Speaking of Words
By Michael Ferber
Several familiar political or social words have been pushed to the fore in recent months, as the Trump administration tries to overrule the laws and institutions of the country and the streets fill with demonstrators in opposition. I would like to take a look at three of them.
“Oligarchy” (and “oligarch”) have been in use in English since the 16th century, at first with regard to Venice, the “most serene republic,” which had the most complicated governmental system I have ever heard of, involving multiple councils large and small and a procedure for electing the duke (doge) that required revolving electors and a large dose of pure chance. Despite this, and despite the title of republic, the citys-state was governed by a few hundred wealthy families.
The word comes from Greek oligarchia, the rule (archia) of a few (oligo-). It is found in Herodotus’s History, but it entered political theory thanks to Aristotle’s Politics. He considered different kinds of oligarchies, and noted ways they might become aristocracies, dynasties, tyrannies, or even what he called “democracies,” where one popular man dominates the other oligarchs and governs by decree. The sociologist Robert Michels over a century ago wrote about the “iron law of oligarchy,” a strong tendency in all large organizations. Bernie Sanders, on his “Fighting Oligarchy” tour, has been saying that America is falling under the control of a few oligarchs, whose sole qualifications to govern it are their money and the power money buys.
“Fascism” (along with “fascist”) is a much more recent term, originating in Italy during the First World War; the fascist movement took power under Mussolini in 1922 and held it until 1943. The word comes from Italian fascio, a “bundle of sticks or rods,” from Latin fascis “rod” (plural fasces). In the Ancient Roman Republic, the lictors carried the official fasces, wooden rods tied into a bundle with an ax or spear in the middle, in various ceremonial processions; it pretty obviously symbolized the binding together of individual Romans, weak and breakable when alone, but strong when united.
The bound fasces became a symbol of the French Republic during the Revolution, and again in the young American Republic. Two elaborate fasces flank the Speaker’s podium in the House of Representatives, two are on the front of Abraham Lincoln’s chair in his Memorial in Washington, and you can still find one on the back of the Mercury dime, replaced by the Roosevelt dime in 1945 after the war against fascism! What was once a symbol of “the republic,” which meant “no kings,” was tainted by its adoption by Mussolini.
“Fascism” as a general system is not easy to define, but comparing Italy, Germany, Spain, and many other countries we can say it refers to a system with one dictator (Duce, Führer, “Dear Leader”) and an ideology of nationalism or “patriotism,” imperialism, and a hatred of liberalism, feminism, and certain minorities. It is not conservative, though many so-called conservatives have supported it as a way to beat back communists, socialists, and democrats.
This is not the place to discuss whether Donald Trump is a fascist or something more complicated, though he has certainly offered cover for quite a few avowed fascists, and even released them from prison despite their violent crimes. We should be wary about the word: it is too handy as a term of abuse. The American right, after all, has been slinging it for decades now against those they despise, such as environmentalists (“green fascists”) and vegans (“food fascists”). Rush Limbaugh thundered against “feminazis” in the 1990s, and we’re now hearing about “woke fascism.” They may have over-used the word and worn away its point. Still, I quite liked the sign a young woman was carrying on No Kings Day in Dover: “Flip me off if you’re a fascist.” That may be the best way to find out who they are.
The organizers of No Kings Day and the other massive demonstrations have made it clear that demonstrators must maintain nonviolence. The third word I want to discuss, then, is “nonviolence” (still sometimes hyphenated), along with its adjective “nonviolent.” The noun was seldom used until Mohandas Gandhi put it into circulation in English around 1920. He also used the Sanskrit word ahimsa, which means “non-harm” or “non-injury” and has been practiced for centuries by Hindus, Buddhists, Jainists, and other religious sects. Gandhi was a pacifist, like these groups, but it is important to distinguish pacifism from nonviolence. Nonviolence as a concept began as a tenet of religious faith in the West as well as the East, still held among Quakers, Mennonites, and other Christian sects, but it has now become a set of actions or practices that anyone can undertake. Indeed there are precedents for massive nonviolent movements thousands of years ago that were carried out by ordinary citizens who were not pacifists, such as the withdrawal of the plebeians from Rome to the Sacred Mount about 495 BCE.
Older terms such as “nonresistance” and “passive obedience,” which used to cover much that “nonviolence” does today, have been set aside by recent scholars of the subject because they seem to imply that “resistance” must be violent or that nonviolent actions must be “passive.” But nonviolent action (the phrase found in the title of Gene Sharp’s great study of the subject) is just that: action. It takes the initiative: it fills the streets, it fills the jails, it blockades buildings, it goes on strike. And your participation in it does not require you to be a pacifist. To their everlasting credit, pacifists over the centuries have kept the idea alive, but you need not have religious faith, or pray, or fast, to be an effective practitioner of it. Most of the innovative tactics we have seen since Gandhi’s time—in the Philippines, Serbia, Chile, and many other countries—were invented and carried out by citizens who might well choose to take up arms in other circumstances. They believed that nonviolent tactics in most cases are more effective than violent ones, and there is plenty of evidence that they were right.
If hard-nosed “realists” claim nonviolence is a flop, the best reply is what Joan Baez said: “The only thing that’s been a worse flop than the organization of nonviolence has been the organization of violence.”
I am happy to hear from readers with questions or comments: mferber@unh.edu. If you would like to see something a little longer that I have written on nonviolence, I’ll send it to you.
Michael Ferber moved to New Hampshire in 1987 to join the English Department at UNH, from which he is now retired. Before that he earned his BA in Ancient Greek at Swarthmore College and his doctorate in English at Harvard, taught at Yale, and served on the staff of the Coalition for a New Foreign Policy in Washington, DC. In 1968 he stood trial in Federal Court in Boston for conspiracy to violate the draft law, with the pediatrician Benjamin Spock and three other men. He has published many books and articles on literature, and has a deep interest in linguistics. He is married to Susan Arnold; they have a daughter in San Francisco.