Abolition Technology

Abolition as a Dual Process: From Destruction to Democratic Infrastructure

In the context of scholarship, abolition is rarely defined by the “negative” act of destruction alone. Drawing from W.E.B. Du Bois and Angela Davis, abolition is best understood as a dual process: the simultaneous dismantling of oppressive institutions and the construction of what Du Bois famously termed “Abolition Democracy.”

Abolition Democracy is not limited to formal political participation such as voting. Rather, it entails a radical reconfiguration of sovereignty—one in which governance is guided by the expertise of those who actively produce a society’s wealth and culture, instead of those who merely own property. In practice, this reframing positions abolition as an infrastructure-building project: a redirection of resources away from policing and punishment toward care and community-led expertise.

As discussed in relation to Hannah Arendt, a vacuum of power inevitably produces suffering. Abolitionist scholarship therefore emphasizes that the creation of alternative systems is not supplementary but constitutive—it is precisely what renders the old systems obsolete.

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The Tragedy of the Commons and the Question of Accountability

When I first encountered the perspective of Abolition Technology, my concern was rooted in the Tragedy of the Commons. If punitive institutions are transformed into supportive public infrastructure, such systems effectively become a new “commons.” The core dilemma, then, is how to ensure individual accountability and prevent resource abuse in the absence of punishment as a negative feedback loop.

After engaging with the first few weeks of readings, I came to understand that abolition should not be framed as “freedom without rules.” Instead, it represents a transition from external coercive enforcement to internal, community-based governance. Our current punitive systems—prisons and policing—are themselves exorbitantly expensive and profoundly inefficient public resources. In effect, we are uprooting the “grass” of our social fabric merely to erect taller “fences” against its misuse.

Importantly, abolitionist support centers are not envisioned as “unlimited ATMs” for resource extraction. They must be anchored in community ties and reciprocal responsibility. Within this framework, when an individual “overgrazes”—whether by abusing resources or causing harm—the response is not exclusion or punishment, but active restoration facilitated by the community itself.

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Algorithmic Justice, Mercy, and the Abolitionist “Safety Valve”

A recent film I watched, Mercy, offers a useful counterpoint. The movie portrays AI Judge Maddox as the embodiment of extreme procedural justice. In this system, the verdict (output) is an inevitable consequence of evidence (input) aligning with the law (algorithm). For AI systems, this is the path of least resistance: a regression to historical data and formal rules.

Yet this framework exposes a fundamental imbalance between justice and mercy. Whether in the redemptive logic of Christian theology or Alexander Hamilton’s defense of the pardon power in Federalist No. 74, there is a consistent recognition that justice without mercy becomes mechanical and destructive. Judge Maddox lacks both the theological concept of Grace and the constitutional “Safety Valve” designed to accommodate human complexity.

The result is what I would call a “Tyranny of Textbook Justice.” From this perspective, the supportive infrastructure championed by abolitionism represents the transformation of fragmented or discretionary mercy into systemic, resource-based public care.

This is not merely a strategy to prevent a new tragedy of the commons. It is a way to reintroduce the forgotten Safety Valve in the algorithmic age, ensuring that social order does not harden into rigidity—and that justice, rather than stifling individual possibility, remains fundamentally humane.