In 1974, inside a gallery in Naples, Italy, performance artist Marina Abramović did something no one was ready for. She stood completely still. Silent. Unmoving. On a table beside her were 72 objects. Some harmless: a rose, perfume, bread. Some dangerous: scissors, chains, a scalpel… and a loaded gun. A sign read: “You may use any object on me. I will not resist. I take full responsibility.” For six hours, she became an object. At first, the crowd was gentle. Someone placed a flower in her hand. Someone kissed her cheek. Then something shifted. Clothes were cut away. Skin was scratched with thorns. Blood appeared. People stopped seeing her as a person. Someone sliced her neck just to watch it bleed. Another person took the gun, placed it in her hand, and pointed it at her own head. Others had to intervene to stop it from ending right there. Marina didn’t react. Didn’t cry. Didn’t move. She let the crowd decide how far they were willing to go. When the six hours ended, she stepped forward. Alive. Bleeding. Human again. And that’s when the crowd broke. People ran. Avoided her eyes. Unable to face what they had done. The performance was called Rhythm 0. It was never repeated. Not because it failed— but because it proved something terrifying: When responsibility is removed… when permission is given… ordinary people are capable of extraordinary cruelty. And all it takes is silence.