Peter Gelderloos delivers a blistering critique of modern pacifism, arguing that the dominant center-Left tendency to reject all force is not a moral high ground but a mechanism of historical erasure that protects the status quo. This piece is notable for its refusal to accept the standard narrative that nonviolence is the only viable path to justice, instead presenting a decade-by-decade ledger of failed movements where the lesson of 2020 was simply forgotten by the next generation. For busy readers navigating a landscape of escalating state repression, this analysis offers a necessary, if uncomfortable, re-evaluation of what it actually takes to dismantle entrenched power.
The Architecture of Erasure
Gelderloos opens by dismantling the cyclical amnesia of progressive movements. He observes that the rejection of nonviolence is often driven by those without movement experience, while the lessons of 1968, 1991, and 2020 are systematically scrubbed from the collective memory. "When I reject nonviolence, I want to be crystal clear where the criticism is aimed: For starters, 'violence' is an incredibly vague category," Gelderloos writes, noting that mass media holds a monopoly on defining the term to suit institutional interests. This framing is effective because it exposes how language is weaponized; by grouping the dropping of a nuclear bomb with a protester throwing a rock, the definition becomes a tool for moral confusion rather than strategic clarity.
The author argues that this linguistic slippage serves to delegitimize necessary resistance. He points out that terms like "solidarity" or "sabotage" are rarely subjected to the same moral panic as "violence." This distinction is crucial for understanding why movements often stall: they are fighting a battle over definitions before they even begin to fight for policy. Critics might note that this broad rejection of the term "violence" risks alienating potential allies who view any destruction of property as counterproductive, but Gelderloos insists that the category itself is "categorically useless" when it lumps together state terror with individual acts of defense.
"Self-defense works to protect what you already have. But what happens when you wake up in a world that has already been entirely invaded by colonial powers, by capitalism and the State?"
The Myth of Pure Defense
A central pillar of Gelderloos's argument is the distinction between self-defense and the offensive actions required for liberation. He contends that self-defense is a luxury for those who already possess resources, whereas those living under the "Machine" of capitalism and colonialism must engage in the "Attack" to survive. "In that situation, no liberation, no survival, is possible without the Attack," he asserts, challenging the idea that a struggle can thrive if it limits itself to defense. This argument gains weight when viewed through the lens of Gene Sharp's work on nonviolent action; while Sharp provided a manual for disrupting power, Gelderloos suggests that without the threat of physical disruption, those manuals are often ignored by regimes willing to use total force.
The author further critiques the notion that nonviolence is inherently democratic, arguing instead that it is "intrinsically authoritarian" when it demands the exclusion of those who do not adhere to a specific code of conduct. He describes a movement that hands people over to the police or denounces them in the media as collaborating with the very structures it claims to oppose. This is a stark warning to organizers who prioritize purity over participation. "Nonviolence is the idea that a movement can only use nonviolent tactics, that anyone who uses methods not approved by whomever holds power over that movement can be forcefully excluded," Gelderloos writes. This observation forces a reckoning with the reality that many modern movements are policed from within by their own leadership.
Deconstructing the Historical Record
Gelderloos systematically dismantles the historical anecdotes often used to defend nonviolence. He addresses the "Color Revolutions," arguing they succeeded only because the governments involved were unwilling to use full military force, and even then, they were often backed by Western intelligence agencies. He notes that the method was promoted by an academic supported by the CIA, turning the narrative of grassroots success into a story of regime change favored by geopolitical interests. Similarly, he challenges the sanitized version of the Civil Rights and Indian independence movements, pointing out that both relied heavily on armed self-defense and rioting, not just peaceful protest.
"The Civil Rights movement and Indian independence movement were successful nonviolent movements!" he mocks, before explaining that these moments had crucial armed components and that the nonviolent currents were often the most reformist and authoritarian. This historical revisionism is vital for readers who may have been taught a simplified version of these struggles. However, a counterargument worth considering is that emphasizing the armed components of these movements can sometimes obscure the massive, disciplined nonviolent mobilization that was also present and essential to their success. Gelderloos acknowledges the existence of nonviolent currents but argues they were insufficient on their own.
"An ecosystem is the organic, embodied, unboundaried, chaotic, generative space created by interdependent webs of living beings who create their conditions for life through relationship with one another."
The Ecosystem of Revolt
Moving beyond critique, Gelderloos proposes an "ecosystem of revolt" as an alternative to the rigid hierarchies of traditional movements. He envisions a space where healers, teachers, and fighters coexist, arguing that a movement cannot succeed if it tries to control every aspect of its participants' actions. "The opposite of nonviolence, at least the one I advocate, is an ecosystem of revolt in which there must be room for many different creatures, many forms of participation," he writes. This metaphor draws on ecological principles to suggest that diversity of tactics is a strength, not a weakness, allowing the movement to adapt to different threats.
He warns against the "nonprofit industrial complex" co-opting this language, noting that a coalition or a corporate workplace is not an ecosystem if it is centralized or controlled. "There is no room for cops, Leninists, politicians, lobbyists for green capitalists or police reform, or dogmatic pacifists in an ecosystem," he states, drawing a hard line against institutionalization. This section resonates with the concept of "propaganda of the deed," where direct action serves as a catalyst for broader consciousness, suggesting that the act of resistance itself is as important as the organizational structure. The author's insistence that "acts of fighting, of sabotaging, of destroying, of seizing ground, have unique importance" challenges the reader to consider what is lost when movements prioritize safety over disruption.
Bottom Line
Gelderloos's strongest contribution is his unflinching exposure of how the definition of "violence" is manipulated to protect state power and how historical memory is selectively erased to maintain the myth of pacifist efficacy. The piece's biggest vulnerability lies in its potential to discourage broad coalition building among those who are genuinely terrified of escalation, a fear that is often rooted in real experiences of state brutality. As movements face increasingly aggressive state responses, readers should watch for how this tension between defensive caution and offensive necessity plays out in future uprisings, particularly whether the "ecosystem" model can sustain itself under the pressure of total repression.