The Basque terrorist group ETA has announced that it will be laying down its arms for good. Seven years after its declaration of ceasefire, the organisation has decided to dissolve.
ETA formed in the 1960s with the aim of securing independence for the Basque region. In response to the Spanish government’s heavy-handed attempts at suppressing Basque regional identity, a group of university students in Bilbao started organising clandestine meetings to discuss Basque history and culture. At a time when even the most casual use of the Basque language was an offence punishable by imprisonment, the group rebelled by flying the Basque flag, putting on cultural nights and distributing nationalist literature.
The use of violence was always controversial within the group, but ETA was inspired by similar revolutionary movements of the time and the philosophies of thinkers such as Franz Fanon, Mao Zedong and Lenin who viewed violence as – if not justified, a necessary evil.
Some have argued that ETA’s decision to turn away from violence was due to a normative shift against terrorism. After the events of 9/11 terrorism no longer seemed to be a legitimate revolutionary tactic, and civilian casualties were much more difficult to justify. Whether this was a contributing factor remains unclear. The dissolution of the organisation may enable some former members to discuss their motivations with more candour.
An interesting study in the Journal of Empirical Legal Studies on juror assessments of negative evidence in criminal trials has revealed that most of us are aren’t great at making complex probability calculations.
Hardly surprising, as psychological researchers and behavioural economists have been telling us for decades that humans tend to default to crude heuristics when faced with complex problems.
In ‘Evaluating Negative Forensic Evidence: When Do Jurors Treat Absence of Evidence as Evidence of Absence?’ William C. Thompson, Nicholas Scurich, Rachel Dioso-Villa and Brenda Velazquez reminded us of how important it is to keep this fact in mind in the context of jury trials.
The study demonstrated that when faced with negative evidence (meaning evidence of things that were not found, such as missing fingerprints, absence of gunshot residue etc), jurors are not always able to appropriately weigh the probative value of such findings. Specifically, the study demonstrated a “poor calibration between probability of detection and the weight given to negative evidence.”
This finding has important implications for the presentation of negative evidence in jury trials. More research is needed to find out how this evidence can be presented in a way enables fact-finders to give it the weight it deserves.
Read the study here: https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/abs/10.1111/jels.12156
In spite of the recent attention that has been paid to the foreign fighter phenomenon, there’s still no agreement on just who foreign fighters are. Many academic definitions have been proposed, notably from Cerwyn Moore and Paul Tumelty, Thomas Hegghammer, and David Malet.
One thing most definitions share is that they exclude combatants who are motivated by money. The idea behind this is that it differentiates foreign fighters from mercenaries. However, this just raises an equally complex question: who is a mercenary? The Diplock Report of 1976 found it impossible to differentiate between mercenaries and volunteers because motivations for enlisting may ‘run through the whole gamut… The soldier of conscience may be found fighting side by side with the soldier of fortune – in the same ranks and for the same rate of pay.’
For love or money
David Malet found that as all foreign fighters receive some benefit for their services, it is hard to tell whether this is an incentive. The historical record also suggests things may be more complicated than we’d like to think. Tom Wintringham, who fought with the International Brigades in the Spanish Civil War wrote that in October 1936 volunteers were paid three pesetas a day, which could buy ‘enough drink to knock any man off his feet.’ Australian volunteer Lloyd Edmonds, who enlisted as a foreign fighter in Spain in June 1937, wrote that he was making eleven pesetas a day, ‘big money when everything is supplied and all you buy is luxuries.’ There are conflicting reports of Islamic State fighters, however leaked internal documents reveal that they are also paid a salary and given provisions.
What’s in a name?
Citizens who offer their lives for their country are celebrated for defending the unique values of their nation. Perhaps this is why we assume that those who fight for foreign causes are motivated by tawdry considerations, like money. However, David Malet observed that insurgents typically lack the resources of their conventional adversaries, and struggle to use material incentives to attract recruits.
Nicholas Farrelly reached similar conclusions in his study of the foreign fighters in the Burmese civil wars. Farrelly found that economic incentives didn’t play an important role in their decisions to participate because the guerrillas didn’t have the resources to pay volunteers. Instead, he found the foreign fighters to be mostly adventurers. French Foreign Legion understands the desire for adventure. They have used ‘change ta vie’ as their recruitment slogan for more than half a century.
This prompts the question: can we make a meaningful distinction between mercenaries and foreign fighters? If money is the only difference, how much money does it take to make a mercenary? Distinguishing actors on the basis of subjective motivation is highly problematic, and may result in artificial categories.
Is religious terrorism a unique threat?
The rise of the Islamic State has raised concerns about religiously-motivated terrorism. It has even caused many to claim that terrorists who are driven by religious ideologies are more dangerous and more difficult to rehabilitate than secular terrorists. This is because religious terrorism is seen as being motivated by transcendent, utopian, even eschatological views, rather than limited social and political objectives. For this reason it has been argued that contemporary Islamic terrorists are not ‘mere’ radicals, but the vanguard of a millenarian movement with ambitions for global dominance. However, human motivation is a mystery. Only the most self-aware of us truly understand why we make the choices we make. This raises questions about the efficacy of categorising political violence in accordance with the motivations of the perpetrators.
What’s the big idea?
Religious terrorism does look like a unique category of political violence. However, it is easy to overstate the difference between religion and ideology. History has demonstrated that political ideals can provoke the same intensity of fervour as religious doctrines. Many of the young communists of the interwar period held their views with a passion that could only be compared to religious zeal. The literature of the time reveals that for many young people, who had lived through the First World War and the Great Depression, communism took the place of the religion of their parents and allowed them to forge a seperate identity. The poetry of John Cornford and the writings of John Sommerfield, two young communists who became foreign fighters in the Spanish Civil War, shows just how politics can become a pseudo-religion. In the same way, religion can be said to serve an instrumental purpose to young Muslims seeking to rebel against secularism. Therefore, the operative question is not what views these people hold, but what purpose the views serve in their lives.
The religion-violence nexus
One fundamental difficulty with the idea that religious terrorism is a discrete category of political violence is that it assumes that ideas provide the necessary impetus for physical violence. However, there is little understanding of the actual mechanics through which ideas lead to violence. There is, on the other hand, interesting empirical work which indicates that it may not be ideas that lead to violence, but violence which leads to ideas. Manni Crone has argued that ideology is more commonly used as ex post rationalisation of violent acts. Her contention is that people who choose to engage in violence produce the necessary worldview to justify their actions. Ann-Sophie Hemmingsen drew similar conclusions in her study of jihadi counterculture. Her study also revealed that the notoriety of jihadism attracts recruits who are seeking action and adventure. These studies could provide an explanation for the fact that many jihadists have only a limited understanding of Islamic doctrines.
Manni Crone conducted an analysis of the individuals who perpetrated terror attacks in Europe between January 2012 and January 2015 and found that 80% of them had criminal backgrounds and approximately 60% had been in prison. Crone argues that the question should not be why some people turn to violence, but why they choose to engage in violent acts in the name of an ideology. The answer, she posits, could be the combination of a fascination with war, weapons and violence and a sense of a just cause. Rather than being brainwashed by radicalisers, people with a desire to participate in violent acts may seek out role models who have prior experience with terrorism.
This work has important implications for de-radicalisation policy. For one thing – if we can’t show how ideas cause violence, targeting ‘dangerous’ ideas through censorship and counter-narratives may not be an effective counterterrorism tactic.