seems to have little interest compared to
the plight of internationally recognized refugees.
“Peace-ing” It Together: Refugee Rights and Positive Peace
The definition of refugee and refugee rights have been intertwined with human rights
and expectations. Simply stated, and according to the rights outlined by the UNHCR
Convention, refugees have a right to education, healthcare, social services and
employment/training, etc. When people have their basic human rights met such as
the right to life, freedom of choice in religion, expression of opinion, and the right to
work and education and are able to live peaceful and secure lives with access to
resources, they are more likely to contribute to sustainable communities.
So what happens when these needs and rights are not met? Refugees report
dissatisfaction with the policies and the governments of the host society, social
unrest within the refugee and displaced communities intensify, and the ability to
participate in social, economic, and environmental systems that promote sustainabil-
ity is compromised (Donat, 2018).
When the refugee convention was proposed as a system to protect vulnerable
displaced groups, these groups were predominately “Caucasian, white” people. Most
of the current refugees entering Western countries in Europe or North America do
not fit this category. Nowadays refugees entering Europe, Canada, the United States,
Australia, and New Zealand (all predominately Western societies), represent the
“Other,” who are different ethnically, culturally, linguistically, and in some cases
religiously from the host/settlement society. These differences may be viewed as a
potential threat with regard to the culture and identity of the host society which in
turn jeopardizes the expected integration or assimilation process that refugees are
encouraged to go through.
As such, the quality of life refugees in settlement countries has deteriorated since
the 1990s, resulting in the diminishment of their well-being (Doná, 2002). (The
World Health Organisation (WHO) defines Quality of Life (QoL) as “an individual’s
perception of their position in life in the context of the culture and value systems in
which they live and in relation to their goals, expectations, standards and concerns. It
is a broad ranging concept affected in a complex way by the person’s physical health,
538 R. Joudi
psychological state, personal beliefs, social relationships and their relationship to

salient features of their environment.” (source: https://www.who.int/healthinfo/
survey/whoqol-qualityoflife/en/).)
For the most part, refugees are perceived in negative ways and portrayed with an
array of undesirable qualities such as being dependent on the financial assistance of
the host country, disruptive, unwilling to assimilate or integrate, unemployed, and
perhaps even deceitful individuals.
It also does not help that throughout the years, countries who receive a consid-
erable quota of refugees such as various European countries and the United States
have begun to implement deterrence policies such as hefty fines for airlines carrying
passengers without visas or adequate papers and documents, or imprisoning and then
deporting those who enter their countries illegally. The UK drafted a policy docu-
ment containing a section on rules that refugees and migrants need to follow in order
to obtain full citizenship such as speaking English, knowledge and understanding of
the responsibilities of British citizens, and oath of allegiance to the Queen (Doná,
2002). This document highlights the British governments expectation that for those
entering its territories and in order for them to be “accepted” citizens of the country,
they have an obligation to assimilate to the countries regulations and way of life.
However, when looking within these settlement countries and its ethnically
established communities there are reports of disharmony. For example, Kurdish
communities in London (UK) discriminate against Kurdish people within their
community based on their level of political affiliation and gender. Women are
especially marginalized and are socially invisible (Wahlbeck, 1998). Eastmond
(1998; cited in Doná, 2002) mentioned that Bosnian communities in Sweden exclude
non-Muslim Bosnians (Serbs and Croats). Iraqis in New Zealand have an established
Islamic center directed to the Shiites and not the Iraqi Sunnis (Joudi Kadri, 2008).
As such, and as a result of the increased influx of displaced individuals in certain
countries, especially in Europe, there have been attempts to deter asylum-seeking
claims and refugee applications. According to the European Asylum Support Office
(EASO, 2019), the number of people seeking asylum in the European Union fell for a
third straight year in 2018, to less than half the peak during the 2015–016 migration
crisis. Asylum approval rates are falling in the EU, with rejections outnumbering
approvals two to one last year, compared to 2015, where more than half of applications
were successful. However, at the time of writing the highest number of applicants still
came from Syria, Afghanistan, and Iraq. It should be noted that these countries continue
to experience violence within their territories resulting in ongoing external flow of
asylum seekers outside their international borders. In most current global cases and
despite the fact that negative peace may have been achieved (i.e., ending violence), the
refugee situation is one in which positive peace is not always sustained.
Conclusion
Refugees are undoubtedly a special kind of migrant who requires adequate and
appropriate resettlement attention that meets their cultural and religious requirements
while also addressing their social, mental, and financial needs. A refugee has the
right to safe asylum. However, international protection comprises more than phys-
ical safety. Refugees should receive at least the same rights and basic help as any
other foreigner who is a legal resident, including freedom of thought, of movement,
and freedom from torture and degrading treatment. Economic and social rights are
equally applicable. Refugees should also have access to medical care, schooling, and
the right to work.
Upon arrival refugees face many changes in adjusting to their new environment
(Simich et al., 2006; Valtonen, 1998). These challenges may include social isolation,
cultural differences and barriers, religious differences, shifts in gender and family
roles, and most importantly employment challenges (Nghe et al., 2003). Other
resettlement challenges may include refugees having limited access to education
services, experiencing mental health problems, and concerns over being reunited
with other family members.
Once their needs are understood and met, refugees may be able to successfully
rebuild their lives in their new homeland. They may form a loyal bond towards the
country that has lifted them from the hardship and chaos they were living through, by
being able to become productive citizens who are able to give back to the society.
Conversely, if inadequate attention has been given to refugees in their host countries,
this may hinder their resettlement and negatively impact on their feelings of stability
and their overall mental well-being (Simich et al., 2006).
Discrimination toward refugees in the way of inefficiently meeting their rights,
may lead to refugees feeling vulnerable, unwanted, and unable to successfully
settle in the host society (Colic-Peisker, 2009). These feelings may be expressed in
various forms of discontent, frustration, or possibly violence toward the host
society or its government. Research on refugee satisfaction and adaptation sug-
gests that when refugee rights are met and adequately addressed, the level of
refugee integration, satisfaction, and refugee investment in the host society
increases. Montgomery (1996) mentioned that some variables that can help assess
refugee adaptation include; satisfaction with life in the host society (a subjective
variable), economic stability (in the form of employment and financial capabili-
ties), and sociocultural adaptation (the ability to fit-in with the life in the new
society), all of which fall under the 1951 Convention on refugee rights. However,
these rights being met or not largely depends on the host country, and whether it
has the required resources and if these resources can in fact satisfy their unique
needs. Ensuring durable solutions for displaced individuals or refugees is funda-
mental to lasting positive peace. As Donat (2018) suggests that by understanding
the impact and importance of refugee rights, we can then understand why people
need them to sustain a peaceful society.
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The Rights of Children: Tensions Between
Protection and Participation 29
Penelope Carroll
Contents
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 544
Recognition of Children’s Rights . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 545
Children’s Rights Under UNCRC . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 545
Enactment of Rights . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 546
Enablers and Barriers to Participation Rights . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 546
Conceptual Tensions and Adult Hegemony . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 547
Children Exercising Agency . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 548
Concepts of Citizenship and Participation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 549
Facilitating Children’s Participation in the Public Realm . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 549
Facilitating Children’s Participation in Research . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 550
Children as Urban Researchers Project . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 550
Facilitating Children’s Participation in Urban Planning . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 551
Children as Urban Consultants Project . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 552
Discussion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 552
Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 553
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 553
Abstract
Children’s rights – civil, political, economic, social and cultural – are enshrined in
the United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child (UNCRC, 1989). The
40 Articles of the Convention set out children’s universal rights to provision (for
their survival and development); to protection (from harm and discrimination);
and their rights to participate in the public realm (to, as citizens, “express their
ideas freely and to be heard in all matters affecting [them]”). UNCRC represents a
P. Carroll (*)
SHORE, Massey University, Auckland, New Zealand
e-mail: p.a.carroll@massey.ac.nz
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_29
544 P. Carroll
move from earlier international iterations of children’s rights, which were largely
tied to social norms and based on children’s position in particular societies. It
recognizes children as holders of universal rights – and in many instances, as
capable of holding and exercising these rights without adult oversight. In this
chapter we present examples of children’s “lived citizenship” exercising their
rights to participation in the public realm and explore tensions which can arise
between children’s rights to protection and their rights to participation. We
conclude that focusing solely on rights misses much that is significant in chil-
dren’s lived citizenship, including its potential to increase individual and societal
well-being.
Keywords
Children · Rights · Social justice · Participation
Introduction
A quarter of the world’s population are children. Their rights – civil, political,
economic, social, and cultural – are formally recognized in the 1989 United Nations
Convention on the Rights of the Child (UNCRC) (United Nations, 1989), and
encompass rights to protection, provision, and participation: a right to life, survival,
and development; to protection from harm and discrimination; and to have an
opinion and be heard on all matters affecting them. In addition, what is in children’s
“best interests” is to guide government policies. Children are defined in the Con-
vention as people under the age of 18 years. UNCRC is the most widely ratified
international agreement to date, signed by 196 countries, including every member
state of the United Nations (UN) apart from the United States. It was ratified by
Aotearoa/New Zealand (NZ) in 1993.
That the rights and interests of such a significant proportion of the world’s
population – and a particularly vulnerable group – should be taken into account as
part of the development of positive peace seems very obvious when brought to our
notice. However, social justice for children has often not been considered in aca-
demic and policy debates, and it has been largely ignored in the peace and conflict
studies literature.
In this chapter we outline children’s rights enshrined in the Convention, and
inherent tensions between rights of protection and participation at the interface
between children’s rights and citizenship. We look at examples of ways citizenship
rights have played out in both “bottom up” and “top down” participation in the
public realm, with particular reference to two top down projects in Auckland, NZ,
aimed at facilitating children’s meaningful participation in the domains of research
and urban planning. We conclude, along with Lister (2007) and (Hayward, 2012)
that a focus solely on rights misses much that is significant in children’s ‘lived
citizenship’, including the potential of children’s participation in the public realm to
increase individual and societal wellbeing.
29 The Rights of Children: Tensions Between Protection and Participation 545
Recognition of Children’s Rights
In its Preamble, the United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child recognizes
that “inherent dignity and. . .the equal and inalienable rights of all members of the
human family is the foundation of freedom, justice and peace in the world.” The
Preamble also recalls that in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights of 1948, the
UN “proclaimed that childhood is entitled to special care and assistance” (United
Nations, 1989). Children’s entitlement to provision and protection was also acknowl-
edged earlier in the Geneva Declaration of the Rights of the Child (1924) and then the
1959 UN Declaration of the Rights of the Child. States’ laws, reflecting differing
cultural norms and conceptualizations of childhood, have provided varying levels of
provision and protection for children in areas including child protection and family
law, the juvenile justice system, in education and health, and the labor market
(Simpson, 1997) across the globe. In what could be considered a departure from
prior acknowledgement of children’s rights, UNCRC, as well as re/affirming chil-
dren’s rights to protection and provision, also recognised children’s rights to partic-
ipation in the public realm. In fact Simpson (1997, p. 907) argues many of the
40 articles describing their rights reflect a belief that a child “is capable of holding
and exercising rights without the need for adult oversight.” Prior to UNCRC, children
were generally considered to lack the competence or agency to participate in the
public domain. Only adults were regarded as citizens, with children seen as adult
“becomings” (Uprichard, 2008) and citizens-in-the-making, their interests properly
represented by adult proxies (Hayward, 2012; Lister, 2007; Simpson, 1997).
Children’s Rights Under UNCRC
Children’s rights of provision outlined in UNCRC include the right to a standard of

living adequate for physical, mental, spiritual, moral, and social development; the
right to grow up in a nurturing environment (preferably within the family) and rights
to education, health care, and other social security measures. Rights to protection
cover the right to life, to privacy, and to protection from abuse and exploitation,
including economic and sexual exploitation (capital punishment for children is also
prohibited). Optional protocols in 2000, subsequently ratified by 160 countries,
outlawed children’s involvement in military conflicts, child prostitution, child por-
nography, and the sale of children. Rights to participation include children’s right to
play and participate in other recreational activities; the right to seek, receive, and
impart information; the right to form and express their views freely; the opportunity
to be heard in any judicial or administrative proceedings affecting them; and freedom
of association (United Nations, 1989). Signatories to UNCRC are bound by inter-
national law to uphold rights set out in the Convention.
While UNCRC represents a move from children’s rights historically tied to social
norms based on their position in particular societies, to a recognition of their
universal rights, different conceptualisations of childhood and children’s rights
across cultures produce different responses at a State level (Mason & Bolzan,
546 P. Carroll
2009). States’ responses to the monitoring committee’s directive that countries move
towards prohibiting corporal punishment provides an example. NZ complied in 2007
with the passing of the “anti-smacking” law (the Crimes (Substituted Section 59)
Amendment Act) although other countries, including Australia, Britain, and Canada,
did not follow suit; they rejected the interpretation of Article 19 of the Convention
affording protection to children from “all forms of physical or mental abuse” as
including corporal punishment/smacking.
Enactment of Rights
After NZ ratified UNCRC in 1993 it enacted legislation acknowledging children’s

rights under the Convention. Most signatories to UNCRC have signed with reser-
vations and NZ is no exception. For instance, it has argued against the need to protect
children from economic exploitation (on the grounds children were already ade-
quately protected under existing law); nor would it be bound by a provision which
would keep juvenile and adult offenders separate.
In NZ children’s right “to express their ideas freely and be heard in all matters
affecting them” are acknowledged in legislation and strategy documents at national
and local government levels. These link children’s rights to participation with
citizenship (Freeman et al., 2003) and include the Agenda for Children (Ministry
of Social Development, 2002), Youth Strategy Aotearoa (Ministry of Youth Affairs,
2002), and I am Auckland (Auckland Council, 2017). As in most countries, youth
councils are a common feature of local government and young people’s views on the
provision of child-specific services, facilities, and programs are often sought. How-
ever, this does not ensure they will be heard, or their ideas will be taken into account.
As Petry Veronese and Mendes Muniz Falcão (2019, p. 222) note, irrespective of
legal rights, the child remains “a marginalized subject in social relations, subject to
the conditioning of an adult-centered society.”
The distance between rhetoric and practice has also been evident in the monitor-
ing of UNCRC itself, with children denied the right to make submissions to the UN
Committee on the Rights of the Child which monitors compliance until 2014. Prior
to the adoption in 2011 of an Optional Protocol allowing children to file complaints
for violation of their rights, only States’ parties could dialogue with the committee,
through reports (Petry Veronese & Mendes Muniz Falcão, 2019). This seems ironic,
given the recognition of children’s right Article 12 of UNCRC “to express their
views freely in all matters affecting them and the opportunity to be heard.” In 2014, a
change permitted children to report directly to the Committee.
Enablers and Barriers to Participation Rights
Contemporary constructions of children as competent social actors rather than

passive subjects lacking agency and competence (Fincher & Iveson, 2008;
Lansdown, 2010; Simpson, 1997), combined with Articles in UNCRC which posit
an agentic child “capable of holding and exercising rights” (Simpson, 1997), have
opened up possibilities for children to participate more widely in the public realm.
Such agentic rights include freedom of expression and the right to be heard on all
matters affecting them (Articles 12 and 13); freedom of association (Article 15) and
access to information (Article 17); and the right to participation in cultural life
(Article 31). However, as Petry Veronese and Mendes Muniz Falcão (2019,
p. 225) note, “social real[ity] does not transform itself by simple effect of publication
of legal rules.” Prevailing discourses still position children primarily as citizens-in-
the-making rather than citizens in the here-and-now (James, 2011; Lister, 2007); and
their rights to participation are seen as largely fulfilling an educative role for their
future as “real” citizens, rather than as an agentic sociopolitical practice (Hayward,
2012; James, 2011; Simpson, 1997).
Children struggle to be heard at the UN and other international fora on matters
affecting them, in spite of Article 12, reflecting a reality out of kilter with the
empowering rhetoric of the Convention. Examples are legion, from the 1992 four-
day UN Conference on Environment and Development, where their one-hour slot
was reduced to 10 minutes (Freeman & Tranter, 2011), to the 2017 IV World
Conference on the sustained Eradication of Child Labour a decade and a half later,
from which representatives of the Movement of Latin American and Caribbean
Working Children and Adolescents were banned (Peleg, 2018). As Alderson
(2013, p. 3) notes, not being heard remains a common experience for children,
their voices largely absent “from almost any report. . .[on any] major topic of public
concern,” even where children and their interests are central to these. A mismatch
remains between children’s rights to participation guaranteed in the Convention, and
implementation of those rights in the public domain (Petry Veronese & Mendes
Muniz Falcão, 2019, p. 231).
Conceptual Tensions and Adult Hegemony
The UNCRC appears torn between contesting objectives of protection and empow-
erment: seeking to protect the vulnerable child while at the same time empowering
them to participate in decisions about matters affecting their lives (Peleg, 2018; Petry
Veronese & Mendes Muniz Falcão, 2019; Simpson, 1997).
The focus on children’s needs and rights to protection can undermine recognition
of the “agentic child” who has the right to participate in the community, whether this
participation is unstructured or structured, informal or formal. “[It] provides little
support for the ability of children to decide matters for themselves and instead
stresses the requirement of adults both to act in, and define, what is in the child’s
best interests,” notes Simpson (1997, p. 908). Children’s participation remains
contingent on adult approval. Peleg (2018, p. 330) suggests that perhaps the reason
the Convention is the most widely, and rapidly ratified human rights treaty to date is
because it “codifies a paternalistic approach that does not impugn adult authority.”
The universalistic view reflected in the Convention (and based on Euro-American
developmental psychology) of childhood as an innocent and carefree developmental
548 P. Carroll
stage is also seen to work against children’s participation in the public realm: “. . .the
idea of childhood as a time for nurturing and investment for the future. . .operates to
exclude children from many aspects of social life,” argues Simpson (1997, p. 909). It
supports the notion of children as “future citizens” rather than agentic citizens in the
here and now. Such a universalistic conceptualization of childhood also ignores the
actuality of different realities of childhood.
When children’s participation is contingent on not disturbing this universalistic
“innocent and carefree” childhood narrative, children’s voices are dismissed when
their demands exceed “imaginary bounds of protection” (Peleg, 2018, p. 326). She
cites the banning of representatives of the Movement of Latin American and
Caribbean Working Children and Adolescents from the 2017 IV World Conference
on the Sustained Eradication of Child Labor conference as an example of this. The
children’s representatives, wanting to protect their rights in the workplace, chal-
lenged the ideal childhood being “labour-free” and the imaginary of an “innocent
and carefree” childhood and were unacceptable. The International Labour Organi-
sation estimates there are 218 million working children between the ages of 5 and
17 (ILO, 2017). The failure of International children’s rights law “to acknowledge
that childhood can unfold in more than one way” can thus mitigate against children’s
rights – in the above example both in terms of protection in the workplace and
participation (Peleg, 2018, p. 326).
Children Exercising Agency
There are counter examples where working children’s agency has prevailed:
Bolivian working children negotiating an agreement with the mayor of La Paz to
end their harassment in the public spaces of the city; and in the Peruvian capital of
Lima, the children’s movement successfully concluding an agreement with the
administration on a working and training project to improve their lives (Liebel,
2008, p. 42), are two examples. The strikes of the global children’s initiative
demanding action on climate change is another successful “bottom-up” example
of children exercising their rights to speak out and be heard on matters concerning
them. Since the first children’s climate strike in Sweden in August 2018, strikes
have been organized by school students around the world, with more than one
million participating world-wide in the March 2019 Global Strike urging adults to
take responsibility and political leaders to take action on climate change (Laville
et al., 2019). This children-initiated action has drawn letters of support from
academics and scientists around the world; a European Union announcement in
March to dedicate hundreds of billions of Euros on climate change mitigation has
been seen as a response to student strikes (Roth, 2019); and in NZ, Auckland
Council’s declaration of a climate emergency in June also was seen, at least in part,
as a response to student action (Niall, 2019). This is a very obvious example of
children’s citizenship as sociopolitical practice, drawing attention to children’s
potential to effect change – irrespective of “legal” citizenship rights (James,
2011, p. 72; Lister, 2007).
Concepts of Citizenship and Participation
Citizenship can be conceptualized variously as an “identity” (belonging in a com-

munity), a “state” (with specific rights/responsibilities), and a “practice”
(a sociopolitical or dynamic process of participation) (Jans, 2004). Children, like
adults, are citizens who participate in, identify with, and belong to communities.
They possess certain rights by virtue of this belonging (which differ depending on
their age and cultural and political contexts) (Fincher & Iveson, 2008; Hayward,
2012; Jans, 2004); and, through the practice of participation can “benefit their own
lives and create a better future” (Thomas & Percy-Smith, 2010, p. 3). Views of
citizenship as merely reciprocal legal entitlements and duties overlook the way
children, like adults, are part of communities and contribute to civic life, “even in
the absence of a full framework of adult legal entitlements and obligations” (Hay-
ward, 2012, p. 3). In her research with 160 8–12 year old New Zealand children
many talked about citizenship in terms of belong to and participating in their
communities (Hayward, 2012, p. 29).
In their exploration of understandings of children’s participation in children’s
participation projects across five Asian-Pacific countries, Mason and Bolzan (2009)
found understandings ranged from the individual to the collective, with participation
expressed variously as a right of the “citizen child,” as community obligation, and as
necessary education for children’s future as adults.
Participation can describe anything from merely being present, engaging in an
activity, or being actively involved in knowledge creation or advocacy (Carroll et al.,
2017). Children exercising their rights of participation in the public realm can result
in various positive instrumental and conceptual outcomes. These include the gener-
ation of useful knowledge; immersion in democratic and community processes;
fostering a sense of agency; and acknowledgment of the value of engaging with
children (Cele & van der Burgt, 2015; Kesby, 2005). There is now acknowledgment
that children have the right to be consulted on policy matters and are competent to be
consulted (Alderson, 2013; Frank, 2006; Freeman & Tranter, 2011); that their
competencies may differ from those of adults, but this does not make them “lesser”
(Greene & Hill, 2005; Kellett, 2014; Percy-Smith & Burns, 2013). There is also
recognition that they have “a valuable contribution to make to social and political
life” (Graham & Fitzgerald, 2010, p. 135). Evidence suggests their participation in
research and program design to inform policies relevant to their lives leads to
policies and programs more likely to meet their needs (Tisdall & Bell, 2006).
Facilitating Children’s Participation in the Public Realm
Acknowledging children’s rights of participation as citizens and translating these

into meaningful civic engagement in “adult” fora requires changes in adult attitudes,
planning, and decision-making processes. Apart from the recognition that children
have valuable contributions to make through their individual and collective agency
at the local, national, and international level, providing spaces, processes, and
550 P. Carroll
methods which will enable children to form and express their views is required
(Carroll et al., 2019; Kellett, 2014; Newall & Graham, 2012; Wilks & Rudner,
2013). Wanting to ensure children’s voices were heard and their rights to the city
considered as Auckland city intensified and their neighborhoods changed, was the
impetus for Kids in the City research (Carroll et al., 2015) and the ensuing children-
as-researchers and children as co-designers participatory projects outlined below. To
be able to conduct their own research children need research knowledge and skills;
and to meaningfully participate in urban planning, they need to acquire “capacity for
judgement, for communicating their views and agency for action” (Kellett, 2010,
p. 9). The first project aimed to help children develop skills to conduct and dissem-
inate their own urban research to Auckland Council (Carroll et al., 2019); the second
to facilitate children’s input into the redevelopment of an Auckland city square
(Carroll & Witten, 2017; Carroll et al., 2017).
The projects were grounded in beliefs that children have competencies which can
be developed to engage in research/co-design; that they bring unique and valuable
perspectives; and that the participation process can empower children in other aspects
of their lives (Delgardo, 2006). Both projects are “top down” examples of facilitating
children’s effective participation through appropriate engagement in areas dominated
by adult priorities and processes (Percy-Smith, 2010). As researchers and consultants,
the children were part of knowledge-creation and decision-making in the public
realm, bringing a children’s perspective to urban planning.
Facilitating Children’s Participation in Research
In research about children, the focus has shifted from developmental concerns to
children’s lived experiences (Carroll et al., 2015; Freeman & Tranter, 2011; Kellett,
2014), and children have come to be recognized as experts on childhood (Christensen
& Prout, 2002; Mayall, 2008). This shift has been accompanied by a move away from
research on children-as-objects, to research with children-as-subjects (Kellett, 2014;
Shier, 2001) – and occasionally, research by children (for instance, Chae-Young,
2017; Kellett, 2010; Kellett et al., 2004; Michail & Kellett, 2013; Shier, 2015), which
challenges what counts as knowledge within contexts of generational difference and
power (Cuevas-Parra & Tisdall, 2019). Children are seen as bringing a unique
“insider” perspective (Carroll et al., 2019; Casas et al., 2013; Christensen & James,
2000; Christensen & Prout, 2002). In some instances, child-led research is seen as an
important adjunct to adult-led research (Kellett, 2014; Shier, 2015; Yardley, 2014),
producing different and valuable perspectives and outcomes.
Children as Urban Researchers Project
Participants were six children aged 10–13 years who had previously participated in
the adult-led Kids in the City research project and wanted to carry out their own
research. To help them acquire research knowledge and skills, Kellett’s (2005)
widely used training program (Chae-Young, 2017; Kellett, 2014; Michail & Kellett,
2013; Yardley, 2014) was used. It was adapted to make modules more experiential
and “fun,” and NZ-specific content added. Over a series of six half-day training
workshops, the children came up with their research questions related to “living in
the city”; decided on data collection methods; designed their surveys; created
information sheets and consent forms; and completed an internal ethics review
process. Sessions on data analysis, presentation, and dissemination took place
once the children’s research projects were underway. Fortnightly 90-minute after-
school mentoring sessions continued over a 6-month period, with sharing food an
integral part of the process (see Carroll et al., 2019 for full details of the project).
Facilitators took a role of “friendly other adult,” with genuine respect and interest
in the children’s perspectives (Christensen, 2004; Mayall, 2008). Regular check-ins
on what was working and what was not and rigorous researcher reflexivity to ensure
facilitation rather than direction (Christensen, 2004; Jones, 2004) were an on-going
part of the process.
All six children completed their research projects and presented findings to
Auckland Council. Having space to play and access to the public spaces of the
city were dominant themes of their research. The right to play and take part in
recreational activities is a right under UNCRC (Article 32). The young researchers
demonstrated their capacity to produce policy-relevant research with adult assis-
tance. They asked questions we had not thought of and illustrated that research by
children can produce “different and valuable perspectives” (Kellett, 2014; Yardley,
2014). Children’s comments elicited during regular check-ins reflected their growth
in confidence and agency through the process of conducting and disseminating their
own research. Continuing liaison with Auckland Council ensured on-going interest
in the project and a commitment to considering the young researchers’ findings (see
Carroll et al., 2019 for full details of the project).
Facilitating Children’s Participation in Urban Planning
The 1996 UN Conference on Human Settlements, the 1997 launch of Unicef’s

Child Friendly Cities initiative, and A World Fit for Children (2002) collectively
heralded a shift from a view of children as “future citizens” to a view of children as
citizens in the here and now, capable of participating in civic decision-making
(Freeman & Tranter, 2011). In part fostered by Unicef’s Child Friendly Cities
initiative (Corsi, 2002; Malone, 2015; UNICEF, 2004), initiatives engaging with
children in the public domain have grown world-wide (Malone, 2015; Tisdall,
2008). However, despite some notable exceptions (for instance, co-design with
children projects in New South Wales, Australia (Malone, 2013); and in Colorado,
USA (Derr & Tarantini, 2016), children’s effective participation in urban planning
remains rare (Cele & van der Burgt, 2015; Wilks & Rudner, 2013). Merely “having
a say” is not enough, particularly given the interplay of institutional values and
different stakeholder interests in local government decision-making (Percy-Smith,
2006).
552 P. Carroll
Children as Urban Consultants Project
The six young researchers from the previous project were joined by five younger
children to form a reference group of 11 participants, aged 7–13 years, after we were
approached by Auckland Council to conduct a “child-friendly” audit of an inner-city
square and come up with ideas for its redevelopment. We drew particularly on
material produced by the New South Wales Commission for Children and Young
People (Built 4 Kids (2009), and Participation: Count me in! (Mason, 2005)) in
preparing for three half-day workshops (see Carroll et al., 2017 for full details of the
project). Again facilitators took a role of “friendly other adult,” with genuine respect
and interest in the children’s perspectives (Christensen, 2004; Mayall, 2008); regular
check-ins on what was working and what was not and rigorous researcher reflexivity
(Christensen, 2004; Jones, 2004). The young consultants reported feeling “heard”
during the process, and being keen to engage in further co-design/consultation
projects. They were clear that children had the right to be consulted about public
spaces in the city, and that their input was valuable. The children’s input was seen by
Council as providing a better concept plan for the square, and several of the
children’s ideas were incorporated into the redevelopment of the square.
Both of the above projects are “top down” examples of facilitating children’s
effective participation through scaffolding and appropriate engagement (with
on-going researcher/facilitator reflexivity) in areas dominated by adult priorities
and processes (Percy-Smith, 2010). As researchers and consultants, the children
were part of knowledge-creation and decision-making in the public realm bringing a
children’s perspective to urban planning.
Discussion
The United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child recognizes the human
rights of a quarter of the world’s population; and, importantly, positions children as
independent rights’ bearers. This recognition marks a shift from children’s histori-
cally marginalized position vis a vis adult rights, and from children’s rights
depending solely on the social norms of the different societies they live in. Under
the Convention all children are recognized as having the ‘equal and inalienable
rights of all members of the human family’, rights which are in turn endorsed, to
varying degrees, by legislation and policies among states signatories.
While the rhetoric of children’s rights is far from the reality either internationally
or nationally, UNCRC, in its recognition that “inherent dignity and. . .the equal and
inalienable rights of all members of the human family is the foundation of freedom,
justice and peace in the world,” affords children the moral, if not the full legal rights
of citizenship, including their rights to sociopolitical participation. It is an important
international statement of children’s citizenship rights providing a moral and quasi-
legal foundation for the realization of these rights in practice – and it is children’s
citizenship practice, their lived citizenship, which constitutes them as “de facto, even
if not complete de jure” citizens (Lister, 2007, p. 693). Moosa-Mitha (2005) and
others assert children’s rights to belong to the “human family” as “differently equal”
members. Citizenship as an identity, state, and a practice, with its implications for
belonging, identity formation, and participation in society, is crucial for the individ-
ual wellbeing of children and adults, as well as the wider well-being of society.
The focus of this chapter has been on children’s participation rights, underpinned
by UNCRC and set out in various legislation and policies in the 191 States which
have ratified the Convention.
While the need for children and young people’s participation in decision-making in
the public realm may be stipulated, normative institutional assumptions and practices
continue to act as barriers (Carroll et al., 2017; Cele & van der Burgt, 2015; James,
2011). Adult ideas about childhood and vested interests limit children’s agency and
actions – even in Scandinavian countries, where children have a strong position in
society. There, as elsewhere, children’s participation can be seen as a means merely to
validate adult decisions, when children’s agendas may include changing society; or as
an opportunity to label a project as “child-friendly,” when there is little willingness to
facilitate children’s meaningfully participation (Cele & van der Burgt, 2015).
Both child-initiated bottom-up sociopolitical participation (such as child workers
negotiating their rights and striking children demanding action on climate change)
and adult-facilitated top down participation practices (such as facilitating children to
conduct their own research and engage with local councils on the co-design of public
spaces) noted above are examples of children meaningfully exercising participation
rights. While the latter may be critiqued for confining children’s possibilities for
action “within a space predefined by adults” (Liebel, 2008, p. 48), they can never-
theless promote children’s agency and voice, helping them build competence and
confidence, and the quality of their participation, through direct experience.
Conclusion
Facilitating children’s meaningful participation requires relinquishing normative

assumptions about children’s lack of agency and competency and reorganizing
institutional practices to allow children’s meaningful – as opposed to token –
participation. Every society distinguishes between children and adults on the basis
of physiological and psychological differences; but it is the cultural interpretations
and vested interests of adults which inhibit participation.
Children’s participation in the public realm is not just a question of individual
rights: as Haywood (2012) argues, the “wicked problems” facing us require the
‘democratic imaginings’ and the collective agency of all citizens, child and adult, for
both individuals and societies to flourish.
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Part VIII
Social Justice: Freedoms
Media Freedom: A West Papuan Human
Rights Journalism Case Study 30
David Robie
Contents
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 560
West Papuan Case Study . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 562
“Pre-emptive” Mass Arrests in West Papua . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 563
Danger Zone and Challenges for Journalists . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 565
Fact-Finding Missions Record “Intimidation and Brutality” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 567
Indonesian Diplomacy Campaign . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 569
Peaceful Protests Crushed . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 570
Other News Media “Blind Spots” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 572
The Digital Revolution . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 573
Just Peace, Human Rights and Communication . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 575
Conclusion: The Future and a Challenge . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 577
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 578
Abstract
Media freedom means journalism can “shape and spread values, defuse tensions,
and counter hate-speech.” Through its capacity to investigate, challenge, and
question competing views and opinions with facts and balanced reason, journal-
ism can contribute to positive and sustainable notions of peace. However, advo-
cating for positive peace in the news media is not just about reducing or
eliminating violence or conflict narratives, it is also about offering alternative
narratives of hope and action toward peace. In this case study about West Papua,
human rights and peace narratives, the author examines changing strategies over
more than half a century by the Melanesian Papuan people to achieve a just,
positive, and sustainable peace in the Pacific.
D. Robie (*)
Pacific Media Centre, Auckland University of Technology, Auckland, Aotearoa New Zealand
e-mail: davidrobie.nz@icloud.com
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_30
560 D. Robie
Keywords
Case studies · Digital revolution · Freedom of information · Human rights
journalism · Journalists safety · Liberation movements · News media · Peace
activism · Peace journalism · Media freedom · West Papua
Introduction
Media freedom means journalism can “shape and spread values, defuse tensions and
counter hate-speech” (Visible peace, 2017). Through its capacity to investigate,
challenge, and question competing views and opinions with facts and balanced
reason, journalism can contribute to positive and sustainable notions of peace.
However, advocating for positive peace in the news media is not just about reducing
or eliminating violence or conflict narratives, it is also about offering alternative
narratives of hope and action toward peace (Fig. 1).
The flipside of this argument is that without an honest narrative stripped of fear or
favor and providing context, the news media and journalists can fuel the fires of
conflict by succumbing to the propaganda and prejudice of “war journalism.”
Each year, the world celebrates World Press Freedom Day on 3 May (WPFD,
2020), proclaimed by UNESCO in December 1993 following a resolution by the UN
Fig. 1 A “Press freedom in Papua now” exhibition photograph at the 2017 UN World Press
Freedom Day conference in Jakarta, Indonesia. .(© DAVID ROBIE)
30 Media Freedom: A West Papuan Human Rights Journalism Case Study 561
General Assembly in response to the 1991 Windhoek Declaration on media plural-

ism and independence (Declaration of Windhoek, 1991). This is also a day to mark
violations of press freedom and to honor those journalists, editors, and publishers
who have been harassed, attacked, jailed, and even murdered because of their work.
UNESCO believes that the twin tenets of freedom of the press and freedom of
expression are the foundation of a mutual understanding to enable the building of a
sustainable peace. The theme for the 2020 edition of WPFD in The Hague, The
Netherlands, for example, was “journalism without fear or favour” and for inspiring
positive change to world agendas.
Yet in May 2019, the Paris-based global media freedom organization Reporters
Without Borders (RSF) warned that hatred of journalists had “degenerated into
violence, contributing to an increase in fear” (RSF, 2019a). According to the
advocacy agency, the number of countries regarded as “safe – where journalists
can work in complete security” continued to decline.
Just 5 months earlier, the New York-based Committee to Protect Journalists
(CPJ), reported that the number of journalists killed on the job as reprisal murders
had nearly doubled with at least 34 out of the total of 53 journalists killed during
2018 (CPJ, 2018a). In contrast, only 11 journalists were killed in conflict zones – the
lowest in almost a decade.
Both CPJ and RSF indicated Afghanistan as the most dangerous country for
journalists while in early 2019, Mexico, where the state was plunged into a conflict
with powerful and ruthless drug cartels, was suffering an increase in journalist
murders. CPJ (2018b) also reported that at least 251 journalists had been jailed for
the third year in a row, indicating authoritarian responses to critical journalism was
becoming entrenched.
While countries in the vast Pacific Ocean region got off rather lightly in the global
media freedom reports with most named countries apparently “improving,” the
reality is that politicians are becoming more intolerant and belligerent toward news
media and information “black holes” are growing (Robie, 2019a, b). The Pacific is at
the milder end on the scale of media freedom violations – there are no assassinations,
murders, gaggings, torture, and “disappearances” (Robie, 2019b).
Lack of safety for journalists is a growing concern for media organizations around
a world where 80 journalists were killed during 2018, according to RSF (a higher
death toll than as cited by CPJ earlier in this chapter), with 348 being jailed and
60 held hostage (Mayhew, 2018). At least 49 of the slain journalists were “deliber-
ately targeted” because they were media workers (Robie, 2019b).
On 19 December 2019, a Philippine judge handed down sentences for 30 assas-
sins found guilty of the horrendous murder of 32 journalists, and 26 other civilians,
many of them women, and their mass burial in shallow graves on the southern island
of Mindanao (Robie, 2020a; RSF, 2019a). The so-called Ampatuan – or
Maguindanao – massacre, as it has been dubbed after the names of the nearby
town and the province where the atrocity took place, have haunted the media
industry and justice system for a decade. Two Ampatuan brothers, Datu Andal and
Datu Zaldy, were convicted on 57 counts of murder and sentenced to reclusion
perpetua without parole, 28 – including police officers – were also convicted for the
562 D. Robie
57 murders and sentenced to 40 years, and a further 15 were sentenced for up to

10 years for being accessories. The repercussions from this “most deadly” single
attack on journalists on 23 November 2009 will last for many years as Judge Jocelyn
Solis-Reyes ordered arrest warrants for a further 80 suspects amid tensions over a
culture of impunity and wealthy provincial warlords with private militia (Robie,
2020a).
West Papuan Case Study
This chapter primarily deconstructs the case of West Papua and the threat of unresolved
conflict in the Asia-Pacific region and argues why access for independent news media
and nongovernment organizations, and a human rights approach to journalism are
critically important to a positive and peaceful solution. While debate on human rights
journalism in recent years has largely focused on “exposing human rights abuses,” and
on the status of free speech as an actual human right (Shaw, 2011, p. 96, WPFD, 2020),
former journalist and global justice advocate Ibrahim Shaw has argued for the concep-
tualization of human rights journalism (HRJ) drawing on insights gained from peace
journalism (Shaw et al., 2011). This chapter also briefly considers other Asia-Pacific
political issues – such as Kanaky/New Caledonia, Timor-Leste, Papuan New Guinean
university student unrest, and the Pacific’s Nuclear Zero lawsuit against the nine nuclear
powers – in the context of human rights journalism and its role in fostering positive
peace. It concludes with a return to the Philippines and the positive initiative that has
been taking place in that country in response to the issue of impunity in violence against
journalists and seeking more peaceful resolutions.
The two easternmost provinces in Indonesia of Papua and West Papua, collec-
tively known as the region of West Papua, have long been notorious for the lack of
safety for journalists and peace workers from nongovernment organizations, but
their statistics have been hidden in the overall reports on the status of the republic
(Robie, 2017b; Perrottet & Robie, 2011). According to Reporters Without Borders
(RSF, 2019b), President Joko “Jokowi” Widodo, who was re-elected for a second
term in April 2019, failed to honor his campaign promises during his first 5-year term
(Lamb, 2019). His presidency was
marked by serious media freedom violations, including drastic restrictions on media access
to West Papua . . ., where violence against local journalists keeps on growing. Foreign
journalists and local fixers are liable to be arrested and prosecuted there, both those who
try to document the Indonesian military’s abuses and those, such as a BBC correspondent in
February 2018, who just cover humanitarian issues. (RSF, 2019b)
With West Papua, the colonizing Indonesians called the province Irian Jaya in
1973 – “jaya” meaning victorious, in reference to the “liberation” of the territory
from Dutch colonial rule (King, 2004). However, in 2003, Jakarta split the West
Papuan region into two provinces – Papua, the largest and more populous province
around the capital of Jayapura, which shares the border with Papua New Guinea, and
Papua Barat (West Papua) with a combined population of 3,612,854 people, two
thirds of them Papuan, according to official census figures from the Badan Pusat
Statistik (BPS) office (Elmslie, 2017). The indigenous people of West Papua, as this
chapter refers to the region (both provinces) from now on, comprise some 250 diverse
tribes, all with unique languages and cultures. They are largely Christians, although
there are significant Muslim minorities around Manokwari, Fakfak, and Sorong.
In the past half century, Indonesia has imposed on the Papuan people a massive
social engineering project that has involved transmigration of tens of thousands of
largely Muslim Javanese into the region, which from 2010 onward has been rapidly
turning the indigenous people into a minority (Elmslie, 2013; Webb-Gannon, 2015).
In a more recent article revisiting West Papuan demographics, West Papua Project
convenor Jim Elmslie indicated that while the Papuan people “continue to decline,
this process varies widely between different regencies” (2017, p. 1). Although
transmigration is no longer official policy, the transformation that it unleashed has
happened largely hidden from international news media, even though this has been
arguably the most devastating Asia-Pacific political and social story of our times
(Papua Merdeka, 2015 [Video]). For a region that is little known globally, least of all
among media news editors or international news directors, many developments have
been happening in recent times that ought to be raising newsroom antennae.
Surprisingly not so, in spite of two New Zealand media initiatives in 2015 that
ought to have stirred curiosity among international media organizations. One was the
first visit by a New Zealand television crew in a half century to West Papua – by
Māori Television’s Native Affairs current affairs program – and the other by Radio
New Zealand International. One of the missions (Māori Television) was supported
by the Asia New Zealand Foundation, which in itself is salutary because the
foundation had found this to be a worthy cause to endorse in spite of the general
lack of local media interest and high political sensitivity over the issue.
For more than five decades, the legacy media in Australasia have largely ignored
this issue on their doorstep, preferring to give attention to Fiji and a so-called “coup
culture” instead (Fraenkel et al., 2009; Robertson, 2017). In the past 5 years, social
media have contributed to a dramatic upsurge of global awareness about West Papua
but still most legacy media have failed to take heed (Fig. 2).
“Pre-emptive” Mass Arrests in West Papua
On the historically significant anniversary date of 1 May 2016, global social media
ran hot with updates on massive protests against political rule from Jakarta and more
than 2000 arrests were made – 4198, according to one comprehensively documented
report (MacLeod et al., 2016, p. 19; Wenda, 2016a; Mass arrests reported, 2016).
Then in mid-August 2019, a new wave of protests again erupted, then evolved into a
violent upheaval with rioting and destruction of local government buildings. The
protests were in retaliation for the arrest of 43 Papuan students in Surabaya, Java, for
alleged disrespect of the Indonesian flag on Independence Day (Fresh protests, 2019;
Police arrest 34, 2019). These latest protests took place almost seven decades after a
United Nations Temporary Executive Authority (UNTEA) had handed power over
to the former Dutch colony in West New Guinea to Jakarta with a mandate to rule
564 D. Robie
Fig. 2 West Papuan parliamentarian and lawyer Benny Wendy (left) with postgraduate research
student Henry Yamo from Papua New Guinea at the Pacific Media Centre in Auckland. (© DEL
ABCEDE)
until such time as the Papuan people decided on their future in a free vote. On
1 December 1961, colonial Ordinances came into force recognizing Papuan “inde-
pendence” with a Dutch blessing, a Manifesto, a national flag (the strikingly
photogenic Morning Star, which is banned in Indonesia), and a national anthem
(“Oh My Land Papua”). However, on January 1962 an Indonesian paratrooper
invasion of the region paved the way for annexation. In 1969, a so-called “Act of
Free Choice” was orchestrated – albeit under a UN mandate – with a handpicked
group of 1050 men and women (out of a population at the time of more than 800,000
people) who were publicly coerced into choosing to be incorporated into the
Republic of Indonesia (MacLeod et al., 2016, p. 11). Papuan support for self-
determination has been steadily growing stronger in recent years, partly fueled by
recent social media campaigns by solidarity groups around the world (Titifanue
et al., 2017a, b, pp. 134–5). A lawyer advocate for the Jakarta Legal Aid Institute,
Veronica Koman (2016), wrote in The Jakarta Post:
In early May [2016], 2109 Papuan independence protesters were arrested by police – and
that number is more than double the 1025 who were press-ganged into legitimising
Indonesia’s rule of Papua through the 1969 “Act of Free Choice.”
Despite our Indonesian Embassy in the United Kingdom denying in The Guardian that the
arrests took place, the Jakarta Legal Aid Institute documented them all, and holds the names
of every one of the 2109 demonstrators . . .
This is the historical reality that underpins today’s grievances about state violence, environ-
mental degradation and suppression of free speech in Papua. (Koman, 2016)
Until these grievances are addressed, argues Koman, the protests by Papuans will
continue and the numbers will continue to add up. During the later series of protests
in August–September, Koman was forced into self-imposed exile in Australia when
Indonesian authorities accused her of inciting the protests. East Java police issued an
arrest warrant for her on charges under the controversial electronic transaction (ITE)
laws for being a “provocateur” (Wibawa, 2019). The police were also threatening to
ask Interpol to issue a red notice against the pro-Papuan lawyer.
In London, also coinciding with the earlier protests in May 2016 was an extraor-
dinary meeting of more than 100 parliamentarians, politicians, civil rights lawyers,
and activists from some 23 countries who gathered to adopt the Westminster
Declaration, which branded the 1969 vote as a “gross violation of the right to self-
determination.” It also called for an internationally supervised referendum in Papua
in an effort to seek a lasting peace based on self-determination.
Danger Zone and Challenges for Journalists
As analyzed elsewhere by this author (see Perrottet & Robie, 2011; Robie 2012,
2014), the reportage of both East Timor/Timor-Leste and West Papua over several
decades has been, and still is, a “highly risky business, as evinced by the killing of
six Australian- based journalists – the so-called Balibó Five, and then Roger East
who went to East Timor to investigate their deaths – during the invasion by
Indonesia in 1975” (immortalized in the 2009 Robert Connolly feature film Balibó,
www.balibo.com [Video]) (Robie, 2013; Shackleton, 1975).
In 2011, a former postgraduate student with the Pacific Media Centre, Alex
Perrottet, now working as a journalist with Radio NZ International (RNZI), and
this author prepared the first media freedom report on the Asia Pacific region. We
concluded at the time in our “Pacific Media Freedom 2011: A status report” for both
Pacific Journalism Review and as a Pacific Journalism Monograph No. 1:
By far the most serious case of media freedom violations in the Pacific is in Indonesia-ruled
West Papua (now split into two provinces in a “divide-and- rule” tactic by the authorities in
Jakarta). Amid the backdrop of renewed unrest and mass rallies demanding merdeka, or
freedom, with two bloody ambushes in Abepura on the outskirts of the capital Jayapura in
early August 2011, sustained repression has also hit the news media and journalists. In the
past year, there have been two killings of journalists, five abductions, or attempted abduc-
tions, 18 assaults (including repeated assaults against some journalists), censorship by both
the civil and military authorities, and two police arrests (but no charges). (Perrottet & Robie,
2011, p. 148)
To put this into context, the continual harassment and attacks on journalists
through until the present day, it is necessary to return to this bloody tragedy back
at the border township of Balibó in 1975. As film director Robert Connolly has
566 D. Robie
noted, that because these murders of the Balibó Five were carried out with impunity
– neither the Australian nor the New Zealand governments (a Kiwi journalist, Greg
Cunningham was among the victims), seriously protested – this failure directly led to
the execution of a sixth journalist, Roger East, a veteran Australian who had stayed
in Dili to report on the Indonesian invasion. His fledgling East Timor news agency
was trashed on 7 December 1975 and he was dragged out and shot at the main wharf
of the city (Coroner finds Balibo Five deliberately killed, 2007; Cronau, n.d.; Balibó,
2009 [Video])).
These events were a game-changer. While journalists had previously died in
conflict and war zones, the Balibó massacre and subsequent execution of Roger
East were believed to be the first time journalists had been killed because they were
journalists. There are close parallels between Timor-Leste – chronicled admirably by
Maire Leadbeater (2006) in her book Negligent Neighbour – and West Papua
(Leadbeater, 2018) and the terrible toll borne by journalists as well as ordinary
West Papuan citizens.
In July 2014, Green Party MP Catherine Delahunty surprised the New Zealand
Parliament with an untabled motion calling on Indonesian President Widodo to
“commit to genuine media freedom” in West Papua, “including the right of local
and international journalists to report there without risk of imprisonment or harass-
ment.” Her motion won unanimous cross-party support in the vote (Motions–human
rights, 2014; Robie, 2014).
This apparent turning of a new leaf by Widodo led to the first television crew from
New Zealand traveling to West Papua in half a century in August 2015 – Māori
Television’s Native Affairs reporter Adrian Stevanon with Pacific Media Centre
researcher Karen Abplanalp (Abplanalp, 2015; Native Affairs – Inside West
Papua, 2015; Native Affairs sends first NZ TV crew, 2015) – followed by a Radio
New Zealand International team, Johnny Blades and Koroi Hawkins, in October
(Blades, 2015, 2016).
While this shed some light on developments in West Papua for a New Zealand
audience, Stevanon managed an intriguing report on an aid-funded kumara produc-
tion project in the Highlands; these were still stage-managed media visits in many
respects. A video story produced by one of our student journalists on the postgrad-
uate Asia Pacific Journalism course, Media “freedom” in West Papua exposed
(Purdie, 2014 [Video]) gave the lie to claims from Jakarta that Indonesia had adopted
a more “relaxed” policy toward foreign journalists trying to visit West Papua.
A disappointing outcome from the two visits to West Papua officially for the first
time by New Zealand journalists in 2015 is that so far these initiatives have not
encouraged other media in New Zealand, especially print, to take up the challenge.
An Australian investigative journalist of SBS Dateline, Mark Davis, has twice
visited West Papua as an underground, illegal journalist. He was thus hardly
Jakarta’s favored journalist. Yet in May 2014 he also had the opportunity for rare
access to the secretive region to find out what was really happening in the struggle
over self-determination with Indonesia. The title of his half-hour television report
raised the question West Papua’s New Dawn? Hardly at all. A major question for
journalists is just how much is Jakarta offered an olive leaf by cooperating with such
heavily “minded” see-no-evil, hear-no-evil visits to the region (Davis, 2014
[Video]). The Indonesian authorities go to extraordinary lengths to gag and silence

dissent and discourse about West Papua throughout the republic. This was demon-
strated yet again during the 4-day UNESCO World Press Freedom Day conference
hosted by Indonesia in Jakarta 1–4 May 2017 when West Papua was marginalized
from the program (Sapiie, 2017). I was invited as one of the keynote speakers at a
parallel “Free West Papua Media” seminar on May 2 attended by journalists, media
workers and human rights lawyers (Robie, 2017a, b).
It is essential for New Zealand and global journalists to continue to push the
boundaries with West Papua, through both “official” and “unofficial” visits to both
expose the oppression and to report development issues in the twin provinces. This
reportage is also vitally important for bearing witness and contributing to a sustain-
able peace environment in the region.
Fact-Finding Missions Record “Intimidation and Brutality”
Early in 2016, a Catholic Justice and Peace Commission fact-finding mission from
Australia visited West Papua in lieu of the Pacific Islands Forum summit’s initiative,
which had been decided at the Port Moresby summit in September 2015 but blocked by
Indonesian authorities. The mission produced a critical report in May 2016 that called
for urgent action to support Papuans who were “living with unrelenting intimidation
and brutality” (Catholic Justice & Peace Commission, 2016). The report said:
The situation in West Papua is fast approaching a tipping point. In less than five years, the
position of Papuans in their own land will be worse than precarious. They are already
experiencing a demographic tidal wave. Ruthless Indonesian political, economic, social and
cultural domination threatens to engulf the proud people who have inhabited the land they
call Tanah Papua for thousands of years. (Catholic Justice & Peace Commission, p. 2)
The report was equally damning on issues of freedom of expression and the
media, concluding:
Despite an announcement in May 2015 by President Widodo that journalists would have free
access to West Papua, media access is still restricted. There is no freedom of expression.
Almost 40 political prisoners are currently in jail [written before the 2000 plus arrests on
May 1/2 this year and then a further 1000 plus arrests on June 15], customary land rights are
not protected and there is no systemic policy of affirmative action. West Papuan human
rights are also not protected. Throughout 2015, the Indonesian security forces have targeted
young people in particular, all of whom have been unarmed. (Catholic Justice & Peace
Commission, p. 11)
The implications for freedom of expression and the press, and safety of journalists
in West Papua is obscured by various global media freedom reports which effec-
tively hide the region (the two provinces of Papua and West Papua) in the body
text of their dossiers. According to Reporters Sans Frontières’ 2016 World Press
Freedom Index, Indonesia was 130th out of 180 nations surveyed and the report
noted Widodo’s presidency continued to be “marked by serious media freedom
violations, including lack of access to West Papua, a media freedom black hole.”
568 D. Robie
While the 2019 report demonstrated a slight improvement nationally (up to 124th),
the West Papuan situation remained grim (RSF, 2019b). The 2016 report continued:
Journalists and fixers working there are liable to be arrested. The problem is compounded by
Indonesia’s visa law, which discriminates against foreign journalists. At the same time, many
poorly paid journalists accept bribes in return for positive coverage. (RSF, 2016a)
In Freedom House’s 2015 World Press Freedom report on Indonesia, the West
Papuan situation also faced severe criticism:
Media coverage of the sensitive issue of Papuan separatism continued to draw special
scrutiny and restrictions from the government . . . Before taking office, President Widodo
pledged that he would allow international journalists and organisations access to Papua and
West Papua; however, this did not happen by year’s end. The Indonesian authorities
effectively block foreign media from reporting in the two provinces by restricting access
to those with official government approval, which is rarely granted. The few journalists who
do gain permission are closely monitored by government agents, who control their move-
ments and access to local residents. (Freedom House, 2015)
This author challenges the reference in this statement to the word “separatist,”
which is routinely used by Indonesian authorities to brand their Papuan opponents in
a negative light and to help justify their repression. In this context, this author finds
this term “separatist” offensive and yet it is regularly repeated by news agencies and
New Zealand media, which should have a better knowledge of our region in the rare
times that West Papua even makes the news in this country. Indigenous people
cannot be separatists from their own traditional and customary lands. They have a
right to self-determination and to express this aspiration.
According to Human Rights Watch, “the [Indonesian] military has also financed and
trained journalists and bloggers, citing alleged foreign interference in the region,
including by the US government” (cited by Robie, 2016a, p. 9). Following the mass
arrests in early May 2016, RSF issued a communiqué calling on the Indonesian
government to “stop violating the rights of journalists in West Papua.” It particularly
condemned the Jayapura police for preventing reporters from covering a peaceful
demonstration in support of the United Liberation Movement for West Papua
(ULMWP) on 2 May – ironically, the eve of World Press Freedom Day. The
communiqué said:
Ardi Bayage, a journalist working for the Suarapapua.com news website, was arrested at the
same time as other protesters although he showed his press card to the police. The
authorities, who accused him of lying, broke his mobile phone and took him to the mobile
brigade’s headquarters, where he was held for several hours. (RSF, 2016b)
Benjamin Ismail, then head of RSF’s Asia-Pacific desk, said: “We condemn this
violence and censorship of local journalists whose coverage of these demonstrations
was in the public interest” (RSF, 2016b). Ismail also cited the ban on France 24
journalist Cyril Payen, prohibiting him from future visits after he had filed an
in-depth television report on West Papua, and a violent attack by police on local
Tabloid Jubi journalist Abeth You on 8 October 2015 while covering a
demonstration in Jayapura by a group called Solidarity for Victims of Human Rights

Violations in Papua (RSF, 2016b).
Police also arrested and questioned two fixers working for a French journalist,
according to Ismail. This highlights the greater risks faced by local people who
collaborate with foreign journalists to provide them with information.
Indonesian Diplomacy Campaign
While such protests were being aired in international news media, Indonesia had
embarked on a blatant diplomacy campaign around the region, especially focusing
on the two principal Melanesian Spearhead Group member states and largest
economies, Fiji and Papua New Guinea. The MSG is an increasingly important
subregional group, both part of the Pacific Islands Forum and in some respects a rival
to the PIF. It also has status at the United Nations (MacLeod et al., 2016).
Aid largesse was widely distributed and the Indonesian military event went so far
as to join the “adopt-a-school” program to help repair the devastation in Fiji left by
Cyclone Winston. Local NGO groups protested and opposition MPs questioned this
development after Indonesian soldiers were seen as part of the reconstruction
program at Queen Victoria School in Suva. One hundred Indonesian soldiers were
deployed in Fiji at the time of preparing this chapter (Sauvakacolo, 2016).
Opposition MP Roko Tupou Draunidalo asked in the Fiji Parliament why the
construction contract was given to the Indonesian government that stood accused of
genocide in West Papua:
How much are these 20 pieces of silver help to seal your government’s mouth on the issue of
genocide in West Papua and why has the government not sought assistance from other
governments like the British government if it required, or a Commonwealth country to build
a school named after Queen Victoria? (quoted in Swami, 2016)
The answer, incidentally, from Education Minister Dr Mahendra Reddy was that
the question was totally irrelevant. Just 3 days later Roko Tupou was suspended from
Parliament for the rest of the parliamentary term due to end in 2018. An
extraordinary gag.
Publicly, Roko Tupou was suspended by 28 votes to 16 on the recommendation
of the Parliamentary Privileges Committee (comprised of four FijiFirst government
members) following a cross-floor shouting match when she was accused of calling
Education Minister Reddy “a fool.” In her defense, she claimed that this was in
response to a statement by Dr Reddy that implied worse of the Opposition: “Calling
us dumb natives?” (Fiji MP Draunidalo suspended, 2016).
Critics suspect that the real reason for her suspension was to shut down her
embarrassing questions about Indonesia and its relationship with the Fiji govern-
ment. The insults were in effect a smokescreen. Draunidalo made a formal apology
on June 10 (Draunidalo issues public apology, 2016).
Writing in Asia Pacific Report, Tarcisius Tara Kabutaulaka of the University of
Hawai’i at Manoa, severely criticized the Indonesian diplomacy efforts in the
570 D. Robie
Fig. 3 An iconic West Papuan bird of paradise in chains. © DAVID ROBIE
Pacific, particularly in Melanesia, warning that Pacific nations should not be bullied,
adding that: “Indonesia is not Melanesia.” Replying to an Indonesian statement
condemning Solomon Islands Prime Minister Manasseh Sogavare, Kabutaulaka
wrote (Fig. 3):
Indonesia has persistently committed human rights violations, including atrocities, against
Melanesians in West Papua for over 50 years. That is not a myth. It is the truth. It has been
verified and documented by international human rights organisations such as Amnesty
International and other independent bodies.
For Indonesia to say that it is “long committed to address human rights issues,” is misleading
and an attempt to deflect attention from realities on the ground in West Papua. (Kabutaulaka,
2016).
Among recent evidence of the Indonesian diplomatic offensive in the region was
at the 48th Pacific Islands Forum Leaders Meeting in Apia, Samoa, when Jakarta’s
Ambassador to New Zealand, Samoa, and Tonga, Tantowi Yahya, and a Papuan
attached to Indonesia’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Franz Albert Joku, “rubbished”
a prominent protest by Pacific trade unionists and human rights activists over
violations in West Papua. Yahya added: “The Pacific community should stick to
the main agenda of the conference, which is the Blue Pacific” (Feagaimaali’
i-Luamanu, 2017).
Peaceful Protests Crushed
On 15 June 2016, thousands of West Papuan people rallied in the streets of towns
across the nation to call for freedom and for their fundamental right to self-
determination to be exercised. They showed their full support for the United
Liberation Movement for West Papua’s (ULMWP) full membership of the
Melanesian Spearhead Group (MSG). The Papuan people also rallied to show their
support for the proposed Pacific Islands Forum Human Rights Fact-Finding Mission
to West Papua, and a rejection of Indonesia’s “false attempts” at establishing an
Indonesian-led Fact-Finding Mission. The Papuan people gathered peacefully in a
massive display of solidarity to show their true aspirations. Exiled West Papuan
leader Benny Wenda stated with optimism:
I hope that the world will look and see these demonstrations as evidence that we, the people
of West Papua, continue to risk our lives by simply calling for our fundamental right to self-
determination. (Wenda, 2016a)
Benny Wenda’s hopes were short-lived. Instead, the Indonesian police were
determined to use brute force to crush the peaceful protests and more than 1000
people were arrested, mostly in Jayapura, and some of the detainees were badly
beaten (Wenda, 2016b).
Such mass arrests and brutality are becoming increasingly common in West Papua and it is
estimated that in the last two months, nearly 3000 West Papuan people have been arrested by
the Indonesian authorities simply for peacefully demonstrating and calling for our funda-
mental right of self-determination to be exercised.
My people cannot be silent while our fundamental human rights continue to be
published, violated and denied to us by this brutal occupying colonial power. (Wenda,
2016b)
Wenda declared that a Pacific Islands Forum Fact-Finding mission was desper-
ately needed in West Papua to help “uncover, document and expose” these ongoing
human rights violations. He argued that the Indonesian government was trying to
claim that there were only 11 human rights abuses that needed to be investigated in
“occupied West Papua.” Wenda has attempted to correct public misinformation
about West Papua (Wenda, 2016c).
The Indonesians have also attempted to argue unsuccessfully that Indonesia
has five Melanesian provinces, not just the two Papuan provinces on the island of
New Guinea (Robie, 2015). After a Melanesian Spearhead Group Leaders
Summit in Honiara in what was generally portrayed as a victory for West
Papua by granting observer status to the ULMWP, this author took a different
view and described the summit as “the most shameful” for solidarity since the
organization had been founded two decades earlier. This author wrote on his blog
Café Pacific:
[The MSG] had the opportunity to take a fully principled stand on behalf of the West Papuan
people, brutally oppressed by Indonesia after an arguably “illegal” occupation for more than
a half century . . .
In the end, the MSG failed the test with a betrayal of the people of West Papua by the two
largest members [Fiji and Papua New Guinea]. Although ultimately it is a decision by
consensus.
Instead, the MSG granted Indonesia a “promotion” to associate member status – to an
Asian country, not even Melanesian? (Robie, 2015)
572 D. Robie
Other News Media “Blind Spots”
While the West Papuan “black spot” issue is the most urgent in the Asia-Pacific
region, there are other issues that have been virtually ignored by the legacy media
preventing peace processes from taking place. Why is this so? Primarily because in
neighboring countries such as New Zealand there is no genuine tradition of foreign
correspondents and foreign editors, so the specialist and background knowledge
required to make informed judgment calls is seriously lacking. There is also a
reluctance to deploy resources to international reporting, in contrast to the leading
newspapers in Australia such as The Age, The Australian and The Sydney Morning
Herald.
1980s: The issue of Kanak independence in the French Pacific territory of New
Caledonia, New Zealand’s closest Pacific neighbor and a major upheaval during the
1980s over independence, threatened to spill over into a civil war. At one stage,
arguably the finest contemporary Kanak political leader, the charismatic Jean-Marie
Tjibaou and his deputy Yeiweni Yeiweni were assassinated by dissidents within the
main FLNKS party. Although in a referendum on possible independence from
France took place in November 2018 under the Matîgnon and Noumea Accords,
the expected “non” vote was surprisingly muted (56.7%), giving optimism to the
pro- independence parties for the next two referenda due in 2020 and 2022 (Robie,
1989, 2014, 2019).
2013/16: On 24 April 2014, the Republic of the Marshall Islands (RMI) filed
applications in the International Court of Justice (ICJ) to hold the nine nuclear-armed
states accountable for violations of international law over their nuclear disarmament
obligations under the 1968 Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty (NPT) and customary
international law (Lawyers Committee, n.d.; The Marshall Islands’ Nuclear Zero
Cases, 2016). The nine states possessing nuclear arsenals are the United States, the
United Kingdom, France, Russia, China, India, Pakistan, North Korea, and Israel.
However, the ICJ rejected the lawsuit on 6 October, saying the court did not have
jurisdiction because there was no evidence of a legal dispute that it could adjudicate
(Simons, 2016; Summary of Judgment, 2016).
The cases were founded on the unanimous conclusion of the ICJ in a 1996
advisory opinion, that there “exists an obligation to pursue in good faith and bring
to a conclusion negotiations leadings to nuclear disarmament in all its aspects under
strict and effective international control.” Dubbed as Nuclear Zero by the legal
advisers that have been helping the RMI in this case, this intriguing saga has been
given relatively little coverage in international media.
8 June 2016: The Papua New Guinea police fired upon peacefully protesting
students at the University of Papua New Guinea with tear gas and live rounds. While
the police claimed they were warning shots, there were incorrect initial reports of
4 deaths and dozens wounded, but these estimates were later downgraded to
23 wounded, 4 critically who later recovered. The incident followed 5 weeks of
rolling protests and boycotts at the country’s four main universities with demands
that Prime Minister Peter O’Neill step down and face an investigation of corruption
allegations. (O’Neill was subsequently narrowly reelected in a closely fought general
election in July 2017 but was ousted by James Marape in a parliamentary vote in
May 2019). International media virtually ignored these developments (Matasororo,
2016; Robie, 2016c; Somare condemns police, 2016).
4 November 2018: The people of the French-ruled territory of New Caledonia, or
Kanaky, as Indigenous pro-independence campaigners call their cigar-shaped
islands, voted on their political future amid controversy and tension. This was a
historic vote on independence in a “three-strikes” scenario in the territory ruled by
France since 1953, originally as a penal colony for convicts and political dissidents.
The vote was remarkably close with the expected “non” vote slipping to a 56.7%
vote, far below the predicted 70%. This meant that there would be two repeat votes
in 2020 and 2022, etc, giving a chance for the Kanak population to wrest a yes vote
in spite of the demographics being loaded against them (Robie, 2019) (In the
referendum on 4 October 2020, the Kanak independence movement was further
encouraged by an even closer vote with 46.74% opting “oui” and opponents
rejecting independence dropping to 53.26%).
The Digital Revolution
The digital revolution is one of the major contributing factors in even getting this far
with global awareness over West Papua and there is optimism that the region will
ultimately become full members of the Melanesian Spearhead Group, sooner rather
than later. Social media over the past 5 years has provided an unprecedented impetus
to the self-determination and independence struggle with West Papuans challenging
the authoritarian ruthlessness of the Indonesian security forces with a constant
stream of videos showing torture and mass arrests in response to peaceful protest.
The independent West Papua Media alerts agency has played a key role in this social
media strategy and there has “been a rise of the nonviolent movement and ordinary
people’s support for freedom can be seen by the rise in mass mobilisations”
(MacLeod et al., p. 19). According to Jason Titifanue and colleagues at the Univer-
sity of the South Pacific (2017a) in a paper on social networking as a political tool in
the Pacific, while there is no general consensus on the effectiveness of social media
in activism, their findings indicate it has been a “valuable tool for facilitating and
organising activism” in the Free West Papua campaign. They argue that “with
journalists being restricted from entering West Papua, social media have become
the only option for West Papuans to share their plight with the rest of the world”
(Titifanue et al., p. 275). Harsh atrocities depicted through social media have stirred
offline political activism through protests and marches. This has in turn played out
with influence on Pacific governments.
Australian digital humanities researcher Camellia Webb-Gannon (2015) wrote
in her doctoral thesis about “transformative democratisation, in essence purposeful
action” at the grassroots level and international solidarity for West Papua that may
ultimately lead to a shift in policy by the Australian and New Zealand governments
and in turn an awakening of the New Zealand media to the desperate West Papuan
issue. She noted:
574 D. Robie
This is expressed in a burgeoning genre of West Papua independence music being created by
West Papuans and their Melanesian and Australian supporters and distributed digitally via
YouTube, Soundcloud, iTunes, Bluetooth and SD cards through ever expanding digital
networks. While evidently the digital revolution has not impacted on all populations equally,
it has had the effect of spreading music, foundational to Melanesian cosmology and the life
force of West Papua’s independence movement widely, and lifting the regional profile of the
West Papuan struggle. (Webb-Gannon, 2015)
Jason MacLeod is another Australian, educator, organizer, and researcher, who

did his own doctoral research on how contemporary Papuans struggling for change
“dream, plan and act in pursuit of self-determination and decolonisation” and how
media freedom can contribute to peace. In his 2015 book Merdeka and the Morning
Star, and a later journal article in Pacific Journalism Review, he offers a critical
update demonstrating how the armed struggle has given way to an extraordinary
process of “civil resistance,” journalism activism and social media mobilization
(MacLeod, 2015a, p. ix; 2015b; Robie, 2016b).
Although many Papuans feel intense pride for the guerrillas in the mountains and jungles
who continue to wage armed struggle, few Papuans are willing to risk their lives committing
to a strategy of guerrilla war that has little prospect of success . . . Nonviolent action is also
more numerous and more regular than politically motivated violent action.
Barely a week, or even a day goes by without some kind of nonviolent protest in the cities
and towns of West Papua, over violations of basic rights or demands “full freedom.”
(MacLeod, 2015b, p. 14)
In July 2019, the civil disobedience took the form of a successful West Papuan
boycott of the Indonesian presidential and parliamentary elections (West Papuan
boycott of Indonesian elections successful, 2019). Indonesia’s top 15 “enemies of
the state” in West Papua, according to journalist Alan Nairn (2010), who exposed a
list of “civilian dissidents” from leaked Kopassus military papers, are community
leaders, church leaders, students, members of parliament, and leaders of the Papuan
Customary Council. As a postscript to his book, MacLeod (2015a, p. 243; 2015b,
MacLeod et al., 2016) writes of the extraordinary effort from people inside West
Papua campaigning for the ULMWP to gain membership of the MSG. He personally
witnessed the unwrapping of five 27 kg hessian-wrapped packages in Honiara in
June 2015. Each parcel contained two massively thick A4-sized books.
In an age of easy Facebook likes, and the growing importance of social media in
the West Papuan struggle, this was no online stunt. This was a petition painstakingly
collected by ULMWP organizers (p. 244) while traveling across the territory of West
Papua at great risk of persecution and even death if caught by the security forces –
they gathered 55,555 signatures along with names, addresses, signatures, and even
copied ID cards to prove their authenticity (Fig. 4).
While in much of the rest of the world, petitions may be peaceful, routine, and
taken for granted, in Indonesian-ruled West Papua it is different. Signing a petition
like this, as MacLeod (p. 245) acknowledges, is tantamount to “sedition.”
Fig. 4 Open access for journalists in West Papua – essential for positive peace. (© DAVID ROBIE)
In the second half of 2019, a wave of peaceful protests gave way to violent
demonstrations in the face of Indonesian repression for more than a month from
19 August to 23 September (Firdaus, 2019, Robie, 2020b). The unrest was the
fiercest for several years and followed the arrest of 43 Papuan students in the
Javanese city of Surabaya for alleged disrespect for the Indonesian national
flag. Thousands took part in some of the demonstrations. Protesters demanded a
referendum on independence. Rioting erupted in Jayapura, Sorong, and
Wamena with 30 people being killed and administration buildings being dam-
aged. Indonesian authorities shut down the internet for 2 weeks and then
partially lifted the ban (Lamb & Doherty, 2019; Afifa, 2019; Indonesia restores
internet, 2019).
Just Peace, Human Rights and Communication
Reporting the conflict in West Papua poses challenging questions and is increas-
ingly being regarded as an appropriate context for human rights journalism,
which is a derivative of peace journalism. According to the Sierra Leone former
journalist and editor Ibrahim Seaga Shaw, who has more recently been an
advocate for peace journalism and refining this as “human rights” journalism,
acts of communication can contribute to creating peace. This can also be
“indispensable for human rights promotion and protection” (Shaw, 2011,
p. 99). Critiquing the status quo, he says:
576 D. Robie
Table 1 Variable of peace journalism versus human rights journalism

Peace journalism Human rights journalism
1. Peace/conflict orientated: 1. Nonviolence/structural/cultural violence orientated:
prevention/ win–win proactive/preventing direct violence/triple win
2. Truth orientated: exposes all 2. Human wrongs orientated: exposes all human wrongs
untruths
3. People orientated: names all 3. People/human-face orientated: cares for and empowers all
victims but is biased in favor of vulnerable people
4. Solution orientated 4. Holistic problem-solving: for present problems
now/tomorrow; and surface/hidden problems
Source: Shaw, 2011, Table 4, p. 109
Mainstream journalism has failed to communicate not only peace, but also human rights in
ways that have the potential of illuminating the important nexus between them. Perhaps
more importantly, mainstream journalism has failed to focus on the potential for positive
peacebuilding and on positive human rights to match the dominant negative peace negative
rights emphasised within the cosmopolitan context of global justice. (Shaw, 2011, p. 98)
Shaw argues that if journalism is to play “any agency role in society,” then the
human rights journalism stream of peace journalism needs to “focus on
deconstructing the underlying structural causes of political violence such as poverty,
famine, exclusion of minorities, youth marginalisation, human trafficking, forced
labour and forced migration (to name but a few)” (2011, p. 108). The troubles of
West Papua exhibit several of these characteristics, if not all, in the self-
determination struggle (Robie, 2012, 2014). Shaw has expanded his “just peace”
approach with a series of templates, including this one comparing peace journalism
with human rights journalism (Table 1).
Comparable to peace journalism, human rights journalism “adopts a global, long-
term, proactive and sustainable approach” to news coverage. Applied to the West
Papua conflict and the search for sustainable peace, journalists ought to be highlight-
ing the campaign for: (1) an impartial investigation into the cases of arbitrary arrest
and impunity; (2) a guaranteed right to freedom of expression, and freedom of
association and assembly for all Papuans; (3) open access to West Papua for the
international community, including journalists, diplomats, and NGO advocates;
(4) an early date for the projected visit of the UN Special Rapporteur on Freedom
of Expression; and (5) a new independent plebiscite for the future of the Melanesian
region (Robie, 2020b, p. 31). Robie and Marbrook (2020, p. 4) explore these concepts
further in an analysis of what they describe as talanoa journalism, which integrates
the indigenous kastom (custom) factor into media with the Pacific tradition of
holistic debate in the context of both investigative journalism and documentary
making. The authors deploy a matrix of key principles such as privileging grassroots
source orientation, a reflexive stance, possible solutions for identified problems,
and community ethics with recognition of indigenous, diversity, and cultural values
(Fig. 5).
der Coalition (Pa

akehol rtne
-S t ety Advisory Grou rsh
i a f
ult rnalist S p (J
SA ip)
M ou ASJ Secretaria G)
J PP t
Public information,
Pr
n
tio
ev
journalism education
tec
en
and research
tion
Pro
Conducive
Integrity and working
professionalism conditions
Vision
Safety and
protection Criminal
mechanisms justice system
P r o s e c u ti o n
Journalists and media workers

in the Philippines are safe and
protected to practice their
profession, thus upholding press
freedom, safeguarding human
rights, and strengthening democracy
Fig. 5 Philippine Plan of Action on the Safety of Journalists (PPASJ) framework. (Asian Institute
of Journalism And Communication)
Conclusion: The Future and a Challenge
What does the future hold for West Papua? The optimism remains in spite of the
great odds against self-determination. As the Reverend Dr Benny Giay wrote on the
pages of Tabloid Jubi, a genuine resolution for West Papua will only come from
Indonesia’s willingness to listen and stop the oppression of West Papuans (Giay,
2016). Meanwhile, environmental destruction and rampant militarism walk hand in
hand in West Papua. Papuans are continuously stigmatized as backward, ignorant,
and poor. This has become a pretext for what Indonesian authorities call “the
acceleration and expansion of development.” A recent political push to introduce
legislation that will fast track environmental deregulation and the consequences this
will have for deforestation and extraction industries seems destined to increase the
578 D. Robie
intolerable pressure on West Papuans (Jong, 2020). Pressed against waves of

Indonesian migration, Papuans are not given any chance at all to develop them-
selves. They are a minority in their own land, not only in terms of numbers but also
in terms of power. Every protest and negotiation effort by indigenous people is met
with brutal responses and security operations.
As Ibrahim Shaw argues in his analysis of human rights journalism, mainstream
minority-world journalism “generally sides with the official rhetoric and policy
stances” of governments in countries where it is produced (Shaw, p. 97). When
human rights violations make news headlines, they are often reported as “actions of
individual perpetrators” rather than reported as the result of systemic oppression.
The major challenge facing journalists and the news media to ensure positive peace
for West Papua is to strengthen the reportage in global mainstream media, report the
systemic violations and the repressive structures.
Globally, coalition building is a focus of young, independent, and progressive
media in conflict zones to support ethical and sustainable peace. For example, in the
Philippines media and press freedom, organizations have come together to develop a
UN Plan of Action for the Safety of Journalists – the first in the world. The plan
pledges to help shape a mediascape that during the period 2020–2024 will reduce to
a minimum cases of harassment, intimidation, threats, killings, and other forms of
attack. Deploying a framework of the so-called “4Ps – Prevention, Protection,
Prosecution, and Partnership,” the plan seeks to grow a sustainable culture where
“journalists and media workers . . .. are safe and protected to practise their profes-
sion, thus upholding media freedom, safeguarding human rights, and strengthening
democracy” (The Philippines launches national plan on the safety of journalists,
2019).
In a global environment of shrinking space for press freedom and civil society,
quality investigative journalism and peace or human rights journalism will continue
to play a vital and positive role in the development of stable, sustainable, and
peaceful societies.
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worldpressfreedomday
Freedom from Violence: A Samoan
Perspective on Addressing Domestic or 31
Family Violence
Michael Fusi Ligaliga
Contents
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 584
Violence Against Women . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 585
Domestic Violence as Unfreedom . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 588
Domestic Violence in the Pacific . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 591
Domestic Violence in Samoa . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 593
Faa Samoa and Domestic Violence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 595
Peace and Conflict Studies (PACS) Contribution to Domestic Violence in Samoa . . . . . . . . . . . 596
Theme 1: Aiga/Family . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 598
Theme 2: Nu’u/Matai or Village/Chief . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 600
Theme 3: Ekalesia/Church . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 602
Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 604
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 605
Abstract
Over the past 30 years, Samoa has been a model example of peace and stability
throughout the Pacific region. The fusion of traditional (fono o matai and
faamatai) and western institutions (Westminster style of democracy) of gover-
nance, albeit not a perfect marriage, has nonetheless been credited with Samoa’s
ability to sustain peace and stability. Despite this, domestic violence is now
an epidemic in Samoa. Numerous research studies have adopted the concept
of faa Samoa to examine Samoa’s protective and preventative mechanisms
This chapter is drawn from the author’s doctoral thesis (Ligaliga, 2018)
M. F. Ligaliga (*)
Te Tumu School of Maori, Pacific and Indigenous Studies, University of Otago, Dunedin,
New Zealand
e-mail: michael.ligaliga@otago.ac.nz
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_31
584 M. F. Ligaliga
(va or relational spaces, va tapuia or sacred spaces, faaaloalo or respect, alofa or

love, and malupuipui or protection) against domestic violence. However, little is
known about whether or not there are other aspects within faa Samoa that
contribute to or influence domestic violence in Samoa. This chapter employs
Galtung’s Typology of Violence, a peace and conflict theory, to analyze Samoa’s
domestic violence issues. Galtung suggests there are three types of violence –
direct, structural, and cultural and that direct violence is reinforced by structural
and cultural violence. Galtung’s typology of violence raises important institu-
tional and cultural problems that can influence and justify the act of domestic
violence. Some of these contributors are subtle and at times invisible, while others
are masked and hide behind Samoa’s traditional institutions. Whether violence is
perceived as unseen (structural and culture violence) or visible (direct violence),
this needs to be addressed.
Keywords
Fa’a Samoa · Family violence · Direct violence · Structural violence · Cultural
violence
Introduction
A very basic freedom is to be free from violence. However, a vast number of people
are not able to enjoy this freedom, particularly women. Violence against women is
not confined to times of war and conflict. Women in all countries experience sexual
violence committed by an intimate partner. This is a global phenomenon and yet
there is little in the peace and conflict literature that addresses domestic or family
violence, although positive peace is predicated on the need for freedom from
violence. In the Pacific there have been unprecedented increases in domestic vio-
lence. Even in Samoa, previously regarded as one of the most peaceful Pacific nations,
domestic violence is now an epidemic social issue. (State of Human Rights – Summary.
Government of Samoa, 2018, pp. 1–51. https://ombudsman.gov.ws/wp-content/
uploads/2018/09/National-Inquiry-Report-into-Family-Violence_-State-of-Human-
Rights-Report-2018-SUMMARY_English.pdf)
There are peacebuilding theories helpful for analyzing domestic violence that
frame violence as direct, structural, and cultural. While there are limitations to
Galtung’s theory for addressing indigenous communities, in this chapter, I use his
typology of violence to consider the incidence of domestic violence in Samoa, not
just the direct violence, but also structural and cultural violence. I look in particular
at faa Samoa, fundamental to Samoan culture, for its impact on domestic violence,
and argue that faa Samoa has been used to sanction domestic violence, but that this is
based on a distortion of faa Samoa. A process that engages with the elements of faa
Samoa that both influence and could prevent domestic violence needs to be followed
if positive peace is to be a reality in the island nation.
31 Freedom from Violence: A Samoan Perspective on Addressing Domestic or Famil. . . 585
Violence Against Women
Irrelevant of race, culture, religion, and socioeconomic status, violence against

women is the least recognized human rights abuse in the world (Taylor, 2016).
Furthermore, in 2012, of all women who were victims of homicide globally, almost
half were killed by intimate partners or family members, compared to less than 6% of
men killed in the same year (UN Women, 2016). In the same report it is also
indicated that around 120 million girls worldwide had experienced forced inter-
course or other forced acts at some point in their lives. Former husbands, partners, or
boyfriends were identified as the most common perpetrators of sexual violence
against women and girls.
In an article published in 2014 by the HuffPost (formally the Huffington Post)
domestic violence statistics in the United States were alarming. Between 2001 and
2012, it was reported that 11,766 women were murdered by a current or ex male
partner during that time. To give this number some context, during the same 11-year
period, the number of American troops killed during the Afghanistan and Iraq war
was 6,488 – a startling 5,278 less than the number of women who were murdered by
a current or former partner (Vagianos, 2015).
The problem of domestic violence has an impact on the global and domestic
economy. In 2013, the World Bank released a report entitled The price of violence
against women and girls (World Bank, 2013). The report highlighted that economic
costs to domestic violence impact both rich and poor countries. In 2002, the World
Bank carried out a global study to understand the economic costs associated with
domestic violence. The figures from this study are provide in Table 1.
The 2013 World Bank report illustrates that while there are gender, human
rights, and psychological issues associated with domestic violence, there is also a
monetary cost to the problem also. While all countries, irrelevant if they are rich
or poor, experience domestic violence, it is the poorer developing countries
where the numbers of domestic violence are higher (Ress, 2005), that struggle to
address thus social issue due to the lack of resources and capabilities (World Bank,
2012).
In addition to the economic impact of domestic violence, there are also numerous
health issues associated with domestic violence. In addition to physical harm and
Table 1 Cost of domestic Country Estimate

violence
United Kingdom $42 billion
Australia $8.6 billion
New Zealand $1.2–$5.8 billion
Chile $1.7 billion
Fiji $210 million
Nicaragua $34 million
Uganda $2.5 million
586 M. F. Ligaliga
Table 2 Common health consequences of violence against women

Physical Sexual and reproductive
Acute or immediate physical injuries, such as bruises, Unintended/unwanted pregnancy
abrasions, lacerations, punctures, burns and bites, as well Abortion/unsafe abortion
as fractures and broken bones or teeth Sexually transmitted infections,
More serious injuries, which can lead to disabilities, including HIV
including injuries to the head, eyes, ears, chest and Pregnancy complications/
abdomen miscarriage
Gastrointestinal conditions, long-term health problems Vaginal bleeding or infections
and poor health status, including chronic pain syndromes Chronic pelvic infection
Death, including femicide and AIDS-related death Urinary tract infections
Fistula (a tear between the vagina
and bladder, rectum, or both)
Painful sexual intercourse
Sexual dysfunction
Mental Behavioural
Depression Harmful alcohol and substance use
Sleeping and eating disorders Multiple sexual partners
Stress and anxiety disorders (e.g., post-traumatic stress Choosing abusive partners later in
disorder) life
Self-harm and suicide attempts Lower rates of contraceptive and
Poor self-esteem condom use
abuse, women also experience mental and psychological abuse during domestic
violence. While the physical damages related to domestic violence can heal over
time, the mental and psychological ramifications caused by domestic violence persist
well after the violence has stopped (Garcia-Moreno et al., 2012). Table 2, published
in a 2012 World Health Organization (WHO) report entitled Understanding and
Addressing Violence Against Women – Health Consequences, illustrates the physi-
cal, sexual and reproductive, and mental and behavioral health consequences of
violence against women.
Mental health issues include depression, fear, anxiety, and low self-respect, and
reproductive health issues include sexual dysfunction, unwanted pregnancies, gyne-
cological problems, premature births, low birth weight of babies, pelvic inflamma-
tory diseases, and maternal mortality and morbidity (Popa, 2009).
Domestic violence, prior to the 1970s, was a misunderstood and insignificant
offence (Clark, 2011). This attitude cultivated new ideologies on women’s rights
through the establishment of numerous feminist groups. These organizations
exposed and consequently accelerated wider issues concerning women such as
sexuality, domestic violence, and workplace equality. Feminist groups such as the
Battered Women’s Movement (BWM) in England and its affiliate BWM in the
United States were established in 1971 and 1973, respectively. The BWM was
created to provide shelter services for women who were emotionally and physically
abused by their husbands. Domestic violence, the once trivial issue, was, through
organizations like BWM, becoming an important and significant social problem. In
doing so, key organizations such as the National Organization for Women (1966),
Women’s Liberation Movement (1970), and the Anti-Rape Movement (1970)

became prominent voices of change toward domestic violence (Tierney, 1982).
The establishment of national feminist groups also influenced international
movement on addressing domestic violence. The creation of international legislative
instruments within the United Nations advocated the importance and seriousness of
domestic violence. To address the issues of gender inequality, in 1979 the United
Nations General Assembly, through the Convention on the Elimination of all Forms
of Discrimination against Women (CEDAW), brought the issues of women’s dis-
crimination to global attention.
Commonly referred to the Bill of Rights for Women, over 180 countries ratified
CEDAW in 1981. The 30-article treaty defines discrimination against women as well
as sets up an agenda for national action to end such discrimination (United Nations,
1979). Article 1 defines discrimination against women as:
Any distinction, exclusion or restriction made on the basis of sex which has the effect or
purpose of impairing or nullifying the recognition, enjoyment or exercise by women,
irrespective of their marital status, on the basis of equality of men and women, of human
rights and fundamental freedoms in the political, economic, cultural, civil or any other field.
There have also been various amendments and recommendations to CEDAW

covering sexual violence. Such amendments include broadening the definition for
gender-based violence to include violence perpetrated by public authorities, private
acts of violence, subordination of women, pornography, prostitution and trafficking in
women, sexual harassment, and unequal access to health care (United Nations, 1986).
Since its inception in 1993 the Declaration on the Elimination of Violence against
Women provided a definitional platform (United Nations, 1993). The first two
articles state:
Article 1: The term “violence against women” mean any act of gender-based violence that
results in, or is likely to result in, physical, sexual or psychological harm or suffering to
women, including threats of such acts, coercion or arbitrary deprivation of liberty, whether
public or in public life.
Article 2: Violence against women shall be understood to encompass, but not be limited
to, the following;
1. Physical, sexual and psychological violence occurring in the family, including battery,
sexual abuse of female children in the household, dowry-related violence, marital rape,
female genital mutilation and other traditional practices harmful to women, non-spousal
violence and violence related to exploitation.
2. Physical, sexual and psychological violence occurring within the general community,
including rape, sexual abuse, sexual harassment and intimidation at work, in educational
institutions and elsewhere, trafficking in women and forced prostitution.
3. Physical, sexual and psychological violence occurring perpetrated or condoned by the
State, wherever it occurs.
In 1995, the Beijing Declaration was created to further address the issue of
violence against women as part of the United Nations Fourth World Conference
for Women. The declaration stated:
588 M. F. Ligaliga
Violence against women is an obstacle to the achievement of the objectives of equality,

development and peace. Violence against women both violates and impairs or nullifies the
enjoyment by women of their human rights and fundamental freedoms... In all societies, to a
greater or lesser degree, women and girls are subjected to physical, sexual and psychological
abuse that cuts across lines of income, class and culture. (United Nations, 1995)
Four years later (1999) the United Nations General Assembly adopted the 25th of
November as the international day for the elimination of violence against women. Since
this adoption, the definitional parameters of the terms “violence against women” were
broadened to include other issues such as all forms of violence against women,
trafficking women and girls, crimes committed in the name of honor, violence against
women migrant workers, and traditional or customary practices affecting the health of
women and girls and domestic violence (United Nations, 1999).
Domestic Violence as Unfreedom
Agarwal and Panda argue that domestic violence is “a serious and neglected form of
unfreedom” (Agarwal & Panda, 2007). Domestic violence is a relatively new field of
study among social scientists. Primarily, domestic violence research focused on child
abuse. However, research has since broadened to include “wife abuse, dating
violence, battered males, and same-sex domestic violence. Moreover, academics
have recognized a subcategory within the field of criminal justice: victimology the
science or study of victims” (Lockton & Ward, 2007).
For Lockton and Ward (2007), the term “violence” itself is often used in two
senses:
In its narrower meaning it describes the use or threat of physical force against a victim in the
form of assault or battery. But in the context of the family, there is also a wider meaning
which extends to abuse beyond the more typical instances of physical assault to include any
form of physical, sexual or psychological molestation or harassment which has a serious
detrimental effect upon the health and well-being of the victim, albeit that there may not be
violence involved in the sense of physical force...The degree of severity of such behavior
depends less upon the intrinsic nature than upon it being part of a pattern and upon its effect
on the victim. (Lockton & Ward, 2007)
In addition to this, Radford and Harne (2008) suggest that domestic violence:
can occur in any intimate or familial relationship, irrespective of whether the parties are
living together or not, whether they are married or cohabiting or living in three-generational
extended families. It is the relational element, rather than location that defines the violence as
‘domestic’, because while it commonly occurs in the home, it can spill out into the streets,
bus stops, bars or even result in road traffic ‘accidents’. It is the fact that the perpetrator and
victim are not only well known to each other, but are (or were) in intimate or familial
relationships, that makes it particularly hard to deal with by the survivor or victim, support
and criminal justice agencies and the law. (Radford & Harne, 2008)
Scholars and advocates have also suggested that the conceptualization of domes-
tic violence should extend beyond the traditional portrayal of the problem as being
physical, psychological, and verbal domination and control over and intimate part-
ner. Rather they have argued that the proper referent for domestic violence directed
at women should not be episodes of specific acts of physical, psychological, and
sexual violence but, rather, a pattern of behavior and experiences of violence and
abuse within a relationship (Freeman, 2016).
From a feminist perspective, the definition of domestic violence derives from the
context of power and control in the context of a patriarchal society. This school of
thought argues that:
domestic violence reflects men’s need to have complete control over their female partners in
particular and social control over women in general...Advocates of this view believe that
domestic violence is not a private problem but rather a societal problem with structural roots.
(Straka & Montminy, 2008)
Furthermore, domestic violence is rooted in gender and power and represents

men’s active attempts to maintain dominance and control over women (Anderson,
1997).
The breadth of the terminology can be problematic when trying to describe the
epidemiology of violence against women and in planning surveillance systems for
monitoring its occurrence (Freeman, 2016). In the context of research, Freeman
further argues:
Different conceptions of violent behavior directed toward women raise crucial definitional
issues to address in formulating research and surveillance in this filed. Given differing
referents for the imprecise term violence used by researchers and their differing theoretical
perspectives, that researchers can differ in a range of behaviors and experiences they include
in the term violence provided they are explicit about their operationalization of this term in
reporting results of empirical and theoretical studies and in interpreting such studies. Thus,
some researchers may adopt a broad definition including many types of abusive, coercive,
and controlling behaviors and others can restrict the term violence to physical aggression or
to serious physical aggression in relationships. However, they should be explicit in their
operational definitions and describe characteristics of their samples so that sample ignitions
of violence against women, however, have implications explanatory conceptualization for
violence against women, and prescribing what type of data indicative violence against
women should be collected in surveillance systems and how it should be collected. (Free-
man, 2016)
Mellender (2002) also argued that the word “domestic” trivialized the abuse in the
past when police would not respond on the same level to an assault that was “just
domestic” as they would to an assault in a public place. The problem in fact is a public
issue and has been a private problem for too long. Mellender further states that there
are five problematic issues with the word “domestic violence” (Mellender, 2002):
1. There are other crimes in domestic settings such as child abuse that are not
encompassed by it.
2. The abuser and the women he subjects to abuse may have had a relationship but
need not actually have lived together.
590 M. F. Ligaliga
3. Harassment and violence often continue after the woman has attempted to end the
relationship and either she or her partner has left. Many murders are committed by
ex-partners.
4. The word “violence” conveys an incomplete impression, since men’s
ill-treatment of women takes many forms which combine together into a pattern
of intimidation, humiliation, and control. It encompasses physical violence,
psychological terrorization, sexual abuse of all kinds including rape, and actual
or virtual imprisonment.
5. Finally the term “domestic violence” has been criticized because it masks the fact
that the socially condoned abuse that makes up the clear majority if these
behaviors are inflicted by men on women:
Maguire (1984) calls for a name to define the violence and acknowledge the
power relationships:
I reject all...titles and descriptions that obscure the real nature of violence; that it is violence
committed by men against women they live with, have lived with or are in some form of
emotional/sexual relationship . . .. giving any form of violence a name which does not
address its nature and causation diminishes its importance. (Maguire, 1984)
In 1993, the New Zealand Law Society (NZLS) during a seminar on domestic
violence suggested that the term “domestic violence” should be changed to “family
violence.” It was argued that domestic violence or family violence takes that belief,
intention, and action into our homes. Often, the word “domestic” when applied to
violence is used to downplay or even trivialize the violence. The NZLS, therefore,
made the recommendation to use the term “family violence” because it more
accurately acknowledges the gross breach of trust incurred when violence occurs
between family members. In addition to this, “the word ‘family’ needs a broad
definition here, as it must include a range of living situations that go beyond the
mythical nuclear family of ‘mum, dad and the kids’ of the 1960’s television sit com.
This is especially important to consider if we cross cultural boundaries and take
account of the rapid social changes of the last thirty years” (Barnes & New Zealand
Law Society, 1993).
The diversity of definitions reflects the complex nature and characteristics of the
problem. It addresses and re-emphasizes the importance of an interdisciplinary
approach to understand this protracted problem. Emily Burrill, author of the book
Domestic Violence and the Law in Colonial and Postcolonial Africa, states:
All of these definitions remain contested, and efforts to end domestic violence are, in no
small part, efforts to control the definitions of the problem. Regardless of how we define the
problem, violence within the domestic sphere continues to take its toll on women, children,
men, and society as a whole. (Burrill et al., 2010)
Researchers argue that there is no single cause of domestic violence. It is widely

accepted that the problem is complex and that numerous factors contribute to the
problem. Internationally, studies on domestic violence have been carried out in many
countries throughout the world such as Japan (see Kozu, 1999; Kumagai & Ishii-
Kuntz, 2016), China (see Cao et al., 2013; Lancet, 2016), the Middle East (see
Djamba & Kimuna, 2015; Usta et al., 2014), South Africa (see Lancet, 1999; Van der
Hover, 2001), Europe (see Nectoux et al., 2010; Xinhua News Agency, 2016),
Pacific Islands (see Counts, 1990c; Crichton-Hill, 2001), New Zealand and
Australia (see Crib, 1997; Seddon, 1993; Wilson & Webber, 2014), United Kingdom
(see Harwin, 2006; Walby & Allen, 2004), and Latin America (see Olavarrieta &
Sotelo, 1996; Uribe-Uran, 2015).
Domestic Violence in the Pacific
In the Pacific, it is the entrenched cultural belief systems woven into the problem of
domestic violence that compounds the complexity of the problem. The region has
one of the highest domestic and sexual violence rates in the world. Almost 70% of
women and girls in the Pacific experience rape or other sexual violence in their
lifetime (IFRC, 2011). Furthermore, one in ten women in the South Pacific is beaten
while pregnant (UNICEF Pacific, 2015). While there have been attempts to discuss
domestic violence at both the community and national levels, many Pacific Island
countries still view the issue of domestic violence as taboo. This can be problematic
and challenging for nonprofit organizations and government ministries tasked with
addressing and educating communities about domestic violence (Papoutsaki &
Harris, 2008).
In Kaliai, Papua New Guinea, Counts (1990a) states that domestic violence seems
to be an expected aspect of family life (Counts, 1990a). Male dominance within the
Lusi-Kaliai is inherited at birth and therefore males have automatic dominance of
females. This was also observed by Naomi McPherson who argued that 67% of
gender violence in Papua New Guinea (PNG) is husbands abusing their wives.
Masculinity (therefore) has a role in promoting and legitimizing the use of violence;
in prevailing models of masculinity, violence is seen as a normal entirely justified
way of resolving conflict or expressing anger (McPherson, 2012; AUSAID, 2011).
In Vanuatu,
Of women who have ever been married, lived with a man, or had an intimate sexual
relationship with a partner, three in five (sixty per cent) experienced physical and/or sexual
violence in their lifetime; more than two in three (sixty eight per cent) experienced emotional
violence; more than one in four (twenty eight per cent) was subjected to several forms of
control by their husband and partner, and more than two in three (sixty nine per cent)
experienced at least one form of coercive control. (AUSAID, 2011)
Furthermore, the 2010 United Nations Development Fund for Women or

UNIFEM reported that the Vanuatu Women’s Centre reported 3,600 cases of family
violence between 1993 and 2000 and around half of the community legal center
business relates to domestic violence (Crooks, 2010). Cultural practices within
Vanuatu society have also been blamed for high rates of domestic violence. Merilyn
592 M. F. Ligaliga
Tahi, Coordinator of the Vanuatu Women’s Center, explained: “We also have to look
at our cultural and traditional practice to address violence against women...in some
Vanuatu cultures, on the day of the wedding, women are told about their roles and
that they cannot tell what happens at home outside the house...and they believe that
is culture” (World Bank, 2012).
According to the Fiji Women’s Crisis Centre, Fijian rates of domestic and sexual
violence are among the highest in the world. In their report entitled “Somebody’s
life, everyone’s business” 64% of women who have ever been in an intimate
relationship experienced physical and/or sexual violence by a husband or intimate
partner in their lifetime, and 24% are suffering from physical or sexual partner
violence today. This includes 61% who were physically attacked and 34% who
were sexually abused in their lifetime (Fiji Women’s Crisis Centre, 2011).
In 2010, a report commissioned by the Secretariat of the Pacific Community
(SPC) was implemented to research violence against women and child abuse in
Kiribati. The data indicated that more than:
Two in three (sixty eight per cent) ever-partnered women aged between fifteen and forty nine
reported experiencing physical or sexual violence by an intimate partner. Demographically,
cases of domestic violence were more prevalent in the urban areas rather than the rural areas
of Kiribati. Other contributions to domestic violence identified in the report were gender
inequality, alcohol, acceptance of violence as a form of discipline and jealously. (Secretariat
of the Pacific Community, 2010b)
A similar study was held in Tonga in 2009. Entitled the National Study on
Domestic Violence in Tonga the report funded by the Australian Agency for Inter-
national Development (AUSAID). Like the abovementioned reports, “thirty three
per cent of ever-partnered women reported having experienced physical violence in
their life time and thirteen per cent had experienced physical violence in the twelve
months preceding the time of interview/study” (AUSAID, 2012). Further, the report
indicated that women living in the outer islands with less education were more likely
to be physically and sexually abused than women who were educated and living in
urban areas. In 2016, it was reported that 77% of women in Tonga have been
physically or sexually abused. Of greater concern was that 90% of these incidents
were carried out by husbands, fathers, and teachers (RNZ, 2016).
New Zealand is not immune from the problem of domestic/family violence. It is
estimated that in 2014, a family violence investigation was recorded every five and a
half minutes. Furthermore, around 76% of family violence incidents are not reported
to police (Its Ok, 2016). The problem of domestic violence in New Zealand is
complex because of the many ethnic groups that call New Zealand home. In 2013,
the Office of Ethnic Affairs New Zealand released report entitled Towards Freedom
from Violence – New Zealand Family Violence Statistics Disaggregated by Ethnicity.
The focus of the report was to understand family violence within the various ethnic
groups residing in New Zealand. In the report Pacific people and Māori were highly
represented in categories such as the average annual mortality rates from family
violence, emotional, and physical abuse as well as assault (Paulin & Edgar, 2013). In
1994, it was estimated that the cost of domestic violence in New Zealand was around
5.3 billion dollars every year which is equivalent to 8 billion dollars in today’s terms
(see Lievore & Mayhew, 2007; Paulin & Edgar, 2013; Snively, 1995).
In the context of Pacific families who call New Zealand home, the statistics are
very high. Pasefika Proud, an organization that addresses family violence in Pacific
families in New Zealand, released the following statistics in 2016 (Pasifika Proud,
2017):
1. Pacific peoples are two times as likely to be an offender who has committed a
serious crime against a family member.
2. Pacific students are three times as likely as New Zealand European students to
report witnessing adults hit children in their homes.
3. Pacific children are five times more likely to die from child abuse or neglect.
Domestic Violence in Samoa
Statistics showed that domestic violence in Samoa is an endemic problem (Samoa

Observer, 2014). Forty-six percent of women are physically abused, and up to 8%
are beaten unconscious by their spouse (Haussegger, 2011). In 2000, the World
Health Organization conducted a nationwide survey in which 1640 women aged
between 15 and 49 participated. The study reported that 41% of ever-partnered
women had experienced physical violence at the hand of an intimate partner and
20% had experienced sexual violence in their lifetime (WHO, 2003).
Domestic violence in Samoa is not a new social issue. Traditionally, the problem
of domestic violence was resolved and reconciled within a familial environment.
Despite this, Samoa has been proactive in addressing and understanding domestic
violence through the publication of numerous inquiries and research reports to
understand and determine trends and contributors to this social problem (see Secre-
tariat of the Pacific Community, 2010a; NHRI, 2015; Ministry for Women, 2015;
Peteru, 2012; Roguski & Kingi, 2011; WHO, 2003).
More recently, contributions on the issue of domestic violence have been artic-
ulated through different social lenses such as religion (see Siu-Maliko, 2016;
Vailaau, 2005), parenting (Pereira, 2010), social work (Crichton-Hill, 2001), urban-
ization (Crib, 1997), and gender (see Boodoosingh, 2015; Jackson, 2014). Further-
more, the creation of a Family Violence Court, the amendment of key legislations
(1961 Samoa’s Crimes Act), as well as a dedicated Domestic Violence Unit of the
Ministry of Police and Prisons are indicators of Samoa’s continuous adjustments to
address the issue of domestic violence.
The relationship between abuse and discipline has always been a topic of debate
in Samoa. Discipline by way of physical punishment is an accepted “socialization
tool” in Samoa (see Mageo, 1998; Schoeffel & Meleisea, 1996). The paradoxical
relationship between aggressive spanking followed by displays of affection pro-
moted a culture among Samoan children that pain was associated with love (see
Howard, 1986; Keene, 1978). Furthermore, punishment and spanking was always
seen by Samoan parents as an act that was done out of love, therefore if the parents
594 M. F. Ligaliga
failed to instruct their children, parents believed this was a disservice to their
children (see Schoeffel & Meleisea, 1996; Vaa, 1995).
The use of biblical scriptures to justify discipline and punishment within Samoan
families has also been a contributing factor to domestic and family violence. An
example of this is the frequent use of scripture found in the Old Testament book of
Proverbs. King Solomon teaches “He that spareth his rod hateth his son; but he that
loveth him chasteneth him betimes” (Proverbs 13:24). This proverb in particular has
been frequently used to justify the use of physical force to discipline children in
Samoa. However, Reverend Nove Vailaau argues that smacking children has never
been a part of pre-Christian Samoan beliefs and that the Proverbial meaning of the
scripture suggests that parents are the shepherds of their children. By applying the
rod of protection, guidance, care, comfort, and nurturance, they guide them into
adulthood (see Ministry for Women, 2015; Roguski & Kingi, 2011; Siu-Maliko,
2016; Vailaau, 2005).
Samoa became the first Pacific Island country to adopt the Convention on the
Elimination of all Forms of Discrimination Against Women (CEDAW) in 1992.
Following this, Samoa continued to set the bearing in the Pacific by holding a
national inquiry into the status of woman in 2006. This pioneering report examined
the frequency of domestic violence issues, the effectiveness of Samoa’s legal system
on domestic violence cases, health and legal consequences of domestic violence as
well as possible strategies and interventions to stop violence toward Samoan women.
Several other reports and studies on domestic violence in Samoa were implemented
in the following years. More specifically, the Universal Periodic Review for Samoa
and the second Samoa Family Health and Safety Study, published in 2016 and 2017,
respectively, identified that attitudes in Samoan society reflected the depth and
complexity of the problem (Singh & Singh, 2016). In addition to this, both reports
identified the different cultural factors that can lead to domestic and family violence,
included the belief that the husband is the head of the home, the lack of understand-
ing about women’s cultural status within Samoan society, and the deviated opinions
on how to discipline children (see MWCSD, 2017; Boodoosingh et al., 2018).
An aspect of this attitude lies in the way Samoan women accept and normalize
violence as a part of their regular environment. Compounding this attitude is the
expectation within Samoan society that women must be obedient to their husbands
and that a good Samoan woman is an obedient woman (see Secretariat of the Pacific
Community, 2010a; NHRI, 2015).
Numerous community-based initiatives on domestic violence in Samoa have
been implemented with varying outcomes. Funded by the Canadian government in
2016, the program held workshops throughout five rural villages as well as Samoa
College (High School) and the National University of Samoa (NUS). In understand-
ing the role of women within Samoan society, the study identified that violence
against women and girls is both a pernicious and complex problem and that solutions
to this problem need to originate within the families and communities (see Percival,
2013, 2016).
Domestic violence issues have also been attributed to Samoa’s patriarchal society.
With Samoa’s rural system of political governance (matai System) being dominated
by males, women have no rights in their husband’s village and are expected to serve
their husband’s family...women were and are a highly vulnerable group (Roguski &
Kingi, 2011). According to an article published in the Samoa Observer, “Seventy per
cent of Samoan women still believe that men still have good reason to beat their
wives if she is unfaithful or does not do their house work or is disobedient to her
husband” (Samoa Observer, 2016). Mine Pase (2003) argues:
Samoa is a male orientated culture, and women still hold a sub-dominant place in society. In
a traditional cultural event or even a church function, it is not uncommon for a woman of
esteemed caliber or high social standing to be serving from the back, unrecognized. In a
political setting, she may be the boss, but in her own village among chief’s wives, she is a
mere servant...In some severe cases, women are not even supposed to be seen, as in a royal
‘ava (kava) ceremony. Women are looked down upon as not good enough to prepare or
serve, let alone partake of it...In short, as children are in some cultures, so are women in our
Samoan culture – they are to be seen but not heard. (Pase, 2003)
Male impunity within Samoan culture, as well as Samoan ideologies concerning

masculinity, has also been an issue when understanding domestic violence. Attitudes
toward male impunity within Samoa’s social constructs have been a contributing
factor toward the molding of young Samoan boys’ attitudes and behavior. The
Ministry of Women and Development, New Zealand 2015 report entitled A malu
aiga, e malu foi fafo: Protection for the family, protection for all stated “cultures of
violence and masculinity in the Samoan context can only be read in the context of
Samoan societal drivers. Many of these drivers exist in Samoa and migrate with
Samoan immigrants to New Zealand and persist to shape their and their children’s
attitudes and behaviour towards violence” (Ministry for Women, 2015). Gender
relationships in Samoa, like other Pacific countries are characterized by inequalities
of power, opportunity, and access to researches, (and) these relations are closely
linked to cycles of victimization of women and girls (Siu-Maliko, 2016).
Understanding domestic/family violence in Samoa and developing solutions to
counteract the problem is a complex venture. However, a predominant influence to
the problem and solution has been Samoan culture. To move forward, Crichton-Hill
(2001) suggests that the “practitioner has a responsibility to learn about the other’s
culture first, for culture will have a determining effect on the process...practice with
Samoan women who have suffered abuse by Samoan men will have a cultural
component that is different from other cultural situations” (Crichton-Hill, 2001).
Faa Samoa and Domestic Violence
At the core of Samoa’s traditional value and belief systems is its practice of faa
Samoa – the all-encompassing code of customary ethics practiced by Samoans. Faa
Samoa is the sine qua non of Samoan existence. The collective belief among many
Samoans is that faa Samoa exists far beyond the normalized accepted definition of
this concept as – “the Samoan way of life,” but rather its meaning is intricate and
complex. However, in most cases, when Samoans are asked the questions “What is
596 M. F. Ligaliga
faa Samoa?” the replies are usually premised on superficial responses such as “it’s
our culture, it’s our way of living, it’s respect, love, etc.” Although these answers
represent components of what faa Samoa is, it does not embody faa Samoa in its
entirety.
Men within my own family circle growing up in South Auckland, New Zealand,
and Samoa normally justify the issue of domestic violence by the default response
“because it’s our culture.” This response implies that faa Samoa as a cultural
construct gives permission to individuals (mainly male) to hit and abuse others
(mainly women and children). Of greater concern was that these attitudes toward
domestic violence normalized the problem and framed it as being a part of Samoan
culture.
This narrative clashed with my limited understanding of faa Samoa. Not only was
faa Samoa used to justify domestic violence in the home, but it has spread and is
used to justify and legitimize the use of force and violence within other areas of
Samoan society, such as the village system of governance, the education system, and
the private and public sectors. The constant use of faa Samoa to justify violence of
any form normalized the magnitude of what faa Samoa represents. This attitude not
only standardizes the problem of domestic violence, it also camouflages the possible
contribution of faa Samoa toward this problem. By unpacking the loaded nature of
the terms faa Samoa and “violence” throughout this study, a working platform to
discuss possible relationships between the two can be developed.
So, what is faa Samoa? Generally, faa Samoa is frequently and normally defined
as “the Samoan way.” Although this definition holds some validity, this accepted
interpretation short changes the cultural complexity of what faa Samoa truly repre-
sents within Samoan society. Furthermore, to frame faa Samoa as being simply the
Samoan way may also indirectly imply that faa Samoa is the only way, and that any
other cultural or social constructs within or outside of faa Samoa are irrelevant and
unacceptable. This is false. Like many Samoan expressions, faa Samoa is polysemic
by nature and is contextually defined. The meaning and purpose of faa Samoa
depends on the occasion, environment, audience, participants, and even religious
denominations. Its meaning, purpose, and function are not static, but constantly
moving and molding according to the cultural, social, economic, and political
environments in which it functions.
Peace and Conflict Studies (PACS) Contribution to Domestic

Violence in Samoa
What has been clearly identified in previous studies on domestic violence in Samoa
(see Chang-Tung et al., 2017; Crib, 1997; Percival, 2016; Peteru, 2012) has been the
way, generally, Samoa has gradually been moving away from practicing its tradi-
tional protective mechanisms. The aiga (family), nuu/matai (village and chiefly
system), and ekalesia (church) have been impacted by modernization, globalization,
and social change that have, in turn, impacted on the way relationships are valued
and sustained within the Samoan milieu. If Samoan culture has existing traditional
practices that protect women and children, why then, have Samoans deviated so
much from these practices? Are these protective practices unimportant in modern
Samoa? Have western forms of reconciliation processes such as mediation, police,
and legal processes taken precedence over traditional processes such as the village
and matai system? These are some important questions to consider. The peace and
conflict studies (PACS) discipline can provide an alternative lens to discuss these
questions.
According to Standish (2020), PACS is a field of study that seeks ultimately to
construct and disseminate knowledge about both the causes of conflict and violence
and the means to transform violent conflict into nonviolent conflict (Standish, 2015).
As an academic discipline, PACS is fairly new only having been developed in the
mid-1940s. In terms of PACS contribution to domestic violence, there is a paucity
within the PACS discipline despite some statistics stating that each day three women die
because of domestic violence (National Network to End Domestic Violence, n.d.). Since
domestic violence is a form of violence, PACS theories and methodological approaches
can expand and broaden the discussion of domestic violence to include other possible
contributors to this social problem.
In my doctoral thesis (Ligaliga, 2018), I adapted several peace and conflict study
theories to analyze domestic violence in Samoa. For this chapter, I focus on some
aspects of Galtung’s theories of violence, particularly his violence triangle.
Galtung argues that there are three forms of violence – direct violence, cultural
violence, and structural violence (see Galtung, 1990; Galtung & Fischer, 2013;
Gewalt, 1993). Violence, according to Galtung, is defined as “the avoidable impair-
ment of fundamental human needs or, to put in more general terms, the impairment of
human life” (Galtung, 1990). Therefore, direct violence can be physical force (torture,
rape, sexual assault) and verbal force (humiliation) (Stalenoi, 2014). Cultural vio-
lence expands Galtung’s definition of violence to include “aspects of culture, the
symbolic sphere of our existence – exemplified by religion and ideology, language
and art, empirical science and formal science (logic, mathematics) – that can be used
to justify or legitimize direct or structural violence” (Galtung, 1969). In addition to
direct and cultural violence, Galtung also developed the idea of structural violence or
the “institutional violence created by the system and it is translated into political
oppression, economic exploitation and cultural discrimination” (Stalenoi, 2014).
Galtung’s tripartite approach to violence articulates some important characteris-
tics between the three forms of violence. Direct violence is extremely visible in any
conflict, while structural and cultural violence are invisible. Each form of violence is
interdependent and coexists, collectively reinforcing each other’s existence. There is
a causal relationship in that whatever form of violence is located at the base corners
of the triangle influences the form of violence at the apex of the triangle. In this case
(as illustrated in Fig. 1), direct violence is caused by structural and cultural violence.
Direct violence can be reconciled if behaviors and contradictions are changed.
Cultural and structural violence can also be reconciled if attitudes and institutional
structures are also changed (Ramsbotham et al., n.d.)
While Galtung’s theories are able to provide a strong theoretical platform for
investigating domestic violence, the ethnocentrism of his theory was adapted to
598 M. F. Ligaliga
VIOLENCE TRIANGLE GALTUNG
DIRECT VIOLENCE
VISIBLE
INVISIBLE
CULTURAL VIOLENCE STRUCTURAL VIOLENCE
Fig. 1 Galtung’s violence triangle
make it relevant from a Samoan perspective. Using an Indigenous Pacific method of

talanoa (see Suaalii-Sauni & Fulu-Aiolupotea, 2014; Vaioleti, 2006; Farrelly &
Nabobo-Baba, 2014; Otsuka, 2006) and faafaletui (see McCarthy et al., 2011;
Suaalii-Sauni et al., 2009; Tamasese et al., 2005), Samoan leaders who are directly
involved in the agenda to address domestic violence were interviewed. Three themes
emerged as direct and indirect contributors to domestic violence in Samoa. These
were aiga (family), nuu (village)/matai (chief), and ekalesia (churches), all very
entrenched within faa Samoa practices (Ligaliga, 2018).
Theme 1: Aiga/Family
Direct Violence
As previously mentioned, Galtung defines violence as the avoidable impairment of
fundamental human needs or, to put in more general terms, the impairment of human life
(Galtung, 1969). Freedom from violence is a fundamental human need. However, within
the social and cultural constructs of the Samoan milieu are attitudes and behaviors that
weaken and disable the function of women. The aiga or family is a location where direct
violence occurs. It is the most important social unit in Samoan society (Holmes, 1969). It
is defined as “o e uma e tau ile suafa ma le fanua or all those who are bound to the title
and the land by reference to which kin group (aiga) is identified” (Macpherson &
Macpherson, 2006). Therefore, the aiga extends well beyond the biological connections
as Europeans understand the term, but rather the aiga is a wider family group of blood
and marriage or even adopted connections who all acknowledge one person as the matai
(chief) or head of that particular family (Grattan, 1948).
The complexity and functionality of this social unit within Samoan society can be
at times contradictory to its purpose and function. The roles and responsibilities of
women, in particular within the rural villages, are substandard and, in doing so,
create negative stigmas for them. The nofotane is an example of this. Literally
translated as to sit (nofo) by your male (nofo), nofotane is the term given to a
married women living with her husband’s family. However, the nofotane has no
rights, privileges, or authority. Fairbairn-Dunlop (1991) further explains “wives
were considered to be the lowest ranking adult status group in the village . . .
wives had no status in their husband’s family” (Fairbairn-Dunlop, 1991). This
cultural status, given to married women, created negative space where attitudes
and ideologies flourished. In doing so, married women are often exploited and are
vulnerable to physical abuse.
The status of nofotane has been the focus of recent domestic violence campaigns.
The word nofotane is problematic, as it devalues the role of a married woman living
with her husband’s family. It also carries a racial connotation and differentiates her
status in relation to females of her husband’s family in the village (Keresoma, 2016).
Furthermore, the problem of the nofotane status is also compounded by Samoa’s
overarching interpretation of the meaning and function of human rights. This was
highlighted in the State of Human Rights report that was published in 2015 by
Samoa’s Office of the Ombudsman & National Human Rights Institution (NHRI).
The report stated:
Some Samoan’s viewed human rights as a foreign concept that does not have a place in
Samoa. This misconception seems to exist because of the Samoan translation of ‘human
rights’ – aia tatau o tagata soifua. It seems that when people hear the term aia tatau they
tend to pay strong attention only to the word aia instead of the whole term aia tatau. In the
Samoan context, aia on its own is a powerful word that implies ‘you have no control over
me’ or ‘I can do or say anything because it is my right.’ Therefore, individuals tend to think
that they have freedom or aia to do anything with no limitations. (NHRI, 2015)
Samoan scholar Unasa Vaa is in opposition to this explaining “the problem is not
that they (women) do not have human rights, as understood in the West, but that
people have different understandings of the significance of the words ‘human
rights.’” (Vaa, 2009) Despite deviating perspectives, the rights of women, irrelevant
of customary and western interpretation and rhetoric, are limited. A possible expla-
nation to this limitation is because their roles and responsibilities are nested together,
despite the different environments in which they function. Therefore, women’s rights
are bundled rather than existing independently within the aiga. Furthermore, when
the roles of Samoan women are amassed, their traditional and customary status in
the aiga are normalized. In traditional Samoan culture, the highest title was that of
feagaiga (covenant) between a brother and his sister. It was the responsibility of
the brother to protect his sister. Literally translated as to scatter (pae) and smooth
out (auli), the title of pae ma auli or mediator, peacemaker and comforter was also
afforded to women (especially sisters). Just as conflict scatters and dislocates
relationships in a family, it is the responsibility of women to smooth, reconnect
and heal relationships within the family. Women are given the attribution of
se’ese’e talaluma (the one who sits in the front of the house) indicating that in
family gatherings the front of the house is women’s rightful place. She and the
600 M. F. Ligaliga
matai/chief are served first. During the important decision-making meetings relat-
ing to family matters, her opinion is highly regarded and sought after. In many
cases it is the sister that has the authority to veto any decisions of the family (see
Latai, 2015).
Many Samoan families incorporate more than just parent and children circles to
include extended family. Cases of domestic violence in Samoa are thus not limited
to primarily spousal relationships but also included de facto, divorced, guardian,
and extended family members. Many Samoan families are also home to extended
family members who live with them for education or employment opportunities.
Women of all ages leave their rural homes to live in villages that are closer to Apia
township. What has been troubling is that the incidence of incest and rape in
Samoa has also risen. Many of the victims were either step daughters, cousins,
teinei fai (adopted), or young women who were brought into the aiga to help with
the domestic duties.
A women’s status in the household can, to a large extent, define how she is treated
(Chang-Tung et al., 2017). Women in Samoa endure many emotional and psycho-
logical pressures. The stratification of women’s roles within Samoan society also
breeds and frames certain attitudes and behavior. Traditionally, young females were
associated with the aualuma group, which comprised the daughters of the village.
This group was frequently referred to as the feagaiga or covenant group. In partic-
ular, the taupou or daughter of the high chief represented the “ideal feminine status
in Samoan society” (Fairbairn-Dunlop, 1991). The taupou played a crucial part in
Samoan families, especially in “social, political negotiations and ceremonial occa-
sions” (see Fairbairn-Dunlop, 1991; Fana’afi, 1986).
These gender-specific roles within the family have also reinforced and justified
certain attitudes and cultural philosophies towards women in Samoa. Shielding these
ideologies is the nu’u/matai or village and chief systems – Samoa’s traditional
decentralized system of political authority in which the basic political unit was the
nu’u or village (Meleisea, 1987).
Theme 2: Nu’u/Matai or Village/Chief
Structural Violence
In addition to direct violence, Galtung expanded his theory of direct violence to
include structural violence. This form of violence stems from the injustices and
exploitations built into a social system that generates wealth for the few and poverty
for the many, stunting everyone’s ability to develop their full humanity (Hathaway,
2013). Structural violence also includes discrimination, deprivation, social injus-
tices, inequality between men and women, and denial of human rights which is
rooted in the social structure (Galtung & Fischer, 2013). A unique characteristic of
structural violence is that there are no actors. Rather it is the institutions within a
society that cause structural violence. Unlike direct violence which is visible,
structural violence is subtle and at times invisible.
As an institution, the nu’u/matai system was not created to safeguard women’s

rights, roles and responsibilities. Part two of Samoa’s constitution articulates the
fundamental rights of individuals. Under section 15(1), the constitution states
except as expressly authorized under the provisions of this Constitution, no law and no
executive or administrative action of the State shall, either expressly or in its practical
application, subject any person or persons to any disability or restriction or confer any
person or persons any privilege or advantage on grounds only of descent, sex, language,
religion, political or other opinion, social origin, place of birth, family status, or any of them.
(See Constitution of the Independent State of Samoa 1960 http://www.paclii.org/ws/legis/
consol_act_2008/cotisos1960438/)
While section 15(1) protects women from discrimination, there are no legal
instruments to safeguard women on the issue of matai or chief titles. Under section
100 it states “A matai title shall be held in accordance with Samoan customs and
usage and with the law relating to Samoan custom and usage.” (See Constitution of
the Independent State of Samoa 1960 http://www.paclii.org/ws/legis/consol_act_
2008/cotisos1960438/) Articles 15 and 100 of Samoa’s constitution highlight the
contradictory nature of the matai titles. While discrimination of women is not
promoted in the constitution, women, according to customs and usage of a particular
village, disallow women to hold a matai title. According to the 2017 Samoa Family
Safety Study, 11% of all matai in Samoa were women. Thirty-six villages did
not allow women to hold a matai title. Furthermore, 8% of villages recognized
women as matai but did not allow women to sit on council meetings (Chang-Tung
et al., 2017).
According to Samoa’s official government website (https://www.samoagovt.ws/
about-samoa/), there are 265 villages, as well as an additional 45 villages within the
Apia area. The local power rests with the constituent villages. Each village,
according to their specific customs and usage, interprets the same constitutional
law differently. In doing so, there are a variety of reasons why the village council,
which is usually made up of men, disallows women to hold a matai title. They
include issues pertaining to rank, the coarse language used by men during the village
council, and appeals to certain biblical passages that are read as injunctions against
women in local governance (see Boodoosingh et al., 2018; Percival, 2013).
When addressing issues of domestic violence, many villages are ill-equipped with
the necessary social, emotional, psychological mechanisms to safeguard victims. In
many cases, the village council is left to deal with the issue, based on what they
know. However, the “what they know” approach adopted by the village matai may
do more harm than good. This is a concern, especially when the government’s
approach to domestic violence heavily relies on the village and churches. Since
many of the villages are made up of male matai (chiefs), male impunity within the
village as well as Samoan ideologies concerning masculinity has also been an issue
when understanding domestic violence. Attitudes toward male impunity within
Samoa’s social constructs have been a contributing factor toward the molding of
young Samoan boys attitudes and behavior toward young women. Pase (2003) argues
602 M. F. Ligaliga
Samoa is a male orientated culture, and women still hold a sub-dominant place in society. In
a traditional cultural event or even a church function, it is not uncommon for a woman of
esteemed calibre or high social standing to be serving from the back, unrecognized. In a
political setting, she may be the boss, but in her own village among chief’s wives, she is a
mere servant. . .In some severe cases, women are not even supposed to be seen, as in a royal
‘ava (kava) ceremony. Women are looked down upon as not good enough to prepare or
serve, let alone partake of it. . .In short, as children are in some cultures, so are women in our
Samoan culture – they are to be seen but not heard. (Pase, 2003)
Structurally, the nu’u and matai systems can promote and encourage negative
attitudes and behaviors toward women. Currently, the village system in Samoa is not
designed to encourage and safeguard women young and old. In fact, in some villages
women are completely banned from existing in its cultural and social environment.
While these attitudes and behaviors are camouflaged behind Samoa’s customs and
usage as declared in its Constitution, it also reinforces Galtung’s argument of how
social and political institutions can contribute directly or indirectly to violence – in
this case, domestic violence.
Theme 3: Ekalesia/Church
Cultural/Ideological Violence
Understanding cultural violence, according to Galtung, highlights the way in which
the acts of direct and structural violence are legitimized and thus rendered acceptable
in our society (Galtung, 1990). Defined as aspects of culture (not entire cultures),
such as religion, ideology, language, and art, empirical and formal science can be
used to justify or legitimize direct or structural violence (Galtung, 2002). Character-
istically, Galtung asserts that direct violence is an event, and structural violence is a
process with ups and downs, while cultural violence is an invariant, a permanence
(Galtung, 1990). However, Galtung also notes that generally, a causal flow from
cultural violence via structural to direct violence can be identified. The culture
preaches, teaches, admonishes, eggs on, and dulls us into seeing exploitation or
repression as normal and natural (Galtung & Fischer, 2013).
There were no examples of domestic violence within the institution of the church
itself that emerged during the research. However, what was evident was how the
churches frame the roles of women within the family and the village through their
sermons and the use of biblical scriptures. This is hugely problematic because it
reinforces and justifies the dominant roles of men within the family and village. This
reinforces Galtung’s argument on how religion can be divisive in its purpose and
function within a society. Galtung argues that organized, transcendental religion
forces society into two paradigms – light and darkness. He argues that “in the general
occidental tradition of not only dualism but manichaeism, with sharp dichotomies
between good and evil, there would also have to be something like an evil Satan
corresponding to the good God” (Galtung, 1990). Furthermore, Galtung elucidates
that these forms of religion “tend to establish exclusionary categories of ‘chosen’ or
‘lost’, thereby legitimizing the exploitation of the latter through the perpetuation of a
kind of ordained inevitability” (Jacoby, 2007).
This kind of exploitations does exist within Samoan churches. The power of the
pulpit can indirectly create certain attitudes towards women, especially in terms of
gender roles and responsibilities. This is reinforced by the fact that many of Samoa’s
church ministers are men. Furthermore, Samoa being a Christian nation, sermons are
generally applied literally taking away any space for interpretation. In doing so, when
scriptures such as 1 Corinthians 11:3 are used to understand God’s instructions on the
relationship between a husband and wife, immediately women are considered second-
ary to men under God’s law. (King James version 1 Corinthians 11:3 “But I would have
you know, that the head of every man is Christ, and the head of the woman is the man;
and the head of Christ is God.”) Under God’s law, women are considered to exist under
her husband’s authority. She is expected to be obedient to her husband who is the head
of the home. This dichotomous relationship promotes men and demotes women. While
the church minister did not give specific instructions for husbands to beat their wives,
the ideologies created by religion can justify and normalize the act of violence towards
women because it is God’s law. Ah Siu-Maliko (2016) explains:
The Bible has often been misused to justify Samoan men’s presumed superiority over
women. Samoan family relations are strongly influenced by the patriarchal system which
dominates the Old Testament . . . This patriarchal form of Christianity continues to shape
Samoans’ interpretation of the Bible. A literal reading of biblical passages is still used to
justify men’s dominance over women and their physical ‘discipline’ of women and children.
The Bible is not only taken out of context but is used to buttress the imbalance of power
between men and women. (Siu-Maliko, 2016)
If church ministers continue to reinforce and justify the dominant role of men
within Samoan society, then they are adding fuel to an already protracted social
problem. This concern is at the heart of the study A Theology of Children by Nove
Vailaau. Although the study focuses on the use of the Bible to raise children in
Samoan society, Vailaau unpacks and dismantles how scriptures have been tradi-
tionally used to justify the smacking and physical abuse of children. Rather than
legitimizing the behavior of smacking, Vailaau suggests that the Church should
“promote a society in which every child is valued, and all children have the
opportunity to grow up as competent and confident learners and communicators,
healthy in mind, body, and spirit, secure in their sense of belonging and in the
knowledge, that they make a valued contribution to the society. This is a theological
imperative. As God has nurtured the church, so too the church communities are
called to provide for children, and to nurture them in the love of God” (Vailaau,
2005). The same approach and attitude should be implemented toward women.
Among the recommendations of previous studies to address domestic violence in
Samoa is that family, village, and church should maintain customs and traditions
even though some of these customs and traditions have been used to justify domestic
violence and family, village, and church are implicated in cultural violence. For
example, in 2012, the Ministry of Social Development of New Zealand published a
report titled O le tofa mamao. This report highlighted the importance of faa Samoa in
addressing domestic violence amongst Samoan communities and states that “cus-
toms and traditions . . . are central to preserving and strengthening relationships of
blood-ties and marital reciprocity” (Peteru, 2012).
604 M. F. Ligaliga
However, the cycle of violence will continue if there are not a number of other
values or principles intrinsic to faa Samoa incorporated with some of the customary
rules and the chiefly system of Samoan culture. Some of the principles fundamental
to faa Samoa include va (relational space), faaaloalo (respect), and fealofani (har-
mony and equality).
In Samoan society, va or relational spaces exists between “brother and sister,
parent (especially father and mother) and offspring, male and female, male and male,
female and female, host and guest, matai, the dead and living, man and his environ-
ment, sea and sky, flora and fauna, the created and creator” (Ta’isi, 2008). If va is
understood as relational space, then tuaoi or boundaries are the parameters by which
the va exists. Furthermore, “tuoai means boundary or boundaries which are con-
stantly negotiated through the process of sufiga or to coax, placate, negotiate or
persuade. Therefore, sufiga o le tuaoi directs that such negotiations avoid rough or
violent language or thought, and privilege gentle and prayerful canvassing, coaxing,
negotiating, placating, and/or persuading, particularly when negotiating highly con-
tentious and volatile matters” (Suaalii-Sauni et al., 2014).
Along with va is the concept of faaaloala (respect). This is commonly used to
refer to the need for people to respect their elders, their matai, their customs, and
proper authority. However, respect should be for all. For example, Samoa’s practice
of feagaia between brother and sister promotes respect and avoidance of body
contact. As we have seen with the attitude toward women in the home, in the village
and in the church, women are often in a position where they are expected to respect
others, and yet they are not held in respect.
According to Ta’isi (2008), a search for peace is a search for harmony. The
Samoan word for harmony is fealofani. The ideology of fealofani in Samoan life
“recognizes that all living things are equal . . . human life is equivalent and comple-
mentary to cosmic, plant and animal life. In the balance of life, all living things share
equal status and power. Man is no more powerful greater than the heavens, the trees,
the fish or cattle and vice versa” (Ta’isi, 2008). Fealofani, therefore, in its purest
form, promotes an egalitarian society. The root of the word fealofani is alofa or love.
It is alofa or the act of love, compassion, and care that rebalances the inequalities that
exists in the va or relational spaces.
There are numerous other values, principles, and aspects of faa Samoa that
contribute to maintaining good relationships, but these three have been discussed
in order to demonstrate some of the complexities of faa Samoa that relate to
domestic violence.
Conclusion
Fundamental to positive peace is freedom from violence. This chapter addresses

specifically the violence against women, and in particular domestic or family
violence. Using a Pacific indigenous lens and Galtung’s theory of violence, the
situation of domestic violence in Samoa is analyzed. The importance of culture is
demonstrated in attempts to address this violence, with three critical areas of aiga
(family), nuu (village), and ekalesia (church) at the center, influencing this violence.
It is argued that Samoan culture or faa Samoa contains within it the prescription
for helping to end domestic violence and restoring freedom from violence, particu-
larly for women and girls in Samoa. Addressing this problem will involve challeng-
ing the way in which faa Samoa has been interpreted to allow and even to encourage
male impunity within the home, in the village and in the churches. The features of
faa Samoa, va (relational space), faaaloala (respect), and fealofani (harmony and
equality), can contribute to establishing Samoa’s place as a nation of positive peace
in the Pacific. Cultural violence needs to be made more visible in order to work
toward freedom from violence and positive peace.
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Freedom from Discrimination: On
the Coloniality of Positive Peace 32
Mahdis Azarmandi
Contents
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 612
From Negative Peace to Positive Peace: Contextualizing the Term . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 613
Coloniality, Decoloniality, and Positive Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 614
Epistemic Violence, the Coloniality of Being and the Damné . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 616
Conclusion: The Limits of Positive Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 617
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 619
Abstract
Positive peace is a key concept in peace and conflict studies. While the term
acknowledges multiple layers of violence and aims to offer an alternative to
oppression and exploitation embedded in society, scholarly work on positive
peace has largely focused on identifying the structures of violence the term aims
to overcome rather than on developing an epistemological framework for the
concept itself. This chapter focuses on the epistemic limitations of the concept by
interrogating how the term has been deployed and from where it has been enunci-
ated. Drawing on the concept of coloniality, the chapter specifically addresses the
absence of epistemic violence in the analysis of positive peace. The chapter outlines
how peace and conflict studies as a field has not sufficiently engaged with how the
genealogies and underpinnings of terms like positive and negative peace are funda-
mentally aligned with Western thought. The chapter argues if the current paradigm is
a colonial system that is racist, capitalist, heterosexist, and ableist, a “positive peace”
can only be theorized and approached by critically and intersectionally challenging
coloniality and the epistemic violence(s) it produces.
M. Azarmandi (*)
School of Education, Health, and Human Development, University of Canterbury, Christchurch,
New Zealand
e-mail: mahdis.azarmandi@canterbury.ac.nz
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_32
612 M. Azarmandi
Keywords
Positive peace · Coloniality · Epistemic violence · Peace studies
Introduction
The concept of positive peace is one of the most fundamental contributions of the
field of Peace and Conflict Studies. At its core, positive peace acknowledges
multiple layers of violence, and thus offers an alternative society in which struc-
tures of oppression and exploitation are removed. Much scholarly work on the
concept of positive peace has in fact focused on identifying the structures of
violence the term aims to overcome rather than on developing an epistemological
framework for the concept itself (Bajaj & Chiu, 2009; Byrne et al., 2019; Barash,
2017; Brock-Utne, 1995; Concannon & Finley, 2015; Galtung, 2013; Sandole,
2013; Turan, 2015). Here, positive peace acknowledges violence(s) in more or less
refined ways but does not question where and how the term has been deployed.
Scholars have adequately explained that the mere absence of war and direct
violence reduces and limits peace. However, the work peace-makers and peace-
builders have to do has in fact not sufficiently engaged with how the genealogies
and underpinnings of terms like positive and negative peace are fundamentally
aligned with Western thought and therefore are at risk of reproducing the very
many violence(s) positive peace seeks to overcome. (Western thought specifically
as conceptualized by scientific precepts of neutrality, distance, and objectivity.
Particularly enlightenment philosophy that places European men as rational beings
and as producers of knowledge and thought. Mignolo and Walsh identify that
another problem is when theorizing, thought and knowledge production are con-
sidered to be the purview of academia.)
This chapter proposes a critical reflection on the concept itself rather than on
the concept’s potential in the material world, that is, a reflection on the epistemic
limitations that arise from the concept’s history and usage across the academic
field. Further, this chapter builds on the assertion of Maria Raquel Freire and
Paula Duarte Lopes in their 2009 article, Rethinking Peace and Violence: New
Dimensions and New Strategies, the desired paradigm shift from a culture of
violence to a culture of peace has not taken place, particularly in the context of
coloniality.
Such limitations in the conceptualization of positive peace are particularly impor-
tant to consider in the context of social justice and structural oppression in relation to
racism and the continued impact of colonial violence. In the following pages, I will
specifically focus on coloniality and the subsequent question of racial justice to
illuminate how a term like positive peace, if not critically unpacked, runs the risk of
reproducing the violence it sets out to address.
32 Freedom from Discrimination: On the Coloniality of Positive Peace 613
From Negative Peace to Positive Peace: Contextualizing the Term
In most of the Global South, the idea of peace, especially positive peace, has always
been contentious, particularly when propagated by governments or academe in the
context of incomplete decolonization. This suspicion is perhaps best captured in
Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o’s Barrel of a Pen: Resistance to Repression in Neo-colonial
Kenya. Writing from a neocolonial environment in Kenya in 1983, Ngũgĩ posed the
question both creatively and succinctly:
• A is sitting on B.
• A is carried, fed, and clothed by B.
• What kind of peace education will A want B to get?
The academic field of Peace and Conflict Studies attempts to allay this suspicion of
peace by emphasizing “positive peace.” In the context of coloniality of power, there
is urgent need to revisit and critically interrogate the idea of positive peace. While
not necessarily a household term, it is very much a disciplinary term for the field of
Peace and Conflict research. It is usually attributed to Johan Galtung, but the terms
“negative peace” and “positive peace” had already been elaborated in the 1960s by
Martin Luther King, Jr., in his famous Letter from Birmingham Jail (2018). Here
King, Jr., describes positive peace “as the presence of justice” (2018, p. 13). Facing
the violence of racial segregation, expressed through direct violence in the form of
lynching and police brutality, the structural violence of Jim Crow and segregation, or
the cultural violence of anti-black hatred and prejudice, he was explicit in insisting
that positive peace needed to encompass more than the mere absence of “tension”
(2018, p. 13). While for King, Jr., thinking about positive peace is inherently tied to
racial violence, in Galtung’s writing, racism constitutes one of the different forms of
structural violence and is situated among other forms of injustice and thus positive
peace is understood as seeking to overcome structural and cultural violence more
broadly but is not specifically conceptualized through an understanding of racial/
colonial violence.
The evolution of positive peace and its centrality to the field of Peace and Conflict
research was also tied to critiques of the nearly exclusive focus on negative peace in
the research (Schmid, 1968). Schmid outlines how the focus on negative peace was
also largely in line with the needs and interests of those in power, thus making
positive peace “devoid of concrete content” (Grewal, 2003). While the term has also
been under scrutiny for being overly utopian or lacking academic rigor, it has yet
proven a useful concept to encompass peace that entails more than the absence of
war and physical violence. In his work Galtung often describes that it was his
observations of situations of structural violence, whether in Zimbabwe or in
Gandhi’s work on India, that he conceived of the necessity of positive peace
(2014). In other words, even for Galtung lateral violence that emerged out of
614 M. Azarmandi
colonial/racial relations was crucial in developing a concept that could address

injustices occurring outside the experience of armed violence.
So, while it can be acknowledged that the concept has opened up space for
in-depth analysis by expanding the definitions of the term “violence,” my focus
remains on the conception of positive peace rather than on its potential applicability.
That is, despite the body of literature referring to and using the term, its descriptions
remain mainly in line with Galtung’s initial definition of positive peace being the
removal of forms of structural violence. Almost all research on positive peace,
including the edited volume at hand, situates the concept as closely aligned to issues
concerning justice. The presence of positive peace is thus rendered an impossibility
without the presence of justice. However, absent in Galtung’s works and in the larger
work on positive peace is the role of colonial violence, and epistemic violence in
particular, as it relates to the critique of Western academic knowledge production and
how the latter continues to reproduce unequal power relations and unequal access to
resources.
By drawing on the concept of the coloniality of power and knowledge, I suggest
that Peace Studies must engage seriously and rigorously with coloniality, as it
continues to structure global social relations today.
Coloniality, Decoloniality, and Positive Peace
Martin Luther King, Jr’s., conceptualization of positive peace emerged from a

context where the civil rights movement in the United States in the 1960s was
suffering from tokenistic solidarity, particularly from non-Black people and institu-
tions that sought to determine the vision and agenda of Black liberation. He was
particularly concerned about white moderates, including white church leaders,
whose paternalistic approach to the civil rights struggle only focused on “social
order,” and whose “shallow understanding” and “lukewarm” solidarity would only
result in negative peace. By its “lukewarm” and “shallow understanding” of positive
peace, devoid of a rigorous engagement with coloniality and decoloniality, does
Peace and Conflict Studies reproduce the same lack of rigor and commitment to a
paradigm shift in a global system of violence?
While Peace scholars have described the current system as a “war system” (Falk,
1975; Jenkins and Reardon, 2007; MacQueen, 2007; Reardon, 1996), colonialism is
rarely identified in Peace and Conflict literature as central to shaping the logic of this
war system (Byrne et al., 2018). For Nelson Maldonado-Torres, coloniality is
fundamentally a “paradigm of war” (2008) which enables and normalizes violence.
Settler states in particular are very much structured by continuous and multiple forms
of violence against, and the silencing of, indigenous people and their struggle for
sovereignty. Thus, coloniality as a pattern of power is characterized by direct
violence in the forms of domination and exploitation of peoples, often rooted in
structural and cultural violence and premised upon epistemic violence.
According to Claudia Brunner, epistemic violence can be understood as “the very
contribution to violent societal conditions that is rooted in knowledge itself: in its
formation, shape, set-up, and effectiveness” (2015, p. 39). As such, epistemic
violence is entrenched in our knowledge and ways of knowing. Drawing on post-

colonial scholars who first coined the term (Spivak, 1988; Shiva, 1990), Brunner
engages with decolonial critique to specifically interrogate the field of peace and
conflict research (2011, 2017). As indigenous and decolonial scholars have pointed
out, epistemic violence is omnipresent in knowledge production and mobilization
(Alfred, 1999; Hernandez, 2019; Ndlovu-Gatsheni, 2013; Tuhiwai-Smith, 1999) and
it is “theoretical, conceptual, methodological as well as political, institutional,
economical” (Brunner, 2015, p. 39). Drawing on the notion of coloniality of
knowledge, Brunner builds on the work of Peruvian sociologist Anibal Quijano’s
seminal work on the “coloniality of power” (Quijano, 2000).
Coloniality exposes and refers to colonial relations that exceed formal colonial
administration and the subsequent dehumanization processes in which human beings
are hierarchically organized. Maldonado-Torres describes colonialism as a “model of
power . . . inescapabl[y] framed by world capitalism and a system of domination
structured around the idea of race” (2007, p. 244 emphasis added). Quijano urges us
to think of coloniality and modernity as co-constitutive. The concept of modernity/
coloniality challenges common assumptions in the social sciences and hegemonic
academic theories upon which Western academia has been built and towards which
much scholarship of the Global South continues to be oriented, including Peace
Studies. Understood through Quijano’s work, modernity is regarded as a global
phenomenon that materializes and emerges through asymmetrical power relations,
rather than being grounded in symmetrical phenomena within Europe that were later
transferred to the rest of the world. Crucially, these asymmetrical power relations
between Europe and other parts of the world and its peoples are constitutive, as well
as consequential, aspects of modernity, and therefore also imply a subalternization of
forms of colonized knowledge and being.
Subalternization refers to the process of making and essentializing the other, both
externally and through self-subalternization. Colonial powers imposed on indigenous
peoples a knowledge system that worked in favor of the colonial and imperial regime
(s). Yet these knowledge systems were also contested and have not been internalized
without resistance (Mignolo, 2000). Subalternization of knowledge refers to the
process of integrating, adapting, rejecting, or resisting “two kinds of local histories
displayed in different spaces and times across the planet” (2000, p. ix), producing the
matrix of coloniality of power. This colonial matrix entails an understanding of the
human that ultimately excludes the racialized and colonized other. Race has assigned
meanings of worth not only to humans but also to their knowledge structures and
cosmologies. It further generated a gender system that not only differentiated between
categories of men and women but also rendered unsexed humans an impossibility.
Therefore, as decolonial scholars (Grosfoguel et al., 2014; Lugones, 2003, 2008)
have argued, the modern colonial system is racist, capitalist, heterosexist, and ableist.
Therefore, we need to also acknowledge the violence inherent in Eurocentric
knowledge production, which is often disguised as universal. Eurocentrism can be
identified as a specific knowledge practice, both in form and in the production of
subjectivities, within this global power structure to which other forms of knowledge
production have to react – including in the field of Peace Studies and the concept of
positive peace. As Maldonado-Torres explains,
616 M. Azarmandi
. . . coloniality survives colonialism. It is maintained alive in books, in the criteria for

academic performance, in cultural patterns, in common sense, in the self-image of peoples,
in aspirations of self, and so many other aspects of our modern experience. In a way, as
modern subjects we breathe coloniality all the time and everyday. (Maldonado-Torres, 2007,
p. 243)
Colonialism thus actively destroyed as well as inferiorized other knowledge systems.

Boaventura de Sousa Santos (2014) describes “epistemicide” as one facet of colonial
destruction. As Ramon Grosfoguel points out, indigenous genocides “were at the
same time forms of epistemicide that are constitutive of Western men epistemic
privilege” (2013, p. 77), and it is here where Brunner articulates her critique of Peace
and Conflict research and its lack of recognition of epistemic violence.
Epistemic Violence, the Coloniality of Being and the Damné
Brunner argues that, for a field that is deeply engaged with the question of violence,
theorizing epistemic violence has largely been absent (2011, 2015), including a
critical self-reflection of how core concepts and theories of the field have been
conceived (Azarmandi, 2018). Epistemic violence, she contends, is inseparably
interwoven with the coloniality of power, knowledge, and being, and therefore
other forms of knowledge production – anti-Eurocentric, indigenous, decolonial –
are required. Yet, where the scholarship on positive peace (and to a larger degree, the
field itself) has tried to address and eliminate violence(s) that produce political and
social injustice, it often misses how these injustices are rooted in the structure of
knowledge itself.
Connecting with Brunner’s work, and as I have argued elsewhere, decolonial
theory is both relevant and well-suited for peace and conflict research (Azarmandi,
2017, 2018) because decolonial theory in its essence also aims to analyze, criticize,
and address violence on local and global levels. But Brunner has pointed out that the
field has yet to critically assess the very terms and knowledge it uses to provide
analysis and solutions about how to overcome violence. Peace and Conflict Studies
has so far tended to approach violence first as a research object external to its field
and second to locate it as distant and deviant (Azarmandi, 2018; Brunner, 2016). The
“epistemic territory of modernity” (Vázquez, 2011, p. 27) is centered in Europe and
often implies civilization, rationality, democracy, and progress thus creating a
counter image of violence on the “other side.” Externalizing and detaching the
scholar (and scholarship) discursively and geographically from where violence is
located delinks the “researcher’s position from structures that uphold and maintain
violence” (Azarmandi, 2018, p. 70), on the one hand, and on the other hand,
normalizes an understanding of European modernity and progress as only exercising
violence in moments of exceptionality. This logic would, for example, frame the
Holocaust as an exception to an otherwise non-racist norm in Europe and the West
more broadly (Azarmandi, 2017; Brunner, 2016; Hesse, 2004; Lentin, 2008).
Coming back to the opening remarks on Dr. King’s understanding of positive and
negative peace, it is crucial to think about coloniality particularly in relation to
racism. That is, the structures of power and race produced by colonization cannot be
removed from a world system or history understood to be otherwise aracial. The
coloniality of power also produced a coloniality of being (Maldonado-Torres, 2007)
insofar as colonial knowledge and power produced colonial difference at and beyond
the epistemic level in terms of what is knowable about humans and their relationship
to modernity and capitalism.
The coloniality of being also produces an ontological colonial difference. The
colonial other, or the damné as Fanon would describe it, is organized below the line
of the human. By categorizing the colonial other as subhuman and thus enslaveable,
Fanon’s conceptualization of the damné is consequently of epistemological and
ontological importance to the formulation of a peace paradigm and “positive
peace,” as it reveals a system structured on the denial of the humanity of the majority
of the world’s population. This lack of recognition of the colonial other is achieved
predominantly through the notion of race (as well as gender and sexuality). From the
sixteenth century onward, the idea that non-Europeans are intrinsically different and
inferior would shape the relationship between Europe/Europeans and its others, as
well as all social practices of power (Grosfoguel, 2003; Quijano, 1992; Maldonado-
Torres, 2007). Returning to Madonado-Torres, he notes:
[T]he ‘lighter’ one’s skin is, the closer to full humanity one is, and vice versa. As the
conquerors took on the role of mapping the world they kept reproducing this vision of things.
The whole world was practically seen in the lights of this logic. This is the beginning of
‘global coloniality’. (2007, p. 244)
Coloniality shapes our present from capitalist expansion, resource extraction, cul-
tural production, social organization, and knowledge produced. It resulted from the
colonial encounter. Thus, the idea and concept of race shaped the intrinsically
hierarchical understanding of what constitutes “the human.” And yet, despite the
end of scientific racism and the myth of racial superiority/ inferiority being busted in
the second half of the twentieth century, it has “by no means [meant] the end of
racism and its far-reaching material and epistemic consequences” (Brunner, 2016,
p. 45). Understanding racism as “the state-sanctioned and/or extra-legal production
and exploitation of group-differentiated vulnerability to premature death” (Gilmore,
2006, p. 28) includes recognizing asymmetrical distributions of resources and labor
as constitutive to colonialism as well as a key feature of coloniality. Thus, one might
ask, does positive peace challenge or reproduce the coloniality of knowledge and the
coloniality of power?
Conclusion: The Limits of Positive Peace
Since its inception, the field of Peace and Conflict Studies has been accompanied by a
sense of suspicion given that the field has questioned the validity and normalization of
war and violence and, as such, has repeatedly called for a “paradigm shift” and the
transformation of current violent systems. Maria Raquel Freire and Paula Duarte
Lopes refer to the paradigm shift by pointing out that the shift has yet to occur: “[A]nd
618 M. Azarmandi
yet, the so longed paradigm shift into a culture of peace did not take place” (2009,
p. 28). Feminist peace scholar Betty Reardon describes the shift in the following way:
“We might think of the desired paradigm shift as one which moves us from a warring
society to a parenting or caring society, in which all adults parent the young and care
for the vulnerable” (Reardon, 2015, p. 118). Similarly, Jacqueline Haessly asks:
How do people move from a culture that considers peace as an absence of war and violence
to a culture that considers peace a presence? . . . This calls for a major paradigm shift.
(Haessly, 2010, p. 158; see also Botes, 2003; Rogers, 2002)
As outlined above, our current paradigm is fundamentally marked by coloniality

with racism as one of its core features. To ignore how racial stratification, among
other oppressive structures, shapes society would mean to deny how racism con-
tinues to cause and maintain discrimination and premature death for a significant
portion of the world’s population. A paradigm shift is intended to change the very
structure of society that maintains and perpetuates violence. Consequently, a para-
digm shift should entail constructing theoretical approaches that not only highlight
the realities of the oppressed, but incorporate the different perspectives and cosmol-
ogies of those deemed the Wretched of the Earth (Fanon, 1968).
However, the quest for decolonizing knowledge cannot be taken lightly as it is also
often accompanied by the reproduction of the hierarchies of power it sets out to
challenge. For example, scholars in the North are now intellectually engaging in what
has been coined by Julia Suarez Krabbe as “fashion decoloniality” – a mere intellec-
tual use of the terms and theories with power and resources remaining largely in the
same hands. Thus, can the unlearning or Eurocentric forms of knowledge (including
the different forms of privilege) ever be sufficient for decolonization? As Pounamu
Jade Aikman elaborates in this volume ▶ Chap. 27, “Indigenous Rights: Colonial
Chimera? The Illusion of Positive Peace in a Settler Colonial Context,” in settler
colonial contexts such as Aotearoa, New Zealand, this process will always be flawed
if removed from return of land to indigenous people and placing indigenous cosmol-
ogies at the center, Thus, for indigenous people, any question about peace and justice
is always-already about indigenous sovereignty and ultimately about land. Decolo-
nization therefore is about more than just political hand over of administrative
control; it includes a decolonization of knowledge and ways-of-being in the world.
It also includes deimperialization, demystification, and deracialization in general and
in the production of knowledge in particular. Redefining positive peace must entail
not only the inclusion of other forms of knowledge, such as indigenous peace
traditions and epistemologies from the Global South, but also a questioning and
suspicion towards the European canon of so-called expert knowledge.
We must therefore learn to also ask different questions and question the paradigm
differently, “because decolonial approaches rely on the explicit consideration of
relationality, interdependence and intersectionality in spatial and in terms of time”
(Brunner, 2017, p. 11). Attention to epistemic violence thus offers us a way to
interrogate the role and function of the field of peace and conflict studies itself. As
Walter Mignolo and Catherine Walsh argue “[A]t the moment coloniality was
unveiled; decoloniality was born in the unveiling of coloniality” (2018, p. 6). So, the
concepts and ideas of “what is” is dependent on how we have learned to name and
understand what we know, including our conception of peace. Mignolo and Walsh
continue, (I would add that Mignolo and Walsh fail to include ability in their
analysis).
Hence, the coloniality of knowledge implies the coloniality of being; they move in two
simultaneous directions. The coloniality of being is instituted by racism and sexism.
However, if ontology is instituted by an epistemology that devalues certain human beings
in terms of race and sexuality, there must be some force that sanctions the devaluation, since
the devaluation is not itself ontological. The sanctioning comes from human beings who
place themselves above those human beings who are devalued and dehumanized.
Coloniality of being therefore entangles both the enunciator and the enunciated.
Decoloniality of knowledge and of being, therefore, aims at the liberation of both, for if
there is no enunciation instituting racial and sexual hierarchies (racism and sexism), then
there is no racism and sexism. (Mignolo & Walsh, 2018, p. 148)
I concur with Mignolo and Walsh that the level of enunciation is of crucial impor-
tance to understanding the limitations of the concept of positive peace. Not only has
epistemic violence been largely absent in work on positive peace, it is also largely
absent in the field as such.
“Liberation,” as Mignolo and Walsh argue, comes through “thinking and being
otherwise” (148) rather than being attained. Liberation thus comes through letting go
what keeps us attached to the colonial matrix of power. Since race was decisive and
determined who counted as human and who did not it cannot suddenly be omitted.
An aracial outlook on the world and its conflicts would thus continue to produce
epistemic violence. If the current paradigm is a colonial system that is racist,
capitalist, heterosexist, and ableist, a “positive peace” can only be theorized and
approached if we critically and intersectionally challenge coloniality and the episte-
mic violence(s) it produces. Decolonial peace research contributes to finding alter-
natives to the current paradigm beyond the three types of violence but recognizes
that the field of science and knowledge production is in itself a terrain of highly
unequal distribution of power and resources – and thus violence. Decolonial peace
research must therefore be inter- and transdisciplinary, it must seek to decolonize the
discipline while simultaneously questioning the logic of disciplinarity “as long as
disciplinarity of knowledge also serves as an instrument of power and domination”
(Brunner, 2017, p. 12).
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Part IX
Environmental Sustainability: Conceptual
Approaches
Ecocide, Speciesism, Vulnerability:
Revisiting Positive Peace 33
in the Anthropocene
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Contents
Delineating Ecocide . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 626
The Speciesist Roots of Ecocide . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 632
A Vulnerability Lens to the Ecocide–Speciesism Nexus . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 636
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 638
Abstract
In line with the expansive, critical vision behind positive peace, this chapter
develops an analytical framework for understanding the ties between ecocide and
speciesism. I commence with thoughts on how ecocide is tied to “positive peace,”
narrowly as a theoretical construct and broadly as an ethos driving the paths of
scholar–practitioners in peace and conflict studies. While among the best-known
examples recently of ecocide are the Amazon fires, the destruction of the Great
Barrier Reef and of the Niger Delta, many other ecological disasters have been
precipitated over the past decades by both state–corporate crime and by our
individual failure to respect interdependence and to protect nature. Following a
discussion of several prominent ecocides, I review the ethical and legal arguments
driving the growing global movement which supports the recognition of ecocide
as an international crime. The second part challenges prevalent speciesist beliefs
and practices, materialized in individual and collective failures to protect non-
human lives, which feeds into ecocides. The history of sexism and racism shows
that the justifications used to render certain lives inferior (thus suited for subju-
gation) are strikingly similar to how speciesism operates: through strategic
invisibilities and inconsistent standards which legitimate physical, structural,
and epistemic violence. The third part filters the ties between ecocide and
speciesism through vulnerability theory (with its insistence on dependency,
R. Afana (*)
Vulnerability and the Human Condition Initiative, Emory University School of Law, Atlanta, GA,
USA
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_33
626 R. Afana
interdependence, and state responsibility) and reflects on what a vulnerability-

centered jurisprudence could contribute to prevention, repair, and accountability
in the Anthropocene.
Keywords
Speciesism · Ecocide · Positive peace · Vulnerability theory · State–corporate
crime
Delineating Ecocide
Summers spent as a kid in a remote village in Romania with my grandparents

instilled in my psyche and body a particular awareness of the interdependencies
between humans and nature. It was however only after turning vegan, initially for
health reasons, that I began to learn about the ties between environmental harms,
food politics, pathology, and lifestyle choices. Deeper thinking about ecocide started
for me in summer 2019: following the Amazon fires so viscerally touched me that I
felt compelled to read and write about it, seeking to connect the dots, for myself and
for the few close friends I shared those reflections with. My research and activism
over the past decade have mostly gravitated around human rights, conflict transfor-
mation, and transitional justice. While the environmental crisis has been marginal
to my work, it is tied to positive peace, an ethos marking my and others’ paths as
scholar–practitioners. This multidimensional vision of peace (encompassing the
diverse themes, spaces, temporalities, disciplines shaping peace) moves us beyond
the narrow target of halting overt violence, to instead consider all interconnected
values, processes, and entities which help us thrive. It is itself an ecological view on
peace as area of theoretical inquiry and of praxis. The other side of “ecological”
refers here to the interdependencies between different forms of life. To me, reflecting
on ecocide is integral to the vision behind positive peace; a wide-angle take on peace
would be incomplete without addressing the roots and consequences of ecocide.
Ecocide is the “extensive damage to, destruction of or loss of ecosystem(s),”
notes earth lawyer Polly Higgins (Real Media, 2019). The “-cide” (Latin caedō)
refers to acts and/or agents of killing. While processes we could think of as natural,
such as invasive species wreaking havoc on ecosystems, fall within the scope of
ecocide, the concept often normatively designates ecological destruction as a crime.
That differentiates natural disasters from systematic man-made processes harming
the environment. These crimes are seldom individual, isolated acts of negligence or
malfeasance; more commonly they can be classified as state crimes (actions or
inactions which breach a state’s own criminal law or its international law obliga-
tions) or state–corporate crimes. Such “wrongdoing at the intersection of business
and government” (Michalowski & Kramer, 2006) has led to some of the worst
human and environmental harms of our times.
While criminology has traditionally served as an extension of state power,
overemphasizing a narrow range of wrongdoings (theft, murder, drug dealing,
33 Ecocide, Speciesism, Vulnerability: Revisiting Positive Peace in the. . . 627
juvenile delinquency, domestic violence) and isolating the state itself from
accountability, state crime research contributes a critical analysis of harms
perpetrated by states, reorienting the relation between power and knowledge
vis-à-vis criminality (Chambliss et al., 2010). State crime research contributes
a complex understanding of how state crimes are enacted, experienced, and
resisted (Lasslett, 2014, p. 92). The International State Crime Initiative embraces
a wide understanding of state crime, contrasting reductionist legal definitions. As
Green and Ward (2013, p. 28) note, “The law is ill-equipped to respond to these
diffuse, complex, subtle processes.” This informs my examination of ecocide: to
surface criminality I draw on different disciplines while also expanding themat-
ically, spatially, and chronologically the analysis, to understand the continuities
between different layers of harm, ecocide following some harms and preceding
or causing others.
Some illustrations of how ecocides feed into the current environmental crisis are
perhaps useful to contextualize the ties between ecocide and speciesism. From
January to early December 2019, over 193,000 fires had been documented in Brazil
(Instituto Nacional De Pesquisas Espaciais Brasil, 2019), nearly 124,000 of them in
the nine states within the Amazon basin, home to the world’s largest rainforest,
significant for its carbon dioxide removal (Phillips & Brienen, 2017) and site of
stunning biodiversity. The destruction of rainforest ecosystems and the violation of
indigenous rights are primarily driven by deforestation and fires to clear land for
agribusiness. Amazon Watch (2019, p. 3) documents how Jair Bolsonaro’s presi-
dency “profoundly exacerbates the country’s environmental and human rights cri-
sis”; operating in the Amazon are livestock and mining companies linked to illegal
deforestation, corruption, slave labor, and other crimes tolerated by the political
regime. Within just one year, deforestation in Brazil caused the loss of an area
equivalent to nearly one million football fields (Greenpeace, 2018).
Ecocide driven by deforestation for agribusiness is not unique to the Amazon.
The global deforestation crisis is exposed in a cross-border investigation
documenting plans to clear one of the “largest remaining tract of pristine rainforest
in Asia,” located in New Guinea, for what is envisioned as the world’s largest oil
palm plantation (Mongabay, 2018). The Tanah Merah project, tied to an international
consortium shrouded in secrecy and illegalities, threatens one of the most biodiverse
places in the world. Vast stretches of rainforest have already been cleared based on
allegedly fraudulent permits (Mongabay, 2019). Besides its expected greenhouse gas
emissions, the project risks encroaching on the livelihood of the island’s indigenous
peoples and contributing to the destruction of vertebrates, invertebrates, plants and
microorganisms, some only found there. As massive deforestation meets record heat
and drought (both consequences of anthropogenic global warming), ecological
catastrophes seem inevitable: since summer 2019 huge expanses of forests and
grasslands have gone ablaze in Angola, DR Congo, California, the Canary Islands,
Siberia, Alaska, Greenland, and in other parts of the world (Global Forest Watch
Fires, 2019; NASA Fire Information System, 2019; Irfan & Amaria, 2019; Deutsche
Welle, 2020). The magnitude of fires leaves scientists warning that “humans have
created a Pyrocene” (Pyne, 2019).
628 R. Afana
The Niger Delta is another site where the confluence of corporate interests and
state negligence has caused ecological destruction and harm to local communities.
Donatus (2016) documents how ecosystems throughout Africa are “systematically
destroyed in order to maximize profits and to secure and expand the prosperity of the
West”; contrary to the promise of prosperity that came with oil extraction (Nigeria is
Africa’s largest oil producer), today the Niger Delta is a prime example of how areas
rich in natural resources end up ravaged by pollution, expropriation, displacement,
poverty, and corruption. Thousands of oil accidents in the Niger Delta over the past
decades have contaminated the water, soil, and air, taking a toll on animals, plants,
and human health; the Niger Delta is now one of the most polluted places
on earth (Amnesty International, 2018). Multinationals like Shell, Eni, Chevron,
ExxonMobil, and Total continue to operate with impunity, occasionally paying
minor penalties, collaborating with public officials in fragile states to suppress
grassroots resistance to their environmental crimes and human rights violations.
Unsurprisingly, BP, Shell, ExxonMobil, Chevron, and Total, the five largest publicly
owned oil and gas companies in the world, invest $201 million annually in climate
lobbying, “to control, delay or block binding climate policy” (Maslin, 2019).
Our impact on marine life is not any better: over half of the Great Barrier Reef, the
earth’s largest single structure of living organisms, is dead due to heat and acidity
caused by human activity (Loria, 2018; Hughes et al., 2019). The collapse of
underwater ecosystems is expected to bear momentous repercussions on the entire
planet. Polar ecosystems are also damaged by the aggregate effects of human
activity. July 2019 was the hottest month on earth in recorded history, as documented
by thousands of monitoring stations globally (Freedman, 2019). By the end of July,
1 million square miles of ice at the Arctic and Antarctic had melted and in October
2019 Arctic average sea ice extent was “the lowest in the 41-year continuous satellite
record” (National Snow & Ice Data Center, 2019). Moore et al. (2019, p. 11,237)
show that the ongoing loss of Arctic sea ice, alongside a trend toward thinner,
younger, and more mobile ice pack (all indicators of our changing climate), produce
stresses for all ice-dependent organisms and ecosystems. With projections of a
“seasonally ice-free Arctic to occur for September between 2044 and 2067 under a
high emissions scenario” (Thackeray & Hall, 2019), the continuous degradation of
Arctic ecosystems comes as further evidence of the damage caused by human
activity.
Ecocides are entwined with (and often precursors to) conflicts over natural
resources, poverty, food insecurity, disease, displacement, corruption, and authori-
tarianism — all adversely impacting human security and the ideal of positive peace.
Concerns around ecocide are thus not limited to the degradation and eventual
extinction of flora, fauna, and microorganisms, but extend to varied forms of harm
against humans. Displacement has been among the most prominent harms over the
past decade, as stretches of land become uninhabitable due to drought, flooding,
hurricanes, wildfires, pollution of land, air and water, and other phenomena caused
or aggravated by anthropogenic climate change. Displacement disproportionately
affects poor communities, people of color, and indigenous groups (Deutsche Welle,
2019; Minority Rights Group International, 2019; Boffa, 2019). Environmental
harms thus intersect with the multigenerational effects of colonialism, racism, and
classism. Climate refugees enjoy few protections under international law, as the
global entanglements between state–corporate negligence or criminality and envi-
ronmental destruction remain obscured. Talking of “eco-colonialism,” Higgins
(2015) observes: “This is the reality of colonization in the 21st century; it is no
longer confined to the enslavement of people but enslavement of the planet.”
As Pyne (2019) perceptively condenses the status quo, “. . . together we have so
reworked the planet that we now have remade biotas, begun melting most of the relic
ice, turned the atmosphere into a crock pot and the oceans into acid vats, and are
sparking a sixth great extinction.” The ecological crisis seems ever more present in our
collective consciousness: while a decade ago talks of anthropogenic climate change
were relegated to scholarly circles, now mainstream media write about children treated
for “eco-anxiety.” The Daily Telegraph reports groups like The Climate Psychology
Alliance are campaigning to have anxiety caused by the gruesome future of our planet
recognized as a psychological condition (Bodkin, 2019). The American Psychological
Association and ecoAmerica (Clayton et al., 2017) document the pervasive psycho-
logical impact of climate change: trauma and shock, post-traumatic stress disorder,
compounded stress, anxiety, depression, substance abuse, aggression and violence,
fatalism, and even suicide — among both populations directly affected by the disas-
trous consequences of climate change and those witnessing the crisis from afar with
despondency and rage. Confronting the terrifying evidence of the environmental crisis,
as we near the point of no return, leaves even leading climate scientists weeping behind
closed doors (Gergis, 2019). Given scientists’ “moral obligation to clearly warn
humanity of any catastrophic threat,” in late 2019 over 11,000 scientists from around
the world signed a declaration substantiating “clearly and unequivocally that planet
Earth is facing a climate emergency” (Ripple et al., 2019). Psychology associations on
different continents also signed a resolution to collaborate on climate action; to me
poignant was their commitment to “promote awareness of the psychological blindness
that leads to regarding inequalities as a social fate, instead of a political choice”
(American Psychological Association, 2019). This takes us back to my earlier point
on the disproportionate effect of the environmental crisis on already disadvantaged
communities.
The effects of ongoing ecocides are compounded by the problematic status of
ecocide legally. Civil litigation, the route through which states and companies are
held accountable for environmental harms, is “mopping the floor whilst the tap is
still running,” warns eco-activist Jojo Mehta, co-founder (with late earth lawyer
Polly Higgins) of Ecological Defence Integrity (2019). Mehta notes that as of August
2019 there were over 1,000 climate litigation cases around the world, people taking
states and corporations to courts over their environmental record. Though the global
ecological movement is expanding, advocacy and litigation are impaired by the lack
of criminal laws on ecocide. Our relation to nature is thus not guided by correlated
rights and responsibilities. Civil suits on environmental harms typically leave cor-
porations only paying limited fines or compensations, allowing them to continue
reap profit from environmental destruction. To contextualize the privileges corpora-
tions enjoy, including their extractive relation to and disastrous impact on the
630 R. Afana
environment, we need to examine the roots of corporate power in Western societies.

Winkler (2018) documents the history of American corporate personhood, surveying
over 400 years of cases which show the shifting legal approaches toward corpora-
tions, shaped by a robust yet overlooked corporate civil rights movement. This
transformed the constitution to serve big business, giving companies nearly the
same rights as people, protections which often impede the rights of individuals,
communities, and of nature.
Viewing ecocide as state–corporate crime is particularly significant when
discussing it through a vulnerability lens; as I will show later, given the insistence
within vulnerability theory on state responsibility, critical and expansive jurispru-
dence is needed on ecocide just as on other thorny areas shaped by inevitable
interdependence. The recognition of ecocide as an international crime is thus
crucial to effectively prevent and punish environmental harm. Writer and activist
George Monbiot (2019) talks about a “gaping hole in international law” which
allows individuals, companies, and states to damage nature for power and
profit. This lack of safeguards is rooted in the complicated politics behind the
non-criminalization of ecocide: while until 1996 drafts of the Rome Statute of the
International Criminal Court considered the inclusion of environmental crimes,
eventually “Article 26 was removed completely, and somewhat mysteriously, from
the Code” (Gauger et al., 2012, p. 11). In the final draft of the Statute, the criminal-
ization of environmental harm remained restricted to exceptional circumstances
during war time; ecological crimes in times of peace were left out.
Proposals for the legal recognition of ecocide go back five decades ago and are
tied to the history of chemical warfare. In 1970 at the Congressional Conference on
War and National Responsibility, titled “War Crimes and the American Conscience,”
botanist-bioethicist Arthur Galston (who studied the effects of a chemical later
developed into Agent Orange) first used the term: “. . .the willful and permanent
destruction of environment in which a people can live in a manner of their own
choosing ought similarly to be considered a crime against humanity, to be designated
by the term ecocide” (in Zierler, 2011, p. 19). Galston added, “I believe that the most
highly developed nations have already committed autoecocide over large parts of
their own countries. At the present time, the United States stands alone as possibly
having committed ecocide against another country, Vietnam, through its massive use
of chemical defoliants and herbicides.” To Galston, standing up against ecocide
“wasn’t environmentalism, but a bioethical approach” (p. 18). This early thinking
around ecocide seems to me narrowly tied to a belligerent and anthropocentric
framework: environmental destruction was conceptualized in the context of warfare
and its long-term effects chiefly considered vis-à-vis humans. This contrasts the
scope of ecocide presently, as suggested by my prior illustrations: (1) most ecocides
are casually perpetrated during times of peace, to further economic interests; (2) the
global environmental movement (engaged in research, advocacy, litigation, civil
disobedience, consumer boycotts, protests) is concerned with violence against all
nonhuman forms of life, not just narrowly with human interests vis-à-vis nature.
In 1972 at the United Nations Stockholm Conference on the Human Environ-
ment, Swedish Prime Minister Olof Palme also spoke of the Vietnam War as an
ecocide, denounced likewise by other public officials, diplomats, and scholars. A

working group on environmental crimes was set up, which developed a draft ecocide
convention submitted to the UN the following year. Part of this expert group,
Richard Falk (1973, p. 80) writes about environmental warfare in Indochina: “Just
as counter-insurgency warfare tends toward genocide with respect to the people, so it
tends toward ecocide with respect to the environment.” His proposed International
Convention on the Crime of Ecocide mandates for ecocide, whether committed in
times of peace or during war, to be recognized as a crime under international law,
which United Nations members should commit themselves to prevent and punish.
Significantly, under this broad understanding of environmental crime, Falk proposes
not only the act of ecocide to be punishable but also conspiracy to commit ecocide,
incitement to ecocide, attempt to commit ecocide, and complicity in ecocide. Falk’s
approach reflects a gradual widening of ecocide jurisprudence.
Various academic and civic frameworks delineating the scope of ecocide (and
criteria for its criminalization) have been advanced. Gray (1996, p. 254) views
ecocide as a “breach of a duty of care owed erga omnes,” with international
environmental law establishing the duty of care and international human rights
law contributing its jurisprudential foundation. He qualifies ecocide as ecological
damage that is: serious, extensive or lasting; bears international consequences;
wasteful, i.e. “neither inevitable nor necessary” (p. 217). Perpetrators considered
(pp. 219–222) are: states (directly through their activities and policies and indirectly,
by their failure to regulate entities within their jurisdiction); individuals (especially
high-ranking decision-makers, like government officials and corporate executives);
organizations (corporations, multilateral development banks, United Nations agen-
cies). To Gray, ecocide primarily violates international human rights (chiefly, the
right to life and right to health), secondarily considering “emerging rights”: to a
healthy environment, to development, and of nonhuman entities (pp. 222–226).
“Criminalization of ecocide will occur because it must” (p. 270); “ecocide so
menaces fundamental human rights and international peace and security that it
must be treated with the same gravity as apartheid or genocide” (p. 271). Mégret
(2010) concurs that “strong arguments exist both for the criminalization and indeed
the international criminalization of grave harm to the environment” (p. 15), this
reflecting “a global ‘upgrading’ of the values that could be protected by an interna-
tional environmental offence” (p. 11).
Leading voice over the past decade in the global fight to criminalize ecocide,
Polly Higgins noted: “Ecocide is in essence the very antithesis of life. It leads to
resource depletion, and where there is escalation of resource depletion, war comes
chasing behind. Where such destruction arises out of the actions of mankind, ecocide
can be regarded as a crime against peace” (in Jowit, 2010). In her book Eradicating
Ecocide, Higgins (2015) makes a compelling case for the international criminaliza-
tion of ecocide, documenting how the planet is rapidly damaged by corporations and
governments operating within legal frameworks which provide insufficient deter-
rence. To Higgins, ecocide is the fifth crime against peace (alongside genocide,
crimes against humanity, war crimes, and crimes of aggression), precisely because
“The capacity of ecocide to be trans-boundary and multi-jurisdictional necessitates
632 R. Afana
legislation of international scope.” Higgins died of an aggressive form of cancer in

spring 2019; her legacy is a growing global movement to prevent and demand
accountability for ecocides (Watts, 2019).
The copious literature explaining scientifically the environmental crisis, while
significant to understanding its ecological, hydrological, geological, meteorological
(and other) facets, often omits or adumbrates the structures driving environmental
harm. Aside from the legal perspectives presented earlier, green criminology, con-
servation criminology, and climate change criminology fill this gap, surfacing why
these crimes are enacted, what their direct and collateral effects are, who their
perpetrators and victims are, and what redress might look like. As Higgins (2015)
notes, when it comes to “ascertainable ecocide,” the agents, consequences of and
liability for ecological harm can (and should) be determined. This is arguably the
case with most of my prior illustrations. The ties between environmental harms and
criminality are examined in many recent studies (White, 2012, 2016, 2020; Sollund,
2015; Heydon, 2019). Supplementing criminological approaches, nascent fields like
climate psychology, conservation psychology and ecopsychology explore the psy-
chosocial facets of our failure to meaningfully address the environmental crisis.
Hoggett (2019) documents “the non-rational dimensions of our collective paralysis
in the face of worsening climate change” (p. 10); reactions like anxiety, outrage,
apathy, denial, despair are explored through a range of methodologies applied to
different sites. While these angles cover crucial matters around ecocide, I believe one
core driving force behind anthropogenic environmental degradation, speciesism,
remains neglected in scholarship and praxis.
The Speciesist Roots of Ecocide
How does speciesism manifest in our thoughts, feelings, actions, and how are these
tied to ecocide? Speciesism is a form of discrimination based on a being’s species; by
ascribing more value to some lives and less to others, the extermination and
exploitation of supposedly inferior species appear justifiable. Speciesism was first
discussed in the 1970s by psychologist and animal rights advocate Richard Ryder. In
the 1990s he also coined the term “painism,” insisting that all beings who feel pain
deserve rights and protections. Since “suffering is the important criterion for moral-
ity, not somebody’s intelligence” (Ryder, 2014), the suffering of nonhuman animals
should be given equal consideration. Typically, speciesism emerges as human
supremacism or anthropocentrism — privileging human interests over those of
other beings, based on an assumed ontological superiority of the human species.
Anthropocentrism is a “historical outcome of a distorted humanism in which human
freedom is founded upon the unfreedom of human and animal others” (Weitzenfeld
& Joy, 2014, p. 3). Speciesism also manifests in the (especially Western) tendency to
treat cattle, pigs, and chicken as food, to be tortured and massacred on an unprec-
edented scale globally, while treating other animals, like cats and dogs as compan-
ions, their pleasure and suffering shaping our actions. This double standard is at odds
with the scientific consensus that most animals we treat as food and those we
embrace as companions are both sentient beings. Speciesism helps us justify brutal-
ity, whether slaughtering animals to eat them, to use parts of their bodies (the leather
items most of us wear, the widespread use of mink and fox fur in the fashion
industry, or the global traffic of pangolin scales and shark fins for “medicinal”
purposes), to experiment on them, or to erase entire ecosystems in the name of
“development.”
Among prevalent speciesist beliefs is the assumption that nonhumans, because
they do not experience the world in as “evolved” ways as we do, are inferior, thus
their subjugation benign. This assumption is refuted in numerous studies and
documentaries (Sapontzis, 1987; Ryder, 2011; Weitzenfeld & Joy, 2014; Animal
Ethics, n.d.; Ultraventus Films, 2012). Though indeed we enjoy cognitive capacities
superior to those of nonhuman animals, other beings have unique traits, often
beyond the capacity of humans: complex vision (eagles, hawks, owls, shrimps,
bees, boas, pythons); smell (African elephants, giant pouched rats, opossums, star
nosed moles); hearing (moths, bats, whales); memory (dolphins, elephants, chim-
panzees, ravens); resilience to extreme environmental conditions (tardigrades);
longevity (Greenland sharks, glass sponges, black corals, Great Basin bristlecone
pines); or biochemical defense mechanisms (plants developing impenetrable barriers
or releasing toxic compounds). As bioethicist Peter Singer explains, “a difference of
species alone cannot provide an ethically defensible basis for giving the interests of
one individual more weight than the interests of another” (foreword in Ryder, 2011,
p. 2). The Cambridge Declaration on Consciousness attests “non-human animals
have the neuroanatomical, neurochemical, and neurophysiological substrates of
conscious states along with the capacity to exhibit intentional behaviors,” thus
“humans are not unique in possessing the neurological substrates that generate
consciousness” (Low, 2012). While arguments have been voiced in favor of spe-
ciesism, some intriguing philosophically, in practice most translate to legitimizing
the subjugation of other beings in the name of human supremacy. To me, this appears
inimical to what positive peace requires: nonviolence and sustainability.
The way speciesism manifests in the ecocides illustrated in my prior section is
straightforward: we ascribe worth hierarchically to different forms of life — this
allows humans to subjugate and exterminate other beings. As Goff (2019) suggests,
prevalent beliefs rooted in dualism tend to portray the natural world as mechanistic,
creating a chasm between humans (superior due to our supposedly unique access to
consciousness) and nature, which simply becomes a site for exploitation. Some of
my earlier examples presented ecocides caused by deforestation: such massive
operations ongoing around the world are clearing space primarily for cropland and
pastures, used to feed the livestock we breed, to then slaughter. Wildlife is wiped out
because we place more value on the short-term availability of certain types of meat
than on the long-term conservation of varied forms of plants, animals, and microor-
ganisms; likewise, of less concern is the integrity of soil, of water, and of air, all
spoiled by industrial farming — these factors combined additionally contributing to
climate change.
The United Nations Food and Agriculture Organization (2006) documents in an
extensive report that animal agriculture is a leading cause behind the global
634 R. Afana
environmental crisis due to its role in climate change and air pollution (pp. 79–123),
in water depletion and pollution (pp. 125–179), alongside its impact on biodiversity
loss (pp. 181–218). The livestock sector is “the single largest anthropogenic user of
land” (p. xxi), leading to the unnecessary torture and killing of billions of animals
worldwide each year (Heinrich Böll Foundation & Friends of the Earth Europe,
2014). As Joy (2015) points out, carnism, the “invisible belief system that conditions
us to eat certain animals,” is dominant and normalized: in spite of cultural variations
around what animals are deemed desirable for consumption, most cultures mandate
meat consumption and consider their choices rational, which perpetuates carnism.
This does not only cause suffering for millions of animals every day, but it contrib-
utes to the climate crisis, it decimates wildlife, it causes land degradation, it exposes
humans to a multitude of foodborne pathogens, and it plays a role in global food
insecurity, among many other detrimental effects.
Considering the environmental footprint of animal agriculture, expected to
worsen given population growth and a trend toward growing consumption of animal
products in developing countries, the United Nations Environment Programme
(2010, p. 82) warned that reducing our impact on the environment “would only be
possible with a substantial worldwide diet change, away from animal products.” The
Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (2019, pp. 66 and 89) concurs that,
since climate change is expected to negatively impact global food security, plant-
based diets would make a significant difference, given their low environmental
impact and health-promoting properties. Research substantiates this transformative
potential: excluding animal products from our diets would reduce by 76% the land
now used for food production (Poore & Nemecek, 2018, p. 991).
The land freed from animal farming can be dedicated to restoring compromised
ecosystems, which on an ethical level would address the legacy of prior ecocides and
on a practical level would mitigate the ecological crisis. For instance, trees planted
would capture carbon dioxide and conservation efforts toward animal species now
endangered would benefit entire ecosystems. Veganism, one of the fastest growing
movements in the world (Hancox, 2018), is driven not only by concerns about
animal cruelty and on the potentially detrimental health effects of eating animal
products but also by an awareness of how devastating industrial farming is to the
environment. The conundrum for those choosing plant-based diets is that plants are
themselves alive, thus harm is not removed from the human–nature equation. Since
plants communicate, learn, remember, and might even feel pain — traits signaling
inchoate sentience (Mancuso & Viola, 2015; Gagliano, 2018; Paulson, 2020), ethical
veganism (different from dietary veganism) seeks to reduce suffering among beings
most likely able to suffer from exploitation, not to do away altogether with our
domination over other forms of life, which at this point seems unlikely.
While speciesism underlies ecocide, both are normalized by the neoliberal struc-
tures driving our lives: our constant exposure to old and new media, both littered
with ads, is in part driving the crisis. As Monbiot (2007) notes, “You cannot open a
newspaper without being confronted by a host of incongruities. Yesterday, the
Telegraph urged people to share their car journeys as ‘a simple way to lessen your
carbon footprint’. Beside this exhortation, and at six times the size, was an ad by
Ryanair for £10 flights to France. [. . .] Almost all advertising — by promoting

excessive consumption — threatens the biosphere.” Indeed, it seems consumerism,
speciesism, ecocide collide–coexist with a plethora of ecological initiatives rooted in
a critical grasp of the rights–duties dialectic. I am thinking of the Brazilian company
JBS, the world’s largest producer of beef and chicken in 2013; its worldwide
capacities could slaughter every day 85,000 cattle, 70,000 pigs, and 12 million
birds (Heinrich Böll Foundation & Friends of the Earth Europe, 2014, p. 12). I am
also thinking of the IUCN Red List, the world’s biodiversity barometer, which now
lists over 38,000 species risk becoming extinct mainly due to human activity.
Countering that, we find recent groundbreaking initiatives giving legal personhood
to parts of nature, like apes, rivers or lakes (Keim, 2014; Safi, 2017; Roy, 2017;
Mogensen, 2019; Bresler, 2020; Pallotta, 2020), countries like Ecuador and Bolivia
legally recognizing the rights of Mother Earth (Asamblea Legislativa Plurinacional
de Bolivia, 2010; Rapid Transition Alliance, 2018), and scholars exploring whether
nonhuman animals could be treated as persons (Sapontzis, 1980; Tooley, 2011; Satz,
2009; Weizman, 2016). While we live within predominantly anthropocentric struc-
tures, the interdependence between different forms of life is also increasingly
recognized.
Our attitudes on interdependence rely on the intersection between knowing and
feeling. As Burton (2017) observes, “Our lines of reasoning are predicated upon how
thoughts feel.” What that might mean vis-à-vis ecocide is that the way we think
about environmental destruction is marked by our feelings, shaped by conscious,
unconscious, and subconscious biases. While feelings mark thinking, both
shape actions — how and whether we respond to ecocide is not a rational process.
Unsurprisingly, “we are crowd following creatures who constantly use mental ‘short
cuts’ and ‘feeling’ cues to act in ways that make us feel better about ourselves”
(Hoggett, 2019, p. 5). I believe recognizing our speciesist beliefs and how embedded
they are in social institutions is uneasy because critical awareness mandates changes
in our self-image, worldview, and lifestyle, some at odds with comfort, thus poten-
tially destabilizing. As research in climate psychology highlights, “Typically we will
feel torn between different impulses, to face and avoid reality, between guilt and
cynicism, between what is convenient for us and what is necessary for the common
good” (Hoggett, 2019, p. 9). Our defense and coping mechanisms “have become
integral to sustaining our exploitative relations with both the non-human and human
worlds” and remain tied to “the cultural assumptions and practices (e.g. the sense of
privilege and entitlement, materialism and consumerism, the faith in progress) that
inhibit effective change” (ibid.).
Why do the speciesist roots of ecocide matter to positive peace? Injustice,
conflict, and destruction are perpetuated by our tendency to be only moved by
violence against our own kind. Solidarity tends to be racist, sexist, classist,
speciesist. I trust we need to widen our grasp of violence and of our duty to prevent,
resist, repair it. Expanding everyday ethics can create a foundation for preventing
ecocide, universalizing empathy, countering the self-serving, double-standard argu-
ments now used to justify environmental destruction for corporate profit and indi-
vidual comfort. As Ryder (2011) advises, “there is an urgent need to find a more
636 R. Afana
consistent and unified approach to morals and legislation generally,” since law and
much of Western politics have become “a hotchpotch of old religious principles and
an odd and incompatible alliance between Utilitarianism and Rights Theory” (p. 1).
Given our tendency to structure beliefs and actions around narrow self-interest,
Ryder believes “morality can only be about how I treat others.” It is for this reason
that to me speciesism is key to interrogating interdependence.
Countering the destructive manifestations of speciesism would not only gradually
reduce our environmental footprint but also create the space for a more fair and
compassionate rapport to any Other, human and nonhuman. It seems unrealistic and
insincere to deplore the current environmental crisis while continuing to benefit from
processes and products which degrade our common home. A broadened understand-
ing of violence can elevate the mainstream discourse on environmentalism, which
seldom challenges deep-seated individual and collective beliefs, or the foundational
logic of law and the economy. If I think of the justifications used by racism, sexism,
or colonialism to render certain lives inferior (and thus suited for subjugation), they
appear strikingly similar to how speciesism operates: strategic invisibilities and
inconsistent standards legitimate physical, structural, and epistemic violence. Just
as colonial, sexist, or racist domination is no longer tolerated (albeit remnants still
strongly embedded in our societies), perhaps scholarship and activism will in time
treat speciesism also as a transgression of individual and collective rights. The first
step is to unpack the correlations between speciesism and the ecological crisis, then
imagine how law can address these ties, to reorient public consciousness.
A Vulnerability Lens to the Ecocide–Speciesism Nexus
Hereafter I seek to share some nascent reflections on what vulnerability theory could
contribute to understanding the junctures between ecocide and speciesism. Vulner-
ability theory reminds us that vulnerability is not exceptional but universal and
constant (Fineman 2004, 2008, 2010, 2012). As a post-identity paradigm, it empha-
sizes the universality and multilayeredness of vulnerability, not vulnerabilities solely
arising out of our belonging to a certain ethnicity, gender, or class. It is thus an
alternative to the narrowness specific of human rights, formal equality, and identity
politics. Vulnerability stems from our condition: embodied (our existence depends
on a fragile material case, the body) and embedded (we are never autonomous but
depend on others in complex ways). This jurisprudence replaces the independent,
self-sufficient liberal legal subject with the “vulnerable subject.” Within this
approach, the opposite of vulnerability is not invulnerability but resilience: the
capacity to withstand harm. Responsible for creating/maintaining resilience are
law and institutions (‘the responsive state”) meant, ideally, to mitigate our vulnera-
bility. Vulnerability theory has primarily been used to critically examine US domes-
tic affairs, like the regulation of the family and of work. While environmental
applications exist (Mboya, 2019; Deckha, 2015; Satz, 2009), they do not deal with
ecocide jurisprudence.
Within a vulnerability analysis, we need to not anymore cosmetically deal with

harm and disadvantage but to understand how law confers privilege and how
disadvantage is a result of the invisible mechanisms which confer privilege
(Fineman, 2016). Here, “vulnerability” is not used conventionally (i.e., “vulnerable
populations”: children, the elderly, the disabled, refugees); instead, vulnerability
designates the inherent human condition, not extraordinary circumstances only
some find themselves in. We are all vulnerable because of the constant susceptibility
to change and harm throughout our lifespan (Fineman, 2008) of the body we inhabit
and depend on to stay alive and to thrive, and of the relationships shaping the course
of our lives (law and institutions designing the nature of these relations). To me, what
both embodiment and embeddedness have in common are dependency and
interdependence: throughout our lives we are always dependent and interdependent.
This takes us back to positive peace: to Johan Galtung (1967, pp. 12–17) positive
peace is marked by values and processes like freedom from fear, freedom from want,
absence of exploitation, equality, justice, cooperation, development. It seems that at
the heart of all these lies interdependence, equally of concern within vulnerability
theory. Also, vulnerability theory, similarly to anti-speciesism, challenges uncritical
notions of hierarchy.
The ties between ecocide and speciesism can be revisited through the focus on
dependency and interdependence central to vulnerability theory. As highlighted in
my article on the Amazon fires (Afana, 2019), “given our biological and social
reliance on other lives to sustain our own, the destruction of ecosystems carries
immediate and multigenerational effects on humans, flora, fauna, and other life
forms.” Ecosystem collapse erodes our resilience, individually and collectively.
The failure of individuals, of states, and of intergovernmental fora to comprehen-
sively protect nature puts a lasting dent in our ability to cope with common,
intersecting vulnerabilities. Since, as earlier illustrated, ecocide is often the fruit of
systematic state–corporate crime and given the insistence in vulnerability theory on
state responsibility, it is primarily the role of states to prevent and mitigate ecocides
through laws and institutions. Critical and expansive jurisprudence is imperative on
environmental issues, given the calamitous effects anticipated by scientists for the
coming decades if we do not take bold and urgent action. “Major environmental
crimes could be an example of a new category of international crimes that pose a
threat to the continued existence of global communal life”; such global crimes,
because of their ubiquitous materialization and possibly irreversible impact,
“would be the characteristic crimes of a world operating under conditions of
globalization” (Mégret, 2010, p. 10). As Gray (1996, p. 226) also notes, “the
cohesion and interdependence of all living things mean that we are harmed as a
part of nature. [. . .] To destroy nature is to destroy ourselves.”
Jurisprudence informed by vulnerability theory and by positive peace could
contribute to prevention, repair, and accountability in the Anthropocene. These
needed legal frameworks can be informed by cross-disciplinary research on a series
of questions my future work will also engage with. What are the conscious,
unconscious, and subconscious factors skewing the way we ascribe worth to differ-
ent forms of life? How are speciesist beliefs driving the rights–duties dialectic
638 R. Afana
embedded in our communal structures? What is the direct and collateral damage, to
humans and to nature, of the violence normalized against some forms of life to the
benefit of others? Why has the neoliberal ethos rendered interdependence (in both
prosperity and downfall) marginal to individual beliefs and to institutional respon-
sibilities? Why and how does law confer privileges to humans at the detriment of
other forms of life? Why does law, in spite of the alarming evidence on the
environmental crisis, still allow corporations considerable room for maneuver to
maximize profit, while harming nature? What can be done to enhance legal pro-
tections that benefit as many forms of life possible? How can our individual beliefs
be reformed and what would critical earth jurisprudence look like?
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Searching for New Ethics in the Era
of the Capitalocene 34
Silviya Serafimova
Contents
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 644
Some Theoretical Specifications . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 644
Some Primary Objectives . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 646
The Cheap Nature Project as a Project of Structural and Cultural Violence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 647
The Cheap Nature Project as a Project of Structural Violence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 647
The Role of Cosmology in Making the Cheap Nature Project a Project of Cultural
Violence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 649
Building New Ethics as a Path Toward Cultural Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 652
Sustainability and System Maturity: The Two Main Pillars of the New Ethics . . . . . . . . . . . . 652
The Role of Solidarity in Building Nonviolent Communication . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 654
Some Moral Reasons for Building Cultural Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 655
Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 656
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 659
Abstract
Extrapolating some of Johan Galtung’s ideas regarding the constructive role of
structural and cultural peace, I try to demonstrate why eradicating the cheap
nature project in the era of the Capitalocene requires its critical examination from
the perspective of the cross-space theory building.
Keywords
Johan Galtung · Positive peace · Cheap nature
S. Serafimova (*)
Institute of Philosophy and Sociology, Bulgarian Academy of Sciences, Sofia, Bulgaria
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_34
644 S. Serafimova
Introduction
Some Theoretical Specifications
Johan Galtung, the pioneer of peace research, emphasizes that sustainability can
never concern nature alone, since nowadays we are witnessing an attitude toward
nature which is very similar to that of certain elites to people – the latter are
considered as existing for “our sake, as means to our reproduction” (Galtung,
1996, p. 129).
However, “we human beings” are part of nature, of the earth “from which we
have come and to which we return” (Ibid., p. 60). Galtung relevantly defines the gist
of the multiple connections between humans and nature as a “human/nature holon”
(Ibid.). He specifies that there are at least 10 fault lines criss-crossing the human/
nature holon including these of humans/nonhumans, class (high/low), countries
(center/periphery), etc. In this context, Galtung argues that the terms speciesism,
racism, classism, and capitalism “carry immediate connotations of direct, structural
and cultural violence” (Ibid.).
The latter three concepts regarding violence are key terms within Galtung’s
theory of positive peace which is not a homogeneous concept either. Galtung
emphasizes that firstly he interpreted the concept of positive peace in terms of
integration and cooperation (Galtung, 1964), but then, being influenced by H.
Schmid’s criticism that such a concept “expresses a much too integrated and
symmetric view of conflict groups,” he began to identify positive peace with social
justice (Galtung, 1969, pp. 189–190, Note 31). The theory of positive peace has been
developed in time (Galtung, 1964, 1969, 1996, 2012a) correspondingly to the
elaboration of the violence triangle including direct violence (which concerns
intended harming and hurting), structural violence (whose interpretation in
Galtung’s earlier writings is favored over that of institutional violence emphasizing
that the former is more abstract and cannot be traced down to a particular institution
(Galtung, 1969, p. 187, Note 12), and cultural violence (which displays intended
violence whose primary objective is to justify the other two forms of violence into a
given culture) (Galtung, 2012a).
For the purposes of better understanding Galtung’s complex concept of positive
peace, one should also examine the mutual relations between what he calls negative
and positive peace having triple subdivisions, namely direct, structural, and cultural
“negative” peace, as well as direct, structural, and cultural “positive” peace (These
distinctions will be used, since I try to explicate the complex violence and peace
structures which are displayed by Galtung in a table (Galtung, 2012a).) (Ibid.).
While negative direct peace concerns the absence of direct violence (decoupling),
positive direct peace aims at recouping. Consequently, while negative structural
peace assumes the absence of structural violence (the lack of repression and exploi-
tation), positive structural peace concerns building structural peace based on equity.
In turn, while negative cultural peace requires an absence of cultural violence, the
primary objective of positive cultural peace is to achieve harmony (Ibid.). (In an
interview conducted in 2012, Galtung defines equity and harmony (understood as
34 Searching for New Ethics in the Era of the Capitalocene 645
suffering the suffering of others) as being the two key features of positive peace
(Galtung, 2012b).)
Extrapolating some of Galtung’s ideas regarding the constructive role of struc-
tural and cultural peace, as developing in contrast to structural and cultural violence,
I will try to demonstrate why eradicating the Cheap nature project in the era of the
Capitalocene is not an impossible mission. In this context, I examine why the
challenges which this project brings to light are unsolvable if it is interpreted as an
environmental project alone, or if is it recognized as being a purely economic
project. A methodological solution can be found if the Cheap nature project is
explored from the perspective of the cross-space theory building in Galtung’s
sense which requires the provision of at least two more specifications.
Firstly, one should reveal the reasons behind arguing for the aforementioned
theory building, as well as what the benefits of adopting a holistic approach should
look like. Galtung argues that there are six spaces, Nature (N), Human (H), Social
(S), World (W), Time (T) and Culture (C), emphasizing that “no reductionism to less
than six will work” (Galtung, 1996, p. 155). Regarding the necessity of clarifying the
mutual connections between nature and the rest by providing a comparative herme-
neutic reading of Galtung’s scheme, one should keep in mind that concerns about the
environment (N) are inseparable from that about human enrichment (H). This in turn
requires revealing the crucial role of social justice, equality, and equity (S), as
determined for the purposes of ensuring sustainability for both human and non-
human generations (T) in different parts of the world (W) depending upon its cultural
variations (C).
Secondly, one should examine the genealogy of the constituents of the cross-
space theory building which can contribute to arguing for a new ethics in the time of
the Capitalocene. This ethics can encourage building not only positive structural
peace, but also positive cultural peace. As constituents of the aforementioned theory,
I would point so-called by Galtung deep externalities, namely “reflecting latent,
inferred aspects of key values” which are appropriate for theory building in contrast
to shallow externalities which are defined as “reflecting manifested, observed aspects
of key values” (Ibid., p. 156). By comparing deep externalities with so-called
positive and negative externalities, I will clarify why the difficulties in building a
new ethics are concerned with the fact that deep externalities can be not only
positive, but also negative. The latter externalities ground the justification of cultural
violence similar to that underlining the Cheap nature project.
That is why searching for a new ethics assumes disenchanting the framework in
which negative deep externalities are contextualized. Such an analysis requires one
more concept used by Galtung to be clarified, namely that of cosmology
(By cosmology Galtung also understands deep culture or deep ideology (Ibid.,
p. 211).) which displays “collectively held subconscious ideas about what consti-
tutes normal and natural reality” (Ibid., p. 211). The necessity of better understand-
ing what Galtung coins as cosmology is of crucial importance, since it sheds light in
relation to the symbolic layers of human condition by looking at the reality as a
“deep reality” which can provide us with some knowledge about conflict trans-
formations. Going back to the Cheap nature project, I argue that digging deeply into
646 S. Serafimova
the symbolic layers of modern Occident I cosmology in Galtung’s sense can help us
to reveal not only the genealogy of its structural and cultural violence, but also the
opportunities for positively transforming the two types of violence by grounding a
new value sustainability. It is the latter that can provide us with some alternatives to
the justification of a positive cultural peace.
Some Primary Objectives
Regarding the necessity of disenchanting the Cheap nature project’s genealogy, I

will firstly clarify why the project in question imposes cultural violence in Galtung’s
sense. This violence is examined as being embodied onto the level of structural
violence by the practices of exploitation of both nature and particular groups of
humans who are stigmatized as belonging to nature. I will also analyze why cultural
violence is provoked by the modern Occident I cosmology, as understood by
Galtung. The way in which the aforementioned cosmology encourages the justifi-
cation of the Cheap nature project is explored as being mediated by the role of the
negative deep externalities characterizing Blue economics which is preprogrammed
in Smithism (Galtung prefers the term Smithism because the term capitalism “cap-
tures badly the complexity of the Blue economy” (Galtung, 1996, p. 158). However,
throughout the current article, I use the term capitalism, while commenting upon
Jason Moore’s theory and that of Smithism, while referring explicitly to Galtung’s
conception.). Furthermore, I will investigate the reasons behind the possibility of
interpreting the Cheap nature project as a Blue project, taking into account the role of
individuality, verticality, monetization-procession, and expansion within a Blue
economy. (Galtung himself is equally critical to both the Blue and Red schools.
Certainly, dark Blue and dark Red policies can be considered as acts “against
‘nature’s wisdom’” in contrast to the soft forms, as adopted by the representatives
of the Green, Pink, and Yellow economic schools (Galtung, 1996, p. 192). However,
what is of primary interest in this article is to demonstrate how Blue deep external-
ities can be subjected to what Galtung coins as “essentially a brilliant analysis and
critique” (Ibid., p. 144).). Special attention will be paid to the different embodiments
of the methodological relations between Center (Humans) and Periphery (Nature)
which are recognized by Galtung as two key aspects of the Blue system. They
determine the unequal exchange of goods and services, as well as the reasons behind
the assumption that nature includes humans when they are exposed to “boring,
dangerous, or degrading work” (Galtung, 1996, p. 183).
For the purposes of transforming the negative deep externalities of the Blue
system, I will give some suggestions for promoting both positive structural and
cultural peace. As a crucial premise for enjoying positive peace, I would point out
the necessity of building new ethics which provides some normatively grounded
reasons for justifying sustainability as being irreducible to economic growth. That is
why I propose a project of a new value sustainability which can be used for building
a new project of positive cultural peace by clarifying why sustainable economic
growth is nothing but a “buzzword,” as Galtung emphasizes (Ibid., p. 199).
By extrapolating Galtung’s investigations, I will firstly ground the ideas of new

sustainability and system maturity as being the two main “pillars” of the new ethics.
Secondly, I will examine the reasons behind choosing solidarity as an important
value dimension, since it is based upon two deep externalities in Galtung’s sense that
can contribute to constructing a cross-space theory building. These two externalities
are diversity and symbiosis which are recognizable in all six spaces. In turn,
solidarity will be analyzed as a key condition for building positive structural peace
by exploring under what conditions synchronic and diachronic solidarity in
Galtung’s sense can benefit the recognition of different types of justice in the rest
spaces: being social justice in the S, W, and C spaces and environmental and
ecological justice in the N space.
Regarding the opportunity of encouraging positive cultural peace as being based
upon the aforementioned new ethics, I will clarify why the latter triggers the
reconsideration of ecological balance and basic human needs as autotelic values in
Galtung’s sense. These values, however, do not have to be understood as absolute
values. Otherwise, one faces the risk of ending up with what Galtung calls replace-
ment ethics – ethics which cannot be generalized as a universal norm without
colonizing maybe half of humanity (Ibid., p. 183). Finding an answer to the question
why ecological balance and basic human needs are autotelic values requires reha-
bilitating not only their particular intrinsic values but also their intrinsic value as
being mutually complemented. Elaborating upon the role of the aforementioned
autotelic values, I will demonstrate how building positive cultural peace is closely
tied with Galtung’s understanding of nonviolent communication. Investigating why
the latter assumes conducting both an inner dialogue and a dialogue between
humans, I argue that this double-bound dialogue can be chosen as a main principle
of the new value sustainability. In turn, adopting such a principle can give us some
hints how nature can enter that dialogue as well: one question which remains open in
Galtung’s writings.
The Cheap Nature Project as a Project of Structural and Cultural

Violence
The Cheap Nature Project as a Project of Structural Violence
According to Galtung, “Smithism is the basis for the Mother of Schools, the Blue
School” (Galtung, 1996, p. 141). The mutual relations between market and capital
belong to five main dimensions: individualism, verticality, monetization, processing
which aims at maximizing culture over nature (C/N), expansion, and general deple-
tion affecting nature, humans, industry, and household (Ibid., p. 142). Galtung’s
focus on the centralization of the Blue tends is of crucial importance for
reconsidering one of the key features of the Cheap nature project, namely the role
of labor as characterizing the first component of the distinction between jobs for
money and work for a self-realization (Ibid., p. 182).
648 S. Serafimova
In this context, recognizing the complexity of the negative deep externalities

which ground the Cheap nature project is impossible without rethinking the role of
development as economic growth. The Blue system promotes a homocentric devel-
opment, “whereby human needs are given priority to the exclusion of nature’s needs
(or more precisely, non-human nature)” (Ibid., p. 129). Judging by the aforemen-
tioned specifications, I argue that most externalities which Galtung defines as
negative, namely depletion and pollution, as displayed in the space of nature, or
repression in that of humans, vertical exploitation which increases fragmentation,
marginalization and social injustice in the social and world spaces, degradation in the
time space, as well as the strive for singularism in the field of culture (Ibid., p. 159),
are well represented on different levels of the Cheap nature project.
What does the Cheap nature project look like? The accumulation of capital has
always been “a series of bets on future income” whose basis “has always been Cheap
Nature” (Moore, 2016, p. 22). According to Moore, beginning to ask new questions
about the relations between environmental change, and both whose work and whose
life matter, would positively affect the reconsideration of class, race, gender, sexu-
ality, and nation. One of the biggest advantages in adopting such an approach is “to
unsettle the idea of Nature and Humanity in the uppercase: ecologies without
humans, and human relations without ecologies” (Ibid., p. 1). The negligence of
problems concerning the intrinsic connection between social and environmental
justice could be described as a result of imposing a Nature/Justice uppercase binary
which gains its normative validity from the binary of Humanity and Nature in
Moore’s sense (According to Moore, capitalism excludes most humans from what
it defines as Humanity with an uppercase H (Ibid., p. 1). He clarifies the role of
Nature by saying that most humans were recognized as being “part of Nature, and
this designation worked through the new divisions of labor” (Ibid., p. 9).). The main
methodological disadvantage of maintaining a Nature/Justice binary is that regard-
less of any appeals for change, such an abstract environmental justice seems to favor
how capitalism excludes many humans from humanity depriving them from the right
of being justly treated.
Behind the justification of the Cheap nature project we can see “Cartesian
dualism” giving priority to entities over relationships (Ibid., p. 7), which leads to
building the aforementioned Humanity/Nature uppercase binary. Thus, the dualism
embodied in the Cartesian narrative concerns the recognition that capitalism emerges
out of nature (Moore, 2015, p. 5). Furthermore, capitalism is examined as drawing
“wealth from Nature. It disrupted, degraded, or defiled Nature: And now, or some-
time very soon, Nature will exact its revenge. Catastrophe is coming, Collapse is on
the horizon” (Ibid.). This narrative could be also described as being implemented
into the story of the Anthropocene, whose “intellectual DNA” (Moore, 2016, p. 3)
entails the Humanity/Nature binary. The irreversible wholeness of the latter is
paradoxically based on the principle of exclusion: concerning either Humanity or
Nature. Some strong implications of this paradox can be found in the way in which
Anthropocene’s narrative allows for the asking of big questions without being able to
find fundamental answers. It is firstly due to the fact that the Humanity/Nature binary
is intrinsically rooted in its own geo-engineering, and secondly because even when
the Anthropocene strives for getting rid of its own faults, it cannot erase its
own DNA.
What does it mean to argue for a “capitalist world-ecology” – “a civilization that
joins the accumulation of capital, the pursuit of power, and the production of nature
as an organic whole” (Ibid., p. 12)? Emphasizing the importance of building new
ethics is triggered by the necessity of questioning the law of Cheap nature as
“Capitalism’s ‘law of value’” (Ibid., p. 8). Similar to Galtung, as is showed below,
Moore aims at clarifying the cultural background making the justification of the
binary distinction of Humanity/Nature possible. Moore outlines that “All civiliza-
tions have laws of value – broadly patterned priorities for what is valuable and what
is not” (Ibid., p. 13). In this context, questioning capitalist world-ecology assumes
that we make a shift from valuing Cheap nature to valuing nature by questioning
cheap as a value.
If from the perspective of capitalism, cheap is understood in respect to “work/
energy and biophysical utility produced with minimal labor-power, and directly
implicated in commodity production and exchange” (Ibid.), from that of morality,
cheap questions the mosaic of vital and nonvital needs which concerns both society
and nature. That is why Cheap nature cannot be automatically associated with
producing cheap labor. We should firstly pose the question whether or not Cheap
nature is needed for satisfying differentiated human vital needs which should not
violate the differentiated vital needs of other species (The main risk is that the vital
needs of other living beings are inevitably evaluated by humans, since morality is a
human activity. See Serafimova, 2019.). On a practical level, it means that cheap
labor would not be automatically associated with cheap energy, food, and raw
materials (Ibid., p. 15), but also in regard to whether “cheap” concerns the vital
needs of humans so that the vital needs of other species remain untouched.
Tackling the Nature/Society binary opens up the question of whether or not
cultivating solidarity can contribute to rehabilitating the status of those groups of
people who are stigmatized by Society. The latter is a practice of ossification for the
purposes of justifying the role of human force which produces cheap labor. “Not all
humans were part of Humanity, the better that they could deliver Cheap Nature”
(Ibid., p. 21). This major capitalist shift has a double-bind impact. Firstly, it excludes
most humans from Humanity as being part of Nature in order to legalize their
mistreatment and thus to justify the appropriation of unpaid work. Secondly, it erases
differences between the stigmatized groups of people and suppresses their protests.
The Role of Cosmology in Making the Cheap Nature Project

a Project of Cultural Violence
For the purposes of clarifying the cultural source from which the Cheap nature
project gains strength, one should analyze its connection with what Galtung coins as
modern Occident I cosmology (Galtung, 1996, p. 242) (According to Galtung, there
are two Occidental cosmologies – Occident I, which is “centrifugal, in expansion
(Greco-Roman, Modern),” and Occident II, which is “centripetal, in contraction
650 S. Serafimova
(Medieval)” (Ibid., p. 211). “The general, modern, Occident I cosmology” is “ver-

tical and individualist” (Ibid., p. 242).). Examining the role of this cosmology and
the way in which it brings to light “the Occidental civilization in the expansion
mode, Occident I” (Ibid, p. 230), namely modern Occidental civilization (Ibid., p.
191), I argue that we can reveal the genealogy of what I call the triangle modern
Occident I cosmology-modern Occidental civilization-Occidental culture. (Some
genealogical reasons for tracing the methodical connection between cosmology
and civilization can be found in Galtung’s statement that “The cosmology is to a
civilization what the personality is to a person” (Ibid., p. 212). Extrapolating Hegel’s
triad universal-particular-individual, I argue that modern Occident I cosmology can
be interpreted as triad’s universal, modern Occidental civilization as triad’s particu-
lar, while Occidental culture as triad’s individual. Regardless of the fact that Galtung
does not argue for Occident I culture, his description of the violent features of
occidental culture (Ibid., p. 206) leaves room for such a specification. By exploring
the triangle’s complexity, one can clarify how it determines the origin of cultural
violence behind the exploitation of both nature and given groups of humans, as well
as the repression of the latter. In this context, one of the main concerns about the
possibility of eradicating the Cheap nature project requires taking into account that
the aforementioned cultural violence is “born” in a specific deep reality in Galtung’s
sense. That is why if one wants to find the origin of the Cheap nature project’s
cultural genetic code, one should reveal the genealogy of this reality (Ibid., p. 207).
Following Galtung’s interpretation of Occidental culture as showing many vio-
lent features such as chosenness, strong Center-Periphery gradients, the apocalypse
now! syndrome, arrogance toward nature which counters the unity of life, as well as
demonstrating a strong tendency to individualization (Ibid., pp. 206–207), one can
outline how narrowing cultural value dimensions to their economic embodiments
would lead to “precluding the slow, patient building and enactment of structural and
direct peace” (Ibid.). In other words, one should confess that pointing out sustainable
(economic) growth as a buzzword, as Galtung relevantly does, is just the tip of the
iceberg, since the diagnosis of the Blue (“suffering from consumerism”) (Ibid.,
p. 171) has its deep reality which requires careful examination.
Tracing back the roots of the Occidental culture to a given civilization assumes
revealing the embodiments of the Western cosmology which is implicitly used by
Galtung as a synonym of the modern Occident I cosmology (Some reasons for
interpreting them as synonyms can be found in the way in which Galtung defines
Western cosmology whose basic assumption is individualism (Ibid., p. 263, Note 31).
Although one expects Western cosmology to be referred to Occident II cosmology as
well, the aforementioned assumption of individualism makes such an interpretation
problematic (Ibid., p. 220).). According to Galtung, Western cosmology character-
izes with its downgrading of nature, deep split between body and soul, social and
world individualism/verticality, the idea of progress in time, and “a culture with but
one truth” which is valid forever and everywhere, making all other systems irrele-
vant (Ibid., p. 162).
Judging by the aforementioned investigations, I argue that hermeneutics provided
by the modern Occident I cosmology can be called hermeneutics of marginalizing
economic reading, which is focused upon what Galtung calls narrowed economic
aspects affecting merely the social space of human existence (Ibid., p. 185). Apply-
ing his investigations to the genealogy of the Cheap nature project, it would mean
that the Blue system encourages a vertical reading that makes the project in question
fill “the holes or undeveloped areas at the margin of the economist mind” (Ibid.,
p. 132) with more economics and thus turning the whole hermeneutic project into a
vicious circle.
Looking at the broader framework, the Cheap nature project is possible within the
Occidental culture due to the fact that the latter belongs to Western civilization which
shapes the cultural violence brought along with that project. One of the main
methodological problems of the Western civilization, as described by Galtung, is
its mainstream tendency to absolutization on all possible cultural levels by stigma-
tizing diversity. (By relying upon reasons which are similar to these behind
interpreting the terms Western cosmology and modern Occident I cosmology as
synonyms, I argue that the concepts of Western civilization and modern Occidental
civilization are also used by Galtung as synonyms.) The absolutization as such
we-they, oppressors-oppressed, center-periphery, developed-underdeveloped,
expensive-cheap, etc.
Galtung points out that Western civilization understands itself as the universal
civilization. Specifically, it universalizes its history as development history for others
meaning that A. Development¼Western Development¼Modernization and
B. Development¼Growth¼Economic Growth¼GNP growth (Ibid., p. 131). As
every single macrostructure, the structure of the Western civilization has its partic-
ular logic as well, which guarantees the principle of universalization to be applied on
different levels without contradictions. Its logic can be described as a logic based
upon mutually exclusive binary oppositions. The prototype characteristic of these
oppositions is that they function as contrary terms which are not axiologically
neutral. For instance, the “we” group is always recognized as good in contrast to
the bad “they” group – one assumption which is grounded in the binary principle
either “we” or “they.”
Galtung defines the aforementioned correspondences regarding the A and B
definitions of the Western civilization as building the “modernization formula,”
which “brings in its wake Western, Aristotelian-Cartesian logic”: “the logic of the
state with cabinet, ministers, centralization etc.” and “the logic of capital with
economic growth as its consequence” (Ibid.). He also makes a prognosis that if the
aforementioned processes continue as being driven by the logic of exclusion and
capital, it would lead to “the general homogenization of the world elites around the
theme of economic growth” (Ibid., p. 134). In addition, I claim that elaborating upon
the logic of the binary oppositions by optimizing its economic foundation may result
in arguing for deep culture based upon internalities alone, namely, upon equating
value with price and thus reducing morality to meritocracy in order to promote the
binary principle of either costs or benefits. As one of the most significant dangers in
this context, I point out the dehumanization of the Other which is a consequence of
applying the logic of cultural violence, as being strengthened by what Galtung calls a
self-fulfilling prophecy of structural violence (Ibid., p. 203).
652 S. Serafimova
Building New Ethics as a Path Toward Cultural Peace
Introducing new ethics in the era of the Capitalocene is of crucial importance not
only for disenchanting how cultural violence implied in the Cheap nature project is
grounded in the modern Occident I cosmology, but also for outlining some alterna-
tives in transforming cultural violence into cultural peace.
Why does such a transformation have some substantial ethical implications? An
answer to this question can be found in Galtung’s saying that the premise for cultural
peace can be seen in changing the cultural code by realizing that the reason for
violence is the bad relations between the Self and the Other – not the Other as such
(Galtung, 1996, p. 118). On a macro-methodological level, I argue that the difficul-
ties in changing a cultural genetic code, which are described by Galtung as being
similar to those concerning the change of a biological genetic code (Ibid., p. 207),
derive from the fact that the Occidental culture can be characterized as being based
upon the deep negative externality of dehumanization. The latter promotes the
dehumanization of the Other, but thus it also dehumanizes the Self by narrowing
the Self’s social and moral experience.
While discussing what is at the margin of the economist mind, whose “vertical
readings” have a narrowed economic focus, Galtung introduces one additional
category to the six-space scheme, namely that of episteme which is understood as
“the missing capacity to develop awareness of the holes in one’s own reasoning”
(Ibid., p. 133). However, developing the awareness in question is only a necessary
condition for achieving economic “de-marginalization,” since the process of knowing
does not necessarily make the subject willing to encourage the human-nature holon.
One of the main challenges in building new ethics which encourages cultural
peace is that the awareness of the necessity of renewing ethical knowledge does not
motivate social and moral agents to make some efforts in changing moral practice by
default. As Galtung relevantly argues, the first challenge is that value-knowledge
differs from value-holding – it is possible for one to “know peace without being a
‘peaceful person’” (Ibid., p. 14).
Sustainability and System Maturity: The Two Main Pillars of the New
Ethics
On a macro-methodological level, it means that episteme should be coupled with

developing ethical knowledge about moral and social risks in moral practice, namely
by elaborating upon new ethics regarding sustainability. As potential candidates for
building such ethics, I choose the twin categories diversity and symbiosis, as
introduced by Galtung, because they “touch deep realities in all six spaces”
(Galtung, 1996, p. 157). Their incorporation is analyzed on two levels – upon
those of value sustainability and system maturity which could be considered as
being the two pillars of the ethics in question.
The main methodological reason for choosing value sustainability concerns its
contribution to cross-space theory building, since according to Galtung, when the six
spaces become sustainable, it is a guarantee for having commonly shared values

(Ibid.). I argue that a revised vision of sustainability, which is irreducible to its
economic aspects, can point toward rethinking the mutual connections between the
aforementioned spaces. In turn, values could be considered as a crossing point, in so
far as they constitute six value dimensions in Galtung’s theory. Judging by the
aforementioned investigations, I claim that the value dimensions are comparable if
some positive deep externalities are found in common. As such externalities, I have
already pointed out diversity and symbiosis. Their integration into the value
dimensions regarding all six spaces is illuminative for their constructive role: diversity
and symbiosis make possible ecological balance in the space of nature, the fulfillment
of basic human needs in that of humans, achieving development that abolishes misery
at the expense of meeting basic needs in the social field, promoting peace by
cultivating synchronic solidarity in the world space and sustainability by developing
diachronic solidarity within a history/future perspective (in so-called time space), as
well as building a culture of adequation in the space of culture (Ibid., p. 156).
Regarding the role of value dimensions, one should also take into account that
introducing diversity and symbiosis contributes to recognizing ecological balance
and basic human needs as having intrinsic rather than absolute values.
In this context, system maturity, as justified by Galtung, is eligible for being
defined as the second main pillar of the new ethics, in so far as it can also
successfully benefit grounding a cross-space theory building. System maturity itself
has different embodiments. Firstly, it depends upon the level of diversity and that of
symbiosis which function together (Ibid., p. 187). Regarding human space, diversity
is considered as implying respect and tolerance for other personalities, while in the
social space, it encourages showing respect and tolerance for other types of social
organizations (Ibid., p. 191). In turn, the contribution of symbiosis is found in
promoting mutual learning, exchange, and mutual benefits (Ibid.).
Speaking in functional terms, system maturity is justified as a guarantee for the
potential of the system to remain intact by demonstrating resilience to resist injuries
(Ibid., p. 194). Galtung relevantly argues that systems with a high level of maturity
are more susceptible to avoid changes (Ibid., p. 190). Judging by the way in which
his theory of maturity is considered as a condition for environmental sustainability,
since it concerns the achievement of ecological stability and correspondingly human
development is analyzed as a demonstration of system maturity in the space of
humans, I argue that in both cases, system maturity has apparent ethical implications.
The normative validity of these implications is grounded in justifying ecological
balance and basic human needs as autotelic values, since they are recognized as
having an intrinsic value due to being mutually complemented.
Certainly, one has well-grounded reasons to argue that both value sustainability and
system maturity are conditions sine qua non for building new ethics. Furthermore, the
benefits of coupling the idea of system maturity with that of value sustainability can be
found on the level of, so-called by Galtung, equitable symbiosis due to which the
process of coexistence can be recognized as a process of peaceful coexistence.
The peaceful implications are verifiable on two levels. Firstly, on a micro-
methodological level – in tune with Galtung’s interpretation that symbiosis
654 S. Serafimova
determines the component of activeness, while diversity grounds peacefulness and

tolerance in the process of coexistence (Ibid., p. 192). Thus, symbiosis brings about
the activeness of transformation, while diversity guarantees the ethically justifiable
“content” of this transformation by avoiding violence at the expense of showing
tolerance for diversity.
Secondly, on a macro-methodological level, the gist of the peaceful implications
can be found in Galtung’s formula of equitable symbiosis – “diversity will, through
symbiosis, generate more diversity,” which encourages social justice and equity
(Ibid., p. 191).
The Role of Solidarity in Building Nonviolent Communication
The reasons of examining the crucial role of solidarity in building new ethics derive
from the way in which Galtung justifies it as a necessary condition for both
recognizing and successfully fulfilling the mission of nonviolent communication.
According to him, nonviolence is a form of soft power – a form of communication
between a sender and a receiver. The communication itself is recognized on the basis
of the assumption “of a deep communality among human beings; that Other is
touched by the suffering of Self and wants to remove himself as a cause of that
suffering” (Galtung, 1996, p. 122).
Galtung also defines the process “to suffer the suffering of others” as illuminative
for one of the two main components of positive peace, namely that of harmony. As a
key model of nonviolent communication, I already pointed out that of the inner
dialogue which is complied with the dialogue between humans. Regarding the
particular embodiments of this model in terms of solidarity, I suggest that the two
intersecting dialogues can be described as a necessary condition for providing a
cross-space theory building whose objective is to search for social and moral unity
without uniformity. Such a unity could be achieved by striving for equitable sym-
biosis which guarantees that basic (non)human needs are unfulfillable in normative
terms, unless they are recognized as being closely tied with basic (non)human rights.
Furthermore, introducing the role of synchronic and diachronic solidarity can con-
tribute to shedding light on a question which remains open in Galtung’s analysis,
namely how nature can “enter a dialogue” (Ibid., p. 167). Although Galtung empha-
sizes that nature could successfully be in an “everlasting dialogue with itself,
symbiotic and anti-biotic and a-biotic” (Ibid., p. 168), he does not provide clear
suggestions how exactly humans can participate in the dialogue, saying that “maybe
one day we shall understand that dialogue better” (Ibid.).
Judging by the aforementioned investigations, I argue that the main methodolog-
ical challenge, from a moral perspective, concerns not only the issue of how to take a
moral stance on behalf of nature, but also how to take it for nature’s own sake,
keeping in mind that it could never become a moral agent. In this context, expanding
Galtung’s concepts of synchronic and diachronic solidarity in respect to environ-
mental and ecological justice (Schlosberg, 2007) is merely a necessary condition for
figuring out how exactly solidarity can work in the space of nature. (Schlosberg
defines environmental justice as focusing upon participatory equality as its central

theme. In turn, ecological justice appeals for the expanding of justice to nonhuman
species without necessitating the expansion of social justice (Schlosberg, 2007).)
What I suggest is to adopt the concepts of intra- and intergenerational justice. Firstly,
intra- and intergenerational justice are of crucial importance for understanding the
value dimensions in all six spaces, since they are not constituted as being “here-and-
now” spaces alone. Secondly, enriching the concepts of environmental and ecolog-
ical justice with these of intra- and intergenerational justice can contribute not only to
examining the diversity of environmental, social, moral, economic, and cultural
consequences to the future human generations, but also taking into consideration
their impact upon future nonhuman generations as a matter of a moral concern,
which is closely tied with recognizing ecological balance as an autotelic value
(Regarding how intra- and intergeneration justice can contribute to taking a moral
stance on behalf of other species for their own sake, see Serafimova, 2017.).
On a macro-methodological level, I argue that peace and sustainability which
result from showing synchronic and diachronic solidarity ground the necessity of
arguing for a certain type of synchronic and diachronic (social) justice (Yet in one of
his earlier articles, Galtung describes the condition of structural violence as a matter
of social injustice (Galtung, 1969, p. 171). His main concern about the role of social
justice is that in declarations of human rights, the norms about equality “refer to what
individuals can do or can have, not to who or what decides what they can do or have”
(Ibid., p. 188, Note 18).). If the latter two types of justice are enriched with the
concepts of intra- and intergenerational justice, one can find some good reasons to
justify nonviolent communication between human and nonhuman beings.
Some Moral Reasons for Building Cultural Peace
Going back again to the benefits of expanding the idea of value sustainability with
that of system maturity, I argue that these ideas can contribute to transforming,
so-called by Galtung, replacement ethics whose generalization would lead to colo-
nizing maybe half of humanity (Galtung, 1996, p. 183), as well as providing some
ethical foundations of positive cultural peace. The latter specification concerns the
necessity of clarifying Galtung’s concept of eclecticism for the purposes of avoiding
the fall into the trap of moral arbitrariness. Galtung’s eclecticism displays a signif-
icant form of existential holism concerning the infinite human potential for diversity
which is of high relevance not only for the Others, but also for the Selves in their life
cycles (Ibid.). However, there is a risk that the dehumanization of the Other is to be
unjustified as a strive for paying respect to the Selves’ own diversity: misrecognition,
which would lead again to imposing different forms of exploitation and repression of
the Other. That is why we need a guarantee that eclecticism will not be misused in
building cultural violence, but rather in promoting cultural peace.
In this context, the guarantee should be determined as a matter of a normative
guarantee. I find such a guarantee within Galtung’s already well-discussed statement
that the inner dialogue is as important as the dialogue with other humans (Ibid.,
656 S. Serafimova
p. 191). Adopting this statement has the following normative implications. Firstly,
all life cycles are equally important even when they have different “contents” and
secondly, Selves’ life cycles can be neither defined nor recognized if they are isolated
from the life cycles of the Others. Thus, positive cultural peace can be based on
disenchanting the dehumanization of the Other by replacing it with the Other who
matters for “us,” as long as he or she matters for himself or herself.
Conclusion
The genealogy of cultural violence which underlines the Cheap nature project cannot
be revealed if the project in question is recognized as being an environmental project
alone nor if is it interpreted as being a purely economic project, as implied by the
Blue economics. Adopting a reductionist rather than holistic approach would mean
to accept the simplified assumption that deep to shallow externalities refer similarly
to the way in which positive externalities refer to negative externalities in Galtung’s
sense. Correcting this, at first sight, insufficient specification should be carried out if
one wants to reveal how the modern Occident I cosmology encourages cultural
violence which is promoted by the Cheap nature project. This violence is based on
negative deep externalities such as depletion and pollution in the space of nature,
repression in that of humans, vertical exploitation which leads to fragmentation,
marginalization, and social injustice in the social and world spaces, degradation in
that of time, and singularism in the field of culture. However, focusing upon
depletion and pollution in the space of nature alone might affect the reduction of
exploitation and repression in the space of humans only in short terms. On a macro-
methodological level, it would mean that relying upon such a corresponding trans-
formation, one can build negative structural peace in the best possible scenario.
How can we introduce a project of positive peace which can bring us back the
faith that rejecting the Cheap nature project is not an impossible mission? Finding an
answer to this question requires clarifying what one potential cultural peace model
should look like so as to imply structural peace as being based upon some positive
deep externalities. As such externalities, I point out Galtung’s twin concepts of
diversity and symbiosis which ground so-called diachronic and synchronic solidar-
ity. One of the main reasons for choosing diversity and symbiosis as key deep
externalities is that they are equally constructive for all six spaces by being embodied
within different, but also mutually complementing, value dimensions. Due to the
aforementioned specifications, they can successfully provide a cross-space theory
building in Galtung’s sense.
Developing solidarity in the social space can benefit achieving one of the two
components of positive peace, namely that of equity, since it can contribute to
meeting basic human needs. In turn, synchronic solidarity, which is associated by
Galtung with peace in the world (space) and diachronic solidarity concerning
sustainability in history/future perspective (time), can provide us with some alterna-
tives to couple equity with harmony while searching for positive peace. Specifically,
the embodiments of diversity and symbiosis in the space of nature could be
interpreted as shedding light on the issue why ecological balance and basic human
needs should be recognized as autotelic values in a nonabsolutist manner, namely as
being autotelic in the sense of having intrinsic values, but also as having an intrinsic
value due to their mutual complementarity.
Elaborating upon the complexity of diversity and symbiosis as positive deep
externalities whose reconsideration can trigger the transformation of structural
violence, as embodied into the Cheap nature project, can be conducted in the
following directions. Developing solidarity can cause the eradication of some
significant forms of exploitation and repression such as marginalization, fragmenta-
tion, and social injustice, as well as encouraging pluralism in the decision-making
process.
Tackling the problem of whether or not it is possible to build a cultural peace
project requires taking into account a very important specification made by Galtung,
namely that building positive peace is a never-ending project which cannot be
accomplished once and for all. As one of the main difficulties faced by the peace
researchers, I point out the problems deriving from Galtung’s triangle diagnosis-
prognosis-therapy (Galtung, 1996, p. 255). Trauma of the past could be properly
diagnosed, but even then, it does not follow that it is easy to formulate an appropriate
therapy nor is it guaranteed that the therapy could be successfully applied. That is
why building deep culture, whose deep reality initially denies the justification of
structural violence regarding the Cheap nature project, requires clarifying what the
new ethics characterizing this deep reality should look like.
Building a new ethics can be carried out from two alternative perspectives, at
least. The first alternative is to borrow some holistic ethical systems from “outside”
(such as Indian and Chinese ethical systems) and then, to adapt them. However,
uncritically adopting such an approach may lead to ending up with a simplistic
substitution based upon the distorted faith that replacing one deep culture with
another will change the deep reality of the former, in so far as it will be forced to
suppress its own deep culture.
Choosing the second alternative sounds more realistic, namely that of firstly
revealing the cultural genetic code of the culture bringing cultural violence to light
and then trying to change it regardless of how difficult it could be. Concerning the
Cheap nature project, it would mean to change the cultural genetic code of what
Galtung coins Occidental culture. I argue that changing the code in question is
possible in the long term by changing the ethics which grounds its deep culture.
The methodological benefits of the new ethics promoting positive peace can be
found in elaborating upon cross-space theory building which covers all six spaces.
Specifically, this ethics should be based upon two main pillars, namely on what I call
value sustainability and system maturity whose mutual relations can be justified by
referring to what Galtung coins equitable symbiosis.
The role of the latter can be extrapolated on a macro-methodological level for the
purposes of demonstrating how it is of crucial importance for revealing the moral
implications of the two components of positive peace, namely these of equity and
harmony. The component of equity requires achieving a symbiosis between the
autotelic values of ecological balance and human basic needs, in so far as tolerance
658 S. Serafimova
for diversity encourages one’s understanding of the Other, which is impossible

without developing one’s own self-understanding.
Equitable symbiosis between value sustainability and system maturity affects the
component of harmony as well. It is embodied within the idea of nonviolent
communication which is realized by making room for Galtung’s statement that the
inner dialogue is closely tied with the dialogue between humans. Equitable symbi-
osis also contributes to clarifying two more specifications, namely how solidarity
extends the concept of justice to environmental and ecological justice, as well as
giving some hints to elaborating upon Galtung’s question of how nature can “enter
that dialogue.”
I argue that due to equitable symbiosis, as understood in terms of harmony, peace,
and sustainability, synchronic and diachronic solidarity can be interpreted as ground-
ing synchronic and diachronic social justice. In turn, these two types of justice can be
enriched with the idea of intra- and intergenerational justice, as evaluated from the
perspective of nonviolent interactions between human and nonhuman beings. Thus,
nature can “enter that dialogue” in the way in which humans should take not only a
moral stance on nature’s behalf, but also for its own sake, keeping in mind that nature
can never become a moral agent.
Changing the moral groundings of Occidental culture assumes some transforma-
tions into the six spaces to be carried out, which are to be determined by the new
value sustainability. Certainly, ecological balance and basic human needs understood
as autotelic values change the main value dimensions in the spaces of nature and
humans. Regarding the value dimension of the social space, development can be
examined from the perspective of so-called socially sustainable degrowth whose
objective is not to reduce GDP but to increase social justice and environmental
sustainability (Asara et al., 2015, p. 377). Socially sustainable degrowth as such can
be explored as being grounded in an elaborated version of Galtung’s idea of social
and moral renewability, which can contribute to building morally valuable pluralism
in the field of culture. This pluralism will not encourage immoralism due to being
based on commonly shared values which promote equitable symbiosis in all its
varieties. Furthermore, such pluralism will positively expand both the spatial and
temporal dimensions by denying the vertical mapping of space grounded in the
binary center-periphery. Last but not least, it can also enrich the intergenerational
perspective with that of nonhuman generations in normative terms.
Building new ethics in the era of the Capitalocene is not an easy task, though. As
Galtung argues, human potential for direct and structural violence is certainly there,
as is the potential for direct and structural peace (Galtung, 1996, p. 199). Keeping in
mind this point, we should also keep in mind that at the current stage of investiga-
tions, we are still quite far from successfully providing a therapy for the cultural
violence behind the Cheap nature project. Nowadays, we are rather struggling with
making up a relevant prognosis to be sufficiently realistic and optimistic at once.
What is certain is that the successful therapy should be a holistic therapy which can
be based upon Galtung’s definition of positive peace, namely upon a condition,
where nonviolence, ecological sustainability, and social justice remove the causes of
violence (Harris, 2004, p. 12).
References
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Galtung, J. (2012b). How do you define positive peace? Retrieved from https://www.youtube.com/
watch?v¼RYFn_hSF3wQ
Harris, J. (2004). Peace education theory. Journal of Peace Education, 1(1), 5–20.
Moore, J. W. (2015). Capitalism in the web of life. Ecology and the accumulation of capital. Verso
Books.
Moore, J. W. (2016). The rise of cheap nature. In J. W. Moore (Ed.), Anthropocene or
Capitalocene? Nature, history, and the crisis of capitalism. PM Press. Retrieved from: https://
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Schlosberg, D. (2007). Defining environmental justice: Theories, movements, and nature. Oxford
University Press.
Serafimova, S. (2017). On the ethical implications of weak and strong sustainability scenarios:
Towards a sustainable society with a new ethics. Ethical Studies, 2, 176–196. Retrieved from
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Serafimova, S. (2019). Mapping (un)common space of ethical gradualism in the era of the
Anthropocene. Trace: Journal for Human-Animal Studies, 5, 82–96.
Environmental Sustainability: The Missing
Pillar of Positive Peace 35
Ayyoob Sharifi and Dahlia Simangan
Contents
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 662
Conceptualizing the Peace-Sustainability Nexus . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 663
Economic Sustainability . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 667
Social Sustainability . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 669
Political Sustainability . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 670
Institutional Sustainability . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 671
Environmental Sustainability . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 673
Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 674
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 675
Abstract
In this chapter, we identified a myriad of factors that bolster the peace-
sustainability nexus. There has been a growing recognition of the relationship
between peace and sustainability in both academic and policy circles. However,
the current understanding of the peace-promoting potential of sustainability and
the sustainability-promoting potential of peace remains limited. This chapter
contributes to this knowledge lacuna by merging positive peace and sustainability
into a conceptual framework that can guide future research and policymaking.
Informed by a systematic review of literature on the peace-sustainability nexus,
we discuss the five dimensions of sustainability – economic, social, political,
institutional, and environmental – in relation to the pillars of positive peace. We
then make a case for the integration of environmental sustainability into the
pillars of positive peace.
A. Sharifi · D. Simangan (*)

Network for Education and Research on Peace and Sustainability and Graduate School
of Humanities and Social Sciences, Hiroshima University, Higashi Hiroshima, Japan
e-mail: sharifi@hiroshima-u.ac.jp; simangan@hiroshima-u.ac.jp
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_35
662 A. Sharifi and D. Simangan
Keywords
Peace · Positive peace · Sustainability · Sustainable development · SDGs ·
Environment
Introduction
Positive peace is the presence of conditions that enable human flourishing by

eliminating structural or indirect forms of violence. Galtung’s conceptualization of
peace cannot be decoupled from how violence is understood. In his 1969 seminal
article entitled Violence, Peace, and Peace Research, Galtung unpacked the defini-
tions of peace and violence. In doing so, he differentiated negative peace from
positive peace, as well as personal violence from structural violence, and articulated
the relationship between the two. Unlike the more manifest characteristics of per-
sonal violence, “structural violence is silent, it does not show” (Galtung 1969,
p. 173). Because structural violence occurs in relative stability, it often goes on
unnoticed – continuously harmful and deeply entrenched in societies. Hence, pos-
itive peace can also be referred to as social justice because both are the absence of
structures that prevent the realization of an “egalitarian distribution of power and
resources” (Galtung 1969, p. 183). Positive peace recognizes the asymmetrical and
differentiated impact of conflict and violence. Understanding how violence can be
expressed in different ways is crucial for addressing the underlying causes of conflict
and violence and achieving a more holistic peace (Simangan 2019).
The objectives of positive peace resonate with environmental sustainability for
three main reasons. First, environmental sustainability presents conditions that allow
the flourishing of human potential. Nature provides the basic somatic needs for
human life – water, food, and energy. Secondly, harm to the environment is also a
harm to human beings. We have witnessed how environmental destruction, whether
natural or humanmade, led to the destruction of lives, properties, and livelihoods.
From the wildfires of Brazil and Australia to the severe flooding in Afghanistan and
Zambia, environmental disasters have debilitating economic and social conse-
quences. Thirdly, existing social inequalities and power asymmetries underscore
the differentiated human vulnerabilities amidst global environmental change. Cli-
mate change, for instance, brings to the fore the uneven impact of historical
emissions and even climate action. Advocates of climate justice demand careful
consideration of historical injustices and present inequalities when crafting environ-
mental policies, especially their implications for economic development. The 2030
Agenda for Sustainable Development realigns the pursuit of sustained economic
development with the reduction of inequalities, alongside environmental protection
and peaceful coexistence (UN 2015). Incorporating a human rights perspective into
sustainability and development is a realization of positive peace. Hence, investment
in the environment is an investment in peace.
In the 1990s, public awareness over global warming, among other environmental
issues, inspired a new generation of environmental activists. This time also saw
35 Environmental Sustainability: The Missing Pillar of Positive Peace 663
increased scholarly attention on the relationship between environment and conflict.

Specifically, previous studies had shown the role of natural resources in shaping the
conditions for peace and conflict. They examined how competition over natural
resources can either be a source of conflict or an opportunity for cooperation (e.g.,
Brock 1991; Collier 2000; Conca 2001; Le Billon 2001). While these studies
explained the potential of environmental factors to ignite conflict or build peace,
this chapter will focus on sustaining peace by merging positive peace and sustainable
development. We argue that the environment is the missing link in existing positive
peace indicators for achieving a more holistic peace relevant to our changing planet.
The following section sets the conceptual framework of our discussion by
categorizing the eight pillars of positive peace (IEP 2019) according to the five
dimensions of sustainability – economic, social, political, institutional, and environ-
mental. We then illustrate the relationship between positive peace and sustainability
with evidence based on a systematic review of the literature before concluding this
chapter (The systematic review process for this study is detailed in Sharifi et al.
(2021).).
Conceptualizing the Peace-Sustainability Nexus
The relationship between environmental conditions and the causes of conflict are
broadly acknowledged in the literature. There is ample evidence that environmental
degradation, especially when it leads to resource scarcity, can incite conflict, either
by exacerbating existing sources of conflict or renewing old ones (Hauge and
Ellingsen 1998; Buhaug et al. 2008; Diehl and Gleditsch 2018). Earlier studies
focused on the social consequences of resource scarcity. Homer-Dixon (1999), for
example, warned about the violent manifestations of a rapidly growing population
competing over finite resources in pursuit of economic growth. Conflicts can also be
spurred by overexploitation of “high-value” resources and mismanagement of scarce
resources (Jensen and Lonergan 2012; UNEP 2009). In some cases, who controls
these resources can significantly influence the potential for war and peace (Brock
1991; Lujala 2010). The environment-conflict thesis has been widely debated with
some studies underscoring the importance of other political and economic variables
(e.g., Barnett 2000; Gleditsch 1998). In 2009, the UN Environment Program (UNEP
2009) attributed at least 40% of all intrastate conflicts that occurred in the past
60 years to natural resources. The same report also states that although environmen-
tal factors are not the drivers of conflict, they can significantly influence ongoing
conflicts and undermine peace.
Given that the relationship between environment and conflict is anything but
straightforward, more recent studies examined the pathways and mechanisms of this
relationship. For example, a statistical analysis of armed conflicts from 1950 to 2000
found weak support for both claims that environmental degradation can lead to either
conflict or peace (Urdal 2005). Later replication found similar results (Theisen 2008)
and even more pronounced in the context of climate change (Raleigh and Urdal
2007). Several studies substantiate the mediating role of political institutions,
economic conditions, and social contexts in the consequences of climate for security
(Hegre et al. 2016; Koubi et al. 2012; von Uexkull et al. 2016). Koubi (2019), for
instance, reviewed the literature linking climate change and conflict and concluded
that evidence for such links is not robust and highly dependent on socioeconomic
and political contexts. Instead, climatic conditions can act as a threat multiplier in
agriculture-dependent regions with low-level economic development and political
capacity to address climate-related issues (Koubi 2019; see also Mach et al. 2019).
Despite the vast literature on the environment-conflict nexus, the role of natural
resources, much more so of environmental sustainability, in building and sustaining
peace needs further examination. We align with the view that the focus on resource
conflicts “brings attention to preventing conflict relapse but takes attention from
building peace, assuming that peace is more than the absence of violence” (Krampe
2017, p. 5). This view is predicated on previous investigations framing resource
scarcity as an opportunity for societies to cooperate in order to address resource-
related challenges (e.g., Boserup and Schultz 1990; Conca and Dabelko 2002).
Cases of cooperative management of transboundary resources and conservation
areas (e.g., Barnard et al. 1998; Parker 2005; Salmoral et al. 2019) support this
optimistic view regarding the role of resources. However, the assumption that
environmental cooperation leads to peaceful outcomes still requires a more compre-
hensive and robust empirical evidence (Krampe 2017). Hence, in this chapter, we
develop a conceptual framework to contribute to informing a research agenda on
sustainability-positive peace nexus.
The adoption of the 2030 Agenda punctuates the link between sustainability and
peace. As the Agenda states, “there can be no sustainable development without
peace and no peace without sustainable development” (UN 2015, p. 2). Majority of
the publications on the topic uphold the mutually reinforcing nature of sustainability
and peace, i.e., sustainability contributes to peace and vice versa (Simangan et al.
2021). Peace and sustainability, however, are multidimensional, and the pathways of
their relationship are complex and interrelated. These pathways, although recog-
nized in the literature, remain ambiguous, and the empirical evidence to predict the
outcomes of their linkages appears limited. The possible main reason for this
shortcoming is the varied factors and contexts that constantly shape and reshape
the conditions of sustainability and peace. The complexity and dynamism of the
relationship between sustainability and peace pose a challenge to establishing
linearity and causality. Nonetheless, it remains crucial to identify and understand
the different components that reinforce the peace-promoting potential of sustainabil-
ity and the sustainability-promoting potential of peace.
We posit that the concept of positive peace is useful in unpacking the relationship
between peace and sustainability. This view can be considered as a departure from
the conflict resolution/prevention narrative that is prominent in the literature. Instead,
it centers on building and sustaining peace by shedding light on the more invisible
forms of violence found in environmental sustainability issues.
To develop our conceptual framework, we first draw on the Positive Peace Index
developed by the Institute for Economics and Peace (IEP). The IEP has been
collecting and analyzing country-level statistical data since 2008 to measure
“attitudes, institutions and structures that create and sustain peaceful societies” (IEP
2019, p. 12). The index consists of eight pillars: (1) acceptance of the rights of
others; (2) equitable distribution of resources; (3) free flow of information; (4) good
relations with neighbors; (5) high levels of human capital; (6) low levels of corrup-
tion; (7) sound business environment; and (8) well-functioning government. IEP’s
analysis found a high correlation of positive peace with environmental, social, and
governance investments. This means that countries with a high positive peace score
“record better outcomes in measures of environmental health” (IEP 2019, p. 5).
Despite this correlation, none of the positive peace pillars or even their specific
indicators directly measure environmental factors. The pillar most relevant to envi-
ronmental sustainability is the “equitable distribution of resources.” Furthermore,
IEP’s indicators for this pillar focus more on socioeconomic measures, i.e., life
expectancy, poverty, and equal distribution of resources. The most recent Positive
Peace Report updated IEP’s analysis with a special section on ecological threats and
found that countries with high scores in positive peace have “greater capacity to
adapt to climate change and deal with its adverse impacts” (IEP 2020, p. 71). The
focus, however, remains on the countries’ economic capacity to cope with climate
change–induced ecological threats. The positive relationship between environmental
sustainability and peace remains under-examined.
The second component of our framework draws on the dimensions of sustainability
articulated during the 1995 UN Conference on Sustainable Development (UNDESA
2001) (We acknowledge the contentions surrounding the terminologies of sustainabil-
ity and sustainable development, but for the purpose of this chapter, we take cue from
the UN’s interchangeable usage of the two.). The conference listed four dimensions:
(1) environmental dimension concerning natural environment and resources; (2) eco-
nomic dimension for economic structure and patterns of consumption and production;
(3) social dimension with themes related to social equity, health, education, housing,
security, and population; and (4) institutional dimensions which refers to the institu-
tional framework and capacity for sustainable development. The 2030 Agenda identi-
fied only three dimensions – economic, social, and environmental dimensions –
representing the “people, planet, and prosperity” plan of action laid out in the 1987
Brundtland Report (Brundtland Commission 1987). However, in addition to “peace,”
the 2030 Agenda also emphasized the role of “partnership” given the “interlinkages and
integrated nature of the Sustainable Development Goals” (UN 2015, p. 35), which is in
parallel with the institutional dimension of sustainability.
In view of earlier reiterations and refinements of these dimensions in academic
and policy discourses (e.g., Seghezzo 2009; European Commission 2002; UNESCO
2015; James 2015), we propose a fifth dimension – political sustainability. There is a
myriad of political elements of sustainable development (e.g., Meadowcroft 2009;
Redclift 1991; Scoones 2016). For the purposes of our framework, political sustain-
ability encompasses governance mechanisms and political processes for
implementing and managing strategies for sustainable development.
When IEP’s positive peace pillars are categorized according to their relevant
dimensions of sustainability, the absence of environmental pillars becomes apparent
(Fig. 1). To complete our framework, we borrowed the “environmental health” and
Fig. 1 Conceptual framework on sustainability-peace nexus
“ecosystem vitality” indicators from the Environmental Performance Index (EPI)

(Wendling et al. 2020) for the environmental dimension. For the economic dimen-
sion, the positive peace pillars of a “sound business environment” and “equitable
distribution of resources” are included. The social dimension consists of the “accep-
tance of the rights of others” and “good relations and neighbors.” We then matched
the “well-functioning government” and “low levels of corruption” pillars to political
sustainability. Finally, “free flow of information” and “high level of human capital”
can be categorized under institutional sustainability. Although a “high level of
human capital” can be considered under social sustainability, its factors related to
education and training, research and development, and health infrastructures entail
institutional framework and capacity building. Table 1 lists each dimension and
pillar with its corresponding indicators.
Therefore, we argue that the environment is the missing pillar that needs to be
integrated into positive peace for it to be truly holistic. Hansen (2016, p. 212) framed
holistic peace as consisting of “peace within” (inner peace), “peace between”
Table 1 Integrated indicators of positive peace and environmental performance

Dimensions of Pillars of positive
sustainability peace Indicators
Environmental Environmental Environmental risk exposure; household air quality;
dimension health air pollution; safe sanitation; and drinking water
quality
Ecosystem vitality Wastewater treatment; nitrogen use efficiency;
nitrogen balance; change in forest cover; fish stocks;
terrestrial protected areas; marine-protected areas;
species protection; trend in carbon intensity; and trend
in CO2 emissions
Economic Sound business Business environment; GDP per capita; and prosperity
dimension environment index
Equitable Inequality-adjusted life expectancy; poverty
distribution of headcount; and equal distribution of resources index
resources
Social Acceptance of the Gender inequality index; group grievance; and
dimension rights of others exclusion by socioeconomic group
Good relations Hostility to foreigners/private property; international
with neighbors tourism; and the extent of regional integration
Political Well-functioning Political democracy index; government effectiveness;
dimension government and rule of law
Low levels of Control of corruption; factionalized elites; and
corruption irregular payments and bribes
Institutional Free flow of Freedom of the press; quality of information; and
dimension information individuals using the Internet
High level of Share of youth not in employment, education, or
human capital training; researchers in R&D; and healthy life
expectancy
(relational peace), and “peace among” (structural/environmental peace). We find

Hansen’s analytical shift from violence to harm, as he explained below, particularly
useful in integrating environmental sustainability into positive peace.
Environmental harms are those harms emerging from social, cultural, cyber, and ecological
structures that result from the deprivation of needs or the repression of freedoms. These can
include acts of harm perpetuated by people against the natural world (like pollution hurting
plants and animals) or harms caused by the natural world against people (like when a
tsunami hits a city). (Hansen 2016, p. 217)
The following section discusses some of the evidence found in the literature to
substantiate the sustainability-peace nexus using our conceptual framework.
Economic Sustainability
The economic dimension of sustainability is concerned with maintaining economic

growth in a way that benefits both current and future generations. Fulfilling this
challenging objective requires efforts to ensure eradicating poverty, improving
accessibility and affordability of resources, providing job opportunities to the

increasingly growing population, and mainstreaming sustainable consumption and
production patterns, to name a few. As shown in Fig. 1, these efforts are well aligned
with two positive peace pillars, namely, “equitable distribution of resources” and
“sound business environment.” The main difference is probably that the positive
peace pillars are more focused on the present generation, and the needs of future
generations are not explicitly acknowledged. We discuss here two issues closely
related to both positive peace and sustainability pillars: poverty and economic
inequalities and the role of the business sector.
Poverty is argued to be inextricably linked to violence, human well-being, and
ecosystem health. In fact, evidence shows that ten of the poorest countries in the
world are plagued by war, poverty, and natural disasters that undermine ecosystem
health, demonstrating that poverty is strongly connected to peace and sustainability
(Schmitz et al. 2012). Poverty is a manifestation of societal inequalities in access to
various types of resources. Such inequalities are highly likely to instigate social
unrest and conflicts when excluded groups decide to disregard economic benefits
that are unfavorable to them (Gomes 2012). Consequently, these groups may resort
to unpeaceful and unsustainable means to meet their needs. Therefore, eradicating
poverty and ensuring equitable access to basic resources, such as food, are critical for
both peace and sustainability (Schockman and Rebstock 2017).
Eradicating poverty must be prioritized in the Global South, where the majority of
future population growth is expected to occur. Without orchestrated efforts across
various sectors, such rapid population growth scenarios are likely to erode peace as
well as sustainability. For instance, simulation study to forecast civil conflict conse-
quences of different shared socioeconomic pathways (SSPs) indicates that reducing
poverty and enhancing human capital through education programs are associated
with lower rates of civil conflict; this association is stronger in the low-income and
least-developed countries (Hegre et al. 2016). Lower levels of societal development
(e.g., high poverty and low education level) are associated with SSPs that are
characterized by inequality and fragmentation, and these qualities can further gen-
erate civil conflict (Hegre et al. 2016). Such conflicts may, in turn, undermine
sustainability efforts by making it more difficult to achieve climate change mitiga-
tion and adaptation targets (Hegre et al. 2016). For adaptation targets, it is widely
known that poor communities are more vulnerable to climatic impacts and other
natural disasters due to their higher reliance on natural resources for their livelihood
(Young and Goldman 2015).
Eradicating poverty and enhancing equitability would be challenging without the
commitment and active engagement of the business sector. Major corporate groups,
in particular, can play a significant role in post-conflict peacebuilding and sustain-
ability efforts. They can exercise this role by reforming their profit-oriented models
and using their economic power to lead transitions toward equitable societies that
live in harmony with nature. This could be achieved, for example, through increas-
ing investments on green jobs, reducing investment on war infrastructure, and
adopting innovative solutions to enhance economic efficiency (McNulty 2014;
Shrivastava and Suazo 2017). Providing employment opportunities and promoting
entrepreneurship are also imperative to post-conflict socioeconomic sustainability,

mitigating the conditions for conflict relapse (Kosic and Byrne 2008). It should,
however, be mentioned that cooperation between businesses is also essential to
avoid competitive behaviors that could result in unsustainable use of scarce
resources, thereby further deepening social inequalities. This, of course, is some-
times beyond the control of corporates and is governed by international politics
(Mastro 2019). Nevertheless, improving corporate social responsibility is expected
to benefit corporates as well as societies through creating peaceful and sustainable
conditions that reduce investment risks and ensure fair access to basic needs of
current and future generations (Oetzel and Miklian 2017).
Social Sustainability
The social dimension of sustainability is concerned, among other pursuits, with

creating diverse communities wherein opportunities to prosper and engage in soci-
etal activities are available to anyone, irrespective of their background. Social
sustainability is often associated with diversity (in ethnicity, gender, etc.), health
and well-being, inclusiveness, and environmental consciousness (Magee et al.
2012). There is a good correspondence between some of these characteristics and
two specific pillars of positive peace, namely, the “acceptance of the rights of others”
and “good relations with neighbors.” We examine here the issues related to some of
these characteristics in the context of migration and gender equality.
In the face of adverse events, humans have always seen migration as an adaptive
measure. Migration patterns are expected to continue in the foreseeable future due to
climate change and increasing geopolitical tensions. Migration, either caused by
geopolitical tensions or environmental/climatic stressors, can have significant impli-
cations for peace and sustainability. The sudden influx of migrants is likely to
increase competition over limited natural resources and may lead to unsustainable
extraction patterns (Swain and Krampe 2011). To meet the additional demands for
resources caused by migration, the host countries may need to develop infrastructure
systems that can result in transboundary conflicts. Such conflicts have emerged
following the construction of large-scale hydro projects on transboundary rivers
(Swain and Krampe 2011). Tensions may also arise when the host communities
consider the refugees as a threat to their socioeconomic stability. Such tensions have
recently been observed in Europe following the mass migration of people fleeing the
Syrian civil war. Peace may also be undermined when displaced and unemployed
youth are recruited by militant or crime groups (Omojimite 2012). Therefore,
effective institutional mechanisms are important to facilitate migration peacefully
and sustainably. This may be achieved through reforms in international law and
policies to recognize the rights of climate migrants, among other means (Parsons
2011). In this case, sustained and cohesive international cooperation is needed
among state governments as well as nonstate actors, considering the major ramifi-
cations of large-scale migration.
Gender equality and the active engagement of women in society are indicators of
both peace and sustainable development. Improving gender equality and awareness
can facilitate behavioral transitions towards sustainable development. As evidence
from the Republic of South Sudan shows, women empowerment also has implica-
tions for birth rate control, which is critical for managing future growth and
consumption patterns (Pemunta and Nkongho 2014). The salience of female
empowerment for achieving peace and sustainable development has also been
emphasized in other contexts, such as the impact of ICTs-led globalization on
women in poorer countries and gender inequalities in post-conflict reconstruction
processes (e.g., Garnett 2016; Mitter 2004). Along with children, women suffer
disproportionately from war and widespread violence. Fortunately, it is now increas-
ingly being recognized that women are not just passive victims; they are also active
agents of peace and conflict (Charlesworth 2008). Hence, greater participation of
women in decision-making and conflict resolution processes is necessary for build-
ing and sustaining peace (Gizelis 2011; Norander and Harter 2012). In Rwanda, for
instance, gender equality, awareness, and inclusion in decision-making were instru-
mental to conflict resolution (McNairn 2004). Overall, women empowerment and
involvement in decision-making processes should be considered as a sine qua non of
peaceful and sustainable communities.
Political Sustainability
Political sustainability is mainly concerned with governance mechanisms intended

for streamlining efforts aimed at achieving peaceful and sustainable communities.
Aspects of political sustainability are often associated with elements of governance
elements, such as leadership qualities, levels of corruption, and the rule of law and
democratic practices.
Well-functioning governance systems and mechanisms should be in place to
mobilize efforts toward peace and sustainability. Strong leadership (i.e., adequate
authority to take timely actions), in particular, helps identify issues that need to be
addressed in a timely manner, coordinate efforts of different groups and steer them in
the right direction, prioritize intervention plans, and allocate resources effectively
and efficiently (Parsons 2011). Lack of strong leadership may have a detrimental
impact on peace and sustainability efforts. For instance, Nwebo (2018) associates the
failure of African countries to achieve sustainable development, peace, and stability
to weak governance. He also argues that the fulfilment of the “Agenda 2063: The
Africa We Want” and addressing African challenges require the adoption of demo-
cratic modes of governance to enhance institutional capacity and political legitimacy.
Democratic processes contribute to sustainable peace through enhancing flexibility
capacities that are conducive to social change and adaptation (Fisher and Rucki
2017).
A widely used indicator of democratic governance is the level of participation of
stakeholders in planning and decision-making processes. Stakeholder engagement is
believed to improve the sense of attachment and ownership among community
members, thereby expediting the implementation of intervention plans aimed at

enhancing peace and sustainability. For example, evidence shows that stakeholder
engagement in land use planning is an effective measure to overcome conflicts that
may lead to environmental degradation (Jackson and Curry 2004). Jackson and
Curry (2004) show how democratic and consensus-based land use planning in the
crown lands of British Columbia has facilitated sustainable resource management
and resolved conflicts. The significance of bottom-up and inclusive land-use plan-
ning and land reform programs for reducing land conflicts has also been observed in
Botswana. Kalabamu (2019) makes a case for inclusive land reforms targeted at
improving livelihood opportunities of the poor and vulnerable groups. The benefits
of participatory governance have also been reported in other sectors. For instance,
Parsons (2011) demonstrates that community participation is critical for the success
of post-conflict water supply rehabilitation in Afghanistan and Liberia.
One issue to be noted when aiming for political sustainability is that engaging
different stakeholders is often a long and resource-intensive process, often without
immediate, clear results. Considering this, good governance should also entail
efforts to secure enough resources for sustaining plans and programs (Skarlato
et al. 2013). In some contexts, such as in quasi-states where institutional foundations
and legal structures are lacking and illegal business and corruption are prevalent due
to weak implementation of international conventions, the availability of international
support is essential for this purpose (Kolstø 2006). Under such conditions, the
international community can support the improvement of conditions through facil-
itating peaceful future pathways (Kolstø 2006). To ensure the success of such
international interventions, however, it is critical to engage local partners in the
activities appropriately. This helps not only in gaining sufficient knowledge about
local needs and priorities but also in building local capacities for sustaining the
programs once the internationals exit (Hove 2017). The lack of local capacity due to
overdependence on international initiatives is a major hindrance to the success of
peace- and sustainability-building programs (e.g., Ndaguba et al. 2018; Skarlato
et al. 2013).
Institutional Sustainability
Closely linked to the political dimension is institutional sustainability, centering on

various organizational frameworks and rules/regulations that set the foundation for
achieving the other dimensions of sustainability. The positive peace pillars most
relevant to institutional sustainability are the “free flow of information” and “high
levels of human capital.” Accordingly, here we discuss the importance of innovative
technologies and educational systems.
Some peace and sustainability benefits can be attributed to technological innova-
tion, specifically to advances in information and communication technologies
(ICTs). There is a growing discussion on the utility of early warning systems for
predicting environmental/climatic threats and taking preemptive mitigation and
coping strategies to reduce detrimental impacts on socioeconomic systems (Swain
and Krampe 2011). Improved early warning capabilities, in turn, can contribute to
the alleviation of potential tensions and conflicts (Swain and Krampe 2011). A major
avenue for developing and applying early warning systems is through investment in
various innovative technologies that facilitate data collection/sharing and real-time
monitoring. Specifically, space technology and space programs show considerable
potential for enhancing peace and sustainability. It has been argued that the European
space program, for instance, contributes to sustainability by promoting economic
growth as it facilitates the development of technologies for environmental monitor-
ing, climate modeling, and resource and disaster risk management (Hoerber et al.
2019). In addition, its scientific collaboration motivated necessary steps for consol-
idating and furthering the European integration (European Union) process, which is
emblematic of regional peace and prosperity (Hoerber et al. 2019).
Recent advances in smart solutions and ICT technologies also contribute to peace
and sustainability in multiple ways. Given their forte for data management and
sharing, ICTs also improve the performance of the other sustainability dimensions
discussed in this study. Smart solutions enabled by ICTs provide various opportu-
nities to fast-track progress towards a number of sustainability and peace compo-
nents. Some of these opportunities are found in smart solutions and ICTs
contributions to the facilitation of citizen participation, operational efficiency, air
quality improvement and GHG emissions reduction, disaster risk reduction, eco-
nomic growth, implementation of accountability measures and crime reduction, and
better engagement and democratic processes (Helbing 2019; Mboup and Oyelaran-
Oyeyinka 2019). In the context of transboundary resource management, they can
also contribute to peace and security development through facilitating data sharing
and enhancing monitoring and surveillance capacities. Such information-sharing
mechanisms can help forge trust between conflicting parties. They can also help
inform decision-making toward better environmental and economic policies, thereby
reducing the grounds for conflict (Öztana and Axelrod 2011; Mboup and Oyelaran-
Oyeyinka 2019). However, enough care should be taken to guarantee that smart
solutions do not lead to negative environmental impacts or will not be misused to
promote the agenda of terrorists and anti-social groups (e.g., through social media)
(Mboup and Oyelaran-Oyeyinka 2019). Avoiding such risks requires continuous
investment and regular update of educational programs.
The important role of education in ensuring the proper use and application of
technologies has been increasingly recognized in recent decades. For example,
Lucena and Schneider’s (2008) analysis of different engineering programs from
around the world demonstrates the evolution of the engineering field in the past few
decades to integrate the principles of sustainable development and humanitarian
concerns. As a result, several organizations, such as the Engineers Without Borders,
have been established to undertake engineering projects in 39 countries. Their
analysis also revealed how education programs had been reformed to become
more socially relevant through the adoption of participatory bottom-up approaches,
creating a better understanding of societal needs (as shown in the recent transfor-
mation of engineering education programs in the USA). A study by Mihelcic et al.
(2006) also supports the growing significance of integrating socioeconomic aspects
into engineering education, particularly in increasing awareness on the societal

impacts of development programs. In addition to ensuring the appropriate use and
application of technologies, educational systems and programs can also contribute to
peace and development by cultivating respect for nature and acceptance of the rights
of others.
The environment has always been the cornerstone of sustainability initiatives. In

fact, it was the environmental degradation in industrialized countries that led to the
emergence of sustainability movements in the 1970s. These movements later
became globally recognized following the publication of the Brundtland Report
(Brundtland Commission 1987). The environmental dimension of sustainability
deals with a wide range of issues, such as the efficient use of resources, biodiversity
and ecosystem protection, environmental quality and pollution control, water and
wastewater management, and mitigation of GHG emissions. The significance of this
dimension for achieving sustainability is well acknowledged in the 2030 Agenda for
Sustainable Development. Out of the 17 goals, six are directly related to the
environment. These are clean water and sanitation (SDG 6), affordable and clean
energy (SDG 7), responsible consumption and production (SDG 12), climate action
(SDG 13), life below water (SDG 14), and life on land (SDG 15).
Progress towards achieving these SDGs can also provide co-benefits in terms of
improving peace. A vast body of literature shows that water resources have been the
source of conflicts in many parts of the world (Sharifi et al. 2020). Similarly, energy
resources are considered as key drivers of wars and geopolitical tensions. Moreover,
the overreliance on scarce land and marine ecosystems for livelihoods increases the
likelihood of conflict. In the absence of appropriate institutional and socioeconomic
mechanisms, such conflicts may become more common as projected increases in
frequency and intensity of climatic impacts are expected to further intensify com-
petition over natural resources (Koubi 2019). It should, however, be noted that
resource abundance can likewise be a driver of conflict (Koubi 2019), while conflicts
can also further the exploitation of natural resources and the destruction of the
environment. Therefore, bidirectional causal relationships can be envisaged between
environmental sustainability and peace.
Both scarcity and abundance discourses have been extensively covered in the
literature. The scarcity discourse is driven by arguments that increased demand,
coupled with mismanagement of natural resources, is a major driver of conflict, as
demonstrated in several countries such as Somalia, Rwanda, and Haiti (Binningsbø
et al. 2007; Krampe 2017). In contrast, the abundance discourse considers the lack of
institutional mechanisms, unsustainable resource extraction, absence of justice, and
inequitable distribution as the major drivers of conflict (Koubi 2019). There is, in
fact, evidence that in the twentieth century, wars mainly occurred during a period of
resource abundance and expanding resource extraction for civilian use (Cairns
2003). More recently, the conflict in the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) is
attributed to social and ethnic discrimination surrounding abundant mineral

resources (Kobia 2002). While the abundance of natural resources, specifically the
competition over them, influences conflict risks, it is not the root of conflicts; it only
fuels conflicts when different groups do not have equitable access to these resources
(Muyingi 2013).
Understandably, resource extraction and consumption patterns need to be sus-
tainable for them to contribute to peace promotion. There is ample evidence that
supports this claim. For example, based on projected world population growth and
improvements in the Human Development Index, Blinc et al. (2007) predict a
significant increase in the energy demand that cannot be met by conventional fossil
fuel–based sources in the coming decades. Not only these resources are finite and
declining, they are also unevenly distributed and require long-range transmission
that is vulnerable to threats such as terrorist attacks and natural disasters. It is,
therefore, essential to invest in clean and renewable energy technologies and
enhance energy efficiency to increase energy security, as well as avoid potential
security threats.
Several environmentally benign resource management processes have already
shown the potential for promoting peace. For instance, in the rangeland management
of the Hindu Kush–Himalayan region, Sharma et al. (2007) explained how renew-
able energy projects have contributed to sustainability by reducing unsustainable
practices, including the use of limited biomass resources and shrubs to meet energy
needs. As renewable energy technologies facilitate distributed generation, these
environmentally friendly projects also facilitate equitable access to energy, which
then contributes to creating just and peaceful societies. Elsewhere, Tal (2007)
illustrates how the transboundary Israeli-Palestinian water agreements can contribute
to ameliorating conflicts in the region by promoting mutual understanding and
providing opportunities for engagement in collaborative initiatives. Accordingly,
major transformations in human-nature relationships and collaborative efforts to
enhance environmental quality are highly likely to contribute to peace. Despite the
growing recognition of the peace-sustainability nexus, environmental dimensions
are yet to be appropriately integrated into the positive peace framework. We,
therefore, argue that such integration is highly desirable.
Conclusion
In this chapter, we identified a myriad of factors that bolster the peace-sustainability

nexus. There has been a growing recognition of the relationship between peace and
sustainability in both academic and policy circles. Several studies have illuminated
the implications of the environment for conflict, but our understanding of the peace-
promoting potential of sustainability and the sustainability-promoting potential of
peace remains limited. Our discussion in this chapter contributes to this knowledge
lacuna by merging positive peace and sustainability into a conceptual framework
that can guide future research into the bidirectional causal relationships between
peace and sustainability. Specifically, we make a case for the integration of environ-
mental sustainability into the pillars of positive peace.
The holistic conceptualization of positive peace is a useful analytical lens for
unpacking the complex and interrelated pathways between peace and sustainability.
Positive peace informs considerations beyond conflict prevention and resolution; it
sustains peace by eliminating all forms of violence and creating conditions for social
harmony, equity, and justice. The IEP’s Positive Peace Index is broad enough to
include economic, social, political, and institutional indicators of peaceful societies.
In this chapter, we reviewed existing evidence related to these dimensions of
sustainability vis-a-vis their relevant positive peace pillars. Poverty eradication and
equitable access to basic services are economic drivers critical for both peace and
sustainability. For the social dimension of sustainability, the value of social inclu-
sion, especially in the context of migration, and gender equality for the promotion of
peace and sustainability is increasingly being recognized in research and
policymaking. Similarly, political factors, such as strong leadership, accountability,
the rule of law, and democratic practices are considered to be crucial for peace and
sustainability initiatives. Finally, the salient role of innovative technologies and
educational systems in building institutions and capacity for peace and sustainability
is now a prominent feature in both academic and policy discourses.
Despite the recognition of the relationship between environment and conflict, we
demonstrated in this chapter the potential for bolstering the peace-sustainability
nexus by integrating environmental sustainability as a pillar of positive peace. The
role of the environment in creating or mitigating the conditions for conflict and as the
cornerstone of sustainability initiatives demands a sustainable and cooperative use
and distribution of natural resources. Major transformations in human-nature rela-
tions brought by various global challenges would require collaborative efforts
contributing to both environmental sustainability and peaceful conditions. Environ-
mental sustainability helps reduce structural and indirect forms of violence surround-
ing resource use, distribution, and exploitation, thereby enabling the flourishing of
human potential and the sustainability of the environment. A positive peace frame-
work that integrates environmental considerations would help researchers and
policymakers alike in aligning peace and sustainability goals. Linking the environ-
ment to positive peace has the potential to achieve a holistic peace that is attuned to
the changing global environment.
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A Framework for Grassroots
Environmentalism in Academic Settings 36
Shir Gruber
Contents
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 682
How Are Peace and Grassroots Environmentalism Related in Academic Settings? . . . . . . . 682
What Is Grassroots Environmentalism in Academic Settings? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 684
Defining Environmentalism Within Positive Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 684
Defining Grassroots Environmentalism in Academic Settings . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 687
Why Should We Integrate Grassroots Environmentalism in Academic Settings? . . . . . . . . . . . . . 688
Environmental Initiatives Can Accommodate Various Views of Academia . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 688
Environmental Initiatives Can Be Integrated Within Preexisting Initiatives to Resolve
Student Challenges . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 688
Environmental Initiatives Can Improve Students’ and Faculty’s Life Satisfaction While
Safeguarding Generations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 689
Eco-Responsibility Can Be a Privileged Issue . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 689
Environmental Initiatives Can Benefit the Whole of Society Beyond the Mitigation
of the Consequences of Climate Change . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 690
How to Implement Grassroots Environmentalism in Academic Settings? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 690
An Example of Positive Peace Through Environmental Education . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 690
Expanding Ian Harris’s Framework for Peace Education Based on the Case Study . . . . . . . 692
An Elaboration of the Recommended Steps for the Successful Implementation
of Grassroots Environmentalism in the Context of Academic Studies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 694
Limitations, Discussion, and Future Direction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 695
Limitations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 695
Discussion and Future Directions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 696
Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 697
Appendix A: Case Study in Dawson College Interventions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 697
Appendix B: Report on Composting Initiative . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 699
Abstract . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 699
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 699
S. Gruber (*)
Faculty of Science, Department of Earth and Planetary Sciences, McGill University, Montreal,
QC, Canada
e-mail: shir.gruber@mail.mcgill.ca
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_36
682 S. Gruber
Abstract
This chapter proposes that one mechanism by which positive peace could be
achieved is the integration of grassroots environmentalism in academic settings. It
is suggested that increasing student involvement in bettering their schools and
acknowledging youth as valuable allies in the discussion regarding climate
change results in more efficient climate action and an increase in the life satis-
faction of students. This mechanism facilitates accessibility to a sustainable
lifestyle for all students regardless of socioeconomic background.
Keywords
Environment · Positive peace · Education · Fridays for the future
Introduction
How Are Peace and Grassroots Environmentalism Related

in Academic Settings?
In 2018, the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) predicted that

10 years are left for humans to make the necessary changes to prevent a global
warming of 1.5 °C (Masson-Delmotte et al., 2018). The IPCC’s report indicates that
anthropocentric actions cause greenhouse gas emissions to rise at an unprecedented
rate. For instance, the use of nonrenewable energy sources, like coal and fossil fuel,
as humanity’s primary source of energy (Ritchie & Roser, 2014). Greenhouse gases
act to warm the atmosphere by absorbing infrared radiation (UCAR Center for
Science Education, 2012). A warming of 1.5 °C would endanger people’s lives via
irreversible loss of biodiversity, extreme weather events, and sea-level changes
which can damage land infrastructure (Masson-Delmotte et al., 2018).
Unsustainable practices, like the use of nonrenewable energy sources, cause
devastating impacts on people’s livelihoods in the long term for the benefit of
short-term gains. By examining the motivations behind unsustainable practices
and their long-term impacts, the relationship between environmental issues and
peace becomes apparent. For example, the use of Slash and Burn agricultural
practices in the Amazon (Lal et al., 2019, p. 99). This farming method, initially
executed on a small scale by Indigenous peoples (Piperno, 1994), involves burning
small portions of forestry to make land available for agriculture and to prevent forest
fires. Currently, this practice has been appropriated and enlarged by farmers in the
Amazon to create space for plantations, pasture, or cropland leading to environmen-
tal degradation (Lal et al., 2019, p. 60).
While this may yield short-term economic profits that farmers need for survival,
the destruction of forestry may create habitats for mosquitos that carry viruses (Lal
et al., 2019, p. 59), or force bats, often vectors of disease, to live in higher densities
due to loss of habitat in closer proximity to humans (Bonilla-Aldana, et al., 2019,
p. 3) putting individuals at a higher risk for disease.
36 A Framework for Grassroots Environmentalism in Academic Settings 683
This practice destroys key carbon sequestration mechanisms, natural processes

that keep carbon in living organisms in the ground, preventing carbon dioxide from
entering the atmosphere and ensuring air purification (Lal, 2007). All people depend
heavily on such ecosystem services for survival. Jeopardizing these mechanisms
harms public health and replacing them with man-made technology would be enor-
mously costly, an estimated 3.5 million dollars (2005 dollars, assuming a 3% discount
rate) for carbon sequestration services in the USA (Lee et al., 2015). Many argue
ecosystem services are intrinsically valuable beyond any monetary quantification.
Finally, unsustainable practices disturb the biodiversity of ecosystems. An ecosys-
tem’s biodiversity is a marker of its resilience to climatic and other disturbances (Isbell
et al., 2015). The diversity of species is important for food security. If one species that
many other species depend on declines due to a disturbance, the other species will turn
to substitutes where possible. Yet, with fewer substitutes available, there is a higher
vulnerability to extinction. This vulnerability is echoed in the food chain.
This simple analysis of a real-world environmental issues demonstrates how a
lack of systems thinking, the absence of examining how an action impacts the whole
of an ecosystem and short-sighted planning, can make people vulnerable and drive
conflict. The field of environmental sciences teaches a holistic perspective that
encourages long-term planning. This outlook can be used as a tool for positive
peace because it can be used to understand, resolve, and reduce the probability of
conflict. Positive peace revolves around conflict resolution and conflict prevention
with nonviolent methods:
[Positive Peace] is about people interacting in cooperative ways; it is about social organi-
zations of diverse peoples who willingly choose to cooperate for the benefit of all human-
kind; [. . .] it is a state so highly valued that institutions are built around it to protect and
promote it (O’Kane, 1991–92). It also ‘involves the search for positive conditions which can
resolve the underlying causes of conflict that produce violence’ (Woolman, 1985, p. 8).
(Sandy & Perkins, 2002, p. 3)
The human aspect must be included in the environmental perspective. The driver
of short-sightedness in the Slash and Burn example is poverty, illustrating that social
issues are intrinsically linked to environmental issues. The by-product of environ-
mental issues is social instability. Take, for example, the need for Indigenous
communities in the Amazon to migrate to nearby villages to escape widespread
fires from Slash and Burn which threatens these communities’ mental and physical
health (Peluso, 2019). Such circumstances can lead to intergenerational trauma,
carrying these consequences through time.
An added dimension of environmentalism’s connection with peace is its lessons
about how one’s actions are objectively linked with the rest of an ecosystem,
however small. Individual actions always have systemic consequences, which
must be considered as part of decisions to act. This clarity nurtures pro-social
purpose by concretely demonstrating the power in a person’s fingertips and enforces
empathy. Pro-social purpose has equally been correlated with greater life satisfaction
(Bains & Turnbull, 2019). Environmentalism can therefore serve as an instrument
for intrapersonal peace and interpersonal peace.
684 S. Gruber
Ongoing environmental malpractices have triggered a global youth movement

fighting for real political and social change, the Fridays for the Future movement,
initially led by high school students in 2018, namely 15-year-old Greta Thunberg,
which aims to maintain ecological integrity by employing the scientific dialogue
about the climate crisis. This movement has grown to include college as well as
university students and adults (About #FridaysForFuture, n.d.). The discrepancy
between youth’s desire for action and the academic curriculum presents an oppor-
tunity for innovation in the fields of environment, education, and positive peace.
What Is Grassroots Environmentalism in Academic Settings?
Defining Environmentalism Within Positive Peace
Environmentalism is defined as advocacy to protect the natural environment

(Merriam-Webster, 2020). This topic is critiqued as being a diffuse, incoherent,
and open-ended due to its varying, sometimes contradicting, strategies to protect
the environment by different actors. One can attribute this confusion to this
concept’s coevolution with various cultures creating different approaches to envi-
ronmentalism throughout time. By understanding this history, individuals can
understand what approaches fall under the category of positive peace’s views of
environmentalism.
An Indigenous perspective of nature, as put forth by the Huron-Wendat concep-
tion of creation, views humanity as a part of nature (Sioui, 1999, p. 16). Meanwhile,
the colonialist perspective, stemming from a Judeo-Christian outlook, regards
humans as having a divine legitimacy to use nature – people are separated from
nature (Kay, 1989). The capitalist view of environmentalism was formed in the
1850s and regards nature as a raw material for production which is regulated by offer
and demand (Anderson, 2004). In this circumstance, people are still viewed as
conquerors of nature, however the nuance between this view and the Judeo-Christian
view is that, within the capitalist view forwarded by Adam Smith, people aim to
benefit from the commodification of nature and do not recognize the limitations of
ecosystems (Bermejo, 2014).
After industrialization took a foothold in Western society, nature was sacralized
by authors like Muir who valued nature for its ability to make people contemplate
(Cronon, 1996). This shift in paradigm allowed the emergence of national parks in
the USA and conservation efforts which varied vastly in their goals as well: they
were often a guise to extract First Nations from their territories (Kheraj, 2017).
Towards the beginning of the twentieth century, a static view of nature was perpet-
uated where nature should remain a landscape. This is characterized by the creation
of organizations such as The Society for the Protection of Landscapes in 1901
(Matagne, 1998, p. 360).
Over the next hundred of years, the understanding of the science behind nature
changed. With this change in perception, there was a change in conservation methods.
In the beginning of the nineteenth century, disturbances in nature were accepted by
authors like Clement. Yet, nature was still to return to a climax, a specific landscape,
and the underlying assumption was that nature had a goal (Phillips, 1935). Thus,
environmental efforts revolved around this thought process. Around the 1940s was
the appearance of nature as a system, evaluating the interrelationship of organisms
and their environment, an idea supported by Tansley (1935). In the 1960s, a major
shift in environmentalism as nature is accepted as dynamic and changing with no
specific destination reinforced by authors like Lewontin (1966).
The late twentieth century movement for social equality pushed environmental-
ism towards environmental justice – the protection of all people from environmental
degradation (Freudenberg & Steinsapir, 1991). Incidents like The Love Canal in
1978 in the USA, a dump site renovated into a canal whose toxicity lead to severe
illness and death of its inhabitants, made environmentalists recognize that people are
part of the environment and the most vulnerable are at risk. Lois Gibbs’s poignant
criticism, a leader in denouncing The Love Canal injustice, echoes the concerns of
environmental justice: “Out of sight, out of mind [. . .] is where the poor and
powerless live and work” (Colquette & Robertson, 1991, p. 156). Thanks to the
environmental justice movement, the environment’s definition is expanded to
include where we live, work, and play (Alston, 1991).
Across the USA, minorities became advocacy leaders for the health of their
communities through Not In My Back Yard (NIMBY), or Not In Anyone’s Back
Yard (NIABY) campaigns:
In Warren County, North Carolina, a primarily African-American group struggled to block

dumping of PCB-contaminated soil in a landfill; on the Pine Ridge Reservation, Women of
All Red Nations sought to force cleanup of contaminated water and land; in California,
Mothers of East Los Angeles organized a Mexican-American community to block construc-
tion of an oil pipeline through its neighborhood (Freudenberg, 1984b; “Mothers group,”
1989). (Freudenberg & Steinsapir, 1991, p. 238)
Notably, minorities took leadership roles in this movement as they were often the
victims of environmental racism. Moreover, women also played a crucial role.
Ecofeminism rose to prominence during this time promoting the equal treatment
of the sexes while highlighting women’s role in food production and the manage-
ment of natural resources globally. This ideology draws parallels between the
pillaging of women and the earth (Democracy Now!, 2013). Vandana Shiva,
remarkable ecofeminist sums this philosophy’s outlook: “The liberation of the
earth, the liberation of women, the liberation of all humanity is the next step of
freedom we need to work for, and it’s the next step of peace that we need to create.”
With postmodern realities such as the recognition of climate change, globaliza-
tion, and the conversation around intrinsic rights to nature, environmentalism takes a
new form in the twenty-first century. Climate change inaction by countries having
contributed most to the climate crisis creates tensions with countries suffering most
from climate change and having contributed least.
International organizations like the United Nations facilitate a global conversa-
tion about environmental efforts. The United Nations has forwarded key terms in
modern environmentalism such as sustainability as the intersection of economic
686 S. Gruber
development, social development, and environmental protection with a focus on

society’s carrying capacity (United Nations General Assembly, 2005).
This is the context behind the timing of the publication of peace education theory
by Ian M. Harris, an important actor in the development of positive peace – the
subject of this handbook. He discusses how to combat violence through peace
education with five principal postulates:
1. [Peace Education] explains the roots of violence;

2. [Peace Education] teaches alternatives to violence;
3. [Peace Education] adjusts to cover different forms of violence;
4. Peace itself is a process that varies according to context;
5. Conflict is omnipresent; (Harris, 2004, p. 6)
Environmental peace education is defined in his article as:
The goals of environmental peace education include teaching environmental understanding so

that a peace literate person can become aware of the planet’s plight, its social and ecological
problems, and has a commitment to do something about them. ‘Environmental Literacy is more
than the ability to read about the environment. It also involves developing a sense of the spirit of
place. This feeling of place distinguishes each site and makes a place special and memorable’
(Golley, 1998, p. ix). Hence, students in environmental education develop feelings of care and
concern for the well-being of the natural world. (Harris, 2004, p. 13)
Recalling the example of Slash and Burn in the Amazon mentioned earlier, Harris
utilizes this situation as a concrete example of environmental education in the
classroom:
a teacher concerned about the destruction of the Amazon rainforest could teach about the
rights of the Indigenous people living there and the problems of structural poverty that
require people to cut down trees in order to make a living. That teacher could also point to
the role of [international non-governmental organizations] in bringing awareness of these
problems to the minds of political leaders and their constituents. (Harris, 2004, p. 16)
Violence in the environmental context is often slow violence. This term is defined
as:
a violence that occurs gradually and out of sight, a violence of delayed destruction that is
dispersed across time and space, an attritional violence that is typically not viewed as
violence at all. [. . .] A different kind of violence, a violence that is neither spectacular nor
instantaneous, but rather incremental and accretive, its calamitous repercussions playing out
across a range of temporal scales. (Nixon, 2013, p. 13)
The concept of slow death, referring to the “physical wearing out of a population
and the deterioration of people in that population that is very nearly a defining
condition of their experience and historical existence” (Berlant, 2007, p. 754), is an
example of slow violence. One can draw upon The Love Canal to understand slow
death where people were suffering severely from the cumulative consequences of
environmental degradation.
Thus, environmentalism in the framework of positive peace must be a means with

which to understand the roots of slow violence to the environment and people with
the goal of providing alternative behaviors. When we damage nature, we frequently
damage ourselves. Systems thinking highlights how various forms of environmental
degradation directly touch different people. This process of deconstruction must be
included to fit the postulates of positive peace.
This definition of environmentalism acknowledges people as a part of the
environment, the environment as changing, and the asymmetry of the impacts of
environmental degradation on different actors. Furthermore, within Harris’s
article, he actively credits Indigenous people as long-standing leaders in the
discussion of environmental peace education. Thus, environmentalism within
this framework searches to acknowledge Indigenous peoples’ contributions to
protecting the environment and their wisdom in the transmission of environmen-
tal knowledge.
Much has evolved since the publication of this article; however it stands the test
of time as there is an unprecedented cry for environmental education by youth. With
thousands of students involved in the Fridays for the Future movement, the con-
versation about how to implement grassroots environmental activism within aca-
demic settings must be had. Utilizing Harris’s model for positive peace, one can
integrate grassroots environmental activism within institutional frameworks – bridg-
ing the gap between institutional action and student action.
Defining Grassroots Environmentalism in Academic Settings
How should society harness the incredible energy and care towards the environment
showcased in Fridays for The Future as a means for positive peace? One proposed
mechanism is the implementation of grassroots environmentalism in academic
settings. The word “grassroots” implies that the drivers of change will be the
community at large and the targets of the environmentalism put forward must be
in line with the needs of the community as a whole – accounting for the fact that
some voices may be louder than others due to privileged socioeconomic back-
grounds. The community’s needs dictate the environmental subjects and projects
to be integrated in that academic setting.
Whether it be a gym class that explores our connection to nature by being
outdoors, a geography class examining the intricacies of food security by mapping
the food resources around the school, an art class that uses waste to create art, or a
science class creating a living wall of plants, there are many ways to discuss this
multidisciplinary topic within the already established curriculum by adding a crite-
rion evaluating sustainability to assignments. Otherwise, tangible projects can
equally be done in an after-school setting. By creating project-based learning that
progresses schools towards sustainability, students can make a real impact in their
environment. These projects would encourage personalized learning and design
thinking as they would be tailored around the students’ interests with implications
for tangible projects.
688 S. Gruber
Again, when speaking about education and environmentalism, it is important to

acknowledge that Indigenous cultures have historically used environmentalism in their
education practices and have long served as advocates for this cause. Hence, especially
within places where political ecology has led to an asymmetrical positionality of
colonial voices, highlighting Indigenous actors in the community that have experience
in the transmission of environmental knowledge should be prioritized.
Why Should We Integrate Grassroots Environmentalism

in Academic Settings?
Environmental Initiatives Can Accommodate Various Views

of Academia
The function of academia is subjective. School is created for the exploration of

interests, for students to become responsible citizens and problem-solvers, or to
become professionals. There is value in all these approaches to education and all can
be explored within grassroots activism in academic settings depending on the school,
program, or teachers’ wishes. Exploratory learning with the potential of practical
applications yields ideas that transform society and provide skills that can be brought
to the workforce.
Environmental Initiatives Can Be Integrated Within Preexisting

Initiatives to Resolve Student Challenges
Making the case to academic institutions that environmentalism should be a priority

can be difficult when other issues may take precedence at an operational, curriculum,
and activist level. For example, depression affects a large percentage of teenagers
during their years of development. Mental health issues directly prevent students
from attending classes, performing to the best of their abilities, and affect interper-
sonal relationships.
According to the World Health Organization, depression affects over 264 million
people globally and can lead to suicide that kills an estimated 800,000 people yearly
(World Health Organization, 2020). Suicide is the second leading cause of death in 15-
to 29-year-olds (World Health Organization, 2020). Therefore, accommodations are
made to help the students suffering from depression and mental health initiatives are
created to protect students’ well-being both within as well as outside the curriculum.
This is a case where environmentalism can be integrated into solutions to
problems already prioritized by the community. In fact, mindfulness therapy utiliz-
ing nature has been proven more effective in battling mental illness (Djernis, et al.,
2019). Empathy towards the natural world and one’s self can be taught through such
therapy. Thus, environmental initiatives remain low cost and there will be no need to
change the school’s priorities. As environmental initiatives transcend multiple dis-
ciplines, it is often possible to accomplish this compromise within various pre-
existing initiatives.
Environmental peace education can be an opportunity to discuss racism and

decolonization. Another benefit of an approach like this is making state-run educa-
tion more appealing to Indigenous youth, who have a high academic dropout rate in
Canada, often due to feeling disconnected with the course material (Anderson &
Richards, 2016).
Environmental Initiatives Can Improve Students’ and Faculty’s Life

Satisfaction While Safeguarding Generations
Environmental initiatives nurture prosocial purpose. This has been correlated with
the improvement of individual health and life satisfaction (Bains & Turnbull, 2019).
By addressing larger social challenges, like the climate crisis, with learning experi-
ences that increase empathy, stimulate reflection, and lead to meaning-making
processes, prosocial purpose is developed (Bains & Turnbull, 2019). By adding
properly planned environmental initiatives (following Ian Harris’s guidelines and the
suggestions mentioned in section “Why Should We Integrate Grassroots Environ-
mentalism in Academic Settings?” of this chapter), one can simultaneously meet the
priorities of the school while making people happier and helping the world transition
towards sustainability which benefits the wellness of generations at large.
Eco-Responsibility Can Be a Privileged Issue
The issue of depression affecting youth has clear boundaries (the individuals), a
small number of well-defined approaches within the medical profession to combat
this issue (therapy and medication), and has immediate, visible effects on individuals
(symptoms of depression). In contrast, environmental degradation is extremely large
reaching, has diffused causes as well as long-term effects which can cause the
illusion of no direct consequences on students’ well-being, and there is no silver
bullet approach to solve the issue. Yet, planet earth is everyone’s home.
The adverse effects of climate change will inevitably touch the whole of humanity if
people do not act as required by the IPCC report mentioned earlier. Furthermore, the
consequences will be worse for the vulnerable of society who already live in precarious
situations and lack tools to protect themselves. Thus, while the impacts are not
necessarily immediately visible to all, people must act with urgency to mitigate
damages. This issue is one best solved, beyond an individual level, on an institutional
level. An individual’s ability to be ecologically responsible is limited by knowledge of
how to best consume life’s inherent restrictions and the complexity of systems.
When one is tasked with caring for family members, meeting academic expecta-
tions, satisfying financial needs via work, and maintaining personal health,
convivence can trump thoughtfulness in the name of survival. The transition to a
fully ecological lifestyle means for the average North American the adaption of new
habits. In the USA, “even the people with the lowest usage of energy are still
producing, on average, more than double the global per-capita average” (Massachu-
setts Institute of Technology, 2008).
690 S. Gruber
Redesigning one’s life is a difficult task regardless of one’s resources and time,
especially in a world which is not designed to live harmoniously with nature.
Expecting someone to do so while struggling to have a roof over their head, food
on the table, chronic pain, or a wide range of other disadvantages is unreasonable.
Society’s inertia to change and the normalization of unsustainable practices limits
our ability to reduce our carbon emissions. This demonstrates the need for substan-
tial systematic change. Schools can help their students be environmentally respon-
sible by making accessible to all students the tools to change their institution (within
parameters decided by the school itself) to be sustainable.
Environmental Initiatives Can Benefit the Whole of Society Beyond

the Mitigation of the Consequences of Climate Change
In the previous paragraphs, I have advocated that the rationale for environmental
projects to be integrated in schools is that they can be integrated within the pre-
existing priorities, that they nurture life satisfaction on an individual scale, that they
benefit society by mitigating the consequences of climate change, and that it is
within institutions’ responsibility to collaborate to make environmental responsibil-
ity accessible. Now, I will argue that such prosocial environmental initiatives can
have positive effects on a society’s widespread life satisfaction and stability beyond
the previous reasons mentioned.
An article written by Barrington-Leigh and Galbraith in 2019 compares the
projected positive impacts of economic prosperity and the projected negative
impacts of an economic crisis on life satisfaction in various countries. In contrast,
the article equally compares the positive impacts of social prosperity (defined as
communities where people trust one another, where people have trust in their
institutions) versus the negative impacts of a social disaster.
In the nonmaterial scenario, a large increase in life satisfaction was found when
there was social prosperity and a large drop during social disaster. A relatively
smaller range in impacts was found in the material situations that account for an
economic crisis or economic prosperity. Meaning that, while both are important and
interconnected to a degree, investing in community-led projects that encourage
cooperation, pro-social purpose, and trust will yield the greater well-being of
countries as they show greater potential for both greatness and disaster.
How to Implement Grassroots Environmentalism in Academic

Settings?
An Example of Positive Peace Through Environmental Education
Case Study: Grassroots Environmentalism in Dawson College, QC,

Canada The following story is my personal narrative as a college (or CEGEP)
student who started a project with the aim to tackle climate action using positive
peace education. What better place to start than the contents of a garbage can? What
more opulent, sumptuous, and splendid way to change the world?
I had always thought about resources in the traditional perspective: water, energy,
and natural materials. Until humanity figures out a way to populate other planets, and
I know people are trying, earth’s future physical state is our collective home. Even
finding another planet to live on does not mean we should destroy this one.
Optimizing and safeguarding resources to be durable over generations is, in my
view, clearly in our best interest.
What is a resource? A material that is useful to humanity. What is garbage? A
material not useful to humanity. If we make garbage useful, it becomes a resource.
This very thin line between these definitions is what piqued my curiosity in inves-
tigating how to turn more garbage into resources. This is where I began my project –
curiosity.
The approach I took to optimize resources was to research how many of the
materials at my school, Dawson College, sent to landfills were technically reusable. I
wanted to create practical change and design solutions. Yet, there was no framework
for me to do so within the traditional classroom. Therefore, I went to various
institutions within my school as an individual – from faculty to school clubs – to
see what needs to be done and what can be done to forward sustainability at my
school.
I recruited students from all disciplines and from all walks of life united towards
the same goal: assessing the environmental situation at Dawson College specifically
related to garbage. With guidance from a thought incubator in my school named
SPACE (thank you to Andrew Katz who guided our group of students every step of
the way and his colleagues Ursula Sommerer and Joel Trudeau), Sustainable Daw-
son (thank you to Jennifer de Vera and Chris Adams), Plants and Facilities (thank
you to Richard Dugas who helped lead our studies characterizing Dawson’s waste
and was integral to this process), and the Peace Center (thank you to Diana Rice and
Karina D’Ermo who were both vital to our ability to forward positive peace at
Dawson), together we created a small movement to forward this research for
practical applications: implementing composting.
When I spoke to the people in charge of sustainability at my school about my
desire to conduct research, they revealed to me that they were in the process of
reevaluating our waste management plan at our school. I offered to help them collect
preliminary data to characterize the consumption habits of students at my school.
They agreed that this data would be useful to inform potential new policy. Thus, they
agreed to help by providing us the materials for our research.
As such, we began to get to work. Our group of students targeted a main artery of
our school, the cafeteria, as this is where we felt there was potential for improvement.
We all wore hazmat suits, took a bunch of pictures posed like ghostbusters, and
audited hours’ worth of garbage (thank you to Corinne Beaudoin-Pellerin who
helped lead the research collection and analysis).
After analyzing the data, we discovered that around 76% of the waste we looked
through in this cafeteria that was either compostable or recyclable would be sent to
landfills (see appendix A for images of waste audit and appendix B to learn more
692 S. Gruber
about the study). Correctly treating the 76% of potential resources wasted in the
cafeteria could represent a substantial reduction in waste volume to landfills and a
reduction in methane emissions. Dawson College had about 10,000 students attend-
ing during this project.
The question that arises is then: Why were so many materials thrown out in the
garbage? We ventured two answers. The first is infrastructure. It was easier to throw
recyclable materials into the nearest garbage than scouting the nearest recycling or
composting; the composting bins were also very small. The second is awareness:
perhaps people do not know where and how to throw out their waste. We opted to
advocate for larger infrastructure and work on awareness.
We began forming a grassroots movement that prompted people to better under-
stand the impact of their actions on their environment. We grew this movement by
creating an atmosphere of discussion, innovation, and open collaboration between
entities of the school as well as student clubs. The Music and Arts Club began their
reattachment to the environment by constructing a sculpture entirely made of
materials collected during our research showcased in an art exhibition by SPACE
(see appendix A for images). The Green Earth Club, the environmental club, made
an event to encourage this grassroots movement and further opportunities for
partnerships between INGOs, businesses, as well as students. Perhaps with a stroke
of premonition, the event was modeled after a TEDx conference (see appendix A for
images). To my surprise, I was asked to give a TEDx presentation on the day before
our event about our project.
Since then, the school has institutionalized composting with help from student
advocacy and research. I have graduated and attend McGill University studying
environmental sciences. Now, I am planting the seed for this project in high schools
and other CEGEPs in Montreal as the regional codirector of the nonprofit organiza-
tion Sustainable Youth Canada (SYC) (thank you to Kristi Brokeri and Katia
Forgues, my partners in developing new projects).
I encourage you to take this experiment home, consult your peers (your goldfish,
roommate, significant other, mom, sibling, etc.) and simply see what it is you waste
most. This is a tangible exercise showcasing how much you contribute to landfills.
Just recently, in Quebec, the group TIRU responsible for recycling in the region filed
for bankruptcy, meaning Quebec currently has a significant issue making waste
profitable (Léveillé, 2020). This signifies this is a systemic problem with a need
for systemic solutions.
Expanding Ian Harris’s Framework for Peace Education Based

on the Case Study
As previously mentioned, Ian Harris’s framework for peace education is composed

of five postulates:
1. [Peace Education] explains the roots of violence;

2. [Peace Education] teaches alternatives to violence;
3. [Peace Education] adjusts to cover different forms of violence;

4. Peace itself is a process that varies according to context;
5. Conflict is omnipresent; (Harris, 2004, p. 6)
The case study in Dawson College can be categorized as an exercise in positive

peace. The slow violence being combated in this example is the precarious implica-
tions of food waste, unsustainable consumption, and harmful disposal habits. An
amount of 1 kg of organic waste produces 3.5 kg of methane, specifically harmful to
the ozone layer, and 2.3 kg of carbon dioxide, both greenhouse gases (Perger, 2019).
In Montreal, organic waste represents an estimated 47% of waste collected by the
city, however only 8% of organic waste is kept out of landfills (Perger 2019). There
is a commitment by the Quebec government that by 2022 all organic waste will not
reach landfills (Perger 2019). This showcases the direct link between people’s
consumption habits and slow violence.
The project characterized the roots of slow violence, consumption, and disposal
habits, through researching why we consume and the impacts of waste on ecosys-
tems. We learnt alternatives to slow violence by understanding alternatives to how
we handled waste at our school. We adjusted to tackle different forms of slow
violence through information campaigns and the implementation of composting
infrastructure. The perception of peace as a process varying with context was
shown by the thought behind targeting a specific context, the cafeteria, where it
was recognized there would be more waste localized in one place. The recognition of
conflict as omnipresent was perceived by the reassessment of the data collected and
procedure with all the entities involved to create dialogue that facilitates problem-
solving barriers to better consumption.
This case study expands Ian Harris’s approach to environmental peace education
by taking it one step further: the creation of tangible environmental projects by
students. This allows them to be direct drivers of positive peace in their institutions.
If there is an established framework for environmental grassroots projects in schools,
then students can be taught how to go about making tangible change in their school
while learning about positive peace and gaining knowledge from the curriculum.
The underlying assumptions when implementing such grassroots activism in
academic settings are that: (1) youth are interested in battling a form of violence
and would be willing to participate in a long-term project on this subject, (2) schools
know about the initiatives, or lack of initiatives, in the institution relating to this
topic, (3) schools have a say in internal practices, (4) the school is receptive to the
students’ interests and view them as partners in peace-making actions,
(5) project-based education is accepted to develop critical thinking in the school,
and (6) faculty is willing to mentor students throughout this project to assure its
successful implementation. By aligning dialogue between student activism and
institutional action, larger impacts from grassroots activism can be reached and
schools gain helpers to achieve positive peace targets as modeled by the United
Nations’ Sustainable Development Goals.
To facilitate the implementation of such projects in various academic back-
grounds, an analysis of the path used in the case study has been done for students,
694 S. Gruber
teachers, and nonprofit organizations looking to implement positive peace in their

communities:
1. Assess the interest of the community in the violence one hopes to tackle and
assemble of a small group of students, teachers as well as other faculty who will
strive to combat violence in their academic setting.
2. Collectively decide on a framework for assessing the baseline, in this case the
environmental baseline, of the school before any interventions via discussions
with local experts and stakeholders.
3. Materialize the project all while adapting to the local reality and working through
barriers with thoughtful discussion with all the stakeholders.
4. Assess the success of the project via measures either established when creating
the project in the first place or adapted when encountering barriers. This brings
the working group back to the drawing board to recommence this active learning
process with revised knowledge.
An Elaboration of the Recommended Steps for the Successful

Implementation of Grassroots Environmentalism in the Context
of Academic Studies
This section of this chapter aims to form a template for students and teachers to
utilize when searching for the first steps to implement grassroots environmentalism
in their communities.
The first step to implement successful grassroot environmentalism with the goal
of concrete change in academic settings is to define realistic goals. To do so,
establish the “low-hanging fruits” within the school. This can be done by
interviewing community leaders about their priorities, by making observations
about where waste or energy comes from, and by understanding how the school
impacts biodiversity. The focus should be on the needs of the community and the
different actors’ goals. Teachers interested in enacting such a project can integrate
this investigation in their curriculum, reach out to motivated students to form a small
group to lead this investigation (i.e., forming a green club), utilize a green club in
place, form an extracurricular activity, or reach out to a local nonprofit organization
that can facilitate such a project through workshops.
As an extracurricular activity, there is more freedom in what one can do and less
participants with a more effective management of tasks. Those who do participate
will likely be passionate about the subject. Yet, the possibility of less participants can
be counterintuitive as this project aims to expose everyone to environmental educa-
tion. Furthermore, this add-on on top of schoolwork can be difficult to manage.
As a classroom activity, there is more guaranteed participants and therefore the
possibility of more impact if well managed. The activity is integrated into the
curriculum and thus, not an added burden on students’ schoolwork. However, there
are many participants to keep track of – coordination between students and teacher/
between classrooms can be difficult. A methodology for keeping track of progress
must be developed. Some students are not interested in environmental issues and this
may pose a problem to the animators of the environmental education activities.
To establish the “environmental baseline” of the community, it is important to
include all the relevant actors in this discussion. Therefore, create dialogue between
different entities of school administration and students interested in sustainability.
This coalition will establish the first environmental priority to tackle and how to
measure it. Together, this collaborative effort between the administration and the
student body yields a plan of action. There should be a concrete measure of success
before any interventions are put in place. It is important to document this process so
that people can continue this project regardless of student or faculty turnover.
Next, analyzing the results of the consultations: What interventions can be set in
place to help the community achieve its goal? Innovation can be created via a “Think
Tank” model where consultations with students, experts, academic literature, and
community leaders about the subject are carried out with the goal of finding an
adequate intervention. The problem of climate change can only be meaningfully
engaged through the lens of many disciplines which is why such consultations are
important. Together, students and teachers record underlying assumptions they
found during their investigation, challenge these assumptions, find suggestions for
interventions, and thus they can create a report with solutions that can be distributed
to the necessary stakeholders for revisions.
After revisions, it is time to integrate interventions in the report in conjunction
with all actors involved. This can look like knowledge dissemination, advocacy
about a policy change, further research, physical infrastructure change, and/or
fundraising for solutions. These are a few examples to help the reader develop a
concrete understanding of the possible outcomes of this discussion. Realistically, this
is where barriers can be met (e.g., problems with funding, further expertise is needed,
no political will, etc.). The mindset when tackling these issues should be one of
discussion, negotiation, adaption, and compromise. It is important to remember that
there are always many routes to one’s desired destination and that an adjustment of
expectations may be required along the way. If interventions are implemented,
impact assessment about efficiency and success of implementation would be impor-
tant. Again, designing a concrete manner to measure progress must be a subject in
the early discussions regarding interventions.
After the implementation of interventions comes the assessment of the success of
interventions. Has the project achieved the targets? If so, what are the next steps? If
not, why not? Then, a return to the working group to reassess future actions.
Limitations, Discussion, and Future Direction
Limitations
More empirical evidence is needed to refine this framework in its practical applica-
tion as it has only been performed in a limited number of schools and in one specific
location (Montreal, Quebec). As the ideas discussed in this chapter are
696 S. Gruber
extraordinarily specific to one location, it is difficult to generalize this theory and this
chapter is an abstraction of cases assessed. Cultures and practices vary enormously
even between boroughs of a city.
The size of the high school, college, or university may play a crucial role in the
students’ ability to create tangible change as bureaucracy and coordination may
counteract swift action. Furthermore, if the school lacks persons responsible for a
school-wide coordinated sustainable transition strategy, this will be a barrier for the
students as there may not be an entity with which they may communicate monitoring
the environmental initiatives in place, nor funds allocated within the school dedi-
cated to initiatives.
These barriers shine a light on further actions that can be taken to facilitate
sustainable strategies such as the government providing resources for academic
institutions to appoint someone responsible for sustainability. Many teachers
have taken it upon themselves to integrate environmental education in their
classrooms and can surely add insight from a different perspective on these
barriers.
As I write this chapter, there is the COVID-19 pandemic which is making the
school system overwhelmed with restrictions on activities for the sake of public
health. This inevitably places a barrier on the ability of teachers to do environmental
peace education.
Discussion and Future Directions
Bridging the gap between students’ environmental interest and the necessary tran-
sition of society towards green practices is an important application of this form of
positive peace education. Testing how this framework would vary among cultures,
locations, and levels of education can yield insight on the barriers and facilitators to
institutional change.
The emergence of tangible projects in classrooms that include sustainability
within their criteria of assessment would allow students to practice environmen-
tal activism within their classrooms. This can stimulate innovation and mitigate
consequences of the climate crisis by incentivizing more actors to problem-
solve.
Furthermore, the pathway proposed allows people to learn to solve collective
action problems on a very small scale. Given that climate change itself is viewed as a
collective action problem on a large scale, breaking up this problem into smaller
units, such as schools here, will allow for effective change. Successful pilot projects
can be drivers for policy change and can create templates to be implemented in other
schools locally, nationally, or even globally.
A potential avenue of these projects is to collaborate with Indigenous leaders
that advocate for environmentalism and include them in the process of defining
what environmental education in an academic setting should look like. By
including Indigenous leaders that advocate for environmentalism within discus-
sions defining these initiatives or the formation of interventions, these projects
can forward reconciliation with Indigenous communities on a person-to-person

basis. Furthermore, they would likely incentivize more Indigenous youth, which
specifically in Canada have a high academic dropout rate (Anderson & Richards,
2016), to stay in school as the material they learn will reflect their culture. Yet,
all must be weary of the commodification of Indigenous peoples’ intellectual
property and respect traditional environmental knowledge as Indigenous peoples
(Posey, 2002).
Conclusion
By outlining the steps to transition academic settings towards sustainability, this

chapter is a roadmap through uncharted territory for many students as well as
faculty eager to join the environmental movement. The words on this page
represent your call to action reiterating: We are all involved in the process of
environmental peacemaking. Gloria Steinem’s quote embodies this sentiment: “A
movement is only composed of people moving. To feel its warmth and motion
around us is the end as well as the means” (Office of Gloria Steinem, n.d.). It is
time we move together.
Appendix A: Case Study in Dawson College Interventions
Fig. 1 Conference on
sustainable practices named
GREENxTalks. (From Green
Earth Club. April 20th, 2018)
698 S. Gruber
Fig. 2 Sculpture in SPACE

Art Exhibition. (From Frank
Mulvey. April, 2018)
Fig. 3 Waste audit at

Dawson College. (From
Green Earth Club. February
15th, 2019)
Collect all Workshop with Separate waste Weigh the different

waste in sample expert on how to into categories
location audit waste categories of waste
Fig. 4 The methodology of creating a waste audit
Appendix B: Report on Composting Initiative
The following is the excerpts of a scientific study conducted by CEGEP students in

Dawson College about waste in February 2017–May 2019. As depicted by this
abstract, this activity not only served to better the school, it also served to educated
youth on the scientific method. The following is to showcase what youth are capable of
if given the opportunity to be creative. This report was purely an educational activity.
Abstract
Our study evaluated the distribution and quantity of waste sent from the cafeteria at
Dawson College to landfills throughout a pilot project testing the implementation of
an institutionalized composting system. This study found that the average distribution
of waste at Dawson College sent to landfills has remained normal to other schools
throughout this pilot project. However, the total quantity of waste sent to landfills was
reduced by an average of 53.85% after the implementation of institutionalized
composting bins. The difference in mass can be partly attributed to the mass diverted
by composting bins, fewer garbage cans in the cafeteria, and an educational campaign
about how to dispose of waste. Furthermore, approximately 100% of the waste
disposed in the new composting bins is compostable. Therefore, diverting an average
of 1882.07 g of food waste per day and 4.85 kg of CO2 per day from landfills.
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detail/depression
Part X
Environmental Sustainability: Local
Perspectives
Decentralizing Consumption to Recenter
the Land 37
D. P. Rice
Contents
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 706
Land as Object . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 707
Centering the Land . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 708
Fractured Communities . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 710
Environmental Racism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 712
Global Consequences of Centering Consumption . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 713
Recentering Health During Crisis: COVID-19 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 715
Institutions as Place-Based Communities . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 716
Well-Being for All and the Living Schools Movement . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 717
Dawson College and Living Campus Initiative . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 718
Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 720
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 721
Abstract
This chapter investigates a new pathway from a society based upon commodifi-
cation and land-based exploitation to centering the land as a means to create
equitable sustainable systems. It argues that we attain peaceful relationships with
the land and our human family with a significant paradigm shift that removes
commodification and consumption as our primary philosophical orientation. This
chapter traces the links between the Enlightenment, Scientific Revolution, sys-
temic racism, and human and land-based commdification to demonstrate the harm
caused by exploitation of land and bodies. It further argues that centering the land
establishes a path toward equitable environmental sustainability for all earthly
nations, plant, animal, and human. Looking to places within the system that
already depend upon top-level organization and community cooperation, like
D. P. Rice (*)
Dawson College Peace Centre, Montreal, QC, Canada
e-mail: drice@dawsoncollege.qc.ca
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_37
706 D. P. Rice
our educational institutions, can be a helpful start, but by no means is the only
strategy.
Keywords
Sustainability · Education · Land · Centered philosophy · Based epistemology
Introduction
Pollution and the resulting health hazards of human “progress” have been studied
since the beginning of the Industrial Revolution. The introduction of mercantilist,
then capitalist economies, based upon the commodification of resources and human
beings radically changed Western perspectives on the relationship between humans
and the land. The scientific revolution and shifting European economies deliberately
distanced humanity from our responsibility and relationship with the land. Our
cognitive dissonance respecting our current relationship with the land is evident in
contemporary scientific data recording climate change, biological degradation, and
loss of biodiversity. Scientists have documented: the highest global temperatures in
human history; yearly massive wildfires, drought, catastrophic flooding and increas-
ingly longer and more dangerous hurricane seasons; desertification; acidification of
the oceans; collapse of entire ecosystems; and substantial decreases in biodiversity
(CCCR, 2018; FNCA, 2018; IPCC, 2018). As a species, we are dependent upon the
health of the land, water, and air. Yet despite this inalienable fact, we have spent four
centuries plundering, polluting, and abusing that which provides our continued
existence as a species. The degradation of our environment has also exacerbated
conflict (THD, 1999). When communities do not have access to the fundamental
necessities to thrive peaceful relationships are compromised at best and already
existing tensions become exacerbated (THD, 1999).
The 2018 Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) report and a myriad
of other scientific studies all evoke the same the message; we need to fundamentally
alter our systems to avoid catastrophic outcomes. These reports also highlight the
disproportionate burdens of climate change, biological degradation, and pollution on
Black, Indigenous, and other racialized communities globally (IPCC, 2018, 2019;
FNCA, 2018; CCCR, 2019). Systemic racism, it’s philosophical origins and contem-
porary affects, are deeply tied to our disconnect from the land. We need a radical
approach guiding and incentivizing our collective action. The path forward is to return
to an older human principle, interdependence to the land beyond consumption. We
need to remove humans as the center of our lived reality. Instead, the land must be our
guiding light. Centering the land as our philosophical compass enables us to build
systems that are resilient, adaptive, and reciprocal. It enables us to strive towards
peaceful relationships between people, communities, and our environment.
To achieve our goals, we need strategies that work with, and radically transform,
current systems and institutions. However, national, state, or provincial legislation
and policy are not effective without community level buy-in. A transparent
37 Decentralizing Consumption to Recenter the Land 707
consultation process where the needs of the community are assessed and built into
policy with public educational campaigns and publicly available clear guidelines
with accountability measures are necessary to build trust between governments and
community. Coalition building between all vested stakeholders in policy is essential
to policy success, resiliency, and longevity (McConnell, 2010). Communities buy
into change when they are part of the change from conception to implementation.
We attain peaceful relationships with the land and our human family with a
significant paradigm shift that removes commodification and consumption as our
primary philosophical orientation. Centering the land establishes a path towards
equitable environmental sustainability for all earthly nations, plant, animal, and
human. How, and where do we start from, when it is an entire system that requires
change is a serious question. Looking to places within the system that already
depend upon top level organization and community cooperation, like our educa-
tional institutions, can be a helpful start, but by no means is the only strategy.
Land as Object
The Enlightenment, considered to be the catalyst of modern scientific thought, birthed

the creation of hierarchies of value that depreciated the perceived intrinsic value of
land, water, air, and people. Enlightenment philosophy of scientific rationality argued
for the domination and classification of the natural world for human benefit alone,
rather than focusing science as a means to make humans better stewards of the land. If
consumption is the center, the philosophical orientation underpinning socioeconomic
and environmental policy, it prioritizes humans above the natural world. Consumption
objectifies our environment. It transforms its inherent value to one based on commod-
ification and depreciates the interconnected relationship between humans and the land,
as well as with one another. When our very sources of life become objects to be
commodified without consideration of the consequences, the exploitation of other
human bodies and labor becomes easily justified.
The Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade was a direct result of the European cosmology
placing human consumption as the relational center of their world. The commodi-
fication of African peoples was the result of white European constructed hierarchies
of value masquerading as science (Kendi 2016). It also gave birth to anti-Black and
anti-Indigenous racism culminating in four centuries of violence, inequity, and
inequality in Turtle Island (The commonly accepted name for North America for
many Indigenous peoples. However, for some Indigenous Nations like the Ojibwe
Turtle Island refers to the Earth. Please note that when referring to North America in
this text the author will use the term Turtle Island. When referring to specific
countries, the author will use the Western colonial-settler name, Canada or the
United States of America), Abya Yala (A commonly accepted name for South
America for many Indigenous peoples), and the Caribbean (Carola, 2018; Kendi,
2016). The contemporary geopolitical and economic position of the West was built
upon stolen Indigenous lands by the labor of enslaved racialized peoples. Colonizing
nations and settlers justified these actions through the newly created hierarchies
708 D. P. Rice
classifying who and what held value and how that value was quantified and
stratified. From the minds of Linnaeus, Hobbes, and more, this new scientific
rationality generated a hierarchy, which squarely enshrined white men at the top
with Black people at the bottom of this value system (Kendi 2016). The natural
world was designated as less than human kind with its value directly tied to how it
served humans. The natural world lost all inherent value in this system, as did all
who were not classified as members of the newly constructed white race.
The illegal confiscation of land via the Terra Nullius doctrine, invasion of Africa,
kidnapping, and enslavement of Black African peoples expanded the capital and
strengthened production capacity of European colonizers enabling the rise of Indus-
trialization and Western wealth writ large. The centering of consumption via “objec-
tive” scientific “rational” thought provided the philosophical orientation justifying
European colonization. It became the mechanism to enrich themselves at the
expense of Black and Indigenous peoples as well as the health of the land because
neither were classified as intrinsically valuable. The only value colonizers and
settlers ascribed to the land or African and Indigenous bodies was as commodities
to enable the expansion of their wealth or as objects of experimentation and study.
These constructed hierarchies of value have critically compromised our relation-
ship with the land, and with one another. Our present global circumstances are
characterized by unjust racist gendered socioeconomic and environmental inequities
(Menzies & Butler, 2006; Shiva, 2010, 2015, Simpson, 2017). Restoration and
reparation of our relationships with the natural world and with one another begins
by rejecting consumption. To live in peaceful relationships with one another and the
land requires radical action that disrupts commodification of people and place. Our
longevity as a species necessitates a paradigm shift that displaces consumption as
our philosophical center.
Centering the Land
Michi Saagiig Nishnaabeg academic and activist Leanne Betasamosake Simpson

writes:
[We’ve] always known our way of life comes from the place or land through the practice of
our modes of intelligence. [Nishnaabeg] know that place includes land and waters, plants
and animals, and the spiritual world – a peopled cosmos of influencing powers . . . We know
the individual values we animate in those lives in turn create intimate relationships with our
family and all aspects of creation, which in turn create a fluid and collective ethical
framework that we in turn practice. (Simpson 2017)
While Simpson is specifically pointing to a Nishnaabeg epistemological framework,

the underlying concepts are not unique to the Nishnaabeg nation or the nations of
Turtle Island. Indigenous communities across the planet define the land as their
relational center (Kimmerer, 2013; Simpson, 2017; Shiva, 2010, 2015; Talaga,
2018).
In academia, peace education attempts to provide theories to understand the

underlying causes of conflict as well as potential solutions. Environmental peace
education, includes,
. . . Teaching environmental understanding so that a peace literate person can become aware
of the planet’s plight, its social and ecological problems, and has a commitment to do
something about them. . . Hence students in environmental [peace] education develop
feelings of care and concern for the well-being of the natural world . . . Study of the
environment leads to holistic thinking about how natural and human systems interrelate.
(Harris, 2007)
Environmental peace education, however, does not often effectively address issues
of human rights, environmental racism, equity, and power. It is helpful to analyze our
interconnectedness with the natural world but it is not theoretically robust enough to
achieve equitable environmental sustainability. In order to include the aforemen-
tioned, it would be necessary to mesh the tenets of environmental peace with human
rights and development peace education. Human rights and development peace
education focus more on issues of power, civil rights, equity, and justice. Yet, even
when combining environmental, development, and human rights peace education,
we still encounter the problem of theoretically centering humans and human con-
cerns. Peace education is helpful to orient our thinking, but the current theoretical
tracts are not yet sufficient to move us towards a paradigm shift that can affect
system-wide change. Our present circumstances require something a little more
radical, like removing humanity from the center altogether.
Positioning the land or place as the center, the site from which all other relation-
ships flow, enables us to create adaptive and resilient systems. The land, as well as all
animal and plant life dwelling upon it, is by its very nature flexible and capable of
regeneration. When we elevate the land as our center, it becomes a model and
informational tool to reorganize our systems and institutions (Kimmerer, 2013;
Simpson, 2017). We can learn and extrapolate from the processes of the land in
order to thrive as a species while normalizing our role as stewards of the earth. The
land as a site of knowledge and pedagogy radically upends the basis of scientific
thought. Renowned white European scientists and philosophers, through their
constructed hierarchies of value, determined that they alone were knowledge
seekers, producers, and bearers (Frias & Montes, 2019; Kendi, 2016; Shiva,
2016). This invalidated all other types and erased the value of Indigenous knowl-
edge. Centering the land refutes that Western paradigm of who has knowledge and
what knowledge has value. Centering the land enables us to strive towards equity of
knowledge and value systems because we already understand that our natural
environment has particular needs resulting from specific intersecting factors. For
example, we would expect that policies encouraging biodiversity regeneration
would be tailored to account for why there was a decrease in the first place. We
would take into account the climate, geography, capacity to respond to the issue by
the community or nation-state affected as well as the opportunity costs of one
strategy versus another. Centering the land leads us to equity. Equity forefronts
flexibility, resilience, and empathy of the lived realities of people and place.
710 D. P. Rice
Land as the center forefronts a philosophy of ethics, empathy, and interconnec-

tedness (Kimmerer, 2013; McCarthy, 2016; Simpson, 2014, 2017). When humans
center the land, it orients human-to-human relationships to be reciprocal, equitable,
and empathetic (Kimmerer, 2013; McCarthy, 2016; Simpson, 2014, 2017). When
the land centers your world, there is a natural vested interest in maintaining the
health of the land. Removing humans from the center of our worldview contests
hierarchies that establish a system of categorization, which determines who and what
has value. It enables value to be disconnected from commodification and freed from
hierarchies that determine who and what is greater or lesser than something or
someone else. Centering the land develops reciprocity between ourselves and the
natural world as well as human-to-human relationships. Equitable environmental
and community sustainability follows naturally from a land-based model. In order to
decolonize ourselves and the natural world from a consumption, first ideology we
need to reorient our philosophical center. The core tenet of centering the land, a
guiding principle for Indigenous peoples around the world, enables us to organize in
equitable, empathetic, and reciprocal ways to establish peaceful relationships in our
own communities and our responsibilities to the land.
Fractured Communities
The relationship between Indigenous and settler Canadian communities can be

charitably characterized as dysfunctional. This dysfunction is attributable to govern-
ment systems and institutions that have for 400 years, through word and deed,
denigrated the lives and knowledge of Indigenous peoples. Since the fifteenth
century, Indigenous peoples across Turtle Island were robbed of their land by
white European colonizers and enslaved in Nouvelle France, the Caribbean, and
parts of the 13 colonies (Cooper, 2011; Waldron, 2018). Throughout the eighteenth
and nineteenth centuries, First Nations peoples were forced into inequitable treaties
ceding their land claims through extreme violence (TRC, 2015). This included the
weaponization of food security by mass culling of animal populations and burning of
arable land disrupting their sources of food (Talaga, 2018). At the end of the
nineteenth century, they were forcibly confined to reserves that were often far
from their ancestral territories, lacked arable land and access to quality hunting
grounds and potable water (TRC, 2015).
Passed by Canada’s first government, the Indian Act criminalized the speaking of
Indigenous languages and cultural practices, among many other indignities (TRC,
2015). The Indian Act also birthed the residential school system in Canada where
children were removed, frequently by force, from their traditional communities,
placed in state and church run “schools” to facilitate assimilation to so-called
“Canadian” culture (TRC, 2015). The first Canadian Prime Minister, John A Mac-
Donald in 1887, upon the establishment of the residential school system stated that
“the great aim of our legislation has been to do away with the tribal system and
assimilate the Indian people in all respects” (Sessional Papers, 1887). It is critical to
note that at no time in history has Canada solely been peopled by white European
settlers. At the time of first contact between Europeans and Indigenous peoples, there
more than 600 sovereign Indigenous Nations in Northern Turtle Island. In the
subsequent period of colonization, it was not exclusively white Christian
Europeans who settled across these territories. Enslaved Africans, Jewish, Chinese,
Lebanese, and many more racialized people forcibly or by choice immigrated to pre-
and early post-Confederation Canada. Despite this fact, it has been a de facto cultural
norm to associate Canadian culture only with white European Western origins. Thus,
when the former Prime Minister refers to assimilation, he specifically means the
forced replacement of Indigenous identities with white European “Canadian” cul-
tural systems. Assimilation was positioned upon the erroneous idea of Canadian
homogeneity. While confined to these institutions, Indigenous children endured
starvation, malnourishment, torture, rape, and medical experimentation (TRC,
2015). Two thousand eight hundred children died in the “care” of these taxpayer-
funded “educational” institutions (TRC, 2015). The twentieth century introduced
horrors like the sterilization of Indigenous women, the Sixties Scoop, and environ-
mental racism (Waldron, 2018; Lawrence, 2000).
The consequences of generations of taxpayer-funded state-sanctioned violence
have been devastating to Indigenous peoples and the land of Turtle Island. Inevitably,
these policies and programs reinforced colonial-era “scientific proof” that Indigenous
peoples, their culture and knowledge, are of lesser value than that of white European
and settler Canadian populations (TRC, 2015). The message that Indigenous peoples
had nothing of value to contribute to Canadian settlement except for how their bodies
and land could serve the white dominant population has been overtly and implicitly
reproduced in policy and legislation. This fact is evidenced by contemporary settler
Canadian attitudes towards Indigenous peoples. In 2018, Macleans magazine
published a piece, based on an Angus Reid survey, exploring the relationship between
Indigenous peoples and settler Canadians. According to the survey:
. . . 53 percent surveyed said the country spends too much time apologizing for residential
schools. . .; more than half of respondents said Indigenous people should have no special
status that other Canadians don’t; the same proportion said Indigenous peoples would be
better off if they integrated more into broader Canadian society, even if the cost is losing
more of their traditions and culture. (Hutchins 2018)
The statistics yielded from the Angus Reid survey demonstrates the comfort with
which settler Canadians feel their indifference in the devaluation of the lives,
cultures, and rights of Turtle Island’s Indigenous peoples. These perceptions also
concretize the success of settler government policy that has educated and socialized
its citizens to believe that Indigenous peoples, their humanity and knowledge, are of
lesser value than white European peoples. This has translated into the continued
tolerance of settler Canadian communities of systemic discrimination of Indigenous
peoples. This stems from the harmful racist and gendered perceptions of Indigenous
peoples that have been built into government systems and institutions through policy
and legislation. Furthermore, the degradation of our land across Turtle Island is
directly tied to this systemic racism. Refuting Indigenous sovereignty, knowledge,
and world views enabled the mass exploitation of the land.
712 D. P. Rice
Despite the government’s best efforts to erase Indigenous peoples from their land,
through assimilation and murder, they have failed (TRC, 2015). Indigenous men,
women, and two-Spirit peoples have resisted these efforts for over 400 years through
every means, from hiding their children to rightfully defending their land, with both
peaceful and violent tactics. To be frank, every settler residing in Turtle Island owes a
monumental debt to Indigenous peoples, because despite all we have done, they
continue to fight for the land and willingly show us a better path forward. Indigenous
peoples knew then, and now, that the entire Western economic and political system is
fundamentally unsustainable, unjust, and inequitable. Centering consumption ulti-
mately leads to conflict and disruption. Peaceful communities and relationships
depend on reciprocity, equity, and environmental justice that accounts for environ-
mental racism.
Environmental Racism
The conditions of one’s environment, (land, air, water) is directly correlated with
socioeconomic political intersections of privilege and oppression (Newell, 2005;
Maynard, 2017; Waldron, 2018). Biases towards particular groups of people within
a system have devastating effects upon an individual or a community’s access to clean
water, air, soil, health care, education, career opportunities, food security, and more
(Waldron, 2018; Newell, 2005; Maynard, 2017; Gottlieb & Joshi, 2013). Racialized
communities across Turtle Island overwhelmingly bear the disproportionate costs of
these biases compared to white communities (Waldron, 2018; FNCA, 2018; CCCR,
2018). Environmental racism, systemic racial discrimination that results in poorer
environmental conditions in racialized communities, is the result of race-based bias
pervading all institutions within the system and tolerated by racist indifference (May-
nard, 2017; Waldron, 2018). Historically, communities of color in Turtle Island
experiencing the harm of environmental racism have had to fight the government
and multinational corporations with little support to no from the white settler majority
(FNCA, 2018; Simpson, 2017; Waldron, 2018). White settler indifference, cultivated
by centuries of racist rhetoric, exploitation, and legislation, has successfully prevented
coalition building on these issues between Indigenous and settler communities.
There is no better example of the effects of systemic environmental racism than
the issue of access to potable water in Canada. According to the government of
Canada, as of November 2018, more than 90 Indigenous reserves did not have
consistent access to potable water (ISC 2018). The UN Special Rapporteur, Leilani
Farha, in the 2019 UN Report, states that:
[In] a country with more freshwater than anywhere else in the world, 75 percent of the
reserves in Canada have contaminated water, with communities such as Attawapiskat
declaring a state of emergency because of toxic chemical levels in the water. (UN GA, 2019)
As of August 2020, there were 61 Indigenous reserves whose water advisory

status is classified under a long-term water advisory, meaning that the water flowing
from their taps or local wells is not regularly safe to consume for more than a year at
a time (ISC, 2020). In some cases, it has been decades since particular reserves have
had access to clean water (HRC, 2014; UN GA, 2019). In 2011, Indigenous peoples
living on reserve or on Canadian territory constituted roughly 4% of the population
(SC, 2011). According to Statistics Canada’s (2011) survey, approximately 49% of
self-identified Indigenous peoples lived on reserve (SC, 2011). Three percent of
reserves are currently placed on the long-term water advisory lists, which equates to
roughly 21,010 people who do not have access to potable water (ISD, 2020). This
does not include reserves that are on short- or medium-term advisories.
Dawn Martin-Hill, one of the founders of the Indigenous Studies Program at
McMaster University, states that “you could have a 16-year-old girl growing up in
northern Ontario who has never been able to drink or bathe in the water that they
have access to” (Gerster & Hessey, 2019). Water advisories can range from requiring
boiling prior to consumption to, “do not consume” or “do not use.” In other cases,
treatment plants or other mechanisms to provide clean water exist; however, many
reserves do not have consistent indoor plumbing into people’s homes (Gerster &
Hessey, 2019).
The environmental racism disproportionately experienced by Indigenous peoples
is the result of the process of creating hierarchies that value only certain humans.
Privileging consumption as our center drives our socioeconomic focus towards
extraction, exploitation, and inequity. Centuries of state-sanctioned violence enabled
settler governments to dislocate Indigenous peoples to extract, exploit, and profit
from the land (TRC, 2015). It also justified unsustainable environmental practices
that have seriously compromised the health of the land, air, and water particularly in
Black and Indigenous communities across Turtle Island (Waldron, 2018; Kimmerer,
2013). In other words, the lack of potable water in Indigenous communities is the
result of systemic racism born of Enlightenment era hierarchies of value that
depreciated the inherent value of non-European knowledge and people.
Global Consequences of Centering Consumption
It is not simply racialized and economically disadvantaged communities in Turtle

Island whose bodies, knowledge, and land that have been systematically devalued.
For decades, scholars and activists have highlighted the disproportionate negative
environmental and socioeconomic outcomes on nation-states whose populations are
majority racialized semi-periphery or periphery nations (Newell, 2005; Shiva, 2015).
Countries where Western-based corporations extract the primary materials from, and
outsource manufacturing to, bear the brunt of the socioeconomic and environmental
damage (Easterly, 2014; Newell, 2005). Furthermore, consumption as our center has
socialized Westerners to believe that we are entitled to inexpensive food, clothes, and
energy while ignoring the costs of this globally inequitable system.
The Green Revolution (GR) serves as an example of how orienting consumption
has had profoundly negative socioeconomic, environmental, and cultural conse-
quences for racialized people while reaping positive benefits for white majority
714 D. P. Rice
nation-states. Additionally, it highlights how well-intentioned policies can become

abject failures for local communities without any community engagement.
The GR has been heralded as a political technological achievement, unprecedented in human

history. It was designed as a techno-political strategy for peace, through the creation of
abundance by breaking out of nature’s limitations and variabilities. (Shiva, 2016)
The GR enabled agriculturalists to “benefit” from Western agricultural technology

paid for and developed by the Ford Foundation, Rockefeller Foundation, World
Bank, seed and chemical corporations, as well as various arms of the Indian
government (Shiva, 2016). It was supposed to bring the end of poverty and peace
to rural India (Shiva, 2016). Scholar and activist Vandana Shiva has spent decades
chronicling and fighting the profound harm of the GR in India (Shiva, 2015, 2016).
This revolutionary “techno-political strategy for peace” is considered to be success-
ful because it did increase agricultural commodities yields thereby lowering food
costs (Shiva, 2016). Lower food costs should mean better and cheaper access to food
security for vulnerable populations. The combination of higher incomes and more
food were thought to be one of the magical winning combinations to bring peace and
end food insecurity (Shiva, 2016). However, like so many patronizing Western
development programs, this “pioneering” movement suffered from a lack of engage-
ment with local populations, a presumption of Western technological superiority, and
prioritizing commodification of resources over sustainability (Easterly, 2014; Shiva,
2010, 2015, 2016).
The very nature of the GR contested the idea that Indigenous agricultural systems
held value (culturally, economically, technologically), could be learnt from, and
were a place to start from rather than be replaced (Shiva, 2010, 2015, 2016).
Economic development specialists aided and abetted in the replacement of systems
developed by Indigenous peoples in part because of centuries worth of rhetoric that
valued commodification, consumption, and profit over all else. Ultimately, the GR
fulfilled consumer needs while delivering most of the profits into the hands of
already wealthy white dominant nations.
The Green Revolution has been in many communities completely devastating. It
is responsible for:
1. Degraded arable soil.

2. Massive deforestation.
3. Destruction of local economies.
4. Loss or displacement of Indigenous agricultural techniques, technology, and
knowledge.
5. Conflict producing rather than reducing.
6. Denial of a means of survival for women and their roles are traditional knowledge
keepers. (Shiva, 2010, 2015, 2016)
Development strategies like the GR, in India or elsewhere, were supposed to

provide opportunity to agriculturalists to improve their livelihoods or stabilize food
security and produce peaceful community relations. However, it instead generated

massive harm for the nations it was allegedly helping (Easterly, 2014; Shiva, 2016).
Had the GR focused on helping Indian citizens, local communities would have been
included in the planning and implementation process. Environmental impact assess-
ments would have been top priority as well as protocols designed to ensure the
sustainability of the land and water. It would have been based around culturally
appropriate food stuffs rather than agricultural commodities demanded by Western
customers. In reality, it served the economic needs of large corporations to broaden
their market share while predominantly feeding Western demand for inexpensive
commodities with the least amount of environmental, social, political, and economic
cost to the beneficiaries (Shiva, 2010, 2015, 2016).
A global culture dependent on constant growth, extraction, and exploiting econ-
omies of scale to guarantee that shareholders are financially remunerated, while
consumers are “rewarded” with low prices for goods, results in zero incentive to
change or render accountability. By outsourcing the means and mode of production
outside of Western Europe and Turtle Island through globalization and development
economic strategies, it is easier to hide the abhorrent environmental and socioeco-
nomic costs of a consumption driven world. This enables the beneficiaries to ignore
their complicit behavior further depreciating racialized communities and their inher-
ent right to clean air, water, and land.
Recentering Health During Crisis: COVID-19
The year 2020 has wrought devastating wildfires in Australia, massive deforestation
in the Amazon, predictions of an above-normal hurricane season, the global Black
Lives Matter response to police brutality in the United States, again, and the COVID-
19 pandemic. One of the common responses to the pandemic has been local,
regional, and countrywide lockdowns (Oxford University, 2020). In what politicians
and pundits alike have dubbed the “pausing of our economies” in order to flatten the
curve, scientists and others have noticed incidental positive environmental results.
Emission levels over every major city observing shelter-at-home practices have
dropped dramatically (Shakil et al., 2020). Researchers have analyzed data demon-
strating a significant decrease in greenhouse gas emissions, nitrogen dioxide, black
carbon, and water pollution over the course of pandemic (Shakil et al., 2020).
Biodiversity in certain areas where human traffic was temporarily suspended has
flourished (Rust, 2020).
COVID-19 elicited a response meant to contain and manage the spread of a very
serious health threat. Yet, evidence demonstrates that these health sciences-based
strategies yielded positive environmental outcomes. Successful nations in the man-
agement and containment of the first wave of the pandemic unequivocally demon-
strate that it is possible for governments and people to work cooperatively to achieve
tangible positive health and environmental impacts. When we center health over a
consumption-driven economy, policy becomes driven by empathy rather than wealth
716 D. P. Rice
attainment. The positive environmental outcomes of the COVID-19 crisis were not
by design, but they demonstrate three undeniable facts:
1. That humans are responsible for our current environmental crises.

2. Neoliberal economics that stem from centering consumption is intimately tied to
environmental outcomes.
3. System-wide change that deliberately relies on experts, local community consid-
erations, as well as intergovernmental coordination is possible.
Looking across the globe at different countries’ responses to COVID-19 demon-

strates that success is dependent on shifting focus away from neoliberal capitalist
needs to our needs as whole human beings interconnected to one another. Those who
have been successful in the management of the pandemic deliberately focused their
response through the lens of public health, not the economy. This shift away from
GDP and stock market growth enabled governments to prioritize people, not com-
modities and corporations. Furthermore, this approach shone a light on the vast array
of inequities in care, employment, housing, and environment in many countries,
particularly for racialized populations (UNDP, 2020). These now highly visible
inequities have sparked serious conversations about how to close the gaps in wealth,
health, education, and community investment. In some sense, it should not be
surprising that a shift from markets and economy netted positive environmental
results. Imagine the results if our primary focus was the land and not humans. The
possibilities for enacting just equitable change in our systems and our environment
are unending.
Institutions as Place-Based Communities
From primary levels all the way to postsecondary, educational institutions have the
potential to be one of the most potent agents of change. One does not have to look
very hard to find the myriad of instantiations where students have amassed collective
community power to successfully alter policy, law, and even stop armed conflict.
Give students an opportunity to use their voices and they will. Furthermore, provide
students with the education that empowers them to make change beyond street-level
protests and it is possible to alter entire systems of power. Centre that education on
equity, empathy, and reciprocity for the land, and all that resides upon it, it is possible
to change the world.
The education system is arguably one of the most strategically valuable institu-
tions worldwide. Who gets educated and what they learn influences every other
system and institution. Schools are in a unique position because they occupy
physical space in communities while simultaneously facilitating internal and exter-
nal community creation. People come together inside schools to socialize, play,
engage in extracurricular activities, interest-based clubs and activism. People who
live around schools often gather inside these buildings for various reasons from
parent-teacher meetings, community gatherings, after-school programming, voting
in local elections, and more. Schools are not simply buildings but they are reflections
and markers of our core values as a society. What knowledge we teach in schools
defines the social political landscape. Who we give access to that education deter-
mines economic opportunity and power.
When schools reproduce systemic inequity through curriculum and access to
knowledge, it produces a population that is at best ignorant or at worst hostile to
rectifying injustice as contemporary attitudes towards Indigenous peoples by settler
Canadians evidences. If we change the role of education and our approaches, we
create the opportunity of system-wide change. The embedded nature of schools in
the community means that it is an institution deeply connected to the population it
serves and employs. Formal education is an institution that is reliant on top-level
organization and requires community level cooperation to function well. In some
respects, it already possesses some of the essential mechanisms and qualities
required to make changes.
Well-Being for All and the Living Schools Movement
Professors Catherine O’Brien and Patrick Howard of Cape Breton University

published on the phenomena of the Living School Movement (LSM). A Living
School:
. . . Embraces well-being, individually and collectively, for all people and the “other than
human” life on our planet. It is an inclusive vision that recognizes that our well-being is
important both now, and in the future, and that our well-being is intertwined with that of
other people and the natural environment.” (O’Brien, 2016)
Living Schools focus on the connection between people, community, and Nature.
The terminology, Living School, was inspired by the Living Campus Initiative (LCI)
at Dawson College, located in Montreal, Quebec, Canada. O’Brien developed the
concept of the LSM based upon the diversity of sustainable actions that were taking
place on Dawson’s campus (O’Brien, 2016). The prime directive of LSM focuses on
well-being for all inclusive of other than human life from pedagogical approaches to
curriculum to administrative policy (O’Brien, 2016). O’Brien advocates for a phil-
osophical orientation that is inclusive of human needs alongside those of the natural
world. This model demands equality and balance between the needs of human
beings and other than human life. Centering well-being for all as a core tenet of
Living Schools is very similar to the core principles of environmental peace educa-
tion described earlier.
There is one piece missing from the Living School Movement model, equity. It
does not adequately acknowledge the inequity that currently exists in human-to-
human as well as human and land relationships. Equality is a worthy goal and should
be a part of all our thinking respecting system and institutional transformation. On
the other hand, equality is not yet realistic because we have not yet achieved equity.
Equality necessarily presumes we, be it human, plant, or animal, are all starting from
718 D. P. Rice
the same place. It does not take into account the lived reality of hierarchies of value
that determine socioeconomic, political, and environmental circumstances. Meaning,
that while equality is a lofty goal, as a strategy we risk missing endemic structural
discrimination because the concept does not account for disparities between groups
lived realities. All that being said, there is wonderful work being accomplished in
multiple institutions based on the Living School model. Well-being for all is a place to
start from and to improve upon. Furthermore, a Living School is worthy of exploration
because success necessarily requires top-down administrative organization alongside
transparent community consultation, participation, and buy-in.
Dawson College and Living Campus Initiative
Dawson College is a degree granting postsecondary institution in Montréal, Québec,

Canada. It is home to over 10,000, full time and continuing education students. The
Living Campus Initiative (LCI) originates from in the sustainability work of Chris
Adam, Director of the Office of Sustainability, and the Sustainable Campuses
Initiative (SCI) created by faculty member and researcher Dr. Gisela Frias. Their
mutual interests, research, and activism in environmental sustainability enabling
human reconnection to nature were the catalyst for the Living Campus Initiative.
The LCI focuses on three basic areas, policy and academics, building envelope, and
community connections.
The LCI enabled Dawson College to accomplish many different objectives in the
view of achieving sustainability that center’s well-being for all. The list below is not
exhaustive but provides a window to observe Dawson College’s Living Campus
Initiative.
Academics and policy:
1. 33% of College research is in the field of sustainability.

2. Funded immersive courses where students participate in research or hands-on
sustainability projects.
3. 20% of the Office of Sustainability budget is allocated to the development of
courses, in any discipline, related to sustainability.
4. An increase in the use of the campus for coursework, assignments, and teaching
by 84% with 20% of all courses focused entirely or related to sustainability.
5. Inclusion of Sustainability Goals with funding into the 2016–2021 Strategic Plan.
6. A new 5-year Sustainability Policy.
7. Auditing additional College policy through the lens of sustainable well-being for
all. (Sustainable Dawson Report, 2020)
Building envelope and campus grounds:
1. Reduced greenhouse gas emissions by 47% (400 tons of CO2) and became carbon
neutral due through a partnership with Nicaraguan organization Taking Root
(This organization is dedicated to sustainable reforestation methods and fair trade

practices that ensure farmers earn a dignified living).
2. 70% of nonhazardous construction and demolition waste has been diverted from
landfills with a 35% reduction in waste delivered to landfills and an overall
decrease of waste by 9%. The introduction of composting bins across the college
has led to the collection of 1 ton/month of compostable materials.
3. Establishment of three food producing rooftop gardens where the harvests are
sold at low cost to the Dawson Community and donated to the College Student
Food Bank and First Peoples’ Centre.
4. Cultivated nine separate microhabitat biodiversity zones (which have assisted in
the reduction of greenhouse gas emissions) and initiated a Monarch Butterfly
breeding program in the Ahsen Nikontate’ken:’a Kaienthon (Three Sisters Gar-
den). (Sustainable Dawson Report, 2020)
Community:
1. Launch of the SSHRC funded SCI to learn, research, exchange best practices and
student internships while building a strong sense of community between the
Canadian and Mexican partners that motivated the project and participants;
Additionally, the SCI purposefully included Traditional Ecological Knowledge
and elders as equally valued members of team projects.
2. Extending invitations to community nonprofit organizations as well as other
educational institutions to take part in a yearly Sustainability forum during
Peace Week to build strong bridges between the College and community groups,
exchange resources and expertise.
3. Building a formal and informal network of partners, Concordia University (Que-
bec), Cookshire Elementary (Quebec), Chateauguay Valley Regional High school
(Quebec), and Bennington College (Vermont) who are aiming to transform their
respective institutions into Living Schools founded on the principle of sustainable
well-being for all.
4. Becoming a founding member of Transboundary Water In-Cooperative Network,
a network of NGO’s, university researchers, local community members and
officials to cooperatively monitor water systems in the Indus Basin region
(T.W.I.N. 2020). (Sustainable Dawson Report, 2020)
The Living Campus Initiative is the result of institutional coordination between

multiple departments, staff, faculty, administration, and students. The LCI managers
continually consult on initiatives ensuring community needs are assessed and built
into the DNA of projects. Furthermore, the vast majority of ongoing projects are
open to Dawson Community members to freely participate in order to engage staff,
students, and faculty in ongoing sustainable well-being for all learning. The Office of
Sustainability has regularly engaged in educational campaigns at the College and in
the community to provide clear consistent messaging on how and why sustainability
practices are being initiated. Centering well-being for all as the guiding principle of
the Living Campus Initiative enabled Dawson College to make changes in its
720 D. P. Rice
academics and policy, buildings and campus, and connections to community inside
and out. The principle of well-being for all strives for balance between the needs of
people and nature without assuming either should have primacy.
Conclusion
The work of the Living School Movement, as described above, is an excellent

demonstration of how we can effect change when we dislodge consumption as our
philosophical center. The transparent nature of the Living Campus Initiative at
Dawson College, as well as easy accessibility to reports, policy, and position papers,
enables other institutions to replicate and adapt the model to suit their particular
circumstances. Strategies that seek to balance the needs between people and the
natural world are important because they orient systems and institutions to think
differently about their priorities when crafting policy and legislation. However, we
must recognize that equity is a prerequisite to transformational system change in our
institutions otherwise we risk the reproduction of systemic discrimination. While
more work can be done by institutions like Dawson College to include issues of
environmental racism, equity, and inclusion of non-Western Eurocentric knowledge,
it is an excellent starting place.
The response of countries around the world to COVID-19 and the ensuing
positive environmental outcomes likewise demonstrates our capacity to fundamen-
tally alter our way of life when we dislocate neoliberal economic consumption as the
driving force behind policy and legislation. Furthermore, successful national gov-
ernment responses (in terms of management of the virus as well as the socioeco-
nomic consequences of the pandemic) require transparent processes, community
educational campaigns and building in the needs of vulnerable peoples to ensure
equity during a time of crisis.
The commodification of people and place over the last 400 years has led human-
ity to the brink of crisis. The devastation of our natural world is the result of wealth
being amassed by the few on the backs of the many without consequence to the land.
Exploitation, extraction, and growth-first policies and legislation have left us with a
world filled with vast socioeconomic inequity, environmental racism, and biological
degradation. According to every reputable climate and environmental scientist, we
are running out of time before we will be unable to repair the destruction we have
wrought (IPCC, 2018). The more damage we do to the land, air, and water, the more
damage we do to ourselves. Furthermore, racialized communities will be burdened
with the highest cost of our failures because we have failed to address systemic
inequities that date back to the birth of the Enlightenment and Industrial revolution.
In order to make rapid change, we need a paradigm shift that moves us away from
human consumption and commodification of people and place as our central philo-
sophical tenet. We need to refocus our center to the land because it will enable us to
build adaptive, resilient, equitable systems that can repair the damage between human-
to-human relationships and humanity’s relationship with the land. There are those who
will argue that system and institutional change is too challenging to happen quickly.
Those who oppose change have told women, Black, Indigenous, and LGBTQ+
communities time and again to “wait for their turn,” to dial back their anger and
trust the system to eventually “give” them their rights. However, the examples of the
Living School Movement and response to the COVID-19 pandemic unequivocally
demonstrate that rapid radical change is absolutely possible when we dislocate
economic consumption as the center of our human universe. The land has enabled
human civilization to thrive for thousands of years, and if we locate the land as our
center, our driving force, it will enable us to survive and thrive for thousands more.
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When a Sense of Place Lies at the Heart
of a Community from the Upper Paleolithic 38
to Glenorchy, New Zealand
Leslie Van Gelder
Contents
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 724
Size Matters . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 726
Anthropomorphism and Animism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 727
Social Intelligence, Technological Intelligence, and the Creation of “the Other” . . . . . . . . . . . . . 728
Time and Duration . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 730
Summary of Key Ideas . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 731
Glenorchy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 732
A Sense of Place and Responsibility to the Continuity of the Place . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 732
Isolation and Resilience . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 733
A Sense of Agency . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 733
A Sense of Belonging . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 733
Community Hearths and Hubs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 734
A Sense of Time and Duration . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 734
The Power of Humor and Play . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 735
The Power of Ritual . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 735
Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 735
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 736
Abstract
Little is specifically known of the hunter gatherer people who were cave artists in
the Upper Paleolithic in Europe; however, much has been extracted from the
archaeological record which speaks to a largely peaceful tradition in which
cultural and artistic traditions lasted over nearly 20 millennia. Drawing from the
work of Binford, Dunbar, Mithen, and Guthrie, this chapter initially examines
ways in which the archaeological record suggests that humans evolved as
co-relational figures in relationship with the natural world through a combination
of small group sizes; a proclivity towards anthropomorphism; neurological
L. Van Gelder (*)

Richard W. Riley College of Education and Leadership, Walden University,
Minneapolis, MN, USA
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_38
724 L. Van Gelder
development privileging storytelling, dance, and laughter; and a cultural ethos

valuing conserving the natural world through a series of moral and ethical codes
of behavior creating kinship relationships with the nonhuman world. Moving
from the distant past, the author then examines these same concepts from within
the modern day community of Glenorchy, New Zealand, and its capacity to thrive
as a community which appears to privilege its relationship to the natural world.
Looking at the connections between past and present, this chapter considers ways
in which contemporary communities can draw from human history and position a
strong sense of place as a source of personal identity to strengthen an outlook
towards positive peace in the future.
Keywords
Upper paleolithic · Human group sizes · Positive peace · New Zealand
Introduction
On a midwinter’s night in a small village in the South Island of New Zealand, the
village hall was alight with the sounds of chatter and the occasional soundcheck of a
guitar strumming too loudly or too softly drifted out into the cold night air. People
dressed in puffer jackets against the cold and wigs in every style from late Ozzy
Ozbourne to early Bon Jovi, to those wearing two-dollar shop tiaras on septuage-
narian Taylor Swift’s and Elizabeth II’s made their way into the Hall where they shed
their jackets to reveal whatever their personal interpretation of “Glam” meant.
Sequins, rhinestones, leopard print, and vegan leather pants were all on display as
well as broad smiles, heads tossed back in laughter, and the clinking of glasses as
drinks were poured and life toasted.
In the Hall’s supper room, 15 slow cookers clustered around three power strips in
different corners of the room while the Rural Women decanted salads brought from
home and made trips back and forth to the main hall where three long tables were set
for 120 of the village’s 350, the limit to what the hall could hold. Tickets to the night
had sold out days before and bargaining, begging, and old-fashioned horse trading
had gone on in the hours before the event to make sure as many of those who might
miss out could still get in.
On stage, the village band, the Swandri Quartet, which has had as many as
25 members and on this night had 12, half on instruments, half as singers, were
warming up. They had been rehearsing for 4 months and all who had come out for
this, the fifth iteration of the midwinter dinner know that there will be music, a big
feed, followed by the tables miraculously disappearing from the front of the room
while the dishes are done in the supper room, and by nine, everyone will be dancing
in the front of the hall. Few bands have ever had a more forgiving and appreciative
audience as the Swandri’s.
At the back table are raffles and prizes with each year’s money being raised in part
for petrol vouchers for the village nurse who comes to do a clinic once a week for
38 When a Sense of Place Lies at the Heart of a Community from the Upper. . . 725
free because the District Health Board cut off the village’s health service 5 years ago
because they didn’t consider it cost-effective. The Rural Women fought that battle
with the DHB and lost it, but the nurse was mortified at the notion that a rural
community would be without any medical care whatsoever, so she simply carried on
with her clinic and the Rural Women found a workaround where they could at least
insure that while they couldn’t legally pay her for her time, they could pay her petrol
to come the 90 km roundtrip from Queenstown (in a place where petrol is $2.40/l)
each week.
The other recipient of this year’s funds was the newly formed Glenorchy Trails
Trust whose goal is to create more ways in which in outlying areas of the district
could access the village center through cycle and walking tracks so as to reduce the
need for automobile use. One of the men dressed in fully Ozzy Osborne incongru-
ously takes the stage and in polite and grateful tones in his role as Trustee thanks the
community for their generosity before turning the band to encourage them and
everyone else to “Rock on.” And they do.
The last of the musicians leave the Hall around midnight with a “last one out, lock
the hall and turn out the lights” as almost everyone in the community knows how to
access the Hall’s electricals and heating system. No one remembers to take home the
wooden Whitestone Cheese box that holds over $3000 in it. It is still sitting on top of
a shelf in the morning when a crew of Rural Women return to laugh about the night,
clean the hall, take down the bunting, and reunite slow cookers with their owners
who discuss whether or not there’s enough left for lunch. A week later, the Museum
Group will take over the hall for an Historic Film night and again plates of baking
will miraculously appear, the hall will be set up and taken down, and old timers will
laugh at pictures of themselves from school picnics 60 years ago while newcomers
begin to take in the cues of what does it mean to be part of a community that has been
together for over 150 years in an isolated corner of New Zealand, and seemingly has
managed despite significant differences of issues, to generally playfully get along.
I am an archaeologist and anthropologist whose work centers largely around the
ubiquitous power of “sense of place” both in the Upper Paleolithic and in small
hunter gatherer groups of the past, and today. The longer I have lived in Glenorchy,
the more I have been struck by the community’s capacity to experience ideological
difference but be united in an overall appreciation and love for the place itself, and
that this overriding individual and collective relationship with the natural world
impacts the way in which the community itself functions. This chapter builds on
Galtung’s definition of peace being “The absence of suffering and the presence of
fulfillment; in the nature, human, social and world spaces” (Galtung, 2013, p. 22)
with a special emphasis on the ways in which a core relationship with the natural
world for individuals impacts their human, social, and world spaces in a small
community dominated by the natural world.
Glenorchy is a village of approximately 350 full time residents (and perhaps
150 part time holiday house owners, many of whom have had houses here for
multiple generations) at the Head of Lake Wakatipu in the Queenstown Lakes
Regional District of New Zealand, surrounded by the Richardson Mountains to the
East, the Humbolts to the West, and 2830 m Pikirakatahi/Mt. Earnslaw to the North.
726 L. Van Gelder
The Head of the Lake borders Mt. Aspiring National Park is the gateway to multiple
walking tracks including the Routeburn track considered to be one of New Zealand’s
great walks. Historically inaccessible by road for the first 100 years of its settlement,
Glenorchy is 45 km from the nearest main town of Queenstown. There is still only
one road in and one road out. Prior to 1962, a series of boats serviced the community
coming up the lake with varied regularity of either once a week or three times a week
in other years and seasons. Farmers bringing cattle to market would have to spend
18–20 days to walk them out to main centers and it was not until the 1940s that
a District Nurse paid for by the scheelite miners supported the community to serve
basic medical needs.
Though the Glenorchy road was finished in 1962 and sealed in 1997, the patterns
of social behavior that began during Glenorchy’s period of relative isolation have
carried through into current times and offer a unique opportunity to look at peace-
making through the lens of a rural community dominated by a strong sense of place.
As Harris (2004) describes, Glenorchy’s sense of peace relates to both inner and
outer peace, which he defines as, “Inner peace concerns a state of being and thinking
about others, e.g. holding them in reverence, while outer peace processes apply to
the natural environment, the culture, international relations, civic communities,
families and individuals” (Harris, 2004, p. 7). In this, the focus is on the environ-
mental peace and an application of that notion in that a sense of place plays an
essential role in identity, prioritization, and the capacity and interest in resolving
conflict.
To ground this discussion, I will first consider elements of cultures who value
place and discuss human evolutionary elements derived from my work in Upper
Paleolithic archaeology. While perhaps something of an unexpected marriage (espe-
cially as Glenorchy’s earliest visitation by Waitaha Maori was likely in the 1350s),
I see a powerful connection between aspects of place-oriented community values
that play out in Glenorchy life today and may offer potential to other communities
and groups.
Size Matters
As our planet heaves with the largest human population in history, it is worth
returning to the conditions that predominated from the first emergence of Homo
sapiens approximately two hundred thousand years ago until the last 7000–
8000 years. Dunbar (1996) has suggested that like other primates, there are specific
group sizes that are optimal for human flourishing. According to Dunbar’s work, the
neocortex of the brain of social animals has developed in direct proportion to the
number of beings with which it regularly has to maintain alliances and social
contracts for the individual and the group’s overall survival. The larger and more
complex the social group, the more brain space is needed for figuring out the social
machinations of the other members of the group so as to be able to find a place in that
ever-changing milieu. Apparently, each species develops a basic “comfort zone” of a
number of relationships in which it can maintain intimate bonds and then another set
of relationships in which it can establish social coalitions, which imply some sense
of understanding of the other’s machinations or ways of being. For humans, our
intimate bond group or sympathy group centers around the number 12. Our larger,
coalition group functions at approximately 150. His research notes that we put the
majority our social energy servicing our most intimate relationships with 5–6 closest
to us and that we engage in relations of decreased intimacy in rings of 5–10–15–20
until arriving at 150 which he posits as the maximum number of social relationships
we can adequately keep track of in our brains (Dunbar, 1996, 2012a).
Binford’s (1978) work on hearths and storytelling also supports an intimacy
perspective where he notes that storytelling circles encompass groups of 5 or
6 around a hearth with multiple hearths often in the same area following the pattern
of concentric numeric rings suggested by Dunbar.
Dunbar’s work speaks to the notion of 150 relationships, but does not define with
whom one might be in relation. As hunter-gatherer groups tended to be 12–24 adults
in size with children and elderly bringing the group to as many as 40, with whom else
could other social relationships take place? It appears that the natural world, both in
terms of places and beings, made up many of the other relational spaces within
people’s lives, as humans have great capacity, through anthropomorphizing, to
develop storied relationships with beings other than humans.
Anthropomorphism and Animism
Though we were named Homo sapiens sapiens by early taxonomers, other recom-
mendations have been posed such as Homo ludens (Huizinga 1944) and Homo
narrans (Dégh 1969, Niles 1999) the storying species. Theory of Mind further
plays a critical role in how we navigate social relationships. Theory of mind is the
capacity to imagine or predict the thoughts of another. To think like another person
or being allows us to be empathetic and also attempt to be predictive.
Until relatively recent times, humans in hunter-gatherer groups lived in systems
that allowed for the belief in an animistic world where animals, mountains, trees,
rivers, and the world around them also had a living spirit and a Theory of Mind.
According to Stuart Guthrie (1993), our brains anthropomorphize as an automatic
response to motion. We ascribe what psychologists call “intension” to other moving
objects (whether natural or not) and give them an intelligence. The purpose of this
automatic anthropomorphizing is a survival mechanism allowing us to err on the side
of assuming something moving is alive and has intelligence allowing us to predict its
behavior in a logical way. Our minds and eyes continually look for patterns. When
we see something which is out of the pattern, we have to make decisions about how
to respond to the anomaly, especially if it is an animated anomaly. If we see
something that moves, our minds will immediately jump to create an explanation.
We are more likely to come up with a good solution if we assume that the moving
object is sentient and “thinks like us,” than if we assume it has no intension. As
Guthrie suggests when confronted with a large round being in a distance, that could
be a rock, or could be a bear, it is evolutionarily better for us to err on the side of it
728 L. Van Gelder
being a bear and a bear with intensions, than a rock without. If we’re wrong, we can
have a good laugh as we walk by the “bearshaped rock,” if we’re right, we have
hopefully given ourselves enough time to get out of the way.
As humans are predisposed to anthropomorphism as a survival technique and
then able to apply agency and theory of mind to those anthropomorphic relations, it
is only natural that in time a kinship relational system would evolve, especially for
people where there are effectively over 100 spaces in their brains left for relation-
ships; thus, these can extend to what David Abram (1996) calls the “more-than-
human” world.
Social Intelligence, Technological Intelligence, and the Creation

of “the Other”
Much has been made of trying to comprehend the evolution of two aspects of
humanity. One is the development of language and social behavior/storytelling,
which may well have taken place around the fire. Recent research speaks to the
different types of discussion that take place in daylight vs that which takes place
around a fire (Weissner, 2014; Dunbar & Gowlett, 2014). Weissner’s work with
Ju/‘hoansi (!Kung Bushmen) of Botswana and Namibia found that:
Day talk centers on economic matters and gossip to regulate social relations. Night activities
steer away from tensions of the day to singing, dancing, religious ceremonies, and enthrall-
ing stories, often about known people. Such stories describe the workings of entire institu-
tions in a small-scale society with little formal teaching. Night talk plays an important role in
evoking higher orders of theory of mind via the imagination, conveying attributes of people
in broad networks (virtual communities), and transmitting the “big picture” of cultural
institutions that generate regularity of behavior, cooperation, and trust at the regional level
(Weissner, 2014).
Further work has looked at the evolution of song, laughter, and dance as social
binding elements (Weinsten et al., 2016; Dezecache & Dunbar, 2012; Curry &
Dunbar, 2013; Mehu & Dunbar, 2008; Dunbar, 2012b) and the ways in which
these activities fundamentally bind and reinforce community. Dunbar (2012b)
writes:
Music arose originally because it allows individuals to become more group-oriented. Music
seems to achieve this through a capacity to produce endorphins which have a positive effect
on our attitudes towards others. . .a regular round of music and dance can thus be seen as an
essential prerequisite for maintaining social cohesion in the face of all of the many everyday
irritations that threaten to destabilize and overwhelm our carefully crafted social arrange-
ments. (Dunbar, 2012b, p. 208)
And further,
singing together fosters social closeness – even in large group contexts where individuals are
not known to each other – is consistent with evolutionary accounts that emphasize the role of
music in social bonding, particularly in the context of creating larger cohesive groups than
other primates are able to manage. (Weinsten et al., 2016, p. 152)
In 1995, Mithen proposed a theory of human brain development offering a critical

piece in the understanding of human development regarding the distinction between
human capacity to be technologically oriented toolmakers and the human capacity to
be social storytellers grooming social relationships. Many theories have been pro-
posed around whether toolmaking led to social behavior by storytelling around the
fire at night, or whether they are completely separate activities and stimulate
different centers of the brain. Recent neurological studies have been inconclusive
on this aspect (Morgan et al., 2015; Stout & Chaminade, 2011). Mithen (1996)
proposed that our brains are organized in such a way that we see the world largely
through four intelligences: natural history, social, technological, and linguistic. We
can combine intelligences to benefit from them through cognitive fluidity; however,
there seems to be one inherent boundary. We can combine social intelligence and
natural history intelligence to ascribe human like social behavior to the natural world
and through anthropomorphism see the natural world as humanized. However, we
cannot combine social and technological intelligence. We can, however, see what we
perceive as natural history, or even other humans, as technology.
This is the foundation for the distinctions of in group/out group as the determinant
is “those with whom I can have social relations” and “those with whom I cannot.”
Mithen’s work suggests that within a group we consider our “in group” or “kin
group” there are codes of social behavior that must be observed. If we have extended
out social boundaries to include the more-than-human world (Abram, 1996) into our
kin group, then appropriate social behaviors follow, whether a person, a deer, or a
river, none can be violated without consequence.
However, Mithen also proposes that we have the capacity to see anything, and I
would add, anyone, who we do not consider to be in our kin group using only our
technological intelligence and thus turn that being into a tool. Once seen as a tool, a
being is now objectified to use and social codes of behavior are not necessary and do
not apply.
If Mithen is correct, this may explain the dark side of humanity’s capacity to
create an “Other” and to use those others as slaves or objects for use and exertion of
power, instead of as relational other beings with whom we have ongoing relations
and obligations.
I raise this because the finite capacity of the number of social relationships we can
successfully groom and maintain and the nature of our perception of who or what can
be members of our kin group has implications in modern society as well. The
potential when overloaded with social information (one can envision between social
media and television the amount of available social information, as well as the day-
to-day engagements in urban environments) to default to a smaller in group is likely
as it is impossible to process and the default may be to seeing others as tools instead
of as fellow storied beings. Living in smaller populations as opposed to large urban
settings, based on Dunbar’s work, likely allows for the capacity to have social
relations with both humans and the more-than-human world as there is social
730 L. Van Gelder
room to process those relationships in a way that is more difficult in anthropocen-

trically dominated environments like cities.
Time and Duration
The final theme I wish to discuss is a concept most of us in the modern world would
struggle to experientially comprehend. Imagine living a life with the same 20–40
people every day for every year of your whole life. Once or twice a year, you might
meet up with a larger group. In general, your life is utterly, completely, and solely
within the bounds of your group. Imagine the degree to which you would be able to
predict each other’s thoughts and actions. Imagine the physical intimacy, and
familiarity simply bred of continuity. Imagine the necessity of resolving conflict
because the alternative would be to have to leave and to leave the safety of the group.
As Barry Lopez (2013) describes,
One of the most striking differences between indigenous cultures and our culture is their love
of attachment and our fear of it. In traditional cultures, people strive to be included in a set of
relationships, to ground their identity in a set of relationships. In a culture like ours, the
tendency is to regard all relationships as provisional, potentially stultifying, to identify
instead with the growth of the self, not with a layered set of relationships. . .Traditional
cultures, in my experience are puzzles by why you would give up a feeling of being wanted,
of having a reciprocated place in the world, in order to secure material wealth. (Lopez, as
quoted in Tydeman, 2013, p. 132)
Robert Wolff who worked and lived among the Aboriginal Sng’oi people in
Malaysia and on Pacific Islands noted that,
People living in a small close-knit group, where everyone is family (although not necessarily
related by blood), have no privacy. What privacy there is must be inside one’s heart. In such a
society people cherish immaterial things that are uniquely personal. For some, one’s true
name is private. The name one uses in public is just a social convenience. One’s real name
nobody knows, except perhaps the priest. (Wolff, 2001, p. 171)
This is not a romanticizing, but a simple practicality of needing to develop social

systems that can and could accommodate lifelong intimacy in small groups, coupled
with the capacity for conflict resolution to allow for the overall health of those
groups. Wolff noted that among the Sng’oi,
One of the basic tenets of Malay culture is nobody tells anybody what to do. . .in Malay
culture the worst sin is to embarrass someone, so you never talk directly to someone, you do
not really look him or her in the eye, you do not raise your voice, you always couch your
comments in the most unspecific general terms. As much as possible, you talk in allusions.
(Wolff, 2001, p. 47)
Further, hunter gatherer groups tended to move seasonally through a physical

region depending on activity and resource. As such, long-term relationships with
places were also developed and a knowledge of those places as part of a web of
relationships would also be essential aspects of social relationships.
In many place-oriented cultures, time is viewed in reverberating spirals with
forward and backward motion but a sense of the cyclical being core, and seasonal
rituals and locations anchoring an annual calendar. There is often a theological
component suggesting that there is a life force which continues on in the world
regardless of whether a person him/herself is alive. The life force of the world and
life itself and its continuity matters most.
Summary of Key Ideas
In this brief overview of place-oriented cultures and human evolution, I have

highlighted the following concepts which will be germane to the discussion of
modern-day Glenorchy.
• The size of relationship groups matter. Human brains can only successfully
maintain relationships with approximately 150 beings, but are more successful
in smaller, more intimate groups of 12–24.
• Humans develop social relationships with both the human and more-than-human
world and those relationships can have equal weight. Our capacity to anthropo-
morphize (applying our natural history knowledge brains to our social intelli-
gence and our interest in things that move) allows for us to develop a sense of
place within the natural world as we have personal relationships with places and
entities within those places.
• If we are engaged in social relationships with another being and consider them to
be a part of our greater in/kin group, social codes of behavior apply. There are
“right behaviors” to which one adheres.
• We have evolved both technological/toolmaking and social-storying brains cre-
ating the potential for a binary view where those within the bounds of kinship are
afforded social status and those outside it can be thought of as “other” and
potentially used as tools. Ingroup/out group is defined generally by what threatens
from the outside. (e.g., while humans endlessly break ourselves into a variety of
in groups, if Martians were to suddenly invade, we would likely all see ourselves
in the same in group as Earthlings).
• Hunter gatherer groups had relationships of life long duration and daily inti-
macy, leading to a different level of intimacy than we experience today. The
need for enduring social mechanisms for conflict resolution and conflict avoid-
ance is different that those we might know today in more culturally transient
times.
• Celebrations involving food, song, dance, at regular intervals in the year reinforce
social bonds and reflect a cyclical view of time. Activities taking place at night
around the fire are often very different from daytime activities and are the stuff of
social bonding.
732 L. Van Gelder
• Long-term, multigenerational relationships with the natural world of a particular

area are a central feature of life as there is an essential nature that life itself
continues on regardless of the lives of specific individuals.
Glenorchy
How does twenty-first-century Glenorchy relate to these aspects of earlier Hunter-

Gatherer life? And why would this be relevant to a discussion of positive peace from
an Ecological Perspective? At core this is a discussion of a modern-day, relatively
geographically isolated community, with a strongly articulated sense of place. This
approach builds on the Joan Kroc Institute for Peace and Justice’s peacebuilding
principles which looks to the concept of peacebuilding and the multiple layers of
relationship complexities in and among individuals (Conforti, 2019, p. 21). I add that
an individual’s relationship to a place, and their personal sense of place, may also
play a critical role in this, one which is highlighted in Glenorchy’s experience of
continuous peacebuilding.
Glenorchy is a hard place to make a living. Farming is tenuous at best with eight
high country stations ringing the lake all farming a mixture of sheep and cattle but
most also making money from tourism and the film industry. Tourism has been the
longest lasting economic driver and today, the Head of the Lake hosts five main
accommodation options at a wide range of economic levels from luxury to camp-
grounds. Most people have a mosaic approach to income generation doing “what-
ever it takes” to generate enough income to stay. Land prices are some of the highest
in the country and isolation drives the cost of all items and services coming in to
Queenstown and then further on to Glenorchy that much higher.
And yet, people come to live and in many cases, once here, have had families that
have stayed for upwards of seven generations. Young people move away and then
return, bucking the national trends.
A Sense of Place and Responsibility to the Continuity of the Place
The natural world is the fundamental reason people live at the Head of the Lake. The
mountains, lakes, rivers, and waterfalls dominate the landscape. The state of the
natural world especially in the form of weather is central to life and most conversa-
tions begin with a discussion of the weather. The community’s inhabitants have a
broad “sense of place” that extends well beyond their own property, and there is an
inherent sense of stewardship that comes with the broader engagement with the
natural world. The regular expression of gratitude for “getting to be here” may also
explain the nature of generosity in which members of the community are willing to
give voluntarily of their time for a large number of projects that in larger commu-
nities would be considered the work of local government. The absence of financial
resource but the wealth of people with flexible job schedules and a desire to give
back or help to support the place plays an essential role.
Isolation and Resilience
The isolation of Glenorchy from Queenstown creates a unique phenomenon not

found in larger places where the population is freer to disperse. A physical under-
standing of not only being far away from another place, but also the physical
environment itself leads to regular hardships in the forms of power outages, slips
on the road and road closures, and Internet/cellphone breakdowns. During a recent
road closure due to extreme weather, the regional Council’s website noted the
“staunch nature” of the Glenorchy community. Across the region there is an inherent
understanding that “Glenorchy looks after its own” and within Glenorchy is an
assumption that in the face the long overdue Alpine Fault earthquake, it will not only
be cut off from Queenstown but also likely forgotten for some time.
A Sense of Agency
Everyone lives in Glenorchy by choice. It is too difficult a place to make a living, so if

you are living there, it is because an individual has chosen a particular life and
lifestyle. This creates a sense of both agency (in having made a choice) and belonging
(as others have also made the same choice and this unites them in a commonality).
Glenorchy has many social codes of behavior but few regulated rules. It has long
been an outpost for those avoiding a rule-bound life. Although it has a strong sense
of good and poor social behavior, it does not have much in the way of a rules
structure. This leads to a large volunteer effort to get things done as there are no
external agencies in which to assume work will be done. Also there is an ease of
capacity to see a problem, offer a solution, and engage in the solution process
without bureaucracy.
Atay’s (2020) recent work examining positive peace through the lens of a balance
between individualism and collectivism and a newly emerging “autonomous-rela-
tional self” speaks to this notion of an individual who is “both autonomous and
caring for her/his collectivity” which seems present in the ethos of Glenorchy culture
(Atay, 2020, p. 65).
A Sense of Belonging
Glenorchy defines its ingroup as its residents and those with a historical connection
to the place. The commonality of kinship has to do with everyone’s own person
relationship with the natural world (this is rarely a shared thing but far more an
understanding that each person is here because of the place itself). The “other” come
in two main categories of Queenstown and the Queenstown Lakes District Council
which is generally perceived as an impediment with too many rules, and tourists who
are welcomed when in small numbers and vilified when they come in larger numbers
and don’t respect the residents or natural world, especially those who litter or leave
behind human waste in natural places.
734 L. Van Gelder
Within the community, it is possible to join a number of special interest groups and
within those groups are the smaller kin-groups similar to hunter-gatherer groups. In
this way, there are opportunities to develop closer ties that again allow for more
opportunity for dialogue, shared activity, play, and increased trust. These groups
currently include Book Group, Riding Club, Fire Brigade, Rural Women, Brew
Club, Swandrii Quartet, Playgroup, Sustainable Glenorchy, Museum Group, and
sports-related Rugby Club, Netball Club, as well as a group that gathers weekly for
yoga in the hall. It is interesting to note that for an area dominated by the natural world,
there is no Tramping or Walking Club as there is an assumption that everyone takes
part in those activities and opportunities but does not need a group to do so. As there is
a large seasonal transient population of young workers who work in the tourism-
related activities, they are encouraged to join community groups and for many
newcomers it is their first point of social access to join Book Group or Brew Club.
Community Hearths and Hubs
Glenorchy has multiple informal meeting areas where it is likely one will run into
other people and stop “for a yarn.” An absence of community mail delivery (there is
rural delivery for those further afield) means that all members of the community must
come to their post boxes located at the Glenorchy Motors garage to collect their mail.
Glenorchy Motors, in their role of having to go get the mail in Queenstown, become
the defacto news source with regard to road conditions, and generally all news of the
village filters in to Glenorchy Motors with the knowledge that all news likely will
also filter out of Glenorchy Motors, not in the form of gossip, but in the form of
news. Deaths, funeral arrangements, reports on accidents, reports on illness and
recovery, information on events, travel schedules of community members can all be
gleaned while picking up the mail. Other meeting points include the Lodge, the Pub,
the Café, the Shop, the Walkway (a 5 km path around the lagoon), the Library (only
open 2 days a week for 2 h at a time), School, and walking down the main street
which runs from the Pub to the Garage.
The effect of these informal and regular meeting points is that people must speak
with each other as pleasantries are upheld, usually with conversation about the point
of commonality – the natural world. Even during periods of community conflict, the
forced intimacy brought on by the increased likelihood of sharing community space
with an antagonist means that in general people remain speaking to each other. They
may not like each other’s point of view, but an overall basic civility is almost always
upheld.
A Sense of Time and Duration
There seem to be two types of people who come to Glenorchy to live: those who
come, drawn by the natural world and the warmth of the community and they find
themselves staying for the rest of their lives and there are also those who come,
drawn by the natural world and the warmth of the community and then find that it is
either a very difficult place to make a living and cannot financially survive or find the
social nuances challenging and lack of external stimulation problematic and leave.
The result is that approximately 2/3 of the population have a very long duration here,
many times multigenerationally. A village old timer once told me that if you lived in
the village long enough, you would be on the same side or opposite sides with just
about everyone on some issue at some time and to think about it all as a landscape of
“shifting alliances” rather than ideological lines drawn in the sand.
The Power of Humor and Play
The power of long-term duration is that humor and play become central to the
community. Humor diffuses tensions and is generally used warmly. A large number
of community members have nicknames, either earned or given, and most of the
community functions on a first name basis, or when there are multiples of a name
they become “Debbie in the bus” vs “Chef Debbie” vs “Debbie at the Shop” to
differentiate. Play comes through annual winter quiz nights where a wide cross
section of the community participate, parties involving dress-ups of all kinds, the
Midwinter Dinner and the Annual Race Day. Play serves multiple and complex roles
but among them is the deep establishment of trust because play ultimately allows for
vulnerability and the willingness not to take oneself too seriously.
The Power of Ritual
Ritual events are ones that preserve a sense of “old Glenorchy” such as the annual
Spring Flower Show and aspects of Race Day which can trace its roots back to the
1860s. In many ways, the preservation of the old ways allows for the long-time
residents of the community to connect back to the times of their childhoods and to
carry the traditions of their parents and grandparents forward.
Conclusion
The New Zealand rural community of Glenorchy provides an example of a positive

peace oriented community which, like hunter-gatherer communities of the past, puts
an individual’s relationship with the natural world at the heart of their relationship
focus. Due to its relative physical isolation, the personalities drawn to the region with
regard to a need for greater levels of resilience, multiple locations wherein social
activity happens both formally and informally, and a desire in a small closed system
to avoid conflicts which will have long lasting impacts, through the use of humor,
small group activities, opportunities for individual and collective agency in problem
solving, and a host of other tools, the community engages in what Galtung (2013)
emphasized in his original definition of positive peace where “nonviolence,
736 L. Van Gelder
ecological sustainability, and social justice remove the causes of violence” and as a
community exhibits “a set of beliefs by individuals and the presence of social
institutions that provide for an equitable distribution of resources and peaceful
resolution of conflicts” (Harris, 2004, p. 12).
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Traditions.
The Rule of Benedict, Positive Peace,
and “Place” 39
Rosemarie Schade
Abstract
“Positive Peace” may be defined as a harmonious state of being between self,
nature, and other humans. “Place” is both geographic and social. In these terms,
the Benedictine Order is arguably one of the most successful attempts to create an
organization that fulfills these goals. Using concrete examples drawn from largely
contemporary Benedictine practices as well as from the Rule of St. Benedict, this
chapter explores a number of factors that explain why this Order has much to
contribute toward a deeper understanding of the importance of “Place.”
Keywords
St. Benedict · Convent of St Mary’s in Fulda · Place-based enterprise · Organic
gardening · Sustainability · Rudolf Steiner · Stanbrook Abbey · Benedictine
vows · Maye E. Bruce · Humofix · Erika Riese · Sister Laurentia
If we can define “positive peace” as a way of being that strives towards harmony
with self, nature, and other humans, then the Benedictine Order is arguably one of
the most successful attempts to create an organization that fulfills this goal. The
striving towards harmony and the positive peace it generates cannot, however, be
solely inner directed. It must also be a way of offering peace and well-being to
others. Positive peace is both an inner state and an outer manifestation of an inner
state of harmony and the desire for connection and harmony with the surrounding
environment. I will argue that the Benedictines have embodied this goal, never
perfectly, (as nothing human and living can pretend to an imaginary transcendent
perfect state), but with notable success.
R. Schade (*)
Environmental Sustainability, Loyola College for Diversity and Sustainability, Concordia
University, Montreal, QC, Canada
e-mail: rosemarie.schade@concordia.ca
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_39
738 R. Schade
Their faith-based beliefs, the clear rules and practices they follow, and the inter-
actions of monks and nuns with the surrounding communities that arise from these
beliefs are the subject of this chapter. I will first provide an overview of Benedictine
practice and beliefs, and then focus on the nuns of the Convent of St. Mary in Fulda.
This convent is a living example of Benedictine faith and the practice of positive
peace in action in the twentieth and into the twenty-first centuries. My conclusion will
tease out those aspects of Benedictine life and practice that make the order an
important living example of positive peace, and to take from their wisdom what we
may perhaps adapt to our very different social organization and lifestyles.
The followers of St. Benedict have maintained their traditions for some
1500 years, which suggests that they are one of the most sustainable organization
we still have. This is due to effective strategies that enabled their monastic practice to
be both flexible enough to adapt to constantly changing historical circumstances
while at the same time remaining grounded in the basic principles that give the
organization its raison d’etre. Place, by which I mean not only a geographic space
but also a social and spiritual dimension, is a major concern for Benedictines, and is,
I will argue, intimately connected to inner peace for individual Benedictines as well
as creating positive and peaceful relations to the world outside of the monastery.
The importance of place immediately suggests the importance of agricultural
knowledge and practices. Benedictines have excelled at these throughout the centu-
ries. Their intimate work with the terrain of their local place continues into the
present. Benedictines are bound to their place, which is the monastery or convent
and its immediate gardens, and rarely leave its confines. This choice to not be
mobile, to stay grounded, and to stay in one place is central to the Benedictine way.
What is the meaning of “place” in a general Benedictine sense and how this is
intimately connected with positive peace? This is best understood through some
historical background including the vows of the order and a few excerpts from the
Rule of St. Benedict. Next I will focus more closely on the Benedictine convent in
Fulda to show how the Rule of Benedict is put into action. I hope to show in the
conclusion that it is precisely the flexibility and openness of the Rule that permitted a
broader understanding of place than the secular versus sacred dichotomy that is
usually invoked when thinking about spaces or places. It is this Benedictine ability to
think beyond the opposition of secular versus sacred that removes the opposition at
the heart of the conflict of secular/sacred and enables the peaceful resolution to what
is usually seen as opposing positions. But as the stories of these convents show, there
is more to “place” than a simple answer can provide.
Place is not merely geographical and site-specific: As Shrivastava and Kennelly
remind us, it is also “a social creation, containing the sum of meanings, values,
and interpretations attributed by people, but also physical-grounded in the natural
and built environments. Indeed, it is only in places that we can see, experience, and
understand the world” (Shrivastava and Kennelly 2013, p. 89.).
One premodern understanding of place suggests that in its original meaning, the
sense of place genius loci referred to the guardian divinity of a particular place rather
than the physical place itself (Frumkin 2005). It was imbued with its own spirit and
reflects a pagan understanding of the spiritual forces or gods or goddesses that were
39 The Rule of Benedict, Positive Peace, and “Place” 739
present at all times and in all places. Most modern people prefer to talk about urban
place (or space), or geographical place/space, having dispensed with the sense of
place as “sacred” and imbued therefore with spiritual forces unless specifically
labeled as such. We tend to think in terms of dichotomies: There is sacred space
such as temples, churches, monasteries, holy sites, etc., and then there is secular
space, i.e., urban, rural, domestic, office, etc. The Benedictine sense of place is much
more complicated than either of these while at the same time insisting on the absolute
necessity of being rooted or grounded in a geographic place as the Rule of
St. Benedict insists (Benedict 1948). Written on c. 529, the Rule reflects the
agricultural world in which it was created. Benedictines have always honored this
tradition even in urban settings. Given the chaos of the sixth century, the Rule also
reflects a set of values and methods to live by in dangerous times.
The Convent of St Mary in Fulda is located in the heart of the city. The foundation
stone for the still existing cloister was laid in 1626 and it has been a Benedictine
cloister ever since then with the exception of a 12-year hiatus during which the
sisters moved to France due to the Kulturkampf (“Abtei zur Heiligen Maria” Fulda
2018) (To further discussing this, see Abtei Fulda, 2017, Kompost: Gold im
Biogarten. See also C. Weinrich, 1998, Geheimnisse aus dem Klostergarten. One
learns here that the Fulda nuns received permission from Ms. Bruce to use the recipe
as she had designed it, so that her Quick Return Method became Humofix in 1953
and licensed and patented by the Fulda Convent). The nuns of this convent were
better known for their educational practices and skilled crafts in earlier times than for
their gardening skills. Like all Benedictine institutions, they were, and are fully
responsible for their economic survival. This is why all Benedictine monasteries and
convents have some sort of marketable products as well as being as autarkic as
possible through their own work. Their focus on the organic gardening knowledge
the nuns of this convent developed and freely shared is in large part a post-WWII
phenomenon. Knowledge of soil health through composting in the Fulda Convent
was greatly aided by the Benedictine Sisters in Stanbrook Abbey, who in turn
connected with different spiritual traditions through the Soil Association, Great
Britain’s most important organic certification site as well as a resource center for
information about organic agriculture and nutrition.
The nuns in Fulda and at Stanbrook Abbey were also in touch with the ideas of
Rudolf Steiner’s biodynamic agricultural concepts in both direct and indirect ways.
These interconnections will be developed later in this piece. It is striking that despite
being cloistered and grounded in their space the nuns of Fulda nevertheless on
occasion traveled to their sisters in England and were internationally connected to
other convents which shared the Benedictine grounding in a specific geographic
place but also permitted lively intellectual exchanges and occasional visits. The
complex meaning of “place” for Benedictines is further illustrated by the experience
of the nuns of Stanbrook Abbey. The nuns sold their Abbey in 2010. What happens
to a place that has been a sacred space when it is sold, and how is this move away
from one’s long-term geographic place in keeping with the Rule? What is place
really about when one does leave one’s convent and moves into a new space, and
how is this move in keeping with Benedictine belief?
740 R. Schade
The work of Paul Shrivastava and Zsolnai (2014) provides a powerful critique of
disembodied (i.e., global) business practices and explains why such non-place-based
enterprises care so little about either present or future environmental destruction. In
contrast to this cavalier attitude, place-based enterprises according to Shrivastava
and Zsolnai (2014) are aware of their embeddedness in a physical, social, and
cultural environment and tend to be respectful of this in ways that global business
players fail to be. In their own words:
Place-based enterprises break with the economic logic of scarcity, efficiency and
profit maximization and organize their activities on encompassing feelings of iden-
tity with and attachment to a place. Passion for sustainability can override the
appetite for material gains (Shrivastava 2010). Place-based enterprises are promising
models where the true meaning of “oikonomia” can be realized: providing liveli-
hoods while cultivating the richness of nature (Shrivastava and Kennelly 2013).
Shrivastava and Szolnay understand place mostly as geography, socially
constructed meaning, and mainly local community. “Place” in Benedictine under-
standing goes much further: Place embodies spirit. As will be shown by the example
of the nuns in the Stanbrook Convent, geographic “place” can be left behind without
losing a sense of the sanctity of “place,” albeit “place” is now understood in a larger
sense. It is also about one’s place in creation and in the communities of which one is
part. One very important aspect of one’s place is within the Benedictine community
itself, which combines democratic elements with strict hierarchy. The abbess and
abbot of each individual cloister are elected, but once elected, must be obeyed: There
is a strict hierarchy within convents with a clear division of labor, and daily rhythms
alternating prayer and work, rest and activity are fixed.
Because they have managed to stay economically viable for centuries through
place-based enterprises, and are exhorted by the rule to stay in one geographic
location rather than seek new frontiers, Benedictines are sensitive to the ecology
of the place they inhabit as well as to the community that surrounds them. Further-
more, as noted earlier, the onus is on every monastery or convent to sustain itself
economically through the labor of its monks or nuns.
As a cloistered order, Benedictines are to have minimal contact with the world
outside of the walls of their home. They produce much of what they need to maintain
themselves in the convent and in the surrounding area and grow and/or manufacture
products which they sell. We have all heard of Benedictine liqueur, and there are
many smaller brands of liqueur and other products that are manufactured either on
site or under license. These products mainly come from their land and/or through
their own labor. Ora et Labora, although not actually written in this shorthand way in
the Rule, underlies the manner in which the Benedictine day unfolds, with prayers,
work, reading time, and meals strictly regulated.
Benedictines take three main vows: obedience, stability, and what is called
conversatio morum, or being faithful to living a monastic life as well as being
open to constant inner conversion and change. Obedience is fairly straightforward:
It involves obedience to the Rule, to the abbott or abbess and to the life of the
convent. Conversatio morum is the third and perhaps most complex vow as it is
about changing oneself, one’s behavior, one’s life. It is stability with which we are
concerned here, as it continues to be the “root” of the order and most obviously
connects to our interest in place. Using the metaphor of the Benedictine way of life
as a tree, Dame Philippa Edwards spoke of stability as the roots:
It is about staying power, not giving up as soon as difficulties arise. Often people need
encouragement to live in the present moment, rather than always be looking ahead, or living
in the past, whether that was good or bad. (Edwards 2014)
This metaphor connects a natural phenomenon (tree) with being rooted in a place,
as well as being grounded spirituality in an inner stability that permits the Benedic-
tine to face difficulties without giving up. It is appealing because it demonstrates the
organic interconnectedness of nature, spirit, and stability as a way of being in the
world and among the community of monks and nuns.
Although they remain a cloistered order, the Rule of Benedict also gives guide-
lines to the monks and nuns on interacting with the community around them, i.e.,
demonstrating the place they, as members of the Benedictine community, are to take
in the surrounding community. For example, Chap. 57 of the Rule deals with crafts
made in the monastery: These are to be sold for less than the usual cost of the item:
And in the prices let not the sin of avarice creep in, but let the goods always be sold a little
cheaper than they can be sold by people in the world, “that in all things God may be
glorified.” (Benedict 1948)
They are commanded in the Rule to be hospitable and helpful to all who come to
them, and that too can be seen concretely, for example, in the post-war actions of the
nuns in Fulda taking in a number of displaced people whose physical survival to a
large part depended on the nun’s skills in farming and food procurement. We will
start with the meaning of place as a specific geographic location, keeping in mind
that the two documents that determine Benedictine life are the Rule and the Bible. In
Chap. 1, Benedict (1948) makes clear his dislike of monks who wander about:
The fourth kind of monks are those called Gyrovagues. These spend their whole lives
tramping from province to province, staying as guests in different monasteries for three or
four days at a time. Always on the move, with no stability, they indulge their own wills and
succumb to the allurements of gluttony, and are in every way worse than the Sarabaites. Of
the miserable conduct of all such men it is better to be silent than to speak.
Rootedness in geographic place and in the monastery according to the Benedic-

tine view leads to connection with community, connection to the physical place one
inhabits, and to inner stability. It is through this set of connectedness that one reaches
“religious maturity.” As Martine Vonk (2011) pointed out, (and I paraphrased her
insights here), stability should bring the monastic to inner peace and rest. Part of her
analysis is based on interviews, and in the course of her research she visited a
number of Benedictine Abbeys and asked the monks to explain how they viewed
their (mostly agricultural) work. They saw it as sacred work, as a form of prayer. She
noted that Benedictine rootedness in a particular place also leads to a careful way of
742 R. Schade
working the land in order to maintain fertile soil for generations of monks to come,
and quotes Abbot Klassen (2006) from an interview she conducted by him:
By coming to know a place deeply, the set of overlapping ecosystems, the delicate balance
which exists between the number of creatures and available nourishment, the patterns that
play themselves out year after year, monastic communities will make decisions with an
understanding of their consequences. In the event of a serious mistake the community will be
around long enough to recognise it as such. (p. 187)
The important point: The place one inhabits deserves great care and loving
scrutiny in order to thrive, and this loving care must continue over time. The nuns
of Stanbrook Abbey recently put a similar sentiment on their website:
As Christians, we believe that God gave human beings stewardship over creation (Genesis 1:
26). As Benedictines, we try to treat everything with the same reverence as is shown to
sacred altar vessels (see The Rule of St Benedict 31:10). If this holds good for things within
the monastery, it extends also to God’s creation whose wonders we praise daily in the words
of the Book of Psalms. So, our rationale for being ‘green’ springs from our faith and our life
as Benedictines. (Abbey Website, 2018)
Other Benedictine values, such as moderation, simplicity, and reduction of waste,

offer an alternative vision to the overconsumption and overproduction currently
demanded by our economic system. Benedictine stewardship demands that nature
is to be treated with the same reverence that is shown to sacred altar vessels. Another
way this is articulated is that to labor is to pray. Labor is also sacred. From this
Joshua Wong Tendahal (2015) concluded that “Monastic life aims to make all
activities (and therefore the spaces in which they occur) sacred; be it prayer or
labour” (p. 4).
Nature as a sacred vessel as well as the sacredness of both work and prayer
connects to the very concrete farming and business practices of the Abbey in Fulda,
and another piece of the puzzle of how such geographically rooted places (often
agriculturally active places) are able to survive and thrive in the twenty-first century.
Their stability is one reason: The Abbey opened its doors in times of crisis and
instability such as the immediate aftermath of WWII to refugees and found ways of
feeding their charges, largely through expanding their own work in gardens and
fields. As such, the Fulda nuns provided support to the surrounding community and
carried out the Benedictine (and more generally Christian) dictum to help the
stranger.
It was the need to feed themselves and the refugees who ended up in the Abbey
after WWII that led the nuns in Fulda to increase their farming activities. Prior to the
war, the nuns had secured the Abbey’s economic survival in part thanks to their skills
at bookbinding, woodworking, and embroidery (Kiyak 2012). This made sense,
since the Abbey is in the center of the city and surrounded by buildings. In the
poverty of post-war Germany, these products were not needed for survival. There
was only one possibility left to feed themselves and the refugees that were in the
cloister: Farming, of which few of the nuns had any experience with except for the
work they did in the cloister garden. This enclosed garden was merely 2000 m2 and
consisted mainly of fruit trees. It was not enough to maintain themselves and their
charges. Not only did most of the nuns lack experience with farming; as cloistered
nuns they had to adjust to going out almost on a daily basis to work their field. They
still owned some 0.5 Hectares (1.3 acres) outside of Fulda. Here too the Rule of
Benedict provided a helpful guide in calling for prayer in the open fields where the
work was done (Benedict 1948). They kept the rhythm of the day, punctuated
between work and prayer outside as well as within the Abbey, thus maintaining
the inner connections and sense of community between those nuns working outside
and those within the convent walls.
The first years of farming were extremely difficult: The nuns had little experience,
the weather was often uncooperative, and the soil was exhausted. Into this situation
the arrival of knowledge about better soil health thanks to the Benedictine Sisters in
England was a Godsend. In 1949/1950, the Stanbrook nuns sent their yearly
chronicle as always to the Fulda nuns, and Sister Laurentia Dombrowski who was
the best translator of English into German at that time in the Abbey noted they
praised an all-natural compost accelerator called Quick Return Powder that had
recently been developed by Ms. Maye E. Bruce. Ms. Bruce had been a follower of
Rudolf Steiner’s Anthroposophical movement, but found it too mystical and the
complex preparations of compost accelerators too impractical for the many small
farmers whose soil needed to be improved.
Another story has it that the English Anthroposophical Society did not want to
share their secrets, whereas Ms. Bruce wanted to spread the knowledge of these
organic techniques derived from the biodynamic sector (For further details on this
issue, see Sr. Christa Weinrich OSB, 2017, Compost: Gold im Biogarten; Also,
Rudolf Steiner discusses Anthroposophy not as an exclusionary system: See his
address to the 1923 Christmas Conference in Dornach, where he clearly stated that
“The Anthroposophical Society is not a secret society, but one that is entirely open.
Anyone can become a member, regardless of nationality, class, religion or aesthetic
convictions as long as he sees something righteous (“Berechtiges”) in the
Goetheanum in Dornach.” In Hemleben (1963, p. 148)). She like Steiner’s followers
and others working in the 1930s and beyond held the idea that adding certain plants
and other substances, (i.e., honey, lactose, and oak bark) to compost helped micro-
organisms grow and vastly speeded up humus production and therefore rapidly
increased the health of the soil. After breaking with the Steiner movement,
Ms. Bruce went to work using different combinations of the herbal parts of the
Steiner formula and discovered that her faster and less complicated product had the
same efficacy as the original formula she had learned as a member of the Anthropo-
sophical Society. The herbs used by Ms. Bruce were the same ones she had learned
to use in the biodynamic movement. These were valerian, stinging nettles, chamo-
mile, dandelion, and yarrow. To these were added pulverized oak bark, then all of the
ingredients were mixed with lactose and honey (Abtei Fulda 2017).
She passed her knowledge on to the nuns of Stanbrook Abbey; these passed it on
to the nuns in Fulda. There, at the age of 63, Sister Laurentia, inspired by what she
learned through the English nuns, became an avid armchair gardener and compost
744 R. Schade
maker (According to Mely Kiyak (2012), Sister Laurentia probably had more ink on
her fingers than dirt under her fingernails. Most of the actual gardening was done by
other sisters, as Sister Laurentia soon had a large amount of correspondence to
manage from all over the world as the Abbey developed an excellent reputation as a
source of practical knowledge about organic gardening and compost making.). She
used the knowledge shared by May E. Bruce with the Stanbrook sisters and acquired
the right to produce and market the Quick Return Powder formula with the help of
Ms. Bruce. From 1953 into the present, Humofix was made and marketed by the
Fulda nuns. The nuns continued to experiment with varieties of compost making as
well as with various other organic gardening methods to develop ever more effective
forms of plant-based compost as well as enhanced crop yields through compatibility
planting.
For example, Sister Weinrich’s book contains a table of plants that grow well
together: Cucumbers thrive near dill, basil, fennel, lettuce, celery, spinach, climbing
beans, and onions; they do not do well if planted near radishes (Weinrich 1998). The
various editions of their books as well as the journal Winke deal with composting,
pesticide-free pest control, and organic gardening. All these written sources are
testimonials to the continuous efforts in developing and sharing their knowledge,
which is in keeping with the Benedictine interest in plant science.
Hildegard of Bingen, the twelfth-century abbess, remains well known for her
herbal and gardening knowledge, and the importance of gardening to Benedictine
institutions over centuries led to constant refining of knowledge, especially as
Abbeys often sent their chronicles to each other. Scientific experimentation has a
long history in Benedictine institutions, as the “artificial barrier between empirical
and speculative, manual and liberal arts was largely removed by Benedictine tradi-
tion in its sanctification of labour, thus creating favourable conditions for
experimenting in a scientific manner” (Dubos 2006, p. 57). And experiment the
nuns did, they kept detailed accounts of the processes and results of their work with
various herbs, organically grown fruits and vegetables, and harmless forms of pest
control.
The significance of the Quick Return to the Humofix story is mainly because it
complicates the Christian/Benedictine narrative in that it introduces a somewhat
controversial “other” form of spirituality-based agriculture. The method of
Ms. Bruce had its roots in Anthroposophy. Anthroposophy has many offspring –
Waldorf Schools, Weleda Cosmetics, Triodos Bank, and of course Biodynamic
Agriculture (Demeter farms). This is probably a good place to explain the difference
between organic and biodynamic farming. Both share in the firm commitment to not
using chemical pesticides or fertilizers. Both methods try to use and compost what
they grow that is not for eaten or for sale on the land that produced it. In many cases
(as with the herbs and the additions to these that became compost accelerators), there
is significant overlap. Both use a homeopathic approach to the amount of the product
needed to accelerate the composting processes. Both emphasize the sacredness of
earth and our responsibility to it. But what distinguishes the two techniques is mainly
that biodynamics is more complex, involving, for example, the creation of nutrition
for soil through manure placed into cow horns according to particular astrological
moments as well as creating preparations using the above-mentioned herbs to

inoculate compost but in a more complicated and esoterically steered manner (You
can find further details regarding Biodynamic Compost Preparations, in the website
https://www.biodynamics.com/content/biodynamic-compost-preparations, gener-
ated by Wally Via 2018). It also is more closely connected to planting according
to lunar and planetary cycles. The usual German word used by the nuns to describe
their practice is “biologischer Gartenbau.” This may be confusing, since biodynam-
ics (i.e., Steiner based agriculture) is somewhat different from organic gardening,
and what the nuns’ practice is more along the lines of organic gardening.
The story of the Fulda Abbey’s development of Humofix involves international
connections and a network of women. Benedictine nuns who are rarely outside of
their convents shared materials and ideas between Germany and Great Britain at a
time in which national sentiment was still colored by the recent war. Their cooper-
ation enhanced the well-being of both Abbeys. Furthermore, the nuns were open to
other spiritual practices and incorporated these without compromising the Benedic-
tine understanding of the sacredness of creation that underlies their practices. This
sense of the earth as sacred resonates with Steiner’s cosmology and Anthropo-
sophical agriculture as will shortly be clear. His followers also rejected “modern”
(i.e., artificial) agricultural practices. The sisters in Fulda, like Steiner’s followers,
completely rejected the idea of chemical fertilizers for the same reason: The earth is
sacred and should not be tampered with in ways that are not respectful and may
possibly be damaging. In the context of the 1950s with the widespread attraction to
the “new” (i.e., largely chemical-based agriculture), the nuns’ practices were an
outlier; Steiner’s approach was mostly unknown or ridiculed, and it is only in more
recent times that the dangers of using chemical products on the soil and the side
effects of pesticides are more widely known.
In the summer of 1969 Sister Laurentia and another nun from Fulda went on a
journey to England organized by the journal Organischer Landbau where they
visited various organic farms, met with the nuns at Stanbrook Abbey, and spent
time at Haughley Farm, the seat of the Soil Association. While there, Sister Laurentia
sat next to Lady Balfour, head of the Soil Association at a festive dinner. Sister
Laurentia had been a member of this organic farming association since 1953 and had
been in regular correspondence with various members of the association (including
Ms. Bruce), thus creating another international epistolary exchange on organic
farming techniques (Kiyak 2012). Sister Laurentia’s excellent English skills also
gave her access to their discoveries. She also corresponded regularly for a while with
Erika Riese, (Schmitt 2006) one of the leading pioneers of the biodynamic practices
based on Rudolf Steiner’s theories.
Erika Riese had worked together with Ehrenfried Pfeiffer in the mid-1920s at the
Goetheaneum (Schmitt 2006) and, like Sister Laurentia, was deeply interested in
maintaining soil health, natural ways of increasing crop yields, and pest control,
though with an Anthroposophical understanding. Although Riese was disturbed by
what she considered Ms. Maye’s betrayal of the Anthroposophical Society by
sharing the basic ingredients of a “secret” formula, she had a very friendly corre-
spondence with the recipient of this knowledge, Sister Laurentia. According to
746 R. Schade
Schmitt, Sister Laurentia was one of a network of women active in the organic
agriculture movement whose contributions have not been adequately valued. In the
development of biodynamic and organic agriculture it appears that women tended to
be the practical gardeners, men were more likely to be the more academically and
theoretically oriented. Sister Laurentia belongs to those who were always eager to
test out theories and new ways of growing crops in harmony with nature in practical
experiments that she could observe in her own abbey gardens.
This division of labor into more prestigious male work and less prestigious female
work as well as the invisibility of women other than luminaries such as Lady Balfour
in historical accounts of organic gardening is a pattern that reflected the gendered
norms of the time. Sister Laurentia also appreciated the speed and thoroughness with
which Erika Riese answered her gardening questions (Schmitt 2006, p. 59). This
respectful manner of interactions between representatives of spiritual views which at
the time were often seen as incompatible deserves a moment of scrutiny: Steiner
himself believed in reincarnation as well as interpreting Christ’s death at Golgotha as
the moment that made “All the Earth into Christ’s Body.” (McKanan (2017)
concretely said, “To say that Earth was Christ’s body was simply to say that diverse
people could now connect to one another by forging individual connections to the
spiritual substance Christ had brought to Earth. But Steiner’s words took on new
meaning among biodynamic farmers, who came to see that the best way to connect
to Christ was to work with the soil. Thus Steiner made possible a new unity between
seemingly pagan agricultural traditions and Christianity.”) It brought to earth a new
spiritual substance; earth and this spiritual substance are now one.
This closely parallels the Catholic sense of the sacredness of creation. Prayer and
labor are also one, and to worship God is to be a steward of the earth. There appears
to be no official Catholic position on more esoteric spiritualities, and the two
traditions connect not only in the amount of documented sharing of ideas and
practices but also in the personal lives of some of the participants in these exchanges.
For example, Sister Laurentia developed various esoteric practices later in life that
were accepted by the other nuns as part of her being (Kiyak 2012).
The acceptance of Sister Laurentia’s non-Christian practices introduces another
meaning for “place” in the Benedictine understanding. It is also the place an
individual has within the community, and the nonjudgmental and loving care that
she received throughout her life is reflective of the fact that each nun has her place in
the community and is accepted in all her humanity. “Place” is also an individual’s
position within the human relations and hierarchies of the convent community,
which in turn are to reflect the love of the creator to whose service these women
dedicated their lives.
That sense of an individual’s place within the convent community can lead to
accepting the need of leaving behind a beloved place because it no longer fulfills the
practical needs and spiritual values of a particular Benedictine Abbey. Already at the
start of the chapter it became clear that place is more than physical or geographic
space, (i.e., terrain and buildings). It is also about the community within and outside
of the abbey. From this it follows that the use of that place must be to maximize the
well-being of the nuns within the rules they follow as well as the well-being of the
community around them. This involves the loving, consistent, and thoughtful care of
the earth as well as its inhabitants.
The three vows that Benedictines take – stability, obedience, and living as a
monastic are organically connected and reenforce each other. We have seen that the
Fulda convent demonstrated these values in their use of the geographical place and
their land to enhance the well-being of the land and the people around them as well
as their own community. We have seen “place” used in the sense of the inner
community and the love shown to Sister Laurentia despite any foibles she may
have developed as she aged. Another example is the story of the nuns of Stanbrook,
who sold their cloister and moved to a new location in 2009. Their original property
is now a high-end hotel. The nuns commissioned an energy-efficient new building
on another site for their new cloister.
Their belief in the sacredness of nature and of their role as stewards of this as well
as the difficulty of older sisters navigating the stairs and other impediments in the old
cloister trumped their attachment to the historic place they had inhabited for gener-
ations. Beautiful and cherished as their old convent was, they did not make a fetish
out of the building. In order to live their vows, they had to give up their geographic
place and with it the surrounding community. Leaving the old home meant that
stability was not rooted in the material world. It is rooted in spiritual values based on
Christian love. It was about one’s inner development and the stable purpose of the
nuns in their own and the outside community, i.e., the third vow to live as Benedic-
tines. Dame Julian explains the most profound Benedictine sense of place and
purpose in a few well-chosen words as the nuns prepared to leave their convent
for a more sustainable and eco-friendly structure:
Where there’s love there’s always sacrifice, always, always. And that is painful but also life-
giving. And that is what I sincerely hope this new venture brings for us. But not just for
us. We are not just here for ourselves, we’re here for you, we’re here for everybody (The
Guardian 2009).
To conclude our exploration of Benedictines as living examples of positive peace,

I would like to highlight a few points that seem to me relevant as possible paths that
nonmonastic and secular people might find useful in building our own inner positive
peace and networks leading towards positive peace. One is that the individualized
competitive consumer culture and its implicit narcissism are avoided because all
Benedictines share a space and a mission. Clothing and other outward signs of status
are not permitted. Community is emphasized above individual desire, but at the same
time the community is responsible for the well-being of all its members. There is a
balance between the individual good and the common good that is made manifests in
daily patterns of behavior and rituals that are unchanging and therefore provide a
sense of secure order. This builds faith and trust in both the self and its surroundings.
There is pride in modesty of consumption, there is clarity about the structure of each
day, and there is a balance between work, rest, and spiritual time. There are clear
rules, but there is also flexibility and forgiveness. There are business practices that
are respectful of the people and resources in the area. These are sustainable. Organic,
748 R. Schade
small-scale farming and soil management over generations in one place and really
examining closely how a particular ecologic space is best nurtured over a long period
of time is part of the practice of every Benedictine convent or monastery. Simplicity,
grounding and love of place, gratitude for creation and its beauty, and cultivating
gardens and earthly and spiritual spaces with love is surely one way towards positive
peace.
References
Abtei zur Heiligen Maria. (2017). Kompost – Gold im Biogarten. (Fulda).
Abtei zur Heiligen Maria. (2018, February 26). https://www.abtei-fulda.de/
Benedict, Saint, Abbot of Monte Cassino. (1948). The rule of St. Benedict. Collegeville/Minnesota:
The Liturgical Press/St. John’s Abbey.
Dubos, R. (2006). Franciscan conservation versus Benedictine stewardship. In R. J. Berry (Ed.),
Environmental stewardship (pp. 57–93). London: Bloomsbury.
Edwards, D. P. (2014) “Spiritual Direction” talk given at Ampleforth Abbey in January 2014. Taken
from Stanbrook Abbey Website, Accessed Jan. 18, 2018.
Edwards, D. P. (2018, January 18). Stanbrook Abbey. https://www.stanbrookabbey.org.uk/
Frumkin, H. (2005). The health of places, the wealth of evidence. In P. Barlett (Ed.), Urban place:
Reconnecting with the natural world (pp. 253–269). Cambridge: MIT Press.
Hemleben, J. (1963). Rudolf Steiner In Selbstzeugnissen und Bilddokumenten. Rowohlt.
Kiyak, M. (2012). Ein Garten liegt verschwiegen: von Nonnen und Beeten, Natur und Klausur.
Atlantik – Verlag.
McKanan, D. (2017). Eco-alchemy: Anthroposophy and the history and future of environmental-
ism. University of California Press.
Schmitt, M. (2006). Fertile minds and friendly pens: Early women pioneers. In G. Holt & M. Reed
(Eds.), Sociological perspectives of organic agriculture: From pioneer to policy. CABI
Publishing.
Shrivastava, P. (2010). Pedagogy of passion for sustainability. Academy of Management Learning
and Education. 9(3), 443–455.
Shrivastava, P., & Kennelly, J. J. (2013). Sustainability and place-based enterprise. Organization &
Environment, 26(1), 83–101. https://doi.org/10.1177/1086026612475068.
Shrivastava, P. & L. Szolnai (2014, November 6–8). Genius of Place: The Idea of Place-Based
Enterprise. [Conference presentation]. The Enduring Legacy of Karl Polanyi. Montreal, Canada.
The Guardian (2009, November 10). The nuns of Stanbrook Abbey. [Video]. YouTube. https://
www.youtube.com/watch?v=eD6kOL3MneQ
Via, W. (2018, March 19). Biodynamic compost preparations. https://www.biodynamics.com/
content/biodynamic-compost-preparations
Vonk, M. (2011). A Study of the Values and Environmental Impact of Amish, Hutterite, Franciscan,
and Benedictine Communities. [Doctoral Dissertation]. Free University Amsterdam.
Weinrich, C. (1998). Geheimnisse aus dem Klostergarten, Säen und pflanzen, pflegen und ernten.
Franckh-Kosmos Verlag.
Wong-Tendahal, J. (2015). Chalices and hammers: The monastic transcendence of the sacred-
profane dichotomy. Ethnographic Project, 6–1.
Food Justice and Positive Peace
in Waikatere 40
Heather Tribe
Contents
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 750
Literature Review . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 750
Food Justice . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 750
Positive Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 751
Case Study: Waitākere . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 752
Discussion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 753
Solutions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 754
Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 755
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 756
Abstract
Issues of food justice/food security are vastly overlooked by peace scholars in the
Western World. This chapter establishes a conceptual overlap between the food
justice/food security nexus and the peace studies discipline with particular
emphasis on the concept of positive peace. The chapter does so through an
interdisciplinary literature review exploring the significance and depth of the
overlap between the two fields. This conceptualization is then applied to a
document analysis of the food system in the Waitākere area. It cannot be said
that there is food justice nor food security in the Waitākere area. Inherently high
living costs and an overexposure of malbouffe result in substantial health issues
for the community. Subsequently, positive peace has not and cannot be attained
until issues barring food justice have been managed and resolved. Some avenues
for resolution are discussed within the chapter.
H. Tribe (*)
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_40
750 H. Tribe
Keywords
Food Justice · Food Security · Positive Peace · Globalisation · Social Justice ·
New Zealand
Introduction
More people die in the contemporary world from obesity-related illnesses than from
hunger. Food justice and positive peace are key topics all over the world, with great
overlap between the two disciplines. Food justice as a key topic of positive peace is
discussed in this chapter with a case study of Waitākere, a subcity of Tāmaki
Makaurau, Aotearoa. The specific concepts of the modern food system and its
impacts on community and individual health are discussed and are exemplified
through the working poor who reside in Waitākere. A dissection of peace approaches
as solutions follows the discussion.
Literature Review
Food Justice
The concept of food justice diverged from its roots in the environmental justice
scene. The grassroots initiatives and community activist groups took issue with food
systems that were rapidly developing in an unjust manner. Food systems have most
broadly been defined by Tansley and Worsley as the entire set of activities and
relationships that make up the pathways from seed to table and influence “how and
why and what we eat” (Tansey & Worsley, 1995). The concept of injustice in this
food system was later integrated through the definition of a “maldistribution of food,
poor access to a good diet, inequities in the labour process and unfair returns for key
suppliers along the food chain” (Lang & Heasman, 2004). In the book Food Justice
from which much of this brief overview is quoted, the definition of food justice is the
work to ensure that “the benefits and risks of where, what, and how food is grown
and produced, transported and distributed, and accessed and eaten are shared fairly”
(Gottlieb & Joshi, 2010). This chapter will focus on the aspects of food justice that
relate to the globalization of the food retail industry and its consequences on
community and the harmful effects of this new diet on the human body.
During World War II, food technology expanded drastically, refocusing towards
preprepared, long-life foods that would be suitable for soldiers living in faraway
places. After the war finished, the companies which had become established from this
new industry redirected their products to busy families, thus altering the traditional
patterns of food consumption (Gottlieb & Joshi, 2010). This shift from a self-reliance
to provide food from local sources to an ever-ready, preprepared food system
occurred in conjunction with globalization of the food retail industry. This globali-
zation occurred through the supermarket system and fast-food chains, with dominant
corporations consolidating a trend towards standardization and branding of food
40 Food Justice and Positive Peace in Waikatere 751
products. These large corporates increased control of their supply chains, thus
reinforcing the global dispersal of food growing and production (Burch & Lawrence,
2005). Simultaneously, these multinationals expand their reach through the food
chains by swamping local markets with cheap food alternatives and overpowering
local farmers’ ability to compete and ultimately destroying their livelihoods. This
destruction of local farmers’ business creates a consequential dependency upon the
multinationals to continue providing to the community. Bové, a prominent food
justice activist, writes about “malbouffe,” or bad food. He defines malbouffe as
food without taste, health benefits, as well as cultural or geographical identity, and
claims that multinationals’ invasion of local economies have destroyed the culture
and traditions associated with subsistence lifestyles (Bové, 2001). Fast-food chains
epitomize this disassociation from culture and place. McDonalds, for example, will
offer the same menu with the same recipes in a building of the same décor, the world
over. This simplicity provides an effective business model and a reliability for loyal
patrons, but it comes with a hefty cultural price tag when replacing traditional
lifestyles and food systems (Bové, 2001; Braunias, 2017; Monbiot, 2016).
Not only is the globalization of the food industry harmful to culture and commu-
nity, it is harmful to bodies, most saliently along racial, age, and socioeconomic
lines. A large part of food justice work is around the maldistribution of good food
and poor access to a good diet. The term grocery gap was coined to express
supermarkets prioritizing and serving higher-end clientele, thus leaving food deserts
– areas without affordable fresh food or full-service markets within walking distance
in the poorer neighborhoods. This lack of accessible, affordable, and healthy food is
in combination with an excess of the malbouffe. As previously discussed, multina-
tional corporations can afford to flood food systems with their products at a slashed
price. These cheap foods are often high in calories but low in nutrient value
(Drewnowski, 1992). Thus, malbouffe is more affordable and therefore a more
attractive option for those on limited incomes. Within communities there is an
overrepresentation of ethnic minorities, people of color, differently abled people,
and young people without financial independence and high debt levels at the bottom
of the economic pile. The draw of affordable food is exploited by fast-food chains,
with an overexposure of advertisements and accessibility to stores in the poorest
neighborhoods (Cummins et al., 2005; Gottlieb & Joshi, 2010).
Constant overexposure has many consequences to individuals’ health. There is an
increase in noncommunicable diseases, such as type 2 diabetes and coronary disease,
in populations with limited incomes. For the first time, there have been more deaths
from obesity-related illnesses than malnutrition. Thus, this dilemma shows a hidden
hunger, as vital nutrients are not being met due to a food insecurity complex where
individuals cannot afford healthy diets (Cummins et al., 2005; Fraenkel et al., 2009;
Gottlieb & Joshi, 2010; Tanumihardjo et al., 2007).
Positive Peace
Galtung defines positive peace as not only the cessation of direct violence (Negative
Peace) but also social justice in overcoming structural and cultural violence (Social
752 H. Tribe
Justice) (Galtung, 1969). This definition was later built upon by Harris to incorporate
ecological sustainability (Harris, 1996). Nature is the foundation of our existence;
we live within the confines of what our environment can withstand. We will rebuild
after storms and can manipulate rivers and dams to preserve water for dry seasons,
but at the end of it all, we are still vulnerable to the impacts nature has on us. Since
the industrial revolution, development has been undoubtedly at the expense of the
planet’s resources. As Harris terms it, the capitalist economic system has developed
in a way which marginalized the contributions of women to social institutions,
created nuclear weapons, stimulated human population growth, depleted resources,
devastated the environment, and polarized the haves and the have-nots (Harris,
1996). Thus, we do not have ecological sustainability – or positive peace – in
much of the world.
One common outcome from a lack of ecological sustainability is issues of food
security and food justice. Multinational corporations monopolize the market and
destroy local food provision and resiliency. Once the market is monopolized they
can charge unfair and unaffordable amounts for food, and they can provide food
which is low in nutrient density, as they can target those most vulnerable in society.
Furthermore, multinational corporations epitomize the unsustainable nature of inten-
sive agriculture. Due to their large-scale nature, they often rely on monocultures,
resource overexploitation, and intensive travel miles (Gottlieb & Joshi, 2010).
Food justice can also be explored through the lens of violence. Within food
justice is a type of direct violence which is the harm caused to a body from eating
too much malbouffe, leading to heightened risks of noncommunicable, obesity-
related diseases. Food justice is also an issue of structural violence, as in violence
exerted by one group onto another. In this case, it is those in decision-making power
who are exploiting and overadvertising with the aim of manipulating those with
limited income into purchasing a poor-quality and nondiverse diet. Cultural violence
is defined as the parts of society which allow the two previous types of violence to
occur (Galtung, 1969). In the food justice scope, cultural violence is related to the
affordability and lack of consumer engagement to stand against the multinational
corporations and their powerful governmental lobbyists (Monbiot, 2016).
The aspect of identity expression through an individual’s ability to buying
culturally relevant produce is valid and key regarding both food justice and positive
peace. However, due to the scope of this chapter it is unable to be further discussed.
Case Study: Waitākere
Waitākere is located to the west of Tāmaki Makaurau (Auckland City) which is the
largest city in Aotearoa (New Zealand). There are two local boards within the
Waitākere ward. There is firstly the Henderson-Massey local board which includes
the suburbs of Henderson, Massey, Te Atatū, Ranui, and Glendene (Auckland
Council, 2016a). This is the area for which most of this chapter will focus around.
There is also the smaller Waitākere Ranges local board, which includes large areas of
land protected under the Waitākere Ranges Heritage Area Act (Auckland Council,
2016b).
The history of Waitākere is rich and complex. Hikurangi (the traditional name for
the Waitākere area) and Te Wao nui a Tiriwa (the huge forest covering what is now
known as the Waitākere Ranges) are the ancestral lands of Te Kawerau a Maki – an
iwi or tribe (Moon, 2007; Paterson, 2009; Taua, 2009). Since the arrival of colonial
Britain, Te Kawerau a Maki, and Māori people more broadly, have suffered many
forms of marginalization and oppression. One example being the pepper-potting
governmental policy, which would forcibly separate Māori families into Pākehā
neighborhoods to encourage assimilation into the European culture (New Zealand
Government, 2014; Taua, 2009). An additional and more commonly known injustice
was the unfair and illegal land sales which separated Iwi from their ancestral lands.
One key example of this was the sale of nearly 18,000 acres in Henderson and Te
Atatu to Thomas Henderson (Flude, 1977; Taua, 2009). Mr. Henderson stripped the
area, which are now central Waitākere suburbs, of its native bush – particularly the
Kauri trees. Once Mr. Henderson stripped the area of its wealthy timber he left,
leaving behind a small community of poor farmers and gum diggers (Barnes, 2009;
Flude, 1977). Not long after this the infamous Don Buck created a larger community,
but one known for its “discards of society” members and ultimately its reputation for
drink and murder. In the area cleared by Mr. Henderson, the soil was found to be
fertile and many orchards, crops, and vineyards were planted. Along the arterial way,
Lincoln Road, the first orchards were planted in 1884 and soon the growing
township of Henderson boasted food supplies for the growing city of Auckland
(Braunias, 2017; Flude, 1977).
Fast-forward 135 years Auckland City has grown so much it conglomerated with
the surrounding cities, including Waitākere. Combined, there are 1.66 million
people, making Auckland the largest and fastest growing region in New Zealand.
Approximately 10% of Aucklanders live in the Waitākere ward. Of the more central
parts of Waitākere, the median household income is $66,900, which is lower than the
regional median of $76,500. This is in combination with significantly lower levels of
education across the board (Auckland Council, 2016a).
Discussion
Food justice is a key issue in Waitākere, even though it is not often explicitly
discussed. There is rising concern across New Zealand around the “working poor.”
Working poor are defined as those who are in full-time employment yet cannot cover
their household costs, for a variety of reasons. This group is growing in size in the
Auckland region, including Waitākere; one main reason is the unrestricted growth in
rent and housing prices (Leahy, 2018; Page, 2018). After rent, food is the largest
household cost (New Zealand Statistics, 2018), it is also the most flexible, after set
bills and accommodation are paid. Consequently, the amount and quality of food
available within a limited budget often decreases (Page, 2018). As has been cited in
the literature, high-caloric and low-nutrient-dense foods are most affordable, and
754 H. Tribe
subsequently, most consumed by those with less income (Drewnowski, 1992),

leading to higher rates of noncommunicable diseases. One-third of
New Zealander’s are classified as obese with a significant poverty bias. Adults living
in deprivation are 1.5 times as likely to be obese than those living with the least
amount of poverty, children are 2.5 times as likely (Ministry of Health, 2018).
Lincoln Road is a blatant example of the transformation of how Waitākere people
interact with the food system. What used to be a thoroughfare through orchards and
crops is now an arterial lane blocked with 55 food joints, the most on any single
street in New Zealand (Braunias, 2017). This arterial way passes to some of the most
concentrated areas of working poor and families living below the poverty line such
as Ranui and Henderson. As has been discussed previously, the inundation of
exposure of malbouffe to the most financially strained is well known and the
saturation of food joints in one area exemplifies this overexposure.
Food justice is only one of the many examples of a lack of positive peace in
Waitākere. New Zealand has some of the worst rates of domestic violence and
suicide, particularly youth suicide for which New Zealand ranks worst in the
world (OECD Social Policy Division, 2017). Statistics show youth living in higher
levels of deprivation are more likely to commit suicide than others (Ministry of
Health, 2017). Similarly, literature shows poverty can act as a fueling factor to
domestic violence (Slabbert, 2017) which accounts for more than 40% of
New Zealand police officers times (New Zealand Family Violence Clearinghouse,
2017). While the scope of this chapter restricts the discussion which these heart-
breaking statistics deserve, it could be hoped that through a just food system, some
financial stress would be alleviated, lifting families out of the absolute depths of
poverty.
Solutions
There are many responses to this growing problem. Aside from espousing anti-
capitalistic rhetoric, smaller-scale and more resiliency-based approaches would also
be appropriate. The first one to be discussed is government-level interventions. If
there was a regional cap on rents there would be more funds left over for food. One
other intervention which has already begun is an effort through the health-care
system to tackle childhood obesity. In this scheme, obese children identified through
a government-run schedule of services are offered referrals for clinical assessment
and family-based nutrition, activity, and lifestyle interventions (Waitemata District
Health Board, 2017).
Looking through a peace lens, there are many other interventions which would
address the issue of food justice in Waitākere. Building on government-led schemes,
taxing malbouffe and subsidizing the costs of healthy, locally grown, just foods
would be a starting point. This response to the current obesity epidemic would reflect
a peace-keeping perspective as it is a response to the violence (bodily violence in this
case) and through economic incentives would contribute to a prevention of it
escalating. This concept of peace keeping reflects those discussed by Harris and
Morrison (2013). Following Harris and Morrison’s work in peace education, a

peace-making approach would be to work towards a dialogue between the parties
involved. While the District Health Boards are working hard to counter an over-
consumption of unhealthy foods, there is still a purposeful overexposure of fast food
to the working poor. This is something which the multinational corporations should
answer to and address, as by reducing this, there would surely be a lower consump-
tion of their foods. This reflects both a peace through politics and peace through
justice approach as it understands that humans have basic needs and that humans are
rational and common interest will prevail. As is a common pitfall with the peace
through politics approach, it is vulnerable to private agendas, in this case the
powerful lobby groups within government which would prevent a strong stand
against fast-food overexposure (Monbiot, 2016).
The final peace approach which could be taken is a peacebuilding approach where
the roots of the violence are addressed and a world view is shaped through the
foundations of nonviolence and sustainability (Harris & Morrison, 2013). This
approach focuses on a peace through sustainability and a peace education approach.
This approach relies on a connectivity between all people and the natural world and
that as humans, we are capable of changing violent behaviors and beliefs (Harris &
Morrison, 2013). In this scenario it could play out through an urban agriculture
setting. Its purpose would be to address the overarching issues of wealth inequality
and how this targets minorities who are overrepresented in the highest levels of
deprivation. Through addressing these inequalities and learning how to build resil-
iency and self-sustainability, a new form of community can be developed. At the
present, shame is a major inhibitor of healing and development in the Waitākere
community, and in New Zealand overall. In the year before their suicides some 60%
of individual youths did not access any mental health services, with an increase for
those of Pacific ethnicity (Ministry of Health, 2017). Currently, fast-food chains,
such as McDonalds, offer a de facto sort of community center because of their cheap
food, clean bathrooms and facilities, full anonymity, and most importantly their lack
of bureaucracy which many well-meaning NGOs and governmental services are
known for (Arnade, 2016). One way to counter this could be through an open urban
agriculture center which would not specifically be targeting the “needy” but would
be more subversive in educating community members how to grow food and
connect with nature, all the while building self-sustainability and food resiliency.
One example of this occurring in a school in Waitākere has been detailed in the
literature (Waitakere Eco City & Glen Eden Intermediate School, 1996).
Conclusion
There are many peace approaches to create a just food system for Waitākere’s
working poor. It could be hoped that this will create a community which is more
resilient and self-sustainable, thus taking back the power from the multinational
corporations which have overexposed malbouffe for far too long. The consequences
of a poverty bias among the obesity epidemic across New Zealand are clear
756 H. Tribe
examples of the devastating impacts of malbouffe. Through addressing this and

providing a just food system which allows healthy and affordable produce to be
sold locally will create a more positive peace in Waitākere, although there is a long
way to go until true positive peace is accomplished.
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Part XI
Environmental Sustainability: National and
Regional Perspectives
Resources, Climate Change,
and Implications to Positive Peace Among 41
the Pastoral Communities in Kenya
Wyclife Ong’eta Mose
Contents
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 762
Conflicts and Drought Context . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 763
Resource Changes Among the Pastoral Communities . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 764
Climate Changes, Scarcity of Resources, and Conflicts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 765
Climate Change: The Case of West Pokot County in Northern Kenya . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 766
Adaptation of Climate Change and Positive Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 770
Positive Peace Model . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 771
Conclusion and Policy Recommendations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 773
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 773
Abstract
In Kenya, pastoral communities are living in arid and semi-arid land situated
northern part of the country. The communities have been confronted with age-old
violent conflict, the causes ranging from governance constrains, illiteracy, under-
development, climate change to scarcity of resources such as animals, water, and
grass. Today, pastoralism as the main economic activity in this region is getting
more threatened than ever as a result of human activities such as encroachment of
the range-land and devastating impact of climate change. This has kept on
upsetting tranquillity as the pastoralists kept struggling for the increasingly scarce
resources for survival. The alternative sources of livelihood such as agriculture,
entrepreneurship, education, technology have consistently made little meaning to
a pastoralist. Thus, this work interrogates interplay between resources and climate
change in sustaining violent conflict among the pastoral communities. As I
propose a model towards positive peace in arid and semi-arid land. The work
surveyed literature on climate change, pastoralism, and conflicts in the Northern
Kenya, analyzing data from previous surveys, reports, peer reviewed journals,
books, and a case study I carried out in West Pokot County.
W. Ong’eta Mose (*)

School of Security, Diplomacy and Peace Studies, Kenyatta University, Nairobi, Kenya
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_41
762 W. Ong’eta Mose
Keywords
Resources · Climate change · Conflicts · Positive peace · Pastoral communities ·
Kenya
Introduction
Between 1998 and 2017, more than 526,000 people died worldwide and losses of
US$ 3.47 trillion were incurred as a direct result of more than 11,500 extreme
weather events (Eckstein et al., 2019). Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change
report in 2019 revealed that the frequency and intensity of some extreme weather and
climate events have increased as a consequence of global warming and will continue
to increase under medium and high emission scenarios. Heat-related events, for
example, heat waves, have been made more frequent or intense due to anthropogenic
greenhouse gas emissions in most land regions and the frequency and intensity of
drought has increased in Amazonia, north-eastern Brazil, the Mediterranean, Pata-
gonia, most of Africa and north-eastern China. Heat waves are projected to increase
in frequency, intensity, and duration in most parts of the world, and drought
frequency and intensity is projected to increase in some regions that are already
drought prone, predominantly in the Mediterranean, central Europe, the southern
Amazon, and Africa. These changes are likely to have a serious impact on biodi-
versity, level of resources, people’s livelihood, physical and social infrastructure,
food security, thus becoming an impediment to achieving positive peace in conflict
prone areas.
In Kenya, extreme weather events such as floods and drought are the daily
experience. The 1997/98 El Nino floods seriously damaged water supply infrastruc-
ture and transport networks across the country, with dams, water pans, and some
pipelines in 22 counties either destroyed or severely damaged. Critical infrastructure
that supports the national economy, such as roads, bridges, water pipelines, and
power lines, was prone to flood damage. In recent times, intense droughts have
occurred in 1983/1984, 1991/1992, 1995/1996, 1998/2000, 2004/2005, and 2008/
2011. Each of these events has caused severe crop and livestock losses, famine and
population displacement (Government of Kenya, 2016). In the northern part of the
country, the situation is dire considering the region has been neglected by previous
governments as unproductive area. The only option a pastoralist has remained with
for survival is to engage in violent raid. Social and physical infrastructure in this
region has remained in its worst form, the adverse climatic change as aggravated the
situation further, making the life of a pastoralist unbearable.
In its strategic plan 2015–2019, the government of Kenya had prioritized to
strengthen land use management systems including rangeland management, fodder
banks, and strategic reserves; establish price stabilization schemes and strategic
livestock based food reserves; enhance selection, breeding, and management of
animals to adapt to climate change; and so on (Government of Kenya, 2016).
Regrettably, this overarching goal has not yet been realized as famine is
41 Resources, Climate Change, and Implications to Positive Peace Among the. . . 763
consistently witnessed in arid and semi-arid lands. Drought has most often than
not caused death of animals as communities are subjected to food rations for
survival. A large segment of pastoral communities still keeps indigenous herds;
thus, animal species that can withstand drought and generate higher yield are still a
pipedream.
It is worth noting that pastoral problems in Kenya have had an historical bearing.
As I mentioned earlier, the first independent government marked this region as
unproductive; as such, development initiatives were concentrated in rich agricultural
areas of the country. Thus, critical social and physical infrastructures were not
developed in this region that translated into structural violence. As Galtung (1969)
notes, structural violence is silent, it does not show it is essentially static, and it is the
tranquil waters. In a static society, personal violence will be registered, whereas
structural violence may be seen as about as natural as the air around us. Conversely,
he adds in a highly dynamic society, personal violence may be seen as wrong and
harmful and still somehow congruent with the order of things, whereas structural
violence becomes apparent because it stands out like an enormous rock in a creek,
impeding the free flow, creating all kinds of eddies and turbulences. It is against this
backdrop, this chapter has interrogated whether there is a relationship between
resources, climate change, and positive peace among the pastoral communities in
Kenya in order to provide policy directions to tackle the issue as well as generate
new research initiatives.
The next sections focus on: one, drought and conflict context. Two, resource
changes; pastoral resources have kept on diminishing over time. Three, climate
change, resource scarcity, and conflicts; the region experiences resource based
conflicts associated with the change in climate. Four, I provided the case of climate
change in West Pokot County in Northern Kenya. Five, interrogated on climate
change adaptation and positive peace; it was established that absence of serious
efforts to reduce greenhouse gas emission has had an implication on ecological,
social, economic systems, thus, becoming the threat to lives of people. Finally, I
suggested a model towards the positive peace for the pastoral communities in
Northern Kenya.
Conflicts and Drought Context
Most of pastoral communities live in the northern region of Kenya. A large segment
of land in this region is classified as rangeland and the main form of land use is
extensive livestock grazing. The majority of people here are pastoralist who derives
a substantial share of their livelihoods from livestock related industries (Adano,
2012). For example, the Borana, Rendille, Gabra, Pokot, Turkana, Samburu, and
Dassanetch depend largely on a cow for survival. Low and unreliable, rainfall
determines the availability of water, pasture, crop yields, and livestock production
including milk and meat (Adano et al., 2012).
This region experiences arid and semi-arid climatic conditions. Rainfall is highly
variable from year to year and drought is recurrent (Oba, 2001). It has a bi-modal
rainfall pattern (long rain March–May and short rain October–December), with two
dry seasons. The mean annual rainfall ranges from 200 m to 1000 mm depending on
elevation. Despite being highly erratic and unpredictable, spatially and temporally,
rainfall remains the single most important factor that influences the productivity of
rangeland resources, livestock, and human welfare (Adano, 2012). The harsh ecol-
ogy of this region has rendered violent livestock raiding not only a viable but also
culturally accepted practice among the pastoral communities. Livestock is crucial to
the survival and livelihoods of pastoralists as a source of food and cash revenue, but
also as a symbol of prestige and prosperity (Detges, 2014). In other words, these
areas are often conflict prone, food insecure, and associated with high levels of
vulnerability. Service provision in pastoral areas is usually less-well developed than
in other areas, with low health and education indicators than national-level figures
(Africa Union, 2013).
Resource Changes Among the Pastoral Communities
Renewable natural resources, such as land, forests, water, animals, are universally
important to poverty reduction and development and are facing increasing pressure
in many parts of the world. Global economic and environmental problems, along
with increasing social disparities, serve as risk multipliers in the context of
increasing resources competition (Ruckstuhl, 2009). There is a general trend
upward in water scarcity in the majority of countries of the world; this is
reasonable to expect given increased pressure in water resources as a result of
population growth, development, and other factors (Fernando et al., 2017). It is
likely that severe and moderate water scarcity around the world will increase
significantly within next few decades (between 2025 and 2050), particularly in
countries such as China, India, and Mexico, and the Middle East and Africa region
(Fernando et al., 2017).
The situation is similar in the Northern Kenya. There is increasing demand for
water due to population increase and for economic activities, to give an example,
Perkerra irrigation Scheme in Baringo uses most of the water resources to maintain
production, and this in turn has caused water scarcity to the surrounding community
(Chemelil, 2018). Furthermore, research has shown that vegetation cover has
changed profoundly over the last few decades. Unlike today, decades ago the grasses
were of a high quality and most of them were perennials. Dominant grasses on the
plains were cenchrus ciliaris, eragrostis superb, sehima nervosum, sporobulus
cordofanus, and aristida mutabilis. On hilly pastures grasses such as Euclea
divinorum and croton dichogamus were prominent and informants pointed out a
variety of bushes and trees (Bolling & Osterle, 2008). These changes have caused
negative implication to the pastoral communities who mainly depend on the deteri-
orating resources. With the advent of devolved governments in Kenya in 2010, the
national government has channeled a fraction of its revenue to improve life of people
it this region; however, it remains a drop in the sea given that the social and physical
infrastructure ranked low in this region.
Climate Changes, Scarcity of Resources, and Conflicts
Changes in climate have had an impact on agriculture productivity. Yields from rain-
fed agriculture in parts of Africa could be reduced by up to 50% as early as 2020 and
by 2060, drought affected areas in Sub-Saharan Africa could expand by 60–90
million hectares (Cord et al., 2008). For example, in the Northern Kenya, drought
has increasingly prolonged, increased in frequent and intensity, and has become
severe. The effects of drought have been felt by livestock, wildlife, vegetation, and
human beings resulting into dwindled pasture, water resources running dry, most
seasonal rivers drying up, and livestock and humans worst it (Boruru et al., 2010).
Some of the rivers that were huge in the 1950s and 1960s are now small seasonal
streams, for example, rivers Sosian, Soyi (Okombo, 2011). And to make matters
worse, when the short rains come, they come in abundance causing mass destruction.
A case in point is West Pokot, towards the end of 2019; torrential rains caused floods
and devastating landslides resulted into 43 fatalities, displacement of more than 4000
people, and substantial destruction of property including key infrastructure such as
houses, roads, and bridges. The situation is aggravated by lack of capacity among the
pastoral communities to harness water to be used during dry spell due to lack of
significant public infrastructure.
In northern Kenya, the scramble for the decreasing resources is causing tension
among the pastoral communities. As the current studies show, violent conflicts are on
rise over resources. Huno (2012) study established that incidences of conflicts over
natural resources have been rising between the Pokot and other pastoral communities
as prolonged droughts impact negatively on the pastoral livelihoods systems. Water
and pasture drying up are forcing pastoralists to move to areas around Mt. Elgon and
Uganda. The struggle for pasture and water around Mt. Elgon region and in
Kapchorwa and Nakapiripit districts in Uganda has led to deaths of people. It has to
be noted that most of the dry season grazing areas and water points are mostly found
in disputed lands such as Lorengippi hills, Likori, and Kainuki along the borders of
Turkana and West Pokot Counties, in the Kerio valley along the border of Pokot and
Marakwet Counties and in lower part of Sigor and Turkwel bordering Turkana and
along the Kenya-Uganda border, respectively (Huno, 2012). There is tension when
desperate warring communities intend to use these resources. However, during dry
season, pastoral communities have made some peace agreements on how to use such
scarce resources. Thus, most of the violent raids happen during rainy season, when
the communities are seeking to restock and when the animals are able to move long
distances. Keeping conflicts minimal during dry season in one way or the other has
kept the communities resilient of drought as well as minimized the losses. In other
words, Adano et al. (2012) contend that during droughts people are more inclined to
keep the peace, to cooperate, and to use wells together. Even though wells can be
individually owned or owned by specific clan, the water inside is a common property
resource and carefully managed by a number of people. As such, I disagree with the
findings of Chopra (2008) that the number of conflicts between communities in the
arid lands increases drastically during times of drought, as scarcity of natural
resources causes tension between populations which co-exist on the same lands.
Whereas it is evident that the decline in herd sizes was the result of climate
change, this change may have affected the pastoral communities even when it
occurred beyond their borders in Southern Ethiopia and greater northern Kenya.
This is because cattle raiders from the two regions were reported to be more vicious
after prolonged droughts in their areas. The aim of the vicious cattle raids was to
restock after losing livestock to the harsh droughts (Boruru et al., 2010). As Brown
et al. (2007) deduce when the conditions of scarcity arise, through either increased
consumption or environmental change, competition may emerge between users of
scarce resources. Specific incidents that occur during this competition may give rise
to a state of conflict between rival user groups. It is worth noting violent conflicts in
pastoral areas result from a myriad of socio-cultural, economic, and political factors
that reinforce one another by limiting availability of, depleting and reducing access
to natural resources base. Competition for scarce natural resources triggered by
frequent droughts and exacerbated by weak local institutions, proliferation of
small firearms, political incitements, unclear property right regimes, and cattle-
raiding are central to violent conflict (Schilling, 2012). In this regard, conflict
among the pastoralist communities is the product of a complex web of factors;
climate change alone is unlikely to be the sole cause of violence. But where climate
change coincides with preexisting tensions, the risk and severity of conflict is
elevated (Cord et al., 2008). Addressing conflict in this region, thus we must first
address the experience of structural violence meted to pastoralist communities in
terms of establishment of good roads, good health facilities, connection to national
grid, good schools, and by ensuring presence of food security besides implementing
programs seeking to mitigate climate change.
Climate Change: The Case of West Pokot County

in Northern Kenya
The questionnaire findings revealed that the impact of climate change has changed
the rainfall pattern in the region. One of the elders I interviewed noted that in early
1970s, dry season took only 3 months. Nowadays, dry spell it has taken almost
6 months from December to April. Most rivers are dry today than ever. Thus,
pastoralist communities were experiencing the devastating outcomes of climate
change and the effect of global warming. In one of the focus group discussions
(FGDs), elders were yet to comprehend the new realities that come with climate
change and the baggage of global warming. One of the elders wondered, “ . . .fifty
years ago we used to marry a woman with 60–70 cows with uncountable number of
goats and sheep, there was a lot of grass, plenty of food, and a lot of rain, today is
different, for one to marry the cows are reducing to ten. . .new diseases have come,
they are wiping our animals. The herds are shrinking. This has remained a puzzle for
us.” As such, the elders have challenged: How do we reverse this situation? They
seem to have hardly understood the new realities such as growing population and
land as constant scarce resources. It has become difficult for them to accept the new
technologies aimed to increase production. They believed that the new changes were
caused by foreign civilization and cultures. Failure of the new generation, for
instance, to follow the elders’ advice compared with previous generations was
largely a grave concern.
Most of the researched areas remained dry parts of the county. The area experi-
enced little rainfall annually. The inhabitants relied on seasonal rivers for water. Only
river Suam and Turkwel were permanent. The dry season was very harsh and longer
compared with the wet season. In dry season, grass and water were increasingly
depleted; this compelled herders to move to dangerously contested grazing zones to
cushion the impact of drought. The elders from warring communities could negotiate
and make the resource sharing agreements in a bid curtail the devastating conse-
quences of drought. Pokot and Turkana could come together, kill a bull, and agree to
share the scarce resources until when it rains. Thus, Pokot could move to Nekopeta,
Koritoro, in search of pasture and water. An elder made an insightful observation:
“During drought raiding reduces. This is because the sun is so hot and there is no
food. Even if one steals the cows will die. If there is grass, elders could come to
negotiate for peace, although if that fails violence would remain an option. When it
rains raiding starts; this is because there is food and people want animals for breeding
or restocking.”
In wet season, the communities could move from conflict prone areas to their
homes to enable grass furrow and rejuvenate on the one hand and children to benefit
from nutritious animal products such as milk, meat, and blood, on the other. Asking
whether climatic conditions contributed to violent conflict among the researched
population, one of the youth said that people who lived in cool climates or highlands
characterized with plenty of rain remained docile. Equally, animals were docile as
plants lacked thorns. This created a friendly atmosphere. However, in arid and semi-
arid areas, characterized by harsh climatic conditions, animals and people were very
hostile as trees were full of thorns. Moreover, this was found to have contributed to
low yield of farm produce, subsequently promoted raiding activities. It could have
also given an explanation to why people from Turkana, Pokot, Baringo, and Shiftas
from Northern Eastern Kenya were very hostile as one could comment: “Trees and
animals in harsh climate were not friendly...so even human beings living in such
harsh climate. The drought mean there is no food, crops are not faring on well. Thus
people are forced to go for raids. There are also retaliations, and lawlessness...in
Turkana, Pokot, Baringo the reaction of people was very hostile...rarely people in
highlands were hostile.”
It was observed that the forests which consisted of thorn bushes and unfriendly
terrain made it impossible for the security officers to capture bandits and raiders after
executing bloody raids. Moreover, the hostile climatic conditions presented unpleas-
ant outcomes such as inadequate harvests and loads of animals died due to dried
pasture and lack of water, depriving pastoralist communities their sole source of
livelihood.
The aspect of climate change as revealed by questionnaire respondents has had an
indiscernible deep rooted cause of conflicts among pastoralist communities. In dry
spell herders moved with the animals from one place to another in search for water
and pasture, this most often has caused violent conflict. A woman in one of the FGDs
observed: “Like now it is dry, grass is only a long the volatile Turkana, Pokot or
Karimojong, Pokot borders...they say we cannot look at animals dying. We better die
so long as the animals get grass. Equally, drought destroys crops, people say let us go
and attack them to get food. This is dangerous, people risk lives.” Another woman in
Kacheliba commented: “Climate change has influenced conflicts, like now no grass
here; we are forced to take our animals to Uganda. While there our animals are
stolen, again, we can dig an hectare of land there is no yield. This has contributes to
protracted conflicts.” So the search for pasture has caused cattle theft and loss of
lives and properties. It has rendered conflicts recurring among the pastoral commu-
nities. One of the leaders made a comment that for nomadic people to buffer the
upsetting impact of climate change, they have always preserved some grazing fields
to be utilized during the dry seasons when the rest were exhausted. However, some
herders from other communities who sought pastures have grazed such fields,
considering they were unfamiliar with regulations that guided such grazing fields.
This has also sustained unrelenting conflicts among the warriors from different
communities.
The study found that raiding rarely happened during dry season. People had to
migrate in search of water and pasture. In this season, communities have agreed to
share the scarce resources of water and pasture to cushion the harsh reality, “Like
now, if Turkana decides to be violent, they will affect us, cows will die...from Kainuk
up wards it has been peaceful in this dry season, it is only yesterday a school boy was
driving animals to drink water and was shot, since August we have not heard any of
such things,” observed one of the men. As it has been outlined above resources such
as grass were plenty along the contested borders. During dry seasons, elders held
peace talks and agreed to share the scarce invaluable resources and live harmoni-
ously. This has demonstrated the resilience of pastoral communities to drought and
famine as one of the county leaders made a remark saying: “Statistics as shown
raiding rarely happen during dry season. The communities agree to share water and
pasture. For example, grass and water a long river Turkwel and river Apuke between
Alale and Turkana...if they fight they will suffer all of them. It is a win and win
situation.”
However, due to hard economic times, there were a few reported cases of raiding
during the dry season. It emerged that rain season began in March in all pastoral
areas; however, due to effects of global warming it has extended to April. This was
the time warriors thronged back to their original homesteads. It was at this time a
score of raiding cases were reported. This was said to be a strategy to multiply
animals to overcome the loss during dry seasons. One of the women expounded that
drought propelled pastoralist to foreign territories in search of water and pasture.
This was the time they mapped out Kraals (homesteads) full of animals in the hosting
communities besides warriors in host communities getting attempted to steal from
foreigners, “Our cattle migrates far to Karamoja region...they go extreme beyond
Chepsugunya, Namaru road. Meaning Karimojong seeing the cattle could get
attempted to steal one,” commented one of the chiefs. Moreover, the elder FGD
affirmed that in dry season cows were taken to Uganda in search of water and
pasture, it was reported that Ugandan military somewhat took animals forcefully
from herders, directing them to their barracks, “. . .Ugandan government took our
guns which we used to protect animals. . .in dry season while in Uganda for water
and pasture, UPDF takes away our animal to their barracks. . .it’s a big loss,”
observed one of the warriors.
The research found that in September incidents of raiding were astronomical.
This was attributed to many cultural festivals such as sapana and marriages that
demanded a lot of resources such as food. Considering food was depleted by
droughts, warriors were impelled to execute violent raids to acquire the resources.
Again, this was the time the animals were healthy and strong considering the
pastures were plenty. However, in December, raiding cases ranked lowly bearing
in mind it was the dry season. It is worth noting climatic conditions do not
necessarily contribute to raiding. However, it gives an opportunity for raiding as
time was ripe. Plate 1 illustrates animals driven to distant grazing fields.
It is to be noted that drought significantly reduced agricultural produce. Lack of
adequate food for people and animals provoked family bread winners to go for raids,
“Drought destroyed food and animals...when you wake up as a father no food
automatically you will calculate something for children...one says let me go and
bring something from my neighbour,” commented one of the women. Another
woman echoed the view that drought forced people to have adequate food for
animals, as such; they guarded jealously their boundaries to have sufficient food
stock for their animals. This activated conflicts among the belligerents. In a nutshell,
drought depleted food reserves, thus compelling pastoralist to raid or migrate to
foreign territories. This has degenerated to protracted violent conflict.
Plate 1 Animals in harsh semi-arid climatic conditions

Adaptation of Climate Change and Positive Peace
By 2030 the number of people living in the drylands of East and West Africa is
expected to increase by 65–80%. Over the same period, climate change could result
in an expansion of the area classified as drylands, by as much as 20% (Cervigni &
Morris, 2016). In the absence of any serious effort to reduce the net emissions of
these greenhouse gases, the effects of climate change on ecological, social, and
economic systems during the rest of this century will be dramatic, threatening,
among other things, the sustainable development of today’s low-and middle-income
countries, and their elimination of poverty (Noble & Watson, 2006). Among the
pastoral communities in northern Kenya improvements in livestock management are
required to prevent overgrazing and resulting soil and vegetation degradation in
order to enhance carbon sequestration, increase the efficiency of feeding systems and
reduce net greenhouse gas (GHG) emissions. Besides improving the sustainability of
resource management and livelihoods in arid and semi-arid land, increasing produc-
tivity of extensive grazing systems also will contribute to meeting the growing
demand for livestock products that is currently mostly being met by increasing
intensification of livestock production (Neel et al., 2009). It has to be noted that
this region has been neglected for decades leaving pastoral people on their own for
survival. Part of climate adaptations needs to happen here is to address structural
violence.
The rangeland management has remained a huge challenge to pastoralist com-
munities. Deforestation and overgrazing practices have rendered the rangeland
degraded rendering pastoralism unsustainable in the face of climate change.
Cervigni and Morris (2016) suggest that integrated landscape management could
help to restore degraded areas in the drylands, boost productivity, and improved
livelihoods. Restoring degraded drylands by addressing the drivers of land degrada-
tion, discouraging unsustainable uses of natural resources, and scaling up improved
land and water management practices can enhance the resilience of many poor and
vulnerable herders and farmers. Management programs, which support coordination
and long-term collaboration among different groups of land managers and stake-
holders, can enhance and safeguard restoration efforts, lower risks related to water
shortages and land degradation, diversify income sources, support sustainable inten-
sification, and reduce conflicts. This has been part of the government priority actions
in this region to address climate change; however, much of it has remained on paper.
The necessary human and financial resources required to boost pastoral livelihood as
well as address the issue of climate change are still lacking.
Due to structural violence that has been experienced in this region, a climate
change adaptation package should entail an overall economic development
underpinned by good macropolicies, equitable structural and sectoral programs,
and good governance to offer the best strategy for continued poverty reduction
(Cord et al., 2008). Equally, it is important to manage risks, both to societies as a
whole and to individuals. These risks can be managed in three ways: by decreasing
the probability of adverse climate-related events occurring (e.g., by expanding
irrigation systems in the face of expected drought); by limiting the expected damage
from such events when they do occur (e.g., by putting buildings on stilts in flood-
prone areas, or resettling communities on higher ground); or by providing services
that enhance individuals’ ability to cope with such damage (e.g., by setting up early-
warning systems against storms or making flood insurance available) (Noble &
Watson, 2006). Such priority actions have not happened, what we are witnessing
today during drought, people are ravaged by famine and during floods, we have
more causalities and displacement and destruction of physical and social infrastruc-
ture. And yet this region has had a huge potential in terms of resources to sustain the
well-being of people if the resources are well tapped. For example, if there is
establishment of feed reserves-on-farm or off-farm growing of forage, including
fodder trees, and harvesting of surplus wet season grass that can be accessed in times
of crisis could provide an important buffer for agro-pastoral livestock keepers. A
viable seed industry and credit are important preconditions for this intervention. And
setting aside areas for deferred grazing is an option for the pastoral environment on
condition that institutional framework for allocating access rights to specific groups
is well established (de Haan, 2016).
We also need to build resilience of pastoral communities to droughts and floods
when they occur. Here disaster risk management (DRM) instruments can be key
components of strategies to reduce vulnerability and increase resilience in arid and
semi-arid land. DRM approaches can be effective in reducing sensitivity to droughts
and other shocks (e.g., by putting in place screening tools and early warning systems,
prioritizing infrastructure investments to increase resilience to climate shocks, or
introducing stronger building codes and guidelines) as well as in improving coping
capacity after a shock has hit (e.g., by supporting investments in preparedness,
mobilizing sovereign disaster risk financing, making available agricultural insurance
for farmers and herders, and supporting social protection programs for the poorest)
(Cervigni & Morris, 2016). The resilience component seeks to boost the tolerance of
households and the economy to the evolving natural environment. Among other
activities, it involves investments in drought resistant agriculture (including irriga-
tion), preventive healthcare, forward markets, warehouse systems and insurance,
safety net programs, and climate-resilient public and private infrastructure (Cord
et al., 2008). However, DRM components in northern Kenya ranks low. The
government should inject more resources in disaster management as a way to
minimize devastating outcomes when unpredictable climate events occur. As I
noted above, partly these are deliberate efforts to tackle structural violence that has
been experienced in this region for decades. And this is likely to a sure the pastoral
communities the presence of positive peace and prosperous life akin to other regions
of the country.
Positive Peace Model
From Fig. 1. below, climate change has contributed in one way or the other to
resource scarcity besides the glaring marginalization caused by previous regimes
since Kenya became independent. As such, the communities were left with nothing
Global Forces Adaptation to Climate Change
-Geopolitics -Enhanced climate proof physical and soc ial infrastructure
-Greenhouse gas emission -Afforestation and reforestation programmes
-Green Climate -Pro-people policies

Fund/Technology
-Climate Smart agriculture
-Implementation of
Climate mitigation -Meat processing industries
accords (Kyoto protocol,
Paris accords) -Education/vocational education
-Leadership and mentorship programmes
-Civic education
-Connection to national grid/ Communication network

Resources
-Animals
-Water Positive Peace

-humans Human security-
Climate
Good health, good
-Land Change
Resource roads, job
-Minerals i.e. oil, -Drought opportunities,
Scarcity
gold. enhanced security,
-Floods food security, social
cohesion, good
governance, and
Other Factors prosperous people.
Cattle rustling
-Commercial cattle rustling Enhanced Conflict Resolution Mechanisms
-Corruption -Developed infrastructure for peace
-Poor leadership -Restorative justice mechanisms
-Population increase -Law and order
-Marginalizing policies - Effective modern Justice System
-Indigenous species of
animals and plants
Fig. 1 Positive peace model
but to engage in violent raids as a way to sustain their livelihood. Commercialization

of cattle rustling, poor leadership, corruption, indigenous species of animal and
plants with reduced outputs, and high rates of illiteracy have aggravated the situation
for a pastoralist. It is well known that climate change is a global problem; greenhouse
gas emission happening in developed world in a nondisruptive manner has serious
implications to people in northern Kenya. Thus, international communities, govern-
ments, donor agencies, UN, European Union, and so on need to work collaboratively
in implementation of climate mitigation strategies as spelled in Kyoto protocol and
even the recent Paris accord. Green Climate Funds and Technology needs to be made
available to communities in northern Kenya to enable implementation of programs
such as afforestation and reforestation, climate smart agriculture, to offer leadership

and mentorship programs, civic education on climate change, connection of the
communities to clean energy, and implementation of pro-people policies. As I noted
earlier, this region has experienced unrelenting violent conflicts, there is need to
build the capacity of the communities on how to resolve community conflicts when
they occur such that we could prevent unnecessary losses. Therefore, there is need to
develop sturdy infrastructure for peace and restorative justice mechanisms and
ensuring that modern justice system is effective in the sense that the social justice
needs of people are met. In the long run, all these will address the structural violence
that has happened in this region as pastoral communities taken to the path of positive
peace where good health, good roads, opportunities for life, food security, good
governance, and prosperity would become a reality.
Conclusion and Policy Recommendations
As the global population is growing, the competition for the scarce resources is
increasing. The situation is exasperated by the increasing wave of climate change,
for example, the rain season has been shortened especially in arid and semi-arid
lands in the one hand and on other, when rains come, they fall in abundance causing
overwhelming loss of lives, properties, and essential infrastructure. In northern
Kenya, the region that had been marked as unproductive by previous governments,
structural violence has remained a bitter reality, the situation that has been upset by
the changing climate. Thus, efforts to mitigate climate change should entail tackling
structural violence in order to build resilient communities with sustainable liveli-
hood. This goal cannot be achieved by the government alone as Neel et al. (2009)
counsels; we should promote an integrated multisectoral, multistakeholder, and
multilevel process that addresses the range of natural resources (land, water,
rangelands, forests, livestock, energy, biodiversity) and social dimensions with
active involvement by all concerned actors. The holistic approaches and partnership
processes must take advantage of win-win options among local, national, and global
goals.
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Environmental Degradation and Conflict
Resolution 42
Engy Said
Contents
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 776
Conflict Resolution and Positive Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 777
Environmental Degradation and Conflict Resolution . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 778
Case Study: Environmental Degradation and the Contemporary Conflict in Syria . . . . . . . . . . . 781
Conflict Overview . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 781
Environmental Assessment of the Conflict . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 783
Prospects for Environment as a Means of Conflict Resolution in Syria . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 785
Implications for the Middle East . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 788
Overview of Environmental Challenges in the MENA Region . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 789
Environmental Pathways to Conflict Resolution and Positive Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 790
Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 792
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 793
Abstract
The contemporary conflict in Syria that started in March 2011 brought increasing
attention to the issue of environmental degradation and conflict. While the conflict
itself erupted as a result of complex interconnected political, economic, and social
factors, environmental degradation, climate change, and water scarcity played a
role in igniting the conflict. The Syrian conflict is not the first in the MENA region
whereby environmental degradation contributes to its ignition. Previously, envi-
ronment degradation had a major impact on escalating the conflict in Darfur,
Sudan. Increasing evidence link environment to conflict and violence particularly
due to its impact on the economy as well as the structural violence it creates by
leaving the most vulnerable groups at risks of natural disasters, droughts, and land
degradation. Looking at the future of the Middle East, the United Nations reports
classifies the region as the driest in the world. Hence, environmental degradation
E. Said (*)
Jimmy and Rosslyn Carter School for Peace and Conflict Resolution, George Mason University,
Fairfax, VA, USA
e-mail: esaid@masonlive.gmu.edu
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_42
776 E. Said
will continue to constitute a threat to achieving peace and stability unless effective
environmental governance is implemented. This chapter assesses environmental
problems in the MENA region and the political context in which they occur,
particularly examining the complicated connection between environmental deg-
radation and the Syrian conflict. It offers insight on how environmental-based
cooperation can build relationships transcending violence and bringing about
positive peace.
Keywords
Environment · Conflict resolution · Positive peace · Syria · Middle East
The environment has long been a silent casualty of war and armed conflict. From the
contamination of land and the destruction of forests to the plunder of natural resources
and the collapse of management systems, the environmental consequences of war are often
widespread and devastating.
– Former UN Secretary General Ban Ki Moon
Introduction
The violent conflict in Syria which began in March 2011 brought attention to the
subject of environmental degradation. While the conflict was triggered by a set of
complex interconnected political, economic, and social factors; the impacts of
environmental degradation, climate change, and water scarcity as contributing
factors attracted increasing attention. Syria is not the first country in the Middle
East and North Africa region whereby environmental degradation constitutes a
factor multiplier in conflicts. Previously, environment-related problems had a
major impact on escalating the conflict in Darfur. The recurrence of conflicts with
environmental aspect constitutes particular implications for the future of the Middle
East and North Africa. Increasing evidence links environmental degradation to
higher levels of violence in the region due to its impact on natural resources and
the economy, leaving the most vulnerable groups at risks of natural disasters,
droughts, and land degradation. Nevertheless, given the importance of environment
to livelihood, environmental degradation, – if managed effectively – can provide a
catalyst for conflict resolution and positive peace, in what is known as “environ-
mental peacebuilding.”
Environmental peacebuilding is a relatively new subject in the field of conflict
resolution and peace studies, nevertheless, the causal relationship between environ-
ment, conflict, and peacebuilding remains challenging due to the lack of empirical
evidence (Conca, 2001; Dabelko, 2006; Mac Ginty, 2015; Dresse et al., 2016). Until
recently, environmental degradation was considered as both a cause and a conse-
quence of conflicts. Several studies focused on examining the relationship between
environmental degradation and violent conflicts rather than cooperation and
peacebuilding. Recently, however, environment has increasingly become a subject
42 Environmental Degradation and Conflict Resolution 777
of study in the field of peace. This chapter attempts to examine the relationship
between environmental degradation and conflict resolution. It first looks at how
conflict resolution constitutes an initial step to positive peace. It then delves into
means through which environmental cooperation to preserve the environment can
contribute to conflict resolution. The chapter looks at the case of the Syrian conflict,
one of the most defining crises of modern history, and assesses prospects for
environmental cooperation to resolve the conflict and build a positive peace in the
long run. Finally, it looks at the implications of environmental peacebuilding on
peace and stability in the Middle East and North Africa region.
Conflict Resolution and Positive Peace
According to Ramsbotham et al. (2016), conflict refers to the pursuit of mutually

incompatible goals by different groups over a broad time span whether by peaceful
or violent means. He distinguishes between “contemporary conflicts” which refer to
the “prevailing pattern of political and violent conflicts” and “contemporary armed
conflicts” which denote the violent ones that involve the use of force (Ramsbotham
et al., 2016, p. 34). Some scholars view conflict as a feature of human society
emanating from social, economic, and political change (Burton, 1990; Ramsbotham
et al., 2016; Lederach, 2014), while others such as Ali (2003) suggest that cooper-
ative behavior is the norm and that conflicts represent a periodic irregularity. Conflict
resolution in this regard is the process through which deep-rooted sources of conflict
are addressed and violent conflict is transformed into nonviolent forms of social and
political change. Lederach (1997, p. 67) views conflict as a dynamic process that
requires employing a multiplicity of interdependent elements to constructively
transform the conflict. Conflict transformation is hence, considered the highest
level of conflict resolution as it seeks to transform attitudes, structures, and institu-
tions that lead to violence, corresponding to the tasks of peacebuilding (Ramsbotham
et al., 2016, p. 35).
Peacebuilding outdo the task of resolving armed conflicts. It aims to address
structural issues and relationships between conflictants and help them overcome
contradictions at the root of conflict (Ramsbotham et al., 2016, pp. 35–36). In the
1960s, Johan Galtung introduced the concept of “positive peace.” In his book
“Theories of Peace: A Synthetic Approach to Peace Thinking” (1967), he looks at
peace beyond the traditional conception of stability or equilibrium. Galtung’s
approach transcends the idea of peace as the absence of organized collective violence
between major human groups, be it nations or classes or ethnic groups. Instead, he
looks at peace “as a synonym for all other good things in the world community,
particularly cooperation and integration between human groups, with less emphasis
on the absence of violence,” in what he referred to as “positive peace” (Galtung,
1967, pp. 11–12). Positive peace, as such, is concerned not just with the absence of
violence but also with the relationships between groups and conditions that facilitate
the presence of positive relations. As such, the Institute for Economics and Peace
(IEP), a leading think tank working on analyzing positive peace and quantifying its
778 E. Said
economic value, defines positive peace as “the attitudes, institutions and structures
that create and sustain peaceful societies” (IEP, 2018b, p. 7). Positive peace provides
a framework to understand and address the twenty-first century complex, multi-
dimensional challenges. It is transformational as it crosscuts several factors of
progress at the economic, social, and political levels (IEP, 2018b). IEP took the
concept of positive peace a step further. Instead of looking at peace as a qualitative,
abstract concept, IEP created the Positive Peace Index (PPI) to quantify and measure
the effectiveness of a country’s capabilities to build and maintain peace (IEP, 2018b).
While positive peace is considered the highest level of peace, creating “optimum
conditions for humans to flourish” (IEP, 2018, p. 3), conflict resolution represents a
fundamental initial step toward this end as it addresses the deep-rooted sources of
conflict. Achieving positive peace in the aftermath of violent conflicts is difficult and
expensive. This, in turn, requires paying particular attention to the process of conflict
resolution by accurately identifying the sources of violence and proper means to
address them, paving the way for positive peace. It is important to emphasize that
positive peace is a long-term process that requires employing a multiplicity of societal
improvements over a long period of time that not only reduces violence and the level
of grievances, but also provides a framework for robust human development.
Environmental Degradation and Conflict Resolution
The concept of environmental degradation witnessed a debate among economists,

scientists, and environmentalists for more than three decades on the necessity of
resources management against rapid industrial development (Hummel et al., 2009;
Goetschel & Péclard, 2006). Environmental degradation became most commonly
known as a concept that covers a variety of environmental issues including pollution,
loss of biodiversity, deforestation and desertification, climate change and global
warming, resources mismanagement, among others (Baechler, 1998). Environmen-
tal degradation is the corrosion of the environment components through diminution
of resources such as air, water, and soil; the destruction of ecosystems and the
extinction of wildlife (Johnson et al., 1997). Some analysts, such as Homer-Dixon
(1999), have suggested that environmental degradation is perceived as any irrepa-
rable damage or disturbance to the environment.
The past two decades have witnessed growing research on issues related to the
environment and conflict resolution. The focus on environment in peace and conflict
studies developed as a result of an increasing awareness of challenges posed by
environmental degradation, particularly climate change and the depletion of natural
resources on peace (Swain & Ojendal, 2018). Increasing population growth coupled
with decline in agriculture and arable land, desertification, water scarcity, and loss of
biodiversity pose serious threats to the lives of both present and future generations.
Competition over resources increases the risk of conflicts, making the interconnec-
tedness of environmental degradation and violent conflict more important than ever
(Swain & Ojendal, 2018; Lee, 2018; Ali, 2003). Hence, greater focus was given to
environmental stress as one of the elements of the many political, economic, and
social factors that contribute to violent conflict.
Environmental degradation is seen as both a source and a result of violent

conflicts. Environmental degradation, on one hand, reduces the availability of arable
land, fresh water, clean air, and fish resources (Swain, 1993). The effects of this
reduction are becoming more acute due to increasing demand for resources to meet
the needs of a growing population (Swain & Ojendal, 2018). Due to increasing loss of
arable land in some countries, food production may substantially decline, leading to
food insecurity. Climate change exacerbates the above situation, as it increases
competition over water resources and agricultural land in the face of reduced crop
yields, desertification and rising food prices, and large-scale migration, diminishing
government capacities to provide services to its population in the face of increasing
poverty (Swain & Ojendal, 2018; German Advisory Council on Global Change,
2008; Gleditsch & Nordås, 2009) Many developing countries already spend more
than half of their income on food, making them more vulnerable to increasing
fluctuations in food prices and production shortfalls (Swain & Ojendal, 2018;
UNDP, 2018). It is worth mentioning that the poorest people in the world are more
vulnerable to volatility in food availability and high prices as they spend a disparate
amount of their income on food. Hence, production shortfalls and increasing food
prices can lead to social unrest as well as violent conflicts (Salehyan et al., 2011;
Bellemare, 2015). Besides environmental scarcity, environmentally induced migra-
tion, whether due to climate change or depletion of resources due to mismanagement,
is becoming more of a source of conflict (German Advisory Council on Global
Change, 2008; Gleditsch & Nordås, 2009). The loss of livelihood and deprivation
of local people from access to resources due to disruptions in the ecosystem, known as
ecological marginalization, forces more people to migrate internally and across
borders to ecologically sensitive areas. The rising population in these areas, combined
with unsustainable land use practices, leads to environmental degradation and further
scarcity (Kousis, 1998; Population Reference Bureau, 2001). Recent studies by
international organizations warn that climate change will intensify environmental
stress, which in turn might create new conflicts (UNDP, 2018; World Bank, 2018).
Violent conflicts or armed conflicts, on the other hand, have a direct impact on
environmental degradation whereby environmental resources are targeted as a
weapon of war. Targeting infrastructure and industrial facilities, the heavy use of
conventional weapons as well as chemical and biological weapons, military training,
and testing of weapons produce vast amounts of toxins that contaminate the soil,
water, and air (Leaning, 2000; Mathiesen, 2014; Lee, 2018). Furthermore, violent
conflicts hinder the development of sustainable agriculture, leading to massive
deforestation and water contamination (Swain & Ojendal, 2018). Additionally,
conflict-induced refugees and internally displaced people (IDPs) place further pres-
sures on the environment that transcend national boundaries (Swain & Ojendal,
2018; Lee, 2018; World Bank, 2018). Currently, there are 68.5 million forcibly
displaced people in the world; the majority comes from a limited number of
countries mostly from South Sudan, Afghanistan, Syria, and Iraq. They have
moved to their neighboring countries creating massive pressure on the economy
and environmental resources such as land and water (UNHCR, 2017).
While environmental degradation is often framed in relation to conflict, many
scholars consider ways by which environment can be an element in conflict
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resolution through creating ecological, economic, and social sustainability. Despite

the lack of empirical evidence linking environmental cooperation to conflict
resolution, more research is undertaken to examine means through which environ-
ment can be a tool to foster cooperative behavior over disputed issues. The term
“ecological diplomacy” or “eco-diplomacy” was first introduced by Richard
N. Gardner, professor of international relations at Columbia University, who
served as a senior adviser to the United Nations (U.N.) for the Rio Summit in
1992. In an article published in 1992 entitled “The Era of Eco-Diplomacy Is Born;
Will It Survive?: Environment: Even in its compromises, the Earth Summit is a
matrix for cooperative global problem-solving,” Gardner concluded that the UN
Conference on Environment and Development launched the world into a new era
of international Eco-Diplomacy (Gardner, 1992). Other scholars refer to the role of
environment in conflict resolution as “environmental peacebuilding” (Schoenfeld
et al., 2015).
Literature on environmental degradation and conflict resolution started attracting
more attention at the global level especially with the introduction of the concept of
“sustainability” to climate-related risks. Despite the myriad of post-conflict
peacebuilding activities in divided societies, some scholars viewed that these activities
fail to bring about sustainable peace due to “narrowly defined development goals and
the neglect of sustainability during post-conflict reconstruction” in favor of short-term
economic growth goals (Paris, 2004; Swain & Krampe, 2011; Mac Ginty & Sanghera,
2013 as cited in Swain & Ojendal, 2018). Hence, the international community became
more occupied with finding means to manage resources efficiently, mitigate the risks of
climate change through supporting and sustaining the building of an infrastructure for
peace over the long term. Proponents of environmental peacebuilding argue that if
natural resources that are essential to livelihood are destroyed, it is hard to create
sustainable peace (Brown, 2013). Given the importance of environmental resources
to the economic and communal well-being and the environmental interdependency, it is
viewed that environment can be a force that transcends competition, induce coopera-
tion, and contribute to sustainable economic opportunities. Environmental cooperation
to preserve the environment and manage resources efficiently for the common good,
hence, can create a space for dialogue during conflicts and eventually lead to peace
(Lee, 2018; Conca & Beevers, 2018; Ali, 2005).
To this end, the United Nations Environmental Programme (UNEP) was
established in 1992 to assist countries in preserving their environment. It placed
environmental conflicts and cooperation on its agenda and conducted environmental
assessment of conflict zones. It also reconnected stronger interpretations of environ-
mental issues into the work of the UN peacebuilding commission (Swain & Ojendal,
2018; Harari & Roseman, 2008). Agencies such as UNEP, and platforms like the
Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) and the Intergovernmental
Science Policy Platform on Biodiversity and Ecosystem Services (IPBES), have
specific programs of work around environment and peacebuilding (Swain &
Ojendal, 2018). Furthermore, many international NGOs have mainstreamed envi-
ronmental peacebuilding in their work such as the World Wildlife Fund, Interna-
tional Alert, and EcoPeace (Conca & Beevers, 2018).
Conca and Beevers (2018) contend that environmental cooperation can strengthen
the conditions for peace at all stages of conflict including conflict prevention, conflict
management, conflict resolution, and post-conflict peacebuilding through a range of
mechanisms such as reduction of grievances, identifying opportunities for joint gains,
deepening of trust, and institutionalization of new practices and relationships that can
resolve conflicts nonviolently and the transformation of conflict identities. As they
put it:
First, environmental issues ignore human-made boundaries and actively span the socially
constructed barriers among groups that are at the heart of conflict. This makes it difficult, if
not impossible, to address environmental issues unilaterally, and it supplied both opportu-
nities and incentives for cooperation. Second, the technical complexity of environmental
change and the challenges of monitoring and interpreting environmental data might make it
possible for parties in or at risk of violent conflict to increase knowledge and understanding
collaboratively, and in the process to reduce uncertainty and build trust. Third, the place-
based character of human – environment relationships, and the deep interweaving of
environment and culture, may make it possible to soften exclusionary identities by creating
a common sense of place and purpose. (p. 54)
Cooperation to address environmental degradation can hence constitute one

aspect of the long-term process of conflict resolution and peacebuilding (Conca &
Dabelko, 2002; Harari & Roseman, 2008). IEP also identifies the relationship
between environment and positive peace. In linking positive peace to sustainable
development goals, IEP shows that the sustainable management of water and
sanitation; combating climate change; conserving the oceans, seas, and marine
resources; protecting and restoring terrestrial ecosystems; combating desertification
land degradation and loss of biodiversity are directly linked to equitable distribution
of resources, good relations with neighbors, human capital, and well-functioning
government, all of which are indicators of positive peace (IEP, 2018).
Hence, if we frame challenges related to environmental degradation as opportu-
nities to transcend differences over divisive political issues and move toward
cooperating on unifying issues that impact the daily lives of all human beings,
environment can be an important factor in resolving conflicts and promoting aspects
that lead to positive peace. Cooperation, in general, can help build trust and enhance
relationships which come at the core of peacebuilding efforts.
Case Study: Environmental Degradation and the Contemporary

Conflict in Syria
Conflict Overview
Since President Hafiz Al-Assad came to power in 1970, Syrians have been living
under a repressive regime that imposed severe economic and political restrictions,
curtailing civil liberties, restraining political participation, and prohibiting the for-
mation of political parties (Starr, 2012). When Bashar Al-Asad, Hafiz’s son, came to
782 E. Said
power in 2000, people hoped he would ease up these restrictions (Ajami, 2012).
Indeed, Bashar attempted to provide some economic reforms such as eliminating
state-owned farms, encouraging private sector investments, lifting trade restrictions,
and opening up the domestic market to competition. Despite improvements in the
overall economic performance, the implemented economic reforms policies were not
successful at improving the conditions of the Syrian people. Bassam Haddad (2012)
explains how these economic reforms led to the destruction of the social safety nets
provided by the government that kept people out of poverty such as subsidies and job
provisions. Even the middle class was struggling to survive due to increasing
poverty. These neoliberal policies also had negative effects on the social sector
impacting both healthcare and education (Haddad, 2012, p. 118). Furthermore,
efforts to reform the economy were not reflected on the political sphere in which
the regime continued to restrict civil rights and liberties (International Crisis Group,
2011).
In March 2011, Syria witnessed massive demonstrations driven by growing
popular discontent due to the many sociopolitical and economic conditions together
with the context of the Arab Spring. The protests started peacefully but quickly
evolved into a popular revolution before turning into a violent conflict with local,
regional, and international competitions and conflicts by proxy coming into play.
The rise of terrorist groups in Syria and Iraq, in particular the Islamic State of Iraq
and the Levant (ISIL, also known as Daesh or ISIS) imposed another dimension to
the conflict alongside the central struggle between the regime and the opposition.
The devastating conflict that began with the Syrian protests of March 2011 was
the result of complex interrelated factors, triggered by a broad set of sociopolitical
factors, the erosion of the economic health of the country, and a wave of political
reform sweeping over the MENA region (World Bank, 2017). These challenges
extended beyond the political turmoil to interfere with climate variability, environ-
mental degradation, food security, and the availability and use of drinkable water; all
of which catalyzed the ignition of the conflict.
At present, the Syrian conflict is one of the defining crises of the contemporary
era. The conflict has devastated much of the development achievements in the
country and diminished social and economic capital due to lack of access to
healthcare and education, pushing millions into unemployment and poverty, all of
which will impact positive peace efforts. According to a World Bank report entitled
“The Toll of War” (2017), the Syrian economy – which was growing at an average of
around 4.3% annually from 2000 to 2010 – witnessed a cumulative GDP loss
estimated at $226 billion over the first 5 years of conflict. The conflict led to
diminishing economic connectivity and productivity in addition to disconnecting
supply chains. In addition to the near collapse of the Syrian economy, the ongoing
conflict created one of the worst humanitarian crises in history. It is estimated that
400,000 have been killed and according to the United Nations High Commissioner
for Refugees (UNHCR) about 5.6 million have fled Syria to neighboring countries,
6.6 million are internally displaced, 13.1 million people are in need of which 2.98
million are in hard to reach and besieged areas (UNHCR, 2019a). The impacts of the
war have spread to neighboring countries, which feel the brunt of the crisis acutely.
Lebanon, for example, has registered 946,291 Syrian refugees as of 2019 constitut-
ing 16.6% of total Syrian refugees, while Jordan has registered 671,551 constituting
11.8%, and Iraq registered 253,085 amounting to 4.5% of total Syrian refugees.
Neighboring Turkey has registered 64.1% Syrian refugees hosting 3,644,342
Syrians (UNHCR, 2019b). Quality of care for basic public services in healthcare
and education has also decreased, for both refugee and host communities. Given
such circumstances, IEP lists Syria as the country with the largest deterioration in
PPI in 2018, whereby 15 out of 24 positive peace indicators witnessed deterioration
to below pre-conflict levels (IEP, 2018b, p. 28). The Syrian conflict led to devastat-
ing impacts on the pre-war development levels as well as its social and economic
capital, adding to which, the illegal use of weapons prohibited under international
law, such as cluster munitions and chemical weapons. According to IEP (2018), the
most notable deteriorations in PPI in Syria occurred in two main indicators, namely,
its good relations with neighbors and the well-functioning government. As explained
earlier, these two indicators, in addition to human capital and equitable distribution
of resources, can impact the environment as they are related to the sustainable
management of water and sanitation; climate change; conserving the seas and marine
resources; protecting and restoring terrestrial ecosystems; combating desertification,
land degradation, and loss of biodiversity.
Environmental Assessment of the Conflict
Because conflicts are rarely, if ever, attributable to a single cause, conflict analysis
and resolution efforts must consider a multitude of complex relationships and
contributing factors. Since its onset, some studies have attempted to link environ-
mental degradation and climate change to the Syrian conflict (Mohtadi, 2012;
Gleick, 2014; Zwijnenburg & Te Pas, 2015). Prior to the conflict, Syria had a fragile
ecosystem due to deforestation caused by rapid urbanization and the expansion of
human settlements, together with agricultural and industrial activities that led to the
degradation of wetlands and polluted water resources (Zwijnenburg & Te Pas, 2015).
The country suffered from air pollution, soil degradation, and inadequate waste
disposal. Water resources, in particular, came under pressure due to several factors
including climate change, rapid urbanization, and population growth. Climate
change led to desertification and drought causing serious damage to the agricultural
sector. Between the years 1900 and 2005, Syria has witnessed more than six major
significant droughts. Five of these droughts lasted only for one season; the sixth
lasted for two indicating further deterioration in environmental conditions (Mohtadi,
2012). The rainfall season over Syria dropped to one third due to climate change,
making water scarcity a growing threat for the country’s economic development,
political stability, and peace. Drought pushed farmers to move to urban cities,
leaving large areas of agricultural land unattended (Gleick, 2014). Many resettled
in informal urban housing areas, leaving them more vulnerable to environmental
hazards caused by poor air quality and contaminated drinking water (Zwijnenburg &
Te Pas, 2015).
784 E. Said
In 2003, the Ministry of Local Administration and Environment in Syria

conducted a National Environmental Strategy and Action Plan (NEAP) with support
of the United Nations Development Program (UNDP) and World Bank. The study
identified water issues and land degradation as environmental priorities for the
country. Between the years 2006 and 2011, Syria experienced multiple long periods
of extreme drought that contributed to agricultural failures, economic disarticula-
tions, and population movement (Worth, 2010). Some researchers argue that natural
resources mismanagement and water shortage have accelerated and pushed Syria
toward the current spurring violence and the deterioration of its social demography.
Before 2009, around 1.3 million inhabitants of the eastern Syrian populations were
affected by agricultural failures. At this time there was an estimation of 800,000
people who lost 85% of their livelihoods and basic food support (Solh, 2010), where
by 2011 the return of droughts worsened the situation affecting around 3 million
people according to the UN, with a million driven into a state of food insecurity
(Gleick, 2014). This catastrophic situation pushed inhabitants to forcible leave
affected rural areas and move to urban cities and camps on the outskirts of Syria’s
major cities of Aleppo, Damascus, Dara’a, Deir ez-Zour, Hama, and Homs seeking
employment and economic opportunities.
In March 2011 the Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO) conducted a study,
which was updated in June 2012, expressing concern over the increase in poverty
rate and food insecurity; the “needs assessment” conducted in 2012 by the FAO
identified three million people in “urgent need” of food assistance and concluded
that “agricultural water use is unsustainable.” These conditions were further wors-
ened by water management decisions, poor planning, and policy errors (Ballentine &
Haufler, 2009). Al-Assad regime traditionally provided large subsidies for the
production of water-intensive crops, such as wheat and cotton. All these factors
pushed the country into a political and economic uncertainty; some of the earliest
political unrest began around the town of Dara’a, which saw a particularly large
influx of farmers and young unemployed men displaced off their lands by crop
failures.
Currently, the government management capacity had been reduced to low levels
compared to that before war. An evaluation of major water scarcity indicators
revealed a decline in renewable water resources; it is estimated that the water scarcity
index was reduced from approximately 760 m3/capita/year during pre-war dry years
to less than 500 m3/capita/year during the war. This reflects the severe impact of the
war on the distribution of resources which consequently affects the agricultural
activities and delayed the economic development of Syria for decades. Water
resources in particular represented a target for terrorist groups such as ISIL that
strived to capture cities along the Tigris and Euphrates rivers to gain control of the
water resources in Iraq and Syria and fertile regions suitable for agriculture
(Youness, 2015). While the precise extent of the damage to environment and
resources is difficult to assess due to the conflict, indicators show that the environ-
mental degradation caused by the conflict has been exacerbated. The devastating
violent conflict, in its 8th year, has severe short- and long-term environmental
implications. A report entitled “Amidst the Debris” published in 2015 revealed
that pollution from the conflict and patterns of fighting in Syria indicate widespread
environmental threats. These include toxins from weapons; air, water, and soil
pollution due to damage to critical infrastructure such as oil refineries, installations,
and industrial sector, all of which can potentially cause public health to deteriorate.
In addition, the war has led to a complete collapse in environmental governance and
waste management services posing serious air, soil, and water contamination risks
and health hazards (Zwijnenburg & Te Pas, 2015).
Prospects for Environment as a Means of Conflict Resolution in Syria
In an attempt to resolve the conflict, several peace initiatives were proposed by the
League of Arab States, the United Nations, Russia, and Western powers. The most
prominent was the UN-mediated peace talks known as “Geneva Peace Process” or
“Geneva II,” initiated in 2014 with the aim of bringing the Syrian government and
opposition together to find a peaceful solution. Former UN Special Envoys to Syria
conducted a series of intra-Syrian negotiations between 2016 and 2018 that focused
on two main political issues related to peaceful transition, namely, the process for
drafting a new constitution and requirements for holding elections. However, nine
rounds of talks have shown little progress and the fighting keeps escalating leading
to a halt of the talks.
Given the contested nature of the issues discussed in the official political process,
it is fundamental to consider how environmental cooperation can open the door for
an innovative process of peacebuilding. Clearly, environmental cooperation may or
may not lead to the resolution of such a complex conflict, nevertheless, it is
important to exhaust all opportunities that build up positivity in the system, create
a space for dialogue and relieve the suffering of the people all of which provide a
pathway to peace. In the context of Syria, and given the unprecedented environmen-
tal threats the country encounter, bringing people together in a dialogue around
environmental management and reparation may provide a pathway to peace through
the following:
Creating a Space for Dialogue and Reconciliation

The Syrian conflict is highly dynamic due to its complexity, multiplicity of actors,
and multidimensional nature. At present, the violent conflict appears to be coming to
an end with government forces regaining control over most of the Syrian territory
that was held under opposition or terrorist groups. Yet, the conflict itself is far from
ending. The societal division and political schism the conflict instigated reflects the
extremely polarized nature of the contemporary Syrian society along ethnic, reli-
gious, and political lines. To put an end to more than 7 years of violent conflict,
multilayered reconciliation is needed whether at grassroots level; i.e., between
pro-opposition forces and pro-government ones; or between combatants and the
community, and at the state level between opposition groups and the state to restore
broken relationships and move toward positive peace. Reconciliation at this partic-
ular stage should aim to create an acceptance to “what is not an ideal outcome” for
786 E. Said
some groups as well as bridge diversity or what Ramsbotham et al. (2016, p. 287)
describes as “the possibility of mutual change in the interest of opening up otherwise
inaccessible opportunities,” which is an essential initial step to move toward higher
levels of reconciliation in the long run that involves “reconciliation between former
enemies in which past enmity is set aside and emotional space is created for
re-forging new relationships.” Where political negotiations over peaceful transition
and constitutional amendments have failed, cooperation around an issue like envi-
ronment that directly impacts the well-being and livelihood of citizens may provide a
gateway to face-to-face dialogue and eventually enhance a cooperative behavior. As
pointed out earlier, Syria faced various environmental challenges. Recognizing the
interdependence of ecological systems, environmental peacebuilding has the poten-
tial to focus on positive opportunities for peace rather than negative threats to
security in its broader meaning. International Intergovernmental Organizations,
such as the United Nations through its programs the United Nations Environmental
Program (UNEP) and the United Nations Development Program (UNDP), as well as
the World Bank can support activities that create and empower local community
councils to work on environmental reparation. Furthermore, they can work with the
UN special envoy for Syria to create a process – that complements the initial political
negotiation process – but moves away from politically contested issues to technical
issues such as promoting effective environmental management, responding to public
health issues, monitoring environmental risks, and identifying means to mitigate
them. Over the long run, a sustained dialogue over environmental degradation can
transform conflictual relationships, restore broken ties, and forge reconciliation
between previous adversaries (Saunders & Slim, 1994; Swain & Ojendal, 2018;
Conca & Beevers, 2018; Ali, 2005). Lederach (1997) underlined the importance of
dialogue for reconciliation in protracted conflict settings, emphasizing the impor-
tance of creating common new perceptions and shared experiences between parties
in a conflict that would eventually transform the conflictual relationship. Given the
common challenges environmental degradation imposes on all parties to the conflict,
environmental peacebuilding can provide a platform for dialogue to address com-
mon environmental challenges, creating this new shared experience and perspective.
To this end, it is important to depoliticize and de-securitize environmental issues
despite growing links between environmental degradation and conflict, keeping it at
the technical, economic, and scientific levels. Depoliticizing environmental issues
can lead to cooperation that focuses on solving problems rather than achieving goals
that help enhance political positions.
Institutionalizing New Norms of Cooperation Based on Engaging

Multiple Stakeholders and Empowering Local Communities
Given the crosscutting nature of the impact of environmental degradation on the
economy, natural resources, and health of citizens, establishing a dialogue around
environmental reparation has the potential to bring together multiple stakeholders
from the private and industrial sectors, environmental and healthcare experts,
NGOs, and civil society organizations in different cities in Syria all of which are
key stakeholders in the society. Besides forming nontraditional alliances, engaging
multiple stakeholders at grassroots level have the potential to empower local

communities especially Syrian refugees and IDPs who feel that their revolution
has been hijacked by terrorist groups from one side and the multiplicity of actors
who are engaged in several proxy wars in Syria on the other side. Environmental
cooperation, in this context, can build new social norms among local citizens,
Syrian refugees, IDPs, civil society groups, religious leaders, and the private
sector, and with the help of regional and international organizations, empower
them through capacity building to address environmental threats. This process, in
turn, can reestablish a sense of ownership for Syrians over their country and its
natural resources and reduce grievances related to exclusion and inequality. Fur-
thermore, it can institutionalize new norm of nonviolent cooperation and dialogue
over issues that directly impact livelihood, establish good relationships over the
long run as well as increase the acceptance of the rights of others, develop human
capital, and improve environmental governance capacity. This cooperation can
then extend to regional countries whereby Syria had previous agreements with
Iraq and Turkey on transboundary water resources, with the potential to improve
relationships with neighbors, which represents one of the deteriorating positive
peace indicators in Syria.
Improving Economic Prospects

The Syrian economy was a growing one prior to the conflict with an annual
growth rate of 4.3% during the period 2000–2010 (World Bank, 2017). The
main sectors of the economy were the agriculture, which constituted 22% of the
gross domestic product, the industrial sector 25%, retail 23%, and tourism 12%
(Zwijnenburg & Te Pas, 2015) whereby 60% of the agricultural production came
from the northern governorates such as Aleppo, Al-Raqqa, and Al-Hasakeh, some
of the most affected by the conflict. The economy has deeply deteriorated due to
the ongoing conflict, declining by more than 70% from 2010 to 2017. The
government has struggled to address the effects of conflict on the economy from
the widespread infrastructure damage to diminished production, trade deficits and
low levels of investment, high inflation, and unemployment. It is estimated that the
conflict has caused a loss in Gross Domestic Product (GDP) of US$226 billion, or
four times the GDP in 2010 (World Bank, 2017) due to massive destruction of
residential and industrial infrastructure. Efforts undertaken to facilitate the return
of refugees and IDPs to their hometowns risk the resurgence of violence due to
lack of services and economic opportunities for the returnees. Post-conflict recon-
struction often increases demand for natural resources to rebuild the economy and
basic infrastructure. Hence, it needs to be based on environmentally sound policies
so that reconstruction does not lead to additional environmental damage. Rebuild-
ing Syria in the conflict aftermath should adopt an environmental lens to address
problems such as air, soil, and water pollution, scarcity of water resources,
hazardous wastes, loss of biodiversity; moving away from conventional recon-
struction activities that focus on growth to reconstruction that focus on achieving
the sustainable development goals and preserving the resources on which human
well-being and economic livelihood are dependent upon.
788 E. Said
Implications for the Middle East
Environmental degradation in Syria and its relation to the violent conflict holds
many lessons for the MENA region, which is one of the most conflictual in the
world. In its Global Peace Index report (GPI) of 2018, IEP observes a sustained
deterioration in the global level of peacefulness in the region for the fourth
successive year since 2015. This decline is driven by increasing violent conflicts,
political instability, terrorist activities, large number of refugees, and unresolved
tensions. The dramatic resurgence of conflicts in the MENA region has caused
immense human suffering and had a major impact on neighboring countries in
terms of security and socioeconomic pressure. Intrastate protracted conflicts in
countries like Libya, Syria, Iraq, Sudan, and Yemen, all of which are multiethnic
and multireligious countries, have led to fragmentation along ethnic and sectarian
lines, violence-induced trauma, and grievances. Furthermore, relationships
between citizens and the state have been affected either due to the massive
violence employed by the state forces against opposition groups or because of
marginalization of certain groups, and the inability of governments to meet their
citizen’s basic needs. Moreover, political instability in Lebanon and Jordan due to
spillover effects of the conflict in Syria, fragile conditions in countries like Tunisia
and Egypt that are still recovering from years of unsteadiness following the
uprisings of 2010 and 2011, respectively, coupled with the impact of the conflict
in Libya on both countries all create conditions for further instability and conflict
in the region. Geopolitical competition over regional hegemony drove diplomatic
crisis within the Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC) and between the GCC and Iran.
Political tension in the Arab Maghreb countries continuous to loom over due to the
conflict over the Western Sahara between Algeria and Morocco, needless to
mention the decades-long yet unresolved Palestinian-Israeli conflict that does not
seem to be moving forward due to political deadlock and the halting of the peace
talks.
While environmental degradation is not the major driver of conflicts in the
MENA region, the role of environment in the instigation and continuation of
conflicts has been overlooked. As explained in the Syrian context, some studies
brought to attention links between the conflict and the drought Syria experienced
between 2006 and 2010. Previously, the conflict in Darfur was also attributed to
drought and the UN Secretary General Ban Ki-Moon described it as a conflict
influenced by an ecological crisis arising in part from climate change (Moon,
2007). Countries in the Levant also experienced a severe drought between 2007
and 2009, which caused widespread socioeconomic distress and tensions (Trigo
et al., 2010; Kelley et al., 2015; UNDP, 2010). Given the complexities of
contemporary conflicts and the multifaceted factors that trigger it, the impact
of environment as a contributing factor or at least as a threat multiplier cannot be
ignored.
Overview of Environmental Challenges in the MENA Region
The MENA region faces similar environmental challenges to Syria, posing serious
threats to regional stability and peace. The region as a whole is a water-scarce one
with 1% of the world’s renewable water resources while hosting about 5% of the
world’s population (World Bank, 2018; UNDP, 2018). During the past 50 years,
MENA countries witnessed a rapid population growth, estimated at 3% (UNDP,
2018). Increasing demand for natural resources, rapid urbanization, and economic
growth were accompanied by environmental degradation. The UN Intergovernmen-
tal Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) and UNDP predict that most of the MENA
region is expected to become hotter and drier due to climate change, increasing risks
of droughts, which are already affecting the Arab Maghreb (World Bank, 2013;
UNDP, 2018; Abahussain et al., 2002). The region also suffers from desertification
and land loss in addition to deforestation, which is estimated at 4% annually. Land
degradation, desertification, coupled with rapid urbanization, have reshaped land use
as more marginal lands are brought under irrigation, further reflecting the water
challenges. Furthermore, air pollution constitutes serious threats to public health
with increasingly dense and polluted cities. Cairo for example, a highly dense urban
city, was listed as one of the most polluted cities in the world. The region is also
suffering from loss of biodiversity, which is clearly evident in marine areas where
overfishing and pollution from land are ruining fish stocks and threatening maritime
ecosystems (Stang, 2016; El Maaroufi, 1996; Sarraf, 2004).
Scarcity of water resources and environmental degradation can prompt migration
from rural to urban cities, increasing the demand on services in cities and posing
threats related to competition over resources. Exclusion around identity and ethnic
lines exacerbate risks of conflict related to land (UNDP, 2003, 2013). Conflict
around land is bound to increase due to population growth and demographic
pressures, which in turn lead to growing demand for land from large-scale agricul-
tural production (World Bank, 2018; Bruce, 2017). Climate change, land degrada-
tion, and conflict-induced displacement are set to exacerbate tensions related to land
(ICRC, 2016a, b; World Bank, 2010).
On the other hand, armed conflicts in the region have impacted resources and the
use of land causing multiple trajectories such as loss of biodiversity, reduction of
cultivated land, and decline in land productivity due to land abandonment, in
addition to air and water pollution all of which lead to environmental degradation.
In some instances, armed groups such as ISIL used agriculture as a source of income
and tried to increase agricultural production (Eklund et al., 2017). Moreover, extrac-
tive resources in the region are bound to trigger instability and violence. Extractive
resources and land are used by armed groups as a source of income to self-sustain
their activities. At the local level, land and natural resources often constitute the
primary means of income and livelihood for communities. This creates high stakes
for contestation over resources. Often, conflict stems from grievances where
790 E. Said
communities are excluded from decisions about extraction or where the distribution
of project benefits is perceived to be unfair or unequal.
Environmental Pathways to Conflict Resolution and Positive Peace
Given the immense environmental threats in the region, environment can play a
fundamental role in conflict resolution and positive peace in the MENA region.
Recognizing the numerous environmental threats population in the MENA region
face and their ecological interdependence, cooperation to preserve the environment
can be a shared goal for conflicting parties, bringing them closer in a peaceful form
of cooperation.
Dialogue, Trust-building, and Reduction of Grievances: Environmental
peacebuilding can be one possible approach to conflict resolution and positive
peace in intrastate and interstate conflicts. Countries that are suffering from pro-
tracted violent conflicts such as Libya, Yemen, Sudan, Syria, and Iraq have a strong
identity element to the conflict be it ethnic, religious, or tribal. Resolving such
conflicts requires adopting a positive approach orientated toward envisioning con-
flict as a potential for constructive change (Lederach, 2014). In this context, theories
of conflict resolution dwell on the need to rebuild broken relationships and achieve
reconciliation in divided societies (Lederach, 1997). Environmental peacebuilding
has the potential of bringing about constructive change and achieve reconciliation in
the long run. Cooperation around environmental issues can bring people from
governments and opposition groups, refugees and IDPs, tribal leaders, and different
religious and sectarian groups together to cooperate around a mutual interest that
directly impacts their livelihood. The process of cooperation can create a space for
dialogue between parties that have deep animosities to share information and foster
constructive dialogue among stakeholders whose relationships were damaged by the
conflict.
Improve Prospects for Development: It is estimated that the economic impact
of violence due to MENA conflicts has increased by 16% since 2012 (IEP, 2018,
p. 3). Syria and Iraq incurred the largest economic cost of violence as a percentage of
their GDP, standing at 68% and 51%, respectively (IEP, 2018, p. 4). According to a
report by the International Monetary Fund (IMF), armed conflicts in the MENA
region led to a decline in the economic output of Syria, Libya, and Yemen exceeding
the worldwide average (Lawder, 2016). Libya, for example, lost more than 24% of
its GDP while Yemen incurred more than 35%. Neighboring countries, on the other
hand, experienced an average of 1.9% drop in their GDP as a result of the conflict. It
is expected that these figures have increased as the fighting is still going. In violent
conflicts as well as political unrest, environmental cooperation has the potential to
move away from traditional politics to a development-oriented one that focuses on
improving the economic well-being of societies and creating opportunities such as
investments and jobs, reducing the likelihood of instability and violence. This is
particularly relevant for almost all the MENA countries as the Arab uprisings were
driven primarily by economic factors. According to a study published in 2013 by the
Center for Climate and Security in Washington, the failure of governments to

respond to their citizens’ basic needs and address issues related to environmental
degradation such as climate change, droughts, and desertification led many people to
take part in the political protests of the Arab Spring (Youness, 2015).
Conflict resolution and positive peace are not only associated with higher levels
of stability and absence of violence but also linked to stronger macroeconomic
performance as the factors that sustain highly peaceful societies also provide a
framework for robust economic development (IEP 2018). In this regard, environ-
mental peacebuilding can help offset years of delays in terms of economic develop-
ment and provide economic opportunities for the youth as well as returning refugees
and IDPs. It is estimated that in 2000, the costs of environmental degradation in the
MENA region stood at $9 billion (Thiaw, 2016) or between 2.1% and 7.4% of the
GDP. The armed conflicts and conflict-induced migration and displacement had an
impact on agricultural production and soil fertility, leading to food insecurity,
reduced investments, and deterioration of land and infrastructure. Environmental
cooperation can create economic opportunities through job creation, attracting
investors and lowering the levels of poverty. This can encourage and facilitate the
return of refugees and IDPs to their hometowns, releasing pressure on their host
communities. It is worth mentioning that refugees and IDPs are at the center of
competition over land and resources and weak mechanisms to reintegrated returnees
can deepen tensions over land and resources (Marc et al., 2015). The role of
international financial institutions that engage in reconstruction activities such as
the World Bank as well as the private sector is particularly relevant in this regard. It is
important that reconstruction projects in the MENA region take into consideration
the environmental perspective, which would eventually help countries achieve the
sustainable development goals.
Institutionalizing New Norms Based on Nonviolent Conflict Resolution: The
idea of environmental peacebuilding in the MENA region is not new. Several initiatives
were implemented to address the problem of water scarcity and improve the manage-
ment of transboundary water resources such as the Joint Water Committee between
Jordan and Israel to regulate water sharing and joint project development. The same
attempt was undertaken to replicate the Jordanian-Israeli initiative between Israel and
the Palestinian Authority after Oslo Accords (Lonergan, 1997). In addition, Syria and
Iraq have a water sharing agreement in the Tigris-Euphrates basin, while initiatives
undertaken to cooperate with Turkey have not resulted in meaningful agreements
(Stang, 2016). Other forms of environmental cooperation in the region exist and
many initiatives were undertaken at the regional, subregional, and national levels to
address environmental challenges such as the establishment of the Joint Committee on
Environment and Development in the Arab Region, the Arab Group for Biodiversity,
and the Arab Group for Climate Change all of which meet on an annual basis at the
League of Arab States to identify challenges and opportunities and present their
findings to Arab Ministers of Environment. More countries are showing greater
commitment to environmental problems and are playing leading roles in international
environmental negotiations such as Egypt, which was the first Arab country to host a
conference of parties on the Convention of Biodiversity (CBD COP-14) in 2018.
792 E. Said
Despite increasing engagement and existing frameworks at the regional level,

regional environmental cooperation remains weak given that similarities in water,
land use, urban pollution, and climate change pressures did not translate into
effective joint responses (Stang, 2008). Given the transboundary nature of environ-
mental challenges, there are vast opportunities to expand regional environmental
cooperation to undertake projects, prevent irrevocable environmental damages, and
promote social resilience to mitigate future impacts of climate change, conflict
around transboundary water resources, food security, and management of natural
resources. Creating more cohesive forms of environmental cooperation and
establishing regional governance structures that addresses environmental degrada-
tion, build capacities of local societies, and provide a platform for information and
knowledge sharing shall develop new norms of peaceful cooperation. While
top-down multilateralism is indispensable, it is important to expand this form of
cooperation to grassroots levels engaging both the private sector and the civil
society. There are established frameworks that can be capitalized on to establish
institutions that foster regional environmental cooperation. Indeed, regional and
international bodies such as the Arab League, UNEP, UNDP, and the World Bank
play a significant role in supporting institutional capacity building and the pursuit of
concrete environmental projects.
Conclusion
Throughout this chapter, I advocated environmental cooperation as a means to

conflict resolution and positive peace. Clearly, risks posed by environmental degra-
dation and climate change that have their direct impact on economic and social well-
being provide a potential for positive cooperation to achieve mutual gains. The
enormous impact of environmental challenges affects everyone, particularly the poor
and the vulnerable, and addressing these challenges fall beyond the capacity of any
one entity or even country to address on their own. This presents an opportunity for
cooperation in complex and protracted conflicts such as Syria. Where political
negotiations over contested issues have failed, creating a dialogue over water and
natural resources, or food security can fill in the gap and bring adversary groups
together. This applies also to the MENA region, which is one of the most vulnerable
regions to climate change and environmental degradation, with increasing levels of
violence that threat its stability.
Having provided an overview on environmental peacebuilding and its prospects
as a factor for sustainable peace in the MENA region, it is important to acknowledge
its limitations as well. Given the complexity of conflicts in the Middle East, the
multiplicity of actors and contradictory interests, environmental peacebuilding is not
a panacea and other conflict drivers and underlying root-causes need to be addressed
in order to achieve long-term sustainable positive peace. This uncertainty is best
reflected in Israeli-Palestinian conflict, which highlights both the limitations and
opportunities for environmental peacebuilding. While many scholars recognize the
limitations of environmental peacebuilding in the face of lack of empirical evidence
on its effectiveness and outcomes, it can be argued that in the continuous search for
innovative peacebuilding mechanisms to reduce the likelihood of violence and
increase positive peace, environmental peacebuilding can be one of opportunities
that must be exhausted and tested. The challenge is to rethink about environment in
the MENA and to look at environmental degradation not just as a threat but as an
opportunity that if managed efficiently can enhance peace and development.
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Water Abundance, Hydropolitical Disputes,
and Their Implications for Positive Peace 43
in Aotearoa–New Zealand
Adan E. Suazo
Contents
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 798
Why New Zealand? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 798
Water Abundance in New Zealand . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 800
Water Commercialization and Conflict . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 803
Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 806
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 806
Abstract
The abundance of natural resources theoretically should satisfy society’s multiple
demands. In several cases however, conflict, as opposed to peace, seems to be a
continued consequence of said abundance. This chapter examines the advent of
water abundance as a possible determinant of resource disputes in New Zealand. To
do so, it provides an overview of the quantitative state of New Zealand’s freshwater
supplies, including a background of the country’s water authority infrastructure. It
later presents a brief synopsis of the types of water-based conflicts that have emerged
in New Zealand, as well as the types of water-driven enterprises that have motivated
these frictions. A juxtaposition with positive peace is later developed.
Keywords
Peace · Conflict · Water Disputes · Abundance · Resource Conflicts
It is ironic that 1000 or 2000 years ago people living in parts of the Middle
East, China, and Latin America had better systems for collecting, storing, and
distributing water for human consumption and irrigation than they do today, a
A. E. Suazo (*)
e-mail: adan.e.suazo@otago.ac.nz
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_43
798 A. E. Suazo
reflection of the high priority ancient civilizations placed on this issue (Bourne,
1984, p. 3).
Introduction
The “high priority” to which Bourne alludes implicitly emphasizes a balance

between social equity and environmental respect. It also relates to how human
institutions and macrostructures have embraced progress by establishing increas-
ingly intensive industries, and unsustainable patterns of natural resource commod-
ification. In the process of attaching an economic value to elements in the natural
environment, freshwater has become a resource that is consistently claimed by
individuals, groups, and sectors worldwide. This is the process that sets the founda-
tion for this chapter.
Bermejo conceptualizes resource commodification as “an assertion of human
control over nature and the de facto negation of the systemic character of nature”
(Bermejo, 2014, p. 22). This negation leads to a “valuation (mercantile) and a use
[of Nature] that is incompatible with the vastly complex network of life” (Bermejo,
2014, p. 23). Bermejo’s argument stresses two important concerns, which should
remain central from a Positive Peace perspective: Nature’s highly complex and
multidimensional character, and the extent to which Capitalism has created an
environment that facilitates the superiority of one valuation (in this case of economic
character) over others. Highlighting a resource’s economic value, and dictating
access and use criteria based on said value, is not only incompatible with the network
of interlinkages found in Nature; it also limits access to, and use of water for
activities and enterprises not conceived for commercial gain.
Even though freshwater abundance may theoretically satisfy society’s multi-
sectoral demands (both commercial and noncommercial), conflict may still emerge
when an actor commercializes water in such a way that creates scarcities for other
parties. With this in mind, the objective of this chapter is twofold. Firstly, it
endeavors to explain the potential for hydropolitical conflicts in New Zealand by
outlining the number of different claims and stakeholders involved in freshwater
access and use. Because of the unique character of New Zealand’s development as a
binational and bicultural country, legitimate water claims are consistently asserted by
both its European and Indigenous descendants, as well as individuals and groups
involved in different sectors of the economy, making New Zealand a prime country
to examine. Secondly, it explores how water conflicts may emerge as a result of
water access that disproportionately favors commercial interests and practices, and
how these disputes pose obstacles for the establishment of Positive Peace.
Why New Zealand?
New Zealand presents ideal conditions for the study of hydropolitical conflicts: it is a
water-rich environment with a relatively robust water authority system in the form of
43 Water Abundance, Hydropolitical Disputes, and Their Implications for. . . 799
city/district and regional councils, which jointly govern different aspects of fresh-
water access, use, and overall management throughout the country. Alongside these
institutions, the rules and processes dictating the access and use of natural resources
are clearly defined by legislation such as the 1991 Resource Management Act
(RMA). The RMA is the Act of Parliament responsible for outlining the conditions
for New Zealand’s natural resource use and protection. The purpose of the RMA, as
per the Ministry for the Environment, is:
to ensure [that] activities like building houses, clearing bush, moving earth, taking water
from a stream or burning rubbish won’t harm our neighbours and our communities, or
damage the air, water, soil and ecosystems that we and future generations need to survive.
(Ministry for the Environment, 2015a, p. 2)
Along with its prescription of processes and regulations for natural resource access
and use, the RMA also establishes a number of different conflict resolution mecha-
nisms should disputes arise within its implementation. The RMA plays a tripartite
role in the ventilation and settlement of hydropolitical conflicts. First, it stipulates that
council and regional-level authorities are responsible for the management of the
country’s natural resources, including freshwater. In this regard, the RMA confers
upon city and district councils responsibility over the effects of land use, and activities
on the surface of rivers and lakes, while regional councils are mandated to decide
upon issues related to water quality and quantity, as well as addressing the sources of
water contamination (Ministry for the Environment, 2015a). In delineating the
jurisdictional confines of each governance level, the RMA also delineates the arbi-
trators responsible for the administration and delivery of conflict resolution pathways.
Second, the RMA effectively defines the process through which natural resources
are accessed and used, which normally involves the granting of resource consents by
regional councils. A resource consent is “the mechanism through which local
authorities give approval for activities involving the use of natural and physical
resources” (Ministry for the Environment, 2018, para. 1). A central component in the
granting of a resource consent is what the RMA defines as an Affected Person. An
Affected Person is “a person or organisation who the council thinks will experience
an adverse effect from [a] proposal that is ‘minor’ or ‘more than minor’” (Ministry
for the Environment, 2015b, p. 5). Part of the granting of a resource consent for any
given activity involves the proper identification of, and consultation with Affected
Persons by either the council involved in the granting process, or by the party
seeking the consent (Ministry for the Environment, 2015b). In addition to the
above approaches, councils may also start a public notification process involving
advertisement of any given resource consent application in newspapers, with
requests for written statements, or submissions from the general public (Ministry
for the Environment, 2015b). In this regard, the resource consent regime considers
both the environmental impacts of a proposed activity, and how third parties may be
affected by it.
And third, should concerns arise by Affected Persons during a consent applica-
tion, or by the general public when an application is publicly notified, the RMA
dictates the procedures allowing parties to voice discontent, which include
800 A. E. Suazo
approaching their local councils with formal written submissions (Ministry for the
Environment, 2015b). Individuals who present a submission have the opportunity to
appear before council to elaborate their concerns, as well as holding informal
pre-hearing meetings with the applicant to resolve any outstanding issues. Councils
also have the option of referring both applicants and submitters to mediation, where
conflicts can be effectively ventilated and resolved via third parties.
In this socio-environmental context, Positive Peace should theoretically be at
hand. Yet despite the institutional and procedural arrangements described above,
New Zealand has seen a steady increase in the number of water-related conflicts
motivated by how water is accessed and used by actors. From protests over water
bottling in Canterbury (Newshub, 2016; NewstalkZB, 2017), to intense political
organization over water treatment in Western Otago (Stuff, 2018) and Hawke’s Bay
(Newsie, 2017), disputes over water continue to generate discord and demand proper
examination of the conditions motivating the emergence and intensification of water-
related conflicts in New Zealand, and how they may impede the foundations for
Positive Peace within and amongst these groups.
Water Abundance in New Zealand
New Zealand is one of the most water abundant countries in the world. Nationally,
New Zealand’s per capita water availability is estimated to be 107,527 m3 per year
(Gluckman, 2017), making it the fourth most water-rich country in the OECD
(Statistics New Zealand, 2011). In terms of renewable water stock, New Zealand’s
Ministry for the Environment estimates that roughly 711 billion m3 of water is stored
in aquifers, while 320 and 440 billion m3 are stored in lakes and rivers, respectively
(Ministry for the Environment, 2017). Abundant ground and surface water volumes
are coupled with substantial amounts of precipitation, with Collins et al. estimating
that New Zealand receives an average of 550 billion m3 of rainwater every year
(Collins et al., 2015).
Despite its enviable freshwater stock and low population density, New Zealand
faces a series of different challenges connected to how its water resources are
distributed and utilized. (With 15 inhabitants per km2, New Zealand’s population
density represents less than half of the OECD’s average, and is only higher than that
of Norway, Canada, Iceland, and Australia (Statistics New Zealand, 2005).) For
example, the Water Poverty Index (WPI), which measures water access, availability,
capacity to sustain access, use, and environmental factors (including quality), ranks
New Zealand in the 56th position globally in great part due to substandard measure-
ments of freshwater use for domestic, agricultural, and nonagricultural purposes
(Lawrence et al., 2002). Comparatively, advocacy for efficient water use, and
skepticism over water commercialization and privatization have dominated the
national and development water strategies of a number of other water abundant
countries. For example, Gustafsson points out that several municipalities in Sweden
have experimented with the transfer of water management and sewage services to the
private sector, but that these ventures were readily moved back into public regimes
due to comparatively higher costs for end users (Gustafsson, 2001). In terms of
support for international organizations, Bond and Dugard highlight the Norwegian
government’s decision to divest millions of dollars from the World Bank’s Public
Private Investment Advisory Facility, based on profound discrepancies over struc-
tural adjustment programs’ predisposition to commodify water in Global South
countries (Bond & Dugard, 2008).
While efficiency and responsible State stewardship of water supplies place both
Sweden and Norway in relatively high rankings in a number of indexes, doubts have
been cast upon the efficient management of the resource in New Zealand. This was
made evident by a recent report from New Zealand’s Ministry for the Environment,
which concludes that, although there is robust documentation concerning approved
water permits, little is known about the amounts of freshwater used in the country
(Ministry for the Environment, 2017). Tanentzap et al. argue that this trend origi-
nates with New Zealand’s exclusive reliance on regulatory mechanisms (as opposed
to central government intervention) to mitigate the adverse environmental impacts of
activities such as agriculture (Tanentzap et al., 2015), itself a direct function of
market-driven resource intensification and commodification (Tanentzap et al., 2015).
Water commercialization in New Zealand often displays incompatibilities over
water use and management between the country’s European/Non-European (from
this point on referred to as Pākehā) and Indigenous descendants (from this point on
referred generically as Māori). This discrepancy emanates largely from profound
differences over natural resource management, ownership, and Māori’s unique
constitutional standing in New Zealand. In terms of their relationship with, and
regard for, Nature, Williams points out that the “key to the Māori view towards
environmental issues is the importance of not altering mauri [a resource’s vital
essence] to the extent that it is no longer recognizable” (Williams, 2006, p. 74).
Natural resource management, Williams suggests, can be fully attuned with human
demands, but it must be achieved such that areas being harvested do not lose their
essential character as a result of the harvest (Williams, 2006). This worldview is
somewhat incompatible with how New Zealand industries continue to intensify their
land and water use, which often leads to a significant diminution of water quality.
By-products of industry, most notably dairy farming, have progressively imperiled
the integrity of rivers, lakes, and aquifers (Houlbrooke et al., 2004). Environmental
degradation, as Baskaran et al. suggest, has also been coupled with increases in
ground and surface water demands, as well as in acute reductions in pastoral
landscapes in New Zealand (Baskaran et al., 2009).
The principles that govern Māori views on natural resource management are
enshrined in New Zealand’s foundational document, the Treaty of Waitangi, where
the Crown recognizes the authority that iwi (tribes) exert over their lands and natural
resources (Ministry of Justice, 2016). Reconciling human needs with the long-term
health of Nature is mandatory in fulfilling a Māori worldview, but these customs are
often incompatible with Pākehā views on legal ownership and resource manage-
ment. These differences are most evident in the Stage 1 Report on the National
Freshwater and Geothermal Resources Claim before the Waitangi Tribunal, which
shows that western-style principles of resource ownership do not fully reflect the
802 A. E. Suazo
Māori tenets of authority, stewardship, and control over natural resources (Waitangi
Tribunal, 2012). These incompatibilities, as Smith argues, do not emanate solely
from misunderstandings between Māori and Pākehā groups: they derive largely from
a European application of a “moral perspective to land ownership and management,
of ‘use it or lose it’” (Smith, 2012, p. 56), that inherently circumvents traditional
Māori values that amalgamate ideas of culture and identity with natural resource
management. On Māori’s close connection with Nature, and how this connection
relates to their identity, the New Zealand Māori Council writes:
Land provides us with a sense of identity, belonging and continuity. It is proof of our
continued existence not only as a people, but also as tangata whenua [original inhabitants]
of this country. It is proof of our tribal and kin group ties. Māori land represents
turangawaewae [place where one has the right to stand]. It is proof of our link with the
ancestors of our past, and with generations to come. It is an assurance that we shall forever
exist as a people, for as long as the land shall last. (1983, p. 10)
Considering the deep connections that Māori tribes have with water resources, in
particular, and Nature, in general, it is understandable how and why intra-state water
conflicts between these groups could emerge in a jurisdictional setting like
New Zealand’s. If water access criteria are arrayed in favor of commercial enter-
prises that threaten the integrity of water resources as per Māori philosophy, both
the well-being and identity of Māori water users become threatened, thus increasing
the potential for conflict along Māori-Pākehā lines. In this regard one can argue that
the spirit of reconciliation in the Treaty of Waitangi, and its implicit aspirations for
Positive Peace, become diminished by the dominance of commercial criteria for
water access and use.
This, however, is not to say that intra-state hydropolitical conflicts in
New Zealand are exclusive to the Māori-Pākehā polarity: tensions over water use
also exist within these groups. Such incompatibilities, in this case within Māori iwi,
were most evident in 2013 when the South Island iwi, Ngāi Tahu, sought to invest in
a water catchment project in the Makaroro River in Hawke’s Bay, a venture that was
heavily resisted by a local North Island iwi, Ngāti Kahungunu (Stuff, 2013). The
project, conceived to intensify water and land use for agricultural purposes (Farmers
Weekly, 2016), was perceived by Ngāti Kahungunu as detrimental to the quality of
their ground and surface water. An agreement was later reached by both iwi, where
Ngāi Tahu conceded to withdraw support from the project if the venture did not
abide by the same environmental and cultural standards that Ngāi Tahu applied to
their own rivers (Te Rūnanga o Ngāi Tahu, 2013). Even though the project was
subsequently abandoned by Ngāi Tahu and its collaborating partners, this case
highlights the extent to which intergroup incompatibilities over water can emerge
within relatively like-minded groups.
Akin to grievances between Māori iwi, incompatibilities are also discernible
between groups seeking access to natural resources for financial gain. For example,
New Zealand’s National Institute of Water and Atmospheric Research (NIWA) notes
several conflicts have arisen in recent years over the development of the fish farming
industry in New Zealand, which has antagonized other aquaculture activities, most
notably mussel farming (2013). Similarly, civil society groups concerned with
resource intensification for animal-based agriculture assert that enterprises such as
dairy farming have led to an exponential increase in water use. In their view, this
usage jeopardizes water availability for other purposes, including plant-based food
production (Vegans New Zealand, 2016).
The above elaboration leads to one central conclusion: despite freshwater surplus,
and relatively strong institutional and procedural frameworks for water management,
New Zealand is not immune to water-related conflicts, and to the progressive erosion
of Positive Peace.
Water Commercialization and Conflict
One cannot begin to discuss the water commercialization-conflict polarity in

New Zealand without alluding to the development of the dairy industry, arguably
one of the principal economic drivers in the country (Statistics New Zealand, 2017;
New Zealand Institute of Economic Research, 2017). While significant focus has
been dedicated to the dairy industry as a particular cause of environmental degrada-
tion (Davies-Colley & Nagels, 2002; Davies-Colley et al., 2004; Larned et al., 2004),
one cannot convincingly argue that all dairy enterprises display the same conflict-
inducing potential. A small dairy operation, to name one example, is unlikely to
motivate skirmishes over its water access and use based on its low environmental
and social impacts. As dairying activity intensifies its production, however, its
demands for, and impacts on water increase (Allan, 2004). This intensification is
likely to raise concerns about water access, scarcity, and opportunity costs for other
water consumers. For good or ill, New Zealand’s dairy industry has displayed
precisely this progressive intensification: assessments of land use per industry
demonstrate that between 1993 and 2012, land use for dairying in New Zealand
increased by 46% (Statistics New Zealand in Foote et al., 2015), with the total
amount of dairy cows reaching an estimated 6.5 million in 2012, up from 3.4 million
in 1990 (Statistics New Zealand in Foote et al., 2015). This upward trend is
consistent with the period covering 2012 and 2016, when land use for dairying
increased by an additional 42.4% (Statistics New Zealand, 2018).
As the dairy industry intensifies, questions have emerged concerning the access
and use parameters of other users and sectors dependent on freshwater. For example,
New Zealand’s Ministry for the Environment notes that several waterways near
pastoral lands consistently contain unacceptable levels of Escherichia coli, rendering
those waterways unfit for activities such as swimming and whitebait fishing (2009).
Similarly, New Zealand’s Parliamentary Commissioner for the Environment notes
that fecal contamination can affect drinking water, quality of shellfish, and can have
negative impacts on the health of livestock (2004).
The direct and indirect effects of intensive agriculture (and other activities) in
New Zealand have generated conversations over how to securitize the country’s
freshwater systems; these discussions have been rooted in the introduction of water
treatment strategies such as chlorination. As district councils in New Zealand fail to
804 A. E. Suazo
comply with nationally mandated drinking water quality standards, frictions have
emerged over both the setting of water quality guidelines, and the costs attached to
water treatment infrastructure and administration. This was the case in the Thames-
Coromandel district, where local authorities argued that the central government’s
demands for higher water quality standards would inevitably bear additional costs
for local taxpayers. To ensure compliance, the Thames-Coromandel District Council
included a scheme to chlorinate all water supplies in its 2018–2028 plan, including
the last two unchlorinated sites: the towns of Hahei and Pauanui (Newsie, 2017). The
latter town’s water supplies were subsequently chlorinated through the provision of
equipment by Southern Cross Consulting Ltd, a company that specializes in water
chlorination for municipal and community-level use (Southern Cross Consulting
Ltd, 2017). This example illustrates two important points. Firstly, water authorities
in New Zealand are becoming incapable of guaranteeing the good quality of the
water under their jurisdiction, and secondly, it showcases the role of the private
sector in the provision and administration of water security strategies. In short, the
commercialization of freshwater in New Zealand encompasses several dimensions
of water resources, from their industry-driven degradation, to the fashion in which
city/district and regional councils have chosen to securitize it. It is in this context that
this chapter argues conflicts may emerge between individuals and groups affected by
these activities. These conflicts in turn contribute to a steadfast erosion of
New Zealand’s Positive Peace infrastructure.
When examining the question of water conflicts driven by enterprises such as
dairy farming, or activities such as water treatment strategies, one is ultimately
assessing the frictions and tensions that emanate from individuals and groups that
espouse competing interests over water access and use. This relates tacitly to Peters’
argument that resource-driven conflicts are extrapolations of competing meanings
systems. On this note, Peters observes the following:
Claims to use and control resources and to exercise authority over things and people are
premised on an ideology or a set of meanings. Struggles over resources or over power, then,
necessarily take place in terms of such meanings. These meanings are both shared and
disputed: different categories or groups assign different meanings, different definitions or
different emphases at different times to known concepts, events and acts. Hence, one event,
one institution or one concept may be defined and interpreted in a number of ways and in
ways that contradict each other. (Peters, 1984, p. 29)
The values, or meanings to which Peters alludes, determine how and why a
specific group seeks to interact with Nature and its diverse elements. Individuals
and groups (in New Zealand and elsewhere) are drawn to water for spiritual
(Kamitsis & Francis, 2013), cultural (Jahren & Sui, 2017), and religious reasons
(Chamberlain, 2008), while others may identify water more instrumentally in terms
of food requirements (Gonzalez-Dugo et al., 2010), sanitation (WHO, 2017), and
industrial use (USGS, 2014). Household-level demands are similarly reliant on
adequate access to water resources (Mayer et al., 1999; EPA, 2017). Other groups
are driven toward the small-scale use of natural resources and, in some instances, on
their nonuse or conservation. For example, Ravindra et al. describe the people of
Rajasthan (India) as a group that assigns value to water based on environmental

conservation and community-building, rather than on commercial yield. These
values are reflected in infrastructural developments, known as Johads, that are
conceived to replenish aquifers via rainwater (Ravindra et al., 2017), and to ensure
that local communities are central in the equitable and fair distribution of the
preserved water (Hussain et al., 2014). Similar water catchment systems known as
“Aflaj” are employed in Oman (Al-Marshudi, 2007), with priority of use given to
direct consumption, sanitation, proper disposal of the dead, and food production, and
at no cost for the system’s beneficiaries (Trapasso, 1996). In these systems, profit-
making is not the goal of water access, and the infrastructure that facilitates said
access is equally defined by noncommercial criteria.
As in Rajasthan and Oman, similar dynamics are discernible in New Zealand, as
environmental groups and Māori communities consistently seek to protect their
natural resources for ecological health and cultural preservation. A prime example
of these attitudes is reflected in the 2017 passing of the Te Awa Tupua Bill, which
conferred legal personhood to the Whanganui River, and put measures in place to
ensure its restoration and protection (New Zealand Parliament, 2017). A similar
arrangement was later made through the Record of Understanding for Mount
Taranaki, Pouakai and the Kaitake Ranges, where legal personhood was given to
Mount Taranaki and its surrounding areas (Nga Iwi and The Crown, 2017). These
examples bear witness to the types of initiatives that contain no perceivable utilitar-
ian value beyond conservation and care.
As per the previous examples, the multitude of values that can be attached to
water resources may be as varied as the individuals and groups who seek access to
them. This heterogeneity does not seem to be reflected in the way environmental
security analysts approach the study of natural resource abundance as a conflict-
inducing factor. In this regard research has emphasized the literature’s implicit focus
on nonrenewable resource commercialization as a causal determinant of conflict
(Suazo, 2019). However, when one considers freshwater abundance or, more spe-
cifically, the commercialization of abundant freshwater resources, there are other
factors that dictate the rise of conflict, and by proxy, the erosion of domestic Positive
Peace capabilities and outcomes. Indeed, these factors encompass the economic
dimension of freshwater but, unlike nonrenewables, are not fully defined by
it. This is a reality that arguably circumscribes water issues, both in New Zealand
and elsewhere.
Nonrenewables, such as minerals and fossil fuels, are crucial for the sustainment
of modern human livelihoods, and these demands partially explain why such
resources are generally coupled with a high economic value. For example, the US
Energy Information Administration (EIA) predicts that by 2040 the global demand
for energy will rise by 48%, with liquid fuels, natural gas, and coal accounting for
78% of this increase (2016). In New Zealand, reliance on nonrenewables follows a
similar upward trend, with the consumption of coal, diesel, premium petrol, and
natural gas seeing upsurges in the years leading up to 2016 (New Zealand Ministry
of Business, Innovation, and Employment, 2017). In a world where supply and
demand dictate global rhythms of resource exploitation, and where societies have
806 A. E. Suazo
not yet fully adopted a post-fossil fuel agenda, it is understandable why researchers
devote such time and space to the conflict-inducing potential of nonrenewables.
However, applying this approach to freshwater is problematic because emphasizing
water’s economic character often leads to a negation of other values typically
assigned to water.
Conclusion
As explained above, an abundance of freshwater resources poses the plausibility of a

theoretical scenario of sufficiency for all individuals and groups, and thus, for
Positive Peace. However, the way several commercial enterprises are seizing
New Zealand’s freshwater resources challenges the sufficiency argument, and cre-
ates obstacles for the establishment of Positive Peace. Given the literature’s focus on
nonrenewable resource abundance and conflict, more research is required to better
understand the access and use dynamics around renewable resource-rich environ-
ments, and how these mechanisms can contribute to the emergence of resource-
based conflicts and to the progressive erosion of communities’ Positive Peace
capabilities.
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Part XII
Environmental Sustainability: International
Perspectives
Regional Environmental Cooperation: The
(Lost) Potential for a Sustainable Future 44
in the Arabian/Persian Gulf
Mohammad Al-Saidi
Contents
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 814
Regional Environmental Cooperation and Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 815
The Gulf’s Short History: Enduring Rivalries, Emerging Risks, and Amble Cooperation
Opportunities . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 817
Status of Environmental Cooperation: Three Regional Priorities . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 819
Marine Protection . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 819
Resource Supply Infrastructure . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 820
Carbon Fuel and Climate Change . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 824
Discussion of the Environmental Cooperation Outlook . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 825
Conclusions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 826
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 828
Abstract
Environmental concerns related to the health of the marine ecosystems, the
negative impacts of coastal infrastructure and the deterioration of water quality
(e.g., increasing salinity and warming trends of the Gulf waters) are threatening
development prospects in the Persian/Arabian Gulf region. Many of these chal-
lenges require a cooperative approach, as the Gulf waters resemble characteristics
of common pool resources. Regional environmental cooperation can also be an
important contributor to peace and a prosperous future in the region. The chapter
aims at examining the legacies as well as potential fields of regional environmen-
tal cooperation in the Arabian/Persian Gulf. It first conceptualizes environmental
cooperation in relation to regional cooperation models and sustainability politics,
and as a viable component of the interdisciplinary idea of positive peace. Later, it
highlights the cooperation legacies in the region with regard to environmental
sustainability. Using current overarching challenges (marine protection, resource
M. Al-Saidi (*)
Center for Sustainable Development, College of Arts and Sciences, Qatar University, Doha, Qatar
e-mail: malsaidi@qu.edu.qa
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_44
814 M. Al-Saidi
supply infrastructure integration and risks, extremes and global warming), the
chapter analyzes the status of cooperation, identifies cooperation fields, and
stipulates recommendations for joint action. The high potential and the contem-
porary necessity for regional cooperation are far short of the countries’ efforts to
harmonize and coordinate actions, while the region is still dominated by tradi-
tional rivalry politics and governance frameworks that are sectoral, nationally
oriented, and loosely integrated into the international sustainability agenda.
Keywords
Regional environmental cooperation · Regional environmental governance ·
Persian Gulf · Coastal infrastructure · Marine ecosystems · GCC
Introduction
Environmental cooperation among states and societies sharing the same region, and
even relying on the same vital natural resources, can bring mutual benefits in terms
of synergies through common action and experience sharing. Further, problem
solving of the often transboundary environmental challenges requires state-based
cooperation. In fact, this is increasingly the case in the region of the Persian/Arabian
Gulf (hereafter referred to as the Gulf). The Gulf water body is a semi-closed sea
shared by the countries of the Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC) – Bahrain, Kuwait,
Oman, Qatar, Saudi Arabia and United Arab Emirates (UAE) – as well as the
countries of Iran and Iraq. It is of vital importance for these countries in terms of
water supply (as a source of desalinated water), cultural identity, and marine
biodiversity. Importantly, the Gulf is an economic resource since it allows the
exploitation of the trade ports and routes as well as the vast carbon resources of
the region – around 48% of world’s known reserves of oil and 38% of gas reserves in
2012 (Sorkhabi, 2014). At the same time, environmental problems are mounting as a
reaction to local drivers such as the growth of populations and economies as well as
to global change drivers such as global warming. These developments have been felt
across the Gulf. They have also resulted in devastating impacts on ecosystems such
as coral reefs, marine biodiversity, and fisheries.
With development and growth of Gulf countries, there is an increase of the
utilization of the Gulf waters. First, with the increased local water scarcities, the
Gulf riparian countries are investing in more desalination infrastructure. In the GCC
region, the environmental impact of local food production is significant. Groundwa-
ter resources, out of which 67–93% are used for agriculture in GCC countries, have
witnessed a steep decline, leading to water quality problems, seawater intrusion, and
many farm closures (Saif et al., 2014). Nowadays, most water requirements in the
urban sector are satisfied through desalination. At the same time, water is being
reused. Desalinated water is partially used in food production, and reused water can
be used in the future for combined marine-terrestrial agriculture or for vertical
farming (Brown et al., 2018). In Iran, water is more available but water scarcity is
44 Regional Environmental Cooperation: The (Lost) Potential for a Sustainable. . . 815
increasing due to the rapid economic and demographic growths. The increased use is
also due to other combined factors such as mismanagement, overuse, economic
sanctions, and the expansion of the cultivation area in the context of the food
sufficiency policies (Madani et al., 2016). The local agricultural sector, which
consumes around 92% of water, has been heavily subsidized, and, particularly
after the Islamic Revolution in 1979, has achieved higher rates of sufficiency of
more than 90% which also resulted in cheap prices, increased demands, and the
promotion of a consumerism culture (Amid, 2007; Saatsaz, 2019).
Both the GCC region and Iran face a similar challenge with regard to water
security threats due to growth, waste, and ineffective policies. Further, all countries
have a high urbanization rate of more than 85% for the GCC region, and around 74%
for Iran in 2017 – both above the global average of around 55% (World Bank, 2019).
Faced with these problems, countries in the region are building even bigger water
desalination (and also combined water and power) production facilities, a fact that
has resulted in increased water salinity and a deterioration of the health of marine
ecosystems (Sale et al., 2011). Importantly, the increased development alongside the
Gulf water is carried out without considerations for the overall resilience of the
ecosystems and the accumulating risks from the lack of coordination and coopera-
tion (Al-Saidi & Saliba, 2019).
With the lack of a regional cooperative framework in the region – only the GCC
as a regional cooperation organization among Arab Gulf countries and the single-
issue organization of ROPME (the Regional Organization for the Protection of the
Marine Environment) among all Gulf littoral states, a great potential for cooperation
is lost. Cooperation legacies centered around multilateral agreements on single
issues and occasional contacts through joint membership in international environ-
mental conventions that proliferated since the late 1970s. The chapter outlines these
sporadic collaboration efforts, which fall short of the ideal of comprehensive envi-
ronmental cooperation, let alone the aspiration of regional integration. Further, the
chapter outlines risks and cooperation potential sectors that represent key common
challenges requiring cooperation: (a) marine ecosystems and biodiversity;
(b) resources supply infrastructure; and (c) climate change action. Through cooper-
ation on these issues, Gulf littoral countries can make an important investment in the
constructive resolution of conflicts and ultimately the future prosperity of the region.
This cooperation develops the conditions for a long-lasting positive peace that
transcends the current thinking of avoidance of risk and violence.
Regional Environmental Cooperation and Peace
The necessity of environmental cooperation and its merits as a contributor to peace

has been highlighted from different perspectives related to the fields of conflict
studies, ecology or ecological economics, international relations and human geog-
raphy. For example, environmental cooperation has been framed in the context of
peacebuilding, peacemaking and peacekeeping particularly by (critical) literature
relating to positive peace in harmonious societies. The analysis of the environment-
816 M. Al-Saidi
peace links has resulted in quite rich literature with diverse tools and perspectives
ranging from technical solutions with limited contacts among conflict parties (tech-
nical environmental peacebuilding), remedies to restore justice and recognize the
legitimacy of interlocutors (peacebuilding’s restorative dimension) and knowledge
on root causes and equitable resource distribution (sustainable environmental
peacebuilding) (Dresse et al., 2019). In fact, the literature on environmental cooper-
ation and peace(building) is multifaceted and multidisciplinary and includes many
single case studies, while it is quite difficult to point out a common terminology or an
overarching framework without a reference to the respective scientific field. Further,
environmental cooperation as a tool for peacebuilding is sometimes promoted by
international organizations as an ideological agenda (as a part of the liberal, demo-
cratic peacebuilding agenda) (Selby, 2013), or as an entry point for larger projects for
the promotion of peace in conflict-ridden areas (Maas et al., 2013).
At the same time, much of the focus has been on interstate relationships, namely
the potential of environmental cooperation to create positive externalities in terms of
peace and security among neighboring nations (Conca, 2018; Conca & Dabelko,
2002). In fact, evidence from comparative case studies show that environmental
cooperation can help reconciliation and peacemaking efforts among international
rivalries. However, this effect seems to be contingent on other factors related to the
prominence of the environmental issues, political stability, or the wider patterns of
environmental cooperation and the ongoing process of reconciliation (Ide, 2018).
Further, preexisting regional cooperation organizations can become active in
addressing shared environmental concerns, but this process is not automatic and
depends on the urgency of concerns and the relationships among actors driving the
regional environmental cooperation (Siegel, 2016).
In the context of the Gulf region, there are two arguments in favor of advocating a
regional cooperation agenda on environmental or sustainability-related issues. First,
environmental issues represent mounting concerns. This is evident in the earlier
highlighted trends of ecosystems damage, water quality deterioration, and risk
accumulations related to coastal infrastructure and development in the Gulf. This
fact necessitates a heightened level of cooperation than the current status quo of
minimal cooperation efforts, mistrust, and conflict, particularly among the big and
rival regional superpower states of Iran and Saudi Arabia. So far, the focus of Gulf
countries as well as the international community has been on avoiding major clashes
between these regional powers. Environmental issues are treated as another major
risk for violence or competition among states. In fact, it is reasonable to argue that
the Gulf waters are resembling characteristics of a common pool resource, where
access and use rules are lacking while future uses are negatively affected with each
new utilization. This means that cooperation among users is highly needed. Framing
such environmental cooperation in terms of creating the potential for peacemaking is
valuable as it shifts the perspective from absence of conflicts (negative peace) to a
future-looking perspective of constructing cooperative political and economic struc-
tures (positive peace) (Galtung & Fischer, 2013). This perspective of positive peace
might also be helpful for practitioners administrating environmental cooperation
issues since it creates a more pluralist, grounded (i.e., considering root causes) and
constructive perspective on cooperation (Rissler & Shields, 2019).
Second, regional environmental cooperation can be adequately defined (in terms

of spatial boundaries) and practically facilitated by relating regional cooperation to
the Gulf waters and ecosystems. This means that the notion of the “region” is more
concrete when being related to ecological boundaries that exhibit strong conditions
of sharing and common uses. Such an understanding of environmental cooperation
is often used in water diplomacy studies, which often focus on sharing resources and
benefits from transboundary water basins and cooperating on intrastate environmen-
tal concerns (Klimes et al., 2019; Orlando, 2015). To broaden water-related cooper-
ation, benefit-sharing can be conceived across a wide range of issues facilitated by an
ecological resource. In essence, water basins are resource basins of interconnected
resource-use issues, for example, indirect use benefits and products provided by
water utilization, (see Al-Saidi & Hefny, 2018). Further, relating regional coopera-
tion to the Gulf waters can mitigate some of the shortcomings of regional environ-
mental governance studies, which define regions in an arbitrary and ad hoc manner
(Debarbieux, 2012) or ignore the social and political construction of regions and
regionalism (Gruby, 2017). By relating regional environmental governance to the
level of the Gulf waters, the focus shifts to the eco-regional scale. In fact, this is the
perspective of the new environmental regionalism, which is highly common in the
environmental governance of some regions such as the European Union (Balsiger &
Debarbieux, 2011). Relating cooperation to a concrete eco-region is different from
the classical focus of regional environmental governance studies where states par-
ticipating in intergovernmental organizations and cooperate on common challenges
affecting broadly defined regions, for example, in Asian or the Pacific subregions
(see Balsiger & VanDeveer, 2012; Elliott, 2012, 2017).
The Gulf’s Short History: Enduring Rivalries, Emerging Risks,

and Amble Cooperation Opportunities
The cooperation history of the Gulf region is short due mainly to two important
breaking points. First, the current socioeconomic composition of wealthy Arab states,
on the one hand, and, on the other hand, an equally resource-rich Iran under interna-
tional pressure (economic sanctions and political scrutiny) are results of major shifts
during the 1970s and 1980s. Since the 1970s, with the increased control of oil prices,
GCC countries have witnessed an era of high growth, which continued until the early
2000s with little consideration to the economic sustainability of such a fuel-based
growth or its environmental impacts (Al-Saidi et al., 2019). By the early 2000s, GCC
countries have witnessed an important economic transformation, which qualified them
to be a significant regional block and an important global economic power. In GCC
countries, states exerted substantial power over society through lavish subsidies to
citizens, free services, good education infrastructure, control of media, and the support
to some merchant families (Sage Mitchell, 2010). At the same time, economic diver-
sification has been lacking while businesses have had a weak role in the public political
arena dominated by tribal and royal families (Hertog, 2013).
Upon the economic strengthening of GCC monarchies, relationships with Iran
deteriorated in the aftermath of the Islamic Revolution in Iran in 1979, which offered
818 M. Al-Saidi
a rival political system combining elements of theocratic and democratic gover-

nance. Ever since GCC states supported Iraq during the Iran-Iraq war (1980–88) and
the presence of US troops grew during the 1990s, distrust between Iran and GCC
states (particularly with Saudi Arabia) has dominated the politics of the region and
reconciliation efforts have been lacking (Pradhan, 2011). On the backdrop of
increased tensions, Arab states of the Gulf formed the GCC in 1981 on the initiative
of Saudi Arabia in order to strengthen economic and political integration among
these countries. In fact, this organization has had limited success from an institu-
tional point of view in terms of effectively coordinating (foreign policy) or
implementing economic integration (e.g., monetary union, custom coordination,
common infrastructure, or joint investments) (Booz&co, 2011; Legrenzi, 2016).
The second breaking point for regional cooperation is associated with major
political turbulences during the 2000s and 2010s. This is due mainly to the ramifica-
tions of the resurrection of the nuclear aspirations in the region and political changes
following the revolutions of the Arab Spring. Iran restarted its nuclear program in the
early 2000s citing its rights of the nuclear use for peaceful purposes. This led to
political clashes with Western powers over the enrichment of uranium. In 2015, Iran
managed to obtain an agreement with the West that ensured the peaceful nature of the
nuclear program and implemented a strict verification system (the Iran deal). The Iran
deal led to a serious resistance from Saudi Arabia. This nuclear issue, together with
the alleged supported of Iran to proxy militia and armed movements in Yemen, Syria,
Lebanon, and Iraq, has hindered any normalization of relationships between Iran and
Saudi Arabia (Pasha, 2016). Further, the reinstallation of sanctions on Iran under the
US administration of Donald Trump has led to renewed tensions in the region and
increased escalations through attacks on maritime trade routes and oil infrastructure
(Ahmadian, 2018; Wolf, 2018). At the same time, the proliferation of nuclear energy
in the Gulf region started. In fact, the UAE is already finalizing its nuclear power
plants while Saudi Arabia is working on its own plans (Miller & Volpe, 2018).
In the meanwhile, a political rift among GCC states happened in the wake of the
Arab Spring movements of 2011, particularly in light of the support of Qatar to these
movements (Bianco & Stansfield, 2018). The culmination of political disputes was
2017 when Saudi Arabia, UAE, and Bahrain (alongside other Arab non-GCC states)
broke diplomatic relationships with Qatar and imposed an economic blockade. The
rest of GCC countries (Oman and Kuwait) declared neutrality, and maintained their
relationships to Qatar. This event meant a resurrection of tribal and ruling family
politics and a rupture of the cooperation framework among Arab Gulf states
(Ulrichsen, 2017). In fact, the cohesion among GCC countries has already been
weakened in the last decades by factors such as the different threat perceptions
(toward Iran) of GCC states, the fear of the Saudi hegemony, sovereignty sensitiv-
ities, and the lack of economic diversification, while GCC states were increasingly
opting to bilateral cooperation with extra-regional partners (Martini et al., 2015).
Parallel to the increase of political tensions in the region, security and environ-
mental risks are mounting. For example, established nuclear plants (Bushehr plant in
Iran) or those under construction (Barakah plant in the UAE) are on the Gulf coasts
and close to major cities. Industrial accidents, attacks, and weather-related threats are
relevant for joint action whether on nuclear security, the security of oil shipments or
oil and gas infrastructure present in the Gulf waters. Further, there are risks of
nonaction on environmental issues related to the increased development and growth
in the Gulf settlements. In the past, this increased coastal development has led to
ecosystems degradation, overfishing, industrial pollution, and other pollution-driven
stressors, making joint regulation and management an important regional priority
(Burt, 2014). Further, Gulf states should address ramifications of coupled, large-
scale water-energy-food supply infrastructure in the Gulf and develop adequate
resilience and risk reduction strategies (Al-Saidi & Saliba, 2019). In the following
sections, three priority cooperation sectors exhibiting common risks and opportuni-
ties for joint actions are presented with regard to cooperation legacies and amble
areas for future cooperation.
Status of Environmental Cooperation: Three Regional Priorities
Marine Protection
The health of the Gulf marine ecosystems has been a common concern and a rare
unifying issue in the regional cooperation among Gulf littoral countries. In recent
decades, the need for sustainable management of Gulf marine ecosystems through
long-term international cooperation has become evident in light of anthropogenic
disturbances of this semi-enclosed water body (Burt, 2014; Sale et al., 2011). The
increased impacts of these anthropogenic drivers (e.g., coastal development, land-
based pollution, carbon fuel extraction, shipping increase) necessitate a large-scale
and cross-sectoral, regional cooperation (Bayani, 2016; Hamza & Munawar, 2009).
Such a cooperation will be still indispensable even for the larger Gulf countries who
are political rivals (e.g., Iran and Saudi Arabia) or those countries who have access to
other coasts not related to the Gulf (the Red Sea for Saudi Arabia, the Caspian Sea
for Iran and Oman). This is because these countries still depend on the Gulf waters
significantly. Furthermore, although more research is needed, climate change and
temperature variability as important global change drivers are expected to cause
stresses such as coral bleaching or fish mass death events in the Gulf (Ben-Hasan &
Christensen, 2019; Paparella et al., 2019; B. M. Riegl et al., 2012; B. Riegl & Purkis,
2011). In light of these challenges, regional cooperation has taken shape through a
combined use of cooperation arrangements provided by regional organizations and
international regimes (global conventions or multilateral agreements).
The Regional Organization for the Protection of Marine Environment (ROPME)
was established in 1979 as an intergovernmental organization encompassing all Gulf
littoral countries. It was based on a legal agreement between the Gulf countries,
namely the Kuwait Regional Convention for Cooperation on the Protection of the
Marine Environment from Pollution (short Kuwait Convention). ROPME was seen
by the Kuwait Convention as a follow-up and implementation instrument for the
convention and for an action plan (the Kuwait Action Plan) which envisioned several
surveying, assessment, and integrated management activities. So far, the Kuwait
820 M. Al-Saidi
Convention has had several accompanying protocols on pollution by oil and harmful
substances (1978), pollution from the exploration of the continental shelf (1989),
pollution from land-based sources (1990) as well as marine movements and the
disposal of hazardous waste (1998). There is another protocol on biological diversity
and protected areas that is still not adopted ever since its conception in the early
2000s. One possible explanation for the inability to adopt new protocols is the
resurface of tensions in the region, particularly regarding the Iran’s nuclear program
(since early 2000s), the implications of the Arab Spring (since 2011), and the
GCC-wide rift after Qatar’s boycott by neighbors led by Saudi Arabia (since
2017) (Bianco & Stansfield, 2018; Coates Ulrichsen, 2011). Alongside adopting
the missing protocol on biodiversity and protected areas, littoral countries have yet to
adopt comprehensive protection measures including monitoring, valuation, and
protection actions. These actions can go beyond the 2011–2020 Strategic Plan for
Biodiversity which ROMPE countries adopted within the framework of the Con-
vention on Biodiversity (van Lavieren & Klaus, 2013).
In fact, there is a need to expand regional marine-based cooperation beyond the
current focus on pollution and protection, and to incorporate broader, cross-sectoral
issues of ecosystems management (Hamza & Munawar, 2009). ROPME has been
quite valuable in promoting marine sustainability and advocating joint action, for
example, through the ROPME Marine Emergency Mutual Aid Center (ROMPE/
MEMAC) in Bahrain which has in the past reacted to several oil spills. Through its
work with international organizations (e.g., UNEP, UNESCO) and NGOs (e.g.,
WWF) as well as with national and regional ones, ROPME has been a positive
example of regional environmental cooperation (El-Habr & Hutchinson, 2008). At
the same time, the implementation of the integrated ecosystem approach has been a
part of ROPME’s original mandate. However, a key constrain has been the frag-
mentation of the involved topics among many national, regional, and international
actors (Khan, 2008).
Finally, it is important to highlight the participation of Gulf littoral countries in
international conventions, see Table 1 for the most relevant ones. These conventions
provide an opportunity for improving the Gulf’s protection and building trust among
littoral countries. This is especially true for Iraq, which has only recently joined most
of these agreements. While marine pollution and biodiversity-related conventions
have been around for quite some time, global action on issues of waste or climate
change is relatively recent. Further, almost all GCC countries have recently joined
many of these agreements, which goes in line with the notion of increased engage-
ment in the global (and less in the regional) (environmental) governance systems
(Al-Saidi et al., 2019; Bianco & Stansfield, 2018).
Resource Supply Infrastructure
A key development driving pressures on the Gulf waters is the increase of supply
infrastructure of water, energy, and food resources alongside coastal areas. In
addition to the traditional use of Gulf coasts for urban settlement, land reclamation,
Table 1 Participation of Gulf littoral states in major multilateral environmental conventions and
agreements
Participation form and year (e.g., 00 for 2000)a
Other Gulf
International regime by topic littoral states Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC) countries
(dates of adoption, entering Saudi
force) Iran Iraq Bahrain Kuwait Oman Qatar Arabia UAE
Hazardous waste
Basel Convention on the A(93) A(11) R(92) R(93) A(95) A(95) R(90) R(92)
Control of Transboundary
Movements of Hazardous
Wastes and Their Disposal
(1989, 1992)
The Rotterdam Convention R(04) A(17) A(12) R(06) A(00) A(04) A(00) A(02)
on the Prior Informed
Consent Procedure for
Certain Hazardous
Chemicals and Pesticides in
International Trade (1998,
2004)
Minamata Convention on R(17) S(13) R(15) A(19)
Mercury (2013, 2017)
The Stockholm Convention R(06) A(16) R(06) R(06) R(05) A(04) R(12) R(02)
on Persistent Organic
Pollutants (2001, 2004)
Cartagena Protocol on R(03) A(14) A(12) A(17) A(03) A(07) A(07) A(14)
Biosafety to the Convention
on Biological Diversity
(2000, 2003)
Climate change
Basel Protocol on Liability A(13)
and Compensation (1999)
United Nations Framework R(96) A(09) R(94) A(94) R(95) A(96) A(94) A(95)
Convention on Climate
Change (1992, 1994)
Kyoto Protocol (1997, 2005) A(05) A(09) A(06) A(05) A(05) A(05) A(05) A(05)
The Montreal Protocol on A(90) A(08) A(90) A(92) A(99) A(96) A(93) A(89)
Substances that Deplete the
Ozone Layer (1987, 1989)
The Vienna Convention for A(90) A(08) A(90) A(92) A(99) A(96) A(93) A(90)
the Protection of the Ozone
Layer (1985, 1988)
Paris Agreement (2015, S(16) S(16) R(16) R(18) R(19) R(17) R(16) Ac(16)
2016)
Biodiversity
Convention on International R(76) A(14) A(12) R(02) A(08) A(01) A(96) A(90)
Trade in Endangered Species
of Wild Fauna and Flora
(1973, 1975)
(continued)
822 M. Al-Saidi
Table 1 (continued)
Other Gulf
The Convention on the P(08) P(16) P(91) P(16)
Conservation of Migratory
Species of Wild Animals
(1979, 1983)
The Nagoya Protocol on A(17) A(17) A(14)
Access to Genetic Resources
and the Fair and Equitable
Sharing of Benefits Arising
from their Utilization to the
Convention on Biological
Diversity (2010, 2014)
Convention on Biological R(96) A(09) R(96) R(02) R(95) R(96) A(01) R(00)
Diversity (CBD) (1992,
1993)
Nagoya – Kuala Lumpur A(18)
Supplementary Protocol
(additional liability rules)
(2010, 2018)
Ramsar Convention: The R(75) A(08) A(98) A(15) A(13) A(07)
Convention on Wetlands of
International Importance
(1971, 1975)
Marine Pollution
London Convention on the A(97) S(73) A(84) A(75)
Prevention of Marine
Pollution by Dumping of
Wastes and Other Materials
(1972, 1975)
International Convention on A(07) A(97) R(95) A(02) A(01)
the Establishment of an
International Fund for
Compensation for Oil
Pollution Damage
(FUND92) (1992, 2006)
(latest amendment from
original FUND of 1969)
Civil Liability Convention A(07) A(97) Ac(95) A(94) A(01) A(02) A(97)
for Oil Pollution Damage
(1992, 1996) (latest
amendment from original in
1969)
(continued)
Table 1 (continued)
Other Gulf
International Convention A(97) A(81) A(85) A(88) A(83)
Relating to Intervention on
the High Seas in Cases of Oil
Pollution Casualties
(INTERVENTION) (1969,
1975)
International Convention on A(98) A(16) A(08) A(07) A(04)
Oil Pollution Preparedness
Response and Cooperation
(1990, 1995)
World Heritage Convention
(1972)
Convention for the A(02) A(07) A(07) A(84) A(06) A(05) A(07)
Prevention of Pollution from
Ships (MARPOL 73/78)
(1978,1983) (amending the
original convention in 1973)
UN Convention on the Law S(82) R(85) R(85) R(85) R(89) R(02) R(96) S(82)
of the Sea (UNCLOS) (1982,
1994)
Others
UN Convention on the Law A(01) A(02)
of the Non-Navigational
Uses of International
Watercourses (1997, 2014)
United Nations Convention R(98) A(10) A(97) R(97) A(96) A(99) A(97) A(98)
to Combat Desertification
(1994, 1996)
Source: Based on data from the United Nations Information Portal on Multilateral Environmental
Agreements (informea.org) as well as ECOLEX (ecolex.org)
a
Notes: Acronyms as follows: R: Ratification, A: Accession (in effect equal to ratification, but,
depending on the convention, A is usually after entering force): S: Signature (less than formal
ratification or accession), Ac: (less than formal ratification or accession)
tourism, trade, and oil and gas shipments, the economic and population growths
require the construction of new desalination and power production plants. The past
growth of water-energy-food infrastructure and their impacts on water-energy-food
securities have been extensively reviewed by some recent studies (Abulibdeh et al.,
2019; Al-Saidi & Saliba, 2019). Prospectively, there will also be new infrastructure
for marine food such as aquaculture or combined marine-terrestrial food production
sites (Brown et al., 2018). One also needs to consider that such a development is
824 M. Al-Saidi
fully underway in the GCC but it is just beginning in Iran. For example, desalination,
aquaculture, and water reuse facilities are on the rise in Gulf coastal regions of Iran
(Gorjian & Ghobadian, 2015; Hadipour et al., 2015). Considering the large popula-
tion and economic size of Iran (twice the population size of all GCC countries
together), the impacts of the rise of coastal development on the Gulf will be
significant. This requires more scientific attention. Further, the incorporation of
low-carbon growth technologies (e.g., renewables, reuse technologies, more
closed-loop systems, smart cities technologies) will mean an increase of water-
energy-food integration in the region, mainly on coastal areas (Al-Saidi & Elagib,
2018). Furthermore, the growth of tourism is impacting coastal areas but also food
demand and waste production (Pirani & Arafat, 2016).
The associated risks of supply infrastructure growth patterns were reviewed by
Al-Saidi and Saliba (2019). Accordingly, the vulnerability of rapidly developing
resource supply systems is increasing due several factors. There are risks inherent
from internal threat categories such as the increased systems coupling (more inte-
grated systems), fluctuations of economic and population growths, and the scale of
development (e.g., construction of coastal mega plants supplying large cities with
water and energy, accidents, human errors, and supply interruptions). Furthermore,
external risks originate from the broad of categories of technology and markets (e.g.,
overdependence on high-tech, imported technology, the need for highly qualified
local workforce, cyber security, price volatilities), climate change (e.g., weather
extremes), and state-based security (e.g., attacks on supply infrastructure by
non-state actors). In addressing these threats through risk-oriented security strate-
gies, regional environmental cooperation can play an important role. There are
several joint action opportunities in terms of capacity building on critical technolo-
gies (e.g., desalination, renewables in arid regions, alternative food productions).
Further opportunities include the development of storage capacities and supply
emergency schemes, diversification of supply (by using regional trade and cooper-
ation), or the establishment of vulnerability assessments and risk management
instruments that incorporate the supply performance and the entire (Gulf-wide)
ecosystem.
Carbon Fuel and Climate Change
The transition toward low-carbon economies requires mainly two things from Gulf
states: (1) the redesign their energy mix; and (2) lowering carbon emissions through
interventions in the built environment and energy use patterns. With regard to the
energy mix issue, renewable energies, mainly solar in the GCC countries and solar as
well as hydropower in Iran, have been incorporated into ambitious development
strategies in the region (Al-Saidi & Elagib, 2018; Bayomi & Fernandez, 2019). At
the same time, nuclear energy is on the rise as a type of clean energy for power
production. The nuclear plans (in Iran, UAE, and Saudi Arabia) are associated with
elevated political risks and concerns from neighboring countries, alongside the
classical risks of nuclear waste and safety (Dassa Kaye & Wehrey, 2007; Miller &
Volpe, 2018). In fact, the GCC states have made important strides through the
GCC-wide electricity grid to improve the energy supply integration and incorporate
a regional use option of renewables. However, collaboration on other issues such as
the increased gas imports (for electricity production instead of nuclear power) has
been overshadowed by political disputes (Krane & Wright, 2014). Further, there are
no tangible regional cooperation on the issue of climate change as a common threat
to Gulf countries, although some initiatives (e.g., a regional climate change center)
were announced during the high-engagement phase (particularly by Qatar) prior to
the oil price fall of 2014 (Al-Saidi, 2019).
Despite climate change resurfacing on the agenda of regional cooperation insti-
tutions such as the GCC, there are no future targets on carbon emissions, renewables,
or energy efficiency such as those targets among European Union countries (Asif,
2016). There is also a lost potential for cooperation on emission capture and storage
related to the oil and gas industry that is vital to all Gulf countries. In fact, apart from
signing the global agreements on climate change (e.g., Kyoto protocol and Paris
2015 agreement), Gulf countries have shown little engagement with this issue on the
global level, while they have in the past been an opposing force to some parts of the
international climate change agenda (Al-Saidi et al., 2019). Similarly, on energy
efficiency interventions, Gulf countries have started to redesign urban areas through
energy efficiency regulations, certifications, and refitting of buildings. However, in the
GCC region for example, there is no cooperation, but rather a competition between
Qatar and UAE, on energy certification systems that can be used by other countries in
the region (Al-Saidi et al., 2018). Finally, curbing large consumption footprints is a
common concern for Gulf countries with energy subsidy reforms being implemented
across the region (Krane, 2018), but, in the GCC for example, there is little coordina-
tion on the subsidization level or the adequate water and electricity tariffs in order to
allow for supply integration through regional electricity (and water) grids.
Discussion of the Environmental Cooperation Outlook
Regional cooperation in the Gulf region has been strongly influenced by its political
economic reality. Key influence factors include the role of oil and gas economies and
their impacts on national states (rentierism), international trade (necessity of access
to the Gulf), and the interests’ interplay of global actors (alliances and conflicts) as
well as the (ideological/economic) political rivalries in the region itself. Within this
complexity, two future-oriented questions can be asked: can environmental cooper-
ation become a peace and reconciliation instrument in this turbulent region? and will
the regional level stand out – in comparison to local and global ones – in the region’s
transition toward sustainability?
The answer to the first question is arguably affirmative. Regional environmental
cooperation has a concrete manifestation in the region alongside several merits such
as trust building and lowering the current surge of political tensions. Alongside these
benefits of fewer conflicts, it holds the promise of creating values associated with
positive peace in the region such as harnessing good relations and promoting
prosperity among neighboring states sharing a common destiny. Furthermore, coop-
eration alongside the Gulf water body, a common environmental and economic
826 M. Al-Saidi
resource under rising risks, means that the (eco)region is well-defined. As mentioned
earlier, this alleviates some criticism of incoherent or constructed regions in arrange-
ments of regional environmental cooperation (Debarbieux, 2012; Gruby, 2017). A
further indication of the importance of cooperation is the fact that regional arrange-
ments, particularly related to marine issues, have lasted so far despite long-standing
political tensions, that is, namely the Iran-GCC and inter-GCC conflicts. However,
cooperation has been issue-based (e.g., dominance of pollution-based legal arrange-
ments). It has yet to include comprehensive management approaches (e.g., ecosys-
tems’ management, Gulf protection as a common pool resource), emerging security
issues (e.g., infrastructure and supply resilience), or softer issues (e.g., trade, tech-
nology and education-based cooperation). Concurrent to the rise of environmental
degradation issues and the related risks, the region is witnessing elevated risks of
political conflicts and other security threats, for example, proxy wars and attacks on
energy installations (Reuters, 2017). Environmental cooperation can help lower
tensions by highlighting the benefits and the contemporary necessity of working
together in the region.
On the revaluation of the regional level, Gulf countries, particularly GCC coun-
tries, have been increasingly engaged within the global sustainability agenda. This is
reflected through national commitments on renewables, joining international con-
ventions or working with international organizations on sustainability paradigms
(e.g., Green Economy or the implementation of the Sustainable Development Goals
or SDG’s) (Al-Saidi et al., 2019; Al-Saidi & Elagib, 2018; Luomi, 2015). Due to
decades of sanctions and wars since the early 1980s, Iraq has been a latecomer to the
international scene, and has now joined most environmental conventions. At the
same time, one can witness a rise of national sustainability agendas (e.g., national
visions of GCC states) within the context of economic diversification and subsidy
reforms. Despite these transformative agendas being exclusively oriented toward the
local level, they resemble each other and sometimes compete. However, the urge to
transform Gulf countries toward more efficiency and sustainability offer cooperation
opportunities by coordinating approaches and policies (e.g., on energy mix or carbon
reductions), sharing technologies and knowledge (e.g., on safety, reuse, renewables),
trading required resources (e.g., gas or food trade). At the same time, environmental
risks from cooperation failures on Gulf related issues are expected to push the
regional level more into the forefront. This is particularly true if Gulf states choose
to adopt a constructive cooperation agenda that incorporates positive peace, that is,
harnessing cooperation among states, civil society actors, and cultures in the region.
It is however left for future studies to examine how any cooperation failures, and the
increased interactions between the local levels of GCC states and the global (envi-
ronmental) governance actors will shape regional outcomes.
Conclusions
Environmental cooperation in the Gulf region has been a long-standing cause ever
since the creation of independent Gulf states in the last century. This is due to the fact
that the (eco)region is defined by the a semi-closed water body (the Gulf) that is
shared among littoral states. These states depend on the Gulf for its immense carbon
resources and its highly important ecological and cultural values. Ever since the
realization of the Gulf waters’ degradation through increased coastal development,
shipping, overfishing, and discharge of waste and the desalination brines, regional
cooperation arrangements (e.g., the GCC and Gulf-wide organizations such as
ROPME) have advocated environmental protection and the benefits of coordinating
actions through regional regulations, joint assessments, and capacity building.
However, the region has witnessed long-lasting political turmoil and ideological
rivalries that negatively affected the progress of regional (environmental) coopera-
tion. Such a cooperation is even more necessary today since the risks of non-action
and business-as-usual are increasing. It also needs to move beyond the overemphasis
on the absence of conflicts to a more future-looking and constructive agenda of
positive peace, toward which environmental cooperation can play an important role.
As such, cooperation has to be expanded in order to incorporate newer sectors and
also embrace the involvement of non-state actors. In fact, the rapid increase of the
utilization of the Gulf ecosystems goes hand in hand with environmental external-
ities that go beyond the traditional issue of pollution. Increased salinity levels, risks
of accidents and disasters on coastal infrastructure, and biodiversity loss due to land
reclamations are some prominent environmental problems.
While states need to act locally, there are amble areas for interstate cooperation.
These areas include adopting comprehensive protection and ecosystems manage-
ment regulations, addressing risks related to the integration of water-energy-food
supply infrastructure or sharing knowledge and resources on the mitigation of
climate change impacts. Marine ecosystems, supply infrastructure, and climate
change represent three cooperation priorities that can be expanded. First, joint action
on marine ecosystems can be carried out through strengthening regional marine
conventions and developing further common strategies (e.g., on the pillars of
ecosystems management and protected areas). Second, supply infrastructure, partic-
ularly for water and power production, are resulting in increased risks of coupled and
large-scale plants as well as technological risks. These negative impacts need to be
incorporated into regional approaches that draw on experiences from other parts of
the world (e.g., the Gulf of Mexico or the North Sea in Europe). Finally, addressing
climate change and extremes is a prime opportunity for cooperation through the
exchange of experiences in carbon reduction and disaster risk management.
The Gulf water body is now resembling the characteristics of a common pool
resource where joint utilization regulations are necessary in order to maintain the
resource for future generations. Furthermore, comprehensive approaches of regional
cooperation that include economic and ecological policy integration alongside softer
issues such as knowledge exchange and actions’ coordination have been success-
fully used to effectuate better synergies and outcomes in other regions, for example,
Europe and some Asian regions. Additional benefits are related to facilitating peace
and reconciliation in a region witnessing conflicts, distrust, and tensions.
Regional cooperation as an instrument of positive peace requires a revaluation of
the regional level in environmental cooperation. The argument of strengthening this
regional cooperation level in the Gulf needs not be on the expense of a strong
engagement in the global sustainability agenda or ambitious national reforms.
828 M. Al-Saidi
Indeed, due to the concrete environmental tasks that can only be addressed jointly,
regional cooperation is arguably a necessary component of the transition to sustain-
ability in the Gulf region. The Gulf region needs to overcome the rise of political
tensions in the last couple of decades, and the retreat of the regional level as a policy-
making scale. Through regional cooperation and a positive peace agenda, it is
conceivable to transform mounting environmental challenges into opportunities.
This takes place by creating synergies that can lower the impacts and costs of
environmental failures on the region’s future.
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Collaborative Environmental Conflict
Resolution Practices in the North American 45
Great Lakes Region
Olga Skarlato
Contents
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 834
Public Participation and Governance . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 837
Resource Management Plans and Advisory Groups . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 841
Dialogue and Communication . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 844
Cooperation and Collaboration . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 845
Summarizing Conflict Resolution Approaches and Practices in the Great Lakes Region . . . . . 846
Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 850
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 850
Abstract
The scholars and practitioners in the Peace and Conflict Studies (PACS) field
have developed, analyzed, and applied a number of approaches to conflict
resolution in the past decades, including multiple types of third-party interven-
tions, negotiations, policymaking as well as other creative conflict resolution and
peacebuilding initiatives aimed at building relationships and trust, encouraging
cooperation and facilitating dialogue. Public participation in environmental advi-
sory groups and resource governance can also help resolve existing environmen-
tal and resource conflicts and prevent future disputes by creating and
implementing resource management plans, forming alliances and coalitions as
well as implementing other collaborative initiatives. This qualitative exploratory
study examined the perceptions and experiences of 52 key stakeholders –
policymakers, researchers, academics, and community members – from the
coastal areas of the Great Lakes Region of Canada and the United States with
the key focus on environmental and resource conflicts and conflict resolution
practices. This study has illustrated that a number of specific environmental
conflict resolution mechanisms and opportunities are in place in the Great
O. Skarlato (*)
Peace Studies, McMaster University, Hamilton, ON, Canada
e-mail: skarlato@mcmaster.ca
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_45
834 O. Skarlato
Lakes Region including stakeholder dialogue processes, environmental alliance

building, public participation in environmental and resource forums and advisory
groups. At the same time, the extent of public participation in decision-making
and implementation of resource and environmental management in coastal areas
remains problematic. There is a challenge and an opportunity to design and
implement comprehensive, practical, and efficient collaborative environmental
conflict resolution and conflict prevention strategies to help build and maintain
Positive Peace in the Great Lakes Region and beyond.
Keywords
Conflict resolution · Environmental policymaking · Public participation ·
Resource management · The Great Lakes
Introduction
The scholars and practitioners in the Peace and Conflict Studies (PACS) field have
developed, analyzed, and used a number of approaches to conflict resolution in the
past decades. These intervention approaches have different backgrounds, structures,
and processes. For example, negotiation is sometimes considered the most common
form of “preventing, managing, resolving, and transforming conflicts” (Zartman,
2009, p. 322; see also Zartman, 1994; Zartman & Rubin, 2000). Third-party
interventions (mediation, arbitration, facilitation, fact finding, and adjudication)
can also be widely used in resolving international, national, group, and interpersonal
conflicts (Ury, 2000). Policymaking is another approach that may be capable of
addressing conflicts on the structural level (Skarlato, 2002, 2018; Skarlato & Telesh,
2008). Some other creative conflict resolution and peacebuilding initiatives aimed at
building relationships and trust, as well as encouraging cooperation and dialogue,
include public participation in advisory groups and governance through creating and
implementing resource management plans and other collaborative initiatives.
Peacebuilding can be conceptualized as a process of addressing underlying
causes of direct, structural, and cultural violence to transform conflicts and achieve
Positive Peace (Galtung, 1996, 2007). Meanwhile, conflict resolution theories and
community development practices within the peacebuilding processes (Skarlato
et al., 2016), as well as manifestation of democracy as a societal model, which
represents millions of inter-related individuals and social groups with conflicting
viewpoints and claims (Dacombe, 2018), are often chaotic and thus unpredictable.
These features hamper investigation and modeling of peacebuilding and the related
processes, which similarly to the wildly oscillating complex ecological, physical,
chemical, or other global systems are not always reconciled with the conventional
cause-effect relationships and paradigms (Telesh et al., 2019).
The concept of Positive Peace (Just Peace) and negative peace (the absence of
war) (Galtung, 1996, pp. 31–33) can be applied in the context of environmental
conflict resolution. Positive Peace would reflect the state of the environment and
45 Collaborative Environmental Conflict Resolution Practices in the North. . . 835
the life of people, animals, and plant life that is safe, healthy, and sustainable. It
would also involve preventative and transformative approaches to resolving envi-
ronmental conflicts collaboratively. Negative peace would involve the absence of
major environmental threats, resource scarcity, and extreme pollution, among other
factors.
A number of studies were produced in recent years that address resource manage-
ment issues and provide guidelines, strategies, and approaches to managing natural
environmental resources in a sustainable manner (see Stoll-Kleemann & Welp, 2006;
Pound et al., 2003; Herath & Prato, 2006). In particular, a number of scholars have
addressed and analyzed approaches to designing and implementing specific environ-
mental conflict resolution and prevention practices (see O’Leary & Bingham, 2003;
Pearson d’Estree & Colby, 2004; Crowfoot & Wondolleck, 1991; Diehl & Gleditsch,
2001; Vaughn, 2007; Alao, 2007). This scholarship addresses the key developments
in the field of resolving environmental conflicts including the use of Alternative
Dispute Resolution (ADR) methods (mediation, facilitation, dialogue, and negotia-
tions) as opposed to resolving these issues in court. While the significance of the legal
framework and the importance of court procedures in resolving environmental
disputes cannot be underestimated, ADR methods provide an opportunity to move
beyond management or resolution of a particular conflict towards prevention and
conflict transformation. Moreover, ADR methods provide interactive, inclusive, and
interdisciplinary approaches to resolving environmental conflicts.
Environmental Conflict Resolution (ECR) scholarship provides some examples
and studies that present successful processes and actions that resulted in resolving
environmental disputes such as consultations with local communities, pro-
blemsolving and consensus-building activities, and drawing on traditional knowl-
edge in resolving disputes (O’Leary & Bingham, 2003; Berkes et al., 2005).
Preventing resource and environmental conflicts at the local, national, and interna-
tional levels is essential for the comprehensive environmental policymaking of any
country. However, until now there have been relatively few scholarly publications
addressing this issue. There are multiple opportunities for prevention and early inter-
vention into environmental conflicts, including designing appropriate resource policies,
supporting constructive dialogue between stakeholders, encouraging environmental
and peace education, and conducting environmental awareness campaigns.
ECR may take the form of a consensus-building process such as conflict assess-
ment, facilitation, mediation, conciliation, negotiated rule-making, and policy dia-
logues (Emerson et al., 2003, pp. 10–13). Citizen involvement at the early stages of
resource management planning, and in addressing conservation, the use and devel-
opment of shared space, as well as in promoting community-oriented neighborhoods
(Mallet, 2005) is a potential preventative approach to environmental and resource
dispute resolution. Another ECR option is through quasijudicial processes like early
neutral evaluation, mini-trials and summary jury trials, settlement judges, fact
finding, and arbitration (Ibid, pp. 14–15). “Advocates of environmental conflict
resolution generally find fault with traditional modes of environmental policymaking
and dispute resolution” (Ibid, p. 6). However, incorporating the principles of envi-
ronmental governance, public participation, and stakeholder dialogue into the
836 O. Skarlato
policymaking process may address this gap between policymaking and alternative
environmental dispute resolution practices (see Beierle & Cayford, 2003).
Communication is a critical component for stakeholders to participate in collab-
orative decisionmaking that would encourage “establishing productive linkages
between decision makers and the public” (Herath & Prato, 2006, p. 3). All stake-
holders should be given an opportunity to contribute to the discussion and share their
views, interests, and needs. The implementation of collaborative decisionmaking,
however, brings forward the dilemma of power differentials between decisionmakers
and other stakeholders (Stoll-Kleemann & Welp, 2006, p. 67).
It is particularly important to define the terms dialogue and relationship in the context
of conflict resolution and peacebuilding. Dialogue is a “distinctive way of communi-
cating that is the essence of relationship” and when sustained and practiced as a carefully
designed process, it can become a “systematic instrument for transforming conflictual,
dysfunctional, or disruptive relationships” (Saunders, 2009, p. 376). The concept of
relationship can be understood through a combination of identity, interests, power,
perceptions (and misperceptions), and patterns of interaction (Saunders, 2009, p. 380;
see also Voorhees, 2002).
The importance of trust and distrust and the critical role these concepts play in
relationships are discussed by Roy Lewicki (2006). While trust and distrust coexist
in relationships, creating trust and managing distrust is critical for managing rela-
tionships (Lewicki, 2006, p. 113). “In the field of conflict resolution. . . trust at a
system level is not only instrumental in building an effective working relationship
among the parties in a specific context but is also one of the cornerstones in
searching for a sustained, justice solution among those parties” (Yang, 1998,
p. 20). In addition, “trust is shaped and defined in social circumstances and cultural
contexts” because it takes different forms, contents, structure and meaning according
to different cultural, historical, and social perspectives (Ibid, p. 23).
This chapter is based on the qualitative, holistic, exploratory study of environ-
mental conflict resolution practices discussed by 52 coastal stakeholders from the
Great Lakes region (Fig. 1) of Canada and the United States (USA) (Skarlato, 2013).
The participants, 13 of whom were from Canada and 39 from the USA, represent a
wide spectrum of coastal stakeholders and community members including aca-
demics, practitioners, managers, scientists, and others. The key criteria for inviting
the participants to this study were their knowledge and practical expertise in the
areas related to coastal environmental and resource management, conflict resolution,
education, and policymaking. The variety of areas of expertise of the study partic-
ipants indicates the potential for consensus in addressing environmental conflicts
through cooperative strategies that many people see as unreachable and provides a
vision for the attainment of Positive Peace through the eyes and voices of the study
participants.
This study was designed to integrate public policy, alternative dispute resolution,
conflict analysis, project evaluation, dialogue and public participation, environmen-
tal and conflict resolution education, and other creative interventions into a holistic
strategy of environmental conflict resolution in coastal areas of large lakes and seas.
A grounded theory approach was used to analyze the respondents’ interview
Fig. 1 Mapping research participants
transcripts and their written responses to articulate new findings and interpretations
of the existing conflict resolution discourses as the themes emerged inductively from
the data (Bryman, 2004; Rubin & Babbie, 2008). This chapter focuses specifically
on the significance of public participation and governance, resource management
plans and advisory groups, dialogue and communication, as well as cooperation and
collaboration among coastal stakeholders and the capacity of these practices to serve
as environmental conflict resolution approaches. This research addresses the poten-
tial of novel challenging perspectives and the transboundary (along with interstate
and interprovincial) cooperation strategies as effective tools and opportunities to
facilitate Positive Peace.
Public Participation and Governance
The question about public participation in environmental and resource management

in coastal areas of the Great Lakes generated a lot of feedback from the respondents.
They shared both their general considerations and insight about the effectiveness of
public participation, and their specific examples of the ways the public participates,
which included both the success stories and criticism of the systems in place. In
terms of general descriptions of public participation, a research manager working in
the Great Lakes Basin in the USA shared with me the following in her story,
838 O. Skarlato
Respondent AI: Public participation often takes the form of public forums (listening ses-
sions) to gather public input on issues; many government-run programs have advisory
committees with public representation; democratic processes such as voting affect imple-
mentation policy.
Public participation in environmental and resource management was conceptual-

ized and articulated by a number of respondents in terms of the involvement of the
public in resource and environmental governance. For example, an academic from
Ontario had this to say about public participation in resource management and
governance,
Respondent AR: I’m strongly of the view that the overall structures and processes for
governance matter and require a lot more attention at the Great Lakes Basin scale. If nothing
else it could help design the smaller scale collaborative processes you seem to be most
interested in and link them to the larger scales that provide necessary context and some
background understanding for local efforts. The [International Joint Commission] IJC
advisory groups have both documented and concluded that at least for the lower Great
Lakes, the [Areas of Concern] would now constitute the entire coastal zone. . .. More factors
would now have to be considered than were known some 25 years ago when the concept was
first introduced (and then institutionalized around the individual sites).
Further, he went on to specify what he meant by environmental and resource

governance as follows,
Respondent AR: Basically, I meant the basic constitutional and legal frameworks for
governance that have been developed over the years to direct the assignments and divisions
of responsibilities for planning and management of particular sectors or issues that arise. It
includes different levels and divisions among governmental administrations, a substantial
private sector that use the resources of the Lakes in many ways, and many civil society
groups that are involved in situations that affect them. The collaborative groups tend to
cluster around the different uses of land and water, with those interests that need high quality
environments ("drinkable, fishable, swimmable") disadvantaged by those who don’t (for
example, commercial navigation, pollution dilution). For any particular location and set of
issues, say a [Remedial Action Plan], this overlay both structures and limits what can be
done by collaborative efforts trying to address issues at that one particular scale.
Discussing the issue of public participation, a Field Unit Superintendent with

Parks Canada from Ontario shared his experience and knowledge in terms of the
current process of public involvement as well as his vision for a more effective
governance,
Respondent AK: How does the public participate? The usual process of announcing a public
meeting to discuss X topic. This has been expanded by the use of the Internet to advertise
and provide mechanisms for public input. In some instances the government seeking opinion
may form a working group with a specific mandate, usually advisory in nature. . .. If the
issues affect First Nation rights and title then a separate and distinct consultation is required.
This is not always done effectively and often is out of synchronization with the working
group efforts or general public consultation. . .. What actions or polices are required?
Entirely new ways of governance where sharing power and decisionmaking are truly
achieved. We need to implement good governance and monitor and measure the
implementation. A short sentence with magnificent implications for revamping fundamental

approaches to public participation in making choices about those things that most directly
affect them. As a principle, the people who are most affected by decisions should have direct
and greater say in the processes that result in a decision than others. However, in order to
achieve this, the processes must be resourced (human and fiscal) properly. . .. Being clear on
the distinction between governance, governing and government is pretty critical as well.
Because there is often times of blurring between what people are describing as governing as
opposed to governance. There is a lot about where the power is, based on embedded
constitutional and provincial and local laws and structures that create power points, and
then trying to move that power from within those existing structures outward sometimes is
very difficult because it is prevented by the laws themselves.
The respondents revealed different perspectives about public involvement in

environmental and resource management and the effectiveness of public participa-
tion. Some respondents perceived that the public is actively and broadly involved in
this process. For example, an academic from New York shared with me the follow-
ing examples of public participation in his narrative,
Respondent AS: There are several methods. A lot of groups involved in various environ-
mental projects enlist public assistance in tasks like. . . surveys following fish ladder
installation. Groups of young people are also involved in many restoration efforts, such as
the Harbor School. The Bronx River Alliance hires local youngsters to help clean the
riverbanks. This approach is very common, combining education with restoration (there is
a long list – Roosevelt Island Sports Foundation, The River Project, Seatuck – of groups that
take part in this approach). There is also an effort less at direct involvement then in education
– my own group, coupled with New York State DEC, runs a program to take children fishing
after receiving some education on local fish and ecosystems. The group (I Fish NY) also
holds large public clinics. The emphasis on all trips is sustainable fishing practices, educa-
tion, and an environmental approach to the waterfront, the theory being that young people
can form a connection to the water through angling. There aren’t too many ways to connect
to nature in New York City, but even a polluted waterbody is teaming with hidden life. This
educational approach is more long term, but it does plant the seed of coastal responsibility in
current and future users. . .. As for effectiveness, it is very effective for participating groups.
For instance, those who take part in a fishing trip or an alewife survey learn a lot from the
experience may be more inclined to keep an open mind about the water. How far this spreads
beyond participants is unclear. However, for something that involves volunteering your time,
it’s a self-selecting group. The people that have absolutely no interest in stewardship are the
ones doing the most damage and they are not the ones showing up at the meetings.
An environmental educator from the Great Lakes region in the USA also pro-
vided a number of examples of successful public participation,
Respondent AZ: Public participation really depends on the issue, they will attend meetings,
give presentations, focus on community awareness, write letters to elected officials, ensure
they are abiding by best management practices, organize educational events or activist
events — just as some examples.
Other respondents were less enthusiastic about the scope and quality of public
participation in environmental and resource management. According to an aca-
demic, activist and a member of an environmental NGO from Ontario (Respondent
AJ) public participation is effective “only if allied to a commercial interest like an
840 O. Skarlato
industry or municipality.” The concerns about the lack of interest in participating, the
lack of opportunity to participate, and the lack of knowledge needed to be able to
participate were shared by other respondents. For example, according to a member
of a nonprofit environmental NGO from Michigan, the public requires guidance in
order to find ways to participate in environmental and resource management,
Respondent T: Citizens are actively engaged in the land use decisions made in their
communities. It is often difficult for them to know how to participate, but with resources
and assistance from groups such as Freshwater Future, they are very successful in partici-
pating in decisionmaking processes.
In addition, an environmental policymaker and academic from Michigan also

shared his thoughts regarding the challenges for public participation related to
limited resources, lack of expertise, apathy, and the lack of time in everyone’s
busy schedules,
Respondent AT: This is always the challenge that the public won’t participate. . .. part of
public participation requires the public being capable of participating. And there are several
things that would limit the capability of somebody from participating. One would be
resources: I don’t have the money to travel to the meeting. Another would be expertise:
they are asking me about, ‘should we stack this [kind] of fish or this [kind] of fish, how do I
know?’ So, there is an expertise question. There is an apathy issue, ‘what good is my
participation going to do?’ But you know, most of the kinds of things that would affect
public participation, you know, time: ‘there is just not enough time in the day’.
An academic from Minnesota also questioned the effectiveness of public partic-

ipation in environmental and resource management,
Respondent AF: Direct public participation probably has little effect, although some small
citizens groups have made a difference. The more important participation by the public
comes in electing public officials who are sensitive to coastal issues.
According to a coastal land use specialist from Pennsylvania, the public partic-
ipates more when issues affect them directly,
Respondent AP: It depends on whose ox is being gored. Sometimes, issues don’t interest the
public at all. If it is perceived that neighboring properties are being affected, then people
come out in droves. I think that public participation is the key to obtaining consensus, and
based on my experiences that policy is often altered based on that input. It certainly
legitimizes a decision if the voting power has held a public hearing or meeting to gain
public input, not that it’s much fun receiving that input sometimes.
On the other hand, an academic from Ontario also shared with me the following
considerations related to public participation and its effectiveness in environmental
and resource management,
Respondent AL: It depends entirely on how you define the public. So, for example, in Innisfil
Creek the people involved were the water users, so water users’ cooperative, right. So, if you
are a resident of the watershed and are not using the water, you are not being asked to
participate in this process. Now, that doesn’t mean that you don’t have an interest, but
presumably if you want to participate in some way, you could. It is not that there is some sort
of conspiracy to exclude or marginalize the public, it is simply that the people that care the
most have gotten together. And certainly in other situations you will find that the more
formal it becomes. . .. So, for example, in a context of things like Official Plan policies
related to the Waterloo Moraine or any other sort of planning kind of issue, there is a clear
role specified in the statute or policy for public, which is to convene these public meetings
and say what you want to say and etc. So, it completely depends on the context.
Some respondents conceptualized public participation through the idea of creat-

ing a public forum that provides an opportunity for public consultation and public
workshops. For example, a scientific researcher from Michigan (Respondent AO)
shared with me that public participation is usually facilitated through the town-hall
meetings and noted that “public participation is important but is not fully realized.”
Moreover, an academic from Wisconsin (Respondent AW) also concluded that
“participation is generally pretty strong, but the resulting actions are often mixed –
generally depending on funding availability.”
Public input can be very valuable for resource managers and conflict resolution
professionals. For example, a lot of useful ideas for addressing conflicts by affected
stakeholders can be generated through brainstorming or envisioning exercises
(Evans et al., 2001). Public participation in resource and environmental management
increases overall public awareness of the issues and conflicts that arise and increases
the potential for the resolution and transformation of these conflicts. Furthermore,
public participation is a critical component of collaborative dispute resolution
processes of various scopes, from small-scale initiatives to addressing global envi-
ronmental problems and working towards building Positive Peace collaboratively.
At the same time, a number of concerns related to public participation and its
effectiveness were also voiced by the respondents. For example, the capacity of
public participation can be limited due to the lack of time, limited resources, low
interest in the issue at hand, insufficient knowledge about the particular environ-
mental or resource problem, lack of guidance for participation, or lack of knowledge
about opportunities to participate in a collaborative policymaking process.
The idea of governance appears to be critical in both addressing the aforemen-
tioned concerns and creating an opportunity to fulfill the potential of public partic-
ipation in environmental and resource management. In particular, the vision of
public participation in environmental governance may be conceptualized as shared
power, and collaborative decisionmaking among coastal stakeholders, especially in
terms of including the people who are most affected by these decisions.
Resource Management Plans and Advisory Groups
Developing specific resource management plans for a particular area is a possible

strategy to address coastal conflicts through a variety of approaches including
prevention, resolution, and transformation of environmental and resource conflicts.
842 O. Skarlato
Another specific way environmental and resource conflicts may be dealt with is with
the assistance of various advisory groups. For example, a fisheries manager from
Minnesota shared with me his experience of forming an advisory group among the
fisheries groups and stakeholders in Minnesota’s portion of Lake Superior,
Respondent X: Basically my job in Minnesota is to manage Lake Superior Minnesota’s

portion of Lake Superior which is about 7 percent of the surface area, my job is to manage
the fisheries, and also coordinate with the other States and the Province of Ontario, that we
share the Lake with, and some Tribal organizations as well. So, in my work, when I first got
here, like I said, almost 20 years ago now, there was basically no plan written on how do we
manage the fisheries. We had a lot of different user groups down there, and they were all
interested in their aspect of the fisheries, whether it was a charter captain who wanted to
catch fish and bring customers out on a boat so he can gain dollars, or whether it be a
commercial fisherman who set nets in the Lake and harvested fish to sell, or whether it was
an angling group who was very focused on a single species, Chinook salmon, or an angling
group that is very focused on spring fisheries, the steelhead or something, and all these folks
have very focused, very passionate interest and the agency is charged to manage for all these
purposes and only had a limited amount of dollars, and a limited amount of staff, and a
resource that is basically self-sustaining and is in a relatively pristine condition, our charge
was, how do we satisfy these folks. . .. it becomes a relatively complex management
scenario. . .. So, what we did is we formed an advisory group and we brought together
representatives from each one of those user groups. And we sat down with them and we told
them that we would be willing to work with them for however long that took to develop the
management plan and that it would be based on biology, not what they wanted, but it would
be based on biology, if their desires would fit with that, we would do the best we could but
that we wanted everybody involved and we would try to answer their questions as we moved
forward. And so that’s what we did, over the period of almost two years, it took a lot of effort,
there was a lot of mistrust to begin with, because the agency wasn’t trusted by the folks that
we were managing for and the groups did not trust each other, but one of the things that was
really interesting was that the dynamics changed in that everybody realized that once they
heard about the biology and then they realized that nobody would get everything they
wanted because the Lake was not able to sustain that, and it wasn’t so much the DNR or the
managers that were the issue it was just the reality of the situation.
The purpose of forming this advisory group was to help stakeholders to co-create
a fisheries management plan, which would assist them in resolving ongoing conflicts
and disputes related to fisheries use, development, and regulation.
Further, he goes on to share his extensive experience in developing and
implementing a resource management plan as a fisheries manager,
Respondent X: It took a while but we came to some major agreement upfront to basically
manage the conflict that was going to occur before it occurred. So, we had these things in
place and then we wrote this plan to be basically a ten-year plan. We said that we realize that in
10 years some things are going to change, and we would address those as they came up, but
we wanted to try to keep this plan in place for 10 years rather than doing what the history of
the fishery was when every time somebody called up the fisheries chief the whole manage-
ment scenario changed. So, we did that, and it actually worked fairly well. Like I said, it took a
lot of time and a lot of effort and there were some groups that were not happy and are still not
happy but for the most part people accepted it and they realized that they weren’t going to get
everything they wanted. . .. So, we have done that now for two rounds, we did that in 1995 and
then we said we would revisit it 10 years later, which we did and we redid it again in 2005. So,
the second scenario went much smoother. People kind of realized what the process was, we
didn’t have to relearn that. . .. and we made some significant changes, but almost all the
changes I would say really focused more on what the Lake could provide biologically rather
than what individuals wanted. . .. The fishery got better in those 10 years, the agency created
way more credibility because we were not changing gears every time the phone rang and we
stuck with our plans and when we said we would make decisions we followed through on
that. . .. As it turned out we made way better decisions as far as the sustainability and the long-
term biological effects on the resource than we would have made with the old method of just
calling up complaints, appeasing people, and doing it again and again.
The process of developing a fisheries management plan described above led to an

even more extensive discussion among stakeholders. In particular, the groups
engaged in resource and environmental planning beyond just fisheries management
and extended into habitat management and sustainability in Lake Superior. For
example, he also had this to say on the issue,
Respondent X: And we didn’t only work with just the fishery, we did have a lot of discussion
about habitat as well, which had really paid dividends because that is the one area where we
could get all these conflicting user groups to agree. They all agreed that habitat was critical,
they all agreed that we should be doing the best we can to protect it. . .. When we actually sat
down and started doing the hard work, and I would really say that the big part of that first
process was education, bringing everybody up to the level where they could understand. You
know, they didn’t understand the intricacies of fisheries management, but they had to
understand the basics. And when they better understood, they realized that what they were
asking for was unrealistic, for the most part. And some of them even knew it was unrealistic,
but they were still asking for it. . . This initial work around the habitat has now paid
dividends because we have turned more towards habitat management, because the fisheries
can’t sustain themselves if they don’t have good habitat. We have been able to discontinue
stocking of three major species programs and we have been able to turn our efforts more
towards habitat for long-term sustainability.
The above example illustrates the preventative approach to addressing conflicts

within fisheries management through an inclusive and participatory process of
forming an advisory group with the purpose of designing, developing, and
implementing a resource (fisheries) management plan. This example reflects both
the challenges of multistakeholder collaboration in resource management and the
opportunities arising from such collaboration. The opportunities provided by this
approach include raising awareness about the issue, promoting education, and
sharing knowledge and expertise, as well as the participatory character of this
conflict intervention and prevention approach.
An important point was also raised by Respondent X, when he discussed the need
to provide the grounds and the reasoning for these particular fisheries management
criteria. The fact that it has been based on biological science and the goals of
sustainable habitat management is important. Basing a conflict resolution initiative
(plan, proposal, decision, or intervention) on clear and sound reasons adds credibility
to it and may increase its effectiveness and help generate support among stake-
holders. Ecosystem sustainability is one of the important goals that is especially
critical for coastal areas, and it may be considered the grounds on which ECR
practices need to be based.
844 O. Skarlato
Dialogue and Communication
Dialogue and communication play a critical role in conflict resolution (Katz &
Lawyer, 1992). In fact, it would not be an exaggeration to state that effective
communication is one of the key components in resolving conflicts and in building
peace. In the case of the environmental and resource management of coastal areas,
which host numerous stakeholders with their individual interests and needs, dialogue
is truly essential. For example, the significance of dialogue and communication in
resolving environmental conflicts and in resource management was discussed by a
Field Unit Superintendent with Parks Canada from Ontario,
Respondent AK: You have to keep talking, keep meeting, keep discussing. We have to stop
forcing resolution of issues against invented timelines; timelines invented without the
involvement of those most affected by the imminent decisions. Senior representatives of
government departments (members of the “Executive Group”) must be freed up to engage in
the relationship building and turned outward rather than serving inward and upward. Serving
outward achieves the longer term goals of governments while other internal staff at levels
aligned to serving inward and upward – can do that. We need to locate in communities where
we are working to live the decisions that we make with the communities. We have to get
closer to the end point of our decisions and policy direction. We have to live the intentions
and the consequences of our decisions. In my area we will be absolutely unsuccessful if we
do not understand in-depth and with heart, the realities facing First Nations communities. As
the dominant power, it requires enormous capacity to recognize the authorities and privileges
granted just because of being the dominant power. Suspending the trappings of such
dominance requires humility, humor and compassion; qualities necessary of leadership
and authenticity.
Another study participant, an academic from Ontario, noted that negotiation and
consensus are critical for managing and resolving environmental conflicts
effectively,
Respondent AX: Negotiation and consensus has been a focus of decisionmaking in the area.
If there is any conflict, the issue is brought to an open table for it to be discussed at council
meetings. Decisions are derived through negotiation with voting be the last resort although
all efforts are taken to avoid such matters. At the St. Lawrence River Restoration Council,
only once was there a vote when negotiation and consensus could not be reached.
There are different forms of dialogue and communication among coastal stake-
holders, ranging from informal interpersonal communication to higher level inter-
national negotiations. Some forms of dialogue are highly structured while others
involve routine everyday conversations. Some forms of dialogue are very interac-
tive, while others represent a one-way means of communication (e.g., messages
delivered through news media). One way of conceptualizing the value of dialogue in
conflict resolution is that it creates a space in which stakeholders may share their
concerns, address their differences, and work together to problemsolve and design a
mutually acceptable resolution approach. Being open to dialogue indicates a will-
ingness to be cooperative and open to change. At the same time, the effectiveness of
dialogue in conflict resolution can be strengthened by obtaining communication and
negotiation skills as well as becoming knowledgeable about the subject being

negotiated and being genuinely interested in contributing to the resolution of
conflict.
Cooperation and Collaboration
The importance of collaboration and cooperation was discussed by both practitioners

and scholars who work in environmental and resource management, and ECR. For
example, a fisheries biologist from Minnesota shared the following considerations
with me regarding the role of cooperation in the area of fish management,
Respondent AD: From the fish management standpoint, with various agencies, if you
cooperate you can get more done, because none of us have the resources to do the job on
our own. So, by pooling resources, pooling equipment, pooling personnel we are able to get
more fish management, more fish data than we could do on our own. And we cooperate with
Minnesota [Department of Natural Resources] (DNR), and Wisconsin DNR, and with a
couple of the other Lake Superior Chippewa Bands and working as a team we are able to
accomplish so much more than working on our own. And I mean it also comes to the basic
funding, Minnesota DNR, Wisconsin DNR, they simply don’t have the funding any more in
their state budgets, so they can’t do it on their own any more. So, either data and the projects
don’t get done, or they cooperate with the tribes and sometimes even with the public
associations and clubs, they are able to kick in either funds, or strong arms and backs to
help do some of these projects and some of this data collection.
A number of important ingredients of cooperation are revealed in the above

response. Not only does cooperation between several coastal stakeholders increase
the effectiveness of their individual input, but also in some cases cooperation is the
only way to make progress in carrying out environmental and resource initiatives.
An academic from Wisconsin further elaborated on the significance of collaborative
planning in environmental dispute resolution in the following manner,
Respondent AW: Disputes are generally resolved though collaborative planning where
various stakeholders come together to develop a plan to address a particular issue. Generally
collaboration is fairly successful, but action is often limited by funding. . .. Collaborative
partnership formation (i.e., creating a decisionmaking framework that promotes communi-
cation and potential for compromise). Although this is not a novel idea, it is a pretty
important decisionmaking tool throughout the region.
Furthermore, an academic from Ontario shared the following example of resource

management with me through the formation of a water users cooperative,
Respondent AL: [This is an example of] conflict that didn’t happen but could have. So this is
an Innisfil Creek, a tiny little Creek area in Southern Ontario just south of Barrie, Ontario.
This is the one I was talking about where we had a situation where a small creek, nothing
terribly special, and you know nice little southern Ontario creek, heavily pumped for
irrigation by farmers, golf courses, potato farmers, [and] nurseries. Society gave them a
license to operate but then society revoked that license recently, because preferences have
846 O. Skarlato
changed and it was no longer acceptable to drain this creek down to the gravel and kill fish,
which is how we functioned historically. And so these people, the Ministry of the Environ-
ment, which is the regulator, has been quite clear that, look, you know this is not going to
happen. So either we come in and we take away your permit, and too bad for you, you can’t
irrigate, or you figure out a way to resolve this concern amongst yourselves. And so that was
kind of a neat, I would call it, conflict management process and I was intimately involved in
helping come up with the solution, which involved the formation of the water users
cooperative, where the farmers collaborated to engage in a variety of things including
long-term strategic planning and basically in water management. And also, and this is
where it gets interesting for you, we have adopted sort of conflict management approaches
where they would provide training to facilitators, they will work with the community
members, they will apply moral suasion to their neighbors to try and ensure that the water
resources were used equitably and appropriately and most importantly that the Ministry of
the Environment does not come calling.
While collaborative problemsolving and collaborative strategic planning are

indeed not novel ideas, these are important practices that are unfortunately not
implemented broadly enough. However, there are different ways in which stake-
holders can cooperate together in their work, and there are different degrees of
collaboration. The potential of a collaborative approach is significant because it
may bring about benefits to all participating stakeholders and to the environment.
Summarizing Conflict Resolution Approaches and Practices

in the Great Lakes Region
Environmental and natural resource conflicts may have different origin; moreover,
they are closely interrelated with the other realms of human activities and numerous
factors that back up both origination and propagation as well as resolution of these
conflicts (Fig. 2).
This chapter has illustrated that there are a number of specific environmental
conflict resolution mechanisms and opportunities in place in the coastal areas of the
Great Lakes region, even though sometimes they are not referred to as “conflict
resolution approaches.” Specific examples of such approaches and tactics range from
forming thematic advisory groups and committees, to creating long-term resource
management plans, and designing various collaborative approaches of working with
coastal communities. These conflict resolution approaches, methods, and processes
may be very helpful if applied individually, but they may be even more useful if
utilized in an integrative manner. Individually they can form the basis of a toolkit
which could consist of a number of possible ECR processes and tactics that can be
used in various combinations depending on the particular circumstances and can
have a potential to contribute to building and maintaining Positive Peace in the Great
Lakes area and beyond.
In terms of grounded theory building, the general image associated with envi-
ronmental and resource conflict resolution that I have developed is bridgebuilding.
ECR associates with bridgebuilding in a number of direct and indirect ways,
including the attempts to create links (bridges) between different stakeholders,
Political
Political system,
national policy
priorities, security
and safety
Cultural Economic
Traditions, Level of economic
spirituality, development,
religion, rituals funding
Environmental
and resource
conflicts in Social
Legal
National and
coastal areas Public
participation in
international
policymaking,
agreements, laws
NGO activity
Demographic
Size of coastal Ecological
communities, Ecosystem health,
urban/rural natural resources
population
Fig. 2 Factors influencing environmental and natural resource conflicts in coastal zones
policymakers and scientists, decisionmaking and inclusive participation, Canada and

the United States, local residents and communities, as well as the people and the
environment. In this context, the bridgebuilding process is a novel perspective
within the ECR and one of the challenges and opportunities for Positive Peace.
A number of important points that flow from the mapping and discussion of
conflict resolution practices in environmental and resource management as potential
contributors to building and maintaining Positive Peace in the Great Lakes region
addressed in this chapter can be summarized as follows.
First, the respondents shared numerous examples of collaborative approaches to
environmental conflict resolution that involve the active participation of a number of
interested stakeholders through dialogue, cooperation, forming alliances, and coali-
tions. This finding is significant because it illustrates realistic opportunities for
people to integrate various coastal issues within a common dialogue process
implemented collaboratively by numerous coastal stakeholders. These new
848 O. Skarlato
approaches to create coalitions and partnerships between various coastal stake-

holders involved in environmental and resource management may be among the
most effective, participatory, and inclusive methods of creating a space for them to
cooperate together to resolve and prevent environmental and resource conflicts. The
value of cooperation and collaboration in resource management and ECR was
discussed by the study participants in terms of their contribution to: (1) increasing
the overall effectiveness of the environmental management process; (2) allowing for
the sharing of resources, equipment and personnel; (3) cutting the overall costs of
environmental management projects; and (4) establishing a collaborative
decisionmaking process.
Second, public participation in environmental and resource management and
policymaking is also a critical issue. The study participants discussed many different
forms of public participation including: (1) launching public forums; (2) establishing
advisory groups and committees; (3) voting and communicating concerns and
suggestions to elected officials; (4) the involvement of public and different coastal
groups and stakeholders in environmental and resource governance; (5) dialogue,
discussion, and collaboration on specific issues related to environmental and
resource management during public meetings, and with the assistance of the Internet
and other media; and (6) young people’s involvement in specific environmental
projects, which combines education, environmental restoration, and public partici-
pation. An important implication of public participation is that it legitimizes policy
decisions. When representatives of coastal groups and stakeholders participate in the
policymaking process, their input of practical experience and knowledge of envi-
ronmental and resource management assists in creating more comprehensive, rele-
vant, and effective policies.
At the same time, the degree of participation in decisionmaking and the imple-
mentation of measures for resource and environmental management and conflict
resolution in coastal areas is a key problematic issue. For example, the study
participants voiced concerns regarding the effectiveness of public participation as
well as the lack of willingness and/or opportunity to participate in environmental
planning and management processes. Gaby Jacobs (2007) also discusses the “ladder
of participation,” which presents a typology of participation in community dialogue
and in building “dialogic relationships.” In addition, the seven stages of participation
developed by Pretty et al. (2003) include: no participation, passive participation,
participation by information, participation by consultation, functional participation,
interactive participation, and self-mobilization. A number of respondents highlighted
the poor turnout of coastal stakeholders at meetings and events aimed at including the
public into the policymaking process. The participation of stakeholders in coastal
management, decisionmaking, and conflict resolution practices depends on many
factors including their interests, availability of time, resources, and funds, as well as
their responsibility and access. Public participation was also conceptualized by
several respondents as a form of environmental governance that includes various
coastal stakeholders working together on environmental and resource policymaking.
Another important issue regarding public participation in environmental and
resource management and ECR is defining who exactly the public is. My respon-
dents’ comments and observations lead to two key conclusions. On the one hand, the
public is understood as everyone involved in and affected by environmental and

resource management and ECR processes. On the other hand, however, the public is
not a homogenous group of people that represents the same interests and has the
same needs. The public includes individuals each having their own unique perspec-
tives, experiences, needs, and interests that have to be accounted for within the
process of resolving environmental and resource conflicts.
Third, the example of a preventative conflict intervention designed by a fisheries
manager that included forming an advisory group representing different stakeholders
with the aim of designing, developing, and implementing a fisheries management plan
illustrated an important preventative component within an ECR process. Consequently,
inclusiveness, the collaborative participation of stakeholders, trust building, investing
time and available resources, as well as a long-term perspective in developing links
between the biological capabilities of the Great Lakes and resource management policy,
have contributed to the continuous success of this intervention. Conflict prevention is
an important component within the process of addressing interpersonal, intergroup, and
international conflict (Lederach, 1997; Kriesberg, 1998; Davies & Gurr, 1998; Byrne &
Senehi, 2012). Conflict prevention may also be conceptualized as a key component
within an integrated framework for addressing environmental conflicts along with
conflict management, conflict resolution, and conflict transformation (Byrne & Senehi,
2012). The particular significance of environmental conflict prevention is in its poten-
tial to use an early warning methodology that could help uncover and guard against
dangerous environmental threats, conflicts, and unpredictable chaotic perturbations in
live systems in order to reach stable equilibrium and balance in nature (McLusky &
Elliott, 2004; Schubert & Telesh, 2017; Telesh et al., 2019).
Fourth, communication among stakeholders is truly critical for them to be able to
comprehensively address the root causes of conflict as well as to design and
implement ECR interventions. All of my study participants highlighted their expe-
riences and opinions about the significance of communication and dialogue in
resolving environmental and resource conflicts in the Great Lakes region. They
contend that most issues and conflicts discussed throughout this study can be
addressed through dialogue, whether it is in raising awareness about the issue,
conducting educational activities, negotiating mutually beneficial solutions, or
discussing options to resolve and transform existing conflicts in both formal and
informal settings. Individual opportunities for such dialogue exist, but they usually
address only one or two specific issues that are the most critical for a particular local
area. At the same time, a number of obstacles to building effective communication
were also noted by my respondents, including the lack of opportunities to commu-
nicate, having a space for dialogue, and possessing knowledge about the importance
of communication and communication skills. Despite the existence of a number of
structures and organizations that provide the opportunity for a forum, more needs to
be done to encourage and facilitate communication between stakeholders. However,
because of the highly interdependent and interconnected context of the Great Lakes
area, more links and connections across disciplines, stakeholders, and issues need to
be built so that a more integrated approach is available.
In addition, the study participants emphasized the need to approach environmen-
tal conflicts by including a multitude of interrelated factors and involving numerous
850 O. Skarlato
participants in designing and implementing integrated conflict resolution strategies.

The interconnectedness and the dynamic nature of ecosystems, and all of the
activities of numerous coastal stakeholders, really define and direct coastal devel-
opments and shape relationships between people and their environment. Moreover,
all resource management and ECR approaches discussed above require dialogue and
communication among all participants and stakeholders in a collaborative effort of
building Positive Peace.
Finally, the findings indicate the necessity of addressing various levels of conflicts
and disputes within environmental and resource management because of the need of
finding a balance between numerous existing approaches and mechanisms of envi-
ronmental and resource management. For example, Respondent AV, who is a member
of an environmental NGO from Illinois, discussed the importance of finding the
balance. Indeed, seeking a balance in ECR is one of the key requirements for environ-
mental stakeholders. There are several meanings of this “balanced approach” that
includes: the balance between conservation and development, between public and
private spaces, and between what nature and natural resources have to offer and how
much people take from it. Finding a balance may not always be an easy task because it
requires coordination among users and a willingness to cooperate at different stages, for
example, during visioning, project planning, project development and evaluation.
Conclusion
Theoretical and practical approaches, methods, and models within the resource
management and ECR frameworks discussed in this study provide important
insights pertaining to resolving various aspects of coastal environmental conflicts.
The multifaceted and cross-disciplinary character of conflicts in the coastal areas of
the North American Great Lakes provides conflict resolution professionals with a
challenge to respond to these issues adequately and to resolve conflicts peacefully.
Financial resources inevitably need to be provided to be able to invite experts such as
resource managers, city planners, and ecologists to participate in environmental
conflict resolution processes. It also requires time to gather facts, accumulate
knowledge, do research, and consult and seek advice. However, these “costs” may
pay off providing a more balanced and effective approach as a benefit to managing
environmental resources and resolving environmental conflicts. This challenge may
be regarded as an opportunity to design and implement comprehensive, practical,
and efficient conflict resolution and conflict prevention strategies that will contribute
substantially to building Positive Peace in the Great Lakes area and beyond.
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Part XIII
Positive Relationships: Concepts
Relational Ethics: The Possibility of a Caring
Positive Peace 46
Reina C. Neufeldt
Contents
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 856
Relational Ethics and the Importance of Care . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 858
Defining Relational Ethics . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 858
A Feminist Ethics of Care . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 859
What a Relational Ethic of Care Adds to Positive Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 861
Interdependence and Dependence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 861
Listening . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 862
Responsiveness and Practicing Care . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 863
In the Midday Sun: Exploring a Relational Care Ethic as a Lived Practice/Dialogue . . . . . 863
Conclusion: Reimagining Positive Peace as Relationally Embedded . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 866
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 867
Abstract
The concept positive peace is frequently used to judge what constitutes good and
right efforts to reduce violence and build peace. In this way, positive peace is used
as a moral standard or vision, against which conflict resolution and peace
initiatives are assessed. It is a moral standard shaped by Johan Galtung’s influ-
ential work in the late 1960s. In many ways Galtung’s work opened up a new
space for thinking about peace, yet it also reflected the particularities of where,
how and when it was produced. It was deductively derived, intended to be
universal in application, and embodies some of the enlightenment commitments
to the valorization of reason over emotion, and individuality over relationality.
This chapter explores ways in which relational ethics, particularly the feminist
ethics of care, can contribute to a stronger conceptualization of positive peace.
The chapter provides background on relational ethics, focusing particularly on
ethics of care. It then explores the ways in which including an assumption of
R. C. Neufeldt (*)
Conrad Grebel University College, University of Waterloo, Waterloo, ON, Canada
e-mail: reina.neufeldt@uwaterloo.ca
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_46
856 R. C. Neufeldt
dependence and interdependence, care and responsiveness improves people’s

ability to understand and achieve positive peace.
Keywords
Ethics · Care · Taxonomic power · Anti-imperial · Relational peace
Introduction
“What do you imagine peace looks like? What picture does it bring to mind?”
“I think it looks like someone sitting on a mountain top, still and quiet.”
“That is a great start!” Aside: and insufficient! “Your image is an important part of
something larger that we call positive peace. Positive peace was defined by Johan Galtung
as. . .”
A fictitious conversation in an introduction to peace and conflict studies
A popular introductory textbook, Peace and Conflict Studies, begins its discus-
sion of peace with the clarification that peace, “can and must include not only the
absence of war but also the establishment of positive, life-enhancing values and
social structures” (Barash & Webel, 2009, p. 4). With this short sentence in the first
few pages of their book, authors David Barash and Charles Webel put front and
center the moral ambitions of the concept of positive peace. Indeed, the debate over
which end is better, negative peace and a cessation of violence, or positive peace and
the end of structural injustice, has produced a rich literature; summaries often
conclude with a note that positive peace is an ideal to strive towards; however,
negative peace is a good minimum end to reach (e.g., Diehl, 2016; Ramsbotham
et al., 2011, pp. 11–12). In peace and conflict studies literature there is general and
broad agreement that positive peace articulates the ideal end, and the field is proud of
its normative commitment (Brunk, 2008).
Johan Galtung memorably shaped this moral standard of positive peace in his
writings from the 1960s, as well as his revised work in the 1990s. His influential
1969 article distinguishes positive peace from negative peace through a carefully
formed logical proof. It is a deductive and conceptually seductive argument that
leads through simple three principles to assert that key to understanding peace is
understanding violence. The three principles are that: (1) peace is a commonly
agreed upon social goal; (2) it is complex and difficult to attain; and (3) it is the
absence of violence (Galtung, 1969, p. 167). Galtung, a taxonomer of terms for
peace and conflict studies, labels different parts of the peace equation by analyzing
six different components of violence, which he notes may not cover everything but is
enough to understand key elements across contexts. The six dimensions Galtung
names are framed in terms of distinctions between aspects of violence: physical
versus psychological, negative influence versus positive influence, whether or not an
object is hurt (or threatened), personal or direct violence versus structural or indirect
violence, intended or unintended, manifest and latent. Positive peace, as a result of
the analysis, becomes the absence of direct and structural violence plus the presence
46 Relational Ethics: The Possibility of a Caring Positive Peace 857
of social justice and rests on an egalitarian distribution of power and resources, or

what Galtung calls “vertical development” (p. 183).
Hidden within the concept and its subsequent usage lurks a problem related to
how it was derived and is deployed, which has the potential to undercut its author’s
impulse to support broad value-based emancipation of those subject to either indirect
or direct violence. The short, imaginary dialogue that begins this chapter illustrates
one of the dangers: the danger of presuming we know that we have achieved the
universal conception of positive peace based on our taxonomy, without acknowl-
edging that we have derived this “universal” conception in a particular time and
place.
The presumption of possessing a universal classificatory system is common in a
set of European expansionary logics. Mary Louise Pratt, in her influential work
Imperial Eyes: Travel Writing and Transculturation, examines the ways in which
European scientific classification was transformative and appropriative as part of
European colonial expansion.taxonomic In her detailed study of the travel that
occurred in relation to Swedish botanist Carl Linnaeus’ work with classifying the
Systema Naturae, she notes that through the project the planet’s life forms were
drawn:
out of the tangled threads of their life surroundings and rewoven into European-based
patterns of global unity and order. The (lettered, male European) eye that held the system
could familiarize (“naturalize”) new sites/sights immediately upon contact, by incorporating
them into the language of the system. The differences of distance factored themselves out of
the picture: with respect to mimosas, Greece could be the same as Venezuela, West Africa or
Japan. . . (Pratt, 1992, p. 31)
Pratt draws our attention to the ways the classificatory system dispatched with the
importance of local knowledge – no longer were the significance of life forms, their
patterns of growth, use and healing properties important. What mattered were the
characteristics that fit the classificatory system.
Positive peace and its categories of analysis were deductively derived, and
intended to be universal in application. Positive peace provided a similar taxonomic
scheme. It drew attention to known elements of conflict, flattening out and
dispatching with difference. It removed the emotion and tangled relationships that
comprised conflict, and instead offered a carefully reasoned and deductive concep-
tual lens to assess the ends regardless of the significance of the conflict for those
involved in it, and of elements not captured in the classificatory system. Peace was
knowable in the establishment and to the (male) lettered eye, to borrow Pratt’s terms,
and there was an imperial, appropriative power – a power to know and control
through that knowledge.
The significance here is that this model, while it contains periodic caveats around
its limitations, misses important aspects of conflicts and violence and yet suggests
we control knowledge of peace as if this knowledge is fully encompassing or
universal. The metaphor often used for peace by Galtung and other peace researchers
has been a medical model of health, and this aptly illustrates the omissions that can
result from treating a particular perspective as a universal framework. Medical health
858 R. C. Neufeldt
models in North America in the twentieth century focused on individuals and

individual choices (exercise, eating behavior), and were slow to change even when
there was good evidence that people’s social relations, support structures and
community were important to health. Researcher assumptions about what was
known and universal had limited the medical model and unintentionally undermined
efforts to achieve more healthy people within communities (Gladwell 2011). With
respect to positive peace, we assume that we know the answer about what peace
really involves with our carefully classified notions of peace and we are unable to see
what we may be missing outside of what our system of knowledge defines as
significance.
The question then arises: are there ways to counter the imperial impetus involved
in an “all knowing” and appropriating gaze? While Galtung expanded his definitions
and taxonomies in later work, he writes “much work has to be done to make the term
‘peace’ precise enough, with specifications, with indicators, so that a given ‘situa-
tion’ (the corresponding medical term is ‘case’) can be classified and understood in
terms of its peacelessness and peacefulness” (Galtung, 1996, pp. 13–14). New
categories can be added to assert a full classificatory system that understands, and
thereby “knows” and controls. Yet, how do we come to know that which is
excluded? As a starting point, it is helpful to think about how to engage with
specificity, emotions and relationships; to value these aspects in helping rethink
positive peace as they have been traditionally neglected in the systems of knowledge
that aim for universal classifications. To do this, this chapter explores relational
ethics, and particularly the ethics of care, to move us in a direction that reconfigures
how we come to define and understand positive peace, and potentially hear that
which we do not expect or presume to know.
Relational Ethics and the Importance of Care
Defining Relational Ethics
Relational ethics refers to a family of moral theories that hold in common the
centrality of relationships – that relationships are moral goods and at the heart of
moral assessment. They begin with a common observation that from the moment of
birth, through childhood to adulthood, we live in relationship with others and are
interdependent; moral assessment therefore begins with the nature and quality of
relationships and responsiveness.
A number of approaches to understanding ethics from a relational point of view are
available. Ubuntu moral theory, with origins in southern Africa and areas with Bantu
languages, centers on the idea that a person becomes a moral person only with and
through recognizing and responding to others and their humanity within community
(Murithi, 2006; Ngcoya, 2015). Someone who lives an Ubuntu life (which is also
infused with spiritual dimensions) acts in ways that are best realized “in harmonious
relations within society”(Munyaka & Motlhabi, 2009, p. 65). Alternatively, Christian
theological ethicist H. Richard Niebuhr (1963), offered an ethics of responsibility in
The Responsible Self, in which human responsiveness to others, including individ-

uals, communities, as well as God, was the starting point for moral reasoning. Yet
another version of relational ethics emerges from explorations of nursing ethics in
practice and centers on engagement, mutual respect, embodiment of values, vulner-
ability and attention to interdependence within the specifics of a given context
(Austin, 2006). Each of these approaches to relational ethics bring unique elements,
yet they coalesce around the centrality of interdependence and responsiveness.
Like these relational moral theories, ethics of care emerged as a moral philosophy
that recognized people are not autonomous moral agents who make decisions from a
removed location; rather we make moral decisions precisely because we are embed-
ded within relationships and specific contexts. Ethics of care, considered a feminist
moral theory, is a newer moral theory in the western philosophy canon, in contrast to
consequentialist, deontological and virtue ethics traditions. I use ethics of care here
as a starting point for rethinking positive peace because scholars of care ethics have
deliberately worked to explore emotion, tangled relationships and understanding
how care relates to broader considerations of justice and peace. As such, it provides a
good foundation for re-examining positive peace as part of the set of relational ethics
perspectives that might enrich our understandings. After an introduction to ethics of
care, this chapter explores three important ways in which an ethics of care approach
can help counter the imperial way of knowing in which our current understanding of
positive peace is rooted. The chapter concludes by listening to a story of engagement
that involves care and contestation within the container of relationships as part of a
peacebuilding initiative in the province of West Timor, Indonesia, to help draw out
what a relational ethics of care can bring to understanding positive peace.
A Feminist Ethics of Care
Ethics of care emerged in the early 1980s. Carol Gilligan’s (1982) psychological
research on the moral development of girls was foundational. Gilligan, who was
working with psychologist Lawrence Kohlberg, realized that considerations of
context and relationships were omitted from his “higher stages” of moral develop-
ment; an insight she came to when confronted with the puzzle of why boys were
consistently evaluated as operating at a “higher stage” of moral development than
girls operate. Gilligan proposed an alternative understanding of moral development
that included valuing relationships and context – often considered feminine values,
and values that girls were frequently socialized to hold and enact. Her work initially
focused on caring for those with whom one was in direct relationship, and was
critiqued by those who suggest care was then limited in scope to only private ethics –
to which feminist scholars responded by highlighting the gendered power division
between private and public spheres, and the dictum that the private is also the public.
Sara Ruddick’s work on maternal thinking and the ways in which maternal practices
generate “distinctive ways of conceptualizing, ordering, and valuing arise” (1980,
p. 359) is also credited as shaping the emergence of an ethic of care in the 1980s
(Engster & Hamington, 2015a; Held, 2006).
860 R. C. Neufeldt
Over the ensuing three decades, writings on ethics of care extended its theoretical
foundation more broadly and carefully. Nell Noddings (1984) offered a philosoph-
ical foundation that emphasized the centrality of an attentive responsive caregiver as
the basis for moral action. Joan Tronto (1993) expanded the literature to speak to
political theory, which Fiona Robinson (1999) applied to international relations, and
others further refined and expanded (e.g., Engster & Hamington, 2015b; Robinson,
2011; Tronto, 2012). Eva Kittay (2001) explored the quality of care and caring
relationships, particularly in relationships marked by dependency. Each of these
contributions helped enrich and develop the theoretical foundation.
Several ideas or concepts bind the varying approaches to ethics of care these
authors represent (Engster & Hamington, 2015a; Held, 2006). As noted above, a
relational ontology is foundational where humans are understood to be
interdependent and dependent (Robinson, 2011, p. 4). Responsiveness to other’s
needs is the “starting point” for ethical action (Tronto, 1993), and care ethics are then
about practices of care in response to heard needs. This suggests that also unifying
these frameworks is a concern with attentive and careful listening, which allows
people to hear not only obvious needs but also less obvious needs and to avoid
patronizing practices where one offers care that is neither welcomed nor received.
Ethics of care has been critiqued as possessing a limited ability to speak into
issues of justice. For example, it has been argued that justice is concerned with
equality, fairness, individual rights and freedoms and is based on the consistent
application of abstract principles, such as with John Rawl’s reasoning behind a veil
of ignorance. In contrast , ethic of care emerged as an ethic that centered on trust,
responsiveness to need, and cultivating caring relationships within social bonds and
specific situations (Held, 2006). A related, important concern raised vis-à-vis care
ethics is with respect to the problem of patronizing care. Uma Narayan (1995) drew
attention to the ways “paternalistic caring” was present in colonial discourse and part
of asserting European dominance over inferior peoples. Narayan argued that “ade-
quate attention to justice may, in some instances, be a precondition for adequately
caring policies” (p. 139).
In responding to this critique, Fiona Robinson (1999) argued it was critically
important to uncover the relationships that exist between and within social groups in
socio-political contexts as part of an ethics of care. This requires listening and being
attentive to the suffering and needs of others, and requires “a thorough understanding
of how relations are constructed and how difference is perceived and maintained
through institutions and structures in society” (Robinson, 1999, p. 30). Care is
therefore not only about ties between friends, families and like-identified social
groups but also requires considering the larger social, political and economic
institutions and structures that enable or undermine caring, responsive human
relationships. It involves hearing individual voices and understanding the ways
that relations are institutionalized, which may silence or hide some voices, and
generates considerations of care that resonate with considerations of equality and
fairness. As Virginia Held (2006) has observed, care must also not be patronizing
benevolence but rather involves a quality and orientation informed by a disposition
to understand and engage with others. Acts of care, then, need to be received and be
open to reciprocal practices of care given the nature of interdependent relationships.
Within the context of conflict prevention and peacebuilding, Robinson suggests that
avoiding paternalism means “coming to terms with current patterns of domination,
dependence and interdependence by situating them within historical and spatial
contexts” (2011, p. 115). Listening to peoples and needs is then not only situated
within narrowly construed relationships, but also requires listening more broadly to
include histories, geographies and spatial contexts.
From an ethics of care perspective, morality requires being responsive to others’
needs in practical ways. This includes material, psychological, cultural needs
(Gilligan, 1982; Held, 2006; J. Tronto, 1993), as well as historical and spatial context
(Robinson 2011), and other needs not yet defined by our categories. Responsive
action may involve providing direct care, preventing harm, reorienting one’s day-to-
day practices (such as whether one enacts behaviors that reinforce colonial erasure of
Indigenous peoples), as well as listening, building trust and actively cultivating and
maintaining relationships. Unlike duty-based and consequentialist approaches to
ethics, in which individuals are autonomous and distanced moral agents, individuals
here are responding within the fabric of their communal lives.
What might this approach to ethics mean for helping address the imperial impetus
of positive peace? In what follows, I explore ways that three foundational assump-
tions of relational care ethics help us counter the problems that arise when taking a
universalistic taxonomic approach to classifying situations and determining positive
peace. Of particular importance are the concepts of interdependence and depen-
dence, listening, and responsiveness as practices of care. I then explore an example
of a relational interaction during conflict to help further reveal what an ethics of care
and relational approach to positive peace yields in practice.
What a Relational Ethic of Care Adds to Positive Peace
Interdependence and Dependence
Relationality provides a helpful lens for an alternative starting point in determining

the nature of positive peace, as well as understanding the process through which we
come to that knowledge. Within relational ethics, a person is constituted in and
through responsive relationships with dependent and interdependent others. We do
not begin by assuming we are all equal nor the same, but rather by assuming that we
are all in relationship to one another, have needs, and respond to needs – all of which
shift over time and are embedded in contexts. For example, our needs are not
precisely the same when we are infants as when we are in our 20s, nor our 70s.
While there are some similarities, the nature of our situation, our capacities and
communal structures affects our needs, as does our age and our abilities to give and
receive care. Robinson has noted this focus of care ethics may be particularly
germane for peacebuilding because it:
allows for the possibility of seeing difference and disagreement as neither intractably
oppositional nor as something to overcome through assimilation. Because difference is
seen as constructed through relations that are constantly shifting, difference is not
862 R. C. Neufeldt
necessarily an obstacle to progress but potentially productive of new identities and patterns
of responsibility.” (2011, p. 103)
Relationality thus entails an openness and commitment to long-term engagement,

in which we grow, grow old, and respond to needs that change, as we ourselves
change.
If one seeks to understand what constitutes positive peace, it requires listening to
needs within lived relationships, which are shaped by the context and its history. It
suggests a significant departure from the ways in which positive peace was generated
as a theoretical and typological construct. Rather than assuming one knows the
classificatory system of positive peace, that knowledge is held as contingent, situated
and part of what someone might bring into the relationship as one tries to hear what
is needed, but is not necessary and not dominant. This suggests there needs to be
space and room for the concept of peace to flex, adapt, be visioned, and revisioned. It
suggests that more important than analyzing a situation according to predetermined
categories is the process of coming to an intersubjective agreement about what needs
are present, a process which requires listening, hearing and a caring response.
Listening
There is a strong emphasis on listening and hearing within care ethics if the response
is to avoid patronizing benevolence – where the giver assumes they know what is
most needed or preferred and controls the interaction. This suggest that one enters
into an engagement adopting the position of a listener who is attentive to not only the
needs and concrete conditions articulated in the room, but also willing to listen to
other voices. It suggests attending to voices that are not easily heard and those who
are quite different from ourselves. This, in turn, requires a deep understanding of
how relationships as well as difference are viewed and constituted through larger
institutions and structures (Robinson, 1999, p. 30). Listening relationally involves
hearing friends, families and communal groups, as well as hearing the history and
the larger social, political and economic institutions and structures that enable or
undercut caring, responsive human relationships. This listening then helps to under-
stand material, psychological and cultural needs as well as the conditions that
structure and affect those needs.
Here then, one listens to hear what is needed, and why within the specifics of
history and context. Imagining what positive peace would look like in a particular
context comes after, and with, listening and dialogic engagement in situ. This
suggests listening with ears open, to notice and hear difference, to ask questions,
to explore whose voices we are hearing and whose voices may be overshadowed.
Here listening and analysis, is not a one-time action nor undertaken to create a
schematic map of a conflict, but something that necessarily occurs over time as one
enters deeper into relationships and tangled histories. The story below suggests that
listening to voices is an iterative process, asking more questions and hearing
responses over time, which shapes and reshapes a situated vision of positive peace
and practices of care therein.
Responsiveness and Practicing Care
A third aspect to consider is the centrality of responding with practices of care. To be

caring and cared for are at the heart of this approach; people respond to the needs
they hear. This suggests two further aspects when defining positive peace. First, that
the acts of care are received and welcomed by those who are cared for to avoid being
patronizing (although the nature of this care will vary based on the specificities of the
context, relationships and histories). Second, there is a degree of mutual vulnerabil-
ity in the interaction; we are vulnerable to each other when we are in the give and
take of relationships. Thinking about the content of positive peace from a vantage
point of practice or responsiveness means considering positive peace as tied directly
to our doing things that are welcomed, that are not unwanted gestures or largess,
within the context of living and historically embedded relationships. We do not
exposit positive peace from the outside but rather consider it within the boundaries of
acts taken in a relational response to a need we heard when listening.
What do these three concepts look like in a situated relationship? How can they
reshape our approach to and understanding of positive peace? To answer these
questions requires an examination of conflict within a specific, lived, relational
setting. We need to explore what this looks like in real relationships, in a real context
with its attendant specificities and history. Care, after all, responds to heard needs
within relationships. Therefore, a relational understanding of positive peace is best
explored within a specific relational context.
In the Midday Sun: Exploring a Relational Care Ethic as a Lived

Practice/Dialogue
The story that follows emerged as part of a learning process, in which people shared
experiences in pairs; the telling itself was relational, with one fieldworker speaking
to another in Bhasa Indonesian, with the latter writing it down – the story was only
later translated into English. It was a peacebuilding story, told as part of a reflection
on the effects of integrating peacebuilding with the distribution of emergency aid
resources in West Timor in 2002. A brief caveat here to note that although I was a
work colleague of those engaged in this process, I was not present when the story
was told nor did I meet most of the people involved as I was located elsewhere in the
non-governmental organization that formally organized the assistance and the learn-
ing process that provides the background for this story. This story-gathering process
was led by Catholic Relief Services (CRS) Indonesia, and staff from the Kupang
Field Office in cooperation with counterparts and fieldworkers from three partner
groups, Yayasan Pengembangan Sosial Eknomi Keuskupan Agung Kupang
(YAPENSKAK), Yayasan Sosial Santo Yosep Keuskupan Atambua (YASSKA),
and Yayasan Kongregasi Biarawan SVD Timor (YKBST) in 2002.
I chose this story from the larger collection of stories called Conflict as the
beginning of Peace, because it crystalizes relationality, responsiveness, and dealing
with difference. As such it offers an information-rich site for listening and learning,
and ends with a sense that a positive peace was achieved.
864 R. C. Neufeldt
The story told by Venty Atok and written-up by Gregorius L. Seran begins thusly:
The people of the remote village of Suabilulik, were lying under the shadow of the trees
protecting their bodies from the midday sun and heat. At the end of the road two tall and
strong bodies, seemingly ignoring the intense rays and heat came walking closer. One of
them was wearing a police uniform and the other was dressed in camouflage gear. Gless, a
bricklayer, who was laying bricks at the cemetery saw the two figures and wondered what the
two were up to.
Gless, together with several other bricklayers greeted the two men. The army man
dressed in camouflage asked, ‘Where is Ulu Sian and his younger brother? They were in a
fight a few days earlier.” Alo one of the bricklayers answered, ‘They are at Besikama sir.’
The army man in camouflage ordered Alo to follow them to the police office to settle the
matter. Alo, full of sweat, answered with surprise, ‘Sir the fighting incident has already been
settled by the police who have passed the problem to the village authorities who will handle
it according to local customary laws.’ The army man in camouflage responded, ‘That is
impossible because according to my information, two weeks have passed and the case has
still not been settled. . .” (Atok & Seran, 2004, p. 89)
Atok then relates that Gless attempted to explain the situation to the soldier by
providing details of the case that involved the soldier’s nephew and brother-in-law.
Gless explained to the soldier the conflict had started with the nephew throwing
stones at an old lady’s house, and had thereafter escalated. Atok’s story continues
here with his narration of Gless’s intervention:
“Your family reported this to the police. The police investigated the case and found that your
family was guilty as they invited the bodyguard to beat up the boy when the peace making
efforts were underway. As a result the police returned the case to the village authorities to
settle it according to customary law.”
“The village head already decided that all the parties involved must come to the village
office to settle the conflict. In spite of this your family pretended they did not know anything.
In fact they were waiting for you, sir because they put their hope in you. The other party
wants to negotiate for peace.”
Gless’s plea seems to make an impact on the army man. He insisted that the police
handled the case. The neighbourhood counsel, the head of the village quarter and a large
group of people all agreed with Gless. They also were against the mentality and the
behaviour of the army man. They know that he already committed three violent offences
without any reason.
After this it was decided to gather the elders again, with the two parties to settle the issue
according to customary law. The army man asked some questions to Ulu Sian and his
younger sister. When he was not satisfied with the answers he beat up Ulu Sian and his
younger sister in front of the elders and the policeman. The people became very angry and
started to slap and kick the army man and the policeman. People say it was because the army
man did not honour the elders of the customary law and the police did not take any action,
allows [sic] the army man to beat a man and his sister. He never was interested to investigate
the roots of the case.
Gless, supported by Rev. Paulus Klau, Pr., went to meeting area. “I pulled the police
officer out of the room and told him he was the one responsible for the whole incident, and
that he had to be a witness in the case if the people brought it to court. The police agreed with
this request. I asked the elders and the people who were still mad to go home, as we should
postpone the reconciliation process until the head of the village could attend. The people
listened and gathered around Rev. Paulus Klau and me. I said to them, ‘we must not act
without control.’ Don’t take the case into your own hands. Let the law take care of the
arrogance of the soldier. We must not go wild like crazy people. We know that he is a stupid
soldier who does not know our custom. We must face the problem calmly and in a logical
way. It is not right to use violent action to solve the problem. Therefore, as human beings, we
should solve the problem through dialogue (Sabate Saladi) [sic]. Problem resolution with
violence is against humanity and against our custom.”
“My words reduced people’s anger and they returned to their homes. In the evening the
soldier sobbed sadly and he and his family left to live in a neighbouring sub-village.” (Atok
& Seran, 2004, pp. 91–92)
Here we encounter a response to conflict, and a vision of peace guided by

engagement, relationality and responsiveness.
In Seran’s rendering of Atok’s narration, there is an interesting dualism between
universal claims and the specificity of local practices. Both the universal and
particular are present and invoked regularly without any sense that it must be one
way or the other. The police officer in many ways stands in for the universal, for the
laws that govern the country and to which the army officer and community initially
turn for redress. Yet the universal claims are navigated by reference to the specific, to
the village’s local customary laws and practices. In the story, the police officer is
criticized for failing to perform his proper role, the soldier is criticized for failing to
respect customary law as well as for acts of violence, and the gathered community is
criticized for failing to respect both humanity and customs in the final encounter
where an escalation of violence is threatened. The three critiques are intermingled,
with each having its own authority and each suggesting a particular aspect of needs
that must be met for a holistic peace to be achieved in the community.
Things are put right at the end of the story only once the police officer agrees to
shoulder his responsibility, the soldier and his family demonstrate respect for the
community and withdraw to another community, and the community itself upholds
its moral commitments, refrains from violence and waits for proper customary
procedures to be enacted. People hear and respond to one another in a way that
rebuilds or restores the whole community. I should note that this does not mean a
static positive peace is achieved – it is a relationally crafted, context responsive and
contingent positive peace.
To navigate the tensions that arise in the community over the dispute and its
escalation, the community repeatedly gathers and discerns what a good response will
constitute. This includes the peacebuilders who are there as part of the community.
The discernment process moves in and between different understandings of moral
authority and values. The universal and particular are not reconciled in terms of
agreeing on what constitutes core common values for everyone. What matters here is
the actions taken in response to the needs of others and a holistic consideration of
voices in this conflict setting.
In the story there is a web of interconnected actors who together – through living,
engagement and mutual listening – craft community peace. It is intriguing to note
that in the story, the use of the pronoun “I” is confusing; it is unclear to whom it
refers, Atok or Gless. In part, this is related to linguistic differences and translation
from Bahasa Indonesian to English. However, it also relays the relative importance
866 R. C. Neufeldt
of the “I” to the “we” in discerning what is important within the community in the
story – the “I” is less important than the “we” in a relational ontology.
Atok’s vignette is also instructive in its condemnation of the soldier: “He never
was interested to investigate the roots of the case.” The soldier (and perhaps the
police officer as they are both named in the preceding sentence) is critiqued for
failing to be open, failing to listen and to find out what happened –failing to engage
with the tangled relationships and history within the community. He already had his
own answer. This stance itself is condemned – the lack of listening in engagement,
encounter and responsiveness. Atok’s story suggests a commitment to dynamic
engagement involves listening, asking questions and hearing responses in order to
investigate the roots of the case before responding to the problem and co-creating
community peace. Emotion is part of the series of engagements even as a plea is
made for calm and logic. In the end, the soldier too listens, shows emotion in the
shedding of tears, and relocates his family. These emotions are signs of the living and
embodied relationships through which the peace is being negotiated. This is not a
conflict-free process nor is it a power-free process, and as people outside of the
context we do not know whose voices may have been missed in the story – to hear
these voices requires another layer of engagement. Nonetheless, this story does offer
a window into how peace is negotiated within a specific relational context, with
attention given to emotions, responding to needs and maintaining the quality of
relationships within a community.
Conclusion: Reimagining Positive Peace as Relationally

Embedded
The story of Gless, the soldier, and the village conflict does not have a clearly
articulated vision of “positive peace” for me to summarize here. Rather, the content
of peace is negotiated in the web of community relations and in response to the
multiple needs, which become evident in the conflict– from responding to those who
were harmed, to preventing false blame, to taking responsibility for one’s actions, to
listening to one another, and following customary and moral law. The story illus-
trates the ways in which positive peace from a relational ethics of care in this way
reorients us towards engagement, careful listening as well as responsiveness. Intrigu-
ingly, not everyone’s opinion is weighted as equal in this engagement; there are
points at which people speak and exhort others to remember their responsibilities
particularly to one another and customary law. At the end of the story, common
across all of the voices is shouldering one’s own responsibilities in relation to others
in community.
In contrast to the suggestion that we know what positive peace looks like at the
outset, with our various forms of classification and control, when we are guided by
relational ethics such as ethics of care we craft with, and in response to, others
the meaning of positive peace. It requires listening, hearing and action that reflects
the specificities of the context. To respond to the question of whether we can counter
the taxonomic power of a predefined and all-knowing gaze of positive peace, it
appears the answer is yes. Listening and responsiveness enable the agents in the
story to come to know what is excluded from their perspective of what constitutes
positive peace, and to act in ways that respond to the articulated needs. From such a
perspective, an imagined conversation at the start of a peace and conflict studies
course might run more like this:
What do you imagine peace looks like? What picture does it bring to mind?
I think your question needs to be thought of in relationships, and in the context of what’s
going on here. Let’s get specific . . .
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704058
Social Capital and Peace
47
Walt Kilroy
Contents
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 870
Definitions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 871
Different Understandings of Social Capital . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 871
Horizontal Versus Vertical Social Capital . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 872
Bonding and Bridging Social Capital . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 873
Ways in Which Social Capital Relates to Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 874
Relational Aspects of Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 876
Social Capital in Peacebuilding Practice . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 877
No Blank Slate . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 877
Peacebuilding in General . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 878
Reintegrating Ex-combatants in Particular . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 880
Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 883
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 885
Abstract
Social capital refers to the norms, networks, and trust which enable groups or
societies to achieve things together which their members would not be able to do
separately. It can be a useful conceptual tool for analyzing conflict dynamics and
peace processes. It highlights the way in which relationships are central to conflict
and its resolution, and the ways in which these relationships are changed as the
conflict evolves. Social capital is created, destroyed, and transformed as societies
experience conflict, and this in turn affects their ability to recover from it. Trust
can be undermined, yet it is central to reaching agreement and taking risks for
peace. Existing norms may be undermined, new ones created (such as around the
use of violence), and other norms promoted as new social and political structures
are tried out in the search for a resolution. Social networks are also transformed
W. Kilroy (*)
Institute for International Conflict Resolution and Reconstruction (IICRR), Dublin City University,
Dublin, Ireland
e-mail: walt.kilroy@dcu.ie
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_47
870 W. Kilroy
and may be important in creating the right environment for implementing a peace
agreement. Social capital is therefore affected by conflict and also important in
peacebuilding and establishing lasting solutions. It comes in many forms, not all
of them positive. Understanding social capital helps us to see the underlying
processes – especially at local or interpersonal levels – which are often over-
looked but which are fundamental to sustainable peace.
Keywords
Peacebuilding · Social contract · Trust · Norms · Networks · Disarmament ·
Reintegration · Transitional justice · Liberia · Sierra Leone
Introduction
Do we really need another analytical tool in order to help understand conflict, peace
processes, and peacebuilding? If it brings new insights – when used in conjunction
with other ways of analyzing conflict – and exposes relationships and dynamics
which are not otherwise visible, then the answer should be “Yes.” Social capital is the
lens in question, and it allows us to understand better not only what is happening, but
how conflict can move from destructive to constructive phases – and how negative
peace can transform into a more positive peace. The ways in which social capital
interacts with peace and conflict has not yet been fully explored, and there is still a
great deal to discover. The concept generally includes the way norms, networks, and
trust allow groups of people to achieve things which benefit the group and which they
would not be able to do as individuals. One of the reasons social capital is so relevant
is that the remaking of relationships is fundamental to peace and conflict, and these
are constantly changed by the conflict while also influencing it at the same time. The
concept helps to understand that dynamic interaction. Like any analytical tool, it is not
meant to be used on its own, or to become another passing fashion to replace a
previous fad: it actually works very well as an additional way of looking at conflict.
Similarly, it will be useless or even misleading if applied inappropriately, in the same
way that a microscope is not of much help in the natural sciences when a telescope is
needed. But it helps us to see things that are not otherwise apparent, as an addition to
how we already analyze peace and conflict.
Social capital often comes with positive normative associations – especially when
it deals with ideas like trust, cooperation, and communication. We must bring these
associations out into the open rather than allowing them to remain implicit, and this
will help to ensure that the concept is not used or advocated in an uncritical way.
There are even ways in which social capital can benefit one party rather than
assisting a process of conflict transformation. Assuming that social capital always
assists a peace process would overlook the evidence that in some cases, it can
actually undermine peace. It can, for example, reinforce the solidarity and effective-
ness of one of the conflict parties in opposition to their perceived adversaries, and
steer them back to zero-sum game politics. It can also help to maintain group identity
in a form where “others” are seen as the enemy. Belloni (2009) highlights the way in
47 Social Capital and Peace 871
which civil society organizations representing just one side of a divided society can
affect the dynamic of a peace process. So, social capital can support or undermine
peace, and is not automatically a force for good. This is all the more reason to include
it as a lens when making our analysis.
It is important to understand that the elements like trust and networks are not simply
additive. Social capital and conflict interact in subtle and complex ways. Just as actors
are not static and unchanging, and it is clear that parties to an armed conflict are in turn
shaped by it (especially where there has been suffering and loss), social capital itself is
transformed, created, and destroyed by the conflict and any peace processes. It is
dynamic rather than a fixed formula, yet it is still recognizable in its various guises.
The concept sits well with the emerging understanding of peace processes as complex
adaptive systems (de Coning, 2016; Hughes, 2016; Hunt, 2015). Systems thinking is a
very significant development in how we see peace processes and their evolution: at
times more like an ecosystem with many interacting parts, rather than a piece of
clockwork which simply needs to be wound up. Social capital helps to expose the
changing and complex nature of the connections and relationships between the many
elements in a “conflict system.” If these relationships were fixed, conflict analysis, and
peace initiatives would be so much simpler, yet it is clear that last year’s initiative may
now have a totally different impact on the same player. Understanding the complexity at
play in this dynamic is essential: a conflict can behave like a forest or a city, in that the
whole is very different to the sum of its parts.
In ways, social capital is implicit in existing analyses of conflict, especially when
it comes to negotiation, dialogue, and confidence-building measures. These are all
significant for relational peacebuilding, where the changing nature of the relation-
ships is understood as being an important factor in itself. Trust and norms are
particularly relevant to peace processes, as is the idea of these elements helping
parties to achieve something collectively which they cannot do on their own. It can
be central to the long and fraught process of peacebuilding, in the sense of
augmenting the capacity of a society to deal with its conflict without the use of
violence. And it arises again when it comes to particular elements in peacebuilding
such as transitional justice and reconciliation. Social capital helps us to recognize the
difference between negative peace and positive peace, and is central to a relational
understanding of conflict and peacebuilding processes, during which relationships
are inevitably being recreated on a continuous basis. Social capital is not a new trend
to replace these ways of looking at the world, but a means of gaining a deeper
understanding of conflict and peace as part of a holistic, integrated analysis.
Definitions
Different Understandings of Social Capital
The term social capital is perhaps most closely associated with the work of Robert
Putnam, who in fact credits a number of others with first mentioning the concept. His
definition is “features of social organization, such as trust, norms, and networks, that
can improve the efficiency of society by facilitating coordinated actions” (Putnam,
872 W. Kilroy
1993, p. 167). These characteristics “enable participants to act together more effec-
tively to pursue shared objectives” which may or may not be regarded as construc-
tive (Putnam, 1995, pp. 664–665). The question of normative judgments attached to
social capital is important here: if the group whose objectives are advanced is one
particular conflict party, rather than society as a whole, the conflict may be worsened
rather than transformed. But the argument made in this chapter is not that social
capital is necessarily constructive (even though it may be at times): it is that it should
be taken into account if we are to understand the dynamics of peace and conflict. The
question remains of whose interests are being advanced by the collective action
made possible by social capital: it may not be that the “the common good” is being
facilitated.
While meanings and emphasis may change, and new distinctions within social
capital continue to be identified, its key elements are relations between people or
groups, and trust in particular. Cox (2009a) says it generally refers to “the extent and
quality of relationships between people or groups, with levels of interpersonal trust
as one frequent indicator” (p. 24). Relationships and norms of reciprocity are
important to most understandings of social capital (Micolta, 2009).
Bourdieu also developed the concept of social capital in a particular form (1991,
1998), in the context of other forms of the idea such as cultural, economic, and
linguistic capital. His conception is more closely related to networks through which
interests and power relations are expressed and pursued. Although these alignments
and patronage networks are indeed part of social capital – and can be seen especially
in the relations between ex-combatants and their former commanders – the concept
is in fact much broader, in which more subtle interactions take place on a number of
levels besides association with those holding power in whatever form. Social capital
in this chapter is used therefore in the wider sense described by Putnam, as it
includes additional areas such as norms and trust, and proves to be one which is
much more dynamic and interactive in the context of evolving conflict.
Horizontal Versus Vertical Social Capital
Using a social capital as a lens does not mean we can lose sight of all the other
structures and dynamics at work, especially power, gender, agency, and interests.
The analogy of an ecosystem is useful to describe the complex system of relation-
ships, how these interact and evolve, and how the nature and presence of the actors
changes as the system itself adapts. But the analogy breaks down if we presume that
all this is all due to an unconscious process of natural selection, when there are in fact
deliberate efforts to shape the system. Some of these come from actors with
conflicting interests, who may have different degrees and kinds of power. It can, in
fact, include outside actors from the international community, such as states, donors,
and multilateral agencies, especially in the context of peacebuilding and
statebuilding (Bliesemann de Guevara, 2008; Sisk, 2014). But even powerful actors’
ability to shape change is subject to the adaptive qualities of the system, which can
absorb or transform outside inputs, in ways that are then classified as “resistance” by
some scholars. This rejection by “local” actors of liberal peacebuilding interventions

may be outright, or take more subtle forms of noncooperation (Mac Ginty, 2010).
The power dynamics within a society are, in fact, recognized in the important
distinction between horizontal and vertical social capital. The horizontal aspect
involves relationships between people and groups with a similar level of power and
status, while vertical social capital highlights the connections between those in
asymmetrical relationships, whether that arises from a hierarchy or differences in
power (World Bank, 2011; Putnam, 1993). The ways in which marginalized people
are connected to decision-makers is of course relevant for positive peace. Where
vertical social capital relates to the relationship between the citizen and the state, it
touches on the concept of social contract, which is itself destroyed, created, and
transformed at various stages of the conflict cycle. This contract is explicitly on the
agenda in the peacebuilding phase, when there is often a deliberate project to recreate
a social contract (Knight & Özerdem, 2004; Richmond, 2011; Themnér & Ohlson,
2014). This “new deal” can aim to be more inclusive and less likely to replicate
exclusion and marginalization which may have contributed to the conflict in the first
place. The idea of positive peace itself implies a more just social contract, marked by
fairer economic and political power structures and reduced structural violence, and
social capital can be both a means and an end in this regard.
Bonding and Bridging Social Capital
Another important distinction is between “bonding” and “bridging” social capital.

Bonding social capital increases the effectiveness and cohesion within a particular
group, which is by definition better able to advance its interests. The frame of
reference for bonding social capital is this group, rather than society as a whole.
This is important to note in the context of positive peace, especially if the positive
normative undertones associated with social capital create the impression that is
always a constructive phenomenon. In contrast, bridging social capital is more likely
to play a positive role, as it concerns relationships and cooperation between groups,
rather than within them (Putnam, 2000). It therefore has the potential to be inclusive
rather than exclusive, to create bridges across divisions in society, and to advance
more widely shared interests. It ultimately has the capacity to contribute to recon-
ciliation and transitional justice, although these are fraught processes that are not
helped by simplistic or idealist suggestions about what can or should work – or
for whom.
The concept of social capital has been applied across a range of disciplines and
continues to evolve, so it can be conceptualized in different ways, depending on the
context among other things. One further category which brings power relations and
asymmetries more clearly into the frame is the idea of “linking social capital.” This
has been described as “norms of respect and networks of trusting relationships
between people who are interacting across explicit, formal or institutionalized
power or authority gradients in society” (Szreter & Woolcock, 2004, p. 655). This
is distinguished from other forms of bridging social capital, where the relationships
874 W. Kilroy
are between people or groups which are more equal. In this sense, it is useful to bring
these inequalities into focus.
Ways in Which Social Capital Relates to Peace
Social capital interacts with the various forms of peace and violence in many ways,
and it is worth distinguishing between some of these manifestations. The kind of
violence that comes to mind first is what is termed direct violence: physical, with
immediate consequences to a person’s life or health. The absence of this – when
there is a ceasefire or a war stops – is negative peace. However, violence can also be
structural, where there are unjust social, economic, and political systems which harm
people. This is easier to identity where there is slavery, clear exploitation, or
institutionalized injustice such as apartheid or similar oppression. It is harder to
agree on the boundaries of structural violence: how much inequality must there be
before it counts as violence? The absence of structural violence allows for positive
peace. There is also cultural violence, where discourses support and enable the other
forms of violence (Galtung, 1996, 2012; Barash & Webel, 2017; Ramsbotham et al.,
2011).
As with many concepts that try to organize and simplify the social world around
us, there is a danger of creating a false dichotomy between negative and positive
peace. They may even be presented as being in competition with each other. In
reality, any incompatibility would stem from claims that one particular vision of
peace covers all possible conceptions of the idea. They can in fact complement each
other, and negative peace is more than a stepping stone to positive peace: each has a
role in the development of the other. A move toward more inclusive political
structures, seen as positive peace, can assist with dialogue about ending current
direct violence leading to negative peace.
The normative aspect of social capital does need to be made explicit, since ideas
such as trust and reciprocity are rarely seen in negative terms. In reality, social capital
is not necessarily a positive factor, depending on what form it takes and who is
involved. It can facilitate peaceful relations, or deepen a conflict and even facilitate
direct violence. This is particularly true of bonding social capital, which can
strengthen group identity (Subedi & Jenkins, 2017). The collective action made
possible by bonding social capital within one particular ethnic group may have
terrible consequences for those who are “othered.” As Goodhand and Hulme put it:
“social capital for some may imply social exclusion for others” (1999, p. 22). It may
make an armed militia more effective or motivated, or strengthen the position of
those who are already powerful. The “dark side” of social capital can be seen at work
in organized crime (Gilbert, 2009, p. 57; Micolta, 2009), in elites involved in state
capture, and urban gangs, all of which have their own particular norms, networks,
and trust. Their goals may be very far from peaceful in terms of wider society. Nussio
and Oppenheim (2014) use the term “anti-social capital” when dealing with certain
networks of ex-combatants in Colombia:
Contrary to participation in civic organizations like the often-cited bowling clubs or bird-
watching associations, participation in clandestine organizations does not produce more
cooperation with the outside world and trust in strangers. Rather, it produces distrust and
social distance. Therefore, we call this form of social capital – produced for the purpose of
illegal activities and relying on heavy ingroup bonding – anti-social capital. (p. 1000)
Linking social capital is also at work in networks of patronage or political

favoritism, which can undermine inclusive or accountable governance, and can be
a significant social structure in post-war environments (Utas, 2012). The fact that
social capital can be negative as well as positive does not make the concept any less
useful, and in fact makes it more relevant. But it does mean that this analytical
concept should not be used in a naïve or unquestioning way, or in isolation from
other concepts which would allow for a holistic understanding of the complex
systems at work. We also need to distinguish between using social capital as a
theoretical lens – using it as a tool for analysis without assuming it is beneficial or not
for peace – and promoting social capital as an unquestioned social good, which
applies in some but not all cases.
Few social interactions are simple cause-and-effect relationships of just two
variables, without some kind of feedback loop or interaction. In the same way, the
causal relationships between social capital, conflict, and peace are complex and
dynamic, and call for a nuanced approach. The reality is that social capital of various
kinds is destroyed, transformed, and created in the conflict process, in the same way
that a change in environmental conditions can alter the makeup of a forest or coral
reef. While it makes it hard for researchers to explore, it is important to understand
that the causality goes in both directions, with peace and social capital each affecting
the other. Social capital (in its many forms) can have a profound influence on conflict
dynamics, dialogue, any peacebuilding process and its implementation, the nature of
whatever peace emerges, and its durability. However, at the same time, social capital
at many levels is itself transformed by conflict and peacebuilding processes.
Recognizing that it is far more than a one-way, or even two-way, process is
essential, even if it is not particularly neat or simple. But embracing this complexity
is a way to advance our understanding, rather than ignoring or oversimplifying
relationships which cannot be described or measured in simplistic ways. A mecha-
nistic or deterministic worldview will miss the real nature of the connections.
Moving from armed conflict to peace in any case involves open-ended, nonlinear
processes that interact with each other. This is why systems thinking (see, e.g.,
Brusset et al., 2016, Leroux-Martin & O’Connor, 2017), which recognizes the
interactions between variables in complex adaptive systems, is an important
approach in order to be able to recognize how social capital relates to the wider
peace processes. This deeper understanding, making use of systems thinking, applies
equally to peace processes at an earlier stage – where simply achieving negative
peace is an ambitious target in itself – and also to peacebuilding, to implementation
of what has been agreed, and the open-ended work of creating positive peace.
In terms of negative peace, norms, networks, and trust can be central to a process
of dialogue or negotiation. This applies whether contacts are secret and exploratory
or openly acknowledged and formalized with an agreed set of principles. Mediators
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pay a great deal of attention to the tone and nature of the exchanges, and confidence
building measures and trust are fundamental to negotiation. These are essential
elements in social capital, especially in the way they can enable collective action.
In terms of positive peace, norms, networks, and trust are significant in the shared
task of building or restoring a polity where just relationships and inclusive structures
can emerge. None of this bypasses the difficult issues of hard power, interests, and
inequality, but social capital is a factor in addressing these, and is also built as
solutions are developed.
Relational Aspects of Peace
Ultimately, social capital helps to explore the nature of relationships, and how the
whole can behave in ways that are more than (and different to) the sum of its parts.
Relationships are central to the question of whether peace can be positive rather than
merely negative, or indeed if even negative peace is possible at all, and a relational
approach to peace is recognized as allowing a better understanding the dynamics
(Hunt, 2017; Brigg, 2016). While there is an understandable focus on direct and
structural violence, these do not arise in a vacuum, and are intimately linked with
how human beings associate with each other. These relationships are in turn shaped
by the conflict, and sometimes extreme forms of othering are required in order to
maintain and justify conflict behaviors and attitudes. The worst of these is of course
denying the basic humanity of the other, and treating them as less than human.
Taking risks for peace, and daring to make or respond to an initiative, has the
capacity to recalibrate relationships which have been shaped by violence. The
dynamics of co-evolution in the social ecology once again call for an understanding
which goes beyond a linear, deterministic analysis which misses the fact that the
actors can function as part of a larger whole – a complex adaptive system. Of course
positive peace, by definition, involves just and equitable relationships within and
between societies, which may well require these connections to be consciously
thought about by all involved. Social capital is one of the tools for assessing these
relationships and the processes through which they can be remade.
Like power and agency, one of several important questions which cannot be
divorced from social capital is gender. Many aspects of social capital – especially
norms and networks – are highly gendered, and analysis of conflict and peace using
social capital as a framework must recognize the different boundaries placed by
societies on women and men. If a “gender-blind” approach to any analysis is taken,
important dynamics and structures can be missed, and this applies to social capital in
particular. Thinking of its constituent parts, there are very significant gender aspects
to norms, including different expectations of men and women and the roles and
actions which are seen as acceptable or permitted. It applies also to networks and
how they operate: roles, leadership, and power within those networks can be
different according to gender, and women or men may be excluded or included
(Kilroy & Basini, 2018). Bonding social capital within networks which are
predominantly male or female is also relevant here, and can provide solidarity within
the group, as well as making it harder for others to join.
Social Capital in Peacebuilding Practice
Social capital has been applied and re-conceptualized in a wide range of different
contexts, which in itself is an indication of its usefulness as an analytical tool. This
has not been uncontested, of course, and any extravagant claims for social capital are
easily disproven – which does not however undermine the case for its use in a more
considered way. It has been applied by some scholars to the area of peace and
conflict, though it is argued here that the concept has still not been explored fully or
indeed tested in relation to peace. That is often done at the level of a particular
conflict, since context is so important.
One of the earlier publications to apply social capital to conflict was by Goodhand
and Hulme, who say that it “may provide insights into how communities are affected
by and respond to violent conflict. It has already proved useful as it helps us
recognise the significance of the way in which economic and political actors interact
and organise themselves” (1999, p. 22). They warn, quite correctly, that the concept
should not be applied uncritically, and that it does not take account of power. As
noted previously, it can have negative outcomes for those who are marginalized
when stronger groups make use of their social capital. This can include increased
bonding within groups who are in conflict with others, greater possibilities to
mobilize along ethno-nationalist lines, and perhaps even facilitating the process of
othering. An edited collection on social capital and peacebuilding (Cox 2009b) made
a comprehensive survey of the concept and how it can be applied in a number of
different conflicts, and some of these will be drawn on later. The research summa-
rized in the remainder of this chapter is organized in terms of the phases through
which conflict may pass.
No Blank Slate
While it is in all likelihood stating the obvious, it should be noted that social capital
exists long before there is conflict or indeed peace. It does not appear out of nowhere
during a peace process, and is certainly not something which depends for its
existence on donors or outside actors engaged in peacebuilding. Even before
armed conflict might emerge, social capital is in a constant state of flux as societies
change – a process to which social capital itself can contribute. But during a conflict,
it will come under enormous pressures. Where the conflict is protracted, the inter-
action is more complex and possibly more significant. Bowd describes how in
Rwanda the various forms of social capital were “distorted out of all recognition
as a result of the genocide” (2008, p. 238). Civil war may force people and
communities to adopt new strategies in order to survive, as well as creating oppor-
tunities for some. These include the political economy of war: the range of new
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relationships can include survival strategies, alliances, protection, opportunism, and

aligning oneself to (or becoming) some kind of warlord.
Cheng introduces the useful concept of conflict capital as “a specific derivative of
social capital” which is created out of the shared experiences of armed conflict
(2012, p. 70). It is later described as “a form of social capital forged in the intense
crucible of violent conflict” (2018, pp. 54–55). This helps us to understand how
social capital is not only changed by war, but that the process of rebuilding it is
affected by whatever was left by the conflict. Some of these economic relationships
and patronage networks can be very enduring, as people (such as ex-combatants)
have come to rely on them and may have few other opportunities in the post-war
environment.
Peacebuilding in General
The concept of social capital has been applied in particular to peacebuilding as a

whole, as well as some of the elements that typically make up the open-ended,
multidimensional set of tasks which come under the term. Peacebuilding has of
course itself been analyzed, and critiqued for top-down, donor-driven manifestations
which are usually described as liberal peacebuilding (Paris, 2002; Mac Ginty &
Richmond, 2007). Some critics portray liberal peacebuilding as a neo-colonial
exercise, in which free markets and Western-style elections are imposed on societies
emerging from war, at a moment when they are too weak to resist this intervention by
powerful and opportunistic outside actors (Richmond, 2011; Visoka, 2016). Hybrid
peacebuilding, however, sees a continuous interaction between “local” and interna-
tional actors, each with their agenda and ability to adapt, navigate, and co-opt (Mac
Ginty, 2010). The essential points are indeed highly relevant: ownership, power,
control, and agency. It is also important to explore who exactly constitutes the
“local,” as there are both strong and marginalized voices within each society
(Paffenholz, 2015).
For the purposes of this chapter, an earlier definition of peacebuilding is used
(which some may argue exists more as an ideal rather than in reality), while
continuing to ask the crucial questions about what gets done, how it is decided, by
whom, with what legitimacy, and in whose interests. As originally described,
peacebuilding recognizes that negotiated settlements often relapse into violence,
and that the difficult and open-ended task of implementing a peace agreement
requires long term support. That includes addressing the causes of the conflict, and
increasing the capacity of a society to deal with conflict without resorting to
violence. It does not aim to somehow eliminate conflict, but to support effective
mechanisms for resolving grievances and rival claims (Cousens, 2001). Doyle and
Sambanis (2006, p. 23) describe it as preventative action whose aim “is to build the
social, economic, and political institutions and attitudes that will prevent the inev-
itable conflicts that every society generates from turning into violent conflicts.”
There are many essentially political aspects to this support, which might include
political reform, inclusion of less powerful voices in government, physical, and
economic reconstruction, transitional justice, reintegration of ex-combatants, and

security sector reform. They take place at a time when power structures are already
being reconfigured in some way as a war ends and new political institutions are in
any case emerging. These matters are all bound up with the vision of the “rebuilt”
society, who might decide that, and whether women were at the table. Choices are
made about whether the objective is only negative peace, as opposed to positive
peace – not only as a longer-term aim but even as a means in itself. These are of
course important opportunities to facilitate the creation of positive peace, through the
kind of structures and relationships which are supported, although the emphasis
tends to be the more short-term goal of maintaining negative peace. There are vital
questions about ownership, about who funds and controls these processes, and who
picks the model of a peaceful society being pursued. But what is not in doubt is that
support for peace processes is needed, given the high proportion of them which
return to armed conflict. Dismissing peacebuilding as a whole does not make the
challenges go away. More relevant questions are what kind of peace is sought, how
that vision might be realized, and by whom – which brings social capital into the
frame as both a means and an end.
One of the earliest writers to link social capital and the wider peacebuilding
project focused on the reintegration of ex-combatants in particular (Colletta, 1999).
He says restoring social capital is one of three “critical enabling conditions” (p. 212)
for the social reconstruction and sustainable development which is needed after war:
It is the interplay of a community’s physical and social capital and the ex-combatant’s
financial and human capital that ultimately determine the ease and success of reintegration.
Efforts to strengthen social capital – for example, by using existing community organizations
and channels of communication – enable communities to take development into their own
hands and facilitate the reintegration of ex-combatants. (Colletta, 1999, p. 208)
Colletta and Cullen (2000) go on in a World Bank report to use social capital as an
analytical tool for assessing violent conflict and efforts to recover from it in Cam-
bodia, Rwanda, Guatemala, and Somalia.
The relationship between social capital and peacebuilding has since been explored
in more detail, with Cox’s edited collection (2009b) including case studies from
Northern Ireland, Honduras, Colombia, Eastern Europe, and Sri Lanka, and the
former Yugoslavia. At the conceptual level, Paffenholz (2009) proposes a framework
for understanding the way in which social capital can contribute to peacebuilding.
She identifies a number of areas where it can have a constructive role, including
accountability, social cohesion, in-group socialization, intergroup social cohesion,
and intermediation. Andrieu (2010, p. 548) says that peacebuilding should focus
more on repairing human relationships than rebuilding institutions (something the
international community is not well placed to do as an external actor): “Rebuilding
social capital and livelihood systems is harder than restoring infrastructures
and institutions. It involves redefining relationships, creating a healthy civil society
and facilitating the healing process, as well as making institutions both trustworthy
and trusted.” Hence facilitating the development of social capital between formerly
warring groups, between moderates and extremists within a group, and between
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ex-combatants and the rest of society are all recognized as activities that can poten-
tially contribute to building a sustainable peace in that aftermath of armed conflict.
Moreover, social capital is integral to the multilayered and difficult process of
how societies deal with their past. Whether it is through collective amnesia, some of
the many options that come under the heading of transitional justice, or through an
official narrative for commemorating events, social capital plays a role in how these
difficult and complicated processes play out. New, shared understandings of the
violent past are unlikely to emerge if formerly warring groups remain socially
segregated, and if ex-combatants and victims of violence never hear each others’
experiences of the conflict. At the same time, trusting relationships between former
enemies is also built up or undermined by what happens in transitional justice
processes and how they unfold.
Reintegrating Ex-combatants in Particular
Social capital can be seen in all the areas which fall under the heading of
peacebuilding, but is particularly relevant to the reintegration of ex-combatants
after war. This social and economic reintegration takes place in many ways – often
without any outside support – but is most visible to the international community in
the guise of formal programs for Disarmament, Demobilization, and Reintegration
(DDR). These generally involve voluntary surrender of any weapons, a short
demobilization process (often in assembly areas or camps) where the first steps are
taken to forge a new identity and explore options for civilian life, and finally the
beginning of reintegration. This is a long-term, open-ended social and economic
process, based in communities (UN Secretary-General, 2006). It should open the
way to accessing a livelihood; in practice, it usually involves support for a return to
education, or several months’ vocational training for a chosen area of work, during
which a small stipend is paid. Psychosocial support tends to be limited, except for the
more comprehensive programs which have been created for those under 18.
In assessing DDR, it is easy to become focused on the guns at one end of the
process, or the mistaken assumption that everyone is supposed to be guaranteed a job
or livelihood as an outcome. While many former fighters expect a job, and may have
been led to believe that, guaranteed work is unlikely in economies recovering from
war where the majority of people have no formal employment, and if it was, it would
mean that ex-combatants are treated far better than the rest of society. These elements
are very important but they do not define the purpose of reintegration. Like many
aspects of peacebuilding, it is in fact an attempt, or opportunity, to remake damaged
relationships. That includes relationships between ex-combatants and the commu-
nities where they settle – communities who may, of course, fear or resent them. It
also applies to relationships between ex-combatants themselves, and even within
each individual as they find a new identity, role in society, and livelihood. Social
capital is central to understanding this process of transformation, and it has been
used as means of analyzing DDR by a small but growing number of researchers (e.g.,
Colletta and Cullen, 2000; Bowd, 2008, 2011; Kilroy & Basini, 2018).
Social capital is also recognized as an important aspect of DDR practice, though

understanding of what social capital is, and how it can support peace, can vary across
agencies. The set of guidelines produced by a group of UN agencies for those
implementing DDR, the Integrated DDR Standards (United Nations, 2006) includes
social capital in its glossary of terms. It notes that there are multiple and nuanced
definitions of the term, and that it can facilitate the reintegration process. Its own
version is:
The existence of a certain set of informal values or norms shared among members of a group
that permit cooperation among them. The sharing of values and norms does not in itself
produce social capital, because the values may be the wrong ones: the norms that produce
social capital must substantively include virtues like truth-telling, the meeting of obligations
and reciprocity. (United Nations, 2006, (Section 1.20), p. 23)
Similarly, in the Colombian context, where DDR has been a significant element in
the peace process, the Cartagena Contribution to Disarmament, Demobilization and
Reintegration (2009, p. 5) describes social capital in this context as:
Shared norms, values, and social expectations, which are expressed through both behavior
(such as trust and social engagement) and both formal and informal organizations (such as
civic associations and social networks). Social capital is often treated as a property of civil
society, but also may also describe the health of the relationship between society and the
State.
The existence of different definitions of social capital and the range of views on
how it can be facilitated in order to support DDR efforts highlights the importance of
research into exactly how, and in what circumstances, social capital can contribute to
successful DDR.
Research is beginning to identify the particular role of social capital in DDR
processes in post-war contexts. For example, Leff (2008) has applied the concept to
assess the reintegration program in Sierra Leone, and highlights an essential aspect
of these programs in recasting the often-difficult relationships between
ex-combatants and the communities where they settle. This can include resentment,
fear, stigma, and trauma. He argues that “without a community-focused approach
that fosters new, and nurtures pre-existing, forms of social capital, ex-combatants
will be less likely to secure sustainable livelihoods in post-conflict environments”
(p. 14).
Bowd (2008) has researched DDR in Rwanda, looking at the relationship
between social reintegration of ex-combatants, social capital, and reconciliation.
The distinction between vertical, bridging, and bonding social capital is highlighted,
as these can have very different effects on how relationships are remade. The idea of
“discriminatory social capital” is introduced, where one group is given better
treatment than another by the state (p. 235). Rwanda’s case is unusual as the
reintegration process was closely managed by the government rather than outside
actors, and was related to strengthening vertical social capital. Bonding social capital
within groups has the potential to sustain differences and grievances but, in fact, this
882 W. Kilroy
research found that social capital in Rwanda had progressed from relationships based
on shared ethnicity, to relationships based more on geographical proximity. A key
aspect of DDR success was promoting bridging social capital between distinct
groups after the genocide, with its potential to underpin a process of reconciliation.
He says:
As social capital is restored through the reconstruction effort, it also has positive implications
for reconciliation. The key tenets of social capital, those of communication, cooperation,
coordination and trust, can only be realised in tandem with the establishment of coexistence;
indeed social capital and co-existence are mutually reinforcing. (Bowd, 2011, p. 57)
Some direct evidence of how reintegration of ex-combatants, social capital, and

peacebuilding interact has been also put forward in the case of Liberia (Kilroy &
Basini, 2018) and Sierra Leone (Kilroy, 2015). Looking at norms, the research found
these are closely bound up with a psychological process where ex-combatants leave
behind the identity of combatant, during which time abuses may have been com-
mitted, and become a citizen. In focus groups, surveys, and interviews, many
ex-combatants said they had been keen to show the community that they had
changed as a person, and to put the past behind them.
Norms are also central to DDR’s role in creating a new social contract between
ex-combatants and the communities into which they are reintegrated. Ex-combatants
can face stigma, so having an identity based on a trade or livelihood is a way to prove
they can be a valued member of the community – a transition which inevitably
involves norms. These norms are often highly gendered, with distinct roles, expec-
tations, and judgments for women and men. Hence, when ex-combatants demon-
strate they have adopted, or re-adopted, the norms of the community, it may be easier
for them to form new relationships with non-combatants and to play a new role in
society.
Networks are also central to reintegration, not least as ex-combatants move from
their own militia to the wider community. As seen in other contexts, networks of
veterans can be important in providing economic and psychosocial support. How-
ever, DDR programs often aim to break the bond between former commanders and
combatants to ensure they cannot easily be remobilized for armed conflict. Continu-
ing association between them can be seen as a problem or basis for criminal activity.
The networks can be very persistent, as former fighters come together for economic
survival and support, and can also play a positive role. Again, women have a
different experience of both war and its aftermath, and female ex-combatants can
find that networks are particularly important, whether with former comrades or
within the community as a way of deepening their connection with their new life.
One of the most significant factors affecting the interaction between reintegration,
social capital, and peacebuilding is trust. Having suffered at their hands, the com-
munity may fear or resent ex-combatants, and DDR and post-war livelihood pro-
grams try to find ways to rebuild trust. The reintegration process is also a “deal” in
which they surrender any weapons and their identity in return for support in finding a
new livelihood. For some ex-combatants, this deal was broken when it came to the
outcome. This is partly due to inflated expectations, but not entirely. There were
many specific problems with the quality of the vocational training. There was
widespread unhappiness with corruption, and in some cases monthly stipends or
other supports were not delivered as promised, or graduation certificates were not
provided at the end of the program. For a minority of those taking part, it was not just
a disappointment: they felt they had been lied to or cheated out of what they signed
up for. The implications for trust are enormous, and the significance is that this is
generalized onto the peace process as a whole. There is a short window of oppor-
tunity during which people quickly infer whether the promised new dispensation is a
reality rather than rhetoric, and this is crucial to getting buy-in and ownership of the
post-war society being created. This is especially important where corruption, state
capture, poor governance, and exclusion were among the reasons for war in the first
place. The key question is whether reintegration programs are implemented in ways
that build and maintain trusting relationships, between ex-combatants and their
communities, and with society as a whole.
In all of this, social capital can be both created and destroyed by the DDR process,
and reintegration can be supported or hindered by different forms of social capital.
Many forms of social capital can be part of a virtuous circle in which reintegration is
facilitated, especially the bridging social capital between ex-combatants and their
host communities, when relationships of mutual trust and coexistence develop. At
the same time, vertical social capital between ex-combatants and the state can be an
enabling factor which helps reintegration and other initiatives to feed into a long-
term peacebuilding process. When social capital is undermined, however, the pos-
itive impact can be reversed, as people quickly learn how the “rules of the game”
really operate in the new dispensation. It is not just whether ex-combatants feel they
have received the training or benefits they expected and the impact on their ability to
earn a living. During the reintegration process, they find out whether or not official
statements about these things in the new polity can be trusted, and what kind of
governance to expect. So it is not just that it is mutually reinforcing in relation to
DDR: the creation or destruction of social capital can have a significant impact on
peacebuilding as a whole – the process it is supposed to be underpinning.
Conclusion
This chapter demonstrates that the relationship between social capital and
peacebuilding is a complex one. It does not argue that social capital is inevitably
constructive: it can clearly have beneficial as well as detrimental effects on peaceful
relations. But it does set out the case for including social capital in our analysis of
peace and conflict, if we are to fully understand the complex dynamics of both
equilibrium and change. Much has yet to be uncovered by using it as an analytical
framework, and this exploration should in turn lead to a reworking of the tentative
generalizations about how we think social capital interacts with peace and conflict.
Social capital is fundamental to a relational approach to understanding the
dynamics of peace and conflict. Conflict and peacebuilding are all about remaking
of relationships – social, economic, gender – and whose voice gets to be heard.
884 W. Kilroy
Social capital defines and shapes those relationships, and therefore interacts with any
interventions or actions for peace (whoever makes them). It is fundamental to
conflict dynamics and to peacebuilding, and interventions which do not take this
into account are less likely to have the intended outcomes. This analysis helps to
highlight the importance of how things are done, as much as what is done, when we
consider the social and psychological effect. People can quickly read a situation and
decide how things really work. It is important to understand the ways in which social
capital can be negative as well as positive, and to differentiate between the different
types – bonding, bridging, linking, and vertical.
Peacebuilding practice that fosters positive forms of social capital can provide a
way of moving beyond negative peace, toward a more deeply rooted and sustainable
peace, a peace that is more than simply the absence of direct violence. It moves us
beyond the trap of a competitive zero-sum game between enemies, toward mutually
beneficial relationships underpinned by trust and shared norms. By definition, social
capital enables collective action to address problems and injustices which cannot be
tackled by individuals. Where this benefits the community as a whole rather than a
particular subgroup, this can be an important confidence building measure in itself. It
sends a signal about what kind of governance and systems are in place, which is
significant in that many violent conflicts center on how people are ruled, in whose
interest, and who gets to have a say. Greater social capital of the kind which benefits
everyone is in itself a step toward positive peace, in which unjust relationships are
replaced by fairer societal structures. The process of building or destroying this kind
of social capital is self-reinforcing, and shapes the nature of the peace – positive or
negative – as well as being shaped by it.
Like any conceptual tool, social capital must be used appropriately, with aware-
ness of its limitations, and along with other means of analysis. It does not have
magical powers, and its usefulness should not be assessed on an all-or-nothing basis:
proving that social capital is not some kind of panacea is very far from showing that
it has no use at all. Rather than rejecting the potential of social capital completely,
pointing out the shortcomings or blind spots highlighted in this chapter will help to
ensure it is used more appropriately to understand conflict dynamics and to develop
social processes that support a sustainable positive peace. Social capital is best
understood in the context of complex adaptive systems, where we think of peace
and conflict holistically rather than in a deterministic way with oversimplified,
one-way causal relationships. In policy terms, it helps us to see inside the “black
box” which comes between peacebuilding initiatives and intended outcomes. Too
often the theory of change is weak or missing, or does not take account of the
complex political and social ecosystem which adapt to the dynamics of peace and
conflict. Future research on what social capital can tell us about peacebuilding
processes could usefully engage with specific elements in the slow and nonlinear
transition to peace, such as transitional justice or the inclusion of women in nego-
tiations. In particular, it can help with understanding what kinds of relationships, and
between whom, can offer most to supporting the development of sustainable peace.
Rather than replacing other peacebuilding concepts, the construct of social
capital, if used correctly, can expose additional important factors that underpin the
development positive peace. These include the dynamic nature of relationships and
their quality; power; agency; the role of trust as an enabling factor; communication;
and the ways reciprocity is inferred, nurtured, or undermined by communities and
individuals. Social capital is both a means and an end: it is produced in the course of
a peace process, can facilitate it, and it can also have its own value, where it helps a
society to deal with disputes in less destructive ways. Social capital is, therefore,
indispensable to a full and nuanced understanding of how peace is achieved in
practice.
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C0QTRW4QF0.
Solidarity and Allyship: Engendering
Positive Peace 48
Sorcha Tormey
Together, let us contest the violent discursive and political

terrains by cultivating spaces of love
let us not leave our sisters behind, no matter what location,
race, nationality, sexuality, gender, ability, education,
citizenship, or class.
Spaces of belonging, spaces of love, trust and alliance. . .
for after all isn’t that what we are all seeking?
(Ghabra & Calafel, 2018)
Contents
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 890
Galtung and Solidarity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 892
A Closer Look at Solidarity and Allyship . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 893
Linking It All Together: Positive Peace, Solidarity, and Allyship . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 896
Social Education . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 896
Transcending Borderlines . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 898
Love . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 899
The Limitations of Solidarity and Allyship . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 901
Hope . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 903
Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 906
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 906
Abstract
This chapter explores the ways that solidarity and allyship have the potential
to support Galtung’s aspirations for the development of a state of positive peace.
The relationship between solidarity and allyship, and positive peace, is
established first, through an examination of Galtung’s early writings in which
S. Tormey (*)
Australian Catholic University, Lismore, Australia
e-mail: sorcha.tormey@acu.edu.au
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_48
890 S. Tormey
solidarity and allyship featured as an important driver in the development of

positive peace. Second, an exploration of key solidarity and allyship literature
demonstrates how the ultimate goal of ending structural violence and engendering
justice is one that is echoed in the positive peace framework, as well as other
elements that are central to both such as social education, transcending bound-
aries and love. However, for solidarity and allyship to effectively support the
development of a state of positive peace, its limitations must be examined and
addressed, and these include: understanding and challenging the privileges that
allies embody that maintain structural violence; carefully dissecting hope and its
deployment in solidarity work as a catalyst for transformation; and ensuring that
there is space for a multiplicity of views and approaches, where borderlines and
powerlines are transcended into new relationships that weave together a dynamic
and lived experience of a state of positive peace.
Keywords
Solidarity · Allyship · Positive peace · Galtung · Structural violence · Justice
Introduction
When considering Galtung’s theory of positive peace, a question arises as to what

actions can be undertaken to bring this vision to life, to move it from theory into a
praxis that is sustainable and relevant across an array of intersections and lines of
difference? Galtung (1964, p. 3) himself describes the state of positive peace as a
utopian dream and so it is not unreasonable to wonder whether the attainment of that
dream, in practical terms, is indeed possible. In this chapter, solidarity and allyship
are explored as forms of relationship that, while subject to some limitations, have the
potential to support the development of a state of positive peace. This is based on the
premise that in his early writings, Galtung highlighted solidarity as one of the drivers
of positive peace. In addition, the goal of both solidarity and allyship, as outlined by
key theorists, is to challenge and ultimately bring an end to structural violence and
enable justice to be achieved, a goal that mirrors Galtung’s vision for a state of
positive peace.
There are a number of well-known, historical examples of solidarity movements
and allyship in action, where both structural and direct violence have been success-
fully challenged. One of these was the inter-racial solidarity of White allies during
the Civil Rights Movement in the USA, especially student activists, religious
activists, and clergy, who through their relationships with Black activists supported
the success of the movement (Ezra, 2009; Houck & Dixon, 2009; Riches, 2004;
Curry, 2000). Another was the Anti-Apartheid Movement in South Africa internally
supported by White activists including a small number of Afrikaner people, and
internationally by Christian churches, trade unions, South African exiles, Black
anticolonial activists, students, and the women’s and peace movements, which
ultimately brought about the end of apartheid (Lueker Zukas, 2007; Skinner, 2009,
48 Solidarity and Allyship: Engendering Positive Peace 891
2010; Thorn, 2009a, 2009b). A final example is the Workers Solidarity Movement in
Poland active from 1980 until 1996, which at its peak had 9.5 million members, and
led to the end of communism and the rise of a new, democratic system (Zolkos,
2007).
Contemporary solidarity movements seeking to address both structural and direct
violence include: the #MeToo movement, which was established to end sexual
harassment and violence (Lee, 2018); the Black Lives Matter movement which
campaigns against violence and systemic racism against Black people (Rickford,
2015); the LGBQTI movement and in particular, the campaigns for marriage
equality (Johnson, 2013); and the Standing Rock #NoDAPL movement where
Indigenous and non-Indigenous people traveled across the USA and internationally
to the Standing Rock Reservation in an effort to prevent the building of the Dakota
Access Pipleline and to support Native American sovereignty and rights (Brigido-
Corachan, 2017).
It is these types of solidarity and allyship that are under scrutiny in this chapter in
order to understand their relevance as modalities to support Galtung’s vision of
positive peace. It is a vision that is often understood as positive peace being the
absence of both direct and structural violence, with negative peace being the absence
of direct violence. However, even from his very early writings, Galtung (1964, p. 1)
described it as “a vision of extending the sphere of cooperation, integration, har-
mony, to encompass the whole world until a state is reached where Man experiences
no differential in his identification with other men.” This is a vision that is richer and
more holistic than the mere absence of structural and direct violence and is brought
to life with relational concepts such as cooperation, integration, and harmony. Fifty-
one years later he continues to describe positive peace in its simplest form as
cooperation, harmony, and equity (Galtung, 2015). It is important to acknowledge
that while Galtung’s gendered language in his early writing poses an obvious and
immediate obstacle to the development of a state of positive peace, his later writings
show that he moved beyond these patriarchal framings and specifically identified
patriarchy as an example of structural violence (Galtung, 1996). Quotes containing
gendered language are used throughout this chapter because they provide direct
insight into his theoretical framings but their obvious limitations remain.
The chapter begins by examining the relationship between positive peace and
solidarity as Galtung envisioned it. While Galtung does not explain his understand-
ing of solidarity in great detail, some insight into what he is referring to can be drawn
from both his earlier and more recent works. An explanation of solidarity and
allyship is then provided to clarify what each concept means and demonstrate their
relevance to Galtung’s framework of positive peace. They are then examined in
greater detail in line with three core elements of positive peace: social education,
transcending boundaries, and love. Next the limitations of solidarity and allyship are
explored, which include vital checks and balances that support the difficult task of
untangling ourselves from relationships and alliances that maintain the status quo
rather than usurping it, what Carrillo Rowe (2008) refers to as “power lines.” Finally,
a core driver for why people choose to become allies in the first place and to develop
relationships of solidarity is explored: hope. It, too, is positioned as central to any
892 S. Tormey
aspiration for achieving positive peace and drawing on the work of Murad (2010) it
is demonstrated that while the transmission of hope as panacea and inspiration can
perpetuate the very power lines allies are seeking to change, ultimately the state of
positive peace cannot be achieved without some form of hope.
Galtung and Solidarity
In his editorial for the first edition of the Journal of Peace Research published in
1964, Galtung outlined his framework for reaching “general and complete peace”
(GCP) in the world, a state that can only be established when both negative peace
(the absence of violence, war) and positive peace (the integration of human society)
are worked through. In doing so, it is possible to fend off the violence and destruc-
tion inherent in its opposite: “general and complete war” (GCW). Galtung (1964)
argues that GCP is possible because human beings have the capacity to identify with
others, are capable of empathy and solidarity, which are the cornerstones of reci-
procity, cooperation, amity, and mutual aid and ultimately engender the integration
of human society and the development of a state of positive peace. In this way,
relationality is at the core of Galtung’s vision as it is only through changing the ways
that people relate to one another that violence can be addressed, systems can be
changed, and positive peace can be achieved.
In this editorial, Galtung does not explicitly define solidarity in this context and
yet, some understanding can be drawn from his definition of general and complete
peace and the dynamics inherent in this state. Of significance is that solidarity
enables movement away from a state of general and complete war. This state is
defined by identification solely with the self, enmity, and mutual destruction, a
Hobbesian vision where “there is not restraint on the choice of means of destruction:
everybody uses whatever kind of violence he knows to destroy whomever he wants”
(Galtung, 1964, p. 1).
In contrast to the state of general and complete war, solidarity involves the
development of relationships in which the following three characteristics are present:
firstly, love, where “each human being loves his neighbour like himself, and
everybody is his neighbour”; secondly, nonviolence, which enables conflict and
change “without recourse to violence”; and finally, an absence of the “many bor-
derlines cross-cutting mankind, creating steep gradients in degree of integration and
willingness to use violence” (Galtung, 1964, p. 2). These borderlines reach beyond
those of the nation-state and include important lines of group division, for example,
religious, racial, and class based as well as both inter- and intrapersonal conflicts at
the level of the individual (Galtung, 1964, p. 2).
To engender the human integration and harmony required to achieve a state of
positive peace, Galtung (1964, p. 3) outlines a series of actions that need to be taken.
These include: efforts made to change peoples’ minds; efforts made to change ideas
about other groups across various borderlines; improved contact with others through
exchange; improved understanding through studies; more engagement in peace
research; improved communication between people and through the media; changes
in the economic order of society; functional cooperation between groups and/or

nations; and the development of a single global nation-state. While the latter points
to Galtung’s specific view of a single global nation-state being an essential element
of general and complete peace, solidarity and allyship literature also confirms that
many of the other actions Galtung puts forward are essential to challenging oppres-
sion and achieving justice. These actions are discussed in greater detail in the
following two sections.
In his more recent writings, Galtung (2015, p. 619) no longer explicitly refers to
solidarity as having an essential role in the establishment of a state of positive peace.
However, in defining peace politics he argues that:
it can be seen as intended efforts to reduce direct and structural violence for negative peace –
not accepting exploitation of one by the other as ‘peace’ even if there is not verbal or
physical violence – moving on to positive peace with ever more cooperation for mutual and
equal benefit, and more empathy for harmony; feeling each other’s suffering and fulfilment
as parts of one’s own. Two traps on the way: ignoring exploitation and repression as justified
by cultural violence – economic and cultural powers are seen as ‘soft power’ – and being
satisfied with the negative peace of mutual irrelevance. . .If past traumas and present conflicts
are not mediated, negative peace will be lost, and unless the coupling is not equitable and
harmonious, there will be no positive peace, and sooner or later acts of violence.
From this account it can be inferred that in order for both negative and positive
peace to be achieved, solidarity is essential. As will be discussed in more detail in the
following two sections, relationships of solidarity are developed with the intention of
resisting, and ultimately disabling systemic and structural violence (negative peace)
and enabling justice and fairness, in other words equity, to be achieved (positive
peace). Galtung (2015, p. 618) argues that negative and positive peace must be
worked on together rather than one after the other and solidarity is one modality
(among others) that can support that process to occur. The centring of empathy as a
key ingredient of positive peace aligns closely with the essential role that empathy
plays in solidarity and allyship development. Furthermore, in this later writing,
Galtung (2015, p. 619) continues to argue that universal love, which includes
enemies as well as friends, and acting for the benefit of one another, is positive
peace. This kind of love, which aspires to transcend all borderlines, is also found to
be present in relationships of solidarity and once again this points to solidarity as a
modality that is integral to the achievement of this state.
It is on this basis that I argue that solidarity and allyship development play a
significant role in engendering the state of positive peace and this is further clarified
through the discussions put forward in the following sections.
A Closer Look at Solidarity and Allyship
Literature that focuses on action to achieve social justice, particularly the writings of
activists themselves, tends to roll the two concepts of solidarity and allyship together
with the terms being used interchangeably, or used with the assumption that their
894 S. Tormey
meaning (and therefore the relationship between them) is intrinsically clear. However,
when it comes to the theoretical literature examining the two concepts the boundaries
are quite distinct: one body of literature tends to focus on solidarity, the other, allyship.
To date very little work has been done to draw the two together. While for the purposes
of this chapter the complexities of solidarity and allyship and the relationship between
the them do not need to be labored, it is important to clarify their meaning in order to
identify how they may support the development of a state of positive peace.
There are many theories that have been advanced to explain what solidarity
is. Consequently, as with other central political concepts, solidarity is not bound
by one singular definition but is instead used in varying and sometimes contradictory
ways (Bayertz, 1999). Thus there are a range of dimensions, levels, and types of
solidarity associated with a variety of groups or organizational entities (Coates,
2007). However, in the context of exploring Galtung’s theory of positive peace it
is not the classical approaches to theorizing solidarity such as the works of Durkheim
(1933), Marx et al. (2008) that are of most use but the more contemporary
approaches of theorists such as Scholz (2008), hooks (2013), Mohanty (2003), and
Carrillo Rowe (2008). These approaches demonstrate the alignment between the
aspirations of solidarity activism and the aspects of relationships inherent to it.
Scholz (2008, p. 39) defines “political solidarity” as “a struggle for liberation that
seeks to change social structures that are unjust or oppressive.” She argues that
solidarity “serves those in need while it challenges the social structure that created
that need” and is motivated by a number of factors such as social justice, compas-
sion, and a care for those who are suffering (Scholz, 2008, p. 40).
For hooks, solidarity is a mechanism that engenders the possibility of moving
beyond the logic of domination. She argues that her approach to solidarity is
“grounded in a radical politic that is based on the belief that politics of domination
as manifest in imperialist, capitalist, racist and sexist oppression must be challenged
and changed so that a new social order can emerge” (hooks, 1986, p. 126).
According to hooks (2013, p. 1), this would lead to the creation of “a brave new
world where differences could be understood and embraced, where we would all
seek to learn from the ‘other,’ whomever that other might be.”
Meanwhile, Mohanty (2003, p. 128) defines solidarity as “an imaginative, polit-
ically charged space in which the familiarity and sense of affection and commitment
(lies) in shared collective analysis of social justice, as well as a vision of radical
transformation.” Mohanty (2003, p. 7) highlights “mutuality, accountability, and the
recognition of common interests as the basis for relationships among diverse com-
munities” engaging in processes of solidarity. In this context, “diversity and differ-
ence are to be acknowledged and respected, not erased in the building of alliances
solidarity is always an achievement, the result of active struggle to construct the
universal on the basis of particulars/differences” (Mohanty, 2003, p. 7).
Carrillo Rowe (2008, p. 1) embeds the concept of solidarity in the notion of
developing alliances that have the potential to transform lines of power, “where
‘power over’ may be remade as ‘power with’ and ‘power to’.” According to Carrillo
Rowe (2008, p. 2), these kinds of alliances can only be developed by coming to
understand the ways that power relations are reproduced through loyalties, as well as
material and political conditions. She argues that “this reckoning entails scrutinising
the modes of power and empowerment that drive our affective ties, and which those
ties make possible” (Carrillo Rowe, 2008, p. 2). Of importance here is understanding
the nature of alliances, the relationships that form them, the power that is transmitted
through them, and the interests that are served as a result (Carrillo Rowe, 2008). For
Carrillo Rowe (2008) the goal of solidarity in this context is justice that is achieved
through the redistribution of power through these alliances. Consequently she asks:
How do we build power lines that connect us to others in, through, and for justice? How do
we conduct power that allows all of our lives to thrive – not just mine at the expense of
yours? How do we navigate these dangerous territories that power lines span? (Carrillo
Rowe, 2008, p. 2)
All of these definitions demonstrate that solidarity is a modality of relationship

that can support Galtung’s vision of a state of positive peace. While the nuances
between them are different and they each bring a different flavor to the meaning of
solidarity, all of them point to ending structural injustice and oppression as a core
tenet of solidarity work, in the same way as it is fundamental to developing positive
peace. They also provide some understanding of the methods needed to enable this
to happen such as embracing and working creatively with diversity and difference,
understanding the power embedded in relationships so that it is made visible and can
be transformed, and demonstrating compassion and care for all who suffer. In this
way, solidarity theory provides greater understanding of the mechanisms required
within relationships to bring about an end to both systemic and direct violence.
The theoretical literature on allyship places a particular emphasis on the knowl-
edge and behaviors of individuals engaged in alliances seeking to challenge a range
of social justice issues. Particularly, it examines those who belong to the privileged,
dominant group and who are supporting those who are oppressed or marginalized to
end a system of oppression (Lachman, 2018; Tatum, 1994; Jenkins, 2009, Gross,
2015). The development of these behaviors then leads to the core purpose of allies,
which is taking action for justice (Reason et al. 2005). This involves acting as agents
for change within the oppressive system (Leonardo, 2004); applying and integrating
new knowledge, which often involves taking risks including the possibility of
“physical harm, negative repercussions to one’s career or reputation, and the chance
that the system may take away one’s freedoms” (Klobassa, 2017, p. 140); and finally,
what Klobassa (2017, p. 142) refers to as “embodiment,” a recognition of the
“interconnectedness and nonseparateness of humanity and manifested identities
that is integrated with their activist work.” While this gives some guidance as to
what an effective ally might look like, it also implicitly describes the features of an
unhelpful ally. Primarily, they would be a person who believes they are acting for
justice, but in fact has very little understanding of the systemic nature of the
oppression and injustice they are attempting to challenge and the privilege they are
afforded as a result of that very system. They may even use their role as an ally to
validate their status and reputation within the system, thereby maintaining the status
quo rather than transforming it.
At the core of the allyship literature is a debate about the developmental processes
that leads to the creation of allies but despite this, there are a number of different
drivers that have been identified as reasons why people choose to become an ally.
896 S. Tormey
The first of these is self-interest (Goodman, 2011; Edwards, 2006). Self-interest in

this context refers to individuals who are motivated to become an ally because of the
benefits they gain from being seen to be an ally, rather than achieving the outcome to
change the situation for those who are marginalized or oppressed, as mentioned
above. Edwards (2006) identifies altruism as another driver for some allies. For
Edwards (2006), this is one step up from self-interest as the focus is shifting to others
rather than remaining on the self with the next step being a desire to achieve social
justice. Other drivers include personal experiences with oppression (Gross, 2015)
where people are inspired to become allies because they relate in some form to the
difficulties and challenges of oppression because of what they themselves have
experienced. However, it is important to note that Gross (2015, p. 20) also points
to “the pain that comes with experiencing oppression has also been identified in
several studies as a challenge to engaging in allied behaviour.”
As can be seen from these accounts of solidarity and allyship, there is quite a bit
of overlap between them and together, they strongly inform the types of relationships
that can assist with the achievement of positive peace. These relationships must be
underpinned by a commitment to equity and justice, and by a sincere concern for the
suffering of others. The goal of both solidarity and allyship is to bring an end to
injustice and oppression by developing alliances across lines of differences with
varying reasons for participation among the activists who become involved, which
mirrors the requirements that Galtung identifies as necessary to engender a state of
positive peace.
Linking It All Together: Positive Peace, Solidarity, and Allyship
While the broad objectives of solidarity and allyship reflect Galtung’s aspirations for
a state of positive peace through social justice and the integration of human society,
there are three key markers that Galtung refers to as essential to its development:
social education, transcending borderlines, and love. These three mechanisms have
also been identified as being core to solidarity and allyship because they enable the
development of effective relationships across lines of difference and offer the
possibility of allies gaining new understandings of themselves and their position of
privilege within oppressive and unjust systems, as well as developing a genuine ethic
of care for those who are oppressed and marginalized. Again, this demonstrates the
ways in which solidarity and allyship provide opportunities for the development of
relationships that enable positive peace.
Social Education
As mentioned previously, Galtung (1964, p. 3) highlights particular actions as being

critical to developing human integration and consequently, positive peace, including
“efforts to change the ‘minds of men’” and “change their ideas about other groups.”
Similarly, solidarity theorists emphasize the importance of developing the capacity
to critique both external systems of injustice and oppression, as well as the internal
attitudes and beliefs that uphold them.
For example, Scholz argues that social criticism is important in solidarity activ-
ities because it is a means to understanding the systems and structures being
challenged if they are to be effectively altered. This consciousness-raising plays a
key role in solidarity movements and is described as a type of information dissem-
ination “to awaken not only an understanding of the oppression or injustice that is
targeted but also to help to gain new perspectives on social structures in need of
change and identify the values that will inspire the social movement” (Scholz, 2008,
p. 83).
Meanwhile, hooks argues that the conflicts that have been created through
systems and structures of domination “can only be resolved through education for
critical consciousness” (hooks, 2013, p. 2). Critical consciousness is described as a
mechanism through which people can be empowered to think and act differently: “It
is precisely because dominator thinking is so deeply embedded in our psyches that
efforts to decolonise minds through the cultivation of critical consciousness needs to
be an essential aspect of resistance struggle” (hooks, 2013, p. 34). Ultimately, when
we change ourselves, we begin to change the dominator culture and the systems and
structures that support it. For Mohanty, central to solidarity work is a “self-reflexive
collective practice” within which the transformation of the self, as well as
reconceptualizations of identity and political mobilization are necessary elements,
with autonomy and self-determination being key (Mohanty, 2003, p. 8).
Similarly, in allyship, education – both formal and informal – is also another
important driver according to Gross (2015) and Zimmerman (2017) and leads to the
development of new understandings and a new consciousness. This influences the
formation of allies and the particular behaviors they embody. These behaviors
emerge from a shift in perspective, new knowledge gained when they start to
understand systems and structures of power, privilege, and oppression intellectually,
affectively, and experientially (Gross, 2015; Zimmerman, 2017; Reason et al. 2005;
Bonilla-Silva, 2014; Leonardo, 2004; Ghabra & Calafel, 2018; Klobassa, 2017;
Griffin, 2012). This is described as the development of a new consciousness and
without this shift in understanding, allyship would not be possible.
As a result of this new knowledge, a number of behaviors are adopted. These
include firstly, knowing one’s personal positionality in the system of power and
acting to minimize that privilege and the impact it has on others (Gross, 2015;
Zimmerman, 2017). Secondly, taking responsibility for the role that they play within
the structure and acting from that sense of responsibility (Bonilla-Silva, 2014;
Klobassa, 2017). Thirdly, the ability to process the complex emotions that those
who are privileged experience as they begin to realize their positionality within the
structure and the impact it has on those who are oppressed and marginalized (Gross,
2015). And finally, developing a long-term commitment to being an ally rather than
acting on privilege that would enable activists to take action as they choose and is
convenient (Lachman, 2018; Bonilla-Silva, 2014).
This development of a critical consciousness and new knowledge about the
structure of injustice is akin to Galtung’s stipulation of the need to change people’s
898 S. Tormey
minds and the way that they view others. It is also similar to the approach of peace
education where it is emphasized that “change begins, in the processes of education,
by changing the underlying social structures and modes of thinking that create
violence” (Morrison, 2011). However, allies and those working for solidarity clearly
highlight the importance of changing the self by developing a deep understanding of
the role they play and the privilege they hold within the systems of violence they are
seeking to change. It is only through the development of this knowledge that these
systems can truly be made visible. This is essential if a state of positive peace is to be
achieved because it ensures that the root cause of injustice is addressed and there is
integrity to the process that allies are engaging in.
Transcending Borderlines
To engender a state of positive peace, Galtung (1964, p. 2) advocates that the border-
lines within and between human beings must be minimized, if not eradicated altogether.
In this way, we move beyond our entrenched and polarized individual identities to a
more expansive view in which the barriers between us, as well as the differences that
separate us, are less divisive thereby reducing the possibility of direct and structural
violence. Similarly, solidarity theorists speak of working across lines of difference to
create new relationships that both promote and in themselves embody the kind of
justice that is being aspired to. Scholz (2008, p. 54) maintains “the cause or goal of
solidarity is broadly construed as justice or liberation” focusing on “what collective
action might accomplish if all barriers that sustain oppression or injustice are removed”
(Scholz, 2008, p. 54). This approach to solidarity shifts away from identity-based
approaches towards relations across boundaries and difference (Scholz, 2008,
p. 130). For Mohanty (2003, p. 97), “change has to do with the transgression of
boundaries, those boundaries so carefully, so tenaciously, so invisibly drawn.” This
involves recognizing and undoing the ways in which we colonize and in doing so,
collude with hegemonic processes of domination and rule (Mohanty, 2003, p. 125).
Carillo Rowe also emphasizes the importance of relationships or affective ties
that are consciously engaged because of the way in which they can shift perceptions
of the self, of the other as well as of embedded lines of power. She argues “deep
connections across lines of difference are a transformative source” in that alliances
engender coalitional subject formation that can shift the focus of identity from an “I”
to a “we” (Carrillo Rowe, 2008, p. 4). She maintains:
This is not to suggest that the “I” disappears, but rather that the “i” is multiple, shifting and
contingent upon the relational sites into which she inserts herself. These choices frame the
experiences she encounters, how she interprets them, and the options she deploys for
transforming them. As such, a politics of relations opens up new spaces for conceptualising
subjectivity, consciousness, agency and experience in ways that move us productively
through debates that often become mired over issues of identity and exclusion. (Carrillo
Rowe, 2008, p. 9)
This movement from “I” to a “we” supports efforts for social change and the
achievement of social justice because it enables a shift away from entrenched positions
and fixed identities, to a view that incorporates our own (and others) multiple and
fluctuating identities. This lessens the barriers and divisions that separate and cause
direct and structural violence and instead creates the possibility of new ways of relating.
Galtung (2015, p. 619) also referred to the shift from an “I-culture” to a “we-culture” as
being an essential part of the development of a state of positive peace.
As previously mentioned in the allyship literature, Klobassa (2017, p. 142) refers
to “embodiment” as an essential aspect of any action taken to promote social justice.
Rather than this action being based on a reified set of ideals or principles that are
projected outwards, the action itself is an embodiment of the change that allies are
seeking to achieve. In this way the action has integrity and is more effective because
in itself it brings change into being. This occurs through the acknowledgment of the
interconnectedness and nonseparateness of humanity and manifested identities that
integrate with the activist work of allies. It points to a transcending of fixed
boundaries and lines of difference, moving beyond dehumanizing and othering
perspectives, toward, as Galtung would argue, a state in which there is a much
higher degree of human integration and therefore, positive peace.
Love
Galtung (2015) argues that in a state of positive peace, love is the driving force of the
relationships between all people. He defines love as “being well together by fulfilling
each other” and “the union of the unions of body, mind and spirit” (Galtung, 2015,
p. 619). For Galtung, this kind of love between people that enables a high degree of
integration is the ultimate state of positive peace.
Similarly, love features strongly in the writings of solidarity theorists as an
essential aspect of relationships of solidarity. Scholz (2008, p. 184) describes it as
a type of friendship that “is the model – when one is with a friend, one does not try to
dominate or define reality for that friend but instead endeavours to join in the process
of sharing views, experiences, and understandings.” This requires a renunciation of
privilege, an understanding of systems of injustice and oppression, active commu-
nication, and “a loving/caring perception of others that has the potential to create
affective bonds in addition to the solidary bonds” (Scholz, 2008, p. 186).
For hooks (2013, p. 1), love plays a central role in relationships of solidarity
aimed at ending domination. She describes it as a process of learning acceptance of
difference. According to hooks (2013, p. 198), this ethic of love is central to the
process of transformation which brings individuals back to the fullness of their own
and the humanity of others and enables “a practice of loving kindness, forgiveness
and compassion.” She argues:
The practice of compassion is also central to peacemaking. It is our empathy with folks who
are not like ourselves that breaks down barriers and allows bonds of connection to be
formed. By always regarding each other with compassion we are able to accept not just
that we all have our differences, but that we also all make mistakes. This is especially the
case when bonding across race. No matter the depths of our commitment to change, there
will still be moments of confusion. (hooks, 2013, p. 150)
900 S. Tormey
In this context, love is defined as “care, commitment, knowledge, responsibility

and trust” (hooks, 2013, p. 95) with clear distinctions being made from Western
notions of romantic love. For hooks (2013, p. 38) “anytime we are doing the work of
love we are doing the work of ending domination.” Drawing on the work of Martin
Luther King, Buddhist monk, Thich Nhat Hanh, and Paolo Freire, hooks argues that
this ethic of love holds “the promise that both oppressor and oppressed could recover
from the wounds of dehumanisation” (2013, p. 96). She linked this approach very
closely to that of Martin Luther King and his framing of the “love ethic,” in particular
the role of love, its “political implications and its capacity to facilitate meaningful
change” (Glass, 2010) as well as the way it creates “political alliances as well as life-
affirming identities and human communities” (Edelstein, 2010). Drawing on the
words of Martin Luther King, hooks (2013, p. 93) argues that “love is the supreme
unifying principle of life” and therefore any meaningful solidarity must be grounded
in an ethic of love. Violence and imperialism produces a culture of despair whereas
hope can be found in King’s insistence on love, as well as the possibility of lasting
meaningful social change (hooks, 2013, p. 96).
Carrillo Rowe (2008, p. 3) calls the heart of solidarity “the politics of love” in
which “whom we love is who we are becoming” and this is indicative of specific
lines of power and knowledge. Love is defined here as being broader than that of
lovers or friends to include a more expansive understanding of whose lives matter,
whose well-being is essential to our own, and whose survival must be overlooked in
order for us to connect to power (Carrillo Rowe, 2008, p. 3). Carrillo Rowe (2008,
p. 3) maintains that:
Questions of whom we love are inseparable from the politics of subject formation, belonging
is political. The sites of our belonging constitute how we see the world, what we value, who
we are becoming. The meaning of “self” is never individual, but is forged across a shifting
set of relations that we move in and out of, often without reflection.
In the allyship literature, Gouge (2011) argues that righteous indignation can
also be a driver for allies and their actions to achieve social justice. He contrasts
this to the positive emotions of love and joy that also add fuel to the movement
and exist simultaneously for those allies. In this context, righteous indignation is
described as a form of anger and is seen to be a negative emotional driver of
allyship that stems from political and structural conditions that negatively impact
on those who are experiencing injustice, oppression, or marginalization (Gouge,
2011, p. 27). However, it could also be argued that this anger and righteous
indignation is in fact being fueled by the very love and care we feel for those
who are suffering an injustice.
What Gouge refers to as positive drivers are frequently referred to as catalysts for
allyship. These include empathy (Feagin et al., 2001; Goodman, 2011; Gross, 2015;
Griffin, 2012); compassion (Griffin, 2012); and love (Griffin, 2012; Klobassa, 2017;
Ghabra & Calafel, 2018). For Griffin (2012, p. 207), “an ethic of care rooted in
critical love supports humanisation, dialogue and strong emotions such as fear,
frustration, and anger.” Furthermore she argues:
To critically love across our identity differences in the scholarly sense entails bearing witness
to struggle, reaching out to nurture, marking the presence of privilege, and advocating for
humanisation. Critical love requires diving into the deep end of identity politics in our
society which has created a firm hierarchy of whose pain is more worthy of public address.
(Griffin, 2012, p. 207)
Also included are moral and spiritual drivers broadly described as loving and
caring for all people (Goodman, 2011; Gross, 2015; Caldwell & Vera, 2010; Munin
& Speight, 2010; Russell, 2011; Klobassa, 2017).
In order for solidarity and allyship to be successful, these three facets must be
present and in many ways they form the basis of a process that enables both direct
and systemic violence to be addressed at their core. Social education provides a deep
understanding of injustice and oppression and the multiple and varying roles that the
privileged play in maintaining and reinforcing it. Through this, the steep gradients in
degree of integration that Galtung (2015) describes, the embedded and entrenched
borderlines, are revealed and can be acted upon and transcended in ways that were
not possible before. This leads to a genuine ethic of love and care through which
allies can develop new relationships with those who are marginalized and oppressed,
relationships that no longer enact patterns of domination and dehumanization,
relationships that have the potential to bring an end to violence in all its forms and
achieve social justice, equity, and harmony, or in other words, a state of positive
peace.
The Limitations of Solidarity and Allyship
Both the solidarity and allyship literature highlight key challenges that hinder the
ability of activists to undertake this work. In each case this primarily centers on the
difficulties these allies face in truly realizing the privileges they hold as members of
the dominant group within systems of oppression and truly embodying the changes
that need to be made to engender justice for the oppressed. If solidarity and allyship
are to be taken seriously as modalities that support human integration and the
development of a state of positive peace, these limitations must be closely examined
and addressed wherever possible within solidarity movement and alliances.
For example, in the solidarity literature Mohanty (2003) argues that participating
in processes in which we are required to recognize and undo ways of colonizing and
colluding with hegemonic systems of domination makes relating and dialoguing
across difference a process that is naturally fraught with tension, competitiveness,
and pain. Similarly, Carrillo Rowe (2008, p. 4) emphasizes that solidarity is a
struggle which “cannot be assumed but must be fought for.” Furthermore, Scholz
(2008, p. 139) argues that:
Activities within groups also change such that what appeared to advance liberation one
moment might feed domination the next. Recognising the impurity of groups helps us – as
individuals and as a group – to own the myriad ways that we might act to support
domination, privilege, and oppression even as we work alleviate or redress it.
902 S. Tormey
In the allyship literature in the context of White antiracism, Lachman (2018, p. ii)
highlights some of the complexities of this undertaking which she describes as “role
confusion, difficulty identifying racism, white privilege, and the consequences of
allyship.” In doing so she is pointing to the inability of some allies to really
understand the work and the reason or consequences for doing it. She also empha-
sizes the way in which allies can gain accolades for appearing to work for solidarity
and at the same time exercise their privilege by choosing whether or not to take risks
in the struggle that would support change. She says:
Allyship is. . . a problematic term because it can be commodified by members of the

dominant group who reap the benefits of being seen as an ally but not having to take risks
or make sacrifices. An extension of this is that allyship can be performative, like having an
ally sticker on your office door but not being prepared to do work or take risks in support of
the population you claim to be an ally of. (Lachman 2018, p. 4)
Rebollo-Gil and Moras (2006, p. 385) also emphasize the way in which “whites
can lengthen or terminate their involvement in this struggle at any point in time.”
This demonstrates that if these relationships of solidarity that allies are aspiring
for are to be improved, it is essential that a strong emphasis is placed on raising the
consciousness of the privileged so that they can deeply understand their positionality
in systems of oppression and know that the goal is to challenge and change the
system and not to gain social kudos by being seen to support those who are
disadvantaged and marginalized.
In the solidarity literature, another challenge to developing relationships of
solidarity is what hooks (2013, p. 143) describes as “the difficulties of bonding
across differences” which includes breakdowns in communication, disappointments,
and betrayals as some of the aspects of this. She argues that:
Bringing the mindful awareness to bonding across differences keeps us ever cognisant of the
reality that conflicts will happen, that even when we fear them we can and do learn to handle
them. Most importantly, as in any relationship, we learn to grow and change. Conflicts in and
of themselves do not make bonding better; it is how we work with the conflicts. (hooks,
2013, p. 146)
Mohanty (2003, p. 104) too argues that this struggle is inherent in the develop-
ment of these types of relationships. Relating this to the type of community engen-
dered by relationships of solidarity she maintained:
Community, then, is the product of work, of struggle; it is inherently unstable, contextual; it

has to be constantly reevaluated in relation to critical political priorities; and it is the product
of interpretation, interpretation based on an attention to history, to the concrete,
to. . .subjugated knowledges. (Mohanty 2003, p. 104)
Thus another improvement to these types of relationships of solidarity is the need

for allies to work with the complexities that arise as a result of taking this type of
action and that the ensuing struggle is likely to occur, to remain undaunted and
maintain their commitment.
Finally, in the literature on allyship Gross highlights two other key challenges.
The first is to better understand how this process intersects across different contexts.
She argues that much of the literature focuses on:
knowledge and behaviours necessary to be an ally, what the developmental process of

becoming an ally looks like, and what experiences facilitate the process. Much of the
empirical literature is limited by its focus on a single, specific kind of ally (e.g, White allies
in relation to race or heterosexual allies in relation to sexual orientation; or on its specific
focus on college students and personnel). Therefore, our understanding of the developmental
process and meaning of allies would benefit from research that explores this process across
types of allies and with individuals who have been acting as allies for varied amounts of time
in a range of contexts. (Gross, 2015, p. 2)
Furthermore, Gross (2015) also highlights the need to better understand the
drivers of allyship and the way in which they both support and, at times, hinder
the developmental process. She argues that “additional research is necessary to
integrate these influences into a more comprehensive process, including the circum-
stances under which any influences may foster rather than hinder development, and
how challenges to development are overcome” (Gross 2015, p. 20).
In order for these limitations to be addressed, there are some key steps that need to
be undertaken. Firstly, allies must ensure that the work that they are involved with is
challenging oppression and injustice rather than reinforcing it. As mentioned above,
one way of doing this is to take risks, make sacrifices, and learn to embrace the
discomfort that inevitably arises from challenging established political systems.
Another way is to ensure that allies understand their positionality within those
systems, how the violence it incurs is embodied in all of us and how it is the work
of a lifetime to gradually undo the attitudes and behaviors that engender
it. Furthermore, it is inevitable that the work of developing relationships of solidarity
and alliances across lines of difference will be challenging. One way of addressing
this is through engaging with peacebuilding practitioners who work with the view
that conflict is natural and, rather than being inherently negative, can in many
circumstances be a catalyst for positive transformation. Finally, another useful action
could be developing a systems view of the injustice and oppression being experi-
enced by marginalized people so as to understand the intersectionality of those forms
of domination and apply approaches to solidarity and allyship that can hold the
whole picture and meet this level of complexity. This would increase the possibility
that all forms of violence are addressed and that social justice and a state of positive
peace is achieved.
Hope
An essential aspect of peace politics and the intended efforts required to achieve a
state of positive peace is hope, for without it how can Galtung’s vision ever come to
fruition? Hope is deeply embedded in movements for social change, it brings people
together around a particular goal, and is an important motivating force as Gramsci
904 S. Tormey
(2011) demonstrated in his notes from prison when he argued that “optimism of will”
is fundamental to the belief that change is possible.
Similarly, in both the solidarity and allyship literature hope is a driving force that
sustains efforts to bring an end to domination, oppression, and injustice. For
example, Gross (2015, p. 54) argues that the ability of allies to process challenging
emotions and take action generates the productivity and hope needed to sustain them
and the movement they are involved with. For Klobassa (2017, p. 142), this type of
social justice work undertaken by allies “contributes to the greater good of human-
ity.” Implicit in this is the hope that these actions will effect positive change.
According to hooks (2013, p. 183), it is only by engaging in processes of change
that it will occur because “it is only as we work for change that we see clearly that
change can happen, that our lives can be transformed, that we can always renew our
spirits and rekindle our hope.” Scholz (2008, p. 81) argues that hope is the main
ingredient for solidarity because it drives and motivates the desire of members of the
movement to achieve the end goals which ultimately are to “bring about liberation,
create conditions free from oppression, and struggle for justice” (Scholz, 2008,
p. 81).
It can be surmised then that hope is an important catalyst for positive change and
yet how Galtung utilizes it is quite different to allies and solidarity activists and this
distinction offers some valuable insights into what positive peace might look like in
practice. Galtung (1964, p. 2) hopes for the development of a “utopia” which has
some very clear characteristics that have already been discussed such as: “each
human being loves his neighbour as himself and everybody is his neighbour”;
“cooperation; integration; harmony, to encompass the whole world, until a state is
reached where Man experiences no differential in his identification with other men”.
While these characteristics resonate with the state that allies and solidarity
activists are working to achieve, their hope is grounded in genuine understanding
of the systems and structures of injustice, oppression, and domination to ensure that
aspirations for change are not merely rhetoric that leaves those systems and struc-
tures unaddressed and unchallenged. For example, in the context of Canadian
settlers working as allies with First Nation, Metis and Inuit peoples, Paulette
Regan (2010, p. 22) emphasizes the importance of “critical hope,” a hope that is
not idealistic or naïve but is instead rooted in struggles for freedom. Furthermore,
theorizing about decolonizing and liberatory struggle is not enough and instead, it
must be experienced “beginning with ourselves as individuals, and then as morally
and ethically responsible social-political actors” (Regan, 2010, p. 24). This enables
the possibility of a “vision that is neither cynical nor utopian but rooted in truth as an
ethical quality in the struggle for human dignity and freedom. . .an act of wildly
radical, living hope” (Regan 2010, p. 237).
In her study of anti-oppression educators and the role that hope plays in their
work, Murad (2010, p. 24) specifically contextualizes “the colonising work that hope
discourses to as a means by which to perpetuate status quo power relations.” Murad
(2010, p. 40) argues that rather than affecting change, these discourses of hope
maintain dominant ideologies and worldviews, typically Western hope narratives
that are tied to colonial histories and colonial dreams that promise survival in return
for compliance. For Murad (2010, p. 40), “these processes preclude multi-centric
ways of knowing, and employ only linear understandings of context, perpetuating
colonial frameworks and futures.” She says:
Although anti-oppression activists strive to critique, expose and (if at all possible) shift the
politics of domination, those same politics are often recreated within movements and
communities that employ anti-oppression principles as a way of life. When the people
who carry the strongest and furthest heard voices in these movements and communities
set the agenda, many smaller, softer voices are drowned out. . . These situations feed one
another, creating a space in which what it means to live in opposition to oppression and
outside dominant logics becomes rigidly prescribed, and, often, just as rigidly policed.
(Murad, 2010, p. 39)
Consequently, Murad points to the need to develop anti-colonial hoping, a form

of hope that is based on the development of ways of knowing and being that are
different to those narratives that are tightly bound within dominant and oppressive
structures. For Murad (2010, p. 128) this is “a decentralized, constantly reinventing
sort of hope which exists outside of western discourse – perhaps outside of all
discourse, given the importance of silence – emerging from colonised peoples but
existing for reasons far greater, far more complex and far more inscrutable than the
simple opposition of power.” Most important is that anti-colonial hopings are
multicentric and dynamic in nature, continually open to contribution and change
(Murad 2010, p. 161). As a result, the potential for a single authoritative voice is
diminished and a multiplicity of interpretation and practice is made possible, if only
for a moment (Murad, 2010, p. 162). Furthermore, Murad (2010, p. 164) explains
“the work of hoping, which is the work of building, does exist outside of western
colonial narratives, and can be combined with the necessarily oppositional work of
anti-colonialism to help us to both survive and resist.”
For Galtung’s framework of positive peace, these perspectives of allies and soli-
darity activists provide important insights into the hope for change that underpins
successful activism, pulling people into relationship with one another around a shared
goal. Firstly, they again highlight the very real complexities of the work of tackling
systems and structures of oppression and the vigilance that is needed to ensure that the
status quo is not being maintained under the guise of actions for change, through
relationships that are labeled as solidarity or allyship but in fact act to reproduce
relations of domination. Secondly, they demonstrate how a seemingly benign moti-
vating force such as hope needs careful dissection in order to better understand the
assumptions underlying it and the impact that it can have; solidarity must coalesce
around a hope which is honest and grounded about the immensity of the task. Finally,
these perspectives, and in particular the work of Murad, points to the importance of
ensuring that there is room for multiple perspectives within these movements for
change, that they are not dominated by one voice or one worldview but allow multiple,
fluid, ever-shifting viewpoints that weave together to create an authentic state of
positive peace. This challenges social activists to find new, spacious ways of relating
to one another that avoid falling into patterns of rigidity and domination. In this way,
Galtung’s framework becomes both a guide for those seeking to better understand
906 S. Tormey
peacebuilding, as well as one perspective among many, both seen and not yet seen, that
endeavor to undertake this work towards social justice.
Conclusion
To put into practice Galtung’s utopian vision of a state of positive peace and human
integration where healthy relationships are developed across the myriad of lines of
differences, as well as their complex intersections, a range of approaches are
required. Among them, solidarity and allyship stand out because the aspirations
contained within both, to bring an end to structural violence that supports injustice
and oppression, mirror so closely the dynamics essential to positive peace. In
addition, core elements of the positive peace framework such as social education,
transcending boundaries, and love are also central tenets of solidarity and allyship.
However, much has been written about the limitations of solidarity and allyship and
these challenges would need to be addressed in some detail in order to ensure that the
changes required to engender justice and a state of positive peace are embodied in
the allies themselves so that their privilege (and ultimately systemic and direct
violence) is no longer retained or maintained. Similarly, while hope is an essential
driver and support for change, human integration and a state of positive peace can
only be established on a foundation that weaves together not one, but the many
perspectives of those who are working for change, those who are changing, have
been changed, and continue to change.
In this way positive peace is not static but should be understood instead as a
dynamic, living process, in which diversity is understood as necessary and essential,
with new patterns of relationships being formed as a result. Solidarity and allyship,
when done well, speak to the possibility of developing these types of relationships;
ways of relating that no longer enact or embody violence and domination, in which
borderlines and powerlines that reinforce and preserve violence can be recognized
and transcended. These are the forms of relationship, then, that ultimately contain the
potential to act as a catalyst and a means for achieving Galtung’s vision of a state of
positive peace.
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Ethical Responsibility for the Other
Arrested by Epistemic Blindness, Deafness, 49
and Muteness: An Ubuntu Perspective
M. B. Ramose
Contents
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 910
Philosophy as War . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 911
Where Is the Philosophy of Ubuntu? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 912
Philosophy in Ubuntu . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 913
Conqueror South Africa in the History of Colonization . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 915
The Genesis of the “New” South Africa: A Question of Social and Epistemic Justice . . . . . . . 918
Jan Smuts: The Politician, Philosopher, and Defender of the Conquered in Conqueror
South Africa? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 921
The Invention of Kakania . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 923
In Defense of “Bullshit” and “Shit” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 925
Epistemlogy, Violence, and Peace in Retrospect . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 927
Ubuntu and the Quest for Truth, Justice, and Peace Beyond Conqueror South Africa . . . . . . . 929
Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 930
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 931
Abstract
Modu Wa Taba Motho ke motho ka batho ke molaotheo wa phedisano yeo e
emego godimo ga thereso ya gore batho kamoka re a lekana ka goba motho esego
ka maruo goba maemo setshabeng. Thereso ye e gapeletsa gore toka e be gona
phedisanong. Ka go amogela tekano ya batho kamoka, thereso le toka ke tsona
motheo wa phedisano ka khutso setshabeng le ditshaba-tshabeng. Ba gona batho
bao ba gananang le molaotheo yo. Bona ba dira bjalo ka go iphetola difofu, difoa le
dimumu ka boomo. Go dira bjalo ke go iphora. Ke go ganana le thereso. Taodiso
ye e supa gore digananwa tse di somisa bofofu, bofoa le bomumu bjale ka setlhare
sa ntshirela gore di se phethafatse molaotheo wa gore motho ke motho ka batho.
Re fetleka bogananwa bjo re lebeletse gore na botho bjona bo bolela eng.
M. B. Ramose (*)
Department of Clinical Psychology, Sefako Makgatho Health Sciences University, Ga-Rankuwa,
South Africa
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_49
910 M. B. Ramose
The question of ethical responsibility for the other predates the christian question:
“am I my brother’s keeper?” The present chapter proposes to examine this question
from the perspective of the ethics of ubuntu. The ethics of ubuntu is invoked to
achieve two interrelated purposes. One is to expose the argument that in the
ontology of social being, ethical responsibility for the other is arrested by normalized
epistemic blindness, deafness, and muteness for the benefit of all those who remain
complacent with their imprisonment. Another is to challenge this argument on the
ground of its ethical unsustainability. The outcome of the challenge is that historical
truth has an important bearing on the quest for justice and peace in human relations.
Conqueror South Africa will be the specific case of focus in this chapter. However,
the argument may be applied to multiple and various situations of the indigenous
peoples conquered in the unjust wars of colonization.
Keywords
Motho ke motho ka batho · Ubuntu · Ontology of social being · Ethical
responsibility · Equality · Epistemology · Justice · Peace · Truthfulness
Introduction
In this chapter, my focus is primarily on conqueror South Africa in order to

substantiate the argument that philosophy is war. I challenge the successors in title
to conquest in the unjust wars of colonization on their epistemic blindness, deafness,
and muteness. For as long as they remain captive to this kind of epistemic prison,
peace in conqueror South Africa shall remain extraordinarily fragile.
Conqueror South Africa is an integral part of the history of colonization. For this
reason, I recognize the philosophical and cultural bond between conqueror
South Africa and West European countries, including the United Kingdom. I have
chosen to focus on the lived and living experience of racism in conqueror
South Africa in particular in this chapter. This does not mean blindness to the
prevalence of racism in so many more other parts of the world. After all, the ubiquity
of racism points ultimately to its common origin: to the soil of colonialism that
nurtured and fed its roots until it grew into a full-blown tree continuing to blossom in
every part of the world (Taylor, 2010, pp. 20, 30). The philosophical war against
racism is a practical lived and living war. In the case of conqueror South Africa, as in
many colonized parts of the world, “philosophy” was imposed upon the indigenous
peoples conquered in the unjust wars of colonization by virtue of the ethically
questionable “right of conquest.” I will therefore situate the case of conqueror
South Africa within this wider global history.
The African philosophy of ubuntu is the basis of my critical analysis of the
epistemic blindness, deafness, and muteness of the successors in title to conquest
in the unjust wars of colonization. The aim of the analysis is to show that ubuntu is a
legitimate and viable philosophy that can underpin the quest for just and peaceful
relationships to be achieved at the dissolution of conqueror South Africa.
49 Ethical Responsibility for the Other Arrested by Epistemic Blindness,. . . 911
Philosophy as War
Polemos pater pan-toon, war is the father of all things, is an aphorism famously
attributed to the ancient Greek philosopher, Heraclitus. There is no doubt that
Heraclitus’ “father” stands open to welcome and robust feminist critique, but I will
not pursue the critique here. “All things” includes philosophy as well. In what sense
then is there war in philosophy, or put differently, is philosophy really a “war”?
Philosophy belongs to the sphere of “the war” of ideas, insights, or arguments. It is at
one level an intellectual war. However, since experience is the basis of epistemology,
philosophy as a concept arising from experience does have an empirical practical
dimension. Seen from this perspective, philosophy can be and, in view of the history
of humanity so far, philosophy has actually been, the epistemic basis providing
reasons for the waging of war. Accordingly, philosophy is not merely an exercise in
the enunciation of abstract ideas without any relevance to the concrete practice of
everyday life. From this perspective, philosophy becomes the translation of intellec-
tual ideas into actual war.
Panta rei is an existential demand that humanity responds to the fundamental
uncertainty of be-ing, to “chaos,” by engaging actively in the quest for peace
understood as the willingness to live together in the condition of uncertainty without
recourse to violence. Democracy is predicated on the tacit conditional agreement to
suspended resort to the use of armed force in the pursuit of the inalienable right to life.
Yet, there is the dominant idea that peace can be achieved and preserved only by
maintaining a credible threat to wage war, often referred to as a strategy of “deter-
rence.” As a result, many democratic states today operate ministries of defense, in the
belief that these are an effective means of assuring stability and peace. Gallie’s (1978)
essay on “philosophers of peace and war” explores how humanity has responded to
the existential demand for peace, with war understood as an ethically justified use of
armed force in order to defend oneself, in the collective sense of oneself.
The idea that readiness to wage war is the guarantor of peace has advanced so far
that today the dominant view is that peace rests on the readiness to resort ultimately
to the irrational option to go beyond suicide and genocide and to commit omnicide
by waging a strategic nuclear weapons war. This living prospect of irrational war is a
guarantee that Immanuel Kant’s concept of “perpetual peace” shall fade into insig-
nificance. On the other hand, it will be the final vindication of von Clausewitz
understanding of “absolute war” (Clausewitz, 1976, p. 606), an absolute war indeed
waged by deploying the “absolute nuclear weapon.” It is evident then that philoso-
phy is war not only at the theoretical level but also at the practical level as so many
wars, especially between states, have been fought with enduring preparedness to
wage more wars if necessary.
The philosophical war in which I want to engage in this chapter is a war against
epistemic blindness towards those conquered in the unjust wars of colonization under
license of the doctrine of Discovery (Williams Jr, 1992). The colonial conqueror
could not see human beings despite the fact that the conquered were and, still are,
human beings by every ontological and ethical test. This blindness is still alive in our
time, and results in perpetration of, and acceptance of, violence against those
912 M. B. Ramose
perceived as the “other.” The colonial conqueror’s ears and, indeed those of their
successors in title, are blocked. They cannot hear the salutation of the conquered,
“sawubona” (we see you). This willful deafness reinforces their blindness. Although
the conquered do see the conqueror, the latter is unwilling and determined neither to
see nor hear them. The conquered may neither be seen nor heard because they are
deemed not to be human beings on the same ontological plane as the conqueror. Thus,
the conquered have no philosophical claim to equality (Westen, 1982, pp. 547–548)
with the conqueror. They have no right to exist and to reason (Gutiérrez, 1983,
p. 101). On the basis of this imagined superiority over the conquered, the conqueror
is in the habit of muteness, maintaining silence towards the conquered except when
issuing commands to be obeyed for the betterment of the life of the conqueror. This
learned muteness sustains the ethically untenable claim that because the conqueror is
a superior being, it has the right to blindness, deafness, and muteness towards the
conquered. The apex of this putative right is to enslave the conquered.
Understanding philosophy as waging and living in war means for us that world
philosophies must be studied, taking into account the standpoint of the historical
experience in which human beings are situated. Each philosophy in the world
philosophy must be understood in terms of its historical-cultural context. It is thus
best to construct and study philosophy in the spirit in which it was born and
continues to thrive. On this understanding, I concur with Nkrumah that:
Our philosophy must find its weapons in the environment and living conditions of the
African people. It is from those conditions that the intellectual content of our philosophy
must be created. The emancipation of the African continent is the emancipation of man.
(Nkrumah, 1970, p. 78)
However, my emphasis on the importance of doing philosophy from the perspective

of the historical-cultural context within which one is originally situated is by no
means an appeal to blind and dogmatic particularism. On the contrary, it is the
recognition that self-understanding is inconceivable without recognizing one’s
co-existence with others. For this reason, a philosophical perspective that adopts
wholeness as its point of departure, such as Ubuntu, is likely to provide a wider,
deeper, and perhaps better understanding of reality than a philosophical worldview
that is reductionist and fragmentative (Bondy, 1986, p. 236). A philosophical
perspective rooted in wholeness is also likely to underpin more just and peaceful
relationships between all human beings, by rejecting false hierarchies and imagined
superiority in favor of recognizing the equal humanity of all. I now turn to an
exposition of the philosophy of ubuntu in order to provide understanding of why
and how it is involved in the struggle for a philosophical voice in the context of both
conqueror South Africa and international relations.
Where Is the Philosophy of Ubuntu?
Ubuntu is the root of African philosophy among the Bantu-speaking peoples. The
being of an African in existence is ontologically anchored upon ubuntu. The African
tree of knowledge stems from ubuntu with which it is connected indivisibly. Ubuntu
then is the wellspring flowing with African ontology and epistemology. If these latter
are the bases of philosophy, then African philosophy has long been established in,
and through, ubuntu. Apart from a linguistic analysis of ubuntu, a persuasive
philosophical argument can be made that there is a “family atmosphere,” that is, a
kind of philosophical affinity and kinship among and between the indigenous
peoples of Africa. No doubt there are and, will be variations within this broad
philosophical “family atmosphere.” But the blood circulating through the “family”
members is the same in its basics (Ki-Zerbo as cited in De Tejada, 1979, p. 304). In
this sense, ubuntu is the basis of a shared African philosophy.
In the next section I give an exposition of the philosophy of ubuntu. I will adopt a
philosophical approach in doing so. It may be useful, however, to view the philos-
ophy of ubuntu through the analogy of the relationship between soil and the tree or
any other plant. The soil of whatever kind, suited to specific plant growth, is the
environment in which the plant is anchored. The root, stem, branches and leaves
together as a one-ness give meaning to our understanding of a tree and so is it with
ubuntu. It is the philosophy that views life as one continually unfolding whole-ness
rather than independent fragments of reality. Accordingly, African ontology and
epistemology must be understood as two aspects of one and the same reality.
In terms of geographic demarcation, I agree partially with the delimitation of De
Tejada. Thus the ubuntu philosophy I am about to discuss “goes from the Nubian
desert to the Cape of Good Hope and from Senegal to Zanzibar” (De Tejada, 1979,
p. 304). However, this delimitation is questionable since the Sahara desert is not the
indelible birthmark of Africa (Davidson, 1974, p. 28). For this reason the meaning
and import of human interaction before the birth of the Sahara desert must be taken
into account. I shall not, however, pursue this line of inquiry in the present chapter.
Philosophy in Ubuntu
It is best, philosophically, to approach this term as an hyphenated word, namely, ubu-

ntu. Ubuntu is actually two words in one. It consists of the prefix ubu- and the stem
ntu-. Ubu- evokes the idea of be-ing in general. It is enfolded be-ing before it
manifests itself in the concrete form or mode of ex-istence of a particular entity.
Ubu- as enfolded be-ing is always oriented towards unfoldment, that is, incessant
continual concrete manifestation through particular forms and modes of being. In
this sense, ubu- is always oriented towards – ntu. At the ontological level, there is no
strict and literal separation and division between ubu- and – ntu. Ubu- and -ntu are
not two radically separate and irreconcilably opposed concepts. On the contrary, they
are mutually founding in the sense that they are two aspects of be-ing as a one-ness
and an indivisible whole-ness. Accordingly, ubu-ntu is the fundamental ontological
and epistemological category in the African thought of the Bantu-speaking people. It
is the indivisible one-ness and whole-ness of ontology and epistemology. Ubu- as the
generalized understanding of be-ing may be said to be distinctly ontological,
whereas -ntu as the nodal point at which be-ing assumes concrete form or a mode
of being in the process of continual unfoldment may be said to be the distinctly
epistemological.
914 M. B. Ramose
The word umu- shares an identical ontological feature with the word ubu-.
Whereas the range of ubu- is the widest generality, umu- tends towards the more
specific. Joined together with -ntu then umu- becomes umuntu. Umuntu means the
emergence of homo-loquens who is simultaneously a homo sapiens. In common
parlance it means the human being: the maker of politics, religion and law. Umuntu
then is the specific concrete manifestation of umu-: it is a movement away from the
generalized to the concrete specific. Umuntu is the specific entity which continues to
conduct an inquiry into be-ing, experience, knowledge and truth. This is an activity
rather than an act. It is an ongoing process impossible to stop unless motion itself is
stopped. On this reasoning, ubu- may be regarded as be-ing becoming and this
evidently implies the idea of motion. We propose to regard such incessant motion as
verbal rather than the verb. -ntu may be construed as the temporarily having become.
In this sense -ntu is a noun. The indivisible one-ness and whole-ness of ubu-ntu
means, therefore, that ubuntu is a verbal noun.
Because motion is the principle of be-ing for ubuntu, the act of do-ing takes
precedence over the person of the do-er without at the same time imputing either
radical separation or irreconcilable opposition between the two. “Two” here speaks
only to two aspects of one and the same reality. Ubuntu then is a gerund. But it is also
a gerundive at the same time since at the epistemological level it may crystallize into
a particular form of social organization, religion, or law. Ubuntu is always a -ness
and not an -ism. We submit that this logic of ubu-ntu also applies to hu- and -nhu in
the Shona language of Zimbabwe. Therefore, it should not be rendered as hunhuism
as Samkange and Samkange (1980) have done. The -ism suffix gives the erroneous
impression that we are dealing with verbs and nouns as fixed and separate entities
existing independently. They thus function as fixations to ideas and practices which
are somewhat dogmatic and hence unchangeable. Such dogmatism and immutability
constitute the false necessity based upon fragmentative thinking. This latter is the
thinking – based on the subject-verb-object understanding of the structure of lan-
guage – which posits a fundamental irreconcilable opposition in be-ing becoming.
On the basis of this imputed opposition be-ing becoming is fragmented into pieces of
reality with an independent existence of their own. The philosophy of ubuntu, as
explicated thus far, recognizes separate entities in existence but its point of departure
is not fragmentative reasoning.
Without the speech of umuntu, Ubu- is condemned to unbroken silence. The
speech of umuntu is thus anchored in, revolves around, and is ineluctably oriented
towards ubu-. The language of umuntu “relevates,” that is, it directs and focuses the
entire epistemological domain towards the ontology of ubu-. This it does by the
contemporaneous and indissoluble coupling of ubu- and umuntu through the maxim
umuntu ngumuntu nga bantu (motho ke motho ka batho). Although the English
language cannot capture the exhaustive meaning of this maxim or aphorism, it may
nonetheless be construed to mean that to be a human being is to affirm one’s
humanity by recognizing the humanity of others and, on that basis, establish humane
relations with them. Ubuntu understood as be-ing human (human-ness), by adopting
a humane, respectful, and polite attitude towards others, constitutes the core meaning
of this aphorism. Ubu-ntu then not only describes a condition of be-ing, insofar as it
is indissolubly linked to umuntu but it is also the recognition of “be-ing becoming”

and not, I wish to emphasize, be-ing, and becoming.
In this sense, it is simultaneously a gerund and a gerundive since the latter is
implied in the imperative, nga bantu. In other words, be-ing human is not enough.
One is enjoined, yes, commanded as it were, to actually become a human being.
What is decisive then is to prove oneself to be the embodiment of ubu-ntu (bo-tho) in
behavior because the fundamental ethical, social and legal judgement of human
worth and human conduct is based upon ubu-ntu. The judgement, pronounced with
approval or disapproval respectively, is invariably expressed in these terms: ke
motho or gase motho. In the original language, in this case the Se-Sotho cluster in
the Bantu-speaking grouping, these expressions may not be interpreted literally since
in literal terms they mean he/she is a human be-ing or she/he is not a human be-ing.
A literal interpretation boils down to an affirmation or negation of the obvious if we
restrict ourselves to the biological definition of a human being. Even worse, the
negation would ultimately be meaningless since its assertion neither abolishes nor
alters the biological definition or nature of a human being. Thus the affirmation or
negation of ubu-ntu (bo-tho) is a metaphor for ethical, social, and legal judgement of
human worth and human conduct.
In the sphere of politics, the veritable arena for the making of law, ubu-ntu is
reaffirmed as the basis of judgement in the three mentioned domains of human life
by the maxim: kgosi ke kgosi ka batho, meaning, the source and justification of royal
power is the people (see Ramose, 1992). Even here ubu-ntu recurs with stubborn
consistency because ba-tho (ba-ntu) is simply the plural form of mo-tho (umu-ntu).
Accordingly, the sphere of politics and law is not only suffused with ubu-ntu but it is
also based upon it. Cumulatively, these considerations together constitute the basis
for our submission that ubuntu is the philosophical foundation of African philosophy
among the Bantu-speaking peoples.
Conqueror South Africa in the History of Colonization
There was a time, especially in the West European Middle Ages, when the papacy
was the supreme influential force permeating virtually all spheres of life (McIlwain,
1932; Ullmann, 1955, 1976). To disregard this is a failure to be faithful to history.
This failure tends to feed on artificial historical discontinuities creating gaps and
distortions. History based on such a failure is likely to diminish or discard the
historical impact (Ullmann, 1969) of the papacy in our time (Carlyle & Carlyle,
1962). It is worth remembering that “rex ex gratia Dei” (king by the grace of God),
“Papa a nemine judicetur” (the Pope may not be judged by anyone) (Ullmann,
1975), and “extra ecclesia nulla salus” (outside the church there is no salvation)
were not spontaneous and hollow theological enunciations designed to adorn the
Christian religion (Gilson, 1955). On the contrary, they did have a practical effect in
everyday life, and can be linked to acts of violence against colonized peoples. The
theological position that there was no salvation outside the church was the subject of
intensive debate during colonization on whether or not “pagans” were to be
916 M. B. Ramose
converted to Christianity, even against their consent. In order to avoid infidelity to

history I will focus on the papacy and the impact of its philosophical perspectives as
well in this chapter.
With particular reference to Africa it is pertinent to remember that the papal bull,
Romanus Pontifex, was issued:
. . .several times. . . . In 1455, Pope Nicholas V granted Portugal title to the lands of
Indigenous peoples in Africa that Portugal had ‘acquired and that shall hereafter be acquired’
and authorized Portugal ‘to invade, search out, capture, vanquish, and subdue all Saracens
and pagans’ and place them into perpetual slavery and to seize all their property. (Miller,
2011, pp. 857–858)
Mudimbe corroborates this (1988, p. 45). Pope Nicholas V issued the bull in favor
of king Alfonso V of Portugal.
The preceding decree provided the unethical-historical context within which
“South Africa” was colonized. It was the inauguration of the ethical imperative
compelling the conquered in the unjust wars of colonization to resist force with force
– vis vim reseller, as Thomas Aquinas put it – in its dual aspect as physical and
mental or epistemological force. The war ought to be fought by every necessary
ethical means to ensure the defeat of racism.
Victory over racism means the sustained challenge to the prevailing historical
condition of structural, systemic and systematic enslavement of the conquered for
the benefit of the few among the conquerors. This racism continues to underpin
structural violence on the global level. There is no need for the ever increasing
“bottom billion” (Collier, 2008) dying from hunger based on economically scientific
poverty despite the hallowed but practically empty right to food. There is no ethical
justification for the multi-tons of food thrown away when the gaping mouths of the
many can feed on the food and preserve their life (Crouth, 2018). It is immoral to
hold the health of the multitude of the conquered hostage to the wealth of “the first
world” (MacDonald, 2005). I am opposed ethically to the appellation “first world”
because it is the re-entrenchment of the morally unjustified hierarchization of the
human beings in the world according to the philosophy of racism (Parkinson, 1977,
pp. 24–25). In this chapter I mount an ethical challenge to the philosophy of racism
because it is the foundation as well as the perpetuator of the dominant global
“socioeconomic system [that is] unjust at its root” (Pope Francis, 2013, para. 50).
There have been a number of philosophical perspectives put forward that chal-
lenge the racist underpinnings of this structural violence. It is crucial to note that
Pope Francis’ characterization of the prevailing global socioeconomic system at
“unjust at its root” is consistent with that of some of his predecessors in Catholic
social thought. For example, “[w]hile the encyclical (Leo XIII’s Rerum novarum)
remained largely at the level of exhorting the rich to justice, it was ground-breaking
in the manner in which it upheld the principle of the just wage. It declared that when
market forces oblige the worker to accept less than what is due, “he is made the
victim of force and injustice” (O’Brien, 1994, p. 771). Leo rejected a fundamental
argument of economic liberalism by teaching that if the contracting partners are too
unequal, consent alone does not suffice to guarantee the justice of their agreement.
Pius XI in Quadragesimo anno,
communicates a similar sense of moral outrage at the suffering poor (QA 59, 112) as well as
a recognition that the structures of economic liberalism have caused this suffering (10, 88).
He went beyond moral exhortation, demanding both “a reform of social institutions and the
improvement of conduct” (77, 97–98, 127). (O’Brien, 1994, p. 771)
Pius XI knew he was dealing with “an unjust economic system” whose influence
was ruinous (Divini Redemptoris 50). He rejected not only the abuses of capitalism
but also its ideological basis: “the proper ordering of economic life cannot be left to
free competition” (O’Brien, 1994, p. 771).
African philosophy, especially ubuntu, also argues against “free competition” as
the proper ordering of economic and political life. According to this philosophy,
“obra ye nnoboa,” translating into “life is mutual aid” is the seedbed for the
organization of political, economic and social life among the Akan people (Wiredu,
2003, p. 93). This insight and its practice are widely applicable to many indigenous
communities in Africa.
The Group of Lisbon also argues against “competition” as the proper ordering of
contemporary economic and social life:
Despite its popularity, competitiveness is far from being an effective answer to the present
problems and opportunities of the new global world and society. Excess competition is even
a source of adverse effects. The most striking result of the competition ideology is that it
generates a structural distortion in the functioning of the economy itself, not to mention its
devastating social effects. . . . Increasing the number of jobless is not the way for a country to
grow richer. Nor is impoverishing those with jobs by cutting wages and benefits a socially
acceptable form of productive increase. . . . If everyone competes against each other, sooner
or later the system will collapse. (Group of Lisbon, 1995, pp. 97–98)
Thus jobomania, the persistent ritual of promise and demand for the creation –
“out of nothing” – of jobs is an economic illness in defense of “the development of
social exclusion.”
Despite these alternative philosophical perspectives, since the dawn of West
European modernity (Eze, 1997, p. 4) spilled over to the Americas and by multifar-
ious paths throughout the rest of our contemporary world, racism – an invention of
Western Europe (Isaac, 2004, p. 30) – has been, and continues to be, the leitmotif of
human relations across cultures. The enslavement of “the other” in both physical and
mental terms is an integral part of racism (Wrenhaven, 2013, pp. 10–21). To a very
large extent, racism was, and continues to be, in the service of the pursuit of wealth
and money at any cost.
Today, the logic of buying and selling no longer applies to material goods alone but
increasingly governs the whole of life. It is time to ask whether we want to live this way.
. . . Disillusionment with politics has deepened as citizens grow frustrated with a political
system unable to act for the public good, or to address the questions that matter most. . . . Our
politics is overheated because it is mostly vacant, empty of moral and spiritual content. It
fails to engage with big questions that people care about. (Sandel, 2013, pp. 6, 13)
918 M. B. Ramose
It is argued by the proponents of the pursuit of wealth and money that the physical
and the mental killing of other human beings is permissible in order to accumulate
wealth and money. Yet, it would appear that historically, particularly in Western
culture, the continuing love of money is the root of evil.
The Spartans were remarkable for their money. It was made from iron, and was so heavy that
a strong ox could carry only a little of it. We are told that Lycurgus made the money heavy so
that no one would ever be fond of it, for he firmly believed that money is the root of all evil.
(Ogan, 1938, p. 575)
There are also opponents to this deadly pecunimania (love of money to the degree
of madness), and advancing those philosophical perspectives that challenge this
valuing of financial gain over human wellbeing is an important aspect of waging
philosophical war on this structural violence.
The Genesis of the “New” South Africa: A Question of Social

and Epistemic Justice
Without direct and explicit reference to the doctrine of Discovery, Jan Van Riebeeck,
cultural heir to this doctrine, enunciated the same ideas in his bellicose dictate to the
Khoisan peoples (Troup, 1975, p. 53). He informed the Khoisan people – as if he
were reading the Requierimiento to them – that their country was lost in a “defensive
war,” and the alien colonial conqueror had every intention to “retain it” in perpetuity.
Thus not only the Khoisan but all the indigenous peoples of “South Africa” con-
quered in the unjust wars of colonization lost sovereign title to their territory; land
which had belonged to them from time immemorial. Van Riebeeck’s vow to be the
permanent sovereign of the country is reminiscent of Spain’s appeal in 1572 to the
element of terra nullius in the doctrine of Discovery justifying its sovereign title to
Peru; “The Indies were justly won. By the concession of the pope, or because those
kingdoms were found deserted by the Spaniards” (Miller, 2011, p. 901).
The element of terra nullius in the doctrine of Discovery meant that Europeans
had the absolute right, in relation to the yet-to-be-conquered, to claim:
title to any vacant and empty lands that they encountered, as well as any regions occupied by
human societies not organized under a system of government or laws that Europeans were
willing to recognize. Europeans also based terra nullius ideas on race. . . . A long series of
papal bulls granted Portugal and Spain ownership of lands even though it was common
knowledge that non-Europeans were living on and governing those lands. (Miller, 2011,
pp. 900–901)
Similarly, acting under the instructions given by King George III in 1768, Cook
“made terra nullius claims in Australia and Alaska even though he encountered
native peoples in both places. In fact, even though Aboriginals were hostile to his
presence, he claimed the land as if it were empty. . .” (Miller, 2011, p. 902). This is
just as Van Riebeeck did when he was confronted by the Khoisan peoples. It hardly
struck Van Riebeeck that the ship in which he arrived at the “Cape of Good Hope”
did not carry any land to download upon arrival there. Van Riebeeck brought no land
in his ship, yet he had the audacity to claim the land of the indigenous peoples,
conquered in the unjust wars of colonization, as the land of his Dutch fatherland.
Neither the admission of defeat in war nor the consent of the Khoisan peoples to
have him own the land was necessary for Van Riebeeck. By virtue of implicit appeal
to the element of terra nullius in the doctrine of Discovery Van Riebeeck recognized
his ethically unjustified violence in his putative “defensive war” as necessary and
sufficient ground to assume sovereign title to land that never was his own. This was
the moment that instituted the struggle of sovereign title to territory; the land
question in “South Africa.” To date conqueror South Africa is founded upon this
original unethical appeal to epistemic violence as a putative justification for practic-
ing physical and structural violence against the original inhabitants.
According to the colonial philosophy of law, conquest in an unjust war conferred
upon the colonial conqueror “the right of conquest.” By virtue of this ethically
questionable right, certainly incompatible with the conqueror’s own just war doc-
trine, the conqueror had the right to commit epistemicide by imposing its own law,
mores, customs, religion, culture, as well as economic and social epistemologies
upon the conquered indigenous peoples. The exercise of this putative right by the
colonial conqueror in South Africa is yet to come to an end. The 1961 republican
constitution of the colonial conqueror intensified the exercise of this right. Article
3 of this constitution stipulates that “Die stem van Suid-Afrika” shall be the national
anthem as if the Afrikaners were the only European tribes in conqueror South Africa.
The anthem itself is a solemn pro patria mori (commitment to die for the fatherland)
affirming that only death shall lead to the loss of sovereign title to territory acquired
through ethically unjustifiable use of violence. The preamble to this constitution
claims title to sovereignty over “South Africa” on the belief that their “God” gave the
land to their “forebears.” Interestingly, it is silent on the ethically unjustified use of
violence as the means by which their “God” gave “South Africa” to them.
The 1983 constitution was merely the extension of democracy to the “Coloured”
and Indian population groups of “South Africa.” In this instance, the land question
did not arise because the “Coloured” is a political invention to serve the ends of the
colonial conqueror. There is no biological justification for the appellation
“Coloured.” Yet, theories such as the “quadroon” or “one quarter drop of blood”
were espoused to establish distance between the colonial conqueror and its offspring.
Doing so was and, remains, immoral since it is a futile attempt to deny the natural
results of normal sexual intercourse between human beings bearing different skin
colors. It is this immorality that supported the fiction that the “Coloured” cannot
make an equal claim to “South Africa” like that of the colonial conqueror. Similarly,
the Indian was deemed to have no title to “South African” territory since their arrival
to this country in 1860.
If the forebears of the Indian peoples were not regarded as the slaves of the British
colonial conqueror then they would not have been forced into conqueror
South Africa to enrich the United Kingdom through their labor in the sugar planta-
tions in the region of the country named Natal by the Portuguese explorer
920 M. B. Ramose
Bartholomeo Diaz. Thus, from the perspective of the colonial conqueror, the Indians
had no right to claim any sovereign title to any region of “South Africa.” The new
repealed laws of the Orange Free State republic reaffirmed this view. No wonder that
even in contemporary Free State province, Indians are few and far between. The two
fallacies that neither the “Coloureds” nor the Indians had any claim to title to
territory in conqueror South Africa were captured in the characterization of the
1983 constitution as “a racial federation” (Booysen & Van Wyk, 1984, p. 45): a
federation of three races in which only the colonial conqueror has a historic and
divine title to “South Africa.” The “Coloured” and Indian population groups were
deemed to have only metaphysical claims to habitation in conqueror South Africa.
Despite the inauguration of the “new South Africa” since April 1994, it is more
than apparent that the struggle for epistemic and social justice is continuing. Job-
lessness and poverty are deepening and widening especially among the ranks of the
conquered peoples of “South Africa.” Epistemic injustice is epitomized by the
mysterious collective amnesia which allowed the total exclusion of ubuntu from
the Constitution of 1996 (Republic of South Africa, 1996). The constitution marks
the transition from centuries-old enslavement – to borrow, with adaptation, from
Mazrui – “by coercion” to enslavement “by consent.”
The exclusion of ubuntu from the national constitution means the disregard and
the erasure of the Bantu peoples, heirs to the philosophy of ubuntu, from the
epistemology which underlies the constitution of 1996. Substantively, this means
the prohibition of discourses over title to the territory known as “South Africa.” On
ethical and political grounds, the proper and correct name of the country thus far is,
in my view, conqueror South Africa. This appellation is neither funny nor out of the
ordinary. It is common for countries across the globe to describe and, sometimes
even define their identity through the names they give to themselves. For example,
the United Kingdom, the Federal Republic of Nigeria, the United States of America,
the Democratic Republic of the Congo, the Federal Republic of Germany (BRD)
and, the Federal Democratic Republic of Ethiopia.
The famous declaration that “South Africa belongs to all who live in it, black and
white . . .” has in fact compounded instead of solving the ethical problem of
sovereign title to territory. At the philosophical level, it reduces “all” to some by
identifying only the “black” and the “white,” though the “Coloured” and Indian were
present in the making of the declaration. This reduction is logically untenable. “All”
is simply not equal to nor is it the synonym of “some.” “Black” and “white” are some
but not “all” in “South Africa.” Furthermore, the famous claim reveals – perhaps
inadvertently – the danger of skin color-oriented reasoning. The uncritical adoption
and use of such reasoning leads to the recognition that there are indeed “black” skin
colored human beings; black as un-burnt coal or tar. But the same cannot be said of
“white” human beings because such beings, with skin color as white as snow, do not
tread along the surface of mother Earth. Insisting upon the real skin color of human
beings mistakenly referred to as “white” leads to the ineluctable conclusion that their
skin color is pink, with different shades thereof.
At the symbolic level, blackness and whiteness have a variety of meanings. For
example, as existential indices, blackness represents poverty whereas whiteness
represents wealth. Also, blackness symbolizes evil whereas whiteness represents
goodness. None of these symbolic meanings is absolutely true. However, they do

have practical consequences in everyday life. On this basis, skin color-oriented
reasoning does have a social meaning raising the question of how philosophical
perspectives on truth and justice impact human relations.
On the other hand, it is no excuse to retort that the exclusion of the “Coloured”
and the Indian in the famous statement may not be taken literally because the term
“black” includes them. From the point of view of conceptual history in the politics of
liberation, the meaning of “black” to include the “Coloured” and the Indian came
after and not before the famous statement. To appeal to this after the fact is not
historically sustainable. The good intention to include the “Coloured” and the Indian
in the concept “black” may not supersede the demand for accuracy, precision, and
clarity in the quest for truth. To disregard these criteria is to accept the risk of blurring
the truth and, even, vouch for its distortion or elimination. Such a move is hardly
conducive to the quest for peace in the yet-to-be-achieved post-conquest political
dispensation.
The just war principle of ad repetendas res – the principle of recoverability and
not land “redistribution” or “reform” is the only ethical means to be adopted for the
construction of a post-conquest “South Africa.” Epistemic blindness, deafness, and
muteness ought to be replaced with the recognition that the indigenous peoples of
this country, conquered in the unjust wars of colonization, ought to be seen as human
beings, must be heard because they are human beings and, ought to be engaged in
deliberative transformational dialogue (Healy, 2011, pp. 302–303), leading to qual-
itatively new human relations responsive to the ethical maxims that motho ke motho
ka batho; to be human is not a matter of biology but a question of ethical conduct that
is consistent with the dignity of the human being. There simply is no metaphysical
basis for any claim to ontological hierarchy between and among human beings.
In conqueror South Africa, the Dutch and the British had a replay of their quarrels
about sovereign title to territory over land in other parts of the world; territory which
they had no moral right to claim as their own (Miller, 2011). The Anglo-Boer war
was simply the continuation of the same unethical quarrel (Ramose, 2005, p. 11)
Jan Smuts was a well-known politician in conqueror South Africa. He is also
widely regarded as an international statesman. This is something of a puzzle because
conqueror South Africa became international from the moment of conquest in the
unjust wars of colonization. Jan Smuts is also known as a philosopher; a philosopher
of war perhaps if one considers his involvement in it. The reason I turn to him is that
I wish to examine whether or not he was affected by epistemic blindness, deafness,
and muteness with regard to the conquered peoples in conqueror South Africa.
Jan Smuts: The Politician, Philosopher, and Defender

of the Conquered in Conqueror South Africa?
There were few in the camp of the colonial conqueror who actually questioned the
moral basis of conqueror South Africa. Many seem to have been swept along by
the tide economic advancement based on the accident of pink pigmentation
erroneously but metaphorically referred to as white. This has been the case since
922 M. B. Ramose
Van Riebeeck’s inauguration of the ethically questionable “right of conquest.” A

prominent statesman and philosopher in the camp of the conqueror, Jan Smuts,
stands out as one of the representatives of epistemic blindness, deafness, and
muteness with regard to the conquered peoples of “South Africa.” Judging from
his record as Prime Minister, it is more than apparent that his adoption of this
condition resulted in social injustice meted out to the conquered. The following
description of Smuts is illustrating his attitude of epistemic blindness, deafness,
and muteness towards the conquered.
According to Webster’s Dictionary of the English Language (Johnson, 1990,
p. 938), Jan Christiaan Smuts (1870–1950) was a South African statesman and field
marshal. A Boer guerrilla leader in the Boer War (1899–1902), he supported Botha’s
post-war policy of Anglo-Boer cooperation and played a leading part in the estab-
lishment of the Union of South Africa (1910). He served as a general in the first
world war and as a member of the British war cabinet (1917–1918). He helped to
found the League of Nations. He was prime minister of South Africa (1919–1924
and 1939–1948). Smuts commanded the South African army in the second world
war and became a British field marshal (1941). He drafted the preamble to the
U.N. charter and had much influence on the development of the British Common-
wealth. He is the author of Holism and evolution (1926), a philosophical study of
evolution (Johnson, 1990).
The above description is, however, problematical with regard to two specific
points. One is that if Smuts drafted the preamble to the UN charter, why is it that he
steered conqueror South Africa towards the apartheid system which was born
exactly at the end of his term as Prime Minister? The UN charter is suffused with
the spirit of the recognition of the principle that all human beings are equal in their
humanity. Why is it that, for Smuts, all human beings were equal in their humanity
anywhere in the world – if the UN charter’s claim to universality should be taken
seriously – except in conqueror South Africa? Another is that if Smuts was a
philosopher, as his Holism and evolution testifies, why is it that the principle of
the equality of all human beings appears to be the blind spot of his philosophy? I
suggest by way of answer that Smuts was culturally wedded to the Western philo-
sophical paradigm which assumed the hierarchization and classification of human
beings and other entities as natural. In his own words:
We find thus a great unifying creative tendency of a specific holistic character in the
universe, operating through and sustaining the forces and activities of nature and life and
mind, and giving ever more of a distinctive holistic character to the universe. This creative
tendency or principle we call Holism. Holism in all its endless forms is the principle which
works up the raw material or unorganised energy units of the world, utilises, assimilates and
organises them, endows them with specific structure and character and individuality, and
finally with personality, and creates beauty and truth and value from them. And it does all
this through a definite method of whole-making, which it pursues with ever-increasing
intensity from the beginning to the end, through things and plants and beasts and men.
Thus it is that a scale of wholes forms the ladder of Evolution. It is through a continuous and
universal process of whole-making that reality rises step by step, until from the poor empty,
worthless stuff of its humble beginnings it builds the spiritual world beyond our greatest
dreams. (Smuts, 1926, pp. 107–108)
Despite talk of whole-making, the “step by step” and “ladder” mentality of Smuts
imposes a hierarchy in nature. This leaves the door wide open to “superior” and
“inferior” in ontological terms with particular reference to human beings. It also
allows for “civilisation” – one of the elements of the doctrine of Discovery – to be
contrasted with the imputed “barbarism” of the conquered. Accordingly, Smuts’
philosophical “holism” is a manifestation of the conqueror’s learned blindness,
deafness and muteness with regard to the conquered, and acts in defense of the
epistemic and social injustice sanctioned by the international law of colonialism.
Borrowing from the vocabulary of the conqueror’s philosophy of law, I argue that
the conquered do not belong to “the law of things.” On the contrary, they belong
ontologically and ethically to “the law of persons.”
The foregoing suggests that the impact of Romanus Pontifex is still alive and
vibrant in conqueror South Africa; it has been embedded by political leaders such as
Smuts, and continues to shape the constitution to this day. The same is true with
regard to the doctrine of Discovery. Today, the conquered peoples in conqueror
South Africa are condescendingly granted the status of epistemic appendages to the
dominant epistemological paradigm of the colonial conqueror. The injustice of
epistemicide has become a form of morbid intellectual second nature that is in
need of an urgent cure. Materially, the conquered peoples are systematically as
well as systemically condemned to structural poverty with incidental loose hinges
allowing a few of them to ascend to the level of the newly rich. The impoverished
majority wobble and waddle, wiggling through the matyotyombe (Ramose, 2003,
p. 574) in their daily survival mode against deadly poverty. Their unhappy life
condition is a repulsive foreign element in the milky purity of white privileged
wealth. It is a separate and remote world in which the successors in title to the
ethically indefensible “right of conquest” continue to exercise this “right” to dom-
inate at the expense of others. Thus did the “right of conquest” invent a new country
within a country, not Orania but Kakania (Santos, 2014, p. 12). It is to this country
within a county that I now turn.
The Invention of Kakania
I submit, together with Yancy that:
While antiracist whites take time to get their shit together, a luxury that is a species of
privilege, Black bodies and bodies of color continue to suffer, their bodies cry out for the
political and existential urgency for the immediate undoing of the oppressive operations of
whiteness. (Yancy, 2008, p. 229)
Yancy’s apparently insulting language can hardly be deemed inappropriate given

the context in which he made the statement. He was arguing against white insensi-
tivity to their racist behavior towards black human beings. Even supposedly anti-
racist whites, he argued, had the tendency to dismiss as “bullshit” (Yancy, 2008,
p. 228) the black human beings’ understanding and communication of racist
924 M. B. Ramose
behavior by whites. Their dismissal of the understanding as “bullshit” conveyed not

only white arrogance towards blacks but also their determination to refuse to listen to
blacks because of their habitual assumption that blacks are sub-human beings and,
therefore, devoid of reason. Even the unjustified killing of blacks evokes a rather odd
feeling on the part of the conqueror. For example, in the event of a road accident
involving fatalities, many – though not all – newspapers in pre-1994 conqueror
South Africa would follow this logical sequence: “two people died at the accident
scene, and one Bantu.” The less than concealed implication was that the “Bantu” did
not belong to the category of people. The Bantu is portrayed as an apparition from
the planetary world outside planet Earth. It is this separation of blacks and, “people
of colour” from the category of human beings that Yancy calls into question. He
argues that this line of questioning may not simply be dismissed as “bullshit.” To
emphasize this point, he uses the concept of “shit” to challenge “bullshit.”
It is no accident that Santos discovered many countries in our liveable planet
Earth. The odd thing about them is that they all have one name: Kakania. This is the
name given to these countries by white racism. Kakania is where blacks and “people
of colour” must live because they are only sub-human beings. In conqueror
South Africa the inhabitants of Kakania continue to stand as guarantors for whites
to accumulate wealth and obtain more and more money. Although pecunimania is a
form of madness, it does have lucid moments when whites acknowledge the
instrumental worth of blacks and “people of colour” to function as pawns in white
racism’s deadly games of amoral unbridled accumulation of wealth.
Unsurprisingly, it is reported in conqueror South Africa’s Kakania that a white
farmer in Ekurhuleni with the apparent help of his son and wife beat their black
employee and force-fed him with human feces. The reason for this inhumane
treatment of the employee was allegedly that he forgot to switch off a septic tank
pump on the family’s farm. Forgetting is costly for the employer and the employee
must bear the costs by feeding on human waste (“Force-fed human waste,” 2018;
Sifile, 2018). The inhabitants of Kakania have no Excremantia to offer. Therefore,
they must be force-fed human feces in order to deliver excremantia; a valuable
deposit in the septic tank for the purposes of farming to enrich the white employer.
“Bullshit” then goes together with “shit.” They do not have the same philosoph-
ical origin. Nor do they have the same destination. They certainly are metaphors;
potent symbols of two contending realities. The former is the reality of insistent
dehumanization based on the fallacy of white racial superiority claiming the sole and
absolute right to reason. This position is fundamentally and thoroughly unethical.
The latter is a deliberate ethical resistance to persistent, pervasive, structural, sys-
tematic and systemic white racism:
A society that leaves its colorist biases uncriticized, that says nothing about the racialization
of its discourses of beauty, desire, and marriageability, will cultivate in its members racially
preferential habits and impulses. A society whose members routinely and unthinkingly act
on the basis of these preferential impulses will also routinely segregate people for the
purpose of distributing affection, romance, and aesthetic praise. And a society that distrib-
utes these goods in these ways, ways that are not just segregated but stratifying, separate and
un-equal, will threaten the self-esteem of many of its members, and perpetuate divisions that
skew the allocation of other goods. If you’re not good enough, or not enough like me, for me
to accept you into my family as a partner or in-law, then you may not be good enough or
enough like me for me to include you in my sphere of ethical concern. I may not consciously
exclude you, but I may allow myself unconscious aversions and resistances that encourage
me to withhold concern from you – and from the Them that you belong to and that stands
opposed to my Us. (Taylor, 2010, p. 169)
This underlines Yancy’s insight conveyed in the subtitle of his book, “the
continuing significance of race.” For as long as white “bullshit” persists in the
form of epistemic blindness, deafness, and muteness, black and “people of colour’s”
“shit” shall be distributed in every sphere of life until there is epistemic and social
justice for all.
Krog reminds us, with apposite censure, of the pervasiveness of literal and
metaphorical “shit” in conqueror South Africa:
Sometimes, during the long periods of school boycotts, I climb through the hole in the fence
of the school and walk down to the nearby river where it smells of thorn trees, willows and
river water – but then I see a beer bottle or a turd or a shoe or some plastic and I get sick of the
way the land has been defiled by humanity, how you never ever get away from human breath
and human shit anymore. (Krog, 2009, p. 69)
Krog’s recourse to literal and metaphorical shit has many antecedents in literature.
I now turn to consider a few of these.
In Defense of “Bullshit” and “Shit”
Irritation, especially when it is a mechanism for evading truth, can be a provocation

when expressing itself through what is ordinarily regarded as obscene language. But
obscene language is not by definition devoid of truth. Thus truth can be found in
“shit” in both the literal and the metaphorical senses. Wole Soyinka, the Nobel
Literature Laureate, provides an interesting account of “the philosophy of shit” in his
novel: The Interpreters.
‘Wetin oga?’ Sagoe did not immediately answer, and Mathias’s eyes suddenly opened wide.
‘Abi you mean that business of latrine?’
‘You see Mathias, you are an instinctive Voidante . . .’
‘Sah?’
‘Voidante . . . eh, never mind. You will understand it all after a few sessions. Don’t be in a
hurry. You are natural. It is only a question of grasping the fundamentals of the system. But
spiritually, my friend, you are already there . . . ‘Oga, wait small. I done begin confuse.’
‘There is nothing difficult about it Mathias. You listen and you will understand the
philosophy of shit.’ (Soyinka, 1965, pp. 70–71)
From this point onwards, Soyinka proceeds to provide a lengthy exposition of

“the philosophy of shit” under the leitmotif of Voidancy. He defines Voidancy as the
“one true philosophy of the true Egoist.” He identifies the stomach as the basis for
926 M. B. Ramose
explaining the paradox of Voidancy. The core of his explanation is that the stomach
is the seat of “creativity” where digestion takes place for the benefit of the body but
the corollary to this is excretion ensuring that only that which is beneficial for the
body shall remain for distribution to the relevant organs. It is interesting that Soyinka
does not mention vomiting as the inversion of excretion. Instead, he mentions farting
explicitly by reference to the aunt of a “childhood sweetheart” and a mother.
And even more illuminating was my own mother with the same affliction. She was a most
religious farter. It was her boast, even as she neared the grave that God’s voice was a wind
which never failed to speak to her any day after evening prayers. And she called the
household to witness, and they said-Amen. My conception of the abode of prayer must
therefore begin from those days when the cause of my retreat into the lavatory was not so
much a physiological necessity as a psychological and religious urge. From this period of my
life, I would like to say, began my sense of dedication to the systematic study and
objectivisation of digestive behaviourism in a sensitive child. I responded to the well-
known posture of a quick finish-and-be-gone. And yet, at other times I experienced a self-
communion, a resolution, acceptance, peace attainment, I evolved a spiritual rapprochement
with a world of stresses and discord . . .. (Soyinka, 1965, pp. 70–71)
It should be evident then that according to Soyinka, “the philosophy of shit” must
be taken seriously like any other branch of philosophy such as “the philosophy of
religion” or “philosophical psychology.”
Furthermore, the fact that many laboratories are full of “shit” – referred to in decent
language as “human excrement” or “faeces” – to be examined not only for the good
health of the incumbent patient but also for the potential patient as well shows that
even the empirical sciences – in this case medical science – take “shit” seriously as the
object of study. The prohibition on “shirt” on the ground of decency is rather odd,
oppressive, and scientifically questionable. The struggle against epistemic and social
oppression does at times demand the direct and explicit mention of prohibited words.
There are many sites of knowledge such as slums or squatter camps in conqueror
South Africa, where human beings live waddling at times through shit literally. Their
life condition may be described metaphorically as “shit.” It is doubtful if many
researchers will recognize such a living condition as an authentic site of research
with the potential to produce knowledge leading to the betterment of the lives of those
trapped in it, and even providing strategies for the avoidance of such conditions in
future.
Mindful of the above, Ie concur with the challenge of “indecent theology to
liberation theology.” Mounting this challenge, Althaus-Reid argues that “[d]
efinitions of women’s boundaries and ritualistic reinforcement through liturgy
accompany the political and economic structures of women’s oppression. Lo
indecente (the indecent) is to cross these boundaries, the political boundaries of
oppression that have developed for women. To fall into indecency is to fall outside
the tenuous definition of men respecting women’s lives, a dangerous development,
especially for poor women” (Althaus-Reid, 1999, p. 42).
Furthermore, it is also apposite to keep in mind Lyotard’s caveat that institutional reason:
“always requires supplementary constraints for statements to be declared admissible within
its bounds. The constraints function to filter discursive potentials, interrupting possible
connections in the communication networks: there are things that should not be said. They
also privilege certain classes of statements (sometimes only one) whose predominance
characterizes the discourse of the particular institution: there are things that should be said,
and there are ways of saying them.” (Lyotard, 1984, p. 17)
In view of the above, it comes as no surprise that I wish to cite Yancy on

“bullshit” and Krog on “shit” in this chapter on the epistemic underpinning of racism
and colonial violence. This is because I am critical of docility and complacent
obedience to disciplined institutional reason. I am waging an epistemic war against
this without pretending to launch a “season of anomy” (Soyinka, 1988). I propose
instead to uphold the “undisciplined” rheomodic reason in waging this war.
Rheomodic reasoning is consistent with the philosophy of ubuntu. By this, we do
not claim that the philosophy of ubuntu is all about “shit.” It does, however, provide
a philosophical basis for recognizing literal and metaphorical “shit” when they
appear.
Since Krog, the use of “shit” and “bullshit” have continued to appear in scholarly
literature. It seemed normal and far from crossing the boundaries of decency when
the South African Journal of Philosophy deemed it fit to publish Kai Horsthemke’s
article “On bullshit” and “mindfucking”: An essay on mental manipulation in
education (2014). It is interesting to note that Mboti, in his philosophically untenable
exposition of ubuntu, resorts to decent language avoiding the mention of “shit”
though the imagery he uses undermines the decency (Mboti, 2015). These examples,
together with all the sources referred to above and the reflections brought to bear on
them, suggests that there is no warrant to censure the use of “shit” or “bullshit” in
literary or scholarly writing. To contemplate censure is a reflection of exaggerated
sensitivity to decency and can serve to maintain institutionalized reasoning that
benefits the conqueror at the expense of the conquered.
Epistemlogy, Violence, and Peace in Retrospect
The doctrine of Discovery and its living consequences in our time could not have
endured this long if it was not supported by accomplices from among the ranks of
the conquered in conqueror South Africa, and elsewhere in the world. It is the case
that international politics to date is dominated by those with greater military power
especially Russia and the United States of America as the MAD (mutual assured
destruction) condition so manifestly testifies. Already in the early 1950s, con-
queror South Africa prepared itself to acquire atom bombs and advance towards
the manufacture of nuclear weapons (Venter, 2008, p. 82). During that time,
conqueror South Africa refused consistently to sign and ratify the Nuclear
Non-proliferation Treaty. However, during the “negotiations” for the “new”
South Africa, conqueror South Africa signed the Nuclear Non-proliferation Treaty.
It has been suggested that this move was in part because of pressure from the
West. “Indeed it was the looming end of the De Klerk government and the take-
928 M. B. Ramose
over by Mandela that seems finally to have got the West worried enough to
intervene” (Hounam & McQuillan, 1995, p. 277). Why was the West at peace
with De Klerk having a nuclear weapons program with its support but less than
enthusiastic to do the same with regard to Mandela? Is it so that for the West,
Aristotle’s famous “man is a rational animal” was not believed to include the
African? No wonder that one of the core arguments with regard to the possession
of nuclear weapons is called the “rationality of the irrationality argument.” It
means that rationality is the threshold with regard to the possession of nuclear
weapons. To go beyond this point and actually use nuclear weapons, especially the
strategic nuclear weapons, is ultimate irrationality.
In view of the above Western assumption, it is odd that the reported dismantling
of conqueror South Africa’s atom bombs appears to have been left unquestioned by
the conquered. The placidity with which this was accepted is underlined by the “new
South Africa’s” championing of the Pelindaba Treaty; the treaty intended to make
Africa a nuclear weapons free zone. If anything must be learnt from rural life in
Africa, it is that a bull never delivers itself voluntarily for castration. The “new
South Africa’s” dismantling of its nuclear bombs contradicts this rural wisdom. The
contradiction is questionable in the context of the “anarchical society” (Bull, 1977)
characterizing international politics today.
Similarly, it is quite puzzling that the burden of servicing conqueror
South Africa’s foreign debt is shared by all South Africans today, in a manner
oblivious of the fact the debt was not incurred equitably by all:
The problem of the real debtor would have to be discussed anew. If the colonial past of
Africa is reflected upon, the need for reparation in favor of the African people comes as an
inevitable conclusion. Today it may be asked whether the tables should not be turned.
Whoever recalls the history of black Africa cannot avoid thinking of reparation from the
conquerors of this history. . . . The history of those who were killed and exploited and robbed
of their dignity is not yet buried. The unjust deeds of the past demand an anamnestic
solidarity with the victims. (Bujo, 1998, pp. 176–177)
From the perspective of an argument against the apotheosis of forgiveness in the

name of reconciliation, Soyinka concurs with Bujo.
How come that a five-centuries-old ‘crime against humanity’ committed against the Jewish
race has not been relegated to the archives of lapsed injustices? Is it nothing but idle
compulsion that drives humanity to exhume and atone for past crimes against its kind?
And is the African world then, yet again, of another kind, one that is beneath the justice of
atonement and restitution? Justice must be made manifest either for all, or not at all.
(Soyinka, 1999)
It follows then that the gods of Africa are lying restless in their graves. They know
that they have not punished their kith and kin with brainlessness. Nor have they
instilled in them the spirit of insuperable cowardice, fearful of asserting its right to
exist and to reason.
Recourse to forgiveness and reconciliation can be simply a way of avoiding
reconfiliation, the true restoration of genuine recognition of one another as human
beings who are one in the blood and thus belong to one family (Collins, 2007).
Forgiveness without reconciliation feeds on the fallacy, to borrow from Soyinka, that
“to err is human, to forgive African.” In word and deed the gods of Africa have
taught that justice is indivisible. Either there is justice for all or, justice for none. It is
pertinent to remember that the legal philosophy of the indigenous peoples conquered
in the unjust wars of colonization, does not have an expiry date with regard to the
quest for justice. Molato ga o bole (SeSotho: conqueror South Africa), Ondjo kai
uoro (Herero: Namibia), Mhosva haiori hairovi (Shona: Zimbabwe), Ityala ali boli
(IsiXhosa: conqueror South Africa).
M’Baye confirms the above African legal philosophical principles on the
non-expiry of remedy to an injustice (M’Baye, 1947, p. 147). Before M’Baye,
Driberg observed that: “A debt or a feud is never extinguished till the equilibrium
has been restored, even if several generations elapse. . . . to the African there is
nothing so incomprehensible or unjust in our system of law as the Statute of
Limitations, and they always resent a refusal on our part to arbitrate in a suit on
the grounds that it is too old” (Driberg, 1934, p. 238). For the African, the lapse
of time may not erase an injustice and replace it with a scientific understanding of
justice. On this basis, we invoke a well-known maxim from the legal philosophy of
the colonial conqueror, namely, fiat justitiam ruart coelum; let justice be done even if
the heaven may fall.
Ubuntu and the Quest for Truth, Justice, and Peace Beyond
Conqueror South Africa
The philosophy of ubuntu we have espoused here upholds the thesis that deadly
competition, pecunimania and jobomania, should not be the foundations of political,
economic, and social life. Instead, feta kgomo o tshware motho, meaning that if and
when one must make a choice between preserving human life and accumulating
wealth then one ought to opt for the preservation of human life, is the ethical basis for
political, economic, and social life. Underlying this is the ethical maxim that motho
ke motho ka batho as I have already explained earlier in this chapter. An integral
complement to these is the ethical maxim that bana ba motho ba ngoathogana
tlhogoana ya tsie; the children of one family share even the head of a locust. Only
those determined to be governed by the will to ignorance will disregard one of the
findings of the Genome project, namely, that at the DNA level we are “99.9%
identical” and thus form one human family. This finding is relevant to the ethical
obligation to share even the head of a locust.
The three ubuntu ethical maxims mentioned above challenge the untruths that:
(i) mother Earth does not and has not provided abundantly for all her children to
enjoy their right to food to the fullest; (ii) throwing away tons of food in order to
protect and perpetuate the system and structure of deadly poverty is morally justified;
(iii) justice and peace may be achieved without fidelity to the truth concerning why
and how we have arrived at our current condition in conqueror South Africa; (iv) that
any single individual or group has an ontologically prior and superior right over
930 M. B. Ramose
others to own absolutely any piece of land from mother Earth and erect boundaries to
exclude others; (v) the injustice of colonial conquest expires in time and may
therefore be changed into justice based on a constitution revolving around one
dominant epistemological paradigm; (vi) the total exclusion of ubuntu from the
1996 constitution of conqueror South Africa is justified because the constitution is
permeated by the spirit of ubuntu. To number (vi) in particular, I reply that if the
spirit is sufficient without its body then it is better to have the body of ubuntu in a
post-conquest constitution without the metaphysical spirit of ubuntu.
The above sextet of lies provide the epistemic basis of enduring injustice,
working against the quest for truth, justice, and peace. Mother Earth as a whole,
without human-made territorial boundaries, is the contingent and original panarium
of all that lives on her, including human beings. Her food ought to be enjoyed by all
as no one has a prior, superior, and exclusive right over it. This is the point of
departure for the African ethical maxim that life is mutual aid. It is complemented by
bana ba motho ba ngoathogana tlhogoana ya tsie. The Sozialstaat prinzip in
Western constitutional theory comes close to but is not exactly the same as these
two African ethical principles of political, economic, and social organization
(Ramose et al., 1991). According to these principles, complementarity and
co-operation or collaboration are the basic pillars sustaining political, economic
and social life. Competition, understood as seeking against “the other” is neither
the foundation nor the pillar of political, economic and social life in African – ubuntu
– political philosophy. Thus sharing the head of a locust is an ethical maxim
translatable into a constitutional principle conducive to achieving peace and justice
in human relations.
Conclusion
I have shown that the doctrine of Discovery is deeply embedded in the philosophy of
racism and enslavement traceable to the history of Western culture and in particular
the medieval Papacy. I have suggested that the international law of colonialism
evolved from this doctrine. The doctrine nurtures and encourages epistemic blind-
ness, deafness and muteness towards the conquered other. It relegates the conquered
other to “a thing” available for enslavement by the conqueror.
The consequences of this doctrine abide with us today. If this were not so, it
would have been unnecessary for Africans in the continent as well as in the Diaspora
to hold a conference in Kampala, April 1994, on reparations to Africa for the
continuing deleterious effects of colonialism. The conqueror’s refusal to discuss
this item in the 2000 Durban conference is testimony that the doctrine is still alive.
The exclusion of ubuntu from the constitution of 1996 attests to the continuing
material, economic, and epistemic injustice. My core ethical argument in this chapter
is that unless justice is seen to be done in both the epistemic and the economic
spheres, and in the social context, then there shall not be peace in conqueror
South Africa and, by extension, on Earth. It is unethical and irrational to insist
upon the dogma of preserving the globally dominant economic model when it is
manifestly clear that this “socioeconomic system is unjust at its root.” The rise to
epistemic sightedness, listening, and speaking truth on the part of the successors in
title to the injustice of colonial conquest is an ethical imperative in the struggle for
truth, justice, and peace in conqueror South Africa and beyond.
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Empathy and Peace
50
Daniel J. Christie and Daniel M. Morrison
Contents
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 936
Understanding Empathy: Types, Limitations, and Levels . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 937
Types of Empathy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 937
Limitations of Empathy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 939
Levels . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 942
Empathy and Negative Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 942
The Threat of Nuclear War . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 942
International and Intrastate Cycles of Violence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 944
Empathy During the Conflict Phase . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 945
Empathy During the Violence Phase . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 945
Empathy in the Postviolence Phase . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 947
Empathy and Positive Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 947
Empathy and Climate Change . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 948
Inequality . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 949
Peacebuilding Interventions to Increase Empathy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 951
Intergroup Contact . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 951
Dialogue . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 952
Conclusions: From Empathy to Positive Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 953
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 954
Abstract
The limits and potential of empathy to promote negative and positive peace are
explored using a transdisciplinary framework that places peace psychology at its
center. For negative peace, the use of empathy to prevent and mitigate violence is
examined in relation to two issues that bear on human survival: nuclear arma-
ments and cycles of violence that characterize intrastate conventional wars. For
D. J. Christie (*)
Ohio State University, Columbus, OH, USA
e-mail: Christie.1@osu.edu
D. M. Morrison
Bay Village, OH, USA
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_50
936 D. J. Christie and D. M. Morrison
positive peace, defined as the mitigation of structural violence and pursuit of

social justice, empathy is examined in relation to two issues that bear on human
well-being: climate change and inequality.
Keywords
Cognitive empathy · Affective empathy · Positive peace · Negative peace ·
Violence · Social justice
Introduction
By most measures of human development, the state of the world continues to make
progress in negative and positive peace (Pinker, 2018). However, the gains have not
been uniformly distributed within and between nations, and therefore, threats to
survival and human well-being remain substantial (Human Development Report,
2018). In this chapter, we examine the role of empathy in addressing four threats to
human survival and well-being, two that bear on negative peace and two on positive
peace. For negative peace, we examine the prevention of nuclear war, and interven-
tions aimed at mitigating the repeated cycles of violence that characterize conven-
tional intrastate wars. For positive peace, we examine the potential of empathy to
contribute to mitigating climate change and social inequalities.
In the field of psychology, scholarship on empathy and peace generally falls
within the rubric of peace psychology, which seeks to understand and promote
psychological processes involved in the prevention and mitigation of direct and
structural violence (Christie et al., 2001). Direct violence is episodic, does bodily
harm, and often kills people in a dramatic fashion, while structural violence is
ubiquitous, insidious, and normalized. It, too, kills people but does so indirectly
through the deprivation of life-sustaining human needs (Galtung, 1969). For
instance, if someone dies of hunger even though there is food enough for everyone,
then structural violence has taken place. According to Galtung, the absence of direct
violence refers to “negative peace” while the absence of structural violence is
“positive peace.” As we will demonstrate in this chapter, empathy can be applied
to the pursuit of both negative and positive peace.
In addition, two streams of research on empathy and peace can be distinguished
in the field of peace psychology. Some peace psychologists have examined the
constructs of empathy and peacefulness as personality characteristics (Sims et al.,
2014). This perspective is in accord with the view of peace psychology as a
distinct area of research and practice focused on the individual and subsumed by
the broader discipline of psychology. Although research in this tradition indicates
there is a positive association between the personal characteristic of self-reported
peacefulness and peaceful interpersonal relationships (Nelson, 2014), there is no
clear evidence that personal peacefulness is predictive of peaceful attitudes beyond
the interpersonal level of analysis, such as peaceful attitudes toward international
relations.
50 Empathy and Peace 937
Another perspective in peace psychology aligns itself with critical and cultural
psychology (Gergen et al., 1996). This perspective emphasizes context and locates
peace psychology as a subfield within the transdisciplinary field of peace and conflict
studies. From this perspective, peace psychology is not so much a subfield of
psychology; instead, research and practice in peace psychology is positioned at the
center of analyses that draw heavily on other disciplines, including political science,
economics, sociology, and cultural studies (Christie, 2006).
In this chapter, our approach to empathy and peace draws on the latter conception
of peace psychology, in which structural or macrolevels of analysis form the context
of our analyses, and we explore how these social structures are rooted in psycho-
logical processes. The main psychological processes we focus on involve empathy in
one form or another. Fundamentally, empathy is treated as a relational and multi-
dimensional construct that can facilitate cooperative interactions and constructive
relationships in a wide range of contexts including between individuals, groups, and
even nations. As such, the deployment of empathy can play a pivotal role in social,
political, and economic policies that prevent and mitigate violent episodes
(i.e., negative peace). Empathy also has a role to play in the pursuit of more equitable
relations between people, that is, the pursuit of social justice (i.e., positive peace).
However, in this chapter, we also explore some limitations of empathy to contribute
to peace and some ways in which empathy can be used to promote violence.
We begin this chapter by examining empathy as a psychological construct,
defining different types of empathy, and how empathy works at different levels of
analysis. We then go on to consider some applications of empathy to the promotion
of human survival through negative peace, namely its ability to contribute to
prevention of international nuclear war, and to breaking the cycle of violence in
intrastate conflicts. Then we turn our analysis to applications of empathy in the
reduction of structural violence and the promotion of positive peace. We take on two
existential issues: climate change and inequality. While climate change has some
bearing on human survival, the structurally violent properties of climate change are
manifest in its disproportionate impact on people with the fewest resources, eco-
nomically and politically. Finally, we address the structural problem of inequality
(in resources, power, and cultural capital), a problem that is global in scope and fuels
intergroup divisions that make it difficult to effectively work toward solutions for all
of the other existential threats to human survival and well-being.
Understanding Empathy: Types, Limitations, and Levels
Types of Empathy
Empathy is commonly understood as the ability to understand another’s experience

by imagining how you yourself would feel in that situation. Although there are many
aspects to empathy, the academic literature on empathy and peace primarily recog-
nizes two types of empathy: cognitive and affective. Cognitive empathy, also called
perspective taking, refers to one’s ability to understand the views and intentions of
others. For example, one of several items on psychological scales that measure
cognitive empathy is “I sometimes try to understand my friends better by imagining
how things look from their perspective (Davis, 1983).” While cognitive empathy is
about perspective taking, affective empathy is more about an emotional feeling.
Hoffman’s (2001) definition of empathy captures the feeling component: “an affec-
tive response more appropriate to another’s situation than to one’s own (p. 4).”
Affective empathy and sympathy can be distinguished from one another though they
are often conflated; the former refers to feeling with, while sympathy is feeling for
the other (Keen, 2010).
At the same time, both cognitive and affective empathy relate to a third kind of
empathy: empathic concern, which refers to the motivation to alleviate the suffering
of another (Batson, 2011; de Waal, 2008; Zaki & Mitchell, 2013). Some research
carried out in intergroup contexts supports the idea that empathic concern can result
in a motivation to advance the out-group’s welfare (Batson et al., 2002). Hence, of all
the forms of empathy, empathic concern may be most directly aligned with the
pursuit of social justice.
Although there is evidence that the different types of cognitive and affective
empathy can be mapped onto separate neurological systems within the brain
(Shamay-Tsoory et al., 2009), in everyday life the use of cognitive and affective
empathy is often not an either/or proposition. Instead, taking the perspective of
another is closely related to recognizing and sharing their feelings, and both of these
are important components of resolving conflicts without resorting to violence. As the
late UN Secretary General Dag Hammarskjold suggested:
You can only hope to find a lasting solution to a conflict if you have learned to see the other
objectively, but, at the same time . . . experience[d] his difficulties subjectively. (Stahn &
Melber, 2014, p. 126)
Although we are defining various types of empathy in this chapter, in part because
the antecedents and consequences may vary across types of empathy, the experience
of empathy is often more holistic. Clearly, separating empathy into types is a
heuristic device, akin to the colors of a rainbow, all of which are present but
identifiably separate (Gerdes et al., 2010). For instance, Gerdes, Lietz, and Segal
(2011) have proposed a comprehensive three-component framework that links
empathy with the active pursuit of social justice. The components include the
following: (1) an affective response to another person’s emotions and actions, (2) a
cognitive component that processes one’s affective response and takes the perspec-
tive of the other person, and (3) a conscious decision to take action on behalf of the
other person.
While the capacity for empathy is often important when parties in conflict wish to
resolve their differences, Holmes and Yarhi-Milo (2016) convincingly demonstrate
how the capacity for empathy is useless in conflict situations if empathy is not
conveyed to the other. This is akin to a competence versus performance distinction.
Holmes and Yarhi-Milo point out that the parties to a conflict act on their beliefs
about the other, which are inferred based on their observations of the other’s
behavior. Accordingly, one party to a conflict might have a great deal of empathy
toward the other party; however, if the empathy is not conveyed, the other party will
infer that empathy is not present. In short, while the capacity for empathy is
important in conflict situations, so too is empathy conveyance.
Limitations of Empathy
Empathy has a limited scope, not unlike a spotlight that illuminates the space at
which it is pointed but leaves everything else in the dark. Our scope of empathy is
typically biased toward the inclusion of other people who are similar to us, people
we like, and those with whom we share our social identity. For example, research
findings indicate that when people observe ethnic outgroup members in pain, people
show less empathic neural activation of pain circuits than they do when observing
in-group members in pain (Xu et al., 2009). People also mimic the gestures,
expressions, and bodily postures of in-group members more than outgroup members,
a phenomenon called “action-perception-coupling” (Likowski et al., 2008). Mimicry
matters because higher degrees of mimicking behavior are associated with higher
levels of empathy (Sonnby–Borgström, 2002). Similarly, there is evidence that
people’s neural pain circuits are activated only for people they like and not for
people they dislike (Singer et al., 2006).
There also is evidence for individual differences in the breadth of one’s scope of
empathy. For instance, in comparison to men, women report more willingness to
extend their scope of empathy to distressed people in a society (McCue & Gopoian,
2000). In regard to political parties in the United States, conservatives and liberals
have similar levels of empathy toward family members, but liberals are more likely
to extend their scope of empathy beyond the family and include strangers they
consider victims and/or members of vulnerable groups (Valdesolo & Graham, 2016).
While the scope of one’s deployment of empathy can vary in size, the direction of
empathy, or where empathy is targeted, can be independent of scope. Not surpris-
ingly, in judicial settings, prosecutors attempt to induce empathy for the victim while
defense attorneys shift the direction of empathy toward the defendant. Strong
differences in opinion can emerge, about who is the worthy target of empathy, a
proposition that can be illustrated rather dramatically with the issue of torture. As
professionals committed to the well-being of others, many practicing psychologists
empathize with victims of torture and have garnered evidence on the ineffectiveness
and moral bankruptcy of so-called advanced interrogation techniques (Costanzo &
Gerrity, 2009). Yet, when Vice President Cheney was asked what constitutes torture,
he replied that torture “. . .is an American citizen on a cell phone making a last call to
his four young daughters shortly before he burns to death in the upper levels of the
Trade Center in New York City on 9/11” (Friedersdorf, 2014). In this example,
Cheney attempts to direct empathy away from prisoners subjected to torture tech-
niques toward American victims of terrorism.
Although empathy is often associated with prosocial behavior (Eisenberg &
Miller, 1987), empathy can also be used to fuel violence and war. Soon after Hitler’s
troops marched into Czechoslovakia in 1938, Joseph Goebbels began aiming his
propaganda at Poland by disseminating fabricated stories about atrocities committed
against ethnic Germans in Danzig and other cities (Furber, 2004). When the Bush
Administration wanted to go to war in Iraq, despite the fact that Iraq had nothing to
do with the 9/11 attacks, Americans were encouraged to take the perspective of
administration officials and view Saddam Hussein as an enabler of terrorists who
could “kill thousands or hundreds of thousands of innocent people” in the United
States (Garamone, 2003). In short, when empathy is limited in scope to an in-group,
it can be used for political purposes to mobilize support for military action.
However, while empathy can be manipulated to fuel war, when its scope is
extended or when it is redirected, it can also be deployed to take the perspective of
an adversary, thereby facilitating the resolution of disputes and the prevention of war
(White, 1984). In the documentary The Fog of War, the late US Secretary of Defense
Robert McNamara recounts 11 lessons he learned over the course of his lifetime. The
first of the 11 lessons was the importance of “empathizing with your enemy.” Citing
the Cuban Missile Crisis, McNamara noted that President Kennedy’s initial position
was that the Soviets would not remove their nuclear missiles from Cuba unless the
United States used force. Diplomat Llewellyn Thompson, a former US ambassador
to Moscow, knew Soviet Premier Nikita Khrushchev personally and urged Kennedy
to take Khrushchev’s perspective and realize that the Premier would be willing to
withdraw Soviet nuclear missiles from Cuba as long as he could go to his people and
portray the removal of missiles as a victory. Thompson’s assessment was right:
Kennedy promised not to invade Cuba, among other concessions, and Khrushchev
used the promises to claim victory. As a result of empathizing with an adversary, a
highly damaging war was averted.
Unsurprisingly, some of the most divisive issues in contemporary politics are
disputes over who is most deserving of empathy. Consider the following contentious
political issues and note how voters make different choices about to whom their
empathy is directed: empathizing with those who would lose health care if the
government did not subsidize health care versus empathizing with those who pay
the most taxes to the government and have their own private health care; empathiz-
ing with people who are afraid their well-being is threatened by liberal immigration
policies versus empathizing with refugees who are fleeing political violence; empa-
thizing with those in need of government assistance versus empathizing with those
who have worked hard in an effort to pull themselves up by the bootstraps;
empathizing with those who feel threatened should a society’s social safety net be
reduced versus empathizing with those who are concerned with growing the national
debt; and empathizing with the right to bear arms versus empathizing with parents
who have lost a child in a mass shooting. In short, the scope and direction of empathy
have important impacts on the kinds of policies that are regarded as desirable or
undesirable.
Empathy is also limited in that it does not “scale up” with the number of
people pained by an event; instead, empathy is what Bloom refers to as “innu-
merate” (Bloom, 2017). As Joseph Stalin is reputed to have said: “The death of
one person is a tragedy; the death of one million is a statistic.” Indeed, the
historical record indicates that empathy is not readily activated by genocide and
other mass atrocities. In an effort to activate the international community, which
failed to prevent the atrocities in the Balkans and Rwanda, member states of the
UN World Summit endorsed a global political commitment entitled, “Responsi-
bility to Protect” (R2P). The 2005 R2P had noble goals: to protect a country’s
population from genocide, war crimes, ethnic cleansing, and/or crimes against
humanity. However, the principle has been largely aspirational rather than
actionable. Some of the most stunning examples of recent failures include Sri
Lanka, Sudan, Libya, and Myanmar. Although the reasons for inaction are many,
and fall across multiple levels of analysis from individual actors to decision-
making groups, the innumerate quality of empathy is likely a potent factor in
reducing empathy toward the large numbers of people suffering from direct
violence in other parts of the world.
Clearly, atrocities that involve large numbers of people do not seem to incite the
intensity of “feeling for” that is required to motivate action. As Kristoff (2017)
puts it:
“Ethnic cleansing” and even “genocide” are antiseptic and abstract terms. What they mean in
the flesh is a soldier grabbing a crying baby girl named Suhaifa by the leg and flinging her
into a bonfire. Or troops locking a 15-year-old girl in a hut and setting it on fire.
Part of the problem is that humans are biased to give greater attention to
individuals than they give to collectivities, and research indicates that attention
loses focus and intensity when targeted at groups of people rather than individuals
(Susskind et al., 1999). In addition, vivid, affectively loaded images, stories, and
personal accounts of individuals are more effective in capturing and sustaining
attention than abstract numbers (Leiserowitz, 2007).
These insights have important implications for peacebuilding practice. Directing
empathy toward individuals rather than groups can be used to promote peace and
social justice. Mother Teresa’s words illustrate this truism: “If I look at the mass, I
will never act. If I look at the one, I will (Slovic, 2010, p. 80).” Similarly, the plight
of more than 130 million school-age girls who are not in school began to receive a
great deal of attention only when a masked gunman boarded a school bus and shot
Malala Yousef in the left side of her head. Malala woke up in a hospital 10 days later
and learned that people around the world were praying for her recovery. Malala’s
plight as an individual elicited empathy for the millions of girls who are denied the
right to go to school, and later, she received the Nobel Peace Prize. She has
continued her worldwide advocacy through her travels and Malala Fund, which is
designed to give every girl an opportunity to be educated.
In short, efforts to use empathy to advance peace and human well-being are
not a simple matter because humans tend to be innumerate and limited in the
direction and scope of empathy. Moreover, the view that empathy is uncondi-
tionally “good” fails to acknowledge the harmful ends to which empathy can be
purposed, when it is limited to an in-group and mobilized for the purposes of
political conflict.
Levels
A question that arises in any scholarly inquiry into behavioral or social phenomena is
the level or unit of analysis that will be chosen for systematic research. As Lewin
(1951) noted: “The first prerequisite of a successful observation in any science is a
definite understanding about what size of unit one is going to observe at a given time
(p. 157).” Empathy has been studied at several units of analysis. Surprisingly, few
studies have looked at empathy and peace at the individual unit of analysis, though
some self-report studies are available. These studies view peacefulness as a self-
reported nonviolent disposition or trait. By definition, traits tend to be consistent
across situations and over time. Using a questionnaire format, Mayton (2009) found
that self-reported peaceful people had significantly higher levels of emotional
empathy than nonpeaceful persons, and Nelson (2014) found that perspective taking
was associated with self-reported peacefulness.
At the interpersonal unit of analysis, cognitive empathy has been associated with
the use of dialogue and engaging in cooperative forms of conflict resolution, which
contrasts with other styles of conflict resolution, such as dominating, submitting, or
withdrawing (Heitler, 1990). There is also research demonstrating that under certain
conditions, empathy can mediate prosocial behavior like altruism (Batson, 2011;
Eisenberg et al., 2010) and cooperativeness (Feshbach, 1989). However, the bulk of
the research on empathy in peace psychology has focused on the use of empathy in
international relations and relations between groups within nations. We explore this
below with reference to nuclear armaments.
Empathy and Negative Peace
The Threat of Nuclear War
Empathy became an important focus in the field of peace psychology during the
Cold War, a period when nuclear war seemed to be the preeminent threat to human
survival. At the time, tensions between the United States and Soviet Union escalated
as both sides engaged in a nuclear arms race. A classic case of the security dilemma
(Jervis, 2017) emerged in which one side’s efforts to shore up its security through the
deployment of additional weapons increased the perceived level of threat by the
other side which, in turn, sought to diminish the threat with the deployment of more
weapons. It seemed likely that psychological forces, such as fear and diabolical
enemy images, were fueling the arms race (Frank, 1982). Accordingly, peace
psychologists prescribed a range of approaches to deescalate the threat of nuclear
war, including graduated and reciprocal initiatives in tension reduction (Osgood,
1962) and mutual empathy (White, 1984).
Ralph K. White, one of the founders of peace psychology in the United States,
recommended that Soviet and American leaders engage in a particular kind of
empathy that he called “realistic empathy” in order to reduce tensions in the
US-Soviet relationship (White, 1984). Realistic empathy refers to an accurate
assessment of the thoughts and feelings of one’s adversary, comparable to cogni-

tive empathy or perspective taking. White’s central thesis was that realistic empa-
thy would allow leaders on both sides to understand that most actions of their
adversary were defensively motivated rather than motivated by aggressive inten-
tions. Perhaps coincidently, the same year White’s book was published, President
Reagan went on national television and took the extraordinary step of imploring
Americans to take a Soviet perspective when he told the story of what came to be
known as the “Ivan and Anya speech.” He emphasized basic human similarities
between two Soviet parents, Ivan and Anya, and two American parents, Jim and
Sally. He noted how these parents would have a lot in common if they were to
meet one another, including the desire to raise their children in a world without
fear or war, and the desire to engage in the kind of work that gives them
satisfaction and a sense of worth.
During the Cold War, the focus of peace psychologists and the defense establish-
ment was on the superpower relationship. Other countries had nuclear weapons, but
their arsenals were dwarfed by the firepower of the United States and Soviet Union.
The road to arms control agreements between the superpowers was through nego-
tiations, which typically required a great deal of perspective taking in order to arrive
at mutually acceptable outcomes (Müller, 2000). The nuclear threat remained exis-
tential, but both sides recognized that a nuclear war would likely result in “mutually
assured destruction,” and hence, the policy of deterrence seemed reasonably robust
to ensure peaceful coexistence. Nuclear deterrence relies on both parties being
rational and recognizing that the other side is unlikely to launch a nuclear war for
fear of nuclear retaliation. Hence, to an extent, the policy of nuclear deterrence
hinges on perspective taking.
While Reagan’s call for empathy signaled a turn toward de-escalation in the
US-Soviet relationship, the Cold War continued until shortly after his term in office
when the Soviet Union collapsed. With only one superpower remaining, the doctrine
of mutually assured destruction no longer seemed applicable and the threat of
nuclear war receded as the preeminent issue for peace psychologists. Since the
collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991, more than 25 years ago, only 19 articles
with “nuclear threat” in the title have appeared in the Psychological Abstracts
database, while during the 10-year run up to the 1991 collapse of the Soviet
Union, there were 111 articles.
However, although psychological research into how to reduce the threat of
nuclear war has subsided since the Cold War, the threat has actually increased
according to Doomsday Clock, an index of the threat that is calibrated every year
and appears on the cover of the Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists. In its original
iteration, the clock registered the number of minutes to doomsday, judged by the
vulnerability of the world to catastrophic nuclear war. The Bulletin’s Science and
Security Board, which includes 15 Nobel laureates, decides on the location of the
minute hand of the clock once every year. In 2018, the clock was set at 2 minutes to
midnight, the closest the clock has ever been to Doomsday and equivalent to the
setting in 1953, the year the United States decided to develop and test a hydrogen
bomb, which ensured an arms race with the Soviet Union.
Among the concerns expressed by the Science and Security Board is the break-
down in US global leadership and traditional alliances, the threat of North Korea,
and uncertainty surrounding the Iran nuclear deal. Above all, the central problem is
“US-Russia relations that now feature more conflict than cooperation (Meklin, 2018,
p. 3).” An effective response to this new level of threat calls for principled negoti-
ations (Fisher et al., 2011) that feature empathy in order to arrive at new forms of
mutually reassuring security arrangements.
International and Intrastate Cycles of Violence
The current geopolitical landscape is host to a number of ongoing intrastate conflicts

and multinational wars. The complex pattern of intrastate conflicts moved to the
foreground and became the subject of intensive study by social and behavioral
scientists when the Cold War abated. By 1994, all but 5 of the 23 ongoing wars
were fueled by communal rivalries or ethnic challenges and claims on the state
(Gurr, 1994). These conflicts, which at the time were primarily located in the
Balkans, the Caucasus, Africa, and South Asia, were well suited for psychological
analyses. They were characterized by oppositional social identities and deeply
divisive ideologies, heated rhetoric, and escalating tensions that often resulted in
repeated episodes of violence. The violence was often targeted at individuals, on the
basis of ethnic or religious identities, and occurred in and around communities,
exacting a heavy toll on the lives and well-being of family members, friends, and
neighbors. In contrast to the Cold War period, the fault lines between people did not
neatly conform to the boundaries of states; instead, the lines were drawn with
markers of social identity such as ethnicity, religion, and social class. At the time
of writing these, identity-driven conflicts continue, with an example provided by the
war in Afghanistan which increasingly has the qualities of an intractable conflict,
manifest in a locally rooted Taliban insurgency, repeated cycles of violence across
generations, and participants who construe the conflict as existential and zero-sum
by the participants (Bar-Tal, 2007; Coleman, 2003).
A signature quality of these violent conflicts is their cyclic quality. Much of what
we know about the psychosocial dynamics of intractable conflicts is based on
research that has taken place in a few geohistorical contexts, most notably the
Israeli/Palestinian conflict, India-Pakistan, and Northern Ireland. As we will see,
these cycles of violence present obstacles, but also opportunities, for the deployment
of empathy as a means of promoting peace between rival identity groups.
Cycles of violence can be categorized into three phases with each phase serving
as an antecedent for the next phase: (a) intergroup conflict, (b) intergroup violence,
and (c) postviolence (Christie et al., 2008). A key distinction is between conflict and
violence, with the former referring to cognitive processes, including the perception
of incompatible goals while the latter refers to overt actions intending to harm
someone. Given the difference between thought and action, it is possible to intervene
at the conflict phase to prevent violent action. In addition, the postviolence phase is
important for rebuilding human relationships so that cycles of violence are not
repeated. Empathy can support effective intervention in each phase of a cycle of

violence.
Empathy During the Conflict Phase
Because of the operation of in-group favoritism, empathy, especially perspective

taking, has been called upon to improve intergroup understanding as part of conflict
resolution processes. Perspective taking allows the parties to form a deeper under-
standing of the motives, desires, and needs, of one another, and to seek an outcome
that is mutually beneficial (Deutsch et al., 2011; Fisher et al., 2011). Not surprisingly,
cognitive empathy, or perspective taking, has been a core element of resolving issues
ever since the inception of conflict resolution as an area of research and practice.
However, more recently, affective empathy has been the subject of intense study,
which corresponds to the growing recognition of psychologists on the importance of
the emotional states of the parties to a conflict (Halperin, 2014).
At times, simply bringing conflicting groups together can reduce intergroup
prejudice, an outcome that is facilitated when it is possible to ensure the groups
are equal in status and engage in cooperative actions aimed at common goals, and in
a context supported by institutional authorities (Pettigrew & Tropp, 2006). More-
over, the results of a meta-analytic study by Pettigrew and Tropp (2008) demon-
strated that empathy, along with anxiety reduction, mediated the relationship
between intergroup contact and the reduction of prejudice. In this case, empathy
included both cognitive and affective types because there was not enough data to do
separate analyses. Empathy, then, has important potential for reducing prejudices
and tensions between different identity groups, and for facilitating the development
of mutually agreed solutions to conflict issues by providing insights into the needs
and goals of others.
Empathy During the Violence Phase
When conflicts turn to violence, a host of negative emotional conditions and political
considerations can make direct dialogue between conflict parties untenable. Under
these conditions, and in conflicts that are intractable and marked by repeated cycles
of violence, conflict resolution interventions facilitated by a neutral third-party have
been used. Third party interventions can create back channels with mediators to
facilitate negotiations between the parties, giving adversaries the privacy they need
to explore possibilities without making a public commitment to compromise, and the
opportunity to discuss issues and engage in joint problem solving.
Holmes and Yarhi-Milo (2016) present two case studies of situations where the
degree of empathy exhibited by the mediator played a key role in the effectiveness of
the mediation process in an intractable conflict. The first case examines Presidents
Carter’s mediation of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict at Camp David, a case that is
often held up as template of successful mediation. The second case examined how
Camp David II was mediated by President Clinton and failed to arrive at a satisfying
outcome. Based on these and other cases, Holmes and Yarhi-Milo conceptualize
successful mediation as a two-step process: first, empathy for each party’s views
takes place within the mediator, and second, the mediator conveys to each protag-
onist what the other desires, thereby building trust in the mediator and process.
In the first case study, President Carter explained to his advisors: “I think I can
bring them [Begin and Sadat] to understand each other’s positions better”
(Rosenbaum & Ugrinsky, 1994, p. 162). Drawing on cognitive empathy, Carter
reminded Sadat of “the imperatives of political life for Begin in a democracy” and
reminded Begin of “the sensitive role Sadat was having to play in representing,
without their expressed approval, the interests of other Arabs” (Carter, 1995. P. 347).
On an emotional level, Carter and Sadat connected after a side trip to visit
Gettysburg. Sadat expressed to Carter his view that Carter, as a Southerner, could
understand what it was like to be defeated in a terrible war and how difficult it was in
the aftermath to build the material and spiritual resources of a people who suffered
such a defeat. In relation to Begin, toward the end of the summit, Begin sent to Carter
some photographs of the three of them for Carter’s signature. Instead of merely
signing the photographs, Carter autographed them to Begin’s granddaughters and
grandsons and took them to Begin. They had an emotional discussion about the
benefits to Carter’s and Begin’s grandchildren if the summit could culminate in a
peace treaty. Carter viewed this particular interaction a breakthrough, in part,
because talks had broken down, but most importantly, during this discussion of
grandchildren, Begin and then Carter began to cry as Begin told Carter: “Why don’t
we give it one more try (Carter & Laue, 1992, p. 287).” Holmes and Yarhi-Milo
argue that throughout the negotiation process, Carter exhibited cognitive and affec-
tive empathy, and importantly was able to convey his empathy for both sides to both
leaders. As a result, both sides were motivated to persist with the mediation process,
and in the end they were able to see a zone of potential agreement and arrive at a
peace treaty.
Camp David II was mediated by President Clinton in a geopolitical context very
different from Camp David I, yet Holmes and Yarhi-Milo argue that the inability of
Clinton to convey empathy was a key problem. Conveying empathy might have
been particularly challenging with the protagonists in this summit, Yassar Arafat and
Ehud Barak. However, instead of conveying empathy to both sides, Clinton became
impatient with Arafat’s seeming intransigence, got angry with him, and ultimately
humiliated him in front of the Israeli delegation. According to both sides, this turn of
events made it impossible for negotiations to reach a satisfying outcome.
Throughout, Barak had made concessions that went far beyond his predecessors,
offering to relinquish control of 90% of the West Bank and turning over to
Palestinians control of parts of East Jerusalem. However, from Arafat’s perspective,
the reference point was Israel’s border before the June 1967 war, not the concessions
of previous prime ministers. Hence, from a Palestinian perspective, that portion of
the West Bank retained by Israelis would be “given” to them and this would be
difficult for Arafat to justify to his supporters (Telhami, 1990). As Holmes and Yarhi-
Milo (2016) put it, there was a failure to convey empathy as “both sides over-
estimated their own concessions and underestimated the other’s counter-concessions
(p. 12).” The cost of failed negotiations was high: The United States has not been
viewed as an honest broker since Camp David II.
Empathy, then, can also play an important role in negotiating an end to the violent
phase of a conflict. This seems to be particularly important for high-level negotia-
tions between political leaders, and interestingly, the ability of a third-party mediator
to extend empathy to both sides may be crucial.
Empathy in the Postviolence Phase
In the wake of intergroup violence, societies are often left deeply divided, making it
challenging to marshal the kind social capital needed to rebuild economic and
political institutions and norms of civility. The problem can be compounded and
protracted in situations marked by the intergenerational transfer of trauma (Bar-On
et al., 1998). Because of continuing trauma, loss, and a range of emotions, including
guilt, distrust, and fear, the prospect of forgiveness and getting on with societal
reconstruction may be difficult for many to accept. Yet, without a degree of recon-
ciliation and reconstruction, societies risk falling once more into a cycle of destruc-
tive violence.
Forgiveness has been defined as an emotional process that involves ceasing to
feel angry or resentful over a transgression (Baumeister et al., 1998). Forgiveness
takes place within individuals and can be quite independent from the perpetrator of
the offense while reconciliation is a mutual process in which both parties reconstruct
the relationship. Hewstone et al. (2008) have conducted numerous studies in North-
ern Ireland on the effects of intergroup contact between Catholics and Protestants.
Their research finds contact is a powerful vehicle for reducing anger and enhancing
both cognitive and affective empathy, thereby increasing the willingness to forgive
an adversary. They argue that the reduction of anger combined with empathy can
break the cycle of revenge and thus offer hope for future reconciliation.
Many other factors, besides empathy, play a role in forgiveness such as the
personality characteristics of individuals and a wide range of situational factors
including the larger sociopolitical context in which the violence takes place com-
bined with the severity, duration, and harmfulness of violence (Worthington &
Wade, 2019). Whether or not an apology or some conciliatory gesture ever took
place after the violence also matters. Notwithstanding the complexity of forgiveness
and reconciliation, there is plenty of evidence supporting the notion that empathy
matters, though further research is needed into what kind(s) of empathy have the
greatest impact on the willingness of former enemies to reconcile with one another.
Empathy and Positive Peace
A great deal of research has demonstrated a causal relationship between empathy and
a wide range of prosocial behaviors. However, the promotion of positive peace
involves actions that mitigate not only direct violence, but also structural and cultural
violence (Galtung, 1996). Structural violence refers to oppressive and exploitive
political and economic arrangements that are relatively permanent features of a

society and result in the deprivation of human needs. Cultural violence, the symbolic
sphere of our existence, is manifest in norms and narratives of a society that can be
used to justify exploitation and oppression, as well as direct physical violence. In this
section, we look at the role of empathy in promoting more equitable cultural and
social arrangements that could mitigate two existential threats to human well-being
that have roots in social structures: climate change and economic inequality.
Empathy and Climate Change
The adverse impacts associated with climate change include extreme weather events,
rising sea-levels, heat waves, wildfires, water shortages, droughts, desertification,
and the spread of tropical and vector-borne diseases (Knox, 2016). These impacts
adversely affect the availability of water, food, sanitation, health, housing, and other
amenities that are essential for human well-being. People with few resources con-
tribute relatively little to greenhouse gasses but are most affected by climate change
and have the most difficulty adapting to climate change. In addition, climate change
is an intergenerational justice issue because the current generation’s use of fossil
fuels diminishes the well-being of future generations.
Although technological breakthroughs that reduce and sequester carbon emis-
sions are likely to develop, the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (2018)
underscores the importance of putting a price on carbon as the most effective way to
reduce emissions quickly enough to mitigate the most devastating effects of climate
change. More than 40 governments around the world, including Canada, Chile,
Colombia, Denmark, the European Union, Finland, France, Ireland, Japan, Korea,
New Zealand, Norway, Sweden, and the U.K., now have a price on carbon. There are
also local and regional initiatives in the United States and elsewhere. However, the
current plethora of national carbon pricing schemes is not likely to become
mainstreamed at a global level without the cooperation and leadership of the United
States, as the world’s largest economy and only superpower.
For the United States to provide the global leadership necessary to carbon pricing
becomeing a sustainable and effective tool to mitigate climate change, bipartisan
support will be necessary. With climate change initially branded a Democratic issue,
Republican voters often oppose carbon-pricing proposals not so much because
Republicans deny the existence of climate change but because the issue is strongly
associated with the other political party. In one study, when Democrats, Republicans,
and Independents were asked to consider one of two carbon-pricing policies – a
revenue-neutral and a cap-and-trade policy, partisans were most inclined to support a
policy if they were told it was backed by members of their own, but not the other,
party (van Boven et al., 2018). Greater empathy between partisans might help them
to accept supporting a policy that is also supported by the other political party, rather
than rejecting it because it is associated with the “other side.”
Some organizations have sought to bridge the divide by training environmental
advocates to engage in perspective-taking with lawmakers so as to build relation-
ships with them as a basis for persuading them to confront climate change. For
example, members of the Citizens’ Climate Lobby (CCL), a nonprofit organization,

adopt a cooperative orientation toward the problem, building constructive relation-
ships with lawmakers and working toward a sustainable bipartisan solution. Drawing
on the framing theory (Chong & Druckman, 2007), climate change is viewed as a
bridge issue between Democrats and Republicans, rather than a wedge issue, which
would further divide the two major political parties. Carbon “fee,” instead of the
term “tax,” is used because the policy is revenue-neutral, with proceeds redistributed
to households on a monthly basis to offset the higher costs of goods and services.
CCL members are trained in perspective taking, emphasizing listening and reflection
when meeting with members of Congress and their staff. To accumulate a record,
build a relationship, and encourage perspective taking, notes are taken during
meetings with emphasis on the thoughts, concerns, and feelings of Congressional
Representatives rather than those of CCL members.
In an effort to build bipartisan solidarity, CCL encourages members of the US
Congress to join the Climate Solutions Caucus, a bipartisan group that was
established in the House of Representatives in 2016, to discuss economically viable
policy options to reduce the risks of climate change. Before the 2018 midterm
elections in the United States, the Caucus had 90 members, 45 Republicans, and
45 Democrats, largely due to the efforts of CCL. The hope is to translate these
relationship gains into legislative wins.
In short, it is difficult to imagine how a collective effort that involves all the
countries in the world will be able to move forward on climate change mitigation
without creating conditions that encourage cooperation on a grand scale. Perspective
taking will likely be part of the solution as high-income countries come to appreciate
how they have disproportionately benefitted from burning fossil fuels and are
therefore better positioned with resources to adapt to the adverse consequences of
climate change than low-income countries.
Inequality
Economic inequality is a pervasive form of structural violence that harms human

well-being. At the same time, it is also a problem that makes it difficult to deal with
many of the existential threats already discussed in this chapter. This is a pressing
concern as economic inequality is widening around the world.
For example, according to both the typical metrics of inequality – income and
wealth – inequality in the United States is higher today than it has been since the
so-called Gilded Age, more than a century ago. While the problem of inequality in
the United States cannot be fully understood without reference to a history that
features slavery, racial prejudice and discrimination, institutional racism, and a
criminal justice system that has decimated the African American family (Alexander,
2012), for the first time in American history, there are signs of growing inequality
that cut across racial dividing lines, resulting in a cohort of middle-aged adults who
are less affluent than older cohorts. The differential is particularly acute among white
men without a college degree who fall within the 45–54-year-old cohort. Men
occupying this cohort have experienced an increase in mortality rate due primarily
to suicide, chronic pain, and pain killers (Case & Deaton, 2015). This suggests
structural violence is at work.
On a global scale, part of the problem for industrialized countries is that income
from employment can be lost to globalization as production and supply chains move
to parts of the world where materials and wages are lower. Against this backdrop,
cosmopolitan urbanites have continued to fare well while the upper classes of
societies around the world have benefitted enormously (Sombatpoonsiri, 2017).
However, while globalization has been heavily blamed for rising inequalities, most
of the reduction in jobs and wages is due to automation, which accounted for about
88% of the manufacturing jobs lost in the United States between 2006 and 2013
(Hicks & Devaraj, 2017).
Economic inequality drives social conflict and reduces the ability to mobilize
collectively to confront social problems. As the haves and have-nots grow farther
apart, a sense of relative group deprivation drives partisanship and political conflict
(Payne, 2017). Elites are viewed as not helpful and having lost touch with the people,
which fuels populist anger. Under these conditions, the search for suitable targets of
blame is common. Foreigners and “aliens” can be seen as economic threats that
burden the welfare system and take jobs. Cultural anxiety and anger also arise as
people begin to view the other as an existential threat to their cultural identity. Rising
inequality, then, is associated with reduced empathy, especially those perceived as
“other.”
Bremmer (2018) notes that the failure of established political parties to empathize
with people who have been on the losing end of globalization and automation
represents a threat to democracy. Clearly, the problem of growing inequality and
threats to cultural identity, whether real or imagined, create conditions favorable to
the emergence of autocrats who follow a two-step process: first, scapegoating and
demonizing vulnerable minorities and migrants in order to build popular support,
and second, weakening government institutions and civic groups that provide checks
and balances on the concentration of executive power (Roth, 2019).
From a psychological perspective, the problem of intergroup polarization is fed
by human tendencies toward selective attention and confirmation bias. In addition,
commercial news agencies amplify tribalism to capture viewership and advertise-
ment revenues. Social media increasingly is the source of information for people
around the world, and algorithms are finely tuned to maximize exposure to political
views with which people are resonant. Because online audiences are fragmented into
filter bubbles, people seldom hear rival viewpoints that could enlarge their scope of
empathy. Moreover, these deep divisions in social and political identities make it
difficult for people to communicate and engage in the kind of problem solving
required to deal with complex problems that pose threats to human survival and
well-being.
Rising economic inequality can therefore be seen as a form of structural violence
that is supported by a lack of empathy among elites for the struggles of ordinary
citizens, and that, in turn, results in reduced empathy shown toward the most
vulnerable members of society. Hence, the relative presence or absence of empathy
in a society is closely related to the ability of that society to collectively and
constructively confront existential threats such as climate change or the possibility of

nuclear war.
Peacebuilding Interventions to Increase Empathy
It is difficult to imagine how human beings can work together and build institutions
that prevent and mitigate direct and structural violence without engaging conflicted
parties in joint problem solving. At the same time, much is already known regarding
the broad outlines of an approach to problem solving that could result in greater
intergroup harmony and equity, that is, negative and positive peace. We know, for
example, that empathy can be induced, and antipathy reduced, through a number of
practical peacebuilding interventions. In this section, we examine three ways in
which empathy has been used to improve intergroup attitudes and relations:
intergroup contact, dialogue, and storytelling.
Intergroup Contact
As the civil rights movement was getting underway in the United States, Allport
(1954) advanced some propositions about intergroup relations. Over time, his
propositions were formalized as Intergroup Contact Theory (ICT), which specified
conditions that could lead to a reduction of intergroup prejudice. ICT maintains that
groups in conflict with one another can improve their relations if members of each
group come in contact with one another under conditions in which they are equal in
status and engage in cooperative actions in pursuit of common goals that are
supported by authorities or wider social norms. ICT has inspired an enormous
amount of research, and the results have largely supported its basic tenets. Pettigrew
and Tropp (2006) conducted a meta-analysis of 515 studies and found that simply
bringing groups of people in contact with one another reduced prejudice, even when
only some of the optimal conditions were met. In the same study, the effects of
intergroup contact on prejudice were found to be mediated by three variables:
(1) enhanced knowledge about the outgroup, (2) reduced anxiety toward the
outgroup, and (3) increased empathy and perspective taking.
Empathy can also mediate the relationship between contact and improved rela-
tions even when direct physical contact between groups is not possible. Haji and
Noguchi (2020) have reviewed various kinds of indirect contact that effectively
improve intergroup relations by increasing empathy: (1) extended contact refers to
the knowledge that someone from one’s in-group has a close relation with someone
from the outgroup; (2) vicarious contact is the observation of cross-group friend-
ships; and (3) imagined contact refers to a mental process in which an individual
imagines having contact and interactions with an outgroup member. In short, when
groups in conflict are brought into contact, directly or indirectly, empathy is an
important mechanism through which the experience of contact leads to improved
intergroup attitudes and relationships.
Dialogue
A combination of storytelling and dialogue can give rise to a more nuanced

understanding of the other, even when the parties are involved in an intractable
conflict, which by its very nature involves multiple generations and existential
concerns (Bar-Tal, 2007). For instance, Bar-On (1993) brought together descendants
of Nazi perpetrators from Germany and descendants of Holocaust survivors and
encouraged members of each group to share their personal and family stories. The
groups had a total of six encounters that took place between 1992 and 1997, which
resulted in a template that could be applied to other intractable conflicts in other
places such as South Africa and Northern Ireland. The rationale for these encounters
is based on the assumption that reconciliation between groups requires groups to
work through some of the pain and anger related to the past. The concept of
“working-through” refers to individuals’ reducing their pain in relation to a painful
past. Bar-On and Kassem (2004) applied the encounter method to Jews and
Palestinians in Israel. Among the key findings, based on participants’ and facilita-
tors’ notes, was that the sharing of personal and family stories contributed to
participants’ ability to listen to one another and to arrive at a more complex image
of the other.
Complexity is a theme that emerges in a number of research programs that seek
to promote intergroup empathy through dialogue. For example, at Columbia
University, the Difficult Conversations Lab uses a dialogue approach to elicit
perspective taking and complex thinking. Based on research by Coleman (2011)
and his colleagues on complexity theory, participants are assessed for their opin-
ions on divisive issues and paired with others who hold opposing views. Pairs are
brought together to discuss their views, and during their conversations their
cognitive, emotional, behavioral, and physiological responses to the conversation
are monitored. Individuals’ experience a sense of openness to diverse views and
satisfaction with the encounter when topics are framed as an inquiry that is
complicated and nuanced rather than viewed through the usual binary lens of
pro versus con. It has also been found to be helpful to encourage discussants to
explore and seek accuracy in their understanding of the topic rather than advocat-
ing and defending a position.
Dialogue approaches have also been used to deal with the recent rise of right-
wing populist movements around the world, which have challenged intergroup
deliberative processes that are central to well-functioning democracies. In the United
States, populism has fueled political polarization between Democrats and Republi-
cans especially since 2016. Survey research from the Pew Center (Jones, 2019) has
documented this divergence of views with regard to a range of issues including aid to
the needy, race, immigration, and climate change. Moreover, dispositional attribu-
tions are in play with each side viewing the other as close-minded and immoral.
Perhaps, not surprisingly, there has been growth in the number of individuals and
organizations that have sought to close the gap and foster greater comity between the
parties. For instance, a couple of days after the 2016 election of Donald Trump, a
family therapist in Ohio developed a program that brought together 10 Trump and
11 Clinton supporters in an effort to promote intergroup empathy, respect, and the

search for common ground (Watkins, 2019). The ground rules emphasized the
following: (1) listening rather than making any effort to change anyone’s mind;
and (2) not asking anyone to change or compromise their values. The goal of the
workshop was to alter mindsets from winning an argument to understanding each
other’s point of view. The workshop evolved into a nonprofit organization, Better
Angels Alliance, and while the metrics of success are primarily qualitative, empha-
sizing testimonies from participants, the workshop scaled up quickly after National
Public Radio gave the organizers a full hour of exposure (NPR, 2017). Today, Better
Angels Alliance continues their work with interventions around the country with
state coordinators in all 50 of the states. A number of other nonprofit organizations
have similarly responded to the deep divisions in the US polity (cf., Hands across the
Hills, 2019). In all of these cases, the effort is aimed at promoting civil discourse and
a more complex view of the other through empathy.
Conclusions: From Empathy to Positive Peace
Intergroup contact, storytelling, and dialogue are examples of peacebuilding inter-

ventions that increase empathy in ways that can improve difficult and contentious
relationships. However, these applications of empathy to promote negative and
positive peace have not been scaled up and applied and tested on a society-wide
basis. One exception is a nationwide program in Germany that is currently under-
way. The program, entitled My Country Talks, is funded by Google. In the summer of
2018, more than 20,000 Germans registered to participate in the program. The
program offers the opportunity for face-to-face conversations with people who
hold opposing views. As an open-source platform, any interested organization will
be able to use the matching algorithm that pairs people who answer several questions
differently and live within 20 km of each other. Matched participants each receives a
separate message asking whether or not they wish to be introduced via e-mail to a
stranger with opposing views. My Country Talks will need to be thoroughly evalu-
ated, but the roll out of this program on a national scale offers hope that national-
level interventions can be developed that place empathy at the center of efforts to
promote harmony and equity in society.
While positive peace may always remain aspirational, there are clear indications
that societies can move closer or further away from that ideal. This chapter has
illustrated how empathy plays a central role in developing relationships character-
ized by the nonviolent resolution of disagreements, cooperative problem solving,
and equity. In particular, widening the scope of empathy to include members of other
identity groups seems to be particularly important for working toward both negative
and positive peace. In contrast, reserving empathy only for in-group members may
encourage acceptance of both direct and structural violence against outgroup mem-
bers. Encouraging greater empathy toward the “other,” then, is a crucial step in the
direction of positive peace.
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Positive Peace in Political Reconciliation
51
Hyukmin Kang
Contents
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 960
Positive Peace and the Ethics of Relationship . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 961
Reconciliation in Postconflict Societies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 962
Understanding Political Reconciliation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 964
Political Reconciliation as Relational Change . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 966
Building Civic Friendship in Agonistic Politics . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 967
Recovering Political Trust for Societal Transformation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 969
Healing Wounds Through Restorative Justice . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 970
Discussion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 972
Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 974
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 974
Abstract
Peace in a positive sense refers to a transformation in relationship between
individuals and groups who were once in violent confrontation and now live
together peacefully and interact cooperatively. What does positive peacebuilding
as a process of relationship building mean in societal conditions in which political
groups remain deeply segregated with irreconcilable political positions emerging
from past political wrongdoings? Can positive peace still be a justifiable goal
against the backdrop of a history of structural inequality and discrimination
towards certain groups? If so, then what aspect of positive peace can be associated
with political attempts at reconciliation? This chapter aims to explore how
positive peace can be achieved in societies where past political injustices deter-
mine the present political relationship of enmity. Hence, I examine current
discussions around political reconciliation as a part of postconflict reconstruction
H. Kang (*)
Kangwon Institute for Unification Studies/Kangwon National University, Chuncheon, South Korea
e-mail: kanhy343@student.otago.ac.nz
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_51
960 H. Kang
and address how they connect to positive peace through a shared focus on
relationship-building as the means to achieve a more just society.
Keywords
Positive Peace · Political Reconciliation · Agonism · Societal Transformation ·
Restorative Justice
Introduction
Peace in a positive sense refers to a transformation in relationship between individ-

uals and groups who were once in violent confrontation and now live together
peacefully and interact cooperatively. In this light, transforming negative relation-
ships between individuals and social and political groups caught up in long-standing
hostility, antagonism, retribution, and mistrust is a fundamental condition for facil-
itating positive peace. The many aspects of positive peace and the role of relation-
ship building within positive peacebuilding are indeed vast, as explored in this
volume. Relationships play a constructive role in nonviolent forms of civilian
resistance, in the pursuit of social justice, and even environmental sustainability.
Indeed, positive peace as relational change is more and more perceived as a critical
device for understanding how to achieve sustainable social change.
What does positive peacebuilding as a process of relationship building mean in
societal conditions in which political groups remain deeply segregated with irrec-
oncilable political positions emerging from past political wrongdoings? Can positive
peace still be a justifiable goal against the backdrop of a history of structural
inequality and discrimination towards certain groups? If so, then what aspect of
positive peace can be associated with political attempts at reconciliation? This
chapter aims to explore how positive peace can be achieved in societies where
past political injustices determine the present political relationship of enmity.
Hence, I examine current discussions around political reconciliation as a part of
postconflict reconstruction. As shall be seen, although scholars in political reconcil-
iation strive to resolve such political challenges of irreconcilability and to promote
peace, there is little knowledge about how political reconciliation can lead political
communities to the transformative state of positive peace.
Corresponding to this knowledge gap, I analyze the usefulness of political
reconciliation as a concept that can assist in understanding how positive peace can
be achieved in deeply divided societies throughout this chapter. To do so, I first
provide a general description of peace and reconciliation, centering on the concept of
political reconciliation. I then discuss the theoretical grounds for viewing political
reconciliation in relation to positive peace by elaborating on three theoretical
accounts of political reconciliation: those of Andrew Schaap, Colleen Murphy, and
Daniel Philpott. These accounts demonstrate the significant potential of political
reconciliation as form of relational change that can become a pathway to positive
peace, even in the context of deep socio-political division and hostility.
51 Positive Peace in Political Reconciliation 961
Positive Peace and the Ethics of Relationship
To begin with, it is important to provide a clear definition of the understanding of

“positive peace” that will be adopted in this chapter. Defining this term, however, is
somewhat difficult as the adjective “positive” can be interpreted in multiple ways.
Usually, scholars have employed this term in a broad sense, implying a set of social
mechanisms that secure and expand people’s well-being in their everyday lives, since
Galtung (1969, 1996) coined and explained the term “positive peace.” Galtung was
referring to the social and political environments where people in conflict actively
work together to produce conditions free of violence, suggesting that positive peace is
an appropriate goal for societies affected by violent conflict. Similarly, Barash and
Webel (2009) define positive peace as “a social condition in which exploitation is
minimized and eliminated and in which there is neither overt violence nor the more
subtle phenomenon of underlying structural violence” (p. 7). More recently, the
Institute for Economics and Peace (2018) has proposed to conceive positive peace
as the attitudes, institutions, and structures that create and sustain peaceful societies.
Anderson (2018) also contends that positive peace has a transformational impact on
social structures, which eliminates violence and injustice and generates healthy social
development and widespread well-being. As such, positive peace as a working
concept refers to the establishment of healthy social mechanisms that can achieve a
state free from both direct physical and indirect structural violence. Positive peace
therefore refers not only to the absence of violence, but to the active generation of
social structures and social relationships that can act to eliminate violence.
Based on these definitions, this chapter understands positive peace as a goal that
requires transformation of relationships. Because unjust social structures and violent
conflict bring about antagonism and retribution and generate a relationship of enmity
between social and political communities that perpetuates social conflict, attempts to
establish peace ought to possess the transformative quality of building a new
relationship. Building the positive conditions of just social structures, healthy social
development, and widespread well-being is unlikely unless a positive relationship
between communities that have previously been in conflict is constructed. Thus,
ethical relationship building is arguably the core ethic of positive peace.
Importantly, positive peace as relationship building relies on the moral perspec-
tive of mutual recognition, which explains that human beings are ontologically
interdependent to each other. Levinas’ (1981) and Buber’s (1970) epistemology of
“being” signify that human beings cannot be thought of without concern for social
relations and that, in order to be, one must find oneself in the relationship with others.
As a result, individual existence is conditioned by interdependence with others.
Honneth (1996) similarly contends that oneself cannot exist by oneself, but only by
interaction with social others because individuals can only attain selfhood under the
condition of others’ recognition towards themselves and vice versa. He conceptual-
izes it as a symbiotic relationship, mutually recognizing each other as counterparts
for their own being (Honneth, 1996). In line with this, Taylor (1992) contends that
social or political groups exist as a part of a society under the condition of other
groups’ recognition of their membership of that society.
962 H. Kang
What is critical is that the symbiotic relationship leads individuals or groups to

recognize themselves and others not just as collaborators in achieving their existence
but also as a guide to moral behavior (Honneth, 1996). One or more groups take
(s) moral responsibility for maintaining the relationship on the one hand and expect
others to do the same on the other. On a related note, Volf (1996) underlines that a
positive relationship can start with reciprocity between antagonists when each
embraces the other not only as a part of themselves but also as a moral partner.
These scholarly accounts of the relational nature of human existence elaborate an
ethic of “we-ness” based on interconnectedness. Following this perspective, this
chapter focuses on the relational aspect of positive peace. It views positive peace as
deriving from a sense of coexistence between social and political communities that
enhances morality within communities, thus providing a transformative agenda for
challenging and overcoming both direct and structural violence.
Reconciliation in Postconflict Societies
To relate political reconciliation to positive peace, clarifying what reconciliation is

and does it necessary for understanding how positive peace could potentially be
achieved in the difficult conditions of a postconflict society. Reconciliation usually
means the restoration of friendly relations (Oxford English Dictionary, 2018).
Scholars within peace and conflict studies tend to identify the term as the restoration
of a broken relationship between former enemies (Bloomfield, 2006, 2003; Daly &
Sarkin, 2007; de Gruchy, 2002; Hamber & Kelly, 2005; Kelman, 2004; Lederach,
1997). Although there are a vast number of different social contexts in which
reconciliation can be practiced, these scholars are especially concerned with the
context of postconflict (or deeply divided) societies where social members’ daily and
political lives are highly segregated by a relationship of enmity between/among
social and political groups as a result of recent violent conflict.
Broadly speaking, the term “postconflict” refers to the period immediately after a
violent conflict which has officially ended and yet conflict continues to be embedded
in social, cultural, and political spaces. A conflict does not disappear abruptly after a
peace agreement, but rather it transitions from widespread physical violence to
a state of low levels of violence and hostility; instead societies emerging from a
conflict face both legacies of violence and the continued political and social impacts
of the conflict (Brown et al., 2011; Little, 2014). Those societies, then, are consid-
ered to be characterized by a protracted conflict (Brown et al., 2011; Maddison,
2016; Lederach, 1997).
In the context of postconflict societies, three layers of reconciliation have been
explored in previous research: individual (or interpersonal), social, and political
reconciliation. Firstly, reconciliation at the individual or micro-level aims to remedy
interpersonal relationships. With regard to postconflict environments, violence at
local level leads individuals to have negative relations with social others who have
violated their rights or caused them some physical harm. Thus, the interpersonal
aspect of reconciliation is often understood as the restoration of the relationship
between individual victims and offenders. Among others, proponents of restorative

justice emphasize bringing victims and offenders together into a restorative process
of apology and forgiveness that leads to personal healing (Daly & Sarkin, 2007;
Zehr, 2003). Bloomfield (2006) argues that interpersonal reconciliation is “more
achievable and less idealistic” than the broader levels of reconciliation (p. 10).
Nonetheless, most literature on postconflict reconciliation deals with the social
and political dimensions of reconciliation as postconflict environments are often
marked by socially and politically perpetuated structural inequality (Aiken, 2013;
Fletcher & Weinstein, 2002). At the social level, reconciliation is advocated as the
key instrument to minimize violent confrontations between social groups and to
transform the relationship of enmity, thereby promoting sustainable peace (Daly &
Sarkin, 2007; de Gruchy, 2002; Lederach, 1997; Liechty & Clegg, 2001; Maddison,
2016; Philpott, 2012; Porter, 2015; Rigby, 2001). In this sense, reconciling social
groups that have long-standing relationships of hatred and antagonism must be both
a process and an outcome and must involve building new beliefs and attitudes
towards former enemies (Assefa, 2001; Bar-Simon-Tov, 2004; Bar-Tal, 2000;
Bar-Tal & Bennink, 2004; Kriesberg, 2004; Fletcher & Weinstein, 2002; Lederach,
1997; Daly & Sarkin, 2007; Aiken, 2013). Because legacies of a violent past affect
society members’ memories and narratives about the past, present, and future and
form their social identities in opposition to hated others, scholars have paid much
attention to ways of leading social groups in conflict to an understanding of the
wrongful deeds committed by their own side in the conflict (Daly & Sarkin, 2007;
Hamber & Kelly, 2005).
Among many other practices, truth-recovery and trials play a leading role. Truth
recovery processes aim to identify what has happened during the conflict and why
the relationship went wrong, while punishment of human rights abuses acts to
restore faith in justice procedures; therefore, both practices provide the elementary
conditions for social groups to pursue reconciliation at the macrolevel (Hayner,
2010; Bloomfield, 2003). Although some view reconciliation as the second-best
option or an alternative to criminal justice, many argue that reconciliation does not
necessarily ignore or devalue the importance of punishment (Philpott, 2012). Rather,
it mitigates the shortcomings of criminal justice imbued with the desire for retribu-
tion by accepting that justice should be practiced a restorative sense (Philpott, 2012;
Zehr, 2003).
Resting on the important goals of truth and justice, there are numerous aspects to
the practice of social reconciliation. For example, one area of scholarship stresses
mutual recognition between social groups as moral actors. In cases of communal
violence, it is hard to differentiate between the harm done and the act of harmdoing,
so groups should come together to acknowledge their own harmdoing in the past,
acknowledging their wrongs, and recognize each other as moral actors (Bar-Tal,
2004; Bar-Simon-Tov, 2004; Richmond, 2011). Building trust among adversaries is
also seen as a central practice for social reconciliation as the social atmosphere of
mistrust from wrong deeds restricts interactions between members of different
groups in society (Govier & Verwoerd, 2002; Kelman, 2005). Others contend that
social reconciliation also requires individual and collective identity change (Kelman,
964 H. Kang
2004; Lee, 2018; Schirch, 2001) or narrative transformation (Dwyer, 2003; Hancock,
2014; Porter, 2015; Ross, 2007). It has also been found that forgiveness plays a
crucial role in building a new relationship between former antagonists, because it has
the power to help people recover from acts of wrongdoing by remedying the wounds
caused by violence (Govier, 2002; Griswold, 2007; Minow, 1999; Walker, 2006).
Indeed, forgiveness is seen in some societies a synonym for reconciliation (Krog,
2008; Tutu, 2000).
Viewed from the individual and social levels what reconciliation entails in
postconflict societies is complex and multifaceted. As a project of restoring harmo-
nious relations, both interpersonal and social reconciliation ought to be seen in terms
of a long-term and multidimensional strategy based on transformation of relation-
ships (Lederach, 1997). As such, attempts at reconciliation may function as a driving
force to change social groups’ relationship from enmity towards co-operation, and if
achieved, this could help to bring about structural transformation of society itself.
Understanding Political Reconciliation
No less important than social reconciliation, research interest in how reconciliation

can be achieved in the political realm has burgeoned for the last few decades
(Philpott, 2006). The scholarly focus on political reconciliation reflects concern to
address the political challenges faced by postconflict societies, where hostility and
polarization between political groups has become routinized in every aspect of life a
result of past political injustices committed during the violent conflict. Political
injustice, according to Philpott (2012), means “unjust deeds that people commit or
unjust regimes, laws, or constitutions that people build or sustain, in both cases in the
name of a political organization, program, or ideal” (p. 24). The victims of political
injustices in postconflict societies vary. For example, in some societies, repressive
governments and official forces engender direct violence towards civilians, whereas
in other societies, a dominant political group systematically discriminates against
another groups’ rights or inflicts serious harms on them with governmental approval
or connivance. Other societies are characterized by mutual communal violence
between two or more political groups linked to race, ethnicity, class, and/or religion.
These politically motivated injustices result in relations of enmity between political
groups as well as unjust social structures such as repressive laws or institutions.
Postconflict societies are therefore in need of transformation of both structurally
embedded injustices and negative intergroup relationships. Thus, a number of
theorists have called for the political dimensions of reconciliation to be recognized
and have conceptualized how political reconciliation can involve both structural and
relational transformation.
As political injustices lead political groups to form a relationship of enmity,
various theorists have proposed the possibility of transforming the negative political
relations between groups. Above all, commentators usually understand reconcilia-
tion as the restoration of the political relationship between political communities
harmed by political injustices and discrimination (Moellendorf, 2007; Murphy,
2010; Philpott, 2006, 2012; Schaap, 2005; Verdeja, 2009). Because “political
injustices violate the terms of right relationship in or between political communities”

(Philpott, 2012, p. 24), theorists share a belief that restoring the broken relationship
is the key to transforming the political wrongs which would otherwise be repeated.
Given this understanding of political reconciliation, most scholars theorize that
building a harmonious political community involves guaranteeing equal citizenship
(Moellendorf, 2007), promoting political respect (Verdeja, 2009), developing appro-
priate legal responses (Murphy, 2010, 2017), and making necessary constitutional
changes (Schaap, 2005). Other theorists have advocated for the importance of
apology (Celermajer, 2009; Nobles, 2008), reparation (Wolfe, 2014), and forgive-
ness (Amstutz, 2005; Auerbach, 2004; Digeser, 1998; Shriver, 1995) in the political
realm in order to build a right political relationship. This range of approaches points
to the complex and multifaceted nature of reconciliation processes in the aftermath
of violent conflict.
It is interesting to note that scholastic attempts at reconciling political groups are
often differentiated between “thin” and “thick” (Crocker, 2003; Wilson, 2001) or
“deep” and “shallow” (He, 2009). These different conceptualizations of reconcilia-
tion reflect the differing positions of minimalists and maximalists (Verdeja, 2009).
Scholars who emphasize that reconciliation can take the form of simple coexistence
via constitutional amendments and political compromises may be called minimalists,
whereas maximalists advocate the transformation of political relationships and
structures. For minimalists, reconciliation has nothing to do with the restorative
vision of stabilizing political relations. Instead, it should aim to provide a simple
deterrent for further violence and discrimination by changing laws (Schaap, 2005;
Murphy, 2010). Stressing the importance of the relational dimension of reconcilia-
tion, maximalists advocate for deeper interaction between political communities. In
their view, reconciliation calls adversarial groups into mutual encounters, so that
each recognizes the other as their counterpart in a restored political community.
Recognition, they argue, emerges not only with changing laws, or reaching political
accommodation and compromises, but when each political group finds and embraces
others in the process of building peace. In a maximalist vision of reconciliation,
groups deal with a past marked by political wrongdoing collaboratively: acknowl-
edging their own wrongdoing, expressing apology, and forgiving their former
antagonist (Auerbach, 2004, Philpott, 2012). In this regard, maximalists contend
that political reconciliation should be oriented towards forgiveness and the restora-
tion of broken relationships (Stokkom, Doorn, & Tongeren, 2012).
It is also important to note that the aim of restoring relationships between political
communities is often criticized, resulting in scholastic debates. First, the language
and image of restoration of relationships is subject to conceptual disputes over the
nature of political reconciliation. Whereas some argue that the term entails an aim for
political groups to move towards the psychological healing (Dywer, 2003) and a
vision of a restored political community (de Gruchy, 2002; Philpott, 2012), others
stress that maximalist reconciliation is a notion ill-suited to politics (Schaap, 2005;
Verdeja, 2009). They go on to contend that the restorative approach obfuscates the
distinction between the political and the moral and can detract attention from
problems within the polity that allowed political violence to occur in the first
place. In particular, Schaap (2005, pp. 12–13) has argued that restoring political
966 H. Kang
communities may be counterproductive because it was political injustice itself that

created the divided communities. Thus, there might be “nothing to go back to”; no
harmonious political community that can be restored (Schaap, 2005, p. 13). Sec-
ondly, the goal of restored relationships is often objected to in some societies where
the harms of political wrongs are still fresh, and people are still affected by ongoing
conflict and injustices. There is a risk that when injustices are still being committed,
the normative language of reconciled relationships may exclude the voices of the
marginalized. In postcolonial societies like Australia, Canada, and New Zealand,
reconciliation has been used as a political ideology by the colonizers to downplay the
resistance of indigenous peoples and other oppressed groups (Clark et al., 2016;
Schaap, 2008). Scholars thus stress that promoting the maximalist notion of political
reconciliation can have detrimental effects in those societies in which social divi-
sions are protracted and where political injustices remain unaddressed (McEvoy
et al., 2006; McGrattan, 2016). Third, the concept of restoring relationships between
political communities is also opposed by proponents of agonism. Emphasizing the
value of embracing and sustaining conflict between political groups, they argue that
political communities should not be expected to reconcile with political others with
whom they have irreducible differences, but that instead they should be encouraged
to address tensions in nonviolent ways (Little, 2014; Mouffe, 2013). According to
these scholars, political reconciliation should aim to transform violent antagonism
into nonviolent agonism, rather than aiming to build co-operative relationships
between antagonists (Little, 2014; Maddison, 2016; Mouffe, 2013).
Reflecting on the theoretical literature presented here regarding the nature of
political reconciliation, it can be seen that theorists are divided as to how political
reconciliation can be achieved and as to what it can contribute to politically
segregated societies. There is little agreement between maximalists and minimalists
as to what political reconciliation entails. While most scholars in the field share an
assumption that political reconciliation is linked to peace, many are skeptical about
the potential of political reconciliation to contribute to achieving the structural
transformation entailed in achieving positive peace. As Philpott (2006) pointed
out, that is because the term “political” is mainly conceived from liberal perspec-
tives, so that political reconciliation at first glance has little to do with the positive
sense of peace. As a result, even proponents of the thicker version of political
reconciliation have given little attention to theorizing the connection between pos-
itive peace and political reconciliation. Hence, more research and theory-building is
required in this area, to better understand the connection between political reconcil-
iation and positive peace, and in particular the role of restored political relationships
in contributing to the achievement of positive peace in deeply divided societies.
Political Reconciliation as Relational Change
This chapter discusses political reconciliation as a possible avenue for contributing

to positive peace through a transformation of relationships of enmity between
adversaries in postconflict societies. As can be seen above, the ethics of relational
change is a common value among many theorists of reconciliation because
rebuilding a reconciled political society would be fragile without considering the

transformation of the antagonistic relationship.
Building on what has been discussed thus far, I want to explore further which
specific aspects of political reconciliation have implications for a vision of positive
peace that undertakes relationship building as a key means to its ultimate goal. To do
so, I have selected three leading theorists’ accounts of political reconciliation:
Andrew Schaap, Colleen Murphy, and Daniel Philpott. Among others, these analysts
theorize political reconciliation as a process of building new political relationships
between antagonistic communities. From the investigation, it will become clear that
although the term “reconciliation” in the political arena invokes different interpre-
tations of building political relations, it signals important aspects of relational change
that politically divided communities can pursue. I will then go on to discuss how
these processes of relational transformation might contribute to the achievement of
positive peace.
Building Civic Friendship in Agonistic Politics
What should be the aim of reconciling political groups or communities? A political

theorist, Andrew Schaap (2005), has responded to this question, theorizing political
reconciliation as a grammar of civic friendship in his book, Political Reconciliation.
Throughout this volume, he argues that political reconciliation aims to rebuild
segregated political communities by transforming a relationship of enmity into one
of civic friendship, which enables communities to have a peaceful coexistence.
When proposing civic friendship as the crucial goal for political reconciliation,
Schaap elaborates his belief in the agonistic nature of politics. Following a line of
thinking developed by Chantal Mouffe (see for example, 2013), Schaap draws on a
theory of agonism that predicts ever-present conflict between political groups char-
acterized by irreducible differences of identity and positions. Schaap argues that
reconciling political communities can only pursue the political solution of living
together without violent conflict. Rather than seeking an idealistic notion of har-
mony, parties ought to admit their inherent differences and navigate towards resolv-
ing conflicts that emerge from their irreducible differences in a nonviolent manner.
As Schaap (2006) stresses, political reconciliation is not intended to provide a
political vision of harmony and cooperation but tries only to transform violent
antagonism into agonistic co-existence, in order to avoid direct violence. In this
sense, civic friendship is a political vision in which parties are able to extend some
respect to the other and conduct their political interactions nonviolently in the future.
In order to achieve this hoped-for friendly political relationship, Schaap (2005)
suggests a political phrase, “the invocation of a we.” This invocation is conceptual-
ized as a guiding narrative for political communities with a history of enmity to look
forward to envisioning a “we.” He believes that upholding the sense of “we-ness”
undergirds goodwill through which participants can develop a grammar of nonvio-
lent political relationships based on ceasing violence and choosing coexistence. By
doing so, political communities can journey towards civic friendship along with the
hoped for “we-ness.” In the words of Schaap (2005),
968 H. Kang
“reconciliation would not be about transcending the conflicts of the past by striving for social
harmony, rather would condition the possibility of politics by framing a potentially agonistic
clash of world views within the context of a community that is ‘not yet’.” (p. 4)
Conceiving reconciliation in this way, Schaap (2005) eschews the normative vision
of “restoring” a broken relationship, however. For him, reconciling political com-
munities does not necessarily presuppose reverting to the previous situation, but
instead moving forward to a new arrangement. Civic friendship is based on this new
scheme. Even though commemorating what has gone wrong in the past is critical to
reconciliation, the realization that “the present will be remembered as the moment in
which an anticipated community originated” comes to the fore to build the civic
friendship (Schaap, 2005, p. 79).
Schaap tries to conceptualize reconciliation as a political goal that can fit within
what he views as the agonistic reality of politics. He asserts that the invocation of a
we can create a sense of hope for communities in conflict, providing a new direction
for their future political relations. However, his theorization of political reconcilia-
tion seems to be constrained by his perception of politics can only ever be agonistic,
and this casts doubt on the capacity for political group to reconcile in the maximalist
sense. His theoretical dilemma is that he proposes a vision of a civic friendship
founded in agonistic politics that would be underpinned by a narrative of a “we,” but
how such a shared sense of we-ness can emerge in the face of irreducible differences
is not clear. Thus, his argument contains contradictions; in order to reconcile political
communities must create a sense of we-ness, but agonism entails constant conflict
which might make this extremely difficult to achieve in practice.
To overcome this dilemma, Schaap pays significant attention to the act of political
forgiveness as a critical component of civic friendship. Following Arendt’s view on
the redemptive power of forgiveness to neutralize the irreversibility of past deeds, he
argues that forgiveness makes politics reconciliatory, as it fundamentally denies the
power of the past to determine the possibilities of the present (Schaap, 2005, p. 96).
He, then, goes on to say that “reconciliation depends further on a willingness to
forgive, which sustains a pace for politics between former enemies” (Schaap, 2005,
p. 96). That is to say, political reconciliation grows out of a political willingness to
forgive, in a process where perpetrator groups take responsibility and express
apology for past harmdoing, while victim groups extend their forgiveness. Schaap
argues that because potential forgivers and candidates for forgiveness must know
who their enemies are, both groups come to know who “we” are regarding the past
political acts. He envisions a process of reflecting on the past that creates a shared
sense of the “we” that is doing the reflecting. Victims as a political group then realize
themselves as those to whom harm has been done and at the same time recognize
offenders wanting to accept their moral responsibility. According to Schaap, this
shared realization of “we” allows victims and offender groups to enjoy a form of
symbiotic relationship, taking a transformative turn in agonistic politics. In short,
new narratives of a shared political community can emerge when for a process of
apology and forgiveness comes to a vision of a political “we.”
If political communities locked in a relationship of enmity can come to enjoy the
“we-ness” as proposed by Schaap, their hostile relationship can be slowly
transformed, when the antagonistic relationship is changed to that of positive by the

political moments of acknowledging, repenting, and forgiving. This understanding
of political reconciliation where repentance and forgiveness constructs new relations
of “we-ness” has important implications for thinking about how positive peace can
be achieved in postconflict societies.
Recovering Political Trust for Societal Transformation
Whereas Schaap has argued that the invocation of a “we” can motivate fractured
political communities to move towards civic friendship through the process of
forgiveness, Colleen Murphy (2010) presents a somewhat different understanding
of political reconciliation. For her, Schaap’s claim of cultivating civic friendship and
a sense of a community is “a misleading description of the task of political recon-
ciliation” (Murphy, 2010, p. 22). According to Murphy, the aim of invoking a sense
of we-ness through forgiveness does not accurately reflect the circumstances that
postconflict or transitional societies often face. Instead, Murphy argues that political
relationship direct involves repairing fractured relationships, as she states “societies
in transitions do not simply constitute communities, but rather try to confront, and
ideally, rebuild and transform ongoing relations” (Murphy, 2010, p. 22). Thus,
building a new political relationship must start with a thorough reflection from the
past wrong deeds which inevitably affects the present political relationship.
To begin with, Murphy contextualizes the task of political reconciliation in
postconflict and transitional societies by diagnosing the common characteristic of
such societies. According to her analysis, societies struggling with gross human
rights violations and genocidal events inflicted by oppressive regimes and the
legacies of such violent acts are usually marked by pervasive structural inequality,
normalized collective and political wrongdoing, serious existential uncertainty, and
fundamental uncertainty about authority (Murphy, 2017, p. 75). These conditions are
deeply embedded in social members’ everyday life and jeopardize the possibility of
a civic relationship between political groups. Murphy therefore contends that rela-
tional change is the core aspect of political reconciliation if such societal challenges
are to be overcome.
Murphy asserts that when political reconciliation is viewed as a process of
relational change, it becomes focused on recovering the broken credibility of rule
of law; namely, it is a process of re-establishing political trust. Political trust
concerns restoring respect for other political groups as moral agents and recognizing
mutual responsibility for the erosion of the rule of law (Murphy, 2010, p. 15). In her
eyes, political relations go wrong when political communities violate the rule of law,
causing a social atmosphere in which political groups lose trust in the willingness of
the other group to abide by the rule of law. Mistrust of other communities’ willing-
ness to comply with the rule of law becomes a significant obstacle to building a
positive relationship (Murphy, 2010, 2017). It also deepens the fractures between
political communities, maintaining hostile relations. Thus, Murphy argues, political
reconciliation should involve restoring respect for other communities as moral
970 H. Kang
agents that are willing to observe the rule of law, as well as ensuring that one’s own
community re-establishes its commitment to abiding by the rule of law.
Yet, how can such a relationship of reciprocity and mutual trust be recovered?
Murphy focuses on practices of transitional justice as a practical means to rebuild
political trust and ultimately achieve the societal transformation of a reconciled
political community. She argues that these practices of trust recovery and account-
ability instill trust between and among political communities with high levels of
historic mistrust stemming from past violations of the rule of law. She argues that
committing to such practices in a society emerging from violent conflict, creates
fertile ground for raising levels of trust (Murphy, 2017). These justice practices may
impact political relationships in a variety of ways (Murphy, 2010, 2017). Directly,
such practices may highlight the importance of observing the rule of law among
citizens by placing the responsibility for past wrongdoings on identifiable figures
and documenting what has happened. Indirectly, they may induce hope that the
society can become more just, mobilizing greater political participation. Like
Schaap, Murphy also articulates the importance of hope for rebuilding a right
political relationship. The hope is realized when communities together confront
what has gone wrong. When they do so, hope operates in a way that acknowledges
the need for social repair, but also the potential for self and other to behave more
morally in future, increasing trust. Trust, therefore, is the key aspect of Murphy’s
understanding of political reconciliation as relational change.
While Murphy’s theorizing of political reconciliation is chiefly focused on the
legal aspect of political relations, she seems less concerned with how the political
climate of antagonism can also be imbued with high levels of negative emotions,
especially among those people who have been most directly affected by the ramifi-
cations of political wrongs. Although justice practices of punishment and truth-
recovery may ameliorate the overall level of political trust in a society, how those
practices impact negative emotions within members of political communities should
be further explored, in her theorization.
Despite the need for further elaboration, Murphy’s conceptualization of political
reconciliation provides an important perspective on how reconciled relationships can
contribute to structural conditions for positive peace. In her vision of reconciliation as
restoring trust between political communities, the process of dealing with the past for
relational change gives a fertile ground for not only developing peaceful coexistence
but also awakening the hope needed to mobilize greater political participation.
Healing Wounds Through Restorative Justice
While both Schaap and Murphy espouse an understanding of political reconciliation

rooted in a vision of limited relational change, Daniel Philpott goes further to argue
that reconciliation should rebuild right relationship between political communities
by addressing political injustices, becoming the cornerstone of a peaceful society.
Building upon religious connotations of peace, he theorizes political reconciliation
as part of the religious vision of peace.
For Philpott, reconciliation, no matter how it is discussed, entails restoring the

broken relationship between individuals and political communities. Politically, it is
possible only when political communities reflect on what has gone wrong and
attempt to heal wounds from past wrong deeds. According to Philpott, the present
day politics of divided societies revolve around the polarization between victims and
offenders as political groups and the wounds inflicted on them and on ordinary
citizens who are affected by political wrongs. In Philpott’s (2012, pp. 32–47)
analysis, political injustices abuse victims’ human rights, harm their physical and
psychological well-being, and isolate them in society by not acknowledging what
has happened to them. It sustains the offenders’ sense of justice by allowing them to
evade responsibility for wrongdoings and thereby destroys victims’ rights to expect
punishment. Moreover, he argues, political injustice has negative impacts on society
as a whole. Citizens take sides in remembering the past and are likely to maintain
hostile emotions towards political others. The multidimensional wounds embedded
in both victims and offenders and other social members’ socio-political lives are the
common realities of societies emerging from a violent past. Considering such
wounds, he argues that such social wounds must be healed in order to build a
peaceful society, and that is the task of political reconciliation. Therefore, a reflective
and restorative practice of dealing with the past wrongs composes the process of
political reconciliation, in Philpott’s view.
To heal such wounds, restorative processes are indispensable because they invite
both victims and offenders as political groups to commemorate the misdeeds of the
past. Restorative practices of reconciliation should prioritize the goal of establishing
right relationship; otherwise, the wounds of the past remain a political threat to the
functioning of society. According to Philpott, building right relationship refers to the
restoration of human rights and “concerns persons as citizens of states and states as
members of international orders” (Philpott, 2012, p. 54). He argues that right
relationship can be achieved when six practices of political reconciliation are
implemented drawing on restorative forms of justice. These practices are expected
to repair victims’ wounds and also to “lead societies to transformations in people’s
emotions and judgement so that they view their own or another country’s political
community more favourably” (Philpott, 2012, pp. 56–57). These practices include
building socially just institutions, acknowledgment of past misdeeds, reparations,
apology, punishment, and forgiveness. These practices are believed to be the build-
ing block that can bring about reconciliation as a political reality. Philpott asserts that
it is essential that these six practices are conducted concurrently, as part of a mutually
reinforcing process. Although it is not straightforward to implement such measures
in societies marked by violent political disputes, Philpott believes these actions have
strong potential to play a constructive role in healing the wounds of the past and
encouraging divided communities to embrace a new future of right relationship.
Accordingly, Philpott considers that if these six practices of political reconciliation
are carried out in a postconflict society, they open the way for a state of positive
peace to eventually follow.
A relational understanding of positive peace can be seen within this theorization
of political reconciliation. Philpott rejects the liberal understanding of peace as a
972 H. Kang
state building project aimed at achieving negative peace. For him, the liberal vision
of peace has little to do with the restorative sense of justice because it prioritizes the
criminal justice and ignores political practices that can transform relationships, such
as apology and forgiveness (Philpott, 2012, p. 72). Instead, he argues that peace
ought to involve transforming negative emotions and attitudes towards political
enemies and working towards a society in which the political rights of all are
respected. In this regard, he contemplates peace in a religious sense. Just as the
idea of relationships reconciled between God and human beings, he understands
peace in the Jewish understanding of Shalom, which can be interpreted as the world
realizing God’s righteousness. God’s righteousness means an accomplishment of a
just society where none are invisible and marginalized. In this light, the goal of
restoration of right relationship involves the creation of a just society.
Hence, although Philpott’s theorization of political reconciliation is largely
concerned with processes of restorative justice, it does not overlook the broader
demands of social justice that meets the needs of the victimized. In Philpott’s vision,
a guiding concern for those who have been victimized enables a reconciled society to
organize itself in a just and peaceful way. Philpott therefore argues that
implementing political reconciliation does not merely change the direct relationship
between victims and offenders, but, going further, the goal of right relationship
becomes a guide for building a just and inclusive society.
As such, Philpott’s vision of political reconciliation is the closest to Galtung’s
understanding of positive peace. Within his conceptualization, healing the wounds
of the past through restorative practices is intrinsic to including victims and margin-
alized groups in society, leading to an ultimate goal of a more just and peaceful
society. Peace, from a relational perspective, refers to mutual recognition between
two parties that have been in conflict, and so both victims of violence and perpetra-
tors must have their humanity acknowledged by the other. Philpott’s political
reconciliation goes further than these immediate relationships, however, and aims
for the achievement of a society characterized by right relationship.
Discussion
Theoretically, it is evident that political reconciliation and positive peace are

connected to some extent. While positive peace is an idealistic goal for any society,
it could be particularly difficult to achieve in postconflict societies. However, at the
same time, the process of transforming relationships towards political reconciliation
may be an opportunity to create a more inclusive and just society where acts of
political injustice are eliminated and, therefore, create a society that is closer to the
state of positive peace.
In postconflict societies, moves towards positive peace are conditioned by what
political reconciliation aims to achieve, and political reconciliation must be oriented
to transforming the negative relationship between political communities. Despite
disagreement over what degrees of reconciliation is possible, or desirable, in the
political arena, scholars acknowledge that relational change is the core task of
political communities in conflict who wish to overcome that conflict. Even the liberal
understanding of political reconciliation does not exclude the value of relational
change between political groups. Therefore, through their shared focus on changing
relationships in more peaceful and just directions, political reconciliation is a
prerequisite for positive peace, and positive peace is the ultimate goal for political
reconciliation.
Given the three theoretical elaborations of political reconciliation examined in
this chapter, two points need to be further accentuated. First, while one might argue
that positive peace and political reconciliation are theoretically connected through
their shared focus on transforming relationships in positive directions, changing
relationships of enmity can be insufficient to transform the structure of injustice in
practice. The interconnections between the quality of intergroup relations and the
social structures of the society need to be understood carefully. It is true that positive
coexistence between groups is unlikely when unjust social structures prevail in their
society so that a social or political group is systematically discriminated and
suppressed under a system of structural violence. However, it must be noted that
there is a relational aspect to building a just social structure. Positive changes in the
relationship between groups have the potential to propel the transformation of unjust
social structures. As Murphy emphasizes, the change of unjust social structure
depends on the degree to which relational change is accomplished between political
communities because political trust based on a positive relationship becomes the
crucial motivation for transforming unjust structures. Building a more just social
structure is a reciprocal task in which each party takes its part based on their sense of
trust in the other. Accordingly, the potential to achieve structural transformation in
postconflict societies rests on the reconciliatory attempts to (re)build a new relation-
ship after political injustice. In this light, the quality of the relationship between
groups is not a secondary aspect of structural change, but a fundamental part of the
process of achieving a more just society.
Second, building the right relationship or civic friendship can be conceived as
attempts to develop a new shared narrative about a new future of just and peaceful
coexistence. The political project of reconciliation is mobilized by a political hope
that needs to shared and proclaimed throughout a postconflict society. What is salient
to note is that the forward-looking narrative of political reconciliation must go hand-
in-hand with practices that look honestly and inclusively at the past violence. As
both Schaap and Philpott argue, building new political relations does not take place
without undergoing a process of political reflection, through which political parties
in conflict deliberately confront what has happened in the past, where they are now,
and what they must do in the future in order to build a peaceful community. Both
scholars contend that it is only by reflecting on past wrong deeds that reconciliation
can establish a foothold in the political arena; it is honest engagement with the past
that enables political parties to engage with the processes of reconciliation positively.
Practices such as public accountability, truth-recovery, apology, and forgiveness put
political reflection on the past into action. This kind of reconciliation enriched with
the reflective process encourages political communities to recognize themselves and
others, as the realization of “our” deeds and those of “others” in righting political
974 H. Kang
wrongs helps “us” to perceive “others” as the basis of building a new, more just
political community.
Conclusion
In this chapter, I aimed to explore the connections between political reconciliation

and positive peace. To achieve this purpose, I have elaborated how three scholar’s
visions of political reconciliation in postconflict societies are related to positive
peace. Following from the above-presented accounts of the nature of political
reconciliation, it can be seen that concepts of political reconciliation over-lap with
Galtung’s conceptualization of positive peace. In particular, those visions of recon-
ciliation that focus on achieving a more just society alongside nonviolent coexis-
tence, in particular that of Philpott, have notable similarities with positive peace.
Hence, a project of political reconciliation does not necessarily detract from working
towards positive peace, and nor should positive peace be seen as an impossible goal
for postconflict societies. In fact, positive peace’s call to address structural as well as
direct violence may be highly appropriate for societies where there have been
systematic injustices committed as part of a conflict between political groups.
Hence, political reconciliation can provide an effective means to work towards
positive peace in post-conflict societies. Political reconciliation involves a reflective
process of relational change between political communities that, at its best, can lead
to the creation of more just and inclusive social structures. Positive peace is
achievable in postconflict societies when political communities restore their broken
relationship by creating political hope for a new future, when they restore political
trust in one another, and when they adopt restorative practices for dealing with the
past. When this occurs, the restoration of broken relationships between political
communities becomes a pathway to the eventual achievement of a state of positive
peace where groups have not only agreed to stop committing acts of direct violence
against one another, but have gone further to become collaborators in the project of
building a truly peaceful society.
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The Importance of Trust in Achieving
Positive Peace 52
Thia M. Sagherian-Dickey
Contents
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 980
Conceptualizing Trust for Positive Peacebuilding . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 981
The Paradox of Distrust: Its Dual Dangerous and Protective Nature . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 984
The Role of Trust in Building Positive Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 986
Solidarity: Positive Peace Needs the Solidarity of Trust . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 986
Trust as an Outcome of Contact . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 988
Perceived Procedural Justice and Trust . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 989
Conclusion and Directions for Future Research . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 992
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 993
Abstract
Everyday interactions in society necessitate a certain level of trust between
people, yet the reality of societies characterized by historical injustice and
inequalities means that a lack of trust is more likely to be expected in such
contexts (Bar-Tal, 2007; Webel & Galtung, 2007). Thus, although a minimal
level of trust between people may signify the absence of violent conflict and a
relative level of coexistence of social groups, it can also create the illusion of
deeper trust between group members and a peaceful society. Galtung’s (1969)
crucial work on peace emphasizes a recognition of both negative and positive
peace. Accordingly, establishing and maintaining trust is integral to the achieve-
ment of positive peace, evident in a growing body of literature focusing on the
role that trust plays in promoting peace and reconciliation (Alon & Bar-Tal, 2016;
Kelman, 2005). This chapter briefly examines the conceptualization of trust and
how it represents a signpost for establishing positive peace characterized by
integration and social justice. It also considers some of the barriers to building
trust in post-conflict societies, and examines more closely key underlying
T. M. Sagherian-Dickey (*)
Tilburg University, Tilburg, The Netherlands
e-mail: T.M.Sagherian@tilburguniversity.edu
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_52
980 T. M. Sagherian-Dickey
mechanisms and outcomes of trust in the literature on peacebuilding, providing

examples from key conflict contexts such as Northern Ireland. Finally, the
interplay of procedural justice and trust in the pursuit of positive peace is
considered – one that is characterized not only by absence of violence but by
integration and social justice.
Keywords
Intergroup trust · Distrust · Intergroup contact · Procedural justice · Solidarity
Introduction
In his introduction to The Logic and Limits of Trust, the sociologist Barber (1983) stated
that trust is fundamental to “social relationships and social systems” (p. 6). Situated “at
the boundary of psychology and sociology” (Tyler, 2003, p. 556), scholars of peace and
conflict studies maintain that trust is also a metric of peace (Alon & Bar-Tal, 2016),
signaling the absence of violence. It should also be a platform for the development of
relationships that can help to establish social harmony and justice. Thus, the relation-
ship of trust with peace creates a potential virtuous cycle, where trust is both antecedent
to and an outcome of positive peace. Establishing and maintaining mutual trust is
considered important for a well-functioning society in and of itself. Developing trust is
considered altogether more crucial for peacebuilding in the aftermath of violent
conflict, and is a necessary part of the process of transforming relations between
enemy groups (Kelman, 2004, 2005; Tam et al., 2009). Yet, unsurprisingly, developing
trust in the context of conflict-affected or post-conflict societies is faced with a copious
amount of challenges (Bar-Tal & Halperin, 2011). Further, mutual distrust is often a
given in such societies (Kelman, 2005), and this can translate into everyday experiences
as societies work to rebuild their lives after cessation of violence. Although reconcil-
iation is one of the post-conflict goals for societies, it is fraught with times of tension as
each group is forced to re-define its identity and influential boundaries in the post-
conflict period (Kelman, 2004, 2005; Mitchell, 2000). At times during the reconcilia-
tion process, even conciliatory gestures and positive experiences can effectively exac-
erbate the existing intergroup distrust, leading to increased violence and recurring
outbursts of conflict (Mitchell, 2000). People need to know what others’ intentions
are towards them during interactions (Fiske, 2002), and trust is often viewed as the
belief in the moral intentions of the “other” towards oneself. At the same time, social
inequalities, injustices, and perceived threats to one’s own group not only reduce
societal trust but can lead to an entrenchment of active distrust. The exacerbating
consequences of such distrust have an impact on direct violence and conflict, as well
as a justification of structural violence and inequalities. In one sense, this is the
antithesis to the virtuous cycle, a destructive one where distrust enhances fear and
suspicion while justifying violent conflict and injustice. Peace is most often recognized
by its absence (Webel & Galtung, 2007), and this seems to be the case for trust as well –
its absence is felt viscerally, deep in the gut (Lewicki, 2006).
52 The Importance of Trust in Achieving Positive Peace 981
This chapter takes Galtung’s (1969) distinction between positive and negative
peace and examines the extent to which trust is important for positive peace.
Throughout the chapter, I argue that the development and maintenance of trust is a
key step towards establishing a society characterized by social justice, solidarity, and
meaningful intergroup relations. I consider the difficulties of establishing trust in
societies where peace seems/is elusive, and reflect on the circumstances in which it
may be more beneficial to withhold their trust towards others. I then focus on two
constructs that have been examined empirically in the socio-psychological literature
in relation to trust: intergroup contact and procedural justice. These two constructs
are key predictors of trust and provide an important backdrop for its potential
development and maintenance with the goal of establishing a society not only void
of violence but also characterized by social harmony and justice. Many of the
empirical examples come from research conducted in the post-conflict setting of
Northern Ireland. As a country that has lived through a multiple-decade civil war
(euphemistically called “The Troubles”), Northern Ireland’s post-conflict era has
been a complicated state of violent periods and ongoing sectarian tensions
(McKittrick & McVea, 2012). These tensions have hindered the much-needed
development of progressive politics addressing some of these social inequalities,
such as pervasive gender inequalities and the relegation of women’s roles in political
to the peripheries (Ashe, 2008). Employment, education, and housing constitute just
three of several areas in post-conflict Northern Ireland where the juxtaposition of
pervading sectarian tensions and inequalities along gender and social class lines
hinder the road towards positive peace. Northern Ireland’s conflict is thus rooted in
religious and social identity divisions, complicated further by historical injustices
and social inequalities (Cairns & Darby, 1998). Starting with the peace process in the
1990s, it has become a popular and important setting for socio-psychological and
intervention research. Northern Ireland is a fitting case study for the purposes of this
chapter. It is a country that has witnessed long periods characterized by violence,
disruption to peaceful living, a destroyed infrastructure, then followed by a period of
extensive and heavily-invested reconciliation efforts (e.g., PEACE I-IV, Department
for Communities, n.d.). Ground-breaking research both on the impact of the conflict
on citizens and on the effects of intergroup relations in times of peace make this an
appropriate setting for examining the role of trust in the context of positive peace
(Cairns, 1996; Cairns & Darby, 1998; Hewstone et al., 2005; McKeown et al., 2016;
Muldoon et al., 2007; Muldoon & Trew, 2000).
Conceptualizing Trust for Positive Peacebuilding
Trust has been defined across various disciplines along a broad spectrum of demar-
cations. The construct is recognized as complex and multi-dimensional (Kappmeier,
2012; Kramer, 1999; Sagherian-Dickey, 2019) and is defined as a positive expecta-
tion of how the other party will behave, that the other will fulfil their moral and
fiduciary responsibilities (Barber, 1983) and as a confidence in one’s expectations
about the other’s future behavior (Luhmann, 1979). It has also been defined as a
positive feeling and as a leap of faith (Möllering, 2006). It can be understood as an

attitude towards other individuals – one that is optimistic and full of hope that these
others will fulfil the expectation that has been bestowed on them (McLeod, 2015). It
is a belief in the other party’s moral intentions – honest, trustworthy, having integrity.
While much of the original literary writing on trust comes from philosophy (see
Agassi, 2016) and sociology (e.g., Barber, 1983; Luhmann, 1979), it has been
developed extensively in the economics and management fields with particular
usage in game theory (Balliet & Van Lange, 2013). Sociological definitions tend
to focus on a positive expectation of the other’s behavior in dyadic interactions
(Barber, 1983; Luhmann, 1979). Philosophical accounts emphasize the vulnerability
in trust relationships, and define trust as a dependence on the goodwill of the other
party involved (Hawley, 2014). In economics and management, trust is defined as a
calculation of risks and benefits (Rousseau et al., 1998). Social psychology defines
trust as a positive expectation, a belief that one will not be taken advantage of, a
positive feeling, and a willingness to be vulnerable (McLeod, 2015; Worchel, 1979;
Yamagishi & Yamagishi, 1994), thus borrowing from other disciplines. A substantial
amount of our understanding of trust has been borne out of its presence (or absence)
in interpersonal relationships and micro-level interactions. The examination of these
processes in social dilemma paradigms has been useful for demonstrating the role of
negotiation and cooperation in small group interactions as a vehicle for testing what
could potentially be captured on a larger scale and its implication for positive peace.
Finally, trust is closely related to cooperation, suggesting that it has behavioral
implications (Kelman, 2005; Kramer, 1999).
Trust is beneficial to relationships in general. It creates space for cooperation and
autonomy within the relationship (Deutsch, 1958; McLeod, 2015). It simplifies
things – knowing whether you can trust someone and knowing who to trust eases
the maneuvering of everyday life (Luhmann, 1979). While trust is needed for
everyday interactions (Baier, 1986), the benefits of trust go beyond the general
everyday interactions and relationships. It is widely understood that the benefits of
building mutual trust between parties make it a desired goal or outcome within
peacebuilding and reconciliation processes. Trust is a necessary step for any progress
forward in reconciliation between groups and in divided societies (McKeown &
Psaltis, 2017).
Trust is more complex than may first be assumed. This is particularly true when
considering who people are willing to trust. Indeed, people may be willing to trust
some but not others; other individuals have a more generalized outlook and believe
that most people can be trusted (Uslaner, 2002). Scholars classify trust into distinc-
tive types, thus demonstrating the complex nature of trust. For example, Hardin
(1992) distinguishes between “thick” and “thin” trust – that is, the difference
between trust reserved for people within one’s close circle (friends, family members)
and those with whom one interacts only occasionally. This distinction suggests that
people make decisions about who they trust based on who they believe is included in
their moral circle. Uslaner (2002) argues that people can be generalized trusters –
believing that, in general, most people can be trusted – or particularized trusters.
Particularized trusters, he says, trust those who they perceive to be part of their moral
community. People are willing to trust those who they believe are included in their
moral circle, and thus are deserving of justice and fair treatment (Skitka et al., 2016).
The pursuit of peace takes place against the backdrop of historical divisions
between social groups – often rooted in ethnic, racial, religious, or sectarian,
identities – and exacerbated by inequity and injustice. Therefore, building trust in
such societies requires consideration along intergroup lines. In intergroup contexts,
ingroup-outgroup distinctions make salient the social identity of group members
(Reicher et al., 2010; Tajfel & Turner, 1979), which can create a sort of “moral
community” (that is, those considered members of the ingroup). At the same time,
individuals behave at multiple levels of analysis, based not only on a social collec-
tive identity, but also according to a personal identity (Doise, 1988; Harb & Smith,
2008; Turner et al., 1987). People categorize themselves as a member of a social
group, depending on category salience and context (Turner et al., 1987). In any given
context, the level of inclusiveness of a social identity can shift vertically or horizon-
tally to become more or less inclusive, depending on the category salience (Doise,
1988; Harb & Smith, 2008). For example, the dyadic interpersonal interactions
among work colleagues differ from the larger impersonal collectives such as ethnic
or religious groups (vertical), or individuals may identify as members of different
types of social identity groups such as race and nationality. It follows that both the
less inclusive interpersonal/inter-individual and the more inclusive intergroup levels
of analysis should be considered, and that both levels of identity may be salient in a
given context. In other words, individuals may or may not trust others according to
the particular social context, but may also extend or withhold trust according to a
specific social group identity (e.g., two co-workers interacting in a trusting encounter
who belong to different racial groups). In post-conflict settings such as those focused
on in this chapter, these shifts in levels of inclusiveness in identity are important
factors influencing the peacebuilding processes at micro-levels. Trusting a member
of another identity group is influenced by how that group is perceived. Bias in the
levels of trust extended to ingroup and outgroup members is shaped by the more
positive appraisal that group members make of their ingroup companions. Other
ingroup members are consistently evaluated as more trustworthy, loyal, and honest
compared with those from other groups (Brewer, 1981). While this points to how
ingroup bias can shape negative interactions between members of different groups, it
also indicates the sense of solidarity felt and expressed within a social group and the
trust that is extended to members of the ingroup. This presents a dilemma for positive
peacebuilding: how to acknowledge the potentially positive role of this bias in
supporting trust between members of the same identity group while at the same
time addressing its potentially destructive impact on limited trust between members
of different identity groups.
Group members are selective in their trust, often based on the particular social
context and according to the specific group that is the potential recipient of trust
(Baier, 1986; Worchel, 1979). Hughes et al. (2011) found that the perception of trust
that Catholics and Protestants in Northern Ireland held towards each other (as the
“outgroup”) varied as a function of condition and community context. Participants
showed a willingness to trust outgroup members in certain contexts (e.g., entrusting
their child to an outgroup carer), but not others (e.g., trusting an outgroup member
based on their interpretation of the current socio-politics of the country). Further, the
conditional demand was more acute and trust levels were decreased in situations of a
more politicized nature than mundane type. As such, trust is complex and seems to
be conceptualized along multi-faceted lines. This is consistent with work that has
found that trust is multidimensional (Kappmeier, 2012), that it varies according to
specific conditions and contexts (Sagherian-Dickey, 2019), and that differences exist
as a function of the particular context and the particular potential target of trust
(Gheorghiu et al., 2009). The complexities of trust serve to reinforce the explanation
that developing trust for peace is challenging and should be addressed with consid-
eration to these complexities as well as to the peace context.
The Paradox of Distrust: Its Dual Dangerous and Protective

Nature
At the beginning stage of peace building, developing even a minimum amount of

trust with members of the adversary group is key to beginning the process of
negotiation (Bar-Tal, 2007; Lewicki et al., 1998; Möllering, 2001). What this tells
us is that some form of trust is a necessary starting point in peace processes.
However, in contexts where intractable conflict and social inequalities are rooted
in societal history, it is unreasonable to expect that building mutual trust is a simple
and straightforward matter that can be accomplished purely through intercommunity
interventions. The start of a peace process, for example, is fraught with instability,
tension, suspicion, and outright distrust. Kelman (2004) argues that in peacebuilding
processes, before reconciliation must come conflict settlement, followed by conflict
resolution. It is only after their achievement that the reconciliation process can begin,
with intentional focus on reaching peace that is anchored in a moral foundation
driven by a principle of justice. The challenges of achieving these stages are
profound. Violent conflict and injustice create a culture of mistrust, and can lead to
further distrust, sustaining suspicion, anomie, and prejudice (Aiken, 2015; Bar-Tal &
Halperin, 2011). Often, the conflict and violence are rooted in history and trans-
generational distrust and hostility. For example, one of the consequences of the long
conflict in Northern Ireland was the distrust of “enemy” outgroups, and this distrust
was particularly pronounced among the Catholic Nationalist communities and some
Protestant Loyalist working class communities towards the police and the State
(Aiken, 2015; Byrne & Monaghan, 2008). The legacy of distrust and hostility is
not limited to the sectarian divisions of Catholic and Protestant communities alone,
but is a generational mistrust of the police during the Troubles that has been passed
down to the current youth. Devaney et al. (2014) found consistencies across the two
communities in young people’s distrustful attitudes in Northern Ireland towards the
police, attitudes that had largely been inherited from their parents.
Experiencing trauma hinders the ability to trust others (Herman, 1997). A pro-
longed sense of injustice and a perceived inability to overcome barriers rooted in
ideological and structural factors can sustain a culture of distrust (Bar-Tal &
Halperin, 2011). For example, the push for victim communities to “leave the past
behind” without acceptable retributive or restorative justice can prolong and even
increase distrust in post-conflict societies (Corkalo Biruski, 2016). Eventually,
distrust becomes a protective factor against any risk of exploitation, betrayal, or
recurring harm and injustice. Hence, any attempts at developing more trusting
relationships as part of peacebuilding processes need to take into account the very
real experiences which have contributed to mistrust, as well as acknowledging the
social problems such as direct and structural violence that can be exacerbated by a
lack of trust. Moreover, there is a misconception, among some, that trust is the
solution to societal problems and intergroup relations tensions (Hardin, 2006). Yet,
under certain circumstances withholding trust may be the wiser or safer option. One
of the crucial issues with trusting others is the risk required in trust relations,
exacerbated in contexts with historical conflict, violence, and systemic injustices.
This can create some confusion about what trust actually entails. In general, scholars
agree that trusting others requires a certain amount of risk (Rousseau et al., 1998).
Some go further to argue that trust is not trust unless it involves risk (Baier, 1986;
Worchel, 1979). Trust is warranted if there are certain conditions for trust: that the
other party is trustworthy, that trusting the other is justified even where there is a lack
of trustworthiness, that the value from trusting is sufficient to risk trusting the other
(McLeod, 2015). By trusting others, one risks the certainty they may have with
regards to how the other will behave (Kramer & Carnevale, 2001). Further, by taking
such a risk and trusting others, one makes oneself vulnerable to the other (Marková,
2004). But as we have just argued, there are deep-rooted barriers to the development
of trust in societies characterized by conflict and injustice, and these barriers can
even sustain active distrust.
Distrust is the negative expectation of the other’s behavior towards oneself
(Lewicki, 2006). It invokes fear and compels one to take actions to prevent harm
and exploitation. Distrust, as we have already seen, can be caused and exacerbated
by a culture of conflict and unaddressed injustices. Past experiences of exploitation,
broken promises, knowledge about the other group’s reputation, and fear of recurring
betrayal and harm can all strengthen distrust (Corkalo Biruski, 2016; Lewicki,
2006). For this reason, a certain amount of distrust can be beneficial. Withholding
trust during the complex processes involved in peacebuilding may be seen as a
protective step that a certain group takes. Doing so draws protective boundaries
around relationships, thus hypothetically attending to the psychological, physical,
and structural wellbeing of the group members. Because the risk of betrayal and
harm can be so high in situations of life and death, third-party intervention may be
necessary to mitigate the danger and to help create a space where a minimal level of
trust can be established (Booth & Wheeler, 2008). This is especially important for
disadvantaged and victim groups on the receiving end of injustice, who may feel that
they have no one “in their corner.”
However, distrust of the “other” can be highly functional for the advantaged or
powerful group as well. Based on incidents that confirm the untrustworthiness of the
“other,” this distrust can serve as grounds for legitimizing continued injustice and
aggression against the “other” group, such as the continued distrust that the larger
Jewish public holds towards the Palestinians (Alon & Bar-Tal, 2016). Distrust and
misplaced trust often seem to be the inevitable inauguration of a post- long-term
violent conflict (Bar-Tal & Halperin, 2011), and is difficult to reverse in light of the
other party’s malevolence or deceitfulness (Grosser, n.d.). Moving from a place of
distrust to trust is a process that requires time, where a space can be made for real and
lasting trust can be fostered through a process of time, problem-solving, and where
trust can be earned through demonstrative means (Kelman, 2005; Kenworthy et al.,
2015).
Thus, socio-psychological literature on trust has generally addressed distrust as an
obstacle to reconciliation processes and peacebuilding (Alon & Bar-Tal, 2016), with
an emphasis on building trust. However, considering Galtung’s stipulation of what
positive peace entails, it is understandable that disadvantaged groups may have good
reason to distrust the more powerful outgroup, particularly where inequalities and
injustices create the system within which such groups operate. In such circum-
stances, distrust may not simply be commonplace, but may be a wise strategy for
minorities and victimized groups who are entering a peacebuilding process, at least
until their trust is earned by the other party exhibiting moral behavior towards them.
The Role of Trust in Building Positive Peace
Solidarity: Positive Peace Needs the Solidarity of Trust
The UNESCO Culture of Peace in 1999 (Webel & Galtung, 2007) identified certain
principles for the development of peace in society. Listed among the principles were
justice, solidarity, and cooperation. There is some evidence to suggest that trust can
lead to social cohesion in society (Putnam, 2000). In particular, generalized social
trust has implications for social cohesion in society, showing variation in cultural
differences such as those evident in Individualistic versus Collectivistic cultures
(Gheorghiu et al., 2013). The link between this type of trust and solidarity is
explained by the inclusive target that generalized social trust holds and by its
moral nature of expecting people to be honest, trustworthy, and have integrity.
Solidarity is not restricted to generalized trust alone. Particular and conditional
types of trust may also help to create a sense of solidarity. The immediate circum-
stance where this is perceived lies within group contexts (Sztompka, 2016). Simply
put, people are more likely to trust other individuals with whom they perceive to
share a social connection through common group membership and social identity
(Tyler, 2003; Uslaner, 2002). As such, group members are more likely to cooperate
with each other (Sunshine & Tyler, 2003). These relationships of solidarity can form
a basis for either perpetuating direct and structural violence, when group members
collectively mobilize to harm members of other groups, or they can become grounds
for challenging direct and structural violence when relationships of solidarity are
formed across group lines to prevent or reduce direct and structural violence.
The capacity for trust to perpetuate violence emerges where “bonding” occurs
within the group (Putnam, 2000, 2007) at the exclusion of those who are not
considered part of the group, and the ensuing effect is that such intergroup divisions
may create a sense of solidarity for the ingroup. Thus, greater loyalty towards
members of one’s own group (“us”) occurs at the expense of the outgroup
(“them”). Kappmeier (2012) noted this with regards to the within-group solidarity
that was created by the Transnistrian government, consequently increasing mistrust
towards other groups and isolating the society from surrounding countries
(i.e., Ukraine, Moldova, Romania). Similarly, helping behavior is often viewed as
a means to creating a sense of solidarity with others (Reicher & Haslam, 2010), but
may not always lead to trust when practiced between members of different identity
groups. This can at times have a negative effect in intergroup settings, particular
when seeking to challenge structural violence that is practiced along group identity
lines, where the “helping group” is of higher status or power. Intergroup helping can
in fact perpetuate misunderstandings and therefore also inequalities between group,
hindered mainly because of the power differences that are sustained when the
advantaged group “helps” the disadvantaged group (Nadler & Liviatan, 2006). As
such, although intergroup helping has been viewed as a strategy for promoting peace
relations between groups in conflict (therefore leading to peace and good will instead
of suspicion and animosity), it can in such cases actually sustain inequalities and
tensions. Helping behavior can create a sense of dependence (of the subordinate
group on the higher power group), sustaining the status quo, and thus doing nothing
to challenge structural inequalities.
Ideally, however, where identity groups were previously in opposition to each
other due to conflict over resources, differing ideologies, and/or social inequalities, a
common goal can build trust and unify them in solidarity to challenge direct or
structural violence. The psychological effects of taking part in nonviolent actions for
peace leads to an increase in a sense of solidarity and trust towards members of other
social groups (Webel & Galtung, 2007). At times, this may entail the advantaged
group standing in solidarity with the disadvantaged group against the injustice of the
authority (Subašic et al., 2008). Where trust is formed between members of different
identity groups, shared social action and solidarity are encouraged (Hughes et al.,
2011), and this can lead to more effective reductions in structural violence than when
groups organize separately from one another (Alon & Bar-Tal, 2016; Chenoweth &
Lawrence, 2010; Christie & Montiel, 2013). Although Putnam (2007) believed that
encountering cultural diversity could potentially cause people to “hunker down” into
their own ingroup and to demonstrate a reduction in social trust, Hughes et al. (2011)
have argued that the reality is more complicated, and that members of diverse
identity groups can develop trust even in a conflict-affected society. Qualitative
findings from their focus group studies in Northern Ireland found that positive
contact between members of Catholic and Protestant communities can create a
sense of intergroup solidarity and trust towards the other community groups. More
importantly, they found that this can serve to galvanize people against intergroup
hostility and sectarianism, potentially helping to reduce the risk of direct violence in
their communities. Varshney (2003) has stressed that trust can be built between
groups with historical grievance through everyday interactions in civic life, once
again demonstrating that as people build inter-communal networks through
everyday contexts in society they also develop trustful relationships with each other.
Varshney’s work has focused on the Hindu-Muslim relations in India, and
highlighted the solidarity between these socio-religious groups that stood in contrast
with other violent areas in India. The implications from these findings suggest that
we can learn crucial lessons from contexts like Northern Ireland and India for
development of positive peace in other contexts: creating opportunities for mean-
ingful and positive contact, and encouraging ties of solidarity and shared identities
will lead to increased trust and social capital.
Trust as an Outcome of Contact
No doubt, one of the key theoretical underpinnings of much peacebuilding practice,

especially at the grassroots level, is intergroup contact theory. The main premise of
this theory is that, under optimal conditions, contact between members of groups
with historical and traditional tension or conflict may reduce prejudice and improve
intergroup relations (Allport, 1954). However, extensive development and extension
of the theory has shown how direct and indirect positive contact also predicts other
pro-social outcomes, including intentions for further contact, empathy, and – perti-
nent to this chapter – trust (Crisp & Turner, 2013; Schmid et al., 2014; Swart et al.,
2011; Turner et al., 2010).
Empirical studies have found that trust mediates the impact of direct contact (Tam
et al., 2009) and imagined contact (Stathi et al., 2014) on behavioural tendencies
towards members of the outgroup. In settings of both direct and extended contact,
trust is a stronger predictor of positive behavioral tendencies than of negative
tendencies and is distinct from outgroup liking (Tam et al., 2009). This demonstrates
the importance of trust for peacebuilding that is characterized by social harmony.
One can like the outgroup without trusting the group, just as one does not have to
like the group in order to trust it. This has implications for what peacebuilding
interventions aim to achieve. McKeown and Psaltis (2017) have also posited that
trust is a better indicator of behavioral tendencies than evaluation of the outgroup.
They demonstrated this in a study they carried out in two settings known for
historical tensions, conflict, and segregation: Northern Ireland and Cyprus. Building
on the contact literature, McKeown and Psaltis conducted a cross-sectional survey
study in a sample in Northern Ireland (n ¼ 268), where 143 self-identified as
Protestant and 125 as Catholic. They also conducted the study in a Cypriot sample
(n ¼ 408), with 271 self-identified as Greek Cypriot and 137 as Turkish Cypriot.
Their analyses showed that trust was a significant mediator of both quantity and
quality of contact on intentions for future contact and on evaluation of the outgroup.
This was the case for both Catholics and Protestants in Northern Ireland, and for
Greek and Turkish Cypriots in Cyprus. Interestingly, when the quantity of contact
was controlled for, good quality contact predicted intentions for future contact and
was fully mediated by an increase in intergroup trust. Further, for Catholics in
Northern Ireland and for Turkish Cypriots specifically, it was the quality of contact
– rather than quantity – that predicted increased trust towards the outgroup. Thus, not
only was a trust a significant outcome of contact, but it was the quality of contact that
was a stronger predictor of trust.
Allport (1954) maintained that four specific conditions are necessary for the success
of contact in altering intergroup relations: cooperation, equal status, common goals, and
authority support. Cross-group friendships are a specific form of contact where equal
status is of particular importance for the development of trust (Tropp, 2008; Turner
et al., 2010). Cross-group friendships involve both quantity and quality of contact, and
meet the conditions of equal status and cooperation required for successful contact.
Empirical work has shown that having a friend from the other group leads to increased
trust (Kenworthy et al., 2015; Rydgren et al., 2013). However, the effects of contact are
not always straightforward and have been criticized (McKeown & Dixon, 2017).
Sometimes, the lived experiences of positive contact over a period of time can develop
positive and even intimate relationships characterized by trust, but the process can be
complex. This can be particularly important in post-conflict societies, where segrega-
tion and suspicion have served as protective factors during the instability of a devel-
oping peace process. A qualitative study conducted with respondents who had moved
from single-identity (Catholic or Protestant) areas to mixed identity neighborhoods in
Belfast, Northern Ireland, demonstrated this (Stevenson & Sagherian-Dickey, 2016).
Positive intragroup and intergroup encounters with neighbors provided the foundation
on which further intergroup relationships could develop, characterized by trust and a
sense of safety. However, perceived sectarian divisions could serve to undermine this
trust. As one couple commented on the symbols of sectarianism in their neighborhood
(e.g., sectarian flags),
M: I think it’s put us off living here.

F: The thing is I like the fact that all the neighbours are, not all of the neighbours but there’s a
good section of the neighbours who we know and I feel I could trust and as you were saying
earlier, I could call for help, I could go to somebody. But I suppose for us on that level of just,
the kind of sectarian issue, the flags issue. . .. (p. 690)
In sum, contact has a significant part to play in the development of trust in

positive peace contexts. From contributing to social harmony to requiring the
equal status of groups for the successful achievement of prosocial outcomes. Yes,
the complexities and realities of conflict, violence, and injustice can deter the
development of trust. Yet, positive interaction and encounters with members of
other groups create a space for trust to grow.
Perceived Procedural Justice and Trust
There is little doubt that redressing structural violence through the promotion of
social justice is key to building lasting peace. One area related to trust building that
has gained attention in recent years is the role of social justice. Broadly defined as a
system of beliefs and standards about apposite relationships and outcomes (Clayton
& Opotow, 2003), justice has increasingly taken a prominent place in the landscape
of the appropriate routes following transgressions, the aftermath of conflict, and the
complexities in responding to victims. This is particularly marked when considering

transitional justice mechanisms, specifically retributive and restorative justice
(David, 2017). Moreover, there is some suggestion that justice can lead to the
development of trust as a key feature of achieving reconciliation or positive peace
in divided societies. When the Bloody Sunday Inquiry (BSI) report was released in
June 2010, one of the subsequent outcomes was the decline of mistrust and suspicion
between Nationalist and Unionist sides in Northern Ireland. However, the report’s
release – which stated conclusively that the Catholic community that had marched in
peaceful anti-internment protest in 1972 were shot at unlawfully and unjustly
(McNeill et al., 2014) – led to an increase in trust from the Catholic Nationalist
communities towards the British State and towards the rule of law in Northern
Ireland (Aiken, 2015).
Although the justice literature has focused on different types of justice for
peacebuilding, this chapter looks at one specific type in relation to trust. Procedural
justice is the perception that the decision-making procedures and treatment of the
other are characterized or perceived as just and fair (Clayton & Opotow, 2003). In
other words, this type of justice stresses the how in the interaction or process, rather
than the outcome (as opposed to, say, distributive justice). Procedural justice – or
perceived just treatment – is a consistently strong predictor of trust towards others.
Trust is an outcome in its own right of perceived just treatment from others, and trust
based on a sense of procedural fairness also predicts prosocial behavior within group
boundaries and beyond them. Tyler and Blader (2000) have suggested that the
perception of just treatment from authority figures not only predicts subsequent
trust towards those figures but also towards other group members, in accordance
with the social identity theory (Tajfel & Turner, 1979). People make social judg-
ments about others and these judgements determine how people infer others’
behavior, and whether they are willing to accept decisions made by others (Tyler
& Huo, 2002). In addition, trusting the other group is determined by one’s scope of
justice (Opotow, 2012). Those who are considered outside the scope of justice are
morally excluded, and at risk of exploitation and of becoming targets of violence
(Clayton & Opotow, 2003). Not surprisingly, a wider scope of justice is linked to
peace, cooperation, mutual trust and respect, compared with a narrower scope of
justice which is linked to conflict and violence. Moral exclusion as a result of a
narrower scope of justice with respect to members of the other group would have
consequences for trust building. I would propose that people infer others’ behavior
and its predictability in part from their evaluation of the other party’s character and
the moral intentions they believe them to hold. Evidence for this procedural
justice-trust relationship can be found in empirical work in various contexts, such
as interactions of general citizens in England and Wales with police officers (Hough
et al., 2010) and American citizens’ perceptions of the government’s treatment of
them (Tyler, 2003; Tyler & Blader, 2000). This phenomenon is of particular impor-
tance for minority groups, who are susceptible to unfair treatment and inequality
from authority institutions (e.g., police). Unsurprisingly, perceived unfair treatment
and perceived discrimination is associated with lower trust in these institutions
(Devaney et al., 2014; Kappmeier et al., 2019).
Beyond this, trust is also the underlying driver of positive attitudes and pro-social
group behaviors such as cooperation and helping (Sagherian-Dickey, 2019; Tyler &
Blader, 2000). Therefore, it has implications for reconciliation and peacebuilding
processes, as well as collective action challenging structural violence. In one com-
munity study among Catholic and Protestant participants in Northern Ireland, those
who perceived members of the other (the outgroup) to be just and fair in their
treatment of their own group were more likely to trust the outgroup in different
situations (Sagherian-Dickey, 2019). The types of situations varied from the polit-
ically charged (e.g., interacting with a police officer) to the mundane (e.g.,
interacting with the local doctor or childcare service). For Catholic respondents in
particular (the traditionally disadvantaged group in Northern Irish history), it was
trusting the other group in mundane situations that was related to social action
tendencies promoting a more equitable society (e.g., engagement for civic issues
around housing, supporting the advance of the removal of the Peace Walls, showing
solidarity for community relations with Protestants). (The Peace Walls are physical
barriers segregating residential areas in Belfast and other cities in Northern Ireland,
often though not exclusively in working class areas (Coulter & Murray, 2008).) For
Protestant respondents, it was trusting the other group in the politically charged
situations that was associated with these action tendencies, suggesting that the
structures of power may also influence the impact of intergroup trust on constructive
outcomes. Thus, historic power differentials between social groups can be influential
in the types of trust situations that promote pro-social action tendencies in these
justice-trust relationships.
The optimistic findings of the various studies recounted in this section should be
considered in context. A recent report found that a romanticizing of the Troubles by a
younger generation not privy to the violence of those days contributes to the risk of
recurring violence and conflict (McGreevy, 2019). In addition, power differences,
perceived victimhood, and past experiences of violence and betrayal complicate the
impact of the perception of just treatment (Jamal, 2016; Kenworthy et al., 2015;
Rotella et al., 2013). Power differentials have the ability to make or break the
possibility of trust (Cook et al., 2005). Social groups in more powerful positions
may be less likely to trust the outgroup because they have no need to do so (Hardin,
2006). At the same time, high power groups are more likely to endorse meritocracy
than disadvantaged groups (Foels & Pratto, 2015) because meritocracy serves to
organize intergroup relations in a way that maintains the status quo and benefits the
advantaged. High status groups with legitimate and stable status may be willing to
trust the lower status outgroup because this demonstrates morality, not unlike when
high status groups show willingness to engage in intergroup helping (Nadler et al.,
2009). Disadvantaged groups are unlikely to trust the advantaged outgroup if they
have reason to believe that they will be exploited or if it seems unlikely that promises
will be fulfilled (Cook et al., 2005). Thus, the perception of just treatment can
demonstrate the interplay of power differentials at the expense of the disadvantaged
group, but it can also signal morality and present an opportunity to infer that the
other group can be trusted (Jamal, 2016). The potential danger here is that social
inequalities can be sustained and legitimized if the perceived just treatment is not
translated into real equity, thus leading to a vicious cycle of distrust and a return to
conflict, as described in an earlier section of this chapter. Here lies an important
distinction between the perception of procedural justice and its relation to trust on a
horizontal level (i.e., between social groups) and the perception of just treatment at
the institutional level (e.g., government, policing bodies). Further research into the
procedural justice-trust relationship in intergroup settings and at the macro-level is
needed in order to examine how this can translate from feelings of solidarity to
behavioral and systemic changes.
Conclusion and Directions for Future Research
Trust is discussed as something necessary and important for meaningful relations

and for the amelioration of conflict. However, its complex nature underscores the
difficulty in achieving trust in circumstances or societies where past experiences
inform individuals that trusting – that is, making oneself vulnerable and believing in
the moral intentions of the other – should be farthest from the choices set before
them. This chapter has presented some of the conditions that create opportunities for
trust.
When it comes to establishing positive peace, this chapter has presented several
key takeaways. One is that building trust across social identity lines is important. The
expansion one of one’s moral community through a shared identity with members of
other social groups adjusts those who are perceived to be from within one’s own
group, and is an important aspect of reducing direct violence. Further to this, trusting
others who come to be viewed as part of the shared social group can promote social
solidarity as part of building effective social movements that challenge structural
violence as well. This leads to the second key point, that the underlying mechanism
of perceived just treatment signals that trust has a moral aspect to it. Trust is
understood as an expectation of positive and benevolent treatment and has conse-
quences for responses to such expectation, such as a willingness to be vulnerable.
Thus, trusting others can both lead to and be an outcome of moral intentions and
behavior. Understanding how this works is crucial to drawing out the implications
for the establishment of real and lasting positive peace that is characterized by social
equity and justice.
Thirdly, the quality of trust in different relationships has implications for
Galtung’s conceptualization of positive peace. It is clear that even in places where
distrust is expected and even necessary, a minimal amount of trust must exist for the
basic functioning of society. Galtung’s (1969) conceptualization of positive peace
argues for the presence of complete social harmony and justice. Rather than an
absence of violence (negative peace), positive peace focuses on reconstruction and a
change in conflict situations to ones characterized by equitable relationships and
harmony. Positive contact is one way that social identity lines can be restructured
and trust can be built between members of different groups. However, it is important
to recognize the potentials of how such positive restructuring can be used to sustain
the status quo. Empirical evidence has shown that contact and recategorizing of
social identity groups in larger and more inclusive collectives can retain the disad-
vantages of those in subordinate and often victimized positions while the advantaged
and superordinate groups maintain power. Similarly, the signaling of just treatment
may encourage trust towards others, but should not become grounds for retaining
structural violence that keeps the status quo, where social inequalities are justified
and excused in the face of superficial fair treatment. Finally, trusting others is often
conditional and based on certain contextual factors. It is in these different types of
contexts that the signposting from procedures that are just and fair that alert people to
the moral intentions of others and create the space for the establishment of trust
relations. Because trusting others involves interdependence and is more profound
than simply liking the outgroup, we can assume its positioning as a central and
crucial starting point to the opportunities for reconstruction to lead to an increase in
justice and harmony. It also must be part of the entire process. It must have the
opportunity to grow and be sustained.
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From Liberal Peace to Positive Peace:
Security Sector Reform in Deeply Divided 53
Societies
Alejandra Ortiz-Ayala
Contents
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1000
First Generation of Security Sector Reform: The Logic of Liberal Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1002
The Policy Trap of SSR . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1005
Technocratic Approach Cannot Heal Social Relationships . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1007
Second Generation of Security Sector Reform . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1008
Ownership and Civil Society-Focused or Community-Based Strategies in SSR:
A Window of Opportunity for Healing Relationships . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1011
Positive Peace and SSR: The Role of Identity in Restoring Relationships Between
the State and Its Citizens . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1014
Addressing the Past History of Identity Divisions, a Missing Element of Security Sector
Reform . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1015
Quality of Security Sector Reform: Alteration in Beliefs, Emotions, Identity, and
Behavioral Intentions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1016
Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1019
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1020
Abstract
How to heal the relationship between the state and civilians after the conflict
ends? This chapter provides a critical overview of the current academic debates
around the theories and practices of Security Sector Reform in post-conflict
scenarios. It highlights the current limitation of the institutional transformation
and state-centric approach by arguing how positive peace and micro level of
analysis may contribute to developing a more comprehensive and effective
approach toward the transformation of the security sector in societies that expe-
rience internal conflict and prolonged violence. The chapter aims to invite the
readers to think beyond the institutional change and consider positive peace as a
A. Ortiz-Ayala (*)
e-mail: alejandra.ortiz.ayala@postgrad.otago.ac.nz
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_53
1000 A. Ortiz-Ayala
new paradigm to develop SSR research and policy practices focusing on improv-
ing the relationships between the public servants within state forces and civilians
as a mechanism to prevent violence.
Keywords
Security Sector Reform (SSR) · Positive peace · Peace-building · State-building
Introduction
The fingerprint of conflict resolution and international relations during and after the
Cold War was guided by the lessons learnt from World Wars I and II, and the
classical liberals such as Hobbes, Locke, Rousseau, and Kant, among others (Pugh,
2005). On the one hand, the notion of the state-centric Westphalian system was
established as the solution to keep order and security among the international
community and the best way to pursue the state’s interests (Tadjbakhsh, 2011). On
the other hand, this state-centric view implies the incorporation of universal tools
from a legal framework that follows the spirit of the democratic peace theory
inspired by Immanuel Kant. This theory assumes that liberal states are peaceful, so
they are less likely to go to war. The viability of peace thus rests upon the disposition
of each state to adopt the necessary criteria of a liberal state (Paris, 2004; Pugh, 2005;
Richmond, 2010).
A liberal state, according to Weber (1946), has a monopoly on the legitimate use
of force and respect for the rule of law, safeguarding the principle of human rights, a
separation of powers, checks and balances on government, periodical elections, and
territorial security that makes a market economy possible (Tadjbakhsh, 2011;
Tellidis, 2012). As a result, the liberal template reflects the links between three
important principles: democracy, peace, and development (Richmond, 2011), and
their interrelationship became the paradigm of international relations under two
important assumptions. First, democratization became the answer to conflict resolu-
tion, based on statements around the pacifying effects of liberal law and norms.
Second, security and development are inevitably connected. In other words, it is
impossible to achieve development without security and vice versa. For that reason,
to achieve development, violent conflict needs to be prevented (Jackson, 2011, 2015;
Sedra, 2007, 2017).
Under this prism, liberal peace was established as the framework of international
interventions, which develops a standard model following universal principles of
liberalism to promote peace, security, and development. In that way, the prevailing
focus on the state-building capacity remains on the exercise of territorial and
institutional securitization (Newman et al., 2009; Tellidis, 2012). As a consequence,
the implementation operates as a top-down strategy that emphasizes state-
institutional engineering involving reforming, constructing, or reconstructing insti-
tutions that replicate the ideal image of the Western states (Goodhand & Sedra, 2013;
Sedra, 2013). Under this liberal project, security sector reform (SSR) was converted
53 From Liberal Peace to Positive Peace: Security Sector Reform in Deeply. . . 1001
into a popular tool and part of the standard operating procedure for international
community donors to support conflict-affected states (Sedra, 2010, 2018).
This strategy is based on liberal peacebuilding, defined here as the interconnec-
tion between conflict resolution, market sovereignty, and the principles of liberal
democracy – democratic oversight, transparency, and good governance – were the
core principles by which security sector institutions are inspired (Andersen, 2011;
Ball, 2014; DCAF, 2006; Juncos, 2018). Today, despite the popularity of SSR in
international interventions, it is a model in crisis: it appears coherent and logical in
theory but is unsuccessful in practice (Ansorg & Gordon, 2019; Donais, 2018;
Jackson, 2018; Sedra, 2017).
The aim of this chapter is to give the reader a critical overview of the current
academic debates around theoretical approaches and practices of SSR. This intro-
duces reasons why implementing positive peace may create more meaningful and
effective SSR strategies on the ground. I introduce the two generations of SSR,
and their main assumptions and limitations. I then explain why traditional
problem-solving logic and the normative imperative of the prevention of violence
have been ineffective in practice, and how the positive peace perspective can
contribute to addressing the current boundaries of technocratic SSR practices.
This chapter provides a conceptual justification of how positive peace can open
a new paradigm for SSR research and practice by focusing on strategies by which
the members of the state security institutions – mainly the army and the police –
can develop positive relationships with civilians in the context of post-conflict
societies.
This approach advocates studying the role of social-psychology in violent
conflict for the restoration of relationships, which is habitually ignored by the
technocratic liberal peace approach (Devere, 2018; Levitt, 2014). I argue that the
current methodology of SSR is constrained in understanding how to reestablish
sustainable and peaceful relationships because it is unable to address the social
transformations that are required to heal damaged relationships between the state
and its citizens after internal conflicts (Aiken, 2008; Brewer, 2010; Gelot, 2018;
Lederach, 2005, 2007). In other words, the current technocratic approach of SSR is
incomplete because it ignores the changes necessary to repair social relationships
and build constructive engagements between individuals people, groups, and
institutions (Bar-Tal, 2000; Lederach, 1997). Further, this approach ignores the
cost of the compromises and psychological changes required in all actors impli-
cated in the transformation of the security sector. I close this chapter with
recommendations for future research on SSR as complementary to traditional
organizational and institutional transformation strategies, inviting micro-level stud-
ies and socio-psychological interventions. I argue that this approach can help to
promote policies that attempt to create environments and transformations for
establishing positive relations between the state and its citizens in contexts emerg-
ing from violent conflicts. In this regard, this chapter followed the idea of Galtung
about positive peace as a long-term process characterized by the absence of
structural violence (direct and indirect) under the principles of social justice and
mitigation of the roots of the conflict (Galtung, 1967).
1002 A. Ortiz-Ayala
First Generation of Security Sector Reform: The Logic

of Liberal Peace
In 1999, the UK Secretary of State for International Development, Clare Short,

presented an analysis that linked the fields of security, development, and governance.
(Since the early 1990, some SSR ideas have been applied in war-to-peace transitions
and broader state-building projects in the Balkans, Central America, West Africa,
and Asia Pacific as a donor’s strategy to prevent or resolve the issues of the called
“new wars” (Born & Schnable, 2009; Detzner, 2017; Sedra, 2018).)
Security is also a priority concern of the poor themselves. Our participative poverty
assessments – which are studies that ask the poor in the poorest countries to tell us their
needs and priorities – put safety and security, both in the home and in society, high on their
agenda. The poorest people often live with terrible insecurity and violence. They need
security to be able to improve their income, get their children to school and get access to
health care for their families. This is another reason why security issues feature as a high
priority in our new development agenda. (Short, 1999)
Since her speech, other statements appeared. For example, in 2000, the UK
Minister of State for Foreign Affairs, Peter Hain, said that, “Security is the first
condition of everything else we want to achieve.” As a result, security was presented
as an “entry point for the liberal peace project (and) the key to establishing the
foundation of security upon which all other reform and reconstruction activities
could be launched” (Sedra, 2017, p. 3). Likewise, the United Nations Security
Council in 2005 reinforced the priority of security sector reform as a vital element
for stabilization in post-conflict scenarios and a shared obligation between donors
and recipients (Jackson, 2015, 2018). Moreover, in 2012, the UN published a
document on Technical Guidance of SSR that presented SSR as vital for sustainable
peace (Sedra, 2007). Eventually, in April 2014, the first stand-alone resolution on
SSR was published, to confirm international approval of SSR strategy as an “indi-
visible pillar of the global peacebuilding and state-building agendas” (Sedra, 2017,
p. 14). In sum, the narrative in the international community includes security
interventions as the beginning of a connection between peacebuilding and state-
building agendas in an organic and coherent way (Goodhand & Sedra, 2013; Sedra,
2007, 2017).
Likewise, international aid in conflict resolution started to promote SSR as a key
to violence prevention policy through increasing the coordination of foreign security
and development policies. In general, SSR is commonly defined as changes in the
structure and conduct of those state institutions responsible for the prosecution and
punishment of illegal manifestations of violence: the military, police, and judiciary
(Ansorg, 2017; Detzner, 2017). Following the Folk Bernadotte Academy SSR
Adviser’s handbook, SSR aims at creating security institutions which take effective,
affordable, transparent, and accountable roles in providing security for the societies
they serve (Skeppström & Gabrielsson Kjäll, 2016).
It aims fundamentally to focus on transforming “poorly governed or ineffective
security agencies into professional and accountable institutions that operate
effectively and efficiently in a manner consistent with principles of democratic

governance” (Andersen, 2011, p. 9). According to The Development Assistance
Committee for the Organization for Economic Co-operation and Development
(OECD-DAC), the main goal of SSR is to “create a secure environment conducive
to development, poverty reduction and democracy (. . .) to improve policies and
practices to prevent violence and build peace” (Morrice, 2015, p. 11). Hence, SSR is
a concept that frames technical reform processes (Skeppström & Gabrielsson Kjäll,
2016).
Different institutions like the African Union, OECD, FBA, UN, among others
endorse various SSR definitions, some of which are considered “rival” definitions
(See more in Detzner, 2017). However, there are few differences between them, and
it mainly depends on what the international actors and agencies do and what they
prioritize. For example, the OECD labelled security as a “system” rather than a
“sector,” and others like the African Union preferred to avoid the term “reform” and
use “transformation” because they considered that “reform” was too soft when
“transformation” was needed to reshape the behavior of former combatants and
their leaders (Ansorg, 2017; Hänggi & Hagmann, 2006; Morrice, 2015; Schroeder,
2010). However, despite the differences in definitions and terminology, all of them
share the same concept of the goals of SSR: “security sector reform describes efforts
to improve the security of a state and its citizens, through an effective, affordable,
accountable and transparent security sector” (Morrice, 2015, p. 14). SSRs is a
concept that frames technical provisions in terms of norms and institutional designs,
based on the organizational level and top-down direction of implementation. Hence,
the underlying terminology of SSR constitutes an idea of policy formulation with
universal principles and values.
In practice, the implementation of reforms is related to the education and training
of recruits; the separation of the tasks of the police and the military; the creation of an
independent judiciary through legal separation and changes to judicial appointments;
and the development of basic foundations of the rule of law and the training of
judicial personnel (Ansorg, 2017; Detzner, 2017).
After the Cold War and the breakup of the USSR, the emphasis of SSR in Central
and Eastern Europe was on the creation of a new state and security sector (Born,
2009; Morrice, 2015). Latin America varied from these regions, where the efforts
were on minimizing the negative effects of military involvement in politics. In South
and Central America, coups and military governments were very popular and were in
some cases supported by powerful states in the international arena, so SSR inter-
ventions were part of the democratic transitions of the 1980s and 1990s. For that
reason, the focus of SSR in the region was on improving the subordination of the
military to civilian governments, mainly through institutional reforms to mitigate the
role of the military in politics. However, these reforms did not guarantee changes of
behavior within the police or the army, which continued to be instruments of state
repression against political dissidents, ethnic minorities, and marginalized commu-
nities (Almeida, 2019; Denyer Willis, 2015; Fuentes, 2005).
In some African countries, SSR implies an inherent connection with disarma-
ment, demobilization, and reintegration (DDR). The strategies were focused on
1004 A. Ortiz-Ayala
reintegrating the rebels or militia groups into state military and police forces. For
instance, in cases like Libya, Burundi, and Rwanda, the army integration of former
enemies was a common strategy to incentivize reconciliation, trust, and legitimiza-
tion of the security institutions through ethnic integration during post-conflict
periods (Annan et al., 2009; Born, 2009; Glassmyer & Sambanis, 2008; Knight,
2010; Wilén, 2009). In those cases, military integration is seen as a technical
endeavor for ethnic integration within state institutions via quotas or affirmative
action, that seek to remove ethnic divisions from public consciousness (Baaz &
Verweijen, 2013; Burgess, 2014; Horowitz, 1985; Licklider, 2014; Munive, 2013;
Samii, 2013; Zwart, 2005). However, this strategy does not appear to be successful
in all cases, and the lack of systematic comparative studies with empirical evidence
of the effect of this strategy remains, except for the following few studies. In the case
of Burundi, the results from a natural experiment showed that exposure to ethnic
integration decreases prejudicial behavior and is benign with respect to ethnic
salience (Samii, 2013). However, the results of lab-in-the-field experiments
implemented by Liberian National Police officers indicated that teams with minority
police officers show more rather than less discriminatory attitudes against minority
civilians (Blair et al., 2016).
Besides, the case of El Salvador raises questions about the assumption that
institutional changes like institutional democratization and army integration guaran-
tee the end of violence and the change of behavior in security sector institutions such
as the army or the police (Kurtenbach, 2010, 2019). According to García Pinzón and
Rojas Ospina (2020), the persistence of the logic of the internal enemy within the
security sector explains why El Salvador remains one of the most violent countries in
the world, despite the end of the civil war and democratic transition. Furthermore,
the postwar governments associated with the former guerrillas’ political party
perpetuated security policies that emphasize repression in order to deal with the
gangs, using the same security approach of which they were victims in the past,
contradicting the peace accords and the focus of security sector reform (Schultze-
Kraft, 2005).
Recently, some studies illustrate unintended consequences of institutional trans-
formation of the security sector, such as abuses of the use of force by security
members, their involvement in criminality and contribution to increasing violence
after the reforms (Acemoglu et al., 2016; Dell, 2015; Duran-Martinez, 2015; Flores-
Macías & Zarkin, 2019; Tiscornia, 2017). Tiscornia (2017) argues that to be
effective, institutional changes demand changes in the perceptions of the individuals
who are part of those institutions. This requires addressing identities, and
resocialization strategies that encourage the incorporation of a new system of values
and beliefs (see more in Ocantos, 2014; Tyler et al., 2007). An empirical study of the
attitudes and behavior of combatants from deeply divided societies, such as
Bosnia-Herzegovina, Georgia, Republic of the Congo, and Colombia corroborates
this argument. Castano et al. (2019) suggested that social-psychological interven-
tions among combatants are needed to increase the intention of combatants to respect
international humanitarian law. They principally address the importance of creating
“interventions aimed at modifying the image of the enemy held by combatants in
post conflict, transitional moments” (p. 8). Thus, these studies may open up new
approaches to imagining more effective and comprehensive transformation of the
security sector beyond institutional transformation, considering micro-level inter-
ventions with social-psychological impact in the individuals who are part of those
institutions to guarantee changes in their attitudes and behaviors. However, the state
has favored shelving questions about the role of the security sector in the perpetu-
ation of post-conflict violence, or how state forces can be implicated in different
practices of violence after the conflict ends.
The Policy Trap of SSR
Scholars argue that the SSR agenda has some inherent contradiction and policy
dilemmas related to the state-centrism of the model and realities on the ground. For
instance, although the liberal vision locates human security as the core, which means
that the emphasis of security is on people rather than regimes (Sedra, 2017), in
practice, implementation remains very state-centric. There is a preference for
improving the capacity of the states through institutional changes, and incorporation
of norms within the state forces, the parliament, and the judicial system
(Abrahamsen, 2016; Detzner, 2017; Munive, 2013).
Nevertheless, the state focus on state capacity raises two large assumptions that
explain the gap between the policy and the practice of SSR (Channa, 2002). On the
one hand, in conflict-affected states “those who provide security also have the
capacity to threaten those they allegedly should be protecting” (Andersen, 2011,
p. 11). So, in practice, because the focus is on institutions, there is conjecture that
state institutions are benignly ignoring realities on the ground. For example, mem-
bers within the state forces could have individual biases and could be putting
themselves above the law, justifying targeting certain groups of civilians because
their identity group arbitrarily decides who deserves or to be protected, or not
(Gutiérrez-Sanín & Wood, 2014; Kurtenbach, 2019; Wood, 2008).
On the other hand, it ignores the fact that fragile states are unable to project their
authority across the territory (see more in Arjona, 2016; Arjona et al., 2015;
Mampilly, 2011). The assumption is that it is possible to transplant political models
and universal norms of effective Weberian statehood from homogenous states and
societies into deeply divided societies with fragmented authority within their terri-
tory. In other words, the liberal template ignores the fact that there are non-state
actors who provide security and act as authorities outside the state, and it is thus not
possible to label them as better or worse than the state (Andersen, 2011; Arjona et al.,
2015).
As a result, this model creates tension on the ground because it is incapable of
reading the context and resonating with local realities, practices, and beliefs (Gor-
don, 2014a, b; Sahin, 2017; Sahin & Feaver, 2013). They argue that the assumption
of the automatic pacifying effects of the liberal template ignores that these do not
occur in a historical and political vacuum. The reforms are interrelated with pre-
existing conditions and belief systems molded by the history of conflict, culture, and
1006 A. Ortiz-Ayala
the collective and individual experiences of the violence (Ansorg & Kurtenbach,
2017; Kurtenbach, 2019; Wood, 2008). As a consequence, the supposition that
reforms will automatically change the behavior of institutions and individuals in a
short period of time is naïve. For that reason, scholars advocate including the
analysis of pre-conflict institutions and societal divisions to comprehend the legacies
of the past of institutional changes in post-conflict societies (Ansorg & Kurtenbach,
2017; Kurtenbach, 2019).
Moreover, critical scholars of the liberal peace model declared that it has neoco-
lonial intentions that have done more harm than good. There are double standards in
the evaluation of the security sector when they portray the developed countries, and
democratic countries as ideal models (Ansorg, 2017; Ansorg & Gordon, 2019). On
the one hand, recent studies suggest that in democratic or quasi-democratic countries
with relatively strong capacity, the state security providers are complicit in enforcing
the conditions to privilege violence so as to maintain the power of the political and
economic elites (Kleinfeld, 2019; Kleinfeld & Barham, 2018). On the other hand, the
racial bias in the US police (Ross, 2015) and the effects of COVID-19 in disclosing
police violence, and the unlawful use of force and institutional racism in European
countries (Amnesty International, 2020) challenges the preconception of the ideal,
healthy Western state model. In other words, the justification to export this institu-
tional framework to so-called weak, fragile, or failed states discloses the colonial
logic behind the donors’ interventions and the assumptions behind the liberal model
(Abrahamsen, 2016; Ansorg & Gordon, 2019; Baker, 2010).
For that reason, Sedra (2017) following an idea from Channa (2002) proposed
that is vital to “comprehend that each country defines security in response to its own
history” (p. 8). The failure to translate in the real-world settings of SSR is explained
by the emphasis on top-down neoliberal strategies that reduce the political process to
a mere technical exercise of capacity building (Ansorg & Kurtenbach, 2017;
Cawthra & Luckham, 2003; Jackson, 2011), which leaves aside the holistic and
political governance process behind SSR. In other words, SSR requires a localization
process of new norms into the local understanding to resonate with the local beliefs
and practices (Ansorg & Gordon, 2019, p. 10). (Localization is the process of
adaptation or appropriation that locals make of foreign ideas. Acharya (2004) defines
localization as the active construction (through discourse, framing, grafting, and
cultural selection) of foreign ideas by local actors, which results in the former
developing significant congruence with local beliefs and practices (Acharya, 2004,
p. 245).) As a result, the normative ambitions from the liberal agenda and the
assumptions about some preconditions to achieve the goals of stability and security
are very far away from the reality of the usually targeted countries that receive aid,
which in some cases creates unintended consequences that distort the original goals
of the security reforms.
In sum, the current model of SSR fails in practice because it is biased towards a
universal presumption upon which the liberal peace project is built. Consequently,
the state-centric assumption is presented as the Achilles heel of security sector
reform (Abrahamsen, 2016; Ansorg & Gordon, 2019; Ball, 2014; Sedra, 2018),
and is the reason why general assessments in the literature note that, despite the
growth of SSR programs worldwide, their effectiveness has been limited (Ansorg &
Gordon, 2019; de Larrianga & Doucet, 2015; Donais, 2018; Schroeder, 2010;
Schroeder et al., 2014).
Technocratic Approach Cannot Heal Social Relationships
The lack of effectiveness in practice shows that it is important to recognize specific

contexts, idiosyncrasies, and historical legacies (Ansorg & Gordon, 2019; Ansorg &
Kurtenbach, 2017; Kagoro, 2019; Kurtenbach, 2019) especially around the under-
standing of the political willingness assumption of the liberal model, which does not
allow room for analyzing radical veto players who can reject the liberal peace
agenda, stop reforms (Tellidis, 2012), or who can also manipulate the donors to
retain their power (Juncos, 2018). The focus on the states and the elites assumes that
these actors cannot resist the liberal approach, or that they are automatically sup-
portive of the intentions of peace, ignoring the presence of spoilers who can impose
limitations on the reforms and reduce their effectiveness (Grabendorff, 2009; Nasi,
2006; Reiter, 2015; Rettberg, 2019; Stedman, 1997; Tellidis, 2012).
In the case of Bosnia, the local elites used the script of local ownership to keep the
international support of the EU, but at the same time, this gave them the chance to
impose top-down reforms without any control from the principles of democracy.
This example reflects the failure of the international community to recognize the
impact of the veto players, and the legacies of the war that explain why police forces
are “perceived as political instruments in the service of their respective ethnic
groups” (Juncos, 2018, p. 8). The reforms that took place were thus not deep enough,
and today the police forces remain divided “along ethnic lines, and are politicized”
(Juncos, 2018, p. 15).
The precondition of a local political willingness on the ground within a state-
centric view also ignores the notion that the state is part of the conflict, and has biases
and preferences that can interfere with the reforms. In other words, the donors and
the liberal agenda itself overestimate the role and the position of the state in conflict,
considering it neutral, impartial, and transparent. For instance, a systematic cross-
national study of UN peacekeeping demonstrates that the local effectiveness in
protecting civilians is not total because the peacekeepers depend on government
consent, so peacekeepers can be effective in protecting civilians from the rebel
groups, but less effective in protecting the civilians that were targeted by the state
(Fjelde et al., 2018). In cases of internal displacement, some scholars established that
political identities of civilians are relevant to whether or not they are likely to be
targeted initially by armed groups (Gutiérrez-Sanín & Baron, 2005; Lichtenheld,
2020; Steele, 2011, 2017).
In the context of civil wars, displacement within a state helps state forces to
identify who are enemies and friends: those staying or moving to areas controlled by
the opposing side are identified as enemies of or disloyal to the state, helping it to
obtain information about the identities of civilians by their location (Lichtenheld,
2020). These studies demonstrate that the states also have biases against civilians,
1008 A. Ortiz-Ayala
and they can decide on those who deserve to be protected by the state and those who
do not. Then, in reality, the states and the local elites are active participants in the
conflict, and they can consider as a threat inviting other actors to participate in the
configuration of the reforms. In other words, the reforms in the security sector could
be contrary to the interest of the state and elites. This can explain why they prefer to
keep control over the direction and level of reformation of the security sector.
Another key point related to the narrow vision of the state-centric approach to
SSR provisions is the underestimation of the role of civil society. The focus on the
state and the local elites engenders the notion that the only way to transform the state
institution is through the state itself, which overestimates its capacity to change,
assuming that incorporating laws, norms, and institutional designs will be sufficient
to guarantee the sector’s transformation (Gray, 2017; Loada & Moderan, 2015;
Sedra, 2007, 2010). However, the technocratic approach is unable to address the
disputes and dynamics of power between different groups. Furthermore, an institu-
tional approach ignores the role of local actors’ self-interest in maintaining the
conflict (Sahin, 2017; Sahin & Feaver, 2013). Some authors argue that a substantive
and inclusive local ownership requires not only elite-level actors, it also demands the
integration of the community in creating an accountable environment that responds
to the needs of the people (Donais, 2017, 2018; Gordon, 2014a, b). Therefore, in the
absence of an inclusive agenda that gives voice to the most vulnerable, it generates a
lack of public trust and confidence, besides having little resonance with the everyday
experience of people at the community level (Ball, 2010; Caparini, 2010; Gordon,
2014b). In other words, you can build state institutions, but they can suffer from a
lack of legitimacy, and act against the public benefit and in favor of the consolidation
of the political elites (Gordon, 2014a).
Likewise, institutional and normative transformation can suffer from a lack of
meaning within the members of those institutions, because this implies confronting
their own system of values and beliefs. For instance, the introduction of human
rights into police curricula does not necessarily guarantee the changes in the attitudes
and behaviors of policeman (Celermajer & Grewal, 2013; Wahl, 2013, 2016). A
successful conversation and effective changes in the state security sector thus
requires more than reforms in the legal framework or institutional design. It also
demands a transformation of attitudes and behaviors, which requires confronting
identities, changing mentalities, and healing social relationships across different
actors in the society.
Second Generation of Security Sector Reform
The current way that donors deal with the challenges about SSR interventions
presented on the ground does not involve a reexamination of the assumptions of
the model. On the contrary, they redesign their plans for intervention in terms of how
they can create technocratic solutions, such as: bigger budgets, long-term goals, and
incorporating local experts to improve their staff knowledge of intervention (Baker,
2010; Jackson & Bakrania, 2018; Sedra, 2018). However, there is an emerging
second generation of SSR scholars and practitioners developing approaches that take
more seriously the vital role of outputs, empirical evidence, and causal assumptions
concerning international interventions and the likelihood of preventing future vio-
lence – that is the core of the SSR. This implies confronting the measurability
challenge that is one of the most important gaps of SSR (Barkrania, 2015; Jackson
& Bakrania, 2018).
In the first place, there have been few systematic analyses of SSR interventions
beyond the short-term effectiveness of program evaluation (see more in Munive,
2013). According to the database created by Barkrania (2015) for mapping SSR
literature, the evidence shows that international interventions have a tendency to
measure variables that privilege the logic of the state-building model. In other words,
the international template focuses on the level of local political willingness to
incorporate norms, legislation, and any kind of institutional design aimed at devel-
oping a legal-rational Weberian state with a monopoly of the use of force (Barkrania,
2015; Jackson & Bakrania, 2018). The existing data has a state-centered biases that
emphasizes regulations based on capacity-building and the training of the security
forces to achieve the monopoly of the use of force (Jackson, 2018; Jackson &
Bakrania, 2018; Sedra, 2018).
This data has limitations for recognizing systematic evidence about how this
legislation is reflected on the ground. For example, it does not provide information
about the quality of SSR, and it is not possible to relate the effects of the reforms on
public opinion about and perception of security, trust in the police, army, and judicial
institutions, or decreases in human rights violations. In other words, this data is
limited in explaining the effectiveness of SSR interventions in achieving its main
normative imperative: to create a secure environment for citizens, prevent violence,
and establish accountable security services. Practitioners and scholars suggest that a
second generation of SSR should advocate for a nonlinear approach that promotes a
mix between top-down and bottom-up approaches, that recognize local-local and
local-international politics and their nuances. A new group of SSR scholars has
identified some key aspects and challenges for improving SSR strategies.
First, the professionalization of security institutions should not be reduced to
train-equip capabilities. It is important that it also considers the connection between
professionalism and democratization of the values and beliefs within the security
sector, which includes transparency and civilian control and the genuine appropri-
ation of the reforms in institutional practices and individual behaviors (Jackson &
Bakrania, 2018). That is, the professionalization of security is also related with the
levels of democratization within the institutions and its subordination to democratic
control. Jackson and Bakrania (2018) present some questions about this aspect:
“How far does the control of the military and police force extend within civilian
legislation and political framework? How far are they related to the infra-politics of
ethnicity, corruption, kinship, personal rule and regional biases” (p. 23). Further-
more, how do state forces deal with dissent and minorities within their own socie-
ties? For example, in Colombia in recent decades, professionalization and security
reform were developed to make the state forces stronger and more efficient “but not
necessarily more receptive to democratic governance and human security”
1010 A. Ortiz-Ayala
(Grabendorff, 2009, p. 4). Hence, despite the reforms, the persistence of the enemy-
centric understanding of security not only contradicts the human security approach
adopted by the government in the peacebuilding discourse. In addition, this is
demonstrated, on the one hand, by how the political elites continue prioritizing the
state’s capacity using a militaristic approach to recuperate its monopoly over the use
of violence, rather than tackle socioeconomic problems that are part of the roots of
the internal violence (Nilsson, 2018). On the other hand, the ineffectiveness of
human rights training in reducing human rights violations or abuses of force
among the state forces against activists, journalists, social leaders, protesters, and
marginalized communities (HRW.org, 2019, 2020; Isacson, 2020; ONU, 2020).
Similarly, in Sierra Leone from 1997 to 2014, the technical security capabilities
were very successfully reconstructed. Nevertheless, they still suffer from a lack of
civil and political control, and politicization in police recruitment (Jackson &
Bakrania, 2018, p. 23). As a result, in practice, the appropriation of institutional
reforms needs to consider the history of the conflict, the social dynamics, and the
power position of the actors. In other words, cultural, historical, and sociopolitical
legacies of the war matter for understanding the way that the context and the actors
appropriate the new norms (Ansorg & Gordon, 2019; Wahl, 2013, 2016).
The second challenge for improving SSR strategies – levels of ownership – is
connected with the previous issue. The notion of democratic control and the political
dimension help us to avoid the risk of romanticizing the local actors. As I argue
above, the SSR agenda implies considering politics and power. Technocentrism
creates a false perception of the independent relation between institutions and
social-political dynamics. Yet politics is a key part of the SSR agenda because any
kind of institutional reform implies a redistribution of power, incentives, and benefits
for different actors. In fact, this new distribution should affect the sustainability of
peace and level of democratization of the security sector. As Donais (2018) noted,
SSR implies, “[a] sustained effort to recalibrate the relationship and the balance of
power between state and society, on the premise that the stronger and more con-
structive this relationship is, the greater the likelihood that sustainable peace will
take root alongside and effective and accountable security sector” (p. 40).
Third, considering who benefits or who loses as a result of the reform necessitates
a broad comprehension of ground realities. In terms of ownership, the postliberal
literature opens a new discussion about the local interlocutors. In general, this
literature identifies two groups: elite locals and social local actors. This differentia-
tion is important because not all local level initiatives are favorable for all the
population nor are they all legitimate (Gordon, 2014a, b; Jackson, 2018; Jackson
& Bakrania, 2018; Sahin, 2017). Detzner (2017) calls attention to this point and said
that in a typical scenario of SSR, “elites wish to maintain an opaque and
un-democratic control over security services to ensure that it meets their interest”
(p. 126). So, it is common that the behavior of the elites shows a path dependency
towards institutional behavior after the implementation of the reforms.
According to some reports of the HRW, in Ghana, the police are direct descen-
dants of the British colonial police force and have very strong historical legacies of
apartheid. These backgrounds affect institutional behavior and make changes very
slow and gradual (Chappuis & Bryden, 2015). As a result, even when reforms take
place, people still perceive the police as corrupt, abusive, and unable to respond to
the security needs of the people. Likewise, despite having several donors and being
very open to reform and democratizing its security sector, the British colonial
heredity of exclusion, discrimination, and excessive use of force persists in the
police. This demonstrates the dominance of patterns and the fragility of the reforms
because of path dependence and institutional inertia (see more about path depen-
dence in Ansorg, 2017; Ansorg & Kurtenbach, 2017; Kurtenbach, 2010).
In Guinea, the successive dictatorial regimes make police an extension of the
regimes rather than a public institution. As Ansorg (2017) noted, in some cases,
institutional change in the security sector tends to serve the government to strengthen
its power rather than to transform the system and include the local level in the security
sector (p. 139). These cases reinforce the idea, mentioned above, that reforms of the
security sector do not occur in a historical or political vacuum (Ansorg & Gordon,
2019; Kagoro, 2019; Kurtenbach, 2019). For that reason, oversimplification of
orthodox SSR that associates the ownership with the elite locals ignores that in
most cases, the elites want to conserve the status quo, or as Juncos said, “can subvert
an unjust system without overtly rejecting it” (Juncos, 2018, p. 98). In the next
section, I deepen the discussion around the risk of romanticizing the local actors
and the importance of considering nuanced political dynamics at the local level. Then,
I explain how the currents debates around ownership of SSR provides a window of
opportunity to introduce a positive peace approach in SSR research and practices.
Ownership and Civil Society-Focused or Community-Based

Strategies in SSR: A Window of Opportunity for Healing
Relationships
According to some scholars, the modernization of the police and military forces in
many cases is reduced to simple intentions like effectiveness and discipline, rather
than how to integrate them into the social community. For that reason, another level
of ownership is at the civil society-focused or community-based level. The post-
liberal approaches of SSR advocate a nuanced comprehension of ownership to
guarantee the sustainability of intervention programs in the security sector (Gordon,
2014b; Groenewald & Peake, 2004). The argument is that the sustainability of the
reform depends on its capability to resonate closely with community needs. But in
practice, it usually depends on who are the donors, and the willingness of the donors
to make some logistic efforts. Donors commonly privilege the regime’s interest,
because they are the most obvious group. However, if the donor wants to include
members of the community, they need to deal with some logistic constraints, such as
language barriers.
For example, the incorporation of the community depends on the language of the
donors, which is one of the most important obstacles for some local actors because
they may not speak the donors’ language. For that reason, essential local voices are
excluded, missing the opportunity to demand international support and participate in
1012 A. Ortiz-Ayala
the reforms (Groenewald & Peake, 2004; Schuberth, 2018). Furthermore, the legal
reformations are usually discussed in the major cities. This is an obstacle in itself
because the subnational realities and necessities are different. Then reconciliation
between the two levels of ownership and actors (national-subnational; elites and
community-social) becomes a key factor in addressing the development of a better
and more useful program and reforms (Newby, 2017). This is the holistic approach
that many scholars and practitioners advocate, particularly, in developing strategies
that engage local communities in providing information about everyday security
necessities, and how to empower them effectively for them to be able to hold state
forces account (See more in Bagayoko et al., 2016; Newby, 2017; Schroeder et al.,
2014; Schuberth, 2018).
However, it is true that in postwar states, civil society is fragile and its level of
empowerment very low. In some cases, it does not have human capital, and in some
contexts, its members are afraid to participate in the public sphere because they can
be potential military targets (Donais, 2017, 2018). In those cases, the SSR programs
could be an opportunity to empower those who are usually excluded, which implies
an understanding of the political and cultural grievances within the societies.
Sarah Detzner (2017) analyzed three cases, Sierra Leone, South Africa, and
Ethiopia, as relative SSR successes in terms of their significant and sustained
improvement in day-to-day security conditions for the majority of the people
(improvement in reducing the levels of crimes, political repression, or other serious
human security issues). In her work, she argues that in these three cases, there was a
political consensus between the government and the general population about the
priorities of the reform which makes the process more significant and meaningful
(p. 123). For instance, during the postapartheid period in South Africa, the consul-
tative process was a vital part of the defense review, and included consultations with
different stakeholders such as academia, business, rural and urban communities,
nongovernment organizations, and local experts. This strategy makes the
South African process groundbreaking for its focus on international human security
and its active role in engaging different levels of local actors. Additionally, in
South Africa and Sierra Leona, approaches such as community policing were
promoted as a way of civil control to enhance trust and legitimacy. This strategy
gave communities a voice in local policing, a role in crime prevention, and a means
of monitoring the police (Detzner, 2017; Groenewald & Peake, 2004). Also, it
promoted higher ownership with important incentives for local governance.
In brief, these cases are evidence of the increasing scholarly consensus over why
the inclusion of diverse local interlocutors might improve the potential and effec-
tiveness of SSR. Broad consultation facilitates the parties’ dialogue to generate
common knowledge and fundamental consensus about their priorities, subnational
and national necessities, and meanings of security. This trade-off, especially for the
civil society, could help them to mobilize existing demands and increase pressure on
official actors (Ansorg, 2017; Gray, 2017).
Given these points, some scholars propose moving forwards and suggest including
other kinds of nontraditional local actors that provide security (Donais, 2017). The
current debate about non-state security providers is one of the most prominent
dilemmas in SSR programs. For the donors, it implies confronting the old-fashioned
view about the “binary terms of state-level security providers and citizens-levels
security consumers” (Donais, 2017, pp. 38, 39). Currently, the evidence and local
realities demonstrate the necessity to consider these kinds of actors. According to Baker
(2010), the term non-state actors “applies to a wide range of local collectives providing
everyday policing and may include customary leaders, religious organizations, ethnic
associations, youth groups, work-based associations, community police forums, con-
flict resolution non-governmental organizations (NGOs), the lowest and informal levels
of local government and entrepreneurs” (p. 208). For instance, The Nasa indigenous
group’s Guardia Indígena in Colombia has succeeded in organizing themselves to
protect people and their territories from all type of armed groups, including the state-
armed forces (see more in Chaves et al., 2020). Non-state security providers coexist,
compete, and cooperate within the state margins (see more in Arjona, 2016; Arjona
et al., 2015; Mampilly, 2011). In Afghanistan, the militias work in parallel with the legal
framework and legal state security providers (Sedra, 2013). In Central America and
some countries in South America, criminal actors represent sources of power and
authority (Duran-Martinez, 2015; Lessing, 2012; Piché, 2017).
In all these cases, non-state security providers represent protection, deterrence,
investigation, resolution, and punishment for some citizens in some circumstances
(Baker, 2010, p. 210). A recent example of this dilemma was disclosed with the
effects of COVID-19 in cases like Yemen and Colombia where non-state groups led
emergency plans in response to the pandemic, declaring and enforcing social
distancing measures such as lockdowns and curfews (Ardemagni, 2020). They are
also taking advantage of the pandemic to expand, and consolidate their territorial
control (Janetsky & Faiola, 2020).
Today, there is no consensus about how to incorporate these groups in SSR
design. These actors own “varying levels of legitimacy with different local popula-
tion, sometimes respected, sometimes tolerated in the absence of better alternatives”
(Detzner, 2017, p. 92). Baker (2010) argues that the post-conflict local environment
necessitates partnership with non-state actors for the delivery of policing services. In
fact, some case-study analysis from the research project, called “Exploring from first
to second generation SSR in conflict-affected societies,” shows how, in some cases,
the SSR model on the ground in reality mutates into a version that responds more to
community needs. Some lessons from these case studies of non-state actors provide a
broad perspective about how to design better SSR programs in the future. For
instance, the case study from El Salvador suggests that:
Engaging criminal actors in context where they represent sources or power and authority is
crucial to SSR. Considering that local cliques sometimes have more authority over commu-
nities than state security forces, ignoring those actors on the basis of political legitimacy or
legality only means that SSR is incomplete. The SSR approach should be more flexible when
it comes to non-state actors and not limit itself to engaging legitimate political actors. (Piché,
2017, p. 30)
Therefore, a deep comprehension of local realities is needed, which requires

creating culturally sensitive models that consider a range of informal and formal
1014 A. Ortiz-Ayala
actors. In the words of Piché (2017), “it is not about who should provide security and
who people should turn to for security, but rather who does provide security and who
people do turn to for security” (p. 30). The lessons learnt about the current gap
between policies and practices on SRR demand that models that use different
sources of measurement, both qualitative and quantitative, with the objective of
monitoring and evaluating SSR programs with a greater focus on ground-level
impacts need to be created. The objective is to create more textured data that can
incorporate different dimensions and variables to influence the SSR agenda. More-
over, this opens a window of opportunity for academic creativity using multi-
disciplinary approaches to contribute to more effective security sector reform
strategies for the prevention of violence and a contribution to reestablishing sustain-
able and peaceful relations in post-conflict scenarios.
Positive Peace and SSR: The Role of Identity in Restoring

Relationships Between the State and Its Citizens
One central question regarding the effectiveness of SSR interventions is whether

attitudinal and behavioral changes are being affected by those reforms. This question
remains mostly unexplored, providing an occasion to bring into the discussion a
positive peace approach, and its centrality in human relationships and transformation
of humans as part of an SSR agenda. Under the lens of positive peace, it is possible to
consider a micro-level analysis, the role of identity, and the socio-psychological
dimension of the conflict to consider how to make possible behavioral changes and
build positive relationships (Devere, 2018; Lederach, 1997), in this case, between
the state and its citizens, especially but not exclusively, in divided societies that are
attempting to make the transition from violent conflict to peace.
O’Rawe (2010) argues that advocating that the role of identity should be consid-
ered does not entail delegating to SSR the responsibility of “solving” group-based
identity conflicts that are affecting the relationship between the state and its citizens.
She explains that SSR reforms can add “value only to the extent that they provide an
entry point to address deeply felt, often identity-based grievances” (p. 87). Further, it
will only be possible to contribute within an environment where all people of
differing backgrounds, beliefs, and views feel respected, safe, and secure, when
the security system reforms transcend from institutional aesthetics, to effectively
change mentalities and behaviors within the state security providers.
As mentioned above, the core of the lessons learned about the limits of SSR
provisions is that in practice, they become a kind of formal requirement or tokenism
for governments to show their political will to introduce reforms. However, in most
cases, the behavior of state forces reveals the legacies of the past (Jaime-Jimenez &
Reinares, 1998; Kurtenbach, 2019; Tiscornia, 2017; Wahl, 2016). For instance,
governments report the inclusion of human rights training in the curricula for
security forces (Castano et al., 2019; Celermajer & Grewal, 2013), or the introduc-
tion of some protocols or sets of norms and regulations that are supposed to impose a
cost on abuses by the army or the police. However, in practice, those reforms do not
necessarily alter the behavior or the system of values and beliefs of the number of
individuals trained in the use of violence (Tyler et al., 2007). On the contrary, in
some cases, reforms can drive more violence (Flores-Macías & Zarkin, 2019;
Tiscornia, 2017). For that reason, some scholars advocate resocialization as a
requirement to make the intuitional changes effective, which entails changing
views and belief systems of the individuals within security institutions (Ocantos,
2014; Tyler et al., 2007). However, we do not know what this resocialization looks
like in practice, or what it entails to be effective. Therefore, bringing the lens of
positive peace into the discussion of SSR could provide a nuanced comprehension of
why, after reforms and established peace agreements take place, intergroup relations
remain damaged, including the relations between the state forces and its citizens.
Furthermore, this analysis may inform policy makers and conflict resolution practi-
tioners to contemplate different kinds of interventions within the SSR agenda.
In the next two sections, I want to convince the reader how the lens of positive
peace on SSR can contribute to addressing the past history of identity divisions
among state forces to prevent the risk of future violence, and guarantee the quality of
SSR through the restoration of relations between state forces and its citizens.
Addressing the Past History of Identity Divisions, a Missing

Element of Security Sector Reform
States and their security institutions can contribute to the perpetuation of violence
through the way they administer justice after the conflict ends. Some scholars argue
that the reproduction of violence or its persistence in post-conflict contexts is
explained by the lack of accountability processes, especially for the military and
the police (Kurtenbach, 2019; O’Rawe, 2010; Steenkamp, 2005; Tiscornia, 2017).
This generates the impression that the state and its armed institutions are untouchable
by the judicial system, constructing a corrupt image of the judicial sphere and
security forces (Kurtenbach, 2019; Ríos-Figueroa, 2016; Steenkamp, 2005). More-
over, in internal conflicts, the status of “legal” and “illegal” endorses an apparent
legitimacy on those who defend institutionality (Cruz-Rodríguez, 2016; Denyer
Willis, 2015; Leal Buitrago, 2002; Schirmer, 1998).
As a result, rebel groups and their followers are automatically classified as
illegitimate and the state security forces as legitimate, which provides a legal
platform for the state forces to justify the use of physical force against those residents
of the state’s territory that can be classified as internal enemies (Sedra, 2018). In this
way, an environment is created where state institutions seem infallible due to the
“legality” image, and their functionaries are perceived as individuals who have the
duty to protect the stability of the state (Schirmer, 1998; Wills et al., 2017). This
reinforces and exacerbates the sense of rightness, moral superiority, and self-group
favoritism in soldiers and police involved in intrastate conflicts. As C. W. Leach et al.
(2015) show, “morality is at the heart of in-group identity, positive group esteem, and
social action” (p. 124). Operating “within the law” accomplishes a separation, at
least theoretically, between “the legal coercion of the state-as-sovereign and the
1016 A. Ortiz-Ayala
space outside the law occupied by the enemy (. . .) this we-versus-them attitude
reinforces the idea that unjustifiable violence only occurs outside State structures;
violence by the State to defend itself is mandated, and thus justifiable” (Schirmer,
1998, p. 137).
For this reason, in post-conflict scenarios, state forces and their members develop
narratives that disclose the moral license that legality provides for them to deny the
misdeeds committed by the security institutions during the conflict. That explains
why scholars are alert to the consequences of the vital role of transitional justice
measures in addressing the past history of identity divisions, to build an accountable
security institution for all groups within the society. As O’Rawe (2010) suggested,
the state may not be trusted by many victims of past abuse or past incumbents to act
with fairness and integrity. Where oppositional actors have now become part of the
establishment, wrongs done in the name of armed struggle will have an equal
delegitimizing effect among certain identity-based groups (p. 90). Prosecuting its
own security forces is a challenge for states in post-conflict settings; however, it is
prerequisite for the healing of civil-military relations, particularly in those commu-
nities, territories, or groups that are vulnerable to state violence during the conflict
(Güiza Gómez et al., 2020).
Then, those who are in charge of the rule of law enforcement, such as the police or
the judicial system, need to avoid the selective use of the law. If they continue
perpetuating divisions, treating certain groups or individuals as enemies using the
law as a justification device or misusing the status of legality to give preferential
treatment after the conflict ends, there is a risk of future violence. For that reason,
scholars suggest that the effectiveness of transitional justice for engaging with the
violent past may play an important role in the prevention or even justification of
future violence (Aiken, 2008, 2013; Arai, 2015; Bar-Tal & Hammack, 2012; Milton,
2015). That is why it is vital that the state develop appropriate mechanisms for
prosecution of violations committed by the state forces as an intent to help pacify
relations between the state forces and civilians.
Quality of Security Sector Reform: Alteration in Beliefs, Emotions,

Identity, and Behavioral Intentions
As many scholars argue, formal agreements and institutional changes do not fully
resolve concerns such as justice, victimization, a sense of revenge, negative emo-
tions, or outgroup threat perception (Čehajić-Clancy et al., 2016; Gross et al., 2013;
Halperin et al., 2009; Halperin & Sharvit, 2015). In societies emerging from violent
conflict, the identity divisions often continue, and peace attempts, like institutional
reforms, fail to be sufficiently meaningful for some individuals and groups, since
they continue endorsing narratives that perpetuate the “zero-sum” understanding of
violence, and the wrong doing by the in-group are constantly justified (see more in
Bar-Tal, 2007; Čehajić & Brown, 2008; Halperin & Bar-Tal, 2011; Nadler et al.,
2008; Radnitz, 2018; Rafferty, 2017). Therefore, reforms in deeply divided societies
can be perceived as a threat to the identity, especially for those “individuals that have
defined their group identity traditions and loyalties for so long in terms of the
‘enemy’, and suddenly find they have to reshape their sense of who they are and
what groups they see loyalty towards” (Brewer, 2010, p. 121), which entails
alteration in the belief system, emotions, and attitudes about themselves and toward
others.
In internal conflicts, armed groups develop their motivation, repertories, fre-
quency, and targeting of violence using ideological identification criteria based on
nationalism, religion, ethnicity, social class, tribe, political identity, or kinship
(Gutiérrez-Sanín & Wood, 2014; Gutiérrez-Sanín & Wood, 2017; Hoover Green,
2018; Ron, 2003; Steele, 2017; Weinstein, 2007). Then, in these contexts, security
forces have been deliberately trained for the protection of one section of a divided
community, often through the suppression of another (O’Rawe, 2010, p. 110).
Furthermore, state agents have viewed some groups of civilians as “potential
threats,” “suspect communities,” or “subversives or supporters of subversive
groups” of the internal armed enemies, because of their identity. For these reasons,
the legacies of group-based identity divisions will play a role in any political
negotiation, including the security sector (O’Rawe, 2010, p. 91). Therefore, one
fundamental challenge in divided societies is creating consensus around the meaning
of security, and how to deconstruct the identity-based definition of enemies and
threats within the state forces after the conflict ends. However, more research is
needed into the role of the identity of the enemy image, among combatants in post-
conflict contexts. (The work conducted by Castano et al. (2019) mentioned the
importance of changing the image of the enemy among combatants to increase
combatants’ respect for international humanitarian law.)
The evidence suggests that the process of learning new information passes
through the filter of our previous knowledge. Thus, when new information arises
and is cognitively dissonant with our current knowledge, values, or beliefs, the
tendency is to reject this information and resort to shortcuts that lead to “belief
perseverance” or “confirmation bias” (Levy, 1994; Nyhan & Reifler, 2010). These
cognitive biases are even more pronounced for individuals involved in intergroup
conflicts (Bar-Tal, 2007; Bar-Tal & Halperin, 2011; Bar-Tal & Hammack, 2012).
This is why institutional change design should consider the role of identity as a
variable revealing potential cognitive and psychological barriers that may explain
individuals’ resistance to change.
Following social identity theory, social identities have been show empirically to
be associated with how individuals perceive themselves and others through classi-
fication (Tajfel, 1969; Tajfel & Turner, 1986). The views of “us” (the in-group) are
often characterized as better, superior, more diversified, and more moral, whereas the
views of “them” (the out-group) as inferior, bad, more homogenous, and less moral
(Čehajić-Clancy et al., 2016, p. 77). Haslam et al. (2005) found that individuals who
experience combat situations develop strong identification toward their in-group.
In-group identification frequently helps individuals trained to use violence to reduce
levels of stress and anxiety of conflict war, which helps to explain why social
identities related to the conflict are likely to be stronger among combatants (Castano
et al., 2008; Siebold, 2007). Furthermore, hostility toward outgroups helps
1018 A. Ortiz-Ayala
strengthen a sense of belonging, which is extremely prominent in individuals who

are exposed to constant outgroup threats in war settings (Castano, 2004; Castano
et al., 2008; Wood, 2003).
The studies suggest that people who identify strongly with their group are less
likely to engage in self-reflection and have critical views about the in-group wrongs,
and to develop moral disengagement and delegitimization of the outgroup to justify
the harm (Bandura, 2016; Bar-Tal, 1990, 2000; Leach et al., 2013). Also, when
individuals with strong group identification receive negative information about the
in-group, they are more likely to deny or justify their in-group wrong actions and
express less empathy for the suffering of others (Cehajic et al., 2008; Yzerbyt et al.,
2000). These findings are important because they help explain why individuals
training to use violence in conflicts are more likely to generate major psychological
barriers to establish intergroup reconciliation.
My current research Ortiz-Ayala (2021) suggests that after the peace agreement
signed at the end of 2016 and the political reintegration of The Revolutionary Armed
Forces of Colombia – People’s Army (FARC) in Colombia, combatants for the state
forces maintain their ideological-identity bias as a legacy of the conflict, which
influences their behavioral intentions toward civilians. (FARC was one of Latin
America’s largest and oldest left-wing rebel groups. See more at https://css.ethz.ch/
en/services/digitallibrary/publications/publication.html/186229) One of the findings
suggested that soldiers will significantly decrease their willingness to protect civil-
ians if they are left-wing and oppose political reintegration, but will significantly
increase their willingness to protect civilians if they are right-wing and oppose
reintegration. Moreover, the results indicate that soldiers’ emotions become more
positive toward civilians that oppose political reintegration of the FARC, and this
effect is stronger when the civilian is rightist rather than leftist. Also, the threat
perception within a soldier’s outgroup is statistically significantly higher when the
civilian is left-wing, independently of whether the civilian supports or opposes
reintegration. However, the outgroup threat perception decreases only if the civilian
is right-wing and opposes reintegration.
The literature suggests that emotions play a fundamental role in intergroup
relations in post-conflict contexts and can be a key psychological mechanism for
achieving reconciliation (Čehajić-Clancy et al., 2016; Gross et al., 2013; Halperin
et al., 2011) Group-based negative emotions like anger or fear increase support for
aggressive and violent actions toward the outgroup (Cheung-Blunden & Blunden,
2008) and destabilize positive social-psychological processes, such as hope for a
better future (Cohen-Chen et al., 2017) or intergroup forgiveness (Tam et al., 2007).
(Cohen-Chen et al. (2017) argue that: Experiencing hope for peace involves not only
a better personal future but also a desired future of security and harmony on behalf of
other members of the group, and to some extent even in the name of members of the
outgroup (p. 209).) Additionally, threat perception is part of the motivation for both
violence and reconciliation (Daniel Bar-Tal, 2007). The findings of my research can
thus be significant for post-conflict periods if the Colombian state wants to consol-
idate its presence and reestablish relations with civilians in those territories which
were traditionally occupied by the rebel groups and suffered from the excesses of the
state-armed forces. Also, demobilization, disarmament of FARC, and its political

reintegration involves the duty of state forces to protect their former enemies and
accept them as future political leaders. Moreover, it also implicates the elimination of
logic from the counterinsurgency from the minds of the soldiers that allowed the
notion of the “internal enemy,” which contributed to stigmatizing communities in
some territories (see more in CNMH, 2013) – demanding from the soldiers a
different approach in those regions where the security forces have low levels of
acceptance (Matanock & García-Sánchez, 2018).
In sum, as Rodrigo Londoño, the head of the FARC said during the ceremony of
the Colombian peace agreement: All of us should be ready to disarm our minds and
hearts (as cite in Rodriguez, 2018), which, for the state forces, implies psychological
and cognitive changes among its members, such as readdressing their outgroup
threat perception and negative emotions associated with the identity of their former
enemies. If not, there is a risk of future violence.
Conclusion
What has become clear in this chapter is the limitations of the state-centric approach
of SSR on the prevention of future violence. The challenges associated with effec-
tively evaluating the impact of the reforms in practice have resulted in the repro-
duction of universal formulas with no empirical evidence of their impact. Further,
state favoritism assumes the neutrality of states toward civilians during and after the
conflict. However, studies have shown that states are active actors in the conflict and
can contribute to the perpetuation of violence. As a result, little attention has been
paid to theorizing how institutional reforms or interventions, such as human rights
training in soldiers and policeman, bring attitudinal and behavioral change
(Celermajer & Grewal, 2013).
For some state violence is not a temporary or exceptional concern; for many state
forces, even after reforms take place, violence is embedded in their views about
security, becoming part of the way that they interact in daily life with the groups that
they would define as threats or enemies. However, it is, perhaps, where a positive
peace approach to SSR can contribute to a broad understanding of how to design
reform that attempts to transform notions about security, to create or restore positive
and sustainable relations between the states and its citizens, and to guarantee a
lasting peace. Consequently, the focus that positive peace has on improving
intergroup relations raises the possibility of considering theoretical frameworks
and empirical insights from areas of research based on the field of socio-psychology
and intergroup reconciliation literature to devise the most effective SSR strategies.
Also, positive peace brings into the discussion the role of identity, and how to
connect efforts to deal with past grievances in ways that groups and individuals
envision as a new outlook and can relate to their former enemies, without reinforcing
the moral justifications of past violence or the negative perception of outgroups.
The study of Westendorf shows, base on the Uppsala Conflict Data Program
(UCDP), that 40% of states that negotiate a peace process return to war, and 50% of
1020 A. Ortiz-Ayala
those states are likely to return to civil war within 5 years after the signed of the
peace agreements.
The fragility of the post-agreement period and the very thin line between peace
and war demands creativity and cooperation between multiple disciplines. The data
show us that peace is not necessarily a moral imperative for everyone in the same
terms, and this is why more studies are necessary about how to develop mechanisms
that incentivizes commonalities and cooperative schemas, and inclusive views about
what security means. In practice, this requires fine and deliberative strategies that
help to change emotions, beliefs, identity, attitudes, and behavioral intentions (See
more in Cehajic-Clancy, 2020; Čehajić-Clancy et al., 2016; Čehajić-Clancy &
Bilewicz, 2020).
Finally, I also believe that positive peace could help to challenge the state-
centered approach on the security matters, as well as the binary orthodox terms of
state-level security providers and citizens-levels security consumers that is doing
more harm than good in some contexts. Those rigid frameworks are an obstacle for
the creativity that is necessary to achieve those unlikely relationships and dialogues
that positive peace scholars suggest are necessary to achieve substantive and durable
democratic changes, healing social relationships, and make peaceful coexistence
among different groups possible. (Improbable or Unlikely dialogues mean bringing
together people with very differing view in an effort to forge understandings. This
term become very popular in Colombian during and after the peace process, and
locals attributed to John Paul Lederach (Lederach, 2005; Uprimny Yepes 2016)
However, Quincy Wright, and Galtung also talk about similar efforts.)
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Part XIV
Positive Relationships: Practices
Positive Peace Through Personal
Friendship: Franco-German Reconciliation 54
(1974–1995)
Yuri van Hoef
Contents
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1034
Friendship and the Positive Peace Quadrant . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1035
Positive Peace Through Political Friendship . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1037
Actors of Positive Peace: Franco-German Friendship (1974–1995) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1040
Helmut Schmidt and Valéry Giscard d’Estaing, 1974–1982 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1041
Helmut Kohl and François Mitterrand, 1982–1995 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1044
Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1047
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1048
Abstract
This chapter introduces an approach to study political friendship as a factor that
can contribute to positive peace. This is done by drawing upon the works of
Johan Galtung and Andrea Oelsner, through which friendship is established as
an aspect of positive peace. Thereby, this chapter contributes to addressing
current lacunae in positive peace research. Political friendship is conceptualized
through five key elements; affect, grand projects, altruistic reciprocity, moral
obligations, and equality, which are examined in the friendships of Helmut
Schmidt and Valéry Giscard d’Estaing (1974–1982), and Helmut Kohl and
François Mitterrand (1982–1995). Both the commonalities and differences
discovered shed a revealing light on the role of friendship in politics and
international relations, and help us to understand the crucial role close personal
relations played in the European project, establishing a degree of positive peace
through personal friendship.
Y. van Hoef (*)

Department of History, Erasmus University Rotterdam, Rotterdam, The Netherlands
e-mail: vanhoef@eshcc.eur.nl
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_54
1034 Y. van Hoef
Keywords
Friendship · Positive peace · Franco-German reconciliation · European
integration · Valéry Giscard d’Estaing · Helmut Schmidt · François Mitterrand ·
Helmut Kohl · France · Germany · International Relations
Introduction
Friendship for Helmut was a kind of partnership in pursuit of the necessary and the true.
[. . .]. In entering into relationship with Helmut, one was recruited, as it were, into an
intellectual order that pursued essential truth with humility.
Henry A. Kissinger’s Eulogy for Helmut Schmidt (2015)
While friendship is ubiquitous in the world of politics, little scholarly work has been
made in conceptualizing this contested concept and how these close personal
relations influence and impact politics. This chapter, building on the works of
Johan Galtung and Andrea Oelsner, offers an approach that allows scholars to both
make sense of political friendship, and to understand this as an aspect of positive
peace, thereby addressing a gap in positive peace research that pervades international
relations in general, and Peace and Conflict Studies in particular.
Ever since Galtung’s foundation of the Journal of Peace Research (JPR), a leading
journal in Peace and Conflict Studies, in 1964, in which the concepts of positive and
negative peace were established, the former has been neglected in favor of the latter
(Gleditsch et al., 2014; Wiberg, 1981) Since positive peace has proven harder than
negative peace to conceptualize, understanding friendship as an aspect of positive
peace contributes both to a needed wider understanding of what forms positive peace
can take, and to our understanding of the role of emotions in politics (Prior & Van
Hoef, 2018). Meanwhile, the rise of friendship scholarship in the past decade has
provided valuable theoretical insights that contribute to our understanding of polit-
ical friendship. In doing so, this chapter serves to further “highlight the contribution
that a friendship perspective can make to other fields such as Peace and Conflict
Studies” (Van Hoef & Oelsner, 2018, p. 115).
Section “Friendship and the Positive Peace Quadrant” of this chapter introduces a
theoretical framework of political friendship, which consists of five key elements:
(1) affect, (2) grand projects, (3) altruistic reciprocity, (4) moral obligations, and
(5) equality, and relates these key elements to the Positive Peace Quadrant (PPQ)
introduced in this volume. Section “Positive Peace Through Political Friendship”
draws upon the works of Andrea Oelsner and Johan Galtung to illustrate how
friendship and positive peace relate. Finally, Section “Actors of Positive Peace:
Franco-German Friendship (1974–1995)” interprets Franco-German friendships in
the years 1974–1995 through this lens. Both the friendships of Helmut Schmidt and
Valéry Giscard d’Estaing (1974–1982), and between Helmut Kohl and François
Mitterrand (1982–1995), are examined. Through doing this, it becomes clear that
these two friendships made a unique contribution to the European project, a histor-
ically unprecedented achievement of interstate peace and cooperation. While,
54 Positive Peace Through Personal Friendship: Franco-German Reconciliation. . . 1035
presently, the European Union has not achieved a perfect state of positive peace, the
contributions of personal friendships between state leaders to this achievement of a
substantial degree of positive peace, eliminating war and reducing poverty, indicate
that friendship can contribute to the achievement of fully realized positive peace.
Friendship and the Positive Peace Quadrant
There is no scientific consensus on what friendship exactly entails. Of special

significance to political scientists is that, especially within International Relations
(IR), the question has been raised whether states themselves can actually be friends
(Keller, 2009). By turning to political philosophy, however, it becomes possible to
come closer to an idea of friendship. While relevant, the question of whether states
themselves can be friends can be put aside in this chapter, since I am interested in
friendship between individuals representing their states. In this section, I offer a
conceptualization of political friendship that engages with the positive peace quad-
rant, based upon five key elements: (1) affect, (2) grand projects, (3) altruistic
reciprocity, (4) moral obligations, and (5) equality.
While philosophers might have very diverging views on the meaning of friend-
ship, they all do agree that there is one higher form of friendship that sets it apart
from lesser forms. Aristotle defined this as “virtue-friendship,” in which friends
recognize the good character in each other, and jointly strive toward the common
good (Aristotle, 2003, VIII.iii.1–9; Stern-Gillet, 1995, pp. 49–50). This is an altru-
istic friendship because it entails “doing well by someone for his own sake, out of
concern for him (and not, or not merely, out of concern for oneself)” (Cooper, 1977,
p. 621). Because they strive jointly, the striving itself also betters their individual
characters and thus serves to reinforce the friendship. The other two forms Aristotle
discerns, pleasure friendship and advantage friendship, contain an egoistic element:
they are both focused on what the friendship provides to the ego (Cooper, 1980).
Students of philosophy will find that each scholar tends to favor a different aspect
of friendship. Some focus on its egoistic elements (Kierkegaard, 2013), others take
the altruism of virtue-friendship to extremes (Montaigne, 1627), while Francis
Bacon idealized the economic benefits of the utility-friendship (Bacon, 1627). The
most significant insight to be gained from this debate is that all philosophers
differentiate between a special higher form of friendship and other lower forms. In
my earlier work, I have suggested that it makes sense to use the concept of
“partnership” for those friendships that are not altruistic at their core (Van Hoef,
2014, pp. 68–69), and reserve the concept of friendship for those rarer, more difficult
to fully define, friendships.
While this gives us an idea of what friendship is not, such as a purely quid pro quo
relationship, it does not help us find what to look for when studying friendship in
politics. Here too, following friendship scholars is enlightening and provides us with
a clear idea of what to look for. Based upon contemporary and historical studies of
political friendship, I argue that five key components are present in each friendship:
(1) affect, (2) a grand project, (3) altruistic reciprocity, (4) moral obligations, and
1036 Y. van Hoef
(5) equality (Van Hoef, 2018b, pp. 58–82). Each of these five key elements of political
friendship corresponds to the elements of the Positive Peace Quadrant (PPQ).
Affect, defined by Brent E. Sasley as “general valence feelings toward some-
thing” (Sasley, 2010, p. 3), means that a study of friendship between state leaders
focuses on the positive affect political actors hold for each other as individuals, and
the extent to which this positive valence affects their policies. The existence of affect
between both individuals and states has been pointed out by several IR scholars
(Eznack, 2011, p. 241; Koschut, 2014). Personal affect is manifested in many
different ways. One of the most commonly observed occurrences is openly crying
during memorial services. It can also be revealed through studying the different ways
other state leaders are mentioned in autobiographical accounts. Joking, and other
forms of good personal rapport, can also be seen at joint press conferences. Affect for
another nation is not uttered by state leaders alone; for instance, EU MEPs sang
Robert Burn’s Auld Lang Syne, a song to remember old friends, as the UK was
poised to leave the EU.
Following Aristotle’s understanding of virtue-friendship, striving toward the good
leads to the grand project, the very soul of a political friendship. This is the element at
the core of the relationship that friends have recognized in each other. To paraphrase
C. S. Lewis, while lovers look at each other, “absorbed in each other,” friends stand side
by side, absorbed by the grand project (1960, p. 91). What political friends are looking
at together are “their world-building efforts” (Berenskötter, 2014, p. 67). Studying the
core project a friendship revolves around is especially illuminating when making sense
of both deteriorating and growing friendships in international politics. For example,
Churchill and Roosevelt were both early to recognize the danger of Nazi Germany, and
sought each other out for this very reason (Van Hoef, 2018a). Another enlightening
example is the changing relationship between the USA and Russia under George
W. Bush and Vladimir Putin. Both presidents enjoyed a close relationship during the
first Bush government, but the second Bush cabinet, which adopted a neoconservative
agenda, put the erstwhile allies at odds, because it meant the grand project of the USA
had changed: from fighting international terrorism (together with Russia), to the grand
project of regime change, which threatened Russia.
Altruistic reciprocity is where friendship differs from other relationships; friends
perform acts for the sake of the friendship alone, without the expectation of reward,
even though the nature of friendship means these acts will be reciprocated. It is, in
other words, free of the calculated nature of a partnership. International politics is rife
with such acts, and it includes offers of unsolicited aid and assistance, most com-
monly observed after natural disasters, and altruistic reciprocity is also observed in
alliances, especially when friends are supported in their endeavors without question.
Acts of altruistic reciprocity are a passive element of friendship: they are performed as
part of the friendship without prompting from the other, in contrast to moral obliga-
tions (Van Hoef, 2019). Moral obligations are appeals, requests, by the friend to act,
demands to be fulfilled. George W. Bush’s demand “Either you are with us, or you are
with the terrorists” is a prime example of a moral obligation in the world of
international politics, and illustrates the weight moral obligations have on a friend-
ship, and the risks entailed in making political decisions a matter of moral obligation.
Table 1 Political friendship and the Positive Peace Quadrant

Friendship’s key elements Positive Peace Quadrant
Affect Relationship
Grand project Social Justice & Environmental Sustainability
Altruistic reciprocity Relationship
Moral obligations Nonviolence (implicitly)
Equality Relationship & Social Justice
The consequences of failing to meet a moral obligation can be dire, illustrated by the
famous quote attributed to Condoleezza Rice on how to deal with their recalcitrant
European allies: “Punish France, ignore Germany, forgive Russia” (Gordon, 2007).
Note here that countries that immediately aligned themselves with the USA after
9/11, the so-called coalition of the willing, may have acted out of altruistic reciprocity
based on a sense of friendship, while countries that joined this coalition after the USA
appealed to them fulfilled their moral obligation toward the USA.
Finally, equality is the last key component of friendship. Here, following Nikolas
Kirby’s distinction between equality in authority and equality in worth, the former is
meant: that no friend falls under the natural authority of another (Kirby, 2017).
Should such be the case, there is an altogether different social relationship at play
(Van Hoef & O’Connor, 2019, pp. 2–3). US presidents welcoming friendly state
leaders with exactly the same speeches hints at inequality in the relationship
(Keating, 2012). The same goes for the French-German tandem within the EU,
where friendly nations are expected to follow the policies the French and German
state leaders have already agreed upon (Table 1).
These five key components allow scholars to first assess whether something is a
friendship, and, second, once the existence of a friendship is established, to interpret
the influence of the friendship on politics. They also correspond to the four elements
of the PPQ. Affect, altruistic reciprocity, and equality are part of PPQ’s Peaceful
Relationship; Nonviolence is an implicit moral obligation of a friendship; and,
finally, Social Justice and Environmental Sustainability are possible grand projects
of a friendship. The next section will show what studying friendship contributes to
our understanding of the nature of positive peace, and how it can be achieved.
Positive Peace Through Political Friendship
. . . although there have been changes over time in the use of terms such as “peace,” “war,”
“violence,” and “conflict,” there was no “golden age” of peace research which focused more
clearly on peace. (Gleditsch et al., 2014, p. 155)
In this section I argue that positive peace has been neglected within the field of
Peace and Conflict Studies, and make the case that studying friendship offers a
highly fruitful avenue to address that deficiency. First, this section gives an overview
of studies that substantiate this neglect, after which I draw upon the insights of
1038 Y. van Hoef
Andrea Oelsner and Johan Galtung to argue why friendship is an aspect of positive
peace, and what this adds to our understanding of politics.
Traditionally, Peace and Conflict Studies has differentiated between negative
peace and positive peace. Johan Galtung, founding editor of the Journal of Peace
Research (JPR), defined negative peace as “the absence of violence, absence of war”
and positive peace as “the integration of human society” in the inaugural issue of the
JPR (1964, p. 2). Although these concepts have been challenged (Evangelista,
2005), positive peace and negative peace have remained the two central definitions
of Peace and Conflict Studies for over 50 years, as shown by Nils Petter Gleditsch,
Jonas Nordkvelle, and Håvard Strand in their analysis of 50 years of the JPR
(Gleditsch et al., 2014). Central though they may be, positive peace has been, and
remains, consistently neglected in favor of negative peace.
Håkan Wiberg’s 1981 analysis of the first 17 years of the JPR, the leading journal
in Peace and Conflict Studies, aptly titled “What Have We Learnt about Peace?,”
showed that only one out of approximately 400 JPR articles had been devoted to
positive peace (1981, p. 113). The aforementioned quantitative analysis of 50 years
of the JPR by Gleditsch, Nordkvelle, and Håvard found the same, concluding that
those articles that do address positive peace do so only to the extent that they “now
contribute to research on how to overcome negative peace” (Gleditsch et al., 2014,
p. 152). In 1969, the struggle with conceptualizing positive peace already led Johan
Galtung to offer a redefinition, equating the absence of personal violence with
negative peace, and the absence of structural violence with positive peace. This
would then lead to peace research focusing more on negative peace, while develop-
ment studies focused more on positive peace (Galtung, 1969, p. 183). However, this
redefinition did not last and disappeared completely from the JPR after a decade
(Gleditsch et al., 2014, p. 155). Yet while within the JPR attempts to address the lack
of positive peace research seem futile, outside the journal headway has been made in
engaging with the concept.
Andrea Oelsner has expanded Galtung’s original definitions of positive and
negative peace by defining the first as the “absence of war,” and the latter as “the
presence of confidence and trust” in her seminal 2007 article Friendship, Mutual
Trust and the Evolution of Regional Peace in the International System. In this way,
positive peace corresponds to friendship because states can only “in situations of
positive peace [. . .] achieve relationships resembling those of friendship”(Oelsner,
2007, p. 264). Both Galtung and Oelsner agree that negative peace is defined by
absence whereas positive peace involves the presence of something, in the case of
this chapter, friendship. Oelsner stresses the role that “decisive actors” play in
initiating war avoidance and furthering cooperation between their countries
(Oelsner, 2007, pp. 269–271). Unsurprisingly, the important actors who have this
power “are policy-makers and other political, economic, and intellectual elites”
(Oelsner, 2007, p. 272), who initiate war avoidance and cooperation when they
“see more instrumental advantages in peace and cooperation” (2007, p. 269).
Political elites are responsible for developing personal ties and “triggering
authentic mutual understanding between themselves and other members of their
governments” (Oelsner, 2014, pp. 150–154). They recognize the bonds between
their countries, and this affects their behavior because they themselves refer “to them
as friendship relationships, and [act] upon this understanding” (Oelsner, 2014,

p. 147). Elsewhere, Oelsner, with Simon Koschut, has made the point that interna-
tional friendship is “a bilateral relationship developing within a multimember secu-
rity community – it is akin to a ‘special relationship’” (Koschut & Oelsner, 2014,
p. 14). At the end of their study Koschut and Oelsner conclude that friendship as a
process can become “a catalyst of change in its own right” (2014, p. 202).
Oelsner’s insights suggest there is value in returning to Galtung’s work on
positive peace. There, it becomes apparent that, despite the recent JPR studies
indicating the lack of positive peace research, both Galtung’s early and later work
offer a clear indication of what positive peace is, and, furthermore, suggest friend-
ship is an important aspect of positive peace. Galtung’s very first editorial for the JPR
shows important overlap both with the PPQ introduced in this volume and with my
conceptualization of political friendship. In his editorial, Galtung is concerned with
“the integration of human society” (1964, p. 2), and offers more important insights
into what positive peace entails. Humans are social beings that are “capable of
empathy and solidarity,” living in a group that values “a norm of reciprocity” and
where cooperation is a “dominant mode of interaction.” From this human integration
naturally follows, because humans surround themselves “with a sphere of amity and
mutual aid” (Galtung, 1964, p. 1). Positive peace, Galtung emphasizes repeatedly,
concerns relationships of integration between human beings, and he offers an
extensive list of possible topics that can be researched, including, but not limited to:
[. . .] functional cooperation between groups or nations through technical and cultural

cooperation or trade policies, to institutional fusion with superordinate bureaucracies, police
forces, courts and governments till the world state is reached. (1964, p. 3)
Human integration, then, belongs to the realm of friendship rather than partner-
ship. Indeed, much of Galtung’s key terminology in describing positive peace
mirrors aspects of friendship: empathy, solidarity, reciprocity, cooperation, amity,
and mutual aid. There is, however, something even more important than the overlap
in key terminology. Galtung is concerned with a higher goal, human integration.
Galtung’s idea of what positive peace should entail links up directly with the ideal
virtue-friendship of the classical philosophers: to help each other strive for the good
(Aristotle, 1968, p. VIII.iii.1–9; Stern-Gillet, 1995, pp. 49–50). If, in following Plato
and Aristotle, friendship brings with it a “moral” and “ethical task” (Smith, 2007,
pp. 187–188), Galtung’s very first conceptualization of positive peace as human
integration fits closely with my definition of friendship in this chapter.
Galtung’s more recent works also offer several important insights around the
relational nature of positive peace. His 2012 publication, A Theory of Peace:
Building Direct-Structural-Cultural Peace, builds on his earlier work and sets out
to outline how to achieve these three forms of peace. To acquire peace, under this
updated definition, “cooperation for mutual and equal benefit” and harmony, mean-
ing empathy, must outweigh trauma and conflict (Galtung, 2012, p. 24). This is not
only about “mutual rights and obligations” like a partnership is, but, Galtung points
out, peace requires in addition “equity, parity – mutual and equal benefits – and
harmony based on empathy”(2012, p. 234). Galtung’s practical experience as a
1040 Y. van Hoef
Table 2 Political friendship, Galtung’s Positive Peace, and the Positive Peace Quadrant
Friendship’s key
elements Galtung’s Positive Peace Positive Peace Quadrant
Affect Love, solidarity, harmony Relationship
Grand project Human integration Social Justice & Environmental
Sustainability
Altruistic reciprocity Mutual learning, “norm of Relationship
reciprocity”
Moral obligations Cooperation Nonviolence (implicitly)
Equality Equity, parity Social Justice & Relationship
conflict mediator means it is no surprise that the peace-builder he refers to builds

peace through reconciliation, resolution, and construction (Galtung, 2012, p. 23).
Galtung also points out that positive peace, in contrast to negative peace, “goes
further; building relations to others” (Galtung, 2012, p. 234).
Building relations to others adds a new, practical, element to Galtung’s previous
writing on positive peace. The goal of the peace-builder is “to build a relation of
friendship, even love,” to “help each other” and to “build projects for future peace,
for mutual and equal benefit. [. . .] Fill your friendships and marriages with new
projects; the old ones may wear out” (Galtung, 2012, p. 235). Galtung’s peace
builders are agents of empathy, dialogue, and mutual learning (2012, p. 235).
Positive peace is based upon “cooperation and harmony,” it is “something to be
pursued” (Galtung, 2012, p. 235). Recalling Aristotle’s virtue-friendship, the ulti-
mate goal of which was the good and the joint striving toward the good, Galtung’s
positive peace becomes a virtue, a grand project (Table 2).
Political friendship then, as defined in the first section of this chapter, clearly
corresponds to Galtung’s vision of positive peace. Each of the five key elements of
political friendship correspond to concepts found in Galtung’s original vision of
positive peace, and his more recent work on peace-building. Furthermore, Galtung’s
recent works also fits the PPQ introduced in this volume. The question that remains
is which actors are best able to achieve positive peace through friendship, and the
role their friendship plays in contributing to this collective good.
Actors of Positive Peace: Franco-German Friendship (1974–1995)
We can think of only one situation where this might be the case (the development of personal
friendship among state leaders), but then any form of international friendship might still be
contested internally and would thus likely end with the mandate of such leaders.
(Koschut & Oelsner, 2014, p. 204)
Following the insights from Andrea Oelsner that political elites are the actors
that are most able to establish ties of friendship that can bring about peace
between nations (Oelsner, 2014, p. 147), this section examines the friendships
between Helmut Schmidt and Valéry Giscard d’Estaing between 1974 and 1982,
and between Helmut Kohl and François Mitterrand from 1982 to 1995 (see Byman
& Pollack, 2001). This is done through placing their friendship in its historical
context (Van Hoef, 2018a), followed by establishing whether the five key elements
of friendship (affect, grand projects, altruistic reciprocity, moral obligations, equal-
ity) were present in their relationship (Van Hoef, 2019). Through doing this, it
becomes possible to recognize both the commonalities and differences between
these two high profile friendships.
Helmut Schmidt and Valéry Giscard d’Estaing, 1974–1982
The intimacy, natural and confident, which existed between me and Helmut Schmidt, is
without a doubt unique in the relations between the leaders of the great contemporary states.
It has helped to advance the union of Europe. And I believe that it has given to Franco-
German relations a solidity and a security that could serve as a basis for the progress of our
continent.
Giscard d’Estaing (1988, p. 124)
Nowadays, the joint walks on the beach of the French presidents and German
chancellors are a common front-page news item, the friendship between Nicolas
Sarközy and Angela Merkel even earning the famous moniker: Merkozy. In 1974
Franco-German friendship was far from a given. West Germany’s economic resur-
gence threatened France, and it was the height of Cold War tensions between the
USA and the Soviet Union (SU). Yet the Franco-German friendship we know today
did not come out of nowhere.
When, in July 1972, Helmut Schmidt became Minister of Finance, he was
advised that a good rapport with his French counterpart Valéry Giscard d’Estaing
was essential. The resulting meeting was a success, with the two immediately hitting
it off and, at a summit on 20 October 1972, they found themselves next to each other
at dinner “perhaps because of a coincidence, but probably because one of us had
switched the name tags on the table” (Schmidt, 1990, pp. 162–163). In the last
months of 1972, Schmidt and Giscard d’Estaing formed the Library Group; an
informal group of finance ministers (Giscard d’Estaing, 1988, p. 125; Schmidt,
1991, p. 193, 1996, p. 296). A hallmark of the group members was that they could
rely upon each other because they would “not say anything to the others except the
absolute truth” (Kissinger, 2015). As finance ministers Giscard d’Estaing and
Schmidt often met, and both learned that they could “rely upon each other’s word”
despite any political disagreements they might have (Schmidt, 1991, p. 197). There-
fore, when first Schmidt, and 2 weeks later Giscard d’Estaing, reached supreme
office in May 1974, they had every expectation that they would be able to work
together.
Their first meeting as state leaders took place in Paris, and Giscard d’Estaing
personally escorted Schmidt on foot to the hotel where the German chancellor was
staying (Giscard d’Estaing, 1988, pp. 128–129; Schmidt, 1990, p. 171). When
Giscard d’Estaing visited Berlin on 29 October 1979, it was the first time a French
state leader had visited the city since Napoleon. Giscard d’Estaing gave his speech in
1042 Y. van Hoef
German, an effort which impressed Schmidt greatly. Schmidt is both reflective and
thankful on this occasion in his memoirs: “Would De Gaulle on the same occasion
have called the German chancellor his friend?” (1990, pp. 192–193).
Their memoirs reveal the deep affection Schmidt and Giscard d’Estaing held for
each other. While Schmidt examines a plethora of political friendships in his
memoirs, none of them shares the spotlight with Giscard d’Estaing: over 50 pages,
roughly 10% of the memoirs, are devoted solely to the French President (Schmidt,
1996). Giscard d’Estaing only mentions three political friends, but in his memoirs it
is Schmidt too who receives the most attention (Giscard d’Estaing, 1988,
pp. 88–161). Their mutual affection is also illustrated by the fact that both contin-
ually speak about “Helmut et moi” and “Giscard and I” in their biographies. Their
friendship was an intimately private one: “and they saw no reason to present this
before the curious cameras of our TV era” (Schmidt, 1991, pp. 121–125, 1996,
pp. 264–265). Most illustrative of the deep affect Giscard d’Estaing and Schmidt
held for each other is that Schmidt trusted Giscard d’Estaing with a closely guarded
family secret: his Jewish ancestry, and that Giscard d’Estaing was the person
Schmidt chose to share this news with the world (Walter, 2006). Schmidt told
Giscard d’Estaing only three people in the world knew: “my secretary, my wife
Loki, and you” (Giscard d’Estaing, 1988, p. 160).
Based upon their mutual appreciation of art and history, one of the first acts of
Schmidt and Giscard d’Estaing had been to organize a Max Ernst exhibition in
Bonn, admired by both for his sentiments of feeling neither German or French
(Schmidt, 1990, p. 181, 1996, pp. 74–75). Already in this, their grand project, the
reconciliation between France and Germany, furthered by the process of
Europeanization, becomes apparent. It was based upon their shared worldviews,
and, on the part of Schmidt, on a distinctly Christian interpretation of politics as a
means of establishing peace (Schmidt, 1977, pp. 92–93). To further their project,
Giscard d’Estaing and Schmidt followed through on what they had started in the
Library Group: creating additional summits where state leaders could openly talk
with each other (Carr, 1985, pp. 91–92). This quickly led to the establishment of the
G6, the Group of Six, in 1975 (Schmidt, 1990, p. 176). Their reconciliation efforts
were crowned in 1975 when Giscard d’Estaing touched Schmidt “deeply” when he
announced that, “to express our will to shape our future together and in peace,”
France would celebrate its annual victory day that year for the last time (Schmidt,
1996, pp. 270–271).
Acts of altruistic reciprocity pervade the relationship. Giscard d’Estaing and
Schmidt consistently actively reach out to help each other. Repeatedly, they step in
on each other’s behalf, both to protect each other in the international media, and to
intercede for the other in the international political arena (Schmidt, 1996, p. 299).
When Gerald Ford visited Germany in 1975, Schmidt considered the visit a success
because Giscard d’Estaing “instinctively granted the new American President a great
personal trust” (1996, p. 303). When Carter’s election in 1977 soured France-US
relations, Schmidt repeatedly stepped in on Giscard d’Estaing’s behalf (Carr, 1985,
pp. 113–114; Schmidt, 1991, pp. 244, 249, 253). Schmidt’s sentiments were clear:
“Washington should not attempt to play Paris and Bonn against each other; we
would do everything to prevent such” (1991, p. 249). Schmidt considered his

friendship with Giscard d’Estaing crucial to obtaining the famous 1979 Double-
Track Decision by NATO, which deescalated United States-Soviet Union tensions
(1996, p. 306).
A pervading element of the Schmidt-Giscard d’Estaing friendship is that they did
not need to call upon moral obligations. Their dealings with Britain come closest to
illustrating the presence of a moral obligation in their friendship. When Harold
Wilson wanted to renegotiate British membership of the European Community to
gain a better financial deal, he found himself at odds with Giscard d’Estaing and
Schmidt. Schmidt wanted to keep Britain in Europe at almost any cost, while
Giscard d’Estaing only acquiesced because of Schmidt’s insistence (Schmidt,
1990, p. 174). The result was put to a referendum in 1975, and Britain decided to
stay. Wilson wanted more though, and now insisted that the United Kingdom would
be given a seat at the upcoming North-South dialogue, where it had earlier been
agreed the European Community would have a single representative. After all his
efforts to accommodate the United Kingdom, Schmidt was furious, and both he and
Giscard d’Estaing started to distance themselves from the British (Cole, 2006, p. 33).
In later years, after their friendship with British prime minister James Callaghan
(Schmidt, 1996, p. 280), Schmidt and Giscard d’Estaing, would further bond in
mutual opposition to Callaghan’s successor Margaret Thatcher (Schmidt, 1996,
p. 173).
The establishment of the Library Group in 1974, and later on the G6, illustrates
quite aptly how important Giscard d’Estaing and Schmidt found it to create an
institution where they could freely speak to each other as equals. The same
equality can be seen in the reciprocal state visits they made and the way they
consulted with each other. A recurring theme for Schmidt and Giscard d’Estaing is
how closely they worked “in concert” with each other (Schmidt, 1982, p. 48), how
very much aligned they were and remained with each other. As Giscard d’Estaing
quipped to Schmidt: “Where Europe and France are united, Europe is moving
forward. Where Germany and France separate, Europe is on the spot” (quoted in
Schmidt, 1991, p. 288).
The Schmidt and Giscard d’Estaing friendship is a great example of friendship
directed toward a shared goal of positive peace. Their friendship revolved around the
grand project of reconciliation between their two nations; a process from which
sprung their shared European politics. Thus, reconciliation went beyond negative
peace, in the sense of the absence of war, and heralded active Franco-German
cooperation on a diverse range of issues, most importantly their leadership in the
process of further Europeanization. The driving force of their leadership as individ-
uals, and friends, and its influence on this process, is unmistakable. Challenges and
opposition faced a united front in their strong friendship, which was cemented upon
the deep affect they held for each other. Furthermore, their friendship served as a
catalyst for the creation of the Library Group and, later on, the G6. It illustrates how
they actively reached out and embraced other friends for their grand project, and how
these affective relationships, characterized by equality, trust, and reciprocity, pro-
vided an impetus for positive political changes.
1044 Y. van Hoef
Helmut Kohl and François Mitterrand, 1982–1995
The decisive initiative for a common foreign and security policy for the European Union
emanated from two men: Mitterrand and Kohl. But it seemed to be almost a by-product of
their drive towards a wider objective: political union to set alongside the economic and
monetary union of Western Europe. (Nuttall, 2000, p. 4)
The successful friendship between Giscard d’Estaing and Schmidt could have set
the stage for a friendship between Schmidt and Giscard d’Estaing’s successor,
François Mitterrand. In fact, the opposite happened, despite Mitterrand and
Schmidt’s shared socialist ideology. That the relations between France and Germany
worsened during their shared time in office, despite their similar political outlooks,
indicates that friendship transcends ideology. Instead, a strong friendship developed
between Mitterrand and Schmidt’s successor, Kohl. Both Kohl and Mitterrand were
famous for building friendships. Indeed, Mitterrand’s “religion of friendship as a
moral code became legendary and for good reason” (Tiersky, 2003, p. 301).
Mitterrand and Kohl’s friendship would face a challenge unimaginable to Giscard
d’Estaing and Schmidt: the issue of German reunification. Three days after Kohl had
been elected chancellor, on 6 October 1982, he met Mitterrand for the first time
(Blechman & Fisher, 1989, p. 52). Kohl was deeply surprised when Mitterrand
accepted his invitation to speak to the German Bundestag (Kohl, 2005, p. 104). Both
were taken with each other from the start, and shared a “love for nature, forests, and
animals” and frequently exchanged reading lists (Dreher, 1998, p. 362). They also
inherited their predecessors’ political opposition to the United Kingdom, where they
had to contend with Thatcher’s opposition to European integration.
To understand the friendship between Kohl and Mitterrand, one key event is
crucial. On 22 September 1984, Kohl and Mitterrand attended the annual com-
memoration of the battle at Verdun. It was a solemn occasion, and both had a
very personal connection to the place. Kohl’s father had fought there in the first
World War, while Mitterrand had been captured there during the Second World
War (Lacouture, 1998, p. 102). A carefully scripted and meticulously planned
day, the ceremonies left nothing to chance. At the German cemetery a German
band played the two anthems, while at the French cemetery the French band
reciprocated. A moment of silence followed the Marseillaise. At that moment,
Mitterrand reached out and took Kohl’s hand. Kohl describes the moment vividly
in his memoirs:
“It is hard to describe my feelings. Never before have I felt so close to our French
neighbours. The spontaneous gesture of the French president had overwhelmed me. His
handshake was a sign of reconciliation” (2005, p. 310)
This moment went down in history as the defining moment of Franco-German

reconciliation. It can only be understood in the context of their personal friendship:
both knew the intimate meaning the place held for them on a personal level (Van
Hoef, 2014, pp. 72–73). That day would also prove to be an enduring anchor of the
friendship. Whenever relations between them became difficult
“the spirit of the handshake at Verdun, helped us over many conflicts. Especially during the
German Unification 1989/1990, despite some reservations and uncertainties, it gave us
strength and proved itself” (Kohl, 2005, pp. 313, 441)
The handshake is also an illustration of the personal affect Kohl and Mitterrand
held for each other. More so than the friendship between Giscard d’Estaing and
Schmidt, their friendship is characterized by emotions. In 1990, when tensions
between their two countries, and between themselves, ran high due to the division
on German reunification, Kohl won over his friend during an emotional meeting at
Mitterrand’s holiday home in Latché. Kohl mentions how deeply affected he was
by seeing how uncomfortable his friend Mitterrand was around him, something he
had never witnessed before (Kohl, 2005, pp. 1034–1037). Mitterrand too was
deeply concerned with the meaning of reunification for both the Germans and
Kohl personally (Favier and Martin-Roland, 1997, p. 256). Personal affection is
also found in the letters they write to each other (Kohl, 2007, pp. 183–184), and,
when Mitterrand died in 1996, Kohl openly cried at his funeral (Kohl, 2007,
p. 727).
Partly, Kohl and Mitterrand inherited the grand project of their predecessors, but
both the process of reconciliation and further Europeanization intensified heavily
under their leadership, and took on a distinct nature of its own. The moment at
Verdun illustrates this quite well, while their shared grand project came in jeopardy
when the issue of German Reunification arose. On this issue, for once at least, France
and the United Kingdom found themselves allies in opposition to Kohl (Favier &
Martin-Roland, 1997, pp. 210–211). For Kohl, however, Europeanization and
German reunification went hand in hand: the stronger Europe as an entity, the less
reasons for others to fear Germany (2007, p. 332). Once German reunification was a
fact, Kohl and Mitterrand worked together to intensify their project of European
integration, outdoing their predecessors by agreeing upon a European security
policy, with its own European army, and paving the road toward economic and
monetary union (Nuttall, 2000, p. 4).
Verdun remained the defining moment in the friendship, and their disagreements
were always resolved amicably, in the “spirit of Verdun” (Kohl, 2005, pp. 313, 441).
Acts of altruistic reciprocity are therefore less clearly present than in the friendship
between Giscard d’Estaing and Schmidt. Both continued to invite, and accept, to
speak to each other’s parliaments. The one issue that could undercut their relation-
ship was German reunification. Returning to our conceptualization of political
friendship, the leaders’ differing views on this issue could be understood as a
divergence in their grand project, thereby ending the friendship, and the acts of
altruistic reciprocity that go with it.
Kohl’s striving for German reunification would soon lead him to request Mitter-
rand to fulfill a crucial moral obligation. At that time, more and more, the looming
possibility of reunification soured their relationship. France, and Mitterrand, vehe-
mently opposed reunification, due to the strategic threat of a reunited Germany
(Favier & Martin-Roland, 1997, pp. 210–211). Simultaneously, Mitterrand intensi-
fied relations with the DDR, East Germany, and joined Thatcher in her opposition to
1046 Y. van Hoef
German unification. Mitterrand’s ambivalent stance endangered the friendship

(Dreher, 1998, pp. 458–460; Kohl, 2005, p. 581). When the Wall fell on 9 November
1989, reunification became an inevitability. Kohl’s personal diplomacy, both with
Mikhail Gorbachev, who he persuaded to favor reunification (Gorbachev, 1995,
pp. 712–715), and in winning over Mitterrand and, eventually, Thatcher (Kohl,
2005, pp. 977–979), was impressive. Yet Mitterrand still wavered between his
personal feelings and the interests of France, and his support remained ambivalent.
At a European summit in December 1989, Mitterrand warned for the risk of a “World
War” (Kohl, 2005, pp. 984–988).
Even then, as relations with Mitterrand soured, Verdun continued to give Kohl
hope: “It remains unforgettable to me, how I stood hand in hand with him in front
of the burial grounds at Verdun” (Kohl, 2005, p. 1014). Kohl soon faced several
challenges to reunification: Thatcher built a coalition opposing his efforts, while
Mitterrand made an official visit to the DDR. Kohl, “understood the symbolism of
his visit as destructive for the process of radical changes [taking place] in the
DDR” (Kohl, 2005, p. 1033) and felt that his “friend was at a considerable
distance, which almost led to the breaking of our close friendship” (Kohl, 2005,
p. 581). An intervention was needed. On 4 January 1990, Kohl made a personal
visit to Mitterrand at his holiday home in Latché, intending “to demonstrate only
mutual understanding and friendship” (Bozo, 2010, p. 182). There are no records
of this meeting; all that we have are the emotional recollections mentioned earlier
(Favier & Martin-Roland, 1997, p. 256). After several long walks at the beach,
Mitterrand was won over in favor reunification, offering both his moral and
financial support (Nuttall, 2000, p. 73). He had met his moral obligation to support
his friend, and the friendship was restored. Subsequently, Mitterrand joined Kohl
in opposition to Thatcher (Favier & Martin-Roland, 1997, p. 259).
Both Verdun and the meeting at Latché illustrate the equality in their friendship,
as do the reciprocal invitations to speak to each other’s parliaments. Kohl and
Mitterrand also frequently consulted each other, sharing and preparing speeches
(Kohl, 2005, p. 104). After the moment when they saw eye to eye on German
reunification, any divisive issues were solved amicably, always in the spirit of Latché
and Verdun.
The friendship between Kohl and Mitterrand crowned the project of reconcil-
iation begun by Giscard d’Estaing and Schmidt at Verdun. Their project of
European integration intensified, but they faced a challenge their predecessors
had not: the possibility of German reunification. Their handling of this issue
illustrates how their personal friendship played an instrumental role in their
striving for positive peace. The deep affect they held for each other was at times
tested by foreign and domestic politics, though never so much as under the duress
of reunification. Their friendship also illustrates the pressure a moral obligation has
within a political friendship, and it is through this lens that the emotionally fraught
visit to Latché is best understood. The moment that this moral obligation was met,
when Mitterrand joined Kohl in his striving for German reunification, paved the
way for the next step in the intensification of their grand project of building a
reconciled and integrated Europe.
Conclusion
The fact is that the German-French friendship was not simply imposed from above, but
rooted in the hearts of the people, and is the largest and best trust capital that we have built up
all these years.
Helmut Kohl (2007, p. 526)
In this chapter I have argued that political friendship is both an aspect of, and a
means to achieving, positive peace. This was done by first introducing a conceptu-
alization of political friendship, then explaining how this conceptualization fits well
with current conceptual definitions of positive peace, and finally illustrating the idea
of positive peace through friendship using two case studies: the friendships between
Franco-German state leaders in the years 1974–1995.
Section “Friendship and the Positive Peace Quadrant” conceptualized political
friendship as comprising five key components: (1) affect, (2) grand projects, (3) altru-
istic reciprocity, (4) moral obligations, and (5) equality. To differing degrees, each of
these elements is present in a political friendship. They also correspond to the four
elements of the PPQ introduced in this volume. Affect, altruistic reciprocity, and
equality are part of PPQ’s Peaceful Relationship; Nonviolence is an implicit moral
obligation of a friendship; and Social Justice and Environmental Sustainability are
possible grand projects of a friendship. By drawing upon the works of Andrea
Oelsner and Johan Galtung, section “Positive Peace Through Political Friendship”
showed how the five key elements of political friendship are present in Galtung’s
vision of positive peace, and argued that studying friendship is an answer to the gap
of positive peace research in the field of Peace and Conflict Studies. Finally,
section “Actors of Positive Peace: Franco-German Friendship (1974–1995)”
examined the friendships between Helmut Schmidt and Valéry Giscard d’Estaing
(1974–1982), and between Helmut Kohl and François Mitterrand (1982–1995).
Both friendships were characterized by deep affect and had at their core the projects
of reconciliation between France and Germany and European integration. In turn,
each friendship contributed to the achievement of positive peace. Both friendships
lie at the core of the European integration project, a historically unprecedented
achievement of interstate peace and cooperation.
Studying political friendship as an aspect of positive peace offers a concrete
example of how positive peace can be developed through the personal relationships
of state leaders. In particular, I have outlined how the personal friendships between
French and German leaders enabled them to deescalate tensions in times of crisis,
and to build a spirit of trust and mutual cooperation between their two countries who
had previously been implacable and deadly enemies. Understanding the important
contributions of political friendship, as defined in this chapter, to the achievement of
positive peace shows the value of articulating a clear framework for interpreting how
personal relationships can impact international politics. I have presented such a
framework in this chapter, explaining how the presence of affect, grand projects,
altruistic reciprocity, moral obligations and equality enabled the personal friendships
of state leaders to make an effective contribution to peace. This points to the
1048 Y. van Hoef
importance of better understanding the relational dimensions of international rela-

tions in general, and positive peace-building in particular.
Future research in this area could take other friendships between state leaders into
account and examine the role they played in establishing positive peace. While Kohl
and Mitterrand’s friendship was very personal to the two of them, Giscard
d’Estaing’s and Schmidt’s friendship became a community of friends involving
other state leaders, first through the Library Group and later through the G6,
encompassing Gerald Ford and James Callaghan and other elite political actors,
such as Henry Kissinger. Little research has been done on such communities of
political friends, neither in terms of the dynamics within their relationships nor the
impacts of these dynamics on their ability to achieve a degree of peace and
cooperation between their nations. Finally, the conceptualization offered in this
chapter draws heavily on western scholarship. Taking into account other,
non-western conceptualizations, would enrich our understanding of political friend-
ship, in all its forms. Such a wider approach holds the promise of further substan-
tiating how friendship can contribute to the achievement of positive peace across a
wide range of cultures and historical periods.
Acknowledgments I am grateful to Jaap de Wilde for first introducing me to this topic. He also
kindly introduced me to Johan Galtung at the Past, present and future of peace research conference
at the University of Groningen (2014). There, Johan Galtung graciously provided me with extensive
feedback. Andrea Oelsner, through whose work I first became aware of the link between friendship
studies and peace research, and with whom I would later actually get to collaborate, was crucial in
further developing the ideas in this chapter. Finally, Rachel Rafferty’s insightful feedback has
improved this chapter substantially.
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Contact Programs and the Pursuit
of Positive Peace: Reframing Perceptions 55
of Equality
Rachel Nolte-Laird
Contents
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1052
Positive Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1053
Intersectionality . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1054
The Contact Hypothesis as the Basis for Practice . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1055
Understanding the Effectiveness of Contact Programs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1056
Contact Programs and Positive Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1059
Recommendations for the Future of Contact Programs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1062
Conclusions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1064
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1065
Abstract
A critical examination of intergroup contact programs is given in order to
evaluate the relationship between these programs and positive peace. Contact
programs within the peacebuilding field are primarily predicated on the Contact
Hypothesis, which puts forth four ideal conditions under which intergroup
contact should occur to reduce biases successfully. Of these four conditions,
this chapter gives particular attention to the contention of equal status among
participants. By employing a theory of intersectionality, it is evident that the
achievement of equality among participants in contact programs is often artificial
and does not address the systemic oppression of certain members. Therefore,
while contact programs can act as a valuable tool in the work of bias and prejudice
reduction, when applied to positive peace, they lack the nuanced understanding of
equality necessary to contribute to the transformation of systematic oppression.
Recommendations for reimagining contact programs to effectively contribute to
positive peace are presented.
R. Nolte-Laird (*)
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_55
1052 R. Nolte-Laird
Keywords
Positive Peace-Contact · Hypothesis-Contact · Theory-Intersectionality-Equality
Introduction
Within peacebuilding practice, many initiatives aimed at forming relationships are

predicated on the notion of bringing people together within environments that
support the opportunity for bonds to develop and perceptions of one another to
shift positively. As this handbook explores, transformed relationships are a necessary
element in establishing positive peace, and therefore, these contact initiatives can be
noble in their pursuit. As such, the question of if, and how, these programs authen-
tically contribute to relational transformation remains relevant – can contact pro-
grams contribute to positive peace?
This chapter critically examines intergroup contact programs in order to assess
the connection between these programs and positive peace. While most contact
programs would not specify positive peace as the intended outcome of their practice,
neither would they likely seek to impede its establishment. As such, it is worthwhile
to examine the relationship between the two. Within peacebuilding practice, there is
not a uniform classification of contact programs (Al Ramiah & Hewstone, 2013;
Hammack, 2011; Maoz, 2011). The term “contact” is often employed to refer to
initiatives that might be better categorized as peace education, dialogue, debate, or
other variations of peacebuilding practice (Ellis & Maoz, 2012; Maoz, 2011; Ron &
Maoz, 2013). For this chapter’s purposes, I am utilizing the term to refer to programs
predicated on the Contact Hypothesis (Allport, 1954), which puts forth four ideal
conditions under which intergroup contact should occur in order to reduce biases
successfully. The four conditions are: equal status of participants, intergroup coop-
eration, superordinate goals, and support of authorities.
Of these four conditions, I am particularly interested in the condition of equal
status among participants. As this handbook is concerned with practices that relate to
positive peace – a reimagined society whereby all members, specifically those
previously marginalized and disenfranchised, are afforded justice and equity – the
question of participant equality in programs aimed at peace is especially relevant.
Positive peace challenges us to reimagine our relationships with one another.
However, to lay the foundation for understanding the issues that need to be
addressed within this relational transformation, we must first acknowledge the issues
of preexisting inequality among individuals in society.
By employing an understanding of intersectionality to critically evaluate common
practices in contact programs, I examine how the achievement of equality amongst
participants is often artificial and does not address the systemic oppression experi-
enced by certain group members in their life outside the contact encounter. Specif-
ically, these programs typically lack the nuanced perspective necessary to truly
contribute to the transformation of systemic oppression. Therefore, while contact
programs developed from the principles of Contact Theory can act as an important
tool in the work of bias and prejudice reduction, they may still fail to contribute to the
55 Contact Programs and the Pursuit of Positive Peace: Reframing Perceptions. . . 1053
achievement of positive peace if they do not lead to an increased awareness of

structural oppression and violence. Instead, an understanding of intersectionality
should be applied to reposition contact work towards the outcome of positive peace.
Following an analysis of the current body of knowledge, I will present recommen-
dations on reframing contact initiatives to more effectively contribute to the estab-
lishment of positive peace.
Positive Peace
The concept of positive peace was articulated by Galtung (1969) as an understanding

of peace that builds on the establishment of negative peace, which is the cessation of
direct violence (Galtung, 1969; Shields & Soeters, 2017). Positive peace is best
understood as a holistic construct where violence is eliminated across three dimen-
sions, which Galtung (1990, 1996) identifies as direct, structural, and cultural, and
where constructive transformation occurs among those three dimensions to increase
equity and justice. When society’s norms, policies, and practices are inclusive and
fair, those elements act as indicators for positive peace (Galtung, 1969, 1996;
Gawerc, 2006). While the present section of this handbook is dedicated to under-
standings of relational constructs and how these contribute towards positive peace,
positive peace itself must still be viewed holistically across these three dimensions,
and thus, the outcomes of contact programs must be assessed against an expansive
view of positive peace. If work is being conducted towards the restoration and
reconciliation of relationships, it must also lend itself to the intertwining work of
achieving cultural and structural peace. Positive peace is the weaving between and
among the three dimensions – building a strong relational tapestry that does not
overemphasize one area at the expense of another. If whole and healthy relationships
are created, they act as one vital facet of positive peace, but if the structural and
cultural dimensions of violence are not also changed, then positive peace has not
been established.
As a result, any conceptualization of positive peace requires understanding
structural or systemic violence and oppression (Galtung, 1969). Understanding
structural oppression recognizes that violence is not just physical, but rather creates
harm that manifests in myriad ways. These structural harms can include policies,
laws, and cultural norms that have a greater propensity to affect vulnerable
populations negatively. Those who are disenfranchised by systems of oppression
experience the inherent consequences of those structures (Nagda et al., 2012;
Rosenthal, 2016; Saguy et al., 2008). The varied social realities for people
experiencing oppression and people who experience privilege are evidenced in
numerous ways and have a direct impact on social outcomes such as health,
education, earning potential, and housing. Rosenthal (2016) provides a relevant
summary:
various forms of structural-level oppression, inequality, and stigma, such as constitutional

amendments banning same-sex marriage, laws restricting rights of and media images
promoting stereotypes of people living with mental illnesses, racial residential segregation,
1054 R. Nolte-Laird
as well as poverty and unemployment. . .have also been associated with a range of adverse
outcomes, such as poorer cognitive functioning, development, health behaviors, mental and
physical health, psychiatric outcomes, and risk of early death. (p. 476)
However, when these forms of structural violence are alleviated, the overall
wellbeing of those marginalized individuals is increased (Rosenthal, 2016). There-
fore, with an awareness of systemic power dynamics, positive peace must deal
directly with upending systems and constructs used to oppress – and the work
employed to this end must not ignore the issues of structural violence that permeate
everyday life. This is not a simple task; structural violence is insidious, challenging
to identify and difficult to articulate (Galtung, 1969). The challenges associated with
recognizing oppression underscore the necessity for contact programs to intention-
ally facilitate a process of identifying and naming structural violence and moving to
action based on solidarity and an awareness of one’s social position. This action
based on solidarity emerges from within reimagined relationships, in which equality
and justice are sought for one another.
Intersectionality
From the basis of understanding positive peace and how it relates to power, we move
to a more complex conception of equality. Centered on the understanding that there
are insidious and nuanced aspects to power and privilege that are not always readily
visible, a theory of intersectionality lends itself to uncovering aspects of power and
oppression that are located in the experience of individuals, especially in the context
of contact programs. Applying a theory of intersectionality provides a means of
understanding and identifying the ways in which individual social identities are
comprised of multiple facets, such as ethnicity, gender identity, sexual orientation,
and ableness. As Tapper (2013) comments, intersectionality recognizes that:
each of us has several social identities—identities based in relation to ethnicity, gender,

sexual orientation, socioeconomic class, and so on. In addition, each of us has an individual
identity—a unique personality shaped in relation to our manifold social identities. (p. 422)
Intersectionality as a theory is not a “closed system” but rather a locus for “the
overlapping and conflicting dynamics of race, gender, class, sexuality, nation, and
other inequalities” (Cho et al., 2013, p. 788). In conflict or postconflict scenarios,
where contact programs often focus on a single social identity such as ethnicity or
religion, these “other inequalities” can include individual and group differences across
substantial issues such as histories of violence, segregation, and occupation –
significant dynamics that add even more complexity to the concept of equality within
encounters.
Intersectionality is particularity concerned with how social identity links to
structural issues of oppression and power (Cho et al., 2013; McCall, 2005;
Rosenthal, 2016). As such, in the case of contact programs, it is not sufficient to
presume equal status among participants can be established through artificial factors,
such as physical location, when systemic issues of privilege and oppression will be
present in both visible and invisible ways and will affect how participants interact.
As Tapper (2013) identifies:
intersectionality posits that oppression in one place is intricately linked to oppression

everywhere else. Because oppression primarily exists in terms of structures, and because
these structures are linked to social identities (e.g., white, black, gay, straight, and so on) and
their relation to power, oppression is the by-product of unequal structures built around power
and identity. (p. 421)
This is to say, within any interaction, there are structures and systems of privilege
and oppression at work, and to ignore this issue is to hamper the development of
positive peace, which would seek to identify and address those systemic issues.
Throughout this chapter, I will utilize a lens of intersectionality for reviewing the
typical practices of current contact programs and provide recommendations on how
an application of intersectionality could lend itself to ensuring contact programs are
more effective in contributing to the establishment of relationships characterized by
equity and nonviolence, and ultimately to the outcome of positive peace.
The Contact Hypothesis as the Basis for Practice
While there are numerous intergroup contact models in practice today, the concept of
contact programs primarily developed out of Contact Theory (Ditlmann & Samii,
2016; Saguy, 2018; Wilson, 2017b; Wright et al., 2017). Originally developed by
Allport in 1954 as the Contact Hypothesis, Contact Theory has advanced beyond a
hypothesis and into a widely respected theory explaining how intergroup contact,
under certain conditions, can reduce prejudices (Pettigrew & Tropp, 2011; Pettigrew
et al., 2011; Zuma, 2014). Allport’s theory is predicated on the notion that, under
certain conditions, when people who are considered other encounter each other,
prejudice can be reduced on both sides. The conditions first put forward by Allport
are: “(1) equal status between the groups, (2) common goals, (3) cooperation
between groups, and (4) institutional support for the contact” (Pettigrew & Tropp,
2011, p. 61).
In their meta-analysis, Pettigrew and Tropp (2011) found that all conditions did
not have to be met for intergroup contact to successfully result in prejudice reduc-
tion. They also found that in the majority of research, Allport’s theory was proven as
an effective means of reducing prejudice in participants (Pettigrew & Tropp, 2011).
However, as will be explored further in this chapter, prejudice reduction is not a
universally beneficial outcome when addressing systemic issues. For example, when
minority group participants have a positive contact experience, it correlates to a
decrease in their recognition of issues of inequality and reduction in their motiva-
tions to pursue social action that can improve their situation (Meleady & Forder,
2018).
1056 R. Nolte-Laird
Of particular relevance to this chapter is an understanding of what is intended by

Allport’s identification of equal status as a condition for intergroup contact. Allport’s
(1954) presentation of equality provided examples from workplace scenarios,
whereby holding equal occupational status was important to the hypothesis. His
focus was on the equal social status of group members:
to be maximally effective, contact and acquaintance programs should lead to a sense of

equality in social status. . ..While it may help somewhat to place members of different ethnic
groups side by side on a job, the gain is greater if these members regard themselves as part of
a team. (p. 454)
Pettigrew and Tropp (2011) provide a useful interpretation of what is intended by

equality in Contact Theory:
Equal status can often be difficult to define, and researchers have used the term in varied
ways. . . What is critical from Allport’s perspective is that, regardless of inequities that might
exist in the broader society, the groups are granted equal status within the contact situation...
For example, equal status might be established in the contact situation through giving
members of each group equal opportunities to participate in activities, offer opinions,
make decisions, and receive access to available resources. As a consequence, both groups
have the opportunity, ability, and power to shape the rules of the interaction. (p. 61–62)
This comprehension of what equates “equal status” within intergroup contact is

an important component of the argument put forward in this chapter. When an
understanding of intersectionality is employed, it becomes evident that superficial
definitions of equal status are insufficient to the task of addressing systemic inequal-
ity and structural violence – critical components to the establishment of positive
peace.
Understanding the Effectiveness of Contact Programs
Contact programs are a common model of peacebuilding practice used in addressing

intergroup conflict and can be found in diverse settings worldwide (Connolly, 2000;
Hopkins et al., 2007; Scacco & Warren, 2018). What these programs have in
common is that they bring together members of identity groups that typically have
prejudiced or hostile attitudes towards one another. Contact programs, as discussed
within this chapter, are predicated on the Contact Theory; as such, many focus on
establishing the ideal conditions presented by Allport in order to change perceptions,
stereotypes, and narratives related to the other (Bekerman, 2007; Maoz, 2011;
Saguy, 2018; Wright & Baray, 2012). When implementing contact programs, the
overarching assumption is that, in changing the attitudes of individuals, other
broader social impacts will occur as a result (Friedman, 2013; Wilson, 2017b).
Contact programs have taken numerous forms, and modes of implementation
are varied. Some examples of models include arts and theater programs, sports
activities, summer camps, in-school initiatives, and computer-mediated contact
(Amichai-Hamburger & McKenna, 2006; Ditlmann & Samii, 2016; Ross, 2015;
Ungerleider, 2012). Maoz (2011) identifies four models of contact programs within
the Israeli and Palestinian context that provide a helpful summarization: the co-ex-
istence model focused on commonalities and shared interests, the joint project model
where participants work towards a unified goal or task, the confrontational model
whereby participants directly discuss topics and issues related to the conflict, and the
narrative model which focuses on sharing individual lived experiences. Of these
models, the co-existence and the joint project models are most evidently based on
Contact Theory and focus to varying degrees on establishing the ideal conditions
found within the theory (Ross, 2014). Critics have argued that programs based on the
co-existence and joint project models often ignore the concrete issues related to the
conflict in favor of creating a harmonious contact experience. Hence, while these
models may leave participants with a more favorable view of the other – thus
reducing prejudice – these models are insufficient in equipping participants with
skills to positively influence the conflict itself (Maoz, 2011; Ross, 2014; Thiessen &
Darweish, 2018). The narrative model receives similar critique, as, while participants
share their lived experiences, there is often an expectation that the narratives be
evocative but not distressing, thereby sanitizing the lived experiences (Maoz, 2011).
Programs based on the confrontational model can be the most effective at addressing
concrete issues relating to the conflict, but the focus on confrontation as a tactic can
cause distress if not facilitated effectively, in order to avoid causing further trauma
for participants while still empowering them to take action (Maoz, 2011).
Variation in the outcomes of contact programs is influenced by many factors,
including the nature of the conflict, the context, and model of contact (Ross, 2014).
In many cases, contact is effective in reducing intergroup prejudice and positively
shifting stereotypes (Maoz, 2000; Maoz, 2011; Pettigrew & Tropp, 2011), enhancing
understanding between groups (Malhotra & Liyanage, 2005; Thiessen & Darweish,
2018), reframing identity (Maoz et al., 2002; Ross, 2014), and developing strong
relational bonds between members of different groups (Thiessen & Darweish, 2018).
In postconflict settings such as Northern Ireland, initiatives among youth have
resulted in positive shifts in attitudes among Catholic and Protestant young people
(McKeown & Cairns, 2012; Rickard et al., 2014). In ongoing conflict scenarios,
such as the Israeli and Palestinian setting, outcomes can vary according to group
membership. In many cases, Palestinian participants in programs experienced neg-
ative shifts in perceptions and attitudes, while Israeli participants commonly expe-
rienced more positive changes (Ditlmann & Samii, 2016; Shani & Boehnke, 2017).
A common shortcoming in Contact Theory research is the absence in understand-
ing the wider social change outcomes of contact work. Many research studies focus
on the change in attitudes and prejudice at the level of individual psychology, but not
on broader or inter-related outcomes that relate to cultural or systemic changes, or
even relational transformation (Dixon et al., 2005; Hammack, 2011; Saguy, 2018).
Friedman (2013) notes that:
while some studies measure the impact specific programs have had on participants’ attitudes,
very few try to assess the cumulative impact of these endeavors by linking the impact of
different interventions and experiences to changes in individuals’ attitudes, and by linking
these changes to the bigger societal, political, and structural picture. (p. 318)
1058 R. Nolte-Laird
Further limitations include the lack of longitudinal evaluations of outcomes, as

the majority of research focuses on immediate outcomes and not long-term changes
(Ditlmann & Samii, 2016; McKeown & Cairns, 2012; Saguy, 2018). Where longer-
term outcomes have been examined, findings indicate that outcomes are not sustain-
able, and at times participants ended up further alienated from each other in the long
term (Friedman, 2013; Hammack, 2011).
Additionally, most research conducted focuses on the outcomes for members of a
majority group in society (Dixon et al., 2010; Shani & Boehnke, 2017). So, while
research largely supports Contact Theory as a means of reducing prejudice among
majority participants, the outcomes related to minority participants have been less
clearly understood (Ditlmann & Samii, 2016; Saguy, 2018). Where the outcomes for
minority groups have been studied, findings mostly indicate that the outcomes of
contact are less positive for individuals from minority groups, often because minor-
ity groups are more cognizant of power disparities and have a greater level of caution
in their interaction with the out-group (Dixon et al., 2010).
Finally, the majority of research conducted on Contact Theory has been outside of
conflict or protracted conflict settings (Wright et al., 2017). As Ditlmann and Samii
(2016) note, even in the meta-analysis of 515 studies from Pettigrew and Tropp, “out
of those 515 studies less than 3% involved groups in conflict” (p. 381).
These research limitations present challenges to understanding what constructive
contributions contact programs might offer to the pursuit of positive peace, espe-
cially regarding understanding the potential for transformed relationships in societies
affected by violent conflict. Because both research and practice have focused on
individual-level change in the short term, there is an important gap in our under-
standing regarding whether contact initiatives can contribute to social transformation
over the longer term. This is especially important to understand with regards to the
systemic oppression that is often found in conflict-affected societies, as this is often a
focus of grievances that develop into direct violence and become an injustice in its
own right.
Moreover, while the majority of empirical research supports the contention that
intergroup contact is an effective means to reduce prejudice, it is significant to note
that contact is by no means universally positive or successful. Interactions with those
who are other can reinforce negative or biased perceptions, further entrenching
views, and in some cases, result in an increased determination to avoid future
interactions (Aberson, 2015; Meleady & Forder, 2018; Tapper, 2013). Negative
contact experiences, where participants come away with a more negative view of
the other group after contact, can increase the likelihood that members of an
advantaged group will deny the existence of oppression (Meleady & Forder,
2018). Negative contact most often results from interactions where participants,
typically the minority group, feel threatened or unsafe in some way (Pettigrew &
Tropp, 2011; Pettigrew et al., 2011). While prejudice reduction is the more common
outcome from intergroup contact, negative outcomes are a real concern, as they can
further entrench harmful perceptions of the other and increase the likelihood of
avoiding future contact (Graf et al., 2014; Meleady & Forder, 2018). The potential
for negative contact to occur is therefore an essential consideration when initiating
contact programs, and it calls attention to the importance of ensuring an equitable

and positive experience for minority groups in particular.
Contact Programs and Positive Peace
As put forward within this handbook, positive peace is concerned with notions of
social justice and equitable relationships. Therefore, the work towards positive peace
must be based on an understanding of, and include means of, addressing issues of
identity, privilege, and power. By adopting intersectionality as a theoretical lens, we
can appreciate that, if contact programs are to contribute to the achievement of
positive peace, intergroup contact cannot be predicated on a reductionist categori-
zation of participants’ social identities, based on a single factor such as ethnicity or
religion. Groups brought together in contact programs are comprised of individuals
with intersectional identities whose lives are impacted by multiple dynamics of
systemic privilege and oppression. Even if artificial measures are put in place to
create the appearance of participant equality, such as meeting in a neutral location, or
balancing participant numbers along ethnic and gender lines, equality is not so
simple to achieve, because privilege and power will always be present even if they
are superficially invisible in the encounter (Tapper, 2013). Contact programs must be
based on an understanding and recognition of the societal forces that influence each
individual and their life determinants in order to work towards positive peace (see
Rosenthal, 2016).
While contact programs have effectively demonstrated their ability to reduce
prejudice in the short term at the individual level, there is a significant body of
literature that provides a compelling argument that contact programs are not an
appropriate means by which to address the root causes and perpetuation of conflict
and inequality at the systemic level (Dixon et al., 2012b; Hammack, 2008; Maoz,
2011; Wilson, 2017b). Hence, I examine below some of the reasons why contact
programs, in their current form, can be ineffective in contributing to, and in some
cases work against, the advancement of positive peace.
A common practice within contact programs is to emphasize commonalities
between out-group members, which often results in a suppression of the differences
that could increase tensions between participants and thereby risk creating a negative
contact experience (Saguy et al., 2008; Wright & Baray, 2012). While sensible on the
surface, this focus on commonalities serves to ignore the many intrinsic inequalities
among participants that result from difference in their social identities, ranging from
being members of opposing sides of a conflict, to their gender, age, sexual orienta-
tion, socio-economic background, etc. Indeed, Saguy and Chernyak-Hai (2012) have
found that when contact programs focus on commonalities between participants, this
further legitimizes “perceptions of the (social) hierarchy. . .which in turn predicted
weaker tendencies to make attributions to discrimination” (p. 718). The focus on
similarities, identifying the things that make us “the same,” lends itself to the
artificial construction of equality in contact settings. However, the differences
among participants are intimately connected with what makes them other (Wilson,
1060 R. Nolte-Laird
2017b). In naming these differences, the first steps towards addressing the critical
issues of structural violence are taken. Hence, an approach to contact that weaves
together an examination of difference and commonality provides a more holistic
approach with the potential to transform relationships while also advancing action
towards broader systemic change (Saguy et al., 2009).
Contact programs that ignore inequality among participants in favor of empha-
sizing commonalities can unintentionally reinforce the privilege and power of the
majority participants in the contact scenario, or as Paulo Freire (2000) would term
them, the oppressors – those who are complicit, even in ignorance, in upholding
systems of dominance. This is because the oppressed are more likely to seek to
address issues of power that contribute to their marginalization, yet they often do not
hold the power to determine the conditions for the encounter (Saguy, 2018; Wilson,
2017b). In other words, it commonly falls to those with less privilege to accommo-
date the privileged by silencing their experiences of oppression in favor of focusing
on commonalities.
The same argument is relevant when contact focuses on intergroup learning, as
asking the minority group to educate or inform the out-group enacts what hooks
(1993) identified as “an old and primary tool of all oppressors” used “to keep the
oppressed occupied with the master’s concerns” (p. 113). Audre Lorde (1984)
phrased the idea thus:
whenever the need for some pretense of communication arises, those who profit from our
oppression call upon us to share our knowledge with them. In other words, it is the
responsibility of the oppressed to teach the oppressors their mistakes...The oppressors
maintain their position and evade responsibility for their own actions. (p. 114–115)
It must, therefore, be understood that engaging in contact involves much more

significant risks for the more vulnerable and marginalized participants (Hopkins
et al., 2007; Thiessen & Darweish, 2018; Wilson, 2017b), as they are the ones who
will continue to live with the systemic consequences if the encounter is harmful or
negative. As outlined by Lorde above, they also are burdened with an unfair
expectation that they must teach members of the majority to recognize their own
mistakes, even while those majority members continue to benefit from the results of
that wrongdoing. This is yet another way in which contact programs can fail to
understand the subtleties in the work towards positive peace. In order to truly seek
relational equity and justice, work must be done to ensure that the oppressed are not
the ones accommodating the needs of the oppressor or bearing the weight of the risk
within intergroup contact programs.
Overcoming these challenges is essential to the work of meaningful social change
towards positive peace. Research demonstrates that intergroup contact programs that
do not explicitly deal with issues of identity, privilege, and oppression are largely
ineffective at influencing positive changes beyond individual-level shifts in attitude
and prejudice reduction (Friedman, 2013; Hammack, 2011; Nagda et al., 2012;
Wright & Lubensky, 2009). Further, while bias or stereotypes may be reduced and
attitudes towards policies may shift, majority participants who have encountered the
other in a contact scenario still may not change their behavior or take action directly
aimed at resolving the conflict or reducing structural violence in their society
(Hammack, 2011; Saguy, 2018). In their research, Meleady and Forder (2018)
found that positive intergroup contact did not increase recognition of inequality or
oppression among the majority group participants and, “perhaps more troubling is
the finding that negative contact was associated with the denial of discrimination”
(p. 15).
Intergroup contact that ignores issues of inequality can also further entrench
inequality at the societal level through lessening levels of anger and outrage
among minority participants. Research has found that minority participants are less
likely to identify systemic oppression in their society when they have increasingly
positive views of the majority group (Dixon et al., 2012a; Graf et al., 2014; Pettigrew
& Tropp, 2011; Saguy, 2018).
Maoz (2011) identified similar findings in the Israeli and Palestinian context,
specifically that, in the cases of co-existence and joint project initiatives, the models
serve to maintain the status quo by “perpetuat[ing] Jewish dominance and control
while encouraging Arab submissiveness and passivity” (p. 122). Thiessen and
Darweish (2018) similarly identified in their research with practitioners in Israel
and Palestine that intergroup contact programs are viewed as perpetuating the
occupation’s status quo and suppressing resistance. Maoz (2011) described this
type of practice as potentially “immoral - as intentionally perpetuating existing
asymmetrical power relations by focusing on changing individual-level prejudice
while ignoring the need to address collective and institutionalized bases of discrim-
ination” (p. 119).
These findings are significant as minority participants entering into contact pro-
grams have a greater desire to focus on issues of power and take action towards
addressing policies and practices that reinforce their marginalization (Nagda et al.,
2012; Saguy, 2018; Saguy et al., 2008). In order for this population to create
momentum directed at change, there must first be an awareness of the injustice
being perpetrated against them, and its structural components in particular. Indeed,
research demonstrates that awareness and acknowledgment of social disadvantage or
inequity by the oppressed group is critical for sparking movement towards change
(Saguy et al., 2009). For these reasons, it is imperative that intergroup contact
identifies and addresses issues of systemic injustice, ensuring that the minority
group is given space to speak of their lived experiences of oppression and has
agency to communicate the inequality they face (Thiessen & Darweish, 2018).
Therefore, at best, contact programs that do not address these issues are ineffec-
tive at moving towards positive peace. At their worst, contact programs that place
undue emphasis on similarities and ignore systemic inequalities may perpetuate
oppression by reducing the motivations of both majority and minority participants
to take meaningful action towards challenging systemic injustices and root causes of
conflict.
1062 R. Nolte-Laird
Recommendations for the Future of Contact Programs
Most relevant to this chapter is a discussion on how, if at all, contact programs can
contribute to establishing positive peace. If, as previously discussed, positive peace
involves the elimination of structural, cultural, and direct violence, and the estab-
lishment of social justice and relational harmony, then the work towards it must
actively contribute to the dismantling of systems of oppression and move towards
equity and inclusion in social structures, cultural norms, and patterns of relationship.
Some scholars have argued that programs based on Contact Theory will fall short
because Contact Theory itself is concerned only with prejudice reduction and not
underlying systemic issues that perpetuate conflict and oppression (Tapper, 2013;
Zuma, 2014).
Just as positive peace is multifaceted, so must be the work undertaken to establish
it. As I have argued in this chapter, programs based on Contact Theory which do not
directly address inequality, or those that implement a superficial construction of
equality among participants while ignoring inherent power imbalances, are at best
ineffective in the work towards positive peace, and at worst, perpetuate systems of
oppression. Ultimately, getting out-groups to reduce prejudice and like each other is
not effective in establishing equality. As McConahay identifies: “amicable relations
among racial and ethnic groups can exist alongside grossly unjust inequalities of
opportunities and outcomes. Ceteris paribus, harmonious race relations and
unprejudiced attitudes might be worthy goals—but only if other things are equal,
or nearly so” (as cited in Dixon, et al., 2010, p. 79). The emphasis must be on
dismantling systems of oppression and any reduction of biases, or improved per-
ceptions of other must translate into meaningfully contributions towards those aims.
However, there can be a role within the work towards positive peace for contact
programs. Improving attitudes and perceptions between members of different iden-
tity groups is an important step on the path towards restored relationships whereby
those who were historically other begin to envision an inclusive and equitable shared
future. As argued by Pettigrew and Tropp (2011), intergroup contact is not the
absolute solution to conflict, but rather there is the need for an integrated perspective
that views intergroup contact as one dimension of a holistic, “mutually influencing”
approach to peacebuilding (p. 216). In particular, there is a significant body of
research to support the contention that contact programs that deal specifically and
directly with issues of privilege and oppression while supporting action towards
political and social change can play a valuable role in the path towards positive peace
(Dessel & Rogge, 2008; Hammack, 2011; Wright et al., 2017). Hence, in this
section, I will present several recommendations on how contact programs can
integrate an intersectional understanding of oppression and identity into their activ-
ities to effectively support a move towards transformed relationships and positive
peace outcomes.
I am adding my voice to others such as Bekerman (2007), Dixon et al. (2012b),
Hammack (2011), Nagda et al. (2012), Saguy (2018), and Wilson (2017b), among
others, who advocate for contact programs that are designed to identify symptoms of
systemic oppression and discuss inherent power differentials. This approach would
lend itself to a mutually reinforcing interaction between transformed relationships

and social action; as participants reconstruct their notions of other and form new
friendships, they are better equipped to identify the systemic roots of inequity and
may be motivated to take greater moral responsibility for working to change those
factors (Dixon et al., 2012b; Opotow, 2012; Saguy, 2018). This is not to advocate for
programs that fully embrace confrontation, which can be upsetting and damaging for
some participants (Maoz, 2011; Wright et al., 2017). Rather, there should be a focus
on issues of systemic inequality in a carefully facilitated setting that allows new
interpersonal relationships to develop through a reframed understanding of other.
Connected to the first recommendation is an acknowledgment of the further need
for contact programs to focus on ensuring that participants with greater privilege and
power become better attuned to recognizing inequities in their society and develop
thoughtful and compassionate responses to those situations of oppression (Brown &
Ostrove, 2013; Wright et al., 2017). This recommendation follows from the
acknowledgment that, as Wilson (2017b) articulates, “to embody norms and be in
a position where one might choose to better notice, and learn to be more responsive
to injustice, is to occupy a space of privilege” (p. 615). This awareness of privilege
and being equipped for thoughtfulness is important in taking on the role of an ally –
someone who is not only cognizant of inequality but actively takes steps to address
issues and is willing to surrender their systemic privilege to do so. Brown and
Ostrove (2013) distinguish someone who is an ally from someone who simply
holds lower degrees of prejudice as one who actively seeks to “promote the rights
of nondominant people and eliminate social inequalities from which the ally may
benefit” (p. 2212). By this definition, encouraging majority participants to develop a
sense of allyship should be an important goal for contact programs seeking to
contribute towards positive peace (Ross, 2014). Allyship can be understood as a
much more important outcome of contact in contrast to prejudice reduction if the
goal of contact programs is recognized as working towards positive peace.
Interwoven with this focus on recognizing and taking action in solidarity to
address factors of oppression is the importance of equipping participants to take
part in collective action that effectively works towards systemic change (Dixon et al.,
2012b; Gawerc, 2006; Maoz, 2011). In their research with Israeli and Palestinian
peacebuilding practitioners, Thiessen and Darweish (2018) identified the need for
local-level initiatives to aim towards “impact[ing] the elite-political realm, including
oppressive state structures and concomitant official peace process initiatives” (p. 80).
In their analysis of contact programs in Israel and Palestine, Maoz (2011) found that
in all four of the identified models, none included inherent mechanisms to influence
broader systemic or societal change. Within the concept of positive peace outlined in
this chapter, it is evident that for contact programs to make an effective contribution
to this goal, they must equip participants with the motivations, skills, and relation-
ships needed to affect change through holistic action. One such model that might
lend itself to the reimagining of contact programs is a collective action approach
(Dixon et al., 2010; Wright & Baray, 2012; Wright & Lubensky, 2009), which
advocates for examining the causes and issues related to conflict in a way that
galvanizes both groups to action. While collective action has its limitations, such
1064 R. Nolte-Laird
as requiring a group of sufficient size for effective action to take place (Dixon et al.,
2012b), it works to directly respond to issues of power and inequality through the
mobilization of participants. A collective action approach to contact programs that
focuses on equipping participants to identify and act against structural violence
through transformed relationships based on solidarity and allyship could be a
powerful means of working towards positive peace (Wilson, 2017a).
Conclusions
In this chapter, I have sought to critically examine how contact programs can
contribute to the pursuit of positive peace more effectively by harnessing an under-
standing of intersectionality and systemic oppression. While contact programs are
largely successful in achieving their intended outcome of prejudice reduction, they
can be problematic in the potentially unintended perpetuation of inequality and
systemic oppression resulting from practices that typically avoid acknowledging
issues of privilege and power.
Accompanying this deficit in current practice, there are also significant gaps in
research knowledge regarding if, and how, these programs create transformed
relationships between members of different identity groups over the long term. We
also lack knowledge regarding the potential effectiveness of contact programs to
contribute to positive social change in societies affected by violent conflict. Future
research should address these gaps.
While there are significant issues to contact programs as they are currently
practiced, there is a role for them in the work towards the achievement of positive
peace in conflict-affected societies and other contexts. Contact programs can most
effectively contribute to the achievement of positive peace if redesigned to incorpo-
rate an explicit framework for naming and addressing the issues of inequality and
power as part of the encounter with the other. At the same time, this process of
recognizing injustice must be accompanied by strategies that equip participants with
the motivations, skills, and relationships to take practical actions aimed at achieving
systemic change. In this way, contact programs could move beyond their typical
focus on the attitudes of the individual towards seeking to inspire collective action
that can transform interpersonal dynamics, the cultural environment, and social
structures.
This is an inherently relational process. Based on these reimagined contact pro-
grams, we may see authentically transformed relationships emerge, relationships
based on norms of equity that motivate those with privilege and power to seek justice
for those who were previously other and relationships that support the agency of
those who have been disenfranchised in society through allyship and acts of soli-
darity. Such transformed relationships would promote not just an understanding of
intersectionality in social identities but also a celebration of those identities and how
they bring strength through diversity and experience to society as a whole. In
essence, these transformed relationships, brought about through new critically
informed forms of contact, could become both a reflection and an effective means of
working towards the ideal of positive peace.
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Transforming the Way We Speak,
Transforming the Way We Listen: Dialogue 56
and the Transformation of Relationships
Julia Chaitin
Contents
Introduction: When the Woman Peace Activist from the Kibbutz Met the Scar(r)ed
Right-Wing Woman from Sderot . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1070
What Is Dialogue? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1072
Dialogue, According to Martin Buber . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1073
Why Is Dialogue Difficult? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1074
Why Dialogue Is Worthwhile . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1075
Intergroup Dialogue . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1076
Concrete Steps in the Dialogue Process . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1078
A Closing Example of Dialogue: When the “Palestinian-Lover” Secular Jewish Woman
Met the Religious Zionist Ex-Settler . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1079
Concluding Thoughts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1082
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1083
Abstract
This chapter explores the characteristics of true dialogue between conflict groups,
focusing on conflict between sectors of Jewish-Israeli society that are split along
“left-wing” and “right-wing” lines, in relation to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.
The chapter presents examples from conflict-group encounters between Jewish-
Israelis from these groups, demonstrating how the use of dialogue mechanisms
can diminish fear and hatred between groups, lead to actions that aim to lessen
animosity between the groups, and encourage peace-building.
Keywords
Dialogue difficulties · Dialogue processes · Intergroup dialogue ·
Israeli-Palestinian conflict · Jewish-Israeli conflicts · Peace-building
J. Chaitin (*)
Sapir College, Doar Na Ashkelon, Israel
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_56
1070 J. Chaitin
Introduction: When the Woman Peace Activist from the Kibbutz

Met the Scar(r)ed Right-Wing Woman from Sderot
I saw her standing by the entrance to the Cinemateque, situated in a central plaza in
the small city of Sderot. In 2012, this city, located two kilometers from the Gaza
Strip, had already suffered thousands of Kassam rockets since the first one had
landed in this poor and peripheral town in the western Negev, 11 years earlier. The
small, thin, wrinkled woman, with faded, dyed blond hair, looked to be about 60, but
I guessed that she was probably younger and that her ragged look came from being
ravaged by poverty and a hard life, probably, in part, unconnected to the Kassam
rockets that had become a daily, deathly occurrence in the town.
I invited her to join our dialogue circle. We were from Other Voice, a group of
activists from Sderot, and kibbutzim and moshavim (Semi-communal rural commu-
nities) near the border with the Gaza Strip, who work for a nonviolent solution to the
Israel-Hamas conflict. We were holding an open dialogue encounter in the middle of
the town, a place we called “Kassam Land,” due to the thousands of rocket attacks
that had come to characterize this region of the country. Our goal was to create a
public, highly visible space and invite whoever passed by to join us. We were asking
them to share what life was like for them with the constant rockets, and with the
constant threat of war, in order to hear what people had to say. We were also opening
up a dialogue, in the public space, about ways to change the situation.
We knew that most people in Sderot did not agree with our ideology and that they
saw us as “self-hating left-wing Jews who loved Arabs.” We wanted to demonstrate
to them that we were all in this together, that we did not want this separation, and that
it was very important for us to hear what they had to say. However, we also wanted to
talk about what this “situation” (the euphemism for war and oppression) was doing
to our “enemy” – the Palestinians in the Gaza Strip. We felt the need to share with the
people, who joined the circle, the story of the people who had lost so much (we did
not yet know how much more they would lose in the two wars that were to follow,
later in 2012 and again in the summer of 2014). We wanted to put a human face on
the million and a half people in Gaza (the population at the time), who remained
faceless for most Israelis.
The woman was visibly angry with me:
What right do you have to come here and talk about them? They fire rockets at us day and
night. They’ve destroyed our lives. And you want me to feel sorry for them? What about us?
You should care about us, not them.
Since she refused to join the circle, we continued to stand next to the movie
house. I asked her if she would tell me what she had experienced.
For about 10 min, the woman talked about the physical and psychological pain
she had suffered from the rockets. She told me about how her apartment building had
been hit twice. She showed me the places on her body – her shoulder and leg – where
shrapnel was still embedded, after a rocket had exploded a few meters away from
her. She told me about her constant fear and her sadness and despair. She couldn’t
56 Transforming the Way We Speak, Transforming the Way We Listen: Dialogue. . . 1071
hold down a job, she had no money, and she saw no future. My eyes teared up. When
she finished, I put my right hand on her upper left arm and said, “You’ve gone
through such terrible things. I am so sorry to hear that. It’s really terrible.” The
woman, who had refused to tell me her name, looked at me with surprise. She put her
hand on my left elbow, gave me a big smile, and said, “You’re left-wing, but, you’re
okay. You’re a good left-wing person.”
The woman never sat down in the circle, but neither did she leave. She sat on a
bench behind the chairs during the entire encounter, listening to what everyone said,
including when we talked about the horrific suffering of our Palestinian neighbors in
Gaza and the harm being done to them, because of the ongoing blockade.
Although that conversation happened over nine years ago, I still remember the
connection we had. When a poor, frightened right-wing Mizrahi woman, who
carried shrapnel embedded in her body from a Kassam rocket, and who lived in
the poor and invisible town of Sderot, connected to a left-wing Ashkenazi academic
peace activist from a middle-class kibbutz, a community perceived by many in Israel
to represent the hegemonic power in Israeli society. This encounter showed me, once
again, the potential of genuine dialogue. I saw and understood a deepness in the
woman that I had not perceived when I first noticed her, before she talked and before
I listened. I also understood that she came to see me in a different light. The
encounter further reinforced my belief in the importance of intra-Jewish-Israeli
dialogue, concerning the impacts of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict on our lives,
especially among Jewish-Israelis who hold diametrically opposed political views.
This is because not only do we have so much to learn from one another, but also
because we will never be able to make real peace with our Palestinian neighbors if
we are incapable of making peace within our society.
Another reason that I chose to share this particular story is that it is not a typical
story of dialogue in the context of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. You – the reader –
may ask, how does, or can, this experience also teach us about the process of
transforming Jewish-Arab/Israeli-Palestinian relationships? After all, one might
assume that such an intragroup dialogue, which strengthens relationships and soli-
darity between Jewish-Israelis, could actually have a detrimental effect on Israeli-
Palestinian relations, perhaps viewing such dialogical encounters as being at the cost
of relationship transformation between Israelis and Palestinians.
I think the opposite is true and reflects a common misunderstanding that if one
engages in dialogue with members of her/his reference group, this could harm their
ability to be in dialogue with their “enemies.” I see constant engagement in dialogue
– with whomever, whenever, and wherever possible – as doing the opposite. That is,
the more one engages in dialogue, the greater her/his ability to strengthen healthy
and socially just relationships in all personal-social-political spheres.
The above example, therefore, demonstrates how two “enemies” engaged in
dialogue, who listen and speak to one another with respect and care, can transform
their relationships and perceptions of the other (Maiese, 2003). This is true not only
of Jewish-Israeli enemies, but also between Jewish and Arabs citizens in Israel and
Israelis and Palestinians (who are not Israeli citizens and live in the West Bank, the
Gaza Strip, and East Jerusalem).
1072 J. Chaitin
What Is Dialogue?
In order to understand why I (and many others, of course) assert that positive peace
cannot be accomplished without dialogue, it is important to define its characteristics
and look at the role dialogue can play in transforming conflictual relationships. The
transformation that we envision (and desire) is one that helps us move from relation-
ships characterized by negative emotions, stereotypes, and disregard of the humanity
and the human rights of the other, to a relationship characterized by a deep recog-
nition of the humanity of the other – even our “enemies.” A transformed relationship
concretely demonstrates commitment to the safeguarding and support of human
rights of all peoples. Such a transformation, then, is crucial for the weaving of
positive peace.
It is also important to note, at the outset, that dialogue is not only relevant for
altering problematic interpersonal relationships, but also for gaining awareness of
social-political systems that enact violence. In other words, genuine dialogue works
far beyond the interpersonal level. It aims to transform relationships built on social-
political inequalities between groups into relationships founded on equality, human
dignity, and social justice.
Bohm, Factor, and Garret (1991) provide a good starting point. They point out
that dialogue is very powerful, since it has the ability to explore the roots of crises
that face humanity. Its goal is to understand processes that interfere with real
communication between people since, when talking about issues that deeply matter
to us, we too often end up fighting with one another, sometimes even resorting to
violence. Dialogue processes make it possible for people to explore presupposi-
tions, ideas, intentions, beliefs, and feelings that control their interactions – on the
conscious and unconscious level. Furthermore, according to the authors, dialogue
can help us understand why people/groups avoid certain topics or insist on
defending opinions that appear to us to be irrational or indefensible. Finally,
according to Bohm and colleagues, dialogue is “an arena in which collective
learning takes place and out of which a sense of increased harmony, fellowship,
and creativity can arise.”
Saunders (2009), who has also written extensively about dialogue, perceives it as
being the essence of relationships; it is a probing, absorbing, and engaging mode of
interaction. Maddison (2016, p. 250) offers us another definition: dialogue is a
“political intervention focused on creating and holding open the political space in
which people in divided and post-conflict societies can engage with difference with a
view to transforming their relationships.”
From all of the above, we see that dialogue is much more than a way to talk
about facts that connect to another’s life or about a social-political phenomenon. It
is a way for people to explore deep-seated and perhaps unconscious beliefs that
often influence decisions and behaviors – in the personal and social-political realm.
Furthermore, as will be seen by Buber’s approach to dialogue presented below, it
is at the core of self-understanding and of all human relationships.
Dialogue, According to Martin Buber
Buber’s statement that: “All real living is meeting” (Buber, 1958, p. 25), reflects
the notion that it is only through relationships that we can fully open ourselves to
others, thus tying together human relationships and the dialogical nature of
existence. Buber’s best-known concept is that of the “I-You.” When people attain
this relationship, the “I” is in relation to the “Thou” and is part of a whole, part of
another (Smith, 2000). This phenomenon has a different essence than an “I-It”
connection, an artificial relation that emphasizes all that separates the “I” and the
other.
Buber focused on how people fully engage with one another, as they strive to
ultimately also meet with and understand themselves. From his perspective, human
existence cannot be found in the individual or the collective, but rather in “Man with
Man” (Buber, 1947). Hodes (1972), a Buberian scholar, continued this line of
thinking when he stated, “In interpersonal communication, something takes place
which is not found elsewhere . . . ‘the sphere of the between’” (p. 72).
Learning to live in relation with one another, as opposed to experiencing alien-
ation from one another, is made possible through dialogue. Furthermore, in this
ongoing process, we come to recognize the possibilities that are alive in that space
between us. For example, when we (learn to) live in relation with others, we become
aware of the myriad ways people understand their world, including how to deal with
conflicts. We gain deeper insights into how others view “reality,” providing us with
multiple opportunities to consider – and try out – ideas and behaviors that, perhaps,
we had not considered beforehand. By looking for ways to deepen our relationships
with one another, we also simultaneously participate in processes of positive peace.
This is because we are actively engaged in self-reflection, deep listening, and support
of human dignity and social justice.
Buber saw participants in genuine dialogue as desiring to form a living mutual
relationship. This genuine dialogue is very rare, differing dramatically from techni-
cal dialogue, that is rooted in the need to understand, but does not engage the soul. In
other words, the aim of technical dialogue is to solve a problem, whereas the aim of
genuine dialogue is to build relationships and community. Another common form of
“communication,” termed monologue, is speaking, disguised as dialogue. People in
monologue speak only with themselves and remain separated from the other, while
falsely believing that they are engaged in an interpersonal relationship (Buber, 1947,
p. 19; Smith, 2000).
Buber’s later works also explored “silence,” conceived as a flow of peace and
trust, which preludes speech. Though it may appear paradoxical and counter-
intuitive, silence plays a crucial part in dialogue (Nakane, 2007) and may even be
the basis of dialogue (Avnon, 1998). Silence is an active state. When people are
silent, they are often considering what they want to say, or, conversely, what they do
not want to put into words. Therefore, there is nothing random or accidental about
silence – it is a choice of how to be with oneself and how to be with others.
1074 J. Chaitin
According to Lacourt (1970), who followed Buber’s ideas, silence is important

because during this act, the person silences inner arguments and emotions. In doing
so, she/he becomes fully attentive to both self and other. Lacourt (1970) noted that
speech without attentive minds and silent hearts is meaningless. Therefore, genuine
dialogue, in the Buberian sense, in which an I-You relation exists, involves both
silence and speech (Smith, 2000).
As can be expected, dialogical relations between people are dynamic; individuals
move back and forth between I-It and I-You relations. Furthermore, dialogue is more
than interpersonal relational building; it makes it possible for a community to
develop and crystallize. Thus, dialogue, according to Buber, has a tremendous role
to play in the world: it is essential for holding society together.
Buber’s work on dialogue directly connected to the Jewish-Arab conflict. In
1938, he escaped Nazi persecution and immigrated to Palestine. He began working
for Jewish-Arab cooperation and for the establishment of a bi-national state in
Palestine (Schmidt, n.d.). Even though this is not the state that was created, Buber
remained committed to improving Jewish-Arab understanding (Smith, 2000).
Given all the above, and my ongoing work of relationship building between
Jewish and Arab citizens of Israel, and between Palestinians and Israelis, I find
Buber’s perspectives to be especially relevant for intergroup dialogue which aims to
transform conflictual and harmful relationships. Before looking at these kinds of
dialogue, however, I briefly focus on both the difficulties and the rewards that come
with engaging in dialogue.
Why Is Dialogue Difficult?
People, who have experienced genuine dialogue, know how emotionally and cog-
nitively challenging it is. Therefore, this chapter aims to be true to genuine dialogue,
by clearly acknowledging that genuine dialogue is not an easy process. It has little in
common with superficial mannerisms, such as saying, “Um hmm. . . I see. . .,” while
nodding one’s head with a sympathetic look on one’s face. Rather, it involves
opening oneself up to hearing things that you never heard, but even more so, that
you dreaded even thinking about. It involves garnering the courage to share personal
thoughts and experiences with others, who you fear might misunderstand you, or be
dismissive of you. It takes daring to walk into dialogue and it takes even more
courage to remain in the dialogue, especially when others attack you for what (they
think) you said (Chaitin, 2008, 2009).
As Miles et al. (2015) note, in intergroup dialogue encounters, participants are
directed to reflect on and share their perceptions and experiences, taking into account
their membership in social identity group[s]. Facilitators work on encouraging group
members to focus much less on solely seeking to improve interpersonal relationships
between members of different – conflicting social identity groups. Instead, partici-
pants are encouraged to examine how their own experiences of privilege or oppres-
sion inherently connect to social-economic-political status. As a result, in dialogue
encounters such as these, people frequently feel that their group is being threatened,
which results in intergroup anxiety (Stephan & Stephan, 1996). Miles et al. (2015)
point out that since most people are unaccustomed to dealing with such strong
emotions in their daily lives, they have great difficulty in handling these feelings
during the encounters, which often challenge hegemonic power relations. This is one
reason why dialogue is so difficult.
Another reason that dialogue can be difficult is that it demands that people
willingly expose themselves to hearing things that are uncomfortable or unpleasant,
to say the least. When people enter into dialogue with a former/present-day “enemy,”
they immediately become busy thinking about how they can/will refute what the
“other” is saying (Lederach, 1999). Oftentimes, “listeners” become so defensive that
they become dismissive of the other’s perspective. As a result, speakers perceive that
not only are their words unworthy of being heard and/or considered, but that their
human-ness is being questioned (Lindner, 2008; Mor et al., 2016). These are very
difficult experiences for human beings.
A third reason is that very few people actually engage in dialogue, in general, and
they have even less experience talking to their “enemy” – the people they have been
taught to fear and hate. As a result, people lack basic skills of how to engage in such
conversations. Furthermore, they tend to go into such encounters with negative
stereotypes and prejudice against the other, especially if they feel that this other
has victimized them (Adwan & Bar-On, 2001; Chaitin, 2008).
In sum, dialogue is very demanding on the cognitive, emotional, and behavioral
levels. Furthermore, it takes courage to enter into the process and even more to
remain in the process. Given this, why do people seek out dialogue and why do
peace and social justice activists encourage it?
Why Dialogue Is Worthwhile
In spite of the difficulties, for (most of) us who decide to engage in dialogue, the
experience often changes our world – in a good and extremely meaningful way. As
noted above, engaging in true dialogue opens up worlds and perceptions that we may
not have considered beforehand, or even thought existed. Our “reality” becomes
much wider, multifaceted, and interesting! Engaging in dialogue helps move us out
of ruts, breaks routine, and challenges us to explore life in new ways. In other words,
it provides opportunities for self- and other discovery.
Having the opportunity to expose oneself to new and (perhaps) revolutionary
ideas helps people learn how others, including their “enemy,” see the world. Once
we have an idea – even a small one – how our “enemy” sees his/her social-political
world, we become much more aware of the complexities of the conflict context, the
roots of the anger and hostilities, and the issues that are important to address.
Furthermore, we often begin to see new worlds of possibilities – such as ways to
understand reality and/or solve conflicts – that we did not know existed – an insight
that can then lead to creative peace making (Lederach, 2005).
Perhaps more importantly, in addition to the new insights we gain concerning our
“enemy,” having the (often-rare) opportunity to engage in genuine dialogue leads us
1076 J. Chaitin
to new insights concerning ourselves (Chaitin, 2009). As we engage in extremely

difficult and meaningful issues that affect our lives, we begin to understand what we
really think and feel. We begin to acknowledge our own prejudices and latent racism.
As noted above, this is not an easy awakening, but it is so worthwhile! Among other
things, such deep knowledge, that we had been hiding from ourselves, helps us see
that (1) it does not break us and (2) it gives us added strength to work toward the
change that we want to see, this time, with our eyes wide open. In short, dialogue
provides an incredible and rare chance to self-reflect and to work on inner transfor-
mation, which is a necessary and inherent part of interpersonal and intergroup
relationship transformation.
In order to achieve the creation of a new reality, new modes of communication
must be developed (Chaitin, 2011; Krauss & Morsella, 2006). As Krauss and
Morsella (2006, p. 153) remind us, this is an exciting and significant joint accom-
plishment of the dialogue partners. As a result, dialogue supports processes of
positive peace. Since dialogue allows each side to open and honestly explore “the
societal issues about which views differ, often to the extent that polarization and
conflict occur” (Dessel et al., 2006, p. 303), it provides the road upon which we
walk. In other words, it is the necessary communicative infrastructure that supports
construction of a social-political reality free of oppression, social injustice, and
violations of human rights (Chaitin et al., 2017; Harro, 2010).
In sum, while dialogue is far from an easy process, it brings great rewards, not
only for the individuals who participate in the dialogue process, but for their groups,
their communities, and wider society. I now turn to intergroup dialogue, which
focuses specifically on genuine dialogue that takes place on the social-political
group level.
Intergroup Dialogue
Intergroup dialogue is especially relevant for work with/in small groups, which
represent larger social-political groups that have been/are in conflict. In these
encounters, people, from different social identity groups, meet face to face and
openly, honestly, and emotionally share experiences and understandings in order
to transform their relationships from relationships of fear and animosity to relation-
ships of understanding and perhaps, joint activism.
In general, one major accomplishment of intergroup dialogue is that it helps
participants learn that intergroup conflicts are not rooted in the interpersonal level,
but rather in the social-political level. Therefore, dialogue that takes place on the
group level – either when the two groups meet together or when they split up at times
occasionally to speak with one another within their own group – can help partici-
pants develop a critical awareness of social identities and social systems. It also
supports the development of capacities to promote social justice (Miles et al., 2015,
p. 225; Sternberg et al., 2018).
For example, when group facilitators encourage group members to listen deeply
to the voices of members of the out/enemy-group, an important and significant
outcome of the encounter is that participants gain awareness that “enemies,” too,
deserve to be heard. That enemy voices should not be silenced, even/especially if it is
painful to hear what is being said. Additionally, social justice is promoted in
dialogical inter-group encounters since these experiences give participants the
opportunity to be empathetic (Chaitin & Steinberg, 2008) toward the other’s suffer-
ing. There is no guarantee, of course, that dialogue will lead to acts of social justice.
However, the chances are greater that when people engage in such inter-group
dialogue, their understanding that political-social inequalities need to be concretely
addressed increases.
Nevertheless, it is important to remember that dialogue between conflict parties
has both predictable and unpredictable moments, and it is always a dynamic process.
For example, Steinberg (2004) discovered that dialogue between Jewish and Pales-
tinian citizens of Israel often traverses six stages, from ethnocentric dialogue, in
which neither side listens to the other, and is engaged in dual, parallel monologues,
to dialogical moments. In these rare and short moments, there is a:
. . .discussion between equals, characterized by sharing feelings with the others, differenti-
ation among individuals, listening, reacting in a non-judgmental way and trying to under-
stand the other’s point of view, which leads to a moment of cognitive and affective
understanding, of “real meeting” . . . participating in the other’s experience without losing
the self. (p. 204)
As a result, it is important to remember that what we plan, or imagine in our

mind’s eye, is one thing, while the outcome may be quite another.
Intergroup dialogue is used in a myriad of situations and ways. Not all researchers
would classify the kind of dialogue that takes place in many of these groups as
reflecting genuine dialogue. This is because there are many instances in which
groups shy away from raising conflictual issues (Suleiman, 2004), such as in the
Human Relations/Contact Model (Maoz, 2011), in order to preserve a pleasant
atmosphere in the room and to encourage participants to see the commonalities
that exist between the members of the other group. A second instance is when group
facilitators do the exact opposite (Halabi & Sonnenschein, 2004) – as in the
Confrontational Model (Maoz, 2011). In groups like this, the facilitators actively
encourage heated debates over “hot” topics and discourage interpersonal closeness.
This is because they want everyone to focus on the root of the conflict – the social-
political injustice that privileges one group at the expense of the other. Since the
groups are not given the opportunity to develop interpersonal closeness, the result is
that participants remain situated in their arguments (Steinberg, 2004). In the end,
therefore, neither of these models is especially helpful for transforming relationships.
Another model, the Narrative or Storytelling Model (Bar-On, 2006), which has
been used extensively in the Jewish-Arab/Israeli-Palestinian context, has been found
to successfully create genuine dialogical spaces for participants (e.g., Albeck et al.,
2002; Bar-On, 2006; Maoz 2011). Facilitation in the Narrative Model is based on a
narrative approach in which participants from the conflict groups tell the stories of
their lives, in the context of the conflict and share their personal, familial, and
collective narratives of their experiences in the conflict (Maoz, 2011). This model
1078 J. Chaitin
is successful since it combines interpersonal interaction with intergroup interaction

and, to a large extent, focuses on people’s social identities. This, in turn, connects
personal experiences to issues of conflict and power relations.
The model is based on the assumption that, in order to reach reconciliation,
groups in intractable conflicts must work through their unresolved pain and anger
and the best way to do this is through personal storytelling (Bar-On, 2006).
Therefore, when members of groups in conflict encounter the experience of the
other, through this device, it enables them to begin to create trust (Lewicki, 2006)
and compassion. The “other” becomes re-humanized, and participants construct a
more complex image of one another than the one they had before (Bar-On, 2006;
Maoz 2011). In sum, the Storytelling Approach to intergroup dialogue is a technique
that invites people to share meaningful personal, familial, communal, and societal
experiences in order to engage in Buberian-type dialogue. Such encounters become
joint and co-created communication experiences. As a result, it becomes much more
difficult to hold onto past stereotypes and prejudices against one’s “enemy.”
The saying: “An enemy is one whose story we have not heard” (Knudsen-
Hoffman, 1997) may appear to be hackneyed. However, my years of experience
have taught me that clichés can also be true. Once you have supported your “enemy’s
voice,” by engaging in deep and reflective listening, and heard about her/his
experiences, it is much more difficult to see him/her in the same negative light.
Stereotypes and prejudices begin to fade.
Concrete Steps in the Dialogue Process
It is not my intention to provide a “cookbook” of how to create a genuine dialogical

encounter with the “other” or with one’s “enemy.” Such a “cookbook” would
immediately turn the dialogue encounter into technical or pseudo dialogue (Buber,
1947) and sabotage the meetings before they even began. However, there are a few
important principles and ground rules, which are crucial for the development of
genuine intergroup dialogues. I briefly present them here.
The first is that for such dialogical encounters to succeed, it is crucial that
facilitators create a safe space – a place in which all participants are ensured that
they will not be humiliated or ridiculed. This, then, makes it possible for people to
open up, to share what was previously silenced, and to listen to ideas that were once
taboo (Albeck et al., 2002; Chaitin, 2004, 2008, 2011; Miles et al., 2015). Interper-
sonal and intergroup dialogues have chances of succeeding only if the interactions
are respectful of all participants (Chaitin, 2004). The atmosphere in such safe spaces
is one that is nonjudgmental, respectful, reflective, and attentive. However, the safe
space does not sacrifice honesty, or the ability to deal with difficult and critical issues
that need to be addressed if personal and relationship transformation is to occur
(Chaitin & Steinberg, 2008). If it were to sacrifice these, the dialogue would be lost/
nonexistent.
A second principle is that dialogue can only occur when people are capable of
engaging in active listening. This might be the most difficult thing for participants to
do. As noted above, when people in a group (or interpersonal) dialogue hear
something with which they disagree, or which sounds like an attack, the instinct is
to stop listening and to prepare a rebuttal, in order to prove to the other that his/her
way of perceiving reality is wrong (Ross & Ward, 1996). As noted above concerning
the important role of silence in dialogue (Nakane, 2007), no dialogue can occur if
people are not listening. Therefore, facilitators are wise to spend part of their time
helping group participants learn how to be active and nondefensive listeners, such as
refraining from cutting off someone else when she/he is speaking and/or how to sit in
silence and consider what one heard.
A third principle is that it is important to give group participants periodic
opportunities to meet together in their uni-national/ethnic/religious groups. Given
that active listening is very difficult – on cognitive, emotional, and behavioral levels
– having this “time-out” can provide participants with the space they need to share
with one another difficulties that they may not yet be able to bring up in the entire
group (Sternberg et al., 2018). The dialogue that takes place in these respites then
provides energy for renewing the intergroup dialogue.
In summation, by creating safe spaces, encouraging and engaging in active
listening, and having opportunities to reflect on the difficult dialogues that have
taken place in intergroup encounters, facilitators provide group participants with real
opportunities to engage in genuine dialogue. This is a rare gift, cherished by people
for years.
A Closing Example of Dialogue: When the “Palestinian-Lover”

Secular Jewish Woman Met the Religious Zionist Ex-Settler
I was with my husband in the car when I got the phone call from Idit. She was putting
together a dialogue group of Zionist religious former settlers from the Gush Katif
area (in the Gaza Strip) and secular residents of the Eshkol regional council – the
region where I live, which is close to the border with Gaza. Someone had given her
my name, telling her that I would be an ideal candidate for a new group that was
being formed, called Circles in Eshkol.
The idea was to bring together Zionist, modern Orthodox residents, and secular
residents (some of whom were Zionists and others who were not) from the region to
work out ways to talk together and, perhaps, down the road, to plan activities
together. This need had arisen since there had been conflictual encounters between
the two groups, when the religious ex-settlers, who had established communities in
our region, demanded that council-wide cultural events be held separately for men
and women, in order to ensure that the “feelings and values of their community were
respected.” For example, during one of the Jewish holidays, this new community in
our region had refused to have an all-women’s choir sing, since they said that women
singing in public was immodest. This caused a big stir in the region, and many of the
secular residents (the majority of the region’s population) were angered over the
decision to cancel the women’s song and to try to banish women from the public
space.
1080 J. Chaitin
My first instinct was to decline the invitation. For years, I had met with
Palestinians from different backgrounds and political stances. Even though we did
not agree on certain issues, and there were times when I was accused of taking their
land, being in favor of the Occupation, etc., I was always eager to participate in these
encounters, since I saw them as crucial for reaching peace. However, when it came to
sitting with former Jewish-Israeli settlers from the Gaza Strip, I felt that I wanted no
part of it.
I saw the settlers as being the root of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict evil. Further-
more, I knew that these new residents in our region had not willingly moved back
inside the Green Line, but rather had done so out of duress, since Ariel Sharon, who
had been Prime Minister at the time, decided to withdraw from the Gaza Strip in
2005 and to dismantle all the settlements and the Israeli military bases there. (The
Israeli-Arab armistice line from the 1948 war.) Moreover, from what I knew about
the ex-settlers, if the Israeli government were to change their decision, the former
settlers would pack their bags and move back tomorrow, even if it meant living in
tents. This is because this group of people were “ideological settlers,” who saw the
land from the Jordan River to the Mediterranean, as land that God had given to the
Jews and that belonged solely to the Jews (Sasley & Sucharov, 2011) – a view I
found racist and immoral.
After approximately three seconds, I decided that I could not say “no.” The
thoughts that quickly ran through my head were that if I saw myself as someone
who said that one should never refuse to engage in dialogue, with someone who
asked/agreed for such a dialogue, then I had to be true to that principle and talk with
people who I saw as ruining my country. I could not, on the one hand, preach having
dialogues with your “enemy,” while on the other, be unwilling to enter into dialogue
with my “enemy.” So, I said “yes.”
The group met for about a year. We had meetings every 2 to 3 weeks and each
meeting lasted for 4 h. In the beginning, we met at one of the community buildings in
the regional council, but as time went on, and we became closer to one another, we
began meeting at one another’s homes, in secular kibbutzim/moshavim and in their
religious communities.
I remember the first meeting. We sat in the large circle – there were about 25 of us
– half from each sector – and each person, in turn, introduced him/herself. When it
was my turn, I made it a point (To annoy them? To put the ideological conflict that I
had with them immediately on the table?) of stating that I was a peace activist who
spent a great deal of my time being in touch with Palestinians and working on peace
initiatives with them.
The responses came immediately. Sara said: “Oy, achoti (my sister); it really
pains me to hear that you care about them more than us. After all, you and I belong to
the same people.” Amiram, who was in his thirties, added at the end of the evening:
“I see this is going to be challenging, especially since we have such radical extremist
views here in the group, expressed so strongly by Julia. This is going to be harder
than I thought.” While I mention here two responses from religious group members,
many of the secular group members were not too happy either about things I had
shared during the evening (and in the evenings to come). In addition to the tension I
felt each time that I walked into the meetings, I also did not understand at least half of
what they said, since they often used Biblical phrases and rabbinical sayings, which I
did not understand, since I came from a very secular background.
After meeting for about half a year, the group decided to begin working on texts –
both religious and secular – that addressed different values in Israeli society. We
would sit together in small mixed groups, read the texts aloud and silently, and then
discuss the meaning of the writings. Whenever I read the Hebrew/Aramaic texts,
which came from either the Torah (The Old Testament as Christians call it – the
Jewish Bible), prayer books, or writings by different rabbis, I was usually at a loss in
the first sentence. I had never studied the Bible (never read it) or other religious
writings. I could not decipher most of the words, let alone the meaning behind them.
In short, I could have been sitting in a Turkish, Chinese, or Finnish classroom, since I
had no clue what was on the page. I could pronounce the words, but they had no
meaning for me. As a result, I had nothing to add to the discussions, and I felt both
ignorant and shut out. However, I kept coming to the meetings.
During one of the gatherings, toward the end of the year, during which Amiram
constantly used me as the example of an ultra-radical, extreme left-winger [which
always made me smile], he recounted an experience he recently had, as an officer in
the IDF (Israel Defense Forces). He had been on reserve duty in the West Bank, at
one of the checkpoints. His story physically jolted me from my seat. This is what
Amiram said:
I was in charge of soldiers at the checkpoint. We had a number of old people who were
passing through that had to be checked – you know, their bags, to lift up their shirts to see
that they weren’t wearing bombs, hiding knives, things like that. Before we began, I gathered
my soldiers together and told them: ‘Look, we have to do this job because Israel’s security
depends on it. But, remember that these are people. Many of them are grandparents. So,
when you do your job, do it with kindness. Don’t abuse the power we have. Remember that
they are people, like your grandparents. And, the whole time, I had the picture of you, Julia,
in my head. What would she say? How would she want us to behave? I know that you and I
don’t agree on most things, and you think that we are occupiers and I say you can’t occupy
what is rightfully yours. But, in the beginning, I thought you were a Jew-hater and an Israeli-
hater! I thought you only loved the Palestinians and hated your own people. But now I know
that you love people, all of us. I think you are wrong. I know you are wrong. But, I
understand now that you are working out of love, not out of hate. Maybe I’ll convince
you one day how wrong you are, but I now know how much you love people – even Israelis.
When our meetings ended, I was sad that we would no longer meet, which was
the opposite feeling I had when we began. I felt a loss. I wanted to use the summer
wisely, and not stop the momentum – at least for me – so that I would continue
working on myself to better understand these ex-settlers that I used to call my
“enemy.”
I decided that I would do something that I had never done. I looked through all of
my cabinets at home until I found the Tanach that I had received in 1970, when I first
came to Israel. I had written my name in the two volumes, but had never read the
book. I dusted off the two volumes and put them on the coffee table in my living
room. I then opened up the first one and began to read. Here I was, over 60. I figured
1082 J. Chaitin
that it was about time to stop being so ignorant about what was written in this book –
that was so important to humankind – whether or not I believed it to be God’s words
or not – and to try to understand at least a small part of what these religious
nationalistic ex-settlers had been saying over the year. As I turned the first page
(and many times during my reading), I thought of Amiram.
It took me about 3 months to read the Tanach. I read every day. There were
passages that I read very carefully and there were passages that I skimmed; but I read
every page and every day. When I talked about this later to my friend, Avner, he
asked me incredulously: “You read it cover to cover?” I told him I had. He said that
nobody does that. I told him I had.
After I finished the Tanach, I sat down and wrote an email to everyone who had
been in our group. I thanked them for sharing their hearts and minds with me/all of
us, for their courage to keep meeting, even though we disagreed so deeply on some
many deep and important issues, connected to Jewish-Jewish and Jewish-Palestinian
relations. I told them about how our meetings had let me to read the Tanach so that I
could learn a bit more about the people whom I knew so little about and to try to
understand the roots of the perspectives that they held. I also told them that now I had
finished reading the Bible, I needed something to read. . . I got back a number of very
warm email responses with suggestions about who/what I should read next.
I am sure that we are never going to have the same values and perspectives. I
did/do not expect that to change. However, I am also sure that that year of meetings
between the “fanatic ideological ex-settlers from Gush Katif” and the “very confused
Arab lover” changed things in both sides. Of course, my commitment to working on
peace between Israelis and Palestinians did not waver. However, my understandings
of the ways in which the Jewish-Israelis who had lived in Gush Katif saw their world
grew much deeper; my animosity toward them greatly lessened and my care and
concern for them increased. I am sure that the encounter changed us all for the better.
Concluding Thoughts
I began this chapter by recollecting a dialogical moment that I had with a woman
from Sderot, during an encounter between peace activists and people from the
rocket-ridden town of Sderot. I ended it with experiences I had from a year-long
intergroup dialogue between Zionist religious nationalist ex-settlers and secular
residents of a region that borders the Gaza Strip. Both examples reflected the
principles, challenges, and rewards of genuine dialogue.
When safe spaces are created for dialogical communication, it becomes possible
for people to imagine a peaceful future (Boulding, 2000). Once people can imagine
such a future, possibilities about how to realize such a future also arise. Dialogue that
takes place in a safe space has amazing potential to transform negative and abusive
social-political relationships into positive and healthy, sustainable ones (Bohm,
1996; Dessel et al., 2006; Pruitt & Kim, 2004).
Stepping into the dialogue and remaining in the dialogue are, perhaps, the most
difficult experiences that people will have in their interpersonal and intergroup
encounters with the “other,” with their “enemy.” If we can help strengthen people on
opposite sides of the divide – whatever that social-political divide might be – we can
strengthen our communities and ourselves and transform our injurious relationships
into healthy, sustainable ones. From this communicative and relational foundation,
we can begin to walk the road towards positive peace.
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Education for Peaceful Relationships
57
Silvia Guetta
Contents
Introduction: Assumptions Underlying Education for Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1086
International Organizations and Peace Education . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1087
Communication, Complexity, and Peaceful Relationships . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1088
Tools for Educating for Peaceful Relationships . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1092
Sports as a Means for Developing Peaceful Relationships . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1095
Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1098
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1098
Abstract
Starting from a theoretical framework, this chapter reflects on how teaching
complex skills of communication contributes to development of peaceful rela-
tional skills. The term “peaceful relationships” refers to interpersonal interactions
that do not use violence, duress, constraint, or exploitation to achieve goals. It
refers to all types of behavior and communication including explicit, implicit,
direct, indirect, literal, and symbolic patterns. The chapter emphasizes that every
educational intervention should include a plan to develop knowledge and com-
petences that enable generation of peaceful relationships. This type of educational
model improves self-awareness, ability to listen to others, sense of responsibility,
attention span, and overall quality of learning. Such a plan should focus on
theoretical considerations regarding the connection between relational compe-
tences and education for peace. The objective of education for peace is not only to
end interpersonal conflict, but to build a society that fulfills the needs of all its
members. The chapter presents two case studies conducted among Israeli and
Palestinian youth, which utilize team sports as a context. The first case study is
realized in the formal context to develop competences for peaceful social
S. Guetta (*)
University of Florence, Florence, Italy
e-mail: guetta@unifi.it; silvia.guetta@unifi.it
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_57
1086 S. Guetta
interactions. The second case study is an experience in the nonformal context

examining how young people from different ethnicities learn how to live together.
Keywords
Peaceful Relationships · Nonviolence Communication · Self-awareness · Ability
to Listen
Introduction: Assumptions Underlying Education for Peace
Every educational intervention should include a plan to develop knowledge and

competences that enable generation of peaceful relationships. This type of educa-
tional model improves self-awareness, ability to listen to others, sense of responsi-
bility, attention span, and overall quality of learning. Such a plan should focus on
theoretical considerations regarding the connection between relational competences
and education for peace.
Starting from this theoretical framework, this chapter reflects on how teaching
complex skills of communication contributes to development of peaceful relational
skills. The term “peaceful relationships” refers to interpersonal interactions that not
use violence, duress, constraint, or exploitation to achieve goals. It refers to all types
of behavior and communication including explicit, implicit, direct, indirect, literal,
and symbolic patterns.
Following Galtung (1996), all educational paths should be guided by a distinction
between positive peace and negative peace. Negative peace is the absence of war.
Positive peace, in contrast, refers to just and equitable access to resources and the
ability for all humans to develop their potential (Galtung & Weber, 2007). The
objective is not simply to end conflict, but to build a society that fulfills the needs of
all its members.
School systems tend to view conflict as taboo. However, education for peace
needs to move beyond the idyllic image of perfect and harmonious situations
(Boulding, 2001). If conflicts are contextualized, they can become bridges to
transformative paths of change (Galtung & Weber, 2007). Examining conflict offers
the possibility of finding strategies to deepen understandings of personal and col-
lective beliefs, accept divergent opinions, experience the coexistence of differing
points of view, and reexamine emotions and ideas that have become solidified
(Amster, 2015; Galtung, 1996; Palma & Canuti, 2017). Conflict can actually build
relational competence and improve a relationship, while violence and war only
express relational incompetence and willingness to dispose of relationships. Vio-
lence expresses an inability to understand and channel emotions positively. Building
relational competences is linked to awareness of a personal and collective mission: to
recognize the uniqueness and irreplaceability of each human being. The challenge is
to develop an inclusive mode of thought that incorporates one’s own personal reality
as well as the realities of those who have different life paths. The first step is
developing tools to overcome the discomfort or fear of feeling different from others,
57 Education for Peaceful Relationships 1087
to welcome oxymorons and paradoxes, without privileging one to the detriment of

another (Alger, 2014). This necessitates integrating experiences of success, happi-
ness, and satisfaction alongside failures and breakdowns in our relationships.
Interpersonal relationships are complex. There are many ways to view social
relationships in general, and educational relationships in specific. Educating towards
peaceful relationships involves cognitive, communicative, emotional, spiritual, and
behavioral processes that enable people to participate in social and cultural life in a
constructive rather than destructive way.
Peace education implies a constant reference to the relational dimension of life. A
peaceful condition is not granted by political powers or supernatural forces. Peace is
guided by human agency, as are violence and war. Peace is a process first and a result
second. Peace implies a cultural propensity to build rather than destroy.
The experience of war and growing awareness of its consequences led many teachers
to consider peace education. However, their approach generally affirms the idea of
negative peace. It seldom includes a clear awareness of how to build positive peace. To
educate for peace, we should consider the relationships between aspects of our social
and cultural experiences, including international relations, human rights, development,
ecology, and conflict management (Harris, 2004; Harris & Morrison, 2003).
Harris and Morrison indicate five aspects of building competences for peace:
(1) exploring the roots of violence; (2) teaching alternative behavioral models to
violence; (3) investigating diverse forms of violence; (4) viewing peace as a process
that varies according to context; and (5) awareness of the omnipresence of conflict. It
is important to recognize features and qualities of a relationship that provide people
with opportunities to exchange experiences, feelings, ideas, and points of view. This
opportunity leads towards mutual enrichment, improved knowledge, and the possi-
bility to modify ourselves.
International Organizations and Peace Education
International organizations play an important role in peace education. In particular, after

the Second World War, the United Nations Educational, Social, and Cultural Organi-
zation (UNESCO) has undertaken the task of rethinking science, culture, and education
from a peace perspective, and deconstructing sociohistorical and cultural models that
lead to war and violence. UNESCO supports research addressing the role that formal
and informal education can play in promoting either a culture war or one of peace. The
UNESCO International Bureau of Education reflects growing international concern
with the ways political violence denies children access to education, as well as ways
that educational systems contribute to violent conflict (Tawil & Harley, 2004).
The Delors (1996) Report for UNESCO identifies the best educational strategies
to implement in the new millennium. It emphasizes the necessity of thinking about
education in a broad sense, beyond the school context, considering long-life learning
in various social, local, and global contexts. The report defines four interrelated
pillars of education: learning to live together, learning to know, learning to do, and
learning to be. Learning to live together is the most significant for the development
1088 S. Guetta
of dialogue and peaceful coexistence. It explores sociocultural, economic, and

environmental challenges related to the exchange of knowledge, ethnicities, cultures,
and religions. Learning to live together is a holistic act that begins in early childhood
by developing intelligence, spirituality, sensitivity, and appreciation for all life and
cultural expressions.
Another issue concerns educational relations before, during, and after a crisis
such as armed conflict, civil war, genocide, terrorism, or severe discrimination.
Focusing on this “emergency phase” addresses a conflict at its peak, which is only
the tip of the iceberg. Instead, educators should consider children’s past experiences,
the content of knowledge presented to them, and the modalities through which it is
conveyed. Thus, in addition to considering education in times of war, the report
addresses challenges before or after the emergency phase (INEE, 2010).
Morin (2000) holds that there is a wide and deep discrepancy between our
disjointed and fractional knowledge, which is divided into disciplines, and reality,
in which problems are multidisciplinary, transversal, multidimensional, transna-
tional, and global. Therefore, education for peaceful relationships must include a
dialogue between disciplines such as psychology, political science, history, econ-
omy, neuroscience, philosophy, anthropology, and religious studies. The quality of
an intervention to build peaceful relationships is ascertained by its ability to develop
a theoretical relationship between areas of knowledge and to transform crisis and
emergency situations into creative solutions. Relational ability is an essential mental
exercise for which one must be educated and trained. Inability to integrate issues
renders invisible a great part of our reality and makes it difficult to recognize
complex phenomena, interactions, and problems. In particular, the complex interac-
tions leading to violence (This includes cultural, structural, and direct types of
violence referred to by Galtung, and the symbolic type of violence referred to by
Bourdieu. It is defined in this way because it is imposed as vision of the world, of the
social roles and of internal dynamics typical of dominant individuals towards those
who are dominated. This form of violence is commonly practiced in male-female
relationships and within educational and instructional paths (Bourdieu, 1983)),
marginalization, and discrimination should be studied. Education should enable
conscious development of learners’ intellectual, interpersonal, and communicative
potential. Use of language should not simply convey thoughts. Words are used to
create relationships. Language allows us to learn build new knowledge and to relate
positively or negatively with the others. Language makes us human.
This discussion will turn to how to train our minds to be relational, flexible,
creative, and orientated to social well-being, using the theoretical and methodolog-
ical contribution of Reuven Feuerstein and colleagues (Feuerstein et al., 1991).
Communication, Complexity, and Peaceful Relationships
Communication is a complex process through which individuals, groups, and

communities with different life experiences try to express emotions and thoughts
across differing situations and social contexts and through various media (Wilkins
et al., 2014). Thus, communication can never completely achieve its ultimate goal:
the person who receives the message attributes it a meaning different from the person
who sent it. The same message is often understood differently by different people.
Unconscious gestures can result in misunderstandings and damage a relationship.
Virtual communication, increasingly common, also poses risks of misunderstand-
ings (Anolli, 2011). Many authors have highlighted the role of communication in
developing peaceful social relationships (Iram, 2006; Lum, 2017; Sclavi, 2003).
Below is a review of critical issues and a discussion of how an educational inter-
vention might affect communication.
The principles presented in Pragmatics of Human Communication (The five
pillars of communication are: (1) it is impossible to not communicate, (2) every
communication has an aspect of content and one of relationship; (3) all communi-
cation exchanges are symmetric and complementary; (4) every communication is
made of a verbal part and a nonverbal part; and (5) a relationship nature depends on
punctuation of communication sequences between the actors.) (Watzlawick et al.,
2011) may be considered in the intentional use of content and modalities of nonvi-
olent interaction. It is necessary to identify cultural and social modalities of com-
munication and action through which violent expressions and behaviors occur.
Communication often has the objective of influencing others. Communication is
never neutral. We express ourselves, our relationships with others and the world, and
our perspective on the context in which we live. The receiver integrates and
elaborates upon the message. The quality of communication depends on the nature
of interpersonal relationships. Communication capable of building peaceful relation-
ships needs to be taught. Education can improve communication as a system of
creating positive relationships and encourage pro-social behaviors. This means
creating a mutually enriching style of communication with vocabulary that enables
use of language as an expression of thought and a pro-social competence. Rodari
(1973) proposes a careful deconstruction of improper and violent use of words. In
contrast, kind words have the capacity to modify narratives and perceptions and
enable creation of new types of relationships.
Teaching constructive, positive, assertive, creative, and pacific communication
should be a priority in school curricula. We can teach how to follow rules of grammar,
but this does not activate modes of communication that form the basis for peaceful
relationships. According to Rosenberg (2003, 2015), most people are educated to use
language focused on moral judgements, comparisons, denial of responsibilities, and
expectations. Rosenberg argues that our analyses of others are “tragic” expressions of
our own values and needs, and if our requests are met, it is probable that our
interlocutors acted out of a sense of guilt, shame, or fear of punishment.
Nonviolent communication (NVC) promotes empathic language. It modifies the
way we express a concept and the way we listen to others (Pafoort, 2004; Rosenberg,
2015). NVC (also known as empathic communication) enables us to communicate
with open hearts, eliminating judgement or comparison, and taking responsibility for
our own feelings and behaviors. NVC involves four steps: observation, feelings,
needs, and requests. It represents a strong way to recognize and interact with our
needs and the needs of others. This implies competence in listening to and
1090 S. Guetta
interacting with others. Rosenberg refers to empathy as being open to receive

someone else. This skill is not easy to master.
There are theories of the pragmatics of communication which relate to peaceful
relationships. Schulz Von Thun (1997) describes four dimensions of a message:
(1) content; (2) self-revelation; (3) the relationship among participants; and (4) the
appeal or request (implicit or explicit). These are not always comprehended by the
receiver. According to Schulz Von Thun, active listening necessitates having “four
ears” or four ways to transpose messages, which reflect dimensions of communica-
tion. Which of the four ears is listening affects the conversation, and thus the quality
of the relationship.
Following Jeffrey (2008), communication acts on five levels: verbal, physical
(nonverbal), auditive, emotional, and energetic. Jeffrey urges attempting to compre-
hend each level’s nature and potential, in order to make communication qualitatively
significant and a tool of transformation and improvement for a person’s quality
of life.
The verbal level is immediate and direct (if there is a general comprehension of
language and lexis). This is true whether the message is helpful and supportive or
derogatory and violent. To communicate effectively, we must select words that are
appropriate for the conversation and context. Integrating relational competencies
towards a developing individual and collective well-being is far from obvious.
Studies on communication pay little attention to the correlation between communi-
cation and peaceful relationships, respect for others, and personal well-being. Com-
municating effectively does not necessarily create peaceful relationships.
Nonverbal communication can complete, confirm, or contradict verbal messages
(Mehrabian, 1972). Comprehending the physical aspect of communication enables
effective communication. Sometimes this is intuitive, but education and constant
practice are necessary to create competencies for an integrated reading of physical
communication so they can be experienced and expressed naturally and
constructively.
The auditive level is one of the main channels through which stimuli and
interpersonal messages are transmitted. The sound, tone, volume, and speed of a
voice influences the meaning of the messages we send and how we interpret
messages from others. The way we pronounce words or how long we linger on
certain words, influences the message and adds elements or implicit meanings to
what we transmit. The auditive level is developed before birth and can be detected in
uterus from the first months of pregnancy (Laboyer, 1993; Tomatis, 2003, 2007). A
strong relationship may be built between mother and child during the pregnancy by
talking and listening to relaxing music. Maternal speech is perceived by the fetus and
determines the structures of social language into which the maternal symbol is
placed. This develops the auditory organ and generates an initial version of com-
municative competencies, which will be structured during social interactions after
the child is born. A sense of peacefulness is transmitted by the mother to the fetus
and newborn. As people mature, their auditory abilities are refined and improved.
Considering the emotional competencies in communicative practices is a rela-
tively recent concept in the scientific literature (Contini, 1992; Goleman, 2002;
LeDoux, 2003; Salovey et al., 2007). In literature on peaceful relationships, this

concept has not been explored in detail. Nevertheless, investigation of how feelings
and emotions affect the quality of communication highlights the importance of
emotional intelligence in interpersonal relationships. Emotional intelligence, the
knowledge and ability to accurately perceive, evaluate, and express emotions,
plays an essential role in the development of peaceful relationships. Emotional
competence is based on two macro-regions: (1) personal competence (self-
awareness, self-mastery, and motivation) and (2) social competence (empathy and
social abilities) (Dalai Lama & Goleman, 2004). The abilities within this second
macro-region refer to communication, conflict management, construction of bonds,
collaboration, cooperation, and teamwork.
Emotional intelligence can also be described as the ability to generate and/or use
feelings to facilitate cognitive activities and adaptive behavior. Emotional intelli-
gence refers to the ability to manage emotions and in relationships. Goleman
emphasizes the importance of education for utilizing emotional intelligence. LeDoux
(2003) explores the pathways of the brain’s emotional signals. These pioneering
studies were followed by Damasio’s (2000, 2005) research on the relationship
between emotions, reason, and the brain, and their connection with memory and
language. Damasio holds that the evolution of consciousness was strongly correlated
with elaboration of emotions. Emotions play a role in creating relationships. Paying
attention to the emotional dimension permits us to listen others’ needs. Thus,
language becomes generative or proactive, which is essential to creating a partici-
pative relationship.
The energetic level of communication is also under-explored. It begins with the
awareness of human nature as interconnected energy. This energy, as a form of
human expression, communicates the status of our being. Awareness of energetic
communication makes our message more coherent. By activating the energetic
dimension, we can become more authentic with ourselves and with others. The
energetic aspect can help achieve balance, which is not addressed exclusively by
the emotional-affective dimension. Humans are energetic centers that respond or
don’t respond to stimuli from the external world. Conscious energetic communi-
cation is a tool for overcoming barriers caused by conflicts and difficulties. This
implies being sensitive to the giving and receiving of energies, and listening in a
purposeful and focused way. Words are energetic entities that release vibrations.
Words can either open windows or build walls (Rosenberg, 2003, 2015). Exper-
iments on plants and natural elements such as water demonstrate how energies,
through vibrations, can change the physical status of elements. Humans also
develop relationships through these energies. The fact that many people are
unaware of this dimension does not mean that it does not exist. Those who have
activated this type of communication and been trained to be aware of vibrational
feelings are more able to communicate on an energetic level. This level contributes
to what is activated by the other channels; it is not a substitute for them. If we only
pay attention to one of these aspects, education for peaceful relationships will be
negated. Prioritizing one communicative channel over another conflicts with the
very idea of peaceful conditions.
1092 S. Guetta
Tools for Educating for Peaceful Relationships
In the next two sections, we explore two contexts that seem to be in opposition,
although both involve experiences of peace education. The first considers the
contribution of the Feuerstein method to develop competencies for a qualitative
educational relationship. The second considers sport as a field of training for
peaceful relationships.
The Feuerstein approach, developed in the 1950s, has been continuously revised,
confirmed, and enriched. It considers how the quality of cognitive functioning
influences welfare and social behaviors such as cooperation and sharing. This
helps create conditions for educating, observing, comprehending, and acting within
conflictual and peaceful relationships. Feuerstein’s contribution (Feuerstein et al.
1974, 2006) (The post-World War II rehabilitation of ten-agers in Israel was carried
out within normal group structures) starts from the theoretic assumptions of cogni-
tive structural modifiability (The basic principles of cognitive structural modifiabil-
ity are: human beings are modifiable; the person that I am educating is modifiable; I,
myself, can (and must) be modified; society can (and must) be modified by the
provision of the individuals in it; cognitive structural modifiability is the ability of
humans to change the structure of their own cognitive functioning in order to adapt
to situations which evolve during the course of life) . This encompasses a method-
ological intervention whose purpose is providing the experience of mediated learn-
ing (The experience of mediate learning is also called mediation. Feuerstein holds
that every individual learns through two different modalities of relation with the
context: one is represented by a direct exposition to symbols, the other, mediation, in
which interaction is mediated by another person who, in an intentional, targeted and
significant way, influences the relationship between the individual and external
stimuli). It includes a variety of tools to raise the learning potential of all human
beings. Feuerstein’s method helps educate towards a qualitative relationship by
proposing 12 criteria of mediation (The first three criteria of mediation (intentional-
ity and reciprocity; transcendence; mediation of meaning) are considered to be at the
basis of every quality educational interaction) for reflecting upon and discovering
human potential. One in particular, mediation (the sense of competence, sharing, and
challenging ourselves to improve), specifically addresses education towards peace
and living the experience of peace.
Feuerstein’s approach highlights the necessity of managing impulsiveness when
choosing words and actions. This is included in all the tools in the Instrumental
Enrichment (IE) Program. These tools, when proposed through the method of
mediation, solicit cognitive abilities and prepare for the construction of the neces-
sary competences for peace education. Feuerstein’s approach highlights the key
role of developing an awareness of well-being, cooperation, and sharing in edu-
cation for nonviolence and positive resolution of conflicts. In particular,
Feuerstein’s method encourages identification of strategies and tools for positively
coping with new relational and cultural settings. Mediation offers the possibility to
find, in a creative way, the proper resources to overcome difficult stressful
situations or changes.
Tools of the IE Program such as “From empathy to action,” “Recognize and

identify emotions,” and “Think and learn how to prevent violence” educate people to
be aware of the quality of their relationships through use of images, reading of
personal experiences, and interpretation of real-life paths. By referring to real
experiences, these tools involve the social dimension, promoting a continuous
exercise of cognitive and emotional decentralization. Development of cognitive
functions, useful in understanding the complexity of reality, is integrated into
exercises and requests, which improve cognitive strategies and relational skills.
These tools enable interaction, communication of interpretations of reality, and
elaboration upon interpretative modalities useful for negotiating and mediating.
Favoring an exchange of different life experiences activates processes of
deconstructing stereotypes and deeply held prejudices. It brings conflicts to the
surface and makes them visible and interpretable. Conflicts are no longer seen as
threats, but as relationships to be negotiated, because people have differing thoughts,
feelings, expectations, and interests.
Feuerstein’s medication tools create the conditions to view conflicts, without
necessarily taking part in them. These tools provide evidence on how relationships
can improve in groups. One such experience was carried out in six 2-hour sessions
among the students of a peace education workshop at the University of Florence in
2016. The workshop introduced the Feuerstein approach and the meaning of empa-
thy. This provided students with knowledge and competencies necessary for quali-
tative relational development and for recognizing the often-unconscious processes
and prejudices that lead to violence.
These tools make users aware that the meanings they attribute to perceptions and
emotions shapes the way they behave in relationships. Understanding processes of
interpreting reality is the result of a peer discussion facilitated by the mediator. It
promotes consideration of one’s own behaviors. It fosters dialogue and active,
empathic listening. Feuerstein’s approach supports awareness of one’s own actions,
thoughts, and communicative style through neutral paths unrelated to any personal
problem or behavior. Free from performance or outcome anxiety, the person in
training lets go of fears and feelings that disturb perception and processing.
The educational work does not end here. Careful understanding of the process
enables the person to take responsibility for the consequences of future actions, and
to recall and reanalyze previous personal life events. Exploration of past events using
new interpretative tools and the acquisition of a sense of competence and self-esteem
allow the person to develop autonomy of thought and choice, keeping in mind their
own well-being as well as that of others. This is the heart of human freedom.
As an illustration of how Feuerstein’s approach supports education for peaceful
relationships, we provide a brief synopsis of what emerged from applying the tool
entitled “identify emotions.” (This tool represents a stimulus to mentally recall
emotions and possible feelings, to comprehend their adequacy and behavioral
expression, and to evaluate the social range of interaction and reciprocity. The tool
is presented as a picture of a face with a clear expression and with four scenes which
invite to individuate the link between action, experience, perception, and emotions.
Every tool of the program of structural enrichment must be mediated by bridging.
1094 S. Guetta
Bridging enables an accompanying reflection out of the context, in order to link it to

the life of the involved individuals. This process enriches events comprehension,
reveals meanings which are often hidden, individuates links, and facilitates better
management of behaviors.) This focuses on identifying types of emotions; recog-
nizing emotions in daily situations; controlling and managing emotions; and
responding in an adequate and appropriate way. Students expressed their struggles
in identifying the relationships between emotions, contexts, feelings, and interven-
tions. We reviewed how Feuerstein’s method represents the first relational stage of
the mediation. Through various techniques of stimulation, participants are encour-
aged to observe, interpret, question, and express expectations of what they observe.
This apparently simple activity takes up to an hour, depending on the number of
participants. Such activity opens debate and cognitive, emotional, and experiential
decentralization. The observations and interpretations provide a stimuli-rich
resource that helps participates consider how their perceptions differ from those of
others. This is a useful mediation exercise for the development of a flexible and
decentered thinking style, leading to empathy, dialogue, and respect for others.
Working in groups of six to eight people led to a stimulating confrontation
between different opinions and experiences. Moreover, meta-communicative reflec-
tion (oriented to understand if the communication is being enriched by awareness,
authentic/participative listening, empathy, reflection, or decentralization) created the
basis for transforming the relational climate experienced by the students. This group
work enabled mutual respect of emotions and feelings to develop through empathic
and authentic communication. The workshop stimulated students’ awareness of
what others were experiencing on an emotional level, what meanings they attribute
to memories, what different traditions and cultures say regarding this knowledge,
and how all this can contribute to the transformation of conflict.
This enables understanding how conflicts arise due to assumed, interpretative,
and unquestionable perceptions of truth. In many cases, such dogmatic approaches
result from a lack of training in cognitive and emotional decentralization, and result
in conflicts with others who think differently. Willingness to recognize differences in
perception, meaning, ideas, and expectations enables people to leave their comfort
zone (Buccioni et al., 2012). People often believe that familiar options are the only
possible ones, without questioning them. Exchanging views about diverse percep-
tions and interpretations of reality offers resources to modify feelings and emotions.
In other words, it is necessary to use metacognitive processes to mediate the
transformation of the interpretation of the elements that are causing conflicts.
Stimulus questions activated the students’ observation of reality. Improving
observation capabilities creates a basis to avoid impulsive and violent behaviors
and responses. Consideration must be given to which of the many things observed
are attributed importance and based on what criteria, and how one person’s choices
are similar to or differ from those of others. One fundamental aspect of observation is
avoiding judgment and assessment.
The link with Rosenberg’s nonviolent communication approach generates an
original and interesting interpretative synthesis. Feuerstein’s tool to accurately
observe what a person wants to communicate permits recognition and
contextualization of emotions and feelings. Experience confirms that every relation-

ship has to be built on mutual respect. Integration of knowledge and experiences can
contribute to developing peaceful paths to coexistence. This approach develops
knowledge and specific contextualized and flexible communication competencies
necessary for the development of reciprocity. This confirms that peace education
aims at creating an inclusive and cooperative society that enables everyone to
contribute to the common welfare, reach their potential through interaction with
and support from others, and promote diverse identities through a perspective of
reciprocity and solidarity.
Sports as a Means for Developing Peaceful Relationships
In the interest of disseminating a peace culture and reaching the UN’s New Millen-
nium Goals (UN, 2019a), international organizations advocate sports as a tool and
medium for promoting inclusion and democratic citizenship. Sports simultaneously
involve individuals and communities. When sport teams cross identity lines, they
can bring out mutual interests and create bridges of communication and behavior
among different ethnic groups, although in some cases the interaction exacerbates
conflict and division (UN, 2019b).
Sports represent a context in which people can experience and build peaceful
practices. However, it can also be a context in which racist, violent, anti-Semitic, and
discriminatory beliefs and behaviors are expressed. This phenomenon of racist
violence affects every field of sport (Goldstein, 1983; Kerr, 2005). Examples include
racist and anti-Semitic chants, throwing dangerous or offensive objects during
matches, and clashes between supporters of different teams. Goldstein (1983)
suggests that the phenomenon should be studied through the lens of “crowd psy-
chology,” which leads people in groups to act differently than they do as individuals.
Additionally, there are structural forms of violence activated by sports authorities,
local policies, and sports commissions. These involve exclusion of some
populations, such as women or members of religious or national groups that are
not welcome by the host country. For example, in July 2018, Malaysia did not allow
the participation of Israeli swimmers in the World Paralympic championship (https://
www.timesofisrael.com/polish-swimmer-refuses-to-coach-malaysian-team-over-its-
israel-athlete-ban/, https://www.middleeastmonitor.com/20190130-palestinian-
sports-ministry-thanks-malaysia-for-israel-athlete-ban/).
International and local organizations, associations, and agencies engaged in
promotion and dissemination of integration policies and prevention of violence,
xenophobia, and racism have started a process of evaluation of the possible contri-
bution that sports education can make to manage or transform conflicts
(Commissione Europea, 2019; UNESCO, 2019; UNICEF, 2019; UN, 2019b).
From a positive peace perspective, sports can contribute to reconciliation and social
justice on individual and global levels. The attitudes, behaviors, and representations
of others in sports offer metaphors that, if integrated with an educational, meta-
cognitive approach, permits development of abilities and competences significant for
1096 S. Guetta
developing a culture of peace. Sports can facilitate comprehension of values such as

fraternity, respect, tolerance, and cooperation. Sport is included in post-conflict
programs to create a space for meetings, promote mutual knowledge, and to
exchange experiences, emotions, and expectations. Sport is a useful tool to over-
come the obstacles of prejudice and stereotypes and to do something meaningful
together with a concrete mutual goal.
Two peace education experiences developed through sport in the Israel-
Palestinian context are described here. These are examples of interventions in the
region by local initiatives and international organizations (governmental and NGOs)
with the goal of involving young people, families, and communities in a transfor-
mative and creative process of reconciliation.
The two projects are Football for Peace (F4P) and Twinned Peace Sport Schools.
In both projects, football (soccer) is the medium sport, due to its wide popularity and
its ability to involve children and teens. These two projects integrate planned
meetings and experiences to improve knowledge of the Other; propose nonviolent
behavioral models; use social and cultural values to transform conflicts in a positive
way; and create conditions for coexistence/cohabitation in a common territory,
namely Israel and Palestine. Nevertheless, these two proposals are structured in
quite different ways in terms of scenarios, realization modalities, and target
populations.
When using sport in conflict transformational projects, it is essential to identify
which sports are played and what role they have in local cultures. Sharing a sport can
promote communication, listening, and sharing dreams, feelings, and expectations.
Nevertheless, a shared interest in a sport is not always an element of intercultural
facilitation. On the contrary, it can bring out deep-seated and long-lasting social and
cultural conflicts. Only through in-depth study of critical aspects can we deconstruct
paradigms and prejudices that the culture of war transmits and disseminates, even via
sports.
The project Football for Peace (F4P), carried out in the Galilee region of northern
Israel, began in 2001 and continued through 2009. The direct target audience was
Jewish and Arab youth, between the ages of 10–14 years, with a particular reference
(at least during the initial phase) to males. The indirect targets were their families and
local communities. F4P was built on a sport intervention model proposed by the
University of Brighton, in partnership with the British Council. The project uses
sports to promote communication between communities in the same territory in
order to build communication and create shared entertaining, pleasurable, and
interesting experiences as well as to improve participants’ performance in the
sport. The project highlights that sports can also give rise to ethnic tensions and
racism. In Israel, as in many other countries, football represents a tool for building
national identity. This generates deep difficulties in relationships between groups
and raises political and social conflicts. This was a highly complex situation, whose
problematics are integrated with war events that occurred during those years in
that area.
The project envisioned a group of facilitators and sport coaches from Brighton
University, who would carry out various actions in the Galilee, such as involving
trainers, volunteers, and the local civil society to organize sport events enabling the
groups to actively participate. The project faced a difficult start due to incorrect
evaluation of the area’s problems, distrust among local people, and inappropriate
choice of cities (The first cities involved in the project were Misgav and Iblin.
Afterwards, the project was extended to the cities of Sakhnin and Tiberius, and
other local communities.) Nevertheless, the project continued, and involved an
increasing number of participants. In 2003, 300 children were involved. This
increased to 700 children from six zones across the Galilee. The success of this
experience and the improvements that were made following monitoring the first
phases of activity indicates this model represents a concrete peace education
response, exportable to other regions of conflict.
The Twinned Peace Sport Schools project was proposed in 2002 by the Israeli
Sport Department of the Peres Center for Peace, together with the Palestinian
association Al Quds, in order to create experiences of cooperation and coexistence
between Palestinians and Israelis. Annual planning involved facilitators, educators,
teachers, sport coaches, and volunteers. Youth (16–18 years old) attending Israeli
and Palestinian schools participate in educational paths to create dialogue, promote
peaceful coexistence, and develop sports skills. The communities are engaged in
monitoring the quality of the educational program and to intervene, if necessary, on
specific aspects of dialogue pertaining to daily issues. During monthly sport meet-
ings, participants develop concrete communication tools and have experiences in
which they have to solve problems involving differences in opinions, perceptions,
and cultural references. The sport experience offers the possibility of involving the
school, parents, and local community, in terms of organization and participation.
Like F4P, this project struggles due to prejudice and stereotypes inherent in the
Israel-Palestinian conflict. It requires consideration of all the critical aspects in order
to avoid creating among the youth even more conflicts than the ones they already
live and perceive daily (The project had to be modified, during the course of the
years, because of political and social tensions, but also because of mis-
comprehension on the part of the organizers regarding problems and local issues,
which are daily experienced by the different ethnic groups in the Galilee. The project
started during the second year of the Second Intifada, a period when attacks against
the Israeli population were made on a daily basis. Even though the intended target of
these terrorist attacks was the Jews population, in the Galilee and especially in Haifa,
many victims were Arabic-Israeli citizens.) Not all parents, local leaders, or religious
authority figures approve of this dialogue or any contact between the groups. In both
groups, there are those who strongly oppose any reconciliation. This creates sym-
bolic walls that prevent the meetings, mutual contact, or shared feelings. There were
other cultural barriers; for example, many of the Palestinian mothers did not want
their daughters to participate. During matches between the partner schools and
communities in the Twinned Peace Sport School project, an educational space is
created, focused on the search for shared rules in teamwork, mutual respect, leader-
ship role comprehension, and motivation for the meeting. Youth participated in
consecutive sessions, and also developed, through use of social media networks,
long-lasting friendships.
1098 S. Guetta
In addition to the sport itself, participants learned basic words in the mother
tongue of the other group, although during the sport activities members speak their
own language and mediators facilitate the dialogue. When there is a mixed team,
participates identify a common language, necessary to create group cohesion and
succeed.
One result of the Twinned Peace Sport Schools project was to raise awareness of
promoting the involvement of Israeli and Palestinian children, although there were
religious and cultural challenges. This created new paths for intergroup experiences,
which raises understanding that educational experiences are capable of making a
change, even on a community level.
Conclusion
This analysis considers a variety of aspects necessary to educating towards peaceful

relationships. In any discussion of education, it is essential to recognize that, in order
to make peaceful relationships, people have to understand how to transmit all the
abovementioned aspects into the relational experience with students. It is equally
important to understand the functioning of the adult-child relationship to ensure the
creation of peaceful relationships through principles of communication, experiences
of cooperation, and the creation of environments for exchange and reciprocity. This
relationship, previously assumed to be asymmetric, represents the foundation for a
strong and deep education for peace. As long as children are viewed as unable to
express their own needs and as long as their requests are addressed only in a
corrective, nondemocratic way, there is a real risk of dissolving the affective, social,
and spiritual potentialities inherent in every human being.
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Weaving a Culture of Peace
58
Jacqueline Haessly
Contents
Conceptualizing Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1103
Defining Peace as an Absence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1103
Imagining and Languaging Peace as an Absence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1103
Defining Peace as Presence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1104
Identifying Cultural Paradigms . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1106
Understanding Culture and Cultural Paradigms . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1106
Transforming a Culture of War into a Culture of Peace with Justice . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1113
Articulating a New Paradigm . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1114
Conceptualizing Peace as a Presence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1115
Proposing New Terms for Peace-as-Presence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1115
Measuring Peace-as-Presence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1116
Toward a Holistic Definition of Peace-as-Presence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1117
Sustaining a Culture of Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1118
Seven Forms of Nonviolent Personal and Community Action . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1120
Peacemaking in the Personal and Public Spaces of Our Lives . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1121
Peacemaking in the Personal Space of Home and Family . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1121
Peacemaking in the Public Spaces of Our Communities . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1121
Peacemaking in the Public Spaces of Our Global Village . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1122
Conclusions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1123
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1124
Abstract
The theme of this chapter focuses on weaving a culture of peace. What, though, is
peace? How it is defined and conceptualized influences both our understanding of
peace and our ability to weave such a culture from the multiple strands that shape
our personal and our collective lives. This chapter will examine common defini-
tions and conceptions about peace as an absence; redefine peace as a presence and
introduce several concepts related to peace as a presence; explore seven strands
J. Haessly (*)
Peacemaking Associates, Milwaukee, WI, USA
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_58
1102 J. Haessly
that influence the cultural paradigms of all cultures; and consider how our cultural
paradigms have relevance to weaving a culture of peace. Recognizing that the
work of peacemaking is the task of all people, and not just of government
officials, politicians, diplomats, and peace activists, this work will also identify
effective ways that people worldwide strive to promote, protect, preserve, and
thus sustain a culture of peace in all of the places where we live our lives: in our
homes with those who make up our families; in our communities where people
live, love, study, work, play, serve, and worship; and in our broader global society
through our role as global citizens.
Keywords
Culture · Culture of peace · Peace-as presence · Peacemaking · Integral peace ·
Actualized peace
The twenty-first century opened with a challenge from the United Nations General
Assembly, issued at the behest of the then living Nobel Peace Prize Laureates, which
urged all peoples and their government officials to work together at the local,
regional, national, and international levels to promote a culture of peace and
nonviolence for all of the children of the world (United Nations Statement, 1999;
http://decade, 2019). Rather than achieving this culture of peace, we have instead
witnessed throughout the early decades of the twenty-first century horrific acts of
racial injustice, terrorism, genocide, protracted wars, and the escalating destruction
of our ecosystem. Receiving less media attention, and therefore less known to most
of us, effective nonviolent efforts important for creating and sustaining a culture of
peace are taking place throughout the world as people on all continents seek both to
re-imagine and to create a culture of peace with justice for everyone.
What, though, do we mean by a culture of peace with justice? What do we mean by
peace? What is the vision of peace that these efforts for peace seek to achieve? How
peace is conceptualized, defined, and imagined influences both our understanding of
peace and our ability to weave such a culture from the multiple personal, professional,
and political strands that form our personal and our collective lives. To aid in develop-
ing an understanding of “culture of peace” as used in this chapter I begin with an
examination of common conceptions and definitions of peace. I next introduce seven
strands common to cultures across the millennia and identify how these seven strands
both shape our cultural paradigms and influence our personal and professional life
choices, and then examine the relationship of these seven strands to two current cultural
paradigms, both based on a premise of domination of others: a culture that promulgates
racism, and a culture that promulgates militarism and war. I next make a bold leap by
introducing several concepts and terms I believe important to considering peace in a
more holistic way, defining peace as a presence and not merely as an absence, a
presence that is considered integral to people’s lives, a presence that can be conceptu-
alized as either actualized, or in the process of being actualized, in all dimensions of
people’s lives. Lastly, recognizing that the work of peacemaking is the task of all
people, and not just of government officials, politicians, diplomats, and peace activists,
58 Weaving a Culture of Peace 1103
in this chapter I then identify effective ways that people worldwide strive today to
weave these seven strands together. These strands are present in, and affect, every
aspect of our daily lives, as we strive, alone and with others, to promote, protect,
preserve, and thus sustain a culture of peace in all of the places where we live our lives:
in our homes where we develop the capacity to love and to be loved; in our commu-
nities where we study, work, play, serve, and worship; and in our broader global society
when people everywhere exercise their role as global citizens.
Conceptualizing Peace
Defining Peace as an Absence
Two definitions of peace have dominated our conceptualization of peace for more
than 60 years: negative peace as the absence of war and armed conflict, and positive
peace as the absence of personal, community, and systemic violence. Johan Galtung
is credited with being the first to define negative peace as simply the absence of war,
as early as 1964 (Wallensteen, 1988; Brock-Utne, 1989; Grewal, 2003). However,
seeking to understand how peace researchers describe and define positive peace
appears to be more complex. Scholars, religious leaders, and government leaders
worldwide have joined their voices with those of peace educators and peace activists
to proclaim that peace is more than the absence of war and violence. However, when
asked to describe what that more is, the answer to that question seems elusive. For
example, at the same time that Johan Galtung (1964) defined negative peace as an
absence of war, he originally defined positive peace as the presence of social justice,
social harmony, and the integration of human society. However, 5 years later,
following much debate among peace researchers, Johan Galtung (1969) redefined
positive peace as simply the absence of structural violence, which, he suggests, is
violence that occurs when institutions and policies are established that restrict access
to the necessities of life, such as food, shelter, education, or medical care.
These two concepts – negative peace as an absence of war, and positive peace as
an absence of systemic violence – continue to influence the work of peace
researchers to this day, including within this handbook.
Imagining and Languaging Peace as an Absence
Along with definitions that limit our ability to consider peace as more than the
absence of war or violence, two other challenges hinder our ability to create a culture
of peace. These include both the role of the imagination and the role of language in
developing our understanding of peace as more than an absence of war or violence.
Ponder, for example, the visual images that come to mind when one considers the
terms “violence” or “war.” A glance at the images portrayed on the evening news
would suggest that our global household is in serious need of care. For the most part,
we both name and picture concrete images of engaged human activity related to acts
1104 J. Haessly
of physical violence such as assaults on a person or group, or the destruction of

property, and concrete images of engaged human activity related to acts of war and
war making: someone or some group doing something, or the result of someone
having done something, often something horrific. The images that we express when
describing peace are far more abstract and seldom include concrete images of people
engaged in human activity related to peace and peacemaking.
When we focus on concrete images related to acts of physical violence or warfare,
we risk limiting our ability to imagine future peace. If we cannot visualize a world of
peace, if we cannot imagine and develop products, services, and activities that promote
and protect peace, and if we cannot visualize engaged human activity related to creating
peace, how can we engage in planning and inventing and participating in sustained
actions that promote and sustain a culture of peace? In other words, how will we know
what we need to create if our only focus is on what we want to eliminate?
Words, too, affect our ability to envision peace as a presence. Words evoke powerful
emotions. Words that restrict an understanding of peace to an absence of physical
violence or war place the focus on ending something – destruction of property, gun
violence, armed conflict, war, terrorism, or various forms of domestic, community, or
structural violence and injustice, including efforts to end hunger, homelessness, racism,
hate crimes, and ecological destruction. The task can seem daunting, overwhelming,
and energy-draining. Defining peace in terms of what is absent – peace as an absence of
personal, domestic, or community violence, peace as an absence of systemic and
institutional injustice, including racial injustice, or peace as the absence of war or
armed conflict, or peace as an absence of a specific weapons system – limits our
expectations about the concept of peace and constrains our ability to fully conceptual-
ize, fully imagine, and fully actualize genuine positive peace in our world.
This penchant to limit peace research to the study of violence or war and their
elimination both centers violence and war and makes their absence the standard
against which peace is judged. Thus, concepts that define peace as an absence of
violence or war have actually limited our ability to imagine, understand, or commu-
nicate with others about what peace is! Moreover, such concepts have hindered us in
our efforts to act together to manifest and sustain a culture of peace.
Further, when peace is defined in terms of what it is not, it violates an under-
standing that definitions should say what something is, rather than simply state what
it is not. Troubled by descriptions of peace as a negative, Gray Cox (1986) writes that
such thinking may help people know what to stop doing but not what to start doing,
to know what to prevent, but not what to promote. Moreover, he claims, language
referring to warfare includes descriptions of nations warring, but there is no com-
parable language to describe nations “peaceing.” To address that question, we must
first consider more fully this question: What is peace, then, as something beyond the
absence of violence and warfare?
Defining Peace as Presence
Definitions and descriptions of peace as presence can be found in cultures around the
world. These definitions and descriptions can be categorized according to cultural,
religious, and contemporary expressions of peace as presence.
John Macquerrie (1973) provides an overview of selected definitions of peace

from ancient and contemporary cultures around the world. For the ancient Greeks
and Romans, peace was considered as an agreement or accord between leaders,
resulting in a truce between times of conflict and war. He describes the preferred
terms for peace in India and in Russia as connoting wholeness, contentment, and a
profound integration; the preferred terms for peace in China as connoting the
presence of harmony, and diversity in unity and unity in diversity; and the preferred
terms for peace in many countries of both Latin America and Africa as connoting
wholeness, goodness, and the fullness of life.
Among major world religions, the Hebrew term Shalom, the Muslim term
Salaam, the Hindu term and the Sikh term Shanti, and the Christian phrase Peace
be to you each means wholeness, fullness of life, and unity (Macquerrie, 1973). Dom
Helder Camara (1973) adds the quality of justice to his concept of peace. He writes
that all “religions have a direct and vital interest in world peace,” and encourages
religious leaders “to unite and to bring all the moral force they possess to work
toward an achievement of justice, the prime condition for peace” (1973, p. 36).
Similarly, Pope Paul VI (1967) added the concept of just development to his
consideration of peace.
In contemporary times, feminists from diverse disciplines and cultures through-
out the world have called for a world where both women and men work together to
create a society where communication, cooperation, collaboration, and full partici-
pation in decision-making that affects one’s life in the home, the workplace, the
community, and the world is full and equal and where human rights, affirmation for
the common good, and full human liberation are espoused and practiced, considering
each essential as a foundation to a culture of peace with justice (Eck & Jain, 1987;
Isasi-Diaz, 1988; Sen & Grown, 1987).
Although these terms and concepts of peace have originated in different parts of the
world, and at different times in history, they all suggest a relationship between personal
and social well-being, suggesting that personal well-being and social well-being are
both interrelated and interdependent. They speak to the kinds of relationships between
self and others considered essential for genuine peace to occur in our world.
Children bring an additional dimension to the conversation about peace as
presence. Children’s expressions of peace in the midst of war are well documented
in a widely diverse collection of children’s books, books, unfortunately, dating from
every war of the past two centuries. Children from violent and war-torn areas of the
world reveal their visions for peace through their art, their poetry, and their essays for
and about peace (Volavkovo 1994; Exley and Exley, 1978; Sattley & Arkhurst,
1971; Vornberger, 1986). Their work reveals the importance of relationships to their
understanding of peace as presence. Importantly, the images of peace portrayed by
children reveal engagement with others. Children know that peace means treating
people fairly, justly, respectfully, and doing much of it with others in an atmosphere
of care and friendship. Their visual expressions of peace are concrete: people are
doing something: caring for others, helping others, laughing together, listening to
people, smiling, playing together, working with and not just for others, and
compromising with others where necessary to reach agreement about small and
large decisions that affect their young lives. For many, care is expressed in terms of
1106 J. Haessly
caring for animals as well as caring for the environment, too. Their expressions of
peace also reveal the same hope abiding within the human spirit as does the world-
renowned Diary of a Young Girl by Anne Frank (1952). Each expresses children’s
hope for their future in the midst of violence and tragedy.
A vision of peace as presence calls attention to the need to create a culture that can
support and enable that vision of peace. However, before examining the possibilities
for creating a culture of peace-as-presence more fully, it is important to examine
another challenge to realizing this vision; we need to understand some basic con-
cepts of culture, and in particular cultural paradigms.
Identifying Cultural Paradigms
Transforming a culture from one that considers peace as an absence to a culture that
both cultivates and celebrates peace-as-presence in families, classrooms, work-
places, communities, and in our world requires first that we understand what culture
is, and how culture relates to the paradigms that shape our perspectives. It is our
cultural paradigms, our worldviews, that can either impede or enhance the creation
of a culture of peace with justice, as I outline in this chapter.
Understanding Culture and Cultural Paradigms
Culture can be described as a social system that binds a particular group of people
together and aids them in adapting to and functioning within any given social milieu.
People who are a part of a given cultural group can be identified by their acceptance
of a shared pattern of beliefs, shared values and attitudes, a common body of
knowledge, a common understanding of terms associated with a specific culture, a
common agreement on the norms of the group and the roles members within the
group perform, and a common manner of communicating and acting in everyday life
(Fong, 2003).
Culture has been linked to worldview in important ways. “Our Worldview shapes
culture and serves to distinguish one culture from another” (Ishii et al., 2003, p. 28).
A worldview shapes how we think about our world, how we come to understand how
and why things are the way they are, how we think about our own place in the world,
and how we think about the place of others within this world. A worldview, or
paradigm, also influences how people act within the scope of their worldview. A
cultural paradigm is typically passed on across the generations, shaping the thoughts
and actions of each new generation far into the future, often without individuals
having a conscious understanding of their active participation in the process
(Mische, 1992).
Introducing Seven Strands Common to All Cultures

Seven strands can be identified that are common to cultures throughout history and
around the world. These strands are both embedded within our cultural paradigms
and work to shape our cultural paradigms, while expressed differently in differing
times and places. In this chapter, I draw upon the metaphor of weaving to express the
relationship among these seven strands, outlining how they contribute to the devel-
opment of our cultural paradigms, and explaining their importance to the process of
weaving a cultural paradigm that can support peace-as-presence.
Evidence of these seven strands can be found in cultures across the millennia,
whether one is referring to the culture of a family or neighborhood group, a
workplace, a school, a university, a fraternity or sorority, a country club, a military
organization, a sports team, a religious group, a political party, a village, a city, a
state, a country, a nation, or even the culture of an international body. Each of these
seven strands reflects, perpetuates, supports, fosters, or challenges a particular
cultural paradigm or worldview (Haessly, 2002).
Value Strands, the first of these seven strands, like the warp of a tapestry, provide
a firm foundation to the establishment of any cultural paradigm. Value Strands both
ground and strengthen a particular cultural or worldview. Every person, every
family, every business, every religious group, every community, and every govern-
ment operates on a set of values. Our values shape our thinking and influence our
decision-making processes in the personal, professional, and political arenas of our
lives. Values are important to the shaping of a culture because it is out of values that
people make decisions and engage in actions reflective of their values (Maslow,
1943, 1964; Thagard, 2013).
The other six strands can be likened to the weft strands of a tapestry, providing
color, texture, and pattern to our weavings.
Image Strands inspire members of a culture with the possibilities of a particular

cultural or worldview. Images that we hold in our hearts and share with each other
stimulate our imagination regarding possibilities that could exist in the world in
which we live. They shape our collective imaginary as members of a cultural
group.
Language Strands comprise the words people use to name and communicate a
particular cultural or worldview to others in their family, tribe, or community.
People need to understand those words in order to participate fully in the life of
the cultural group.
System and Structure Strands can be found in healthcare systems, educational
systems, agricultural systems, transportation systems, financial systems, legal
systems, and political systems, among others. These strands can both reflect
and support a particular cultural paradigm or worldview.
Policy and Practice Strands, when established and enforced by government offi-
cials, and monitored by an alert citizenry, protect and maintain a particular
cultural paradigm or worldview. Such policies and practices relate to education,
health care, shelter, housing, maternal care, family care, food production, child
welfare, elder care, the environment, and community, national, and global safety
and security, among others.
Education Strands express the philosophies, theories, methods, and practices by
which people educate youth and adults across the generations to accept a
1108 J. Haessly
particular cultural paradigm or worldview, thus reinforcing that worldview. Both

formal education and informal socialization practices can aid in transmitting a
given cultural paradigm to future generations.
Action Strands comprise the everyday personal activities of our lives, such as
caring for each other, playing together, and working together, as well as our
activities of work and service. They can also include more public and political
actions, such as writing letters to government officials or to the editor of a local
paper, or holding protest signs for or against a particular issue. Actions give
visible expression to a particular cultural paradigm or worldview through the
personal and public behaviors we enact in our lives.
Taken together, these seven strands form a cultural foundation that fosters and
maintains a worldview, or paradigm, that shapes relationships among peoples,
organizations, and nations, and between people and the entire ecosystem. However,
before examining these seven strands in more depth, we must address a further a
challenge. Each of these seven strands can serve to promulgate a worldview that
hinders the development of nurturing relationships between and among people, such
as when the cultural paradigm is characterized by domination, exploitation, racism,
violence, or warfare. Alternatively, each of these seven strands can serve to promote
a worldview that enhances peaceful relationships characterized by care, support, and
collaboration with others. Understanding how these seven strands support the
paradigms that shape our relationships with one another is a first step toward
transforming current un-peaceful relationships within families and their communi-
ties and within our world in a manner that can support the development of a culture
of peace with justice.
Acknowledging Two Current Cultural Paradigms, a Culture of Racism

and a Culture of War
The importance of these seven strands, considered either alone or together, is evident
when we consider people’s relationship with, and response to, almost any cultural
institution or phenomena, including the phenomena of domination that leads to the
promulgation of racism and militarism, including warfare. Over the centuries our
social groups and social structures have changed, transforming from tribal commu-
nities to feudal states to the nation-states of the present day. Our worldviews have
changed in step with these social transformations. During each stage of human social
evolution, groups have identified values, generated images, and invented language to
justify the dehumanization and oppression of people and the unjust claiming of
property or territory, and have developed laws, policies, governance structures, and
even weapons to address disputes, respond to conflicts, and defend their people from
threat of invasion. Such acts were, and are, grounded in the value of protecting one’s
family and group, even when it means devaluing the life of another deemed the
“enemy.”
A worldview based on dominating others leads to attitudes and actions that result
in a society rife with racism, sexism, competitiveness, and authoritarianism, and
gives rise to policies and practices that result in economic exploitation, political
oppression, the militarization of society, environmental pollution, and the exploita-

tion of human and natural resources (Irving, 2014; Desmond, 2016; https://350.org/
about/2019). Such a cultural paradigm supports forms of both direct and structural
violence.
In order to assure that humanity and our planet will survive long into the twenty-
first century and beyond, this paradigm will need to change.
Thus, to get from where we are to where we want to be, it is important to first
identify and examine more carefully two current cultural paradigms: a culture of
racism that perpetrates racial injustice, and a culture of militarism that perpetuates
warfare. In a very real sense, all seven of the strands identified above can be seen to
be present in our current understanding of, preparation for, and engagement in acts of
racial injustice and acts of war.
Acts of racial injustice flow from a philosophy based on a contempt for lives of
some whom we regard as “other,” or lesser than. Racism has been defined as
policies, behaviours, rules, etc that result in a continued unfair advantage to some people and
the unfair or harmful treatment of others based on race, and as the harmful or unfair things
that people say, do, or think based on the belief that their own race makes them more
intelligent, good, moral, etc than people of other races (https://dictionary.cambridge.org/
dictionary/english/racism).
Racism also has been described as
the arrogant assertion that one race is the center of value and object of devotion, before
which other races must kneel in submission. It is the absurd dogma that one race is
responsible for all the progress of history and alone can assure the progress of the future.
Racism is total estrangement. It separates not only bodies, but minds and spirits. Inevitably it
descends to inflicting spiritual and physical homicide upon the out-group. (Dr. Martin Luther
King, Jr. and cited in MLK Global 11/23/2017, para 7)
Further,
Racism penetrates every aspect of life in the United States [and other countries world-
wide], seeding the terror that continually threatens and kills people of color while
perpetuating white supremacy, and leaving all of humanity disfigured. The historical
reality – readily apparent in policing, the prison system, education, and highlighted in
the racial inequities heightened during the pandemic – indicts our society as one in
which Black lives have not mattered. We assert that Black lives matter and that the
violence inherent in systemic racism is an affront to . . . all. (Statement from Pax Christi
USA, 2020, para 5)
Table 1 provides a visual expression of a cultural paradigm that perpetuates a

culture of racism.
Defining and describing militarism proves more complex, complicated, and
challenging. Militarism is a cultural phenomenon, defined somewhat differently
depending on the context and the country. Militarism is defined as “the belief
that it is necessary to have strong armed forces and that they should be used
aggressively in order to win political or economic advantages”(https://dictionary.
1110 J. Haessly
Table 1 A culture of racism worldview

The
Weaver’s
Strands Cultural Paradigms Culture of Racism Worldview
Values Strengthen and support The values of racism include authoritarianism, a
our worldview sense of white supremacy, white nationalism, and
a sense of a master race, of being a favored
people; the values of racism also include
domination, control, and inferior/superior beings
Images Sustain us in our effort to The images of racism include physical items
bring our worldview to like signage marked “Whites Only” and
reality “Colored Section,” lynchings, yellow stars,
officers in riot gear patrolling neighborhoods,
boarded up stores, distorted body images,
evictions, and symbols of racial dominance, such
as Nazi and Confederate flags and monuments
that honor the oppressors
Language Helps us communicate our The language of racism consists of racial and
worldview to others ethnic and gendered slurs directed toward people
of certain races or ethnicities, or used in a
derogatory way regarding gender; accusatory
chants such as thug, terrorist, or rapist; chants
urging some people to go back to where they
came from; labels such as White Supremist, White
Nationalists, segregationist, the KKK, law and
order, and 3 strikes, and expressions of hate
speech
Systems Support our worldview The systems and structures of racism include
& lack of access to shelter, health care, education,
Structures and meaningful jobs; low wages, few benefits,
deteriorated classrooms and public buildings,
restricted housing, inferior education, refugee
camps, detention centers, work farms, and
prison
Policies & Promote and protect our The policies of racism restricts who has access to
Practices worldview housing, education, land, and loans for small
businesses; and promulgates practices such as
Pass Laws, segregated housing, apprenticeships,
schools, prison sentences rather than drug
treatment, and location of communities of color in
environmentally unsound locations
Education Promotes a pedagogy The pedagogy of racism includes promulgating
useful for educating about the belief in a master race, the failure to include all
and for a worldview of history accurately, including the slave trade,
genocide, the treatment of immigrants, treatment
of Indigenous Peoples on all continents,
Colonialism, reservations, segregated classrooms
and segregated schools, poor quality buildings,
limited access to textbooks and school supplies,
underfunded school systems, limited training for
teachers
(continued)
Table 1 (continued)
The
Weaver’s
Strands Cultural Paradigms Culture of Racism Worldview
Actions The means by which we The actions of racism include discrimination
manifest our worldview against people of various racial and ethnic
backgrounds, lynchings, beatings, bombings of
places of worship, shootings of innocent people,
intimidation of people who are walking, biking,
driving, or simply living while black, governing
from a position of fear of the other rather than
respect for the other, setting curfews, and calling
up armed law enforcement to counter peaceful
protest
cambridge.org/us/dictionary/english/militarism). A War Resisters League flyer on

Stopping War Toys Campaign (1987) refers to militarism “as the glorification of
killing and conquering, dehumanization of the enemy, and the racism and sexism
inherent in a war mentality” (Joanne Sheenan, email exchange, September
16, 2020).
What, then, can we say about a culture of war paradigm?
Table 2 provides a visual expression of a cultural paradigm that perpetuates a
culture of war.
People who endorse a culture of war paradigm have bought into a belief
system that justifies war and considers warfare as the only, or best, response to
conflict. Based on this worldview, they establish systems and structures that
support a militaristic culture; defend policies and practices that promote a war
system in our institutions of government as well as within our families and our
communities; develop educational materials and processes that motivate people
to accept war as a response to conflict; and participate in actions in support
of war.
In the twenty-first century we are faced with the reality of learning to live together
and share the same limited resources on this planet or we may perish together in
global warfare. Currently the culture of war paradigm has permeated many dimen-
sions of life on our planet, affecting relationships locally, nationally, and interna-
tionally. Vast defense networks, the most pervasive example of an attitude of
superiority and competitiveness, maintain a system of domination and exploitation
that has people, both within and between nations, competing with others even to the
point of death in order to secure access to scarce resources. This demonstrates how,
in a culture of war paradigm, control of property and wealth is often valued more
highly than life itself.
What is common to the values, images, language, systems and structures,
policies and practices, education, and actions that support either or both racism
and warfare is the way these reveal engaged human activity. Someone conceptu-
alizes the domination of a people or the building and use of a weapon; someone
promotes institutions and policies that will support racial injustice or warfare;
1112 J. Haessly
Table 2 A culture of war paradigm

Strands of How the Strands Support the
Culture Paradigm Aspects of the Culture of War Paradigm
Value Ground and strengthen our The values of warfare include valorizing
Strands worldview military solutions to intra- and inter-regional and
national disputes, accepting competition for
scarce resources, and justifying domination,
control, and manipulation of others to gain
access to scarce resources or to further one’s
area of rule or domination
Image Inspire and sustain us in our The images of warfare include war rooms,
Strands efforts to bring our generals, soldiers, swords, tanks, guns, and
worldview to reality suicide bombers; missiles exploding in the
night; bodies tortured and torn; civilians
wounded or dead; caregivers tending to wounds;
and weeping women, dazed and disoriented
elders, and lost and orphaned children
wandering about aimlessly in war-ravaged cities
and desolate fields.
Language Communicate our The language of warfare includes enemy,
Strands worldview to others collateral damage, body counts, patriotism, war
heroes, and number one. Military terminology
such as trigger, bomb, weapon, force, capture,
assault, permeates everyday human
communication, including our communication
about sports, education, psychology, religion,
business, politics, and even family life
System & Support a society that The systems of warfare are competitive,
Structure reflects our worldview undemocratic, and authoritarian, and the
Strands structures take the form of the interlocking
array of a massive military-industrial-
scientific-medical and education complex that
spans the planet and expands into the solar
system itself.
Policy & Promote and protect our The policies of warfare are those of aggressive
Practice worldview across society retaliation aimed at weakening the one called
Strands “enemy.” This can take forms such as tax
incentives and subsidies for military
development, limitations on freedom of
assembly, constrictions on movement,
restrictions on a free press, and the growing
militarization of a culture
Education Educate about and for a The pedagogy of warfare is based on
Strands worldview philosophies, theories, methodologies, and
practices that support war. Educational practices
are based on rote learning, rewarding individual
achievement, and inculcating competitiveness.
Teaching is focused on developing obedience to
authoritarianism, domination, and control. The
curriculum offers a biased interpretation of
historical and current events
(continued)
Table 2 (continued)
Strands of How the Strands Support the
Culture Paradigm Aspects of the Culture of War Paradigm
Action Provide the means by which The actions of warfare are directed to
Strands we manifest our worldview preparation for, and engagement in,
war-making. This can extend far beyond
military institutions to take in government
offices, financial institutions, factories, media,
movies, classrooms, religious, educational, and
community-based organizations, and even the
war play present within family homes
someone finances the training of police officers and a police department’s

expanding arsenal of military style training and military-style weapons, or the
building of bombs and tanks used in warfare; someone designs these; someone
builds these; someone transports these; someone fires a weapon or drops a bomb;
someone is injured or dies from the bomb explosion; someone cares for the
injured; someone morns and buries the dead; someone cleans up the mess that
remains; someone rebuilds the infrastructure; and someone does so while striving
to work for peace.
We can see all of this. We can imagine it. We can give these engaged human
activities a name: supporting a culture of racism or war. What can we say about the
engaged human activities that reveal the presence of peace? And how do these
engaged human activities reveal the kind of cultural paradigm that can support peace
with justice?
Transforming a Culture of War into a Culture of Peace with Justice
Around the world, however, there are both women and men today who challenge this
paradigm that depends upon dominance, superiority, authoritarianism, competitive-
ness, and exploitation of others for its existence.
Around the world women and men from all areas of life have identified links
between destructive cultural paradigms of domination that support racist policies
and practices or that support warfare, and lead to the problems, crises, and chal-
lenges that confront and threaten all with global chaos. If we as individuals, and as a
human species, are to find win-win solutions to these critical and complex social,
economic, political, and environmental issues in an effective, life-sustaining way
for the benefit of all people, we need to embrace new visions and a new way of
thinking about peace (Wallensteen, 1998). To effectively meet these challenges and
weave a culture of peace with justice for all peoples, we need a new paradigm, one
that embraces new possibilities for peace in our world. This requires a major
paradigm shift, one that poses both challenges and opportunities, for to even
consider such a shift means embracing the idea that change and transformation
are possible.
1114 J. Haessly
Articulating a New Paradigm
Paradigm change is possible. Diana L. Eck and Devaki Jain write about development
issues that affect women and communities, but they could be writing about paradigm
shifts in any area of human society, including paradigm shifts in worldviews that
currently support domination, slavery, racism, unequal gender relations, discrimination
based on sexual orientation, lack of care for the environment, and war, among others.
As they explain, “Change takes place in the context of, or in rebellion against, a world
which is shaped by a worldview . . . a worldview so foundational that one often does not
think about [it] at the level of conscious decision-making” (Eck & Jain, 1987, p. 6).
Embedded within each of the cultural, religious, and contemporary expressions of
peace-as-presence identified earlier in this chapter is a call for reimagining our
concept of peace as something that is present. These visions invite a paradigm
shift, transforming our worldview of domination to one of wholeness in our relation-
ships with ourselves, with each other, and with all of creation.
This raises the question regarding what kinds of images can energize us to
examine our existing destructive worldviews and to develop new paradigms that
can empower us as we strive to bring about peace in our world. Gita Sen and Caren
Grown (1987) urge us to keep before us a vision of the kind of world we want.
Visionary expressions of peace-as-presence are stated as what we need and want to
create, as distinct from what we want to abolish; as challenges that need to be
overcome; and as just relationships with others within our homes and communities,
as well as with others across the planet, and with the planetary eco-system itself
(Haessly, 1977).
Despite media attention given to racist practices, armed conflicts, and warfare,
people worldwide, of all ages, are both articulating a vision of a world at peace and
acting to bring about this vision of peace with justice. Their vision statements flow
from an image of a world where women and men share equally in creating and
sustaining a world of justice and peace. These visions can energize and empower
people to bring the concept of peace-as-presence in to being in our world.
Efforts to effect change pose challenges. Patricia Mische (1977) states that such
change calls for the creation of new social structures, new methods of resolving
conflicts between peoples and nations, and new concepts and patterns of security
based upon a worldview that recognizes and affirms our global interdependence.
This calls, too, for new images, new language patterns, new systems and structures,
and new policies, as well as new ways of thinking about and engaging in educational
practices and peace-related actions, each important for weaving a culture of peace.
Those who seek to bring peace into being must also ponder whose voices need to
be included in order to reach decisions that will benefit individuals, communities,
and the common good. We need to consider who names the participants; who names
the agenda; who identifies the issues; who determines the principles and policies that
affect our everyday lives. We need to reflect on whose voices are missing and whose
voices are included, and seek to ensure a diversity of voices in the decision-making
processes that affect all of our lives. For peace with justice to occur, it is necessary to
take time to listen to multiple voices. Worldwide, women, men, youth, and even
young children are using their voices and claiming their power, working together to
bring healing and wholeness to a hurting world, revealing their potential to bring
their vision of peace with justice to reality.
Today, young people across the world are making their voices heard on both local
and national stages as well as on the global stage; they are addressing government
officials in School Board Meetings and in local and state office buildings, halls of
Congress and Parliaments, and at the United Nations. They are gaining media attention
for their efforts as they draw attention to a need to end all forms of violence, including
acts of racial injustice, gun violence, sex trafficking, environmental destruction, and
wars. Equally as important, these young people also call upon government officials to
devote energy and resources, both human and financial, toward efforts to reallocate
resources and to invest in communities, and in the services that are needed to support
sustainable communities, including policies and practices to provide access to clean
water, nourishing food, safe shelter, equitable access to quality health care, including
mental health, effective education for both girls and boys, community safety, and
protection for the environment and all of creation. In doing so, they are also calling
upon all of us for the wider support they need in order to transform their vision into
reality. They are reimaging community and seeking our support in doing so.
But how do we get from here to there? How do we move from a paradigm that
promotes a culture of domination, into to a new paradigm that can move us toward
developing a culture that considers peace as a presence, that shares an understanding of
what it is that is or should be present, and that encourages people to act to achieve this
goal?
Conceptualizing Peace as a Presence
Proposing New Terms for Peace-as-Presence
To aid in the process of cultural transformation, in this chapter I introduce two new
terms: integral peace and actualized peace. Both depend upon recognizing the limita-
tions posed by existing conceptions, definitions, and descriptions of peace as absence,
and especially the limitations posed by distinguishing negative peace as absence of
direct violence and positive peace as absence of structural violence. Both terms, integral
peace and actualized peace, conceptualize peace in terms of what is present, or in the
process of becoming present. As a result, both terms can enrich our understanding of
peace as more than the absence of either direct or structural violence.
Proclaiming Peace as Integral

The first term, “Integral Peace,” expresses the concept that peace entails the presence of
something that is whole, entire, and complete. Roget’s Super Thesaurus (1991) iden-
tifies integral as essential, central, basic, elemental, indispensable, fundamental, nec-
essary, all terms that support a concept of peace as an integral presence in the lived
experience of individuals and communities. Webster’s dictionary defines integral as
“necessary to the completeness of the whole: entire; complete; whole; and made up of
1116 J. Haessly
parts that together constitute a whole” (1994, p. 738). It is worth noting that the words
“whole” and “holy” have the same root. Holiness and wholeness both refer to integra-
tion at the personal, communal, national, and global levels.
Integral peace, then, is a concept of peace that is grounded in personal values,
those values that shape character and foster moral intelligence. People grow
morally as they learn from others within their family and community how to
live justly in relationship with others and how to act toward others in the world.
For peace, as indicated earlier, cannot be understood simply as the absence of war
or violence. Integral Peace conceptualizes peace as a state of wholeness, that is,
the active presence of just and faithful relationships within one’s self, between
individuals, and among all people, both within and between nations.
Proclaiming Peace as Actualized

The second term, “Actualized Peace,” expresses the concept of peace as something
that is attainable. Roget’s Super Thesaurus (1991) indicates that actualize is a verb
which means to “make real, bring about, realize, effectualize, produce, accomplish,
reach” (pp. 13–14). These strong, active verbs express the concept of engaged
human activity directed toward the goal of actualizing something, making it real.
Embedded in the word actualize is act, a term that challenges each of us to engage in
actions to reach the goal of peace. Actualized Peace conceptualizes peace as a
positive presence, as engaged human activity directed toward the process of making
peace a reality in our individual, family, and communal lives.
Some might suggest that such visions are utopian. Birgit Brock-Utne distin-
guishes between utopia, which literally means no place, and “pragmatopia,” which
she explains is “a real place with a realizable future” (1989, p. 39). For peacemakers,
this means engaging in actions that move us beyond protesting against something, or
seeking to end something, and instead, engaging in actions that, individually and
collectively, can lead to making peace real and actualized in our personal, family, and
communal lives, and in our world. Peace as actualized, or as in the process of being
actualized, occurs only when we make a commitment to do something, to engage in
just actions that lead to the images, language, systems and structures, policies, and
pedagogy needed to create a culture of peace in our world.
Each of these terms, “Integral Peace” and “Actualized Peace,” has potential for
helping people move beyond an understanding of peace as an absence of violence,
and toward both understanding and manifesting peace as a presence in the world.
This has important implications for shaping how we seek to bring about peace in our
world, whether we focus only on opposing violence, or whether we focus our efforts
on bringing new relationships into being. In turn, our understanding of peace can
also influence us in how we choose to measure progress toward peace.
Measuring Peace-as-Presence
Gray Cox (1986) remarks that peace researchers and government leaders prefer
concepts like negative peace and positive peace because the absence of violence can
easily be measured. However, politicians, policymakers, and advertising specialists

have a long history of depending upon public opinion and marketing poles to
measure subjective experiences and intangible values expressed by people partici-
pating in such poles: who is happy, what makes for a happy life, which is the
happiest country, to name a few. Surely, then, it is possible to measure the presence
of peace-supporting values, attitudes, and behaviors in much the same way.
The concepts of integral peace and actualized peace that I have proposed above
could be measured in multiple ways. Instead of only measuring the manifestations
of a culture of war and domination, such as the numbers of starving babies, the
numbers of hungry and homeless people, the numbers of unemployed people, or
the number of hate crimes, we could adjust the focus of our research to assess the
presence of a culture of peace. Researchers could measure and report on the
quality and degree of wellbeing and wholeness within families, communities,
and nations. And, where peace is not yet whole, not yet actualized, researchers
could measure the numbers of people who, through their individual and collective
efforts, seek to establish systems, structures, policies, and practices that will benefit
individuals, their communities, and the common good. We could measure the
numbers of people exhibiting care and kindness to others in their communities,
the numbers of people doing good, and show how the numbers of these people are
increasing day by day and year by year.
By researching what is working, we could examine what it is that leads to
such levels of success, and then devote resources, both human and financial, to
replicate these efforts, these practices, in other communities all across the world.
In multiple ways, then, we can count and report on the numbers of people acting
with integrity, with wholeness, who reveal their commitment to integral peace.
We can name these as signs of hope, signs of wholeness, evidence of people
working alone and together to actualize a vision of peace-as-presence in our
world.
Toward a Holistic Definition of Peace-as-Presence
Drawing together all of the above, we can conceptualize peace-as-presence as a

situation where relationships are just, human rights are respected, the common good
is assured, global security is achieved, and actions are informed by a personal and
communal commitment to the promotion of peace with justice at the levels of family,
community, nation, and world. As a result, we can discern, conceptualize, and define
peace thus:
Peace is the presence of just and faithful relationships with ourselves, with each other, with
all others within and across countries and nations, with all of creation, and with a Spirit
Being-Higher Power who both gives life and gives life meaning. (Haessly, 2002, p. 13)
By changing both our definitions and our conceptions of peace, we are free to
imagine, embrace, and celebrate peace as a presence that is, or is in the process of
1118 J. Haessly
becoming, integral in our lives. We can begin to view peace as a presence that
people, working alone or with others, can actualize and make real in our world.
When peace is viewed as a positive presence that can be actualized as an essential
element in our lives, it can be experienced as life-giving, freeing, energizing, with
the potential to change both personal and public behavior.
Actualizing peace-as-presence depends upon how we engage with the seven
strands identified above in support of a cultural paradigm that promotes and pre-
serves peace with justice. How, though, might the seven strands support the devel-
opment of a culture of peace? Table 3 outlines the connections.
Table 3 provides a visual expression of a cultural paradigm that has the possibility
of promoting, protecting, preserving, and sustaining a culture of peace for today and
for future generations.
If we adopt a cultural paradigm that views peace as more than the absence of war,
as the presence of an attainable wholeness in our relationships in every dimension of
human life, then certain things follow. To the extent that we transform our personal
and communal paradigms in this direction, we will be energized and empowered to
move far into the future in a manner that promotes individual, family, community,
national, and global wholeness. We can expect this to enhance the quality of life for
all by cultivating an integral culture of peace that supports the actualization of peace
in our homes, our communities, and our world.
When we embrace a new understanding of peace as a presence, and begin to
recognize the value of engaging in nonviolent actions as a means to effect change in
our world, we can start to transform our current cultural paradigms that support
relationships of domination and violence. Instead, we can declare our commitment to
work with others in our communities and our world to establish systems and adopt
policies and practices that lead to local, national, and global cooperation, collabora-
tion, and genuine partnership; we can proclaim that we value peace; we can imagine
and articulate peace-as-presence; we can establish systems and structures and legis-
late policies and practices that will support a genuinely peaceful society; we can
educate ourselves and our youth both about and for peace; and we can engage in
actions that help to bring about an integral and actualized peace. How, though, can
we create a culture of peace in the present day that will be sustainable for future
generations?
Sustaining a Culture of Peace
Sustaining a culture of peace into the future depends upon how well we under-
stand that peace is integral to our lives and upon how well we engage in the
process of actualizing peace within our homes, our communities, and our world
by honoring commitments to care for each other and for the ecosystem. This
requires us to take actions in our everyday lives to create and maintain a culture
of peace.
Peace as actualized, or as in the process of being actualized, occurs only when we
make a commitment to do something, to engage in just actions that support the
Table 3 Conceptualizing paradigms for a culture of peace

How the Seven Strands Support the
Paradigm We manifest a Culture of Peace when we. . .
Value Strands ground the worldview Embrace personal values such as integrity,
needed to strengthen a culture of peace hospitality, generosity, compassion, forgiveness,
gratitude, cooperation, and public values such as
ecological integrity, social responsibility, economic
equability, political participation, economic justice,
peaceful resolution of conflict, kinship, and global
security
Image Strands inspire and sustain us in Express our own concrete images of people acting
our effort to translate a peaceful in peaceful ways: loving passionately, nurturing
worldview into an actualized culture of tenderly, listening intently, caring compassionately,
peace playing joyfully, laughing exuberantly, working
fairly, acting mindfully, living justly, and acting in
caring ways with all people of all ages, all races, all
cultures, and all nations for our personal and our
common good
Language Strands help us Name and claim domestic, nurturing, work-related
communicate and community-building activities as peace acts;
a peaceful worldview to and with others celebrate our peace heroes; express peace images;
voice hope for a just and peaceful world; avoid
gratuitous use of military terms like trigger, capture,
etc.; and choose positive terms like generate,
stimulate, gather, and embrace
System and Structure Strands Work through political processes to establish local,
implement a peaceful worldview, state, national, regional, and international systems
creating a society marked by a culture of government, education, science, law, medicine,
of peace technology, and finance that can support safe and
healthy communities, so that our systems and
structures support the local, national, and
international common good
Policy and Practice Strands promote Establish and monitor legislation and political
and protect a culture of peace processes to develop family, community, and
environmental friendly policies and practices that
foster equity and justice that support all people,
their families, their communities, and the common
good
Educational Strands preserve and Develop educational policies, practices and
promote a peaceful worldview and environments that foster understanding of causes
assist in passing on values, images, and and effects of war, and that promote education
concepts of peace across the about, and for, peace; create forms of pedagogy
generations grounded in affirmation, respect, cooperation,
critical thinking, engaged interaction; teach the
consensus-model of decision-making necessary
Action Strands are the means by which Re-imagine and engage in activities of
we manifest a culture of peace across peacemaking in the home and community; engage
the generations in acts of service, advocacy, empowerment,
solidarity, celebration, stewardship; actively
demonstrate our commitment civic and corporate
responsibility and leadership in our global village
1120 J. Haessly
transformation of our values, images, language, systems and structures, policies,

practices, and pedagogy in the ways that are needed to create a culture of peace in our
world. Every day, and in all sorts of ways, people engage in actions related to war.
Some do so consciously as part of their daily work; planning military strategy;
developing and using weapons; training soldiers and pilots; engaging in combat;
sewing uniforms; preparing the meals for military personnel; reporting the news of
wars around the world. Too often, some do so as an unintended part of their everyday
life; tending to the wounded; burying the dead; cleaning up the debris; and rebuild-
ing communities. We give these activities a name: military research, military train-
ing, military action, even war reporting; or in the case of civilians, providing
emergency care and community support to those in need.
Peacemaking, too, requires that we take action and that we engage in activities
that promote peace as an integral part of our daily lives. These peacemaking actions
that can develop and sustain a culture of peace need to be identified and named, just
as we have names for activities that support war.
Seven Forms of Nonviolent Personal and Community Action
Elsewhere, I have identified seven forms of action that, when performed with care
for each other, can lead to peace: (1) praying and expressing thoughts and good
wishes for others; (2) providing direct services to those in need; (3) advocating for
those with need; (4) empowering others to advocate for themselves and others;
(5) caring for the ecosystem; (6) standing in solidarity with those whose lives or
livelihoods are at risk; and (7) celebrating successes and commemorating challenges
faced (Haessly, 2002, 2011).
Among the many people around the world who work toward a vision of peace-as-
presence, some engage in the creative and life-enhancing activities of direct service
that honor the dignity of the human person. Some engage in activities of advocacy
and empowerment in order to effect justice in the policies and institutions of
educational, business, religious, legal, and governmental systems. Some take risks
by standing in solidarity with people who face grave threats to their personal or
community safety. Others engage in activities that show kinship and care for the
planet and all of creation. Some of these activities take place within the private
spaces of our homes. Some take place in the public spaces of our communities with
family, friends, coworkers, and even with strangers who gather to engage in activ-
ities of justice-making in our world. Some take place in partnership with civic,
corporate, and other community leaders to bring about the personal and public
transformations necessary to assure community and global security and to help
sustain a culture of peace. One such example is the way that women and men and
children are urging government officials to re-imagine the allocation of public funds,
away from heavy investment in the militarization of law enforcement and toward
sustainable investment in communities through support for health care, including
maternal health care and mental health care, sustainable housing, and education. In
these and in multiple other ways around the world, adults and children are already
working together to transform our culture and create and sustain a culture of peace.
This is the work of peacemaking.
Peacemaking in the Personal and Public Spaces of Our Lives
Peacemaking in the Personal Space of Home and Family
Peacemaking, as mentioned above, is the task of all people, and not just of govern-
ment officials, politicians, diplomats, and peace activists. Peacemaking begins
within the home, and reaches outward to include others in our world (Haessly,
2011; McGinnis and McGinnis, 1981; Muller, 1992; Sokalski, 1992).
According to Henryk Sokolski, Executive Director for the United Nations 1992
International Year of the Family, it is within the family, first of all, that the children
we birth, nurture, love, and educate can learn what it means to be a part of a caring
community of people (United Nations Year of Family, 1991). Peacemaking within
the family is a full-time task, one integrated into the ongoing activities of everyday
family life. Within a safe and nurturing home, family members can learn those values
and skills helpful for promoting healthy, loving, peaceful relationships. It is also
within our families that we can learn how to both recognize and name the activities
of daily living as peace activities. Some of these tasks are associated with the
homemaking and maintenance tasks essential to sustaining families in their everyday
life. Today, too, a growing number of fathers, mothers, and children also share in the
nurturing tasks of caring for the physical, emotional, and spiritual needs of each
member of the family. It is within the home, too, that each of us can learn to respect
the multiple ways that people within our families and communities differ from each
other, work together to resolve conflicts for the mutual benefit of all, and cooperate
with each other to achieve a common goal. We can and must name and claim these
everyday actions as peacemaking activities.
Peacemaking in the Public Spaces of Our Communities
It is also within the family that we empower our young so that they can take their
place as responsible citizens able to address important community and global issues.
Elise Boulding (1988) and Vaclav Haval (1995) each remark on the importance of
both embracing the role and responsibilities of citizenship, and engaging in the acts
of citizenship as vital to the process of creating a just and peaceful society, both
important for peacemaking to occur in our families, our communities, and our world
(Myers-Walls et al., 2001). Civic responsibility flows from our role as citizen,
whether of a village, a city, a country, or of our world.
Responsible citizens engage in service to their communities, exercise their right
to vote, and pay fair taxes. Some participate in elected or appointed office where they
promote policies for the benefit of all in their communities. Some oversee corporate
and citizen compliance to local, state, and national governmental regulations that
1122 J. Haessly
protect the common good. Some write, lobby, or speak out publicly in protest against
unjust laws, policies, and practices. Some engage in grassroots community building
and community organizing activities that enhance the quality of life for people in
their communities, nations, and in our world. Some stand in solidarity with those
most in need by engaging in acts of nonviolent civil disobedience. Thus, through our
actions as individuals and families, we directly and indirectly influence the promo-
tion and establishment of healthy communities and, by extension, contribute to
developing a more peaceful national and global society (Muller, 1992; Sokalski,
1992). Too often, we fail to recognize nor name these activities – carried out by
citizens in cities and rural areas in countries throughout our world – as activities of
peacemaking. It is important that we both recognize and name these activities as acts
of peacemaking as the important work for peace that they are.
Peacemaking in the Public Spaces of Our Global Village
Many of the issues that touch the lives of those in our families and our communities
are larger and more complex than simple problems that we, our families and our
friends, can resolve by ourselves. Peacemakers recognize that the cares and concerns
parents have for their own children are similar to the cares and concerns parents have
for their children the world over (Haessly, 2011; Muller, 1992; Sokalski, 1992). Our
challenge, as parents, then, is to bestow upon our children a vision of family that
includes all the people who share life and resources with us in our global village. The
act of peacemaking in the world, therefore, depends upon our ability to move our
care beyond the doors of our own homes and our own communities into the global
village where we can affirm in word and in deed that all people are, indeed, members
of one human family.
We live in a globally interdependent world, one where social, economic, political,
and environmental concerns cross local, national, and regional borders. It is impor-
tant, therefore, that we learn to question, to challenge, and to work to change local,
national, and global systems, structures, policies, and practices that negatively affect
so many families in our world (Freire, 1973; Freire and Faundez, 1989; hooks, 1994;
Mendlovitz, 1975). We can explore the best ways to support actions that are already
taking place to address these global problems, and can take action at a local level in
our everyday lives. In communities throughout the world, parents and grandparents,
along with their children and others in their communities, have come together to
address important issues such as reducing hunger and homelessness, providing care
to those who are elderly or have disabilities, eliminating incidents of community
violence, and promoting opportunities for building communities of justice for all.
Worldwide, intergenerational groups engage in acts of direct service, work together
as advocates that other’s just needs might be met, empower each other through
experiences of shared learning, stand in solidarity with those at risk, and commem-
orate and celebrate life’s struggles, accomplishments, and joys.
Within our families and within our broader communities, then, it is important to
recognize the multitude of personal, professional, and political activities that can be
named as peacemaking activities that have the potential to address global challenges.
These include the life-enhancing activities associated with educating children and
adults, tending to the needs of the ill and the wounded, and ministering to the
emotional and spiritual needs of others; the community-building activities of
constructing, maintaining, and staffing schools, hospitals, libraries, parks and play-
grounds, offices, shops, factories, roads, airports, and places of worship; the agri-
cultural activities of planting, tending to and harvesting crops; the business activities
of finance, manufacture, commerce, and trade; the healing activities of medicine; the
scientific activities aimed at new, life-supporting discoveries; the cultural activities
of drama, dance, art, and music; the recreational activities of sport and play; the
civic-building activities associated with the political processes of informing, voting,
serving, and promoting the local and common good, as well as protesting threats to
it; the earth-sustaining activities associated with care for creation; and the spiritually
enriching activities of story-telling, reflection, prayer, and worship.
When performed justly, and with care for each other and the environment each of
these activities helps sustain a culture of peace that can extend beyond our local
communities to embrace the world. It is important to name these family, community,
and global activities as peacemaking activities; otherwise, how will we, and our
children, know the experiences of peacemaking, like they know the experiences of
warmaking, unless we give these experiences a name? As I have written previously,
“Our challenge is learning how to name these activities . . . as peacemaking activi-
ties” (Haessly, 2002, p. 429), prompting Loretta Whalen to comment in an email
exchange; “Your work reminds and equips us to reframe our caring/healing work . . .
as seminal works of peace” (May 4, 2002).
This is something that we all can do, recognize and name the peacemaking
activities of daily life in our families, as well as in our places of study, work, play,
service, and worship in the community. Doing so helps us to embrace a new
perspective on what it means to work and live for peace. It may also help us to
better identify how the actions we take in our everyday lives in our homes and in our
local communities can connect with the peace-making work of others around the
world, as we envision and engage in actualizing a global culture of peace.
Conclusions
Ultimately, peacemaking is a complex, life-long process. Addressing the complex

challenges that confront us in our everyday lives requires active engagement in peace-
making by responsible citizens everywhere. There peacemakers draw on an emerging
paradigm that recognizes our global interdependence, that is, our kinship with each other
and the planet. These peacemakers must develop the wisdom, the knowledge, and the
skills essential for thoughtful leadership and wise decision-making ability, whether they
are acting in their family, their community, or our broader global society.
Currently, many people subscribe to a paradigm that defines the peace in our
personal and communal lives in terms of absence; peace as the absence of armed
conflict, and peace as the absence of structural violence. However, a growing
1124 J. Haessly
number of people do envision peace in terms of presence, and they give expression
to what is, or is in the process of becoming, present.
We can draw on the seven strands of culture outlined in this chapter in order to
weave a social tapestry that manifests an integral and actualized peace. By holding
fast to an image of a world at peace, by engaging in just actions for peace, and by
recognizing and naming these activities as peacemaking activities, we can begin to
weave a culture of peace that is either actualized or in the process of being actualized
for our families, our communities, our nations, and our world.
Some of these actions take place in the private spaces of our homes with family
and friends. Some of these actions take place in the public spaces in our local
communities; and some take place in the public spaces in our broader global society.
Whether we engage in peacemaking activities alone or in cooperation with others,
each of us contributes to the process when we recognize that decisions made in one
arena of life impact others in the larger society, and that what happens to others in
that society also impacts on our own families and communities. Peacemaking
happens when we understand that all aspects of our lives, from family life and life
in the broader communities of neighborhood, classroom, business, to our place in the
wider world, can be woven together in a way that sustains a culture where peace is
not only possible but the norm.
Our challenge is learning to recognize these activities in our home, our commu-
nities, and our world as peacemaking activities and honor those of all ages who
engage in the work of peacemaking. By recognizing peacemaking in its diverse
forms, and by envisioning peace as integral and actualized, we can both energize and
empower people as they strive in their everyday lives to bring peace-as-presence into
being. It is this paradigm that can inspire us to develop a culture of peace today that
can be sustained for future generations.
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Restorative Justice as Restoration
of Relationships 59
Jeremy Simons
Contents
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1128
Positive Peace and the Justice Gap . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1129
The Evolution of Law . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1130
The Catastrophe of Modern Justice . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1132
Restorative Justice Theory and History . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1133
Restorative Discipline . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1135
Transitional Justice, Reconciliation, and Restorative Justice . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1140
Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1144
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1145
Abstract
This chapter provides an overview of the history, concepts, applications, and
prospects of the current restorative justice (RJ) movement. RJ is a paradigm that
emphasizes the importance of repairing relationships in the context of justice
processes and addresses the justice gap that has been highlighted in the Positive
Peace Literature. It details two case studies at the micro and macro level that
demonstrate how RJ fills the justice gap by tracing its application in school
discipline and transitional justice settings. RJ should be understood as a critical
component of positive peace, providing practical, nonviolent, and relational
restoration in situations of injustice oriented toward repairing harm and reducing
its grave social impacts.
Keywords
Restorative Justice · Restorative Discipline · Transitional Justice · Positive
Peace · Responsive Regulation · Political Reconciliation · Justice Gap · Fambol
Tok · Sierra Leone · Denver Public Schools · Truth-telling
J. Simons (*)
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_59
1128 J. Simons
Introduction
The process of healing cannot begin in a courtroom that is presided over by a stranger
speaking a strange language and that does not allow the full participation of the victim and
his or her whanau [family] and the accused and his or her whanau. The removal and
incarceration of perpetrators, while it may provide temporary respite for victims, does not
heal the pain and disease that remains festering within the community. (Tomas, 2005, p. 138)
This chapter provides an overview of the history, concepts, applications, and

prospects of the current restorative justice (RJ) movement from a relational perspec-
tive. RJ is a paradigm that emphasizes the importance of repairing relationships in
the context of justice processes. Starting in the late 1970s and 1980s, restorative
justice came to define a constellation of initiatives that fundamentally challenged
criminal justice practices, along with their underlying philosophical foundations and
paradigms. These appeared under a variety of nomenclatures such as “reintegrative
shaming,” “reconciliation,” “peacemaking,” “transformative justice,” “relational
justice,” and “republican justice” (Braithwaite, 2002, p. 11). Many, though not all,
were inspired and supported by spiritual imperatives and cultural teachings that
sought to reclaim notions of common sense, premodern paradigms, or indigenous
practices, in societies’ response to crime (Hadley, 2001).
These restorative efforts were not simply variations of reform efforts emerging under
a modern judicial framework, but represented what Zehr (1990) describes as a quali-
tative shift in the entire paradigm of justice. The paradigm shift of RJ, according to
Zehr, represented a new or renewed understanding of justice as a relational process
addressing the needs of victims, offenders, and communities. In particular, RJ was born
as an effort addressing the failure of formalized criminal justice to take into account
how relationships were impacted by crime. RJ efforts were also seen as solutions to the
overrepresentation of poor and cultural minorities in the criminal justice system and the
mushrooming growth of prisons and the private prison industry. Thus, interpersonal
concerns (crime-affected relationship), cultural concerns (overrepresentation of minor-
ity groups), and systemic concerns (growth of the prison-industrial system) have
animated various articulations of restorative justice principles and practice.
Furthermore, when considered as a strategy or component of positive peace, RJ
represents a crucial response to the effects of direct, cultural, and structural violence
elucidated in Galtung’s positive peace framework (Galtung, 1969, 1990). In partic-
ular RJ relates to the four domains proposed in the positive peace platform in this
volume – nonviolence, social justice, environmental sustainability, and relationship
– with a particular emphasis on relationships and nonviolence. It is therefore timely
to articulate RJ in this way as it has expanded from its inception in the arena of
juvenile crime to include a movement with applications in arenas as diverse as law
and public administration (Braithwaite, 2002), school discipline (Anyon et al.,
2016), environmental regulation (Stark, 2016), organizational governance (Camp-
bell, 2017), and post-conflict reconciliation (Park, 2010).
This article will therefore first examine the justice gap that existed in Galtung’s
positive peace framework and explain, how RJ theory provides a remedy to this and
why a more robust articulation of RJ is still needed. This will be followed by a brief
overview of the theory of restorative justice in terms of criminal justice practice and
59 Restorative Justice as Restoration of Relationships 1129
its relation to the historical evolution of law. Two current cutting-edge developments
demonstrating the flexibility and potency of RJ tracing its application in school
discipline (microlevel) and transitional justice settings (macro-level) will be pro-
vided. The chapter concludes by reflecting on the important contributions that RJ can
make to positive peace, through the (re)construction of peaceful relationships.
Positive Peace and the Justice Gap
There was limited elaboration of concrete forms of justice in terms of reconciliation

in the early texts of the positive peace literature. Galtung, in his seminal article of
1969, concludes that the elements of positive peace encompass more than just a lack
of direct (personal) violence or reduced structural violence, rather, “the absence of
structural violence is. . .social justice, which is. . .egalitarian distribution of power
and resources” (1969, p. 183). He highlights a conundrum this appears to create in
conventional thinking: that of finding nonviolent alternatives to the cycle of retribu-
tion and direct violence in resisting oppression, or alternatively, the decision to not
react in order to avoid committing direct violence,
thus if the choice is between righting a social wrong by means of personal violence or doing
nothing, the latter may in fact mean that one supports the forces behind social injustice. And
conversely: the use of personal violence may easily mean that one gets neither long-term
absence of violence nor justice. (1969, p. 184)
He believed, however, that the future would provide “richer concepts and more
forms of social action that combine absence of personal violence with [sic] fight
against injustice” (p. 186).
In essence, Galtung flagged the challenge of how to achieve liberation and social
justice without incurring further violence or injustice in the process, in particular at
the interpersonal level. That is, he articulated the need for a practical, relational, and
political framework of nonviolent justice redressing the concrete needs and realities
of victims of injustice and violence, but he did not explain what such a framework
would look like. In Galtung and Webels’ Handbook of Peace and Conflict Studies,
Graf, Kramer, and Nicolescou later articulated a “justice gap” in the arena of
peacebuilding and conflict transformation, referring to “the difference between the
expected reduction in structural violence and the actual outcome” (2007, p. 125).
In order to address these gaps, at structural and interpersonal levels, a framework
is needed that articulates realistic options for people in the face of injustice where the
justice systems, cultures, or structures themselves are fundamentally unjust or are
used in oppressive ways. The framework should allow possibilities for the redress of
direct violence that is a product of both “just” (for example, self-defense) and unjust
situations (for example, theft during famine that is done to feed a family) without
resorting to simple retaliation, which almost always leads to a further cycle of
revenge. Additionally, at a systemic level, the framework should reorient the horizon
of socially just change, allowing for engagement with actors or agents of an unjust
system or cultural milieu whose individual actions may not be overtly violent, or
1130 J. Simons
who claim that what is being done is part of an honored tradition, or just “the way
things are (or were).”
The framework should not only address the immediate effects, but the longer-
term impact, of violence on human relationships, as Santa-Barbara elaborates:
humans being humans, situations arise in which harm is done to one or both or all members
of the relationship, very often in the course of pursuing conflicting goals. The harm may be
to the body or to the mind – the construction of oneself and others and one’s future. It may be
the large-scale harm to human life and social infrastructure of war and genocide. The
relationship is no longer peaceful, and trust diminishes or disappears. The victim is likely
to regard the offender as morally in debt to them. (Santa-Barbara, 2007, p. 174)
When seeking justice for harm done, avoiding the common (retributive) response of
revenge, which in effect trades harm for harm and debt for debt, means more than
just physically separating perpetrator and victim through distance or ending the
relationship, as is presumed through incarceration as justice. Doing so leaves the
question of how to restore the loss unresolved, ignoring the likelihood that for many
individuals and communities there will still be some level of relationship between
victim and offender, the oppressed and the oppressor, in the future. In other words,
there is a need to bridge the gap between the process (or processes) of justice, and the
lived reality of how injustice and violence impact social relations.
RJ advocates argue that debts can be repaid and losses restored through the
transformation of relationships which are made possible through the reparative
acts and strategies found in the paradigm of restorative justice (Bazemore & Schiff,
2015). This often involves, but does not require, forgiveness, a process whereby “the
moral debt is cancelled; anger and resentment are dropped; there will be no revenge”
(Braithwaite, 2016; Santa-Barbara, 2007, p. 174). Santa-Barbara further argues that
understanding the nuances of harm will assist in formulating just responses to its
multiple dimensions and varying levels of severity (2007, pp. 175–176).
This brief overview surfaces some of the key elements within restorative justice
and positive peace discourses, in particular, the importance of harm, balance,
fairness, relationships, and trust. Critical questions need further elaboration: How
do we rebalance the scales of justice in ways that are relevant, meaningful, and
promote structural and cultural transformation? How exactly do we prevent the use
of personal violence as a response to the broken relationships that are often the result
of unjust conflict? How do forgiveness, apology, restitution, and reconciliation fit
into the goals of restorative justice and positive peace?
The Evolution of Law
Because RJ first developed as a corrective to criminal justice, it is important to

understand how current legal systems came into being as a response to wrongdoing
and crime. John Braithwaite suggests “restorative justice has been the dominant model
of criminal justice throughout most of human history for perhaps all the worlds
peoples” (2002, p. 5). However, it was only in the relatively recent past of medieval
Europe that the precursors of modern law and criminology, as they are understood in
the worldview of liberalism, took shape. Broadly speaking, prior to the development
of modern law, traditional, customary, and indigenous judicial mechanisms had both
restorative and punitive justice elements that coexisted side by side, including blood
feuds and alternative modes of conflict resolution. Premodern European legality was
pluralistic and indigenous, incorporating a variety of systems and practices in dealing
with conflict and maintaining social order (Jeffery, 1957; Reynolds, 2013). In what is
now the British Isles, these included various forms of Irish Brehon law and Scottish
legal practices, schools of law, rhetoric, and literary training that were used to preserve,
explain, and transmit legal knowledge, histories, and legendary judgments from one
generation to the next. Thus law was an organic and central component in the lifeworld
of the community (Higgins, 2011; Simms, 2007).
According to Harold Johnson, this all changed as punishment became intrinsic to
the conceptual development of liberal institutional justice. The origins of contempo-
rary legal practice are generally attributed to the church’s practice of assigning
penance, institutionalized in 600 CE by king Aethelberht I of Kent in present-day
England. Allegedly converted to Christianity by St. Augustine, the king established a
law codifying amounts and penalties in the imposition of restitution payments (known
as weregild) that were used in kin-based dispute resolution as an alternative to revenge.
As the Roman Catholic church consolidated its power over local authorities and
secular kings, “rewards gained from processing criminals soon lead the church to
establish its own courts” which were appropriated later by the crown as the recipient of
what were ecclesiastical penitential payments by the guilty party “to cover the sin of
his crime” (Johnson, 2005, p. 65). Johnson calls this shift “penance to punishment,”
which “set in motion the economically motivated evolution of state jurisdiction over
the criminal, thereby taking jurisdiction away from the community” (p. 65).
The development of the common law legal system was facilitated by other
sociopolitical developments. Over time, medieval kings in England recast a variety
of lesser crimes and theological offenses into treasonable offense against the “king’s
peace” rather than against the actual victims and their kin as a means of facilitating
loyalty to the monarchy. They constituted the kings hall as a court in order to benefit
from the profits of justice and obtain the support of manor lord’s serfs, and so by
providing access to justice for commoners, “common law” came into being. Kings
aggressively intervened in untitled land disputes in order to expand royal domains.
They used these multiple legal strategies to wrest power from the hands of feudal
lords who maintained their own manor courts as elite jurisdictions that were inac-
cessible to commoners in the highly stratified society of the day (Jeffery, 1957).
In the medieval era, the church’s canon law was gradually integrated with Roman
law and this integration accompanied the centralization of royal political power and
the state’s administration of justice. These changes presaged the evolution of modern
state law during the Enlightenment period that followed (Pennington, 1994).
According to Braithwaite, “canon” law, the official law of the institutional Roman
Catholic Church, eventually “established prosecution as a central authority to assert
its will and crush heresy. Later, the barbarism of the Inquisition was justified because
crime was committed not against a victim, but against the moral order of the church”
(2002, p. 7). The Protestant reformation and other religious transformations, the
1132 J. Simons
French revolution, and the spread of Enlightenment doctrine were all intimately
related to changes in legal institutions (Berman, 1984). Philosophers of the time
developed a “deified” concept of law that reflected the unchanging attributes of a
distant Enlightenment God overseeing hierarchical, racial, and legal categories
(Fitzpatrick, 1992, pp. 51–63).
Under the expansion of European colonial rule outside the European continent,
royal and state laws were framed as the superior law that colonial powers imposed
upon colonial subjects, though not without various attempts at manipulation, resis-
tance, and accommodation by colonized communities (Aranal-Sereno & Libarios,
1983; Benton, 2012; Pratt, 1992). This occurred to the detriment of local practices of
conflict resolution and customary justice, which were rejected and suppressed by
colonial powers. Judicial leadership roles and processes of indigenous conciliation
were legally abolished as they were seen as competitors to royal or state jurisdiction
or reinterpreted and legally eviscerated under compliant modes of customary law.
Under policies of indirect rule, they were co-opted and assimilated into the colonial
governance system in order to weaken coexisting legal subsystems and local elites
(Dorsett, 2002; Laird, 2006; Wallbank, 1934).
Ironically, though European law had its origins and foundations in a complex
legal pluralism of local, indigenous, sectorial, and religious law systems, any other
“law” which competes with formal state law has rarely been allowed to continue
undisturbed (Berman, 2005; Fitzpatrick, 1992). They have been cognitively elimi-
nated as impediments to “progress” and justice via processes of legal consolidation,
laying intellectual and statutory foundations of domination, allowing the perpetua-
tion of the modern state criminal justice system to be parlayed into the present
(Santos, 2007).
The Catastrophe of Modern Justice
Punishment is violence. Incarceration is violence. The violence of incarceration maintains

and is maintained by the economic system of the industrial capitalist criminal justice
system. . ..The criminal justice system’s use of violent punishment has decimated our
communities. (Johnson, 2005, p. 67)
In light of this history, we should not be surprised that the criminal justice system,
rather than being an institution that delivers justice to the community, actually
contributes to a broader system of structural and cultural violence that expands the
justice gap, perpetuating injustice in the very attempt to mitigate violence. As Harold
Johnson reflects on the sociohistorical dynamics between indigenous communities
and the modern justice system, he observed that “the factory and the penitentiary are
similar institutions. Each operates according to strict rules of conduct and authority.
Each operates under strict rules of time. The factory processes materials, and the
penitentiary processes Indians” (2005, p. 66). Thus, the structural injustice of the
modern prison-industrial complex, by separating offenders from their communities
and relationships of cultural resilience, reinforces the cultural violence that strips
away and reconfigures the identity of the people inside. This was noted by
mainstream scholars such as New Zealand’s chief science advisor in a report on

New Zealand’s prison system (Gluckman, 2018). In a narrow, legalistic response, the
very cycles of systemic violence and injustice are reinforced and replicated within
lives and across generations, manifesting Galtung’s interlocking frames of direct,
cultural, and structural violence.
For the majority of prisoners who are poor and languish in jails of the Global
South and North, extended time in prison creates a ripple of effect of relational
rupture, loss, and deprivation. Vignette’s from Narag’s (2018) qualitative research
among inmates in the Philippines has echoes in many prison systems around the
world,
The food is not enough. We need to bring our own food, clothes, beddings, and medicines.
That is why, my family visits me every week. Or else, I will die of sickness. Many detainees
die of manas (swelling). Our finances are drained; we have mountains of debt. (Roger,
7 years in jail) (p. 8)
The tragedy for these inmates is further compounded by the fact that 82% will be
found not guilty after years awaiting trial. The impacts of this include stress to family
relationships where half “succumbed to marital separation,” the loss of employment,
economic hardship, social stigma, shame, anger, or a combination of all the above,
leading to a “mental anguish that breaks the will and the mind of detainees” (Narag,
2018, pp. 8, 9). One prisoner expressed the sense of hopelessness,
We are not here to be punished. We are here because we are accused and still in the process of
determining our guilt or innocence. But they already made us pay. What if we turn out
innocent? Which usually happens. Can they bring back the years and resources that we
spent? (Gerry, 8 years in jail) (p. 10)
A further review of current trends illustrates the disheartening large-scale chal-

lenges facing “justice” systems globally. According to Penal Reform International’s
(PRI) “Global Prison Trends 2018” report, between 2000 and 2015, there was an
estimated growth of 20% of inmates in custody, bringing to over 11 million the
number of people living in prisons and jails. These are mostly men (93%), but the
number of women has increased over 50% between 2000 and 2017. This has
occurred in spite of the fact that overall, crime rates appear to have decreased during
that same period. Offenders are continuously processed like widgets in a judicial
assembly line producing inputs for the prison-industrial complex. Rather than being
encouraged to take responsibility to repair the harm they cause, and access the
resources needed to restore community, those responsible for the harm are prose-
cuted as objects of state punishment.
Restorative Justice Theory and History
In the modern legal conception of law that developed during and after the Enlight-
enment, violence and crime were seen as incurring a debt to society, a legal offense
against the state, or a violation of abstract human rights norms and standards.
1134 J. Simons
Restorative justice emerged in 1980s as a corrective, processual model of justice

centralizing victims’ voices and prioritizing relationships in the justice process, as
well as both the personal impacts and social harms that result from violence and
offense. At the microlevel, a restorative approach encourages society to see the crime
not simply as a violation of a law, but also as a violation in the victim, resulting in
anger, fear, and shame. RJ recognizes that the social ripple effect also spreads out to
the person’s immediate family, and possibly wider community, where an indirectly
affected circle of friends and neighbors may have a sense of diminished trust,
insecurity, and social disorder.
RJ practices such as victim-offender mediation, community circles, and family
group conferences almost always involve facilitated encounters with victims and
offenders, often including concerned community members and support people. This
allows victims and members of the community to articulate the harms caused and how
best they can be repaired, while permitting offenders to answer questions that help
victims understand what happened. It provides concerned community members and
other stakeholders an opportunity to support offenders in repairing the harm caused
and making needed changes to prevent recurrance. Though not required, it is not
uncommon for apologies to be given and forgiveness offered, which RJ advocates
assert is one of the most significant by-products of restorative justice (Braithwaite,
2016). Based on research by Sherman and others, RJ processes generally provide
better outcomes for participants than legal processes. Furthermore, restorative pro-
cesses in tandem with legal accountability are cost-effective and consistently produce
higher satisfaction for victims of crime than legal or restorative processes alone
(Restorative Justice: Evidence Brief, 2016; Sherman et al., 2015a, 2015b).
Zehr (2015) suggests that the positive effects and impacts of RJ are undergirded
by three pillars in the restorative model: justice that focuses on the actual and
relational harms caused by an offense; the corresponding obligations that
offenders have to repair the harm to the victim; and direct engagement in the
justice process by victims, community, and a broader coalition of stakeholders. RJ
seeks to answer three basic questions: Who has been harmed? What are their
needs? Whose obligations are these? Thus, RJ orients justice processes in terms of
relational imperatives that address the interconnected humanity of those involved
in, and affected by, violence; the restoration and transformation of victims’ agency;
and the prioritization of community as a direct relational and cultural stakeholder
of justice.
The “birth” of restorative justice is generally attributed to the efforts of an
outreach worker with the Mennonite Central Committee and a probation officer in
Ontario, Canada, in 1974 who were working together on a vandalism case. “They
agreed that prison or probation would probably not have the kind of effect on the
defendants that meeting the victims, listening to their stories, apologizing, and
paying restitution would have” and they asked a judge to consider a direct meeting
between the victims of vandalism and the two young men who were responsible
(Van Ness & Strong, 2015, p. 27). This was successful, and sparked additional
alternative arrangements, and eventually the establishment of an organization to
facilitate these restorative justice efforts.
On a separate track, Van Ness and Strong (2015) traced the origins of RJ to
initiatives in the early 1980s in Norway which utilized mediation to allow victims
and offenders to own their conflicts (based on Nils Christie’s theory of conflict as
property) and therefore be “given a role as primary participants” in the process of
settlement (Van Ness & Strong, 2015, p. 28). This spread to Finland, England, and
across Europe, in the process cross-fertilizing with the North American RJ model.
Parallel efforts reforming New Zealand’s juvenile justice system to reduce the
overrepresentation of Maori youth led to the abolishment of the youth court and
the creation of a family group conferencing model, which also later linked with the
restorative justice movement. The New Zealand conferencing model was picked up
and modified by an Australian police officer where a police-led effort of restorative
justice grew in Wagga-Wagga, New South Wales.
The first (or perhaps most widely) documented restorative justice interface
between the modern justice system and an indigenous judicial process was related
by Canadian judge Barry Stuart in 1992 in a modified community “circle process”
(Van Ness & Strong, 2015). While the development of the New Zealand model was
motivated by concerns over the negative impact of criminal justice on the Maori
community, it was still driven by the justice system and lacked meaningful partici-
pation by Maori leaders. This reflects concern expressed by some indigenous leaders
that RJ is often mistakenly framed as an “indigenous practice” and manipulated by
nonindigenous RJ entrepreneurs who benefit from government contracts, while
ignoring the real needs of indigenous and tribal communities. This criticism asserts
that RJ can function as just another tool in the colonizing arsenal that fails to consider,
if not outright legitimize and perpetrate, the violent legacies of colonization.
These critiques demand a larger, more holistic and nuanced paradigm of restor-
ative justice that explicates power dynamics and addresses the ways in which
colonial legacy governments have used modern justice systems to dominate and
destroy indigenous governance and political systems (Shah et al., 2017; Tauri,
2014). Similar issues of institutional over-representation of minority communities
in the justice system as one of the legacies of colonization will now be considered
with reference to the application of RJ in school settings, examining its effect on
issues of race, culture, and systemic injustice through the lens of restorative
discipline.
Restorative Discipline
We were in a place where discipline was so overwhelming and conditions were such that we
needed something different rather than just processing referrals and suspending kids. What
we were doing wasn’t working.
– School Leader in Denver, Colorado (Anyon, 2016, p. 3)
Perhaps restorative justice’s most in-depth application has been in schools, where it
has been used in both targeted and comprehensive approaches to discipline reform and
improving school culture. The background to one of the earliest systematic
1136 J. Simons
integrations of RJ in a school district, which occurred in Denver, Colorado, will be

shared where the author worked as a restorative justice coordinator from 2003 to 2008.
This will provide a narrative and contextual understanding of how RJ developed in a
particular context, illustrating the challenges and opportunities faced in promoting and
actualizing the concept. This case provides a valuable learning experience in that it
portrays the challenges, lessons, and opportunities of developing practical measures to
address violence in a highly contested institutional environment.
In Karp and Breslin’s 2001 survey of first-generation school-based RJ programs
in the USA, they identified challenges in preliminary efforts at restorative discipline.
They noted that “every principal teacher, counselor, and student has been socialized
in a culture of retribution, and its language, even veneration, permeates all sanction-
ing processes” (2001, p. 269). At that time, youth were increasingly criminalized in
educational settings: for example, in Philadelphia, arrests in schools went from 1632
in 1999 to 2194 in 2003; and in Clayton, Georgia, despite no increase in serious
safety or criminal incidents, school-based referrals to juvenile court increased 600%
in the 3 years after police officers were stationed in the schools (Gonzalez, 2012).
These trends were highlighted in reports by civil rights groups in 2003 and 2005
where they described “The Schoolhouse to Jailhouse Track,” detailing the processes
and consequences of youth entanglement in the criminal justice system via punitive
school discipline processes (Education on Lockdown: The Schoolhouse to Jailhouse
Track, 2005).
The reality of Cole Middle School reflected similar issues faced by schools across
the Denver Public School (DPS) system, and all over the country. Cole Middle School
served an economically impoverished community where 97% of students qualified
for free or reduced lunch. The school had a high suspension rate, issued police
citations regularly in its discipline process, and was notorious for school safety
problems. Stereotyped as a “gang factory,” a teacher reported seeing students fighting
in the hall and other teachers closing their door instead of intervening. Students’
performance on state assessment tests (known as CSAP) made it the lowest
performing school in Colorado. It would eventually become the first (and only)
school in the state to be converted into a charter school for failing state CSAP tests
3 years in a row. At the larger level, DPS schools were facing a disciplinary crisis:
from the 2000-2001 to 2004-2005 school years, Denver Public Schools reported a dramatic
increase in the number of in-school suspensions, from 1,864 to 4,859, and out-of-school
suspensions, from 9,846 to 13,487.261. The 13,487 out-of-school suspensions in 2005
generally ranged from five to ten days, i.e., 67,435 to 134,870 days of education lost. . ..
there was also a 71% increase in the total number of police-issued tickets and arrests within
Denver Public Schools. . ..Of the police-issued tickets, 68% were for minor incidents. . ..In
the 2004-2005 school year, Latino students represented 70% of the tickets issued, though
they represented only 58% of the overall student population. African-American students
represented 35% of all expulsions and 34% of all out-of-school suspensions, though they
represented only 19% of the student population. (Gonzalez, 2012)
In 2003, the Victim Offender Reconciliation Program (VORP) of Denver

obtained a grant from the US government’s Office of Juvenile Justice and
Delinquency Prevention enabling it to start a community-based restorative justice

initiative. VORP, a small nonprofit operating out the basement of the Denver First
Mennonite Church, consisted of two part-time staff coordinating a pool of volunteer
mediators who took referrals from the city’s juvenile misdemeanor court (191-J).
VORP used the grant to hire two part-time resident community organizers (of which
the author was one) in the Cole neighborhood in inner city northeast Denver. Cole
neighborhood, like the school that bore its name, was a small, low-income commu-
nity that was 70% Hispanic (mostly Mexican immigrants) and 30% African
American.
We, the VORP organizers, approached Cole Middle School in the spring of 2003
because numerous students were being issued police citations for minor offenses
such as fighting that occurred at school. We offered to conduct restorative justice
mediations on-site and reached “restorative agreements” in 11 of 14 cases during the
pilot period. By the end of the 2003–2004 school year, police citations had been
reduced by 86%, and suspensions by over 40%, after over 200 students went through
the program. In the spring of 2004, the school was awarded the Outstanding Safe
School Award, topping 40 other Denver schools with its dramatic improvement in
school safety. Unfortunately, test scores had far more inertia to overcome. Though
showing signs of improvement, they were not coming up fast enough for the school
to avoid being converted into a charter school in 2005.
However, with the controversy over the failure and conversion of Cole Middle
School highlighted in local media, the wider community became aware of the
school-based RJ program at Cole and the potential of restorative discipline. In
March 2005, the “Education on Lockdown: The Schoolhouse to Jailhouse Track”
report was published by the Denver parent advocacy group Padres Unidos and the
Washington DC-based civil rights law firm the Advancement Project. Consequently,
the “Cole Model” of restorative discipline began to attract the attention of school
reform advocates as an effective school discipline alternative, leading to its adoption
by other schools attempting to close the “school to prison pipeline.”
With encouragement from Padres Unidos, a district discipline reform committee
was convened with wide representation from administration, staff, parents, and the
community. The committee was charged with revamping Denver Public School’s
discipline policies and procedures, and the author became a subcommittee member,
having worked both in the schools as an RJ coordinator as well as a community
advocate. For his part, the author attempted to bring a model to the table that avoided
the perceived dichotomy between “tough” (punitive/legal) approaches and common
sense (restorative) methods. This was similar to Braithwaite’s idea of responsive
regulation (though the author was unaware of it at the time) (see Fig. 1).
We conceptualized a continuum of behavior/motivational “loci”: on the left side
were strategies with an external locus, i.e., done legally or administratively “to” the
offender, with little victim involvement. In the continuum center is an interactive
locus done “between” the participants, with the greatest amount of victim involve-
ment – restorative strategies. On the right side were strategies with an internal locus
of motivation, but also with little or no direct victim involvement – such as
therapeutic or social skills building activities, done by the offender. This three-
1138 J. Simons
ASSUMPTION
Incompetent or Irrational Actor Incapacitation
Rational Actor
Deterrence
Virtuous Actor
Restorative Justice
Fig. 1 Pyramid of responsive regulation. (Braithwaite, 2002, p. 32)
strategy framework was overlaid with a three-tier intervention model widely used in
positive behavior support programs. It provided a discipline and behavior rubric that
school staff could use for defining what resources and interventions were available at
different levels of disciplinary infraction/intensity, along with restorative strategies
for change (see Fig. 2).
RJ continues to be used in DPS and since 2008, studies and evaluations have been
conducted which provide rich, quantitative, and qualitative insights (Anyon, 2016;
Anyon et al., 2016; Gonzalez, 2014; Jennings et al., 2008). Quantitatively, RJ
contributed to significant reductions in disciplinary referrals in the targeted schools,
the length and use of suspensions ( 34%), expulsions ( 82%), and police citations
( 72%) (Gonzalez, 2012). It also led to dramatic reductions, though not elimination,
of racial and ethnic disparities in discipline rates along with improved attendance. In
several schools, suspension rates for African Americans were slashed from 24.4% to
6.25% in 3 years; 16.89% to 2.86% in 1 year; and from 19.35% to 4.55% in 6 years.
Overall, it helped lead to a near halving of overall suspension rates ( 47%) across
the school district from 2006–2007 to 2012–2013, meaning 2339 fewer students
were suspended, in spite of a student enrollment increase of over 17,000 students
during that same time period (Gonzalez, 2014).
The issue of why Black and Latino students were more likely to be disciplined
was also investigated using a statistical analysis controlling for factors such as
gender, type of referral, special education status, and socioeconomic level. The
results provided important qualifications to district-wide results, showing that at
the high school level, administrators in school discipline offices had eliminated race
and ethnicity as a factor in disciplinary decisions, a “remarkable achievement,”
according to the authors (Anyon et al., 2013, p. 2). However, results were mixed
Fig. 2 Policy J-K R attachment A. https://www.boarddocs.com/co/dpsk12/Board.nsf/files/

B4573P785E3F/$file/JK-R%20Attachment%20A%20-Interventions.pdf
at the middle and primary grades, where Black and Latino students were still
disciplined more severely by in-school administrators, compared to how other
students were disciplined for the same infractions. On the other hand, for expulsion
decisions at all school levels, the most severe or drastic exclusionary discipline
consequence, race and ethnicity bias had been eliminated (Anyon et al., 2013).
While implementing school discipline reform that helps to block the pipeline
shunting students of color from the school discipline office to the criminal justice
system, Denver Public schools has also shown improvement in academic achieve-
ment, graduation rates, college entrance exams, and reduced school drop-out levels.
This should assuage fears that shifting from punitive to restorative disciplinary
1140 J. Simons
processes will “create a chaotic and less productive learning environment” as a

greater number of (falsely labeled) disruptive or unruly children are kept in school
rather than kicked out when they misbehave (Gonzalez, 2014, p. 20).
However, challenges remain to extend this down to the classroom level in all
schools in order to eliminate injustices inflicted upon students of color, which
channel them into the school-to-prison pipeline. The experience of Denver’s public
schools, similar to many of the most challenging schools in the USA, affirms that
creating a positive and accountable socio-emotional and academic learning environ-
ment can improve outcomes. These are found across a range of indicators and
produce positive results for young people, their families, and communities, as well
as for the educational and criminal justice systems they interact with, in a variety of
complex and challenging ways.
Transitional Justice, Reconciliation, and Restorative Justice
Moving from the micro-community level of American schools where RJ has been
extensively applied for relatively “minor” conflicts in a stable democracy, we look to
the global level with the following question: Is RJ able to fill the justice gap in
contexts of extreme violence, that is in situations that are commonly believed to
require some form of transitional justice? Transitional justice (TJ) is defined by the
United Nations as “the full range of processes and mechanisms associated with a
society’s attempts to come to terms with the legacy of large-scale human rights
abuses, in order to ensure full accountability, service justice and achieve reconcili-
ation” (Guidance Note of the Secretary General: United Nations Approach to
Transitional Justice, 2010, p. 2). Here also, questions of justice for mass atrocity
and human rights violations revolve around concepts of both accountability and
reconciliation. TJ was conceptualized in the late 1980s to describe the different ways
that countries deal with the massive human rights violations of previous authoritar-
ian governments. This was particularly highlighted in discussions over “dealing with
the past” in Latin America’s attempts to address the legacies of impunity and human
rights violations under dictatorial rule, and “democratic transitions” that occurred in
the early 1990s within former Soviet bloc countries (International Center for Tran-
sitional Justice, 2009; Teitel, 2014).
As a descriptive term, the “transitional” aspect of transitional justice honed-in on
the critical importance of the immediate aftermath of large-scale violence, though
there has been no overall consensus on the length of that time period nor what
processes should be included therein. Transitional justice tends to reflect the legal
and criminal justice orientations of the human rights activists who witnessed extreme
human rights abuses and first developed the TJ movement, “with a distinct set of
measures—prosecutions, truth-telling, restitution or reparation, and reform of abu-
sive state institutions—whose aims were to provide justice for victims and to
facilitate the transition in question” (Arthur, 2009, p. 325). In attempting to create
accountability mechanisms going beyond the “naming and shaming” campaigns that
helped depose dictatorial regimes, TJ was designed to criminalize state wrongdo-
ings, inscribing them in the universal human rights framework, helping pave the way
for the recognition and integration of human rights and international law through
international cooperation (Arthur, 2009; Teitel, 2000). Thus, TJ reflects the influence
of international liberal institutional legal frameworks that underpin criminal justice,
and has been criticized along similar lines. However, within TJ, restorative processes
have gained prominence, though their exact nature and composition is contested
(Clamp & Doak, 2012).
Since RJ is oriented around the reparation of harm, it is important to explicate the
manifestations of harm in transitional justice contexts. Harm occurs across multiple
dimensions and at varying levels of severity. It can have physical, mental, emotional,
spiritual, social, and cultural aspects; it can occur intra- and interpersonally; within
and between groups; at the micro- or macro-level; or involve political, social, and
economic systems and infrastructures. Loss of trust between entities is often a
casualty of violence and broken relationships; and attitudes and identity may be
permanently altered, especially in situations of cyclical or historic victimization and
suffering (Santa-Barbara, 2007, pp. 175–176).
Santa-Barbara envisions restorative justice as a central feature of positive peace,
addressing harm within a reconciliation process by including truth telling,
acknowledgment, apology, forgiveness, justice, recurrence prevention, “resuming
constructive aspects of the relationship,” and rebuilding trust. She suggests that RJ,
with deep preparation, articulates a “contribution system” (rather than blame-
attribution) for healing: (a) the harm suffered by the victim; (b) the sources of
the offender’s harmful behavior; (c) “the relationship between victim and
offender;” and (d) between offender and society (2007, pp. 179–183). By asking
what was done (or not done) that contributed to the injustice (both directly or
indirectly), a restorative contribution approach reframes the process of justice as a
search for appropriate responsibility and creative restoration of the relationships
and systems impacted by violence.
One mechanism that is considered integral to a restorative approach to transitional
justice is the process of truth-telling. Truth commissions are a truth-telling mechanism
promoted in TJ that can help to correct unjust historical narratives and facilitate
uncovering, exposing, and resolving the causes and effects of violence and impunity.
They have sometimes involved therapeutic processes for victims, and restorative pro-
cesses among victims and offenders.
South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission, which developed during
the transition from Apartheid, has been called an “institution of restorative justice,”
although some question its efficacy with regards to restoration (Llewellyn & Howse,
1999). In the 1998 South African Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC)
report, four “profiles” of truth were identified:
factual truth, reached by “bringing to light factual, corroborated evidence, of obtaining

accurate information through reliable (impartial, objective) procedures”;
. . .personal or narrative truth. . .from listening to “people’s perceptions, stories, myths
and experiences”; pursued through testimonies, which provide “unique insights into the pain
of (South Africa’s) past,” while also carrying a strong healing potential;
a social, dialogical. . .truth is. . .instrumental to “transcend the divisions of the past, to
provide an environment in which all possible views could be considered and weighed”; and
thus particularly instrumental for reconciliation;
1142 J. Simons
. . .a healing and restorative truth. . . “that places facts and what they mean within the
context of human relationships – both amongst citizens and between the state and its
citizens.” (TRC of South Africa Report in Girelli, 2017, pp. 47–48)
These various nuances of truth-telling reinforce it as a critical element for restoring

what has been harmed, repairing relationships, and promoting positive peace in
political, social, institutional, and interpersonal arenas.
Philpott (2012), in his paradigm of “political reconciliation,” construes reconcil-
iation as “a framework of justice that considers the past as a whole, integrating all of
the important facets of justice” where “the central meaning is the restoration of right
relationship” (pp. 3, 5). He defines this as the “restoration of right relationship within
or between political communities” (p. 16). This is a form of restorative justice, which
includes a “broad portfolio of practices that redress the multiform wounds that
massive political injustices inflict” where “the goal is respected citizenship defined
by human rights, the rule of law within political communities, and respect for
international law between political communities” (pp. 5, 6). What this brings to
light are not only issues of procedural justice, but how the restoration of right
relationships may involve complex forms of healing as well.
Philpott defines the particularity of that broken relationship between offender and
society as caused by the “wounds of political injustice” in the way “a political
injustice ruptures right relationship within or between political communities and
diminishes the human flourishing of those who are involved in that injustice” (p. 31).
He delineates these as:
1. The Violation of the Victim’s Human Rights

2. Harms to the Victim’s Person
3. The Victim’s Ignorance of the Source and Circumstances of Political Injustices
4. Lack of Acknowledgement of the Suffering of Victims
5. The Standing Victory of the Wrongdoer’s Political Injustice
6. Harm to the Person of the Wrongdoer. (pp. 33–40)
In response to these wounds of political injustice, Philpott proposes six practices

of political reconciliation as restorative responses composing transitional justice. For
Philpott, they are not legalistic, but oriented by a restorative ethic of political
reconciliation. In other words, the practices are necessary antidotes to the six wounds
of political injustice and include: Building Socially Just Institutions, Acknowledg-
ment, Reparations, Apologies, Restorative Punishment, and Forgiveness (noting that
the practice of “Restorative Punishment” is different from concepts of punishment
that focus on retribution and deterrence1). Philpott argues that the responses are
grounded by the primary intention of relational restoration of culture and polity in
order to overturn the “standing victory” of the regime’s injustice. (Philpott suggests
1
Various theories of punishment define its purpose as inflicting pain as a repayment for pain caused
(punitive retribution); as a rebalancing of losses/wrongs caused by injustice (punitive restitution/
compensation); as a deterrent to committing further violence (utilitarian deterrence); or as a means
of reforming the perpetrator (utilitarian rehabilitation)
that restorative punishment’s purpose is neither utilitarian nor punitive, but is

enacted to communicate sociopolitical disapproval and rejection of the acts of
injustice while respecting the human rights of the wrongdoer him-/herself and the
potential for direct reparation.)
Since the early 2000s, scholars began recognizing and attempting to incorporate
local justice processes, gender justice, and grassroots participation under a broader
rubric of transformative justice (Daly, 2001; Fischer, 2011; Lundy, 2009). While the
concepts, terms, and frameworks are subject of ongoing debate and critique, it has
been widely acknowledged that indigenous justice processes, which contain ele-
ments of RJ, can open important dimensions of redress when applied carefully in TJ
contexts (Babo-Soares, 2004, p. 21; Huyse & Salter, 2008; Waldorf, 2006).
The Fambol Tok program in Sierra Leone is one of the longest-running efforts
applying RJ as “community-based restorative transitional justice” in a post-civil war
context where internationally driven processes had already been attempted (Park,
2010). Fambol Tok addressed the community-level legacy of extreme violence after
11 years of civil war which ended in 2002 and included 50,000 dead, amputations as
tools of terror (10,000 victims), massive displacement (2 million, or 1/3 of the
population), child soldiers (10,000), and women victims of gender-based violence
(250,000) (Hoffman, 2019, p. 5). In a nation of 14 different ethnic groups and mixed
Christian and Muslims communities, Fambol Tok (kreo for “family talk”) was built
on local dialogue processes and reconfigured them to “compensate for the short-
comings of the SCSL [Special Court for Sierra Leone] and TRC [Truth and Recon-
ciliation Commission] by reviving ancient communal traditions of truth-telling,
apology, and forgiveness” (Raghu, 2015). There was clearly a justice gap in Sierra
Leone left by the SCSL, which, after spending over $500 million, only indicted the
13 people most responsible, of whom 9 were convicted, and 3 died in custody.
Compounding this narrow, high-level focus on prosecuting prominent individuals
was the hasty and limited reach of the TRC, which left a profound dissatisfaction as
“most people impacted by the war weren’t able to participate in it or to engage in
meaningful reconciliation” (Hoffman, 2019, p. 5).
Fambol Tok was begun by John Caulker2, (a prominent Sierra Leonean human
rights advocate and leader of the TRC Working Group), in order to fill this justice
gap. Though tapping into traditional indigenous practices of restoration, cleansing,
and healing, Fambol Tok also went beyond customary practices in the construction
and composition of local reconciliation committees. They had “women and youth,
who were historically excluded from such ceremonies” and the committees
“received training in human rights and conflict resolution” (Graybill, 2010, p. 45).
While the current article lacks space for a full exploration of Fambol Tok (and the
larger discourse on the intersection of RJ, indigenous justice, and transitional
justice), the successes of Fambol Tok in fostering local justice and reconciliation
are demonstrated in the hundreds of healing ceremonies conducted that generated
2
American philanthropist Libby Hoffman of Catalyst for Peace has been the primary international
partner in this effort.
1144 J. Simons
over 4000 public testimonies witnessed by over 150,000 concerned community

members (costing only $5.5 million in the process) (Hoffman, 2019, p. 10). These
ceremonies were seen as the beginning rather than the end of the process, becoming
catalysts for further local reconciliations and numerous community-led social and
economic development initiatives. In particular, empowerment of women through
“Peace Mothers” groups that formed in a parallel process provided the needed social
spaces and cohesions for “rebuilding social capital—repairing and weaving anew the
community fabric that had been torn by the war” (Hoffman, 2019, p. 9).
This social capital, and especially the empowerment of women, became a crucial
social infrastructure that allowed Fambol Tok communities to respond to the 2014
Ebola outbreak. It showed that if done right, “the process of addressing the crisis of
the war and its aftermath could strengthen a community to better respond to future
crises,” alleviating the paternalism and disempowerment that often characterize
international aid relationships which play out during humanitarian disasters (Hoff-
man, 2019, pp. 15, 16). Furthermore, as a result of modifying Fambol Tok’s
community reconciliation approach into a “people-led Ebola recovery, planning
and development program,” Fambol Tok evolved a springboard, the People’s Plan-
ning Process (PPP) for Inclusive District Peace and Development Committees
(IDCs), towards inclusive governance (p. 19). Through extended facilitation bridg-
ing local political fissures, Fambol Tok’s accompaniment of traditional leaders and
local governments was linked with the national Ministry of Local Government,
where a national policy framework has been developed called the Wan Fambol
National Framework for Inclusive Governance and Local Development.
The Fambol Tok story shows how grassroots (horizontal) reconciliation can
contribute to (vertical) political reconciliation and the creation of social capital for
the broader transformations envisioned in transitional justice discourses. It demon-
strates that restorative reconciliations, when worked out creatively in the unique
realities of local contexts, are necessary if transitional justice is to become a platform
for addressing deeper forms of social, economic, and cultural violence and thus
contribute to positive peace.
Conclusion
Restorative justice, in providing a paradigm for nonviolent, values-based practices

where relationships harmed by violence can be repaired, is a fundamental element of
positive peace. RJ restores trust via collaborative and inclusive processes that stitch
together fractured communities based on existing community social assets. This
satisfies victims’ needs by repairing harm and healing the wounds of injustice. These
practices also help to restore the relationship between the perpetrator of violence and
the wider community, helping to reduce the risk of further violence in future.
Including a restorative “contribution” conversation surfaces deeper structural issues
of injustice and social exclusion, opening up understandings on why violence occurs
and how it can be reduced as opposed to appropriating blame and seeking revenge.
Since its inception, RJ has developed into a multifaceted movement that bridges
the many justice gaps caused by direct, structural, and cultural violence in a variety
of contexts. Encompassing a flexible array of actors, agencies, processes, and
mechanisms, RJ emphasizes and energizes the informal and grassroots agency
needed to achieve social justice and community transformation. It is through this
bottom-up, relational way of working that restorative justice is able to make an
important contribution to the achievement of positive peace.
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Generating Discursive Resources:
Storytelling for Positive Peace 60
Jessica Senehi
Contents
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1150
Constructive Storytelling . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1151
Key Factors in Storytelling . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1152
The Storytelling Medium . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1152
The Level and Reach of the Storytelling . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1154
The Power Relations Between Tellers and Listeners . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1154
The Degree of a Truth-Telling Versus Fictional Approach . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1155
The Credibility of the Teller . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1155
The Degree of Artistry in the Storytelling . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1155
Storytelling Practices . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1156
Connecting to One’s Own Story . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1156
Dialogue . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1157
Innovative Projects at the Local Level . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1157
Interventions Drawing on Artistic Leadership . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1158
Scaled-up Projects . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1159
Nurturing Values and Hope . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1159
Reclaiming Culture . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1159
Truth-Telling and Public Re-narrating . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1160
Storytelling Skills . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1160
Developing Storytelling Skills . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1160
Creating Structures of Support for Storytelling . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1161
Identifying Core Values and Building on Strengths . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1162
Telling Stories in Ways That Make Us Stronger . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1162
Witnessing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1163
Ethics of Storytelling . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1163
Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1164
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1164
J. Senehi (*)
Peace and Conflict Studies, University of Manitoba, Winnipeg, MB, Canada
e-mail: Jessica.Senehi@umanitoba.ca
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_60
1150 J. Senehi
Abstract
This chapter explores the role of storytelling as a practice to nurture positive
peace. Constructive storytelling is defined as nurturing positive peace through
promoting empowerment, mutual recognition, and awareness of self in context.
Innumerable story-based projects can be developed to work with issues of power,
identity, and knowledge. These can be seen to fall into different types of practices:
promoting self-awareness, promoting dialogue, innovative interventions that are
tailored to the specific needs of local issues, projects that involve artists or are
artist-led, innovative practices that have been scaled up and have spread, story-
telling to build cultural values, and public re-narration of painful history. Some
best practices are reviewed, and advantages and disadvantages of story-based
practices are discussed.
Keywords
Storytelling · Arts and peace-building · Narrative
Introduction
Resolving conflicts, building society, and creating sustainable futures are critical
endeavors that require people working with others and broad participation. This
collective work is made possible by and happens in relationships. Human relation-
ships encompass and are inseparable from dynamics of power, identity, and knowl-
edge (Senehi, 2002).
The ways in which power is negotiated and shared among persons and groups both
defines and is defined by relationship, with peaceful relationships characterized by
shared power and/or “power with” (e.g., Boulding, 1990; Schwerin, 1995). Under-
standings of the self and others, and notions of belonging and not belonging, influence
persons’ perceptions and choices, which in turn shape relationships. Peace is charac-
terized by mutual respect and recognition across socially constructed understandings of
identity and difference. Collective knowledge undergirds social life, and shared knowl-
edge is reaffirmed and renegotiated through social discourse, actions, practices – and
conflicts. As John Paul Lederach (1995) points out, “Conflict emerges through an
interactive process based on the search for and creation of shared meaning” (p. 9). Peace
education, conflict resolution trainings, and peacebuilding interventions are seen as
requiring a relatively equitable and mutual relationship for the transferring of knowl-
edge, the delivering of workshops, and developing plans of action (e.g., Freire, 1970;
Escobar, 1995; Lederach, 1995; Scott, 1999). The intimacy of a peaceful interpersonal
relationship allows for differences in thinking without fear of rejection (Lerner, 1989).
At the same time, relationships, power, identity, and knowledge are not static entities,
but intersecting and mutually determining processes.
Storytelling is an approach for working with these complex dynamics. And yet,
storytelling is a profoundly accessible, inclusive, flexible, and culturally adaptable
60 Generating Discursive Resources: Storytelling for Positive Peace 1151
approach. Peacebuilding often cuts across boundaries of culture and geographic

regions, and many social problems are global in nature, from environmental change,
to human trafficking, to economic precarity. Addressing large-scale conflicts and
global problems requires broad social awareness and commitment, and storytelling
is an effective way for people to express and transmit knowledge and culture.
Storytelling is a significant methodology to build connections, shared values, and
articulate a vision of social justice and global citizenship that characterizes positive
peace. Like an immune system, such storytelling promotes resilience and self-
healing when conflict emerges in a relationship or social system.
Stories have the potential to help people to understand others’ life experience, to
see different options for addressing a problem, and to imagine more possibilities –
that is, constructive storytelling generates discursive resources for peacemaking.
This idea is developed in this chapter through two lines of discussion. First,
constructive storytelling is defined. Some key factors in storytelling are reviewed:
(a) the storytelling medium, (b) the level and reach of the storytelling, (c) the power
relations between the teller and listeners, (d) the degree to which a truth-telling or
fictional approach is used, (e) the credibility of the teller, and (f) the degree of artistry
in the project. Second, some constructive storytelling practices are reviewed: (a) the
importance of connecting to one’s own story, (b) dialogue, (c) innovative interven-
tions at the local level, (d) artist-led approaches, (e) innovative practices that have
been scaled up, (f) the cultivation of values and hopes, and (g) public re-narrating.
Finally, key storytelling skills are highlighted, including creating space for stories,
identifying strengths and core values, telling stories in ways that make us stronger,
and reclaiming culture and healing.
Constructive Storytelling
Storytelling is the practice and art of telling a story: “someone telling someone else
that something happened” (Smith 1981, p. 228). Storytelling is almost always about
experience; a story narrates events, whether remembered or imagined, and is a
methodology for expressing, discussing, and analyzing lived experience. Stories
have a dimension of time, which mimics the dimension of time in life (Narayan,
1989). An elder telling stories to young people in a circle mimics the circle of life and
is a means of the intergeneration transmission of knowledge and culture.
Story and art can be a mirror held up to reality. Or story and art can be “a hammer
with which to create reality,” to use the phrase by Mayakovski, though often credited
to Brecht (Davidson, 2019). Because discourse shapes social thought and action, the
storyteller is in a position of influence in the social construction (Bauman & Briggs,
1990).
Importantly, storytelling is not necessarily positive in itself. Destructive storytell-
ing may exclude whole groups of people, perpetuate dehumanizing stereotypes, and
misrepresent reality (Senehi, 2002). Such storytelling may justify social inequalities
and make them seem natural. On the other hand, constructive storytelling – for
example, in the form of oral history – may give testimony and voice to people’s
1152 J. Senehi
reality that has been ignored, dismissed, or denied by more authoritative discourses.
Constructive storytelling for peacebuilding is storytelling that promotes shared
power, mutual recognition, and awareness.
Key Factors in Storytelling
The Storytelling Medium
Oral, or signed, storytelling, with a teller and at least one listener, is a social
interaction (Ryan, 1995). While oral and signed storytelling can be seen as a distinct
art form, arguably, storytelling is the basis of all art forms. Oral and signed story-
telling as a social interaction brings distinctive advantages to story-based
peacebuilding. Story-based projects in other media also bring different advantages
while also being a means of communication, connection, and commitment.
For example, radio is one medium for reaching the wider public. In Enugu,
Nigeria, during 2012–2016, the late educator and psychologist Sr. Mary Gloria
Njuko created a weekly radio Peace Program on the Coal City 92.9 FM station to
share stories that examined peace or the need for peace (Njoku & Senehi, 2019).
Program listeners reported how they drew on stories they heard from the radio
program. While the radio show provided a structure of support for storytelling, it
was a challenge to make this happen in terms of cost and time. The radio station gave
a 50% cost reduction for the program, and fundraising was required to raise the
remaining 50%, which came from Godfrey Okoye University individual donors.
Theatre can be a compelling means of storytelling. Throughout the world, there
are groups who draw on the power of theatre for conflict resolution change. In
Theatre of Witness, developed and led by Teya Sepinuck, people directly affected by
conflicts take part in developing and performing theatrical projects about those
conflicts (Sepinuck, 2013). Steven Hawkins developed Dramatic Problem Solving
(2012), drawing on Augusto Boal’s (1995) practice of Theatre of the Oppressed.
Hawkins used this approach as a conflict resolution practice to work with women in
Costa Rica to name conflicts in their lives and address those (Hawkins &
Georgakopolous, 2010). Hawkins’ approach is consistent with John Paul Lederach’s
(1995) call for conflict resolution practice that is appropriate, elicitive, noninvasive,
and identifies and builds on local strengths and knowledge. In Nairobi, Amani
People’s Theatre works with community groups, including street children, to give
voice to social justice and human rights issues (Amollo, 2002). In 1981, The Actor’s
Gang (theactorsgang.com) was established in Los Angeles to develop compelling
plays on social issues and went on to develop a ground-breaking prison project that
has been shown to reduce recidivism rates. Combatants for Peace is a bi-national
group in Israel-Palestine that draws on Augusto Boal’s Theatre of the Oppressed in
their work “towards a two state solution in the 1967 borders, or any other mutually
agreed upon solution that will allow both Israelis and Palestinians to live in freedom,
security, democracy and dignity in their homeland” (cfpeace.org).
Stories are also told through films. For 10 years, starting in 2000, Search for
Common Ground promoted the dissemination of films that drew on the power of
filmic storytelling to share how people had bridged divergent views and chasms of
culture for mutual understanding. Films have the potential to bring broad national
and global recognition to invisibilized and largely hidden social experiences and
social injustices. For example, Rabbit-Proof Fence (2002), directed by Philip Noyce,
generated awareness of the history of forced relocation to residential schools of
Indigenous young people in Australia. Memoirs have also been a powerful means of
revealing the impact of war, political violence, and human rights abuses on persons’
lives. For example, the abovementioned Australian film is based on the book Follow
the Rabbit-Proof Fence (2011) by Doris (Nugi) Pilkington Garimara, which is a
personal account of her family’s experience. Another example is Henri Dunant’s A
Memoir of Solferino about his experience in the Franco-Austrian War, which led to
the founding of the International Committee for the Red Cross (Schaffer & Smith,
2004). More recently, Ishmael Beah’s (2007) A Long Way Gone speaks to the
experience of a child soldier in Sierra Leone. Arguably, every successful human
rights movement has garnered wide support as the result of a particular story or
person’s journey that resonates across cultures.
Digital storytelling can be a means of recording a great number of testimonies for
the future. For example, in Northern Ireland, in Derry/Londonderry, Gaslight Pro-
ductions created the Epilogues Perspectives in Conflict educational program that
includes a website and DVD based on the stories of 27 participants who were
affected by or participated directly in the Northern Ireland conflict, with a range of
perspectives and experiences. In 2010, in Cyprus, John Higgins (2011) developed a
project supported by a Fulbright grant and other funding that created a space for
digital storytelling for people to build self-awareness, share oral histories, and for
community-building, and included participants from the Greek and Turkish Cypriot
communities. Higgins found that participation in the project contributed to partici-
pants’ sense of empowerment and community-building. Laura López-Bech and
Rodolfo Zúñiga (2017) used digital storytelling as the basis of a project with
young asylum seekers in Belgium and Sweden that they found to be effective
intercultural dialogue, and a means of building bridges and building community
that was empowering for the asylum seekers, and increased appreciation for the
young people and their potential to contribute in their new country.
There are numerous ways digital storytelling can be used to promote self-
awareness, empowerment, understanding, and healing. For example, in 2011, in
Winnipeg, professional Indigenous women explored the intergenerational effects of
residential schools through a project called Kiskino Mâto Tapanâsk that included
creating and sharing digital stories of their mothers and their own motherhood
(Peters & Stout, 2011). For girls, affected by anxiety and depression, personal
narratives shared through digital storytelling have been found to increase the girls’
sense of self-esteem and self-efficacy (Goodman & Newman, 2014).
Photography can be used to tell a story (e.g., Möller, 2019). Photovoice projects
are a powerful means of articulating experience, identifying and strengthening
internal resources, and building community. Emma Bonnemaison (2018) held a
1154 J. Senehi
photovoice workshop over the course of several weeks for a group of women in
the North Point Douglas neighborhood of Winnipeg. Women took photographs
and wrote stories to go with these, which were later presented in a public exhibit,
“The Voice from Point Douglas,” at the Urban Shaman Contemporary Art Gallery
in Winnipeg, July 15, 2016. Charles Egerton (2015), a career photography pro-
fessor, has developed programs that apply photography to promote inter-group
dialogue and community-building. For a study on how Bahá’í men from diverse
cultural and national backgrounds think about masculinity, Egerton (2019) devel-
oped an innovative research approach, PhotoSophia, that involved taking portrait
photography, interviews, and focus groups. Some of these portraits, with additional
writing and sketches added by the men, made up a public exhibit “Being and
Becoming” at the Gallery of Student Art at the University of Manitoba, September
24–28, 2018. In both Egerton’s and Bonnemaison’s projects, participants created
expressive culture and provided rich, metaphoric, and nuanced insights into
meanings of identity, geography, and gender as a resource for responding to social
conflicts and violence.
The Level and Reach of the Storytelling
Story-based projects may function at different levels, such as the interpersonal,

organizational, or societal levels and may reach recipient groups of different sizes.
Storytelling told in the intimacy of the interpersonal therapeutic context may still be
an engagement in healing the world (Mollica, 2014). Likewise, dialogue and
charrette processes will have a relatively narrow focus. However, if they are
sustained (Saunders, 1999), are part of a larger system of dialogue groups (Schwartz,
1989), and/or involve middle-tier elites (Rouhana, 1995; Kelman, 1996), they may
have a greater social influence. Films, novels, or digital archives have the potential
for wide outreach in terms of audience and endurance over time. National processes
of truth-telling may have widespread influence and may contribute to rewriting the
national story (van der Merwe & Wolfswinkel, 2002).
The Power Relations Between Tellers and Listeners
The power relations in storytelling situations may differ. Storytellers may originate
from different points in relations to the center of social power, giving them more
“authority” and influence. However, storytelling can sometimes be a means of
challenging power. Hidden forms or disguised forms of discourse may be an
effective voice of resistance (Scott, 1985, 1990). For example, stories of people
who disappeared as a result of political violence in Chile were encoded on hand-
sewn appliquéd portrayals (arpilleras), for example, of someone dancing alone; the
arpilleras were used internationally as part of a call for social justice and were sold
to raise money (Agosin, 1987). In Central America, the act of speaking out about
one’s experiences, known as testimonio, has been a voice of resistance to political
violence and power (Zimmerman, 1995) or a means of nurturing resilience, resis-

tance, and survival in the face of “annihilative violence” (Reed, 2019).
When developing a story-based peace-building project attention to power rela-
tions is critical. A safe and supportive context for storytelling is crucial. In advance
of a project, it is important to think through strategies to prevent or, if need be, to
address re-traumatization and secondary trauma.
The Degree of a Truth-Telling Versus Fictional Approach
Story narratives may relate events or be explicitly fictional. But narratives are not
pure fact or pure fiction. A fictional narrative may be used to persuasively express an
idea that the narrator sees as true. Meanwhile, personal and group histories are
constructed and interpretive. Historical accounts are selected, framed, and used
often to make a point about the present and the future, by those with varying kinds
of agendas. While the relationship between narrative and truth is complex, not all
narratives are equal; they may be evaluated, and some deemed better than others
(Haraway, 1989).
The Credibility of the Teller
Within a particular context, meaning is negotiated through narratives and certain

versions will not have currency with the group and will not be circulated (Myerhoff,
1992; Urban, 1991). Those who receive a story, through whatever medium, will not
necessarily accept the views purported by the story and may “read” the story with a
negotiated or even oppositional stance (Bobo, 1996). The recipient of a story will
consider the credibility of the teller. For example, a story told by a beloved parent
may have more credibility with a person than an outsider.
For 9-year-old Ruby Bridges, in Mississippi, in 1960, the biblical stories told to
her by her aunt and discussed in light of world events were highly credible (Coles,
1993). The power of her belief in this worldview of social justice and forgiveness
gave her the resilience to walk through crowds of angry white parents to be the first
black child, and for several months, the only child, in a school desegregated by court
order, but not yet by practice. Psychiatrist Robert Coles (1993) found that during this
intense, but ultimately short-lived conflict, Ruby Bridges demonstrated a generous
spirit and capacity for reconciliation when, in response to adults yelling at her, some
even threatening to poison her, she whispered prayers for God to forgive them. The
story is also the subject of a Scholastic book for young people (Coles, 1995)
The Degree of Artistry in the Storytelling
Story-based interventions are at the intersection of art and peace. Artistry gives
story-based projects much of their impact because the beauty and pleasure of an art
1156 J. Senehi
form can be a resource in facing the difficult emotions involved in conflict resolution
and peacebuilding. Metaphor and indirectness in art can be a safer way at bringing
painful issues to awareness or into the open, issues that might otherwise be denied.
Stories and other representations are rich with meaning and can give greater expres-
sion to nuance and the multidimensionality of life than linear reasoning.
Story-based peace work can involve different levels of artistic skill, and that can
be a consideration in story-based work. Story-based projects may need to span a
disciplinary disjuncture between the arts and peacebuilding (Senehi et al., 2008). A
key dilemma is what is more important, the relation of the project to social justice
goals or the quality of the artistic production (e.g., Rettig, 2005; Borstel & Koza,
2017; Morris, 2018). Likely, there is no one answer to this dilemma, and each project
will involve weighing these factors in light of project goals and resources in order to
design a path forward.
For example, the Dance Exchange, founded by Liz Lerman in 1972, based in
Maryland, worked with the community of Portsmouth, New Hampshire, in 1996, to
articulate local history and community identity through dance and story (http://
danceexchange.org/about/history/). This involved significant artistic leadership in
order to bring into the project nonprofessional dancers and – as stated in the
repertory company’s 1996 press kit – seeking to blur the boundaries between the
creators and receivers of the work. Or in sustained dialogue groups, people may
come together and share their stories more naturally, with a focus on the content of
the story rather than the style with which it is told. Even so, there will be an element
of artistry and creativity as all communication is constructed and performed.
Storytelling Practices
Storytelling is a flexible and accessible form of peacebuilding, and there are likely
innumerable types of story-based interventions. Below some of the more prominent
approaches to story-based peacemaking are highlighted. These are very broad
categories and there is much room for variation within them.
Connecting to One’s Own Story
The importance of self-awareness and locating oneself in one’s work cannot be

overemphasized. Self-awareness counters bias and invasiveness in peacebuilders’
interventions (Lederach, 1995; Negata, 2004; Reardon & Snauwart, 2011). Self-
awareness can also promote resilience to re-traumatization and secondary traumati-
zation when working in stressful situations and with people affected by violence.
Previous reflexive work can help someone know when they need self-care and/or
help build a repertoire of strategies to strengthen oneself in their work. Practices of
self-awareness prepare a practitioner to encourage and validate self-awareness
among others, including the identification of local and traditional resources for
peacebuilding (Lederach, 1995) and strengthening resilience and resistance

(Denborough, 2008).
Self-awareness can be important for defining one’s direction and work. For
example, the practice of Our Tree of Life in the Field can be a way to find
connections in our lives and experiences that provide direction to our career and
our sense of how we fit into the peacebuilding field (Senehi, 2015). Profound self-
knowledge about how one connects to their peacebuilding work can be inspiring and
a recognition of posttraumatic growth.
Dialogue
At the heart of all community-building and peacebuilding is one-to-one dialogue.

Dialogue is grounded by personal storytelling, rather than rhetorical debate or
abstract reasoning. The focus is on what happened and the impact events have had
on the teller. Sustained dialogue has been practiced in conflicts throughout the world,
and the Sustained Dialogue Institute offers a Summer Institute to promote this skill
among middle-tier elites (https://sustaineddialogue.org/our-work). Networks of dia-
logue groups in the USA have addressed the Palestinian-Israeli conflict (Schwartz,
1989). To Trust and Reflect was a dialogue-based project developed by the late Dan
Bar-On, which involved weekend-long encounters. Evaluation research on the
project found that storytelling was the most essential aspect through which persons
from adversary groups found mutual understanding (Bar-On, 2000).
In Northern Ireland, Maureen Hetherington has led weekend-long residentials for
people affected by the conflict in Northern Ireland and used a variety of storytelling
techniques to encourage participants to stand in each other’s shoes, to build empathy,
and to identify a path to both honor the past and move forward toward reconciliation
and healing (O’Hagan, 2008). An arts-based approach to facilitated storytelling was
a major part of these encounters. For example, Hetherington guided the participants
through a meditation on their life through a beading activity. Spread throughout the
meeting room on different paper plates was a great variety of beads in different
colors; from different materials and in different shapes, styles, and sizes. Participants
were invited to select beads and string them together to represent their life story. This
story was then shared with others. Perhaps because of the way it had a visual and
tangible component, and because of the activity requires a kind of distillation of key
moments and ideas, participants found it a powerful way to reflect on and share their
life experiences in a conflict-affected society.
Innovative Projects at the Local Level
Storytelling is a highly flexible and accessible form of peacebuilding practice and

for that reason can be readily tailored to a specific goal in a special local region,
such as a neighborhood. In Winnipeg, Canada, several local story-based projects
seek to promote positive peace. Jim Sanders, filmmaker and artistic director of
1158 J. Senehi
Freeze Frame, developed the project Manitoba Storybook that partnered students
from different schools and drew on the power of personal stories combined with
documentary filmmaking and media skills. Partnered groups created documen-
taries about each other’s schools and then shared and discussed those, learning
along the way how they are different and how, in more significant ways, they are
similar.
In 2014, Winnipeg Police Officer Bob Chrismas, who now holds a PhD in Peace
and Conflict Studies, developed a series of events to bring together in dialogue police
and community who have especially been affected by the loss of missing and
murdered Indigenous women. The project, called LiveSafe, was grounded in creat-
ing a space for members of the police force to hear the personal stories from people
in some of the city’s areas most affected by violence as they talk about their
experiences and their perspectives.
Interventions Drawing on Artistic Leadership
Some story-based projects require artistic leadership. For example, as previously

mentioned, Teya Sepinuck (2013) developed Theatre of Witness. She personally
works with people who have been affected in different ways by a conflict, for
example, the Northern Ireland conflict, who share their stories. Sepinuck then
develops a play based on the story and those who provided the stories are the actors.
The group of participants develop relationships across conflict and cultural divides.
Their stories then become part of a “public transcript,” to use James C. term (1990),
and in that way may be of influence and part of a larger discourses that shape social
thought and action.
Storyteller Carol Grosman coordinated a multimodal project Jerusalem Stories
Performance, Exhibit, Dialogue that included a play based on the real stories of
Palestinian and Jewish Jerusalemites (http://jersualemstories.org; Senehi et al.,
2008). Grosman interviewed 60 Palestinian and Jewish Jerusalemites and selected
six stories, three from each community, to be the basis of a play, crafted by
Palestinian playwright Mohamed Thaher, and translated into Arabic, Hebrew, and
English. The structure of the play was similar to a monodrama, with a male and
female actor each playing three of the individuals whose story was featured. The
play was presented to single-identity groups of Palestinian audiences (in Arabic) and
Jewish audiences (in Hebrew), and performances were followed by facilitated
dialogue groups for audience members. A reception before the play featured a
photo exhibit of 22 portrait photographs of Palestinians and Jews from Jerusalem
who were among those interviewed for the project.
These two projects, Theatre of Witness and Jerusalem Stories, required extensive
theatrical knowledge, including playwriting. For Theatre of Witness, performances
required a professional director and stage logistics. Jerusalem Stories included an
internationally renowned photojournalist, Lloyd Wright; a playwright; and four
professional actors, two for the Arabic production and two for the Hebrew produc-
tion. However, not all story-based projects will require this expertise. A story-based
project will always have a quality of creativity and artistry, but the focus on that
aspect can vary significantly.
Scaled-up Projects
Projects can start small and scale up. In 2003, British Journalist Marina Cantacuzino
(2015) began to work with photographer Brian Moody to collect stories of people
affected by crimes, both victims and perpetrators. They create an exhibit featuring
photographs and words of the people they interviewed, called “The F Word” because
a powerful theme that emerged out of persons’ painful experiences of trauma, grief,
and loss was forgiveness.
This work led to another project called RESTORE, which is an intensive program
with small groups of incarcerated men that seeks to support their self-knowledge
through reflection and dialogue. In 2004, the Forgiveness Project was established.
This work on forgiveness, which is grounded in what Cantacuzino calls “restorative
storytelling,” has been scaled up dramatically since then, offering a breadth of
restorative justice and educational programming as well as the exhibit, an annual
lecture, books, and open-access resources. The project explores the complexity of
forgiveness and is based on the idea that “stories have the power to transform” and to
“build hope, empathy, and understanding” (https://www.theforgivenessproject.com/
restore-programme).
Nurturing Values and Hope
Storytelling provides a space to nurture values and hope. Story-based approaches

that involve witnessing can be a means of persons’ sustaining themselves in their
peace work and also strengthen the resilience of people who are affected by conflict
and violence. Exposure to media affects persons’ perceptions of reality over time;
what we take in through our eyes and ears constitutes our psyches, just as nutrients
constitute our bodies (Gerbner & Gross, 1976; Shanahan & Morgan, 1999). Creating
opportunities for storytelling, whether personal or fictional, provides a means for
participating in creating cultural content for young people, communities, schools,
and even workplaces and organizations. Because storytelling is low tech and low
cost and often requires less time than other performance forms, it is possible to create
events where people have a chance to hear many stories, diverse stories, and voices
that are not usually heard.
Reclaiming Culture
Storytelling can be a means of reclaiming and restoring culture that has been
suppressed, supplanted, or nearly erased through colonization. In south Siberia,
drawing on the remnants of their culture left following colonization by Turkey to
1160 J. Senehi
the west and by the Mongolia to the east, storytellers were active in reviving
Indigenous culture, knowledge, and practices (van Deusen, 2004). Similarly, in the
region that is now known as Arizona, An Chawe Theater Project shares Indigenous
Zuni stories, songs, and place names in the Zuni language to promote language
acquisition to its community of 10,000 persons (Wemytewa & Peters, 2008).
Truth-Telling and Public Re-narrating
Public processes of truth-telling re-narrate history. The South African Truth and
Reconciliation brought to light political violence that can never be denied. In
Canada, during 2012–2014, the Truth and Reconciliation Commission heard 6200
statements from former students of Indian Residential Schools. Based on these
testimonies and consultative events held across Canada, in 2015, the Commission
issued a report, Calls to Action, with 94 actionable recommendations for Canadians’
moving forward toward reconciliation and justice.
Testimonial Therapy involves working with people who have experienced torture
and trauma to prepare to tell their story in a public event, such as theatre, ceremony,
or storytelling (Agger et al., 2009). For example, this relatively short-term approach
has been shown to improve well-being for survivors of torture in India, Sri Lanka,
Cambodia, and the Philippines (Agger et al., 2012; Jørgensen et al., 2015). In what I
call human rights storytelling (Senehi, 2019) people tell stories of how they have
been affected by human rights abuses, in public settings, such as schools, community
venues, and even storytelling festivals. Such storytelling can be seen as a form of
both education and healing as the public validation reaffirms the speaker’s
personhood.
Storytelling Skills
There are a variety of ways in which storytelling skills can be developed in order to
contribute to peace that can be considered part of transcultural storytelling literacy.
Developing storytelling skills is often done through practice in storytelling groups.
Some key considerations for developing story-based interventions are detailed
below and include creating structures of support for storytelling, identifying core
values and building on strengths, “telling stories in ways that make us stronger” as
Denborough (2008) would put it, witnessing, and ethics.
Developing Storytelling Skills
One of the most common ways that people develop storytelling skills is simply by
practicing storytelling, often in storytelling guilds. Storytelling coaching has often
relied on affirmative inquiry, which is an approach that focuses on validating what is
working well and on building on strengths (Lipman, 1995). For example, when I
asked storyteller Annette Harrison if she would teach me some storytelling skills, she
said that if you focus on training with a storyteller, you become able to tell a story the
way that they tell it. But everyone has their unique voice and style. She advised me to
tell stories when I have a chance, and my own storytelling voice and style will
emerge.
Still, of course, workshops are offered to develop storytelling skills. East Ten-
nessee State University offers a master’s degree in Storytelling Studies. Political
scientist Marshall Ganz (2001) is the Rita T. Hauser Senior Lecturer in Leadership,
Organizing, and Civil Society at the Kennedy School of Government at Harvard
University. Ganz is known for his writing and speaking about why stories matter for
leadership, community organizing, and social change. His approach guides people to
follow a storytelling process, not develop a script, which is to uncover the story of
self, the story of us, and the story of now. First, we develop our own story (the story
of self), then connect our story with the experience of others (the story of us), in
order to develop a plan of action (the story of now).
Creating Structures of Support for Storytelling
One of the most important approaches to promote peace through storytelling is to

develop structures of support for storytelling. Such a structure is anything that
creates opportunities for people to tell a story. It could be part of a workplace
meeting, at an organizational retreat, in a local community center, or a storytelling
guild that meets in someone’s living room. Venues for storytelling can be more or
less small and intimate, on the one hand, or be a storytelling festival on the
other hand.
One of the simplest ways to create a space for storytelling is an activity called the
Story of Our Name. I learned this activity during a workshop with the late Dan
Bar-On, at Nova Southeastern University in 2001. Bar-On started the workshop with
all the workshop participants sharing a story of their name. It could be any kind of a
story about any part of one’s name. He said that sometimes, during his intensive
weekend-long workshops, To Trust and Reflect, held with Palestinian and Jewish
Israelis, he often asks the group to share a second story of their name. The speaker
chooses a story about their name that they feel comfortable sharing, and as the
relationships among the group develop, people may choose increasingly significant
stories.
Maureen Hetherington, a peacebuilder in Northern Ireland, has also used the
Story of Our Name in her retreats with Towards Understanding and Healing with
people who have been affected by the conflict in Northern Ireland, including former
combatants (O’Hagan, 2008). Workshop participants come to a large easel at the
front of the group, write down their name, and then discuss it. This has the advantage
of clarifying spellings and helps if someone did not hear the name clearly when it
was stated.
This exercise is very versatile and goals, methods, and emphasis will shift with
shifting contexts. I use this exercise in my teaching where recently a class of
1162 J. Senehi
15 included persons from 11 different countries. As an opening exercise, this puts

people on a level playing field because everyone has a story about their name, and
they are unique and incomparable. An emphasis on the name gets at the dignity of
the human person. It is fascinating to hear people share different stories about their
names, which may touch on culture, societal and family history, personal values, or
humorous and human anecdotes. On a practical level, the stories are very helpful in
remembering people’s names. Debriefing afterward is an opportunity to explore the
significance of identity and storytelling, and typically many themes relevant to
conflict and peace emerge.
The Story of Our Name is a low-risk activity that builds community quickly. This
lays the groundwork for authentic and significant engagement. It is not a simulation,
but a genuine practice and encounter where people share a piece of who they are. For
peace workers, there may be value to having a repertoire of stories about our name
that we can tell to share something about who we are. It is also important to have the
capacity to share stories, to socially position and locate ourselves, and to model
reflexivity, openness, vulnerability, and authenticity.
Identifying Core Values and Building on Strengths
Storytelling can be a powerful means to identify individual and shared values and
build on strengths. There are a number of story-based activities developed by the
narrative therapists at the Dulwich Centre that provide a structure for this. The Tree
of Life is an exercise that has been used in many situations, and provides a powerful
and pleasurable way for someone to look at their life in the context of past, present,
and future, social connections, and building on strengths. This activity has been used
with individuals, groups, and communities in many ways, including with young
people who have been affected by violence or loss in Zimbabwe (Reeler et al., 2009),
with Kurdish survivors of torture (Denborough, 2012), and with unaccompanied
child refugees (Kolb, 2012). The Team of Life is similar to the Tree of Life, and uses
the metaphor of the soccer team to provide a means for reflecting on our lives and
relationships, for example, those who are the members of our team, coaches, and
supporters in our lives (Denborough, 2008, 2015). The Kite of Life uses the
metaphor of the kite, with the capacity to travel so fast over land or water, in guiding
reflections with children and parents who have experienced migration (Denborough,
2010).
Telling Stories in Ways That Make Us Stronger
Working with stories of hardship and trauma has the potential to be re-traumatizing.
David Denborough (2008) and others at the Dulwich Centre in Australia seek out
strategies for telling stories “in ways that make us stronger.” Denborough empha-
sizes that it is important to avoid or reverse internalized stigma. An important
approach is to disentangle the person’s identity from the problem they have been
affected by. This is done by emphasizing that the person has been affected by
traumatic things that have happened and by identifying and affirming the ways
that the person has constructively, courageously, and ethically responded to those
traumatic events. Similarly, Richard Mollica (2014) writes that the trauma story
holds information not only about pain, but also about what the storyteller has
accomplished, and “offers an incredible amount of new information on survival
and healing” (p. 4). Both Mollica and Denborough emphasize that identifying and
validating these survival skills provide much motivation and strength to the healing
process.
One practice based on these ideas is creating collective narratives that share
information about how a group or community “gets through hard times”
(Denborough et al., 2008). Such work strengthens resistance and resilience. Empha-
sizing the ways that people have responded to hardship and trauma works to reverse
internalized stigma and demonstrates individuals’ and communities’ strength, cour-
age, resourcefulness, and resolve, in the face of devastating circumstances.
Witnessing
Storytellers say that good storytellers are good listeners. If storytelling is a social
interaction, then receiving the story is part of the equation, if not half of it. Mollica
(2014) finds that, in their response to events that should never have happened, the
teller of the trauma story may draw insights or an “enlightened view.” The storyteller
becomes the teacher and the listener is the student. Both become part of a larger
story:
The obligation of the listener is to apply the lessons of survival and healing to their personal
and professional lives. By understanding that they are part of a historical process, all
involved in the sharing of trauma histories become personally stronger and more resilient.
(p. 4)
Similarly, David Denborough (2008) found that witnessing a story involves

sharing how one is moved forward by that story. He looks for opportunities for
people to share their personal narratives or for a community to share a collective
narrative to inspire others who are facing similar situations. He points out that one of
the greatest gifts that someone can receive is the opportunity to give to others.
Ethics of Storytelling
Attention must always be paid to the ethics of storytelling. Personal stories should
not be commodified or exploited for agendas other than the person sharing their
stories (Shuman, 2005). Attention to people’s dignity, vulnerabilities, and their
ability to consent to sharing their story is paramount (Pittaway et al., 2010). When
working with cultural stories, it is important to consider any potential dynamics of
1164 J. Senehi
cultural appropriation. The ethics of storytelling in peacebuilding and creating

spaces of positive peace and social justice is an important topic for further study.
Conclusion
Storytelling is a powerful way that we construct society and thereby positive peace.
We are shaped by the stories we hear, and inclusive and constructive storytelling
provides discursive resources for people to consider and potentially draw on in
making sense of their experience; responding to hardship, conflict, and violence;
and potentially draw on to make sense of their experience and envision the future.
The goal of this chapter has been to outline some of the aspects, approaches, and
skills in story-based peace work. Voice and storytelling are at the heart of what it
means to be human. Telling stories is necessary to participate fully in making sense
of the world, connecting and building relationships with others, through language
and action, in order to co-create a world characterized by positive peace.
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Contents
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1170
Mitigating Armed Violence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1172
Reducing Structural Violence and Promoting Social Justice . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1174
Empowerment and Self-Organization . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1174
Promotion of Sustainable Development Through Solidarity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1176
Participatory and Inclusive Democracy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1178
Raising Awareness of the Community’s Situation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1179
Reducing Cultural Violence and Promoting a Culture of Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1180
Promoting a Culture of Peace Through Practice . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1180
Promoting a Culture of Peace Through Training/Education and Awareness-Raising . . . . . 1181
Challenges Faced by Peace Communities . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1183
Conclusions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1184
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1186
Abstract
This chapter examines peace communities’ contributions to positive peace. It
discusses how they have exercised autonomy, used nonviolent strategies to
reduce direct violence and tackled structural and cultural violence, supporting
the development of positive peace in their localities. It argues that these commu-
nities have sought to overcome structural violence by establishing their own
institutions, empowering their members, building more democratic and inclusive
processes of decision-making, engaging in alternative income-generating activi-
ties in their locality, and gaining support from external actors. Further, they have
promoted a culture of peace, based on nonviolence, tolerance, and the develop-
ment of peaceful relationships in their locality through practice, awareness-
raising, training, and education. This chapter examines cases of peace communi-
ties from Colombia that illustrate such contributions, as well as reflecting on some
C. Mouly (*)
Facultad Latinoamericana de Ciencias Sociales (FLACSO) Ecuador, Quito, Ecuador
e-mail: camouly@flacso.edu.ec
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5_61
1170 C. Mouly
of the challenges faced by peace communities as they seek to establish positive

peace from the bottom up.
Keywords
Peace communities · Positive peace · Community peacebuilding · Nonviolence ·
Colombia
Introduction
This chapter examines peace communities’ contributions to “positive peace,” under-

stood as the absence of cultural, structural, and direct violence which are understood
with reference to the work of Johan Galtung (e.g., 1969, 1990), especially on his
violence triangle. Hence, I define direct violence as the infliction of physical or
psychological pain by an individual or group to another individual or group.
Structural violence refers to the violence embedded in formal and informal structures
in a society, which enable certain groups to pursue their interests to the detriment of
others, who consequently cannot satisfy basic human needs, such as identity or
survival. The social, political, or economic exclusion of certain groups, such as
indigenous people or women, is an example of it. As for cultural violence, it is the
violence ingrained in the culture of a society, which legitimizes the other two forms
of violence. For instance, it could take the form of a belief that certain identity groups
are inferior to others – a belief that members of the society acquire through their
families, educational institutions, the media, etc. and which legitimatizes these
groups’ exclusion. It could also take the form of a belief that direct violence is a
legitimate means of addressing interpersonal conflict, which often comes when
direct violence becomes normalized through repeated exposure to it. Importantly,
according to Galtung (1990), the three forms of violence fuel each other, and so
cultural and structural violence are often root causes of armed conflict.
In conflict-affected societies, where the three forms of violence prevail, some
communities have tried to find their own ways to reduce violence. They have done so
mainly to limit the direct violence of armed conflict and hence protect the lives of
their members, but many have also acted to diminish the structural and cultural
violence at the root of armed violence. In this context the term “peace community”
has emerged to refer to local communities that decide to opt out of war by using
nonviolent methods to maintain their autonomy from armed groups (e.g., Sanford,
2003; Alther, 2006). Peace communities are often referred to as “peace zones” in the
literature – a term made more visible after the 1997 publication of a special issue of
the journal Peace Review edited by Christopher Mitchell and Susan Allen (Vol.
9 No. 2) and the 2007 publication of Landon Hancock and Christopher Mitchell’s
book Zones of Peace (Hancock & Mitchell, 2007). Another common name to
describe these communities, often used in the Colombian context, is that of “peace
territories” (e.g., Idler et al., 2015; Mouly et al., 2016). There is, however, a slight
difference between these terms, with the latter two putting emphasis on the geo-
graphical space where these communities live, which serves as a “sanctuary,” that is,
61 Peace Communities 1171
“a place where certain individuals, communities or categories of people can go to be

safe from those who would otherwise harm them, especially through the use of
violence” (Mitchell, 2007, p. 2). Meanwhile, the term “peace community” stresses
the agency of the local inhabitants of these geographic spaces in opting out of the
military confrontation and consciously seeking to develop a community
underpinned by norms of peacefulness.
Research literature identifies three key attributes of peace communities:
(i) impartiality, (ii) participation and cohesion, and (iii) the use of nonviolent action
(also termed “civil resistance”). Each of these has relational dimensions, including
the ability to maintain nonpartisan external relations with warring parties, and the
ability to build internal relationships within that can become the basis of collective
nonviolent action to challenge direct, structural and cultural violence. Further, this
type of nonviolent resistance, used by ordinary citizens to wield power and redress
their unequal relations with powerholders, “may help prevent future violent conflict
by promoting more cooperative relationships between grievance groups and their
opponents, and contribute to peacebuilding” (Mouly & Hernández, 2019, p. 241).
Impartiality is crucial in war settings because tilting in favor of one or another
warring party could attract violent reprisals from opponents. As discussed elsewhere,
armed actors weigh political, economic, security, and normative considerations
when responding to civilian demands. Because of security considerations, in dis-
puted areas, they only accept civilian autonomy if communities maintain an impar-
tial stance (Mouly et al., 2019a). In such areas, abiding by this principle is therefore
often the only way for civilians to protect their lives while remaining in their locality
(Masullo, 2015; Sanford, 2003; Mitchell & Hancock, 2007).
Peace communities also rely on collective participation. They emerge after a
process of collective deliberation in which a majority of inhabitants decide not to get
involved in the armed conflict and set certain rules of behavior in their territory to
decrease violence. As Rojas (2004) or Iyer and Hancock (2004) argue, this process is
often led by the community itself or by local authorities, but it might also be
supported by national authorities or external organizations. This said, as argued
below, in order to be successful, the process needs to count on the broad support of
the local population. Broad participation and unity are essential to initiate such a
process and are crucial success factors, as they strengthen the position of local
communities in the face of armed actors, characterized by their superior military
capacities (Mitchell & Hancock, 2007; Anderson & Wallace, 2013; Idler et al., 2015;
Mouly et al., 2016; Allouche & Jackson, 2019; Sta. Maria, 2000). As one inhabitant
of such a community in Colombia stated, “the more people, the more strength”
(Mouly et al., 2019a) or, according to another, “If we are united, it’s harder for them”
(cited in Alther, 2006, p. 284). Cohesion is also essential to ensure that everyone
complies with the rules, such as not collaborating with any armed faction, in order to
maintain the community’s autonomy (Kaplan, 2017).
Importantly, members of peace communities rely on nonviolent means of strug-
gle. They use civil resistance to leverage power over armed actors and obtain
concessions from them. While power has traditionally been conceived of in terms
of material capacities, civil resistance scholars, such as Gene Sharp (1973), argue
that the power of rulers depends on the consent of the ruled, which is why, when
1172 C. Mouly
ordinary citizens deny their consent to armed actors who aspire to rule them, these
citizens can wield power and achieve their goals (Masullo et al., 2019). Their main
means of action is noncooperation with all armed actors, and they have used diverse
strategies ranging from overt to more covert forms of noncooperation (Valenzuela,
2010; Masullo et al., 2019). Noncooperation generally involves not providing
information, food, lodging, or human resources to armed groups. The declaration
of communities as peace territories thus deprives armed actors of material and
human resources and undermines their authority. Peace communities also often use
protest and persuasion, such as marches, and methods of intervention such as the
establishment of alternative institutions to official ones, developing in a number of
cases what Gandhi called a “constructive programme” (see King, 2002; Koefoed,
2017). Additionally, some communities engage in dialogue to negotiate a way out of
conflict and some even resort to more covert methods of everyday resistance
(Masullo et al., 2019; Mitchell & Ramírez, 2009; Hernández, 2012).
The Colombian peace communities have probably been the best researched of all,
which is why I focus on them in this chapter. I do not study cases from The
Philippines, even though the term “peace zone” was first coined in this context
(Hancock, 2016; Avruch & Jose, 2007). However, much of what is said about peace
communities’ contributions to positive peace on the basis of Colombian examples
could apply to Filipino ones. Neither do I cover cases called “peace communities,”
“peace zones,” or “peace territories” in situations, where, even though there have
been efforts to curtail armed violence, these either did not take place at the commu-
nity level or did not imply a decision from the community to remain autonomous
from armed actors. For instance, Jeremy Allouche and Paul Jackson use the term
“peace zone” to refer to various local peace initiatives in Côte d’Ivoire and Sierra
Leone. Yet, they recognize that the nature of peace zones in the two countries differs
from that of Colombian ones (Allouche & Jackson, 2019). Some of the examples
cited by the authors indeed do not fit our definition of “peace community,” which
therefore limits the application of the term in such a context.
This chapter is divided into four parts. First, I explain how a number of Colom-
bian peace communities have endeavored to mitigate armed violence in their
locality. Second, I analyze how they have addressed structural violence and pro-
moted social justice. Third, I examine these communities’ contributions to reducing
cultural violence, promoting peaceful coexistence and relationships free of violence.
Fourth, I highlight some challenges that peace communities have faced in their
efforts to foster positive peace and provide recommendations on how to address
these challenges.
Mitigating Armed Violence
Much has been written on the role of peace communities in mitigating the direct
violence produced by armed conflict in their territory. This section summarizes their
role in this regard, mindful of the tight relationship between direct, structural, and
cultural violence and the need to deal with all three to build positive peace. Overall,
peace communities have succeeded in diminishing armed confrontation in their

locality, at least in populated areas, by setting certain rules for armed actors to
respect in the territory, such as not engaging in hostilities in inhabited areas and
respecting civilian infrastructure, such as schools or hospitals. In some cases they
have done so through official declarations, such as in San José de Apartadó,
Samaniego, and Las Mercedes in Colombia (e.g., Masullo, 2015; Mouly et al.,
2015). In other cases they have informally negotiated these rules with all warring
parties, like in the case of the Peasant Worker Association of the Carare River
(ATCC) or that of Micoahumado (Hernández, 2012).
Some of the most common tactics used by residents of peace communities to
prevent direct violence include dialogue with armed actors, public statements,
petitions, marches and sit-ins to press such actors to stop committing abuses and,
in a number of cases, civilians have employed rhetorical traps to show that, by
perpetrating such abuses, armed actors contradict themselves (Mouly & Hernández,
2019). In a few cases, they have resorted to more forceful tactics. For instance, the
inhabitants of the village of San Diego in Samaniego, who were confined by
landmines, used the threat of protest migration in order to persuade insurgents to
clear mines on the main ways of access to their village. By contrast, when faced with
contentious issues, residents of peace communities tend to employ more subtle
forms of oblique noncooperation. For example, in Samaniego, the establishment of
an indigenous reserve equipped with its own “indigenous guard” to maintain public
order enabled local inhabitants to legally refuse the intervention of state security
forces in their locality and thereby request insurgent groups to do the same (Masullo
et al., 2019).
By establishing themselves as peace territories and using some of the
abovementioned tactics, these communities have saved lives, obtained the release
of hostages and prevented other abuses against civilians. They have done so by
prohibiting armed hostilities in populated areas or at certain times, such as during
festivities (e.g., Garcia, 1997; Masullo et al., 2019; Mitchell & Ramírez, 2009). They
have engaged in dialogue with armed actors and in civil resistance to free kidnapped
civilians or convince armed groups to refrain from holding summary trials against
civilians accused of collaborating with enemies (e.g., Mouly et al., 2016; Hernández,
2012). Importantly, in many cases peace communities have prevented forced recruit-
ment of local residents, especially children. They have also contributed to mine
clearance, such as in Samaniego, Micoahumado or the ATCC (Mouly et al., 2016;
Osorio Jiménez, 2018; Hernández, 2012). Additionally, they have enabled local
people to avoid forced displacement or to return home (Masullo, 2015; Osorio
Jiménez, 2018). Further, some of them have facilitated the reintegration of former
combatants to civilian life (Mouly et al., 2019b; Hernández, 2012), thereby pre-
venting the latter from taking up arms again or getting involved in criminal activities.
While abuses have occurred in a number of cases, including assassinations
against leaders of such communities, especially when civilians were perceived not
to uphold the principle of impartiality, there is strong evidence that these communi-
ties have succeeded in decreasing armed violence in their locality. In the case of the
ATCC, Oliver Kaplan (2013) provides some of the most compelling qualitative and
1174 C. Mouly
quantitative evidence that peace communities contribute to limiting acts of direct

violence in their locality, in sharp contrast with neighboring communities. In partic-
ular, he compares the high levels of direct violence before the formation of the peace
community, when approximately 10% of the local population was killed during a
12-year period, with the 10 years of consolidation of the peace community between
1991 and 2000, when no single civilian death was reported (Kaplan, 2013).
According to Pedro Valenzuela (2010, p. 26), the peace communities have not
impeded armed actors to carry out operations in their territory, but have managed
to reduce “the more lethal forms of aggression (assassinations, forced displace-
ment)” in their locality.
Reducing Structural Violence and Promoting Social Justice
As Landon Hancock (2010, p. 496) argues, peace communities, especially in

Colombia and the Philippines, have done more than trying to curtail armed violence;
they have also fostered positive peace by promoting “social change, social justice, or
social development.” In Colombia, Alther (2006, p. 287) explains that peace com-
munities have generally appeared “in areas that have traditionally been marginalised
by the state,” where the local population has “suffer[ed] the structural violence of
such marginalisation.” As a participant in the First Meeting of the Experiences of
Peace Communities and Territories in Colombia stated, peace communities have
enabled these marginalized communities to have their concerns heard and to over-
come some of their social and political exclusion: “During all these years of
violence, in the midst of this abandoned, forgotten land, just as a flower blooms in
the desert, we have been tending the shoots of hope. Our birth and growth is an
expression of the power of the people” (cited in Hernández, 2004a, p. 24).
Furthermore, peace communities often emerge in localities where non-state
armed actors use violent coercion to enforce certain rules of behavior on the local
population. Therefore, local inhabitants have joined hands not only to resist direct
violence but also the structural violence of political exclusion whereby they are
denied a voice by both state and non-state armed actors. Additionally, in several
cases, peace communities have tackled prevailing corruption that benefitted some in
the community to the detriment of a large majority. Below I analyze peace commu-
nities’ diverse contributions to reducing structural violence on the basis of evidence
from Colombia.
Empowerment and Self-Organization
Peace communities have sought to overcome structural violence by empowering

themselves and developing their own institutions and initiatives (Valenzuela, 2010).
San José de Apartadó, for instance, developed a strong community organization to
assert its autonomy from armed actors. According to Masullo (2015, p. 22), its
establishment aimed “to challenge the oppressive structures established by armed
groups” in the locality. This process crystallized with a 1997 declaration, which set
rules of behavior for community members and armed actors. Local residents created
their own institutions, including an internal council made up of eight members
elected by the community to implement the decisions taken collectively. The council
is accountable to the general assembly, which includes all community members and
meets regularly during the year. They also established various committees and
working groups to deal with health, education, and other aspects of communal life.
These self-organization structures enabled community members to address structural
violence in three important ways. First, members developed their own mechanisms
to deal with local conflicts and assert their autonomy from armed actors, thereby
reclaiming their right to make decisions for themselves. Second, they were able to
fulfill some functions that state institutions did not fulfill, owing to their limited
presence and attention to this territory. Third, it allowed them to build a sense of
solidarity thereby narrowing disparities within the community, since all inhabitants
ought to jointly participate in communal work at least once a week (Gray, 2012;
Alther, 2006; Masullo, 2015; Belalcázar Valencia, 2011; Burnyeat, 2018).
In areas controlled by non-state armed groups, the establishment of peace com-
munities has helped their members to resist impositions by these groups, who often
deny civilians a say in decisions that affect them and rule at their expense, and
instead to reclaim the power to make their own choices. Hence, the people of
Samaniego opted for declaring their municipality as a peace territory in 1998 to
resist “rebelocracy,” that is, a governance system dominated by insurgent groups, in
which civilians had little say (Mouly et al., 2016). This action enabled local
inhabitants to participate in decision-making, including through local councils
known as cabildos and participatory budget planning, and to avoid having to provide
funds to armed groups. The mountain region of Samaniego went even further and
established itself as an indigenous reserve in order to elect its own authorities and
operate its own security forces. The community also set up a cooperative and a
human rights committee, and undertook various actions to request more account-
ability and attention to the basic human needs of the population of this marginalized
area from municipal authorities (Mouly et al., 2016).
In a similar vein, the peace community of Las Mercedes produced its own
development plan in an effort to make its own decisions instead of being compelled
to abide by rebel rules. It did so in a participatory way, with a great majority of
inhabitants involved in the process, which gave the development plan more legiti-
macy (Idler et al., 2018). Meanwhile, the ATCC is a communal organization that
emerged out of the collective deliberation and empowerment of local farmers, who
realized the need to maintain autonomy from armed actors in order to protect their
lives. With time, it came to assume key functions in the community, such as the
peaceful transformation of local conflict. In so doing, it enabled the community to
take its own decisions and enhance its negotiating power with regard to armed actors
(Hernández, 2012; Kaplan, 2017).
The establishment of self-governing institutions has been a particularly prominent
strategy in peace communities located in ethnic territories. Hence, the Nasa indig-
enous people, for instance, established self-governance structures and employed
1176 C. Mouly
their traditional indigenous guard to asset their autonomy from armed actors, ensure
a more inclusive decision-making process in the community, and enhance their
opportunities for socioeconomic development (Gray, 2012; Hernández, 2004a).
Likewise, the founding of a peace community in Cacarica, in a region mainly
inhabited by people from African descent, enabled residents, who had been
displaced by the paramilitaries, to get empowered, establish a community council,
reclaim collective land titles, and return home (Sanford, 2003; Gray, 2012).
Across these peace communities, the establishment of self-determination has
been a direct challenge to the structural violence of social and political exclusion.
By coming together as a community, previously marginalized groups have found
ways to insist on being included in important decision-making processes and to
avoid being controlled by external actors.
Promotion of Sustainable Development Through Solidarity
Given the socioeconomic marginalization in their localities, most peace communi-

ties have tried to not only maintain their autonomy from armed actors but also
achieve a degree of sustainable development. They have done so in various ways,
including through self-organization and collective work. In so doing, they have
addressed a form of structural violence that had led some locals to enroll in
non-state armed groups or engage in illicit activities in a search for better socioeco-
nomic opportunities. From the outset the ATCC, for instance, made sustainable
development one of its main objectives, as its founding motto “We defend our
right to life, peace and livelihood” reveals (Gray, 2012). It drafted a local develop-
ment plan, opened a community store, established a cooperative for river transpor-
tation, and implemented various other projects to boost the socioeconomic
development of the area (Hernández, 2004b).
Similarly, the peace community of Micoahumado was conceived as an attempt
not only to curtail armed violence but also to mitigate socioeconomic exclusion.
According to an NGO worker who supported the peace community for over a
decade, “peace is not only about [ending] the armed conflict, fostering peaceful
coexistence, but also starting to work on peace as a way to overcome poverty,
marginalization” (cited in Hernández, 2012, p. 267). Hence the community endeav-
ored to build a local agricultural economy in order to achieve food security and
reduce its economic marginalization. This enabled its members to gradually refrain
from getting involved in the cultivation of coca crops by offering them alternative
means to generate income and ensure their livelihoods (Osorio Jiménez, 2018).
Likewise, the community of San José de Apartadó has placed emphasis on
sustainable development practices. It has done so not only to overcome its margin-
alization and provide a decent living for its members but also as an extension of its
principles of equity and solidarity, thereby contributing to reducing structural vio-
lence within the community itself. Indeed, it states in its principles that “it is not
possible to commercialize goods by exploiting people; it is not possible to sell goods
for a few to make benefits; we cannot work individually because unity makes
strength.” This awareness of the violence embedded in unequal political and eco-
nomic structures has guided its actions (Burnyeat, 2018; Mahecha, 2018). Impor-
tantly, it has endeavored to distribute land equally among its members to ensure that
all live under the same conditions and everyone can engage in agricultural activities
(Burnyeat, 2018). Through communal work, local inhabitants “have built a health
centre, schools and roads” (Gray, 2012, p. 51). They also jointly administer schools,
health centers, restaurants, and other local institutions. Further, they have
implemented development projects without intermediaries to reduce their socioeco-
nomic marginalization. For instance, they started to export locally grown cacao and
small bananas (Gray, 2012; Burnyeat, 2017, 2018; Masullo, 2015). This enabled
them to decrease their dependence from outsiders and to survive blockades during
over 3 months thanks to their ability to produce their own food (Gray, 2012;
Mahecha, 2018). They have also collectively bought land in strategic locations to
prevent concessions being given to private sector companies eager to exploit local
natural resources, thus protecting both their local economy and the natural environ-
ment (Burnyeat, 2018). Additionally, they have assisted local farmers who decided
to stop growing coca in making a living, for instance by providing them cacao seeds
to cultivate instead of being compelled to grow coca out of necessity (Burnyeat,
2018).
In Cacarica too, local inhabitants have sought to overcome their socioeconomic
marginalization by jointly participating in productive activities and sharing their
incomes (Gray, 2012). The peace community enabled them to resist against land
grabs and the exploitation of natural resources by private companies (Gray, 2012).
Similarly, the members of the peace community of Congal have acquired their own
lands, strengthened their community, and developed their own agricultural produc-
tion alternatives (Alther, 2006).
Interestingly, Mitchell and Ramírez (2009, p. 254) suggest that peace communi-
ties less concerned with immediate threats linked to direct violence can focus more
on the “long-term, structural causes of internal armed conflict,” such as socioeco-
nomic disparities or political exclusion, in comparison with those more directly
affected by armed violence. They cite the example of the peace community of
Tarso, which established six committees within its constituent assembly, out of
which four focused on sustainable development (Mitchell & Ramírez, 2009). Mitch-
ell and Ramírez’s suggestion finds echo in other authors’ observations that some
peace communities made a transition to tackle more structural problems once armed
violence in their locality was no longer an immediate threat. This is the case of
Micoahumado and the ATCC, which evolved from a process of resistance against
armed actors to one against private sector companies seeking to exploit local natural
resources, particularly mining companies – a struggle that involves the need to create
sufficient socioeconomic opportunities for residents to stand against these compa-
nies (Osorio Jiménez, 2018; Hernández & Roa, 2019).
In sum, many peace communities have worked toward sustainable development
at a local level, helping to address the structural violence of economic marginaliza-
tion. Interestingly, while many of these projects may be viewed as long-term projects
to decrease poverty and protect local ownership of natural resources, they may also
1178 C. Mouly
contribute in the short term to reducing direct violence by providing alternative

means of earning a livelihood that restrict the ability of armed groups to recruit
members.
Participatory and Inclusive Democracy
Importantly, according to Valenzuela (2010), all peace communities have facilitated

participatory democracy at the local level. They have done so by getting organized
and taking decisions collectively, which has enabled them to address various forms
of structural violence, such as political exclusion, corruption, centralism, and gender
inequalities. One case in point is the peace community of Mogotes, which emerged
as a grassroots response to armed actors’ interference in public affairs and to
prevailing corruption. By getting organized in a local “constituent assembly,” the
inhabitants of this village engaged in a participatory process of decision-making,
thereby avoiding the risk of corruption and ensuring that decisions benefitted a
majority of inhabitants (Alther, 2006; Rojas, 2004, 2007; Hernández, 2002;
Mahecha, 2018). Additionally, this process enabled residents to avoid insurgents’
summary trials on the ground that they were sufficiently organized to make their own
justice. Thus, one of the first actions of the peace community was the trial of a former
mayor accused of corruption. After finding him guilty, the community elected a new
mayor and set some guidelines for the new mayor to follow in order to avoid
corruption. In particular, they decided that the mayor would henceforth be a “man-
ager” accountable to the people, who would report periodically on his/her adminis-
tration on the main square and answer questions from the public (Rojas, 2004, 2007;
Alther, 2006; Mahecha, 2018). In so doing, the peace community promoted a more
participatory, transparent, and democratic form of administering municipal affairs,
thereby contributing to a reduction of structural violence in the form of political
exclusion, authoritarianism, and corruption.
Likewise, by getting organized as a “constituent assembly,” the community of
Tarso developed a participatory form of democracy that succeeded in curbing
corruption (Hernández, 2002). According to Hernández (2004a), mechanisms such
as the constituent assemblies of Mogotes and Tarso have appeared in communities
characterized by two main forms of structural violence: corruption and the exclusion
of a majority of the population from participation in public affairs. Yet, other forms
of structural violence have affected these communities and have been tackled as well
through these mechanisms. Tarso, for instance, was characterized by a concentration
of land in the hands of a few elites. The constituent assembly initiative contributed to
redress some of the imbalance between landowners and smallholding farmers known
locally as campesinos by including both groups in discussions over sustainable
development in the municipality (Hernández, 2004a).
As for the ATCC, it has taken its decisions collectively and carried out its actions
with the support of the community at large. It has consulted members through
diverse means, including the assembly of representatives, created in order to involve
the population from all hamlets in its area of influence in decision-making. This
assembly enabled the association to decentralize decision-making, thereby

confronting the structural violence of “centralism.” Additionally, the ATCC has
challenged gender inequality by offering women an opportunity to participate and
even assume leadership positions in the association. Hence, from the beginning
various women have engaged in dialogue with armed actors and mediated to solve
conflicts, showing that they were as capable as men (Hernández, 2012).
Overall, then, the commitment of peace communities to facilitating inclusive and
participatory democracy can be seen to support their challenge to forms of structural
violence such as corruption, economic inequality, and gender inequality. By includ-
ing people previously marginalized in the processes of local decision-making, they
contribute to more balanced power structures and less practices of oppression.
Raising Awareness of the Community’s Situation
Peace communities have used different means to raise awareness of their situation of
marginalization and oppression both nationally and internationally. In particular,
they have undertaken actions that attracted public attention and garnered support
from outside actors. For instance, the establishment of the peace community of San
José de Apartadó enabled it to become “visible” to the center of the country,
especially through a march in Bogotá in which some 70 community members,
together with some 60 external supporters, requested an end to violence in the
territory, as well as a 2006 documentary on the community, which traveled around
the world (Masullo, 2015). Likewise, when Samaniego residents went to Bogotá to
expound the situation of confinement of some hamlets due to landmines at the
Colombia chapter of the Permanent Peoples’ Tribunal, they began to receive national
attention in the media and external support (Garrido et al., 2016). The ATCC even
became known at the international level after receiving the Right Livelihood Award
(“alternative Nobel Peace Prize”) in 1990 (Hernández, 2012).
External support has permitted peace communities to gain recognition nationally
and internationally, and decreased their marginalization. For instance, Las Mercedes
received the accompaniment of the Church and the Organization of American States
(OAS) in its efforts to establish itself as a peace territory. This support enabled the
community to reach out to departmental, national, and even international institu-
tions, and obtain assistance. Additionally, it helped to transform the image of the
locality from a rebel stronghold to a “peace territory” (Idler et al., 2018). Likewise,
San José de Apartadó, Cacarica, La India, and Micoahumado garnered support from
diverse international organizations, which allowed them to overcome their margin-
alization and obtain resources (Gray, 2012; Hernández, 2012). For instance, Sonsón,
the ATCC, and Micoahumado got financial support through the EU-funded peace
laboratories, and in 2009 the UN sponsored a large sustainable development project
in Cacarica (Mitchell & Ramírez, 2009; Gray, 2012; Osorio Jiménez, 2018).
All in all, the peace communities in Colombia have contributed to positive peace
by tackling structural violence and fostering social justice in multiple ways. They
have confronted political exclusion by the state and non-state armed actors, as well
1180 C. Mouly
as socioeconomic marginalization, by getting organized and developing their own

institutions and decision-making processes. They have also acquired more visibility
and garnered external support, thereby reducing their marginalization. Additionally,
they have provided more equal opportunities for all residents to participate in public
affairs and enhance their socioeconomic conditions, and curtailed corruption locally.
In particular, some have offered women greater opportunities, thereby diminishing
gender inequality.
Reducing Cultural Violence and Promoting a Culture of Peace
Peace communities have also fostered positive peace in their locality through the
promotion of a culture of peace, based on nonviolence, tolerance, and the develop-
ment of peaceful relationships (Valenzuela, 2010). They have done so through
everyday practice, training/education, and awareness-raising.
Promoting a Culture of Peace Through Practice
A defining feature of peace communities is their use of nonviolent means to achieve

their goals. By articulating an ethical opposition to the use of direct violence, they
have reduced cultural violence in their locality and built a culture of peace. Some of
them have resorted to their self-governing institutions, such as the Tarso constituent
assembly or the ATCC, to transform local conflict without resorting to violence.
Additionally, these self-governing institutions have helped local residents to bridge
their divisions, and reduced prevailing mistrust and the desire for revenge. In so
doing, they have contributed to restoring the social fabric of trusting and respectful
relationships destroyed by war (Hernández, 2004a, 2012). For instance, the use of
dialogue to address conflict has become an everyday practice in the area of influence
of the ATCC over its more than 30 years of existence and has fomented cultural
change. Accordingly, while initially residents used to make their own justice in a
logic of “every man for himself” or resort to armed actors to solve problems, they
gradually became aware of the importance to abide by certain rules of behavior for
the collective good and to preserve life, irrespective of others’ wrongdoings
(Hernández, 2012, p. 234). According to Hernández (2012, p. 208, 249), this has
contributed to building a “culture of mediation” and more peaceful relationships in
the area.
Peace communities are also characterized by communal decision-making pro-
cesses, and their ability to undertake collective action has been crucial for residents
of these communities to wield power against armed actors. These collective practices
have cultivated a local culture of solidarity in which local inhabitants collaborate
with each other instead of prioritizing their self-interest. Likewise, practices, such as
communal work in San José de Apartadó or in the mountain region of Samaniego, or
cooperative projects in San José de Apartadó and the ATCC, to support socioeco-
nomic development have generated a sense of solidarity among residents. The joint
celebration of festivities has also been a feature of some peace communities – for
instance, one norm of the Samaniego peace community stipulated in its 2004 local
peace pact is the need for all armed groups to respect the main festivities – helping to
develop a culture of peace. It has done so by providing a space for local residents to
surmount war divisions and share a common identity and by demonstrating resi-
dents’ desire for peace and rejection of violence (Mouly & Giménez, 2017). It is
reasonable to say that these practices help to develop trusting relations among
members of the peace community.
Several peace communities have also fostered a culture of tolerance and non-
discrimination through their everyday practices. The ATCC, for instance, contrib-
uted to reducing prevailing gender discrimination thanks to the role played by female
leaders in distinct initiatives. Female leaders have presided over the peasant organi-
zation and exerted a prominent role in mediating with armed actors (Hernández,
2012). According to one such leader, “this means putting an end to machismo
because in our culture it is said that women are not the ones who have intelligence,
they do not have capacities [. . .] this implies showing machismo [sic.] that, as
women, yes we can” (cited in Hernández, 2012, p. 218).
Some peace communities have even gone further by developing a culture of
tolerance and even understanding toward their fellow citizens who have joined
armed groups, instead of viewing them simply as oppressors. The ATCC, in partic-
ular, has contributed to “disarm [. . .] [the] minds and hearts” of armed actors by
humanizing them and talking to them with respect, from a perspective of “we are not
your enemies” (Hernández, 2012, p. 226). The community of San José de Apartadó
too has sought to humanize the armed conflict. In the words of one member, “despite
the fact that many of them [armed actors] did awful things against us and have
assassinated community members, we do not maintain any hatred against them.
They are human beings who have been used by the system” (cited in Burnyeat, 2018,
p. 226). By humanizing armed actors, these communities have been able to reach out
to warring parties and even obtain concessions from them (Mouly et al., 2019a) and
have facilitated the social reintegration of former combatants in their locality (Mouly
et al., 2019b).
A common feature of peace communities, then, is everyday practices that exem-
plify values of nonviolence and mutual cooperation. These practices are integral to
developing the relationships of solidarity than underpin their ability to take collec-
tive action to reduce the harmful impacts of armed conflict.
Promoting a Culture of Peace Through Training/Education

and Awareness-Raising
Peace communities, especially those supported by the Network of Initiatives for

Peace and Against War (REDEPAZ) in Colombia, have carried out specific educa-
tional activities to promote the peaceful transformation of conflict. This is the case of
Samaniego, where teachers, youth, children, and women were trained in the peaceful
transformation of conflict and conducted numerous activities aimed at promoting
1182 C. Mouly
peace (Mouly et al., 2016; Rojas, 2004, 2007). For instance, the children’s move-
ment for peace, supported by REDEPAZ, launched a campaign to exchange war toys
for recreational toys (Rojas, 2004). Rojas (2007, p. 82) argues that through these
activities children, youth, and women “started to gain recognition as agents of social
change, which can influence – in the long term – the current culture of war and
violence as the preferred strategy to deal with crisis, uncertainty, and disagreement.”
The peace community of Samaniego also implemented a baccalaureate on peaceful
coexistence for former combatants and community members, which placed empha-
sis on a culture of peace, and in which those enrolled participated in activities to
promote peace in the municipality. Moreover, the community developed various
radio programs “to voice citizens’ desire to live in peace,” advocate for an end to
armed violence and gender discrimination, and campaign for human rights (Mouly
et al., 2016, p. 150; Rojas, 2004).
The ATCC, likewise, has raised people’s consciousness about appropriate norms
of behavior for peaceful coexistence in their locality and has engaged in dialogue
with transgressors to persuade them to correct misconduct. Similarly, it has pro-
moted a culture of tolerance of different religions, ethnicities, or credos in its locality,
whereby local residents respect each other regardless of their faith, ideology, or
ethnicity (Hernández, 2012).
The peace community of San José de Apartadó too has developed a set of
principles to guide the behavior of its members, which contribute to a culture of
peace. For instance, all members have the same right to be heard and participate in
decision-making. Members must respect diverse opinions, and make no difference
between members of distinct ethnic groups or who share distinct political ideologies.
The community believes in dialogue to address conflict and solve problems
(Masullo, 2015; Burnyeat, 2018; Mahecha, 2018). It has tried to promote these
principles through regular meetings and capacity-building sessions in which a
majority of residents participate, as well as through education in the local schools
that it administers. According to one member, in these schools “we teach resistance
and we teach peace, therefore we cannot reproduce the values of individualism and
competition that the state wants to impose” (Masullo, 2015, p. 68). Additionally, the
community established a “university of resistance” together with like-minded com-
munities to share knowledge between marginalized communities and discuss topics
of mutual interest, such as alternative development initiatives (Masullo, 2015;
Hancock, 2016). The community indeed claims that official state education is
“dehumanizing” and prioritizes profit over solidarity (Burnyeat, 2018).
In addition to promoting a democratic culture characterized by participatory and
inclusive decision-making at the local level, peace communities have “tried to
promote a new way of thinking” about the need to look for the collective good
and the well-being of the community, rather than prioritizing individual interests.
They have done so in different ways, including through educational activities and the
use of alternative media (Belalcázar Valencia, 2011, p. 201). The peace community
of San José de Apartadó, in particular, established its own community radio called
“Voices of Peace” to convey its members’ views on issues of interest to the
community (Masullo, 2015).
Some peace communities have also induced a change of mindset regarding the
cultivation of coca crops. This is the case in Micoahumado, where the community
process enabled local peasants to realize that growing coca crops fuels armed
violence and opt for alternative means of livelihood (Osorio Jiménez, 2018). Like-
wise, San José de Apartadó residents came to understand that coca cultivation feeds
the armed conflict and therefore opted to ban it from their community and educate
people about it (Burnyeat, 2018).
Some peace communities even tried to promote cultural change beyond their
locality. This is the case of San José de Apartadó, which endeavored to disseminate
some of its principles through the selling of cacao to what they call “consumers with
a political conscience,” that is, consumers, who buy cacao from the community,
knowing the political background behind the cultivation of cacao there and who
want to support the community’s efforts to opt out of war and build a more solidary
society (Burnyeat, 2018).
All in all, peace communities have promoted a culture of nonviolence, tolerance,
and solidarity through practice, training/education, and awareness-raising, which has
helped local residents to curtail direct and structural violence locally by making them
realize that: (i) direct violence only fuels more direct violence, (ii) there are other
ways to transform conflict, and (iii), together, they can decrease their
marginalization.
Challenges Faced by Peace Communities
Peace communities have faced a number of challenges in their efforts to build

positive peace in their territory. In some instances, armed groups violated the rules
set by these communities, with dramatic consequences at times. This resulted in
various communities, such as San José de Apartadó, Las Mercedes, or the ATCC,
losing leaders. This was particularly the case during times of fierce competition
between armed actors (e.g., Mouly et al., 2016). However, despite these challenges,
the peace communities have succeeded in mitigating armed violence locally.
Additionally, economic interests have sometimes put the values of these commu-
nities to the test. For example, while the peace community of Micoahumado
succeeded in obtaining external support for socioeconomic development projects
in the community, abuses were reported in the implementation of these projects
(Osorio Jiménez, 2018). Meanwhile, in various cases, peace communities failed to
convince local farmers to abandon coca crops. So although the peace communities
have aimed to introduce cooperative and sustainable forms of economic develop-
ment, and to reduce corruption, at times they have struggled to overcome the
challenge of some individuals choosing to pursue their economic self-interest.
Furthermore, various authors argue that the relationships between peace commu-
nities and the state at all levels – municipal, departmental, and national – can
impinge on these communities and their ability to contribute to peacebuilding. In
Colombia, changes in the municipal administration, for instance, fostered or hin-
dered these initiatives, and in places, such as Sonsón or Samaniego, the peace
1184 C. Mouly
communities faced setbacks when mayors were unsupportive (e.g., Mitchell &
Ramírez, 2009; Mouly et al., 2016). Likewise, national policies affect these initia-
tives. One case in point is the democratic security policy of President Álvaro Uribe
(2002–2010) in Colombia, which made it more difficult for peace communities to
maintain their autonomy from armed actors, as the Uribe administration did not
recognize the possibility of remaining impartial in the conflict and tried to compel
communities to take sides (Mitchell & Ramírez, 2009; Mitchell & Rojas, 2012;
Mouly et al., 2016).
These challenges remind us that, although peace communities can make signif-
icant contributions to peace in their localities, they are not a perfect solution to the
different problems faced by marginalized communities enmeshed in armed violence.
Their leadership can be threatened, and in some cases the loss of a leader or
community member can cause the initiative to collapse, as in Las Mercedes after
the FARC’s alleged murder of two inhabitants accused of collaborating with the
paramilitaries (Idler et al., 2018). Under these circumstances, communities charac-
terized by a collective leadership can better confront these risks and build resilience
(Idler et al., 2015), and protective accompaniment as well as increased visibility can
diminish threats (Alther, 2006; Mahony & Eguren, 1997; Valenzuela, 2010). Addi-
tionally, self-interest can undermine collective action and create cracks in peace
communities with negative consequences since cohesion is a key factor for success
(Idler et al., 2015). The best way to tackle this challenge is through collective
organization and collective decision-making processes, including applying agreed
sanctions to those who commit serious breaches to community rules – mechanisms
that are often in place in the most consolidated peace communities. As for the
influence of contextual factors such as state policies and local political leaders, as
much as they can shape peace communities, so too can peace communities influence
them (see, e.g., Mitchell & Hancock, 2012). Further, in some of the more challeng-
ing contexts, the opposition of the state to their activities has strengthened the
resolve of local people to act and contributed to the emergence and resilience of
peace communities (Idler et al., 2015).
Conclusions
This chapter analyzed the main contributions of peace communities to positive peace
on the basis of evidence from Colombia. The cases reveal that, although peace
communities emerged as a response to armed violence in the context of war, they can
also play a key role in reducing structural and cultural violence at the local level,
thereby fostering positive peace. By engaging in noncooperation with armed actors,
more or less overtly, and sometimes in combination with negotiation, peace com-
munities have helped decrease direct violence in their locality. Key factors enabling
their effectiveness in mitigating direct violence include broad participation, cohe-
sion, upholding an impartial stance, and refraining from using violence.
In order to achieve their goal of reducing direct violence many of these
communities have adopted measures that address structural and cultural violence
concurrently. These communities have gone through a process of empowerment and

self-organization, including the establishment of their own self-governing institu-
tions, in much the same way as Gandhi’s constructive program. Many have also
implemented participatory democratic processes at the local level in order for all
members to have their voices heard and be involved in decision-making. Further,
most of them have placed emphasis on socioeconomic development, trying to
overcome the marginalization of local residents, which, according to them, is a
root cause of armed conflict. Some have also succeeded in reducing other types of
structural violence, such as gender inequality or corruption.
As for cultural violence, peace communities have tackled it through everyday
practices of nonviolent action, the use of dialogue, and abidance by principles such
as respect for diversity and solidarity. Additionally, some have used alternative
means of communication, education, and training as important channels to foster
cultural change and promote peaceful coexistence. Importantly, they have tried to
bring humanitarian values to the armed conflict, refusing to accept the logic of war,
and placing the right to life above everything else. Further, they have contributed to
restoring the social fabric damaged by war and nurtured relationships free of
violence, often even with individuals who were previously involved in armed
organizations.
As other communities elsewhere strive to opt out of war, the Colombian peace
communities can offer useful lessons. First, in disputed areas the best alternative for
communities’ protection might be to maintain autonomy from armed actors (see
Kaplan, 2017; Masullo, 2017; Idler et al., 2015; Mitchell & Hancock, 2007; Mitchell
& Rojas, 2012). Second, empowerment, self-organization, and participative and
inclusive decision-making can help communities overcome the structural violence
at the root of armed conflict and limit civilians’ dependence on armed actors. Third,
the diminution of structural and direct violence should go hand in hand with the
building of a culture of peace, based on nonviolence, nondiscrimination, and soli-
darity, in order to achieve sustainable peace, since the three forms of violence are
interrelated.
While external actors should remain mindful not to undermine local residents’
ownership of these initiatives and their autonomy, they can support peace commu-
nities and similar initiatives by locals affected by war by: (i) raising their profile and
providing protective accompaniment, thereby increasing the costs to armed actors of
targeting community members, (ii) helping to strengthen community organization,
(iii) training residents in strategic nonviolent action and techniques for the peaceful
transformation of conflict, (iv) fostering the exchange of experiences and lessons
learnt between these communities, and (v) supporting sustainable development
projects that enable community members to reduce their marginalization (see also
Alther, 2006; Valenzuela, 2010; Gray, 2012; Masullo, 2015). External support
cannot replace local agency, but, if well thought, it can potentiate these communities’
efforts to build peace in their locality and learn from the experience of the peace
communities in Colombia.
Overall, while peace communities have faced challenges of different sorts,
including threats to their members’ physical integrity, they have been able to reduce
1186 C. Mouly
the three forms of violence in their community. They therefore deserve to be

recognized as models of effective nonviolent practice for protecting noncombatants
and for addressing the deeper roots of armed conflict in the forms of structural and
cultural violence. They have made important contributions to breaking the vicious
cycle of violence in their region in the short term, and looking to the longer term we
can see that they provide valuable models of how to work towards the achievement
of positive peace at a local level.
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Index
A Aotearoa New Zealand, restorative justice

Ableism, 504, 505, 507, 508 community restorative justice, 435–436
Absence of structural violence, 1103, 1115 criminal justice sector, 433–434
Absence of war, 1103, 1104 New Zealand education sector, 434–435
Absolute war, 911 Waitangi Tribunal, 436–437
Accompaniment, 301, 304, 307 youth justice system, 432–433
Action strands, 1108 Apologies
Active listening natural and group, 159–160
and creative conflict management, 64 power, 157–159
definition, 64 Aquinas, Thomas, 916
Actualized peace, 1116 Arab World, conflict transformation in,
Advisory groups, 842, 843, 846, 848, 849 see Conflict transformation
Affect, 1036 Archaeological approach, 20
Affected person, 799 Armed conflicts, 663, 779, 878
Affective empathy, 938, 945–947 Armed force, 911
Affirmative Action programs, 444 Armed violence, 1172–1174
African philosophy of Ubuntu, 21 Artistic leadership, 1158–1159
Ahiṃsā, 28, 29, 31 Art of listening
Air quality, 385 and humor, 62–65
Allyship, 890, 891, 895, 899, 901–903, 906 principles of, 71
challenges, 903 rules of, 77
education, 897 Asylum-seekers, 536
hope, 904 Atkinson index, 402
love, 900 AUM, experience of, 30
Alternative dispute resolution (ADR), 835 Australian Agency for International
Altruistic reciprocity, 1036 Development (AUSAID), 592
American Psychological Association, 629 Australian Conservation Foundation, 257
Anger, 84 Australian environmental movements, 256–257
and activism, 86–88 Authoritarianism, 196–198
Buddhist perspective of, 85–86 civil resistance to, 196
causes and effects, 89–91 education and, 197, 198
overcoming of, 88–91 pedagogy of truth, 202–207
Anglo-Boer war, 921 playbook, 196
Animal agriculture, 634 political and financial corruption, 196
Animal farming, 634 social media and, 197
Anthropocentrism, 632 Autonomy
Anthropomorphism, 728, 729 childcare subsidies, 383
Anti-oppression activists, 905 consumer price index, 383
Anti-social capital, 874 employment rate, 383
© Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2022 1189

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-0969-5
1190 Index
Autonomy (cont.) Canadian culture, 710

food bank use, 384 Capitalism, 648, 649, 798
integrated income housing Capitalist labour force, 504
diversity, 384 Capitalocene, 645, 652, 658
public vs. private school ratio, 384 Carbon fuel, and climate change,
824–825
B Carbon sequestration mechanisms, 683
Backfire, 233 Carl Dunker's pendulum experiement, 68
Battered Women’s Movement Carnism, 634
(BWM), 586 Carter, J., 1042
Beijing Declaration, 587 Cartesian dualism, 648
Belief perseverance, 1017 Center for Applied Nonviolent Action and
Benedictines, 738, 747 Strategies (CANVAS), 249
Convent of St Mary, in Fulda, 739 Chauvinism, 169
conversatio morum, 740 Cheap nature project
economic survival, 739 project of cultural violence, 649–651
Monasteries and Convents, 739 project of structural violence, 647–649
nuns of Fulda, 739 Child abuse, 54
obedience, 740, 747 Childcare subsidies, 383
organic gardening knowledge, 739 Children, Young Persons, and Their Families
scientific experimentation, 744 Act (CYPF Act), 433
sense of place, 739 Children’s rights, 19, 544
soil health, knowledge of, 739 children as urban consultants project, 552
stability, 740, 747 children as urban researchers project,
stewardship, 742 550–551
values, 742 children exercising agency, 548
Benedictine tradition, 744 citizenship and participation, 549
Bewilderment and illumination, 69 conceptual tensions and adult hegemony,
Bhagavad Gita, 30 547–548
Bhoodan movement, 240 enactment of rights, 546
Biodiversity, 709, 715 participation rights, enablers and barriers to,
of ecosystems, 683 546–547
Birgit Brock-Utne, 1116 public realm, children’s participation in,
Bisociation, 67–69 549–550
Bisociative dynamics, 72 recognition, 545
Black Lives Matter movement, 891 research, children’s participation in, 550
Bloody Sunday Inquiry (BSI) report, 990 rights to protection, 545
Blue economy, 646 social norms, 545
Bodhichitta, 83 urban planning, children’s participation
Bodhisattvacharyāvatāra, 83 in, 551
Boulding, E., 1121 Chilean Amnesty Decree Law, 425
Buddhist contemplative practices, 81–85 Christian Peacemaker Teams (CPT), 306
Bush, Kenneth, 371 Church’s canon law, 1131
Byrne, Sean, 373 Citizens’ Climate Lobby (CCL), 949
Citizenship, 277, 549
C Civic engagement, 387
Callaghan, J., 1043, 1048 Civil disobedience, 215, 216
Camara, D.H., 1105 Civil litigation, 629
Cambridge Declaration on Consciousness, 633 Civil Resistance Research, 231–234
Canada Civil rights movement, 614, 890, 951
colonialism and imperialism, 335 Civil society group(s), 803
conflict and steps to reconciliation, 336–338 participation, 387
conflict transforation, 342 Civil society organizations, 871
political, cultural, and economic Civil war, 877
destruction, 335–336 in Lebanon, 354
Index 1191
Climate change, 662 transactional model of, 129

adaptation, 770–771 violent, 135
carbon fuel and, 824–825 virtual, 1089
and empathy, 948–949 in workplace, 128
scarcity of resources and conflicts, Community-based peace observers, 302
765–766 Community cohesiveness
West Pokot County, in Northern Kenya, civil society group participation, 387
766–769 perception of safety, 388
Climate justice, 662 poverty rate, 388
Climate refugees, 629 quality of life, 388
Coalition building, 707 residential stability, 388
Coal seam gas (CSG), 261 Community Empowerment and Education
Coercive diplomacy, 322–325 program, 107, 340
Co-existence model, 1057 Community Justice Panel (CJP), 435
Cognitive dissonance, 706 Community restorative justice,
Cognitive empathy, 937, 938, 942, 943, 435–436
945, 946 Compassion, cultivation of, 88
Cognitive structural modifiability, 1092 Compassion, 89
Cold War, 319, 348, 943 Complete positive peace, 212
Collective action approach, 1064 Condoning, 147
Colombia Conflict, 183, 762–770, 773
community in, 1171 capital, 878
peace communities, 1172, 1179 characteristics of contemporary, 349
Coloniality, 615, 617, 619 constructive, 443, 449
Colonial legacy, 130–135 cooperative, 443
Colonial philosophy of law, 919 definition, 442
Colonial violence, 927 destructive, 443, 446, 447
Colonized people environmental assessment, 783–785
colonization, 101–102 and foreign intervention, 348
Kenya, 105–108 historic, 449
neoliberalism, 102–103 management, 350
Somaliland, 108–110 problem with, 443
trauma, healing and resilience, resolution, 350
104–105 theories of, 350
US, 113–116 transformation, 348, 350
whiteness, white supremacist patriarchy, implications for, 352
103–104 in Iraq, 357–360
at Yukon River, 111–113 in Lebanon, 353–363
Comic, 274 in Syria, 361
parrhesia, 278–279 Conflict resolution, 730, 834
phronēsis, 287 and positive peace, 777–778, 791
Committee to Protect Journalists in Syria, 785–787
(CPJ), 561 Conflict transformation, 331, 332, 456
Commodification, 798 framework for analysis, 333–334
Common law legal system, 1131 Indigenous Canada, 334–338
Communication, 836, 844–845, 849, 1088 as integrated multi-level platform, 332
aggressive, 134 Kenyan Greenbelt Movement, 342–343
Barnlund’s view of, 129 and positive peace, 332
Ellis and McClintock’s Transmission Confrontational model, 1057, 1077
model, 129 Consensus-based land use planning, 671
four color styles of, 135 Consequentialism, 181
levels of, 1090 Constructive conflict processes, 443
models of, 129–130 Constructive storytelling, 1151
nonviolent, 1089 Consultation process, 707
quality of, 1089 Consumer price index, 383
1192 Index
Contact programs D
co-existence model, 1057 Dalai Lama, 84, 85
conditions, 1052 Dawson College, 718, 719
confrontational model, 1057 Decisional forgiveness, 153
contact hypothesis as basis for practice, Declaration on the Elimination of Violence
1055–1056 against Women, 587
effectiveness of, 1056–1059 Decolonial peace research, 619
empirical research, 1058 Decolonial theory, 616
intersectionality, 1054–1055 Decolonization, 618
joint project model, 1057 Decretalists, 477
narrative model, 1057 Deep externalities, 645, 648
and positive peace, 1059–1061 Deforestation, 770
recomendations for future of, Deimperialization, 618
1062–1064 Democracy, 197, 911
Contemplation, 81 Democratic breakthrough, 319
Convention on the Elimination of all Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC), 673
Forms of Discrimination against Demystification, 618
Women (CEDAW), 587, 594 Denver Public School (DPS) system, 1136–1140
Convent of St Mary, in Fulda, 739 Deracialization, 618
Conversatio morum, 740 Destructive storytelling, 1151
Cooperative competition, 139 Development aid, 320–322
Corporate model mapping, 131 Dialogue, 1157
Corporate social responsibility, 669 active listening, 1078
Cosmology, 645, 650 aims, 1072
Counter-current approach, 71 Buber’s statement, 1073–1074
COVID-19, 715–716, 720, 721 definition, 1072
global economic disaster, 52–53 difficulties in, 1074–1075
life in lockdown, 53 example of, 1070–1071, 1079–1082
personal peacebuilding, 43 group participants periodic opportunities,
and suicides, 55 1079
Cox, G., 1104, 1116 intergroup, 1076–1078
Creative conflict transformation, 71–74 roles, 1072
Critical consciousness, 897 safe space, 1078
Critical peace education, 172 steps in, 1078–1079
Critical pedagogy, 181 worthwhile, 1075–1076
Critical thinking, 176 Digimodernism, 276
Cross-group friendships, 989 Digital diplomacy, 325
Cross-space theory, 645, 647, 652–654, Digital revolution, 573–575
656, 657 Diplomacy
Crowd psychology, 1095 coercive, 322–325
Cultural paradigms, 1106 definition, 314
culture of racism, 1108–1111 human rights based, 315
culture of war, 1111–1113 preventative, 320
Culture process of, 314
description, 1106 public, 317
peace, 652, 655–657 Diplomats
strands, 1106–1108 and coercive diplomacy, 322–325
violence, 506, 507, 597, 602–604, 613, 644, and democratic institution buiding, 317–320
649–651, 752 and development aid, 320–322
worldview, 1106 and future heroism, 325–326
Culture of peace, 1113 and human rights, 315–317
paradigms of, 1118–1119 Direct violence, 212, 597–600, 613, 644,
with justice, 1102 891, 936
Index 1193
Disability, 503 Eco-colonialism, 629

accessible information, 512 Ecofeminism, 685
accessible text, 510 Economic efficiency, 668
accessible venues, 511 Economic inequality, 949, 950
captions, 511 Economic pole
charity model, 503 food security/hunger, 404–405
comforting experience, 512 happiness index, 402–403
data collection, 511 income inequality, 401–402
easy read, 511 savings/secure retirement, 403–404
impairment effects, 504 shared economy score, 405–406
medical model, 503 Economic profits, 682
moral model, 503 Economic prosperity, 690
Nazi euthanasia programme, 505 Economic sustainability, 667–669
phocomelia, 502 Economic value, 798
plain language, 510 Eco-responsibility, 689–690
positive peace, 505–507 Ecosystem services, 683
rights, 18 Eco-urbanity, 392
rights-based model, 509, 513 Edelstam, H., 317
sign language, 511 Educational institutions, 716
social model, 504 Education strands, 1107
social relational model, 504 Edward Azar’s theory, 351–352
twin track approach, 509–512 1997/98 El Nino floods, 762
Disarmament demobilization and reintegration Emancipation Proclamation, 113
(DDR), 880–883, 1003 Emotion
Disaster risk management (DRM), 771 forgiveness, 153
Discrimination, 618 intelligence, 1091
Discursive integration, 275 See also Anger
Disengaged relationship, 15 Empathic communication, 1089
Distributive justice, 11, 444 Empathy, 154, 156, 893, 900, 936
Distrust affective, 938
mutual, 980 and climate change, 948–949
paradox of, 984–986 cognitive, 937, 938, 942
Dogmatic approaches, 1094 conflict phase, 945
Domestic violence, 585, 586 definition, 938
during lockdown, 53 dialogue, 952–953
in Pacific, 591–593 inequality, 949–951
in Samoa, 593–604 intergroup contact, 951
as unfreedom, 588–591 international and intrastate cycles of
Drought, 763, 765–771 violence, 944–947
Dyadic interpersonal interactions, 983 levels, 942
limitations, 939–941
peacebuilding interventions, 951–953
and positive peace, 947–948
E post violence phase, 947
Early warning-early response (EWER), 302 threat of nuclear war, 942–944
Eckand, D.L., 1114 three-component framework, 938
Eclecticism, 655 violence phase, 945–947
ecoAmerica, 629 Employment rate, 383, 404
Ecocide, 626–632 Empowerment
legal recognition, 630 and self-organization, 1174–1176
speciesism, 632–636 Encounter Theory, 43, 46, 47
as state–corporate crime, 630 Engaged relationship, 15
vulnerability, 636–638 English Anthroposophical Society, 743
1194 Index
Environmental activism, 254–256, 263 Environmental sustainability, 8, 12, 20, 653,

Environmental conflict resolution (ECR), North 658, 662, 673–674, 709
American Great Lakes Region air quality, 385
cooperation and collaboration, 845–846, emissions, 385
848 passive public transit integration ratio, 385
dialogue and communication, 844–845, regulatory policy safeguards, 385
849, 850 waste, 384
factors, 847 water sanitation and efficiency
preventative conflict intervention, 849 footprint, 385
public participation and governance, Environment-conflict thesis, 663
837–841 Epistemicide, 919, 923
resource management plans and advisory Epistemic injustice, 920, 930
groups, 841–843 Epistemic violence, 614, 616, 618
Environmental cooperation Epistemology, 911, 913, 920
Gulf countries, 814 Equality, 645, 717, 912, 922, 1037
Gulf region, 817–819 Equity, 645, 1119
marine protection, 819–821 Ethics
and peace, 815–817 solidarity, role of, 654
resource supply infrastructure, 820–824 sustainability and system maturity, 652–654
Environmental crisis, 626, 627, 632 Ethnocentric dialogue, 1077
Environmental degradation, 801 Eurocentrism, 615
and conflict resolution, 778–781 European Asylum Support Office, 538
and contemporary conflict European colonization, 101
positive peace, 790 Europeanization, 1042, 1043, 1045
in Syria, 781–787 Exclusionary and inclusionary justice, 444
impact of, 786 Extended contact, 951
and in MENA Region, 789–790
in Syria, 788
Environmental disasters, 662 F
Environmental harms, 629 Faa Samoa and domestic violence, 595–596
Environmental impact assessments, 715 Fambol Tok program, 1143
Environmental initiatives Family violence, 584, 590–594, 604
positive effects, 690 Farming, 743
student challenges, 688–689 Female empowerment, 670
students’ and faculty’s life satisfaction, Feminist ethics of care, 182, 859–861
safeguarding generations, 689 Feudalism, 504
Environmentalism, 687, 688, 696 Feuerstein approach, 1092–1095
in academic settings, 688–695 Fiji Women’s Crisis Centre, 592
definition, 684 First generation of security sector reform,
Environmental justice, 648 1002–1005
Environmental peacebuilding, 776, 790 First-generation school-based restorative justice
Environmental peace education, 709 programs, 1136
Environmental Performance Index Focus group discussions (FGDs), 766, 767
(EPI), 666 Food costs, 714
Environmental racism, 685, 712–713 Food justice, 750–751, 753, 754
Environmental stressors Food security/hunger
air quality measure, 398–399 employment rate, 404
ASCE score, 400 homelessness, 404
noise pollution metric, 398 income to expense ratio, 405
randomized continuity, 399 population to foodbank use, 405
symmetry and passivity, in public Food security, 710, 714, 715, 752
space, 399 Football for Peace (F4P) project, 1096–1097
temperature variance, 399 Ford, G., 1042, 1048
Index 1195
Forgiveness, 146–148 Gender violence, 459

alternatives to, 152–153 Gendin, Sidney, 423
decisional, 153 General and complete peace (GCP), 892
emotional, 153 General and complete war (GCW), 892
of God, 149 General strikes, 217
group, 153 Genome-wide analysis of empathy, 148
guidance for researchers, 160 Genuine dialogue, 1073
interpersonal, 149 German reunification, 1044, 1045
need for, 150–152 Giscard d’Estaing, V., 1041–1043
path to, 155–157 Glenorchy, New Zealand, 725, 732, 733
process model of, 156 humor, 735
pyramid model, 156 isolation, 733
self-forgiveness, 150 multiple informal meeting areas, 734
of situations, 149 play, 735
state, 149 ritual events, 735
trait, 148–149 social codes of behavior, 733
types of, 148–150 types of people, 734
victimhood, 154–155 Glenorchy Motors, 734
and vulnerable, 155 Glenorchy Trails Trust, 725
Formal education, 717 Global culture, 715
Franco-German friendship Global deforestation crisis, 627
Mitterrand and Kohl’s friendship, Global environmental crisis, 634
1041–1043 Globalization, 751
Schmidt and Giscard d’Estaing friendship, Global Peace Index report (GPI) of 2018, 788
1041–1043 Global socioeconomic system, 916
Freedom from discrimination, 19 Global warming, 662, 682, 762
Freedom from violence, 19 God forgiveness, 149
Freire, Paulo, 195 Governance, 834, 835, 837, 838, 841
French, Peter, 420 Gramdan movement, 240
French Revolution, 213 Grand project, 1036
Fridays for the Future, 684, 687 Grassroots environmentalism, in academic
settings
in Dawson College, Canada, 690–692
eco-responsibility, 689–690
G implementation, 694–695
G6, 1042, 1043 peace education, 692–694
Galbraith, P., 320 student challenges, 688–689
Galtung, J., 370, 644–649, 653, 655–657, 856, students’ and faculty’s life satisfaction,
890, 1103 safeguarding generations, 689
and solidarity, 892–893 Great Law of Peace, 493–495
Galtung’s positive peace, 1039–1040 Greek and Roman concepts, of just war,
Galtung’s violence triangle, 505, 507, 598 476–477
Gandhi, M.K., 80 Greenbelt Movement, 107, 339–341
Gender bias, 460 Greenhouse gas emissions, 627, 715
Gendered inequality of labor Greenhouse gases, 682
and pandemic, 54 Green Revolution (GR), 713–715
Gender equality, 533, 670 Group dynamics, 159
Gender equity Group forgiveness, 153
elected office, 391 Group of Lisbon, 917
pay gaps, 391 Grown, C., 1114
policy enacted safeguards, 391 Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC), economic
workplace, 391 strengthening, 817
Gender regime, 459, 461 Gyrovagues, 741
1196 Index
H I
Hanumān, 36 Illegal immigrants, 536
Harm, 1141 Illocutionary act, 281
Hate crimes, 390 Image strands, 1107
Hate speech, 560, 561, 569, 578 Imagined contact, 951
Haudenosaunee Confederacy, 493 Impairment effects, 504
Haval, V., 1121 Impartiality, 1171
Health Imperial
heart attack and stroke rates, 380 addressing, 861
leisure time, 380 Imperial Eyes, 857
mood and anxiety disorder prevalence, 379 knowing, 859
obesity, 380 Inclusionary justice, 18
substance abuse, 379 conflict, 442
universal healthcare, 380 definition, 441
Heat waves, 762 peace, 442
Hegel, G.W.F., 420 Income inequality
Heteropatriarchy, 490–492, 494, 495, Atkinson index, 402
497, 498 gini coefficient score, 401
Hiṃsā, 31 Lorenz curve score, 401
Holism, 922, 923 wealth inequality, 402
Homeopathic approach, 744 Indian Act, 710
Homo-centric development, 648 Indigenous agricultural systems, 714
Hope, 903–906 Indigenous genocides, 616
House Un-American Activities Committee, 252 Indigenous rights, 19
Human activities, 1113 Indonesian diplomacy campaign, 569–570
Human brain development, 729 Industrial Revolution, 706
Human-centric mind frame, 12 Inequality, 949–951
Human relations/contact model, 1077 Information and communication technologies
Human rights, 709 (ICTs), 671, 672
activism, 253 Inner peace, 7, 726
agenda, 458 Institute for Economics and Peace (IEP), 353,
based diplomacy, 315 373, 490, 533, 664, 665, 777
journalism, 562, 575, 576, 578 Institutional injustice, 1104
negative, 480–481 Institutional sustainability, 671–673
peace education, 709 Institution of restorative justice, 1141
positive, 481–484 Instrumental enrichment (IE) program, 1092
violations, 536 Integral peace, 1115–1116
Human rights security Inter-Agency Standing Committee (IASC), 508
brain drain, 381 Interdependence and dependence, 861
political voice, 381 Intergenerational groups, 1122
poverty, 381 Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change
voter/civic participation, 381 (IPCC), 634, 682, 706, 780
Human security approach, 1010 Intergovernmental Science Policy Platform on
Humor Biodiversity and Ecosystem Services
and art of listening, 62–65 (IPBES), 780
as bisociation, 67–69 Intergroup contact programs, 1060–1061
in creative conflict transformation, 71–74 Intergroup Contact Theory (ICT), 951
as double illumination, 69–71 Intergroup dialogue, 1076–1078
interlinguistic and intercultural experience, Intergroup learning, 1060
74–76 Internally displaced people (IDP), 536–537
as a story, 65–67 International Campaign Against Nuclear
as a training ground for creativity, 65–71 Weapons, 252
Hybrid peacebuilding, 878 International cooperation, 21
Index 1197
International Humanitarian Law and Killilea, Steve, 373

Justifications for War, 478–480 King, Martin Luther, 80
International human rights law, twentieth Kissinger, H., 1048
century development of, 480 Kleśa, 32
International nonviolence, 17 Koestler, A., 67–69
International Peace Bureau, 169 Kohl, H., 1044–1046
International Peace Campaign, 170
International Peace Research Association
(IPRA), 170 L
International State Crime Initiative, 627 Landed sovereignty, 520
Interpersonal forgiveness, 147, 149 Language strands, 1107
Interpersonal nonviolence, 16 Latché, 1045
Intersectionality, 1054–1055 Leadership, 670
Iraq, conflict transformation in, 357–360 Lebanon
Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant (ISIL), 782 Civil War in, 354
I-You” concept, 1073 Lederach’s model, 333
Legal ownership, 801
Liberal peace, 1000
J
logic of, 1002–1005
Jain, D., 1114
scholars of, 1006
Joint project model, 1057
Liberal peacebuilding, 458, 878
Journal of Peace Research (JPR), 1037, 1038
Liberation, 619
Justice, 916, 921, 928–930, 1102, 1105, 1113,
Library Group, 1041–1043
1114, 1120
Listening, and hearing within care ethics, 862
affirmative action policies, 444
Living Campus Initiative (LCI), 717–719
and contingencies, 444
Living School Movement (LSM), 717, 720, 721
definition, 443
Lockdown, life in, 53
distributive, 444
Locutionary act, 281
exclusionary and inclusionary, 444
Lorenz curve score, 401
gap, 1129
Love, 899–901
procedural, 444
scope of, 445
Just peace, 484
M
Just war theory
Maathai, W., 106
sixteenth century developments of, 478
MacDonald, John A., 710
thirteenth century developments of, 477
Mac Ginty, Roger, 372
Macquerrie, J., 1105
K Mahayana Buddhist tradition, 81
Kālī, 33 Māori Gratitude Day, 522
Kāmā, 33 Māori philosophy, 802
Kant, Immanuel, 419, 911 Māori principles, of restorative justice, 431–432
Kenya Māori tribes, 802
colonialism, destruction, and recovery, Martin Buber’s theory of connectivity, 10
338–339 Mau Mau Rebellion, 106
colonization and reclamation, 105–107 Māyā, 32
extreme weather events, 762 McFaul, M., 318
Greenbelt Movement, 339–343 Media freedom, 19
indigenous, nonviolent methods, West Papua (see West Papua)
community strength, 108 Medieval Christian concepts, of just war, 477
pastoral communities in (see Pastoral Meditation, 83, 91
communities, in Kenya) positive effects, 84
peacebuilding, 107 types of, 85
strategic plan, 762 Mental consciousness, 83
1198 Index
Mental factors, 83 Neoliberalism, 102–103

#MeToo movement, 891 New Education Fellowship, 170
Migration, 669 News media, 572–573
Militarism, 1108, 1109 New Zealand, 798
Military integration, 1004 colonial chimera, 528
Mill, John Stuart, 423 education sector, 434–435
Mind hydropolitical conflicts, 798, 802
and buddhism, 82–85 Māori Council, 802
defined, 83 model, 1135
and positive peace, 94 natural resource use and protection, 799
Mische, P., 1114 perpetual Indigenous dispossession,
Mitterrand, F., 1044–1046 523–528
Mode of rationalization, 523 water abundance in, 800–803
Modernity, 615 water commercialisation and conflict,
Modern Occident I cosmology, 646, 649, 650, 803–806
652, 656 New Zealand Law Society (NZLS), 590
Monologue, 1073 Niger Delta, 628
Moral exclusion, and social injustice, 446 Non-cooperation, 229
Moral inclusion Non-formal education, 168
definition, 442 Non-renewable energy sources, 682
and social justice, 446–447 Nonviolence, 8, 80, 299
Moral ju-jitsu, 233 concept of, 214
Moral obligations, 1036 culture of, 1183
Motho ke motho ka batho, 914, 921, 929 definition, 214, 248–249
Multi-bi-sociation, 74 international, 17
Multinational businesses, 325 interpersonal, 16
Multinational corporations, 752 and mutual cooperation, 1181
Museum Group, 725 non-discrimination and solidarity, 1185
paradigms of, 9
personal, 16
N principled and pragmatic forms, 9
Nalanda scholars, 81 social, 17
Nan, Susan Allen, 372 and women, 249–251
Narrative model, 1057, 1077 Nonviolence and Just Peace Conference, 484
National and regional perspectives of positive Nonviolence theory
peace, 20 backfire, 233
National Institute of Water and Atmospheric moral ju-jitsu, 233
Research (NIWA), 802 political ju-jitsu, 233
Nationalism, 169 Nonviolent action, defined, 229
National University of Samoa (NUS), 594 Nonviolent campaigns, 234
Native feminist theories, 490–492, 494, Nonviolent communication, 654, 1089
495, 497 Non-violent conflict resolution, 791–792
Natsios, A., 321 Nonviolent intervention, 229
Natural light access, 396 Nonviolent movement, 230
Natural resource management, 801 Nonviolent Peaceforce’s South Sudan project
Negative cultural peace, 644 (NPSS), 304
Negative deep externalities, 645, 646, 648 Nonviolent politics, 91–94
Negative peace, 506, 521, 613, 616, 834, 835, Nonviolent protest and persuasion, 229
870, 871, 875, 876, 891, 893, 936, Nonviolent resistance
937, 1103, 1116 against Communism by Solidarity
and empathy (see Empathy) movement, 220
peacebuilding, 4 components of, 215
Negative reflexivity, 66 effects of, 220
Negative structural peace, 644 limitations on, 220–222
Nemtsov, B., 318 logic of, 216
Index 1199
long-term effects of, 221 Peace and Conflict Studies (PACS), 4, 330, 331,
non-cooperation, 217 371, 372, 374, 597, 834
positive peace, 212, 214–218 peace in, 7
practitioners and scholars on, 218 Peace-as-presence, 1114, 1117–1118
protest and persuasion, 217 actualized peace, 1116
success of, 218–220 integral peace, 1115–1116
unexpected and abnormal, 215 measuring, 1116–1117
Nonviolent revolution, 229 Peace Brigades International (PBI), 306
North East Forest Alliance (NEFA), 260 Peacebuilding, 755, 777, 834, 878–880, 941
Northern Ireland contribute to, 1171
Catholics and Protestants, perception of practitioners, 903
trust, 983 Peace communities
cross-sectional survey study, trust, 988 attributes of, 1171
distrustful attitudes in, 984 challenges, 1183, 1184
intergroup solidarity and trust, 987 characterization, 1180
Nozick, Robert, 419 on collective participation, 1171
Nuclear Disarmament Party, 252 Colombian, 1172
culture of tolerance and
non-discrimination, 1181
O
defining feature of, 1180
Obedience, 740
described, 1170
Obesity, 380
members of, 1171
Occident I cosmology, 650, 652, 656
mitigating direct violence, 1172
Oelsner’s positive peace, 1038–1039
residents of, 1173
Open public space proximity, 395
of San José de Apartadó, 1182
Oppressive system, 895
Peace education (PE), 168, 173, 176, 181, 195,
Ōrākei Māori Committee Action Group, 526
203, 692–694, 709
Otpor movement, 236
citizenship, 173
Outer peace, 726
communication and complexity and
peaceful realtionships, 1088–1091
P conflict resolution, 173
Pacifism, 9 critical peace education, 172
Pañca tattva chart, 33 criticism, 181–183
Panta rei, 911 definition, 171–172
Paralipsis, 281 descriptive research, 185
Parrhesia, 275, 278–279, 285 development, 173
Participatory and inclusive democracy, disarmament, 173
1178–1179 effectiveness, 187–189
Pastor, R., 324 environmental, 173
Pastoral communities, in Kenya evaluative research, 185
adaptation of climate change and positive Feuerstein approach, 1092–1095
peace, 770–771 Football for Peace project, 1096–1097
climate changes, scarcity of resources and global, 173
conflicts, 764–766 guidelines, 176–177, 183
conflicts and drought, 763–764 history, 168–171
positive peace model, 771–772 human rights, 173
resource changes, 764 implementation and evaluation, 185, 186
Paternity leave, 403 and international organizations, 1087–1088
Patriarchal white sovereignty, 523 moral, 173
Paul VI, 1105 moral dimension, 182
Peace, 910, 911, 921, 926, 928–930, 1117 multicultural/interreligious, 173
activism, 252 peace theorists/practitioners and educational
definition as an absence, 1103 themes, 175
vs. justice, 485 pedagogy, 176, 177
as presence, 1104–1106 pedagogy and traditional pedagogy, 178
1200 Index
Peace education (PE) (cont.) Polar ecosystems, 628

as political ideology, 180 Polemos pater pan-toon, 911
programs, 184, 186 Policy and practice strands, 1107
socialization process, 176 Political friendship
sports, 1095–1098 actors of positive peace, 1040–1046
sustainability, 173 Mitterrand and Kohl’s friendship,
yogic peace education, 172 1044–1046
Peace Education Committee, 170 and positive peace quadrant, 1035–1037
Peaceful Schools International, 171 positive peace through, 1037–1040
Peace journalism, 19, 576 Schmidt and Giscard d’Estaing friendship,
Peace keepers, 152 1041–1043
Peacemaking, 258, 260–261 Political injustices, 964
criminology, 458 Political ju-jitsu, 233
discursive resources for, 1151 Political power, 216
in personal space, 1121 Political reconciliation, 1142
in public space of communities, 1121–1122 challenges of irreconcilability, 960
in public space of global village, 1122–1123 civic friendship in agonistic politics,
Peace pole, 375–378 967–969
economic, 401–406 conceptualizations, 965
socio-cultural, 386–391 positive peace and ethics of relationship,
socio-political, 379–386 961–962
space, 392–400 relational change, 966–967
Peace psychology, 937 for societal transformation, 969–970
Peace Walls, 991 Political solidarity, 894
Pedagogy, 176 Political sustainability, 670–671
People’s planning process (PPP), 1144 Political violence, 215
Perceived procedural justice, 992 Popper’s Paradox, 203
Perlocutionary function, 281 Positive cultural peace, 644–647
Permaculture, 253–255, 263, 264 Positive mental states, 89
Personal affect, 1036 Positive peace, 5, 42, 43, 171, 353, 490–491,
Personality traits, 148 521, 522, 533, 534, 544, 612–614,
Personal nonviolence, 16 617, 644, 646, 662, 663, 667,
Personal peacebuilding 683, 733, 737, 738, 751–752, 756,
conceptual manifestation of, 43 800, 834, 871, 873, 890, 891,
domains, 44, 50, 55 893–895, 906, 1053–1054,
edges of, 51 1103, 1116
eradication of violence, 45 coloniality, 614–616
facets of, 45 decoloniality, 614–616
genesis of, 46 definition, 6, 442, 534
during pandemic, 55–57 disability, 505–507
point of departure, 44 economic sustainability, 667–669
principles of, 51 and empathy, 947–948
Personal revenge, 422 environmental education, 690–692
Personal safety, 387 environmental sustainability, 673–674
Personal violence, 505, 763 evolution of, 613
Philippine Plan of Action on the Safety of hope, 903–906
Journalists (PPASJ) framework, 577 institutional sustainability, 671–673
Phocomelia, 502 limitations, 617–619
Photography, 1153 love, 899–901
Physical violence, 505, 613 platform, 330
Place-based enterprises, 740 political sustainability, 670–671
Place-oriented cultures, 731 quadrant, 8
Plain language, 510 and refugee rights, 537–538
Index 1201
social education, 896–898 Public sphere, 276

social sustainability, 669–670 concept of, 272
via inclusionary change, 445–447 Public transit efficiency, 394
western notions of, 8 Pyramid model, 156
Positive Peace Index (PPI), 664, 675, 778
Positive peace quadrant
Q
affect, 1036
Quality of life, 388, 537
altruistic reciprocity, 1036
Quasi-perlocutionary quality, 281
equality, 1037
grand project, 1036
moral obligations, 1036 R
and political friendship, 1035–1037 Racial injustice, 1104
Positive relationships, 21–22 Racial justice, 612
Positive structural peace, 644, 645 Racial segregation, 613
Post-Cold War violent conflicts, 348 Racial violence, 613
Post-conflict justice, 457 Racism, 617, 910, 916, 917, 927, 1108–1111
bricolage, 457 comparable poverty rates, 390
ethic of care, 457 comparative employment percentages, 390
Post-liberal approaches of security sector hate crimes, 390
reform, 1011 imprisonment percentages, 390
Post-modern approach, 64 Radio NZ International (RNZI), 565
Post-war violence, 459 Raillery, 285
Potlatch Ceremony, 336 Rainforest Action Groups (RAGs), 257
Poverty, 381, 668 Rainforest ecosystems, 627
rate, 388 Rāma, 36
Power Reconciliation, in post-conflict societies,
appropriative, 857, 858 962–964
taxonomic, 858, 866 Reconstruction, U.S., 447–449
Prāṇā, 37 Refugee rights, 19
Prāṇāyāma, 31, 33 obligations of refugees, 534–535
Pragmatic nonviolence, 9, 234, 236, 237 and positive peace, 537–538
effectiveness of, 231–234 status of refugees, 535
techniques, 228 Regional Organization for the Protection of
theory, 87, 229–230 Marine Environment (ROPME), 819
Pragmatic nonviolent conflict, 237 Relational ethics
Pragmatics of Human Communication, 1089 definition, 858
Pragmatopia, 1116 ethic of care to positive peace, 861–863
Pre-modern European legality, 1131 as lived practice/dialogue, 863–866
Preventative diplomacy, 320 Relational justice, 11, 465
Primacy of local, 296, 297, 299, 302, Relational peacebuilding practices, 22
305–308 Relationship-building, 301
Principled nonviolence, 9 Relationships, 12–13
Privatization, 800 positive, 14–16, 21–22
Proactive engagement approach, 299 role in peace building, 13–14
Procedural justice, 444, 989 Remedial processes, 463
Professionalization of security, 1009 Renewable natural resources, 764
Prosocial behavior, 939 Reparation, 708
Protest and persuasion, 217 Reporters Without Borders (RSF), 561, 562
Protracted social conflict (PSC), 351–352 Residential school system, 710
Psychological violence, 587 Resource(s), 762–771, 773
Psychosocial, 462 consent, 799
Public diplomacy, 317 Resource management, 801
Public participation, 837–841, 848 plans, 841–843
1202 Index
Resource Management Act (RMA), 799 Satiractivism, 272, 273, 280–285

Responsiveness and practicing care, 863 Satire
Restoration, 708 as comic mode, 275
Restorative justice, 11, 17, 424, 430, 1128 comic political speech, 274
in Aotearoa New Zealand, 432–437 contemporary, 274
in Galtung’s positive peace definition, 274
framework, 1128 info-enter-propa-gainment, 276
healing wounds through, 970–972 new golden age of, 273
Māori principles, 431–432 outside the United States, 273
in school settings, 1135–1140 paradoxical nature, 274
theory and history, 1133–1135 public sphere, 276
transitional justice, reconciliation and, survey of, 273
1140–1144 truthiness, 275
Restorative principles, 458 ubiquity of, 273
Retribution, 418–421 in United States, 272
and positive peace, 424–425 Satyagraha, 8
state and personal revenge, 421–422 Save Our Sons, 252
vengeance, emotional need for, 422–424 Savings/secure retirement, 403–404
Retributive justice, 11, 17 Schmidt, H., 1041–1043
Reverse discourse, 279 Scientific revolution, 706
Rheomodic reasoning, 927 Second generation of security sector reform,
Rights and protections during conflict, 476 1008–1011
Right to peace, 18 Secretariat of the Pacific Community
declaration on, 476 (SPC), 592
Robinson, Fiona, 860–861 Security sector reform (SSR)
Romanus Pontifex, 916, 923 in Central and Eastern Europe, 1003
Rosenberg’s non-violent communication challenges for improving, 1009–1010
approach, 1094 in conflict-affected states, 1005
Rural Women, 725 definition, 1002
Rwandan genocide of 1994, 316 first generation of, 1002–1005
in fragile states, 1005
future of, 1019–1020
S goals, 1003
Sacrifice, and Power of Choice, 37–39 localization process, 1006
Safer space, 305 ownership and civil society-focused
Safety/crime strategies in, 1011–1014
core housing need, 382 policy trap of, 1005–1007
crimes per capita, 382 and positive peace, 1014–1015
fossil-fuel consumption rate, 383 quality of, 1016–1019
homelessness, 382 second generation of, 1008–1011
LICO-AT, 382 in Sierra Leone, South Africa, and Ethiopia,
restorative justice practice integration, 382 1012–1013
Samantha Bee, 284 state-centric approach to, 1008
Samoa, 593–595 states and security institutions, 1015
cultural/ideological violence, 602–604 technocratic approach, 1007–1008
direct violence, 598–600 Self-awareness, 1157
faa Samoa, 595–596 Self-forgiveness, 150
structural violence, 600–602 Self-knowledge, 33
Sandinista revolution in Nicaragua, 214 Self-reflection, 206
Santiago Declaration on the Human Right to Sen, G., 1114
Peace, 171 Sense of place, 732
Śāntideva, 81, 88 Serbian movement, 237
Sarvodaya movement, 238–241 Settler colonialism, 490–495, 497, 498
Index 1203
Sexual harassment, 891 gender equity, 391

Sexual violence, 505, 589, 591, 592 racism, 390
Shallow breathing, 31 trust, 386–387
Shamatha (‘concentration’), 85 Socio-economic stability, 669
Shared Socioeconomic Pathways Socio-political pole, 379
(SSPs), 668 autonomy, 383–384
Sharp, Gene, 229 environmental sustainability, 384–386
Silence, 1073 health, 379–380
Silly citizenship, 277 human rights security, 381–382
Sītā, 36 safety/crime, 382–383
Śiva, 33 Ṣoḍaśī, 34
Small-scale farming, 748 Sokolski, H., 1121
Smuts, Jan, 921–923 Solidarity, 654–655, 890, 891, 894, 895, 898,
Social behavior, 726, 729, 733 901–903, 906
Social capital, 21, 870–872, 877, 883–885 challenge, 902
bonding and bridging, 873–874 definition, 894
definition, 871 goal of, 898
horizontal vs. vertical, 872–873 hope, 904, 905
normative aspect of, 874 love, 899, 900
norms and networks, 876 political, 894
peacebuilding, 878–880 social criticism, 897
reintegration of ex-combatants, 880–883 types of relationships, 902
Social change, 464–465, 898, 903 Solomon, Robert C., 422
Social cohesion, 13 Somaliland
Social conflict, 456, 457 indigenous, consensus-building methods,
gender relationality, 456 peace, 110
therapeutic, 456 location, 108
war-peace continuum, 456 peacebuilding, 109–110
Social contract, 873 Somaliland Women’s Development Association
Social criticism, 897 (SOWDA), 109
Social cubism, 375 South Africa, 927
Social education, 896–898, 901 history of colonisation, 915–918
Social equality, 685 Kakania, 923–925
Social equity, 798 Smuts, Jan, 921–923
Social group, 726 social and epistemic justice, 918–921
Social injustice, 648 ubuntu and quest for truth, justice and
Social intelligence, 729 peace, 929–930
Social interactions, 875 South African Truth and Reconciliation
Socialization process, 176 Commission, 159, 430
Social justice, 8, 10, 490, 492, 645, 751, 773, Soyinka, Wole, 925, 926
893, 894, 896, 898–900 Space pole
as decolonization, 492–493 access to nature, 395–396
privilege and oppression in, 11 connectivity, 394–395
Social network diversity, 386 environmental stressors, 398–400
Social nonviolence, 17 locality, 400
Social prosperity, 690 sustainable materials and structure,
Social-psychological interventions, 1004 397–398
Social rights, 539 walkability, 392–394
Social sustainability, 669–670 Speciesism, 632–637
Social vs. political revolution, 235 Sports, 1095–1098
Socio-cultural pole Stakeholder engagement, 670
community cohesiveness, 387–388 Stanbrook Abbey, 739, 742, 745
diversity, 389 Standing Rock #NoDAPL movement, 891
1204 Index
State-centric approach, SSR, 1008 Sustainability, 652, 653, 655, 656, 675, 696
State forgiveness, 149 economic, 667–669
State revenge, 418, 421 environmental, 673–674
State stewardship, 801 institutional, 671–673
Statistical analysis, 663 political, 670–671
Storytelling social, 669–670
artistic leadership, 1158–1159 Sustainable Campuses Initiative (SCI),
coaching, 1160 718, 719
constructive, 1151 (see also Constructive Sustainable development, 663–665, 670, 672
storytelling) Sweet Madness: A Study of Humor, 66
core values and building on strengths, 1162 Sycamore Tree Project, 433
creating structures of support, 1161–1162 Syncretic philosophy, 28
credibility of teller, 1155 Syria
degree of artistry in, 1155–1156 conflict transformation in, 361
development, 1160 economy of, 787
dialogue, 1157 violent conflict in, 776
digital, 1153 System and structure strands, 1107
ethics of, 1163 Systemic discrimination, 711
level and reach of, 1154 Systemic racism, 706
medium, 1152–1154 System maturity, 652, 653, 655, 657, 658
model, 1077 Systems approach, 462
nurturing values and hope, 1159
peacebuilding, 1151
peacebuilding practice, 1157 T
practices, 1156 Tanah Merah project, 627
practices for peace, 22 Technical dialogue, 1073
reclaiming and restoring culture, 1159 Techno centrism, 1010
scaled-up projects, 1159 Technological intelligence, 729
self-awareness, 1156 Tellers, and listeners, 1154
skills, 1160 Thatcher, 1043–1045
strengthens resistance and The Act of Creation (1964), 67
resilience, 1163 The Baths of Lucca, 70
truth-telling re-narrate history, 1160 Theory of mind, 727
truth-telling vs. fictional approach, 1155 Thiessen, Chuck, 373
witnessing, 1163 Traditional teaching practice, 177
Strategic peacebuilding, 332 Trait forgiveness, 148–149
Street radicalism, 222 Trans Atlantic Slave Trade, 707
Strikes, general, 217 Transformative justice, 18, 458
Structural transformation, 354, 359 criminologist’s viewpoint, 458–460
Structural violence, 180, 212, 234, 373, 505, educator’s viewpoint, 460–462
507, 521–522, 597, 600–602, 613, social psychologist’s viewpoint, 462–464
646–649, 662, 763, 770, 773, 891, Transformative learning, 461
893, 898, 906, 916, 936, 949, 950, peace education, 461
953, 1054 Transitional justice, 11, 456–458, 463, 1140
of oppression, 213 Trauma, 104–105
and promoting social justice, 1174 Treaty of Waitangi, 521
Students’ performance on state assessment Trump Effect, 199–202
tests, 1136 Trust, 22
Subalternization, 615 as an outcome of contact, 988–989
Substance abuse, 379 benefits, 982
Success factors, 231 civic engagement, 387
Suffrage Movement, 495, 496 definitions, 981–982
Suicides, and COVID-19, 55 and perceived procedural justice, 989–992
Index 1205
personal safety, 387 United Nations High Commissioner for

role in building positive peace, 986–992 Refugees (UNHCR), 782
sense of belonging, 386–387 United Nations Temporary Executive Authority
social network diversity, 386 (UNTEA), 563
and solidarity, 986–988 United Nations University for Peace, 170
thick vs. thin, 982 United States, 490, 494, 495
Truth and reconciliation commissions, 457 Universal Declaration of Human Rights, 170
Truthiness, 275 Upper Paleolithic, 725
satire, 279 US, 101, 113–116
and simulacra, 277–278 US civil rights activists, 249
Truth-telling US civil rights movement, 253
vs. fictional approach, 1155 US Energy Information Administration, 805
process, 1141
and public re-narrating, 1160
Turtle Island, 707, 708, 710–713, 715 V
Twain, M., 69 Vairāgya, 31, 32
Twinned peace sport schools project, Value strands, 1107
1097–1098 Value-sustainability, 652, 653, 655, 657, 658
Veganism, 634
Vengeance, 422–424
U Verdun, 1044, 1045
Ubuntu philosophy, 912–915 Vicarious contact, 951
Unarmed civilian peacekeeping (UCP) Victimization, 462
contribution to peace, 305–308 Victim Offender Reconciliation Program
definition, 298 (VORP), 1136
modern, 298 Vinoba Bhave, 238–241
proactive engagement approach, 299 Violence, 936–941, 944, 945, 947, 950, 951,
work for people’s protection, 300–305 953, 1103, 1106, 1108, 1109,
UN Conference on Sustainable 1115, 1118
Development, 665 against women, 585–588
Underwater ecosystems, 628 structural, 212
UN Environment Programme, 663 Violent conflict, 779
1951/1967 UNHCR Convention and Refugee in Syria, 776
Rights, 534–535 Violent revolutions, 234
United Daughters of the Confederacy, 495 Vipassana (‘analytical’), 85
United Kingdom, 1043–1045 Virtual communication, 1089
United Liberation Movement for West Papua Virtue-friendship, 1035, 1036
(ULMWP), 568, 570 Vision of peace, 1106
United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Vision statements, 1114
Child (UNCRC), 432, 544–546, Voidancy, 925
552, 553 Vulnerability theory, 630, 636, 637
United Nations Conventions on the Rights of
Persons with Disabilities
(UNCRPD), 509 W
United Nations Development Fund for Women Waged vs. non-waged labor, 133
(UNIFEM), 591 Waitākere, 752–754, 756
United Nations Educational, Scientific and Waitangi Tribunal, 436–437
Cultural Organization (UNESCO), Wallenberg, R., 316, 325
560, 566 Walsh, S., 321
United Nations Environmental Programme War, 911–912, 1103–1105
(UNEP), 634, 780 Warfare, 1104, 1108
United Nations Food and Agriculture Water abundance, in New Zealand, 800–803
Organization, 633 Water commercialization, 800, 801, 803–805
1206 Index
Water efficiency, 397 in environmental activism, 254–256

Water Poverty Index (WPI), 800 in forest blockades, 260
Weapons free zones, 303 Franklin River blockade, women’s influence
Western Buddhism, 82 on, 257–258
Western capitalism, 504 Great Man theory of social change, 251
Western civilization, 651 and nonviolence, 249–251
Western colonization, 101 peace activism, 252
Western cosmology, 650 peacemaking, 258, 260–261
West Papua, 562–564 protest to planting, 263–264
danger zone and challenges for journalists, Women Protection Teams (WPT), 303
565–567 Women’s International League for Peace and
digital revolution, 573–575 Freedom, 170
fact-finding missions record ‘intimidation Women’s Strike for Peace, 252
and brutality, 567–569 Womxn of color, 490, 491, 496–498
Indonesian diplomacy campaign, 569–570 Womxn’s Rights, 18
just peace, human rights and Work-life balance, 402
communication, 575–577 World Health Organization, 688
peaceful protests, 570–571
‘pre-emptive’ mass arrests, 563–565
White feminism, 490, 491, 495–497 Y
White nationalism, 104 Yāmā, 30
White supremacist patriarchy, 103–104 Yoga
White supremacy, 490–492, 494–498 philosophy and practice, 28–31
1991 Windhoek Declaration, 561 Sūtras, 31
Wolfers, A., 315 Yogic peace education, 172
Women Youth justice system, 432–433
anti-nuclear actions, 258–260 Youth-led shanti sena, 308
in Australian environmental movements, Yukon River watershed, 111
256–257 peacebuilding, 111–112
climate actions, 261–263 YRITWC, 112–113

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Katerina Standish

The Palgrave Handbook of

With 28 Figures and 24 Tables

Adan E. Suazo Rachel Rafferty

ISBN 978-981-16-0968-8 ISBN 978-981-16-0969-5 (eBook)

Part I Introduction ....................................... 1

1 Deﬁning the Platform of Positive Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3

Part II Personal Nonviolence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25

2 The Nature of Reﬂective Choice and Nonviolence as a Personal

3 Personal Peacebuilding and COVID-19 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41

4 Humor as a Major Intellectual Device for Thriving in

5 Contemplative Practices and Nonviolence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 79

6 Resilience and the Claiming of Voice by Marginalized

Part III Interpersonal Nonviolence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 125

7 True Colors: Nonviolent Communication in the Postcolonial

8 Forgiveness: A Nonviolent Resolution of Interpersonal

Part IV Social Nonviolence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 165

9 Peace Education ....................................... 167

Part V International Nonviolence .......................... 293

15 Unarmed Civilian Peacekeeping . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 295

Part VI Social Justice: Types of Justice ...................... 415

20 Retributive Justice: The Restoration of Balance .............. 417

21 Restorative Justice: Blending Western and Indigenous

22 Promoting Peace via Inclusionary Justice ................... 441

23 Transformative Justice: Exploring the “Relational” in

Part VII Social Justice: Rights . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 473

24 The Right to Peace: From Just War to Just Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . 475

25 Women’s Rights/Gender Rights: Positive Peace as Indigenous

26 Disability Rights: Positive Peace Through a Disability Lens . . . . . 501

27 Indigenous Rights: Colonial Chimera? The Illusion of Positive

28 Refugee Rights: Essential for Positive Peace ................. 531

29 The Rights of Children: Tensions Between Protection and

Part VIII Social Justice: Freedoms .......................... 557

30 Media Freedom: A West Papuan Human Rights Journalism

31 Freedom from Violence: A Samoan Perspective on Addressing

32 Freedom from Discrimination: On the Coloniality of Positive

Part IX Environmental Sustainability: Conceptual

33 Ecocide, Speciesism, Vulnerability: Revisiting Positive Peace

Part X Environmental Sustainability: Local Perspectives . . . . . . . . 703

37 Decentralizing Consumption to Recenter the Land . . . . . . . . . . . . 705

Part XI Environmental Sustainability: National and Regional

41 Resources, Climate Change, and Implications to Positive Peace

Part XII Environmental Sustainability: International

44 Regional Environmental Cooperation: The (Lost) Potential

Part XIII Positive Relationships: Concepts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 853

46 Relational Ethics: The Possibility of a Caring Positive Peace .... 855

Part XIV Positive Relationships: Practices . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1031

54 Positive Peace Through Personal Friendship: Franco-German

56 Transforming the Way We Speak, Transforming the Way

Peace Research and Praxis, Peace Studies Journal,

Dr. Adan E. Suazo

Dr. Rafferty’s areas of expertise include collective mem-

Shir Gruber Faculty of Science, Department of Earth and Planetary Sciences,

M. B. Ramose Department of Clinical Psychology, Sefako Makgatho Health

Sorcha Tormey Australian Catholic University, Lismore, Australia

K. Standish (*) · H. Devere · A. E. Suazo

Defining the Platform of Positive Peace

transactional, dynamic, and embedded relations. Positive peace acknowledges the

Defining Positive Peace

The Multifarity of Peace

Overview of the Positive Peace Quadrant

Paciﬁsm is a refusal to participate in violence (especially state organized violence), prag-

While nonviolence is often approached as a mindset it is also frequently considered a