Can riot ever be justified for justice?

Riots don’t erupt in a vacuum. They are often the culmination of long-standing grievances—police violence, racial injustice, inequality, political repression—that remain unresolved after years, even decades, of appeals, petitions, and peaceful protest. But the moment broken glass hits the pavement or a store is set ablaze, public perception often flips. The cause that sparked empathy now becomes suspect.

This dissonance leaves society asking: is rioting ever justifiable? And if so, where should the line be drawn? These aren’t abstract questions—they’re urgent. From Minneapolis to Marseille, cities around the world have become pressure cookers of pent-up frustration. And the moral, political, and economic fallout is impossible to ignore.

Riots may amplify a message, but they can also alienate allies. They can force a response from those in power—but they may also destroy the very communities they claim to defend. In short, they are a paradox: both a cry for justice and a risk to public order.

Ethically, riots often challenge our belief systems. Most people instinctively condemn violence—but many also understand that protest movements are born from desperation, especially when democratic channels fail. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. famously said, “A riot is the language of the unheard.” But King also emphasized nonviolence as the most potent weapon for social justice.

That leaves us in a gray zone: when people riot, does their message gain or lose legitimacy? Consider the 2020 Black Lives Matter protests in the US. Peaceful demonstrations were met with broad public support, but media focus quickly shifted to property damage and looting in a few cities. In the process, complex discussions about systemic racism were drowned out by debates over law and order.

The same dilemma arose in France during the 2023 pension reform protests, where police suppression of peaceful rallies drove some protestors toward vandalism and clashes. In both cases, public attention was split between the cause and the chaos.

The deeper issue is this: moral justification is not moral exemption. A cause may be righteous, but that doesn’t render any form of protest acceptable. Rioting may be emotionally cathartic, but it brings costs—many of them borne by the same marginalized communities whose voices the protest aims to elevate.

When evaluating the utility of riots, strategy matters. Disruption can be powerful. It draws attention, destabilizes complacency, and forces conversations that polite discourse might not. But not all disruption is equal.

Violent protests tend to provoke harsh political responses: curfews, police militarization, and sweeping surveillance laws. Governments use the existence of violence to paint all protestors as extremists, undermining the movement’s credibility.

This dynamic played out during the 2019–2020 Hong Kong protests. Initially framed as a pro-democracy movement, the campaign gained global support. But as a faction of protestors turned to Molotov cocktails and airport shutdowns, the narrative shifted. Beijing found cover to impose the controversial National Security Law—effectively crushing dissent.

Historical studies support this pattern. Political scientist Erica Chenoweth’s landmark research shows that nonviolent movements are nearly twice as successful as violent ones in achieving their goals. They also attract more participants and international support. In short: nonviolence builds coalitions; violence shrinks them.

That doesn’t mean every riot is tactically pointless. In authoritarian regimes where protest is suppressed, riots may be the only way to force visibility. But it’s a high-risk strategy. As much as riots can shock the system, they rarely offer a path to lasting political reform.

Whether riots are seen as justified or not, their aftermath is almost always messy. Insurance claims following the 2020 protests in the US topped US$2 billion, the most costly period of civil unrest in the country’s history. But financial costs are only part of the picture.

There are deeper consequences: the erosion of local economies, particularly in underprivileged neighborhoods where rebuilding takes longer. Increased police presence and surveillance often linger long after the riot ends. And public sympathy—once strong—can fade under the weight of fear and fatigue.

Communities hit hardest by riots are often the same ones that lack resources to recover. A burned-out pharmacy in a low-income area means weeks or months without access to medicine. A looted grocery store might never reopen. These are not abstract effects—they’re material losses that affect real lives.

Meanwhile, politicians and media outlets use the optics of chaos to reinforce binaries: peaceful protest is good, riot is bad. The nuance gets lost. But ignoring the root causes—whether poverty, racism, or political exclusion—only delays the next eruption.

Rather than asking “Is rioting acceptable?” perhaps we should ask a different question: What are the conditions that make rioting inevitable? When entire communities feel voiceless, powerless, and excluded, rage becomes combustible. And while we may debate the legitimacy of their methods, ignoring the message altogether is far more dangerous.

To be clear, this is not a defense of violence. Societies must uphold the rule of law. But they must also uphold the promise of justice. That means making sure there are functioning channels for civic expression, government accountability, and social mobility.

If those channels are clogged or closed, unrest will fester. It may not always take the form of riots. But the warning signs—polarization, distrust, disengagement—will be there. Addressing the surface symptoms without fixing the root causes is like putting out fires while ignoring the gas leak.

Riots are not just explosions of anger—they are indictments of broken systems. And while we should never glorify destruction, we also can’t afford to dismiss it outright. The moral outrage that fuels unrest is often legitimate; the methods, more ambiguous. Society must stop treating civil unrest as merely a problem of order and instead see it as a signal: something has failed.

The better question is not “How much rioting is too much?”—but “How much injustice are we willing to tolerate before listening, reforming, and healing?” The longer we wait to answer that, the louder—and more destructive—the message may become.

That said, acknowledging the legitimacy of the message should never lead to normalizing violence. Democratic societies must create meaningful, accessible paths for protest, accountability, and redress—before frustration turns combustible. A riot may force change, but it cannot sustain it. Durable justice requires public trust, not just public spectacle. Without that, the cycle of rupture will repeat—and it will escalate.

Riots test the strength and responsiveness of our institutions. If governments and communities fail to meet that test with empathy, reform, and practical action, the next wave will not ask politely. It will break down the door.