Some guy Thoreau once said, “all men recognize … the right to refuse allegiance to, and to resist, the government, when its tyranny or its inefficiency are great and unendurable.”
The right to refuse allegiance to the government, or in the other words, to protest it and its actions, is a right guaranteed by the U.S. Constitution. Although we can sit and argue about how strictly or how broadly to interpret that right, it’s been stretched and stretched by courts to include everything from flag-burning (Texas v. Johnson) to an underaged student’s right to protest in school (Tinker v. Des Moines). Protesting, or the right to do so, is a point of pride in the United States — we were founded on the right, and therefore are almost obligated to be its biggest fan. It’s also, believe or not, a means of keeping peace. Without the platform of protest to facilitate necessary legislative change, pressure builds and large-scale, very bloody revolutions happen (e.g. France in 1789 or Russia in 1917). Alright, we get it. Dissent (specifically nonviolent dissent) is a cool, American intellectual tradition. So why then when a protest happens, do we suddenly become hostile, regressive and uncomfortable?
Practically all American protests are, or at least begin, nonviolently. Violent protests are attempted, but never tend to work out well. Because we have a well-organized, militarized government, violent protests are pinpointed and silenced swiftly, the precedent for that having been established during the often forgotten Shays’ Rebellion. Nonviolent, symbolic protest is your only option — and it is, at least so far, proven to be effective. However, this effectiveness is by no means instantaneous. Pressure-building takes time, bodies and careful strategic planning. It’s significantly more complicated than getting a bunch of friends together and deciding to chain yourselves to the Cambridge City Hall. Yet somehow, despite being a nation of freedom-loving patriots, we still don’t understand nonviolent protest.
Some people boil the protest down to what it literally is — a bunch of students wearing black armbands or an environmentalist chained to a tree. They’re practical people and don’t see the purpose or message behind a symbolic statement. Some may say think that Colin Kaepernick should put his money where his mouth is and donate to the Black Lives Matter movement instead of just sitting there and staring off into space (even though he said he will donate). Others think the protest is too much or too extreme, even though violence, which I would say is the apex of extreme, is very much absent from the demonstration.
People may ask why Beyoncé had to make a political statement in her videos. They want her instead to focus on entertainment, a role they’re familiar seeing her in and, most importantly, a role that doesn’t make them as uncomfortable.
And, of course, you have the real winners who defame the character of the protester. I’m sure we’ve all heard the classic thought, “Kaepernick is only doing this cause he won’t ever get in the news for being an outstanding player” or “Beyoncé is only doing this to sell albums.”
Those people and their lengthy Facebook statuses condemning Kaepernick and Beyoncé completely missed the point. Kaepernick’s national anthem protest wasn’t about the national anthem — although that song has its own set of problems — it was highlighting the unjust treatment of black Americans in both institutions and society. Beyoncé’s album “Lemonade” and hit surprise single “Formation” weren’t about attacking police officers — they were about celebrating and defending black women.
We hate non-violent protests because of their complexity. We hate them because they aim to shock, and we’re not used to being shocked all that often. We hate them because they take some control away from our government and there is nothing we hate more than instability.
No matter how we feel about peaceful protest, they are a part of us and our history. They put the pressure on and, in the words of Saul Alinsky, “no politician can sit on a hot issue if you make it hot enough.” They force us to sit down and have a very necessary and uncomfortable talk. They’re not bloody, flag-flying revolutions — sometimes they’re silly, shocking and inconvenient, but they work.
It’s a really beautiful thing that they do.
