Sense of Place as a Governance Mechanism: Eco-Neighbourhood Claims and Environmental Justice in a Peri-Urban Corridor of Cali, Colombia
This article argues that in the peri-urban corridor of Cali, Colombia, residents' deep "sense of place," which generates authoritative ecological knowledge, is paradoxically misinterpreted by planning institutions as parochial bias, thereby perpetuating environmental injustice, and proposes a new analytical matrix to reframe these territorial attachments as valid claims for recognitional and procedural justice within an eco-neighbourhood governance model.
Original paper licensed under CC BY 4.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/). This is an AI-generated explanation of the paper below. It is not written or endorsed by the authors. For technical accuracy, refer to the original paper. Read full disclaimer
In the spaces where cities end and wild landscapes begin, a quiet tension plays out. These are the peri-urban zones, the fringes where concrete meets soil, where new housing developments press against ancient forests and wetlands. For decades, urban planners have viewed these areas through a narrow lens, focusing on maps, zoning laws, and economic growth. They often treat the deep, emotional connection residents feel toward their land as a distraction, a sentimental obstacle to progress. However, a growing body of research suggests that this feeling of belonging, known as a "sense of place," is actually a powerful form of knowledge. It is the accumulated wisdom of people who have lived on a specific patch of earth for generations, learning how the water flows, which trees survive the dry season, and how the soil breathes. When this local wisdom is ignored, the result is often environmental damage and social conflict. The question facing modern governance is not just how to build cities, but how to listen to the people who already know the land best.
In the southern corridor of Cali, Colombia, where the city expands rapidly toward the municipality of Jamundí, this conflict has taken a sharp and urgent form. Here, a team of researchers from the Universidad Autónoma de Occidente set out to understand how a community of residents is fighting to protect their home. They focused on a settlement called Parcelación Andalucía, a neighborhood founded in the mid-twentieth century on what remains of tropical dry forest and wetlands. While the city plans to expand its urban footprint through this area, the residents have spent decades cultivating small farms, protecting native species, and managing water systems without formal government support. The researchers wanted to know if the residents' deep attachment to this land could serve as a legitimate tool for governance, or if the very depth of that attachment would cause city officials to dismiss them.
To find the answer, the researchers spent six months working directly with twenty-four community leaders. These leaders, who head local neighborhood councils known as Community Action Boards, gathered in a series of workshops. Instead of filling out surveys or answering interview questions, the participants were asked to draw. They created large, collective mental maps of their territory, sketching out where the water channels ran, where the iguanas lived, and which trees provided shade. They also shared stories about how their families had cared for the land for generations. The researchers watched how these maps and stories revealed a sophisticated understanding of the ecosystem, one that included details about biodiversity and water cycles that official city maps completely missed.
The study uncovered a surprising and difficult reality, which the authors describe as a "structural double bind." This is a situation where a community's greatest strength becomes the reason they are rejected. The residents of Parcelación Andalucía possess a deep, multi-generational knowledge of their land. This knowledge is so embedded in their daily lives and memories that it feels natural to them; they know the smell of the soil after rain and the specific paths of migratory birds. This deep connection allows them to act as effective stewards of the environment. However, when they try to share this knowledge with city planners, the officials often misinterpret it. Because the residents' knowledge is based on feeling, memory, and practice rather than on technical reports or legal documents, planners view it as merely "local opinion" or a narrow, selfish bias. The very depth of the residents' love for their place makes their expertise invisible to the institutions that are supposed to listen to them.
This misunderstanding leads to a cycle of injustice. The residents bear the brunt of environmental damage caused by nearby real estate developments, such as the loss of wetlands and increased flooding, yet they are excluded from the decisions that cause these problems. They are not recognized as experts, and their participation in planning meetings is often treated as a formality rather than a genuine exchange of ideas. The researchers found that the community's proposal to be officially recognized as an "eco-neighbourhood"—a model that integrates ecological protection with community governance—is being stalled. The city holds a partial development plan for the area in limbo, leaving the community in a legal gray zone where they cannot fully protect their home, even though they are the ones best equipped to do so.
The researchers argue that this is not just a local problem in Cali, but a structural flaw in how cities in the Global South are managed. They propose a new way to look at these conflicts using a simple three-by-three framework. This framework connects the different ways people feel attached to a place—through their emotions, their daily actions, and their identity—with three types of justice: who bears the costs of development, whose knowledge is respected, and who gets to make the decisions. By using this tool, planners could see that the residents' mental maps are not just drawings, but authoritative evidence of ecological value. The study suggests that for cities to become truly sustainable, they must redesign their institutions to accept this kind of place-based knowledge. It is not enough to ask communities to learn the language of the planners; the planners must learn to read the language of the land as spoken by the people who live there.
The findings from Parcelación Andalucía offer a clear path forward, though it requires a shift in power. The researchers recommend that the city's upcoming master plan should treat community-drawn maps as official evidence, equal in weight to technical studies. They also suggest that the "eco-neighbourhood" proposal should be tested as a pilot project, which would protect the remaining forest and wetlands while honoring the community's right to govern their own territory. This approach would not just be a gesture of inclusion; it would be a practical necessity. The residents have already proven they can manage the ecosystem effectively. The barrier is not a lack of skill or effort on their part, but a lack of tools in the hands of the planners to recognize and value that skill. Solving this problem means changing how cities listen, ensuring that the deep, quiet knowledge of the people who call a place home is no longer treated as an obstacle, but as the most valuable resource available.
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