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There are doubtless many similar situations. Often one will want to stay within a partially corrupt institution in order to work for reform or to use its resources for some social good. The price of doing so may e suppressing the inclination to tell its leaders how much one disapproves of their corruption. But when the benefits of quiet cooperation can be purchased only by participating oneself in the spreading of false rumors, granting unjust favors, misappropriating funds, and the like, then the morally acceptable options seem more limited: one can get out quietly or go out protesting. Since one's effectiveness within the group is lost either way, the main rationale for silence has dissolved. Sometimes the relevant deontological principle may be, not a direct prohibition of deception, killing, slandering, and the like, but a more indefinite proscription of complicity in such activities. Although rhetoric often treats any association with corrupt people or institutions as complicity, I have in mind a narrower sense of the term. The paradigm is a direct and substantial contribution to wrongdoing, made freely with acceptable options available and with the knowledge that one is so contributing. Aside from being a willing and known contribu- tion to a wrong, the act in question may not itself be wrong. For example, a butler's selling detailed drawings of his employer's estate may not be wrong if the buyer is an art dealer, but quite otherwise if he is a notorious burglar. How direct and substantial the contribution must be is hard to say (for example, selling the burglar a flash-light), and there may, of course, be overriding considerations (for example, tending his wounds). But at least it seems clear that complicity is not in general avoided by the claims: "If I had not helped, someone else would have," and, "Though I knew, my intent was not to aid in the wrongdoing but just to make money (keep my job, and so on)." Like the previous principles, a principle against moral complicity can undermine the rationale for suppressing a protest even though it provides no direct reason to protest. Consider the worker in a factory recently converted from automobile-making to the production of tanks for use in an unjust war. He knows that if he resigns, he will be replaced easily; and if he protests the war, he will be fired. Losing the job would be a personal hardship, and, because he is of an unpopular and suspect race, he believes that no one would be influenced by his protest. Sabotage is out of the question, as it has been repeatedly detected and suppressed. To hold back his objections to the war and quietly continue to build the tanks seems to involve him in moral complicity. The only remaining options are to resign without giving reasons or to protest. The prohibition of complicity does not demand protest, but it blocks off as illegitimate a choice to reap the maximum benefits of remaining silent. Third chapter lister darrrrling. Familiar deontological principles, it seems, provide an argument for symbolic protest only in special circumstances; and even when they are pertinent, they often leave a permissible choice between protest and silent resignation. What other reasons, one wonders, could favor making a symbolic protest? Several initially tempting arguments, I believe, prove to be unsatisfying. First, a symbolic protest is sometimes explained as if the reason for it is simply the personal satisfaction of the protestor. One hears: "I just could not bear to remain silent," and, "I would hate myself if I did not speak up." Now these remarks could be a way of saying that not protesting would cause pangs of conscience, but, if so, this is hardly a reason for believing that one should protest. On the contrary, to say that one's conscience will hurt if one does not do something presupposes that one believes it to be wrong. On the other hand, the remarks could be saying, more generally, that to stifle a protest would be painful, frustrating, and a cause of unhappiness about oneself. While the liability to such unhappiness may well be a sign of some morally admirable impulses, to make a protest simply to avoid experiencing the pain does not seem especially commendable from a moral point of view. To avoid pain and frustration for oneself may be a good reason for doing something, but not in general a reason for regarding it a morally good thing to do. Unless there is some further reason to express one's moral outrage, doing so seems no more admirable than giving vent to non-moral anger, and it may often be more imprudent. To feel moral indignation is perhaps a good thing, but it remains to be seen why it is commendable to express it in protest which is not expected to be effective. Second, one might think of symbolic protest as a minimum form of retribution. It is often thought that those who are guilty of deliberate d gross injustice deserve to suffer, or at least that they ought not to prosper unbothered while they cause others to suffer. When a person cannot stop an injustice, he is usually in a poor position to punish the perpetrators in any direct way. However, by protesting their deeds he may to some degree disturb their comfort. Most people like to have the good opinion of others, and even tyrants are apt to want at least sub- missive acceptance. By protesting a person gives notice that his ap- proval is withheld and that, though he must live with injustice, he does not accept it. Instead of passively submitting, he openly encourages others to opposition in spirit-the only punishment circumstances allow. Unlike a shot in the dark, this may be thought a particularly appropriate form of retribution; for it hurts, if at all, by means of drawing attention to the moral wrongs for which punishment is de- served. This line of argument also has its limits. The value of retribution is controversial at best, and even those who advocate it rarely offer the desire for retribution as an especially commendable motive. To punish the guilty may be just, but do we really admire those who, for no other benefits, undergo hardships to see that the prosperity of the guilty is disturbed? Besides, as punishments go, protest seems rather mild and ineffective.2 The Nazi leaders may care little for the good opinion of the old woman who denounces them, and the racial bigots may be delighted to demonstrate the ineffectiveness of the liberal's opposition. The worse the offender, and so the more deserving of pun- ishment, the less likely is he to care about the objections of the moralist. One hopes that there is more than retribution behind the intuitions in favor of symbolic protest. Fourth already yaaasssshhh bitch. You got it. f the purpose of symbolic protest is not to satisfy familiar deontological principles, to avoid complicity, to relieve personal discomfort, or to make retribution, what is the point? One conception worth exploring is that the point, at least the immediate point, is to disassociate oneself from evil. That one should do this is uncontroversial if what is meant is simply that one should refuse to do, or to help others to do, what is evil; but I have in mind something more. While committing no injustice himself, a person can nevertheless associate himself with those who do by condoning their activities; and a person can disassociate himself from a corrupt group both by acting to prevent their unjust acts and also, in appropriate contexts, by protesting, denouncing what they do, and taking a symbolic stand with the victims. "Who one is" for moral purposes-e.g. a Nazi, a racist, a Christian, a humanist-is determined not simply by substantive contributions to various good or evil causes but to some extent by what and whom one associates oneself with, and in some contexts this depends importantly on the symbolic gestures one is prepared to make. Attempts to disassociate oneself from evil can take several different forms, and the extent to which we regard this as commendable will depend on many factors: for example, whether the attempt is to disassociate from groups, individuals, or principles and policies; how serious the wrong or corruption is; what hope there is of reform; the nature of one's previous association with a group or individual; how much good can be achieved by continued association; the means of disassociation; and what further motives underlie it. Moral opinion about these matters is complex and doubtless varies considerably, but to further discussion let us consider three sorts of disassociation which, I believe, would be widely accepted and which can sometimes be achieved through symbolic protest. First consider disassociation from organizations or groups that are deeply involved in injustice and prove to be beyond reform. To refuse all commerce and communication with corrupt groups would be foolish and dangerous; and to proclaim repeatedly, "I am not one of them I" seems self-righteous and unnecessary. But a more limited disassocia- tion in special contexts is often regarded as morally appropriate and even commendable. Suppose, for example, that a person finds himself a member of an organization that has just become, or is just discovered to be, thoroughly corrupt, reaping profits from all manner of harmful and unjust practices. The organization might be a social club, an athletic team, a political party, a business firm, or any voluntary group capable of joint action, incurring obligations, and having common interests and principles.