Uncivil	Disobedience:	Political	Commitment	and	Violence N.	P.	Adams Standard definitions of civil disobedience include nonviolence as a necessary condition: any violence puts protest outside the conceptual bounds, and so justificatory bounds, of civil disobedience. As John Rawls (1999, p. 321) says in his canonical discussion, "To engage	in	violent	acts	likely	to	injure	and	to	hurt	is	incompatible	with	civil	disobedience." On this view, as	Hugo	Bedau (1961, p. 656) puts it, "the pun on 'civil' is essential:" civil disobedience is	both	civil in the	sense that it relates to the	public sphere	and	civil in the sense	that	it	is	polite.	Violence	is	certainly	uncivil	in	the	latter	sense	and	it	is	often	argued that	it	is	uncivil	in	the	former	sense	as	well.1	This	standard	understanding	is	bolstered	by two	of	the	paradigmatic	and	most	influential	examples	of	civil	disobedience,	namely	those of	Mohandas	Gandhi	and	Martin	Luther	King, Jr.	These	deeply	religious	leaders	promoted nonviolence	both	as	a	means	and	as	an	end in itself, thereby	entangling	nonviolence	and civil	disobedience	in	the	minds	of	many. There has long been a strain of thought, however, that resists defining civil disobedience as necessarily nonviolent (Lang 1970; Morreall 1976; Zinn 1990; Moraro 2007;	Raz	2009;	Simmons	2010;	Brownlee	2012;	Celikates	2016).	This	dissent	has	many roots,	including	disagreement	over	the	nature	of	violence	and	the	desire	to	better	describe a	wider	range	of	political	practice.	Here	I	follow	this	revisionary	strain	of	thought	and	argue that	violence	and	civil	disobedience	are	not	incompatible	in	principle.	In	particular,	I	argue that	civil	disobedience	can	be	violent	when	the	violence	is	not	directed	at	persons. There are three general strategies one could employ to argue for the conceptual coherence	of	civil	disobedience	and	violence.	The	first	is	to	take	standard	understandings of	both civil	disobedience	and	violence	and to reinterpret their relation.	As	noted	above, others	have	pursued	this	line	of	thought.	A	second	strategy	is	to	offer	novel	understandings of	both	civil	disobedience	and	violence,	a	considerably	heavier	argumentative	burden,	and to show how they interrelate. The third strategy is to reinterpret one of the central concepts but leave the other in place. I pursue this third strategy. I propose a novel understanding of civil disobedience that centers on what I call the "commitment to the political." Focusing on the commitment to the political enables a clearer and ultimately more plausible discussion of various kinds of violence and their potential role in civil disobedience.	As	I	explain	in	section	three,	I	do	not	offer	a	novel	understanding	of	violence. Of	course,	there	is	also	disagreement	about	the	concept	of	violence,	so	the	understanding	of violence	that	I	employ	is	necessarily	contested	(Bufacchi	2005).	I	offer	some	support	for	my stance	below,	but	I	do	not	have	the	space	to	undertake	a	complete	defense	here. 1	Even	this	minimal	characterization	of	violence	has	been	challenged:	Kimberley	Brownlee	notes	that	fencing is	in	some	senses	both	violent	and	polite	(2012,	p.	22). 2 In	section	one	I	explain	what	I	take	to	be	the	distinctive	feature	of	civil	disobedience, namely that it is an act of remedial law-breaking that gets is special character from its combination	of	condemnation	of	a	political	practice	with	a	commitment	to	the	political.	In section	two	I	explain	the	crucial	notion	of	a	commitment	to	the	political	and	I	argue	against the Rawlsian notion of fidelity to law. Finally, in section three I apply the new understanding	of	the	commitment	to	the	political	to	the	issue	of	violence.	Although	here	I exclusively pursue the implications of the commitment to the political for the issue of violence,	understanding civil	disobedience in this	manner	also	has implications for	other aspects	of	the	practice.	I	leave	those	further	explorations	for	another	venue. Before proceeding, an important caveat: nothing that I say here denies that nonviolence	is immensely	preferable	to	violence,	both	intrinsically	and	instrumentally.	As Joseph	Raz (2009, p. 268) notes, even if	we admit that violence can play a role in some cases, it should still be "used only very rarely and	with great caution." Further, there is good reason to think that nonviolent resistance is strategically superior to violent resistance in general (Chenoweth and Stephan 2012). My concern here is conceptual coherence,	not	important	further	issues	of	justification	and	strategy. 1.	Civil	Disobedience We	can	dispense	with	one	point	immediately:	puns	are	not	arguments.	The	fact	that	'civil' has	different	senses	does	not	constrain	our theory.	While I	would	prefer to	use	a	clearer term like 'political disobedience' (Markovits 2005), the debate has settled on 'civil' even when the question of violent disobedience is left open. Civil-qua-political disobedience (rather	than	civil-qua-polite	disobedience)	captures	a	particular	kind	of	political	act	based on its two terminological	elements.	By "disobedience" I	mean the intentional	breaking	of specific laws. This distinguishes civil disobedience from, on one hand, protest that is perfectly legal under a particular legal regime, and, on the other hand, unintentional or indiscriminate law-breaking. By "civil" (qua political) I mean with the intention of remedying	some	public	practice	that	is	sincerely	held	to	be	unjust.	This	distinguishes	civil disobedience	from	private law-breaking	of	two	sorts: law-breaking	aimed	at	private	gain, as in the case of theft, and law-breaking for reasons of personal ethics, as in the case of conscientious	refusal.2	What	I	am	arguing, then, is	that	violent	civil	disobedience,	or	uncivil disobedience,	is	a	coherent	concept. Ultimately the concept of uncivil disobedience allows us to more accurately understand, describe, and proscribe our political world. An important case in the development	of	my	thoughts	about	uncivil	disobedience	was	the	burning	of	a	police	cruiser in	Ferguson,	Missouri	(Toler	2014).	Many	observers	and	commentators	contrasted	the	civil 2	I	do	not	restrict	the	intention	to	changing	"political"	practice	because	civil	disobedience	can	aim	to	politicize something	currently	conceptualized	as	strictly	private. 3 disobedience	of	marchers	and	protestors	with	the	uncivil,	apparently	violent	destruction	of the police cruiser. This immediately raised a question: did this really not count as civil disobedience?	It	did	not	substantially	risk	harm	to	any	persons	and	it	seemed	to	convey	the same	message	as	protesting	but	with	more	vigor	and	more	impact.	Other	questions	arose as	well-for	example,	whether	it	could	be	distinguished	from	damage	to	private	property and	how	to	contextualize	it	in	relation	to	other	events	of	that	evening,	week,	and	year-but this fundamental conceptual question seemed to	me to require consideration	on its own terms.	Accurately characterizing this act	matters for investigating its justification and its potential	repetition,	its	connection	to	social	movements	of	the	past	and	future,	as	well	as	its character	and	effectiveness. As	Rawls	(1999,	p.	322)	notes,	civil	disobedience	lies	at	"the	outer	edge"	of	political practice.	Although	it	pushes	the	boundaries	of	the	political,	we	must	make	room	in	both	our concepts	and	our	justifications	for	such	disobedience.	As	Jürgen	Habermas,	Hannah	Arendt, and others have persuasively argued, civil disobedience is a healthy part of any good society because it represents the deep convictions of citizens committed to exposing injustice, constantly keeping political power in check and holding decision-makers accountable	(Arendt	1972,	p.	96;	Habermas	1985,	pp.	103-5;	Rawls	1999,	pp.	336-37;	Sabl 2001,	pp.	307,	327).	Even	under legitimate	regimes, ineliminable features	of	government make	such	contestatory	practices	valuable,	including	benign	features	like	institutional	drift as well as pernicious features like the corrupting influence of concentrated power (Markovits	2005;	Smith	2011). The	key	for	understanding	civil	disobedience	is	capturing	how	it	remains	within	but at the edge of the political. While my purpose here is not to develop or defend a full definition of civil disobedience, I give a novel explanation of the central feature of the practice, which delimits the role of violence in my arguments below. The core of civil disobedience	is	that	it	necessarily	communicates	two	things,	simultaneously	but	strainedly: on	one	hand, it communicates a condemnation	of a political practice,	while on the other hand	it	communicates	a	commitment	to	the	political.3	Its	special	character-and,	often,	its special persuasive force or appeal-comes from the interaction between these two components by making clear that this particular act of law-breaking is principled and aimed	at	improving	our	shared	political	condition. Civil disobedience communicates a disconnect between the values underlying the political project and how that project is being carried out in practice by contrasting the disobedient's	commitment	to	the	political	project	with	her	willingness	to	break	the	law	that is supposed to embody and	uphold that very	project. Civil disobedience	does	not simply communicate perceived mistakes, which the militant may also communicate, but inconsistencies.	The	appeal	made	by	disobedients,	then,	is	an	appeal	on	the	basis	of	shared 3	See Brownlee (2012) for the	most fully developed and insightful discussion of disobedience as an act of communication. 4 ground	that	the	audience	is	already	committed	to,	rather	than	the	more	removed	appeal	of mere	mistake.	Further,	the	disobedients'	simultaneous	condemnation	and	commitment	do more than say that there is an inconsistency, they demonstrate the inconsistency. The particular character of civil disobedience as a distinct phenomenon, worthy of characterization and analysis in its own right, is that it performs the very same tension between political ideals and actions that it aims to identify and remedy in the broader community.	Its	condemnation	is	heightened	by	the	costs	of	law-breaking	and	the	contrast with	its	commitment	to	the	political	is	concomitantly	heightened	as	well. The question, then, is how this combination of condemnation and commitment constrains an act of civil disobedience. Law-breaking demonstrates condemnation quite directly; the	main	concern	is	making	clear	the	object	of	condemnation.	The	more	difficult part	of	civil	disobedience	is	expressing	a	commitment	to	the	political,	for	law-breaking	per se	seems	to	imply	the	lack	of	such	a	commitment.	Thus	much	of	the	debate	over	the	concept of	and	justificatory	conditions	on	civil	disobedience	hinges	on	how	the	commitment	to	the political can be expressed. For example, Rawls demands that disobedients be willing to accept punishment specifically on the grounds that such a willingness shows the disobedient	to	be	"within	the	limits	of	fidelity	to	law"	(1999,	p.	322).	He	contrasts	this	with the	case	of	the	militant	who	is	not	willing	to	accept	punishment	because	"militant	action	is not	within	the	bounds	of	fidelity	to	law,	but	represents	a	more	profound	opposition	to	the legal	order"	(1999,	p.	323).	Some	of	the	disagreement	over	whether	civil	disobedience	must be public, forewarned, or non-anonymous also rests on whether such elements are necessary	to	remain	within	a	commitment	to	the	political. 2.	Political	Commitment The central question is	whether violence necessarily contradicts the commitment to the political that civil disobedience	must demonstrate. In order to answer this question,	we must	first	get	clear	on	the	commitment	to	the	political.	In	this	section	I	argue	for	a	rather minimalist, thin notion of commitment to the political: commitment to the idea of the shared	project of living together. I	make this argument along three avenues:	by showing why the traditional Rawlsian notion of fidelity to law is too strong, by showing that	my notion	of	the	political	unifies	a	distinct	practice	across	a	desirable	range	of	contexts,	and	by showing	the	advantages	of	my	notion	in	relation	to	other	extant	accounts. What	I	call the	commitment	to	the	political,	Rawls	understands	as	"fidelity	to law" and	he	argues	(1999,	p.	322)	that	fidelity	to	law	is	inconsistent	with	violence: The law is broken, but fidelity to law is expressed by the public and nonviolent nature of the act, by the willingness to accept the legal consequences	of	one's	conduct.	This fidelity to law	helps to	establish to the majority	that	the	act	is	indeed	politically	conscientious	and	sincere,	and	that it	is	intended	to	address	the	public's	sense	of	justice.	To	be	completely	open 5 and	nonviolent	is	to	give	bond	of	one's	sincerity,	for	it	is	not	easy	to	convince another that one's acts are conscientious, or even to	be sure of this before oneself. The first question is what fidelity to law	means. As	William E. Scheuerman (2015) and others	argue,	it	is	a	mistake	to	incorporate	this	notion	of	fidelity	to	law	into	our	concept	of civil	disobedience	if	we	interpret	it	as	fidelity	to	the	actual	law. Fidelity to actual law rules out too many paradigmatic historical cases of civil disobedience, including	both	Gandhi	and	King	(Lyons	1998).	Gandhi	was	a	revolutionary, rightfully viewing Britain's colonial rule as illegitimate and condemning it as such; his nonviolence	was	not	motivated	by	fidelity	to	the	actual	oppressive	law.	Rawls	constricts	his attention	to	disobedience	within	a	legitimate,	near-just	state	and	so	ends	up	characterizing disobedients as reformers, critiquing a particular aspect of a system that they are committed to	on the	whole.4	This	has the advantage	of offering a clear contrast	between disobedients	and	revolutionaries	but	excludes	too	much.5 It is unfortunate that the literature treats Rawls' definition as canonical, understandable	as	that	may	be.	His	consideration	of	the	practice	comes	in	the	context	of	a discussion	of	political	obligation	and	he	explicitly	frames	the	problem	of	civil	disobedience as	a	challenge	to	political	obligation,	the	limits	of	democratic	rule,	and	obedience	to	unjust laws.	He	notes that	his theory	of civil	disobedience is "framed for special circumstances" (1999, p. 319) and its purpose is "to narrow the disparity between the conscientious convictions	of	those	who	accept	the	basic	principles	of	a	democratic	society"	(1999,	p.	320). I	think	this	leads	Rawls	to	mistake	justificatory	conditions	for	conceptual	conditions. He	defines	civil	disobedience	in	an	extremely	narrow	way	not	because	he	is interested	in characterizing a multifaceted political practice but because he is interested in whether there is any case	where law-breaking could	be justified	under conditions	where	political obligation	otherwise	holds.	To	do	so	he	restricts	his	attention	to	the	most	justifiable	case	he can imagine but instead of framing its features in terms of justifiability, he incorporates them	directly	into	his	definition. Importantly,	though,	I	am	interested	in	civil	disobedience	for	reasons	that	go	beyond its	relation	to	political	obligation	(Raz	2009,	p.	265).	In	particular,	even	if	the	justificatory question is uninteresting in illegitimate regimes (because, as Rawls notes, if militant revolution	is justified	then	a	fortiori	mere	disobedience	is justified), it is	not	the	case	that civil disobedience as a distinct political practice is uninteresting. Even in an illegitimate regime	we	often	have	good	reasons to choose to	engage	only,	or	at least initially, in civil disobedience.	For	example,	militant	revolution	is	only	justified	as	a	last	resort	and	engaging in civil disobedience is likely one	of the steps that	must	be explored	before a last resort 4	See	Sabl	(2001)	for	a	particularly	informative	discussion	of	Rawls'	notion	of	"near-just"	societies. 5	For	more	along	this	line,	see	Scheuerman	(2016). 6 constraint	is	fulfilled.	Similarly,	it	can	be	the	case	that	an	illegitimate	regime	lacks	the	right not to be overthrown but that other factors, such as likelihood of success or proportionality,	make	militant revolution unjustified for citizens. In such a case the only justifiable route may be civil disobedience even though there is no general political obligation. Further, even	when	militant revolution is justified, tactically speaking it	may make sense to remain	within the bounds of civil disobedience, so	we	need to be able to distinguish the practice from militancy for strategic reasons (Chenoweth and Stephan 2011). Finally, for those opposed to militancy on political, religious, or purely moral grounds	also	need	to	be	able	to	identify	a	distinct	practice	of	civil	disobedience. Another	way	of	highlighting	the	distinctiveness	of	civil	disobedience	apart	from	the question of its justification is that justification focuses on particular acts of civil disobedience	but the	practice itself is	best	understood,	both	historically	and	normatively, as a part of broader social movements. For example, the Civil Rights movement in the United States involved a huge range of tactics and appeals, some legal and some illegal, some	public	and	some	private.	When	put into	the	context	of the	broader	movement,	civil disobedience is only one part of the whole (even if, for many, the most notable or controversial feature	of the	whole).	Even	when	the	question	of justification is	settled,	we still want to be able to distinguish the various	methods and tactics that constituted the movement,	to	consider	their	relation	to	one	another,	their	effectiveness	in	combination	or in	isolation,	and	their	potential	applicability	to	future	situations. So	my	project	is	not	Rawls'	project.	The	fact	that	civil	disobedience	may	be	able	to override	political	obligation	is	interesting	but	that	is	not	its	only	interesting	feature.	Once we	see	this	we	should	reject	Rawls'	framing	of	the	concept	and	ask	what	features	define	the practice as distinct and useful in a wider variety of contexts. Indeed, this seems to me precisely	what	Rawls	would	have	us	do:	"a	useful	theory	defines	a	perspective	within	which the problem of civil disobedience can be approached; it identifies the relevant considerations	and	helps	us	to	assign	them	their	correct	weights"	(1999,	p.	320).	It	is	only after this caveat that Rawls proposes his definition. Since	Rawls and I intend to put our theories of civil disobedience to use for different purposes, we require different perspectives	and	differently	weighted	considerations.	My	more	general	purpose	requires	a broader notion of civil disobedience and, in particular, a broader understanding of the commitment	to	the	political	than	fidelity	to	law. The	broader	notion	of	commitment	to	the	political	that	I	am	concerned	with	is	the idea that	political	disobedients	are committed to the shared	cooperative	project	of living together.	Unpacking	this	is	important.	A	commitment	to	the	political	presumes	the	goal- living	together-is	both	communal	and	long-term.	It	assumes	that	we	are	going	to	have	to work	together in	the future	and	so it takes	care	to	preserve	relations	between	us	now	as well.	This	takes	certain	options	off	the	table,	namely	those	options	that	would	render	our future	cooperation	impossible	and	treats	our	agonists	as	outside	the	political	community. The relevant contrasting case is a commitment to achieving	your	preferred	outcomes	no 7 matter the means and regardless of others' position as members in the on-going community. The most illuminating distinction is not between the disobedient and the revolutionary	but	between	the	disobedient	and	the	militant. Commitment to the	political is	at least related to	Rawls'	notion	of reasonableness, according	to	which	citizens	offer	terms	of	fair	cooperation	that	they	are	willing	to	abide	by (2005,	p.	49).	Even	if	we	understand	the	commitment	to	the	political in	this	way,	though, we	should	not follow	Rawls in	understanding	civil	disobedience	as	appealing to	a	shared sense of justice, including his two principles of justice. We can extract the notion of appealing	to	others	as	co-members in	a	cooperative	project	on its	own	terms.	This	aligns with a more purely political notion of civil disobedience. Justice as fairness is one substantive	and	detailed	way	of	working	out	what	reasonable	engagement	with	others	on terms	of	respect	and	equality	looks	like,	but	Rawls	admits	that	just	societies	could	come	to different	reasonable	interpretations	(2005,	pp.	xlvi-ii). My understanding of the commitment to the political is appropriate for characterizing a practice that is coherent in a	wider variety of contexts.	Not only is civil disobedience	a	coherent	practice	where	there	is	no	shared	sense	of	justice,	it	is	coherent	on behalf	of	markedly	illiberal	or	inegalitarian	causes.	For	example,	whatever	we	want	to	say about	their	justifiability,	the	March	2016	sit-ins	in	Pakistan	in	support	of	Mumtaz	Qadri	and sharia	law	seem	to	fit	squarely	within	the	concept	of	civil	disobedience. This understanding of political disobedients' commitment to the political can be usefully contrasted with two further alternatives, one stronger and one weaker. First, Scheuerman (2015, pp. 442ff.) argues for fidelity to the ideal of rule of law as an interpretation	of	Rawls'	notion	of	fidelity	to	law.	The	focus	is	on	what	Rawls	calls	justice	as generality, which allows political disobedients to appeal to the procedural goods of law being administered fairly. Scheuerman thus captures a commitment to the political in contexts	where	there	is	no	robust	shared	sense	of	justice	of	the	sort	Rawls	appeals	to	and	in unjust	circumstances,	where	the	actual	law	may	be	profoundly	unjust. Scheuerman's	view	is	close	to	my	own	but	is	more	robust,	so	rules	out	one	case	that I think we should strive to maintain within the conceptual boundaries of civil disobedience.6	This is the possibility that anarchists could be political disobedients. Anarchists are ex hypothesi opposed to the sort of institutionalization that rule of law requires. But they are opposed on specifically political grounds: they think institutionalization is unnecessary to successfully engage in the shared project of living together and that institutionalization in fact impedes human flourishing when imposed. This is a coherent, principled	political position.	We should	not rule	out the	possibility of civil	disobedience	by	anarchists	on	conceptual	grounds.	One	way	of	interpreting	Thoreau, in many ways the wellspring of our modern understanding of civil disobedience, is 6	Similar points can be made about a variety of more robust understandings of the commitment to the political, including those that	we could draw from the republican characterization of civil disobedience in Markovits	(2005)	or	the	deliberative	democrat	characterization	in	Smith	(2011). 8 precisely as an anarchist engaging in civil disobedience (Simmons 2010).7	Indeed, Todd May (2015, p. 158) interprets civil disobedience of the paradigmatic, nonviolent sort as having	an	intrinsic	affinity	with	anarchism. On the	other	hand, appealing to anything less	political undermines the	distinctive character	of civil	disobedience.	Kimberley	Brownlee, for	example,	argues that the	central feature	of	civil	disobedience is its	source in	conscientious	moral	conviction.	Disobedients do	not	appeal	to	the	shared	political	project	of	living	together	but	to	the	more	starkly	moral "principle of humanism" (Brownlee	2012, p. 7). This	principle requires	us to respect the deeply held and conscientious convictions of others and is based on a robust moral doctrine	about	the	nature	of	value	pluralism	and	basic	respect	for	the	humanity	of	others. The	problem	with this is	not the	substance	of	Brownlee's	moral	claims	but	on the move	away	from	the	political.8	This	move	characterizes	disobedients'	communication	very differently. On	my	more political view, disobedients convey condemnation of a political practice with commitment to the shared project and practice of living together. The condemnation	is	stark	precisely	because	it	is	paired	with	political	commitment.	As	I	argued above, it	embodies the	very	political tension	that it	calls	out; it is	still,	as	Rawls	(1997,	p. 321)	notes,	"guided	and	justified	by	political	principles."	On	Brownlee's	view,	disobedients convey	condemnation	of	a	political	practice	with	signals	of	the	depth	and	sincerity	of	their moral	views.	They	make	their	appeal	not	to	an	audience	qua	co-participants	in	the	political but	qua	humans	worthy	of	respect.	This	is	simply	a	very	different	sort	of	appeal.	As	I	argue more fully below, it also	means that Brownlee's view can only explain the limits of the practice	with	robust	moral	premises. 3.	Violence With	a	fuller	understanding	of	the	commitment	to	the	political	before	us,	we	can	consider whether violence is inconsistent with such a commitment. I will not offer a precise definition of violence (Bufacchi 2005, May 2015).9	Below I distinguish several types of violence but a general theory of violence is unnecessary for our purposes. To be clear, however,	I	do	take	violence	to	primarily	be	a	mode	of	action,	not	a	type	of	action.	Its	most important usage is adverbial: actions that are done violently are done forcefully and aggressively.	This	understanding	of	violence	allows	us	to	distinguish	violence	from	harm: harm can	be	done	non-violently, as	when	one	person	poisons another slowly and subtly over time. It also distinguishes violence from rights-violations, injustice, and coercion. 7	Even	if	we	disagree	with	Simmons'	characterization	of	the	actual	Thoreau,	a	slightly	modified	hypothetical Thoreau	can	demonstrate	the	case. 8	Similar	worries	arise	for	views	that	appeal	simply	to	principled	objection	(Smart	1978;	Celikates	2016). 9	Some	proposed	definitions	strike	me	as	implausible	and	skew	the	relevant	discussion;	for	example,	Morreall (1976,	p.	38)	claims	that	violence	is	conceptually	only	directed	at	persons	and	is	necessarily	related	to	rights claims. Similarly, German federal courts have	misguidedly held that sitting in the street as an act of civil disobedience	can	be	violent	due	to	effects	on	drivers	(Celikates	2016,	pp.	41-2). 9 Definitions	that	elide	all	these	related	but	importantly	distinct	issues	seem	clearly	mistaken to	me	(Coady	1986). While	I	do	not	offer	a	definition	of	violence,	the	characterization	I	just	gave	falls	into the	minimalist	camp	(Buffachi	2005).	The	main	advantage	of	a	minimalist	understanding	of violence is that it allows us to	more carefully distinguish various phenomena, especially because	it	does	not	normatively	weight	violence	as	other	more	maximalist	definitions	tend to.	To	my	mind,	the	minimalist	definition	also	fits	better	with	ordinary	usage	of	the	idea	of violence	whereas	more	maximalist	definitions	find	violence	in	counterintuitive	places.	10 The	main complaint against	minimalist definitions, raised	with clarity by Vittorio Bufacchi, is	that	they	miss	psychological	and	structural	violence.	My	own	preference	is	to claim that psychological violence is in fact easily captured by my approach; imagine a parent	screaming	at	their	child.	Here	excessive	force	and	aggression	are	on	full	display	(as is the	paradigmatic,	but	not	conceptual, connection to	harm).	As for	structural	violence, I am more sanguine about its exclusion. While I agree that social structures can harm, violate,	engender	and	constitute	injustice,	and	employ	and	enable	violence	by	individuals,	I am	not	sure	that	it	makes	sense	to	say	such	structures	themselves	act	violently.	Finally,	as seems	correct	to	me,	the	adverbial	usage	locates	violence	in	the	actor	and	not	the	victim,	as most	maximalist	or	normatively laden	definitions	do.	The	angry	man	who	punches	a	wall may	not	have	harmed	anything	or	violated	any	rights	but	he	clearly	acted	violently,	which matters	for	our	characterization	of	his	act	and	our	evaluation	of	his	character. With this restricted notion of violence in mind, we can turn to the possibility of violent civil disobedience. To narrow the aim of the argument even further, we are concerned only with constitutive	and other-directed	violence. First, I am only concerned with violence that constitutes the act of civil disobedience: violence in the very act of breaking the law.	On	one	hand, constitutive	violence	contrasts	with	violence from	others responding	to	the	act.	If	reprisal	violence	counts,	then	even	Gandhi	and	King	were	violent. This	move	makes	nonviolent	disobedience	nearly	impossible	to	achieve	and	too	dependent on	the	acts	of	others.	It	essentially	rules	out	some	paradigmatic	cases	where	the	brutality	of the	regime	was	precisely	one	of	objects	of	disobedience,	as	with	Gandhi;	one	of	the	primary strategic	elements	of	his	campaigns	was	to	contrast	the	nonviolence	of	the	protestors	with the	brutality	of	the	British	rulers.	While	it	may	seem	obvious	that	reprisal	violence	cannot render	the	disobedient's	own	act	violent,	this	worry	did	arise	for	Gandhi	and	it	highlights the problem with simply labeling the practice nonviolent tout court without further explanation. The other contrast with constitutive violence is related violence. The question is whether	violence	that	does	not	constitute	the	relevant	law-breaking	but	is	still	related	to	it (e.g.	responding	to	reprisals,	resisting	arrest,	and	so	on)	counts	as	violence	for	the	purposes 10	Cf.	May	(2015,	p.	68)	arguing	that	any	undermining	of	dignity	is	violent,	so	toppling	a	dictator's	statue	is	not violent	per	se,	but	stomping	on	it	and	denigrating	it	are	violent.	To	be	fair,	May	is	not	concerned	with	defining violence	per	se,	but	with	defining	a	particularly	robust	kind	of	nonviolent	political	practice. 10 of our concept. Is violence in these interactions, related to but not constituting the civil disobedience,	ruled	out?	Put	aside,	for	the	moment,	the	idea	that	resisting	arrest	could	also constitute	civil	disobedience.	Consider	a	modified	case	from	the	civil	rights	movement.	Civil rights	workers	Andrew	Goodman, James	Chaney,	and	Michael	Schwerner	were	murdered by	members	of	the	Ku	Klux	Klan	in	Alabama	in	1964.	Imagine	that	this	was	done	in	reprisal to a nonviolent act of civil disobedience, minutes, hours, or days later. Would violent resistance in self-defense render the prior act violent? It seems not; these are simply separate issues, even though the violence was a result of the earlier act of civil disobedience. The diachronic nature of this example helps make clear the distinction between	constitutive	and	related	violence	that	can	otherwise	be	muddled	(for it is	surely true	both	that	in	close	succession	it	can	be	difficult	to	disentangle	these	moments	and	that sometimes one's commitment to the political can be displayed even	more clearly when surrendering	to	arrest	or	to	illegal	harsh	reprisals).	Focusing	only	on	constitutive	violence helps	make	sense	of	the	practice	on	its	own	terms.	This	puzzle	also	helps	us	see	why	civil disobedience should	be	kept	distinct from	a commitment to	nonviolence	more	generally, which	is	often	concerned	more	broadly	with	a	comprehensive	ethical	ideal	(May	2015).	A person may be committed to civil disobedience in the political sphere yet not to nonviolence-or	satyagraha,	or	the	intrinsic	dignity	of	all-more	generally. Second,	other-directed	violence	stands in	contrast to	self-directed	violence	(Cohen 1972,	p.	298).	Self-directed	violence	can	take	the	form	of	personal	or	property	violence.	A case	of	each	makes	it	clear	why	self-directed	violence	clearly	falls	within	the	bounds	of	civil disobedience.	Consider,	first,	the	case	of	Mohamed	Bouazizi,	the	Tunisian	fruit	vendor	who set himself on fire in 2010, sparking the	Tunisian	Revolution and the	Arab Spring. If	we hold that civil disobedience is necessarily nonviolent and that self-directed personal violence	is	violent	in	the	appropriate	sense,	then	we	are	forced	to	conclude	that	Bouazizi's self-immolation was something other than civil disobedience. Yet this seems absurd. Bouazizi's act coheres well with other paradigmatic cases like King and Gandhi, who emphasized	the	role	of	self-sacrifice	and	even	suffering. Perhaps	suicide	is	too	far;	perhaps	it	conveys	despair	more	than	commitment	to	the shared political project of living together, for it takes the agent out of the community. I think	this	assumes	an	overly	narrow	notion	of	the	political	(surely	political	martyrdom	is	a coherent	concept)	but	then	we	can	imagine	a	case	of	self-directed	violence	of	a	less	drastic sort; carving injustices into	one's skin, for	example.	This	may	be	unwise from	a strategic point of view but it is hard to understand why it would necessarily conflict with a commitment to the political. Self-sacrifice, including self-harm, is a common element of such	a	commitment,	as	with	accepting	punishment	or	hunger	strikes.	A	hunger	strike	is	not violent to	my	mind,	since	whatever	harm	it inflicts is	not	done	violently,	but then	we	see that the question comes	down to	whether self-directed	harm	done violently is ruled out even	though	hunger	strikes	are	not. In	the	case	of	self-directed	property	violence,	imagine	that	flag-burning	is	illegal.	In 11 order	to	protest	this	law,	you	buy	a	flag	and	then	burn	it	in	public.	Again,	whatever	reasons we	have	for	holding	that	civil	disobedience	is	necessarily	nonviolent,	extending	it	to	mean that	burning	your	own	personal	flag	to	protest	an	anti-flag-burning	law	is	excessive.	This	is an ideal case	of civil	disobedience in	many	ways: it is	direct (it	breaks the	precise law it holds	to	be	unjust),	it	is	perfectly	symbolic	(it	destroys	the	most	prominent	symbol	of	the political	regime	that	imposes	the	contested	law	in	addition	to	breaking	that	very	law),	it	is self-contained	(not	risking	harm	or	costs	to	anyone	else),	and	it is	public.	Ruling	out	such an	act	on	conceptual	grounds	is	badly	mistaken. Restricting	our	attention	to	other-directed	constitutive	violence	is	uncontroversial; such restrictions are often implicit in discussions of civil disobedience. In addition to simply making our commitments explicit, though, this shows how violence is quite obviously	consistent	with	civil	disobedience	in	many	aspects.	This	observation	undermines at least one potential justification for a pure nonviolence constraint noted by Simmons (2010,	p.	1808),	namely	that law	regulates	violence,	so	violence	of	any	kind	without	legal authorization	moves	one	outside	civil	disobedience.	This is	another	reason	to	understand civil disobedience as centrally involving a commitment to the political thinly construed rather than to the actual law. The question, then, is not whether civil disobedience is inconsistent with violence tout court, but more particularly under what conditions civil disobedience	is	inconsistent	with	violence	of	certain	sorts. In particular, the issue is whether other-directed constitutive violence can be consistent	with	a	commitment	to	the	political.	On	my	construal	of	the	commitment	to	the political, this means we need to know whether other-directed constitutive violence is consistent with treating others as members of the on-going communal project of living together. I think it is not: violence directed at other people is inconsistent	with treating them	as	members,	and	so	is	inconsistent	with	a	commitment	to	the	political,	and	so	renders any	violence	directed	at	others	necessarily	not	an	act	of	civil	disobedience. In some respects this might seem obvious-certainly lethal violence literally removes others from the on-going community. But there is an important puzzle here because	civil	disobedience	often	treats	others	quite	harshly.	Civil	disobedience	can	clearly set	back	others'	interests,	as	when	a	strike	or	a	sit-in	prevents	people	from	obtaining	some service,	it	can	infringe	others'	rights,	such	as	their	right	to	free	movement,	and	it	can	coerce them,	as in the	most	successful	campaigns	of	civil	disobedience like	the	overthrow	of the Marcos dictatorship in the Philippines.11	So the question is	whether	we	have a notion of membership that rules out treating other members violently but not setting back their interests,	infringing	their	rights,	or	even	coercing	them. Notice	that	this	question	is	only	pressing	for	a	minimalist	understanding	of	violence. If	we	think	any	harm,	rights	infringement,	or	coercion	is	violent,	then	civil	disobedience	is 11	This conflicts with a Rawlsian strain of the literature that rules out coercion, claiming that civil disobedience	is	only	ever	an	attempt	to	persuade.	This	is,	I	think,	historically	inaccurate	as	well	as	a	result	of mistakenly	restricting	attention	to	the	near-just	context. 12 obviously consistent with other-directed violence, on pain of reducing the practice to irrelevance.	But	if	we	take	violence	in	a	more	restricted	manner,	as	I	think	we	should,	then the question is	more difficult because the question becomes, on	my adverbial construal, why	treating	others	simply	in	a	particular	mode-forcefully	and	aggressively-is	ruled	out even	while rights infringements and coercion	are	not.	And, in	keeping	with	my	desire to describe a distinctively political practice, the answer must be given only in terms of membership in the community (not, as discussed below, in terms of a particular ethical theory). The	problem	with other-directed violence is that it treats violence as a legitimate decision-making	procedure	within	the	community,	both	now	and	into	the	future. It treats other members of the community as though leveling sudden, aggressive, overwhelming force	at	them	is	an	appropriate	way	to	solve	the	inevitable	disagreements	and	confusions	of living	together.	Yet	political	community,	conceived	of	as	a	communal	and	diachronic	project of living together, cannot rest on such a resolution of disagreement. Violence as an adjudication procedure devolves membership in a community into subjection to the strongest,	and	so	not	a	communal	project	at	all.	Such	a	communal	project	undertaken	by persons is ultimately a practice of justification, ruling out the practice of foregoing justification	for	overwhelming	force.	Directing	violence	at	persons	removes	them	from	the class	of	people	that	we	are	committed	to	living	together	with	because	it	treats	them	as	an obstacle to	be	overcome.12	Membership in a	political community in	my sense	necessarily requires	putting	aside	acting	violently	as	an	appropriate	way	to	settle	public	disputes. Due	to	this,	civil	disobedience	cannot	be	violent	in	the	sense	that	violence	is	directed at	other	persons,	for	example	ruling	out	assault.	It	also	renders	civil	disobedience	on	behalf of	a	regime	of	might-makes-right	incoherent-if	you	are	committed	to	might-makes-right, then	the	fact	that	you	are	forced	into	civil	disobedience	because	you	do	not	have	the	power to	institute	your	preferences	entails	that	your	preferred	regime	is	illegitimate.	To	my	mind, this	is	the	limit	case	on	the	conceptual	coherence	of	the	practice. Some theorists disagree with the exclusion of other-directed personal violence (Lang	1970;	Smart	1978).	For	example,	A.	John	Simmons	(2010,	p.	1808)	offers	the	case	of "kidnapping	a	public	official	who	is	instrumental	in	administering	an	unjust	policy."	While such	cases	can	certainly	be	morally	justifiable,	as	Simmons	claims,	the	question	is	whether they	count	as	civil	disobedience	rather	than	as,	for	example,	militancy.	My	claim	is	that	they cannot	be	civil	disobedience.	Simmons,	following	Rawls	and	others,	focuses	on	the	idea	that such a kidnapping	would demonstrate disrespect for or a lack of fidelity to the law.	My focus	on	the	commitment	to	the	political,	on	the	other	hand,	asks	whether	we	are	treating others	as	co-members	in	the	shared	political	project	of	living	together.	Even	if	kidnapping the	unjust	official	does	not	disrespect	the	law	as	such,	it	treats	the	official	herself	as	outside the bounds of the shared political project. In so doing the kidnappers in fact precisely 12	Cf.	Brownlee	(2012,	p.	20);	Moraro	(2007,	p.	3);	Sabl	(2001). 13 communicate that they lack a commitment to the political. That is why such personal violence	is	inconsistent	with	civil	disobedience. Other	theorists	have	come	to	similar	conclusions	about	the	bounds	of	violence	and civil	disobedience,	including	Brownlee	(2012,	p.	20),	Moraro	(2007,	p.	7),	May	(2015)	and others.	Importantly,	though,	their	conclusions	are	made	on	the	basis	of	more	robust	moral and	ethical	commitments,	unlike	my	reliance	on	a	thin,	ecumenical	notion	of	the	political. Both	Brownlee	and	Moraro	appeal	to	Kantian	ethics	for	their	rejection	of	personal	violence by	arguing that	violence	against	persons is	unjustified	because it treats	people	as	a	mere means to disobedients' political goals. May goes even further, arguing that nonviolence expresses respect for the dignity and equal status of all. This veer into ethical theory is unmotivated	and	unnecessary	to	make	sense	of	the	concept	of	civil	disobedience,	however. Neither Brownlee nor Moraro claims to be making an explicitly Kantian case for civil disobedience, so it is unclear why Kantian ethics are somehow relevant at this point. Further,	in	keeping	with	the	spirit	of	a	distinctively	political	practice,	it	would	be	better	if we can make our theory rely on the notion of the political apart from any particular comprehensive	doctrine-in this respect	my	purpose is	distinct from	May's,	who	aims to characterize	a	comprehensive	ethic	of	nonviolence	rather	than	civil	disobedience. We should not take treating others as members of the political project of living together	too	robustly.	Consistent	with	the	desire	to	make	coherent	a	wide	range	of	political practice,	people	can	engage	in	civil	disobedience	without	thinking	that	others	are	equal	comembers-as	noted	above,	civil	disobedience	on	behalf	of	illiberal,	even	oppressive,	causes is	conceptually	coherent.	Similarly,	civil	disobedience	need	not	be	undertaken	out	of	a	deep respect	for	others	as	moral	beings,	or	out	of	epistemic	humility,	or	anything	of	the	sort.	One can simply	be committed to the idea	of a shared	political	project that rules	out	violence, even among unequal members who are, nonetheless, all members.13	This is the thin understanding	of	the	political	that	civil	disobedience	requires	for	conceptual	coherence. So the	commitment to the	political is inconsistent	with	other-directed	constitutive personal violence. The same is not true of violence directed at property; protests can include other-directed constitutive property violence and remain within the conceptual bounds of civil disobedience.14	Since property is not part a potential member of the political project of living together, destroying property does not set anyone outside the political	project	and	so	does	not	contradict	a	commitment	to	that	project. 13	Interestingly,	this	gestures	towards	a	potential	explanation	of	one	of	Chenoweth	and	Stephan's	interesting findings, namely that nonviolent resistance was uniquely ineffective with respect to secession. Since secession is undertaken precisely on the premise of breaking apart a political community, it is difficult to express	a	commitment	to	the	political	in	such	cases. 14	More	precisely,	the	relevant	distinction	is	between	violence	directed	at	persons	and	violence	not	directed	at persons.	This	latter	category	includes	more	than	property,	for	example	including	unowned	elements	of	nature like	wild	animals. I should	note that	nothing in	my	argument	excludes	violence towards	animals from	civil disobedience;	although	I	think	such	violence	is	tactically	unwise	and	most	often	unjustified,	it	does	not	seem to exclude any persons from the realm of the political,	which is the only conceptual constraint that I rely upon. 14 As noted above, a particularly good example of civil disobedience that includes property violence occurred in Ferguson, MO in the aftermath of the killing of Michael Brown in 2014. In addition to a	wide range of disobedience, including nonviolent direct action	as	well	as	conflicts	with	police,	protestors	set	a	police	cruiser	ablaze.15	This	kind	of property	violence is	highly	symbolic.	Protestors	were	objecting	to	Brown's	death	and	the lack	of	legal	accountability	but,	as	they	made	clear,	also	more	broadly	to	the	local	police	and courts	and	routinized, severe	abuse.	As the	Department	of Justice later confirmed	after	a detailed investigation, the local municipality was egregiously violating residents' Constitutional rights across a wide range of practices, often with a marked racial bias (United States Department of Justice 2015). Burning the police car, the very symbol of prowling	oppression,	is	a	precise,	clear	symbol	of	outrage	and	condemnation.	Accounts	of civil	disobedience	should	make	room	for	this	sort	of	violence. Some	definitions of civil disobedience as necessarily nonviolent	may be implicitly relying	on the	distinction	between	personal	and	property	violence (Cohen	1972,	p.	298). Rawls	notes	the	distinction	but	rests	his	case	on	the	problems	with	personal	violence: [Civil disobedience] tries to avoid the use of violence, especially against persons,	not	from	the	abhorrence	of	the	use	of	force	in	principle,	but	because it	is	a	final	expression	of	one's	case.	To	engage	in	violent	acts	likely	to	injure and to hurt is incompatible with civil disobedience as a mode of address (1999,	p.	321,	my	emphasis). If	Rawls	or	others	only	ever	meant	to	rule	out	violence	against	persons,	then	we	agree.	But if so, this restriction should be	made explicitly. This is especially important because the rhetoric	used	against	disobedients	often	fails	to	make	precisely	this	distinction.	If	property is	destroyed,	then	protests	are	often	dismissed	as	outside	the	bounds	of	political	practice, as	inviting	anarchy,	as	unprincipled	law-breaking,	and	so	on. At	this	point	it	may	be	tempting	to	distinguish	between	public	and	private	property in	order	to	claim	that	civil	disobedience	can	include	violence	towards	public	but	not	private property.	The	Ferguson	case	is	plausible	because	destroying	public	property	can	be	highly symbolic	but	private	property	is	different.	As	a	conceptual	matter,	though,	this	seems	to	me to	be	mistaken.	Directing	violence	at	private	property	does	not	show	that	the	owner	of	that property	is	outside	the	political	community.	Imagine	a	country	of	radical	wealth	inequality. Protesting against such inequality by seizing and destroying the gold-encrusted jet of a plutocrat is an eminently symbolic and striking form	of protest. Given that the	plutocrat himself	is	not	threatened,	I	do	not	see	why	such	an	act	would	be	conceptually	inconsistent 15	Individual	actions	must	be	evaluated	within	the	broader	context	of	a	movement	and	in	the	Ferguson	case much	more	than	the	police	car	burning	occurred,	as	the	pictures	show,	so	for	our	purposes	here	I	am	making no claims about whether the overall evening constituted civil disobedience. Another	misleading aspect of considering individual instances of law-breaking is that it obscures the group nature of civil disobedience (Arendt	1972). 15 with	a	commitment	to	the	political.	It	does	not	push	the	person	outside	of	the	bounds	of	the political	community.	There	are	important	differences	between	how	we	treat	someone	and how	we treat their property, especially given that the shape of actual property holdings depends	upon	political	arrangements	and	is	not	exogenous	thereto. Recall	that	many	forms	of	protest	that	obviously	fall	within	the	conceptual	bounds of	civil	disobedience	set	back	the	interests	of	others,	such	as	blocking	traffic,	sit-ins,	strikes, and	so	on.	Some	of	the	costs	involved	in	such	actions	will	be	costs	to	the	property	of	others, if indirectly, as	when	businesses lose customers and so lose	profit or	when	police	divert resources	to	protests,	leaving	other	areas	unattended.	We	cannot	rely	on	the	general	claim that	setting	back	the	interests	of	other	citizens	without	their	consent	treats	them	as	outside the	political	project	without	eviscerating	the	practice	of	civil	disobedience	to	its	core.	Given that, it is	hard	to	see	why	violent	destruction	of	property	would	treat	them	as	apart	from the	political	project	even	though	setting	back	their	interests	in	a	variety	of	other	ways	does not do so. And as Raz (2009) notes, even some legal and nonviolent modes of political protest	may	be	substantially	harmful,	as	with	a	strike	by	ambulance	drivers.	Ultimately	the distinction between violence done to public property versus private property does not seem	relevant	to	the	concept	of	civil	disobedience. This	does	suggest,	however,	that	in	some	contexts	property	violence	is	inconsistent with	a	commitment	to	the	political.	These	are	cases	where	violence	directed	at	property	is	a more	direct	strike	at	a	person.	Examples	would	include	destroying	their	only	shelter,	taking away	their	last	food	or	water,	and	so	on.	There	are	minimal	material	conditions	on	the	sort of life one needs to live in order to be a member in the political project. If people are starving	or	otherwise	scrambling	just	to	stay	alive,	they	cannot	participate	in	the	right	way. Taking	away those	preconditions	on	political	membership thus	strikes	at the	person	qua co-member in the political project, so civil disobedience cannot be violent in such	ways. The	relevant	issue	in	such	cases,	though,	is	the	harm	done	to	the	person	qua	co-member	of the	political	project,	not	the	mere	fact	that	it	was	their	property	or	that	it	was	violent. In	conclusion,	civil	disobedience	is	conceptually	consistent	with	reprisal	and	related violence, self-directed constitutive violence, and other-directed constitutive property violence	but	is	not	consistent	with	other-directed	constitutive	personal	violence.	The	latter sort	of	violence	removes	others	from	the	political	project	so	contradicts	the	commitment	to the	political	that	lies	at	the	conceptual	and	normative	core	of	civil	disobedience. As	many	of	the	theorists	above	have	noted,	resorting	to	violence	immediately	calls into	question	one's	commitment	to	the	political.	Even	in	those	cases	where	I	have	argued that violence is not necessarily inconsistent with such a commitment, the question of effectiveness matters. Due to this, it is probably true that any instance of violent civil disobedience should be accompanied by other elements that can clearly establish a commitment to the political, perhaps including non-anonymity, willingness to accept punishment,	and	so	on.	While	I	agree	with	revisionist	theorists	that	such	elements	are	not necessary	to	the	concept	of	civil	disobedience,	the	fact	that	violence	is	so	likely	to	obscure 16 the	principled	nature	of	civil	disobedience	means	that	uncivil	disobedience	often	requires support	from	these	additional	elements	in	order	to	be	effective.	Similar	thoughts	apply	to what sorts of violence should	be chosen; the less related	violence is to the	disobedients' claims	of	injustice,	the	less	effective	the	civil	disobedience	is	likely	to	be. There	are,	though,	limits	to	such	pragmatic	thoughts.	Too	much	concern	about	how the	message	will	be	received	stifles	political	protest	and	can	be	used	as	a	tool	of	oppression. 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