Is Stabilisation Only for Post-Conflict Zones? Or Is It Time to Broaden the Lens?

When we hear the word “stabilisation,” we tend to picture war-torn regions, fragile states, or post-conflict societies struggling to rebuild. But what if the principles of stabilisation apply equally in settings far removed from traditional conflict zones—settings where the threats may come not from militias or armed insurgents, but from organised crime networks quietly undermining community resilience?

This is not about dramatising the situation or equating every European town with a conflict zone. Rather, it is about recognising that the vulnerabilities created by transnational organised crime (TOC) and its intersections with social fragmentation, youth marginalisation, and even digital radicalisation are real and growing. These dynamics, if left unaddressed, risk eroding community trust, social cohesion, and ultimately, public safety.

The case of Finspång in Sweden offers an illustrative entry point. In response to rising concerns about youth vulnerability to crime and violence, the municipality recently announced the recruitment of six professionals dedicated to making life safer for children and families—a step reported by NT.se on 13 May 2025. This is a commendable move, reflecting growing awareness that resilience-building must begin locally, through sustained investment in people, not just policing. As highlighted in the article, the municipality’s broader aim is to strengthen preventive efforts to help children and young people avoid pathways into harmful environments, including gang-related crime.

Yet, as recent research suggests, local vulnerabilities do not exist in isolation. According to Bobic (2014), the nexus between TOC and terrorism often thrives in spaces where state capacity is weak or fragmented—whether in failed states or in “pockets of failure” within otherwise strong states. Globalisation, while offering many benefits, has also created new channels for criminal and extremist networks to exploit local grievances, recruit marginalised youth, and bypass traditional security measures. Bobic argues that addressing this requires moving beyond "hard security" to a human security framework, one that empowers communities, builds resilience, and tackles root causes such as inequality and social exclusion.

In the UK, Spalek and Weeks (2016) further emphasise the role of community-based counterterrorism, showing how local actors—faith leaders, educators, youth workers—can play a pivotal role in identifying and mitigating risks before they escalate. Their work highlights the importance of trust-building and dialogue, not just enforcement, in preventing radicalisation and criminal exploitation.

Drawing on experience of those who supported community-led security platforms in Iraq, it is possible to observe how participatory local structures can build trust between authorities and communities, helping to detect and prevent both criminal and extremist threats early on. These models, while developed in a post-conflict setting, offer valuable lessons for European municipalities seeking to strengthen social cohesion and public safety without over-securitising their approach.

Finspång’s initiative could be seen as part of this wider picture—a proactive step that recognises the need to invest in prevention, not just response. But it also invites us to ask whether there is space to take these efforts even further.

Much of the current focus in Sweden, and in many other European settings, centres on coordination—bringing together social services, schools, police, and other actors to share information and align their activities. This is of course valuable and necessary. However, as both Bobic (2014) and Spalek and Weeks (2016) suggest in their respective analyses, coordination alone may not be enough to generate the kind of shared ownership and trust that true resilience requires.

The concept of co-production, as explored in these studies, shifts the emphasis from authorities delivering solutions for communities to developing responses with them. Co-production is not just about better coordination between institutions, but about empowering local actors—teachers, families, young people themselves—to shape the priorities, define the risks, and co-create the solutions.

This approach is what underpins successful models like the Community-led security platforms in Iraq, where community members sit alongside police and civil society in structured, ongoing dialogue. Together, they identify the issues that matter most to them, develop community safety plans, and build relationships that extend beyond formal coordination meetings.

Moving from coordination to co-production means recognising that communities are not just recipients of services, but active partners in building security and resilience. It means shifting power—allowing those closest to the issues to have a voice in how they are addressed.

Finspång has already taken important steps in this direction. The question now is whether there is room to expand these efforts, to build not just coordinated services, but truly co-produced frameworks where communities, institutions, and other partners work together as equal stakeholders in shaping a safer, more resilient future.

Because ultimately, the question may not be whether a community is fragile enough to deserve a stabilisation effort.
Perhaps the real question is whether we are prepared to act before the cracks deepen—while there is still time to strengthen what holds us together.