I’ve long wondered why nonviolent resistance is so widely praised. Throughout history, from primitive societies onward, human organizations and relationships have almost always been forged through violent conquest. Power is established by force, and rule is sustained by might. Yet, after deep reflection and investigation, I’ve come to see it as a glorified scam—crafted by the powerful to maintain their stability, encouraging the oppressed to trade self-sacrifice for meager concessions while the strong remain untouched.
Nonviolent resistance is often hailed as a noble strategy against oppression, and Gandhi’s campaign against British colonial rule has been celebrated as legendary. Yet, when we peel back the veneer of moral grandeur, the essence of this approach raises doubts: Is it truly a triumph over the powerful, or merely a form of self-inflicted suffering by the weak, securing an outcome that was already inevitable while leaving the oppressor unscathed?
Consider Gandhi’s actions. In 1930, during the Salt March, he led thousands of Indians on a 240-mile trek to the sea to make salt, defying Britain’s salt tax monopoly. This act left countless participants exhausted and led to arrests, including Gandhi’s own imprisonment. But what of the British? They merely lost temporary control over a fraction of their tax revenue; the foundations of their colonial system remained intact. Or take Gandhi’s hunger strikes—such as in 1932, when he fasted in prison to protest Britain’s electoral segregation of the “untouchables.” Risking his life, he forced a policy tweak, but it was a minor concession from the colonial authorities, whose wealth and power stayed secure. India gained independence in 1947, but this was less a direct result of Gandhi’s “self-sacrifice” and more a consequence of Britain’s post-World War II economic decline and global anti-colonial pressure. The British left, yes—but they departed with their colonial profits intact, facing no restitution or accountability for their exploitation.
The unfairness of this strategy lies in its one-sided cost: the weak bear the full burden of sacrifice, while the strong pay no equivalent price. Gandhi’s advocates might argue that nonviolence preserved a moral high ground, averting the chaos and bloodshed of violent revolution. But is this “moral victory” enough? The British amassed immense wealth in India—through taxes, unequal trade, and resource plunder—yet none of it was returned or reckoned with after independence. The oppressors simply exited the stage; they were not defeated. The resisters filled a pit that should never have been dug, while those who dug it walked away unpunished.
This echoes a similar logic in China’s labor laws: in wage disputes, companies that withhold pay are often merely ordered to settle what they already owed, with no additional penalty. This “zero-cost violation” emboldens wrongdoers, whose worst outcome is breaking even. Gandhi’s nonviolence mirrors this: Britain’s “worst” fate was relinquishing India, yet they faced no tangible loss for their colonial sins. The strategy assumes the oppressor cares about moral pressure or long-term consequences, but in reality, many powers are indifferent to shame and even exploit the resisters’ “self-harm” to weaken them further.
Nonviolence earns its fame by swaying “civilized” foes—like a Britain mindful of its international image. Against uncompromising, brutal powers, however, it risks becoming a one-sided sacrifice, unable to topple the roots of dominance. Worse still, even when it succeeds, it often stops at ending oppression without punishing the wicked. The powerful suffer no loss, the guilty escape judgment—and this, at its core, is an indulgence of evil. Gandhi’s legacy may inspire millions, but it conceals a harsh truth: in the theater of nonviolent morality, the strong often emerge as unscathed victors.
Reflecting on this, if nonviolence is to be upheld, it must find ways to impose a punitive cost on oppressors—otherwise, it remains unfair. The sacrifices of the resisters should not merely secure an outcome that “should have been,” but should make the perpetrators feel real loss, whether through economic sanctions, legal accountability, or other means. Only then can nonviolence transcend self-righteous sentiment and become a true instrument of justice. Otherwise, nonviolence risks remaining Gandhi’s glory, while the strong smirk in the shadows.