Peace and Planning

A few themes stand out in the readings I completed to round out my investigation of the urban peacebuilding literature – and they stood out primarily because of what was absent rather than what was present. Namely, 1) who gets to be considered a peacebuilder (especially in urban areas), 2) how the role of peacebuilder shifts when structural conflict is the predominant force, and 3) how the public shapes public space in societies where “democracy” veils such structural conflict under the guise of public participation (a question that has long been a fixture in my own intellectual journey). 

The first theme was most pronounced in Danielsson’s (2020) “The urbanity of peacebuilding: urban environments as objects and sites of peacebuilding knowledge production” in the Journal of Intervention and Statebuilding and Goetze and de Guevara’s (2014) “Cosmopolitanism and the culture of peacebuilding” in the Review of International Studies. Both these articles seem to espouse a traditional view of (well educated, cosmopolitan) peacebuilders who are parachuted in from international organizations whose explicit mission is to intervene in violent ethnic conflicts. This colonizing framing perpetuates the idea that the only types of destabilizing conflicts are those based in violent and interpersonal ethnic strife in non-Western countries. This appears to in turn suggest that peacebuilders must only be “neutral” parties shipped in from abroad with a specialized set of skills honed at premier universities shaped by globalized elites. Why are these peacebuilders the gatekeepers to the knowledge needed to unlock strategies for peace? Why are peacebuilding practices not instilled in curricula everywhere, or even in degree programs for professionals who will have a disproportionate influence on their society such as public policy, economics, political science, architecture, engineering, computer science, and business graduates? Ljungkvist and Jarstad in “Revisiting the local turn in peacebuilding – through the emerging urban approach” (2021, Third World Quarterly) do expand the realm of peacebuilding possibility to include urban planning processes, but do not critically engage with the field (though perhaps the articles they reference present a more in-depth analysis). 

To connect this gap to the second theme of how the role of the peacebuilder shifts when structural conflict is the predominant force (and to illustrate where Ljungkvist and Jarstad’s analysis could have benefitted from a closer look), the urban planning field is an illustrative example. Masters students in urban planning may be able to take a class or two in dispute resolution or mediation, but their training is limited to the types of interpersonal (albeit non-violent) conflicts that emerge in their day-to-day jobs. A developer wants to build an apartment building that will require a variance from the current zoning to permit higher-density housing…how would urban planners navigate the debate that ensues with the local planning commission? A local environmental group opposes a proposed wind turbine project because of the potential impact on local animal species…how would an urban planner mediate the conflict between the town and the energy company?  

However, how should a planner grapple with the challenges wrought by structural conflict, particularly when urban planning decisions of generations past have fomented such structural conflict? For example, it’s one thing to look at a proposed apartment building from the perspective of BATNAs and win-win scenarios, but what if the result of that negotiation process further entrenches racial and socio-economic divides by eliminating an affordable housing option? What if trying to increase the pie and seek ways out of a zero-sum mentality ends up committing a community to higher greenhouse gas emissions that will most certainly do more harm to local animal species than the wind turbines that were originally proposed (recognizing that the environmental group may not have been as genuine in their interest to protect said species in the first place, if they were operating from a place of vested self-interest given their viewsheds would be sullied)?   

This line of inquiry tees up the third theme about the tension between a liberal ideal of “democracy” highlighted in Björkdahl and Gusic’s (2013) “The divided city – a space for frictional peacebuilding” in Peacebuilding and the reality of how democracy unfolds at the local level. Environmental regulations and civil rights legislation enacted strong safeguards over the past 50 years to ensure that changes to the built environment did not compromise our natural environment or historically marginalized groups. However, enterprising factions of our society have leveraged these important reforms to their benefit in order to wield disproportionate influence over how our communities are shaped. Knowing this, how is a peacebuilder (urban planner) supposed to shed light on these larger dynamics and move the larger community to better outcomes that will inevitably lead to some (wealthier, more powerful) people feeling as though they are materially worse off as a result?  

This highlights an even more fundamental question of who is “the community”? It is certainly not a monolith, but rather represents a dynamic, fuzzy concept that requires intention and care. To take another example, imagine a neighborhood has proposed removing some parking spaces to accommodate a “streaterie” (this trend, common during the pandemic, created outdoor dining space and was typically associated with a restaurant). In this case, who is the “community” that should determine if this proposal is approved – the local people who will give up a few (public) parking spots? The locals who would benefit from safe outdoor dining? Visitors from outside the neighborhood who will bring revenue to the business? The business (which may or may not employ locals directly but is still a part of the community and because of connected economies, inevitably brings financial gains to other neighborhood retail) that generates vibrancy (and Jane Jacobs’s famed “eyes on the street”) in the neighborhood? This simple debate surfaces the fluctuating boundaries of a “community” and the role of public space (particularly when it’s being used for private – but publicly beneficial ends), complicating the notion that the local is less complex than its international or nation-state counterparts (Jeremy Levine’s 2021 book Constructing Community is a great read on the topic for those looking for a deeper dive).  

While at first glance this investigation turned up more questions than answers, these questions do point to several possibilities for urban peacebuilding moving forward. For one, it will be important to break open the peacebuilder prototype to democratize the role – everyone can be a peacebuilder, especially if the intent is to derive peacebuilding strategies at the local level to promote agency and stewardship. Second, these everyday peacebuilders must be equipped with mental models and flexible practices that can aid them in surfacing and navigating the structural conflicts that simmer beneath the surface of otherwise seemingly benign debates. This might involve, for instance, training in systems thinking and reaching across silos to engage professionals from other disciplines. Lastly, perhaps the public participation processes that we have established are not well suited for the type of dialogue needed to wade through structural conflict. While I have a lot to learn in a future literature stop on multi-stakeholder dialogue, I will bring a critical eye to this scholarship to ensure that it earnestly engages structural issues, particularly given the unique role that our built environment plays in perpetuating divides as well as the opportunities that exist for architecture, design, and planning to create public spaces that serve as areas for connection and healing.