Plague Journal, Why Violence?
There are appeals for peaceful demonstration, the peaceful exercise of free speech. These appeals predictably come from elected officials, those placed in charge. They are in charge of a formal system, — as well as approaches, attitudes, and comments informally expressed by thousands, perhaps millions of members.
Hypothetically consider an HR administrator, or maybe a president of an educational institution putting at disadvantage individuals of color, Black individuals in particular as result of their attitudes. The system itself, a predominately informal collection of habits and preferences rigs the game to favor those of us whose ancestors immigrated from Europe, and closes the door on those whose ancestors were transported here on slave ships. What are the odds this state of affairs can be changed easily, voluntarily?
Keep in mind that the custodians of the status quo, the mayors, the police chiefs, the officers on the street will defend and protect order and property. No matter the injustice or the violence that has been visited upon people of color present and past, the individuals behind the microphones definitely will use violence as a matter of principle.
The way things are is the effect of reasoned persuasion, our Constitution being a prime example. Additionally the way things are is the effect of willful expression of violence. The disproportionate killing of Black individuals by police, is a current example. These killings are typically swept under the rug, the perpetrators almost never charged. In conclusion the society which we have is not the sole outcome of reason, of sweet persuasion. Violence, force, imposition of will has also played its role.
How unrealistic to expect racism to be reduced, and opportunities to improve for people of color, without the assertion of will, the calculated application of force to the status quo and to property. Violence is a deliberate means. The measure of the demonstrators resolve to effect change, is the willingness to suffer rubber bullets, to endure tear gas and if necessary to lay down their lives in the quest for a more just society. Frankly it is a matter of force verses force; the weight of a materially unjust society against the impetus of citizens in the streets.
The stakes must be raised until the other side understands they have something to lose.
Only oneself can be sacrificed,
in the hazards of a struggle
for the common dignity of man.
Does the end justify the means?
That is possible.
But what will justify the end?
To that question, which historical thought
leaves pending, rebellion replies;
The means.
Excerpt, The Rebel by Albert Camus p. 292
2 thoughts on “Plague Journal, Why Violence?”
Bravo ! I am heightened by these words. Words from those we have read and pondered in the past and those Now, Today, that have understood those words and have in some way been affected by same and have lived their lives mindfully, not forgetting the ‘feelings’ those words first engendered and what they Meant.
I personally am taken back to my youth and my emerging manhood and the times in which these passages of life occurred. I read. Life was good. I read the Greeks and I understood why Aristotle elevated, deifying what he perceived as Certain Truths: Love, Truth, Beauty. I did not have a deity, but his words resonated, his Truths became mine. And I had a whole comradery of likeminded friends, sometimes ‘instant’ friends that just popped up. Vonnegut once wrote a short story included in a collection titled (I think-it’s been awhile); ‘Nightmares, Gezenstacks and Foma’. In this short work he proposed that people should dispense with their familial names and the world over we should adopt the names of common, naturally occurring things, like Rose or Orange and so on. In doing so we would all be part of a ‘family’ wherever we found ourselves. Are you a ‘Peach’, pulling into some new place where you don’t know anyone? Pick up a phone book and find another Peach. Instant family. That’s what the sixties felt like in the beginning. Instant family everywhere. I recall a my best friend and I hopping into my ’56 Chevy with seven dollars in our pockets and two five gallon cans of gas siphoned from a moving truck. We were headed to Denver. Along the road, as the gas started heading to the hard side of our trip, we would pull over in the middle of nowhere Iowa and raise the hood, with nothing but cornfields and soybeans acknowledging our journey. We’d pop open a beer, light up a joint and wait for some farmer to come by. Spotting one, we would extinguish our dope and, sure enough, after a friendly exchange of greetings, we would siphon off a tank of gas from our new found friend, who may have found his way across the Country in a like manner. Sparring all the boring moments, we hit Denver, met some likeminded people and that evening had dinner, a warm bed and even companionship to share the bed with. Then something went terribly wrong, things changed and we became increasingly aware of that change.
I’ve previously mentioned a modest role in the forming of an SDS chapter and I recall when things splintered. A lot of people, lacking insight or courage, just went home. Some hung around, shouting in Grant Park: “Dump the Hump, dump the Hump” Congratulations, I give you Tricky Dick. Actually FWIW, I now view LBJ as a truly tragic figure in our history. He was a player having to go along with what Bell Helicopter and anybody else with money putting him in office , but he did earnestly achieve many of the ideals of the ‘Great Society’ that Jack Kennedy envisioned: civil rights, voting rights, right to an education, etc.
And then were those that didn’t go home or be fools in Grant Park; they went underground – the Weather Underground, fighting fire with fire. My personal efforts usually involved liaising with the people still being murdered because of their skin color. Brother Heuy had long since realized after a promising start, most hippies were just in it for a good time, so screw’em! I had spent much time in the southside and westside at The Checkboard and Teresa’s listening to blues, so having very low risk aversion and many friends there, I was a natural choice. That is until Dr. King was murdered, then I had to find a new form of music to enjoy. I’m just strolling down ‘memory lane’ here but I will close with this: anyone recall the predawn raid on the Chicago chapter of the Black Panthers? Who was that sport that ordered that? Ryan? Anyhow, I leave now with this remembrance: 142 bullets were pulled from Fred Hamptons bed. Change don’t come easy.
Blessings
Al, I am glad that you liked the post, that it reminded you of your youthful years. That time past, still lives within us. It is beneficial to reminded of Truth, love and beauty as divine like dwelling within and without of us. Take Care.