Understanding the impact of geographies and space on the possibilities of peace activism
By Birte Vogel, HCRI, University of Manchester
Current peace research has provided scholars with a range of conceptualisations of what peace is. Further, there is a substantial body of literature on the processes used to build peace—the how of peacebuilding. However, there is little research that examines the question of where peace and peacebuilding occurs and how these spaces shape the possibilities of non-state actors to achieve their objectives. This article makes a theoretical and empirical contribution to the emerging debate by sketching out the concept of peace spaces and applying it to the United Nations controlled Buffer Zone in Cyprus, the geographical home of inter-communal peacebuilding. To determine how geographies impact on the possibilities of non-state peacebuilding actors, the article focuses on three elements, specifically, on how the physical space impacts on a) inclusion/ exclusion of participants b) protection/ control through elite actors and c) its influence on the discourses and solutions that can be imagined. The article finds that local and international actors alike make a clear connection between the physical space and ideological viewpoints, which has both enabling and restricting implications.
The Buffer Zone that divides the Greek Cypriot and Turkish Cypriot community has many names. It is referred to as the Dead Zone, the Green Line or No-Man’s-Land. It spans from west to east of the island for a length of about 180 km. At some points it covers entire villages, at others it is only a few centimetres wide. While some refer to it as a ‘corridor of death, desolation and barbed wire’ (Butor et al as cited in Grichting, 2014: 429) it has become a space that holds the possibility of co-operation by being home to many non-governmental organisations (NGOs), constituting a venue for inter-communal events and providing a “neutral” ground for the internationally sponsored peace talks on an island ridden by competing territorial claims.
Scrutinizing the so far neglected importance of physical geographies for peace studies (for notable exceptions see Björkdahl and Kappler, 2017; Björkdahl and Buckley-Zistel, 2016; Henrizi, 2015, Hancock, 2017), this article adds the dimension of space to the debate on non-state agency in conflict resolution. As yet, peacebuilding actors and academics lack an understanding of the importance of where encounters between the state, the local sphere, and international actors take place and why this matters. I argue that non-state actors need spaces in which alternatives to the status quo can be imagined, discussed, and developed to fulfil their assumed function as an agent for social change. This research discusses three elements on how space can impact on the outcome of conflict resolution activities: a) inclusion and exclusion of the population; b) how the locale impacts on the protection of non-state actors but also presents opportunities to control them, and c) how the chosen space influences the discourses and solutions that can be imagined. These categories should not be understood as setting up binaries of ‘either/or’ but help us think about where on the spectrum a particular space can be located – and what this means for its possibilities to influence wider debates.
I call such spaces appropriated for peace activism ‘peace spaces’. Peace spaces shall be understood as spaces where the subaltern voice, in this case the marginalised voice of peace, can find or create a space in which to evolve and challenge hegemonic discourses of (ethno)-nationalism or violence prevalent in (post)-conflict societies. Busteed (2005: 906) links civil resistance and geographical spaces, arguing that spaces outside the influence of hegemonic power exist in the most extreme situations and even the most authoritarian state cannot prevent their formation. Peace spaces transcend the idea of physical spaces; I understand them as networked, ideological or geographical – or any combination of the aforementioned characteristics. The concept of peace spaces will be discussed in more detail below but their distinctive feature is that they allow for diverse identity expression in deeply divided societies and against dominant social norms. While I argue that their function transcends the notion of the physical this article will nonetheless focus on the geographical component of peace spaces.
Empirically, this article discusses the above-described United Nations (UN) Buffer Zone, a de-militarised zone that splits the island of Cyprus in two. The case study helps us to understand in how far locations enable, shape and restrict non-state actors. In particular, this article focuses on the inter-communal movement. Cyprus’ inter-communal movement refers to ‘an idea, to a mindset and to people and activities’ (Loizos, 2006: 180) that have created the space and context for communication across ethnic lines with the aim of facilitating conflict resolution on the island (Broom, 2004; Wolleh, 2002; Hadjipavlou and Kanol, 2008; Constantinou and Papadakis, 2001). Today, such inter-communal activities largely take place in the Buffer Zone and range from youth sport projects, cultural events, traditional conflict resolution workshops to local, and more lately, regional conferences.[1] Activists did not choose the Buffer Zone at haphazard for inter-communal contact, but it historically has constituted the only place to meet for members of the two communities after the division of the island caused severe restrictions on crossing between 1974 and 2003.
To make the argument of the importance of spaces for peace and conflict studies, I will briefly discuss why physical space matters for the perception of social realities and how we construct a connection between physical spaces and ideological ideas. It is against this backdrop that this article illustrates possible constraints on the peace space in Cyprus by making three claims about the physical space of the Buffer Zone and its impact on the possibilities of peace-oriented civil society to engage with conflict resolution. First, the inter-communal movement has chosen the geographical space deliberately in order to escape the influence of both nationalist governments, and to create the possibility of holding meetings on “neutral” ground or, symbolically speaking, of meeting in the middle. However, the site chosen equally excludes other parts of the population because of the ideological ideas connected with the place, creating invisible social boundaries. Second, the international community acts as the sovereign of the Buffer Zone and attempts to exercise control over the activities on ‘its territory’ in accordance with their objectives. Thus, the space is not neutral per se, but alters the power relations and constraints to which non-state actors are subjected. Third, the peace space is in danger of creating an echo chamber effect if it loses connection to other political, social and cultural spaces and actors across the island.
Connecting geography and peace studies: introducing the ‘peace space’
Current peace research has provided scholars with a range of conceptualisations of what peace is.[2] From distinctions between positive and negative forms of peace (Galtung, 1969), to critical peace and conflict studies’ notions of transformative, emancipatory and hybrid peace(s) (Booth, 1991; Mac Ginty, 2011; Peterson, 2013; Williams, 2013), what peace is or could be has been thoroughly described and contested. Further, there is a substantial body of literature on the processes used to build peace—the how of peacebuilding (Paris, 2004; Paris and Sisk, 2008; Campbell, Chandler and Sabaratnam, 2011). However, there is little research that examines the question of where peace and peacebuilding occurs. Such research is urgently required as much recent theorising of the nation-state has described its withering as an effective political space, challenging orthodox International Relations scholarship that perceives the traditional Westphalian nation-state as the main (and often only) point of reference for its analysis (Booth, 2011).
Consequently, the connection between peace and conflict studies and geography was long limited to providing a geographical tool to strategic problems, such as the question of how enemy forces would approach targets, and how geographies tie in with violent conflict (Kobayashi, 2012; Woodward, 2005; Bernazzoli and Flint, 2009). Geographers were thus providing governments with military strategies rather than contributing to peace (Kobayashi, 2012: 1-2). Later, geography has fed into the creation of sites of memorialisation (such as holocaust or genocide remembrance memorials) seeking to invoke a ‘Never Again’ approach to war. All of this points to a limited institutional reading of geographers’ engagements with peace and conflict. In recent years, peace scholars and human geographers have started to investigate the connections between political ideas and geographical space. This entails that places are no longer necessarily understood as describing physical locations but rather as lived social constructs and bearers of political identities and ideologies. For instance, Taksim Square in Turkey or Tahrir Square in Egypt have become synonymous with change as driven by civil society in the minds of many. This has been recognised by political elites: Before the 2011 uprising in Egypt, Tahrir was constructed as a large traffic circle and ‘its limitations were the result of political design, of policies that not only discouraged but also prohibited public assembly’ (Ford, 2014). As Tahrir was the site of two previous revolutions in 1919 and 1952, the new layout of the area was meant to prevent large crowds from congregating there again and the square was partitioned into several sub-spaces in 1960s (Ford, 2014; Elshahed, 2011). Nonetheless, the latest uprisings occurred on the same site, indicating that physical locations can remain a symbolic bearer of radical ideas and historical memories without being actively used.
Butcher (2017) pushes this argument further by showing that the success of civil resistance is connected to where it takes place. He finds that protest in capital cities significantly increases the probability of regime change than civil resistance elsewhere in any given country. Capital cities represent ‘symbolic space associated with government strength, sovereignty, and often, economic and demographic power’ (Butcher, 2017) and as such enhance the importance of the perception of protest.
Much of the peace scholarship around space conceptually builds on the social science and humanities literature, where the ‘spatial turn’ unpacked how space as a social construct is relevant to the understanding of lived realities and cultural phenomena across the globe (Warf and Arias, 2009: 1, also; Massey, 2005; Lefebvre, 1991). Foucault (1984: 48) even suggested that ‘the present epoch perhaps be all above the epoch of space.’ He argues that ‘space takes for us the form of relations among sites,’ and thus becomes a social construct rather than a geographical location. Many academics have since attempted to make arguments using space as an analytical category. Most influential is Homi Bhabha’s (1994; 1996) work on the third space developed from literary and cultural theory perspectives, which describes the construction of culture and identity within conditions of colonial inequity. Bhabha uses the concept as an ontological, instead of geographical, category, which is often seen as an indicator for the beginning of the spatial turn in cultural studies (Wagner, 2011). Based on Jacques Derrida’s ideas, Bhabha developed the third space of enunciation as a general condition of the evolution of language, arguing that the meaning of symbols and language does not exist, as it is always depended on context and is thus fluid and transformable (Wagner, 2011). Bhabha employs the concept of the third space of enunciation to argue that all cultural systems are ever-changing socio-cultural constructs. Thus he regards the third space not as a distinct cultural space, but rather as a process of cultural translation between traditions (Papoulias, 2011: 54; Bhabha, 1994). The deconstructivist nature of Bhabha’s hybridity concept is often perceived as limited to geographic spaces, which restricts Bhabha’s idea and its influence.
The relevance of Bhabha’s concept for peacebuilding is the process where two (antagonistic) parties meet to renegotiate history and identity, which enables a common position to emerge that can be communicated from within the third space to the outside communities. This understanding of Bhabha is echoed by Steve Pile (1994), who reads third spaces as ‘a space that avoids the politics of polarity and enables the construction of new radical allegiances to oppose the structures of authority’. It points to the notion of alternative solution, or in Bhabha’s case, the formation of an alternative culture and identities and social change in the long run.
As outlined in the introduction, peace spaces should be understood as spaces where the subaltern voice finds a “home” to evolve and to challenge hegemonic discourses. Peace spaces – as other socially constructed spaces – share similarities and characteristics that separate them from others and we can only identify something as a distinct space because of grouping its inhabitants, activities, ideologies or political goals by their commonalities. Further, we define something as a distinct space because it differs from its environment, the actors or actions around it – or at least we imagine these differences. As Busteed (2005) argues, ‘in both cases an essentialist definition is crafted in terms of perceived differences, a narrative of historical community […] and a myth of cultural homogeneity […], subsuming internal cleavages to forge political unity in the face of the “other”.’ Thus, different, often opposing (ideological) spaces do each other a favour by ‘providing a basis for mutual definition’. In this vein, peace-orientated civil society is always at risk of being used as a counter image to the state discourse, and alternative spaces can be portrayed as dangerous to national interests and perceived as a threat to those in power. Such processes indeed are common and can be observed in different conflict and post-conflict societies (Herman, 2009; Liden et al., 2016). Looking at these processes through the frame of peace spaces advances our understanding of how spatial politics impact on the abilities of diverse actor to engage in conflict resolution as it draws attention to the relational component of these processes.
Busteed (2005: 907) points out that different groups may use these spaces opportunistically, arguing that ‘resistance creates its own geographies, sometimes indeed utilising the spatial lacunae left by hegemonic power, sometimes using even those spaces which are effectively controlled but escaping censure by careful use of tactics.’ Thus, we can assume such spaces emerge in every conflict situation, as there are always citizens and communities that contest the elite discourses with either formal or informal—and sometimes hidden—acts of resistance. This reading of subaltern voices and hidden resistance is in line with the work of James Scott (2013). Following this line of thinking, civil resistance becomes the power of the subaltern that confronts elite power. Peace spaces are thus spaces of civil resistance against the discourse of conflict and violence in their many forms, but they can also be spaces of creation and discourse formation that assist in peace advocacy. Focusing on the geographical location can provide insights into unrecognized links between the political goals and its possibilities to succeed. By focusing on the case of Cyprus, this article will explore in how far the physical locale of the Buffer Zone impacts on activists’ possibility to contribute to conflict resolution.
Research context and methodology
Whom does Cyprus belong to? Or, equally complicated, where is Cyprus? While its geographic position is determined, the island semantically ‘floats’ (Papadakis, 1998: 149). Papadakis (1998) notes that Turkish Cypriots descriptions will stress Cyprus’ vertical position as of the coast off Turkey, Syria, and Egypt. Greek Cypriots tend to emphasis the horizontal dimension placing the island in the eastern Mediterranean and closer to Europe. This is indicative of the identity conflict Cyprus is usually labelled as, and that today manifests in competing claims about territory and sovereignty between the two main ethnic groups. While Cyprus had been a place where Greek and Turkish Cypriots lived in mix communities, the ethnic tensions in the 1960s and the resulting short war in 1974 led to territorial—and thus ethnic—separation (for detailed histories of the Cyprus conflict see: Trimikliniotis and Bozkurt, 2012; Ker-Lindsay and Faustmann, 2008; Tocci, 2004). This ethnic separation was manifested with a population exchange in 1975, whereby almost all remaining Greek Cypriots in the North were relocated to the South and vice versa. Some argue that it has frozen the conflict and further, that the Green Line has cemented a border in the heads of many Cypriots, rather than aiding a solution.
In spatial terms, Greek Cypriots understand the conflict as one of international occupation of the island through Turkish military forces, while Turkish Cypriots understand it as a struggle of power over the management of space and their right for self-determination. As such, the question of what the ‘Cyprus problem’ actually is remains contested, making it consequently difficult to argue what ‘peace’ or a ‘solution’ would be. This poses some methodological challenges to this research: how can we identify what a peace space is when the very question of what ‘peace’ is seems unsolvable? For the concept to remain applicable, I understand them as spaces of resistance to violent or conflict-driven discourses and for seeking non-violent alternatives. The inter-communal movement constitutes a fitting example as a counter-point to ethnic division and long resistance against state discourses. Its existence in itself has posed a challenge to elite scripts and the definitions of the ‘Cyprus Problem’: it challenges the Turkish Cypriot claim of ‘we cannot live together’ as well as the Greek Cypriot attempt to define the conflict as a problem of external invasion without acknowledging its inter-communal dimension (Vogel 2016a). However, it is worth noting that many groups with ethno-nationalist aspirations on both sides would contest that the inter-communal movement can make any contribution to peace. Thus, rather than determining whether or not the activities of the inter-communal movement are actually moving Cyprus towards a commonly accepted path of peace, the aim of this article is to understand how the geographical location impacts on the success defined in terms of the groups’ own objectives.