Commentators spent much effort last week trying to show the role of far-right groups in “radicalising” Darren Osborne, convicted of deliberately driving a van into a crowd of Muslim worshippers, killing one and injuring 12 others.
Yet what seems to have triggered his fury was not the far right but the BBC drama Three Girls, which told the story of the Rochdale abuse scandal, in which young white girls were abused by gangs of men, largely of Pakistani origin. Osborne became obsessed by the idea of Muslims as an existential threat to the nation. Within a few weeks, he had committed his murderous act.
When a drama is seen as the key reason for the “radicalisation” of a killer, perhaps it is time to retire the very concept. The idea of radicalisation came into vogue in the wake of 9/11, suggesting a process by which certain individuals became drawn to terrorism. Most of the early notions underlying the concept, such as a “conveyor belt” drawing individuals through a series of stages from alienation to violence, have long been discredited. So has the belief that terrorists acquire their ideas in a way distinct to that in which people acquire other extremist ideas. Guidelines as to what constitute “signs” of radicalisation are vague beyond parody – changing one’s “style of dress” or using “derogatory names or labels for another group”.
The meaning of “terrorism”, too, has become far less clear. It is difficult these days to distinguish between ideological violence, personal rage and mental illness. Many acts of brutality initially considered terror-related turn out to be mentally disturbed individuals lashing out. Osborne, for instance, had twice tried to kill himself and was referred to an NHS centre for drug and alcohol misuse.
Rather than continuing to use terms whose meanings are increasingly unclear, it’s time to have a proper think about what exactly constitutes “radicalisation” and “terrorism”.
