On April 29, 1993, Graham Bamford stood outside of the British Parliament, doused himself with gasoline, and lit himself on fire. His act was a protest against his country’s indifference toward the atrocities happening in Bosnia, though he had no personal connection to the country or its people.
“The British people must stop the war in Bosnia, using force if necessary,” he said. “Bosnian babies, children and women are patiently waiting for the politicians to do what they should do – provide military protection. They must not stand aside and observe.”
More than three decades later, U.S. airman Aaron Bushnell performed the same act – this time, in front of the Israeli embassy in Washington, D.C. – in protest of what he said was America’s complicity in genocide in Gaza.
“I am about to engage in an extreme act of protest,” he said as he live-streamed his walk to the embassy last Sunday. “But compared to what people have been experiencing in Palestine at the hands of their colonizers, it’s not extreme at all. This is what our ruling class has decided will be normal.”
Like Mr. Bamford, Mr. Bushnell had no apparent personal connection to Palestine or its people. But as he doused himself with fluid and lit himself on fire, he yelled “Free Palestine,” and sacrificed himself to the cause.
As news of Mr. Bushnell’s self-immolation spread, he was quickly hailed by some as a principled, rational hero for the Palestinian cause. Vigils popped up for him in Washington and other cities across the U.S.
American author and philosopher Cornel West praised Mr. Bushnell’s “courage,” saying he “died for truth and justice.” British columnist Owen Jones remarked that Mr. Bushnell “died because he had too much humanity for a world run by people who don’t have any.” And Daily Beast columnist Wajahat Ali tried to push back against those who characterized Mr. Bushnell as disturbed, writing on X that there was “no evidence Aaron Bushnell was suffering from mental illness. He was very clear about his reasoning for self-immolation.”
Arguably the act of lighting oneself on fire is evidence enough of mental illness, but self-immolation as a form of political protest has a long history, and perhaps it’s too simplistic to paint all cases with the same brush.
In 1963, Buddhist monk Thich Quang Duc self-immolated to protest the repression of Buddhists by the Diem regime. Other copycat self-immolations were carried out by Buddhist monks over the course of the Vietnam War. In 1969, Czech philosophy student Jan Palach lit himself on fire to “shake the conscience of a nation” that he believed had become apathetic after the Soviet invasion. In 1990, students throughout northern India self-immolated to protest government caste reforms, following an initial protest by commerce student Rajiv Goswami. According to the International Campaign for Tibet, 159 Tibetans have self-immolated since 2009 to protest China’s rule.
What the above cases all have in common is a personal stake; each actor was a member of an oppressed group, an occupied population or an affected community. Perhaps that’s why the initial self-immolation by one inspired copycat acts by many; others were able to see logic – however dark and perverse – in staging the ultimate protest. Indeed, it’s conceivable that in each situation, these individuals felt such profound pain and hopelessness that they perceived the act of self-immolation as a final way to reclaim some power. Mental anguish, certainly. Mental illness? Maybe.
But the cases of Mr. Bamford, who self-sacrificed for Bosnia in 1993, and Mr. Bushnell, who lit himself on fire for Gaza now, are distinct in that they were carried out by people totally removed from the cause for which they ended their lives. These men read or heard about atrocities happening at one specific place somewhere else in the world, and despite news of atrocities happening everywhere, all the time, at some other place in the world, decided that Bosnia and Gaza were worth dying for – and dying one of the most painful kinds of deaths known to man.
Maybe these men possessed a capacity for empathy that would be inconceivable to most everyone else on Earth. Or maybe something else was going on, and their “noble” and “courageous” acts should really be seen as something far more tragic.
There are many obvious dangers in finding martyrdom in these acts – not the least of which is a disturbing type of veneration for suicide – but there’s also a wretchedness in how this specific case has unfolded. Mr. Bushnell died publicly and horrifically, and he will soon be forgotten, but only after his death is used by all sides to make some sort of political point. That can’t possibly be something to celebrate.
Editor’s note: A previous version of this article incorrectly stated that Jan Palach self-immolated in 1968. The correct date is 1969. This version has been updated.