Social Capital and Peace-Building: Creating and Resolving Conflict with Trust and Social Networks

Social Capital and Peace-Building

This new edited collection illustrates the paradoxical power of social capital in creating and resolving conflict. This is the first book to bring the two faces of social capital together in a single volume, and includes previously unpublished case studies, statistical analyses, and theoretical essays. The book is divided into three sections. The first investigates the role of social capital in inciting and/or furthering violence; the second examines the contributions of social capital to peace building; the third explores the complexities and ambiguities of roles social capital may play in peace and conflict. Policy implications and recommendations are included in many of the discussions in the chapters. The volume tackles some key issues, such as: to what extent is social capital related to peace and conflict? What forms does social capital take in these associations, and how can the relationships be explained? What impact does this have on the state and/or state relations, and what policy prescriptions might be made in light of the link drawn between social capital and peace/conflict? This book will be of much interest to students of peace and conflict studies, security studies, sociology and International Relations. Michaelene Cox is Assistant Professor in the Department of Politics and Government at Illinois State University, where she also serves as director of the Peace and Conflict Resolution Studies program.

Routledge studies in peace and conflict resolution

Series editors: Tom Woodhouse and Oliver Ramsbotham University of Bradford

Peace and Security in the Postmodern World The OSCE and conflict resolution Dennis J.D. Sandole Truth Recovery and Justice after Conflict Managing violent pasts Marie Breen Smyth Peace in International Relations Oliver P. Richmond Social Capital and Peace-Building Creating and resolving conflict with trust and social networks Edited by Michaelene Cox

Social Capital and PeaceBuilding Creating and resolving conflict with trust and social networks

Edited by Michaelene Cox

First published 2009 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon 0X14 4RN Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by Routledge 270 Madison Ave, New York, NY 10016 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2009 Selection and editorial matter, Michaelene Cox; individual chapters, the contributors Typeset in Times by Wearset Ltd, Boldon, Tyne and Wear Printed and bound in Great Britain by TJI Digital, Padstow, Cornwall All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilized in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Social capital and peace-building : creating and resolving conflict with trust and social networks / edited by Michaelene Cox. p. cm. - (Routledge studies in peace and conflict resolution) 1. Social capital (Sociology) 2. Conflict management. 3. Peace-building. I. Cox, Michaelene. HM708.S6357 2009 303.6'9-dc22 2008020591 ISBN10: 0-415-77658-9 (hbk) ISBN 10: 0-203-88783-2 (ebk) ISBN13: 978-0-415-77658-5 (hbk) ISBN13: 978-0-203-88783-7 (ebk)

Contents

List of illustrations Notes on contributors Introduction PART I

Social capital as an instrument of violence 1 Shades of orange and green: civil society and the peace process in Northern Ireland ROBERTO

BELLONI

2 Reporting the greater odds: dissent and militancy among trusting East-Central European citizens MICHAELENE

COX

3 Social capital, crime and welfare: the cases of Colombia and Honduras JOSE

CUESTA

4 Analyzing the dark side of social capital: organized crime in Russia LEAH

GILBERT

5 Illicit interest groups, social capital, and conflict: a study of the FARC PATRICIA

H.

MICOLTA

vi

Contents

PART II

Social capital as a catalyst for peace 6 The color of tears is the same everywhere: inter-ethnic networking and grassroots organizing among women workers in conflict-ridden Sri Lanka SANDYA

HEWAMANNE

7 Gender, conflict, and social capital: bonding and bridging in war in the former Yugoslavia MAJA

KORAC

8 Decentralization and social capital formation in communities of Mali KEITH

M.

MOORE

9 Cyprus conflict and social capital theory: a new perspective on an old conflict RAYMOND

SANER

PART III

Ambiguities of social capital in peace and conflict 10 The pacific promise of civic institutions? Causal ambiguity in the study of social capital TERRENCE

CHAPMAN

11 Social capital in exclusive and inclusive networks: satisfying human needs through conflict and conflict resolution SUSAN

ALLEN

NAN

12 Exploring opportunities and obstacles for a constructive role of social capital in peacebuilding: a framework for analysis THANIA

Index

PAFFENHOLZ

Illustrations

Figures 8.1 Consequences of social capital, applying the concepts of embeddedness and autonomy at the micro and macro levels 8.2 Men's social capital characterization of villages according to indicators (2003) of embeddedness (confidence in customary society) and autonomy (association membership) Map of Cyprus 9.1 9.2 Constellation of Cyprus negotiations 9.3 Areas where Turkish-Cypriots were forced to live in small ghettoes in Cyprus between 1963-74 Network vitality diagram 11.1

128

133 142 144 147 182

Tables 2.1 Country levels of trust and protest 2.2 Ordinal logistic regression results for political protest 3.1 Selected estimated impacts of social capital and victimization, Cali-Colombia 2005 3.2 Selected estimated impacts of social capital and welfare, Honduras 2001 3.3 Descriptive statistics in Cali, Colombia 3.4 Descriptive statistics in Honduras 8.1 Changes in association membership by village 8.2 Differences in mean scores for confidence in customary society by village 8.3 Community perceptions concerning the seriousness of farmer-herder conflict and inter-community collaboration 10.1 Predicated probabilities for levels of civic membership and ethnic identity

31 32 48 49 51-53 54 130 132 134 167

Contributors

Roberto Belloni is Lecturer in International Politics at the School of Politics, International Studies and Philosophy at Queens University Belfast, Northern Ireland. Between 2002-4 he was a Research Fellow at the Belfast Center for Science and International Affairs and the World Peace Foundation at Harvard University. He is the author of many articles and book chapters on various aspects of democratization and peacebuilding, and of State Building and International Intervention in Bosnia (Routledge, 2007). Terrence Chapman is Assistant Professor of Government at The University of Texas at Austin. He received his MA and PhD from Emory University. His work is published or forthcoming in The Journal of Conflict Resolution and International Studies Quarterly, and he is completing a book manuscript on why governments consult multilateral security institutions when conducting foreign policy. His research focuses on international organizations, international diplomacy, and the political economy of civil violence. He teaches courses on international relations, international institutions, and game theory. Michaelene Cox is Assistant Professor in the Department of Politics and Government at Illinois State University. She holds a PhD in political science from the University of Alabama. She teaches courses in European politics, international law, and international relations, and is also Director of the Peace and Conflict Resolution Studies program at ISU for which she teaches peace studies. Her research interests focus on political participation, social capital, political corruption, and conflict. Jose Cuesta is a Research Economist at the Inter-American Development Bank. He holds a PhD in Economics at the University of Oxford, UK. Previously, he was a Lecturer in Development Economics at the Institute of Social Studies, the Netherlands, and an Economist for UNDP in Honduras. He has worked as a consultant for several governments in Latin America and the Caribbean, bilateral donors and international financial institutions. He has published extensively in issues of poverty, inequality, labour markets, social welfare reforms, discrimination, social capital and violence.

Contributors

ix

Leah Gilbert is a doctoral student in the Department of Government at Georgetown University. Her research interests include democratization, civil society, hybrid regimes, and post-communist politics. She recently co-authored an article in Political Studies on the internal effects of participation in voluntary organizations. Before coming to Georgetown, she completed a Fulbright research grant in Berlin, Germany, where she analyzed the integration of Russian immigrants into German society. Sandya Hewamanne is Assistant Professor of Anthropology at Wake Forest University. She received her BA in Sociology from University of Colombo, Sri Lanka, and her MA and PhD in Anthropology from the University of Texas at Austin. She is the author of Stitching Identities in a Free Trade Zone: Gender and Politics in Sri Lanka (University of Pennsylvania Press, 2008). She has also published a number of peer-reviewed articles in journals such as Social Text, Feminist Studies, Cultural Dynamics and Anthropology of Work Review. Her research interests include globalization, identity, cultural politics and feminist and post-colonial theory. She has also taught at University of Colombo, Sri Lanka, University of Texas at Austin and Hartwick College, New York. Maja Korac is a Reader in the School of Social Sciences, Media and Cultural Studies at the University of East London. Her research interests and publications focus on gender, ethnicity, and nationalism, as well as on gender dimensions of conflict, forced migration, and settlement experiences of forced migrants. She has published widely in edited books and academic journals, in addition to publishing several books. She has a forthcoming book from Berghahn Books called 'Home', Belonging, and Exile: Being a Refugee in Rome and Amsterdam. Patricia H. Micolta is a PhD candidate in the Department of Political Science at Florida International University. She specializes in Latin American politics, with research interests on the impact of the illicit drug trade, political parties, and interest groups. Her doctoral dissertation examines the impact of illicit interest groups on US-Colombian relations. She has a Graduate Certificate on Conflict Resolution, and is a recipient of the Carnegie Mellon Foreign Language and Area Studies Fellowship, a Tinker Field Research Grant. Keith M. Moore is Program Director for the Sustainable Agriculture and Natural Resource Management Collaborative Research Support Program at Virginia Tech. He received his PhD in Rural Sociology from the University of Wisconsin and MSS in Rural Development from at the Institute of Social Studies in The Hague, Netherlands. His expertise includes diagnosing institutional and technical constraints, designing monitoring and information systems, facilitating stakeholder communication, building multi-disciplinary and multicultural teams, as well as analyzing choice and decision-making in farming systems. He has conducted research in Africa, Eastern and Western Europe, South East Asia, and the United States, with current research focus-

x

Contributors ing on knowledge systems fostering technical change in agriculture, social capital, and gender roles.

Susan Allen Nan is Assistant Professor of Conflict Analysis and Resolution at George Mason University. Her research focuses on the process dynamics of conflict resolution, specifically networks, coordination, holistic peace processes, evaluation of peace process dynamics, and shifts in consciousness in conflict resolution processes. She is a scholar-practitioner of conflict resolution, having engaged actively as a conflict resolution practitioner while working at The Carter Center and at the Alliance for Conflict Transformation. She holds an MS and PhD in Conflict Analysis and Resolution from George Mason University. Thania Paffenholz is Lecturer for Peace, Conflict, and Development at the Graduate Institute of International Relations and Development in Geneva. She received her PhD in 1996 in international relations focusing on the theory and practice of mediation and peacebuilding. She has worked as a research fellow at the Peace Research Institute Frankfurt, peacebuilding officer within the Delegation of the European Commission in Kenya, and Director of the Center for Peacebuilding for the Swiss think-tank swisspeace. Her main fields of research are in conflict analysis and peacebuilding, conflict-development nexus and the role of development actors in peacebuilding, critical analysis of the aid system's role in peacebuilding/conflict, international peacemaking strategies, role of civil society in peacebuilding, and evaluation in peacebuilding. She has edited and authored various articles and books; her recent book publications include Peacebuilding: A Field Guide (Lynne Rienner Publishers) and Aid for Peace (Nomos). Raymond Saner is Professor in the Economics Department at Basle University and also teaches at the World Trade Institute in Berne and at Sciences Po in Paris. He is an expert in diplomacy, international management, economic and social development and organizational change management, and has published extensively in those areas. He is co-founder of CSEND, a Geneva based non-governmental research and development organization, director of its branch DiplomacyDialogue and partner of Organizational Consultants Ltd Hong Kong. He has consulted international organizations such as WTO, the WB, UNDP, EBRD, ILO, UNICEF, BIS, and government agencies from Switzerland, Sweden, Germany, Spain, China, Brazil, the Netherlands, and the EU Commission (DG Trade).

Introduction

There are few concepts in recent times to have so powerfully fired the imagination of social scientists and captured the attention of policymakers as that of social capital. Reintroduced within the past decade or so to debates on civic engagement and other political matters, the topic of trust and social relations is only now beginning to gather momentum in studies of peace and conflict. We find increasing interest, for example, in exploring the connections between social capital and violence to suggest ways in which interpersonal trust, institutional confidence, and associational membership may foster or impede security, and assist or stymie post-conflict community building and political transitions. Social capital is by and large recognized as a public good, as well as a vehicle for personal effectiveness, and is one which builds upon reciprocity and active engagement. Of special interest to us here is to consider the twists and turns that this human resource takes in contemporary global politics. Most certainly there are different forms, functions, and consequences of social capital. Exploring the subject matter is made more ambitious when we consider that the causal relationship between social capital and conflict may be reciprocal, and requires considerable teasing of other factors also linked to the phenomena. As we discover from the case studies, theoretical essays, and statistical analyses collected in this volume, the role of trust and social networks in explaining conflict is quite clear in some instances, and ambiguous in others. Where social capital appears to make a significant difference, however, we discover that it presents one of two faces. First, popular sentiment holds that social capital can promote civic awareness and participation, economic development, social equity, environmental protection, and even physical and emotional health, and so in ways like these contributes to the wellbeing of a community. In this vein, we witness budding domestic and international efforts to bolster trust and social relations among citizens, partly through education and civic-building exercises, with the belief that a stable and relatively harmonious environment will follow. Research gathered here from Sri Lanka, the former Yugoslavia, Mali, and Cyprus illustrates specific instances in which social capital offers opportunities to effectively forestall or confront political conflict. In contrast, however, we find evidence elsewhere of a second, and perverse, manifestation of social capital. Far from contributing

2

Introduction

to public order, the efficacy of some groups to initiate and perpetuate violence is also strengthened by networks of trust and engagement. Just as elements of reciprocity, such as obligations and expectations, serve those with shared peaceful goals, the same elements facilitate domestic and transnational criminal activities and militancy. Evidence gathered from Northern Ireland, Eastern Europe, Colombia, Honduras, and Russia suggests that unsocial or dark capital, as it is labeled in such instances, may be tied to greater potential for political instability. Thus, probing more carefully the varied contexts within which trust and social relations operate will illuminate their significance for peace and conflict. Studies on the two faces of social capital - its virtuous and malevolent natures - have not been brought together in a single volume before. We aim to demonstrate herein the paradoxical power of social capital in creating and resolving conflict. The reader curious about the nature and political implications of trust and social networks will have in hand a collection of recent research by a diverse group of scholars and practitioners well-versed in the complexities of the subject. The book is organized into three sections, with the first investigating the role of social capital in inciting and/or furthering violence. The second section explores the contributions of social capital to peace-building, and the third addresses ambiguous connections between social capital and peace/ conflict. Recent forays of social capital theory into peace studies suggest growing interest in exploring the roles of trust and associational membership in violence and in conflict resolution. To that end, these chapters investigate the following issues: to what extent is social capital related to peace and conflict? What forms does social capital take in these associations, and how can the relationships be explained? What impact does this have on the state and/or state relations, and what policy prescriptions might be made in light of the link drawn between social capital and peace/conflict? This volume, it is hoped, will not only shed light on some of the complexities of social capital and political violence, but also raise further questions for lively debate. Considerable assistance and support in preparing this book came from colleagues, anonymous reviewers, and the Routledge team. My gratitude also extends to each contributing author who generously and with much collegiality invested valuable time and energy to the project. The greatest strengths of the book belong to these collaborators; all shortcomings are mine. Michaelene D. Cox Illinois State University

Part I

Social capital as an instrument of violence

1

Shades of orange and green Civil society and the peace process in Northern Ireland1 Roberto Belloni

This chapter examines the role of Northern Irish civil society in the transition from conflict to peace and democratic consolidation. Northern Ireland has a strong and well-established civic sector. Non-governmental organizations (NGOs) alone are estimated at around 5,000, making this region particularly thriving in civic activities. The vast majority of these organizations promote civic politics instead of ethnic politics, and social and political spaces of dialogue instead of ethnic or national segregation. NGOs and community groups have contributed considerably to the peace process, which culminated with the signing of the Belfast Peace Agreement in April 1998. Most notably, they have been instrumental in creating the underlying conditions favorable to the negotiation, signing and implementation of the peace settlement. In 1992-3 the Opsahl Commission involved the grassroots and changed the terms of the political discourse by coming forward with one of the key principles of later peace negotiations: "parity of esteem." In the spring of 1998 the nonpartisan "Yes" campaign helped achieve a victory in the referendum that sealed the peace deal between Protestants and Catholics (Guelke 2003). In the post-agreement phase, NGOs continued to provide citizens with avenues for political, social and economic participation (Cochrane 2006). Yet, this is only part of the story of civil society in Northern Ireland. Different groups and organizations co-exist within the civil society realm. Citizens do not organize only around democratic and liberal values, but also around ethnic, religious and national lines. Not unlike other conflict areas, civil society in Northern Ireland is as polarized as political society (Belloni 2008; Farrington 2002). Many groups and associations organize around particularistic and often sectarian identities. Although most of them may openly reject violence, they endorse and promote a worldview that considers groups' relations in zero-sum terms, and resist compromise and cooperation. Their very existence can perpetuate the divisions within society and contribute to political polarization and continuing confrontation. This chapter investigates the role of the two such civil society organizations in Northern Ireland - the Orange Order and the Gaelic Athletic Association (GAA). The Orange Order proclaims itself "primarily a religious organization," which is "Christ centered, Bible based, and Church grounded." It stands

6

R. Belloni

officially for civil and religious liberty, but remains firmly sectarian. Its members must sign a declaration before joining that both their parents are Protestants, and leave if they marry a Catholic. The Order's very existence and activities are a continuing source of tension and occasionally of violent conflict. Among these activities, the Order each year celebrates the military triumph in 1690 of Protestant King William III of Orange over the Catholics. Throughout the 1990s, at the time when violence between Catholics and Protestants was declining and a peace agreement was being negotiated, the organization's parades and marches through Catholic neighborhoods heightened the tension between parts of the two communities. On the Catholic side it is difficult to find a similarly contentious organization. The counterpart of the Orange Order, the Ancient Order of the Hibernians, was a major Catholic Irish nationalist benevolent society with significant following in the early twentieth century (English 2006: 241-2), but its popularity and influence among Catholics never matched that of the Orange Order among Protestants. However, the broader reality of a society divided along exclusivist lines remains. Catholic civil society often reflects the same political preferences of political society. The most popular Catholic organization - the Gaelic Athletic Association - is firmly nationalist, although it is not exclusivist or sectarian. Since its foundation the GAA has condemned British control of Northern Ireland and has frequently advocated for the reunification of the island under the government in Dublin. The Orange Order and the GAA are more representative of civil society than any other organization in Northern Ireland. While NGOs often embody the values of the liberal elite of society, both the Order and the GAA reflect the popular sentiment. For a Protestant child joining the Order is a quite ordinary thing to do, particularly in rural areas. Similarly, for young Catholics membership in the GAA is very common. Membership in both the Order and the GAA and participation in their activities express individual and collective identity. By marching the Queen's highway or playing Gaelic games, participants contribute to develop their "imagined community" (Anderson 1991; see also, on Ireland, Comerford 2003). Each time they confirm and recreate their national identity, historical traditions, and social and cultural political aspirations. Moreover, through the use of symbols and rituals they effectively mark the boundaries between members and outsiders, while heightening members' awareness and sense of belonging to their national group. The very existence of these civil society organizations preserves an "everyday sectarianism" that quietly reinforces the divisions between Protestants and Catholics.2 Neither the Orange Order nor the GAA are a single entity, but big and multifaceted organizations. At their best, these organizations allow for the expression of legitimate cultural needs arising from the life experience of several generations of its members. But the case of the Orange Order also shows that sectarian organizations can provide a channel for the expression of rowdy and occasionally violent forms of communal identity. This chapter begins with a brief overview of the context where the divisions between Protestants and Catholics play out. Second, it describes the historical

Civil society in Northern Ireland

7

background, mission and structure of both the Orange Order and the GAA. Third, it examines the two main recent controversies which have involved these two organizations. In the years preceding and immediately following the 1998 Belfast Peace Agreement, both the Orange Order and the GAA faced a difficult dilemma: how to protect their respective historical legacy and identity at a time when the evolution of the peace process and the broad backing it enjoyed among both Protestants and Catholics seemed to demand a more conciliatory attitude. Overall, this chapter argues that organizations structured along ethnic, religious or national lines (such as the Orange Order and the GAA) are neither a force for peace nor one for discord, but incorporate and reflect the political trajectory of the peace process.

Context With the seventeenth-century Ulster Plantation thousands of English and Scottish settlers moved to Ireland. Over three centuries the Plantation had created a working and middle-class population in Ulster that identified with the British Empire. Almost a million Protestants today are generally unionists, wanting the six Northern Irish counties to remain in the United Kingdom. By contrast, most of the about 700,000 Catholics in the province identify with the Republic of Ireland, and many are nationalists who want the six counties to be part of the Republic. Both groups have extremist paramilitary factions, known as loyalists and republicans, who are ready to defend their views through violence rather than to engage in dialogue to achieve a compromise with the "other side."3 The relationship between the Protestant and Catholic community in Northern Ireland has never been particularly harmonious, although there have been long periods of peaceful co-existence between the two groups. The recent Troubles (as they are known in Northern Ireland) started in the late 1960s when the discriminated Catholic minority, inspired by the American civil rights movement, began demanding equal rights in public housing. Non-violent Catholic marches were disrupted by unionists and by the Royal Ulster Constabulary (RUC), the overwhelmingly Protestant police force, and some ended in violent and bloody clashes.'1 In August 1969 the British Army arrived to established order, but the conflict continued to escalate with a growing number of casualties on both sides. The suspension of local institutions in 1972 and the imposition of direct rule from London prevented political parties from devising and implementing public policy. In this vacuum, a highly diverse civil society was formed and often replaced local institutions in service delivery. In December 1993 British Prime Minister John Major and Irish Taoiseach Albert Reynolds issued the Downing Street Declaration, inviting the Irish Republican Army (IRA) to refrain from violence and participate in peace talks. In August 1994 the IRA announced a complete ceasefire, followed by similar announcements by loyalist groups. Formal talks between the parties began, but disarmament of all paramilitary organizations remained the most prominent stumbling block. As the peace process moved forward amid tensions and

8

R. Belloni

setbacks, Protestant parades and marches (organized by various organizations, including the Orange Order, the Apprentice Boys of Derry and others), grew increasingly contentious and often led to outbursts of violence. The May 1997 election of the Labour Party in Britain gave a new momentum to the peace process. In September of the same year Sinn Fein, the political wing of the IRA, joined the peace talks, followed shortly thereafter by the Ulster Unionist Party (UUP) - the political expression of moderate Protestantism. Despite continuing extremist violence, in the small hours of Saturday, April 11, 1998, the parties reached a peace settlement, commonly known as the Good Friday Agreement. Three strands were included in the deal. First, a 108-member Assembly was created to terminate direct rule from London and restore local self-government. Elections in June were won by the UUP and by the moderate, predominantly Catholic Social Democratic and Labour Party (SDLP). Second, a North-South Ministerial Council was established to address cross-border issues such as, among others, transportation, urban planning, tourism and EU programs. Third, the British-Irish Council operated to address east-west issues involving the entire British Isles. In May 1998 referendums confirmed the presence of peace constituencies throughout the island. In the Republic Irish voters agreed to delete articles 2 and 3 of the constitution calling for a "united Ireland." In Northern Ireland a majority of both Protestants and Catholics voted in favor of the Belfast Agreement (MacGinty and Darby 2002; Wilford 2001). Despite the remarkable achievement, two major clauses of the agreement caused serious tensions: the decommissioning of all paramilitary groups and the early release of political prisoners. In particular, Protestant skeptics argued that the prisoners' release should have been made conditional to the full disarmament of the prisoners' respective organizations. However, the Good Friday Agreement did not set a timeframe for decommissioning and as prisoners were set free, paramilitaries remained fully armed (Mcinnes 2006). Moreover, other controversial issues lingered to taint the peace process. Sinn Fein demanded the disbanding of the predominantly Protestant RUC. As we shall see below, the GAA was indirectly involved in the controversy over the transformation and future role of the police force. On the Protestant side, civil society continued to be more a reason for violence than a force for peace. Orange parades provided a reason for confrontation with both Catholic/nationalist residents and the police.

Ascriptive civil society In both Northern Ireland and more broadly in conflict areas, civil society institutions, including religious and community organizations, NGOs and recreational groups are often as divided as the society in which they are included (Belloni 2008; Farrington 2002). Membership in these organizations is frequently determined by ascriptive criteria, such as national and religious belonging. Similarity and cultural homogeneity provide an initial basis for trust, which in turn is the foundation for successful cooperation. These types of organizations and groups

Civil society in Northern Ireland

9

may provide their members with a sense of ontological security, and thus create the conditions for reaching out across the ethnic/national/religious divide. At the same time, ethnic, national and religious groups are often predicated upon exclusivist values and norms that fit uncomfortably with democratic practices. Civil society built on ascriptive criteria is frequently based on exclusion of and conflict with others, particularly in regions with a history of war. A worldview that regards identity as closed, fixed and inherently conflictual underpins a politics of belonging. Separation and exclusion are put forward in the name of national purity and as a pre-condition for neighborly co-existence. When civil society organizations are not civic, multi-ethnic and multi-religious their contribution to democracy and peace might be spurious. Intra-group cooperation based on a sense of belonging and kinship may become the vehicle of ethnic and parochial interests undermining social cohesion, fragmenting society and pitting one group against another (Colletta and Cullen 2000). Thus, although ascriptive groups can contribute to peacemaking and peace-building, such groups may also reinforce national and social differences and perpetuate and even strengthen the divisions and cleavages existing in society - instead of fostering and sustaining a public sphere hospitable to democratic and civic life. Organizations with little or no national or religious diversity tend to reinforce the views of its members and strengthen people's sense of difference from other communities, dangerously perpetuating stereotypes about outsiders. In sum, civil society is a terrain that both reflects the dynamics of communal conflict and contributes to perpetuate it. As Gramsci (1971) argued, civil society is best understood as composed by a set of semi-autonomous institutions, such as the church, media, leisure and cultural groups, and other areas of popular culture. No effective political arrangement is likely to arise at the level of the state unless the majority of citizens and the institutions where they experience public life give their consent, openly or implicitly, to the existing social order. Northern Ireland, however, is profoundly divided between two main communities with alternative worldviews, values and aspirations. In this context, civil society constitutes an arena where groups articulate and disseminate their views and engage in a contest for recognition. As confirmed by the controversial role of both the Orange Order and the GAA, this contest reflects and incorporates Northern Ireland's wider political conflict.

The Orange Order Created in 1795 in County Armagh, the Orange Order is a Protestant fraternal organization with lodges primarily in Northern Ireland and Scotland, but also throughout the Commonwealth and in the United States. Nominally a hierarchical organization led by a Grand Lodge, it is in practice a diverse association with a tradition of local autonomy. Members must be Protestant with a belief in the Trinity (thus excluding Unitarians) and must leave if they marry a Catholic. The Order's essential nature is that of an ethnic association representing the Ulster-Protestant people (Kaufmann 2007: 2). Its central mission is

10

R. Belloni

the promotion of Protestantism and the principles of the Reformation (Orange Order 2007a). Since its creation, several of the Order's activities involved opposition to the Catholics. Many Orangemen sided with the government to fight the Irish rebellion of 1798. In the early nineteenth century they opposed and fought the Ribbon men, a Catholic secret society. The Order's role in fomenting sectarian tensions in Ireland led to its suppression between 1823 and 1845, and the beginning of a slow decline in membership and political influence. In the last two decades of the twentieth century Irish nationalist mobilization in the Irish Land League and the controversy over Home Rule revived its fortunes (Bryan 2000: 50). The Order categorically opposed self-government for Ireland on the grounds that the Protestants would be discriminated against in a Catholic-dominated Ireland. The Order's political stand led naturally to its direct involvement in political life. In 1885 it was instrumental in the creation of the UUP. Every prime minister of Northern Ireland during the period 1921-72 was an Orangeman. The Order's membership in Northern Ireland peaked in 1965 when 70,000 people, roughly one in five adult Protestant males, were Orangemen. Strong links between the Order and the UUP further extended the influence of the organization. The Order had the right to nominate 120 delegates to the Ulster Unionist Council, the ruling body of the party. Over the last two decades, however, a significant number of Orangemen switched their allegiance from the UUP to the hardline Democratic Unionist Party (DUP) of Ian Paisley, straining the relationship between Orangeism and the UUP. The formal ties between the two institutions were finally rescinded in March 2005 (Kaufmann 2007: 202-35). The Orange Order fulfills several important civil society tasks. First, as stated in its statute, it provides monitoring and accountability of state activities in view of preserving individual and collective freedom. The "Basis of the Institution" is committed to "support and defend the rightful sovereignty," the succession to the throne in the House of Windsor. In practice, this commitment makes the Order a prominent unionist body attempting to preserve the existing legal and political links with the United Kingdom. Religion and politics intertwine in the belief that civil and religious freedom is guaranteed only by the presence of a Protestant crown in Great Britain. This belief also provides the rationale for executing a second important role - that of advocacy. Often the Order brings issues onto the political agenda, or intervenes in public debates on questions of broad political and social concern. While performing these tasks, however, the Order assumes that the preservation of the Union with a Protestant crown is the only acceptable starting point for addressing any contentious issues. This attitude puts the organization onto a collision course with the Catholic minority in Northern Ireland, most of which would prefer stronger ties and possibly reunification with the Republic of Ireland. Third, the Order socializes its members into the norms and values of the organization itself. These norms and values, however, are often antagonistic to those of the Catholic minority in Northern Ireland. For example, the "Qualifica-

Civil society in Northern Ireland

11

tions of an Orangeman" illustrate how the institution cultivates a profound suspicion towards the Catholic Church. An Orangeman should strenuously oppose the fatal errors and doctrines of the Church of Rome, and scrupulously avoid countenancing (by his presence or otherwise) any act of ceremony of popish worship; he should by all lawful means, resist ascendancy of that church, its encroachments, and the extension of its powers. (GOLE 2006) Although the Order is careful to point out that condemnation of "religious ideology" (sic) is not directed against individual adherents or members, such subtleties are lost in popular Orangeism, often imbued with a sectarian and openly anti-Catholic discourse (Bryan 2000: 108-9). Thus, the Order expresses an "identity in opposition" (Storey 2002: 69), forged against Catholics who are perceived as a separate and potentially hostile community. Overall, the Order can be described as an institution with multiple dimensions and shared values, including the "belief in God, a commitment to Reformed Christian faith, civil and religious liberty, and a specific commitment and loyalty to the British state" (Storey 2000: 37). The Order is home to a broad section of the Protestant and unionist community, incorporating and reflecting the many divisions between different Protestant denominations, between urban and rural areas, between the working and the middle-class, and within unionist politics. At its best, the Order expresses a "respectable Orangeism" (Bryan 2000: 8; Jarman 1997: 28) rooted in social correctness, tradition and historical stability. At the same time, although the Order stands officially for law and order and has always discouraged its members from joining paramilitary groups, its activities are disrupted increasingly by "rougher" elements of society from working-class, inner-city and unemployed elements, including paramilitaries. In numerous recent occasions the Order has tolerated paramilitary and criminal activities (Kennaway 2006: 47-69). Its decentralized structure and disciplinary mechanisms have protected many from expulsion. As a result, many of the middle-class members who represent the respectable face of unionism have dropped out. Currently, the Order's membership is estimated at less than 40,000. Since its creation, the central event for the Order is celebrated on July 12, when Orangemen commemorate the 1690 Battle of the Boyne when King William III, Prince of Orange, defeated the Catholic King James. Most Orange lodges hold a parade from their Orange Hall to a local church. Not only are parades a manifestation of a religious commitment to Protestantism and a political allegiance to unionism, but also they are a popular expression of difference and cultural identity (Jarman 1997: 56). A variety of different bands are hired to play during parades. Since the 1970s "blood and thunder" or "kick the Pope" flute bands are predominant, many of which have links with loyalist paramilitary organizations such as the Ulster Defence Association (UDA) and the Ulster Volunteer Force (UVF). Often these bands carry flags and emblems making their

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link to paramilitarism very open. Parades are a central example of antagonism between the Protestant and Catholic communities being fought through (primarily) non-violent means. While Protestant Orangemen parade to celebrate their religious and political commitment, many Catholics perceive their actions as a symbolic claim to the territory of Northern Ireland and to assert Protestant dominance. This view is based on the Order's insistence on marching through Catholic districts. Although parades are public expressions of Orangeism, not every parade is an expression of conflict. About 25 parades, out of around 3,500 marched every year in Northern Ireland, degenerate into violent confrontation (Ryder and Kearny 2001: 3). Moreover, Catholics, nationalists and republicans also hold parades to commemorate St Patrick's Day each March, the Easter Rising of 1916, and more recent events such as Bloody Sunday (the killing of 13 peaceful demonstrators in 1972 in the city of Derry/Londonderry) and the hunger strikes of 1981. Catholic parades, however, are less contentious than Protestant ones, and constitute only about 10 percent of the overall number of parades. With the breakout of the Troubles and the escalation of violence throughout the province, parading was an overall marginal issue in Northern Irish politics. The military confrontation between the British security forces, the IRA and loyalist paramilitary groups overshadowed any other form of street politics. With the 1994 republican and loyalist ceasefire, however, the parading issue re-emerged as an important site of confrontation between the two communities. In 1995 a resident group from the Garvaghy Road in Portadown began agitating against the Drumcree Orange Church parade taking place on the Sunday before July 12. Since then, as further explained below, Drumcree has emerged as a serious problem in the Northern Ireland peace process.

The Gaelic Athletic Association The GAA was founded in 1884 to revive and codify traditional Irish sports, particularly Gaelic football and hurling (de Burca 2000). Its structure was, and remains, based on the Roman Catholic parochial system. Since its creation, nationalism has been at the forefront of the GAA agenda (Cronin 1999: 20). The organization has always been committed to the Gramscian view that the nurturing of a distinctive Gaelic identity constitutes a pre-condition for independence. The organization's counter-hegemonic aspirations naturally merged with radical views. In the first four decades of its existence, the GAA was dominated by members of the Irish Republican Brotherhood, a group prepared to use violence to remove British rule from Ireland. Many GAA members were involved in the 1916 Easter Rising against the rule of the British crown. As a response, the British government banned the organization in 1918, but the games were still played (Mandle 1987). Although membership in the organization does not necessarily involve political activism, nonetheless it allows the expression of national identity and political aspirations. As stated in its constitution, the association's aim reflects a clear

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political commitment: "A National organization which has as its basic aim the strengthening of the National Identity of a 32 County Ireland through the preservation and promotion of Gaelic Games and pastimes" (GAA 2006). The fact the GAA is organized across the 43 counties of Ireland is a telling indication of the GAA's political priorities, since this structure fails to take into account that Northern Ireland is legally part of the United Kingdom. The partition of Ireland in 1920-1 served to strengthen the GAA's commitment to the creation of a united island governed by Dublin. The outbreak of the Troubles in Northern Ireland further solidified the organization's political sympathies. As the GAA President stated in 1972, "the allegiance of the GAA is to Ireland. That allegiance is unequivocal. The very existence of the GAA is a protest... against the occupation of Ireland, or any part of Ireland" (cited in Hassan 2005: 67). Currently, the national anthem of the Republic of Ireland continues to be played at important GAA matches in Northern Ireland while a number of competitions, clubs and grounds are named after Irish nationalist heroes. For example, the allIreland Gaelic football competition is known as the Sam Maguire Cup, after an IRA officer. Similarly, Casement Park in Belfast is named after Roger Casement, a Protestant member of the Irish Republic Brotherhood who played an important role in the 1916 uprising (English 2006: 267-8). As a whole, the GAA can be described as engaged in "sportive nationalism" (Sugden and Bairner 1993: 18), the conscious exploitation of Irish games as a way to foster support for a united and independent Ireland. The GAA socializes its members to its norms and values and, more broadly, to Irish and/or Catholic identity. Sport in Ireland, as eveiywhere else, is not simply a neutral pastime but a vehicle for the expression of individual and group identity (Cronin 1999). While the GAA consciously promotes this central socializing function, it rejects the accusation of sectarianism, arguing that its activities do not promote or sanction political divisions and that its rule book explicitly prohibits sectarian practices (GAA 2003). Indeed, not only does the GAA have Protestant players, supporters, officials and even past Presidents, but also, unlike the Orange Order, it has always eschewed formal links with political organizations. Furthermore, the organization provides an important non-violent outlet for its members. Similarly to claims made with regard to Orange parades, participation in GAA activities is thought to provide young men potentially vulnerable to paramilitary radicalism with an opportunity to express and channel their nationalist credentials in a non-threatening way (Sugden and Bairner 1993: 35). The articulation of this view did not prevent many unionists from seeing the GAA not simply as a sporting organization but as a tool for the promotion of both Irish nationalist culture and political aspirations. Because of this, GAA members and supporters have been attacked and even murdered. In 1991 the UDA announced that the GAA's support for the "republican movement" made its members acceptable targets of unionist violence. Several GAA members were killed and clubhouses damaged (CAIN 1991). Security forces have also often harassed GAA members, easily recognizable by their sport shirts and equipment. The RUC made extensive use of the Special Powers Act of 1922 to

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stop, question and search Catholics and nationalists without reasonable cause, including members of the GAA. During the Troubles, checkpoints would suddenly spring up on Sundays when players and fans were on their way to and from local pitches, and when fans were traveling to Croke Park in Dublin (the GAA's flagship venue) for all-Ireland final games. In the early 1970s the army also occupied Belfast's Casement Park and used the Crossmaglen Ranger's pitch as a helicopter base (Cronin 1999: 28). A decisive episode marking the low point in the relationship between British police/military forces and the nationalist community occurred in 1988, when a young man, Aidan McAnespie, was shot dead by a soldier on his way to the local GAA pitch in County Tyrone (Hassan 2005: 65). In response to real and perceived harassment, the GAA prohibited its members from playing "foreign games," especially British ones such as soccer and rugby, a ban that was maintained until 1971. GAA members were even prohibited from attending these sports as spectators and, until recently, GAA facilities were not available to either the Football Association of Ireland or the Irish Rugby Football Union. The first soccer and rugby games took place in Croke Park only in February 2007. Tellingly, all of the northern counties voted in bloc against opening Croke Park to non-Gaelic sports (Kelly 2007: 214-15). But the most controversial among GAA rules was a ban prohibiting members of the British Army and the RUC from playing Gaelic games (Rule 21). In practice this rule had limited impact, since it has always been unlikely that a large number of RUC and army personnel would have joined the organization in the absence of this prohibition. However, as for Orange parades, Rule 21 constituted an important symbolic statement causing considerable controversy and also provoking bizarre symbolic responses by the security forces. In 1995, for example, two regiments of the British Army played a game of Gaelic football (MacGinty and Darby 2002: 157). As I shall discuss in more detail below, it was only after the creation of a new Police Service of Northern Ireland (PSNI) that the GAA agreed to lift its Rule 21.

Civil society and the peace process: confrontation and contestation As the peace process moved forward tentatively in the mid-1990s, Orange parades grew more controversial, leading to increasingly violent confrontations between members of the two communities. In most cases, discontent for Orange marches among Catholic residents could have been managed locally. However, the dispute over marches became a proxy for political and symbolic power. The IRA and its political wing Sinn Fein decided to move the theater of conflict to the local level by mobilizing Catholic citizens into "residents' groups" to oppose Orange parades (Kaufmann 2007: 149).5 Opposition to Orange parades in Portadown began in the mid-1980s when the local Drumcree Faith and Justice Group organized peaceful demonstrations against parades (for an overview, see Kaufmann 2007: 149-201). The main

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focus of the dispute involved a parade taking place the Sunday before July 12, setting out in mid-morning for a service at Drumcree parish church and returning down the Garvaghy Road at about 12:30 pm. In 1995 the presence of about 500 protestors led the police to block the Garvaghy Road when the parade tried to return from the church service (Ryder and Kearny 2001: 103-27). In response, a local loyalist commander organized a counter-demonstration behind the Orangemen preventing them from retreating. The following day almost 20,000 loyalists from all over Northern Ireland arrived to support the Orangemen. According to Brian Kennaway (2006: 80-1), a Presbyterian cleric and moderate Orangeman, most Protestants reacted angrily because the parade was legally approved and the police seemed to yield to the threat of violence. After much posturing, local clergymen brokered a solution and the parade was allowed to march down the Garvaghy Road. The problem in Portadown, however, was far from being solved. A group of Orangemen created the Spirit of Drumcree Group, demanding a hard line on the re-routing of parades, as well as greater democracy within the Order and the rethinking of the UUP-Orange link (Kaufmann 2007: 164-74). In 1996 hardliners on both sides were determined not to give in. Loyalists refused to negotiate with the Coalition of Garvaghy Road Residents claiming that it was a republican front to advance the agenda of Sinn Fein and the IRA.6 The residents responded by announcing their determination to block the parade. Police ineptitude contributed to escalate the tension. At first the police banned the march citing public order interests. The decision led to four days of violence in Portadown and throughout Northern Ireland. The confrontation was a trauma for many Protestants, who had they always supported law and order and believed that the forces of the state were on their side (Dingley 2002: 57). In Portadown loyalists threw petrol bombs and bricks at the police, who responded with plastic bullets. The violence led the police to a complete about-face with the decision to allow Orangemen to go through. This time, however, it was Catholic/nationalist demonstrators who replied with a hail of rubble and debris. In 1997, the police acted preventively by securing the Garvaghy Road the night before the parade, thus enabling the Orangemen to march. By then, the Garvaghy Road standoff had become a major event for all sides, amplified by considerable media interest. In late 1997 the British government created an Independent Parades Commission to encourage negotiation between the two sides and oversee the re-routing of those parades expected to degenerate into violence. The Orange Order, however, interpreted the establishment of the commission as an attempt to infringe upon their right to "march the Queen's highway" and thus practice their culture. The Order published "The Case Against the Parades Commission," criticizing this body for being an "unelected quango." The Order emphasized the civil liberties aspect of the parading issue, condemning the commission for undermining basic human rights and for legitimizing apartheid by accepting the view that "the public highway cannot be traversed by certain groups because people of another tradition may live on or near part of the route" (Orange Order 2007b). According to the Order, marching is a

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basic civil right which must be upheld by the authorities. For this reason, the Order has refused to recognize and engage with the Parades Commission (Kaufmann 2007: 236-66). In 1998 Orangemen were prohibited from marching down the Garvaghy Road. Rioting broke out in Portadown and elsewhere in Northern Ireland, with many Protestants angered by what they considered as disloyalty of their own police force. On the night of July 11 loyalists firebombed a Catholic home in the Protestant town of Ballymoney, killing three young boys (the Quinns). Marches took place the following day, but Orangemen were split and demoralized, while Catholics decided to look on at the marches with silent reproach. The Drumcree standoff gradually lost its edge, the number of participants decreased, and the Church of Ireland publicly called for its end (Storey 2002). Some loyalist paramilitary leaders continued to appear at Drumcree, and both sides maintained their stated positions, but the death of the Quinns led to a reassessment of the situation and a new sobriety about the peace process. The Orangemen in Drumcree came to be identified with the more extreme elements of the Orange community and gradually lost support of other lodges and districts. Increasing effectiveness of the Parade Commission and greater involvement of grassroots actors further contributed to curtail the parade problem (Jarman 2003). Overall, the parade dispute highlighted the strict inter-relationship between civil and political society. Contentious parades occur at times of high political tension, with the parade turning into an avenue for expressing anger or frustration at events beyond the control of participants (Dingley 2002: 53). The dispute over parades intersected with the broader peace process. At an early stage, the Orangemen's refusal to engage with resident groups reflected the unionists' reluctance to engage with Sinn Fein. David Trimble capitalized on this diffidence by using Drumcree in 1995 as a platform to rise to the leadership of the UUP. Since the summer of 1998, after the death of the Quinns, Orangeism split between those who were willing to accept a compromise with residents' groups and those who maintained a hard-line stance. Similarly, at the political level the unionist camp split between groups in favor and against the Good Friday Agreement, with the anti- Agreement camp using Drumcree as the symbol of nationalists' unreliability. Even paramilitary groups split. The Ulster Voluntary Force (UVF) supported the Agreement, while the Ulster Defense Association (UDA) did not and took an active role in supporting the Drumcree protest. The resulting tit-for-tat violence between the two groups has led to assassinations and reprisals which effectively divided the Shankill Road area of Belfast (home to working-class loyalism) in two. Thus, both civil and political society fragmented because of their conflicting assessment of the peace process. In this context, the Grand Lodge of Ireland sided with the hard-liners, expressing no confidence in the Belfast Agreement and putting the Orange Order in direct opposition with the UUP which negotiated and signed the deal. From 1999 on, anti-Agreement speakers addressed virtually all demonstrations following parades throughout Northern Ireland, while the Orange leadership provided no encouragement whatsoever to the implementation of the Good Friday Agreement (Kaufmann 2007: 205-13).

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Catholic/nationalist civil society also had to confront a divisive issue. In April 1995, six months after the ceasefire came into effect in Northern Ireland, the issue of Rule 21, prohibiting members of the British Army and the RUC from playing Gaelic games, came to the fore. The county boards of Carlow, Down, Dublin and Sligo advanced a motion demanding the deletion of Rule 21. The GAA Annual Congress, however, did not discuss the proposal, since its inclusion into the agenda would have required the backing of at least two-thirds of the delegates - an impossible quorum to achieve. While some commentators criticized the organization for failing to proactively support the peace process, prominent nationalist politicians supported the GAA's decision. Sinn Fein's President Gerry Adams was among them: I would be opposed to the ending of rule 21. The GAA is more than just a sporting body. It seeks to promote our sense of Irishness. This is clearly at odds with the role and function of the RUC and the British Army which seek to deny us this right. (cited in Cronin 1999: 158) Adam's comment is revealing. In the mid-1990s a growing number of people in Ireland, both north and south of the border, supported moves towards peace. The GAA's attitude could have been seen as anachronistic, failing to capitalize on a historic opportunity to give support to the political transition. However, Adam's early views on Rule 21 suggest that this interpretation is inaccurate. Rather than an anachronism, the GAA's attitude reflected the position of the nationalist community, its political representatives and more broadly the ups and downs of the peace process. Not surprisingly, in 1996 and 1997 the GAA Congress failed again to address the issue. At the time when the peace process appeared to be stalled, there was little demand for a debate on Rule 21. Such a demand increased as a result of the signing of the Good Friday Agreement. To many commentators and citizens alike, Rule 21 appeared as a sectarian relic. Pressure on the GAA to reconsider its stand grew, embroiling the organization in a long and lively debate. It is only partly true that this "was not a debate that considered the merits of the peace process" but focus instead on whether Catholics "were free to express their nationalism and national identity" (Cronin 1999: 165). Rather, the discussion over Rule 21 became intertwined with the stopand-go nature of the post-Agreement transition. The fact that Sinn Fein supported the retention of Rule 21 shows that the GAA's views paralleled those prevailing in political society. The week before the 1998 GAA Special Congress was scheduled to meet to decide about Rule 21, Sinn Fein's newspaper editorialized its opposition to the deletion of the rule and published a letter from the leader of the Garvaghy Road Residents' Group urging the association to retain the rule until issues such as the Drumcree parade had been settled (Cronin 1999: 166-7). GAA boards in Northern Ireland opposed deleting the rule arguing that, while the Good Friday Agreement addressed some important issues (most notably the creation of a new set of power-sharing institutions), it did not provide an answer

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to all nationalist grievances. In particular, the role of policing and the speed and scope of police reform remained contentious. The report of the Independent Commission for Policing in Northern Ireland (1999), known as the Patten Report after its chairman (Chris Patten), called for the implementation of a set of reforms, including the creation of a new police force to replace the discredited RUC and the deletion of Rule 21 from the GAA's rule book. It also recommended a policy of positive discrimination in favor of the Catholic minority in order to reverse the imbalance existing within the RUC (Walker 2001). Reform proved difficult to secure. The new Police Service of Northern Ireland (PSNI) was created only on November 4, 2001, but part of the nationalist community remained skeptical about the new institution. The GAA held a Special Congress in Dublin two weeks after the creation of the PSNI. A twothird majority of the delegates lifted the ban on members of the security forces playing Gaelic games. GAA boards from Ireland voted in favor of deleting the rule, but delegates from all northern counties (with the exception of County Down) spoke against it (BBC News 2001). This attitude made a large section of northern delegates look "recalcitrant, unreasonable, and sectarian" (Hassan 2005: 61). However, the reluctance of Northern Ireland GAA members reflected the broader political landscape within the republican community. The main republican political forces had little enthusiasm for the new police force. The SDLP offered cautious support, but joined the Northern Ireland Police Board only in mid-2005 after it judged that the majority of Patten's recommendations had been implemented. Similarly, Sinn Fein preserved its deep-seated mistrust for the police, considered as an institution of British rule, and refused to take its place on the new Police Board. Only in January 2007 did Sinn Fein officially endorse the new institution, thus paving the way for broader Catholic/nationalist support for the PSNI (Quinn 2007).

Conclusion At the time when political parties were engaged in the negotiation and then implementation of the 1998 Belfast Agreement, sections of civil society continued to demonstrate a commitment to exclusivist ethno-national politics. It is tempting to conclude that the peace process and the dispute over parades and Rule 21 proceeded along two parallel and apparently separate tracks, with civil society reflecting conflicting and hard-to-change ethno-national relations. Mark Cronin (1999: 151), for example, argues that the GAA's belief in its central role as an Irish nationalist organization made it "unable to move forward in the general spirit of the peace process. Instead, it has clung onto old dogmas and past history and has not attempted to create the new relationships needed to perpetuate peace." A closer look, however, reveals a more nuanced picture. Confrontations in civil society represent an instance in the development of a complex process of positioning and bargaining that involves political society at large. Civil society in deeply divided regions such Northern Ireland reflects and reproduces the larger political context in which it is embedded.

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Since the signing of the Good Friday Agreement the political process has proceeded with advances and setbacks. Perhaps unsurprisingly, civil society continues to be an arena of confrontation and contestation. In his July 12, 2005 speech, the Order's Grand Master Robert Saulters compared the PSNI to the Gestapo. In September of the same year serious rioting during a parade in Belfast broke out between Orangemen and PSNI officers. Loyalist gunmen fired on the police in the worst street violence seen in Belfast in ten years, while the Orange leadership failed to condemn the violence (Belloni 2006). Controversy over the political role of the GAA also continued. In 2006 Sinn Fein President Gerry Adams addressed a republican rally to commemorate the 1981 hunger strike at the Maze prison in which ten nationalist prisoners died. The rally was held at Casement Park, a GAA stadium in Catholic West Belfast. Although the GAA Central Council in Dublin declared the event a breach of the organization's rules prohibiting political rallies, the Antrim County Board decided to go ahead. DUP politicians accused the organization of behaving like a "quasipolitical organization" and in politicizing sport (BBC News 2006). The GAA President replied to these and similar accusations by encouraging unionists to embrace Gaelic games and set up their own all-Protestant teams (Scholes 2007). With the establishment of a devolved government in May 2007, the peace process in Northern Ireland entered a new promising phase. Yet, as the examples of the Orange Order and the GAA suggest, symbolic and partisan concerns are likely to remain a problematic issue in the relationship between the two communities.

Notes 1 Many thanks to Cathal McCall for his comments on an earlier version of this chapter. All remaining errors are mine. 2 Despite the enormous differences between the Orange Order and the GAA, these similarities justify their joint analysis. Although neither Protestant/UNIONISTS nor Catholic/NATIONALISTS are particularly comfortable with this approach, the latter are especially critical of any parallelism between the two organizations (Campbell 2003). 3 There is an enormous amount of literature on Northern Ireland. Useful overviews are Bardon (1992) and O'Leary and McGarry (1996). 4 The Royal Ulster Constabulary (RUC) always recruited overwhelmingly from the Protestant community - with less than one in ten members recruited among the Catholic minority (O'Leary and McGarry 1996: 27). 5 As key evidence of republican manipulation, Protestants cite Sinn F6in President Gerry Adams: Ask any activist in the North, did Drumcree happen by accident and they will tell you "no" ... Three years of work went into creating that situation and fair play to those that put the work in. They are the type of scene changes that we have to focus on and develop and exploit. (cited in Kennaway 2006: 91) 6 To reinforce their view, unionists point out that the parade in Garvarghy Road is not associated with more modern "kick the Pope" and "blood and thunder" flute bands (Dingley 2002: 65).

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References Anderson, Benedict (1991) Imagined Communities, 2nd edn, London: Verso. Bardon, Jonathan (1992) A History of Ulster, Belfast: Blackstaff Press. BBC News (2001) "Gaelic Sport Ends Forces Ban," November 17. Online. Available at: http://news.bbc.co.Uk/l/low/northern_ireland/1660575.stm. BBC News (2006) "Stadium Rally 'Politicised' Sport," August 14. Online. Available at: http://news.bbc.co.Uk/l/hi/northern_ireland/4790255.stm. Belloni, Roberto (2006) "Irlanda del Nord: La Rabbia Protestante e le Ragioni della NonViolenza,'"Azione Nonviolenta, January/February: 8-9. Belloni, Roberto (2008) "Civil Society in War-to-Democracy Transitions," in Anna Jarstad and Timothy D. Sisk (eds) From War to Democracy: Dilemmas of Peacebuild-

ing, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bryan, Dominic (2000) Orange Parades: The Politics of Ritual, Tradition and Control,

London: Pluto. CAIN (Chronology of the Conflict) (1991) "Arson Attacks and Statement of the Ulster Freedom Fighters," February 8. The CAIN Project at the University of Ulster. Online. Available at: http://cain.ulst.ac.Uk/othelem/chron/ch91.htm#81091. Campbell, Brian (2003) "Comparison of GAA with Orange Order 'Ignorant,'" Irish News, August 11.

Cochrane, Fergal (2006) "Two Cheers for the NGOs: Building Peace from Below in Northern Ireland," in Michael Cox, Adrian Guelke, Fiona Stephen (eds) A Farewell to Arms? Beyond the Good Friday Agreement, Manchester: Manchester University Press.

Colletta, Nat J. and Michelle L. Cullen (2000) Violent Conflict and the Transformation of Social Capital: Lessons from Cambodia, Rwanda, Guatemala, and Somalia, Washing-

ton, DC: The World Bank. Comerford, Richard Vincent (2003) Ireland: Inventing the Nation, London: Hodder Arnold. Cronin, Mike (1999) Sport and Nationalism: Gaelic Games, Soccer and Irish Identity

since 1884, Dublin: Four Courts Press. De Burca, Marcus (2000) The GAA: A History of the Gaelic Athletic Association, Dublin: Gill & Macmillan. Dingley, James (2002) "Marching Down the Garvaghy Road: Republican Tactics and State Response to Orangemen's Claim to March their Traditional Route Home after the Drumcree Church Service," Terrorism and Political Violence, 14: 42-79. English, Richard (2006) Irish Freedom: The History of Nationalism in Ireland, London:

Macmillan. Farrington, Christopher (2002) "Models of Civil Society and Their Implications for the Northern Ireland Peace Process." Online. Available at: http://www.qub.ac.uk/csec/ docs/Farrington%20paper.pdf. GAA (Gaelic Athletic Association) (2003) "The Association shall be Non-sectarian," GAA Rules and Constitution. Online. Available at: www.gaa.ie/files/gaa_official_ guide2003.pdf. GAA (2006) Aims of the Association - GAA Rules and Constitution. Online. Available at:

www.gaa.ie/files/gaa_official_guide2003.pdf. GOLE (Grand Orange Lodge of England) (2006) "Qualifications of an Orangeman," Online. Available at: http://www.gole.org.uk/qualifications.htm. Gramsci, Antonio (1971) Selections from the Prison Notebooks. Trans. Quentin O'Hare and Geoffrey Nowell-Smyth, New York: International Publishers.

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Guelke, Adrian (2003) "Civil Society and the Northern Ireland Peace Process," Voluntas: International Journal of Voluntary and Nonprofit Organizations, 14: 61-78.

Hassan, David (2005) "The Gaelic Athletic Association, Rule 21, and Police Reform in Northern Ireland," Journal of Sport & Social Issues, 29: 60-78. Jarman, Neil (1997) Material Conflicts: Parades and Visual Displays in Northern

Ireland, Oxford: Berg. Jarman, Neil (2003) "From Outrage to Apathy? The Disputes Over Parades," Global Review of Ethnopolitics, 3: 92-105. Kaufmann, Eric P. (2007) The Orange Order: A Contemporary Northern Irish History,

Oxford: Oxford University Press. Kelly, Sean (2007) Rule 42 and All That, Dublin: Gill & Macmillan. Kennaway, Brian (2006) The Orange Order: A Tradition Betrayed, London: Methuen. MacGinty, Roger and John Darby (2002) Guns and Government: The Management of the Northern Ireland Peace Process, Houndsmill: Palgrave.

Mcinnes, Colin (2006) "A Farewell to Arms? Decommissioning and the Peace Process," in Michael Cox, Adrian Guelke, Fiona Stephen (eds) A Farewell to Arms? Beyond the Good Friday Agreement? Manchester: Manchester University Press. Mandle, W. F. (1987) The Gaelic Athletic Association and Irish Nationalist Politics,

1884-1924, London: Helm. O'Leary, Brendan and John McGarry (1996) The Politics of Antagonism: Understanding Northern Ireland, 2nd edn, London: Athlone.

Orange Order (2007a) "The Religious Basis of the Order." Online. Available at: http://www.grandorange.org.uk/parades/religious_basis.html. Orange Order (2007b) "The Case Against the Parades Commission." Online. Available at: http://www.grandorange.org.uk/parades/parades_commission_against.html. Quinn, Eamon (2007) "Sinn Fein Endorses Plan for Ulster Police Reforms," New York Times, January 29.

Ryder, Chris and Vincent Kearny (2001) Drumcree, London: Methuen. Scholes, William (2007) "President says set up Protestant GAA Clubs," Irish News, February 23. Storey, Earl (2002) Traditional Roots: Towards an Appropriate Relationship between the Church of Ireland and the Orange Order, Dublin: The Columba Press.

Sugden, John and Alan Bairner (1993) Sport, Sectarianism and Society in a Divided Ireland, Leicester: Leicester University Press. Walker, Clive (2001) "The Patten Report and Post-Sovereignty Policing in Northern Ireland," in Rick Wilford (ed.) Aspects of the Belfast Agreement, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Wilford, Rick (ed.) (2001) Aspects of the Belfast Agreement, Oxford: Oxford University Press.

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Reporting the greater odds Dissent and militancy among trusting East-Central European citizens Michaelene Cox

Exploring links between social capital and political participation may suggest ways that civil society fosters or impedes the democratic process among countries in political transition. This chapter extends general hypotheses of social capital and participation to political protest in 22 East-Central European (ECE) countries. Ordinal logistic regression demonstrates that interpersonal trust indeed plays a role in the willingness to engage in both mild and aggressive forms of protest. Tests control for variables commonly employed in the literature such as level of political rights and civil liberties, political orientation, socio-economic status, and town size. Rather than define protest in the usual way as the actual commission of an act, this chapter examines the proclivity to engage in that act. Thus in addition to examining individual-level data from an unprecedented number of ECE countries in 1999-2001, these analyses also stand apart from recent investigations by creating new measures of unconventional political participation. Results indicate that the probability to engage in militant and non-militant protest increases with a higher degree of interpersonal trust among citizens in post-communist states.

"Uncivil" East-Central European society A post-communist Europe clearly shows that the adoption of democratic institutions and procedures does not automatically create a politically engaged citizenry despite a generous complement of political freedoms and civil liberties. Indeed, in the decade following transition from the Soviet order, the fairly listless public life in ECE countries has not dramatically changed. Comparatively low levels of political protest persist. An overwhelming number of ECE citizens say they have not or would not be willing to engage in any form of unconventional political activity. There is variability among countries, of course, but overall many do not engage in conventional activities either. Few belong to political parties, and after the first free elections voting turnout has generally declined. The phenomenon should not come as a surprise since civil society is often weak in new democracies. Understanding the determinants of post-authoritarian political participation and democratic consolidation is still incomplete although recent studies yield varied explanations for the prevalence of apathy in these countries today.

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Some research, for example, suggests that institutional arrangements such as electoral system type are responsible for sluggish voting in ECE countries, and that resources needed for party membership, such as time and skills, are greatly limited. Much investigation, however, concentrates on the legacy of communism itself. With its compulsory and narrow channels of participation, the authoritarian regime left a depoliticized climate in its wake. Lack of confidence in, and unfamiliarity with, the new political environment deters many from both conventional and unconventional forms of engagement today. Some observers note that ECE citizens opt to exercise patience while leaving politics to the politicians. The public relies on those in office to sort out reform measures that in the long term will benefit everyone. Thus the role of social capital emerges in studies of democratization, too, when we consider public attitudes. Measures of social capital such as interpersonal trust are used to examine political behavior among ECE citizens, although most studies deliberate on the influence of trust on conventional activities such as voting. This chapter addresses an unresolved question on the role of citizen attitudes in collective action. In particular, do levels of interpersonal trust influence the likelihood that citizens of postcommunist countries will engage in forms of unconventional political participation? In other words, to what extent will social capital "pervert" collective action in ECE?

Trust and protest: theoretical arguments Social capital Although investigations on the role of social capital in political behavior constitute an enormous mass of research, the matter remains contentious. The literature yields two opposing hypotheses regarding the impact of interpersonal trust on political participation. Trusting individuals should be more politically engaged because confidence in others promotes cooperation and aids in solving collective action problems. This proposition is notably connected with Almond and Verba (1963), Coleman (1990), and Putnam et al. (1993). On the other hand, individuals who are distrustful of other people may feel a particularly strong need to effect change through system-challenging behavior, argue Gamson (1968) and Tarrow (1998). Both hypotheses generate mixed evidence. The complexity of the issue itself leads some scholars to suggest that participation is affected by trust levels, but "only under some circumstances, for some kinds of people, and with respect to some kinds of political activities" (Levi and Stoker 2000: 488). It is essential then to keep in mind that empirical analyses to date have employed different measures of trust and political participation as well as varying datasets and control variables. What is most significant in evaluating collective action in post-communist states today, of course, is that a shift in the structure of opportunities and costs has dramatically altered the capability and the willingness of citizens to entertain prospects of unconventional participation. In what manner civic activism contributes to or detracts from political order

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and democratic development, however, is a project for others. The literature is replete with discourses on the matter. Some scholars, many of them since the mid-twentieth century, challenge the desirability of civic participation in a democratic society. For example, Huntington (1968, 1975) argues that excessive public demands might sabotage democratic political regimes and that an effective democracy generally requires some degree of public apathy and disengagement. Conversely, some contemporary political scientists follow the lead of de Tocqueville and others, suggesting that increased citizen participation enhances the quality of government decision-making and responsiveness (Powell 1982; Lijphart 1999). A number of fresh literature reviews, including those of Muller and Seligson (1994), Berman (1997), and Foley and Edwards (1998), survey the legion of rich arguments surrounding the virtues and perils of civil society. While mass political dissent surely tests government effectiveness, this chapter stops short of assessing the linkages between social capital, civic activism, and democratic development. While there is still debate about the appropriate measures of social capital and its role in governance, resourceful scholars have produced serviceable criteria for defining, measuring, and applying the concept. Social capital usually refers to the extent and quality of relationships between people or groups with levels of interpersonal trust as one frequent indicator. Putnam is popularly credited with jumpstarting the rush of social capital research within the past decade or so, however, his contributions follow a long scholastic trail of investigations from a multitude of disciplines including education, economics, sociology, psychology, and political science. For example, possibly the earliest and most overlooked reference to social capital appears in a small volume in a training series for rural teachers. The term therein pertains to the amount of "good will, fellowship, sympathy, and social intercourse" among individuals and groups (Hanifan 1920: 78). Hanifan finds that social capital is indispensable for community building and for developing schools that are often at the core of rural and village life. He observes that just as individuals accumulate benefits of association with their families and neighbors so improves the harmony of a community with increased fellowship and interdependence among its members. Recounting an experiment in a rural West Virginia district, he notes that efforts to increase the community's social capital through regular public meetings, picnics, and other social events enhance the leadership abilities of the new school supervisor. The supervisor is able to gain complete cooperation of his teachers and the loyalty and cooperation of the entire community. In this somewhat romanticized account, Hanifan writes only of the potential for good in increasing social capital and so like many of his successors, ostensibly suggests that social capital promotes public order. Subsequent treatment of the concept and its role in governance also generally neglects a more mischievous route that an energetic civil society can take political dissent. Defining social capital as a synthesis of three elements, obligations and expectations, information channels, and social norms, Coleman (1990) explains

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that the latter includes levels of trust among members of a society. It is this trust, he says, that encourages cooperation and helps solve collective action problems. Social capital can contribute to public wellbeing by promoting actions favorable to the collective and hindering actions that harm it. With one notable exception, Coleman's arguments suggest that it is a lack, not an abundance, of social capital that leads to public disorder. He cites the case in which South Korean student activists in the late 1980s used clandestine study circles to organize demonstrations and protests. Members of the study circles came from the same schools, churches, or communities and so unique social relations where members are trusting of one another allowed the radical students to form intricate networks to sponsor unsanctioned political opposition. He does not elaborate further on the relationship between social capital and domestic instability. Nevertheless, by invoking the example of student study circles Coleman makes it apparent that high levels of social capital in the form of trust can indeed promote greater civic activism, if not civil unrest. It was indisputably, however, the efforts of Putnam and his associates to quantify the role of social capital in Italian democratic governance that evoked a flurry of subsequent testing to determine if the trusting indeed would be more politically engaged (Putnam et al. 1993). The researchers analyzed an extensive collection of political, social, and economic data from each of Italy's 20 regions and found that it is not economic development that accounts for most of the variation in regional government performance. Instead, it is civic community and traditions that produce significant differences. Dense networks of associational life foster social capital that in turn empowers community members to engage in collective action and to demand government responsiveness. These social groups assist members in developing skills and political orientations, an observation noted by other scholars as well (Almond and Verba 1963; Verba et al. 1995). For Putnam, trust is a fundamental element of social capital. It refers to interpersonal relationships and expectations that individuals will follow the rules. Like Hanifan and Coleman before him, he assumes that trust and other components of social capital are meritorious. After all, it is trust that "lubricates cooperation," he says (Putnam et al. 1993: 171). Putnam freely describes the virtuous side of social capital. Although he and his associates observe some political disharmony and strife in the Italian regions, they report that they discovered no link between that conflict and the civic community. The experience in one country may certainly not be representative of others, however, particularly when keeping in mind the role of other variables such as a communist legacy. If social capital can serve as a vehicle for collective action, the role of trust in protest still warrants investigation. By this time, theoretical challenges to the concept of social capital have multiplied. Analyses such as those of Putnam generally rest on cultural theories to explain the impact of trust on political participation. Cultural theories essentially suggest that certain prevailing norms and values are conducive to certain forms of engagement while others are not (La Porta et al. 1998). Not only have critics been unable to replicate the Putnam study, they note that cultural explanations

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rely on several unsupported assumptions (Jackman and Miller 1996a, 1996b; Levi 1996; Brehm and Rahn 1997). Negotiating between the nuances of social capital theory, however, some suggest observable aggregate and individual-level properties that appear to be "tight" reciprocal relationships between interpersonal trust and social interactions (Brehm and Rahn 1997). This reciprocity finds theoretical basis in game literature where, in single-shot prisoner dilemma games, trusting players are more likely to cooperate. The successful strategy begins with a player who does not defect which in effect establishes an initial level of trust. In repeated games, successful plays call for "tit-for-tat" strategies in which one follows the lead of the other; for example, one player cooperates if the other player cooperates (Kreps et al. 1982; Axelrod 1984; Orbell and Dawes 1991; Wrightsman 1992; Camerer and Thaler 1995; La Porta et al. 1996). Some contention with the concept of social capital rests on dissatisfaction with the definition and employment of trust. Unclear to some scholars are the specific mechanisms by which associations formed by trust create and foster civic engagement. There appears a lack of precision in defining and verifying trust that in turn undermines the theory. "You can join without trusting the other joiners ... to participate in a group is not necessarily to subordinate one's goals to the group, except trivially," says Solow (1995: 40). Wittingly or not, however, Solow is expressing contrition with an imposing body of sociological literature grounded on notions of collective identity. Trust, common interests among members, and solidarity built on shared values and experiences form a group's collective identity. As Shriver et al. (2000) explain, sociologists especially hold dear the belief that groups influence individual behavior. For example, a popular "new social movement" (NSM) theory suggests that group membership fosters the likelihood of participating in a social movement. NSM theory and Putnam's arguments amazingly mirror one another in this respect. Social movement theorists suggest that collective identity itself is a call to action (Shriver et al. 2000). Other critics of social capital state frankly that much of the theory has been unreflective. Although Sandefur and Laumann are among those critics, they draw attention themselves to a related body of network-analytic literature addressing how different social structures affect the capacity for individual action (1998). That substantial body of literature appears to corroborate Putnam's discovery of the role of associational life and offers some support for the cultural theory foundations of social capital. Thus theoretical development of social capital is advanced by borrowing from network-analysts, economic game theorists, and theories of collective behavior. Much empirical research also validates the proposition that high levels of social capital, in its various forms, correlate with greater collective action. Again, of special interest to the present chapter is the effect of trust on political protest. Determinants

of political protest

Unconventional political protest includes a range of disruptive activities such as petition signing, boycotts, demonstrations, unofficial strikes, and riots. Some

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researchers, including Gurr (1970), maintain that deprivation and extreme dissatisfaction with the current political system results in such activity. Others suggest that protest simply provides the public with an alternate means to voice opinions and influence policymakers than more conventional acts such as voting or campaign activity (Lipsky 1968; Tilly 1975; Dalton 1996). Unconventional political activity provides an outlet for the disenfranchised or oppressed minorities otherwise shut off from legitimate participation channels. After all, mass discontent expressed through the electoral system is only a gamble in democracies (Powell 1982). Political protest is also a method of choice in advanced industrial democracies among those who are not alienated or deprived, according to Dalton (1996). He extracts cross-national data from the World Values Surveys (WVS) for the years 1980-1 and 1990-1 and finds greater willingness to protest among well-educated males in Britain, France, Germany, and the United States. Dalton observes that it may well be the better educated and more politically sophisticated that have the resources to organize better, not the lower classes. There are a host of explanations and empirical studies on the causes of domestic political protest. In the 1970s scholars seized upon the potential contributions of social capital and an intense debate ensued about the effect of trust on protest politics in the United States. Although that Miller-Citrin debate centers on political trust and not on interpersonal trust it is useful in anticipating the comparative study at hand. Citrin finds that protest activities between 1968 and 1972 declined in the US while political cynicism increased (1974). Disagreeing with Miller, Citrin argues that neither political apathy nor political activism is associated with distrust. Although there has been a general decline in conventional modes of participation such as voting, international observers note that patterns of unconventional political activism are not consistent. Some countries have witnessed an increase in the frequency of protest in recent times (Powell 1982; Jennings and van Deth 1989; Dalton 1996; Waters 1998). Researchers anticipate that this trend of political behavior will continue although different styles of political protest may evolve. For example, Waters (1998) addresses the enduring and fundamental role that social protest occupies in French political life and describes a new style of political activity emerging in the 1990s. NSM activities in France have a strong civic dimension, she says, and they now specifically aim to improve the social and political rights of particular groups within society. She adds that one of the unique features of contemporary protest movements is that they tend to eschew formal political alliances and organizations. Amidst recent student uprisings, for example, protesters indicated grave and unprecedented mistrust toward political institutions. Waters suggests that these NSMs rely increasingly on a mix of informal and voluntary organizations to achieve their objectives. Protest activity that depends on such alliances bolsters the social capital argument that trust promotes civic engagement. Statistical associations between interpersonal trust, political trust, and protest in nine Western European countries are considered by Kaase (1999). He gleans data from Eurobarometer surveys and WVS for the years 1981, 1990, and 1996

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and first tests the correlation between interpersonal trust and political trust. The weak relationship does not allow him to conclude that the more trusting a person generally is the more likely that that person will trust political institutions. However, simple bivariate tests show that generalized trust and unconventional political behavior are strongly and positively related. High levels of interpersonal trust apparently contribute to greater participation in protest politics. Kaase offers his findings as tentative statistical support for the social capital argument. For countries with a communist legacy, distrust of political institutions is the norm. Where the state does not rule by law but by repression, state control of all major social institutions produces skepticism, fear, and where possible, disengagement from formal political channels (Rose et al. 1997). An uncivil society emerges as citizens resort to other channels for expression and influence because the state is not citizen-friendly and does not tolerate political dissent. Rose et al. suggest that individuals increasingly rely on informal social networks to insulate themselves from a non-democratic state. Based on interpersonal trust between friends and families, informal networks permit members to obtain goods and services without state intervention and even allow them to "exploit the exploiters" by using social capital directly against the state (Rose et al. 1997: 88). Survey data from the New Democracies Barometer collected between 1993 and 1994 in nine post-communist countries provide a clear picture of attitudes in these societies. The authors find that citizens in post-communist countries of East-Central Europe are skeptical of both government and non-government institutions. The most distrusted political organizations are political parties and the most distrusted non-government organizations are trade unions. The Rose et al. analyses primarily concern the genesis and endurance of political distrust in post-communist countries and do not test the effect of institutional trust on protest politics. Of late social capital theory is generating more empirical studies focusing on ECE states although findings are mixed on the links between trust and participation. This body of literature does not yet address our particular question about the effect of trust on political protest but does provide some groundwork for the investigation. Dowley and Silver (2002) find that interpersonal trust and other indicators of social capital are positively and significantly related to support of democratic principles and regime in post-communist countries. More trust contributes to greater satisfaction with government performance. The study is based on WVS data series from 1990-3 and 1995-7 for 20 countries. The researchers express a note of caution in interpreting their findings broadly. When controlling for ethnicity they find that attitudes of Russians abroad and other minority groups are not consistent with the general population. Although not statistically significant those findings show that higher trust levels are negatively associated with democratic ideals. Dowley and Silver suggest that empirical evidence drawn from ethnically diverse countries in transition may not produce findings consistent with social capital theory. Why individuals in new democracies participate in the political process leads Letki (2003) to consider the influence of social capital as well. She looks at ten

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ECE countries during the transitional years of 1993-4 and notes that levels of conventional participation are lower during this time than in 1989. She constructs a five-point social trust scale to estimate the probabilities that a trusting individual will engage in activities such as supporting a political party, discussing politics, or voting. Letki finds that maximum levels of trust increase the probability of engaging in conventional political activities by as much as 6 to 19 percent but concludes that trust-related explanations for political engagement are generally irrelevant. Far more influential are political skills and attitudes learned by participating in groups such as the Communist Party, she says. Most recently Benson and Rochon (2004) hypothesize that individuals assess the costs and benefits of protest and if trustful will perceive lower risks to engaging in unconventional behavior. The trusting, more so than the distrustful, believe that they will be joined by others in protest and that their chances of success will increase with greater numbers of participants. The study utilizes 1990 survey data from 33 countries including five ECE countries that had not yet made to full transition to democracy. Benson and Rochon employ a Guttman scaling procedure to operationalize protest on a scale of increasing intensity or militancy; the measure is not a willingness to engage in particular acts but the actual participation in a combination of those acts. The researchers find that trust does increase the odds of protesting, especially in its more militant forms. Their broad cross-country study provides impetus to examine more current relationships between trust and the propensity to protest in ECE countries. Unlike research approaches taken to date, it is not enough to consider the history of citizen participation in these countries, that is, to measure protest by those who say that they have already participated in certain political acts. Most ECE adults today lived at one time under restrictive communist rule whereby the opportunities and costs to protest generally prevented most of them from engaging in these acts. There has been scant time to acclimate to new liberties and freedoms and to develop an effectual network and culture able to take to the streets, so to speak. Yet, we might expect a willingness to do so. Past experiences with protesting, and a declaration that one "might," is significant to anticipate civil engagement by post-communist citizens and is a novel contribution to the literature. Will trusting citizens be more willing to engage in protest? The investigation here begins by briefly considering the extent of interpersonal trust and the propensity to protest among those countries.

Measuring ECE trust and protest The analyses here cover 20 East-Central European countries and draw upon survey responses from 16,842 individuals. The 1999-2001 World Values Survey (WVS) provide data for assessing individual and country levels of trust and protest. Responses to the following WVS question, "Generally speaking, would you say that most people can be trusted or that you can't be too careful in dealing with people?" are coded 2 if indicating trust and coded 1 if indicating distrust.

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The dependent variable in these analyses is protest. Three measures are constructed to reflect the propensity to engage in any form of protest and to participate more specifically in non-militant and militant acts. Studies in the past consider the number of individuals who say that they have actually done a particular act when responding to the following WVS question: I'm going to read out some different forms of political action that people can take, and I'd like you to tell me, for each one, whether you have actually done any of these things, whether you might do it or would never, under any circumstances, do it. The forms of action listed by the WVS are signing a petition, joining in boycotts, attending lawful demonstrations, joining unofficial strikes, and occupying buildings or factories. To anticipate changes in the behavioral patterns of postcommunist citizens, or a willingness to act in the future, a score of 3 is assigned to "have done," a score of 2 to "might do," and a score of 1 to "would never do" for each activity. The propensity to engage in any form of protest is the mean score of all acts. Non-militant protest is the mean score of milder forms of protest: signing a petition, joining in boycotts, and attending lawful demonstrations. Militant protest is the mean score of more intense forms of protest: joining unofficial strikes and occupying buildings or factories. While this study focuses on the willingness of individuals to protest, it is constructive to aggregate individual-level data to note variation among the ECE countries. As Table 2.1 indicates, distrust is the norm in the ECE countries. With a mean trust level of 1.21, more than 78 percent of citizens in these countries do not trust other people. More than 90 percent of Romanians are distrusting while Belarus citizens are the most trusting. A willingness in the region to engage in non-militant activity is greater than in militant, however most ECE citizens are not willing to protest at all as indicated by a mean of 1.51 for all events. Croatians are an exception, however. Nearly 95 percent of Croatians have and would sign a petition, 70 percent boycott, and 75 percent demonstrate. Nearly 45 percent of Croatians report that they have or would unofficially strike and 22 percent indicate a willingness to participate in illegal occupations. On the other hand, Albanians are the least inclined to engage in militant protest and Hungarians the least willing to participate overall.

Predicting political protest Individual-level analyses convey important implications for social capital theory. Political consequences of interpersonal trust in post-communist states are analyzed using ordinal logistic regression. Logistic regression is more appropriate than linear methods based on the ordinal nature of the data used here (Pampel 2000). Unlike ordinary regression methods, logistic regression does not assume a linear relationship with each variable. It is a useful technique with

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Table 2.1 Country levels of trust and protest Trust %

Trust mean

All protest mean

NonMilit mean

Militant mean

Albania Bosnia Bulgaria Belarus Croatia Czech Republic Estonia Hungary Latvia Lithuania Moldova Poland Romania Russia Slovakia Slovenia Ukraine Macedonia Serbia Montenegro

25.4 16.0 25.0 42.2 20.7 24.1 24.0 22.4 17.6 26.5 15.4 18.3 9.7 24.1 15.5 23.0 26.7 13.6 19.2 31.0

1.24 1.16 1.27 1.42 1.21 1.25 1.12 1.22 1.17 1.26 1.15 1.18 1.10 1.24 1.16 1.22 1.27 1.14 1.19 1.34

1.45 1.55 1.48 1.32 1.75 1.73 1.38 1.30 1.44 1.60 1.46 1.39 1.34 1.40 1.68 1.66 1.41 1.60 1.63 1.70

1.79 1.74 1.60 1.46 1.98 1.99 1.56 1.44 1.66 1.78 1.51 1.50 1.52 1.56 1.90 1.86 1.58 1.80 1.82 1.91

1.07 1.26 1.25 1.12 1.36 1.31 1.11 1.09 1.11 1.25 1.33 1.22 1.09 1.14 1.22 1.34 1.13 1.29 1.34 1.31

ECE

21.8

1.21

1.51

1.70

1.22

which to compare each category within the variable to observe those having statistically significant different results to the base category. Table 2.2 reports the odds ratios (eβ where β = coefficient) to indicate how much more likely an individual who is trusting will protest as compared to someone who is not trusting. Ordinal logistic regression adjusts the ratios to allow for the simultaneous effect of socio-economic and political factors suggested by the social movement literature. Results show that after controlling for those other variables, trusting people are indeed more willing to protest. The odds ratio of 0.778 for all forms of protest indicates that ECE citizens with higher trust levels are about 22 percent more likely to engage in protest than those who do not trust one another. This finding is especially significant considering that political participation among the sample as a whole is very limited. There is a similar likelihood that trusting individuals are willing to engage only in non-militant activities. Possessing high levels of interpersonal trust increase the chances that a person will be willing to sign petitions, boycott, or legally demonstrate by about 23 percent. The odds ratio of 0.849 for militant protest indicates that trust has somewhat less of an impact on this form of protest. Trusting people are 15 percent more willing to engage in illegal strikes or occupation of buildings. Nevertheless, the coefficients for interpersonal trust range between -0.163 and -0.262 for the three measures of protest and are all statistically significant at the p =£ 0.01 level.

Table 2.2 Ordinal logistic regression results for political protest All protest Odds Ratio

Trust (Distrust) 0.778*** Gender (Female) 0.633*** Age (15-24) 1.827*** 1.991*** (35-44) (55-64) 1.836*** Education (Low) 0.477*** (Mid) 0.761*** Income (Low) 0.773*** (Mid) 0.758*** (High) 1.065 Town size (Small) 0.721*** (Mid) 0.842** (Large) 0.938 Freedom (Least free) 0.483*** (Mid) 2.651*** (Most free) 0.862** Ideology (Left) 0.766*** (Mid) 0.628*** (Right) 0.986 Logistic regression c2 (42) Log likelihood N Notes ***p≤0.01. **p ≤0.05. *p ≤ 0.10.

Non-militant

protest

Militant protest

Coeff.

SE

Odds Ratio

Coeff.

SE

Odds Ratio

Coeff.

SE

-0.251

0.038

0.769***

-0.262

0.038

0.849***

-0.163

0.048

-0.457

0.032

0.657***

-0.419

0.032

0.594***

-0.520

0.040

0.603 0.689 0.372

0.065 0.058 0.060

1.560*** 1.814*** 1.446***

0.445 0.596 0.369

0.065 0.058 0.060

2.909*** 2.567*** 1.484***

1.068 0.943 0.395

0.088 0.081 0.088

-0.740 -0.272

0.058 0.041

0 445*** 0.717***

-0.808 -0.332

0.058 0.041

0.716*** 0.948

-0.333 -0.053

0.076 0.050

-0.257 -0.276 0.063

0.091 0.083 0.097

0.734*** 0.742*** 1.082

-0.308 -0.298 0.079

0.092 0.083 0.098

0.894 0.791** 0.945

-0.111 -0.234 -0.056

0.114 0.101 0.119

-0.327 -0.171 -0.063

0.056 0.072 0.058

0.708*** 0.818*** 0.937

-0.345 -0.200 -0.065

0.057 0.073 0.058

0.767*** 0.932 0.964

-0.265 -0.070 -0.036

0.072 0.092 0.074

-0.727 0.975 -0.148

0.092 0.076 0.058

0.474*** 2.524*** 0.940

-0.745 0.926 -0.061

0.092 0.077 0.058

0.605*** 2.406*** 0.571***

-0.501 0.878 -0.560

0.124 0.085 0.081

-0.266 -0.465 -0.070 1,604.57 48,401.41 12,843

0.086 0.068 0.104

0.761 0.640*** 1.016

-0.286 0.077 -0.446 0.069 0.104 0.009 1,560.32 42,400.69 12,843

0.929 0.679*** 0.941*

-0.073 -0.387 -0.216 1,604.57 20,087.63 12,843

0.107 0.084 0.130

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Analyses also show expected variations in political protest regarding socioeconomic and political factors. At first sight, the strongest influence on the willingness of people to protest appears to be the degree of political freedom enjoyed. This is a reasonable expectation in post-communist societies, that the more freedom one is granted the lower the risks and the more willing one is to engage in counter-system activity. A mean score for political rights and civil liberties is created from the Freedom House country rankings for 1999-2000 by reversing those rankings to indicate 1 for the least freedom and 7 for the most freedom. While controlling for all other variables, test results show that trusting respondents in countries with an intermediate level of freedom are more than two and a half times more likely to engage in any form of protest than people in the most free countries. The pattern of freedom and protest is erratic among other levels. For example, people are 52 percent less likely to protest in countries with the least political freedoms while they are only 14 percent less likely to protest where they enjoy the most freedoms. Nevertheless, the associations between political freedom and protest all remain statistically significant. Age, education, and gender are also both strongly associated with the likelihood of protest activity. WVS data is used to test the impact of these demographic features while controlling for all other variables. Individuals are coded 1 if they are male and 2 if female. Respondents reporting low levels of education are accorded a 1, those with an intermediate or mid-level educational achievement a 2, and those with the highest education are assigned a score of 3. A scale of 1 to 6 is used to indicate the age group into which individuals fall. Those that are aged 15-24 are coded 1 and those aged 65-98 are coded 6. Age, it turns out, is a most significant predictor. The most willing age group to participate in all general protest forms and in non-militant protest are respondents aged 35-44. The odds ratio indicates that this group is nearly twice as likely to protest as older people. Militancy, however, is more attractive to those aged 15-24 who are nearly three times more likely to participate in illegal strikes or occupation of buildings. An interesting pattern emerges when considering age. For younger age groups the odds of engaging in general protest and non-militant protest increases from 82 percent for ages 15-24 to 95 percent for ages 25-34. But for higher age brackets the odds of participation decreases from 83 percent for ages 45-54 to 45 percent for ages 55-64. The probability of participating in militant activities continues to decrease with age. Educational level is also a driving factor in political protest. Least educated people are less likely to protest than well-educated people in any form of protest. The odds of those with little education in engaging in general forms of protest and in non-militant forms is less than half, while the odds are only somewhat greater that they will engage in militant acts. The role of gender in protest is not surprising. The analyses indicate that men are more likely than women to participate in any form of political protest, especially in its militant strain. Males are 41 percent more likely than females to engage in militant protest, while in non-militant activities they are 34 percent more likely.

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To some degree income, town size, and political orientation have the expected relationship with all forms of protest. Data for these variables also come from the WVS. Low and high levels of income are ranked on a scale of 1 to 10 with 1 reflecting the poorest group and 10 the wealthiest. Town size is similarly ranked with 1 representing a small town in which a respondent lives and 8 the largest city in which a person lives. Respondents report their political orientation or ideology on a scale of 1 to 10 with 1 being the extreme leftist ideology and 10 being the extreme conservative ideology. Although all three factors have significant and positive impacts on protest, political orientation has the greater influence. The more conservative an individual is, the more likely he or she will participate in unconventional political activity. Living in a larger town will also increase the odds that a person will protest, although for militant forms of protest this cannot be said with 95 percent confidence. Individuals with higher incomes will likely engage in both general protest and non-militant acts and to a lesser degree even militant protest.

Summary This chapter pursues a relatively narrow area of inquiry into the role of social capital in domestic political order. To what extent does social capital relate to political activism and in particular how does social capital relate to unconventional and non-institutionalized political behavior? For the most part theorists suggest that various forms of social capital contribute to greater political activism. A growing body of empirical research points to significant links between one measure of social capital, namely interpersonal trust, and political protest. The central finding in this study is that higher trust levels increase the likelihood for engaging in protest. The role of trust here is generally on par with the role of gender, education, income, town size, and ideology, while the predictive strengths of age and midlevel freedom are more strongly associated with all forms of protest. To summarize the findings herein, we might ask then who the most likely candidate to protest is. We recognize that the typical ECE citizen is not willing to engage in any form of unconventional political activity. Among those few who are willing, however, certain features stand out that increase their odds of protesting - being an affluent and well-educated male urbanite; adhering to a conservative ideology while living in a country with a moderate range of political and civil liberties; and witnessing the demise of communism as a young adult. Most relevant to this study, of course, is that the above who are also trusting will probably be willing to protest. The results of this analysis indicate several avenues for future research. Time-series analyses will be helpful for discerning any patterns in ECE protest activities; the data available to date permits us to examine only the first decade following democratic transition. A case-study approach to examining the relationship between trust and social capital may also be fruitful. As in most statistical analyses, there are anomalies to the patterns found. A closer look at why

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relatively high trust levels are not correlated with greater participation, as in the case of Belarus, may reveal interesting explanations not consistent with statistical analysis predictions. Importantly, too, while we may still need further insight on the theoretical mechanisms explaining how trust and protest are intimately connected, the statistical evidence presented in this chapter points to significant implications for newly emerging democracies. Those implications for the development of civil society warrant further discussion.

References Almond, Gabriel A., and Sidney Verba (1963) The Civic Culture: Political Attitudes and Democracy in Five Nations. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Axelrod, Robert (1984) The Evolution of Cooperation. New York: Basic Books. Benson, Michelle, and Thomas R. Rochon (2004) "Interpersonal Trust and the Magnitude of Protest: A Micro and Macro Level Approach." Comparative Political Studies 37: 435-57. Berman, Sheri (1997) "Civil Society and the Collapse of the Weimar Republic." World Politics 49:401-30. Brehm, John, and Wendy Rahn (1997) "Individual-Level Evidence for the Causes and Consequences of Social Capital." American Journal of Political Science 41: 999-1023.

Camerer, Colin, and Richard H. Thaler (1995) "Anomalies: Ultimatums, Dictators, and Manners." Journal of Economic Perspectives 9: 209-20.

Citrin, Jack (1974) "Comment: The Political Relevance of Trust in Government." American Political Science Review 68: 973-88.

Coleman, James S. (1990) Foundations of Social Theory. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Cox, Michaelene (2003) "When Trust Matters: Explaining Differences in Voter Turnout," Journal of Common Market Studies 41 (4): 757-70. Dalton, Russell J. (1996) Citizen Politics: Public Opinion and Political Parties in

Advanced Western Democracies. Chatham: Chatham House Publishers. Dowley, Kathleen M., and Brian D. Silver (2002) "Social Capital, Ethnicity and Support for Democracy in the Post-Communist States." Europe-Asia Studies 54: 505-27. Foley, Michael W., and Bob Edwards (1998) "Beyond Tocqueville: Civil Society and Social Capital in Comparative Perspective." The American Behavioral Scientist 42: 38-52. Gamson, William A. (1968) Power and Discontent. Homewood: Dorsey Press. Gurr, Ted Robert (1970) Why Men Rebel. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Hanifan, Lyda J. (1920) The Community Center. Boston: Silver, Burdett & Company. Huntington, Samuel P. (1968) Political Order in Changing Societies. New Haven: Yale University Press. (1975) "The Democratic Distemper," Public Interest 41 (fall): 9-38. Jackman, Robert W., and Ross A. Miller (1996a) "Renaissance of Political Culture?" American Journal of Political Science 40: 632-59.

(1996b) "The Poverty of Political Culture." American Journal of Political Science

40: 697-716. Jennings, M. Kent, and Jan van Deth (eds) (1989) Continuities in Political Action. Berlin: deGruyter. Kaase, Max (1999) "Interpersonal Trust, Political Trust and Non-Institutionalised Political Participation in Western Europe." West European Politics 22: 1-21.

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Kreps, David, Paul Milgrom, John Roberts, and Robert Wilson (1982) "Rational Cooperation in a Finitely Repeated Prisoners' Dilemma." Journal of Economic Theory 27: 245-52. La Porta, Rafael, Florencio Lopez-de-Silanes, Andrei Shleifer, and Robert W. Vishny (1996) "Trust in Large Organizations." Working Paper No. 5864 of the National Bureau of Economic Research, Cambridge. (1998) "The Quality of Government." Working Paper No. 6727 of the National Bureau of Economic Research, Cambridge. Letki, Natalia (2003) "Explaining Political Participation in East-Central Europe: Social Capital, Democracy and the Communist Past." Nuffield College Politics Working Paper 2003-W2, University of Oxford. Levi, Margaret (1996) "Social and Unsocial Capital: A Review Essay of Robert Putnam's Making Democracy Work," Politics and Society 24: 45-56. Levi, Margaret and Laura Stoker (2000) "Political Trust and Trustworthiness." Annual Review of Political Science 3:475-507. Lijphart, Arend (1999) Patterns of Democracy: Government Forms and Performance in

Thirty-Six Countries. New Haven: Yale University Press. Lipsky, Michael (1968) "Protest as a Political Resource." American Political Science Review 62: 1144-58.

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Orbell, John and Robyn M. Dawes (1991) "A 'Cognitive Miser' Theory of Cooperators Advantage." American Political Science Review 85: 515-28.

Pampel, Fred (2000) Logistic Regression: A Primer. Vol. 132. Thousand Oaks: Sage. Powell, G. Bingham, Jr. (1982) Contemporary Democracies: Participation, Stability, and

Violence. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Putnam, Robert D., Robert Leonardi, and Raffaella Y. Nanetti (1993) Making Democracy Work: Civic Traditions in Modern Italy. Princeton: Princeton University Press.

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3

Social capital, crime and welfare The cases of Colombia and Honduras Jose Cuesta

Introduction: fitting social capital in criminal stories Ulsaner's 1999 anecdote of unattended fruit markets and stolen coolers in Delaware beaches - of all possible places - illustrate the benign consequences of a trusting suburban family in the US. A recent visit to a favela in Fortaleza, Brazil provides a more compelling case on the value of trust. When we questioned youths whether they would leave their favela for a job and a family house, all declined the offer because they could not leave behind their community, their peers. They felt a sense of protection despite rampant crime, clashes with rival youth gangs, continuous rumours of reallocation on top of the everyday reality of hunger, overcrowding and lack of opportunities. Against all odds, those favela youths valued more a trusting community during permanent times of peril than increased incomes and personal comforts. Social scientists often construct "over-grand" theories (Sen 2000: 11) that single-handedly explain such complex social phenomena. Crime has not escaped this temptation of silver-bullet minimalist explanations: rational behaviour theories spurred by Gary Becker's early works model crime as the result of a rational maximization process comparing costs and benefits from committing a crime. This set-up turns crime as a genuine individual-centred phenomenon in which individuals gauge their perceived satisfaction from committing a crime, probabilities of being caught, and severity of punishment, among others. How social capital fits in this set-up is, at best, unclear. Fortunately, over-grand theories are easily contested. "Emotional" violence arguments (Buvinic et al. 1999) show that violence may well be the reaction to neuro(logical)-cognitive problems, personality features, affective links and can be ignited by stressors such as alcohol or drug abuse (Llorente and Chaux 2004). Sampson and Raudenbush (1999) have argued that the gamut of community interactions constitutes the critical context to explain crime and violence, rather than individuality. A popular argument is the "broken-windows" theory, initiated by Wilson and Kelling (1982): both physical and social disarray, from abandoned buildings, graffiti, dark streets, street brawls, to the presence of homeless and prostitutes in the streets, all favour the unfolding of crime in such neighbourhoods. Others, similarly, talk of "environmental criminology," indicating that there are hot

38 J- Cuesta zones towards which crime converges and concentrates (Bottoms 1996). The theoiy of "social learning" also emphasizes the community's role in the persistence of violence. In as much as violence permeates daily life, individuals are no longer sensible to its consequences and may grow to believe in violence as a legitimate way to solve conflicts (Guerra et al. 2003). If we accept that crime and violence are after all not necessarily or exclusively individual processes but a collective phenomenon where the context and the community play a critical role, social capital becomes an obvious link to explore further. Social capital is that glue which draws individuals together in a community as well as a repellent that takes groups and individuals apart within a collective context. As elusive a concept as it is, Coleman (1990) refers by social capital to those relations of authority, trust and allocation of rights that become norms in a society. Putnam (1993) emphasizes bonds of belong to groups, either family or of a different nature. He argues that these relationships are positive for development because they install "habits of cooperation, solidarity and public service" conducive to growth (Putnam 1993: 89-90). But there are other aspects of social capital formation that may make it perverse as well. Fukuyama (1995) argues that social capital may generate negative by-products such as hatred and inbred bureaucracies. This is possible even when costs of monitoring, negotiating, litigating and enforcing formal agreements within organizations are reduced. In the case of violence, Glaeser et al. (1996) argue that stronger social interactions allow an easier exchange of information and know-how among criminals, which reduces the costs of crime. In addition, Rubio (1997) argues that drug cartels, guerrillas and gangs generate a perverse social bonding that corrupts whole communities by providing youths with anti-social role models and by training them in the use of arms and violence. Participating in crime develops a sense of identity and connections among its perpetrators. Underlying this perverse capital is the formation of a "group-specific" social capital, also referred as "particularized trust" (Ulsaner 1999). This differs from "communitywide" good capital or "generalized trust." Similarly, Lederman et al. (2002) refer to a bonding and trust-generating mechanism among participants that requires necessarily the exclusion of others, thus separating those able and willing to embrace the group from those other members unwilling to do so. Initiation rituals or assignments in violent groups such as the Mafia, the Ku Klux Klan or the Mara Salvatrucha respond to this logic. Even this cursory review of the nature of the link between social capital and crime substantiates that the net impact of social capital on crime is far from conclusive both conceptually and, as seen below, empirically. In this chapter, we open the question of impacts caused by social capital upon two specific social areas: crime, on the one hand, and welfare, on the other. By social capital we understand interpersonal trust in this chapter. Interpersonal trust is operationalized as an index capturing the reported trust in the people of the community; the belief that people do not take advantage of others; and the belief that people are ready to help those in need. As for victimization, we construct the average number of reported victimization cases among individuals pertaining to the

The cases of Colombia and Honduras

39

community. The index adds up the number of instances in which a person was victim of one or several of the following events: robbery, threats, beatings, beatings by police, injuries, sexual abuse, property damage, kidnapping, murder and domestic violence. This strategy generates a parsimonious definition of victimization that does not determine a priori which categories of crime are more dominant in terms of social capital formation. As for capturing welfare, a first empirical difficulty is to find an operational concept relevant at the household level. Unsatisfied basic needs (UBNs) are selected as the preferred indicator. The choice of this welfare measurement is partially forced by data restrictions but also because of benefits specific to UBNs: lower measurement errors than income or expenditure and their multidimensional nature of welfare beyond standard money metrics. The next section reviews the existing evidence on the impact of social capital in the areas of crime and welfare. The section will also conclude on the estimating techniques used in those studies to model a possible double-causality relationship between social capital and crime and between social capital and welfare. Despite the intimidating title of double-causality, we simply mean a two-way or simultaneous link that goes from social capital to crime (welfare), and from crime (welfare) to social capital. The third section will present a wellknown technique to account for such a two-way link more effectively than done so far. The fourth section discusses the selection of Colombia and Honduras as case studies upon which we analyse the impacts of social capital. The next section presents the estimated impacts on crime and welfare, respectively, before the final section brings the chapter to a close.

The impacts of social capital: the jury is still out Numerous studies have linked crime and social capital formation, both at community and national levels, using either quantitative or qualitative approaches. Such studies are representative of cross-country analyses as well as case studies. Some cover samples as large as 39 and 45 countries around the world or 17 countries across Latin America. Case studies and country-specific studies refer to contexts as different as Cambodia, Colombia, Guatemala, Rwanda, Somalia or the US. They cover different timespans and several definitions of social capital: some relying on voluntary involvement and/or participation in community organizations; others defining it as interpersonal trust; still others including more general definitions of networks, norms or social interactions. Crime is also defined in several ways: as violent crime, homicide, violence, membership in gangs and violent conflict. Empirical techniques also vary. Some studies utilize econometric analyses to test for and quantify statistically significant relations between social capital and crime. Other studies use a more statistical approach by exploring correlations, rather than causality, between social capital and crime across geographical areas and/or periods of time. More qualitative approaches are also used, typically in violent conflict situations such as Rwanda or Guatemala.

40 J- Cuesta Despite the explicit recognition by some of these studies of a possible twoway link between social capital and crime, they have rarely attempted to measure it. To the best of our knowledge, Lederman et al. (2002) and Rosenfeld et al. (2001) are the only exceptions. Lederman et al. (2002) report that when the index of trust rises by 1 per cent, homicide rates for a set of 39 countries should expectedly decline by 1.21 per cent. However, the authors themselves cast doubts on the reliability of their empirical analysis and on the true specification relating social capital and crime. Interestingly, though, they acknowledge that their results may reflect compositional effects accruing from different types of social capital that cancel each other out. Rosenfeld et al. (2001) test and reject the possibility of a two-way relationship between civic engagement and homicides. In fact, they report that there is not even a statistically significant single causality running from one to the other. Unfortunately, there are information gaps to assess the adequacy of their methodology (mainly, the significance of the instruments used for social capital). Other studies that include social capital as a determinant of crime fail to model a two-way relationship. Gaviria and Pages' 2002 model of crime and social capital implicitly assumes that social capital does not affect changes in crime rates over time. Fajnzylber et al. (2001) use a single-causality estimation technique. Other studies specific to Colombia such as Velez and Banguero (2001) or Llorente and Chaux (2004) estimate univocally the determinants of victimization and probability of pertaining to violent gangs, respectively, without including social capital variables. If the evidence on the true nature between social capital and crime is inconclusive, the same holds for the empirical evidence on the measured impacts of social capital and welfare. Olson's argument that one of the features associated with higher levels of social capital, namely, associationism, may institutionalize rent-seeking is well known. However, Knack and Keefer (1997) conclude that for a sample of 29 countries between 1981 and 1995 the impact of associationism on economic growth is neither positive nor negative. What they find conclusively is that relationships of trust and collective civism in a society are strongly correlated with higher economic growth. Large stocks of social capital may reduce or eliminate disincentives to invest and substitute for institutions in underdeveloped judicial systems. They may also improve the provision of public services as the economic environment becomes more stable and credible, ultimately promoting economic efficiency and growth. They also find that the effects of trust and civism on economic growth rates are significant and positive. An increase by 10 per cent in their constructed indices of trust and civism raises the annual rate of per capita GDP growth by 0.8 per cent points and 0.675 points, respectively. Other studies have explored how political and institutional relations may become relevant for economic growth. In as much as institutional functioning is both shaped and expected to shape societies and communities' behaviours and norms, they are also part of an overarching link with growth and welfare. In this respect, Hall and Jones' (1999) concept of "social infrastructure" substantiates the way institutions work and their impact on economic relations. Under these

The cases of Colombia and Honduras

41

views, a country or a community is more favourably equipped for economic growth when its public policies generate trust among economic agents and public policies enhance workers' productivity, accumulation of physical, human and financial capital and the innovation and transfer of technology. The order of magnitude of such gains is not negligible (a 10 per cent increase in the stock of social infrastructure increases GPD per capita by about 5 per cent). Interestingly, that study and Knack and Kiefer's explore the presence of a two-way causality between economic growth and social capital. Unfortunately they do not provide with sufficient details on the specification tests to conclude on the presence of that double relationship. Another set of studies has explored dimensions of social capital and welfare adopting a community rather than a countrywide perspective. Grootaert (1999), Narayan and Pritchett (1999), Grootaert and Narayan (2001) and Grootaert et al. (2002) report a significant and positive relation of social capital - typically proxied by affiliation or active participation in diverse community organizations - on household welfare. These studies typically consider household expenditure as their welfare indicator. Increases of 10 per cent in the level of social capital raise household expenditure per capita by some 5 per cent in rural communities of Burkina Faso, Tanzania, Bolivia and Indonesia. An important result is that the magnitude of the estimated effects of social capital on welfare is sometimes larger than that found for the impact of human capital accumulation (education) on welfare. In fact, strengthening trust and community participation would appear a rational strategy for households in an unfavourable position to accumulate human capital when opportunities are unequal or quality of education is so badly perceived that such an investment is not attractive even to poor households. As in the case of the studies previously mentioned, these studies on household welfare also test for a two-way causality. None of them seem to accept a simultaneous relationship as the preferred specification, although all of them accept the validity and relevance of the instruments. These studies conclude that instruments most likely correct for measurement errors in the definition of social capital rather than for a double causality between social capital and household expenditure. A review of the methodology used in the above reported studies suggests that there may be substantive caveats in the procedures and instruments used: the main caveat being that those studies test the validity of instruments for social capital assuming that the underlying processes of social capital formation and welfare are unrelated. In other words, social capital might affect welfare, and vice versa, but the remaining determination of both processes is totally unrelated. This is a very strong assumption that none of the studies appears to justify.

An alternative strategy accounting for the two sides of the story Given that most of the reviewed empirical studies have either ruled out ex ante the possibility of a two-way relationship or have imposed an underlying specification that is biased against comprehensive two-way relationships, this study

42 J- Cuesta proposes an alternative empirical strategy. First, this section presents an alternative technique, the Three Stage Least Square (3SLS), to the traditionally used technique to estimate double-causality in previous studies, the Two Stage Least Square (2SLS). An advantage of 3SLS is that allows for the underlying processes of social capital formation and crime (and social capital formation and welfare) to be potentially related. Put differently, it does not impose a priori that they must be unrelated (as does the 2SLS). Second, in the following section, we run a specification test to determine which of the two specifications best fits the available data in our case studies, Colombia and Honduras. In spite of these improvements, the challenge remains to find good instruments for our suspected endogenous variables: social capital, victimization and unsatisfied basic needs. In this study, instrumental variables must be strongly associated with social capital without influencing the probability of an individual being victimized or impacting on the number of unsatisfied basic needs in a given household, respectively. The instruments considered in this study for social capital were place of birth, years of residence in the community and resort to a neighbour in case of need. Tests, available upon request, confirm their relevance and significance. Both the 2SLS and the 3SLS techniques firstly set a system of equations for victimization, (V), and social capital, (SC), against all other independent variables, X, Z and I: V = F(SC, X, Z)

(1)

SC = F(V, X, Z, I)

(2)

where X typically refers to socioeconomic, demographic and geographic characteristics of the individual and his or her household. Z refers to a set of perceptions and attitudes regarding other individuals and organizations within the community. It may also contain the participation of individuals in community organizations, the presence of public institutions and the exposure to specific social initiatives. I refers to a set of instruments for social capital, proxied in this study by interpersonal trust. 3SLS estimates a two reduced-equation system in which both dependent variables (V and SC) are regressed on all independent variables: V = F(X, Z, I)

(3)

SC = F(X,Z,I)

(4)

The result of estimating this system is a corrected value for V and SC: V, SC as well as an estimate of the matrix of variance and covariance of the error terms in the two equations. How we use these corrected estimates of V and SC determines whether we obtain 3SLS or 2SLS estimations. The former estimates a simultaneous relationship between V and SC as:

The cases of Colombia and Honduras

43

V = F(SQX, Z)

(5)

S~C= F(V,X, Z, I)

(6)

In the case of social capital and welfare, the 3SLS proceeds likewise to estimate the relationship between SC and UBN, where UBN captures the number of unsatisfied basic needs of a household, a measurement of its welfare status less volatile than incomes or consumption and more precise; that is, subject to less measurement error - than wealth.

Two case studies: Colombia and Honduras The selection of these two country cases responds to three reasons. One, they constitute meaningful representatives of high crime and welfare deprivation in Latin America and around the world. Two, specific events turn these two cases into a quasi-natural experiment: the deliberate use of social capital formation as a policy to prevent crime followed by the distritalization of justice in Cali, Colombia; and the aftermaths of devastation caused by Hurricane Mitch in Honduras, particularly in terms of strengthening community organization and the administration of unprecedented volumes of aid. Three, unusually detailed ad hoc surveys were collected containing critical information on individual perceptions, values and behaviours, household welfare, victimization and community characteristics. In effect, Colombia ranks atop the notorious classification of violence incidence in the world. Also, it constitutes a pioneering experience in the innovative and deliberate use of social capital formation for violence prevention purposes. Prior to Bogota and Medellin, Cali initially designed a strategy of citizen security in which peaceful co-existence was put at the centre of the security agenda. Under the Major Guerrero administration (1992-4) a comprehensive action plan to reduce and prevent crime and violence (known as DESEPAZ) was articulated around four major strategic areas of action (Guerrero and Concha-Eastman 2001): diagnostics of violence trends and composition; law enforcement and justice; social development; and social cohesion and citizen empowerment. Implemented initiatives included employment and micro-enterprise programmes, training workshops, promotion of primary education among lowincome neighbourhoods; low-cost housing programmes; workshops, family meetings and festivals aimed at increasing peaceful co-existence. Greater and regular coordination with representatives of the police, justice system, forensic medicine, and human rights advocates was actively sought. The municipal government designed innovative strategies that included the creation of conciliation centres, legal offices, an information system connecting the police and the judiciary, a special unit to investigate murders, and casas de justicia (houses of justice). These houses are low-cost multi-agency centres that provide integrated and rapid services of formal and informal justice to the community. They have also contributed to the mobilization of communities and their participation in the

44 J- Cuesta diagnosis and resolution of conflicts. The creation of houses of justice was also associated with a process of judicial distritalization in Cali. Interestingly, these districts were bequeathed with different sets of institutions and programmes, which create a valuable heterogeneity worth exploring in an analysis of causality. Encouraging results in the incidence of crime did not take long to appear. Two years after the launch of DESEPLAN, Cali crime rates declined from their peak of 124 homicides per 100,000 inhabitants in 1994 to 88 in 1998. That was the first interruption of an unrelenting increase in violence since 1983. However, triple-digit crime rates resumed in 1999, only to be curbed down again in 2001 to mid-1980s levels. Crime rates have been also declining in the rest of the country although, as in Cali, unsteadily. The information used to conduct the empirical analysis proceeds from a survey collected by the Instituto Cisalva at the Universidad del Valle, Cali, the "Instrument to Evaluate Early Impacts from the Program to Support Peaceful Coexistence and Citizen Security" (Instrumento para la Evaluation de Impactos Tempranos del Programa de Apoyo para la Convivencia y Seguridad Ciudadana). It collected information on 1,202 households from Cali during 2005. It collected information on victimization of several categories, from low-key neighbour disputes or unpaid alimonies to kidnapping and homicides. It also includes beatings, injuries, sexual abuse, threats, property damage, police abuse and domestic violence. The survey also enquired about trust, perceptions on the helpfulness of neighbours and other community members and participation in community activities. It enquired about the presence and operations of public institutions as well as public programmes such as houses of justice and information dissemination activities. Table 1 in Appendix 1 reports on the exact definition of selected key variables and their descriptive statistics. In the case of Honduras, its recent history presents a mix of events shaping economic development and values, attitudes and behaviours simultaneously. In addition to the devastation caused by Hurricane Mitch in 1998, the post-Mitch reconstruction period demanded the local management of enormous international resource flows; and an unprecedented mobilization of municipalities, communities, NGOs and the private sector. The management of the reconstruction effort at the community level is widely acknowledged to have strengthened individuals' trust in their communities, fellow citizens, and the international community (UNDP 2003). Paradoxically, this contrasts with a generalized distrust in the national political and institutional establishment. Using data from Latinobarometro, UNDP (2003) reports that views of politicians disrespecting the law, seeking their own interests over national interests and having no concern whatsoever for the poor are almost universal in the country. How the negative shock caused by the devastation of Hurricane Mitch and the positive impact on welfare from increasing aid flows interplay with respect to social capital and whether social capital formation (or lack of formation) affects later on the consolidation of household welfare is still an open question in Honduras. A final factor that makes Honduras an interesting case study is the availability

The cases of Colombia and Honduras

45

of the 2001 Transparency and Corruption Survey (TCS) (Seligson 2001). The survey is a source of information on social, political and cultural values, perceptions and behaviours. Some 3,000 households all over the country were asked in 2001 about their tolerance to corrupt acts; their levels of trust in public institutions, the judiciary, private enterprises, the military, the church and nongovernmental organizations. Individuals were also asked about their political preferences and ideology. Individuals also reported their trust in individuals, i.e. whether they believed that fellow citizens would take advantage of them in difficult times and whether others would help them if needed. Although the TCS did not collect information on associational life and participation on networks, it asked about participation in local councils meetings (cabildos abiertos) and in other forms of social auditing in the community. Interviewees also informed on their religious beliefs. The TCS also reported household access to public service and their incomes (in the form of income brackets) but failed to capture expenditures, productive equipment, land or any assets other than consumer durables. Neither did the survey ask about episodes of victimization. Table 3.2 presents in detail the definition and key descriptive statistics of the variables used in the analysis.

Answering the key question: is there a simultaneous relation between social capital, victimization and welfare? Colombia Tests confirm that 3SLS is a preferred specification over 2SLS, substantiating that there is in effect a simultaneous relation between social capital and victimization (see Table 3.1). This relation is significant, negative and substantive in magnitude. In fact, these results confirm that the social capital index is the largest single determinant of victimization among other factors (measured in the form of elasticities). An increase of 1 per cent in the social capital index will lead to a decrease of 4.8 per cent in the index of victimization. This implies that an average increase of 17 per cent in the index of social capital is associated with a reduction of one victimization episode a year. In other words, there is a strong case for strengthening social capital as a means to combat victimization. As for the other loop of the relationship, victimization has a negative impact on social capital but it is not significant, while its square is weakly significant and negative. This indicates that not any level of victimization dents community social capital levels. Violence only affects social capital after some critical threshold is surpassed. When that happens, however, it rapidly deteriorates levels of social capital. Among the other determinants of social capital, seeking neighbours' help when facing domestic problems, participating in community organizations and in coexistence promotion activities are all associated with stronger social capital. Both pertaining to a higher stratum and having higher incomes do increase significantly social capital. More educated households are also more trusting

46 J- Cuesta households. Demographics are also associated with social capital: the younger a community is, the lower its level of social capital. A longer residence in the community contributes to strengthen social capital, whereas being born in Cali is not significant. Living in a particular district does not have an impact on social capital except for district #2, where announced plans to bring a more active public presence to deal with violence have not materialized yet. Among the determinants of victimization, the higher the socio-economic stratum, the proportion of youths (aged between 16-29) and the presence of an environment characterized by physical and social disarray ("broken-windows" variable), the higher the rates of victimization should be expected. The fact that wealthier strata and community disarray both lead to higher victimization is not necessarily a contradiction. In fact, the victimization index includes different types of offences, from property offences - more closely related to higher income levels - to homicides - more frequent in marginalized communities. Interestingly, higher levels of education have an additional impact on lower victimization rates not explained by socio-economic strata. This confirms that education is critical to prevent violence (see Lochner 2004). Furthermore, the more widespread the perception of an effective presence of public institutions is, the lower the victimization rates are expected. This result seems in line with the finding that a better perception on the performance of the police in the community is associated with a lower probability of victimization. Communities in district #1 are also associated with higher victimization rates even when controlling for other determinants, which may be associated with a sense of physical isolation as a result of its location. Interestingly, a higher presence of women tends to decrease both community victimization rates and social capital. The former clearly reflects a lower presence of prospective male offenders. More difficult to explain is the impact of gender on social capital. A possible explanation is that women have fewer opportunities to participate in organizations and events that shape the community decision-making, being mostly responsible for domestic chores (following a traditional gender division of household chores in Latin America and elsewhere). However, estimations already control for their degree of participation in the community life. Whether a larger female presence is a proxy for femaleheaded households, typically poorer than male-headed households, is also controlled for. Whether the negative sign reflects a dominant machismo culture in Colombia that creates a generalized sense of untrustworthiness among females (as suggested across households in Chile (Cuesta 2006)) requires further specific study. Honduras Specification tests also confirm the presence of a simultaneous relation between social capital and welfare, the 3SLS being a preferred specification over 2SLS (see Table 3.2). Honduran estimates indicate a significant and positive effect of social capital and community participation on household welfare levels: higher

The cases of Colombia and Honduras

47

levels of social capital are associated with fewer UBNs in a given household. Given the deficiencies of public service provision (water, sanitation and electricity), trust, community participation and informal such as local water councils may help maintain access to such services. On the other hand, more UBNs are also associated with higher levels of social capital. As for the magnitudes of these effects, differences in household welfare levels are the single most important determinant of social capital: 10 per cent increases in the welfare index lead to an increase in the social capital index of 7.5 per cent. In turn, 10 per cent increases in social capital increase welfare levels by 5.6 per cent, reassuringly close to the impact obtained in Burkina Faso by Grootaert et al. (2002), despite the differences in methodology in both studies. Social and political values play the expected role on social capital. A low perception of corruption is associated with higher social capital. Similarly, individual perceptions on neighbours' willingness to help in difficult times and the belief that fellow citizens would not take advantage of the needy have significant and positive effects on social capital. Preferences for democracy over authoritarian regimes affect positively and significantly the accumulation of social capital. Instead, bad post-Mitch reconstruction experiences have a significant but negative bearing on current levels of the social capital. Having controlled for these effects, the rest of social values are not found to be statistically significant determinants of social capital. A larger exposure to media increases social capital (as the transaction costs of its formation fall). Age and gender have significant effects on social capital, although the magnitude of the age positive effect is negligible. As in the case of crime in Colombia, the result for gender does not necessarily mean that women have lower interest in participation (although they report systematically lower levels of social capital than men) (see Table 3.2). Interestingly, Correia (2001) reports that despite the fact that families in Honduras and Nicaragua increased the income-generating role of females in the post-Mitch reconstruction period, their participation in community activities did not follow suit. Among the determinants of UBNs, urban location of the household decreases the expected number of its UBNs, surely reflecting a deficit of infrastructure and basic service provision in those areas. Wherever post-Mitch reconstruction efforts were perceived as unsatisfactory, households reported higher UBNs. Human capital (proxied by household head's schooling years) has the expected negative and significant coefficient on UBNs: the more educated is a household head, the fewer UBNs are found in that household. In contrast, religious values do not affect welfare levels. Differences in household UBNs are independent of their members' religious values (thus, rejecting Weber's hypothesis of superior religious values).

Final remarks Numerous empirical studies have estimated the impacts of social capital on several socio-economic dimensions. Arguably, their results are inconclusive.

Table 3.1 Selected estimated impacts of social capital and victimization, Cali-Colombia 2005 Determinants

of victimization

Effects on victimization

Stratum Income level Education level Proportion of women 16-29 30-9 District #1 District #2 District #3 Broken Windows Exposure to civic messages Participation in co-existence promotion initiatives Evaluation of police activities in the community Institutional presence index Interpersonal trust Attend community institutions Pacific conflict resolution index Number of Observations Specification Test (Chi2) R2 Hausman Test of 3SLS vs. 2SLS

0.2804** -0.0260 -0.0739* -0.4559* 0.8090* 0.0796 0.4657** -0.1595* 0.0367 0.0262** 0.0015 0.4681 -1.841** -0.0038** -4.8990** 2.3503** 0.0097* 1,196 1,461.37** 0.5024 1,412.67*

Determinants

of social

capital

Stratum Income level Education level Proportion of women 16-29 30-9 District #1 District #2 District #3 Broken Windows Victimization in the community (index) Square of victimization in the community Exposure to civic messages index Participation in coexistence promotion initiatives Evaluation of police activities in the community Evaluation of houses of justice Resort to neighbour if in need Participation in community organizations

H0 Rejected. 3SLS is more efficient a specification than 2SLS

Effects on social capital

0.0377** • 0.0915* 0,0055 -0.0777** -0.1232** -0.1638** 0.4657 -0.1595** 0.0367 -0.0018 -0.0017 -0.1732* -0.0008 0.2009** -0.1732** -0.0415 0.1831** 0.0083* 1,172 595.18** 0.4756

Source: Author's estimates using the 2005 "Instrument to Evaluate Early Impacts from the Program to Support Peaceful Coexistence and Citizen Security" survey by Universidad del Valle. Notes Effects estimated as re-scaled elasticities, that is, the per cent impact on UBNs, victimization and social capital variables due to changes of 10 per cent in independent variables. (**) indicates that the estimate is significantly different from 0 at a 99 per cent interval of confidence and (*) at a 95 per cent. See Table 3.3 for definitions of the variables used.

Table 3.2 Selected estimated impacts of social capital and welfare, Honduras 2001 Determinants of unsatisfied needs (UBNs)

basic

Schooling years Catholic (practicing) Social capital Tegucigalpa San Pedro Sula Municipality capital Number of children Bad post-Mitch reconstruction N. Observations Specification Test: Chi2 R2 Hausman Test of 3SLS vs. 2SLS

Effects on UBNs

-5.64** 0.62 -5.62** -0.49 ** -0.45** - 1 . 6 1 **

0.47 4.28**

1,852 413.9 ** 0.2780 14.38 **

Determinants

of social

capital

Unsatisfied Basic Needs Perception of corruption Perception mismanagement of Mitch funds Perception of neighbour's help Trust in institutions Democratic values Exposure to the media Age Gender (Female as reference) N. Observations Specification Test: Chi2 R2

Effects on social capital

7.50 ** -7.05 ** -0.55 ** 0.96 ** 0.02

1.92 ** 3.87 ** 0.00** -2.43 ** 1,852 1,52.5** 0.1008

H0 Rejected. 3SLS is more efficient a specification than 2SLS

Source: Author's estimates using Seligson (2001)'s Transparency and Corruption Survey in Honduras. Notes Effects estimated as re-scaled elasticities, that is, the per cent impact on UBNs, victimization and social capital variables due to changes of 10 per cent in independent variables. (**) indicates that the estimate is significantly different from 0 at a 99 per cent interval of confidence and (*) at a 95 per cent. See Table 3.3 for definitions of the variables used.

50 J- Cuesta Their design has either ruled out ex ante the possibility of a two-way causality or has imposed a bias against it. This study uses an alternative estimating technique that removes that bias and imposes no specification a priori. This strategy pays off. We found clear evidence of a simultaneous relationship between social capital and crime and between social capital and welfare. In addition, the magnitude of these relationships is strong. It remains to be seen whether these results are confirmed in countries other than Colombia and Honduras, two very interesting cases that underwent extraordinary circumstances: a pioneering crime prevention policy deliberately based on social capital formation and a devastating hurricane followed by unprecedented reconstruction efforts, respectively. One may argue that such conditions are not likely to take place elsewhere and neither are the strong impacts of social capital. Even if that were the case, this study provides promising evidence to believe in virtuous circles associated with social capital formation. There are, of course, many issues that require further analysis: why women are associated with lower levels of trust; how interpersonal relations of trust (or lack of it) interplay within the household; what are the distinctive impacts of social capital formation on different categories of offences; the measurability of social capital, to cite just a few. What becomes clear from the two case studies presented here is that there is a compelling need to generate in-depth information at the household and community levels to address these questions. In this area, the work ahead is extraordinary. A final reflection is in order. The discussion on the possible virtuous circles or simultaneous links of social capital is not just merely, or mainly, an academic or analytical exercise. Separating those distinctive causal effects governing key social interactions, such as interpersonal trust, community participation, crime or welfare is crucial to design effective social policies: that is, interventions that bank on positive externalities and mitigate unwanted effects. Failing to do so may mislead policy design. Our results provide two compelling examples: the generalized perception of "victims trust less than non-victims" is disingenuous. Instead, we argue that strengthening interpersonal trust may also reduce victimization on its own right. Interventions directed to increase inclusive or community-wide trust in detriment of exclusionary group-specific trust may be a cost-effective crime-prevention policy (in addition to improving local governance). Likewise, universally assuming that the "poor trust less than the rich" may also be misleading. Strengthening social capital within the community rather than investing in their children's education is proved a preferred strategy in contexts where access to public education has severely constrained, quality of public education so low and private education utterly unaffordable. While manoeuvring across this vast field of positive and negative externalities, unwanted effects or virtuous circles that link social capital formation and other key social development processes must be a priority in the design of effective developmental interventions.

Appendix Table 3.3 Descriptive statistics in Cali, Colombia Variable

Definition

Stratum

Socio-economic categorization of the community from one to six, one being the poorest. Eight brackets of household monthly incomes, from less than P 300,000; 300,001-500,000; 500,001-700,000; 700,001-1,000,000; 1,000,001-1,500,000; 1,500,001-2,000,000; 2,000,001-2,500,000; 2,500,001+ Eleven education levels: none; kindergarten; incomplete primary; complete primary; incomplete secondary; complete secondary; technical; technological; incomplete university; complete university; postgraduate/specialty. Note: district #4 has neither casas de justicia nor plans to settle them. District #1 - which has 1 casa de justicia (Siloe) - includes

Income level

Education level

Reference: District 4 District 1

Mean

Standard deviation

Diff. between judicial districts and non-judicial districts (t-test for d i f f . of means) a

2.31

1.02

26.21***

2.49

0.80

14.36***

5.32

0.95

13 92***

0.24

0.42

n.a.

0.26

0.44

n.a.

0.26

0.44

n.a.

10.81

10.43

comunas 1, 18,19 and 20.

District 2 District 3 "Broken Windows"

District #2 - with plans to establish casas de justicia includes comunas 8,10,11, and 12. District #3 - with 1 casa de justicia (Aguablanca) includes comunas 13,14 and 15. Index (0-100) capturing the reported perception that robberies, brawls among gang members, consumption and trafficking of drugs, business engaging in illicit activities are present and cause insecurity in the community.

-4.82***

Table 3.3 continued Variable

Definition

Victimization in the community

Average number of reported victimization cases among individuals pertaining to the community. The index adds up the number of instances in which a person was victim of one, some or all the following events: robbery, threats, beatings, beatings by police, injuries, sexual abuse, property damage, kidnapping, murder and domestic violence. Community averages range from 1 to 7.2 cases. Index (0-1) of participation of individuals in the community in peaceful co-existence initiatives such as forums, workshops, family meetings, festivals, among others, in the last 12 months. Reported evaluation of the performance (0-1) of the police in issues related to peaceful coexistence and security of the community. Index (0-100) capturing the degree that the presence of the public institutions and the police contribute to a safe community Index capturing the reported trust in "most" of the people in the community; the belief that people do not take advantage of others; and the belief that people are ready to help those in need. Degree of believes are standardized to add up to an index between 0 and 1. Probability of resorting to a neighbour in case of a problem with a relative.

Participation in co-existence promotion initiatives Evaluation of police activities in the community Institutional presence index Social capital

Resort to neighbour if in need

Participation in community organizations

Pacific conflict resolution index

Index capturing the participation in community organizations such as religious, political, cultural, economic, social, community management and others. Participation in individual organizations are added up and standardized over an index between 0 and 1 to capture the density of participation within the community. Index (0-100) capturing the probability that a person resorts "always or almost always" to peaceful ways to resolve or intermediate conflicts. These ways refer to relatives, friends, neighbours, other community members and institutions to deal peacefully with problems.

Mean

1.17

Standard deviation

Diff. between judicial districts and non-judicial districts (t-test for d i f f . of means) a

0.96

-6.30***

0.09

0.11

-9.41 ***

0.57

0.08

-5.83***

37.81

15.39

-4.92***

0.54

0.12

9.22***

0.24

0.14

-4.29***

0.17

0.15

2.52**

37.42

9.48

-2.34**

Source: 2005 "Instrument to Evaluate Early Impacts from the Program to Support Peaceful Coexistence and Citizen Security" survey by Universidad del Valle. Notes a T-test reports the statistic for a test on the difference of means of the incumbent variable for the districts without judicial programmes (#2 and #4) vs. those with judicial programmes (#1 and #3).

Table 3.4 Descriptive statistics in Honduras Variables

Definition

Unsatisfied basic needs

Number of household UBNs (0-3) defined as lack of drinkable water and electricity, and having earth floor in the household residence. Index (0-100) averaging three sub-indexes of participation in open council meetings; participation in social audits and other social control mechanisms; and trust in people. Schooling years (0-18) Individual reports to practise the Catholic faith. (1: yes; 0: no) Individual reports to be Evangelist. Individual reports to profess religions other than Catholicism and Evangelism. Household location in departmental capital other than Tegucigalpa and San Pedro. Household location in cities other than the previous. Household location in rural areas. Perception index (0-100) on financial mismanagement of post-Mitch reconstruction funds in the community the interviewee lives. Original values in the 2001 Transparency and Corruption Survey are: 1, if funds were correctly managed; 2, if the management was "somewhat" satisfactory; 3, if funds were inappropriately managed; 4, if funds were completely mismanaged. Index (0-100) averaging the level of corruption perceived by interviewees regarding the following institutions and individuals: Congress members; ministers; majors; municipal council members; police officers; teachers; university professors; civil society leaders; bank managers; customs officers. This variable indicates whether individuals believe that fellow citizens only care for themselves, or, rather, they typically help others. Index 0-100. Index (0-100) on the degree of trust upon the following institutions: the judiciary; political parties; politicians; National Electoral Tribunal; the military; the Congress; the government; the Comptroller; the Ministry of Finance; the police; the church; the media; municipalities; trade unions; and NGOs. Trust is measured in a scale from zero to seven, where seven reflects maximum trust. Index of preference for democracy over authoritarian regimes: 2 indicates a strong preference for democracy; 1, a weak preference; 0 a preference for authoritarian regimes. Index on the exposure to the media (0-100), according to whether individuals are in the habit of reading the press, listening to radio or watching TV news.

Social capital Education Catholic (practising) Evangelist Other religion Departmental capital Other cities Rural Perception of financial mismanagement of post-Mitch reconstruction Perception of corruption

Belief that neighbours would help if they could. Trust in institutions

Preference for democracy Exposure to the media

Source: Seligson (2001) Transparency and Corruption Survey.

Mean

0.722

Standard deviation

0.962

32.44

22.8

5.755 0.391 0.281 0.008 0.075 0.016 0.575 60.9

3.224 0.488 0.449 0.091 0.263 0.128 0.494 48.8

44.3

14.6

21.0

40.7

46.7

17.9

0.672 58.8

0.736 33.6

The cases of Colombia and Honduras

55

References Bottoms, A. E. (1996) "Environmental Criminology," in M. Maguire, R. Morgan and R. Reiner (eds) The Oxford Handbook of Criminology, 2nd edn, Oxford: Clarendon Press. Buvinic, M., Morrison, A. and Shifter, M. (1999) "Violence in Latin America and the Caribbean: A Framework for Action," Technical Study 110, Inter-American Development Bank. Coleman, J. (1990) Foundations of Social Theory, Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Coleman, J. (2000) "Social Capital in the Creation of Human Capital," in P. Dasgupta and I. Serageldin (eds) Social Capital, a Multifaceted Perspective, Washington, DC:

The World Bank. Correia, M. (2001) "Hurricane Mitch - the Gender Effects of Coping and Crises," PREM Notes 57, The World Bank. Cuesta, J. (2006) "The Distributive Consequences of Machismo-, a Simulation Analysis of Intra-household Discrimination," Journal of International Development, 18: 1065-80.

Fajnzylber, P., Lederman, D. and Loayza, N. (2001) "Crimen y victimization: una perspectiva economica," in P. Faynzylber, D. Lederman and N. Loayza (eds) Crimen y Violencia en America Latina, Bogota: Alfaomega. Fukuyama, F. (1995) Trust. The Social Virtues and the Creation of Prosperity, London:

Penguin Economics. Gaviria, A. and Pages, C. (2002) "Patterns of Victimization in Latin American Cities," Journal of Development Economics, 67:

181-203.

Glaeser, E., Sacerdote, B. and Scheinkman, J. (1996) "Crime and Social Interactions," Quarterly Journal of Economics, 111: 507-48.

Grootaert, C. (1999) "Social Capital, Household Welfare and Poverty in Indonesia," Local Level Institutions Study, Working Paper No. 6, The World Bank. Grootaert, C. and Narayan, D. (2001) "Local Institutions, Poverty and Household Welfare in Bolivia" Policy Research Working Paper 2644, The World Bank. Grootaert, C., Oh, G. and Swamy, A. (2002) "Social Capital, Household Welfare and Poverty in Burkina Faso," Journal of African Economies, 11: 4-38.

Guerra, N., Huesmann, L. and Spindler, A. (2003) "Community Violence Exposure, Social Cognition and Aggression among Urban Elementary School Children," Child Development, 74: 1561-76.

Guerrero, R. and Concha-Eastman, A. (2001) "An Epidemiological Approach for the Prevention of Violence. The DESAPAZ Program in Cali, Colombia," Journal of Health and Population in Developing Countries, 4.

Hall, R. and Jones, C. (1999) "Why do some Countries Produce so much Output per Worker than Others?" Quarterly Journal of Economics, 114: 83-116. Kmenta, J. (1986) Elements of Econometrics, 2nd edn, New York: Macmillan. Knack, S. and Keefer, P. (1997) "Does Social Capital have an Economic Payoff? A Cross-country Investigation," Quarterly Journal of Economics, 111: 1251-88.

Lederman, D., Loayza, N. and Menendez, A. M. (2002) "Violent Crime: does Social Capital Matter?" Economic Development and Cultural Change, 50: 509-39.

Llorente, M. V. and Chaux, E. (2004) "Violencia intrafamiliar y otros factores de riesgo de la violencia juvenil en Colombia," in Departamento Nacional de Planeacion, Violencia en

las Familias Colombianas.

Costos Socioecondmicos,

Causas y Efectos,

Bogota: DNP-BID-UA. Lochner, L. (2004) "Education, Work and Crime: a Human Capital Approach," International Economic Review, 45: 811-43.

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Nayaran, D. and Pritchett, L. (1999) "Cents and Sociability: Household Income and Social Capital in Rural Tanzania," Economic Development and Cultural Change, 4: 871-97. Putnam, R. (1993) Making Democracy Work: Civic Traditions in Modern Italy, Prince-

ton: Princeton University Press. Putnam, R. (2000) Bowling Alone. The Collapse and Revival of American Community,

New York: Simon & Schuster. Rosenfeld, R., S. Messner and E. Baumer (2001) "Social Capital and Homicide," Social Forces 80(1): 283-310. Rubio, M. (1997) "Perverse Social Capital. Some Evidence from Colombia," Journal of Economic Issues, 31: 805-16.

Sampson, R. and Raudenbush, S. (1999) "Systematic Social Observation of Public Spaces: a New Look at Disorder in Urban Neighborhoods," American Journal of Sociology, 105:603-51. Seligson, M. (2001) Corruption and Transparency in Honduras: A Study of Citizen

Views, Pittsburgh: Pittsburgh University. Sen, A. (2000) "Culture and Development," paper presented at The World Bank Tokyo Meeting, Tokyo, December 2000. Ulsaner, E. (1999) "Democracy And Social Capital," in M. Warren (ed.) Democracy and Trust, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. UNDP (2003) "Informe de desarrollo humano 2002," UNDP Honduras. Velez, L. and Banguero, H. (2001) "Victimization en Colombia: un analisis exploratorio de la Ciudad de Cali," in P. Fajnzylber, D. Lederman and N. Loayza (eds) Crimen y Violencia en America Latina, Bogota: Alfaomega.

Wilson, J. and Kelling, G. (1982) "Broken-windows," The Atlantic Monthly, 249: 29-38.

4

Analyzing the dark side of social capital Organized crime in Russia Leah Gilbert

A toast from a famous vor [thief] at a wedding in Moscow: "The more friends a person has, the better he is, and that's what gives us our strength ... So let us drink to our cause, which is always to help each other, to stay close to each other, and to be together all the time. That is our dignity as blatnye [members of the criminal world]. And then everyone will fear us. Cops will never break us. If a person is alone, he doesn't count for anything. But if we are together, and support each other, then we are strong. Let's drink, brothers!" (Handelman 1995: 33)

In recent years scholars have focused on the role of social capital in producing a host of public goods such as democracy, good governance, economic development and conflict resolution. While it is undeniable that the analysis of social capital has advanced our knowledge of these political, economic and social outcomes, the dominant literature on social capital is incomplete. Scholars of social capital tend to emphasize its beneficial impact on societies or institutions without fully analyzing its potential dark side.1 As the above quotation exemplifies, hallmarks of social capital such as solidarity, trust and norms of reciprocity are critical features of organized crime groups in Russia. Social capital can in fact play an integral role in the achievement of ends contrary to the public good.2 Thus, the same social capital that facilitates citizens to collectively lobby for better governance may also enable organized crime groups to run an effective racket. This chapter aims to contribute to research that explores the potential negative implications of social capital. In doing so, the chapter will adopt Robert Putnam's definition of social capital to examine organized crime groups in Russia. Importantly, this chapter should not be understood as an encompassing review of existing theories on social capital; instead, it seeks to understand the ways in which social capital both exists and facilitates the ends of groups that on the whole harm the public good.3 While social capital does not appear to be the sole cause of either the formation of organized crime groups or their ability to achieve their goals, its role in this process must be analyzed and understood.4 Such an analysis will enable scholars to better specify the conditions under which social capital may have either negative or positive externalities.

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L. Gilbert

Organized crime groups in Russia are ideal sources for the generation of new hypotheses on social capital's dark side. Russia is one of the few countries to both have enormous geopolitical power and to also have large sections of its economy controlled by organized crime.5 In 2006, then Russian ProsecutorGeneral Vladimir Ustinov claimed "the spreading and the scale of organized crime in Russia is acquiring the nature of a national threat. Experts have stated that organized criminal groups and criminal communities today are operating practically in every constituent part of the federation" (Russian External TV Service NTV Mir "Segodnya" News 2006). In addition, post-Soviet organized crime has managed to expand across the globe and have an international effect (Shelley 2003: 113).6 Finally, Russian organized crime has the incomparable analytic advantage of having its own expansive academic literature. Although organized crime in Russia is its primary focus, this chapter begins with a brief review of both Putnam's definition of social capital and existing work on social capital's dark side. The chapter then provides a working definition as well as general overview of the two main types of organized crime groups in Russia before examining these groups' trust, norms of reciprocity, and network structure. Potential bridging social capital among organized crime groups will also be investigated. The chapter ends by appraising the relevance of social capital to organized crime groups in Italy and China in order to test the generalizability of its initial findings. In sum, this chapter seeks to contribute to research on social capital's dark side and to instigate future projects in this area.

A brief review of social capital and its "dark side" Despite its current prominence in academic and policy circles, the importance, and even existence, of social capital was not always recognized. While E. J. Hanifan, Jane Jacobs, Glenn Loury, Pierre Bourdieu and Ekkehart Schlicht independently wrote about concepts similar to the current understanding of social capital, the formal introduction of the concept is credited to James Coleman.7 Writing in the 1980s, Coleman defined social capital as the relationships among people that can serve as a resource distinct from physical and human capital to achieve certain ends (1988: S98). Importantly, Coleman neither privileges the concept, nor attaches a normative framework to it. Indeed he notes that, "A given form of social capital that is valuable in facilitating certain actions may be useless or even harmful for others" (1988: S98). While Coleman formed the concept of social capital, it was Robert Putnam who popularized it and emphasized its positive normative value. In Making Democracy Work, Putnam (1993: 167) maintains that social capital should be defined by three aspects of social organization that allow for the achievement of common ends: trust, norms of reciprocity and networks. Trust and norms of reciprocity vary in their impact on individuals and communities based on their particularized or general quality, and networks due to their either horizontal or vertical nature (Putanm 1993: 170-3). Putnam argues that a community, or even nation, that possesses a high "stock" of social capital will on the whole be more

Organized crime in Russia 8

59

prosperous and better governed than those that do not. As Putnam's major works on social capital demonstrate, the literature generally emphasizes the ways that social capital promotes a number of "goods" such as democracy and development. Fortunately, as the research program on social capital has progressed, the number of studies that both reference and illustrate the potential negative aspects of social capital has also increased, providing a more balanced and nuanced analysis. Those scholars who mention social capital's "dark sides"9 focus on the ways in which social capital produces "negative" effects on either political outsiders or insiders.10 In explaining the former, Putnam notes in his brief chapter on the dark sides of social capital that: "the networks that serve some groups may obstruct others, particularly if the norms are discriminatory or the networks socially segregated" (Putnam 2001: 358).11 Hero finds empirical support for this thesis in his analysis of social capital and racial inequality in America. Hero observes that high social capital at the state-level is associated with greater inequality between whites and minorities on a number of outcomes, such as minority graduation rates (2003: 117). Pamela Paxton (2002) makes a somewhat similar point in her cross-national study of social capital and democracy. She finds that isolated associations (those least likely to cross-cut social boundaries and promote contact with diverse others) have a strong negative impact on democracy (2002: 271). Overall, as Foley and Edwards contend: "not all social capital is alike in its impact on either group or individual fortunes" (1999: 132). Other scholars have mentioned the ways in which social capital can have adverse effects on insiders. The chief proponent of this viewpoint is Portes. Portes makes a powerful argument that social capital can have negative, as well as positive, effects. "While it can be the source of public goods, such as those celebrated by Coleman and Loury it can also lead to public 'bads'" (1998: 18). To prove his point, Portes discusses a number of studies in the field of sociology that have documented the potential negative consequences of social capital such as: exclusion of traditional outsiders, excess claims on groups, restrictions on individual freedom, and downward leveling norms (Portes 1998: 15). For example, excess claims on groups refers to the situation in which heavy personal obligations to a group or community prevents certain members from participating in broader social networks or places extensive economic burdens on successful members (1998: 16). Citing studies conducted by scholars in diverse empirical settings, Portes argues that in some contexts dense networks can give rise to free-rider problems and hamper the overall development of the community (1998: 16). This example illustrates one of the many ways in which Portes contributes to the study of social capital. Thus, Portes takes an important theoretical step towards understanding the dark sides of social capital, which he develops over a series of articles (Portes and Sensenbrenner 1993; Portes and Landholdt, 2000; Portes 1998). In turn, these articles are closely connected to the empirical work he has conducted in the field of immigration and development. More critical studies in the vein proposed by Portes should be conducted. One of the most interesting critiques of social capital, although very brief,

60

L. Gilbert

comes from Margaret Levi. In her critique of Putnam, Levi (1996) illustrates a number of important themes regarding the negative implications of social capital. First, as previously discussed, she mentions how social capital can be used to exclude outsiders. Second, she references a number of situations in which the public good is ultimately harmed because of high levels of social capital. According to Levi, dense networks can "block innovation and reinforce traditionalism, generally in the form of closed economies" (1996: 51-2). Importantly, she also asserts that criminal groups may have social capital. "Yet, under certain conditions vertical relationships may also facilitate trust, reciprocity, and certainly, coordination. The Mafia performs effectively by its criteria, and it certainly is predictable. So too do many hierarchical churches, firms, and governments" (1996: 52).12 In general, she demands that the research agenda on social capital take into account "the many alternative forms, uses, and sources of social capital" (1996: 52). This chapter advocates such an analysis, and provides an initial step for understanding exactly if and how the organized crime groups mentioned by Levi actually have social capital. Definition of organized crime In order to understand the role social capital plays in organized crime groups, it is necessary to establish a definition of "organized crime." Not surprisingly, there is considerable debate among scholars and law enforcement officials over the appropriate definition of organized crime.13 This chapter will use the definition of organized crime advocated by Vadim Volkov (2002) in his study of violent entrepreneurship in Russia. The primary reason for choosing this definition over others is that it is not limited to a strict legal understanding of the status of the group (whether the organization is "legal" or "illegal").14 This increased flexibility allows for a greater analysis of organized crime in countries where the rule of law may be weak or in transition. Therefore, in this chapter an organized crime group refers to the following: The core group rather than its affiliated businesses, whatever their level of organization and relations with the law. The organized criminal group is thus defined with reference to its activity as a violence-managing agency. The analytical definition, which places the main emphasis on the group's capacity to manage organized force (and information), has its empirical referent in a specific organization, normative patterns, and practices that distinguish such groups from other enterprises. (Volkov 2002: 65) This definition allows a crucial analytic distinction to be drawn between common thieves and those who supervise criminal activities. This distinction is essential because Volkov claims that supervisors and their workers are: "engaged in fundamentally different kinds of activities, rely on different skills and resources, live off different forms of income, observe different normative

Organized crime in Russia

61

codes, and so on" (2002: 21). With this definition in hand, this chapter will now provide an overview of both the historical and contemporary situation of organized crime in Russia.

An overview of organized crime in Russia Although the government denied the existence of organized crime in the Soviet Union, contemporary research has shown that a society of thieves "flourished in the shadows" (Handelman 1995: 9). The vory v zokone (literally "thieves in law") were the most prominent and well organized criminal group in the Soviet Union (Varese 2001; Glazov 2002; Serio and Razinkin 2002). Often called the sinie or "the blue ones" from the color of their many tattoos (Volkov: 2002: 56), these thieves or "vory" established a powerful organization within the nationwide system of labor camps and prisons. The vory formed their own jargon and developed a strict code of ethics, the vorovskoi zakon or "thief s code." While the social networks of vory were established in Soviet prisons, they extended to form a national organization, the vorovskoi mir "or thieves world." Within this organization, the vory were considered the elites. As such, vory rarely committed crimes themselves, but instead organized criminal activities and distributed their own brand of justice ("vorovskaia spravedlivost") to all within the organization (Serio and Razinkin 2002: 89). As the Soviet Union began to collapse in the late 1980s and early 1990s, so too did the vory's control on criminal activities. New criminal groups that profited from racketeering and did not conform to the traditional criminal culture soon emerged. These groups are referred to as "brigades" and comprised of bandity or bandits. Stephen Handelman captures the spirit of this changing situation, saying: A new type of Russian godfather now challenged the czars of the underworld. Having less regard for gang traditions, he was therefore less susceptible to the cautious morality of the vor. The new style crime boss, called avtoritet (authority), transformed the cozy environment of the Soviet underworld. He moved into more risky spheres of criminal behavior, such as bank fraud and drug trafficking, and he commanded wealth beyond the dreams and ambitions of the old vory. (1995: 42) Thus the collapse of the Soviet Union brought unprecedented change to both the upper and under world of Soviet society (Volkov 2002: 54). Within the literature on Russian organized crime, there is considerable debate about the continued influence of the vory. Some, like Sokolov (2004: 69) argue that the vory are no longer major players in Russia's organized crime scene. While the number and power of the vory has certainly diminished, the greater weight of evidence demonstrates that many vory have undergone a remarkable adaptation to the new political and economic circumstances of post-Soviet Russia (Adamoli et al.

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L. Gilbert

1998: 54; Serio and Razinkin 2002: 101-2; Varese 2001: 175-7). For example, Volkov documents that the vory lost their influence in St Petersburg, Ekaterinburg and Novosibirsk, but they continue to exert their control in the far eastern and southern regions of Russia, and have reached an equilibrium of sorts with bandity groups in Moscow (Volkov 2002: 61-2).15 According to Frederico Varese, many vory joined brigades (2001: 175). Interestingly, in joining these newer organized crime outfits, the vory have not abandoned their traditions, but instead transfer aspects of their rituals, rules of interaction, and mythology to these groups (Varese 2001: 177). For example, Varese notes that the "governing body" of the largest criminal groups in Moscow use vory ritual to initiate crew leaders (2001: 177). Researchers of Russian organized crime appear to agree that, contrary to popular belief, the Russian mafia cannot be considered a monolithic entity. The common myth that the collapse of the Soviet Union created the right economic conditions for one well-organized criminal outfit to make amazing profits, and that the resulting outfit is the modern-day Russian Mafia, is just that: a myth (Sokolov 2004: 68). Post-Soviet Russia is indeed largely controlled by organized crime, but not by one specific criminal organization. Instead, there are many bandity groups that each have their own territory and "clients." Given the diverse nature of Russian organized crime, the task of determining what social capital exists in these groups is extremely difficult. In order to accomplish this objective, this chapter will draw on a wide range of literature on organized crime in Russia. Even so, a large portion of this information will necessarily come from two important and detailed sources: Vadim Volkov's Violent Entrepreneurs: The Use of Force in the Making of Russian Capitalism and Frederico Varese's The Russian Mafia. Volkov was able to obtain rich data on the evolution of criminal groups in Russia based on 26 semi-structured interviews he conducted in St Petersburg, Moscow and Ekaterinburg with criminal group members, police and state authorities and other experts. He further supplemented this research with data and documents from RUBOP (Anti-Organized Crime Directorate) and investigative journalists in St Petersburg and Ekaterinburg. In contrast, Frederico Varese chose the Russian city of Perm, an industrialized city in the Urals, to conduct his fieldwork. He based his in-depth study of the Russian mafia on newspaper data, investigative data from police, interviews, archival data and memoirs of vory v zakone. It is important to note that unlike Volkov, Varese primarily interviewed business people, judges and police, and only conducted five interviews with criminals themselves. Using these two resources as anchors, this chapter will analyze the social capital of Russia's organized crime groups using the criteria established by Putnam: trust, norms of reciprocity and networks. This chapter will also consider the presence and strength of bridging and bonding social capital among organized crime groups.

Trust Trust is an essential component to any successful criminal enterprise.16 Nevertheless, it is particularly difficult for researchers to directly ascertain levels of

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trust among organized crime members. Consequently, in order to establish whether trust exists and is fostered in organized crime groups, this chapter will rely on a number of indirect measures of trust, such as analyses of networks for group formation and norms of behavior. Crucially this section will begin by illustrating how networks from prison, sports and neighborhoods established trust among members of organized crime groups. It will then demonstrate how strict norms of behavior can produce particularized as well as a limited form of generalized trust among members.17 In the Soviet period, networks established in the system of prison camps were integral for the development of organized crime. In fact, the vory society was first established to help prisoners survive the harsh conditions of prison life. As Varese documents, prison: "supplied a source of contacts for criminals and an opportunity to share their experiences and devise ways of promoting common interests"(2001: 164, see also Serio and Razinkin 2002: 90-1). Throughout the Soviet period, prison played a prominent role in the reputation and career of vory and long stints in prison were embraced by vor tradition (Volkov 2002: 58; Serio and Razinkin 2002: 94-5; Varese 2001: 167). A shared prison experience was also a factor in the formation of some of the new criminal groups in the transition period in Perm (Varese 2001: 126). Racketeering groups or brigades formed under radically different circumstances. In this case, sports groups, not prison camps, played a decisive role in facilitating group formation and trust. This fact is rather ironic as sports groups are often lifted up in the social capital and civil society literature as some of the "best" types of organizations that instill democratic values and skills.18 However, Volkov and other scholars like Thane Gustafson (1999: 144) insist on the important role of sports in the creation of racketeering groups, as a "huge proportion of prominent gang leaders, not to mention rank-in-file members, are former athletes" (Volkov 2002: 7). The following quotations from Volkov's interviews with two criminal group members excellently illustrate the ways in which networks from sports clubs were utilized to form criminal groups: The only connections I had derived from sports, so I used them. This is when we joined this circle. First as bouncers in the bars. Two of our pals already worked with tambovskie [the Tambovskaya criminal group]. Seven or eight people, including myself, joined Vitalii [at that time the leader of Bortsovskaya brigada, the wrestlers' brigade. (Volkov 2002: 9) "I started active participation [in protection racket activities] in 1991.1 knew the founders of the karate movement in Leningrad, Illarionov and Kolia-karate, we trained at the same club, there I met other people too" (2002: 9). In his explanation of the prominent role that sports played in his interviews with organized crime members, Volkov astutely maintains that, "the shared experience of being one sport team, which involves regular training and competition as well as shared victories and defeat, is likely to create strong trust and group solidarity"

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(2002: 10). This potential can even be easily witnessed, in far less malevolent forms, in US high school and college teams. However in post-Soviet Russia, Volkov argues that professional fighting skills along with group solidarity provided the opportunity for "the conversion of teammates into a racketeering gang" (2002: 10). In addition to sports, Volkov notes the importance of primary ties formed in non-resident student's communes and local neighborhoods for the formation of racketeering groups (2002: 66-8).19 For example, students from Tambov, a western Russian city south-east of Moscow, formed the most influential criminal group in St Petersburg, the Tambovskie. In Moscow, groups formed around networks from local neighborhoods, which is why many of the major criminal groups there are named after different sections of the city. While originating in the prison and sports systems or in neighborhoods, the trust and solidarity among organized crime members are maintained through the institution of norms of behavior that govern the actions of group members. A code of conduct was implemented for groups associated with the vory and exists, though to a lesser extent, for many racketeering groups. Guiding norms of behavior have become increasingly important for racketeering groups as their power has grown. As such, it is essential to understand the societal norms governing the behavior of both vory and racketeering groups. In the Soviet period, the vory were regulated by an extensive system of strictly enforced norms (Varese 2001: 160). One of the main rules from this system was that no member should cooperate with the authorities (Serio and Razinkin 2002: 90; Volkov 2002: 56). Often times a vor was forbidden to have a wife or family (Serio and Razinkin 2002: 90, Varese 2001: 153). Many vory went even further, choosing to live ascetic lives and completely rejected luxurious living (Volkov 2002: 58). In addition, the vor is the ultimate arbiter of thieves' justice (vorovskaia spravedlivost'), in settling disputes among groups, regulating violence, and in imposing sanctions against code violators in meetings called shkhodas (Serio and Razinkin 2002: 90, Varese 2001: 158). While some of these norms, such as the rejection of luxurious living, have eroded in the post-Soviet period, many of them continue to orient the behavior of vory and groups they have either joined or control (Serio and Razinkin 2002: 101, Varese 2001: 177). As mentioned earlier, the criminal racketeering groups (originating from the sports world or neighborhoods) rejected the vast majority of the vory code of conduct. Even so, it is now apparent that these groups also felt the need to establish certain group norms in order to foster internal trust and solidarity. One of the primary values of these groups is that their members must always be willing to die in a fight (Volkov 2002: 80). Another instituted norm is their "power resolve" which represents an active willingness and capacity to resort to violence when necessary (Volkov 2002: 81). Bespredel (literally translated "no limit" or "no holds barred") types of violence are frowned upon and can actually be punished by a fine imposed on the group that committed it by the group affected by the violence (Volkov 2002: 82).20 These groups also heavily regulate

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any threats made by its members: every threat must be carried out (Volkov 2002: 83). Due to this heavy regulation and commitment, the businessmen and politicians these bandits typically deal with are viewed as morally inferior, as they are both unable to fully defend themselves and openly exhibit fear of death or pain (Volkov 2002: 85). Volkov goes on to note that: Bandits, on the contrary, put their lives at risk (and constantly emphasize this fact!) Their lives are their bond, because there is a brutal system enforcing guarantees. The mutual guarantees of enforcement work because their word carries the force of law.21 (2002: 85) Taken altogether, these norms of behavior that regulate violence and guarantees play a key role in fostering strong levels of personalized trust among members. Apart from the internal regulation of behavior, both the vory and the racketeers have also formed complex rules establishing how group members should interact with criminals from other groups, which creates a form of generalized trust among those in the criminal underworld. This is best illustrated in meetings (strelka) between various criminal groups. If a businessman claims that he is protected by Organized Crime Group A and Organized Crime Group B does not know any members of Group A, Group B will set up a strelka with Group A to determine the validity of the businessman's assertion (Volkov 2002: 90). "It is generally taken as a rule (which is not always observed, however) that a bandit does not lie to another bandit (bandits may lie to businessmen); especially in face-to-face conversations in the presence of others" (Volkov 2002: 90).22 Based on these commonly held norms of trust, criminals routinely take the word of unknown criminals. Although these norms of trust should not be equated with the broader concept of generalized trust, which would apply to a much wider population, they do show the capacity for racketeering groups to engage in a form of non-personalized trust within the sphere of the criminal underworld.

Generalized norms of reciprocity As the previous section on trust has already highlighted, norms of reciprocity are both evident and important to the success of organized crime groups in Russia.23 Norms that regulate violence and guarantees create a set of general expectations about appropriate behavior both within and outside of a particular organized crime group. This section will briefly focus on the administration of the obschak or common fund to additionally show generalized norms of reciprocity in organized crime groups in Russia. The administration of a common fund called the obshchak, whose proceeds support intra-group activities, is one of the defining features of groups led or affiliated with vory (Varese 2001: 125; Serio and Razinkin 2002: 98). The function of the obshchak and how it represents norms of generalized reciprocity is illustrated in the following description:

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L. Gilbert During these meetings, the gang members exchanged news, made toasts with orange juice ... such toasts included promises to provide for those "burned on the job" (arrested): they would receive a constant supply of goods in prison and their family would be supported while the member was behind bars. Also money was set aside in order to bribe officials concerned with the investigation. This money came from the obshchak. (Varese 2001: 127)

The obshchak serves as a communal fund for members in need. In this regard, each member of the criminal organization is required to contribute to this fund (Serio and Razinkin 2002: 98), while never knowing if and when they will ever be the beneficiary of such funds. This fund may even be managed by several banks (Varese 2001: 172). Since general norms of reciprocity refer to a continuing relationship of exchange that, at any given time, may be imbalanced, institutions like the obshchak suggest that norms of generalized reciprocity exist in organized crime groups. Now that it has been established that trust and norms of reciprocity are present among members of organized crime groups, the analysis will turn to the structure of organized crime groups in order to determine if networks generally involve vertical or horizontal actors.24 Structure of organized crime groups in Russia While there is a considerable degree of variation in the way Russian criminal networks are organized, the vast majority of groups are both centralized and hierarchical. In the instance of St Petersburg racketeering groups like Tambovskaya, Malyshevskaya, Vorkutinskaya and Kazanskaya, Volkov asserts that the avtoritet are the top authorities, followed by brigadirs, and then the rank and file soldiers (boets) (2002: 73). Varese also found similar organization patterns in Perm (2001: 138) and maintains that the centralized and hierarchical form of organization, "derives from the activities the groups engage in, namely supplying protection services that, at times, require the efficient use of force" (2001: 141). In sum, research reveals that the organized crime groups in Russia, as in other countries, have a hierarchical structure. However, there are some exceptions to this trend, as groups associated with vory show a flexible mix of structure and tradition. A prime example of this is the Solntsevo, which is the largest and most powerful organized crime group in Moscow. Varese documents that the Solntsevo actually serves as an umbrella organization to several smaller brigades (approximately 12 in number) that are active in different countries (2001: 171). Although the Solntsevo is largely hierarchical, it also has an internal structure that is much more flexible (Varese 2001: 170). The Solntsevo convenes a supreme council, which is formed by the twelve leaders of the brigades mentioned above, to regularly discuss and make important decisions for the overall organization (Varese 2001: 171). Thus horizontal relations are present at the leadership levels, despite a general hierarchical structure.

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The broader network of vory also involves a mixture of horizontal and vertical linkages. According to a Handelman, all vory are formally equal (with each vor being chosen by his peers at what he calls a "gangland assembly" or in prison), but an informal hierarchy exists among them: "The younger vory have to be subordinate to the older ones in every respect, until they gain their own authority" (39). In addition, the most experienced vory formed a group known as the Bratsky Krug or Circle of Brothers (Handelman 1995: 39). Overall, most organized crime networks in Russia are centralized and hierarchical, although there is considerable variation on the flexibility of these networks. This flexibility provides evidence that even horizontal networks, which are considered the most adept at producing positive outputs for society, can be found in organized crime groups. Bridging social capital is similarly lifted up in the literature, and will serve as the focus of the next section.

Bridging social capital Bridging and bonding social capital are important elements of Putnam's understanding of different kinds of social capital.25 As the section on trust makes evident, there is a considerable amount of bonding social capital within criminal organizations. This is because organized crime groups often bring people together who have the same ethnic, religious or socio-economic backgrounds. However, organized crime groups exhibit bridging social capital as well. For example, Stephen Handelman argues that the old vory network was able to eliminate ethnic and national differences among its members, and references a "For Gathering" in Moscow that brought together vory v zakone from Georgia, Armenia, Russia, and the Ukraine to discuss the changing situation of crime in late December 1991 (28). Other evidence suggests that criminal groups have been adept at not only bridging ethnic cleavages within their own organization but also through alliance building with other criminal syndicates. According to Handelman, Russia's criminal syndicates are also attracting unsavory partners in the West. Gang leaders from Moscow and the Baltics have held "summits" with members of the Italian mafia, and Russia's growing importance as a drug transit corridor has aroused interest from Colombian cartels (2002: 19). Since the early 1990s, the international reach and coordination of organized crime groups in Russia has only increased (Shelley 2003: 111). As Shelley states, Post-Soviet organized criminals are now major actors in international organized crime. They have acquired the distinction because of the diversity of their activities, the global reach of their operations, their links with other organized crime groups, and the sheer volume of their activity. (2003: 113)

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In sum, social capital is a crucial feature of organized crime groups in Russia. This is evidenced by the existence of particularlized and generalized trust, generalized norms of reciprocity, and in some cases horizontal networks of organization. Some organized crime groups have even exhibited bridging social capital. The next section of the chapter will address whether or not these observations are limited to Russia by briefly examining organized crime groups in diverse contexts such as Italy and China.

Other examples from China and Italy Following a popular culture that labels both groups as "mafias," many academics have focused on the similarities between Russian and Italian organized crime.26 The most widely cited study of the Italian mafia is Diego Gambetta's The Sicilian Mafia: The Business of Private Protection. A more recent study conducted by Letizia Paoli has updated much of Gambetta's work with new court documents and interviews.27 Paoli's study of the Cosa Nostra and the Ndgrangheta from Calabria uncovers that, as in Russia, social capital is an essential part of their functioning and organization. Interestingly, the very meaning of cosa nostra is "our thing, or the common possession of all affiliates" (Paoli 2003: 44). Like organized crime groups in Russia, trust, along with hierarchical organizational structures, characterizes Italian organized crime groups. Extreme trust and bonding social capital exists within the Cosa Nostra and Ndgrangheta since the process of mafia initiation: "establishes a ritual kinship between the novice and the rest of the group, as members of a mafia family consider themselves to be brothers and part of a single collective entity" (Paoli 2003: 76). In addition, unlike Cosa Nostra, Paoli argues that "the 'Ndrangheta managed to maintain a horizontal organizational structure up to the early 1990s, avoiding the establishment of a formal supreme body" (2003: 58-9). In recent years, Italian mafias (in a similar manner to Russian racketeers) have been forced to become more centralized in order to keep pace with recent economic, technological, and social changes (Paoli 2003: 63).28 Presently, the actions of Italian mafia members are dictated by an incredibly intricate set of norms that produce generalized reciprocity as well as equalize the relationships among different members. For example, members of mafia associations must follow conservative norms concerning sexual and family morality. "Adherence to the code of honor is at times so strong that even today some capimafia severely punish its violation, even when they are carried out by members of the bosses' own blood families"(Paoli 2003: 75).29 In addition Paoli writes that, Relationships among Cosa Nostra and 'Ndrangheta associates are prescriptively a form of communitas, which the British anthropologist Victor Turner describes as a full, unstructured, and unmediated communication, even communion, between equal individuals, deriving from a common experience of liminality, or sharing a rite of passage. (2003: 80)

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Furthermore, "Relationships between family associates are constructed prescriptively, if not concretely, on the principle of'generalized reciprocity,' which presupposes altruistic attitudes and behavior with no prospects of short-term rewards" (Paoli 2003: 81).30 Finally, this form of generalized reciprocity is not only characteristic of individual organized crime groups, but is also a feature of the general relations among "all mafia brothers" (Paoli 2003: 81). Like organized crime in Italy, the powerful Triads in China also exhibit many of the same characteristics of organized crime groups in Russia. For example, the origins of the Triads in China are comparable to those of the Russian racketeering groups in that both sets of criminal organizations mutated from more legitimate associations: whereas many Russian racketeers emerged from sports clubs, the Triad societies were initially founded to overthrow the Qing dynasty in seventeenth-century China (Allum and Sands 2004: 138; Chin 1990: 9). The organizational structures are also similar as Triad associations are often rigidly ceremonial and hierarchical in structure (Booth 1990: 33). However, according to Allum and Sands' reading of the literature on Chinese triads, leaders do not: "exert vertical control over the criminal activities of their members. Control, while always in existence, is only exercised to mediate disputes and ensure loyalty" (2003: 138). Strong norms of behavior among group members are also characteristic of Triads.31 Finally, like organized crime groups in Russia, Triads currently have a global reach.32 In particular, their transnational activities show bridging social capital: for example, they have links with Russian groups involved in illegal immigration in Austria, they form "franchise alliances" with African America groups, Dominicans, Puerto Ricans and others as retailers of their wholesale heroin, and they have formed heroin trafficking networks with the Colombian and Nigerians. (Allum and Sands 2003: 138) Taken altogether, these examples from Italy and China illustrate that the forms of social capital present among organized crime groups in Russia (particularized trust, norms of generalized reciprocity, hierarchical networks, high levels of bonding social capital, and forms of bridging social capital) can be observed in other contexts and is not only a unique characteristic of Russian organized crime.

Conclusion This initial examination of organized crime groups in Russia has shown that social capital both exists in these associations and is an integral part of their current success. Although they are necessarily hierarchical in nature, these groups have managed to create high levels of bonding social capital, which are best seen in the groups' sense of fraternalism. Interestingly, some organized crime groups have shown a remarkable ability to bridge ethnic differences, showing that more bridging social capital is not always better for society. While the impact of organized

70 L. Gilbert crime is generally a net negative, it is important to understand that one main reason for their ascendancy is that solidarity and trust, at both the inter and intraorganized crime level, is based on established norms of behavior. The existence of generalized reciprocity is of particular significance as it validates Levi's hypothesis that vertical relationships have the potential to create trust, reciprocity and coordination. As has been seen, social capital has many alternative forms, uses and sources - and they do not necessarily foster the public good. While this chapter provides an initial step, more in-depth analyses of the social capital of organized crime groups in multiple contexts are necessary. In particular, more systematic data should be collected on the ethnic, religious and socio-economic composition of organized crime groups. Such information will help researchers better understand the way in which organized crime groups are able to bridge major cleavages present in the wider society in which they are based. Finally, because the findings of this chapter suggest that bridging social capital can occur in groups generally viewed as part of "uncivil" society, further research is necessary to determine the relationship between bridging and bonding social capital, different types and goals of organizations, and different types of group outcomes. The findings of this chapter highlight that there is no single form or function of social capital. Sociability can, in the words of Portes, "cut both ways" (1998: 18). Therefore, our normative expectations about social capital should not blind us to the reality of social capital's multiple dimensions and effects.33 Research that analyzes the diversity of social capital, particularly its potential negative impact on society or individuals, should be a key element of empirical study. Notes 1 Scholarship on social capital has also focused on its limited impact on these outcomes in comparison with other factors (see for example Booth and Richard 1998); however, the dominant strand in the literature centers on its beneficial impact and only more recently has social capital's dark sides been incorporated into the discussion. For example, in his 414-page book, Bowling Alone (2001), Robert Putnam devotes only 13 pages to the analysis of the dark sides of social capital. Conversely, later in his introduction to Democracies in Flux, Putnam goes a step further to note: "If there is one enduring lesson from the early social capital debates, it is that we cannot assume that social capital is everywhere and always a good thing" (2002: 8). 2 Shelley (2006) argues that the prevalence of organized crime has had a deleterious impact on the development of civil society in Russia. She argues that organized crime groups have co-opted the functions of civil society in their relationship with the Russian state (2006: 106). 3 Woolcock and Narayan note that: "The social networks underlying organized crime syndicates in Latin America and Russia may generate large negative externalities for society in the form of lost lives, wasted resources, and pervasive uncertainty" (2000: 229-30). In Russia, Shelley maintains that other than often being violent: "the objectives of the crime groups are personal profit and political influence rather than a wider public goal" (2006: 106). 4 For example, state collapse or social anomie represent only a few of the many explanations for a rise in organized crime. 5 Russian organized crime specialist Mark Galeotti noted that: "even according to the

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Kremlin, the mafia controls 40 percent of the Russian economy; an estimated 70-80 percent of businesses pay 10-20 percent of their profits for protection ('buying a roof in the local jargon)" (2002: 335). 6 No exact figures of the transnational nature of Russian organized crime exist. However, many sources note specific groups with international connections. For example, three out of the four Russian groups surveyed in the UN's pilot study of organized crime groups in 16 countries had lucrative operations in, or ties to, other countries. These countries include Kazakhstan, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, Poland, Germany, Israel, Italy, Austria, Colombia, Switzerland and Turkey (United Nations 2002). 7 For a more in-depth discussion of this development refer to Putnam (2001: 19-20). 8 Portes (2000: 3) highlights this point in his critique of social capital's usage in the 1990s. 9 Elinor Ostrom is attributed for using this terminology (1997: 162). 10 The Australian Productivity Commission (2003: 21-2) discuss this distinction. 11 James Putzel (1997: 944) elaborates this theme and maintains that when "self discipline" or "successful collaboration" of a particular association is considered, we must ask and "to what end?" For example, football clubs may establish lasting social networks that promote democracy, however these networks may also breed hooliganism or serve as the basis for fascist political movements. 12 Elinor Ostrom (1997: 162; 2000: 176) also argues that organized crime groups have social capital. 13 Felia Allum and Jennifer Sands (2004: 134) summarize the literature by arguing that scholars are divided into two camps based on their emphasis of either economic or cultural explanations of organized crime. 14 Volkov makes the excellent point that while Russia's state is in flux, conventional terms such as "mafia" and "organized crime," which presupposes a state that maintains order and exercises justice, are not analytically useful (2002: xii). 15 In addition, Adamoli et al. (1998: 54) argue that the vory have expanded their territory in the Russian Federation and work internationally. 16 Criminologists Klaus von Lampe and Per Ole Johansen assert that, in the organized crime literature it has become a truism to say that what holds "organized criminals" together are bonds of trust Trust, it is said, reduces the uncertainty regarding the behavior of potential accomplices to a tolerable level and thereby stimulates the willingness to co-offend. (2003: 1) 17 As conceived by Putnam, trust must be understood in two distinct ways: thick and thin (2001: 136). "Thick trust" (or personal trust) refers to the confidence between individuals who are known directly by one another. In contrast, "thin trust" (or generalized trust) involves the confidence extended to unknown third parties. 18 On this point, refer to Eric Uslaner (1999). 19 Groups based on ethnic groups are also mentioned (Volkov 2002: 67). 20 Stephen Handelman notes the response of "The Armenian" (a racketeering boss in Moscow) in an interview: We have a certain responsibility. Our leaders have the tasks of preventing total bespredel. I would say things are better now [after the gang wars in 1992]. You can ask anyone. They have kept the peace. They have prevented a lot of groups from sorting their relations out in a bloody way. Without our leaders, it would have been even worse. And that would have led to a weakening of the entire criminal world. (1995: 17-18) 21 This theme can be seen at work in the same Handleman interview with "The Armenian." The Armenian addressed Stephen Handelman (1995: 17) directly as ty (the

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familiar form of you) because he saw him as beneath him, which is most likely due to this norm. 22 Stephen Handelman also recounts the dynamics of a strelka from an interview with the Armenian. They discussed matters "firmly" the Armenian said, with a hint of a smile. Finally, the opposing gangsters allowed that they might have made a mistake. "Shopkeepers will say anything to save their skins, but who believes them?" they joked. "Don't worry; the place is yours." The meeting ended with handshakes all around. The Armenian was unabashedly proud of his diplomacy. (1995: 15) 23 As with trust, Putnam claims that norms of reciprocity can either be specific or general in nature. In this regard, specific norms of reciprocity refer to "simultaneous exchanges of gifts," while general norms of reciprocity refer to "a continuing relationship of exchange that is at any given time unrequited or imbalanced" (Putnam 1993: 172). 24 According to Putnam, networks can either involve vertical actors (unequal agents in asymmetric relations of hierarchy and dependence), horizontal actors (of equivalent status and power), or a blend of the two (1993: 173). In Putnam's view, the "best" networks (those most conducive to democracy) are horizontal. In contrast vertical networks do little to create social capital, as it is impossible for a "lower" participant to sanction his "superior" and the resulting obligations between the two are therefore highly asymmetric (1993: 174). 25 Bonding social capital reinforces exclusive identities and homogenous groups, while bridging social capital has the power to engage people across diverse social cleavages (Putnam 2001: 22-3). Importantly, Putnam does not view bonding and bridging as " 'either-or' categories into which social networks can be neatly divided, but 'more or less' dimensions along which we can compare different forms of social capital" (2001: 23). 26 For example, Albini et al. (2002) and Varese (2001) make such comparisons. 27 Klaus von Lampe (May 2005), a leading expert on organized crime in Europe, places Paoli's work in the context of the literature in the following manner: "Letizia Paoli's Mafia Brotherhoods is the fourth comprehensive scholarly study of the mafia phenomenon available in English." In contrast to Gambetta (1993), she "emphasizes the cultural aspects of mafia membership and argues that mafia associations are 'multifunctional entities' (177) and not merely enterprises selling private protection." 28 In his comprehensive history of the Sicilian mafia, John Dickie (2004: 329-30) references the surprising adaptability of mafia structures in the wake of the "great challenges of modernity" such as capitalism and the rise of the nation state. He maintains that the Cosa Nostra will continue to function in a globalized world. 29 For a similar description of the code of honor based on the testimony of various Cosa Nostra defectors throughout the 1980s and1990s refer to John Dickie (2004: 27-34). 30 John Dickie notes that the Cosa Nostra's common fund for prisoners has been reinstated after its brief disappearance during the mafia crisis of the mid 1990s (2004: 328). 31 For an interesting discussion of Triad culture and rituals see Martin Booth (1990: 33-9). 32 Immigration has played a key role in this process (Allum and Sands 2004: 138). 33 This statement is based on Neera Chandhoke's analysis of civil society, which Cas Mudde highlights (2003: 169) in his call for a change to the current concept of civil society. "What is being suggested here is that our normative expectations about the sphere of civil society should not derange our analysis of actually existing civil societies" (Chandhoke 2001: 5).

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Shelley, L. (2003) "Crime and Corruption: Enduring Problems of Post-Soviet Development." Demokratizatsiya, 11: 110-14. Shelley, L. (2006) "Organized Crime Groups: 'Uncivil Society'." In Evans, A., Henry, L. and Mcintosh Sundstrom, L. (eds) Russian Civil Society: A Critical Assessment.

Armonk: M. E. Sharpe. Sokolov, V. (Spring 2004) "From Guns to Briefcases: The Evolution of Russian Organized Crime." World Policy Journal.

United Nations (September 2002) Results of a Pilot Survey of Forty Selected Organized Criminal Groups in Sixteen Countries. United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime. Uslaner, E. (1999) "Democracy and Social Capital." In Warren, M. (ed.) Democracy and Trust. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Varese, F. (2001) The Russian Mafia. New York: Oxford University Press. Volkov, V. (2002) Violent Entrepreneurs: The Use of Force in the Making of Russian

Capitalism. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Von Lampe, K. (May 2005) Book Review of Mafia Brotherhoods: Organized Crime

Italian Style. Online. Available at: http://www.organized-crime.de/revpao01 mafiandrangheta.htm. Von Lampe, K. and Johansen, P. O. (August 29, 2003) "Criminal Networks and Trust." 3rd Annual Meeting of the European Society of Criminology. Helsinki, Finland.

Woolcock, M. and Narayan, D. (2000) "Social Capital: Implications for Development Theory, Research, and Policy." The World Bank Research Observer, 15: 225-49.

5

Illicit interest groups, social capital, and conflict A study of the FARC Patricia H. Micolta

Introduction The Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia- Ejercito del Pueblo (FARCEP)1 is a sub-state actor that has traditionally been difficult to study because it transgresses analytical categories behaving as an armed resistance movement, a social movement, a political party, a terrorist actor, a pseudo state, and as a criminal actor. As an illegal political actor it is an armed social movement that challenges the sovereignty of the Colombian government. As a terrorist organization, it engages in kidnapping, displacing, and attacking civilians. State officials in Colombia and in the United States regard the FARC as a narco-guerrilla. But regardless of how the FARC defines itself or the labels given to it by other entities, the FARC operates within the Colombian territory and is thus a part of Colombian society. In previous work I have analyzed the FARC as an illicit interest group because interest group frameworks have allowed me to explain three events: group formation, group development, and group interaction with its environment (Micolta, 2008). I will draw from my research on the FARC as an illicit interest group to analyze its relationship to social capital. Social capital is supposed to be a neutral resource that facilitates collective action. Many scholars, like Robert Putnam in Bowling Alone, believe that social capital is a fundamental" element of healthy democracies, but it is uncertain whether society always benefits from social capital. According to Putnam, if a society has a healthy amount of social capital, then cooperation increases because the creation of social networks, trust, and norms reduce conflict (Putnam 1993: 176). Following this argument, if a society relies only on the state to solve political, economic, social, and security problems, then it will be too costly for that society to rely on the state, because it will be difficult for the state to resolve all types of conflicts efficiently. Putnam argues in Making Democracy Work that the sovereignty of a "third-party" may not produce a "stable equilibrium" for society, and so social actors will defect (Putnam 1993: 163-5). In essence, Putnam believes that social capital through trust, norms, and networks "lubricate" cooperation because these factors allow common citizens to resolve a minutia of problems that governments cannot and should not be expected to resolve (1993: 171).

76 P..H. Micolta Making Democracy Work is interesting because Putnam compares two Italian societies that reach different social equilibria. One is a society where social actors learn to "reciprocate" or "help" others when problems arise. According to Putnam such a society creates "virtuous circles" where individuals build a civic community with a strong state and economy (Putnam 1993: 176). The other society has actors that "always defect" when problems arise. In both societies, actors have the incentive to behave according to their respective society's rules in a constant manner, but the "always defect" society produces an inefficient outcome - a "vicious circle" of distrust (Putnam 1993: 177). Many developing democracies suffer from Putnam's "vicious circles." According to Juan Linz and Alfred Stepan, a democracy is consolidated when it is accepted behaviorally,2 attitudinally,3 and constitutionally4 (Linz and Stepan 1996). However, in many developing states with young electoral democracies, democratic consolidation has not been attained and basic necessities or "public goods" such as the protection of human rights for all citizens is not provided. Given the pervasiveness of social conflict and the poor political environment that many social actors in developing states have to work with, this project will need to ask a few underlying questions. How can weak electoral democracies break "vicious circles?" Though Putnam believes that these are hard to break, he suggests that political reforms brought about by social actors and state institutions can break such circles (Putnam 1993: 184; Putnam 2000: 412-14). Can students of democracy be optimistic that political reforms will reverse strong legacies of violence, revenge, intolerance, and patron-client relations? According to proponents of social capital, trust is a fundamental factor of "virtuous circles." Individuals build trust in two ways: by forging relationships within interpersonal networks and by following norms of reciprocity. In analyzing interpersonal networks Putnam asks three questions: first, how do individuals relate within an organization, is it through horizontal5 or vertical6 relations? Second, what is the purpose of an organization? And third, how does an organization relate to society as a whole, is it by creating bridging7 or bonding8 social capital? Norms of reciprocity are the second factor that builds trust and does so by enforcing cooperation through peer pressure and through an individual's expectation of future payback for present-day favors. Colombia is an electoral democracy riddled with vicious circles, especially in rural areas. An analysis of the FARC as a group and its relation to social capital must answer Putnam's questions. Although this project does agree that social capital can be a resource that enhances democracy, it argues that the state needs to be empowered when it comes to security issues, because social solutions to problems of violence do not "lubricate" social cooperation, instead they induce defection.

Analysis It is impossible to discuss the FARC as an organization without taking its political environment into account, but a lengthier project would have to explain such an

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environment. This discussion will briefly touch upon Colombia's political environment so that it can focus on the FARC as an organization that creates social capital. The privatization of politics and security in Colombia The period of civil war known as La Violencia that gave rise to the FARC in Colombia created two political systems: one electoral system that privatized politics, and another self-help system that privatized security. The electoral system was based on the exclusionary politics of the Frente Nacional and clientelism or patron-client relations. The security system mainly instituted the use of private armies to protect private property in rural areas. Both systems alienated many political actors from politics, including the political left: The Frente institutionalized a group of "ins" and a group of "outs." By not incorporating leftist sectors into Colombian politics, state leaders unintentionally created a political environment that legitimized the FARC as a social movement. In essence, the FARC developed in response to a political system that reduced political competition to two parties: the conservatives and the liberals. It also organized militarily to countervail attacks by the government and militias of landed elites. Throughout the 1970s, the Colombian military was able to reduce guerrilla numbers through repression (Davila 1998), and the creation of private armies by landowners has been a tradition since the period of La Violencia (Dudley 2004). In the 1990s, political reforms clientelism persisted and landowners and illegal elements such as drug traffickers coalesced into a loose paramilitary confederation known as the Autodefensas Unidas de Colombia (AUC). Though the AUC disbanded in 2004, new small army formation continues to protect property from guerrilla attacks because the state is unable to monopolize the use of force throughout Colombia. FARC-EP organization and social capital FARC formation

and goal development

The development and purpose of the FARC as an organization began from 1953 to 1956 - a period of amnesty in the last years of La Violencia. According to historical accounts provided by FARC founders, communist guerrillas did not disband because they did not trust that the Colombian military or liberal militias would let them live in peace. In an interview, Jaime Guaraca, a FARC founding member, comments on the amnesty, (Charro and Marulanda, two FARC founding members) they could not be seen by the local population because of the accord between the army and the Liberals to eliminate, "everything that smells like communism" or "whoever was on Marulanda and Charro's side," was already being put into action. (Arango 1984: 143)

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Towards 1955, communist militias organized agrarian communities in the department of Tolima. They emigrated to Tolima because of offensives set by the national military in conjunction with liberal militias. By 1957 Manuel Marulanda began to militarily organize his men, which numbered only around 170 and covered regions in the Tolima and Huila Departments. For communist self-defense groups this period of retreat and strategic preparation was interrupted in 1958 by a short period of peaceful negotiations with the new civilian government of the Frente Nacional. Charro Negro and Marulanda Velez represented the communist guerrillas. The issues covered were: the provision of agricultural credits, housing, school construction, and government control over conservative and liberal militias. The government released political prisoners and increased police forces to prevent crime in rural regions (Pardo 2004: 436). The success of these talks resulted in a time of relative peace that lasted about two years (Arango 1984: 148). Many guerrilla members demobilized, but agrarian communities in Tolima continued to protect their community through a self-defense group. Nevertheless, during this period even Marulanda, the FARC's commander-in-chief, worked in the construction of roads through a government program for demobilized guerrillas in Huila. This peace process suffered two major setbacks: the assassination of Charro Negro and the congressional debate over the "independent republics." The assassination of Charro Negro ordered by the leader of a liberal militia took place in 1960 after he demobilized. Below is Jaime Guraca's recollection of the event that shows the collective disappointment with the peace process: a group of hit-men ... arrived to Gatania at five thirty in the morning ... they were looking for Charro Negro and Marulanda Velez ... and other members of the agrarian movement in Marquetalia. (Charro Negro and Marulanda) were in the region negotiating their products and buying industrial goods. The people saw the police dispersed throughout the town and advised Charro that it was dangerous to go out. Charro did not listen ... and he went to the central plaza ... when he got to the main street they hit him from the back and he immediately fell dead ... we were working peacefully, but they wouldn't leave us in peace. It got to a point that we couldn't take our products to the market. The hostilities were more intense ... because of this we decided to give the self-defense group an organic structure ... that is how the fight started again. (Arango 1984: 150-2)9 The second event that led to the end of peace was a senate speech by conservative senator, Alvaro Gomez Hurtado in 1961 (Pardo 2004: 437). He criticized the liberal government for being too lenient on the "independent communities" of southern Tolima, and was alarmed that in such communities the guerrilla and the communist party were allowed to exist. This critique led to the creation of military operatives10 that attacked the agrarian communities in Marquetalia, Tolima. The 1964 military operative over Marquetalia was a "success" because the military took over Marque-

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talia. Paradoxically, this is the most celebrated battle by the FARC's leadership because it showed the symbolic resilience of the guerrillas, since the well-armed military was unable to catch either the leadership or its small membership. After these events the leadership of communist self-defense groups organized meetings to reflect on their political and military purpose. Militarily, the leadership decided that since their lands were taken away, they would become an offensive guerrilla to challenge the state. Finally, in 1965 the communist selfdefense groups of La Violencia officially reinvented themselves as the Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia (FARC). La Violencia flared up throughout the Colombian countryside mainly because of land ownership discrepancies between owners and peasants. For the founding FARC leadership this was still an issue, so it set a number of objectives, such as: the right of peasants to own the land they worked on; the end of the latifundio; the end of foreign ownership; the provision of economic benefits for peasants such as credits and tools; the development of infrastructure; and the creation of schools and medical centers. Given the FARC's raison d'etre-, the objectives of the organization countervailed those of the state and other social groups. This mutual animosity reduced and continues to reduce the FARC's capacity to form associational ties with other groups, making it an organization that mainly builds bonding social capital rather than bridging social capital. Lines of command In the early 1960s, FARC leadership arranged the organization along military, political, and administrative lines of command. Militarily the organization is composed of various units. From lowest to highest, the military units are the following: squadron, frente, and bloque (or blocs). Politically the FARC has three divisions: political cell, general assembly, and the national conference. The role of the cell, which is equivalent to the size of a squadron, is to educate troops about the FARC's political objectives. Individual cells meet every two weeks and discuss topics led by their commander. A general assembly is a congregation offrentes that meets once a year. It resolves disciplinary problems and discusses the policies set by the FARC's Secretariat. It also elects about 100 delegates that attend the national conference. The national conference is the highest political convention of the FARC. It is supposed to meet every four years, but in reality it meets whenever it is safe to congregate (Ferro and Uribe 2002: 43). This conference is organized by the Secretariat (Secretariado del Estado Mayor Central), which is the FARC's highest administrative command, and it sets the political and military objectives of the FARC. The administrative organization of the FARC is guided by a principle of collegiality, where all commanders that belong to the any of the administrative divisions of the FARC share equal authority. This principle is supposed to prevent any type of dictatorial rule when decisions are made. The administrative organization is divided into three levels: the Estado Major Central (EMC), the

80 P..H. Micolta Secretariado del Estado Major Central (the Secretariat), and the Hierarchical Structure. The Estado Major Central has 25 members, and its functions are: electing the Secretariat, making financial decisions, and designating commanders at all military levels. It convenes whenever it deems necessary." The Secretariat is made up of seven commanders. This is the maximum authority level of the FARC. The top commanders, with the exception of the Commander in Chief, are in command of a bloque, this is done to keep the Secretariat separated for security reasons. Currently the following commanders make up the Secretariat: Pedro Antonio Marin, "Tirofijo" Commander-in Chief; Jorge Briceno Suarez, el "Mono Jojoy" (Controls Bloque Oriental); Luis Edgar Devia, "Raul Reyes" (Controls Bloque Sur); Guillermo Leon Saenz, "Alfonso Cano" (Controls Comando Conjunto Occidental); Rodrigo Londono Echeverry, "Timoleon Jimenez"; Noel Matta, "Efrain Guzman," and Jorge Torres Victoria, "Pablo Catatumbo." Overall the FARC chain of command is hierarchical, so interpersonal ties are vertical; where lower ranked members obey the commands of the higher ranked. As a military organization, vertical lines of authority are needed because troops need to obey orders when engaged in combat. However, vertical interpersonal networks reduce the level of participation of lower ranked members in the decision-making processes. Although the FARC mainly operates through vertical networks, horizontal networks do exist among members of equal rank. During combat each troop member counts on fellow combatants for support as it increases the rate of survival. Because of the danger involved in combat situations, shared combat experiences create strong interpersonal bonds and trust among troops. Other forms of interpersonal relations occur when troops meet with their cells or when the principle of collegiality is practiced. In these settings when members of equal rank meet, an equal exchange of reciprocity and association takes place. The most visible example of horizontal ties of association is when the members of the EMC or the Secretariat meet to vote on issues. Leadership selection The election of leaders is an important quality of the FARC's organization. It is a mechanism that unites the individual rank and file to the organization because it gives him or her a sense of belonging. Voting creates loose horizontal ties because this process allows individual members regardless of rank to have a say as to who runs the FARC. The selection of the FARC's leadership is a combination of bottom-up and a top-down process. Political cells select delegates to the general assembly. Then these delegates vote for representatives to the national conference. In turn, national conference representatives submit a list of candidates, and the conference elects the 25 members that compose the EMC, which then elects the membership of the Secretariat. Then the Secretariat designates commanders for lower administrative levels. The candidate selection process, via voting or what the FARC calls "the

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principle of collegiality," gives legitimacy to the leadership by "democratizing" an otherwise hierarchical organization. This process of leadership selection is similar to that used by political parties. Conferences and cell meetings Conferences and meetings among organizational units within the FARC also create horizontal ties among all membership levels, because they build ideological cohesion. At these meetings FARC members celebrate key battles, leaders, and sing hymns. Such activities provide FARC members with a feeling of belonging to a group, which creates close interpersonal relations, typical of organizations that create social capital. Ideological cohesion is mainly obtained through political education that the FARC establishes for its troops at the level of cells. Evidence of strong ideological cohesion among the FARC's leadership was evident in a journalistic piece entitled Periodistas, Guerra, y Terrorismo. The four FARC commanders interviewed were Andres Paris, Simon Trinidad,12 Raul Reyes, and Carlos Antonio Lozada. The commanders were asked their general opinion on the media, on terrorism, and on terrorist offensives attributed to the FARC by media and government sources. The interviews were done on an individual basis, yet most answers coincided. For commanders terrorism is synonymous with state-terrorism, and the deaths of civilians were collateral damage (Giraldo et al. 2003). Discipline Establishing discipline is important to military organizations like the FARC. Though electing leaders or singing hymns are positive reinforcements and produce strong interpersonal ties, negative reinforcements also creates ties and keeps members in line. The FARC has a strict "regime of discipline" that establishes the punishment for offenses. Members who steal or desert are harshly punished, sometimes by death. Political cells convene everyday (in meetings called La Relation) to discuss errors that may have been committed by members. This type of daily discussion creates a peer review that makes individual members do their job, either to please others or for fear of criticism and punishment. Peer review serves as a norm of reciprocity that keeps members in line. It is a horizontal relation among equally ranked troops that reinforces the directives received from higher commands. This style of peer pressure reduces the investment in time and effort of higher commands to discipline all the time, and it reduces using force. Membership characteristics The characteristics of FARC membership have changed overtime, but it still remains peasant-based and homogeneous. FARC leadership at the beginning

82 P..H. Micolta was composed of peasant men, who participated in La Violencia and who had elementary school educational levels. Of the little personal information found on some of these leaders it is known that Manuel Marulanda Velez, the current commander-in-chief barely finished elementary school (Arango 1984: 88). According to military accounts, Marulanda was an excellent fighter when he fought with the liberal guerrillas (Arango 1984: 212). The second generation of FARC leaders became commanders in the 1980s. More than half of commanding officers in the Estado Major come from peasant backgrounds while the rest hail from urban backgrounds. With the development of the organization, and the change in Colombia's demographics,13 commanding officers increasingly hail from urban centers. Socio-economically speaking, most officers come from poor to middle-class sectors. In rare cases, members of wealthy families have joined the FARC, as in the case of commander "Simon Trinidad," whose real name is Ricardo Palmeira.14 The level of education held by commanding officers has also changed through time. Today, of the seven chief commanders that make up the Secretariat, three have an elementary level of education while the other four have university levels of education (Ferro and Uribe 2002: 81). According to Commander Fernando Caicedo this proportion in educational levels translates to members of lower commands (2002: 81). At the level of troops, the composition of FARC is peasant-based, "90 percent of the FARC is composed of peasants and indigenous peoples" (Ferro and Uribe 2002: 64). Their socio-economic status is poor, and their level of education varies, but many do not reach or finish high school. Commander Fernando Caicedo reveals that commanders sometimes need to start troop training by teaching how to read and write (Ferro and Uribe 2002: 86). Given that most of FARC troops are peasants, their lifestyle is congruent with FARC objectives, which seek to defend the right of peasants to own land. From the standpoint of the organization's objectives, the membership directly benefits from belonging to the FARC, even if the organization excludes the rest of society while fulfilling its purpose. The organization creates educational curricula, electoral meetings, patriotic activities, and regimes of discipline that are geared directly toward their agrarian membership. The common rural background allows the organization to build automatic interpersonal ties, which create bonding social capital. Economic success and material benefits Another way the FARC strengthens bonding interpersonal networks and trust within the organization is through material benefits. Since the 1980s the FARC has become an economically successful organization with legal and illegal sources of income. The FARC will not openly admit that its economic and organizational development is due to their involvement with the cultivation of illicit crops. In their view, their economic success is an unintended consequence of the boom in the illicit drug business. According to the FARC, they had already established a relationship with populations living in southern Colombia

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where the FARC would tax crops and businesses in exchange for protection and for settling disputes. Once coca became a cash crop, the FARC also benefited from the boom. The FARC only admit that they have a relationship with coca peasants, but they deny having direct links to trafficking organizations. A study done by the Colombian Ministry of Finance in 2003 estimates that the FARC makes most of its income through the collection of taxes, kidnapping, and cattle theft, and that it only spends about half of its budget (El Tiempo 2005). The increased economic accumulation allows the FARC to grow and provide for its membership. The economic success is due to its belief in collective property and the centralized control of resources. All income or booty acquired by the organization becomes part of the collective property of the FARC. Individuals that take money, property, or armament for their own welfare are punished according to FARC statues. The centralized control of the budget balances inequalities among FARC units and creates solidarity among its membership. The FARC's centralized economic control allows rich bloques to provide for poor ones. The organization assigns budgets to its units so that they can manage their own spending. Ferro and Uribe, in studying the FARC, found that as long as the troops are satisfied and see that the money is well managed, they feel proud of belonging to an egalitarian organization that fights for a "right cause." Although reciprocal exchanges within the FARC are uneven because an individual gives their life in exchange for material and expressive benefits, the organization builds trust. The following quote from a female guerrilla fighter reflects the scarcity of peasant life and the belief in collective property, as a benefit in exchange for service: (If a peasant girl is poor) ... she has not had a life of luxury. When she comes here (to the FARC) the movement gives everything: food, clothing, and things that us women need: like pads and protectors. The peasant young woman does not have these things, and though we sacrifice, (the movement) gives us a certain comfort ... we don't have to say: "This week I can't afford this." I know that every month the movement will give me a packet of pads. They are not going to give me three packets, because I don't need them— So then you realize that a woman in the guerrilla has more things than a peasant woman. (Ferro and Uribe 2002: 73) Besides joining for economic benefit, a study done by the IEPRI and the London School of Economics found that young peasants join the FARC because they view it as an organization where they can obtain career training, to avenge someone's death, and yet others join to belong to a family or a community, especially if they come from dysfunctional families (Semana 2004). The last two reasons for joining the FARC demonstrates that the FARC is similar to other organizations like US inner-city gangs, which also create bonding social capital. Gang members, who come from broken homes and marginalized social sectors, see the gang as a "brotherhood." Gangs see rival

84 P..H. Micolta gangs and cops as the enemy, and gang wars create costs in terms of crime, violence, and fear for the community. Community ties Thus far, the discussion has concentrated on the interpersonal ties built by the FARC in benefit of its membership. The following section concentrates on the networks built by the FARC in Colombian society. The type of relation, either positive or negative, that the FARC is able to forge with a particular community depends on the power relation that the FARC has in that community. According to Alfredo Rangel, depending on the FARC's level of power it will behave as a "predator," a "parasite," or will live in "symbiosis" with a community (Rangel 1998). Predatory actions take place where the FARC does not have popular support. These actions include robbery, kidnapping, and extortion. Parasitic actions occur in areas where FARC forces establish some popular support. In such areas it is able to tax the population and in exchange it provides protection. Symbiotic actions occur in areas where the FARC operates as a pseudo-state, because the Colombian state has little or no presence. The Caguan region, an area commanded by the Southern Bloc, is where the FARC and the community have the most amicable relations. The FARC taxes the population, provides security, and it is extensively involved in the development of licit economies like mining, farming, and ranching and illicit economies like coca cultivation. The role of militias is important for the FARC when building community ties because militias help with intelligence, operations, and logistical needs. There are two types of militias: Bolivarian militias and popular militias. Bolivarian militias have political and military training and may even join the guerrilla temporarily for the completion of an operation. The popular militias are temporary allies of the guerrilla. Though these militias are to follow orders from the FARC, they have been found to act on their own and commit arbitrary acts of violence (Ferro and Uribe 2002: 55-6). Moreover, in cases where FARC forces have committed atrocities, they blame militias to "wash their hands" of misconduct. Unfortunately in areas that are contested by military, paramilitary, FARC and other guerrilla forces the use of militias brings the civilian population directly into the armed conflict. Whether the militias work for the FARC or the paramilitaries, when either armed group takes a town, the civilian population is targeted. Sympathizers are usually killed and arbitrary decisions made by perpetrators result in huge human rights violations such as the torture and massacre of innocent people, and the displacement of entire towns. In Colombia during 2006, a year in which the levels of violence had subsided compared to the late 1990s and early twenty-first century, 770 civilians were killed or disappeared, 219,000 people were displaced, and 45 members of indigenous communities were killed. Out of the 687 kidnappings that took place in Colombia during 2006, 200 were attributed to the FARC according to Amnesty International's country report. The FARC justifies the use of extortion and kidnapping through ideological rationalization. The FARC uses extortion to

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"tax" the population of a region to economically sustain their forces. In their view, the taxes or vacunas are collected to create a more equitable distribution of resources throughout Colombia. For example, the FARC law 002 states that individuals that own assets above a million dollars will have to pay a "tax for peace," and if they do not pay they will be retained (FARC 2001). The FARC refers to kidnappings as "retentions." According to the FARC retentions are justified because they are the retentions of individuals belonging to high-income levels, who refuse to pay taxes for the progressive redistribution of resources. According to Colombian authorities the FARC has 750 people in their power (NPR2008). Aside from the economic argument for kidnapping, the FARC has political prisoners that have been in their control for ten years. The FARC has engaged in kidnapping campaigns to make political demands. Among those kidnapped are members of the Colombian police, military, and several national and local politicians. Since December 1997 soldiers Pablo Emilio Moncayo and Libio Jose Martinez are the longest held captives. It is reported that captives are put in labor camps. Others are kept even when seriously ill. Consuelo Gonzales, a congressional representative who was released after six years of captivity, said many captives were chained together by the neck (Semana 2008). Yet others are not lucky enough to survive captivity; a group of 11 councilmen of el Valle del Cauca were kidnapped and held for five years. The families were told that they would be released by the FARC in July 2007, instead the families received the councilmen's bodies three months later, and all of the bodies had multiple gunshot wounds (Semana 2007). Such macabre acts of violence drastically reduce the ability of the FARC to form trust, norms of reciprocity, and bridging networks with the rest of society. In January 2008, an organization Colombia Soy Yo was created and popularized through Internet networking sites like "Facebook" and the media (www.colombiansoyyo.org). Within a month it organized a march to denounce the FARC for its use of violence. The organization mobilized millions of Colombians throughout cities in Colombia and in major cities around the world on February 4, 2008. Though the organization's lifespan may be ephemeral, the participation of large numbers of people highlights the disconnect between urban sectors and the FARC (El Tiempo 2008). Outside of their agrarian strongholds in southern Colombia, it has been difficult for the FARC to sell its political project especially to urban dwellers. The FARC has not sought to pursue relevant urban issues even though some of the leadership is college educated and has lived in urban centers. Issues like the prevalence of slums, the growth of the informal economic sector, political corruption, and crime are absent from their organizational objectives. There are two probable answers for the FARC's disregard of urban politics: the first answer is that they are not interested in urban sectors. The second answer to this question is linked to the 1980s peace process, when the FARC created a political wing called la Union Patriotica (UP). The UP was not given government protection and its membership was eliminated at a rate of 500 people in a period of two

86 P..H. Micolta years, and this violence includes the assassination of two presidential candidates. This violence limited the FARC's presence in urban settings and decreased the organization's trust in mainstream Colombian politics (Dudley 2004).

Conclusion Unfortunately Colombia is a country that suffers from vicious circles of "defection, distrust, shirking, exploitation, isolation, disorder, and stagnation" (Putnam 1993: 177). If the consolidation of its electoral democracy is measured according to constitutional, attitudinal, and behavioral parameters, then this democracy falls short of the standard. In Colombia constitutionally, state and non-state actors have not become habituated nor subjected to solving conflict through democratic laws, procedures, and institutions. The resolution of many conflicts, be they political or non-political in origin, is through violence since there is a lack of trust in political institutions as the mediators of conflict. The general absence of state apparatus in preventing people from using violence by imposing and enforcing stricter laws and/or reducing impunity causes a problem of "stateness," where the state is not working effectively for the democratic regime to subsist (Linz and Stepan 1996). The problem of stateness is one of the main causes for the rise of armed social movements like the FARC, because not enough state presence is available to prevent violent groups from forming and using violence. As a consequence, the FARC engages in an iterative game with the Colombian government and paramilitary forces like the AUC, where all actors "always defect." The game reaches an equilibrium that subsists at an inferior level of institutional performance and most actors spend time securing themselves from each other. In other words, Colombia's electoral democracy exists amid an environment very similar to that described by Putnam in southern Italy where "patron-client relations and extralegal enforcers are the second best 'default' solution" to problems of trust and insecurity (Putnam 1993: 178). The historical context presented in this project shows how the FARC's founding leadership was cautious in cooperating with the Frente Nacional government, because they were living in an environment of mistrust and revenge. Not being able to reach peace, and having been attacked, the founding leadership defected by forming the FARC. Similarly, with the exception of the small period of peace, the Frente Nacional government opted to eliminate rather than incorporate leftist sectors. Though communist self-defense groups had a marginal troop level and could have been eliminated, a confrontational strategy has been a more costly strategy in the long run. This is because the FARC has been able to grow as an organization over time. The designers of the Frente Nacional also privatized the political system by ensuring that the government would be divided only between liberals and conservatives. Clientelism and the system of parity excluded actors unaligned with conservatives or liberals from administrating government. The Frente legitimized a limited electoral system by using the military in conjunction with private armies to subdue opposition to its policies, especially in rural areas. In other words, the Frente Nacional instituted

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a two-party system where its leadership used force for its own benefit at the expense of greater representation and freedoms for Colombian society. Attitudinally, the consolidation of democracy in Colombia has mixed results: surveys show public satisfaction with democracy as a regime compared to all other regimes, but dissatisfaction with its government institutions, political parties, groups, and fellow citizens. The lack of favorable perceptions for democratic institutions and participation in "protest politics" reflects public cynicism towards institutions that they perceive as incapable of channeling citizen demands.15 Interpersonal trust in Colombia in the year 2000 reached a low of 9 percent (Cuellar 2000: 8, 11). This measure shows that the perception of "things going wrong in society" is high. Of the population polled 61 percent believed that public officials are involved in corruption (Cuellar 2000: 816). Social unrest and participation in protest politics can be measured by political activity and type of social activity. 77 percent answered that they had participated in unofficial strikes, 49 percent had blocked a road, and 35 percent had occupied a building or factory (Cuellar 2000: 828). In 1988 when Colombians were polled on political institutions, the congress had a "good" standing of 21.4 percent and a "bad" standing of 40.9 percent (Archer 1995: 95). In 2000, congress had a good standing of 18 percent and a bad standing of 79 percent (Cuellar 2000: 63). Over time this shows an increase of 38 percent in congressional "unfavorable views." For political parties in 1988, a good standing was of 15.6 percent and a bad standing was of 52.7 percent. In the year 2000, political parties showed a good standing of 12 percent (7 percent above anti-system groups) and a bad standing of 89 percent (2 percent less than anti-system groups), which shows an increase of 36.3 percent in distrust for this institution through time. In 1988 the government received a favorable view of 21.4 percent and an unfavorable view of 42.6 percent, compared to the year 2000 in which government received a favorable view of 28 percent and an unfavorable view of 71 percent. This shows an increase of 28.4 percent in unfavorable view for government. Again, overall this data shows an increase in public dissatisfaction with democratic institutions over time, probably due to the practice of clientelism and corruption. Dissatisfaction with institutions is a probable reason why armed social movements have emerged or continued to develop. In contrast to the views on democratic institutions, positive perceptions of the military increased over time. In 1988, the armed forces received a favorable standing of 46 percent and an unfavorable standing of 26.6 percent. In 2000 the army received a favorable standing of 60 percent and an unfavorable standing of 39 percent, which shows an increase of 24 percent in favorable attitudes, although unfavorable attitudes also increased by 12.4 percent. The military maintains itself at a higher standing of legitimacy versus other institutions in Colombia most likely because of the need for greater security. Cuellar's study on Colombia reveals that 80 percent of the public views democracy with a favorable opinion (Cuellar 2000: 58). Anti-systemic groups such as guerrillas and paramilitaries revealed 4 percent and 5 percent levels of trust respectively. In contrast, the Colombian public felt levels of "no trust" for

88 P..H. Micolta guerrillas at 92 percent and at 91 percent for paramilitaries (2000: 58). For advocates of democracy this is an alleviating result because it shows support for the regime vs. authoritarian groups. Behaviorally, Colombia has an electoral democracy where many actors spend significant resources on violence to resolve conflicts. The FARC's leadership founded the organization because they see violence as the only way to resolve agrarian issues. Behaviorally the FARC forms vertical interpersonal relations and creates bonding social capital. The FARC's vertical networks emphasize the military character of the organization - troops follow commanders, especially in combat. Although the FARC can be categorized mainly as a vertical organization, evidence presented here shows that it does create horizontal networks among members of the same rank. Activities such as cell meetings, conferences, elections, and combat experiences create strong interpersonal bonds and a sense of purpose; these activities show organizational strength because members spend emotional, ideological, and economical resources in the development of an organization that uses violence to achieve its objectives. In most instances the FARC is unable to create bridging social capital for two main reasons: it is a homogeneous organization and its objectives precede those of society. The FARC may provide benefits to its agrarian membership, thus creating interpersonal trust within its organization, but it isolates the rest of society and harms it by generating violence. Even in rural areas in which the FARC has a symbiotic relation with society, because it provides security and some services, those communities operate under the direction of the FARC commanders who guide local leaders. In these areas the FARC is a pseudo-state as it taxes the community, and defines what is law and order, and how public services are distributed; it is not totally up to the community to decide freely. In urban centers the FARC does not appeal to urban dwellers, because so far its main concern is satisfying its agrarian constituency. The case of the FARC and its dynamics with other state and non-state actors is interesting because it shows the incapacity of a "third party" sovereign to step in and monopolize the use of force. Society's response to the lack of state security in Colombia has been the creation of private security forces. This societybased solution aggravates the problem of violence by increasing the number of actors involved in the conflict, but a state-based solution is limited because the government has scarce resources. Consequently Colombia has been split into areas of "state sovereignty," mainly urban sectors, and into areas of "social sovereignty" mainly rural sectors. Many urban areas can be seen as areas developing virtuous circles where the state and society gradually create a civic society. Bogota is a case in point, the election of reformist mayors in the 1990s have changed the perception of city life by increasing public spaces, decreasing corruption and violence, and increasing public works that incorporate pedestrians instead of cars. In contrast, in rural areas where vicious circles predominate, local governments depend on powerful patrons. In the north of Colombia, where the paramilitaries have had success, they have established a limited peace in those regions. Similarly, in

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areas of southern Colombia were the FARC has had success, it too has established a limited peace. From the perspective of this project a social solution to violence has produced "separate areas of peace" because bonding social capital produced by the FARC or by paramilitaries mainly benefits their own organizations and civilians are stuck in the middle of the chaos. The establishment of "social sovereignty" is a highly inefficient way to resolve conflicts in Colombian society. In Colombia a political solution would have to empower the state to resolve the problem of violence so that social capital can "lubricate" further cooperation. Such a solution would be accomplished by establishing a greater state presence not only in terms of force, but also in political, social, and economic terms - a political negotiation with armed actors and the control of clientelism would have to be coupled with the provision of social services like schools, hospitals, and infrastructure. Increased economic options would also have to be created for rural sectors. Basically the state and society would have to replace the services that armed social movements currently provide in their spheres of influence, and which are financed by the lucrative yet illicit drug business. The reforms necessary to break vicious circles are "easier said than done," and sadly the Colombian equilibrium involves violence and clientelism. Notes 1 To avoid confusion, the Fuerzas Armandas Revolucionarias de Colombia-Ejercito

del Pueblo will be abbreviated to FARC or FARC-EP and these abbreviations will be used interchangeably. 2 Democracy is behaviorally consolidated when no significant actor "spend(s) significant resources attempting to achieve their objectives by creating a non-democratic regime or turning to violence or foreign intervention to secede from the state." See Linz and Stepan (1996: 6). 3 Democracy is consolidated attitudinally when a strong majority of the public opinion holds the belief that democratic procedures and institutions are the most appropriate way to govern collective life in a society such as theirs and when the support for anti-system alternatives is quite small or mores or less isolated from the pro-democratic forces. (Linz and Stepan 1996: 6) 4 Democracy is consolidated constitutionally when "governmental and nongovernmental forces alike, throughout the territory of the state, become subjected to, and habituated to, the resolution of conflict within the specific laws, procedures, and institutions sanctioned by the new democratic process" (Linz and Stepan 1996: 6). 5 Horizontal networks build associational bonds that bring together actors of equivalent status and power, and reciprocal exchanges are even. See Putnam (1993: 173). 6 Vertical networks link unequal actors in asymmetrical relations of hierarchy and dependence and reciprocal exchanges are uneven (Putnam 1993). 7 An organization that builds bridging social capital is: 1 Inclusive - as it tries to incorporate all sectors of a community. 2 Outward looking - its objective serves the community as a whole. 3 Coalescing - it unites people across diverse social cleavages. See Putnam (2000: 22-3)

90 P..H. Micolta 8 An organization that builds bonding social capital is: 1 Exclusive - does not try to include sectors of the community. 2 Inward looking - its purpose seeks to benefit its membership's needs over the community as a whole. 3 Homogeneous - its membership does not unite people across diverse social cleavages. (Putnam 2000L: 22-23) 9 Pardo (2004: 435; author's translation). Mariachi, the Liberal leader that ordered the assassination, was killed in 1977 by young operatives of the FARC, and the assassins were killed by the agrarian self-defense groups headed by Marulanda in 1961. These acts of violence show the constant resurgence of revenge and the inability to forgive, trust the opposition, or to be able to resolve conflict. 10 For an extensive discussion of the operation in Marquetalia see the interview given by Gen. Jose Joaquin Matallana in Arango (1984). 11 See Ferro and Uribe (2002: 46-7), for a discussion of how candidates for commander positions are selected. 12 Simon Trinidad is the highest-ranking commander of the FARC who has been extradited to the United States, in 2005. He was convicted for the kidnapping of US citizens and of drug trafficking. 13 Since the 1970s and 1980s most of Colombia's population lives in urban centers, in a proportion of 70 to 30 percent. 14 Trinidad, an economist, was a banker before joining the FARC. He is said to have attended prestigious private schools in Colombia and abroad. 15 The data used is based on a study done by Ronald Archer in 1988 on democratic institutions, and a survey compiled by Maria Mercedes Cuellar, which is Colombia's first submission to the World Values Survey for the year 2000. References Arango, Z. C. (1984) FARC Veinte Aiios: De Marquetalia a la Uribe, Bogota: Ediciones

Aurora. Archer, R. P. (1995) "Party Strength and Weakness in Colombia's Democracy," in S. Mainwaring and T. R. Scully (eds) Building Democratic Institutions: Party Systems in

Latin America, Stanford: Stanford University Press. Colombiasoyyo (2008) Colombia Soy Yo. Online. Available at: http://www.colombiasoyyo.org (accessed February 4,2008). Cuellar, M. M. (2000) Colombia Un Proyecto Inconcluso:

Valores, Instituciones, y

Capital Social, Bogota: Universidad Externado de Colombia. Davila Ladron de Guevara, A. (1998) El Juego del Poder: Historia, Armas, y Votos,

Bogota: CEREC. Dudley, S. (2004) Walking Ghosts: Murder and Guerrilla Politics in Colombia, New

York: Routledge. El Tiempo (2005) "Las guerrilla de las Fare se gasta menos de la mitad de sus ingresos anuales." El Tiempo (2008) "Millones Marchan." FARC (2001) FARC: El Pais Que Proponemos Construir, Bogota: Oveja Negra. Ferro Medina, J. G. and Uribe Ramon, G. (2002) El Orden de la Guerra, Las FARC-EP: Entre la Organization y la Politico, Bogota: CEJA.

Giraldo, D. S„ Roldan, I. and Florez, M. A. (2003) Periodistas, Guerra, y Terrorismo, Bogota: Planeta.

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Linz, J. and Stepan, A. (1996) Problems of Democratic Transition and Consolidation: Southern Europe, South America, and Post-Communist Europe, Baltimore: Johns

Hopkins University Press. Micolta, P. H. (2008) "Illicit Interest Groups and Their Influence on U.S.-Colombian Relations," unpublished dissertation, Florida International University. NPR (2008) Colombian Hostages Released. Online. Available at: http://www.npr.org (accessed Januaty 25, 2008). Pardo Rueda, R. (2004) La Historia de las Guerras, Bogota: Vergara Editor. Putnam, R. D. (1993) Making Democracy Work: Civic Traditions in Modern Italy,

Princeton: Princeton University Press. Putnam, R. D. (2000) Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of American Community,

New York: Simon & Schuster. Rangel, A. (1998) Colombia: Guerra en elfin de siglo, Bogota: Tercer Mundo. Semana (2004) "Las guerras personates." Semana (2007) "Enigma Sangriento." Semana (2008) "Rompamos estas Cadenas."

Part II

Social capital as a catalyst for peace

6

The color of tears is the same everywhere Inter-ethnic networking and grassroots organizing among women workers in conflict-ridden Sri Lanka Sandya Hewamanne

In these times of war the only Tamils we can trust are the ones inside framed photos. (A FTZ worker in 2000)

This chapter seeks to depict what increasing inter-ethnic networking could do to change attitudes and misunderstandings, and it does so by focusing on an initiative by a grassroots activist organization in Sri Lanka to build gendered interethnic networks. The NGO, called Dabindu, is dedicated to improving labor and human rights conditions among global garment factory workers in Free Trade Zones (FTZs). As part of an initiative called "Exposure program" (Niravarana), however, it organized a meeting between Sinhala garment factory workers and Tamil tea estate workers. The profound change in attitude that overcame both groups of women belonging to different ethnic groups was tremendous and bode extremely well for a future where marginalized women could play a greater role in promoting peace within their respective communities. However, soon after this event the grassroots organization fragmented, undermining the attempt to promote inter-ethnic solidarity among female workers. This chapter thus discusses both the potential NGOs have when coordinating civil society participation and the problems faced when grassroots organizations connect with transnational networks and inadvertently lead people into despair and hopelessness. Based on long-term ethnographic field research and interviews with Dabindu activists who organised the activity, several participants and several non-participant garment factory workers, I show that the conditions for peacebuilding through gendered civil society participation are ripe, although certain characteristics pertaining to Sri Lanka's current civil society activities discourages women from marginalized groups from initiating or participating in civil society. When the first FTZ was established in Katunayake in 1978 (and two others subsequently in other parts of the country) under the structural adjustment

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program, it was expected that the newly created assembly line jobs would be filled by rural, unemployed women who had little chance to find wage employment elsewhere.1 It was also assumed that women would only work for a few years before marriage and could use such jobs to accumulate money and jewelry for their dowry. As in other FTZs around the world (Fernandez-Kelly 1983; Mills 1997, 1999; Pena 1997; Prieto 1997; Salzinger 2003), transnational companies in the Katunayake FTZ demanded maximum output for minimal wages in extremely exploitative working conditions.2 Furthermore, there are very few state or factory run hostel facilities for rural women who flock to the FTZ each year. People living in the area have rented hastily-built rows of rooms to these young women, resulting in extremely poor living conditions. When coupled with physically and mentally arduous working conditions, the problems associated with these makeshift boarding facilities make life in the FTZ difficult (Dabindu 1989, 1997; Fedric Ebert Stiftung 1997; Hewamanne 2008).3 There are several NGOs located around the Katunayake FTZ, which are dedicated to improving the workers' labor and living conditions. Given the serious problems such as summary firings, fire hazards, and sexual harassment, most NGOs seemingly have adopted a specialized, local approach in which they tried to address the workers' immediate problems while paying scant attention to the way these problems are intimately related to broader national and global structures. Dabindu (sweat drops) is one of the first few NGOs emerged in Katunayake after the establishment of the FTZ. It differs somewhat from other organisations due to its grassroots origins. Initiated by factory workers in the early 1980s, Dabindu still maintains a grassroots front yet, just like other NGOs, now depends on foreign funds for its existence.

NGO activities Having started in 1983, Dabindu is one of the pioneering grassroots organizations in FTZ activism. Furthermore, while most other NGOs are staffed by middle-class women, Dabindu comprises former factory workers or women from working-class backgrounds. According to its founder, H. I. Samanmali, she and couple of other former worker friends were concerned by how FTZ workers were being exploited by both factory owners and boarding house owners, who took advantage of the women's plight for their own economic gain. Seeing how local shops haphazardly hiked prices because women had no choice but to purchase goods from these shops, the Dabindu activists decided to open a small store that they named podi sala and sell at wholesale prices. From then onward they gradually developed a center named Dabindu, or sweat drops. Early international funding was provided by the Center for Asian Workers (CAW), Christian Aid and Women Working Worldwide. By 1984 they were publishing a Sinhala medium magazine, also titled Dabindu, which featured workers' writings on their work and living conditions and carried detailed reports of labor rights violations, work stoppages and other forms of labor struggles within the Katunayake factories.4 This magazine still remains the major

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forum of expression for FTZ workers. During its early years Dabindu also focused solely on labor disputes within FTZ factories. However, with increased international funding and wide global acclaim for its founder, Dabindu became more and more interested in global organizing and a wide range of issues affecting its mostly female target population. With their increasing interest and obvious influence from its global partners, Dabindu became concerned with promoting solidarity among different groups of exploited workers. The activities, under the appropriately titled "Exposure Program," were directed toward putting these varied groups of workers in touch with each other through day-long discussion and activity sessions. The trips to meet Tamil women workers were part of this initiative, and the impact that these trips had on FTZ workers was more poignant when considering the socio-political context in which they occurred. Curtailed consciousness Since 1983 Sri Lankan government forces have engaged the Tamil militant group Liberation Tamil Tigers of Eelam (LTTE), which is fighting to create separate Tamil homeland in the country's north-east, in a protracted civil war. Rural Sinhala women from certain areas have almost no opportunity to meet Tamil people, and very few Tamils worked at the FTZ. Unless the individual Tamils adapted to most Sinhala habits, including speaking the Sinhala language, people usually looked upon them suspiciously. Even though women from villages in the North Central Province had more opportunity to interact with Tamil people, long-standing ethnic tensions - indeed since around the time that these young women were born - have forced the respective communities to mostly keep to themselves. The deep connections FTZ workers had to lower ranking military men exacerbated the misunderstandings and tensions between the two ethnic groups. Almost every worker had a brother or a close relative in the Sri Lankan armed forces, and many workers' boyfriends were also members of the armed forces. The civil war increased the demand for soldiers and thus opened up an avenue of employment for Sinhala young men in the rural south. The escalation of hostilities brought about a sudden need for more personnel, and it led the government to drastically alter qualifying standards to lure men especially into the lower ranks. This in turn meant that youth from rural and marginalized families were now able to enter government service as soldiers.5 Thus nearly all FTZ factory workers had brothers, cousins, boyfriends and neighbors in the armed forces. These emotional attachments elicited different reactions to the ongoing ethnic conflict. While many workers simply wanted the war to end and their loved ones to come home safely, some others adopted popular rhetoric about winning the war and sacrificing for the motherland. The intense loyalty to army soldiers made most of them blind to how military violence impacted on civilians and distanced them further from potential alliances across ethnic boundaries. For instance, Niluka, one of the most rebellious workers I associated with and one who often expressed strong class and feminist consciousness, was in a

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romantic relationship with a sailor in the navy and also had two brothers in the armed forces. Her emotional attachment to these men saw her taking up virulent nationalistic rhetoric during our discussions of the civil war and its effects on people. Together with other members, she criticised the government for prolonging the war and being unconcerned about its human cost. While others , sometimes took up serious discussions on the ways and means of solving the conflict, Niluka thought the best and the only solution was to "destroy the terrorists" or "annihilate the menace." When I reminded her about the innocent women and children who suffer just as she was suffering, she somewhat hesitantly said, "Men and women, they are all the same." These conversations showed how these women's developing class and feminist consciousness encompassed only a limited space surrounding the FTZ women workers and perhaps other marginalized women within their own ethnic group. In fact, the constant bombardment of nationalist rhetoric via mainstream newspapers, TV programs, serialized dramas and movies as well as tabloid magazines targeting FTZ workers had a tremendous impact on the way workers talked about the war and other ethnic communities. They easily took up the vocabulary and images from popular media and projected sensationalized stories about isolated acts to speak about the whole Tamil population. Most people associated all the hardships, such as suicide bombings brought about by the war, not just with Tamil separatist militants but also with the Tamil community.6 It is in this context that the Dabindu exposure program made many strides towards making inter-ethnic networking possible. Sinhala or Tamil suffering is no different While Dabindu had previously conducted visits to estate, farming and fishing communities,7 both the staff members and workers seemed to have been touched more by a trip they made in 2000 to the Great Valley Tea Estate in Delthota. I was able to talk to the staff members and some of the FTZ worker participants right after the May 7, 2000 field trip. When I interviewed the staff members again in 2005 and 2008 it was this trip that made their eyes glint and their commentary vivid. The trip was made possible by a local NGO working to improve working and living conditions of tea estate workers, the Center for Human Development, Kandy (CHD). The latter organization coordinated the activities and saw to it that the FTZ workers had an introduction to estate workers' lifestyles before taking them to the estate to meet female workers. It was at this meeting that the FTZ workers first realized the added difficulties Tamil women faced on the estate, due to problems associated with their citizenship status. Citizenship acts passed soon after independence stripped estate workers of their citizenship, even though the vast majority were second or third generation workers whose ancestors the British brought to Sri Lanka in the mid-nineteenth century. In 1964 a bilateral agreement between Indian Prime Minister Lai Bahadur Shastri and Sri Lankan Prime Minister Sirimavo Bandaranayake sent

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many of these workers back to India. These two political steps led to innumerable hardships for estate Tamils. According to CHD director Mr Sivapragasam, 200,000 people out 1.2 million estate Tamils do not have Sri Lankan citizenship. He said: There is no legal right for these people to live in Sri Lanka and no legal rights in any other country either. These are the only stateless people in the whole world.8 The younger generation ask us why they cannot do any job they want like other people and why they have to live and work in the same estate as their parents, almost like prisoners,9 As Samanmali, Himali and Chamila reported in a group discussion held in late May 2000, Mr Sivapragasam's talk stirred deep emotions among many Sinhala FTZ workers. Samanmali recounted: One woman just could not take it. She was so sad that a group of people are so mistreated in her own country and that she did not even know about it, that she ran away from the room, sobbing loudly. "The others also were teary eyed and were whispering among themselves about how sad it was that these people were wronged this way," Chamila added. According to all three of them, FTZ workers were saddened more by the abysmal conditions of the estate workers' lodgings, usually called line rooms. In an interview with me, Damyanthi recounted: We always thought that nothing could be worse than our boarding rooms and toilets. But the line rooms were dingy and sewer canals were overflowing right by their rooms. Then only did I realize how bad it is for them. We at least have toilets, even if dirty and broken. You are lucky if you find a toilet there when you need it. Even though two months had passed since their visit, tears filled her eyes when she described how there were many children in each crowded line room and how she had seen a newborn infant sleeping in a corner of one dark and dingy line room. After the introductory speeches and being treated to food and drinks, the CHD officials had taken the FTZ workers to the estate. According to Himali, the scenery was beautiful but they also encountered life's harsh realities co-existing within that beauty. "The roads were so bad, in fact there was really no road, it was full of rocks and tree roots, that it is with great difficulty that we walked," she added. However, all the workers found the journey worthwhile once they met the estate workers and listened to their tear-filled stories. Most of the estate workers they talked to were married and had several children. They told the FTZ workers of their difficult working and living conditions. In addition, the women talked about rampant alcoholism within the estates and daily domestic violence. "All the FTZ workers were very sad and both groups of women were crying

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openly," Chamila added. Lathika, a FTZ worker who was in this group, later told me in an interview: when one says Tamils we always think they are those other people and that they are very different to us. In short, we think of the tigers.10 When I was listening to their stories and looking at their tears I was thinking of my mother and aunts at home. Even my sister, who recently got married and has a baby. Men make us cry. Drunkenness (beemathkama) makes us cry. The color of tears is the same everywhere. Lathika's voice broke at that last sentence and she looked away trying to hide hertears. Even as they walked around the estate workers' line rooms they (FTZ workers) were discussing how to solve the problems there. They were very upset by the fact that some estate Tamil people do not have national identity cards and the fact that such people cannot take up work outside the estate in which they were born. It was well known that many middle-class families depended on estate Tamils to obtain domestic workers. While it is illegal to employ children under 14 years of age as domestic helpers, many households still did so. Due to the difficulties obtaining any other employment but estate work and also because of poor educational facilities in this sector, the estate Tamil population does not encourage education. Rather they send their children to work as domestics and appreciate the added income. Describing an experience that haunted her for a time, Chamila said, I took my daughter with me to the estate. One woman asked whether I want to take her child to Colombo to look after my child. My heart jumped to my mouth (papuva hos gala giya). Here we are trying to get working people together and how can I have a child not much older than mine to look after my child. In the same discussion Chamila noted that the workers and the staff both were a bit unhappy as they had not expected to encounter many children. "Workers were complaining that if we had informed them they would have brought candy and school supplies for the kids," she said. Following this, Nalin, one of the very few male workers who joined the trip, said: "everybody was talking about how we live with a piece of roti and plain tea and they are also living such hard lives and suffer even more than us." All three of the staff members noted how energised the FTZ workers were on their return trip and how they begged the staff to plan more visits like that and how they talked about corresponding with the women. "Some were planning to walk to Jaffna (pada yathra) to meet Tamil women there because they suddenly realized that they did not know much about these women's lives and how similar in some ways all women's lives are," said Samanmali, obviously very proud of her Center's achievement.11

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I was frustrated with myself for missing this field visit, which seems to have had a profound influence on the workers as well as Dabindu staff. I was still at a heightened state of excitement about the possibility of further networking when I visited Mithurusevene, another NGO working among the FTZ workers, that evening. There were several workers who were present at Mithurusevene and I blurted out all the information I gathered in a group meeting with the staff and workers. Some of the workers started pleading with staff members to organize such visits. Staff members also readily agreed that it was a timely intervention and that people from different ethnic groups needed this kind of organized meeting to get to know each other and to realise that it is politicians and capitalists who oppress them, and that poor people of other ethnic groups are oppressed in their own different ways too. Mithurusevene staff, however, did not plan and design programs on their own. Their head office in Colombo had a very developed agenda and the staffs enthusiasm was curtailed by the knowledge that they will not be able to do anything on their own that deviated from the stipulated agenda of resolving labor disputes. I promised the most vocal FTZ worker that I would let her know as soon as Dabindu organized another visit. When I met Wasana on Thursdays at Mithurusevena she continually reminded me of this promise and also said she would bring at least ten other women from her boarding house to join such a visit. When I missed my Thursday visit one week she telephoned me to discuss all the interesting ideas she has about the activities we could engage in during the field visit. One such activity she mentioned was to use general knowledge questions on reproductive health associated with a game of musical chairs. She thought that was a clever way to impart the knowledge they gained at reproductive health camps at the FTZ to the estate Tamil women without embarrassing them. There was some discussion and planning that went on at the Dabindu office as well. However, there were tensions developing among staff members around this time and factions began developing among the staff on issues related to the use of foreign funds and who should avail themselves of foreign study tours. Around the same time my one-year fieldwork at the FTZ was coming to an end, and the added pressures of tying up loose ends distracted me from pursuing this matter further. I met Damayanthi again when I visited her boarding house to say goodbye to some of my close friends. When I told her 1 might be able to come back in December 2000 she said that she would somehow get the Dabindu people to organize another trip to a tea estate or even Jaffna during December so I too could see for myself what she described earlier. This was in mid July and Damayanthi sounded as if she expected to participate in several field trips before December. By this time I had already been informed by Samanmali that they only had funds for one such exposure visit per year. While I ran around Katunayake attending to last minute details and while flying back to the US, questions regarding the gap between the workers' enthusiasm to participate in such networking and the financial challenges in doing so popped in and out of my mind. I sensed with a heavy heart my own enthusiasm ebbing away with time.

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Fragmentation In 2002 I renewed my connections with Dabindu again. Intermittent communications before that had already convinced me that the enthusiasm for inter-ethnic networking died down mostly due to internal conflict and financial constraints. By November 2002 Damayanthi had left Katunayake and was living in her village getting ready for her wedding. I met Lathika for a short time and it was obvious that the enthusiasm that followed the Delthota exposure visit was no more. It took some prodding for her to recollect how she felt a kindred spirit with Tamil estate workers and wanted to know more about all Tamil women. While she still held that it is important for poor Sinhala and Tamil working-class women to network, she was not sure whether that can be achieved. "Many women who went on that trip have left the FTZ. The others have changed factories or boarding houses and I do not get to see them often. I am also getting ready to leave in four months," Lathika said. And then she added, "what can we, a small group of women, do to stop the war? It is in the hands of the politicians and gods." In mid 2003 the aforementioned internal tensions climaxed with Himali breaking away from Dabindu with two other experienced members of staff. This devastated Dabindu as the remaining staff struggled to keep at least the monthly magazine published. Samanmali and Chamila complained that Himali, with the help of a graduate student researcher from Australia, diverted almost all their donor funds toward her new outfit called "Women's Counseling Center.'"2 They were trying desperately to repair their tarnished reputation among donors, and continuing the exposure program was far from the minds of Samanmali and Chamila. Later, in interviews conducted during 2007 and 2008, Samanmali blamed the unnecessary internal fighting and fragmentation for interrupting the exposure program. However, they had picked up the program again in 2006 with a field visit to another tea estate in Deniyaya. This was a low country estate with a different group of female Tamil workers. In 2007 I met with a FTZ worker who participated in this trip at Dabindu office. According to her, as well as Samanmali and Chamila, the tension between Sinhala and Tamil communities around this estate was very high. The Tamil worker community had next to no connection with the Sinhala community and their only connection to the outer world was through their children who worked in Colombo as domestics. Showing photographs from their visit, Chamila explained how the estate workers prepared lunch for them and how they first met at a community hall but then broke into small groups for further discussion. Again, the FTZ workers were saddened by the difficult lives of female estate workers. According to Malika, the women they met were meek and timid. We felt bad that they are held so low and we keep them underneath us {yatath weld). Estate owners do not want children to get an education as they want them to start working in that same estate. It is almost like slavery.

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Mahendra, another worker who participated noted, "estate workers talk to us in broken Sinhala and English. We felt ashamed we did not know any Tamil and felt it would have been nice to know their language and talk more with them." Many writers suggest how knowing each other's languages can help promote peace between ethnic groups (DeVotta 2004). Moments when people themselves feel the need for inter-ethnic communication could certainly lead to better outcomes than those forced from above. However, sustained support from NGOs and government organizations are required for such interactions to succeed, and this is a topic which I return to later. The NGO worker13 who trained and presented children's songs and activities for visitors had her hand almost cut off from the elbow during the communal violence in July 1983. She was permanently disabled and still carried much anger towards the Sinhala community. According to Dabindu staff members, her hostility softened towards the end of the day. My hopes were again raised when Samanmali told me that the NGO staff member, as well as some estate workers, wrote letters to the Dabindu Center thanking them and requesting more visits. In January 2008 when I asked to look at the letters Samanmali rather sadly informed that she had to throw these letters away, together with some other folders and old stacks of Dabindu magazines as financial constraints forced them to move to a smaller office in late 2007. The symbolism (unintentional as it is) of this act gave me a sense of foreboding about the future. A few moments later Samanmali revealed that due to the present situation regarding the civil war, with both parties committing atrocities against civilians, many funding agencies are reluctant to fund any kind of program in Sri Lanka. Chamila added that even if they had funds the present situation is not conducive to taking long trips to remote areas. "We are responsible for all these young women's lives," she said, alluding to the recent spate of suicide bombings targeting Sinhala civilians traveling in buses and trains. However, they are still planning a visit to southern Sri Lanka for FTZ workers to meet tsunami victims. "This is safer and easy to arrange," she added.

Whither the inter-ethnic networking? Social capital contributes to the constitution of civil society. Almost all writings on social capital emphasise the importance of accumulating social solidarity and trust via networking so as to build social capital (Edwards et al. 2001; Portes 1998; Bourdieu and Wacquant 1992; Putnam et al. 1993). This book focuses on the paradoxical power of social capital in creating and resolving conflict. This chapter specifically looked at the tremendous potential of inter-ethnic social networking to promote peace. However, it also addressed the complexities in creating such social capital. Social capital refers to a social infrastructure linking organizations and individuals to one another (Edwards et al. 2001). But the specific ways in which political and economic processes shape social capital and the make up of civil society can sometimes lead to ambivalence and despair as shown by the specific example from Sri Lanka. The chapter thus underlines that it is necessary to study

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the accumulation of social capital and the make up of civil society within specific socio-political contexts to understand better the full complexity of building inter-ethnic solidarity. According to Kumudini Samuel, women have been at the forefront of peacebuilding efforts in Sri Lanka (2006). Most of the activities her book described involved middle-class, Western-educated women and included direct political acts such as protesting the war and lobbying the government for peace. The Dabindu initiative was unique in that it was about community building through exposure, learning about different ways of living and work and sharing knowledge on such gendered concerns as sexual health, reproductive rights and domestic violence. This kind of awareness has the potential to change attitudes regarding violence and war through women's interventions in their local communities and early socialisation processes. At the same time the unfortunate circumstances that led to the women losing their passion for ethnic interaction highlights some general problems associated with civil society activities. NGO activities are tied to donor funds and that usually restricts independent decision-making. It was the association with the international donor circuit that initiated the fragmentation among Dabindu activists, based on who gets the fringe benefits such as salaries and foreign trips. It is also important to note that Sri Lanka is increasingly becoming a capitalist society and financial and other resources, such as free time, dictate the success of concerned individuals who seeks to create social capital via networking. This was amply evidenced by the way women workers who became excited about further networking could not move ahead on their own without the support and organizing skills of Dabindu. It is also important to note how hopelessness took root as the initial inspiration and excitement died down; for many women this situation represented another indication of why they as marginalized women could not do much to change broader national, global processes. In that sense, the Dabindu initiative also had the unintended consequence of making people apathetic about their own potential for promoting peace. I often wonder how Wasana felt about never getting an invitation to another field visit where she could have exercised her creative ideas for knowledge sharing and community building. It is admirable that Dabindu is still trying to keep the program going despite some serious difficulties. However, transforming women's passion into action requires sustained effort from individuals and organizations. Without more independence in decision-making and financial handling it is bound to be difficult for NGOs like Dabindu to move forward with an unexpected momentum such as the Delthota field visit. Unfortunately social capital is linked to financial capital and, consequently, solidarity networking too is bound by social inequality and differential access to power and resources. Notes 1 The Katunayake FTZ houses around 100 multinational industries that practice a distinctively late capitalist form of gendered working relations. Garment factories comprise the

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majority of all the industries within the FTZ and large numbers of young rural women from economically and socially marginalized groups join these factories to work as machine operators. Most of these women are unmarried, young and well-educated, often with 8-12 years of schooling (Rosa 1990: 36). In 1995 more than 70 percent of the workers had taken Ordinary Level exam classes (Fine and Howard 1995: 39). The vast majority of these young women are Sinhala in ethnicity and Buddhist by religion. 2 The Katunayake FTZ currently contains 92 transnational factories. According to the Sri Lanka Board of Investment, about 80,000 young women are employed in factories within the zone while around a similar number are employed by subcontracting factories located around the zone. 3 According to the BOI document on "Industrial Factor Costs," skilled Sri Lankan workers are paid between Rs.2,500-3,250 while non-skilled workers are paid Rs.2,000-2,500. The basic salary of a FTZ worker is Rs.2,250 (about US$25) per month, but workers could earn about Rs.3,000-4,000 by working overtime and not taking their annual leave. Workers suffer from various ailments due to difficult work and living conditions and are sexually harassed on their way to and from work (Smith 1993; Dabindu 1997). There are many legal and practical barriers to organizing trade unions within the FTZ, but NGOs have managed to help somewhat by providing legal advice and opportunities to get together to share experiences (Rosa 1982; Fine and Howard 1995). 4 Dabindu has a branch center near the Biyagama FTZ. 5 Gamburd notes that the more marginalized an area is, more men from that area joined the military (2005: 157). 6 This same process happens within the Tamil community in which the injustices done by successive Sri Lankan governments are associated with the whole Sinhala community in everyday discourses. Also I need to note that even in everyday conversations there were some FTZ workers who were savvy enough to recognize that there are different Tamil communities within the country and that positions differ according to class, gender, generational differences and geographical location. 7 Chamila and Samanmali disagreed on the exact years when each of these field visits took place. They agreed that field visits took place in 1996,1998 and 1999. 8 Mr Sivapragasam neglected to mention that there are thousands of Palestinians who are stateless. 9 As quoted in Dabindu 2000 June issue (15 (10): 4 and 8). 10 Members of the separatist Tamil guerrilla organization, Liberation Tamil Tigers of Eelam (LTTE) are called Tigers in everyday conversations. 11 When I asked the workers whether they would feel the same towards Jaffna women they found it hard to comprehend that there is difference between estate Tamils and Jaffna Tamils. It is not surprising as people commonly use Tamil people for members of both groups. But after I explained some of the differences such as residency claims, cultural and socio-economic differences, the several FTZ women workers present at the group meeting said women are same everywhere. One woman noted how she was moved by some images on TV where Jaffna women appeared in dirty sarees and how the images reminded her of her grandmother living in southern Sri Lanka. Remembering how Tsunami devastated poor people of both southern and eastern coastal areas one woman said, "all sadness happens to poor people [podia pita thamai okkoma duk]." However, the particular dynamics that may occur if there is an attempt to initiate inter-ethnic networking between Sinhala FTZ workers and Jaffna Tamil women remains to be seen. 12 Himali later informed me that she did not take any funds away from Dabindu as she got funding only to do counseling, an area Dabindu was never interested in. However, it was clear that the direct complaints via petitions as well as rumors of nepotism and staff dissatisfaction prompted many donors to cut off their funding. 13 This is an Oxfam-organized NGO and worked to improve health and educational facilities in the estate.

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References Bourdieu, Pierre and Wacquant, L. (1992). Invitation to Reflexive Sociology. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Dabindu Collective (1989). Prathiba. Boralesgamuwa: CRC Press. (1997). A Review of Free Trade Zones in Sri Lanka. Boralesgamuwa: CRC Press. DeVotta, Neil (2004). Blowback: Linguistic Nationalism, Institutional Decay and Ethnic

Conflict in Sri Lanka. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Edwards, Bob, Foley, Michael and Diani, Mario (2001). Beyond Tocqueville: Civil Society and the Social Capital Debate in Comparative Perspective. Hanover: Univer-

sity Press of New England. Fedric Ebert Stiftung (1997). Diriya Diyaniyo. Colombo: Fedric Ebert Stiftung. Fernandez-Kelly, Maria Patricia (1983). For We Are Sold, I And My People. Albany: SUNY Press. Fine, Janice with Matthew Howard (1995). "Women in the Free Trade Zones of Sri Lanka." Dollars and Sense November/December: 26-7 and 39-40. Gamburd, Michele (2005). "The Economics of Enlisting: A Village View of Armed Service." In Economy, Culture and Civil War in Sri Lanka. Deborah Winslow and

Michael Woost (eds): 151-67. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Hewamanne, Sandya (2008). Stitching Identities in a Free Trade Zone: Gender and Poli-

tics in Sri Lanka. Philadelphia. University of Pennsylvania Press. Macinko, James and Starfield, Barbara (2001). "The Utility of Social Capital in Research on Health Determinants." The Milbank Quarterly 79 (3): 387-427. Mills, Mary Beth (1997). "Contesting the Margins of Modernity: Women, Migration and Consumption in Thailand." American Ethnologist 24 (1): 37-61. (1999). Thai Women in the Global Labor Force: Consuming Desires, Contested

Selves. New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press. Pena, Devon (1997). The Terror of the Machine: Technology, Work, Gender and Ecology

on the U.S.-Mexico Border. Austin: University of Texas Press. Portes, A. (1998). "Social Capital: Its Origins and Applications in Modern Sociology." Annual Review of Sociology 24: 1-24. Prieto, Norma (1997). Beautiful Flowers of the Maquiladora: Life Histories of Women

Workers in Tijuana. Austin: University of Texas Press. Putnam, R., Leonardi, R. and Nanetti, R. (1993). Making Democracy Work: Civic Tradi-

tions in Modern Italy. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Rosa, Kumudhini (1982). "Problems Facing Organizations Working within the Free Trade Zone in Comparison to Those Working Outside the Free Trade Zone Area." Voice of Women 4: 8 - 9 .

(1990). "Workers' Strategies of Organizing and Resistance in the Sri Lankan Free Trade Zone (FTZ)." South Asia Bulletin 10 (1): 33-43. Salzinger, Leslie (2003). Genders in Production: Making Workers in Mexico's Global

Factories. Berkeley: University of California Press. Samuel, Kumudini (2006). A Hidden History: Women's Activism for Peace in Sri Lanka

1982-2002. Colombo: Social Scientists' Association. Smith, Helen (1993). "Health Survey of Women Workers in the Katunayake Free Trade Zone." Voice of Women 4 (13): 7-11.

7

Gender, conflict, and social capital Bonding and bridging in war in the former Yugoslavia Maja Korac

The 1990s are marked by unprecedented mobilisation for armed conflict at the local or state level. With 44 countries, or 25 per cent of the world's states at war during this period, the world experienced more violent conflict than ever before. Conflicts of the 1990s are often called new wars (Kaldor 1999; Duffield 2001) as they are importantly shaped by the processes of globalisation, structural changes in the world economy and politics, that is, by the emergence of the "new world order." This type of war is characterised not only by the new, unconventional forms of warfare, but also by the changed form and nature of mobilisation for both forging war and promoting peace. The nature and forms of mobilisation in this type of conflict range from local or national to transnational or international. Duffield (2001) defines new wars as network wars referring to the links and connections formed within states as well as at local-global levels, which are central to mobilising people/fighters as well as securing arms and other resources for this type of war. The centrality of networks to this type of war, however, goes beyond mobilising and resource factors. They are critical for how this type of conflict spreads and takes root in society causing widespread victimisation of populations for prolonged periods. Conflicts of the 1990s have been internal and overwhelmingly marked by the divisive politics that have transformed ethnicity into an effective weapon of war. Reshaping social networks and links at the communal level is central to constructing these wars as "ethnic" or "religious." Duffield (1997) and Kaldor (1999) point out that one of the highest and the gravest costs of new wars is the destruction of social networks and local communities caused by the divisive identity politics of this type of war. By spreading fear and hatred among populations at a communal level, political elites and local warlords mobilise them for support of, and engagement in, violent conflict, and effectively use ethnicity as a tool of war. Goodhand and Hulme (1999: 17-18) point out that "[i]n contemporary conflicts, 'the community' represents the nexus of conflict action." It is at the communal level, they emphasise, where most of the physical violence and suffering occurs (ibid.). The destruction of social networks at the communal level is about undermining trust and webs of support embedded in (local) social connections tied through local institutions as well as other, informal ties such as family,

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friendship links, and other forms of sociability and communal links. As these types of bonding and bridging social links are important sources of individual and group identities, as well as social stability and cohesion, their destruction is critical for implementing and spreading divisive politics of new wars and for mobilising support for them. Through various social and political mechanisms, the trust which these connections engender is gradually replaced by fear of a neighbour, friend, fellow co-worker or colleague, and often a relative or a family member, all of whom become labelled as the "Other" within the divisive, exclusionary discourse of new war. This type of discourse prescribes and imposes legitimacy of one type of bond, most often ethnic understood as primordial, and requires destruction, to the point of annihilation, of any bridging connections between diverse individuals and groups at the communal, local level, and beyond. If undermining trust and webs of social support is central to the development and spreading of new wars, regaining, recreating, and developing new basis of trust is critical for building "viable constituencies for peace" (Goodhand and Hulme 1999: 18), hence, for conflict resolution and any lasting, sustainable peace. Such "islands of civility" (Kaldor 1999) consisting of individuals and groups promoting inter-group, cross-ethnic bridging connections and civic, rather than ethnic politics, exist or have the potential to emerge in the context of new war. It is critical, therefore, to acknowledge and support their existence or to identify social and political forces and spaces within which they have the potential to emerge, as well as to develop strategies to promote them. The character of connections underpinning this type of mobilisation in a new war are importantly about recreating old or developing new basis of trust between groups constructed by political elites and warlords as ethnic and opposing. In this sense, these inter-group links are primarily bridging in nature aimed at establishing bonds across difference and (ethnic) boundaries, rather than embedded in them. Much of these processes concern identity as well as politics, and are about the politics of identity rather than identity politics. This latter distinction is important as it points to the bottom-up processes through which local people challenge, subvert, and contest structures of power that constrain their social lives (Hill and Wilson 2003: 2). This process is in opposition to the topdown processes of identity politics whereby various political, social, and economic entities and elites attempt to mould collective identities into fixed and "naturalised" frames (ibid.). The emphasis on social networks and trust as the entry point into the analysis of the new type of war, links social capital to the mechanisms and processes underpinning the ways in which they unfold, develop, and are made to last for prolonged periods of time or are undermined from within. The recognition of this link provides a useful conceptual framework for exploring how social networks and trust are reshaped in this type of conflict. It facilitates understanding of their role in spreading new war as well as in forging peace. Social capital is thus understood here as social-relational concept, encompassing norms of reciprocity and trust (Coleman 1990). To reveal and understand how social capital translates into social and political engagement for war or peace it is

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important to identify conditions shaping norms of reciprocity and facilitating the development of different forms of trust in specific contexts. In the remainder of this chapter, I develop further some of these points conceptually as well as empirically in reference to my research on the violent disintegration of Yugoslavia in the 1990s. By looking (back) at the processes that led to the formation of ethnicised states in the region, I explore the role of social capital, its bonding and bridging qualities, in setting the stage for spreading ethnic hatred and fuelling violence in this conflict, as well as in opening up spaces for reconciliation and conflict resolution. In doing this, I am particularly interested in examining the gender dimensions of these processes. From cross-ethnic bridges to ethnic bonds: gender and the process of naturalising trust and reciprocity Ethnicity, understood as a set of fixed and naturalised (ethnic) ties and bonds defined by "common blood and origin" had been at the centre of attention during the violent disintegration of Yugoslavia. Conflict was most often described as ethnic war attributed to "the centuries of animosity" among the peoples of the Balkans and inequality marked by ethnicity. A more careful and informed analysis of the situation in the country demonstrates, however, that in ethnic terms Yugoslavia was, as Woodward (1995: 32) noted, a land of minorities, in which most local communities and large parts of the country were ethnically mixed, and no group had more than a regional majority. These ethnically mixed local communities were sites not just of peaceful multicultural co-existence, as known in the West, but of genuine cohesion exemplified in the high percentage of ethnically mixed marriages and people of ethnically mixed backgrounds (Kaldor 1999; Korac 2004; Morokvasic-Miiller 2004).1 Moreover, the primary social divisions and inequalities of the pre-war Yugoslavia "were not defined by ethnicity but by job status and growing unemployment" (Woodward 1995: 44). Thus, the social fabric of life at the communal level was importantly cross-ethnic, as were the socio-economic divisions and inequalities. How had these bridging social relations that allowed for the formation of specific forms of reciprocity and cross-ethnic trust been reshaped into bitter ethnic divisions and seemingly impermeable boundaries? What type of trust and reciprocity is shaped by this kind of boundary formation? How are these processes gendered? In answering these questions it is necessary to examine, albeit briefly, the intersection of socio-economic and political factors and conditions of the 1980s, and explore how these led to the development of divisive identity politics and to the centrality of ethnic rather than civic politics in the region. A socio-economic crisis in Yugoslavia emerged in the 1980s and was linked to the reprogramming of the country's foreign debt. The latter was dictated by the IMF and the World Bank which, following the world oil crisis of the mid 1970s, put pressure on the then Yugoslav government to introduce austerity measures and restructure the economy. The effects of these measures and the crisis that followed were visible and demoralising as millions of people were experiencing a substantial decrease

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in their standard of living and an equally high percentage had lost their jobs. Structural limitations of the Yugoslav economy, which had relatively limited elements of market economy, as well as the country's inadequate political decision-making structures, in conjunction with the structural changes in the world economy and politics, led the society to a deep crisis. The resulting economic, social, and political restructuring caused a gradual dismantling of state socialism. These processes triggered the onset of a personal and collective identity crisis for the population in the region. They also heightened people's sense of economic and social insecurity, because they were no longer protected by the shield of the socialist state. Ethnicity and ethnic (be)longing articulated and tied through nationalist claims for ethnic purity of their territories had a powerful appeal, as it promised millions of people a sense of belonging and security at the time of radical change. The post-socialist nationalists skilfully manipulated this sense of disorientation among the population. By seeking political power over sub-federal territories,2 they aggressively sought to create a base for an ethnic identity that would support their projects of ethnically exclusive states. Given the cross-ethnic character of social relations and ties in the country as well as the actual ethnic mix of population territorially and geographically, the nationalists' aim for "ethnically pure" states required a radical shift in discourse. History and language were to be purged of any notion of peaceful co-existence, as cultural "cleansing" was a precursor to war. In the process, cross-ethnic links, cooperation, and historic ties were replaced by the essential notion of ethnic difference. Ethnic groups, the post-socialist nationalists claimed, were tied with a "common blood" and "common destiny" which form the natural basis for cooperation, reciprocity, and trust. Any other types of bonds were perceived as a threat to the historic, cultural, and territorial claims of the ethnic collective. Within the political nationalistic discourse and, consequently, the public realm, cross-ethnic links were treated as suspicious or more often as a dangerous aberration away from the natural and normal ethnic ties and bonds based on shared tradition, religion, and culture. Despite the political claims made by politicians, multi-ethnic Yugoslavia was still a reality in the lives of its individual citizens in 1990-1. A survey of 650 refugees in Serbia, originating from 52 ethnically heterogeneous communities in Croatia, showed that the disintegration of their communities was not the result of ethnic tensions in their day-to-day lives in the experience of those surveyed (Milivojevic 1992). Rather, it resulted from political pressure orchestrated by the political elites and their nationalistic parties causing fear among the local citizens. This type of pressure gradually led to ethnic tensions, conflict, and their flight to Serbia (ibid.). In this survey two-thirds of the respondents came from minority groups in their communities. Some 86 per cent of them had ethnic origins that differed from those of their neighbours, while 96 per cent had established friendships and 66 per cent had family relations with members of other ethnic groups. Fully 60 per cent denied the existence of ethnic divisions or intolerance in their

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communities and 77 per cent had not had personal conflicts with members of other ethnic groups. While 5.5 per cent judged the atmosphere to be one of ethnic division and intolerance, only 1.2 per cent were able to give evidence of personal conflicts with members of other ethnic groups, and a mere 0.8 per cent were able to give evidence of collective forms of such conflict (Milivojevic 1992). These data describe the situation in ethnically mixed communities in Croatia before the first multi-party election campaigns in the region, in the winter of 1990. According to the same survey, from that time on, the situation started to change, and relations with neighbours, friends, and even relations among family members deteriorated. My own research revealed a similar pattern.3 For example, Goca, a Bosnian Serb woman from eastern Bosnia-Herzegovina, a teacher, portrayed the situation in her town a few years before her flight: In our street, the neighbours were mostly Muslims [...] Those seven, eight Muslim homes around us, we didn't celebrate any holiday [religious] alone, our neighbours, all of them would come, wish us a happy holiday, but also, not a Bairam [Muslim religious holiday] passed without us wishing them a happy holiday [...] Believe me that we, from [her hometown], neither Muslims nor Serbs, didn't want war [...] We couldn't conceive there'd be a war, that I'd run away from my Muslim neighbour. And I also know that my closest Muslim neighbours didn't think so [...] Actually, two years before the war [the war in Bosnia-Herzegovina started in April 1992], something changed in the people, you'd talk with your friends, but there were some things you'd not talk about [...] You could feel it in the school [where she worked as a teacher], that parents were choosing a Muslim, a Serb teacher. That grieved me very much [...] In the circle of people with whom me and my husband were friends [...] the people started wondering the last two years what was happening, when those national parties won in our Bosnia [in 1990], (personal communication, summer 1995) Similarly, Branka, a Croatian Serb woman from eastern Croatia, explained the situation in her hometown before flight: You couldn't feel it [ethnic intolerance] at all, nor did anyone ask you what you were [in terms of one's ethnic origin]. I don't know [...] I didn't feel that we [Serbs in her hometown mostly populated by Croats] were being treated differently, we're this and you're that. Not until Tudjman's [the then President of Croatia] Croatian Democratic Union [HDZ party] started, those elections, then they went completely crazy. Maybe you wouldn't have paid so much attention to it, but there is this fear, the fear your parents passed on to you 'cause they have gone through some things [during the IIWW].4 Like, here it is [nationalism] rearing its head again. Then the media, since we could only watch Channel 1 of the Belgrade and Zagreb state TV. (personal communication, summer 1995)

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Politicians engineered war propaganda, targeting the voters who, in 1990, at the time of the first multi-party elections in the country, were still ambivalent and did not make a clear choice for nationalists and independence (Woodward 1995: 118). The process was not smooth, as it took time and a lot of war propaganda to recreate "national enemies" and to develop paranoia within ethnic collectives. As in other conflicts constructed as ethnic strife, for example in Rwanda, the role of the media was central to spreading fear and hatred among populations at the communal level.5 As Parin (1994: 41) pointed out, television and radio were tightly controlled and were "serving the populace a diet of lies, invention, and propaganda, sometimes horrifying, sometimes sentimental." The "television war" and the media war started long before the outbreak of the armed conflict.6 In his analysis, Parin (ibid.) refers to a statement of Marco Altherr, the then Head of the International Red Cross delegation in the former Yugoslavia, in which he asserts that television was in large measure responsible for atrocities on both sides of the conflict in Croatia, "by having aroused instincts of revenge and unleashed reciprocal acts of retribution." In their rhetoric, the post-socialist nationalists claimed that the "unnatural" socialist regime had replaced religion, tradition, shared blood, and kin for the emancipation of the working class, women, and proletarian internationalism. The nationalistic discourse, for its part, offered a set of values constructed as traditional, which could easily be perceived as natural. According to these "new" values women were expected to take on the responsibilities for the (re)production of the group, as well as custody of cultural values and identity. Policies were introduced encouraging the population growth of the "right kind" in the name of "national security" (Korac 1996). Many authors have emphasised that women are central to producing and maintaining cultural and group identity (e.g. Yuval-Davis and Anthias 1989; Yuval-Davis 1997; Walby 1992). During the growing process of militarisation associated with the escalation of armed conflict, women often become specifically targeted because of these roles. This is because identity politics of new wars constructed as ethnic strife assign women with "honourable" roles as "Mothers of the Nation" and "Symbols of the Nation."7 They became increasingly seen as precious property to be controlled and "protected." In this type of conflict, women are seen as precious property of both the "enemy" and the nationalists. Their bodies become territories to be seized and conquered. Testimonies of the raped women in the war in Bosnia-Herzegovina show that conquering women's bodies did not primarily mean sexual violence against them, but a pattern of revenge and aggression resulting in the physical victimisation of women (Stiglmayer 1994: 118). Physical and sexual violence against women in war (and in peace) serves as a "method" of "disciplining" women who fail to behave "properly." Women are "disciplined" by men of the opposed ethnic group because they are loyal to their husbands and community.8 Rape in war constructed as ethnic strife is also a powerful symbolic weapon against the "enemy." The woman, as a symbol of the nation, as pointed out earlier, depicts the "Motherland" as a spatial metaphor, an embodied

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femaleness. Rape of the woman's body/nation, by planting alien seed, disrupts the maintenance of the collective. This logic leads to interpretations of rape as ethnic harm, rather than a violent assault on women's rights to reproductive selfdetermination, through the violation of women's bodies and control of their lives. Rape is also an effective weapon of territorial "cleansing," since men in patriarchal cultures will not return to the communities where they have been "humiliated" by the rape of "their" women (Korac 1999). The very logic of rape as a weapon in the brutal strategy of "ethnic-cleansing," as Meznaric (1994: 79) explains, rests upon "the use of gender as a means to control communication and to sharpen the boundaries between two opposed ethnicities." The rape of women "belonging to the enemy" carries an important symbolic message from men to men. As Seifert (1994: 58) points out, it communicates to men of the opposing group that they are unable to defend their women. Therefore, she argues, sexual aggression towards women in war results, at a symbolic level, in wounded masculinity, marking men as "incompetent" in their role as protectors of their women (Seifert 1994: 58). Rape and sexual violence in war also functions as an important mobilising element for furthering militarisation of ethnic collectives. In war masculinity is predominantly equated with militarised aggression. Consequently, men are under constant pressure to prove their manhood by joining the military and by committing various acts of violence, importantly including sexual violence. Militarised violence, therefore, becomes the process within which men can ultimately prove their "wounded" masculinity. Reshaping social relations marked by cross-ethnic ties and the creation of ethnic tensions, hatred and (militarised) violence was, therefore, a profoundly gendered process. Due to the patriarchal backlash of the transition period briefly outlined here, the notions of femininity and masculinity had been gradually reshaped and closely linked to the notions of ethnic purity, identity, and authenticity. This change and the resulting shift in the dynamics of gender relations of power were central to instigating (militarised) war violence. Women and men had gradually become mobilised and engaged with war through their reshaped gender roles. Their fe/male bodies, feminine and masculine, had been critical both symbolically and physically for naturalising ethnic bonds and the creation of new ethnicised forms of statehood. In this sense, both women and men as specifically located and positioned gendered actors played active, albeit different, roles in this war. They also responded to the conflict in different ways. While some became actively involved in waging or supporting war, others sought alliances across conflict imposed divisions and demarcation lines organising themselves against war. The last section of this chapter examines both the conceptual and context specific reasons why (some) women opted for alternative political mobilisation during the violent disintegration of Yugoslavia, and became involved in anti-war initiatives as women. Their activism, I argue, had an important potential in conflict resolution although it was never fully acknowledged and adequately supported.

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Recreating cross-ethnic trust: bottom-up identity work of anti-war women's groups During the 1990s, there was a number of women's groups in Serbia (e.g. Women in Black Belgrade,9 and Autonomous Women's Centre Belgrade), Croatia (e.g. Centre for Women War Victims Zagreb), and in Bosnia (e.g. Medica Zenica, and Women for Women, Sarajevo), which can be regarded as some of the very few "islands of civility" (Kaldor 1999). The work of these groups was aimed at re-establishing cross-ethnic ties and forms of trust, as these women recognised quite early on the centrality of maintaining old and developing new connections across ethnic lines and boundaries of the new ethnicised states. The awareness of the centrality of inter-group connections across the ethnic divide for conflict resolution and post-conflict reconstruction prompted these anti-war women's groups to embark upon work with refugee women and women survivors of sexual violence in war. As these women have been the most violently affected by the exclusionary ethnic politics and nationalism in the region they were in the greatest need of support to overcome their experiences of victimisation as an ethnic "other." They were also those who, as it was then hoped, would eventually return to their homes and thus actively engage in re-building their multi-ethnic communities. The work with women who were subjected to sexual violence was particularly important because of the social and political implications of sexualised forms of violence in this type of conflict, as outlined earlier. Anti-war women's groups argued that women who were subjected to sexual violence in the conflict were further victimised by the aggressive politics of their governments and their media machines.10 In response to the processes of "othering" members of different ethnic groups, anti-war women's groups put emphasis on establishing multi-ethnic selfhelp groups for exiled women. This was regarded as critical for their overall wellbeing as it was considered that coming to terms with individual traumatic experiences is importantly linked to the process of group reconciliation. By implementing this approach they combined provision of humanitarian assistance with psycho-social and political work with victimised women. Women activists not only aimed to provide support by collecting and delivering aid, such as food or clothing, or by helping these women to find work and by offering them legal advice. Rather, the work of anti-war women's groups put strong emphasis on the importance of re-establishing destroyed connections across the ethnic divide, which they considered a critically important source of individual and group identity formation. This work demonstrated that women of different ethnic backgrounds, with diverse experiences of victimisation, could establish and maintain relationships of mutual respect. This was considered a starting point in (re)developing relationships of trust, which is a critical first step in overcoming divisions and fragmentation caused by exclusionary and nationalist politics of war (Boric 1994; Cockburn 1998; Korac 1998c).

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In helping victimised women to come to terms with their traumatic experiences, some women's groups introduced discussion groups and writing workshops. This was regarded as yet another way of initiating a gradual and often painful process of (re)establishing respect and trust in the "other" side of the ethnic divide. In these workshops refugee and non-refugee women talked about family, friendship, and other social ties in their communities. After years of the divisive identity-politics of war and experiences of victimisation because of their ethnicity, these discussions provided a supportive context permitting women to remember the inter-ethnic links they had before the war, as well as those forged during the conflict, their flight and its aftermath. In doing so they actively explored the issues of loss, anger, hatred, and guilt. An activist of the Women in Black Belgrade explained, "the women have every right to their bitterness towards people from other ethnic origin," and that is why the exploration of their feelings was so important (personal communication, summer 1995). However, the discussion groups and written accounts were typically characterised by emerging stories and memories of life as it was before the war, and would gradually lead to the recognition of good and trusted neighbours, friends, and relatives whom the war turned into enemies, some real and some imagined. This practice was invaluable because it enabled the women to create a social space in which they were allowed to remember good and trusted people at the other side of the ethnic divide. Within the context of identity politics of war that promoted hatred and fear of an "other," defined as a member of the opposed ethnic group, this was regarded as a highly subversive activity. More importantly, because these women had traumatic experiences during the conflict because of their ethnicity, this process was a highly valuable step towards the reconciliation and healing. This process proved to be critical for many of the victimised women in dealing with their feelings of hatred and bitterness. It led to questioning issues of identity and belonging, as they were shaped by the divisive politics of conflict as well as their war experiences. Through this type of "identity work" both refugee and non-refugee women started developing positive and constructive approaches to crises, and created spaces for mutual understanding and ongoing productive exchange. One of the women active in Autonomous Women's Centre Belgrade explained how each and every one of the women involved in this process aimed at building trust in the "other" side through their willingness to hear what the other side had to say, and through their trust that the other side is equally willing to hear them (personal communication, summer 1995). This type of communication and exchange created spaces in which women were positioned in a compatible way, and where the nationalist discourse of "right" and "wrong" ethnic belonging did not exist. Women's experience of exile and their involvement in work organised by anti-war women's groups in the region exposed the hollowness of essentialist beliefs in the "common destiny" of ethnic collectives and related narratives. This process of women organising against war and the effort of keeping lines of communication open was not problem-free. It caused at times internal tensions and divisions." The spread of war, distraction, and various forms of

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victimisation of different ethnic groups in the region were new experiences for these women. During the early years of the conflict, they found them almost impossible to share. Their first meetings with women from "the other side" marked the beginning of a painful, yet an overall successful process of reconciliation of differences embedded in "relational positionality" of these women (Stasiulis 1998). Relational positionality is a concept which refers to: "the multiple relations of power which intersect in complex ways with position of individuals and collectives in shifting and often contradictory locations within geopolitical spaces, historical narratives and movement politics" (Stasiulis 1998: 16-17). Although the tensions and divisions resulting from women's differentiated positioning and experiences of war and violence have become more widely/ internationally known, their courageous and persistent initiatives to keep communications across the ethnic divide open were left largely unacknowledged. However, connections across the ethnic divide did not only survive, but also grew with the escalation of war violence and the growing numbers of refugees in the region. The email link Za mir [for peace], which was almost the only means of communication within the war-torn region during the years of armed conflict, was one of the important ways of exchange among these women. It enabled women activists to share experiences and newly acquired knowledge concerning their work with refugee women and survivors of sexual violence in war. It also facilitated the establishment of new contacts and friendships, as well as the nurturing of established ones. Moreover, Women in Black Belgrade were involved in establishing a wider network of anti-war women's groups, consisting of women from the region as well as internationally. This has resulted in an annual meeting of women's solidarity against war, nationalism, and violence. Between 1992 and the early 2000, this international meeting was held every summer in Serbia, each meeting followed by a published report entitled Women for Peace. During the years of the armed conflict (1991-5), participation at these meetings was highly risky for many women coming from territories directly affected by armed conflict. It involved not only a laborious process of obtaining travel documents, but also long, exhausting, and often dangerous journeys. Moreover, these women were regarded as "disloyal" and subversive to the political interests of their "countrymen" and the state, because of their participation at these meetings. Thus, they were often in danger of being socially and politically stigmatised in their places of origin and of losing their jobs (personal communication with participants of the 6th Annual Meeting of Women's Solidarity Against War, Nationalism and Violence, held in Novi Sad, Serbia, August 1997).

Women-as-women cross-ethnic organising and reconciliatory potential: concluding remarks It is not surprising that (some) women in the region had been actively involved in the grassroots work of keeping lines of communication open since the very beginning of tensions and turmoil leading to war. Cockburn (1998: 44), in her

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analysis of women's "bridge-building" projects in Northern Ireland, Israel/ Palestine and Bosnia-Herzegovina, points out that feminism understood as antiessentialist and democratic, that is - inclusive of women differently situated in ethnic, class and other structures, tend to "immunise" women against regressive constructions of ethnic and national identity characterising conflict constructed as ethnic, religious, or communal strife. "If you pick a non-primordial gender card," she claims, "you are less likely to reach for a primordial national card" (ibid.). Cockburn further argues that such a gender critique reveals the seductive notions of the words "community," "country," and "people" invoked in nationalist discourse, which hide within it gender and class inequalities. She goes on to explain how anti-essentialist and democratic feminism helps (some) women to reveal the contradicting nature of the seemingly innocent notion of "home" that conceals confinement, divisions, oppression, and violence, and points out that such women are "the more likely to be sceptical of 'homeland'. If you see home as a 'golden cage' you may suspect that homeland too has its contradictions" (Cockburn 1998: 45). For these reasons, she concludes, a feminist analysis "makes women question the pursuit of political movements by violent means" (Cockburn 1998: 45). This and other similar feminist analyses emphasise that women are not "natural peacemakers" and that they can indeed be deeply involved in nationalist projects and politics. These analyses point out, however, that because women have not been exposed to masculine socialisation, they may be better positioned than men to question the values of a male-dominated society and to formulate a transformative, non-violent vision of conflict resolution (Carter 1996; Women in Black Belgrade 1994, 1997). Studies of conflicts in Colombia and Guatemala also support this argument and demonstrate that women's organising tends to produce greater peace-facilitating social capital than men's groups (Moser and Mcllwaine 2001). Women's organising against divisive politics and war violence in Serbia and other parts of socialist Yugoslavia had started quite early on, before the armed violence began. Feminism has a long history in the region, and feminists were the first to initiate an organised women's resistance to nationalism, violence, and war.12 The emergence of nationalism and nationalist discourse left women increasingly "displaced" from participation in the labour force; it "planted" them back into the family and household. These developments were coupled with a decrease in woman's political participation.13 As women were losing out in economic, social, and public life, and when their reproductive rights and freedoms came under attack by nationalists who saw women as biological reproducers of their nations, previously, loosely linked women who called themselves feminists began to organise. Although these groups were small and coming from the political margin, they were among the first to publicly voice their opposition to nationalist politics, their tactics of spreading fear and hatred and to the process of militarisation in the region. One of the groups these women formed in Belgrade was "Women in Black Against War," as mentioned earlier. These women were publicly protesting against the Serbian regime, nationalist politics, and war, and were pressing for creative

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diplomacy and arguing for a voice for democratic women's groups and other nongovernmental organisations in negotiating a cessation of hostilities in the country. The first vigil of Women in Black (WiB) Belgrade was held on 9 October 1991, and it remained the only permanent anti-war public protest to this day. This was not the only anti-war and peace initiative started by women. In fact, women launched almost all the early peace initiatives in Belgrade and Serbia (Mladjenovic 2003). Mladjenovic (ibid: 41) argues that the reasons for women making up the majority in the early peace initiatives were threefold. Their gender position made it safer for them to act against the regime, as men were under threat of forced mobilisation. Also, their experience of doing unpaid work in the household made them more open to engagement in unpaid, volunteer work in the peace movement. Finally, their knowledge of "making do with less" facilitated their engagement in horizontal, non-competitive activities. Further, and in reference to research on gender, social capital and political participation, in any society women are more likely to be active in the more informal reaches of politics, such as peace movements, rather than in a more formal political arena (Lowndes 2006). Through this kind of communication and activism these women became engaged in bridging initiatives and practices aimed at establishing bonds across difference and (ethnic) boundaries. The practice does not imply, however, abandonment of one's own "roots" or sense of identity and belonging. In this sense, bridging and bonding are not "either-or" categories (Putnam 2000: 23). Rather they involve the simultaneous processes of "rooting" in one's own membership and identity, and "shifting" in order to put oneself in the situation of other participants in the process or communication. This type of practice often pursued by women's groups has been termed transversal politics by Italian feminists.14 This type of resistance to war that emerged initially among rather small and marginal groups of middle-class women who considered themselves feminists had been gradually, yet crucially, shaped and empowered by the experiences of refugee women who have been victimised by war in various ways. Their joint and successful efforts in organising multi-ethnic self-help groups remained a unique attempt in developing elements of a culture of reconciliation in the region. Although important, these groups and their work remained marginal within the "mainstream," male-dominated alternative political initiatives in the region as well as internationally. The discussion in this chapter has aimed to contribute to gendered analyses of conflict and social capital by examining how the process of mobilisation of social capital for war or peace is gendered and context-specific. My analysis has also supported substantial empirical evidence that women-as-women organising in specific contexts promotes civic bridging links and supports a type of alternative politics that is embedded in cross-ethnic and cross-boundary trust and reciprocity. This type of links and communication are central to the reconciliation processes, conflict resolution, and post-conflict reconstruction. Further research and analysis is required to uncover other links and factors affecting these (gendered) processes in order to identify and support the ones which represent a resource for democracy and peace.

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Notes 1 At the time of the 1981 census, the number of people in ethnically mixed marriages and from ethnically mixed backgrounds was greater than the number of ethnic Albanians living in Kosova, Montenegrins, Macedonians, Bosniaks, and Slovenes (Petrovic 1985). 2 Denitch (1972) explains how the Yugoslav system of decentralisation was based on the identification of leadership, not with ethnic, but with geopolitical (republic) interests. Given that none of the republics was ethnically homogeneous, the local leadership was formed within the republics. Such formed leadership, in time, became the leadership on the federal level, but its power base remained in the republics. Denitch rightly argued, back in the 1970s, that this system had "a build-in tendency to develop localism and to encourage nationalistic demagoguery" (1972: 34). 3 Empirical data used in this chapter were collected between 1994 and 1997 as part of my PhD research project entitled The Power of Gender in the Transition from State Socialism to Ethnic Nationalism, Militarization, and War: The Case of Post Yugoslav

States, York University, Toronto (Korac 1998a). 4 During the Second World War and the socialist revolution in Yugoslavia (1941-5) the massacres of civilians took place throughout the region. Some of the worst were committed by the Ustashe, pro-Nazi Croats, against the Serbian population in Croatia and Bosnia-Herzegovina. The Ustashe also murdered left-wing Croats and the Jews and Gypsies who came under the jurisdiction of the independent Nazi-state of Croatia. One of the most notorious death camps in this state was run by the fascist Ustashe at Jasenovac, where hundreds of thousands of Serbs were slaughtered between 1941 and 1945 (Denitch 1994: 30). As Parin (1994: 39) pointed out, independent Croatia of the 1990s was compared by many Serbs living there to the fascist, puppet Croatian state created during the Second World War. He also emphasised that the then Croatian government did not do anything to distance themselves clearly from the crimes of fascism (ibid.). 5 For more information on the role of the media in the conflict in Rwanda see Malvern (2002) and Des Forges (2002). 6 For more information on the role of the media in the Yugoslav conflict, see Zarkov (2007). 7 Gender dimensions of identity politics of new wars in general, and in Yugoslavia in particular, are more complex and go beyond the notion of women as "Mothers of the Nation." For an in-depth analysis of how identity politics of conflict in Yugoslavia had shaped notions of femininity and masculinity, and the roles of women and men see Zarkov (2007). 8 This has been well-documented in testimonies of raped women in BosniaHerzegovina (Stiglmayer 1994: 136). 9 "Women in Black against War" started in Israel/Palestine in the late 1980s, and quickly spread to Italy, and on to Belgrade, London, Toronto, and other centres. By the late 1990s, it had become a worldwide network of anti-war and anti-nationalist women. 10 For more on these types of victimisation see Korac (1998b). 11 For more on the issue of internal tensions and divisions see Benderly (1997) and Korac (1998a: 35-46). 12 For more on the history of feminism before the conflict see Benderly (1997), Korac (1998a), and Papic (1995). 13 For more on how women were losing out in economic, social and public life see Milic (1996) and Korac (1998b). 14 Nira Yuval-Davis (1997) developed conceptually this well-known strategy of feminists worldwide and emphasised the centrality of the processes of "rooting" and "shifting" for this type of communication and exchange.

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References Benderly, J. (1997) "Rape, feminism, and nationalism in the war in Yugoslav successor states," in L. A. West (ed.), West feminist nationalism, London: Routledge. Boric, R. (ed.) (1994) Edited volume: centre for women war victims, Zagreb: Women's

Information and Documentation Centre. Carter, A. (1996) "Should women be soldiers or pacifists," Peace Review, 8(3): 31-6. Cockburn, C. (1998) The space between us: negotiating gender and national identities in

conflict, London: Zed Books. Coleman, J. S. (1990) Foundations of Social Theory, Cambridge: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press. Denitch, B. (1972) "Social structure: strengths and stresses," in G. M. Raymond (ed.), Proceedings of the Sixth Pratt Planning Conference held on 7 March 1972 in New

York City, pp. 34-6. (1994) Ethnic Nationalism: The Tragic Death of Yugoslavia, Minneapolis and

London: University of Minnesota Press. Des Forges, A. (2002) "Silencing the voices of hate in Rwanda," in M. E. Price and M. Thomson (eds), Forging peace: intervention, human rights and the management of

media space, Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Duffield, M. (1997) "Ethnic war and international humanitarian intervention: A broad perspective," in D. Turton (ed.), War and ethnicity: global connections and local viol-

ence, New York: University of Rochester Press. (2001) Global governance and the new wars, London: Zed Books.

Goodhand, J. and Hulme, D. (1999) "From wars to complex political emergencies: Understanding conflict and peace-building in the new world disorder," Third World Quarterly, 20(1): 15-26. Hill, J. D. and Wilson, T. M. (2003) "Identity politics and the politics of identities," Identities: Global Studies in Culture and Power, 10: 1-8. Kaldor, M. (1999) New and old wars: organised violence in a global era, Cambridge:

Polity Press. Korac, M. (1996) "Understanding ethnic national identity in times of war and social change," in R. B. Pynsent (ed.), The literature of nationalism of nationalism: essays on east European identity, London: Macmillan. (1998a) The power of gender in the transition from state socialism to ethnic nationalism, militarization, and war: the case of post Yugoslav states, unpublished thesis,

York University, Canada. (1998b) "Ethnic nationalism, wars and the patterns of social, political and sexual violence against women: the case of post-Yugoslav countries," Identities, 5(2): 153-81. (1998c) Linking arms: women and war in post-Yugoslav states, Women and Nonvi-

olence Series, No. 6. Uppsala: Life&Peace Institute. (1999) "Refugee women in Serbia: their experiences with war, nationalism and state building," in N. Yuval-Davies and P. Wierbner (eds), Women, citizenship and difference, London: Zed Books. (2004) "War, Flight and Exile: Gendered Violence among Refugee Women from Post-Yugoslav States," in W. Giles and J. Hyndman (eds) Sites of Violence: ender and Conflict Zones. Berkeley: University of California Press. Lowndes, V. (2006) "It's not what you've got, but what you do with it: women, social capital, and political participation," in E. Gidengil and B. O'Neill (eds), Gender and social capital, New York and Oxon: Routledge.

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Malvern, L. (2002) "Missing the story: the media and the Rwanda genocide," in C. Mclnnes and N. J. Wheeler (eds), Dimensions of military intervention, London: Frank Cass. Meznaric, S. (1994) "Gender as an ethno-marker: rape, war, and identity politics in the former Yugoslavia," in V. M. Moghadam (ed.), Identity politics and women: cultural reassertations and feminisms in international relations, Boulder: Westview.

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Oxford: Oxford University Press. Milivojevic, Z. (1992) "Research on displaced persons from Croatia, 1991," paper presented at the Conference on Mass Migration in Europe, Vienna, March. Mladjenovic, L. (2003) "Women in Black against war (Belgrade)," in W. Giles, M. De Alwis, E. Klein, N. Silva, M. Korac, D. Knezevic and Z. Papic (eds), Feminists under fire: exchanges across war zones, Toronto: Between the Lines.

Morokvasic-Miiller, M. (2004) "From pillars of Yugoslavism to targets of violence: interethnic marriages in the former Yugoslavia and thereafter," in W. Giles and J. Hyndman (eds), Sites of violence: gender and conflict zones, Berkeley: University of

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ceptions from Guatemala, Washington, DC: World Bank. Papic, Z. (1995) "Women's movement in former Yugoslavia: 1970s and 1980s," in M. Blagojevic, D. Duhacek and J. Lukic (eds), What can we do for ourselves, Belgrade: Centre for Women's Studies, Research and Communication. Parin. P. (1994) "Open wounds: ethnopsychoanalytic reflections of the wars in the former Yugoslavia," in A. Stiglmayer (ed.), Mass rape: the war against women in Bosnia-

Herzegovina, Lincoln and London: University of Nebraska Press. Petrovic, R. (1985) Etnicki mesoviti brakovi u Jugoslaviji [Ethnically mixed marriages in

Yugoslavia]. Beograd: Institut za socioloska istrazivanja Filozoskog fakulteta u Beogradu. Putnam, R. D. (2000) Bowling alone: the collapse and revival of American community,

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of Nebraska Press. Stasiulis, D. (1998) "Relational positionalities of nationalism, racism and feminism," paper presented at the 10th Annual Interdisciplinary Feminist Colloquium, York University, Toronto, March. Stiglmayer, A. (ed.) (1994) Mass rape: the war against women in Bosnia-Herzegovina,

Lincoln and London: University of Nebraska Press. Walby, S. (1992) "Woman and nation," International Journal of Comparative Sociology,

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ton, DC: The Brookings Institute. Yuval-Davis, N. (1997) Gender and nation, London: SAGE. Yuval-Davis, N. and Anthias, F. (eds) (1989) Women-nation-state, London: Macmillan. Zarkov, D. (2007) The body of war: media, ethnicity, and gender in the break-up of

Yugoslavia, Durham and London: Duke University Press.

8

Decentralization and social capital formation in communities of Mali Keith M. Moore

As societies develop and modernize, the basis for societal wellbeing requires a qualitative shift from exclusive loyalty to primary groups to networks of secondary associations (Narayan 2002). This transition is not assured. Although social capital exists to some degree in all communities, its strength and quality can vary. The problem for social capital development is in how to combine the strength of social solidarities at the village level to reach across multiple villages and integrate the community into the evolving socio-economic context. Given that social capital is tied to specific organizational forms (Warren et al. 2001; Evans 1996), it seems that decentralization, bringing government closer to the community, would provide a fertile context for local populations to strengthen these social solidarities. This chapter investigates how and why decentralization of administrative structures has shaped social capital formation in one community. In 2006, the ethnically Peul herder hamlet of Nouna in the historically and administratively twinned village of Tatia-Nouna, Commune of Madiama, became a casualty of decentralization. A decade after the assignment of villages to the newly decentralized communal structures of Mali, traditional Nouna village lands were occupied by villagers from Syn and Kera in the neighboring Commune of Djenne within whose boundaries those lands were located. It was simply done, an externally driven (World Bank-funded) project established an irrigated perimeter for the villagers of Syn where Nouna livestock traditionally grazed and watered. Shortly thereafter, villagers from Kera constructed a livestock stockade to restrict livestock movement in the area of the irrigated perimeter. The Nouna village head communicated his concern about this infringement on Nouna's traditional land and water use rights to the Syn village authorities but without success. Later he filed a complaint with the Prefect at the level of the Cercle in Djenne, taking care to inform the mayor of his own commune. An administrative process to redress the issue was launched and a meeting was organized in the litigated zone. The Prefect, his assistant, the Gendarme Commander, the mayors of the two communes, the village heads of Nouna and Syn and their advisers took part in the meeting. During the discussions, the Prefect and Nouna village head ended up in a shouting match, because as the Nouna village head noted, the Prefect of Djenne came to the meeting with settled ideas.

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Indeed, this was just a culminating event in a decade-long process of social disintegration and disenfranchisement. The rules of Malian decentralization were deemed fixed. As no counter social mobilization was evident, the judicial process advanced to its logical administrative conclusion. At one point in the discussion, the Prefect, feeling verbally offended, physically attacked the Nouna village head. When the son of the latter stepped between them, the Prefect gave the order to the gendarmes to lock up him up. The son was later released through the intervention of the Mayor of Madiama and payment of 15,000 FCFA to the Gendarme Commander. Signaling the consummation of this resource re-allocation process, the animals of Nouna which were being watered at their usual watering hole, now the irrigated perimeter of Syn, were seized by the Djenne communal authorities. The livestock were only returned after payment of a fine (1,000 FCFA/head of cattle and 250 FCFA/head of sheep). Attempts to address the issue of the Kera village enclosure of livestock grazing lands have been ignored. What happened? How did the villagers of Nouna come to be dispossessed of their traditional access to land and water?

Decentralization and resource tenure During the 1990s, a policy of administrative decentralization and democratization promulgated throughout rural Mali (Rawson 2000). Substantial powers, including land tenure decision-making, were devolved to newly created Rural Communes. The delineation (decoupage) of these territorial collectives involved frequent consultations at the local (or regional) level and was often controversial. Contestation between villages and within the national assembly was common. Despite serious attempts to organize "communes based on criteria of social solidarity, economic viability, and logic of geography and space" (Rawson 2000: 278), regional government officials imposed many commune boundaries. The full implications of this power transfer were left to be sorted out later. Resource tenure in West Africa has traditionally balanced the resource needs (largely access to land and water) of various households within low population density production systems (Sanders et al. 1996; Cisse 1985). Use rights to a resource varied seasonally, providing the flexibility needed for multiple production systems. Resource conflicts were resolved amicably through customary adjudication practices. At the core of these customs' was a process of reconciliation between disputants, rather than a winner-takes-all consequence, as in modern Western law. Procedures in traditional courts were simple and informal, although not easily accessible to women or younger men. In modern courts, while access is universal in principle, limits still exist due to transportation costs and the need for a lawyer to advocate one's case. Otherwise, justice is administered by the local representatives of the national authorities. In the Niger Delta, overlapping spatial claims are seen among livestock production systems at the intersection of pastoral territories (leydi) managed

124 K.M. Moore exclusively by herders and the village pasturelands (harima) managed by sedentary villagers (Cisse 1985). This competition between the leydi and the harima has occurred as the size of village lands (terroirs) increased at the expense of pastoral lands (terroirs). The progressive loss of pastoral lands through expansion of animal traction cultivation is a manifestation of the power of sedentary village chiefs, legitimized by the support of village elders and legalized by the laws of the republic. Lacking legal recognition of the Malian administration, the power and legitimacy of the herd masters (jowro) has all but disappeared. Initially, the modern state (both colonial and post-colonial) did little to change customary land tenure arrangements in rural areas. Docking (1999) notes that despite French and Malian government attempts to manage local government in Mali, village-based decision-making processes changed little. In 1934, the contemporary context was set by the Supreme Court of French West Africa which decreed that the African village was "a legal entity with customary rights and the village chief was the defender of those rights" (Mamdani 1996: 114). An intermediary infrastructure of cantons was adapted as the mechanism for organizing relations between the central state and the villages. Moore et al. (2003) contend that this preservation of customary rights defined a subordinate, but partially autonomous, state apparatus. The colonial administration in Mali sought to govern indirectly by relying on local authorities to implement colonial policies through the singular administrative binding of villages to the state. As the demand for scarce resources increased, conflict could only be avoided if access was structured according to mutually agreed criteria of legitimacy. Customary law based on local practice and the local legitimacy of traditional leaders (herd masters, land chiefs, village chiefs, etc.) was too idiosyncratic in the eyes of the state. Customary law and traditional leaders were perceived as an impediment to progress, even when customary laws and authorities were officially recognized and locally supported. Asserting its powers of coercion, the state began promoting a single system of legal ownership and usufruct. Resistance has been isolated and local. Recently, decentralization has been identified as the means to achieve this universalizing modern system.

State and civil society in Africa - a rural clarification Before going into the analysis of the role of social capital formation in this transition, it is necessary to clarify the relationships between rural civil society organizations (CSOs), customary association, and the state. Blair (2000) and Woolcock (1998) give a useful generic definition of civil society as an associational sphere intermediary between the individual/family/household and the state. Put into practice, however, this generic definition often masks quite different perspectives on its existence and qualities. It is argued that Mali's rich history of social complexity and differentiation provided a long and healthy tradition of civil society (Fox et al. 2001). Rawson (2000: 269) concurs that "Associational activity has existed in varying degrees of autonomy from political authorities for centuries; civil society is not a new

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idea in Mali." Docking (1999: 24) suggests that "rural associational groups are key actors within the village level political structure and form the backbone of rural communal life." However, he notes that "the concept of civil society as articulated in the West fails to account for the dynamics unfolding at the grassroots level in Mali" (1999: 395). Social relations in the broader rural civil society, such as they are, have been largely coincidental with the nearly autonomous local state at the village level and external relations have been structured through the network of the national state apparatus. Mamdani (1996) maintains that customary governance practices have been confused with the characteristics of an autonomous civil society. Customary associational structures must be recognized as distinct from CSOs. These customary structures are characterized by village and clan solidarity, defined within the context of and in opposition to colonial and post-colonial states, and serve as an interface with local chieftaincies. Chieftaincy is a holistic concept without the European enlightenment distinction between legislative, executive, and judiciary roles (Alexandre 1968), whether the particular domain be crop or pasture land, or fishing waters. Indeed, "traditional" chiefs and the apparatus of chieftaincy have both constituted a form of authority of their own, and have served to mediate relations between the state and society (van Dijk and Rouveroy van Nieuwaal 1999). This customary state was based on a regime of force in its external relations and provided identity and security for those living within its domain. In the past (and perhaps into the present), force has been the recognized modality on which production of surpluses for the larger society was based (Ribot 1999). Tax collection and corvee labor (state-required labor services) are the most obvious examples, but state-run production co-operatives have a similar reputation. On one hand, village chiefs are seen as the bulwark for the reproduction of village life, clan/ethnic solidarity, and protection from the state (van Dijk and Rouveroy van Nieuwaal 1999). On the other hand, chiefs are representatives of the national state calling on the gendarmerie (i.e. the force furnished by the nationstate) when a situation surpasses their negotiating capacities. Despite substantial growth of NGOs at the national level, donor-based or NGO projects at the local level, and sustained associational life in rural villages, it is difficult to conclude that civil society (as conceived in the West) has advanced very far in rural Mali. Many NGOs, donors, and national governments have implemented the gestion de terroir approach using socio-professional groups to represent civil society at the local level. Local here is defined, by default, most often as a single village. Indeed, what passes for a local community has remained largely unexamined (for example, see Fox et al. 2001). Common practice when "strangers" (state or NGO development agents) desire to work with villagers is for them to address the village chief requesting entry into the village and explaining their mission. The chief then calls together the village association or a collection of representative elders to discuss the matter. After this consultation, the chief either indicates the village's acceptance of the mission by designating villagers to participate with the "strangers" or declines the offer.

126 K.M. Moore If accepted, a committee is formed. Diversity of committee membership is encouraged by NGOs, but the tendency is for local elites (traditional village headmen) to dominate and for women, youth, and pastoralists to be excluded (Bohrer and Hobbs 1996). The approach has been criticized for its limited scope, avoidance of conflict, and bias against pastoral management (Benjaminsen 1997; Painter 1994). Failure to recognize the significance of these dynamics has led to a blurring of the distinction between the organization and practices of the customary local state, on the one hand, and rural civil society, on the other. Despite concern about fostering an intermediary associational sphere between individuals and the national state, "rural civil society" in donor lexicon has come to be equated with NGO-supported extensions of the customary state (Ribot 2002). This work of international NGOs has led to experimentation in the development of CSOs and, consequently, a clearer definition of what constitutes appropriate criteria for rural associational life (Davis 2000). Civil society organizations should be autonomous from the state and customary authorities. Individuals should have the right of entry into and exit from associations (i.e. membership must be voluntary). For democratic (normative) purposes it is desired that the internal procedures of civil society associations be inclusive and transparent (as demonstrated by leadership selection and decision-making processes). According to these standards, customary village associations in rural Mali so often invoked by development agents do not stand up well. However, they are the most important organizational entities in a village and village residence is sufficient for, indeed obliges, membership, even for those of non-dominant ethnic groups who may reside in the village. Membership is not voluntary and essentially includes household heads for the primary adult association or tonba. Although leaders are chosen more for their personal efficacy than their clan or social origin, Kassibo (1997) notes that democratic elections have never been a part of Malian tradition. Because traditional decision-making is consensual and combined with the regime of force de jure, minority or less powerful voices are often not heard. Civil society, such as it is at the village level, is insular and perhaps only meaningful within the context of face-to-face relations of village life and the authority structures (the customary local state) governing them.

Social capital: the quality of associational relations Decentralization has created opportunities for local dialogue and social adaptation. Confronted by real and shared natural resource-based conflicts affecting the reproduction of their livelihoods, local populations are learning to take advantage of the organizing space created by NGO-led efforts. Often linked with civil society, social capital is a complementary concept that can be applied to increase precision in the analysis of transitions to new associational forms for socioeconomic growth and development. Social capital provides a way to understand the relationships and social forces at work in a development setting (Narayan 2002). Nevertheless, while it is increasingly popular among development spe-

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cialists as a multidisciplinary integrating concept, its application in many different ways has lead to considerable confusion (Portes 1998; Woolcock 1998; Castle 2002), and requires further clarification. In order to understand the quality of social relations with which social capital is associated, it is useful to first draw on the work of Coleman (1988). In seeking to combine the economist's principle of rational action for the analysis of social systems without discarding social organization, Coleman defines social capital as the function of a set of resources within the social structure available to the actor. These resources are composed of trustworthiness, role expectations and obligations, information channels, and effective sanctions. In this conception, social capital refers to individualized resources that can be used to achieve the actor's interests. Alternatively, Putnam (1993) stresses the collective character of the concept. It allows citizens to solve collective problems, cuts transaction costs, and improves social tolerance and public health. It is often measured by three indicative characteristics focusing on the strength of social relations themselves: association memberships, trust, and the expectation of reciprocity. While intuitively reasonable, both approaches have been criticized for their tautological nature, conflating the sources and consequences of social capital, and not taking into account the negative dynamics associated with too much internal solidarity (Portes 1998). The key to unraveling the confusion generated by the individual (atomized actors) versus collective (structurally determined) perspectives is to see individual actors as embedded within structures of social relations where choice of action is an option (Granovetter 1985). For Granovetter (1985), development is a matter of a change in kind, not degree, of embeddedness that is the social ties, cultural practices, and political relations which form the basis for solidarity, trust, membership, etc. Building on this insight, Woolcock (1998) argues that it is necessary to take into account the negative effects of social capital identified by Portes and Landolt (1996) and others. There are costs and benefits to social capital and they need to be measured in order to capture the multidimensionality of the concept. The issue is not a matter of more or less social capital, but of what kind of social capital. Woolcock proposes a complementary concept to embeddedness, that of autonomy (often referred to as "bridging social capital," Warren et al. 2001; or "weak ties," Granovetter 1973). Social relations are not only embedded in various networks in the social structure, but social relations have varying degrees of autonomy across those networks. Autonomy refers to levels of exclusivity and universality, the capacity to reach out and access resources beyond the immediate group. In an earlier work, Granovetter (1973) had highlighted the importance of network connections to others who have few other common relationships allowing individuals and groups to draw on resources not found within the primary group. These "weak ties" provide the bridges for coalition building and establishment of broad-based alliances for community integration and development (Flora and Flora 2008). The model thus constructed (see Figure 8.1) allows for measurement and analysis of social capital at the community level.2 The dimension of

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Autonomy

Embeddedness Low

High

Low

Amoral individualism

Anomie

High

Amoral familism

Social opportunity

Figure 8.1 Consequences of social capital, applying the concepts of embeddedness and autonomy at the micro and macro levels (from Woolcock 1998). embeddedness refers to intra-community bonding through ties of solidarity and trust, and the dimension of autonomy refers to bridges between primary groups forming intra- and inter-community networks. When combined these two dimensions characterize four conditions of social capital generated by their intersection. The subsequent analysis explores these dimensions. High levels of embeddedness (or integration) and autonomy (or linkage) yield conditions of social opportunity conducive to healthy community development. Low levels of integration and linkage yield conditions of amoral individualism, where each individual looks out for himself or herself, trusts no one, and does not develop extra-local social ties. High levels of linkage with low levels of integration generate conditions of anomie, where extensive extra-local social relations exist, but social bonding to a primary community is minimal. Reversing the polarity of these two dimensions yields the condition of amoral familism where individuals are well integrated within their communities, but not well linked with the exterior world. These dimensions of social capital provide the conceptual tools with which to analyze the impact of decentralization on resource tenure. Trust and the expectation of reciprocity have been most frequently identified in the functioning of small groups, families, or communities. In the case of rural Mali, trust and the expectation of reciprocity are structured ethnically within the context of village clans and organized by village elders as represented by the village chief. Embeddedness, then, is manifested through family and clan solidarities and autonomy by the density of bridges between these primary groups, as manifested by membership in CSOs extending ties beyond the village level.

Analysis of social capital - the panel survey sample Data for this analysis come from panel surveys of sample households resident in the Commune of Madiama (Moore 2005). The initial sample design involved a two-stage process. In the first stage, five of the ten villages in the commune were selected as clusters to represent a broad cross-section of the community, assuring that villages of pastoralists, sedentary farmers, and agro-pastoralists would be included. Households were randomly selected from 1996 village census lists

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obtained from the local administrative authorities. A socio-institutional survey with both household heads (male) and their leading wives was conducted later in 1999. After a pre-test of the questionnaires, men and women interviewers were trained in both the content and objectives of the survey, as well as in how to elicit standardized responses. In each village, the village chief was contacted and a meeting held with farmers and herders informing them about the survey and the information that was being sought. Of the initial 120 households, the first round of survey participants included 118 household heads and 120 leading wives for a total of 238 interviews. In January 2003, the panel of households was re-surveyed with some minor attrition, with 115 household heads and 114 leading wives completing the interviews. This sample represents approximately 10 percent of the household population in the commune. The total population of the commune was 7,771 in 1999, rising to 7,973 in 2001. Ethnically, farmers, whether agro-pastoralist or not, are predominantly Marka. Herders, whether sedentary or transhumant, are predominantly Peul. However, over time it appears that herders are building a sedentary perspective, with more of them self-identifying simply as farmers or agro-pastoralists in the 2003 survey. The few remaining Bozo or Dogon in the sample have blended their identities within their particular village settings. One of the five official villages is composed of two hamlets settled at different times by Marka and Peul, respectively. Because these villagers see themselves as distinct from one another and they demonstrate different response sets they are treated separately in the following analysis.

Social capital The survey provides a solid dataset to investigate the level and quality of connectedness of social relations between and among groups in the population. Association membership (networks) and confidence in local institutions (trust) provide indicators to interpret the level of embeddedness and autonomy of social relations in order to characterize the quality of social capital in the Commune of Madiama. Autonomy is measured by the number of local organizations in which a respondent is a member. Integration is indicated by the degree of confidence (trust - measured on a five-point likert scale) respondents have in village and community institutions and their leaders. Membership There are a number of different types of formal and informal associations to which someone can belong. The most common membership for adult men is the tonba (or large village association). Other village-level associations include the Hunters' Association (often with occult restrictions on membership) and the Foresters' Association. Although women's membership in the tonba has always existed in principle, only recently has recognition of women's roles beyond the

130 K.M. Moore household entered into village discourse and independent women's associations have formed. At the commune or inter-village level, associations have been formed around productive activities, such as the Association of the Herders of Nerekoro and the Rice Producers Association of the Casier du Syn. A School Parents Association and a Health Association (linked to the government health service delivery system), and a Natural Resource Management Advisory Committee (NRMAC, linked to a research/NGO project) have also formed over the past decade. Among these primary associations, men's association membership increased minimally between 1999 and 2003 (Table 8.1). However, women's participation in associational life increased significantly. In 1999, women did not actively manifest their membership in the village association. In 2003, 42 percent of women respondents claimed such membership. Membership in women's associations also increased from 33 to 50 percent since 1999. Overall, 40 percent of the women respondents claimed membership in one association versus 33 percent without any membership. Men's participation is slightly higher with 45 percent participating in one association versus 24 percent without any membership. Increasing membership indicates a higher level of connectedness. Association membership also varies by village and ethnicity. The numerically superior Marka clearly dominate organizational memberships, composing nearly the entire membership of commune level organizations such as the Association of the Casier du Syn and the NRMAC, as well as village-level associations such Table 8.1 Changes in association membership by village Village

Madiama

M SD n Tombonkan M SD n Promani M SD n Nerekoro M SD n Tatia M SD n Nouna M SD n

Men's average number of association memberships

Women's average number of association memberships

1999

2003

1999

2003

1.12 (0.96) 33 1.90 (1.52) 10 1.13 (0.87) 23 1.04 (0.98) 25 2.69 (2.21) 13 1.00 (1.18) 11

0.30 (0.47) 33 0.50 (0.53) 10 0.39 (0.58) 23 0.43 (0.51) 23 0.62 (0.65) 13 0.09 (0.30) 11

1.06 (0.95) 34 1.60 (1.08) 10 0.96 (0.93) 23 0.70 (0.64) 23 2.00 (1.08) 13 0.09 (0.30) 11

1.10 (1.03) 30 1.20 (1.32) 10 0.83 (0.72) 23 1.12 (0.78) 25 1.62 (1.19) 13 1.27 (1.01) 11

Percent Marka in village

97 60 35 0 92 9

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as Hunters' Associations (culturally a Bambara/Marka tradition). Although the Herders' Association of Nerekoro is largely Peul, it still has a significant number of Marka members. Participation in village and women's associations is more balanced, reflecting the Marka/Peul composition of each village, although minority groups (e.g., Bozo, Bambara, Dogon) tend not to be members. One exception should be noted here. In the administratively twinned village of Tatia Nouna, the Marka (Tatia) clans are more likely to be association members than the Peul (Nouna) clans (more about this below). Trust In order to measure levels of trust in institutions, respondents to the 2003 survey were asked to identify their level of confidence in a list of local institutions over the past three years on a five-point scale (1 = increased a lot; 2 = increased some; 3 = no change; 4 = decreased some; and 5 = decreased a lot). The list included the commune council and the mayor, representing local government; the village chief and religious leaders, representing customary authorities; and the Syn Rice Growers Association, the Nerekoro Herders' Association, and the NRMAC, representing associations of civil society. A factor analysis confirmed the separate grouping of local government, customary authorities, and CSOs. Overall, Peul villages have lower rates of association membership. This may be due to a tradition of greater individualism among the Peul (Wilson-Fall 2000), and consequently, they are less likely to be joiners. When the confidence of members in each of their associations is compared by ethnicity, however, Peul are statistically (at the 0.01 level) more likely to express confidence in village-level leadership. There is relatively more confidence among Marka in inter-village associations (with the exception of the Herders' Association of Nerekoro). Nevertheless, there are no significant statistical differences in confidence found between Marka and Peul. This suggests a higher level of autonomy or linkage across networks for Marka than Peul. Comparisons of these perceptions of trust by village reveal the extent to which the population is embedded in their primary associations. The key indicator of embeddedness is the expressed level of confidence in customary society. Difference in means tests applied to standardized village-level scores for confidence in customary society highlighted a distinctive pattern of statistically significant differences (Table 8.2). For both men and women, greater confidence in customary society was expressed in the village of Promani than in the central village of Madiama and the neighboring village of Tombonkan (at the 0.01 level). For men, this difference carries over between the village of Nerekoro and those of Madiama and Tombonkan (at the 0.01 level) as well. Women in Promani are more confident in customary authorities than those of Nerekoro (at the 0.05 level). Promani and Nerekoro are predominantly Peul villages with the lowest levels of Marka residence in the sample. However, as the analysis of the twinned village of Tatia Nouna demonstrates, confidence in customary authorities is not necessarily a function of ethnicity. This divided village exhibits

132 K.M. Moore Table 8.2 Differences in mean scores for confidence in customary society by village Village of residence

Confidence in customary society Men

Madiama Tombonkan Promani Nerekoro Tatia Nouna

M SD N M SD N M SD N M SD N M SD N M SD N

0.55ab (0.98) 31 0.39cd (0.36) 10 -0.4730 (0.82) 23 -0.28M (1.06) 25 -0.63h (0.68) 13 0.66h (0.89) 8

Women

0.46e (0.98) 30 0.17f (0.48) 10 -0.68efg (0.88) 20 0.03s (1.11) 21 -0.68* (0.59) 12 0.5? (0.69) 10

Notes a, b, c, d, e, f, h, and i are all significant at the 0.01 level. g is significant at the 0.05 level.

Positive = less trust; negative = more trust.

extreme confidence levels, with the Marka village clans of Tatia expressing the greatest degrees of confidence. In fact, this pattern holds across all measures of confidence in local institutions (local government, customary society, and civil society (at the 0.01 level)). The Peul of Nouna are the least embedded group in their village. Figure 8.2 graphically presents the two dimensions of social capital for each of these villages. While the axis mid-points have been arbitrarily set at the standardized mean values, this presentation provides the opportunity to enrich the discussion with some qualitative insights. It can be noted that villages are not homogeneous with respect to social capital, despite the fact that there are few differences in association memberships between villages.

Village comparisons The village of Madiama is the most populous, holds the weekly market, and houses the seat of Commune governance. Factionalism divides the different quartiers of the village. One quartier, where recent in-migrants reside, is clearly marginalized by the grand families among the original settlers who dominated village life, and now are expanding their dominance at the commune level as

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133

•

'

p omani

amoral familism ' Ne

ekoro

social opportunit

anomie •

amoral individualism

Tombonkan 1

*

-1.50

IV adiama

Nou i a

0.00

1.50

Assnnum

Figure 8.2 Men's social capital characterization of villages according to indicators (2003) of embeddedness (confidence in customary society) and autonomy (association membership). reflected in recent elections. The proximity to local government resources and almost urbanized conditions appears to lead to low levels of confidence in customary authorities, but not necessarily significant network building through associational memberships. Indeed, the characterization of amoral individualism is consistent with local gossip. Everyone is out for her or his own good and cooperation/collaboration for the mutual achievement of goals is difficult at best. Tombonkan provides an interesting contrast. Although a small village with a predominantly Marka and farmer population whose lands are encroached on by the neighboring village of Madiama, it has benefited from straddling a paved road, thereby gaining the attention of passing NGOs, and has consequently built up a relatively higher level of associational memberships. However, the same individual monopolizes key positions in each association so that the benefits of building bridges to others are not reinforced by a dense network. There have been several occasions on which he could not participate in some activities, because he was busy on another association's business. Linkages outside of the village are primarily limited to this single individual. The predominantly Peul villages of Promani and Nerekoro are both characterized in terms of amoral familism. Promani was an old administrative center of the area. Its central position has clearly shifted as Madiama has grown with its weekly market and siting of various government services (school, health center, rice association warehouse, regional research center outpost, and other offices).

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Nevertheless, continued growth of participation in secondary associations could generate a successful spiral into social opportunity. Nerekoro is the central Peul herding village. The inclusive membership of the Nerekoro Herders' Association reflects the effort of one Peul elder's leadership in building bridges across the commune. With its multi-ethnic membership, it clearly represents the type of network building that can strengthen social capital within the commune as a whole. However, the strong, but insular solidarity of these communities and the distrust among the dominant Marka population may inhibit such a shift. Squarely in the midst of the social opportunity category, Tatia is the only outlier. This is most likely driven by the forced integration of two distinct primary groups in one official village. Nouna is at the other extreme of the twofold characterization, amoral individualism. Such differences in self-perception complicate any attempt at social capital formation in the village of Tatia Nouna. The hamlet of Nouna was originally established as a dry season point of entry into the wetlands along the Bani River for Peul herders. These wetlands have afforded excellent grazing resources (bourgou, a floating grass that grows with the rising flood waters). The administrative demarcation of boundaries between newly established communes, consequently, separated the Peul of Nouna from their livelihood resources. While Nouna's traditionally accessed land and water resources fell within the boundaries of the Commune of Djenne, their means of administrative redress became the responsibility of the Commune of Madiama. This administrative transformation removed the basis for legitimate leadership on the part of Nouna village elders with grave consequences for village solidarity through the erosion of the basis for their livelihoods - control over access to land and water. Marka farmers in Tatia profited from the same rich soils of the river bottomlands of Syn for rice production. However, they were able to access their livelihood resources through bridging linkages with the Rice Growers' Association of Syn. They now find themselves well integrated with the newly emerging rural civil society. In contrast, the herders of Nouna were left with no associational or administrative channels to call upon to defend their natural resource claims. One

Table 8.3 Community perceptions concerning the seriousness of farmer-herder conflict and inter-community collaboration Perception

of problems

regarding

Conflict between farmers and herders Inter-community cooperation Notes a Difference in means significant at the 0.05 level, b Difference in means significant at the 0.01 level.

Men3 Women Men3 Womenb

1999

2003

3.50 3.19 2.31 2.33

3.24 3.06 1.95 1.83

Social capital formation in Mali

13 5

would have expected the Herders' Association of Nerekoro to have come to their aid; however, it appears as though the Peul of Nouna had been sacrificed in order to consolidate social relations elsewhere. Lacking support from both modern and traditional forms of association, individuals in Nouna were left to fend for themselves. Indeed, resource conflicts have been muted, but frequent over the past few years. The weakness of the Peul herding population of Nouna and their lack of capacity to mobilize social capital to defend themselves is based in both the weakened position of their livelihood system and their ethnolinguistic differences from the dominant Marka farmers. The consequence has been to undermine community solidarity among the Peul of Nouna.

Discussion Civil society is emerging built on social capital embedded at the village level and new bridges linking villages. But not all villagers are equal participants, and some villages have more positive social capital than others. It is not clear that this new rural civil society will be more inclusive of minority interests. Women are still tied to the village-level ties, because these are most accessible to them. Herders, represented by the villages of Nerekoro and Promani, appear to have a strong solidarity base at the village level as well, but risk isolation from the farmer/Marka majority at the commune level. The villages of Madiama and Nouna are experiencing a lack of embeddedness and poor connections to the larger rural society. The difference between them is that individuals in the central market village of Madiama have greater access to opportunities than those in the isolated hamlet of Nouna. Decentralization has created opportunities for local dialogue and social adaptation. Recently, the development of local agreements for collective, multivillage management of natural resources has begun (Bocoum et al. 2003; Hilhorst and Aarnink 1999). Confronted by real and shared natural resourcebased conflicts affecting the reproduction of their livelihoods, local populations are learning to take advantage of the organizing space created by NGO-ied efforts to develop and apply innovative, locally controlled, problem-solving approaches. Not all can be equally successful. This analysis of social capital demonstrates the importance of building on traditionally valued social relationships and combining these with linkages across groups. Whether Nouna first lost control over resources or its social solidarity was not determined. However, once both dynamics were in place and lacking the ties to the broader community, the inevitable cycle of social decline was set in motion. Although civil society in rural Mali is weak, decentralization has created an opportunity for its development. Civil society, however, is confronted with a subordinate customary state's clan-based and ethnic solidarities that can serve as both a constraint and a building block for the social capital needed to strengthen rural civil society. This confirms Rodrick's (1997, cited in Narayan 2002) that

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ethnolinguistic fragmentation can constrain participation in a vital new economic and social base for rural society. When horizontal linkages through modern associations are not available, entire livelihood systems can collapse. When viable negotiated solutions can be achieved and a new social contract realized, social capital is scaled up as in the case of Tatia. When traditional linkages cannot be parlayed into new social opportunities, solidarity erodes and communities disintegrate leading to anomie and anarchy.

Notes 1 While one cannot speak of African customary law as a single body of legal customs applicable to all of the different societies found in Africa, it can be used "as a generic term for more or less similar traditional systems of law, or standards of behavior" (Rugege 1995: 1). This is how we use it here. However, we recognize that customary law in West Africa includes Islamic influences and is a living law, not dictated by rigid tradition. 2 Woolcock (1998) characterizes both macro (nation-state) and micro (community) scales of social capital. Here we are only interested in the local dimensions at the village and inter- village levels.

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van Dijk, R. and van Rouveroy van Nieuwaal, E. A. B. (1999) "Introduction: the domestication of chieftaincy: the imposed and the imagined," in van Rouveroy van Nieuwaal, E. A. B. and van Rijk, D. (eds) African chieftaincy in a new socio-political landscape.

Hamburg: Lit Verlag/Transaction Publishers. Warren, M. R., Thompson, J. P., and Saegert, S. (2001) "The role of social capital in combating poverty," in Saegert, S., Thompson, J. P., and Warren, M. R. (eds) Social capital and poor communities. New York: Russell Sage Foundation, pp. 1-28. Wilson-Fall, W. (2000) "Conflict prevention and resolution among the Fulbe," in Zartman I. W. (ed.) Traditional cures for modern conflicts: African conflict 'medicine'.

Boulder: Lynne Rienner, pp. 49-66. Woolcock, M. (1998) "Social capital and economic development: toward a theoretical synthesis and policy framework," Theory and Society 27(2): 151-208.

9

Cyprus conflict and social capital theory A new perspective on an old conflict Raymond Saner

This chapter brings a new perspective to the analysis of the Cyprus conflict. Borrowing from social capital theory, an attempt is made to revisit this long lasting conflict and to reinterpret the causes which have led to so many stop-go cycles of inter-communal negotiations. Building on the contributions found elsewhere in this book, a new analysis based on application of "bad" social capital theory shows that previously existing social capital between both communities was systematically destroyed (old trust, links and networks) and emerging new social capital disrupted (social capital built through peace-building efforts) by key power brokers of both communities as well as by third parties benefitting from disunion between Greek and Turkish Cypriots. The chapter closes with an overview of measures which could be undertaken to rebuild social capital needed to make emerging cooperation be based on acquisition and maintenance of sustainable social capital.

Current developments The election of Demetris Christofias on 17 February 2008 as new President of Cyprus was followed by a quick succession of meetings between him and Mr. Mehmet Ali Talat, president of de facto Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus (KKTC)1 and by an equally speedy set of agreements and actions between both leaders to ease tensions between both Cypriot communities. Hopes are high that the two leaders will be able to break the impasse left after the paralysing results of the vote on the so-called Annan 5 plan for reunification on 24 April 2004 which was rejected by the Greek Cypriots by 76 per cent but approved by the Turkish Cypriots by 65 per cent paralysing the UN effort of reaching reunification before the official entry of Cyprus (whole island territory) into the European Union on 1 May 2004.2 Since then, new initiatives have been tabled by the United Nations, supportive measures proposed by the EU and encouraging gestures extended by the US government but all in vain. The reunification process remained in impasse. However, judging by the speed of actions undertaken by both sides, cautious optimism is not unrealistic. The future will of course tell whether the signs of cooperation will hold when the road to reunification runs into predictable hard places.

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Mr Christofias and Mr Talat met on 21 March 2008 and quickly decided to form six working groups and seven technical committees to move the reunification process forward. Specifically the following workings groups were formed: governance and power sharing; EU matters;, security and guarantees; territory; property; and economic matters. The seven technical committees consist of: crime/criminal matters; economic and commercial matters; cultural heritage; crisis management; humanitarian matters; health; and environment.3 Both leaders nominated representatives, Mr George Iacovou and Mr Ozdil Nami, who meet on a regular basis, to work out the remaining issues. Compared to the stalemate and inertia since the inconclusive vote on the Annan 5 plan, the speed of working meetings and the general climate of courtesy and expressed mutual appreciation has been impressive, leaving many "Cyprus experts" astonished and in need of reconfiguration of established views and positions. Christofias won against Ioannis Kassoulides, the former government's foreign minister by 53.36 per cent against 46.64 per cent in the second round. The former president Tassos Papadopoulos did not make into the run-off round. Kassoulides, a member of the right-wing party DISY, was in favor of the Annan 5 plan while the left-winger Christofias, leader of the communist AKEL party, was against it. This seemingly paradoxical behavior of voting "no" on the Annan 5 plan while now engaging in speed negotiations with the Turkish Cypriots might surprise but should be seen in the light of local politics. AKEL were coalition partners with DISY and both jointly rejected the Annan 5 plan. AKEL, with their roots in socialist politics, much like the party led by Mehmet Talal in power on the Turkish Cypriot side, has always maintained ties with the Turks to the north. AKEL has been the driving force for unification for a long time. However, as AKEL has now formed a coalition government together with another right-wing party called DIKO, it will remain to be seen how the current Greek Cypriot government will be able to manage both negotiating for a settlement with the Turkish Cypriots while at the same time having to find an agreement which would be acceptable to their DIKO coalition parties and the Greek Cypriot citizens at large. Whatever the agreement might be, it has to be acceptable enough so that a majority of the Greek Cypriots commit to it. This is no easy undertaking since about one-third are refugees from the north with claims for being given back property and land taken from them after the landing of the Turkish Army on the island on 1974 leading to the subsequent de facto partition of the island. In addition, the previous Annan 5 deal included other aspects which the Turkish Cypriots will not easily give up but which are impossible to accept for the Greek Cypriots, such as allowing a 20-year presence of Turkish troops and a scheme which consists of the Greek Cypriot taxpayers paying the money which would be give as compensation for land and property lost in the north. In other words, Greek Cypriots who lost land and property would have to pay themselves for the loss they incurred in 1974. This is a deal which is difficult, if not impossible, to sell to the Greek Cypriots. In other words, the challenges ahead are substantial, some say impossible, but both leaders appear determined to find a way out of the current stalemate.

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Re-analysing the history of the Cyprus conflict Cyprus is an island state of 788,457 people (July 2007 estimate).4 Living with varying degrees of conflict ranging from violence to diplomatic manoeuvres since its independence in 1960, it has generated an astonishing amount of UN Security Council and UN General Assembly resolutions. Starting from 1965, there are 17 UN General Assembly resolutions and as of 1964, one can count 89 UN Security Council resolutions. The UN Force on Cyprus (UNFICYP) had troops from various countries stationed along the green line, namely 4,500 from 1965 to 1968, and 3,500 from 1969 to 1972. There was an exceptional temporary increase to 4,440 for a period after the 1974 fighting and invasion of Turkish troops. Since 1990, about 2,000 UN soldiers are keeping peace on the island at a cost of about US$26 million per year.5 The conflict at times flares up resulting in violence and death, including that of UN soldiers. A long succession of UN Secretary-Generals, elected heads of states, elected Greek and Turkish Cypriot leaders, as well as third parties like the UK, US and the EU, just to name the most prominent ones, have all attempted to solve the so-called Cyprus conflict, but none have succeeded. The Cyprus conflict has attracted an enormous coterie of conflict scholars who all were either offering conflict resolution advice, peace-making suggestions or conducting training for officials from both sides with low levels of success.6 While trying their best to bring about some form of conflict resolution, many also used their experiences to reflect on the seemingly impossible solution and wrote books, articles and advocacy type publications for the benefit of either side to the conflict, including this author himself (De Soto 2005; Diamond and Fisher 1995; Dodd 1998, 1999; Evrivriades and Bourantonis 1994; Evrivriades 2007; Evrivriades 2005; Fisher 1998; Fitchett 1998; Moran 1999; Palley 2005; Salih 1978; Saner 2001; Volkan 1979; Yesilada and Sozen 2002). Other conflicts have an equally long or even longer history such as the Kashmir conflict, the Israel-Palestine conflict or the North-South Korean conflict. Still, for the size of the population at hand and the resources made available to first contain, then to solve, the Cyprus conflict, it remains a bit of a mystery why the conflict could not be solved either through reunification or through separation. The other conflicts cited above started with local armed conflict and later were changed to become a regional or international conflict as third party countries got involved in addition to the UN. Involvement of third parties in the Cyprus conflict has not been discussed by conflict scholars. This author has written a first article on third party involvement looking at the Cyprus conflict from a multi-actor perspective (Saner 2007). Other scholars make at times allusions to third parties but mostly as an additional factor of their primarily bilateral conflict analysis. In this regard, the comment made by President Christofias during the recent election campaign deserves closer attention. He stated, "We have a vision, we have a history of struggle and contact with the people in our efforts to reunify our country without foreign troops."7 His comment can be interpreted several

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ways. First, the most immediate target of his statement could be the Turkish troops stationed on the island, considered by the great majority of the Greek Cypriots to be an occupation army. However, he did not mention the Turkish troops by name. This could have been an omission or a diplomatic tactic to avoid making comments which could be seen as too aggressive towards the Turkish Cypriots with whom he wanted to negotiate (provided of course that he won the election). An alternative interpretation would be that he meant the British forces stationed on the island. British forces were on the island before independence Cyprus was a colony of the United Kingdom de facto since 1878, de jure since 1925.8 When looking at the map of Cyprus below, one can see the location of the Sovereign Base Areas (SBAs). At one point they straddle the green line separating the Greek and Turkish Cypriot frontlines, one section going into the Turkish Cypriot area while another section of the SBAs is clearly within Greek Cypriot area at the southernmost tip of the island. In general, all of the SBAs are located in the southern part of the island facing the Near East across the Mediterranean. Citing official UK information, the history and the current use of the bases can be summarized and cited as fellows: The Sovereign Base Areas (SBAs) are sovereign British territory and cover 98 square miles of the island of Cyprus. The SBAs are purely military in nature. They are run by the SBA Administration and have their own legislation, police force and courts. They are very closely linked with the Republic of Cyprus with whom they are in a customs and currency union. Under the

Figure 9.1 Map of Cyprus (source: http://wwwxia.gov/library/publications/the-worldfactbook/print/cy.html).

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1878 Convention of Defensive Alliance between Britain and Turkey, Britain took over the administration of Cyprus from Turkey, although Turkey retained formal sovereignty. In 1914, when Turkey entered the First World War on the side of the Central Powers, Britain annexed Cyprus. British sovereignty was recognised by Turkey under the terms of the 1923 Treaty of Lausanne and Cyprus became a Crown Colony in 1925. (Online, available at: http://www.eu2005.gov.uk/servlet/front?pagename=OpenMarket/xcelerate/ ShowPagePc=Page&cid=l 109176464204) The official UK website does not explain in more detail the status of the SBAs nor how it came about that this territory was ceded in perpetuity to the UK at the time of independence of Cyprus in 1960. The process of negotiating the constitution of the independence of Cyprus, remains murky and has been a contentious issue right from the beginning of the young republic, leading to disputes between Greek and Turkish Cypriots as to the structure of government, the laws regulating the division of power between the two communities and the legitimacy of the SBAs ceded to UK in perpetuity. The legitimacy of Cyprus ceding the bases ion perpetuity has not been discussed extensively in the conflict literature. Taking into account the military importance of the SBAs for the UK and US forces as a crucial link for military operations in the Near Eastern theatre e.g. in regard to Iraq, Syria, Iran, Israel, Egypt, Turkey as a refuelling base, overhaul and launching base of airborne reconnaissance and strike operations, it can be hypothesized that any effort at rewriting the constitution leading to a cancellation of the SBA special status would be resisted by the UK and the US. Because Cyprus is located in such a highly sensitive geographical region, involvement of third parties in the Cyprus conflict is not surprising since involvement on either side can also provide third parties with secondary gains for other conflicts outside or beyond the conflict on the island (Saner, forthcoming 2007). When discussing the Cyprus conflict, the most frequent allusion is made to the inter-communal conflict between Greek and Turkish Cypriots going back to pre-independence times. However, due to the fact that three guarantor countries (UK, Turkey, Greece) have the constitutional right to intervene unilaterally if needed, the inter-communal conflict was immediately lifted up to the level of conventional war (e.g. Turkey's landing of troops on the island in 1974 leading to war with the forces of the Greek Cypriot government).9 In addition, subsequent to the conventional war between official Cyprus and Turkey, the Security Council of the UN, following multiple resolutions passed by the US Assembly, gave a specific mandate to the UN Secretary-General and his office to create a peace enforcing group of UN soldiers to interpose themselves between both belligerent parties (green line) and to initiate diplomatic efforts which should lead to reconciliation and reunification. From a conflict theory point of view, one could hence classify the Cyprus conflict as consisting of a bilateral conflict (Cyprus-Turkey) mediated by a third

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party, namely the UN Secretary-General. The conflict is also influenced by multiple stakeholders including two remaining guarantor countries, Greece and the UK, and the EU as political supranational umbrella representing Greece, UK, Cyprus (Southern Cyprus) since May 2004, and all the other EU member countries. Figure 9.2 gives an overview of the multiple coalitions that have direct or indirect impacts on the outcome of any negotiated solution of the Cyprus conflict, if ever achievable at all. Third parties to the conflict can either tiy to be constructive or help bring about a resolution of the conflict or they might be interested in using the conflict to obtain concessions elsewhere. Several interest alliances are known to be influential in the region and linked to the Cyprus conflict. On the one hand there is configuration of countries tied to each other through various pacts and cooperation agreements ranging, for example, from cooperation in the military sector (Turkey, Israel, US) to alliance against a common enemy or competitor, e.g. Turkey and Israel together against Syria, Lebanon and Iraq (former Saddam regime). On the other hand, a veiy old alliance exists between fellow Christian orthodox countries such as Greece, with Serbia and Russia (formerly Soviet Union) against Macedonia, Kosovo, Albania and Turkey and a strategic alliance going back to the Cold War with Syria against Turkey and later on Israel (as an ally of Turkey). Another link based on common interest and years of active cooperation exists between the UK and the US. The two bases ceded in perpetuity to UK are used for high-tech espionage work covering the Near East, the Black Sea and the Caucasus area. The airbase has been used during the Iraq War and is intended to

Figure 9.2 Constellation of Cyprus negotiations (source: Saner 2007. Reprinted with permission).

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be at service for any other armed conflict situation. A fully reunited and harmonious Cyprus could question the legitimacy of the two bases and even ask the UK to retrocede them to the sovereign country of Cyprus. The UN Secretariat has its own concern and tactical alliances. The Cyprus conflict has meant continuous expenditure, troop presence and fulfilling the mandate to be a conciliator of this old conflict. Having had to face increasing criticism, especially from the US and the UK, it is perfectly understandable that the UN Secretary-General would like to see an end to the Cyprus conflict. Not to find a solution means continued expenditures that are actually needed elsewhere. Also, not being able to find a solution represents the risk of negative public relations with third parties. The alliance network depicted in Figure 9.2 is not exhaustive. It serves solely to illustrate the complexity of the Cyprus conflict and the obvious links to other interests that countries might have with each other or with other groups, and where a solution or the withholding of a solution on the island could be said to be in the best interest of these third parties but to the detriment of the two concerned communities. A classic case of such opportunistic use of conflicts is, for instance, the use of veto power by Greece to block internal EU and NATO decision-making processes. In opting for a negotiator's behaviour called "nuisance factor," third partiers can score points for their protege (here Greek Cyprus) as well as use their blocking power to bar entry of Turkey to the EU until Turkey makes concessions in other domains. It is unrealistic to expect a solution to the Cyprus conflict without a simultaneous package deal covering all the additional external conflicts described above. In other words, a solution to the Cyprus conflict necessitates a comprehensive solution covering the Cyprus conflict but also the other stakeholder interests and conflicts now so clearly linked to the Cyprus conflict. Need to adapt social capital theory to the complexity of multi-actor conflicts Resolving the Cyprus conflict would hence require a mix of interventions along the lines suggested by Chapter 12 in this book consisting of Track I conflict management by official negotiators and mediators. These parties approach conflicts from a rational choice position with the understanding that parties can win more at the negotiation table compared to continuing fighting or, in the case of Cyprus, upholding the status quo of a high-risk stalemate. At the same time, Track II diplomacy could be used by encouraging civil society representatives of both sides to explore the underlying causes of conflict, and build trust and rebuild destroyed relationships. As suggested by Chapter 7 in this book, such an approach is promising along the lines of the women-forwomen and Woman in Black (WiB) support groups working to re-establish ties with victims and representatives of other ethnic groups in Belgrade during and after the horrors of the wars in the former Yugoslavia. However, both Track I and Track II have so far failed in facilitating reunification in Cyprus for all the

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reasons analysed elsewhere (Saner 2001). The Cyprus conflict is no longer a classic case of intra-national conflict (whether bilateral or multi-party local actors) but rather a multi-actor conflict with internal and external actors involved in causing the current conflict to remain in an impasse. Hence, it might be useful to enlarge the focus of analysis and make the scope of intervention more inclusive of the key external actors partaking in the Cyprus conflict either directly or indirectly namely the UK, the US, Greece, Turkey, the EU and the UN. The Cyprus conflict is no longer a matter between two communities that no longer trust each other and hence cannot agree to power sharing, but rather it is a matter of looking at the larger field of actors who actively play constructive or destructive roles in this multi-stakeholder environment. Revisiting the multi-actor, multi-stakeholder Cyprus conflict from a social capital theory perspective What follows is an attempt to look at the Cyprus conflict from a broader perspective than the habitual bi-communal perspective. By including third party actors in the analysis, a larger field is being created which lends itself to an application of some tenants of social capital theory allowing for a questioning of current mainstream Cyprus conflict paradigms mostly based on well-known assumptions of ethnic hatred. This is not to claim that ethnic distrust and even hatred between Greek and Turkish Cypriots does not exist. After so many years of past violence and victimization of the other and more than 34 years of separation, personal relations and perceptions of the other (meaning here representatives of the other community) have become affected by a mix of remembered atrocities committed by both sides mixed with classic psychological processes of denigrating members of the other ethnic group. Vamik Volkan, professor emeritus in psychiatry, and a leading scholar in conflict analysis of Turkish Cypriot origin with professional orientation and training in psychoanalysis, has followed the Cyprus conflict since its beginning. His classic publications (Volkan 1988, 1997, 2004; Volkan and Hzkowitz 1994) have been essential reading for understanding the complex psychological processes motivating Greek and Turkish Cypriots in their relations with each other. His latest publication (2008) ends on a pessimistic note observing that Turkish Cypriots have for too long internalized self-hatred and self-depreciation which originated from the way Greek Cypriots have treated them and hence are not able to defend themselves. Their identities remain weak and for that reason Volkan rejects the idea of "Cypriotness" often suggested by international NGOs who might be well intentioned but who are not aware of the less than secure self-identities of the minority Turkish Cypriots. For that reason, Volkan suggests continuity of separateness between both communities. Looking back at both communities, self-identities fluctuated on both sides. Sharing the island on the basis of equality as human beings independent of ethnic background became increasingly difficult as the independence struggle intensified and British repression stiffened. The independence fighters were

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almost exclusively Greek Cypriots who faced a good number of Turkish Cypriots who were hired by the British as police auxiliaries. This in turn did not help trust building in the build up towards independence. Matters got worse four years after independence when both communities were at loggerheads in regard to the constitution which was "agreed" in 1960, based on expert advice by the colonial overlord. The initial constitution assigned the presidency to a Greek Cypriot and the deputy presidency to a Turkish Cypriot with considerable veto power.10 Further, constitutional provisions in regard to ethnically assigned seats in parliament made it difficult, if not impossible, to change the constitution thereby ensuring status quo in regard to the ceding of the SBAs to the UK. The Greek Cypriots in power wanted to change the constitution while the Turkish Cypriot leadership resisted calls for constitutional change fearing that they would be relegated to a permanent minority position with little power to defend their interest. The stand-off lasted for the initial four years but then turned into violent conflict. As a consequence, and following the nationalistic leaders of the Turkish Cypriot community (the leading figure was Rauf Denktash, the later leader of the TC community), Turkish Cypriots were grouped together in selfdefensive enclaves scattered over the island but mostly situated in towns and cities (see Figure 9.3). The newly formed enclaves were labelled as armed enclaves (Greek Cypriot leadership) or ghettos (Turkish Cypriot leadership). Nationalists on both sides used the emerging divisions to consolidate power, eliminate opponents and force their respective communities into psychological

Figure 9.3 Areas where Turkish-Cypriots were forced to live in small ghettoes in Cyprus between 1963-74. (source: C. H. Dodd (1993) "Cyprus: A Historical Introduction," in C. H. Dodd (ed.) The Political, Social, and Economic Develop-

ment of Northern Cyprus, Eothen Press, Huntingdon, Cambridgeshire, England. Online, available at: http://www.cypnet.co.uk/ncyprus/history/ republic/breakdown.html Reprinted: with permission from Eothen Press).

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bonding with each other. In that sense, social capital theory in the form of bonding (Woolcock 1998) bridging and linking was used to create separate identities. Mihaylova (2004) summarizes the three concepts as follows: Bonding social capital describes strong bonds between people such as family members or members of the same ethnic group; bonding social capital is good for "getting by" in life. Bridging social capital is characterized by weaker but more crosscutting ties for example between business associates, acquaintances, friends from different ethnic groups, friends of friends, etcetera The final form of social capital is linking social capital. This describes vertical (or hierarchical) connections between people in different positions of power. From 1964 on, Turkish Cypriots were forced to live together in difficult and tight living conditions. Bonding was inevitable as a means to survive. Bridging to Greek Cypriots was suspended and sanctioned and linking was reorganized in the sense that the vertical connection now ended with Rauf Denktash, the leader of the TC community. A similar process occurred after the invasion of the Turkish army which resulted in 50 per cent of the Greek Cypriots becoming refugees who had to find new homes under often difficult conditions. Similar to Turkish Cypriots before them, the Greek Cypriots underwent bonding, bridging to TCs was suspended and the linking was redirected to the leaders of the Greek Cypriot community dominated by the nationalists. One's sense of self identity is affected by the way others interact with one's self. Society with multi-ethnic composition is more vulnerable to lasting psychological impairment after having suffered violence and civil war. Rebuilding trust is very difficult after experience of armed conflict, war, hatred and open aggression or more hidden forms of denigration by representatives of the other community. If one adds to this a form of re-engineering of communities through resettlement, separation of living quarters and interposition of armies (here Turkish army and UN troops), social capital between both communities became progressively lost. Looking from an historical perspective, and bearing in mind social capital theory, one can differentiate the following periods as having a bearing on intercommunal relations in the Cyprus conflict. 1

2

1960-3: rupturing of horizontal/inter-ethnic social capital between Greek and Turkish Cypriots. Both communities lived in close proximity with each other, sometimes as direct neighbours in the same village, sometimes as one village of Greek Cypriots leading to a Turkish Cypriot village, etc. People of both communities either knew each other personally since childhood or were familiar with each other through trade and other commercial and social activities. 1963-74: consolidation of a split of vertical social capital due to power struggles between Greek Cypriot and Turkish Cypriot leadership.

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As the stalemate deepened between some of the leaders of both communities calling on one hand for constitutional change (Greek Cypriot nationalist leadership) and on the other hand for status quo (Turkish Cypriot nationalist leadership), tension increased leading to further tensions in both communities. In both communities, power struggles were carried out between nationalist Greek Cypriots calling for ENOSIS (abolishing Cyprus as a state and integration of Cyprus into Greece) and others calling for maintaining independence and cooperation with the Turkish Cypriots (mostly leftist parties and trade union leaders). On the Turkish Cypriot side a power struggle emerged between the nationalist Turkish Cypriots calling for TAKSIM (full separation between Greek and Turkish Cypriots, in fact partition and creation of two separate states) and those in the Turkish Cypriot community favouring cooperation with the Greek Cypriots and maintaining of an independent Cyprus. The latter were mostly leftists and trade union leaders. Tensions within and between both communities increased further as violence and murders increased in and between both communities, and led to the creation of armed enclaves to which Turkish Cypriots retreated because of armed aggression by nationalist Greek Cypriot gangs or because of psychological pressure exerted on them by nationalist Turkish Cypriot leaders. 1974-present: continuous reduction of transversal social capital through consecutive interventions of third parties. Both communities had to face multiple external interventions which reduced their ability to reach out to each other as well as to sources of support outside of Cyprus. The first intervention of magnitude was the putsch in 1974 organized by the Greek junta which aimed at the overthrow of the then president, Archbishop Makarios, seen as too close to the movement of the non-aligned countries and too dependent on AKEL, the communist party. The goal of the putsch was to take power and to integrate Cyprus into Greece. The next intervention came about through the armed intervention of Turkey which sent its armed forces onto the island, which led to direct war with the Greek Cypriot forces and the Greek forces stationed on the island. Turkey pushed south in two attacks until it reached the current limits of the green line today patrolled by the UN forces (UNFICYP) A third and so far most under-studied intervention was the nonintervention by the UK forces stationed on the island's SBA areas. Greece, Turkey and the UK were guarantors of the newly independent Cyprus. The three were all supposed to safeguard the integrity of the island's constitution and sovereignty. The UK chose not to intervene when the Greek junta launched the coup against Makarios and the UK forces did not intervene when the Turkish forces swept deep into southern parts of the island. The choice not to intervene against the Greek or the Turkish armed aggression against Cyprus has been linked so far to anti-communist

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considerations at the behest of the US, who was at that time involved in the Cold War. Related to this is the consideration that the UK and the US were and r e m a i n keen on keeping the SBAs extraterritorial, and hence a division between both communities ensures seemingly indefinite use of the SBAs important for military plans in the Near East theatre. The result of all foreign interventions has been the same. Horizontal social capital is being lost, vertical power by new ethnic leaders gets to be consolidated, attempts to reach out to non-nationalist and non-aligned countries is contained, and the country remains split. New attempts based on old bonding and re-enforced bridging, and attempts at recreating horizontal, vertical and transversal social capital Many years were missed to create sufficient trust for reconciliation and cooperation, and many third parties have since entered the fray and turned the bilateral conflict into a multi-actor and multi-stakeholder conflict. The situation looks difficult and many Cyprus-watchers predict failure rather than success for the new Greek and Turkish Cypriot counterparts. Social capital theory puts considerable emphasis on trust and civic participation (Putnam et al. 1993). Social capital is described as "those features of social organization, such as trust, norms, and networks that can improve the efficiency of society by facilitating coordinated actions" (Putnam et al. 1993: 167). In light of Volkan's observations and also taking into account the 34 years of failed attempts to create good-enough trust for both communities to agree on reunification, it appears difficult to envisage a successful new beginning by the new Greek Cypriot and Turkish Cypriot leaders. There are indeed many current obstacles and lots of years of accumulated distrust and disappointment. However, there might be a real chance for both leaders to succeed. Both represent labour unions and have been in favour of reunification before. Both organizations have had difficult times to overcome. Members of AKEL were attacked by nationalist Greek Cypriot groups and the same was true for the Turkish Cypriot labour union whose members got persecuted by their respective nationalist extremists. Both new leaders might be able to rekindle horizontal social capital, even attempt some form of new and shared vertical social capital if both sides can agree on power sharing under a new constitutional arrangement. Meeting the third factor of Woolcock's social capital linking will be more difficult, as it would include the possibility of new alliances and cooperation with other countries outside the traditionally assigned "father-motherlands" of Greece and Turkey, and traditional reference to third external parties such as the UK, US and the United Nations as extensions of Western power influence. Whether both new leaders will be able to fend off their respective nationalist competitors within their respective communities and find enough resolve and strength to face powerful third parties like Greece, Turkey, the UK and the US is

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not clear. Only time will tell whether they will be successful in creating a new Cyprus based on new social capital and social cohesion, that transcends old divisions based on nationalist identities and subservience to powerful third parties. The UK, US, Greece and Turkey have in the past either openly favored repression of labor union leaders and leftists, or passively accepted human rights violations against labor union leaders and leftists on Cyprus, in Greece (e.g. during the period of the military dictatorship) and in Turkey (also during periods of military dictatorships). These common policies still hold strong despite the EU and the UN's repeated calls for reconciliation, which in itself could endanger the continued existence of the SBAs. The four powers could either try to make reconciliation between both sides difficult or use other influence tactics to prevent rapprochement between the two communities. The alternative to this more defensive approach would be to contribute to new creation of social capital at horizontal, vertical and transversal levels, and requiring the four powers to willingly serve as partners rather than powers dictating terms. Still, a lasting peace and reunification could also be useful for regional stability and free up UN resources for other more urgently needed armed conflicts. Notes J Distinction needs to be made according to de jure and de facto use of terminology. According to UN practice, the Republic of Cyprus is the legitimate government representing the whole of the island while the TRNC has been declared legally invalid by the United Nations (resolution No. 541 (1983) and No. 550 (1984)). The author acknowledges the existing legal distinctions but for the sake of clarity and editorial expediency, de jure and de facto titles and denominations will be abstracted to Southern Cyprus (controlled by Republic of Cyprus) and Northern Cyprus (controlled by Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus), and titles of heads of governments simplified to leader of Greek Cypriots (Mr Christofias) and leader of Turkish Cypriots (Mr Talat). 2 The whole of the island is considered part of the EU. However, in the northern part of the island, in the areas in which the Government of Cyprus does not exercise effective control, EU legislation is suspended in line with Protocol 10 of the Accession Treaty 2003. These areas are outside the customs and fiscal territory of the EU. However, Turkish Cypriots are considered as EU citizens. They are citizens of a member state, the Republic of Cyprus, even though they may live in the areas not under government control. In fact, many TC have applied for an EU passport and obtained it from the GC government authorities. 3 www.cyprusembassy.net/hoe/index.php?module=article, dated 27 March 2008. 4 http://www.cia.gov/library/publications/the-world-factbook/print/cy.html. 5 http://lcweb2.1oc.gov/cgi-bin/query/r?frd/cstdy:@field(DOCID+cyO 160). 6 See for instance: Marion Peters Angelica (1999) Conflict Resolution Training in Cyprus: An Assessment, a Fulbright Scholar assessment published in 1997. Online, available at: www.cyprus-conflict.net/angelica%rpt%20-%201.htm. 7 Online, available at: http://www.eurotrib.com/?op=displaystory;sid=2008/2/24/ 155427/427. 8 For historical and legal background on UK bases see: http://www.fco.gov.uk/ servlet/Front?pagename=OpenMarket/Xcelerate/ShowPage&c=Page&cid=l 0070293 94365&a=KCountryProfile&aid=l 019233785265.

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9 See Oezgttr (2001). 10 For details of the intricate power sharing or better mutual power paralysis in case of non-cooperation see Drevet (1991), Weston Markides (2001), Oezgur (2001) and O'Malley and Craig (1999) as well as other scholars discussing the legal fine points of the Cyprus conflict. Even though some of these authors are more in favour of Greek Cypriot nationalist positions, it is nevertheless useful to consult them. References De Soto, A. (2005) "The Case of Cyprus," Working Group on Collective Representation and Identity, Third International Conference on Federalism, Brussels, 4 March 2005. Deutsch, M. (1949) "A Theory of Cooperation and Competition," Human Relations 2: 129-52. Diamond, L. and Fisher, R. (1995) "Integrating Conflict Resolution Training and Consultation: A Cyprus Example," Negotiation Journal 11:3. Dodd, C. H. (1998) The Cyprus Imbroglio, UK: The Eothen Press. (ed.) (1999) Cyprus, the Need for New Perspectives, UK: The Eothen Press.

Drevet, J. F. (1991) "Chypre, lie extreme: Chronique d'une Europe oubliee," Syros Alternatives, Paris. Evrivriades, E. (2005) "Cyprus in the EU: Relations with Canada, Prospects for Reunification and Turkey's Bid to Join the EU," Address by the High Commissioner of Cyprus to Canada. Canadian Institute of International Affairs (CIIA), National Office and the Canadian Institute of Strategic Studies, Toronto. Ambassador of Cyprus to the US (2005) "Cyprus in the EU: One Year Later Prospects for Reunification," American Hellenic Institute, Washington, 23 May 2005: 5. (2007) "Cyprus and the Strategic Fiasco in Iraq," Research Institute for European and American Studies, Athens. Evrivriades, M. and Bourantonis, D. (1994) "Peacekeeping and Peacemaking: Some Lessons from Cyprus," International Peacekeeping 1 (4): 394-412. Fisher, G. (1998) The Mindsets Factor in Ethnic Conflict: A Cross-Cultural Agenda,

Yarmouth: Intercultural Press. Fitchett, J. (1998) "Threat of Conflict on Cyprus Recedes," International Herald Tribune, 3 July. Mihayolova, D. (2004) Social Capital in Central and Eastern Europe: A Critical assess-

ment and a Literature Review. Center for Policy Studies, Central European University. Moran, Michael (1999) "Resolution 186: its Genesis and Significance," CYREP, Northern Cyprus. O'Malley, B, and Craig, I. (1999) The Cyprus Conspiracy: America, Espionage and the

Turkish Invasion, London and New York: I. B. Tauris. (2004) The Cyprus Conspiracy: American Espionage and the Turkish Invasion,

z

London: Tauris & Co. Oezgur, O. (2001) Cyprus in My Life:

Testimony of a Turkish Cypriot Diplomat,

Mannheim: Bibliopolis. Palley, Claire (2005) "An International Relations Debacle: The UN Secretary-General's Mission of Good Offices in Cyprus 1999-2004," Oxford: Hart Publishing. Putnam, Robert D., Leonardi, Robert and Nanetti, Raff aella Y. (1993) Making Democracy Work, Civic Traditions in Modern Italy, Princeton: Princeton University Press. Salih, H. I. (1978) Cyprus, The Impact of Diverse Nationalism on a State, Alabama: Uni-

versity of Alabama Press.

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Saner, R. (2001) "External Stakeholder Impacts on Official and Non-Official Third Party Interventions to Resolve Malignant Conflicts: the Case of a Failed Intervention in Cyprus "InternationalNegotiations 6: 387—416. (forthcoming 2007) "Cyprus Conflict: will it Ever End in Agreement?" Volkan, V. D. (1979). Cyprus - War and Adaptation: A Psychoanalytic History of Two

Ethnic Groups in Conflict. University Press of Virginia. (1988) The Need to Have Enemies and Allies: From Clinical Practice to Inter-

national Relationships, Northvale: Jason Aronson. (1997) Bloodlines: From Ethnic Pride to Ethnic Terrorism, New York: Farrar,

Straus and Giroux. (2004) Blind Trust: Large Groups and Their Leaders in Times of Crises and Terror,

Charlottesville: Pitchstone Publishing. (2006a) Killing in the Name of Identity: A Study of Bloody Conflicts.

Char-

lottesville: Pitchstone Publishing. (2008) "Consequences of Massive Social Trauma and Large Group Identity Confusion in Northern Cyprus," in new Turkish edition of Cyprus: War and Adaptation: A Psychoanalytic History of Two Ethnic Groups in Conflict [1979]. Charlottesville: Uni-

versity of Virginia Press. Volkan, V. D. and Itzkowitz, N. (1994) Turks and Greeks: Neighbours in Conflict, Cam-

bridgeshire: Eothen Press. "Vote on Genocide Bill Dropped" (2000) International Herald Tribune, 21-22 October. Weston Markides, D. (2001) Cyprus 1957-1963: from Colonial Conflict to Constitutional

Crisis. Minnesota: University of Minnesota. Woolcock, M. (1998) "Social Capital and Economic Development: Toward a Theoretical Synthesis and Policy Framework," Theory and Society 27 (2): 151-208. Yesilada, Birol A. and Sozen, Ahmet (2002) "Negotiating a Resolution to the Cyprus Problem: Is Potential European Union Membership a Blessing or a Curse?" International Negotiations 1: 261-85.

Part III

Ambiguities of social capital in peace and conflict

10 The pacific promise of civic institutions? Causal ambiguity in the study of social capital Terrence Chapman In recent years scholars and policymakers have become increasingly interested in the notion that a vibrant civic culture1 is an important ingredient for such varied goals as economic development, democratization, and post-conflict reconciliation. The promise of social capital and civic life for facilitating normatively positive outcomes is perhaps most clearly reflected in the idea that a strong civil society makes society as a whole more peaceful. For instance, the World Bank's project on Community-Driven Reconstruction as an Instrument in War-to-Peace Transitions suggests that "in the aftermath of conflict and to make peace sustainable, countries face even stronger imperatives to rebuild social capital, empower and provide voice to communities, and generally rebuild the social fabric torn apart by violent conflict" (Bannon 2003: iii, emphasis added).2 One Bank research paper claims not only that social capital "can have a major impact on the income and welfare of the poor by improving the outcome of activities that affect them," but also "is a key factor in recovering from ethnic conflict and coping with political transition" (Grootaert and van Bastelaer 2001: xi). What evidence do we have that vibrant civic life make societies more peaceful? To be sure, the idea that strong civil society fosters peaceful political interactions, compromise, and is an important determinant of "good governance," dates back at least to de Tocqueville and is by now a central feature of most multilateral peace-building and development efforts (cf. Paris 2004; Knack and Keefer 1997). Yet conclusive empirical validation of these claims faces several obstacles. The first obstacle involves finding appropriate measures of social capital, a concept that has at times been criticized for being overly vague. Many scholars have addressed this problem by focusing on observable examples of civic institutions, such as civic organizations or survey measures of interpersonal trust, and indicators of civic activity have correspondingly improved greatly in the past decade. Case studies evidence has also contributed greatly to concept refinement and operationalization and today researchers have at their disposal much better developed (albeit imperfect) social capital measurement instruments than in the past. Yet observational data of membership and participation is quite difficult to measure cross-nationally or over time, and individual survey

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responses suffer from reporting bias and problems in cross-national comparability. Only money and advances in the statistical comparison of survey responses can help overcome these problems.3 A second obstacle is perhaps more difficult to address. Put succinctly, covariation between relative peace and the presence of well-developed civic institutions does not clearly reveal one direction of causation. It is possible that civic institutions cause and maintain peace, but it is also possible that civic institutions are most likely to develop and thrive under conditions of relative peace and prosperity. In reality, it is likely that causality flows in both directions, in the sense that relative peace encourages the formation of cross-cutting civic organizations, and such organizations encourage peace or reduce the transaction costs of ordinary economic life. Yet, although Putnam (1993) noted the possibility of this endogenous relationship in his seminal book on civic life and good governance in Italy, few studies have directly dealt with this important issue. And, far from being a simple empirical nuisance, this problem is central for our theoretical understanding of the pacific effects of social capital and, by extension, policy interventions designed to build social capital and foster peace. There are at least two general approaches to dealing with the endogeneity problem. The first is through in-depth process-tracing and the clear identification of causal mechanisms in case study analysis (George and Bennett 2005). An excellent example of this approach is Varshney's (2002) study of cross-cutting networks in India, which revealed that cities with Hindu-Muslim community groups were much less likely to experience widespread violence in the aftermath of isolated but high profile incidents, largely because of the ability of crosscutting networks to dispel rumors and discourage violent retribution. The causal relationship is directly observed in this case: organizations are seen dispelling rumors and, when compared with similar but homogeneous organizations, are much better at doing so. Their origins may not be directly observed, but at least one direction of causality is directly uncovered. Such studies are tremendously useful insofar as they clearly identify channels through which social capital exerts a direct effect on attitudes and behavior. A second approach, and one that has not been employed for some of the measurement reasons above, is to rely on cross-national large-n data and use statistical techniques to directly model and thus correct for the endogenous relationship between civic institutions and violence, or between individual membership between civic institutions and individual attitudes or behavior. This chapter presents such an approach, identifying the benefits and limitations as well as the preliminary conclusions that can be drawn. To preview the remainder of the chapter, the first section briefly reviews the ways in which social capital may matter for realizing peaceful communities and societies. The second section expands on the obstacle posed by endogeneity and the third section describes a cross-national research design to address this problem. The fourth section presents some cross-national statistical evidence and demonstrates that the conclusions drawn regarding the effect of civic membership on individual attitudes change dramatically once one corrects for endo-

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geneity. In the interest of focusing on the implications of this evidence, much of the technical statistical details are relegated to footnotes or are presented in a non-technical manner. The final section offers concluding remarks and offers suggestions for how future research might deal with these ambiguities. The pacific promise of civic institutions? Studies suggest that civic institutions can improve prosperity and governance in two ways. First, civic institutions may facilitate information sharing and lower transaction costs, facilitating economic productivity and development.4 This function is particularly important for development enhancing initiatives such as micro-lending and entrepreneurship. At the same time, it can facilitate the efficiency of government decisions, in the sense that decisions reflect information debated in and passed through civic channels, thus reflecting diverse opinions and informed argument. Second, studies claim that civic institutions can foster democratic "good practices," teaching deliberative decision-making and participatory norms and discouraging illegitimate forms of participation (e.g. Putnam 1993). This function is likely to be important for improving overall governance, ensuring democratic accountability, and providing alternatives to violence as a means of affecting political change. In other words, civic institutions may help delegitimate violence both by socializing members to non-violent forms of participation and by providing concrete avenues to voice grievances. Civic organizations may provide an array of avenues for addressing political concerns. For instance, civic organizations can aid in organizing rallies, boycotts, letter-writing campaigns, and strikes.5 How might civic membership affect individual attitudes toward violence? For the individual, civic institutions may encourage a contribution to collective action by lowering individual costs and providing mechanisms to enforce group cohesion and information provision. At the same time, civic organizations may help socialize their members, legitimating certain types of action while condemning others and influencing members' political beliefs and behaviors. However, certain types of civic institutions may make violence seem more efficacious and legitimate, while others tend to acquaint individuals with more mainstream participation. On the one hand, scholars have linked cross-cutting or "bridging" (to use Putnam's 2000 terminology) civic institutions to peaceful conflict resolution through specific mechanisms such as trust-building or information provision (Varshney 2002; Putnam 2000). As noted above, Varshney's work suggests that Hindu-Muslim community organizations are key determinants of the prevention of communal violence in some Indian cities. Cities without these cross-cutting networks tend to experience much higher levels of communal violence and ethnic riots. Others have noted that organizations can facilitate information sharing and deliberation among diverse groups, leading to inter-group peace and conflict management. Fearon and Laitin (1996), for instance, note that in many societies ethnic groups develop mechanisms for preventing inter-ethnic conflict from spiraling out of control. These

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ideas are consistent with the claim that exposure to other groups fosters tolerance. For instance, one study conduced in an urban environments reports that "close proximity to out-groups corresponds with less racial antagonism" and that "negative perceptions of out-groups are higher for those who live in neighborhoods with more of their own racial group" (Oliver and Wong 2003:, 580). On the other hand, some scholars have linked dense civic life with negative outcomes. Berman (1997) claimed that the rise of the Nazi party in Weimar Germany was facilitated by dense civic ties, as the Nazi party was able to use associational life to build support for their agenda (see also Armony 2004). The Rwandan genocide, one of the worst manifestations of ethnic hatred in the twentieth century, may have been facilitated by dense civic networks with racist views (Paris 2004; Uvin 1998). Putnam points out that Timothy McVeigh required a social network to carry out the 1997 Oklahoma City bombing (2000). These studies suggest that homogenous or "bonding" civic institutions may insulate members from broader society and reinforce perceptions of the legitimacy and efficacy of violence. Case study evidence supports this latter point. Extremist organizations such as the Red Brigades and the Weather Underground used tactics of insulation and indoctrination on their recruits (Ferrecuti 1990; Delia Porta 1995; Sprinzak 1990). These organizations may help to legitimate violence and preclude alternative forms of participation that involve engagement with wide society. Notably, in a classic study on collective action, Oberschall (1973) suggested that collective action is especially likely to take a violent form when groups are organized but also insulated from broader society. According to many claims in the literature, the pacific promise of civic institutions or social capital is in fact conditional on the composition of that capital. Organizations, attitudes and political participation Work on social movements suggests that "mobilizing structures," such as civic organizations, affect the framing of political issues, legitimating or delegitimating various courses of action (McAdam et al. 1996). The very networks that enable individuals to either engage in peaceful forms of political participation or to carry out plots to commit violence simultaneously act as socializing agents, shaping individual worldviews and ideas of group belonging and intergroup relations. Attitudes are therefore central to theories about political violence and collective action. At the level of individual attitude formation, Bandura (1990 [1998], 1999) suggested that insular groups are particularly effective at facilitating "moral disengagement," the process by which an individual dehumanizes the adversary. However, on the positive effects of inclusive institutions, scholars such as Putnam have suggested that institutions facilitate trust, which "lubricatefs] the inevitable frictions of social life" (2000: 135). Literature on trust and norms in the economics tradition suggests that cooperative behavior may develop in equilibrium partially as a result of institutions, which provide information about

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potential adversaries' likely behavior and create positive incentives for cooperation (e.g. Axelrod 1984, 1986; Cohen et al. 2001).6 At the individual level, this may help engender attitudes rejecting violence. This linkage implies that it is important to investigate the effects of social capital on individuals, which is typically not the focus of country studies. Importantly, these questions have not been previously addressed in crossnational individual survey data. However, as mentioned above, a critique of the existing theoretical work on the relationship between institutions and attitudes is that attitudes may in fact cause, or at least exist prior to, institutions. The following section discusses this critique and lays out a research strategy to address it. Although some work has examined how social movements develop contentious tactics (e.g. McAdam et al. 2001), there is little investigation of the endogeneity of civic membership to attitudes about the legitimacy of different forms of political participation. Both investigating the effects of institutional membership on individual attitudes and accounting for potential endogeneity are critical to understanding whether or not civic institutions cause peaceful interaction, rather than simply being conduits for individuals who are predisposed to eschew violence for achieving political goals. Institutions and endogeneity How do we distinguish the effects of institutions from the forces that led to their formation? Do individuals "select themselves" into organizations that reflect their existing behavioral tendencies? Note that this problem is pervasive across the study of institutions in all subfields of political science, at least since William Riker noted that institutions themselves are the product of political and social interaction (Riker 1980). In order to determine whether IMF programs contribute to economic growth, one must account for the factors that determine which countries receive IMF loans (Vreeland 2003). Likewise, when determining the effects of civic institutions on peace, one must determine whether civic institutions contribute to peace or are caused by peace. Put slightly differently, it is possible that civic organizations that preach tolerance and encourage peaceful participation are formed by individuals who already hold those attitudes, while insular groups are formed by and attract individuals who embrace violence.7 Consider the faulty inferences that might result from failing to take this possibility into account. Suppose that positive, cross-cutting or inclusive organizations are more likely to form in peaceful societies. Suppose also that a researcher is analyzing a dataset that includes civic organizations and episodes of violence. Using standard statistical techniques, the research might conclude that inclusive organizations make societies more peaceful, while the real causal effect is in the opposite direction. The same logic holds for insular groups that might promote violence. However, if the researcher could control for elements that lead to group formation and still find that social capital and peace were correlated, it would provide strong evidence that social capital can have beneficial qualities.

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Far from simply being an empirical nuisance that prevents us from properly evaluating the effects of social capital, this problem directly relates to possible policy i m p l i c a t i o n s of social capital research. Indeed, this problem is central to our theoretical understanding of social capital formation and, therefore, to interventions designed to foster social capital. If the pacific effects of social capital are attributable more to pre-existing country or individual characteristics, then programs designed to build social capital, such as those espoused by the World Bank, may ultimately have little impact on violence or economic development. Putnam (1993) raised this possibility at the end of his seminal book on the subject, noting that the differences in the quality of civic life in northern and southern Italy, to which Putnam attributed differences in the quality of governance, date back centuries. The relatively vibrant and healthy civic life that characterizes northern Italy has developed over a long period of time, while the cliental and patronage politics that characterize southern Italy similarly have been present for centuries. As noted at the outset, there are two broad analytical approaches to dealing with this issue. The first, employed by Varshney (2002), relies on wellresearched case studies that can clearly identify the causal mechanisms through which social capital affects outcomes of interest. This can be accomplished through a narrative that identifies the process through which outcomes occur as well as the timing of key influences on that outcome. The second is to directly examine the selection into or formation of groups in order to distinguish the independent effect of group membership on attitudes or behavior (e.g. Stolle 2001). The following section follows the latter approach and describes the research design and analysis of cross-national data on organizational membership and attitudes toward violence. A quantitative research design for dealing with endogeneity The remainder of this chapter describes the methods and results of research using the 1990-3 and 1995-7 waves of World Values Survey.8 The WVS is the broadest source of individual social, political, and economic data, but has limitations in terms the availability of variables that are central to this study. Thus, after accounting for missing data, the dataset comprises individual survey responses in 18 countries for an average of nearly 600 respondents in each country. Individual-level data are well-suited to examining the factors that might cause individuals to both join civic organizations and hold attitudes favoring or rejecting violence. The drawbacks of using this sort of data are, first, it focuses only on attitudes and not actual outcomes. Ostensibly attitudes are strong determinants of behavior, although this may be conditional on attitude strength (Miller and Peterson 2004). The alternative is to gather aggregate data on the presence of civic organizations within a country and look for correlations with the level of violence, but such an approach obfuscates the individual level processes through which attitudes are formed. A second limitation is longitudi-

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nal. The WVS presents "snapshots" of a country in time and does not follow individuals throughout their lives. Such data would be preferable when examining attitude formation, although much more costly and difficult to gather. Perhaps the most obvious obstacle to any study relying on cross-national survey data is the problems of comparison across countries. Although there are a number of novel developments in this area (see King et al. 2004), this study relies on a more traditional hierarchical modeling approach to account for both observed and latent country-level factors that might cause systematic crosscountry differences in individuals' responses.9 Measuring attitudes towards violence Although attitudes are not perfect predictors of behavior, attitudes are often indicative of a propensity to engage in certain behaviors. Since it is easier to measure self-reported attitudes about political violence than to induce individuals to divulge information about their participation in violent acts, survey questions about attitudes are useful for studying the socialization effects of group involvement. Fortunately, this type of attitude measure is available from Inglehart's World Values Survey (WVS) in the form of the following survey item: individuals are asked, "Here is another statement: how strongly do you agree or disagree with it? Using violence to pursue political goals is never justified." Respondents are asked if they agree, disagree, strongly agree or strongly disagree (scored 1-4). 10 This indicator is useful because it is measured in a variety of countries with a relatively large sample in each and would appear to tap into the concept of individual acceptance of political violence discussed in some of the social capital and political participation literature. However, this particular indicator exhibits limitations. First, responses are weighted towards agreeing with the claim that the use of political violence is never justified.11 Second, although attitudes and behavior are likely to be correlated, the measure is nonetheless only a measure of attitudes. The correlation between attitudes and behavior may be weaker when the behavior in question (political violence) is strongly affected by both opportunity and likely sanctions. Thus, many more individuals may view violence as acceptable than would actually commit violence.12 Finally, the WVS is not longitudinal. This makes it difficult to uncover properties of particular survey items such as stability over time. In other words, one must rely on the associations revealed by the cross-sectional analysis in order to determine whether responses track in a reasonable and expected way with the independent variables of the study. In that sense, one can assess whether the following analysis exhibits internal validity, as a number of demographic factors are indeed correlated with attitudes in predictable directions, but one cannot examine whether attitudes change in a specific individual in reaction to changes in these other factors. These limitations are all areas that social capital researchers should focus on for future study.

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Measuring civic membership The analysis r e p o r t e d below focuses on one manifestation of social capital: civic institutions. A l t h o u g h scholars have used various and often loose definitions of civic institutions, previous literature provides some guidance as to how to empirically measure them. Putnam (1993) uses voluntary association membership, referenda turnout, and local newspaper readership as proxy measures of civic life. Knack and Keefer (1997) use the WVS to measure civic association membership and Narayan and Cassidy (2001) suggest that membership in voluntary organizations is a key indicator of associational life. Involvement in inclusive civic organizations, or organizations that should have little or no social or personal prerequisites for membership, is an indicator of cross-cutting organizational membership. I therefore collapse responses to items asking about membership in sports, recreation, arts, music, education, environmental, or charitable organizations into an index of organization membership. Responses to individual items were coded three if the respondent was an active member, two if the respondent was an inactive member, and one if the respondent did not belong. The constructed index is a simple additive index, varying from zero to one, reflecting the degree of organizational involvement. Other items that indicate various attitudes towards political and social involvement exist in the survey, but analyses are restricted to these measures because they are closest to the theoretical focus on organizational networks and because they have precedent in the literature. Informal ties are no doubt also a large component associational life; unfortunately, only indirect information on such ties is available.13

$

It is worth noting that trust is often discussed as a separate manifestation of social capital and, indeed, the WVS includes an item meant to measure individuals' level trust of their fellow citizens. While many studies focus on trust, I set this issue aside for several reasons. First, trust is likely endogenous with civic institution membership, in that people who are more trusting are more likely to join civic associations and membership in civic associations affects trust. Including another level of endogeneity adds considerable complexity to the estimation, while including trust as a simple control will bias results because of this endogeneity. Second, while excluding trust may result in omitted variable bias, this bias is likely to make the effect of civic institutions on attitudes appear stronger if trust and civic association membership are correlated and are both expected to make individuals less likely to accept political violence. This makes the test of the claim that civic associations have little direct effect on attitudes a conservative test, as the exclusion of trust biases the estimation towards finding a direct effect for civic association membership. If the now accepted null hypothesis of the social capital violence research agenda is that civic membership makes one less likely to accept violence as legitimate political expression, the exclusion of trust likely biases this analysis in favor of supporting that null hypothesis.

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Controlling for alternatives It is important to account for alternative explanations of attitudes toward political violence when studying the effects of civic organizational membership. Demographic factors such as age, education, income, gender, life satisfaction, ethnic identity, and confidence in the national government are all factors that are measurable in survey data and that may be correlated with individual attitudes. First, if support for violence is a function of the expected costs and benefits to violence, then costs should increase and benefits decrease with education, age, and income. More educated individuals are more likely to be members of middle and upper classes, also indicated by income, and are thus more likely to have a stake in a strong stable political system. Older individuals are also more likely to have solidified positions in society or have a stake in political stability to ensure social welfare, thus raising the costs for political violence (Urdal 2006). Gender is also included to control for differences between men and women in support for political violence. It is also important to try to include some measure of insular feelings, as the literature on the social capital-violence relationship suggests that insular organizations may make individuals more likely to support alternative, and perhaps extreme, forms of participation. The following analysis includes a measure of ethnic identification, intended as rough measure of insulation or alienation from society. This item ranks ethnic affiliation relative to local or country affiliation. Individuals are coded one if they answer "above all, I am a black [ethnic group] American [nationality]" and zero if they answered "I am an American [nationality] first and a member of some ethnic group second." In non-US countries the appropriate ethnic group is substituted for "black." This variable is interacted with civic membership to account for the fact that some individuals may simultaneously be involved in a number of groups and hold insular ethnic attitudes. Finally, characteristics of individuals' political environment, such as a country's level of development and history of violent conflict, may systematically affect attitudes within that country. GDP per capita is included to control for level of development within countries, which is likely to be correlated with political violence in the aggregate (Powell 1982). The recent history of violent conflict in a country at the time of the survey is included because individuals surrounded by daily violence may become more accustomed to violence as a means of achieving political goals. Scholars have suggested that the use of violence as a tool to achieve political goals can be learned (Paris 2004: 169-70; Gurr 1970; Ross 1993), in which case a history of violent conflict should make individuals more likely to accept violence as sometimes justified. Also, past violence may destroy civic institutions and organizational life (Paris 2004). If this is true, controlling for past violence should weaken the effect of present civic institutions. Data on recent internal and external conflict in a country are taken from the PRIO Armed Conflict Data Set (Gleditsch et al. 2003). Finally, government institutions are an important determinant of opportunities for

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mainstream participation and are likely to be correlated with political culture. Institutions are measurable through measures such as the Polity regime scores. Each of these variables helps exclude a potential alternative explanation of political violence, helping us isolate the effects of civic institutions.14 The final data for the analysis covers 18 countries with diverse levels of economic and institutional development.15 Analysis The central claim of this chapter is that individual attitudes and participation in civic institutions may be endogenous and without correcting for this endogeneity it is possible to falsely conclude that civic institutions play a large role in socializing their members to reject political violence, leading to more peaceful societies. The analysis presented below therefore shows both a "naive" analysis that does not correct for endogeneity and an analysis that attempts to correct for this relationship through an instrumental variables approach. A technical discussion of these approaches is beyond the scope of this chapter, but interested readers may refer to Chapman (2007). The "nai've approach" employs traditional maximum likelihood statistical techniques to analyze the effect of the civic index, describe above, on individual attitudes toward political violence, controlling for the various demographic and country-level control variables. This approach finds support for the claim that civic membership is positively associated with attitudes rejecting political violence, even after controlling for a number of alternative explanations. The instrumental variables or two-stage approach corrects for the reciprocal relationship between civic membership and attitudes toward political violence by directly modeling the determinants of civic membership and then using individuals' predicted membership levels as predictors of their attitudes. However, in order for this technique to be viable, one must identify a measurable construct that is a good predictor of individual attitudes but not political violence. Finding an appropriate construct is notoriously difficult and the chosen instrument is rarely perfect. This study uses the average level of civic participation (minus respondent i's level) in a country, which is intended as an exogenous measure of the opportunity for participation, not affected by the individual respondent. Indeed, this measure is not highly correlated with individual attitudes, but is highly correlated with individual membership levels.16 First consider the results from a naive estimation. The naive estimation assumes a unidirectional causal relationship and reveals a relatively strong positive relationship between civic organization membership and the rejection of political violence, even after controlling for demographics and political and economic context.17 Table 10.1 displays the changes in predicted probabilities for different levels of associational membership and ethnic identification, holding all other variables at their means. The probabilities for answering in either extreme category are displayed for individuals with high and low civic voluntary engagement and high ethnic identification, as well as the combination of each.

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Moving from 0 to 1 on the civic index scale drastically increases the probability that an individual will strongly agree that political violence is never justified, increasing this probability by about 11 percent, although it has more modest effects on the probability that an individual will strongly disagree with this statement (decreases by about 3 percent). Adding high ethnic affiliation along with high involvement in voluntary organizations decreases the likelihood of strongly agreeing that political violence is never justified by about 13 percent and increases the probability of strongly disagreeing with this statement by about 4 percent. Finally, an individual with low civic engagement but high ethnic ties has the lowest likelihood of strongly disagreeing with the statement, but the highest likelihood of strongly agreeing. Moving from high civic ties and exclusive affiliations to only high exclusive affiliation increases the probability of strongly disagreeing by about 6 percent and decreases the probability of strongly agreeing by about 11 percent. Overall, an individual with no associational ties but high exclusive ties is most likely to strongly disagree that political violence is never justified, and an individual with both high civic membership and strong ethnic affinity falls in an intermediate range - more likely than the individual with only strong civic ties to support political violence but less likely that the individual with only a strong ethnic identification. This is seemingly strong evidence for the positive socialization effects of civic membership and social capital on individual attitudes. It would be natural to conclude from this evidence that interventions designed to foster peace should focus on building the types of organizations included in the indicator of civic organization membership. However, this analysis does not consider the endogeneity critique, or the possibility that attitudes themselves partially determine civic membership. In the interest of focusing on the policy and theoretical implications of this exercise, the full models and results are not reported here, but once one corrects for this endogeneity through the use of a two-stage estimation described above, there is simply no discernable effect of organizational membership on attitudes. In fact, in most specifications, the direction of the relationship appears negative, although in this data it is not statistically significant.18 In other words, using the same control variables but a technique that directly models the possibility of reciprocal causation, civic membership cannot be shown to affect individual attitudes toward violence. Not only does this suggest Table 10.1 Predicted probabilities for levels of civic membership and ethnic identity Change in explanatory variable

Predicted of strongly

Low civic ties and low ethnic affiliation 0.482 High civic ties and low ethnic affiliation 0.598 High civic ties and high ethnic affiliation 0.466 Low civic ties and high ethnic affiliation 0.354

probability agree

Predicted of strongly

probability disagree

0.078 0.044 0.084 0.138

Source: Predicted probabilities computed using the CLARIFY software (King et al. 2000).

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that a na'ive analysis suffers from endogeneity bias, but that the relationship between social capital and attitudes may be far more complex than often recognized. Implications for research and policy What does this evidence suggest about what we know about the social capital-violence connection? What does it suggest about policy interventions designed to build social capital, with the goal of decreasing a society's propensity for violence? First, as in any analysis of this sort, conclusions must be tempered. Nonetheless, there is strong evidence from careful statistical analysis of a large sample of individuals across a diverse set of countries that the linkage between civic membership and attitudes is complex and far from direct. There is actually more evidence that attitudes drive civic membership rather than the other way around, which raises questions about the extent to which civic membership produces an independent effect on individual attitudes. While there is certainly case study and anecdotal evidence of individual attitude transformation as a result of joining groups, this evidence is quite difficult to demonstrate on an aggregate level. Since we are, as conflict researchers, interested in aggregate conflict outcomes (or the aggregate likelihood of civil conflict), this result is important. Second, this analysis provides a note of caution regarding policy interventions designed to promote peace through building social capital. This is a point that Putnam noted in his original contribution to the study of social capital but has been neglected amidst the excitement for the possibility of promoting peace and development through fostering social capital. Namely, the origins of social capital are likely to be difficult to reproduce. This study suggests that membership is driven much more by pre-existing attitudes and demographic factors that are not subject to direct manipulation. The corresponding outcomes that we might associate with social capital also appear to be strong driven by these pre-existing conditions. In other words, the presence of vibrant social capital may be a product, not the cause, of peace and prosperity. This, in turn, suggests international agencies and non-profit organizations should focus on known determinants of economic development. Of course, because of the difficulties involved in definitively distinguishing cause and effect, any such policy recommendation are necessarily speculative. However, the reciprocal relationship between these outcomes should be a focus of future studies and should at least provide for a moments hesitation for large investments in social capital creation programs. Hopefully, the larger project of this volume, as well as the program of studying civic institutions and peace, will further our understanding with the goal of improving such interventions. Notes 1 This chapter uses the terms civic culture, civic life, civic organizations, and civic institutions interchangeably. Civic institutions can be conceptualized as both formal

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and informal organizations or networks that lower transaction costs, facilitate information provision, and create incentives for compliance with group norms (North 1990). Civic institutions both facilitate collective action and help shape individual views of others (Coleman 1988; Portes 1998). Examples of institutions include voluntary associations, communal clubs, and religious and ethnic organizations. 2 Text available at http://lnwebl8.worldbank.org/ESSD/sdvext.nsf/67ByDocName/OperationalResourcesCommunity-DrivenReconstruction. 3 For instance, King et al. (2007) and King and Wand (2004) suggest "anchoring vignettes" for better evaluating comparability across respondents. 4 For examples of the effects of networks on development, see Brautigam (1997) or Mackie (1999). 5 Barnes et al. (1979) predicted that such "unconventional participation would become more common" and Dalton (2002) confirms this. For discussion and evidence see also Inglehart and Catterberg (2002); Jennings and Van Deth (1989). The present study focuses on attitudes that might distinguish this unconventional, but increasingly legitimate, participation from acts of outright violence. 6 For equilibrium cooperation in multi-ethnic societies see Fearon and Laitin (1996), cited above. 7 See Stolle (2003) for a similar concern. Stolle (2001a, 2001b) finds that selection effects account for significant variation in generalized trust. 8 The following discussion is based on evidence presented in Chapman (2007). 9 Jones and Steenbergen (2002), Bryk and Raudenbush (1992), and Kreft and De Leeuw (1998) provide good treatments of multilevel modeling. 10 "Don't know" responses are excluded from the analysis. 11 Over half the respondents agree or strongly agree with this statement. I thank an anonymous reviewer for pointing out this limitation. 12 Indeed, the mean response to this item within a country is not strongly correlated with aggregate measures of political violence in 1990-5 or during the 1990s, according to the PRIO data on armed conflicts or King and Lowe's event data on internal violence. Theoretically, however, the relationship between violent events and attitudes regarding violence is likely endogenous. On the on the one hand, attitudes may create an environment conducive to political violence while on the other hand, violent events may either sour individuals on the use of political violence or strengthen their belief in its efficacy. The relationship between attitudes and events requires more systematic research. 13 Notably, civic involvement is more specific than the notion of social capital, which often discusses generalized trust as a component. It is likely that generalized trust is both a determinant and a product of civic involvement. Theoretically, it is not clear, however, so I choose to set this issue aside because of the theoretical ambiguity. 14 For more information on model specification and robustness to alternative factors see Chapman (2007). 15 The WVS covers many more countries, but unfortunately lacks data on key indicators in some countries. The analysis is, however, robust to fixed and random effects as well as clustered standard errors, increasing the confidence that country heterogeneity is not driving results. 16 The average country civic index is a strong and significant predictor of individual indices, with a highly significant coefficient of 0.652 in two-stage least squares estimation. 17 Ordered probit analysis shows a coefficient of-0.481, statistically significant at the 0.001 level. 18 Two. stage least squares shows a coefficients varying from 1.180 to -1.324, with the latter including country-level covariates. Two stage ordered probit analyses consistently display a coefficient between 0.570 and 0.735, never statistically significant.

170 T. Chapman References Armony, Ariel C. (2004) The Dubious Link: Civic Engagement and Democratization.

Stanford: Stanford University Press. Axelrod, Robert (1984) "An Evolutionary Approach to Norms." American Political Science Review 80: 1095-111.

Bandura, Albert (1990) "Mechanisms of Moral Disengagement." In Origins of Terrorism: Psychologies, Ideologies, and States of Mind. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Univer-

sity Press. Bandura, Albert (1999) "Moral Disengagement and the Perpetration of Inhumanities." Personality and Social Psychological Review 3(3):

193-209.

Bannon, Ian (2003) Foreword to World Bank working paper "Community-Driven Reconstruction as an Instrument in War-to-Peace Transitions." Online. Available at: http://lnweb 18.worldbank.org/ESSD/sdvext.nsf/67ByDocName/Community-driven ReconstructionasanInstrumentinWar-to-PeaceTransitions/$FILE/WP+No+7+aug21.pdf. Barnes, Samuel and Max Kaase et al. (1979) Political Action. Beverly Hills: Sage Publications. Berman, Sheri (1997) "Civil Society and the Collapse of the Weimar Republic." World Politics 49(3): 401-29. Brautigam, Deborah (1997) "Substituting for the State: Institutions and Industrial Development in Eastern Nigeria." World Development 22(7): 1063-80. Biyk, Anthony S. and Stephen W. Raudenbush (1992) Hierarchical Linear Models. Newbury Park: Sage Publications. Chapman, Terrence (2008) "Unraveling the Ties Between Civic Institutions and Attitudes Toward Political Violence." International Studies Quarterly.

Cohen, Michael D., Rick L. Riolo, and Robert Axelrod (2001) "The Rote of Social Structure in the Maintenance of Cooperative Regimes." Rationality and Society 13(1): 5-32. Coleman, James (1988) "Social Capital in the Creation of Human Capital." American Journal of Sociology 94(Supplement): S95-S120. Dalton, Russel J. (2002) Citizen Politics: Public Opinion and Political Parties in

Advanced Industrial Democracies. 3rd edn. New York: Chatham House. Delia Porta, Donatella (1995) Social Movements, Political Violence, and the State: a Comparative Analysis of Italy and Germany. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Fearon, James D. and David D. Laitin (1996) "Explaining Interethnic Cooperation." American Political Science Review 90(4): 715-35.

Ferrecuti, Franco (1990) "Ideology and Repentance: Terrorism in Italy." In Origins of Terrorism: Pyschologies, Ideologies, and States of Mind. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins

University Press. George, Alexander L. and Andrew Bennett (2005) Case Study and Theory Development in the Social Sciences. Cambridge: MIT Press. Grootaert, Christiaan and Thierry van Bastelaer (2001) "Understanding and Measuring Social Capital: A Synthesis of Findings and Recommendations from the Social Capital Initiative." World Bank Social Capital Initiative Working Paper no. 24. Online. Available at: http://lnwebl 8.worldbank.org/ESSD/sdvext.nsf/09ByDocName/SocialCapitalInitiativeWorkingPaperSeries. Inglehardt, Ronald and Gabriela Catterberg (2002) "Trends in Political Action: the Developmental Trend and the Post-Honeymoon Decline." International Journal of Comparative Sociology 43(3): 300-16.

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Jennings, M. Kent and Jan Van Deth (eds) (1989) Continuities in Political Action. Berlin: DeGruyter. Jones, Bradford S. and Marco R. Steenbergen (2002) "Modeling Multilevel Data Structures." American Journal of Political Science. 46: 218-37.

King, Gary, Christopher J. L. Murray, Joshua A. Saloman, and Ajay Tandon (2004) "Enhancing the Validity and Cross-Cultural Comparability of Survey Research." American Political Science Review 98(1): 191-207.

King, Gary and Jonathan Wand (2007) "Comparing Incomparable Survey Responses: New Tools for Anchoring Vignettes." Political Analysis 15(1): 46-66. Knack, Stephen and Philip Keefer (1997) "Does Social Capital Have an Economic Payoff? A Cross-Country Investigation." Quarterly Journal of Economics 112(4): 1251-88. Kreft, Ita and Jan De Leeuw (1998) Introducing Multilevel Modeling. Thousand Oaks: Sage Publications. McAdam, Doug, John D. McCarthy, and Mayer N. Zald (1996) Comparative Perspectives on Social Movements: Political Opportunities, Mobilizing Structures, and Cul-

tural Framings. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. McAdam, Doug, Sidney Tarrow, and Charles Tilly (2001) Dynamics of Contention. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Mackie, Jamie (1999) "Entrepreneurship and Institutions: The Southeast Asian Experience." In Colin Barlow (ed.), Institutions and Economic Change in Southeast Asia, Northampton: Edward Elgar, 72-84. North, Douglas (1990) Institutions, Institutional Change, and Economic Performance.

Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Oliver, J. Eric and Janelle Wong (2003) "Intergroup Prejudice in Multiethnic Settings." American Journal of Political Science 47(4): 567-82. Paris, Roland (2004) At War's End: Building Peace After Civil Conflict. Cambridge:

Cambridge University Press. Putnam, Robert (1993) Making Democracy Work: Civic Traditions in Modern Italy.

Princeton: Princeton University Press. Putnam, Robert (2000) Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of American Commun-

ity. New York: Simon & Schuster. Riker, William (1980) "Implications from the Disequilibrium of Majority Rule for the Study of Institutions." American Political Science Review 74: 432—46.

Sprinzak, Ehud (1990) "The Psychological Formation of Extreme Left Terrorism in a Democracy: the Case of the Weathermen." In Origins of Terrorism: Pyschologies, Ideologies, and States of Mind. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. Stolle, Dietlind (2001b) "Getting to Trust: An Analysis of the Importance of Institutions, Families, Personal Experiences and Group Membership." In P. Dekker and E. Uslaner (eds), Politics in Everyday Life. London: Routledge.

Stolle, Dietlind (2003) "The Sources of Social Capital." In March Hooghe and Dietlind Stolle (eds), Generating Social Capital: Civil Society and Institutions in Comparative

Perspective. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 19-42. Uvin, Peter (1998) Aiding Violence: the Development of Enterprise in Rwanda. West

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New Haven: Yale University Press. Vreeland, James R. (2003) The IMF and Economic Development. New York: Cambridge University Press.

11 Social capital in exclusive and inclusive networks Satisfying human needs through conflict and conflict resolution Susan Allen Nan A growing literature has examined the effects of violent conflict on social capital, and the roles of social capital in conflict prevention and peacebuilding (Coletta and Cullen 2000; Sawyer 2005). But the paradoxical roles of social capital in conflict and conflict resolution have been insufficiently considered. It is clear from the case studies presented in Part I of this volume that social capital can serve to fuel violent conflict. It may be argued that some social capital is necessary in order to wage war or other violent protest. It is equally clear from the case studies presented in Part II of this volume that social capital can support conflict resolution. Indeed, conflict resolution is impossible in the absence of social capital. Some degree of bonding social capital necessarily precedes the development of bridging social capital (Bolin et al. 2004). What distinguishes social capital that supports violence, and that which supports conflict resolution? This chapter contributes to our understanding of distinguishing characteristics by examining the fundamentally different functions of social capital as it is exercised in exclusive and inclusive network structures in efforts to satisfy basic human needs. Social capital in networks can fuel conflict by exacerbating conflict dividing lines. When networks create boundaries, excluding some, and control network member actions, they can reinforce durable inequalities in societies, thus fueling conflict. Putnam (2000) argues that bonding and bridging social capital support each other. Thus, the decline in bonding social capital he observes in the US can be expected to lead to a decline in bridging social capital and thus an increase in ethnic tensions. The findings on social conflict are similar to Woolcock's (1998) suggestion that bonding (embeddedness) and bridging (autonomous) social capital at the micro (local community) and macro (national) levels are both important to economic development. Both constructive social relations and constructive economic relations improve when people are willing and able to draw on nurturing social ties (i) within their local communities; (ii) between local communities and groups with external and more extensive social connections to civil society; [and] (iii) between civil society and macro-level institutions. (Woolcock 1998: 186)

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Drawing on Woolcock, Putnam, and other social capital literature, this chapter suggests that those networks which focus only on bonding capital, without bridging capital, are those most associated with unconstructive conflict. The evidence of existent case studies and related literature supports the hypothesis that these unconstructive conflict fuelers are exclusive networks, with more rigid boundaries. In contrast, social capital in networks can also support conflict resolution by creating cross-cutting ties engaging in constructive conflict resolution processes. Those networks which include both intra-group ties and inter-group crosscutting ties are those which support peacebuilding. These conflict-resolving networks appear to be more inclusive, although the bonding intra-group ties remain important forces and do periodically give rise to exclusive dynamics. While peacebuilding is not economic development, it is interesting to note that the finding that inclusive social capital promotes peacebuilding while exclusive social capital hinders peacebuilding is consistent with Annen's (2001) findings that inclusive social capital promotes economic development while exclusive social capital can hinder economic development. This chapter distinguishes between social capital that supports violence and social capital that supports peacebuilding with a focus on the long-term exclusivity of networks that support violence and the dynamic inclusivity of networks that support peacebuilding. Drawing on the case studies in this volume, as well as other cases, the characteristics of exclusive and inclusive networks are identified. Exclusive and inclusive networks are examined specifically in terms of how their social capital serves to satisfy basic human needs. Constructive conflict leads to increased satisfaction of basic human needs, whereas unconstructive conflict leads to continued frustration of basic human needs. Finally, the conclusions explore ways we might more broadly satisfy human needs by building more social capital fueling non-violent peacebuilding and redirecting that social capital currently directed towards violent conflict. The terms social capital, networks, conflict, basic human needs, and conflict resolution merit clarification prior to proceeding with the chapter. Social capital refers to the connections in and between networks and the qualities of these connections. Networks are the social structures that connect people. Thus, social capital and networks are inextricably intertwined concepts. Indeed, Putnam et al. (1993: 36) defines social capital as "the features of social organization, such as networks, norms, and trust, that facilitate coordination and cooperation for mutual benefit." Conflict may be defined as the perception by two or more people of an incompatibility in meeting each person's needs. Conflicts arise when people find they have unmet basic human needs. Conflicts become violent when participants see no other ways of seeking to meet their needs. Human needs refer to that which people need in order to live and develop. While Abraham Maslow popularized needs in psychology, John Burton brought human needs considerations to the forefront of conflict resolution theory. Each needs theorist lists a slightly different set of needs, but these lists generally

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include: safety/security, belongingness/love, self-esteem, personal fulfillment, identity, cultural security, freedom, distributive justice, and participation (Marker 2003). Mary Clark (2002) focuses on what are particularly human needs, as opposed to those needs shared by many species. She highlights the needs for bonding, autonomy, and meaning. Conflict resolution refers to processes focused on meeting everyone's needs in ways that serve all involved parties better than the status quo. This understanding of conflict resolution suggests that conflicts can be constructive (Kriesberg 2006). When people notice that their needs are not being met, they can engage constructively in conflict raising and conflict resolution processes in order to make changes that allow their needs to be satisfied. With this definition of conflict resolution, some actions that might be called advocacy, waging conflict, or conflict instigation can be seen as phases in an overall conflict resolution process. When people's needs are not being met, they may need to escalate a conflict in order to bring about changes that will allow them to better meet their needs. However, violent conflict tactics are controversial, with many questions raised about their long and short-term consequences, so they are not included even in this broad conception of conflict resolution. Meeting needs through the social capital of networks Needs can be met in networks through two main ways. First, the very process of engaging in a network may help fulfill basic human needs, as so many needs require social engagement. Second, networks can engage in social action to address group grievances, leading to substantive or structural changes that address inequalities or otherwise concretely meet human needs. In this second way of meeting human needs through networks, the network engages in conflict instigation or conflict resolution. We shall consider both of these ways of meeting needs in networks, beginning with the first. Mary Clark's focus on bonding, autonomy, and meaning as particularly human needs provides a useful framework for examining the ways exercising social capital in networks can contribute to the satisfaction of these human needs. Clearly networks provide opportunities for bonding. The bonding Mary Clark describes as a basic human need is broader than the social cohesion within a group labeled bonding by social capital theorists such as Putnam (2000). Clark's (2002) bonding includes a connectedness with the whole of community, creating a gestalt Clark labels the "Indra's Net" gestalt. This bonding is global in nature and thus bridges between and beyond ethnic, political, or other divides. Networks can support intra-group and/or inter-group bonding. Putnam (2000) refers to intergroup linkages as bridging social capital. Both bridging and bonding are necessary components of satisfying the human need for bonding, broadly understood. When a network seeks some form of coordinated activity, participants may feel "possible fears about giving up some autonomy by participating in the

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coordination effort" (Garb and Nan 2006: 18). Ironically, exercising social capital in networks can also contribute to satisfying the need for both individual and also group autonomy. When networks respect a diversity of perspectives, individuals encounter respect for their own individual autonomy. Networks can be structures in which individual choices can reverberate as systemic shifts, and individual voices can reshape group conversations. Networks can also allow individuals with similar goals to work together to realize their shared visions, thus enabling groups to effectively exercise their group autonomy. To the extent that networks are structured around clear boundaries of network membership, there may be some satisfaction of the autonomy need by distinguishing oneself and one's network group from outsiders. In short, the needs for autonomy and identity are closely related. Clark's final human need is the need for meaning, described as "the structural basis of culture" (Clark 2002: 58). Networks are simultaneously holders of meaning and contexts enabling the development of meaning. Relationships within networks are iterative processes of an individual making sense of her world through social learning, acting in that world in communication with others who interpret her communication, and then again the individual integrating new meaning produced by interactions in the network. (Nan 2008: 6) Having considered the ways that the process of participating in networks can contribute to meeting needs, we now turn to how working through networks towards conflict and conflict resolution can contribute to meeting human needs. There has been much work in the conflict resolution literature on meeting human needs, and there has been some (albeit indirect) consideration of social capital roles in conflict resolution. For example, Paffenholz and Spurk (2006) distinguish seven civil society functions in peacebuilding: protection, monitoring and early warning, advocacy and public communication, culture of peace and ingroup socialization, conflict sensitive social cohesion, intermediation, and service delivery. Each of these functions both require social capital to perform, and also generate social capital. In contrast to financial capital, social capital is depleted with non-use, and is strengthened through use. As Paffenholz and Spurk (2006) note, the efficacy of these potential civil society roles in peacebuilding may shift as the conflict characteristics shift over time. During some phases of conflict, it may be more constructive to focus social capital on particular peacebuilding functions, and then to shift these foci as the conflict moves into other phases. For example, Quinn and Farah (2008) observe in Somalia that the conflict sensitive social cohesion function in peacebuilding operated most efficiently during the phase when there was less violent conflict. Another area where social capital has clearly played a role in working towards meeting basic human needs through conflict resolution has been in those myriad areas around the world that can be called zones of peace (Mitchell

176 S.A. Nan and Nan 1997). Whether in urban city contexts, Cyprus, the Philippines, El Salvador, or South Africa, people come together locally to declare their zone an area free from guns, soldiers, etc. In some instances, it is a specific building (such as a church) that serves as a zone of peace. In other instances, it is a time (such as a particular day) that serves as a temporal zone of peace. In whatever form it takes, a zone of peace requires social capital to establish. Individuals join together in a network and exercise their social capital to create a zone of peace. What of the dark side of social capital? When networks work for the needs fulfillment of only their own members, without regard to the needs of others, that manifests as some of the socially undesirable consequences of exercising social capital. Criminal networks are frequently presented as networks with socially undesirable consequences. Analysts working to combat terrorism use social network analysis in their assessment of terrorist networks (Enders and Xuejuan 2007). As Jose Cuesta notes in this volume, "Social capital is that glue which draws individuals together in a community as well as a repellent that takes groups and individuals apart within a collective context" (p. 38). After surveying the major theorists' acknowledgements of the potential "dark side" of social capital, Field (2004: 74) concludes that the leading theorists of social capital do not "sufficiently appreciate the risks inherent in defining social capital as a public good without constant qualification." Social capital can be used for purposes that others deem unconstructive. Even where the espoused goals of networks are not especially negative, social capital can reinforce inequalities "in large part because access to different networks is very unequally distributed" (Field 2004: 74). In other words, exclusive networks reinforce and even exacerbate existing inequalities. Muntaner and Lynch (2002) highlight this rarely mentioned dark side of social capital theory in their examination of social capital theory as it relates to social epidemiology. They find that social capital can be exercised as a patch, a way to smooth things over, a cultural approach utilized inappropriately when fundamental structural changes are actually what is needed to address inequalities. In fact, reducing inequality may in fact be essential to increasing social capital, rather than focusing on using social capital to try to reduce inequality. This argues against seeing social capital as a key to public health, suggesting marginalized groups "improve their health status with self-financed local projects, building trust, 'empowerment', community participation; at the micro level, ultimately co-operating and consensually accepting their economic and political location in the social system" (Muntaner and Lynch 2002: 265). In the context of the inequality Muntaner and Lynch describe, social capital may patch together the semblance of peaceful coexistence, but eventually conflict will arise in efforts to meet the needs of the marginalized and exploited population. Conflict between the powerful and marginalized groups is constructive in the sense that it suggests movement towards more broadly meeting the needs of all. Social capital might thus be harnessed for conflict management processes that keep a lid on more revolutionary conflict resolution aspirations by focusing on small shifts marginalized groups can make by working together.

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Muntaner and Lynch's analysis is thus relevant far beyond social epidemiology's focus on health. The danger of abusing social capital as an ineffective antidote to structural inequalities suggests widespread caution. In reporting a study of management and labor showing higher profit through social capital that supports mutually respectful discussions between management and union leadership in slaughterhouses in Denmark, Hasle and Niels (2007: 401) conclude, "Developing trust between production managers and shop stewards was the key." Hasle and Niels note that the strength of the unions involved was an element allowing the development of trust. The process of engaging in conflict develops social capital, not always just within the sides to the conflict, but sometimes across the conflict divide. For example, the conflict escalation and resolution process in a community conflict over a local school in Alton, Nebraska led to increased social capital in the community as a consequence of the collective action (Allen 2001). Thus far, we have established that social capital can be employed to wage conflicts or resolve conflicts leading to structural shifts that more broadly meet human needs, and that exercising social capital in networks can contribute to satisfying basic human needs, and is arguably essential to meeting human needs for bonding, autonomy, and meaning. However, not all structural arrangements of social capital are necessarily equal in their service of needs fulfillment. We shall now turn to the structures of exclusive and inclusive networks, and then examine the ways social capital in these structures contributes to needs fulfillment. Exclusive and inclusive networks While, as will be discussed further below, no networks are entirely exclusive or entirely inclusive, it is helpful for theoretical specificity to identify the characteristics associated with each type, while not expecting to find any network case study that entirely conforms to either type. In fact, the conclusions discussed further below posit that all networks involve some exclusive and inclusive dynamics, and that the dynamic between these two is essential to network growth and evolution. But, before this argument is presented, let us distinguish between exclusive and inclusive networks. Exclusive and inclusive networks can be distinguished by the characteristics of their nodes, central nodes, governance, structure, boundaries, action, flow, power relationship, emphasis, focus, discussion, and value. While these distinguishing characteristics are discussed in significantly more detail in Nan (2008), a brief summary is necessary here. The people or organizations who form a network are the network's nodes. The nodes are participants in inclusive networks. In contrast, the nodes are members in exclusive networks. The distinction is that in inclusive networks participants participate as people with rights and responsibilities and voices as people. In contrast, in exclusive networks, members fill positions in networks,

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possibly representing a concrete organization or group, and take on rights and responsibilities of those positions. Consider the distinction between the social capital an individual working in a certain company develops versus that which adheres to the company when the individual moves on to another area of employment. Inclusive networks form their nodes around the social capital that adheres to individual people, whereas exclusive networks are more focused around the social capital that goes with formal position, such as company representation. In inclusive networks, people are trusted. In exclusive networks, the positions people hold are trusted. The central nodes in networks can be characterized as either facilitators in inclusive networks or as leaders in exclusive networks (Diani 2003: 117). These have more ties and/or stronger ties to other nodes. Facilitators in inclusive networks use their connections to stimulate exchanges throughout the network. Leaders in exclusive networks set network goals with authority, engaging with other nodes with some element of control. Consider here the example of the exclusive character of paramilitary networks, where the central nodes offer leadership with authority. Decisions are made in inclusive networks through transparent and democratic processes. Consider the prototypical town hall meeting: all in the town are invited, all may speak, and all may see how conclusions are reached democratically. The governance of exclusive networks relies on charismatic leadership. Consider here an exclusive network in which the leader presents a vision that network members rally behind. Inclusive network structures are decentralized, flat, and fluid. They may be so fluid as to be purely informal networks. Exclusive network structures are centralized, hierarchical, and rigid. Exclusive networks may be so rigid as to be more formal networks such as organizations. Inclusive networks lack boundaries. All are welcome to join the network by participating. In exclusive networks, the boundaries are clear, often with formal criteria for membership and even types of network membership. Nan (2008) argues that the boundaries in exclusive networks make it possible for these networks to create and/or reinforce battle lines on which to conflict and thus also reinforce durable inequalities (Tilly 2005). Consider here Belloni's discussion in this volume (Chapter 1) of exclusive networks in Northern Ireland, and their role in reinforcing the social divisions that gave rise to their exclusivity. Drawing on James (2002: 40) we can distinguish between the inclusive network's representative action, and the exclusive network's quick action. A leader with authority in an exclusive network can make a decision and expect it to be implemented quickly by members. In an inclusive network, decisions are reached democratically after broad input and thus more time is required. In inclusive networks, trust and reciprocal relationships such as knowledge sharing are the primary flow exchanged through the network. In exclusive networks, authority and rules are the primary flow exchanged in the network. In exclusive networks, relationships are not reciprocal, but involve an uneven flow of authority.

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Inclusive networks empower the least powerful to participate in the network. In this context, social capital does not reinforce existing power structures. Exclusive networks create power relationships that reinforce the existing power structures. Consider ethnic, racial, or gender discrimination enacted either intentionally or unintentionally by exclusive network dynamics. These power relationships relate to the emphasis of each type of network. The empowering relationships support the dynamic interconnectedness emphasis of inclusive networks. In contrast, the reinforcing of existing power structures in exclusive networks supports the control that is the emphasis in exclusive networks. People join inclusive networks in search of dynamic interconnectedness, and exclusive networks to further control. Inclusive networks develop broadly shared values as the most basic norms that unite the network. Different customs or specific goals emerge over time in an inclusive network as the network works flexibly to realize shared values. With the values as the network's core, the inclusive network can shift to new goals based on those values. Dudouet (2007) described a pragmatic shift in civil society network foci from human rights and peace advocacy to development and peacebuilding at the conclusion of the violent phases of conflicts. This shift illustrates the utility of shifting goals in service of underlying values. This shift is similar to the shift admonished in conflict resolution processes, where parties to a conflict are asked to focus on meeting their needs and interests, rather than achieving fixed positions. In exclusive networks, the focus is on specific goals. In the extreme, such adherence to specific policies may become bureaucratic implementation of plans, despite contraindications from a changed environment. Discussion in an inclusive network is a conversation amongst diverse voices. Indeed, the network emphasis is dynamic interconnectedness that makes reciprocal conversation possible. Discussion in an exclusive network is structured as debate between a limited set of perspectives supported by those in authority. Other perspectives are excluded. Similarly, the participants in inclusive networks value the network's diversity. Here there is strength in diversity. The members of exclusive networks value the single voice of the network. Here there is strength in unified numbers. Coletta and Cullen (2000: 7) distinguish between horizontal social capital and vertical social capital. Horizontal social capital refers to the strong ties in families and communities, and the weak ties connecting individuals and bridging between communities. Vertical social capital refers to organizational integrity, including state institutions and norms that provide social control through mechanisms such as media. Inclusive networks primarily house horizontal social capital. Exclusive networks primarily house vertical social capital, as well as varying degrees of intra-network horizontal social capital. To summarize the more detailed presentation above and in Nan (2008), in an inclusive network: the nodes are participants as people; the central nodes are brokers or facilitators; the governance is democratic transparent decisionmaking; the structure is decentralized, flat, and fluid; there are no boundaries;

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action is representative; the flow is trust and reciprocity; the least powerful are empowered; the emphasis is dynamic interconnectedness; the focus is values driving dynamic goals; the discussion is a conversation amongst diverse voices; and the value is the diversity of considerations. In an exclusive network: the nodes are members in positions; the central nodes are leaders; the governance is charismatic leadership; the structure is centralized, hierarchical, and rigid; the boundaries are clear; the action is quick; the flow is authority and rules; existing power structures are reinforced; the emphasis is control; the focus is a specific set of goals; discussion is debate between limited perspectives and the value is a single voice. Meeting needs through exclusive and inclusive networks Inclusive networks appear to better meet the basic human needs of bonding, autonomy, and meaning. In inclusive networks, participants bond not only within the networks, but also more universally through the inclusivity of diverse considerations in a fluid structure. The need for autonomy may be met in inclusive networks through the empowering of the least powerful, and the lack of control focus in such networks. Finally, the need for meaning is met in inclusive networks through the deep participation afforded participants in raising diverse voices in democratic decision-making shaped by conversations amongst diverse voices. Maja Korac's study of the gendered nature of social capital dynamics in Yugoslavia in this volume (Chapter 27 suggests the inclusive network's emphasis of horizontal structure, democratic transparent decision-making, dynamic interconnectedness, and conversation amongst diverse voices is a more feminine approach. Exclusive networks may partially satisfy the needs for bonding, autonomy, and meaning, but analysis suggests such fulfillment will be impermanent. The intra-group bonding function of exclusive networks serves to meet the need for connectedness, limited areas of autonomy, and limited range of shared meanings, but fails to respect autonomy and diversity. Participants are accepted only to the extent that they conform to specific group norms. Furthermore, exclusive networks may well fulfill the need for connectedness amongst participants, but that is a limited group. Who is excluded from exclusive networks, and how does that exclusion affect overall needs satisfaction? Are exclusive networks sustainable? Some degree of inclusivity may be necessary to maintain a largely exclusive network, but the development of both inclusive and exclusive networks may be mutually interdependent. As described by Keith Moore in this volume (Chapter 8), the Peul of Nouna in the twinned villages of Tatia-Nouna may have lost their traditional access to grazing and watering holes due to their low social capital, both in the form of exclusive networks (embeddedness) and in the form of inclusive networks (autonomy). With decentralization, the Peul of Nuona found themselves without linkages to others that might have helped address their concerns. Then, without their concerns addressed satisfactorily by their own traditional leadership, they found little in-

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group solidarity, despite their ethno-linguistic separation from the majority Marka farmers. In other words, when there is so little inclusive dynamic to a network, it may prove unable to adapt to changes in the surrounding environment, and thus ultimately undermine the exclusive connectivity within the network. Conflict resolution attempts to meet the needs of all, not only one group. Thus, exclusive networks are not well suited to conflict resolution. Exclusive networks focus only on meeting the needs of one group, the network participants. By definition, in exclusive networks, these participants do not include all. Short of making a definitive conclusion that exclusive networks are the causes of conflicts, and inclusive networks the causes of conflict resolution, the question of causality must be acknowledged. Perhaps it is not exclusive networks that fuel conflict, but rather conflict that gives rise to exclusive networks. In this volume, Belloni argues in presenting the Orange Order and the Gaelic Athletic Association that "civil society in deeply divided regions such as Northern Ireland reflects and reproduces the larger political context in which it is embedded" (p. 18). Perhaps exclusive networks develop in conflict contexts. Perhaps unmet human needs gives rise to a distrust of others (who are not meeting one's needs) and thus to exclusivity. In a world fraught with potential and actual violent conflict, how can the constructive functions housed in both exclusive and inclusive networks be harnessed? Network vitality Based on comparative case study of ten conflict resolution networks, there does seem to be a way for networks to have their proverbial cake and eat it too. Successful conflict resolution related networks shift dynamically to engage both exclusive and inclusive dynamics (Nan et al. 2007). These networks are largely inclusive, but shift towards some of the strengths of exclusivity periodically as needed. While this adaptation seems particularly necessary for networks working in volatile areas of conflict or potential conflict, where the environment may change drastically as war breaks out or ceasefires are signed, it may be that the network vitality dynamic appears in other networks as well. Successful conflict resolution networks move dynamically from the potentially exclusive emphasis on clarity and focus through stages of more flexibility and inclusivity, and then back again to potentially exclusive emphasis on clarity and focus. These dynamics are illustrated in Figure 11.1 by the larger arrows. These networks move dynamically between being clear and exclusive to being flexible and inclusive and back again and again. The inner smaller arrows illustrate the network's related dynamic moving through alternating (and sometimes overlapping) processes of consensus building and then evolving and then consensus building and then evolving, etc. The evolution phase allows the network to adapt to new resources, knowledge, activities, contacts, and interests. Then the consensus-building phase shapes shared goals, work, structure, and norms

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for the network. "The vitality of networks is their dynamic and simultaneous acknowledgement and identification of diversity and commonality" (Nan 2008). Discussion Previous literature, this volume, and this chapter have clarified that social capital can support conflict resolution, the meeting of basic human needs. We also know that conflict resolution processes can build social capital. (It is in part for this reason, as well as teaching problem-solving skills, that conflict resolution practitioners typically present easier conflict resolution exercises to conflict parties prior to tackling the most controversial of issues.) We also know that social capital can be a force in waging conflict constructively, leading to better satisfaction of basic human needs, or in prolonging or exacerbating conflict destructively as when networks reinforce existing inequalities and poor satisfaction of basic human needs. Waging conflict can build social capital first amongst those that rise up in struggle, then eventually, through conflict resolution between those who rose up and those who come to meeting them reciprocally in respectful relationship. So, does this acknowledgement of the utility of waging conflict mean there is a time for exclusive networks, and the social capital that fuels them? Not necessarily. Numerous freedom struggles have worked through fairly inclusive networks. The underground railroad, for example, worked with anyone who wanted to help slaves escape north - whites included. Gandhi's satyagraha worked with anyone who wanted to work for Indian self-rule - British included. Long-term, social capital in inclusive networks serves us well. Inclusive networks build the norms upon which conflict resolution, meeting everyone's needs

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with reciprocity, is built. Putting a lid on conflict, smoothing over differences while ignoring the basic human needs of some, is not possible in a truly inclusive network. Thus, conflict resolution will be best served as we develop more inclusive networks. The means of inclusive networks are integrally related to the ends of conflict resolution broadly meeting the needs of all. Kew (forthcoming, 2009) finds a similar connection between means and ends in his extensive examination of the dynamics of civil society and democracy in Nigeria. There, the values of democratic political culture that are learned through civil society activities correspond with the values of conflict transformation. Thus, Kew concludes, civil society activities that promote democratic political cultures also inadvertently promote conflict transformation. Similarly, it appears that the inclusive network characteristics correspond directly to the conflict resolution values of respect for diversity, trust, and relationships, empowering the least powerful, dynamic interconnectedness, diversity of considerations, and, of course, democratic transparent decision-making. The integral connection of means and ends suggest that when networks work with conflict resolution norms, the process of normalizing those norms thus contributes to the further enactment of conflict resolution norms. Implications If inclusive networks are more adaptive to constructive conflict resolution, how can we support the further development of such inclusive networks? Broader social change is required to allow more inclusive networks. Belloni notes in this volume (Chapter 1) that the social capital structures we observe reflect the social context in which they develop. Thus, we must change the social context. This will require changing our minds, as it is ultimately through the mind that we interactively construct the social context. A shift in our minds will reverberate in social change. Inclusive networks require bridging social capital, for which bonding social capital is necessary but not sufficient. Inclusive networks are built on relationships of reciprocity, trust, and norms flexible enough to embrace the diversity of the network. We need to build relationships of reciprocity, trust, and flexible norms. The development of these characteristics requires mind-sets or worldviews in which these characteristics make sense. Reciprocal relationships include a quality of mutual recognition, affording basic rights and obligations to each participant in the relationship. While part of reciprocity is an equality of consideration, reciprocity in relationships also indicates a respect for diversity, in that each participant, with all his or her diverse characteristics, is afforded mutual recognition. The togetherness of reciprocal relationships is a symbiosis of needs fulfillment. Participants together shape fulfillment of their needs for bonding, autonomy, and meaning. Taken together, these changes require a broad cultural shift towards more exclusive ways of thinking, acting, and being.

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How can this new inclusivity be encouraged? And what social capital structures would take shape in the context of these more inclusive ways of thinking, acting, and being? If current divisions are reinforced by the network structures these divisions give rise to, would the new networks structures reinforce the new inclusive social context from which they would arise? And would network vitality continue, allowing a dynamic drawing from the strengths of each network model? References Allen, John C. (2001) "Community Conflict Resolution: The Development of Social Capital Within an Interactional Field." Journal of Social Issues 30 (2): 119-20. Annen, Kurt (2001) "Inclusive and Exclusive Social Capital in the Small-Firm Sector in Developing Countries." Journal of Institutional and Theoretical Economics 157 (2):

319-30. Bolin, B., Hackett, E. J., Harlan, S. L., Kirby, A., Larsen, L., Nelson, A., Rex, T. R., and Wolf, S. (2004) "Bonding and Bridging: Understanding the Relationship between Social Capital and Civic Action." Journal of Planning Education and Research 24:

64-77. Clark, Mary (2002) In Search of Human Nature. New York: Routledge. Coletta, Nat J. and Cullen, Michelle L. (2000) Violent Conflict and the Transformation of Social Capital. Washington, DC: World Bank Publications. Dudouet, Veronique (2007) "Surviving the Peace: Challenges of War-to-peace Transitions for Civil Society Organizations." Berghof Report No. 16. Berlin: Berghof. Enders, Walter and Xuejuan Su (2007) "Rational Terrorists and Optimal Network Structure." Journal of Conflict Resolution 51(1): 33-57. Field, John (2004) Social Capital. London and New York: Routledge. Garb, Paula and Nan, Susan Allen (2006) "Negotiating in a Coordination Network of Citizen Peacebuilding Initiatives in the Georgian-Abkhaz Peace Process." International Negotiation 11 (1): 7-35.

Granovetter, Mark (1973) "The Strength of Weak Ties." American Journal of Sociology 78: 1360-80. Hasle, Peter and Niels, Moller (2007) "From Conflict to Shared Development: Social Capital in a Tayloristic Environment." Economic and Industrial Democracy 28 (3):

401-29. Kew, Darren (forthcoming, 2009) Classrooms of Democracy? Civil Society, Conflict Res-

olution, and Building Democracy in Nigeria. Manuscript under contract with Syracuse University Press. Kriesberg, Louis (2006) Constructive Conflicts. Lanham: Rowman and Littlefield. Marker, Sandra. (2003) "Unmet Human Needs." Beyond Intractability, eds. Guy Burgess and Heidi Burgess. Conflict Research Consortium, University of Colorado, Boulder. Online. Available at: http://www.beyondintractability.org/essay/human_needs/ (accessed August 2003). Mitchell, Christopher and Nan, Susan Allen (1997) "Local Peace Zones as Institutionalized Conflict." Peace Review 9 (2): 159-62. Muntaner, Carles and Lynch, John (2002) "Social Capital, Class Gender and Race Conflict, and Population Health: An Essay Review of Bowling Alone's Implications for Social Epidemiology." International Journal of Epidemiology 31: 261—7.

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Nan, Susan Allen (2008) "Conflict Resolution in a Network Society." International Negotiation 13 (1), forthcoming.

Nan, Susan Allen, Eliatamby, Maneshka, and Kanyako, Vandy (2007) "Networks for Conflict Prevention and Resolution." Washington, DC: USAID Research Report. Paffenholz, Thania and Spurk, Christoph (2006) "Civil Society, Civil Engagement, and Peacebuilding." Social Development Paper No. 36. Washington, DC: World Bank. Putnam, Robert D. (2000) Bowling Alone. New York: Simon and Schuster. Putnam, Robert D., Leonardi, R., and Nannett, R. Y. (1993) Making Democracy Work: Civic Traditions in Modern Italy. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Quinn, Shane and Farah, Ibrahim (2008) "Somalia: The Reshaping of Civil Society in an Collapsed State, Options for Peacebuilding." Draft chapter for forthcoming (2008) Civil Society and Peacebuilding, Paffenholz, Thania, ed. Boulder: Lynne Rienner. Sawyer, Amos (2005) "Social Capital, Survival Strategies, and Their Potential for PostConflict Governance in Liberia." United Nations University Expert Group on Development Issues. Research Paper 2005/15. Woolcock, Michael (1998) "Social Capital and Economic Development: Toward a Theoretical Synthesis and Policy Framework." Theory and Society 27: 151-208.

12 Exploring opportunities and obstacles for a constructive role of social capital in peacebuilding A framework for analysis Thania Paffenholz Introduction 1 Since modern times the building of "good" social capital among and between citizens has been discussed as a necessary building block for democracies to flourish. The concept is closely linked to the debate about civil society. Tocqueville (1805-59) has already stressed the role of independent associations as civil society {De la Democratie en Amerique). He sees these associations as "schools of democracy" in which democratic thinking, attitudes and behaviour are learned, also with the aim to protect and defend individual rights against potentially authoritarian regimes and tyrannical majorities in society. According to Tocqueville these associations should be built voluntarily and on all levels (local, regional, national). Thus, civic virtues like tolerance, acceptance, honesty and trust are really integrated into the character of civic individuals. They contribute to trust and confidence and - as it has later been discussed "social capital" (Putnam 2000: 19-26). Within the peacebuilding theory and practise discourse the importance of civil society initiatives has been increasingly acknowledged since the mid 1990s, a trend that has paralleled a sense of helplessness in the international community in the face of increased international peacebuilding failures in the mid-1990s, such as Somalia, Rwanda or the Balkans. The result has been a. massive rise in civil society peacebuilding initiatives focussing a lot on building "good" social capital as a catalyst for peacebuilding. Whether or not the existence or building of social capital is a key factor for peacebuilding, is subject of this book chapter. This chapter seeks to clarify: 1 2 3

what the understanding of social capital is within the civil society peacebuilding discourse; how social capital is distinguished from other functions of civil society; what the main supporting and hindering factors are for a constructive mobilization of social capital for peacebuilding.

The chapter is therefore structured in four parts: the first part introduces definitions and understanding of social capital within civil society theory, while the

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second part analyses social capital within peacebuilding theory and practise. The third part introduces civil society functions in peacebuilding and thereby distils the role of social capital within these functions, accompanied by case study examples. Part four presents conclusions and the way forward to better understand and analyze the role of social capital for peacebuilding as well as the obstacles and opportunities derived in this regard. This chapter is based on earlier works (Paffenholz and Spurk 2006) as well as on the theoretical background and preliminary findings of an ongoing research project on civil society and peacebuilding (Paffenholz and Spurk 2007). The analytical framework presented in part three of this chapter derived from democracy theory, development discourse and case study research, and was in suit applied to the context of peacebuilding. The framework has been subject to many debates and case study pilot testing (Belloni 2007; Celic 2007; Oijuela 2007; Cuhadar 2007) and was in consequence subject to a number of revisions. The framework as of now is currently undergoing an in-depth case study testing in 13 countries. In this chapter peacebuilding is understood as an overarching term to describe a long-term process that covers all activities with the overall objective of preventing violent outbreaks of conflict or transforming armed conflicts into sustainable, constructive ways of dealing with conflict. The scope of peacebuilding covers all activities that are linked directly to this objective within a time frame between five and ten or occasionally more years. Peacebuilding should create conditions conducive for ongoing economic reconstruction, development and democratization efforts, but should not be equated and thus confused with these efforts. The different phases of conflict can repeat themselves pending on the conflict in question. Understanding social capital within the civil society discourse The term "civil society" has become widely used, there is, however, no commonly agreed upon definition. In the literature civil society is either defined as a sector on its own next to the state, the business and the family sector or as a sphere between those sectors. Both approaches can be summarized in the following definition: civil society is the sector of voluntary action within institutional forms that are distinct from those of the state, family and market, keeping in mind that in practice the boundaries between these sectors are often complex and blurred. It consists of a large diversity of voluntary organizations, often competitive with each other and oriented to specific interests. It is comprised of non-state actors and associations that are not purely driven by private or economic interests, are autonomously organized, and interact in the public sphere. Additionally, civil society is independent from state, but not completely, since civil society is oriented towards and interacts closely with the state and the political sphere. Historically "civil society" has been an almost purely Western concept, tied to the political emancipation of European citizens from former "feudalistic" ties,

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monarchy and the state during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Other "civil societies" that might have existed in other countries or continents (Asia, Middle East, Latin America) or at different times (pre-colonial, Middle Ages) are hardly reflected in the international debate about civil society (AppiagyeiAtua 2005: 2-3; Pouligny 2005: 498). Additionally there still is debate as to whether these concepts are transferable to non-Western countries or other historical contexts with different conditions for democracy and economy (Lewis 2002; Harneit-Sievers 2005: 1). However, research demonstrates that civil society has taken a variety of forms in different times and geographical contexts, e.g. in Western Europe (Lauth 2003), in Latin America (Birle 2000), in the US (Putnam 2000) or in Eastern Europe's transition (Merkel 1999: 397-441), but also in Africa, although its role in this context is still contentious among researchers (see Bratton 1994; Harneit-Sievers 2005; Appiagyei-Atua 2005; Schmidt 2000: 321-3; Pinkney 2003). The literature offers two main approaches for analyzing the diverse forms of civil society. One of these approaches focuses on actors and their identity; the other approach structures civil society according to its functions. While the actor oriented approach dominates the literature and practise of civil society support, only a functional approach brings clarity with regard to the understanding of social capital within the civil society debate (Paffenholz and Spurk 2007: 4-6). Analyzing a number of functional approaches, Paffenholz and Spurk (2006 and 2007) distilled seven potential constructive roles of civil society in democracy building, namely, protection, monitoring, advocacy, socialization, community building and service delivery. Two of these functions, i.e. socialization and community building, are directly linked to social capital as citizens build social capital in their respective groups and associations (socialization) or between different societal groups (community building). To better understand the role of social capital for supporting peacebuilding, the adaptation of the functionalist model to the peacebuilding context as done by Paffenholz and Spurk (2006 and 2007) proves to be a helpful approach. Understanding social capital within the peacebuilding discourse When looking into the theory and practise of peacebuilding, social capital was not a theme that was part of the mainstream research agenda until the 1970s (and then also not under this term). Civil society involvement as such, especially in international conflicts, was in general considered to complicate the peacebuilding efforts of professional diplomats (Berman and Johnson 1977). Nongovernmental actors on the scene such as the Quakers were exceptions at that time until the 1970s (Curie 1971). Until the 1990s, the main research debate within peacebuilding was which external actors would achieve the best results with what kinds of approaches to end armed conflicts and wars. The practice of peacebuilding during the 1990s was characterized by testing many different approaches. Research over the past ten to 15 years has provided numerous

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answers to a variety of detailed issues, leading to the overall conclusion that only the involvement of multiple actors - including grassroots organizations or other civil society actors - and approaches can lead to sustainable peacebuilding (for the state of debate see Reychler and Paffenholz 2001; Crocker et al. 2007; Austin et al. 2004). The important work of John Paul Lederach shifted the focus of attention from external actors to the role of actors from within the conflict country (Lederach 1997). This research led to a paradigm shift within the international practitioner community: from the mid-1990s onwards, the question for external actors was mainly how to support national actors in countries experiencing armed conflict so as to best enhance their peacebuilding capacities. The interpretation of this conceptual framework gave rise to and justification for the mushrooming of international, national and local peacebuilding initiatives, where social capital, especially in the form of building bridging ties between conflict parties, became part of the research and practise agenda. To get a better understanding of the role social capital plays within the peacebuilding discourse, it is worth taking a closer look at the different theory schools. Conflict management (track 1) and social capital Within the conflict management school (Miall et al. 1999), also called track 1, it is aimed to identify the representative leaders of the conflict parties and to bring them together to negotiate or mediate a ceasefire and a peace accord. The shortterm management of armed conflict is the main focus. This approach addresses the top leadership level of the conflict parties with diplomatic approaches, and mediators mostly come from governments and the UN. Non-governmental actors, including civil society, play a limited role here, both as mediators and as parties at the negotiation table. We find many examples of the practice of this approach, such as the Camp David agreement or the more recent Sudan peace accord. Civil society mediators are the exception on the scene in most conflict management, but some, like the Community de Sant Egidio in the Mozambique peace negotiations or the Centre for Humanitarian Dialogue in Geneva in the first Aceh peace negotiations do exist. When civil society actors take the role of an official mediator, their action and behaviour is not that different from official governmental mediators (Paffenholz 1998). We find a common assumption among mediators that the involvement of civil society at the negotiation table next to armed parties, complicated the achievement of a negotiated settlement. Negotiation theories, especially those based on game theory and theory of effective communication, confirm this assumption (Wanis-St. John and Kew 2006). Interestingly, however, recent quantitative research analyzing 22 peace negotiations over 15 years demonstrates an empirical correlation between the degree of civil society involvement in peace negotiations and the sustainability of peace agreements. The researchers found that the more and stronger civil society was involved in peace negotiations, the higher the sustainability of the peace agreement (Wanis-St. John and Kew 2006).2

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To cope with the challenge of designing a broad-based peace process without having too many actors involved in negotiations, another model suggests the establishment of official parallel civil society forums as was done in Guatemala between 1994 and 1996 (Armon et al. 1997; Molkentin 2002; Stanley and Holiday 2002) and during the Afghanistan negotiations in Germany in December 2001 (Paffenholz 2006). Other concepts for involving civil society in official conflict management approaches aim at linking the population to the official mediation process through broad-based information campaigns or public opinion polls (Accord 2002). This approach suggests that civil society might take over an important role in the communication process between the negotiators and the wider public and provides a clear link to the communicative function of civil society, mainly highlighted by Habermas. While it seems relatively easy to organize communication from the conflict parties to the population, it is challenging to channel comments from the population back to the negotiating table. Analyzing track 1 peacebuilding and its linkages to civil society, there seems not much trust and social capital building involved as it is too short-term oriented. The top-level representatives of the conflict parties come to a negotiated settlement not on the basis of trust and relationship building, but on a mutual rational choice understanding that they can win more at the negotiation table compared to continuing fighting. Moreover, even if they would build some trust, this would not automatically be transferable to the larger population. Conflict resolution, conflict transformation and social capital The underlying conceptual assumption of the conflict resolution as well as the conflict transformation school is the need to solve the underlying causes of conflict, build trust and rebuild destroyed relationships between the conflict parties. In the logic of these schools, trust and relations need to be (re)built not only between top-level representatives of the conflict parties, but also within society at large. The main difference between these two schools is the role of peacebuilding actors involved. In the conflict resolution school, peacebuilders were first mainly external, Western academic institutions that initiated and conducted conflict resolution workshops (Fisher 1972). When the approach was further developed, other peacebuilders, like international or local non-governmental organizations (NGOs) and non-organized individuals or communities, entered the scene. The only common determinant governing these actors' involvement is that they all work towards addressing the root causes of conflict with relationship/ trust- and long-term resolution-oriented approaches. Moreover, these actors do not represent a government or an international organization (Bailey 1985; Stedman 1993). The building of trust and social capital has thus a prominent role within these two schools (even if the term social capital is hardly used), both in form of socialization, e.g. conflict resolution training separately with different groups to the conflict as well as through building bridging ties for example with the help of dialogue initiatives between different segments of society.

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Social capital and the practise of civil society peacebuilding Lederach's peacebuilding/conflict transformation approach, the middle-out approach, focuses on the empowerment of middle-range leadership on the track 2 level and has influenced theory and practise of peacebuilding enormously (Lederach 1997). This degree of influence was possible because the concept was introduced at a time when the international community was open for civil society peacebuilding initiatives due to its helplessness in the face of increased international peacebuilding failures in Somalia, Rwanda and the Balkans. Consequently, the practise and interpretation of the middle-out approach led to a rise in peacebuilding initiatives that involved civil society and other nongovernmental actors. We have seen a general acceptance of the fact that national actors from within conflict countries should be the main actors in peacebuilding and that outsiders are limited to a supportive role (Lederach 1997). In addition, non-governmental peace initiatives are now seen to be equally important for long-term peacebuilding as official or unofficial diplomatic efforts. On the international level we have seen successful lobbying and advocacy for specific peace-related themes (for example "small arms" or "war economy") but also for specific peacebuilding processes in conflict countries. The rise of peace initiatives also has negative aspects and shows the dilemmas of donor-driven NGO civil society support: the mushrooming of peace initiatives and the increased involvement of NGOs in conflict countries went hand-in-hand with the professionalization and commercialization of peace work. This "NGOization" of social protest (Oijuela 2004: 255) led to a "taming of social movements" (Kaldor 2003) and thus shifted the focus of peacebuilding away from peace movements and grassroots civic engagement for peace. International NGOs have been criticized for "parachuting" into conflicts and introducing "Western" conflict resolution technique to local people (Sorbo et al. 1997), who are consequently socialized to the language and expectations of international donors (Belloni 2006: 23). This argument is countered by others who point to the fact that many INGOs work with national NGOs that are linked to the local context (Aall 2001: 373). However, following the logic of development aid delivery also for funding peacebuilding initiatives, most external support from donors goes directly to international NGOs or through them to national, mainly urban, elite-based NGOs. Empirical evidence from El Salvador (Foley 1996), Timor Leste (Patrick, 2001), Bosnia (Belloni 2001) and Sri Lanka (Oijuela 2004) shows that donors tend to support mainly moderate, middle-class groups that often act as "gatekeepers" (Paffenholz 2001b) vis-a-vis other strata of society (Belloni 2006: 21). This has resulted in a "colonization of space" by international and national NGOs (Jeong 2005: 215-19; Pouligny 2005: 499; Paffenholz 2001: 8-9). Another criticism is that many of these new national urban NGOs have a weak membership base, lack country-wide and/or balanced political or ethnic representation, and are often linked to the political establishment through kin relationships. The reasons for these characteristics are to be found mainly in the

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"monetization of peace work" (Oijuela 2004: 256). The fact that they are only accountable towards their international counterparts and not vis-a-vis "their" constituencies (Oijuela 2004: 256; Neubert 2001: 63) has resulted in the disempowerment of local communities and civic engagement for peace (Oijuela 2004: 256; Bush 2005; Pouligny 2005: 499; Belloni 2006: 22). As a result, domestic groups are disempowered, left in a weak and subordinate position (Belloni 2006: 21-2). Moreover, resources and opportunities gained in civil society detain talented and motivated citizens from joining political parties, government institutions and contributing to political peace processes (Belloni 2006: 23). In consequence donor-driven NGO civil society initiatives have limited the capacity to create domestic social capital and ownership for peace processes. How then can social capital be built in times of war and in post-conflict situations? To gives answers to this question, I will now introduce civil society functions for peacebuilding based on the model developed by Paffenholz and Spurk (2006 and 2007). Civil society functions in peacebuilding: the role of social capital Function 1 - protection During, and in the aftermath of, armed conflict, protection becomes almost a precondition for fulfilling other roles and functions as civil society actors are substantially hindered from taking up peacebuilding roles when threatened by armed groups (Aall 2001; Oijuela 2004; Barnes 2005; Jeong 2005). This is particularly true since states weakened by armed conflict cannot properly fulfil their own protection function. Protection needs to be secured not solely vis-a-vis a despotic state, but from any armed group from the national army to any local armed group. The protective function is often attributed to external NGOs that support national or local civil society actors either indirectly, as a watchdog through their presence on the ground, due to humanitarian or development service delivery (Oijuela 2004: 47), or directly through international accompaniment. A good example of the latter is the work of the international NGO "Peace Brigades International" that sends outsiders into conflict zones to protect national peace or human rights activists to enable them to fulfill their work (Eguren 2001). We find, however, that local civil societies also take up protective functions for their communities. For example, communities in the Philippines and Colombia have negotiated "zones of peace" where no arms are allowed (Barnes 2005; Oijuela 2004; Eviota 2005). Another angle of protection is the support to securityrelated interventions such as de-mining, demobilization, disarmament or reintegration of ex-combatants. In general, this is not a civil society function as it can be implemented by the state, the UN or business companies (which takes place mainly in the case of de-mining). Nevertheless, in exceptional cases, civil society might take up some elements of such interventions when it concerns their community. For example, in Mozambique the churches launched a

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demobilization campaign after the official UN demobilization process was ended as they assessed that too many weapons were still in the area. Besides the limited, above-mentioned civil society options for protecting citizens, it has to be acknowledged that civil society cannot fully replace the state's protective function. This is especially important when a weak, fragile state gives space to armed non-state actors like militia, paramilitaries or mafia-like crime organizations. Function 2 - monitoring/accountability Monitoring is both a precondition for the "protection" function and the "advocacy/public communication" function as well as a key function in democratization as a means for holding governments accountable. Within peacebuilding, monitoring remains closely related to a) protection and b) advocacy, but also to c) early warning as a means for early action. International and local groups monitor the conflict situation and give recommendations to decision makers or information to human rights and advocacy groups. The main activities within this function are: creation of political early warning systems and human rights monitoring. In both fields we see increasing cooperation between local groups not only with national and international NGOs but also with regional organizations. In Nepal, national human rights organizations, which have close links to Amnesty International, cooperate closely with local groups. These ties between the groups create safe space for the local groups to fulfil their monitoring tasks. Function 3 — advocacy/public communication Advocacy is a core function within the civil society democracy discourse often referred to as "communication" since it entails civil society bringing relevant social and political themes to the public agenda. In the same vein, advocacy is considered one of the core functions in peacebuilding (Aall 2001; Paffenholz 2003a). The main activities within this function are: agenda setting by local civil society actors, such as bringing themes to the national agenda in conflict countries (road map projects; awareness workshops, public campaigns), lobbying for civil society involvement in peace negotiations, or public pressure (mass mobilization for peace negotiations or against the recurrence of war). Also important is international advocacy for specific conflict issues (banning of land mines; war diamonds; child soldiers) or for specific countries at conflict. The advocacy function can be taken up by both national and international civil society. First of all, it is a main function for national civil societies. An interesting example is the recent mass mobilization against the Nepali king that started as a political movement of the parties and the armed faction (Maoists) and has developed into a country-wide peace and democracy movement. Advocacy is also a function that is relevant in all phases of armed conflict. However, different issues might be more or less relevant in different phases.

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Civil society can be linked to the official negotiation process through broadbased information campaigns, public opinion polls (Accord 2002) or more direct involvement. For example, during the official peace negotiations in Guatemala from 1994 to 1996, and for Afghanistan in 2001 in Germany, official parallel civil society forums were established (Armon et al. 1997; Molkentin 2002; Stanley and Holiday 2002) that gave recommendations to the official track 1 negotiations. During the peace process in Northern Ireland, civil society organizations organized "Yes" campaigns for public support to the peace agreement. In the post-conflict phase, civil society can advocate against the recurrence of violence, for the proper implementation of peace agreements, or for important themes on the post-conflict agenda and for building a culture of peace within society (Oijuela 2004: 51-3; Jeong 2005: 120-1). Function 4 - in-group socialization Socialization is a key civil society function that supports the practise of democratic attitudes and values within society, realized through the active participation in associations, networks or democratic movements. Naturally this is also a crucial civil society function in peacebuilding which aims at promoting attitude change within society towards peaceful conflict transformation and reconciliation. The difference between socialization and social cohesion (see next function below) is that socialization takes place only within groups and not between former adversary groups (which would be called bridging ties = social cohesion), i.e. in a conflict and post-conflict setting in-group bonding ties are strengthened. For example, the Geneva-based international NGO "interpeace" supports groups on the different sides of the Israel/Palestine conflict separately and works to strengthen each group in their peace efforts and understanding. The building of in-group social capital can also be fostered through peace education via different transmitters (radio or TV soap operas, street theatre, peace campaigns, school books, poetry festivals, etc.) or conflict resolution or negotiation training for the respective groups. However, preliminary findings from our research project suggest that ingroup socialization during war can contribute most likely more to escalation than to de-escalation of conflict. Evidence from Sri Lanka, Northern Ireland (see also Chapter 1 in this book) or Guatemala show that strengthened bonding ties support the radicalization of these groups and help create an image of the other as the problem. Strengthening bonding ties thus implies a high risk of fostering of "bad" social capital including uncivil virtue. Function 5 - inter-group social cohesion This is also an essential civil society function in peacebuilding as "good" social capital is destroyed during war and needs to be rebuilt, mainly in order to prevent "uncivil virtues" as well as to revitalize active civic engagement (Oijuela 2004: 46-7; Jeong 2005: 120). Therefore, it is crucial that "bridging

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ties" across adversarial groups, and not only "bonding ties" within specific groups are built (Putnam 2002). The objective of this civil society function is to help these groups learn to live together in peaceful coexistence. The main activities within this function are: initiatives fostering joint activities between former or present adversarial groups such as joint development service delivery activities (mixed aid user committees, joint development committees, joint NGO activities, etc.), formation of joint associations (mixed groups of parents, journalists, teachers, multi-ethnic chambers of commerce, etc.), joint cultural events (music, poetry, film festivals) or joint work initiatives or dialogue initiatives. A qualitative and quantitative research evaluation of the impact of peace education on attitude change through peace camps with different groups from both sides of the Georgian/Abkhazian conflict shows evidence that little attitude change was achieved through various peace education initiatives over a period of four years. However, initiatives promoting and implementing joint work initiatives were possible and were also perceived as fruitful by the adversarial groups even without any attitude change (Ohanyan with Lewis 2005). This case gives evidence to the assumption that initiatives of "conflict sensitive social cohesion" are much more effective than initiatives of "culture of peace." Another interesting research project from India shows that ethnically integrated organizations, including business, trade or other associations, have been an effective means for building bridging ties across ethnically divided groups that even led to an "institutionalized peace system" that facilitated the control of violence (Varshney 2002: 46). The practical problem with this civil society function is that most of the many activities are often too sporadic (Aall 2001: 373), lack coordination, and fail to create a critical mass movement for change. The evaluation of a UNDP Peace Fund in Nepal (Paffenholz et al. 2004) confirms and adds to these findings. First, many good local initiatives demonstrated positive effects on the local level but failed to impact the macro-level peace process because these initiatives were scattered, not coordinated and failed to create a peace movement that could pressure the leaders. Second, the local impact was also limited because it proved extremely difficult to mobilize people for peace when they lacked basic human needs (food and security) and access to justice. Preliminary findings form our research suggest that building social capital through enhancing bridging ties will have little impact during armed conflict, however, can be develop medium to long-term after war or gross human-rights violations are over. Function 6 - intermediation/facilitation In a peacebuilding context intermediation/facilitation is an important function that takes place between different groups (not only between state and citizens) and on different levels of society. The main activities within this function are facilitation initiatives (formal or informal) between armed groups, between

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armed groups and communities or between armed groups, communities and development agencies. The contribution of civil society to diplomatic conflict management activities is, however, a limited one (Aall 2001) and is only taken up in exceptional cases because conflict management is more of a government function for states or the UN (see earlier in this chapter, pp. 000-000). Local civil society can, however, often facilitate between civil society and warring parties at the village or district level. During the war in Nepal, for example, civil society representatives have successfully negotiated the release of citizens from custody by armed groups (Paffenholz et al. 2004). Civil society groups have also negotiated peace zones (see function 1 above) or violence-free days as churches negotiated during the war in El Salvador in order to ensure a child vaccination campaign (Kurtenbach and Paffenholz 1994). Civil society groups have also negotiated between international or national aid agencies and the warring parties as a means to ensure aid service delivery to their communities (Oijuela 2004: 48). Function 7 - service delivery During armed conflict the provision of aid services through civil society actors (mainly NGOs but sometimes also associations) increases tremendously as state structures are either destroyed or weak. There is no doubt that this kind of service is extremely important to help the war-affected population. We even find the same actors often providing services and peacebuilding functions at the same time. Nevertheless, the question remains whether and under which circumstances service delivery is also a civil society function in peacebuilding. Assessing the validity of the service delivery function for the objective of peacebuilding we find different arguments: some authors see aid service delivery as a separate function of civil society because it saves lives and thus creates the preconditions for civil society to exist (Barnes 2005). Another line of thinking follows the same argumentation as in democracy discourse: usually service delivery is done with an economic, social or humanitarian objective, and therefore it should not be labelled as "civil society" support. A third argument states that aid service delivery can only be important for civil society peacebuilding when aid donors and agencies explicitly aim also at contributing to local capacities for peace and try to find entry points for peacebuilding though their respective aid interventions (Anderson 1999). In Sri Lanka, an emergency education project that was started in the immediate aftermath of the ceasefire agreement in the most conflict-affected areas in the north of the island formed a project management committee comprising the two conflict parties on the district level that had not been in dialogue with each other (Paffenholz 2003b). Here, service delivery is an entry point for conflict sensitive building of social bridging capital.

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Conclusions for social capital for peacebuilding The analytical framework as presented above is a useful instrument to better understand the role of social capital for peacebuilding. Actor oriented models for analysing social capital do not further pursue a proper understanding of the role of social capital for peacebuilding as not the functions and activities that civil society can perform to constructively engage in peacebuilding are examined but only the respective actors involved. Within the seven functions of the framework mainly two functions, e.g. socialization and social cohesion, directly concern the building of social capital. While socialization builds social capital within societies through bonding ties within one group to the conflict, social cohesion can build social capital through bridging ties between adversary groups. Both functions are relevant for building peace in a society. Preliminary research findings from a number of case studies suggest, however, that within the socialization function, there is a high risk that "bad" social capital is being build that can even lead to an increase in violence as it may fosters an understanding of in-group bonding that creates an image of the "others" as the problem. This risk seems to be stronger the more escalated a conflict situation is. Nevertheless, strengthening in-group bonding in times of armed conflict might still be useful especially in extremely asymmetric conflict situations. Here it seems that the weaker party to the conflict first needs to strengthen their in-group bonding before they are ready to engage in negotiations with the stronger party. Moreover, the building of bridging social capital, i.e social cohesion, seems to be difficult during armed conflict. Preliminary findings suggest that there is almost no impact on peace processes due to the destruction of bridging ties during armed conflict, the scattered nature of many initiatives, the highly politicized environment in which these initiatives take place as it seems that civil society initiatives are dependent on the track 1 peace process initiatives. Furthermore, even if some initiatives can be effective in their immediate environment, they usually do not have impact on the overall peace process as no broader social capital is being built. In consequence, most such initiatives might have much more effect after the settlement of an armed conflict. There seems to be one exception: when the population at large can be mobilized for peacebuilding, i.e. in the form of mass mobilization for peacebuilding social capital can be built also for short-term peacebuilding. It seems important in such cases that the momentum is being kept and the building of social capital will be deepened within societies for sustainable peacebuilding after a settlement is reached. A functionalist perspective to analyzing social capital will, however, be insufficient, if it stops with the analysis of the functions/roles only. It is crucial that the context in which social capital is being built will be subject to an indepth analysis. For example, a context analysis will also highlight which groups in society are able to re(build) social capital. In our research we found that most civil society analyses examine mainly the role of NGOs and are short in understanding other actors and their roles within society like religious and traditional

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actors, student, teacher, journalist or other associations. Empirical evidence from various countries proves that donors even more tend to mainly support moderate, middle-class groups that often act as "gatekeepers" vis-a-vis other groups in society; "genuine" civil society is set aside. Thus, large mass-based organizations and trade unions have been neglected as potential partners for civil society support even though many of the new national urban NGOs who are favourites of the donor community have a weak membership base, lack of country-wide and balanced political or ethnic representation, and are often linked to the political establishment through kin relationships. This preference might have detrimental effects: donor-driven NGO civil society initiatives have limited the capacity to create domestic social capital, and ownership for peace processes. Moreover, a civil-society focussed functional perspective to social capital could also not sufficiently reflect the building of social capital through other actors, namely the state. During and after armed conflict we find a weak, fragile state accompanied by non-transparent networks of power relations among various groupings with the main result that the enabling environment for civil society is exceptionally bad. In other contexts we might find a very strong authoritarian state that oppresses the functioning of civil society. Thus, it is necessary to keep in mind the role of the state when analyzing the building of social capital. For example, social capital can be also built ("good" or "bad") through governmental education systems. Notes 1 An early version of this text with a more general focus on civil society roles in peacebuilding was presented as an ISA paper in Chicago in February 2007: Paffenholz, T. and Spurk, C. (2007) "The Different Roles of Civil Society in Peacebuilding: New Insights from a Functionalist Perspective." 2 It has, however, to be mentioned that this research is not based on in-depth empirical research and also does not define the understanding and criteria for sustainability of a peace agreement. References Aall, P. (2001) "What do NGOs Bring to Peacemaking?" In Crocker, C. Hampson, F. and Aall, P. (eds) (2001) Turbulent Peace, Washington, DC: United States Institute of Peace Press: 365-83. Accord (2002) "Owning the Process, Public Participation in Peace Making," Accord Series, Reconciliation Resources, London. Anderson, M. B. (1999) Do No Harm. How Aid Can Support Peace-or War, Boulder:

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Index

Afghanistan 194 authority 38, 178 Balkans 186 Bosnia-Herzegovina 111-12, 114, 116-17, 191 "broken windows" theory 37 capitalist society 104 chieftaincy 125 China 68-9 citizenship 98-9 civil engagement 29, 158-9, 166; see also civil society; political participation civil society 22, 35,124, 126,128, 129-31, 134-5, 145, 157-9,164, 187-8, 190-2,194, 196-7; civic culture 157, 160,165-6 collective action problem 23,25 Colombia 39,42-6, 50-1, 75-7, 82-9, 117,192 communism 23, 28-9, 149-50 community 37-9,43,46, 50-1; organizations 42,45, 53 conflict: bilateral 143,150; civil war 97-8; conflict management 145, 159, 189; conflict resolution 141, 159,172-4, 181-3,190; conflict theory 143-4; ethnic cleansing 113; ethnic war 26; inter-communal conflict 143, 159; multi-actor 146, 150; third parties 143-5, 149-50; see also violence corruption 45,47, 54 crime 37-40,43, 50; rates of40,44; types of 39 Croatia 110-12, 114 cultural theory 25-6 Cyprus 176

decentralization 122, 126, 135 democracy 59, 186, 188; definition of 76; democratic consolidation 22, 76; democratization 23, 34, 86, 123, 157; institutions and procedures 22; theory 187 discrimination 179 El Salvador 175, 191, 196 elections 126; electoral system 23, 77 estate workers 99, 102-3 factionalism 132-3, 166 federation 124 game theory 26 Germany 190, 194 Guatemala 117, 190, 194 Honduras 43-6, 50 human capital 41,47 human needs 173, 175, 181-2 human rights 76, 95-6 identity politics 115 illicit interest group 75 India 98-9,195 institutions 40, 49 international funding 96-7 Israel and Palestine 117 Italy 68 labor 78; exploited workers 96-7 law enforcement 43 media 47, 54, 98, 112 military: occupation by 141-2, 148 Mozambique 192

Index national security 112 negotiation 189-90 Nepal 193, 195-6 networks 75, 104, 107-8, 174-6; exclusive 172-3, 177-8, 180-1; inclusive 172-3, 177-83; network wars 107-8; networking 102-3; relation to political activism 34,108; see also social capital new social movement theory 26 Nigeria 183 non-governmental organizations (NGOs) 95,125,133,135, 146, 191-3,195-7 Northern Ireland 117, 194 organized crime 57-8, 65, 176; definition of 60-1; prison 63-4; sports clubs 63^4; structure 66,68-9 peacebuilding 186-9, 191-3, 196 Philippines 176, 192 political freedom 33 political participation 22, 150, 157, 160; activism 27; citizen 24, 29; collective 160; disengagement and apathy 24,27; environment 23, 165; grassroots campaign 96; identity 108; in new democracies 28-9, 143, 145\ see also civil engagement; unconventional political participation political transition 157 pseudo-state 84, 88 public good 57 rational behavior theory 37 refugees 140, 148 resource tenure 123-4, 134-5 reunification 139, 145, 150 Russia 57, 60-1,65, 67, 69 Rwanda 186 security 43 Serbia 114, 117 social capital 22-3, 27, 37-50, 54, 77, 122, 126-7, 135, 139, 146, 157, 168, 172, 176, 182, 184, 186-9,196; association membership 130-1, 133, 162,164-5, 168; associational life 25-6, 103^4, 124-5, 130, 160, 164; associational

203

structures 125; attitudes 160-1, 166, 168; bonding 82-3, 109, 172-4, 180, 195; bridging 67,69, 172-3, 179, 194; causality with civil institutions 161-2, 166, 168; consequences of 128; definitions of 24, 75, 127, 150; disenfranchisement 123; horizontal 179-80; levels of 150-1; measurements of 127, 133, 157-8, 164; negative effects 58-9, 127, 176; norms of reciprocity 57-8, 65-6, 70, 180; psychology 146-8; related studies 24-5, 128-9; relation to political activism 34, 166-8; resources 127; vertical 179; types of 148; see also networks and trust social infrastructure 40 Social Learning Theory 38 social solidarities 122, 125, 127, 134, 136 Somalia 175,186 South Africa 176 Sri Lanka 95, 98-9,103-4, 191,194,196 Sudan 189 transnational companies 96 trust 25, 37-8,41,47, 57-8, 62, 65, 70, 75-6,128,145-6,150, 160, 164,180, 190; building 148, 159; correlation study of 27, 164; definition and employment of 26; effect on political trust 28; effect on protest politics 27,29, 31, 34; interpersonal trust 22-3, 25, 39, 50; measurements 30-1, 131-2, 164; see also social capital unconventional political participation 22-3,27, 159; measurement of 31; militants 30-4, 98; social movement 161; types of 25-7 United States 75 victimization 38-40, 42- 6, 48, 50, 52 violence 37-9,45, 64-5, 172-3, 175, 181, 187, 190-2; see also conflict welfare 39^41,43, 47, 50 women 46-7, 50 Yugoslavia 107-8, 180