Postcolonial urbanization between the deconstruction and reconstruction of state public domain in the city of Bukavu, DRC

Cities are living things that grow, change, and sometimes break under their own weight. In many parts of the world, this growth happens faster than the rules that are supposed to guide it. When governments cannot keep up with a sudden rush of people moving into a city, the lines between what belongs to everyone and what belongs to a single family begin to blur. This is especially true in places where the history of colonial rule left behind a rigid map that no longer fits the reality on the ground. In these spaces, a concept known as "deconstruction" helps us understand what is happening. It does not mean tearing things down in a destructive way, but rather questioning the old, invisible rules that decide who gets to use a street, a park, or a lakefront. It asks who really owns the space and who is being left out. This way of thinking is crucial for understanding cities in the Global South, where rapid population growth often forces people to build homes on land that was officially meant for roads or nature, creating a complex mix of legal and illegal living arrangements.

In the city of Bukavu, located in the eastern Democratic Republic of the Congo, researchers recently set out to understand exactly how this mixing of public and private life is reshaping the urban landscape. They focused on a specific question: how is the state's public land being taken over, and what does this mean for the people living there? To find the answer, a team of researchers from the Institut Supérieur de Développement Rural conducted a detailed survey of 384 households across different neighborhoods in Bukavu. They looked at two very different types of areas: the older, planned neighborhoods built during the colonial era, and the newer, spontaneous settlements that grew up without official plans. The researchers asked people about their homes, how they got their land, whether they had official papers, and what happened when the government tried to clear people off public land.

The results paint a picture of a city where the public domain is under immense pressure. The most common place where people have built homes is on road rights-of-way, which are the strips of land reserved for streets and traffic. In total, nearly 77 percent of the occupied public spaces were these road corridors. Green spaces and the area along the lake made up the rest of the occupied land. This widespread use of public land for housing happens because there is a severe shortage of legal land for people to buy. The study found that only about 27 percent of the people surveyed held an official land title, a document that proves legal ownership. Many others relied on private receipts from informal deals, and some had no documents at all. Without these papers, families are in a very weak position if the government decides to clear the area.

The researchers also discovered that this situation is not limited to the chaotic, unplanned edges of the city. Even in the older, more established neighborhoods, people are living on land that was never meant for housing. In fact, the study found that unauthorized occupation of public space happened exclusively in the city center, where land is most valuable. This challenges the simple idea that only the poor on the outskirts live in informal settlements. In the center, the pressure to build has pushed people onto roads and reserves, often driven by wealthy individuals or political connections who can bypass the rules. The study suggests that the boundary between public land and private property has become so blurred that it is difficult to tell where one ends and the other begins.

When the government attempts to clear these areas, the process is often painful and controversial. The researchers found that a large majority of households, about 80 percent, were evicted without receiving any money or compensation to help them move. While nearly half of the people surveyed agreed that clearing public land is necessary for the good of the city, more than a third felt the process was unfair and arbitrary. Many residents believe that who gets evicted and who gets to stay is decided by political connections or corruption rather than by the law. They see a pattern where some people are allowed to occupy public space while others are forced out, often based on their relationship with local authorities.

Despite the lack of consultation, the people of Bukavu are eager to have a say in how their city is managed. The study showed that nearly 90 percent of the residents want to participate in planning their neighborhoods. They are willing to contribute money and time to improve public spaces, yet they are rarely asked for their opinion before decisions are made. The current approach, where authorities act alone and often without clear rules, leaves a gap between what the government wants to do and what the community needs. The researchers conclude that for the city to function better, the management of public land needs to change. It requires a shift from top-down orders to a system where the state controls the occupation of land more strictly, but also listens to the people who live there. The goal is to rebuild a public domain that serves everyone, rather than one that is slowly eaten away by the desperate need for shelter and the power of a few.