Gandhi’s Nonviolence (Satyagraha)
An ancient Indian ideal for political action
On the morning of 6 April 1930, a sixty-year-old man bent down on a beach in Gujarat and picked up a handful of salt. He had walked 240 miles to do it. The British government held a monopoly on salt in India and taxed it; collecting it from the sea was a crime. Within weeks, tens of thousands of Indians were making salt illegally, and some sixty thousand of them, including the man himself, were in prison. Nobody had fired a shot. A year later the Viceroy was negotiating with him as an equal.
Most accounts of Gandhi treat this as biography. This entry treats it as philosophy. The salt march was not a protest and not a gesture; it was the application of a theory – a theory about what power is, where it comes from, and how it can be withdrawn. Gandhi called the theory satyagraha, and he built it out of materials that were very old and very Indian, combined with others that were modern and Western. It is the only major contribution Indian thought has made to political philosophy in the modern age, and it has since changed the course of history in at least a dozen countries.
Three words
Gandhi’s method rests on three Sanskrit terms, and the whole of it can be reconstructed from them.
Ahimsa is usually translated “nonviolence,” but the word is a negation – a-himsa, “non-harming” – and Gandhi insisted that it meant far more than the absence of physical injury. Himsa includes harm done by words, by thoughts, by indifference, by exploitation. Ahimsa in its full sense is therefore positive: it is active goodwill towards all living beings, including one’s opponent. Gandhi often simply called it love.
Satya is truth. But in Sanskrit satya derives from sat, “being,” so truth is not merely accuracy of statement but that which really is. Untruth (asatya) is literally that which does not exist. Gandhi drew a radical conclusion: because untruth has no being, it cannot ultimately win, and because truth is what is, it cannot ultimately be destroyed. This, he said, “is the doctrine of satyagraha in a nutshell.” Late in life he reversed his earlier formula “God is Truth” into “Truth is God,” so that even an atheist could join him.
Satyagraha is the word he coined for the method. In 1906, during the campaign against the Transvaal’s registration law for Indians, Gandhi was unhappy with the English phrase “passive resistance” – it suggested weakness, and it was used by the suffragettes, who had begun to throw stones. He ran a competition in his newspaper Indian Opinion. His cousin Maganlal proposed sadagraha, “firmness in a good cause”; Gandhi changed it to satyagraha, “holding firmly to truth,” which he rendered as “truth-force,” “love-force” or “soul-force.” He later explained:
“Its root meaning is holding on to truth, hence truth-force. I have also called it love-force or soul-force. In the application of satyagraha, I discovered in the earliest stages that pursuit of truth did not admit of violence being inflicted on one’s opponent but that he must be weaned from error by patience and sympathy. For what appears to be truth to the one may appear to be error to the other. And patience means self-suffering. So the doctrine came to mean vindication of truth, not by infliction of suffering on the opponent, but on oneself."– M. K. Gandhi, statement to the Disorders Inquiry Committee, January 1920
Notice the logical structure. Nonviolence is not the starting point; truth is. Nonviolence follows from truth because nobody has a monopoly on it – “what appears to be truth to the one may appear to be error to the other” – and therefore nobody has the right to force their view on another. All that is left is to persuade, and if persuasion fails, to suffer.
Gandhi during the Salt March, March 1930. The march from Ahmedabad to the sea at Dandi took 24 days and was followed by the world's press. Wikimedia Commons (public domain).
The roots in Hindu thought
Gandhi did not invent ahimsa. It is one of the oldest ethical ideas in India, and it appears in every one of the great Indian traditions.
In the Vedic and Upanishadic texts. The Rigveda is not a pacifist text – its chief god Indra is a warrior – but ahimsa appears early as a virtue. The Chandogya Upanishad (3.17.4) lists it alongside austerity, generosity, honesty and truthful speech as the “gifts” that a person offers in the sacrifice of their own life. Here already is the thought that would matter most to Gandhi: that the true sacrifice is not of an animal but of oneself.
In the Mahabharata and the Gita. The epic contains the formula ahimsa paramo dharmah, “nonviolence is the highest duty,” repeated several times in its didactic books. But the Mahabharata is also the story of a terrible war, and its most famous section, the Bhagavad Gita, is a dialogue on a battlefield in which the god Krishna persuades the warrior Arjuna to fight. Gandhi was asked all his life how a man of nonviolence could take the Gita as his scripture. His answer was that the Gita is an allegory: the battlefield is the human heart, the enemy is one’s own passions, and the real teaching is not about war but about anasakti, action without attachment to its fruits. Gandhi’s own Gujarati translation of the Gita (1929) was titled Anasaktiyoga, “the yoga of non-attachment,” and he argued that someone who had truly renounced the fruits of action could never be violent, since violence always springs from wanting a particular result.
In Patanjali’s Yoga Sutras. The Yoga Sutras (c. 400 CE) list ahimsa as the first of the five yamas, the ethical restraints that are the foundation of all spiritual practice, before truthfulness, non-stealing, chastity and non-possession. Gandhi’s own eleven ashram vows begin with the same two: ahimsa and satya. Patanjali also makes a claim that Gandhi would turn into political strategy: that “in the presence of one established in nonviolence, hostility ceases” (2.35).
In Jainism. The most uncompromising teaching of ahimsa in India is not Hindu but Jain, and Gandhi grew up in Gujarat, where Jain influence on Hindu practice is strongest. His mother’s piety was shaped by it; his closest spiritual advisor as a young man, the Jain jeweller-poet Raychandbhai (Shrimad Rajchandra), corresponded with him on religious questions during his years in South Africa. Jainism holds that every living being has a soul, that harming any of them binds the harmer with karma, and that the path to liberation is the progressive reduction of harm. Gandhi’s refusal to draw the line at human beings – his vegetarianism, his concern for animals – comes from here.
In Buddhism. The Buddha made non-harming the first of the five precepts for all followers, and the Emperor Ashoka (3rd century BCE), after a bloody conquest, renounced war and had edicts carved across India proclaiming conquest “by dharma” instead. Gandhi admired Ashoka as a ruler who had tried to make nonviolence a policy of state.
In the bhakti tradition. Gandhi’s family were Vaishnavas, devotees of Vishnu, and his favourite hymn was the fifteenth-century Gujarati poet Narsinh Mehta’s “Vaishnava jana to,” which defines a true devotee as one who “feels the pain of others.” The devotional poets of medieval India had already turned religion away from ritual and caste towards love, humility and service. Gandhi’s conviction that political action must be a form of devotion, and that the campaign must include spinning, cleaning latrines and caring for the untouchables, is bhakti put to work.
Two more Hindu ideas were essential. Tapas, “heat,” is the ancient term for austerity – fasting, vows, voluntary hardship – understood as a source of spiritual power. Gandhi’s fasts, his celibacy and his poverty were tapas, and he believed quite literally that self-suffering generated a force that could move others. And the vow (vrata): Gandhi held that a promise made before God binds absolutely, and he built his movement on vows – to resist, to accept the consequences, never to retaliate – taken publicly and kept at any cost.
What Gandhi added
If all of this was already in Indian tradition, what was new? Three things.
First, Gandhi made ahimsa collective and political. In every Indian tradition it had been an individual virtue, a discipline for monks, ascetics and the pious. Nobody before Gandhi had thought of it as something that a mass movement could practise against a state. Jain and Buddhist monks withdrew from the world to avoid harm; Gandhi marched into it.
Second, he made it active. The Indian word is a negation, and the traditional ideal was largely one of abstention. Gandhi redefined ahimsa as resistance: the refusal to cooperate with injustice, the deliberate breaking of unjust laws, the willingness to go to prison and to be beaten. “Non-co-operation with evil,” he told the court that sentenced him in 1922, “is as much a duty as is co-operation with good.”
Third, he fused the Indian materials with Western ones. Four influences were decisive. The Sermon on the Mount, with its commands to turn the other cheek and love one’s enemies, which Gandhi read as a law student in London and said “went straight to my heart.” Tolstoy, whose The Kingdom of God Is Within You (1894) argued that Christianity rightly understood forbids all violence and that governments rest on the willingness of ordinary people to obey; Gandhi corresponded with him in the last year of his life and named his South African commune Tolstoy Farm. Ruskin, whose Unto This Last Gandhi read on a train in 1904 and which converted him to the life of manual labour and the ideal he called sarvodaya, “the welfare of all.” And Thoreau, whose essay on civil disobedience gave Gandhi the English phrase for what he was doing – though he was careful to say that his campaign in South Africa was already under way before he read it.
The result was something neither tradition had produced on its own: a religious ethic of non-harming turned into a strategy of collective political struggle.
How it is supposed to work
Satyagraha is often misunderstood as a moral stance or a symbolic protest. Gandhi understood it as a technique with a theory of power behind it. The theory runs roughly as follows.
No government can rule without the cooperation of the governed. Tolstoy had said this; so, three centuries earlier, had the French writer Étienne de La Boétie, whose Discourse on Voluntary Servitude asked how a single tyrant could hold down millions and answered: because the millions let him. Gandhi’s version: “Even the most powerful cannot rule without the co-operation of the ruled.” A few thousand British officials governed three hundred million Indians only because Indians staffed the police, paid the taxes, bought the cloth and obeyed the laws. Withdraw that cooperation on a large enough scale and the Raj would cease to function – not be overthrown, but simply stop.
Means and ends cannot be separated. This is Gandhi’s sharpest disagreement with the revolutionary tradition. The usual view is that the end justifies the means; violence now buys justice later. Gandhi held that the means are the end in the making: “The means may be likened to a seed, the end to a tree.” A freedom won by violence will be a violent freedom, because the people who won it will have become people who kill. His argument is not primarily that violence is wrong, but that it does not work – that “when it appears to do good, the good is only temporary, the evil it does is permanent.”
The aim is conversion, not coercion. The satyagrahi does not try to defeat the opponent but to change them. This is why the suffering must fall on oneself: suffering voluntarily accepted appeals to the opponent’s conscience in a way that inflicted suffering never can. Gandhi believed, as a matter of fact about human nature, that no one can go on beating unresisting people indefinitely; sooner or later the arm grows heavy, the onlookers protest, and the opponent begins to see the person in front of them. A striking documented instance: at Dharasana in May 1930, columns of satyagrahis walked up to a salt depot and were clubbed down by police, wave after wave, without raising a hand. The American journalist Webb Miller’s reports of it went round the world and did more damage to British moral authority than any battle could have.
The method must be open. There is no secrecy in satyagraha. The opponent is informed in advance of exactly what will be done and why. Before the salt march Gandhi wrote to the Viceroy, explained his plans, and gave him the chance to abolish the tax. Secrecy, in Gandhi’s view, is itself a form of violence, because it treats the opponent as an enemy to be outwitted rather than a person to be persuaded.
Discipline comes before action. Gandhi did not believe that anyone could simply decide to be nonviolent. Nonviolence of the brave – as opposed to the nonviolence of the weak, who do not retaliate only because they cannot – requires training: in self-control, in fearlessness, in the willingness to die. Hence the ashrams, the vows, the spinning, the constructive programme of village work. The campaign was the visible tip of a discipline practised daily for years.
Stop when violence breaks out. In February 1922, at Chauri Chaura, a crowd of Gandhi’s followers burned a police station and killed twenty-two policemen. Gandhi immediately called off the entire national non-cooperation movement, at the height of its success, to the fury of his colleagues. He was consistent: a movement that had become violent was no longer satyagraha, and its victory would be worthless.
A classic campaign therefore had a shape. Investigate the grievance and establish the facts. Negotiate and arbitrate. Prepare the participants. Issue an ultimatum. Then escalate: demonstrations, boycotts, strikes, non-cooperation, and finally civil disobedience – the open, deliberate breaking of a specific unjust law, with full acceptance of the penalty. At each stage the door to settlement stays open. The salt march was the textbook case: the salt tax was chosen because it touched every Indian, rich or poor, Hindu or Muslim; because it was indefensible; and because breaking it was easy, visible and harmless.
Gandhi picking up salt on the beach at Dandi, 5 April 1930. Behind him his son Manilal and Mithuben Petit. Wikimedia Commons (public domain).
Other traditions of nonviolent action
Gandhi’s synthesis was new, but the idea that one might resist injustice without violence has a long and varied history. Comparing them brings out what is distinctive about satyagraha.
Before Gandhi
Jesus and the early Christians. The Sermon on the Mount – “do not resist an evildoer; but if anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other also” (Matthew 5:39), “love your enemies” (5:44) – is the most influential nonviolent text in the Western world. For the first three centuries Christians generally refused military service and accepted martyrdom rather than fight. But the early Christian ideal was non-resistance: enduring evil without opposing it, and leaving justice to God. Gandhi admired the Sermon but turned it in a different direction. He did not want to endure injustice; he wanted to end it. “Turn the other cheek” became, in his hands, a tactic as much as a virtue.
Ashoka. The Mauryan emperor’s renunciation of conquest after the slaughter of the Kalinga war (c. 260 BCE) is the earliest known case of a ruler adopting nonviolence as policy. But it was the policy of a monarch who already held power, not a method for those without it.
The Anabaptists and Quakers. The Reformation’s radical wing – Mennonites, Hutterites, and later the Society of Friends – revived Christian pacifism and suffered for it. The Quaker Peace Testimony of 1660 declared that they would never fight “with outward weapons, for any end, or under any pretence whatsoever.” Quakers also pioneered nonviolent campaigning: the movement to abolish slavery was in large part their creation. But their emphasis remained on individual conscience and witness rather than mass political confrontation.
Garrison and Ballou. In the 1830s and 40s the American abolitionists William Lloyd Garrison and Adin Ballou developed a doctrine of “non-resistance” that refused all cooperation with a slave-holding state. Ballou’s Christian Non-Resistance (1846) was read by Tolstoy, who quoted it at length – one of the hidden chains connecting American abolitionism to Gandhi.
Thoreau. Resistance to Civil Government (1849), known as Civil Disobedience, argued that a citizen has a duty to break unjust laws and accept prison for it; Thoreau spent a night in jail for refusing a tax that supported slavery and the Mexican war. His essay is the great statement of individual civil disobedience – a single conscience against the state. Gandhi took the idea and the phrase but made it collective.
Tolstoy. The late Tolstoy’s Christian anarchism is the closest ancestor to satyagraha. He held that all states rest on violence, that Christianity forbids all violence, and that the only legitimate response is complete refusal to serve the state in any way. His influence on Gandhi was direct and acknowledged. But Tolstoy’s position was absolute withdrawal; he did not organise campaigns or try to change laws. Gandhi took Tolstoy’s diagnosis and gave it a strategy.
After Gandhi
Abdul Ghaffar Khan. The Pashtun leader known as the “Frontier Gandhi” built a nonviolent movement of over 100,000 “Servants of God” (Khudai Khidmatgar) in the North-West Frontier in the 1930s, among a people with a warrior culture, grounding it entirely in Islam. His followers were massacred at Peshawar in April 1930 and did not retaliate. His example refutes the claim that satyagraha is uniquely Hindu.
Martin Luther King Jr. The American civil rights movement is the most successful transplantation of Gandhi’s method. King discovered Gandhi as a student, visited India in 1959, and wrote that “Christ furnished the spirit and motivation, while Gandhi furnished the method.” The Montgomery bus boycott, the sit-ins, the Birmingham campaign and the Selma marches followed the Gandhian pattern almost exactly: investigation, negotiation, self-purification, direct action, open and disciplined law-breaking, acceptance of arrest. Behind King stood organisers like Bayard Rustin and James Lawson, who had studied Gandhi at first hand. King added something Gandhi had not needed: the deliberate use of mass media to make the violence of the opponent visible to a national audience.
Nelson Mandela. The ANC adopted Gandhian methods in the Defiance Campaign of 1952, but Mandela abandoned them after the Sharpeville massacre and founded an armed wing in 1961. His reasoning is instructive: he regarded nonviolence as a tactic, not a principle, to be used when it works and discarded when it does not. This is the opposite of Gandhi’s view, and it marks the major fault line in the later history of the idea – between principled nonviolence, which holds that violence is always wrong, and pragmatic nonviolence, which holds only that it usually fails.
The revolutions of 1989. Solidarity in Poland, the Monday demonstrations in Leipzig, the Velvet Revolution in Prague, and before them People Power in the Philippines (1986), brought down regimes without civil war. Václav Havel’s essay The Power of the Powerless (1978) restated the Gandhian insight in secular terms: the system runs on everyone’s willingness to “live within the lie,” and it collapses when enough people simply stop. Few of these movements were pacifist in principle; most were nonviolent because violence would have been suicidal. Yet the method was recognisably Gandhi’s.
Gene Sharp and the strategists. The American political scientist Gene Sharp spent his life turning Gandhi’s insight into a secular, systematic theory. The Politics of Nonviolent Action (1973) catalogued 198 methods of nonviolent struggle; his pamphlet From Dictatorship to Democracy (1993) was translated into dozens of languages and used by activists from Serbia to Burma to Egypt. Sharp stripped away the religion and kept the mechanics: power depends on obedience, obedience can be withdrawn, and withdrawal can be organised.
The evidence. In 2011 Erica Chenoweth and Maria Stephan published Why Civil Resistance Works, the first systematic test of the claim. Analysing 323 major violent and nonviolent campaigns for regime change between 1900 and 2006, they found that nonviolent campaigns succeeded 53 per cent of the time against 26 per cent for violent ones; that nonviolent campaigns drew four times as many participants; that no campaign involving the sustained active participation of 3.5 per cent of the population had failed; and that countries that had experienced nonviolent campaigns, whether they succeeded or not, were far more likely to be democracies five years later. Gandhi’s argument that violence “does not work” turns out to have, on the whole, the statistics on its side.
What is distinctive about satyagraha
Set against all these, Gandhi’s method has four marks that no other tradition combines.
- It is resistance, not non-resistance: it aims to end injustice, not merely to refuse participation in it.
- It is collective and organised: a mass campaign with strategy, stages and discipline, not individual witness.
- It is principled, not merely tactical: nonviolence is held to be true, not just useful, and the campaign is called off if it fails the test.
- It is constructive: resistance is only half the programme; the other half is building the alternative – the village industries, the schools, the reconciliation between communities – without which the end of the old order would mean nothing.
The criticisms
Satyagraha has had serious critics, and an honest account must include them.
Does it depend on the opponent? The most common objection is that Gandhi’s method worked because his opponent was Britain – a liberal state with a free press, a parliament and a conscience that could be appealed to. George Orwell, in his Reflections on Gandhi (1949), put it bluntly: “It is difficult to see how Gandhi’s methods could be applied in a country where opponents of the regime disappear in the middle of the night and are never heard of again.” Gandhi’s own suggestion in 1938 that German Jews should offer satyagraha to Hitler was met by the philosopher Martin Buber with a pained open letter pointing out that the Jews of Germany had no public to appeal to and no opponent capable of being moved. The empirical record since then is more mixed than Orwell expected – nonviolent movements have toppled dictatorships – but it is also true that they have failed bloodily in Tiananmen, in Syria and elsewhere.
Is it coercive after all? Critics have noted that a successful boycott or strike hurts the opponent whether or not it converts them, and that Gandhi’s fasts put enormous pressure on those who loved him. B. R. Ambedkar, the leader of the untouchables, called Gandhi’s 1932 fast against separate electorates for his people a form of blackmail. The line between appealing to conscience and applying pressure is harder to draw than Gandhi admitted.
Is it too slow? Revolutionaries from Bhagat Singh to Frantz Fanon have argued that nonviolence asks the oppressed to go on suffering while they wait for the oppressor’s heart to change, and that it serves the interests of the comfortable. Fanon added that violence has a psychological function for the colonised: it restores the agency that colonialism took away. Gandhi’s reply was that violence, whatever it restores, also destroys, and that the oppressed who take it up become what they fight.
Does it require a saint? Gandhi’s version of nonviolence demanded a degree of self-discipline – celibacy, poverty, fearlessness unto death – that very few people can sustain. Later practitioners, from King to Sharp, quietly dropped these requirements and kept the strategy. Whether satyagraha without the tapas is still satyagraha, or merely a very effective technique, is a question that divides Gandhi’s heirs.
Relative importance and influence
Within Gandhi’s own thought, nonviolence was not a political tactic but the whole of his philosophy: the political campaigns were, as he insisted, “experiments with truth,” tests of a religious conviction. Within Indian thought, satyagraha is the one idea of the modern period that has had worldwide influence, and it transformed ahimsa from a private virtue into a public power. Within the history of political philosophy, it stands with Machiavelli’s Prince and Clausewitz’s On War as one of the few genuinely original theories of how power actually works – except that where they theorised force, Gandhi theorised its withdrawal.
Its influence is easiest to trace through the lines of descent: from Gandhi to King and the American civil rights movement; from Gandhi via Sharp to the “colour revolutions” and the Arab Spring; from Gandhi via Ghaffar Khan into Islamic political thought; from Gandhi to the anti-nuclear and environmental movements, whose tactics of blockade and civil disobedience are Gandhian in form. It is hard to think of a mass protest movement anywhere in the world since 1950 that has not, knowingly or not, used his methods. The principle that protesters sit down and let themselves be carried away, rather than fighting the police, is so familiar that we forget somebody had to invent it.
In India itself the picture is more complicated. The state that Gandhi helped to create kept his image and dropped his politics: it built an army, acquired nuclear weapons and pursued industrial development on exactly the lines he had opposed. His assassin was a Hindu nationalist who regarded his nonviolence as a betrayal of Hindu strength, and that view has not disappeared. Gandhi remains the father of the nation, but his method is honoured more abroad than at home.
Relevance to life
Satyagraha was designed for mass political struggle. But Gandhi always insisted that it began in the household and the individual, and its principles scale down surprisingly well.
Ask what you are cooperating with. Gandhi’s central insight was that every system of power runs on the daily consent of ordinary people. The question “what am I going along with that I do not actually believe in?” is uncomfortable precisely because it is so often answerable. Most of us sustain, by our routine compliance, arrangements we would never explicitly defend.
Separate the person from the position. The satyagrahi opposes the wrong, not the wrongdoer, and keeps open the possibility that the opponent will change. In an argument, this means attacking the claim and not the person making it; in a conflict, it means refusing to let disagreement become contempt. It is harder than it sounds, and more effective than it looks.
Means are ends in the making. The way you pursue a goal becomes part of the goal. A relationship won by manipulation is a manipulative relationship; a career built on cutting corners is a corner-cutting career. Gandhi’s point was not that good means are nicer but that bad means produce a different outcome from the one intended – always.
Take the suffering on yourself. When you are in the right and cannot persuade, the Gandhian move is not to inflict costs on the other side but to accept them yourself, visibly. The person who quietly bears the consequences of a principled refusal often moves others in a way that no argument can.
Be open. Satyagraha has no secrets. Telling your opponent exactly what you intend to do and why, before you do it, feels like giving up an advantage; in practice it transforms the relationship from war into negotiation. Most of us conduct our conflicts with far more concealment than the situation requires.
Know when to stop. Gandhi called off his greatest campaign because it had become something other than what it was meant to be. The willingness to abandon a winning position because the means have gone wrong is rare in politics and rarer in private life. It is also the clearest test of whether one is holding to truth or merely to victory.
Where to start reading
- M. K. Gandhi, Hind Swaraj (1909) – a short dialogue written on the voyage back from London to South Africa, and the first full statement of his thought. Anthony Parel’s annotated edition (Cambridge) is the one to use.
- M. K. Gandhi, An Autobiography, or The Story of My Experiments with Truth (1927–29) – not a biography but an account of the development of his ideas, which is why it ends in 1921.
- M. K. Gandhi, Satyagraha in South Africa (1928) – the history of the campaigns in which the method was worked out, told as a case study.
- Judith Brown (ed.), Mahatma Gandhi: The Essential Writings (Oxford World’s Classics) – the best one-volume selection, thematically organised.
- Leo Tolstoy, The Kingdom of God Is Within You (1894) and Henry David Thoreau, Civil Disobedience (1849) – the two Western texts that mattered most to Gandhi, both short and both free online.
- Martin Luther King Jr., Stride Toward Freedom (1958) – the Montgomery boycott, with King’s own account of how he came to Gandhi.
- Gene Sharp, From Dictatorship to Democracy (1993) – the secular, strategic distillation; ninety pages, free from the Albert Einstein Institution.
- Erica Chenoweth and Maria Stephan, Why Civil Resistance Works (2011) – the evidence.
- Faisal Devji, The Impossible Indian: Gandhi and the Temptation of Violence (2012) – a provocative reading that takes Gandhi seriously as a political thinker rather than a saint.
Read more
- Gandhi – Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy. On Gandhi as a philosopher.
- Mahatma Gandhi – Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy.
- The Collected Works of Mahatma Gandhi – the full 100-volume collected works online, with searchable thematic anthologies; the source for the quotations above.
- George Orwell, <em>Reflections on Gandhi</em> (1949) – the classic sceptical appreciation.
- 198 Methods of Nonviolent Action – Gene Sharp’s catalogue, at the Albert Einstein Institution.
- Why nonviolent resistance beats violent force – Harvard Gazette interview with Erica Chenoweth on the research.
