Just as looting and arson have marred ongoing protests in the US by Black Lives Matter, following the killing by police of George Floyd, a similar story unfurled in anti-racism protests in the UK over the weekend. In London, 49 police officers were injured (numbers for protester injuries have not been forthcoming so far), including the hospitalisation of a policewoman after her horse was attacked, and a statue of Winston Churchill was defaced with accusations of racism less than a month after VE Day. In Bristol, a statue of the slave trader and city benefactor, Edward Colston, was pulled down and thrown in the River Avon.
As usual, reaction to the protests has been split down ideological lines. The right has condemned the violence, with UK Home Secretary, Priti Patel, describing the vandals as 'thugs' who would 'face justice'. The Prime Minister, Boris Johnson, directly condemned the tearing down of the Colston statue as a criminal act. The left has been more equivocal, with the Guardian focusing on the protest's anti-racist message and largely ignoring the defacement of the Churchill statue in their extensive reporting. Meanwhile, the BBC has been criticised for downplaying the violence and cropping a protestor wielding a weapon out of photos. Whatever one's stance on the issue, an important question remains unanswered: is there a point at which violence and vandalism become ethically acceptable?
The right to protest is fundamental to a free society. Being free to voice one's displeasure to your political leaders is an inviolable part of the social contract between a citizen and his State. A social contract has responsibilities in the other direction as well, though: in taking up that freedom of assembly and protest, safe from State reprisals, it is incumbent on all participants to ensure the rights and safety of those not participating in the protest.
There have been instances throughout history, though, where violent action and destruction have been accepted as an ethical response to State oppression. When the State does not fulfill its end of the social contract, one could argue that the citizen is no longer obligated to do the same. It would be difficult to argue that Nelson Mandela's armed resistance to the South African State was not justified by apartheid, for instance. Equally, the French Resistance in Occupied Germany comprised some of the bravest fighters of the Second World War.
More controversial examples exist, however. Feminists have long lauded the Suffragettes for their violent campaign (including detonating bombs in churches and banks, attempting to burn down packed theatres, etc.) while attempting to win the vote for women. Whether these efforts were counter-productive or justified by the level of oppression women endured at the time remains a point of debate. The right and left make similar arguments when it comes to the present day BLM protests. The right question the degree to which black Americans can claim unique mistreatment by police. In response, the left point to many instances of excessive police violence during these protests as proof of the need for major reform or even defunding or abolition.
It is tempting to argue for proportionality. If protests can be interpreted as an abstract form of self-defence by the citizenry, the case could be made that, as when defending one's person, violence should only be used to the degree that violence has been received. Where the actions of the State put the lives of its citizens at risk, perhaps then it is ethically acceptable for citizens to use violence to protect themselves. Where the State only acts in a manner indirectly harmful to its citizens - the way Remainers see the loss of EU privileges in Brexit, for instance - protests might be vociferous, but should always remain peaceful.
This interpretation also runs into problems. Black Americans point to the killing of George Floyd and others are examples of police departments representing a direct threat to their lives*. Conservative commentators often cite their own interpretation of the statistics in disagreement. Once again, a collision of subjectivity and ideology renders a search for ethical lines impossible, turning the question from being about values and truth to becoming a circular, self-reinforcing argument where the end goal is winning rather than achieving anything practical.
*It must be noted that the US branch of Black Lives Matter has condemned the violence on its protests.
*It must be noted that the US branch of Black Lives Matter has condemned the violence on its protests.
It is also not the case that oppression always lines up with violence. Being relegated to a second-class citizen in one's own country might not necessarily mean a person is in constant danger of being killed or subject to severe physical harm, but the suffering could nevertheless be enough to justify violent reprisals.
Arguments in favour of the Bristol protestors' pulling down of the Edward Colston statue fall into this camp. Interviewees who participated in the statue's removal have stated that its presence represented to them the veneration of a man whose fortune was built in large part on extensive slave trading. That he financed the construction of hospitals, schools and churches throughout the city was, to them, only a reminder of how the city they lived in was built on the suffering and deaths of their continental ancestors.
By tearing down an already controversial statue - a 2014 poll from the city suggested 56% were in favour of the statue remaining and 44% wanted it removed (in an 84% ethnically white city) - the protestors were in their minds removing a source of mental anguish for black Bristolians. The city mayor, Marvin Rees, has suggested the statue could be retrieved from the river and placed in a museum.
There are numerous reasons why this line of argument strains for credibility. The slave trade was a significant part of the development of civilisations across the globe. To remove or destroy all objects and institutions which advocated or benefited from it would leave few behind, becoming an endless struggle ultimately serving no other reason than the struggle itself. Even The Guardian once argued in slavery's favour. Indeed, it is to the Guardian's credit that it has preserved that part of its history for modern readers to better understand how slavery was justified at the time.
Putting aside whether the Colston statue represents a celebration of his slave-trading or his contribution to the development of Bristol (linked, yes, but by no means the same thing), shuffling away difficult historical figures into museum corners and textbooks endorses an ethically absolutist view of history. It reduces our ability to understand the complexity of a world where institutions and actions now viewed as reprehensible could have positive outcomes in the long run, in the form of the free and open societies we now benefit from (including the right to protest), and how practices once neutrally accepted or viewed as beneficial can be seen in a very different light further down the line.
It is a stark warning against viewing oneself as morally unimpeachable and 'on the right side of history'. Human beings are complex moral actors. No matter how right we feel, we can never be sure how we will be judged by those who follow us - and perhaps, even further down the line, that judgment will be revised again. This is not to argue in favour of any form of moral nihilism, but that the reduction of history into shallow categories of 'good' and 'bad' in turn reduces us as human beings. Acceptance of the complexity of the world encourages learning and open-mindedness, helping us to better understand ourselves and become more nuanced in our thinking and values. There has to be a differentiation between that which directly harms us and our freedom, and that which simply makes us uncomfortable. The former must be challenged. The latter must be embraced.
It is somewhere within these complexities that the line for ethical violent resistance falls. Although none of the violence that has been seen in the worldwide anti-racism protest strikes me as fully justified, I have more sympathy for black Americans and their longstanding fear of police persecution than for UK protestors who have adopted the same language and tone in a very different, less racially charged society. I can appreciate with the symbolic value of pulling down a controversial statue of a slave trader during a protest against racism, as well as frustration at the failure of democratic action to even organise a plaque contextualise the statue's presence in the city (a debate over wording had been ongoing for almost two years), while still wishing it could have been done with the entire city's consent.
Many disagree with me on both points. That they are free to do so is a triumphant outcome of centuries of human ethical development through societies and individuals of all moral stripes. Many have fought and died for my freedom to write long-winded ethical contemplations from my bed on a Tuesday morning (though it's probably best they didn't know this is what it came to). Where the ethical line is drawn on progressing from peaceful protest to violence will always be ambiguous. Part of a protesting citizen's social responsibility, then, is not just to act safely and respectfully of fellow citizens, but to be informed and wise enough to know not only when your values may require you to start the fight, but more importantly, when to stop.
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