Uses and Misuses of the Concept of Community in Europe

 

Author: Bertram Niessen

 

Few concepts are invoked as frequently in current cultural policy and practice as “community,” yet few are used with such ambiguity. Tracing the term’s evolution across Europe—from nineteenth-century sociology and political ideologies to social movements, and digital culture—reveals how its meanings have shifted and multiplied. By examining both the productive uses and the recurring misuses of the concept, this article argues for a more critical and conscious engagement with community as a tool for cultural action and social cohesion.

 

© Nico Bhlr

 

 

Community from the 19th to the 21st

The concept of “community” lies at the heart of both the debate and the practices of those working in independent arts and culture. For this reason, tracing the evolution of how the idea of community has been used from the late nineteenth century to the present day is not merely an intellectual exercise, but a necessary step toward understanding the collective identities that shape independent cultural production and toward developing effective support tools. This awareness is a fundamental prerequisite for designing place-based policies capable of generating value in both the cultural and social sectors.

 

Toward the end of the 19th century, Ferdinand Tönnies introduced the dichotomy between Gemeinschaft (“community”) and Gesellschaft (“society”). The former refers to a system of immediate, personal relationships, bound together by shared traditions, common values, and what he called an “essential will” (Wesenwille). The latter describes a more complex system, based on artificially defined roles, in which solidarity among individuals does not necessarily stem from shared beliefs but is instead grounded in an “arbitrary will” (Kürwille), mediated by contracts, the market, and rational calculation. Tönnies is considered one of the founding figures of sociology, a discipline that emerged precisely to reflect on the crisis of traditional worlds and the rise of new forms of collective life. In his view, the growing predominance of Gesellschaft over Gemeinschaft introduces elements of crisis and alienation, but also new possibilities.

 

While Tönnies focused primarily on the German context, around the same period the Netherlands saw the development of verzuiling (“pillarisation”): a system of social organisation structured into four distinct vertical pillars—Catholic, Protestant, socialist, and liberal—which functioned as autonomous communities within the state, each rooted in specific territories. Citizens were born, raised, and lived within their respective pillar, attending schools, unions, hospitals, and sports clubs belonging exclusively to their own ideological and/or religious community. This system aimed to maintain peaceful coexistence among deeply divided social groups sharing the same geographic space. Pillarisation persisted until the 1970s, and its influence can still be observed today in many spatial, cultural, and social aspects of Dutch cities. A very similar system also existed for a long time in Belgium, albeit without the Protestant component.

 

Since communities were perceived as the fundamental social units that stood in opposition to the political and cultural transformations brought about by modernity, it is hardly surprising that the idea of community played a central role in the rise of fascist movements from the 1920s onward. In Italian Fascism, the community was defined by the State; without the people, it was nothing more than an amorphous mass. It was organised through corporations, whose role was to harmonise the interests of workers and employers for the higher good of the nation. The ultimate goal of the Italian people’s “Community of Destiny” was the creation of a “New Man,” shaped through military discipline.

 

In Spanish Falangism, many elements of Italian Fascism were further developed, while the notion of community became closely tied to a reactionary and identity-driven form of Catholicism, binding together different social groups within a hierarchical and metaphysical structure.

 

German Nazism centred its entire ideological framework on the Volksgemeinschaft (people’s community), grounded in the notion of “blood and soil” (Blut und Boden) and oriented toward racial purity. Here, the idea of community was defined by biological belonging and by the imperative to physically eliminate all perceived racial impurities.

 

In the Romanian Iron Guard, meanwhile, the community represented the core of a mystical, political, and military sense of belonging for its legionnaires, encompassing not only the living but also the dead and those yet to be born. Romanian Fascism revolved around small, tightly knit cells based on discipline, prayer, and physical labour, and was marked by a violent and radical antisemitism and chauvinism.

 

With the end of the Second World War, the concept of community underwent yet another transformation. The founding vision behind the European Coal and Steel Community (ECSC) in 1951 and the European Economic Community (EEC) in 1957 was to establish a supranational institutional framework—initially among Germany, France, Italy, the Netherlands, Belgium, and Luxembourg—capable of overcoming the divisions and conflicts generated by nationalism, in pursuit of lasting peace. France, in particular, adopted a kind of double standard: at the European level, it actively supported the construction of a transnational community, while domestically it continued to regard communautarisme (communitarianism) as a reactionary and identity-based drift, at odds with the principles of universalism and equality before the state.

 

In Italy, in the immediate post-war period, the communitarian vision of Adriano Olivetti played a crucial role. His approach combined liberal principles with mutualist and cooperative elements, introducing explicit communitarian features into forms of local welfare linked to factories, offices, schools, and public housing. Although this trajectory had limited political and organisational outcomes, it left a profound cultural legacy that remains visible today. Similarly, the pacifist mutualism promoted by Danilo Dolci had a limited practical reach but a significant cultural impact, creating a point of convergence between community-oriented approaches with widely differing political, ideological, ethical, and religious foundations across the country.

 

In the 1960s and 1970s, the meaning of the term “community” shifted once again. On the one hand, this was due to the emergence of council-based and community-oriented demands within workers’ struggles; on the other, it was driven by calls for new forms of social organisation linked to social movements and countercultures. In France, in the wake of the events of May ’68, the occupation and self-management of the Lip watch factory in Besançon by its workers introduced a new paradigm for understanding community. It became a cultural phenomenon that actively involved intellectuals, feminists, and students, transforming the factory into a space of social interaction and collective creativity grounded in a distinctly communitarian perspective.

 

In West Germany, too, new social movements began to place unprecedented emphasis on community-based approaches. This tendency became particularly evident in the rise of Bürgerinitiativen (citizens’ initiatives): a network of grassroots, self-organised groups formed around local issues, ranging from environmental protection to urban planning. These initiatives also gave momentum to the anti-nuclear protest movement and the emergence of political environmentalism.

 

During the same period, political communes—such as Kommune 1—translated these emerging communitarian ideals from theory into practice, blending anarchist and Marxist elements in everyday life experiments aimed at dismantling the nuclear family, seen as a cornerstone of authoritarianism. Similar experiments spread across Europe, often drawing inspiration from neo-rural lifestyles and self-production, influenced by comparable experiences in the United States.

 

During Spain’s democratic transition, the Movimiento Vecinal (neighbourhood movement) became a key driver of civic mobilisation. Given the illegality of political parties under the Franco regime, neighbourhood associations evolved into spaces of anti-Francoist participation. Beyond advocating for essential services such as infrastructure and education, these groups became community hubs of resistance and self-organisation, laying the groundwork for future forms of local democratic participation in Spain.

 

In the early 1980s, another powerful imaginary took shape: that of reception communities—spaces for recovery and empowerment for people experiencing various forms of social marginalisation, from drug addiction to homelessness. In Italy, the CNCA (National Coordination of Reception Communities) transformed care for minors and people with substance dependencies into a form of active citizenship, at times bringing together the experiences of so-called “street priests” and social movement activists. In France, the Emmaüs movement developed a similar vision through communities centred on work and recycling, while in Germany, Belgium, and other countries, community-based self-help practices challenged traditional models of psychiatry. At the same time, in Northern Europe, a range of local community organisations began to combine universal welfare systems with grassroots community activism.

 

All of these experiences were significant, enduring, and diverse. Yet they positioned the concept of “community” in a very different place from where we encounter it today.

 

A decisive role in this shift was played by American television series broadcast in Europe during the 1980s—such as The Jeffersons and The Cosby Show—which, in a sense, “imported” and “naturalised” a distinctly American understanding of community within a European context. This model was based on cities as spaces of encounter (and conflict) between distinct and separate “ethnic communities.” It is a model deeply rooted in U.S. history, originating in tightly knit religious settler communities and later shaped by the stratification produced by a slave-based economy and successive waves of migration, which fostered the idea of supposedly homogeneous communities.

 

A different yet complementary dimension of this shift emerged within LGBTQ+ worlds, where shared horizons were being redefined through the politicisation of community brought about by the struggle against AIDS and new trajectories in civil rights. In this context, “community” came to signify a network of solidarity formed out of the need for survival and visibility: a chosen family and a space for experimenting with alternative social and political identities.

 

The following decade saw another turning point with the advent of the Internet. Here, the term “community” began to be used more generically to describe groups of users gathered in forums for a wide range of functional purposes, without necessarily sharing values, imaginaries, or ideals. It is on this basis that, from the mid-2000s onward, marketing began to recognise the vast opportunities offered by profiling users’ tastes and consumption choices—first by leveraging technological tools linked to online communities, and later by adopting the same rhetorical framework to mobilise groups

 

© Kateryna Hliznitsova

 

 

 

Significant Empty Signifiers: A Risk for the Communities

In the 2010s, “community” became a ubiquitous term—yet one with increasingly divergent meanings. On the one hand, it has increasingly served as the foundation for new configurations of social movements, as seen in Spain’s 15M Movement, the NoTav environmental struggles in Italy, the Zones à Défendre (ZAD) in France, and the Solidarity Economy Networks in Greece. At the same time, it has underpinned important experiments in local governance, driven by renewed interest in the commons sparked by the work of political scientist Elinor Ostrom. On the other hand, the term “community” has been used pervasively by marketing, advertising, as well as by brand and corporate loyalty systems. And, in a historical moment marked by the rapid and troubling resurgence of reactionary and identity-based politics, the concept has also been increasingly appropriated within nationalist, supremacist, and neo- or post-fascist contexts.

 

This multiplication of meanings inevitably leads to a dilution of the concept, and to a corresponding loss of part of its capacity to act in the world. It becomes one of the “empty signifiers” described by Claude Lévi-Strauss—a term adaptable to all contexts and uses. This erosion of meaning entails concrete risks, particularly for those engaged in place-based policymaking.

 

The first risk is the creation of communities in vitro. Too often, attempts are made to initiate a “community process” where no real community exists, bringing together actors who do not perceive themselves as connected and who engage with one another for purely instrumental reasons. Collaboration takes place without genuine alliance, resulting in relationships that dissolve as soon as the project ends. For this reason, “community design” should always be approached with caution.

 

A second risk lies in the unintended construction of artificial boundaries. Every community inevitably involves inclusion and exclusion—those who belong and those who do not. This can lead to the creation of new scapegoats and an unexpected increase in social polarisation. It is therefore essential to consider the broader systemic side effects that may arise when seeking to support a community.

 

A third danger is the infantilisation of participants, through the forced imposition of an affective dimension within a collective in the name of a vague and generic notion of “caring for one another” that never becomes sufficiently grounded. This issue has been explored across multiple disciplines and finds one of its most developed critical expressions in Artificial Hells by Claire Bishop.

 

There is also the persistent risk of community washing: the overextension of the concept of community to “clean up” or legitimise projects, programmes, and initiatives that do not genuinely engage with a community dimension. This can easily generate a deficit of trust among stakeholders and toward the concept itself, fostering rejection and a tendency to retreat into the private sphere. This risk arises both in relationships with companies seeking to extend their brand through values-oriented narratives, and—more subtly—with public administrations in search of community validation for their policies.

 

A further risk—clear, yet increasingly overlooked—is the weakening of the collective and universalist aspirations historically associated with the concept of “society,” in favour of localist, particularistic, and identity-based claims tied to “community.” This shift is especially problematic at a historical moment marked by global geopolitical, humanitarian, economic, and cultural crises.

 

A final, crucial risk to consider is the gradual loss of familiarity with conflict. It is essential to remember that community does not mean the absence of conflict; rather, it implies a shared capacity to engage with and manage it. Conflict is a constitutive element of life and cannot simply be swept under the rug: attempts to eliminate it lead to the erosion of both individual and collective abilities to name it, confront it, and transform it into a productive force. The result is that conflict inevitably resurfaces—sooner or later—at a point when the tools needed to address it effectively have already been lost.

 

© Armen Poghosyan

 

 

 

Tools for a Conscious Use of the Term “Community”

Building on the elements discussed so far, we can identify a set of approaches for using the term “community” more consciously and engaging effectively with its practices. Learning to name complexity is the first step toward managing it. What follows is a non-exhaustive list of useful concepts and tools.

 

 

Communities of Practice

Grounded in collective learning. What matters is not mutual affection or shared values, but doing things together within a framework of shared learning, building relationships that can become the foundation for deeper forms of community.

 

Scenes

Groups that engage collectively with specific cultural objects (common in music and theatre). There is no need for shared values or mutual acquaintance; individuals gather around situated, aesthetic, and phenomenological experiences.

 

Productive Audiences

Centred on the proactive dimension of the "prosumer" (producer/consumer). Audiences become productive when they generate practices, symbols, and meanings that circulate back through media channels, as seen in crowdfunding or flash mobs.

 

Hybrid Place-Based Communities

Cultural centres and neighbourhood commons that bring together people with diverse backgrounds and value systems. Here, the shared physical place becomes the key factor enabling community-oriented dynamics.

 

Community Cooperatives

Models of social innovation where citizens in marginal or peripheral territories organise to actively manage services based on mutualistic principles, emphasis on quality of life, and human capital.

 

Heritage Communities

Groups of people who value specific aspects of cultural heritage and commit to preserving and transmitting them to future generations, often in collaboration with public institutions.

 

Making Kin

A concept from Donna Haraway, popular among younger activists. It refers to an interspecies connection grounded in elective affinity, moving beyond traditional relationships and the human species to include animals, plants, and microbes.

 

Zoöps

A blend of zoe and cooperative. It is a form of mutualistic governance integrating human and non-human actors (plants, landscapes). Already translated into legislation in the Netherlands, it grants legal personhood to non-human entities, inspired by Indigenous knowledge.

 

 

 

 

The ways in which collective forms can be identified and named are virtually infinite. This has different implications depending on one’s role.

 

For policymakers, it implies recognising how actors define themselves, fostering open innovation within cultural institutions. "Opening up" means engaging with new collective subjects and building collaborative governance. It is also essential to ensure these actors can connect, identifying tools and funding to sustain and expand these relationships over time.

 

For cultural organisations, it means describing themselves in polyphonic ways, avoiding simplistic rhetoric. It entails recognising the implicit violence embedded within community structures, while building collective action globally. This calls for a radical "we" capable of moving beyond particularisms to connect micro-identities to broader transformations grounded in solidarity.

 

 

 

Published on June 30th, 2026

 

 

About the author:

Bertram Niessen is the President and Scientific Director of cheFare.