Harm and violence

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try to establish, or to tentatively draw some type of criteria of, when and how violence ... Relating violence and harm brackets the assessment of their reasons, .... perspectives, especially the victims' perspective, have in our understanding of .... violence is merely instrumental, it does not by itself have any sort of privilege that.
Harm  and  violence:  Does  the  notion  of  harm  help  us  to  define   violence  and  non-­violence?       Carlos  Thiebaut.     Universidad  Carlos  III  de  Madrid,  Spain     I.   When   we   think   of   violence,   it   seems   we   are   trapped   between   its   being   an   inevitable  form  of  action,  response,  or  behavior,  which  seems  almost  “natural,”  and   the  doubts  and  criticisms  it  raises  when  considering  even  its  instrumental  nature.   When   assessing   violent   means   for   some   sort   of   justifiable   end   or   circumstance,   we   try   to   establish,   or   to   tentatively   draw   some   type   of   criteria   of,   when   and   how   violence   should,   or   should   not,   be   used.   In   the   very   issue   of   violence,   we   seem   trapped   between   nature   (albeit   human   nature)   and   morals,   between   ends   and   means,   a   centuries-­‐old   conflict   that   does   not   easily   square   sometimes   with   our   post-­‐Kantian,   post-­‐Enlightenment   normative   theories   that   question   the  

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independence   of   means   in   relation   to   ends   This   is   because   violence   seems   to   be   such  a  powerful  instrument  that  it  seems  to  acquire  full  independence  by  itself  and   thus  it  sometimes  acquires  the  character  of  a  full  type  of  action  all  by  itself.     Richard   Bernstein’s   illuminating   Violence.   Thinking   without   Banisters   has   placed   this   conflict   under   the   clear   light   shed   by   five   thinkers   from   the   20th   century.   I   am   particularly   interested   in   his   understanding   of   the   persistent   and   protean   quality   of   violence,   his   reflections   on   the   justification   and   limits   of   violence,   and   especially,   the   doubts   that   may   assail   us   in   different   circumstances   and  cases  regarding  the  dichotomy  of  violence  and  non-­‐violence  in  political  action.     I  will  also  try  to  explore  these  questions,  not  in  descriptive  or  genealogical   or   etiological   terms,   but   in   normative   terms,   and   suggest   that   if   we   think   of   violence   –not   only,   but   paramountly   of   political   or   public   violence—from   the   perspective  of  a  tentative  theory  of  harm  such  as  I  will  be  sketching,  we  can  gain   some  insight  regarding  that  almost  unsolvable  conflict  between  violence  and  non-­‐

 

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violence.  What  may  be  interesting  about  thinking  of  violence  from  the  perspective   of  a  theory  of  harm  (or  from  the  perspective  of  harm  generally)  is  that  its  obvious   instrumental   character,   which   Bernstein   so   Arendtianly   analyses,   fades   to   the   background   and   leaves   its   factual   character   naked   in   the   fore.   By   factual   character,   I  mean  what  violence  does,  how  it  does  it,  why  it  does  it,  with  what  effects,  and  to   whom.   Relating   violence   and   harm   brackets   the   assessment   of   their   reasons,   motivations   and   justifications   such   as   could   be   assessed   from   both   the   perspective   of  the  agent  of  violence  and  a  detached  third-­‐party  spectator,  and  brings  to  the  fore   its   nude   reality   as   a   way   of   a   human   interaction   that   hurts   and   inflicts   a   certain   kind  of  negativity  upon  persons.  The  perspective  of  harm,  vis-­‐à-­‐vis  the  perspective   of   justification,   makes   us   perceive   these   interactions   from   the   perspective   of   the   sufferer   or   the   victim.   Certainly,   from   a   general   and   objective   description,   violence   is   an   action   or   attitude   that   pushes   a   point   in   a   discussion,   establishes   a   state   of   affairs  or  defines  an  interaction;  normally,  violence  is  a  substitute  for  agreement  or   even   tolerant   disagreement,   and   so   on.   But,   above   all,   I   would   contend,   it   creates   a   bond  of  negativity  between  the  sufferer  and  she  who  inflicts  it.  And  it  is  this  bond   of   negativity   that   can   be   subject   to   modal   and   moral   scrutiny.   If   “ϕ   should   never   happen   again   (it   was   not   necessary   for   it   to   happen,   etc.)”   is   a   tenable   proposition,   and   if   ϕ   is   a   violent   action,   behavior   or   institution,   its   sheer   facticity   deploys   its   negative,   harmful   nature   and   calls   for   subsequent   actions   (judgment,   refusal   and   so   on).     Regardless   of   its   instrumental   nature,   or   of   the   possible   justifications   it   may   call   for,   if   a   violent   action   would   per   se   be   subject   to   these   judgments,   we   would   have   reasons   to   draw   it   out   from   the   mere   sphere   of   what   is   contestably   justifiable   or   unjustified   and   place   it   in   the   realm   of   practical   reason,   to   what   must   not  happen  again.       II.   Let   me   first   try   to   sketch   what   I   understand   as   a   normative   frame   for   a   theory   of   harm   and,   in   doing   so,   I   will   be   returning   to   the   relationship   between   harm   and   violence.   In   the   last   part   of   my   paper,   I   will   then   be   using   the   case   of   terrorism  in  Spain  to  assess  this  connection  between  a  theory  of  harm,  as  I  will  be   sketching  it,  and  violence  in  more  specific  terms.      

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When  we  name  an  action,  behavior  or  institution  as  harmful,  we  are  making   an   exercise   in   judgment.   We   place   their   negative   forces   and   effects   –such   as   hurting,  despising,  or  whatever-­‐-­‐  in  a  set  of  peculiar  modal  spaces.  Our  judgment  of   something  as  harmful  first  takes  it  out  of  the  realm  of  what  is  necessary  and  places   it   in   the   realm   of   what   need   not   have   happened,   of   what   could   not   have   happened;   it   could   have   been   otherwise.   As   Shklar   put   it,   focusing   directly   on   the   issue   of   justice,   we   turn   inevitable   misfortunes   into   reparable   injustices.   That   something   can   be   otherwise   breaks   the   naturalness   and   taken-­‐for-­‐grantedness   of   that   negativity   –slavery,   for   example,   or   war   and   domination—that,   to   a   certain   moment  in  time,  had  been  taken  to  explain  and  even  justify  how  things  stood.  But   this   first   modal   shift   into   the   realm   of   possibility,   of   alternative   possibilities,   still   does   not   fully   capture   the   meaning   of   harm.   To   underscore   the   refusal   or   resistance   to   that   very   negativity,   our   judgments   about   harm   significantly   introduce   a   second   modal   displacement   of   what   is   considered   harm   into   the   realm   of   a   new   kind   of   necessity,   into   the   realm   of   practical   necessity.   When   we   claim   “Never   again!”,   we   are   condensing   a   more   complex   judgement   in   these   words   and,   significantly,  an  attached  commitment:  that  through  our  actions,  never  again,  to  no   one,   in   no   place,   are   these   types   of   actions   to   happen   again.   Judgments   of   harm   thus   incorporate   a   double   modal   shift   and   move   us   from   the   realm   of   seeing   something   negative   as   not   necessary   and   avoidable   to   the   modal   realm   of   action   and  practice  (hence  the  term  “practical  necessity”).    With  the  first  modal  shift,  we   articulate   perception   and   attentiveness;   with   the   second,   action   and   concern.   I   would  contend  that,  amongst  failures  and  contingencies,  when  we  judge  something   as  harmful,  and  in  spite  of  other  meanings  we  are  implying  both  the  counterfactual   and  the  normative  claims,  “normative”  meaning,  in  this  context,  a  commitment  that   expresses   concern   and   a   call   to   action.   A   longer   story   could   be   told   about   these   different   meanings,   for   example   in   legal   discourses,   and   how,   nevertheless,   ordinary  language  retains  this  paramount  moral  significance.    

These  modal  shifts  do  not  take  place  in  a  vacuum  nor  do  they  belong  merely  

to  theories  and  interpretations  that  can  only  reconstruct  experiences  of  harm  and   that,  hopefully,  can  empower  resistances  to  their  negativity.  They  do  not  advene  to   these   experiences   themselves   from   the   outside,   so   to   speak.   They   are   part   and   parcel   of   these   experiences,   of   what   suffering,   acting   and   judging   subjects   undergo    

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and   do.     I   would   claim   that,   above   and   beyond   the   particular   and   contextual   processes   that   constitute   experiences   of   harm   –of   seeing   and   experiencing   something   as   harmful   and   of   resisting   and   opposing   it—they   are   at   their   conceptual  core.      

 Certainly,   not   everything   seems   to   be   susceptible   to   being   understood   as  

harmful.   Before   turning   more   specifically   to   the   relevance   that   the   different   perspectives,   especially   the   victims’   perspective,   have   in   our   understanding   of   harm   ,   it   may   be   useful   to   elaborate   a   bit   more   about   the   negative   character   of   these  forms  of  interaction.  The  term  “harm”  seems  to  entail  an  array  of  semantic   meanings   to   which   we   attach   the   generalized   category   of   negativity.   I   have   referred   to   physical   and   moral   forms   of   harming   in   the   examples   of   slavery,   war  

and   domination.     It   is   relevant   to   note   that   this   polymorphism   of   harm   parallels   what  Bernstein  calls  the  protean  quality  of  violence.  As  with  this  latter  case,  there   is   no   closed   list   of   semantic   meanings   for   harm,   i.e.,   of   what   things   or   types   of   things   have   ended   up   being   understood   under   the   category   of   harm,   thus   expressing   some   sort   of   social   and   moral   condemnation   and   refusal.   It   rather   seems  that  different  societies  at  different  moments  have  incorporated  actions  and   practices   that   were   initially   not   deemed   harmful   to   the   list   of   avoidable   conditions   that   are   subject   to   moral   condemnation   and   subsequent   legal   prohibitions   or   protections.   Think,   for   example,   about   the   classical   examples   of   slavery,   torture,   destitution  on  the  bases  of  gender  and  ethnicity,  and  so  on.  Also  think  about  issues   that  in  different  societies  are  yet-­‐contested  candidates  for  moral  condemnation  or   legal   prohibitions,   such   as   same-­‐sex   relationships   and   their   institutionalization,   child   labor,   certain   forms   of   punishment   and   penal   institutions.   Still,   think   about   things   which   even   in   advanced   societies   are   not   yet   subject   to   our   moral   condemnation,   though   some   would   surely   argue   for   their   being   included   in   this   category  of  what  should  not  have  happened  and  should  never  happen  again,  such   as   the   relationship   of   humans   to   other   living   creatures   or   societal   practices   concerning   the   sustainability   of   our   natural   world.   It   does   seem,   then,   that   there   is   no   fixed   trait   that   defines   what   is   considered   negative   in   our   experiences   and   judgments   of   what   is   harmful.   Rather,   it   seems   that   a   long,   by   no   means   clear   or   linear,  process  –perhaps  a  contingent  learning-­‐process—has  accumulated  or  even  

 

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lumped   together   practices   and   actions   that   have   been   considered   sufficiently   relevant   to   make   them   subject   to   being   included   in   the   list   of   what   we   consider   harmful.  Moreover,  I  do  not  think  we  have  a  theory  of  what  is  relevant,  of  what  has   become   relevant   to   be   understood   as   harmful.   It   is   probably   a   web   of   accumulated   experiences  and  judgments,  of  both  situations  and  reasons  that  end  up  drawing  the   constellation  of  what  we  call  harmful.  For  example,  think    about  the  negativity  of   what  had  been  experienced  –and  still  is—before  the  Declaration  of  Human  Rights   and   the   complex   sets   of   reasons   and   circumstances   that   allowed   for   its   proclamation.     But,  in  spite  of  lacking  a  general  theory  of  the  negativity  of  harm,  there  are   different  ways  to  map  the  semantic  meanings  attached  to  the  notion  of  harm.  For   example,   we   can   elaborate   a   theory   of   human   rights   in   different   philosophical   traditions   and   reconstruct   different   specific   harmful   actions,   practices,   institutions   or  situations  thereof.    In  those  different  philosophical  perspectives-­‐-­‐  for  example,   in  pragmatism  and  in  certain  strands  of  the  liberal  tradition-­‐-­‐,    we  could  also  find   intuitions   regarding   how   and   why   such   actions,   practices   or   situations   prevent,   diminish   or   handicap   certain   core   human   values,   such   as   human   flourishing.   We   can   even   accompany   these   perspectives   with   historical   lessons   regarding   how   certain   forms   of   pain   or   suffering,   not   to   mention   human   deprivation   and   destitution,   are   conditions   that   can   no   longer   be   thought   of   as   unavoidable,   and,   thus,  are  harmful.     Violence  itself  is  a  trait  of  these  possible  conditions,  actions,  behaviors  and   institutions,   for   example,   the   violence   inflicted   in   the   prevention   of   human   flourishing   in   women   or   when   different   ways   of   subjugation   are   enforced   in   colonial  circumstances.  Even  seemingly  non-­‐violent  actions  and  institutions  –as  in   the   case   of   peaceful   forms   of   domination   or   colonization—can   be   seen   as   exercising  forms  of  structural  violence  that,  as  I  have  just  said,  prevent  the  human   flourishing  of  the  persons  and  groups  that  are  subject  to  them.  In  all  these  cases,   violence   may   be   thought   of   as   paralleling   or   accompanying   what   we   agree   to   think   of  as  harmful.    

 

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However,  we  may  doubt  that  violence  would  be,  by  itself,  a  general  category   of   what   should   always   be   avoided.   Many   authors   have   shown   that   violence   is   sometimes   justified   and   Bernstein   reminds   us   at   different   moments   of   his   book   how   Arendt   thought   of   this   characteristic   as   something   that   points   to   its   mere   instrumental  character.  A  violent  action  or  reaction  would  extract  its  justification,   or  its  lack  thereof,  from  the  justified  character  of  the  aims  it  seeks  to  attain.     What   is   interesting   in   this   line   of   argument   is   that   this   justification   of   violence   parallels   the   necessity   and   unavoidability   of   those   actions   that   were   previously   thought   of   as   not   pertaining   to   the   realm   of   harm.   For   example,   slavery   was  considered  a  natural  condition,  necessary  and  unavoidable,  and  thus  justified   in   the   eyes   of   slaveholders   and   sometimes   to   the   slaves   themselves.     The   modal   shift   I   am   underscoring   in   the   experience   and   refusal   of   harm   relates   directly   to   this  moment  in  which  something  that  was  previously  thought  of  as  justified  can  be   shown  to  be  unnecessary,  as  it  should  have  been  otherwise.  What  I  am  now  hinting   at   is   that   even   what   we   may   consider   justified   violence,   as   in   the   case   of   self-­‐ defense   or   in   the   supposedly   justified   cases   of   ius   ad   bellum,   may   be   cases   that   are   also   susceptible   to   being   thought   of   as   something   that   can   be   drawn   away   from   their  supposed  naturalness  or  as  something  justified  in  the  eyes  of  their  agents.    If   violence   is   merely   instrumental,   it   does   not   by   itself   have   any   sort   of   privilege   that   it  can  receive  from  the  justified  ends  to  which  it  serves.  Self-­‐defense,  for  example,   is   not   an   overall   justification   for   violence   as   its   instrument,   not   even   in   justified   wars   –and   I   am   now   recalling   John   Rawls’s   reflections   on   Hiroshima   and   even   Michael   Walzer’s   doubts   concerning   the   bombings   of   German   cities   in   the   last   moments  of  WWII.  If  an  exercise  of  judgment  is  always  necessary  in  defining  the   ends   of   action,   a   stricter   judgment   is   needed   when   the   justification   of   one   of   its   most  powerful  instruments,  violence,  is  the  case.     Again,  this  parallels  what  we  consider   to  be  harm.  Harm,  I  said  before,  is  as   multifarious   as   violence.   It   may   even   encompass   a   wider   scope   of   actions,   behaviors   and   institutions.   But   if   it   deploys   the   type   of   modal   shift   I   am   underlining,   its   multifariousness   can   be   cut   down   to   its   bones,   to   the   conceptual   and   judgmental   structure   we   display   in   considering   whatever   ϕ   we   are   facing   precisely  as  harmful.      Similarly,  the  protean  nature  of  violence  that  Bernstein  so  

 

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insightfully   analyzes   might   also   be   cut   down   to   some   sort   of   modal   and   moral   core   structure   that   might   shed   some   light   regarding   its   refusal   or   even   its   domestication.  I  am  not  saying  that  we  can  get  rid  of  our  violent  “inner  demons”  by   way  of  a  conceptual  blow  from  the  powerful  “better  angels  of  our  nature,”  to  use   Steven   Pinker’s   metaphors.   Perhaps   in   the   same   way   as   harm   continues   to   be   inflicted  and  that  there  are  harms  yet  unnamed  as  such,  violence  will  continue  to   dwell   amongst   us.   But   in   both   cases,   I   would   suggest,   we   can   detect   and   refine   our   experiences  and  our  refusals.    The  continuous  debate  between  violence  and  non-­‐ violence,  and  especially  in  the  public  sphere,  can  receive  some  illumination  by  it.     Let   me   move   on   to   try   to   elaborate   a   bit   more   what   an   understanding   of   harm   could   afford   to   this   understanding   of   violence.   What   I   will   be   suggesting   is   that,   contested   though   it   might   be,   when   we,   our   moral   community   –hopefully   a   cosmopolitan  moral  community-­‐-­‐  understands  and  terms  some  action,  behavior  or   institution  as  harmful,  it  does  so  by  integrating  different  experiential  perspectives   and  judgments.  Using  a  highly  stylized  version  of  the  experience  of  harm,  I  would   suggest,  as  much  of  the  current  literature  has  done,  that  experiences  of  harm  are   displayed   in   a   triangle   of   three   basic   figures:   the   victim,   the   perpetrator   and   the   bystander.   Certainly,   there   are   all   sorts   of   victims,   perpetrators   and   bystanders,   but   I   will   not   elaborate   now   on   these   differences   that   have   been   described   and   analyzed  in  an  extended  cartography  in  the  fields  of  gender  and  race  studies,  labor   exploitation,   war,   political   domination   and   other   cases   of   societal   structures   that   inflict   harm   on   persons.   In   spite   of   the   infinite   differences   of   persons   and   processes,   the   language   of   positions   or   figures   allows   us   to   focus   on   the   main   relationships  that  constitute  experiences  of  harm  and  how  they  are  fleshed  out  in   distinctive  emotions,  perceptions,  thoughts  and  overall  attitudes  that  embody  the   architecture   of   harming.   It   may   be   worthwhile,   thus,   to   say   a   word   on   this   distinctiveness.     The  victim  is  the  recipient  of  harm,  she  who,  in  a  first-­‐person  attitude,  can   give   witness   to   her   suffering,   to   her   exploitation,   she   who   is   wronged   and   she   who   can  always  testify  to  the  existence,  the  quality  and  the  extension  of  her  wound.  Not   only   does   the   victim   bear   her   testimony,   the   victims   centrally   define   the   particular   negativity   of   harm.   We   could   justify   this   assertion   by   appealing   to   two   parallel  

 

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considerations:  in  the  first  place,  some  harmed  predicaments  are  more  clearly  seen   as   such   from   the   privileged   point   of   view   of   those   who   undergo   the   negative   conditions  and  effects  of  certain  actions,  practices  and  institutions  (something  that   does   not   exclude   their   also   being   able   to   be   described   and   acknowledged   from   other   different   points   of   view,   as   that   of   a   concerned   spectator),   and,   in   the   second   place,   the   opposition,   the   protest   and   the   refusal   of   that   negativity,   as   lived   and   experienced   by   the   victims,   is   what   would   finally   give   force   to   the   practical   imperative  of  its  avoidance.       The   perpetrator,   to   which   I   will   be   returning   in   a   moment,   is   she   who,   by   action  or  omission,  inflicts  the  wound,  be  it  physical,  emotional  and/or  social,  and   who  has  been  mainly  understood  as  the  subject  of  responsibility  attributions  and   the  locus  for  the  analyses  of  complex  emotions  such  as  remorse  or  atonement.    The   figure   of   the   bystander   or,   as   I   would   prefer   to   call   her,   the   third   party,   is   more   complex.  The  third  party  can  certainly  be  seen  as  a  passive  or  an  active  accomplice,   as  has  been  analyzed  in  different  fields  and  theories.  But  it  would  be  a  mistake  to   identify  the  third  party  figure  with  an  active  or  passive  accomplice.  Following,  for   example,  Hume’s  or  Kant’s  aesthetic  paradigms,  the  spectator  certainly  tends    to  be   seen   as   she   who,   in   the   distance,   considers   herself   safe   enough   to   be   the   subject   of   aesthetic   taste   or   of   aesthetic   judgements.   Her   distance   safeguards   her   from   the   storming   waters   of   harm,   to   use   the   Enlightenment   and   Romantic   metaphor   of   a   shipwreck  seen  from  the  safeness  of  the  shore  that  Blumenberg  so  well  depicted,   and   allows   her   all   the   superior   benefits   of   objectivity.   But   distance   need   not   be   thought  of  in  these  terms,  which  tend  to  forget  the  redeeming  role  that  objectivity   –for  example,  in  truth  claims—may  play  in  the  normative  resolution  of  harm.  If  the   third   party   certainly   incorporates   distance,   it   is   also   the   figure   that   allows   for   judgment   and   assessment.   For   example,   as   I   have   argued   elsewhere,   distance   is   precisely   what   allows   for   the   epistemic   processes   of   self-­‐strangeness   that   by   de-­‐ centering   the   victim’s   understanding   of   herself   turns   her   endurance   and   passive   resistance  into  active  resistance.  What  I  am  hinting  at  is  a  privileged  link  between   the  victim’s  perspective  and  her  suffering  and  endurance,  and  the  third  figure  and   her  attitudes  towards  the  negativity  of  harm.  Thus,  and  in  the  first  place,  we  need   to   recast   this   idea   of   distance   in   non-­‐culpable   terms   if   we   are   to   understand   the  

 

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very   idea   of   resistance   or   opposition   on   the   victim’s   part.   In   the   second   place,   without  it  we  could  not  give  any  sort  of  rational  rendering  of  the  perspective  of  the   community  in  which  harm  experiences  are  elaborated  and  normatively  solved,  nor   could   we   make   sense   of   the   type   of   analysis   in   the   social   sciences   and   in   the   philosophical  –or  legal  and  political—reconstructions  like  the  one  we  are  engaging   in  right  now.      

I   may   now   return   briefly   again   to   the   agent   that   inflicts   harm,   the  

perpetrator.   In   the   first   place,   though   the   perpetrator   addresses   the   victim   basically  through  her  actions  –recall  Scarry’s  analysis  of  torture—hers  is  a  peculiar   form   of   second-­‐person   attitude.   In   torture,   the   victim   is   both   a   recipient   of   an   action  directed  at  her  by  the  perpetrator  and  a  means  towards  the  torturer’s  own   interests.   The   perpetrator   is   a   paradigm   of   self-­‐centeredness   and   she   brings   into   her   own   realm   of   action   the   victim   as   one   of   her   objects.   Hers   is,   so   to   speak,   a   parasitic   second-­‐person   attitude.   She   does   not   address   the   victim   to   build   something   with   her,   but   to   undo   her   world.   She   needs   the   victim,   and   addresses   her  and  harms  her  as  a  resource  for  herself.  In  the  second  place,  and  beyond  this   motivational   understanding,   the   figure   of   the   perpetrator   significantly   appears   once  the  scenario  of  the  second  modal  shift  I  spoke  of  before  is  set,  that  is,  when   she  is  considered  in  the  light  of  normative  demands  that,  at  a  certain  point,  make   responsibility   attributions   appear.   Demanding   these   responsibilities   requires   a   normative   standpoint   and   a   normative   subject:   the   moral,   legal   or   political   community   that   is   able   to   articulate   the   normative   standpoint   and   to   which   the   victims,  all  sorts  of  bystanders  and  the  perpetrators  belong  in  their  different  and   distinctive  positions.    In  the  third  place,  and  mainly  due  to  this  constitutive  role  of   the   normative   and   communal   perspective,   the   figure   of   the   perpetrator   has   been   the  main  subject  of  the  discussion  of  a  wide  array  of  what  I  would  call  conversional   emotions   and   attitudes,   such   as   repentance   or   atonement.   These   emotions   and   attitudes  are  the  threshold  for  the  perpetrator’s  reintegration  into  the  political  and   moral  community.      

In  the  discussions  about  violence,  some  of  these  three  figures  have  been,  I  

would   say,   underscored   and   some   others   have   received   less   attention.   In   some  

 

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cases  —in  gender  violence—the  victim’s  predicament  has  been  rightly  highlighted,   whilst   in   political   violence   either   the   perpetrators   or   the   third   parties   have   normally   focused   much   of   the   attention.     In   understanding,   for   example,   political   violence  –as  in  Arendt’s  rebellions  or  in  Fanon’s  anticolonial  struggles  as  Bernstein   has   analyzed   them—the   reasons   of   the   violent   agents   come   to   the   fore   for   their   assessment.  The  agents  of  violence  can  been  seen  sometimes  both  as  victims  of  a   political,   economic   and   social   oppression   and   as   active   participants   that   it   would   be   misleading   to   call   perpetrators.   In   these   cases   –such   as   colonialism—it   is   somehow   difficult   to   use   these   terms.   Yet,   as   I   will   be   arguing   later   on   in   dealing   with  terrorism,  they  sometimes  perpetrate  actions  that  inflict  wounds,  that  cause   pain,   that   harm   communities   and   persons.   Though,   generally,   what   we   could   call   somehow  misleadingly  “private”  violent  interactions  have  focused  on  the  victims,   ideological  or  political  violence  has  tended  to  pay  more  attention  to  the  agents,  or   perpetrators,  to  their  reasons  or  to  their  possible  justifications.    The  third  party,  be   it   a   passive   or   active   accomplice,   or   be   it   the   theoretical   understanding   that   a   concerned  spectator  could  display,  has  also   tended,  I  would  say,  to  be  disregarded.   The  third  parties  tend  to  be  collapsed  into  the  role  of  the  perpetrators  –recall  the   Goldhagen   debate   concerning   the   Nazi   crimes   or   even   the   ensuing,   and   in   my   view   mistaken,   debates   around   Arendt’s   Eichmann—or   even   into   the   role   of   victims.   I   would  even  suggest,  when  the  third  party  is  a  concerned  spectator,  her  active  role   as   a   member   of   the   experience   of   violence   has   tended   to   be   disregarded.   For   example,  I  strongly  agree  with  Marcuse  and  Rose,  as  Bernstein  has  presented   their   analysis,  that  the  dramatic  historical  experiences  of  Germany  in  the  late  tens  of  the   past   century   are   the   hermeneutical   background   against   which   Benjamin   elaborated  his  much  debated   text.   One   has   only   to   read   the   last   articles   written   by   Rosa   Luxemburg   and   even   her   last   letters   to   Clara   Zetkin   to   realize   what   the   meaning  of  the  general  strike  was  and  how  that  meaning  even  had  the  overtones  of   an   almost   apocalyptical   radicalism   that,   in   different   terms,   appear   in   Benjamin’s   lines.   What   I   am   trying   to   argue   is   that   even   the   role   of   the   theoretician   and   the   analyst  has  not  infrequently  been  stripped  of  the  historical  and  social  contextuality   and   the   embodiment   that   characterizes   a   concerned   spectator   in   the   experiences   of  harm  and,  I  would  add,  also  in  the  experiences  of  violence.    

 

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If   arriving   at   a   communal   accord   around   understanding   something   to   be  

harmful   requires,   in   different,   complex   processes,   the   collaboration   of   diverse   voices   and   the   presence   of   the   three   stylized   figures   I   have   mentioned,   I   would   suggest   that   something   similar   is   needed   in   the   case   of   the   assessment   of   violence.   A  communal  discursive  agreement,  with  the  implication  of  all  the  three  figures,  as   embodied  in  more  complex  and  mixed  social  and  personal  positions,  is  needed  in   order   to   understand   the   roots   of   violence.   If   our   implicit   and   explicit   notions   of   what   is   harmful   have   been   achieved   by   1)   taking   into   consideration   the   wrongs   suffered   by   the   victims,   the   responsibilities   of   the   perpetrators   and   even   the   different   roles   and   assessments   of   the   concerned   spectators   and   2)   reaching   communal   definitions   whose   conceptual   structure   has   the   modal   architecture   I   have   suggested,   a   normative   understanding   of   violence   might   require   the   same   understanding.  It  would  require  appraising  the  violent  act  in  its  very  facticity  and   not  seeing  it  as  endowed  with  a  derivative,  instrumental  character  –and  in  this,  I   am  afraid,  I  take  some  distance  from  Bernstein’s  Arendtian  position.  In  considering   such  action,  we  should  attend  to  whether  its  apparent  or  initial  justification  stands   the  test  of  its  non-­‐necessariness  and  whether  it  is  susceptible  to  be  the  subject  of  a   clear,   categorical   refusal.   In   order   to   proceed   thus,   we   should   consider   whether   all   the   relevant   voices   are   heard,   whether   the   violence   suffered   and   the   violence   inflicted   can   both   be   encompassed   in   the   violence   judged   by   the   relevant   moral   community.     III.     However,   this   formulation   may   be   insufferably   abstract   and   imprecise.   Perhaps   I   have   rushed   to   it,   losing   sight   of   the   real   dilemmas   and   the   difficult   choices  and  judgments  that  we  face  vis-­‐à-­‐vis  violence.  Let  me  spell  out  some  of  the   meanings   implicit   in   what   I   am   trying   to   formulate   by   way   of   an   example   in   which,   I   would   think,   I   have   been   a   concerned   spectator,   at   least   in   my   condition   as     a   Spanish  citizen.      

In   the   early   1960s,   still   under   the   dictatorship   of   General   Franco,   the  

Basque   nationalist   and   independent   movements   adopted   an   underground   military   structure   and   agenda   that   immediately   proceeded   to   carry   out   violent   actions   –  

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from  bombings  to  kidnappings,  from  assassinations  of  politicians  and  the  military   and  police  personnel—that  had  different,  and  opposed  meanings  for  the  different   perspectives   involved.   Whilst,   along   almost   Fanonian   lines,   the   members   of   the   clandestine   organization   –basically   ETA—viewed   their   actions   as   justified   according  to  their  goals  -­‐-­‐the  end  of  the  dictatorship,  which  was  taken  as  a  military   invasion,   and   the   independence   of   the   Basque   country   split   between   Spain   and   France  -­‐-­‐broad  segments  of  the  anti-­‐dictatorship  movements  sympathized  with  the   Basque  independence  movement  and  bracketed  any  explicit  condemnation  of  their   tactics.   Both   Third   International   arguments   and,   as   I   said,   almost   Fanon-­‐like   analyses  were  relevant  in  the  attitudes  of  this  third  party  of  concerned  spectators.   Things  started  to  change  in  the  mid-­‐1970s  after  the  death  of  the  dictator  and  the   new   democratic   Spain   was   starting   its   development.   But   in   those   early   years,   violent  actions,  assassinations,  extortions  and  kidnappings  increased  whilst  doubts   started   to   arise   in   the   midst   of   the   Basque   independent   movement.   As   also   happened   in   Ireland,   different   groups   and   organizations   abandoned   their   almost   military   obedience   and   turned   to   democratic,   non-­‐violent   means   to   achieve   their   goals   in   the   new   constitutional   context.   But   there   was   no   widespread   acknowledgement   of   the   harm   done   to   the   people   assassinated   nor   any   sign   of   apologies  to  their  families.  These  have  had  to  wait  until  very  recent  times,  almost   forty  years  later.       In   the   1980s,   the   aforementioned   third,   concerned   parties     -­‐-­‐that   is,   neither   the  Basque  violent  actors  nor  their  immediate  targets—started  to  draw  away  from   the   more   or   less   active   support   of   those   actions   and   goals,   but   it   took   over   ten   years   to   clearly   condemn   what   it   took   so   many   years   to   label   as   terrorism.   (It   is   interesting  in  this  regard  that  it  took  several  more  years  to  have  other  democratic   countries   and   the   public,   both   in   Europe   and   abroad,   to   follow   in   such   condemnation,  as  also  happened  with  the  Irish  IRA  in  the  US).    And,  as  I  have  just   said,   only   very   recently   erstwhile   terrorists   have   started   to   acknowledge   the   harm   inflicted   on   now   democratic   politicians   and   members   of   the   armed   forces   in   the   dark  years.     What  I  think  is  relevant  in  this  whole  process  is  a  three-­‐fold  dynamic  that   has   been   evolving   in   these   fifty   years.   In   the   first   place,   something   important  

 

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changed   in   the   assessment   of   violence   and   its   apparently   instrumental   character   on  the  part  of  its  immediate  actors.  Still  in  an  instrumental  frame  of  mind,  violence   left  its  justified  status  in  a  democratic  society.  This  has  not  amounted  to  a  loss  of   hegemony  –in  Gramscian  terms—of  the  radical  left  in  the  Basque  country;  rather  it   has  been,  I  would  suggest,  one  of  its  driving  forces.  The  abandonment  of  violence   first   and   its   explicit   condemnation   later   has   even   allowed   for   a   growing   support   that  is  open  to  political  debate.  However,  above  all,  I  would  suggest  it  has,  though   very   recently,   opened   up     the   road   to   different   processes   in   which   the   previous   violent  actors  face  the  victims  of  their  actions.     It   is   not   infrequent   that   public   processes   of   atonement   and   demands   of   forgiveness   fall   prey   to   political   interests   that   shed   shadows   on   their   sincerity.   It   seems  that  –as  is  happening  now  in  the  Basque  case—private,  immediate  face-­‐to-­‐ face   interactions   between   previous   perpetrators   and   their   victims   are,   though   more  difficult,  also  more  transparent  for  that  sincerity  and  for  a  real  reconciliation.   I   am   doubtful   with   regard   to   this   dichotomy   of   the   public   and   the   private,   though   I   would  also  have  suspicions  regarding  some  public  exercises  of  atonement.  I  think   that   these   “private”   interactions   of   victims   and   perpetrators   have   a   public   dimension:  they  are  the  touchstone  of  public  process  of  public  reconciliations.  But   obviously,  they  do  not  only  require  a  change  in  the  actors  of  violence  themselves,   who   are   now   able   to   embody   the   modal   shifts   in   their   experience   –ϕ   was   not   necessary   and   not   justified,   it   could   been   otherwise,   it   must   be   otherwise   in   the   future—I  have  been  taking  about.    It  also  requires  parallel  processes  in  the  victims   themselves.     The   victims   of   ETA’s   violence   have   played   different   roles   in   these   fifty   or   sixty   years.   Their   justified   demands   for   justice   and   reparation   have   frequently   adopted  a  stringent  tone  of  retribution  and  even  retaliation  and  revenge,  and  it  has   also   been  frequent   that   different  victims’  associations  have  moved  along  political   lines  that  have  tried  to  set  their  own  particular  agendas  in  the  Basque  democratic   process   in   ways,   I   would   contend,   that   have   blocked   the   Basque   reconciliation   process.  Obviously,  as  always  in  a  democratic  setting  that  allows  for  wide  political   disagreements,  all  sorts  of  contested  issues  arise.  In  the  case  of  Spain,  both  in  the   Basque   country   and   more   recently   in   Catalonia,   the   nationalist   and   independent  

 

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movements,  their  ideologies  and  the  deep  political  problems  that  arise  for  the  very   understanding   of   the   Spanish   nation   itself,   intermesh   with   the   understanding   of   the   previous   violent   moments.   In   the   same   way   that   the   perpetrators   had   to   relinquish   their   previous   understandings   and   justifications   in   order   to   achieve   a   new,   different   understanding   of   their   lives   in   a   process   of   atonement   that   allows   for   a   new   public   process,   the   victims   themselves   and   their   families   have   had   to   undergo   a   parallel   process   of   understanding   their   own   previous   experiences.   This,   obviously,  has  been  no  easy  task,  and  a  whole  new  set  of  emotional,  ideological  and   political  conversional  attitudes  have  also  had  to  take  place,  as  has  also  happened   with   the   third   parties,   the   concerned   spectators   and   the   different   analyses   and   reflections   that   have   taken   place   nationwide.   In   the   very   same   way,   though   at   different  levels,  in  which  previous  justifications  of  violence  and  previous  demands   regarding   its   terrible   effects   readjust   to   new   contexts,   a   widespread,   new   understanding  of  terrorist  violence  has  also  come  to  the  fore.  The  obvious,  simple   fact   that   the   deepest   and   all-­‐encompassing   political   disagreements   need   not   adopt   violent  expressions  in  a  democratic  context  strips  naked  the  sheer  fact  of  violence   and  brings  forth  a  deeper  understanding  of  what  democracy  is  about.  Violence  is,   thus,   the   triad   of   the   violence   suffered,   the   violence   inflicted   and   the   violence   judged.  I  would  suggest  that  the  clue  is  the  violence  that  has  been  judged,  the  way   in  which  violence    has  been  subject  to  a  new  modal  and  moral  understanding  and   the   way   in   which   the   process   itself   also   requires   the   experiential   input   of   the   different  perspectives  involved.     I   would   not   like   to   sound   too   optimistic   or   naïve,   though   I   think   I   have   been   true   to   the   Basque   process,   stylized   though   my   description   has   been.     We   have   many  counterexamples  of  how  violence  resists  its  being  incorporated  under  what  I   have   sketched   as   a   theory   of   harm   experiences;   the   Balkan   War   in   Europe   itself   or   the   ongoing   Syrian   civil   war   are   very   close,   still   at   hand.   But   these   counterexamples   and   the   possible   positive   example   of   the   Basque   case   can   be   taken  as  cases  of  Arendt’s  thoughts,  which  Bernstein  has  underlined  so  clearly  in   his   book,   regarding   the   instrumental   character   of   violence   in   opposition   to   what   she  calls  power.  Power,  in  my  case,  would  be  the  Basque  and  Spanish  non-­‐violent  

 

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self-­‐understanding,  and  power  was  what  failed  in  the  ex-­‐Yugoslavia  and  is  failing   or  has  been  contested  in  Syria.     The   failure   of   power,   or   of   active   legitimation,   to   put   it   in   different   terms,   opens   up   the   exercise   of   violence,   not   just   of   instrumental   violence   related   to   an   immediate  goal  for  some  segment  of  society,  but  a  global  collapse  into  violence  as   is  happening  now  in  the  Syrian  civil  war,  as  in  all  civil  wars.  Let  me  finish  with  a   recent   case   that   points   to   this   global   failure   of   Arendtian   power   and   the   general   collapse   into   violence.   The   lesson   I   would   like   to   extract   is   that   in   these   cases,   in   which   violence   appears   as   the   paramount,   immediate   trait   of   a   conflict,   it   resists   being   understood   as   harm.   Paradoxically,   the   sheer   facticity   of   violence,   which   would  allow  it  to  be  understood  as  harm,  and  thus  opposed  as  such,  only  deploys  a   radical  lack  of  normative  understanding.     Last   September   3rd,   a   Syrian   surgeon,   Mohamed   Abyad,   28   years   old,   was   assassinated   near   Aleppo.   He   was   a   member   of   Médicins   sans   Frontières   and   a   known   non-­‐religious,   anti-­‐fundamentalist   militant,   especially   sensitive   to   the   mistreatment   of   women.   It   seems   –so   I   have   been   told—that   one   of   the   Islamic   fundamentalist  parties  in  the  ongoing  civil  war  against  the  Syrian  regime  thought  it   unbearable  to  have  someone  who  had  a  different  world-­‐view  near  its  ranks,  even   in   the   task   of   medical   assistance,   concerning   what   the   assassins   considered   a   central  issue  of  their  own  motivations  and  interests.  Perhaps  we  may  sympathize   with   the   Syrian   opposition   and   even   more   generally   with   the   Arab   Spring,   but   Abyad´s   assassination   in   the   hands   of   his   co-­‐members   of   the   Syrian   opposition   points  to  a  deeper  issue:  the  ways  in  which  war  or  generalized  violence  leaves  the   darker  side  of  our  nature  unleashed.  Maybe  there  are  obvious,  almost  immediate   reasons   for   the   condemnation   of   Abyad’s   assassination   and   that   any   type   of   intellectual  task  would  just  reduce  itself  to  the  backing  of  all  necessary  measures   to   enforce   the   legal   prosecution   of   the   murderers   and   to   the   expression   of   closeness   and   mourning   with   his   family,   friends   and   organization.   But   perhaps     there  is  also  something  in  his  case,  as  in  so  many  cases  worldwide,  that  pushes  us   to  think  what  it  means  for  violence  to  be  thought  of  as  an  instrument  in  political,   moral  and  cultural  disagreements  and  why  in  certain  circumstances  –such  as  the   ongoing   Syrian   civil   war—violence   makes   all   legal   or   moral   restrictions   collapse.    

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Wars  are  not  only  exercises  in  violence  for  whatever  reasons  may  be  deemed  to  be   justifiable   or   necessary   by   the   contesting   parties;   they   are   spaces   of   action   in   which   core   moral   and   political   presuppositions   fall   apart.   They   are   spaces   of   violence   that   appear   in   their   sheer   facticity   and   that   require   a   particularized   and   specific   attention   above   and   beyond   their   apparent   justifications.   They   are   the   occasion   of   the   unleashing,   as   I   have   said,   of   all   moral   restrictions,   of   all   moral   communities   of   understanding.   From   a   normative   point   of   view,   violence   is   not   only   subject   to   its   assessment   in   its   instrumental   nature   (i.e.,   when   it   can   be   considered   legitimate   given   legitimate   ends)   but   also   in   its   very   nature   of   jeopardizing   morality   itself,   the   moral,   or   more   generally,   the   normative   space   itself.   Like   vengeance,   it   appears   when   the   law   is   said   to   have   failed   –as   a   justification  of  the  re-­‐instauration  of  foregone  law,  as  the  balancing  of  odds  due  to   the   absence   of   law   or   of   its   impotence.   Violence   appears   in   the   absence   of   a   politically  or  publicly  shared  morality  that  is  said  to  have  failed  or  that  it  is  deemed   to   be   in   danger.   Violence   is,   like   vengeance,   the   instrument   ready   at   hand   to   reinstitute   or   to   institute   anew   what   could   be   a   failed   order   or,   in   the   Arendtian   sense,  a  failed  form  of  power.     But then, the crucial element of vengeance comes to the fore: in vengeance, the only normative criterion available to the avenger is herself: she is the measure of the wound she has suffered and she is the only possible assessor for its cure. The avenger thinks of herself and justifies herself as a victim, not as a perpetrator of violence against her offender. This violence is, thus, instrumental for vengeance, which is taken as instrumental for justice. But what the avenger may take as an instrument for justice –be it sheer violence or even a cold and silent retribution—cannot be taken by us, or by the relevant moral community, in those very terms. In the same way Abyad’s murder, be it motivated by vengeance, by political cleansing or by whatever reasons the murders may have had, cannot be taken to be justified by those motivations. The acts of violence, naked in their facticity, ask for a further and more radical understanding. Although violence seems to share with vengeance an instrumental nature vis à vis the failure of law, or morality or power, it seems to draw its force for the agents, but only for them, from whatever mediating structure (war, vengeance) stands before such failure or absence. A third, concerned party is moved to judge how these mediating structures appeared and were endowed with their powerful force and how, given the shattering force they have, they could have been avoided and should be avoided. If, in all the cases I can think of, these mediating structures appear as responses to some sort of failed  

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implementation of social or shared normative rules, to the Arendtian lack of power, to the absence of the Kantian kingdom of ends, that lack and this absence become the only guidelines available for us or for the relevant moral community. If  the  Basque  experience,  in  the  positive  sense,  and  the  Syrian  experience,  in   its   negative   side,   both   point   to   the   building   up   of   Arendtian   power   and   to   its   destruction,  and  if  in  these  cases  violent  actions  appear  as  clearly-­‐cut  silhouettes  of   a   negativity   against   normative   understandings,   they   do   so   because   they   acquire   some  traits  of  what  I  have  been  calling  harm.  ϕ,  in  this  case  Abyad’s  assassination   by   the   hands   of   the   very   intolerance   he   had   been   denouncing  his   whole   life   but   on   whose   side   he   was   nevertheless   working,   was   not   necessary,   need   not   have   happened,   and   –this   is   what   is   striking   in   all   counterfactual   normative   claims—it   should   never   happen   again,   though   it   had   already   happened,   without   relief,   without  consolation.    

 

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