In Conversation with Peace Strategist Sanam Naraghi Anderlini, Part Two: Examples of Grassroots Peacebuilding Success
Check out Sanam’s podcast series #IfYouWereinCharge
Sanam Naraghi Anderlini is the founder and CEO of the International Civil Society Action Network (ICAN) and leads the Women’s Alliance for Security Leadership (WASL), a coalition of women-led organizations across 40 countries dedicated to preventing violence and advancing peace, rights, and pluralism. Sanam has over two decades of experience as a peace strategist working globally on conflicts, violent extremism, and peacebuilding with civil society, governments, and the UN. Her academic contributions include teaching at Columbia University and holding an Andrew Mellon Fellowship at the University of Massachusetts, Amherst. She holds an MPhil from Cambridge University and is an Iranian-born UK and US citizen. She recently joined the advisory board of the Democracy and Belonging Forum.
Lara Habboub, the Communications Associate at the Democracy & Belonging Forum, recently spoke with Sanam about her impactful work as a peace strategist, highlighting the unique contributions of women in peacebuilding efforts and the valuable lessons learned from peace initiatives in the Global South.
The following is Part 2 of the interview. You can read Part 1 and Part 3 of this interview on our website.
The network you run specifically supports women peacebuilders. Could you talk about the unique role that women often play in conflict resolution and peacebuilding efforts? How does involving women in peace processes change the dynamics and outcomes of these efforts? Can you provide an example of a successful peace initiative led by women that you have been involved in?
Going back to the 1990s, during civil wars and atrocities like the Rwandan Genocide, we began to notice something profound. I had colleagues working in places like Burundi who reached out to women in their communities—social workers, teachers, human rights defenders, and health workers. These women were trusted figures with deep access to their communities. My colleagues brought them together across lines of division to see if they could understand their country’s history from each other’s perspectives.
What we observed, not only in Burundi but also in Northern Ireland and other conflict zones, is that when you bring women together and enable them to discuss security, peace, and war, they can step away from the political framing of identity into a space of shared humanity, asking themselves, “As women, what are we experiencing? What do we want?”
When we delve into the cultural and historical roles of women in society, we often find that these roles have been overshadowed by a post-colonial gaze. For example, British colonialism in Africa and Asia imposed its own version of land ownership, where land was passed from father to son, with women excluded from inheritance. But in many indigenous societies, land was communally owned and managed by the most competent members of the community, not just the eldest son. Women played vital roles in these societies that have been largely erased by colonial practices.
Our work is a kind of social archaeology, uncovering the indigenous cultures and the roles women played before colonization. The findings are often astonishing. In West Africa, for instance, there were secret societies for both men and women. When the Victorians came, they recognized male power and destroyed the male structures. However, they didn’t even realize that women’s societies existed, so those structures persisted. Women continued to wield power in their communities, often rising up in moments of deep injustice to use their influence—particularly their femininity—to shame men for dishonorable actions.
A compelling example comes from Sierra Leone in the 1990s, during the war between an armed group, the RUF, and a predatory government. Both sides were committing horrific acts against civilians. Even after a peace agreement was signed, the RUF continued to abuse the local population. In response, elderly women from the church decided to march in protest. They didn’t just protest using their identities as older women and the status that comes with being the grandmothers of society; they drew upon deeply indigenous traditions. When they reached the RUF’s barricades, these women bared their bottoms, an act that, in their culture, was a profound dishonor to the men. This action shamed the men into stopping their abuses, ultimately changing the course and ending the war.
More recently, in Cameroon, my partners organized a public lamentation, drawing on these same networks of women. They led 5,000 women to the streets in front of the presidential palace, wailing in protest. In many Western contexts, women crying might be seen as a sign of weakness, but in this case, they used their tears to shame the government over the levels of violence. This indigenous practice of public mourning became a powerful tool for demanding change.
In Yemen right now, we’re working with a partner organization called the Abductees Mothers Association. Yemen has seen a significant number of abductions, and securing the release of these abductees was part of the confidence-building measures included in the ceasefire agreement that the UN was trying to develop.
For the first two or three years, progress was painfully slow. The UN and other organizations couldn’t gain access to facilitate the releases. However, this group of women leveraged their tribal connections and professional networks to make things happen. These women would protest outside locations where they believed people were being detained, and they managed to secure the release of over a thousand abductees. They continue this crucial work today, using the trust they’ve built within their communities and the unique power that comes from their indigenous cultural roles. By drawing on their cultural influence and the authority that their positions afford them, they’ve been able to play a vital role in mitigating violence and pushing for peace.
I can provide numerous examples of this kind of work from around the world. But why do we insist that women need to be at the peace tables?
There are several reasons. First and foremost, as I mentioned earlier, if you’re trying to figure out how to conduct detainee releases as a confidence-building measure, you’d want the people who are already doing this work to be at the table. It’s just practical—they have the on-the-ground knowledge and experience, so why wouldn’t you want them involved in shaping the strategy, advising on what will work and what won’t? Their expertise is invaluable, and having them there helps prevent mistakes that could derail the process.
Secondly, we are often trapped in an outdated and idealized model of war and peace negotiations. This model, rooted in the context of World Wars I and II, assumes you have two clear parties—like the Allies and the Nazis, or two states, such as Iran and Iraq—who come together at the peace table to make a deal, draw a ceasefire line, or reach a compromise. Then, they return to their societies.
However, this model falls apart when applied to civil wars. In civil wars, there is no safe home to return to. The violence has invaded homes, communities, and families, so even if a ceasefire is declared at a higher level, who is working on rebuilding trust and ensuring that there isn't attributive killing happening at the community level? That’s where the real peacebuilding needs to happen.
Moreover, in civil wars, both sides often use civilians as fodder. They don’t take responsibility for protecting civilians; instead, they’re often the ones harming them on one side or the other. What typically happens is that the most violent actors end up at the negotiating table, and we mistakenly equate ending the war with building peace. Yes, those who are fighting need to be involved in the negotiations because they are there and they can act as spoilers, but giving them the power to determine the future is a recipe for disaster. These individuals are often not equipped to resolve conflicts rationally or with responsibility. They don’t know what it means to ensure that, even in the midst of war, there is some semblance of peace—like providing education, food, and basic needs to the population.
Take Gaza, for example. Who is ensuring that people have food, medical care, and other essentials? It’s not Hamas, it’s not the Israelis—it’s the ordinary Palestinians, the doctors, teachers, community organizers, churches, mosques, and whatever remains of the community’s civic structures. These are the people I call peace actors. They step up, even in the middle of conflict, and work to provide for their communities. This is the same with the women in our network, which spans 43 countries. These women have chosen to run toward the problem rather than away from it. They negotiate ceasefires, ensure food distribution, care for the sick, and protect against violence. They do all of this without weapons—they are the true peace actors.
Surely, from an international standpoint, we should be identifying, acknowledging, celebrating and ensuring that these women are present in peace negotiations. They are not taking political sides; their allegiance is to the people. Time and again, we see that it is women who step in first to do this critical work.
Between 2002 and 2004, I conducted the first set of multi-country case studies, focusing on how women contribute to peace processes, justice, security, and political negotiations. This research documented the significant contributions women have made across the world. Since then, quantitative studies have shown that when civil society, particularly women’s movements, are active in these spaces, the substance of peace agreements is much richer.
They deal with a wider range of root causes and issues, and the agreements that are signed, the implementation of the different elements, and articles of an agreement are higher because you have these civil society groups holding the parties accountable, saying you didn't just sign the piece of paper and walk away from it. We are meant to see the reality of this in our society. So there is a very pragmatic reason why they should be there.
These agreements tend to address a broader range of root causes and issues, and the implementation of the various elements and articles within these agreements is more likely to succeed. This is because civil society groups, especially women’s organizations, hold the parties accountable, ensuring that the agreements are not just pieces of paper, but are actively realized within society. There’s a very pragmatic reason why women should be involved—they play a crucial role in making sure the peace becomes a reality.
But beyond that, it’s about determining who gets to shape the future. Is it the individuals who used violence to further their gains, or is it the people who had the courage to care for everyone, to think about the future in the present, and to ensure that the peace process—a pivotal moment in any country’s history—embodies the principles of democracy, inclusivity, justice, and reconciliation? The peace process is a blueprint for the future, and it’s crucial to have those who truly care about these values involved. Otherwise, the message being sent is that violence is the ticket to the peace talks.
As a Palestinian Syrian, I’m curious to know if you have any experience working with women in Syria or Palestine?
Yes, we have really great Syrian partners. We work with several organizations that engage in different initiatives. For example, one of our networks, Mobaderoon, was started by an architect and a business professional in the private sector. From the beginning of the Syrian conflict, they focused on creating spaces for dialogue. While some people questioned their position, assuming they were aligned with the government or the opposition, we understood that they were neither. They weren’t taking sides; they were for the people of Syria, creating spaces where individuals could learn to dialogue.
One of their key messages was teaching people that just because you disagree, it doesn’t mean you have to resort to violence. Coming from a dictatorship background myself, I look at the Iranian diaspora right now, and I see the challenge in shifting from a mindset where disagreement leads to elimination, to one where people can find common ground despite differing opinions. Mobaderoon has continued this work, and along the way, they’ve expanded into humanitarian efforts, children’s education, and more. Their network is vast, with around 14,000 facilitators and activists spread across Syria and beyond.
Another partner, based in Turkey, is now facing significant challenges due to discrimination in Turkey. When I first met the woman leading this initiative, she had fled Syria, lost her family and home, and was in a state of desperation. She attended one of our meetings, and within a year, she had set up a center in Turkey to help Syrian refugees. We started funding her efforts, which included teaching refugees Turkish, providing skills training, and supporting women in setting up their own businesses. Initially, she kept saying that she didn’t fully understand what peacebuilding entailed. She was doing refugee integration, so how do we define her work in very limited ways in terms of peacebuilding?
A turning point came when her son, who was a child when the conflict began and is now a teenager, expressed a desire to join ISIS to fight the regime. She managed to convince him not to go and to pursue education instead, and through this experience, she recognized the importance of her work in preventing radicalization. She began working with other mothers facing similar issues, helping them find ways to prevent their sons from getting radicalized. That’s when she truly understood her role in peacebuilding. She did not deny the injustice of what was happening in Syria. But she gave those young males an alternative pathway to what they should and could be doing for their country instead of the pathway of violence. That was her peacebuilding work.
Our Palestinian partners, mainly in the West Bank, are doing vital work too. One partner, who was elected to the Bethlehem Council, is involved with an organization called Wi’am, focusing on conflict transformation. They run a domestic violence hotline, addressing the tragic cycle where men, under extreme external pressure, end up perpetrating violence against their own families.
This mirrors what we’re seeing in Ukraine, where returning soldiers, traumatized by war, struggle with domestic violence. The accumulation of trauma and its impact on families is something we have to address as part of peacebuilding because everyday matters, and providing a bubble of safety and normalcy is an important form of resistance.
Regarding the Syrian initiative you mentioned, particularly how they were perceived as aligned with the government—How do you reconcile the challenge that peacebuilders are sometimes seen as having the privilege to afford to be able to engage in peacebuilding, while others have the immediate need to make a drastic change which is what sometimes causes them to resort to violence? How do peacebuilders balance the delicate role of peacebuilding without being perceived as complicit or disconnected from the immediate needs and realities of those involved in the conflict and maintain trust with all sides?
That’s a really important question. My response is multifaceted. On one hand, I think about it in terms of what I've seen internationally at this moment in history. When I think about Iran, for example, I’m definitely not a supporter of the regime, given the horrific things they’ve done over the past 40 years. But do I believe in a violent overthrow? I’m cautious about that because it’s easy to rally people around what we’re against, as we saw in the Iranian Revolution of 1979. The problem is that mobilizing against something without a clear, positive vision for the future can be dangerous. If there isn’t a real discussion about what we want for the future and a willingness to negotiate that vision together, we risk repeating the same mistakes.
In Iran, for instance, once the regime was overthrown, the most organized and violent group— in our case, the Islamists—filled the power vacuum. They were well-connected at the grassroots level, with networks in mosques and local committees, and they didn’t hesitate to use violence. Meanwhile, other political parties had idealistic visions, but they lacked the infrastructure and connection to the people, or in some cases, they were even more violent.
So, when we say we’re against a certain regime, the crucial question becomes: what are we for? Until that can be clearly articulated, there’s a real danger of ending up with something worse. I remember back in 2012, we had a meeting with State Department officials, and some of our colleagues from Syria were there. The officials said they’d never met Syrians who didn’t want weapons, but our colleagues replied that what they needed was support to help Syrians talk to each other, not kill each other. Everyone else was just helping them kill each other.
As peacebuilders, our challenge is often that we see these nuances and complexities before others do—that’s part of our training. It’s easy to fall into black-and-white thinking, to label entire groups as deplorable just because they’re affiliated with a regime. But what does that mean in practice? In places like Syria or Iran, even if only 10% or 20% of the population is affiliated with a regime, does that justify arresting or prosecuting them all? The question becomes, how do we ensure that the oppressed do not become the oppressors?
How do we break the cycle of violence and create an alternative way of living together? It’s incredibly difficult because many people hold onto their anger, trauma, and pain, often seeking retribution, which they might call justice. While justice is essential, does it justify perpetuating violence against someone else for actions committed decades ago? The same applies to the Israelis. Yes, what Hamas did on October 7th was horrific, setting aside what Israel had done to Palestinians for over 60 years, but how can that justify killing innocent babies in response? The cycle of violence must be broken—it simply cannot continue if we are to find a path to true peace.
In the United States or Germany, people often reference the Holocaust when discussing the current war. Instead of using that history to prevent further atrocities, it’s being abused to justify another form of genocide right now (1). It’s not about American history or German history; It is about the future of children being born in Israel and Palestine right now. What kind of world are we creating for them? Each act of violence adds to the trauma, and at some point, someone has to say, “Enough.” That’s what peacebuilders do.
I know colleagues who’ve experienced profound loss—people who’ve lost their children—and that pain has driven them to become peacebuilders. Their motivation is clear, they don’t want another parent to go through the same trauma. This gives them a unique legitimacy in their work. There are Israelis and Palestinians, people who’ve been soldiers and deeply embedded in the conflict, who have now stepped out of that cycle and are speaking out for peace. They demonstrate not only that peace is possible but that it is necessary. Einstein once said, “Imagination is more important than knowledge”. Just because we haven’t seen peace doesn’t mean we can’t create it. We didn’t always have the UN or multilateral systems; these were ideas that human beings dreamed up and eventually managed to create after centuries of war.
As peacebuilders, we face enormous challenges, but we often have a unique foresight. When you encounter people who have the strength to take a stand, to be the bridge that connects conflicting sides, even at great personal risk, it’s inspiring.
At ICAN, we focus on women who become peacebuilders in their local communities and share these core values. Their faith, sexual orientation, or other identities don’t matter—what matters is their approach to the work and their vision for a better world. There aren’t many people like this, but many aspire to be. Peacebuilding isn’t a widely recognized profession, but we’re working to change that by creating a global network—a home for these individuals. Even if someone is working alone in Cameroon, they know they have a friend in Colombia who understands them. It’s about being locally rooted but globally connected in this mission.
Read more on the weaponization of the of Holocaust: https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2023/oct/24/israel-gaza-palestinians-holocaust, https://home.watson.brown.edu/research/research-briefs/weaponizing-language