💾 Archived View for library.inu.red › file › spooky-deconstructing-the-supervillain-fallacy-1.gmi captured on 2023-01-29 at 13:54:42. Gemini links have been rewritten to link to archived content
➡️ Next capture (2024-07-09)
-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Title: Deconstructing the Supervillain Fallacy Author: Spooky Date: July 27th, 2021 Language: en Topics: C4SS, abolition, anti-state Source: https://c4ss.org/content/55113
When we think of post-capitalist societies, there’s often a nagging
impulse to solve current social ills. Anti-statists are asked how they
would deal with billionaires without taxation, anti-capitalists get
grilled on how cities would get built without workplace hierarchy, and
police abolitionists get asked how they would respond to high crime
rates without prisons – all fallacious lines of inquiry based on the
idea that currently existing problems are inevitable in scale and
prevalence. It’s no mystery that the present structure of our global
economy and political landscape is largely the product of repression,
imperialism, and seemingly perpetual war, yet these “necessary evils”
are held to no burden of proof, while radical alternatives must prove
they can do everything the current system does and more. What I’m
describing isn’t new, and while it’s a very effective device for masking
reactionary views, it’s often the result of passive ignorance. The
extension of this logic I’m about to deconstruct, however, is almost
always deliberate and revealing.
Let’s consider a familiar scenario: your centre-normie friends ask you,
a state abolitionist, how “crime” would be handled without cops or
prisons. You might start with a brief outline of restorative justice and
other victim-centered models of conflict resolution – but they clarify
that the concern is with “the really bad ones” who wouldn’t cooperate.
At that point, you could explain how institutions designed for
punishment are susceptible to perverse incentives and power problems
that, in combination with other issues, make them ineffective, costly
responses to harmful behavior. The conversation then shifts to a
specific situation in which a serious offense was committed, one that
might result in the death penalty or a life sentence in current day
America. You point out the inefficacy of the current system, reminding
them that individual cases exist in vastly different contexts – to which
they specify further that this person will definitely re-offend, is
absolutely intent on harming others or their previous victims, and will
stop at nothing to satisfy their urges. The conversation could end here
with an admission that yes, sometimes confinement or straight up
shooting someone could serve a practical purpose in which it would be
appropriate, which is usually taken as an admission of defeat.
So you’re telling me the worst of the worst offenses might warrant
carceral treatment or lethal force? No shit! This whole discussion was
meaningless, and though I’m severely truncating this hypothetical
exchange, I hope I’ve illustrated how truly empty this response to
abolition is. Instead of recognizing abolition as an opportunity for
experimentation via the removal of coercive institutions, people hear
“abolition” and think we’re selling “Justice System 2.0, Everything We
Have Now but Better.” Those averse to libertarianism often act as if we
believe that freedom and safety are opposite ends of a spectrum and
reject safety; in the case of “crime,” many folks assume that less
authority (safety) will lead to more danger (freedom), therefore
concluding that prison abolitionists require a systematic response to
the dangerous people who would thrive in a free world. Without prisons,
what is to be done with the truly evil?
This type of goalpost-shifting constitutes what I call the “supervillain
fallacy,” the notion that motivated bad actors can be so harmful that
carceral institutions become morally legitimate and practically
necessary. Key to this framework is the idea that justice systems
(courts, prisons, and police) do proportionally less harm than offenders
en masse, or aren’t harmful at all, constituting a net benefit to
general safety. Abolitionists, therefore, must reckon with the
inevitable existence of supervillains; this leads abolitionists to
reluctantly accept carceral means as a last resort, shift their focus to
“rehabilitation,” or excuse the behaviors of supervillains through
active apologia. To clarify what I mean, the common response to
abolitionism is based in the belief that serial killers are a greater
threat than armed cops and that prisons are the best means for
containing violent criminals. Explaining the new world to people who
refuse to understand the present one, unsurprisingly, doesn’t result in
productive mutual exchange.
Debunking these specific premises, while a great exercise in keyboard
warriorship (and, if you’re lucky, genuine critical thinking), is
insufficient. To defend statist violence as a proportionate response to
individual wrongdoing, one necessarily has to avoid empirical evidence
and abandon good faith engagement, resulting in frustrating
quasi-arguments that go nowhere. This is the primary purpose of the
supervillain fallacy: controlling the conversation[1]. When abolition
skeptics open with a bunch of leading questions, we reflexively go into
self-defense mode – we’re being backed into rhetorical corners, after
all. Playing defense doesn’t look or feel like winning[2], and to an
authoritarian audience, the person who asks short questions and receives
long answers looks like the intellectual victor. For the abolitionist,
however, this dynamic primes them to think like authoritarians,
endorsing the existence of hypothetical evils worthy of execution or
accepting the rare utility of confinement in desperate attempts to
forfeit the conversation.
Since these exhausting conversations often happen soon after folks
initially become “radicalized,” many passively accept certain carceral
narratives to maintain close relationships with non-radicals. Between
tense, draining conversations with people we care about and keeping
controversial opinions to ourselves, many understandably choose silence
over losing friends. The internalized notion that the supervillain
fallacy constitutes reasonable, good-faith skepticism, combined with a
“don’t ask, don’t tell” approach to certain radical positions, results
in less people discussing abolitionism, pushing an urgently important
discourse to the fringes of the overton window.
In case it wasn’t already clear, this myopic focus on prevention and
retribution completely disregards the needs of victims. Once a Kyle
Rittenhouse is put behind bars, what happens to the marginalized
communities in their immediate vicinity? How are the victims’ survivors
helped by a carceral solution? None of this matters in a carceral system
because “law and order” isn’t about mutual aid or repairing damage. “Law
and order” is about bad behavior being punished, disorder being
corrected, and the right people receiving what they deserve. Old Left
rhetoric pairs well with a focus on punishment, as a lot of
anti-capitalism is framed as a righteous deliverance of justice upon the
ruling class.
Our method, on the other hand, isn’t compatible with this approach,
since we recognize the role systems and institutions play in furthering
exploitation, restrictions of autonomy, and disparities of power. Where
others see danger in freedom, abolitionists see opportunities to
experiment, arriving at better solutions to reduce violence and keep
people safe – be that through competition, cooperation, or something
entirely different. Punishing shitty individuals is an inefficient waste
of time and resources that serves no purpose beyond mild catharsis for
the most authoritarian individuals; abolishing systems that encourage
shitty behavior, however, is a practical, scalable solution to violence
and exploitation.
I do not know what specific systems such a society will have, all I can
speak to is the general effect of abolition. This isn’t so much a
“non-answer” as it is a recognition of our general inability to predict
the future. Nobody has any clue what the future holds beyond vague
predictions and informed speculation. Yes, we could spend hours upon
hours solving every single problem with the ethno supremacist police
states we all live under, but to what end? A manifesto that’ll age like
spoiled milk? From personal experience, I can assure you it’s a waste of
time.
When you see this fallacy in action, know that it usually comes from
deeply internalized authoritarianism, a lack of self-awareness, and an
excessive faith in one’s ability to predict the future. The best way to
respond to this is to maintain control of the conversation:
would be
up by the other person, block them, they don’t deserve your time
This is only a short list of general tips for getting around the
supervillain fallacy. By no means do I think it’s universally
applicable. No two conversations will be identical, but I hope my main
point is clear: humility isn’t a sign of weakness or ignorance and
nobody has the solution to every problem. Rather than plan a predictable
utopia, abolitionists should explore the possibilities of a spontaneous,
imperfect future. To borrow a tweet from @LibertyCap1312:
“Too many anarchists are committed to showing they can create a perfect
utopia with no social problems. I think bullet biting is a lot more
compelling: bad things will happen in a free society. We just think
authority amplifies those things, rather than countervailing them.”
[1] Ian Danskin, The Alt-Right Playbook: Control the Conversation
[2] “…if you never look like you’re losing, you can convince a lot of
people that you’re not. And, if you keep your statements short and
punchy, people will remember what you said better than they remember the
long explanation of why it’s untrue. If done correctly, you might even
convince yourself you know what you’re talking about.” – Ian Danskin,
The Alt-Right Playbook: Never Play Defense