Category: Blog

In June of this year, two attacks took place in the Northern Finnish city of Oulu 6 days apart. The first involved the stabbing of a 12-year-old boy of immigrant background by an adult man with known connections to the neo-Nazi Nordic Resistance Movement (NRM). The second involved the stabbing of an adult man, also of immigrant background, this time by a 15-year-old boy in what was suspected to be a ‘copycat’ action of the first attack. Both attacks received substantial media coverage within Finland, and several government ministers made statements in response. This blogpost will examine these statements to unearth some of the ways in which ‘right-wing extremism’ is problematised in Finnish political discourse. 

The theoretical basis of this post is what Foucault (1977: 186) called ‘thinking problematically’. To ‘think problematically’ is to problematise a concept – in this case ‘right-wing extremism’ – to demonstrate that it is a construct within political discourse rather than something that exists ‘out there’ as an objective phenomenon that we can discover (Jarvis, 2022). My purpose here is not to ‘deny the reality’ of these attacks nor suggest that they didn’t have concrete, traumatic impacts on their victims and emotional impacts on many people of colour living in Finland – including myself. My purpose is rather to demonstrate that how we think about things, and thus respond to them, is never inevitable, and in doing so, to open up ways of thinking about, and responding to, things differently. The Oulu attacks could be, and indeed were, problematised in several different ways, and this matters because what the problem is represented to be determines what the possible solutions are (Bacchi, 2009). And the ‘solutions’ can have significant impacts on far more people than were directly impacted by the attacks themselves. 

On the day of the attack, the Deputy Prime Minister Rikka Purra, of the far-right Finns Party, tweeted: ‘With street crime, gangs, etc., we are unfortunately following the same trend as in other countries. The government is working, but it is horrible what it is already like in this country!’. The next day, after it was confirmed by police that the attacker had a neo-Nazi background, Purra (sort of) corrected herself, tweeting: ‘Extremism, drugs, robberies, gangs – the problems are growing. We must take the deterioration in security seriously, increase penalties and stop shying away from violence of all kinds’. Minister of the Interior Mari Rantanen, also of the Finns Party, tweeted: ‘Violence in general is totally unacceptable, but violence against children is inexcusable. Not to mention the horror that the motive apparently comes from extremism’. Meanwhile, Prime Minister Petteri Orpo, of the right-wing National Coalition Party (NCP), tweeted: ‘Far-right violence is a real threat in Finland. There is no room for extremism of any kind in this country. The government is determined to combat extremism and violence’. The same day, Orpo was also interviewed by the newspaper Ilta-Sanomat, where he said: ‘This has to be taken very seriously. Also extreme movements on the left. All extremism is reprehensible’.

We can identify three main ways in which the first Oulu attack was problematised by government ministers. Firstly, as a ‘street crime and gangs’ problem, secondly, as a problem of a ‘deterioration of security’ and thirdly, as a problem of ‘extremism’. 

The first problematisation requires some context. The issue of ‘street crime and gangs’ has been a hot topic in the Finnish parliament in recent years and frequent debates have taken place on the subject. Members of parliament from both the NCP and the Finns have been keen to connect this problem with what they see as a ‘failed immigration policy’ and a ‘lack of integration’ by immigrants, and the solutions that have been proposed have usually been along the lines of limiting immigration and increasing deportations. Within this context, and alongside Purra’s political agenda as leader of the anti-immigration Finns Party, it’s not hard to see why she would have had a political incentive to assume the attack was related to ‘street crime’ and ‘gangs’ before the identity of the attacker had been revealed.  

Furthermore, by assuming the attack was associated with ‘street crime and gangs’ – and therefore, by implication, someone with an immigrant background – Purra was continuing a long trend by people in power of associating non-white people with violence. This is not the first time an attack has been wrongly attributed to a non-white person. A famous example is from 2011 when, after the massacre in Norway by a white supremacist, the Wall Street Journal went to press before his identity had been revealed, publishing an editorial in which it was assumed the attacker was a Muslim who had targeted Norway because it was a ‘liberal democracy committed to all the freedoms that define the West’ (Kundnani, 2012: 1). The media plays a central role in representing violence as a problem of non-white people. The sexual abuse of minors scandal of 2018, also in Oulu, for example, was widely reported in Finnish media with articles often emphasising the foreign background of the perpetrators. 

Purra’s theory about ‘street crime and gangs’ didn’t last long, because the police revealed that the perpetrator had a background in the neo-Nazi NRM. But her follow up tweet is also interesting. Because rather than retracting her mistake, Purra doubled down – arguing that this attack was just one aspect of a broader ‘deterioration in security’ faced by Finland which also includes ‘extremism’, ‘drugs’, ‘robberies’ and again, ‘gangs’. Now this problem representation is significant because Purra takes a racist attack, connects it to other unrelated crimes to create a broader ‘deterioration of security’ narrative – to which one of the solutions is limiting immigration – and therefore manages to both condemn the attack and, at the same time, fuel a narrative which advocates the same political objectives as the attacker. 

What we represent the problem to be determines what the possible solution is. If we represent this attack as a ‘deterioration of security’ then this invites securitising solutions – and that’s exactly what happened. In a press conference following the attack, Mari Rantanen announced her intention to expand police powers, including introducing ‘stop and search’. ‘Stop and search’ is a highly controversial policy which allows police to stop and search individuals in the street, on often tenuous grounds. In the places where it is used, it often disproportionately targets people from ethnic minority backgrounds. In the UK for example, black men are 3.7 times more likely to be stopped and searched by police than white men (Home Office, 2024). With an almost exclusively white police force in Finland, there’s good reason to suspect it might be used in a similar way here. Again, we see a racist attack problematised in a way that legitimises a racist response. The communities harmed by the attack end up being the ones who suffer most from the solution.

The third way in which the attacks were problematised was as an act of ‘extremism’. ‘Extremism’ is another popular word in political circles which has its roots in counterterrorism policy after 9/11 and is often used almost interchangeably with ‘terrorism’. But, while ‘terrorism’ usually refers to a method of political violence, ‘extremism’ refers to the ideas and ideologies that supposedly lead someone to violent action. There is very little convincing empirical evidence that violence is caused solely by people’s ideological views and indeed, most people with ‘extreme views’ never commit violent acts. The replacement of ‘terrorism’ with ‘extremism’ means that nowadays, most governments have taken it upon themselves to prevent – not only ‘extremist’ violence – but also the ‘extreme ideas’ that supposedly lead to them. The state has thus moved into monitoring the ‘pre-criminal space’ in a development that is arguably deeply undemocratic.

The ‘extremism’ label also depoliticises. By designating the Oulu attacker as ‘extreme’, Orpo and Rantanen invisibilise his actual politics and their racist, sexist and authoritarian character. And it’s this depoliticisation that enables Orpo to bring the so-called ‘extreme left’ into this discussion, despite them having nothing to do with what took place. The label thus functions similarly to Purra’s invocation of ‘security’ – it’s a way of connecting the Oulu attacks to something that they’re arguably not really connected to. One of the key differences between the so-called ‘extreme right’ and ‘extreme left’ in Finland, is that the former has historically been more prone to direct violence than the latter. If we really think about what the word ‘extreme’ means, it’s just a deviation from the norm, and clamping down on ‘extreme ideas’ thus functions to narrow the window of acceptable political opinion. The ‘extremism’ label can thus be used as a tool to suppress any kind of political dissent and maintain and narrow the status quo. It is not arguably a sufficient basis for defining a security threat (Ford & Jackson, 2023).  

6 days later, another very similar attack took place, but this time police suspected that it had what they called ‘racist motive’, and this aspect was reflected in the responses of government ministers. Rantanen tweeted: ‘According to the police, the last stabbing was racially motivated. This has to stop’, while Orpo tweeted ‘There is no place for racism in Finland’. Purra tweeted: ‘According to initial reports, the motive is racist. This is unacceptable’, while President Alexander Stubb also waded in, tweeting: ‘I strongly condemn racism in all its forms. There must be no place for racism or racist violence in Finland’. 

Because of the suspicions of the police, we see in the above tweets a unanimous tendency to problematise the attacks as an act of ‘racism’, although the degrees to which that was condemned varied. When an attack has a ‘racist motive’, it is usually considered by police in Finland to be a ‘hate crime’, which is defined as 

‘crime targeted at a person, group, a person’s property, institution or a representative of these, motivated by prejudice or hostility towards the victim’s real or perceived ethnic or national origin, religion or belief, sexual orientation, gender identity or appearance or disability’ (Ministry of the Interior, 2020: 88). 

This definition of ‘hate crime’ – that such attacks are motivated by ‘prejudice’ or ‘hostility’ on the part of the perpetrator – aligns with what Kundnani (2023) calls ‘the liberal theory of antiracism’ and Henriques (1984) calls ‘cognitivism’. Within this theory, racism is conceived of as an individual problem of irrationally held beliefs and prejudices. Since racism is a product of individual attitudes, the implied anti-racist solution is to change people’s attitudes – by challenging unconscious biases, reducing micro-aggressions, better representation for diverse identities and educating people out of individual prejudices (Kundnani, 2023). According to the liberal theory of racism, it is also an outdated mindset – a ‘remnant of past historical racial situations’ (Bonilla-Silva, 1997: 468) – and, although some individuals still hold racist views, racism at the societal level is generally seen to have been defeated by liberal democracy. This is the commonsense understanding of racism in today’s liberal, Western societies – and it’s the same understanding of racism that Orpo and Stubb evoke when they say ‘there is no place for racism in Finland’.  

However, there is a different understanding of racism which has its roots in the thinking of decolonial and abolitionist scholars, many of which came from the Global South. This understanding of racism sees it as an economic and political structure that privileges whites over non-whites in almost every area of life. As Charles Mills writes, 

‘racism (or, as I will argue, global white supremacy) is itself a political system, a particular power structure of formal or informal rule, socioeconomic privilege, and norms for the differential distribution of material wealth and opportunities, benefits and burdens, rights and duties’ (Mills, 2022: 3). 

Mill’s definition is useful in that, by emphasising the differential distribution of socioeconomic privilege and material wealth, it highlights the relationship between white supremacy and capitalism. Within this understanding, racism or white supremacy can no longer be seen as a relic from the past. Instead, it is a structure that has organised the world for centuries and continues to do so today. It’s the fact that, if you order a taxi or food delivery, you’ll likely be served by a brown or black person – people working precarious, low paid jobs in the ‘gig economy’. It’s the fact that Finnish Somalis were more vulnerable to catching covid because they were more likely to work in customer facing roles such as bus drivers, cleaners and nurses. It’s the fact that the materials in our phones, and the clothes we wear, are produced by people working in slave-like conditions in Global South countries. Prejudiced, racist attitudes are of course still a part of this problem, but crucially they are just one part. Global white supremacy is a far bigger structure – a political and economic system that transcends national borders and shapes most of the world. Problematising it this way implies a need for much bigger solutions than simply educating people out of their prejudiced attitudes. It means completely restructuring – or indeed dismantling – those economic and political systems that maintain the supremacy of whites over non-whites. 

So how do we connect this to the Oulu attacks? Structural white supremacy can be easy to ignore if you’re white and live somewhere like Finland where you’re not confronted by its effects every day. The stabbing of a child in a Finnish city is of course much less easy to ignore – and this brings us to an important concept that we haven’t yet problematised: ‘violence’. 

The Peace Studies scholar Johan Galtung (1990) thought of violence as having three forms: direct violencewhich can be attributed to an individual perpetrator, structural violence which is built into political systems and manifests as unequal power, life chances and social injustice, and cultural violence (also called ‘symbolic violence’ by others) which is those aspects of ideology and language which can be used to justify direct or structural violence. Galtung (1990: 291) argued that cultural violence makes ‘direct and structural violence look and feel right – or at least not wrong’. Applying Galtung’s framework to white supremacy, we can situate the Oulu attacks as an act of direct white supremacist violence. This kind of violence can be attributed to an individual perpetrator, is often shocking and overt and is generally condemned by politicians – as was the case in the tweets above. But this act of direct violence can be seen as just one dimension of a broader system of white supremacist violence in which the Finnish state – who’s government ministers denounced the attack – is also complicit in. 

Structural white supremacist violence in Finland can be seen in the ‘emergency law’ on migration which was voted through just weeks after the Oulu attacks and which was deemed to break European and international asylum law by human rights lawyers. But it can also be seen in the welfare budget cuts which will disproportionately impact people with immigrant backgrounds who are more likely to be on low-income jobs and face discrimination in the job market. Cultural white supremacist violence is seen in the ideology and language used by both the Finns and NCP. Great Replacement Theory for example, the idea that the white native population of Europe is being forcibly replaced by non-whites, has been regularly evoked by ministers in parliament. So too has the idea that Finland’s national identity is under threat, that immigrants are treated more favourably than the majority population and that they are ‘naturally’ prone to violence. These ideas and language, as Galtung described, make the direct violence of the Oulu attack and the structural violence of migration laws and benefits cuts look and feel right – or at least not completely wrong. And in this way, direct, structural and cultural violence are closely connected in a web of linkages and causal flows. 

This ‘disconnection’ (Meier, 2024) that is made by politicians between direct white supremacist violence, and the structural and cultural violences they themselves perpetuate, can be seen as an example of what Mills (2022) called white ‘epistemologies of ignorance’. Mills argued that the continuation of structural white supremacy depends on these knowledge systems, writing that:

‘white misunderstanding, misrepresentation, evasion, and self-deception on matters related to race are among the most pervasive mental phenomena of the past few hundred years, a cognitive and moral economy psychically required for conquest, colonization, and enslavement. And these phenomena are in no way accidental, but prescribed by the terms of the Racial Contract, which requires a certain schedule of structured blindnesses and opacities in order to establish and maintain the white polity’ (Mills, 2022: 19).  

Mills argues that white supremacy relies on racism being framed as a problem of individual attitudes, or occasional acts of direct violence, rather than as a political and economic system. It is these ‘epistemologies of ignorance that allow politicians – like Stubb and Orpo – to say that ‘there is no place for racism in Finland’ when in fact racism and white supremacy are everywhere in Finland and beyond it. At the border, on the street and in the parliament.

Žižek (2008) argues that structural and cultural violence are rendered invisible by direct violence because they sustain the non-violent ‘zero-level’ against which violence is measured, and I would argue that white supremacy functions in a similar way. This doesn’t mean that direct white supremacist violence isn’t real and terrifying, but it does provide an opportunity for the government to invisibilise their own role in maintaining white supremacy by denouncing ‘racism’ and ‘violence’. If we let ourselves believe that this is a problem of ‘deteriorating security’ and ‘extremism’, we find ourselves inviting policies – increased police powers, stop and search, anti-immigration policies and counter-extremism policies against political dissent – that increase structural and cultural white supremacist violence. And that benefits none of us.  

References

Bacchi, C. (2009). Analysing policy: What’s the problem represented to be? Frenchs Forest, NSW: Pearson Education.

Bonilla-Silva, Eduardo (1997), ‘Rethinking Racism: Toward a Structural Interpretation’, American Sociological Review, 62(3): 465–80.

Ford, K. & Jackson, R. (2023). ‘Problematising Radicalisation’ in Lewis, J. R. & Awan, A. N. (eds) (2023) Radicalisation : a global and comparative perspective. London, England: Hurst Publishers.

Foucault, M. (1977). Language, counter-memory, practice: selected essays and interviews. In D. F. Bouchard (Ed.), D. F. Bouchard, & S. Simon (Trans.). Ithaca, New York: Cornell University Press.  

Galtung, J. (1990). ‘Cultural violence’, Journal of Peace Research, 27(3), 291–305.

Henriques, J. (1984). ‘Social psychology and the politics of racism’. In J. Henriques, W. Hollway, C. Urwin, C. Venn e V. Walkerdine (Eds.), Changing the subject, psychology, social regulation and subjectivity. London: Routledge.

Home Office (2024). ‘Accredited official statistics: Police powers and procedures: Stop and search, arrests and mental health detentions, England and Wales, year ending 31 March 2024’. Accessed 30.9.2024 via https://www.gov.uk/government/statistics/stop-and-search-arrests-and-mental-health-detentions-march-2024/police-powers-and-procedures-stop-and-search-arrests-and-mental-health-detentions-england-and-wales-year-ending-31-march-2024

Jarvis, L. (2022) Critical terrorism studies and the far-right: beyond problems and solutions?, Critical Studies on Terrorism, 15:1, 13-37

Kundnani, A. (2012). “Blind Spot? Security Narratives and Far-right Violence in Europe.” ICCT Research paper.

Kundnani, A. (2023). What is anti-racism: and why it means anti-capitalism. London: Verso.

Meier, AA. (2024): Whiteness as expertise in studies of the far right, Critical Studies on Terrorism. 

Mills, C. W. (2022). The racial contract: twenty-fifth anniversary edition. Ithaca, New York : Cornell University Press.

Ministry of the Interior, Finland (2020). NATIONAL ACTION PLAN FOR THE PREVENTION OF VIOLENT RADICALISATION AND EXTREMISM 2019–2023. Internal security | Publications of the Ministry of the Interior 2020: 3.

Žižek, S. (2008). Violence: Six Sideways Reflections. Verso Books: London.

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

Although narratology as an academic discipline has only recently been invented, people have been interested in how we tell stories for millennia (Plummer, 2012). Stories help us understand and make sense of the world around us. They can be personal but also social, collective, belonging to the group. We need stories in order to live a human life, construct, and reconstruct yesterday and tomorrow. They provide us with coherence and meaning and have the capability to turn chaos into order. They also play an important role universally, becoming road maps and key clues to unraveling cultures. On one hand stories can stimulate empathy, create connecting bonds with others, and develop dialogues, and on the other, they can raise challenges, critique, and provoke change.  

It would not be possible to achieve a long-lasting change in social structures with the sole use of force and coercion, and without the support of ‘true believers’, who share an objective based on a common story (Harari, 2014). Both far-right and Islamist extremists seem to be aware of that and have been using stories to influence the public and make them act according to the principles of their ideological framework. As Julia Ebner wrote in her book (2017) studying extremism without studying stories is like studying the brain without studying neurons. Narratives have the potential to disseminate extreme ideologies. They serve as the connecting element between non-violent and violent forms of extremism and bridge the ideological spaces between far-right and Islamist extremism. The ex-English Defence League (EDL) community manager, which Ebner interviewed for her book said: ‘Radicalizing people was easy; I just had to tell better stories than the Establishment.’ 

 Ebner (2017) identifies five key elements that contribute to the efficacy of their extremist narratives: simplicity, consistency, responsiveness, identification, and inspiration. Firstly, the simplicity of black-and-white narratives can bring comfort by eliminating the complexities and ambiguities of life. Extremists provide clear and simple answers to complex phenomena observed in our global environment (Ebner, 2017). People are often drawn to simple, binary answers for several reasons such as cognitive ease, certainty, and security, as well as emotional appeal. Complex issues can be difficult to understand and deal with. Binary answers offer a sense of cognitive ease because they provide clear solutions without the need for deep thought or analysis (Fiske & Taylor, 1984; Kahneman, 2011; Korteling et al., 2023) . Such dichotomy also provides a sense of certainty and security in an uncertain world (Fisher & Keil, 2018). It offers clear guidelines and directions, which can be comforting in times of confusion or chaos. Furthermore, simple answers often appeal to people’s emotions, offering straightforward narratives that resonate with their fears, frustrations, or desires. This emotional connection can make binary solutions more compelling than nuanced, complex ones. Although we attempt to structure our understanding of the world through rational analysis, we often rapidly and instinctively engage in emotional binary framing (Kahneman, 2011). Pejorative, fear-based binary framing of the other is the most protective Darwinist response we can have, which keeps us alert and cautious (Bishop, 2023). Evolutionarily derived fear triggers and the cognitive preference for dichotomy do not need to wait for sophisticated arguments. 

Secondly, compelling stories are characterized by consistency, which is critical not only in maintaining a coherent and uniform narrative over time to build trust and credibility, but also in ensuring that actions align with the narrative to preserve legitimacy (Ebner, 2017). This consistency can sharply contrast with the often-observed inconsistency within established institutions. When mainstream groups fail to maintain narrative consistency or align their actions with their words, it can foster public distrust. In contrast, groups that maintain consistency can leverage these institutional failures, positioning themselves as more trustworthy or genuine alternatives, thereby attracting those disillusioned with the establishment. 

Thirdly, responsiveness refers to the ability to address the grievances and aspirations of the population—issues often neglected by those in power (Ebner, 2017). Extremist narratives often exploit societal dissatisfaction presenting themselves as the solution to perceived injustices and promising radical change. By addressing the concerns of marginalized groups, extremists can gain support and legitimacy, further strengthening their narrative.

Additionally, the appeal of radical groups lies in creating a strong sense of belonging and a possibility of identification with other group members (Ebner, 2017). Homogeneity of the in-group is fostered through common language, customs, and symbols. The narratives often provoke empathy for certain protagonists and hatred for antagonists. For instance, the now archived, Facebook page of the German neo-Nazi terrorist group Oldschool Society, shows pictures of its members hugging each other and celebrating together. 

Lastly, the capacity of extremist narratives to inspire action is critical. The successful stories create a desire to resolve a real or perceived conflict (Burke, 1989). Extremists often build on the narrative of victimhood and imply that solving the threat is only possible by eliminating the other, whether metaphorically or literally. The desired ‘happy end’ may involve the annihilation of a race, religion, or a social class, often expected after the ‘final battle’, the ‘inevitable war’, or the ‘final solution’ (Ebner, 2017). This is demonstrated in an extract from the Islamic State’s Dabiq magazine: “We target the crusaders, and we will eradicate and distinguish them, for there are only two camps: the camp of truth and its followers, and the camp of falsehood and its factions” (“A Call to Hijrah,” September 2014). 

References

A Call to Hijrah. (September 2014). Dabiq. 

Bishop, K. R. (2023). American Binary Thinking: Psychological Foundations, Religious Framing, and Media Reinforcement. 

Burke, K. (1989). On symbols and society. University of Chicago Press. 

Ebner, J. (2017). The rage: The vicious circle of Islamist and far-right extremism. Bloomsbury Publishing. 

Fisher, M., & Keil, F. C. (2018). The Binary Bias: A Systematic Distortion in the Integration of Information. Psychological Science, 29(11), 1846-1858. https://doi.org/10.1177/0956797618792256

Fiske, S. T., & Taylor, S. E. (1984). Social Cognition. In: Random House, New York.

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Korteling, J. E., Paradies, G. L., & Sassen-van Meer, J. P. (2023). Cognitive bias and how to improve sustainable decision making. Frontiers in Psychology, 14, 1129835. 

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This VORTEX blog post complements the piece ‘Democracy under threat: The increasing normalisation of threats and violence directed at politicians and electoral candidates’ published by Joshua Farrell-Molloy in June. He reported on ‘(a) string of incidents that occurred in Germany and Ireland during May and early June’ and identified this as a ‘worrying trend of mounting hostility and aggression directed towards politicians in what has become an increasingly incendiary political environment’. He also addressed the consequences of these attacks, which are damaging to democracy: Electoral candidates and especially female and non-white candidates ‘risk reducing their democratic participation due to intimidation’. He therefore concludes that ‘defending the democratic process may require installing measures to better protect these elected representatives and candidates from threats and physical harm’. This VORTEX blog post will build on these thoughts in the German context. It will look at some of the figures published on attacks against politicians in Germany to date, giving an idea of the extent of the problem and its development, even if the number of unreported cases is estimated to be high. It will also discuss some of the factors that contribute to this phenomenon such as widespread feelings of being overwhelmed in the face of multiple crises and disappointment with the political handling of these, feelings that can be catered for with enemy images against political actors. A following blog post in October will deal with the consequences of these attacks on those affected, as well as concrete measures that are available and necessary to prevent further damage to the foundations of our democracy.

The number of attacks on politicians in recent years and the rising trend in the number of cases is evident in several sources. The most intuitive, albeit imprecise, source are crime statistics. According to the Federal Criminal Police Office,for example, the number of offences against holders of a political office or mandate tripled from 1527 to 4458 cases between 2017 and 2021. When presenting the number of cases of politically motivated crime in the past year, 2023, the head of the Federal Criminal Police Office spoke of around 5,400 attacks in 2023, an increase of 29% compared to the previous year and also a tripling of attacks within the past five years. However, not everyone affected reports the attack, meaning that many attacks are not even included in these crime statistics. Yet, reporting statistics also show high figures. According to preliminary figures, a total of 2,790 attacks on representatives or members of the parties represented in the Bundestag were reported in 2023. Of these, representatives of Alliance 90/The Greens were most frequently affected in 1,219 cases, representatives of the Alternative for Germany (AfD) in 478 cases and representatives of the Social Democratic Party (SPD) in 420 cases. 

The most reliable source for assessing the extent of violence are scientific surveys. Various studies in Germany have focussed on different political offices or placed a particular geographical focus. A few selected studies from the last three years serve as examples. In 2022, the Motra network and its transfer partners published a municipal monitoring study on hatred, hate speech and violence towards municipal officials. Of the 1,495 people surveyed, 46% stated that they had experienced hostility towards themselves or their relatives between May and October 2021. Of these, 70% were verbal or written hostilities, 26% were hate postings and 4% were physical assaults. The respondents themselves experienced direct hostility or attacks in the digital space once or twice a month. According to a representative, nationwide survey of 1,641 mayors commissioned by the Körber Foundation (2020-21), 57% of respondents had been insulted, threatened or physically attacked at least once. Finally, a study conducted by the University of Duisburg-Essen in cooperation with the Heinrich Böll Foundation (2022) came to a similar conclusion: 2166 people involved in local government (councillors, mayors and political election officials) in major German cities were surveyed. Around 60% had already experienced hostility or aggression directed at them at least once.

What is behind these high numbers and this increase in violence? There is no simple and all-encompassing explanation. Yet, feelings such as anger or disappointment with current politics and the state are currently widespread and are often the result of multiple and intertwined crisis experiences in recent years. The so-called refugee crisis, coronavirus pandemic, climate crisis or inflation are putting citizens in a situation that makes them dissatisfied and triggers feelings of powerlessness, as their situation is often neither self-inflicted nor is there any possibility of self-efficacy to solve their problems. Expectations that ‘those at the top’ will help to solve their own problems swiftly are disappointed, since there are no such swift solutions. Population surveys show that trust in the state’s ability to act is increasingly declining. According to a 2023 survey, only 27% of citizens still believe that the state is capable of fulfilling its tasks. The key question therefore is how such feelings of powerlessness and dissatisfaction can increasingly lead to hostility and violence against politicians.

One explanatory factor lies in the narratives of populist and right-wing actors, who respond to feelings of being overwhelmed with simple solution narratives and finger-pointing. Threat scenarios are fuelled by right-wing actors via social media and an alleged culprit is identified as an ‘enemy’ that needs to be confronted to improve one’s own situation and prevent worse things from happening. Politicians are increasingly becoming the enemy, as they are the ones who have had to make difficult political decisions in the context of the coronavirus pandemic or refugee crisis. It often becomes less abstract and more personal when local politicians, for example, are held responsible for a decision to open a new refugee centre in their community. The head of the Federal Criminal Police Office recently said commented recently about the politics of right-wing parties that employ such enemy stereotypes: ‘Every political actor who does not contribute to an objective discourse but instead creates scapegoats – the keywords being ‘foreigner problem’ and ‘remigration’ – contributes to this polarisation.’

Echo chambers on social media and a continuous stylisation of scapegoats can cause individuals to see verbal and, in the worst cases, physical violence as a legitimate or even necessary means of resistance or change. How people become radicalised in this way is a complex and non-linear process, but when it leads to violence against politicians, it is essentially based on such enemy images. The aim is then rarely to harm a particular person. On the contrary, as with many acts of violence and especially those that are categorised as extremist, these are signal acts against representatives of a hated political system that are also intended to intimidate others. However complex the individual process leading to violence may be, it usually begins with feelings of powerlessness, which make people susceptible to scapegoating narratives and can lead in one way or another to the conviction that action must be taken against those people, in the case of violence against politicians either individual culprits or abstract representatives of the system (for literature on this topic, see for example Berger 2018, Mølmen and Ravndal 2021 or Herath and Whittaker 2021).

The next VORTEX blog post in October will focus on the consequences of these developments that endanger democracy and describe what measures have already been taken in Germany to counter this phenomenon both preventively and repressively as well as to support those affected.

Introduction

On 22 July 2011, Anders Breivik carried out the deadliest terrorist attack in Norway’s history, killing 77 and injuring 320 others. In the hours before he commenced his attack, Breivik first uploaded his 1,518 page manifesto, A European Declaration of Independence – 2083 to the internet.

Breivik’s manifesto has since become “the baton in a relay race of extremists, passed from one terrorist murderer to the next through online communities”, as extremism researcher J.M Berger has remarked. Ever since the Christchurch attacks in 2019, a chain of far-right mass shootings has unfolded involving perpetrators who similarly distributed their manifesto online prior to their attacks. This Insight will reflect on the legacy of the 22 July attacks in establishing the template subsequent far-right terrorists have imitated, examining the evolution of online manifestos since the 2011 attacks and the legacy of Breivik’s manifesto within far-right digital subcultures.

Background: The 2011 Norway attacks and Breivik’s manifesto

On the afternoon of 22 July, Breivik parked a rental van packed with homemade explosives outside buildings in the Government Quarter in central Oslo. After he switched vehicles and drove away from the area, the bomb exploded, killing eight and injuring over 200. Less than two hours later, he then arrived at Utøya island, where the Labour Party-affiliated youth organisation the Workers’ Youth League (AUF) held their annual summer camp. Once ashore, he immediately began firing at the attendees. For over one hour, he roamed the island and killed indiscriminately, murdering 69 people, nearly half of whom were under eighteen. The massacre ended when he eventually surrendered to police.

In Breivik’s court testimony, he claimed the primary objective of his attack was to gain publicity for his manifesto, which he described as a “compendium” made up of three “books”. In the first book, he provided a quasi-historical overview of Islamic imperialism and set out to counter what he perceived as an anti-European “revisionism” of history. Book two, titled “Europe Burning”, described the threat to Europe by “Cultural Marxism” and “Islamisation”. Finally, book three, “A Declaration of preemptive War”, consisted of a self-interview, a detailed manual for terrorist actions, and diary entries documenting his preparations up to the day of the attack. 

A template for terror?

In comparison with the post-Christchurch wave of attacks, Breivik’s 2011 atrocity stands out for two reasons. First, Breivik attacked those he perceived as “traitors”, namely, ‘Cultural Marxists’ whom he deemed responsible for facilitating the “destruction” and “Islamisation” of Europe. Jacob Ware has characterised this target selection as a rare example of a far-right attack against the “near enemy”, borrowing the salafi-jihadist differentiation between the “near enemy”, represented by pro-Western regimes in Muslim countries, and the “far enemy”, referring to the United States, who supported them. Most far-right attacks since Breivik, including those in Christchurch, Poway, and El Paso, have targeted what they perceive as far enemies, such as Muslims, Jews, and minority communities viewed as outsiders and invaders. Far-right attacks against the near enemy hardly occur, with the exception of isolated cases like the murder of British Labour MP Jo Cox in 2016. 

Secondly, Breivik’s attack method – a combination of car bombing and shooting- has not been replicated since. As Macklin and Bjørgo note, this suggests his tactical influence was limited. Breivik, who originally wanted to build three bombs but adapted his plans due to limited resources, initiated his attack by detonating a 950 kg bomb made of a mixture of ammonium nitrate fertiliser and fuel oil (ANFO), just as Timothy McVeigh used in the 1995 Oklahoma City bombing. Today, mass shootings have instead emerged as the sole favoured tactic in far-right terrorist attacks, although this is likely down to the complexity of explosives and comparative simplicity of firearms.

While Breivik’s atrocity remains distinct for these reasons, his act of combining a manifesto with his attack has been his defining legacy which continues to be repeated. This is evidenced through Brenton Tarrant, the perpetrator of the 2019 Christchurch attacks, who serves as the closest example of an attacker to be influenced by Breivik and the catalyst for further copycat attacks. Tarrant’s livestream and viral manifesto enabled his long-lasting infamy in comparison to Breivik, with mentions of his name in subsequent manifestos far outnumbering mentions of any other figure. Nevertheless, Breivik still holds an indirect influence on post-Christchurch terrorists through Tarrant, “who structured his own manifesto along the same lines that Breivik had”, such as borrowing his use of a self-interview format. 

Then and now: Comparing manifestos at a glance

There are similarities between Breivik’s manifesto and those of the post-Christchurch wave. The aforementioned self-interview format initially used by Breivik, was subsequently repeated by others and serves as the most clear residual textual trace in later manifestos. Another similarity is the copying of texts from other sources. Much of Breivik’s text was plagiarised from both the depths of the counter-jihad blogosphere, reflecting the predominant far-right ecosystem of his era, and from sections of Unabomber Ted Kaczynski’s manifesto. The perpetrator of the 2022 Buffalo shooting, Peyton Gendron, similarly plagiarised Kaczynski and much of Tarrant’s manifesto, highlighting how manifestos can still be composed of recycled material.

In addition, there is considerable space given to discussing weaponry. Breivik included extensive and highly detailed information on weapons, including instructional advice for future attackers, descriptions of how he acquired firearms, trained to shoot, sought chemicals and produced explosives. This phenomenon has been repeated in several post-Christchurch manifestos. This theme in manifestos provides practical guidance and inspiration for future terrorists, with the attackers often justifying their firearm selection and evaluating the merits or weaknesses of their weapons. 

Despite the similarities, there are also striking differences between Breivik’s compendium and the post-Christchurch manifestos. Firstly, at 1,518 pages, the length of Breivik’s document is remarkably extensive. The length of the manifestos released in connection with the attacks in Christchurch (74 pages), Poway (7 pages), El Paso (10 pages), Halle (11 pages), Buffalo (180 pages), Bratislava (65 pages) and Jacksonville (27 pages) are each considerably shorter and much more digestible, therefore increasing their accessibility within the far-right extremist milieu. 

Secondly, technological affordances, such as live streaming, enhanced connectivity and apps, have altered how manifestos are uploaded and distributed since 2011. To spread his manifesto, Breivik uploaded it on neo-Nazi forum Stormfront and spent months “email farming”, using two Facebook profiles to add thousands of friends who shared his far-right views, collecting 8109 email addresses. On the day of his attack, he discovered a spam filter only allowed him to send 1000 emails per day, disrupting his distribution strategy and delaying his plans. It has been speculated this saved lives in the Government Quarter. Many had left the area by the time of his bombing. In addition, former prime minister Gro Harlem Brundtland, who visited Utøya on the day of his attack and was a main target, had left by the time Breivik arrived. 

In contrast to Breivik’s experience, post-2019 manifestos were more easily uploaded into digital far-right communities. These manifestos have typically been shared as PDF files on message boards like 8chan, through file hosting service links, or on Telegram. These communities are able to archive and distribute the manifestos quickly and effectively.  

Thirdly, shifts within the digital far-right culture have altered both the production and dissemination strategies of manifestos. Unlike Breivik, Tarrant deployed an informal writing style, incorporating humour, trolling and references to niche memes and in-jokes, which catered to the chan culture he and later far-right terrorists were linked to. This strategic use of humour has been continued by several attackers, including the Jacksonville gunman, who typed his manifesto in Comic Sans font, the Halle shooter, who made anime chan culture references, or the Poway attacker, who referred to jokes about carrying out violence in Minecraft. However, not all far-right shooters inspired by Tarrant have adopted this tone, such as Patrick Crusius, (El Paso), whose much more resigned manner was met with an ambivalent response by some 8chan users. 

Meme culture has also influenced the dissemination of the manifestos. Tarrant’s post, sharing his manifesto and announcing his attack, also called for supporters to “do your part by spreading my message, making memes and shitposting as you usually do”. In contrast, Breivik’s request for readers to “distribute this book to everyone you know”, came with lengthy instructions on storing, translating and converting the document to different file types. 

In terms of the content of Breivik’s compendium, his text is dry, long-winded and presented in an overly-detailed and serious manner. It is perhaps his comparatively boring and monotonous tone that explains the lesser popularity and lack of a deep engagement with his writings among far-right online communities. A glance through references to Breivik’s manifesto in Terrorgram publications reveals his first two books dealing with history and ideology are never cited. The passages engaged with are all taken from ‘Book 3’, “A Declaration of preemptive War” which focused more on his planning of terrorist operations. 

In one such example, the Terrorgram publication ‘Militant Accelerationism’ uses a quote from “Saint Anders Breivik”, for their call for violence in a poster promoting community building through lone actor violence: “This is the big day you have been looking forward to for so long. Countless hours and perhaps years of preparation have rewarded you with this opportunity. Equip yourself and arm up, for today you will become immortal.” In another Terrorgram publication, titled “Do It For The Gram”, a pseudonymous author celebrates and finds humour in Breivik’s explosive manufacturing “lab notes”, which showcased occasional and rare instances of lightheartedness from the terrorist. 

These cases illustrate how far-right digital communities engage with Breivik’s manifesto, by not delving into his ideological writings, but aligning with their glorification of violence and positive reception to humour. This is consistent with observations of Lars Erik Berntzen and Jacob Aasland Ravndal, who examined Breivik’s legacy within the Siege subculture, noting Siege “propaganda never seemed to take much interest in Breivk’s writings, ideas, or person. In many ways, as a self-styled Christian crusader, Breivik may actually have come across as too “straight-edge” and boring for this particular subculture, characterised by its esoteric Nazi-occultism and keen interest in figures such as Charles Manson.”

Conclusion

The legacy of Breivik’s manifesto has been mixed. While Breivik played an important role in the evolution of what has become a ritualised practice in far-right terrorist violence, there does not seem to be serious engagement with his ideological writings in contemporary digital far-right communities, or the manifestos of subsequent attackers. This is likely in part due his text being eclipsed by the emergence of the chain of much more engaging and digestible manifestos in recent years. However, as Macklin and Bjørgo have noted, while Tarrant did more to inspire future terrorists to produce their own manifestos, it was Breivik’s influence which was transmitted through Tarrant and has endured through the chain reaction of the copycat and contagion effect of subsequent far-right mass shooters, whether they did so wittingly or not. 

Meanwhile, when assessing how online manifestos have evolved since 2011, there are clear similarities between Breivik’s manifesto and those published by post-2019 attackers. These include the use of a self-interview format, incidents of plagiarism and extensive discussions on weaponry. However, there are also many differences, which reflect new technological affordances and the shift in the cultural milieu, characterised by increased use of social media and meme culture, in which far-right ideology and the promotion of terrorist violence now thrives. Post-2019 manifestos are considerably shorter and written in a more informal style, making them more digestible for extremist actors and easy to replicate. In addition, they have been distributed among subcultural communities of effective propagandists. 

In response to the continued threat posed by far-right terrorist attacks, we must remember the important role manifestos play in inspiring acts of violence. Hashing databases can store hashes of known manifestos along with any of their translated versions. Effective crisis and incident response protocols can help quickly identify further documents produced and circulated in connection to future attacks, so that platforms can quickly identify and remove the content. However, we should also take into consideration that while future manifestos are likely to continue to imitate their predecessors, they are also likely to evolve through innovative strategies of production and distribution as part of an adversarial shift. It is imperative to keep one step ahead and anticipate their continued evolution, and develop effective strategies flexible enough to counter tactical developments in the future. 

This blog post was originally published as an Insight for the Global Network on Extremism & Technology website (GNET).

INTRODUCTION

In 2005, a French author named Giséle Littman published, under the pseudonym Bat Ye’or, a book entitled Eurabia – The Euro-Arab Axis. The text states that “ever since the early 1970s, the European Union was secretly conspiring with the Arab League to bring about a ‘Eurabia’ on the continent” (Bergmann 2021: 39). In 2011, another French author called Renaud Camus published a book entitled The Great Replacement, that “argued that European civilisation and identity was at risk of being subsumed by mass migration, especially from Muslim countries, and because of low birth rates among the native French people” (Ibid, 37). Even though these books may have introduced the “fear of cultural subversion”, the full conspiracy theory “usually also takes the form of accusing a domestic elite of betraying the ‘good ordinary people’ into the hands of the external evil” (Ibid, 38).

How, then, can we define the Eurabia conspiracy theory in concise terms? First, let us take a step back and look into the definition of conspiracy theory, in a more general sense: Conspiracy theory can be defined as a representation in the form of a narrative that explains an event or circumstance as being the result of a group of people with covert and malicious intentions (adapted from Leone et al. 2020: 44 and Birchall 2006: 34). From this, the definition of the Eurabia conspiracy theory may thus be: the European continent is being transformed into an Islamic society through the destruction of white Christian civilisation, brought about by the secret alliance between Muslims, the domestic elites of Europe, and left-wing cultural-Marxists (adapted from Bergmann 2021 and Gualda 2021). This conspiracy theory in particular “has been one of the most fast-growing amongst Neo-Nationalists, rooting in countries like Austria, Denmark, Germany, Italy”, the UK, the Netherlands, and Belgium (Bergmann, 2021: 37).

Given the relevance of this topic, this short exploratory presentation aims to semiotically analyse the messages from a white supremacist Telegram group, with the help of digital humanities methodologies, seeking language patterns that can potentially assist in the codification of cultural meanings and in the formation of these anti-Muslim ideological clusters on Telegram. This presentation regards work that is still in-progress, as I am nearing the end of my first year of the PhD course.

MATERIALS AND METHODS

Unfortunately, I am unable to share the name of the Telegram group from which I obtained my data, as it is sensitive information protected by the GDPR.

The data that I obtained from the group was the textual (non-pictorial) content of messages sent from its administrator to the channel’s subscribers (which are a total of 12.5 thousand accounts). The messages were collected from October 1^st to December 31^st, 2023, manually (one by one), totalling 168 messages. My intention is to automate this process in the future. Seeing how this was my first test, I thought it would suffice to collect this amount manually for now.

The data was compiled on a .txt file, which was then uploaded to Voyant – an open-source web-based text reading and analysis environment which was designed to facilitate reading and interpretive practices for digital humanities students and scholars.

After uploading the file to Voyant, this is the control panel that I was working with:

PRELIMINARY RESULTS

I explored some of Voyant’s available tools that could help me in identifying language patterns, starting with the ‘Collocates’:

The ‘Collocates’ list provides the terms that occur near certain keywords. The highlighted words – for example “genocide”, “work”, “victory”, “run” – are built-in categories from Voyant, that serve to classify words “positive” (green) and “negative” (red). Voyant allows you to edit those categories, but since I am not doing sentiment analysis, there was no need to consider them for now. Even so, it may be interesting to see how “immigrants” are mostly associated with words such as “genocide”, “threats”, and “run”, while the word “white” appears together with “work” and “victory”. Other relevant associations may be the collocates: “white” + “replacement”; “genocide” + “Europeans” + “Europe”; “immigrants” + “tax” + “payer”; and “immigrants” + “illegals”.

With this first list only, it is already possible to see how one does not need to read all 168 messages in order to get a picture of the discourse contained in this Telegram group, which I believe to be the point of such tools – to facilitate analysis of large datasets.

Moving on to the next panel (below), it is possible to see the most common words of the file, and if one hovers the mouse over a term, the terms that occur near to that word are highlighted. This provides for better visualisation, since it allows one keyword to be related to more than just one other term, like in the previous table. In turn, each of such terms is further related to other collocates, forming a web of most common keywords and the most common terms found near them in the text.

I highlighted a few segments that seemed most relevant:

The first one surrounds the word “immigrants”, which is linked to, again, ‘tax’ and ‘payer’, but also to ‘living’, ‘quietly’, and ‘numbers’. The word ‘quietly’ points to the conspiratorial nature of the immigration phenomenon, implying that there is a secret agenda behind it.

The next image centres around the word ‘muslim’ (in singular), which is here linked to ‘germany’, ‘team’, ‘police’, ‘post’, and ‘world’. This data is a bit harder to interpret. We know from the image on the left bottom corner that ‘hitler’ is also one of the most popular terms used in the Telegram group, and considering how this is a white supremacist group, it is unsurprising that Germany gets many mentions, given the country’s history with such movements. Yet, terms like ‘team’, ‘post’, and ‘world’ do not provide for clear analytical results. 

The third image (on the upper right), centres around the term ‘immigration’, which is linked to ‘scale’, ‘life’, ‘reported’, ‘invaders’, and ‘start’. Here, we have a clearer picture of the discourse, especially with the word ‘invaders’, which is also connected, in its turn, to ‘jewish’ and to ‘knife’.

On the bottom left corner, we have the web surrounding the word ‘muslims’ (in plural), linked to ‘christmas’ (I collected the messages during the month of December, so it makes sense), ‘ww2’, ‘war’, ‘settlers’, and again ‘germany’. In this case, perhaps ‘settlers’ is the most significant meaning-making term.

Finally, regarding the word ‘european’, we may see ‘genocide’, ‘happening’, ‘world’, ‘police’, and again ‘scale’. It is important to point out that ‘genocide’ is here linked to ‘european’, not with ‘muslim’. However, we saw from the collocate list that it can also be found near the word ‘immigrant’, despite it not showing in this visualization form.

Lastly, I would also like to share results obtained from the ‘Trends’ tool, which offered me the following graph:

It measures the occurrence of these selected terms over the course of the manuscript, and since the file contains the messages in order of post, it also reflects passage of time. The extreme left represents the start of October while the right represents the end of December. Here, it is interesting to note how the term ‘muslim’ only appears at the end, and in a couple of curves (around segments 38 to 47 – probably around November) it coincides with occurrences of the term ‘immigrants’ and ‘genocide’. However, from previous analysis, we see that ‘genocide’ is not a collocate of ‘muslim’, but it may be of ‘immigrant’ and surely is of ‘european’. This graph indicates that terms appear roughly in the same segment of the document, but not necessarily in the same sentences. Besides, the fact that the term Europa appears throughout the document is also important to consider, which makes it hard to interpret these curves as meaningful.

DISCUSSION

According to the literature, in Eurabia and Great Replacement discourses, ‘Islam’ is associated with “evil, crime and barbarism”, as well as other “harmful characteristics and ideological markers that enhance polarised, emotional and simplifying visions of social reality” (Gualda 2021: 57). It is “typically represented as backwards, fanatic and violent”, as well as a totalitarian political doctrine (Dyrendal 2020: 374), while Muslims themselves “are generally portrayed as a homogeneous group of violent and authoritative religious fundamentalists” (Bergmann 2021: 42). Muslim individuals are seen as “mere executors of a religiously based, collective will” and, consequently, since Islam is itself seen as fundamentalist in nature, “every believer will be made to follow its radical version” (Dyrendal 2020:  374). In this sense, the idea of ‘Islam’ is seen as being a uniting factor for all Muslims, that unites them “in a common plan for domination” (Ibid).

In this sense, the “Eurabia conspiracy theory has often become entangled in a more general opposition to immigration” (Bergmann 2021: 40), connected to political statements of failed integration (Ekman 2022: 1128) – which are based around the notion that Western societies are homogeneous, and that Muslims and other migrants are unable to integrate into them (Gualda 2021; Ekman 2022) – or to the notion that “incorporation of diversity, multiculturalism or other elements of Islam or the Muslim world into [Western] culture” will mean the total collapse of society, which will become a colony of Islam (Gualda 2021: 61-62). In other words, the arrival of “new norms, habits and customs brought by the foreign population […] could influence the disappearance of one’s own culture” (Ibid), turning immigration into an ‘invasion’ that threatens people’s culture and identity – as it was possible to see from the results of the quantitative analysis, which pointed to how ‘muslims’ and ‘immigrants’ are often linked to terms such as ‘invaders’ and ‘settlers’.

In general, the Eurabia conspiracy theory was brought firmly into the political mainstream by the financial crisis of 2008 and later the refugee crisis of 2015 (Bergmann 2021: 48-49). Nowadays, it is common to find political leaders who propagate Great Replacement and/or Eurabia conspiracy theories (Ekman 2022: 1127). As we see such Islamophobic and anti-immigration radical discourses become more popular, we also see them become normalized, especially across new media platforms such as Telegram.

CONCLUSION

As means of conclusion, considering this work is still in-progress, I can point to how automatization is dearly needed for such research – the more data, the more accurate the analysis. Another issue is that there are limits to how much semiotic analysis can be done on top of these quantitative results; how much can actually be accurately interpreted from these lists, graphs, and flowcharts? So much of semiotic analysis depends on context, therefore it is still hard to see how we can carry out analysis in large scale without losing said context. Nevertheless, I still believe there is much need for the development of such methodology, since when it comes to social media, scholars need to work with increasingly larger texts.

REFERENCES

Bergmann, E. (2021). The Eurabia conspiracy theory. In: Önnerfors, A., & Krouwel, A. (Eds.), Europe: Continent of Conspiracies: Conspiracy Theories in and about Europe. Routledge, 36-53.

Birchall, C. (2006). Knowledge goes pop: From conspiracy theory to gossip. Berg Publishers.

Dyrendal, A. (2020). Conspiracy Theory and Religion. In: Butter, M., Knight, P. (Eds.), Routledge Handbook of Conspiracy Theories. Routledge, 304-316.

Ekman, M. (2022). The great replacement: Strategic mainstreaming of far-right conspiracy claims. Convergence, 28(4), 1127-1143.

Gualda, E. (2021). Metaphors of Invasion, Imagining Europe as Endangered by Islamisation. In: Önnerfors, A., & Krouwel, A. (Eds.), Europe: Continent of Conspiracies: Conspiracy Theories in and about Europe. Routledge, 54-75.

Leone, M., Madisson, M., & Ventsel, A. (2020). Semiotic Approaches to Conspiracy Theories. In: Butter, M., Knight, P. (Eds.), Routledge Handbook of Conspiracy Theories. Routledge, 43-55.

With initiatives aimed at countering extremism, their organization and structure exhibit notable differences across nations. This diversity is already evident in Europe, where various countries adopted either rather centralized models with one main actor, such as the United Kingdom and France, or decentralized approaches, as seen in Sweden, Denmark, and Norway (Koehler, 2021). Such variance extends to the involvement of state and civil society actors, as well as the modes of cooperation among affiliated institutions and organizations. In combining rather security-oriented state actors and non-security actors within civil society, prevention has often been regarded to be hybrid in nature. In ultimately working towards a common goal, the diversity of actors, programs, and approaches provides an opportunity to respond to different target groups or specific contexts. At the same time, potential conflicts between the actors may arise on the basis of diverging standards in training or funding as well as different understandings and practices among the professional fields (Sivenbring & Malmros, 2021; Walkenhorst & Ruf, 2018). In addressing the potential tensions, projects like icommit aim to support local collaborations. Nevertheless, the question remains as to how the associated objectives and approaches are ultimately negotiated and implemented in practice. This topic requires further empirical research, which will be taken up within the VORTEX network.

When distinguishing between the approaches of societal security and non-security actors in preventing and countering violent extremism (P/CVE) the terms ‘soft’ and ‘hard’ are often used (Hardy, 2023). So-called soft approaches adhering to civil society organizations conducting largely pedagogical measures compliment hard ones, which encompass legal prosecution and incarceration (Aly et al., 2015). However, the distinction between these approaches is often blurred in practice. Security and non-security approaches to radicalization and extremism often not only coexist, but also intersect to different extents in multi-agency settings (Malmros & Sivenbring, 2023; Ragazzi & de Jongh, 2019). Such temporary or permanent cooperation often involves police officers, social workers and teachers among others allowing “knowledge, information or operational space” to be combined (Haugstvedt & Tuastad, 2023; Sivenbring & Malmros, 2019). Thus, prevention efforts provide a hybrid field that is characterized by distinct but often overlapping responsibilities, objectives and methods (Baaken et al., 2018; Blomgren & Waks, 2015; Gøtzsche-Astrup et al., 2023; Sivenbring & Malmros, 2021). 

With this approach, bridges can be built between those differences. It “appears to be a key in pushing forward innovations and securing the most adaptable network for reaching the largest possible target group” (Koehler, 2021, p. 74). As radicalization processes can be very diverse and dynamic, key figures in prevention work can vary over time (Young et al., 2015). Teachers, for example, spend a lot of time with children and adolescents and may notice signs of socio-psychological deviations. However, when it comes to averting criminal incidents of students, taking the police on board becomes a relevant issue. Thereby, it “has increasingly been considered a promising approach to enable the early and effective identification of individuals and communities that are at risk of radicalization and violent extremism” (Hardyns et al., 2022, p. 5). Allowing such overlaps in P/CVE provides the possibility to flexibly adapt to current situations and specific contexts and has become a generally accepted practice in many countries (Haugstvedt & Tuastad, 2023; Koehler, 2021). 

However, there are also challenges that come with this diversity of programs and actors among which are: unequal standards regarding training and financial funding for governmental compared to non-governmental actors, evaluation of preventive effects, and the combination of “values and practices associated with multiple distinct field- or societal-level logics” inherent to hybridity (Battilana et al., 2017, p. 137; s. also Koehler, 2021). In general, police and security services are rather concerned with the security and safety of citizens and public facilities and rely on repressive measures. Whereas non-societal security actors like teachers, social or youth workers focus on the well-being of individuals or groups that practitioners work with and intends to support, help or emancipate. Thus, when those distinct approaches overlap, practitioners might encounter ambivalences and contradictions regarding their role and self-understanding in the programs they are involved in (Pache & Santos, 2013). Besides, it has often been feared that the security approach will dominate pedagogical work and make use of and potentially impede the relationships of trust between civil society organizations and the broader society (Haugstvedt & Tuastad, 2023).

Although these logics appear quite two-pronged and static, logics might co-exist, mix or compete with each other, especially in these hybrid prevention contexts (Sivenbring & Malmros, 2019). However, in mapping the prevention perspectives of the different professional groups in the individual countries on a single continuum, the two logics were conceived as contradictory (Gøtzsche-Astrup et al., 2023). While this conceptualization allows for an overview on how the logics are regarded on average within different professional fields, it does not reveal in which specific ways they might mix or compete and how they are implemented in turn on the ground. An approach to support practitioners has been developed by icommit, for example, to improve local cooperation and case analyses from a social work perspective. Recommendations include among others to strengthen the ability to switch perspectives, to integrate the diverging logics and to reflect on different approaches to P/CVE (Harris et al., 2023). What still requires further investigation is how logics might be integrated and consequently guide management and implementation of prevention in hybrid settings, offering further insights into and for prevention practice. These open questions are frequently discussed within the Research Area C of VORTEX (Countering Radicalisation). Also, my own dissertation on overlaps of prevention approaches aims to contribute to the understanding of practitioners’ negotiation of P/CVE logics. 

Sources

Aly, A., Balbi, A.-M., & Jacques, C. (2015). Rethinking countering violent extremism: Implementing the role of civil society. Journal of Policing, Intelligence and Counter Terrorism, 10(1), 3–13. https://doi.org/10.1080/18335330.2015.1028772

Baaken, T., Becker, R., Bjørgo, T., Kiefer, M., Korn, J., Mücke, T., Ruf, M., & Walkenhorst, D. (with Hessische Stiftung Friedens- und Konfliktforschung). (2018). Herausforderung Deradikalisierung: Einsichten aus Wissenschaft und Praxis. Leibniz-Institut Hessische Stiftung Friedens- und Konfliktforschung (HSFK).

Battilana, J., Besharov, M., & Mitzinneck, B. (2017). On hybrids and hybrid organizing: A review and roadmap for future research. The SAGE Handbook of Organizational Institutionalism, 2, 128–162.

Blomgren, M., & Waks, C. (2015). Coping with contradictions: Hybrid professionals managing institutional complexity. Journal of Professions and Organization, 2(1), 78–102. https://doi.org/10.1093/jpo/jou010

Gøtzsche-Astrup, O., Lindekilde, L., Maria Fjellman, A., Bjørgo, T., Solhjell, R., Haugstvedt, H., Sivenbring, J., Andersson Malmros, R., Kangasniemi, M., Moilanen, T., Magnæs, I., Wilchen Christensen, T., & Mattsson, C. (2023). Trust in interagency collaboration: The role of institutional logics and hybrid professionals. Journal of Professions and Organization, 10(1), 65–79. https://doi.org/10.1093/jpo/joac022

Hardy, K. (2023). Rethinking CVE and public health prevention. In J. Busher, L. Malkki, & S. Marsden, The Routledge Handbook on Radicalisation and Countering Radicalisation (1st ed., pp. 355–368). Routledge. https://doi.org/10.4324/9781003035848-27

Hardyns, W., Klima, N., & Pauwels, L. (Eds.). (2022). Evaluation and mentoring of the multi-agency approach to violent radicalisation in Belgium, the Netherlands and Germany. Maklu.

Harris, G., Korn, A., Ohlenforst, V., Scheuble, S., Selby, A., & White, J. (2023). Walk A Mile—A practice-rooted guide to P/CVE collaboration & casework. https://multiagencycooperation.eu/wp-content/uploads/icommit-final-publication-en.pdf

Haugstvedt, H., & Tuastad, S. E. (2023). “It Gets a Bit Messy”: Norwegian Social Workers’ Perspectives on Collaboration with Police and Security Service on Cases of Radicalisation and Violent Extremism. Terrorism and Political Violence, 35(3), 677–693. https://doi.org/10.1080/09546553.2021.1970541

Koehler, D. (2021). Deradicalisation in Germany: Preventing and countering violent extremism. Revista CIDOB d’Afers Internacionals, 128, 59–79. https://doi.org/10.24241/rcai.2021.128.2.59

Malmros, R. A., & Sivenbring, J. (2023). Multi-agency approaches to countering radicalisation. In J. Busher, L. Malkki, & S. Marsden, The Routledge Handbook on Radicalisation and Countering Radicalisation (1st ed., pp. 369–383). Routledge. https://doi.org/10.4324/9781003035848-28

Pache, A.-C., & Santos, F. (2013). Embedded in Hybrid Contexts: How Individuals in Organizations Respond to Competing Institutional Logics. In M. Lounsbury & E. Boxenbaum (Eds.), Research in the Sociology of Organizations(pp. 3–35). Emerald Group Publishing Limited. https://doi.org/10.1108/S0733-558X(2013)0039b014

Ragazzi, F., & de Jongh, L.-A. (2019). COUNTERING RADICALIZATION: HIJACKING TRUST? DILEMMAS OF STREET-LEVEL BUREAUCRATS IN THE NETHERLANDS. In RADICALIZATION IN BELGIUM AND THE NETHERLANDS – CRITICAL PERSPECTIVES ON VIOLENCE AND SECURITY (pp. 147–167). I.B. Tauris.

Sivenbring, J., & Malmros, R. A. (2019). Mixing Logics: Multiagency Approaches for Countering Violent Extremism. Gothenburg: the Segerstedt Institute.

Sivenbring, J., & Malmros, R. A. (2021). Collaboration in Hybrid Spaces: The Case of Nordic Efforts to Counter Violent Extremism.

Walkenhorst, D., & Ruf, M. (2018). „Vertrauen ist gut, Kontrolle ist besser “? Sicherheitspolitisches vs. Pädagogisches Handeln in der Extremismusprävention. Von Drachenfels, Magdalena/Philipp Offermann/Carmen Wunderlich, Radikalisierung Und De-Radikalisierung in Deutschland, Eine Gesamtgesellschaftliche Herausforderung, 1, 101–106.

Young, H. F., Rooze, M., & Holsappel, J. (2015). Translating conceptualizations into practical suggestions: What the literature on radicalization can offer to practitioners. Peace and Conflict: Journal of Peace Psychology, 21(2), 212–225. https://doi.org/10.1037/pac0000065

In times when research on extremism and radicalization is more vital than ever, it is worth reminding ourselves what we are doing and why it matters. Organized by the Center for Research on Extremism at the University of Oslo, the 6th Nordic Conference on Violent Extremism was a perfect occasion not only for researchers and practitioners to discuss the burning issues in the field but also to reflect on how violent extremism can cause pain on human society and why we as researchers should keep in mind the societal relevance of what we do.

While we were honored to represent our Doctoral Network at the conference, with Camilla Winde Gissel, Lotta Rahlf, and Rohan Stevenson presenting their research in a panel on “Prevention of extremism in the Nordic countries” and me chairing the panel on “Perspectives on prevention: Educational, local, and national approaches,” this blog post is not about our accomplishments to the conference, but rather about some of the conference moments that will have a lasting imprint on the field as such.

The first day of the conference was on the island of Utøya. For me, Utøya used to be exclusively connected to the notorious events of July 22, 2011. This view was drastically altered by our guide, Maria Moen Østby. While constructing the chronicle of what happened that day, it was remarkable how she could channel this pain by telling us the stories of countless friendships and relationships that began in these exact buildings, meadows, and pathways. She urged us to try to process the full spectrum of the events on this island. Her reconciliatory tone was a major highlight of the conference.

The second day started with a presentation by Tina Askanius from Malmö University on “Gender, Misogyny, and Far-Right Extremism.” As our fellow VORTEX member Leena Malkki has rightly pointed out, she showed everyone “how to deliver a keynote.” Drawing from her personal experience and complicated relationship with her late father, she reminded the audience of the dire reality that misogyny, racism, and any other type of discrimination is far from being a research subject within the field, with many researchers having hands-on life experiences on it.

Additionally, Tina Askanius brought attention to the plentiful works presented at the conference concerning extremist behavior targeted toward women and sexual minorities. Around 20% of papers and panels were related to anti-gender politics and misogynist extremism. While most are about the ongoing socio-political developments, Celestine Kunkeler presented valuable research on the history of anti-trans politics and how it serves as a basis for the current political developments in this domain. The audience also found this research fruitful with Ov Cristian Norocel correctly highlighting that while we, researchers, are preoccupied studying contemporary developments because “shit happens,” we also need to pay some attention to the historical developments because “shit happened.”

Of specific interest is a growing line of research on manosphere and incel subculture. Increasingly becoming a hot topic, especially among early-stage researchers, papers outline the online and offline environments where misogynistic ideas proliferate. Particular importance was given to how humor, memes, and nostalgia play as an instrument for such proliferation.

The three days in Oslo and Utøya undoubtedly left some mark on me and gave me some points for reflection. I feel that I was not the only participant to leave the conference with such thoughts. The Aarhus University will host the next edition of the conference in September 2025.

Read more: Overview of panels and presented papers at the 6^th Nordic Conference on Violent Extremism.

Preventing and countering violent extremism (P/CVE) has become a label summarising an array of initiatives united by the very goal it describes. Yet such initiatives take on varying forms in different European countries. The measures deemed effective, the specific threats targeted, and the stakeholders involved can differ greatly from one nation to another (cf. Maniscalco and Rosato 2019). How countries in Europe currently differ in their P/CVE efforts and in the production and management of knowledge about it and why lies at the centre of Lotta Rahlf’s country-comparative VORTEX dissertation project. Specific approaches, such as multi-agency arrangements, seem to work very well in some contexts, for example in the Nordic countries, where they have already been established for general crime prevention and are embedded in close-knit societies (cf. Sivenbring and Malmros 2019). In other countries, a clear division of roles between public and civil society actors can be observed (cf. Hardy 2019). Despite these differences and context dependencies, similarities can be identified when experts are asked what they perceive as problematic or challenging about their P/CVE landscape. This is precisely what the researcher did as part of an expert survey in which 41 experts from 20 European countries had taken part by the time of the analysis. This blogpost summarises the most frequently mentioned tensions, offering a snapshot of current tensions facing P/CVE efforts in Europe.

A first look at the responses suggests that tensions are always identified when a variety of different actors are engaged in P/CVE initiatives in a given country. In nations where P/CVE efforts are primarily or exclusively managed by public or state authorities, such as Belgium, Austria, Greece, and Slovakia, this approach is often viewed as insufficient. Experts argue that violent extremism cannot be effectively countered with predominantly repressive measures, as these do not target individuals who have not yet committed offenses. In addition, many countries face unclear delineation of competencies among various state actors, and this is not limited to federally organised nations. In federal or decentralised states, such as Austria or Spain, ambiguity often arises between local, regional, and national authorities, affecting both steering and planning responsibilities as well as policing duties. In centralised and unitary states, the division of labour between intelligence services and the police, such as in Norway, or among different police authorities, as seen in Portugal, remains unclear.

Where civil society actors carry out P/CVE initiatives alongside security authorities, the tensions and challenges described by the experts are similar in many European countries. The most frequently cited issue by experts is the clash of different logics between these groups. This divergence not only complicates cooperation but also exacerbates structural problems, such as the financial insecurity faced by many civil society P/CVE actors. What logic does preventing and countering violent extremism follow? Should it aim to prevent individuals from posing a risk to society, or should it seek to strengthen resilience against extremist recruitment attempts? Security and law enforcement agencies typically favour the former approach, aligning with their mandate to protect society and prosecute criminal offenses. In contrast, civil society organisations, which do not have such a mandate, adopt a care logic. Their focus is on supporting individuals to become more resilient to extremist narratives and to fulfil their needs in ways other than joining extremist organisations. In several European countries, these different logics conflict with each other, sometimes to such an extent that they hinder effective cooperation, for example in Belgium, Denmark, Italy, Czech Republic, the Netherlands, or Germany. As one participant from the Netherlands observed, actors ‘don’t always speak the same language or have the same objectives or visions related to P/CVE’. 

Experts from various countries also highlight issues with implementing an ‘inter-agency’ or ‘multi-agency’ approach to P/CVE in their countries (e.g., Bulgaria, Slovakia). One significant problem is the inability or unwillingness of different actors to share confidential data and information with each other. Social services and counselling organisations, for instance, prioritise protecting their clients’ privacy, which is crucial for their effectiveness and trustworthiness. Meanwhile, security authorities often withhold information referring to security concerns (e.g., Denmark, Norway, Austria). Another challenge lies in standardising information while ensuring it is communicated in a situation-specific manner without data loss, as an Austrian respondent noted. Lastly, mutual mistrust stemming from past negative experiences can hinder cooperation among stakeholders (e.g., Romania). Despite these challenges, some countries have made notable progress. In Denmark, for example, coordination between the state, research institutions, and practice has improved significantly over the past decade. Furthermore, despite all the tensions, the added value of such multi-agency collaborations remained emphasised.

Another problem identified by the experts in several countries concerns the insecure financial footing of P/CVE measures. This structural problem often ties back to the conflicting logics between different actors. Experts from some countries, e.g. Belgium, emphasise that repressive measures are generally allocated more funds by security authorities than P/CVE measures, that tend to follow a care logic. In other countries, however, there appears to be a fundamental lack of funding for P/CVE, without the experts specifying what type of P/CVE is concerned (e.g. Austria, Spain). Temporary funding is seen as problematic. It forces projects to continuously prove their worth to funders, hindering their ability to build on experience and develop long-term strategies. This challenge is evident both in countries where P/CVE projects are generally state-funded (e.g., Germany) and in those where the EU also acts as a funding body (e.g., Greece).

Overall, despite the varied P/CVE landscapes across Europe, experts identified tensions or problems in almost every country surveyed, with many countries experiencing similar issues. In some countries, P/CVE remains the sole responsibility of state authorities, a situation often deemed insufficient and leading to uncertainty about who is accountable. In countries where civil society actors are also involved, conflicting logics—particularly care versus control—create significant tensions. Additionally, ongoing uncertainties and reservations about cooperation between different actors exacerbate these issues and project-based funding hinders meaningful development of the field. However, none of these challenges are new. They have been extensively identified and discussed in existing literature (e.g. Davies 2015; Mattson and Säljö 2017; Hardyns et al. 2022). The experts’ responses in the current survey reaffirm that these problems persist, offering fresh insights into the shared challenges across different countries. Nevertheless, these challenges do not necessarily mean that some approaches should be avoided. On the contrary, the multi-agency approach, for example, or the development of a strong civil society P/CVE practice can work very well in certain contexts – but there seem to be certain implementation hurdles that could be overcome in order to maximise the potential of specifically structured P/CVE landscapes.

Further reading:

As part of the German PrEval project (Evaluation and Quality Management in Extremism Prevention, Democracy Promotion and Civic Education: Analysis, Monitoring, Dialogue), the Global Public Policy Institute will soon publish a report, analysing an international survey on P/CVE practice and evaluation: https://gppi.net/project/preval

References

Davies, Lynn. 2015. “Security, Extremism and Education: Safeguarding or Surveillance?” British Journal of Educational Studies 64 (1): 1–19. https://doi.org/10.1080/00071005.2015.1107022 .

Hardy, Keiran. 2019. ‘Countering Right-Wing Extremism: Lessons from Germany and Norway’. Journal of Policing, Intelligence and Counter Terrorism 14 (3): 262–79. https://doi.org/10.1080/18335330.2019.1662076 .

Hardyns, Wim, Noel Klima, and Lieven Pauwels. 2022. Evaluation and Mentoring of the Multi-Agency Approach to Violent Radicalisation. Vol. 4. IDC Impact Series. Antwerpen: Maklu Publishers.

Maniscalco, Maria Luisa, and Valeria Rosato. 2019. Preventing Radicalisation and Terrorism in Europe. Newcastle-upon-Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publisher.

Mattsson, Christer, and Roger Säljö. 2017. “Violent Extremism, National Security and Prevention. Institutional Discourses and Their Implications for Schooling.” British Journal of Educational Studies 66 (1): 109–25. https://doi.org/10.1080/00071005.2017.1337870 .

Sivenbring, Jennie, and Robin Andersson Malmros. n.d. ‘Organizational Structures’. In Mixing Logics: Multiagency Approaches for Countering Violent Extremism, 49–76. Göteborg: Segerstedinstitutet, Göteborgs Universitet.

While the main headlines after the recent European elections highlighted the surge in far-right gains, another key story was the series of violent attacks against politicians throughout the campaign. A string of incidents that occurred in Germany and Ireland during May and early June underscore the worrying trend of mounting hostility and aggression directed towards politicians in what has become an increasingly incendiary political environment. These attacks, which seem likely to continue, pose an ongoing threat to the democratic process.

The physical and verbal harassment of politicians by the electorate has become more frequent in recent years. During the 2019 European Parliament elections, the act of “milkshaking” became a viral protest tactic in the UK, as milkshakes were thrown at right-wing and far-right political candidates, sparking debates on whether or not it normalised political violence. During the COVID-19 restrictions, aggressive anti-lockdown and anti-vaccine protests targeted and intimidated politicians across Europe, with widespread death threats, verbal harassment, and protests outside the homes of public officials becoming commonplace.

Throughout the 2024 European Parliament election campaign, these developments intensified. In Ireland, where the backdrop of an anti-immigration backlash has fuelled protests at accommodation centres housing international protection applicants, the tense political environment has significantly heightened the danger towards public officials. A concurrent local election campaign has stood out for a shocking wave of violence and threats directed at candidates, with opposition to immigration typically triggering confrontations targeting those canvassing on campaign trails, ranging from verbal to physical attacks.

Earlier in May, Independent Councillor Tania Doyle and her husband were violently assaulted while putting up posters in Dublin by two men aggravated about immigration. On the same day, Councillor Janet Horner, a Green Party representative was also similarly attacked while hanging election posters in Dublin by a man espousing far-right views. Two women campaigning for the Social Democrats also reported to have been threatened with a knife while out canvassing by two men. Meanwhile, a man was arrested after allegedly threatening to kill anti-immigration campaigner and European election candidate Malachy Steenson, highlighting how opposition to the growing wave of far-right ideology can also prompt threats and intimidation. Violent attacks and threats of this nature in Ireland are unprecedented in recent memory.

Alongside these incidents, the far-right was particularly preoccupied with non-white candidates running in the Irish elections. The canvassing team of Suzzie O’Deniyi, a candidate for Fianna Fáil in Limerick, whose parents are from Nigeria, was subject to racist and misogynstic abuse by a man who filmed and followed them. Sarah Adedeji, a Fine Gael candidate received similar abuse while putting up her election posters. Footage circulating on social media showed Linkwinstar Mattathil Mathew, a Fine Gael election candidate from India, being ordered by men to take down his election posters, while independent candidate, Roopesh Kumar Panicker, also originally from India, reported being subject to such constant racist abuse, that he no longer felt safe, stating “I’ve stopped picking up the calls. I’m scared of who’s going to say what.”

Meanwhile, in Germany, there have been similar developments, where verbal and physical attacks on politicians have more than doubled since 2019. Throughout May, as the campaigns for European Parliament and district council elections got underway, a number of high-profile assaults targeting politicians took place as both government and opposition parties members and their supporters faced physical and verbal attacks, leading to calls for more police protection for politicians at election rallies.

Matthias Ecke, a politician with the center-left Social Democratic Party (SPD) and member of European Parliament, was hospitalised after being beaten by a group of men while hanging campaign posters in Dresden. The same group of men also ambushed a Green Party campaigner in the same area just before the attack, punching and kicking him to the ground. Another attack in Dresden targeted Greens candidate Yvonne Mosler, who was assaulted and spat upon while hanging posters in an attack caught on camera by a DW film crew. Franziska Giffey, a Berlin State Senator and German politician of the SPD was hospitalised after being hit on the head and neck from behind with a bag “filled with hard contents” during a visit to a library in the capital. 

Attacks are not only directed at left-leaning and Greens politicians, but have targeted those across the political spectrum, including an assault on Roderich Kiesewetter, a conservative parliamentarian by a far-right activist in Aalen, an assault on two AfD politicians at an information stand in Stuttgart and most recently, an AfD candidate was stabbed in Mannheim after confronting a man who had been taking down his election posters. The latter attack took place just days after, and in the same city as, an Islamist knife attack on members of an anti-Islam party, in which five people were injured and an intervening police officer was killed. 

The threat posed by ideologically orientated attacks comes from a mixture of far-right, far-left and other issue-specific grievances. Statistics show that when all kinds of threats, verbal and physical attacks are counted, the Greens havebeen subject to most of the surging harassment in Germany, with its members reporting in 2023 that incidents had risen sevenfold since 2019. The AfD, are the second-most targeted party, but suffered more violent attacks (86 recorded in 2023) on AfD party representatives than any other party. Some politician attack perpetrators have also suffered from mental health problems, or have not yet been established as having a clear political motive, such as a recent assault on the Danish Prime Minister.

Taken together, events in Ireland and Germany represent samples of what is a broader trend happening not just across Europe, but also beyond. In the United States, threats to public officials has also grown, with federal charges for such offences rising by nearly 60 percent over the last ten years, and numbers on track to reach record highs. That these attacks are occurring more frequently suggests a worrying societal shift, in which violence and threats directed at political figures is being increasingly normalised and considered justified by a growing number.

Electoral candidates, often made vulnerable to violence through their campaigning activities, risk reducing their democratic participation due to intimidation. The level and range of threats varies for different political parties, with left-leaning and pro-environmental parties bearing the brunt of incidents and far-right activists at a higher risk of violence. However, it is female and non-white candidates who are perhaps at a higher risk of reducing their participation in election campaigns due to being disproportionately affected by feelings of insecurity. As physical attacks and harassment against politicians continues, defending the democratic process may require installing measures to better protect these elected representatives and candidates from threats and physical harm.