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]]]]]]]]]]]] THE VIOLENT PACIFISTS [[[[[[[[[[[
(Book Review and Controversy) (1/29/1989)
Peace and Revolution: The Moral Crisis of American Pacifism. By
Guenter Lewy. Eerdmans. 282 pp. $19.95.
Reviewed by Rael Jean Isaac
[Kindly uploaded by Freeman 10602PANC]
[Rael Jean Isaac is co-author (with Erich Isaac) of The Coercive
Utopians, and is currently at work with Virginia Armat on a book
about the deinstitutionalization of the mentally ill.]
[From Commentary, Vol. 86, No. 3 (September 1988), pp. 62-64]
A better subtitle for this valuable book would be ``The Moral
Collapse of American Pacifism.'' The moral crisis is long past.
In painstaking detail, Guenter Lewy describes how that crisis
came to a head during the Vietnam war, ending in a total
breakdown of pacifist principle within the four major pacifist
organizations: the American Friends Service Committee (AFSC), the
Fellowship of Reconciliation (FOR), the War Resisters League
(WRL), and the Women's International League for Peace and Freedom
(WILPF). All four now work cozily with Communist fronts and form
part and parcel of the various radical ``peace-and-justice''
coalitions that advocate disarmament at home and the triumph of
Third World Marxist-Leninist insurgencies abroad.
The four major organizations were born during or immediately
after World War I, and from the beginning there were ideological
stresses within them. Lewy shows, indeed, that the arguments
that would undermine pacifism in the 1960's were raised as early
as the 1920's, when the new organizations faced their first
crisis, the temptation of Marxism.
Thus, in a landmark 1928 essay entitled ``Pacifism and Class
War,'' A.J. Muste, for many years the most prominent American
pacifist, expanded the definition of the sorts of violence which
pacifists should oppose; they now included ``the economic,
social, political order in which we live.'' At the same time,
Muste excused the violence perpetrated by those fighting against
the American ``order,'' by initiating what was later to become a
favorite device of pacifist authors: a ``calculus'' of violence.
Ninety percent of the viomwnce in the world, he wrote, was
perpetrated by the forces of the status quo; it was therefore
``ludicrous'' for people to focus on the 10 percent actively
committed by those rebelling against a repressive system.
Similarly, in 1933 Devere Allen argued that ``all the violence
that Communism in this country advocates and desires is as a drop
in the creek as compared with the violence which we live under in
the present economic system.''
As Lewy shows, the pacifist organizations weathered this first
crisis, aided by the strong consensus of the membership that
violence of any kind must never be condoned. A 1933 poll of the
membership of the Fellowship of Reconciliation produced a
lopsided majority of 877 to 93 opposing class violence as well as
international violence. Those insistent upon Marxist doctrine --
in the case of the FOR they at one point included the
organization's executive secretary, J.B. Matthews -- were forced
to resign.
In fact, up to the early 1960's the pacifist organizations
remained clear-headed in recognizing that Communists were not
proper allies. Each of the organizations issued statements like
the FOR's 1940 declaration that
the Communist party rejects pacifism in principle.... For
the FOR to be associated with the CP in ``antiwar
activities'' could therefore only confuse multitudes of
people as to our aim and function and thus stultify our
efforts.
But all this was to crumble in the face of the second moral
crisis of the pacifists, the Vietnam War.
In the course of that war, or rather in the course of American
involvement in it, the organizations, open partisans of a North
Vietnamese victory, abandoned their opposition to participating
in united fronts with Communists. The arguments rejected in the
1930's now became cornerstones of pacifist thought. In 1970, the
national council of FOR, invoking the increasingly familiar
``calculus'' of violence, adopted a statement exonerating the
behavior of the radical New Left fringe: ``Santa Barbara students
who burned a branch of the Bank of America ... committed a very
mild act of violence in comparison with, for example, the
dropping of 12,000 tons of bombs on South Vietnam by the American
high command.'' Similarly, WILPF president Kay Camp insisted
that the impetuous acts of America's youth could not be equated
``with the institutionalized violence of our government.''
Like the distinction pointed out earlier by A.J. Muste, a
distinction came to be drawn at this time between the violence of
the oppressor and the violence of the oppressed, which had to be
``understood'' and judged in different terms. According to a
1968 statement by the War Resisters International (the parent
body of the American WRL), the violence of Americans was
``criminal'' while that of the oppressed at home and abroad, was
``tragic.'' WRL's Dave Dellinger declared that he did not
repudiate or oppose ``the violence of the victims.''
Within each of the organizations, as Lewy documents, there
were warnings that pacifism was being undermined by these
standards, but the warnings were ignored. Albert Hassler, the
long-time executive secretary of the FOR, wrote in 1968 that
terms like ``the violence of the status quo'' were having a
subversive effect, and that pacifists were becoming believers, if
not in ``just war,'' then in ``just revolutions.'' Jim Forest,
also of the FOR, wondered about ``the collapse of our faith in
the pacifist insight: that the means control the quality of the
end.'' But the opponents of the new trend were fatally hobbled
because they agreed with the majority about the war in Vietnam,
where (in Hassler's words) the United States was doing
``obscenely indecent things.'' This made them hesitant about
pressing their case, either inside or outside the organizations.
Once they saw that their views were repudiated by the majority,
they remained quiet or, at best, bowed out.
Since the end of the war, the pacifist organizations have gone
on to become mere apologists for a series of ``progressive''
regimes and terrorist bands. Lewy details the depths to which
they sank in the immediate post-Vietnam era. As reports of
oppression in ``liberated'' Vietnam reached the West and the seas
became filled with boat people, the pacifist organizations simply
denied that any human-rights violations were taking place at all.
When a number of former antiwar activists, led by Joan Baez,
published an open letter to the government of Vietnam protesting
its treatment of dissidents, leaders of the WILPF (including its
president and vice president) signed a counter-statement in the
New York Times declaring that Vietnam ``now enjoys human rights
as it has never known in history.''
Even the massacres taking place in Cambodia under Pol Pot
failed to stir a response. According to John McAuliff, head of
the AFSC's Indochina program, accusations against the Cambodian
regime were part of an American ``misinformation'' campaign aimed
at discrediting ``the example of an alternative model of
development and social organization.'' Not until Vietnam invaded
[December 1978] and seized Cambodia [January 1979], and
publicized the atrocities of the Pol Pot regime, did the AFSC
admit to the horrors that had occurred, and even then it put the
primary blame for the fate of Cambodia on the United States.
The policy of working in coalition with groups professedly
dedicated to ``peace and justice'' has led to the preposterous
spectacle of WRL participation an a 1984 Libyan-influenced
``peace'' conference in Malta. Many delegates came with Libyan
financing, and Qaddafi's Green Book was distributed to
participants. In his report on the conference, David McReynolds
of the WRL argued: ``Rather than being frightened by the Libyans,
.. should we not welcome the fact that revolutionary movements,
including the Libyans, are interested in dialogue with
nonviolence movements?'' A similar disposition has informed the
multifaceted activities of the various pacifist organizations in
Central America, where again they have made common cause with
radical forces openly espousing and engaging in violence.
In short, most leaders of pacifist organizations today seem to
share the sentiments expressed by a leader of the WRL: ``There is
one crime worse than murder: to retire from the revolution.''
In Peace and Revolution Guenter Lewy has written a scholarly
rather than a polemical book, and throughout he is determined to
let the facts tell their own story. It is thus to be regretted
that instead of telling that story, which is an inherently
fascinating one, he proceeds instead by dealing with each of the
organizations separately, chronicling its rhetoric and activities
on a variety of issues, zigzagging back and forth in time. Since
the differences in perspective and behavior among the
organizations are quite minor, this makes for an unduly
cumbersome and repetitive structure. Moreover, important topics
tend to get lost or diffused. There are, for example, two
chapters nominally devoted to dissent within the pacifist
organizations, yet in neither one of them is the topic discussed
with thoroughness; most of the coverage of dissent occurs
disjointedly throughout the book in connection with stands taken
by each of the organizations on specific issues.
The weakness of Lewy's approach is evident as well when he
comes in the last chapter to examine the moral dilemmas of
pacifist witness in a democratic order. Here he argues that
pacifists have a legitimate role to play as bearers of the
humanitarian conscience, reminding the rest of us of the link
between means and ends. As Lewy writes: ``The pacifist vision of
a world free of the threat of war can help build support for the
development of an ordered political community at the
international level able to resolve conflicts peacefully and
justly.'' But -- he goes on -- when pacifists enter the
political arena to propose policies for their nation, they become
subject to what Weber called the ``ethic of responsibility,''
which involves taking into account the realities of power and the
likely consequences of political decisions: the policies they
advocate must be judged by their results. Finally, while
pacifists may, for themselves, ``seek individual salvation
through ethical absolutism and purity,'' they have no right to
sacrifice others to this vocation.
There can be no quarrel with any of this. But on the basis of
his own evidence, Lewy could have gone much further in exploring
the corrupting consequences that ensue when pacifists destroy the
traditional meaning of violence in order to endorse the violence
of those they favor. The reasoning goes like this: if, as David
McReynolds maintains, the violence of unemployment is as real
``as napalm falling on Vietnam,'' then it is no more
reprehensible to work to bring down a government adjudged guilty
of causing unemployment than to permit it to continue in
existence; indeed, it may be less so, because a ``small'' amount
of ``just'' violence can lead to the overall lessening of
violence in the world. In this way do self-styled pacifists move
from abhorring to advocating violence.
Increasingly, indeed, violence has become the touchstone by
which pacifists identify those worthy of their support. The more
violent a group, the more just its cause must be -- always
provided, of course, that the cause is ``progressive.'' Thus,
all four pacifist organizations identify with the PLO, a movement
whose declared goal is the destruction of a national state and
the removal of most of its present inhabitants.
The logic of their position forces the pacifist organizations
to encourage and support ever higher levels of violence, for if
peace depends on the elimination of the injustices they have
identified, the more violence is directed towards this end, the
closer we will come to peace. Meanwhile, of course, the
pacifists themselves sit on the sidelines, applauding. ``I
advocate nonviolence. I practice nonviolence,'' says Dave
Dellinger; but, he goes on, the traditional nonviolent movement,
``has been much too passive and much too ineffective and I am not
interested in the purity of the movement. I am interested in
social effectiveness.'' Given the new ground rules, pacifists
can simultaneously pursue revolution and underground warfare
while retaining their pacifist virtue -- the ultimate moral
luxury.
That despite their evolution the major pacifist organizations
have continued to enjoy credibility with so many people -- the
AFSC raises millions of dollars annually on the strength of its
humanitarian image -- is one of the scandals of American
political life. In helping to expose the true theory and
practice of pacifist organizations today, Guenter Lewy has
performed a vital public service.
[From Commentary, Vol. 87, No. 1 (Jan 1989), Letters, pp. 14-15]
The AFSC
[An AFSC member answers:]
To the Editor of Commentary:
Rael Jean Isaac's review of Peace and Revolution: The Moral
Crisis of American Pacifism by Guenter Lewy [Books in Review,
September 1988] ... contains several incorrect assertions about
the American Friends Service Committee (AFSC). As one who has
worked with AFSC staff members over a number of years, I wish to
correct these assertions.
Mrs. Isaac states that there has been ``a total breakdown of
pacifist principle'' within the AFSC. In fact, however, the
policy of the AFSC board of directors states: ``The AFSC stands
firm on its Quaker heritage in denying the legitimacy of violence
however extreme the provocation. We have not and will not
formulate a theory of `acceptable' revolutionary violence.''
This particular formulation was adopted in January 1891; it is
consistent with longstanding policies of the AFSC. In my
experience working with the AFSC, this policy is well understood
and implemented by staff members.
Mrs. Isaac states that, according to the AFSC and other
pacifist groups, ``The more violent a group, the more just its
cause -- always provided, of course, that the cause is
`progressive.' '' On the contrary, the AFSC puts much effort
into promoting groups attempting to operate peacefully in areas
where violence is endemic. For example, the AFSC aided a
civilian hospital in South Vietnam, spending nearly $2 million in
eight years. A far smaller sum (15 percent of total wartime aid)
was spent on medical aid to North Vietnam and the NLF. AFSC work
in North Vietnam enabled many contacts between American POW's and
their families.
It is not the case that the AFSC ``identifies with the PLO.''
The AFSC does acknowledge this group as a major representative
voice of Palestinians, without condoning its actions.
It is indeed the case that the AFSC maintains a Quaker
tradition of pacifism broader than that of Guenter Lewy. Quakers
define pacifism not simply as ``refusal to kill,'' but as
``nonviolent opposition to injustice.'' It is this principle
that led Quakers to early opposition to slavery, including the
establishment of the ``underground railroad.'' When the AFSC
equates economic injustice with violent injustice, it would be
illogical to conclude that the former justifies the latter. The
correct conclusion, which Quakers well understand, is that
economic injustice is to be opposed peacefully, just as violent
injustice is to be opposed peacefully....
Mrs. Isaac correctly notes that ``the AFSC raises millions of
dollars annually on the strength of its humanitarian image.''
One reason for this success is the personal contact maintained by
AFSC staff members, who make regular visits to Quaker meetings
and to the homes of contributors. The AFSC also reports its own
views through editorials in the Quaker Service Bulletin. In
Peacework, the New England AFSC reports on the views of various
groups unpopular in this country, so that alternative views may
be heard and judged. Peacework carries a disclaimer that the
views reported are not necessarily those of the AFSC.
The AFSC has always been acutely interested in responsible
criticism of its work, from within the Quaker community and from
outside. It is unfortunate that Mrs. Isaac and Guenter Lewy have
chosen to frame their critique in a way that denies the
considerable achievements of this organization.
Joan L. Slonczewski
Kenyon College
Gambier, Ohio
Rael Jean Isaac writes:
Joan L. Slonczewski identifies ``several incorrect
assertions'' in my review: she claims there has not been a
breakdown of pacifist principle in the AFSC; it only promotes
groups operating ``peacefully'' in violent areas; and it does not
identify with the PLO.
The problem is not that the AFSC has abandoned pacifist
principles; it continues to profess in its brochures and
resolutions that ``violence can never be right.'' The problem is
the chasm between the AFSC's profession and its practice.
Far from promoting peaceful groups in violent areas, the AFSC
has acted, as Guenter Lewy has painstakingly documented, as
advocate and apologist for the world's most brutal regimes,
including Vietnam in the era of the boat people and Cambodia
during the murderous frenzy of Pol Pot.
As for the AFSC's labors on behalf of the PLO, these could be
the subject of a volume in itself (and have been the subject of
two essays in Midstream in November 1979 and a pamphlet, The
Friendly Perversion, published by Americans for a Safe Israel).
The AFSC's Middle East program, with full-time staff in regional
offices around the country, for the past fifteen years has sent
speakers on Israel across the nation, coordinated pro-PLO
conferences, distributed ``peace packets'' whose import was to
condone PLO terrorism and declare that satisfaction of PLO
demands was the only solution to the Middle East conflict,
conducted training sessions on countering the Israel lobby with
media and legislators. In Israel itself, the AFSC operated a
Community Information and Legal Aid Center, ostensibly a
social-service agency. Its former director, Jean de Muralt, told
me in 1977 that 95 percent of the cases handled by the center
were ``political prisoners,'' i.e., those arrested for PLO
activity. De Muralt told me candidly: ``We help the small fry.
The big people have their own connections and don't need our
help.''
Behind the pacifist mask the AFSC is simply another radical
left-wing organization. The journal Peacework, to which Miss
Slonczewski refers, provides a good example of the AFSC's modus
operandi. Using the transparent device of the ``disclaimer''
(Peacework presents the views of ``unpopular groups''), the AFSC
publishes a typical pro-revolutionary newsletter.
The AFSC's failure to practice the pacifism it preaches should
be a matter of deep concern to the Quaker community. For
non-pacifists, the primary significance of the AFSC's moral
collapse lies elsewhere. For many Americans the AFSC has seemed
to offer a shining ideal, a vision of a just and humane society,
the hope of a better way toward which non-pacifists too could
strive. Rufus M. Jones, the renowned Quaker leader who was one
of those who created the AFSC in 1917 and then served as its
chairman, described its task as taking on ``the burden of the
world's suffering in stricken areas around the globe.'' In
Jones's words, ``We have not only fed the hungry, clothed the
naked, and built homes for the homeless, but we have shared in
some degree in the lives of the sufferers, helped to create a new
spirit within them, and we have at least endeavored to interpret
and transmit a constructive way of life.''
The many Americans who believe the AFSC continues to work in
the tradition of Rufus Jones are deceived and betrayed.
* * *
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