I’ve spent a lot of time around people who’ve been through extremely violent situations: veterans, victims of sexual assault and rape, victims of violent crime and police brutality. Without doubt, throughout the last twelve years, I’ve been forced to reflect on the nature of violence and its horrific aftermath.

As a result, I don’t write or talk about the topic in a lighthearted fashion. Violence can have a devastating impact on individuals and communities.

That being said, it’s important to recognize that violence can also be a very effective tool. On the one hand, oppressors use violence because it intimidates people, keeps them subservient. On the other hand, those resisting oppression often use violence as a means of self defense, and rightly so, as everyone has the right to defend themselves and their loved ones.

In some cases, when oppressive people and institutions are confronted with their own methods of oppression, namely violence, their resolve is easily battered and broken. This is a lesson we should keep in mind as we confront the most powerful institutions in the world.

Violence as a Response to Bullying

As a young kid, I quickly learned that violence will produce desired results when employed effectively and with a purpose.

When I was eight or nine years old, a kid from the local neighborhood was harassing my brother and I on our way to school. Each day, he would throw rocks at us, call us names and generally make sure that our walk was miserable.

After a while, my parents started to notice that my brother and I were acting weird. They finally asked, “What’s wrong?” Eventually, we reluctantly told them about the neighborhood bully.

My mother, a gentle but fierce woman, told us, “Boys, should never allow anyone to bully you or anyone who can’t defend themselves.” She continued her lesson, “You’re brothers, and that means you should stick up for each other — no matter what.”

I knew what to do.

The next day, while waiting in the lunch line at school, the bully approached us. Before he could say or do anything, I threw a combination of punches at him, connecting two times. The bully, now bloodied and lying on the lunchroom floor, proceeded to cry and yell for the teachers. I was scared, but satisfied. It felt good.

Soon enough, I was on my way to the principle’s office, where my parents were waiting.

The principle, a nun (this was a Catholic school), went on and on about violence and non-violence and how I should have utilized the proper channels (something I’d hear about the rest of my life in various contexts). After explaining to her that those channels failed and were useless, she eventually levied a minor punishment and I was on my way home for the day.

Of course, it goes without saying that the bully never bothered my brother and I again. In fact, he never bothered any of the kids again. The kids who were being beaten up were quite happy. We weren’t scared to walk to school anymore.

This was my first real lesson about how violence works in the real world.

Violence as a Response to Occupation

Twelve years later, as a US Marine patrolling Al Anbar Province in Western Iraq, I constantly reflected on this childhood lesson. I would always ask myself, “What would I be doing if I were in the shoes of the Iraqis?”

The answer was always crystal clear: I would fight back.

My unit, the 1st Battalion, 7th Marines, Alpha Company, conducted missions in an “Area of Operations” (AO) that primarily encompassed a town called Al Qaim and the surrounding region. Our deployment began in the late summer of 2004, in the midst of a strong and vibrant Sunni resistance and growing disillusionment among the local Iraqi population. The unit we replaced, a marine regiment from Camp Lejeune, North Carolina, was tasked with showing us the AO we would soon be patrolling, surveilling, policing, bombing, etc.

This unit gave us a very clear warning, “If you guys want to go home and make it out of this place in one piece, don’t patrol.” As my fellow marines looked at each other in a confused manner, the senior enlisted Marine continued, “Tell the commanders that you’re patrolling, but don’t actually do it — just set up an Observation Post (OP) and chill out.”

Of course, my unit denounced this advice, insisting that the marines from North Carolina were “weak” and “unmotivated.”

After several months of vehicle check points, house raids, prisoner detention missions and the like, our unit was exhausted. Casualties started to mount during the winter of 2005, and our unit’s morale fell to an all-time low. Marines were regularly discussing desertion. Others were finding ways to smuggle narcotics into the war-torn country in order to cope with the madness.

After six months of the deployment, our unit’s command structure went through some significant changes. Officers were replaced while enlisted marines were promoted and sent to fill previously vacant positions. Our new commander, chock-full of superficial motivation and masculine bravado, demanded that our unit “wipe out the sand niggers.”

Hence, we ended up conducting more missions than ever before. Of course, the lower-ranking marines understood quite well what “wiping out the sand niggers” actually entailed: more casualties.
In February, 2005, our unit prepared for the largest Improvised Explosive Device (IED) sweeps and house raids of the entire deployment. Several squads of thirteen marines, reinforced with segments from Weapons Platoon and Army Explosive Ordinance Experts (EODs), set out to take Al Qaim from the Sunni militants.

Eventually, our patrol was ambushed from what seemed to be every corner of the town. People were running through the streets. Mothers and their children were cowering behind burned out trucks and blown up buildings while young men and teenage boys hurled rocket propelled grenades and automatic machine gun fire in our direction.

After a couple of hours, the firefight ended. No one, including myself, had any idea how many Iraqis were killed during the exchange. To be honest, few people really cared.

On our side, there was at least two dead and another half dozen injured. Our vehicles were covered with gunpowder residue and bullet casings. Most of the marines were chain smoking cigarettes or blankly staring off into space, reflecting, no doubt, on their previous actions.

For our unit, it was a wake-up-call: the mission was a lost cause, a ruse.

My fellow Marines and I, with our state-of-the-art equipment, satellite technology and earth shattering weapons, couldn’t defeat a rag-tag group of peasants who barely had enough food to keep them standing upright. Even after years of training exercises and high-tech support, we were no match for the Iraqi militants.

With no clear mission, a fierce foe and mounting casualties, our fighting spirit was broken.
The Iraqis, who were defending their families, their communities, their land, were more committed and had a clear objective. They also had something to lose: their dignity and freedom.

Meanwhile, our unit still patrolled and conducted missions, albeit less than before that tragic ambush. Indeed, we patrolled the towns that didn’t resist. We preyed on the weak and helpless. Some towns, for any number of reasons, didn’t have many “fighting-age” (15-35 year old) males. Therefore, those were the towns we patrolled.

In the end, we avoided the communities and people who fought back. Communities that resisted didn’t endure the same levels of harassment as their less violent neighbors. The US Empire, strong and omnipowerful on the surface, is truly a paper tiger.

Today, Western Iraq is largely under the control of the militant group Islamic State (IS). Clearly, it was only a matter of time. While none of us knew exactly who would control it, we always knew that Al Anbar Province would eventually belong to the Iraqi people.

Violence as a Response to Policing

In August 2014, I was protesting police violence in Ferguson, Missouri, the site of Mike Brown’s murder, the black teenager who was shot and killed by a police officer after he allegedly tried to grab the cop’s gun (a story no one in their right mind believes and one that virtually every eyewitness to the killing refutes).

The community of Ferguson, small in size, but utterly symbolic in nature, reminded me of the many deindustrialized, gentrified, violent and drug addicted towns that litter the neoliberal landscape. These towns, now routine fixtures in geographical regions throughout the world, provide a glimpse into the future of political protests, uprisings and resistance.

While speaking with people in Ferguson, several folks told me that, “If this cop gets away with murder, the whole town is going to explode. We’ve had enough of this shit!” At the time, I remember thinking, “I wonder if a riot, under these circumstances, would elicit more meaningful attention than peaceful protests?”

Of course, I did’t have to wait long to find out, as Darren Wilson, the now infamous Ferguson cop, wasn’t indicted for his public execution of Mike Brown. Soon after the decision, cars, buildings and various other structures were set ablaze. Within a matter of hours, every major news station in the US was showing live images and footage of the unrest. Debates were taking place all over the country. People were forced to discuss militarized policing, racism and a host of other issues.

Several months later, a police officer in South Carolina was caught on camera shooting a middle aged black man in the back as he ran away. Unsurprisingly, that horrific story was lost in the shuffle of the mainstream news cycle, never to be revisited or examined in a serious manner.

Weeks later, a young black man in Baltimore, Maryland by the name of Freddie Gray, was murdered by police. This time, protestors wouldn’t allow the public to ignore the crime.

Soon after Freddie Gray was killed, the city of Baltimore exploded — riots, property damage and fires filled the TV screens of millions of Americans who watched the footage from their homes. Quickly, it became abundantly clear that protestors in Baltimore weren’t going to allow Freddie Gray’s death to go unexamined. Again, people were forced to think about militarization, policing, racism, class, poverty and violence in the US.

Today, an entire series of events, movements and organizations have developed in the wake of the Baltimore riots. The unrest is here to stay.

Lessons for the Future

I’ve never understood the phrase, “You can’t use the master’s tools to dismantle the master’s house.” To me, that always seemed like an absurd concept.

After all, a hammer is a hammer. It can be used to hammer nails, or take them out. It can be used to build houses, or it can be used to build prisons. The hammer, as an object, is not inherently bad. It’s simply something to use, or not to use, depending on the situation.

Violence, like the hammer, is not inherently bad: it can be used in many different circumstances, and for many different reasons, some justified, some not. Overall, however, it’s reasonable to suggest that violence should be avoided at all costs. To put differently, it should be a last resort tactic. However, we should be more critical when facing questions of violence vs. non-violence, or when people use blanket statements like, “Violence produces nothing good.”

In short, this isn’t an endorsement of wanton violence or gross forms of aggression. It’s simply a recognition that violence, in certain contexts, particularly as a form of self defense, is a very effective method of dealing with oppression.

Whether it’s the school yard bully, the most powerful military empire in the world, or militarized police forces, violence can be used as a way to stop, mitigate, or illuminate various forms of oppression.

Vincent Emanuele is a writer, activist and radio journalist who lives and works in the Rust Belt. He’s a member of UAW Local 1981. Vincent can be reached at [email protected]

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