INTRODUCTION
On November 29, 2019, 28-year-old Usman Khan fatally stabbed two people in central London (Landler & Specia, 2019). British police quickly shot and killed Khan. A few details regarding the attacker swiftly emerged. He was earlier released from prison upon serving half of a 16-year sentence for being involved in a terrorist bomb plot. In a letter to his probation officers, Khan once wrote:
I have learnt that many of my past beliefs come from my misinterpretations of Islam …. There were many gaps in my knowledge but I am on new path and am learning to become a good Muslim. I would like a chance to prove to you that I will not cause harm to nobody in our society. (Yeginsu, 2019)
After convincing authorities of his seemingly genuine intentions, he was allowed to participate in the UK’s Healthy Identity Intervention Program, a government-led initiative aimed at facilitating rehabilitation and reintegration of those convicted of terrorist offenses. On the day of his attack, Khan attended a conference where he spoke about his journey out of terrorism. A pause in conference proceedings allowed him to recover from a nearby bathroom what was later revealed to be a fake bomb and knife used in the subsequent attack.
Khan’s case reveals some uncomfortable yet undeniable realities: if terrorist offenders are allowed to participate in rehabilitation efforts, some of which may result in (or stem from) early release from prison, it is likely that some may re-engage or attempt to re-engage in terrorist activity. It may be a considerable period of time before we have the necessary body of evidence needed to inform judgments about whether a particular ex-terrorist is more likely than not to re-offend. There is no foolproof tool that can guarantee successful detection of deception, just as there is no magic instrument to verify that a person is successfully “deradicalized,” which, at a minimum would imply that they are no longer a threat to public safety. Just like the process of becoming involved in terrorism, deradicalization is a gradual, labyrinthine journey, with many pitfalls. There are successes, and there will be failures. In the aftermath of the London attack, many questions were posed: on whose behalf was Khan acting? Was he acting alone? How did he manage to sneak the fake device and knife into the conference building? Why was Khan allowed to move around London apparently unsupervised? Had he fooled authorities into releasing him early? Was he a genuine imposter or might something else explain his re-engagement in terrorism? One view was that Khan “clearly engaged in a long-term effort to con the British authorities” (Yeginsu, 2019), though that is difficult, if not impossible, to verify. Tougher questions followed about the efficacy of efforts to rehabilitate terrorist offenders: When is someone deradicalized to the point of no longer posing a threat to public safety? Can we ever really know? And if we can never really know, would it not be more prudent to abandon the idea of early release for any terrorist offender?
Perhaps the most frequently asked question that followed this and similar cases was simply: do deradicalization programs actually work? Which is to the say, do they produce some kind of change, the end result of which is a reduced likelihood of re-engagement in terrorism? The short answer is that some of them do, for certain people, and no program should be expected to work for everybody – that is to say, not every terrorist offender who engages with such programs could possibly be expected to become irrevocably deradicalized. Though the question of program effectiveness appears to be raised with increased regularity, in part a function of the frustration that emerges after high profile cases of recidivism, that frustration is also rooted in a failure to accept that there is no complete or guaranteed solution to managing and treating terrorist offenders. No program can possibly promise total success, and we ought to be skeptical of claims that any program could. It may also be that the question, mostly presented in a straw-argument fashion such as it is, reflects unrealistic expectations. Deradicalization clearly is a process experienced by some, but not all. Deradicalization programs, which is to say, systematic interventions aimed at reducing the risk of terrorist recidivism, can be effective overall, while not for every individual in question.
On the surface, these do not seem to be controversial arguments, and it is not our goal to intentionally complicate what is perhaps accepted by researchers in this area as fairly obvious. However, we ought to take any opportunity to clarify basic constructs while simultaneously taking stock of what evidence now exists since research on deradicalization began in earnest over a decade ago. To that end, this chapter presents an overview of the concepts, processes, practices, and literature on the distinct but related issues of disengagement and deradicalization. We revisit some key concepts surrounding the debates on whether such programs work – we conclude that they can – and present examples of evidence where available. We stress that while current programs remain in a nascent state of development, evidence for the effectiveness of some efforts ought to represent sufficient promise for the continued development of these programs in a variety of settings and contexts.
Let us start with a little context. Terrorism is a strategy invoking violence directed at the public for ideological goals. For millennia, small groups and social movements alike have embraced public acts of violence against non-combatants in the name of some social, political, religious, or other ideological cause. Traditionally, terrorism is associated with non-state actors seeking to overthrow or destabilize some political regime or ethnic group. Terrorist campaigns have frequently sprung up in proclaimed self-defense of oppressed or aggrieved communities, targeted minorities, and are perhaps most commonly associated with efforts to nudge toward such lofty goals as political autonomy, racial superiority, or advance narrower specific causes such as animal rights or environmental protection. That civilian non-combatants are frequently the primary symbolic targets of terrorism both feeds its notoriety and sustains our collective outrage in response.
Of the many features associated with terrorism, ideology is one of the most poorly understood. The variety of ideologies associated with today’s terrorist actors is truly diverse. On the one hand, that there is an ideological component to violence perpetrated by non-state actors is one of the few defining features of terrorism. How, when, where, and why that ideology shapes and sustains terrorist violence (as well as those who participate in it), however, is still elusive. It remains a constant challenge to terrorism observers precisely how, where, and when ideology matters for the individual terrorist, whether before, during, or after a person’s engagement in terrorist acts (Holbrook & Horgan, 2019).
Recent global developments saw renewed urgency to understand the role of ideology in non-state political violence. The catastrophic Syrian civil war has its roots in widespread popular frustration with the Syrian regime under President Bashar al-Assad (Fisher, 2016). One of several actors in the region is the movement known as the Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant, otherwise known as the Islamic State (IS). Active in both Iraq and Syria, the IS is a fundamentalist movement seeking multiple short- and long-term objectives that have captured the imagination of a global audience. Spurred on by early territorial victories in 2014 after IS captured several cities from Iraqi forces, the movement sought to establish a “caliphate,” to which Muslims from around the world would be invited to live under sharia law, as interpreted by the IS leadership (BBC News, 2015). Those early military victories, combined with a series of sadistically choreographed and gruesome execution videos of those deemed to be enemies of the IS, catapulted IS onto a worldwide stage. Their subsequent notoriety heralded an extraordinary recruitment and mobilization drive via social media that served as a global outreach campaign to disaffected Muslims. The call did not go unanswered. At least 40,000 men, women, and children from over 100 countries flocked to Iraq and Syria, most of them affiliated with the IS (United Nations, 2017). By late 2017, however, thanks to a coordinated military campaign against the group in Iraq and Syria, IS seemed all but decimated. Without the ability to control its once-held territories, IS was reduced to a shadow of its former self. Though current predictions about the demise of IS may prove to be premature, a different problem began to take hold. By November 2017, the United Nations had warned that “at least 5,600 fighters from 33 states had begun to return home,” some of whom were “trained and equipped to carry out attacks in their own countries” (United Nations, 2017). That number has since, by some estimates, almost doubled (Cook & Vale, 2018), leaving dozens of countries around the world wondering how to deal with “returnees” from the IS.