October 2 is the International Day of Non-Violence, chosen because it is the birthday of Mahatma Gandhi, the man who demonstrated that political resistance does not require becoming what one is resisting. The United Nations created the day to promote a culture of peace, tolerance, understanding and non-violence.
There is something almost brutally ironic about celebrating that principle in 2026. We live in an age in which violence has become political language. Not merely the violence of wars, bombs and guns, but the violence of intimidation, humiliation, militarised policing, political threats and the deliberate creation of fear. Violence has become a performance, and politics has discovered that frightened people are easier to mobilise than hopeful ones.
America offers perhaps the most disturbing illustration. Under Donald Trump, immigration enforcement has become one of the central theatres of this politics. ICE has expanded arrests on a massive scale, while federal immigration officers have increasingly become visible instruments of a campaign built around deportation and deterrence. In July and August, ICE recorded more than 50,000 arrests per month, according to figures reported this year.
And then there are the guns. In September, an ICE officer shot Wilber Rafael Garces Perez, a Venezuelan man, in Austin, Texas, during an immigration enforcement operation. Perez was subsequently placed in federal custody while seriously wounded; his attorney disputed important elements of the government's account. The circumstances remain under investigation.
That is precisely where a democratic society should stop and ask a very simple question: When did enforcement become synonymous with force?
Nobody seriously argues that a state does not need laws, borders, police or immigration procedures. A functioning society requires them. But the existence of authority does not give authority a moral blank cheque. The state possesses extraordinary power precisely because an individual does not. That imbalance creates an extraordinary responsibility.
And violence does not begin with a bullet. It begins with language. When political leaders describe opponents as enemies, immigrants as invaders, protesters as criminals and disagreement as betrayal, they are not simply choosing colourful vocabulary. They are lowering the psychological barrier against violence. Once another human being has been transformed into an enemy category, cruelty becomes easier to justify.
This is why the International Day of Non-Violence matters. Not because repeating the word peace once a year will magically make politicians peaceful. It matters because non-violence is not passivity. Gandhi understood that perfectly. Non-violence can be confrontation without hatred, resistance without revenge, courage without brutality.
The alternative is frighteningly simple: answering violence with greater violence until nobody remembers who started it. Police officers deserve protection. Migrants deserve human dignity. Protesters deserve lawful assembly. Citizens deserve security. Government deserves legitimate authority. None of these principles cancels the others.
That is the point. A democracy is not measured by how efficiently it can frighten people. It is measured by how firmly it can exercise power without losing its humanity. The political temptation of violence is that it produces immediate images of strength. A uniform. A convoy. A raid. A detention centre. A wall. A weapon. A frightened crowd. It looks decisive on television.
But strength and brutality are not synonyms. The real test of power is whether those who possess it can restrain themselves. On October 2, the world will once again remember Gandhi. Perhaps this year we should remember something more uncomfortable: non-violence is not an antique philosophy belonging to another century. It is a warning to our own.
Because when governments teach citizens that fear is strength, when police power becomes spectacle, and when political leaders discover that anger is easier to sell than compassion, violence no longer needs to be declared. It simply becomes normal. And once violence becomes normal, democracy has already begun to lose something much more important than an argument. It has begun to lose its soul.
No comments:
Post a Comment