You will, in the course of your revolution, have to kill innocent people.
You will be required, by the course of reality, the lack of proper information, and the fact that not all innocent people will support you, have to kill innocent people.
You don't understand this, because you likely don't have a comprehension of the depth and breadth of both the problem and the depravity of the solution you would posit.
Being ignorant of these facts does not make them any less real, or true, and your intent means nothing compared to the results, which will be that the streets will fill with the offal and blood of innocent people.
A violent revolution does not care greatly for Blackstone's Formulation. It will snap up innocent and guilty alike, and it will permanently damage all those that engage in it, in ways you cannot reasonably comprehend.
The same people who want this revolution have no arms, have no training, Have no resources, no land, no food, have no means beyond to beg the same men they hate, the police and the state, to do the work of their petty jealousies. That isn't a revolution, that's a coup, an overtaking of the system for the sake of the ideologically posessed at the expense of due process and the innocent, yet again.
To you, whether you articulate it or not, the innocent you will kill are merely incidental. Excused away as acceptable losses, counter-revolutionaries, or not firm enough in their conviction and thereby suitable fodder.
And those who come after you, the more extreme, the more severe, the more willing to be violent and do harm and violate, in every sense of the word, the good and the innocent, will string you up, and feed on you.
You will lament, confused, as has always happened in these sort of things, and cry out "Have I not been a good revolutionary?" As you hold in your intestines from the bayonet, as you cry and bleed in a gutter of the rubble that was once a home, a nation, a place of life, imperfect, but vital, you will remember these words.
Gnash your teeth, and bite your tongue, eat the ash you turned the fields to, and bury yourself under the rubble of the homes you've destroyed. Lament the innocence you violated, your own, and others, posessed by an ideal that was always homicidal, abusive, and vitriolic.
Always remember, revolutionary.
You walk on a thin crust of civility held together by rare and precious things, spun like fine silk.
And below that, is a chasm of hell and depravity so deep and abiding it has eaten entire civilizations, a screaming, hateful void of every indignity and violation, done in an endless cycle of abuse and retribution.
Those precious things strain, like catgut wound too tight.
You can hear them singing, if you listen.
