Left Libertarian Alliance

Georg Haslam (Blog Co-Editor & GPEW Representative)

Libertarianism emphasises that the state’s monopoly on violence is illegitimate, and within it, a commitment to freedom is defining. As an ideal, it drives movements for equality, justice, and self-determination. Yet modern-day conflict makes it hard to discern how this freedom can be achieved if violence is off the table. The state, being an obstacle to freedom, is hard to abolish without force. This dilemma is most pronounced within the anarcho-pacifist tradition, which views violence and domination as impermissible. Unlike many historical practices that accepted violence as a tool to dismantle oppressive systems, anarcho-pacifists deny its legitimacy.

I. What is Pacifism?

Commonly understood, pacifism entails the understanding that war is morally wrong and participation within it is unjust. Historically, the pacifist advocated for the transfer of power from individual sovereigns to wider communities, as dynastic ambitions and individual pursuits of power were seen to be the critical factors enabling warfare. This aligns closely with left-libertarian ambitions, whereby individuals are freed from the commands of centralised and restrictive authorities.

Some variations of pacifism exist as only a personal opposition to warfare: such convictions, as Orwell criticised, often rely on others to participate in conflict whilst the pacifist abstains. Resolutely, libertarianism cannot accept this, both as it tends towards creating systems of dependency, where the pacifist, who refuses to challenge systemic structures, is dependent on those willing to participate in violence for safety and comfort, and as it suggests that some individuals should have the capacity to disengage whilst others must fight their wars. Implicitly, there becomes an obligation on those less ardent in their convictions, which is contrary to individual sovereignty. Indeed this is a widely-held critique. A functional and nuanced framework for pacifism cannot justifiably be an excuse for disengagement. What then is anarcho-pacifism?

Anarcho-pacifism occupies the position between absolute pacifism, which fails under the Orwellian objection, and just war contingency, which permits war so long as it fits certain criteria. The anarcho-pacifist must acknowledge that non-violence comes with challenges, whilst nonetheless holding that an ideal society would facilitate absolute pacifist practice. Their primary concern is with the illegitimacy of the state and its resultant monopoly on violence. As an anarcho-pacifist, my contention is such that, whilst morally, violence is in no circumstances permissible, there are occasional strategic reasons where it may be utilised effectively, constrained though these are. Individuals and communities are not expected to ignore oppression or violence utilised against them, but even where defensive violence provides some strategic utility, it does not acquire legitimacy, lest the same legitimacy be afforded to aggressive actions and the force of state institutions. Anarcho-pacifists thus agree unequivocally that violence is, in principle, wrong.

II. The Anarcho-Pacifist Tradition

“it is impossible to bring about a peaceful and free society by the use of violence since means inevitably influence the nature of ends”

This is how Peter Marshall describes the groundwork for anarcho-pacifism in his 1993 book, Demanding the Impossible (p. 14). One such anarcho-pacifist, and perhaps the most famous, was Leo Tolstoy, who combined radical Christian ethics with a rejection of coercive authority. Though he is most famous for his lengthy and oft-misquoted novels, he became a spiritual rebel, in his later life, who denounced state authority and refused to pay taxes. Tolstoy’s particular brand of Christian belief did not focus on miracles or resurrection; instead, he favoured ethical teachings, especially those around non-violence. He argued that Christian practice unavoidably entails anarchic practice (10:00). As such, scripture, especially the Sermon on the Mount, to which he gave particular importance, requires anarcho-pacifist interpretation. He insisted that, despite social pressures, Christian ideas equate to the total rejection of violence and coercion: he was thus central to the progression of anarcho-pacifism.

But not all anarcho-pacifists are theistic. Dutch thinker Bart de Ligt’s 1937 book, The Conquest of Violence, is a cornerstone text within modern anarcho-pacifism. De Ligt argued, from a secular foundation of strategic non-violence, that the use of coercion inherently reproduces the same hierarchy of oppression that anarchists and libertarians seek to dismantle. In 1921, he founded the International Anti-Militarist Bureau as a forum through which militarism in institutions could be challenged. Though the IAMB was not entirely pacifistic itself, de Ligt’s commitment to non-violence, centred around human liberation, was strong. Resultantly, he rejected systems of power that reproduce violence, including imperialism, capitalism, and fascism. He simultaneously denounced both Nazism and Bolshevism, viewing both as extensions of the same politically violent logic. His thought accentuates that personal pacifism is insufficient – instead, pacifism must, non-violently, seek to critique the socioeconomic and political factors that themselves reproduce violence.

III. Why Reject Violence: Envisioning an Anarcho-Pacifist Peace

This is all well and good, but it’s just theoretical. Revolutionary anarchists and many non-anarchist libertarians alike will argue that non-violence is, at best, a fantasy that oversimplifies a very complicated world, and, at worse, a tendency that actively aids unjust systems. How then can any libertarian, especially a “woke lefty” such as me, argue that anarcho-pacifism can be justified?

“the greater the violence, the weaker the revolution, even where violence has deliberately been put at the service of the revolution”

This is, again, Bart de Ligt’s The Conquest of Violence (p. 75).

A key principle, upon which left libertarianism is substantiated, is non-aggression. The Non-Aggression Principle, which distinctly forbids the initiation or escalation of violence, makes the voluntarist and decentralised society we advocate for credible. Emerging from the Enlightenment, and since reframed by 20^th century libertarians, the NAP, though holding that aggression is unjust, does not inherently imply pacifism. How then does it emerge? This brings us to Joseph Llewellyn’s 2018 book, Envisioning an Anarcho-Pacifist Peace.

In Llewellyn’s words, “that the capitalist-state runs counter to a vision of peace that is defined by human flourishing” (p. 64) is a popular belief in left-libertarian circles. Many on the libertarian left, including Bakunin, Makhno, and Malatesta, see violence as a tool that, if not essential for liberation from the state, is nonetheless an unfortunate reality. Similar inclinations are prominent on the libertarian right. Yet, the anarcho-pacifist staunchly disagrees. Not only is violence abhorrent, it is also unnecessary. As Llewellyn proclaims, any attempt to justify violent force is underpinned by the belief that, if an end is justified, any means to achieve it, including violent means, are also justified.

The libertarian case for anarcho-pacifism is as follows:

1. Violence inherently violates some fundamental principle upon which libertarianism is based, be that moral or otherwise.

This is easy for the libertarian to confirm. Individual sovereignty is, after all, a rudimentary commitment. Any act of violence, as an act of domination against its victim, is in violation of this sovereignty. If one is inclined towards natural rights, the resulting Nozickian entitlements (Ch. 2) apply. Even without natural rights, constructing a free and non-coercive society requires that both people and property are not subject to the threat or act of violence.

2. The resulting threat to an individual’s sovereignty is deplorable and should be avoided.

This is self-explanatory and follows from the Non-Aggression Principle.

3. The use of violence, despite attempts by its proponents to justify it, is often less effective than its non-violent counterpart.

Imagine you and another disagree. Is it more effective to punch them in the face or to discuss the issue and reach either consensus or cordial disagreement? Of course, the latter is preferable.

It can be demonstrated that non-violent acts of resistance are more likely to succeed. Data from Chenoweth and Stephan’s 2011 metastudy of resistance efforts between 1900 and 2006 suggested that 53% of non-violent campaigns were successful, compared to only 26% of violent ones. Even violent revolutions that are initially successful often result long-term in new authoritarians taking charge (think Napoleon’s rise after the French Revolution or Franco’s dictatorship after the Spanish Civil War).

However, this study raises some significant questions, as it fails to situate acts of resistance within wider context. For example, resistance against French colonial rule in Madagascar, though often utilising peaceful civil disobedience, was not entirely non-violent. The 1947 Malagasy Uprising was not peaceful. Similarly, the 2000 protest for multi-party democracy, which the study references, devolved into violence as a result of asymmetrical power. The many fatalities resulting from state and colonial repression of resistance and the modern instability that Madagascar faces demonstrate exactly why violent revolution is often ineffective. Where states have a monopoly on violence, which all states do, violence against them only plays into their hands.

Despite challenges in empirically evaluating the efficacy of violence against non-violence, the broader case for non-violence that Llewellyn and other anarcho-pacifists advance is not invalidated. The overall success of resistance movements often hinges on mobilising widespread and creative non-violent actions, which deny oppressors control they wish to retain. Llewellyn demonstrates that the power of non-violence, even when impure, lies in its ability to expose the fragility of violent systems. State institutions can be swayed by mass non-cooperation, strikes, moral witness, and the creation of viable community alternatives. The Madagascar uprisings failed precisely because they failed to recognise this, whilst peaceful non-cooperation and community mediation had some success. Llewellyn’s lesson is clear: the means shape the ends. Where institutions rely on violence to maintain domination, refusing to fight fire with fire is the most radical exertion of a person’s agency and dignity.

Llewellyn contends that violence is not a tool of liberation. Rather, it is a self-defeating strategy that benefits those it is used against. The capitalist state is structurally designed such that it can absorb coercion, and its monopoly on violence allows it to instrumentalise this coercion with significant force. Violence leads to an expansion in surveillance and wider restrictions on civil liberties and becomes a pretext for the state to justify more intrusive interventions. Here is one case where the anarcho-pacifist must however recognise that state reform is not enough. For an anarchist, whose aim is state abolition, this structure must be fully dissolved. Some anarcho-pacifists, including Llewellyn, suggest that this can be facilitated through entirely non-violent means, though others, even anarcho-pacifists, worry that non-violence may practically not be sufficient. Even where violence occurs, an emphasis on non-violent practice, in the name of unified means and ends, is vital.

4. The libertarian should select the means which both correspond to their belief system and have the highest chance of success.

Violence is both contrary to libertarian principles and often strategically ineffective – ergo, it is not an acceptable means to a libertarian end. Violent acts and their consequences are contrary to an individual’s dignity. They are dominating and thus authoritarian. Any self-proclaimed libertarian who acts in an authoritarian way is, at best, hypocritical.

IV. Responding to Injustices

Great, we can all just work together and there will be no more violence. It sounds like a fairytale. But in the real world, injustices do, and likely always will, exist. Injustices, when not the direct result of prejudice, often arise from a series of interactions between many individuals rather than one person’s intentional wrongdoing. The anarcho-pacifist must not be naïve to this. So, what do they do in the face of injustice? Their response must address multiple scales of violence simultaneously to be coherent.

Anarcho-pacifism as the prevention of violence goes beyond traditional pacifist modalities that question how the next conflict can be avoided. Instead, it asks more broadly how political structures and social relations that produce and reproduce violence can be rendered obsolete. Anarchist pedagogies provide a way in here. They provide an alternative to the modern, often militaristic, nature of education that traces its origin to the Prussian Empire, instead consolidating individual autonomy and dialogue. One such example was provided by Gandhi, who viewed education as the space to provide people with the skills to resist oppression without violence.

But prevention alone is not enough. Communities also need protection from external aggressors. Indeed, the protection of the innocent objection is perhaps the most frequent critique of pacifism. Conventional political theory assumes that this protection cannot be achieved without an institutional authority capable of superior force. The anarcho-pacifist challenges this by positing defensive arrangements distributed throughout a community, utilising social defence and civilian resistance networks. Though defensive, these organisations need not be inherently violent – instead, they can physically intervene and use their body and numbers to protect the victim. Rather than replacing the state military with a private one, protection becomes a condition of free association for which everyone is equally responsible. The moral obligation to protect the vulnerable remains intact without requiring violence to fulfil it.

But then, what happens if an aggressor attacks and ignores community resistance? This is perhaps the hardest question for the anarcho-pacifist, but it is not unanswerable. The first priority must be to reduce immediate harm, be that through creating sanctuary, providing medical support, or intervening responsively. The statist framework says that nothing except violence is enough to protect individuals and often implies that meeting a violent act with violence in return serves as a punishment against the offender. The anarcho-pacifist knows that this will not de-escalate the situation, and instead that mediation is better to keep individuals safe. Community-based oversight based on collective care offers an alternative to the punitive logic of state policing. Crucially, anarcho-pacifism does not imply no right to self-defence but instead demonstrates that defensive violence is flawed without a long-term non-violent aim that challenges the structures through which violence is reproduced This is one area where strategic reality and ideals are sometimes at odds, but a principled rejection of violence is nonetheless optimal for the libertarian.

This leads to solidarity. Communities can organise to meet their needs that existing institutions neglect. The Black Panther Party offers a complex example of this. Advocating for armed self-defence, they cannot be straightforwardly described as pacifist, but their community survival programmes demonstrate solidarity that does not rely solely on confrontation. Where the health and education of Black communities was ignored by the state, the Panthers established free breakfast programmes, schools, food distribution, clinics, and legal support for their community. You may be thinking that, though they had these initiatives, surely their possession of weaponry negates any pacifist idea. Whilst the absolute pacifist agrees, the anarcho-pacifist suggests that the presence of arms does intrinsically necessitate their use. Even the most stringently-applied framework of the Non-Aggression Principle permits minimally-violent self-defence. Though this is unsatisfactory, it is strategically desirable. Solidarity initiatives are nonetheless essential to a functional anarchist society, pacifist or not.

V. Restoring Justice

Llewellyn himself recognises the importance of prevention, protection, and solidarity in responding to injustices. Influenced by Paulo Freire’s Pedagogy of the Oppressed, he advocates for liberation that frees both the oppressor and the oppressed from hierarchical relations, suggesting that oppressive systems – social, economic, and political – erode the humanity of both sides, trapping them in cycles of violence and alienation. Llewellyn emphasises prefigurative politics – the embodiment, within current interactions, of the values of a future anarchic society. Thus the anarcho-pacifist favours restorative justice, to prioritise collective repair over punishment or exclusion. It requires a shared commitment to mutual liberation, where the onus is on each individual to take accountability and co-create alternatives that prefigure a non-coercive society. This challenges liberal interpretations of restorative justice that fail to acknowledge structural injustices associated with capitalism, systemic racism, and patriarchy, and too often rely on the mechanisms of state.

How does restorative justice work in practice? Community circles within the Catalan Integral Cooperatives provide insight here. The CIC is organised around several hubs, and it seeks within its ethos to promote social justice without dependence on the state. Restorative justice efforts in Catalonia are universalised. A perpetrator elects to participate in a restorative circle alongside the victim, a neutral arbitrator, and anyone in the community who feels harmed by their actions. Participants discuss the harmful event and then agree towards a path of restoration. The circle reconvenes after a period of time to ensure this restoration has taken effect and thus enabling the offender to be reintegrated. Though a justice system that requires a perpetrator to choose to participate, it is this semblance of choice that facilitates effective reconciliation and prevents reoffending.

What happens when the perpetrator does not wish to participate in restoration? It is explicitly contrary to libertarian principles that an individual can be coerced into a process in which they do not wish to participate. Community autonomy is central to restorative justice. Thus, if the perpetrator refuses to engage, the community may impose informal consequences, such as limiting the perpetrator’s access to communal resources or decision-making processes. The focus of justice must be repairing harm rather than punitive measures. In the few cases where informal consequences are insufficient, more forceful measures including residential confinement, curfews, and guardianship may be considered. Vitally, these measures do not require the use of coercive force or the diktat of the state. Through restorative practice, the anarcho-pacifist’s path is clear.

VI. Anarcho-Pacifism as Living Praxis

The anarcho-pacifist reimagines power, justice, and human relations. They do not retreat from struggle, and their idea of non-violence is not mere utopian fantasy. Through Tolstoy, de Ligt, and Llewellyn, we see that anarcho-pacifism is not weakness. It is an ethical and a strategic commitment to dismantling oppression without conceding moral high ground to the state or replicating its cycles of violence. The anarcho-pacifist knows that coercion as a tool of liberation is an illusion, whilst mutual aid, solidarity, and restorative justice offer a blueprint for how society may be organised differently. For left-libertarians, this vision is necessary. The state’s monopoly on violence is not a solution to injustice – it is its foundation. The crises of our time demand solutions that do not replicate these hierarchies. Anarcho-pacifism provides that alternative: a politics of active non-violence, where resistance is not measured by the ferocity of our opposition but by the depth of our solidarity. It is a politics that says no to reliance on domination and yes to collective care.