Understanding Terrorism in the Age of Global Media

A Communication Approach

C. Archetti

• Publisher: Palgrave Macmillan
• Year: 2015
• Print ISBN: 9781349347803, 9780230360495
• eBook ISBN: 9781137291387
• Topic: Social Sciences
• Subtopic: Journalism
• Index: Social Sciences

We cannot truly understand - let alone counter - terrorism in the 21st century unless we also understand the processes of communication that underpin it. This book challenges what we know about terrorism, showing that current approaches are inadequate and outdated, and develops a new communication model to understand terrorism in the media age.

1

The Problems with Terrorism Research

To understand terrorism in an age of interconnectedness and globalisation we need to engage with the question of the role of communication and the media in the phenomenon of political extremism. Communication and the media cannot, however, be approached in isolation. To comprehend the difference media can possibly make in the exchange of information, its processing, and its effects, they need to be “fitted” into the broader picture of how social interactions occur, identities are constructed, and groups mobilise for political purposes. The aim of this chapter is to show that this framework, within the broadly conceived field of terrorism studies, does not currently exist.

The chapter starts from a critique of the very definition of terrorism and explains the way in which the term will be used in the rest of the book. It then proceeds to pointing out that, despite the volume of research, the field does not overall offer a satisfactory explanation for the terrorism phenomenon in terms of causal processes. We may know a great deal about the chronology and planning of single attacks, about the tactics of specific groups, the contents of organisation’s manifestos and extremist ideologies, the background and life stories of individual terrorists. Indeed, we even know what kind of perfume one of the hijackers wore before he embarked on his last mission in the early hours of 11 September 2001.¹ We can easily download Al Qaeda training manuals (US Department of Justice n.d.); get a good idea of the contents of the group’s latest magazine in English, Inspire (Ambinder 2010; Joscelyn 2011a,b) read about the way an ordinary Muslim became a radical in Ed Husain’s The Islamist, to name just one memoir. But beyond this ocean of minutiae, why does terrorism exists? How does it arise? How does it develop? Why does it end? This claim might sound odd considering that there are a number of well-known works precisely addressing these questions. One can think, for instance, about Martha Crenshaw’s widely quoted articles, “The Causes of Terrorism” (1981) and “How Terrorism Declines” (1991),² or the book The Root Causes of Terrorism (Bjørgo 2005b). By using these works as examples I will suggest that it is not that they do not contribute to further our understanding of the phenomenon. They certainly do. But only to a certain extent: against the very objectives of the respective authors, they consist of useful sets of descriptive observations related to specific cases and contexts – for instance selected terrorist groups or countries – rather than genuine explanations. Acknowledging the lack of explanatory frameworks – or theories – for the terrorism phenomenon, as well as the reasons for this gap, is the first step in understanding why there is a general inability to make sense of the role of communication and the media.

1.1 The fragmentation of terrorism research

Many have lamented the fact that the field of terrorism studies lacks an engagement with theoretical frameworks (Crenshaw 1981, 1991; Tarrow 1995: vii; Silke 2004b; Cronin 2006). Leonard Weinberg and Louise Richardson (2004: 138) openly state that “the study of political terrorism has largely been a a-theoretical undertaking.” Andrew Silke (2004d: 207) further finds that in the 1990s less than two per cent of all articles published in the two main journals within the field, Terrorism and Political Violence and Studies in Conflict and Terrorism, addressed conceptual issues. And the situation does not appear to have changed to this day (Smith 2009). Most conceptual debate, in fact, seems to be absorbed by defining terrorism. Given that the discussion, whether in an article or the introduction of a book, invariably ends with an acknowledgement that “one’s terrorist is another person’s freedom fighter” and that any definition (including the purposive use of the label to suit a political agenda) is inevitably biased, ritually repeating the same points contributes very little to advancing our understanding. Beyond the sterile discussion about definitions, little effort has been made in developing theoretical frameworks to explain terrorism beyond the detailed descriptions of single groups’ cases. After explaining the definition of terrorism that I reluctantly adopt for the purposes of this book, I will turn to examining the explanatory shortcomings of the field.

1.2 Redefining terrorism

Alex Schmid (1984), in his first edition of Political Terrorism, discussed more than a hundred definitions of terrorism. Proving how difficult it is to find a consensus on the matter (but also how persistent researchers have been in engaging in such a fruitless task), in the second edition of the book, over 20 years later, he and Albert Jongman write that “the search for an adequate definition of terrorism is still on” (Schmid and Jongman 2005: 1). Discussing the suggestions on how to define terrorism that were received through a survey of about 50 members of the political terrorism research community (ibid.: 2), they raise the question of whether a satisfactory way to characterise the phenomenon should include references to symbolic violence: “the intent of terrorism is psychological or symbolic, not material” (ibid.: 8); whether it should be broad or narrow: for example, is it unnecessary to include in a definition a description of the outcomes of terrorism, such as fear, or would such omission make the definition too broad to be “operationally useful?” (Ibid.: 10). Should there be distinctions among different kinds of terrorism, for instance that perpetrated by states rather than by individuals? Should terrorism be defined as a “method of combat,” thereby evoking the idea of a war context, which could lead to the exclusion of insurgency and guerrilla activities? (Ibid.: 16). Could it exist without “terror?” In other words, how much fear should it cause to distinguish it from ordinary violence? (Ibid.: 20). Or should the communication function of terrorism be emphasised as the main motive behind it? (Ibid.: 21–25).

These points raise legitimate questions about the analytical merit of adopting a definition of terrorism that distinguishes it from other politically motivated activities. For the purpose of showing both the ambiguity of the term and the fact that it might in itself constitute an obstacle towards examining similarities across patterns of political action that are, instead, placed into a different category, I will briefly examine the relationship between “terrorism,” “extremism,” “guerrilla warfare,” and “insurgency.” The following examples show that the lines between the sets of activities falling under each category are extremely blurred. Indeed, it almost looks as if researchers are trying to slot reality into arbitrary conceptual boxes that hardly fit.

Extremism, according to Roger Eatwell and Matthew Goodwin (2010a: 8), “is typically related to actions and value systems that lie beyond the moral and political centre of society.” Having been associated with authoritarian regimes, like Nazism, the term is not value-neutral. Such historical association, they add, supports the notion that extremism “involves either the implicit or overt acceptance of violence as legitimate” (ibid.: 9). In this perspective, it is not clear where the line between extremism and terrorism should be drawn. Some, for instance, would call the ideological extremism of the Nazi regime and the organised violence it supported against Jews “state terrorism” (Perdue 1989). Others draw a distinction on the basis of moral legitimacy: Jason Franks (2009: 154), for instance, explains how “Orthodox Terrorism Studies,” as opposed to Critical Terrorism Studies, tends to construct non-state violence as terrorism, while state violence is seen as legitimate. Besides, there is also no clear dividing line between violent and non-violent extremism. In this respect Prevent (Home Office 2011: 19), the United Kingdom’s current strategy against terrorism, states that non-violent extremism is part of the broader terrorist problem on the grounds that, in order to become engaged in acts of terrorism, individuals often pass through a phase in which they support non-violent extremist views:

In assessing drivers of and pathways to radicalisation, the line between extremism and terrorism is often blurred. Terrorist groups of all kinds very often draw upon ideologies which have been developed, disseminated and popularised by extremist organisations that appear to be non-violent (such as groups which neither use violence nor specifically and openly endorse its use by others).

On the relationship between terrorism, guerrilla warfare and insurgency, in Inside Terrorism, a seminal text in terrorism literature,³ Bruce Hoffman (2006: 35), writes that:

terrorism is often confused or equated with, or treated as synonymous with, guerrilla warfare and insurgency. This is not entirely surprising, since guerrillas and insurgents often employ the same tactics (assassination, kidnapping, hit-and-run attack, bombings of public gathering places, hostage-taking, etc.) for the same purposes (to intimidate or to coerce, thereby affecting behaviour through the arousal of fear) as terrorists. In addition, terrorists as well as guerrillas and insurgents wear neither uniform nor identifying insignia and are often indistinguishable from non-combatants.

Why do we need to distinguish them then? Although it is acknowledged that “none of these are pure categories and considerable overlap exists” (ibid.) the explanations provided as to why they should be kept separate are not compelling, particularly because they appear to be applied inconsistently across contexts and groups involved. As Hoffman (ibid.) continues:

“Guerrilla” ... is taken to refer to numerically larger groups [one could ask: larger than which number?] of armed individuals who operate as a military unit, attack enemy military forces, and seize and hold territory ... while also exercising some form of sovereignty or control over a defined geographical area and its population. “Insurgents” share the same characteristics; however, their strategy and operations transcend the hit-and-run attacks to embrace what in the past has been called “revolutionary guerrilla warfare,” “modern revolutionary warfare,” or “people’s war”[;] ... insurgencies typically involve coordinated informational (e.g., propaganda) and psychological warfare efforts designated to mobilize popular support in a struggle against an established national government, imperialist power, or foreign occupying force. (Ibid.)

Would not these aspects describe the activities of Al Qaeda-affiliated groups in Afghanistan or Iraq? Indeed, Edwin Bakker (2006: 3) sees guerrilla warfare as a feature of “jihadi terrorism”:

Jihadi terrorism in Afghanistan or Iraq is of an entirely different nature than that witnessed in Indonesia, Kenya, Spain, or the United Kingdom. In Afghanistan and Iraq, the jihadi fight has the characteristics of guerrilla warfare and civil war, with tens or hundreds of victims every week. In Europe, fortunately, jihadi terrorism has been much less lethal.

The fact that what constitutes terrorism is not clearly recognisable is further demonstrated by the application of the term, over history, to designate a wide variety of activities. One understands, of course, that the application of the term has tended to reflect political agendas, particularly the power of institutions (most times governments and states) to define meaning in society: the political opponent of the day would normally be turned into the “enemy” by being called a “terrorist.” This nonetheless has varied from labelling “terrorism” the abuse of office (as in the French revolutionary régime de la terreur), anarchism (such as the activities of the Anarchist International in the late nineteenth century), the actions of nationalist and separatist groups (like the Irish Fenians, Revolutionary Brotherhood and Clan na Gael in the second half of the nineteenth century), the mass repression of totalitarian regimes (Nazism and Fascism in the early twentieth century), anticolonial movements (like the Front de Libération du Québec or the Basque ETA (Hoffman 2006: 3–20). Indeed, as Hoffman admits, in current everyday language the term “terrorism” would be used to describe “virtually any especially abhorrent act of violence perceived as directed against society – whether it involves the activities of antigovernment dissidents or government themselves, organized crime syndicates, common criminals, rioting mobs, people engaged in militant protest, individual psychotics, or lone extortionists” (ibid.: 1).

The use of the term “terrorism” appears thus motivated more by the emotional reaction triggered by the extent and barbarity of the violence, the choice of targets, the unexpectedness of the action, the radical nature of the terrorists’ message, than any clear-cut difference from other similar and politically motivated violent activities.

Despite these considerations about the dubious utility of applying the “terrorism” conceptual category at all, the term is de facto widely used and there is practically little choice but to do the same here. The criteria for selecting the cases in which to apply it will adhere to the rule of thumb often suggested to students to recognise terrorism – the presence of four key features: (a) its being an act of violence, (b) motivated by political reasons, (c) directed against innocents, (d) to frighten a broader audience (Yungher 2008: 6). I take this as a common denominator, a shared conceptual ground with the reader to allow the arguments in the following chapters to unfold. These four aspects, however, are not free from problems.

In relation to the violence aspect of terrorism, Eatwell and Goodwin (2010a: 9) point out that extremism (also defined, in their view, by violent action), that “few in the contemporary world would admit to supporting ‘violence’”: Palestinians would not say they are engaged in “violence” (let alone “terrorism”) against Israeli soldiers, but in “acts of resistance.” Thatcherism applied “force,” not “violence,” both to solve the Falklands’ dispute and to restore social order in 1984–85, when the coal miners would not comply with authorities’ requests (ibid.). Also what is “political” is not at all straightforward. The fact that what is political is a social construction and derives its meaning from a specific cultural (often national) context is underlined by these words of Ulrike Meinhof, a member of the German Red Army Faction (RAF): “[in Germany] If you throw a stone, it’s a crime. If a thousand stones are thrown, that’s political. If you set fire to a car, that’s a crime. If a hundred cars are set on fire, that’s political” (in Post 2007: 127). The idea of “innocents,” too, begs the question of: innocent in whose perspective? By common social standards – including the author’s own – victims do not “deserve” death, injury or trauma, but that is not always the view of the perpetrators. To follow with the RAF example, Jerrold Post (ibid.: 131) reports the reply that the leader of the Heidelberg cell of the RAF gave to a new member of the organisation, shocked at hearing that the group was planning to set off firebombs in a KADeWe store:

“Gott in Himmel” he blurted out. “There will be all these innocents victims.” ... “Hans,” asked the leader, in an icy tone, “have you been to a KADeWe store? If you have been, you will know that these people who shop there are not innocent victims, they are capitalist consumers. They deserve to die.”

As I will explain in Chapter 2, interpretations of social reality (or stories) are crucial to the establishment of a group’s identity and to its mobilisation. Dismissing the perspective of the perpetrators only because it conflicts with “ours,” means denying ourselves the opportunity to fully understand social action (Zulaika and Douglass 2008).

The purpose of influencing a wider audience is also not exclusive to terrorists. Any citizen who joins a street march wants to communicate with a wider audience. Chaining oneself to a tree to protest against the removal of a forest and the building of a retail park is an action taken to attract the attention of broader constituencies. Nor is “terror” a good choice as a defining feature of terrorism. First, because it appears to depend on a presumed reaction to a “terrorist” act rather than being a characteristic of the act itself. This, in principle, could be acceptable if the “terror” reaction regularly and invariably manifested itself upon the occurrence of “terrorism.” But this, at a closer look, is not at all the case. In fact, despite the spectacular nature of the attacks and the high human toll in terms of lives lost, how many people were truly “terrorised” by 9/11? By “terror” I mean an incapacitating state of psychological paralysis, different from either “anxiety” or “concern” for the victims. A person living in New York, on the morning of 11 September 2001, might have felt his or her life to be at risk without necessarily experiencing “terror.” Somebody living in a small town in either the middle of Kansas, the Scottish Highlands, or the Chinese countryside – hardly terrorist targets – might have felt sorry for the people killed, but would have certainly not been afraid of becoming victims themselves. How many people should truly be “terrorised” in order to call the act “terrorism”? Is there any geographical proximity or time frame within which the “terror” reaction should materialise?

A better defining feature than “terror,” in this book’s view, is the perception that the political claim made by the extremist group is a threat to the view of the world and identity (which we might call values) of the majority it aims to address. The perception of threat, in this perspective, would come f...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title
• Introduction: A Different Perspective on Terrorism
• 1  The Problems with Terrorism Research
• 2  Terrorism, Communication, and the Media
• 3  A Communication Approach
• 4  Explaining Radicalisation
• 5  The Role of Narratives
• 6  The Al Qaeda Narrative as a Brand
• 7  The Way Forward
• Notes
• Bibliography
• Index