It's Worth Resisting the Temptations of Counter-Violence, Even in a Violent System

We breathe violence. We live amid violence. The manifestations of violence, be it directly physical/brutal, or psychic/symbolic, are seen everywhere. From school to state, from hierarchical villages to gated communities in urban centres, from temples to marketplaces, from traditional caste/gender hierarchies to hyperreal media simulations: violence surrounds our existence. Striving for peace, or evolving a non-violent mode of resistance against the violent system, is never an easy proposition. The question is whether it is desirable as well as feasible to strive for a new language of resistance that refuses to be provoked by the violence the system generates.

The trap of structural violence

Despite the linear movement of the clock and history, one thing that remains constant is the recurrence of war and violence. There is no romanticised past free from violence. From slavery to feudalism, from monarchy to priestcraft, from patriarchy to casteism – there is no reason to feel proud of 'tradition' as far as the question of violence is concerned. Yet, as we look at our own times, we see the more expanded and nuanced chain of violence – sometimes brute, and sometimes fairly sophisticated. In this context, I wish to make three observations.

First, even if there is a shift from 'domination' to 'hegemony' with the advancement of the modern state and capitalism, the brute/coercive machinery of the state continues to prevail with all its ugliness. With the police, paramilitary forces and the army, the state, as we have often witnessed, represses dissenting voices and cultures of protest, even peaceful ones (recall how the police behaved with farmers as they were trying to enter the national capital to articulate their genuine demands recently). Despite the 'popular mandate', the state, we often see if our eyes are truly open, acts as the 'deputy' of the dominant economic classes.

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Furthermore, the violence perpetuated by the state has acquired yet another meaning in the age of the meticulous practice of surveillance: establishing a constant visibility over its citizens for classifying, documenting, hierarchising and normalising. No wonder, the state uses its own vocabulary to stigmatise those who have not yet become 'normal' and 'disciplined' – 'urban Naxals', 'anti-nationals', 'anarchists' and 'anti-development environmental fundamentalists'. In this act of stigmatisation lies immense violence perpetuated by a Kafkaesque bureaucracy.

Second, as the market invades almost every sphere of life, violence is further normalised. It sees everything in terms of egotistic calculation and profit; it measures what is essentially non-measurable; and it has the power to transform everything into its opposite: self-advertisement into philanthropy, greed into 'improved life-style', narcissism into virtue and gross inequality into the 'natural order of things'. It has no heart; it has no consideration for others; it is the language of the powerful. It is the other name of social Darwinism. No wonder, it is exclusive; its openness is a myth; its 'class' also functions like a 'caste'.

'Smart cities', because of their very nature, would not include the marginalised, the lower middle class and the poor; five-star super speciality hospitals would never invite the crowd of patients from the Safdarjung Hospital; the security guard on duty at a mall – the magical space of global capitalism – would never be able to buy French perfume for his daughter; and the children of Dharavi slum would not be able to enter into an elite international school. With the market invasion, the state begins to retreat more and more from the sites of health, education and basic survival needs. Yes, it is terribly violent.

Amid the IPL spectacles, the accelerated growth of the wealth of the Adanis and the Ambanis and the record-breaking revenue that a Salman Khan film generates, when you see the farmers committing suicide, the street children in the national capital compelled to beg, and the brigade of 'domestic help' imported from Jharkhand being violated everyday, what else do you see except violence?

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And third, the actual practice of modernity seems to have lost its emancipatory character. Instead, its instrumental dimension – often sustained by the technocratic principle of domination, reductionist science and normalising the hyper-masculine desire for all sorts of 'conquest' – has become more predominant. Its urge to conquer reduces everything into a 'resource' for manipulation (the likes of Medha Patkar would never be able to convince the high priests of modernity that there can be alternatives to big dams, or that a river is not merely for generating electricity).

Its reckless fascination with 'speed' destroys the calmness of mind (see the traffic rage on express highways); and its stimulant 'pop culture' with its inherent instantaneity negates even the slightest trace of gratitude from life – in the consumption of 'fast food', there is no recalling of the hard work of a cook; in the magic of 'beauty contests' the demonstrative body loses its connectedness with the soul, it becomes a piece of statistical measurement, an object of consumptionist gaze; and in fleeting sexual encounters there is no life-long commitment. Violence is the denial of connectedness; and instrumental modernity further intensifies it.
This is our India. All sorts of violence are here. 'Ours is a spiritual land of Buddha and Gandhi' – this is the biggest lie.

Beyond the temptations of counter-violence

I have to accept that not all forms of violence can be seen through the same standard of normative judgement. The violence that an oppressive feudal lord or a patriarchal casteist or a greedy capitalist enacts can by no means be compared with a rally of farmers breaking the police barricade, or distressed citizens in an invaded land pelting stones as they see the aggressive march of the army. This violence emanates from a feeling, or a realisation after a long wait, that the system is insensitive; it doesn't listen and care. Moreover, I am also ready to accept that there is nothing called absolute non-violence; there are moments when violence becomes the last refuge for retaining human dignity.

Yet, I believe that we ought to be careful about the temptations of counter-violence. Because it eventually dehumanises those who regard it as an 'appropriate' strategy. With its implicit 'conspiracy theory', it loses the sense of proportion. A journalist in Chhattisgarh (the Maoist fallacy), an ordinary constable in Jharkhand, and even, as I saw during the Naxalite upsurge in Bengal, the statue of Tagore: nothing can be spared as these 'radicals' engage in a reckless process of eliminating the 'class enemy'. No wonder, they lose transparency, and tend to become authoritarian (feel the terror of Stalinism or Maoist 'cultural revolution'). And most importantly, it fails to attract a large section of the population into its own fold. This is self-defeating.

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Is it then possible to strive for a non-violent mode of sustained resistance against the violent system? Well, it is not easy. Violence tempts; it stimulates the instincts of revenge; it is a kind of catharsis; and it may give momentary success. Non-violence, however, requires immense patience, and a deep-rooted conviction that it is more courageous and powerful than engaging in the act of violence. It may not look 'spectacular' and 'heroic'. Yet, the possibility of a paradigm shift lies in a non-violent mode of resistance. It has to be determined and firm, yet sufficiently open-ended and dialogic.

However, sanity in politics is not possible without meaningful work in the domain of ethics and self-actualisation. If violence is caused by inflated desire – the desire that separates one from the others, and intensifies greed – it is important to redefine ourselves as connected souls living with the spirit of sharing, austerity, understanding and love.

Is it possible for the perpetuators of structural violence – the privileged classes, and their allies in the state – to undergo this process of inner cleansing, and realise that peace is impossible unless they change themselves? Is it possible for a non-violent mode of resistance to acquire sufficient moral power to transform the oppressors, and liberate them from the structure of oppression and violence? Even if there is no easy answer to these complex questions, we should not stop striving for non-violence.

Cherish the 'impossible'. Or, choose the ultimate fall – the act of collective suicide.

Avijit Pathak is a professor of sociology at Jawaharlal Nehru University.

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