by Todd May
As we can see, the values of dignity and equality, although distinct, are bound together. Everyone has dignity, that is the capacity to engage in projects and relationships, and so on. Moreover, everyone has it equally, or at least that is the presupposition under which we must operate. Any nonviolent political intervention must respect these two values. As a philosophical position then, we have a grasp of the framework of nonviolence. It offers us a way to conceive action that confronts the onerous actions of others while retaining the stance offered by civility.
Nonviolence in Practice
Of course there are myriad ways in which a nonviolent politics could unfold, well beyond what could be addressed in a single volume.12 However, we can get a sense of what this might look like if we consider two different arenas, that of an individual acting oppressively and that of an oppressive institution or structure. Thinking about these two arenas will give us a sense of how we might act in a politically decent way in uncomfortable political situations, situations in which we probably ought to do something to shape our common space but which will likely meet resistance from others.
In one sense, confronting individual prejudice or discrimination is often more emotionally fraught than confronting institutional or structural oppression. Attending a demonstration or writing a letter or email to a congressperson or boycotting a company is anonymous; you don’t have to look into anybody’s face and tell them they’re doing wrong. Of course this is not always the case. Meeting with a congressperson or finding oneself across the table from an officer of a company engaged in polluting is a face-to-face encounter. Alternatively, one can, as we will see in a moment, confront an individual by going around them. However, there remains the individual—this person—whom one is confronting, either directly or indirectly.
To home in on the idea, we need to give a little detail to the possibility of individual nonviolent confrontation. After all, nobody confronts a person outside a specific set of circumstances. The individual one confronts has done or said something specific. They have uttered a racist remark to a group of like-minded individuals, or alternatively said something racist to a person of another race. (To keep things simple, we’ll stick with racism, recognizing that homophobia, sexism, religious intolerance, blaming the poor, and so on, could all be substituted here—and also recognizing that the very concept of race is a contested one, and rightly so.) Or they have ignored a person of another race who sought their help, or actively impeded them in some way. Or they have encouraged others to discriminate against people of another race or been physically aggressive or not carried out their job responsibilities or voted for someone who is racist.
Moreover, the actions people commit occur in a larger context. The person who acts in a racist manner may be the supervisor of the person who is their object, a public official, a colleague, a stranger, or occupy another social role. And they will have a relation to me as a potential confronter as well. They may be my supervisor or colleague, a public official with whom I must interact or a perfect stranger. Finally, there is the crucial issue of whether I am a member of the class of people who are the object of the behavior. All these particularities play a role in structuring a decent response to racist behavior. Since we can’t canvass all of them, let’s look at three of the more common ones: a colleague expresses a racist sentiment in the absence of the object of their remark, a public official is treating a person of another race poorly, or a stranger is verbally aggressive toward someone of another race. The sketches of these scenarios will necessarily be brief, but I hope they bring out salient aspects of a nonviolent response.
In all these sketches I will assume that the person who is called to confrontation is not a member of the class of people who are the object of the behavior. That is, in common parlance, I want to ask what it is to be a decent ally. The question of confronting someone who is attacking you as a member of a certain class is a distinct one, and, as a privileged white male, I wouldn’t feel comfortable weighing in on that scenario without a whole lot of caveats. As it stands, there will be caveats enough as we proceed.
The first example is probably the most common. What does one do when a colleague—either at work or in a social situation—expresses a racist sentiment? Recall here that we are not in a situation of persuasion. The person is committed to their racism, even if, as is usually the case, they deny that they’re racist. “I’m not racist but is it really an accident that blacks always blame others for their own inability to get ahead?” “Have you noticed that Indians just happen to smell bad?” “Don’t you find Safiya’s head scarf a bit unnerving?” “Jian is an awful driver; what is it with the Chinese and driving?” We’ve all been around comments like this, often in situations in which the social ethos dictates just going along, not risking the awkwardness of a confrontation.
There are those who counsel always confronting the person at that time. If the person is indeed committed to their racism, that’s probably what should occur. It’s uncomfortable, to be sure, but a moment of social awkwardness would seem a small enough price to pay for blunting racist behavior, particularly in a situation, like ours in the US, in which racism is now able to be more openly expressed. Confronting a racist remark not only displays your own opposition to racism but also gives permission to others who are within earshot to oppose openly expressed racist sentiments. Moreover, it need not be done in a way that demeans the person themselves. “I find that comment to be offensive” probably works better than, “Wow, you’re a full-on racist, aren’t you?” At least most of the time.
Of course, such confrontation is often met with a denial of some sort: “I was just kidding. Can’t you take a joke?” But once the social awkwardness has been introduced, it’s easier to remain in it. Replying that one doesn’t find such jokes to be very funny is not likely to add to the discomfort that has already been introduced into the situation. Moreover, it usually feels better to stand one’s ground once that ground has been established than to back off.
The situation we’re imagining here is one where the person uttering the remark is a racist. Often, however, things are more complicated than that. People express racist attitudes unknowingly. After all, as we have seen, we are all products of a social, political, and cultural environment (in truth, a number of them). Many of us are creatures of good will who may embody attitudes that we would reject if we reflected on them. There are those who say that this fact is irrelevant and that we should always confront racism when it occurs, regardless of the character of the person expressing it. I’m not convinced of this. If someone I know expresses a racism they would reject if they were aware of what they were saying, I think it’s often more effective to wait for an opportunity to call them aside and explain what I saw in their behavior. We can think of it this way: public confrontation almost always leads to defensiveness. With an overt racist, such defensiveness is fine. The goal there is not to change the person but rather to fence off their ability to display their racism. By contrast, with someone who is unknowingly expressing a racist sentiment, making them defensive is less likely to encourage change then a sympathetic explanation in a more private venue. Recognizing that people of good will can also express racist sentiments—and so treating them also as people of good will—can go a long way toward encouraging personal reflection on their part.
How about where a public official is treating someone poorly? In a sense, this is an easier situation for confrontation. The norms of public behavior are that one should treat all people with equal respect. Suppose you find yourself in the unfortunate situation of being at a Department of Motor Vehicles office, say renewing your driver’s license, and you see one of the attendants treating an African American man rudely, more rudely than they are treating white folks. Several options are open to you at that point, depending on the specifics of the situation. You might go and stand next to the man and say that you think the employee is acting in a racist manner or is being deliberately rude. Or, slightly less confrontationally,
you might ask the man himself if he is okay with how he’s being treated. Or you might approach a supervisor and tell them what you’re seeing. In all these scenarios it is probably best to let the person know you’re standing with him. Being the object of prejudice, among other difficulties it creates, is humiliating. It makes a person feel alone. Acting in solidarity with someone who is undergoing prejudice reduces that sense of being naked before the world and with it the humiliation that accompanies being the object of egregious behavior.
All of this brings us back to themes we discussed in the second and third chapters. In a society like ours where racism is woven into our everyday social relationships, common decency involves a recognition that those of other races (genders, sexual orientations, and so on) are fellow citizens and should be treated as such. A mentor of mine once said that in a country like ours we are all at best recovering racists. He didn’t mean just white folks, but everyone, because we’re all brought up to think in not just racial but racist terms. It is worth carrying that wisdom with us as we navigate our routine interaction with others, seeking daily to recover from the racism that is part of the ethos of our common space.
It is also worth recognizing the role that race and other forms of oppression play in creating the need for certain forms of benevolence, and in being sensitive to the deleterious effects of certain forms of benevolence. In the third chapter we saw the conflict between benevolence and politics, between seeking to ameliorate difficult conditions and change or challenge the basis of those conditions. (Below we will see another aspect of their complicated relationship.) Both benevolence and political action run another risk, one that can reinforce racism. In a word, both can be patronizing, seeking to assist others on their behalf rather than alongside them. This, you will immediately recognize, is the phenomenon of the “white savior,” the white person who “heroically” steps in and solves the difficulties facing African Americans because, one way or another, those African Americans could not do it themselves. This is what makes, for instance, the DMV example I just described a vexed one, one that requires reflection on the line between solidarity and patronizing behavior, a line that can be difficult to discern in concrete situations. In working on issues of race, I have made many mistakes that come from my own ignorance about this line. The best I can say for myself is that I hope I’m learning.
The phenomenon of the white savior is itself, of course, racist. This does not mean that white folks should not exhibit either benevolence or political solidarity with African Americans or other marginalized groups. Rather, that solidarity needs to be navigated carefully to avoid—to the extent possible—the racism that pervades the atmosphere in which our actions take place. There are, of course, vigorous debates about how best to do this, which I will leave to the side. I want only to note that in a society as racist as ours (and the US is hardly alone here), our attempts to act decently require us to remain aware of the character of our common space and how it might affect our own attitudes and actions.
The final scenario involves the confrontation of someone who is verbally aggressive toward a person of another race. As I write this I am aware of a recent event that shows how dangerous this situation can be. A man was being verbally abusive to a woman with a headscarf, and when three other men sought to confront him about this he pulled out a knife, killing two of them and wounding the third.13 One does not know what a stranger will do, particularly in at atmosphere as politically polarized and combative as in the US currently. Decency does not require us to risk our lives to prevent an act of racism. But it does ask us to do something. Too often people become frozen in these situations, watching them unfold but finding themselves unable to act. However, action is not always that difficult. If direct intervention is perceived as too threatening, one can often call an authority, someone with the ability to confront the aggressor more effectively.
Of course, there are situations in which it is less perilous to step in directly. The standard procedural advice in situations like this is to approach the object of the aggression directly and open a conversation about some neutral topic, avoiding eye contact with the aggressor. Confronting deep anger directly, particularly when one is alone, unless one is physically capable of defending oneself, can be a recipe for injury. However, removing the object of abuse is less often so. Going up to someone who is on the receiving end of some verbal abuse, sitting next to them, and asking whether they’ve seen the latest Hollywood blockbuster movie, can be a way to exhibit solidarity with them, confuse the aggressor, and consequently defuse the situation. It is, as all these situations are, a matter of judgment.
So far we have been discussing nonviolence in individual settings. Most nonviolence, though, takes place collectively and in opposition to institutional or structural oppression. If we define it widely, it can range from a letter-writing campaign to a public official to voter registration to demonstrations to nonviolent civil disobedience, and everything in between. What all these share is that they involve action to change the character of our common space. That we share a common space characterized by various oppressions is hard to deny (although there will always be a few ready to deny it). The question then is how to act decently regarding those oppressions.
Before addressing that issue directly, it would be worth pausing over the importance of political action of this type. There is a tendency to think that politics is something that takes place over there. “Oh, I’m not into politics,” many of us are tempted to say when asked to act in a way to intervene on our common space. But politics is never over there. It is always right here. We are all the products of our common space, with all its good and bad features. None of us, as we have seen, are immune to the cultural influences, social attitudes, or power relationships that structure that space. This does not mean that we are simply helpless before it, that we are mere products without any agency of our own. But it does mean that we cannot remove ourselves from the context in which our social relationships unfold. If, as we learned in the second chapter’s discussion of the ethics of care, we are all formed in relationship to others, then we are all subject to social influences that may not determine us but whose influence we must recognize. We are all, at best, recovering racists.
Although someone might say, then, that they are not into politics, politics is nevertheless into them. It helps form them in ways that, upon reflection, they may or may not approve of. And that formation, in turn, makes them cocreators of the common space they occupy. Otherwise put, whether they like it or not, for the same reasons that politics are into them, they are into politics. We are all formed in relation to a common space that we in turn contribute to. The question, then, for each of us—both individually and collectively—is not whether but instead how to be into politics.
We might say that our relation to politics is one of both dissatisfaction and hope. We are dissatisfied with some aspect of our common space, whether it is racism or homophobia or economic inequality or something else. If we are of a different political orientation we might be dissatisfied with other aspects of our common space, say, a lack of greater economic liberty or too much social liberty. Political struggle occurs when opposing dissatisfactions meet or when a dissatisfaction with an aspect of common space meets a satisfaction with it. Nevertheless, none of us are ever entirely satisfied with the structure and ethos of our common space, which is to say that none of us feel—or are likely ever to feel—that we live in a utopia.
Political action, though, requires more than dissatisfaction. It also requires hope. If we are dissatisfied with an aspect of our common space and yet feel there is nothing to be done about it, we are unlikely to act. We may complain or feel trapped or cynical, but we will not be moved to action if we are convinced there is nothing to be done. If we are asking ourselves how to relate to our common space and to one another within that common space, we must feel that there are ways of relating that are possible for us. This is where hope comes in.
Politics, then, begins in di
ssatisfaction and hope and extends outward toward our shared space through the way we involve ourselves in it.
How might we act in a politically decent way regarding institutional or structural problems? There is, of course, no one answer to this. Moreover, any particular recommendation that I would have necessarily comes from my own political leanings, which are surely abundantly obvious by now. However, there are several things that we might say of a decent political involvement, for whatever issue or issues it is undertaken. First, there should be involvement—active involvement. If what I have said about politics is correct, we are all political beings, whether we care to be or not. Our various engagements and action are politically influenced and have political influence, even if to a minor degree. Decency would counsel recognizing that and asking ourselves how we might orient our engagements and actions to improve our common space.
This does not require a radical rethinking of who we are or what we are about. That would not be decency but instead extreme altruism. Rather, it asks of us that we try to leave our common space better off for our having participated in it throughout our lives. This can happen in many ways. For instance, one person I know in Greenville has organized demonstrations every Tuesday for over a year near the office of Senator Lindsay Graham. She invites others to contribute to the various themes of the Tuesday demonstrations. Sometimes they concern health care, at other times immigration rights, and at still other times wealth inequality. She publicizes the demonstrations, does outreach to remind people that they’re happening, and makes people feel welcome when they show up. Hers is a creative response—one among many possible creative responses—to our current political situation.