You claim systemic analysis and individual accountability are incompatible, but this is a false divide. To recognize how poverty funnels people into militarism does not require absolving their participation in it. Acknowledging coercion is not exoneration—it’s contextualization. The working-class recruit and the defense contractor both perpetuate the machine, but through differing degrees of agency. Moral scrutiny need not be all-or-nothing; it can—and must—scale with power and choice.

The dismissal of historical resistors as “exceptions” misunderstands their purpose. Exceptions disprove inevitability. They reveal cracks in the system, not its invincibility. To say we shouldn’t celebrate Underground Railroad conductors because most enslaved people couldn’t escape would be absurd. Their rarity doesn’t negate their moral significance—it underscores the brutality of the structures that made rebellion so perilous.

Your Nuremberg analogy falters upon closer inspection. While leadership was prioritized, the trials explicitly rejected the “just following orders” defense, convicting bureaucrats, doctors, and industrialists who enabled atrocities. The lesson was clear: systems of oppression require collusion at multiple levels. To focus solely on policymakers is to ignore the ecosystem of complicity that sustains them.

Regarding whistleblowers: Manning and Snowden were not elites. They were low-level operatives whose choices, while exceptional, disprove the notion that dissent requires privilege. Most service members encounter ethical red flags; few act. This isn’t to condemn all who stay silent, but to reject the claim that silence is inevitable. Moral courage is always a choice, however costly.

You argue that effective movements focus on institutions, not individuals, yet history contradicts this. The civil rights movement didn’t just target Jim Crow laws—it shamed segregationists, boycotted businesses, and made racism socially toxic. Cultural stigma and policy change are symbiotic. To exempt individuals is to sanitize activism into a bloodless abstraction.

Your “pragmatism” conflates strategy with fatalism. Yes, we must dismantle systems that weaponize poverty. But refusing to critique those systems’ participants isn’t pragmatism—it’s resignation. The anti-war movement didn’t end the draft by politely petitioning Congress. It normalized resistance: burning draft cards, sheltering deserters, stigmatizing recruitment centers. Cultural shifts are strategy.

Finally, your concern for “alienating allies” presumes veterans cannot handle nuanced critique. Many already do. Organizations like Veterans for Peace or About Face openly reckon with their past roles while condemning militarism. True solidarity trusts people to grapple with complexity—it doesn’t condescend by shielding them from tough questions.

In the end, your framework mistakes compassion for evasion. Believing in systemic change doesn’t require absolving individuals—it demands we hold both the cage and its keepers to account. Revolutions aren’t built on pity for the exploited, but on faith in their capacity to resist, even within constraints. To lower that bar isn’t kindness. It’s despair.

[–] coldasblues@sh.itjust.works -1 points 1 week ago (3 children)

Your argument constructs a philosophical framework that appears coherent in theory but fails to translate into practical reality. Let me address several key misconceptions:

First, you consistently mischaracterize my position as complete moral absolution rather than proportional accountability. I've never claimed that systemic analysis requires exempting participants from moral consideration—only that responsibility must scale realistically with power, knowledge, and genuine choice. The difference between us isn't whether individuals bear responsibility, but how we calibrate that responsibility within systems deliberately designed to constrain choice.

Your invocation of historical resistors proves my point rather than refutes it. Yes, exceptions disprove inevitability—but they also demonstrate the extraordinary circumstances and consequences involved in resistance. Underground Railroad conductors risked execution to smuggle people to freedom. Draft resisters faced imprisonment. Manning served seven years in confinement. These examples don't show that moral heroism is a reasonable expectation; they illustrate its profound cost within oppressive systems.

The Nuremberg comparison actually strengthens my argument. While the trials rejected the "just following orders" defense, they primarily focused on those who created and implemented policies, not every participant in the German war machine. This demonstrates precisely the kind of proportional accountability I advocate. The trials recognized that systems of oppression require complicity at multiple levels while still distinguishing between architects and participants.

Your claims about whistleblowers continue to conflate theoretical and practical agency. Yes, Manning and Snowden were "low-level" in organizational hierarchies but had extraordinary access to information and technical capabilities most service members lack. Their actions required specific circumstances that aren't universally available. Most importantly, both paid severe prices for their choices—consequences that make such dissent practically impossible for many.

The civil rights movement example actually demonstrates strategic targeting rather than blanket condemnation. Boycotts and direct actions focused on specific businesses and visible perpetrators, not every participant in segregation. The movement understood that changing systems required pressure at strategic points, not diffuse moral judgment of everyone involved.

Your reduction of my position to "politely petitioning Congress" is a strawman. Effective movements have always balanced institutional pressure with cultural change while recognizing that meaningful transformation requires more than moral condemnation. The anti-war movement didn't end the draft through individual stigma alone but through coordinated political pressure that made the policy untenable.

Your framework ultimately mistakes moral absolutism for moral clarity. True solidarity doesn't require lowering the bar; it demands recognizing both the reality of constraints and the possibility of resistance within them. It focuses energy on dismantling systems that limit choice rather than expecting heroic moral purity from those with the fewest options. This isn't "despair"—it's strategic focus on where change actually happens.

[–] lmfamao@lemm.ee 1 points 1 week ago* (last edited 1 week ago) (1 children)

Let’s take a different tack, because it seems like you’re not fully comprehending how much your arguments have not only shifted drastically since the beginning of this exchange, but are crumbling under their own contradictions.

Let’s hold your words side by side, while maintaining context:

You initially claimed: "Acknowledging how systems limit choice isn’t denying moral agency—it’s recognizing its realistic boundaries." Yet later, you dismissed whistleblowers as exceptions: "Manning and Snowden don’t simply represent 'rare courage'—they had specific access… that made their actions possible."

So which is it? If systemic constraints merely 'bound' agency, why frame resistance as requiring "extraordinary circumstances"? You can’t simultaneously argue that choice exists within constraints and that dissent is so exceptional it proves nothing.

You insisted: "Responsibility must scale realistically with power, knowledge, and genuine choice." But when pressed, you narrowed this to: "Nuremberg focused primarily on leadership… distinguishing between architects and participants."

Except Nuremberg did prosecute mid-tier actors—a fact you ignore to protect your hierarchy of guilt. You demand "proportionality" but define it to absolve all but elites.

You accused me of "mistaking moral absolutism for moral clarity" while arguing: "Effective movements… focus on policies, not individuals." Yet earlier, you praised the civil rights movement for "strategic targeting"—which included boycotts that shamed individual businesses and exposed specific perpetrators.

You vacillate between "systems matter, not people" and "sometimes people matter" to dodge scrutiny.

You framed enlistment as survival: "The teenager… isn’t making the same 'choice' as your philosophical thought experiment assumes." But when I noted enlistment often involves cultural factors (glory, legacy), you pivoted: "The working class deserves… recognition as moral actors."

So which is it? Are enlistees helpless victims of circumstance or moral agents capable of questioning systems? You toggle between these to avoid conceding that poverty limits—but doesn’t obliterate—choice.

You cited Nuremberg to argue "accountability requires focus"—yet ignored that the trials explicitly rejected "just following orders" even for low-ranking SS. You cherry-pick history to sanitize complicity.

You claimed: "Real change comes through political organization… not moral gatekeeping." But later admitted: "The anti-war movement… normalized draft-card burning." So suddenly, cultural stigma is part of "pragmatism"? Your definition of "practical" shifts to exclude critique when inconvenient.

Conclusion: Your argument isn’t a coherent stance—it’s a series of tactical retreats. When pressed on agency, you cite constraints. When shown resistance, you dismiss it as exceptional. When confronted with history, you cherry-pick. This isn’t systemic analysis—it’s intellectual arbitrage, exploiting ambiguity to evade hard truths. It seems that consistency is the first casualty of your philosophy.

[–] coldasblues@sh.itjust.works -1 points 2 hours ago (1 children)

Let’s take a different tack, because it seems like you’re not fully comprehending how much your arguments have not only shifted drastically since the beginning of this exchange, but are crumbling under their own contradictions.

Let’s hold your words side by side, while maintaining context:

You initially claimed: “Acknowledging how systems limit choice isn’t denying moral agency—it’s recognizing its realistic boundaries.” Yet later, you dismissed whistleblowers as exceptions: “Manning and Snowden don’t simply represent ‘rare courage’—they had specific access… that made their actions possible.”

So which is it? If systemic constraints merely ‘bound’ agency, why frame resistance as requiring “extraordinary circumstances”? You can’t simultaneously argue that choice exists within constraints and that dissent is so exceptional it proves nothing.

You insisted: “Responsibility must scale realistically with power, knowledge, and genuine choice.” But when pressed, you narrowed this to: “Nuremberg focused primarily on leadership… distinguishing between architects and participants.”

Except Nuremberg did prosecute mid-tier actors—a fact you ignore to protect your hierarchy of guilt. You demand “proportionality” but define it to absolve all but elites.

You accused me of “mistaking moral absolutism for moral clarity” while arguing: “Effective movements… focus on policies, not individuals.” Yet earlier, you praised the civil rights movement for “strategic targeting”—which included boycotts that shamed individual businesses and exposed specific perpetrators.

You vacillate between “systems matter, not people” and “sometimes people matter” to dodge scrutiny.

You framed enlistment as survival: “The teenager… isn’t making the same ‘choice’ as your philosophical thought experiment assumes.” But when I noted enlistment often involves cultural factors (glory, legacy), you pivoted: “The working class deserves… recognition as moral actors.”

So which is it? Are enlistees helpless victims of circumstance or moral agents capable of questioning systems? You toggle between these to avoid conceding that poverty limits—but doesn’t obliterate—choice.

You cited Nuremberg to argue “accountability requires focus”—yet ignored that the trials explicitly rejected “just following orders” even for low-ranking SS. You cherry-pick history to sanitize complicity.

You claimed: “Real change comes through political organization… not moral gatekeeping.” But later admitted: “The anti-war movement… normalized draft-card burning.” So suddenly, cultural stigma is part of “pragmatism”? Your definition of “practical” shifts to exclude critique when inconvenient.

Conclusion: Your argument isn’t a coherent stance—it’s a series of tactical retreats. When pressed on agency, you cite constraints. When shown resistance, you dismiss it as exceptional. When confronted with history, you cherry-pick. This isn’t systemic analysis—it’s intellectual arbitrage, exploiting ambiguity to evade hard truths. It seems that consistency is the first casualty of your philosophy.

Your argument has shifted dramatically throughout this exchange, revealing inconsistencies that suggest this isn't about philosophical clarity but about justifying judgment from a safe distance.

You've alternately portrayed soldiers as both helpless victims of circumstance and fully accountable moral agents whenever it suits your argument. You dismiss resistance as "exceptional" when it contradicts your determinism, yet cite those same exceptions as proof that everyone should be held to that standard. You cherry-pick historical examples while ignoring their full context.

But let's set aside the logical contradictions for a moment and address what's really happening here.

The extreme language about soldiers "enjoying murdering civilians" and "joining up to shoot people" reveals this isn't about ethical philosophy - it's about dehumanizing people you've never met. Posting these views in spaces where actual veterans are unlikely to respond doesn't demonstrate philosophical courage - it suggests you're more interested in judgment than understanding.

Real moral courage would involve speaking directly with veterans about their experiences rather than constructing elaborate theories about their motivations from a distance. It would mean acknowledging the complexity of human choice without surrendering to absolutism or total relativism.

The working-class teenager who enlists because their town offers no economic opportunities deserves neither complete absolution nor blanket condemnation. They deserve the dignity of being seen as a full human navigating impossible choices within systems designed to limit those choices.

Your position offers nothing constructive - no path forward, no vision for change, just judgment without understanding. It creates no space for redemption, growth, or transformation. It simply categorizes people as either morally pure or irredeemably complicit.

True justice requires holding power accountable while creating pathways for healing and change. It demands we recognize both individual responsibility and structural constraints without using either to negate the other.

Instead of crafting elaborate philosophical frameworks to justify hate from a distance, perhaps consider engaging directly with those whose experiences differ from yours. Veterans' organizations, peace activists who served in combat, community organizers in military towns - these voices might complicate your narrative in ways that lead to greater understanding rather than simplistic judgment.

The path beyond hate isn't found in philosophical abstraction or moral absolutism. It's found in the difficult, messy work of seeing others' humanity, even when their choices differ from what you would make in their position.

[–] lmfamao@lemm.ee 1 points 22 minutes ago* (last edited 22 minutes ago)

Your latest missive pivots rather dramatically from the pretense of philosophical debate to a flurry of ad hominem attacks and mischaracterizations. It seems when the foundations of your argument grew shaky, you opted to critique the architect rather than the architecture. Let us dismantle this new edifice of deflection, brick by rhetorical brick.

The Mirage of Inconsistency: You accuse me of shifting sands, yet it is you who seems unable to grasp nuance. To state that agency exists within profound systemic constraints is not a contradiction; it is the very definition of navigating oppressive structures. Resistance being difficult or rare due to these constraints does not magically erase the possibility or the moral weight of choice – it merely highlights the cost, a cost whistleblowers like Manning and Snowden demonstrably paid. To hold both truths – constraint and agency – is complexity, not inconsistency. Similarly, acknowledging proportionality in guilt (Nuremberg) while insisting responsibility extends beyond the absolute apex is not contradictory; it’s precisely how sophisticated legal and ethical systems function, something you conveniently ignore by focusing solely on the very top tier of defendants. Your demand for simplistic binaries forces you to see contradiction where there is only layered reality.
The Phantom Quote & The Ad Hominem Shuffle: You attribute phrases to me – "enjoying murdering civilians," "joining up to shoot people" – enclosed in quotation marks, implying direct citation. Let the record show: this is a fabrication, a straw man sculpted from bad faith. My critique targets the function and outcomes of military institutions and the roles within them – the deployment of lethal force, the upholding of imperial interests, the predictable generation of civilian casualties. To conflate this structural critique with accusations of individual bloodlust is a deliberate, and frankly desperate, misrepresentation. Your subsequent pivot to my supposed motivations ("judging from a safe distance," lacking "courage" to speak to veterans) is a textbook ad hominem fallacy. The validity of a critique of systemic violence does not hinge on the speaker's personal proximity to its agents. One need not personally interview every CEO profiting from exploitation to critique capitalism, nor every soldier to critique militarism. The system, its logic, and its effects are the subject, not the individual psyche of every participant – though the system certainly shapes that psyche.
The Patronizing Plea for "Humanity": You position yourself as the champion of the working-class enlistee, painting them as purely reactive victims navigating "impossible choices." While acknowledging the brutal reality of economic conscription is crucial (a point I’ve consistently integrated), your framework uses this reality as a shield against any ethical scrutiny. You offer a vision of "dignity" that amounts to infantilization – treating individuals as incapable of moral reasoning under pressure. True dignity lies in recognizing their capacity for choice, however constrained, and demanding systems that don't weaponize poverty against them and others. Your call to "see their humanity" rings hollow when it serves primarily to silence critique of the violent systems they are compelled (or choose) to serve. Empathy should not require ethical blindness.
The Illusion of "No Path Forward": You lament that my position offers only "judgment." This willfully ignores the tangible effects of cultural shifts driven by critique and stigma. Reducing the social license of militarism, questioning the automatic valorization of service, challenging the normalization of state violence – these are paths forward. They erode the foundations upon which recruitment, funding, and political support for perpetual war are built. Policy change rarely happens in a vacuum; it often follows a profound shift in public consciousness, a shift fueled by the very "moral gatekeeping" you disdain. To demand neat policy proposals while dismissing the cultural work that makes them possible is, again, a strategic evasion. Accountability itself is a constructive step.

In conclusion, your argument has devolved from debating principles to impugning motives and constructing straw men. You oscillate between portraying soldiers as helpless pawns and moral agents depending on which framing best deflects criticism. You demand empathy as a substitute for accountability and mistake pragmatic analysis of constraints for a denial of all agency. This isn't a robust defense; it's a tactical retreat into sentimentalism and misdirection.

The path beyond the horrors of imperialism and state violence isn't paved with comforting evasions or the blanket absolution of all who participate under duress. It requires rigorous critique of the systems and a clear-eyed understanding of the choices made within them – scaled by power, yes, but never entirely erased. It demands we hold faith in the capacity of all people, even the oppressed, to engage in moral reasoning and, sometimes, courageous resistance. Your framework, which offers paternalistic pity instead of demanding accountability and radical change, ultimately serves only the systems we both claim to oppose.--

[–] lmfamao@lemm.ee 1 points 1 week ago

Your rebuttal rests on a series of selective interpretations that obscure the interdependence of systemic and individual accountability. Let’s clarify:

You argue for “proportional accountability” but define it so narrowly that it functionally absolves anyone outside leadership roles. Nuremberg, however, explicitly rejected this hierarchy of guilt. While prioritizing architects, the trials also prosecuted industrialists, bureaucrats, and doctors—not because they held equal power, but because systems of oppression require collaboration at multiple levels. Proportionality isn’t about exempting participants—it’s about calibrating scrutiny to their role. Your framework risks reducing accountability to a binary: architects bear guilt, while participants bear circumstance. This isn’t nuance—it’s evasion.

Resistance is costly, yes—but so is complacency. The Underground Railroad conductor risked death, but we don’t retroactively excuse those who didn’t resist; we honor those who did. Their courage doesn’t demand heroism from everyone—it exposes the moral stakes of participation. To say “most couldn’t” doesn’t negate the imperative to act; it indicts the system that made resistance lethal. Dismissing dissent as “exceptional” rationalizes passivity.

Your claim that whistleblowers like Manning and Snowden had “extraordinary access” distorts reality. Manning was a low-ranking analyst; Snowden, a contractor. Their roles weren’t unique—their choices were. The My Lai massacre was halted not by a general but by Hugh Thompson, a helicopter pilot who intervened. Moral courage isn’t about hierarchy—it’s about recognizing ethical breaches and acting, however imperfectly. To frame their actions as outliers is to ignore that systems crumble when enough cogs refuse to turn.

The civil rights movement did target institutions, but it also stigmatized individuals—Bull Connor, George Wallace, and the white citizens who upheld segregation. Rosa Parks wasn’t a passive victim of buses; she was a trained activist making deliberate choices. The movement understood that systemic change requires both policy shifts and cultural condemnation of those who enforce oppression. Boycotts didn’t just bankrupt businesses—they made racism socially untenable.

You frame systemic reform and cultural critique as opposing strategies, but they’re symbiotic. The draft wasn’t abolished through congressional debate alone—it collapsed under the weight of draft-card burnings, desertions, and a generation rejecting militarism. Stigma isn’t a substitute for policy—it’s the cultural groundwork that makes policy possible.

Your “realistic expectations” argument conflates constraints with absolution. The teenager enlisting to escape poverty still chooses to join an institution they know causes harm. To say they have “no choice” denies their moral agency. Solidarity isn’t excusing participation—it’s fighting for a world where survival doesn’t require complicity in empire.

Finally, your “pragmatism” mistakes resignation for strategy. True change requires uncomfortable truths: systems and individuals must both be challenged, complicity persists even under constraint, and moral clarity isn’t about purity—it’s about refusing to normalize oppression.