Much international peacebuilding takes place in the form of training nationals in various aspects of conflict analysis and resolution. In this field, training has become increasingly popular and taken on a dimension unto itself. Trainers may have some sense that users are facing a conflictual situation; however, the mechanistic nature of a lot of conflict resolution training has a tendency to make conflict abstract, divesting it of personal meaning. In many international scenarios, conflict is not an abstract; it is an all-too-tangible reality. In these settings, there is no bright line between training and a more direct form of intervention, particularly in an ongoing conflict situation. Is it ethical for external practitioners to portray themselves in one guise when in fact they are operating in another?
An illustration to highlight the last two points might be useful here. Several years ago, I was a member of a team of conflict resolution specialists who traveled to Moscow to conduct a series of training workshops with Russian scientists, academics, and environmentalists on methods of responding to environmental conflict. None of us was Russian speaking, so virtually all interactions were handled through translation. One day, after the formal training sessions were over, a Russian participant asked us if we would like to visit a site in a community where the government was planning to construct a new power plant that would supplant a smaller and older one. The government's rationale for building the plant was that additional power capacity was necessary to handle the energy needs of a growing immigrant workforce. Residents of a community on the outskirts of Moscow were protesting the construction on the grounds that the older plant was more than adequate to produce the needed energy. A larger plant would increase the risk of pollution, and there were no plans for necessary safeguards.
We all hopped into a car thinking we were about to embark on an interesting but harmless field visit. Instead, we were driven to a home in the suburbs of Moscow where waiting for us were a half-dozen local activists, including a local political representative. We found ourselves drawn into a discussion about strategic options in the guise of interest-based negotiations. In reality, we were four foreigners on an intervention team who were engaging in a form of advocacy for one side in a conflict and, at worst, pursuing our own agenda--in a country not fully withdrawn from its cold war discourse and possibly leaving community representatives to deal with negative externalities.
In an attempt to extract ourselves from this uncomfortable situation, we indicated that we really wanted to see the plant before returning to Moscow. "But of course," our hosts replied. "In fact, we'll join you." We hapless American trainers and our entourage then descended on not just the plant but the plant manager as well. Once we were there, the local residents confronted the plant manager with their protest, not too subtly indicating they had American experts to back them up. We were now thinking we were one telephone call away from jail and probable expulsion from the country. Somehow, we managed to extract ourselves from this ever-thickening ethical dilemma and amid a flurry of anemic excuses fled back to Moscow, looking over our shoulder all the way.This story is notable for many reasons. First, it is theoretical and grounded in lived experience; second, it is a chapter on ethics, but rather than preach what should be done, Wallace had the grace to use his experience as an example, a parable, about what to watch out for. He put himself in the ethics frame, as he was talking about ethics--a true reflective practitioner. Third, it is a story that reveals the wit and wisdom that so characterized Wallace's approach to life and to learning. These kinds of stories, about human beings being human, are truly Wallace's legacy to us.
--Sara Cobb
