Unarmed Civilian Protection: A New Paradigm for Protection and Human Security 9781529225488

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“Analyses and documents an effective, affordable and replicable approach to protecting civilians and preventing violence just when the world needs it most.” “Provides evidence that non-violent action is effective and powerful in protecting lives and human rights even in the most dangerous security situations.” Mulanda Jimmy Juma, Scuola Superiore Sant’Anna and the Africa Peacebuilding Institute

Ellen Furnari is an independent researcher in California, US.

Rosemary Kabaki is Head of Mission Nonviolent Peaceforce in Myanmar.

@policypress

Roger Mac Ginty, University of Durham

The frequent failure of military or armed interventions to protect civilians is well known. This edited collection provides a comprehensive account of a different, effective paradigm: Unarmed Civilian Protection (UCP). The principles and methods of UCP have been used for many decades to protect both specific, threatened individuals as well as whole communities. Featuring contributions from around the world, this book brings together a wide range of UCP practices in order to examine their underlying theory and interrelated strategies. The book provides an important illustration of the contributions UCP can make, while also discussing its limitations and failures.

Series Editors John Heathershaw, Shahar Hameiri, Jana Hönke and Sara Koopman

Edited by Ellen Furnari, Randy Janzen and Rosemary Kabaki

Randy Janzen is affiliated with the Mir Centre for Peace at Selkirk College in Canada.

“An excellent state-of-the-art collection of essays on a fast-growing field of practice and study. It is highly recommended for its comparative outlook and its blend of insights from practitioners and scholars.”

Unarmed Civilian Protection

Mel Duncan, Nonviolent Peaceforce

Unarmed Civilian Protection A New Paradigm for Protection and Human Security EDITED BY ELLEN FURNARI, RANDY JANZEN AND ROSEMARY KABAKI

ISBN 978-1-5292-2545-7

9 781529 225457

B R I S TO L

@BrisUniPress BristolUniversityPress bristoluniversitypress.co.ukk

@policypress

Series Editors: John Heathershaw, University of Exeter, UK, Shahar Hameiri, University of Queensland, Australia, Jana Hönke, University of Bayreuth, Germany, and Sara Koopman, Kent State University, USA Volumes in this cutting-edge series move away from purely abstract debates about concepts and focus instead on fieldwork-based studies of specific places and peoples to demonstrate how particular spatial histories and geographic configurations can foster or hinder peace, security and development. Available now Shaping Peacebuilding in Colombia International Frames and Spatial Transformation By Catalina Montoya Londoño Gender and Citizenship in Transitional Justice Everyday Experiences of Reparation and Reintegration in Colombia By Sanne Weber Navigating the Local Politics of Peacebuilding in Lebanese Municipalities By Hanna Leonardsson Precarious Urbanism Displacement, Belonging and the Reconstruction of Somali Cities By Jutta Bakonyi and Peter Chonka Post-Liberal Statebuilding in Central Asia Imaginaries, Discourses and Practices of Social Ordering By Philipp Lottholz Doing Fieldwork in Areas of International Intervention A Guide to Research in Violent and Closed Contexts Edited by Berit Bliesemann de Guevara and Morten Bøås Surviving Everyday Life The Securityscapes of Threatened People in Kyrgyzstan Edited by Marc von Boemcken, Nina Bagdasarova, Aksana Ismailbekova and Conrad Schetter For more information about the series and to find out how to submit a proposal visit bristoluniversitypress.co.uk/ spaces-of-peace-security-and-development



Forthcoming Memory Politics after Mass Violence Attributing Roles in the Memoryscape By Timothy Williams Development as Entanglement An Ethnographic History of Ethiopia’s Agrarian Paradox By Teferi Abate Adem International Advisory Board Rita Abrahamsen, University of Ottawa, Canada John Agnew, University of California, Los Angeles, US Alima Bissenova, Nazarbayev University, Kazakhstan Annika Björkdahl, Lund University, Sweden Berit Bliesemann de Guevara, Aberystwyth University, UK Susanne Buckley-Zistel, Philipps University Marburg, Germany Toby Carroll, City University of Hong Kong Mick Dumper, University of Exeter, UK Azra Hromadžić, Syracuse University, US Lee Jones, Queen Mary University of London, UK Louisa Lombard, Yale University, US Virginie Mamadouh, University of Amsterdam, Netherlands Nick Megoran, Newcastle University, UK Markus-Michael Müller, Free University of Berlin, Germany Daniel Neep, Georgetown University, US Diana Ojeda, Xavierian University, Colombia Jenny Peterson, The University of British Columbia, Canada Madeleine Reeves, The University of Manchester, UK Conrad Schetter, Bonn International Center for Conflict Studies, Germany Ricardo Soares de Olivera, University of Oxford, UK Diana Suhardiman, International Water Management Institute, Laos Arlene Tickner, Del Rosario University, Colombia Jacqui True, Monash University, Australia Sofía Zaragocín, Universidad San Francisco de Quito, Ecuador For more information about the series and to find out how to submit a proposal visit bristoluniversitypress.co.uk/ spaces-of-peace-security-and-development

UNARMED CIVILIAN PROTECTION A New Paradigm for Protection and Human Security Edited by Ellen Furnari, Randy Janzen and Rosemary Kabaki

First published in Great Britain in 2023 by Bristol University Press University of Bristol 1-​9 Old Park Hill Bristol BS2 8BB UK t: +​44 (0)117 374 6645 e: bup-​[email protected] Details of international sales and distribution partners are available at bristoluniversitypress.co.uk © Bristol University Press 2023 British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library ISBN 978-1-5292-2545-7 hardcover ISBN 978-1-5292-2547-1 ePub ISBN 978-1-5292-2548-8 ePdf The right of Ellen Furnari, Randy Janzen and Rosemary Kabaki to be identified as editors of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved: no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior permission of Bristol University Press. Every reasonable effort has been made to obtain permission to reproduce copyrighted material. If, however, anyone knows of an oversight, please contact the publisher. The statements and opinions contained within this publication are solely those of the editors and contributors and not of the University of Bristol or Bristol University Press. The University of Bristol and Bristol University Press disclaim responsibility for any injury to persons or property resulting from any material published in this publication. Bristol University Press works to counter discrimination on grounds of gender, race, disability, age and sexuality. Cover design: blu inc Front cover image: Cover Photograph by Louis Bockner Bristol University Press uses environmentally responsible print partners. Printed and bound in Great Britain by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY

Contents List of Figures and Table List of Abbreviations Notes on Contributors

vii viii xi

1 Introduction 1 Ellen Furnari 2 How Does UCP Protect Without Weapons? 14 M.S. Wallace 3 A Typology for the Various UCP Practices 27 Randy Janzen 4 UCP and Conflict Transformation 41 Christine Schweitzer 5 The Temporal and Embodied Construction of Space and UCP 52 Louise Ridden 6 Unarmed Civilian Protection: Security or Humanitarian Aid? 64 John Reuwer 7 Relational Strategies: Contested Approaches to Relationships 78 in UCP Felicity Gray 8 Unarmed Civilian Protection: Exploring the Challenge for 88 Political Science Cécile Dubernet 9 Gender and Care in Unarmed Civilian Protection 99 Derek Oakley 10 Unarmed Civilian Protection and Nonviolence with 115 Attention to Sub-​Saharan Africa Moses Monday John 11 Transforming Armed Policing in the US: Contributions From 126 Unarmed Civilian Protection Models Eli McCarthy

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12

Protecting Former Perpetrators? Expanding the Concept of UCP/​A Through an Exploration of Violence in the Reintegration of Ex-​Combatants in Colombia Beatriz Arias López, Berit Bliesemann de Guevara and Laura Jiménez Ospina 13 Unarmed Civilian Protection: Impact on Strengthening Civilian Capacities in the Bangsamoro Autonomous Region in Muslim Mindanao Jeyamurugan Vyappareddiyar 14 Conclusion Ellen Furnari and Randy Janzen

136

References Index

169 199

vi

152

165

List of Figures and Table Figures 3.1 12.1 13.1

UCP theoretical framework Assassinations of FARC peace signatories by geographical concentration, 2016–​21 Geographical areas of the conflict between the government and the Moro in the Philippines

31 141 155

Table 3.1

Typology for UCP

32

vii

List of Abbreviations ACIN AHRC ANC ARMM ARN AUC BARMM BIPOC BOL CCCH CCCM COP CPC CPT CRIN CRS CSO CSU CV DCPT DDR DRC EAPPI ELN EPL ESRC ETCR EWER FARC FIP

Association of Indigenous Cabildos of North Cauca Arts and Humanities Research Council African National Congress Autonomous Region for Muslim Mindanao National Reintegration Agency United Self-​Defence Forces of Colombia Bangsamoro Autonomous Region in Muslim Mindanao Black, Indigenous and Persons of Colour Bangsamoro Organic Law Coordinating Committees for the Cessation of Hostilities Camp Coordination and Camp Management community of practice Civilian Protection Component Community Peacemaker Teams Regional Indigenous Council of Cauca Socialist Renewal Current civil society organization Community Safety Unit Cure Violence DC Peace Team demobilization, disarmament and reintegration Danish Refugee Council Ecumenical Accompaniment Programme in Palestine and Israel National Liberation Army Popular Liberation Army Economic and Social Research Council Territorial Capacitation and Reincorporation Spaces early warning, early response Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia Foundation Ideas for Peace viii

List of Abbreviations

FOR-​PP FSA GCRF GRP HRD IA ICISS ICRC IDF IDP IELCO IFGK IHL IMT INGO IR ISM M-​19 MAQL MILF MNLF MPT NAR NGO NP NPSS NVR OECD OLBARMM ONAD OSCE PBI POC PPF PRT R2P SSPS TIPH TNLA

Fellowship of Reconciliation Peace Presence Free Syrian Army Global Challenges Research Fund Government of the Republic of the Philippines human rights defender international accompaniment International Commission on Intervention and State Sovereignty International Committee of the Red Cross Israeli Defence Forces internally displaced person Lutheran Church of Colombia Institute for Peace Work and Nonviolent Conflict Transformation International Humanitarian Law International Monitoring Team international non-​governmental organization International Relations International Solidarity Movement 19th of April Movement Quintín Lame Armed Movement Mindanao Islamic Liberation Front Moro National Liberation Front Meta Peace Teams new area of reincorporation non-​governmental organization Nonviolent Peaceforce Nonviolent Peaceforce South Sudan nonviolent resistance Organization for Economic Co-​operation and Development Organic Law for the Bangsamoro Autonomous Region in Muslim Mindanao Organization for Nonviolence and Development Organization for Security and Co-​operation in Europe Peace Brigades International Protection of Civilians Presbyterian Peace Fellowship Revolutionary Workers’ Party Responsibility to Protect South Sudan Police Services Temporary International Presence in Hebron Transitional National Legislative Assembly ix

Unarmed Civilian Protection

UCDP UCP UCP/​A UN UNDP UNGA UNHCR UNITAR UNMISS UNSG UP WPT ZVTN

Uppsala Conflict Data Program unarmed civilian protection/​unarmed civilian peacekeeping unarmed civilian protection and accompaniment United Nations United Nations Development Programme United Nations General Assembly United Nations High Commission on Refugees United Nations Institute for Training and Research United Nations Mission in South Sudan United Nations Secretary-​General Patriotic Union Women’s Protection Team Transitional Normalization Zone

x

Notes on Contributors Beatriz Arias López is Professor in the Faculty of Nursing at the University of Antioquia, Medellín, Colombia. She researches issues of collective mental health, armed and social conflict, and peacebuilding with a special focus on rural Colombia, using creative methodologies such as textile practices. As Creating Safer Space co-​investigator, she coordinates the activities of this unarmed civilian protection (UCP) research network in Colombia and Latin America. Berit Bliesemann de Guevara is Professor of International Politics at Aberystwyth University, UK. She is the principal investigator of the GCRF-​ AHRC Network Plus Creating Safer Space, which explores unarmed civilian protection and community self-​protection amid violent conflict. Her research focuses on violent conflict, international peace-​and state-​building, local peace processes, the politics of knowledge, and creative methods in international politics. Cécile Dubernet is Senior Lecturer in the Faculty of Economic and Social Sciences at the Catholic University of Paris. She specializes in international politics towards forced migrants and people trapped in conflict zones. She is the director of the Diplôme universitaire Intervention civile de paix, a member of the French Justice and Peace Commission and of the executive committee of the European Justice and Peace network. Her latest publications include, with Michel Drain, Relations Internationales, 26th edn (Bruxelles: Larcier, 2021). Ellen Furnari has been involved with UCP primarily as a researcher and consultant since the Nonviolent Peaceforce project in Sri Lanka starting in 2003. Her research has focused on UCP and included participants from many different UCP organizations. Most recently she has been teaching an online course on UCP for activists, academics and others. Felicity Gray is an award-​winning PhD scholar at the Australian National University, specializing in civilian protection, and the advocacy lead for Nonviolent Peaceforce in Washington DC. Her doctoral research focuses xi

Unarmed Civilian Protection

on the possibilities and limitations of nonviolent practices in the protection of civilians. Her research spans a range of contexts, including South Sudan, Myanmar and the US. She has held an Australian Postgraduate Award, an Endeavour Fellowship, and was named a 2022 Young Women to Watch in International Affairs by Young Australians in International Affairs. Randy Janzen has been involved with unarmed civilian protection and accompaniment (UCP/​A) as a practitioner (Guatemala, Burundi), as an educator (co-​creating the first post-​secondary programme in UCP at Selkirk College, Canada) and as a researcher. Randy is a recently retired professor of Peace and Justice Studies and hopes to continue working in UCP in the future. Laura Jiménez Ospina holds a degree in History from the National University of Colombia, Medellín, and is a Master’s student in History at the same institution. Since 2020 she has been working as a research assistant for the Creating Safer Space research network at the University of Antioquia. Moses Monday John is a nonviolent action and peacebuilding activist and researcher. He co-​founded the Organization for Nonviolence and Development (ONAD) based in Juba, South Sudan. John has more than 15 years’ intensive experience in planning and management of nongovernmental organisation (NGO) development projects, particularly those pertaining to conflict resolution, nonviolence, peacebuilding and promoting good governance. He serves as an associate lecturer on conflict management and nonviolence at the University of Juba and Catholic University of South Sudan respectively. He holds a PhD in Management Sciences Specializing in Public Administration –​ Peace Studies from Durban University of Technology, South Africa. Rosemary Kabaki has been involved as a UCP practitioner since joining Nonviolent Peaceforce (NP) in 2010. Rosemary previously worked as an International Civilian Peacekeeper with the Civilian Protection Component of the International Monitoring team with NP Philippines in Mindanao, Philippines, with NP South Caucus (Georgia) as a human rights and civilian protection expert and is currently Head of Mission of NP Myanmar (Burma) supporting civilian inclusion in peace-​and decision-​making processes. Rosemary is Kenyan. Eli McCarthy teaches at Georgetown University in Justice and Peace Studies. His most recent book is an edited volume called A Just Peace Ethic Primer: Breaking Cycles of Violence and Building Sustainable Peace (McCarthy, 2020). He also co-​created the DC Peace Team, which offers training in nonviolent communication, restorative justice, bystander intervention, along with providing unarmed civilian protection and accompaniment xii

Notes on contributors

deployments toward alternative community protection mechanisms. He went to Palestine in 2006 to monitor the Palestinian elections with the NP, and in 2015 to co-​lead the research on ‘good practices’ of unarmed civilian protection in the area. Derek Oakley is a peace worker from the UK. He has worked in civilian protection and violence monitoring in Palestine, Lebanon, South Sudan and Iraq and continues to facilitate, train, research and write in these fields. In 2020 he was awarded a PhD from Lancaster University, after completing a thesis on gendered power relations and situated learning in UCP. John Reuwer is a retired emergency physician, and former Adjunct Professor of conflict resolution at St Michael’s College in Vermont. Over the last 35 years he has deployed with volunteer unarmed peace teams in Haiti, Guatemala, Colombia, Palestine/​Israel, and several US cities. He worked in South Sudan as an international protection officer with the NP. Currently he serves on the board of World BEYOND War. Louise Ridden is an Economic and Social Research Council (ESRC) funded PhD candidate at Aberystwyth University, UK. Her research, in collaboration with NP, considers the role of nonviolence in conflict knowledge production. More specifically, Louise is concerned with the roles of space, time and affect on the knowledge-​production process, and their intersection with unarmed civilian protection. Christine Schweitzer, born in 1959 in Hamburg, Germany, has spent most of her professional life working in nonviolence and peace movements. Currently, she is a researcher at the Institute for Peace Work and Nonviolent Conflict Transformation (IFGK, www.ifgk.de) which she co-​founded, Executive Secretary of the German organization Federation for Social Defence (www.sozi​ale-​verte​idig​ung.de), and co-​editor of the bi-​monthly magazine Peace Forum (www.frie​dens​koop​erat​ive.de). Jeyamurugan Vyappareddiyar was a Rotary Peace Fellow from International Christian University (ICU), Tokyo (2014/​2 016). He worked at Nonviolent Peaceforce (NP) in the Philippines from 2008 to 2014 and is currently senior program manager of the program support to the Bangsamoro Transition (Subatra) of the Consortium of Bangsamoro Civil Society Inc (https://​ban​gsam​oroc​ivil​soci​ety.org/​). His PhD research dissertation is ‘Role of memory, memorialization in the post-​war context of Sri Lanka and Mindanao’, in fulfilling the PhD Program of Development Study at the University of the Philippines, Los Banos (https://​www.uplb. edu.ph). xiii

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M.S. Wallace teaches in Portland State University’s Conflict Resolution programme, is contributing editor of the Peace Science Digest, and serves as associate editor of the new Journal of Pacifism and Nonviolence. Her book, Security without Weapons: Rethinking Violence, Nonviolent Action, and Civilian Protection (New York: Routledge, 2017), examines NP’s UCP work in Sri Lanka amid broader debates about the efficacy and ethics of violence and nonviolence. More broadly, her research focuses on nonviolent, demilitarized approaches to security and violence prevention.

xiv

1

Introduction Ellen Furnari In a community in South America, some international volunteers spend time with a local human rights activist, knowing their very presence will help protect this person from the death threats they receive. The volunteers accompany this person as they travel to investigate human rights abuses, go to and from their office, and sometimes as they sleep in their home, to provide protection through the volunteers’ presence. The volunteers may send letters to government and/​or military officials telling them where they are going and when. They may let people from their home country embassies know where they are, and where and when they are going elsewhere. In this way they add to their physical presence evidence of a broad network of relationships. Overall, they increase the safety for the human rights activist to carry on their work in more places and with more people than would likely be possible without them. In a city in an African country experiencing significant political violence, a local religious leader, some women from the market and others work together to protect their community nonviolently. They collaborate to both prevent armed young men from other neighbourhoods and ethnicities coming into their neighbourhood, as well as preventing the young men from their neighbourhood going out to commit violence elsewhere. Their section of the city does not experience the violence that occurs around them. In a rural area in an Asian country, local people have been trained by outsiders to monitor a ceasefire. When different armed groups violate certain provisions, these community people often contact them and point out they are in violation. Sometimes this leads to armed actors moving out of schools, or moving out of contested areas, decreasing the likelihood of violence. They also have some success in getting abducted youth released, and people detained on false charges let go.

1

Unarmed Civilian Protection

These are just three examples of ways that civilians protect themselves and other civilians, without the use or threat of violence. Sometimes called unarmed civilian protection, unarmed civilian peacekeeping or accompaniment (UCP/​A) this introduction will provide some framing of UCP/​A as background for the chapters in this book.1 This includes definitions; a brief history; some of the underlying principles and international laws and agreements on which UCP/​A operates; a short summary of how nonviolence in the form of UCP/​A is thought to work; as well as a brief discussion of the limits to UCP/​A and the relationship to some other academic fields. Each chapter in this book delves further into one or more of these issues, as well as others.

Definition Accompaniment refers to a broad spectrum of strategies that use both physical presence, as well as webs of relationship, advocacy, training and other methods to help protect people in contexts with direct and indirect physical threats. Many organizations understand accompaniment as being one component of a long-​term process of working for human rights and safety, a process much larger than one specific activity (Schweitzer, 2020a). Unarmed civilian protection can be defined as the practice of civilians protecting other civilians in situations of violent conflict, imminent violence, and following crises, to prevent or reduce violence, and strengthen or build local peace infrastructures. The purpose of UCPA is to create a safer environment, or a ‘safer space’, for civilians to address their own needs, solve their own conflicts, and protect individuals and populations at risk of harm or death in their midst. (Oldenhuis et al, 2021, p 31) While accompaniment or protective presence is the older term, unarmed civilian protection reflects a wider range of protection methods, used in a wider range of contexts. In order to reflect the usages of both terms, this introduction and some of the chapters will use the acronym UCP/​A to be inclusive. There is also a growing body of work addressing how civilians protect themselves (Jose and Medie, 2016; Kaplan, 2017b; Krause, 2018 as examples). Civilians impacted by inter-​and intra-​state violence protect themselves with some methods that involve violence and many that are nonviolent. For instance, people negotiate with armed groups, they flee, or at times they draw on local norms and customs to stop the violence. For the purposes of this introduction, civilian self-​protection that is oriented to groups, not just individual self-​protection, and that is nonviolent, is generally included in the discussion of UCP/​A. While acknowledging 2

Introduction

this in some ways limits the visibility of the many ways civilians protect themselves, it is essential to acknowledge that UCP/​A is practised not only by outsiders coming in to enhance safety –​sometimes referred to as third party nonviolent intervention –​but that people have always found ways to protect their communities, without using violence.

History of UCP/​A Building on the work of Royden, Gandhi and others, Peace Brigades International and Christian Peacemaker Teams (now Community Peacemaker Teams) began using accompaniment in the early 1980s in both South and North America (Weber, 2000). Small teams of outsiders –​often international, but certainly from outside of the local community, provided physical accompaniment to community leaders working for human rights and in some cases Indigenous peoples’ rights. These leaders had been receiving death threats, and in many cases their colleagues had been murdered. While initially focused on protecting individuals in specific organizations, accompaniment was eventually used by many organizations to decrease the likelihood of attacks in specific communities (see Janzen, nd) For example, Lindsey-​Poland and Weintraub (2016) provide a brief history of this extensive and varied work in Colombia. International accompaniment developed in many cases out of solidarity movements in the Global North (see Schweitzer, Chapter 4 of this book). People wanted to use nonviolence in solidarity with activists under threat, in the very places where the threats and murders were taking place. This work reflected the desire of activists concerned about events in Guatemala, Nicaragua, Colombia, as well as in violence towards Indigenous peoples in North America, to implement something along the lines of Gandhi’s call for a peace army. Other organizations undertaking international accompaniment have included Operation Dove, Witness for Peace and SIPAZ.2 The places and spaces impacted by this field of work have continued to expand. In many cases, these interventions have attempted to create ‘safe’, or in any case safer, space for activists and local communities to engage in the social change work needed to increase human rights, democracy, women’s rights and the rights of Indigenous peoples, and decrease ethnically, religiously and politically motivated violence. Nonviolent Peaceforce (NP) began its first intervention in Sri Lanka in 2003, during a pause in the long-​running civil war. From the beginning, NP was less focused on protecting activists and the work of specific organizations and more focused on preventing violence between different ethnic groups in communities. This evolved in their work in the Philippines to be part of the official Ceasefire Monitoring Team (see Furnari, 2016b and Vyappareddiyar, Chapter 13 of this book), and has continued to evolve into a wider arena of 3

Unarmed Civilian Protection

interventions, activities, and kinds of violence addressed. At some point NP began referring to this broad set of practices as unarmed civilian peacekeeping and then unarmed civilian protection (UCP). Reflecting the current ways in which accompaniment and UCP overlap and influence each other, some authors have begun using the acronym UCP/​A to reference both streams (Schweitzer, 2020a).

Basic principles and international law/​conventions There is a wide variety of organizations and communities that involve civilians protecting other civilians nonviolently and usually based on physical presence. They use a wide range of methods and practices (see Janzen, Chapter 3 of this book). However, there are a number of shared principles that manifest in practice. These include the obvious commitment to nonviolence in their own work, though they vary in how they relate to armed actors. Another core principle is the primacy of local actors, or being rooted in needs of local communities as expressed by people in these places. Of course, whether doing self-​protection or as an invited outsider, understanding the local is complex, and a discussion of who and where is local is beyond the scope of this introduction (for example, see Charbonneau, 2012). UCP/​A organizations are generally independent of great power agendas, though some may be influenced by their funders’ agendas. Therefore, some international organizations eschew funding from certain governments. Perhaps the least shared principle is nonpartisanship. All UCP/​A organizations are partisan for human rights, particularly the right to life, free movement, freedom from torture and inhumane treatment, right to assemble peacefully, and no unfair detainment. And while many are generally nonpartisan in terms of alignment with a particular political movement, party or resolution to the violence, others are present in solidarity with specific people and/​or movements. Even those that are there in solidarity must find ways of being in relationship to at least some of the armed groups in a way that supports effective influence. (see Gray, Chapter 7 of this book). Explicitly or by implication, the practice of UCP/​A is supported by international humanitarian law, international refugee law and international human rights law, as well as a number of UN resolutions. This includes civilian immunity in conflicts –​that is the expectation that civilians are not targeted nor forcefully used in warfare as porters, shields, or through forced recruitment. The Responsibility to Protect (R2P) doctrine, adopted by the UN in 2005, includes three pillars. Firstly, governments are required to protect their population from genocide, war crimes, ethnic cleansing and other crimes against humanity (see Global Centre for the Responsibility to Protect, nd). The second pillar calls on the international community to assist states to 4

Introduction

meet this requirement. The third pillar calls on the international community to take action if a state is failing to meet this responsibility. Although never part of an official international or national intervention based on R2P, it is clear that UCP/​A can be part of a nonviolent effort for people to protect themselves and, in particular, for nonviolent international intervention. All too often the choices are presented as do nothing, use economic leverage or send in the military.

How UCP/​A works Generally, UCP/​A is based on physical presence as a core practice. While the physical presence is often complimented by advocacy with governments and international bodies, as well as at the local level, the content of the advocacy is usually informed by the work in communities. In some contexts, this is not possible, such as the limitations imposed by the Myanmar government during NP’s project begun there in 2010, or the limitations imposed by the COVID-​19 pandemic beginning in 2020. Yet even then the work away from communities is deeply informed by local connections and is oriented to influence the behaviour of armed actors primarily at the local level. As more extensively elaborated in Wallace (Chapter 2 of this book), UCP/​A works through two main strategies of deterrence and encouragement (Oldenhuis et al, 2021). Deterrence strategies work to restrain armed actors from committing violence against civilians. Encouragement strategies build on the reasons and benefits of positive relationships with civilians locally and others such as specific governments and the international community. The choice of strategies reflects both the purpose and analysis of the intervening organization or group, as well as the kinds of violence being addressed. Deterrence, for instance, has been used by some international organizations to protect human rights and environmental activists and their work. This is based on an analysis of being able to exert leverage to deter violence. Other organizations have encouraged young men to desist from violence based on their ties to their community and to uphold higher moral standards. Oldenhuis et al (2021, pp 145–​7) parse UCP/​A methods into five categories: proactive engagement, monitoring, relationship building, capacity enhancement, and advocacy. Although mentioned as a separate category, UCP/​A is most frequently a relational practice, deeply rooted in specific contexts (see Gray, Chapter 7 and Wallace, Chapter 2 of this book). Military interventions –​whether peacekeeping or peace enforcement –​rely on weapons as threat or in actual use, as well as needing relationships with broad sectors of society. UCP/​A, whether as self-​protection in one’s own community, or as interventions done by outsiders, rely heavily on relationships as the vehicle for deterring violence, or encouraging nonviolent behaviours. 5

Unarmed Civilian Protection

UCP/​A takes place in a web, a network of relationships, similar to Lederach’s discussion of peacebuilding (Lederach, 2005). Of course, this can be said about much of human interactions. However, these relationships are often developed for the specific purpose to influence others to prevent, decrease or cease violence. These relationships can be used to deter violence, for example by highlighting the potential negative results from committing violence or by exerting pressure through a network. They can encourage others to uphold agreements, human rights, doing what is ‘right’ for the community. Some relationships, whether with local people or those far away, are the avenue for advocacy to prevent violence and/​or improve the overall context of human rights violations. And, in order to monitor effectively, practitioners must have a wide network of relationships. While some of the work can be done from afar –​whether advocating with foreign governments or monitoring the safety of activists via secure technology, the hallmark of almost all UCP/​A work is presence. Building relationships requires being in places, long enough, with time to develop connections, meet others, build networks. Thus, the actual practice of UCP/​A is context dependent, deeply rooted in specific communities, neighbourhoods and networks. Each place may share similarities with others, but has its own specific history, current context, geography and culture.

Places and spaces of UCP/​A practice UCP/​A happens in particular places with specific geography, environment, interaction of geography and protection, and the spaces and needs of women and men are often differentiated. It matters whether UCP/​A is implemented in one’s own place and community, or as an outsider from another place. The practice of UCP/​A requires frequent context and conflict analysis, including mapping people and other influences on the violence. Koopman (2014), Eguren (2015), Macaspac (2018) and Ridden (Chapter 5 of this book) have all contributed to understanding the intersection of place, space and UCP/​A practice. Some people protect themselves in their own communities, in their own regions. Thus, self-​protection occurs throughout the world. Where and how the protection occurs varies by place and cultures, and is more complicated than this brief introduction can review. Clearly some of the ways that people protect themselves are nonviolent and embedded in relationships within the community and between the community and the sources of violence as previously discussed. In the 1980s through to early 2000s, most of the international organizations focused on bringing Global North volunteers or staff to places in the Global South. In most cases these were places where the intra-​state violence was supported, and in some cases initiated, by Global North powers. Some 6

Introduction

of the places were urban, some rural, and some of the challenges faced by these organizations involved accompanying people as they moved between places. For instance, an urban human rights lawyer might need to go to a rural area where a massacre had occurred. To increase their safety and decrease the likelihood they would be ‘disappeared’ or killed along the way, foreign accompaniers would go with them, having developed a network of relationships to increase their safety, as discussed earlier. Other accompaniment work included being in the offices, or even the homes, of those accompanied. As previously noted, one of the hallmarks of UCP/​A is physical presence, volunteers/​staff live in the communities where they work, usually in similar housing, shopping in local markets, and are out and about in the community when it is safe to do so. This supports creating relationships and makes the volunteers/​staff accessible for informal conversation as well as formal meetings. Given the historical background of work begun in the 1980s and 1990s and the interests of Global North activists, more international interventions and attention has been paid to Central and South America, as well as Palestine/​Israel and other areas of the Middle East. There have been a number of projects in Asia. There were no UCP/​A projects started solely by international organizations in Africa until Cure Violence began work in several African countries in 2007, NP started a programme in 2010 in South Sudan, and Peace Brigades International (PBI) began a project in Kenya in 2013. There were a number of Quaker initiatives that mixed international and local Quaker committees and communities started in the late 1990s and early 2000s, some of whose work could be considered UCP/​A. Compared to other regions and the enormous need, the work in Africa is still quite limited (see John, Chapter 10 of this book). Recent expansions of the work in North America have been entirely ‘self-​protection’ in that it is carried out by people in their own communities (see McCarthy, Chapter 11 of this book). In Europe there was a period of protection work in various countries, that was both self-​protection, such as in Northern Ireland, and protection of others in specific conflicts, such as in the former Yugoslavia. This had generally subsided by the early 2000s. However, there has been a recent expansion of work focused on the needs and protection of refugees (Schweitzer, 2021). In the beginning of PBI’s work, they talked about ‘creating safe space’. This reflected a vision that the presence of internationals and the use of the networks of relationships with governments, embassies and emergency response networks that would send faxes, letters and make phone calls, would impact the conditions and contexts sufficiently that there was ‘safe space’ for human rights activists. Over time this vision has changed, in particular a recognition that ‘safer’ is more accurate than ‘safe’. PBI’s mission currently includes the phrase ‘work to open a space for peace’ (Peace Brigades 7

Unarmed Civilian Protection

International, nd). Clearly the work, by being rooted in specific contexts and specific places, is very much impacted by, and in turn impacts, the places and spaces. Another change reflects efforts to ‘decolonize’ the thinking and practices of international UCP/​A efforts. For many years, it was assumed that in order to deter violence, to have the intended impact on the situation, it required people from the Global North to go to these communities impacted by the violence for which, in many cases, their own government was complicit. Their presence was part of the deterrence, but also their ability to draw on networks of influence as discussed previously. However, many of the international non-​ governmental organizations (INGOs) involved in UCP/​A have in recent years interrogated the privileges assumed to accrue due to ‘white skin’, colonial histories, and other aspects related to people from the Global North intervening in Global South communities. Some organizations consider the terminology of protection to reflect a hierarchy of protectors and protected, and thus to be patronizing and frequently a continuation of post-​colonialism. As will be evident in some of the chapters (for example see Oakley, Chapter 9 of this book) the practice of UCP/​A has changed. Many international organizations now use volunteers and staff from the Global South in many of their interventions. Additionally, some projects have expanded their work in North America (see McCarthy, Chapter 11 of this book). Additionally, due to a number of factors (including the recognition that people can often successfully protect themselves and that capacity enhancement via training and support strengthens this; the limited financial support for this form of protection; and the recognition that self-​protection is more sustainable than having outsiders come, as well as more deeply ‘decolonizing’ protection work), INGOs have put more emphasis on supporting local efforts. Arias López, Bliesemann de Guevara and Jiménez Ospina (Chapter 12 of this book) highlight the need to consider protecting former members of armed groups, which is yet another current challenge to who is protected and how. This all impacts how UCP/​A is practised in particular places and who is in the ‘protection space’.

UCP/​A and armed forms of civilian protection While accompaniment, protective accompaniment, unarmed civilian protection all emphasize being with those who are protected, UCP/​A, when used as the acronym for ‘unarmed civilian peacekeeping’, has been compared to peacekeeping undertaken by the UN and other multilateral institutions (Julian and Gasser, 2018). Clearly, while UCP/​A in any form eschews weapons as a basis for power or for influence, many of the tasks of traditional peacekeeping (and not peace enforcement) can be and are being done by unarmed civilians (Julian and Glasser, 2018). This is true 8

Introduction

in UN multi-​dimensional interventions, for example, as well as by UCP/​ A-​type organizations. Theories about how and why peacekeeping works have focused on issues such as how third parties can increase trust and lower fear between belligerents, increase the costs and repercussions of violence against civilians, while simultaneously increasing the rewards for abstaining, and the need for armed groups to have some legitimacy in the views of their own civilians as well as internationally. While UCP/​A can contribute to all these things, it is primarily, if not solely, at the local, community level. Because UCP/​A practitioners –​whether local or from afar –​usually live in the communities where they work, they can use most of these sources of influence through their local relationships. Some of this occurs locally –​ that is, bringing people together across divides for dialogue and to settle disputes, some of it occurs remotely, such as advocating in foreign countries for different government policies toward the conflict. Still, there appear to be times when nothing stops violence, or the one thing might be the actual use of weapons, or the threat of use. Clearly, UCP/​A is not useful then. Protecting civilians when armed groups are committed to harm is not easy. There are many perceived benefits of attacking civilians in one’s enemies’ communities or even in one’s own. When looking at the track record of UN missions that have been tasked with civilian protection, for example, the failures are as striking as the successes (see Wallace, Chapter 2 of this book). While UCP/​A has never been undertaken at the scale of military peacekeeping, UCP/​A at its current scale still has several advantages or strengths (See Reuwer, Chapter 6 of this book, for discussion of scale). UCP/​ A volunteers/​staff are present in the communities, not some distance away in an armed compound. This gives them a much more accurate read on the situation and a wider network of trustworthy relationships. Being unarmed means that they are not an immediate threat, and so do not usually draw attack (with some clear exceptions, such as the abduction of Christian Peace Teams staff in Iraq). Because UCP/​A interventions are deeply committed to local input and guidance, they often know about risks and potential violence before it happens and at times can help prevent it, or help civilians prepare or flee before it starts. And because UCP/​A organizations are generally independent of the current government, other armed groups or external agendas, they do not draw attacks as part of an attack on the government or on another armed group. It is important to stress, however, that UCP/​A is not just a modification of peacekeeping but is a different paradigm altogether. Practitioners understand that their work is nonviolent, based on relationships and builds on the strengths and capacities of local communities. The leverages for deterrence have some overlap, but are primarily based in local contexts. It is deeply sensitive and responsive to these local contexts and is intertwined with local knowledge and needs (knowing that ‘local’ is a complex reality). 9

Unarmed Civilian Protection

It is a different systemic set of practices for increasing safety, so that there are more opportunities for local people to work out their conflicts without resorting to violence.

Limits to UCP/​A Just as there are limits to other forms of protection, witness the thousands of civilians killed each year in violent conflicts around the world, UCP/​A certainly has limits. Local efforts can be overrun by violence perpetrated by armed groups that are not deterred by whatever means are being used to prevent violence. And whether local or international efforts, many armed groups are not deterred by the opinions of the international community, nor the need for legitimacy at home or abroad. That said, it has been noted that, even when an armed group overall is not deterred, individuals within the group may be influenced, which is a small gain. UCP/​A has traditionally been based on physical presence. At times this presence is limited or impossible due to visa or travel restrictions imposed by governments, or the degree of violence makes a presence too risky. Corporations in some places are the main source of violence, and they may hire armed guards that make presence in an area impossible. Since the beginning of the COVID-​19 pandemic in 2020, many organizations were limited by health concerns and developed new methods for maintaining contact and exercising influence, from afar. Still, this is not the same as being present in a day to-​day way. As with all organizations and efforts that rely on funding for their operations (some efforts are purely volunteer), the difficulty in finding funding is an ever-​present limiting factor. Many organizations would expand their work if they could acquire funding. Even with barely adequate funding, finding appropriate staff/​volunteers can also be a limitation. Some limitations are related to the specifics of a region, the terrain being too difficult, the lack of infrastructure, such as roads or a landing strip, making it very difficult to access. Fundamentally, because UCP/​A is largely a relational practice, at least some of the armed groups and/​or individuals must be willing to engage with the volunteers/​staff/​local efforts. When the main or at least a significant source of violence and threats emanate from the government, it is rare, though not unheard of (for instance in Israel), for the local police or military to refuse to even meet and talk. While there may be little to no influence exerted, police, local army and other government authorities at least tend to be available. Many armed groups, however, choose not to connect at all, based on their own analysis and reasons. In some cases, this is despite international pressure. In these cases, a relational practice can have little potential to prevent violence and protect civilians. Additionally, some armed groups are classified 10

Introduction

as terrorists and contact is forbidden by the government. In these cases, some UCP/​A organizations will refrain from any attempt to connect. In others, informal channels of communication may be used. In all these situations, the opportunity for UCP/​A to prevent violence and protect civilians is limited and, at times, non-​existent. Nonetheless, when accompaniment is understood as accompanying a whole process, there may still be work to be done outside the communities, or even the country.

UCP/​A related to other academic studies Much of the writing on UCP/​A has been reports, case studies and analysis of how UCP/​A works. Some work has attempted to characterize different types of UCP/​A. To date, UCP/​A research is not strongly attached to any one discipline. However, many disciplines provide useful theoretical underpinnings and theories for future research. This section reviews the overlap with several academic disciplines and fields. Due to limitations of space, this is an extremely brief review. Peace Studies, as an academic field, draws on a wide range of material ranging from Political Science and Sociology to International Relations and Psychology, to name major threads. Similarly, academic work on UCP/​ A draws on and can be situated within, a number of academic disciplines. Dubernet (Chapter 8 of this book) notes that Political Science and, in particular, International Relations scholarship address concerns about violence, security and peace. However, the practice of UCP/​A challenges some of the underlying assumptions in much of this scholarship and deserves more attention from these disciplines. Restraint in war research has focused on what deters attacks on civilians, or what helps to explain the areas of more peace, or less violence, in the midst of civil wars (see Allouche and Zadi, 2013; Stanton, 2015). This field shares a focus with UCP/​A on what encourages armed groups to abstain from harming civilians. One can also approach UCP/​A from a systems perspective, understanding it within wider networks and systems at the micro, local, national and international levels, as well as many overlapping systems such as economic, health or social systems. All these point in some way to the reality that UCP/​A takes place within fields of power and relationships and in specific historical times, places and contexts. One can think about UCP/​A in relation to critiques raised in critical security studies, itself an interdisciplinary field. Critical Security Studies have pointed to the ways that security, at the national and international levels, has often been conflated with nation-​state security (for examples see Stamnes, 2004; Booth, 2005; Sheperd, 2013). This has included a focus on armed methods for generating and maintaining security and justified many forms of state surveillance. The focus on military and police as the 11

Unarmed Civilian Protection

foundation for security has tended to gender security as a masculine pursuit, while women and children are to be protected. Those who threaten the elites that control most nations can be easily labelled terrorists, their actions condemned as violent extremism. This, and many other aspects of so called ‘realist’ approaches to security, have contributed to insecurity for many people in many places in the world. UCP/​A was not developed in response to Critical Security Studies, though it has certainly been developed, in part, in response to assumptions about the power of weapons. Nonetheless it offers some objective evidence for other paradigms of civilian security. UCP/​A does not rely on weapons, nor state apparatus for security, but rather on collective, interdependent, nonviolent, locally rooted efforts. This contributes to quite different practices to increase security. That said, though UCP/​A is generally not focused on nation-​state concerns, there have been examples of UCP/​A included in monitoring missions and participating in international humanitarian ‘clusters’ such as the internally displaced people cluster. Specific people and organizations protected by accompaniment have been highly influential in their national politics. And some advocacy campaigns have influenced national politics as well. Human Security Studies focuses on security at the individual and community level, though cognizant that individuals and communities are embedded in wider systems that impact their security (for example, see Schirch and Mancini-​Griffoli, 2015). Human security is understood to encompass a wide range of securities –​ from violence, poverty, discrimination, environmental insecurity and preventable ill health. Thus, unlike traditional security studies, human security is focused on many aspects of the lived experience of all people in a specific region or country. UCP/​ A, while primarily focused on physical security in relationship to threats and actual violence committed, obviously impacts the others. And some INGOs understand their work as not only physical accompaniment, but legal and psychological accompaniment. Political violence disrupts economies, agriculture, education and health, and, conversely, when there is safe enough ‘space’, safe enough contexts, people are able to work for security in all aspects of their lives.

Terminology used in this book As previously mentioned, while the term UCP/​A is used in this chapter, that is not always the case among the various chapters, and this inconsistency warrants discussion. Non-​uniform nomenclature in developing disciplines such as UCP/​A is not uncommon, especially when discussing not only theory but also ‘on the ground’ practices from across the globe. This book is representative of discourses occurring in a time when academic theory and professional practice of UCP are being discussed and debated on a global 12

Introduction

level for the first time. 2017 represented the first year that a large collection of groups who fall under the broad category of UCP/​A had formally met to discuss common theory and good practices (Schweitzer, 2018b). Prior to these meetings, likely the only group that utilized the terms UCP and UCP/​A was NP, the organization who spearheaded the global process of bringing these groups together. Thus, it is correct to state that UCP/​A does not enjoy widespread use among its practitioners, nor the public at large (although groups recently formed, such as the Quaker Peace Network in Burundi and the DC Peace Teams in the US, use the term). The series of five continental UCP/​A gatherings, occurring between 2017 and 2020, resulted in an acceptance and understanding of the terms by a growing number of UCP/​A groups, even if it did not result in widespread everyday use at the working level of organizations. Additionally, at the time of writing this book, the term UCP has been adopted by the United Nations, and UCP or UCP/​A are now widely used by both academics and educators. Formal education programmes, such as ones at Selkirk College in Canada, the University of Massachusetts, the Catholic University of Paris and the United Nations Institute of Training and Research, have all adopted the UCP acronym. The relationship between UCP and accompaniment has also been described in varied terms. Some scholars consider the two as separate entities (communication with Sara Koopman, 2022); however, in this book, accompaniment is considered to be a widely utilized set of practices (and thus a widely recognized term) that falls under the rubric of strategies of the broader description of UCP. The ‘A’ is thus added to the ‘UCP’ as a recognition that accompaniment is a term that is more commonly used on the ground. This edited book embraces the diverse interpretations of how UCP/​A is discussed. Within the rich understandings that are presented, there remain, however, certain foundational principles that are universally held. These are: the adherence to nonviolence, the protection of civilians (individuals and groups) without resorting to violence or the threat of violence, and work on the ground manifested by community-​based leadership and priorities. Notes 1

2

UCP/​A is not universally used, and different chapters in this book will use varying terms as explained at the end of this introduction. See websites for further information https://​www.apg23.org/​en/​ope​rati​on_​d​ove/​; https://w ​ ww.solida​ rity​ coll​ ecti​ ve.org/a​ bout-u ​ s; https://​www.sipaz.org/​?lang=​en [accessed 28 March 2022].

13

2

How Does UCP Protect Without Weapons? M.S. Wallace

Given ‘common-​sense’ wisdom that violence is required to stop violence, any serious investigation into unarmed civilian protection (UCP) must first address and interrogate widespread beliefs about the protective value of violence, and then identify and explore the range of mechanisms by which nonviolence, in the form of UCP, is capable of preventing violence and protecting civilians. This chapter first examines how collective armed security-​seeking practices –​on the part of anyone from armed activists to military forces –​are unreliable and often generate insecurity for those they are meant to protect. Second, drawing on UCP practice in a range of contexts, I argue that UCP is able to prevent and protect people from violence via four primary mechanisms, most succinctly expressed as UCP as deterrent, as mirror, as bridge, and as support –​all of which manifest differently depending on context and especially on whether the particular UCP activity is directed at the perpetrator group, the targeted civilians, the broader community or mutually belligerent armed groups. Ultimately, although neither violent nor nonviolent responses can guarantee protection from violence, the unarmed, nonviolent status of UCP actors facilitates, rather than hinders, these protective mechanisms –​while armed approaches to protection can actually weaken them.

Interrogating the protection value of weapons and violence ‘Common-​sense’ thinking about the protective value of violence relies on the assumption that violence is effective at stopping other violence. Especially when the stakes are high –​when security is at risk –​violence is often turned 14

How does UCP protect without weapons?

to as the most reliable tool for protection. Even when violence is considered a ‘last resort’, the assumption is that, where other tools did not work, violence will. This air of reliability, though, rather than being grounded in empirical evidence, emerges from violence’s ability to ‘produce some things with utter certainty (e.g. dead bodies, pain, screams)’ (Howes, 2009, p 117) –​immediate tangible effects that trick us into reading its overall efficacy as immediate, too. In fact, although violence has these reliable effects, its ability to bring about the outcome for which it is being used is far less certain. To understand why, it is worth examining more closely how collective violence operates compared to how it is assumed to operate. We tend to assume –​via the so-​called ‘domestic analogy’ –​that military action operates predominately via brute force1 and thereby somehow forces opponents into submission, leaving them with no further room for deliberation or alternate courses of action.2 This domestic analogy is the prism through which we tend to think about war: Just as someone attacked by one assailant might use violence (operating as brute force) in self-​defence to disable or kill that individual, so too, we assume, an army can use violence (operating as brute force) in self-​defence to disable or ‘kill’ an invading army with the same finality and decisiveness with which the individual can rid herself of the single assailant. But the analogy is unsound. With intergroup/​collective violence, as Howes (2009) reminds us, everything hinges on how one’s violence affects those opponents remaining after their compatriots have been killed or maimed.3 Does it decrease or increase their will to continue fighting? Coerce or energize them? In other words, barring a wholesale obliteration of their entire military capability, the opponent group is not forced into a particular course of action (retreat or surrender) –​instead, they decide how to proceed based on a mix of pressures and motivations. The results are not automatic; rather, though violence against an opponent certainly affects their military capability, it more crucially influences their will –​and therefore its effects can be unpredictable, even with a clear disparity in military capability (Arreguín-​Toft, 2001).4 In fact, one’s use of violence against the opponent group –​whether armed activists/​rebels ‘defending’ nonviolent activists from state repression (Wallace, 2018) or armed military peacekeepers intervening to protect local civilians from armed groups (Hunt, 2017) –​can actually bring about the opposite result from that intended, emboldening rather than deterring them, reinforcing the psychological and discursive conditions that make their own violence possible, and strengthening their resolve to fight harder and longer –​with obvious, negative implications for civilian protection (Wallace, 2017). The vulnerability-​inducing potential of putatively ‘protective’ violence is borne out in empirical research. Examining violent flanks mobilized alongside nonviolent resistance (NVR) movements, Chenoweth and Schock (2015) find that in none of the four cases they examine did a violent flank 15

Unarmed Civilian Protection

protect nonviolent activists from regime violence; rather, in all four cases, the presence of a violent flank actually resulted in more indiscriminate repression against both armed and unarmed movements, with the regime using the armed movement’s presence as justification. Furthermore, Pinckney finds that almost 70 per cent of civil resistance actions in his dataset where activists turned to violence were repressed, whereas only 12 per cent of actions where nonviolent discipline was maintained were repressed (2016, p 37). The recent case of Syria –​with the Free Syrian Army (FSA) forming to protect nonviolent activists from government forces –​further demonstrates how civilians can be made more vulnerable by such arming, with civilian death rates increasing substantially once the FSA formed (Wallace, 2018). More generally, armed resistance movements are almost three times more likely than NVR movements to be subjected to mass killings (Chenoweth and Perkoski, 2018), with guerrilla warfare being especially closely related to a government’s resort to mass killings, as part of counterinsurgency operations (Valentino et al, 2004). Likewise, armed military peacekeeping and/​or ‘humanitarian’ intervention, while widely considered the international community’s most decisive civilian-​protection tools, can paradoxically make civilians more vulnerable –​ whether by directly, if unintentionally, killing or injuring them (Human Rights Watch, 2000) or by sparking retaliatory or intensified violence by armed actors they are deployed to deter (Human Rights Watch, 2001; McInnes, 2001; Marks, 2007). Since military intervention for protection purposes (and even ‘robust’ peacekeeping) usually requires the intervening force to become a party to the armed conflict, possibly entailing ‘significant use of force and war-​like tactics to eliminate the capacity of the killers to conduct mass-​murder’ (Holt and Beckman, 2006, p 51), it is not surprising that those on the other end of these ‘war-​like tactics’ might respond in kind, with the ‘humanitarians’ inadvertently contributing to broader violent escalation (Julian and Gasser, 2018). Becoming a party to the conflict also means affecting the military balance of power, such that a situation that might have soon led to military defeat could drag on much longer –​bringing with it greater civilian casualties (Kuperman, 2013). Therefore, while violence may sometimes serve an immediate protective function in an interpersonal context, if it successfully disables (or deters) an individual attacker, its protective capacity becomes much less reliable in a collective/​intergroup context –​and, in fact, it can quickly turn into a liability, actually increasing the vulnerability of the people it is intended to protect. Even if the threat or use of violence –​an armed escort of humanitarian actors or internally displaced persons (IDPs), for instance –​can sometimes have an immediate deterrent and therefore protective effect, this immediate effect is not guaranteed, nor can its operation be disentangled from longer-​ term implication in the forms of vulnerability-​creation discussed earlier, 16

How does UCP protect without weapons?

which could include line-​blurring between civilian and military actors, later putting the former at risk. (Beyond the focus here on collective violence, ‘protective’ violence on the interpersonal level can also backfire –​since weapons are often read as offensive even if intended to be defensive –​such that bringing a weapon into a situation can actually provoke the violence it was only meant to protect against.5 Conversely, nonviolence can be protective even at the interpersonal level –​whether through lovingly talking down an active school shooter [Smith, 2013] or offering a glass of wine to a gunman threatening guests at a dinner party [Spiegel, 2016].)

Examining the protection/​violence-​prevention mechanisms of unarmed civilian protection Before examining the mechanisms by which UCP can prevent and protect civilians from violence, it is worth noting the tension that exists between different forms of nonviolent action –​namely, NVR (also called civil resistance) and UCP –​when it comes to protection and security. With NVR –​despite the fact that nonviolent activists are subject to lower levels of violence than their armed counterparts –​activists often do expect to face some measure of violent repression. In fact, it is often through making their bodies deliberately vulnerable to violent repression that substantive transformation can occur, through a process Sharp (1973) called political jiu-​jitsu, whereby the use of violence against clearly nonviolent activists can backfire, shifting support and power in favour of the NVR movement. In such cases, a nonviolent campaign’s broader substantive objectives may be met even if –​indeed, in part because –​individual activists were injured or killed in the process,6 even if this is not a necessary condition of NVR’s success. If physical vulnerability can be instrumental to the success of some NVR campaigns, how is it that another form of nonviolent action –​UCP –​can actually operate to protect people from violence? A short answer is that UCP, rather than prioritizing substantive political, socio-​economic goals as NVR does, prioritizes immediate physical security –​indeed, that is one of the key distinctions between the two forms of nonviolent action. And because NVR prioritizes substantive goals (for example, regime change or civil rights), it is conceptually and practically possible for a NVR campaign to make trade-​offs between the safety/​security of activists and these substantive goals. By contrast, the whole point of UCP is to prevent and protect people from violence, so the methods it employs are toward that end7 –​and may be less overtly threatening to those in power than NVR methods are, even though UCP often protects people engaged in NVR.8 The longer answer to this question –​how is it that UCP prevents and protects people from violence? –​takes shape below. 17

Unarmed Civilian Protection

As is described throughout in this volume, UCP can manifest through a range of activities, from protective presence and accompaniment to early warning/​early response (EWER) to the facilitation of dialogue and the creation of local peace/​security infrastructures. Although I will refer to many of these activities in what follows, my emphasis will be not on the activities themselves but on how they work –​what are the mechanisms in operation when these activities result in violence prevention or protection? Elsewhere, NP has summarized these mechanisms as influencing behaviour through ‘encouragement’ and ‘deterrence’ (Oldenhuis et al, 2021, pp 97–​102). Based on a review of the UCP literature and my own previous research, I develop a slightly more differentiated categorization of protective mechanisms that can be understood as fitting under this broader heading. I propose that UCP can operate via four primary mechanisms: as deterrent, as mirror, as bridge, and/​or as support. It is important to note that, although these mechanisms are distinct enough to merit distinct labels, they are not air-​tight or completely mutually exclusive. Aspects of one may be seen in another, and they also interact in crucial ways, as will be explored below. Furthermore, each mechanism may look different depending on the context in which it is operating, the type of actor engaged, and the identity/​ positioning of the UCP actor (whether an insider or outsider in relation to the community in question). Finally, as others have argued, the embeddedness of UCP actors in relationships –​and their cultivation of these –​is critical to UCP’s protective capacity (Furnari, 2015; Gray, 2021) and the operation of all of these mechanisms to some extent –​whether relationships with local armed actors to be able to call up a commander in a crisis, relationships with and between community members of diverse groups to act as trusted bridge-​builders or accompaniers, or relationships between local civilians and armed actors with whom they may have familial or other ties to leverage for influence. Descriptions and examples of each mechanism follow, as well as a discussion about how they may interact.

Deterrent Deterrence operates when an actor chooses not to engage in a particular behaviour (for example, violence against civilians) as a result of the perceived costs that could follow from doing so. It is behaviour dictated by a self-​interested concern for consequences and informed by cost/​ benefit analysis. The implication is that, were those perceived costs not present, the actor would still choose to engage in that harmful behaviour, so deterrence effectively makes an actor act ‘against their will’ (though it might be more accurate to say their will is complex and multi-​faceted since they are ultimately choosing not to behave that way, due to potential consequences) (Wallace, 2017, pp 76, 228–​9). UCP acts as a deterrent when, 18

How does UCP protect without weapons?

for instance, international team members are accompanying a human rights defender under threat, and the armed actors intent on killing or harming her decide not to when those internationals are around due to concerns about possible negative repercussions that could follow if observed (for example, reputational, political and/​or economic costs, including withdrawal of needed resources from international sponsors, international criminal prosecutions and condemnation among local supporters). It matters less what a UCP actor might actually do upon witnessing such behaviour; instead, it may be more important that their presence simply introduces uncertainty into the situation for armed actors, making violence potentially too costly and thereby shrinking political space for them (Mahony and Eguren, 1997). UCP actors facilitate deterrence when they pursue ‘conscious visibility’ in the area and engage in sustained, strategic communication with local armed actors (Mahony, 2006).The identity of the UCP actor (nationality, race/​ ethnicity, gender, age, insider/​outsider status, authority or legitimacy, or profession) can also influence the extent to which their presence may have the capacity to deter violence or not be as vulnerable to violent repression, depending on the context (Boothe and Smithey, 2007; Gowrinathan and Mampilly, 2019). Although most closely associated with the work of international UCP teams engaged in accompaniment and protective presence, deterrence can also be understood as a prime mechanism operating when local communities create autonomous ‘peace territories’ amid armed conflict and/​or engage in various forms of non-​cooperation vis-​à-​vis surrounding armed groups (Masullo, 2021). Often it is armed groups’ broader dependence on local communities –​whether for political support and legitimacy, material support, or security –​that makes them sensitive to community demands about their behaviour (Mouly et al, 2019).

Mirror UCP functions as a mirror when it ‘forces’ armed actors to confront themselves and their behaviours in a new way and take stock of their identities in light of these behaviours. To think of themselves as acting honourably and morally, those using violence often employ narratives that make their behaviours appear consistent with their self-​conceptions –​whether by casting their own actions as noble or purely defensive and the ‘other side’ as evil or less than human (and thereby deserving of violence), or by displacing or diffusing personal responsibility for, or distancing themselves from, the harmful effects of their violence (Bandura et al, 1996). It can be powerful, therefore, to ‘force’ them to see their violent behaviours in a new light that may be vastly inconsistent with who they think they are –​either by challenging their representations of their behaviours, themselves, and the people they are 19

Unarmed Civilian Protection

harming or by pinpointing responsibility and/​or bringing them face-​to-​face with the harmful effects of their violence. Elsewhere (Wallace, 2017), I have labelled this category ‘psycho-​discursive mechanisms of civilian protection and violence prevention’, because it entails sparking discursive instability and/​or cognitive dissonance vis-​à-​vis either the discourses armed actors employ to make sense of their participation in violence or the psychological ‘mechanisms of moral disengagement’ (Bandura et al, 1996) that enable their participation in violence. As I have noted: The creation of discursive instability and/​or cognitive dissonance entails an impulse to resolve this instability/​dissonance and therefore provides an opening for reflection9 about how to re-​establish stability/​ consonance between one’s sense of self and one’s actions in a context that is often bereft of such openings. (Wallace, 2017, p 199) UCP can precipitate these moments of introspection through various activities. For example, while building relationships with armed groups in a particular area, UCP actors can carefully emphasize the stated, legitimate goals and values of these groups (that may actually affirm civilian protection), drawing on these to enlist their help in preventing or remedying harm to civilians –​as when UCP actors persuade belligerents to agree to a ceasefire long enough to evacuate civilians (Furnari, 2015). By making evident the contradictions between an armed group’s stated identities and ideals and their actual behaviours –​through what Kaplan (2017a) calls ‘rhetorical traps’ –​UCP actors can provide them with the opportunity to live up to these through a change in behaviour away from civilian harm (Wallace, 2017). Community members themselves can also spark this sort of introspection through collective nonviolent protest against armed group violations, as noted by Kaplan (2013a). He argues that such protest provides hard-​to-​ ignore evidence of civilian grievance that can then be the catalyst for internal debate and discussion within the ranks of the armed group itself, led by individuals who may have already had reservations about these violations but did not previously have an opening for raising them. Collective protest brings these questions and reservations to the surface, forcing combatants to confront them (and the inconsistencies they make evident) and decide where they stand with regards to civilian harm. In addition to challenging armed actors’ representations of themselves and their actions, as well as highlighting the inconsistencies between these and ‘events on the ground’ as interpreted by contending discourses, UCP actors can challenge armed actors’ representations of the civilian ‘target’ group. In many cases, this entails clarifying the non-​combatant status of individuals or groups whom armed actors may be quick to write off –​and thereby 20

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justify targeting –​as enemy combatants (Wallace, 2017). Once individuals or groups are undeniably established as non-​combatants (or as not even aiding the enemy armed group), it is harder for many armed actors to justify using violence against them. So far, the focus here has been on activities that destabilize the discourse armed actors employ to make sense of and justify their use of violence. Other activities focus instead on making visible one’s own responsibility for the harmful effects of violence –​when displacing or diffusing responsibility for and/​or distancing oneself from these harmful effects would make participation in violence more palatable. One critical approach taken by UCP actors is to pinpoint responsibility for actual or potential violations. By sustaining a long-​term presence in a community and building relationships with all actors in the area, including armed actors at all levels up and down the chain of command, UCP actors –​through their very presence and their communications in key moments –​can make individual armed actors accountable to themselves and others in ways they would not otherwise be, thereby often preventing violence (Mahony, 2006). For instance, if lower-​level combatants are threatening civilians and a UCP actor alerts their commander –​especially when these are threats/​violations that this commander has earlier condemned –​he is called to account and must choose whether he is willing to take responsibility for these threats/​violations or not. If he is not, and he tells his combatants to stop, then it is on them –​ and they can no longer displace responsibility and argue that they were only following orders. Therefore, when actors up and down the chain of command are called to account (by UCP actors) and no one ultimately wants to take responsibility, this exercise in pinpointing responsibility can itself prevent violence (Wallace, 2017).

Bridge Whereas the mirror mechanism entails UCP’s capacity to move armed actors to look at themselves and their actions in a new way and to be accountable for the harm caused by their actions, so they choose to change their behaviour away from violence, the bridge mechanism is about creating and strengthening connections and communication channels between and within groups to make them more resistant to calls to violence and more empowered to protect themselves from violence. UCP as bridge can operate differently in multiple contexts: building communication channels between armed actors and community members in the context of one-​sided violence (or of two-​sided combat where community members are caught in the cross-​fire), building and institutionalizing relationships across ethnic (and other polarized) identities in the context of inter-​communal violence, or strengthening community bonds through organizations that can present a 21

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stronger, more unified voice against violence (Kaplan, 2017b) in the context of endemic internal or external violence. The bridge mechanism works in part by clearing up misunderstandings, clarifying identities, and performing ‘rumour control’ in crisis situations that might otherwise escalate –​as when diverse members of a local network, who meet regularly and have developed cross-​cutting relationships, can call one another and exert influence over their respective groups in response to a violent spark between these (Wallace, 2017). More broadly, such bridge-​building also rehumanizes the ‘other side,’ exposes individuals to alternative discourses/​interpretations of events (Wallace, 2017),10 increases trust, diminishes perceived insecurity, and builds the sort of integrated community fabric that is better able to withstand stressors or sparks that might otherwise lead to violence (Varshney, 2001).

Support Finally, UCP can act as a support in multiple ways that facilitate the prevention of violence against civilians, creating space and providing resources for local actors to augment their own capacity to prevent violence or protect themselves. Once again, this mechanism manifests differently depending on context and whether it is operating in reference to armed actors, potential civilian targets, or the broader community. First, in reference to armed actors, UCP can strengthen the hand of more progressive elements within armed groups, as mentioned earlier, through local community members’ collective protest. For individuals within these armed groups already uneasy about violations being committed, the occurrence of collective protest provides ‘cover’, encouraging them to make a case for more humane behaviour towards civilians; especially in cases where an armed group purports to fight for ‘the people’, when ‘the people’ collectively call for that group to stop doing what it is doing, doubts and cracks can grow within the group and pressure can mount to shift practices away from civilian harm (Kaplan, 2013a; Mouly et al, 2019). Likewise, international UCP actors can communicate the expectations of civilian protection and international humanitarian law (IHL) and thereby strengthen the hand of those in armed groups who already wish to comply with such norms (Mahony, 2006). In reference to potential civilian targets of violence, support manifests as helping create and/​or enlarge the space for these actors to engage in their own protection or human rights work. For instance, a human rights activist whose life is under threat can, while accompanied, have greater actual and perceived political space within which to work with some measure of safety (Mahony and Eguren, 1997) –​resulting in greater security not only for them but also for those affected by their work. Accompaniment or 22

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broader protective presence can also spur empowerment among those who might not otherwise stand up for their own or their family’s protection, enabling them to directly approach and confront an armed group about the whereabouts of a loved one or ongoing violations. (In both cases, note how UCP as deterrent and UCP as support coincide: The space may be created through deterrence –​or some other mechanism –​but the creation of that space serves as support for individuals/​communities to carry out protection or self-​advocacy work that would otherwise be too risky.) When it comes to support of whole communities, UCP can strengthen and/​or facilitate the emergence of a local peace/​security infrastructure. This can entail the strategic activation of norm change, as when Cure Violence outreach workers help community members organize anti-​ violence demonstrations after each neighbourhood shooting (Butts et al, 2015), or the creation or revival of institutions that can help communities become more immune, or better able to respond, to violent escalation. Examples of the latter include the creation of Women’s Protection Teams in South Sudan –​which, among other tasks, protect women venturing out to fetch firewood (Gray, 2021) –​and an inter-​ethnic network in an eastern Sri Lankan town that was ultimately successful preventing the local escalation of election-​related violence (Wallace, 2017). The extent to which UCP actors can catalyse the emergence of such peace/​security infrastructure depends on the longer-​term relationship-​building they have engaged in and the legitimacy they have developed with the local community –​whether as committed outsiders living in solidarity with the community (Wallace, 2017) or as insiders with ‘credible messenger’ status (Butts et al, 2015) and deep local knowledge (Gray, 2021) –​enabling them to serve as trusted partners in the cultivation of cross-​cutting institutions and anti-​violence norms. Finally, UCP actors can support communities in their violence prevention and protection efforts by connecting them with other humanitarian and/​or social service resources –​food, medicine, housing, mental health or drug treatment, job training, or other resources necessary to their security and well-​being –​or by helping them leave safely, if they determine this is their best remaining option for protection amid an impending military incursion or armed attack (Furnari, 2016d). In such cases, UCP actors’ engagement in EWER analysis and/​or ceasefire monitoring provides communities with the knowledge they need to protect themselves –​through displacement –​even when they may be unable to directly influence armed actors.

Interactions between mechanisms As noted, these four UCP mechanisms can overlap and reinforce each other. Relationship-​building between different polarized groups (bridge) 23

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can elicit a reinterpretation of one’s own involvement in violence in light of the opposing side’s discourse (mirror). Facilitating the creation of a local peace infrastructure or carving out space for an activist’s human rights work (support) can empower local actors to put pressure on armed groups through collective protest, sparking internal debate/​dissension and strengthening progressive voices within those armed groups (mirror and support), while also heightening concern in these groups that continued violations could damage their local reputations and result in political, economic, or security costs (deterrent). Finally, the hesitation an armed actor may experience when observing UCP actors accompanying a targeted individual (deterrent) may create just enough of an opening for reflection –​as he feels the weight of someone else’s eyes (and therefore interpretations) upon him –​ that he perceives, and must resolve, an inconsistency between his self-​perception and his actions that he has not until then had to confront (mirror) (Wallis, 2015; Wallace, 2017). Therefore, there is a dynamic interaction between these various mechanisms as they reinforce one another and ultimately strengthen UCP’s capacity for violence prevention and protection.

Conclusion Nonviolence is critical to the operation of these mechanisms, as it expresses several qualities that violence simply cannot. Chief among them are nonviolence’s capacity to model an entirely different way of responding to conflict (whereas armed approaches cannot help but reinforce the logic of violence); its embodiment of ‘two hands’ in interactions with ‘opponents’ (one hand resisting their unjust/​violent actions and the other outstretched in human connection) (Deming, 1968), exerting a unique form of pressure; and its fundamental inability to physically threaten others, which deactivates kneejerk defensiveness (both physical and psychological), allowing space to open up for other modes of perception and engagement. In particular, the key UCP activity of relationship-​building –​crucial to the activation of all four mechanisms –​is overwhelmingly facilitated by the nonviolent ethos and unarmed posture of UCP actors. For instance, NP field team members in Sri Lanka were emphatic that not having weapons is what enabled them to access and build relationships with civilian and armed actors alike (and kept them from becoming targets themselves) (Wallace, 2017). Furnari (2016d) identifies a similar theme in her interviews with both armed and unarmed peacekeepers who noted that carrying weapons hindered (or would have hindered) their ability to access the community and build relationships –​and that this relationship-​building was the most important element of effective peacekeeping. Although violence has the capacity to deter and can sometimes therefore provide immediate 24

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protection, its operation always carries the risk instead of provocation (Dafoe et al, 2021). Because violence threatens and causes physical harm, creates victims, and therefore sparks justification for retaliation, it can invigorate the opponent in their own use of violence, increasing mutual vulnerability and polarization. This point is important for understanding why it is problematic to simply combine armed and unarmed/​nonviolent approaches to protection to ‘get the best of both worlds’. Once a protection actor contributes weapons to the equation and is associated with these, the dynamic changes, and mirror, bridge, and support –​not to mention the distinct, non-​physically-​threatening operation of deterrent –​mechanisms of UCP can be significantly undermined. Although it may be impossible for a protection actor to shed all connections to violence, given the complex mix of and interactions between actors in the field (for example, armed escorts of evacuation convoys), not to mention the inescapability of our collective implication in structural violence, the point here is that minimizing –​rather than maximizing –​one’s association with weapons may, counterintuitively, have the most protective effect. Notes 1 2 3

4

5

6

7

8

On the distinction between brute force and coercion, see Schelling (1976). This paragraph borrows heavily from the author’s earlier article (Wallace, 2020, pp 54–​5). ‘If one’s intent is only to kill people then violence can reliably achieve that end, but usually the purposes that guide physical violence depend upon and are transformed by how people react to the production of dead or injured bodies’ (Howes, 2009, p 115). While a decrease in military capability can certainly diminish their will, the point is that this is not an inevitable/​automatic result. For instance, see the case of Kyle Rittenhouse, where his purported need to use the weapon he brought to a protest was produced by the very presence of that weapon, which others perceived as a threat (Reuters, 2021). This complexity in NVR’s operation accounts for why uninformed observers conclude that nonviolence fails whenever it comes up against violence –​because people are hurt or killed –​without seeing the broader picture that this sacrifice can contribute to NVR ultimately prevailing. The key difference between the function of injury and killing in NVR and their function in war is that in NVR it is sustaining –​rather than inflicting –​ casualties that can help bring about one’s substantive goals. (This does not mean, however, that NVR sustains more casualties than armed resistance –​the opposite is true.) It is important to note that some activities associated with UCP –​especially accompaniment and protective presence –​also use the dynamic of backfire to function, but they do so by heightening the possible negative effects of backfire for would-​be perpetrators in order to deter them and thereby prevent violent repression (and attendant backfire), whereas NVR is largely prepared to capitalize on violent repression when/​if it happens through the actual occurrence of backfire/​political jiu-​jitsu, further building support for the movement and ultimately helping it reach its substantive goals. Thanks to Sara Koopman for alerting me to the need for this clarification. This distinction begins to dissolve where communities are engaged in NVR against armed groups in order to wrest control of the community from them and carve out space for a 25

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9 10

‘peace territory’ (Kaplan, 2017b; Mouly et al, 2019; Masullo 2021), or in cases where a third-​party UCP actor takes a partisan stance, as do many international/​Israeli activists standing in solidarity with Palestinian NVR –​a move that can add to the power of these NVR campaigns but can also diminish the protective capacity of those third-​party activists (Coy, 2012). See Amoureux (2015) for an account of the ‘ethical reflexivity’ this could spark. These first two dimensions link with the ‘mirror’ mechanism above in so far as rehumanizing the ‘other side’ and exposing oneself to alternative interpretations of events both challenge one’s own discursive representation of the conflict.

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3

A Typology for the Various UCP Practices Randy Janzen

Based on the foundational goals of unarmed civilian protection (UCP), this chapter introduces a framework, or typology, that divides UCP into three broad categories: traditional peacekeeping, creating space for nonviolent activism, and protection of communities where violence is endemic. This framework forms the basis for the exploration of how UCP core values (such as nonviolence) influence varying manifestations of UCP and how key principles (such as nonpartisanship) need to be approached differently according to the category of UCP implemented. The framework also explores the important dimension of communities creating their own protection versus inviting outsiders (that is, internationals) to provide protection. The framework also compares UCP approaches to those conventional forms of security (from military peacekeeping and law enforcement agencies to armed insurgent groups and street gangs) which UCP attests to replace, in order to emphasize the relevance and potential for future expansion of UCP.

What is UCP? While the acronym UCP is becoming a more recognized and utilized title, the short description of what UCP is, is still awkward and even disputed. A universal definition of UCP remains elusive. Sometimes UCP is an abbreviation for unarmed civilian ‘peacekeeping’ and other times the acronym stands for unarmed civilian ‘protection’, lending itself to some uncertainty of what it actually is and, at the same time, perhaps reflecting the breadth of the activities that it defines. For example, the term ‘peacekeeping’ is perhaps a bit limiting, as UCP organizations engage in much broader activities than can be categorized by the conventional scope of this term. ‘Protection’ has 27

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a much broader scope but, at the same time, encompasses the work of so many organizations that it may lose site of the specific perspective and the unique practices that comprise UCP. Accompaniment is often a term used to describe UCP –​as accompaniment is a commonly-​used technique that falls under the broader umbrella of unarmed civilian protection., rendering the occasionally used title: unarmed civilian protection and accompaniment (UCP/​A), which has been used in other chapters in this book. UCP/​A has been employed to acknowledge that both terms are in use and thus to be inclusive of a wide range of organizations and methods, but nonetheless are based on the same principles. There is no doubt that UCP principles and tactics have been part of conflict management for thousands of years and among all cultures, being described in a multitude of ways. Succinctly, UCP mobilizes trained professionals to volatile situations, who use nonviolent techniques to reduce violence. UCP in its modern iteration perhaps began in the 1980s when grassroots groups from affluent nations began responding to the call by human rights defenders’ need for protective accompaniment, primarily in the Global South, to prevent them from being killed. Witness for Peace, for example, was an organization that began in the US that sent Americans to Central America to provide protection for nonviolent activists opposing the government crackdown against human rights defenders (Hartsough, 2014, p 112). During this time, accompaniment was seen as an act of solidarity between people from affluent countries travelling elsewhere, to protect people who were at risk due to, in part, the actions of the governments of the affluent nations from which the accompaniers came. As UCP has evolved over the past four decades, activities that capitalized on the privilege and voice of affluent-​nation volunteers eventually invited criticism to challenge the potential entrenchment of colonial hegemony and white privilege embedded in this form of partnering. Additionally, as more UCP missions played out in more varied contexts, core principles, such as nonviolence and nonpartisanship, required closer reflection to determine if they were, in fact, truly universal and paramount, or contextual. Thus, there is a need for a typology or framework to classify and explain the differing realities of UCP on the ground.

Creating a typology for UCP A typology is a method to sort or organize a phenomenon, to better understand it and to describe differences and similarities among its various iterations. For UCP, a typology helps to better organize a growing phenomenon that is becoming more complex in terms of theory and practice. In this chapter I propose a typology for UCP (Table 3.1). Prior to discussing the actual typology, I first discuss several background sources of information 28

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and variables that underscore the complexity of UCP and thus the need for a systematic way to organize it.

The UCP Global Database Beginning in 2014, the Mir Centre for Peace at Selkirk College (Canada) embarked on creating a comprehensive global database on all UCP organizations and activities since 1990. This database, the most comprehensive compilation of organizations and locations, has demonstrated the complexity of defining UCP and the breadth of variations of practice by identifying 61 organizations practising in 29 countries and regions in 2022 (Janzen, nd). The research conducted for the database revealed a broad spectrum of organizations that varied greatly in terms of resources, size, training, recruitment of volunteers and mandate, while concurrently uniting them in terms of common philosophy and activity. The database provided, for the first time, a somewhat comprehensive overview of the number of organizations engaged in UCP during the covered timeframe. The list of organizations highlights two important factors. First of all, the database highlights a dichotomy in the type of organizations: those that are primarily international in scope (that is, sending UCP personnel from a ‘home country’ to other parts of the world) and those that are better described as community-​based (that is, mobilizing community members to engage with their own community). Those in the former group tend to have a higher profile (such as Nonviolent Peaceforce (NP), Peace Brigades International (PBI)) as the scope of community-​based organizations (such as Bear Clan in Canada, Quaker Peace Network in Burundi) typically does not spread beyond the region in which they work. Secondly, the database highlights an apparent trend of an expanding number of organizations over time. The database records seven organizations in 1990 (the year it begins tracking) and 61 in 2022. This substantial increase could be a product of increasing awareness and the creation of better networks among UCP organizations, but is also likely due to the increased utilization of UCP in a variety of contexts around the globe. Finally, the information gleaned during the creation of the database reflected a lack of clear questions to ask organizations. In other words, prior to the creation of a systematic repository of UCP information, it was still unclear as to what data needed to be collected and how this data should be organized.

UCP and creating space for peace The field of Human Geography describes how individual and group actions can affect the interaction between space and peace. As Koopman 29

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writes: ‘Peace is shaped by the space in which it is made, as it too shapes that space’ (Koopman, 2014, p 109). Space can be geopolitical, personal and community based and is relational as individuals and groups influence peace and space. The dynamic of creating space for peace can be measured by documenting activities, rates of violence and describing personal perceptions of safety and peace. Since UCP is inherently relational and strives to create peace, it behoves us to explore the ways in which the different UCP forms can make space for peace. It behoves us to explore how UCP can make space for peace in comparison to conventional mechanisms that rely on violence (or the threat of violence) such as law enforcement and the military.

A theoretical framework for UCP: expanding the boundaries and understanding Considering the broad spectrum of organizations engaging in UCP, it is an advancement in the theoretical understanding of UCP that NP developed what can be described as a preliminary theoretical framework for UCP, described below (Oldenhuis et al, 2021, p 33). A theoretical framework is a method to link theoretical concepts with concrete methodologies and measurable variables, often presented in a visual to guide understanding, practice and research of interrelated and complex ideas and actions. Figure 3.1 offers a method to compare UCP organizations; thus, it is beneficial in assisting in the development of a typology. For example, in the typology presented in this chapter, UCP organizations can be categorized by their differing focus on methodologies and differing emphasis on key principles.

Conflict analysis and transformation Differing priorities based on context As UCP organizations intervene in a vast array of violent conflicts, it is understandable that the methodologies deemed most effective will vary as well. The field of Conflict Analysis and Transformation aims to describe and critically analyse conflict to devise the most effective responses. When a UCP mission is being planned, conflict analysis assists in determining stage of conflict, level of escalation, identification of parties and, thus, the priorities and methodologies. Conflict analysis can provide a framework, therefore, for understanding and organizing how UPC is operationalized in different ways. In this chapter, I refer to conflict transformation theory (Lederach, 1995; Janzen, 2018) that emphasizes conflict in relation to the concepts of power, social justice, knowledge and understanding, methodologies utilized and escalation/​de-​escalation trajectories. 30

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Figure 3.1: UCP theoretical framework

Source: Oldenhuis et al, 2021, p 33.

Development of a typology By analysing the numerous UCP organizations utilizing the global database, an understanding of space, a preliminary UCP theoretical framework, and conflict analysis and transformation theory, I propose, in Table 3.1, a typology that divides UCP into three broad categories: traditional peacekeeping, creating space for nonviolent activism, and protection of communities where violence is endemic. Table 3.1 summarizes this proposed UCP typology. It should be noted that many UCP missions engage in more 31

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Table 3.1: Typology for UCP Category of UCP

Where it is employed

Example of UCP Groups (utilizing organization violence) that UCP is replacing

1. UCP as traditional peacekeeping

Situations where there are two (or more) factions in conflict, such as a civil war, or where non-​state actors are engaged in violent interaction

NP in the Philippines, South Sudan, Sri Lanka

Conventional (military) peacekeeping forces, government armies, militia

2. UCP as creating space for nonviolent activism

Situations where human rights defenders are particularly at risk for violence from state and para-​state forces. In this context, the violence could be described as one-​sided

Community Peacemaker Teams in Palestine, PBI in Central America, Colombia

Armed insurgent groups, third-​party military support, proxy wars

3. UCP as protection of communities where violence is endemic

Situations where communities face significant violence against civilians

Cure Violence, Man Up in the US Bear Clan in Canada

Conventional law enforcement agencies, gangs, organized crime, private security forces, armed vigilante groups, armed individual citizens

than one type of UCP and, in some cases, specific projects may overlap the categories. The proceeding discussion elaborates on the categorization presented in Table 3.1.

Category 1: UCP as traditional peacekeeping Traditional peacekeeping is typically thought of as a military activity. The United Nations Blue Helmets are considered the iconic vision of peacekeeping –​armed soldiers using force only when necessary, protecting civilians, promoting human rights and the rule of law, while upholding impartiality and operating with the consent of the parties (United Nations, nd). When UCP engages in traditional peacekeeping, the goals are often the same and the tactics are similar except for the one paramount distinction: the adherence to nonviolence. In this section, I describe what UCP looks like as traditional peacekeeping. I begin with the analysis of several case studies and by utilizing the lens of conflict transformation theory; describing their methodologies; their use of local and international personnel; and their 32

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creation of space for peace, I demonstrate how UCP as peacekeeping stands as a discrete form of UCP. For the first case study, I describe a celebrated example of UCP as peacekeeping from the Pacific Island of Bougainville, where 14 traditional military peacekeeping attempts failed to end a decades-​long civil war (Stayner, 2019), which led to the deaths of 20,000 civilians (Gehrmann et al, 2015, p 55). An innovative programme jointly deployed by the governments of New Zealand and Australia used only unarmed peacekeepers, who drew upon unconventional resources to stop the fighting, while avoiding the use of the traditional threat of violence offered by military peacekeepers. The Bougainville Monitoring Group operated from 1997 to 2003, utilizing a combination of Indigenous-​to-​Indigenous relationship building involving traditions from the Māori, with a focus on gender and the involvement of women in the peace process (Gehrmann et al, 2015, p 58). Another example of UCP in the role of traditional peacekeeping is found in South Sudan, where NP has been operating for over a decade. South Sudan fell into a violent civil war shortly after it declared independence, where lines have been drawn along political and ethnic divisions and where small arms became readily available to both sides in the violent conflict. NP came to South Sudan upon the invitation of humanitarian organizations on the ground to protect civilian populations caught in the crossfire in a country where infrastructure was nearly non-​existent and where civil society lacked resources and influence (Furnari, 2015, p 175). An examination of these two case studies informs us of the unique characteristics of UCP as peacekeeping. To begin with, these two UCP peacekeeping case studies are best described as mediating in situations where power is at a stalemate. In both Bougainville and South Sudan, the warring factions have had relatively equal access to power and resources and have utilized violent and military tactics that have continued the stalemate, but with significant consequences in terms of civilian loss of life and livelihood. This type of UCP is utilized in situations characterized by violence being committed by both parties –​by government armies and nongovernment militias. It is also characterized by high awareness of the issues of the conflict but compounded by misinformation and lack of trust. Furthermore, these two case studies reveal that conflict management strategies had not effectively utilized mediation or negotiation techniques, perhaps pointing to the lack of skill development among leaders, or the lack of confidence in the effectiveness of these skills. Civil society groups have been unable to influence the conflict trajectory. There is a lack of awareness or skill among the parties with regards to mediation, nonviolent techniques and, in general, attention to de-​escalation strategies. A key characteristic of UCP as peacekeeping is nonpartisanship. In South Sudan, it was deemed critical for the programme’s goals and for the safety 33

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of staff, to not be seen to be aligned in any way with any armed group, or even other agencies (Furnari, 2016c, p 216). An important variable described in this chapter’s typology is the source of UCP practitioners. In Bougainville, the UCP missions utilized outside actors, while in South Sudan, NP utilized an intentional balance of both national (who had an intimate understanding of context and culture) and international actors (who were perceived as having no ties to complex conflict histories and were more likely to be seen as nonpartisan). In both these cases, however, personnel were educated in how foreign UCP organizations and individuals can entrench colonial power structures and cultural hegemonies that undermine local capacity. When we examine the theoretical framework presented by NP, we can also highlight methodologies that are important for UCP as traditional peacekeeping: proactive engagement, monitoring and relationship building. Understandably, the suite of methodologies under the category of monitoring are important here: ceasefire monitoring, rumour control and early warning/​ early response (EWER) mechanisms (Furnari, 2015, pp 200–​1). The goal, similar to all UCP initiatives, is to reduce violence, particularly aimed at civilians. Does UCP as traditional peacekeeping create safe space in ways that are different than traditional military peacekeeping? Testimonies from civilians from both South Sudan and Bougainville highlight a sense of being weary of seeing men with guns. Traditional armed peacekeepers can be seen as perpetuating violence and a state of war (Gehrmann et al, 2015, p 57). Unarmed peacekeepers with their commitment to the principle of nonviolence have, on the contrary, the capacity to transform space that has been heavily occupied by violence and violent perpetrators. In this sense, UCP as traditional peacekeeping offers a space for peace that traditional peacekeeping may not. This may be due in part to the inherently civilian nature of UCP operations, which juxtapose themselves against conventional peacekeeping forces, which are often tied to national armies, and thus national interests including military and economic allegiances. Due to its civilian nature, UCP is better situated to transform violent spaces created by colonial governmental practices around the world including Bougainville and South Sudan, such as the creation of borders that group disparate ethnic groups together and separate similar groups and the inadequate compensation from foreign extractive industries (Gehrmann et al, 2015, p 54). At the same time, it should be noted that in the case of Bougainville, Australia’s longstanding economic interests in Bougainville influenced their willingness to try new and innovative peacekeeping strategies (such as UCP). Thus, while traditional peacekeeping operations may be perceived as carrying out neoliberal agendas to stabilize global economic industries, the effectiveness of UCP as peacekeeping may attract future governmental organizations to 34

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increase support and funding for it. The risk is that UCP as peacekeeping simply becomes another tool for national security. The potential benefit is that UCP can improve a multitude of outcomes as it gains acceptance by influential state actors and assists to transform peacekeeping from merely a mechanism to maintaining an end to war, to one of creating social justice and more effective spaces for peace (Gehrmann et al, 2015, p 55). Researchers contend that the main goals of military peacekeeping operations can be effectively managed by UCP (Julian and Gasser, 2018, p 12), and at a reduced cost (Bund fuer Soziale Verteidigung, nd), with a diminished environmental impact (Steichen and Koshgarian, 2022), with fewer casualties for peacekeeping personnel (Janzen, 2014, p 58) and while more likely breaking the cycle of violence (Elworthy and Rifkind, 2005, p 33).

Category 2: UCP as creating space for nonviolent activism Protecting the individual’s right to protest is often considered to be the role of the state, at least in modern pluralistic democracies. However, in many instances it is the state itself (along with allied armed groups) that perpetrate violence against nonviolent activists. This predicament gives rise to our discussion on the second category of UCP: creating space for nonviolent activism. The struggle for Palestinian human rights presents an excellent case study of UCP for creating space for nonviolent activism. There are at least 13 UCP organizations (Janzen, nd) that have worked alongside Palestinian nonviolent activists as they resist Israeli occupation, which has included arbitrary arrests, home demolitions, crop destruction, and extra-​judicial killings (Amnesty International, 2022). UCP organizations such as Community Peacemaker Teams have been invited to various locations within the Occupied Palestinian Territories and utilize a range of methodologies including accompaniment. It should be noted that when the work of UCP includes the accompaniment of nonviolent activists, it often goes beyond protecting human rights defenders, to include other civilians including school children and farmers (Community Peacemaker Teams, nd). There are several ways to distinguish UCP as creating space for nonviolent activism from UCP as peacekeeping. By using a conflict transformation model, we can characterize conflicts in terms of power balance (Lederach, 1995; Janzen, 2018). Whereas UCP as peacekeeping is characterized as an intervention in situations where conflicting parties are in a power stalemate, UCP as creating space for nonviolent activism is better described as an intervention where power is unbalanced and thus violence tends to be one-​ sided. This is clearly exemplified by examples of UCP in Guatemala, where UCP was used to protect the nonviolent activism of civil society members 35

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during a civil war where the army and its paramilitary allies initiated a genocide that took the lives of hundreds of thousands of civilians, where the state apparatus was deemed responsible for 93 per cent of human rights abuses (Comision Esclaramiento Historico, 1999). One of the primary roles of nonviolent activism is to raise awareness of systemic injustices, often because awareness of the issue is either low or dissemination of knowledge may be actively suppressed by governments. Raising awareness of human rights abuses is a critical component to addressing structural power imbalances, and it is not surprising that UCP in this context is used to protect those who are actively working to raise awareness. The work of UCP in this context creates safer space not only on the ground, but also more abstractly, by changing narratives, and by shifting geographies by linking violent local realities to international economic and political structures. UCP used as creating space for activism can be considered an alternative to conventional means of creating social change, such as armed insurgency. This comparison is important considering evidence by Chenoweth and Stephan (2011) demonstrating the significantly more effective outcomes associated with nonviolent movements. Thus, this form of UCP warrants further attention and support, as creating safe spaces for nonviolent activists may be an effective means of reducing violence and creating communities built on the principles of social justice. While our first category of UCP (traditional peacekeeping) may attract the attention of states and large international government organizations and nongovernment organizations (NGOs) as a progressive form that is aligned with mainstream goals of protection of civilians, UCP as creating space for nonviolent activism is more likely to be seen with suspicion from state actors, as it is often state actors (and their allies) who inflict the violence upon the human rights defenders. For example, a United Nations resolution in 2000 to utilize UCP in Palestine was vetoed by the US (McCarthy and Pinckney, 2016, p 75). UCP as creating space for nonviolent activism can be further contrasted from UCP as peacekeeping by examining key principles. Whereas nonpartisanship is a paramount principle when UCP is engaged in traditional peacekeeping, when UCP is creating space for activism, it is often characterized as taking sides. This alleged discrepancy is, I believe, best explained by situating them in the appropriate stages of a conflict transformation model. John Paul Lederach suggests that advocacy (UCP as creating space for activism) means ‘standing with one side’ to support the balancing of power and dissemination of knowledge, while mediation (UCP as peacekeeping) requires supporting all sides, as power balance is stuck and the notion of justice is less tied on hearing one voice over the other (1995, p 15). With UCP as peacekeeping, building relationships with all parties 36

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ensures that a power stalemate does not violently escalate. With UCP as creating space for activism, relationships are often unilateral. For example, UCP actors do not necessarily build relationships with the oppressor, as is the case currently in northern Canada, where Community Peacemaker Teams has mobilized UCP practitioners to stand with the Wet’suwet’en and Gitxsan hereditary chiefs in their nonviolent struggle to block the construction of pipelines on their traditional territory. According to one UCP actor, relationship building with the law enforcement agents was non-​existent and would have been viewed as a betrayal by the people who invited them to accompany them (David Janzen, 2021, personal communication). The understanding of the principle of nonpartisanship is further nuanced among UCP organizations working alongside activists. In Palestine, for example, some members of the UCP organization International Solidarity Movement (ISM) have stretched their role to include direct involvement in nonviolent civil disobedience (Eddy, 2014, p 450), thereby raising an important issue of whether UCP can be, in fact, a form of direct activism, or whether it remains on the periphery by simply making space for local actors. As this debate continues, it appears that the critical UCP principle of primacy of local actors is upheld in either context. Similar to UCP as peacekeeping, UCP as creating space for activism has tended to utilize internationals for its missions. The reason for this lies in the documented hesitancy for many state actors to harm internationals, which can be very effective and at the same time can entrench colonial ideology that certain nationalities have greater inherent value (Lindsay-​Poland and Weintraub, 2016, p 56). Many UCP organizations that work to create space for local activists and civilians continue to utilize international accompaniers but have developed a body of knowledge and practice in order to decolonize UCP (Community Peacemaker Teams, nd). The core principle of primacy of local actors becomes paramount with this form of UCP, as with the other two forms as well. Perhaps there is even greater potential in the future to utilize more local UCP actors, as local civil society organizations may need to continue to draw upon their own community resources, using their own power, as conventional forms of resource and financial support (governmental and large non-​governmental sources) may be less available for this form of UCP. This can be seen in the case of Community Peacemaker Teams in Palestine, where, as of 2022, the team consists entirely of local personnel, although the reasons for this are varied and include a larger recognition of the positive attributes of local personnel, along with the fallout of the global COVID-​19 pandemic, where international personnel were not allowed to travel. In summary, this form of UCP differs from UCP as traditional peacekeeping in a number of ways, including the understanding of situatedness of conflict transformation trajectories, which explain differences in interpreting of key 37

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concepts such as nonpartisanship. These two forms utilize many similar methodologies. They also differ in the idea that traditional peacekeeping may receive more support from state actors as an innovative and effective way to manage violence in the form of ceasefires, but less so for UCP as creating space for nonviolent activism, where state actors are often perpetrators of one-​sided violence and where human rights defenders challenge, at a fundamental level, international structures with which state actors engage.

Category 3: UCP as protecting communities where violence is endemic Throughout urban landscapes across the globe, our modern era has witnessed the development of spaces where poor and disenfranchised people live –​poor neighbourhoods where traditional law enforcement has failed to provide effective safety and security for the residents. In the absence of meaningful protection from state law enforcement (which has in many cases actually been a source of state-​perpetrated violence) armed groups and street gangs have taken up the space to engage in violent activity with impunity –​groups struggling for power and control where violent means are the common mechanism to gain power or seek revenge (Kennedy, 2014, p 52). In general terms, the cycle of violence has been perpetuated and urban civilian populations have been victim of intolerable levels of violence. Additionally, community responses and protests to the state-​perpetrated violence place neighbourhoods at risk of further harm (in the form of lateral violence and damage to buildings and property) at a rate higher than in more affluent urban spaces (Cure Violence, nda), thus highlighting another example of the cycle of violence in poor urban spaces. It is in this context that we discuss the third form of UCP: UCP protecting communities where violence is endemic. San Pedro Sula, the second largest city in Honduras, is used here as a case study for how UCP protecting communities has been markedly successful. San Pedro Sula had the distinction of being the most violent city in the world in 2014, as measured by homicide rates (Ransford et al, 2017, p 182). The vast majority (87 per cent) of the homicides were committed by firearms, where the marked increase in violence was attributed to battling drug cartels in their struggles for control of the lucrative drug corridor from South to North America (p 181). While many of the homicide victims were cartel and gang members, the violence significantly affected the civilian population as well. Cure Violence is an international UCP organization that works in many urban areas throughout the world, to reduce community endemic violence. It began in large urban spaces in the US. Using the motto of ‘violence interrupters’, Cure Violence utilized a key UCP principle of primacy of the community. Cure violence staff and volunteers were exclusively drawn from 38

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the community and typically had personal experience with gang life. Initial evaluations demonstrated significant reductions in gang-​related violence in Chicago (Cure Violence, nda) and the model was reproduced in many cities throughout the world. UCP protecting communities where violence is endemic is a direct confrontation to entrenched power structures. This form of UCP highlights the important methodology of capacity development. Sometimes this development is exclusively managed at the community level. Sometimes it involves outside organizations being invited in to offer training, but ultimately this form of UCP usually involves practitioners who come from the community itself. It is important not to underemphasize how this category of UCP highlights the UCP philosophy of primacy of local actors. The capacity for UCP to assist communities in reclaiming their space goes beyond statistical reduction of crime. Community-​based businesses, including those that positively impact food sovereignty, safer green spaces, parks, schools –​in fact, the fundamental institutions of any thriving community, can be better supported by the nonviolent mandate of UCP than by conventional forms of protection. In analysing this context from a conflict transformation model, these communities can be characterized as disenfranchized, where resources and decision-​making are not controlled by local community leaders, and where rival groups compete for power through violent means. Awareness of the issue is generally high, but analysis and interpretation may be quite disparate between community and outside viewpoints, with the community perspectives often having less power and influence. Often the endemic violence is considered by outsiders as a characteristic that is innate to the community itself, further entrenching discrimination and political mandates to get tougher on crime, even though they are largely ineffective (Kennedy, 2014, p 63). In common with our first category (UCP as traditional peacekeeping), UCP as protecting communities from endemic violence has attracted the attention of mainstream funding in the form of traditional law enforcement agencies, governments, and INGOs, who share the goal of creating safer spaces for disenfranchized communities. Therefore, the potential for expansion of this category of UCP, as well as its potential for influencing those violent institutions it replaces (law enforcement and gang activity, for example), remain. In summary, the foundation of UCP as protecting communities from endemic violence involves relationship building and the primacy of communities taking control of their space –​key components of any form of UCP, but prominently highlighted in this third category. The crux of this methodology is repairing bridges and confronting mistrust of conventional actors including law enforcement and other armed actors. The Cure Violence 39

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model has achieved international status as a UCP organization, but there are others in this category, including the Bear Clan in Canada and Man Up in the US. This category of UCP has attracted the attention of and resources from governmental and nongovernmental agencies (like UCP as peacekeeping), and it also has the potential to bring about positive change beyond direct violence, by its ability to support the capacity and sovereignty of communities.

Conclusion In this chapter, I propose a typology for UCP that places differing forms of UCP into three broad categories. This typology highlights several important factors: the numerous armed groups that UCP can replace, the varying interpretations of key underlying principles such as nonpartisanship, the differing levels of support received by government and nongovernment organizations, and how international versus local UCP actors are considered. While emphasizing differences, this framework also highlights the overlap among the three categories, and emphasizes the shared values, particularly nonviolence and the primacy of local actors. Additionally, the comparison of the three categories demonstrates that utilizing a conflict transformation analysis, particularly with regards to understanding power dynamics, situates the various categories of UCP at different stages of the conflict cycle. The practice of UCP, in all its forms, holds great promise for our collective humanitarian goal of breaking cycles of violence and promoting social justice. As we gain a better understanding of how UCP is conceptualized and operationalized, our hope is to continue to improve its effectiveness.

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4

UCP and Conflict Transformation Christine Schweitzer In this chapter, I propose an understanding of unarmed civilian protection (UCP) that places it into the overall framework of conflict transformation and yet still distinguishes it from other approaches. For that purpose, I discuss the three ‘grand strategies’ of conflict transformation first proposed by Johan Galtung –​peacemaking, peacekeeping and peacebuilding, in order to better understand which functions UCP serves. In this context, I also explore the relationship between UCP and human rights work as well as civil resistance. In the conclusions, I suggest connections between the concept of conflict transformation and the practical applications of civilian protection. UCP in this chapter will be used as a cover term for what is also called civil(ian) peacekeeping or (protective) accompaniment. UCP is understood as the protection of civilians from violence in conflict situations by unarmed civilians who are present on the ground where the threat is, using exclusively nonviolent strategies and tools. Through their presence, they deter perpetrators; through building relationships, they influence perpetrators and authorities to change their behaviour. Through community engagement, they encourage communities to protect themselves, to overcome dysfunctional practices and develop nonviolent approaches to conflict. Active nonviolence is the principle on which all UCP activities are based. UCP practitioners are not only unarmed themselves and reject any form of armed protection. They also set an example of a different approach of dealing with conflict, one that is not based on force and power over, but on dialogue, respect and encouragement. The concept of conflict transformation has widely replaced earlier concepts of dealing with conflict, like conflict management or conflict resolution. Originating with John Paul Lederach (1997), conflict transformation describes dealing with conflict as a long-​term inclusive process. The Berghof Foundation defines conflict transformation 41

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as: ‘A complex process of constructively changing relationships, attitudes, behaviours, interests and discourses in violence-​prone conflict settings. Importantly, conflict transformation addresses and changes underlying structures, cultures and institutions that encourage and condition violent political and social conflict over the long term’ (Berghof Foundation, nd). A related term is that of peacebuilding. Often peacebuilding is used to refer to ‘preventing and managing armed conflict and at sustaining peace after large-​scale organized violence has ended. It is a multidimensional effort, incorporating all of the activities that are linked directly to that objective’ (Paffenholz, 2010, p viii). Originally, as defined by Johan Galtung (1976) as ‘approaches to peace’, and later taken up by other authors (Ryan, 1995; Miall et al, 1999), as well as by the United Nations (Boutros-​Ghali,1992), peacebuilding is one of three ‘grand’ strategies of dealing with conflict, side by side with peacemaking and peacekeeping. Peacemaking refers to the search for a solution to the visible, explicit aspects of the conflict between the parties (negotiations, mediation or arbitration); peacekeeping to the task to control and to prevent violence and restore security. Peacebuilding in this definition ‘underpins the work of peacemaking and peacekeeping by addressing structural issues and the long-​term relationships between conflictants’ (Miall et al, 1999, p 22). Together, these three strategies formulate a general theory of achieving or maintaining peace: ‘With reference to the conflict triangle, it can be suggested that peacemaking aims to change the attitudes of the main protagonists, peacekeeping lowers the level of destructive behaviour, and peacebuilding tries to overcome the contradictions which lie at the root of the conflict’ (Miall et al, 1999, p 22). In this chapter, the term conflict transformation will be used, but the distinction between the three basic strategies as defined by Galtung will be maintained to identify where UCP fits into the picture of overall conflict transformation.

UCP as civilian peacekeeping The term ‘civilian peacekeeping’ was probably first used by Charles Walker in his book on the World Peace Brigade (Walker, 1981). The term was introduced to academic discourse by Lisa Schirch (1995). Still today, some authors prefer the term civilian peacekeeping over UCP (for example Julian and Schweitzer, 2015); and among the UCP organizations, Nonviolent Peaceforce (NP) still uses it from time to time (Nonviolent Peaceforce, 2021). To some degree, choosing the term civilian peacekeeping reflects what the authors consider to be the core of UCP, the prevention of violence against civilians. This matches the definition of peacekeeping as used by Galtung and his successors. The fact that prominent

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non-​governmental organizations (NGOs) in the field of UCP have given themselves a restrictive mandate that forbids them most activities that would fall under peacebuilding supports the argument in favour of sorting UCP into the strategy of peacekeeping. An exchange at a 2021 conference on good practices in UCP is a good example: Participant: If the UCP organization itself is doing work that could be seen as humanitarian or peacebuilding –​such as running a sports group for youth –​does this blur the line of protection and humanitarian work? Director of a UCP organization: While we would not run a sports group for youth, we would work with youth in sports group or teams on things like violence reduction. (Schweitzer, 2022, p 53) Peace Brigades International (PBI) state: The central focus of PBI’s work is that of protection and support to Human Rights Defenders through international presence defined as one or more of the following: physical presence, physical accompaniment, advocacy, observing, reporting, capacity development and building local, regional and international support networks. Other methods that play a role in peacebuilding such as, but not limited to, peace education and mental health support can be undertaken by an entity provided that protective presence is considered. (Peace Brigades International, nd) The US organization Meta Peace Teams (MPT) writes: MPT acts to reduce and prevent violence in war or conflict zones … Teams practice a specific type of conflict intervention work that MPT refers to as ‘Third Party Conflict Intervention’ or TPNI … TPNI actions include: protective accompaniment, human rights monitoring/​ reporting, offering a peaceful presence/​modelling peaceful behaviour and reaction, and interpositioning (putting our bodies between conflicting parties). Unlike conflict resolution/​transformation, mediation or dialogue work, our Teams do not seek to mediate or resolve the underlying conflict directly, or to broker ‘peace talks’ –​although we may act to support one or all of these actions. Instead, our teams are focused on the front-​line work of reducing violence and the threat of violence, in order to create some safer space for everyone involved. By creating this space, it allows the parties themselves to determine the means and the terms of transforming/​resolving the conflict. There is often a role for

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other conflict resolution and dialog organizations to work in concert with MPT. (Meta Peace Teams, nd) In the same vein, humanitarian aid and reconstruction are tasks that most UCP organizations would not undertake. Instead, they describe meeting such needs by linking people in need to providers, and by sometimes monitoring the delivery of aid or advising the aid providers in order to avoid exacerbating conflict unintentionally (Schweitzer, 2022, p 52).1 So far, the case can be made that UCP is indeed an approach fitting into the category of peacekeeping, because it focuses on protection against violence, and thereby opening space for other activities like peacebuilding. In this understanding, the relationship of UCP to conflict transformation would be an enabling one. There is no space here to discuss the rather complex relationship between violence and peace processes, but generally it can be maintained that lowering the level of violence is an important element in conflict transformation because violent behaviour endangers peace processes at multiple levels.

UCP in the context of other strategies of conflict transformation In spite of the earlier discussion, it would be premature to simply situate UCP entirely under the category of peacekeeping. UCP agents also engage in peacebuilding and peacemaking activities, and consider them to be intrinsic to their mandate, not as an add-​on. Schirch defined civilian peacekeeping as ‘civilian interventions that involve individuals placing themselves in conflict situations in an intentional effort to reduce violence or transform the conflict’ (Schirch, 1995, p 3, emphasis in original). Similarly, most UCP organizations, in spite of their restrictive mandates, speak of wider goals they seek to achieve (emphasis in the following quotes in original). PBI ‘was founded in 1981 to undertake the task of peacekeeping, peacemaking and peacebuilding under the discipline of nonviolence’ (Peace Brigades International, nd). NP: ‘We protect civilians in violent conflicts through unarmed strategies. We build peace side-​by-​side with local communities. We advocate for wider adoption of these approaches to safeguard human lives and dignity’ (Nonviolent Peaceforce, nda). Community Peacemaker Teams (CPT) (earlier: Christian Peacemaker Teams) title their work on their webpage as ‘we build partnerships to transform violence and oppression’ (Community Peacemaker Teams, ndc) Since 2017, NP has conducted a series of workshops and conferences on ‘good practices’, with a larger number of local as well as international UCP practitioners, where they came together to discuss their work. In these 44

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workshops, participants agreed that their work encompasses elements of all three strategies –​peacemaking, peacebuilding and peacekeeping. (Schweitzer, 2017, p 16; Schweitzer, 2022, p 57). In a NP training manual, the authors write: ‘UCP is a strategic mix of key nonviolent engagement methods, principles, values, and skills. Specially trained civilians, in close coordination with local actors, apply UCP to prevent violence, provide direct physical protection to civilians under threat, and strengthen local peace infrastructures’ (Oldenhuis et al, 2021, pp 16–​17, emphasis in original).2 But what does it exactly mean when practitioners of UCP consider their work to be part of a wider conflict transformation? Are these formulations in the mandates and handbooks matched by practice?

Peacebuilding by UCP organizations A number of activities can be found in the literature and the workshops on good practices that would no doubt fall under peacebuilding. Perhaps the most important ones are: Capacity building:3 it was made clear in all the workshops, that this is one of the activities that many international UCP organizations engage in –​training in nonviolence, community protection, child protection, human rights, gender issues or other topics. (See for example, for the Middle East, McCarthy and Pinckney, 2016, pp 103–​4; for Mindanao, Furnari, 2016b, p 150). Training may also be used in the context of working with communities in conflict in preparation of dialogue and conflict settlement between them: Two tribes in the same community [in South Sudan] fought with each other because of some miscommunication … Finally, NP ended up conducting an UCP training with both communities in separate venues and at different times. After the training the participants realized the need to sit down and settle the situation. NP thereby had created a safe space for them to negotiate and dialogue. The community came up with a viable agreement and they are now living in peace together. (Schweitzer, 2019, p 25) In one of the good practice workshops, participants stated that capacity building aims at and leads to structural and behavioural change (Schweitzer, 2017, p 36). Encouraging community self-​organizing: this was another activity mentioned several times in various contexts, for example by different organizations in refugee camps in the Middle East (Schweitzer, 2018a, p 40). Encouraging youth and women to participate in community peace efforts: this was mentioned for example in camps in the Middle East and in South Sudan (Schweitzer, 2018a, p 40; 2019, pp 53–​6). 45

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Establishing peace zones: the organization Bantay Ceasefire in Mindanao actively worked for the establishment of peace zones on the island (Schweitzer, 2017, p 88). The quote from NP’s training manual, the ‘creation of functioning peace infrastructures’, is assumed to be achieved by several of these activities taken together: ‘UCP may, for example, provide a series of capacity development activities, followed by the inclusion of promising individuals into various UCP activities, before considering the establishment of locally-​ driven mechanisms. In any case, the objective is to stimulate a successful, independent, local infrastructure’ (Oldenhuis et al, 2021, p 196).

Peacemaking by UCP organizations Peacemaking does not only include mediation or negotiations at the highest political level. Especially in internal wars, there are usually multiple actors involved, and often local or regional agreements negotiated to stop violence. UCP organizations often are involved through ‘good offices’ or direct mediation in such peacemaking at the local level, or sometimes even at higher levels. In addition, there are, as mentioned earlier, ‘humanitarian negotiations’ to enable the delivery of aid or the safe passage of civilians. The following activities can be found: Supporting peace dialogues within and between communities experiencing or at risk of violent conflict has been reported frequently by NP (Nonviolent Peaceforce, ndb; Schweitzer, 2019, p 25). Mediation by UCP organizations has been mentioned in at least three of the workshops (South East Asia, Middle East, Africa) as an important activity by a number of organizations (Schweitzer, 2017, pp 91–​2; 2018a, pp 42–​43; 2019, pp 45–​8). In the workshop of organizations working in the Middle East, it was said that mediation typically deals with the following situations: • to reduce violence in the communities between religious sects and political parties as well as in family conflicts; • to work with women to help decrease tension in camps or communities; • to dialogue with armed groups about their intentions and plans; • to open space or advocate for civil society to participate in official mediation; • to link negotiation tracks. It is very important to link any small local mediation process to track one if possible and relevant and this will help with building trust; • to set up peace committees (in Syria); • to facilitate meetings with politicians and donors abroad; • to facilitate calls/​relationships between different peace communities, for example between Colombia and Syria (Schweitzer, 2018a, pp 45–​8). 46

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Overcoming injustice Another question is the relationship of UCP to human rights work and to civil resistance. Lederach, who introduced the concept of conflict transformation, emphasizes that overcoming injustice is part of it. He wrote: I have been using the phrase ‘conflict transformation’ since the late 1980s. I remember that timeframe because it came on the heels of intensive experience in Central America. When I arrived there my teaching vocabulary was filled with the terminology of conflict resolution and management. But I soon found that many of my Latin colleagues had questions, concerns, even suspicions about what such concepts meant. Their worry was that quick solutions to deep social-​political problems would not change things in any significant way. ‘Conflicts happen for a reason,’ they would say. ‘Is this resolution idea just another way to cover up the changes that are really needed?’ Their concerns were consistent with my own experience. (Lederach, 2003) Conflict transformation does not necessarily mean ‘only’ a peace process. Conflict transformation needs to give due emphasis to issues of power asymmetries, human rights violations, the global colonial heritage, gender and racism. Diane Francis (Francis, 2002; 2004) has been one of the first researchers pointing this out.4 Human rights protection is therefore a field of its own in the wider patchwork5 of conflict transformation. Human rights and peace are closely interlinked. Without respect for human rights and dealing with past violations, peace remains a very superficial and often not longlasting period between phases of violent conflict (International Peace Institute, 2017; UN Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights, 2020, p 1). Human rights defenders however lead a dangerous life in many countries, many are arrested and some are killed each year. UCP is making a contribution to human rights work when human rights defenders are accompanied to protect them from being killed or disappeared (see, for example, Mahoney and Eguren, 1997; Lindsay-​Poland and Weintraub, 2016) Human rights protection also plays a role in reporting and advocacy work engaged in by many (not all) UCP organizations. They alert authorities, powerholders and the international public to human rights violations that they observe and request the authorities to fulfil their commitments to uphold international human rights. (See as examples the websites of PBI, Community Peacemaking Teams, Ecumenical Accompaniment Programme in Palestine and Israel, Meta Peace Teams, and Schweitzer, 2020a). The relationship between UCP and civil resistance movements is perhaps more complex, because of the principle of nonpartisanship that many of the UCP organizations maintain. (Furnari, 2016a) In the various good 47

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practice workshops, it became clear that UCP organizations pursue different approaches and policies in regard to civil resistance. NP in a training manual on UCP in 2021 state: UCP generally doesn’t engage in civil disobedience or directly (and possibly illegally) challenging unjust regimes. It has shifted from being an active, though nonviolent, party to the conflict to being a nonpartisan protector encouraging respect for human rights and International Humanitarian Law. UCP as a practice has generally (though not always) transformed from unarmed resistance towards repressive regimes into unarmed resistance against human rights violations and abuse. (Nonviolent Peaceforce, 2021, p 57) However, while this statement may be true for NP and some other organizations, it is probably phrased too generally. In the Middle East, ‘enabling nonviolent resistance’ is considered important by many of the organizations active in Palestine. (McCarthy and Pinckney, 2016, pp 103–​4) Some organizations, like CPT, do not hesitate to act in open solidarity with groups involved in nonviolent resistance, speaking of ‘undoing oppression’ as one of their basic objectives. As a simple example, CPT volunteers might join a demonstration, while PBI volunteers or NP staff would only monitor it from a distance (Schweitzer, 2022, pp 37–​40). While protective accompaniment/​UCP often means to enable the actors to resist nonviolently, the difference here is the degree of active participation in the resistance by some of the UCP actors.

Conclusion Analytically, there is a dilemma, which can be described perhaps with the question: Is UCP what UCP organizations do? Is it based on self-​ ascription or can there be a more objective categorization to decide which organizations are UCP organizations? Most of the organizations that participated in the NP workshops on good practice do not use the term UCP to describe their work. Who decides where the boundaries are between UCP and other forms of nonviolent intervention in conflicts, or of human rights work and civil resistance? Groups calling themselves peace teams and many local and national organizations have (had) wide mandates that clearly go beyond protection, including things like reconstruction, aid or conflict-​related social work. Additionally, many major aid organizations have acknowledged the importance of protection as part of their work (see Action Against Hunger et al, 2021). So clearly not everyone who does UCP is an UCP organization. But also, among those with restrictive mandates focusing on protection that were quoted above, many (not all) engage in 48

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peacebuilding, peacemaking and human rights protection. Are they reaching beyond the borders of UCP? Or is there an –​implicit or explicit –​theory of change that allows to subsume such activities under UCP? In this chapter, I started by laying out the reasons why UCP could be sorted under the category of peacekeeping when using the triangle of the three grand peace strategies. The contribution to conflict transformation from that lens would be that UCP lowers the level of violence. It thereby enables deeper behavioural changes and opens space for peace, justice and reconciliation, be it in situations of armed conflict, repression of human rights defenders (HRD) or in contexts of civil resistance. Subsequently, I argued that most UCP organizations, however, also engage in activities that normally would be considered peacebuilding or peacemaking. John Paul Lederach speaks about the central role of relationships for conflict transformation: Conflict transformation views peace as centred and rooted in the quality of relationships. This includes both face-​to-​face interactions and the ways in which we structure our social, political, economic, and cultural relationships. In this sense, peace is a ‘process-​structure,’ a phenomenon that is simultaneously dynamic, adaptive, and changing. In essence, rather than seeing peace as a static ‘end-​state,’ conflict transformation views peace as a continuously evolving and developing quality of relationship. It is defined by intentional efforts to address the natural rise of human conflict through nonviolent approaches that address issues and increase understanding, equality, and respect in relationships. (Lederach, 2003) In most of the literature on UCP and in the mentioned workshops on good practices, the building of relationships is emphasized as central to successful protection. While the factor of deterrence (Mahony and Eguren, 1997) usually plays a role, the building of relationships at all levels and with conflict actors is the second central factor of UCP. It was listed in all workshops among the top good practices of UCP (see also the chapters in Furnari ed., 2016). The empowerment of local communities plays an important role in the activities of several UCP organizations. (Listed earlier were capacity building, encouraging community self-​organizing, encouraging youth and women to participate in community peace efforts and the establishment of peace zones.) It can be suggested that UCP is a contribution to conflict transformation through: • stopping and preventing violence, and thereby opening space for local actors to work on conflict transformation; • building relationships with conflict actors and between these actors; 49

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• supporting community self-​organizing; though initially this is about improving protection, its effects probably go far beyond it, and, for example, may lead to new and stronger roles for women and youth, to peacemaking between communities in conflict and to delegitimization of violence as a means of dealing with conflict; • transforming behaviour through the example of active nonviolence exemplified by the UCP practitioners, setting an example for an alternative design that is core to conflict transformation. These points have a high congruence with what the think tank Collaborative Learning Projects (CDA, 2016) identified as five additive general criteria for how conflict transformation projects (by external actors) can have an impact on ‘Peace Writ Large’, as they call it: 1. The effort [of the external actor] results in the creation or reform of political institutions to handle grievances in situations where such grievances do, genuinely, drive the conflict. 2. The effort contributes to a momentum for peace by causing participants and communities to develop their own peace initiatives in relation to critical elements of context analysis. 3. The effort prompts people increasingly to resist violence and provocations to violence. 4. The effort results in an increase in people’s security and in their sense of security. 5. The effort results in meaningful improvement in inter-​group relations. (CDA, 2016, pp 62–​3) These effects are probably not dependent on the question whether an organization ‘is’ or only ‘does’ UCP besides other mandates. This chapter did not aim to decide what kind of mandates are the most effective. The workshops on good practice rather gave the impression that very different approaches may yield positive impact: to protect people and prevent violence. As to wider impact for conflict transformation, research covering longer periods would be needed to assess if there really is a longer-​term contribution to conflict transformation. All that could be argued here is that this may be the case, based on the congruence of what is needed for conflict transformation and what is done under the label of UCP. Notes 1 2

This report is forthcoming; the page numbers might change. Further down in the text of the manual, the term ‘peace infrastructure’ is replaced by ‘local protection infrastructures’, which obviously is meant to be a synonym (Nonviolent Peaceforce, 2021, pp 194–​200).

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UCP and conflict transformation 3

4

5

In the workshops, it was proposed to use the term ‘capacity enhancement’ since there is always already capacity there. Since this so far is not commonly used, here the term ‘building’ is preferred. In the good practice workshops it became clear that especially organizations from the Global North (US, Europe) have realized these issues are aiming at overcoming such structures. The term ‘patchwork’ was to the knowledge of the author first used by Berit Bliesemann de Guevara in the 2021 Good Practice conference.

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5

The Temporal and Embodied Construction of Space and UCP Louise Ridden

Unarmed civilian protection (UCP) is a deeply contextual practice, and one which is shaped by the spaces in which it is practised. The existence of armed checkpoints, for example, can mean that making connections with conflict-​affected communities may be more difficult, while densely populated villages make protective presence and visibility far easier to achieve. While the key principles of nonviolence, nonpartisanship, primacy of the local, and independence, remain largely consistent across all UCP projects and activities, there is often a great variation in practical methods. This variation can be caused by a number of factors, such as the purpose of the UCP project (for example, the protection of specific high-​profile activists or of civilian populations more generally, or encouraging the participation of women and minority groups in peace processes), the nature of the conflict, the resources of UCP and other civil society organizations, and the ability to draw on international support. An often-​overlooked factor in the methods and formation of UCP, however, is the physical spaces in which it takes place. This chapter will firstly outline the contribution of spatial analysis to UCP literature through a review of works on spatial approaches to civilian protection in peace and conflict literature. It will then explore the possibility of contextualizing nonviolent space within time through the case study of South Sudan. Finally, it will locate this temporal space within bodies, by unpacking the methods of UCP and the ways in which the practice instrumentalizes nonviolent bodies in the protection of civilians. This chapter will argue that the ‘spatial turn’ in peace and conflict studies is a welcome addition to the literature, but the beginning of a deeper understanding of the constructive power of UCP rather than its conclusion. I seek here to build on the work of Henri Lefebrve and Luis Eguren in 52

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particular. Accepting their contributions to our understandings of the construction of space, particularly in relation to nonviolent forms of civilian protection, this chapter will aim to go deeper, to understand the ways in which temporality and embodiment also contribute to the production of space. Firstly, I will outline the space–​UCP nexus. Building on Eguren’s work, this section of the chapter will look specifically at locally led and civilian-​to-​civilian protection practice, and their co-​constitutive relationships with spaces. After establishing the spatial nature of UCP, the chapter will then move to unpacking the construction of space in two ways: firstly, by considering the temporality of space and spatiality in UCP; and secondly by considering the role of affect and the embodiment of knowledge, which is produced in, and a producer of, said space. What is at stake here is not whether UCP and nonviolent protection practices are spatialized –​ there is vast literature on the ‘spatial turn’ demonstrating that they are. Rather, this chapter will take the next step in the turn, by situating space within the construction of other key concepts and structures. Just as the spatial turn has demonstrated that peace and conflict do not happen in a vacuum, I here argue that neither does the construction of space. This chapter will seek to establish the temporality and embodiment of these spaces, created through nonviolent protection practices.

The spatial turn The ‘spatial turn’ in peace and conflict studies has contributed to a growing literature on the role of space and the spatialization of peace and violent conflict (Bjorkdahl and Buckley-​Zistel, 2016). Though the spatialization of peace has been well documented1 within the field of geography (Loyd, 2012, Brown, 2020; Macaspac and Moore, 2022), it remains a relatively new addition to peace and conflict literature. The ‘spatial turn’ was first named by Edward Soja in Postmodern Geographies (2010), where he identified a growing move toward the spatialization of knowledge, drawing in particular from Henri Lefebvre and Michel Foucault. In The Production of Space, Henri Lefebvre argued that space was socially constructed and produced. He challenged notions of space as empty containers that existed directly prior to whatever they currently contained, (1991, p 15) and called for a radical rethinking of politics as fundamentally spatialized. In order to make this ‘turn’, Lefebvre argued that we must shift our object of study ‘from things in space to the actual production of space’ (emphasis in original). In addition, this conception of space as something that is produced introduces a temporal element to spatiality. If the production of space is ongoing, it becomes a question of history (1991, p 46). Space, then, is a social production. This production is not only spatialized but temporal and embodied as people produce space and are in turn (re)produced by it. Lefebvre, then, calls for a 53

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refocus of our analysis not on objects or events, but on a temporal, embodied space. This call to refocus on space itself and how it may be produced, rather than simply that which it contains, is a key contribution of Lefebvre’s work to peace and conflict studies. Contributions to this turn, notably from Colin Flint, have explored the interconnected and co-​constitutive relationship of space, violence and peace. Flint argues that war and peace must be situated within time and space rather than being studied in a vacuum from them (Flint, 2005). By placing war within peace and peace within war, Flint demonstrates their fundamental nature as inherently and necessarily intertwined with each other, as well as with temporal and spatial understandings. Flint breaks down the barriers between violent conflict and peace. In so doing, he conceptualizes them as mutually constructive conditions that exist in time and space, rather than separate binary conditions. Similarly, in Everyday Peace, Roger MacGinty (2021) challenges the construction of spaces as being inherently and homogenously violent by tracking everyday and small-​scale practices of peace, nonviolence and civilian resistance of war. He argues that the totalizing account of spaces as ‘violent’ is both inaccurate and harmful, as it narrates and reproduces violence, overlooking many practices of peace. Luis Eguren’s ‘The notion of space in international accompaniment’ is an excellent account of the explicit nexus of space and UCP (2015), dealing explicitly with the spatialization of nonviolent methods of civilian protection. As such, it forms the basis for the theorizing in this chapter. A key principle of UCP is the primacy of local actors, or similar wording, varying between organizations (Schweitzer, 2018a). This focus on the protection and leadership of ‘the local’, Eguren argues, means that UCP is a spatialized practice (2015, p 18). The concept of the local must include the concept of space, for localization is inherently based on ‘real’ and perceived –​that is geographical and social–​spatial boundaries. Eguren argues that much peace and conflict literature fails to grasp the complexity and importance of the construction of space, by conceptualizing it as a ‘physical container’ (2015, p 19), a one-​dimensional space, and thus missing the new spaces created by international accompaniment.2 To explain the power of international accompaniment (IA) organizations to create space, Eguren cites the use of a badge on an IA vehicle indicating the prohibition of arms, which ‘proves the power of IA to give meaning to space’ (2015, p 23). The construction of space, however, does not take place in a vacuum. The process of spatial construction is temporal, embodied, and built through knowledge, as Lefebvre (1999, pp 38–​46) contends. To take Eguren’s example, the power of the Arms Prohibited badge to create space is based on other constructions and forces too. The power of the badge to create space is located in time, and the space it creates is temporal. The car and the badge must come together for the space to be created, and the resulting 54

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weapons-​free space exists at that moment, but did not in the past and may not in the future. It represents a particular time in which this particular space can exist. What this badge means, and who it conveys meaning to, is also important here. For the badge to have the power to create this space, those observing it and constructing this arms-​free space must understand, accept and legitimize the power of the badge. The knowledge of the vehicle as a weapons-​free space is crucial to its ongoing construction. This knowledge is in turn embodied by people who produce and (re)produce the space and are in turn (re)produced by it through their identities and actions.

The space–​UCP nexus The purpose of UCP is the direct protection of civilians from immediate physical harm (Nonviolent Peaceforce, 2019, p 4). It is this physicality that grounds the practice in people and in bodies, which in turn exist in space. While UCP training may take place online, many practitioners emphasize the importance of sharing a physical space with civilians they work alongside, citing both this physicality and the visibility of the practice.3 In addition, language surrounding UCP and nonviolent approaches to civilian protection often makes passing reference to space with the phrases ‘creating space for peace’ and ‘space[s]‌of action’ popular among UCP international non-​ governmental organizations (INGOs) and practitioners.4 These references to space go beyond the physical geographies of conflict and military or aid complexes, hinting at a social and non-​physical space that permits civilians to act nonviolently.5 This space is nevertheless inherently interwoven with physical and geographical spaces and imaginations of them. This grounded nature of the practice of UCP, as well as the power of nonviolent civilian protection practices to shape and create social spaces, firmly situates UCP as a practice of study within the ‘spatial turn’. UCP uses nonviolent practices to reduce the levels of violence, which has tangible spatial effects: the physical spaces in which nonviolent protection takes place are socially and physically altered through these practices (Mahony, 2019, p 211). The reduction of violence generally and violence against civilians specifically impacts the physical infrastructures and social geographies of conflict affected areas. Traditional and armed responses to the protection of civilians includes armoured vehicles and ‘secure’ compounds. This infrastructure creates a physical separation between those living in conflict-​ affected areas and outside actors arriving to offer support. This creates violent physical infrastructures that reinforce expectations and spaces of violence. Eyal Weizman notes the impact of physical and violent infrastructure in Palestine, arguing that the physical landscape creates conditions in which the material–​aesthetic dimension of violence becomes the norm, making its cycles more difficult to interrupt (2006). 55

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Lisa Smirl highlighted another impact of this separation in her account of knowledge production in the Balkans war. In ‘Not welcome at the Holiday Inn’, Smirl assesses the role of a Sarajevan hotel that became the central location from which knowledge of the conflict was produced, by providing a base for most international actors (2016). She argues that the physical separation of diplomats, journalists and NGO workers inside the hotel, and civilians outside, resulted in the two groups experiencing different realities of the conflict. These realities were shaped not only by the relative safety and insulated situation experienced by international actors, but by the hotel itself. As the Sarajevan Holiday Inn became a symbol of external intervention, its presence affected not only the knowledge produced by those occupying the hotel, but the material reality of the conflict. Combatants were aware of the symbolic nature of the hotel and altered strategies and activities as a result. In this way the hotel is emblematic of the co-​constitutive relationship between conflict and space. The conflict socially constructed the Holiday Inn as a unique space that was both shielded from the conflict, yet central to it. At the same time, the hotel was shaping the conflict not only through its status as a ‘safe zone’, but by providing a separate space for knowledge of the conflict to be produced by diplomats and journalists. By contrast, the centrality of civilians to UCP provides a radically different model of protection. UCP is led by civilians, for civilians, with projects almost exclusively beginning at the invitation of civil society and often with local civilians comprising a significant percentage of protection teams. Though travel and visa restrictions or political climates may limit their ability to do so, outside UCP actors (whether national or international staff) often also live and work within the communities they support in protection wherever possible. A UCP practitioner based in South Sudan described how fundamental “not being the NGO that drives past creating a cloud of dust, but the NGO that’s walking alongside you as you’re doing your daily business”6 is to their protection work. This sharing of physical space between UCP practitioners and other civilians is a key part of UCP work, often differentiating it from other protection, peacekeeping and humanitarian strategies. Sharing this space not only allows practitioners to create deeper relationships with other civilians and local communities, but it changes the social meaning of the space. Civilian actors occupying and sharing space that is ordinarily deemed to be a space of violence can begin to challenge the narrative and social production of that space as such.

Temporal space Though the spatial analysis of UCP initiated by Luis Eguren is a welcome addition to the literature, space too must be contextualized in time. Neither peace nor violence are static or objective conditions (Koopman, 2011, p 184), 56

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but rather social and spatial relations that exist in both time and space. While socially produced space has power to in turn shape the relations, peace and nonviolence that operate within it, space must also itself be continuously created and recreated through embodied practices, affective communication and nonviolent actions (Koopman, 2014). The non-​static nature of space, then, implies changes that take place through time. Whether it is the repetition of nonviolent actions that continuously reproduce a space as one with reduced levels of violence, or a changing landscape between violence and nonviolence, it is through the passage of time that these changes take place. Time, therefore, is essential in understanding the construction of space. Considering the temporal nature of the spaces (re)created by UCP allows for a deeper and richer understanding of the spatial nature of nonviolent protection practices. Doreen Massey argues that space and time are inherently interlinked; that space is temporal. In For Space she challenges the notion central to modernity that space is fixed and exists exogenously to human and nonhuman life, with people travelling from one static space to another (2005, p 65). There is, she argues, a need to reject the essentialism of space as something that ‘is’, moving toward a temporally bound understanding of space as ever evolving. Space in this way is constantly under construction, both physically and socially. For there to be change, there must be a ‘before’ and an ‘after’, signifying the alteration of space through time. This temporal analysis is key to understanding how UCP practices both produce space and are reproduced by it, as these spaces are themselves grounded in, and change through, time. A temporal analysis also provides a challenge to the notion of spaces as being entirely unitary –​either as spaces of total violence or complete peace. Perhaps the largest UCP project is the Nonviolent Peaceforce (NP) presence in South Sudan. As a state affected by conflict for most of its short existence, South Sudan is often categorized as a space of violence; everywhere, all of the time. This simplistic understanding is, however, not only a-​spatial but also a-​temporal, ignoring the cyclical nature of this violence. Though considerations of space increasingly appear in peace and conflict literature, temporality often does not. That does not mean, however, that timing is completely absent from such work, but rather that they are implicitly based on liberal conceptions of linear temporality (Hutchings, 2008, pp 12–​13). This temporality is a progressive one, taking conflict-​affected areas from ‘war’ to ‘peace’ over time, and breaking conflict down into easily observable stages, through which conflicts progress to the end of peace, or safer spaces (Agathangelou and Killian, 2016, p 3). Similarly, conflict indexes often seek to track signals that states or regions are progressing (or more commonly ‘descending’) into violent conflict. Though the aim in the former situation is to accelerate the time on the path to peace, while in the latter it is to halt and alter the temporal progression, these two common themes in conflict 57

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literature are based on the same temporal understanding: singular and linear movement. What this linear temporality fails to account for, however, is the fluidity of violence and nonviolence, and of the power and meaning of space in conflict-​affected areas. The experience of local communities and UCP practitioners in South Sudan demonstrates the true complexities, and temporal nature, of the construction of safer spaces. Much of the communal violence in South Sudan is linked to cattle raiding and other agricultural activities, meaning it is cyclical in nature (Schweitzer, 2019). As a result, violence can intensify and then improve without corresponding to political agreements. These periods of conflict, then, do not fit the linear progressive model of violent conflicts that assume an ultimate end of goal of ‘peace’, and a complete absence of violence. As a result, NP’s work in South Sudan aims to reduce overall levels of violence and build civilian self-​protection capacity, in order to mitigate future cycles of violence. Rather than taking South Sudan from a space of violence to a space of peace, capacity enhancement and other UCP practices aim to reduce levels of violence in spaces that are sometimes violent and sometimes not. Here, UCP work explicitly differs from traditional peacekeeping models. Aiming to create space for peace and to reduce levels of violence frees UCP actors from the linear binds of moving toward a static end goal of spaces becoming statically ‘peaceful’. Acknowledging the temporality of conflict and in turn of the spaces it produces allows UCP practitioners and civilians to better mitigate the results of violence and reduce its causes. A second way in which UCP is temporal is in its objective to ‘create space for peace’. Creating space for peace implies an ongoing process where physical and social spaces are altered through reproduction to become less violent, but that is not an end-​state in itself. Similarly, the reduction of violence does not preclude the possibility that violence may occur, nor necessarily equate to a static end point of utopian peace. A spatial analysis of protection work in South Sudan demonstrates that the power of space, be it a weapons-​free zone (Easthom, 2015) or an IA vehicle, can have transformative impacts on conflict (Eguren, 2015). There is, though, a necessary temporal analysis to be made too. These safer spaces, created through relationship building, capacity enhancement, and nonviolent practices, change through time. In South Sudan, NP operates evening patrols after sunset, a time at which women often feel less safe than they do in the day. Practitioners learned from community meetings that the very spaces in which their meetings were well attended during the day, where women felt safe to engage in protection work, became unsafe or spaces to be avoided at night.7 At different times, the spaces created embody different levels of safety, and protection practitioners must respond to that. Responding to reports that women faced greater harassment after sunset, Nonviolent Peaceforce South Sudan (NPSS) began 58

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to operate evening patrols of teams of national and international staff, in order to replicate at night the safer spaces produced during the day. A final example of the temporality of nonviolent space is the IA vehicle from Eguren’s ‘The notion of space’. He argues that the sticker indicating the vehicle is a weapons-​free zone, and the fact the sticker is respected, is evidence of the power of nonviolent protection organizations to create space. This analysis is insightful in demonstrating the productive power of international accompaniment and protection organizations in producing space, but also leaves room for a temporal analysis. The sticker is not in itself the sole producer of space here, but rather a representation of norms, practices and processes that give the object the power to create space in this way. These processes necessarily take place in and through time. Nonviolence is not simply a single act but an iterative process taking place through people, actions and relationships. Elsa Dorlin’s argument that ‘images never speak for themselves, particularly in a world in which representation of violence has become such a central feature of visual culture’ (2019) highlights the point that it is not simply the image at work here. The sticker, rather, is a static representation of the continuous processes and relations that go into producing the space it creates. The power of production of the sticker is neither static nor guaranteed. Just as nonviolence must constantly be practised in order to produce safer spaces (or spaces for peace), so too must the work of IA or UCP organizations in Eguren’s case. The sticker represents a moment in time where the IA has the power to produce such space, but that power is not guaranteed to last into the future, nor did it necessarily exist in the past. Acknowledging this temporality is key to understanding both the power and the fragility of socially produced space. Violence reduction and civilian protection are processes, resulting in spaces in which peace may be negotiated, celebrated, or even rejected. Achieving ‘peace’ is not necessarily the end point of civilian protection work, and indeed can even supress the politics of nonviolent civil society through its oppressive implementation (Srinivasan, 2021, p 11). Rather, UCP through its principles and processes, seeks to create a space in which, at the time, there is space for discussions of peace and nonviolent modes of contestation. Nonviolence is, after all, a commitment to rerouting aggression rather than the absence of conflict (Butler, 2020).

Embodied space A spatial analysis of UCP would not be complete without examining the roles of the nonviolent bodies that take up, produce, and are reproduced by, the safer spaces they strive to create. Rachel Julian and Russel Gasser, referring to UCP as unarmed peacekeeping, argue that UCP is a ‘more radical embodiment of emancipatory peacekeeping’ (2018, p 35). While the 59

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object of embodiment referenced here is UCP, the analysis can (and must) be extended to those bodies that in turn deploy the nonviolent practices and processes of UCP itself. There are two key ways in which embodiment affects and interacts with space in the protection context. Firstly, UCP being practised by civilians that share the same physical space with those they seek to protect produces a shared, co-​produced space in which actors experience conflict in similar ways. Secondly, it is bodies that take up and produce physical and social space and are in turn productive spaces of action themselves. This section will explore these two ways in which embodiment brings depth to spatial analyses of armed conflict and nonviolent methods of civilian protection. The locally led nature of the practice means that UCP is deeply contextual, with strategies changing and adapting to each protection need (Oldenhuis et al, 2021, p 115). As such, it is rooted not only in places, but in people. The principle of being ‘locally led’ demonstrates both the spatial and the embodied nature of UCP. The ‘local’ here is embodied in the civilians who form local communities that undertake UCP work to protect themselves and each other. To understand a practice so fundamentally centred on relationships and the people that form them, we must take seriously the bodies, rooted in space, that practice UCP. Bodies are, as described by Marié-​Heleen Coetzee, ‘continually in a process of becoming, organiz[ing] our knowing, feeling[s]‌, and being’ (2018, p 1). Though it is important to contextualize UCP in space, as Eguren does, this space must be unpacked to allow us to fully understand what this space is, and how it is produced. While socially constructed, spaces as discussed in critical geography and peacekeeping literature are geographically based; grounded in physical space. These spaces often include physical objects or infrastructures that are in turn given meaning through social understanding and interactions. A river, for example, may be a tourism destination or a violently contested resource (Koopman, 2014, p 124). The social construction of these spaces, though, comes from the people, the bodies, that exist within and produce such space. These bodies are in themselves spaces produced through space, time and processes of interaction, which in turn have productive power. Bodies, and the practices of protecting them, are at the centre of unarmed civilian protection. Though they are often not explicitly discussed, bodies are both produced by and productive of international politics and the spaces it creates (Wilcox, 2015, p 3). People, bodies, are in themselves productive spaces that are shaped by the spaces they occupy and are in turn shaped by them, physically, personally and socially. There is then duality between space and bodies, as action is spatially bound, but in turn establishes and reclaims those spaces (Zevnik, 2015, p 109). This duality is central to unarmed civilian protection, whereby nonviolent bodies, produced through action, come together to reclaim space as one of less violence; a space that is safer. 60

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Andreja Zevnik argues that this ability to create and reshape political space ‘derives from the plurality of bodies –​a collective body –​rather than from the individual’ (2015, p 114). By working with local communities and civil society organizations to support civilians in civilian-​to-​civilian and civilian self-​protection, UCP seeks to create a nonviolent collective body. Nonviolent bodies are in themselves spaces of nonviolence, and the plurality of such bodies coming together through protection practices begins to produce less violent spaces. The iteration of productive spaces then creates the possibility for further nonviolent bodies to join the collective body, creating greater productive power. Recognizing bodies as spaces in themselves is the first step to unpacking the duality outlined by Zevnik, underpinning UCP. Bodies, as with geographical and social spaces, are at once produced as objects of knowledge, and are producers of it (Wilcox, 2015, p 23). This dualism is at the heart of the spatialized practice of nonviolent protection, and so it is helpful to first unpack the praxis of nonviolent embodiment before moving to empirical examples. The construction of non-​human physical spaces and bodies share similar processes. Both are, to varying extents, based on a materialist object that tangibly exists (Butler, 2000; 2002; 2009). The productive power of these spaces, however, comes from the social construction of narratives and meaning through interaction and relationships. In armed peacekeeping and traditional forms of conflict intervention, outside actors sent to ‘protect’ communities often live and work in separate and distinct locations to those they seek to protect, creating a physical distinction. These distinctions separate the two groups of people; the protectors and the victims, those there to provide support and those who pose a threat (Smirl, 2015, pp 82–​3). These distinctions continue too in the living conditions of many armed or aid actors. Smirl argues that aid workers often live in the ‘secure’ bounds of their compounds and thus severely limit their interaction with the local communities they should serve (2015, p 84). As a result, their experience of conflict is of a particular, yet unnatural, space. The spaces that these international actors occupy is often self-​constructed, and not accessible to non-​international actors. This artificial space in turn shapes the way that these aid or other segregated actors perceive the conflict. In addition, Smirl argues that the bunkerization of this experience leads to an increased reluctance to leave the so-​called ‘secure’ space (2016). If the space inside the compound, Land Cruiser, or hotel is safe, then the space outside must be unsafe. ‘By spatializing binary categories of good/​bad and safe/​dangerous’, she argues, ‘there is a tendency to regard those people who are located within the space of the … compound as “good” and those outside … as “bad” ’ (2015, p 112). Just as Smirl argues that a ‘dangerous space’ can often lead to the discursive production of ‘dangerous actors’ within it, the same is true the other way 61

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around. If enough ‘good’ people occupy a space (here, for example, a compound), then that space is constructed as one that is good and safe. These feelings of trust and security experienced in the ‘safe’ space with ‘good’ people further reinforce the distinction between inside and outside of the space, between safe and dangerous, good and bad. This in turn increases reluctance for ‘protection’ actors, be they aid workers or armed peacekeepers, to leave their constructed space and enter another. As one UCP practitioner in South Sudan explained: “The only time they [aid workers] engage with the community would be when they come out of their compound manned by soldiers, and would come into the community, deliver what they are delivering and go back.”8 This distinction in spaces shapes the knowledge not only of these actors, but of local communities too who feel neither protected by, or trusting of, these actors who arrive in their space and construct a heavily armed new space, out of reach from the ‘dangerous local’. Alternatively, instrumentalizing people who embody nonviolence (civilians, UCP practitioners), UCP uses nonviolent bodies to disrupt the totalizing narrative of conflict-​affected areas as spaces of inherent or total violence. The clearest example of this is in interpositioning, where civilians place their bodies between armed actors in an attempt to stop violence. Here, the bodies of those interpositioning disrupt the expected setting of violence, and force armed actors to make a distinct choice about whether they harm a civilian who has not been dehumanized as the ‘other’ (Oldenhuis et al, 2021, pp 163–​4). As one interview participant described, it forces actors to “create a little pause, buy a little time … it can function as a way to rehumanize the parties”.9 Similarly, protective presence and accompaniment are some of the most used UCP methods that use the bodies of nonviolent actors to disrupt violent expectations and actions. Protective presence involves unarmed patrols of areas with high levels of violence or tensions. Though it does not necessarily require civilians to put their bodies in the way of violence as interpositioning does, this presence begins to break down the totalizing production of spaces as spaces of violence, and breaks the link between violence and weaponry, and security and protection. A protection advisor for NPSS described how these methods of placing their bodies in spaces that were conceptualized as entirely violent, such as areas with high levels of communal tension, was perceived by other organizations: “We, in the eyes of a lot of organizations take a lot more risks by physically putting ourselves in these places. What I think other organizations fail to understand is we mitigate those risks through context analysis … we protect ourselves through really understanding what’s happening.”10 By sharing space with the communities they worked to protect, NPSS staff were able to use their bodies to signal and produce nonviolent spaces in areas that were previously conceptualized as entirely violent. In 62

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contrast, the other organizations referenced earlier lived and worked in separated spaces from the communities they served, travelling to them to visit, rather than to live (see also Autesserre, 2021).

Conclusion This chapter has sought to demonstrate not only the importance of placing UCP in the context of space, but also placing that space in the context of bodies and time. UCP is a spatialized practice, and the way it interacts and reshapes space around it is central to the possibility of nonviolence effectively protecting civilians in conflict-​affected areas. A key aspect to the UCP–​space nexus is the role of nonviolent bodies, embodying protection and taking up and disrupting spaces that had previously been conceptualized and produced as spaces of only violence. The spatial turn provides important additions to the protection literature, particularly to the analysis of UCP and other nonviolent methods. A spatial analysis, however, is not enough on its own; these spaces must be contextualized in time and in the bodies that shape them to give true depth to these spaces. Peace is not an abstract or static ideal but a result of the spaces and times in which it was shaped (Koopman, 2011, p 194). As such, our analysis of the processes and protection methods seeking to create space for peace must too reflect the space, time and bodies in which they are practised and produced. Notes 1 2

3

4 5

6

7 8 9 10

For an annotated bibliography, see Koopman (2017). Note Eguren uses the term ‘international accompaniment’ to refer to a series of practices including ‘unarmed civilian peacekeeping’. I do not define UCP as necessarily including international accompaniment here, nor consider the two terms as synonyms. For clarity, references to Eguren’s work use his definitions of his terms. Interview with Eli McCarthy, founder of DC Peace Team. Conducted online 14 April 2021. Interview with Ingvill Breikvik of SweFOR. Conducted online 13 July 2021. For further discussion of the production of nonviolent expectations in space, see: Lefebvre, 1991, pp 56–​7 Interview with UCP practitioner based in South Sudan. Conducted online, 11 March 2021. Interview with NPSS practitioner. Conducted online, 16 March 2021. Interview with NPSS practitioner. Conducted online, 12 May 2021. Interview with DC Peace Teams volunteer. Conducted online, 14 March 2021. Interview with NPSS Protection Advisor. Conducted online 14 March 2021.

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Unarmed Civilian Protection: Security or Humanitarian Aid? John Reuwer

Unarmed civilian protection (UCP) originates, among other places, in the concept of a ‘peace army’, presumably drawing on the positive qualities of existing military armies, such as organization, training, discipline and self-​ sacrifice, while eliminating the downside of preparing soldiers to kill people and destroy things. The idea that those positive qualities properly applied to training and action in nonviolent methods could accomplish whatever good armed policing and military intervention purports to do, without police brutality or devastation of war, seems intuitive to many people, and recurrent in the last hundred years (Boulding, 1996, p ix). This book highlights the work of many scholars and activists, offering considerable hope for reducing violence in the world. Yet the vision of some of its early proponents for a great transformative practice on either the domestic or international front through large-​scale deployment of nonviolent peacekeepers seems to have largely faded. This chapter explores the implications of UCP practitioners identifying as being in the humanitarian versus the security sector in conflict situations, along with other potentially limiting factors, for the growth of UCP interventions. It suggests ideas for further consideration to bring UCP to a larger scale.1

The dream and the actuality As early as 1921, Mohandas Gandhi had Indian Congress committees setting up volunteer corps under a vow of nonviolence to allay civil violence by engaging rioters (Weber, 1996, p 44). By 1938, he spoke of an army of nonviolent soldiers, or ‘Shanti Sena’, to quell the riots that often characterized 64

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Muslim/​Hindu relations in India, writing: ‘the Congress should be able to put forth a non-​violent army of volunteers numbering not a few thousands but lakhs [hundreds of thousands] who would be equal to every occasion where the police and the military are required’ (Weber, 1996, p 46). Ron Sider laid out a particularly Christian vision in 1984 at the Mennonite World Conference, when he challenged his fellow Anabaptists: ‘What would happen if we in the Christian church developed a new nonviolent peacekeeping force of 100,000 persons ready to move into violent conflicts and stand peacefully between warring parties …? Frequently we would get killed by the thousands. But everyone assumes that for the sake of peace it is moral and just for soldiers to get killed by the hundreds of thousands, even millions. Do we not have as much courage and faith as soldiers?’ (Sider, 1984) Today we have dozens of organizations practising various kinds of unarmed protection. The largest among these are the Nonviolent Peaceforce (NP), which has combined local and international staff of 407 (Duncan, 2021, personal communication), and Cure Violence Global, which deploys about 700 local violence interrupters who work in dozens of locations around the world (Ransford, 2021, personal communication).2 These are deployed in teams that rarely have more than a dozen activists on the street at one time in one location. I have seen first-​hand the positive impact these few can have in empowering local actors to take charge of their own safety. But it is difficult for more than a few people to feel their benefit when they operate in such small numbers. Even the largest deployments of violence interrupters are tiny compared to police departments in the same communities. In a situation like that of South Sudan, which has seen more war than peace in the last 60 years, few would take armed United Nations Peacekeepers seriously if there were not thousands of them. Why should it be different for UCP practitioners? Why, after 40 years of modern Western UCP efforts, has the implementation veered so far from the original visions as a replacement for armies? What has prevented UCP from growing to a scale that could inspire the collective imagination to replace most threats of violence with safer methods of achieving human security? Have we reached the limits of UCP capabilities, given existing social and political structures, or are limits also created by our choices about what UCP can and cannot do?

Does the humanitarian label create limitations? When I joined NP in South Sudan, I was surprised by my letter of introduction to immigration identifying NP as a humanitarian organization. 65

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I had assumed we were in the business of human security. When I asked why the project in South Sudan did not place most of its people in one or two locations to maximize their effect, I was told that funders for humanitarian efforts in crisis areas have certain standards for the number of workers required to meet a given need. The humanitarian sector had identified ‘protection’ as a service to meet a need. NP decided that protection was what they provided, so they followed the guidelines for humanitarian aid. When the term UCP was first used, the ‘P’ stood for ‘Peacekeeping’. The several peace teams with which I volunteered over the years had been comfortable calling themselves peacemakers, assuming that fostering peace automatically protected people from violence. After experience in numerous conflict zones around the world, NP sought to distinguish itself from the name given to the armed, blue-​helmeted United Nations (UN) soldiers, whose methods of peacekeeping differ radically from unarmed peacemakers. The ‘P’ became ‘Protection’, a name used by the UN as a goal for care of civilians in areas of conflict. The Humanitarian Charter uses the term for activities ‘concerned with the safety, dignity, and rights of people affected by conflict and disasters’ (Sphere Project, 2018, p 36). Almost any form of aid can be seen as protection. Material aid protects people from hunger, thirst and exposure. Medical aid protects people from disease. Human rights advocacy protects people from indignity and structural abuse. All of those are obviously important protections for anyone interested in the welfare of people in crisis. Thus, many humanitarian agencies have ‘protection officers’ among their staff, whose job is to monitor safety, mitigate unintended harm during the delivery of material aid, and ensure respect for human rights. This kind of protection differs from safeguarding people who face direct physical threats during the course of daily living. Direct physical protection is an activity known most commonly as the security sector. This point was made vividly to NP in at least one case. A colleague in South Sudan told me the story of an NP protection officer who arrived on the scene of a volatile confrontation, whereupon a uniformed man with an AK47 asked him why he was there. When he replied ‘to protect civilians’, the man then pointed his rifle at the NP officer and said, ‘I am here to protect civilians’. Protection officers I met in relief organizations did not purport to be in a position to protect people from direct physical threats yet, for NP, that is precisely part of the mission. The question for me became, why does NP, whose mandate is to protect civilians from physical violence, choose to place itself in the humanitarian sector, which is not usually prepared to offer such protection, rather than in the security sector, where such protection is its mandate. The question is important for two reasons: First, all the UCP groups I have encountered are limited by funding constraints. In the universe 66

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of humanitarian work, global funding amounts to about US$31 billion (Development Initiatives, 2021). The security sector globally, on the other hand, according to the Institute for Economics and Peace, has about US$5.4 trillion, or 180 times as much (IEP, 2021, p 2). The decision to identify as a humanitarian organization means competing with development and relief agencies for a piece of a much smaller pie, rather than with the security sector, whose pie is enormous. The second reason the question matters underpins the first –​the sector they are in sets expectations of the job to be done for UCP practitioners themselves, and for the world observing and evaluating their work. If UCP practitioners want to offer an alternative to the use of violence for physical protection, would they not have more credibility by claiming upfront space in the security sector, rather than to align with providers of food, water, shelter, medical care or advocacy for human rights? As military and other security budgets demonstrate, people will pay almost anything to feel safe from physical threats. Armed actors hold a near monopoly on convincing people they are indispensable for safety. The thought that unarmed practitioners could offer protection in the physical sense might seem ridiculous to most people because they have little exposure to anything other than physical force when it comes to managing threatening situations. In the world where I was raised, violence was the final arbiter of serious conflict. No matter how much one might want to believe in peace, diplomacy or the rule of law, when faced with someone perceived as threatening violence one wants the strongest possible warriors and weapons for protection. This is due more to our education than to actual experience. Almost every war movie, almost every crime show, and almost every superhero saga viewed, repeats the story where the ‘good’ guys win, not by being good, but by demonstrating a capacity to out-​violence the ‘bad’ guys. This faith in violence appears much the same in cultures with less vicarious but more actual exposure to violence. Most of the folks I interacted with in South Sudan, until they saw the work of NP or a conflict resolution agency like Saferworld, never considered that brute force could be countered by anything other than more brute force. The centuries-​old methods of dispute arbitration by traditional tribal leaders I witnessed mitigated violence, but took a back seat to malfunctioning political systems fractured by decades of near endless war, and the abundance of very deadly weapons provided by a global arms trade profiting a few wealthier nations. When people we worked with did learn of alternatives, they were fascinated and engaged. No doubt this interest is rooted in the fact that the South Sudanese almost universally have experienced the recurring failure of violence to keep them safe. If UCP is to offer a viable alternative to brute force in making people feel more secure in any circumstance, it could unequivocally say so by claiming 67

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space in the security sector, even if their place in that sector may initially be limited. Considering whether to make that claim raises an important question: has any modern iteration of UCP thus far earned the right to do so? Are our collective achievements or current expertise adequate to convince people looking for safety to welcome us into that space? The fact that humanitarian money made the NP project in South Sudan possible, when security funds would not, suggests that a decade ago the answer was no. While I cannot answer that question for the present, I think we can make the case that we at least have the potential, given the strengths of UCP.

The strength and potential of UCP UCP practitioners are trained in numerous nonviolent methods for physical protection, a few of which are outlined below, that go beyond the mandates of most humanitarian agencies, and entail considerable risk. What makes such risk-​taking effective and not foolhardy? What allows unarmed civilians the ability to deter violence and protect others? After all, the human body is no match for a bullet or a bomb. What limited preliminary evidence we have suggests that participating in UCP efforts seems to be remarkably safe. In a study of UCP deployments between 1990 and 2013, the fatality rate was one-​twelth that of armed peacekeepers during the same period (Janzen, 2014, p 58). Even given the fact that the UCP numbers were minuscule, this figure is quite remarkable and, by itself, should stimulate considerable interest in exploring unarmed strategies. One reason for this safety record could be that UCP practitioners are not exposing themselves to the dangers that armed peacekeepers face. That this might be the case in South Sudan occurred to me when we were stationed in a missionary compound adjacent to a fortified UN base, and I asked what the procedure would be if active conflict broke out in this town, threatening imminent violence. I was told we were to retreat behind the walls of the UN compound. When discussing the case later with trainers, I was told our priority was to protect civilians before ourselves, but that each situation required a careful analysis of which actions would offer the most protection to everyone involved. One could reasonably ask: is the safety record of unarmed protection due to decisions being made favouring the safety of unarmed protectors over their civilian charges? My observations suggest otherwise. In South Sudan, NP seemed to pride itself on being the first agency to enter an area deemed to be at high risk of violence. After a fatal assault in a Protection of Civilians (POC) camp, for example, the UN would evacuate all humanitarian agencies from the camp until it was deemed safe to return. NP would be the first to re-​enter, because they often had relationships with people involved in the violent event 68

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and could contribute to reconciliation and prevention of further episodes. When it came to reoccupying towns depopulated by war conditions, NP would be among the first to accompany internally displaced persons (IDPs) attempting to do that. Watching the behaviour of hundreds of UN Peacekeepers in several POC camps and other compounds made it clear that, on a routine basis, their primary goal was their own safety. They wore body armour, carried weapons, and stayed in guard towers or behind walls. When they went on patrol, they often had rifles ready, and were usually accompanied by armoured personnel carriers, with or without mounted guns. In contrast, NP protection officers dressed only in civilian clothes with NP shirts or vests, walked or drove long distances to meet people in all sorts of places, including areas where government or government opposition forces were frightening the civilian populations. My experience did not include situations involving imminent violence, but the NP website (Eastholm, nd) and journalist accounts (Turse, 2016, pp 84–​91) detail actions by UCP officers under fire. Clearly, factors other than the mismatch of flesh and steel are at work in determining whether people get hurt or killed. Everyone wielding a weapon is motivated or demotivated to use it in a given situation, based on a wide range of influences at the decision point. Threatening people with violence can be a powerful demotivator or deterrent and is the assumption behind armed peacekeeping. Yet there are many other, perhaps more efficient, ways of stopping people from inflicting harm. UCP practices are geared toward demotivating armed actors from using their weapons against others, both as individuals and organized units, employing nonviolent mechanisms of influence. Consider how the underlying strategic practices of NP work toward this end. Each practice is designed to encourage constructive behaviour in conflict situations, deter dangerous behaviour, or both. Building relationships with armed actors on both sides, as well as the civilian populations caught in the crossfire, makes it harder for people to hold the dehumanizing picture of the other that is required to inflict violence on them. It also assures people that they are not alone and have agency in dangerous situations, serving as a powerful antidote to fear. Monitoring a ceasefire, quashing a rumour, or identifying and preparing for impending danger, make the use of weapons less likely by those who count on impunity, falsehoods and fear to motivate or justify their violence. Developing the inherent peacemaking capacity of a local community through reinforcement of their innate strengths and resilience, along with training in UCP that may be novel for them, makes it harder for armed actors to dominate the cultural space. Most powerful of all is the demonstration of courage in the face of potential danger through proactive engagement. Unarmed persons engaging with armed potential aggressors before an attack seems risky but can potentially 69

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reduce the risk of harm. Presenting a human face, either that of the potential victim or a third party standing with a potential victim, interrupts the dehumanization required for violence, and may introduce the element of surprise, a classic advantage in any struggle. Adding to that advantage the tactics of unarmed protective presence, accompaniment and interpositioning may further confuse an aggressor, and empower the threatened. Advocating for civilian safety with the officers, commanders, and political officials overseeing armed actors, and engaging international players with influence, adds an additional layer of protection. Combined, these practices can alter the harmful intentions of armed actors, deter violence, and increase safety for everyone. UCP skills are rooted in an understanding of human psychology and sociology. An individual’s behaviour in a given situation is highly influenced by what is expected of them (Pryor et al, 2018). Unarmed strategies have the advantage of inviting people to be their best. They are consistent with the inherent cooperative nature of most human beings, and the values of caring and concern for others that are crucial for family and community life. Training in nonviolent action does not require the suspension of normal human empathy and compassion that is necessary for soldiers to learn to kill and destroy efficiently. The use of nonviolent methods does not carry the contradiction inherent in using the threat of violence. Every threat of violence reinforces the belief that violence is necessary to get what you want, so demotivating people to use violence by threatening them with violence inevitably sows the seeds of future violence. By not validating violence, a nonviolent approach offers a more sustainable deterrence, making it easier to create the kind of legitimacy necessary for successful community development and peacebuilding. A final aspect of deterring violence is to appreciate that fear is a great motivator for violence. Those who perpetrate violence do so either because they are afraid that others may harm them or someone else, or to instil fear in others in order to gain power over them. Nonviolent approaches reduce fear rather than reinforce it. An important goal of nonviolence is to reduce fear both in the potential perpetrator and the potential victim, allowing the rational parts of the brains of all involved to work out a more intelligent approach to the conflict than harming one another. With its inherent advantages over violence, how far can a nonviolent approach go in offering protection from physical harm? The world’s armies currently consist of around 27 million soldiers (World Bank Data, 2018), while the UN deploys about 70,000 uniformed peacekeepers at any one time (United Nations Peacekeeping, nd). What is keeping UCP practitioners from being deployed at those levels or even a significant fraction of those levels? Let us examine some of the limitations in our current concept and practice of UCP, and barriers imposed by the 70

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many social and political forces that shape our current culture of dealing with conflict.

Intrinsic limitations of UCP Bodies versus bullets Clearly there are limitations to unarmed protection against physical injury. When confronted suddenly by the threat of bullets flying or bombs dropping, everyone, armed or unarmed, ‘hits the dirt’, hides behind something, or retreats. After that, armed responders claim an advantage, returning violence of their own in an effort to deter or destroy the attacker. Depending on the parity between the attack and defence, the shooting may stop, go on to take the lives of either the attacker or defender or, in the case of many wars, lots of people on both sides, often for very long periods of time. UCP does have an answer for immediate direct violence when evasion is not an option, and that is to take the blow or the bullet without the intention to retaliate in kind. Nonviolent interpositioning is already a powerful device in the UCP skillset. Many of us have experienced first-​hand how this can de-​escalate violence effectively in a nonlethal situation. In a lethal conflict you could take the bullet, saving someone else, but in most cases the individual can do this only once.3 This makes for an unsustainable model, and has been eschewed by the UCP organizations I am familiar with. Whether or not to train and expect people to step up and take the next bullet when all else fails may be the most important decision in whether or not unarmed protection can replace armed protection on a large scale.

Training The preparation and training necessary to provide nonviolent protection obviously must be geared more toward prevention and pre-​emption of violence than the training for violent protection. In either case, the better the training the greater likelihood of success in demotivating or eliminating an attacker. Professional militaries understand this, by training their frontline regulars for months at least, and sending their higher officers to academies for years. Civilian protectors, on the other hand, typically get a week to a month of initial formal training, followed by learning on the job supplemented by occasional further trainings. While recognizing that limited resources may have more influence on length of training than other factors, it is important that UCP leaders not undervalue training. How much more effective might UCP become if months of training became the norm, and at least some leaders spent years preparing for their missions? We now have people with decades of experience and advanced degrees amassing a wealth of knowledge and experience to make this level of training possible. 71

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Protection versus cause Another limitation of UCP may be found as we distinguish between UCP and the much broader field of nonviolent action, of which it is a subset. The use of nonviolent action by people disgruntled with their government has been associated with a higher likelihood of success than violent action in overthrowing a repressive regime, ousting an occupying power, decreasing the likelihood of renewed war in the future, and creating a working democracy (Chenoweth, 2021, pp 13ff, 240ff). This means that nonviolent action can often defend freedom, democracy and peace better than violence, but its success is correlated with movements being quite large, not infrequently involving hundreds of thousands or even millions of participants. The ability of a ‘cause’ to induce people to sacrifice themselves for better or worse is well studied (Horgan, 2017). It remains to be seen whether the safety of civilians as a goal, outside of a related ideal or cause, is a limitation of our current vision for UCP.

Vision Lastly, there are the perspectives of UCP organizations themselves. Through my limited exposure, I have heard very little discussion about strategic plans for large-​scale growth or a desire to be in the security sector. How large do we want to grow? Do we have a well-​articulated vision to grow if we can overcome limitations and barriers? Are we ready with workable plans if someone decides to fund them tomorrow at ten or 100 times their current scale?

Extrinsic barriers to the growth of UCP In addition to limitations that may be part of the UCP process itself, there are barriers to its growth imposed by the global culture surrounding the management of conflict. The most obvious barrier to scaling up UCP is the lack of resources to grow, primarily financial. Why is funding for UCP so limited, when military and police budgets that purport to protect people, are comparatively almost unlimited? Here are a few reasons to consider.

Cultural mythology There is a lack of awareness among funders, reflective of the public at large, about what UCP can offer for protecting civilian populations. Most societies around the globe are educated about the attributes of violence while remaining unaware of the power of nonviolence. Nonviolence is seen as perhaps a nice ideal, but naïve, weak or ineffective in practice. These myths are reinforced more by repetition in the media than through empirical 72

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observation but, with little public refutation, the mythology remains powerful and the potential of UCP unknown.

Profits from violence Another barrier is the profit reaped in the security sector by weapons manufacturers, security consultants, mercenaries, and even countries that supply the armed UN Peacekeeping soldiers (Coleman and Nyblade, 2018). Each of these players has a stake in maintaining the status quo, which is familiar and provides financial gain in a system where the threat of violence holds the near monopoly on physical protection. The world’s top ten weapons manufacturers alone reaped US$405 billion in contracts in 2018 (SIPRI, 2019). The members of my family in the military talk far more about the benefits of those jobs than the actual mission they are accomplishing. A society having so many players whose wealth or livelihoods are heavily invested in the use of violence for protection has little incentive to consider alternatives.

Glamour of violence From the snappy dress military uniforms often displayed with pride at parades and public events, to the sleek outlines of a gleaming minuteman missile or an F-​35 fighter-​bomber, the appeal of these displays of strength and pride is powerful. Add to this the cultural adulation of all things military, at least in the US, from soldiers being thanked endlessly for their ‘service’ to bombers flying in formation over the Super Bowl, and the case for warriors as force for good seems self-​evident. Where is the similar thrill and adulation factor in UCP to attract youthful idealism and widespread public admiration and support? How could this be generated?

Systems of domination Violence is often used to protect things other than people and ideals. It is used routinely to protect property, privilege and systems of domination, things antithetical to the principles of nonviolence. If people value any of those things over human life and dignity, then using violence makes more sense to them than nonviolence. I once asked the director of the Albert Einstein Institution why, when nonviolent action was shown to be so effective vis-​à-​vis violence at winning freedom and protecting democracy, it was not enthusiastically widely embraced, at least by people who purport to value such things. She opined that giving ordinary people the power to challenge the status quo (that benefits the few more than the most) and to determine their own political 73

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life was frightening to those in power, whether they be right or left, liberal or conservative. No one near the top of the status quo is in a hurry to promote nonviolent action, even when they learn it is effective for certain human aspirations. Their thought might well be, if UCP can replace armed police or the military for civilian safety, who is going to defend the authority and privilege of those benefitting the most from the status quo? When Gandhi and Sider called for large peace brigades or a peace army, they intuited that training people in military virtues without the violence could defend societal peace and justice. The difficulties so far mustering the resources to accomplish that make me wonder if part of the problem is that leaders rarely want only peace and justice. Despite the rhetoric of church, state or corporate statements, institutions with enough money and power to influence public opinion in favour of UCP and fund it by the hundreds of millions (or billions) of dollars have vested interests that may compete with whatever desire they have to protect civilians.

Preliminary suggestions for overcoming limitations and barriers to growth Here, I offer a template for UCP practitioners to consider when proffering alternatives to the threat of violence for protecting civilians, followed by two proposals to concretize the work. To challenge the cultural belief that violence is the final arbiter of conflict, and all the myths that support that belief, I recommend an approach developed in my class on nonviolent action. Students were instructed to ‘level the playing field’ in any discussion about the choice of using violent or nonviolent methods to resolve a conflict, ‘keep the peace’, or fulfil a ‘responsibility to protect’. Levelling the playing field means insisting that those who support a violent approach specify the full price they expect to pay for their choice. That cost of conflict to society has at least four domains: the monetary cost, the human cost, the environmental impact, and the moral/​cultural cost (that is, how each approach affirms or negates the positive values claimed by society). Then imagine a willingness to pay that same price for a nonviolent approach as plans are made to manage that conflict. Nonviolent approaches in my experience begin to look much more attractive when all the costs of violence are fully acknowledged. It is an eye-​opening experience for most people to discover the enormous hidden costs of violence, especially military adventures, and often startling to contemplate spending billions of dollars or intentionally risking thousands of lives on nonviolent action. An example of this kind of comparison would be to envision, analyse and role play a particular peacekeeping or protection mission, comparing for example the effectiveness of 5,000 armed UN peacekeepers with a 74

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US$500 million budget in a given conflict situation, not with 100 UCP practitioners and a US$5 million budget, but with 5,000 or more unarmed protectors and a US$500 million budget. Without UCP experience with those numbers, this would require a lot of imagining, visualizing and planning for what such resources could help accomplish if they were available. This kind of envisioning is especially exciting when thinking that local actors, who typically are starved for resources, will be primary players in the protection planning and implementation. Similarly, reallocating police department budgets to fund alternative means of protecting people within a community should include not only social workers, mental health professionals, and the facilities to support them, but also de-​escalators like violence interrupters and nonviolent safety patrols. Most important, of course, is modelling the alternatives as UCP organizations are already doing. In order to level the playing field, the number of people protected by UCP has to approach the number protected by armed policing, so that costs and benefits can be compared. One sign of progress has occurred in the city of Washington DC, which introduced the Cure Violence interrupter model in 2018, and increased funding for it and similar programmes in 2021 to a few percent of the city police budget (Gomez, 2021). One way to accelerate the acceptance and implementation of nonviolent protection of civilians would be to create a demonstration project in which nonviolent methods provide all, or almost all, the protection and violence prevention for a defined community. Somewhere in the world there is likely a neighbourhood, a city, or even a small country that is ready to devote itself wholly to the steady and careful transition to nonviolent strategies. To make this happen, researchers could scour the globe for a community that is suffering from, or under some threat of, violence, which is open to working towards its own nonviolent safety and would welcome the expertise and energy of those with UCP experience. Extensive preliminary discussions would clarify the goals of the community, the capacity of the activists within that community, and what support they would welcome. Once the local community invites the UCP community into its space to assist, UCP organizations could prioritize this project by committing some part of their budget to ensure adequate resources for its implementation. That place could be the living laboratory for constructing a model of the world that UCP practitioners would like to create, using every creative approach possible to ensure the safety of its residents without the use of arms. Such a project would be chosen for its likelihood of success, so that most observers would agree that UCP ‘works’ in some commonly agreed upon sense. Once an impressive degree of success has been demonstrated in one locality, it will be much easier to replicate. 75

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Another, complementary, way to accelerate the growth of UCP could be the formation of a UCP academy,4 which would serve as the global focus for all things related to this emerging field. It would serve as a repository for academic and empiric knowledge on the subject, a centre for research, the home for educators and trainers and, most of all, a place where practitioners of the many applications of nonviolent protection could train to the highest level of competence. This academy would be the place to research and address the limitations and barriers discussed here. What is the relative effectiveness of armed and unarmed strategies in a myriad of conflict situations? Is there a role for massive actions with thousands of UCP practitioners in place, or is dispersal into hundreds of smaller teams safer and more effective? How much training is necessary to maximize success in a given mission? How can UCP protect the property of civilians that allows for a dignified existence? How are profits from preparations for violence converted into profits from more life-​affirming activities? How can the human affinity for heroism and self-​sacrifice be harnessed to attract the number of people needed to train to keep whole populations safe? How can UCP contribute to efforts at civilian-​based defence that can help end the mass slaughter and displacement that is a normal part of war? How could such an academy be founded under current circumstances? Barring attracting a gift or grant of many tens of millions of dollars, the academy could coalesce around a coalition of academics, UCP practitioners, trainers and other interested parties. Scholars could assemble the history and database of UCP practice the world over. Practitioners and trainers could build on current work, writing comprehensive curricula on all aspects of nonviolent power: mindfulness, decolonization, nonviolent communication and deep listening, nonviolent action in general, and UCP best practices in particular. Criteria for skills competencies could be designed and codified. Courses could initially be offered to all-​comers, which could include candidates from police forces and militaries in transition, with certifications given at various levels of achievement. This work could initially be housed on a donated or paid online server, and courses given virtually or at rented facilities until money could be raised to house a permanent brick and mortar home for faculty and students. In keeping with the concept of levelling the field, the goal would be a large permanent academy on par with police or military academies, with the objective being the continual graduation of thousands of extremely well-​ trained professional unarmed protectors.

Conclusion Modern attempts at UCP are multiplying and growing, but at a sluggish pace compared to the vast need for civilian protection in the world. This 76

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chapter outlines a number of reasons for this and suggests how claiming space in the security sector might help overcome some of the barriers to growth. It offers a template for thinking about growth and suggests creating a pilot project in a community at risk to demonstrate the effectiveness of UCP, and an academy to bring the vision forward. It invites dialogue about these and other ideas, to determine whether UCP can replace armed protection in a significant way. Notes 1

2

3

4

This exploration will address those UCP organizations whose vision includes the desire to grow and replace the threat of violence as the mechanism of human security. It may apply less to groups whose missions are about solidarity, defence of human rights, or have goals that require only small deployments of UCP practitioners. Cure Violence originates in a public health perspective, coming to a remarkably similar place as UCP organizations originating in the peace army concept. I say ‘most cases’ after meeting a violence interrupter in Chicago who showed me the scars from three potentially lethal wounds he survived by refusing to move out of the path of bullets aimed at someone else. There have been too many prior proposals for peace academies to name here. This recommendation is for the development of one specific to the advancement of UCP.

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7

Relational Strategies: Contested Approaches to Relationships in UCP Felicity Gray1

Unarmed civilian protection (UCP) hinges on relationships: building them, sustaining them, and using them to generate protective outcomes with and for at-​r isk civilian populations. Despite a common focus on the power of relationships among UCP organizations and methodologies, different UCP actors take very different approaches to these relationships, particularly whom they seek to build them with. For some UCP actors, building connections with all parties to a conflict is a central goal. Others are much more selective, and deliberately eschew close relationships with particular parties, such as the police or armed groups. In this chapter, I map these differentiated strategic approaches and explore why different UCP actors gravitate toward these different relational strategies. I argue that this stems from three primary factors. First, how principles of nonpartisanship and solidarity are understood and implemented; second, the positionality of the UCP actor vis-​à-​vis the at-​r isk civilian population; and, third, variations in the broader political contexts in which UCP actors operate. Understanding how and why strategic relational choices are made provides new and important insights into UCP approaches to protection and their relevance to different conflict contexts. This chapter predominantly focuses on formally constituted UCP organizations –​mostly non-​government organizations (NGOs) and activist groups, that are implementing UCP for the protection of civilians. These ‘upper-​case’ UCP organizations are those that have organized around this term and operate within this particular institutional framework. However, it is essential to note that this is a narrow definition of UCP. Throughout history, communities and organizations have implemented less technocratic ‘lower-​case’ UCP strategies, evident in a range of self-​protection and mutual 78

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aid activities that have protected the lives of friends, families and neighbours, even amid the most egregious violence. In so doing, they have implemented their own strategies of relationship and connection, along with other social, political and economic tactics (Baines and Paddon, 2012; Kaplan, 2017b; Krause, 2018). The work of these communities, many of them experiencing marginalization and oppression in different ways, underscores and predates the work of the organizations I focus on in this chapter. This chapter draws on multi-​sited ethnographic fieldwork on UCP carried out between February 2018 and December 2019, drawing on a series of 140 open-​ended interviews with practitioners in both conventional and unarmed forms of civilian protection, alongside participant observation. Interviews were conducted in Europe (Germany, the Netherlands, Poland), the US (New York, Washington DC), Australia, Myanmar, Lebanon and South Sudan, as well as a minority of interviews via video conference. Interviews are interpreted alongside observations and close reading of documental data. I also draw on my experience as a practitioner of UCP in South Sudan and the US, having worked in the sector since 2020 in both direct protection and policy advocacy capacities.

UCP as relational protection In the absence of a weapon to compel particular behaviours, how does UCP work? This was a question I asked a range of practitioners of UCP, across a range of contexts, throughout field research throughout 2018–​19. Regardless of the types of violence being addressed (for example, civil war, gun violence, intimate partner violence) or the positionality of the practitioner I was speaking with (for example, those local to the context, or an expatriate), answers invariably hinged on the importance of relationships. In Lebanon, an experienced expatriate staff member with Nonviolent Peaceforce (NP) explained that “the core of our work is to build relationships”.2 Those I interviewed had different ways of explaining this power that shaped their work. A local unarmed civilian protection practitioner in Mundri, South Sudan, explained: “First we influence. We change somebody, for the person to change her or his behaviour.” He went on and laughed mischievously, explaining: “It’s like, we are kind of spirit. We get in you, so that you change your mind.” In the region in which he worked, this approach had a range of positive results, including the removal of checkpoints and a reduction in the level of harassment by armed actors against civilians amid the ongoing civil war. In the northern Shan State, Myanmar, when I asked a local UCP leader how she had negotiated the release of 13 child recruits from an armed group, she explained that it was through her close relationships built with all armed groups in the area, a network developed in part through her husband’s mechanic businesses. In Brooklyn, a ‘violence 79

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interrupter’, using UCP strategies in her local community to interrupt gun violence as part of a Cure Violence funded project, explained how their success as protection actors hinged on having a team that were embedded in the community: “people that have the relationships, people that know somebody that know somebody”. UCP practitioners use relationships as a protective mechanism. In contrast to using the threat of violence to compel a particular kind of behaviour, UCP practitioners develop and sustain relationships in order to encourage, deter or otherwise shape decisions made by those who have the potential to do harm to civilians. Relationships themselves are not normatively good nor bad –​just as easily as they can be used to prevent, protect and encourage, they can be used to prey, perpetrate and abuse (Fujii, 2009). However, UCP offers a framework for developing relationships in such a way that they can be used to shape particular protection outcomes. Though this could be viewed through a purely strategic lens –​and indeed, relationships are often sought as part of an overarching protection strategy –​ many practitioners made clear that this often involves a genuine emotional connection, even with would-​be perpetrators: “empathy is a hokey word but it is ultimately being able to empathize with everyone that will let you build the relationships”. In so doing, relational webs of protection are created that can be leveraged as protective architecture in and of themselves, as well has used to shape behaviours of would-​be perpetrators and deter violence against civilians. This understanding of how UCP works moves away from most existing literature on UCP. Historically, the literature on UCP has tended to emphasize the role of third-​party, foreign interveners, and been focused on the identities of these particular actors and their power to shape protection outcomes (Mahoney and Eguren, 1997). Though, to varying degrees, these studies recognize the importance of context and how this shapes possibilities for protection (Schirch, 2006, p 44), connection and relationships as power have been less central to scholarly explanations of how UCP works. Despite this trend, there are some important exceptions to this literature that I build on in this chapter and in other contributions (Gray, 2022) that emphasize a relational understanding of UCP. For example, in her research on protective accompaniment by Peace Brigades International (PBI) in Colombia, Sara Koopman (2014) argues that accompaniers protect by creating protective space through interactions. This is immediate and direct, such as when an accompanier accompanies an at-​r isk civilian, but also broader and indirect, such as when PBI utilizes networks of American officials and Congressional representatives to shape particular outcomes (2014, p 122). Similarly, Kathryn Anderson argues in her study of Canadian–​Guatemalan protective accompaniment practices that it is grounded in solidarity, defined as ‘mutual support’ (2003, p 201). More broadly, critical studies of 80

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peacekeeping, protection and peacebuilding, such as Brigg (2016, 2018) and Higate and Henry (2009), provide fruitful grounding for relational perspectives on UCP, emphasizing the ways that protection and safety manifest through relations between actors.

Mapping diverse relational approaches to UCP Despite widespread recognition of the importance of relationships to the practice of UCP among a diverse range of practitioners, the way relationships are pursued and used is a key point of diversity within the community of practice. Who relationships are pursued with, and the animating values and strategies behind that pursuit, vary notably among UCP organizations. This is shaped by different commitments to and understandings of nonpartisanship and solidarity, positionalities of UCP actors vis-​à-​vis communities at risk of violence, and by the specific contexts in which UCP actors operate.

‘All parties to a conflict’: operationalizing nonpartisanship For some organizations, a primary tenet of practice is building of relationships with all parties to a conflict: civilians under threat, civilian institutions like churches and unions, and –​perhaps more controversially –​state and non-​state armed actors, including those that pose a threat to civilians. Though there can be limitations on this in practice –​accessibility of particular actors, legal restrictions imposed on engagement –​this remains the goal. The approach, utilized by one of the largest international UCP organizations, NP, and shared by them in training for community-​based UCP groups in areas of conflict including South Sudan, the Philippines, Iraq and Myanmar, emphasizes that UCP ‘relies heavily on networks of relationships, trust, and acceptance by all parties in a conflict [emphasis added]’ (Unitar and Nonviolent Peaceforce, 2016, p 75). For NP, this is linked to their legitimacy and programmatic capacity, and to staff security: Through that relationship building, our acceptance in the community is so paramount … and also our advocacy, through our network, through our relationships, we’re able to advocate the things that are really, really strong and high level. And then that also kind of segues into safety and security and how we’re able to do what we do and be a more forward leaning organization. (2016, pp 88–​9) This tenet of practice is often underscored by a foundational normative commitment to nonpartisanship. This can mean different things to different organizations. For NP, nonpartisanship is defined as ‘not choosing or taking sides in a conflict. Nonpartisanship does not mean indifference or passivity; 81

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nor is it the same as neutrality. neutrality means not taking sides and not helping or supporting any party in a conflict. Nonpartisan actors proactively engage in a conflict’ (Unitar and Nonviolent Peaceforce, 2016, p 87). This contrasts with the definition of nonpartisanship used by PBI: ‘a refusal to condition accompaniment according to political alignment or ideology and a refusal to support any side in an armed conflict’ (PBI, 2021). This difference in definition has consequences for the ways these organizations practise UCP. As further discussed below, nonpartisanship is also perhaps the most contentious among UCP practitioners, with other organizations eschewing this entirely in favour of more explicit commitments to solidarity with civilians. Building relationships with ‘all parties to a conflict’ necessarily includes those who have caused harm, and this is where some organizations diverge in their approaches to relationship building. For NP, pursuing relationships with ‘all parties to a conflict’ means that the organization seeks a wide range of relationships, including with potential aggressors and those who may have caused harm. For example, in South Sudan, NP teams pursue relationships with various parties to civil war violence (both state and non-​state armed groups), as well as communities, local political leadership, church leaders and congregations, and schools. Practitioners within NP see this pursuit of connections with all parties to a conflict as essential to their work. They argue that this diversity of connections positions the organization to be able to do things like closely assess context from different perspectives, access different areas controlled by different armed groups, and facilitate mediations between different parties to conflict. One South Sudanese practitioner explained: “to be accepted by the parties we have to be neutral, we have to be independent, we have to be nonpartisan in our work. Otherwise, there will be a problem. The opposition, they will think … you are working in collaboration with the government against us.” Community-​based protection mechanisms that have been trained by NP tend to follow a similar model. In South Sudan, for example, NP has affiliations with 67 Women’s Protection Teams (WPTs) and has trained more than 2,500 women and girls in UCP over the last decade. In a range of locations canvassed as part of my research, WPTs had implemented the approach to great effect, including with actors responsible for harms against them and their communities. Over the course of the research, I observed WPTs directly engage with state security forces, police and state military actors –​all of whom are well known to these women and their communities as key perpetrators of violence. Similarly, in Myanmar local UCP practitioners described their pursuit of wide-​ranging relationships, and how they used these to garner successes in ceasefire monitoring, release of child soldiers and evacuation of civilian populations in the midst of converging frontlines. 82

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Though the pursuit of relationships to all parties to a conflict is a common animating principle followed by NP and related community-​based organizations, in practice it is shaped by the positionality of practitioners, and the specifics of the context. In terms of positionality, practitioners local to a context can face challenges building relationships with all parties, particularly if they or their communities have themselves faced violence at the hands of particular actors (further discussed below). On the other hand, external actors –​particularly if they do not speak the local language –​can fail to understand the networks at play in a context, and therefore be unaware of, or unable to make, connections. This is one of the reasons that, in the context of South Sudan, NP operates through the use of mixed teams of local and expatriate staff –​working together collectively, some of these relational challenges can be reduced or overcome. Similarly, PBI has recently moved toward a mixed staff and volunteer model that includes both international and local actors. In other contexts, the need for mixed teams is less pressing, and other models have been pursued. For example, NP-​Philippines is almost exclusively comprised of local staff who have successfully nurtured relationships with key conflict parties for many years. Across the organization, the pursuit of relationships with all parties is therefore a common endgame, but the means by which this is achieved is dependent on the positionality of practitioners, and the specifics of the conflict context. The pursuit of relationships with all parties to a conflict can become particularly complex in relation to armed actors who may have posed or continue to pose a threat to UCP practitioners themselves –​that is, relational strategies are shaped by context-​specific risk assessments. For some UCP actors who are direct targets of potential perpetrators –​for example, Black, Indigenous and People of Colour (BIPOC) vis-​à-​vis police officers in the US (Edwards et al, 2019), or ethnic minorities vis-​à-​vis state security forces in South Sudan (Pinaud, 2021) –​building relationships may be deliberately avoided as a strategic choice, due to the heightened level of security risk faced by frontline practitioners. In addition, openly pursuing relationship with some parties can damage perceptions of safety and solidarity from civilian communities. Both positionality and political context here shape the degree to which the desire to build relationships with all parties to a conflict can be realized. Another factor that shapes opportunities to build relationships is the political context in which UCP organizations operate. Though NP has found South Sudan to be a context in which it is possible to (relatively) transparently develop relationships with all parties, this is not always the case. For example, PBI operates predominantly in South and Central America and have historically chosen their areas of operation in part based on whether state governments are susceptible to pressure. Their model hinges on leveraging international relationships (for example, with US Congressional 83

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representatives) to then mobilize diplomatic pressure on behalf of human rights defenders. As non-​state groups are perceived to be less susceptible to pressure from state-​based advocacy networks, engagement with non-​state actors is not officially part of the PBI purview. For PBI, engagement with non-​state actors is also understood as something that could jeopardize their relationships with state authorities, and therefore their ability to be present in a given setting. For example, there is no contact with armed actors related to drug cartels in Mexico, despite the way this shapes violence in Mexico, one of the PBI field sites. This creates limitations for the types of violence in which their leverage can be effective as a response, and focuses PBI activities more squarely on contexts that are linked to state actors.

Selective relational strategies Other UCP organizations do not identify as nonpartisan and position themselves within a more activist lineage of solidarity with civilians. Though all UCP organizations see their role as one of solidarity with civilian populations at risk of harm and seek in different ways to protect populations from violence, there are many for whom this goal sits within a broader activist goal of transforming structural violence, often perpetrated by the state. Such organizations take a more circumspect approach to relationship building with parties that have caused harm to civilians, particularly in settings of asymmetric conflict. Rather than nonpartisanship, these kinds of organizations articulate and practise more explicit solidarity with civilians, particularly those who have experienced harm. Organizations operating in Palestine and Israel, a highly asymmetric conflict, are particularly demonstrative of this divergence. International Solidarity Movement (ISM) is the clearest example of an activist UCP model in practice in this context. ISM explains their work as ‘a Palestinian-​ led movement committed to resisting the long-​entrenched and systematic oppression and dispossession of the Palestinian population, using non-​violent, direct-​action methods and principles’ (ISM, 2021). Though ISM members still use nonviolent direct strategies to protect civilians, this occurs within a broader commitment to end oppression of Palestinians by the Israeli state. To achieve this, ISM maintains a clear stance of solidarity with Palestinians, rather than seeking to develop relationships with ‘all parties’ to the conflict (for example, Israeli soldiers or settlers). In practice, this can mean a directly physical approach that goes beyond the practices of many other UCP organizations: dismantling barriers, attacking armed vehicles, ‘de-​arresting’ Palestinians detained by Israeli soldiers. For ISM, in particular, the solidarist approach operates more through the power of nonviolent direct action than relationships. A practitioner experienced across a range of UCP organizations in the region, including ISM and Community Peacemaker Teams (CPT, 84

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formerly Christian Peacemaker Teams), expressed major discomfort with the notion that any kind of relationship with the Israeli state would be advisable, and risks “normalis[ing] a lot of conflict. In the Israel–​Palestine context, by bringing both sides together, that is a normalizing of a horrific occupation. You have to recognize that.” CPT, also operating in Israel and Palestine, as well as the US, Canada, Colombia, Iraqi Kurdistan and the Aegean region, describe themselves as ‘build[ing] partnerships to transform violence and oppression’ (CPT, 2021a). Though generally perceived as less directly combative in their strategies than ISM, the organization does not explicitly include nonpartisanship in their mandate, instead describing the transformation of structures of domination and oppression as a key organizational value (CPT, 2021b). In the case of CPT, this translates into a reluctance to engage with armed groups and other parties to the conflict themselves that are threats to civilians: “we don’t ally with any armed group, and we don’t intentionally talk to them”, explained a practitioner working in Iraqi Kurdistan. “Sometimes they talk to us, and we get out of the conversation as quickly as possible.” Like ISM, the focus remains on a solidarity strategy that relies more on nonviolent tactics and the presence of foreign volunteers. Though grounded in the same heritage, principles of nonviolence, and recognition that relationships are what makes their work powerful, this demonstrates the divergent ways that relational strategies can emerge among UCP organizations.

Working across strategic lines Where multiple UCP organizations are present in a site, interactions between them can also be illuminating in terms of how their relational strategies differ. In Israel and Palestine, where a variety of international, mixed team, and local UCP organizations operate (McCarthy and Pinckney, 2016) organizations leverage their different strategies for different outcomes. Though there can be tension between organizations as a result of these differences, there is also cross-​organizational collaboration: “they [CPT and the Ecumenical Accompaniment Program in Palestine and Israel] work with ISM. I don’t know if they would deny that, but on the ground they definitely work with ISM … whenever someone is getting deported, we all mobilize. It’s not a secret.” Some said that this was less dependent on the organization, and more on the individuals involved and their personal approaches to UCP. At the same time, there is also recognition that their diverse tactics can fulfil different objectives, with different organizations playing to different niches and strengths. Israel–​Palestine is perhaps a unique context in that there is such a variety of UCP actors present (McCarthy and Pinckney, 2016), which enables this kind of multi-​organizational, multi-​track collective strategy. One example, from the perspective of an ISM practitioner, demonstrates this: 85

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‘So if you have a soldier arresting a kid, you have ISM fighting the soldier trying to take the kid away. Then you have CPT 5 or 10 metres away, documenting what’s happening, talking to the solider. And then you have EAPPI [Ecumenical Accompaniment Program in Palestine and Israel] 15 metres away, staying back. And then you have TIPH coming after 20 minutes, talking to the soldier, take the soldier’s story, and leave after everything is over.’ The disdain that this ISM representative has for the approach of some other organizations, particularly TIPH (the Temporary International Presence in Hebron, present in Hebron from 1994 to 2019 when the Israeli government chose not to renew the mandate) in this quote is clear. At the same time, when pressed about whether ISM coordinated at all with TIPH, the practitioner noted that “sometimes we would call them, tell them something has happened” because of their official mandate as an intergovernmental organization established through agreement between the government of Israel and the Palestinian Liberation Organization. Though too close to the Israeli state for the comfort of the ISM practitioner, this proximity and state-​endorsed mandate was still identified as potentially useful in these kinds of situations. In most settings, the presence of UCP organizations is much less concentrated. Nevertheless, UCP organizations in other contexts often use a similar cross-​organizational strategy by working alongside other community groups, humanitarian organizations and state authorities. The extent to which this occurs circles back to questions not only of relational strategy, but of context. In South Sudan, NP operates independently, but coordinates with other humanitarian organizations when this could lead to better outcomes for civilians. On a more formal level, NP in the Philippines works as an official member of the Civilian Protection Component (CPC) of the International Monitoring Team of the peace process, as per invitation by the conflict parties (NP, 2021). In stark contrast, this kind of formal partnership with authorities would be a nonstarter in other contexts such as the US, where such a high level of proximity to state authority would potentially pose a threat to local BIPOC staff, as well as undermine credibility with civilians under threat from police and other armed actors (as has been observed with some US-​based UCP organizations who are directly funded and work with state authorities). Internal relational strategies are not static, even within the same organizations, but for the safety of practitioners and at-​r isk civilian populations, must be able to dynamically respond to external conditions such as political context.

Conclusion Understanding these variations in approach is crucial to successfully implementing UCP. Despite a common commitment to nonviolence and 86

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using nonviolent strategies to protect civilians, different organizations use relationships in different ways. In part, this hinges on internal organizational values such as nonpartisanship, solidarity and transformation of oppression, and how these translate into action for different organizations. This is an endogenous assertion of relationship that guides how different UCP organizations interact with the communities, contexts and conflicts in which they practice nonviolence. At the same time, the way these values manifest in practice is relational itself, interacting with the external environment in different ways. The presence of different actors, the nature of a conflict, different geographies and temporalities all shape how and why different types of relational strategies may be utilized and their potential impact on civilian protection outcomes. Ultimately this is both a question of principle and of practice: what kind of relational positioning, within the boundaries of nonviolence, is going to generate positive protective outcomes? Choices are more complex than nonpartisanship or solidarity –​though a common binary employed in this space, it is not necessarily a constructive one. Rather, relational alignments are reflective of various principles, positionalities, political contexts and theories of change coming together in entanglements, and UCP organizations trying to navigate these in the hope of achieving the best outcomes for civilian safety. Notes 1

2

This chapter grows out of ongoing doctoral research on nonviolent forms of civilian protection that I am undertaking at the School of Regulation and Global Governance at the Australian National University, funded by a Australian Government Research Training Stipend and an Endeavour Scholarship. All interviews quoted in this chapter were carried out between January 2018 and December 2020 as part of a broader research project on UCP. In total, over 140 interviews were conducted. Most interviews were conducted in person, with a minority over video conference.

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Unarmed Civilian Protection: Exploring the Challenge for Political Science Cécile Dubernet

Two decades of ‘war on terror’ have dominated our lives and our comprehension of international affairs. Nevertheless, under the radar, unarmed civilian protection (UCP) initiatives have spread in contexts as diverse as Kenya, the Philippines, South Sudan, Israel/​Palestine, Honduras, Guatemala, Kosovo and France (Janzen, nd; Schweitzer, 2021). These civilian-​based and weapon-​free projects seek to mitigate high-​level security risks in zones of tensions. They combine local empowerment and third-​party physical presence (Muller, 1997). Some teams have specialized in observation and monitoring of political processes (demonstrations, elections, trials, for example), others accompany human right defenders, some groups act as local mediators, most deal with patrolling, rumour control, early warning. Overall, they seek to develop new methods to implement a ‘proactive’ and protective presence (Mahony, 2006; Schweitzer, 2021). Names vary and few of these initiatives have been systematically and impartially assessed. Nevertheless, in recent years, the United Nations (UN), the Organization for Economic Co-​operation and Development (OECD), and some governments have shown interest in civilian-​based security, mostly understood as a complement to institutional efforts to rebuild failed states (UN, 2015; OECD, 2018; Ministère de l’Europe et des Affaires Étrangères, 2018). In its Protection of Civilian Handbook, the UN even moved one step further when emphasizing that community engagement should be the cornerstone of its peacekeeping policy (UN, 2020, pp 107–​13). Still, the idea that civilians can protect each other without the threat of physical violence, or the use thereof, remains little explored by mainstream 88

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International Relations (IR) scholars. No international or even national research programme has been financed to study this approach to security and to compare it with militarized endeavours. In the policy field, UCP initiatives remain small-​scale, almost invisible. Financing projects is difficult, especially when they are endogenous. At best, they are considered a useful add-​on to military operations. This unwillingness of the discipline (IR) to engage systematically with UCP, its potential and its limits, is puzzling given some recognized successes of this type of peace work. One of its pioneer organizations, Peace Brigades International (PBI) has received several international prizes for its effective defence of human rights defenders.1 The ecumenical accompaniment of Palestinian children to school in the occupied territories led to a partnership with UNICEF in 2013 (World Council of Churches, 2013). The work of Nonviolent Peaceforce (NP) in South Sudan has been acknowledged at the UN, and other creative examples have been highlighted by the Quaker Council for European Affairs (QCEA, 2018). Indeed, the silence of mainstream IR scholars on UCP over the last two decades is startling, given both its potential and the failure of militarized attempts to bring sustained peace worldwide.2 Such an omission could stem, at least in part, from the very nature of UCP and the challenges it throws at Political Science, and especially at IR. This chapter shows that UCP questions basic assumptions on civilian security that lie at the core of the discipline. UCP enlarges our understanding of security actors. It also defies postulates on the efficiency of violence as a method of conflict resolution and protection. It does so concretely by offering non-​aggressive yet effective protection alternatives, in particular, for inter-​ communal tensions. Besides, UCP initiatives blur the dichotomy between persons and institutions when it comes to granting security. They support the idea that civilians, especially locals, are key to sustainable protection (Russel, 2016; Carstensen, 2016). In short, the existence of UCP questions two twin pillars of international politics: that security is mainly a matter for states, and that it is mostly a matter of threats. UCP is no ‘magic bullet’ though, and clearly has drawbacks. It is therefore necessary to clarify this ‘UCP challenge’ to contribute to a healthy debate on protection within IR and, more largely, mainstream Political Science.

Providing protection: not an exclusive state business In modern Political Science, states are understood as the security providers. This stems from the rise of the European state system through religious wars. From Bodin and Hobbes, to Weber, Morgenthau or Huntington, through Machiavelli, Locke or Rousseau, renowned political theorists have accompanied, explained and framed our understanding of the state as the dominant mode of governance. Central to this historical and intellectual 89

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deployment lies the assumption that sovereigns provide security to citizens, top-​down. Despite much evidence that they have also played a large role in the insecurity of human communities, and still do (Ayoob, 2001), states strongly defend this exclusive role in security, which is the heart of their legitimacy. European bloody religious history also led to an understanding of protection centred on the preservation of life and property. Though twentieth-​century history enlarged rights to social, economic and cultural issues, a distinction remains between what is understood as ‘core’ and what is deemed ‘secondary’. Protection today entails some second-​generation rights such as social security, labour laws or the right to education. These are implemented by both state-​based and private institutions. However, governments remain jealously in charge of what they consider the core issues of law and order, justice or defence. This division of tasks and hierarchy in rights underlies much of our current debates on state failure, on refugee issues,3 or on the responsibility to protect (R2P). For instance, under the normative UN framework of R2P, protection remains constructed as an attribute of states, either individually or collectively. The International Commission on Intervention and State Sovereignty (ICISS) report, the 2005 UN General Assembly (UNGA) declaration and successive UN Secretary-​ General (UNSG) reports call on states to support each other to meet their protection responsibilities (ICISS, 2001; UNGA, 2005; Dubernet, 2015). It is important to emphasize that public structures care for citizens’ basic rights because most do. Nevertheless, this focus prevents us from considering alternative forms of life protection developed by non-​state actors. Unarmed civilian peacekeepers do address core security threats of life, freedom of movement or the limitation of violent aggression from armed actors (Beitel, 2015; Furnari, 2016d; Bresson, 2020). In addition, civilian peacekeepers practise an enlarged approach to security. Consider the accompaniment of civilians through checkpoints to local hospitals, the visits to prisons, the monitoring of communal votes to protect precious waters and forests against mining companies, or the patrol of refugee camp at night. Such missions can be lifesaving. It is artificial to separate between core threats (protection against potential war and physical aggression) and other issues. Survival depends on access to health structures, fresh air, clean water, proper accommodation, safe refuge particularly for women. In the 1990s, the concept of ‘human security’ emerged to address the multiple facets of security and to recentre it on individual and local communities (UNDP, 1994). Yet it has been dismissed by most IR scholars as impractical, as diluting the necessary focus on core priorities (Acharya, 2014). Instead, governments sought to establish security architectures whereby armed actors overpower territories, creating ‘safe spaces’ within which unarmed actors provide humanitarian help and engage in rebuilding. 90

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Last, UCP emphasizes the primacy of local actors and encourages local solutions, including self-​protection when nonviolent. Self-​protection encompasses all the methods developed by local communities and individuals to further their own protection. These range from women using whistles when they circulate in an around refugee camps or training themselves to react to aggressions (South Sudan, Kenya), to villagers pre-​positioning food supplies in the forest in case of flight (Myanmar), to communities organizing night guards and patrols, sometimes armed with traditional weapons (Cameroon). Self-​protection also includes family survival strategies such as separation or reorganization, sending children to sleep in town so as not to be abducted for child soldiery (Uganda). In Colombia, some communities declared themselves ‘Peace Communities’ in the 1990s, and refused to accept armed forces of both the government and rebels. They suffered much from both sides, yet they remain a witness to the immense creativity and risk-​ taking of people who struggle for survival. For regalian states however, self-​protection is a disturbing phenomenon. Governments fear, often rightly, that self-​organized civilians’ trust and obedience evaporate. Of paramount importance for them is the maintenance of a monopoly of violence. Indeed, states’ structures, especially centralized ones, display military strength to make sure that citizens feel both reassured and frightened, vulnerable before armed and police forces. Disarmament has been a top priority of the UN in post-​conflict situations. To argue against the idea that citizens should have a say in core security, political leaders emphasize the nightmare of state failures, the horrors of gangs and paramilitaries wars, the risks of US-​style shootings, or the sadness of gated communities. Security, the argument goes, cannot be left in the hands of citizens. Too dangerous. This posture however is flawed. First there is much evidence that governments worldwide support paramilitary forces; thus delegate the control of territories to private structures, in contradiction with their own declarations. Second this argument relies on a another deeply held assumption in Political Science that can be questioned: that security is a mainly a matter of threats.

Imagining security beyond the use of threats Violence and the threat thereof are central in the study of politics (Donegani and Sadoun, 2003). Political Science, and especially IR, assume that coercion is necessary, and that collective security requires a Leviathan to be feared. Weapons and their differential are seen as key to order and the latter source of protection. Nonviolent actors by contrast are considered irrelevant when it comes to addressing menaces to life. Fundamentally peace comes from dominance, itself grounded in credible threats of reprisals in case of infraction. Such threats, to remain credible, must be regularly enacted. In 91

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this paradigm, power, force and violence are conflated terms, sometimes even used as synonyms. UCP, by contrast, is built on an approach to security, including core security, that focuses mainly on relationships and envisions being safe as a question of links rather than threats. More precisely, security here comes from the ability to deal with surrounding perils via cautious relationship building (including with coercive actors), repairing, knitting, nurturing social fabrics. The ability to establish and maintain respectful and creative connections with nature, with one’s family, community, with employers, institutions, and legal systems, and even with one’s enemies is considered key to building sustainable peace (Lederach, 2005; Biedrawa, 2017). This is a difficult and never-​ending task, as the social fabric moves and tears continually. This approach also requires a sharp understanding of the substance of social connections: respect, fear, awe, trust, friendship, and love –​all bound in manifold ways. In short, UCP assumes that security lies in coconstructed webs, and this contrasts with traditional security approaches that, ultimately, rely on separation (borders, walls, prisons, punishment). These different postures have consequences in terms of methods and timings. For UCP, the test is to stand firm without breaking ties, without intimidation or humiliation. Regarding language for instance, UCP builds on nonviolent communication to limit verbal escalation (Dubernet, 2018). Body language also matters with physical presence and circulation considered key to increase empathy and open paths to search for common goals. Much care is also paid to local news, alerts and rumours. Time plays different roles: in UCP, continuous immersion in the field is necessary to build multilateral trust. By contrast military domination is often exercised through occasional spectacular coercive interventions meant to inspire awe. Space is also approached differently: most unarmed civilian teams live among the population or very close by. They share the space and the risks, whereas military and diplomats live separated from locals. In fact, time, space, the art of building and maintaining trust are understood very differently by UCP and mainstream armed forces. UCP practices have been developed and studied for decades by the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) and non-​governmental organizations (NGOs) (ICRC, 2013; UNITAR and Nonviolent Peaceforce, 2016). Some concepts have also been adopted by intergovernmental institutions such as the Organization for Security and Co-​operation in Europe (OSCE) after the end of the Cold War, in its human rights missions, ceasefire monitoring and election supervisions. As any approach to conflict transformation, UCP tools have limits: they require a minimum of cooperation of the host states and much professionalism (security, confidentiality, legal analysis). An existing normative and legal framework that acknowledges humanitarian and human rights norms is a precondition 92

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for action. Hence, UCP has very little place in fully controlled totalitarian regimes where norms on human life and dignity are openly dismissed. It is hardly conceivable in full-​blown genocidal situations when the destruction of others is the assumed political objective. It has scant leverage in case of total impunity, and it is not well adapted to oppose violent cultural practices such as forced marriages if they are widely accepted in society (Dubernet, 2016). By contrast, it makes sense for the protection of local HRD threatened with disappearance or assassination, in contexts of land disputes, military or paramilitary occupations, checkpoints, ceasefire and peace processes supervision, disarmament, demobilization and reintegration (DDR) programmes, tense electoral contexts and democratic transitions. Overall, it has proven effective to engage with armed actors that want to maintain, to claim or reclaim some political legitimacy (Mahony, 2006; Forst, 2018). And much could still be learned from local unarmed self-​protection efforts, even in terrible circumstances. The existence of unarmed protection initiatives should encourage researchers to assess and compare the efficiency, limits and sustainability of protection programmes, both military and civilian. It makes sense to research whether aims are reached, notably whether violence decreases, in the short, medium and long term (Anderson and Olson, 2003). It makes sense to explore when threats work, and when not. It is also interesting to explore the impact of the vulnerability of unarmed –​therefore non-​threatening –​third parties. For instance, one counter-​intuitive postulate of UCP organizations is that vulnerability can be of value. Indeed, unarmed teams are compelled to reflect on security differently than armed soldiers. The absence of weapons must be compensated with prudence, a rigorous and continuous monitoring of situations, actors, communication networks, as well as the awareness that local partners often know and understand more (Lederach, 2005; Autessere, 2014). This work is crucial for insights and for local acceptance, which, in turn, is meant to be the warrant for team security and effectiveness. Besides, this awareness of fragility, associated with openness, with the readiness to listen, to reframe, to take time, can be fruitful. It opens spaces for local actors, both armed and non-​armed, to envisage new paths, interact and transform their conflict (Dubernet, 2018). And here comes another key claimed bonus: long-​term effectiveness. In the best scenarios, not only can dialogue replace brutality, but the options or deals achieved are reached by the parties themselves, empowered in the process: they would thus prove more sustainable, a measure of real effectiveness. This claim, however, still needs to be fully assessed. Beyond effectiveness lies the question of efficiency, also called cost-​ effectiveness. UCP operations cost a fraction of the price of military action and do not physically destroy. They entail risks though, especially for local activists who can feel emboldened by international presence. Such 93

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programmes can also create their own perverted paths: manipulation, dependency, corruption. Presence indeed is a sensitive resource and, as such, can be abused. In short, UCP projects can fail. But so do militarized adventures, at a huge human, environmental and financial cost (Stiglitz and Bilmes, 2008; Crawford, 2018; Pietri, 2018). Both the costs of success and the costs of failure are much higher in military action. Comparisons, however, remain tricky. Precise, reliable numbers are hard to get. Data on UCP is still missing, even if databases are being developed. Another issue is scaling, as there are few large-​scale experiments to engage in comparison with military interventions. Last, because these approaches are mostly seen as complementary to militarized peace processes, some are embedded in them, for examples ceasefire monitoring. Others are run in parallel to military operations and to other humanitarian endeavours. It is therefore difficult to assess impacts separately. Yet all this should not prevent reflection. Overall military operations’ budgets are measured in billions every year for questionable outcomes, whereas those of UCP never exceed millions for intriguing, sometimes promising experiments. From millions to billions, this factor of a thousand should encourage researchers to dig deeper, to explore complementarity, incompatibilities, and search for scientifically valid comparison methods. Furthermore, studying UCP opens new perspectives on international relations: it invites us to reconsider the modern political equations that we have come to trust: the mainstream synonymy between violence and force, between the monopoly of the use of violence and the idea of protection, or the interplay between effectiveness and efficiency.

UCP: tales to envision protection anew UCP programmes are a curiosity in IR as they do not conform to the inherent logic of the field. Yet they last, offering a multi-​faceted challenge to our understanding of international affairs. They tell stories of shared responsibility in human security, of complementarity and subsidiarity, stories that both complete and challenge our perspectives on protection. Building from the previous two, this last section specifies the nature of the challenge and offers some introductory thoughts to address it. States protect people. Do they? Most political scientists acknowledge that experiences were mixed historically and still are today. In this context, UCP projects matter because they show protection as an everyday multi-​ level praxis. Citizens innovate and take risks to protect themselves, in families, communities, sometimes with the help of local authorities, sometimes negotiating with armed rebels (and sometimes both). Frightened civilians move out of danger zones, or band together to mitigate risks when denouncing abuse. UCP teams enter conflict zones in solidarity, to report, to monitor, to listen. Protection becomes a daily issue, anchored 94

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in territories, dealt with by many actors. It cannot be adequately captured by the myth of the social contract, nor by the current framework of R2P. In 2005, the UN agreed that when a state proves ‘unwilling or unable’ to protect its citizens, protection becomes the ‘subsidiary responsibility’ of the international community. Yet this R2P rhetoric remains theoretical and incomplete. In the field, subsidiarity ranges from the individual to the UN. Each person, social structure and institution is called to sustain life and dignity. There is not one social contract but a multiplicity of them. More precisely, the very notion of ‘contract’ is inadequate. For years now, mountain guides and French citizens of the region of Briançon, have, especially at night, patrolled the Alp mountains that separate Italy from France . Themselves protected by their nationality, their knowledge of the mountain, their equipment, they rescued thousands of migrants who risked freezing to death (Bresson, 2020). Protection was triangulated here, shared freely if strength allowed, in chains of solidarity that involved a multiplicity of civil society actors. To grasp better twenty-​first-​century protection, we need alternatives to the notion of contract: the image of multiple umbrellas (ICRC, 2013), that of climbing ropes, the literature on networks and hubs may provide metaphors and research paths. It is important, though, that while governments remain key in understanding protection networks, each actor develop core protection power. What is core protection made of? UCP experience suggests that it entails securing access to survival resources, anticipating danger, and building safety nets. Here, some regalian assumptions remain but qualified: for instance, the production of basic necessities is critical. But access and sharing matter no less. Inequality and corruption are deep sources of resentment and violence in an interconnected world. Communication systems are decisive? Yet vertical communication between centres (capital cities, urban civil servants) and margins (rural areas, workers in the informal sector or agriculture) may be less relevant than horizontal connections at local level, across frontlines, between local police forces, citizens, religious actors. In fact, horizontal and diagonal communication structures, across tension lines, are crucial. The control of territory is key? Yet maybe less than ensuring safe mobility, be it in the Mediterranean, around refugee camps or through the Alps. This of course is a challenge for governments bent on controlling borders by walls and sanctions. The issue of mobility illustrates well our difficulties to grasp the tensions between movement and safety. Anticipation is a survival skill and, paradoxically, endangered people may be readier to remain and withstand risks when they trust that a way out will remain open. Besides, the more circulation there is, the more resilient the local economy. By contrast, the international policy of containing people in conflict zones, with a mix of promises and force, has turned out to be a short-​sighted policy (Dubernet, 2001). Hence the need to release control on movements 95

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to gain in safety and resilience. Indeed, this example on the management of internal displacement highlights the necessity to approach security in broader perspectives, to accept ambiguities and contradictions. Experiences in UCP support a vision of humans as complex beings, fearful yet courageous, able to engage that fear by building networks of solidarity. They echo the idea that solidarity is an important law of nature, paradoxically very relevant in rough times (Servigne and Chapelle, 2016). UCP projects also help to grasp what is precisely feared: aggression and isolation. The people of Mora in the extreme north region of Cameroon fear attacks from Boko Haram, retaliation from the national armed forces, criminal aggression from local gangs. They, like many communities worldwide, know that all these groups will not disappear. Consequently, they search for ways to engage with them to limit violent acts, overcome trauma and keep living. To some extent, civilians in Mora fear destructive behaviour more than specific actors. Focusing on interconnected and changing behaviours rather than on identifying, labelling and eliminating enemies could help us read anew security dilemmas, away from ‘war on terror’ geopolitics and its state-​centred zero-​sum games. Focusing on conduct also underlines the relevance of accountability in its multiple forms. Here again UCP experiences bring some remarkable insights: they show that legal architectures (international conventions, constitutions, legislations, customary law), though essential, stay strangely remote from war fields, unless activated by daring citizens aware and courageous enough to ask for the respect of their rights. Over the last 20 years, journalists, environment activists and minority leaders have been targeted even in democratic countries. Nevertheless, citizens and communities stand for basic human rights, taking the lead against impunity and corruption, for truth, justice, minority rights. They try to hold leaders to account, which is often perceived as a threat by national authorities. Doing so, they defend humanitarian values and embody political environments, in which counter powers are alive, in which impunity and corruption can be exposed. Empowered citizens are often dissenting citizens. They are living proof of the reality of the rule of law, the hallmark of political systems that respect and care. Last, UCP experiences enlighten the constant confusion between violence and force. The use of the term ‘force’ to refer to violent military operations or to bodies like ‘armed forces’ is a major euphemism in political science. It legitimizes violence into something noble: force. Weber, however, in his famous definition of the state, used the term physical violence. Besides he considered the state to be a ‘human community’ able to ‘claim for itself ’, on a specific territory and ‘with success’, the monopoly of the ‘legitimate use of physical violence’ (Weber, 1919). Hence an historical artefact whose existence is grounded in violence as well as in the imposition of a narrative with hegemonic effects. There is still much to learn from this definition, its 96

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translations, discussions, expansions over the last century. Why state violence remains so often called ‘force’ is a question that UCP monitors raise. This question is raised for a second reason: the confusion between force and violence also makes it difficult to imagine a nonviolent protection force in conflict zones. UCP projects, however, show the strengths of both local activists and third-​party interveners. The dignity and endurance of women who fight for justice and reparation in Guatemala, in Mexico, or the courage of civil society actors in Cameroon, Casamance, Togo, among others, are striking. Such force draws on anger, fears, convictions, hopes and on the energy that radiate from collective bodies. It can spread in campaigns, occupy public spaces, and pressurize political and armed actors. Its leverage lies in influence and constraint, between soft and smart power. Regarding unarmed third-​party presence, strength is intimately connected to fragility. As already mentioned, vulnerability is part of the package. Unarmed teams can circulate in conflict zone for two reasons; because they are transparent, and their mission accepted or tolerated; because they are unarmed and thus physically threaten no-​one. Indeed, the vulnerability of third parties becomes key to peacebuilding because it empowers and allows encounter. Here lies a problem that humanitarians know well: peace work suffers from being embedded in military action. To remain accepted and thus effective, UCP actors, like humanitarians, need to keep a critical distance from military approaches. There are limits to the rhetoric of complementarity. Indeed, not only do UCP actors, local and international, reclaim force for themselves, they offer a reflective art of political force, a force that owns its weaknesses. And they urge tentative alternatives to mainstream thinking. This may be part of the reasons why political and military actors have struggled to take UCP seriously over the last 20 years. Real local empowerment means changes to established orders? It is seldom encouraged (Wall and Hedlund, 2016). Scaling UCP remains an issue? Comparative studies have not been set up. The effectiveness of violence prevention programmes is difficult to prove? Financing prevention is limited, which, in turns, caps the ability to study and learn from prevention programmes. Marginalization prevails.

Conclusion: engaging with disturbing perspectives from the margins Military and humanitarian operations have proven insufficient to sustain life and rebuild societies in conflict zones. Sometimes they have been disastrous, like in Afghanistan, Libya or Yemen. UCP projects can complete the quest for security, become a piece of the protection puzzle. It is always useful to have observers, monitors or mediators in tense situations. At the same time, this chapter argues that UCP is not just complementary to military operations. By building on local knowledge and competences, by using 97

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unarmed third-​party presence, UCP disturbs. Its propositions unsettle Political Science assumptions on security, protection, force. Yet, as an operating practice and alongside other concepts such as ‘human security’, ‘Do no harm’, ‘restorative justice’ or ‘conflict transformation’, UCP could contribute to renewing our understanding of international politics. Though it is difficult to practise, to scale, to replicate, there is something authentic in UCP: its advocates take locally led initiatives seriously, mobilize nonviolent tools to work towards a less violent future, use the law to defend the rule of law. However small, such coherence in conflict zones contrasts with our military-​based protections policies. The latter often seems hollow. Worse, in some cases, like the G5 Sahel or the peace process in Libya, security architectures are no more than scaffoldings on empty promises. They miss connections to the daily security of populations. They lack roots. Acknowledging this and taking UCP more seriously could help us reconsider the fabric of security and move from empty security architectures to dense protection textures. Notes 1

2

3

Among others, the Achen Peace prize (1999), the Martin Ennals Prize (2001), the ‘We have a dream’ prize of the International Human Rights Forum (2008), the international Jaime Brunet prize for the promotion of Human Rights (2011). Apart from the widely recognized failure of interventions in Afghanistan, Yemen and Libya, one could highlight that violence has increased sharply in the Sahel between 2019 and 2020. EU (August 2021): https://​eur​opa.eu/​capac​ity4​dev/​artic​les/​pro​tect​ing-​civili​ ans-​war-​g5-​sahel-​joint-​milit​ary-​force-​the​ory-​pract​ice [Accessed 16 December 2021]. The 1951 Refugee Convention, in establishing that states can fail their protection duty (Art 1), acknowledges the limits of state protection narratives. Besides the constant violation of the Convention Art 33 on non-​refoulement and the criminalization of refugees at borders illustrate the extent to which fleeing for one’s life has been progressively framed as a security threat by political leaders and governments.

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Gender and Care in Unarmed Civilian Protection Derek Oakley

In recent years movements such as #MeToo and Black Lives Matter have given global visibility to crucial questions of sexism and racism, and conversations across many sectors of society, about how to address these and other interconnected oppressions. These conversations have extended to the aid sector, which has begun to tangle with the contradictions of aiming to serve the poorest and most marginalized people, while being entangled in historical and present-​day structures of colonialism and violence, and the implications of the repeated scandals around abuse and corruption that continue to plague it. Many non-​governmental organizations (NGOs) have taken public actions signalling their commitment to addressing structural oppressions in their work. The efficacy of these actions is better explored elsewhere; however, it is clear that there is still a great deal of work to be done in this area. This chapter considers the extent to which the practice of unarmed civilian peacekeeping (UCP) represents a new, more radical, and progressive humanitarian methodology, with particular emphasis on how the everyday practice of UCP workers relates to gendered structures of power. It draws upon PhD research the author undertook on UCP with a focus on the INGO Nonviolent Peaceforce (NP) (Oakley, 2020). This incorporated direct observation of a UCP team in Mindanao, Philippines over a two-​week period in 2017, 12 interviews with current and former staff and volunteers, and auto-​ethnographic reflections on my own experience with NP in South Sudan, Lebanon and Iraq and with the Ecumenical Accompaniment Programme in Palestine and Israel (EAPPI) in Palestine. In that study UCP is understood and explored as a as a unique ‘community of practice’ (COP)

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subordinate to and nested within the overarching humanitarian infrastructure; with which it has a complex and fluid relation. I worked under the assumptions that UCP can be understood and articulated as a COP that could be researched ‘through’ (Lewis and Schuller, 2017, p 15) an organization, in this case NP. I believe that it is useful to consider how specific vocational practices reflect different types and levels of institutionalized oppression and counter-​hegemonic resistance and that UCP workers may provide clues about how gender can be ‘done’ differently. The chapter argues that care work not only supports and enables knowledge creation and sharing but is itself a form of social reproduction that sustains and ‘makes’ UCP as a unique humanitarian vocation. The following concepts are employed to shape my discussion: • The notion of hegemonic gender regimes (Howson, 2006) gives a concrete model for understanding gendered power dynamics, which can then be applied to UCP by clearly indicating how gender is constructed through antagonistic power relations. The notions of complicity and resistance in relation to hegemony provide a simple binary via which to categorize individual actions and patterns of behaviour. • The concept of social reproduction supports the understanding not only of how labour is gendered but how, outside of paid work, acts of social (that is, not biological) ‘reproduction’ sustain social mores and thus ‘society’ itself. It is a tool in highlighting the economic component of any social relation (Bhattacharya, 2017). • Feminist Care Ethics (Brun, 2016) provides tools for understanding how relationships shape our understanding of ourselves and how we negotiate moral conflicts. This also supports reflection on the underlying ethics and politics that support or challenge the values of hegemonic gender regimes. Drawing upon literature that applies these tools in analysing humanitarian work enables a closer reading of UCP using the same tools; assessing if care work is being undertaken in UCP, who is doing it, and if and how these impact on learning and gender dynamics. Employing these conceptual frames, the discussion below first addresses how UCP can be understood in relation to peacekeeping and humanitarianism, before proceeding to consider the everyday gendering of UCP work and its relationship to individual workers learning and development. It subsequently addresses how gender intersects with other characteristics in shaping the experiences and practice of UCP workers, before focusing on the unique role that care plays within UCP, and the implications of this for its role as a force for change within humanitarianism. 100

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Situating UCP ‘I view UCP as a piece of the puzzle of a post-​capitalist world system that is egalitarian, eco-​friendly, decentralized, interdependent, and gender balanced. UCP has a low carbon footprint; it is inclusive (not just the physically strong can participate); it is designed to bring people together (security with) instead of keeping people apart (security from); it balances the masculine and the feminine (finding strength in vulnerability); and it provides a blue-​print for interdependent security (it questions the dualism of “protectors” and “protected” –​unarmed protectors are partly protected by those whom they protect).’ (‘Janik’ quoted in Oakley, 2020, p 157)1 This quote, from a very experienced and senior NP staff member, reflects an idealistic vision of UCP that suggests that UCP fundamentally challenges dominant models of economics, security and gender. While not all practitioners are ‘true believers’ in UCP, its unique history and composition certainly inform a rich field, and healthy debate about what it is and is not. A diversity of traditions, politics and approaches coexist within a loose set of groups and organizations that researchers have categorized as UCP (Furnari, 2016a; Julian and Gasser, 2018). All share a concern with the well-​being and care of civilians living at risk of violence, and often under conditions of sustained armed conflict. Primarily rooted in the practices employed by North American and European solidarity groups connected to communities affected by violent conflicts in Latin America during the 1980s (Boardman, 2005), UCP now occupies a space overlapping between voluntaristic activist movements and the infrastructure of humanitarian work that consists of national and INGOs and multilateral bodies. Julian and Gasser (2018) attempt to define UCP by identifying commonly agreed UCP principles, namely: (1) nonviolence is the underpinning principle, weapons are neither carried nor used; (2) the work of peacekeeping is done by civilians, rather than military personnel without weapons; (3) the ‘primacy of the local’ guides actions. (p 17). Recent studies (Nonviolent Peaceforce, ndf; Schweitzer, 2018a; 2018b; 2019) highlight the ambiguity and tension of the relationship between accompaniment and UCP. Wilkinson and D’Angelo (2019) articulate accompaniment as the ‘intentional practice of presence, emphasizes processes and relationships over outcomes, with the ultimate goal of leveraging privilege and collectively changing destructive systems’ (p 151). Koopman (2014) asserts that studying accompaniment can allow a reimagining of political geography towards a more just and positive peace. Targeted accompaniment of human rights defenders (HRDs) incorporating local and international advocacy, aims to open up ‘political space’ (Mahony and Eguren, 101

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1997), which, when combined with the concept of chains of connections between different actors, can allow for a making and remaking of space that reimagines how a conflict can be transformed (Koopman, 2014). There is a strong cross-​over between the two types of practice, with protective accompaniment and protective presence being commonly used tools in UCP, and some accompaniment organizations maintaining a more narrow, strict focus on ‘accompaniment’ as both a tool for deterring violence, and as a set of values for how to engage with local actors and a conflict as a whole, and sometimes rejecting the language of ‘protection’ altogether. Accompaniment is often a volunteer-​driven practice. With the formation of NP, and a gradual diversification of tactics, there was a development of UCP theory and practice and a professionalization of working roles, which enabled the entry of both local actors into the workforce, and the recruitment of career-​driven staff with less or no experience within UCP, but with a range of other technical skills. Inevitably as the practice itself has changed, the experiences of the different staff will be divergent in a widening range of ways, shaped by geography, race, age, and other variables. These differences will always be gendered; as social relations and positions also change in conflict situations, and local workers of different sexes and gender identity will also have distinct entries to and experiences of UCP practices. What is shared among them by taking on their roles is an active engagement with how nonviolence is understood and acted out in the world. UCP is often defined and described in contrast to armed peacekeeping. In situations of armed conflict humanitarian work and military peacekeeping both act out bio-​power (Duffield, 2001). The conceptual framing of human security, which can integrate and justify both military intervention and civilian, civil society interventions, relies on never-​ending emergency and war, punctuated by ‘crisis’ events. Duffield (2001; 2010) argues that this reflects a biopolitical framing of global politics, which takes life as a starting point, rather than the sovereignty or power of the state weaving together security and development discourse. This framing reflects a more dispersed and pervasive type of power than traditional, linear ideas of the state or ruler as a sovereign concentration of dominance. Bio-​power is formed in the articulated obligation of ‘the West’, whether via state or non-​state ‘technologies’, to act on populations framed as in crisis, (and often concurrently constituting a threat to others) in doing so to define and regulate the life of those populations, within a paradigm that normalizes a ‘bare’ life (Agamben, 1998) at the edge of survival, and justifies perpetual renewal of intervention and control of that life. Higate and Henry (2009) describe how, with the declared intent of protection, armed peacekeepers regulate and restrict human bodies and their movement in specific, bounded spaces, in a highly gendered and racialized way. Duffield (2001) describes the world system as promoting a combination of ostensibly altruistic humanitarian 102

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and self-​interested security motives in the ‘development-​security’ nexus. Numerous scholars (Razack, 2004; Whitworth, 2004; Higate and Henry, 2009) demonstrate the numerous ways in which ‘force protection’ military peacekeeping reproduces and intensifies gendered violence and coloniality. Civilian interventions that exist alongside military peacekeeping are also implicated in this violence in a range of ways, even as they can be effective at alleviating some of its impacts, with both often relegating the idealized ‘civilian’ to an object position ‘caught in the crossfire’ (Kaplan, 2017b), whereby their existence is defined by their suffering at the hands of others. For example, Kotef and Merav (2007) describe the experiences of Israeli women acting as human rights observers at checkpoints inside occupied Palestine. These activists realized that their efforts to push the Israeli Defence Forces (IDF) to provide basic amenities, such as shade and water, at the checkpoints unintentionally contributed to the reification of the existence of the checkpoints themselves, which developed from temporary structures to permanent, securitized presences that objectify Palestinians. The humanitarian impulse of the activists and the securitized military presence produce a gendered ‘dyad’ of ‘friction between vulnerable and violent (Palestinian) bodies that necessitates separation by walls, this resonance results in the ever-​progressing material excessiveness of the checkpoints’ (Kotef and Merav, 2007, p 994). My interviewees had a range of perspectives on what distinguishes UCP from other forms of intervention, and its added value in situations of conflict. ‘Mick’, a team leader, emphasized the economy of UCP as an alternative to peacekeeping: “I think (UCP) helps to challenge the paradigms of violence that lead to bloated, ineffective peacekeeping missions where billions are spent to finance units which make no real concerted effort to protect those they’ve been sent to help” (Oakley, 2020, p 115). Team leader ‘Amina’ sees the worth of UCP as concentrated in its versatility and utility across boundaries: “(UCP) is at the intersection of various things. It is multi-​sectoral or multidisciplinary” (Oakley, 2020, p 115). ‘Janik’ likewise positions UCP as a practice that traverses and bridges disciplinary gaps, while noting that this makes articulating its unique identity more difficult: “I feel UCP operates in between the humanitarian sector and the peace and conflict sector ... it provides a lot of opportunities to spot/​fill gaps and connect people/​ efforts. At the same time UCP is easily misunderstood, especially within the humanitarian sector” (Oakley, 2020, p 115). I think that UCP should primarily be considered a component of the broader humanitarian sector rather than a peacekeeping intervention. Though present-​day humanitarianism is in many ways tied to and implicated in larger structures of militarism and imperialism (see earlier) most of its disparate threads and tendencies reject physical violence as a legitimate method of achieving their goals. UCP shares this rejection, while standing 103

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in opposition to military peacekeeping. Thus, we can understand UCP as a specific type of humanitarian practice (Wenger, 1999), which has specific relationships to the hegemonic structures and norms that govern humanitarianism. At an individual and structural level, UCP workers are constantly negotiating their relationship to other institutions and practices, not least to hegemonic gender regimes. The focus in UCP on communication, relationship-​building and physical presence, rather than the rendering of physical or fiscal aid, distinguishes it from other humanitarian practice. By considering the perspectives and experiences of UCP workers themselves on their work we can consider how much of a break with typical humanitarian practice UCP represents and the potential for it to have a more radical impact.

Gender ‘I think as I have grown older, I have become a stronger feminist. Where I am less sure, is if that is a product of UCP, or in witnessing the horrifying effects of mass rape perpetrated by the patriarchal social structures in South Sudan. Thanks to UCP I think I’m analytically more inclined to always be questioning how oppression takes place, but emotionally, I think the horrors of South Sudan were what truly awakened me.’ (‘Mick’ quoted in Oakley, 2020, p 134) This NP team leader actively links his own political shifts to ‘local’ experiences of sexual violence in war. He distinguishes the affective and intellectual dimensions, positing UCP as situated within the latter, putting it at the periphery of his personal change. However, he also clearly takes pride in the efficacy that he feels UCP has in addressing these ills, especially in contrast to force peacekeeping. In promoting and enabling the former, he exercises agency toward a more feminist future. It is arguable that in giving a critical framework to process and respond to injustice, his identification with UCP has enabled a deeper connection to the meaning of his experiences. Both men and women interviewed in my research reflected on how their own assumptions about the relative efficacy of differently gendered people in engaging armed actors and supporting civilian protection had been changed through their lived experiences and collaboration and shared learning with colleagues. Not all the respondents in my study articulated an understanding of UCP as a distinct practice. Often, their reflections on UCP are blended with memories and critiques of the overall experience of their careers as humanitarians. The practice is perceived in contrast or correspondence to the overarching structures and themes of that response, and that perception is mediated by individual experience and interpretation. This strongly 104

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influences how they relate UCP to gender. ‘David’, a UCP worker, specialized in security coordination, similarly articulated how UCP prompted a renegotiation of his personal identity as a young man from a targeted minority group: ‘UCP has been very influential on me … knowing what Tamils have gone through in Sri Lanka I still believe that everyone should reconcile and put our past conflicts to the back. Otherwise, we won’t all be Sri Lankans; we will always fight. It’s a challenge to speak with my friends. I will find it easy to look at a conflict in a nonpartisan manner because of my engagement with the other side of the community. UCP is something that all can use. A male and a female can both use it.’ (‘David’ quoted in Oakley, 2020, p 134) ‘Mahesh’, who had moved to the Philippines from his own Asian home country, noted how, as a team leader and the only man in his team, he was supported to negotiate culturally sensitive situations and to ‘open up spaces’ by his women colleagues: ‘we complimented each other … whenever ... (I can’t) build relationships as a man with just anyone so I asked my team members (for help). In the Philippines as in most places in Asia as an international you are looked to for advice. We used that a lot … in the Philippines as a man they would listen to me then I would ask my national colleagues to speak to the particular situation.’ (‘Mahesh’ quoted in Oakley, 2020, p 177) ‘Janik’, who has been more deeply involved in conceptual reflections and constructions of UCP discourse, demonstrates a different perspective on the centrality of the affective dimension to UCP, characterizing it (potentially problematically) as ‘feminine’ on a structural level: ‘One of the things that fascinates me is the feminine side of UCP. Centuries of patriarchy have created an imbalance in most of the global systems, part of why the world is in such a mess. Nowhere is that felt more than in the security sector and its reliance on the threat of physical force: ‘the dude with the biggest rocket is the alpha male’. UCP challenges that paradigm as it relies more on relationships to provide security.’ (‘Janik’ quoted in Oakley, 2020, p 135) In all these examples, UCP work has enabled and supported critical reflection around gender. This reflects the depth and intensity of engagement with others required in this type of work, as well as the 105

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possibilities for social learning and knowledge exchange of UCP workers between each other, as well as with the communities that they work in. Active ‘leaning in’ to conflict demands reflection on the structural factors producing violence, and how these affect people differently, including how this violence is gendered. However, the awareness and resistance of men to hegemonic, patriarchal norms, is inconsistent and contingent across the UCP workforce. For example, an interviewee, as the team leader, admitted responding to an incident of sexual harassment (by staff of another agency) with an aggressive, patriarchal approach that excluded the voice of those affected. He noted that the resistance of his colleague to this dominative behaviour, and the subsequent process of reconciling and reflecting on this experience together, enabled him to learn from it and realize his own patriarchal position. The shared respect and personal connection between the individuals as practitioners, underpinned by the trust generated by shared endeavours, allowed for the learning to take place. While this had positive implications for his future practice, the learning demanded labour from his female colleague (Samaran, 2019); enabling the possibility of a more ‘positive’ masculinity at the expense of a woman’s initial subjugation and subsequent investment of time and energy to support the man through the process (Kaufman, 1998). In situations of stress where the dominant masculine culture might be more monolithic and consistent with some of the worst components of the hegemonic norm, resistance is less accessible or visible (Connell, 2006). As ‘Mick’, described: ‘as the work begins to wear one down … a bravado appears that has a usefulness in keeping me going but can appear cavalier and arrogant … often accompanied by the self-​destructive behaviour such as excessive drinking. As I become increasingly angry, I am more prone to confrontation. I do think it is testament to UCP … that I can largely compartmentalize these negative traits while in the field, and they are not accompanied by increased risk taking, which is my greatest fear.’ (‘Mick’ quoted in Oakley, 2020, p 170) The deterioration of capacity to acknowledge failures indicates a strong degree of hubris, that some staff, who may have been gung-​ho at first, took responsibility for ensuring that mistakes and unnecessary risks were documented and shared to allow for nuanced and holistic learning. On an individual level, as noted in the quote above, UCP can help to defuse some of the worst components of the ‘psychic self-​mutilation’ among men which hooks (2004) describes. However, as ‘Janik’ noted: “UCP still operates in patriarchal cultures and so female UCP workers often struggle more, as they are taken less seriously or are simply excluded” (Oakley, 2020, p 171). Inside 106

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international organizations gendered power relations are often rendered invisible. ‘Amina’, who is from North Africa, reflected on key differences in internal discourse around gender issues: ‘I can’t say I remember many instances where men have reflected to me about their gender in the context of UCP work, as much as female colleagues have. I think that holds true across the board with humanitarian work –​women are constantly reminded of the fact that they are a woman in these environments and so when female colleagues leave and start to decompress, they look at all those interactions and experiences that were defined by their gender much more so than a man might.’ (‘Amina’ quoted in Oakley, 2020, p 173) This reflects the ‘default’ nature of male-​dominated spaces and structures. The (often white and/​or cis and straight) man is comfortable because their presence is considered normal, giving them an extra sense of belonging and confidence that women cannot rely on, thus making women more conscious of their otherness in a particular space and leading them to seek or create alternate spaces that value different kinds of being (Curnow, 2013). It was much more common for women to be forthcoming in their reflections on the gendering of their everyday experiences in doing UCP. As one interviewee stated in response to an inquiry about men challenging other men on their behaviour “why would they?” echoing the suppression of gender awareness by men noted by Samaran (2019). To talk about such things would not be ‘men’s talk’ (Eckert and McConnell-​Ginet, 1992). Kotef and Merav (2007) note that, even when women organize to specifically challenge the gendered logic of warfare and militarism, elements of their engagement with armed actors can reify stereotypical feminized roles; for example, ‘the mother’ perpetuates a binary gendering that objectifies all civilians in a range of ways, coding bodies as violent or vulnerable. In UCP, tactical considerations as to the effectiveness of a particular individual over another in an interaction with an armed actor can similarly play into those structured roles, even as the tenuous and fragile status of hegemonic gender is constantly challenged and ruptured. There is an ongoing tension between challenging and defying gendered codings and using elements of them to negotiate a specific moment in time, even as this perpetuates the overall logic of biopower. Another aspect of humanitarian work that can make visible gendered divisions is that of stress and trauma. A toxic vector of trauma, stress and of poor practice and learning can form during intense periods of UCP work. When you live and work together, constantly engaging with violence, it has an impact on the practitioner’s state. The pre-​existing socialization of many men determines their default responses to changing conditions. Their capacity to exercise agency in confronting and changing their choices of coping 107

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mechanism, and how they constructively use their homosocial (Hammeron and Johannsen, 2008) bonds with other men to build their critical consciousness, is key to challenging persistent hegemonies that transcend geography and differences in material condition. As NP recruits men into Women’s Protection Teams (WPTs) or into complimentary supporting structures, in order to enlist men as allies in promoting gender just security and women’s participation in peace work (Nonviolent Peaceforce, ndh), ongoing internal processes involving UCP workers should be facilitated on an ongoing basis. UCP work is inherently relational and, where relations between different men and women are more even and interactions less mediated by hierarchy, organizational structure can open some reflections on gender that make the ‘invisible’ visible (Halberstam, 1998). This extends to relations with key actors/​ targets of the work, such as individual behavioural change on the part of influential men in armed groups (and men more broadly) and to the creation/​ co-​creation of spaces and actions by/​with women who push back against dominant/​dominative gendered patterns of violence. The more embedded and institutionalized within a context that a group of UCP practitioners become, the more likely it is that their presentation and practice of the work is adulterated through compromise/​compliance with hegemonic structures and norms. Under pressure, negative patterns of masculinist behaviour with a violent component (hooks, 2004; Samaran, 2019) can come to the fore. The strong representation of women at a senior level within NP –​seven out ten of the global senior management team being women as of 2022 (Nonviolent Peaceforce, ndg, p 18) –​does not guarantee resistance to such co-​option to power. However, it is consistent with the strong overall organizational focus on gender equity and sets a precedent for leadership by women through all levels of the organization, which opens up the possibility of a wider range of women’s experiences being shared and informing practice.

Intersectionality Hegemonic gender structures and patterns of associated behaviour intersect with other forms of structural oppression. Different UCP workers experience this in a range of ways, depending not on only gender but other characteristics, such as their nationality and cultural background. These experiences highlight additional critical considerations in understanding if and how UCP can transcend the limitations of the humanitarian sector. Kallman (2019) describes the dynamic, context-​specific operation of privilege among peace corps volunteers, whereby white-​racialized women are sometimes seen and treated as men by local communities, exempted from some of the strictures or prejudices enforced on local women, and Black-​racialized Americans likewise are racialized in some contexts. Similarly, UCP workers can experience a range of shifting positions where they experience different levels of privilege 108

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relative to others. The sections below explore how intersecting and sometimes fluid identities affect the experiences of UCP workers. One area where staff can be facilitated to consider their relative power and privilege is via staff development, such as training. Reflecting on her UCP experience, one worker from the Global South, ‘Marielle’, noted that she did not experience UCP training as promoting self-​awareness around racism and, in fact, that the ostensibly radical nature of the practice served to obfuscate the real dynamics at play: ‘A lot of times people from the Global North can be condescending not only to people in the local community but also to myself and others from the Global South … Just because you “do UCP” (doesn’t mean that you won’t) still feel (superior).’ (‘Marielle’ quoted in Oakley, 2020, p 178) How this is processed and resisted, and the extent to which team power relations allow this, varies. Internationals, who constitute 21 per cent of the NP workforce (Nonviolent Peaceforce, ndg, p 22) can believe that they know or do most of the work, whereas an incredible amount of labour is done behind the scenes/​off the clock by the local staff who make up the majority of the workforce (Nonviolent Peaceforce, ndg, p 22). This reflects the ‘racialized capitalism’ described by Virdee (2019) and is compounded by ignorance of the double, and in the case of women triple, duties of local staff who must return home after work. The casual devaluation of what people whose embodied experience of conflict bring to UCP is problematic in that it is complicit with the concept of the ‘emergency’ that Calhoun (2014) refers to; an exceptional state beyond the boundaries of ‘civilzation’. In recognizing and reasserting the significance and nuance of local knowledges and actions to UCP practice, ‘Marielle’ is reflecting an ethic of refusal (Pringle and Moorsom, 2018), a rejection of dominant narratives and assumptions. ‘Beatrice’, a younger Asian woman team leader, indicates how ageism, combined with a degree of internalized bias against staff from the majority world and sexism, made her initial time in South Sudan difficult, and resulted in a power struggle in here team: ‘The first few months as a TL [team leader] were tough as the 2 male staff (one is older than me, really old) tried to show that they were more knowledgeable (of the local context) as nationals, and of course this was true … But this came to the point that they wanted to show power over the TL, and that they could decide on the use of the resources such as car for their personal gain. I had a feeling that the show of power was not just because I am a woman but also, I am from the Global South.’ (‘Beatrice’ quoted in Oakley, 2020, p 182) 109

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Here, in an environment where notions of male power and strength are privileged, this team leader faced a complex combination of prejudices that increased resistance against her; perceived and treated as undeserving of respect or inclusion because she did not fit the expected stereotypes of a team leader. This individual chose to confront these issues, not by the dominative exercising of hierarchical power that they had within their team, but by seeking common ground; solidarity, based on similar experiences of oppression and resistance; expressed in an overtly politically conscious manner: ‘I made my team feel that we all came from the same experiences of oppression, of colonization and that we have (we shall have) the same aspiration for equality … and that we need to be in solidarity. I would even start my welcoming remarks in the training or any events with I am not a white person, I am from a country which has the same experience as yours, such as poverty and colonization. Our houses are built the same as them, having a roof made out of grass. With those efforts, after a few months, my team, especially the two men, showed respect to me as their team leader.’ (A team leader quoted in Oakley, 2020, p 183) Another intersection of identity, that of gender and position with coloniality and class relations, is being acknowledged and invoked here to challenge and transform internal team relations and to advance a sense of common purpose and care. This team leader exhibits a comfort in her ambiguous position and clear awareness of her own agency in the context of transnational structures that enables her and her colleagues to develop a shared meaning in their team. Her behaviour is an example of how some individual UCP workers model elements of resistance not only to normative disciplinary power but to wider manifestations of bio-​power. Their refusal to remain as part of a subject population or to reproduce the racist and sexist norms of their working sector not only demonstrates their own sense of agency and politics and how they contextualize and apply UCP practice consistently with this sense, but the ways in which UCP can live up to the promise of its counter-​hegemonic commitment to a different ideal of security. This was also reflected in my research in the leadership of experienced ‘elders’ within NP teams, often older staff from countries in the majority world, who bring a strength and depth of experience and gravity to their everyday practice, and model behaviours that further facilitate learning. Where these staff have moved between multiple country contexts, their added value multiplies as they carry and exchange experiences to different colleagues. Furthermore, where they had perceived seniority in the view of colleagues in their new working country, gained either via age, experience, or both, instances were cited of this offsetting racist and sexist prejudices among those 110

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colleagues, increasing their influence and respect. For example, ‘Karen’, an older African woman working as a trainer in Myanmar, noted how the respect for eldership across many of the cultures where NP works afforded her an automatic respect that younger colleagues would not attain “in terms of being African and female, thank god that I was older” (Oakley, 2020, p 187). However, the mobility of national staff, especially women, may be limited by a range of factors, including feedback from others on the relative danger presented to women in different contexts. The imbalances in levels of education, economic security, non-​work commitments and other variables between international staff and local staff can be more easily accounted for and balanced at the team level, if not overcome entirely. Local staff navigate around it, and team leaders intervene, and internationals learn in a ‘sink or swim’ fashion. The process weeds out those who are unable to adapt and let go of certain assumptions. Because the focus is on realizing rights in tangible ways, recourse to more paternalistic structural notions of rights have less relevance and credence. However, the further one gets from ‘the field’ the more the audience changes to one that expects the work to be communicated in very particular discourse that reflects dominant ‘common sense’. The extent to which UCP workers can practise in ways that diverge from that ‘common sense’ and centre the excluded and marginalized could open a wider plurality of possible future directions for the work.

Care Humanitarian work is all, on one level, about care. However, as Käpylä and Kennedy (2014) articulate, in dominant discourse the humanitarian ‘crisis’ forms a depoliticized moment of suffering that can motivate outsiders to intervene; mostly in the form of financial aid, without examining their own position in relation to the political dynamics within which this moment occurs and their relation to it. Käpylä and Kennedy note that ‘external crisis dynamics are bracketed out; questions of blameworthiness are at best local and political debate is replaced by self-​serving ethics and international paternalism’ (2014, p 284). Thus, compassion and caregiving must be reclaimed and situated in a more complex ethics that highlight the interconnectedness of peoples and states, rather than the exceptionality of people experiencing ‘avoidable’ suffering. By looking at how the process of care work is done and experienced by NP staff we can better understand how it relates to gender roles, and its transformative potential. ‘Janik’ saw care-​g iving labour for others as integral to UCP practice in the community: ‘Care is a crucial part of UCP work if it is done properly. UCP concerns itself less with justice and more with reaching out to those that are 111

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threatened by violence, making them safer and feel safer … the more spectacular protection interventions are rare, but that there is all the more moral encouragement … we spent a lot of our time providing encouragement, sometimes simply by being there, and sitting in front of their office providing accompaniment, sometimes through a heart to heart conversation in the middle of the night during a difficult field trip.’ ( ‘Janik’ quoted in Oakley, 2020, p 150) I explored with interviewees where they saw care in relation to their practice, to determine its centrality to UCP specifically. Their responses communicate different interpretations of the term on an individual level while reflecting a collective concern with care as an important activity type; one that involves affective labour; imagining oneself in relation to others and using this to inform work. In UCP, where the personal and organizational commitment to nonviolence is central, and there is no transactional exchange of goods or services with supported populations, individual interactions and connections take precedence and demand a high degree of attention, empathy and care for others. Caring could mean reaching out to colleagues who are exhibiting signs of stress and trauma. It can also mean taking on responsibilities from colleagues when feeling equipped to do so and sharing when you need the support yourself. If staff trust and care for their peers, then they are better placed to serve them by showing them, and the wider community, their vulnerabilities, and limitations. However, this part of the work is not necessarily done equally by all. A senior staff member noted how “Time and time again female colleagues become the emotional caretakers of the team” (Oakley, 2020, p 155). Men and women workers alike note the importance of trust, care and empathy to UCP; however, for many men it can seem to be a functional requirement for the job rather than something integral to better human relations and humanitarian practice that this practice highlights. The gendered trend here reflects prevailing norms in society and in humanitarian work whereby social reproduction is coded as feminized, unpaid labour. In UCP, this emotional labour is foregrounded within the practice both in the team and beyond, and emotional connection and identification are considered by many practitioners to be key competencies. In this context this imbalance, if left unnoticed, unnamed or unaddressed, reproduces this fundamentally unjust distribution of labour. Care not only supports and makes possible knowledge creation and sharing but is itself a form of social reproduction that sustains and ‘makes’ UCP. The differential distribution of the burden of care and knowledge creation in UCP teams demands further attention. This recognition of the centrality of care to UCP not only sheds new light on how UCP is practised and experienced differently by not only men and women but by people of numerous intersecting subjectivities. There appears to be a relationship in UCP work 112

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between crisis and care, whereby trust is built or destroyed faster in what feel like ‘crisis’ situations; this can accelerate both marginalization and acceptance. If learning UCP is to some extent learning to care, then measures must be taken to move workers, especially men, to learn to take responsibility for intentionally caring in an equal way to their colleagues, doing care work rather than doing care as work. When 59 per cent of the NP workforce are self-​identifying men (Nonviolent Peaceforce, ndg, p 23) these measures should be of serious priority in order to address care disparities. To meaningfully reclaim the concept of care and refuse its co-​option should be a key aim of UCP practice. In some respects, this requires a slowing down. The work holds great urgency for those holding it dear. Experience of crisis becomes both a mark of honour and respect and conversely a barrier to critical reflection and cross-​cultural learning. Colleagues may engage in mutual coping and support behaviours, and their reflections can produce new locally rooted and expressed forms of practice. These are not always accepted or understood by colleagues, especially across international–​local divides. Reflective praxis is required to acknowledge and consider the numerous traditions and practices that exist within the UCP workforce and the communities where they work. UCP workers need to be living examples of what the work can do. As UCP work continues to expand and professionalize, the need to embed gender justice within policy and structures becomes ever more important, as otherwise the emancipatory element of the work may be diluted, or altogether neutralized, by incipient managerialism. UCP organizations must ‘reflect on policies … and/​or practices that reinforce the traditional imagery of male “protectors” versus female “protected”, in order to move beyond a narrow concept of security towards a strategy of inclusion and empowerment’ (Delgado, 2010, p 83) and continue to reproduce and reiterate inclusive approaches in training and mentoring practices (p 84).

Conclusion In summary, UCP practice does hold potential to be emancipatory, normative and democratic (Julian and Glasser, 2018) in its approach to security but embodies contradictions that also undermine this potential. UCP practice is influenced by the contemporary global context and humanitarian system. While UCP practice affects personal behaviour and promotes critical reflection on questions of power and identity and facilitates a degree of agency for workers to practise a diverse range of agency in their gender performance, UCP is subject to the same structural challenges as most humanitarian work, including racism and power imbalances and the privileging of certain types of white, Western masculinities and femininities (Noe, 2018). Capitalist conceptions of humanitarianism ‘crisis’ (Walby, 2015) generate economic 113

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demand for UCP to ‘prove’ itself within the ‘mutually adaptive’ and ‘co-​ constitutive’ structures of capitalism and the gender regime (McNally, 2017). The current structure and practice of UCP does not adequately address these issues, which have long been identified as a challenge for applied nonviolence in transnational humanitarian work (Boothe and Smithey, 2007). Unique components of the practice invert key principles of the masculinist security paradigm (Higate and Henry, 2009) and foreground a radical ethics of care (Pringle and Moorsom, 2018) and collective knowing (Curnow, 2013). However, without a complimentary underlying ethic of refusal that rejects the disciplinary power of the technocratic ‘security-​ development nexus’ (Duffield, 2001) the resistance of UCP to the worst abuses of this system is contingent at best. The emphasis on empathy and care that UCP has in its key foundational concepts, and its contribution to reparative social reproduction, create potential to influence positive change in humanitarianism structures and practices. To fully catalyse this potential will entail a sustained and critical engagement with the conceptual and practical nature of violence and nonviolence within UCP work, and a continual refreshing and communication of the understanding of how nonviolence is practically applied, and the distinction of UCP from other practices. Note 1

All direct interview quotes are from Oakley (2020). Interviewees are quoted using pseudonyms, denoted by the use of single inverted commas.

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Unarmed Civilian Protection and Nonviolence with Attention to Sub-​Saharan Africa Moses Monday John

Although there is a growing body of literature on nonviolence, there are fewer writings on the relationship between unarmed civilian protection (UCP) and nonviolence and how the two concepts work together in practice. This chapter will bridge this gap, arguing that nonviolence is not only UCP’s principal but is its overall guiding concept. To this end, the chapter discusses how different scholars and practitioners define nonviolence, its principles and methods, including: protests, non-​cooperation, and nonviolent direct intervention, where UCP originated from and what their relationship is. It further explores past and contemporary examples of successful use of nonviolent actions and how UCP activities contributed to protection of civilians and activists in their efforts to prevent violence, improve security and build peace. The chapter concludes that the Indigenous people and societies are the custodians of UCP, as they have paramount responsibility to create and sustain their own protection and nonviolent action methods, strategies and mechanisms.

Background Research on nonviolence has never dominated the academic field of Peace Studies (John, 2022, p 359). Evidently, many library shelves in Peace Study colleges are filled with books on wars and people’s armed conflicts (Johansen, 2009, p 69). However, following the wave of nonviolent movements in 2011 onwards that yielded dramatic results, there is a growing body of literature on nonviolence. However, very little attention has been paid to highlighting 115

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the contributions of unarmed civilian protection (UCP), also referred to as unarmed civilian peacekeeping, in people’s struggle for better protection, governance and service delivery. While the extent and intensity of wars and conflicts in sub-​Saharan Africa decreased in the 1990s, the region remains prone to conflicts, with about 30 per cent of the region’s countries affected in 2019 (Fang et al, 2020, p 2). However, against the same backdrop, the Uppsala Conflict Data Program (UCDP) reveals 56 state-​based conflicts in 2020, including eight wars. Most of these conflicts occurred in Africa, as the region registered 30 state-​based conflicts, including nine new or restarted ones (Pettersson et al, 2020, p 2). Civilians have increasingly become victims in situations of wars, armed conflicts and where there is negative peace with a prevalence of structural injustices. As argued by Helvey, almost everywhere guerrilla warfare results in massive civilian suffering at the hands of all the warring parties, who are viewed as brutal and oppressive (Helvey, 2004, pp 34–​92). In response, the UN Security Council has made protection of civilians a focus of modern peacekeeping; more than 95 per cent of peacekeepers in 2019 are mandated to protect civilians (UN Peacekeeping, 2019). However, in practice, UN peacekeeping operations are often very expensive, have limited mandates and areas of operations, and face the challenge of the operation being manipulated by super-​powers to achieve their countries’ economic and political interests at the expense of the very vulnerable civilians they claim to protect.

Understanding UCP and nonviolence UCP is a nonviolent civilian-​based peacekeeping approach, where trained civilians are deployed in violence-​prone areas for direct protection of civilians, working with local actors to reduce localized violence, and support local infrastructures for peace (Duncan, 2017, p 4). UCP has been defined and explained in detail by different authors in literature (Mahoney & Eguren, 1997; Schirch, 2006). Despite the explanation of the concept and the practice of UCP, it remains unclear, or not well understood and recognized outside humanitarian and activists’ circles. To bridge a lack of clarity, Janzen elaborates that UCP is just like a UN peacekeeping mission, but it utilizes non-​military personnel (civilians) to perform various protection roles traditionally conducted by armed soldiers. Janzen added that the goal is the same: to prevent or reduce violence between the warring parties (Janzen, 2014). UCP uses protective accompaniment, proactive presence in higher security risk and volatile areas, and can operate on the invitation of local peace actors even where armed peacekeepers cannot. While not appropriate in every situation, UCP has been implemented by at least 87 non-​governmental organizations in a number of countries (Janzen, nd). Six organizations implement UCP interventions in sub-​Saharan 116

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Africa (Schweitzer, 2019). UCP provides a set of instruments that protect civilians, while sustaining peace by virtue of three central principles, –​the commitment to nonviolence, protection through local participation and ownership, and the ability to protect through local relationships. UCP interrupts and breaks cycles of violent conflict by utilizing diverse nonviolent interventions to mitigate and divert threats of harm in conflicts. Modelling nonviolent behaviours stimulates nonviolent behaviour in others. Practising active nonviolence boosts the sustainability of peace operations and builds the foundation for a lasting peace. New research suggests that, since the 1990s, UCP has been growing in practice and recognition, as evidenced by the geographical expansion, the increase in organizational budgets and the growing number of workers in participating organizations (Janzen, 2014). The word ‘nonviolence’ has different meanings for different people. Scholars, practitioners and ordinary people have often defined nonviolence in different manners. While nonviolence often refers to the rejection of the use or support of violence, based on moral, ethical or religious beliefs (John et al, 2018), it is often used synonymously with nonviolent action. For example, May (2015, p 33) has used the term nonviolence as a shorter way to refer to nonviolent political action. Sharp views nonviolence as method and nothing else. He writes: ‘nonviolent struggle is identified by what people do, not by what they know or believe in’. He adds that nonviolent action is a technique of action by which the population can mobilize and use their own power potential effectively (Sharp, 2005, p 2). However, Cortright partially disagrees with Sharp in that ‘nonviolence’ is more than merely a method of social action. It is a philosophy of life, which he terms as a radically different way of ‘being’ and not just ‘doing’. He emphasizes that nonviolence is not only a pragmatic option but a strategic choice, a concept of profound importance to the future of progress and the survival of mankind (Cortright, 2006, p 3). I agree with Cortright in that nonviolence is an ethical and philosophical way of life that begins with oneself accepting nonviolent principles (being nonviolent) and taking (doing) nonviolent actions to resist violence, injustices and build a just and peaceful society. Gandhi and King view nonviolence more as a religious belief, value and principle to transform human hearts through love and commitment to truth and justice (Gandhi, 1971, p 96; King, 2011, p 213). However, Chenoweth and Stephan later found that nonviolent resistance does not succeed by melting the hearts of the opponents. Instead, they tend to succeed because nonviolent methods have a greater potential for eliciting mass participation; on average, they elicit about 11 times more participants than the average armed resistance can (Chenoweth and Stephan, 2011, p 39). Therefore, nonviolent action refers to the application of unarmed civilian power using methods of protest, non-​cooperation and intervention to address grievances, express an opposition or support to a specific cause. 117

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From the analysis of how individuals view nonviolence, it is apparent to note that many draw their inspiration of nonviolence from religious sources, traditions, or faith in God, or a philosophical or political conviction, or all of these combined. Thus, the overall concept of nonviolence is divided into two schools of thought: principled nonviolence and pragmatic nonviolence. Gandhi (Hindu), Martin Luther King (Christian) and Pasha Khan (Muslim) had a strong belief in nonviolence as a matter of faith and principle (Martin and Varney, 2003, p 80). Sharp advocated for pragmatic, tactical or strategic nonviolence (Sharp, 1973, p 110). Strategic nonviolent action focuses on promoting methods of nonviolent protests, non-​cooperation, and intervention, which includes blockage, preventive presence, and accompaniment where UCP concept and practice originates from.

Fundamental problems that UCP and nonviolence seek to address Wars, armed conflicts, terrorist attacks and different forms of violence are the major problems UCP practitioners and nonviolent activists are scrambling with in sub-​Saharan Africa. There is sufficient evidence in literature that reveals that the role of African governments in African armed conflicts and civil wars is not straightforward. Most governments have been involved directly or indirectly in conflicts at all stages ranging from pre-​conflict to conflict, its resolution and post-​conflict situation (Kiplagat, 1997, p 132). Their role has varied from the so-​called protection of civilians to using them as shields, to instigating violence to achieve their political objectives. Governments argue that violence is necessary to protect the national security and territorial integrity of countries from power-​hungry politicians, armed groups and external aggressors. But then, are those who commit violence in the name of protecting national security interests any better than those who claim to do so in the name of fighting for reforms, including good governance, respect for the constitution, human rights and fundamental freedoms? The truth is that violence has a complex interchangeable nature, and that bad governance, including corruption, mismanagement of public resources and impunity are recipes for direct violence. As experience teaches, oppressed people who cannot meet their material, social, economic and political needs are likely to resort to violence or nonviolent action, or a combination of the two, to gain access to their basic human needs and rights. Understanding the African epistemology and philosophy of life is important for our understanding of Africans’ response to tackling societal challenges using UCP and nonviolence tools and strategies. African communities have unique ways of how knowledge is gained, used and communicated. Similarly, the African conception of the philosophy of ‘Ubuntu’ provides the foundation for the basic principles that manifest and regulate the ways 118

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in which African communities think and behave towards each other and everyone else they encounter (Subban and Govender, 2013, p 107). It means that for a person to be treated humanely s/​he should do the same to others. In other words, humane treatment is reciprocated between individuals and between groups of people. Therefore, violence was regarded as an anomaly, and anyone behaving in such a manner would not get the blessing of the community until they had received the necessary reprimand (Hove, 2016). Although Ubuntu plays an influential role in determining people’s attitude in different situations, the practice reveals that African communities and local authorities used a combination of violent and nonviolent tactics to resist colonialism. During the colonial period Africans were quick to realize that colonization had come to destroy their unique identity, culture and thought systems, as well as their civilzations. Thus, although UCP and nonviolence strategies know no boundaries, in view of the fact that they have been used by many nations, the concepts and practices must be decolonized to fit socio-​economic and political contexts of a given society.

The contribution of civil society and grassroots peace actors in violence prevention and peacemaking While stories of violence dominate the public discourse in sub-​Saharan Africa, community-​based groups, civil society organizations (CSOs) and grassroots peace movements who are directly affected by violence, conflicts and wars have developed and used creative life-​affirming ways to prevent violence, resolve conflicts, overcome oppression, establish justice, protect human lives and the environment. More and more active nonviolence is taking centre stage in the struggle for liberation among vulnerable and oppressed peoples in the region and across the world (Abu-​Nimer, 2003). Evidently, on the African continent, there have been many examples of successful nonviolent actions that brought about positive socio-​economic and political change even in the most repressive contexts. For example, during colonization and the struggles for independence, leaders in Tanzania, Zambia, South Africa and Ghana cited Gandhi’s nonviolence strategies as an inspiration. Since independence, strategic nonviolent action has been credited with preventing or ending violent conflict in Nigeria, Liberia, Burundi, Senegal and Zimbabwe. Movements in these contexts were successful, in that they embraced strategic planning, coordinated well across disparate groups, had strong movement cohesion, and practised clear communication and messaging (Ettang, 2014). Unfortunately, the contribution of UCP activities in African liberation struggles for independence has largely remained undocumented due to the lack of first-​hand information before and during the struggle. Thus, one can argue that things might have turned out differently if UCP had been used to protect African leaders and pro-​independence activists. 119

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In South Africa, the African National Congress (ANC) carried out resistance against the apartheid system for nearly 40 years. The ANC leaders largely used nonviolence in their struggle against the apartheid system, but they were unable to sustain the nonviolent approach in the face of massive brutality from the apartheid regime. Consequently, the ANC partly resorted to guerrilla warfare. Nevertheless, at the heart of the resistance movement was classic nonviolent resistance, where nonviolent tactics were used, including rallies, marches, petitions, boycotts, civic education, prayers and fasts as well as civil disobedience (Deats, 2010). The armed struggle would have been much more difficult and prolonged had it not been unarmed resistance, led by students, industrial workers, religious leaders, youth and women’s organizations, that resisted the racist regime (Niefetagodien, 2014). Thus, the liberators of the Blacks in South Africa were not only the ANC guerrilla fighters, but hundreds of thousands of men, women and children who employed nonviolent actions and replaced a white racist regime with multi-​racial democratic government in 1994. In Sudan, the severe economic conditions that led to increased debt, rising food prices, fuel shortages, and a general decline in living conditions throughout the country sparked widespread resistance from the people. Thus, the massive civil disobedience of April 2019, the uprising of April 1985 and the October revolution of 1964 brought down the three military dictatorships of Beshir, Numeri and Abboud respectively (Naimark-​Rowse, 2017; John, 2022). The protests, strikes and civil disobedience were led by civil society, including professional associations, university students, resistance committees, and the Forces for Freedom and Change –​a coalition of armed and opposition political parties. In South Sudan, CSOs have for long had a critical role in violence prevention, enhancing community security and building peace. For example, in December 2018 more than 1,000 protesters, drawn from over 40 women-​ led and other CSOs, marched to the National Ministry of Gender and Social Welfare and the Transitional National Legislative Assembly (TNLA) in Juba. The protesters petitioned the executive and the legislature on the alleged mass rape of 150 women in Bentiu (UNMISS, 2018). They further called for an immediate and independent investigation to hold perpetrators accountable for their actions. Although this action prompted the national government to form a high-​level committee to investigate the alleged incident, the committee was not neutral, made up entirely of government loyalists; thus no formal report was rendered to the public, nor any action taken against the perpetrators. UCP volunteers accompanied protesters from a distance to observe what would happen to the protesters; some were actually driving private vehicles, motor bikes or walking from a far distance amid heavy security presence. Such accompaniment, among others, contributed to raising the level of confidence and safety of frontline activists. 120

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In August 2013, hundreds of residents in Juba took to the streets of the capital and protested against the catastrophic effects of gun violence and the deteriorating security situation, including targeted killings by unknown gunmen and organized armed robbers. The demonstrators, who included the angry relatives of the deceased, concerned citizens and nonviolent activists from various CSOs, marched to the national parliament while carrying the bodies of two slain brothers. Protesters called on the state government to protect its people (John, 2018, p 311). To ensure the matter of insecurity was not left to the government alone, a number of CSOs, including the Organization for Nonviolence and Development (ONAD), launched UCP activities with a focus on ‘community security’. Julian and Schweitzer (2015) rightly highlighted UCP activities that civilians undertake as including, though not limited to: accompaniment, presence, rumour control and community security meetings, among others. The community security project engaged local community members, the Quarter Council, the South Sudan Police Service (SSPS) and other international development partners to improve the safety and protection of residents in the city. Though it started on a small scale, UCP awareness is growing and, by March 2022, this project has already resulted in the formation of 21 community action working groups and eight police–​community relationship committees in Gudele, Munuki, Mauna, Nyakuron and Kator Zones in Juba alone. Stakeholders used the established UCP mechanisms to meet on a weekly basis, where community members report criminal and safety concerns for joint discussions and actions to prevent crimes and improve the protection of civilians. Community members have also reported on and engaged youth gangs (the ‘Toronto Boys’ or ‘Negazs’), which are often involved in bag snatching, armed robbery, killing and even raping girls and women, so that they know their human rights, and understand the criminal offences they are committing. Community members call on them to be nonviolent and responsible citizens. These UCP activities resulted in an improved level of confidence, and better relations and coordination between the police, local communities and civil authorities. It further resulted in somewhat improved security in Juba.1 UCP engages vulnerable populations, such as youth and women who are victims of sexual and gender-​based violence with security service providers (the police and local government authorities) and empowers them to collaborate to prevent crimes and violence, and to build peace in the local context. Meanwhile, the Nonviolent Peaceforce (NP) has been applying UCP to reduce cycles of violence and increase the safety and security of civilians in South Sudan since 2011. It prioritizes direct physical protection to immediate threats of violence as well as interrupting systemic violence. For example, following the outbreak of the war in 2013, which led to mass displacement of civilians and a dire protection crisis, an internally displaced persons (IDPs) 121

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settlement camp was established in Aburoc in the Upper Nile region. The camp accommodated 8,452 IDPs.2 As a measure of providing protection to the IDPs and the host community in Aburoc, NP proactively provided protective presence and regular patrols in identified high-​r isk and hotspot locations in order to prevent potential violence and respond to protection concerns raised by the community. Some of these concerns include the increased presence of armed actors in residential areas, which restricted the movement of women to visit farms, fetch water, collect firewood and so on. There were also reports of women being harassed and beaten, allegedly by men in uniform. In response, the NP team advocated for the relocation of the barracks away from civilian areas by using relationship-​building strategies. This was made possible with support of the executive director of the Aburoc Relief and Rehabilitation Commission, thereby reducing the potential for violence. This example demonstrates the importance of relationship and trust-​building with local authorities and communities in implementing effective protection programming.3 On 30 March 2020, hundreds of angry protesters, mostly young artists, women and men from different civic groups, seized Mobil Roundabout in Juba, and protested the catastrophic car accident and poor health services that had led the day before to the death of a famous female artist, Tarisha Cee. The protesters denounced corruption and poor working conditions for civil servants, which have crippled public service sectors. More than 20 activists were arrested and detained by the SSPS for participating in the protest, but were released without charge on the same day. Despite immense human and natural resources, South Sudan remains economically poor and underdeveloped due to systemic corruption, the mismanagement of public resources and the recurrent cycle of armed conflicts. In 2012 the president publicly accused 75 senior government officials of embezzling US$4 billion (Smith, 2012). Corruption is one of the greatest obstacles to economic and social development. It contributes directly to poverty and violence and distorts the rule of law and weakens the institutional foundation on which economic growth depends (World Bank, 2013). However, starting in 2012, civil society, media and the grassroots impoverished people of South Sudan have raised their voices against corruption. The #GurushWen? (Juba Arabic for #where is the money?) campaign is a popular example. In 2020, a few youth rights civil society organizations erected billboards in Juba with the slogan #GurushWen?, demanding government accountability and transparency in the management of oil and non-​oil revenues. Although the campaign was part of ­chapter 4 of the Revitalized Agreement on Resolution of Conflict in the Republic of South Sudan, signed by the government and the opposition parties, I was arrested and detained on 15 June 2020 by the National Security Service 122

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for spearheading the campaign. Fortunately, I was released without charge ten days later. Consequently, the Revitalized Transitional Government of National Unity in July 2020 established the Economic Crisis Management Committee headed by the Vice President for Economic Cluster to fix malpractices in the management of oil and non-​oil revenues. As reported by the state-​owned South Sudan Broadcasting Corporation Television and Radio, the committee has already exposed cases of corruption and mismanagement in some government departments. The actions of the committee indicate that the government has responded to the #GurushWen campaign. Addressing structural violence in order to create fundamental state reform to promote equitable delivery of quality social and development services to the population is critical if we are to build an Africa that is safe for all (Galtung, 1996). Countries where conflicts related to democratization processes have taken place include Kenya, Nigeria, Togo, Zaire and Burundi. Taking Kenya and Burundi as examples, it has been underscored that UCP played a significant contribution in supporting the efforts of civil society to challenge the abuse of state power in pursuit of good governance. In Kenya prior to the 2017 general elections, NGOs and faith-​based groups undertook civic education with different ethnic groups that had a record of violence in previous elections. Communities were engaged in analysis of early warning early response (EWER) to prevent the escalation of conflicts into violence and called on communities to stay nonviolent. Similarly, in Burundi young girls, women, men, community elders and the police were engaged on how to use EWER mechanisms to prevent violence and address the trauma and psychosocial needs of the community. During and after the 2015 general elections, Burundi has experienced an increase in electoral violence, which has displaced over 300,000 people. To limit the chances of a potential crisis in the 2020 elections, Burundi civic and faith-​based groups, with support from INGOs, implemented UCP activities, with a particular focus on elections observation and monitoring, and provided a protective presence during the election days at the polling stations. UCP teams, as part of EWER, collected, received and analysed information about potential threats and responded appropriately, and defused rumours, which helped in the prevention of violent reactions.4 Despite the operational challenges facing CSOs, grassroots peace movements and international peace partners, they have made significant contributions in improving safety and security in sub-​Saharan Africa, using a combination of nonviolence and UCP techniques. Unfortunately, CSOs’ contributions remain largely unknown due to a lack of documentation. As argued by Ekiyor (2008, p 33), community-​based organizations in sub-​ Saharan Africa are mainly activity driven and rarely take time to reflect, draw lessons and document their achievements, challenges and draw lessons 123

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for improvement. In pursuit of learning and best practices to improve UCP, NP organized a workshop on 12–​14 November 2018 on ‘Good Practices in Nonviolent, Unarmed Civilian to Civilian’. The workshop, held in Nairobi, Kenya, emphasized the primacy of local actors, local ownership and capacity-​building in UCP planning and implementation as a good practice (Schweitzer, 2019). The discussions and the report further underscored: Identification of community capacities is an essential aspect of UCP work. There are always existing capacities in any community. Ongoing community engagement is essential for UCP to get information on local values and local practices for protection. These capacities can be supported, enhanced and used to protect the communities facing protection risks. Local experts can also be identified in the process and be trained as facilitators to advance UCP work in the communities. At the same time this helps to increase communities’ resilience as well as strategies for self-​protection and the sustainability of the work. (Schweitzer, 2019, p 3) Indeed, more empowerment, mentorship, and participation of local actors in self-​protection, resisting violence and injustices are critical to sustain peace in sub-​Saharan Africa. This is important because UCP and nonviolence tactics and strategies are well understood, interpreted and implemented through the socio-​cultural and political context of a given society. As emphasized by Wilson, local actors should be empowered through training to take a lead in local peacebuilding processes (Wilson, 2014, p 23). Thus, UCP and nonviolence training must provide relevant tools, methods and strategies that encourage the local participation of youth, women groups and CSOs as a subset of the population who are directly affected by conflicts, wars, socio-​economic and political conditions. The training must also include how the benefits and results of nonviolent actions and UCP can be sustained.

Conclusion The concepts and practices of UCP and nonviolence are not new; nor are their principles. The analysis of some selected successful cases in sub-​Saharan Africa reveals that nonviolence and UCP have often complemented each other in practice. Thus, UCP is not only a peacekeeping intervention, but a tactical civilian-​based nonviolent direct response to prevent violence and build a sustainable peace. This chapter concludes that Indigenous people and societies have paramount responsibility to create and sustain their own protection and nonviolent action strategies and mechanisms. Fortunately, young people and women who are the victims of injustices in sub-​Saharan Africa have grasped the idea that rights are not given free of charge but are 124

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fought for. Thus, the empowerment of Indigenous people and societies is necessary to create and sustain their own protection. Nonviolent action methods and strategies are also necessary if we are to see an Africa that is safe, democratic and prosperous. UCP and nonviolence interventions should empower the population to tackle not only immediate and potential forms of violence and threats, but also to focus on addressing long-​term issues of injustice that provoke armed conflicts and wars, which in turn create insecurity, mass displacement, hunger, expose women to risks of being raped. Therefore, the UN and regional and national peace partners organizations should support and mainstream nonviolence and UCP interventions into their programming, invest in research on UCP best practices to transform and improve them, rather than focusing on the provision of humanitarian assistance and armed peacekeeping operations, which are expensive and un-​sustainable. Notes 1 2

3 4

As reported by UCP project coordinator in August 2021. Based on Headcount Report of January 2021 by the Danish Refugee Council (DRC) and the Camp Coordination and Camp Management (CCCM) Cluster. As reported by UCP field practitioner in Aburoc in February 2022. As reported by UCP practitioner in Burundi, February 2022.

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Transforming Armed Policing in the US: Contributions From Unarmed Civilian Protection Models Eli McCarthy This chapter focuses on transforming armed policing by drawing on the work of unarmed civilian protection (UCP). Presently, there is a group of countries with mostly unarmed police. In the US, a significant movement driven by Black Lives Matter is challenging the traditional policing model. I will first describe these signs of the times regarding policing. Second, I will assess pivotal insights and practices that UCP might offer to reimagine public safety and policing. Third, I will identify some potential next steps in the community and policy spheres with attention to the US context.

Policing trends: a US perspective Global context of unarmed policing Before diving into the US context, I want to describe some existing global realities of unarmed policing. This practice of relying primarily on unarmed police is found in about 19 countries such as England, Wales, Ireland, Norway, New Zealand, Scotland, Iceland, Mauritius, Botswana and most Pacific Island countries (Noak, 2016; Fox, 2017). In Iceland, unarmed policing works well, even though about 33 per cent of residents own guns, whereas in the US about 22 per cent own guns. Proponents in these countries primarily relying on unarmed police, such as New Zealand, argue that ‘arming the police would inevitably lead to an arms race with criminals and a spike in casualties’ (Noak, 2016). In most of these countries, about 90 per cent or more of the officers are unarmed, while others remain on 126

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call for very rare responses. The overall approach is normally grounded in the idea of ‘policing by consent’. This means their legitimacy and authority is determined by maintaining the respect of and approval from the public, rather than by the threat of violent force (Godin, 2020). Such unarmed police find their approach allows them to build better trust with the community, better de-​escalate threatening situations, better prevent crime and, thus, protect people (Kelly, 2012; Ariel et al, 2016). Other studies challenge the misconception that a routinely armed police officer is ‘safer’ than a routinely unarmed police officer (Hendy, 2014).

US: the Black Lives Matter Movement and calls for systemic transformation Turning to the US, policing, especially in the South, has significant roots in the system of slavery –​that is, systemic violence, with patrols beginning in around 1704 (Olito, 2021). Victor Kappeler explains: ‘The institution of slavery and the control of minorities, however, were two of the more formidable historic features of American society shaping early policing. Slave patrols and Night Watches, which later became modern police departments, were both designed to control the behaviors of minorities’ (Kappeler, 2014). Meanwhile, a prominent, if not the primary, characteristic of the origins of organized policing in the North entailed controlling labour, particularly using violence against strikers and union-​busting (Potter, 2013; Kumanyika, 2020). Thus, as Angela Davis explains, a prominent institutional pattern of US policing functioning to maintain established wealth and power, even if not always intended, goes way back to the origins. This is how systemic racism continues to infect us and how destructive power operates (Davis, 2014). Modern US police departments began in 1838, with routine arming initiated in 1854 in Philadelphia (Friedman, 1993). More recently, the momentum and solidarity within the movement to create a new system of public safety has been significantly growing. Today, the average police recruit in the US gets almost 20 times as many hours of training in violent force than in conflict de-​escalation (Hirschfield, 2015). US police officers have killed about 1,000 persons per year since 2015, which is much higher than in other democratic countries (Berman et al, 2020; Cheatham and Maizland, 2021). After a particularly horrendous summer of police violence in 2020, including the killing of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, and others, the US experienced the largest, most persistent wave of public demonstrations in US history. Since then, the Movement for Black Lives and Showing Up for Racial Justice groups have been getting significant support, volunteers, and funding to help advance their vision for a new system of community protection (Movement for Black Lives Matter, nda; Showing Up for Racial Justice, nd). 127

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Philip McHarris and Thenjiwe McHarris, a strategist with the Movement for Black Lives, wrote this response to the police killing of George Floyd in the summer of 2020: More training or diversity among police officers won’t end police brutality, nor will firing and charging individual officers. Look at the Minneapolis Police Department, which is held up as a model of progressive police reform. The department offers trainings for implicit bias, mindfulness and de-​escalation. It embraces community policing and officer diversity, bans ‘warrior style’ policing, uses body cameras, implemented an early intervention system to identify problematic officers, receives training around mental health crisis intervention, and practices ‘reconciliation’ efforts in communities of color. (McHarris and McHarris, 2020) Likewise, the Movement for Black Lives wrote a piece on the topic critiquing reform efforts and arguing: ‘It is quite simple: the way to reduce police violence is to reduce the scope, size, and role of police in our communities’ (Movement for Black Lives Matter, 2020). They call for a shift of focus in our investments and how we creatively imagine and practise community security. This helps illuminate why predominant reform arguments may often have good intentions and, yet, may also need a deeper systemic, intersectional analysis. For example, Black Lives Matter has criticized President Biden for his police reform attempts, which include increasing funding for police rather than cutting funding (Logan, 2020). The bill Biden supports does include some minimal enhancements for national standards and measures of accountability (Government of US, 2021). Some people with experience in police departments have been willing to consider reforms. For example, the US Department of Justice created the Office of Community Oriented Policing in 1994, and it has been getting more attention, again, from some politicians and officers (Office of Community Policing Services, 2014). Former police officer and ethicist Tobias Winright provides helpful insights, that police are ‘not supposed to dominate and be adversarial’; they need to be ‘preventive’; a ‘shift in model’ is necessary; and he offers his own confessions related to white privilege (Winright, 2015; 2018; 2020). However, impacted communities are often critical of what he and others advocate as a ‘community policing model’, which often increases the prevalence of police –​that is, the experience of surveillance in affected communities as well as police power, even if they are as Winright suggests, ‘walking or on bicycles’ (Winright, 2015; McQuade, 2015; McHarris, 2019). Such expansive police surveillance often takes the additional form 128

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of deputizing certain powerful and connected residents as the ‘eyes and ears’ of the police. Critics also argue that community policing does not address the structural violence and can even ‘create the false idea that structural issues can be addressed (simply) by building partnerships’ (McHarris, 2019). Others have called community policing ‘a public relations strategy, which keeps control (of the resources) in the hands of the current structure’ (Pan-​African Community Action, 2021). Kelley Brown Douglas calls for ‘shifting from community police to community responders such as social workers, mental health workers, pastors, teachers, etc’ (Douglas, 2020). McHarris argues that ‘the solution to public safety lies in troubling the idea that policing equals safety’ (McHarris, 2019). Thus, the issue may be even more systemic, and the pattern of exercising power to harm Black communities is both horrendous and consistent over time in the US, including too often in declared ‘community policing’ models as we saw with George Floyd.

Changes implemented and resistance In turn, we are in the waves of a relatively significant movement in the US to explore such alternatives. In Eugene, Oregon, a programme called CAHOOTS has been responding to mental health crises for many years (White Bird Clinic, nd). More recently, Denver has successfully completed a six-​month pilot project similar to CAHOOTS called STAR (Trump, 2021). San Francisco has implemented a CAHOOTS-​type programme called the Street Crisis Response Team, with unarmed professionals that respond on ‘noncriminal matters involving mental health, the homeless, school discipline and neighbour disputes’ (Dolan, 2020; James, 2021). Brooklyn Centre, Minnesota, has created a Department of Community Safety and Violence Prevention as well as unarmed units to deal with a variety of situations, such as mental health, social need and traffic enforcement (Rose et al, 2021). Ithaca, New York, has proposed a Department of Community Solutions and Public Safety to replace the police department, and it would include unarmed community solution workers (Lowery, 2021). In August 2020, 13 cities signalled a plan to defund their police departments (McEvoy, 2020). As of March 2021, more than 20 major cities have defunded police in some form, while 25 cities have moved to remove police from schools (Levin, 2021). A national website has been created for ‘organizers and advocates looking for tools, resources, trainings, legislation and policies’ associated with such a trajectory (Defund the Police, nd). Yet, the resistance to such a movement is also considerable. The familiarity with and vision of well-​funded, armed policing is embedded in US tradition and culture. In about 26 major cities, the funding for such policing increased around the same timeframe (Akinnibi et al, 2021). 129

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Unarmed civilian protection and public safety In this context of systemic transformation and debate, there are proven and existing alternative security mechanisms in the tradition of unarmed civilian protection that could help transform the system of policing (Mahoney and Eguren, 1997; Furnari, 2016d; Wallace, 2017; Shanti Sena Network, 2020). In 2022, there were 61 organizations operating in 29 countries and regions (Janzen, nd). Nonviolent Peaceforce (NP) is the largest such organization, with its largest deployment of over 200 local and international members in South Sudan as well as funding from the US government, UN agencies, and other countries (Nonviolent Peaceforce, ndc, ndd). In a civil war, they have directly saved people’s lives, for instance by refusing to leave 14 women and children as armed actors threatened them; and they prevented sexual assault by armed actors through their direct accompaniment to gather firewood and water (Nonviolent Peaceforce, ndc). Mel Duncan explains how the NP actualizes a just peace approach, particularly in South Sudan. The just peace ethic focuses on three categories, which comprise a set of key norms. The three categories are: (1) cultivating the virtues and skills to engage conflict constructively, (2) breaking cycles of violence, and (3) building a sustainable peace. He gives illustrative examples of how NP officers live the norms of just peace by focusing on conflict transformation, providing nonviolent accompaniment, and cultivating the virtues of humility, empathy, solidarity, hospitality, and courage (Duncan and Ashworth, 2020, McCarthy, 2020a). Further, NP has recently shifted resources to develop programmes in the US. For example, this includes successfully replacing armed police in Minneapolis schools with unarmed civilian security teams trained in the methodology of NP (Nonviolent Peaceforce, nde). One of the issues with police in schools is related to research demonstrating that juvenile arrests increase the chances of high school dropouts (Hirschfield, 2009). Another major organization in this tradition is Cure Violence (CV), which takes a public health approach to violence, which they assess as functioning like a contagious disease. By hiring credible messengers to interrupt transmission, they have reduced shootings and homicides on average from 40–​70 per cent in over 25 US cities, such as Chicago, New York, Baltimore and Philadelphia, as well as abroad (Cure Violence, ndb). Evaluations also ‘document other positive effects, including increased feelings of community safety, positive parenting outcomes, improved employment and education outcomes, and changes in community norms about violence’ (Cure Violence, 2021). In many, but not all, US cities with CV programmes, the police have accepted their presence and agreed to stay out of certain neighbourhoods, as CV workers engage the community. CV models also do a much better job at creating conditions to get to the root causes, rather than simply displacing 130

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the violence to nearby neighbourhoods, as increased armed policing often generates. In addition, scholarly research is increasingly attending to police violence as a public health issue and finding significant adverse public health impacts (Cooper and Fullilove, 2016). CV and the NP participate in the Shanti Sena Network, which consists of organizations that offer unarmed civilian protection in the US and Canada (Shanti Sena Network, nd). There are about 15 members at this point and it is growing. Other examples include the Portland Peace Team, the Meta Peace Team, Community Peacemaker Teams and the DC Peace Team. The DC Peace Team is based in Washington DC, and was co-​founded in 2011 by a Black returning citizen named Cortez McDaniel (DC Peace Team, nda). After spending some time in prison, McDaniel returned to DC with hopes to serve his community. He took some training in unarmed civilian protection and initiated a programme called Safe Passage in a few neighbourhoods. Adults from these neighbourhoods would help walk kids to and from school in areas where fights or shootings had been occurring. The next UCP programme entailed a downtown business area called Gallery Place, where some unhoused youth would sometimes get into fights or police would harass the youth. The DC Peace Team developed relationships with the youth, de-​escalated conflicts, and monitored police harassment while working with local stakeholders on root causes. Today, the DC Peace Team (DCPT) focuses on cultivating the habits and skills of nonviolence so our community can better resist injustice and build a more sustainable just peace. The programme areas include nonviolent skill training modules, unarmed civilian protection deployments, restorative justice circles, as well as anti-​racism and racial equity. Core training modules include bystander intervention, nonviolent communication, unarmed protection, restorative circles and meditation. The UCP deployments take various forms (DC Peace Team, ndc). These include political demonstrations, especially when there is a counter-​protest or the focus is police brutality. For instance, the DCPT was deployed at all the 2020 presidential election demonstrations in Washington DC. At the demonstrations on 6 January 2021, a DCPT member de-​escalated a large, white, camouflaged-​dressed male who had pulled out a long, curved knife threatening another person at Black Lives Matter Plaza near the White House (Metta Centre for Nonviolence, 2021). Monitoring the intensifying scene between two parties, the DCPT member walked closer when the knife was pulled out. The DCPT member put both hands up slowly moving up and down while saying short, clear phrases to the armed man, such as “Let’s slow down, you don’t need that knife”, “You can put that away” and “This is not going to help anything.” The armed man looked towards the DCPT member, took a step back, and then his friends came out and pulled him back to the sidewalk. Slowly the group walked up the street and away from 131

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the conflict. Another form of these deployments includes accompanying individuals who receive death threats, such as Congresswoman Cori Bush. The DCPT trained a team in St Louis to provide unarmed protection for then candidate Bush over six months and nearly 24 hours, seven days a week in 2020. In 2021, the DCPT had deployments at a local farmers’ market, as well as Columbia Heights Civic Plaza. The DCPT was invited by the local Advisory Neighbourhood Commission to deploy a Community Safety Unit (CSU) at the plaza. They were concerned about patterns of conflict, outbreaks of violence, regular calls to the police and community anxiety. The plaza area is a large, bricked circle area at a busy intersection of three city streets, with small businesses, office spaces and apartments. There is a regular group of community members who spend time in the plaza. Many of these are disconnected for various reasons, such as broken relationships, family discord, drinking, mental health, lack of documentation, loss of job or housing. The DCPT has focused on (1) improving community relations and imagination about public safety, (2) preventing harmful conflict and violence, and (3) connecting people to resources. Between August 2021 and December 2022, primarily during weekends, the CSU has de-​escalated 145 incidents, including some fist fights and five knife incidents (DC Peace Team, 2021). About ten of these have been police officer involved, either de-​escalating an officer or another community member at immediate risk of getting arrested. Some of the de-​escalations of officers entailed shifting their aggressive, dehumanizing language and interactions. For example, one officer was calling some community members “dirty, worthless, criminals”, while others pulled inebriated, sleeping community members across a sidewalk and over a step, nearly hitting their head. These officers were hired by property managers to patrol around their commercial buildings. Some of these security officers are unarmed and can be cheerful at times, yet their focus is protecting property, observing rather than building relationships, and they are quick to call in armed city officers if any signs of trouble arise. Meanwhile, a crucial aspect of the protection dynamic for the CSU is building relationships and offering empathy to those spending time in the plaza. The CSU does not simply observe and wait for something problematic to break out. They take the initiative, talk with these community members, laugh and even sing together. In turn, many of these community members share stories of struggle, pain and even trauma. Numerous grown men have shed tears telling stories of broken relationships, violent gang initiations, treacherous migration journeys, family members dying, and being sexually abused. Over the four-​month deployment, they have seen some of these persons get jobs, housing, cleaned up, reconnected with family and enter detox, and there have been fewer incidents of persons passed out on the public sidewalks. Weaving this web of solidarity and trust, some community 132

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members often help to de-​escalate each other and share intel with the CSU to better prepare them to proactively intervene as needed. In addition, the CSU facilitates monthly community forums with key stakeholders to illuminate the humanity of those in the plaza, report on conflicts and stimulate collaboration toward addressing root causes. The set of stakeholders include the Advisory Neighbourhood Commission, local community organizers, social service organizations, property managers, government representatives and agencies. A ripple effect of stimulating this collaboration has been other focused meeting mobilizations for relevant DC government agencies, another for social service organizations, and another for drug abuse prevention. The orienting themes of these UCP approaches normally include the priority of those most at risk, human dignity, empathy, nonviolence and risking one’s life to protect the lives of all. Too often the armed policing approaches in the US focus on the priority of officer safety or local property, intimidation and domination, the threat or use of violence, and risking one’s life to enforce the law or protect one of the parties (Godin, 2020; DC Police Reform Commission, 2021). Yet, there is some precedent by some US law enforcement organizations for police to ‘value and preserve human life’ more generally (National Consensus Policy, 2020). What if public safety increasingly integrated some of these proven UCP approaches? What if policing increasingly ceded some spaces and activity to such approaches, which is already happening to some extent with CV deployments and programmes like CAHOOTS? What if US police departments piloted some unarmed policing deployments in certain areas or at events to explore the impact of such approaches, as scholars such as Jones and Vitale have argued (Vitale, 2017; Jones, 2021)? What if a just peace framework guided the strategy and actions of public safety approaches (McCarthy, 2020b)?

Phases for transition The transformation of public safety in the US is happening, including in some police departments. How far this will go is still to be determined. When we consider a longer-​term process of systemic transformation or even phases, Black Lives Matters offers three initial steps, which include shifting funding from policing and reinvesting in Black communities (Black Lives Matter, nd). Such reinvestment in health care, housing, jobs and education is a crucial step in addressing structural violence that exacerbates systemic racism. The Movement for Black Lives have proposed a more substantial programme in national legislation called the Breathe Act (Movement for Black Lives, nd). This legislation includes divesting by moving significant funding from policing and incarceration; investing in new approaches to community safety; allocating new money to build healthy, sustainable and equitable 133

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communities; holding officials accountable, and ensuring self-​determination of Black communities (Breathe Act, 2020). This bill challenges us to imagine schools free of police and full of restorative justice programmes; trained, trauma-​informed interventionists to respond to domestic violence situations; and 911 operators dispatching mental health experts rather than police in situations of behavioural health crisis (Movement for Black Lives, nd). Building off these ideas, an additional way to imagine an approach around alternative community protection might include the following three phases. These respond to the intersectionality of violence in terms of structural, cultural and direct forms, as well as shifting the systems of power more equitably. These phases are particularly important for the US context due to the prevalence of guns in our society. Phase 1 could entail this investment in such marginalized communities and reductions in policing; along with the diversion of many cases to professional mental health workers, and social workers, and de-​escalators, such as another hotline or rerouting of 911 calls; broad community training in nonviolent communication, active bystander intervention, restorative circles, trauma-​ healing, UCP, strategic nonviolent resistance; and an increase of restorative justice in both the judicial and school system (DC Peace Team, ndb). We already see much of this happening piecemeal and in various locations, especially Minneapolis, Portland and Washington DC (DC Police Reform Commission, 2021). About 21 states have statutory support for restorative justice in schools (Georgetown Law Center, 2020), while about 37 states have some statutes related to restorative justice in general (Silva, 2019). However, it is difficult as of yet to identify a location that is doing all of this in a substantial way and as a coordinated package. By mapping the impact of such programmes along with regular community forums, communities can learn, adapt and transition into phase 2 at their own pace with different iterations. Phase 2 might include developing more peace teams or neighbourhood CSUs dealing with various conflicts and working with violence interrupters who focus on shootings and homicides; adding a professional UCP member to the local government’s rapid response teams of mental health, social worker and paramedic to divert more 911 calls; piloting unarmed policing in two or three neighbourhoods or events; institutionalizing restorative justice in most schools and local/​state judicial systems; structural and cultural programmes focused on reducing guns in society; and increasing structural changes to improve education, housing, health care and jobs in affected communities. As training, capabilities and demonstrated impact of nonviolent de-​escalation, bystander intervention and UCP units get mainstreamed, the tendency for residents as well as police to cling to guns will likely mitigate to some extent. It will also take an increasing commitment to peace education in our schools, community building in our neighbourhoods, mental health

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resources, trauma-​healing, and restorative justice approaches in all sectors to help generate momentum for reducing guns in US society. Phase 3 might include deploying mostly unarmed police officers; restorative justice across nearly all schools and federal, state and local judicial systems; and neighbourhood peace teams with violence interrupters in most communities. What else might we imagine and implement?

Conclusion In this chapter, I described the global context of countries with mostly unarmed police. Turning to the US, I described a significant movement, driven by Black Lives Matter, which is challenging the traditional policing model. I also illustrated the systemic changes that are already being implemented, particularly since the George Floyd murder and other police killings in the summer of 2020. In this context, I described and analysed some pivotal insights and practices that UCP might offer to systemic transformation of public safety. Finally, I identified some potential next steps in the community and policy spheres with attention to the US context.

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Protecting Former Perpetrators? Expanding the Concept of UCP/​A Through an Exploration of Violence in the Reintegration of Ex-​Combatants in Colombia Beatriz Arias López, Berit Bliesemann de Guevara and Laura Jiménez Ospina

Que la paz no nos cueste la vida [May the peace not cost us our lives]. (Phrase used by human rights defenders in Colombia, now also adopted by FARC peace signatories) Organizations working in the field of unarmed civilian protection and accompaniment (UCP/​A) usually have fairly clear ideas about whom they work with, based on their core principles. They generally focus on civilians, including whole communities, as well as civil society groups and activists, who are facing (a threat of) physical violence. Their core principle of nonviolence means that they do not accompany armed actors, although there may be some grey areas in practice.1 Meanwhile, the principle of nonpartisanship, which many humanitarian-​type organizations adhere to, or alternatively the principle of being by the side of those most oppressed, which activist-​type organizations prefer (Schweitzer, 2020b, pp 78–​9), lead them to usually steer clear of powerholders, be that in formal or informal roles. Many UCP/​A organizations build relationships with such actors to gain leverage for their protection work, but they do not accompany them. In theory at least, the binaries violent–​nonviolent, armed actor–​civilian, oppressor–​oppressed, upon which this demarcation of UCP/​A as a field of 136

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practice rests, seem straightforward. In this chapter, however, we show that they come to their limits when it is former perpetrators of violence who are the civilians in urgent need of protection. In November 2016, the Colombian government and the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia (FARC), by then Latin America’s oldest guerrilla group, signed a peace agreement that ended a decades-​long armed conflict and started a process of disarmament, demobilization and reintegration (DDR) of the FARC peace signatories. Five years later, by November 2021, and despite official safety guarantees for demobilized FARC fighters enshrined in the final agreement, 299 former FARC combatants had been assassinated (Indepaz, 2021a), in addition to forced disappearances and displacements of peace signatories and their families –​and the violence continues. A year later, by November 2022, another 36 FARC peace signatories had been killed, indicating a continuous trend (Indepaz, 2022b). Veteran FARC guerrillas, just like other demobilized fighters of different armed groups before them, now figure among several groups in Colombia –​including rural, Indigenous, and Afro-​Colombian leaders and communities, human rights defenders and environmental activists –​who are highly vulnerable to violent attacks by armed state and non-​state actors (Indepaz, 2021a). Yet, while many of these other groups have a long history of protective accompaniment by outside UCP/​A actors and/​or have established mechanisms of community self-​protection (Alther, 2006; Kaplan, 2013b; Koopman, 2014; Mouly et al, 2015; Lindsay-​Poland and Weintraub, 2016; Lefebvre, 2018; Chaves et al, 2020), only a few organizations have extended some form of accompaniment to FARC peace signatories under threat. We use the Colombian case of violence against ex-​c ombatants transitioning into civilian lives to discuss the limits of existing practices and thinking around UCP/​A. First, we juxtapose seemingly clear ideas about ‘civilians’ as providers and beneficiaries of UCP/​A with the ambiguous and blurred notions of victims and perpetrators in cases of violence against former combatants, which sit uneasily with UCP/​A’s core principles of nonviolence and nonpartisanship or being by the side of the most oppressed. Second, we observe that UCP/​A organizations tend to silo their work into specific areas such as accompaniment of human rights defenders or peace communities, or humanitarian action, which are seen as different from the DDR process. As we argue based on the Colombian case, however, all these areas are intimately linked and require a broader, more structural understanding of UCP/​A beyond a narrow focus on specific types of actors or forms of threats. Third, we highlight the role ex-​combatants’ self-​protection plays in the Colombian case, but also discuss how it partly limits the wider peace process. In view of the practical lack of state security guarantees, ex-​combatants’ self-​protection strategies have involved individuals abandoning collective reincorporation 137

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processes, collective displacements from highly insecure to less insecure areas, and localized informal protection arrangements with armed actors. Yet, while these practices have lowered the risk of physical harm, they only provide safety in a narrow sense, while undermining wider individual and collective socio-​economic foundations and political aspirations of the peace signatories and wider society. In this context, we also explore potential roles for local community-​based protection strategies and networks, such as Indigenous guards and conflict victims’ networks, and how they could relate to the peace signatories’ protection. Protectively accompanying peace signatories, especially when done in collaboration with existing community initiatives, we argue, would enable safer space for the implementation of other parts of the peace agreement –​not least the rights of the victims of the violent conflict and guarantees of non-​repetition of violations by armed actors. In the following, we first analyse the current violence against FARC peace signatories, both as part of a longer history of individual and collective DDR processes and related killings and displacements as well as in its current forms and logics. We also explore the forms of top-​down and bottom-​up protection present today within this wider panorama, putting a particular focus on the work of the Presbyterian Peace Fellowship (PPF), the Fellowship of Reconciliation Peace Presence (FOR-​PP) and the Lutheran Church of Colombia (IELCO), and on the potential, but as yet largely sidelined, role of existing community-​based networks and institutions. In the second part, we draw on these insights to expand on our three arguments regarding the limits of current thinking and practices of UCP/​A: the narrow conception of actor categories; siloed conceptualizations of protection; and the wider negative effects of the lack of protective accompaniment for former perpetrators on transformations from war to positive peace. In conclusion, we suggest that a critical engagement with these challenges will help the UCP/​A community in thinking through some of the wider questions that arise from the idea of expanding or scaling up the practice of UCP/​A into a new nonviolent security vision, particularly regarding its transformative dimension. Empirically, we base this chapter on an in-​depth review of publicly available data about past and current violence against demobilizing combatants in Colombia and existing studies concerning the state of the FARC peace signatories’ reincorporation, interviews with UCP/​A organizations about working with ex-​combatants, reports of a series of workshops on core principles and good practices of UCP/​A, and interviews and ethnographic observations from a funded research project in which we studied the subjectivities of ex-​combatants in the process of reincorporation in two rural locations of the department of Antioquia (Arias-​López et al, 2022; Arias López and Valencia Pérez, 2022).2 138

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Chronicle of deaths foretold: systematic violence against demobilized combatants in Colombia Colombia’s violent disarmament, demobilization and reintegration history Colombia has over 30 years of experience with DDR processes of combatants from different guerrilla and paramilitary groups, negotiated as part of different settlements and agreements (CNMH, 2017). Prior to the latest peace agreement with the FARC in 2016, around 60,000 people had been registered in these programmes. They included fighters demobilized after an amnesty granted to illegal armed groups in the so-​called Law 35 of 1982, bilateral truces agreed with different guerrilla groups in 1984 (Verdadabierta, 2012), and peace pacts with several guerrilla groups in the 1990s. Since 1994 there has also been an individual pardon and reintegration mechanism for deserters of guerrilla groups, which is ongoing to date. Furthermore, in 2005, the so-​called Justice and Peace Law set into motion the demobilization of members of the paramilitary United Self-​Defence Forces of Colombia (AUC) (Derks et al, 2011; CNMH, 2017). Despite this rich experience with DDR processes, the lack of security guarantees has paradoxically remained one of the most critical points of Colombian ex-​combatants’ integration into civilian life. In the 1990s, 20 per cent of demobilized combatants became victims of homicides, disappearances or forced displacements (CNMH, 2017, p 167). Between 1990 and 2021, the assassination rate among demobilized fighters corresponded to 2.8 per cent for the 19th of April Movement (M-​19), 14.6 per cent for the Popular Liberation Army (EPL), 18.2 per cent for the Socialist Renewal Current (CRS), 3.2 per cent for the Quintín Lame Armed Movement (MAQL), 14.5 percent for the Revolutionary Workers’ Party (PRT), and 11.3 per cent for the AUC (Valencia Agudelo, 2021, p 5). An important historical experience in this context is that of the political movement Patriotic Union (Unión Patriótica –​UP), which emerged from negotiations between the FARC and the Colombian government in 1985. The UP successfully pooled different political currents and consolidated itself as a credible political alternative with acceptance in various regions of the country, where its members achieved formal representation in mayor and governor positions. By 2002, however, the UP was basically exterminated. Its mass extermination took place at such a scale that, over the course of eight years, on average one member of this group was assassinated every 33 hours (CNMH, 2018, p 109). The National Centre for Historical Memory (CNMH) documented 4,153 UP members who were killed, disappeared or kidnapped, in addition to ‘2,049 surviving victims of threats, attempted homicide, torture, sexual violence and violation of judicial guarantees such as arbitrary detention or unfounded prosecutions, forced displacement and exile’ 139

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(CNMH, 2018, p 108). The events were concentrated in the three regions of the UP’s greatest politico-​electoral success: Ariari-​Guayabero in the Colombian southeast, Magdalena Medio in the centre, and Urabá in the northwest. The perpetrators were mainly paramilitary groups and state agents (CNMH, 2018, p 466) and their characteristics were the selective targeting of UP members and a clear connection to the perpetrators’ aim of expanding territorial control. To date, the mass violence against the UP has not been adequately addressed by Colombia’s justice system; however, in July 2022 the Interamerican Court of Human Rights, after 30 years of litigation, ‘handed down a judgment in which it declared the international responsibility of the State of Colombia for the human rights violations committed to the detriment of more than six thousand [UP] victims’ (Interamerican Court of Human Rights, 2022). Three aspects clearly stand out from the earlier overview: first, violence against demobilized combatants in Colombia is systematic; second, the neglect of state security guarantees for demobilized combatants is strategic; and, third, demobilized combatants’ becoming a target of violence is linked to their political success and to armed struggles over territorial control. The historical experience of demobilized fighters in Colombia suggests that security guarantees are a nodal point for both successful DDR processes as well as wider democratic transformation and reforms (Meernik et al, 2021), yet institutional security guarantees have been largely absent (but see Fuentes Diaz, 2002, on a welfare programme for children and adolescents who were members of an armed group). All these characteristics can also be found in the most recent case of DDR of the FARC guerrilla, who seem to be living the Colombian novelist Gabriel García Márquez’s (2007 [1982]) Chronicle of a Death Foretold: the story of an assassination that was widely foreseen yet not stopped by anyone.

The security situation of the 2016 Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia peace signatories The latest peace process between the FARC and the Colombian government was the result of four years of official negotiations, launched in Oslo, Norway, in 2012 and conducted in Havana, Cuba, which had been preceded by a longer process of dialogue between the parties on the framework of this process (Norwegian Ministry of Foreign Affairs, 2022). The peace agreement was finally ratified by the Colombian Congress after some modifications, following a plebiscite in October 2016 in which a slight majority had voted against the agreement in its original form. The FARC’s DDR process started with the handover of weapons to the United Nations and the concentration of former combatants in designated transitional normalization zones (ZVTNs), which gradually transformed into 24 territorial capacitation and reincorporation spaces (ETCRs; see Figure 12.1). Alongside these 140

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Figure 12.1: Assassinations of FARC peace signatories by geographical concentration, 2016–​21 N W

E S

0 60 120 240

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Legend NAR ETCR Departments Assassinations 0 1 -6 7 - 10 11 - 16 17 - 27 28 - 45

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Source: Authors’ map, based on data by Forero Rueda and Cortés Villalba, 2020; Consejo Nacional de Reincorporación –​Componente FARC, 2020; Indepaz, 2021a; Indepaz, 2021b; Agencia para la Reincorporación y la Normalización, 2022.

state-​designated reintegration spaces, new areas of reincorporation (NARs) have been set up by ex-​combatants in an informal manner since 2017, usually without formal recognition or support from the government, totalling some 76 NARs in mid-​2020 (see Figure 12.1). According to a survey, the group of ‘demobilized persons’ includes formerly armed men and women 141

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in both leadership and rank-​and-​file positions, so-​called militia members who carried out logistical support or intelligence work without weapons, as well as FARC members who were political prisoners at the time of the agreement (Universidad Nacional de Colombia, 2017). As of November 2021, there were 13,098 people registered in the FARC’s reincorporation process, of which only about 20 per cent remained in the former ETCRs due to difficulties in the implementation of the peace agreement and security concerns (Agencia para la Reincorporación y la Normalización, 2021; United Nations Security Council, 2021). While some have formed self-​organized NARs, many have abandoned the ETCRs individually. Demobilized FARC members and their families have also become victims of collective displacements. In July 2020, for example, 90 ex-​combatants and their families were displaced from the village of Santa Lucia in Ituango, Antioquia, to Mutatá, another municipality in Antioquia, which hosts an existing NAR, due to violence and pressure from a paramilitary group known as the Urabeños and dissidents of the former FARC (Flórez and Calderón, 2020). Similar events have been documented in other ETCRs, including Carrizal (Antioquia), La Pradera (Putumayo), La Elvira and Monteredondo (Cauca), La Variante (Nariño), Caño Indio (Norte de Santander) and Yarí (Meta) (Flórez and Calderón, 2020; Redacción Colombia +​20, 2021). According to Indepaz (2021a; 2022b), the number of ex-​combatants killed in the first six years since the peace agreement amounted to 335 (or 2.6 percent). Although this figure does not (yet) have the magnitude witnessed in previous DDR processes, it is certainly worrying. In 2019, the Foundation Ideas for Peace (FIP) projected risk levels for the different types of FARC peace signatories, predicting a higher risk for those undertaking the process individually outside the ETCRs, while those remaining in the ETCRs were seen to enjoy greater security thanks to the permanent control of the state security forces in these areas. Interestingly, a higher risk was also predicted for those with former command positions in the insurgent hierarchy, despite the state provision of armed bodyguards for the protection of former (sub) commanders (FIP, 2019). What can be observed today, however, is a different picture. Charles et al (2020) conducted a detailed analysis of the violent events, analysing the time, place and profile of the ex-​combatants killed, including their age, gender, rank and FARC unit (bloque), as well as their political status, that is, if they were campaigning or standing for office, and whether they had recently been released from prison. Based on this data, they then identified profiles and trends to reveal any systematicity and possible motivations associated with the violent acts and uncover geographical coincidences with armed groups, including dissident factions of the FARC, the guerrilla National Liberation Army (ELN), paramilitary groups, and/​or drug-​trafficking organizations. 142

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Most of the peace signatories killed, the study found, are low-​ranking men in the former military structure (Charles et al, 2020, p 14), which may hint at the effectiveness of the armed bodyguard scheme for former commanders. Assassinations are more likely to occur in places where ex-​combatants are concentrated, that is, in municipalities with ETCRs and NARs, suggesting that the killings are strategic (Charles et al, 2020, pp 18–​19; cf. Figure 12.1). They mostly occur in municipalities where FARC dissident groups are present, where there is rivalry between multiple armed groups, and/​or where there is active coca cultivation, hinting at the territorial control aspect of the violence (Charles et al, 2020, pp 20–​6). This is supported by studies that show that the geographies of assassinations of former combatants overlap with those of other groups. In Cauca, for example, threats and assassinations have involved both peace signatories and Indigenous Guards (Gutiérrez, 2021). The latter are nonviolent organizations formed by members of Indigenous communities in the framework of the constitutional recognition of Indigenous territories as ancestral collective property. Their mission is to preserve ancestral territories’ integrity and autonomy and to defend without weapons the rights of Indigenous peoples following their own jurisprudence (Chaves et al, 2020). Punishment of those who opted to sign the peace agreement and those who oppose and resist the monopoly and criminal control of the respective rural areas seems to be a central motive (Charles et al, 2020, p 33; Ríos and González, 2021). As in previous decades, systematicity, strategy and territorial control are again the core characteristics of violence against the demobilized combatants. Against this background, the lack of implementation of the state’s security guarantees for veteran FARC combatants, as enshrined in the final peace agreement, can only be seen as a strategic power move. Meanwhile the peace signatories’ individual and collective self-​protection measures, as well as scarce attempts by civil society groups to accompany them, have not been able to fill the gap –​with dire consequences for the peace process and political transformation in Colombia.

Top-​down and bottom-​up protection approaches in the peace process The 2016 peace agreement sought to address FARC members’ legitimate security concerns. A series of measures and mechanisms in ­chapter 3 of the final agreement, entitled ‘End of the Conflict’, focused particularly on the security of ex-​combatants. These included, among others, a ‘Security and Protection Corps’ to be established as an armed bodyguard unit to protect former FARC leaders and members of the new FARC political party; a high-​ level unit tasked with the security and protection of members of political and social parties and movements, including demobilized FARC members; and training and resources for self-​protection measures aimed at FARC veterans 143

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(PA-​X Peace Agreements Database, nd). Despite these agreements, the reality today is not only that these measures have not been fully implemented by the government; the further deterioration of security conditions since the signing of the peace agreement also exceeds the possibilities of these measures to counter attacks against ex-​combatants, even if they were fully implemented (FIP, 2019; WOLA, 2020; United Nations Security Council, 2021). Perception analyses among FARC peace signatories mirror the seriousness of the situation: they feel strongly threatened, unable to adhere to their identity as ex-​combatants, and stigmatized by society, due to the non-​compliance by the Colombian government and the violence towards them (Gluecker et al, 2021). In view of lacking safety guarantees, and mirroring previous DDR processes, FARC ex-​combatants have adopted various self-​protection strategies, including social self-​isolation, identity concealment, exile and/​or abandonment of the formalized DDR process. Yet, while these strategies may have saved individuals’ lives, they seem to have been detrimental to wider transformation processes, particularly ex-​combatants’ and wider society’s use of the right to voice different (and particularly leftist) political opinions (Nussio, 2011; Cuénoud and Clémencea, 2019; Valencia Agudelo, 2021). Also, while reliable statistical data on recent FARC recidivism is difficult to obtain, there is anecdotal evidence of cases of return to life in arms, justified in terms of self-​defence and/​or economic necessity, which have directly countered the DDR process (for recidivism in earlier demobilizations, cf Kaplan and Nussio, 2018). Whether any of this will change under the government of Colombia’s new leftist president, Gustavo Petro, who was voted into office in June 2022 and whose Total Peace Law (Congress of Colombia, 2022) enables him to negotiate with all remaining armed groups (Indepaz, 2022a), remains to be seen. Apart from undermining combatants’ DDR process, the lack of security guarantees, and the measures taken by the peace signatories to protect themselves, also have wider implications. The Special Jurisdiction for Peace, for instance, issued a communique in which it ordered ‘the National Government to adopt actions to guarantee the life and security of the former FARC participants’ before this body, on the understanding that the peace signatories’ security is fundamental to guaranteeing the non-​repetition of past atrocities by armed groups and to safeguarding the rights of the conflict’s victims (JEP, 2020). Some authors suggest that the protection measures proposed in the 2016 agreement suffer from privileging a top-​down logic based on a state-​centric, unilateral, vertical and militaristic view that ignores the particular meaning security has for different people in different locations (Nilsson, 2018). What is necessary, from this perspective, is a broadening of the conventional security concept to one that places people at the centre, understands security needs 144

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from below, and listens to what and who constitutes a threat to security in different social positions and geographical locations (Nilsson and González, 2020). This resonates closely with protection ideas formulated by UCP/​ A organizations, who emphasize the primacy of local actors and security arrangements from below and who would hence seem ideally positioned to provide such bottom-​up protective accompaniment. Yet, apart from the presence of the United Nations through its Verification Mission in Colombia and of some of the guarantor countries of the peace agreement, we only found a few UCP/​A organizations who have expressed interest in accompanying the signatories (cf Schweitzer, 2020a, p 27). These include PPF, who have been building relationships with some peace signatories. In their conversations, they have collected testimonies in which peace signatories say: ‘We would be safer with unarmed international accompaniers than with armed guards’ (Presbyterian Peace Fellowship, 2020). This is in line with PPF’s understanding of protection as a nonviolent presence in situ, work they have been doing in Colombia since 2004, and which is based on the strategy of international presence, in addition to advocacy work with governmental bodies in the US, as a guarantee of protection. Yet due to the onset of the COVID-​19 pandemic no such accompaniment seems to have been initiated to date. There is also the FOR-​PP who, in association with the IELCO, have been developing the initiative From War to Peace (De la guerra a la paz) in ETCRs and NARs in the department of Antioquia (FOR-​PP, 2021). In addition to a physical presence component, which is still limited and intermittent, they offer other types of accompaniment regarding the construction of peasant livelihoods in San José de León (Mutatá) and inter-​ethnic cohabitation in La Blanquita Murrí (Frontino) (Federación Luterana Mundial, 2018; interviews January 2022). While there is thus very limited direct protective accompaniment of FARC peace signatories, there are nonetheless some indirect forms of UCP/​A, at least in some of the ETCRs and NARs. In the case of the NAR San José de León, for example, where the authors conducted ethnographic fieldwork over the course of a year, the regular presence of the National Reintegration Agency (ARN), departmental and municipal institutions, international organizations such as the United Nations Verification Mission and the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP), as well as a significant number of university and religious institutions and non-​governmental organizations, which accompany the reincorporation process in one form or another, provides some form of protection to ex-​combatants, even if unintentionally or indirectly (Arias-​López et al, 2022). Interaction and negotiation with local actors, armed and unarmed, can also be seen as an important strategy to reduce violence levels. Anecdotal evidence suggests that in some locations there are informal agreements in place between NARs and illegal armed groups controlling the respective 145

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areas, which have helped reduce violence. In other regions, collaborations with legal local authorities could make all the difference. In the department of Cauca, for example, local and regional Indigenous authorities –​ including local cabildos (councils), the Association of Indigenous Cabildos of North Cauca (ACIN), and the Regional Indigenous Council of Cauca (CRIN) –​play a fundamental role in safeguarding their territories, over which they have legal sovereignty according to the national constitution. This autonomy, however, has neither been recognized by the Colombian institutions nor by the FARC negotiators in Havana. Consequently, ETCRs were installed within Indigenous jurisdictions without prior consultation or any subsequent say in the design of local reintegration programmes (Donkers, 2017). The approach followed the logic that ETCRs were to be set up in territories of previous FARC influence and according to the origin of the ex-​combatants. In localities such as Caldono and Buenos Aires (Cauca), 80 per cent of the FARC had Indigenous roots and usually joined for non-​ideological reasons. To minimize risks of physical harm and enhance the socio-​economic reincorporation of peace signatories in these areas, collaboration with local Indigenous authorities, which respects socio-​ cultural dynamics, would seem fundamental but has not been sufficiently explored (Donkers, 2017, p 39). There are also associations of victims of the violent conflicts in Colombia, with whom it may be worth collaborating for better protection, such as Communities Building Peace in Colombia (Comunidades Construyendo Paz en Colombia –​Conpazcol), a network of Afro-​Colombian, Indigenous and rural families and communities, who have been working in 11 regions of Colombia for over 20 years (Conpazcol, nd). Members of Conpazcol told us in an interview that they had offered the negotiators in Havana to identify areas where collaborative peace processes between Indigenous, peasant and Afro-​descendant communities were already underway, as scenarios for the reception of the peace signatories (interview, January 2022). They believed that existing experience and capacity in these areas promised better protection conditions and a more favourable and supportive environment for reincorporation and reconciliation. The offer was not taken up, however, which our interviewees believed increased peace signatories’ vulnerability. Today, Conpazcol contributes to processes of self-​protection by making the dire conditions for reincorporation visible and by engaging in active pedagogy and the promotion of victims’ rights, for example using truth-​ telling methods involving peace signatories and victims. Like the JEP cited earlier, Conpazcol holds that the assassination of peace signatories impedes the search for truth and thereby undermines the rights of victims and the construction of sustainable peace. For this reason, Conpazcol have also undertaken international advocacy and collaborated nationally in platforms, where different organizations come together to provide accompaniment 146

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of the peace process in a wider sense, including some physical presence in disputed territories.

Rethinking UCP/​A in light of the Colombian case The caution of many international and national UCP/​A organizations to work with former combatants is not limited to the Colombian case. We found no evidence of any examples in which a DDR process had been accompanied by UCP/​A, and very few examples of single activities that could count as accompaniment of former combatants, despite evidence of incidents of violence against former combatants/​soldiers in different violent contexts, including, for example, Afghanistan (Human Rights Watch, 2021). As Schweitzer (2018b, p 66) observes, under international humanitarian law ‘[c]‌ombatants or (former) combatants are entitled to protection in certain situations (for example, when they surrendered or are unable to continue fighting because they were wounded), however, most UCP organizations avoid dealing with them’. The risk of jeopardizing their nonpartisanship if helping armed actors is seen as too high a price by UCP/​A organizations. Accordingly, the few examples of UCP/​A organizations’ selective work with ex-​combatants we found either concern isolated examples of transport of wounded soldiers/​combatants under exceptional circumstances or, more notably, UCP/​A concerning forcibly recruited children. This includes early warning and prevention work, negotiations with the respective armed groups on the children’s return, and the accompaniment of the child soldiers back to their families or to safe places. Examples can be found in the work of Nonviolent Peaceforce (NP) and its partners in Myanmar, Sri Lanka and South Sudan (Schweitzer, 2012; University of Ottawa, 2012; UNICEF, 2019). Similarly, neither UCP/​A nor DDR-​related research literature has yet considered the potential roles of UCP/​A in DDR processes. Furnari et al (2021), for instance, discuss UCP/​A’s contributions to transformative processes from violent conflict to positive peace (for example, through agreement monitoring, creating safer space for local change actors, and constituting a role model of nonviolent conflict resolution), but they do not consider its potential roles regarding the transformation and reintegration of former combatants. Chief among the reasons why UCP/​A with ex-​combatants is a blind spot are the risks that arise in terms of organizations’ credibility and reputation. While most organizations do not categorically reject the idea of accompanying former combatants in situations of protection need when asked hypothetically, in practice it bears obvious challenges to UCP/​A organizations’ principles of nonviolence and nonpartisanship or being by the side of those most oppressed. While the violent experiences of generations of demobilized combatants in Colombia blur clear distinctions between 147

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violent–​nonviolent, armed actor–​civilian, and oppressor–​oppressed, a main challenge is their continued framing as ex-​combatants in public discourse, that is, of persons with violence-​related skills and relationships, and the baggage of a violent past and its victims. These aspects are not only often used to blame the reasons for violent incidents on alleged personal criminal behaviour rather than structural insecurity; it also makes it challenging for UCP/​A organizations to maintain a clear focus on ‘civilian’ beneficiaries. In light of the persistent stigmatization of former guerrilla members, nurtured by decades of state propaganda, working with ex-​combatants whose war-​time responsibilities have not yet been worked through by a transitional justice process may thus seem particularly risky for UCP/​A organizations in terms of the trust they have built with hitherto accompanied groups/​ individuals, while ‘working with perpetrators’ more generally may be seen by the victims of the violent conflict to undermine both the principles of nonviolence and nonpartisanship or solidarity with their struggle for truth and justice. In this context, some organizations have been particularly concerned about the repercussions that working with former guerrilla fighters may have on the communities accompanied by them, as highlighted by a member of Community Peacemaker Teams (formerly known as Christian Peacemaker Teams –​CPT) Colombia (interview, November 2022). During the violent conflict with the FARC, the Colombian state directed its ‘internal enemy’ doctrine not only against insurgent armed actors, but also against members of Colombia’s civil society (Colombian Truth Commission, 2022, pp 389–​ 98). Had UCP/​A organizations started accompanying former guerrilla fighters, this might have been constructed by state agencies as ‘proof ’ that all social actors and communities accompanied by them were indeed ‘guerrilla’ members and hence legitimate targets (CPT Colombia interview, November 2022). Not accompanying peace signatories, in this sense, contributed to the protection of civilian communities and activists under threat, even though at the cost of leaving peace signatories unprotected. There is also the dimension of the relationship between outside UCP/​A organizations and the states they work in. In Colombia particularly, UCP/​ A organizations such as Peace Brigades International (PBI) have avoided directly engaging or building relationships with guerrilla groups, in order not to give the Colombian state a legal basis to expel them from the country on grounds of collaborating with ‘terrorists’ (Schweitzer, 2020a, p 31). Ingrained working principles such as this one, in combination with a long history of working with human rights defenders and peace communities in Colombia, may also play a role in UCP/​A organizations’ reservations concerning the accompaniment of peace signatories. Given that UCP/​ A organizations report a lack of resources and suitable staff or volunteers in view of the sheer need for protective accompaniment, expanding their UCP/​A portfolio to a new group that bears reputational risks may therefore 148

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not only seem beyond their capacity, but also a bad choice more generally (interviews, January and November 2022). While all of these are very good reasons for a cautionary approach towards UCP/​A with ex-​combatants, we suggest that the balance also needs to take wider issues into account. For one, the topic of protective accompaniment of former armed actors also puts into relief the limits of an approach that juxtaposes or siloes notions of human rights defence, protective accompaniment of peace communities, humanitarian action, and so on, and sees them as separate from DDR processes amid ongoing violence. The focus on certain violations, vulnerable groups, and/​or protection needs seems in danger of losing track of the wider picture of causes of violence and how they manifest and are perpetuated structurally and geographically. In a wider context in which rights are routinely violated, violence is part of political and economic interest-​maximization strategies, and impunity looms large, protection from physical harm may also need to become more strategic. UCP/​A with a group like the FARC, whose rights to protection and wider political aims have been agreed upon by the government in a legal contract –​the peace agreement –​seems like an obvious field of additional action. Our analysis has suggested that the lack of collaboration between other historically vulnerable groups, who have already developed protection and support mechanisms, and the peace signatories is a major weak point in the design of the reincorporation process, which can only be overcome if the threats to these different groups are not seen as separate problems, but as part of wider violent structures and logics underpinned by a network of political and economic interests (Colombian Truth Commission, 2022, pp 168, 249–​50). If left unaddressed, UCP/​A seems to risk becoming an end in itself, without (enabling) any transformative potential or longer-​term exit strategy. At the time of its signing, the 2016 Colombian peace agreement was lauded for its progressiveness in terms of reforms regarding land access and use, democratic participation, and consideration of gender and women’s rights (Presidencia de la República, 2016). If implemented, it would benefit many of the most marginalized groups in Colombian society. Yet not only is the violence against the FARC peace signatories a sign of the wider lack/​ lag of implementation of the agreement (Kroc Institute, nd); it also more specifically undermines the rights of the victims of the violent conflict to truth, justice and non-​repetition, shrinks the space for political voices that diverge from the politico-​economically dominant discourse, and enables the continuation of the use of violence as a means of gaining territorial control, thereby undermining democratic political processes as well as the constitutional rights of protected groups. As discussed, ex-​combatants’ self-​ protection strategies, including localized informal negotiations between NARs and armed actors and individuals abandoning the collective DDR 149

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process, have compounded these effects rather than addressing them. While they may have reduced physical harms, they have also contributed to what could be seen as a retrospective victory of those political and economic forces who have opposed the peace agreement and any wider societal reforms and benefit from a violent status quo. Spinning this argumentative thread further, one could claim that not accompanying the FARC peace signatories contributes to a shrinking of the ‘safer space’ that for many communities was initially achieved through the peace agreement. UCP/​A with peace signatories, by contrast, could have enabled safer space for the implementation of other parts of the peace agreement, and thereby also safeguarded the rights of the victims of the violent conflict and other vulnerable groups and worked towards sustainable peace. The systematicity, strategy and territorial expansion logic of violence, it seems, would require an equally systematic, strategic, and territorial nonviolence approach. The most promising route for future UCP/​A in this sense seems to be one in which outside UCP/​A actors collaborate with and support the many national and local initiatives and organizations (such as the Conpazcol network, the From War to Peace initiative, and Indigenous councils discussed in this chapter), to embed UCP/​A into the wider existing work towards peaceful relations at local and regional levels, built not through top-​down imposition but bottom-​up engagement. Gustavo Petro’s presidency, with its focus on ‘total peace’, seems to offer a particular window of opportunity for UCP/​A organizations to embark on this route.

Conclusion A recent discussion among UCP/​A practitioners, driven particularly by a series of regional and global workshops with different UCP/​A organizations on principles, good practices and challenges of this work, organized by NP, concerned the question of whether and how to expand UCP/​A, by scaling it up (expanding existing organizations/​missions) or wide (expanding UCP/​A to more organizations, locations and communities) in order to benefit more people in need of protection (Nonviolent Peaceforce, nd). The Colombian case invites us to reflect on some other fundamental questions, whose engagement may be necessary to expand UCP/​A into a wider alternative security vision. What our analysis suggests is that a third dimension this discussion should address, next to scaling up and wide, is in how far such an expansion of UCP/​A also needs to discuss the longer-​term aims of nonviolence as a transformative security vision in a particular context. As our analysis has suggested, the choice of for whom safer space is created may be based on laudable core principles, but it is not without consequences. In cases like that of Colombia, discussions of a longer-​term perspective may cast a different light on the 150

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value of difficult decisions, such as that to accompany former perpetrators of violence, as one of the threads to enable a social fabric of alternative political movements and visions. In any case, such a perspective would make UCP/​ A more relevant, not merely as a band-​aid to patch up acute harms, but for longer-​term transformations of violent structures from the bottom-​up. Acknowledgements This chapter is a result of the work of the Network Plus ‘Creating Safer Space: Strengthening Civilian Protection Amidst Violent Conflict’, funded by the UK’s Arts and Humanities Research Council (AHRC) through the Global Challenges Research Fund (GCRF) (project reference: AH/​T008024/​1); see https://​creat​ing-​safer-​space.com. We would like to thank our interviewees for the time and thoughts shared with us, as well as Alastair Finlan, Amaya Querejazu, Louise Ridden, the editors and two anonymous reviewers for comments on earlier versions of this chapter.

Notes 1

2

For example, a UCP/​A organization in Chiapas, Mexico, reported that the local peasants they accompany often carry arms for self-​defence when traveling through extremely violent areas; refusing to accompany them unless they laid down their weapons would make accompaniment impossible (Schweitzer, 2020a, p. 19). There are also some organizations, such as Cure Violence and related groups in the US, who work with former gang members as ‘credible messengers’ to interrupt gang violence in their communities (Schweitzer, 2020b, pp. 42–​6). Project ‘(Un)stitching the subjects of Colombia’s reconciliation process’, jointly supported by Minciencias (project reference FP44842-​282-​2018) and Newton Fund (project reference AH/​R01373X/​1) and hosted by Aberystwyth University, the University of Antioquia and the Association of Victims and Survivors of Northeast Antioquia; see https://www.des-​tejiendomiradas.com.

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Unarmed Civilian Protection: Impact on Strengthening Civilian Capacities in the Bangsamoro Autonomous Region in Muslim Mindanao Jeyamurugan Vyappareddiyar

The role of an unarmed civilian protection (UCP) approach and practices by civil society organizations (CSOs) in the Philippines, with the support of international organizations, is not well-​researched and documented (one exception being Furnari, 2016b). Yet the application of UCP in enhancing safe, peaceful and resilient communities through strengthening civilian capacities in the Bangsamoro Autonomous Region in Muslim Mindanao (BARMM) has resulted in rich experiences for learning and reflection. This chapter aims to give a better understanding of how the UCP approach used by CSOs has reduced violence. By highlighting the support of international organizations during the pre-​Bangsamoro Organic Law (BOL) period or at the height of war, this chapter discusses its challenges and opportunities. Importantly, it identifies sources of inspiration in capturing local CSOs’ synergy to address the continued violence towards unarmed civilians. Also, it explores the possibilities of the expansion of UCP’s extended role in supporting Bangsamoro’s transition from a violent to a peaceful landscape, by strengthening the progress of the current normalization process in the BARMM. Overall, the Philippine experience is a unique example of UCP as part of an official ceasefire monitoring programme, initiated by local groups, and mutually supported by internationals.

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Background to the conflict Mindanao includes the Bangsamoro Region in Muslim Mindanao, a traditional ‘homeland’ for Moros, as well as Indigenous peoples of the Islamized and the Lumads, and the ‘promised land’ for Christian settlers. Mindanao has many faces of injustice. Social exclusion and marginalization over many generations has resulted in multiple armed conflicts caused by the dispossession of land and natural resources. The area is impacted by extreme poverty (61 per cent of the population), deprivation of essential amenities, clan wars mainly in Moro-​dominated areas, the proliferation of small arms, and inter-​tribal and inter-​ethnic armed conflicts. In the Bangsamoro area, 48 per cent of the population in areas affected by land conflict is poor, compared to 44 per cent in areas with no reported land conflict cases. The World Bank and an International Organization for Migration study state that land is the main issue for peace and development in Mindanao. Injustice and the unjust dispossession of land, combined with confusing and overlapping legal and institutional frameworks for land administration and management, are major triggers of violent conflict (World Bank, 2016) in the past and the present. The population in the Bangsamoro Autonomous Region in Muslim Mindanao (BARMM), as of May 2020, was 4,404,288. It represents 16.78 per cent of the overall population of the Mindanao Island group, or 4.04 per cent of the entire population of the Philippines. The BARMM is now emerging as an innovative peace structure in resolving one of the world’s most prolonged active armed conflicts, expressing an idea of Bangsamoro self-​determination that addresses the quest for self-​government and self-​identity. The creation of the BARMM was part of the Comprehensive Peace Agreement signed in 2014 that ended the decades-​old armed conflict between the government (GRP) and the Mindanao Islamic Liberation Front. Furthermore, the BARMM is now becoming an ally of the national government in nation-​building, the campaign for good governance in the region, including the fight against terrorism, and a tool for trust building, national unity and reconciliation in Mindanao. The violent armed conflict between the GRP and Muslim or Moro rebels has been ongoing for over 40 years. The Moro have struggled to establish both a self-​ascribed identity, drawn and reclaimed from the derogatory term ‘Moors’, used originally by Spanish colonialists to refer to Muslims in the southern part of the colonized territories of what is now known as the Philippines, and an independent Moro land or Muslim state. Muslims in Mindanao, who were once a majority in the region, became a minority over the last several hundred years. Centuries of Christian chauvinism under the Spanish colonial regime, agricultural policies and plantation economies mandated by the American colonial regime, population transfer and resettlement programmes in the post-​war years mandated by the post-​colonial government, have all brought non-​Muslim settlers into 153

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Mindanao to defuse peasant unrest in Luzon and Visayas. Additionally, decades of government neglect and anti-​Muslim sentiment under a national administration dominated by the post-​colonial Christian majority have constructed a narrative of Muslims in the Philippines as ‘pre-​modern’, ‘pirates’, or ‘rebels’ (McKenna, 1998). Social tensions and friction in Mindanao that were largely rooted in land conflicts between Muslims, Indigenous peoples (also referred to as ‘Lumads’), and non-​Muslim settler populations continued to develop over time. These tensions served as justifications for military campaigns in the 1970s launched by the armed forces, as well as the rise of Christian extremist paramilitary groups such as the Ilaga, which targeted predominantly Muslim communities. The declaration of martial law under the Marcos regime in 1972 sparked the radicalization of the Moros, and gave rise to separatist movements that aspired to an independent Muslim nation –​the Bangsa Moro or Moro Nation. These aspirations were embodied initially by an aboveground organization, the Muslim Independence Movement. Eventually, the struggle for Bangsa Moro (also referred to as Bangsamoro) was primarily led by two non-​state armed groups formed by Muslim intellectuals and Islamic scholars in Mindanao: first, the Moro National Liberation Front (MNLF), established in 1972, and then by the Moro Islamic Liberation Front (MILF), a breakaway group of the MNLF, established in 1977. Decades of peace negotiations between the GRP and Muslim secessionist groups have resulted in peace agreements and two iterations of an autonomous region for Muslim Mindanao. In 1987, the Autonomous Region for Muslim Mindanao (ARMM), covering five predominantly Muslim provinces –​ Basilan, Lanao del Sur, Maguindanao, Sulu and Tawi-​Tawi –​was created as a result of the peace agreement signed between the MNLF and the GRP. However, the creation of ARMM did not resolve historical and contemporary grievances in Mindanao and, in 2011, was described by President Benigno Aquino III as a ‘failed experiment’. In 2014, the MILF and GRP signed the Comprehensive Agreement on the Bangsamoro, which resulted in the Organic Law for the Bangsamoro Autonomous Region in Muslim Mindanao (OLBARMM), also called Bangsamoro Organic Law (BOL). The BOL, which was ratified by the Philippine Congress and signed into law by President Rodrigo Duterte in July 2018, abolished ARMM and created BARMM. This was followed by a plebiscite in January 2019 in which a majority of former ARMM voters approved the law. BARMM is composed of five provinces, Basilan, Lanao del Sur, Maguindanao, Sulu and Tawi-​Tawi, and three cities, Lamitan, Marawi and Cotabato. BARMM’s regional centre is Cotabato City. The Comprehensive Peace Agreement and the birth of BARMM are celebrated as historic accomplishments towards a lasting peace in Mindanao. The map below (Figure 13.1) highlights the geographical areas of the conflict. 154

newgenrtpdf

Figure 13.1: Geographical areas of the conflict between the government and the Moro in the Philippines

LANAO DEL SUR Cotabato City PHILIPPINES

MAGUINDANAO

155

Isabela City

BASILAN

SULU

TAWI-TAWI

Bangsamoro Autonomous Region for Muslim Mindanao (BARMM)

Macaspac, Nerve. "Bangsamoro Autonomous Region of Muslim Mindanao" (map). Scale: 3,773,234. New York City: January 31, 2023. Using: QGIS Geographic Information System (GIS software). Version 3.28. QGIS Association.

Source: Used courtesy of Nerve Macaspac, 2023, with permission.

Strengthening civilian capacities in BARMM

Marawi City

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Creation of a Civilian Protection Component under the International Monitoring Team The International Monitoring Team (IMT) in Mindanao was launched in October 2004 with the combined support of Malaysia, Brunei and Libya to oversee the situation after the GRP and MILF signed their ceasefire agreement in 2003. Japan joined the IMT in October 2006 to assist in the conflict-​affected areas, especially the displaced communities in the Moro lands. Violent armed conflict resumed, and the security situation deteriorated due to the failure to address pending land problems, as national level coordination for resolution was lacking. Malaysia withdrew its contingent in Novemeber 2008, and the military-​led IMT operations were suspended in 2009. IMT operations restarted in February 2010, and Norwegian experts joined in 2010, strengthening the monitoring mechanism. In 2011, Indonesia also joined the IMT at the invitation of the GRP. The expanded IMT role transitioned into multiple components: monitoring the security situation, humanitarian, rehabilitation and development aspects, and a socio-​economic assistance and Civilian Protection Component (CPC), which were innovatively included by the Government of the Philippines (GPH) and Moro Islamic Liberation Front (MILF) Peace Implementing Panels in 2009. The CPC was an innovative idea for protecting non-​combatants and transforming the military-​led monitoring mechanism into an inclusive peace-​monitoring mechanism in Mindanao. In the history of peace process mechanisms throughout the world, the inclusion in Mindanao of civil societies, including an international organization (Nonviolent Peaceforce (NP) in the Philippines), as partners of the official peace process, was a first. The inclusion of civil societies in the UCP approach significantly transformed the peace process mechanism. Civil society supported and led the CPC under the IMT, which empowered the IMT’s components and significantly contributed to effective responses to civilian vulnerability to physical harm in violent conflict, building local protection infrastructures, and developing civilian protection capabilities. The recognition in 2013 of civil society’s role as part of the peace process by both peace panels of the GRP and the MILF exponentially increased the power of civil society’s unarmed protection approach, enabling an environment for a sense of civilian protection that helped to create a peaceful atmosphere for stabilizing the peace process.

Strategic features of the Civilian Protection Component The CPC under the IMT reflected and emphasized both parties’ essential obligations under humanitarian law and human rights law in conflict: (1) 156

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to refrain from intentionally targeting or attacking non-​combatants, prevent suffering of the civilian population and avoid acts that would cause collateral damage to civilians; (2) to refrain from targeting or intentionally attacking civilian properties or facilities such as schools, hospitals, religious premises, health and food distribution centres, or relief operations, or objects or facilities indispensable to the survival of the civilian population and of a civilian nature; (3) to take all necessary actions to facilitate the provision of relief supplies to affected communities; (4) to take all precautions feasible to avoid incidental loss of civilian life, injury to civilians, and danger to civilian objects; and (5) to ensure that all protective and relief actions shall be undertaken on a purely nondiscriminatory basis covering all affected communities (Civilian Protection Component, 2009). The parties’ agreement to expand the mandate of the IMT by including the CPC transformed the ground situation. The CSOs provided space for the IMT’s other components in field operations to implement the mandate in conflict-​affected MILF communities and other areas. This immensely enhanced the IMT’s mandate, from the essential tasks of monitoring, verifying and reporting non-​compliance by the parties, to their vital requirement to protect civilians and civilian communities. Also, the agreement included a provision that if the IMT ceased to operate, the CPC would remain in place and continue to perform these functions. The CPC also provided official recogntion validating the designated humanitarian organizations and non-​ governmental organizations (NGOs) with a solid reputatation for impartiality, neutrality and independence, to carry out the civilian protection functions (Civilian Protection Component, 2009). The periodic accomplishments of the peace talks between GRP and MILF before 2009 included: (1) the Agreement for General Cessation of Hostilities, 18 July 1997; (2) the Tripoli Agreement on Peace, 22 June 2001; (3) the Implementing Guidelines for the Security Aspect, 7 August 2001; (4) the Implementing Guidelines of the Humanitarian, Rehabilitation and Development Aspects, 7 May 2002; and (5) the Operational Guidelines of the Ad Hoc Joint Action Group, 21 December 2004. These all contributed to increasing confidence in the peace-​talk mechanism. Still, the element of support to help understand the civilian’s vulnerability to physical harm in violent conflict, build local protection infrastructures, and develop civilian protection capabilities was lacking. The lack of civil society’s inclusion significantly prevented confidence in progressing the peace talks. The support of communities for the ceasefire mechanism was tangibly missing, as they were engulfed with many human insecurities in the Moro-​dominated areas in Mindanao. The CPC, the platform for the application of UCP, was an immense help in reducing the confidence gap in the peace process. The following assessment details the CPC’s strategic support. 157

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1. The conflict impacted areas where most of the communities were displaced. The people in the displaced camps felt safer due to the CPC members’ active presence in the identified vulnerable areas (protective presence/​field-​based positioning is one of UCP’s strategies). NP, which was one of the component members and an international organization, had a strong role as part of the CPC. The communities had confidence that information passed on to NP and other CPC members would reach the ‘higher echelons’ of decision-​making, which they could not reach on their own. The real-​time information sharing via text, calls and daily and weekly CPC and monthly field reports to the coordinators of the IMT components, Coordinating Committees for the Cessation of Hostilities (CCCH), and the critical strategic stakeholders of the peace process, including at the international level, after field-​based verification by CPC field members, immensely increased the alertness for the peace infrastructure (IMT, CCCH, and peace panels) for taking immediate responses, such as direct and indirect actions and backchanneling. Data from the CCCH demonstrates the significant reduction of noncompliance and armed clashes between 2009 to 2010, from 115 reported incidents to ten. This period was the first year of CPC and field-​based operations of CPC members (Joint Coordinating Committee on the Cessation of Hostilities, 2010). In this period, NP introduced five tools for activating active monitoring under the IMT: (a) sharing instant messages as an alert message; (b) verification texts confirming the incident after field verification; (c) daily reports; (d) consolidated weekly reports; and (e) monthly analysis reports. Also, NP held strategic meetings with the field-​based commanders of the armed forces of the Philippines and the Moro Liberation Front commanders. This field-​based diplomacy, including well-​planned communications, greatly helped in seeking the armed actors’ support in protecting civilians, and in ensuring their continuous support. Presence, constant and responsible, well analysed, precise information sharing with speed, and field diplomacy with good engagement strategies are the key learning from the Mindanao experience, stemming from the application of UCP under the official peace-​monitoring mechanism in the peace infrastructure established by the parties with the support of the Malaysian government. Increased space for local ownership, connections and information-​sharing among key actors in the peace process was strengthened by CPC activities (Gündüz and Torralba, 2014), which were composite outcomes in the UCP approach. 2. Strategic collaboration and coordination with humanitarian agencies, such as the World Food Programme, the UNHCR, and other United Nations family members helped provide needed support and assistance to the areas experiencing food shortage and famine. The humanitarian 158

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agencies received relevant and timely information from CPC members regarding the humanitarian needs of conflict-​affected populations, especially internally displaced persons (IDPs). The CPCs impacted in multiple ways and means when connecting the humanitarian agencies, who always follow strict security protocols restricting their movements. This often delayed the services to communities in need. The Mindanao experience demonstrates that the inclusion of local CSOs and international organizations, with the correct attitude towards conflict sensitivities, can benefit protecting civilians and building their capacities to enable the environment for self protection. 3. The operational aspect of UCP always needs tactical tools for use in the ‘on the ground’ situation. One of the tools is the application of community-​led EWER (early warning and early response). The purposes of EWER are: (a) Meeting the needs of decision-​m akers working in conflict management for accurate data, analytical methods, and products to improve the impact of peace-​monitoring activities in atrocity affected or potentially affected communities. (b) Building meaningful relationships with IMT structures and field-​ level units and creating a consensus regarding potential challenges and CPC practices. (c) Developing an EWER analytical toolkit for CPC operational organizations utilizing a user-​centric framework for the peace process, stabilizing the ground for supporting the peace agreement. The good practices of EWER are essential for the field-​based application of UCP in responding to community needs. All CPC members, with the help of NP in the Philippines, embedded the critical components of early warning in the reporting mechanism, which provided an alert for immediate responses by the IMT Security Component with the help of the CCCH and the other parts of the peace process infrastructure. Community-​led EWER was new to Mindanao. Its successful application in the framework of UCP immensely helped when it was necessary to proactively evacuate civilians, provide proactive security measures to the areas where non-​Moros were located, and identify high-​risk areas where private armed groups were active and ready to abduct and kill. The critical strategic contribution of community-​led EWER is to ensure the communities have access to the correct information. The CPC mechanism contributes knowledge to the situation, where communities can make informed decisions regarding their safety and security and empower local actors to take corrective measures, making the peace process more sustainable and strengthening local ownership of their security networks. Addressing rumours can also be an effective way to avoid civilian displacement or escalation of violence. 159

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4. The creation of an all-​women contingent in the CPC was another innovation to enhance the role of women in the application of UCP in the CPC framework. It empowers community women to apply United Nations Security Council Resolution 1325 at the field level to harness women’s power to make conflict-​sensitive areas safer and more peaceful. Vulnerable areas where the Indigenous peoples live were closely monitored and reported on in case of any potential for forced displacements. CPC included outposts in Kauswagan, Lanao Del Norte and Aleosan in the North Cotabato province. The innovation helped harness local government units’ contributions to protecting civilians. And the process also helped to inform the key stakeholders’ responsibility of protecting vulnerable communities from natural dissasters. The added value of this approach of women-​led CPC monitoring posts was the immediate responses to potential conflicts with the help of women from the particular communities. One of the key learnings from the CPC component was to replicate the practices in other potential conflict areas in Asia and beyond.

Civilian protection in the normalization phase: limitations, challenges and opportunities and lessons learned for improvement The renewed violence between government forces and Bangsamoro Freedom Forces, the splinter group from MILF that advocated for the separate Moroland, specifically within the SPMS box (the term given to the geographical area where the Bangsmoro Islamic Freedom Fighters operate), has resulted in the deaths of civilians, evacuations, and internal displacement. According to UNHCR Philippines, the seemingly permanent hostilities in the SPMS box for several years have caused repeated and massive displacement affecting the same communities. In March 2019 alone, there were 6,565 families (32,825 persons) forcibly displaced from their homes (UNHCR, 2019). 60 per cent of the population is poor, and poverty is higher in the hotspot areas of the Maguindanao and the island provinces, which induces more fragility and a high level of human insecurities for civilians. Mindanao’s increasing social tensions and frictions were primarily rooted in land conflicts between Muslims and Indigenous Lumads, and non-​Muslim settler populations, and continued to develop over time. These tensions served as justifications for military campaigns in the 1970s launched by the armed forces and the rise of Christian extremist paramilitary groups such as the Ilaga, which targeted predominantly Muslim communities. The renewal of conflict between the Moros and Indigenous peoples needs the approach of the Tri-​Peoples Watch,1 a hybrid version of the UCP platform applying the concepts of UCP. Pockets of violent conflict in many parts of the Bangsamoro continue to result in areas of damage to the peace landscape, despite signing the 160

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Comprehensive Peace Agreement between the MILF and the GRP and the eventual creation of the BARMM. This has been accentuated by the adverse effects of COVID-​19, worsening poverty, food insecurity and access to essential services, especially to those who were already marginalized and vulnerable even before BARMM was created. Increased poverty related to COVID-​19 is contributing to increased conflict, and the nexus approach of combining UCP to address civilian protection as well as health risks and livelihoods is needed to address the current prevailing situation. Emerging civilian protection cases, including human rights violations and violence against the Indigenous communities, are alarming, as is action and inaction on the increasing instability. Based on the initial results of the profiling by the Consortium of Bangsamoro Civil Society and reports from other Cotabato-​based international organizations, including UNHCR, as of 30 November 2021 an estimated 23,730 families (approximately 116,661 individuals) were displaced in the Bangsamoro areas/​Muslim Mindanao. The displaced families stayed in 45 evacuation sites in 12 municipalities in Maguindanao and one city in BARMM (Ministry of Social Services and Development, 2021). These families experience deprivation of adequate shelter, food and health services. The overwhelming majority of IDPs are women and children (more than 6,000), who are especially at risk of abuses of their fundamental rights. Forced displacement, the burning of houses, the threat of rape (reported in South Upi), targeted killing, and the dispossession of land are alarming and increasing human insecurities in the challenging time of COVID-​19 and the process of normalization in BARMM. The indiscriminate bombing of civilian areas gradually erodes trust in building peace, enhancing productive communities and promoting resilience. In the latter part of 2020 and in 2021, nearly 180,000 people were displaced as a result of military operations against the Bangsmoro Islamic Freedom Fighters and the Abu Sayyaf in the BARMM, including the SPMS box in Maguindanao. In the IDP areas, increasing fears, threats and marginalization are a matter of great concern. The peace and security situation of non-​Moro IDPs in the conflict areas in Maguindanao, such as human rights violations in South Upi, alarms and supports the notion of the ‘minority in the minority’ dilemma, which challenges the collective identity of Bangsamoro. Reported killings and massacres –​the Kitango bombing, the Kabacan massacre and the Midsayap massacre –​are still waiting for justice. Marawi City, an Islamic city in the BARMM, is the economic and political capital of Lanao del Sur, which still suffers the consequences of the violent past (in 2017), and displaced civilians are still waiting for their return. As of this writing in 2022, there are still 66,000 people displaced from Marawi City after the Marawi siege. The humanitarian needs of displaced families face challenges due to violent skirmishes between government troops and non-​state armed groups. An estimate of the cost of the damage was 161

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US$216 million, with most of the impact in the 24 barangays comprising the most affected areas (Asian Development Bank, 2018). The displaced civilians’ basic socio-​economic needs are not fulfilled. Their human insecurities induce more violent tendencies in the Lanao areas. The following cases, taken from the author’s field reports (Vyappareddiyar, 2021), highlight the damage that has profoundly affected the safety of civilians.

Kitango bombing The results of field verifications and validations, interviews with the families of victims, barangay officials, and some community members reveal the following. On 24 May 2020, at around 3.15 pm, four mortars shells, believed to be from an 81 mm mortar rocket, rocked Sitio Amai Zailon, Barangay Kitango, Datu Saudi Ampatuan, Maguindanao while community members were busy celebrating the Eid’lFit’r. Two of the four exploded mortars hit the ground, one a residential house, while the fourth directly hit the trunks of a mango tree. The explosions resulted in two fatalities (two female minors) and 15 wounded (men and women, some of whom were minors).

Kabacan massacre Reportedly, Moro civilians were killed on a bloody Saturday near the Kabacan University of Southern Mindanao campus; the survivors and relatives are still waiting for justice. No charges have yet been filed, and government officials who promised to investigate and take immediate action are silent now. The field visit verified that on 29 August 2021 nine people were riding motorcycles when armed men stopped them on a busy provincial road, demanding their identification cards. Suddenly, the nine were shot at close range. Eight were killed on the spot, while one was rushed to the hospital but later died. One of the riders who died instantly, Katindig Kagayawon, 17, a Carmen National High School student, called his father minutes before all were shot. “We are stopped by the police.” When the father asked him if they were being allowed to go, the son told him that they were about to be shot. Seconds later, the father heard eight gunshots. A family member of one of the victims, who refused to be named because of security concerns, said she was disappointed that the case hardly progressed after she risked her life to speak the truth.

Atrocity against the internally displaced community in South Upi Land conflict was the root of the latest violence that displaced Teduray tribe members in two towns in Maguindanao. The attacks, launched reportedly 162

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by the Islamic State-​linked Bangsamoro Islamic Freedom Fighters, in at least two towns in Maguindanao province, have displaced at least 1,300 families. On 31 December 2020, the latest incursion forced almost 600 families to leave their homes and communities in South Upi town. The armed men burned 13 houses of Indigenous peoples in the village of Itaw. The land conflict has been blamed for the violence that mostly displaced members of the Teduray tribe in South Upi. ‘The armed rebel wanted to grab the ancestral lands of IPs there, especially in Barangay Itaw’, a report cocnluded.

What are the proximate causes that trigger violence? What triggers violence is the use of weapons and other deadly war machines by the conflicting parties to resolve their disagreement. They throw charges and counter-​charges against each other. On one hand, the military accuses the rebel groups of conducting or planning military actions and harassment against them and the civilian population. They also accuse the rebels of illegal territorial occupation. On the other hand, the rebel groups accuse the military of encroaching upon their residential and controlled areas. They also claim that the military is a threat to their existence as native inhabitants of the place. These are the never-​ending accusations and counteraccusations from the conflicting parties. It is a chicken and egg dilemma. While we see clearly the effects of the war and the triggering causes, what may have slipped our minds are the underlying causes that perennially resurrect violence. Additionally, we might be aware, but we fail to develop a comprehensive peacebuilding structures and processes. Identifying the mechanisms for people’s and other important stakeholders’ participation in conflict management and resolution is missing. We also need to reassess the role and participation of local government units in peacebuilding, aside from providing immediate emergency support to the victims of war. Unfortunately, under the present circumstances, organizations advocating for non-​violence and the media’s call for tolerance and peace are clearly dwindling. In the context of implementing UCP, understanding the triggers and causes of violence assists in developing good practices

Recommendations: enhancing the role of the Civilian Protection Component in the post-​Bangsamoro Organic Law This chapter has highlighted the experience of UCP in the Philippines. This history is of significance due to the unprecedented inclusion of nonviolent civil society actors (initiated and organized by local actors who later invited international assistance) in the resolution of longstanding violent conflict. The following are recommendations that have come out of this process. 163

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1. CPC under the IMT played a vital role in reducing vulnerabilities at the height of the war and helped to take proactive measures to ensure civilian protection. The UCP approach, which is embedded in the CPC currently under the Government of the Philippines (GPH) and Moro Islamic Liberation Front (MILF) Peace Implementing Panels, needs rethinking to re-​establish the rules when revisiting the road map of normalization. Local CSOs, which are members of the CPC, need support and clear roles in this time of normalization. 2. Non-​compliance under the CPC mandate is increasing significantly. New thinking is required to establish workable solutions under the mandate of CPC. Normalization structures are seemingly needing CPC’s support to fulfill their functions. Gaps widen, and the point of coordination is still in the distance. 3. The current CPC under both panels needs more strategic thinking –​ for example, reinitiating the civilian-​led monitoring posts in highly vulnerable areas, starting in the SPMS box in the Maguindanao. The CPC’s women-​led CPC post is recommended to bring together the communities supporting the normalization and the close coordination mechanism of the normalization infrastructure. Recently conducted research (Vyappareddiyar and Lozada, 2022) finds that ‘the absence of the Civilian Protection Component of the International Monitoring Team (CPC-​IMT) induces more protection issues for the civilians’ (p 10). It highlights that the normalization process can get more benefits from the CPC-​IMT mechanism and learn lessons from the past in addressing the emerging challenges. Note 1

Tri-​Peoples Watch is a collective civilian platform, representing Moros, IPs and Christian leaders from the community to act quickly to resolve the conflict.

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14

Conclusion Ellen Furnari and Randy Janzen This book has provided an introduction to unarmed civilian protection and accompaniment (UCP/​A) and hopefully has sparked interest in learning more about this field and possibly pursuing research related to the many questions raised. As noted in the introduction, the chapters embrace diverse interpretations of what UCP/​A is, and therefore this book does not take a stand on a particular definition. Rather, this book embraces exploration and discussion of terminology in order to broaden perspectives in a new academic field. What these different interpretations do share is an understanding that UCP is based on principles of nonviolence and the primacy of local actors. Some of the critical issues covered in this book related to the understanding and use of UCP/​A are highlighted below.

UCP/​A: three key factors The first issue is that nonviolence can be and is being used to protect civilians effectively. While this does not sound like a big statement, most of the international efforts to protect civilians undertaken by multilateral organizations depend to a greater or lesser degree on armed protection. Several chapters in the book have highlighted specific contexts in which people protected themselves, or were protected by others nonviolently (McCarthy, John, Janzen). In addition, several chapters have highlighted some of the theoretical underpinnings of using nonviolent methods of protection (Wallace, Gray, Dubernet). While this work shares similarities with nonviolent resistance, it is not the same, as has also been explained (Wallace, Schweitzer, John). Closely related to this issue are the concerns about the use of violence to protect others. Not only is violence frequently ineffective (Wallace), but it has many drawbacks that UCP/​A does not, including the ways that violence can often incite further violence, and 165

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governments’ resistance to allowing an armed civilian protection intervention in their country. Secondly, as described in many different chapters, UCP/​A has been effective in many different places (Wallace, Oakley, McCarthy, John, Vyappareddiyar). Communities are not passive recipients of protection that are unable to protect themselves without outside support. Rather, communities have traditions and methods, some of which are nonviolent. Often these self-​protection practices can be improved through the presence of outsiders, the sharing of new methods and the strengthening of existing practices. In the long run, sustainable protection is self-​protection and many communities can and do build sustainable protection mechanisms or infrastructure. UCP/​A practice both builds on a primary principle of the primacy of local actors, as well as working to strengthen or create local practices, systems and infrastructure for self-​protection or least protection that does not rely on international outsiders. Thirdly, as Ridden (this book) explores, beyond or below the names of places, is the reality that UCP/​A takes place in space and time, in embodied form. UCP/​A is extremely context specific, and the context is influenced by the particularities in kinds of spaces. And kinds of spaces are influenced by who is in them, how they are understood and imagined, as well as how what is happening changes over time. In addition, UCP/​A is undertaken by specific people in and through relationships (Gray). UCP/​A depends in large part, though not exclusively, on these webs of relationships whether to learn about current contexts and conflicts, or to exercise influence at the local, regional, national and international levels.

UCP/​A: towards a theoretical framework In this book, a number of authors have come together to offer a critical and conceptual analysis of UCP/​A. A desired outcome of such an undertaking is to synthesize various ideas to begin to develop a theoretical framework of this complex topic in an emerging field. This conclusion offers an analysis of the ways in which the contributions in this book can inform synthesizing theory and practice of UCP/​A. Firstly, several authors in this volume tied existing theories to the work of UCP/​ A. For example, UCP/​A was situated into Conflict Transformation frameworks to better understand the complexities and varied applications of nonpartisanship (Janzen), as well as the classic conflict transformation triangle of peacemaking, peacebuilding and peacekeeping (Schweitzer). Additionally, UCP/​A was situated into the broader framework of nonviolent resistance theory (as presented by such authors as Sharp, 2005), by examples on the ground in sub-​Saharan Africa (John). The book also referred to a preliminary framework developed by Oldenhuis 166

Conclusion

et al (2021) for Nonviolent Peaceforce (Janzen), which links strategies and methodologies to the theories by which they are informed. Secondly, authors highlighted how UCP/​A has been informed in the past few decades by the growing critical theories related to race, feminism and colonialism. Oakley highlights the critiques of humanitarianism in general, and specifically gender issues, and how these impact the practice and potential transformative effects of UCP/​A. A significant change throughout much of the contemporary UCP/​A practice is the acknowledgement of how racism, colonialism and sexism are still at play and how they undermine the principle of primacy of local actors. This, in turn, prevents UCP/​A from contributing in a most optimal way to peace with justice. In his chapter, McCarthy describes how UCP/​A is part of a national response to bring about authentic reconciliation in the US, where centuries of structural and direct violence against African Americans have resulted widespread injustice. UCP/​A, according to the work highlighted by McCarthy, demonstrates how it can challenge structures of injustice by utilizing key UCP/​A practices, which, in turn, are informed by theoretical underpinnings of nonviolence. Thirdly, authors have pushed the boundaries of our understanding of UCP/​ A by introducing new ways of approaching the theory and practice. Janzen, for example, proposes a new typology, which articulates the spectrum of violent institutions that UCP/​A attests to replace, and breaks down UCP/​A activities into three categories. The typology offers insight into why different categories approach key principles (such as nonpartisanship) differently, and why some categories of UCP seem to be more easily embraced by mainstream entities (such as governments) than others. Arias López, Bliesemann de Guevara and Jiménez Ospina provoke the reader to open the conventional boundaries –​to use UCP/​A to protect nontraditional groups such as former combatants. This chapter provides an excellent example of expanding discourse and defends this by drawing on existing UCP/​A theory and practice. Wallace deepens our understanding of the fundamental mechanisms of UCP/​A (reducing violence without weapons) by proposing a four-​tiered explanation: UCP/​A as deterrent, mirror, bridge and support. Our conceptualization of UCP/​A has often been either misaligned or ignored by conventional frameworks. Dubernet challenges the traditional ideologies found in International Relations and Political Science, which treat nonviolence in general, and UCP/​A specifically, as a peripheral topic. This book demonstrates that UCP/​A is part of a paradigm shift that highlights human security, focussing on civilian protection, rather than geopolitical strategies and national security priorities of border defence and protection of geopolitical stability. Reuwer goes further by suggesting that UCP/​A’s misalignment with the humanitarian sector rather than the security sector has hampered the expansion of UCP/​A to a scale that would transform the security sector and argues that this is where UCP/​A belongs. 167

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Finally, this book presents UCP/​A in a context of space and spaciality. Ridden’s chapter explores in depth UCP/​A’s relationship to space and how UCP/​A creates peaceful spaces and times, in ways that have significant positive consequences, and speaks tangibly to not only breaking cycles of violence but creating a cycle of nonviolence and therefore space for hope, peace and justice. As is clear from a close reading of these many chapters, there is a need for more research in all aspects of UCP/​A. In the minds of the editors, here are some pressing research questions. There are many assumptions about the links between UCP/​A practitioners’ behaviour and ensuing changes in conditions, but there is little research to link these as cause and effect, or even parts of a complex system. As theorized in several chapters, there are several basic types or forms of UCP/​A and many different contexts. Which forms might be more effective in what contexts? Is this even a useful question? While it seems clear that UCP/​A relies heavily on networks of relationships, the ways in which these relationships work is understudied. Many of these relationships are peculiar in their reliance on pressure to deter behaviour at one time and encourage trust and change at another. How are these similar and different from other cooperative and conflicted relationships? Given the complexities related to who is civilian, who should be protected, the needs of former combatants, what might be some criteria for understanding what methodologies might be best used to protect which civilians? At the time of writing this conclusion, our world continues to be preoccupied with violent conflicts and the resulting human tragedy of civilians caught in these situations, leading to forced displacement, streams of refugees, mass killing and destroyed cities. It is natural that we feel compelled to get involved, to want to do something, anything. The question asked is: what is our goal and how do we best respond? If our goal is to reduce human suffering and to end the violence, our response needs to be based on strong evidence and best practices. What works best? This book has compiled a group of authors who provide a compelling argument for a global paradigm shift to nonviolent strategies, of which UCP/​A is an integral part. UCP/​A is currently being enacted in small-​ scale deployments to protect civilians who are caught in extremely volatile situations and, in small ways, in local communities. However, for all the theory and practice that has been demonstrated, UCP/​A remains an untapped resource. We not only have the resources to save countless lives, we also have the knowledge and expertise to help us respond in the best way possible. Knowledge is power and this has never been more apt than now.

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198

Index References to figures appear in italic type; those in bold type refer to tables. References to endnotes show both the page number and the note number (231n3). A Aburoc Relief and Rehabilitation Commission  122 accompaniment  2, 7, 28, 54, 62, 80, 88, 90, 101, 102, 158 active nonviolence  41 Advisory Neighbourhood Commission  133 advocacy  5, 36 African communities  118–​19 African National Congress (ANC)  120 Anderson, Kathryn  80 anticipation  95 Aquino III, Benigno  154 arbitrary detention  139 Arias López, Beatriz  8, 167 armed forms, of civilian protection  8–​10 Association of Indigenous Cabildos of North Cauca (ACIN)  146 at-​r isk civilian population  78, 80 Autonomous Region for Muslim Mindanao (ARMM)  154 B Bangsamoro Autonomous Region in Muslim Mindanao (BARMM)  152–​4, 161 Bangsa Moro/​Bangsamoro  154 Bangsamoro Freedom Forces  160 Bangsamoro Organic Law (BOL)  154 Berghof Foundation  41 Biden, Joe  128 bio-​power  102, 110 Black, Indigenous and People of Colour (BIPOC)  83 Black Lives Matter movements  99, 126, 127–​9, 133 Bliesemann de Guevara, B.  8, 167 bottom-​up protection  143–​7 Bougainville Monitoring Group  33, 34 Breathe Act  133 Brigg, M.  81

C CAHOOTS  129 Calhoun, C.  109 Canadian–​Guatemalan protective accompaniment practices  80 care  111–​13 Chenoweth, E.  15, 36, 117 Christian Peacemaker Teams  see Community Peacemaker Teams (CPT) civil disobedience  120 civilian-​based security  88 civilian peacekeeping  42–​4 civilian protection  armed forms of  8–​10 and international humanitarian law  22 nonviolent forms of  53–​5 in normalization phase  160–​3 strategic features of  156–​60 tools  16 violence reduction and  59 see also Civilian Protection Component (CPC) Civilian Protection Component (CPC)  86, 156, 163–​4 in International Monitoring Team (IMT)  156 post-​Bangsamoro Organic Law  163–​4 strategic features of  156–​60 Civilian Protection Component of the International Monitoring Team (CPC-​IMT)  164 civilian self-​protection  2 civilian-​to-​civilian protection  52 civil resistance movements  17, 47 civil society groups  33 civil society organizations (CSOs)  52, 119, 152, 156, 157 ‘clusters’  12 Coetzee, Marié-​Heleen  60 Collaborative Learning Projects (CDA)  50

199

Unarmed Civilian Protection

Colombia  civil society  148 Communities Building Peace in  146 demobilization and reintegration history  139–​40 peace agreement  140, 143, 149 Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia (FARC)  140–​3 top-​down and bottom-​up protection  143–​7 Verification Mission in  145 violent disarmament  139–​40 Columbia Heights Civic Plaza  132 ‘common-​sense’ wisdom  14, 111 communication systems  95 Communities Building Peace in Colombia  146 community-​based organizations  29, 39, 83, 123 community-​led EWER  159 ‘community of practice’ (COP)  99 Community Peacemaker Teams (CPT)  35, 37, 44, 84–​5 ‘community policing model’  128, 129 Community Safety Unit (CSU)  132 ‘community security’  121 complicity, notions of  100 Comprehensive Peace Agreement  153, 154, 161 conflict analysis  30 conflict resolution agency  67 conflict studies, ‘spatial turn’ in  52–​4 conflict transformation  civilian peacekeeping  42–​4 concept of  41, 47 ‘grand strategies’ of  41 other strategies of  44–​5 overcoming injustice  47–​8 peacebuilding  45–​6 peacemaking  46 projects  50 Congresswoman Cori Bush  132 ‘conscious visibility’  19 Consortium of Bangsamoro Civil Society  161 ‘contract,’ notion of  95 Coordinating Committees for the Cessation of Hostilities (CCCH)  158 core protection  95 core training modules  131 corruption  122 cost-​effectiveness  93 counter-​hegemonic resistance  100 ‘creating space for peace’  29–​30, 55, 58 critical consciousness  108 critical security studies  11, 12 cross-​organizational collaboration  85 cultural mythology  72–​3

Cure Violence (CV)  23, 77n2 funded project  80 interrupter model in 2018  75 model  39–​40, 130 staff and volunteers  38 D D’Angelo, K.A.  101 dangerous space  61 Davis, Angela  127 DC Peace Team (DCPT)  131 demobilization and reintegration (DDR) processes  137–​9, 142, 144, 147, 149–​50 democratization processes  123 deterrence strategies  5, 18–​19 deterring violence  70 ‘development-​security’ nexus  103 direct physical protection  66 direct violence  40 disarmament, demobilization and reintegration (DDR) programmes  93 domestic analogy  15 Dorlin, Elsa  59 Douglas, Kelley Brown  129 Duffield, M.  102 Duncan, Mel  130 Duterte, Rodrigo  154 E early warning/​early response (EWER)  18, 34, 123, 159 Ecumenical Accompaniment Programme in Palestine and Israel (EAPPI)  99 Eguren, Luis  6, 52–​4, 56, 59, 60 Ekiyor, T.  123 embodied space  59–​63 ‘emergency,’ concept of  109 emotional labour  112 encouragement strategies  5, 18 endemic violence  38–​40 ETCRs  141–​3, 145, 146 ethnic minorities  83 F faith-​based groups  123 Fellowship of Reconciliation Peace Presence (FOR-​PP)  138 Feminist Care Ethics  100 field-​based diplomacy  158 financing prevention  97 Flint, Colin  54 Floyd, George  127–​9, 135 ‘force’  96–​7 formal education programmes  13 Foucault, Michel  53 Foundation Ideas for Peace (FIP)  142 Francis, Diane  47 Free Syrian Army (FSA)  16 Furnari, E.  24

200

Index

G Gallery Place  131 Galtung, Johan  41, 42 Gandhi, Mohandas  64, 74, 117 gang-​related violence  39 García Márquez, G.  140 Gasser, Russel  59, 101 gender  104–​8 security  11 glamour, of violence  73 global database, on UCP  29 Government of the Philippines (GPH)  156, 164 grassroots peace actors  119–​24 #GurushWen campaign  122, 123 H harmful effects, of violence  19–​21 hegemonic gender  108 hegemonic gender regimes  100 Helvey, R.  116 Henry, M.  81, 102 Higate, P.  81, 102 hooks, b.  106 Howes, D.E.  15 ‘humanitarian’  agencies  158–​9 armed escort of  16 ‘crisis’  111, 114 dream and actuality  64–​5 and human rights norms  92 intervention  16 intrinsic limitations of UCP  71–​2 limitations  65–​8 military and  97 organization  67 vs. security sector  64 Humanitarian Charter  66 human rights  abuses, raise awareness of  36 activist  1 protection  47 ‘safe space’ for  7 violations  161 human rights defenders (HRDs)  28, 47, 49, 93, 101 ‘human security’  concept of  90, 98 conceptual framing of  102 studies  12 I Indigenous peoples  154 individual’s right to protest  35 Institute for Economics and Peace (IEP)  66 inter-​communal violence  21 intergroup/​collective violence  15 internal/​external violence  22

internally displaced community  162–​3 internally displaced persons (IDPs)  16, 69, 121–​2, 159 international accompaniment (IA)  54, 59, 63n2 International Commission on Intervention and State Sovereignty (ICISS) report  90 International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC)  92 international humanitarian law (IHL)  22 International Monitoring Team (IMT)  86, 156–​7 international non-​governmental organizations (INGOs)  8, 55 International Organization for Migration study  153 international politics  89 International Presence in Hebron (TIPH)  86 International Relations (IR)  89 International Solidarity Movement (ISM)  37, 84–​6 intersectionality  108–​11 intrinsic limitations, of UCP  71–​2 bodies vs. bullets  71 protection vs. cause  72 training  71 vision  72 Israeli Defence Forces (IDF)  103 Israel–​Palestine context  85 J Janzen, R.  116 Jiménez Ospina, Laura  8, 167 Jones, B.  133 Julian, Rachel  59, 101, 121 Justice and Peace Law  139 justice, notion of  36 just peace approach  130 K Kallman, M.  108 Kaplan, O.  20 Kappeler, Victor  127 Käpylä, J.  111 Kennedy, D.  111 King, L.  117, 118 Koopman, S.  6, 29, 80, 101 Kotef, H.  103, 107 L land conflict  162 law enforcement agents  37 Law 35 of 1982  139 Lederach, John Paul  36, 41, 47, 49 Lefebvre, Henri  52, 53–​4 linear temporality  57, 58 local communities  49, 56, 58, 60–​2, 69, 75, 80, 90 ‘the local’, concept of  54

201

Unarmed Civilian Protection

local/​international efforts  10 long-​term effectiveness  93 Lumads  154, 160 Lutheran Church of Colombia (IELCO)  138 M Macaspac, N.  6 MacGinty, Roger  54 male-​dominated spaces  107 malfunctioning political systems  67 marginalization  153 Massey, Doreen  57 McCarthy, E.  167 McDaniel, Cortez  131 McHarris, Philip  128, 129 McHarris, Thenjiwe  128, 129 ‘mechanisms of moral disengagement’  20 Merav, A.  103, 107 #MeToo  99 military balance, of power  16 military interventions  5 for protection purposes  16 military operations  97, 161 military peacekeeping  103 militia members  142 Mindanao Islamic Liberation Front  153 ‘minority in the minority,’ notion of  161 mirror, UCP functions as  19–​21 Moro Islamic Liberation Front (MILF)  154, 156, 157, 161 Moro National Liberation Front (MNLF)  154 ‘mutual support’  80 Myanmar local UCP practitioners  82 N National Centre for Historical Memory (CNMH)  139 National Ministry of Gender and Social Welfare  120 National Reintegration Agency (ARN)  145 Nations Security Council Resolution 1325  160 nation-​state security  11 new areas of reincorporation (NARs)  141, 145, 149 1951 Refugee Convention  98n3 non-​governmental organizations (NGOs)  36, 43, 78, 92, 99, 116 non-​human physical spaces  61 nonpartisanship  38, 78 Nonviolent Peaceforce (NP)  81 operationalizing  81–​4 by PBI  82 principle of  37, 47, 136, 137, 147 and solidarity  81 non-​state actors  84, 90 non-​uniform nomenclature  12 nonviolence  16, 17, 24, 28, 59

approaches  74 concept  118 core principles  136, 137, 147 goal  70 interpositioning  71 political action  117 power  72 research  115 seek to address  118–​19 in sub-​Saharan Africa  116 violence and  57, 58 nonviolent action  17, 68, 117 methods and strategies  125 training in  70 nonviolent activism  16, 17 of civil society members  35 creating space for  35–​8 primary roles  36 Nonviolent Peaceforce (NP)  29, 30, 33, 42, 44, 57, 65–​8, 86, 121, 130, 147, 158 INGO  99 nonpartisanship  81 protection officers  69 pursuing relationships  82 training manual  45 Nonviolent Peaceforce South Sudan (NPSS)  58, 62 nonviolent protection practices  53, 55, 61 nonviolent resistance (NVR) movements  15–​17, 25n6 nonviolent resistance theory  166 normalization phase, civilian protection in  160–​3 Kabacan massacre  162 Kitango bombing  162 NP-​Philippines relationships  83 O Office of Community Oriented Policing (1994)  128 open-​ended interviews  79 Organic Law for the Bangsamoro Autonomous Region in Muslim Mindanao (OLBARMM)  154 Organization for Economic Co-​operation and Development (OECD)  88 Organization for Nonviolence and Development (ONAD)  121 Organization for Security and Co-​operation in Europe (OSCE)  92 P Palestine  Community Peacemaker Teams in  37 human rights  35 UCP in  36 Palestinian Liberation Organization  86 patchwork  51n5 peace  63

202

Index

creating space for  29–​30 space and spatialization  53 ‘spatial turn’ in  52–​4 violent conflict and  54 peace agreement  140, 143, 149 Peace Agreements Database (PA-​X)  144 ‘peace army,’ concept of  64 Peace Brigades International (PBI)  7, 29, 43, 80, 84, 89, 148 mission  7 nonpartisanship by  82 peacebuilding  42, 43, 81 ‘Peace Communities’ in 1990s  91 peacekeeping  8–​9, 27, 42–​3, 66, 81, 100 peacemaking  42 ‘peace territories’  19, 25n8 perpetrate violence  70 Petro, Gustavo  144, 150 Philippines, government and Moro in  155 ‘physical container’  54 physical spaces  52, 55, 56, 58 physical violence  88 physical vulnerability  17 ‘policing by consent’  127 Political Science, challenge for  91 self-​protection  91 UCP programmes  94–​7 use of threats  91–​4 ‘political space’  101 political violence  1, 12 Popular Liberation Army (EPL)  139 ‘positive’ masculinity  106 post-​Bangsamoro Organic Law  163–​4 Postmodern Geographies (Soja)  53 pragmatic nonviolence  118 pre-​Bangsamoro Organic Law (BOL)  152 Presbyterian Peace Fellowship (PPF)  138 primacy  local UCP actors  40 principle of  37, 38 principled nonviolence  118 Production of Space, The (Lefebvre)  53 protecting communities, UCP as  38–​40 Protection of Civilian Handbook  88 Protection of Civilians (POC)  68 protection space  8 protective presence  see accompaniment ‘protective’ violence  15, 17 ‘psychic self-​mutilation’  106 public safety  130–​3 Q Quaker Council for European Affairs (QCEA)  89 Quintín Lame Armed Movement (MAQL)  139 R racialized capitalism  109

‘realist’ approaches  12 refugees, needs and protection of  7 Regional Indigenous Council of Cauca (CRIN)  146 reincorporation process  142, 145, 149 relational protection, UCP as  79–​81 relational strategies  78 mapping diverse  81–​6 operationalizing nonpartisanship  81–​4 pursuit of relationships  82–​3 selective  84–​5 UCP practitioners use  80 responsibility to protect (R2P) doctrine  4, 5, 90 restorative justice  98, 131, 134 Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia (FARC)  137–​9 DDR process  140 peace signatories  140–​3, 141, 149 recidivism  144 reincorporation process  142, 145 Revolutionary Workers’ Party (PRT)  139 Ridden, Louise  6, 168 ‘rumour control’  22 S Safe Passage  131 ‘safe spaces’  7, 34, 36, 45, 62, 90 Samaran, N.  107 Sarajevan Holiday Inn  56 Schirch, Lisa  42 Schock, K.  15 Schweitzer, C.  121, 147 ‘secure’ space  61 ‘Security and Protection Corps’  143 ‘security development nexus’  114 security sector  64, 67 self-​defence  15 self-​protection  2, 6, 7, 78, 91, 137, 143 sexual harassment  106 Shanti Sena Network  131 Sharp, G.  117, 118 short-​sighted policy  95 Smirl, Lisa  56, 61 Socialist Renewal Current (CRS)  139 social production  53 social reproduction  100 Soja, Edward  53 solidarity  78, 81, 96 with civilian populations  84 momentum and  127 South Sudan  Bougainville and  33, 34 Nonviolent Peaceforce (NP)  33, 57 UCP practitioner in  56 South Sudan Police Service (SSPS)  121 space, construction of  53 embodied space  59–​63 international accompaniment (IA)  54

203

Unarmed Civilian Protection

non-​static nature  57 notions of  53, 59 social construction  60 space–​UCP nexus  55–​6 ‘spatial turn’  53–​5 temporality  53 temporal space  56–​9 weapons-​free space  55, 58, 59 spaces  92 vs. peace  29–​30 places and  6–​8 production of  53 protection  8 space–​UCP nexus  55–​6 spatial construction process  54 spatialization, of peace  53 ‘spatial turn,’ in peace and conflict studies  53–​5 Special Jurisdiction for Peace  144 STAR  129 state-​based advocacy networks  84 state law enforcement  38 state-​perpetrated violence  38 Stephan, M.  36, 117 strategic nonviolence  118 Street Crisis Response Team  129 ‘subsidiary responsibility’  95 systematic violence  139–​47 systemic racism  127 T tangible spatial effects  55 targeted minority group  105 Taylor, Breonna  127 temporal space  56–​9 theoretical framework, for UCP  30, 31 Third Party Conflict Intervention  43 third party nonviolent intervention  3 TPNI  43 traditional law enforcement  38 traditional peacekeeping, UCP as  32–​5 training  71 transformation theory  30, 32 transforming armed policing, in US  Black Lives Matter movements  126, 127–​9 phases for transition  133–​5 trends  126–​9 UCP and public safety  130–​3 Transitional National Legislative Assembly (TNLA)  120 triggers violence  163 Tri-​Peoples Watch  160, 164n1 U ‘Ubuntu,’ philosophy of  118 unarmed civilian peacekeeping/​ accompaniment (UCP/​A)  2, 13n1, 28, 136

academic studies  11–​12 and armed forms of civilian protection  8–​10 definition  2–​3 deterrence strategies  5 history  3–​4 international law/​conventions  4–​5 key factors  165–​6 in light of Colombian case  147–​50 limitations  10–​11 methods  5 organizations  4 places and spaces  6–​8 practice  4, 6 principles  4–​5 professional practice  12 theoretical framework  166–​8 works  5–​6   see also unarmed civilian protection (UCP) unarmed civilian protection (UCP)  2, 116 armed actors  20–​1, 23 bridge mechanism  21–​2 care  111–​13 civilian nature  34 as civilian peacekeeping  42–​4 and civil resistance movements  47 conflict analysis  30 and conflict transformation  see conflict transformation as creating space for nonviolent activism  35–​8 and creating space for peace  29–​30 cultural mythology  72–​3 definition  2–​3, 27 deterrence strategies  5, 18–​19 extrinsic barriers to growth  72–​4 form  14 gender  104–​8 global database  29 goals of  27 interactions between mechanisms  23–​4 international non-​governmental organizations  55 intersectionality  108–​11 intrinsic limitations of  71–​2 limitations and barriers  74–​6 local communities and  58 mirror  19–​21 missions  34 and nonviolence  see nonviolence and nonviolent protection practices  53 overview  27–​8 peacebuilding by  45–​6 peacemaking by  46 Philippine experience  152 practitioners  76, 79 primary mechanisms  18 principles and tactics  28

204

Index

as protecting communities  38–​40 protection/​violence-​prevention mechanisms of  17–​24 and public safety  130–​3 purpose  55 as relational protection  79–​81 situating  101–​4 space  see space, construction of strength and potential  68–​71 support mechanism  22–​3 systems of domination  73–​4 theoretical framework for  30, 31 theory and practice  102 as traditional peacekeeping  32–​5, 37 trainers  76 typology  28–​9, 31–​2, 32 in US and Canada  131 workers experience  108   see also unarmed civilian peacekeeping/​ accompaniment (UCP/​A) unarmed policing  126–​7 UN General Assembly (UNGA)  90 United Nations Blue Helmets  32 United Nations Development Programme (UNDP)  145 United Nations Peacekeeping  69, 70, 116 United Nations Verification Mission  145 UN Secretary-​General (UNSG) reports  90 UN Security Council  116 Uppsala Conflict Data Program (UCDP)  116 Urabeños  142 urban human rights  7 US, transforming armed policing in  Black Lives Matter movements  126, 127–​9 phases for transition  133–​5 trends  126–​9 UCP and public safety  130–​3 V Verification Mission in Colombia  145 violence  73 armed group  20 against civilians  22 civil society and grassroots peace actors in  119–​24

deterring  70 faith  67 force and  96–​7 gang-​related  39 glamour of  73 harmful effects  19–​21 internal/​external  22 likelihood  1 and nonviolence  57, 58 against nonviolent activists  35 and peace processes  44 for physical protection  67 political  1 protection value of weapons and  14–​17 ‘protective’  15 reduction and civilian protection  59 source  10 systematic  139–​47 threatening people with  69 triggers  163 use of threats  91–​4 ‘violence interrupters’  79–​80 motto of  38 violence-​prevention mechanisms, of UCP  17–​24 violent conflicts  10, 30, 44, 54, 58, 160 Virdee, S.  109 vision, UCP organizations  72 Vitale, A.  133 W Walker, Charles  42 Wallace, M.S.  5 ‘war-​like tactics’  16 ‘war on terror’  96 “warrior style” policing  128 weapons-​free space  55, 58, 59 weapons, protection value of  14–​17 Weizman, Eyal  55 Wilkinson, M.T.  101 Wilson, J.  124 Winright, Tobias  128 Women’s Protection Teams (WPTs)  82, 108 Z Zevnik, Andreja  61

205