Nonviolence As I See It Now

The first week of August this month marks the 75^th anniversary commemorating the dropping of the atomic bombs in Japan at the end of World War II.  It is a solemn annual event marking Japan’s loss of life, and honoring Japan’s Hibakusha, its now elderly atomic blast survivors.  After the war, many Hibakusha went on to become lifelong peace and justice activists, working to teach the next generations of the horrors of nuclear warfare, and to rid the world of the planetary scale of violence of nuclear weapons.  Many other Hibakusha went on silently to lead normal lives, keeping secret their survivor’s guilt, carrying their wounds and memories quietly into the grave.  Most remaining survivors are now in their 80s, and many more pass away each year, which renders more poignant and urgent the obligation of the rest of humanity worldwide to take up their mission for global peace and unity.

In 2010, I was fortunate enough to be in Hiroshima, Japan.  I had traveled there with colleagues and a group of American students taking a cross listed course in Peace and Conflict Studies/Asia Studies.  We had to rise in the wee hours to commute to Hiroshima’s Peace Memorial Park, and be seated in time for the annual August 6 Commemorative Event, which begins at 8:15 a.m., marking the precise moment the atomic blast vaporized much of the city of Hiroshima and most of its residents:  most were unarmed civilians:  women, men, children, the elderly.  I have had few ‘life changing’ experiences, but this was one of them.  I was stunned to see that we seemed to be among the very few Americans there, despite the historic moment of it being the first time a U.S. diplomat would be attending the event.  A few Japanese people approached me, thanking me—someone from the nation that so irrevocably harmed them—for being there.   It was humbling to experience this event from the perspective of the vanquished ‘enemy’ our American history books portrayed the Japanese to be. 

Thanks to my whirlwind bundle-of-energy colleague, Dr. Akiko Jones, who puts her nonviolent mojo into her award-winning Japanese language teaching and our local Cherry Blossom Festival, I have had the honor to become acquainted with one of the Hibakusha, Dr./Ms. Hiroko Nakamoto.  As a little girl, Sensei Nakamoto survived the blast that fateful day.  She went on to recover from her physical wounds, and to have a successful professional career, all while transforming her trauma into advocacy and supporting programs and institutions of learning that teach peace.  Sensei worked her peace magic in Japan, and in the U.S., including here in Ohio.  She used her own financial resources, moxy, and persistence to build a new peace park commemorative zone along the riverbank by Hiroshima’s train station.  Her life’s peace work demonstrates that nonviolence involves patience, hard work, and an unbounded love of all life.  Beyond being brilliant, as an octogenarian, she is one of the most fun, delightful, young-at-heart people I have ever met, with a mischievous sense of humor. She taught me that a life of nonviolence is the fountain of youth. 

I have been studying and teaching about the peacebuilding Communication practices of diverse leaders and nonviolent activists for some 25 years now.  As a grad student I flew from State College, Pennsylvania to San Francisco, California to see and hear the Dalai Lama in person—along with many other renowned nonviolent leaders at a major Peace conference.  I also attended lectures on nonviolence by luminaries such as Myrlie Evers Williams, widow of Civil Rights leader Medgar Evers (who was murdered in his own driveway in front of his children), and a bona fide activist in her own right.   She had no rancor, only a steely reserve, an unshakable dignity, and an aura of steadfastness, as she discussed the work that faced nonviolent activism in some 15 years before Black Lives Matter movement reinvigorated America’s conversation about our checkered history of aspiring for all “to be created equal” but falling far short of that ideal in reality.  I attended other keynote addresses by nonviolent leaders and thinkers who view themselves as citizens of the world, like Mahatma Gandhi’s grandson, Arun Gandhi. I had the good fortune to hear author/activist Arundati Roy speak of the growing need to address systemic violences of globalization’s rapacious greed, crushing poor people, wildlife and natural world ecosystems in its path.  When I lived in Alabama, I got to see and hear in person Congressman John Lewis, the Civil Rights icon, who came to speak at Troy University where I worked in 2006-07, and where Lewis recounted with mirthful irony, his college application in 1957 had been rejected due to segregation.   Nonviolent leaders usually have a good sense of humor.  Or, as Archbishop Desmond Tutu puts it, “Love your enemy, it will ruin his reputation.”

These nonviolent leaders’ collective teachings convey that righteous anger is a good first step toward, as Nelson Mandela aptly called it, ‘The Long Walk to Freedom.’  Anger is a useful energy, if channeled carefully, to shift into action peacebuilders ranging from community organizers, students of peace and conflict studies, to citizens or protesters in the streets.  But anger does not sustain the hard, grueling, lifelong labor needed to work for equity, for peace with justice.  The next steps in that long walk involve networking, organizing, and not giving up.  As any of the Nobel Peace Prize winners would say, each in her or his own way, nonviolence means sitting down and talking or negotiating with one’s adversaries, as fellow human beings.  “Your enemy is your greatest teacher,” says the Dalai Lama.  Experiencing nonviolence directly through the readings, writings, orations and leadership of such luminaries has given me inspiration and fortitude to keep moving forward, step by step, in my own small way, in my own life and work.  So here I am, writing this reflection on nonviolence and its meaning to me now in this time of fearsome pandemic and brave citizen-driven calls for changing how our nation and world understands, and behaves to curb, systemic racism.

From nonviolent leaders what I have learned, and what I know about nonviolence now, is this:  there isn’t a specific way for any one person to take on an issue that will make the world a more peaceful, justice-filled, or equitable place.  There is no prescribed path for anyone among us to take up the Hibakushas’ mantle to advocate for the United Nations’ passage of the Treaty on the Prohibition of Nuclear Weapons:  globally, there are about 13,000 nukes, unimaginably far more destructive than those the U.S. used to destroy Hiroshima and Nagasaki.  Taking actions for nonviolence, justice, and peacebuilding can be as small as planting a tree in one’s yard or in a park, as Nobel Peace laureate Wangari Maathai showed millions how to do worldwide.  Actions may be as weighty as pursuing a career in global diplomacy or, as the tiny nation of Bhutan has demonstrated, creating a new and different (non-economic; pro-sentient beings) metric to measure modern life or success:  Gross National Happiness (GNH).  Whatever nonviolent thought or action you try, however small or big, it’s ok.  Nonviolence takes time, it will be waiting for you.

Author makes the peace sign at Miyajima Gate, Japan, in 2010.

About the Author: 

Ellen W. Gorsevski (Ph.D., Pennsylvania State University) is Associate Professor in the School of Media and Communication (SMC), and Affiliated Faculty in American Culture Studies (ACS), Peace and Conflict Studies (PACS), and Women's, Gender, & Sexuality Studies Program (WGSS) at Bowling Green State University (BGSU). Dr. Gorsevski’s research focuses on contemporary rhetoric of peacebuilding, social justice and environmental justice movements. Research interests include environmental rhetoric and critical animal studies, international/intercultural rhetoric, political rhetoric, social movement rhetoric, media criticism, and nonviolent communication. Her sole authored books include: Dangerous Women: The Rhetoric of the Women Nobel Peace Laureates (Communication and Social Justice series of Troubador Publishing, 2014) and Peaceful Persuasion:  The Geopolitics of Nonviolent Rhetoric (SUNY Press, 2004).  She has published in journals such as Journal of Multicultural Discourses; Quarterly Journal of Speech; Western Journal of Communication; and Environmental Communication.  She serves on the Steering Committee of the Ashland Center for Nonviolence.

Reflections on a Habit of Forgiveness

Nothing defines the human ordeal more than failure. History shows its clientele very little in the realm of certainty, but the theme which reverberates consistently from Constantinople to Coronavirus is that of painful failure. What sets a respectable few people apart in this long train of abuses is the recurrence of determination and forgiveness. The nonviolence movement boasts a roster of persistent, obstinate, diverse men and women; yet, we also admire them for their incredible penchant for forgiving their most bitter rivals. 

One of the most common and overlooked sins in this world is the bitter grudge. The tendency of man to seek revenge for the most trivial of insults is the spark of inestimable amounts of war, persecution, and abuse. Of course, forgiveness takes time, and social injustice leaves permanent scars. I suspect that my readers will think as I am of recent occurrences of police brutality and racial prejudice in law and order and find it practically impossible to feel forgiveness at this time. It has been years since the attacks of September 11, 2001 and few Americans, even those who believe that God teaches to forgive those who trespass against us, would say they have forgiven al-Qaeda. Even though I was too young to remember the events of that day as they happened, I struggle to give up my pride and disgust and trust the matter to God’s final justice.

With this understanding of how difficult it is to forgive, I must point out that forgiveness is more of a continual undertaking than it is an instantaneous decision. Aristotle describes virtuosity as a habit; it is a muscle to be exercised and strengthened rather than a piece of clear truth which provides immediate enlightenment. This definition firmly fits how forgiveness works in this world of hate. Whether you are called to action by a reasoned choice to care about the reconciliation process or you put your faith in the teachings of a religious and moral leader such as Jesus Christ, I implore you to remain patient with those in your life who have wronged you. Do not dissociate from society because you think your neighbor is racist or backward. Nonviolence is not passivity; there has been incredible struggle throughout the history of the movement, but struggle need not turn to violence. Civil rights leaders past and present enter the haziest parts of the fray in their attempts to . It can be lonely on the moral high ground when the majority of a society has not made the climb yet. This is a time to strengthen that muscle of virtue instead of letting its power wane in obscurity. Love of neighbor does little good from the comfort of a couch. 

While every circumstance requires a different hand, I believe that some rare pieces of history can provide anyone with an open ear the same amount of wisdom regardless of background and dogma. Chief among these historical sources are the writings of America’s Founders along with the texts of holy books such as the Torah, the Bible, the Koran, or the Tripitaka. The great American statesman John Adams wrote to Thomas Jefferson on 28 June, 1813 to discuss the principles of the burgeoning United States. In this letter, the American Founders’ ideas collide with ideas in religious text to articulate a point I find absolutely crucial. As a man with Unitarian and Deist leanings in his later years, Adams differed from many Americans of his time because of the doubt he held about the core theology of the Christian faith. In his letter, he describes the amazing diversity in religious conscience throughout America. He recognizes the presence even in those days of the “Deists and Atheists; and “Protestans qui ne croyent rien” [Protestants who have faith in nothing]... [n]ever the less all Educated in the general Principles of Christianity: and the general Principles of English and American Liberty.” Acknowledging the religious diversity of the founding generation while highlighting the common heritage of thought they shared promotes the same message I have tried to emphasize in this piece. America is not facing some unheard of challenge today. From her conception she has had an overwhelming amount of disagreement within her population. I admire the nonviolence movement for its history of fostering understanding between faiths, parties, and racial/cultural groups. Whether you are reading this as a Christian, Muslim, Jew, Atheist, or Agnostic: choose a story of forgiveness and love to think of, and reflect on the following words from Romans 12:14-21.

Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse. Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn. Live in harmony with one another. Do not be proud, but be willing to associate with people of low position. Do not be conceited. 

Do not repay anyone evil for evil. Be careful to do what is right in the eyes of everyone. If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone. Do not take revenge, my dear friends, but leave room for God’s wrath, for it is written: “It is mine to avenge; I will repay,” says the Lord. On the contrary: 

“If your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him something to drink. In 

doing this, you will heap burning coals on his head.”

Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.

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Konrad Hodgman is an ACN Peace Scholar and currently sits on the ACN Steering Committee. He is a Junior at Ashland University majoring in International Political Studies, Political Science, and History with a minor in Ethics.

Nonviolence for Positive Change

"What does nonviolence mean to you at a time like this?”

In a word: everything.

Nonviolence is the practical representation of my love and respect for humanity given my deep concern with current conditions.

I write a lot, in my efforts to promote peace and justice I’ve written nearly 100 op-eds (syndicated by PeaceVoice here) since Donald Trump was elected. Thinking about peace, caring about peace, and declaring fidelity to causes of justice are good, but nonviolence is the strategic avenue for acting on these promises and upholding my values.

It is challenging and deeply personal.

On May 30^th, 2020 I joined thousands of protesters at the “Free Stamp” (a sculpture, of a stamp, emblazoned with the word “Free”) in downtown Cleveland. We were assembled to express support for Black Lives and to join the chorus decrying the suffering we experienced in witnessing the murder of George Floyd. We marched and chanted.

On May 30^th, I was also attacked—by my own government—with chemical weapons. Without warning, or an order to disperse, the Cleveland Police Department attacked civilians with chemical munitions (including teargas). [In recent weeks I have issued my complaint and provided evidence regarding this violation, I trust positive changes will be made.]

On the drive home I felt these tears inside me. I have taught nonviolence for over a decade; it was the late 90s when I last threw a punch. I’m committed to nonviolence for personal, practical, and spiritual reasons (as imperfect as I am) and I cannot recall a time I felt stronger retributive and vengeful desires. By the time I arrived home I had processed my feelings, the lingering chemical residue lingered in my nostrils for another couple days…

I do not mean to be gratuitous, but without training in nonviolence I know anger would get the best of me. I would have responded to the escalatory violence of the militarized police department in kind. I would degrade the messages for peace and justice by becoming an example used to twist reality and justify the violence to begin with. The psychological responses in fight, flight, and flee have required me to work. Whatever toxic masculinity I unintentionally absorbed no longer causes me to lash out, but it was dramatically present that day.

I have learned: whatever the problem, violence is never the solution.

I worry.

Scholarship on peace and conflict presents serious concerns for potential political violence with the upcoming election, regardless of who wins. This trend precedes, but has been exaggerated by, Trump’s presidency. The bipartisan Freedom House organization now ranks the US 52^nd in the world in “Global Freedom.” Our democratic norms and practices have been eroded; contested results in our upcoming election, use of the military to suppress protests and public gatherings, executive orders and other abuses, and disrespect to the democratic transfer of power, could result in civil war (already threatened) or other mass violence.

History and expertise present great need for a force more powerful, like the nonviolence used to oust Slobodan Milosevic in his efforts to steal an election. Given the threats already present all Americans should be prepared to engage in mass nonviolent civil resistance, if necessary.

I absolutely hope that the threats do not manifest. I hope that cool heads prevail and that current indicators and threats are exaggerated representations of real, but inflated, political divides. But it is good practice for everyone to be prepared; nonviolence is the only tool that can defend the country and the vote should we experience attacks against our democratic institutions or political violence surface this fall.

Whether or not our country ends up in need of saving, it is already in clear need of healing. Nonviolence is the strategic mechanism for applying pressure to deliver positive change. The largest and most persistent movements opposing police brutality are happening, people are resisting oppression, and needed positive change is on the horizon. This can only be achieved with a continued commitment to nonviolence.

When I love my neighbors and take the time understand their concerns, I give us the chance to collaboratively problem solve and build community. I respect their humanity, sometimes we will disagree, but we all deserve our rights, safety, and security. Nonviolence is the only protection of personhood, any other coercive or destructive force is part of the problem, and currently it is all at stake.

Wim Laven, Ph.D, an instructor of peace studies, political science, and conflict resolution, does research on forgiveness and reconciliation. He serves on the executive boards of the International Peace Research Association and its North American affiliate the Peace and Justice Studies Association. He is also a member of the ACN Steering Committee. Wim is a writer with numerous pieces syndicated by Peace Voice and he also works on the editorial team for the Peace Chronicle magazine. His experiences in the field range from mediating disputes in small claims court to interventions during complex humanitarian disasters.

A Wonder Woman State of Mind

                                          


“Now I know that only love can truly save the world. So I stay, I fight, and I give, for the world I know can be.” --Diana (Wonder Woman), Wonder Woman movie

Has my fascination and admiration of this Wonderful superhero gone so far as to permeate into a blog post meant to highlight my current thoughts of peace and nonviolence? While the obvious answer is a definite “yes,” I do not believe that it is something to be frowned upon, and I write today to share with you why that is.

Each day I realize more and more that the world we are currently living in is an odd mix of uncertainty, ignorance, disregard for human life, and positive, progressive, and compelling change. A global pandemic has not only amassed great uncertainty on multiple fronts, but also has unearthed and exposed blatant ignorance and disregard for human life that exists in so many individuals. By this I am referring to those who consistently refuse to wear a mask, commit themselves to haphazard arguments that attempt to negate science, and do not believe that COVID-19 poses a very real and dangerous threat. On a more optimistic note, immense change is occurring, and by this I am referring to the rising consciousness of the blatant racism that for centuries has poisoned our system, jeopardized and taken the lives of people of color, and crumbled our societal well being.

So what does Wonder Woman have to do with this, anyway? Well, it should be noted that my favorite superhero of all time has faced plenty of evil villains in her comic and cinema lifetimes. Even though Wonder Woman is generally involved in head-to-head conflicts with a singular super-villain, that evil individual is often a representation of multiple flaws within the world with questionable, yet intriguing motives and objectives. One might even say that they’re an “odd mix,” a living contradiction.

Now, more than ever, a Wonder Woman state of mind is essential. We will always live in a world that is an “odd mix” of things, where ideals that contradict each other seem to somehow coexist. What’s important is that we prioritize and fight (like Wonder Woman), for the hopeful and joyful components of that mix, for instance, progress towards peace and equality. After all, “only love can truly save the world.”

So I implore you: stay, fight, and give.

Tyler Easton is a Junior Peace Scholar at Ashland University majoring in Spanish and International Business with a minor in Ethics. He is a member of the ACN Steering Committee and the leader of the ACN mentoring program at Taft Intermediate School. 

Nonviolent Communication and Compassionate Confrontation

  “Never put your ‘but’ in the face of an angry person”  --Marshall Rosenberg 

These certainly are polarized, politically charged, turbulent times in our society.  A myriad of issues--including systemic racism, police brutality and economic inequality--call for our attention.   And, in the midst of this, we all have family members or friends who see the world differently and act in ways that we judge to be unjust, violent or harmful.  How is it possible to relate to those whom we deem to be “on the other side?”

Principles developed by Marshall Rosenberg and implemented through an organization that he founded, the Center for Nonviolent Communication (cnvc.org), have been helpful to me when considering these issues.  For those who aren’t familiar with Rosenberg’s work, a good place to start would be Nonviolent Communication: A Language of Life (Third edition, 2015) or Speak Peace in a World of Conflict: What You Say Next Will Change Your World (2005).  While I am somewhat of a newcomer to the approach outlined below, the basic ideas resonate with teachings from the great world religious traditions that I have studied and taught for the past three decades.

What are the components of the nonviolent communication (NVC) process that can help us relate to others with whom we disagree and, even more, diffuse (and perhaps even transform) personal and social conflict?  The process begins, first of all, with a nonjudgmental observation of another person’s behavior or the situation in which we find ourselves.   Simply speak what we see without evaluation or criticism. This is admittedly tricky since most of us tend to offer value judgments before we realize we are doing it.  Secondly, we discern the feelings that arise within us based on our observations. Do we feel hurt or frightened or frustrated or angry?  Here we should allow emotions to arise without using what have been described as “victim verbs” that blame others.  If someone makes a racially insensitive comment or launches a personal attack upon us we should identify how it makes us feel and try to understand our needs before moving toward thoughts such as “you are a racist” or even “you make me angry.” The behavior of others may be a stimulus for our feelings but they are not the cause.  Thirdly, we ask what are the needs, values or desires connected with feelings we have identified.  Most of us have a difficult time separating feelings from needs.  When our needs are not being met, we often find fault in others rather than taking responsibility for ourselves.  Finally, we can move to making requests of others (rather than demands).  Requests should be framed in direct, positive ways:  concrete actions that others can undertake rather than vague, ambiguous comments that leave people wondering what we are wanting.  Underlying all of this is the need for empathy. Listen for the hurt and pain in others and, as Rosenberg puts it, “appreciate the humanness in those who speak or act inhumanely.”

This brings us to the amusing quote with which I began these reflections.  When faced with someone who is angry, disgruntled or opposed to our viewpoints, our first response is often to confront them by saying, “But…” followed by a series of arguments or some expression of defensiveness.  Perhaps instead we could pause, take a breath and try to understand their feelings and needs.  We can look for something in their humanity with which we connect.  Then we can make reasonable, clearly stated requests in keeping with our value system.   Of course this may not be possible in every situation, especially when tensions are heightened. Nevertheless, as Arun Gandhi has written in the forward to Rosenberg’s book, it can be a “significant first step toward changing our communication and creating a compassionate world.”      

David Aune is the current chair of the Religion department at Ashland University and a founding member of the Ashland Center for Nonviolence

Thinking About White Privilege "In the Moment"

As Robin DiAngelo writes in White Fragility, if you talk about the “good old days,” you are white. The old days have not been so good for others.

I have been thinking a lot about white privilege since the death of George Floyd and the continuing protests against systemic racism in this country. Thinking about white privilege is not an easy task for white people. For many, hearing someone utter the term “white privilege” touches off such emotional resistance that nothing else said in that context can be heard. It is appropriate to start with a definition. Simply put, our society functions in a way that has allowed most of us white people to move through our daily lives quite nicely without thinking about race, while the institutional patterns of our society operate to the disadvantage of people of color. When whites do think about race, we intentionally or unintentionally hold ourselves as the standard by which other races are measured and usually fall short, except for exotic realms such as music, food, and presumed athleticism or sexual prowess.

White people have been living in the cozy milieu of white privilege all our lives, and as my daughter put it (quoting from some source), “Fish do not feel the water.” Another way to characterize our comfort with the only system we white people know is Tim Wise’s statement, “We are born to belonging” (White Like Me). When I walk into a shop, I never give a thought as to whether I am welcome or viewed with suspicion. Whenever I was interviewed for a job, it was always by a person of my own race. When I was stopped by a police officer, I was treated with the utmost courtesy. I could go for days, months, and years and never think about how my race affected my relationships and my life chances.

Having white privilege pointed out to white people typically brings a defensive response, usually something like,

1. “Anyone can make it in America if they work hard.”

2. “There are bad actors and sometimes a bad break, but there is no system of discrimination.”

3. “I did not create this system and am not responsible for it.”

4. “It is too widespread. I personally try not to take advantage, but I can’t do anything about it.”

5. “It may have been true in the past, but it has been remedied by civil rights legislation like Affirmative Action that tips the balance the other way now.”

Defensiveness and discomfort are understandable. Those of us who feel we personally are accepting, inclusive, and fair-minded do not like to face the fact that we have benefited from a system that gave us advantages by holding others down. Simply put, discussing race and privilege makes us feel we might not be as good and decent as we thought we were.

Adults attending a recent Trump rally with their children said they told the children that they do not see color, color does not matter, so the protesters are just troublemakers who do not like the president and THEY are the racists for making a big deal of color. Interesting, that idea of not seeing color. Many liberal white people say too: We are colorblind. Race makes no difference to us. However, we do see color—all of us do. We shut our eyes to the consequences of color, says Tim Wise, and that is far different and more sinister than not seeing color.

Is there a fear that giving up privilege and advantage will mean something will be taken away from whites? Our own personal privileged position in society may be a matter of luck (being born with white skin), but is it not scary and unfair to have to give it up? What exactly would we be giving up if all people were truly equal? Economists and other social observers tell us we would have a stronger economy and society if we had greater equality. Eugene Robinson, syndicated columnist, wrote, “What makes this moment of upheaval and protest different is that so many white Americans see how racism is a ball and chain that holds all of us back — and see what a braver, fairer, stronger nation we can be if we confront our original sin with honesty and determination” (appeared in Ashland Times-Gazette 7/1/20).

That sounds optimistic! I need to look into this a little more. I will let readers know what I find.

Dorothy Stratton is Professor Emerita of Social Work, having taught for 28 years at Ashland University. She is one of the founders of the Ashland Center for Nonviolence.

Persistence, Diligence, and Vigilance in Advancing Social Justice

"I can't believe I'm 66 and still protesting this shit.”

That resonates. I am 66. I recall taking part in civil rights rallies in the early 1970s, during school desegregation in Boston when white supremacists threw rocks at buses carrying Black school children. Forty-seven years later, I am taking part in marches and unity rallies protesting those same racist attitudes. And in 2020, institutional racism is being enabled, even encouraged by a United States President who seems to admire global autocrats more than democratic leaders. 

That slogan also expresses frustration but at the same time an urgent reminder that persistence, diligence, and vigilance is needed when tracking society’s injustices and inequality. Black Lives Matter exemplifies that. Formed in 2013 as a response to the acquittal of Trayvon Martin’s killer, BLM has finally and rightfully achieved global center-stage, a position from which to aim the spotlight on ongoing institutional and societal racism. From stopping persons of color for a traffic check for no apparent reason (other than their skin color) to killing George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, and many others, we have seen many incidents of racism in law enforcement.

Toni Morrison has said: “In this country American means white. Everybody else has to hyphenate.” She is referring not to the hyphens, for example, in African-American, Asian-American, and Native-American (terms of empowerment) but rather the hyphen in “non-white”, which implies that being other than a white person is, in a sense, “only” a negation of whiteness, not really quite a full citizen.

Historically, this is poignantly illustrated in the cases of Black soldiers who fought to end slavery in the civil war, the Tuskegee Airmen in WWII fighting fascism in Europe, and Black soldiers in Vietnam, fighting to (presumably) stop Cold War Communism in Southeast Asia. In Spike Lee’s most recent movie, “Da Five Bloods,” one of the 5 Black Vietnam War Veterans featured in the film, says “we fought a war to protect rights we didn't even have." He speaks for not only all Black soldiers in all wars but also for all other “hyphenated” Americans asking only for justice in equal rights and fair play.

Those Black soldiers, like all persons of color, were subject to Jim Crow laws when they returned to their lives in the United States. Those laws, a most blatant form of institutionalized racism, were in place from 1876 to 1965. They included laws like segregated public transportation, separate drinking fountains and restaurants, but they also outlawed “miscegenation,” or mixed-race marriage. Consider the irony of that term. The prefix “mis” is understood as a negation; for example, “misapplied” means to apply wrongly or mistakenly. But “mis,” further back etymologically means “to mix” so miscegenation decays from “mixed genes” to “mistakenly (mixed) genes.” Institutional racism embedded in the language of the law.

As to the question: “What does Nonviolence mean now?” Let us examine the term “nonviolence.” I suspect many people think of nonviolence in its hyphenated form: “non-violence.” Like the term “non-white” that elevates “white” to a higher position, “non-violence” subtly elevates violence. In contrast, “nonviolence” reflects a basic foundation and holistic meaning, an attitude and way of being. The term “violence” refers to a “violation of peace.” May we persistently, diligently, and vigilantly proceed towards peace through nonviolence. Perhaps then we can aspire to the place where we all have unequivocal faith in a nation which affirms that, regardless of race, color, or creed, every person deserves the title of “American.” Maybe then, to paraphrase Toni Morrison, we can all “surrender to the air and together ride the wind.”

Allan Andersen is a former English Literature Instructor at the University of Colorado. He is currently a small business owner in Ashland, OH and has been a member of the ACN Steering Committee for the past 6 years.

What Does Nonviolence Mean Now?

In a well-known passage from Minima Moralia, Theodor Adorno writes that “The only philosophy which can be responsibly practiced in the face of despair is the attempt to contemplate all things as they would present themselves from the standpoint of redemption.” To Adorno, the light shed on things by redemption—seeing things not only as if they were capable of being redeemed, but also seeing them as though they are already on the way, if not already redeemed—is a perspective he calls “messianic.” 

I have found it difficult to know how to process so much of what American society has been going through since the murder of George Floyd on May 25. Reflecting on the nature of nonviolence has been on my mind as I have responded in other, more concrete ways. When I marched in a peaceful protest with fellow citizens of Ashland under the leadership of an Ashland University student, for example, I wondered about what makes a protest peaceful. Is it just that we were lucky enough that violence didn’t break out? I think there’s more to it than that. Nonviolence, which is a spirit more than a description of events, is “messianic” in Arorno’s sense: it names the discipline of striving to see reality as it currently does not appear to be, but that it will be one day. It doesn’t redeem reality; it lives as though reality will be or has already been redeemed. 

I am aware that this perspective can sound like the last thing we need right now. Doesn’t it counsel escape from reality, an especially dangerous impulse at a time when we especially need a heightened commitment to the unvarnished truth about injustice? This is indeed a very real risk if things aren’t really being redeemed. (And here I disagree with Adorno who adds that “the question of the reality or unreality of redemption itself hardly matters.” I think it matters quite a lot.) 

Early on, our organization was counseled to avoid spelling the word “nonviolence” with a hyphen; we needed to keep from defining nonviolence negatively. It’s much easier to get people to agree that we should oppose many forms of violence. When we go to take the next step, though, we lose some people. Is there a peace that is deeper than our opposition to violence? If there is, what happens if we begin to live as though that deeper reality were truly real? 

Keon, the student leader of our local protests, often engages passing drivers by shouting, “We love you unconditionally!” Opponents and allies alike are included in this unconditional love, an element in our protest that I would say makes it truly a peaceful protest.

This is an experiment with truth—the truth that love is the foundation of all things. It would be very foolish to try to live as though that were true if it isn’t. But this is why nonviolence must be dared. Gandhi, of course, was committed to experimenting in this way. One commentator summarized Gandhi’s philosophy like this: “My adversary is part of my truth-finding process.” To Gandhi, peace names an openness to correction, supremely to being shown how what we thought was peace isn’t true peace. 

I consider this openness to be another step on the path of nonviolence. My own self-perception is one of the things that must be cast in the light of redemption. Resignation sees my adversary as an obstacle to be suffered; violence sees him as an opponent to be dispatched. But my neighbor is sometimes my enemy whom I must trust is crucial to my encounter with a truth I might never know apart from him.

I hasten to add that none of this makes my enemy “good,” except in the sense that he and I are both children of our creator who only creates good things. Furthermore, the point isn’t that my adversary is always or ever right. It is that my adversary is there to be reckoned with: sometimes to be listened to, sometimes to be corrected, sometimes to be opposed, and always to be loved. Nonviolence requires that I refuse to overpower the truth. In a very practical way, this means that I need adversaries because my friends might be tempted by the same tendency toward self-deception that I have. 

This, to me, is the heart of peace: believing that all things can be redeemed and are being redeemed. And living like that is the truth.

Craig Hovey is executive director of the Ashland Center for Nonviolence

A Presidential Sacrilege

The events of the past few weeks have unmasked the quick recourse to violence that infuses the American psyche. The national bent toward violence as a means of dealing with difference and dissent has now been set in sharp relief by a presidential threat of violence, followed by an exertion of violence. In short order, the President declared that he would use the military to dominate the streets, in order to restore law and order, and then followed a path cleared by the forceful dispersal of protestors from St. John’s Episcopal Church – so that he could be photographed holding up a Bible in front of it. Although Mr. Trump said nothing, the crude message of the photo was unmistakable: “The violence that I threaten and exert is sanctioned by Christianity’s sacred text and by the God it speaks of.”

Step back and let this sink in. Our country’s head of state and his security forces drove protesters from the grounds of a church and then occupied that space briefly for the purpose of political gain, without consulting or informing the religious personnel who had authority over that space – as if he exercised as much authority in sacred space as he does in the secular sphere.

The Founders were keenly sensitive to the tyrannical practices of the European monarchs, who utilized religious institutions as tools of the state and used force to suppress religious dissenters (like the Pilgrims). That is why they placed limitations on the Executive Branch and why Jefferson argued for a wall of separation between the Church and the State. Presidents do not have the right to enter sacred space as if they have carte blanche to use it as they see fit. By overriding those who steward sacred space, such executives imply that they are above divine authority. This is the essence of arrogant tyranny. It is sacrilegious, as it profanes sacred space (that is, does not give due reverence). And it is blasphemous, when sacred objects and symbols, like the Bible, are blatantly used for political ends. Every citizen ought to be alarmed. A leader of state who believes he owes no reverence to the sacred – whether or not he is a religious adherent – is capable of doing anything.

The Founders also worried over a standing army, which many believed could be used by the President against his own people – as was the practice of European tyrants. They believed, rather, that a citizen militia would provide an adequate defense and, for this reason maintained a minuscule regular force that garrisoned only a few forts and outposts during the early years of the Republic. Mr. Trump’s threat to utilize the military against U.S. citizens therefore steps into deeply troubling waters.

Mr. Trump is the kind of tyrannical president the Founders tried to protect democracy from. It remains to be seen whether the Constitution they bequeathed to us will enable our democracy to overcome it.

Daniel Hawk is Professor of Old Testament and Hebrew at Ashland Theological Seminary, an ordained minister in the United Methodist Church, and a member of the ACN Steering Committee.