A
New Gandhian Moment?

By
Richard
Falk
Visiting Distinguished Professor, Global Studies,
University of California, Santa Barbara and Milbank
Professor of International Law Emeritus, Princeton
University
TFF
associate
March 12, 2004
War and Peace War Must be
Made Illegal
AS EARLY AS 1931 Gandhi articulated his view that
change, to be beneficial, needed to be achieved by
nonviolent struggle: "I would wait, if need be, for ages
rather than seek the freedom of my country through bloody
means." Gandhi added some optimistic words, declaring, "I
feel in the innermost recesses of my heart that the world
is sick unto death of blood-spilling. The world is
seeking a way out, and I flatter myself with the belief
that perhaps it will be the privilege of the ancient land
of India to show the way out to the hungering world."
Of course, from the perspective of 2004 this would
seem to be a prime instance of false prophesy. Although
Gandhi's literal coordinates of time and place were
mistaken, we may yet be approaching a Gandhian Moment
where there occurs a worldwide revulsion against war and
violence. Perhaps "the world is seeking a way out," but
the translation of this sentiment into political reality,
given the emotional and material forces arrayed against
it, was gravely underestimated by Gandhi. Nevertheless,
his prophetic insight was valid then, and, if anything,
is far more so today.
But should this hopeful possibility be actualised in
the time ahead, it will almost certainly be a result of
that other side of Gandhi's vision, the struggle against
the forces of oppression. In Gandhi's words, the
responsibility to act is a human duty in such
circumstances, not a mere political choice. On this
occasion already in 1921 Gandhi was addressing his
remarks to the 'freedom' associated with British colonial
rule: "We seek arrest because the so-called freedom is
slavery. We are challenging the might of this Government
because we consider its activity to be wholly evil. We
want to overthrow the Government. We desire to show that
the Government exists to serve the people, not the people
the Government."
Elsewhere, Gandhi frequently makes clear that to
achieve such ends of true freedom, whatever the context,
no price is too great, including death, as well as the
related insistence that nonviolent struggle requires the
greatest personal courage. So when awaiting a Gandhian
Moment we must grow sensitive to both potentialities of
the human spirit: the renunciation of violence as a
political instrument, and the engagement in struggle for
the sake of justice. One without the other is
untenable.
At this time in human history, it would seem that the
glass is neither full nor empty. But the passions that
rage on the planet suggest an impending encounter between
those destructive forces that see the glass totally
empty, and those that believe it is almost full; between
the extremists, whether religious or secular, locked in
total war, and the visionary warriors that constitute
global civil society who believe in a future based on
peace, justice, and sustainability. Looking back in time,
we can understand that it is an error to be too literal
in anticipating the Gandhian Moment, but it would be a
greater error to dismiss the possibility, and reconcile
ourselves either to endless and escalating cycles of
violence or to the 'unpeace' of injustice and
oppression.
Revived Gandhism of the 1990s
A SERIES OF developments, especially in the 1990s,
created an impression that a new era of peaceful change
and global justice was displacing war and violence on the
world stage. The earliest indications of this trend can
be connected with the rather remarkable Iranian
Revolution in 1978-79 that toppled the military regime of
the Shah. That occurred entirely on the basis of a
massive popular movement that refused to rely on violent
tactics in mounting its struggle for change. Somewhat
later, a similar phenomenon was evident in The
Philippines, where Ferdinand Marcos, a longtime corrupt
dictator, was driven into exile by the People Power
movement, which was also nonviolent in means and
ends.
Other pro-democracy movements were evident in a series
of Asian countries including China, Nepal, Indonesia,
Burma, Taiwan, Thailand, and South Korea. And then in the
late 1980s, encouraged by the new governing style in
Moscow associated with Mikhail Gorbachev's leadership,
impressive mobilisations of popular opposition occurred
in a series of countries in Eastern Europe, culminating
in the breaching of the Berlin Wall in late 1989. Two
years later the Soviet Union collapsed, and the internal
empire run from the Kremlin disintegrated, again without
notable violence.
These developments reached their climax in some ways
when the white leadership in South Africa decided to find
a way to end its racist regime based on apartheid so as
to avoid isolation on an international level and civil
strife at home. To achieve this transformation of a
country so long governed by an oppressive white minority
depended most of all on Nelson Mandela's ability to step
out of jail after twenty-seven years of confinement and
assume the leadership of the black African majority's
struggle for a constitutional democracy that was willing
to accommodate itself, despite massive impoverishment, to
the entrenched, yet exploitative, economic interests of
the white minority. Somehow, Mandela's spirit of
reconciliation and moral radiance was able to guide this
transition, avoiding the strong temptations to demand
social justice alongside of political justice, an
admittedly high price for adherence to a nonviolent
approach to conflict resolution.
These various moves were reinforced by a
disillusionment with military approaches. Neither
revolutionary warfare, of the sort that existed in a
series of Asian countries, nor oppressive government
seemed able to achieve stability. In world politics, the
nuclear standoff symbolised the growing realisation that
war was no longer a viable instrument of policy in
relations among major sovereign states, and yet there
remained an acute fear that an unintended breakdown of
the precarious stability achieved by deterrence would
produce catastrophic results.
The 1990s also witnessed a powerful global justice
movement, unprecedented in history, that appeared to
complement this willingness to limit challenges directed
at the political status quo by renouncing violence. There
were several different dimensions of this turn toward
global justice: a series of initiatives associated with
reparations for victims of the Holocaust; a greatly
increased emphasis on adherence to human rights as the
foundation of political legitimacy; serious inquiry into
such historic injustices as the dispossession and
destruction of indigenous peoples, colonialism, and
slavery; the apparent readiness of the United Nations to
act with the support of the United States and other
leading countries to prevent, or at least mitigate,
humanitarian catastrophes by accepting a responsibility
to protect; and greatly enhanced efforts to impose
individual criminal accountability on political leaders
and military commanders guilty of crimes against
humanity.
Although none of these initiatives was directly
focused on nonviolence, their overall effect was to
suggest to all sides of political controversy that
peaceful means based on the rule of law was the only
acceptable way to resolve grievances.
Of course, not everything was rosy in the 1990s. There
were evident in many parts of the world, especially in
sub-Saharan Africa and the Balkans, instances of civil
strife exhibiting extreme forms of indiscriminate
violence. The world watched as genocide unfolded in
Rwanda. The Asian democracy movements either crashed or
achieved only minimal results. The cold war ended without
the nuclear weapons states moving to negotiate a
disarmament treaty or at least proclaim the prohibition
of all weaponry of mass destruction. The negative effects
of globalisation that were causing growing disparities in
wealth and income, environmental decay, and a pervasive
disregard of human suffering cast a dark shadow across
the achievements of the decade.
And so a mixed picture existed as to future prospects,
but there were hopeful developments under way that have
now, temporarily, at least, been eclipsed by a return to
an apparent preoccupation with war as a consequence of
the events surrounding and following upon the September
11 attacks. Despite such an adverse turn, there are signs
that we may be approaching the moment where the world
will finally heed Gandhi's call to nonviolence.
The uncertain September 11
effect
IT IS DIFFICULT to think about Gandhi's legacy for the
twenty-first century without re-setting the global
context associated with the impact of both the September
11 attacks on the US and its response. Both al-Qaeda and
the US seem committed to waging borderless wars on a
global scale. Both sides deem their opponent to be the
embodiment of unconditional evil. Both sides are acting
outside the framework of diplomacy, with the only
acceptable outcome being victory for one side and defeat
for the other through the medium of pure violence.
Neither adversary is a sovereign state in the normally
understood sense; nor are the opposed antagonists engaged
in a civil war for control of a state, or waging some
sort of self-determination struggle. Al-Qaeda is an
amorphous, dispersed, secretive network that is operative
in as many as sixty states, while the US is a kind of
global state that claims command of the oceans and space,
as well as maintaining military bases in more than sixty
countries.
Such an unprecedented conflict, repudiating the
restraints of international law, is without precedent in
the annals of world history. Al-Qaeda proudly proclaims
that all Americans are enemies who can be killed to
fulfil its goals, thereby repudiating the fundamental
precept of the law of war that only military personnel
and targets are subject to attack. The United States, on
its side, targets civilians suspected of terrorist links
in foreign countries and denies captured al-Qaeda
fighters prisoner-of-war status. It is a war, more than
most wars, in which the idea of limits seems alien. Such
an assessment should not be understood as romanticising
the relevance of law to the conduct of past wars, but it
is an important rupture with the attempts in both world
wars to avoid superfluous suffering by finding common
interests, such as protection of prisoners of war and
wounded combatants, and sparing civilians so far as
possible.
In such an atmosphere it might seem foolish to assert
the relevance of the Gandhian legacy of radical
nonviolence. Indeed, even the Dalai Lama, the most
prominent living advocate of nonviolent approaches to
conflict resolution, now entertains doubts about whether
the renunciation of violence is sustainable in the face
of this radical 'terrorist' challenge. The Dalai Lama was
quoted as saying, "Terrorism is the worst kind of
violence, so we have tocheck it, we have to take
countermeasures," coupling this assertion with a refusal
to join other religious leaders in criticising the US
military approach generating the wars against
Afghanistan, and especially the war against Iraq. The
leader of Tibetan Buddhism did go on to say that "the
real antidote" to terrorism was a reliance on
"compassion, dialogue - peaceful means. We have to deal
with their motivation." It should be noted that this
admirable religious figure succumbed to the mainstream
trap of associating 'terrorism' exclusively with
anti-state violence, and exempting 'state terrorism' from
scrutiny. Even worse, such a venerable figure calls this
non-state violence "the worst kind of violence", in the
face of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and, more surprisingly,
the terrible violence used by the Chinese government to
crush Tibetan resistance back in the 1950s.What is
significant here is that the radical nature of the
struggle taking place is having a disorienting effect on
settled categories of assessment, including those that
proceed from the most principled of Gandhian views that
any reliance on violence is degenerative and
ineffectual.
Another
response
AT THE SAME time, a kind of secular Gandhiism is
becoming visible in unexpected places. The recently
retired Prime Minister of Malaysia, Mohamed Mahathir,
delivered a stirring anti-war address to open the XIIIth
Summit Meeting of the Non-Aligned Movement in Kuala
Lumpur on 24th February 2003. Mahathir acknowledges that
world order, as understood in modern times by reference
to state sovereignty, has been undermined by both sides.
A perceptive passage is worth quoting in full:
We may want to remain uninvolved and avoid incurring
the displeasure of powerful countries. But our people are
getting restless. They want us to do something. If we
don't then they will, and they will go against us. They
will take things into their own hands. Unable to mount a
conventional war they will resort to guerrilla war, to
terrorism, against us and against those they consider to
be their oppressors. They cannot be ignored any longer.
We cannot incarcerate them all for we do not always know
who they are or where they are. September 11 has
demonstrated to the world that the acts of terror even by
a dozen people can destabilise the whole world
completely, put fear into the hearts of everyone, make
them afraid of their own shadows.
As with the Dalai Lama, Mahathir is also complicit in
the statist logic of associating terrorism exclusively
with non-state actors, but he at least condemns both
sides in this bloody encounter. His words directed at the
response of the United States, without naming, are also
notable for their lucidity. Mahathir says that the
provocations of September 11, and before and since, "have
also removed all the restraint in the countries of the
north. They now no longer respect borders, international
laws or simple moral values. They are even talking of
using nuclear weapons." The Malaysian leader goes on to
insist that the US response "is no longer just a war
against terrorism. It is in fact a war to dominate the
world - the most important threat that we face now is the
tendency of the powerful to wage war when faced with
opposition to the spread of their dominance," and, he
significantly adds, "We cannot fight a war with
them."
Then, in language unexpectedly echoing Gandhi,
Mahathir notes: "Fortunately many of their people are
also sick of war. They have come out in their millions to
protest the warlike policies of their leaders. We must
join them. We must join their struggle with all the moral
force that we can command." The goal is also clearly
expressed: "War must be outlawed. That will have to be
our struggle now. We must struggle for justice and
freedom from oppression, from economic hegemony. But we
must remove the threat of war first." Mahathir proposes
in this important speech that war must be made illegal,
and the enforcement of this illegality entrusted to
"multilateral forces under the control of the United
Nations. No single nation should be allowed to police the
world, least of all to decide what action to take,
when.
"There is a final element here in this conception of
how to end political violence. Mahathir asks the
assembled representatives of the great majority of the
world's peoples a rhetorical question, receiving,
according to press accounts, thunderous applause: "When
Japan was defeated, it was allowed to spend only one per
cent of its gdp on its armed forces. If such a condition
can be imposed on Japan, why cannot it be imposed on all
countries?"
Mahathir concludes this extraordinary speech - perhaps
the most visionary address by a statesman since Woodrow
Wilson gave voice to some comparable statements after the
carnage of the First World War - by considering the
dynamics of the struggle. He acknowledges that the
countries of the South are "weak" but that they have
allies among the peoples and governments of the North,
and insists that "we must work with them." And he
proposes that the Non-Aligned Movement be revitalised to
realise "a world order which is above all free from the
age-old belief that killing people is right, and that it
can solve problems of relations between nations."
I have emphasised this one statement by an important
political leader, but there are other indications that a
subtle and complicated process of reassessing the
dynamics of change and conflict resolution is taking
place in the deeper recesses of collective human
consciousness. The nuclear age highlighted the essential
self-destructiveness of war and political violence. The
long unresolved internal wars that have take so many
millions of lives in the decades since the Second World
War have underscored the terrible costs of relying on
political violence, and the tragedy of interactive
violence in struggles of state and society in which
neither side relents. Scholars and academicians have
increasingly looked to such goals as the abolition of war
and a geopolitics of nonviolence as the only sustainable
foundations of world order, accepting as pillars of such
a transformation of global security the essential role of
respect for human rights and the international rule of
law, as well as an energetic implementation of the global
justice agenda so promisingly initiated in the 1990s.
If the Gandhian Moment is to be realised, then it must
encompass concerns with both the violence of weapons and
the violence of inequitable structures of domination and
exploitation. Perhaps, unwittingly, the visibility of
this violence, due to the globalisation of media
coverage, especially tv, will hasten the process by which
the peoples of the world, sick from violence and the
suffering entailed, will accelerate the awakening of
conscience and the commitment needed to carry forward the
struggle for a nonviolent world order. This is as much as
we can hope for at present, but such a hope will
certainly prove vain if we do not also act to the
fullness of our individual and collective capacities to
rid the world of war and violence.
Richard Falk is Professor Emeritus of International
Law at Princeton University. He is author of many books
including The Great Terror War (2003).
©
TFF & the author 2004

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