I have long argued that nonviolence works best when it deals not with mere symbols but with real things that have symbolic power. Gandhi’s Salt March was an outstanding example; another is the ongoing actions of Palestinian farmers, oftentimes organized and supported by the Palestine Solidarity Project, to plant and replant olive trees that are uprooted, poisoned, and otherwise destroyed by Israeli settlers or the military.
There is something primordial, and even beautiful about a direct confrontation of something real and true — and especially a living thing — with the destructive power of human delusions. The olive tree is both a symbol and an actual source of Palestinian well-being, and hence of Palestinian hopes and dignity. To uproot them, which is contrary to Jewish law, is to enact one’s own violence in a way that even the perpetrator is forced to understand the evil that person is perpetrating.
This “forcing reason to be free,” as Gandhi called it, is an important part of nonviolent dynamics. Not long ago, a courageous woman who ran a shelter for destitute mothers with children in Delhi was told by city authorities that she would have to pay taxes that up until then had been waived. She explained that they were a shoestring operation and if the taxes were imposed at least three of her women would have to be turned out on the street. “We can’t help that,” said the men. “All right,” she replied, but then took them through the door to the large dorm where her charges were housed, and said, “You choose which ones to turn out.” The men left and the tax waiver remained in place.
In the important film Bringing Down a Dictator that chronicles the 2000 Otpor (‘Resist!’) uprising, which in one dramatic day turned Serbian President Slobodan Milosevic out of office (after eleven weeks of NATO bombings that only consolidated his hold on power), student leader Srdja Popovic explained, “we won because we were on the side of life.”
This symbolic valence might be said to be missing from the present occupation movement. Fun, music, and face paint may say “life” to some people more than business suits and portfolios, but they don’t quite evoke the reality and urgency that enabled the oppressed Serbian population to rise up against harsh police brutality and is enabling the Palestinians and their international supporters to face even fatal resistance in Beit Omar, Surif, and other West Bank villages. Proudly declaring that “their weapons don’t scare us,” the message of the Palestinian Solidarity Project, which is coordinating not only the olive-tree planting but roadblock removal, and apartheid wall demonstrations, is quite accurate:
Peace and security are rights not just for some of us, but for all the people of the world. Controlling another person’s life, possessions, future, and thoughts is a crime and a humiliation. We have dreams and hopes of freedom, so we are inviting all the people of the world to stand with us and share in our struggle for freedom.
For any such struggle to succeed — be it that of the Palestinians or of Occupy Wall Street or even a larger movement for peace — it must be able to counter the power of the Apocalyptic myths that have driven the post-9/11 wars and brought the U.S. to a point of near ruin financially and morally. These prevailing narratives of militarism revolve around the powerful archetype of good and evil, order vs. chaos; but they can be overcome by an even more powerful myth, if you will (I taught mythology for many years at U.C. Berkeley), which is the struggle for life itself against death.
The answer is to take back not just our incomes and some civic spaces, but the “spaces” in our minds and our public discourse. In practice, this would mean making common cause with the Palestinian struggle and looking for other ways to show, patiently but insistently, that in opposing greed and militarism we are on the side of life — which would have the added advantage of being true.
True, music and face paint may not have quite the concrete power of planting an olive tree, but distributing free food to all comers, organizing workshops and libraries, and establishing a space for the voices of the ignored and excluded–I would say that these are actions on the side of life indeed.
I’m curious, Lestin, have the voices of the ignored and excluded been organized, such as the homeless populations? When I was on the East Coast, I saw those beautiful workshops and food pass around, with the homeless sitting on benches watching their new neighbors join them in the parks and thought that this needs to be addressed, too.
Homelessness is caused by structural violence, and the purpose of the Occupy movement is to confront that root cause of homelessness and innumerable other injustices. (Our current economic system has given us “homeless people and peopleless homes,” as I recently heard it put.) I doubt anyone in these general assemblies is excluding anyone based on housing status, there is nothing preventing those sleeping on the street from joining in the meetings. That said, the homeless people on the outskirts of the Occupy camps that I have been to sadly did not look like they were in any shape to join in a meeting, the surface conditions of suffering, addictions, health issues, etc, preventing their alert participation. Let’s hope that the tremendous creative work of the Occupy movement has its effect on the root and eventually seeps up to transform things on that surface level.
Hi, Erika:
I appreciate your comment explaining structural violence, but I am concerned about the homeless participation on a level of organization, as I noted in my comment. When I was in DC, I sat in on a nonviolence training in Macpherson Square. The homeless were on benches on the sidelines getting food from Christian missionaries while people like myself were getting interviewed and talked up. Occupy P. was happy to accept food that usually a grocery store gives to the homeless, etc. I’m not saying that it is a conscious disassociation based on any prejudice of housing, or even an assumption of drug use or mental illness, but simply of organization. Let me caveat that I’m not critiquing the movement, heaven forbid, but expressing a concern that might be addressed by brining it to light.
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Speaking specifically to homelessness: I can’t say how many homeless folks have been participating in the General Assemblies I’ve been to–it’s not something you can tell by looking, of course–but the structure of the Occupies I’ve seen is such that anyone can camp (often with tent and sleeping bag provided), anyone can have food, anyone can speak, and anyone can vote. Especially with food and shelter there, that makes for removing many of the barriers that keep homeless people from political participation.
Do we need to go beyond establishing a space? I think so. There are many ways we can look to improve inclusion, participation, and effectiveness for those most in need.
All I meant to say is that establishing the open space was an important, concrete step on the side of life. Hopefully there will be many more such steps in the near future.
Michael refers to the “myths” of good versus evil and order versus chaos and of life versus death. Are they myths, are they narratives, are they metanarratives, or are they integral to the collective subconscious? And, informed by the answer to that question, how does one of them (in this case that of life versus death) overcome another (in this case those of good versus evil and order versus chaos)? All three of them are dualistic. Is a dualistic myth (or narrative or metanarrative or collective unconscious) either necessary or desirable?
Dear Rob,
Dualistic mythology is not desireable, but it’s a fact of the way the majority of people frame reality. I sense that life/death could be more compelling than order/chaos, though they’re closely linked; this is purely a strategic consideration. I’m not sure what category to put these ‘myths’ in, but it doesn’t matter much for this purpose.
Thanks,
MN
Why I feel it matters is that if it’s hard-wired into the collective unconscious then we’re going to have to live with it. If it’s metanarrative then we can deconstruct it. If it’s one of a range of myths or narratives then they constitute a field of competition for the framing of people’s realities. What do you think, Michael?
I’m sure it’s not ‘hardwired’ in the sense that we’re stuck with it. If there is neuroplasticity even on the physical level, we can change anything on the cultural level.
The attractive thing about the myth of good vs. evil is that it allows us to externalize evil; everyone gets to imagine themselves as good and see evil as something “out there” that someone else does (or is), which gives us a pretty powerful motivation to hold on to the myth. It might be interesting to look at individuals who have let go of that myth in favor of embracing the life/death narrative and ask them what enabled them to make that leap. What does the life/death narrative give us that makes it compelling enough for us to accept it even at the expense of admitting our own culpability?
I am guessing it might have something to do with the some of the ideas that you’ve often been speaking about, Michael, that the personal sense of meaning found in one’s own struggle to for positive (life) forces within oneself to prevail over the destructive (death) forces within oneself is ultimately “a higher happiness” then denying and projecting those negative forces. Still, a question would be why do some people make that leap and not others. What are your thoughts?
That’s very helpful, Erika, and I look forward to Michael’s response. Your observations suggest an interesting research question.