What causes a person to drive a truck through local citizens and tourists celebrating a national holiday? What compels someone to open fire on unsuspecting patrons at a nightclub?

Closer to home in Pakistan, we’ve grappled with far too many of these questions on far too regular a basis. How can you kill children? How can you kill oppressed minorities? How can you kill innocent worshippers?

Finding root causes for militancy or terrorism is a difficult task. Part of this is because very few individuals actually resort to violence, and partly because researchers don’t have access to a large enough number of militants. In the few cases where some are caught, they’re kept locked away and subjected to the secretive grind of the anti-terrorism judicial system. As a result, we are often left with sparsely detailed life stories and lots of hypotheses — some moderately tested, some plausible, and others still mere conjecture.

Within existing contemporary research, two particular analytical strands stand out most clearly. The first is what is commonly called the materialist or structuralist perspective. This is best represented in the view that militant activity represents reaction or rebellion of particular groups against perceived marginalisation and oppression. The French social scientist, Giles Kepel, sees economic, social, and spatial ghettoisation of immigrant populations and anti-Muslim racism as a prime cultivator of resentment and, consequently, militancy.

The role of ideology adds further complexity to the alleged relationship between religion and terrorism.

Another prime example is explaining Middle Eastern insurgencies as a product of state oppression of particular communities. Similarly in Pakistan, militancy in the northwest is frequently seen as a result of long-standing deprivations, American foreign policy interventions, and the oppressive, colonial-era governing arrangements installed in the tribal areas.

The other major camp is best represented through the views of another French scholar, Olivier Roy. He argues that individual-specific factors are key to understanding particular types of violent activity. The starting point is that those resorting to violence are often a very small number of individuals from a larger group’s population. Therefore, psychosocial traits, personal experiences, and individual value frameworks are more crucial given that ‘mass revolt’ isn’t taking place. Roy labels this the ‘Islamisation of radicalism’, and sees its encapsulation in the often criminal and unstable backgrounds of individuals like the Orlando bar shooter, Omar Mateen.

Structuralist and individual-centric explanations are not mutually exclusive. In fact, given the general indeterminacy around terrorism research, it is impossible to confidently assert one set of analysis over the other. At most, we can say they are mutually constitutive in so far as communal experience of deprivation and racism combine with individual psychological traits.

There is, however, one factor that appears central to all schools of thought that are studying acts of militancy and the larger spectre of religious radicalisation: the role of particular beliefs and ideology.

Ideology allows human beings to make sense of the world around them. It arms them with values, moral frameworks, and the ability to understand and add meanings in relations.

The history of the 20th century tells us that marginalised populations don’t just mobilise spontaneously. Back then, it was left-wing ideology that played a central role in first creating a sense of community (as workers or peasants) and then imbuing that community with a sense of political purpose.

In other cases, workers simply didn’t rise up, or rose up in defence of arrangements that were thought to be against their interests (such as fascism).

History tells us ideology can interact with individual-level factors in different ways and can produce varied results. In the past two decades, particular interpretations of religious texts have given birth to ideologies that provide a sense of meaning to individuals and glorify acts of violence as logical actions. In many cases, these ideologies are consumed without being acted upon in any major way. Sometimes they manifest themselves through vocal support and propagation. In a few cases, they compel individuals to undertake acts of violence on their own or to build or join organisations that would allow them to do so.

The role of ideology adds further complexity to the alleged relationship between religion and terrorism. Many in the Muslim community are quick to distance Islam from ideological variants that preach violence. The most common refrain now heard is that terrorism has no religion.

This reaction is somewhat understandable as most believers would not want themselves or their belief system to be associated with heinous acts.

Religion, however, is as much a social phenomenon as it is a divine one. It is practised by human beings and is very much a part of all their moral failings and successes. Given its widespread nature, and the legitimacy endowed to it by human society, religion is a central component of many constructed ideologies, both peaceful and violent. When someone buys into the ideology of jihadism, his or her sense of self, community, and the world at large is derived from an extreme interpretation of religion and its associated practices.

Well-intentioned prescriptions from existing research suggest focusing on marginalised communities and removing the source of deprivation and marginalisation. Some also talk about the need to provide individual-level support to ensure disaffected individuals don’t resort to violence. Beyond these, the fight against militancy cannot ignore the role of ideology, and the part played by violent interpretations of religion.

When this last factor is considered, the role of religious communities becomes paramount. One important contribution that communities can make is to locate and isolate ideologues preaching hatred and violence. Another would be to ensure adequate efforts are exerted to institutionalise non-violent and pro-social interpretations and norms.

Whatever efforts are made, it is increasingly clear that a variety of interventions are required. Only by addressing structural, individual-level, and ideological roots of terrorism do states stand any chance of eradicating this menace.

The writer is a freelance columnist. umairjaved@lumsalumni.pk

Twitter: @umairjav
Published in Dawn, July 18th, 2016

This story was originally published by Dawn, Pakistan

Over the last few years, quite a few countries have witnessed the rise of social movements against inequality, xenophobia, and fiscal austerity. The most notable of these are the Occupy movement and Bernie Sanders’ campaign in the US, Syriza and Podemos in continental Europe, and the rise of Jeremy Corbyn and the Momentum campaign in Britain’s Labour party.

Amongst those opposing the established political order, some are insurgent movements within an existing party structure, like Corbyn and Sanders, while others are new parties cobbled together by grassroots activists, rookie politicians, and disgruntled progressives from existing organisations. At their heart is the assertion that contemporary centre-left and social democratic parties have failed to address fundamental problems of inequality, social stagnation, and working class despair in their societies. In quite a few instances, there is the added allegation (often true) that established parties and their leaderships are vehicles for elite interests, and represent no divergence from conservative politics.

The success rate of the ‘new left’, as it is often called, is patchy. Sanders had a remarkable run but fell short of the presidential nomination. Corbyn’s popularity amongst activists is strong but his position as head of the Labour party is under extreme pressure from elected MPs and the party establishment. Syriza’s anti-austerity agenda stands diluted after confronting the realities of an entangled economy and a rigid EU leadership. Podemos and its allied progressive groups seemed strong but only managed third place in recently concluded general elections in Spain.

Whichever way one looks at the new left, it is impossible to deny that mainstream progressive politics is facing a crisis of legitimacy.

Their success or failure notwithstanding, these movements and campaigns are part of a political reality because of a confluence of factors. Most wealth and income data shows rising inequality across much of the developed (and parts of the developing) world.

While poverty may have gone down, and those classified as ‘poor’ are objectively much better off today than at other points in the past, both the actual gap within society and perceptions of deprivation are rising. The ensuing anger and despair amongst those less fortunate shows that existing, pro-market government policy is partly (if not wholly) unsuccessful in addressing a key problem. This anger and despair is thus largely directed towards the political mainstream.

Secondly, the profession of mainstream politics is both highly exclusive, in terms of who can be a politician and who can’t, and heavily contingent on private funding. The first condition means mainstream politicians are now increasingly a separate ‘political class’, reliant on elite social networks and far removed from society and the constituents they claim to represent.

The second factor afflicts all corners of the world as party financing, campaign funding, and the general cost of being in politics makes it far more responsive to wealth than to deprivation. Therefore, a new generation of activists is keen on challenging this status quo.

Thirdly, over the past decade the internet and higher education institutions have become hubs for alternative ideas of liberal varieties. This has given rise to a new liberal middle-class segment that broadly ascribes to notions of cosmopolitanism, identity politics, social democracy, and environmental sustainability. East and West Coast liberals in the US and their counterparts in London and other metropolitan cities thus serve as core constituents for new progressive social movements.

Whichever way one looks at the new left, it is impossible to deny that mainstream progressive politics is facing a crisis of legitimacy and capability. Parties elected on social democratic platforms, such as Dilma Rouseff’s PT in Brazil, find themselves caught between their patronage-based reality on one hand and their lofty ideas of redistribution and welfare on the other.

The Blairite Labour party in the UK, long reliant on the liberal middle-class and working-class vote, is caught between a commitment to cosmopolitanism and neoliberalism versus a rising tide of anger against globalisation and cultural change. As a result, conservative and racially charged forces, such as Le Pen, Trump, and the ‘leave’ camp in the Brexit referendum, have positioned themselves as the ‘real representatives’ of the disenfranchised.

The final outcome is a fracturing of politics into many pieces. You have the new social movements that are successful in attracting some support but are alien in language and form to large swathes of the underprivileged. Both Sanders’ lack of resonance in the Deep South and the ‘remain’ camp’s loss in working-class towns in England capture this reality.

On the other hand, you have established ‘moderates’ who are trying to hold together a coalition of elites and the disadvantaged by promising something for everyone. Hillary Clinton and the Blairite camp in Labour represent this reformist tendency, which is splitting at the seams and is increasingly vulnerable to populist outsiders.

Writing presciently in the early 20th century, Italian activist and philosopher Antonio Gramsci looked at turmoil in his country and remarked: “The crisis consists precisely in the fact that the old is dying and the new cannot be born; in this interregnum a great variety of morbid symptoms appear.”

There is no doubt that the old consensus of social democracy, established by mainstream centre-left and liberal parties, is dying. Globalisation, the wholesale adoption of neoliberalism, and an onslaught from conservative forces has made long-term survival impossible. There is also little doubt that its supposed replacement, the new progressive order represented by new social movements and leaders like Sanders and Corbyn, is not yet born. They may be likeable and popular amongst the ideologically committed, but their organisational base is weak and the system of inequality they’re confronting is designed to keep them irrelevant.

In this period of vacuum, we are left with the morbid symptoms of populist right-wing rage, xenophobia and cultural backlash. And barring some remarkable organising efforts and creative thinking amongst progressive forces, it seems the morbidity will persist for the foreseeable future.

The writer is a freelance columnist. umairjaved@lumsalumni.pk
Twitter: @umairjav

This story was originally published by Dawn, Pakistan

Donald Trump’s rise in America, a wave of pro-Brexit and xenophobic sentiment in the UK, mass demonstrations in France and Brazil, a political crisis in South Africa, communal polarisation in India, and religious zealotry coupled with anti-corruption agitation in Pakistan. On the face of it, there’s very little that connects these disparate events. Each appears unique to a country’s history and its contemporary interaction of domestic and global events.

However, strip away the details, and the names and faces of the actors involved, and a common theme emerges. At the heart of this decade of political crises, marked by conflict and disruption across the world, is a story of unmet expectations.

In 1962, James Davies published an article in the American Sociological Review titled ‘Towards a theory of revolution’. He borrowed the J-Curve model from non-linear mathematics to develop an understanding of why mass social disruptions, such as revolutions, take place.

His answer was that a period of prolonged prosperity followed by a sharp reversal in fortunes creates a crisis of unfulfilled expectations. By triggering sentiments of relative deprivation amongst upwardly mobile population segments, economic shocks or other exogenous factors (such as war) generate anger towards the established political order. In contemporary times, this order rests in the hands of the state and the political elite.

In a world where it takes little effort to see how the wealthy live, expectations from the state will be high.

In the 54 years since this article was published, we know human beings don’t function as angry automatons. Institutions, politicians, and ideological and cultural issues are very important in determining the scale and outcome of public anger and acquiescence. But perhaps there is a kernel of truth in the story of boiling frustrations.

For the last three decades, deindustrialisation and a complementary shift towards the services sector characterises the economies of many high- and low-income countries. The wake of this transformation has left behind a burgeoning mass of underemployed, semi-skilled labour, ruptured communities, and decaying cities. Over the same period, conservative political elites have capitalised on this crisis by shoring up support using scaremongering tactics and cultural markers such as gender roles, religion, and racial and ethnic identity.

Trump, for example, polls highest in areas, and amongst population segments (such as the white working class), ‘left behind’ by economic transformations of the last three decades. Unsurprisingly, these are the same areas where conservative cultural politics by the Tea Party and other radical fringes ran amok for the last two decades. The outcome? A heady combination of protectionist economic populism with visceral hatred towards racial minorities.

In the UK, a legitimate debate over immigration and a prolonged economic downturn has taken on ugly xenophobic contours. At its core, as John Hariss puts it, the anti-EU, anti-immigration movement is tapping into the frustrations of the precariously perched middle and working classes. Its support is loudest amongst those who have no space in London’s glamorous ‘knowledge economy’ and are now left at the mercy of whimsical, short-term employment contracts, a burdened social welfare system, rising house prices, and an increasingly inaccessible path towards social mobility.

The prosperity-followed-by-apocalypse model doesn’t just hold true for the US and UK. Brazil was jerked out of a decade of relatively egalitarian growth by a slump in commodity and oil prices, thus pushing the economy into recessionary free fall. The result is public anger over government corruption, directed towards the now-suspended president, Dilma Rouseff, and her party. The desire for a way out of relative or absolute deprivation has pushed many into the hands of politicians equally (and in some cases, even more) hollow only because they offer some element of change.

Similarly, Imran Khan and PTI are the prime beneficiaries of sentiments of relative deprivation amo-ngst Pakistan’s urban middle classes. As the heady days of consumption and mobility of Musharraf’s era gave way to expensive oil and incompetent governance under the PPP, anger became the most natural response. Even now, as the economy shuffles towards some semblance of stability, the anger hasn’t completely subsided. In a world where it takes very little effort to see how the wealthy live, and how the rest of the world progresses, expectations from the state will always remain high.

To this point, I’ve focused on unmet material expectations because, historically speaking, these have triggered the greatest unrest. However, unmet cultural and moral expectations are also potent factors for agitation. In India, provoked religious sentiment has led to the Hindutva right-wing asserting itself as a victim of Congress-ite secularism and minority appeasement. They now hold a prime seat at the BJP’s table, and will push the government’s supposed developmental agenda into one that caters to their communal demands as well.

For Pakistan, the biggest threat comes from a combination of material and cultural frustrations. The state pays lip service to its Islamic foundation, yet retains a comparatively secular orientation towards governance. Its existing political elite exhibits no intentions of turning the country into a Sharia-compliant state. However, decades of top-down soft-Islamism and cultural propaganda have resulted in an organic demand for a version of faith that stands proudly and violently on its own.

With fundamentalism and communal conflict rampant, the onus is on political elites and activists to construct an alternative cultural worldview that channels away and dilutes some of the moral anger. Similarly, politicians need to do a far better job of managing expectations by being better at delivering services and also by avoiding making unrealistic promises to the electorate.

So far, the country’s authoritarian history — with its patronage-tied political parties and a largely demoblised, cynical population — has acted as an inadvertent bulwark against mass Islamist mobilisation. Yet without adequate safeguards taken on an urgent footing, there is no guarantee that this ossified condition will persist indefinitely.

The writer is a freelance columnist. umairjaved@lumsalumni.pk
Twitter: @umairjav

This story was originally published by Dawn, Pakistan