Author: Violette Mens

Remembering the Attacks for their 10th Anniversary Commemoration

On the evening of November 13, 2015, a series of coordinated terrorist attacks struck Paris: suicide bombings near the Stade de France in Saint-Denis, shootings on several café terraces, and a mass killing inside the Bataclan concert hall. The attacks left 132 dead and hundreds injured, marking one of the darkest nights in contemporary French history. They profoundly shaped France’s collective memory, national identity, and approach to internal security.

The commemorative day, on November 13, 2025, followed a carefully structured itinerary blending local acts of remembrance with a national ceremony. In the morning, officials gathered near the Stade de France to honor the first victims of the evening. The presidential delegation then visited, one by one, the sites of the terrace attacks — Le Carillon, Le Petit Cambodge, La Belle Équipe, and others — allowing families, survivors, and residents to lay flowers, candles, and written messages. Commemorative plaques were cleaned or newly adorned, as each stop revived the tragic geography of that night.

In the afternoon, the Bataclan remembrance brought together survivors, families, officials, and members of the public. This particular moment, historically the most emotionally charged, was marked by silence, music, and the reading of names.

The central event of the day took place in the early evening with the inauguration of the new Memorial Garden at Place Saint-Gervais, opposite the Hôtel de Ville. Designed as a permanent space of contemplation, the garden mirrors the locations of the attacks through its layout: stone blocks, landscaped areas, and markers symbolizing each site. During the ceremony, the names and faces of the victims were projected on the façade of Saint-Gervais Church, reinforcing the collective and visual dimension of remembrance.

The ceremony alternated official speeches, musical interludes, and moments of silence. Artists and survivors participated, and the reading of the 132 names constituted the emotional center of the commemoration. Public lighting elements, including the Eiffel Tower illuminated in national colors, extended the symbolic reach of the event throughout the city.

During his speech, President Emmanuel Macron paid tribute to the victims and reaffirmed the responsibility of the state to protect its citizens, insisting that the “insensate, unjust pain” felt by families is carried by the entire nation. Representatives of victims’ associations echoed this message, insisting on the need for truth, justice, and long-term memory.

Symbols and Their Meaning — A Memory Intertwined With the Securitization of the Nation

Beyond remembrance, the ceremony conveyed a deeper symbolic layer linked to a broader process of securitization — the way a society constructs certain threats as existential and justifies extraordinary measures to counter them. In that way, the 10th anniversary made visible how memory and security narratives now reinforce one another in France.

Firstly, the new memorial garden is not only a site of tribute; it is a spatialization of national vulnerability. Its permanent architecture — stone, structured pathways, sober vegetal design — embodies the idea that the country must remember the threat as much as the loss.

By transforming memory into an officially sanctioned, carefully designed public space, the state anchors the attacks into the physical and symbolic landscape, constituting a form of securitization through space: the memorial reminds citizens that internal security is fragile and must be continually defended.

Secondly, the presence of the President, the Mayor of Paris, police representatives, local officials, and victims’ associations underscores a national community gathered around an existential issue. Ceremonial gestures — reading names, military or civic honors, national songs — reaffirm the idea that the state is the primary guardian of collective safety.

This choreography is not neutral: it legitimizes the state’s exceptional measures, including strengthened counterterrorism capacities, long-term vigilance, and security reforms initiated since 2015. The ceremony thus sustains a narrative in which memorial duty and national protection are inseparable.

Thirdly, the projections of faces, the lighting of façades, and musical tributes humanize the tragedy while also universalizing vulnerability. By placing victims’ images in the public sphere, the ceremony conveys a subtle but powerful message: these were ordinary people, and the threat could target anyone.

This emotional framing does not only commemorate; it cultivates a shared sense of vigilance, a key element of securitization in democratic societies where consent to enhanced security relies on public understanding of danger.

Lastly, symbols of life — candles, flowers, gatherings, songs — are often viewed as expressions of resilience. Yet they also act as affirmations of what must be protected. The ability to gather, to live freely, to rebuild, becomes itself a justification for security measures.

Resilience thus functions as a moral counterpart to vigilance, shaping a story in which protecting daily life becomes a matter of national security.

Conclusion

A decade after the attacks, the 10th-anniversary commemoration sought to balance the intimacy of personal loss with the public responsibilities of the state. Through architecture, ritual, music, and light, the ceremony honored the victims while embedding the memory of November 13 into a broader narrative of protection and collective vigilance.

The names read aloud, the faces projected onto city walls, and the new memorial garden will continue to act as emotional and political touchstones — reminders not only of what was lost, but of what a nation commits to safeguard.

The recent workshop held by doctoral candidates Camilla Gissel, Heidi Campana-Piva and Violette Mens at the STS-CH conference in Zurich entitled “Holding things together? Change, continuity, critique” (from the 10^th to 12^th of September) began with a provocation: a deepfake video of Kamala Harris circulating online. The clip, shared on Elon Musk’s platform X, had garnered nearly a million likes and tens of thousands of comments. What seemed at first like obvious parody—her voice and image altered to mock her campaign messaging—was, for many viewers, indistinguishable from reality.

This set the stage for a lively discussion not just about deepfakes themselves, but about how technology interacts with political radicalization in an era where truth is increasingly fragile.

When a Joke Stops Being a Joke

One participant raised the question: is a parody video like this really a deepfake, or just satire in digital form? After all, political cartoons have long exaggerated politicians’ flaws for comic effect. Yet others pushed back. Unlike cartoons, which signal their artifice, deepfakes thrive in ambiguity. Some lines in the Harris video were things she had actually said, others were fabrications. That blurring—between critique, parody, and falsehood—creates a puzzle for viewers.

Even when it is “obvious” to some, not everyone has the same interpretive tools. As one participant noted, people already committed to conspiracy thinking (e.g. flat-) can believe almost anything if it confirms their worldview. Deepfakes exploit that cognitive vulnerability.

The Politics of Doubt

The group then shifted to a related danger: once deepfakes exist, politicians can weaponize them to dismiss inconvenient truths. One example shared was of Trump brushing off journalists’ questions about suspicious activity at the White House by declaring “It’s AI. It’s fake.” Whether or not it was fake became irrelevant—what mattered was the ability to cast doubt.

This erosion of shared reality is not accidental. Participants pointed to Trump’s thousands of documented lies in office and the way constant confusion about truth can destabilize citizens. Destabilization breeds fear, and fear drives people to seek stability—often in the arms of authoritarian leaders who promise certainty. In this way, deepfakes are not just tools of deception; they are accelerants in the cycle of radicalization.

Radicalization: More Than a Label

The conversation broadened to the term “radicalization” itself. Too often, the word functions as a blunt political instrument. Governments use it to stigmatize dissent, lumping together jihadists, eco-activists, and radical feminists under the same umbrella. By labeling groups “radicalized,” states can justify surveillance, repression, or even violence.

Several participants argued that radicalization is relational: it doesn’t happen in isolation but through interaction between groups and the state. In France, for example, jihadist violence has fueled harsher policing, which in turn produces resentment and further radicalization. This feedback loop shows radicalization as a dynamic process, not simply a personal pathology.

Others raised the Overton Window: the shifting boundary of what society considers politically acceptable. As mainstream politics drift rightward, advocating for basic human rights can suddenly be branded “radical left.” The term becomes a moving target, often manipulated to discredit opponents rather than to explain genuine extremism.

Beyond Extremes: Who Gets to Define Radical?

An especially striking thread was the comparison between the far right and far left. Media often presents them as mirror images—two extremes equally dangerous. Yet, as some participants noted, the comparison is misleading. The far right frequently undermines democratic norms, while much of the “radical left” remains engaged in democratic processes, calling for rights and reforms rather than authoritarian control.

Academics, too, have tended to study far-right and Islamist extremism while neglecting other forms of radical politics. This selective focus reveals how research agendas themselves are shaped by political pressures, such as the aftermath of terror attacks.

Why This Matters

Deepfakes may seem like a technological novelty, but as the workshop discussion made clear, they are deeply entwined with broader political struggles. They blur the line between fact and fiction, fuel cycles of distrust, and give political actors new tools to label, demonize, and radicalize.

But they also force us to ask hard questions about the words we use. If “radicalization” is applied too broadly, it loses analytical value and becomes little more than a weapon of discourse. And if truth itself becomes negotiable, then the fight is not just about politics, but about the very possibility of shared reality.

The workshop’s starting point—a fake Kamala Harris video—was more than just a gimmick. It was a reminder that in our current moment, what matters is not simply whether something is “true” or “false,” but how technologies of persuasion and doubt are reshaping the terrain of democracy itself.

Introduction

The Polish series The Hooligan (Kibic) ^[1], released on Netflix in January 2025, has drawn significant attention for its raw and gripping portrayal of violence, loyalty, and identity. In five intense episodes, it follows the story of Kuba, a teenager pulled into the ruthless world of ultra-football supporters. While the series is of poor cinematic interest, it exceeds the cliché of the brawl-seeking delinquent and offers a more nuanced exploration of the radicalization process, showing that this phenomenon often goes far beyond mere ideological motivation.

A story of youth, belonging, and fracture

The Hooligan follows Kuba, a young man torn between his mother’s love, the return of his ex-convict father, and the allure of power and belonging offered by the local ultra-group, the Kosynierzy. Violence is ever-present, but it’s rarely senseless. It operates within a framework of recognition, territory, shared values, and above all, identity. We slowly see Kuba, the kind son, hard-working student and caring brother sink into violence when he joins the fitness gym held by the Kosynierzy. What started as a will to follow onto his father’s footsteps and prove his strength, becomes a little help with the gym work, quickly transformed into a drug dealer side job and escalating into several settling of scores, many ending with the death of loved ones. 

Kuba doesn’t become violent by nature. He becomes violent because it’s a means of carving out a place for himself, of fulfilling needs unmet by his home or social life. This violence is also supported by an allegiance system to the ultra-group as well as a system of value that puts personal honor center stage, even to the detriment of life. 

This logic aligns closely with the Good Lives Model, a theoretical tool increasingly used to understand paths to radicalization.

The Good Lives Model: a humanistic view of risk

The Good Lives Model (GLM), created by Ward and Maruna (2007) “is premised on the idea that the best way to reduce risk is to help individuals live better lives, not simply to teach them to avoid offending. It emphasizes the importance of human agency, strengths, and values in promoting pro-social behavior.”^[2]. This rehabilitation model was developed to better understand why individuals engage in extreme or deviant behavior primarily in the context of offender rehabilitation, especially with individuals convicted of sexual or violent crimes, but its application has expanded to fields like radicalization and terrorism prevention. It is based on the idea that every person seeks to attain “primary goods” such as life meaning, self-control, relationships, autonomy, or belonging. When these fundamental needs are frustrated or inaccessible through conventional means, some may turn to violence or extremism to meet them.

From this perspective, radicalization is not merely a theoretical allegiance to a cause. It is a response to a rupture in meaning or recognition. It can appear, albeit toxically, as a perceived solution to deep malaise. The GLM emphasizes not dangerousness but the potential for rebuilding a good, dignified, and meaningful life.

Radicalization in “The Hooligan”: an identity-based process

In The Hooligan, Kuba’s motivations for joining the ultras are never rooted in ideological commitment. What drives him is the need to be recognized by his father, to earn respect, to be part of a powerful group, and to have a clear role in a world that offers him none. The series shows that this radicalization is built through layers: dysfunctional family, financial struggles, trauma, and the need for protection.

The show also illustrates how radical groups exploit these personal vulnerabilities to lure young people in search of meaning. Zyga, the ultra-leader, embodies a paternal and manipulative figure who provides structure, purpose, and a mission. Within this dynamic, violence becomes a language, a proof of commitment, a rite of passage.

A call for understanding, not complacency

What The Hooligan succeeds in doing is showing that radicalization is not about monsters to be eliminated, but about human beings to be understood. By viewing Kuba’s story through the GLM lens, we better grasp how violent paths take root. And more importantly, we understand that the exit from radicalism requires the reconstruction of meaning, healthy connections, and a hopeful outlook.

Far from glorifying or minimizing violence, The Hooligan raises an essential question: what are we trying to fill when we turn to extreme behaviors? And more importantly: what can we offer, as a society, so that these quests find more humane answers?

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^[1] https://www.netflix.com/TITle/81618034

^[2] Ward, T., & Maruna, S. (2007). Rehabilitation: Beyond the Risk Paradigm, Routledge.

The Overton Window is a concept that describes the range of ideas and policies that are politically acceptable to the mainstream at any given time. Originally developed by Joseph Overton^[1], the theory suggests that public opinion is not fixed but shifts over time, influenced by social movements, political leaders, and cultural trends. While some ideas are seen as radical or unthinkable today, they may become widely accepted in the future through a gradual process of normalization.

In other words, you can imagine a spectrum of ideas on a particular topic, ranging from unthinkable (too extreme for society) to policy (accepted and implemented by governments). The Overton Window represents the portion of this spectrum that is currently deemed acceptable by the public and policymakers. When activists, media figures, or politicians introduce ideas outside of this window, they may at first seem shocking or unacceptable. However, through repetition, framing, and gradual shifts in public sentiment, these ideas can move into the Overton Window, making them more acceptable and eventually mainstream.

We can find a lot of cases where the shifts in the Overton Window ended in positive changes in society. For example, a few decades ago, same-sex marriage was widely seen as unacceptable in many countries. However, advocacy efforts, legal battles, and media representation shifted public attitudes. Today, same-sex marriage is legal in many parts of the world, showing how an idea once considered extreme can become mainstream. Similarly, marijuana was criminalized for much of the 20th century, and discussions about legalization were largely outside the Overton Window. However, changing attitudes, medical research, and economic incentives have shifted the perception. 

Terrorism, Radicalization, and the Overton Window

Now looking more precisely at terrorism and radicalization, the Overton Window is often discussed in the context of political and social movements but it also plays a role in the spread of extremist ideologies. Radicalization occurs when individuals are gradually exposed to extreme beliefs that were once outside their frame of reference but become normalized over time.

At an individual level, in the late 20th century, violent jihadist ideologies were considered fringe beliefs, even within extremist circles. However, through propaganda, online forums, and radical preachers, these ideas moved closer to the Overton Window for certain audiences. Groups like Al-Qaeda and ISIS leveraged media and social networks to normalize their extreme views, making them appear more acceptable to vulnerable individuals.

Similarly, and at a more societal level, the rise of far-right extremism follows a similar pattern. White nationalist ideas, once confined to the margins of society, have gradually entered public discourse. Online communities, political rhetoric, and media platforms have contributed to shifting the Overton Window, making once-taboo discussions about racial superiority or ethnonationalism more commonplace. This normalization can create an environment where hate crimes and acts of domestic terrorism become more likely.

In this way, it is possible to question what is currently happening in the United States (as in other countries), where attacks on gender-rights, democracy or even the economic system are becoming mainstream and accepted by large fringes of society. As an example, one could refer to Elon Musk´s Nazi sign on public television. Both the fact that he did it and that it was highly debated in various spheres of the population interrogates on changes in our vision of both historical and current events. 

This also questions the direct impact individuals can have in shifting the Overton Window one way or the other. And in fact, political strategists, activists, and even extremist groups use deliberate tactics to move it´s margins. Some of these techniques are media influence, by controlling narratives through news outlets and social media, as well as repetition, with the slow normalization of extreme ideas through frequent discussions, or even by framing radical ideas in a way that makes them seem logical or appealing.

To conclude, the Overton Window helps explain how societies change over time—whether for progression or regression. While it has led to positive changes such as civil rights advancements, it also plays a role in the normalization of dangerous ideologies. Understanding this concept is crucial in recognizing how ideas gain traction and shape the future of public discourse.

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^[1] Joseph Overton himself never published on the concept which was popularized after his death, in particular by his colleague, Lehman, Joseph G. (2006). The Overton Window of Political Possibility. Mackinac Center for Public Policy.

From the 5th to the 7th of March, I had the opportunity to attend HEPP5 in Helsinki. On the first day, I presented in a panel created with my two other Vortex colleagues Heidi Piva and Javid Ibad. Luckily, the conference was recorded so anyone interested can take a look at our work.

The panel examines how radicalization disrupts the liberal democratic social contract by focusing on its political, discursive, and epistemic dimensions. The papers address various aspects of radicalization: the shift of center-right parties towards illiberal policies; the use of conspiracy theories as tools of radicalization, particularly in deepening polarization and justifying extremist actions; and a critique of the gap between academic research and policy on radicalization, which reveals how knowledge production shapes discourses and responses. Together, these contributions shed light on how radicalization, populism, and polarization challenge the liberal democratic consensus in contemporary Europe.

On my side, I explain how academic research on radicalization expands and a significant disconnect persists between scholarly findings and political action, sometimes leading to populistic or polarising positions. My work highlights the formation of diverse epistemic communities, of researchers as policy makers, in the case of France, contributing to the understanding of radicalization. Through bibliographic discussions, interviewees reflect on their roles regarding the dealing of the past attacks and more generally on how they have shaped the discourse surrounding radicalization. This reflection, based on a relational approach, uncovers how knowledge and its translation influence both the social contract and its polarisation. By bridging the gap between these two entities, this research aims to foster more informed and effective policy responses to the challenges posed by radicalization, ultimately contributing to a more nuanced and effective approach to this pressing issue.

The Cliquet effect, or ratchet effect, describes a phenomenon where processes or systems become difficult, if not impossible, to reverse once they have reached a certain stage. This concept, originally articulated by James Duesenberry in Income, Saving, and the Theory of Consumer Behavior (1949), finds applications across disciplines, from economics to politics and law. It also serves as a powerful metaphor for the creeping expansion of government measures during crises, particularly in the context of antiterrorism legislation.

This blog post explores how the Cliquet effect influences the trajectory of antiterrorism laws, using examples from various European countries, where initial emergency measures have often solidified into enduring policies, shaping governance and civil liberties in profound ways.

The Mechanics of the Cliquet Effect

The Cliquet effect borrows its name from the ratcheting mechanism in horology, which prevents a wheel from moving backward. Similarly, once a social, economic, or legal process crosses a certain threshold, it tends to resist reversal. The concept applies to human behavior—such as consumption habits that prove difficult to curtail—but it holds particular resonance in political systems. Governments often introduce extensive bureaucratic or legislative measures during crises, and once these systems are established, dismantling them becomes a formidable challenge.

For example, economist Robert Higgs, in his book Crisis and Leviathan, used this effect to explain the seemingly irreversible growth of government during crises. Wars and emergencies often justify unprecedented interventions, which later persist long after the crisis subsides. In democratic systems, Yves-Marie Adeline^[1] has argued that sociopolitical shifts—particularly those aligned with progressive ideologies—often become entrenched, as subsequent administrations lack either the will or the political capital to undo them.

The Cliquet Effect in Antiterrorism Legislation

The Cliquet effect is especially evident in antiterrorism legislation, where governments adopt extraordinary measures in response to immediate threats. These laws, though introduced as temporary safeguards, often evolve into permanent fixtures, reshaping the balance between national security and individual freedoms. The rationale is rooted in the political cost of reversing these measures: dismantling them risks exposing a nation to criticism or vulnerability, even if the original threat has diminished.

European Case Studies

A few examples of the Cliquet effect in action count the case of France. Indeed, following the Paris terrorist attacks in November 2015, the country declared a state of emergency (état d’urgence), granting authorities sweeping powers to conduct searches, impose curfews, and restrict gatherings. Initially meant to last 12 days, the state of emergency was extended multiple times and lasted nearly two years. In 2017, many of its provisions were codified into the French security law, effectively making permanent what was initially temporary.

In the same idea, the UK has long grappled with terrorism, and its Prevent strategy, part of the broader counterterrorism framework, illustrates the Cliquet effect in action. Introduced to prevent radicalization, Prevent mandates surveillance and reporting responsibilities for teachers, healthcare workers, and other public servants. While the program has faced criticism for stigmatizing communities and eroding trust, successive governments have expanded rather than scaled it back.

Lastly, Spain’s experience with terrorism—particularly from ETA and later Islamist groups—has led to stringent antiterrorism laws. The expansion of police powers, limitations on judicial review, and broad definitions of terrorism have drawn criticism for potentially undermining freedoms. Yet, reversing these measures remains politically sensitive, especially in light of recurring security threats.

Legal Foundations and the Irreversibility of Rights

Interestingly, and on a lighter note, the Cliquet effect operates not only to expand government powers but also to safeguard fundamental rights. In France, for instance, the Constitutional Council has invoked the effect to protect liberties from regression. Notable decisions, such as those concerning press freedoms and academic autonomy, have established that laws reducing fundamental rights are unconstitutional unless they provide equivalent or enhanced protections.This dual nature of the Cliquet effect underscores its complexity: while it can entrench restrictive measures, it can also serve as a bulwark against the erosion of rights. In the realm of antiterrorism, however, the balance often tilts toward security at the expense of liberties.

In the same idea, several antiterrorism laws have been repealed or allowed to expire once the immediate threat they were enacted to address subsided. For instance, in the United States, provisions of the USA PATRIOT Act, including the controversial Section 215 that allowed mass telephone metadata collection, were permitted to expire in 2020. Similarly, the United Kingdom’s Defence of the Realm Act, which granted extensive wartime powers during World War I, was repealed in 1921 after the war ended. In Spain, harsh anti-terrorism laws implemented during Francisco Franco’s dictatorship were dismantled following his death as the country transitioned to democracy. South Africa’s Internal Security Act, used to suppress dissent during apartheid, was repealed in 1991 during the country’s democratization. In Italy, emergency anti-terrorism measures introduced during the politically turbulent “Years of Lead” were gradually rolled back as stability returned. These examples highlight how countries often roll back extraordinary powers granted during crises, though this process frequently occurs under significant public and political pressure.

Lessons and Reflections

The Cliquet effect reveals the paradox of governance during crises: the measures we adopt to address immediate dangers often outlast their utility, embedding themselves into the fabric of law and policy. In the case of antiterrorism legislation, this dynamic poses critical questions for democratic societies. How can we ensure that extraordinary measures do not become ordinary governance? What safeguards can prevent the gradual erosion of freedoms under the guise of security?

As the various European examples show, reversing antiterrorism laws is rare, even when the threat landscape changes. Addressing this requires a conscious effort to design legislation with built-in sunset clauses, periodic reviews, and robust oversight mechanisms. Without these safeguards, the Cliquet effect risks becoming a ratchet not only on government expansion but also on the fundamental freedoms that underpin democratic life.

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^[1]   Adeline, Yves-Marie. La Droite impossible. Éditions Godefroy de Bouillon, 2012. (Revised edition of La Droite piégée, 1996).

The recent academic conference held in Tallinn from September 25 to 27, 2024, brought together scholars to discuss the intricate interplay between populism, conspiracy theories, and the ongoing war against Ukraine. This gathering was part of PACT´s (Populism and Conspiracy Theory), last transfer conference and not only shed light on the rising prominence of conspiracy theories in contemporary politics but also examined their implications within democratic frameworks. While not directly linked to my own research topic, these discussions sparked valuable and modern questions, easily translatable to any field of contemporary research. Below is a summary of a few key discussions and findings from the event.

On the first day, Scott Radnitz opened the conference with a thought-provoking presentation titled “The Mainstreaming of Conspiracy.” He argued that while belief in conspiracy theories may not be increasing, their normalization within political discourse is evident. Candidates, parties, and movements now feel comfortable endorsing these theories, often using them as tools for transgression, authenticity, and to shape political identity.

Radnitz posited that conspiracy theories serve more as reflections of societal critiques than as factual assertions. Politicians like Trump and Putin exemplify this phenomenon, as they harness conspiratorial rhetoric to resonate with voters’ frustrations. However, he cautioned that while conspiracy theories may gain traction, they can alienate certain voter segments, illustrating the complexity of their appeal in various contexts, such as Kyrgyzstan and pre-invasion Ukraine.

In the following panel, chaired by Massimo Leone, scholars explored the symbolic links between populism and conspiracy theories. Giacomo Loperfido examined the Italian 5 Stars Movement, revealing its evolution from an informal collective against established parties to a more structured entity. This transformation illustrates how populist movements can both embrace and expel radical ideas as they seek legitimacy.

Simona Stano analyzed how figures such as Bill Gates have become scapegoats within conspiracy narratives, particularly during the COVID-19 pandemic. The intertwining of conspiracy theories with social media, celebrity endorsements, and memes demonstrates how certain narratives take root in public consciousness, creating powerful archetypes of ‘elite’ villains.

Itai Siegel‘s research into the Netherlands highlighted the struggles of democratic actors confronting conspiracy rhetoric. Through interviews with civil servants, he found that responses varied significantly, revealing a duality in approach: some aimed to understand the underlying motivations of conspiracy believers, while others adopted a more rigid stance, viewing conspiracy theories as extremist threats. This illustrates the challenge democracies face in addressing conspiratorial thinking without undermining democratic principles.

As discussions continued, the focus shifted to the impact of propaganda on polarization. The second panel examined how conspiracy theories act as multimodal drivers of division within societies. A collaborative study by researchers from the University of Amsterdam explored how Russian disinformation has been appropriated by Dutch conspiracy communities, revealing a complex interplay of literal and cultural translations of propaganda.

In this panel, I had the opportunity to hear my colleague Heidi Piva‘s presentation on radicalization processes in European Telegram groups, on which she wrote an interesting blog post.

On the second day, the focus shifted to the relationship between populism, denialism, and trust in democratic institutions. Research by Susana Salgado and colleagues revealed that supporters of populism are more likely to express distrust in political systems and exhibit belief in conspiracy theories. This connection raises questions about the future of democracy in contexts where distrust and conspiracy thinking become normative.

Massimo Leone’s innovative discourse on “stochastic populism” compared the nature of timekeeping to knowledge creation, emphasizing the need for constant calibration in understanding truth and reality. His insights on the role of technology, particularly AI, in amplifying electoral noise added a contemporary layer to discussions on trust and governance.

The final panels explored the ramifications of conspiracy theories within the context of the Russian war against Ukraine. Scholars such as Andreas Ventsel and Daria Khlevnyuk discussed how historical narratives and conspiracy thinking have shaped Russian nationalist rhetoric surrounding the conflict. They illustrated the strategic use of conspiracy theories to justify aggressive actions and frame the conflict within a broader historical context.

Oksana Belova-Dalton and Anastasiya Astapova examined the dynamics of conspiracy theories among Russian-speaking communities in Estonia, highlighting how the war has exacerbated existing divisions and fostered a climate of mistrust.

To conclude, the Tallinn conference illuminated the profound effects of conspiracy theories on contemporary politics, particularly in the context of populism and conflict. As conspiratorial thinking becomes more mainstream, it poses significant challenges for democratic societies striving to maintain integrity and trust. Understanding the narratives that shape public perception will be crucial in addressing the complex relationship between politics, identity, and belief systems in an increasingly polarized world. 

While the discussion rang the end note of the PACT project, it´s food for thought will long outlive it as it served as a critical and nuanced reminder of the need for vigilance in protecting democratic values against the tide of conspiracy-driven rhetoric. As scholars and practitioners continue to analyze these dynamics, the implications for the future of democracy remain ever more pressing.

During his inaugural speech for the chair of “Moral questions and political challenges in contemporary societies” at the College de France, on the 30^th of March 2023, Didier Fassin offered a reflection on the place of social sciences in times of crisis^[1]. This seemed of high interest as radicalization constitutes one of the current readings of the situation as “crisis”. I will try to summarize his speech here while drawing some parallels with the questions of the field of radicalization studies. 

Didier Fassin is a doctor of medicine, but also of sociology and anthropology. He is now a member of the College de France, but he has worked in Hong Kong and Princeton, more specifically on crises and public health, which allowed him to become the first social scientist to receive the Nomis Distinguished Scientist Award. More generally, his entire career has revolved around a political, scientific and moral commitment to highlighting inequalities, whether in access to health, education or freedom. 

This book focuses on the theme of ‘crisis’, a commonly used word that needs further analysis. As he notes, ‘historians, anthropologists or sociologists don’t ask how things should be, but how they actually are’ (p.9). Fassin begins by comparing the lives of two French thinkers, Claude Levi-Strauss and Marc Bloch, both Jews who lived during the Second World War. The former chose to go to the United States, where he concentrated on his study of kinship structures and eventually became famous, while the latter joined the French Resistance and was tortured and shot by the Gestapo in 1944. Both wrote about the war, but one after the events and the other during them. 

These two examples illustrate the variety of situations that social scientists encounter “at the moment of danger” (p.18). For Fassin, they show how personal and professional trajectories are strongly influenced by choices, dispositions, contexts and circumstances. He argues that even if the current context is less dramatic than that experienced by Bloch and Strauss, we are currently living in a time of multiple crises, should they be climatic, democratic, of global governance or international relations. 

Returning to Anatole Bailly’s definition, he notes that the word “krísis” in Greek refers to “the act of distinguishing, of separating, and the act of deciding, of judging” (p.20), thus combining an analytical and a normative sense. He speaks of a “critical phase” that requires a “critical evaluation”. For him, there is an important link between the words “crisis” and “critic”, both coming from the same origin and one requiring the other. This is very important for the social sciences, since the designation of a “crisis” “tends to suspend or even disqualify the critical sense, in the name of the need to intervene without delay” (p.21). As an example, it is possible to come back to the last attacks in Europe, should they be “islamist” or from the far-right. As said by Emmanuel Valls, French prime minister in 2016, after the Charlie Hebdo shooting, “To explain is to try to excuse a little”^[2]. 

Back to a more theoretical debate, according to Fassin, both Koselleck and Foucault see, in their own way, the signature of (western) modernity in the crisis. However, he claims that they both offer an ethnocentric vision of the concept of “crisis”, which invisibilizes non-occidental and minority populations (racialised, gendered…) and the fact that the Western critique is strongly linked to colonial and imperial expansion. Even today, Fassin notes, Western societies and the “white elite” still seem to be the only ones able to “claim a true radicalism of thought” (p.23). He shows how, in the vein of Edouard Said, even the criticism of colonialism and oppression remains the privilege of the “privileged”. 

For the author, this reality creates a huge aporia in the thought on crises, amputating to a large extent even the social sciences, and especially the French ones, of the valuable insights of women, minorities and non-Western populations. For him, W.E.B. Du Bois’s question “What does it feel like to be a problem?” is more relevant than ever in understanding the experience of black and Muslim minorities in Europe. Regarding radicalization studies, this question could also be an interesting starting point to a discussion on causal explanations of the phenomenon.  

Returning to our main topic, Fassin quotes Habermas, who states that a crisis always contains an objective and a subjective component. He explains: “It is not enough for society to have a problem; it must also be understood as such […] What we call ‘crisis’ is always a social construct. Whether it is based on facts or not, it needs agents to legitimise it”. (p.26-29). 

Here, Fassin takes the example of the 2015 migration crisis, which saw one million asylum seekers arrive in Europe and Austral Africa. While the former was highly publicised and considered “dramatic”, the latter went completely unnoticed. Similarly, the US incarceration crisis, which saw millions of young black men imprisoned, was only criticized when white men started to get affected.  

These two examples allow the author to show that, in general, “countries in the South rarely have the authority to impose their own crisis discourse, which can only legitimately come from countries in the North” (p.30).

For the social sciences, therefore, a critique of the crisis consists in highlighting “the abusive use of authority to declare crises without objective reality” (p.31) and “identifying these deprivations of authority that lead to critical situations not being recognized” (p.31).

Indeed, the identification of a situation as a “crisis” is never neutral; it has effects, such as the tightening of border controls for the migration crisis and the normalization of the mistreatment of refugees. It is therefore important for researchers to analyze what the recognition or denial of crises allows or, on the contrary, what it hides. What are the logics of power at work, the strategies used by those in power to impose their vocabulary and interpretations, the tactics deployed by those without a voice to try and resist?

In fact, a “language of crisis” (p.32) is regularly encountered, tending to create affectivity, often fear or empathy, and a temporality of urgency. This urgency produces a consensus around decisionism, which “justifies bypassing the usual legislative, judicial or administrative procedures” (p.33). This is also what seems to be happening in numerous countries where the crisis discourse around radicalization justifies exceptional and sometimes anti-democratic means.

This is where the social sciences have a role to play, as “Naming the crisis, often creates the risk of denying ourselves the opportunity to think it” (p.33), especially as a crisis can often hide another one. 

For example, the 2020 covid crisis revealed the “unequal values of life” in the sense that it focused on the importance of defending human life, often overlooking those of prisoners or exiles. Likewise, the American “war on terror” completely hide the link between the attacks and previous American actions in the Middle East.

However, that doesn´t mean that the researcher’s positionality is easy. Indeed, they may be called upon by authorities and organizations to provide their expertise, while at the same time wanting to expose problems that are sometimes linked to these same institutions. For Fassin, “the dividing lines between these different positions and nuances are much more blurred than we thought we could define on the basis of a superficial reading of Max Weber’s supposed ‘axiological neutrality'” (p.35). 

 For the author, it is now central to reflect on the impact of the “public life of the social sciences” (p.39), where academics are called upon to comment on events, participate in commissions, advise institutions…. 

This is all the more true as public statements can have direct consequences for the researcher. Fassin recalls the criticism by French and American politicians of some researchers’ findings in recent years, but also, more sadly, the imprisonment and murder of researchers by authoritarian regimes. There is a high risk, he argues, that academics will self-censor or at least avoid sensitive topics. 

Fassin concludes by saying that “moral questions” are always linked to “political challenges” and that it is now time for the researcher to plunge into them, “without being swallowed in the ocean of opinions, nor blinded by the shock of events” (p.44), as written by Claude Lefort.

For our topic, this book seems full of lessons and perspectives, evoking both the political strategies linked to the description of an event as a “crisis” and the importance of the researcher’s positionality. It urges us to remain vigilant, especially about what seems to be “ a given”.   

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^[1] Fassin, D., 2023, Sciences sociales par temps de crise, Editions du Collège de France.

^[2]  https://www.radiofrance.fr/franceculture/podcasts/la-revue-de-presse/expliquer-c-est-excuser-4707811

On 22 March 2024, the Islamic State of Khorassan, linked to the former Syrian state, carried out a bombing at the Crocus City Hall concert venue in Moscow. The attack killed almost 150 people and injured 300^[1]. In the following days, France announced its decision to raise the level of the emergency plan to “bombing urgency”, the highest level, only two months after it was first downgraded to level 2, “increased security – risk of attack”, since the 2015 attacks^[2] in the Bataclan concert hall.

According to French Prime Minister Gabriel Attal, “the Islamist terrorist threat is real, it is strong” and “it has never diminished”. It is therefore surprising that the level of urgency was lowered in January. It is also puzzling that it was raised again after the events in Moscow. 

Considering that the Islamic State of Khorassan has been getting stronger since the Taliban came to power in 2021, and that other geopolitical events could also have triggered a French response, such as the increase in tensions in Israel/Palestine or the problems in sub-Saharan Africa, why was the level of the antiterrorism plan raised specifically in the wake of the Moscow attacks? 

Rather than directly answering this question, which is a matter of internal politics, we will show how the similarities between the French Bataclan attack and the Moscow one have been used to justify an increase in security measures, increase that seems to be getting more common, regardless of human right violations.

To provide some historical and legal context, the three emergency levels are part of the Vigipirate plan^[3] which was created in 1991 after the Gulf War and was used regularly until the London bombings of July 2005, where it remained at the “red” level until the colour code was abandoned in 2014.

The plan is to be used when the State has serious reasons to believe that an attack could take place in the near future. It applies to a wide range of sectors, including public gatherings, cyber security, transport, health, and even the food chain. While the lowest level implies a “permanent state of security” for all national actors^[4], including citizens, the higher levels allow the closure of roads and the suspension of public transport. 

After the 2015 Bataclan attacks, this plan was used extensively, especially in conjunction with the “state of emergency”. Created during the Algerian war, it allows prefects to prohibit the movement of people or vehicles in certain places and to refuse entry to anyone who might pose a “threat to security and public order”. The government can dissolve associations and the minister of internal affairs can place anyone who might be considered a threat under house arrest. Following the 2016 attacks, there was an increase in the number of measures taken, with 2,000 house raids between 14 and 30 November 2016, and 150 house arrests in the first week and 300 by 1 December 2016^[5].

Given this, it is surprising that of the 670 house searches that resulted in administrative proceedings, only 25 revealed acts that could be considered terrorist in nature. This situation, added to the long and extensive use of the Vigipirate plan, has raised concerns, especially at the international level, about the legality and the risk posed by these measures. 

For example, in 2017, Amnesty International^[6] called for an end to the “state of emergency”, stating that it had “led to a series of human rights violations” and had produced “very few tangible results”. There has also been growing criticism in the international media following the reinforcement of the Vigipirate plan in 2020, with concerns about increased police violence and fears of corruption and the deployment of military forces in the country.    

While Gabriel Attal claimed in front of the National Assembly that “we have to prepare for every scenario, we have to exclude none. We must be everywhere, all the time”^[7], we can still question the extensive use of counter-terrorism measures by French policymakers and their more or less direct link to a real and clear terrorist threat. 

Indeed, as Ní Aolain^[8] writes, “it is generally accepted that certain terrorist acts and the actions of terrorist organisations can create the necessary and sufficient conditions to reach a threshold likely to trigger a state of emergency” (Ní Aolain, 2018). However, the lack of a clear definition of terrorism added to the legal practice of many states tends to standardise “the use of exceptional national security or emergency measures to combat terrorism” (Ní Aolain, 2018). This leads her to speak of “de facto” or “secret” emergency practices and situations in which “exceptional” measures are slowly institutionalised and thus become “normal”. 

Ní Aolain claims that “the notion of a permanent state of emergency seems to be better accepted by the public, thus enabling the authorities […] to adopt repressive measures” (Ní Aolain, 2018). Looking more closely at the case of France, the author explains that the “state of emergency” ended in November 2017, but the adoption of the “law to strengthen internal security and the fight against terrorism” a month earlier could be understood as a kind of normalisation of the state of exception.

While the European Convention on Human Rights claims that exceptional measures restricting liberty can be taken in “times of war and other dangers threatening the life of the nation”, we have to keep in mind Peoples’s observation that “states can be the biggest threat to the liberty, human rights, and lives of their citizens” (Peoples, 2010)^[9]. 

Lindekilde^[10] also speaks of “state radicalisation”, where a state slowly descends into increasingly repressive measures, which might make sense in the case of France. However, this scenario is not exclusive to France – as Peoples explains, since 9/11 “the ‘normal’ state of affairs in the US has become one where the ‘significant risk of terrorist attacks’ is permanent” (Peoples, 2010). This culture of fear, which can also be found in Europe, leads to a “climate of suspicion”, especially towards certain social groups (Mavelli, 2016). 

As a result, “security has become increasingly synonymous with surveillance and control, rather than maintaining human rights and the rule of law” (Peoples, 2010). Mavelli^[11] therefore concludes that “the outcome has been not governing despite terrorism, but ‘governing through terrorism’” (Mavelli, 2016). For the author, the impossibility of reducing the risk of attack to zero has led politicians to implement a form of “precautionary risk management” based more on imagination than on scientific knowledge per se.

In conclusion, we can infer that France’s swift response to the Russian attacks in March 2024 is not just a normal geopolitical event. Rather, by bringing closer the Moscow bombing and the 2015 Bataclan attack, it uses the classical security repertoire of democratic states, with the calling for a state of emergency. However, democracies can´t maintain this state for long as it could create a popular rebellion. Therefore, French politicians seem to have constructed, in the past ten years, a new legal system with an increased attention to security issues, sometimes questioning the freedom and human rights of its population.

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^[1] https://www.iris-france.org/184925-attentat-a-moscou-la-russie-face-au-terrorisme-islamiste/

^[2] https://www.francetvinfo.fr/monde/russie/attaque-terroriste-pres-de-moscou/direct-deux-jours-apres-l-attentat-terroriste-pres-de-moscou-une-journee-de-deuil-national-en-russie_6444061.html

^[3] https://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Plan_Vigipirate

^[4] https://www.somme.gouv.fr/Actualites/VIGIPIRATE-Urgence-attentat#:~:text=Le%20niveau%20urgence%20attentat%20peut,de%20la%20gestion%20de%20crise

^[5] https://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/%C3%89tat_d%27urgence_en_France

^[6] Amnesty International, Dangerously Disproportionate: The Ever Expanding Security State in Europe, 2017.

^[7] https://www.francetvinfo.fr/faits-divers/terrorisme/terrorisme-apres-l-attaque-a-moscou-faut-il-craindre-la-resurgence-en-france-d-un-risque-d-attentat-prepare-depuis-l-etranger_6450646.html

^[8]Ní Aolain, F., 2018, « L’exercice contemporain des pouvoirs d’urgence : réflexions sur la permanence, la non-permanence et les ordres juridiques administratifs », Cultures & Conflits, vol. 112, no. 4, pp. 15-34.

^[9]Peoples, C., Vaughan-Williams, N., 2010, Critical Security Studies. An introduction, Routledge.

^[10]Lindekilde, L., 2016, “Radicalization, de-radicalization, and counter-radicalization”, in Jackson, Routledge Handbook of Critical Terrorism Studies, Routledge.

^[11]Mavelli, L., 2016, “The governmentality of terrorism: uncertainty, risk management, and surveillance”, in Jackson, Routledge Handbook of Critical Terrorism Studies, Routledge.