beard, victoria a. learning radical planning the power of collective action. plannning theory, 2003

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DOI: 10.1177/1473095203002001004

2003 2: 13Planning Theory Victoria A. Beard

Learning Radical Planning: The Power of Collective Action

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L E A R N I N G R A D I C A L P L A N N I N G : T H E

P O W E R O F C O L L E C T I V E A C T I O N

Victoria A. Beard

University of Wisconsin-Madison, USA

Introduction

Current descriptions of radical planning fail to explain how social trans-formation occurs in authoritarian contexts because they do not address howcitizens in these environments acquire the skills, experience, and politicalconsciousness necessary to bring about significant social and politicalchange.1 This results in an inadequate theorization of the process of

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Copyright © 2003 SAGE Publications(London, Thousand Oaks, CA and New Delhi)Vol 2(1): 13–35[1473-0952(200303)2:1;13–35;033102]www.sagepublications.com

Article

Abstract This article examines how citizens in authoritarian politicalcontexts learn radical planning for social transformation. After identi-fying a series of gaps in the radical planning literature, the article usesa longitudinal study (1994–2001) of collective action in an urban settle-ment in Indonesia as a heuristic device to develop a more nuancedmodel of radical planning. The study illustrates how cumulativeparticipation in state-directed planning, community-based planning,and covert planning over time resulted in a sense of collective agencythat served as a foundation for demanding political reform at amoment when state control was weakened.

Keywords citizen participation, collective action, community-basedplanning, Indonesia, radical planning, social transformation

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planning for social transformation in localities where social activism is metwith violent retribution and where it is common for citizens to fear the mostmundane forms of public and political participation.2 Planning for social

transformation does exist in these contexts; however, to understand how itbegins and unfolds, we must look to more minor, seemingly insignificantacts that precede radical planning.

This article contributes to our understanding of how citizens learn toengage in radical planning. It demonstrates how social learning in restric-tive political environments occurs incrementally and current descriptions of radical planning have ignored these initial steps because they are not overtlyradical. The central argument is that in authoritarian political contexts,citizens learn the skills necessary to partake in radical planning by firstparticipating in state-sponsored programs, which can eventually lead tomore innovative, locally driven community-based planning. Over time theseefforts prepare citizens to engage in covert planning that, although seekingsignificant structural change, intentionally operates beyond the purview of the authoritarian state (Beard, 2002). Finally, the accumulation of theseexperiences prepares the community for radical or insurgent planning at amoment when the repressive state is weakened (Tarrow, 1998).

The article first substantiates the conceptualization of planning as socialtransformation. It then reviews the radical planning literature and identifiesa series of analytical gaps. To address the analytic weaknesses described, the

article analyzes a longitudinal study of collective action in Indonesia. Thestudy, conducted between 1994 and 2001, is used as a heuristic device toelucidate a more nuanced model of radical planning than the literaturepresently depicts. Specifically, three examples of local-level planning areused to explain how the foundation for radical planning evolved in thiscontext. The first example illustrates the shift from participation in acentrally orchestrated state program to community-based planning. In thisexample, women volunteers implement a state-designed health care clinicfor mothers and children. Eventually, this experience and the community

support they gained led them to develop and implement a community-basedplanning process for locally identified needs. The second example depictsthe shift from community-based planning to covert planning. Here thecommunity mobilizes behind a series of incremental physical improvementsthat transform its physical appearance from an informal to a formal resi-dential settlement. Their efforts evolve into covert planning when theycome to view them in opposition to the State’s denial of repeated requestsfor land tenure. The third example illustrates the move from covert toradical planning when a community youth group plans and develops a

library. As in the previous examples, on the surface the library appears tocomplement a facet of State policy; however, when the economic andpolitical crisis occurs in Indonesia and the State is weakened, the youthgroup uses the library as a forum to demand political reform. Together thethree examples demonstrate how marginalized communities in an

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authoritarian political context move from conventional participation ingovernment programs to community-based planning in pursuit of self-identified needs, to covert planning for social transformation, and when a

window of opportunity opens, to more overt, radical and insurgent politicalaction.

Planning as social transformation

In order to follow the arguments presented here, the reader must accept abroad conceptualization of the ‘terrain of planning theory’ and what consti-tutes legitimate planning practice. Building on John Friedmann’s work(1987), planning as used here refers to the deliberate transfer of knowledgeto action in the public domain for the purposes of moving towards a sharedvision of the ‘good society’.3 Adopting a broader conceptualization allowsFriedmann (1987) to view planning as a continuum that ranges from societalguidance at one end, to social transformation at the other. This was aturning point for the discipline, because it expanded our realm of inquirybeyond the work of the professional planning practitioner working for thestate. It justified the inclusion of community organizers, activists, andeveryday citizens as ‘planners’ working either in collaboration with, oppo-sition to, or completely beyond the purview of state-sanctioned, formal

planning processes. It is worth noting that a growing body of work andscholarship operationalizes this broader conceptualization of planning, thuscontributing to our understanding of planning as social transformation.4

However, the literature has not yet addressed how planning as social trans-formation evolves in restrictive political environments.

Friedmann describes planning theory in terms of four broad traditions:social reform, policy analysis, social learning and social mobilization. Eachof these traditions links knowledge to action, and falls along a continuumof overlapping constructs that can be divided into two broad forms of

planning: planning as societal guidance and planning as social transform-ation (Friedmann, 1987: 75).5 Friedmann describes the fundamental differ-ences between these two forms of planning:

The operative terms in these definitions are societal guidance and social

transformation. Whereas the former is articulated through the state, and is

concerned chiefly with systematic change, the latter focuses on the political

practices of system transformation. Planners engaged in these two practices are

necessarily in conflict. It is conflict between the interests of a bureaucratic state

and the interest of the political community. . . . The pressure for system-widetransformation is intensified when, in the course of a system-wide crisis, the

legitimate authority of the state declines, and the state itself is so weakened that

it can no longer successfully repress the radical practices of the political

community. (Friedmann, 1987: 38–9)6

Beard Learning radical planning 15




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In practice, planning as societal guidance operates as ‘conventionalplanning’ conducted by a professionally trained practitioner. In contrast,planning as social transformation is most fully represented by the fourth

tradition in planning thought – social mobilization, which draws on threeoppositional currents: social anarchism, historical materialism, and utopian-ism (Friedmann, 1987: 225). According to Friedmann, planning as socialtransformation is radical planning.

For the purposes of the arguments presented here, planning as socialtransformation can be understood as efforts that occur on a variety of scalesto transform the social, political, and economic structures that create andmaintain the status quo. To date the most well known examples of radicalplanning have occurred at the community-level (Friedmann, 1987; Peattie,1968; Sandercock, 1998a). However, planning as social transformation ispossible at higher operational scales; for example, when a bureaucrat(Needleman and Needleman, 1974), political party (Abers, 2000) and/orstate (Rangan, 1999) deliberately sets out to transform the character of social and political life within their sphere of influence.

It should be noted that while a ‘continuum’ is useful for explaining thedifference between planning as societal guidance and planning as socialtransformation and the relationship to the various traditions in planningthought, the metaphor has its limitations. Friedmann (1987: 391) notes thatthere is an ‘epistemological break’ between planning as societal guidance

and planning as social transformation. In other words, what have typicallybeen considered valid knowledge in planning as societal guidance (e.g.scientific and technical knowledge) and planning as social transformation(e.g. indigenous, subjective, experience-based knowledge) are so differentthat they do not logically lie on the same continuum. Although the sourcesof knowledge are different, if the continuum is defined as the link betweenknowledge (broadly defined) and action in the public domain, the metaphorremains conceptually useful.

Perspectives on radical planning

Radical planning is not what most would consider mainstream planningpractice, although its roots extend back to the 18th century and its historyis as long as the social reform tradition (Friedmann, 1987). A number of writers have laid the conceptual foundation for radical planning practice.Although not a comprehensive treatment of the literature, the next sectionoffers a critical overview of different visions, models and methods of radical

planning, and highlights important analytical gaps in our understanding of how it evolves and how it is practiced. This overview is useful for high-lighting analytical weaknesses in the radical planning model as it presentlyexists.





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A normative model of radical planning

Building on the social mobilization tradition in planning thought, Fried-mann (1987) develops one of the most comprehensive articulations of

radical planning. The normative aim of his radical planning model is ‘theemancipation of humanity from social oppression’, and most of Fried-mann’s examples concern oppression by the state and inequality generatedby the market. In simple terms, radical planning begins with a critique of the present situation and then provides an operational response to thatcritique (Friedmann, 1987: 303).

In this model, planners help the community find practical solutions,understand institutional constraints, and provide the ‘intelligence’ neces-sary to develop successful strategies (Friedmann, 1987: 304). Appropriate

knowledge is not, however, the radical planner’s monopoly; rather, it isobtained through an overlapping and intertwined process in which theory,strategy, vision, and action inform each other in social learning (Friedmann,1987: 302).7 Friedmann warns that the radical planner must guard againstthe tendency for power and information to be consolidated in a smalldecision-making elite, by ensuring the broad participation of communitymembers.

For a successful relationship between the radical planner and thecommunity, the planner has to be close to the community and the action.

According to Friedmann, the planner is a mediator of radical practice. Thusthe planner must be committed to the immediate practice she or he isengaged in as well as the larger goal of human emancipation. At the sametime, the planner ‘must maintain critical distance from the group’s practice’(Friedmann, 1987: 404). In short, the radical planner must walk the thin linebetween standing apart from the group’s practice and being consumed byit.

An important distinction between radical planning and other forms of bottom-up planning, such as community-based planning, is its oppositional element. Friedmann points out that ‘conflict strategies’ can take a variety of forms: nonviolent or violent, reform or revolution, or political or extra-political struggle (Friedmann, 1987: 287). In recent years, the work of several authors has continued to support the oppositional element in radicalplanning, albeit from differing perspectives. Sandercock (1998a) provides aseries of micro case studies of how radical planning, or what she terms insur-gent planning, operates under different conditions and contexts. Rangan(1999) argues against an implied opposition to the state, and asserts that thestate is capable of radical planning. Harvey (1999, 2000) contends that forbroad structural change to be realized, radical planning must occur at

multiple operational scales. Each of these authors maintains the importanceof the oppositional element in radical planning.

Friedmann explains in detail how radical planning operates. His startingpoint is the household economy and the need to equalize access to different





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bases of social power (Friedmann, 1987: 396). Radical planning employs acombined strategy of household and community de-linking, collective self-empowerment, and self-reliance. It is important to note that Friedmann

assumes that a marginalized and/or oppressed community would nonethe-less have access to a sufficient amount of economic, political, and socialcapital to initiate this strategy. However, it is unclear from his normativemodel what mechanisms or experiences enable a community to arrive at thiscrucial starting point.

Friedmann’s description is useful in sharply distinguishing radicalplanning from other modes of bottom-up or community-based planning. Hedefines: (1) the ultimate aim of the radical planning project, (2) the role of the planning practitioner, and (3) appropriate forms of knowledge andaction. There are significant gaps, however, in Friedmann’s model. Forinstance, one gets little sense of how a repressed community will gain theskills, experience, and power to initiate a radical planning process. Neitheris it clear how this normative model will work in those socio-politicalcontexts that admonish political activism as ‘subversive’ or destabilizing,nor where there exists a pervasive sense of fear of violent retribution.

Methods in radical planning practice

Leavitt’s (1994) work outside formal planning and regulatory frameworks

to further social transformation illuminates how action research might beuseful to radical planners. In 1964, Leavitt moved to a poor community inNewark to work with a multiracial anti-poverty movement. As part of herwork, she initially lived with poor families and observed their hardshipsdirectly. Through this experience and her research in which she visitedcommunity members in their homes, she recognized that the communityneeded help with its ‘everyday needs’, which municipal plans ignored(Leavitt, 1994). Leavitt’s detailed knowledge of local conditions cameprincipally from her informal observation and spending time in community

members’ homes.Leavitt’s story is interesting because it demonstrates a new type of

planning that occurs outside formal, institutionalized planning processes,and because she reduces the distinction between activism, research, andtheory – thus creating possibilities for cross-fertilization and mutuallearning. However, her methods are not markedly different from those usedin other forms of community-based planning or advocacy planning. Leavittworked on behalf of an oppressed group of local residents focusing on such‘everyday needs’ as access to recreation facilities and safer intersections. It

should be noted that Leavitt’s work implies that the community in whichshe worked lacked the skills, resources, or the political consciousness toengage directly in radical planning. Eventually, there was a rebellion inNewark, although Leavitt’s account reveals little about the sequence of events or the preparatory processes leading up to it. The reader is left to





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wonder what key community experiences, skills, and conditions preparedits members to undertake insurgent action.

‘A thousand tiny empowerments’

In Toward Cosmopolis, Sandercock (1998a) provides a series of empiricalexamples of how radical planners work towards social transformation.According to her account, radical planning has emerged in response to awide variety of injustices and oppression, including but not limited toracism, environmental degradation, gender discrimination, inequality,homophobia, and social and economic exclusion. As she describes it:

Radical practice emerged from experiences with and a critique of existing

unequal relations and distributions of power, opportunity, and resources. The

goal of these practices is to work for structural transformation of systematic

inequalities and, in the process to empower those who have been systematically

disempowered. (Sandercock, 1998a: 97–8)

Sandercock, like Friedmann, suggests that the focus of radical planning willdepend, in any given context, on the character of oppression being enduredand on the accompanying critique of the circumstances that maintain thatoppression (1998a: 98). Despite the diverse range of oppressions that radical

planning might address, much of Sandercock’s theorizing focuses on injus-tices related to ‘difference’.

In theoretically positioning radical planning vis-a-vis alternative modesof planning practice, Sandercock (1998a: 99) stipulates that it does not ‘lieon a logical continuum with rational planning for societal guidance’. Herview is that radical planning requires an epistemological break with whatplanners thought and did in the past (Sandercock, 1998a: 99). Yet in anotherstatement she acknowledges a relationship between planning for societalguidance and planning for social transformation ‘. . . there is an unresolved,

and unresolvable tension between the transformative and repressive powersof state-directed planning practices, and their mirror image, the trans-formative and also repressive potential of the local, the grassroots, the insur-gent’ (Sandercock, 1998a: 102). That acknowledgement implies thatplanning as societal guidance and planning as social transformation do lieat opposite ends of a continuum. However, as Sandercock notes, both stateand local actors have the potential to engage in planning as societalguidance and/or planning as social transformation.

Sandercock argues that radical planning does not necessarily begin with

grand, overt acts, but instead with smaller actions or what she calls ‘athousand tiny empowerments’. However, her work never addresses how agroup or community moves from being oppressed, lacking resources, and ageneral state of powerlessness to becoming empowered. Even moreperplexing is how a community in an authoritarian context would move





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towards empowerment, let alone engage in radical or insurgent planning forsocial transformation.

Analytical shortcomings and unansweredquestions

This critical overview of the radical planning literature identifies somesignificant analytical shortcomings and unanswered questions, particularlyin relation to how citizens learn to engage in radical planning. Below, thegaps in the literature are summarized to show how analysis of the empiri-cal data can contribute to a more nuanced understanding of radical

planning:

1. Previous explanations of radical planning provide no insight into howthis type of practice begins. How does a politically oppressed grouplearn the skills and gain the experience and confidence to organizeagainst a more powerful repressive force?

2. How does a community engage in radical planning in extremelyrestrictive socio-political environments? For example, many countrieshave laws forbidding unauthorized meetings, critical public statements,

and collective action. How do citizens overcome their fear of violentretribution in order to come together and partake in radical planning?

3. In general, previous perspectives fail to articulate a coherent theoreticalmodel situating radical planning vis-a-vis other modes of planning.What is the relationship between radical planning and other modes of planning (e.g. rational–comprehensive, community-based, andcollaborative planning)?

In what follows, a longitudinal study is used as a heuristic device to

address those questions and develop a fuller and more coherent under-standing of radical planning and its relationship to other modes of planningpractice.

The study: from participation to radical planning

The three examples of community-level collective action analyzed beloware drawn from a longitudinal study of an urban informal settlement in

Indonesia.8

The case study community is located on the edge of a river andlike the other communities along the river, it is inhabited by generations of poor migrants that settled here because the steep banks provided access tovacant land where they could construct inexpensive housing and maintainclose proximity to the city’s economic center. The communities along the





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river were developed outside (and sometimes in spite of) formal planningand regulatory frameworks, and their high-density unregulated housing,combined with their lack of official land tenure status and periodic flooding,

created limited social and political spaces available for residents to engagein planning for social transformation. Data for this study were collected ina series of three intervals, 1994, 1997, and 2001, thus spanning what isconsidered the pre-crisis, crisis, and post-crisis periods in Indonesia.9 Intotal, approximately 27 months were spent in the field. Research methodsincluded direct observation, in-depth interviews (n=200), oral histories(n=50), and community meetings (between 5 and 10 meetings per month).A household census (N =275) was conducted of a single community togather information on household structure, education, employment,consumption, land tenure, access to services, and participation incommunity-level organizations.

It is important to note that when the researcher began this study she setout to answer questions related to the capacity of community-basedorganizations to alleviate poverty and not to address the question of howresidents learn radical planning in an authoritarian context. Serendipitouslythe research spanned both periods of economic prosperity and crisis, as wellas a period of tremendous social and political change in Indonesia. As aresult, much of the data analyzed in this article came from field observationsand informal conversations that emerged from relationships of trust

between the researcher and respondents. These relationships allowedrespondents to discuss the fear and repression they felt when the Suhartoregime was in power and how this climate was slowly changing in the post-Suharto period.10 In many ways the longitudinal research strategy and useof ethnographic methods facilitated the telling of a different story, and,possibly, a more interesting and important story than the researcher initiallysought.

Community-level planning in Indonesia

The urban political–administrative structure in Indonesia creates a uniqueset of organizational relationships and spaces that define how local residentsengage in planning and collective action at the community level.11 Someknowledge of this structure is important for understanding the institutionalpossibilities and constraints faced by community-based organizations. Foradministrative purposes, cities are subdivided into districts and smaller sub-districts, where mayors usually appoint district and sub-district leaders, whoare civil servants. Each sub-district is further subdivided into two smaller

groups of households. The larger of the two units is referred to as RukunWarga (RW) and the smaller unit is referred to as Rukun Tetangga (RT)and local residents govern both of these units. Many communities elect theirRW and RT leaders who are unpaid volunteers.12 The examples of collec-tive action described in this article are based on a case study of a single RW.





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In RWs and RTs, men and women usually conduct separate monthlymeetings, in which they select their leaders, carry on routine dialogue, andidentify community-level problems as well as strategies for action. Despite

the transformative potential of these fora, their vertical organization andthe unidirectional, top-to-bottom flow of information effectively precludesspaces in which public dialogue with neighboring communities (e.g.geographically adjacent RWs) might take place (let alone radical planning).During the New Order period this vertical administrative structure serveda number of important functions.13 Specifically, it was extremely effectivein marshalling volunteer labor to implement the State’s development pro-grams, providing surveillance of community-level activities, and preventinggeographically adjoining communities from mobilizing in support of collec-tive demands on the State. This study will show how residents learned tomanipulate this state-imposed structure, and how they ultimately used thelimited spaces permitted for public dialogue and collective action, to pursueincreasingly radical action for transformative ends.

From participation to community-based planning:

developing a health care clinic

This example describes a subtle transformation among local womenactivists and the community members that observed their efforts. This trans-formation started with the women’s participation in the implementation of a Mother and Child Health Care Clinic that eventually led them to developa health care clinic for the elderly. This process is significant because itdemonstrates how these women moved from simply participating inimplementation of the State’s programs to a process of community-basedplanning, pursuing their own agendas. However, their successful implemen-tation of the State’s program was a key element in that transition, since itgenerated experience, skills, and a strong foundation of community support– important conditions for the women to move from participation tocommunity-based planning.

During the New Order period, many women throughout Indonesiaparticipated in community-based planning under a national program knownas the Women’s Family Welfare Organization (WFWO).14 The organizationprovides, through the work of local women volunteers, micro-credit,literacy tutoring, and birth control for low-income communities.15 At thesame time, however, the WFWO created formal, legitimate, and state-sanc-tioned spaces where women met, discussed issues of mutual concern, and

engaged in collective action, albeit at first simply to carry out the State’sdevelopment agenda.





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Participation: mother and child health care clinic16

The WFWO has administered a Mother and Child Health Care Clinicthroughout Indonesia (including the case study community) since the early

1970s. It is part of a standardized, nationwide program under the NationalFamily Planning Program to reduce infant mortality rates and improvereproductive health. The clinic provides basic health care services tochildren under the age of five and their mothers. The clinic’s services includemonitoring the child’s height and weight, remedies to counteract dehydra-tion, immunizations, vitamin and nutritional supplements, and, in somecommunities, contraceptives. When such clinics are established, in mostcommunities volunteers receive training from the state.

Mobilization: the health care clinic for the elderly

The WFWO volunteers in the case study community established a healthcare clinic for the elderly (Lansia – Lanjut Usia) in 1996. This clinic wasplanned not by the State, but rather by two local activists: Mbah Kromo,the oldest member of the community and the local midwife, and Ibu Wati,a WFWO activist and professional nurse.17 These women used the skillsthey had gained managing the state-designed Mother and Child HealthCare Clinic for more than two decades to plan their own health care clinic

for the elderly.18

The establishment of the health care clinic for the elderlymay appear to be an unimpressive example of community-based planning.However, when understood in the context of fear that existed regardingactivism and the minimal amount of resources (time and money) that thesepoor residents had to contribute to local initiatives, it should be viewed asa more significant undertaking. Establishing the health care clinic for theelderly gave these women activists and the broader community whoobserved and contributed to this effort an important sense of collectiveagency.

One of the first steps by those planning the clinic was to seek the approvalof the family planning field workers at the district office. Ibu Wati did sobecause she was working as a nurse at the puskesmas (government healthcare clinic), and she did not want her efforts in the community to appearinsubordinate. She was granted permission to organize the proposed clinicfor the elderly because the local puskesmas was not capable of providingequivalent service. After Ibu Wati received approval from the district shesought community support in compliance with the protocol of thepolitical–administrative structure. Within the community, Ibu Wati firstsought approval of the RW leader’s wife and the volunteers of the WFWO,

because those women represented each RT and would be giving their timeto set up and run the clinic. Finally, after the WFWO volunteers had agreedto establish and carry out the program, the clinic was promoted to the entirecommunity.





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The clinic provides the elderly with services, such as information abouttheir weight, blood pressure, preventive health care, which they had previ-ously lacked because of prohibitive costs and (for some elderly) a lack of

mobility. The clinic is conducted once a month in a WFWO volunteer’shome. Here a hot meal is served and volunteers record attendees’ weightand blood pressure, fill prescriptions, distribute vitamin supplements, andoccasionally a doctor participates to answer questions and make referrals.While the program is a community-based planning effort, since it is modeledafter the national Mother and Child Health Care Clinic, it is consideredcomplementary, not oppositional, to state policy. Its success is due to severalfactors: Ibu Wati’s formal training as a nurse as well as her knowledge of political–administrative protocol, the volunteers’ skills and experience fromworking at the Mother and Child Health Care Clinic, and support from thelocal government as well as the community. The Mother and Child HealthCare Clinic had given the participants in the WFWO a wide range of invalu-able experiences and skills that later helped them mobilize and realize theirplan.

For the reader to fully understand the significance of the health careclinic for the elderly, it needs to be considered in conjunction with the twostories that follow. It is also important for the reader to understand thatmost of the residents involved in these efforts were cognizant of each other’swork. Not only must these three stories be understood together, but the

reader must never lose sight of the sense of fear and repression communitymembers felt when they began to mobilize and engage in collective action.

From community-based to covert planning: the

repaving effort

This example describes how the community’s efforts to improve its foot-

paths evolved over time into a conscious strategy to give the community atleast the outward appearance of a legal residential settlement and subtlyassert a collective land tenure claim. The community’s conscious decisionto conceal its opposition and tactical response to the State’s denial of requests for land tenure epitomizes the shift from community-basedplanning to covert planning.

The repaving effort needs to be understood in terms of a number of important contextual factors, some of which include: socio-economic status,residential history, and the relationship between the state and communities

located along the river. First, communities located along the river arecomposed of primarily poor households and most do not enjoy legal landtenure. In the study area, for instance, approximately 80 percent of residentslacked legal land tenure. However, the community was relatively stable:most households had been living in the area for an average of 22 years. A





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related contextual factor is the relationship between the State andcommunity. The State had long been ambivalent in its resolve to force resi-dents to relocate away from the river. For instance, the state has consistently

pressured the less organized, poorer communities to relocate while it subsi-dized infrastructure development in seemingly more organized and affluentcommunities. In the case study community the ambivalence of the State’spolicy was compounded by the occasional provision of legal land tenure forsome households while the majority of requests were denied with an optionto reapply. The State’s policy of granting a limited number of householdswith land tenure while denying seemingly similar households in the samecommunity, providing some communities with tacit land tenure throughphysical improvements while pressuring others to relocate, made it difficultfor residents to unite behind a radical challenge to the State’s land tenurepolicies.19 Yet, two community-based organizations, one indigenous and theother established by the State, gradually came to realize that their efforts tophysically improve the community could also serve as a collective, yetsubtle, assertion of a land tenure claim.

Community-based planning: the Jumat Kliwon’s repaving effort

Jumat Kliwon is an indigenous, community-based organization that existsoutside of the RW/RT political administrative structure; it represents the

poorest members of the community who live closest to the river. The groupwas started in the 1960s, when a flood damaged the houses in the two RTsclosest to the river and residents marshalled their collective resources toundertake repairs. In the years since the group has continued to meet, partlyas a social organization, but also to provide services for its members. Manyof the services the group provides, such as repaving and flood protection,would normally be provided by the State; however, these households areunable to demand public services because of their precarious land tenurestatus.

The repaving effort started in 1995 at a Jumat Kliwon meeting whereresidents discussed the need to repave the footpaths with an absorbentmaterial that would reduce flooding and simultaneously replenish theground water supply for the wells on which most households depend forwater. In this discussion the group decided to purchase the tools for moldingits own bricks and begin repaving the network of footpaths in these twoRTs. This would be a long project. They also decided that each householdwould contribute a small monthly fee to purchase materials and refresh-ments for the volunteers until the project was complete. The commitment

by residents of the lower RTs to pay a monthly fee and volunteer their laborstarted as an innocuous effort to improve their physical environment;however, over the two years this effort continued it evolved into covert chal-lenge of the State’s denial of repeated requests for legal land tenure.

As a result of Jumat Kliwon’s flexible, informal leadership structure,





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various community activists emerged during different stages of the projectto assume central roles in ensuring its success. Mas Mahmud, a youngunmarried man, was one: in the Jumat Kliwon forum, he took responsibility

for organizing the men into teams and also for devising a work schedule.Beginning in 1995, these teams took turns working on Sundays, collectingsand from the river, mixing it with cement, molding the bricks, and repavingthe footpaths.

The Jumat Kliwon group does not have a formal leader, but instead hasan ‘M.C.’ (Master of Ceremonies), Pak Darmo, who moderates the group’smeetings. Pak Darmo noted that the main problem with the repavingproject was that the volunteer laborers were not always reliable, and so thework progressed slowly. Pak Darmo believed this was not an insurmount-able obstacle. He steered the group away from adopting punitive measures,for fear that men might come to resent the project. Instead, he approachedresidents individually at first seeking to re-instill their desire to physicallyimprove the community and later motivating them to obtain official landtenure. After two years, the Jumat Kliwon group had paved approximately80 percent of the footpaths in the lower RTs.

Covert planning: the RW’s repaving effort

After the Jumat Kliwon project had progressed, the community’s official

RW leaders decided to expand the repaving effort to the community’s mainarteries outside of the terrain of the two RTs represented by the JumatKliwon group. In contrast to the Jumat Kliwon approach based on volun-tary labor, the RW leaders in this area decided to buy the cement bricks andto pay day laborers from outside the community to do the physical work.To raise the necessary funds, the formal leaders announced that residentswould pay fees according to how many members were in each household,and an additional amount if a household owned a motorbike. In this RWplan, the residents of the lower RTs, who were already repaving their own

footpaths, still had to contribute to paving the community’s main arteries.20Residents proved resistant to the RW plan. Part of the problem was that

the RW leaders, even though they represented local residents, completedthe plan without asking for input or support at RT-level meetings. The RWleadership was unaware of residents’ dissatisfaction until after they hadused the community’s funds to buy materials, and the effort had proceededfor a few months. Finally, the RW project broke down when residentsrefused to contribute additional funds to buy new materials. Many house-holds simply did not have the extra money to contribute to the project’s

continuation. Indeed, many would have preferred a plan that was lessexpensive and that relied on volunteers for the labor.After the repaving effort had stalled for several months, a select group

of community leaders, activists, and elders called a special night meetingwith the explicit goal of finding a solution. Here the discussion turned to the





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State’s repeated denial of requests for legal land tenure. The group alsodiscussed how the Jumat Kliwon group’s project had transformed theappearance of the poorest segment of the community to that of a formal

settlement. It was ultimately decided that this community effort was tooimportant to be abandoned. The paving plan was scaled back, and a subtlestrategy toward gaining official land tenure was salvaged. Since these twoprojects were completed: small numbers of residents continue to receivelegal land tenure on an ad hoc basis; there has been discussion that the Statemight provide a retaining wall for flood protection; and no effort has beenmade to relocate the community.

The example of the RW and Jumat Kliwon group illustrates how resi-dents moved, over time, from community-based planning to covertplanning. The repaving project can be understood as an example of covertplanning because while it superficially complies with the State’s develop-ment agenda, in actuality it represents a gentle yet deliberate challenge of the State’s policy and authority. For the time being, the communitysucceeded in creating the aura of legal residential settlement and thusreduced the propensity of the State to force relocation. In addition, throughtheir joint effort, residents have become increasingly united in their resolveto remain in the community that they built together, thus making relocationan increasingly unsavory political option.

In an authoritarian context, covert planning is an important intermediary

step between mobilizing in response to community needs that arecompatible with the state’s agenda and radical planning for more trans-formative purposes. Such planning exists intentionally beyond the purviewof the state, yet it provides residents experience in community organizingand collective action, problem-solving skills, and a palpable sense of collec-tive agency that might be used for more overtly radical action in the future.The transition from covert to radical planning is illustrated in the nextexample.

From covert to radical planning: the library

The same community’s efforts to develop a library illustrate how covertplanning in an authoritarian context over an extended time can lead to thefirst steps of radical planning. The process of planning and establishing thelibrary was a social learning process, which prepared the local Youth Groupto embark on radical planning once the economic crisis had weakened theState and created a window of opportunity.21

In 1994, the community’s Youth Group planned and established a librarythat has since continuously served the community. The Youth Group firstbrought its idea for a library to the adult RW meetings, which were attendedby RT leaders.22 The group was careful to garner support from RW and RTleaders before publicly announcing the plan for the library, because they





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knew that the community’s strict social hierarchy would require thatsupport be withheld from an idea that had not been sanctioned by theformal leadership.23 Because the Youth Group demonstrated respect for

this hierarchy, the plan for the library was never perceived as potentiallyinsurgent, either by the community leadership or the State. As a result, evenin a period when state control over local organizing was particularlyrestrictive, the crucial first steps in planning the library were allowed toproceed.

The next step in getting the library established involved the communityleadership officially notifying the sub-district and district offices. The wayin which Mas Sigit, the youth group’s leader, amassed community and Statesupport exemplifies the concept of covert planning: he was assertive at thecommunity level about achieving the means for establishing the library, yethe was prudent and savvy in interactions with the State. On the surface thelibrary was compatible with the State’s development agenda and theeradication of illiteracy. Therefore the State never became cognizant of the degree of social learning, political consciousness, and potential forpolitical praxis that resulted from planning, organizing, and maintaining thelibrary as well as access to the reading materials and opportunities fordiscussions.24

In planning and setting up the library, the Youth Group met no opposi-tion from State authorities because the library was never considered radical

or insurgent. On the contrary, it was considered compatible with the State’scampaign to eradicate illiteracy. Herein lies a key to planning for socialtransformation in an authoritarian context: the community-initiated planthat ultimately empowered the Youth Group was conceived and executedwith a discursive strategy that intentionally emphasized its compatibilitywith the State’s development agenda. When, however, the economic crisisoccurred in Indonesia in 1997 and the State’s control was weakened, theYouth Group used the library to organize its members in public demon-strations demanding significant social and political reform. At that moment,

the Youth Group moved from covert to an incipient stage of radicalplanning.

Some might find this seeming subtle shift to demonstrations in opposi-tion to the State not to be particularly significant; however, that interpre-tation would miss the point. One needs to imagine hundreds of thousandsof community-based and covert planning efforts going on across Indonesiafor decades, to understand how a citizenry learns the skills and gains thepolitical consciousness to protest en masse against a punitive and authori-tarian regime once a window of opportunity opens. To better understand

how planning for social transformation occurs in the context of an authori-tarian state that wields extreme measures of control and maintains a senseof fear among its populace, we must begin to recognize how, cumulatively,modest efforts are capable of creating a sense of collective agency and thesocial and political spaces for radical action.





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Conclusion: learning radical planning

Cumulatively, the examples presented here demonstrate how residents

moved from participating in state-directed planning (implementing theMother and Child Health Care Clinic) to community-based planning onbehalf of their own self-identified needs (providing a health care clinic forthe elderly) to covert planning (asserting a land tenure claim and establish-ing a library), and, finally, to radical planning for structural and politicalreform (publicly demonstrating against the Suharto regime). In the firstexample, the Mother and Child Health Care Clinic, residents learned howto organize, work collectively, and redistribute resources. They then usedthese skills to mobilize behind a self-identified need, a health care clinic forthe elderly. That experience gave these activists and other communitymembers a palpable sense of collective agency: that they had the ability toidentify local needs, conceptualize their own plans, and the power neces-sary to implement them. This proved to be an important turning point inthe social learning process. Residents applied this knowledge and experi-ence to mobilize for a more controversial end, a land tenure claim, but theydid so covertly, purposefully avoiding direct confrontation with the State.Throughout this process, residents were becoming increasingly savvy intheir interactions with state institutions and actors. They learned about thepower and limitations of their collective agency, and they used this know-

ledge to plan a library that eventually became a forum for openly challeng-ing a repressive regime and demanding political reform. They had learnedradical planning.

The literature on radical planning does not explain how citizens engagein radical planning for social transformation within authoritarian environ-ments of the kind found throughout Southeast Asia and elsewhere. Theseare political environments in which direct, overt confrontation is anextremely dangerous way to initiate social and political change. The articleused a longitudinal study as a heuristic device to explore three questions:

1. How does a politically oppressed group learn the skills and gain theexperience and confidence to organize against a more powerful

repressive force? Earlier explanations of radical planning offer noinsight into how this type of practice begins. The present casedemonstrated how radical planning can begin with non-radicalparticipation in State-directed programs. Such experiences teach vitalskills that can be used to organize outside of, and even in opposition to,the State. Participation in State programs taught residents about the

limitations of State structures and the power and possibilities of mobilization. This conventional participation led in time to broadercommunity mobilization and to more deliberate forms of covertplanning, which in turn created a sense of community agency andeventually contributed to a broader politicization.





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2. How does a community engage in radical planning in extremelyrestrictive socio-political environments? Radical planning first takescovert or subtle forms. After experiencing success (albeit modest), the

tangible improvement of their organizational skills, and increasedconfidence, residents begin to get a sense of their own agency andbecome politically conscious. This is a crucial precursor to overt radicalaction. This process can be accelerated when an opportunity presentsitself, as when an economic and/or political crisis occurs and/or arepressive state is weakened.

3. What is the relationship between radical planning and other modes of planning (e.g. rational–comprehensive, community-based, collaborative

planning)? A more complete and nuanced theoretical model would

view radical planning in relationship to other modes of planningpractice. For example, in the context of this study, radical planning wasan outgrowth of engaging in state-directed planning, community-basedplanning, and covert planning over an extended period of time. It isimportant, however, to recognize that the mode of planning practice acommunity engages in moves constantly in different directions along acontinuum between societal guidance and social transformation. In ahealthy socio-political environment, all these modes would existsimultaneously and a community would engage in different modes atdifferent times and under various circumstances. For example, eventhough residents have gained the skills and consciousness necessary forradical planning, that does not restrict them to using only this mode. Asavvy community would continue to move among various modes,depending on the context and the desired outcome.

In summary, the present study demonstrated that radical planning ispossible in highly restrictive political environments, but that it is theoutcome of a social learning process that over an extended period creates apowerful sense of collective agency and action.

Acknowledgements

The author would like to thank John Friedmann, Jack Huddleston, RaguiAssaad, Jamie Peck and the three anonymous referees for their commentson earlier versions of this article.

Notes

1. The foundational work on radical planning referred to here includes: Castells(1983), Clavel (1983), Friedmann (1987, 1989), Grabow and Heskin (1973),Heskin (1991), Leavitt (1994), and Leavitt and Saegert (1990). Importantly, allof these authors discuss radical planning and/or radical action with theassumption that democratic institutions are in place. As a result, they assume a





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level of civil and human rights and procedural processes associated with thepresence of a liberal–democratic state, or, at the very least, that institutions areheld accountable to these societal expectations.

2. Key references for alternative methods of challenging dominant powerconfigurations in repressive political contexts, include: Adas (1986, 1992),Moertono (1963), Ong (1987), and Scott (1985, 1986, 1990).

3. The ‘good society’ is used to represent the need for planning to pursue anormative goal. If planning is to be effective, it requires a clearconceptualization and some consensus regarding its normative ends (e.g. amore equitable, just or environmentally sustainable society).

4. Important references include: Abers (1998, 2000), Beard (1999, 2002),Friedmann (1992), Friedmann and Douglass (1998), Harvey (1999, 2000),Holston (1998), Kennedy (1998), Rangan (1999), Reardon (1998), and

Sandercock (1998a, 1998b, 1999).5. Since Friedmann’s book was published more than 15 years ago a number of

important critiques and omissions have been noted. One omission isFriedmann’s almost exclusive reliance on western male thinkers in thedescription of the traditions in planning thought. For example, since itspublication, Moser (1993) and other authors have argued in favor of a separatefeminist tradition in planning thought.

6. As the Indonesian case illustrates, Friedmann’s description of the concurrenceof ‘pressure for system-wide transformation’ and ‘state weakness’ is prophetic.

7. A number of authors have made the link between social learning andemancipatory struggles (e.g. Alinsky, 1971; Piven and Cloward, 1979; Freire,1970, 1972). However, far fewer authors, other than Friedmann (1973, 1987),have applied these ideas to planning. This difference is a subtle but importantone, because the latter requires applying knowledge generated from praxis to adeliberate and coordinated process to achieve change over an extended period.

8. This research, which was conducted during 1994–2001, was funded by anumber of different sources including the Graduate School at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, the Centre for Human Settlements at the University of British Columbia, the Ford Foundation and Northwest Regional Consortium

for Southeast Asian Studies, the US–Indonesian Society, and the FulbrightProgram.

9. The economic crisis began in Indonesia in late 1997 and it continued toescalate and evolved into social and political crisis in 1998 (Emmerson, 1999;Manning and Van Diermen, 2000). Some events marking this crisis periodinclude: widespread urban unrest, the killing of student demonstrators, attacksagainst Indonesian ethnic Chinese, and ultimately the resignation of PresidentSuharto. Since the Indonesian currency (the Rupiah) was markedly morestable in 2001 (compared to the height of the economic crisis in 1998) somerefer to the period following 2001 as the ‘post-crisis’ period. However, it is

unclear to what extent the crisis period is over given the continual outbreaks of religious and ethnic violence.

10. For an analysis of the pervasive sense of fear and measures used to create andmaintain this environment during the Suharto period see Violence and the Statein Suharto’s Indonesia (Anderson, 2001).





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11. This structure was firmly adhered to during Suharto’s presidency. However, in1999 two laws, Law 22 and Law 25, were passed that decentralized power awayfrom the central government (Alm et al., 2001). These two laws wereimplemented for the first time in January 2001. The decentralization legislation

was such an extreme break with the earlier system that there exists uncertaintyabout the extent to which municipalities will continue to adhere to thepolitical–administrative structure. Some municipalities may create neworganizational structures, or, possibly, return to indigenous institutions.

12. For a history of this political–administrative structure and more detaileddescription of its function see Sullivan (1992).

13. The ‘New Order’ refers to the political period beginning in March 1966, whenPresident Sukarno was forced to resign and was replaced by Suharto and hismilitary coalition (Anderson, 1983; Cribb, 1999; Liddle, 1999). This period

continued until 1998 when Suharto was forced to resign. The post-Suhartoperiod is sometimes referred to as Reformasi, or the Reform Period.

14. In Indonesia the Women’s Family Welfare Organization is known as theWanita PKK .

15. The program began as an indigenous women’s movement in the rural villagesof Central Java in 1964. In 1972 the state recognized the potential importanceof this organization in achieving its national development goals, andstandardized its agenda and activities and implemented the programnationally. During the New Order period the WFWO was administerednationwide from the highest national levels of government to the lowest

political–administrative units. The program has been more widely accepted onJava than in the outer islands and more active in poorer communities. TheWFWO has been criticized by feminist activists and scholars within and outsideIndonesia because it recognizes women almost exclusively in their role as wivesand mothers responsible for family welfare. Although that is factually accurate,in the study area the WFWO was broadly perceived by women as a positiveforum for them to engage in community development and governance.

16. The Indonesian name for the Mother and Child Health Care Clinic is PosPelayanan Terpadu (Posyandu).

17. All names in the article are aliases.18. In the community, the health care clinic for the elderly was occasionally

referred to as Posyandu Lansia, thus making a direct reference to the Motherand Child Health Care Clinic that the clinic for the elderly was modeled after.

19. For an analysis of the problems created by the lack of residential security in anurban community in Indonesia see Jellinek (1991).

20. It was argued that everyone in the community benefited from having the mainarteries paved, whereas only the residents closest to the river benefited fromhaving those footpaths paved.

21. For a discussion of the historical development and changing role of youthgroups in Indonesia, ranging from agents of social and political change toinstruments of the New Order, see Ryter (2001).

22. The Youth Group (Kelompok Pemuda) is another state-sanctioned, communityorganization. Members of the Youth Group popularly elect their leader.





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23. For an ethnography of social hierarchy and life in a poor urban settlement onJava see Guinness (1986).

24. Peattie’s work has also made a similar point, admittedly in a different cultural

and political context. She shows how barrio residents through participation incommunity development activities began ‘to develop a new kind of politics’(Peattie, 1968).

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Victoria A. Beard is an Assistant Professor in the Department of Urban andRegional Planning at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. Her research

interests include planning theory, community-based planning and povertyalleviation. She is particularly interested in the interface between stateplanning and community-level collective action and social movements.

Address: Department of Urban and Regional Planning, University of Wiscon-sin-Madison, 925 Bascom Mall/Old Music Hall, Madison, WI 53706, USA.[email: [email protected]]

beard, victoria a. learning radical planning the power of collective action. plannning theory, 2003

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