Terror in the Mind of God, Fourth Edition: The Global Rise of Religious Violence 9780520965164

Citation preview

Terror in the Mind of God

comparative studies in religion and society Mark Juergensmeyer, editor 1. Redemptive Encounters: Three Modern Styles in the Hindu Tradition, by Lawrence Babb 2. Saints and Virtues, edited by John Stratton Hawley 3. Utopias in Conflict: Religion and Nationalism in Modern India, by Ainslee T. Embree 4. Mama Lola: A Vodou Priestess in Brooklyn, by Karen McCarthy Brown 5. The New Cold War? Religious Nationalism Confronts the Secular State, by Mark Juergensmeyer 6. Pious Passion: The Emergence of Modern Fundamentalism in the United States and Iran, by Martin Riesebrodt, translated by Don Reneau 7. Devi: Goddess of India, edited by John Stratton Hawley and Donna Marie Wulff 8. Absent Lord: Ascetics and Kings in a Jain Ritual Culture, by Lawrence A. Babb 9. The Challenge of Fundamentalism: Political Islam and the New World Disorder, by Bassam Tibi 10. Levelling Crowds: Ethno-nationalist Conflicts and Collective Violence in South Asia, by Stanley J. Tambiah 11. The Bridge Betrayed: Religion and Genocide in Bosnia, by Michael A. Sells 12. China’s Catholics: Tragedy and Hope in an Emerging Civil Society, by Richard Madsen 13. Terror in the Mind of God: The Global Rise of Religious Violence, by Mark Juergensmeyer 14. Imagining Karma: Ethical Transformation in Amerindian, Buddhist, and Greek Rebirth, by Gananath Obeyesekere 15. A Culture of Conspiracy: Apocalyptic Visions in Contemporary America, by Michael Barkun 16. Global Rebellion: Religious Challenges to the Secular State, by Mark Juergensmeyer

Terror in the Mind of God

The Global Rise of Religious Violence

Fourth Edition Revised and Updated

Mark Juergensmeyer

university of california press

University of California Press, one of the most distinguished university presses in the United States, enriches lives around the world by advancing scholarship in the humanities, social sciences, and natural sciences. Its activities are supported by the UC Press Foundation and by philanthropic contributions from individuals and institutions. For more information, visit www.ucpress.edu. University of California Press Oakland, California © 2017 by The Regents of the University of California Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Juergensmeyer, Mark, author. Title: Terror in the mind of god : the global rise of religious violence / revised and updated Mark Juergensmeyer. Other titles: Comparative studies in religion and society ; 13. Description: Fourth edition. | Oakland, California : University of California Press, [2017] | Series: Comparative studies in religion and society ; 13 | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: lccn 2016040508 (print) | lccn 2016042080 (ebook) | isbn 9780520291355 (pbk. : alk. paper) | isbn 9780520965164 () Subjects: lcsh: Violence—Religious aspects. Classification: lcc bl65.v55 j84 2017 (print) | lcc bl65.v55 (ebook) | ddc 205/.697—dc23 lc record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016040508

Manufactured in the United States of America 24 10

23 22 21 20 19 18 17 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

To terror’s victims

I will send my terror before you, and will throw into confusion all the people . . . —Exodus 23:27

Contents

Preface and Acknowledgments 1. Introduction: Terror and God

xiii

1

The Meaning of Religious Terrorism

3

Seeing Inside Cultures of Violence

9

part one. cultures of violence 2. Soldiers for Christ

17 19

Anders Breivik, Defender of Christendom

20

Timothy McVeigh and the Oklahoma City Federal Building Bombing

23

Michael Bray and Abortion Clinic Bombings

29

Christian Justifications for Violence

33

Ian Paisley and the Troubles in Belfast

40

3. Zion Betrayed

48

Meir Ettinger, the Ghost of Meir Kahane

51

Yoel Lerner and the Assassination of Yitzhak Rabin

56

Baruch Goldstein’s Attack at the Tomb of the Patriarchs

61

4. Islam’s “Neglected Duty”

68

Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi, the Caliph of ISIS

71

Mahmud Abouhalima and the World Trade Center Bombing

76

Abdul Aziz Rantisi and Hamas Suicide Missions

88

Modern Islamic Justifications for Violence

98

5. The Spear of Shiva, the Sword of Sikhism

103

Maya Kodnani and the Gujarat Massacre

104

Simranjit Singh Mann and the Lure of Khalistan

109

Hindu and Sikh Justifications for Violence

117

6. Buddhist Faces of Terror

128

Ashin Wirathu and the Defense of Burmese Buddhism

129

Takeshi Nakamura and the Aum Shinrikyo Assault

133

Can Buddhist Violence Be Justified?

141

part two. the logic of religious violence 7. Theater of Terror

147 149

Performance Violence

153

Setting the Stage

157

A Time to Kill

166

Reaching the Audience

174

8. Cosmic War

182

Grand Scenarios

186

Symbolic War

195

When Symbols Become Deadly

200

9. Martyrs and Demons

204

Sacrificial Victims

206

The Invention of Enemies

213

America as Enemy

221

Satanization and the Stages of Empowerment

225

10. Warriors’ Power

230

Empowering Marginal Men

232

Why Guys Throw Bombs

241

Fighting for the Rule of God

255

11. The Mind of God

266

Empowering Religion

271

Postmodern Terror

279

Curing Violence

283

Healing Politics with Religion

297

Notes List of Interviews and Correspondence Selected Bibliography Index Illustrations follow page 134.

303 339 345 369

Preface and Acknowledgments

I am sometimes asked why a nice guy like me would want to study religious terrorism. Those who ask this question usually brush the intellectual explanations aside—as if my interest in the global dimensions of religion and society weren’t reason enough. They search for something more personal. One answer I give is that my work on nationalism and global conflict has led to a concern about areas of the world where social transformations have not been easy, and where peaceful options have shredded into violence. I have seen the unraveling of social order close at hand, having lived for a time in India’s Punjab, a region torn apart by spiraling violence between militant Sikhs and the Indian government. With the horrors of that era of terror in mind, I have gone to troubled places elsewhere to understand how civil order can collapse, and to search for patterns in the relationship of religion and violence around the world. Yet another answer is more personal still. As someone who was raised in the religious milieu of Midwestern Protestantism, I know the power of religion to provide a transformative vision of the human potential. In my experience this transformative quality of religion has been a positive thing—it has been associated with images of personal wholeness and social redemption—and it has mostly been nonviolent. I say “mostly” because I can remember moments from my own religious involvement in civil rights and antiwar movements a generation ago that were dangerously confrontational and occasionally bloody. So xiii

xiv

|

Preface and Acknowledgments

I feel a certain kinship with present-day religious activists who take religion seriously, and I wonder if one of their motivations might be a spiritual conviction so strong that they are willing to kill and to be killed for moral reasons. Yet my own social activism never reached such extremes, nor could I imagine a situation where even the most worthy of causes could justify taking another person’s life. Thus I have looked for other motivations for those who have perpetrated acts of religious terrorism rather than simply struggling for a worthy cause. I have wondered why their views of religion and social engagement have taken such a lethal turn and why they have felt so justified in undertaking actions that have led to destruction and death, often committed in brutal and dramatic ways. In seeking answers to these questions, I found myself looking not only at particular people and case studies, but also at the larger social and political changes that affect the globe at this moment of history and provide the context for many violent encounters. It is this theme that also runs through the book that is the companion to this volume, Global Rebellion: Religious Challenges to the Secular State, though here I focus on violent events rather than on activist movements. I have found that a study of this striking phenomenon can tell us something about religion, about public violence, and about the character of contemporary society on virtually a global scale. In this book I explore this dark alliance between religion and violence. I have examined a variety of acts of religious terrorism over thirty years to try to understand the cultures of violence from which they emerge. Through my interviews with perpetrators and supporters I have come to see these acts as forms of public performance rather than aspects of political strategy. These are symbolic statements aimed at providing a sense of empowerment to desperate communities. The collapse of the twin towers of the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001, must have created a heady illusion of power to those who conspired to bring them down. Religion is crucial for these acts, since it gives moral justifications for killing and provides images of cosmic war that allow activists to believe that they are waging spiritual scenarios. This does not mean that religion causes violence—political and social issues are usually at fault— but it does mean that religion can provide the mores and symbols that are associated with bloodshed, even catastrophic acts of terrorism. This is what I mean when I use the phrase “religious violence”—not violence caused by religion, but violence associated with it.

Preface and Acknowledgments | xv

Violent ideas and images are not the monopoly of any single religion. Virtually every major religious tradition—Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Hindu, Sikh, and Buddhist—has served as a resource for violent actors. Perhaps it is not fair to label Osama bin Laden a Muslim terrorist or to characterize Anders Breivik a Christian one—as if they were violent because of their Islamic and Christian beliefs. But the fact that religion is in their backgrounds, and behind so many different perpetrators of public violence, indicates that all religions are inherently revolutionary. They are capable of providing the ideological resources for an alternative view of public order. If this has always been so, why are such violent assaults on public order occurring now? I have looked for the answer to this question in our contemporary global milieu. The perception of an international political conspiracy and an oppressive economic “new world order” has been explicitly mentioned by such disparate activists as the leaders of ISIS, Buddhist activists in Southeast Asia, and Christian militia groups. The era of globalization and postmodernity creates a context in which authority is undercut and local forces have been unleashed. In saying this, I do not mean to imply that only globalization causes religious violence. But it may be one reason why so many instances of religious violence in such diverse places around the world are occurring at the present time. A new edition of the book provides me with this opportunity to clarify what the book is about. I have also made some changes at various places in the text to incorporate recent events. Though I have attempted in this book to expose the way that public activists have appropriated religion in their dark view of the world, ultimately this book is not a judgment against religion. Rather, it is an appreciation of the power that the religious imagination still holds in public life, and the recognition that many will find in it a cure for violence instead of a cause. In this attempt to understand the recent rise of religious violence I have traveled around the world on many occasions, and in each place I have a number of colleagues to thank. The case studies that are the heart of this project would not have been possible without the help of those who provided both insight and contacts. My interviews in Baghdad were arranged in collaboration with Mary Kaldor and Yahia Said of the Center for Global Governance, London School of Economics, and Hanaa Edwards and Shirouk al-Abayaji of the Al-Amal human rights organization in Baghdad, with the research assistance of Will Thomas. My interviews with refugees of ISIS in Kurdistan Iraq and Turkey were facilitated by Ibrahim Barlas of the Pacifica Institute, Ibrahim Anli of the Journalists and Writers

xvi

|

Preface and Acknowledgments

Foundation in Istanbul, Ardalan Jalal of Erbil’s Dialogue Middle East, and Hasan Yilmaz of the Diyarbakir Entrepreneurs and Businesspeople’s Association. In Israel I relied on Ehud Sprinzak and Gideon Aran for information on Jewish activism; Zaid Abu-Amr, Ariel Merari, and Tahir Shreipeh for insight into the Hamas movement; the support of the Yitzhak Rabin Center for Israel Studies in Tel Aviv and the Tantur Ecumenical Institute, Jerusalem, for housing and travel arrangements; and the research assistance of Aaron Santell and Barzin Pakandam. For contacts and interviews in the Palestinian West Bank I am grateful to Shamir Bazbaz, and for interviews in Jewish settlements on the West Bank I appreciated the help of Alon Burstein. For the prison interviews in Lompoc, California, I relied on the assistance of Terry Roof, Warden David Rardin, Associate Warden Jack Atherton, and Congressman (and colleague) Walter Capps. Regarding Christian militia and abortion activists in the United States, I am grateful to Michael Barkun, Julie Ingersoll, and Matt Miller. In Belfast I appreciated the help of Jim Gibney and the Sinn Féin Press Office, and I learned much from Tom Buckley, Brian Murphy, and Martin O’Toole. For help in contacting Sikh activists in India and the United States and in understanding Punjab politics, I valued the suggestions of Cynthia Mahmood, Gurinder Singh Mann, Hew McLeod, Harish Puri, and several Sikh colleagues who prefer to remain anonymous. For all things India I am indebted to my friends and colleagues, Manoranjan and Bidyut Mohanty. In Japan my contacts with, and understanding of, the Aum Shinrikyo movement were facilitated by Koichi Mori, Ian Reader, and Susumu Shimazono. In Myanmar translation assistance was provided by Thein Toe Win, arrangements were facilitated by Jessica Mudditt and Sherpa Hossainy, and research assistance provided by Collin Dvorak. For help in monitoring ISIS websites and supporters’ Twitter accounts, I thank my research assistants, Mufid Taha and Saba Sadri, and the research support of the project on “Resolving Jihadist Conflicts” based at Uppsala University, Sweden. At Santa Barbara, I appreciated the support of my colleagues in the global studies, sociology, and religious studies departments, and the research scholars at the Orfalea Center for Global and International Studies, supported by the program director, Victor Faessel. In the process of publication I was aided by the able staff of the University of California Press, including editors Reed Malcolm and Eric Schmidt, and director Alison Mudditt. It was Alison who put me in contact with her cousin Jessica in Yongon, a contact vital for my Myanmar interviews. For many years the editors at the Press have

Preface and Acknowledgments | xvii

helped to uphold the high standards of the Comparative Studies in Religion and Society series, and I am pleased that this book bears that series’ imprimatur. A standard of a different sort has been set by Sucheng Chan, my colleague and spouse, who insists on the best and whose own writing is a model of elegance and conceptual clarity. To those activists I interviewed and who are named in the list at the end of this book, I extend my appreciation. I know that many of them, especially those who have supported acts of violence for what they regard as personal and moral reasons, will feel that I have not fully understood or sufficiently explained their views. Perhaps they are right. An effort at understanding is just that, an attempt to enter other people’s worlds and re-create the moral and strategic logic of the decisions they make. The effort is always, perhaps necessarily, imperfect, for I do not inhabit their lives nor, in these cases, do I concur with their choices. I hope, however, that the subjects of this book will agree that, not just for their sakes but also for the sake of a more peaceful world in which understanding replaces anger and hate, at least I have tried. For some people, however, whatever contribution this and the many other efforts at understanding and alleviating violence may offer will come too late. I refer to those who have been victims of terrorist attacks. I dedicate this book to those who have died and the many wounded and displaced by acts of religious violence in recent years. Their sacrifices will not be forgotten. My conviction is that the same religion that is linked with such potent acts of destruction also carries an enormous capacity for healing, restoration, and hope.

chapter 1

Introduction: Terror and God

On November 13, 2015, a gang of Belgian and French youths of North African and Middle Eastern ancestry slipped into Paris for a night of sheer horror. Several attempted to create havoc at the Stade de France, a sports arena where soccer teams from France and Germany were in a friendly competition with President François Hollande in attendance. One of the attackers, barred from entry, exploded his bomb outside. Other members of the group raided a series of cafés in a trendy section of central Paris, killing ordinary Parisians out for a pleasant evening. The terror of the evening culminated with an invasion of the Bataclan, a music hall in the same district, where heavily armed young killers sprayed the crowd with bullets and ignited hand grenades. The police arrived to stop the carnage, but not before the night’s grim tally had risen to over 130 killed, including 7 of the assailants who were said to be related to ISIS, and over 300 wounded. The larger impact of the attack, however, was not just the damage done to lives and property but also to the confidence with which most Parisians, and most people everywhere who witnessed the scene remotely through television and social media, viewed the world. As in other acts of terrorism, the news images of the bloodied victims projected from the scene portrayed common sites—in this case, a sports arena, a music hall, and several streetside cafés in the midst of evening business,—their cheerful familiarity appearing oddly out of place with the surrounding carnage. Many who viewed these pictures saw symbols 1

2

|

Introduction: Terror and God

of their own ordinary lives assaulted and vicariously felt the anxiety— the terror—of those who experienced it firsthand. After all, the wounded could have included anyone who has ever been to a sports arena, a music hall, or a café—which is to say virtually anyone in the developed world. In this sense, the blast was an attack not only on Paris but also on normal life as most people know it. This loss of innocence was keenly felt by Americans as they watched in horror the televised images of the September 11, 2001, assaults on the World Trade Center in New York. But even in the years immediately prior to the destruction of the World Trade Center, Americans had been targets of a diverse series of terrorist attacks: ethnic shootings in California and Illinois; the attack on American embassies in Africa; abortion clinic bombings in Alabama and Georgia; the bomb blast at the Olympics in Atlanta and the destruction of a U.S. military housing complex in Dhahran, Saudi Arabia; the tragic destruction of the federal building at Oklahoma City; and the 1993 explosion at the World Trade Center, which was an eerie forecast of the terror to come scarcely eight years later. These incidents and a host of violent episodes associated since then with American religious extremists—including both Muslim radicals and Christian militants—have brought Americans into the same uneasy position occupied by many in the rest of the world. Increasingly, global society must confront religious violence on a routine basis. The French, prior to the Paris attacks, had dealt with the assault on the headquarters of the satirical magazine Charlie Hebdo and with subway bombs planted by Algerian Islamic activists; the British have experienced bomb blasts in the London subways perpetrated by jihadi extremists and explosions on trucks and buses ignited by Irish Catholic nationalists; and the Japanese have contended with nerve gas placed in Tokyo subways by members of a Hindu-Buddhist sect. In India residents of Delhi have suffered car bombings by both Sikh and Kashmiri separatists and an attack on the Indian parliament and hotels in Mumbai by Muslim extremists; in Sri Lanka whole sections of the city of Colombo have been destroyed both by Tamils and by Sinhalese militants; and in Myanmar the Muslim sections of towns have been ravaged by angry Buddhist nationalists. In Uganda the extremist Christian group the Lord’s Resistance Army, led by Joseph Kony, has terrified the countryside; and in Nigeria the Boko Haram has left a savage trail of blood. Egyptians have been forced to live with militant Islamic attacks in coffeehouses and riverboats; Indonesians witnessed the bombing of Bali

Introduction | 3

nightclubs by Al-Qaeda–affiliated activists; Algerians have lost entire villages to attacks perpetrated allegedly by supporters of the Islamic Salvation Front; and Israelis and Palestinians have confronted the deadly deeds of both Jewish and Muslim extremists. In Iraq, Afghanistan, and Syria terrorist attacks by both Sunni and Shi’a militants have become a way of life. In addition to their contemporaneity, all these instances share two striking characteristics. First, they have been violent—even vicious—in a manner calculated to be terrifying. And, second, they have been linked in some way to religion.

the meaning of religious terrorism The ferocity of religious violence was brought home to me early one morning in the midst of the conflict in Iraq when the enormous blast of a suicide bomb at a military installation across the river from the hotel in which I was staying in Baghdad shook me awake. An hour later I traveled down the same street where the explosion occurred and urban life was proceeding apace as if nothing had happened. In Northern Ireland I received the news that a car bomb had exploded in a Belfast neighborhood I had visited the day before. The following day firebombs ripped through several pubs and stores, apparently in protest against the fragile peace agreement signed earlier that year. These were disturbing repetitions of other close calls, including one that I had experienced in Israel. A suicide bombing claimed by the militant wing of the Palestinian Muslim political movement, Hamas, tore apart a bus near Hebrew University the day after I had visited the university on (I believe) the very same bus. The pictures of the bomb crater in the Baghdad street, the mangled bodies on the Jerusalem pavement, and the images of Belfast’s burned-out pub, therefore, had a direct and immediate impact on my view of the world. What I realized then is the same thing that all of us perceive on some level when we view pictures of terrorist events: on a different day, at a different time, perhaps in a different bus, one of the bodies torn to shreds by any of these terrorist acts could have been yours or mine. What came to mind as I heard the news of the Baghdad, Belfast, and Jerusalem bombings, however, was not so much a feeling of relief for my safety as a sense of betrayal—that the personal security and order that is usually a basic assumption of public life cannot in fact be taken for granted in a world where terrorist acts exist.

4

|

Introduction: Terror and God

That, I take it, is largely the point: terrorism is meant to terrify. The word comes from the Latin terrere, “to cause to tremble,” and came into common usage in the political sense, as an assault on civil order, during the Reign of Terror in the French Revolution at the close of the eighteenth century. Hence the public response to the violence—the trembling that terrorism effects—is part of the meaning of the term. It is appropriate, then, that the definition of a terrorist act is provided by us, the witnesses—the ones terrified—and not by the party committing the act. It is we—or more often our public agents, the news media—who affix the label on acts of violence that makes them terrorism. These are public acts of destruction, committed without a clear military objective, that arouse a widespread sense of fear. This fear often turns to anger when we discover the other characteristic that frequently attends these acts of public violence: their justification by religion. Most people feel that religion should provide tranquility and peace, not terror. Yet in many of these cases religion has supplied not only the ideology but also the social identity and the organizational structure for the perpetrators. It is true that some terrorist acts are committed by public officials invoking a sort of “state terrorism” in order to subjugate the populace, and in fact the numbers of people killed by perverse secular authorities far outweighs the number of victims of religion-related terrorism. The pogroms of Stalin, the government-supported death squads in El Salvador, the genocidal killings of the Khmer Rouge in Cambodia, ethnic cleansing in Bosnia and Kosovo, and government-spurred violence of the Hutus and Tutsis in Central Africa all come to mind. The United States has been accused of terrorism in atrocities committed in the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, and there is some basis for considering the U.S. nuclear bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki at the end of World War II, killing hundreds of thousands of innocent civilians, as terrorist acts. But the term terrorism has more frequently been associated with violence committed by disenfranchised groups desperately attempting to gain a shred of power or influence. Although these groups cannot kill on the scale that governments with all their military power can, their sheer numbers, their intense dedication, and their dangerous unpredictability have given them influence vastly out of proportion with their meager military resources. Some of these groups have been inspired by purely secular causes. They have been motivated by leftist ideologies, as in the cases of the Shining Path and the Tupac Amaru in Peru, and the Red Army in Japan; and they have been propelled by a desire for ethnic

Introduction | 5

or regional separatism, as in the cases of Basque militants in Spain and the Kurdish nationalists in Turkey. But more often it has been religion—often in combination with social, political, and other factors—that has been tied to terrorist acts. The common perception that there has been a rise in religious violence around the world in the last decades of the twentieth century and the first decades of the twenty-first century has been borne out by those who keep records of such things. In 1980 the U.S. State Department roster of international terrorist groups listed scarcely a single religious organization. Almost twenty years later, at the end of the twentieth century, over half were in some way related to religion.1 They were Jewish, Muslim, and Buddhist. If one added to this list other violent religious groups around the world, including the many Christian militia and other paramilitary organizations found domestically in the United States, the number of religious terrorist groups would be considerable. According to the RAND–St. Andrews Chronology of International Terrorism, the proportion of religious groups in the late 1990s increased from sixteen of forty-nine terrorist groups to twenty-six of the fifty-six groups listed the following year.2 For this reason U.S. government officials frequently proclaim terrorism in the name of religion and ethnicity, as one of them put it, “the most important security challenge we face in the wake of the Cold War.”3 Throughout this study we will be looking at this odd attraction of religion and violence. Although some observers try to explain away religion’s recent ties to violence as an aberration, a result of political ideology, or the characteristic of a mutant form of religion—fundamentalism—these are not my views. Rather, I look for explanations in the current forces of geopolitics enhanced by a strain of violence that may be found at the deepest levels of religious imagination. Religion may not be the cause of the anger that leads to violence in most places around the world, but it can vastly complicate the way that anger is expressed. Within the histories of religious traditions—from biblical wars to crusading ventures and great acts of martyrdom—violence has lurked as a shadowy presence. It has colored religion’s darker, more mysterious symbols. Images of death have never been far from the heart of religion’s power to stir the imagination. One of the haunting questions asked by some of the great scholars of religion—including Émile Durkheim, Marcel Mauss, and Sigmund Freud—is why this is the case. Why does religion seem to need violence, and violence religion, and why is a divine mandate for destruction accepted with such certainty by some believers?

6

|

Introduction: Terror and God

These are questions that have taken on a sense of urgency in recent years, when religious violence has reappeared in a form often calculated to terrify on a massive scale. These contemporary acts of violence are often justified by the historical precedent of religion’s violent past. Yet the forces that combine to produce religious violence are particular to each moment of history. For this reason, I will focus on case studies of religious violence both within their own cultural contexts and within the framework of global social and political changes that are distinctive to our time. This is a book about religious terrorism. It is about public acts of violence at the end of the twentieth century and first decades of the twentyfirst, for which religion has provided the justification, the organization, and the worldview. In this book, I have tried to get inside the mindset of those who perpetrate and support such acts. My goal is to understand why these acts are often associated with religious causes and why they have occurred with such frequency at this juncture in history. Although it is not my purpose to be sympathetic to people who have done terrible things, I do want to understand them and their worldviews well enough to know how they and their supporters can morally justify what they have done. What puzzles me is not why bad things are done by bad people, but rather why bad things are done by people who otherwise appear to be good—in cases of religious terrorism, by pious people dedicated to a moral vision of the world. Considering the high-sounding rhetoric with which their purposes are often stated, it is perhaps all the more tragic that the acts of violence meant to achieve them have caused suffering and disruption in many lives—not only those who were injured by the acts, but also those who witnessed them, even from a distance. Because I want to understand the cultural contexts that produce these acts of violence, my focus is on the ideas and the communities of support that lie behind the acts rather than on the “terrorists” who commit them. In fact, for the purposes of this study, the word terrorist is problematic. For one thing, the term makes no clear distinction between the organizers of an attack, those who carry it out, and the many who support it both directly and indirectly. Are they all terrorists, or just some of them—and if the latter, which ones? Another problem with the word is that it can be taken to single out a certain limited species of people, called “terrorists,” who are committed to violent acts. The implication is that such terrorists are hell-bent to commit terrorism for whatever reason—sometimes choosing religion, sometimes another ideology, to justify their mischief. This logic concludes that terrorism

Introduction | 7

exists because terrorists exist, and if we just got rid of them, the world would be a more pleasant place. Although such a solution is enticing, the fact is that the line is very thin between “terrorists” and their “nonterrorist” supporters. It is also not clear that there is such a thing as a “terrorist” before someone conspires to perpetrate a terrorist act. Although every society contains sociopaths and others who sadistically enjoy killing, it is seldom such persons who are involved in the deliberate public events that we associate with terrorism, and few studies of terrorism focus exclusively on personality. The studies of the psychology of terrorism deal largely with social psychology; that is, they are concerned with the way people respond to certain group situations that make violent public acts possible.4 I know of no study that suggests that people are terrorist by nature. Although some activists involved in religious terrorism have been troubled by mental problems, others are people who appear to be normal and socially well adjusted, but who are caught up in extraordinary communities and share extreme worldviews. Most of the people involved in acts of religious terrorism are not unlike Dr. Baruch Goldstein, who killed over thirty Muslims as they were praying at the Tomb of the Patriarchs in Hebron. Goldstein was a medical doctor who grew up in a middle-class community in Brooklyn and received his professional training at Albert Einstein College of Medicine in the Bronx. His commitment to an extreme form of Zionism brought him to Israel and the Kiryat Arba settlement, and although he was politically active for many years—he was Rabbi Meir Kahane’s campaign manager when he ran for the Israeli parliament—Goldstein did not appear to be an irrational or vicious person. Prior to the attack at Hebron, his most publicized political act had been a letter to the editor of the New York Times.5 If Goldstein had deep and perverse personality flaws that eventually surfaced and made him a terrorist, we do not know about them. The evidence about him is to the contrary: it indicates that, like his counterparts in Hamas, he was an otherwise decent man who became overwhelmed by a great sense of dedication to a social vision shared by many in the community of which he was a part. He became convinced that this vision and community were profoundly assaulted, and this compelled him to a desperate and tragic act. He was certainly single-minded about his concerns—even obsessed over them— but to label Goldstein a terrorist prior to the horrible act he committed implies that he was a terrorist by nature and that his concerns were simply a charade. The evidence does not indicate either to be the case.

8

|

Introduction: Terror and God

For this reason I use the term terrorist sparingly. When I do use it, I employ it in the same sense as the word murderer: it applies to specific persons only after they have been found guilty of committing such a crime, or planning to commit one. Even then I am somewhat cautious about using the term, since a violent act is “terrorism” technically only in the eyes of the courts, more publicly in the eyes of the media, and ultimately only in the eyes of the beholder. The old saying “One person’s terrorist is another person’s freedom-fighter” has some truth to it. The designation of terrorism is a subjective judgment about the legitimacy of certain violent acts as much as it is a descriptive statement about them. When I interviewed militant religious activists and their supporters, I found that they seldom used the term terrorism to describe what their groups had done. Several told me that their groups should be labeled militant rather than terrorist. A Lutheran pastor who was convicted of bombing abortion clinics was not a terrorist, he told me, since he did not enjoy violence for its own sake. He employed violence only for a purpose, and for that reason he described these events as “defensive actions” on behalf of the “unborn.”6 In Iraq, a Sunni leader in the region that would later be dominated by ISIS claimed that the militant activists in his community were simply defenders of the faith. Activists on both sides of the struggle in Belfast described themselves as “paramilitaries.” A leader in India’s Sikh separatist movement said that he preferred the term militant and told me that terrorist had replaced the term witch as an excuse to persecute those whom one dislikes.7 One of the men associated with the Al-Qaeda network essentially agreed, telling me that the word terrorist was so “messy” it could not be used without a lot of qualifications.8 The same point of view was expressed by the political leader of the Hamas movement with whom I talked in Gaza. He described his movement’s suicide attacks as “operations.”9 Like many activists who used violence, he likened his group to an army that was planning defensive maneuvers and using violence strategically as necessary acts. Never did he use the words terrorist or terrorism. This is not just a semantic issue. Whether or not one uses the word terrorist to describe violent acts depends on whether one thinks that the acts are warranted. To a large extent the use of the term depends on one’s worldview: if the world is perceived as peaceful, violent acts appear as terrorism. If the world is thought to be at war, violent acts may be regarded as legitimate. They may be seen as preemptive strikes, as defensive tactics in an ongoing battle, or as symbols indicating to the world that it is indeed in a state of grave and ultimate conflict.

Introduction | 9

In most cases in this book, religious language is used to characterize this conflict. When it is, what difference does religion make? Do acts of violence conducted by Hamas have different characteristics from those conducted by secular movements, such as the Kurds? The question is whether religious terrorism is different from other kinds. In this book it will become clear that, at least in some cases, religion does make a difference. Some of these differences are readily apparent— the transcendent moralism with which such acts are justified, for instance, and the ritual intensity with which they are committed. Other differences are more profound and go to the very heart of religion. The familiar religious images of struggle and transformation—concepts of cosmic war—have been employed in this-worldly social struggles. When these cosmic battles are conceived as occurring on the human plane, they result in real acts of violence. This leads to yet another question: when religion justifies violence, is it simply being used for political purposes? This question is not as simple as it may first appear. It is complicated largely because of the renewed role that religion plays in various parts of the world as an ideology of public order—especially in movements of religious nationalism—in which religious and political ideologies are intertwined. As the cases in this book will show, religion is not innocent but it does not ordinarily lead to violence. That happens only with the coalescence of a peculiar set of circumstances—political, social, and ideological—when religion becomes fused with violent expressions of social aspirations, personal pride, and movements for political change. For these reasons, questions about why religious terrorism has occurred at this moment in history have to be raised in context. By “context” I mean the historical situations, social locations, and world views related to violent incidents. To understand these, we will explore not only the mindset of religious activists who have committed violence but also the groups that have supported them and the ideologies to which they subscribe.

seeing inside cultures of violence Terrorism is seldom a lone act. When the Kouachi brothers attacked the headquarters of the Charlie Hebdo satirical magazine in Paris many in their Algerian immigrant community felt vindicated for what they saw as efforts by the magazine to humiliate their community and their religion. When Anders Breivik unloaded his weapons on a youth camp in

10

|

Introduction: Terror and God

Norway he imagined that huge numbers of Christian white supremacist Europeans would approve of his efforts to stop multiculturalism and the spread of Muslim culture, and perhaps some did. When Dr. Baruch Goldstein entered the Tomb of the Patriarchs carrying an automatic weapon, he came with the tacit approval of many of his fellow Jewish settlers in the nearby community of Kiryat Arba. When angry Buddhist mobs in Myanmar attacked mosques and shops of their Muslim neighbors in Myanmar, the militant monks who goaded them stood silently by. When Rev. Paul Hill stepped from a sidewalk in Pensacola, Florida, and shot Dr. John Britton and his security escort as they prepared to enter their clinic, he was cheered by a certain circle of militant Christian anti-abortion activists around the United States. When Mohammad Atta and other members of the Al-Qaeda network boarded commercial airlines in Boston and Newark which minutes later plunged into the twin towers of the World Trade Center, eventually causing them to crumble into dust, they came as part of a well-orchestrated plan that involved dozens of co-conspirators and hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of sympathizers in the United States, Europe, Afghanistan, Saudi Arabia, and elsewhere throughout the world. As these instances show, it takes a community of support and, in some cases, a large organizational network for an act of terrorism to succeed. It also requires an enormous amount of moral presumption for the perpetrators of these acts to justify the destruction of property on a massive scale or to condone a brutal attack on another life, especially the life of someone one scarcely knows and against whom one bears no personal enmity. And it requires a great deal of internal conviction, social acknowledgment, and the stamp of approval from a legitimizing ideology or authority one respects. Because of the moral, ideological, and organizational support necessary for such acts, most of them come as collective decisions—such as the conspiracy that led to the release of nerve gas in the Tokyo subways and the ISIS organization’s carefully devised bombings. Even those acts that appear to be solo ventures conducted by rogue activists often have networks of support and ideologies of validation behind them, whether or not these networks and ideologies are immediately apparent. Behind Yitzhak Rabin’s assassin, Yigal Amir, for instance, was a large movement of Messianic Zionism in Israel and abroad. Behind the Tsarnaev brothers’ assault on the Boston Marathon was a community of support for Chechnyan independence in Russia. Behind convicted Oklahoma City federal building bomber Timothy McVeigh was a sub-

Introduction | 11

culture of militant Christian groups that extends throughout the United States. Behind the Norwegian defender of Christendom, Anders Breivik, who went on a murderous rampage at a youth camp near Oslo in 2011, was a European subculture of hatred toward Muslim immigrants.10 The 1993 bombing of the World Trade Center was initially thought to be the work of only a small group of individuals linked to a blind Egyptian sheikh; only later was it found to have wider connections to the worldwide Al-Qaeda network of Islamic activism associated with Osama bin Laden. In all of these cases the activists thought that their acts were supported not only by other people but by a widely shared perception that the world was already violent: it was enmeshed in great struggles that gave their own violent actions moral meaning. This is a significant feature of these cultures: the perception that their communities are already under attack—are being violated—and that their acts are therefore simply responses to the violence they have experienced. In some cases this perception is one to which sensitive people outside the movement can readily relate—the feeling of oppression held by Palestinian Muslims, for example, is one that many throughout the world consider to be an understandable though regrettable response to a situation of political control. In other instances, such as the imagined oppression of America’s Christian militia and Myanmar’s 969 Buddhist movement, the members’ fears of Muslim hoards poised to take over their cultures or the allegations of collusion of international governments and the United Nations to deprive individuals of their freedoms are regarded by most people outside these movements as paranoid delusions. Still other cases—such as those involving Sikh militants in India, Jewish settlers on the West Bank, Muslim politicians in Algeria, Catholic and Protestant militants in Northern Ireland, and anti-abortion activists in the United States—are highly controversial. There are sober and sensitive people to argue each side. In many cases, such as in the terrorist acts perpetrated by ISIS and Al-Qaeda, specific political grievances are magnified into grand spiritual condemnations. Whether or not outsiders regard these perceptions of oppression as legitimate, they are certainly considered valid by those within the communities. It is these shared perceptions that constitute the cultures of violence that have flourished throughout the world—in neighborhoods of Jewish nationalists from Kiryat Arba to Brooklyn where the defense of Israel is part of daily conversations, in mountain towns in Idaho and Montana where religious and individual freedoms are thought by Christian militants to be imperiled by an enormous governmental conspiracy,

12

|

Introduction: Terror and God

and in pious Muslim communities around the world where Islam is felt to be under siege by the secular forces of modern society. Although geographically dispersed, these cultures in some cases are fairly small: one should bear in mind that the culture of violence characterized by Hamas, for example, does not implicate all Palestinians, all Muslims, or even all Palestinian Muslims; nor are Jewish extremism and Christian militancy supported by any other than a tiny fraction of the world’s Jews and Christians. Yet in each of these religious traditions pockets of militancy persist. I could use the terms communities or ideologies of terrorism to describe the character of these groups rather than “cultures” of violence, but what I like about the term culture is that it entails both things—ideas and social groupings—that are related to terrorist acts. Needless to say, I am using the term culture beyond its narrow meaning as the aesthetic products of a society.11 Rather, I employ it in a broad way to include the ethical and social values underlying the life of a particular social unit. The task that I have set for myself in trying to understand these cultures of violence is to get inside the worldviews of those who are within them, to enter into the minds of terrorists. One way of thinking about this approach to studying cultures of violence is to describe it as epistemic worldview analysis, a term that I have used in discussions on methods with my colleague Mona Kanwal Sheikh, who has interviewed members of the Pakistan Taliban.12 What we like about this term is that it encompasses the idea of “episteme” as described by Michel Foucault: a worldview, or a paradigm of thinking that “defines the conditions . . . of all knowledge.”13 It also involves the notion of a nexus of socially embedded ideas about society. Pierre Bourdieu calls this a “habitus,” which he describes as “a socially constituted system of cognitive and motivating structures.”14 It is the social basis for what Clifford Geertz described as the “cultural systems” of a people: the patterns of thought, the worldviews, and the meanings that are attached to the activities of a particular society. In Geertz’s view, such cultural systems encompass both secular ideologies and religion.15 The cultural approach to the study of terrorism that I have adopted has advantages and disadvantages. Although it allows me to explore more fully the distinctive worldview and moral justifications of each group, it means that I tend to study less closely the political calculations of movement leaders and the international networks of activists. For these aspects of terrorism I rely on other works: comprehensive surveys such as Walter Laqueur’s Terrorism (revised and republished as The Age

Introduction | 13

of Terrorism) and Bruce Hoffman’s Inside Terrorism, which covers both historical and contemporary incidents;16 studies in the social psychology of terrorism by Walter Reich and Jerrold Post;17 political analyses such as Louise Richardson’s What Terrorists Want, Martha Crenshaw’s work on the structure of terrorist organizations in Algeria, and Peter Merkl’s analysis of left-wing terrorism in Germany;18 and the contributions of Paul Wilkinson and Brian Jenkins in analyzing terrorism as an instrument of political strategy.19 These works leave room for other scholars to develop a more cultural approach to analyzing terrorist movements—efforts at reconstructing the terrorists’ worldviews from within, what I have called epistemic worldview analysis. This research has led to a number of significant case studies, including analyses of the Christian Reconstruction movement by Julie Ingersoll, the Christian Identity movement by James Aho, Irish paramilitarists by Martin Dillon, Sikh militants by Cynthia Keppley Mahmood, Jewish activists by Ehud Sprinzak, Hamas suicide bombers by Paul Steinberg and Anne Marie Oliver, and the Pakistani Taliban by Mona Kanwal Sheikh.20 These and other works, along with my own case studies and some interesting reportage by international journalists, make possible an effort such as this one: a comparative cultural study of religious terrorism. This book begins with case studies of religious activists who have used violence or who justify its use. The first half of the book contains chapters on recent acts of terrorism related to almost all of the world’s major religious traditions—Christians in Europe who have opposed Muslim immigrants, and those in America who supported abortion clinic bombings and militia actions such as the bombing of the Oklahoma City federal building; Catholics and Protestants who justified acts of terrorism in Northern Ireland; Muslims associated with the rise of ISIS in Iraq and Syria, the Al-Qaeda attacks on the World Trade Center in New York City, and Hamas targets in the Middle East; Jews who supported the persecution of Palestinians, the assassination of Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin, and the attack in Hebron’s Tomb of the Patriarchs; Hindus linked to assaults on Muslims in the Indian state of Gujarat, and Sikhs identified with the killing of India’s prime minister Indira Gandhi and Punjab’s chief minister Beant Singh; and the Buddhist militants affiliated with Southeast Asian anti-Muslim violence and with the nerve gas attack in Tokyo’s subways. Since these case studies are not only about people directly involved in terrorist acts but also about the worldviews of the cultures of violence

14

|

Introduction: Terror and God

that stand behind them, I have interviewed a number of people associated with these cultures. In the chapters that follow, however, I have chosen to focus on only a few. In some cases I have highlighted the established leaders of political organizations, such as Ashin Wirathu, Abdul Aziz Rantisi, Tom Hartley, and Simranjit Singh Mann. In other cases I have chosen outspoken activists who have been convicted of undertaking violent acts, such as Mahmud Abouhalima, Michael Bray, and Yoel Lerner. In yet other cases I have selected members from the lower echelons of activist movements, such as Takeshi Nakamura and Yochay Ron, and victims of the violence, such as the ISIS refugees in Kurdistan, Iraq, and Palestinian victims of a firebombing on the West Bank. The interviews that I have chosen to describe in detail are therefore diverse. But in each case—in my opinion—they best exemplify the worldviews of the cultures of violence to which the individuals have been associated. In the second half of the book I identify patterns—an overarching logic—found within the cultures of violence described in the first half. I try to explain why and how religion and violence are linked. In chapter 7 I explain why acts of religious terrorism are undertaken not only to achieve a strategic target but also to accomplish a symbolic purpose. In Chapters 8 and 9, I describe how images of cosmic confrontation and warfare that are ordinarily found in the context of heaven or history are tied by the perpetrators of religious violence to this-worldly political battles, and I explain how the processes of satanization and symbolic empowerment develop in stages. In chapter 10, I explore the way that religious violence has provided a sense of empowerment to alienated individuals, marginal groups, and visionary ideologues. In the last chapter of this book I return to questions directly about religion: why anyone would believe that God could sanction terrorism and why the rediscovery of religion’s power has appeared in recent years in such a bloody way—and what, if anything, can be done about it. I have applied what I have learned about religious terrorism to five scenarios in which violence comes to an end. In order to respond to religious terrorism in a way that is effective and does not produce more terrorism in response, I believe it is necessary to understand why such acts occur. Behind this practical purpose in writing this book, however, is an attempt to understand the role that violence has always played in the religious imagination and how terror could be conceived in the mind of God. These two purposes are connected. One of my conclusions is that this historical moment of global transformation has provided an occasion

Introduction | 15

for religion—with all its images and ideas—to be reasserted as a public force. Lurking in the background of much of religion’s unrest and the occasion for its political revival, I believe, is the virtually global devaluation of secular authority and the need for alternative ideologies of public order. It may be one of the paradoxes of history, graphically displayed in incidents of terrorism, that the answers to the questions of why the contemporary world still needs religion and of why it has suffered such public acts of violence, are surprisingly the same.

part one

Cultures of Violence

17

chapter 2

Soldiers for Christ

Even before 9/11 and the ISIS attacks in Paris in 2015, Europeans and Americans were learning to live with shocking, disturbing incidents of violence laced with the passion of religion. Prior to the 9/11 attacks in New York and Washington DC, however, the religion associated with most acts of terrorism in the West was not Islam but Christianity. For years the United Kingdom was ravaged by violence committed by both Catholic and Protestant sides in the Northern Ireland dispute and Europe was plagued by attacks by Christian activists against new immigrants from Algeria, Morocco, and the Middle East. The pre-9/11 perpetrators of terrorism in the United States include the Christian militants involved in the shootings at a Jewish day care center in California, the bombing of the Atlanta Olympic Games, the devastation of the Oklahoma City federal building, and a rash of abortion clinic attacks. In the years since 9/11 terrorist attacks by Christians have increased, not only in Africa where they are associated with movements such as Joseph Kony’s Lord’s Resistance Army, but also in the United States and Europe where they are often related to an ugly xenophobic mood of anger toward Muslim immigrants. In the years since 1990 there have been far more terrorist attacks by Christians than Muslims on European and American soil. My attempt to understand contemporary religious violence around the world begins in Europe and America with these Christian examples. Although much of the world’s attention has been riveted to incidents in 19

20

|

Cultures of Violence

the Middle East, I have chosen to initiate my search with a phenomenon that most American and European readers will find both familiar and strange: Christian militancy in the West. What is familiar is the setting; what is strange is the idea that religious warfare exists in some of the most modern of twentieth-first-century societies. Also surprising, at least to some, is that terrorism has been linked to Christianity.

anders breivik, defender of christendom I received a call from a television producer in Oslo on July 22, 2011, some hours after the horrendous attack by a Norwegian, Anders Breivik, in a youth camp near the capital city. For ninety minutes Breivik was able to stalk his victims and shoot at will, killing sixty-seven by gunshot; another two drowned in the sea trying to escape. The youngest was a girl aged fourteen, and most were teenagers associated with the youth wing of a liberal political party that had embraced multiculturalism as a social virtue. Some were shot as they tried to flee, others were pleading for mercy when they were killed. Watching the reports of the atrocity on television, my silent question was one that most other people must have had at that time: why would anyone do such a horrible thing? This was the question that the television producer asked when he contacted me by telephone, though by then they had information about a significant clue to the answer. A long rambling manifesto had been posted on the internet within hours of the shooting, purportedly written by “Andrew Berwick,” clearly an Anglicized form of the Norwegian name, Anders Breivik, and it was in English. I asked the producer to send a copy to me immediately by email attachment. What I received was a strange mess. The manifesto, titled, “2083—A European Declaration of Independence,” ran over fifteen hundred pages, and was a bizarre mixture of diary entries, summaries of books and articles, and a paranoid analysis of European history and politics, focused primarily on what the author thought were the evil influences of feminism, cultural Marxism, and especially Muslim culture. The killing, apparently, was in part an attempt to gain public attention for this incoherent, vituperative essay. For much of that night I sat in my study, reading the manuscript and trying to make sense of it all. The item that first claimed my attention was the title, not just the part about a “European Declaration of Independence” (for what? from whom?) but also the date. What was significant about the year 2083? The title of Breivik’s

Soldiers for Christ | 21

manifesto, which was posted on the internet on that day, is 2083, the date that Breivik suggested would be the culmination of a seventy-year war that began with his action. Yet seventy years from 2011 would be 2081—why did he date the final purge of Muslims from Norway to be two years later, in 2083? I found the answer on page 242 of Breivik’s manifesto, where he explains that on 1683 at the Battle of Vienna, the Ottoman Empire military was defeated in a protracted struggle, thereby insuring that most of Europe would not become part of the Muslim empire. The date in Breivik’s title is the four hundredth anniversary of that decisive battle, and it appeared that in Breivik’s mind he was re-creating the historic efforts to save Europe from what he imagined to be the evils of Islam. The threat of Islam is a dominant motif of the manifesto, and Breivik’s sense of urgency in stopping what he imagined to be a Muslim tide surging over Northern Europe is palpable. “The time for dialogue is over,” Breivik proclaimed. “The time for armed resistance has come.”1 The enemies in this imagined cosmic war were “the cultural Marxist/ multiculturalist elites” whom he regarded as the “Nazis of our time,” intent on “leading us [i.e., white Europeans] to the cultural slaughterhouse by selling us into Muslim slavery.” Breivik says, threateningly, to the “multiculturalist elite,” that “we know who you are, where you live and we are coming for you.” The manifesto is an interesting and eclectic document, something of a scrapbook of everything from his instructions for small-scale farming to a syllabus for a course on revolution that he’d love to see taught (complete with extensive bibliography that includes authors such as Immanuel Wallerstein, Theda Skocpol, and Eric Hobsbawm, and recommends as a textbook the book Theorizing Revolution, written by my colleague at Santa Barbara, John Foran). It also includes theoretical and historical overviews of European history and political ideas, and an attempt to explain Muslim ideas and Islamic history, skewed in such a way to make it appear as if this major religious tradition was an ideology intent on controlling the world. The manifesto also includes a manual of how to make terrorist devices and conduct acts of terrorism; it advises on costumes that might be worn, such as a policeman’s uniform, and how to avoid detection. Perhaps the most interesting section is Breivik’s chronology, day by day, of the weeks preceding his bombing and massacre on July 22. It ends the chronology with this matter-of-fact statement: “I believe this will be my last entry. It is now Fri July 22nd, 12.51.” Moments later he

22

|

Cultures of Violence

posted the 1,516-page book to over a thousand email addresses on his contact list and to seven thousand followers on his Facebook site along with a link to a video he had made that was posted on YouTube. Then he drove to downtown Oslo to detonate the bomb that killed eight and shattered major buildings that housed offices of the ruling political party. Afterward he donned his policeman’s uniform to gain entrance to the Norwegian Liberal Party’s youth camp where he coldly murdered sixty-nine young people. Like many modern terrorists, his violent act was a performance to show the world that for the moment he was in charge. The terrorist act was a call to arms intended for imagined circle of supporters, and a signal that a cosmic war between existential forces of good and evil had begun. Behind the earthly conflict was the battle for Christendom. As the title of Breivik’s manifesto indicates, he thought he was re-creating that historical moment in which Christianity was defended against the hordes, and Islam was purged from what he imagined to be the purity of European society. Breivik was not a pious church-going Christian; proud of his Viking heritage, he described himself as “an Odinist,” evoking the name of an ancient Norse god. But he also felt that he was defending the heritage of European Christendom and longed to re-create the Knights Templar, the Crusade-era force that fought against Muslim rule. Like his favorite computer game—World of Warcraft—Breivik imagined that he was a hero in a great battle of ancient competing forces. Breivik meticulously detailed what he expected to be the historical trajectory of this war through four stages, culminating in 2083. He expected that the forces of multiculturalism would be tough, and would resist the efforts to combat it. “It will take us up to 70 years to win,” but adds that “there is no doubt in our minds that we will eventually succeed.”2 In the final phase of the great cosmic war, the civil war between the evil multiculturalists and the righteous few, a series of coup d’états throughout Europe will overthrow the liberal forces. Then, finally “the deportation of Muslims” will begin, and European Christendom will be restored. Breivik hoped that his manifesto would be the call that would awaken concerned Christians in northern Europe to join this struggle and defeat the forces of multiculturalism and the acceptance of Muslims. The main point of his terrorist attacks, Breivik admitted later, was to draw attention to his manifesto and get people to read it. Though he did achieve this goal, there is no evidence that it persuaded anyone who was not already inclined to do so to join Breivik’s cause. Rather, the media portrayed him as a somewhat pathetic figure, and on August 24, 2012, he

Soldiers for Christ | 23

was sentenced to what amounted to life imprisonment. The charges were “mass murder, causing a fatal explosion, and terrorism.”

timothy mcveigh and the oklahoma city federal building bombing As I was collecting information about Anders Breivik, I experienced a chilling feeling of déjà vu. Some fifteen years before his attack, another young would-be soldier took it upon himself to create a terrible incident of tragic havoc in an imagined effort to save his country from liberal forces. I was thinking of Oklahoma City bomber Timothy McVeigh, and the similarities between him and Norway’s Breivik are striking. Both were good-looking young Caucasians, imagined soldiers in a cosmic war to save Christendom. Both thought their acts of mass destruction would trigger a great battle to rescue society from liberal forces of multiculturalism that allowed non-Christians and nonwhites positions of acceptability. Both regretted the loss of life but thought their actions were “necessary.” For that they were staunchly unapologetic. Their similarities even extend to the kind of explosive used in their actions. Both used a mixture of fuel oil and ammonium nitrate fertilizer which Breivik said he needed for his farm operations. The farm, it turned out, was rented largely because it was a convenient place to test his bombs. And then there is the matter of dates. McVeigh was fixed on the day of April 19, the anniversary of the Waco siege. Breivik chose July 22, which was the day in 1099 that the Kingdom of Jerusalem was established during the First Crusades, and 2083—the title of his manifesto—which was the date that evoked the European standoff against Muslim armies at the gates of Vienna in 1683. The writing of a manifesto is a major difference between Breivik and McVeigh, who was not a writer; instead McVeigh copied and quoted from his favorite book, the novel The Turner Diaries, written by neoNazi William Pierce under the pseudonym Andrew Macdonald. This novel explains McVeigh’s motives in a matter eerily similar to the writings of Breivik in his manifesto: McVeigh thought that liberal politicians had given in to the forces of globalization and multiculturalism, and that the “mudpeople” who were nonwhite, non-Christian, nonheterosexual nonpatriarchal males were trying to take over the country. To save the country for Christendom the righteous white, straight, nonfeminist Christian males had to be shocked into reality by the force of an explosion that would signal to them that the war had begun. These were McVeigh’s ideas from The Turner Diaries, but they were also Breivik’s.

24

|

Cultures of Violence

These ideas are also a part of a Christian subculture in Europe and the United States that imagines that Caucasians have been granted superiority by divine right. This is an idea that is central to a specific movement, Christian Identity, that influenced McVeigh and many other American activists, leading to such violent incidents as the standoff at Ruby Ridge and the killing of a Jewish talk-show host in Denver, Colorado. It was also a part of the thinking of Eric Robert Rudolph, who gained notoriety in the 1990s through a long list of violent incidents with which he was implicated, including bombing abortion clinics in Birmingham, Alabama, and Atlanta, Georgia; blasting a lesbian bar in Atlanta; and exploding a bomb at the 1996 Atlanta Olympics. After five years of hiding out in the Appalachian Mountains, Rudolph was finally captured in 2003 and is serving a series of multiple life sentences. What the terrorist incidents in which he as implicated have in common is their relationship to abortion and homosexuality, which many Christian activists regard as immoral. One of Rudolph’s supporters told me in an interview that Rudolph’s anger at the Olympic organizers came in part because the carriers of the Olympic torch, which passed through the southern United States on its way to Atlanta, skirted one county in North Carolina that had approved an ordinance declaring that “sodomy is not consistent with the values of the community.” Rudolph is said to have interpreted this detour in the torch’s journey as a progay stance on the part of the Olympic organizers.3 In a broader sense, however, his supporter told me that Rudolph was concerned about the permissiveness of secular authorities in the United States and “the atheistic internationalism” controlling one side of what his supporter, Rev. Michael Bray, calls “the culture war” in modern society.4 These concerns are shared by many Christian activists, but in Rudolph’s case they are associated especially with the movement with which Rudolph became familiar in childhood: Christian Identity. At one time he and his mother stayed at the American Identity compound led by Dan Gayman, and there are press reports that Rudolph knew the late Identity preacher Nord Davis. The theology of Christian Identity is based on racial supremacy and biblical law. It has been in the background of such extremist American movements as the Posse Comitatus, the Order, the Aryan Nations, the supporters of Randy Weaver at Ruby Ridge, Herbert Armstrong’s Worldwide Church of God, the Freeman Compound, and the World Church of the Creator. It is popular in many militia movements and motivated Buford Furrow in his 1999 assault on a Jewish center in Granada Hills, California.

Soldiers for Christ | 25

Christian Identity ideas were most likely also part of the thinking of Timothy McVeigh, who was exposed to Identity thinking through the militia culture with which he was associated and through his awareness of the Christian Identity encampment, Elohim City, on the OklahomaArkansas border. Although there is no evidence that McVeigh was ever affiliated with the commune, phone calls he made to Elohim City in the months before his Oklahoma City federal building bombing are a matter of record, including one made two weeks before the attack.5 McVeigh once received a citation for a minor traffic offense ten miles from the commune on the only access road to it. McVeigh also imbibed Identity ideas, or concepts similar to them, through such publications as The Patriot Report, an Arkansas-based Christian Identity newsletter that McVeigh received, and perhaps most of all from The Turner Diaries.6 According to McVeigh’s friends, this novel was “his favorite book”; it was “his bible.”7 According to one gun collector who saw McVeigh frequently at gun shows, he hawked the book at bargain prices to anyone interested in buying it, and always had a copy of it with him.8 More to the point, McVeigh’s telephone records indicate that despite his denials, he talked several times directly with the author of the novel, including a conversation shortly before the Oklahoma City attack.9 The author is William Pierce (1933–2002), who received a Ph.D. from the University of Colorado. For a time Pierce taught physics at Oregon State University, and he once served as a writer for the American Nazi Party. Although he denied affiliation with the Christian Identity movement—and in fact attacked the clubbishness of most Identity groups—Pierce’s ideas are virtually indistinguishable from Identity thinking. In 1984 Pierce proclaimed himself the founder of a religious compound very similar to those associated with the Christian Identity movement. He called it the Cosmotheist Community.10 Pierce’s Turner Diaries, written under the pseudonym Andrew Macdonald, was the main vehicle for his Identity/Cosmotheist ideas. Published in 1978, it describes an apocalyptic battle between freedom fighters and a dictatorial American government. The novel soon became an underground classic, selling two hundred thousand copies in gun shows and through mail-order catalogs. It served as the blueprint for activists such as Robert Matthews, who was implicated in the 1984 assassination of a Jewish talk-show host in Denver. Matthews, like Timothy McVeigh, seems to have taken seriously the novel’s predictions of the encroachment of government control in America and the resistance by a guerrilla band known as “the Order.” Matthews called his own

26

|

Cultures of Violence

movement “the Order,” and the modus operandi McVeigh used in destroying the Oklahoma City federal building was almost exactly the same as the one used by patriotic guerrillas to attack government buildings in Pierce’s novel. Although written almost eighteen years before the 1995 Oklahoma City blast, a section of The Turner Diaries reads almost like a news account of the horrifying event. It describes in chilling detail how the fictional hero blew up a federal building with a truckload of “a little under 5,000 pounds” of ammonium nitrate fertilizer and fuel oil. Timothy McVeigh’s own truck carried 4,400 pounds of the same mixture, packaged and transported exactly as described in the novel. According to Pierce’s story, the purpose of the bombing was to launch an attack against the perceived evils of the government and to arouse the fighting spirit of all “free men.”11 According to Pierce, such efforts were necessary because of the mindset of dictatorial secularism that had been imposed on American society as the result of an elaborate conspiracy orchestrated by Jews and liberals hell-bent on depriving Christian society of its freedom and its spiritual moorings. Pierce and Christian Identity activists yearned for a revolution that would undo America’s separation of church and state—or rather, because they disdained the organized Church, they wanted to merge “religion and state” in a new society governed by religious law. This is why so many Identity groups lived together in theocratic societies such as Elohim City, the Freeman Compound, the Aryan Nations compound, and Pierce’s Cosmotheist Community. Although these religious communalists believed in capitalism, many held property in common. They also shared an apocalyptic view of history and an even more conspiratorial view of government than the Reconstructionists. They believed that the great confrontation between freedom and a government-imposed slavery was close at hand and that their valiant, militant efforts could threaten the evil system and awaken the spirit of the freedom-loving masses. These are ideas that came to Timothy McVeigh from William Pierce and The Turner Diaries and indirectly from the theories of Christian Identity. Christian Identity thought originated in the movement of British Israelism in the nineteenth century. According to Michael Barkun, who has written extensively about the movement, one of the founding fathers was John Wilson, whose central work, Lectures on Our Israelitish Origin, brought the message to a large British and Irish middle-class audience.12 Wilson claimed that Jesus had been an Aryan, not a Semite; that

Soldiers for Christ | 27

the migrating Israelite tribes from the northern kingdom of Israel were in fact blue-eyed Aryans who somehow ended up in the British Isles; and that the “Lost Sheep of the House of Israel” were none other than present-day Englishmen.13 According to later versions of this theory, people who claim to be Jews are imposters. Some versions of Identity thinking regard them as descendants of an illicit sexual act between Eve and Satan; other versions have them as aliens from outer space. In either case, Identity thinking claims that the people known as Jews pretend to be Jews in order to assert their superiority in a scheme to control the world. The Jews’ plot is allegedly supported by the secret Protestant order of Freemasons. British Israelism came to the United States in the early twentieth century through the teachings of the evangelist Gerald L. K. Smith and the writings of William Cameron, a publicist for the automobile magnate Henry Ford.14 Ford himself supported many of Cameron’s views and published a book of anti-Semitic essays written by Cameron but attributed to Ford, The International Jew: The World’s Foremost Problem. Cameron conveyed such Christian Identity tenets as the necessity for the AngloSaxon race to retain its purity and political dominance, and the need for western societies to establish a biblical basis for governance. The Christian Identity philosophy was promoted further by Bertram Comparet, a deputy district attorney in San Diego, and Wesley Swift, a Ku Klux Klan member who founded the Church of Jesus Christ-Christian in 1946. This church was the basis for the Christian Defense League, organized by Bill Gale at his ranch in Mariposa, California, in the 1960s, a movement that spawned both the Posse Comitatus and the Aryan Nations.15 British Israelism appealed to the elite of nineteenth-century British society, but by the time these ideas came to the United States, the ideology had taken a more strident and political turn. Most of the followers of Christian Identity were relatively benign, and according to Jeffrey Kaplan, who studied contemporary Christian Identity groups in the American Midwest and Northwest, their ideas tended to be simplified in the public mind and the groups reduced to the ranks of “monsters” in America’s right-wing fringe.16 Though that may be true, the fact remains that the ideology lies behind some of the more heinous groups and actions in American society in the late twentieth and early twentyfirst centuries. In recent decades the largest concentration of Christian Identity groups in the United States was in Idaho—centered on the Aryan Nations compound near Hayden Lake—and in the southern Midwest near the

28

|

Cultures of Violence

Oklahoma-Arkansas-Missouri borders. In that location a Christian Identity group called the Covenant, the Sword, and the Arm of the Lord (CSA) established a 224-acre community and a paramilitary school, which it named the Endtime Overcomer Survival Training School.17 Nearby, Christian Identity minister Robert Millar and former Nazi Party member Glenn Miller established Elohim City, whose members stockpiled weapons and prepared themselves for “a Branch Davidian-type raid” by the U.S. government’s Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms.18 It was this Christian Identity encampment that Timothy McVeigh contacted shortly before the Oklahoma City federal building blast. The American incarnation of Christian Identity incorporated many of the British movement’s paranoid views, updated to suit the social anxieties of many contemporary Americans. For instance, the United Nations and the Democratic Party were alleged to be accomplices in a JewishFreemason conspiracy to control the world and deprive individuals of their freedom. In a 1982 Identity pamphlet, Jews were described as “parasites and vultures” who controlled the world through international banking.19 The establishment of the International Monetary Fund, the introduction of magnetized credit cards, and the establishment of paper money not backed by gold or silver were listed as the final steps in “Satan’s Plan.”20 Gun control is also an important issue to Christian Identity supporters, since they believe that this is how the “Jewish-UN-liberal conspirators,” as they call them, intend to eliminate the last possibilities of rebellion against centralized power. These “conspirators” are thought to be hell-bent on depriving individuals of the weapons they might use to defend themselves or free their countrymen from a tyrannical state. This obsession with gun control has made many Christian Identity followers natural allies with the National Rifle Association. The rhetoric of the NRA has played a significant role in legitimizing Christian Identity members’ fears of the evil intentions behind governmental gun control and has provided a public voice for their paranoid views. By the late 1990s the Christian Identity movement had become publicly identified as one of the leading voices of America’s radical right. At that time the dean of the movement was Richard Butler, a former Presbyterian minister often described as “the elder statesman of American hate.”21 Although Butler’s Aryan Nations compound in Idaho consisted of only a handful of supporters on a twenty-acre farm, its website received over five hundred hits daily. Moreover, the movement received an infusion of financial support from two Silicon Valley entrepreneurs,

Soldiers for Christ | 29

Carl E. Story and R. Vincent Bertollini. Their organization, the Eleventh Hour Remnant Messenger, is said to have spent a million dollars promoting Christian Identity ideas as of 1999, and to have had access to fifty million more. One of the projects they funded was the mass mailing of a videotape featuring Butler presenting his Christian Identity theory of “Adam’s pure blood seed-line,” and the alleged global conspiracy to destroy it.22 Loosely affiliated to the compound were groups such as Robert Matthews’s “Order.” At the extreme fringes of the Christian Identity movement are rogue terrorists. Some are like Buford Furrow, who once lived in Butler’s compound and married Matthews’s widow, and Benjamin Smith, the 1999 Fourth of July sniper in Illinois and Indiana, who belonged to an Identity-like church that eschews other Identity groups and, for that matter, all of Christianity. Others are like Timothy McVeigh, whose group was virtually an anti-organization: a nameless, close-knit cadre. But Christian Identity is not the only deviant Christian ideology that lies behind acts of terrorism in the United States. Others are related to the Christian Reconstruction teachings, and many of these terrorist attacks have targeted clinics that offer abortion services. The activists are not just prolife, however; they support a radical agenda of refashioning America society around Calvinist notions of Christian politics, attempts to make America a truly Christian nation.

michael bray and abortion clinic bombings It was “a cold February night” when Rev. Michael Bray and a friend drove a yellow Honda from his home in Bowie to nearby Dover, Delaware. The trunk of the car held a cargo of ominous supplies: a cinder block to break a window, cans of gasoline to pour in and around a building, and rags and matches to ignite the flames. The road to Delaware was foggy and the bridge across Chesapeake Bay was icy. The car skidded and a minor accident occurred, but the pair were determined to forge ahead. “Before daybreak,” Bray said, “the only abortion chamber in Dover was gutted by fire and put out of the business of butchering babies.”23 In the following year, 1985, Bray and two other defendants stood trial for destroying seven abortion facilities in Delaware, Maryland, Virginia, and the District of Columbia, with a total of over one million dollars in damages. He was convicted of these charges and served prison time until May 15, 1989. When I talked with Rev. Bray in his suburban home in Bowie many years later, I found nothing sinister or intensely fanatical about him. He

30

|

Cultures of Violence

was a cheerful, charming, handsome man in his early forties who liked to be called Mike. Hardly the image of an ignorant, narrow-minded fundamentalist, Mike Bray enjoyed a glass of wine before dinner and talked knowledgeably about theology and politics.24 This demeanor was quite different from his public posture. Prior to one of my interviews with Bray he had just appeared on the American television show Nightline, in a program focusing on anti-abortion acts of terrorism.25 The host of the program had accused Bray of being the author of the underground manual Army of God, which provides detailed instructions for various forms of destruction and sabotage aimed at abortion facilities. Bray did not deny the accusation, but he did not admit to it either. When I talked with Bray a few days later and asked him about the authorship of the document, he repeated his noncommittal stance but was able to show me a copy of the manual he happened to have on file. It was written in his own characteristically jaunty and satirical style, and I suspected that the television moderator’s accusation was correct. Bray’s identification with the Army of God movement was established in his trial some years ago when the initials AOG were found on abortion buildings that he was accused of having torched. When I asked Bray why, if he had not written it, he would hesitate to deny his authorship of the booklet, he said that “it was good to show solidarity with anyone who is being maligned for writing such a book.”26 Whether or not he was the author, Bray clearly sympathized with the ideas in the manual. As a leader in the Defensive Action movement, Michael Bray has justified the use of violence in anti-abortion activities, although his attacks on abortion clinics have been considered extreme even by members of the prolife movement. The same has been said of his acknowledged writings. From 1991 to 2002 Bray published one of the country’s most militant Christian newsletters, Capitol Area Christian News, which focused on abortion, homosexuality, and what Bray regards as the federal government’s pathological abuse of power. Bray was the spokesman for two activists who were convicted of murderous assaults on abortion clinic staffs. Bray’s friend, Rev. Paul Hill, killed Dr. John Britton and his volunteer escort James Barrett as they drove up to the Ladies Center, an abortion clinic in Pensacola, Florida, in 1994. Several years earlier another member of Bray’s network of associates, Rachelle (“Shelly”) Shannon, a housewife from rural Oregon, also confessed to a string of abortion clinic bombings. She was convicted of attempted murder for shooting and wounding Dr. George Tiller as he drove away from his clinic in Wichita, Kansas. When

Soldiers for Christ | 31

Tiller was finally murdered in 2009 by Scott Roeder while attending church services, Bray applauded the act and wrote on his website that “the decision to abort an abortionist is a good thing because such action saves real lives” (italics in the original).27 Bray wrote the definitive book on the ethical justification for anti-abortion violence, A Time to Kill, which defended his own acts of terrorism, the murders of abortion clinic doctors, and the attempted murder by Shannon.28 And yet in person Rev. Michael Bray is in many ways an affable and interesting man. Mike Bray had always been active, he told me, having been raised in a family focused around sports, church activities, and military life. His father was a naval officer who served at nearby Annapolis, and Mike grew up expecting to follow in his father’s military footsteps. An athletic hero in high school, he took the most popular girl in class to the senior prom. Her name was Kathie Epstein—who Americans would later know as the Kathie Lee, a nationally known singer and television talk-show figure, hosting a morning program with Regis Philbin. Mike’s own career was marked by less obvious attributes of success. He attended Annapolis for a year and then dropped out, living what he described as a “prodigal” life. He searched for religion as a solution to his malaise and was for a time tempted by the Mormons. Then the mother of his old girlfriend, Kathie Lee, steered him toward Billy Graham and the born-again experience of evangelical Christianity. Mike was converted and went to Colorado to study in a Baptist Bible college and seminary. Yet Bray never quite rejected the Lutheranism of his upbringing. So when he returned to Bowie, he rejoined his childhood church and became the assistant pastor. When the national Lutheran churches merged, Bray led a faction of the local church that objected to what it regarded as the national church’s abandonment of the principle of scriptural literalism. Seeing himself as a crusader, Mike and his group of ten families split off and in 1984 formed the Reformation Lutheran Church, an independent group affiliated with the national Association of Free Lutheran Congregations. Years later, Bray’s church remained a circle of about fifty people without its own building. The church operated out of Bray’s suburban home until he moved to Wilmington, Ohio, in 2003: Bray remodeled the garage into a classroom for a Christian elementary school, where he and his wife taught a small group of students. Increasingly in the 1990s, Mike Bray’s real occupation became social activism. Supported by his wife, members of the church, and his volunteer associate pastor, Michael Colvin—who held a Ph.D. in classics from the University of Indiana and worked in the federal health care

32

|

Cultures of Violence

administration—Mike and his followers launched anti-abortion crusades and tapped into a growing national network of like-minded Christian activists. They became concerned that the federal government—particularly the attorney general in the Clinton administration, whom Mike, referring to the U.S. government standoff against a religious cult in Waco, Texas, called “Janet Waco Reno”—was undermining individual freedoms and moral values. He saw American society in a state of utter depravity, over which its elected officials presided with an almost satanic disregard for truth and human life. He viewed President Bill Clinton and other politicians as “neopagans,” sometimes comparing them to Hitler. The Nazi image pervaded Bray’s understanding of how ethically minded people should respond to such a threat. Regarding the activities that led to his prison conviction, Bray has “no regrets.” “Whatever I did,” he said, “it was worth it.” According to Bray, Americans live in a situation “comparable to Nazi Germany,” a state of hidden warfare, and the comforts of modern society have lulled the populace into a lack of awareness of the situation. Bray was convinced that if there were some dramatic event, such as economic collapse or social chaos, the demonic role of the government would be revealed, and people would have “the strength and the zeal to take up arms” in a revolutionary struggle. What he envisioned as the outcome of that struggle was the establishment of a new moral order in America, one based on biblical law and a spiritual, rather than a secular, social compact. Until this new moral order is established, Bray said, he and others like him who are aware of what is going on and have the moral courage to resist it are compelled to take action. According to Bray, Christianity gave him the right to defend innocent “unborn children,” even by use of force, whether it involves “destroying the facilities that they are regularly killed in, or taking the life of one who is murdering them.” By the latter, Bray meant killing doctors and other clinical staff involved in performing abortions. Bray defended the 1994 actions of his friend Rev. Paul Hill, in killing Dr. John Britton and his escort. Bray’s theological justifications were echoed by Hill himself. “You may wonder what it is like to have killed an abortionist and his escort,” Hill wrote to Bray and his other supporters after the killings.29 “My eyes were opened to the enormous impact” such an event would have, he wrote, adding that “the effect would be incalculable.” Hill said that he opened his Bible and found sustenance in Psalms 91: “You will not be afraid of the terror by night, or of the

Soldiers for Christ | 33

arrow that flies by day.” Hill interpreted this as an affirmation that his act was biblically approved. When I suggested to Bray that carrying out such violent actions is tantamount to acting as both judge and executioner, Bray demurred. Although he did not deny that a religious authority has the right to pronounce judgment over those who broke the moral law, he explained that attacks on abortion clinics and the killing of abortion doctors were essentially defensive rather than punitive acts. According to Bray, “there is a difference between taking a retired abortionist and executing him, and killing a practicing abortionist who is regularly killing babies.” The first act is in Bray’s view retributive, the second defensive. According to Bray, the attacks were aimed not so much at punishing clinics and abortionists for their actions as at preventing them from “killing babies,” as Bray put it. He was careful to say that he did not advocate the use of violence, but morally approved of it in some instances. He was “prochoice,” as he put it ironically, regarding the use of violence for certain ends which he saw as moral.

christian justifications for violence Bray found support for his position in actions undertaken during the Nazi regime in Europe. His moral exemplar in this regard was the German theologian and Lutheran pastor Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who abruptly terminated his privileged research position at Union Theological Seminary in New York to return to Germany and clandestinely join a plot to assassinate Hitler. The plot was uncovered before it could be carried out, and Bonhoeffer, the brilliant young ethical theorist, was hanged by the Nazis. His image of martyrdom and his theological writings lived on, however, and Bonhoeffer has often been cited by moral theorists as an example of how Christians could undertake violent actions for a just cause and how occasionally they are constrained to break laws for a higher purpose. These were positions also held by one of Bonhoeffer’s colleagues at Union Theological Seminary, Reinhold Niebuhr, whom Bray also cited. Often touted as one of the greatest Protestant theologians of the twentieth century, Niebuhr wrestled with one of Christianity’s oldest ethical problems: when it is permissible to use force—even violence—on behalf of a righteous cause. Niebuhr began his career as a pacifist, but in time he grudgingly began to accept the position that a Christian, acting for the sake of justice, could use a limited amount of violence.30

34

|

Cultures of Violence

Niebuhr was drawing on a strain of religious activism that went back to Christianity’s origins. The tradition emerged in the context of revolutionary struggles against the Roman occupation of Israel. The New Testament indicates that at least two of Jesus’ disciples were members of the rebellious Jewish party the Zealots. Scholars dispute whether or not the Jesus movement was considered antigovernment at the time, but the New Testament clearly records that the Roman colonial government charged Jesus with sedition, found him guilty, and executed him for the crime.31 Did Jesus in fact support the violent overthrow of the Roman occupation? The answer to that question is unclear, and the controversy over whether Christianity sanctions violence has hounded the Church from its earliest days. It can be argued that Christians were expected to follow Jesus’ example of selfless love, to “love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you” (Matt. 5:44). Evidence for the other side comes from such incidents as Jesus driving the money changers from the temple and such enigmatic statements as Jesus’ dark prophecy, “Do not think that I have come to bring peace on earth; I have come not to bring peace but a sword” (Matt. 10:34; see also Luke 12:51–52). The early Church fathers, including Tertullian and Origen, asserted that Christians were constrained from taking human life, a principle that prevented Christians from serving in the Roman army. Thus the early Christians were essentially pacificists. When Christianity vaulted into the status of state religion in the fourth century c.e., Church leaders began to reject pacifism and accept the doctrine of just war, an idea first stated by Cicero and later developed by Ambrose and Augustine.32 This idea justified the use of military force under certain conditions, including proportionality—the expectation that more lives would be saved by the use of force than would be lost—and legitimacy, the notion that the undertaking must be approved by an established authority. The abuse of the concept in justifying military adventures and violent persecutions of heretical and minority groups led Thomas Aquinas in the thirteenth century to reaffirm that war was always sinful, even if it was occasionally waged for a just cause. Remarkably, the just-war theory still stands today as the centerpiece of Christian understanding concerning the moral use of violence.33 Some modern Christian theologians have adapted the theory of just war to liberation theology, arguing that the Church can embrace a “just revolution.”34 Reinhold Niebuhr showed the relevance of just-war theory to social struggles in the twentieth century by relating the idea to what he

Soldiers for Christ | 35

regarded as the Christian requirement to fulfill social justice. Viewing the world through the lens of what he called “realism,” Niebuhr concluded that moral suasion is not sufficient to combat social injustices, especially when they are buttressed by corporate and state power. For this reason, he explained in a seminal essay, Why the Christian Church Is Not Pacifist, that it is at times necessary to abandon nonviolence in favor of a more forceful solution.35 Building his case on Augustine’s understanding of original sin, Niebuhr argued that righteous force is sometimes necessary to extirpate injustice and subdue evil in a sinful world, and that small strategic acts of violence are occasionally necessary to deter large acts of violence and injustice. If violence is to be used in such situations, Niebuhr explained, it must be used sparingly and as swiftly and skillfully as a surgeon’s knife.36 In addition to the “just war,” however, there are other, less legitimate examples of religious violence from Christianity’s heritage, including the Inquisitions and the Crusades. The thirteenth-century Inquisitions were the medieval Church’s attempt to root out heresy, involving torture of the accused and sentences that included burning at the stake. The Spanish Inquisition in the fifteenth century was aimed largely at Jews and Muslims who had converted to Christianity but were investigated to see if the conversions were sincere; again, torture and death were standard features of these spurious trials. The nine Crusades— which began in 1095 with Pope Urban II’s plea for Christians to rise up and retake the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem, which had fallen into Muslim hands, and ended some three centuries later—were punctuated with the Christian battle cry “Deus volt” (“God wills it”). As the armies moved through Europe on their way to the Holy Land, they gathered the poor and desperate for quixotic ventures that led to virtually no military conquests of lasting value. They did, however, lead to the deaths of thousands of innocent Muslims and Jews. Today the memory of this tragic period in Christian history is evoked in the epithet “crusader,” applied to anyone committed to a cause with excessive zeal. One might think of the Crusades when one considers the religious commitment of anti-abortion activists such as Rev. Michael Bray who turn to violence in their war with abortion clinic staff and their defenders, the secular state. Bray, however, found refuge not in the historical example of the Crusades but in the ethical justification offered by Niebuhr, along with the example of Christian sacrifice in the assassination attempt by Bonhoeffer. These modern liberal Christian defenders of the just role of violence gave Bray the impression that Christian theology

36

|

Cultures of Violence

has supported his own efforts to bring about social change through violent acts. But Bray radically differs from Niebuhr and Bonhoeffer theologically and in his interpretation of the contemporary situation—comparing America’s democratic state to Nazism and advocating a biblically based religious politics to replace the secular government. It is unlikely that Bray’s positions would be accepted by these or any other theologian within mainstream Protestant thought. Bonhoeffer and Niebuhr, like most modern theologians, accepted the principle of the separation of church and state; they felt that separation is necessary to the integrity of both institutions. Niebuhr was especially wary of what he called “moralism”—the intrusion of religious or other ideological values into the political calculations of state-craft. To support his ideas about religious politics, therefore, Bray had to look beyond mainstream Protestant thought. Rejecting Bonhoeffer’s and Niebuhr’s “affliction” with moderate neo-orthodox theology, Bray found intellectual company in a group of writers associated with the more conservative Dominion Theology, the position that Christianity must reassert the dominion of God over all things, including secular politics and society. This point of view—articulated by such right-wing Protestant spokespersons as Rev. Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson—led to a burst of social and political activism in the Christian right beginning in the 1980s and continuing into the twenty-first century. The Christian anti-abortion movement is permeated with ideas from Dominion Theology. Randall Terry, founder of the militant anti-abortion organization Operation Rescue and a writer for the Dominion magazine Crosswinds, signed the magazine’s “Manifesto for the Christian Church.” This manifesto asserted that America should “function as a Christian nation” and opposed such “social moral evils” of secular society as “abortion on demand, fornication, homosexuality, sexual entertainment, state usurpation of parental rights and God-given liberties, statist-collectivist theft from citizens through devaluation of their money and redistribution of their wealth, and evolutionism taught as a monopoly viewpoint in the public schools.”37 At the extreme right wing of Dominion Theology is a relatively obscure theological movement that Mike Bray found particularly appealing: Reconstruction Theology, whose exponents long to create a Christian theocratic state.38 Bray had studied their writings extensively and possessed a shelf of books written by Reconstruction authors. The convicted anti-abortion killer Paul Hill cited Reconstruction theolo-

Soldiers for Christ | 37

gians in his own writings and once studied with a founder of the movement, Greg Bahnsen, at Reformed Theological Seminary in Jackson, Mississippi.39 Leaders of the Reconstruction movement trace their ideas, which they sometimes called “theonomy,” to Cornelius Van Til, a twentiethcentury Presbyterian professor of theology at Princeton Seminary who took seriously the sixteenth-century ideas of the Reformation theologian John Calvin regarding the necessity for presupposing the authority of God in all worldly matters. Followers of Van Til, including his former students Bahnsen and Rousas John Rushdoony, and Rushdoony’s sonin-law Gary North adopted this “presuppositionalism” as a doctrine, with all its implications for the role of religion in political life. Reconstruction writers regard the history of Protestant politics since the early years of the Reformation as having taken a bad turn, and they are especially unhappy with the Enlightenment formulation of churchstate separation. They feel it necessary to “reconstruct” Christian society by turning to the Bible as the basis for a nation’s law and social order. To propagate these views, the Reconstructionists established the Institute for Christian Economics in Tyler, Texas, and the Chalcedon Foundation in Vallecito, California. They publish a journal and a steady stream of books and booklets on the theological justification for interjecting Christian ideas into economic, legal, and political life.40 According to the most prolific Reconstruction writer, Gary North, it is “the moral obligation of Christians to recapture every institution for Jesus Christ.”41 He feels this to be especially so in the United States, where secular law as construed by the Supreme Court and defended by liberal politicians is moving in what Rushdoony and others regard as a decidedly un-Christian direction, particularly in matters regarding abortion and homosexuality. What the Reconstructionists ultimately want, however, is more than the rejection of secularism. Like other theologians who utilize the biblical concept of “dominion,” they reason that Christians, as the new chosen people of God, are destined to dominate the world. The Reconstructionists possess a “postmillennial” view of history. That is, they believe that Christ will return to earth only after the thousand years of religious rule that characterizes the Christian idea of the millennium, and therefore Christians have an obligation to provide the political and social conditions that will make Christ’s return possible. “Premillennialists,” on the other hand, hold the view that the thousand years of Christendom will come only after Christ returns, an event that

38

|

Cultures of Violence

will occur in a cataclysmic moment of world history. Therefore they tend to be much less active politically. Followers of Reconstruction Theology such as Mike Bray, Dominion theologians, such as the American politician and television host Pat Robertson, and many leaders of the politically active Christian Coalition are postmillenialists and hence believe that a Christian kingdom must be established on earth before Christ’s return. They take seriously the idea of a Christian society and a form of religious politics that will make biblical code the law of the United States. In my conversations with Mike Bray, he insisted that the idea of a society based on Christian morality was not a new one, and he emphasized the re- in reconstruction. Although Bray rejected the idea of a pope, he appreciated much of the Roman Catholic Church’s social teachings and greatly admired the tradition of canon law. Only recently in history, he observed, has the political order in the West not been based on biblical concepts. Since he is opposed to this disestablishment of the political role of the Church, Bray labels himself an “antidisestablishmentarian.” Bray was serious about bringing Christian politics into power. He said that it is possible, under the right conditions, for a Christian revolution to sweep across the United States and bring in its wake constitutional changes that would allow for biblical law to be the basis of social legislation. Failing that, Bray envisaged a new federalism that would allow individual states to experiment with religious politics on their own. When I asked Bray what state might be ready for such an experiment, he hesitated and then suggested Louisiana and Mississippi, or, he added, “maybe one of the Dakotas.” Not all Reconstruction thinkers have endorsed the use of violence, especially the kind that Bray and Hill have justified. As Reconstruction author Gary North admitted, “there is a division in the theonomic camp” over violence, especially with regard to anti-abortion activities. Some months before Paul Hill killed Dr. Britton and his escort, Hill— apparently hoping for Gary North’s approval in advance—sent a letter to North along with a draft of an essay he had written justifying the possibility of such killings in part on theonomic grounds. North ultimately responded, but only after the murders had been committed. North regretted that he was too late to deter Hill from his “terrible direction” and chastised Hill in an open letter, published as a booklet, denouncing Hill’s views as “vigilante theology.”42 According to North, biblical law provides exceptions to the commandment “Thou shalt not kill” (Exod. 20:13), but in terms similar to just-war doctrine: when one is authorized to do so by “a covenantal agent” in wartime, to defend

Soldiers for Christ | 39

one’s household, to execute a convicted criminal, to avenge the death of one’s kin, to save an entire nation, or to stop moral transgressors from bringing bloodguilt on an entire community.43 Hill and Bray responded to North’s letter. They argued that many of those conditions applied to the abortion situation in the United States. Writing from his prison cell in Starke, Florida, Paul Hill said that the biblical commandment against murder also “requires using the means necessary to defend against murder—including lethal force.”44 He went on to say that he regarded “the cutting edge of Satan’s current attack” to be “the abortionist’s knife,” and therefore his actions had ultimate theological significance.45 Bray, in his book, A Time to Kill, spoke to North’s concern about the authorization of violence by a legitimate authority or “a covenental agent,” as North put it. Bray raised the possibility of a “righteous rebellion.”46 Just as liberation theologians justify the use of unauthorized force for the sake of their vision of a moral order, Bray sees the legitimacy of using violence not only to resist what he regards as murder— abortion—but also to help bring about the Christian political order envisioned by Reconstruction thinkers such as Gary North. In Bray’s mind, a little violence is a small price to pay for the possibility of fulfilling God’s law and establishing His kingdom on earth. The world as envisioned by Timothy McVeigh, Buford Furrow, Benjamin Smith, William Pierce, Richard Butler, and Michael Bray—by followers of both Christian Identity and Reconstruction thought—is a world at war. Identity preachers cite the biblical accounts of the archangel Michael destroying the offspring of evil to point to a hidden albeit “cosmic” war between the forces of darkness and the forces of light.47 Reconstruction thinkers also see the world enmeshed in a great moral struggle. “There is murder going on,” Mike Bray explained, “which we have to stop.” In the Christian Identity view of the world, the struggle is a secret war between colossal evil forces allied with the United Nations, the United States, and other government powers, and a small band of the enlightened few who recognize these invisible enemies for what they are—satanic powers, in their view—and are sufficiently courageous to battle them. Although Bray rejects much of Christian Identity’s conspiratorial view of the world, and specifically decries its antiSemitism, he does appreciate its commitment to fight against secular forms of evil and its insistence on the need for a Christian social order. As Mike Bray explained, his justification of violence against abortion clinics is not the result of a personal vendetta against agencies with which he and others have moral differences, but the consequence of a

40

|

Cultures of Violence

grand religious vision. His position is part of a great crusade conducted by a Christian subculture in America that considers itself at war with the larger society, and to some extent victimized by it. Armed with the theological explanations of Reconstruction and Christian Identity writers, this subculture sees itself justified in its violent responses to a vast and violent repression waged by secular (and, in some versions of this vision, Jewish) agents of a satanic force. Mike Bray and his network of associates around the country see themselves as engaged in violence not for its own sake but as a response to the institutional violence of what they regard as a repressive secular government. When he is alleged to have poured gasoline on rags and ignited fires to demolish abortion clinics, therefore, those within his culture did not view this as an assault on civil liberties or as a vengeful and hateful crime. Instead, Bray was seen as firing the opening salvos in a great defensive Christian struggle against the secular state, a contest between the forces of spiritual truth and heathen darkness, in which the moral character of America as a righteous nation hangs in the balance.

ian paisley and the troubles in belfast This notion of a great struggle also lies behind the thinking of at least some activists on each side of the so-called troubles of Northern Ireland, an area racked by terrorist attacks from the early 1960s to the end of the century. When firebombs tore through two shops and a pub in Belfast on August 2, 1998—and an enormous car bomb two weeks later obliterated the nearby neighborhood of Omagh, killing twenty-four—it was clear that the fragile peace agreement negotiated earlier in the year by a former senator from the United States, George Mitchell, had not yet brought lasting peace to the region. On one side of the troubles were Irish nationalists who wish to absorb the six counties of Northern Ireland into the Republic of Ireland; on the other side were Protestants who lived in Northern Ireland for generations and wanted to maintain the loyalty of the region to the British Union. Yet though the conflict was between Catholics and Protestants, most observers questioned to what degree religion was actually at the heart of the dispute. This is the question I put to a leading member of the nationalist Sinn Féin party in Belfast two days before the firebombs exploded. The Sinn Féin leader, Tom Hartley, had been a comrade of Gerry Adams and Bobby Sands since the 1970s, and when I talked with him he was serving as the leader of the party in the Belfast city council, where he served

Soldiers for Christ | 41

as an elected councillor.48 Hartley was an articulate, thoughtful man with a thick head of hair and an even thicker Irish brogue. The bluejeans and open shirt he was wearing were more in keeping with his working-class headquarters in the war zone of Belfast’s Falls Road, which I had visited the day before. The building had been barricaded with large rocks to keep car bombs from exploding in front of the headquarters. Hartley’s other office was in the elegant surroundings of the Belfast City Hall, which looked vaguely like a miniature version of the U.S. Capitol building. In a workroom near the gleaming marble rotunda, the Catholic activist fixed a cup of coffee and speculated about the religious aspects of the Northern Irish conflict. Hartley said that he basically agreed with his colleague Gerry Adams that republicans like himself were engaged in an anticolonial struggle that had nothing to do with religion.49 They simply wanted the British out. The problem, Hartley explained, was that the conflict had been made into a religious dispute by the British a century ago when they encouraged large numbers of Protestants from Scotland and England to settle in the Northern Irish counties. The result, Hartley said, was tension between peoples with two different religious labels, and more than that, between two different ways of thinking. Hartley speculated that some of the trouble between the two communities was due to differences in what he called the “thought processes” of the religions and in the characteristics of Roman Catholic and Protestant cultures. Catholics like himself were “hierarchical,” Hartley explained, adding that it was a hallmark of Catholic thinking to assume that all Catholics in a region such as Ireland are part of a unified community, the leaders of which can generally count on the loyalty of their people. When Gerry Adams participated in peace negotiations earlier in 1998, he could do so in secret, Hartley said, knowing that his party would stand behind him even if they did not know what the terms of his agreement would be. Adams acted “like an archbishop,” Hartley acknowledged, and yet his Sinn Féin comrades approved of his position. The Irish Protestants, on the other hand, would never do such a thing. They were democratic “up their arse, if you don’t mind my saying so,” Hartley said. As a result, they were constantly looking for local bases of power and did not easily trust other groups or authorities. Hartley explained that even though the Protestants had been nasty to him and other Catholics, he observed with some surprise that “they were even nastier to each other.” Their leadership was based not on office but on charisma, which was powerful but ephemeral. Once these leaders died or

42

|

Cultures of Violence

were defeated, Hartley speculated, “you’ll see a dogfight” among Protestants to determine their successors. The Omagh attack by the “Real IRA” showed that Catholics were capable of holding dogfights themselves, since the extremist Catholic attack was aimed at Gerry Adams as much as at the Protestant and government opposition. Yet Hartley’s point was valid. In general, Adams had much broader support within the Catholic community than did any single leader within the quarreling Protestant camp. Perhaps none of these Protestant figures was more quarrelsome than the Rev. Ian Paisley. Hartley agreed that Paisley, perhaps more than any other figure in the Catholic-Protestant dispute, brought religion into the politics of Northern Ireland and employed religious ideas and images in legitimizing the use of violence. Paisley was a firebrand Protestant preacher who was born into a Baptist family of Scottish ancestry in Northern Ireland in 1926.50 Eventually he broke with the established Protestant denominations and founded the Free Presbyterian Church, for which his own Martyrs Memorial Church on Ravenhill Road, Belfast, is the flagship congregation. When I was shown around the sanctuary of the church by members of Paisley’s staff, I was struck not only by the Protestant simplicity of the attractive modern building but also by the stark images of nationalism. On either side of the pulpit was a flag: the Union Jack on the preacher’s right and the flag of Ulster (Northern Ireland) on his left, with a crown at its center. To the side of the podium were plaques. “For God and Ulster” read one, and another was a memorial to those Protestants who had fallen in defense of Northern Ireland’s union with the United Kingdom. In a corridor outside the sanctuary were busts of what Paisley called “the great martyrs” of the Protestant tradition, including Martin Luther, John Calvin, John Wesley, and George Whitefield. In another room in the church a series of windows featured significant moments in the life of Ian Paisley himself, forever etched as images in the glass. This was one side of Paisley, the stormy egomaniacal preacher who was so annoyed with Margaret Thatcher’s peaceful overtures to the Irish Republican Army that he condemned her in a prayer during his Sunday morning service. “O God,” Paisley intoned, “in wrath take vengeance upon this wicked, treacherous, lying woman.” Then, as if to goad God more quickly into action, Paisley prayed, “Grant that we shall see a demonstration of Thy Power.”51 It is open to question whether God ever assented to Paisley’s requests and performed acts of vengeance on moderate British leaders; Irish Catholics; members of the IRA and officers in their political party, Sinn Féin; and anyone else whom Rev. Paisley found

Soldiers for Christ | 43

annoying. But it is not at all unlikely that some of the preacher’s more zealous followers took up the task of divine vengeance on their own. A second side of Paisley was that of international religious organizer, leader of a broad network of like-minded religious conservatives that gave credibility and support to his religious-political positions. For years Paisley befriended the Rev. Bob Jones, the American evangelical pastor and founder of the university in Greenville, South Carolina, to which he attached his own name. Paisley and Jones preached on each other’s pulpit, and together they founded the World Congress of Fundamentalists. The objective of the organization was, in part, to show their displeasure with the liberal World Council of Churches. Paisley also established the European Institute of Protestant Studies, whose stated goals were “expounding the Bible and exposing the Papacy.”52 According to a notice in the first issue of its newsletter, The Battle Standard, published in October 1997, the institute, which was housed in Paisley’s church, “hopes to establish correspondents throughout the world so that it can give a global view of the state of Protestantism.”53 By 1999 the denomination that he established, the Free Presbyterian Church, boasted over seventy churches and over twelve thousand followers in a dozen countries, including Australia, Germany, and the United States. The third side—one intimately related to the other two—was Paisley the politician. From much of the period from the 1970s until he left politics shortly before his death in 2014, he simultaneously held three elected political positions: member of the British parliament, member of the Northern Irish assembly, and one of three Northern Irish representatives to the European parliament. Unhappy with what he regarded as the moderating impulses of the largest Protestant party in Northern Ireland, the Unionists, Paisley founded his own Democratic Unionist Party (DUP), which at one time threatened to rival its parent party in number of supporters. It was also one of the most severe critics of Northern Ireland’s first minister, David Trimble. Though David Trimble was an arch Unionist and member of the militantly loyalist Orange Order, he was not loyalist enough for Paisley. When Trimble denounced the Orangemen’s planned march through the town of Ballymoney in 1998, after three small boys had been burned alive in a terrorist act aimed at their Catholic-Protestant mixed-marriage parents, Paisley alone among Unionist leaders led the greatly diminished parade of diehard Orangemen through the town. When Trimble acceded to the peace accord brokered by George Mitchell, Paisley claimed that his former colleague had become a traitor. When Trimble—along with John

44

|

Cultures of Violence

Hume, a Catholic political leader—received the Nobel Prize for Peace on October 16, 1998, Paisley belittled the award as “a bit of a farce.”54 Was there a connection between Paisley’s religious views and his political position? This is the question I put to Stuart Dignan, a staff member in the Belfast office of the DUP. “No,” Dignan told me, pointing out that members of the governing council came from a variety of churches, not just Paisley’s own Free Presbyterian Church.55 But Dignan did affirm that they were all active Protestant Christians and that they agreed with Paisley on political and moral issues—including opposition to abortion and homosexual rights. Moreover, Dignan said, they all agreed that in some way religion mattered in political life, a significance that was symbolized by the phrase “for God and Ulster.” Paisley was quite specific about how one’s loyalties to God and Ulster can be related. Like the adherents of Reconstruction Theology, Paisley reached into Protestant history for his vision of a religious state. Like the Reconstructionists, he found attractive the theocratic model crafted in the sixteenth century by John Calvin and revived in the eighteenth-century Calvinist ideas of George Whitefield. Like the followers of the Christian Identity movement, Paisley conceived of Christianity as being under siege by demonic forces embodied in the government and certain social groups, though in Paisley’s case these groups were not Jews and other racial minorities but Paisley’s religious opponents: Irish Catholics and apostate Protestants. Utilizing the anti-Catholic writings of such Protestant figures as John Calvin and John Wesley, Paisley branded Catholics as bearers of “satanic deception.”56 In one sermon he asked where Jesus Christ could be found today and quickly gave his own answer: “not in the Vatican.”57 Critics of Paisley have debated whether all his talk about the satanic deception of Catholicism and the call for God’s vengeance against his political enemies was simply strident rhetoric or whether it led to acts of violence. At one time, Paisley’s DUP was closely linked with the paramilitary Ulster Resistance movement. But in 1989 Paisley publicly renounced the movement’s terrorism and announced that these ties would be severed. Ever since, Stuart Dignan told me, the party has stated adamantly that it does not support violence. Even so, Dignan admitted that groups such as the ultramilitant Ulster Volunteer Force publicly proclaimed their support for Paisley’s position. Dignan quickly pointed out that the militants’ admiration for Paisley did not imply Paisley’s support for them, especially for their terrorist tactics. Yet it is clear that Protestant paramilitary activists—terrorists for the Loyalist side—received spiritual sustenance and moral encour-

Soldiers for Christ | 45

agement from Paisley’s statements. Billy Wright, a Protestant paramilitarist convicted of charges related to several terrorist incidents, told the BBC journalist Martin Dillon that Paisley was one of his heroes and that he regarded him as a great defender of the faith.58 When Dillon asked Wright directly whether the Irish conflict was a “religious war,” Wright said that “religion is part of the equation.” Elaborating, Wright explained that he not only had an obligation to defend his religious compatriates—by violence if necessary—but also that religion provided him a moral sanction to enter into violent encounters. According to Wright, he and his Protestant comrades “have the right to fight, to defend and to die for what we believe is Truth.”59 Interestingly, some of the paramilitary activists on the Catholic side of the conflict said much the same thing about their own dedication to the struggle and their own moral justifications for killing. There was less agreement on the Catholic side, however, over whether religion is central to the dispute. Part of the issue concerned definitions. Those who thought of religion as something sanctioned by the Church would not identify the Irish republican side as very religious. But those who thought of religion in the broadest sense, as part of a society’s culture, saw the republican position as a religious crusade. Most of the activists in the IRA and the Sinn Féin party had a strong Catholic upbringing and shared in what the Sinn Féin leader, Tom Hartley, described to me as the “Catholic culture” of Irish tradition.60 Several Catholic priests, and even some nuns, were quietly supportive of the Irish republican struggle. Father Denis Faul thought that the IRA leader, Bobby Sands, had a “religious motivation” and “theological justification” for undertaking his hunger strike in prison.61 Fr. Faul went on to say that the Catholic culture of the Irish gave them the ability to kill and be killed, since death “is a sacrifice” and “the opportunity of forgiveness” lessens the guilt involved in killing.62 The religious nature of Irish nationalism was also asserted by Conor Cruise O’Brien, an Irishman who has written eloquently about contemporary world conflicts. O’Brien has acknowledged that in his native land religion and nationalism are “like lungs”—one could scarcely exist without both, and not at all without at least one.63 He described the IRA offensive as “a major convergence of religion and nationalism” and termed it “a kind of Holy War.”64 Considering the Catholic dimensions of Irish nationalism described by Sinn Féin activists such as Hartley and writers such as O’Brien, it is something of a surprise that the hierarchy of the Catholic Church publicly has taken a dim view of the IRA and Sinn Féin activities. This is all the more

46

|

Cultures of Violence

surprising in light of Ian Paisley’s accusation that “Rome is behind the troubles—that is an indisputable fact.”65 This “fact” is indeed disputable, however, considering the antagonistic position that the Church’s hierarchy has taken against the IRA and the Sinn Féin party from the very beginning of the conflict. Some leaders, such as Archbishop Cahal Daly, have been downright vitriolic. Tom Hartley related to me an incident involving a group of Catholic clergy who signed a petition mildly supporting the republican position. When their names were published as signators, Church leaders had them quietly transferred from Northern Ireland to areas of the country with less contention.66 Some claimed that the Catholic IRA activists were eager to divorce their paramilitary activities from their religious obligations so that they would not have to confess their sins of violence to their priests.67 Tom Hartley expressed bitterness that the hierarchy of the Roman Catholic Church was not more supportive of what he and other Sinn Féin members believed to be a movement in support of Catholic culture as much as Irish nationalism. Hartley gave several examples of instances where he thought that the Church was trying to interject itself in Sinn Féin’s sphere of influence. According to Hartley, the Church received money from the British government to provide social benefits to the community, a role that Sinn Féin had played. The Church provided an ideology and political organization that competed in some ways with the republican cause. I asked Hartley if the reverse was not also true: hadn’t Sinn Féin in many ways replaced the official Catholic Church, especially in acting as spokesperson for the community and providing a moral voice for the masses? After all, I pointed out, Sinn Féin had opened a series of Advice Centers where individuals could receive solace and support in times of crisis, just as the Church had always done. Hartley noted that these Advice Centers were meant to deal primarily with political and social issues, not personal or spiritual ones. Still, he acknowledged, in some ways Sinn Féin had taken over the role of moral leadership that he felt the Church had abdicated. In a curious way, Sinn Féin was pioneering in a new kind of religious community, a kind of Irish political Catholicism. So even though Sinn Féin was not cozy with the Catholic hierarchy, it encouraged a certain Northern Irish revival of Catholicism, or at least “Catholic culture,” as Hartley called it. In a more direct way, Ian Paisley and his political and religious organizations spurred a revival of Protestant culture and thought within their community. On both the Irish and Protestant sides, violence was related to the renewed role that

Soldiers for Christ | 47

religion has come to play in Northern Ireland’s public life. In that sense the Christian activists on either side of the Northern Irish struggle have not been that different from one another. Nor have their roles been that dissimilar from those of their politically active Christian brethren in the violent militia and anti-abortion movements in the United States, an ocean away.

chapter 3

Zion Betrayed

Writing on his blog post on August 11, 2015, a young Israeli activist, Meir Ettinger, decried what he regarded as the State of Israel’s betrayal of Zionism. He accused Israel’s President Reuven Rivlin of pandering to Palestinian Arabs, and belittled the notion that “a Jewish state can be both ‘binational’ and ‘Jewish’ at the same time.”1 The implication was that the whole of biblical Israel, including the West Bank, should be purged of Arab Muslims and Christians and ethnically cleansed to satisfy a religious vision of a Jewish state. At the time, Ettinger had just been arrested by the Israeli security police and was placed under detention. Though the Israeli government did not release the reasons why he was being charged, the news media widely assumed that he was being accused, not only of saying inflammatory things on his blog post, but also of being the ringleader behind a recent horrific act of terrorism: the firebombing attack on a Palestinian home in the town of Duma less than two weeks before the blog was posted. It was sometime between two and four o’clock in the middle of the night on July 31, 2015, when the family of Saad Dawabsheh was suddenly aroused by the breaking of glass and the flames of a Molotov cocktail thrown through the broken window. Immediately the small house was engulfed in flames. “We were awaken by the noise,” Saad’s uncle, Zohair Dawabsheh, told me when I visited the neighborhood some months later.2 He said that he and other relatives who lived next door in the Dawabsheh fam48

Zion Betrayed | 49

ily compound at the edge of the town rushed out of their houses and attempted to assist the two parents in valiantly trying to save their children. The mother, Rahim Dawabsheh, grabbed a blanket that she thought was wrapped around her youngest child, an eighteen-monthold baby boy, and bolted out the door, her own body on fire; alas the baby was still inside the burning building. The father managed to carry his four-year-old son Ahmed to safety, though both of them were on fire as well. The baby perished in the flames. The father, who had burns over 80 percent of his body, died a week later; his wife, with 90 percent third-degree burns, lingered on until September when she too succumbed to her injuries. Though badly burned, four-year-old Ahmed continued to struggle for life, and many months later when I visited the area his relatives said that the boy was still recovering. The Arab town of Duma is a pleasant, tree-lined rural community near the city of Nablus in the Palestinian areas of the West Bank. A Jewish settlement, Ma’ale Efraim, is located nearby, and like many of the Arab men in his town, Saad Dawabsheh was employed as a construction worker there. His uncle told me that the people who killed him may have come from the same settlement that Saad served as a hired worker. One of his other relatives told me that they saw four young men running back toward the Jewish settlement after the attack.3 Jewish settlers were immediately suspects, and in fact, graffiti was found scrawled on the walls of the Dawabsheh house with the symbol of the Star of David and the words “revenge,” and “long live the Messiah.” Saad’s relatives presumed that the words indicated that the attack was one of the “price tag” assaults by settlers on nearby Arab houses and cars, committed to exact a “price” on Palestinians in general in retaliation for an attack on a Jewish settler, allegedly committed by Palestinians. According to the United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs, there had been 120 assaults on Palestinians by Jewish settlers thus far in 2015, and it was reasonable to think that this incident was similar.4 In this case, however, the phrase, “long live the Messiah” is Hassidic and not characteristic of most of the graffiti left on the “price tag” assaults. Moreover, the attack itself aimed not just at property but persons— including in this case an infant boy. When I visited the house some months after the attack the small burned-out house had not been touched since the incident, and in Arabic the words written on the wall outside stated, “this is the house where the baby was burned alive.” This was “a terror attack,” Israel’s Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu proclaimed, saying that he would find the killers and bring them

50

|

Cultures of Violence

to justice. “Israel deals harshly with terrorists,” the prime minister said, “regardless of who the perpetrators are.”5 He said that Israel was united in its opposition to what he described as “a terrible heinous act,” and in fact most Israelis shared the outrage experienced around the world when the news was widely disseminated. There were, however, some in Israel who did not share that same degree of disgust. In privately taken videos that surfaced on Israeli television some weeks later, young Orthodox Jewish celebrants at a wedding party in Jerusalem were shown dancing with guns and daggers, stabbing a picture of the infant baby that was burned in the Duma attack on July 31 and singing songs of revenge.6 The celebrants were said to be friends of some of the suspects who had been rounded up after the attack. Among these suspects was Meir Ettinger. Though only twenty-four years old at the time of his arrest in 2015, he was already associated with a string of radical activities, including an arson attack on the Christian Church of the Multiplication of the Loaves and Fishes near the Sea of Galilee (known in Israel as Lake Tiberias). At the same time he had garnered a sizeable following of admirers, especially among young radicals who occupied outposts near Jewish settlements in the West Bank—the so-called “hilltop gangs.” He is said to be the leader of a group called the Revolt, regarded by Netanyahu’s government and the mainstream press in Israel as a terrorist movement.7 When I talked with a leader of the Jewish Settlement movement in the West Bank, Ezri Tubi, he considered the “hilltop gangs” of young Settler activists, including the Revolt group, to be “hot-headed” and “looking for trouble.”8 Still, Tubi acknowledged that even though he disagreed with their message, their main idea was correct: the West Bank was part of biblical Israel. For this reason, Tubi, Ettinger, and many of the ideological Jewish settlers in the West Bank feel that they have a God-given right to claim the territory for what they regard as the greater Jewish State of Israel. Though many other Israelis and most Palestinians agree with the United Nations and the International Court of Justice that these settlements are illegal and encroach on Palestinian territory, the perspective of these Jewish extremists is the opposite. They claim that the fulfillment of the vision of Israel as a Jewish state requires the appropriation of all of the biblical lands of Israel, including the territories of ancient Israel’s Judea and Samaria which today encompasses the Palestinian West Bank region. From the point of view of Tubi and most of the activist settlers, the Palestinian Arabs could continue to live in the West Bank as long as they regarded it as part of Jewish Israel and were willing to live as

Zion Betrayed | 51

minority citizens with no voting rights.9 From the perspective of Ettinger and his radical supporters, the Palestinian Arabs should simply go.

meir ettinger, the ghost of meir kahane In reading the blogs of Meir Ettinger I felt a chill of familiarity. I had heard many of his views before, in the words of the fiery extremist Meir Kahane, whom I had interviewed in Jerusalem years earlier. It was Kahane’s position that the Palestinians were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, and that for the sake of the fulfillment of the destiny of Israel as a restoration of the biblical homeland of the Jews, they had to go. The connection between the words of Meir Ettinger and Meir Kahane was more than coincidence. The young Ettinger was in fact the grandson of Meir Kahane. Seeing Ettinger was in some ways a flashback to Kahane: they both had the natural, cheery self-confidence of someone absolutely convinced that he or she is right. They were both articulate, both orally and in writing, with a clear well-reasoned style that appealed to those who accepted their underlying assumptions about the righteous claims of Jewish territory, and confounded those who did not. Ettinger’s parents were not enthusiastic about the activist direction their son was taking, however. His father, Mordechai Ettinger, was a Jerusalem rabbi, and his mother, Tovah Kahane, the daughter of Meir Kahane, went into seclusion after the arrest of their son and in the swirl of publicity following the Duma firebomb attack. And not all of Meir Kahane’s former supporters agreed with Meir Ettinger’s style and his tactics. Still there was much about the young Meir that all of the old Kahane followers found familiar, including the idea that Israel was intended to be not just a secular state but the fulfillment of biblical prophecy, the notion that the secular Israeli state cannot be trusted, and the conviction that Palestinian Arabs must go. When I interviewed Meir Kahane some years ago, he enunciated many of these ideas, including the notion that the creation of a Palestinian government on the West Bank poses a danger not only to Israel as a nation but to Jews in general and to Judaism as a religion.10 Rather than fight from the outside through terrorist attacks as his grandson has done, however, Kahane for a time embraced politics, founding Israel’s right-wing Kach (Thus) Party. Though the party never garnered many votes and was soon outlawed for its extremist rhetoric, it vaulted Kahane into a position of leadership among messianic Jewish political activists in general and activists in the settler movement in particular.

52

|

Cultures of Violence

When I talked with Rabbi Meir Kahane in Jerusalem the year before his death in 1990, it was immediately following a rally in the ballroom of the Sheraton Hotel proclaiming the impending creation of a new state, Judea. At that time the Israeli political leaders were giving the first hints of a solution to the Palestinian problem that would involve “land for peace.” Much of the West Bank would be handed over to a Palestinian authority, perhaps leading to the eventual establishment of a Palestinian state. Kahane’s idea was that if any land were to be relinquished by Israel, he would immediately claim sovereignty over it on behalf of this new political entity, Judea. At the rally, which I attended with Prof. Ehud Sprinzak of Hebrew University, along with several of his students, Kahane came equipped with a new flag displaying a stylized star of David on a field of blue and white, posted on a wall in the glittering surroundings of the hotel ballroom. Most of the several hundred in attendance were settlers from the West Bank associated with the Gush Emunim. Not all of them welcomed Kahane’s leadership, and it was clear that the idea of such a state was more of a symbolic than a political threat. Yet the proposition had emotional appeal and allowed those present to vent their anxieties about an impending surrendering of their homes by Israeli authorities. It also allowed them to express with a vengeance their feelings about the historic and spiritual significance of the Jewish presence on the West Bank. After the rally, I followed Rabbi Kahane through the lobby of the hotel until we found a relatively quiet place and began a conversation that was only occasionally interrupted by well-wishers. An American boy, for instance, approached the rabbi tentatively and told Kahane that he came from his area of New York City, greatly admired him, and wanted to join his movement when he grew up. Kahane, who spoke English with an unmistakable Brooklyn accent, chatted with the lad for a while about American baseball and then returned to my questions about the role of religion in Israeli nationalism. Rabbi Kahane came by his Brooklyn accent honestly. A native New Yorker with a long history of Jewish political activism, Kahane was a founder of the Jewish Defense League (JDL) in the 1960s, a movement intended to counter acts of anti-Semitism.11 For a time he also served as an informant to the FBI, turning over information about the radical groups he joined. In 1971 he came to Israel and embraced a more messianic vision of Jewish politics, and in 1974 he created the Kach Party. Kahane had adopted a “get tough” stance toward Judaism’s detractors, which had worked well in the liberal political atmosphere of the United

Zion Betrayed | 53

States, where Jews were in the minority. There his JDL was portrayed in the mass media as a Jewish version of the Black Panthers, defending the rights of the oppressed. In Israel, however, where Jews were in power, the same belligerence often came off as racist bigotry; some called it a kind of Jewish Nazism. His statements about Arabs were compared word for word with those of Hitler about Jews and were found to be surprisingly similar.12 In the same vein, a biography of the rabbi was sardonically titled Heil Kahane.13 Kahane was elected to the Knesset, but after he served a term his party was banned because of its “racist” and “undemocratic” positions.14 At the heart of Kahane’s thinking was “catastrophic messianism,” as Ehud Sprinzak has called it.15 The idea is that the Messiah will come in a great conflict in which Jews triumph and praise God through their successes. This was Kahane’s understanding of the term kiddush haShem, or “the sanctification of God.” Anything that humiliated the Jews was not only an embarrassment but a retrograde motion in the world’s progress toward salvation. This line of thinking was not idiosyncratic to Kahane. Ever since the creation of the State of Israel, some Zionists have been impressed with the idea that the presentday secular Jewish state is the forerunner of the established biblical Israel.16 According to Rabbi Avraham Yitzhak ha-Kohen Kuk (also transliterated as Kook), the chief rabbi of pre-Israel Palestine, the secular state of Israel is the avant-garde for the religious Israel to come; it contains a “hidden spark” of the sacred, a Jewish mystical concept used by Kuk.17 This messianic Zionism was greatly enhanced by Israel’s successes in the 1967 Six-Day War. The military victory led to a great national euphoria, a feeling that Israel was suddenly moving in an expansive and triumphant direction. Jewish nationalists impressed with Kuk’s theology felt strongly that history was quickly leading to the moment of divine redemption and the re-creation of the biblical state of Israel. Kahane deviated from Kuk’s version of messianic Zionism in that he saw nothing of religious significance in the establishment of a secular Jewish state. This was also the position taken by his grandson Meir Ettinger in a 2010 document titled “The Rebel Manifesto.”18 Ettinger refused to participate in Israeli politics since he regarded the present state of Israel and its acceptance of multiculturalism as a hindrance to the religious vision of biblical Israel; he advocated the destruction of the present state of Israel in order to make way for the coming religious state. According to both Ettinger and Kahane, the true creation of a

54

|

Cultures of Violence

religious Israel was yet to come. Unlike other Jewish conservatives who held this point of view, however, they felt that it was going to happen fairly soon and that they and their partisans could help bring about this messianic act. This is where Kahane’s notion of kiddush ha-Shem was vital: insofar as Jews were exalted and their enemies humiliated, God was glorified and the Messiah’s coming was more likely. The enemies of Israel to be humiliated included any who came in the way of the movement toward reestablishing the biblical nation. Primarily they were Arabs, who occupied the land that the Jews had to reclaim in order to reestablish the biblical boundaries of Israel, and secular Jews, who had no use for the concept of a religious Israel in the first place. Kahane told me that he did not hate the Arabs; he “respected them” and felt that they “should not live in disgrace in an occupied land.”19 For that reason they should leave. The problem, Kahane said, was not that they were Arabs but that they were non-Jews living in a place designated by God for the Jewish people.20 The opposition of Kahane and the JDL to Arab political power apparently extended outside the Middle East. In 1985, after a leader of the American-Arab Anti-Discrimination Committee, Alex Odeh, appeared on the American television program Nightline, where he quarreled with a representative of the JDL, he was mysteriously murdered in his office in Santa Ana, California. The FBI’s three main suspects in the crime, all of them JDL members, fled to Israel, where the three—Robert Manning, Keith Fuchs, and Andy Green—were also involved in anti-Arab incidents. Manning was extradited back to the United States in 1993 to stand charges on a separate bombing attack; he was convicted and sentenced to thirty years to life in prison. The three had joined the Kiryat Arba settlement near Hebron, where they were active supporters of Meir Kahane.21 Though Kahane did not despise Arabs, he told me, what he (and now his grandson, Meir Ettinger) truly detested was the secular Jewish state. Anticipating the hatred that would animate a religious Jew such as Yigal Amir into assassinating the prime minister of Israel, Kahane said that although he loved all Jews, “secular government is the enemy.”22 For that reason, supporters of the secular state must be treated as major obstacles to the coming of the Messiah. “Miracles don’t just happen,” Kahane said, referring to the messianic arrival, “they are made.” He believed that his own efforts and those of his followers would help to “change the course of history.”23 If violence was necessary to achieve this remarkable alteration of the course of history, Rabbi Kahane said, so be it. As one of Kahane’s col-

Zion Betrayed | 55

leagues explained, they had “no problem” with “using force” to achieve religious goals.24 They reminded me that Jewish law allowed for two kinds of just war: obligatory and permissible. The former was required for defense, and the latter was allowed when it seemed prudent for a state to do so. The determination of when the conditions existed for a just war were to be made by a council of elders—the Sanhedrin—or a prophet, in the case of permissible war. In the case of obligatory war, the determination could be made by a government ruled by Jewish law: a Halakhic state. Since none of these religious entities exists in the present day, the conditions were to be determined by any authoritative interpreter of Halakha, such as a rabbi.25 Kahane, of course, was a rabbi and therefore felt free to pass judgment on the morality of his own movement’s actions. It is true that Judaism, like most religious traditions, justifies violence to some extent, at least in cases of righteous warfare. In fact, some of the earliest images of the tradition are the most violent. “The Lord is a warrior,” proclaims Exodus 15:3, and the first books of the Hebrew Bible include scenes of utter desolation caused by divine intervention. In later years Judaism was largely nonviolent, despite militant clashes with hellenized Syrians in the Maccabean Revolt (166–164 b.c.e.) and with Romans in the revolt at Masada (73 c.e.). But at the level of statecraft, the rabbis did sanction warfare. They distinguished between “religious” war and “optional” war.26 The former they required as a moral or spiritual obligation: to protect the faith or defeat enemies of the Lord. They contrasted these battles with wars waged primarily for reasons of political expediency. Thus Kahane’s reasoning, like that of Yigal Amir following the assassination of Prime Minister Rabin, had some ties to traditional thinking. During the rally at the Sheraton Hotel proclaiming the state of Judea, I heard Kahane call on the people of Israel to rise up and reclaim the West Bank as an act of “just war.” He argued that defense was not the only religious basis for warfare: national pride was also a legitimate reason.27 He reminded the Jews that their claim to the West Bank came from a two-thousand-year-old vision, when the Jews came “out of the fear and shame of exile.” And now, he asked them, “what about our national pride?” He pointed out that Jews were afraid to go to the Mount of Olives, much less to Judea and Samaria. He urged them to fight to retain their self-esteem and pride. Kahane also justified acts of violence as expressions of the war that is already raging but is seldom seen—the battle for the reestablishment of a religiously Jewish state, the enemies of which are both Arabs and secular Jews. “Every Jew who is

56

|

Cultures of Violence

killed has two killers,” Kahane explained, “the Arab who killed him, and the government who let it happen.”28 This logic exonerated Kahane’s use of force not only against Arabs, but also potentially against his own people. In using violence against cosmic foes, Kahane indicated, the lives of individuals targeted for attack were not important. “We believe in collective justice,” one of Kahane’s colleagues explained.29 By that he meant that any individual who was part of a group deemed to be the enemy might justifiably become the object of a violent assault, even if he or she might have been an innocent bystander. In a spiritual war there is no such thing; all are potential soldiers. “War is war,” Kahane said.30 One of the purposes of violence against Arabs was to “scare them” and not let them assume that they could live in Israel peacefully or normally.31 It is this kind of reasoning that lies behind the “price tag” attacks of radical Jewish settlers on the homes and property of innocent Palestinians, and that justified the targeting of the Dawabsheh family in Duna for firebombing in 2015, apparently at random. Strident anti-Palestinian rhetoric such as this led Kahane to be dubbed “Israel’s Ayatollah.”32 His posturing left a legacy of violence including his own death in 1990. Within a day of Kahane’s murder, two elderly Palestinian farmers were shot dead along the roadside near the West Bank city of Nablus, apparently in retaliation for Kahane’s killing. Thus the spiral of violence that Kahane encouraged continued. An editorial writer for the New York Times, who described Kahane’s life as “a passionate tangle of anger and unreason,” referred to his death as the product of a “legacy of hate.”33 Kahane was part of a culture of violence, one that he himself helped to shape. Among those influenced directly or indirectly by Kahane’s strident anti-secular and anti-Palestinian messages were Yigal Amir, the assassin of Israel’s Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin, and Baruch Goldstein, who attacked innocent Muslims praying at the Shrine of the Tomb of the Patriarchs in Hebron. Meir Kahane and his successors—including now his own grandson Meir Ettinger—have indeed produced his “legacy of hate,” a spiral of violence that has continued long after the zealous rabbi’s death.

yoel lerner and the assassination of yitzhak rabin Peace talks with Palestinians constituted a “betrayal,” Jewish activists in Israel asserted during the unsuccessful Wye River negotiations sponsored

Zion Betrayed | 57

by American President Bill Clinton.34 Members of the Council of Jewish Communities in Judea, Samaria, and Gaza described Israel’s stance as a “pathetic capitulation” and proclaimed that the Israeli prime minister was “no longer our leader.”35 Their strident posture exacerbated a climate of hatred that led to a series of violent demonstrations against an already weakened government that in turn helped to bring to power the hardline administration of Benjamin Netanyahu. A similar revulsion against Prime Minister Ehud Barak’s failed negotiations with Yasir Arafat led to the elections of Ariel Sharon. Netanyahu’s tough stance on “terrorism”—militant Palestinians—brought him back into power in 2009, winning the following two elections as well. The Israelis who supported the most right-wing parties in Netanyahu’s coalition governments were not just disagreeing politely with the peace objectives of Israel’s liberals; they were angry over what they felt was a permissive stance to a world gone awry. The dissenters’ anxiety was personal as well as political, and in a fundamental way their fears were intensely religious. The antipeace demonstrations following the tragic assassination of Israel’s Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin by Yigal Amir, the attack at the Tomb of the Patriarchs in Hebron by Dr. Baruch Goldstein, the brutal retaliation of the Sharon administration against what it regarded as Palestinian terrorism, and the military incursions sanctioned by Netanyahu against Palestinians in Gaza have shaken many Israelis’ image of themselves as a tolerant and peace-loving people. Moreover, these militant assaults on Palestinians have often been justified with reference to religion—to Jewish theology, historical precedents, and biblical examples. Among the extreme opponents of Palestine, no accommodation or peace is possible, for they are caught up in a war with cultural, political, and military dimensions. In talking with Israel’s religious activists, it became clear to me that what they were defending was not only the political entity of the state of Israel, but a vision of Jewish society that had ancient roots. Yoel Lerner was one of those activists who rejected any Palestinian claims on what he regarded as biblical Israel. He hoped for the restoration of the ancient temple in Jerusalem, the exclusive right of Jews to settle on the West Bank of the Jordan River, and the creation of a state based on biblical law. When I visited him in his book-lined study in the heart of the walled city of old Jerusalem, he was celebrating the assassination of Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin and the subsequent successes of the conservative Likud Party candidates. He had just been to visit

58

|

Cultures of Violence

Rabin’s assassin, Yigal Amir, in the prison cell where he languished. Or, rather, Lerner had attempted to visit Amir but was prohibited from entering. Instead, Lerner and several of his colleagues brought a cake on the occasion of Amir’s twenty-seventh birthday and proceeded to sing “Happy Birthday” outside the prison walls as photographers and television cameras recorded the spectacle. The antiterrorism laws in Israel prevented Lerner from saying anything supportive of Yigal Amir, he explained to me. Even in private conversations, “I cannot call him a hero, a patriot, or a martyr,” Lerner said, his tone indicating that he would very much like to use all of these terms in describing Amir.36 Yoel Lerner was a large, rabbinic-looking man with thick glasses and an even thicker beard. He enjoyed talking about Israeli politics with his energetic American accent, and he possessed what one of Israel’s foremost authorities on the religious right, Ehud Sprinzak, described as a “discursive and logical mind.”37 This was the third interview I had had with Lerner over a ten-year period, and our conversations had often focused on another new plan or political party Lerner was about to launch that would revitalize Jewish nationalism. Though over the years many of his political schemes had fallen apart, on this occasion he seemed more optimistic. When I first talked with him in Jerusalem in 1989, he had just completed prison time for his part in an attempt to blow up the Dome of the Rock, the Muslim shrine believed to be located almost exactly on the site of the great Jewish temple that was destroyed almost two thousand years ago. Later he had attempted to establish political parties, resisted the notion that any of the West Bank could be ceded to Arab authority, and tried to mobilize support for rebuilding the original structure on Temple Mount in Jerusalem.38 In the 1990s, for political as well as religious reasons, Lerner and his wife moved from his home outside Jerusalem’s ancient walled city into an apartment within the dense old city, where he lived until his death in 2014. His quarters were located next to the Treasures of the Temple exhibit, a modern tourist attraction that showed pictures of what the temple must have looked like in biblical times. Behind the tourist attraction, Lerner and his colleagues were locating candidates for a revived priesthood, rebuilding musical instruments and priestly robes and jewelry, and trying to assemble the necessary elements for religious sacrifices. They wanted to be ready when the temple was rebuilt. Most difficult was the task of locating the biblically prescribed “red heifer” needed for religious rites. They were assured by biologists,

Zion Betrayed | 59

however, that a strain of cattle could be produced with a reddishbrown coat that could pass, with a certain amount of imagination, as biblically red. All of this was important to Yoel Lerner, who believed in a form of messianic Zionism. In his view the prophesied Messiah would come to earth only after the temple was rebuilt and made ready for him. Thus the issue of the temple was not only a matter of cultural nostalgia but also one of pressing religious importance. After all, Lerner pointed out, many of the laws incumbent on Jews in the Bible are related to temple ritual, and Jews can hardly obey these laws if there is no temple in which to perform them.39 In Lerner’s view the redemption of the whole world depended upon the actions of Jews in creating the conditions necessary for messianic salvation. The location of the biblical temple is often described as directly beneath the holy Muslim shrine, the Dome of the Rock. Lerner assured me, however, that his previous scheme to blow up the shrine in order to clear away room for rebuilding the temple was no longer necessary. His latest archeological information located the temple slightly beside the Dome, between the shrine and the Al-Aqsa Mosque, so technically it was not necessary to completely demolish the Muslim holy place. Moreover, according to Sprinzak, Lerner was no longer “impatient for the coming of the Messiah.”40 Still, Jewish control over the sacred city was essential, Lerner said, and he regarded it as heretical to give up the least bit of biblical land—by which he meant any part of the West Bank—to Arabs and their Palestinian Authority. This is why the peace negotiations with Arab leaders were so deeply disappointing, why the Oslo Peace Accord between Rabin and Arafat had made Lerner profoundly unhappy, and why he felt that the assassination of Rabin by Yigal Amir was morally justified. In an earlier interview with Lerner, several weeks before Rabin’s assassination, he told me that he thought Israel was going in a seriously wrong direction—not only for the sake of its political security, but more important, in Lerner’s view, for the sake of its spiritual mission. He later told me that there had been a great deal of discussion in the months before Rabin’s death about the religious justifications for the political assassination—or “execution,” as Lerner called it—of Jewish leaders who were felt to be dangerously irresponsible and were de facto enemies of Judaism. Thus it was “no surprise” to Lerner that someone like Yigal Amir was successful in killing Rabin. The only thing that puzzled him, he said, was that “no one had done it earlier.”41

60

|

Cultures of Violence

On the evening of November 4, 1995, on their way to a great peace rally held in the plaza of the city hall in Tel Aviv, Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin and his wife, Leah, discussed the possibility of violence and the precautions that they should take against it. What they feared were reprisals from militant members of Hamas against the peace overtures that Rabin had made. They were aware of militant Jewish opposition to the peace process as well, but “never in our wildest imaginations,” Leah Rabin told me afterward, “did we ever think he would be attacked by a Jew. We simply did not think it possible that one Jew could even think of killing another.”42 Later that evening Rabin addressed a cheering crowd of a hundred thousand, telling them that he thought that Israelis believed in peace and were “ready to take a risk for it.”43 Observers said that it was one of Rabin’s finest hours, a high point in his political career, and a moment of great personal satisfaction. Minutes later, just after he had descended the staircase and was walking to his car beside the government building, a student from Tel Aviv’s conservative Bar-Ilan University aimed his pistol and shot the prime minister at point-blank range. As Rabin lay dying on the sidewalk next to the car, the student, Yigal Amir, was apprehended by the police. He was quoted as saying that he had “no regrets” for what he had done, adding that he had “acted alone and on orders from God.”44 Later, Amir—a former combat soldier who studied Jewish law—said that his decision to assassinate the prime minister was not a casual one and that he had attempted to carry out the act on two previous occasions. At those times, however, the conditions had not been right. His decision to kill the prime minister was influenced by the opinions of militant rabbis that such an assassination would be justified by the “pursuer’s decree” of Jewish legal precedence.45 The principle morally obligates a Jew to halt someone who presents “a mortal danger” to Jews. Such a danger, Amir reasoned, was created by Rabin in allowing the Palestinian Authority to expand on the West Bank. Actually, Yoel Lerner told me, the pursuer’s decree was not a very convincing basis for killing Rabin. To use that as a justification one would have to prove that Rabin had intended to kill Jews. Instead, Lerner and his friends came up with three other reasons they thought gave even greater justification for Rabin’s “execution,” as Lerner put it. One was that Rabin’s government was, in his view, “illegitimate” since it was formed by a coalition of liberal Jewish and Arab votes and had secretly negotiated with the PLO. The second reason was the “antiJewishness” of Rabin’s policies that forfeited Jewish authority. And the

Zion Betrayed | 61

third was Rabin’s “treason” in giving away state land. In wartime— which certainly characterized present-day tensions, according to Lerner—the punishment for treason should be death. So when Lerner and his colleagues talked of Netanyahu’s “treason” in continuing to promise an independent Palestinian state on the West Bank, many concerned Israelis feared that the climate of hate that culminated in the killing of Rabin had returned.46 Knowing that he could be charged with incitement to violence, Lerner was careful in choosing his words, and he spoke metaphorically in criticizing Netanyahu’s policies and in describing to me his reactions on hearing the news that Rabin had been killed. He said he felt at the time of the assassination the same sense of relief that one might feel at having finally brought under control a “runaway train.” The train, he said, “had been stopped.”47 Someone had to do it, Lerner said, and he felt that Yigal Amir deserved to be treated as a national patriot. This was why Lerner and his colleague Avigdor Eskin went to visit Amir in prison and serenaded him with birthday songs. It was also why Lerner reserved a place of honor for Yigal Amir on his wall. On one of the few spaces in Lerner’s dusty study that was not covered with bookshelves was a collection of photographs, including one of Yigal Amir with the words, in Hebrew, “the man who stopped the train and delivered the nation of evils.” Most of the others portrayed on his wall, described by Lerner as martyrs in the cause of Jewish freedom, were dead. Prominent among the pictures was the face of Rabbi Meir Kahane, whom Lerner revered. Kahane was despised by moderate liberal Israelis, Lerner said, not because he was perceived as a Jewish freedom fighter but because he, like Yigal Amir, was rightly seen as an enemy of the secular state. They also saw both of them, I added, as Jewish terrorists.

baruch goldstein’s attack at the tomb of the patriarchs Baruch Goldstein, like his colleague Yoel Lerner, saw the situation of Jewish people in Israel as that of victims oppressed in their own land. In his case, however, the encroaching presence of Arabs on the West Bank was not just a distant threat. Goldstein lived there, and he saw on a daily basis what he perceived to be the Arabs’ arrogance in thinking that they had a right to the land on which they lived. Goldstein had watched with mounting wrath as Palestinian Arabs increased their attacks on his fellow residents of Kiryat Arba, a settlement

62

|

Cultures of Violence

built primarily for religiously active Jews who wanted to live near the ancient town of Hebron, known to its almost exclusively Arab Muslim population by its Palestinian name, Al-Khalil. As a medical doctor raised in the United States, Goldstein had considerable influence in the settlement and had been elected to the town council. Military officials would notify him when a Jewish settler in the surrounding area had been attacked, and in turn he would contact the authorities when there were difficulties affecting the settlement. He complained that automobiles driven by Jewish settlers had been stoned on the major road leading to Jerusalem, and several settlers had been killed. At night he could hear noises from the loudspeaker of a mosque located just across the fence from the settlement, and occasionally he heard someone shouting the terrible words, “itbah al-yahud”: “slaughter the Jews.”48 On February 24, 1994, the night before the celebration of Purim—a holiday marking the deliverance of Jews from extinction at the hands of their oppressors—Goldstein went to the shrine at the Tomb of the Patriarchs in Hebron / al Khalil. The shrine is located above the Cave of Machpelah, the site where Abraham, Sarah, Isaac, and other biblical figures revered by the three Abrahamic faiths—Judaism, Christianity, and Islam— were said to have been entombed more than three thousand years ago. The shrine, a large fortresslike stone building, contained halls of worship for both Jews and Muslims; the mosque of Ibrahim (the Arabic spelling of Abraham) had been standing on this site since the seventh century. Goldstein went to the Jewish side, where worshippers were gathered to listen to a reading of the Scroll of Esther, as is traditionally done on Purim eve. But his meditation was interrupted by boisterous voices outside, and again the terrible words were shouted—“itbah al-yahud”—this time by a gang of Arab youths. Goldstein turned and saw that the armed guards that the Israeli government had stationed at the site were ignoring the commotion. They did nothing. Dr. Goldstein was outraged and felt that both Judaism and the Jewish people had been deeply humiliated. Goldstein had had enough. Before dawn the next morning, on the day of Purim, he returned to the shrine, this time entering the mosque on the Muslim side of the building, where early-rising Muslim worshippers were beginning their morning prayers. Goldstein pulled out a Galil assault rifle he had hidden in his coat and began firing indiscriminately into the crowd of men and boys who were prayerfully kneeling on the carpeted floor. After firing 111 shots and killing more than thirty worshippers and injuring scores more, Goldstein was overwhelmed by the crowd and pummeled to death.

Zion Betrayed | 63

Ironically, minutes later, when the Israel military officials heard the first reports of shooting at the mosque, they tried to find Dr. Goldstein, as they often did when there was a crisis involving the Jewish settlers. They wanted to alert him that there was trouble. They dialed his pager and waited in vain for a response. Some months after the awful incident, I was at the elaborate gravesite that had been constructed near Goldstein’s home in Kiryat Arba, in an area called Kahane Square in honor of the fallen radical Jewish leader Meir Kahane, who was one of Goldstein’s mentors. I struck up a conversation with the volunteer guard, Yochay Ron. “Dr. Goldstein did the right thing,” said the thin young man, who was wearing blue jeans, a white t-shirt, and an embroidered skullcap, and carrying an automatic rifle.49 At the time of Goldstein’s funeral, over a thousand of the settlement’s six thousand residents came to honor him during a driving rainstorm. Soon thereafter the grave had become a shrine, and the raised granite slab was surrounded by a concrete plaza and ringed by pillared lamps. Yochay Ron was one of several volunteers who took turns guarding the site and explaining its significance to strangers. After Rabin’s assassination, when public attitudes turned hostile toward zealots such as Goldstein, the Israeli government attempted to prohibit the construction of a shrine at Goldstein’s gravesite by outlawing the building of memorials at the grave of any murderer. Yoel Lerner and his comrades had protested this law and claimed that it would apply to the grave of Yitzhak Rabin as well as Dr. Goldstein, since Rabin had authorized the killing of Jews in the Altalena incident at the time Israel was created, in 1948.50 Lerner and his allies set up a vigil on Mount Herzl across from Rabin’s grave, and although they were not allowed to display signs directly referring to the fallen leader, they cleverly displayed words from Scripture, “Thou shalt not kill,” to make their point. When I visited Goldstein’s gravesite, it was still a popular attraction for members of the Jewish right wing. Yochay Ron, like Yoel Lerner, regarded Goldstein as a patriot. He explained that although he would miss Goldstein’s leadership in his community, he “felt good” when he heard the news of what Goldstein had done. Ron’s only regret was that Goldstein’s death did not have more of a strategic impact, and that it did not drive the Arabs out of Hebron/al Khalil. Even as we spoke, other Arabs were coming to the Tomb of the Patriarchs; they still arrived daily at the Ibrahim mosque to say their morning prayers. Ron felt that he and all Jews were “at war with the Arabs” and that peace

64

|

Cultures of Violence

would not come until all biblical lands were redeemed by Jewish occupation and the Arabs had gone. Yochay Ron is a native son of Israel. He was born in the mid-1960s in the northern part of the country in a small town near the Sea of Galilee. As a youth he was diligently religious and studied at a yeshiva, a religious school. When he heard that a new Jewish settlement was being established in the West Bank city of Hebron by messianic Zionists, Ron was eager to become a part of what he regarded as a great spiritual adventure. In 1979 a small group of Jewish women and children from Kiryat Arba crawled through the window of an abandoned hospital, occupying it and illegally establishing a Jewish settlement on the site, Beit Hadassah.51 Ron enthusiastically joined this radical venture, and in time the settlement grew to more than fifty families, with some 450 Jews sequestered in what amounted to an armed fortress in a city of more than one hundred thousand Arab Muslims. Virtually all of the residents of Beit Hadassah were there for religious and political reasons: they wanted to make the point that Hebron / al Khalil was still a Jewish city. The settlers in adjacent Kiryat Arba were making much the same statement, as were thousands of other settlers on the West Bank who were followers of the Gush Emunim movement and members of the Kach Party, once led by the late Rabbi Meir Kahane. Not all the Jewish settlers occupied land on the West Bank, Golan Heights, and Gaza Strip for religious reasons, however; many were simply trying to find a relatively inexpensive place to live. Among the latter were recent Russian immigrants who fled to Israel not only because of religious oppression but also in search of an improved way of life. Yochay Ron’s wife was such an immigrant, an attractive blonde woman who had come from the former Soviet Union several years earlier. While Ron and I were talking at Goldstein’s graveside, she arrived with a busload of new Russian immigrants for whom she was serving as a sort of tour guide. She brought them to view Goldstein’s shrine as if it were a major attraction, and in animated Russian she tried to instill a sense of the religious importance of his act. According to Ron, she was also explaining why it is necessary to maintain and defend Jewish outposts on the West Bank, how the Jewish faith is inextricably linked with the land, and how the liberation of the land is a prerequisite to spiritual liberation. Yochay Ron agreed with what she was saying. He said that the biblical lands—specifically the ancient towns and sites on the West Bank— are sacred, and that Jews are under God’s requirement to occupy them.

Zion Betrayed | 65

Ron mentioned an incident of Arab drug dealing that he saw occurring in the alleyway behind the Beit Hadassah settlement; from Ron’s perspective, this was an example of how Muslims had desecrated the land. The urgency of the mission of Yochay Ron and his fellow religious settlers was heightened by the peace process, the establishment of the Palestinian Authority, and the arrival of Arab police. When Rivka Zerbib, another Jewish settler living in Hebron, first saw the armed Palestinian policemen, it is reported that she felt “humiliation” because, she said, “it’s not their place here.”52 Though her comment may sound like a racist statement, she and other religiously active settlers claim that their views are not anti-Arab but rather pro-Jewish. They say that they simply want to defend the faith. Yochay Ron, for example, justified Dr. Goldstein’s actions in killing innocent Muslim civilians while they were kneeling at prayer by stating that “all Arabs who live here are a danger to us.” He went on to explain that Arabs are dangerous because “they threaten the very existence of the Jewish community on the West Bank.”53 Though these defenders of the acts of Baruch Goldstein want to portray him as a kind of Jewish patriot defending his community’s rights, they cannot escape the implications of his and other Jewish militants’ actions in precipitating Muslim violence on the other side, both in imitation and revenge. Hamas leaders have claimed that their own turn toward attacking civilians in Israel through suicide attacks was justified, in part, by the precedent set by Dr. Goldstein in attacking innocent Muslim civilians at the Shrine of the Cave of the Patriarch in Hebron. Violence has a way of rebounding. Perhaps nothing illustrates this more than the hatred exuded from Meir Kahane that ultimately led to his own death and fueled the momentum of Muslim terrorists who, like Kahane, saw their stance as simply one of defending their faith. In a curious twist of history, Kahane’s murder in downtown Manhattan on November 5, 1990, was related to a Muslim terrorist attack, the 1993 bombing of the World Trade Center, less than three years later. Kahane had returned to New York, his hometown, to garner money and financial support for his radical Kach movement. When he entered the New York Marriott Hotel at the corner of 49th Street and Lexington Avenue, a yellow cab circled the block, waiting to pick up an accomplice in the planned assassination. Inside the hotel one of the cab driver’s colleagues, El-Sayyid Nosair, a thirty-four-year-old immigrant from Egypt, waited patiently for Kahane to speak. The radical rabbi greeted the crowd of some one hundred orthodox Jews, mostly from Brooklyn.

66

|

Cultures of Violence

He then rambled on at some length about the need to create a Zionist Emergency Evacuation Rescue Organization that would move Jews from the United States to the new settlements in Israel, to protect them from the prophesied collapse of the American economy, which Kahane claimed would trigger a new holocaust against the Jews.54 After the speech, as well-wishers crowded around the rabbi, they were joined by Nosair, who had donned a black skullcap for the occasion. Just a few feet from Kahane, Nosair suddenly pulled out a gun and fatally shot him in the neck, quickly running out into the street, where he looked for the cab to make his getaway. Seeing a yellow taxi, he jumped inside. But it was the wrong cab. The driver was not Nosair’s accomplice but a Hispanic from the Bronx, and his vehicle soon became caught in traffic. Fleeing the taxicab and running on foot, Nosair was apprehended by a postal police officer nearby who heard the crowd, saw Nosair running, and joined the chase. The assassination was a shocking event for New York City and a seminal moment in the histories of three groups. It created a crisis for the assassin’s colleagues, who later became involved in bombing the World Trade Center, in part to give them the clout that they thought would help in their demands for Nosair’s release from prison. On the Jewish side, the death of their leader radically changed Kahane’s movement: some followers sought revenge for his assassination, and this motive, along with Kahane’s anti-Arab ideology, compelled his disciple, Goldstein, to attack Muslim worshippers in the shrine of the Tomb of the Patriarchs in Hebron. The assassination also indirectly affected the Palestinian movement Hamas, since the retaliatory attacks of Goldstein and other militant Jews emboldened them to escalate their own militant actions and target innocent Jewish civilians, just as Goldstein had fired on innocent Arabs. This led to a series of suicide assaults in Jerusalem and Tel Aviv throughout the 1990s. One of these suicide bombings in a Jerusalem market on July 31, 1997, was to have been followed by the bombing of public buildings in New York, a plot that was intercepted by the FBI and New York police. The copycat bombing was planned by a Muslim group in Brooklyn said to be associated with the group involved in the World Trade Center attack—thus completing the circle of interaction among the three militant groups. The accomplice who was said to have been driving the yellow cab intended for the man implicated in Kahane’s assassination, Nosair, was Mahmud Abouhalima.55 As we shall soon see, the role he played in the 1993 World Trade Center bombing was paradigmatic of a certain kind

Zion Betrayed | 67

of militant jihadi involvement in political affairs. As Abouhalima has made clear, his alleged involvement in Kahane’s killing and the World Trade Center bombing came, not only out of a hatred of Kahane’s Jewish extremism and the global American power represented by the World Trade Center, but also from a vision of an ideal Islamic society that he hoped would be more powerful and enduring than competing versions of political order, be they militantly Jewish or aggressively secular. In a curious way, Abouhalima’s vision of a religious society and the vision of a Jewish future longed for by Meir Kahane, Meir Ettinger, Yoel Lerner, and Baruch Goldstein were remarkably similar. Ultimately, however, their inherent xenophobia made them incompatible, as Kahane’s murder so graphically demonstrated.

chapter 4

Islam’s “Neglected Duty”

“They believe in some strange religion, not Islam,” a Muslim refugee from the Iraq city of Ramadi told me when I talked with him in a camp near the Kurdistan capital of Erbil in northern Iraq. Though the territory controlled by the Islamic State in Iraq and Syria—ISIS—was some forty miles away, he spoke as if they could return at any moment.1 “They reject our religion and say we are not sufficiently Muslim, but they kill the men and rape the women. What kind of Islam is that?” Though his religious affiliation was Sunni and his ethnic identity was Arab—the kind of people that ISIS regards as its preferred community—he had been a policeman in Ramadi and knew that he would be targeted. His neighbors were frightened as well, having heard stories about the harsh rule of the ISIS commanders and the loss of freedom under their control. As soon as he heard fighting at the edge of town he and other families quickly climbed into their cars at two o’clock in the morning and escaped. Most of the rest of the city joined them, he said. Now they were waiting in the camp, hoping to return. Even though the city was retaken by the Iraqi government later in the year it was devastated by the fighting, and their lives had been forever changed. It was a story repeated by dozens of refugees that I met in refugee camps and makeshift shelters in Kurdistan and southeastern Turkey in 2015. They seemed puzzled about what ISIS was and what it wanted. Most used the term Daesh for ISIS, based on an acronym for the Arabic name for the movement, Al-Dawla al-Islamiya al-Iraq al-Sham (“The 68

Islam’s “Neglected Duty” | 69

Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant”). The Levant is the old term for wider Syria which includes, Iraq, Jordan, Lebanon, and Israel, which is why its initials are sometimes given as ISIL rather than ISIS. By coincidence, the term daesh also means something like the Arabic word for “bullies,” and for that reason ISIS leaders are annoyed by its usage. Probably also for that reason the term persists among those victimized by it. “The Daesh leaders are foreigners,” a Kurdish man from a village near Mosul told me, saying he didn’t know where they came from, since he didn’t recognize their form of Arabic. The local members of the movement, he said, were poor people forced into it, though some seemed to be true believers. An automobile dealer from a village north of Mosul told me that he recognized one of the ISIS fighters who captured him as a man in the village to whom he had sold a car. The car dealer was from the Kurdish ethnic community; the man who bought his car was an Arab. When the town was surrounded by ISIS, the militants forcibly divided the population into its Kurdish and Arab groups. One of the Arabs suggested that representatives from both groups wave a white flag and go to the ISIS leaders to negotiate their way out of the situation. That’s when the car dealer recognized his former customer among the ISIS fighters. The customer-turned-ISIS-fighter looked down and tried to avert the gaze from his former neighbor. The negotiations soon collapsed and the Arabs were told that they would not be harmed as long as they did nothing to impede ISIS’s authority and if some of the men would volunteer to fight on their side. The Kurds were not given any assurances, and fearing the worst, most of them slipped away in the darkness that night to safety. They heard that those who stayed were divided into men and women’s groups. The men were killed and the women were taken into slavery. When I asked several of the refugees whether ISIS was motivated by religion or by power, they said power, but that they used religion as an excuse for their authority. One Kurdish man from the Syrian town of Deir ez-Zor said that he had evidence that the ISIS fighters weren’t really religious. The Kurd told a story that has been circulating through the refugee camps about a Christian Syrian who was arrested by ISIS soldier at check point. The ISIS soldier asked the Christian to state his religion. “Muslim,” the Christian said, trying to save himself. The ISIS fighter then asked the Christian to prove it by reciting the Qur’an. The Christian mumbled some verses from the Bible, the only scripture he knew. “Good enough,” said the ISIS militant, unaware that the verses

70

|

Cultures of Violence

were not Qur’anic, and let him through unharmed. Though the story may be apocryphal it was told with such enthusiasm that it clearly indicated what the storyteller thought about the pseudo-religiosity of ISIS. When I asked the Kurd what kind of people supported ISIS in his hometown of Deir ez-Zor, he said only a few did; they were mostly poor people who received money if they joined the movement as fighters. ISIS, he said, paid their soldiers a thousand dollars a month, whereas the Syrian opposition groups paid only five hundred dollars. And, interestingly, ISIS paid in U.S. dollars, perhaps from money it received from illicit oil sales. The Kurd said that all of his Kurdish neighbors in Deir ez-Zor were gone. They were told by ISIS they could stay but then the killing began. Then the Kurds either escaped and became refugees, or were killed. A middle-aged woman from the town of Sinjar told me that teenage girls were taken to warehouses where they were auctioned off to “old men” who bought them as sex slaves. Since their religion was Yazidi, an ancient religion linked with Zoroastrianism, they were regarded by ISIS leaders as devil worshippers, and thereby eligible for death or slavery. It was the young women who were forced to be slaves, sold off to men who would “marry” them solely for sexual purposes. Some were bought for no more than a thousand Iraqi dinars, which amounts to less than a U.S. dollar. I asked her and several of the other refugees in the camps I visited in Kurdistan Iraq and in southeastern Turkey whether they thought that ISIS would stay in power long. Yes, they sadly affirmed, since “they were evil,” as one of them put it: they knew how to intimidate people through killing. At the same time they knew there was little future for them as refugees in Kurdistan or Turkey. They had no option but to hope that they could return to their villages and towns. “All we have left is hope,” one of the men said. But even after their area was liberated from ISIS in 2016, their homes were so destroyed and their villages laden with landmines that they could not soon go back. Some vowed never to return. The hopelessness that these refugees expressed, although understandable considering their desperate circumnstances, was somewhat paradoxical considering that ISIS arose in part in a response to a different situation of hopelessness. Sunni Muslims in both Syria and western Iraq felt alienated from their governments, and longed to support a movement that would empower them. This is what ISIS offered, in its own demonic way.

Islam’s “Neglected Duty” | 71

abu bakr al-baghdadi, the caliph of isis A year after the U.S. military invasion of Iraq in 2003 I went to Baghdad to interview activists and religious leaders who would help me understand the religious aspect of the mounting insurgency against the American occupation of the country. Along with my colleague, Mary Kaldor of the London School of Economics, I visited one of the leaders of the Sunni Muslim community at a peculiarly shaped mosque that had been constructed by Saddam Hussein after the 1990–91 Gulf War in order to commemorate his triumph in that battle. Though most observers saw the war as a defeat for Iraq, Saddam proclaimed it a victory and constructed the building to make his point, naming it “The Mother of All Battles Mosque.” The minarets were in the form of armaments— AK47, rocket launchers, and the like. After the fall of Saddam it fell into disrespect and had become the defacto headquarters for Sunni leaders visiting Baghdad from the western Iraq region of Al-Anbar Province. Their welcome was courteous, though they singled me out as an American for their criticism of the occupation. “We know why the American army invaded Iraq,” I was told by Abdul Salam al-Kubaisi, a tall bearded imam who was one of the leaders of the Association of Muslim Clerics in Al-Anbar Province.2 Since many Americans at the time were wondering the same thing, I was eager to hear what he had to say. He told us the occupation had nothing to do with oil or weapons of mass destruction—Saddam had always ruled through intimidation and fear, he said, and Iraqis knew he probably did not have such things. Instead, the imam said, the Americans wanted to keep Iraq from becoming an Islamic state, and thought they had to rule directly in place of Saddam’s secular regime because it was weak and about to be toppled by an Islamic revolution. The Islamic state that the imam had in mind would be led by Sunni leaders such as himself. What he feared was the loss of Sunni power, since even though Saddam’s rule was secular it had favored his own minority Sunni community. In post-Saddam Iraq the Shi’a majority in the rich river valleys stretching from Baghdad to Basra had begun to claim power and marginalize the Sunnis. When the administration of U.S. President George W. Bush promised to bring democracy to the country, Sunni leaders shuddered. They were convinced that the idea of democracy was simply a foil for Shi’a political power that would ignore Arab Sunnis in western Iraq and turn them into second-class citizens.

72

|

Cultures of Violence

For this reason any movement that promised power to Sunnis in the region was appealing. The Sunni shining knight that appeared on the scene in 2004 was a militant jihadi from Jordan, Abu Musab al-Zarqawi. Born into a refugee Palestinian family, the young Zarqawi turned to drugs and petty theft in his youth, but later underwent a conversion into a strict form of Islam influenced by the rigid moral codes of the Wahhabi form of Islam prominent in Saudi Arabia. Among other things, it allowed for beheading as an acceptable punishment for those who threatened the faith. The movement he created in Iraq was based on these teachings and on the longing of Sunnis in the western region of the country to be free of both American military occupation and Shi’a political domination. He named his movement Al-Qaeda in Iraq, hoping to receive support from the international organization headed by Osama bin Laden and Aymen al-Zawahiri, at that time hiding out in Pakistan after the U.S. invasion and occupation of Afghanistan. Relations between Zarqawi and bin Laden were never good, however, since Zarqawi insisted on his own priorities and his own leadership style. The Al-Qaeda leaders were uncomfortable with Zarqawi’s extreme anti-Shi’a stance, and his easy adoption of beheading as an intimidating tactic, which bin Laden and Zawahiri thought would alienate the population. The Al-Qaeda leaders were right, and though Al-Qaeda in Iraq flourished for a time with support from young radical Arab Sunnis, especially after the U.S. destruction of the city of Fallujah in 2004, the Sunni tribal elders were increasingly wary of Zarqawi’s authoritarian leadership and his rigid Islamic policies. In 2006 Zarqawi was apprehended in what he thought was a safe house in the city of Baqubah and killed by U.S. military forces. The new head of Al-Qaeda in Iraq was an Egyptian, Abu Ayyub al-Masri, who kept the name of Al-Qaeda but announced that the organization would be creating an Islamic state in the region, headed by an Iraqi caliph, Abu Omar al-Baghdadi. Al-Masri and al-Baghdadi were killed by a U.S. military strike in 2010 and their movement turned to another Iraqi as leader; he took the name of the fallen al-Baghdadi, naming himself Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi. But by that time the movement had essentially been defeated in Iraq. What happened to virtually eliminate Al-Qaeda in Iraq began in 2007 with the return of U.S. General David Petraeus and the plan for the U.S. military to radically change course in the region. Rather than occupying and trying to control Al-Anbar Province, Petraeus withdrew his troops from the countryside and redeployed them to the city of

Islam’s “Neglected Duty” | 73

Baghdad, where they were joined by additional U.S. troops (the socalled “Surge” announced by President George W. Bush) to provide peace and security to the capital city. This removed a source of contention from the Al-Anbar region. More importantly, the militias associated with the Sunni tribal leaders in Al-Anbar were empowered to turn against Al-Qaeda in Iraq, which eventually restored the region to traditional tribal and religious leadership control. The operation was dubbed the “Awakening.” This solution worked well while the United States was still the occupying force in Iraq, since it guaranteed support for the Sunni tribal leaders and militias in the Al-Anbar region. When the U.S. military withdrew its troops in 2011, fulfilling an agreement made between President Bush and Iraq’s Prime Minister Nouri al-Maliki, the responsibility for maintaining the support of the Sunni tribal leaders fell on the shoulders of al-Maliki and the Shi’a dominated government in Baghdad. When I talked with al-Maliki in Baghdad in 2004, two years before he became prime minister and when was still just a functionary within the Shi’a Da’wa Party, he assured me that Sunnis and Shi’a could live with each other in mutual respect in the new democratic Iraq.3 Alas, when alMaliki came to power his actions belied this vision. He abandoned the Arab Sunni leaders, choosing to shore up his political support largely from his own Shi’a base by using government funding and positions as payouts to his political supporters. Once again, the Arab Sunnis regarded themselves as marginal and disenfranchised. Once again they were looking for any force that would support them and give them a political home. This is where al-Baghdadi and his Islamic State came back into the picture. The uprising in neighboring Syria that began in 2011 gave him a nearby base of operations as his cadres infiltrated the resistance fighters and built their own jihad army, eventually controlling large sections of Sunni Arab–dominated sections of eastern Syria. Their main competition in that battle-weary country was another movement affiliated with Al-Qaeda, the Al-Nusra Front, with which the Al-Qaeda leader, Zawahiri, urged Al-Baghdadi to collaborate. Al-Baghdadi was determined to go his own way, however, rejecting Al-Nusra and the name “Al-Qaeda,” and proclaiming an Islamic State of Iraq and al-Sham (wider Syria, or the Levant). In 2014 the movement roared over the borders between Syria and Iraq, and changed its name to “the Islamic State.” In a blitzkrieg, it spread out from eastern Syria, where it was well entrenched, to the Sunni-dominated areas of western Iraq, even

74

|

Cultures of Violence

conquering Iraq’s second largest city, Mosul, which it plundered for its wealth and military armament. It is fair to describe the Islamic State—still known widely as ISIS—as having been a terrorist regime, since it used extreme acts of violence to intimidate both its enemies and its own population. The savage beheadings of western journalist and aid workers that were posted on the internet were matched by dozens, perhaps hundreds, of similar beheadings of recalcitrant Sunnis under ISIS’s own control who refused to go along with its demands or who dared to be identified as Christians, Yazidis, and other minorities, or who simply were modern people who liked to dress in a western style. For ISIS, terror has been an instrument of governance. Though it was clearly a potent political movement with a religious name, the question arises about how religious it actually was. Muslims around the world rose up to protest against what they described as the non-Muslim attitudes and actions of ISIS. Iyad Ameen Madani, the secretary general of the Organization of Islamic Cooperation, a group that represented fifty-seven countries and 1.4 billion Muslims, said ISIS “has nothing to do with Islam and its principles.”4 At an international conference of Muslim clerics in India, seventy thousand Muslim clerics issued a fatwa against ISIS and other terrorist groups.5 Similar denunciations came from leading Muslim clergy in Egypt, Turkey, and around the world. Still, the leaders of ISIS claimed Qur’anic authority for their actions, strict sharia law as the basis of their jurisprudence, an apocalyptic vision of Islamic prophecy as its future scenario, and the promise of salvation for those recruited into its ranks. In an essay in the New Republic, Graeme Wood described the core supporters of ISIS as an uneasy coalition of three groups: psychopaths, believers, and pragmatists.6 The pragmatists were largely from Sunni regions of Syria and Iraq who were disenfranchised by the Shi’a regimes of Bashar al-Assad in Damascus and Nouri al-Maliki in Baghdad. The psychopaths and believers were often foreigners, some of them Muslim youth from Britain, the United States, and other western countries, including the cruel executioner who appeared in the YouTube videos of the beheadings of foreign journalists and aid workers. Authorities believe that he was a twenty-three-year old former rap singer from West London, who eventually was killed in a U.S. military air strike on Raqqa in 2015. ISIS used these young male volunteers largely as cannon fodder to carry out acts of extreme violence and to become living bombs as suicide fighters in ISIS attacks. The young women were turned into sex slaves to service the troops. The young men usually did not survive long in their involvement in what

Islam’s “Neglected Duty” | 75

they thought would be a triumphant and glorious battle, and many of the women tried to escape, so the movement constantly needed new volunteer recruits, which it garnered through slick online recruiting videos and social network contacts. The young people who were lured to ISIS came for a variety of motives. Perhaps the strongest was the desire to be involved in a great war, a cosmic struggle that allowed them to play out all of their computer-game fantasies of warcraft, valor, and gore. But some also came out of a sense of extreme piety, a conviction that they were laying their lives on the line for their faith. The connection between faith and cosmic war was provided by an apocalyptic prophetic vision of Islam propagated by the publicists and inner circle of ISIS that saw the end of the present world as very near, and at the verge of a cosmic battle that would usher in a new global caliphate.7 Some of the young volunteers from around the world were attracted to that dramatic vision of apocalyptic cosmic war; others also joined the movement to gain a sense of identity and to be a part of a community. For young people of Middle Eastern parentage who were living in the UK, Europe, and the United States, their experience of being alienated and marginalized immigrant children was overcome by the acceptance offered by ISIS. Initially their main form of participation was through online chat rooms and Twitter feeds. Two of my student research assistants, Saba Sadri and Mufid Taha, monitored these Twitter accounts and found that the conversation was dominated by a sense of the importance of the cause, and the sharp wethey distinction between members of the movement’s community and all outsiders, whether or not they were Muslim. A Canadian research scholar, Amarnath Amarsingam, who interacted with many young Canadian volunteers on Twitter, gaining their confidence as a friendly outsider, concurred that community is a dominant part of the appeal. Many of the Twitter users called themselves members of the baqiyah family, using the Arabic term for “enduring” that ISIS employed as one of hallmarks. “Trust me, I’ve never felt like I’ve belonged anywhere until I met the brothers and sisters online,” one young volunteer told Amarsingam. “The Internet keeps us connected, keeps us a family,” he added. Then Amarsingam asked the young man to say more about the sense of belonging he felt in the baqiyah family, and he responded saying that he felt more authentic as a person within the internet community: “sometimes it’s like the person on line is the real you.”8 Another Canadian

76

|

Cultures of Violence

research scholar, Marc-André Argentino, who also monitored ISISrelated Twitter accounts, agreed that the category of “belonging” was one of the most important themes.9 “Regularly,” Argentino reported, “images and video are published depicting brothers praying together and eating together, listening to sermons online, of brothers in arms hugging each other after combat operations, or huddled together hands in the middle (an image reminiscent of a sports team).” The pictures showed the ISIS brotherhood together in physical space, but the sense of community appeared to be almost as strong in the connections provided through the media of cyberspace. Should we then regard ISIS as a religious community? This question is not easy to answer. The religious credentials of al-Baghdadi does give credibility to this religious appeal. He has received a Ph.D. in Islamic studies from the Islamic University of Baghdad, specializing on traditions of recitation of the Qur’an, and knows the scriptures and the tradition of Islam better than most jihad activists. Osama bin Laden had no religious credentials, and claimed to be an engineer, though his college training may have been in business management. Ayman al-Zawahiri was a medical doctor. Al-Baghdadi’s predecessor in leading AlQaeda in Iraq, Abu Musab al-Zarqawi, was a street thug from Jordan. So by contrast, al-Baghdadi looked fairly legitimate. Moreover the official ideology of the moment enunciated a kind of Islamic apocalypticism that aimed to imitate the strict legal code of medieval Islam in preparation for the coming of the Mahdi, the triumphant moment of catastrophe and redemption that would result in a new caliphate of Islamic rule throughout the world.10 Yet the credentials and the apocalyptic vision of al-Baghdadi do not necessarily make the movement Islamic, nor does the Islamic whitewashing of the regime’s terrorist actions or the cruel imposition of medieval punishment. The judgment of its religiosity is in the eye of the beholder. Though it may have given many of its young followers a sense of community and provided Sunni Arabs in the region with their own governance, to most Muslims around the world ISIS is still a “strange religion,” the very antipathy of their own Muslim faith.

mahmud abouhalima and the world trade center bombing The question about whether ISIS is really Muslim can also be asked about its progenitor and rival, the Al-Qaeda movement. Though they

Islam’s “Neglected Duty” | 77

cloaked themselves in the mantle of religion, the leaders of Al-Qaeda had even less claims to religious credentials than did the leaders of ISIS. Neither Osama bin Laden or his associate and successor, Ayman alZawahiri, were clerics or had formal religious training in Islamic history or texts. Moreover, their abiding concern was political: freeing the Middle East of western-supported governments. Bin Laden was particularly incensed over the Saud family’s control over his native Saudi Arabia, and thought that the most effective way of undermining it was to focus not so much on the Saudi government but on the “far enemy” of the United States that propped it up. Hence the concerns of the AlQaeda leadership were not on propagating religion as such, but of liberating Islamic civilization from the grip of western powers and the secular forces of globalization. In that sense, the mission of bin Laden and his Al-Qaeda colleagues was similar to what Timothy McVeigh was trying to achieve in his Oklahoma City federal building bombing, and what motivated Anders Breivik in his Norwegian youth camp attack: they all had a political mission, a dedication to restoring and protecting a particular religious culture, Islamic in the case of bin Laden, and Christian in the case of Breivik and McVeigh. Bin Laden was implicated directly in the attack on the U.S. embassies in Kenya and Tanzania on August 7, 1998, when he began to gain notoriety as the world’s leading figure in radical jihadi violent acts. It was understandable, therefore, that when it was discovered that Muslim extremists were the perpetrators of the terrifying attacks on the World Trade Center and Pentagon on September 11, 2001, the world would immediately think of bin Laden as the shadowy force behind it. Initially he denied these charges. Weeks later, however, he claimed he indeed could claim some credit for the act, and a video surfaced of bin Laden talking with a Saudi Arabian sheikh in the weeks after the attack indicating that he had foreknowledge of the event. What is not clear, at least in public knowledge, is the exact role that bin Laden played in making the plans. The 9/11 Commission Report, which is the U.S. government’s investigation into the attacks, places responsibility for organizing and directing them in the hands of the person it describes as their “chief architect,” Khalid Sheikh Mohammad, who was a Pakistani-born businessman who had received a B.S. degree in mechanical engineering from a North Carolina college and earned a living from the international import-export trade, based for a time in the Philippines. Though he had been associated with bin Laden in Afghanistan where he was chief of media operations under Ayman al-Zawahiri, he initially claimed not be

78

|

Cultures of Violence

a member of Al-Qaeda and while in custody in the U.S. prison at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, bragged that he was solely responsible for plotting the 9/11 attacks and many other terrorist events around the world. If Khalid Sheikh Mohammed was the “chief architect,” was 9/11 an Al-Qaeda attack? Part of the problem in answering this question is the idea of membership in an organization called Al-Qaeda. The term came from the name given by a young Osama bin Laden to the guesthouse he had established in the Pakistani border city of Peshawar to serve volunteers who had come to join the mujahideen in the Afghanistan war against the Soviet-supported socialist government during the 1980s, and later became associated with the cadre of supporters around him when bin Laden set up operations first in Sudan and then in Afghanistan. Though there was clearly an inner circle of the movement and a training camp for volunteer operatives, the larger movement of jihadi activists around the world was just that—a movement rather than an organization. As Reza Aslan has argued, approaches to counter its activities are hampered when one thinks of Al-Qaeda as an organization that can be easily be dismantled, rather than if it is seen as a movement that has many diverse forms and can quickly reorganize itself when threatened.11 The jihadi movement includes organized groups such as the Al-Qaeda and ISIS headquarters, though it is unlikely that far-flung groups claiming affiliation are actually controlled by them. AlQaeda in Yemen, or Al-Qaeda in the Mahgreb in Africa, for example, are likely examples of groups that latch onto the Al-Qaeda name to enhance their reputations; the same is true of Boko Haram in Nigeria claiming an affiliation with ISIS. Even more distant from the Al-Qaeda and ISIS leadership are rogue groups and isolated individuals—lone wolf terrorists—who use their alleged affiliation to give legitimacy and importance to their actions. Al-Qaeda and ISIS became brand names that were attractive to activist groups around the world that sought to give their own movements a kind of international credibility by branding themselves with the Al-Qaeda and ISIS names.12 Yet the diverse aspects of the global jihadi movement have had some common characteristics: religious conviction, hatred of secular society, and the demonstration of power through acts of violence. To understand how these dimensions of the movement are related, I talked with one of the men convicted of the 1993 bombing of the World Trade Center, Mahmud Abouhalima, who was part of the wider jihadi network related to Al-Qaeda. Abouhalima was one of a group of Muslims, most of them from Egypt, who lived on the outskirts of New York City

Islam’s “Neglected Duty” | 79

in Queens and Jersey City and came together as a paramilitary organization through their commitment to a visionary Muslim ideology articulated by Sheikh Omar Abdul Rahman, who in turn was said to have had ties to Ayman al-Zawahiri and others associated with Osama bin Laden. Prior to the World Trade Center bombing, Abouhalima had been implicated, but never charged, in the assassination of Meir Kahane; before that, he was said to have been involved in the killing of a rival leader of a New York area mosque, and when he was in Egypt he was said to have been part of the group that plotted the assassination of Anwar Sadat. But he was not charged with any terrorist crimes until he was implicated in the World Trade Center bombing in 1993, when he was tried and convicted. When I interviewed him he was serving a life sentence in a maximum security prison in Lompoc, California.13 Mahmud Abouhalima is a strong, tall man whose striking red hair and beard have led some to call him “Mahmud the Red.”14 Though he was accused but never convicted of being the cab driver for the bungled getaway following the assassination of Rabbi Meir Kahane, his relationship with the alleged assassin, El-Sayyid Nosair, is well established. Abouhalima is also said to have admitted to an investigator that he tried to buy weapons to defend his group against the Jewish Defense League, an American organization founded by Kahane. The man from whom he allegedly attempted to buy the weapons, Wadih el-Hage, was a Lebanese Muslim living in Texas who later worked for Osama bin Laden, and who was arrested for being part of the network involved in the bombing of the American embassies in Kenya and Tanzania.15 The bombing of the World Trade Center in 1993 is sometimes described as Al-Qaeda’s first terrorist attack on American soil. According to some accounts of the World Trade Center blast, Abouhalima was the “mastermind” of the event, a label of notoriety that is sometimes also given to his fellow activist, Ramzi Yousef, the nephew of Sheikh Khalid Mohammed.16 Ramzi Yousef is a clear link to the 9/11 attack, bin Laden, and the wider jihadi organization associated with Al-Qaeda. But Abouhalima was the chief lieutenant in overseeing the plans for conducting the bombing. In the trial that convicted him, Abouhalima was portrayed as crucial to the attack: evidence was presented that placed him at the site of the New Jersey warehouse where bomb materials were collected and assembled, and among the members of the group who stopped at a filling station to refuel the rental truck as it made its final trip to the World Trade Center parking lot the night before the explosion. At the time of the blast itself,

80

|

Cultures of Violence

at noon on February 26, 1993, some claimed that Abouhalima was across the street from the towers, looking expectantly out the window of the classical-music annex of a record store, J&R Music, and when he saw just a puff of smoke from the basement of the towers, he is said to have expressed disappointment that the bombing caused such little damage.17 If the amount of explosives in the truck had been just a little larger and the truck placed slightly differently in the basement parking area, it would have brought down an entire tower—which most likely would have fallen sideways, destroying the second tower as well. Instead of six people killed in the blast, the number perished could easily have climbed to two hundred thousand. It would have included most of the fifty thousand workers and an equal number of visitors on site at the World Trade Center on that fateful day, plus another hundred thousand workers in the surrounding buildings, which would have been destroyed if both towers fell. If indeed Abouhalima had expected that sort of disaster, he must have been disappointed with the relatively modest explosion that resulted, even though its assault on the public’s consciousness made it one of the most significant terrorist acts in American history prior to the ultimate collapse of the towers on September 11, 2001. The two conversations I had with Abouhalima took place by special arrangement in an otherwise empty visitors room of the maximumsecurity prison in Lompoc, California—which prides itself as “the new rock,” a formidable and secure successor to the abandoned Alcatraz prison in San Francisco Bay. Abouhalima was brought into the room handcuffed and accompanied by three guards. Dressed in green prison garb, Abouhalima’s figure was indeed striking—tall, red-haired, his face freckled—and his English was fluid and colloquial. He leaned over as he spoke, often whispering, as if to reinforce the intimacy and importance of what he said. When I talked with him, he was hoping that his conviction could still be appealed, and for this reason Abouhalima avoided discussing particulars related to the trial and to the bombing itself. He claimed to be innocent of all charges, a point that he repeated in letters to me later. Moreover, he claimed that he almost never talked with journalists or scholars for fear of being misquoted or—he said—falsely implicated in the crimes that put him in prison. He specifically denied the allegations of direct involvement in the World Trade Center bombing for which he had been convicted. Abouhalima related to me a dramatic moment in the trial when the prosecution’s sole witness to his participation in the act—

Islam’s “Neglected Duty” | 81

the New Jersey service station attendant on duty the night that the truck carrying the explosives was refueled—was asked to look around the courtroom and identify the tall, red-headed man he had seen with the truck at the time. Instead of pointing toward Abouhalima, the attendant startled the audience by pointing past him toward one of the jurors, saying “it was a person like this one.”18 Abouhalima had reasons, therefore, for thinking that the case against him was fairly slim, and it was understandable that he did not want to discuss the bombing or the events surrounding it. He insisted that I tape record our conversations to make sure that I had accurately quoted him, and as a precaution I sent him a copy of my interview transcript for his verification before using any of the quotations that are found in this book, though none has been changed. Although restricted in what he felt he could say, Abouhalima was quite eloquent on the subject that I wanted to discuss with him: the public role of Islam and its increasingly political impact. He also felt free to talk about the subject of terrorism in general and terrorist incidents of which he was not accused, including the Oklahoma City federal building bombing. The trial of Terry Nichols, one of the defendants in the case, was being conducted at the time of my second interview with him, and in response to my questions, Abouhalima discussed the progress of the trial and helped me understand why such a bombing might occur. “It was done for a very, very specific reason,” Abouhalima told me, contradicting any impression I might have had that the Oklahoma City federal building was bombed for no reason at all, or for the most general of symbolic statements. Speaking of Timothy McVeigh and Terry Nichols, who were accused of the crime, Abouhalima said that “they had some certain target, you know, a specific achievement.” What kind of target? I asked. Abouhalima explained that “they wanted to reach the government with the message that we are not tolerating the way that you are dealing with our citizens.”19 Was the bombing an act of terrorism, I asked him? Abouhalima thought for a moment and then explained that the whole concept of terrorism was “messed up.” The term seemed to be used only for incidents of violence that people didn’t like, or rather, Abouhalima explained, for incidents that the media have labeled terrorist. “What about the United States government?” Abouhalima asked me. “How do they justify their acts of bombings, of killing innocent people, directly or indirectly, openly or secretly? They’re killing people everywhere in the world: before, today, and tomorrow. How do you define

82

|

Cultures of Violence

that?” Then he described what he regarded as the United States’ terrorist attitude toward the world. According to Abouhalima, the United States tries to “terrorize nations,” to “obliterate their power,” and to tell them that they “are nothing” and that they “have to follow us.” Abouhalima implied that many forms of international political or economic control could be kinds of terrorism. He also gave specific examples of cases where he felt the United States had used its power to kill people indiscriminately. “In Japan, for instance,” Abouhalima said, referring to the atomic bomb blasts, “through the bombs, you know, that killed more than two hundred thousand people.” Perhaps it was just a coincidence, but the number of casualties Abouhalima cited in Hiroshima and Nagasaki was the same number that would have been killed in the 1993 World Trade Center blast, according to estimates, if he and his colleagues had placed the bombs differently and they were able to bring down both towers immediately, as allegedly planned, not allowing the thousands to have escaped as they did on September 11, when the final collapse occurred approximately an hour after the assault. Was the Oklahoma City blast a terrorist response to the government’s terrorism? “That’s what I’m saying,” Abouhalima replied. “If they believe, if these guys, whoever they are, did whatever bombing they say they did in Oklahoma City, if they believe that the government unjustifiably killed the people in Waco, then they have their own way to respond. They absolutely have their own way to respond,” he repeated for emphasis, indicating that the Oklahoma City bombing “response” was morally justified. “Yet,” I said in an effort to put the bombing of the federal building in context, “it killed a lot of innocent people, and ultimately it did not seem to change anything.” “But it’s as I said,” Abouhalima responded, “at least the government got the message.” Moreover, Abouhalima told me, the only thing that humans can do in response to great injustice is to send a message. Stressing the point that all human efforts are futile and that those who bomb buildings should not expect any immediate, tangible change in the government’s policies as a result, Abouhalima said that real change—effective change—“is not in our hands,” only “in God’s hands.” This led to a general discussion about what he regarded as the natural connection between Islam and political order. Abouhalima said this relationship had been weakened by modern leaders of Islamic countries,

Islam’s “Neglected Duty” | 83

such as those in his native Egypt, as a result of the influence of the West in general and the United States in particular. The president of Egypt, for example, was not really Muslim, Abouhalima implied, since he “watered down” Islamic law. Leaders such as President Hosni Mubarak “said yes” to Islamic law and principles, Abouhalima explained, but then turned around and “said yes” to secular ideas as well, especially regarding such matters as family law, education, and financial institutions, where Muslim law prohibits usury.20 He claimed the character of many contemporary politicians was deceitful: they pretended to be Muslim but in practice followed secular—implicitly western—codes of conduct. Mahmud Abouhalima’s religious influences began at an early age. He was raised in Kafr al-Dawar, a town in northern Egypt near Alexandria, where he attended a Muslim youth camp, which, Abouhalima said, offered him the “first light for understanding what it is to be a Muslim.”21 He took courses at Alexandria University and became increasingly active in Islamic politics, especially the outlawed Al-Gamaa-i Islamiya, led by Sheikh Omar Abdul Rahman. When Abouhalima was twenty-one, he left Egypt—perhaps to escape the watchful eye of the Egyptian internal security forces—and went to Germany on a tourist visa. Egypt’s President Anwar Sadat was rounding up Muslim activists at the time, and one week after Abouhalima’s departure Sadat was assassinated, allegedly by Abouhalima’s former colleagues, supporters of Sheikh Omar Abdul Rahman. The sheikh himself stood trial, accused of complicity in the act, but was never convicted. During this time Abouhalima was living in Munich, but when the German government tried to deport him, Abouhalima searched for a way to remain in the country. A rapidly arranged marriage to a somewhat emotionally unstable German nurse living in his apartment building made it possible for Abouhalima to continue his German residency.22 This marriage dissolved and Abouhalima married another German woman, Marianne Weber. During his initial years in Germany, Abouhalima said, he lived a “life of corruption—girls, drugs, you name it.” He went through the outward signs of Islamic reverence—daily prayers, fasting during the month of Ramadan—but he had left the real Islam behind.23 After a while, he “got bored” with his wayward existence, began reading the Qur’an again, and returned to a committed religious life. At this time his wife, Marianne, who by her own admission had also been living a dissolute life before she married Abouhalima, became a Muslim as well. Soon afterward, he and Marianne came to the United States.

84

|

Cultures of Violence

They settled in New York, and a three-month visa turned into an extended stay. His renewed interest in Islam was nurtured by a large and active Muslim community centered on Atlantic Avenue in downtown Brooklyn. “Islam is a mercy,” Abouhalima told me, explaining that it rescued the fallen and gave meaning to one’s personal life. This was something that he desperately needed when lured by the lifestyle of secular society, first in Germany and then in the United States. He told a story, a sort of parable, about a lion cub that was raised among sheep. The cub thought he was a sheep until another lion came along and showed him his reflection in a clear pond. That’s what his Muslim teachers and his spiritual readings had shown him, Abouhalima said. He was “a Muslim, not a sheep.”24 Abouhalima seized the opportunity to prove that he was not a sheep when he joined the Muslim struggle in Afghanistan. Although he had been earning his income as a New York City taxi driver, Abouhalima was also serving as a volunteer worker at the Alkifah Afghan Refugee Center in Brooklyn. There Afghani refugees told of the mujahideen’s heroic struggle against the Soviet-backed government of Najibullah in their homeland. The center was said to have been funded by Osama bin Laden.25 Abouhalima admitted to me that he went to Afghanistan during that time (something he had previously denied), but that he was there solely in a nonmilitary “civil” capacity. According to some accounts, however, he was indeed involved in the military struggle and had volunteered for the suicidal task of minesweeping, going in front of the Muslim troops with a long stick to probe the earth for land mines.26 But even if he had not been involved in any direct military way, I said to Abouhalima, it was a dangerous time to be in that country. Why would he want to risk his life for such a cause? “It is my job,” Abouhalima explained, “as a Muslim.” He said that he felt he had a mission “to go wherever there is oppression and injustice and fight it.”27 When he returned, his Afghani service had earned him the admiration of many in his circle of Muslim activists, and according to some accounts he continued to wear his military fatigues and combat boots on Brooklyn’s streets.28 He became more deeply engaged in Muslim political causes and helped arrange for the leading figure in Egypt’s radical Muslim community—Sheikh Omar Abdul Rahman—to become established in the United States. The sheikh had also been in Afghanistan, and his arrival in July 1990 from the Sudan made significant waves in the militant Muslim community in the New York area. In fact, he was soon at odds with the

Islam’s “Neglected Duty” | 85

man who sponsored his immigration to the United States, Mustafa Shalabi, the leader of the Alkifah Afghan Refugee Center and a friend of Abouhalima. Eventually, however, it became clear that Abouhalima’s loyalty in the emerging competition was with the sheikh, and when Shalabi was murdered, Abouhalima was a suspect but was never formally charged. With Shalabi out of the way, the sheikh was the unchallenged leader of the New York area’s militant Muslim community. Sheikh Omar Abdul Rahman was a blind Islamic scholar who had once been a professor of theology at the prestigious Al-Azhar University in Cairo and who was linked with one of Egypt’s most revolutionary Islamic movements, Al-Gamaa-i Islamiya (“the Islamic group”). The sheikh was implicated in the assassination of Anwar Sadat and in a series of violent attacks on the government in his native region, the oasis area of Fayoum—charges for which he was eventually acquitted. Suspicions of the sheikh’s involvement, however, remained. Followers of the sheikh were also believed to be responsible for two more killings in Egypt—the murder of parliament Speaker Rifaat Mahgoub and a secular writer, Farag Foda—and assassination attempts on Prime Minister Hosni Mubarak and the Nobel Prize–winning novelist Naguib Mahfouz. With the government closing in on his group, Sheikh Abdul Rahman repaired to the Sudan and eventually made it to New Jersey. He entered the United States presumably by error; officials at the American embassy in Khartoum did not detect his name on a list of those requiring special permission—although some commentators claim that the sheikh had been favored by the CIA because of his support for anticommunist rebels in the war against Soviet control of Afghanistan in the 1990s and was allowed to enter the United States as a sort of reward. In the United States, Sheikh Abdul Rahman became established in a small mosque called Al-Salam (“the place of peace”) located above a Chinese restaurant in Jersey City, New Jersey. There he preached against the evils of secular society and helped the struggling members of his flock understand why they were oppressed, both in the Middle East and in the United States. He singled out America for special condemnation because it helped to create the state of Israel, supported the secular Egyptian government, and sent its troops to Kuwait during the Gulf War, all of which the sheikh deemed “un-Islamic.”29 Listening attentively to the words of Sheikh Omar Abdul Rahman was a growing circle of mostly male Islamic activists in their thirties who had immigrated to the United States from several Middle Eastern countries. It included Muhammad Salameh, an unemployed Palestianian

86

|

Cultures of Violence

refugee; Siddig Ali, a Sudanese organizer; Nidal Ayyad, who was trained as a chemical engineer; Ibrahim El-Gabrowny, the president of the Abu Bakr mosque in Brooklyn; his cousin, El-Sayyid Nosair, who was imprisoned from charges related to the killing of Meir Kahane; and a man known by various names, including “Ramzi Ahmed Yousef,” a Pakistani said to be born in Iraq and raised in Kuwait who had masterminded some of the most imaginative scenarios of recent terrorist history. Yousef was the nephew of Khalid Sheikh Mohammed, whom the 9/11 Commission identified as the “architect” of the 2001 attacks. The circle of followers of Sheikh Rahman also included Abouhalima, who for a time served as the sheikh’s chauffeur and bodyguard. I wanted to ask Abouhalima why Muslim activists such as Sheikh Abdul Rahman would target the United States as an enemy. Although he did not respond to that question directly—and in fact praised America for its religious freedom, claiming that it was easier for him to be a good Muslim in this country than in Egypt—he did answer indirectly when he talked about how Jewish influence controlled America’s news media, financial institutions, and government. In that sense, Abouhalima explained, although the United States claimed to be secular and impartial toward religion, “it is involved in religious politics already.”30 Abouhalima made it clear that America’s involvement in religious politics—its support for the State of Israel and for “enemies of Islam” such as Egypt’s Mubarak—is not the result of Christianity. Rather, it was due to America’s ideology of secularism, which Abouhalima regards not as neutrality but as hostility toward religion, especially Islam. He cited the counterterrorism policies of the U.S. Department of Justice, which he called the “Department of Injustice.” I asked him if the United States would be better off if it had a Christian government. “Yes,” Abouhalima replied, “at least it would have morals.”31 Abouhalima’s bitterness toward the Justice Department was compounded by its swift prosecution of the case against him and his colleagues in a series of trials. The one that ended on March 4, 1994, focused on the anti-American motives for the assault; it convicted four—Muhammad Salameh, Nidal Ayyad, Ahmad Muhammad Ajaj, and Abouhalima—of bombing the Center and indicted Ramzi Ahmed Yousef as a fugitive in the crime. The second trial, ending on January 17, 1996, convicted nine—including a life sentence for Sheikh Omar Abdul Rahman—for their part in what the judge described as a “terrorist conspiracy” of a magnitude comparable with militant fascism and communism.32 The prosecution offered evidence that the circle of Mus-

Islam’s “Neglected Duty” | 87

lim activists associated with the sheikh had intended to blow up not only the World Trade Center but also the United Nations buildings in Manhattan, two New York commuter tunnels under the Hudson River, and the Manhattan headquarters of the FBI. A third trial, which began later in the year, focused on the fugitive, who had been captured in Pakistan in a dramatic raid on his Karachi hotel room. Yousef, whose real name appeared to be Abdul Basit Mahmoud Abdul Karim, was implicated not only in the New York events but also in a series of terrorist plots, including one aimed at assassinating the pope when he visited the Philippines. The so-called Project Bojinka, if carried out, would have led to the destruction of eleven large U.S. passenger airplanes over the Pacific Ocean in one momentous day. The plot was allegedly bankrolled by Osama bin Laden, and Yousef was regarded as one of his agents in the far-flung Al-Qaeda network. The trial ended on September 5, 1996, with Yousef’s conviction for conspiracy in the case of the Bojinka plot; later Yousef again stood trial in New York, this time for his part in the bombing of the World Trade Center. After all of these trials, Abouhalima said, secular America still did not understand him and his colleagues. What, I asked him, was missing? What was it that we did not understand? “The soul,” he said, “the soul of religion, that is what is missing.” Without it, Abouhalima said, western prosecutors, journalists, and scholars like myself “will never understand who I am.” He said that he understood the secular West because he had lived like a westerner in Germany and in the United States. The seventeen years he had lived in the West, Abouhalima told me, “is a fair amount of time to understand what the hell is going on in the United States and in Europe about secularism or people, you know, who have no religion.” He went on to say, “I lived their life, but they didn’t live my life, so they will never understand the way I live or the way I think.” Abouhalima compared a life without religion to a pen without ink. “An ink pen,” he said, “a pen worth two thousand dollars, gold and everything in it, it’s useless if there’s no ink in it. That’s the thing that gives life,” Abouhalima said, drawing out the analogy, “the life in this pen . . . the soul.” He finished his point by saying, “the soul, the religion, you know, that’s the thing that’s revived the whole life. Secularism,” he said, looking directly at me, “has none, they have none, you have none.” And as for secular people, I asked, who do not know the life of religion? “They’re just moving like dead bodies,” Abouhalima said.

88

|

Cultures of Violence

abdul aziz rantisi and hamas suicide missions Although their targets were not as spectacular as the World Trade Center buildings, the series of suicide terrorist attacks in Jerusalem, Tel Aviv, and elsewhere in Israel conducted by Muslim activists associated with the radical Palestinian movement Hamas were equally terrifying— just as vicious in their killing of what are traditionally viewed as noncombatants, and just as desperate in their attempts to gain the world’s attention for what was perceived by the perpetrators to be a religious as well as a political cause. Like the 1993 and 2001 attacks on the World Trade Center, the intended audience included not just those in the immediate vicinity, but all who observed the media reportage and were horrified by it. In the confrontation between Palestinians and Israelis, the actions of these Muslim suicide martyrs have played a significant role in provoking Israeli retaliation and escalating the level of conflict. To many who witnessed them even at a distance, the horror of the bombings in Jerusalem and Tel Aviv was compounded by the knowledge that the bombers purposefully killed themselves in conducting the acts. Who would do such a thing, and why? The answers to such questions are best given by those directly involved in them. But because anyone who successfully carries out a suicide bombing is by definition unavailable for interviewing afterward, I found that the next best way of hearing their voices is to watch the videotapes that many of them made the night before the missions. Often crudely photographed, these testimonies were filmed by their Hamas colleagues partly to memorialize the young men and partly to show to other potential volunteers as a kind of recruiting device. These tapes are clandestinely circulated within the Palestinian community in Gaza and the towns on the West Bank. I was privileged to see several that are part of a collection gathered by two American scholars, Anne Marie Oliver and my former student, Paul Steinberg, who once lived in Gaza and have conducted research on the phenomenon of suicide bombings and the valorization of the young men who committed them.33 One of the most moving videotapes in their collection shows a handsome young man, no more than eighteen years old, looking oddly happy as he talked about the sacrifice that he was about to make. Dubbed “the smiling boy” by Oliver and Steinberg, he was videotaped in an outdoor setting beside a rock and a bush, wearing what appears to be a stylish bluejean jacket, his bushy dark hair and grinning face bathed in sun-

Islam’s “Neglected Duty” | 89

light. The mission he and his friend would carry out involved plastic explosives, either strapped around his waist or carried in a knapsack, but he was portrayed holding a gun—most likely included in the video to give him a martial demeanor. “Tomorrow is the day of encounter,” the smiling boy said. It was to be “the day of meeting the Lord of the Worlds.” He went on to say that he and his colleagues would “make our blood cheap for the sake of God, out of love for this homeland and for the sake of the freedom and honor of this people, in order that Palestine remain Islamic, and in order that Hamas remains a torch lighting the roads of all the perplexed and all the tormented and oppressed [and] that Palestine might be liberated.”34 Another of the volunteers, on a different tape, explained that all people have to die at some time, so one is indeed fortunate to be able to choose one’s destiny. He explained that there were those “who fall off their donkeys and die,” those “whose donkeys trample them and they die,” those who are hit by cars and suffer heart attacks, and “those who fall off the roofs of their houses and die.” But, he added, “what a difference there is between one death and another,” implying that the choice of martyrdom was a rare opportunity and that he was fortunate to have it. “Truly there is only one death,” he said, repeating the words of a famous Muslim martyr, “so let it be on the path of God.”35 The young men on these tapes look so innocent, so full of life, that the viewer is moved to try somehow to reverse time and stop them from carrying out their deadly missions. Whatever sympathy they engender is superseded, however, by the sense of loss and remorse for the deaths of their victims, who were even more innocent than their attackers. Unlike the smiling boy and his colleagues, they were never given the choice of whether or not to give up their lives for the sake of these violent missions. On a bright summer morning some years ago, for example, a packed bus carrying students to classes and police officers to their daily assignments was inching its way from stop to stop in a crowded neighborhood of limestone apartment buildings in the northern section of the city of Jerusalem, near the Mt. Scopus campus of Hebrew University. At 7:55 a.m. a lone Arab passenger sitting in the back of the bus—someone very much like the smiling boy—suddenly reached into the handbag he was carrying and detonated a ferociously explosive bomb. It contained what police later estimated to be about ten pounds of the chemical explosive 3-acetone.36 It was an extraordinary blast, instantly incinerating the Arab, a visiting American sitting near him, and three Israelis seated nearby. The force of the explosion ripped open the side of the

90

|

Cultures of Violence

bus and continued outside, destroying another bus that happened to be traveling alongside. In addition to the five killed, 107 others in the two buses and passing along the street were wounded in the attack. As I mentioned at the beginning of this book, I happened to be in Israel during those days—presenting a paper on religious violence—and I had visited the Hebrew University campus on Mt. Scopus earlier in the week on a bus that followed the same route as the one marked for disaster. The day before the blast I had been talking with members of the Hamas movement in Gaza about exactly this sort of event: I was questioning the efficacy of the suicide bombings that had occurred earlier in the year in crowded street corners in Tel Aviv. A little over two years later—after several more suicide bombings had occurred, including savage attacks in Jerusalem’s vegetable market and the Ben Yehuda shopping mall—I received an articulate explanation for these missions in a lengthy interview with one of the founders of the Hamas movement, Dr. Abdul Aziz Rantisi. I met Dr. Rantisi at his home in the town of Khan Yunis in the southern part of the Gaza Strip that can best be described as only moderately less depressed than the rest of Gaza.37 Some of Gaza’s Mediterranean beaches are quite lovely, but here the streets are dusty and pockmarked, crowded with old buses and donkey carts. Dr. Rantisi’s attractive new house was on a small hillside in a suburban area. The driveway was filled with cars, and posters related to Palestinian political issues were plastered on the pillars of the entryway. I was ushered into a comfortable living room containing a row of couches and overstuffed chairs on one side and several formal-looking chairs on the other, and was offered strong Middle Eastern coffee. It seemed clear to me that the room was meant for meetings. At one end of the room were bookcases and pictures of Rantisi when he was the spokesman for a group of Hamas supporters who had been caught in a no-man’s land between Israel and Lebanon. Next to the book-cases was a sort of shrine with several drawings and pictures of Sheikh Ahmed Yassin, the spiritual leader of the Hamas movement, whom I had met years earlier in Gaza City. Sheikh Yassin was freed from captivity by the Israeli government in 1997 (and again arrested a few months later). But on the day that I met Rantisi the sheikh was in Egypt for medical reasons. When Dr. Rantisi came into the room, he greeted me cordially. A bespectacled, middle-aged man who spoke excellent English, Rantisi seemed very much the professor and medical doctor he was trained to

Islam’s “Neglected Duty” | 91

be, and despite the heat he was nattily dressed in a business suit with a vest. When I asked him how he wanted to be described, he said, “as a founder of Hamas.” Although I was interested in his views on the connection between religion and politics, I told him I wanted to understand their relation to the current situation. It was not long until the conversation had turned to the matter of suicide bombings. Dr. Rantisi corrected me. I should not call them “suicide bombings,” he said. What he preferred was another term, a familiar Arabic word that he wrote out in my notebook in both Arabic and Roman transliteration, istishhadi: “It means ‘self-chosen martyrdom,’” Rantisi explained, adding that “all Muslims seek to be martyrs.” The term one used to describe this act was important, Rantisi went on to say, because it conveyed its significance. “Suicide bomber” implied an impulsive act by a deranged individual. The missions undertaken by the young men in the Hamas cadres, he said, were ones that they deliberately and carefully chose as part of their religious obligation. “We do not order them to do it,” Rantisi emphasized, “we simply give permission for them to do it at certain times.”38 But why, I wanted to know, would Hamas give such permission? Quite aside from the issue of the permissibility of self-martyrdom, there is the matter of targeting noncombatants. Why would Hamas allow a mission in which innocent civilians, including women and children, were the victims in such horrible attacks? Rantisi answered in military terms, echoing the words that one of his colleagues used in discussing these matters with me in an earlier interview: “We’re at war.”39 He added that it was a war not only with the Israeli government but with the whole of Israeli society. This did not mean that Hamas intended to wipe Israel from the face of the earth, he said, although some members of the movement stated as much. Rantisi made it clear that he had no animosity toward Jewish culture or religion. “We’re not against Jews just because they’re Jews,” he said.40 From Rantisi’s point of view, Hamas was presently in a state of war with Israel simply because of Israel’s stance toward Palestine—especially toward the Hamas concept of an Islamic Palestine. It was Islamic nationalism that Israel wanted to destroy, Rantisi said, claiming that this political position was buttressed by the attitudes of Israeli society. For this reason the war between Israel and Hamas was one with no innocent victims. In the beginning, Rantisi said, the military operations of Hamas targeted only soldiers. The movement took “every measure” to stop massacres and to discourage suicide bombings. But two events

92

|

Cultures of Violence

changed things. One was an attack by Israeli police on Palestinians demonstrating in front of the Al-Aqsa Mosque near the Dome of the Rock, and the other was the massacre in Hebron by Dr. Baruch Goldstein during the month of Ramadan. Rantisi pointed out that both of these incidents were aimed at mosques, and he thought that Goldstein’s attack during Ramadan was not a coincidence. He concluded that these were attacks on Islam as a religion as well as on Palestinians as a people. He was also convinced that despite the Israeli government’s denial that it supported the extremist Jews who precipitated the Al-Aqsa incident or caused the Hebron massacre, Rantisi was certain that the Israeli military had a hand in them. He pointed out that in Goldstein’s attack, Israeli soldiers were standing nearby. Goldstein had befriended them, and he was able to change his rifle magazine clip four times during the incident without being stopped by soldiers. Rantisi explained that the young Hamas supporters’ acts of selfmartyrdom—the suicide bombings—were allowed only in response to these and other specific acts of violence from the Israeli side, acts that frequently affected innocent civilians. In that sense they were defensive: “If we did not respond this way,” Rantisi explained, “Israelis would keep doing the same thing.” Moreover, he said, the bombings were a moral lesson. They were a way of making innocent Israelis feel the pain that innocent Palestinians had felt. “We want to do the same to Israel as they have done to us,” he explained, indicating that just as innocent Muslims had been killed in the Hebron incident and in many other skirmishes during the IsraeliPalestinian tensions, it was necessary for the Israeli people to actually experience the violence before they could understand what the Palestinians had gone through. Rantisi said virtually the same thing on international television following the Israeli air strike in Gaza in July 2002 that killed several women and children in addition to the intended target, the head of the military wing of Hamas. Dr. Rantisi then spoke to me in a manner indicating that his comments were meant not only for me but for the American people he regarded me as representing. “It is important for you to understand,” he said, “that we are the victims in this struggle, not the cause of it.” He repeated this at the end of my interview, when I asked Rantisi in what way he thought Hamas was misunderstood and what misrepresentations he would like to correct. “You think we are the aggressors,” Rantisi said. “That is the number one misunderstanding. We are not: we are the victims.”

Islam’s “Neglected Duty” | 93

Rantisi’s passionate commitment to the Hamas cause came in large part from his own experience of victimization. “Like most Palestinians,” he explained to me, “our family has horrible stories to tell.” In his case, one of the stories involved the destruction of his prosperous family’s home in a village that was located somewhere between the modern Israeli cities of Tel Aviv and Ashdod. The village, like the family home, was destroyed in the creation of modern Israel. When members of his family struggled against what they regarded as the Israeli occupation of their land, several were killed: Rantisi’s uncle, three of his cousins, and his grandfather. In subsequent years Rantisi witnessed the continued encroachment of Israel into the limited land that Palestinians were allocated. Such developments led to frustration. If the Israeli government continued to allow settlements to be built, Rantisi said, “we should use all means to stop it.”41 Though in 2005 Prime Minister Ariel Sharon ordered the dismantling of Jewish settlements in Gaza, they have continued to expand on the West Bank. In such a context, Rantisi said, the actions of self-martyrs are understandable; they are responses. Another activist, Imad Faluji, who at the time I talked with him was associated with Hamas, told me these suicide bombings were “letters to Israel.” They were ways of notifying Israelis that they were engaged in a great confrontation, whether they had been previously aware of it or not, and that their security as a people was “zero.”42 Moreover, Faluji said, these bombings showed that Israel’s security “does not lie with Egypt, nor with Libya, nor with Arafat,” but “with us.”43 The notion that Hamas was engaged in a great war with Israel, one with both spiritual and political consequences, was articulated in a similar way by Sheikh Ahmad Yassin, the movement’s spiritual leader, when I spoke with him at his home in Gaza a number of years ago. Even then the competition between the secular Palestinian Liberation Organization and Hamas was so severe that my taxi driver, a Palestinian from Gaza who was apparently acting on orders from the PLO, took me to the secular movement’s unmarked headquarters in Gaza before taking me to Sheikh Yassin. I was told that the sheikh and his religious nationalism should not be regarded as truly representative of the Palestinian struggle, and it was suggested that I visit an area of Gaza where the PLO was firmly in control—the Jabaliya refugee camp—before visiting the leaders of Hamas. I happily followed this suggestion—although with my PLO-supporting driver at the wheel I had little choice—and only afterward did we proceed to our

94

|

Cultures of Violence

original destination, Sheikh Yassin’s modest quarters on a hillside outside Gaza City. At that time, shortly before he was placed under detention by the Israelis, Sheikh Yassin was living in a motel-like row of rooms that comprised his residence, office, mosque, and meeting rooms. The rooms and the area outside were crowded with a variety of supporters, most of them men in their thirties and forties, who busily talked with one another until the sheikh appeared, and then lapsed into respectful silence and crowded into the meeting room. On the wall of the room was the obligatory picture of the Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem and a drawing portraying the Qur’an superimposed on a map: it was drawn with hands extending out of either side of the Holy Book, stretching from Algeria to Indonesia, encompassing the whole of the Muslim world. The drawings indicated two different, though compatible, views of the political significance of Islam—one focusing on a distinctively Palestinian contribution to Muslim culture, the Dome of the Rock, and the other suggesting a transnational Islamic culture that reached from Africa to Southeast Asia. The sheikh’s attendants eased an old-fashioned wooden wheelchair out of the private rooms at the end of the building and wheeled the sheikh down the veranda to the public meeting room. Suffering from a degenerative nerve condition for most of his life, the sheikh had to be lifted from place to place. He sat with difficulty on the carpet in the meeting room, propped up on cushions, and with the greatest of difficulty managed the ritual bowing that accompanies Muslim prayers, tottering back and forth as he uttered the sacred words. After the prayers were completed he gave a short homily to the assembled group, and then, as the group began to disperse, the sheikh responded to my questions—translated by one of his aides—about why Islamic militancy was necessary at this moment in history. “There is a war going on,” the sheikh explained. Just as Rantisi described it in my interview with him years later, Sheikh Yassin implied that the struggle against the Israeli authorities was the expression of a larger, hidden struggle.44 When I raised the question of why the secular Palestinian movement was not a sufficient agency to carry out this cause, the sheikh was careful in his response. Without directly opposing Arafat, he said that the idea of a secular liberation movement for Palestine was profoundly misguided, because there “is no such thing as a secular state in Islam.”45 This was the position of the Palestinian Muslim Brotherhood, with which the sheikh had been associated for many years and which had

Islam’s “Neglected Duty” | 95

close ties to the Egyptian movement of the same name. Hamas as a movement began in the late 1980s when the urban, organized strategy of the PLO had floundered and a new struggle emerged from the poorer, rural segments of Palestinian society: the intifada, backed by Hamas. The word hamas means “zeal” or “enthusiasm,” but it is also an acronym for the Arabic phrase that is the formal name of the movement: Harakat al-Muqawama al-Islamiya, or “Islamic Resistance Movement.” The term Hamas first appeared publicly in a communique circulated in mid-February 1988.46 Sheikh Yassin and Dr. Rantisi were involved in the movement from the beginning. Both of them—and therefore the movement—had roots in the Muslim Brotherhood, with which Rantisi was associated when he was a medical student in Alexandria in northern Egypt. One of the first communiques issued by the movement described it as “the powerful arm of the Association of Muslim Brothers.”47 Perhaps for this reason, Rantisi chafed at the notion that the Hamas movement was similar to Egypt’s radical Al-Gamaa-i Islamiya, headed by Sheikh Omar Abdul Rahman, who was convicted of conspiracy in relation to the World Trade Center bombing. “We are not like Al-Gamaa-i Islamiya,” Rantisi told me, “but like the Muslim Brotherhood. We are legitimate.”48 This comment indicated that Rantisi was conscious of the criticism that Hamas reflected only a fraction of Palestinian Muslim sentiment, and the most marginal and radical fraction at that. He pointed out that prominent religious figures had been associated with Hamas from the earliest days of the movement. These included Sheikh ‘Abd al-Aziz ‘Odeh and Sheikh As’ad Bayud al-Tamimi, a resident of Hebron who was a preacher at the Al-Aqsa Mosque in Jerusalem, as well as Sheikh Ahmed Yassin from Gaza.49 Yassin, who is described as “a charismatic and influential leader,” commanded the Islamic Assembly, which had ties to virtually all the mosques in Gaza. Dr. Rantisi pointed out that the religious legitimacy for the acts of self-martyrdom came from a religious decree—a fatwa—issued by a mufti in the Gulf emirates. In the 1990s Hamas vastly expanded as an organization, and although the heart of the movement still lay in decentralized, local cadres, Hamas developed a fairly sophisticated organizational structure, divided between policy and military wings. Within the latter was a separate organizational structure for the secret cells that recruited and trained the young men who were to become operatives in the missions of self-martyrdom, as Rantisi called them. The men in these cells were seldom known within the wider Palestinian community, and even

96

|

Cultures of Violence

members of their own families were shocked to discover their involvement, which was often revealed only after the fatal completion of their missions. In a videotape in the collection of Oliver and Steinberg that portrays funeral ceremonies for these young self-martyrs, a group of young men is seen entering the crowd, masked and carrying rifles. The crowd roars in frenzied approval. These were “living martyrs,” those who had already committed themselves to self-martyrdom and were awaiting their call to action. In some cases, young people were recruited for a suicide bombing mission days before the act was to be carried out; they had no previous affiliation with Hamas and virtually no military training. The explosion at a busy street corner in downtown Tel Aviv in 1995, for example, was carried out by a nineteen-year-old student with a backpack full of explosives. The shy, affable young man had been recruited three days earlier by a Hamas supporter who was asked to find an appropriate volunteer. According to the Hamas organizer and recruiter who was interviewed for a segment on the CBS television program 60 Minutes, he found someone close at hand: his own cousin, who lived next door.50 A study of suicide bombings conducted by Ariel Merari and other scholars related to the Center for the Study of Terrorism and Political Violence at Tel Aviv University indicated that most of the members of the suicide cell of Hamas received from three weeks to several months of training. Based on interviews with friends and family members of thirty-three successful perpetrators of Hamas suicide missions, the study showed that they were recruited through friendship networks in school, sports, and extended families. They were held to their decision by having to commit to one another in friendship pacts and having to write letters that would be sent to their families after their deaths. Their parents and other immediate family members were kept in the dark about the young men’s intentions, but the youths died with the knowledge that all would be rewarded. Hamas leaders said they would receive seventy virgins and seventy wives in heaven (some put the number at seventytwo), and their families would receive a cash payment worth twelve to fifteen thousand U.S. dollars.51 In 2002, funds from Iraq and Saudi Arabia doubled this amount. Although most Israelis and other non-Palestinians have been aware of the militant side of Hamas through their actions, in Gaza and West Bank towns the peaceful face of Hamas has been more visible to the residents of Palestine itself. The movement has given support for medical clinics and primary education. Hamas has also aided orphans and

Islam’s “Neglected Duty” | 97

free food programs and offered cash support to those in need—not only the families of self-martyrs but also those affected by Israeli military assaults on Hamas operatives. When the Israeli government destroyed Palestinian houses as a way of punishing those who supported Hamas’s actions, for example, the movement provided the Palestinian families with cash settlements often worth more than the values of the houses. In 2004, Sheikh Yassin was killed by an Israeli missile strike and Dr. Rantisi was elevated in his place to the top leadership in the Hamas movement. A month later, Rantisi also was killed by a missile; this one was fired from an Israeli helicopter as it hovered over Gaza City where Rantisi and his bodyguards were moving from place to place in a white Subaru sedan. The Israeli government thought that in killing its leadership they had rid the world of Hamas. This turned out to be a serious miscalculation. In many ways the death of Sheikh Yassin and Dr Rantisi invigorated the Hamas movement. It made the two fallen leaders into martyrs, and elevated the notion of a righteous death as appropriate to the community’s leadership, thus inspiring young men to consider the path of suicide military acts as martyrdom. It also energized the Palestinian community in advance of the legislative elections that were held in January 2006. To the surprise of many observers, the Change and Reform Party backed by Hamas swept into power, winning 74 out of the 132 seats in the legislature. Hamas formed a new government and Hamas leader Ismail Haniyeh became the prime minister. Mahmoud Abbas, from the rival Palestinian movement, Fateh, retained the position of president of the Palestinian Authority, however, and used his office to moderate the potentially extreme policies of the new Hamas government. In-fighting between Hamas and Fateh, along with international condemnation of the Hamas government and the refusal of many Fateh leaders to cooperate with it, led to a breakdown in the fragile unity coalition between Fateh and Hamas, and a year after its electoral success the Hamas government was abolished by Abbas, who set up a caretaker administration for the Palestinian government. It was intended to be the government for all of Palestine, both West Bank and Gaza, but Hamas retained control of Gaza, however, for seven turbulent years. In 2014 a new unity coalition was established with Abbas and the Palestinian Authority, though Hamas continued to be the de facto government of the Gaza Strip. Some Palestinians have supported Hamas, not because they agree completely with its radical platform and actions, but because they believe that Hamas has kept Abbas and the Palestinian Authority on its toes and

98

|

Cultures of Violence

made their organization stronger than it otherwise would be. “We need Hamas,” one student supporter of the movement told me at a seaside café in Gaza, adding that the secular Palestinian Authority “compromises too easily.” For that reason, he concluded, Hamas is needed as a corrective.52 He thought that the strength of the movement is in its religious base. Unlike secular organizations, he said, “Hamas won’t change over time,” because it was “founded on religious principles.”

modern islamic justifications for violence The religious principles on which Hamas was founded have given the movement credibility and legitimacy, and they have also given it the most important base of power possible: the ability to justify the use of force. But the teachings of Islam are ambiguous about violence. As in all religious traditions, Islamic teachings occasionally allow for force while stressing that the main spiritual goal is one of nonviolence and peace. The Qur’an contains a proscription very much like the biblical injunction “Thou shalt not kill.” The Qur’an commands the faithful to “slay not the life that God has made sacred.”53 The very name Islam is cognate to salam, the word for peace, and like the Hebrew word shalom, to which it is related, it implies a vision of social harmony and spiritual repose. The Qur’an mentions war and bloodshed far less than the Hebrew Bible (the Old Testament of the Christian Bible) and the biblical cases are far more brutal.54 For this reason, Muslim activists have often reasserted their belief in Islamic nonviolence before defending their use of force. According to Sheikh Omar Abdul Rahman in an interview shortly after the 1993 bombing of the World Trade Center, a Muslim can “never call for violence,” only for “love, forgiveness and tolerance.” But he added that “if we are aggressed against, if our land is usurped, we must call for hitting the attacker and the aggressor to put an end to the aggression.”55 In other cases a violent act has been justified as an exception to the rule, as when Muslim supporters of the Al-Salam Mosque defended the killing of Rabbi Kahane, claiming that this deed did not violate the Qur’an since Kahane was an enemy of Islam.56 In yet other instances, the use of force has been shown to be consistent with Islamic principles. Iran’s Ayatollah Khomeini said he knew of no command “more binding to the Muslim than the command to sacrifice life and property to defend and bolster Islam.”57 The ayatollah was correct that there are some Islamic tenets that condone struggle and the use of force. Despite the Qur’anic prohibition

Islam’s “Neglected Duty” | 99

against killing, there are other Muslim principles that justify it. Violence is required for purposes of punishment, for example, and it is sometimes deemed necessary for defending the faith. In the “world of conflict” (dar al-harb) outside the Muslim world, force is a means of cultural survival. In such a context, maintaining the purity of religious existence is thought to be a matter of jihad, a word that literally means “struggle” or “striving” and is often translated as “holy war.”58 There is also a popular Muslim interpretation that the more pure form of jihad is internal, the struggle against sin and injustice within one’s own self. The concept of jihad has been used by some Muslim warriors to rationalize the expansion of political control into non-Muslim regions. But Islamic law does not allow jihad to be used arbitrarily, for personal gain, or to justify forcible conversion to the faith: the only conversions regarded as valid are those that come about nonviolently, through rational suasion and a change of heart. Even so, Islam has a history of military engagement almost from its beginning. Scarcely a dozen years after the Prophet Muhammad received the revelation of the Qur’an in 610, he left his home in Mecca and developed a military stronghold in the nearby town of Medina. Forces loyal to Muhammad instigated a series of raids on Meccan camel caravans, and when the Meccans retaliated, they were roundly defeated by the Prophet’s soldiers in the Battle of Badr, the first Muslim military victory. Several years of sporadic warfare between the two camps ended in a decisive Muslim victory in the Battle of the Trench. By 630 Muhammad and his Muslims had conquered Mecca and much of western Arabia and had turned the ancient pilgrimage site of the Kaaba into a center for Muslim worship. The caliphs who succeeded the Prophet as temporal leaders of the Muslim community after Muhammad’s death in 632 expanded both the military control and spiritual influence of Islam, and over the years the extraordinary proliferation of the Islamic community throughout the world has been attributed in no small measure to the success of its military leaders in battle. The Islamic sanctioning of military force is not indiscriminate, however. Most historical examples justify the use of force by an established military or governmental power only for the purpose of defending the faith. This is a far cry from justifying acts of terrorism, though there was a rogue group of Muslims in the twelfth century—the Nizari branch of Ismaili Islam—who used what might be called terrorism in establishing a small empire based in the north of Persia near the Caspian Sea. Hardly the models of virtuous society, the members of the order were said to have used drugs and were dubbed hashshashin—or, in medieval

100

|

Cultures of Violence

Latin, assassini, “drug users.” They expanded their political power by infiltrating their opponent’s camps and killing their leaders, often by slitting their throats with a knife. Although their empire was shortlived, they left their legacy on the terminology of political terrorism— the word assassin—even though most Muslims would regard them as quite peripheral to the mainstream of Islamic tradition.59 Present-day religious activists look for more traditional Islamic justifications for the use of violence. Dr. Rantisi and Sheikh Yassin, for example, justified the Hamas use of violence on the Islamic sanction for self-defense. Both Yassin and Rantisi expanded the notion to include the defense of one’s dignity and pride as well as one’s physical well-being.60 One of Yassin’s colleagues, Sheikh ‘Abd al-Aziz ‘Odeh, explained that the Islamic intifada differed from the intifada waged by secular supporters of the PLO in that their Islamic struggle was a moral struggle as well as a political one, stemming from religious commitment. It was also part of a tradition of Islamic protest against injustice.61 This is an interesting idea—that the approval of force for the defense of Islam can be expanded to include struggles against political and social injustice—and it is a relatively new one. Perhaps no writer has had greater influence in extending this concept and reinterpreting the traditional Muslim idea of struggle—jihad—than the contemporary Egyptian writer Abd al-Salam Faraj. The author of a remarkably cogent argument for waging war against the political enemies of Islam—the pamphlet Al-Faridah al-Gha’ibah (The Neglected Duty)— Faraj stated more clearly than any other contemporary writer the religious justifications for radical Muslim acts. His booklet was published and first circulated in Cairo in the early 1980s.62 What is significant about this document is that it grounded the activities of modern Islamic terrorists firmly in Islamic tradition, specifically in the sacred text of the Qur’an and the biographical accounts of the prophet in the hadith. Faraj argued that the Qur’an and the hadith were fundamentally about warfare. The concept of jihad, struggle, was meant to be taken literally, not allegorically. According to Faraj, the “duty” that has been profoundly “neglected” is precisely that of jihad, and it called for “fighting, which meant confrontation and blood.”63 Moreover, Faraj regarded anyone who deviated from the moral and social requirements of Islamic law to be targets for jihad; these targets include apostates within the Muslim community as well as the expected enemies from without. Perhaps the most chilling aspect of Faraj’s thought was his conclusion that peaceful and legal means for fighting apostasy are inadequate. The true soldier of Islam is allowed to use virtually any means available

Islam’s “Neglected Duty” | 101

to achieve a just goal.64 Deceit, trickery, and violence are specifically mentioned as options available to the desperate soldier.65 Faraj set some moral limits to the tactics that could be used—for example, innocent bystanders and women are to be avoided, whenever possible, in assassination attempts—but emphasized that the duty to engage in such actions when necessary is incumbent on all true Muslims. The reward for doing so is nothing less than a place in paradise. Such a place was presumably earned by Faraj himself in 1982, after he was tried and executed for his part in the assassination of Anwar Sadat. This way of thinking, though extreme, was not idiosyncratic to Faraj. He stood in a tradition of radical Islamic political writers reaching back to the beginning of this century and before. Among Sunni Muslims worldwide, the most important radical thinker was Maulana Abu alAla Mawdudi, the founder and ideological spokesman for Pakistan’s Jamaat-i-Islami religious party.66 His ideas were echoed by Egypt’s most influential writer in the radical Muslim political tradition, Sayyid Qutb, who was born in 1906 and, like Faraj, was executed for his political activities.67 Although he was not as explicit as Faraj in indicating the techniques of terror that were acceptable to the Islamic warrior, Qutb laid the groundwork for Faraj’s understanding of jihad as an appropriate response to the advocates of those elements of modernity that seemed to be hostile to Islam. Specifically, Qutb railed against those who encouraged the cultural, political, and economic domination of the Egyptian government by the West. Qutb spent several years in the United States studying educational administration. This experience only confirmed his impression that American society was essentially racist and that American policy in the Middle East was dictated by Israel and what he regarded as the Jewish lobby in Washington DC.68 Alarmed at the degree to which the new government in Egypt was modeled after Western political institutions and influenced by western values, Qutb, in the early 1950s, advocated a radical return to Islamic values and Muslim law. In This Religion of Islam, Qutb argued that the most basic divisions within humanity were religious rather than racial or nationalist, and that religious war was the only form of killing that was morally sanctioned.69 To Qutb’s thinking, the ultimate war was between truth and falsehood, and satanic agents of the latter were to be found well entrenched in the Egyptian government. It is no wonder that the government found such ideas dangerous. Qutb was put in prison for most of the rest of the 1950s, and a state execution silenced him forever in 1966.

102

|

Cultures of Violence

These ideas of Mawdudi, Qutb, and Faraj have been circulated widely throughout the Muslim world through two significant networks: universities and the Muslim clergy. The two networks intersect in the Muslim educational system, especially in the schools and colleges directly supervised by the clergy. It is not surprising, then, that many who have been attracted to paramilitary movements such as the AlGamaa-i Islamiya or Hamas were former students or, like Dr. Rantisi, highly trained professionals. When I asked Dr. Rantisi which writers he most respected, the first name the Hamas leader mentioned was the founder of modern-day Muslim political activism, Mawdudi.70 When I posed the same question to Mahmud Abouhalima in the federal penitentiary in Lompoc, at first he gave no specific reply. When I suggested Faraj’s name, Abouhalima seemed surprised that I had heard of him, though he corrected my pronunciation. Abouhalima confessed to owning both Arabic and English versions of Faraj’s infamous booklet The Neglected Duty. Abouhalima wanted to make certain that I would not use his knowledge of Faraj against him. In Abouhalima’s first criminal case, he said, the evidence that he possessed copies of Faraj’s book was used to show that he harbored hostile and violent attitudes against the secular government. For that reason, Abouhalima asked me to be careful how I described his attitude toward Faraj. “Do not say ‘I was influenced by him,’” Abouhalima instructed me, but rather “‘I respect him.’” Then Abouhalima leaned over, put his head close to mine, and whispered, “but he was right, you know.”71

chapter 5

The Spear of Shiva, the Sword of Sikhism

“Modi is a terrorist,” remarked the head of the Gujarat state Congress Party, Arjun Modhwadia. He was referring to the role that Narendra Modi played when he was chief minister of the Indian state of Gujarat in 2002, when he is said to have encouraged Hindu mobs to kill over two thousand innocent Muslims in neighborhoods at the edge of the city of Ahmedabad. Thousands more were injured, and tens of thousands fled the city in fear. Though official investigations and judicial proceedings cleared Modi of any direct involvement in the massacre, accounts of Modi’s encouragement that were included in reports by Human Rights Watch and other nongovernmental organizations were sufficient for the governments of the United Kingdom and the United States to ban Modi from entering their countries. That changed, however, in 2014 when Modi was elected prime minister of India and made triumphant trips to the UK and the United States, including a Madison Square Garden appearance in New York that was attended by nineteen thousand cheering admirers. He has continued to protest his innocence. One of his political allies, however, did not get off so easily. Seven years after the 2002 massacre, Maya Kodnani was convicted for what the judge in the special designated court described as her role as being the “kingpin” and “one of the principal conspirators” of the assault; he then sentenced her to twenty-eight years in prison.1 Like Modi, she had been raised in a household dominated by the ideology of the Hindu nationalist movement, the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (National 103

104

|

Cultures of Violence

Volunteer Organization; RSS), and at the time of the 2002 massacre she was a legislator in the Gujarat Legislative Assembly and a member of Modi’s political party, the Bharatiya Janata Dal (Indian People’s Party; BJP). Though rumors of her role in the massacre persisted after 2002, five years later Modi later named her to his cabinet as minister for women and child development, a role appropriate to her profession as a gynecologist. She stepped down from the position at the time of her trial and conviction, which Modi’s government did not contest. Whether the 2002 Gujarat massacre was an act of terrorism, and whether government officials—including possibly Modi himself—can be described as terrorists, are contested issues. There is no doubt about the basic facts of the case, however: perhaps as many as twenty-five hundred innocent Muslim men, women, and children were hacked to death, stabbed, raped, and burned alive by angry Hindu mobs. It has often been referred to as a “riot,” but this implies an equal amount of violence from both religious communities, and in this case the Muslims were almost entirely the victims of angry Hindus. Some scholars have called it a “pogrom,” implying that Hindu political leaders deliberately planned and conducted the act.2 Still others have described it as “religious violence,” or a “massacre.” Martha Nussbaum has called it “ethnic cleansing,” adding that it was “premeditated” and “carried out with the complicity of the state government and officers of the law.”3 Whatever it was called, however, it was one of the most horrifying events in India’s recent political history.

maya kodnani and the gujarat massacre Though there have been ethnic tensions between Muslims and Hindus in Gujarat for decades, this particular incident began with a fiery calamity on board a train near the town of Godhra. On February 27, 2002, a trainload of Hindu nationalists were returning to Ahmedabad from a visit to Ayodhya in northern India where in 1992 a mob of Hindu activists had destroyed an ancient mosque that was alleged to have been constructed on an even more ancient temple marking the birthplace of the Hindu god Ram. The Ayodhya attack had been spurred on by leaders of two Hindu nationalist groups, the RSS and the Vishva Hindu Parishad (World Hindu Council; VHP), members of the VHP’s militant youth wing, the Bajrang Dal (the party of the Hindu god Hanuman), and by leading figures in the political party they supported, the BJP. The Gujaratis on the train in 2002 were supporters of the RSS and the VHP who

The Spear of Shiva, the Sword of Sikhism |

105

had gone to Ayodhya on a kind of pilgrimage, to venerate the site of the ancient temple and the destruction of the mosque. When the train came to Godhra, the last station before arriving back at Ahmedabad, some of the Hindu pilgrims were said to have taunted and attacked Muslim food vendors, molested a Muslim woman, and yanked on the beards of Muslim passengers waiting on the platform, telling them to chant “Jai Shri Ram” (“Hail Lord Ram”). When the train started up again, it went only a few miles away when it suddenly stopped near a poor Muslim neighborhood, perhaps because someone on the train pulled the emergency cord. What happened next is subject to vastly different accounts. Some say that mobs from the Muslim area swarmed into the train attacking the Hindu pilgrims and abducting some of the women; others say that although some stones were thrown the train cars were never entered. In any event a fire broke out engulfing two of the train cars, killing fiftyeight pilgrims inside. Years later inquiry commissions would come to different conclusions about what had happened. A special inquiry set up by the BJP-led state government said that the fire was a premeditated act by Muslim conspirators; a commission created by the Congress Party’s federal government concluded that the fire was “an accident.” The local newspapers at the time did not share the idea that the train fire was accidental. Showing gruesome photographs of the burned bodies, they accused Muslims of a deliberate attack on the Hindu nationalists. The newly elected chief minister of Gujarat, Narendra Modi, rhetorically added fuel to the fire. An American scholar, Parvis Ghassem-Fachandi, who was living in Ahmedabad at the time, reports that one of the local newspapers quoted Modi as saying that the Godhra fire was an act of “terrorism” that was committed by the Muslim community against Hindus.4 In a television address Modi called the Godhra incident a “preplanned attack” and other BJP officials speculated that the “foreign hand” of Pakistan was involved.5 A day later Modi went on to say that this Muslim terrorism had international implications, perhaps invoking the images of the Al-Qaeda 9/11 attack on the World Trade Center and Pentagon, which had occurred just six months before. Ghassem-Fachandi pointed out that Modi’s words helped to frame this incident, not only as an act of communal violence, with which the state was all too familiar, but also as a part of a global terrorist threat instigated by Muslims everywhere. This implied that all Muslims were implicated in a frontal assault against Hindus and deserved to be punished. That punishment came very quickly, in the form of mob attacks on Muslims throughout Ahmedabad and other parts of Gujarat. They

106

|

Cultures of Violence

occurred most intensely in the three days from February 28 to March 2, but continued sporadically for weeks after. Nowhere was the violence more severe than in two neighborhoods on the outskirts of the city, Gulbarg Society and Naroda Patiya. Crowds began milling around the gates of Gulbarg Society by midmorning of February 28. The VHP had called for a general strike in the city that day to protest the Godhra train fire, and the crowds of largely young men who were wandering around had no work to go to, and every reason to join in attacks that were framed as a defense of their Hindu community. Gulbarg Society was a good target in this respect, since it was a middle-class gated community of Muslims surrounded by lowerclass Hindu houses and shacks. Estimates of the size of the Hindu mob varied between five thousand and twenty-five thousand, angry young men armed with stones, clubs, knives, pipes, and cans of kerosene. By ten-thirty in the morning they had broken through the gates and were throwing bricks and stones, dousing the houses with kerosene and setting them on fire, and catching Muslims who were trying to flee, beating them, and in some cases hacking them to death with swords. As the violence intensified, women were captured and gang raped, then doused with kerosene and burned alive. Children were chopped to pieces. “Kill the Muslims,” the Hindu mobs shouted, according to the report that one witness later gave to an investigation by Human Rights Watch.6 In the middle of Gulbarg Society one house was initially a refuge in the storm. It was the residence of Ahsan Jafri, a Congress Party member of parliament and an outspoken opponent of Modi and the BJP. Because he was considered a big man in the community, scores of Muslims thought they would be safe in his company and they crowded into the compound of his two-story house. They had some reason to feel secure. Earlier that morning, shortly before the mobs broke through the gates of Gulbarg Society, Ahmedabad’s police commissioner had come to Jafri’s home to assure him that he would be well-protected and safe. The commissioner then departed. Soon after, the violence began. In fact, the police would not arrive in force until late that afternoon, six hours after the rioting started. Witnesses reported that police outside the Gulbarg Society compound simply watched and did nothing to stop the mobs from rioting. As the mobs encircled his house, Jafri frantically called his political connections on the telephone. He made over two hundred calls, including urgent messages to the police commissioner, the home minister, and Chief Minister Narendra Modi himself, who gave “a callous response;” he also

The Spear of Shiva, the Sword of Sikhism |

107

sent a fax to Sonia Gandhi, the head of the Congress Party in New Delhi.7 At two-thirty in the afternoon the phone line was cut off and the mobs had broken through the door. Shortly thereafter, Jafri surrendered to the mobs, hoping that his submission would save the eighty people who had been hiding in his house. Alas, he was tragically mistaken. The house was set on fire and some inside were burned alive. Many were able to escape, but some of the women who tried to flee were caught, raped, and then set on fire. Jafri himself was stripped naked, forced to parade in front of the crowd, and told to say “Jai Shri Ram” (“Hail Lord Ram”). He refused, and first his fingers were chopped off, then his hands and feet, and his severed, still-breathing body was dragged down the road and thrown onto an impromptu pyre where many other bodies were burning, including the women who had been gang raped.8 Two hours later police arrived in force and the mobs fled, but by this time Jafri and over seventy other innocent people had been killed in the compound. In nearby Naroda Patiya the gruesome events unfolded in much the same way. Naroda Patiya was poorer than Gulbarg Society. It was a working-class neighborhood, and unlike the Gulbarg colony it was not all Muslim; Hindus and Muslims lived side by side. Remarkably, however, the mobs knew exactly which houses were Muslim. These were torched, and the Hindu homes next door would stay intact. By midmorning on February 28 over five thousand marauding young Hindu men began a ten-hour rampage, ransacking the neighborhood, throwing rocks, slashing throats, dashing kerosene on both houses and people, burning them alive. Some in the crowd brandished Shiva’s three-pointed spear, and used the trident to impale victims. The official death toll was ninety-seven; of that number thirty-six were women, thirty-five children, and twenty-six men. As at Gulbarg Society, many of the women had been raped multiple times before being stabbed and burned alive. In some cases the victims were forced into pits where gas canisters were ignited, roasting their bodies instantly. All of the victims were Muslims. Earlier that morning the mobs of angry Hindus had gathered at the entrance to the Naroda Patiya colony but had not entered since a cordon of young Muslims had blocked the entry way. At nine o’clock three cars pushed their way through the throng and stopped at the entrance to the colony. Two of the cars were police vehicles; the police inside unloaded several large boxes that witnesses later claimed were weapons that were distributed to the crowd. The other car was a white Indian Ambassador automobile with official license plates. From it descended a slim intense woman in an elegant sari. She was Maya Kodnani,

108

|

Cultures of Violence

familiarly called Mayaben (“sister Maya”) the state legislative representative from the Naroda district. An ardent supporter of Hindu nationalist causes, she had a reputation of opposing Muslims and resisting their influence in public life. The crowds chanted her name, and witnesses in the court trial that later convicted her of complicity in the massacres said that she raised her fist and cried out, “Kill them!” At this point the crowd surged toward the colony and the police fired on the Muslim youth who were blocking the way, providing an opening for the mob to rush forward and carry out their savage assaults.9 It is not clear how long Maya Kodnani stayed at the colony that day or the degree to which she participated in the actual violence. Some witnesses claimed that she was handing out swords and other weapons to the members of the mob. Other leaders of Hindu nationalist organizations were said to have been on hand to direct the crowd to the houses that were owned by Muslims. The leaders were reported to have been provided tax rolls by government officials to aid them in identifying Muslim homes, and they were said to have been in frequent communication with other government officials during the conduct of the massacre. Records indicated that Kodnani herself made multiple phone calls during the time of the massacre, including one to Chief Minister Modi, and others to other leaders in the BJP, the VHP, and the Bajrang Dal, but it is not clear what she communicated or requested in these conversations. At the time of the trial she protested her innocence, saying that “what happened in the 2002 riots was wrong,” and that she had sympathy for the victims, “whether they are Muslims or Hindus.”10 Along with Kodnani, the trial also convicted Bajrang Dal convener Babu Bajrangi, BJP member of the Ahmedabad Municipal Corporation Kishan Korani, and BJP and VHP leaders Bipin Panchal and Ashok Sindhi. They were all found guilty of murder, attempted murder, and conspiracy. In sentencing Maya Kodnani to what would amount to a life sentence, Judge Jyostna Yagnik described her as “the kingpin of the entire communal riot,” who “has actively instigated the rioters and has abetted them.”11 Despite the lengthy sentence, however, she was soon out on bail, an act of mercy that was granted on account of her allegedly frail health. She has since been photographed in pictures taken by her admirers at a yoga retreat where she was presumably recuperating. Unlike his colleague Kodnani, Chief Minister Modi was never tried or convicted. During the massacre, he is reported to have told his circle of associates to “let the Hindus vent their anger,” a statement that was confirmed by Sanjeev Bhatt, deputy commissioner of internal security in

The Spear of Shiva, the Sword of Sikhism |

109

the Gujarat State Intelligence Bureau at the time.12 On television during the massacre Modi described the Hindi anger as a natural reaction to the Godhra incident.13 But two separate government investigations failed to implicate him directly in the massacre or to find him culpable of any specific legal misdeed. Despite the condemnation of human rights organizations and the ban on his entry to the United Kingdom and the United States, Modi remained a popular politician in the state of Gujarat. He gradually turned his focus to the encouragement of capitalist economic development and away from Hindu solidarity, and it is largely for this reason that Modi and the BJP party swept to victory in India’s national elections in 2014. He remained a controversial figure however, and as a symbol of the triumph of Hindu nationalism he continued to be a reminder of the threat of religious politics that can divide the country along communal lines.

simranjit singh mann and the lure of khalistan India has been plagued with incidents of religious violence virtually from its inception as an independent state. In many of these cases, as we have seen in Gujarat and Ayodhya, the central issue has been the nature of India as a multicultural state—whether it will be dominated by one tradition or incorporate a diversity of cultures. In other cases the very unity of India has been at stake: in these incidents religion has been fused with political separatism. The independence struggle in Kashmir is one example of religious separatism in India. For many years, however, the prime example of this kind of violent religious activism was the Khalistan movement of militant Sikhs. At five o’clock in the afternoon of August 31, 1995, when residents of India’s Punjab state thought that the terrorism associated with the Sikh separatist movement for fifteen years had finally come to an end, a massive explosion rocked the parking lot in front of the modernistic secretariat building in the state capital, Chandigarh. In the blast that shuddered through the impressive complex of government buildings designed by the French architect Le Corbusier, the chief minister of the state, Beant Singh, was literally blown to pieces. Fifteen of his aides and security guards were also killed, and several cars were demolished in the conflagration that followed. In the smoldering heap that minutes before was his official vehicle, only Beant Singh’s Sikh bracelet (kara) remained to identify the chief minister.14

110

|

Cultures of Violence

Among the mangled and limbless bodies was one believed to belong to the bomber himself. The car that brought him to the site stood empty nearby; the accomplice who was supposed to drive it away had apparently panicked and fled. By tracing the license plate, the police were able to identify and apprehend several of the alleged conspirators. All were members of one of the Sikh movement’s deadliest guerrilla cells, the Babbar Khalsa. They and members of several other groups, including the Bhindranwale Tigers and the Khalistan Commando Force, had been both victims and perpetrators in the reign of terror in Punjab since the early 1980s. The suicide bomber behind the explosion that killed the chief minister was identified as Dilawar Singh, a tall young man in his early twenties. The details of his last days were revealed by his accomplices in response to what the police described as “rigorous interrogation”—a term that many Sikhs understand to be a code name for torture.15 According to their testimony, Dilawar had practiced for the event for several weeks preceding the explosion in the middle-class suburb of Mohali. As he left the comfortable, modern house to commit the crime that he knew would lead to his death, Dilawar scribbled a sentence in Punjabi on a piece of paper stating that his act was “in memory of the martyrs”—presumably the martyrs of early Sikh history. Quite likely, though, he was also referring to his own colleagues, the many members of the Babbar Khalsa, the Khalistan Commando Force, and other groups who had fallen in their futile struggle against the Indian police. Thousands were killed between 1981 and 1994, on both the police and rebel sides, with many innocent citizens caught in between. Perhaps none of the killings was more spectacular or influential, however, than the assassination of India’s prime minister, Indira Gandhi, on October 31, 1984, which the murder of Chief Minister Beant Singh replicated. By grim coincidence, one of Mrs. Gandhi’s assassins was also named Beant Singh, although he was unrelated to the man who later became Punjab’s chief minister. The killer Beant Singh—like the alleged accomplices in Chief Minister Beant Singh’s death—was a member of the security forces of his victim. He and another guard, Satwant Singh, turned on Indira Gandhi with automatic rifles as they accompanied her on a lovely floral path from her home to her office to meet with the British actor Peter Ustinov, who was waiting in the garden for an interview to be aired on British television. The assassin, Beant Singh, was killed on the spot, and his partner, Satwant Singh, and one other accomplice were brought to trial. They

The Spear of Shiva, the Sword of Sikhism |

111

were convicted and hanged for the murder of Mrs. Gandhi. Although they were the only ones convicted, rumors of a wider conspiracy continued for some years. One scenario was forced out of the co-assassin, Satwant Singh, in a “rigorous interrogation” conducted by the police immediately after Mrs. Gandhi was killed. In his confession he implicated several Sikh leaders, including Kehar Singh, an elderly activist, and a former police official, Simranjit Singh Mann. Satwant Singh identified Mann as the ringleader. Mann had resigned from the Indian police service in protest against Operation Bluestar, joined with militant Sikhs in criticizing the government, and gone into hiding. Within several weeks of Mrs. Gandhi’s murder, he was caught by the Indian police attempting to flee the country by truck over the Nepal border, disguised as a construction worker. According to some accounts, Mann had colluded with a leading militant, Atinder Pal Singh, in an intricate plot to kill the prime minister.16 The only evidence, however, was Satwant Singh’s forced confession. Although Mann was held for some time in harsh confinement, he was never tried or convicted of the assassination. His relations with the most militant Sikhs have been ambivalent: sometimes they have supported each other, and at other times a clear line has been drawn between them. When Punjab’s chief minister was killed, Mann was living comfortably but still under police surveillance in a pleasant two-story house blocks from the government secretariat where the bombing took place. When I talked with Simranjit Singh Mann at his home in Chandigarh less than a year after the explosion that killed Beant Singh, he denied involvement in the assassination of either the chief minister or Indira Gandhi. But, he said, “no tears were spilled” when either of these political leaders was killed.17 Mann compared their executions to the attempts to kill Hitler. “It was an act of punishment,” he said, referring to the killing of Chief Minister Beant Singh. He added that “people rejoiced” throughout the Punjab on hearing the news. The killing of the chief minister also showed the desperation of the militant Sikhs in their attempt to assert power, Mann told me. He said he did not expect the assassination to change things. What he called the “repression” of the Indian government toward the Sikhs would likely continue, he said. But this act did achieve a symbolic victory: it demonstrated to the world that the struggle would continue. “This is a war situation,” Mann told me. “If we open our mouths we’re in jail.” Although the most militant wings of the movement had been crushed and there had been very few signs of overt hostility since Beant Singh’s

112

|

Cultures of Violence

assassination, Mann still regarded the movement as potent. He saw himself as a kind of soldier. “It’s a war situation still,” he said. What made Mann’s statement remarkable was not only the apparent serenity of Punjab’s post-1995 political landscape, but also the comfortable circumstances of Mann’s own home. Despite his sometimes militant words, he had become an established political leader in the Punjab. When I interviewed him, he was living, not in a bunker or a guerrilla hideout, but in a two-story suburban house that can only be described as upper middle class. The living room boasted a large Kashmiri carpet and carefully chosen furniture. On the wall were etchings of Punjab life taken from nineteenth-century British travel books. He was surrounded by the trappings of middle-class success, including a graceful, articulate wife who served tea, a son who studied business in the United States, and a friendly cocker spaniel named May. Mann looked exactly like the career civil servant he had intended to become after he finished college in Chandigarh and joined the police service, serving as the head of posts in Faridkot and elsewhere in Punjab as well as in Bombay. As his family name indicated, Mann was a member of one of the Punjab’s most prestigious subgroups within the leading Jat caste, and when he resigned from government service in protest against the Indian army’s invasion of the Golden Temple during Operation Bluestar in 1984, it was major news. In his resignation letter to the president of India, Zail Singh, Mann compared the government’s heavyhanded action to the British atrocities against Indian protesters at Amritsar’s Jallianwala Bagh square in 1919. In even stronger terms, he accused the Indian government of being “bent upon committing the genocide of the Sikhs.”18 The Indian government regarded it as an insult that someone with his qualifications and rank in the government’s elite civil service would turn against them, and it was no surprise that he would be accused of complicity in Prime Minister Gandhi’s assassination a few months later. Since then Mann had been on the run, under investigation, or in jail—including five years of what he described as solitary confinement. He accused his captors of torture and showed me what he claimed to be evidence of their brutality. Mann pulled back his beard and showed scars where he said his beard hair had been pulled out. Other scars were evident on his legs. Toenails and teeth were missing; these he said had been broken or yanked out by his captors. He also claimed that his genitals had been injured from having electric wires attached to them. One testicle, he said, had shrunk and was now loose in his scrotum.

The Spear of Shiva, the Sword of Sikhism |

113

Mann’s imprisonment was officially an act of detention as he awaited trial. Although he was arrested thirty-two times, Mann was not convicted of a single offense. Mann said that this torture and harassment were characteristic of the Indian government’s heavy-handed response to Sikh militancy and had helped to swell the ranks of the movement. In addition to conspiracy to commit violence, charges leveled against Mann and then dismissed included treason and sedition. Mann told me, however, that he was not waging war against India as such. It was not the Indian nation that he disdained, but its government. He described the government sometimes as “secular,” and sometimes as “pro-Hindu,” offering the rise of the Hindu nationalist Bharatiya Janata Dal (Indian People’s Party; BJP) as evidence of the government’s religious preferences. When militant Sikhs attacked supporters of the BJP being bused through Punjab on a “unity march” en route to Kashmir in January 1992, killing five and wounding sixteen others, they asserted that this notion of India’s religious unity was precisely what they were against. The unity march “absolutely had to be stopped,” Mann said, even “by force.” Yet the Sikh movement began long before the rise of the BJP, and the Sikhs’ Akali Party—though not Mann’s faction of it—eventually joined the BJP in forming electoral coalitions. So the Hinduization of India’s politics could not have been the sole cause of the Sikh rebellion of the 1980s and early 1990s. Mann said that the purpose of the movement as not simply to rebel against Hindu power but to “protect the Sikh community” from secular influences. The movement was also aimed at enlarging the Sikhs’ ability to assert what they felt to be their rights and their warranted demands. Sikhs were a “national ethnic minority,” Mann said, that had to look out for themselves. The Sikh movement contained a diversity of points of view, however, and one of the most strident of its advocates—someone whom Mann admired—saw the struggle almost solely in religious terms. This leader was Sant Jarnail Singh Bhindranwale, a rural preacher from central Punjab who became the spokesman for Sikh militancy from its first stirrings in 1978 until his movement’s nadir—and Bhindranwale’s martyrdom—in the tragic events of 1984. Bhindranwale was a homespun village preacher who called for repentance and action in defense of the faith. Mann regarded him as one of Sikh history’s most impressive leaders because of his ability to summarize great themes in simple phrases and clear images. According to Mann, he “articulated the hegemony of Hindu power and the injustice suffered by Sikhs, and he did it all with a consciousness of Sikh history and tradition.”

114

|

Cultures of Violence

I was particularly interested in Mann’s comments about Bhindranwale, since it was Bhindranwale’s sermons that triggered my interest in the relationship between religion and violence and led to my first article on this topic.19 In that study I examined a collection of audio- and videotapes of the radical Sikh leader and rough transcriptions of the sermons that had been made by Prof. R. S. Sandhu, who kindly shared these materials with me.20 I found that what Bhindranwale disdained—indeed loathed—above all else was what he described as “the enemies of religion.”21 These included “that lady born in a house of Brahmans”—the phrase he used to describe Indira Gandhi. But it also included his fellow Sikhs, especially those who had fallen from the disciplined fold and sought the comforts of modern life. Even his dislike of Indira Gandhi was grounded in a hatred of secularism as much in an opposition to Hinduism; in fact, he often regarded the two as twin enemies. He reflected an attitude held by many Sikhs: that what passes for secular politics in India is a form of Hindu cultural domination. So conscious are many Sikhs of what they regard as the oppressiveness of Hindu culture that they react strongly when scholars locate the origins of their tradition in a medieval Hindu milieu. So it is understandable that the image of Bhindranwale cast a shadow over the Sikh community long after his death. Bhindranwale’s role as exemplar was brought home to me some years ago, during the height of the militant movement, when I met with young Sikh activists in a room adjoining a gurdwara (a Sikh house of worship) in Delhi. The subject had turned from their own potential encounters with the Indian police and their probable deaths to the martyrdom of their hero, Bhindranwale. They would like to die as he died, the young men told me: they wanted to take life to the limit. Unlike the stance of easy compromise taken by most politicians, they said that Bhindranwale “went to his death for what he believed.”22 During its heyday, from 1981 to 1994, thousands of young men and perhaps a few hundred women joined the movement. They were initiated into the secret fraternities of various rival radical organizations. These included the Babbar Khalsa, the Khalistan Commando Force, the Khalistan Liberation Force, the Bhindranwale Tiger Force of Khalistan, and extremist factions of the All-India Sikh Students Federation. Their enemies were secular political leaders, heads of police units, some Hindu journalists, and other community leaders. Over time the distinctions between valid and inappropriate targets became blurred, and virtually anyone could become a victim of the militants’ wrath. By January 1988,

The Spear of Shiva, the Sword of Sikhism |

115

more than a hundred people a month were killed; 1991 was the bloodiest year, with over three thousand people killed in the Punjab’s triangular battle among the police, the radicals, and the populace. One of the more spectacular incidents in 1991 was the attack by Sikh extremists on the Indian ambassador to Romania in Bucharest. The Romanian government helped to capture the Sikhs. They were killed, and later that year militant Sikhs kidnaped a Romanian diplomat in Delhi in retaliation. Accompanying the increase in violence was a general collapse of law and order, especially in rural areas of the state near the Pakistan border. The young activists had intimidated the older Sikh leaders, who became virtual pawns of the militants. The only authority in some areas came from those who ruled by gun at night. This was due in part to the erosion of idealism in the Sikh movement and in part to the movement’s exploitation by what amounted to street gangs and roving bands of thugs. In addition, the Sikh movement had failed to achieve its political goals, leaving a cynical and demoralized public in its wake. In the absence of a legitimate government in the Punjab, the rural area became a no-man’s-land in the battle between militants and armed police. In the 1990s older and more responsible leaders in the Jat Sikh community found themselves in a quandary. They could not capitulate to the urban Hindu leadership of the central government because that would mean abandoning their religion and caste. They needed the young Sikh militants’ support, but at the same time they wanted to regain some semblance of political control over them. One might think that it would be in the best interests of the central government to help them do that, but the Congress Party leaders were hesitant. For one thing, they resented the fact that moderate Sikh leaders identified with the Sikh’s Akali Party rather than the Congress Party or one of the national coalition parties. More important, they feared that any concessions they made to Sikh leaders would have repercussions throughout India. Muslims would immediately demand similar rights, as would leaders of separatist movements in northeastern India and Kashmir. In Kashmir, where Muslims were the majority community, the rise of Hindu nationalism throughout India had spurred a separatist movement. Protests erupted in 1986–87, led by the Muslim United Front. In 1988 some elements of the opposition took a more strident course, forming a paramilitary operation: the Kashmir Liberation Front. Allegedly supported by Pakistan, the Front called for secession from India. It organized demonstrations and responded to police attempts to suppress it by throwing bombs and firing automatic weapons, leading to

116

|

Cultures of Violence

bloodshed on both sides. In the following year, the separatists began calling themselves mujahideen (holy warriors) and characterized their conflict with the government as a holy war—a war that continued into the twenty-first century.23 Although the Sikh and Kashmir separatist movements were not related, any concessions made to the Sikhs would certainly have been demanded by the Kashmiris, and vice versa. At the same time, the Indian government could not be too harsh on one group without intimidating the other. In the same week that Punjab’s chief minister, Beant Singh, was assassinated, for example, the Indian government was involved in delicate negotiations for the release of foreign hostages in Kashmir and could not have afforded to renew hostilities with the Sikhs. The rise of Hindu nationalism in India coincided with the decline of the Sikh movement. As we noted earlier, the attitude of Sikhs toward Hindu politics has been mixed. After the BJP gained strength in several northern Indian states, culminating in the formation of a national coalition government in 1998, some moderate factions of the Sikh’s Akali Party did indeed join forces with the BJP. But these Akali-BJP coalitions achieved greater electoral success among the urban constituencies, which were both Hindu and Sikh, than in the rural Sikh stronghold. The suspicion of Sikhs toward Hindu politics, like the hatred between many activist Sikhs and the secular Congress Party, was never completely overcome. In 1990, in a poignant attempt to break the vicious cycle of hatred and reprisal, the Congress prime minister, Rajiv Gandhi, in what was virtually his last act of office, released Simranjit Singh Mann from prison. This was an extraordinary act, since Mann was awaiting trial for his alleged participation in the plot that led to the murder of Rajiv’s mother, Indira Gandhi. Mann had won a parliamentary seat after campaigning from prison, but Rajiv claimed that his pardon was due not to Mann’s electoral success but to his own desire to “heal wounds.”24 Following Mann’s release from prison the major factions of the Akali Party united under his leadership. The unity was brief, however, and in the years that followed there was considerable erosion of Mann’s support. The party broke apart, and Mann’s faction became one of the smallest of several groups at the Akali periphery. Mann’s political power had come largely from his ability to broker alliances between moderate wings of the Sikh leadership and the militants. The militants had respected Mann not only for his radical rhetoric but also because of the persecution he had experienced from his alleged role in Indira

The Spear of Shiva, the Sword of Sikhism |

117

Gandhi’s murder. When the armed police were unleashed in 1990 and the reign of the militants came to an end, Mann’s influence declined as well. According to Mann, the tide began to turn against the militants in 1992. They were, in his opinion, destroyed from within as much as from without. It was a problem of leadership, Mann said. When many of the leaders were captured, they were enjoying the fruits of their spoils, using air conditioners and driving expensive cars. “They advocated puritanical ways to the masses,” Mann told me, “but they lived in luxury themselves.” The standards within the movement degenerated. “Guns controlled the party,” he said, adding that “it should have been the other way around.” Internal disputes were rife, and many of the militants were killed by members of rival factions rather than by the police. Mann was among the few activists who had not been killed, jailed, or sent into hiding abroad—mostly in Pakistan, England, and the United States. Like the former militants with whom I talked in India and the United States, Mann expressed bitterness at both the Indian government, which he felt had persecuted the movement, and the extremist members of the militant cadres, who he believed had destroyed the movement from within. I asked Mann if he thought the militancy of the movement was a mistake. He said that given the geography of the Punjab, surrounded by the rest of India with its vastly superior military resources, the movement could not have launched a productive military venture—with the exception of those instances where “punishment” and “retribution” called for violence, as in the assassinations of Prime Minister Indira Gandhi and Chief Minister Beant Singh. But in most other cases, he said, the violence was counterproductive in that it provided the government with a reason for exterminating the movement. Mann would have much preferred a peaceful solution, such as the one proposed for the separation of Quebec from Canada. But, Mann said, he was not opposed in principle to the use of force for a righteous cause. His disagreement with the use of violence in this instance was not “a moral decision,” he said, “but a strategic one.”

hindu and sikh justifications for violence In considering the decades of religious-related terror in India, one wonders what could possibly have justified all the bloodshed and destruction. The costs of the violence were palpable, especially in neighborhoods in

118

|

Cultures of Violence

Gujarat and in villages of rural Punjab, where the social and psychological scars were slow to heal. The echoes of these tragic pasts seemed to resonate from the mud walls of Sultanwind, a Punjabi village near Amritsar, on the day that I visited it several years after the Sikh movement had been crushed. While there, I joined in conversations with several families of former activists along with my colleague Prof. Harish Puri and a group of his graduate students from the political science department of Guru Nanak Dev University. Sultanwind had been the headquarters of one faction of the Khalistan Commando Force during the stormy days of the movement, and the tragedy of the militant movement was still very much a part of the village’s life. We talked with one student’s relatives, a leading member of the village, Harjap Singh. The village leader seemed to have every reason to be satisfied: he had just been elected to the council of the Amritsar Municipal Corporation; he was a member of the leading subcaste in that area, the Chauhans; and he was the head of a large family farming complex, which he directed in person and through his cell phone. His family had a long history of leadership in the Sikh community, and pictures on the wall indicated an association with Punjab’s great postindependence leader, Pratap Singh Kairon, and with the more recent Akali leader, Simranjit Singh Mann.25 Despite Harjap Singh’s success, an aura of sadness surrounded his household, symbolized by the living room wall that had been devoted to a shrine for his younger brother, Kanwarjit Singh, whom the family regarded as a martyr for the Sikh community. Born in 1966, Kanwarjit grew up with two passions: Sikhism and sports, especially field hockey. In 1982, when he was only sixteen years old, he went to hear Jarnail Singh Bhindranwale and was seduced by the romance and excitement of the militant Sikh movement. In 1985, even though several families had extended offers of marriage to the handsome young athlete, Kanwarjit joined the Khalistan Commando Force. Two years later, at age twentyone, he became commander-in-chief of the whole organization. Those were busy times, the family recalled, as their humble village became the center of a very active and important organization. They were proud of Kanwarjit’s leadership role. The other young men in the village were either under his command or intimidated into silence. There were rumors of “actions” undertaken by Kanwarjit’s forces that led to the deaths of government and police officials and political leaders in surrounding areas, but members of Sultanwind village, even the police, were protected from the violence as long as Kanwarjit Singh was alive.

The Spear of Shiva, the Sword of Sikhism |

119

As with most militant Sikh leaders, however, his leadership and his life did not last long. In 1989 Kanwarjit and two of his colleagues were cornered by police in a house near the city of Jalandhar. The police apparently did not realize the importance of their catch and began to take the group by car to the police station for questioning. One of Kanwarjit’s comrades jumped out of the vehicle and ran away, but Kanwarjit had a metal plate in his leg as the result of an earlier injury from a police attack and was unable to run. Instead, he swallowed one of the cyanide capsules he always carried with him for such a situation. Like many militant leaders, he preferred to kill himself rather than to be tortured to death or forced to reveal information about the movement. Kanwarjit Singh was twenty-three at the time. A few months later most of the other young men in the village were dead as well. An entire generation of boys had been taken from the community. Yet they were remembered. In addition to the shrine in the family home, Kanwarjit’s elderly mother had created another, more intimate shrine in her bedroom, where Kanwarjit was born. Harjap and his sons knew all the stories about the great days of the movement. Harjap and the village elders erected a memorial in the center of the village to “all of the lost sons” who died in police encounters during the years of terror. They wanted to name a new school in memory of the “lost sons,” but there was a dispute with the government over the appropriateness of locating a government facility in a building dedicated to those who were, after all, enemies of the state. A library adjacent to the school served as the memorial building instead. Harjap did not want to talk with me about Kanwarjit’s opposition to the government, but he waxed eloquent about his brother’s virtues as a political leader. “Kanwarjit never used his power to get money,” Harjap told me proudly, adding that he was only “fighting for principles.” Other militant groups, such as the Bhindranwale Tigers, Harjap said, attracted thugs who would use their weapons to get money, drugs, and women. Kanwarjit’s group, the Khalistan Commando Force, would sometimes “eliminate” these bad elements in order to keep the whole movement respectable. They would also eliminate members of their own group, Harjap said, if they found them abusing their power.26 But what was the power for? What was the purpose of the movement? At first he seemed somewhat perplexed about how to answer the question. “To support the Sikh community,” he finally responded. Was it worth it? Were the deaths of his brother and all of the others in vain?

120

|

Cultures of Violence

Harjap Singh answered indirectly. “In Sikh history,” he said, “young men go away in battle and do not return. They are our martyrs.” This simple justification for young men’s fighting in battle—killing or being killed in sacred struggle—runs deep in India’s religious traditions. Long before Sikhism developed as a separate religious tradition in the sixteenth century, in India’s ancient Vedic times, warriors called on the gods to participate in their struggles and to provide a divine leverage for victory. The potency of the gods was graphically depicted in mythic stories filled with violent encounters and bloody acts of vengeance.27 As India’s religious traditions developed, images of warfare persisted. The great epics—the Mahabharata and the Ramayana—contained grand accounts of wars and battles, and the enduring sermon of Lord Krishna, the Bhagavad Gita, was recorded in the Mahabharata as being delivered on a battlefield. The Gita gave several reasons why killing in warfare is permissible, among them the argument that the soul can never really be killed: “he who slays, slays not; he who is slain, is not slain.” Another reason is based on dharma (moral obligation): the duties of a member of the ksatriya (warrior) caste by definition involve killing, so violence is justified in the very maintenance of social order.28 Mohandas Gandhi, like many other modern Hindus who revere the Gita, regarded its warfare as allegorical, representing the conflict between good and evil.29 Gandhi, who ordinarily subscribed to nonviolence, allowed for an exception to this general rule when a small, strategic act of violence would defuse a greater violence.30 Gandhi’s views about violent struggle were sharpened in response to an incident involving terrorism. When the young Gandhi came to London in 1909 to lobby the British parliament on behalf of South African Indian immigrants, the expatriot Indian community in the city was abuzz about a murder that had happened there shortly before Gandhi arrived.31 An Indian student in London, Madan Lal Dhingra, had attacked an official in Britain’s India office, Sir William H. Curzon-Wylie, in protest against Britain’s colonial control over India. At a formal function, Dhingra pulled out a gun, and at close range fired five shots in his face. The British official died on the spot. Dhingra was immediately apprehended by the police, and when people in the crowd called him a murderer, he said that he was only fighting for India’s freedom. After Gandhi arrived in London, he was asked to debate this issue of violence with several of London’s expatriate Indian nationalists. His chief opponent was another expatriot Indian, Vinayak Savarkar, the militant Hindu who would later found the political movement known as

The Spear of Shiva, the Sword of Sikhism |

121

the Hindu Mahasabha, a precursor to the present-day Hindu nationalist party, the BJP. At the time of the 1909 assassination Savarkar was reputed to have supplied the weapons and ammunition for the act, and to have instructed the ardent Hindu assassin in what to say in his final statement as he was led to the gallows to be executed for his crime. The young killer said that he was “prepared to die, glorying in martyrdom.”32 Shortly before the debate, Gandhi wrote to a friend that in London he had met practically no Indian who believed “that India can ever become free without resorting to violence.”33 He described the position of the militant activists as one in which terrorism would precede a general revolution. He said that their plans were first to “assassinate a few Englishmen and strike terror,” after which “a few men who will have been armed will fight openly.” He said that they calculated that eventually they might have to lose “a quarter of a million men, more or less,” but that this effort at guerilla warfare would “defeat the English” and “regain our land.”34 During the debate, Gandhi challenged the logic of the militants on the grounds of political realism. They could hardly expect to defeat the might of the British military through sporadic acts of terrorism and guerilla warfare. More important, however, was Gandhi’s concerns about the effect that violent tactics would have on the emerging Indian nationalist movement. His point was that the methods that they used to combat the British would become part of India’s national character. This seems to be exactly the point at which Gandhians and the Hindu nationalist followers of Savakar differed. The Hindu nationalists see the necessity of armed struggle to define and defend the Hindu culture of India, which they call Hindutva. The Hindu RSS began training paramilitary cadres for the defense of Hindu culture in the 1920s. A former member of the RSS was Gandhi’s assassin, and followers of the RSS were instrumental in storming the ancient mosque in Ayodhya in 1992, setting off riots between Muslims and Hindus throughout India in which thousands were killed. Narendra Modi and many of the other leaders of the Hindu nationalist party, the BJP, have come from the RSS, and the movement has been the breeding ground for kindred movements and ideologies that have developed over the years. The Vishva Hindu Parishad (World Hindu Council) was founded in 1964 by RSS leaders in order to “organize—consolidate the Hindu society and to serve—protect the Hindu Dharma (‘religion’).”35 The RSS and VHP were not political parties, however, and they left to other organizers the task of converting a movement into a political machine. In North India the Jan

122

|

Cultures of Violence

Sangh (People’s Party) was founded in 1951 and until 1977 it fielded candidates in state and national elections with a variety of success. It was supplanted by the BJP, which gained strength with the growing mood of Hindu nationalism that came to a head in the 1992 Ayodhya destruction of the ancient mosque on the alleged site of the birthplace of the god Ram. In 1966, a particularly virulent form of Hindu nationalism was given organizational structure in the Shiv Sena (Army of Lord Shiva), based in the Indian state of Maharashtra and dominant in its major city, Mumbai (formerly known as Bombay). Founded by a political cartoonist, Bal Thakeray, the party has gained a certain notoriety for its strident anti-Muslim position, and members of the party have been implicated in communal riots between Hindus and Muslims, including the 1992–93 unrest in Mumbai and the 2002 Gujarat massacre. Members of the party are ardent supporters of the Hindu nationalist party, the BJP. The Shiv Sena defends its role in violent encounters as a defense of Hinduism. Clearly, like members of most religious traditions, Hindus have been able to embrace positions of violence as well as nonviolence. The history of Sikhism is also one of violent encounters, usually in the defense of the tradition against its foes.36 Sikhism’s bloody history, however, is something of a paradox. Guru Nanak, the sixteenth-century spiritual master regarded as the Sikhs’ founder, is portrayed in literature as a gentle soul, one of India’s great medieval saints.37 Yet his successors came to be engaged in military confrontation with invading Mughal forces. Members of a tribal group, the Jats, began joining the Sikh community at the end of the sixteenth century. They were great warriors and imposed their martial values and symbols onto the whole of the Sikh community.38 Some observers of Sikhism have contended that the most militant and aggressive aspects of the tradition—including the uprising in the last decades of the twentieth century—are legacies of the Jat influence. At the end of the seventeenth century the tenth and final teacher in the lineage of Sikh masters, Guru Gobind Singh, presided over an army of considerable size. Martyrdom was the supreme honor bestowed on those who gave their lives to the cause. The symbols Guru Gobind Singh is said to have brought to his followers in 1699, and which are still observed by the faithful, include such emblems of militancy as a sword and a braceletlike shield worn on the wrist. The most frequently displayed symbol of Sikhism today is a double-edged blade surrounded by a circle—or perhaps a cooking vessel—and a pair of curved swords. Warfare, therefore, is not only a part of Sikhism’s history but a central feature of its iconography.39

The Spear of Shiva, the Sword of Sikhism |

123

In the eighteenth century the army of Sikhs in fact consisted of several armies, each with its own sphere of influence. Early in the nineteenth century the lands and armies of the Sikhs were consolidated by Maharaja Ranjit Singh, whose kingdom spanned most of the Punjab. It was the last independent region in India to fall to the British, conquered only after a hard-fought war later in the century. The British colonial period saw a decline of the Sikh community until a reform movement in 1873 began to revive the tradition and imposed standards of faith and practice. This movement, the Singh Sabha, was disturbed over the display of what it regarded as Hindu artifacts in the Golden Temple and other Sikh shrines and gurdwaras (houses of worship—literally, “the threshold to the Guru”). In 1920 groups of Sikhs began agitating for reforms in gurdwara management, calling for an ouster of those who had been in control of the shrines, including the Udasis (a sect that traced its origins to the son of Guru Nanak, revered Hindu gods and texts, and venerated Guru Nanak to the exclusion of the other nine founding gurus of Sikhism). The British government capitulated to these demands in 1925 and established a board of control, the Shiromani Gurdwara Prabandhak Committee (Central Gurdwara Management Committee), consisting largely of elected representatives. The SGPC became an arena for Sikh politics. One group of partisans in the gurdwara reform movement, the Akali Dal (“the band of the Immortal One”), later became a political party, and after independence it successfully contested elections for legislative seats, sharing with the Congress Party the ability to form ruling governments in the state. Sikh politicians supported India’s fight for freedom from the British, though some were suspicious of what they regarded as Hindu control of the independence movement.40 The success of Mohammad Ali Jinnah in creating a Muslim state in Pakistan raised in the minds of many Sikhs the conviction that there should be a Sikh state as well. India’s independence in 1948 brought a certain amount of disillusionment to many Sikhs who had supported the struggle against the British. They felt peripheral to the mainstream of national politics. They did not even have control of their area of India, since the Sikhs constituted less than half of the electorate in the state of Punjab. In the 1950s a political movement emerged demanding that the Indian government fulfill its promise to have Punjab’s boundaries drawn on linguistic lines, as in other Indian states. They wanted the Punjab to include only speakers of the Punjabi language, a demand that was tantamount to calling

124

|

Cultures of Violence

for a Sikh majority state. The charismatic leader of the time, Sant Fateh Singh, went on a well-publicized fast and threatened to immolate himself in the precincts of the Golden Temple. The Indian government, captained by Prime Minister Indira Gandhi, conceded, and in 1966 the old Punjab was carved along linguistic lines, and a new, smaller Punjab was created, which happened to have a narrow Sikh majority. These early campaigns for Sikh autonomy and political power anticipated the movement that erupted in the 1980s. But in many ways the new movement was more intense and more religious.41 The movement began during a clash in 1978 between a group of Sikhs and the Sant Nirankaris, a branch of the Nirankari movement that had splintered from the Sikh tradition. The Sant Nirankaris followed its own lineage of gurus. The leader of the Sikhs attacking the Nirankaris was Jarnail Singh, a young rural preacher who at an early age had joined the Damdami Taksal, a religious school and retreat center associated with the great Sikh martyr Baba Deep Singh. Jarnail Singh eventually became its head and assumed the name of the previous leader, who had come from a village named Bhindran and was therefore called “Bhindranwale” (a person from Bhindran). Jarnail Singh Bhindranwale began to monitor religious standards in the surrounding Sikh society and found the Sant Nirankaris’s worship of a living guru to be presumptuous and offensive. In the escalating violence between the two groups, lives were lost on both sides. In 1980 the Nirankari guru was assassinated. Some suspected Bhindranwale of being implicated in the crime, but he was not charged or convicted. Soon Bhindranwale became busy with a new organization, the Dal Khalsa (“the group of the pure”), which was supported by the prime minister’s younger son, Sanjay Gandhi, and other Congress Party leaders, including the president of India, Zail Singh.42 They wanted the group to replace the Akali Dal as the leading party in the SGPC, but it never happened. The next year, the publisher of a chain of Hindu newspapers in Punjab who had been a critic of Bhindranwale was shot dead; again, Bhindranwale was implicated but never tried or convicted. In response to his arrest and the destruction of his personal papers, Bhindranwale turned against the government. Bands of young Sikhs began indiscriminately killing Hindus, and later in 1981 a group of Sikhs hijacked an Indian Airlines plane in Pakistan. The serious violence had begun. The situation came to a head on June 5, 1984, when Mrs. Gandhi sent troops into the Golden Temple in what was code named Operation

The Spear of Shiva, the Sword of Sikhism |

125

Bluestar. In a messy military operation that took two days to complete, two thousand or more people were killed, including a number of innocent worshippers. Bhindranwale’s forces put up a spirited defense, but eventually they were all killed, including Bhindranwale himself. What shocked the Sikh community was not only the leader’s death but also the desecration of their most sacred shrine. Even moderate Sikhs throughout the world were horrified at the specter of the Indian army stomping through their holiest precincts with boots on, shooting holes in the buildings’ elaborate marblework facades. The assassination of Mrs. Gandhi on October 31, 1984, was widely regarded as revenge for this act of profanity. On the following day more than two thousand Sikhs were massacred in Delhi and elsewhere by angry mobs—a reprisal orchestrated, some say, by the police themselves.43 The sermons of Bhindranwale offer clues to his religious sensibilities and their political implications. In a rambling, folksy manner, he called on his followers to maintain their faith in a time of trial, and he echoed the common fear that Sikhs would lose their identity in a flood of resurgent Hinduism, or worse, in a sea of secularism. One of his more familiar themes was the survival of the Sikh community; for “community” he used the term qaum, which carries overtones of nationhood.44 As for the idea of Khalistan, a separate Sikh nation, Bhindranwale said he “neither favored it nor opposed it.”45 What Bhindranwale did support was the Sikh concept of miri-piri, the notion that spiritual and temporal power are linked.46 He projected the image of a great war between good and evil waged in the present day”—”a struggle . . . for our faith, for the Sikh nation, for the oppressed.”47 He implored his young followers to rise up and marshal the forces of righteousness. “The Guru will give you strength,” he assured them.48 Violence was not the explicit theme of Bhindranwale’s messages, but he did not shirk from what he felt the implications of miri-piri might be in an unjust world.49 He affirmed that the Sikh tradition, like most religious traditions, ordinarily applauds nonviolence and proscribes the taking of human life.50 He acknowledged that “for a Sikh it is a great sin to keep weapons and kill anyone.” But Bhindranwale went on to justify the occasional violent act in extraordinary circumstances and said that “it is an even greater sin to have weapons and not to seek justice.”51 In an extreme moment, he praised his young lieutenants for hijacking an airplane and called for either full concessions to his demands from India’s political leaders, “or their heads.”52

126

|

Cultures of Violence

One of the surviving leaders of the movement concurred that violence was sanctioned in Sikhism, but ordinarily as a defensive act. The leader, Sohan Singh, whose name is associated with one of the main coordinating bodies of the militant Sikh movement—the Sohan Singh Panthic Committee—was in his eighties when I interviewed him in the suburb of Mohali near Chandigarh.53 Sohan Singh spoke eloquently about the the role of love in Sikhism, saying that the tradition emphasizes love and allows for conversion only through moral suasion. But, Sohan Singh said, if others try to kill you, you are warranted in trying to kill them. He argued that the violence of the Sikhs in the late twentieth century was primarily a response to the violence of the state. Sohan Singh claimed that the killings undertaken by militants were always done for a purpose; they were “not killing for killing’s sake.”54 Moreover, Sohan Singh said that warnings were given and punishment was meted out only if the offenders persisted in the conduct that the militants regarded as offensive. One might wonder why the militants felt they had the moral authority to make judgments about others and to carry out corporal punishment on their own. In a remarkable series of interviews with Sikh militants transcribed and analyzed by Cynthia Keppley Mahmood in her book Fighting for Faith and Nation, the militants seem unconcerned about the issue of their moral authority.55 According to Sikh tradition, a council of five leaders is sufficient to give the community guidance; there is no hierarchy of priests or codified authority within Sikhism. In 1986, shortly after Bhindranwale was killed, the militants created their own Panthic Committee (an authoritative committee led by five elders). One of the members of this first committee, Bhai Dhanna Singh, told Mahmood that the task of the group was to speak for Sikhs. He said the term Sikh meant anyone “who listens to the Guru’s command.” The guru’s command, Dhanna Singh said, was “to speak against injustice.” He added that “anyone who complies with an oppressive regime is never a Sikh.”56 Thus the militants assumed a divinely ordained authority to right injustice and secure public order. Sohan Singh assumed that he and his colleagues had the moral jurisdiction to make life-and-death decisions about their constituency, especially when they thought that the government was morally bankrupt. What needed to be shown, he said, was that he and his colleagues were able to conduct their public role as upholders of political righteousness in a responsible manner. As an indication of what Sohan Singh considered to be the militants’ good manners, he cited the apology they had extended to the families of those who were inadvertently killed in the explosion that took the life of Pun-

The Spear of Shiva, the Sword of Sikhism |

127

jab’s chief minister, Beant Singh, whom Sohan Singh described as “a killer” who was killed in the “heat of battle.” This apology showed the “moral courage” of the militants, Sohan Singh said.57 Though Sohan Singh showed little reservation about the way that the militants used their force, Simranjit Singh Mann was more reflective. Although he had no moral qualms about Sikhs destroying those considered to be enemies of the faith, he felt that there were strategic choices to be made. Mann made a distinction between “random killing” and “targeted killing.” The former, he said, simply scared the general population and made it vulnerable to the potential for even more terror from the state in reprisal. Targeted killing, on the other hand, could broaden the base of support for the movement by inviting sympathy and eliminating ruthless persons. The assassination of Chief Minister Beant Singh was an effective example of targeted killing, Simranjit Singh Mann said, since he was a symbol of the state’s tyranny. Punjab’s former police chief, K. P. S. Gill, was a similar symbol. If he were to be killed, it would also be a symbolic act. It would indicate the collective judgment of the Sikhs and the continuing power of the movement. Another former leader of the militant movement, Major General Narinder Singh, agreed that Chief Minister Beant Singh “had to be killed,” and that K. P. S. Gill would be targeted soon—“tomorrow,” as he put it.58 Narinder Singh could justify such an act, for he accepted violence for purposes of defense and punishment. He thought that the militant movement provided stability in a time of anarchy and official corruption. Yet he also felt that the militant movement had gone far beyond these purposes in the quixotic quest for power through armed struggle. In explaining the years of terror visited on the Punjab, Narinder Singh concluded that sometimes “the boys”—as the Sikh militants were commonly described in the Punjab—“were hot-headed.”59 It was this passion that was their eventual undoing. “Eventually the people became sick of all the killings,” he explained in accounting for why the movement came to an end. Someday, he added, the movement will rise again. But not now, he said. “All the boys are dead.”

chapter 6

Buddhist Faces of Terror

“Do I look like a terrorist?” the orange-robed monk asked me, jovially confident that I would see the question as absurd. The monk, Ashin Wirathu, had been portrayed on the cover of Time magazine’s international edition over the caption, “the face of Buddhist terror.” He was credited with inciting angry Buddhists in Myanmar to riot against the Muslim minority, burning mosques and Muslim-owned shops and houses, and attacking Muslims who dared to challenge them. In 2013 and 2014, scores were killed and thousands were displaced from their homes. In the town of Meiktila, a Buddhist mob surrounded a Muslim man and set him on fire. Wirathu claimed innocence from all of this, not connecting his extremist rhetoric from these actions, so he could cheerfully ask me if he looked like the kind of person who would sanction such things. “Actually,” I was tempted to say to him, “you look like all of the other terrorists I have met.” One of the features of terrorism, I have learned over the years, is its banality. What makes acts of extreme violence so disturbing is that they come from people and places where one least expects them. Perhaps the religious tradition in which one least expects to find violence is Buddhism, and the locations for which a violent act of religious terrorism is least anticipated are the tropical countries of Southeast Asia and the cities of modern Japan. Yet it was an off-shoot of Japanese Buddhism, Aum Shinrikyo, that was catapulted into the world’s attention when its 128

Buddhist Faces of Terror |

129

members released vials of poisonous sarin gas in the Tokyo subway, killing a number of commuters and injuring thousands more. And it was a series of strident anti-Muslim Buddhist movements in Myanmar and Sri Lanka, and a long-standing war between Buddhist and Muslim forces in southern Thailand, that have sullied the pacifist reputation of Buddhist culture. Though extreme in his rhetoric, Ashin Wirathu was not idiosyncratic. He represented an angry defensive mood of religious nationalism that can be found in several Buddhist countries and in many other religious traditions around the world.

ashin wirathu and the defense of burmese buddhism When I talked with Wirathu in his comfortable office in the Ma Soe Yein monastery in the central Burmese city of Mandalay he was prepared to defend himself against the terrorism label branded him by Time magazine and by many other journalists.1 Wirathu was blamed for fanning the flames of ethnic hatred. He is the most well-known spokesman for the “969 Movement”—named after the nine special attributes of the Buddha, the six distinctive features of his teachings, and the nine characteristics of monks—which was formed to defend the purity of Burmese Buddhist culture against its adulteration from outside influences, primarily Muslim. Hence it was widely regarded as an antiIslamic hate movement. Buddhism is all about peace, Wirathu reminded me. “If we support Buddhism we are creating peace in the world,” he said confidently. His monastic office radiated spiritual authority. Though Wirathu was only one of fourteen senior monks on the governing body of the twenty-fivehundred-man monastic complex, he clearly occupied a leading position within it. Only the framed pictures on his wall—mostly newspaper clippings and pictures of himself—were indications of his charismatic, rabble-rousing reputation. He usually went by the single religious name, Wirathu; “Ashin” is simply an honorific term designating a monk. Though our conversation began cheerfully, Wirathu’s demeanor darkened when the conversation shifted to the vulnerability of Myanmar’s Buddhist culture to attacks from outside. He frowned and said, “We have to protect our people.” “From whom?” I asked. He implied that there were a host of people out to destroy Buddhism, and I kept pressing him to tell me whom they were.

130

|

Cultures of Violence

“Muslims,” he said, finally. Or more precisely, “Islamic extremists,” as he called them, people who denigrated Buddhism. Not all Muslims were extremists, he said, though most were under their influence, so virtually all Muslims in Myanmar were suspect. I asked him for examples of how the tiny Muslim minority in Myanmar—some 4 percent of the population—could possibly threaten the Buddhist majority. The first thing that came to his mind was the case of Muslim men wanting to marry Buddhist women. After marrying them, he said, the Muslim men would force their wives to convert to Islam and step on statues of the Buddha. It was not clear how frequently he thought this sort of thing happened. When I asked others in Mandalay they could only think of a handful of cases of ethnic intermarriage. Wirathu also thought that Muslims were secretive, since their mosques were not open to everyone. When I mentioned this to a local Muslim leader, Noor Salim, he said that the mosques were closed solely to prevent people from coming inside with their shoes on and desecrating the worship space.2 Lately, he told me, as he showed me around the simple mosque, they were concerned about vandals who might be stirred up by Wirathu’s rhetoric. The Mandalay mosque had been burned down once before, and they did not want it to happen again. The mosque issue, however, was not Wirathu’s main concern. He went on at some length about what he regarded as the penchant of “Islamic extremists” for carrying out acts of violence, and their desire to rule the world. He cited the atrocities of groups such as Al-Qaeda and ISIS as examples. Though he admitted that these groups were not firmly rooted in Myanmar at present, he detected signs of their influence. He also thought that the numbers of Muslims were greatly expanding in Myanmar through immigration and having relatively larger families, and that this was a purposeful design to dilute the purity of Buddhist culture in the country and eventually take control. “They are trying to transform Myanmar into a Muslim state,” Wirathu said. He claimed that this was the reason that he and the 969 Movement were trying to protect Burmese Buddhism from what he regarded as a program of cultural annihilation. Wirathu insisted that his only role was to preach the truth. Though his fiery sermons have been reported as inciting violence, Wirathu disassociated himself from such acts, saying that his own followers were under his control. He told me that Buddhists had the right “to defend themselves,” and if at that time they “inflict injury,” then that can be excused. Thus violence could be justified in a context of defense. But

Buddhist Faces of Terror |

131

Buddhist ethics, he said, would not allow the faithful to intend to be violent if they were not provoked, since, as he reminded me, Buddhism is all about peace. Representatives of the United Nations’ Commission on Human Rights, however, have identified Wirathu as one of the main figures in Myanmar’s pattern of human rights abuse against Muslims, particularly the Rohingya who live in the northern portion of Rakhine province adjacent to Bangladesh. Though the Rohingya people claim to have lived in the region for centuries, many Burmese regard them as aliens, and the most recent government census refused to let them identify themselves on the rolls as Rohingya rather than as illegal immigrants from Bangladesh. Wirathu has been outspoken in his insistence that the Rohingya are not legitimately native to the country but are interlopers. The situation of the Rohingya is a complicated one. They are ethnically and culturally related to the people in the Chittagong district of Bangladesh, but it is not clear when they came to the northern part of Rakhine state in western Myanmar. One of the leaders of the Rohingya political party told me that his people were always there, and that this area is indeed their ancestral home.3 Since the boundaries of Burma were drawn by the British colonial office—which was notorious in ignoring ethnic divisions among the peoples of the national entities that they were defining—this contention is plausible. Others say, equally plausibly, that the large migration of people from the Chittagong region occurred during British colonial rule. An international journalist in Yangon who comes from from the Chittagong region told me that the form of Chittagonian language spoken by Rohingya is quite different than the one spoken in Bangladesh, indicating at the very least that the two groups have been separated for many generations.4 It is fair to say that the Rohingya people in Myanmar regard themselves as rightful citizens of the country. In the years immediately following Burma’s establishment as an independent country in 1948 there was an effort to extend citizenship to all groups within the country. This was the vision of Aung San, the symbolic father of Burmese nationalism—and the actual father of Aung San Suu Kyi, the Nobel Prize–winning activist whose party came to power in the 2015 elections. In the first years of independent Burmese rule, Rohingya were included as cabinet members of the government. In 2012, however, tensions between Burmese and Rohingya in Rakhine state came to a boiling point. Burmese leaders claimed that the increase in the Muslim population would soon make them the majority, and riots ensued, with killings on both sides. This tension spread throughout the

132

|

Cultures of Violence

country in a spiral of anti-Muslim activist, fanned by the rhetoric of activists monks like Wirathu. The government responded to the anti-Muslim sentiment with a series of enactments that greatly restricted the rights of Rohingya within Myanmar, essentially making them citizens without a country. In 2015, some twenty-five thousand Rohingya set sail on crowded boats seeking asylum in surrounding countries. It is estimated that hundreds died attempting to set shore on Thailand, Indonesia, and Malaysia. In the next year mobs attempted to drive those remaining from their homes. This dismissal of the rights of Rohingya in Myanmar is one of the things that has been criticized by the UN Human Rights Commission. According to Wirathu, rich Muslim countries have bought off the UN, and its human rights accusations were part of a Muslim plot. “It is not the United Nations,” Wirathu told me, “but the United Muslim Nations.” Wirathu claimed that U.S. President Barack Obama was also duped by these influences, and this is the reason why he spoke about the rights of Rohingya people in his visit to the country. The conspiracy was even broader, Wirathu said, since the world’s news media were also under control of Islamic extremists. It was for this reason that magazines such as Time could label him a terrorist. In fact, he claimed, it was the media that was in league with terrorists by branding him and other outspoken Buddhist leaders as the foe. The other well-known Buddhist activist in the region was Galagoda Aththe Gnanasara, the leader of the Bodu Bala Sena (BBS) movement in Sri Lanka, which Time, the Economist, and other international news media have also criticized. Much like Wirathu, Gnanasara has railed against the imagined threat of a small Muslim minority in his country, and like Wirathu was accused of inciting riots against it. I asked Wirathu if he and the BBS were working together, and he admitted that he had met with Gnanasara, but insisted that their agendas were separate. Nonetheless, a number of news reports claim that Wirathu’s 969 and Gnanasara’s BBS movements are in league, and in 2014 in a rally of BBS supporters in Sri Lanka, Wirathu proclaimed that his movement would join hands with the BBS. There are also reports that Wirathu has been in contact with Buddhist monks from Thailand’s southern border with Malaysia, where pitched battles have been taking place between Buddhists and the Muslim majority.5 Wirathu said it was not just Buddhists who were concerned about Islamic extremists, but that his fears were shared by some Muslims, and he gave the name of a leader of the Muslim community in Mandalay who agreed with him. Later that day I talked with the Muslim leader, who said that of course he was concerned about Al-Qaeda and ISIS

Buddhist Faces of Terror |

133

worldwide, but that the Muslims in Myanmar were of no threat to anyone. He implied that Wirathu was playing into the hands of politicians who wanted to use the Muslim scare for political purposes. This was an analysis that I had heard from others in Myanmar, including journalists and political leaders. The ruling party had undertaken a great risk to their power by opening the government to a greater degree of democratic rule. Even though the elections were swept by the military-backed USDP party (known by the abbreviation of the English name of the organization, the Union Solidarity and Development Party), its leaders were apprehensive about the 2015 elections and the challenge posed by the Nobel Prize–winning Burmese leader, Aung San Suu Kyi. Some thought that by creating an artificial threat the military’s party would be seen as strong defenders of the nation, and they would gain in the upcoming elections as a result. Though the party of Aung San Suu Kyi won the elections, the military continued to be strong presence in the government and imposed limitations on any reforms that her party might want to effect, and there were no immediate efforts to improve the conditions of the Rohingya people or stifle the radical antiMuslim rhetoric of Wirathu. In July 2016, however, Aung San Suu Kyi mobilized a task force to look into the problem of Buddhist extremism and the oppression of Muslims in the country. Wirathu had been ranting against Muslims for some time and in 2003 was put in prison for inciting violence against them. He was released in 2010, about the time of the democratic reforms, so some have speculated that his release was motivated by political considerations, like unleashing a tiger. But whether or not Wirathu was a pawn in this political calculation—and whether he was aware of it, if so—is unclear. What is apparent is that he has convinced himself, and perhaps his angry following, that there has been a great but hidden struggle going on behind the quiet Buddhist civility and lush tropical landscape of the ancient Burma that has become the rapidly economically developing Myanmar. It is a battle between good and evil, between Buddhist morality and the Muslim hordes he imagines to be poised to conquer Burma’s soul; and Wirathu would like to be its savior.

takeshi nakamura and the aum shinrikyo assault It was 7:45 a.m. on March 20, 1995, during Tokyo’s Monday morning rush hour, when five male members of the Aum Shinrikyo movement,

134

|

Cultures of Violence

scientists in its elite Ministry of Science and Technology, boarded trains at different ends of the city’s sprawling subway system. Their trains were expected to converge almost exactly a half-hour later at a single central stop: the Kasumigaseki station in the heart of the city’s governmental district, blocks from the parliament building, government agencies, and the Imperial Palace. They were en route to perpetrating one of the few incidents of religious activism anywhere in the world in which a weapon of mass destruction has been deployed in an act of terrorism. As I discovered, however, the point of the Aum Shinrikyo’s nerve gas attack was not to kill large numbers of people but to demonstrate the veracity of its leader’s religious prophecies about an imminent apocalyptic war. One of the members of the Aum Shinrikyo who took his seat on the Hibiya line train was a young graduate student in physics at Tokyo University. At the other end of the same line was another physics graduate. Entering a Chiyoda line train was a former cardiovascular surgeon who had studied in the United States and graduated from Keio University in Japan. On one end of the Marunouchi line was a former physics student from Waseda University; and at the other end of the same line was an electronics engineer.6 What all of these intense and dedicated young men had in common, aside from their skilled scientific training, was a deep devotion to the movement’s master, Shoko Asahara. On this occasion they also shared more peculiar assets: each carried an umbrella with a sharpened tip and held in his arms a loosely wrapped newspaper. Inside the papers were plastic sacks of liquid chemicals. As the trains began to converge on the Kasumigaseki station in central Tokyo, each of the men put his newspaper on the floor of the train and punched the plastic sack with the sharpened end of the rolled-up umbrella. The men quickly exited the trains at intermediate stops, and the trains rolled on without them. But they left behind the leaking plastic bags and an evil odor that began to permeate the subway cars. Sarin gas in its pure form is odorless, but the batch that was mixed by Aum’s scientists had impurities that made it smell. According to some witnesses the odor was like mustard; others compared it with the smell of burning rubber.7 Within minutes, commuters on the trains were coughing, choking, and clutching themselves in fits of nausea. As the trains stopped, passengers stumbled out, vomiting and writhing on the train platform in spasms. Still, the car doors closed and the trains moved on to Kasumigaseki. Passengers inside collapsed on the floors, twisting in agony, con-

figure 1. A fiery blast rocks the World Trade Center, September 11, 2001. (Peter Brandt/Getty Images)

figure 2. Anders Breivik, convicted mass killer of the Norwegian youth camp massacre. (Alexander Widding /Alamy)

figure 3. Timothy McVeigh, convicted bomber of the Oklahoma City federal building. (AP/Wide World Photos)

figure 4. The Oklahoma City federal building after the bombing. (AP/Wide World Photos)

figure 5. Rev. Paul Hill (left) and Rev. Michael Bray (center) holding a sign saying “Is it wrong to use force to stop the murder of innocent babies?” (Michael Bray, 1993)

figure 6. Sinn Féin headquarters in Belfast. The large stones placed in front are meant to deter the exploding of car bombs in front of the building. (Mark Juergensmeyer)

|

figure 7. Aftermath of the bombing in Omagh, Northern Ireland, on August 16, 1998. The worst single attack in three decades of violence killed twenty-eight people and injured more than two hundred. (AP Photo/Alastair Grant)

figure 8. The western wall of the ancient Jewish temple adjacent to the Muslim shrine the Dome of the Rock, in old Jerusalem. (Mark Juergensmeyer)

e

figure 9. Yoel Lerner, an activist for right-wing Jewish causes, in his study in old Jerusalem. (Mark Juergensmeyer)

figure 10. Guard at gravesite of Baruch Goldstein near Hebron (left) with the author. (Mark Juergensmeyer)

figure 11. Meir Ettinger, leader of the Israeli settler movement, the Revolt. © Muammar Awad/Xinhua/Alamy Live News. (Xinhua/Alamy)

figure 12. Zohair Dawabsheh, uncle of Saad Dawabsheh, with the author in front of the house that was firebombed, killing Saad Dawabsheh, his wife, and their baby in Duma, West Bank, Palestine (Israel). (Mark Juergensmeyer)

figure 13. Victims from the World Trade Center bombing following the blast, on February 26, 1993. (AP/Wide World Photos)

|

figure 14. Mahmud Abouhalima (bottom center) hoisting defense lawyer William Kuntsler onto his shoulders after the 1991 acquittal of El Sayyid Nosair on charges of murdering Rabbi Meir Kahane the previous year. Abouhalima was accused but never convicted of being the cab driver for the bungled getaway attempt following the assassination. (Newsday, Inc. ©1991)

i

figure 15. Dr. Abdul Aziz Rantisi, political leader of Hamas, in Khan Yunis, Gaza, with a drawing of Sheikh Ahmed Yassin in the background. (Mark Juergensmeyer)

figure 16. Sheikh Ahmed Yassin, founder and spiritual leader of Hamas, in Gaza with the author. (Mark Juergensmeyer)

figure 17. Osama bin Laden, leader of al Qaeda. (AP/Wide World Photos)

figure 18. Abdul Salam al-Kubaisi, head of External Relations for the Council of Islamic Clergy (Sunni), at the Mother of All Battles Mosque in Baghdad, with the author. (Mark Juergensmeyer)

figure 19. Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi, self-proclaimed caliph of the Islamic State (ISIS). (World History Archive/Alamy)

figure 20. Refugees from ISIS, women from the Yazidi religious community of Sinjar, Iraq, with the author, at a refugee camp near Diyarbakir, Turkey. (Mark Juergensmeyer)

figure 21. Iraqi refugee, from ISIS, and the author at a refugee camp near Erbil, Kurdistan, Iraq. (Mark Juergensmeyer)

figure 22. Simranjit Singh Mann, Sikh political leader, imprisoned under suspicion of masterminding the assassination of Indira Gandhi, showing where his beard hair had allegedly been pulled out in acts of torture during his imprisonment. (Mark Juergensmeyer)

figure 23. Maya Kodnani, Indian politician convicted of inciting the 2002 Gujarat massacre. REUTERS/Amit Dave (REUTERS/Alamy)

|

o

figure 24. Aum Shinrikyo nerve gas laboratories located near Mt. Fuji, Japan, guarded by police after the subway attack. (Mark Juergensmeyer)

figure 25. Shoko Asahara, leader of the Aum Shinrikyo sect, after being taken into custody by Japanese police, August 16, 1996. (AP Photo)

figure 26. Ashin Wirathu, leader of the Buddhist 969 Movement in Myanmar, with the author and his translator. (Mark Juergensmeyer)

Buddhist Faces of Terror |

135

vulsing, foaming at the mouth, unable to breathe. Even those who managed to clamber outside and escape death were sick and blinded for days. Doctors and nurses who treated the contaminated commuters themselves developed sore throats and eye irritations. Eventually twelve died, lying in subway stations or perishing in hospitals soon after, and over fifty-five hundred people were affected, many with permanent injuries. The public response to the event was one of shock and disbelief. It seemed inconceivable that innocent people could be assaulted in such a calculated and vicious manner in what most Japanese regard as the most mundane and reliable aspect of public life: the subway transportation system. The public attitude turned to anger when police investigations made clear that the perpetrators of the act were leaders of one of Japan’s ubiquitous new religious movements. The unfolding investigation was followed closely by the Japanese public in a barrage of news reports. A year after the incident the leader of the movement, Shoko Asahara, and his inner circle were arrested for planning and conducting the assault. They were held in prison as their trial extended for many years. In 2004 Asahara and several other perpetrators were convicted and sentenced to death. The Tokyo nerve gas attack was one of Japan’s most discussed events of the late twentieth century. Many Japanese saw in it the dark side of a modern urban society, the result of desperate searching for social identity and spiritual fulfillment. Scholars of social violence found the case intriguing because it signaled a new kind of terrorism: one that created a colossal event for the sake of a catastrophic vision of world history and employed for the first time weapons of mass destruction. For my efforts to understand the cultures of violence that give rise to religious terrorism, it raised the question that anyone might ask on hearing about such a horrific action: why would religion, much less Buddhism, be linked to such a thing? Soon after the attack, I went to Tokyo to find answers. I was interested in exploring the cultural context of the event as well as understanding the mindset of members of the Aum Shinrikyo movement. Despite the extraordinary public interest in the case and the nearly unanimous condemnation of the movement within Japanese society, Aum officials agreed to meet with me in their Tokyo headquarters days before it was closed down by the Japanese government. The headquarters were housed in a small office building on the corner of a major intersection in the Aoyama section of the city. When I entered I had to pass through a phalanx of television cameras, reporters, and police barricades.

136

|

Cultures of Violence

At this time, the spiritual leader of the movement, Shoko Asahara, and the movement’s spokesman, Fumihiro Joyu, were under arrest. The officers with whom I met, the general secretary and the head of public affairs of the Tokyo office, were primarily concerned with keeping the movement alive.8 The Japanese government’s attempts to outlaw Aum Shinrikyo, disband it entirely, and revise the government’s liberal Religious Corporation Law worried not only these Aum Shinrikyo leaders but also many other concerned Japanese. They feared a government crackdown on religious freedom and the persecution of Japan’s many new religious movements.9 The Aum Shinrikyo leaders were also concerned over the treatment of their jailed spiritual master. The public affairs officer, Yasuo Hiramatsu, told me that Master Asahara denied his alleged role in the attack, and he assured me that “all our members still trust our master.” Yet, Hiramatsu confessed, he had his doubts. When I asked him directly if he thought that Asahara was guilty of having planned the gas attack, Hiramatsu said, “I don’t know.” What if he were found to be guilty beyond a reasonable doubt, I asked. “That,” Hiramatsu responded in what was something of an understatement, “would be very difficult to explain.” Yet “even if he did do it,” the public affairs officer professed, this would not shake his faith or cause him to abandon his belief in Master Asahara and the Aum Shinrikyo movement. If the master was involved, Hiramatsu told me, he must have had “a religious reason.”10 This view was shared by other members with whom I spoke, including volunteer clerks in the Aum Shinrikyo bookstore, which was located up several flights of stairs in a high-rise office building in the Shibuya area of Tokyo. When I spoke with the Aum volunteers, their bookstore, the last in what had been a flourishing chain throughout Japan, was due to close in a matter of days.11 It was a convulsive moment in the history of the movement, not only because it had come under public attack, but also because the worldview that the members had so obediently and comfortably accepted had been shattered. The best account I received of how the members viewed the world before and after the nerve gas event came from a young man who had been a member of the staff in the Tokyo office. This former Aum Shinrikyo member, whom I will call Takeshi Nakamura, left the movement in the turbulent days after the attack. When I talked with him at Tokyo’s International House less than a year later, he still had a great deal of respect for the movement’s teachings and an appreciation of its role in giving him a sense of hope and confidence about life. He

Buddhist Faces of Terror |

137

asked me to conceal his identity, however, since he feared that former members of the movement might read about him and seek him out for punishment. Thus the fears associated with the movement still lived with him. Takeshi Nakamura was a thin, nervous young man who had joined Aum Shinrikyo just two months before the incident that tore the movement apart.12 The time immediately before his joining the movement, he told me, had been a difficult one in his career and his personal life. What impressed him when he joined was the movement’s critique of traditional Japanese religion. Most forms of Buddhism, he said, were for scholars or existed solely to facilitate funerary rites. The form of religion that Aum offered was what Nakamura was searching for: something personally transformative and socially prophetic. And he was mesmerized by the mystical, charismatic appeal of Master Shoko Asahara.13 Part of Asahara’s mystique came from his blindness. He was afflicted with infantile glaucoma shortly after he was born in 1955 in a small village in Japan’s southern island of Kyushu. The disease left him completely blind in one eye; in the other he had only limited sight. When it came time for him to go to school, he was sent with his brother, who was totally blind, to a special institution. There he is said to have gained a great deal of power over the other students, all of whom were sightless, by his limited vision.14 They gave him money and status to use his abilities to describe the world around them or guide them through the local town. One of the housemothers in the school described him as “bossy and violent.”15 Asahara came to Tokyo for his higher education. After failing two college entrance examinations, including one that would have allowed him to attend the prestigious Tokyo University, he undertook spiritual lessons on his own. He joined a new religious movement, Agonshu, which was led by a strong, charismatic figure able to prophecy future events. The movement’s teachings borrowed liberally from a variety of Buddhist traditions, and even reached out to Taoist ideas from China and yoga practices from India. It was from Agonshu that Asahara learned about the Hindu idea of the kundalini, a kind of inner consciousness that had to be elevated within the self through yogic practices. By 1985 Asahara had become disenchanted with Agonshu and left, taking the ideas of the movement and a dozen of its members with him to establish his own group. After a trip to the Himalayas in 1986, where he claimed to have received mystic visions from Hindu masters,

138

|

Cultures of Violence

he returned to Japan. He changed his name to Shoko Asahara from the one given him at birth—Chizuo Matsumoto—and in 1987 he named his new group Aum Shinrikyo. Aum is a variant spelling of the Hindu mantra, om, followed by shinri, the Japanese term for “supreme truth,” and kyo, for “religious teaching.” His followers regarded this supreme truth as virtually anything that Asahara uttered. The appearance of the master during the initiation ceremony of Takeshi Nakamura, therefore, was more than the high point of the event; it was the event, as far as Nakamura was concerned. His master entered the room accompanied by a retinue of twenty assistants and was seated on a cushion. Nakamura said that Asahara appeared to be practically blind, though he thought he might have been able to see slightly through one eye. His attitude was serious, even angry, and Nakamura felt he was judging each of them personally. He took a sip from a glass and ritually passed it around the circle of initiates. Nakamura drank from it as instructed. Then Asahara gave a little homily. He told them that he was devoted to both Shiva and the Buddha, and that he expected total devotion from his initiates. When Nakamaru became faint he suspected that the drink they were required to consume had been laced with a hallucinogen. After initiation, Nakamura was not allowed to return to his home, but was sent instead to an Aum monastery, where he devoted himself to meditation. He was then sent back to the Tokyo office, where he worked with the staff. Only a few days after he had taken his position at the office in Tokyo’s Aoyama district, he discovered the movement and his office to be at the center of public attention. It was March 20, 1995, and the city had suffered a spectacular nerve gas attack. When Nakamura first heard the news of the incident, he knew exactly what it meant. He thought that “the weird time had come.”16 When I asked what that meant, Nakamura whispered, “Armageddon.” At the core of Asahara’s prophecies was a great cloud casting its shadow over the future: the specter of a world catastrophe unparalleled in human history. Although World War II had been disastrous to Japanese society, this destructive conflagration—including the nuclear holocausts at Hiroshima and Nagasaki—was nothing compared with what Asahara described as the coming World War III. The term that Asahara chose for this cataclysmic event, Armageddon, is an interesting one. It comes from the New Testament book of Revelation in the Christian Bible and refers to the place where the final conflict between good and evil will occur.17 In the biblical account of this conflict, an earthquake

Buddhist Faces of Terror |

139

splits a great city into parts, and in the calamity that follows all nations perish. Asahara took the prophecies of Revelation and mixed them with visions from the Old Testament and sayings of the sixteenth-century French astrologer Nostradamus (Michel de Nostredame). It was from Nostradamus that Asahara acquired the notion that Freemasons have been secretly plotting to control the world. To these fears Asahara added the same sort of obsession that Christian Identity thinkers possess regarding Jews as a source of international conspiracy. The CIA was also thought to be involved. Asahara also incorporated Hindu and Buddhist notions of the fragility of life into his prognosis for the world, and claimed that his dire prophecies would be fulfilled in part because humans needed to be taught a lesson about mortality. “Armageddon,” Asahara said, must occur because “the inhabitants of the present human realm do not recognize that they are fated to die.”18 When Armageddon came, Asahara said, the evil forces would attack with the most vicious weapons: “Radioactivity and other bad circumstances—poison gas, epidemics, food shortages—will occur,” the master predicted.19 The only people who would survive were those “with great karma” and those who had the defensive protection of the Aum Shinrikyo organization. “They will survive,” Asahara said, “and create a new and transcendent human world.”20 Asahara’s prophecies gave Nakamura a sense of clarity about the world around him and hope for the future. He longed to be one of those survivors who would help to build a better world. Like many Japanese of his generation, he felt that the world had been moving too fast and was becoming too intense for comfort. Before he joined the movement, his own life had seemed empty and unsuccessful. It was reasonable to assume that someone must be profiting from his discomfort. When Asahara talked about an international cadre that was conspiring to enslave the world, the specter frightened him. But, he told me, intuitively Asahara’s views made sense. These prophetic statements of Master Asahara came ringing back to Nakamura when he heard the news of the incident on March 20. Nakamura told me that it felt like the moment in a play when one is suddenly called from the quiet of the wings onto the boisterous stage. Since Asahara had told them that Armageddon was expected in 1997, Nakamura and his colleagues thought that the subway incident was the harbinger of that awful cataclysm, and he fully expected a sequence of horrific events to follow within days or months. The drama, Nakamura said, had begun.

140

|

Cultures of Violence

One of the things that immediately convinced Nakamura that the nerve gas attack was the forerunner of the dreaded Armageddon was the location in which it occurred: not just the subway system, but on trains converging at the Kasumigaseki station in downtown Tokyo. Since the deep underground station was located in the heart of Tokyo’s government area, many journalists at the time jumped to the conclusion that the site had been chosen as an attack on the Japanese government. But inside the Aum Shinrikyo movement’s headquarters in Tokyo, the members—those who were not informed that their own leaders had been implicated in the plot—offered somewhat different scenarios. Takeshi Nakamura and his colleagues thought that the assault might indeed have been an attack on the Japanese government, albeit a deceptive one. They suggested that the government officials had attacked themselves to deflect the public’s attention from what the Aum members thought had really occurred: World War III had begun, and the Japanese government had been secretly captured by America. The use of nerve gas seemed to confirm this theory, since the Aum members had been told by their leaders that only the American army in Japan possessed such a weapon.21 A book of Asahara’s prophecies published by the movement a few months before the subway attack indicated another—and perhaps a more important—reason why the Kasumigaseki station was targeted. Among the predictions about the great conflagration at the end of the twentieth century was one that nerve gas would be used against the populace. Sarin gas was mentioned explicitly. Asahara urged the public to join movements such as Aum that were preparing themselves against the impending attack. The Japanese government, he claimed, could not sufficiently protect them; it had prepared “a poor defense for the coming war,” Asahara said.22 He went on to say that the government had constructed only one subway station of sufficient depth and security to be used as a haven in time of nuclear or poisonous gas attack. “Only the Kasumigaseki subway station, which is near the Diet Building, can be used as a shelter,” and even it was vulnerable.23 Choosing this station as a target illustrated the fragility of Japan’s security, and reinforced Asahara’s claim that only his movement could save the Japanese people when Armegeddon began. Moreover, the attack gave the impression that the first waves of that great war were already on the way. Despite this signal of impending doom, Nakamura felt secure since the Aum organization had developed means of protecting its members against weapons of mass destruction. He thought it significant that no members of Aum Shinrikyo had been injured in the subway gas incident.

Buddhist Faces of Terror |

141

Nakamura concurred with another member of the movement when he said that this event proved that Asahara was watching over the safety of his followers. “Master predicted the gas attack,” the grateful member said, adding that through this warning, “he saved us.”24 Initially, because the movement denied them access to outside media, Nakamura and other members of the movement did not hear the news reports about their own leaders’ involvement in the incident. Later, when they began to hear rumors about the reports, Nakamura said, they did not believe them. They assumed that they were efforts to discredit the movement. When I asked Nakamura what he now thought about Aum’s teachings, he said that he never believed all aspects of the elaborate global conspiracy theory—especially the involvement of Freemasons, which he had found to be far-fetched. He still suspected, however, that Armageddon was possible. But if it did come, Nakamura told me, there was nothing we could do about it. For that reason it was best to concentrate on the present. “Why speculate on world history?” he asked me.25 Nakamura now believed that Asahara was indeed responsible for the Tokyo nerve gas attack. In response to my questions about Asahara’s motives, Nakamura gave three reasons for his former master’s role. In the first place, he said, Asahara wanted to control Japan and “be like a king.” Engineering the nerve gas attack gave him a sense of power. Since Asahara had already allegedly masterminded the murders of several of the movement’s former members and critics, and nothing had happened to him, he believed he could literally get away with murder. “He felt he could do anything,” Nakamura said. Second, Asahara and his colleagues felt trapped by police investigations and wanted to go out “with a bang.” Finally, Nakamura said, Asahara “wanted to be seen as a savior” by creating an act that appeared to fulfill his own prophecies. He “wanted to be like Christ.”26

can buddhist violence be justified? Neither Christ, Buddha, nor any of Asahara’s other spiritual heroes were murderers. What needed to be explained was how a community of intense spiritual devotion could be involved in such a savage act of violence. The personal megalomania of Shoko Asahara could help us understand his own actions, but it did not explain why so many intelligent and sensitive followers, including Takeshi Nakamura, assented to them. Nor did it reveal what Asahara’s “religious reason” for the attack, as Hiramatsu put it, might have been.27

142

|

Cultures of Violence

One might expect that the doctrine of ahimsa—nonviolence—would make any Buddhist organization, even one as eclectic in its teachings as Aum Shinrikyo, immune from religious justification for acts of terror. Yet the history and teachings of Buddhism are not spotless. The great military conquests of the Sinhalese kingdoms in Sri Lanka, for instance, were conducted in the name of the Buddhist tradition and often with the blessings of Buddhist monks. In Thailand the tradition called for those who would rule by the sword as kings to experience first the discipline of Buddhist monastic training. They had to be “world renouncers” before they could be “world conquerors,” as the Harvard anthropologist Stanley Tambiah put it.28 Some traditional Buddhist teachings have tried to identify exactly when the rule of nonviolence can be broken, accepting the notion that circumstances may allow some people to be absolved from the accusation that they killed or attempted to do so. The teachings require that five conditions be satisfied in order to certify that an act of violence indeed took place: something living must have been killed; the killer must have known that it was alive; the killer must have intended to kill it; an actual act of killing must have taken place; and the person or animal attacked must, in fact, have died.29 It is the absence of the third condition—the intention to kill—that typically allows for some mitigation of the rule of nonviolence. Many Buddhists will eat meat, for instance, as long as they have not themselves intended that the animal be killed or been involved in the act of slaughtering it. Using violence nondefensively for the purpose of political expansion is prohibited under Buddhist rules. But armed defense—even warfare—has been justified on the grounds that such violence has been in the nature of response, not intent. Like Islam, the great expansion of Buddhism in various parts of the world has been credited in part to the support given it by victorious kings and military forces who have claimed to be fighting only to defend the faith against infidels and to establish a peaceful moral order. In Sri Lanka, where great battles in the name of Buddhism are part of Sinhalese history, acts of violence perpetrated by Sinhalese activists in the latter decades of the twentieth century have been supported by Buddhist monks, as they have in Myanmar and Thailand.30 I was told by a monk who had participated in violent antigovernment protests that there was no way to avoid violence “in a time of dukkha”—the age of suffering that Buddhists regard as characteristic of recorded human history.31 In such a time, he said, violence naturally begets violence. Politicians who were ruthless and were seen as enemies of religion could reasonably expect

Buddhist Faces of Terror |

143

bloodshed as a sort of karmic revenge for their actions. During such times in Sinhalese history, he claimed, evil rulers were overthrown. “We believe in the law of karma,” he added, “and those who live by the sword die by the sword.”32 The killing of Sri Lanka’s prime minister, S. W. R. D. Bandaranaike, by a Buddhist monk in 1959 is evidence that Buddhists, like their counterparts in other religious traditions, have been able to justify violence on moral—or, rather, supramoral—grounds.33 Following the suppression of the Tamil separatist movement in northern Sri Lanka in 2009, much of the Sinhalese nationalist venom turned towards the Muslim minority community. As in Myanmar, Sri Lanka’s BBS movement led by the radical monk, Galagoda Aththe Gnanasara, has based its campaign of hatred on principles of Buddhist solidarity, a defense of Buddhism in a time of dukkha. In a wave of violence following speeches by Gnanasara in 2014, villages in Southern Sri Lanka were ravaged, Muslim houses were burned, four were killed and more than 80 were injured.34 Precedent has thus been established for the justification of acts of killing within the Buddhist tradition, often for defense of the community or as righteous punishment. There has been a pattern of employing Buddhist monastic discipline practices as a part of the training of soldiers for warfare from Mongolia to Japan.35 None of the traditional Japanese Buddhist justifications for warfare, however, were sufficient to warrant approval for the kind of terrorism conducted by the Aum Shinriyo. Perhaps for that reason Shoko Asahara reached out to other Buddhism traditions for interpretations of the law of karma, the rule of moral retribution, that would allow acts of destruction to be undertaken in religion’s name. In Tibetan Buddhism, Asahara claimed to have found such an exemption. Rather than concentrating on the adverse effect that killing has on the killer’s moral purity, this teaching focuses on the one who is killed and the merit that comes after death. The concept of phoa—that consciousness can be transferred from the living to the dead to elevate their spiritual merit—was extended by Asahara to imply that in some cases people are better off dead than alive.36 According to Asahara’s interpretation of this Tibetan principle, if the persons killed are scoundrels, or are enmeshed in social systems so evil that further existence in this life will result in even greater negative karmic debt, then those who kill are doing their victims a favor by enabling them to die early. Their early deaths would be a kind of mercy killing, allowing their souls to move to a higher plane than they would otherwise have been able to achieve.

144

|

Cultures of Violence

Aum members told some scholars investigating the movement that they saw Asahara’s teachings on this Tibetan principle in a textbook that was made available only to advanced members.37 Ian Reader, a British scholar of Japan’s new religions, has seen the text, which he described as a 360-page photocopied manuscript written in Japanese. Reader said that it contained numerous references to the moral acceptance of mercy killing and that it supported the “right of the guru and of spiritually advanced practitioners to kill those who otherwise would fall into the hells.”38 Scholars of Tibetan Buddhism with whom I have consulted doubt, however, that such a teaching is written in any authentic Tibetan text. It appears to be Asahara’s own concoction. To his followers, however, it had the ring of truth. They also accepted another notion that Asahara planted in their minds: the Hindu concept of planes of consciousness. Nakamura told me that the master had the ability to travel from one plane to the other in a fraction of human time. This ability explained in part why Asahara did things that might seem unusual from a human point of view. According to Hiromi Shimada, who at one time publicly defended Asahara and lost his position as a professor of religion at a women’s college as a result, Asahara taught his followers that he lived in a nonmaterial world.39 He had appropriated Hindu concepts of planes of existence. At the lowest level is the worldly plane, in which ordinary historical activity occurs. Beyond that is the causal plane, which is the source of all meaning in the material world; and even further beyond is the astral plane, which has no shred of the material world whatsoever. Asahara was thought by his followers to be capable of existing in the astral plane, but for the sake of his worldly admirers he hovered in the causal and material planes, allowing those who believed in him to elevate their own souls. Because he lived on a higher plane, however, he could see things that ordinary people could not see, and his actions were consistent with causal plane reality, not our own. For this reason anything Master Asahara might do that seemed odd to ordinary mortals—even involvement in conspiracies to kill other people—could be explained as having its impetus and hence its justification in a higher plane of reality. The killers and their victims were simply actors in a divine scenario. When Asahara was put in jail, Nakamura told me, the members of the movement regarded this incident like a scene in a play: Asahara was playing the role of prisoner, following a script of which they were unaware, for a purpose that only he knew.

Buddhist Faces of Terror |

145

The most dramatic scenario described by Asahara was Armageddon, and that concept also justified the taking of life. Once one is caught up in cosmic war, Asahara explained, the ordinary rules of conduct do not apply. “The world economy will have come to a dead stop,” he said. In the mid-1990s he identified this time as occurring somewhere around August 1, 1999.40 “The ground will tremble violently, and immense walls of water will wash away everything on earth. . . . In addition to natural disasters,” Asahara prophesied, “there will be the horror of nuclear weapons.”41 Nerve gas would also be used in that horrific war— sarin gas, specifically.42 In a perceptive analysis of the Aum Shinrikyo movement, Ian Reader has linked Aum’s concept of cosmic war to a feeling of humiliation. According to Reader, the development of Asahara’s concept of Armageddon went hand in hand with a history of rejection experienced both by Asahara and by members of his movement. This sense of rejection led to conflict with the society around them, and these encounters in turn led to greater rejection. This downward spiral of humiliation and confrontation led ultimately to a paranoid attitude of “Aum against the world.”43 In a peculiar way, the paranoia of its leaders might have been a part of Aum’s appeal. Like many of Japan’s other new religious movements, its attraction was due in part to its opposition to mainstream Japanese society. Where Japanese society has been hierarchical, the new religious movements have provided a spirit of family fellowship—albeit under the powerful control of paternal and maternal figures. Where society’s values have been material, the new movements have given the impression of being transcendently spiritual. According to Susumu Shimazono, Tokyo University’s most respected scholar of contemporary religion, the new religious movements in Japan have gone through two waves of activity: the first occurred in the 1970s and early 1980s, and the other in the late 1980s and 1990s. Shimazono said that the most recent wave was characterized by movements such as the Institute for Religion and Human Happiness, and Worldmate. Aum Shinrikyo was a small and secretive variant in this pattern. These were movements with political agendas, including a resurgent nationalism and millenarian prophecies. Shimazono said that these traits reflect an uneasiness that Japanese people feel about the future, a nervousness about Japanese identity in a global society, and a lack of trust in their political leaders to provide moral vision and social solidarity in times of economic and social disarray.44

146

|

Cultures of Violence

Perhaps because they reflect some of the deepest concerns that Japanese have about their society, these movements experienced enormous popularity. Not even the infamy of Aum Shinrikyo dampened the public’s interest in such movements, apparently including even Aum Shinrikyo itself. Following Asahara’s trial in the late twentieth century there was said to have been a resurgence in Aum membership, not only in Japan but also in Russia and other parts of the world where it had previously enjoyed a sizable following.45 It changed its name to Aleph, but the teachings and leadership were the same. Although the Japanese government had debated over whether to use its authority to limit the freedom of religious movements and outlaw the Aum movement entirely, it backed off from such harsh measures. New religious movements in Japan, including Aum, have continued to enjoy a great deal of latitude and considerable government leniency regarding their freedom of action and range of public expression. Perhaps for this reason Takeshi Nakamura was correct in his assessment at the close of my interview that the Aum Shinrikyo movement was far from demolished. Destroying its center, he said, would likely strengthen it, since it would allow splinter groups and renegade cadres within the movement to establish their own bases of power. The reason for its persistence, Nakamura said, was that it spoke to the needs of people to find certainty and a framework for understanding the unseen forces in the world around them. It was this quest, Nakamura said, that first brought him to Aum. Though he was now regarded “as a traitor” to the movement, Nakamura said that he missed much of what Aum offers to its believers. For him personally the quest that brought him to Shoko Asahara was not over.46

part two

The Logic of Religious Violence

147

chapter 7

Theater of Terror

Do these stories of piety and mayhem have anything in common? This is a critical question, and considering the frequency of acts of religious terrorism around the globe, either answer is significant. If the answer is no, these cases may suggest a worldwide loosening of social control that makes inexplicable acts of violence possible. If it is yes, and if we can find convincing explanations for these patterns, we may shed some light on why violence and religion have reemerged so dramatically at this moment in history, and why they have been found so frequently in combination. The question, then, is whether there are common themes in the stories of Anders Breivik, Michael Bray, Timothy McVeigh, Ian Paisley, Meir Ettinger, Yoel Lerner, Baruch Goldstein, Abu Bakr alBaghdadi, Osama bin Laden, Mahmud Abouhalima, Abdul Aziz Rantisi, Maya Kodnani, Simranjit Singh Mann, Ashin Wirathu, Takeshi Nakamura, and many other religious activists around the world. As we begin to look for answers, the very nature of their violence may provide our first clue. In many cases the incidents of violence in which they have been implicated have been acts not only of destruction but also of bloodshed executed in a deliberately intense and vivid way. It is as if these acts were designed to maximize the savage nature of bloodshed and meant purposely to elicit anger. The catastrophic attack on the Paris nightclub and cafés; the bombings in Oslo and the massacre of a Norwegian youth camp; setting fire to Palestinian houses, burning children alive; attacks on American 149

150

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

embassies in Africa, the Oklahoma City federal building, mosques in Myanmar and nightclubs in Bali; the burning of abortion clinics and the shooting of a clinic doctor in the face; the assassination of Israeli, Sri Lankan, and Indian political leaders; angry mobs pulling Muslim housewives from their homes in Ahmedabad and setting them on fire; the slaying of a busload of Hindu pilgrims in the Himalayan foothills by a band of radical Sikh youths; the agonizing effects of the nerve gas attack in a Tokyo subway; and the bloody confusion of suicide bombings on the otherwise peaceful streets of Baghdad and Kabul, and of Jerusalem and Tel Aviv: all of these are not just incidents of violence, they are acts of deliberately exaggerated violence. The spectacular aerial assaults on the World Trade Center and Pentagon on September 11, 2001, are dramatic illustrations of this theatrical display of violence. Thousands perished in the assault. But even one death can convey in its savagery the force of terrorism. Consider, for example, the gruesome image projected around the world on the internet in 2015 of a captured Jordanian pilot placed in a cage by his ISIS captors. As the world watched in horror, a trail of combustible fluid is ignited with a torch. The flames quickly spread into the cage, engulfing the hapless pilot who writhes in anguish as his body is consumed.1 This video was the most extreme of a series of well-produced videos by ISIS that captured images of the movements’ atrocities, including many incidents of beheadings that have created massive revulsion throughout the world. The footage of the immolation of the pilot created a national outcry in Jordan and a renewal of that country’s commitment to defeating the movement. Clearly the leaders of ISIS knew what they were doing. They were aware that these images would be met with horror and anger; indeed they seemed actively engaged in promoting the dissemination of these pictures on the internet. Why would they want such extreme sadistic images to be seen? ISIS itself has given an answer. “The more gruesome the better,” an ISIS propaganda magazine stated in 2016; or as an Irish activist in Belfast put it some years ago, the object was to terrorize using “the most macabre means.”2 In an interview with a British journalist, Unionist activist Kenny McClinton admitted that in his struggle against Irish republicans, like ISIS he advocated beheading his enemies and impaling their heads on the railing of a park.3 His group, the Shankhill Butchers, were accused of more than thirty gory murders, all committed for the purpose of political intimidation: to show the power of the Protestant community and to scare Catholics into withdrawing their support for the IRA. They attacked

Theater of Terror | 151

an innocent Catholic working man, for instance, chosen at random as he walked to his post as a security guard in a border area between Catholic and Protestant communities, and slowly, viciously killed him. The Catholic was stripped naked, tied, and ritually carved as a sculptor would carve a block of wood.4 Still alive after having received 147 wounds over his body, the hapless victim was suspended from a beam by a slowly tightening noose, where he eventually died of strangulation. His mutilated corpse was then put on display for Catholics and Protestants alike to see. Even when terrorist actions have involved less direct methods of killing—such as car bombs and suicide attacks—many were carried out in such a manner as to be both vivid and horrifying. Targets were often chosen because they were familiar and secure—shopping malls, nightclubs, and centers of mass transit. The timing of the events often ensured that the maximum number of people would be gathered at the target sites—the truck rampage on a Christmas market in Berlin in December, 2016, that killed a dozen innocent shoppers is a horrifying example. In the case of bombing attacks, the explosive devices used were often aimed at wounding people rather than damaging buildings. Nails were embedded in the bombs of Hamas suicide bombers, for instance, to increase their maiming capability. The Aum Shinrikyo scientists considered adding a floral scent to the deadly sarin gas they were to unleash to encourage more people to inhale it.5 When a bomb planted in a busy commercial area of Beirut by ISIS militants exploded and rescue workers and concerned neighbors swarmed into the scene to help save the victims, another bomb went off, timed to kill and maim the rescuers as well. It was a tactic often employed in car bombs in Baghdad and Kabul. In the town of Omagh in Northern Ireland, authorities were warned of a bombing in advance, but they were told that the attack was to take place in a different area from where the bombs were in fact planted. As a result, unsuspecting citizens were herded into an area directly adjacent to the bomb site, and a larger number were killed and wounded than would have been if they had remained where they were. Although spokespersons for the “Real IRA,” which took responsibility for the bombing, claimed that they had not intended so many civilians to be killed, authorities were not so sure. Many agreed with the assessment of the secretary of Northern Ireland, that the Real IRA’s statement was a “pathetic attempt to apologize for and excuse mass murder.”6 They remained convinced that the object of the false information was to kill as many of the townspeople as possible, and to do so in a deliberately horrific manner.

152

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

Many terrorist incidents have been aimed at killing massive numbers of victims. “Kill, kill, kill!” was the battle cry of Boko Haram leader Abubakar Shekau in what he called a “war against Christians.”7 When Boko Haram militants went on rampages in villages in northern Nigeria in 2009 and again in 2015 they were said to have slaughtered over seven hundred in each incident. Car bombings in Iraq have often been set off in marketplaces, or near lines of applicants to enlist in the Iraq army, sometimes timed for multiple explosions to be ignited at once. In 2007 hundreds were killed in simultaneous blasts in towns inhabited by members of the ancient Yazidi religion in northern Iraq; hundreds of Shi’a Muslims were killed in Sadr City on the outskirts of Baghdad by car bombs and mortar fire in 2006, a number that was exceeded in 2016. In other cases, if committed differently, terrorist attacks would have harmed many more than were actually killed. If the sarin gas unleashed in the Tokyo subways on March 20, 1995, had been 70 to 80 percent pure, rather than diluted to only 30 percent of its full strength—solely to protect the safety of the Aum members transporting it—thousands would have perished. An incident a few weeks later at the Shibuya station in Tokyo would have killed twenty thousand if the device had not malfunctioned and been discovered by alert station attendants.8 If the explosives in the 1993 World Trade Center attack had been as strong as the perpetrators expected, as I noted earlier, the entire pair of buildings would have collapsed, taking at least two hundred thousand lives rather than the three thousand who perished when the towers eventually collapsed in 2001. Prior to the September 11 attacks, the largest number of casualties in a single terrorist incident were the 329 passengers killed in the explosion of an Air India jumbo jet off the coast of Ireland on June 23, 1985. It is only by sheer good fortune that even more people have not lost their lives in events designed to be spectacular in their viciousness and awesome in their destructive power. Such instances of exaggerated violence are constructed events: they are mind-numbing, mesmerizing theater. At center stage are the acts themselves—stunning, abnormal, and outrageous murders carried out in a way that graphically displays the awful power of violence—set within grand scenarios of conflict and proclamation. Killing or maiming of any sort is violent, of course, but these acts surpass the wounds inflicted during warfare or death delivered through capital punishment, in large part because they have a secondary impact. By their demonstrative nature, they elicit feelings of revulsion and anger in those who witness them.

Theater of Terror | 153

performance violence How do we make sense of such theatrical forms of violence? One way of answering this is to view dramatic violence as part of a strategic plan. This viewpoint assumes that terrorism is always part of a political strategy— and, in fact, some social scientists have defined terrorism in just this way: “the use of covert violence by a group for political ends.”9 In some cases this definition is indeed appropriate, for an act of violence can fulfill political ends and have a direct impact on public policy. The Paris attacks by ISIS in 2015, for instance, may have been designed for specific purposes, such as bolstering the morale of ISIS supporters in Europe and around the world. They might also have been efforts to goad France and the United States into conducting a ground war in Syria and Iraq—the kind of battle that ISIS thought it could win, unlike the air assaults for which they had little defense. And indeed, the day after the Paris attacks French President Francois Hollande proclaimed that “France is at war” with ISIS, but he stopped short of a commitment to sending in troops to fight against them.10 Despite a clamor for the United States to become more involved following the Paris incident, U.S. President Barack Obama also renewed his pledge of not authorizing “boots on the ground” in the region. Other efforts by perpetrators of terrorist acts to influence public policy may have been more effective. The Israeli elections following the assassination of Yitzhak Rabin may be a case in point. Immediately after Rabin’s death, his successor, Shimon Peres, held a 20 percent lead in the polls over his rival, Benjamin Netanyahu, showing that the efforts of the Jewish terrorist, the assassin Yigal Amir, had the countereffect of making the Israeli populace more sympathetic to the pacifist position. But this lead soon vanished following a different terrorist assault carried out by Muslim activists, a series of Hamas suicide attacks on Jerusalem buses, shortly before the election that was held to determine Rabin’s successor. Netanyahu narrowly edged out Peres in the May elections. Many observers concluded that Netanyahu—no friend of Islamic radicals—had the terrorists of Hamas to thank for his victory. When the Hamas operative who planned the attacks was later caught and imprisoned, he was asked whether he had intended to affect the outcome of the elections. “No,” he responded, explaining that the internal affairs of Israelis did not matter much to him. This operative was a fairly low-level figure, however, and one might conjecture that his superiors had a more specific goal in mind. But when I put the same question

154

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

to the political leader of Hamas, Dr. Abdul Aziz Rantisi, his answer was almost precisely the same: these attacks were not aimed at Israeli internal politics, since Hamas did not differentiate between Peres and Netanyahu. In the Hamas view, the two Israeli leaders were equally opposed to Islam.11 “Maybe God wanted it,” the Hamas operative said of Netanyahu’s election victory. Even if the Hamas leaders were being disingenuous, the fact remains that most of their suicide bombings have served no direct political purpose. Other examples of religious terrorism have also shown little strategic value. Anders Breivik’s assault on the Norwegian youth camp and Timothy McVeigh’s bombing of the Oklahoma City federal building did not result in uprisings against the governments that Breivik and McVeigh thought were too permissive of liberal multiculturalism. Similarly, the release of nerve gas in the Tokyo subways and the attacks on the World Trade Center did not provide any immediate political benefits to those who caused them. Although the financial costs of the September 11, 2001, attacks were staggering, there is no evidence that Osama bin Laden and other members of the Al-Qaeda network launched the attacks solely to cripple the U.S. economy. Mahmud Abouhalima, convicted for his part in the 1993 World Trade Center bombing, told me that assaults on public buildings did have a different kind of strategic value in that they helped to “identify the government as enemy.” In general, however, the “political and economic ends” for which these acts were committed were distant indeed.12 A political scientist, Martha Crenshaw, has shown that the notion of “strategic” thinking can be construed in a broad sense to cover not just immediate political achievements but also the internal logic that propels a group into perpetrating terrorist acts. As Abouhalima said, many of those who committed them felt they were justified by the broad, longrange benefits to be gained.13 My investigations indicate that Crenshaw is right—acts of terrorism are usually the products of an internal logic and not of random or crazy thinking—but I hesitate to use the term strategy for all rationales for terrorist actions. Strategy implies a degree of calculation and an expectation of accomplishing a clear objective that does not jibe with such dramatic displays of power as the Norwegian youth camp killings or the destruction of the World Trade Center towers. These creations of terror are done not to achieve a strategic goal but to make a symbolic statement. By calling acts of religious terrorism “symbolic,” I mean that they are intended to illustrate or refer to something beyond their immediate tar-

Theater of Terror | 155

get: a grander conquest, for instance, or a struggle more awesome than meets the eye. As Abouhalima said, the bombing of a public building may dramatically indicate to the populace that the government or the economic forces behind the building were seen as enemies, to show the world that they were targeted as satanic foes. The point of the attack, then, was to produce a graphic and easily understandable object lesson. Such explosive scenarios are not tactics directed toward an immediate, earthly, or strategic goal, but dramatic events intended to impress for their symbolic significance. As such, they can be analyzed as one would any other symbol, ritual, or sacred drama. I can imagine a line with “strategic” on the one side and “symbolic” on the other, with various acts of terrorism located in between. The hostage taking in the Japanese embassy by the Tupac Amaru in Peru—clearly an attempt to leverage power in order to win the release of members of the movement held prisoner by the Peruvian government—might be placed closer to the political, strategic side. The Ahmedabad massacre and the Tokyo nerve gas assault might be closer to the symbolic, religious side. Each was the product of logical thought, and each had an internal rationale. In cases such as the Hindu massacre of Muslims in Ahmedabad that were more symbolic than strategic the logic was focused, not on an immediate political acquisition, but at a larger, less tangible goal. The very adjectives used to describe acts of religious terrorism—symbolic, dramatic, theatrical—suggest that we look at them not as tactics but as performance violence. The spectacular assaults of September 11, 2001, were not only tragic acts of violence; they were also mesmerizing theater. In speaking of terrorism as “performance,” however, I am not suggesting that such acts are undertaken lightly or capriciously. Rather, like religious ritual or street theater, they are dramas designed to have an impact on the several audiences that they affect. Those who witness the violence—even at a distance, via the news media—are therefore a part of what occurs. Moreover, like other forms of public ritual, the symbolic significance of such events is multifaceted; they mean different things to different observers. This suggests that it is possible to analyze comparatively the performance of acts of religious terrorism. There is already a growing literature of studies based on the notion that civic acts and cultural performances are closely related.14 The public protests against Muslims by Buddhist monks in Myanmar, and the controversial parades undertaken each year by the Protestant Orangemen in Catholic neighborhoods of Northern Ireland, for instance, have been described not only as cultural

156

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

events but also as political statements.15 So it is not unreasonable to view public violence as performances as well. In addition to referring to drama, the term performance also implies the notion of “performative”—as in the concept of “performative acts.” This is an idea developed by language philosophers regarding certain kinds of speech that are able to perform social functions: their very utterance has a transformative impact.16 Like vows recited during marriage rites, certain words not only represent reality but also shape it: they contain a certain power of their own. The same is true of some nonverbal symbolic actions, such as the gunshot that begins a race, the raising of a white flag to show defeat, or acts of terrorism. Terrorist acts, then, can be both performance events, in that they make a symbolic statement, and performative acts, insofar as they try to change things. When Abdelhamid Abaaoud led his group of ISIS killers into street cafés and a Paris nightclub; when Yigal Amir aimed his pistol at Israel’s prime minister, and when Sikh activists targeted Punjab’s chief minister with a car bomb in front of the state’s office buildings, the activists were aware that they were creating enormous spectacles. They probably also hoped that their actions would make a difference—if not in a direct, strategic sense, then in an indirect way as a dramatic show so powerful as to change people’s perceptions of the world. But the fact that the ISIS activists and the assassins of Prime Minister Rabin and Chief Minister Beant Singh hoped that their acts would make such a statement does not mean that they in fact did. As I noted, public symbols mean different things to different people, and a symbolic performance may not achieve its intended effect. The way the act is perceived—by both the perpetrators and those who are affected by it— makes all the difference. In fact, the same is true of performative speech. One of the leading language philosophers, J. L. Austin, has qualified the notion that some speech acts are performative by observing that the power of the act is related to the perception of it. Children, for example, playing at marriage are not wedded by merely reciting the vows and going through the motions, nor is a ship christened by just anyone who gives it a name.17 The French sociologist Pierre Bourdieu, carrying further the idea that statements are given credibility by their social context, has insisted that the power of performative speech—vows and christenings—is rooted in social reality and is given currency by the laws and social customs that stand behind it.18 Similarly, an act of terrorism usually implies an underlying power and legitimizing ideology. But whether the power and legit-

Theater of Terror | 157

imacy implicit in acts of terrorism are like play-acted marriage vows or are the real thing depends in part on how the acts are perceived. It depends, in part, on whether their significance is believed. This brings us back to the realm of faith. Public ritual has traditionally been the province of religion, and this is one of the reasons that performance violence comes so naturally to activists from a religious background. In a collection of essays on the connection between religion and terrorism published some years ago, one of the editors, David C. Rapoport, observed—accurately, I think—that the two topics fit together not only because there is a violent streak in the history of religion, but also because terrorist acts have a symbolic side and in that sense mimic religious rites. The victims of terrorism are targeted not because they are threatening to the perpetrators, he said, but because they are “symbols, tools, animals or corrupt beings” that tie into “a special picture of the world, a specific consciousness” that the activist possesses.19 The street theater of performance violence forces those who witness it directly or indirectly into that “consciousness”—that alternative view of the world. This gives the perpetrators of terrorism a kind of celebrity status and their actions an illusion of importance. The novelist Don DeLillo goes so far as to say that “only the lethal believer, the person who kills and dies for faith,” is taken seriously in modern society.20 When we who observe these acts take them seriously—are disgusted and repelled by them, and begin to distrust the peacefulness of the world around us—the purposes of this theater are achieved.

setting the stage In looking at religious terrorism as theater, the appropriate place to begin is the stage—the location where the acts are committed, or rather, performed. When members of the Al-Qaeda network searched for a location to target their resentment against the United States and its global economic and military power, they chose the same location previously selected by a group of their comrades associated with an expatriate Muslim sheikh living in New Jersey. For this Jersey City group of conspirators, this target was literally the most dramatic stage in sight: the World Trade Center. It turned out to be an apt location for a variety of symbolic reasons. Designed to be the tallest buildings in New York City, and at one time the highest in the world, the 110-story twin towers of the World Trade Center housed the headquarters of international businesses and

158

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

financial corporations. Among its many offices were quarters for the federal Secret Service and the governor of the state of New York. More than fifty thousand employees daily entered the huge complex, which also included a hotel, shops, and several restaurants. From the windows of the penthouse restaurant, Windows on the World, the executives who came to lunch could scarcely identify Jersey City and the other industrial areas stretched out across the Hudson River in a distant haze. From across the river in Jersey City, the twin towers of the building were so tall that when no other part of the skyline in New York City was visible, the tower tops were seen ethereally suspended above the eastern horizon. In 1993, when Muhammad A. Salameh came to the Ryder truck rental lot on Jersey City’s busy Kennedy Boulevard to rent a ten-foot Ford Econoline van, therefore, he could catch glimpses of the World Trade Center in the distance. Two days later, at noon, shortly after the van was driven to level B2 of the parking basement of the World Trade Center, an enormous blast shuddered through the basement levels, collapsing several floors, killing several workers instantly, and ripping a 180-foot hole in the wall of the underground Port Authority Trans-Hudson train station. On the 110th floor, in the Windows on the World restaurant, young executives who were attending a career-launching lunch felt a thump and heard what seemed to be a mild earthquake or a clap of thunder. When the electricity went off, they were told to leave the building—a poignant rehearsal of the hurried evacuation on September 11, 2001. On this occasion, their fears were initially less severe, and they headed downstairs jauntily singing “One Hundred Bottles of Beer on the Wall.” Their joviality turned to nervous apprehension when they were greeted with clouds of soot and smoke as they groped their way down 110 flights of stairs into a scene of confusion and suffering on the ground floor.21 Throughout the world, the news media projected images of American power and civic order undermined. Based on the belief by government officials that the World Trade Center was targeted primarily as a public symbol, security was rushed to federal monuments and memorials in Washington DC later that afternoon. Although six people were killed in the blast, it was the assault on the building itself that received the most prominent reportage. Within an hour of the World Trade Center bombing, a coffeehouse in Cairo was attacked—allegedly by the same group implicated in the World Trade Center incident. This bombing killed more people but garnered very little attention outside of Cairo. Regardless of the number killed, a coffeehouse is not the World

Theater of Terror | 159

Trade Center. The towers were in their own way as American as the Statue of Liberty or the Washington Monument, and by assaulting them activists put their mark on a visibly American symbol. The same can be said about the bombing of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City by Timothy McVeigh and Terry Nichols. In this case the number killed was much greater than in the 1993 World Trade Center bombing, and an enormous outpouring of public sympathy for the victims overshadowed any concern about damage done to the building. Yet there were several similarities between the two events: McVeigh and Nichols used a mixture of ammonium nitrate fertilizer and diesel fuel not unlike that used in the 1993 World Trade Center blast, and they mimicked the World Trade Center bombers by employing a Ryder rental truck. Like Mahmud Abouhalima and his colleagues, these self-designated soldiers were fighting a quasi-religious war against the American government, and they chose a building that symbolized what they regarded as an oppressive government force. In the downtown area of Oklahoma City, the Murrah building was an imposing edifice. It served as the regional headquarters for a variety of agencies linked with the federal government. The overwhelming majority of these offices were related to the beneficent side of governmental affairs, such as welfare and social security. But the building also housed the regional offices of the federal Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms (ATF), from which agents were sent to Waco, Texas, to enforce firearm laws in a confrontation that led to the standoff at the Branch Davidian headquarters. For this reason the Oklahoma City offices of the ATF, along with the regional offices of the FBI (whose headquarters were also in Oklahoma City, but some fifty blocks away from the Murrah building), had been the frequent target of verbal abuse by protesting members of right-wing militias. The sidewalk in front of the Murrah building had been the site of antigovernment demonstrations from both ends of the political spectrum: antiwar protestors from the left and firearms supporters from the right. If one had to choose a single building that symbolized the presence of centralized federal governmental power in this region of mid-America, the Murrah building in Oklahoma City would be it. When the dust settled after the devastating roar of the enormous explosion on Wednesday morning, April 19, 1995, the entire front of the building had been sheared off, killing 168 and injuring more than five hundred. Among the dead and injured were scores of children in the building’s day-care center, but only four ATF officials were injured, and none were killed.

160

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

Clearly, the target of the attack was not so much the government agents, or even an agency such as the ATF, as it was the building itself and its everyday staff of government workers. What was targeted was a symbol of normal government operations. In this scenario of terrorism, the lives of the workers were, like the building, a part of the scenery: they and the edifice constituted the stage on which the dramatic act was to be performed. If the building were attacked at night without the workers present, the explosion would not have been a serious blow to government operations, nor would the pain of the event be felt as acutely by society at large. If the building’s employees had been machine-gunned as they left their offices, with the building itself left unscathed, the symbolism of an attack on normal government operations would have been incomplete. Such targets as the World Trade Center and the Oklahoma City federal building have provided striking images of a stable, seemingly invulnerable economic and political power. Yet all buildings are ultimately vulnerable, a fact that performers of terror such as Mohamed Atta, Mahmud Abouhalima, and Timothy McVeigh have been eager to demonstrate. Some groups that have targeted the lifeblood of modern society have chosen a different symbol of centrality: its major transportation systems. In today’s cities, the most vibrant structures are often the airports. Their importance is demonstrated by the sheer size of their landing fields and the frequency of their air traffic as much as by the grandeur of their architecture. Therefore, some terrorist attacks have focused on airport buildings and landing fields. The 2016 attack on the Brussels airport, the 2002 shooting at an El Al Airlines counter at a Los Angeles air terminal, and the 2006 attempted bombing at John F. Kennedy airport in New York City are cases in point. But because air traffic itself is indicative of a society’s economic vitality, often airplanes rather than airports have provided terrorism’s stage. Some of the largest numbers of victims killed in terrorist attacks have been in airline bombings, including the Air India attack over the Atlantic Ocean near Cork, Ireland, that killed 329; the Pan Am explosion over Lockerbie, Scotland, in which 270 victims perished; and the midair bombing of a Russian Airbus over the Sinai desert after leaving Sharm el-Sheikh, Egypt, in 2015, that killed 224. If it had been successful, one of the most dramatic acts of terrorism would have been Ramzi Yousef’s Bojinka plot, aimed at eleven U.S. trans-Pacific passenger airplanes and alleged to have been funded by Osama bin Laden, which would have created a catastrophic event on one fateful day. The term

Theater of Terror | 161

Bojinka was one that Yousef himself had chosen and was the label for the file in the hard disk of his white Toshiba laptop computer that listed the details of the plot—where flights would depart, what routes they would take, and where the participants in the plot should deplane in order to escape the explosions caused by the bombs that they were to leave behind. Only one plane, a Philippine Airlines aircraft, was actually destroyed in a trial run carried out by Yousef before the full plot could be carried out. In the trial that convicted him of conspiring to commit these acts of terrorism, Yousef, acting as his own lawyer, offered as his main defense the notion that anyone with computer expertise could have planted such information on his hard disk. Yet he was not able to refute the testimony of witnesses who heard him talk about the plot and the Philippine Airlines stewardess who saw him sitting in the very seat under which a bomb exploded on a later leg of the flight, after Yousef had departed. In December 1994, Yousef is said to have boarded the plane and, once it was aloft, entered one of the bathrooms and mixed a highly inflammable cocktail involving a liquid form of nitroglycerin. He sealed it in a container and attached a blasting cap and a timer. Returning to his seat, he strapped the device underneath the cushion and departed the plane at its next stop, leaving the bomb beneath the seat to explode in midair as the plane journeyed on to its next destination. It is a scenario eerily similar to one account of how TWA Flight 800 may have exploded shortly after takeoff at Kennedy Airport in New York on July 17, 1996, two months after Yousef’s trial began, which is one reason some journalists jumped to the conclusion that the plane must have been downed by Muslim activists allied with Yousef.22 Though increased airport security following the 9/11 attacks have greatly diminished the number of midair bombings in the twenty-first century, some of the attempts have been spectacular. In 2001, for instance, jihadi activist Richard Reid attempted to explode bombing material hidden in his shoe on an American Airlines plane midflight between Paris and Miami, Florida. On Christmas day in 2009, a young Nigerian man attempted to ignite an explosive hidden in his underwear as the Northwest Airlines flight from Amsterdam was descending to land in Detroit, Michigan. The so-called “underwear bomber,” Umar Farouk Abdulmatallab, was allegedly carrying out his murderous mission under the instructions of the American jihadi activist Anwar alAwlaki who was then based in Yemen. If he had been successful all 289 passengers on board would likely have been killed.

162

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

Prior to the 9/11 attacks, according to a chronology maintained by Bruce Hoffman at the RAND Corporation and St. Andrews University, twenty-two airliners were bombed worldwide in the last three decades of the twentieth century, and many others were hijacked. A nation can feel dishonored by the bombing of one of its airlines even when the plane, such as the downed American aircraft, Pan Am 103, is far from home. In that case the bomb—plastic explosives hidden in a portable radio-tape player, allegedly placed by Libyan intelligence agencies operating out of Malta—blew up the aircraft as it flew above Scotland in 1988, the shredded pieces of the plane landing near the small town of Lockerbie. A Libyan intelligence officer was indicted and imprisoned by the Scottish government in 2001 for his role in the plot, and the U.S. government insisted on an admission from the Libyan for its complicity. In 2002 Libyan President Muammar el-Qaddafi accepted responsibility on behalf of his government and agreed to pay compensation to the families of the victims, though Qaddafi himself denied any prior knowledge of the plot. During the 2011 uprising in Libya in which Qaddafi was overthrown and killed, a former government official revealed that Qaddafi had in fact known about the plot and authorized it.23 When an Air India jumbo jet exploded in midair over the Irish coast, in what was assumed to be a terrorist act, the plane was also far from home. It was also far from the struggle for a Sikh homeland in the northern Indian state of Punjab, which many people believe was connected to the bombing. Although Sikh activists deny that any of their groups were involved—”It simply did not serve our purposes,” one Sikh leader told me—the act was most likely committed by someone with a grievance against the Indian government, perhaps a renegade Sikh unit unknown even to the movement’s leaders.24 Although the airplane was downed thousands of miles from India’s soil, the attack on the Air India airliner was regarded by the Indian press and by the country’s leaders as an attack on India itself. Especially when the struggle that serves as the context for terrorist acts is a local feud—between two factions or between a separatist movement and the state—the transportation system targeted is often not an international carrier but a local one. Many of the bombing attacks in Baghdad have been either at bus stations or onboard buses, including minivans that serve as small private transports. In the conflict between the militant Muslim Hamas movement and the secular Israeli state, buses were the targets of suicide bombers in Jerusalem and Tel Aviv. Buses were also a favored target of Sikh activists in the Punjab, as

Theater of Terror | 163

were trains, during the heyday of the separatist movement in the late 1980s.25 Trains have been the target of some of the most spectacular terrorist attacks in recent years. As we noted earlier in this book, it was a firebombing aboard a train car that sparked the Ahmedabad massacre in 2002. Trains were also the target of another terrorist attack in India: synchronized bomb blasts on seven trains leaving the city of Mumbai on July 11, 2006. The bombs were put in pressure cookers to increase their intensity and placed onto the first-class compartments of trains leaving the financial district of the city center and fanning out to the city’s suburbs during the evening rush hour. Over two hundred commuters were killed and another seven hundred badly injured. A terrorist group linked to the Pakistani militant Muslim movement, Lashkar-eTaiba, claimed responsibility, in retaliation against the 2002 Ahmedabad massacre and other mistreatment of Muslims in India. In 2015, however, twelve Indian Muslims associated with the Indian mujahideen were convicted of conducting the attacks, though the accused have protested their innocence and their convictions have been appealed. A similar kind of simultaneous train bombing had occurred in Spain in 2004, when ten explosions were ignited on four trains converging on the city center of Madrid during the peak of the morning rush hour on March 11. The number killed was 191, and another 1,800 commuters were injured. It was popularly believed that the purpose of the bombings was to punish Spain for its support of the U.S. coalition forces in Iraq, and the general elections several days after the incident supported the candidacy of antiwar politicians. Only one person has been convicted for the Madrid train bombings, a Moroccan man, indicating a possible Islamic cell was responsible, though as of 2016 the causes of the attack were still shrouded in controversy. In the United States, saboteurs derailed an Amtrak train near Phoenix, Arizona, in 1995, killing one person on the train and injuring seventy-eight. A note at the scene signed by “Sons of the Gestapo”—a little-known local right-wing group—specified retaliation for the federal government’s brutality at Waco and Ruby Ridge as the reason for the attack. Although Amtrak is a nongovernmental corporation, presumably the fact that the trains lumbering through the empty Arizona desert were part of a national transportation system was sufficient reason to identify the train as a symbol of an oppressive governmental presence in the American hinterlands. It was the subway train system that was the target of a massive attack in London on July 7, 2005. Again it was a simultaneous attack during

164

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

the morning rush hour, in this case involving three separately detonated bombs, and slightly later, another bomb ignited on a double-decker bus. In this incident the bombings were suicide attacks, perpetrated by young men who carried their lethal weapons in backpacks. Fifty-two persons were killed and another seven hundred were wounded. Three of the young men were British-born sons of Pakistani immigrants, and one was a Muslim convert originally from Jamaica. In videotapes made before the attacks two of the terrorists cited the British complicity for the U.S. invasion and occupation of Afghanistan and Iraq, and other alleged “atrocities” against Muslims committed by British authorities.26 In Brussels on March 22, 2016, also during the morning rush hour, the subway station at the Maalbeek section of the city, along with the American Airlines counter in the Brussels airport, were the targets of three bombs ignited within an hour of each other, killing thirty-four. In Paris, subway trains and stations have been the objects of a series of terrorist attacks, including those in the 1990s allegedly undertaken by Algerian supporters of the Islamic Front Party (FIS) unhappy over the French government’s support for the Algerian military regime. The regime canceled elections in the former French colony that would have brought the Islamic party into power. One of the most publicized of the Parisian attacks was a bomb placed in the St. Michel station, one of the busiest in Paris, located near the Notre Dame Cathedral. The placement of this bomb was strikingly similar to a terrorist action undertaken by a quite different group in another part of the world: the subway nerve gas attack committed by members of the Aum Shinrikyo movement in Tokyo. As I noted in the previous chapter, the multiple bags of deadly sarin that were unsealed on several subway lines were designed to achieve their maximum destructive power when the trains converged at the central Kasumigaseki subway station. The choice of this location was telling because it was calculated to simultaneously humiliate the government, whose main buildings were within walking distance of the Kasumigaseki stop, and cast questions on the ability of the government to protect the public and itself. Like acts of terrorism by groups in other parts of the world, the movement was assaulting the very concept of national security. In virtually every other recent example of religious terrorism, the building, vehicle, structure, or locale where the assault took place has had symbolic significance. In some cases the symbolism of the locale was specific: the abortion clinics in the United States that were bombed by religious prolife activists or the western-style hotels in Kabul and

Theater of Terror | 165

tourist boats in Egypt that were attacked by Islamic activists who regarded them as impositions from a foreign culture. Sheikh Abdul Rahman had proclaimed such tourist sites as “sinful” and insisted that “the lands of Muslims will not become bordellos for sinners of every race and color.”27 The shrine of the Tomb of the Patriarchs in Hebron, where Dr. Goldstein killed scores of praying Muslims, also had specific symbolic significance, for Goldstein and his group regarded the shrine as emblematic of the Muslim occupation of Jewish territory. The symbolism of other locations has been more general: the locations represented the power and stability of the society itself. As we have seen, buildings such as the Pentagon, the World Trade Center, and the Oklahoma City federal building, along with transportation systems, are examples of such general symbols. One group—the Islamic al-Fuqra (“the impoverished”) movement based in Upstate New York—attacked the power of the government in a literal as well as a figurative sense: it was accused of hatching a plot to disable Colorado’s electrical system.28 Computer networks and internet channels are also symbols of a society’s centrality—its central communication system. As many computer viruses have demonstrated, acts of sabotage can cripple large corporations and government agencies. In response to the fighting in Syria and the war in Iraq, hackers electronically entered the computer systems of several U.S. government agencies, leaving antiwar messages in their wake. By revealing the vulnerability of a nation’s most stable and powerful entities, movements that undertake these acts of sabotage have touched virtually everyone in the nation’s society. Any person in England could have been taking the London subway on that fateful day in 2005, and anyone in France could have been at the nightclub in Paris on that awful night in November 2015. Anyone in the United States could have been riding the elevator in the World Trade Center, visiting the Oklahoma City federal building, traveling on Pan Am 103, or using a computer when a virus invaded it, and everyone in the United States will look differently at the stability of public buildings, transportation networks, and communication systems as a result of these violent incidents. Why is the location of terrorist events—of performance violence—so important? David Rapoport has observed that the control of territory defines public authority, and ethnic-religious groups have historically gained their identity through association with control over particular places.29 Roger Friedland and Richard Hecht have taken this point further in an article comparing the struggle between Hindus and Muslims over a sacred site in the town of Ayodhya in India, and the conflict between

166

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

Muslims and Jews over Temple Mount in Jerusalem. They, along with Ron Hassner in his book War on Sacred Grounds, point out that religious conflicts are often not only about space but about the centrality of space.30 Such central places—even if they exist only in cyberspace—are symbols of power, and acts of terrorism claim them in a symbolic way. That is, they express for a moment the power of terrorist groups to control central locations—by damaging, terrorizing, and assaulting them—even when in fact most of the time they do not control them at all. Days after the 2015 Paris attack the shops were open and business went about as usual on the city streets. Soon after the destruction of the World Trade Center towers in 2001, most businesses headquartered in the buildings were back to work, operating from backup information systems located elsewhere. In Oklahoma City, soon after the Murrah Federal Building was destroyed the governmental functions that had been conducted there continued unabated. Yet during that brief dramatic moment when a terrorist act levels a building or damages some entity that a society regards as central to its existence, the perpetrators of the act assert that they—and not the secular government—have ultimate control over that entity and its centrality. The very act, however, is sometimes more than symbolic: by demonstrating the vulnerability of governmental power, to some degree it weakens that power. Because power is largely a matter of perception, symbolic statements can lead to real results. On the whole, however, the small degree to which a government’s authority is discredited by a terrorist act does not warrant the massive destructiveness of the act itself. More significant is the impression—in most cases it is simply an illusion—that the movements perpetrating the acts have enormous power and that the ideologies behind them have cosmic importance. In the war between religious and secular authority, the loss of a secular government’s ability to control and secure public spaces, even for a terrible moment, is ground gained for religion’s side.

a time to kill Much the same can be said about the dramatic time—the date or season or hour of day—that a terrorist act takes place. There are, after all, centralities in time as well as in space. Anniversaries and birthdays mark such special days for individuals; public holidays demarcate hallowed dates for societies as a whole. To capture the public’s attention through an act of performance violence on a date deemed important to the group

Theater of Terror | 167

perpetrating the act, therefore, is to force the group’s sense of what is temporally important on everyone else. When I was contacted by the Norwegian television producers the day that Anders Breivik attacked the youth camp on an island near Oslo in 2011, I found two interesting temporal connections. One was the year in the title of his manifesto. As I mentioned in an earlier chapter in this book, Breivik titled the manifesto that he posted on line the day of the attacks “2083: A European Declaration of Independence.” By searching through the posted manuscript I found a reference to the Battle of Vienna in 1683, so the date in the manifesto’s title would mark the four hundredth anniversary of what is remembered by European nationalists as the decisive struggle that kept the Ottoman army from claiming northern Europe and turning it into a Muslim territory. In Breivik’s imagination, the multicultural policies of the liberal party with which the youth camp was affiliated were tantamount to an Ottoman invasion, and would produce the same result of an Islamicized Europe if not stopped, and kept, in Breivik’s words, independent. There is another historical event that is referenced in Breivik’s manifesto, however, which also is of temporal significance. Breivik writes about the historical background of the European resistance to Islam, focusing on a particular moment in the Crusades when the Kingdom of Jerusalem was established in 1099 (Breivik lists the date as 1098), liberating the holy city from Muslim rule and placing it under control of the Christian military organization, the Knights Templar. Breivik is enormously fond of the Knights Templar, and in fact characterizes himself as a modern-day member of that medieval order. In the introduction to his manifesto, Breivik describes himself (under the name Andrew Brewick) as “Justiciar Knight Commander for Knights Templar Europe and one of several leaders of the National and pan-European Patriotic Resistance Movement.”31 On the last page of his diary, which closes his manuscript, written hours before he undertook his assault, he signs himself as “Justiciar Knight Commander for Knights Templar Europe.” That fateful day was July 22, and perhaps it is just a coincidence, but the decisive battle establishing the Kingdom of Jerusalem was also on July 22. Given Breivik’s sense of historical destiny, it is quite possible that he chose that date deliberately, thinking that his action was an equivalent moment of liberation conducted by a Knights Templar of today, namely himself. When Timothy McVeigh and Terry Nichols chose the date of their explosion at the Oklahoma City federal building, April 19, it was also

168

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

with an eye on its historical significance. They were essentially imposing a public holiday—a dramatic public recognition—as a memorial to several events. April 19 was a special day for McVeigh and other Christian Identity activists for a number of reasons. It was Patriot’s Day in New England, the day the American Revolution had begun in 1775; it was the day in 1943 that the Nazis moved on the Warsaw ghetto to destroy the Jewish population on what in that year was the Day of Passover; and it was the day in 1993 when the Branch Davidian compound in Waco, Texas, burned to the ground. It was also the day in 1995 when a Christian Identity activist, Richard Wayne Snell, was due to be executed in prison for murder charges. According to Kerry Noble, one of Snell’s colleagues in the Arkansas compound called the Covenant, the Sword, and the Arm of the Lord (CSA), Snell himself had planned to bomb the Oklahoma City federal building in 1983 in opposition to what he regarded as the demonic and oppressive actions of the U.S. government.32 For various reasons that project was aborted. Was it only coincidence that the building was finally destroyed on the day of Snell’s death? Noble suggested that McVeigh knew Snell through his contacts with Elohim City, also a Christian Identity compound, which McVeigh is known to have visited from time to time. The leader of Elohim City, Robert Millar, was Snell’s primary adviser and defender. The date, April 19, clearly had significance to McVeigh. Soon after Snell’s execution date had been set, McVeigh created a fake driver’s identification card that listed his birth date as April 19; his real birthday was April 23. Eleven days before the bombing, McVeigh is said to have gone to a bar with one of the leaders of Elohim City and bragged to another customer, “You’re going to remember me on April 19.”33 Hours after the Oklahoma City bombing, as he was being prepared for his own execution later that evening, Snell caught glimpses on television of the devastated building that he had once planned to destroy. “Hail his victory,” Snell is said to have proclaimed shortly before he was put to death.34 His body was taken to Elohim City for burial. In some cases the days that are held sacred by an activist group are known only to that group or to a certain segment of society. According to Noble, “The entire right wing was aware of Snell’s pending execution date.” In other instances public religious holidays create times of heightened sensitivities and hold the potential for violent reprisals. Noble warned government agencies that they should not provoke radical groups associated with the Christian Identity movement during three times of the year. One is mid-April, with its association with Easter and

Theater of Terror | 169

the resurrection of Jesus; some groups believe that anyone who is killed at that time of the year will be resurrected three days later. A second period is mid-August, historically a time of persecution for Jews and by implication the “real Jews” of the Christian Identity tradition. The third period to avoid is September and October during the Feast of Tabernacles, thought to be a time of miracles.35 One of the most notorious incidents in recent Jewish history—Dr. Goldstein’s massacre at the shrine of the Tomb of the Patriarchs at Hebron—also occurred during a religious holiday. Goldstein chose Purim as the time for his assault, a day that is revered by Jews as the celebration of vengeance against Amalek. The scroll of Esther notes that Haman was a direct descendant of the Amalekite king Agag, and according to one Israeli author, “Goldstein wasn’t killing innocent men at prayer, but Haman and Hitler and Arafat, sanctifying God’s name by avenging Amalek.”36 In that sense, Goldstein was calling on Jews everywhere to reclaim their tradition, redress the humiliation of Jews, and give an immediate political meaning to the ideas they professed to honor on their sacred days. Goldstein’s attack occurred on a date that is sacred not only to Jews, however, since his attack occurred during Muslims’ most sacred month, Ramadan. This fact was not lost on many Muslim activists in the Hamas movement, who saw Goldstein’s timing not only as a way of honoring Jewish tradition but as an attempt to discredit Islam. They became convinced of this interpretation when they heard rumors—never confirmed—that Goldstein had acted not alone, but on the behest of the Israeli government and army. Regardless of whether or not Goldstein had acted under official Israeli sanction, from the Hamas point of view the facts spoke for themselves: the attack was done in a mosque, during worship, and during Ramadan. When “the Israelis killed our women and children during the holy month of Ramadan,” one Hamas leader told me, “we wanted to do the same to Israel, to show them that even their women and children are vulnerable: none are innocent.”37 Timing, it turned out, was as important to Hamas leaders as it was to Goldstein, and many of their suicide missions coincided with the anniversaries of the deaths of Hamas heroes killed by Israelis. With the choice of those dates, the attacks created a macabre sort of memorial to these martyrs. Ramadan was also the time when ISIS leaders called on followers around the world to create a maelstrom of terror in 2016, and the attack on a gay nightclub in Orlando, Florida, may have been direct respond to that call. The Muslim season of fasting has also been a time

170

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

for heightened violence in Algeria. The country has been devastated by violence ever since the military halted the elections of 1991–92, denying the leading religious party, the Islamic Salvation Front, an opportunity for victory. Perhaps the most horrific events have been the wholesale slaughter of villagers at night. The villages appeared to have been chosen at random for an act undertaken in an almost sacrificial manner: the throats of the villagers were slit in a style not unlike that of the ritual killing of animals for religious sacrifices. Moreover, the most frequent occurrence of these massacres was in the weeks immediately preceding the holy month of Ramadan. In December 1998, for instance, seven villagers were attacked in this manner in the town of Merad, sixty miles west of Algiers, two weeks before Ramadan began.38 Another thirty were killed in neighboring villages at the end of the month.39 America’s Independence Day—July 4—was the date chosen by Benjamin Nathaniel Smith to go on a shooting spree across central Illinois and Indiana in 1999. The shootings, though random, were all aimed at racial minorities: Smith, a member of a white supremacist church, killed an African-American basketball coach and a Korean graduate student, and he seriously wounded six Orthodox Jews, a Taiwanese student, and two other African Americans. According to Smith’s former girlfriend, the Independence Day timing was not a coincidence. Smith wanted to proclaim the freedom of white Americans, she said, from the increasing pluralism of American society. “There is a time to kill,” Rev. Michael Bray wrote, paraphrasing a passage from the book of Ecclesiastes in the Bible.40 In his case, however, Bray was talking not about particular dates but about a period of history, a moment justifying what he called “defensive actions on behalf of the unborn” and what others have called terrorist acts against abortion clinics and their staffs. From Bray’s perspective an appropriate time could also have been a sequence of events—one that led to what he regarded as virtually an inevitable occurrence of violence. Bray offered this sense of timing as one explanation for why his friend, Rev. Paul Hill, killed a doctor and his escort at a Florida clinic. Bray said that the timing was right—indeed, it required it—and if Hill had not done the deed at that time, Bray would have felt called upon to do it himself.41 Bray set the context. He and his colleagues had long held the conviction that killing abortion clinic staff members was justified. Their moral calculations were supported by one of the tenets of the just-war theory in Christian theology: a small act of violence may be justified in order to stop a much greater violent assault. In Bray’s view, the hundreds of

Theater of Terror | 171

“unborn babies,” as he termed them, who were daily killed in what Bray called “abortuaries” warranted an act of violence in an attempt to stop the slaughter. The issue, then, was not whether violent attacks on abortion clinic staff were justified, but when they should be implemented. The issue was one of timing. There had been two botched attempts at killing abortion clinic staff in the years immediately prior to Paul Hill’s act, and Bray and Hill felt that this momentum of failure had to be reversed. It was essential to members of Bray’s circle that this “defensive action” be done right. In Pensacola, Florida, prior to Hill’s attack, Michael Griffin shot Dr. David Gunn three times in the back, killing him instantly. At first Hill was jubilant over the incident and appeared on the American television talk show hosted by Phil Donahue, praising Griffin’s action. But as the case moved to trial, Griffin tried to defend himself by blaming his rash actions on the prolife movement. In the view of Bray and Hill, Griffin had lost his nerve.42 According to Bray, Hill was deeply disappointed over this turn of events. Hill had hoped that the killing of Dr. Gunn would be a watershed in the prolife movement and that an IRAsort of paramilitary uprising would occur. But this did not happen, and Hill blamed Griffin for robbing his act of the significance that Hill thought it deserved. Hill was equally disappointed by another attempt at killing an abortion doctor that went awry. In this instance Shelley Shannon, who was part of Hill’s and Bray’s circle of activists, attempted to kill Dr. George Tiller at a Wichita, Kansas, abortion clinic in August 1993. After firing at the doctor she was immediately caught. As she was being led away by the police, she was heard to yell out, “Did I kill him?” The answer was no. The doctor was wounded but still quite alive. Shannon did not try to wriggle out of her charges, and she received a lengthy prison sentence for the act, but because the abortion clinic doctor lived to work another day—in fact, was back at work the very next day—in the eyes of Hill and Bray her attempt was flawed. “Shelley had great character but fell short,” Bray said, adding that “Griffin did the job but not with good character.” According to Bray, these attempts set up a need—he called it a “destiny”—to commit this act, and to do it correctly. It should be an effective military operation carried out by a soldier of righteous and unwavering motives. This soldier could have been Rev. Michael Bray, but the lot fell to his friend Rev. Paul Hill. Bray told me that Hill had the Christian “calling” to do the action.43 “The Lord had called me and

172

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

He showed me the way,” Hill confirmed in a letter that he wrote to Bray and other supporters after the killing.44 On Friday, July 29, 1994, as Dr. John Britton and his volunteer escort, James Barrett, drove up to the clinic where abortions were to be performed, Hill shot through the windows of the truck, hitting them both in the head, killing them instantly and wounding Barrett’s wife, June, who was accompanying her husband. As Hill was being taken away, he shouted, “No innocent babies are going to be killed in that clinic today.”45 After the attack Bray and others in his circle were kept under surveillance by police, who feared that more violence was forthcoming. But according to Bray they need not have worried. After Hill’s action was completed, he said, it was no longer necessary for a similar one to be attempted. The deed had finally been done correctly, the symbolic statement had been made, and Hill, in Bray’s eyes, had made the ultimate sacrifice. Yet Bray was being a bit disingenuous, since in his mind there was another deed to be done, another action that he and his comrades thought was necessary in taking the life of a doctor who provided abortions. After all, Kansas abortion provider Dr. George Tiller had escaped Shelley Shannon’s attempt to assassinate him, and in the eyes of Bray and his colleagues Tiller was still a marked man. Their sense of justice would not be complete until Dr. Tiller had been killed—”aborted,” in the words of Mike Bray. Their moment came in 2009 when Scott Roeder, an antiabortion activist who was a member of the antigovernment Sovereign Citizen Movement and said to be mentally unstable, shot and killed Dr. Tiller during church services at the Reformation Lutheran Church in Wichita, where Tiller served as an usher. Although Tiller was wearing body armor, even in church, a shot to the head created a fatal blow. Bray and his colleagues were euphoric; finally, they thought, the cycle had come to a completion and history had been fulfilled. Soon after Roeder’s attack on Dr. Tiller, Bray wrote a letter to Roeder, which he posted publicly on his website, declaring that the assassin had acted in “righteousness and mercy” in his savage attack on Dr. Tiller. Bray went on to praise Roeder as following the commandments of God as he “sought to deliver the innocents from the knife of a baby murderer.”46 This sense of a great momentum in history leading to a cataclysmic moment punctuated with violence has characterized other movements as well. Perhaps the most spectacular example in recent history was the Tokyo nerve gas incident. Immediately preceding the event the leaders of Aum Shinrikyo had felt that the government and police were closing in on them for crimes of murder and kidnapping that had been committed

Theater of Terror | 173

earlier, and for which the nerve gas incident provided a denouement and a deflection of the police’s attention. But although this may have precipitated the attack, there was another, grander purpose that was related to the movement’s notion of cataclysmic history. For years the movement’s leader, Shoko Asahara, had predicted that history was gathering momentum toward an awesome conflagration, a battle even greater than World War II: he called it Armageddon. Asahara’s worst predictions were supposed to materialize sometime around the year 2000. The year 2000 was momentous for other movements as well. Early in 1999, fourteen members of an American group called the Concerned Christians were suddenly deported from Israel, where they had come to prepare for the coming of the millennium. Based in Denver, Colorado, they had abandoned their worldly possessions and come to Jerusalem with the expectation that the end of the millennium would be the occasion for the apocalyptic confrontation predicted in the book of Revelation—Armageddon—after which Christ would return to earth. The group was charged with planning to instigate a series of terrorist acts in order to precipitate Armageddon, and perhaps to kill themselves in an act of mass suicide in the process. Other religious groups shared their anticipation of a cataclysmic end to the millennium. By mid-1999, more than a hundred Christians from Europe and the United States had moved to Jerusalem to await the coming of the Messiah. Israeli authorities feared that some of them shared the designs of the Concerned Christians to precipitate Armageddon through an act of terrorism—“the most serious of crimes that harm state security,” as the Israeli magistrate who deported the Concerned Christians had called it.47 In all of these cases a certain time, or timing, was critical to the terrorist act. It provided a proscenium for the event. An aura of specialness was imparted by the day or moment in history in which the act occurred. By locating themselves within a transcendent temporal dimension, the perpetrators declared their missions to be of transcendent importance as well. Ultimately they were attempting to capture and reshape what society regarded as central in time as well as in space. What was significant about such symbolically central times and places—and for that matter, central things, including subways and airplanes—is that they represented power. They were centers, in Clifford Geertz’s use of the term: “concentrated loci of serious acts.”48 Such places and times constituted the “arenas” of society “where its leading ideas come together with its leading institutions” and where “momentous events” were thought to occur.49 When activists attacked such a

174

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

place, be it the World Trade Center, the London Underground, or the Kasumigaseki subway station in central Tokyo, during one of those momentous times, they challenged the power and legitimacy of society itself.

reaching the audience As the novelist Don DeLillo once said, terrorism is “the language of being noticed.”50 Without being noticed, in fact, terrorism would not exist. The sheer act of killing does not create a terrorist act: murders and willful assaults occur with such frequency in most societies that they are scarcely reported in the news media. What makes an act terrorism is that someone is terrified by it. The acts to which we assign that label are deliberate events, bombings and attacks performed at such places and times that they are calculated to be observed. Terrorism without its horrified witnesses would be as pointless as a play without an audience. When American aid worker Peter Kassig was taken captive by ISIS in 2014 and then brutally beheaded in front of video cameras, the disgusting footage of this image was immediately available online. Pictures of this and many other beheadings conducted by ISIS have been posted on their web magazine, Dabiq, and its successor, Rumiyah, and then spread around the world. These images have garnered a global audience almost instantly. Even though the slickly produced Dabiq and Rumiyah can be accessed only through the “deep web”—sites on the World Wide Web that are not accessible through normal search engines—and many of the other ISIS communications are delivered on alternative web systems available through Tor (“the onion router”), which would indicate that the main audience for this publicity is their own followers and supporters who know how to access these sites, in fact the images are immediately disseminated to news media outlets everywhere. Why would ISIS want everyone to know how vicious their behavior has been? This question has been the subject of speculation by many observers, including officials associated with the United Nations. Their conclusion is that these images have at least three audiences: the populace under their political control, their potential supporters, and their governmental enemies. These images are useful means of intimidating both their subjects and their foes, and they are dark advertisements of their power that help to spread their message to the wider world. “By publicizing its brutality,” a UN report concluded, “the so-called ISIS seeks to convey its authority over its areas of control, to show its strength to attract

Theater of Terror | 175

recruits, and to threaten any individuals, groups or States that challenge its ideology.”51 Such acts of terrorism, therefore, are meant to intimidate not just their immediate witnesses but all who are aware of them, even at a distance. Rev. Michael Bray said as much when he explained the secondary effect of bombing abortion clinics. He admitted that bombing one or two clinics did not make much of a dent in the volume of abortions committed on a particular day in American society. Yet, he said, the actions had “symbolic value” in that they deterred abortionists and their clients who heard about the attacks and were intimidated by them.52 Bray implied that the primary purpose of such attacks was to have the image of burned and damaged abortion clinics portrayed across the nation. Indeed, Bray regularly published such images in his own newsletter and on his website. The images of such terrorist acts were more important than whatever direct effect the acts themselves had. Perhaps the most enduring image from the tragic bombing of the Oklahoma City federal building was the photograph of the bloody, mangled body of an infant carried in the arms of a rescue worker who attempted—futilely, as it turned out—to save the small child’s life. Perhaps no other picture could have portrayed as poignantly the pathos of innocence defiled or evoked so strongly the righteous anger of many over what appeared to be a hideous and senseless act. The perpetrators of the bombing were not the photographers of this picture, of course, nor were they the ones who distributed it on the front pages of newspapers around the world. Yet this picture, its wide circulation, and the public revulsion it produced were an intrinsic part of the terrorist event, magnifying its horror far beyond the number of people immediately affected by the blast. For many who have been involved in plotting terrorist attacks, the ability to seize the attention of the public through the news media is precisely the point. When I asked Mahmud Abouhalima what he felt to be the greatest threat to Islam, he gave a surprising answer: media misrepresentation.53 He told me that secularism held a virtual lock on media control and that Islam did not have news sources to present its side of contemporary history. By implication, acts of terrorism such as the one for which he was convicted—the 1993 bombing of the World Trade Center—laid claim to the images and headlines of the world’s media, at least for a moment. Abouhalima himself was very media conscious. He carefully read news accounts about him and his group, indicating which ones he felt were fair (Time magazine, for example), and

176

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

which ones he thought were scurrilous (New York Times and Newsday, for instance). Abouhalima was particularly incensed over a book written by Newsday reporters, Two Seconds under the World, in which he was characterized as the master conspirator behind the World Trade Center bombing.54 On the other hand, he proudly kept in his cell the copy of Time magazine in which his picture appeared on the cover and the account of his life was the lead story. In this case, he felt that the facts about him were portrayed fairly and nonjudgmentally. In my own attempts to interview activists supporting or involved in terrorist acts, I found individuals fairly receptive to meeting with me and telling their stories. My initial contacts with them were through academic colleagues or journalists. Many of them were more open to the possibility of my interviewing them if the contacts came through news media connections. The more international the media network, the better. In Japan, for instance, I was told by officials in Aum Shinrikyo that they would speak with me as long as I was not accompanied by Japanese journalists or scholars. I had the impression that they were concerned not only with objectivity—suggesting that non-Japanese could judge their situation more honestly—but also with the breadth of their audience. In talking with an American scholar they hoped to get their message to the wider world. Moreover, there was not much more the Japanese media could have discovered about the Aum Shinrikyo movement: the media coverage of the group in Japan was already at a saturation level. The nerve gas incident marked the beginning of an extraordinary media frenzy that lasted for several years, encompassing hundreds of hours of television time and thousands of articles and books. One of the journalists reporting the story herself became a celebrity as a result of her reportage, and other journalists clamored to interview her.55 One American journalist working in Japan told me that this story was “bigger than the Kobe earthquake—bigger than the O. J. Simpson trial,” and he added that “the Japanese public can’t get enough of it.”56 Just as the American public was drawn into the events following the bombing of the U.S. embassies in Africa, the World Trade Center, and the Oklahoma federal building, and as the news media of the Middle East have been dominated by the terrorist acts of Muslim and Jewish activists, the Japanese came to look on terrorism as a kind of national drama. Are the news media inadvertently complicit with the publicity purposes of terrorism? Thoughtful journalists have pondered over exactly this question, wondering, for instance, whether to show video footage

Theater of Terror | 177

of the ISIS beheadings. The Norwegian television producers covering the Oslo attacks of Anders Breivik argued among themselves over whether to post Breivik’s manifesto on their website, knowing that his acts of mass killing were meant in part to draw the public’s attention to his writings. The New York Times, in considering whether to publish the Unabomber’s thirty-five-thousand-word manifesto, agonized over the role that the news media was being coerced into playing, and questioned whether the newspaper’s coverage—especially its willingness to publish the bomber’s writings—would alleviate terrorism by helping to solve the mystery of the bomber’s identity or add to terrorism’s suffering by inadvertently encouraging other activists to seek the exposure that the newspaper seemed willing to offer. The publisher of the Times, Arthur Sulzberger, Jr., lamented the idea of “turning our pages over to a man who has murdered people.” But he added that he was “convinced” that they were “making the right choice between bad options.”57 The fact that the publication of the manifesto eventually led to the identification of Theodore Kaczynski as the bomber by his brother David would seem to vindicate the decision of the Times publishers. It brought to an end a seventeen-year string of violence involving sixteen letter bombings that wounded twenty-three and left three others dead. Still, it is unclear whether other activists might have been spurred on by the newspaper’s capitulation to a terrorist’s media demands. In the case of the visual medium of television, however, there is little that terrorists need to demand, since the highly sensational nature of their activities captures television’s attention immediately and completely. In a collection of essays on contemporary culture, Jean Baudrillard described the terrorism of the late twentieth century as “a peculiarly modern form” because of the impact that it has on public consciousness through electronic media. According to Baudrillard, terrorist acts have emerged “less from passion than from the screen: a violence in the nature of the image.”58 Baudrillard went so far as to advise his readers “not to be in a public place where television is operating, considering the high probability that its very presence will precipitate a violent event.”59 His advice was hyperbolic, of course, but it does point to the reality that terrorist events are aimed at attracting news media exposure and perhaps would not happen as frequently, or in the same way, if the enormous resources of the news media were not readily at hand to promote them. The worldwide media coverage of the ISIS beheadings and a host of other terrorist events, including the attacks on the World Trade Center,

178

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

the Brussels airport; the Paris stadium, cafés, and concert hall; the Bali nightclub; Israeli markets; and trains in Mumbai, Madrid, and London illustrates a new development in terrorism: the extraordinary widening of terror’s audience. Throughout most of history the audiences for acts of terrorism have been limited largely to government officials and their supporters, or members of rival groups. What makes the terrorism of recent years significant is the breadth of its audience, a scope that is in many cases virtually global. When television does not adequately report the ideas and motivations behind their actions, many activist groups have found the internet and social media sites such as Twitter to be effective alternatives. Movements such as ISIS, Hamas, and Aryan Nations have well-established websites. The ISIS online web magazines, Dabiq and Rumiyah, are directly available only on the “deep web,” as I have mentioned earlier. But a Google web search will immediately bring up several readily available sites, such as the Clarion Project, which posts the English-language version of the magazines as a public service, allowing the site to critique their claims and assertions while at the same time making copies of them accessible.60 The graphic quality of the magazine is very impressive, and the English-language articles are written in impeccable English. Other radical organizations have also found the internet to be a valuable recruitment and publicity tool. An anti-abortion site, The Nuremberg Files, which advocated the killing of abortion clinic doctors and maintained a list of potential targets, was removed by its internet service provider after a red line was drawn through the name of Dr. Barnett Slepian on the day after he was killed by an assassin. The creator of the site, Neal Horsley, said that the move was “a temporary setback” and changed his internet service provider to continue posting it.61 Other groups, including Christian Identity and militia activists, have protected their sites with passwords that allow only their members to gain access. Thus, even when the audience is selective, the message has been projected through a public medium. In some cases an act of violence sends two messages at the same time: a broad message aimed at the general public and a specific communication targeted at a narrower audience. Many of the ISIS terrorist attacks, for instance, may well have been aimed at bolstering the confidence of its own supporters and potential followers. The Paris attacks in November 2015 came at a time when ISIS was losing territory and its number of volunteers were diminishing, but the global impact of the attacks indicated to its followers that ISIS was still capable of creating worldwide attention and instilling fear in the hearts of establishment politi-

Theater of Terror | 179

cians in the West. In cases of Islamic violence in Palestine and Sikh terrorism in India, one of the purposes of the assaults was to prove to movement members that the leadership was still strong enough to engender the life-and-death dedication of their commandos. In other cases, the point was to intimidate followers of the movement and to force them to follow a hardline position rather than a conciliatory one. Motives such as these help to explain one of the most puzzling forms of contemporary violence: silent terror. These intriguing acts of terrorism are ones in which the audience is not immediately apparent. The public is often mystified by an explosion accompanied only by an eerie silence, with no group claiming responsibility or explaining the purpose of its act. As days passed after bombs ripped through the Mumbai train system in India in seven coordinated explosions within eleven minutes during the afternoon rush hour on July 11, 2006, and no person or group took credit for the actions, questions arose as to why no group had owned up to the attacks in order to publicize its cause. It was not until almost ten years later, in September 2015, that several people were convicted of the crimes, but the conspiratorial organization behind them has yet to be uncovered. Similarly, no one, including members of Osama bin Laden’s Al-Qaeda network, claimed responsibility for the spectacular assault on September 11, 2001. If one assumes that these attacks were conducted, in part, to advertise the groups’ cause, why would members of the groups not take credit for them? This question has also been posed after other, similarly unexplained terrorist events. On November 17, 2015, a homemade bomb exploded in a Russian commercial airline that had just departed the airport at the resort city of Sharm el-Sheikh on the coast of the Red Sea; Prime Minister Vladimir Putin claimed it was an act of terrorism, but no group claimed responsibility. A year later, however, an Egyptian airlines mechanic whose brother had joined ISIS was arrested for his part in placing the bomb on the Russian plane. In 2008, a bomb exploded next to a military recruiting office in New York City’s Times Square; again, no person or group took credit. Similarly, the downing of the Air India jetliner, the truck bomb that destroyed a Jewish center in Buenos Aires, and the attacks on Bali nightclubs and an Israeli resort in Mombasa, Kenya, were all followed with silence. In cases where the anonymous perpetrators have been identified, such as the Pan Am 103 bombing over Lockerbie, Scotland, in which Libyan government officials were accused and arrests were made, a full acknowledgment of the crime by the perpetrators was never admitted.

180

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

Even in the cases where the accused were brought to trial and convicted—such as the Gujarat massacre in India, the Oklahoma City bombing, and the Tokyo subway attack—the guilty denied their complicity. Mahmud Abouhalima, even after being convicted of participation in the 1993 World Trade Center bombing, told me that he was “nowhere near” the building at the time of the blast and that he had no relationship with Sheikh Omar Abdul Rahman, the spiritual leader of the group convicted of the bombing.62 Assuming for the moment that the government case against him was strong and that he was in fact involved in the crime for which he was convicted, why would he or any other activist involved in a violent incident deny it? When we discussed the Oklahoma City bombing, Abouhalima told me that it made no difference who the perpetrators of that event were, as long as the event made the point that the American government was an enemy. This was significant, Abouhalima said, since one of the things that frustrated him was the American public’s complacency, its inability to recognize that great struggles were going on in the world, and its denial that the U.S. government was deeply involved in them. Bombing a public building demonstrated the reality of that hidden war. Since terrorism is theater, the catastrophes at the Mumbai commuter trains, the World Trade Center, the Oklahoma City federal building, and the U.S. embassies in Africa broadcast that message to the world. From the point of view of the perpetrators, this was enough; the message was successfully sent, and they did not need to brag about their ability to convey it. In a world in which information is a form of power, public demonstrations of violence have conveyed potent messages indeed. When groups are able to demonstrate their capacity for destruction simultaneously in different locations, even different parts of the world, as in the case of the seven coordinated Mumbai bombings, the ISIS attacks at six different locations in Paris, and the U.S. embassy bombings at two different countries in Africa, this is an even more impressive display than single-target events. It is no less so if the only audiences who know who did it, who can appreciate the perpetrators’ accomplishment, and who can admire their command over life and death are within the group itself. The act demonstrates their ability to perform a powerful event with virtually global impact. The forms of religious terrorism that emerged in the last decade of the twentieth century have been global in at least two senses. Both the choices of their targets and the character of their conspiratorial networks have often been transnational. The very name of the World Trade

Theater of Terror | 181

Center indicates its role in transnational global commerce, and citizens of eighty-six different countries were among its victims. The members of the Al-Qaeda network of perpetrators of these and other attacks were multinational—ethnically originating in Saudi Arabia, Egypt, Sudan, Afghanistan, Pakistan, Algeria, and elsewhere—and they plotted their attacks in such diverse locales as Germany, Spain, Sudan, Morocco, and the United States. These incidents have also been global in their impact, in large part because of the worldwide, instantaneous coverage by transnational news media. This has been terrorism meant not just for television but for CNN. In the case of the Al-Qaeda attacks on the World Trade Center and elsewhere, these have also been events meant for Al-Jazeera television, the news channel in Qatar that broadcasts throughout the Middle East. Increasingly, terrorism has been performed for an internet audience around the world. In that sense it has been as real a global event as the transnational events of the global economy. Ironically, terrorism has become a more potent global political force than the organized political efforts to control and contain it. The United Nations lacks the military capability to combat terrorist organizations around the world, and does not have the intelligence-gathering capacity to deal with worldwide terrorism organized and publicized globally on the internet. Instead, consortia of nations have been forced to come together to handle the information sharing and joint operations required to deal with forces of violence on an international scale. This global dimension of terrorism’s organization and audience, and the transnational responses to it, gives special significance to the understanding of terrorism as a public performance of violence—as a social event with both real and symbolic aspects. As Bourdieu has observed, our public life is shaped as much by symbols as by institutions. For this reason, symbolic acts—the “rites of institution”—help to demarcate public space and indicate what is meaningful in the social world.63 In a striking imitation of such rites, terrorism has provided its own dramatic events. These rites of violence have brought an alternative view of public reality—not just a single society in transition, but a world challenged by strident religious visions of transformative change.

chapter 8

Cosmic War

“We are at war and I am a soldier,” said a young British man, Mohammad Sidique Khan, on a videotape made some hours before he and three other dedicated young activists detonated a series of suicide bombs in the London tube train and a double-decker bus on July 7, 2005.1 In his rambling statement, he admitted that the media would likely portray him as a monster, a terrorist out to harm innocent civilians. But he saw himself differently, as a defender of his community and his faith in a battle that he felt had been going on for some time. Most people in Britain, he said, were unaware of this warfare, though he felt it acutely, and as a result of his actions on that terrible day in 2005, he said, addressing his fellow citizens in England, “now you too will taste the reality of this situation.” A similar motive was behind the San Bernardino, California, shooting in December 2015 that killed fourteen and wounded many more, which was regarded at the time—by most Americans, the news media, and government officials—as a terrorist attack. But on the pages of the slick online magazine Dabiq the perpetrators of the attack, Syed Rizwan Farook and his wife, Tashfeen Malik, were lauded as heroes. They were not terrorists but soldiers in an ongoing war. Moreover, it was a war that was not initiated by ISIS but by its western enemies. According to Dabiq, the actions of the San Bernardino couple was a response to the attempts of the “American-led crusaders” in their efforts of “waging war against the Khalifah [the ISIS self-proclaimed caliphate].” Hence 182

Cosmic War | 183

they should be revered as warriors, “defiantly terrorizing the crusaders in their very strongholds.”2 Osama bin Laden said as much in a proclamation delivered long before the catastrophic attacks on the World Trade Center and Pentagon, and months before the bombing of the American embassies in Kenya and Tanzania—bombings he was accused of masterminding and financing. The world is at war, he said in his 1998 fatwa, making clear that it was not he who started the war, but Americans, through their actions in the Middle East. These had constituted, in bin Laden’s words, “a clear declaration of war on God, His messenger and Muslims.”3 Just as the leaders of ISIS did, he insisted that his own acts of violence were merely responses to a great ongoing struggle. It was a proclamation that he repeated in his public statements following the September 11, 2001, assaults. The assaults themselves were described by the American media, not as a criminal act by a small rogue band, but precisely as bin Laden wanted them to be perceived: as an act of war. In words that echoed bin Laden’s, American newspapers after September 11 proclaimed the world to be at war, a war that President George W. Bush soon defined as a “war on terrorism.” The imagined wars of ISIS and Al-Qaeda are not the only ones recognized by religious activists around the world, nor were they the only ones employing terrorism as a tactic or targeting Europe and America. Anders Breivik, pictured in military costume, imagined himself to be the commander of a revived version of the Knights Templar, the soldiers of the medieval Christian Crusades; his act of terrorism in Norway was intended as a response to the war that he imagined was being waged on northern Europeans in order to impose a multicultural society, a war that Breivik feared that Christendom was losing. When Bo Gritz, the leader of the American Patriot movement, led a posse into the woods of South Carolina to hunt for the Atlanta Olympic Park bomber, Eric Robert Rudolph, he explained that Rudolph considered himself “a soldier at war”—one whose enemy was the American government. Gritz could be confident of that assessment, since many of his militia colleagues viewed themselves in exactly the same way. The acronym RAHOWA, which stands for “racial holy war,” is in fact a greeting and a rallying cry in the World Church of the Creator, the group associated with Benjamin Nathaniel Smith’s racially targeted killings in Illinois and Indiana. “The Lord God is a man of War,” Christian Identity leader Kerry Noble reminded his followers in the Arkansas compound of the Covenant, the

184

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

Sword, and the Arm of the Lord.4 After he had served prison time and left the movement, Noble regretted his radical stance but explained that he then felt it necessary, since his group “needed to know that it was time to cross the line into violence,” and that these actions would be “acceptable to the Lord.”5 When one of Noble’s former colleagues, Bob Matthews, took seriously this mandate for violence and was implicated in killing a Jewish radio talk show host, he secluded himself in a hideout on Whidbey Island, north of Seattle, where he issued a statement declaring that he and his comrades were in “a full and unrelenting state of war” against the U.S. government.6 The Bible is “a book of war, a book of hate,” another Christian Identity activist remarked.7 These images of divine warfare are persistent features of religious activism. They provide the content and the themes that are played out in the grand scenarios that lie behind contemporary acts of performance violence. In many cases these images are not new but are a part of the heritage of religious traditions that stretch back to antiquity, and abundant examples of warfare may be found in sacred texts. In a booklet entitled Prepare War! for instance, Kerry Noble provided a scriptural rationale for his martial stance and for his involvement in the Christian Army of God. Because God was “a man of war” (Exod. 15:3) and took vengeance on his enemies, Noble argued, it behooved his followers to do the same. Like many activists who have turned to terror, he has been driven by an image of cosmic war. I call such images “cosmic” because they are larger than life. They evoke great battles of the legendary past, and they relate to metaphysical conflicts between good and evil. Notions of cosmic war are intimately personal but can also be translated to the social plane. Ultimately, though, they transcend human experience. What makes religious violence particularly savage and relentless is that its perpetrators have placed such religious images of divine struggle—cosmic war—in the service of worldly political battles. For this reason, acts of religious terror serve not only as tactics in a political strategy but also as evocations of a much larger spiritual confrontation. The script of cosmic war is central to virtually all of the incidents of performance violence described in the first part of this book. In Christian movements, the literature of the militia and the Christian patriots—including the manifesto of Anders Beivik and Timothy McVeigh’s favorite book, The Turner Diaries—is rife with images of warfare.8 A brochure published by the Christian Identity-affiliated group Aryan Nations included this statement in their creed of faith: “We believe

Cosmic War | 185

there is a battle being fought this day between the children of darkness (today known as Jews) and the children of Light (God), the Aryan race, the true Israel of the Bible.”9 The Christian Reconstruction preacher Rev. Michael Bray described his violent abortion clinic protests as part of a “culture war” being waged in the United States that includes, among other issues, conflicts between “big and little government, high and low taxation, gun control and no gun control, abortion rights and no abortion rights, rights to sodomy and no sodomy rights.”10 In Northern Ireland Rev. Ian Paisley, who has frequently spoken in military terms about faith and politics, launched a magazine named the Battle Standard.11 A follower of Paisley who was convicted of terrorist acts assented to the notion that his assaults on Irish Catholics were part of a “religious war.”12 Jewish activists such as Meir Ettinger and his grandfather, Rabbi Meir Kahane, have also been convinced that their violent acts have been authorized as weapons in a divine warfare sanctioned by God. Dr. Baruch Goldstein’s massacre at the shrine of the Tomb of the Patriarchs in Hebron was described as a military act. “All Jews,” one of his supporters told me—implying that it was common knowledge—are “at war with the Arabs.”13 In an odd echo of this Jewish activist’s statement, Hamas supporters claim that they too are “at war”—with Israel.14 It is this great conflict that has created the need for Hamas, Sheikh Ahmed Yassin told me.15 Mahmud Abouhalima warned me that Americans are unaware that there is “a war going on.”16 Shortly before the first attack on the World Trade Center, when Abouhalima was driving a taxicab in New York City, an ABC journalist recalls riding with the Muslim activist and being lectured that America would lose the war against Islam without even knowing that it was in it, or when the moment of defeat had arrived.17 The Muslim concept of struggle—jihad—has been employed for centuries in Islamic theories of both personal salvation and political redemption. “Life is faith and struggle,” said Iran’s Ayatollah Khomeini, indicating that the notion of fighting is basic to human existence and on a par with religious commitment.18 As noted earlier, Abd alSalam Faraj and others have exploited the idea of jihad to call for physical force, if necessary, in the struggle against all ideas, ideologies, and political institutions that they regard as alien to Islam. But the concept of jihad is not a carte blanche for violence. The use of the idea to justify nondefensive attacks—such as acts of terrorism—has been highly controversial within Muslim theological circles. An American scholar of

186

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

Islam, Bruce Lawrence, has argued that the term changes in meaning depending on its historical context and has always had social and economic, as well as military and political, dimensions.19 Regardless of the nuances of its usage, however, jihad is fundamentally a concept of struggle, an image of battle that ordinarily is peaceful, a testimony to the eternal struggle of good and evil within each person’s soul, but that also abounds in the rhetoric of violent religious activists in both Abrahamic and non-Abrahamic faiths. When the militant Sikh leader Jarnail Singh Bhindranwale exhorted his followers to action, he called for “a struggle . . . for our faith, for the Sikh nation, for the oppressed.”20 On the personal level it is a conflict between faith and the lack of faith; on the social level it is a battle between truth and evil. Supporters of the Bharatiya Janata Party in India have evoked images of the great wars of the Hindu epics, the Mahabharata and the Ramayana. Ashin Wirathu in Myanmar imagined himself in a battle to defend Burmese Buddhism; and the leader of the Buddhist syncretist movement Aum Shinrikyo imagined warfare in the grandest of terms: a global war that would surpass World Wars I and II in its savage intensity and powers of destruction.21 These nearly ubiquitous images of warfare evoked by militant religious groups at the turn of the twenty-first century are significant for the understanding of violence and religion that will be explored in the remainder of this book. In this chapter and the next, we will see how the notion of cosmic war provides the script being played out in the violent performances of militant religious activists and is linked to notions of conquest and failure, martyrdom and sacrifice. In chapter 10, we will see how violence can be part of a broader justificatory scheme that is empowering on both the personal and social levels. In the final chapter we will explore ways that images of struggle have helped to make religion an agent of honor and legitimization, thereby raising the importance of religion as an ideology of order that sustains public life.

grand scenarios Looking closely at the notion of war, one is confronted with the idea of dichotomous opposition on an absolute scale. It is not just a matter of differing opinions or an even contest with an opponent. After all, the articulation and adjudication of differences are not advanced by warfare. War suggests an all-or-nothing struggle against an enemy whom one assumes to be determined to destroy. No compromise is deemed

Cosmic War | 187

possible. The very existence of the opponent is a threat, and until the enemy is either crushed or contained, one’s own existence cannot be secure. What is striking about a martial attitude is the certainty of one’s position and the willingness to defend it, or impose it on others, to the end. Such certitude on the part of one side may be regarded as noble by those whose sympathies lie with it and dangerous by those who do not. But either way it is not rational. One of the first rules of conflict resolution is willingness to accept the notion that there are flaws on one’s own side as well as on the opponent’s side. This is the sensible stand if one’s goal is to get along with others and avoid violence.22 But what if that is not one’s goal? A bellicose stance fundamentally contradicts the purpose of compromise and understanding, and adopting an inflexible position of militancy early in a dispute calls into question the motive for doing so. A warring attitude implies that its holder no longer thinks compromise is possible or—just as likely—did not want an accommodating solution to the conflict in the first place. In fact, if one’s goal is not harmony but the empowerment that comes with using violence, it is in one’s interest to be in a state of war. In such cases, war is not only the context for violence but also the excuse for it. War provides a reason to be violent. This is true even if the worldly issues at heart in the dispute do not seem to warrant such a ferocious position. This may explain why acts of terrorism seem so puzzling to people outside the movements that perpetrate them and entirely understandable to those within them. Quite a few Europeans have been concerned about the rising tide of non-European immigrants to their countries; even in Scandinavia, where the citizenry has often been welcoming to refugees, there has been a mounting right-wing backlash against newcomers, especially those from the Middle East. The new immigrants do not share language, religion, or culture with Caucasian Christian Europeans, and for that reason they are sometimes disliked, even feared. But few Europeans would consider them satanic and evil, or think of killing liberal politicians who welcomed the newcomers as part of their vision of a multicultural society. This, however, was the position of Anders Breivik. When he posted his manifesto online on the same day that he went on a murderous rampage against a youth camp outside Oslo that was hosted by a liberal political party, his view of the world was fully on display. And it was a shocking view, even to those who had little use for immigrants, for it portrayed a society at war between the forces of Christendom and the

188

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

Muslim hordes and their liberal political apologists, whom Breivik considered to be sycophants who would dilute the purity of northern European society. Breivik saw the world at war. He viewed his own role as that of a soldier valiantly defending the forces of right, and he dressed the part, costumed in the military garb of an imagined militia of modern-day Knights Templar. To most people his actions were those of a deranged madman; but he regarded himself as a hero in war. The response to abortion clinic bombings and the killing of abortion doctors is another case in point. To many people in the United States the issue of abortion is a serious moral concern, a matter of public policy worth discussing, debating, protesting, and fighting over. But as heated as the subject may be, few on either side would regard this issue as one for which they are prepared to die or to kill. Yet activists such as Rev. Michael Bray have taken a different position. They have defended the need to kill and, if necessary, to die over the issue of abortion, not because they have seen it as a matter of public policy, but as a call to arms. Bray explained to me that attacks on clinics and attempts to kill doctors who provide abortion was not just about the allowance of laws accepting abortion, but also about a much greater conflict and a more devious form of social control. From his perspective American society has been in the grip of a demonic force for some time, and the great struggle to liberate it has only begun. There has been a great war going on, he alleged, one that goes unseen largely because the enemy has imposed its control gradually and subtly. As a result, the masses are unaware of the enemy’s power and are unconcerned over its effects. From Bray’s point of view the world is already at war, one that he regarded as similar to World War II. “The issues are comparable,” Bray told me, adding that “the issues that would justify violence now are the same.”23 Bray was impressed by the enormous sense of guilt that saddled many Christians as they recalled the gradual imposition of Nazi power and their indifference and inactivity during those awful years. The Nuremberg trials brought to public awareness much of what had transpired and implicated otherwise sensitive Christians in a silent complicity with the Nazis. Now, Bray reflected, Christians say to themselves, “would that we had moved earlier” to stop the killing. This situation Bray compared with the killing involved in abortions. What disturbed Bray was not just the slaughter of what he described as the “unborn,” but also what he felt was a Nazi-like attitude—a disregard for human life and a penchant for indiscriminate killing—that characterized the ruling powers of contemporary American society. He

Cosmic War | 189

despaired that overt rebellion or revolution against this power would occur only with an economic collapse or social chaos sufficiently catastrophic to make people aware of the situation, “to give people the strength or the zeal to take up arms.”24 In the meantime, what he called “defensive acts,” and what most Americans call terrorism, can provide public reminders of the silent war that is going on and perhaps serve as a wakeup call for Americans to join the rebellion. Anders Breivik’s and Michael Bray’s visions of a world caught in an imminent and almost eschatological confrontation between the forces of good and evil arrayed on the battlefield of politics is not idiosyncratic: it is remarkably similar to the view promoted by the ISIS and Al-Qaeda ideologues, militant Sikhs and Hindus in India, the Aum Shinrikyo in Japan, Rabbi Kahane’s Kach party in Israel, Ashin Wirathu’s militant Buddhists in Myanmar, and other groups associated with recent acts of terrorism. Theirs have been acts of desperation in response to what they perceive as a desperate situation: a world gone terribly awry. What is strikingly similar about the cultures of which they are a part is their view of the contemporary world at war. In Japan, for instance, the members of Aum Shinrikyo posited that the world is on the brink of a conflagration similar to World War II. What the Japanese remember most about that war were the atomic bombs that destroyed Hiroshima and Nagasaki. It is this reign of terror that is returning, the spiritual master of Aum Shinrikyo prophesied, in an Armageddon, a war that will be even more catastrophic than World War II. “The weapons used in World War III,” Asahara told his followers, “will make the atomic and hydrogen bombs look like toys.”25 Its goal, he said, would be “to completely annihilate the cities, produce a state of anarchy, and then establish a worldwide, unified political power.”26 As far as its followers knew, the creation of nerve gas in Aum chemical laboratories was solely for the purpose of developing preventive medicines and devices to protect those in the movement against poisonous gases once Armaggedon arrived and the evil forces began to use chemical weapons against the populace. Only the most loyal were willing to believe these prophecies without any evidence that World War III was in fact beginning. The release of nerve gas in the Tokyo subways provided dramatic proof of the prophecies—at least to Asahara’s followers, and to them only until it became clear that Asahara himself was implicated in the attack. The Christian Identity scenario of cosmic war was also something of a self-fulfilling prophecy. According to Identity teaching, contemporary

190

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

social struggles could be traced back to a conflict as old as the creation of the universe, when Lucifer, the satanic anti-God of the underworld, became jealous of God’s order, conspired to seize the world, and yearned to establish his own kingdom of evil.27 Christianity was a major effort by God to counteract Lucifer, but it was plagued from the start by Lucifer’s forces. Some of Lucifer’s agents came in the guise of people who claimed to be Jews but in fact were not; the true Jews were Aryans, according to Identity doctrine. Those who called themselves Jews were in fact Lucifer’s henchmen out to confound Christians. Even the apostle Paul was suspect. The emergence of Roman Catholicism as the dominant form of European Christianity was a “fraud.” Freemasons were also implicated in this conspiracy. In recent years the “Jewish-CatholicFreemason agents of Satan” were thought to have received powerful allies in the form of communists and liberal democrats. Followers of Christian Identity have offered a book as proof that all of these forces are allied against the relatively small band of pure white Protestant Christians. This spurious manual, The Protocols of the Learned Elders of Zion, was alleged to be the handiwork of a Zionist congress held at Basel, Switzerland, in 1897 under the leadership of Theodor Herzl. According to James Aho, a sociologist who was shown a copy of the document, it contains twenty-four specific steps necessary for the Jewish-communist conspiracy to take over the world. They itemize trends in global society that presumably were occurring when the fictional document was written but are presented as prophetic, as if they had been written at the time alleged, at the end of the nineteenth century. These trends include the establishment of corporate monopolies, arms races, the promotion of civil rights for minorities, the advocacy of free speech, the encouragement of pornography, progressive income taxes, and the establishment of a national bank (such as the Federal Reserve Corporation, widely thought by Christian Identity followers to be an instrument of sinister economic control).28 Credit cards that could be electronically traced and the use of social security numbers for identification purposes were cited as further indications of governmental control. The fact that all of these items are part of modern society and are promoted or protected by the government constitutes simple proof to Identity activists that such a conspiracy exists and is succeeding. Christian militias, therefore, have been defensive responses to an ancient and ongoing war that Identity activists believed were threatening their lives and their way of living. The Michigan Militia, for example, the twelve thousand–member paramilitary survivalist organization

Cosmic War | 191

to which Timothy McVeigh has been linked, has promoted the idea that the U.S. government has already initiated a program to completely control the life of every American. Accordingly, through training in guerrilla warfare and survivalist techniques, the militia has prepared itself to resist what it maintains are plans by the federal administration to deploy UN forces utilizing cast-off Soviet military equipment or hordes of communist Chinese troops, backed by Latino and black inner-city American street gangs, to crush any opposition. The Christian Identity–influenced novel The Turner Diaries imagines a scenario that begins with a liberal-dominated Congress enacting a law abolishing private ownership of firearms. To enforce the act, legions of “jackbooted” federal agents stalk the countryside, seizing weapons wherever they find them. Seeing this as a move toward federal dictatorship, a group of white Christian patriots form an underground cell to resist. They adopt guerrilla tactics, creating a homemade bomb from ammonium nitrate and fuel oil, which they load on a delivery truck parked outside FBI headquarters in Washington DC. According to the novel, the subsequent explosion kills seven hundred people. The Washington Post supposedly receives a telephone call with the message “White America shall live.” It is a scenario that was played out in chilling detail in real life by Timothy McVeigh and his colleagues in demolishing the Oklahoma City federal building. Religious struggles in other parts of the world—even those that seem more rational, in that they relate to contentions over the control of land to which both sides have legitimate claims—nonetheless have employed images of warfare on a grand scale. Ezri Tubi, a leader in the Israeli settlement movement, told me that the settlers’ claims to the West Bank were part of an ancient struggle.29 This was the same sentiment expressed by Yochay Ron, a young Jewish activist in the Beit Hadassah settlement in the West Bank city of Hebron, who told me that the war with the Arabs went back “to biblical times,” explaining that the present-day Arabs are simply the modern descendants of the enemies of Israel described in the Bible for whom God has unleashed wars of revenge.30 Ultimately, he thought that the warfare could end, but only when Arabs leave the land and Israel is, in his view, complete. Rabbi Yisrael Rosen, director of the Orthodox Jewish Tzomet Institute in Israel, claimed that today’s enemies of the Jews, such as Palestinians, are embodiment of the Amelek people described in the Hebrew Bible as battlefield enemies deserving to be obliterated.31 Sarah Nachshon, another member of the embattled Beit Hadassah, also understood the violence of the present

192

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

day to be explained as warfare: “It’s written in the Bible,” she said, “that until the Messiah comes there will be a big war, and the war will be in Jerusalem.”32 The Palestinian conflict is conceived as something larger than a contest between Arabs and Jews: it is a cosmic struggle of Manichaean proportions. This view is shared by religious activists on both sides. Sheikh Yassin, for example, described the conflict in virtually eschatological terms as “the combat between good and evil.” A communiqué issued by Hamas when Americans sent troops to the Saudia Arabian desert following Saddam Hussein’s invasion of Kuwait declared it to be “another episode in the fight between good and evil” and “a hateful Christian plot against our religion, our civilization and our land.”33 At times, the response to terrorism has also been seen in military terms. The day after the 9/11 attacks in New York City and Washington DC, for example, President George W. Bush proclaimed that these were not just “acts of terror,” but that they were “acts of war.”34 From that moment on the campaign against the jihadi insurgents responsible for terrorist acts against the United States was projected in the American news media as “the war on terror.” Perhaps no Muslim group in recent years has used the metaphor of war more consistently to characterize its perception of global struggle than ISIS. The apocalyptic images propagated by Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi and his inner circle portray a grand encounter at the end of days, which in the reckoning of ISIS leaders would be very soon. The ISIS leaders subscribed to a group of prophetic writings allegedly attributed to the Prophet Mohammad that described the end-times, the final moments of world history in which a cataclysmic war would erupt that would end with the conquering of Islam’s enemies and the emergence of the Mahdi, a messianic figure who would usher in a reign of global caliphate that would bring peace and harmony to the whole world. The warfare preceding the Mahdi’s appearance, however, would be gruesome. According to many of the prophecies, the main battlefield would be the plains of Al-Sham, the Arab region called the Levant by the French that includes modern-day Iraq, Syria, Jordan, Lebanon, and Israel. The main battles would be in the area between Damascus and Baghdad, with the critical battle that ushers in the Mahdi taking place in Dabiq, a small town in northern Syrian. Appropriately, Dabiq was the name given to the online magazine sponsored by ISIS, and the town was one of the first captured by ISIS in 2014. When the town was liberated from ISIS control in a fierce battle in 2016, the movement assured its followers that this was not the cosmic war at the end of time, and that the promise

Cosmic War | 193

of Mahdi coming after a battle at Dabiq would still be fulfilled in the future. But the name of the magazine was changed to Rumiyah, the Arabic term for Rome, a city that also had prophetic significance. “Black banners will come from the east and they will kill in a manner no people have been killed before,” one of the prophetic writings proclaimed.35 This prophecy regarded the main enemies as Romans, people from the West, and Jews, both of whom are to be utterly annihilated. Though the righteous Muslims would ultimately survive victoriously in this cosmic encounter, it would not be without significant casualties and desertions. Some of the prophecies proclaimed that it would be essential that an Islamic state be established in the region of Al-Sham in order to lay the groundwork for the golden rule. The ISIS narrative about history, therefore, was one in which the present age was characterized by a cataclysmic battle that would usher in the appearance of the Mahdi. All of the details about this cosmic war—the battlefield between Damascus and Baghdad, the black flags, the Islamic State, the importance of the town of Dabiq in the final battle, and the absence of empathy for the enemies—were enacted in ISIS’s practices and customs. The ISIS notion of apocalyptic struggle is ultimately not one of political and economic issues but between transcendent and worldly goals, a struggle between religion and antireligion. Insofar as this grand polarity suggests a metaphysical duality between the spiritual and material order, it is theologically out of line with traditional Islamic teachings, which argue for a strict monotheism that encompasses everything ultimately within the sphere of God. In Iran, the Ayatollah Khomeini’s onetime associate Abolhassan Banisadr wrote at some length about the notion of struggle, explaining how, although the monotheism of Islam does not allow for a division between the world and the spirit—for it does not recognize that duality—it does allow for a struggle against duality itself.36 Thus it is possible, Banisadr argued, for grand conflict to occur even within the theological borders of Islam. It is precisely this kind of struggle against the duality of the secular notion of separation of religion and state that the revolutionary movement in Iran targeted, and that ISIS and Al-Qaeda have opposed as well. The absolutism of cosmic war makes compromise unlikely, and those who suggest a negotiated settlement are as excoriated as the enemy. In the ISIS prophecies some of the harshest words are reserved for those Muslims who would run away from battle. Jewish activists have been similarly critical of the liberals in their own camp. “There is no such thing as coexistence,” the Israeli activist Yoel Lerner told me, explaining

194

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

that there is a biblical requirement for Jews to possess and live on biblical land. This is why he despised the peace accords, and regarded Israeli leaders as treasonous for signing them.37 Later on the same day in which I had this conversation with Lerner, I met with Hamas leaders in Gaza and heard Dr. Abdul Aziz Rantisi say essentially the same thing about the necessity for Arab Muslims to occupy what he regarded as their homeland, Palestine. Like Lerner, Rantisi expressed anger toward secular leaders—in his case, Yasir Arafat—for having entered into a dangerous and futile path toward an accommodation deemed to be impossible.38 The extremists on both sides preferred war over peace. One of the reasons a state of war is preferable to peace is that it gives moral justification to acts of violence. Violence, in turn, offers the illusion of power. Both ISIS theoreticians and Christian Reconstruction theologians have argued that public executions are appropriate in a time of warfare, implying that religious figures, rather than the state, can mete out punitive judgments. In a similar vein, followers of Christian Identity claim that in a time of war the ends justify the means, thereby rationalizing their attempts to confound the everyday workings of secular society. When asked if he would consider the use of poison to contaminate the water supply of a major American city, a member of the Christian extremist movement, the Phineas Priesthood, said, “When one is at war, one has to consider such things, unfortunately.”39 Rev. Michael Bray made an ethical distinction between what is legal in a peaceful society and what is morally justified in a situation of warfare: the latter includes transgressing property rights and laws against murder. In an interesting way, Bray’s argument is similar to that of the assassin of Mohandas Gandhi, Nathuram Godse, who in his court trial eloquently justified what he called his “moral” though “illegal” act of killing the mahatma.40 The idea of warfare implies more than an attitude; ultimately it is a worldview and an assertion of power. To live in a state of war is to live in a world in which individuals know who they are, why they have suffered, by whose hand they have been humiliated, and at what expense they have persevered. The concept of war provides cosmology, history, and eschatology and offers the reins of political control. Perhaps most important, it holds out the hope of victory and the means to achieve it. In the images of cosmic war this victorious triumph is a grand moment of social and personal transformation, transcending all worldly limitations. One does not easily abandon such expectations. To be without such images of war is almost to be without hope itself.

Cosmic War | 195

symbolic war Many of the young volunteers from around the world who have joined ISIS described their involvement in the army of the movement as exhilarating, the most meaningful moments in their lives. The ISIS image of an apocalyptic cosmic war gave them a sense of clarity about the world and their role in it. A similar excitement was also experienced by those who joined Jewish, Christian, and other movements. “That was the most marvellous experience of my life,” explained Richard Butler, a Christian activist, describing his first reaction to the Christian Identity theory of cosmic war. “The lights started turning on, bang-bang-bang.”41 Butler went on to say that the knowledge that “war had been going on for over six thousand years between the sons of Cain and the sons of God” was a cathartic experience for him, “opening up who we were, where we came from, and why we were there.” He added that this epiphany was “the greatest thrill” he ever had, and from this moment on he knew “what my mission was.” “Wow, this is it,” Denver Parmenter exclaimed in similar terms as he related how he discovered Christian Identity teachings. He claimed that this view of ancient and continuing warfare led to a sudden stroke of awareness that provided him “the reason things are going wrong.”42 This grand scenario gave him a view of the world that he could participate in, thus helping him not only to understand his destiny but to control it. Like the rituals provided by religious traditions, warfare is a participatory drama that exemplifies—and thus explains—the most profound aspects of life. It has great appeal, then, for people such as Parmenter and the ISIS volunteers who feel not only confused about what is going on in their lives but also buffeted by unseen forces. Parmenter was able to directly participate in this struggle by taking part in the plot to kill a Jewish radio talk show host whom Parmenter and his Identity colleagues thought was an agent of Satan. The idea of warfare has long had an eerie and intimate relationship with religion. History is studded with overtly religious conflicts such as the Crusades, the Muslim conquests, and the Wars of Religion that dominated the politics of France in the sixteenth century. Although these have usually been characterized as wars in the name of religion rather than wars conducted in a religious way, historian Natalie Zemon Davis has uncovered what she calls “rites of violence” in her study of religious riots in sixteenth-century France. These constituted “a repertory of actions, derived from the Bible, from the liturgy, from the action

196

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

of political authority, or from the traditions of popular folk practices, intended to purify the religious community and humiliate the enemy and thus make him less harmful.” Davis observed that the violence was “aimed at defined targets and selected from a repertory of traditional punishments and forms of destruction.”43 According to Davis, “even the extreme ways of defiling corpses—dragging bodies through the streets and throwing them to the dogs, dismembering genitalia and selling them in mock commerce—and desecrating religious objects” had what she called “perverse connections” with religious concepts of pollution and purification, heresy, and blasphemy.44 Anthropologist Stanley Tambiah showed how the same “rites of violence” were present in the religious riots of South Asia.45 In some instances innocent bystanders would be snatched up by a crowd and burned alive. According to Tambiah, these horrifying murders of defenseless and terrified victims were done in a ritual manner, in “mock imitation of both the self-immolation of conscientious objectors and the terminal rite of cremation.”46 In a macabre way, the riotous battles described by Davis and Tambiah were religious events. But given the prominence of the rhetoric of warfare in religious vocabulary, both traditional and modern, one can turn this point around and say that religious events often require the participants to invoke images of battle. One can argue that the task of creating a vicarious experience of warfare—albeit one usually imagined as residing on a spiritual plane—is one of the main businesses of religion. Virtually all cultural traditions have contained martial metaphors.47 The ideas of a Salvation Army in Christianity and a Dal Khalsa (“army of the faithful”) in Sikhism characterize disciplined religious organizations. Images of spiritual warfare are even more common. The Muslim notion of jihad is the most notable example, but even in Buddhist legends great wars are to be found. In Sri Lankan culture, for instance, virtually canonical status is accorded to the legendary history recorded in the Pali Chronicles, the Dipavamsa and the Mahavamsa, which relate the triumphs of battles waged by Buddhist kings. In India, warfare has contributed to the grandeur of the great epics, the Ramayana and the Mahabharata, which are tales of seemingly unending conflict and military intrigue. More than the Vedic rituals, these martial epics defined subsequent Hindu culture. Whole books of the Hebrew Bible are devoted to the military exploits of great kings, their contests related in gory detail. Though the New Testament did not take up the battle cry,

Cosmic War | 197

the later history of the Church did, supplying Christianity with a bloody record of crusades and religious wars. Warfare has not just been relegated to religion’s legendary histories, however; it is also intricately related to its contemporary symbols.48 Protestant Christianity is an example. Though the reformed tradition is strongly pacifist, martial images abound in the rhetoric and symbolism of the faith. Protestant preachers everywhere have encouraged their flocks to wage war against the forces of evil, and their homilies are followed with hymns about “Christian soldiers,” fighting “the good fight,” and struggling “manfully onward.”49 One scholar of popular Protestantism, Harriet Crabtree, surveyed the images that are prominent in what she called the “popular theologies” projected in the hymns, tracts, and sermons of modern Protestant Christianity, and found the “model of warfare” to be one of the most enduring.50 What is significant about the popular Protestant talk about war, Crabtree stated, is that the image was meant to be taken more than metaphorically. When the writers of hymns urged “soldiers of the Cross” to “stand up, stand up for Jesus,” this was interpreted as a requirement for real, albeit spiritual, combat. Protestant writers such as Arthur Wallis have claimed that “Christian living is war.” Wallis explained that the warfare is not “a metaphor or a figure of speech” but a “literal fact”; the character of the war, however—“the sphere, the weapons, and the foe”— are spiritual rather than material.51 Crabtree asserted that the image of warfare is attractive because it “situates the listener or reader in the religious cosmos.”52 The images of warfare in Protestant Christianity situated the faithful in a religious cosmos that inevitably had a moral valence, but this has not been the case in all traditions. The battles of the Mahavamsa, the Hebrew Bible, and the Hindu epics, for example, testify to a different sort of ultimate encounter. The motif that runs through these mythic scenes of warfare is the theme of us versus them, the known versus the unknown. In the battles described in the Hebrew Bible and in such epics as the Ramayana, the enemies were often foreigners from the shady edges of known civilization—places such as Canaan, Philistine, and Lanka. These foes often embodied the conceptual murkiness of their origins; that is, they represented what was chaotic and uncertain about the world, including those things that defied categorization altogether. In cases where the enemy possessed a familiar face—as in the Mahabharata, where war was waged between sets of cousins—chaos is embodied by the battle itself. It is the wickedness of warfare itself that the

198

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

battle depicts, as the mythic figure Arjuna observed at the outset of his encounter with Lord Krishna on the battlefield.53 To fight in such a circumstance was to assent to the disorder of this world, although the contestants knew that in a grander sense this disorder is corrected by a cosmic order that is beyond killing and being killed. Such was the message of Lord Krishna in his address to Arjuna in the Bhagavad Gita.54 Ultimately, such struggles are battles against the most chaotic aspect of reality: death. Among scholars, there is a persistent recognition that much of the religious imagination has been built around notions of the afterlife and the overcoming of human frailty and corruption—often symbolized by rituals involving the avoidance of pollution. The Jewish notion of raising the dead, the Christian and Muslim notions of heaven and hell, the Roman Catholic concept of purgatory, the Buddhist idea of levels of consciousness (and, in the Mahayana tradition, heavenly mansions), and the Hindu theory of karmic cycles of reincarnation—all of these offer ways of avoiding what humans know to be a fact: eventually they will die. Even bodily decay and corruption can supposedly be postponed by Jewish, Hindu, and other rituals of pollution avoidance. All of this adds up to what Ernest Becker has called religion’s “denial of death.”55 I agree with Becker, but what strikes me is the way that religion has employed symbols of violence not only to deny death but to control all that is intimately related to death: disorder, destruction, and decay. By evoking and then bridling images of warfare, religion has symbolically controlled not only violence but all of the messiness of life. It is interesting in this regard that the etymology of the modern English term war is the Old English word werre (or guerre in Old French), which means “confusion,” “discord,” or “strife,” and in verb form implies the bringing into a state of confusion or discord. In this sense war is the ultimate state of confusion, as many soldiers who have been in battle can confirm. When religious cultures portray warfare as something that is acknowledged and ultimately controlled, therefore, they are presenting an almost cosmological reenactment of the primacy of order over chaos. In the stained glass windows of the great European cathedrals portraying Christ as king, emerging from his grave like a general victorious in battle, the designers were stating something fundamental about Christianity and every other religious tradition: religion reaffirms the primacy of order, which requires that death and violence and other forms of disorder be conquered. The irony of these bloody images is that the object of faith has always been peace. But in order to portray a state of harmony convincingly, reli-

Cosmic War | 199

gion has had to emphasize disharmony and its ability to contain it. Religion has dealt with violence, therefore, not only because violence is unruly and has to be tamed, but because religion, as the ultimate statement of meaningfulness, must always assert the primacy of meaning in the face of chaos. For that reason, religion has been restorative of order and affirmative of life even though it has justified the taking of life in particular instances. Jesus’ heroic and sacrificial act in allowing himself to be painfully put to death, for instance, has been seen by the faithful as a monumental act of redemption for humankind, tipping the balance of power between good and evil and allowing a struggle for order to succeed. Religious images have been mechanisms through which peace and order can conquer violence and chaos, so it is understandable that the violence portrayed in religion has been in some way controlled—in the air of normalcy with which the “body of Christ” is eaten in the Christian ritual of Eucharist, for instance, and the lack of self-consciousness with which Christians sing hymns filled with talk of blood and battle. In ritual, violence is symbolically transformed. The blood of the Eucharistic wine is ingested by the supplicant and becomes part of living tissue; it brings new life. In song a similarly calming transformation occurs as the images are absorbed aurally. As Christian theology explains, in Christ violence has been bridled. Christ died in order for death to be defeated, and his blood was sacrificed so that his faithful followers could be rescued from a punishment as gruesome as that which he suffered. Other religious traditions have dealt with violence in much the same way. In the Sikh tradition, for instance, the two-edged sword provides an image of the domestication of violence. This familiar symbol has been worn on lockets and proudly emblazoned on shops and garden gates, and it stands in front of Sikh gurdwaras, where it is treated as reverently as Christians treat their own emblem of destruction and triumph, the cross. Other images of violence in Sikhism also have functioned like their counterparts in Christianity: the gory wounds of Sikh martyrs, like those of Christian saints, bleed on in calendar art as a reminder that because their blood was shed, the faithful need fear no harm. Sikh theologians and writers, like those in the Christian faith, have been eager to explain the meaning of such symbols and stories allegorically. They point toward the war between belief and unbelief that rages in each person’s soul. In a similar way, interpreters of Jewish and Islamic culture have transformed the martial images in their traditions. The chroniclers of the Hebrew Bible have seen acts of war being conducted on a divine plane as aspects of God’s vengeance. The Qur’an

200

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

regards the greater jihad as the personal struggle for purity and the lesser jihad as military warfare. Hence some Islamic mystics have spoken of the true jihad as the one within each person’s soul. Thus violent images have been given religious meaning and domesticized. The acts of violence in religious history and legend, although terribly physical, have been sanitized by becoming symbols; they have been stripped of their horror by being invested with religious meaning. They have been justified and thereby exonerated as part of a religious template that is even larger than myth and history. They are elements of a ritual scenario that makes it possible for the people involved to experience safely the drama of cosmic war.

when symbols become deadly But if religious images are meant to conquer violence, one must ask the obvious but difficult question: why and how are these symbolic presentations of violence occasionally linked to real acts of violence? They should prevent violent acts by allowing the human urges to conquer and control to be channeled into the harmless dramas of ritual. Yet we know that the opposite is often the case. The riotous rites of violence described by Natalie Davis and Stanley Tambiah in the texts cited earlier in this chapter and the abundant examples of religious terrorism referred to throughout this book have demonstrated that the violence related to religion has, at times, been savagely real. The question of why images of cosmic struggle are translated into real acts of violence is complicated, since the line between symbolic and actual violence is thin. Symbols are sometimes more than just fictional representations of the real thing. Rites of sacrifice, for instance, often involve ritual killing, and feats of martyrdom lead to real deaths. This symbiosis between symbolic and real violence is profound and goes to the very heart of the religious imagination. It is a relationship that we will explore more fully in the next chapter. For now, however, we can speculate on the conditions that make it likely for cosmic war to be located on a worldly stage. One way of doing this is to identify the aspects of religious thinking that link spiritual struggle with worldly conflict. It was this approach that I attempted several years ago when I was studying the rhetoric of religious violence in Sikhism. I came up with a list of several conditions, including the following, indicating when Sikhism—or any religious tradition—is susceptible

Cosmic War | 201

to becoming associated with actual acts of violence: the cosmic struggle is understood to be occurring in this world rather than in a mythical setting; believers identify personally with the struggle; and the struggle is at a point of crisis in which individual action can make all the difference.56 In most of the cases discussed in this book, however, it is not religion that has led spiritual persons into violence but the other way around: violent situations have reached out for religious justification. The two approaches are not contradictory: extremism in religion can lead to violence at the same time that violent conflicts can cry out for religious validation. But it is the latter approach on which I wish to focus here. Rather than beginning with religious images, then, this approach starts with real-life situations; rather than why religion leads to violence, the question is why real-world struggles involve religion. The following characteristics, based on the case studies in this book, indicate when a confrontation in the world is likely to take on the trappings of cosmic war: when confrontation is likely to be characterized as cosmic war 1. The struggle is perceived as a defense of basic identity and dignity. If the struggle is thought to be of ultimate significance—a defense not only of lives but of entire cultures, such as Sikhism or Islam— the possibility is greater that it will be seen as a cultural war with spiritual implications. Monks in Sri Lanka and Myanmar told me that their tirades against Muslim minorities were motivated by a defense of Theravada Buddhism, cultures that they feared were in danger of becoming extinct. Similarly, the Irish confrontation became spiritualized when Rev. Ian Paisley interpreted it as an attack on Irish Protestantism, and the Palestinian struggle took on a religious aura after a significant number of sheikhs and mullahs interpreted it as a defense of Muslim culture in Palestine. In other cases, the very nature of the issues—such as abortion or the sanctity of life—can attract religious activists, such as the followers of Christian Identity and Christian Reconstruction, whose involvement has spiritualized the anti-abortion struggle. A sense of personal humiliation, such as Dr. Goldstein’s belief that Jews were being humiliated by the Israeli government’s protection of Arab Muslims, can lead to desperate attempts to recover both personal dignity and cultural pride.

202

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

2. Losing the struggle would be unthinkable. If a negative outcome to the struggle is perceived as beyond human conception, the struggle may be viewed as taking place on a transhistorical plane. Some Palestinian Muslims, for instance, have refused to even consider the idea of a Jewish state in what they regard as Arab territory. Similarly, some radical Jews have regarded the Israeli government’s return of biblical lands to Arabs as unthinkable. The more that goals are reified and made inflexible, the greater the possibility that they will be deified and seen as the fulfillment of holy writ. 3. The struggle is blocked and cannot be won in real time or in real terms. Perhaps most important, if the struggle is seen as hopeless in human terms, it is likely that it may be reconceived on a sacred plane, where the possibilities of victory are in God’s hands. When Sunni Muslims in Iraq felt that the political deck was stacked against them in a post-Saddam Shi’a regime, they were receptive to ideas of cosmic warfare described by Al-Qaeda in Iraq, and later to the apocalyptic battle imagined by ISIS. When Shoko Asahara felt trapped by the Japanese police, he created an act that he thought would elevate the struggle to the level of cosmic war, just as Rev. Jim Jones did in Guyana when he chose a suicidal act of violence to escape what he feared would be capture and defeat. According to an anthropologist, Weston LaBarre, these moments of desperation precipitate religion. He described a poignant historical moment in 1870 when a group of Plains Indians from the Paiute tribe were trapped by the U.S. cavalry and responded by spontaneously creating a ritual of dancing and hypnotic trances known as the Ghost Dance religion.57 LaBarre’s study indicates when religion and its grand scenarios of cosmic war are needed most: in hopeless moments, when mythical strength provides the only resources at hand. The presence of any of these three characteristics increases the likelihood that a real-world struggle may be conceived in cosmic terms as a sacred war. The occurrence of all three simultaneously strongly suggests it. A struggle that begins on worldly terms may gradually take on the characteristics of cosmic war as solutions become unlikely and awareness grows of how devastating it would be to lose. The Arab-Israeli conflict, for example, was not widely regarded as a sacred battle from the perspective of either side until the late 1980s. Then the process of sacralization overtook the conflict and transformed it, in the eyes of religious activists on both sides, into cosmic war.

Cosmic War | 203

When a struggle becomes sacralized, incidents that might previously have been considered minor skirmishes or slight differences of understanding are elevated to monumental proportions. The use of violence becomes legitimized, and the slightest provocation or insult can lead to terrorist assaults. What had been simple opponents become cosmic foes. As the next chapter shows, the process of satanization can transform a worldly struggle into a contest between martyrs and demons. Alas, this inescapable scenario of hostility does not end until the mythology is redirected, or until one side or the other has been destroyed.

chapter 9

Martyrs and Demons

When Anders Breivik was on trial in 2012 for his horrendous assault on a youth camp sponsored by a political party pledged to multiculturalism in Norway, he was allowed at the end to give a statement. He did not deny that he was responsible for the act. Yet he did not admit that he was guilty of it. Instead, he said, this was “a preventive attack in defence of my ethnic group, and I cannot acknowledge guilt,” adding that he acted “on behalf of my people, my religion and my country.”1 He went on to say that his struggle was not over, and that his “brothers in the Norwegian and European resistance movements are sitting there and watching this case while they are planning new attacks,” predicting that “they may be responsible for as many as 40,000 deaths.” Though Breivik sacrificed his own freedom to this cause, he was convinced that the glorious struggle was far from over. Timothy McVeigh said as much when he was sentenced to death for bombing the Oklahoma City federal building. He quoted from Supreme Court Justice Louis Brandeis, saying that “our government is the potent, the omnipresent teacher.”2 Most interpreted McVeigh’s use of this quotation as an assertion that the government was setting a bad example by sentencing him to death. In another sense, however, this is what McVeigh had been saying all along—that the government was the enemy. In his dramatic moment in the courtroom, Timothy McVeigh was vaunting his actions as part of an enormously important and historical struggle

204

Martyrs and Demons | 205

and articulating what he felt this larger scenario was about: a conflict between liberty and slavery, a cosmic war in which both he and the government had critical, though opposing, roles to play. The fact that Breivik and McVeigh were captured and convicted of their crimes might appear to indicate that their wars were over and they had lost. Yet by putting their actions into the larger frame of history, Breivik and McVeigh were stating that the war was far from over, and the resolution was still uncertain. Dr. Abdul Aziz Rantisi, the political leader of Hamas, told me virtually the same thing about his movement’s struggle against Israel. Although he admitted that things did not look promising now, he assured me that the fight would be waged for years, perhaps generations, to come. “Look at history,” he said. “Palestine has been occupied before, for two hundred years, and then liberated. This time,” he added, “we have been occupied for only fifty years. We have to wait.”3 Rantisi said that the apotheosis might not come in his lifetime, but perhaps in his children’s lifetime. Eventually it would come. As Dr. Rantisi implied, the point of every story is its ending. Insofar as the scenario of cosmic war is a story, it carries a momentum toward its completion and contains the seeds of hope for its outcome. I use the term hope rather than fear, for no one wants to believe in a story that cannot produce a happy ending. Those who accept that their life struggles are part of a great struggle, a cosmic war, know that they are part of a grand tale that will ultimately end triumphantly, though not necessarily easily or quickly. The epic character of the story implies that the happy ending may indeed be long delayed—perhaps until after one’s lifetime or after the lifetimes of one’s descendants. In the meantime, the story will involve sadness and travail. Christians recall that Jesus, for example, triumphed over death only after being subjected to the gruesome and humiliating spectacle of public execution. Overcoming defeat and humiliation is the point of war. The story of warfare explains why one feels for a time beaten and disgraced—that is part of the warrior’s experience. In cases of cosmic war, however, the final battle has not been fought. Only when it has can one expect triumph and pride. Until that time, the warrior struggles on, often armed only with hope. Our personal tales of woe gain meaning, then, when linked to these powerful stories. Sagas of oppression and liberation lift the spirits of individuals and make their suffering explicable and noble. In some cases suffering imparts the nobility of martyrdom. In such instances the images of cosmic war forge failure—even death—into victory.

206

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

sacrificial victims In the Twitter feeds of young jihadi supporters of ISIS, one of them announced the death—the martyrdom as the tweet put it—of a young Australian volunteer. Known only by his nom de guerre, Abu al-Walid al-Australi, the young man had left his family and his job in Australia to join the ISIS forces fighting in Syria.4 A slickly produced graphic poster portraying the dead man accompanied the tweet, conveying information about the martyr and the circumstances of his death. He was part of an ISIS unit that was trying to capture the Wadi al-Deif military base in northwest Syria when he was shot by a sniper. This tweeted announcement was one of dozens, perhaps hundreds posted on line in exactly the same way, usually with the same slick graphics framing, often portraying the martyred fighter in death, sometimes with the gruesome marks of battle on his face. The posters would be tweeted and retweeted, often with words of affection, affirmations that he would be residing in the highest ranks of heaven, and pleas to Allah to grant him blessings. The slick online magazines produced by ISIS, Dabiq and Rumiyah, regularly featured tributes to its volunteers who became suicide bombers—or rather ishtishhadi, “self-chosen martyrs,” as the magazines put it. Featured in the June 2015 issue of Dabiq was the story of twenty-fiveyear-old twin brothers from Germany, both of whom volunteered for suicide attacks in Iraq. The picture of the handsome, smiling brothers holding a Qur’an with the black ISIS in the background was prominently displayed in the magazine.5 German newspapers reporting this story revealed that the two were born in 1989 as Kevin and Mark K. (the last names were not revealed) in the northern Westphalia town of Castrop-Rauxel in district Schwerin.6 They were raised in an ordinary middle-class household, according to their father, who was a police officer. During high school Kevin participated in an exchange program in Turkey, and when he returned he began attending a mosque. Following high school Kevin went to college to study mining and energy law at Ruhr University in Bochum. Mark volunteered for the German army and was sent on assignment to Afghanistan. It seems that Kevin was the first to formally convert to Islam, and then Mark joined him. Their main contact with radical jihadi extremists was initially online as they perused websites and joined in Twitter chats. In the summer of 2014 when Mark was on leave, the two quietly slipped out of the country to Turkey, and then to Syria, where they joined other ISIS recruits. They were given Arabic names. Kevin, as Abu Mus’ab al-Almani, was assigned a difficult

Martyrs and Demons | 207

suicide mission in Iraq. An ISIS video pictured him beside two other volunteers, an Arab and a Tajiq, as Kevin explained in German why he was willing to give his life for this mission. The video then showed the truck that he is driving as it barreled across Iraq roads, carrying seven tons of explosives, to a checkpoint in front of the Fourth Regiment of the Iraqi army in Wilayat Shamal north of Baghdad. As the truck plowed through the checkpoint the explosives were ignited and an enormous fireball was shown, engulfing the entire headquarters of the Fourth Regiment. Soon after, his twin brother Mark gave his life in another suicide mission, this one involving a car bomb that exploded near the town of Baiji, also near Baghdad, killing dozens of Iraqi security forces. The Dabiq photos of them portrayed the young brothers in the fullness of life as a paragon of Muslim valor. Tributes to them repeatedly said that they were sure that “Allah would welcome them to paradise” as a result of their acts. This notion of a heroic, transforming death is a common motif in communiqués of activists groups involved in terrorist acts around the world. Though the message was projected in cyberspace by the global jihadi community that supports ISIS, it is replicated by other movements in other formats. Hamas, for example, revered its suicide bombers on posters plastered on walls in Gaza and West Bank cities. In the Hezbollah neighborhoods of Beirut, portraits of martyred fighters involved in attacks on Israel and the United States were portrayed on banners hanging from street lamps. Martyrdom was also the image projected by the architecture of the shrine that for a time accompanied the grave of the Jewish attacker Dr. Baruch Goldstein, at the Kiryat Arba settlement near Hebron. The shrine was shaped into an elegant plaza surrounded by plaques set inside boxes accompanied by votive candles that looked not unlike the stations of the cross in a Catholic sanctuary. It was clearly a shrine, a shrine for someone the young man guarding it described as both a martyr and a “hero in war.”7 A similar attitude attended the funeral celebrations for the young Muslim men who gave up their lives in acts of “self-martyrdom,” as the Hamas leaders, like the ISIS supporters, wished to call their operatives’ acts of suicide bombing. These celebrations were remarkable events recorded on the videotapes of the men giving their ardent last statements the night before their deaths. The tapes were then clandestinely circulated throughout Gaza and the West Bank as a sort of recruitment device for like-minded young men. These events were not really funerals, a fact symbolized by the drinking of sweetened rather than bitter coffee, the distribution of

208

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

sweets, and the singing of wedding songs. A cross between a marriage and a religious festival, these affairs were a modern example of an ancient religious ritual: the sanctification of martyrs. Similar events have attended the memorials for martyrs in other religious movements. Activist Sikhs have proudly displayed pictures of the fallen leader Sant Jarnail Singh Bhindranwale, who died as a result of the military operation ordered by India’s prime minister Indira Gandhi in 1984. His image has been displayed as prominently as those of the founding gurus of the tradition, and he has been remembered on both his birthday and his martyrdom day. Followers revere Bhindranwale for what they regard as his exemplary model of commitment. As one of his young followers told me, “He went to his death for what he believed.”8 The brother of one of the Khalistani leaders killed in a government encounter told me virtually the same thing: Bhindranwale “didn’t just say words, he backed them up with deeds.”9 It was a sentiment echoed by Rev. Michael Bray with regard to Scott Roeder when he shot the Wichita, Kansas, abortion provider Dr. George Tiller in 2009. Earlier, Bray had expressed similar reverence for his friend Rev. Paul Hill, whom Bray regarded a martyr after he was condemned to death for his killing of abortion provider staff in Pensacola, Florida. As the date of Hill’s execution drew near, Bray began to produce publications announcing Hill’s impending martyrdom, not only to rally support that might keep that event from happening, but also to give it religious significance in the likelihood that it would. “We must plead with the powers that are,” Bray wrote, to spare the life of a man “who was called by God to the sacrificial, public witness he made” and was sentenced to die only “for doing justice and showing mercy.” Bray regarded Hill as a martyr, and he lashed out at the brutality of a government that would take such a noble person’s life.10 Absent from Bray’s sense of outrage was any respect for the lives of Dr. John Britton and his volunteer escort, James Barrett, which Hill terminated—or “aborted,” as Bray put it—in a brutal act of double murder. In a curious twist of logic, Bray had made out Hill to be the victim rather than the murderer that the state and most of the American public regarded him to be. In this way Bray was like those who mourned the deaths of Dr. Baruch Goldstein, Sant Jarnail Singh Bhindranwale, the ISIS soldiers, and the Hamas suicide bombers—each of whom sent scores of innocent people to early graves. Billy Wright, the Northern Ireland activist who had been convicted for his role in the terrorist acts conducted by the Protestant Ulster Volunteer Force paramilitary group,

Martyrs and Demons | 209

said that “there’s no doubt” that within “every terrorist” there is the conviction that “he is the victim.” According to Wright, this allows the terrorist to justify his action “morally within his own mind.”11 A similar point was made by Dr. Rantisi when he stressed in my interview with him that Arab Muslims were the true victims in the confrontation rather than the savage perpetrators of suicide attacks the western media portrayed them to be. He recounted the injustices done against himself, his family, and other Arabs over the years to demonstrate that the experience of victimage had preceded these violent attacks. It was an argument similar to the one made by Osama bin Laden in his February 1998 fatwa against America, in which he claimed that his acts were defensive, since it was America who declared war on Muslims by its “crimes and sins” committed in the Middle East.12 The incidents of terrorism undertaken by activists such as Rantisi, bin Laden, and their operatives were thus justified by their followers as defensive acts of noble fighters. If they succeeded in their mission unscathed, they were heroes; if they died in the process, they were martyrs. The idea of martyrdom is an interesting one. It has a long history within various religious traditions, including early Christianity. Christ himself was a martyr, as was the founder of the Shi’i Muslim tradition, Husain. The word martyr comes from a Greek term for “witness,” such as a witness to one’s faith. In most cases martyrdom is regarded not only as a testimony to the degree of one’s commitment, but also as a performance of a religious act, specifically an act of self-sacrifice. This dimension of martyrdom links it to the activity that some scholars see as the most fundamental form of religiosity: sacrifice. It is a rite of destruction that is found, remarkably, in virtually every religious tradition in the world. The term suggests that the very process of destroying is spiritual since the word comes from the Latin, sacrificium, “to make holy.” What makes sacrifice so riveting is not just that it involves killing, but also that it is, in an ironic way, ennobling. The destruction is performed within a religious context that transforms the killing into something positive. Thus, like all religious images of sacrifice, martyrdom provides symbols of a violence conquered—or at least put in its place— by the larger framework of order that religious language provides. There is some evidence that ancient religious rites of sacrifice, like the destruction involved in modern-day terrorism, were performances involving the murder of living beings. The later domestication of sacrifice in evolved forms of religious practice, such as the Christian ritual of the Eucharist, masked the fact that in most early forms of sacrifice a real

210

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

animal—in some cases a human—offered its life on a sacred chopping block, an altar. In the Hebrew Bible, which is sacred to Jews, Christians, and Muslims, the book of Leviticus gives a detailed guide for preparing animals for sacrificial slaughter. The very architecture of ancient Israeli temples reflected the centrality of the sacrificial event. The Vedic Agnicayana ritual, some three thousand years old and probably the most ancient ritual still performed today, involved the construction of an elaborate altar for sacrificial ritual, which some claim was originally a human sacrifice.13 This was certainly so at the other side of the world at the time of the ancient Aztec Empire, when conquered soldiers were treated royally in preparation for their role in the sacrificial rite. Then they were set upon with knives. Their still-beating hearts were ripped from their chests and offered to Huitzilopochtli and other gods, eventually to be eaten by the faithful, and their faces were skinned to make ritual masks. Why are such gory acts of sacrifice central to religion? The attempt to find answers to that question has been a preoccupation of scholars for over a century. The insights of such pioneering thinkers as Émile Durkheim and Sigmund Freud have been revived at the end of the twentieth century by such scholars as Maurice Bloch, René Girard, Walter Burkert, and Eli Sagan, who have given social and psychological reasons for the virtual universality of violence in religious images and ideas.14 Most of them have seen the symbols of violence as playing an ultimately nonviolent and socially useful role. According to Freud, for instance, violent religious symbols and sacrificial rituals evoke, and thereby vent, violent impulses in general. Accepting Freud’s main thesis, Girard amended it by suggesting that the motivation for violence is “mimetic desire”—the desire to imitate a rival—rather than the psychological instincts of sexuality and aggression. Like Freud, Girard claimed that ritualized violence performs a positive role for society. By allowing individuals to release their feelings of hostility toward members of their own communities, symbols of violence enable affinity groups to achieve greater social cohesion. “The function of ritual,” claimed Girard, “is to ‘purify’ violence; that is, to ‘trick’ violence into spending itself on victims whose death will provoke no reprisals.” Those who participate in ritual are not consciously aware of the social and psychological significance of their acts, of course, for Girard claimed that “religion tries to account for its own operation metaphorically.”15 Much of what Freud and Girard said about the function of symbolic violence in religion has been persuasive. Even if one questions, as I do,

Martyrs and Demons | 211

Girard’s idea that mimetic desire is the sole driving force behind symbols of religious violence, one can still agree that mimesis is a significant factor. One can also agree with the theme that Girard borrows from Freud, that the ritualized acting out of violent acts plays a role in displacing feelings of aggression, thereby allowing the world to be a more peaceful place in which to live. But the critical issue remains as to whether sacrifice should be regarded as the context for viewing all other forms of religious violence, as Girard and Freud have contended. My own conclusion is that war is the context for sacrifice rather than the other way around. Of course, one can think of religious warfare as a blend of sacrifice and martyrdom: sacrificing members of the enemy’s side and offering up martyrs on one’s own. But behind the gruesome litany is something that encompasses both sacrifice and martyrdom and much more: cosmic war. As Durkheim pointed out, religious language contains ideas of an intimate and ultimate tension, one that he described as the distinction between the sacred and the profane. This fundamental dichotomy gives rise to images of a great encounter between cosmic forces—order versus chaos, good versus evil, truth versus falsehood— which worldly struggles mimic. It is the image of war that captures this antinomy, rather than sacrifice. At a seminar on the comparative study of the subject of disorder and order, Girard was challenged by a colleague who questioned Girard’s assumptions about the anthropological origins of the image of sacrifice. He suggested that perhaps Girard was wrong—that the primal hunt started first, and sacrifice was meant to imitate the hunt. “If I accepted your theory,” Girard replied, “I could no longer connect my theory of desire with my theory of victimage.” His comment was followed by laughter.16 My guess, however, is that it was nervous laughter, since the intervention of the scholar Eric Gans pointed to what most of his colleagues at the seminar must have known to be true, that the social activity of organized conflict, whether against an animal in a hunt or against other people in battle, is a primal form of human activity. Warfare organizes people into a “we” and a “they,” and it organizes social history into a storyline of persecution, conflict, and the hope of redemption, liberation, and conquest.17 The enduring and seemingly ubiquitous image of cosmic war from ancient times to the present continues to give the rites of sacrifice their meaning. I think the concept of sacrifice makes sense only within the context of cosmic war. The sacrificial victim represents the destruction endemic to battle. Like the enemy—and like violence itself—the victim is often

212

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

categorically out of place and is therefore a symbol of disorder. Animals used for sacrifice, for instance, are usually domesticated beasts: they lie in the ambiguous middle ground between the animal kingdom and the human. When sacrificial victims were human, they also frequently came from an uncertain category. In India, for example, in the case of the sati of widows, the victims were anomalies: married women bereft of living husbands.18 Among the Huron and Seneca Indians a sacrifice was made of a warrior out of place: during a state of war between tribes, an enemy soldier was captured, brought into the community, made a member of a household where a son had been lost in battle, and became for a time that missing son. The brave was feted and adored and then, knowing what the outcome would be and yet displaying his courage, he was ritually tortured to death. The final acts included plucking out his eyes and crushing and mutilating his genitals while the young man, still alive, writhed in pain. But he courageously accepted his fate.19 Sometimes it was God him- or herself who was offered up, or a divinely inspired person such as Jesus or Husain, whose very existence was extraordinary. It was not just their sacrifice that made them divine; rather, their almost unhuman holiness was what made them candidates for slaughter. This is a motif in literature as well is in historical legend. Herman Melville’s Billy Budd, for instance, played on this theme: though he stuttered, in every other way Billy was as morally pure as his antagonist, Claggart, was evil. His very goodness was an indication that he did not fit into society and eventually had to be destroyed. A group of scholars who compared the issues of sainthood and morality crossculturally came to a similar conclusion about saints, but put it the other way around: social misfits make good candidates for sainthood. They must be perceived as sublimely wacky in order for their martyrdom and self-sacrifice to be seen as pure.20 The sacrifices made during acts of religious terrorism in recent years have been consistent with this theme. In a study of the young men chosen by the Hezbollah and Amal sects in Lebanon to be sacrificed as martyrs in the bombing of American and Israeli targets, Martin Kramer concluded that they met the traditional criteria of purity and anomaly required of sacrificial beings. They were no longer children but were not yet married, they were members of the community but were free from family responsibilities, and they were pious but not members of the clergy.21 In the case of the youths who volunteered for participation in Hamas suicide missions, interviews with their families and tapes of their last testimonies

Martyrs and Demons | 213

indicated that they were often regarded as somewhat shy but good kids. They were serious in their manners, perhaps slightly aloof from their crowd, and ultimately were accepted in society in a grand way when their suicidal acts were remembered joyously as events of martyrdom. When Dr. Rantisi objected to my use of the term suicide bombers to describe his young colleagues in Hamas who chose to blow themselves up in acts of violence against Israel, he was objecting to the idea that their acts were done idiosyncratically or thoughtlessly, or performed simply because the person desired death. As I mentioned, he preferred to think of them as “self-chosen martyrs,” soldiers in a great war who diligently and reverently gave up their lives for the sake of their community and their religion. The videotapes taken of the young men the night before their deaths indicated that they thought of themselves in just that way. They were trying not to avoid life but to fulfill it in what they considered to be an act of both personal and social redemption.

the invention of enemies Every struggle has its heroes, but even more fundamentally, the struggle must have a foe. As James Aho observed in his study of Idaho and Montana militia movements, the concept of enemy is “socially assembled.”22 Our discussion of the scenarios of war has indicated that this is indeed true of virtually every instance of religious-related terrorism: enemies have to be invented if they do not already exist. If the point of scenarios of cosmic war is to give those who believe in them a sense of empowerment and hope, these feelings could not be generated without the role of an evil foe, a negative reference to which one can position oneself and over which one can hope to triumph. Put simply, one cannot have a war without an enemy. This means that some enemies have to be manufactured. As Stanley Tambiah noted in his analysis of ethnic conflict, the “rites of violence” in religious riots in South Asia led inevitably to the “demonizing of victims and their expulsion or annihilation in the idiom of exorcism.”23 The demonization of an opponent is easy enough when people feel oppressed or have suffered injuries at the hands of a dominant, unforgiving, and savage power. But when this is not the case, the reasons for demonization are more tenuous and the attempts to make satanic beings out of relatively innocent foes more creative. When research students working with me monitored the Twitter feeds of the jihadi supporters of ISIS, they found that Americans,

214

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

Europeans, and Israelis were seldom mentioned by their nationalities. They were called kafir or kuffar, singular and plural terms for “unbelievers,” and usually meant in a pejorative way. Or they might be called “Crusaders” and “Zionists.” But these were the nicest terms reserved for the non-Muslim enemies of the movement. “These dirty dogs think they are better than human,” said one jihadi supporter on his Twitter feed, speaking of Israeli leaders who planned to revive the death penalty, but only for non-Jews.24 Another described the three groups attacking ISIS in Fallujah in 2016 as “the axis of evil”—the Iraq army, Shi’a militia groups, and the American military.25 In Myanmar, I was told by the radical Buddhist monk Ashin Wirathu that he suspected Muslims in general to be allied with ISIS, so they were all regarded as suspected terrorists—“Islamic extremists,” he called them—until proven innocent.26 Moreover, like many political leaders in Myanmar he regarded the Rohingya Muslim community to be aliens, non-Burmese people who should be denied citizenship even though they had lived for generations in the northwest coastal region of the country. During the Gujarat massacre in India, Muslims were characterized as the mortal enemies of Hinduism, and hence as a group could be subjected to the most severe forms of attack, including dousing them with kerosene and setting them on fire. In all of these cases, the creation of a sense of enemy gave communities a sense of identity—it clarified who they were not—and it provided the moral license to violently attack those who were not their kind; indeed, they were considered less than human. In the case of the Aum Shinrikyo movement in Japan the mélange of enemies was quite remarkable. Its numbers included the Japanese and American governments, Freemasons, and Jews. Master Asahara’s inclusion of Freemasons seemed to stem from the writings of European mystics who he claimed were trying to create Armageddon because “they think the reign of Christ will not come unless the final war is fought.”27 Jews were included because of similar conspiratorial theories alleging them to have designs on global economic and political control.28 Added to these foes in Asahara’s diatribes was a vague, generic enemy, a sort of inchoate force of evil, represented by the Japanese police, the news media, and virtually anyone he thought might be opposed to him. The enemies of Sikhism, as described by the activist leader of the Khalistan movement, Sant Jarnail Singh Bhindranwale, were similarly varied. They included both politicians and shadowy figures with no names. What Bhindranwale disdained—indeed loathed—was what he

Martyrs and Demons | 215

described as “the enemies of religion.” These included heretics who have fallen from the disciplined Sikh fold and sought the easy comforts of modern life, and “that lady born in a house of Brahmans”—the phrase he used to describe Indira Gandhi. Bhindranwale’s epithet for Indira Gandhi seems to have indicted both secular and Hindu politicians—the former because of party, the latter because of caste—and, in fact, he often regarded the two as twin evils. He was reflecting an attitude held by many Sikhs—that what passed for secular politics in India was in fact a form of Hindu cultural domination. A similar political twist characterized the satanization of Catholics by the Irish Protestant leader Rev. Ian Paisley. In calling the pope a “blackcoated bachelor,” he was insulting the religion of the community that he and other Protestants feared could eventually overwhelm them by their numbers in Ulster and by their strength in the adjacent Republic of Ireland. But Paisley was also attempting to turn an ordinary opponent— a leader of a rival religious group—into a caricature and thus dehumanize both him and the Catholics for whom he is an honored figure. On other occasions he not only denied that Catholics were Christian but also implied that they were subhuman. In these ways Paisley was doing what is commonly done to enemies: deny them personhood. In some cases, the enemy has been literally caricatured. Rev. Michael Bray was fond of publishing cartoons in his newsletter portraying abortion clinic doctors and political leaders in the Clinton administration as bulbous buffoons. He also distributed a joke book of the Polish-joke variety, but with the butt of the humor aimed at abortionists. It contained lines such as “How do you tell if an abortionist has class?” The answer: “All the words on his tatoo [sic] are spelled correctly.” Inadvertently compounding the humor was the fact that the word tattoo was misspelled, presumably by mistake. In another issue of his newsletter, Bray explained that jokes that “mock evildoers” reinforced a “right posture” of “loathing, not a happy tolerance.”29 Bray admitted that behind his humor was a serious attempt at depersonalization, a quality that is found in virtually every group’s attitude toward its enemy—the more so if it is a grand enemy, a satanic foe in the scenario of cosmic war. Shortly after Benjamin Nathaniel Smith went on a shooting spree, killing or wounding eleven members of racial minorities before destroying himself, the leader of the World Church of the Creator, with which the killer was affiliated, mourned the “loss of one white man”: Smith. The eleven other killed or wounded did not count, since they were “subhuman” or “mudpeople,” as Matthew Hale,

216

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

the leader of the movement, called them, using the same pejorative epithets used by Christian Identity writers.30 Robert Matthews, the leader of an Aryan Nations splinter group, the Order, who was later killed in a government shootout, used the Christian Identity term mudpeople to describe blacks and Hispanics. He advocated that they, along with what he called the “so-called white race traitors” who supported them, be exterminated in what he characterized as “a racial and religious Armageddon.”31 The grandfather of Christian Identity activists, Richard Butler, once invited his followers to his compound in Hayden Lake, Idaho, for what he described as “a summer conference and nigger shoot.” He said that any blacks who attended would be treated as “live targets,” and any who “refused to run or can’t for any reason will be fed to the dogs.”32 The principal recipients of Christian Identity’s wrath, however, are not blacks but Jews. According to the movement’s ideology, they have subverted the Bible’s teachings from the very beginning by claiming they were the real Jews of the Bible, the inheritors of God’s kingdom, and not the children of Satan that Christian Identity claims them to be. Denver Parmeter explained that he was mandated by Christian Identity teachings to participate in a plot to kill Alan Berg, a Denver talk show host, because the radio personality was Jewish. Jews “had to be killed,” he said, explaining that “Blacks diluted the white race” and are to be despised, but Jews are even worse because, according to Identity teachings, they are the “origins of evil.”33 In light of these wretched characterizations of Jews, and considering how frequently Jews have been depersonalized as enemies over the centuries, it is troubling to see some Jewish activists adopting the same attitudes toward their own enemies, the Arabs. Nowhere was this depersonalizing stance more apparent than the reaction of some supporters of the radical Jewish settler movement at a wedding celebration soon after the firebomb attack on a Palestinian home in the town of Duma in the West Bank in June 2015. An amateur video uploaded on YouTube showed members of the crowd stabbing pictures of the murdered family and cheering.34 At the funeral of Dr. Baruch Goldstein, who was killed in the melee created by his massacre of innocent Arab Muslims at prayer in the Tomb of the Patriarchs in Hebron, a rabbi, comforted the assembled followers of Goldstein by explaining that Gentile blood was worth less than Jewish blood.35 Followers of Kahane’s Kach group, on the bus en route to Goldstein’s funeral, passed around newspaper pictures showing the exposed head wounds of Arabs who

Martyrs and Demons | 217

were killed in Goldstein’s slaughter. “This proves that Arabs have brains!” said a teenager, pointing at the bloody gray matter. His friends laughed and passed around plastic cups filled with sweet Kiddush wine to toast the memory of Dr. Goldstein.36 These blanket characterizations of a people make the process of dehumanizing an enemy easier. It is difficult to belittle and kill a person whom one knows and for whom one has no personal antipathy. As most Jews are aware from centuries of experience at the receiving end of anti-Semitism, it is much easier to stereotype and categorize a whole people as collective enemies than to hate individuals. The Christian Identity activists still regard Jews this way, and as we have seen, some Jewish extremists collectively brand Arabs in such a manner. To many Muslim activists, America and Americans are collective enemies, with the particulars of how and why they threaten Muslim people and their culture left unspecified. And since September 11, some Americans regard all Muslims as enemies. This phenomenon of the faceless collective enemy explains in large part why so many terrorist acts have targeted ordinary people—individuals whom most observers would regard as innocent victims. The series of ISIS-related attacks in 2015 and 2016 in Paris, Brussels, Berlin, Istanbul, Baghdad, and Dacca were chilling for their assaults on everyday life. In the Paris attacks on November 13, 2015, the victims were mostly young people out for a night on the town, eating and drinking at cafés, and enjoying a rock concert in the Bataclan theater. At the Bataclan, the featured group that night was the American heavy metal band Eagles of Death Metal, from Palm Desert, California. An hour into the concert, three black-clad young men entered the hall, shouting “Allahu Akbar!” and started to fire indiscriminately into the crowd. It was one of several coordinated attacks that night, and by the time the killing was over, 130 innocent victims had fallen in the hail of bullets. Similarly, those who planned the bombings of buses of Jerusalem and Tel Aviv regarded the schoolchildren in the vehicles who were on their way to class and the housewives on their way to the shopping mall as less than innocent: they were representatives of a collectivity—Israeli society—that was corporately the foe. An Israeli on the other side of the struggle confirmed that he regarded innocent Arabs as enemies as well, since there were no such things as civilians in “a cultural war.”37 Echoing this sentiment, a leader in the Hamas movement told me, “No one is innocent in the war between Arabs and Jews.”38 He indicated that he regarded all Israelis as soldiers or as potential soldiers, including women

218

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

and children. In a videotaped interview of Osama bin Laden several weeks after the 9/11 attacks, he is seen chortling over the success of the aerial assaults on the World Trade Center and Pentagon buildings, thankful to God for the success of the mission, but without a trace of remorse for the thousands of lives lost in the buildings’ collapse. Since it is relatively easy to kill someone who is unknown, the perpetrators of terrorist acts have sometimes been apologetic after the fact, as were the members of the “Real IRA” after their attack in the village of Omagh, Northern Ireland. More often, however, even when the extent of the victims’ suffering has become known, the perpetrators have remained defensive about what they have done. Timothy McVeigh, for instance, in his words of sympathy to the families of the victims of the Oklahoma City bombing essentially repeated a scene from The Turner Diaries. In that novel, after the fictional bombers had destroyed a federal building, they picked their way through the rubble and helped one of the women who had been injured, whose “pretty face was smudged and scraped . . . and blood was spurting from a deep gash in her thigh.” The bombers regretted that so many “thousands of innocent victims” had to die but remained convinced that there was “no way” that they could “destroy the System without hurting many thousands of innocent people—no way.”39 Since these victims did not possess individual personality, they could represent a collective enemy such as the American “system,” or they could be a stand-in for a more diffuse notion of evil, a sort of “enemyin-general.” In the sermons of Jarnail Singh Bhindranwale, for instance, he seemed deliberately vague about who the enemy really was. “To destroy religion,” Bhindranwale informed his congregation, “mean tactics have been initiated,” and they came from “all sides and in many forms.”40 But rather than explain what these forces were, who was behind them, and why they would want to destroy religion, Bhindranwale dwelled on what the response should be: a willingness to fight and defend the faith—if necessary, to the end. “Young men: with folded hands, I beseech you,” Bhindranwale implored, reminding them that the ultimate decision between truth and evil was up to them.41 Moreover, there is a poetic appropriateness to the image of the enemy as a shadowy, almost subhuman figure—”mudpeople,” in Christian Identity’s way of thinking, “rats” and “vermin” in the Twitter comments of ISIS supporters. Since the point of a religious vision of cosmic war is to assert the triumph of order over disorder, it is understandable that the foes would be considered amorphous. They are, in fact, sym-

Martyrs and Demons | 219

bols for amorphousness itself. Even when the symbols have been particular peoples and governments, such as Jews, Arabs, and America, the concepts have been so broad and generic as to be virtually metaphoric in character. The idea of the enemy is sufficiently flexible that it can include more than one group. In fact, as political scientist Ehud Sprinzak has argued, the efforts to “delegitimize” an opponent by considering it to be an enemy has often been “split.” The hatred inspired by what Sprinzak has called “the radicalization of a group of extremists” has been directed toward “two separate entities.”42 In such instances the enemy includes not only the primary target, but also a secondary target. It could be any person or entity that is seen as supporting or defending the primary target. The primary enemy is the religious rival or local political authority that directly threatens the activist group and against which there is usually a commonsense basis for conflict and animosity. The secondary enemy is a less obvious threat: a moderate leader on one’s own side, for example, or a governmental authority who is trying to be fair-minded. Both can infuriate an activist who has bifurcated the world into heroes and enemies in a cosmic war. Secondary enemies, such as government authorities, are seen as not only defending the primary enemy but also belittling the very notion of cosmic war. One of these secondary enemies’ greatest failures, from a radical’s point of view, is their inability to take seriously the notion of an absolute, sacred struggle. Instead they treat disputes as if they were rational differences over which reasonable people can come to some sort of accommodation or even agreement. This view is anathema to those who see the world at war. ISIS volunteers have shown complete contempt for political leaders in Islamic countries, calling them “fake Muslims.” Some of Irish leader Rev. Ian Paisley’s harshest rhetoric was reserved for “apostates,” as he called them—moderates from his own, Protestant side. Once, when a delegation of Protestants called on him and acknowledged their respect for his position but encouraged him to be more modest in the way he proclaimed it, Paisley threatened to kick them out the door. Later he explained who he thought they were: “emissaries from hell, that is who they were, sent by Beelzebub, commissioned by Satan to tell the man of God to compromise.”43 The militant Sikh leader Jarnail Singh Bhindranwale also lambasted the moderate, modern-minded men in his congregation. His wrath was aimed especially at those who, in opposition to Sikh custom, did not let their beards and hair grow long and those who “hankered after government administrative positions.”44 Some

220

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

Christian activists have despised white liberal defenders of civil rights almost more than minorities. “O. J. Simpson was a national hero,” an Aryan Nations leader remarked, referring to Simpson’s alleged murders of his white wife and her Jewish friend, since he “got a Jew and a race traitor at the same time.”45 Government authorities make easy secondary targets. They protect the primary enemy and belittle the notion that ordinary mortal conflict can be elevated to the level of cosmic war. Moreover, as upholders of order within society, they are the natural enemies of those who feel that a certain amount of revolutionary disorder is necessary to transform the system. Rabbi Meir Kahane told me that he despised the secular government of Israel more than the Palestinian Arabs—whom he pitied, he said, rather than hated.46 Mahmud Abouhalima said he loathed secular Muslims such as Egypt’s president Hosni Mubarak, who, he claimed, are not really Muslims at all. He regarded Mubarak as a wolf in sheep’s clothing, who wore the label of Islam but “watered down” Islamic law.47 In Rev. Ian Paisley’s case, he was able to despise the government of Great Britain even while demanding that it support his Unionist cause. It was the moderate, accommodating stance of London toward the Catholics that so incensed him and led him to describe Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher as a “wicked, treacherous, lying woman.”48 This hatred of government as a primary or secondary enemy in a cosmic war has made political leaders targets of assassination. President Barack Obama was the object of a series of violent plots, none of which succeeded, largely due to careful government surveillance. During the 2016 presidential campaign in the United States, the Republican candidate, Donald Trump, hinted that his rival, Hilary Clinton, might be assassinated by supporters of the second amendment of the constitution, the provision that protects gun rights. In other cases political leaders have indeed fallen victim to assassins’ bullets. Irish nationalists in the Provisional IRA killed Britain’s Lord Mountbatten. In Egypt, President Anwar Sadat was assassinated by Muslim extremists associated with the Al-Jihad movement. In India Prime Minister Indira Gandhi was killed by her own Sikh bodyguards as a reprisal against her orders to the Indian army to invade the Sikhs’ Golden Temple. The speaker of the Egyptian Assembly, Rifaat al-Mahgoub, was killed by members of the same radical Muslim group that killed Sadat. In Algeria, the civilian head of the military-supported Council of State was assassinated, allegedly by followers of the outlawed Islamic Salvation Front. Israel Prime Minister

Martyrs and Demons | 221

Yitzhak Rabin, flushed with the victory of a peace accord with the Palestinians, was struck down by a Jewish extremist who could not bear the idea of compromise with the Arabs. Earlier, Rabin had been the subject of derision by supporters of the perpetrator of the Hebron massacre, Dr. Baruch Goldstein. At his funeral they blamed the Israeli government for his demise and the mere mention of Rabin or other government officials was greeted with hissing and catcalls. On the bus that brought Kach supporters to the funeral, one woman told friends proudly that her son had propped up pictures of Rabin and other government leaders in the toilet and drawn concentric rings around their faces to provide targets while he urinated.49

america as enemy More than any other nation, America has been assigned the role of primary or secondary foe in the rhetoric of many activists around the world. As the September 11, 2001, attacks demonstrated the wrath has been directed not only toward governmental symbols but also economic ones—not only the Pentagon but also the World Trade Center. The wider circle of targets has included American businessmen, American culture, and the American “system”—a generic term that has included all responsible persons and every entity that has kept the country functioning as a political, economic, and social unit. The United States is not the largest recipient of terrorist actions, however; in the second decade of the twenty-first century, the largest incidents of terrorism were in Iraq, Afghanistan, and Pakistan, and in war-torn countries such as Syria.50 Earlier, in the 1990s, the U.S. State Department’s counterterrorism unit reported that a disproportionately large number of acts of terrorism worldwide had been waged against American citizens and facilities.51 But although the number of attacks on American soil have not been as great as dozens of other countries in the world, it remained a potent symbol of opposition. Osama bin Laden said that he regarded America as a worldwide enemy. One of the members of a movement associated with the AlQaeda network explained why. The reason, Mahmud Abouhalima told me, is not only because the United States supports secular governments such as Egypt’s that he and his colleagues find directly oppressive, but also because of its history of terrorist acts. The U.S. bombing of Hiroshima, for instance, Abouhalima compared with the bombing of the Oklahoma City federal building.52 Abouhalima’s spiritual leader, Sheikh

222

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

Omar Abdul Rahman, during a lengthy courtroom speech at the end of the trial convicting him of conspiring to bomb the World Trade Center in 1993, predicted that a “revengeful” God would “scratch” America from the face of the earth.53 They echoed bin Laden’s designation of America as “the biggest terrorist in the world.”54 The reason bin Laden gave for targeting America was its list of “crimes,” which included “occupying the lands of Islam in the holiest of places, the Arabian Peninsula, plundering its riches, dictating to its rulers, humiliating its people, terrorizing its neighbors and turning its bases in the peninsula into a spearhead through which to fight the neighboring Muslim peoples.”55 In response to what bin Laden regarded as a declaration of war on Muslims by America, he issued a fatwa calling on “every Muslim” as “an individual duty” to join him in a righteous war “to kill the Americans and their allies.” He assured his followers that “this is in accordance with the words of Almighty God” and that “every Muslim who believes in God and wishes to be rewarded” should “comply with God’s order.”56 Why is America the enemy? This question is hard for observers of international politics to answer, and harder still for ordinary Americans to fathom. In the terrible hours of 9/11 many watched with horror as their compatriots and symbols of their country were destroyed by people whom they did not know, from cultures they could scarcely identify on a global atlas, and for reasons that did not seem readily apparent. From the frames of reference of those who regard America as enemy, however, several motives appear. One reason we have already mentioned: America is often a secondary enemy. In its role as trading partner and political ally, America has a vested interest in shoring up the stability of regimes around the world. This has often put the United States in the unhappy position of being a defender and promoter of secular governments regarded by their religious opponents as primary foes. In Iraq, the United States was behind the creation of a new democratically elected secular government in 2004 that put Shi’a in power and inadvertently marginalized Sunni Muslims. In Egypt, following the Arab Spring in 2011, both Muslim Brotherhood and military regimes blamed the United States for meddling in Egyptian politics. Earlier, a Muslim Egyptian sheikh had told his followers that “America is behind all these un-Islamic governments,” arguing that the purpose of American political and economic support was “to keep them strong” and to try to “defeat the Islamic movements.”57 Following an unsuccessful military coup in Turkey in 2016, rumors were rife that the United States’ Central Intelligence Agency

Martyrs and Demons | 223

must have been behind the plot. In the case of Iran prior to the Islamic revolution, Ayatollah Khomeini saw the shah and the American government linked as evil twins: America was tarred by its association with the shah, and the shah, in turn, was corrupted by being a “companion of satanic forces”—that is, of America.58 When Khomeini prayed to his “noble God for protection from the evil of every wicked traitor” and asked Him to “destroy the enemies,” the primary traitor he had in mind was the shah and the chief enemy America.59 In the case of Iran, there is indeed evidence that the United States had participated in the overthrow of a previous government when it helped to enthrone the shah of Iran in place of a democratically elected regime led by Mohammad Mossadeq, who the U.S. officials at the time thought was leading Iran in the direction of the socialist bloc. A second reason America is regarded as enemy is that both directly and indirectly it has produced and supported modern culture. In a world where villagers in remote corners of the world increasingly have access to MTV, Hollywood movies, and the internet, the images and values that have been projected globally have been American. The young supporters of ISIS used the modern technology of Twitter, YouTube, and the dark web to communicate their messages, but often their attacks were on the superficiality and materialism of European and American culture. It was this cultural threat that brought an orthodox rabbi, Manachem Fruman, who lived in a Jewish settlement on the West Bank of Israel near Hebron, to regular meetings with Hamas-related mullahs in nearby villages. I visited Fruman in his humble quarters in a settlement near a Palestinian village where he told me that he and the mullahs from the neighboring Palestinian towns often met, and agreed about the degradation of modern urban values; they also concurred over which country was ultimately responsible. When the mullahs asserted that the United States was the “capital of the devil,” Rabbi Fruman told me, he could agree.60 In a similar vein, Mahmud Abouhalima told me he was bitter that Islam did not have influence over the global media the way that secular America did. America, he believed, was using its power of information to promote the immoral values of secular society.61 The third reason for the disdain of America is economic. The World Trade Center symbolized America’s global economic reach, and even prior to 9/11 bin Laden had identified economic exploitation as one aspect of western domination over the Muslim countries of the Middle East that needed to be countered. The leaders of ISIS have also regarded

224

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

economic colonialism as an objectionable aspect of American influence in the region; hence the movement acted swiftly to control of the oilfields and refinery capabilities in Iraq, not only because they were economically valuable to the Islamic State regime but also because they were symbolically useful in showing that a local Muslim organization could regain control over the region’s most prized economic resource. Although most corporations that trade internationally are multinational, with personnel and legal ties to more than one country, many are based in the United States or have American associations. Even those that were identifiably European or Japanese are thought to be American-like and implicitly American in attitude and style. When Ayatollah Khomeini identified the “satanic” forces that were out to destroy Islam, he included not only Jews but also the even “more satanic” westerners—especially corporate leaders with “no religious belief” who saw Islam as “the major obstacle in the path of their materialistic ambitions and the chief threat to their political power.”62 The ayatollah went on to claim that “all the problems of Iran” were due to the treachery of “foreign colonialists.”63 On another occasion, the ayatollah blended political, personal, and spiritual issues in generalizing about the cosmic foe—western colonialism— and about “the black and dreadful future” that “the agents of colonialism, may God Almighty abandon them all,” have in mind for Islam and the Muslim people.64 What the ayatollah was thinking of when he prophesied a “black and dreadful future” for Islam was the global domination of American economy and culture. This fear of globalization is the fourth reason that America is often targeted as an enemy. The apprehensions of Ayatollah Khomeini were shared by many not only in the Muslim world but elsewhere, including the United States. There the right-wing militias were convinced that the “new world order” proclaimed by President George W. Bush was more than a mood of global cooperation: it was a conspiratorial plot to control the world. Accepting this paranoid vision of American leaders’ global designs, Dabiq, the glossy online magazine sponsored by ISIS, has portrayed the worldwide presence of American military troops as proof that they are a global conspiratorial band bent on establishing planetary control. Like most stereotypes, each of these characterizations holds a certain amount of truth. America’s culture and economy have dominated societies around the world in ways that have caused concern to protectors of local societies. The vast financial and media networks of Americanbacked corporations and information systems have affected the whole

Martyrs and Demons | 225

of the globe. There has indeed been a great conflict between secular and religious life throughout the world, and America does ordinarily support the secular side of the fight. Financial aid provided to leaders in Egypt, Saudi Arabia, Jordan, and Israel has shored up the political power of politicians opposed to religious militancy. Moreover, after the fall of the Soviet Union, the United States has been virtually the only coherent military power in the world. Hence it has been an easy target for blame when people have felt that their lives were going askew or were being controlled by forces they could not readily see. Yet to dislike America is one thing; to regard it as a cosmic enemy is quite another. When the United States has been branded as an enemy in a cosmic war, it has been endowed with superhuman—or perhaps subhuman— qualities, ones that have had little to do with the people who actually live in America. It is the image of the country that has been despised—a reified notion of Americanism, not its people. Individual Americans have often been warmly accepted by those who hate the collective image that they hold as cosmic enemy. This was brought home to me in Gaza when I talked with the Hamas leader, Dr. Abdul Aziz Rantisi, about his movement’s attitude toward America and its pro-Israeli stance. As Dr. Rantisi offered me coffee in the comfortable living room of his home, he acknowledged that the United States was a secondary foe because of its complicity in Israel’s existence and its oppression of Palestinian Arabs. From his point of view, it deserved to be treated as an enemy. What about individual Americans, I cautiously asked him, raising the example of American professors. Would such people be targeted? “You?” Rantisi responded, somewhat surprised. “You don’t count. You’re our guest.”65

satanization and the stages of empowerment Everyone has enemies in the sense of opponents, but to become objects of religious terrorism such enemies must become extraordinary: cosmic foes. When the ISIS magazine, Dabiq, described America as embodying the “forces of evil,” it was not just identifying a problem to which the faithful needed to respond, but a mythic monster with which they had to battle—one that ultimately only divine power could subdue. The question is how this happened—how a view of an opponent could cross the line into a deep and enduring hatred for a satanic entity. I call this process satanization. The process of creating satanic enemies is part of the construction of an image of cosmic war, and some of

226

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

the same criteria listed at the end of the previous chapter that make sacred warfare possible also make possible a satanic opponent. When the opponent rejects one’s moral or spiritual position; when the enemy appears to hold the power to completely annihilate one’s community, one’s culture, and oneself; when the opponent’s victory would be unthinkable; and when there seems no way to defeat the enemy in human terms—all of these conditions increase the likelihood that one will envision one’s opponent as a superhuman foe, a cosmic enemy. The process of satanization is aimed at reducing the power of one’s opponents and discrediting them. By belittling and humiliating them—by making them subhuman—one is asserting one’s own superior moral power. Satanization is to some extent a process of “delegitimization,” as Sprinzak has described it. He has identified a three-stage series of progressive steps aimed at discrediting one’s opponents, humbling them, and reducing their power.66 The first stage involves a crisis of confidence over the authority of a regime or its policies. The second stage is a conflict of legitimacy, in which a challenge group is “ready to question the very legitimacy of the whole system.”67 The third stage is a full crisis of legitimacy. At this stage the challenge group extends its hostility to everyone in society associated with a regime it regards as illegitimate, and both the regime and ordinary citizens are satanized—or as Sprinzak puts it, they are “derogated into the ranks of the worst enemies or subhuman species.”68 It is this dehumanization that allows a group to “commit atrocities without a second thought.”69 It is in this stage, according to Sprinzak, that acts of terrorism can be justified. In general, I agree with Sprinzak that the effect of satanization is to delegitimize an opponent. When ISIS volunteers called the Shi’a militia and the Iraq government troops “rats” and “vermin,” their aim was to reduce the credibility of Iraq’s leadership and to undermine its authority. Sometimes the process has worked. Not just name calling, but acts of terrorism over which an opponent seems to have no control can be a powerful way of undermining the opponent’s legitimacy, as Prime Minister Shimon Peres discovered in the 1997 Israeli elections. Terrorism in this case was an agent of delegitimization. But that has not always been the case. Sometimes governmental authority has been strengthened in the eyes of its supporters by the way it has responded to terrorism. British and French responses to terrorism are cases in point. In other cases, terrorism—especially religious terrorism—has not been undertaken with the intention to delegitimize, even in cases where that has been the outcome. It is a question of motive: did

Martyrs and Demons | 227

the people who perpetrated terrorist acts do so for the purpose of destroying their opponents’ credibility? When this question was put directly to those involved in incidents of terrorism—such as Dr. Rantisi and the operatives behind the Hamas suicide bombings and Mahmud Abouhalima and his colleagues in the World Trade Center bombing— their answers were obscure. They said that they were involved in great conflicts in which such acts were understandable and inevitable. Based on what these activists have said, it would appear that the delegitimization of the opponent was not the primary objective in their minds. Most religious activists do not appear to think tactically. Rather than trying to deal strategically with their opponents, craft tactics, and conceive ways to discredit them, the activists see themselves as engaged in a great struggle, in which the discrediting of opponents comes naturally and perhaps even secondarily. Prior to delegitimization and satanization is the sense of being involved in a cosmic war. As we have seen, the idea of cosmic war is compelling to religious activists because it ennobles and exalts those who consider themselves a part of it—especially those who have been desperate about their situations and defiant in resisting them. In that sense the concept is not just an effort at delegitimization but at dehumiliation: it provides escape from humiliating and impossible predicaments for those who otherwise would feel immobilized by them. They become involved in terrorism, not only to belittle their enemies, but to provide themselves with a sense of power. In Israel, Meir Ettinger echoed the words of his grandfather Rabbi Meir Kahane in seeing the cosmic struggle as a series of humiliations. The Jews throughout history have been humbled by their opponents, whom God, in turn, has humbled. Kahane spoke of God’s vengeance against the Gentiles. It began with the humiliation of the pharaoh in the exodus from Egypt over three thousand years ago and continued in the modern era with the humiliation of the Gentiles in the creation of Israel.70 “When the Jews are at war,” Kahane added, “God’s name is great.” Yoel Lerner echoed Kahane’s words, telling me that “God always fights against His enemies.” He added that activists such as himself “are the instruments of this fight.”71 One can view the process of satanization and the construction of ideas of cosmic war as part of an effort at ennoblement, empowerment, and dehumiliation. It is an incremental process in which acts of terrorism appear only in the later stages of a pattern that begins with a feeling of helplessness. The stages are as follows.

228

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

stages of symbolic empowerment 1. A world gone awry. The process begins with real problems: the Israeli occupation of Palestine, the corruption of secular governments in Egypt and India, the U.S. military presence in the Middle East and its support for the Saudi regime, the alienation of Arab Sunni Muslims in Syria and Iraq, the dehumanization and rapid social change in the modern societies of Japan, Europe, and the United States, and the discrediting of traditional values around the world in an era of globalization. Most people are able to cope with such situations. Others rebel against them politically and culturally. A few take these situations with ultimate gravity and perceive them as symptoms of a world gone badly awry. These few are part of emerging cultures of violence. 2. The foreclosure of ordinary options. Most people who feel so strongly about such desperate conditions as to want to change them join in political or social campaigns that sometimes are successful, sometimes not. But they persist with the expectation that eventually changes can be made through ordinary means: electing new leaders, advocating changes in public policy, and rallying public support. The few who are part of cultures of violence, however, see no possibility of improvement through normal channels. Their sense of frustration about the world around them is experienced as the potential for personal failure and a meaningless existence. 3. Satanization and cosmic war. For those in cultures of violence who experience both despair and defiance over what they perceive to be hopeless situations, religion provides a solution: cosmic war. As opponents become satanized and regarded as “rats” and “vermin,” or “forces of evil,” the world begins to make sense. Those who felt oppressed now understand why they have been humiliated and who is behind their dismal situation. Perhaps most important, they feel the exhilaration of hope, that in a struggle with divine dimensions God will be with them and, despite all evidence to the contrary, somehow they can win. 4. Symbolic acts of power. The final stage is the performance of acts that display symbolically the depth of the struggle and the power that those in cultures of violence feel they possess. These performances include holding private rallies and public demonstrations, publishing newsletters and books, blanketing the internet with messages on social media, and staging events that humiliate the

Martyrs and Demons | 229

cosmic foe, flaunting weapons in an effort to show military might, developing communications systems and organizations, and creating alternative governments with militia and courts and cabinet ministers and social services. In moments of dramatic intensity those within cultures of violence who want to express power symbolically may also choose an explosive act—terrorism— as an isolated incident, as a part of a protracted state of guerrilla war, or as a means of territorial control. Satanization is thus part of a larger pattern of behavior in which people desperately try to make sense of the world and maintain some control over it. Perpetrating acts of terrorism is one of several ways to symbolically express power over oppressive forces and regain some nobility in the perpetrator’s personal life. Those who have been part of cultures of violence and who have participated in acts of empowerment—even vicariously—have experienced the exuberance of the hope that the tide of history will eventually turn their way. Such performances of power have provided the anticipation that victory is at hand. Alas, the experience has often been fleeting. Sadder still, it has been purchased at an awful cost.

chapter 10

Warriors’ Power

To outsiders, the struggles in which most members of terrorist groups see themselves engaged appear to be of such cosmic proportions that they cannot conceivably be won. When Boko Haram took charge of much of the territory in northern Nigeria, and when ISIS seized territorial control of western Iraq and eastern Syria and proclaimed that its caliphate had been established, these were notable exceptions. Boko Haram’s authority was tenuous, however, and even at its broadest extent of geographic expansion in 2015, the “state” of ISIS was a spider web network of conquered towns and cities connected by roads that were not totally secured. When the territorial control was challenged in 2016, the ISIS domination of many towns and outposts in Iraq crumbled like a house of cards. One of the spokespersons for the movement, Abu Muhammad al-Adnani, released a statement in May 2016, warning its detractors not to gain too much confidence in the Islamic State’s loss of territory. “True defeat,” he said, “is losing the will and desire to fight.”1 This was a sentiment shared by many of the thousands of volunteers who supported the movement online through Twitter and other forms of social media, and by those who had flocked to the region to support the imagined caliphate. For them, the struggle was never simply about the power of controlling land. But it was about power. In a message to his loyal followers around the world, ISIS leader Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi explained that conducting acts of terrorism on the movement’s behalf were empowering. “Terrorism is to refuse humiliation, subjugation, and subordination,” he explained, 230

Warriors’ Power

|

231

adding that it would allow the Muslim involved in such acts to “live as a Muslim, honorably with might and freedom.”2 Though al-Baghdadi urged his followers to rush to Syria and Iraq to join the Islamic State as fighters, for many of the supporters their participation was far away, in places such as London, Brussels, Detroit, Karachi, or Tunis, so that, in front of their computer screens, they took on imagined roles of soldiers in a glorious cosmic battle. At times, however, they went outside and actually performed as fighters. Undertaking terrorist acts, such as the assault on an office Christmas party in San Bernardino in 2015, was a way of joining the movement from afar. Most of these worldwide volunteers, and most of those who flocked to Syria and Iraq to support the Islamic State, had little to gain materially from their involvement. For most, in fact, it was an enormous sacrifice of money, time, and family ties. For some, it cost them their lives. Yet, in the act of sacrificing and being involved, most of the ISIS fighters felt ennobled and empowered, even though there was no immediate material or political gain from their actions. A similar stance was taken by those involved in the attacks on the World Trade Center and the tragic suicide bombings in Israel. The very means by which these and similar battles have been waged—violent assaults launched by small minorities against opponents who were infinitely better armed—seem destined to failure. It is hard to take seriously the notion that these were rational efforts to achieve or maintain power, at least by ordinary calculations. Yet, to those undertaking them, there may have been something exhilarating, perhaps even rewarding, about the struggle itself. This sense of empowerment may have made the effort seem worthwhile. “To die in this way”—through suicide bombings—the political head of the Hamas movement told me in words that were strikingly similar to the ISIS leader al-Baghdadi, “is better than to die daily in frustration and humiliation.”3 He went on to say that, in his view, the very nature of Islam is about the defense of “dignity, land, and honor.” He then told a story that the prophet had told about a woman who fasted daily, and yet because she humiliated her neighbors, she was doomed to hell.4 The point of the story, he said, is that dishonoring someone is the worst act that one can do, and the only thing that can counter it is dignity: the honor provided by religion and the courage of being a defender of the faith. In a curious way, then, both religion and violence were seen as antidotes to humiliation. The countering of dishonor with piety and struggle is a theme that runs through many incidents of religious violence in the last decades of

232

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

the twentieth century and the first decades of the twenty-first. Dr. Baruch Goldstein is said to have been driven to kill innocent Muslims in the shrine of the Tomb of the Patriarchs in Hebron because he felt Jews had been dishonored. A similar sense of pride was exhibited in the nervous bravado of the Hamas suicide bombers in the videotapes taken the night before their actions, and in the Twitter postings of young volunteers on their way to Syria to engage in combats that would likely take their lives. A British teenager who was lured to ISIS online said that he despised the way that his Bangladesh Muslim community in his own country was treated and was delighted to leave Britain to join ISIS. He ended up in a training camp in Syria, where he confessed to missing his parents—”we all miss our mums,” he said—but added that he would “stay and fight until the Khalifah is established or I die.”5 The same bravado was expressed by many young Sikh militants in India, who told me that they were fighting for the glory of the Sikh community and were angered that the government did not take them seriously.6 Japan’s Shoko Asahara wanted to be not only “like a king,” as one of his former followers told me, but “like Christ.”7 Ashin Wirathu told me that he regarded himself as the voice of the Buddhist masses.8 In all these cases, the act of being involved in violence provided a sense of empowerment disproportionately greater than what the violence actually achieved. For this reason, I describe this feeling of strength as “symbolic empowerment.” By using the term symbolic, I do not mean to imply that the empowerment was not real. After all, a sense of power is largely a matter of perception, and in many cases the power that the activists obtained had a very real impact on their community, their relationships, and themselves, as well as on the political authorities who feared them and granted them the respect of notoriety. But symbolic expressions of violence—performance violence, as I earlier described it—are empowering in a special way, for they seldom have led to conquests of territory or personnel in the traditional definition of military success. For most of these quixotic fighters, their great success was simply in waging the struggle—the heady confidence they received by being soldiers for a great cause, even if the battles were not won, or were even winnable, in ordinary military terms.

empowering marginal men A society provides an accepted—even heroic—social role for its citizens who participate in great struggles and have been given the moral license

Warriors’ Power

|

233

to kill. They are soldiers. Understandably, many members of radical religious movements see themselves that way. Many ISIS followers, whether or not they were on the battlefields, called themselves mujahideen, literally a fighter “engaged in jihad.” Sheikh Abdul Rahman described himself as “a soldier and servant in the cause of Allah.”9 Rev. Michael Bray, who had once attended the naval academy at Annapolis but never completed his military training, called himself “a soldier for Christ.”10 Anders Breivik liked to portray himself online posing in a military uniform, though he was never a soldier. A former staff member of the Aryan Nations said that he had been drawn to the movement by the flags, the military uniforms, and the parades.11 For many activists, though, the militant posture is not just an affectation. They were indeed soldiers at one time in real wars, and continued their identities as war heroes—or perhaps fulfilled their frustrated careers—in the imagined wars of politico-religious struggles. Nidal Hassan was a military doctor for the U.S. Army Medical Corps stationed at Fort Hood, Texas, in 2009 when he turned on his fellow soldiers in a shooting rampage that killed thirteen. The two young men who carried out the Oklahoma City federal building bombing, Timothy McVeigh and Terry Nichols, were also soldiers, veterans of the Gulf War. In Operation Desert Storm, McVeigh is said to have enjoyed the act of killing and once boasted of decapitating an Iraqi with his cannon at a distance of eleven hundred meters. During the last battle—a nocontest encounter that amounted to virtual slaughter of all remaining Iraqi forces—McVeigh is reported to have been furious when ordered to stop shooting. He then took out his camera and wandered over the battlefield, taking pictures of the Iraqi dead.12 When McVeigh returned to the United States after the war, he continued to wear his army fatigues and tote weapons as if preparing for battle. In this respect McVeigh was not unlike thousands of uniformed militia activists throughout the United States. Gordon Sellner, a militia member who subscribed to a Christian Identity ideology similar to McVeigh’s and shot a deputy sheriff in Montana, barricaded himself inside his cabin and sent out directives that he signed, “a soldier for Christ and country.”13 Other religious activists have also had military connections. Mahmud Abouhalima and many of the followers of Osama bin Laden and Sheikh Omar Abdul Rahman had served as mujahideen in the battlefields of Afghanistan. On several tours of duty in Afghanistan in 1988– 89, Abouhalima is said to have volunteered to undertake the most treacherous of missions.14 When I interviewed him, Abouhalima told

234

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

me that he submitted himself to dangerous situations in the Afghan war because “as a Muslim,” it was his “job.”15 A leader in Abouhalima’s mosque said most Muslims like Abouhalima who went to the war in Afghanistan from America left “as ordinary men and came back so devout and so proud.” He went on to explain that the Afghan war “reminded them of the glorious old days, many hundreds of years ago, when the Muslims were fighting the infidel.”16 During the height of the Sikh separatist movement some of India’s most highly ranked soldiers crossed over and joined the Khalistani revolt. Sant Jarnail Singh Bhindranwale’s military adviser, Shabeg Singh, had been a general in the Indian army. Shabeg Singh’s former superior officer, Major General Narinder Singh, also joined the movement after his retirement. When I interviewed the former major general in the Punjab capital city, Chandigarh, he told me that his involvement in the movement initially was a matter of personal pride. He felt lost after leaving the military and was flattered when a group of retired Sikh military officers were brought to Amritsar and asked to support the struggles of their people. Narinder Singh said that for several years thereafter he traveled around the state, serving as adviser to five or six major paramilitary organizations.17 Other Sikh activists have had police connections. Dilawar Singh, the suicide bomber who killed Punjab’s Chief Minister Beant Singh, was a dismissed special police officer from Patiala. An accomplice, Balwant Singh, was a police constable. The alleged mastermind of Indira Gandhi’s assassination, Simranjit Singh Mann, had served as a superintendent of police in the Punjab.18 In the radical religious movements on both sides of the PalestineIsraeli confrontation, military images have abounded. Hamas cadres have had military as well as religious training, and some of the volunteers were former armed police of the Palestinian authority. On the Jewish side, both the assassin of Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin and the perpetrator of the massacre in Hebron’s Tomb of the Patriarchs had been soldiers in the Israeli army. The latter, Dr. Baruch Goldstein, maintained good relations with the Israeli military, and though long retired from the army he dressed up in his old military uniform the morning he entered the mosque at the sacred site of the Cave of the Patriarchs at Hebron and with an army weapon killed scores of Arabs kneeling at prayer.19 Such soldiers have found new battles: the grand spiritual and political struggles in which their movements envision themselves to be engaged. These cosmic wars impart a sense of importance and destiny

Warriors’ Power

|

235

to men who find the modern world to be stifling, chaotic, and dangerously out of control. The imagined wars identify the enemy, the imputed source of their personal and political failures; they exonerate these would-be soldiers from any responsibility for failures by casting them as victims; they give them a sense of their own potential for power; and they arm them with the moral justification, the social support, and the military equipment to engage in battle both figuratively and literally. It is an incendiary combination, one that has led to horrendous acts. Like soldiers in real armies, the imagined soldiers of cosmic wars tended to be young and male. They also tended to be members of financially and socially marginal groups for which there is a great need for empowerment. Like all generalizations, however, there have been significant exceptions: the leaders of the groups, for instance, have often been middle-aged and affluent. The very youthfulness of most members of the movements made them socially marginal. Many of the foreign ISIS volunteers were still in their teens, only a few were out of their twenties. A tabulation of the ages of Sikh extremists killed by police indicated that most of the men were also in their early twenties.20 According to Emmanuel Sivan, one of the leading scholars of modern Islamic history, Hamas fighters have consisted largely of “urban males in their teens.”21 In most societies, young people between the ages of approximately sixteen and twentytwo are in a liminal state between life stages. They are no longer children in their parents’ families, and they have not yet created families of their own. Their marginality is especially acute in traditional societies built around family units, in which one does not find the highly developed youth cultures of modern urban and industrialized societies. These activist youths are family members without a family, for whom religious movements provide a home and an extended kinship. In the cultures of violence that have led to religious terrorism, the anxieties of all young men—concerns over careers, social location, and sexual relationships—have been exacerbated. Experiences of humiliation in these matters have made them vulnerable to the voices of powerful leaders and images of glory in a cosmic war. In Iraq, when the postSaddam regime refused to accept soldiers from Saddam’s old army, thousands of young men were put out of work, and many of them were eager to gain employment in the Islamic State militia. In Palestine, where the unemployment rate among young men in their late teens and early twenties hovered around 50 percent, economic frustration led to sexual frustration. Without jobs, which is usually a prerequisite to searching for

236

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

a wife in traditional societies, they could not marry. Without marriage, in strict religious cultures such as that of Palestinian Arabs, they could not have sex. The Hamas movement provided a way of venting the resulting frustrations in a community that supplied a family and an ideology that explained the source of their problems and gave them hope. The same can be said about many other movements of religious activism, including the Islamic Resistance in Algeria. There religious opposition to the secular National Front Party was fueled by a 20 percent inflation rate, a 25 percent unemployment rate, and a youthful population—70 percent of citizens were under twenty-five years of age—who could not hope for marriage, an apartment, or a job under Algeria’s dire economic conditions.22 A U.S. State Department official told me that an improvement in Algeria’s economic climate would quickly quell the agitation of religious revolutionaries. The implication of his comments was that Algeria’s religious revolution was an economic rebellion in disguise. Although I suspect that religious ideology permeated the Algerian resistance more deeply than he suggested, there is no question in my mind that much of what he said was right: economic despair led to a sense of desperation and anger that was aimed— appropriately or not—at the secular junta that seized power when the election appeared to be moving toward victory for the Islamic party. In some movements, however, the economic situation was not one of extreme poverty, but of relative deprivation. This was the case in the Aum Shinrikyo movement in Japan, where most of the followers were middle class and many of them professionals, though often frustrated in their careers. Christian activists in Europe and the United States, also have not wholly fit the stereotype of young and poor: most of them have been employed and no longer youthful. The Norwegian terrorist Anders Breivik was in his thirties when he committed the Oslo massacre; Breivik was not poor but was hardly a professional success. Timothy McVeigh was unemployed and drifting in his career, but others, like the abortion clinic attacker, Paul Hill, were more established. In Paul Hill’s case he was a pastor, though one excommunicated by his own Presbyterian denomination and working as a car washer and detailer. The Tsarnaev brothers, who bombed the Boston Marathon in 2013, were stagnating in their ambitions as well: the older, Tamerlane, had given up on his dream of being a Golden Gloves boxing champion, and the other, Dzhokhar, at University of Massachusetts at Dartmouth, had uncertain career plans. Another set of brothers, Saïd and Chérif Kouachi, involved in the attack on the Charlie Hebdo magazine offices in Paris in 2015,

Warriors’ Power

|

237

were also floundering in life, unable to maintain stable jobs or social relationships. What they all had in common was a sad tale of failed promise in their professional lives, and a fear of even greater social marginality in the future. Although many were white Protestant males and members of the middle class, they perceived European and American society to be moving in a direction that would make this class increasingly peripheral. The white militants were terrified at statistical projections, based on the rise of Middle Eastern immigrants in Europe and Asian and Hispanic immigrants in the United States that would increasingly marginalize Caucasians. These fears of impending marginality have undoubtedly helped to fuel the racism of many radical religious movements. Kerry Noble, at one time a leader of the Christian extremist movement called the Covenant, the Sword, and the Arm of the Lord, said that he used to preach sermons describing blacks as the “beasts of the field” mentioned in the Bible. Jews, he once alleged, were products of sexual intercourse between Eve and Satan. Even though Noble and his colleagues “had never personally known a Jew,” that did not hinder them from blaming Jews for most of the problems in the modern world: “for the pornography, for the lack of morality, for the economic situation in America, for minority rights over white rights, and for kicking God out of the schools.”23 By implying that Jews were responsible for these problems, Noble was expressing his own frustration over the inability of white Christian men like himself to control the world around them. In Myanmar, the fiery Buddhist monk Ashin Wirathu prophesized that Burmese society would numerically favor Muslims rather than Buddhists if demographic projections came to fruition within a few generations. Wirathu thought that Burmese Buddhism was in danger of forever being dashed away, a dark prediction that I heard in a different context, in Sri Lanka, by another Buddhist monk, this one afraid of the increasing power of Tamil Hindus as well as Sri Lankan Muslims. In India, it was middle-class Hindus who feared the rising economic power of Muslims groups in Gujarat, and who fueled the anger that led to the massacre of Muslims in Ahmedabad. In India’s Punjab state, the movement of Sikh empowerment was also composed largely of young men from a privileged class, the agrarian Jats, who saw their world similarly endangered, though in their case not by Muslims but by urban Hindus and Sikhs whom they thought the secular government was disproportionately advantaging. They feared that the social and economic status they regarded as their birthright was slipping away. Some of the most

238

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

fanatical members of the movement, including Beant Singh, one of the assassins of Indira Gandhi, were Sikhs who came from the lowest stratum of society—the so-called untouchable castes.24 The bulk of the militant Sikh movement, however, was composed of young Jats, rural youths with little education. In earlier generations they would automatically have assumed positions of leadership and economic power within Punjab society. In the last decades of the twentieth century, however, as northern India became increasingly urban and industrial, money and social status within the Sikh community moved away from rural Sikhs and toward members of merchant and administrative castes— both Hindus and Sikhs—who live in cities. Urban groups such as Khatris and Aroras had begun to challenge the Jats for power in the Punjab, and young Jats were desperate to reassert the primacy of their caste— and themselves. In some cases, this desperation led to participation in movements of religious violence, such as the one that took the life of the chief minister of Punjab. On the morning that the young Jat Dilawar Singh ignited the bomb that killed the chief minister and fourteen others, he said, “Today I will make the Jats feel proud.”25 Not all Sikhs who supported the militant movement lived in India, however. Sikhs abroad are examples of another kind of marginalized people who have become involved in paramilitary activity: expatriates. A considerable amount of money and moral support for Punjabi militants came from such faraway places as London, Houston, and Los Angeles. Sikhs in these places heard a message of belonging in the videoand audiotaped messages of Sant Jarnail Singh Bhindranwale. Although they were on the periphery of society in England, Canada, the United States, and the many other parts of the world to which Sikhs migrated in the twentieth century, militant movements provided them with the opportunity to display their commitment and prove their importance to the community in a powerful way. The nineteen Muslim activists who participated in the suicide assault on the World Trade Center, Pentagon, and perhaps other thwarted targets on September 11, 2001, were also in many cases men without countries. Alienated from their native lands in the Middle East they had encamped in urban environments in Europe and America. They were connected with one another through electronic communications and an occasional clandestine rendezvous. Unlike the suicide bombers of the Hamas movement they were often well-educated middle-class professionals in their thirties. What set them apart was not their youth and poverty but the marginality of their national identities. Like many other

Warriors’ Power

|

239

mobile people of the twenty-first century their communities of identity are not in geographical space but in a kind of ethnic cyberspace. In the twenty-first century this electronic connection among disparate disaffected youths around the world became a major motif in the organization of terrorist movements. Nowhere has this been more true than in the remarkable online jihadi network that emerged after 2014 supporting ISIS and its putative Islamic State. As I mentioned in my discussion of ISIS in an earlier chapter in this book, the Twitter accounts of volunteers that my research assistants have monitored revealed a consistent theme—the creation of a sense of community—that strikingly illustrated the degree to which these young people have felt alienated and marginalized in their home societies. One teenager of Bangladesh background who was raised in the United Kingdom said that leaving Britain to join the ISIS forces in Syria “was one of the happiest moments” in his life.26 Charlie Winters, who has reported on the Twitter and internet network of what he has called the “virtual Caliphate” reported that “belonging” is one of the main themes of the Twitter chats; this observation was underscored by others who have been in Twitter contact with ISIS supporters and who have been impressed with how much the creation of an online jihadi friendship circle has meant to the young followers, many of them who have come from minority immigrant communities.27 This phenomenon might be called “internet ethnicities”: transnational networks of people tied culturally through the internet despite the diversity of their places of residence and the limitations of national borders.28 These ethnicities, united by websites and social media, are extensions of traditional societies whose adherents and cultures are dispersed throughout the world.29 ISIS supporters are the most diverse, bringing together residents from Europe, North America, Australia, and Asia, along with those from North Africa and the Middle East. Other online networks are more ethnically specific. Even before the widespread use of the internet, these expatriate groups have been the locus of global networks, such as the ones that I have mentioned above—Sikhs, Sri Lankans, and Arabs—including the followers of Osama bin Laden, who moved from Saudi Arabia to Sudan, to Afghanistan, and Sheikh Omar Abdul Rahman, who lived variously in Egypt, the Sudan, and New Jersey. Among their adherents was Muhammad Salameh, whose story is paradigmatic of the religious radical expatriate experience. In New Jersey, Salameh lived virtually from hand to mouth, sharing addresses with several other people. All were situated in a busy working-

240

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

class neighborhood that, like other industrial neighborhoods of Jersey City, teemed with new immigrants from Haiti and the Middle East. The setting was in some ways not unlike the social and economic conditions in the crowded Palestinian refugee camps on the West Bank and in Jordan, where Salameh was born and raised and from which he departed in 1987 for America to improve his educational and financial situation. In the United States, where his limited English was a continuing social barrier, Salameh associated primarily with other Arabs. Since at this time the internet was not available to bring communities together, expatriate religious communities provided those points of identity and belonging. His life became focused around a local mosque located above a Chinese restaurant, led by the charismatic Egyptian cleric Sheikh Omar Abdul Rahman. The trajectory of his life led ultimately to his participation in the 1993 bombing of the World Trade Center, where the world came to know him as the terrorist who foolishly returned to the Ryder rental agency to retrieve his deposit for the van he had rented and subsequently blown up, and was immediately caught by waiting agents of the FBI.30 Muhammad Salameh exemplified several aspects of marginality. He was a refugee first in the Middle East and then in America. He came from abject poverty and was a man with few skills and little hope of developing a career. He was a bachelor without good prospects for marriage. Yet one could say the same of thousands of others who immigrate to the United States in any given year, many of whom settle into respectable if not lucrative positions, and few of whom end up trying to destroy major urban buildings. At the same time, many of Salameh’s comrades in the World Trade Center conspiracy were not socially or economically marginal at all: some, like Mahmud Abouhalima and Nidal Ayyad, a chemical engineer, were well-educated professionals with suburban homes and families. Thus the case of Muhammad Salameh, while exemplifying a familiar pattern of marginality, also raises questions. What kind of causal connections should be made between marginality and the propensity for violent action? I hesitate to move too quickly. I do not think that economic or social despair leads automatically to violence, since virtually everyone on the planet has experienced some sort of economic and social hardship in his or her life. In the cases that we have examined, however, it appears that the combination of factors has made a difference, as has the intensity with which these factors are experienced and the availability of a religious and political vocabulary with which the frustrations can be articulated. Most important is the intimacy with which the humiliation is experienced and the degree to which it is regarded as a

Warriors’ Power

|

241

threat to one’s personal honor and respectability. These can create the conditions for a desperate need for empowerment, which, when no other options appear to be open, are symbolically and violently expressed.

why guys throw bombs Nothing is more intimate than sexuality, and no greater humiliation can be experienced than failure over what one perceives to be one’s sexual role. Such failures are often the bases of domestic violence; and when these failures are linked with the social roles of masculinity and femininity, they can lead to public violence. Terrorist acts, then, can be forms of symbolic empowerment for men whose traditional sexual role—their very manhood—is perceived to be at stake. Before we rush into an analysis of terrorism as a man’s occupation, however, we have to acknowledge the fact that some women have played active roles in terrorist movements. The assassin who killed Rajiv Gandhi, the son and successor of Prime Minister Indira Gandhi of India, was a female suicide bomber who hid her lethal cargo in her sari. She had been a member of a Sri Lankan Tamil separatist group that was angry at Rajiv Gandhi’s support of the neighboring Sri Lankan government’s attempts to quell their separatist uprising. The Chechen separatist movement in Russia is infamous for its “Black Widow” fighters, women who carry out suicide attacks with bombs concealed beneath their black robes. When the Tupac Amaru movement invaded the Japanese embassy in Lima, Peru, several young rural women were prominent among the cadres who held the diplomats hostage. A Kurdish rebel suicide bomber in Turkey who killed nine people, including herself, in the town of Tunceli was dressed as a pregnant woman in order to hide the bomb that she was carrying beneath her skirt. In the Irish nationalist movement, women formed their own paramilitary group, Cumann Na Mbann, where their main role was to carry guns and explosives for the men to use in the military cadres of the Provisional Irish Republican Army.31 In all of these incidents, however, the groups of which the young terrorist women were a part were motivated by secular political ideologies or ethnic separatism; they were not religious. The Palestinian women who became martyrs as suicide bombers were members of the secular branches of the Palestinian independence movement, and not from Hamas, the Islamic branch. Yet increasingly in the twenty-first century, women have played a more active role even in political movements associated with religion. As we have seen in an earlier chapter in this book,

242

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

Maya Kodnani was convicted of terrorism in her role in the Hindu assault on Muslim neighborhoods in the Gujarat massacre. Though most in the angry mob of Hindus who committed the atrocities were young men, Kodnani, who was convicted of urging them on, was a middle-aged woman. Ten percent of the international volunteers who have joined ISIS were women, and though many came to provide sexual and social support for the male fighters, some have played strategic roles in terrorist acts. In the Paris attacks on the Bataclan nightclub and other sites in November 2015, the mastermind behind the attack, Abdelhamid Abaaoud, a twenty-eight-year-old Belgian of Moroccan ancestry, was aided by his female cousin Hasna Aitboulahcen, who like him was in her mid-twenties. She helped her cousin elude authorities and then died in the police encounter when their Saint Denis apartment was surrounded. She had been raised in a foster home due to an abusive mother and an absent father, and her teenage years included binges on drugs and alcohol as well as attempts to go straight by adopting the most strict regimen of her Islamic faith. In the 2015 San Bernardino attack, the wife of terrorist Syed Rizwan Farook, Tashfeen Malik, was equally as radical as her husband, as evidenced by their comments, correspondence, and behavior. Some even thought that she might have been the main instigator of the plot. In general, however, women have not played a prominent role in militant religious movements. Yet some groups have provided an ancillary role for women. The Twitter feeds of ISIS supporters online are overwhelmingly those of young men, though a few women have been outspoken in their rhetorical defense of the movement. ISIS has actively attempted to recruit foreign women into their ranks, in part to make the movement more attractive to the men who have been recruited. But once there, they have played strategic roles, including as guards and support staff. The movement for Sikh separatism in India adopted much the same position. Cynthia Keppley Mahmood reported that when a young woman pleaded with the leader of the Khalistan Commando Force to allow her to become a member, he finally assented but restricted her to support roles—carrying munitions and messages—rather than being involved in “combat actions.”32 Mahmood said that the woman waited for the day when she would have the opportunity to be more active. That time came when she broke into the house of a Hindu shopkeeper whom she suspected as having reported her to the police. She held a gun at his head, berating him for turning her in. The shopkeeper denied that he had done so, and was “begging for pardon” and “crying

Warriors’ Power

|

243

that I was like his daughter,” the young woman said. But she was not dissuaded. “I shot him down with my revolver,” she went on to say, “with my own hands.”33 In reporting this grisly story, the young Sikh woman said that one of her purposes in murdering the Hindu shopkeeper was to spur Sikh men into what she regarded as even greater acts of courage. If they saw that “girls could be so brave,” she reasoned, then Sikh boys “could be even more brave.”34 The implication was that the task of killing was ordinarily the work of men—or “boys,” as the young Sikh activists were called— and the role of women was to provide support, to challenge them, and to spur them on. Her position was essentially that of the great martyr in the Sikh movement, Sant Jarnail Singh Bhindranwale, who addressed his congregations as if the men (especially the young men) were the only ones listening, encouraging them to let their beards grow in the long Sikh fashion and describing their cowardice in the face of government opposition as “emasculation.” In general, Bhindranwale’s attitude was in line with the prevailing values of virtually all cultures of violence based on strong traditional religious ideologies. These have been postures of “radical patriarchalism,” as Martin Riesebrodt has called it.35 The role of men is in public life; the role of women is in the home. Religious activists often have shown a certain paternalistic respect for women, as long as they have remained in their place. During the 1991–92 Muslim uprising in Algeria, Ali Belhaj, one of the Islamic Front leaders, said that a woman’s primary duty was to “bear good Muslims”; and Sheikh Abdelkhader Moghni, another Islamic Front leader, complained about women working and taking jobs from men. Women, he said, just “spend their salaries on makeup and dresses, they should return to their homes.”36 A businesswoman in Algiers responded by saying she feared that if the Islamic Front succeeded, it would usher in a reign of “pig power.” “They’re all male chauvinist pigs,” she explained, adding, “believe me, we are worried.”37 The worst of these fears came true in Afghanistan, where the Taliban party promoted a male-dominant culture that did not tolerate women in public life, even as teachers, doctors, or nurses. Although they claimed that eventually Afghan society would become somewhat more liberal, they stated that society would not be regularized until the fighting was over. Such cases exemplify an assertion of masculinity and a recovery of public virility that is at once sexual, social, and political. Does this explain why terrorism is primarily a male occupation, and why bombs are most often thrown by guys? I use the term guys in this

244

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

case because it evokes the camaraderie of young males slightly on the edge of social acceptance. Moreover, it is etymologically rooted in religious activism. The term guy came into use in England in the seventeenth century after Guy Fawkes was tried and executed in 1606 for his role in the Gunpowder Plot. This extraordinary conspiracy planned by radical English Catholics involved thirty-six barrels of gunpowder hidden in a cellar under the House of Lords, set to be ignited on the opening day of Parliament. Intended as a protest against laws they thought would restrict their religious freedom, the explosion would have blown up both British legislative houses and King James I. Thus the religious terrorist, Fawkes, was the original “Guy,” and his name came to be applied to all roguish men who skirted danger. The religious terrorists of recent years are today’s guys: bands of rogue males at the margins of respectability. The gender specificity of their involvement suggests that some aspect of male sexuality—sexual roles, identity, competence, or control—is a factor in the “toxic masculinity” of the young men who have engaged in terrorism, as one writer has described it.38 Perhaps the easiest aspect of this masculinity to understand is the matter of sexual competence—by which I mean the ability to have sex, a prospect that is limited in traditional societies by moral and situational restrictions. There is a certain amount of folklore about men and guns that cannot easily be dismissed—the notion, for instance, that sexual frustration leads to a fascination with phallicshaped weaponry that explodes in a way that some men are unable to do sexually. As I mentioned earlier, the young bachelor self-martyrs in the Hamas movement enter into their suicide pacts almost as if it were a marriage covenant. They expect that the blasts that kill them will propel them to a bed in heaven where the most delicious acts of sexual consummation will be theirs for the taking. One young man who had committed himself to becoming a suicide bomber said that “when [he] exploded” and became “God’s holy martyr,” he was promised a place for himself and his family in paradise, seventy-two virgins, and a cash settlement for his family equivalent to six thousand dollars.39 It was the virgins that seemed to interest the young man the most. Sexual power for many men involves not only sexual competence— the ability to have sex—but also sexual control. This means knowing when not to have sex, and putting sexual matters in their place. Their aversion to what appear to be aberrations of traditional sexual roles— including misplaced gender assignments, such as women assuming dominant positions in the public arena—is an example of sex out of

Warriors’ Power

|

245

control. To many men these phenomena also exemplify a wider form of social disorder: they are illustrations of the encroaching power of evil, demonstrations of the pervasiveness of the lack of moral values, and examples of how social definitions have become skewed. On a Twitter feed of one ISIS supporter the young man defended himself against an accusation of misogyny by saying that “I do respect women, but religious women only.”40 In The Turner Diaries, William Pierce spoke of what he called “Women’s lib” as being “a form of mass psychosis . . . promoted and encouraged by the System as a means of dividing our race against itself.”41 This concern with sexual roles elevates the issue beyond one of simple sexual competence or control on a personal level. For Pierce, sex is a social problem: roles and conduct out of place in what he regards as a society in moral decline. Moreover, it is a public problem that leads in some cases to hostility. It is anger against sex out of place that is often evident in the targets of violence, such as abortion clinics and gay bars and nightclubs. At other times the violence itself has had sexual overtones, as in cases such as in Ireland where torture of enemies has involved mutilation of the men’s genitals—literally, in some cases, emasculating them—and in ISIS-controlled areas of Syria and Iraq, where the rape of women has been employed as a terrorist act. Indeed, rape of women (and sometimes boys) has become a familiar part of violent assaults, and it is not entirely clear why. Rape in any circumstance is, like other acts of terrorism, a symbolic display of power. In the case of ISIS, where Yazidi women were sold into sex slavery, the acts were legitimated by the fiction that the followers of this ancient religion were devil worshippers and therefore deserved whatever punishment they received. Moreover, the act of rape was a way of conquering a people who had rejected Islam, and literally being forced to receive Muslim men. In that act they were in a sense made Muslim. Parvis Ghassem-Fachandi makes a similar observation regarding the Hindu rape of Muslim women during the Gujarat massacre. According to Ghassem-Fachandi, the Hindus who attacked the Muslim women thought that since the women were ethnically Indian they had turned away from Hinduism to become Muslim, and the act of forced sexual intercourse was a way of branding them as truly Hindu rather than Muslim.42 In both cases the forced sex was a claim of power. What is the connection between these forms of violence, this macho religiosity, and these yearnings for political power? The antipathy toward modern women—the notion of female sexual roles gone awry—is one

246

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

clue. The hatred of homosexuality is another. The disdain of homosexuality has been a theme of conservative religion for centuries and was one of the criticisms that the religious opponents of the Enlightenment leveled against the values of secular morality in eighteenth-century France.43 But it has returned with peculiar stridency in contemporary religious cultures of violence, where the fear of homosexuality—homophobia—has been a prominent theme. Virtually all radical religious movements of the final decades of the twentieth century have had a homophobic twist. ISIS has been notorious for its treatment of homosexual men, dozens of whom have been executed in ISIS-controlled areas of Syria and Iraq because of their sexuality. A graphic YouTube video shows three allegedly gay men, whose hands and feet had been bound, pushed from the top of a three-story building onto the street below, after which their still-writhing bodies were set upon by a crowd of men and boys who threw large stones at their heads and torsos until they were dead. In 2016 a gay nightclub in Orlando, Florida was attacked by a gunman who shouted out his allegiance to ISIS. In Iran, hundreds associated with the gay subculture of Tehran perished following the Islamic revolution. But Islam is not the only religious tradition in which conservative members of a faith are cruel to those regarded as sexual deviants. In northern California a gay couple was killed and gay bars were attacked allegedly by Christian Identity activists. Gays were included among the “mud-people” that Benjamin Smith hoped to destroy in his 1999 Illinois rampage, and The Turner Diaries described homosexuality as a kind of aberration that “healthy males” would not consider.44 Some Christian activists have given their own interpretations of the Bible in asserting that it prescribes “the penaltys [sic] for race-mixing, homo-sexuality [sic], and usury” as “death.”45 The acceptance of homosexuality in secular Israeli society has dismayed right-wing Jewish activists, who offered the rumors of Yasir Arafat’s alleged penchant for boys as evidence of the moral corruption of Palestine’s leadership.46 During the troubles of Northern Ireland, one of firebrand preacher Ian Paisley’s main criticisms of liberal Protestantism was its acceptance of gays. “Lesbianism, homosexuality held up as taught in the Bible and to be practiced by Christian people,” he thundered in one of his sermons, “think of it!”47 Along the same lines, one of Paisley’s complaints about Catholic clergy was that they never marry, a matter of some suspicion to the arch-heterosexual Paisley. “You do not need to kneel at a confessional box,” Paisley told them, “before a bachelor priest who has more sins than you have and yet pretends to forgive you.”48 Another

Warriors’ Power

|

247

Christian militant told a moving story about how he almost bombed a gay church in Kansas City. The militant, Kerry Noble, said that he had entered a gay church in Kansas City with the intention of igniting a bomb he was carrying in his briefcase.49 After looking around and seeing men embrace other men, watching women kiss other women, and hearing the preacher speak about his male lover, Noble hesitated. He had second thoughts about the loss of life that would have resulted—at least fifty would have been killed—and he also questioned the effectiveness of the bombing. It would not, he reasoned, precipitate the revolution that he had hoped for. It was only later, after he had rejected the ideology and the personal ties to Christian Identity, that he also abandoned his homophobia and saw gays as scapegoats for what he and his group had regarded as society’s immoralities. Another Christian activist, Rev. Michael Bray, told me that the secular government’s tolerance for abortion and homosexuality were the two marks of its moral degeneracy. Considering Bray’s prejudices, it is interesting to note that when Bray was sent to prison for bombing abortion clinics, he was placed in the same cell with a pedophile convicted of preying on boys. Bray and his cellmate became fast friends, Bray told me, but only after the pedophile repented of his sins. Still, the man acknowledged to Bray that his sexual inclination toward young men persisted. When Bray refused to take part in a prison prayer meeting with an out-of-the-closet gay prisoner who was unrepentant about his sexuality, this led to tensions within the cell. His cellmate became angry and accused Bray of being antigay. Bray tried to assure his cellmate that same-sex attractions were understandable as long as one did not act on those impulses, and as long as one felt remorseful if indeed such acts were committed.50 Why have such aversions to homosexuality been held so strongly by contemporary religious activists? One answer is a loss of identity: the kind of heterosexual male who is attracted to such movements is precisely the sort who loses power in a society in which women and gays have access to straight males’ traditional positions of authority. They see women and gays as competition. But there is another answer to the question of why radical religious groups are so homophobic: a loss of control. Homosexuals have been scapegoats for a perceived systemic problem in society. When men have perceived their roles as diminished in a socioeconomic system that denies a sense of agency to individuals, either by being incompetent or overly competent—a faceless mechanical bureaucracy—this challenge has led to a defense of traditional roles.

248

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

Because men have so frequently held the reins of public order as their gendered responsibility in society in the past, they have felt particularly vulnerable when the public world has fallen apart or has seemed beyond control. In this case, they have seen active women and gays not just as competition, but as symptoms of a world gone awry. This is a deeper fear, and there is not much that men can do about it. If the problem were just one of competition, they could hope to better themselves, and at least some would be able to succeed on an individual basis. If the problem is more systemic, then it is a matter of social disorder or worse: a sinister hand controlling and disrupting the world. This perception has led naturally to the satanization of enemies and to theories of cosmic war. It has also led naturally to a kind of tribal instinct that encourages members of such cultures of violence to band together and fight. In such a context, then, though same-sex erotic acts are suspect, male bonding makes sense. Like the camaraderie of a football team facing a dangerous enemy in an uncertain struggle, the close community of men creates a primal form of social order. Unlike heterosexual bonding, which leads to private communities—families—the bonding of groups made up of the same sex, such as nuns and monks and football players, represents a primitive attempt to create a personalized form of public society. Individuals have a direct relationship with authority and a shared sense of responsibility in clearly delineated social roles. All-male radical religious groups, therefore, attempt to create and defend a righteous order in the face of massive social disorder. These forms of marginal, male-bonding, anti-institutional, semipolitical movements are not idiosyncratic to the contemporary era. There have been occasions in past centuries when noninstitutional men’s associations have spun off from mainstream religious traditions, often with violence on their agenda. The Assassini of medieval Islam are one example. The murderous, goddess-worshipping Thuggees (cult assassins) of India—from which we get the English word thugs—are another. In Christianity we have had the “guys” of Guy Fawkes’s seventeenth-century Catholic terrorists and before them the Crusaders—blessed by Church officials, at least at the outset of their ventures. The Freemasons of the eighteenth century are a Protestant example of men springing from the domesticity of Church religion and founding their own secret order. Though not known for its violence, the organization has skirted the edges of institutional Christianity. So the precedent of somewhat marginal male movements has been set within religious history. But the proliferation of noninstitutional male paramilitary orders, such as the

Warriors’ Power

|

249

Christian militia, is a relatively recent phenomenon. What is interesting is how intense the internal cohesion of the groups has been. ISIS recruitment sometimes has the character of a fraternity initiation. Though some of the international volunteers are recruited online through social media, others are courted in face-to-face encounters in immigrant neighborhoods of European and Middle Eastern cities. One of my own students, an American of Palestinian ancestry, was studying Arabic for a year in Amman, Jordan, when a Jordanian friend invited him to a party one night. Innocently accepting the invitation, my student was surprised to see that the group of men who joined them in an SUV were not going to someone’s house but to a hilltop where, in the darkness, an older member of the group began to talk about life’s meaning and the importance of being true to one’s religious faith, a commitment that sometimes leads to sacrifice and bravery. He realized that this was the overture to joining a jihadi movement, and the pitch was not just ideological, it was also personal. He was being invited to join a very special band of brotherhood. Christian militants also provide access to similarly intimate male circles, as the militant novel The Turner Diaries describes. As the protagonist of the narrative entered the initiation rites of the secret movement, the Order, he observed a torchlight flickering over “the coarse, gray robes of the motionless throng,” and thought to himself that these men were “the best my race has produced in this generation.” They were truly men with whom he wished to bond. “These were no soft-bellied, conservative businessmen assembled for some Masonic mumbo-jumbo,” the character affirmed to himself; and they were “no pious, frightened churchgoers whining for the guidance or protection of an anthropomorphic deity.” They were “real men, White men, men who were now one with me in spirit and consciousness as well as in blood.”51 As this romantic rhetoric from Pierce’s novel suggests, such close male bonding could have a homoerotic element—perhaps paradoxically so, considering the aversion that most men in right-wing religious groups have to sex out of place, including publicly identified homosexual roles. Yet same-sex intimacy has been a strong feature of many right-wing movements. The residents of Richard Butler’s Aryan Nations compound in Idaho, for instance, virtually have all been young unmarried men.52 Even married male adherents of Christian Identity have found in their religious and political groupings a certain male bond. The friendship between Timothy McVeigh and Terry Nichols, for example, was so tight and time consuming that Nichols’s wife became jealous.

250

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

Young men who volunteered for suicide bombing missions sponsored by the Hamas movement usually worked in pairs and were sent out on missions accompanied by ritual elements often associated with marriage. On one of the videotapes depicting Hamas volunteers for suicide bombings, a young man no more than eighteen years old, wearing stylish dark glasses and a camouflage military cap, tells about his friend, who was sent on a suicide mission from which he never returned: “My brother Hatim, we were friends for the sake of God.” The night before he left, the young man said emotionally, “He bequeathed me this gift.” It was a dagger. The purpose was “to cut off the head of a collaborator or a Jew.” He added, “and God living I will remain alive, and I will be able to fulfill the vow.”53 The pattern of male bonding in radical religious groups was also found in the movement of Sikh activism that uprooted India’s Punjab. Being part of the Sikh movement was to join in a “bond of love,” one young militant told Cynthia Keppley Mahmood.54 The portraits of Sukha and Jinda, the Sikh assassins of General Vaidya, that many militants kept on their walls portrayed what Mahmood called “comradely love.” With their arms around each other’s shoulders, they exemplified the “tight bond of solidarity among comrades-in-arms” that she said accounted for much of the courageous behavior of Sikh militants in the field and the cycles of revenge killing that quickly escalated in the Punjab. In confronting death, Sukha and Jinda were said to have stated in their farewell address that they imagined the hangman’s rope “as the embrace of a lover,” and they “longed for death as for the marital bed.” Their own “dripping blood” would be the “outcome of this union,” and they hoped it would “fertilize the fields of Khalistan.”55 Friendships such as that of Sukha and Jinda are common in societies where extramarital male-female relationships are not allowed, and relationships within one’s own sex can develop to considerable intensities. The Hindi and Punjabi languages have terms for such buddies who are more than just friends: they are yar, “intimate friends,” or yaro-ki yar, “the best of friends.” Friendship may also have played a role in the dramatic events in 1984 that led to the death of the leader of the Sikh movement, Sant Jarnail Singh Bhindranwale. Bhindranwale had befriended his young lieutenant, Surinder Singh Sodhi, whom the Sikh leader described as “my brother.”56 Journalists considered him Bhindranwale’s “right hand man,” “personal bodyguard,” and “key hit-man.”57 It was the murder of Sodhi that exacerbated the internal struggles between Bhindranwale’s followers and the Akali Party forces linked with Gurcharan Singh and Sant Harchand

Warriors’ Power

|

251

Singh Longowal, both sequestered in the Sikhs’ main shrine, the Golden Temple in Amritsar. Bhindranwale accused Gurcharan Singh of having plotted Sodhi’s murder, and claimed that the death of his young comrade was like “chopping my right hand.”58 Bhindranwale spent the week following the youth’s murder confined to his quarters. Within days Sodhi’s killer and several members of the Akali camp were killed in reprisal. As tensions mounted between the two factions, the Indian army invaded the Golden Temple, in what became known as Operation Bluestar. In the exchange of fire, Bhindranwale’s forces killed the Akali leader, Gurcharan Singh, and Bhindranwale himself was killed. After Prime Minister Indira Gandhi was assassinated later that year, her son and successor, Rajiv, signed a peace accord with Longowal, who was himself soon thereafter assassinated, thus completing the spiral of violence that began with the killing of Bhindranwale’s friend, Sodhi. The theme of male bonding was also found in the Hindu nationalist movement, the RSS, composed of celibate men who boasted of their manhood and took inordinate interest in providing political and religious training to boys and young men in Boy Scout–type outings. Yet when an American scholar published a study of one of the RSS’s spiritual heroes, Ramakrishna, revealing the homosexual aspects of his relationship with the boys who lived and studied in his school, the clamor of protest in India was enormous, especially among right-wing supporters of the RSS and the political party they have spawned, the Bhartiya Janata Party (BJP), who thought that the scholar was trying to defame this famous Hindu teacher.59 In an email rejoinder to Kripal on an internet listserv that circulated among American scholars of South Asian religion, Narasingha Sil, a professor of Indian origin, assailed Kripal for making it appear as if Ramakrishna’s homosexual tendencies—his “diseased and disturbed mental proclivities”—were “normal or natural.” Sil was clearly upset that the guru was put in the same category as those Indian lads “cavorting up and down the streets of the elite quarters of Calcutta or Mumbai, sporting nose rings or earrings.” Although the professor acknowledged in India a certain “fondness for young boys on the part of some adult men,” it was primarily “a pathetic option for aged impotent males.”60 This double standard—on the one hand a disdain for western-style homosexual behavior while on the other hand an acceptance of certain kinds of homosexual acts—helps to explain the curious ambivalence in the attitudes toward homosexuality in groups such as ISIS or the Taliban. In ISIS-held territories in Syria and Iraq, dozens of men have been

252

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

executed for homosexuality, as we have earlier observed. In 2016, however, a prominent ISIS officer, Abu Zaid al-Jazrawi, was found to be engaged sexually with a fifteen-year-old boy in the ISIS-held Syrian town of Deir ez-Zor.61 In the public outcry that followed, it was clear that punishment was appropriate, and an ISIS form of justice was quickly meted out. The boy was executed. Similar to other executions of suspected gay people in ISIS territory, his hands and feet were bound, and he was led blindfolded to the roof of the tallest building in town where he was pushed off, head first, landing on the pavement below in front of a large crowd that quickly set upon and mutilated the boy’s body. The ISIS officer, however, was simply reassigned to another ISIS post in Iraq. Since the older man, Abu Zaid, was an ISIS commander, his importance in the movement might have been the factor that saved him, but there were cultural issues as well. From a western point of view the older man would be considered a pederast and a rapist, the active aggressor in a case of anal sexual intercourse with an underage boy, who would be regarded as the victim. But in many nonwestern countries, as our discussion about Ramakrishna’s sexuality in India has shown, the situation has traditionally been viewed differently. For one thing, the age of fifteen is not underage in societies where women are often married at age thirteen. Moreover, the animus against homosexuality depends more on the sexual roles than the sexual act. An active participant is simply playing the man’s role of penetrator, whether the object is a woman, a boy, or a barnyard animal. The passive participant is playing in the role of a woman, which in a patriarchal and misogynist culture is demeaning for men to adopt. Hence in the case in the ISIS-held town of Deir ez-Zor, it was the boy who deserved to be punished more than the older man. In Afghanistan there is a long tradition of dancing boys being sexually available for older men. This activity is called bacha bazi, a term that literally means “boy play,” and informally refers to the exploitation of boys by men for erotic purposes in a society where women are not allowed to cavort in public. The mildest form of bacha bazi is to have the boys dress in makeup and feminine attire and perform suggestive dances, but these can lead further to rape and sexual slavery. Though the practice is officially outlawed, Taliban commanders are rumored to continue to abduct young men for this purpose. Such practices were portrayed in the novel and movie The Kite Runner.62 In this story, the protagonist’s half-brother had been captured by a warlord and forced to be a dancing boy and provide sexual favors for his keeper.

Warriors’ Power

|

253

Years later, the hero of the story returns to Afghanistan to rescue his half-brother’s son, who has been abducted by the same warlord—now a Taliban commander—for the same purpose. This cultural practice is said to be adopted by both Taliban and their Afghan army opponents. A former U.S. Army Ranger who had served several tours of duty in Afghanistan told me that everyone in his unit had heard stories of “man-love Thursdays,” in which their fellow Afghan soldiers felt they had license to have sex once a week with other men, preferably boys who would be willing to play the woman’s role of the passive partner in an oral or anal sexual encounter. Thus it is not surprising in such cultures to see elements of this homoerotic intimacy in the close male communities of religious-related groups involved in violent political acts. Masculine assertions of potency, therefore, can be enhanced by the homoerotic bonds of a political brotherhood, and masculinity can be forged into a political resource. An American scholar, Sarah Lee Caldwell, has ruminated over what she described as “deep connections between male sexual prowess, virility, and Hindu nationalist violence.”63 In Caldwell’s opinion, the uproar in India over Kripal’s suggestion of Ramakrishna’s homosexuality was a defensive “hypermasculine” response that had “roots in the colonial period.” It was not just that Ramakrishna had a fondness for boys: the idea that he rejected playing the heterosexual male role and that his disciple, Vivekananda, may have played a passive role in satisfying his guru’s sexual desires was, to many Hindu nationalists, “deeply threatening.”64 According to Caldwell, the notion that a man would willingly play the woman’s role of receiver in a sexual act raised specters of the “feminine” male of India. As several other writers on India have observed, the British view of Indian males as effeminate was part of what has been described as “colonial discourse.”65 India’s nationalist leaders from Gandhi to current members of the BJP have felt obligated to reassert the manliness of India’s leadership. As scholars such as Ashis Nandy have claimed, the rhetoric of the British colonial period that referred to Indians in effeminate terms had a deep and enduring impact on India’s nationalist movement, an impact that continues to the present day.66 When the BJP came to power and shocked the world by conducting a series of nuclear tests, this demonstration of power was overwhelmingly approved within India. As one Indian scholar observed, the BJP’s display of power showed the “hypermasculinity” inherent in the Hindu nationalism movement represented by such Hindu chauvinists as Balasaheb K. Thackeray, leader of the

254

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

Shiv Sena Party, who responded to the nuclear tests with the comment that they proved that Indians were “not eunuchs.”67 In testing the bomb, India’s BJP leaders were not only asserting their national power but also rejecting the colonial dominance of the West and its accompanying sense of emasculation. Although supporters of the Christian militia in the United States have not had the Indians’ experience of being a colonized people, their attitudes toward modern liberal government is similar to those of neoconservative Hindu nationalists. Both would agree with the characterization offered by William Pierce that liberal government expects an obedience that is “feminine” and “infantile.”68 These are fears not only of sexual impotence but of government’s role in the process of emasculation. Men who harbor such fears protect themselves, therefore, not only by setting up veiled defenses against the threats of powerful women and unmanly men, but also by attempting to reassert control in a world that they feel has gone morally and politically askew. In Israel, the Jewish activist Avigdor Eskin, who accused Yasir Arafat of having a sexual penchant for boys, meant this as not so much a character assault as a political criticism. Eskin offered the example of Arafat’s alleged bisexuality to show that the Palestinian leader could not even control his own passions, much less the destiny of a geographical region that Eskin regarded as sacred.69 Eskin, a somewhat effete musician and philosopher, might have gained encouragement in his attitudes from the American religious right, for whom antihomosexuality is something of a virtue, and with whom Eskin had frequent contact. Raised in Russia, Eskin for a time traveled through the United States appearing on the television programs of evangelists such as Pat Robertson and Jerry Falwell as a spokesperson against the Soviet oppression of the Russian Jewish community. Eventually emigrating to Israel, he became politically active among the Russian Israeli community and was once regarded by Russian immigrants as the fourth best-known person in the country. When I visited him at his home in Jerusalem, he was deeply involved in anti-Arab political activism and was under detention for charges of planning to toss a pig’s head into the quarters of the Muslim shrine the Dome of the Rock, charges he denied. Whether or not the charges where true, however, his comments confirmed that Eskin’s main social concern was not homosexuality but politics and the restoration of what he regarded as righteous biblical order. The point I have been making is that the homophobic male-dominant language of right-wing religious movements indicates not only a

Warriors’ Power

|

255

crisis of sexuality but a clash of worldviews, not just a moral or psychological problem but a political and religious one. It is political in that it relates to the crisis of confidence in public institutions that is characteristic of postmodern societies. It is religious in that it is linked with a perception of the loss of spiritual bearings that a more certain public order provided. When the lead character in The Turner Diaries saw on television the horrific scenes of mangled bodies being carried from the federal building he had just demolished with a truckload of explosive fertilizer and fuel oil, he could still confirm that he was “completely convinced” that what he had done was necessary to save America from its leaders—these “feminine,” “infantile” men “who did not have the moral toughness, the spiritual strength” to lead America and give it and its citizens a moral and spiritual purpose. From his point of view, his wretched act was redemptive. Trivializing the effect of their violence, this character and his real-life counterparts Timothy McVeigh, Anders Breivik, Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi, Mahmud Abouhalima, and many other calculating but desperate men have tried to restore what they perceive to be the necessary social conditions for their sexual and spiritual wholeness. Their rhetoric of manhood has been a cry to reclaim their lost selves and their fragile world by combining a rogue masculinity with a monastic piety. These are often not just lone actors but also ad hoc armies of randy religious warriors. What they have in common, these movements of cowboy monks, is that they consist of anti-institutional, religio-nationalist, racist, sexist, male-bonding, bomb-throwing young guys. Their marginality in the modern world is experienced as a kind of sexual despair that leads to violent acts of symbolic empowerment. It could almost be seen as poignant, if it were not so terribly dangerous.

fighting for the rule of god This conceptual shift from a feeling of loss of personal integrity and sexual potency to an anger directed at public authorities may be a distinctively male trait. Men, after all, gain much of their sense of selfidentity from the public roles they play. Men are more likely than women to feel diminished when public order does not perform properly. Polls taken during the 2016 presidential elections indicated that men more than women felt that the country was going in a wrong direction, and blamed political leaders for it. In the 1998 crisis of the U.S. presidency when President Bill Clinton was publically confronted over

256

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

his affair with a White House intern, polls indicated that it was American men more than women who felt betrayed by the actions of the president. It is understandable, then, that such men could focus their anger on the state. After Paul Hill killed an abortion clinic doctor and his escort, he said that he had “cast off the State’s tyranny.” Hill said that in the weeks prior to the shooting he had felt burdened with “the oppressive feeling” that he was “not free.” His act, which gave him “inner joy and peace,” was therefore aimed not just at the abortion clinic staff but at the government that he thought was responsible for the staff ’s actions and for his own sense of humiliation.70 It is also understandable that in a time when public authority is discredited, one looks for alternative sources of leadership. In a situation where it is believed that public morality is amiss, leaders are degenerate, and even laws are based on shaky ethical footing, one may retreat to the only authority that one can easily grasp: the direct confidence of a respected person. Similarly, one may look for a familiar basis of public legitimacy in religion. This is a reversion to what Erik Erikson has described as “basic trust”: the sense of self-assurance that comes from a solid personal relationship. In Erikson’s understanding of an individual’s psychological development, a bedrock of trust is established in a child’s relationship with his or her parents; it is “the first component of a healthy personality.”71 When early bonds of trust are lost or outgrown later in life, they must be supplanted by something else that is trustworthy. “Religion, through the centuries,” Erikson observed, has provided this bedrock of confidence. In times of crisis it has served to “restore a sense of trust.”72 This need to create a climate of public trust based on personal relationships explains in part why so much of the efforts of groups within cultures of violence have been spent on building and maintaining their own communities. The most dramatic example is the creation of an Islamic State in Syria and Iraq in the military conquests of ISIS in 2014. For a time the movement set up an apparatus of government that ruled over villages, towns, and cities as large as Mosul, the second-largest city in Iraq, often with the expertise of old Baath Party officials who had administrative roles in the regime of Saddam Hussein. In other cases groups established separate communes, such as Osama bin Laden’s headquarters in the caves of Afghanistan; the Christian Identity communities of Elohim City; the Covenant, the Sword, and the Arm of the Lord; and the Freeman Compound. In Japan, Aum Shinrikyo formed its own towns administered by its own governments. Extremist Jewish

Warriors’ Power

|

257

groups established settlements in Palestinian Arab territories, and Meir Kahane spoke of creating an independent state of Judea on the West Bank. At a rally of radical Jewish settlers held in the ballroom of the Sheraton Hotel in Jerusalem, I saw Kahane unfurl a flag designed to accompany this new state. Sant Jarnail Singh Bhindranwale’s command center in India was also in locations claimed by his movement, based first in the Damdami Taksal ashram and then in the Sikhs’ Golden Temple in Amritsar. Even groups that did not physically live together, such as the far-flung jihadi network involved in the 9/11 attack, developed such an intense relationship and such tight bonds of association that it was impossible for outsiders—including government informants—to penetrate them. Yet even in such groups, the bonds that held them together could become strained, and only strong leadership and ideological commitment enabled them to cohere. And even these ties were frayed at times. The far-flung network of ISIS supporters faced such a challenge when the movement’s territorial control began to crumble under the military assaults of the Iraq and Syrian governments and their allies. Quite likely their acts of violence—though targeted at the cosmic enemy—were conducted to pull the group together. In these instances—undetected by the public who is baffled at the purposes of such terrorists acts—their acts have been directed at an internal audience, especially wayward or schismatic factions, that needed demonstrations of power to be held in line. As I noted earlier in this book, this was why many of these terrorist acts have not been proclaimed to the world: the intended audience had already received the message. The internal dynamics of a movement can affect its stance toward the surrounding society. In fact, one can look at terrorist movements organizationally, as Martha Crenshaw has, and argue that the internal tensions in the movement are greater predictors of the group’s actions than its interactions with its sworn enemies.73 As we have seen, some of ISIS most vicious beheadings and acts of torture have been undertaken against the movement’s own members, punishing those who have been proclaimed as apostates or turncoats if they challenged the authority of ISIS leaders. Similarly, the leaders of the radical Sikh group the Khalistan Commando Force regularly ordered killings of its own or a rival group’s members whom they felt had gotten out of line. If individuals in the groups were using their military power “to get money, drugs, or women,” one of the former members told me, the KCF “would sometimes eliminate them to keep the whole movement more respectable.”74

258

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

In other movements also, as we have seen, recalcitrant members were disdained as much or more than their enemies. Ashin Wirathu despised Buddhist politicians who he claimed were unable or uninterested in what he regarded was their duty to protect Buddhist culture in Myanmar. The Protestant firebrand in Belfast, Ian Paisley, said that “we have no respect at all for the system of Romanism [Catholics], and we have less respect for the system of apostate Protestantism.”75 Rabbi Meir Kahane was said to have welcomed the idea of a Jewish civil war and predicted the political assassination of secular Jewish leaders, and he told me that he disliked secular Jews more than Arab Muslims. We earlier noted the rumors that Mahmud Abouhalima was involved in the murder of a moderate Muslim leader who rivaled Sheikh Omar Abdul Rahman. Thus many acts of terrorism undertaken by a group have been aimed not at a wider audience but at its own members. Michel Wieviorka has taken this idea of organizational causes for terrorism a step further and argued that terrorism is the result not only of a movement’s internal dissension but also of its collapse. He has claimed that violence comes only when a splinter group is alienated from a larger movement and it—or the larger movement itself—has abandoned its ideology.76 Wieviorka argues that what he calls “the organized practice of indiscriminate and irredeemable violence” is a “substitute for a movement which has either become imaginary or has fallen out of sync with the hopes pinned on it.”77 If Wieviorka’s argument has merit, then one might see terrorism as a sign of a breakup within a political movement, rather than a sign of its strength. There is some evidence in Wieviorka’s favor. When the Islamic State began to lose both territory and volunteers, the number of terrorist attacks around the world arose considerably. Members of Aum Shinrikyo released nerve gas into the Tokyo subways only when the police were closing in on them. Some of the most violent actions of Hamas came after the signing of the peace accord between Israel’s Yitzhak Rabin and Palestine’s Yasir Arafat, signaling to the leaders of Hamas that they would be peripheral to the Palestinian leadership. The Sikh explosion that killed Chief Minister Beant Singh came two years after the movement had been virtually eradicated from the Punjab. And the incident that killed the greatest number of civilians in the years of troubles between Catholics and Protestants in Northern Ireland occurred after the peace settlement that ended the conflict. These cases indicate that terrorism has been a response to desperation and humiliation—a point that I have made throughout this book.

Warriors’ Power

|

259

While they also show that Wieviorka has been right in some cases and violence may have come with the dissolution of a movement’s purpose, other examples show that this is not necessarily the case. With regard to ISIS, the leaders called upon supporters around the world to take up the cause and attack through terrorist actions wherever they were. So when the number of ISIS-related terrorist attacks rose, the ideological motivations appear to have been consistent with the movement’s goals, at least in those incidents when the attackers articulated them. The actions of Hamas and of Jewish activists such as Dr. Goldstein have also been justified in terms of the primary ideologies of the groups. When Mike Bray attacked an abortion clinic, he explained to me, he was showing his disappointment, not only with the moderate policies of the prolife movement, but with those of the American government. He said that the attacks on clinics were also attacks on the government that stood behind them and on the secular values that supported such institutions.78 Religious violence may indeed come as a result of internal tensions, schisms, and a sense of failed momentum, but it is usually justified in terms of cosmic war and the primary struggle with an external foe—the satanic enemy. In fact, activist groups have often made some effort to be consistent in their struggle and not just attack for the sake of attacking. Some acts of violence, such as the bombings of the U.S. embassy in Africa, were intended to show that when threats were made they would be honored. In this regard, the Kashmiri rebels who killed their American and European hostages were said to have found themselves in a dilemma: they did not necessarily want to murder the young men, they said, but felt they had an obligation to be true to their word after they had publically threatened to kill them if their demands were not met. ISIS has taken the same stand when it has made demands and then, after there was no response to them, decided that they had to carry out their threats to torture and kill in order to be credible. Mike Bray told me that Paul Hill was goaded into shooting abortion clinic staff by people such as Flip Benan, the head of Operation Rescue, who allegedly told him that if he believed in the moral necessity of such acts, he should carry them out.79 Sikhs in the Punjab did not want to lose face with the Indian government; hence, according to Cynthia Keppley Mahmood, they felt obliged to kill Hindus and government officials once they had threatened to do so. Although it may appear as if these acts were meant to win the respect of opponents, they also signified something else: the movements were attempting to demonstrate that they could be their opponents’ equals.

260

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

In a display of what René Girard has described as mimesis, they were not only imitating their rivals but also showing their superiority in terms that they believed their rivals would understand. Many activists have used their courtroom trials as arenas to convey the message that through their acts they were sparring with the government and taunting it by accusing it of abandoning the very values it professed. As we have seen, Timothy McVeigh cited Justice Brandeis in implying that the U.S. government had set a bad example; Anders Breivik admitted responsibility for his killings but pleaded “not guilty” since he thought that he rather than the Norwegian government had taken the moral high ground; and the World Trade Center defendants called the U.S. Department of Justice the department of “injustice.” The Pensacola abortion clinic attacker, Paul Hill, during his trial also said the government that was convicting him of murder was “unjust.”80 In the same vein, one of the ISIS supporters’ Twitter accounts that I have observed compared the deaths caused by ISIS with those caused by its enemies. The young supporter said that Americans will “kill you and then make a movie about how hard it was for them to do it,” while the Shi’a would “kill you and then use your tragedy to attract sympathy.”81 The suicide bombings perpetrated by the Hamas movement in residential neighborhoods of Tel Aviv and Jerusalem were, as one leader described them, “letters to Israel,” intended as interactions with their foes. They were invasions of the most domestic of their rival’s quarters, with messages intended to show that “Hamas cannot be ignored” and “the security for Israel’s people is zero.”82 In that sense the message was the medium in which it was sent: the bombing provided a moment of chaos, warfare, and victimage that the Hamas movement wanted Israeli society to experience. It made the point that war was at hand by providing a bloody scene of battle in Israel’s own quiet neighborhoods. What Hamas tried to buttress in these acts of symbolic empowerment was not just the credibility of its leadership and its equality with government officials, but also the legitimacy of its ideology of religious social order. Through the currency of violence it was drawing attention to what it thought was significant about the social arena around it. In the language of Bourdieu the Hamas leaders were creating a perverse “habitus,” a dark world of social reality, and forcing everyone—Israelis and Palestinians alike—to take stock of their perception of the world.83 To some extent the empowerment worked, in that these symbolic events did affect the wider social and political arena. Mike Bray, in responding to my suggestion that bombing abortion clinics did not have

Warriors’ Power

|

261

any practical effect, gave the example of the IRA’s Gerry Adams, who was visiting the White House at the time. “Look at Adams,” Bray said, “wining and dining with Bill Clinton.” Bray said that the public accepted this “as long as there was some distance between that moment and the time the last bomb went off.” Bray concluded that whatever else the IRA’s bombings achieved, they enabled Adams “to get the ear of people.”84 Adams, like most activists, was aware that such displays of power not only elevated his movement’s credibility but also advertised its sociopolitical agenda. Adams and other activists also know that performing violence in public is a political act which announces that the power of the group is equal or superior to that of the state. In most cases this is exactly the message that the group wants to convey. In Israel, for instance, the Jewish right has long accused the secular government of using its devotion to democracy as an excuse for not fully embracing the idea that Israel is a Jewish religious entity. Years before his attack on innocent Muslims at the Tomb of the Patriarchs in Hebron, Dr. Baruch Goldstein, in a letter to the editor of the New York Times, wrote that “Israelis will soon have to choose between a Jewish state and a democratic one.”85 Goldstein’s massacre, I was told by one of his followers, displayed how serious he was about that choice. The supporter went on to tell me that now “Jews will have to learn to worship in a national way.”86 Yoel Lerner agreed with this position, telling me that in his opinion Israel should not be a democracy but a “Torahcracy”—a society based on the principle of Jewish law.87 This idea of a nation based on religious law is on the minds of Christian religious activists as well. Activists associated with Christian Identity advocated the creation of a Christian Republic.88 White supremacists from throughout the United States and Canada met in Idaho allegedly to plot the forcible overthrow of the federal government and to create a separate Aryan nation within the United States. A government indictment based on information gleaned from this meeting stated that they planned to “carry out assassinations of federal officials, politicians and Jews, as well as bombings and polluting of municipal water supplies.”89 Mike Bray, reflecting a Christian Reconstruction perspective, advocated for a return to “Christian law and order.”90 The models he had in mind were not only European Christian monarchies and Roman Catholic canon law, for which he had a certain respect, but also the Protestant governments of the early American colonies. Bray believed that the way that they grounded their constitutions in biblical law could set a precedent for a new kind of Christian government in the

262

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

United States, though he recognized that not everyone in the country would be enthusiastic about such a development. For that reason, Bray advocated state’s rights, a radical federalism that would allow for different forms of political rule in each state. Bray suggested a “translocation” of power that would allow “Christian civilization” to flourish in some states and “other civilizations” in others.91 States would need to be bound together only for their common military defense. It is a proposal not unlike the “10 percent solution” offered by the Aryan Nations leader Richard Butler, who advocated that 10 percent of American territory—such as the states of Idaho and Montana—be dedicated to white Christians. The establishment of a rule based on religious law is the primary aim of many Muslim groups, such as the caliphate proclaimed by Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi in instituting the Islamic State. Every issue of the ISIS magazine, Dabiq, contained articles about how righteous society should be ruled under its understanding of sharia law. Members of Hamas regard their acceptance of sharia as the main difference between their organization and secular groups such as the Fateh organization associated with Yasir Arafat’s Palestinian Authority. A similar argument has been made by activists in Egyptian movements and during the year that the Muslim Brotherhood led the government in Egypt as the first democratically elected government after Arab Spring, both friends and foes of the regime expected it to rule in ways that would be consistent with their understanding of sharia. Earlier, Egyptian activists such as Mahmud Abouhalima had told me that President Hosni Mubarak could not be a true Muslim because he did not make sharia the law of the land.92 A cleric in Cairo’s conservative Al-Azhar theological school told me he resented his government’s preference for western law. “Why should we obey western laws when Muslim laws are better?” he asked me.93 It is this position that is assumed by many Muslim activists: western political institutions and the ideology on which they are based should be banished from their territories. They want to rebuild their societies on Islamic foundations. In some cases activist groups have carried this critique to an extreme. They have not only rejected secular political authority but also created alternatives to it. The Islamic State has been, after all, a state. The Japanese radical Buddhist movement Aum Shinrikyo also created an alternative government, designating the leaders in its organization with government administrative titles such as minister of defense, minister of intelligence, minister of internal affairs, and minister of science and tech-

Warriors’ Power

|

263

nology. The idea was not only to show that their organization could do the government’s job but also to prepare the movement for actually doing that job after the arrival of the global catastrophe predicted by Shoko Asahara. When that dark day came, the government of Aum Shinrikyo would be the only one remaining to administer civil order. In India, during the height of the Sikh rebellion, militants were treated as if they possessed an authority rivaling that of police and other government officials. Villagers in terrorist zones around the Punjab cities of Batala and Tarn Taran were unwilling to report violent incidents to officials, and radical youths set up their own courts and governmental offices. “Politics can be beautiful,” I was told by a former head priest of Sikhism’s central shrine,94 “but it must be the right kind of politics.” By this he meant a politics infused with religion, where “religion dominated politics” rather than the other way around.95 When the country of Khalistan was created and Sikh rule established, one of the leaders of the movement told me it would be a rule of law that would bring justice to all, not just Sikhs, in a regime that lauded the tenets of the Sikh scriptures as supreme.96 Exactly how this would differ from the secular form of political organization in India, however, remained obscure. This goal of righteous rule is sometimes touted by members of activist groups as the singular purpose of their terrorist acts. Yet in fact, with the exception of the Islamic State in Syria and Iraq, and the Taliban in Afghanistan, no governmental apparatus has been created through the means of terrorism. And even in the case of ISIS and the Taliban, and to some extent the Hezbollah movement in Lebanon, their militia has been as disciplined as any army; only their tactics were extreme. When other religious regimes have been established—such as the Hamas takeover of Gaza, the brief ascension of the Muslim Brotherhood in Egypt, and the Islamic Revolution in Iran—they entered power by means of peaceful democratic elections or through well-organized military coups, not through the sporadic and extreme performances of power that characterize guerrilla terrorist acts. In fact, despite their bravado, most groups associated with terrorism have largely shied from politics and eschewed elections. When given the opportunity to run for office, they have usually rejected it, as radical Sikhs did in Punjab in 1992. When they did attempt to win at the polls, as did Meir Kahane’s Kach party in Israel and the Aum Shinrikyo movement in Japan, they usually failed miserably. Though it never won a national election by itself, Hezbollah’s share of the electoral votes in Lebanon has improved over the years, and its support was decisive in electing Michael Aoun as president in the 2016 elections. Hezbollah has developed a fairly

264

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

impressive militia though not on the size or strength of a national army. In general, however, aside from ISIS and the Taliban, religious-related political movements seldom attempt to develop effective fighting forces other than those needed for hit-and-run terrorist bombing. Hence most religious-related political movements are not poised to assume the reins of power even if they were handed to them. The images of political order that they yearn to create have been deliberately fuzzy. Sometimes they have appeared to be democratic, sometimes socialist, sometimes quasi religious-oligarchic. Sometimes they have been nationalist or international in scope. Islamic movements especially have projected the illusion of waging a global struggle. Osama bin Laden was fond of portraying himself as the great leader of the United Muslim world in its warfare with the satanic power of America. In his televised proclamations on Al-Jazeera television following the 9/11 attacks, he is pictured almost like the Prophet, a general encamped in combat. Yet the political order for which he is struggling is unclear—it is a shadowy transnational entity not fully described. The Hamas leader Abdul Aziz Rantisi told me that what distinguished his organization from Yasir Arafat’s was that the Palestinian Authority was waging a “national struggle” whereas Hamas was “transnational.”97 But what did that mean politically? Although it is clear who these transnational activists hate, nowhere in their program have they given a design for a global political entity— Islamic or otherwise—that could actually administrate the results of a victory over American and secular rule and the emergence of a religious revolution, should they ever achieve it. My conclusion is that although ISIS and a few other movements for religious nationalism have indeed been serious alternatives to secular rule, most proponents of religious terrorism have had a less tangible goal. Their acts have often been devices for symbolic empowerment in wars that cannot be won and for goals that cannot be achieved. The very absence of thought about what the activists would do if they were victorious is sufficient indication that they have not expected to win, and perhaps did not even want to do so. They represented a peculiar corollary to the advice of the French theorist Frantz Fanon during Algeria’s war of independence some years ago, when he advocated terrorism as the Algerians’ mobilizing weapon. Fanon reasoned that even a small display of violence could have immense symbolic power by jolting the masses into an awareness of their own potency.98 What Fanon did not realize is that for some activist groups the awareness of their potency is all that they desire.

Warriors’ Power

|

265

Yet these acts of symbolic empowerment have had an effect beyond whatever personal satisfaction and feelings of potency they have imparted to those who supported and conducted them. The very act of killing on behalf of a moral code is a political statement. Such acts break the state’s monopoly on morally sanctioned killing. By putting the right to take life in their own hands, the perpetrators of religious violence have made a daring claim of power on behalf of the powerless, a basis of legitimacy for public order other than that on which the secular state relies. In doing so, they have demonstrated to everyone how fragile public order actually is, and how fickle the populace’s assent to the moral authority of power can be.

chapter 11

The Mind of God

In his Ramadan message to his followers, Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi praised the soldiers of ISIS, by which he meant all of his loyal followers, assuring them that were “mujahidin in the path of Allah,” and that their terrorist acts had been sanctioned by God.1 Similarly, in one of the first videotapes that Osama bin Laden released for viewing on Al-Jazeera television after the 9/11 attacks, he praised God, saying that by His will the twin towers of the World Trade Center had collapsed. It was a comment similar in its piety to the one made by the shy young man who grinned into the videocamera the day before he was to become a martyr in a Hamas suicide operation, proclaiming that he was “doing this for Allah.”2 The Lutheran pastor Rev. Mike Bray told me that in bombing abortion clinics he would make people reflect “not on what they think, but what God thinks.”3 In all of these cases the speakers appeared to be saying that they would do virtually anything if they thought it was “what God thinks”—that it had been sanctioned by divine mandate or conceived in the mind of God. But would they? And is religion the primary motive in their acts of violence? All of the cases in this book are ones involving, to a certain degree, elements of both violence and religion, but correlation is not the same thing as causation. The question is which came first, and whether these are cases of religious violence in the sense of “religiously motivated violence”—instances in which religion was the primary engine

266

The Mind of God |

267

fueling the violent passions—or occasions in which ordinary claims of political authority have been elevated to supernatural heights. In the first decades of the twenty-first century a spate of books and articles have appeared arguing both sides. On the one side are religion’s detractors, those who are convinced that religious belief and its ideologies are the culprits that lead to violence. On the other side are religion’s defenders, who often deny that religion has anything to do with it. In between are people like me, who understand that motives for violent acts are complicated and usually done to acquire power, but that religion in all of its ideological, social, and symbolic manifestations can be a potent ally to such motives. On the antireligion side are a host of popular authors known collectively as the “new atheists”—including Richard Dawkins, Sam Harris, and the late Christopher Hitchens—who are not just atheist in their personal beliefs but aggressively antireligious in their public statements. Often this has led them to accuse religion of inciting violence. The Oxford biologist Dawkins is frequently quoted as saying that “religion causes war because it generates certainty”; and writing about the London bombers in 2005, Dawkins said that “only religious faith is a strong enough force to motivate such utter madness in otherwise sane and decent people.”4 Sam Harris, a neuroscientist-writer, claimed that “religion is the most prolific source of violence in our history,” going so far as to say in 2005 that it has been “the explicit cause of literally millions of deaths in the last ten years.”5 Virtually no historian or scholar of religious studies has made such claims, though one, Hector Avalos, has advanced an interesting theory about how the rhetoric of religious traditions deals with spiritual scarcity, embracing a notion of competition that can lead easily to violence.6 On the pro-religion side are a number of scholars and adherents of particular traditions who assert that the religious traditions they study are not intrinsically violent. The Islamic studies scholar Bruce Lawrence defends Islam in the book Shattering the Myth,7 and Meic Pearse stands by Christianity in a book that directly responds to the criticisms of Dawkins, Harris and other “new atheists.”8 A Catholic theologian, William Cavanaugh, speaks to the logical construction of what he calls “the myth of religious violence.”9 He argues, as I do, that religion as an ideology is a post-Enlightenment European concept and that for most societies and through most of world history what we call religion was simply an expression of particular cultures, no more or less violent than the societies in which those cultural expressions were a part.10

268

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

Perhaps the most eloquent and detailed defense of religion’s relationship with violence is by the writer Karen Armstrong, in her engaging book Fields of Blood: Religion and the History of Violence.11 Armstrong embarks on a historical journey through instances of violence related to religion from the ancient Gilgamesh epic to Al-Qaeda in the present day, beginning with the obvious truth that religion doesn’t do anything by itself. It’s not a thing, but simply a dimension of human experience. The modern notion of religion as something separate from mundane life was an invention of the European Enlightenment, a counterpoint to the new notion of secularism. For most of world history, and for most of the world’s populations, the religious imagination has been a part of everything that humans do. Armstrong concludes that “the problem lies not in the multifaceted activity that we call ‘religion’ but in the violence embedded in our human nature and the nature of the state.”12 Although Armstrong acknowledges that this violence is often cloaked in religious language, she seeks to demonstrate that it is not the bloody images and legends in sacred texts and holy history that are to blame, but the political contexts that frame religion as part of the messy pictures. My own position is somewhere in between these anti- and pro-religious stands, though I tend to agree more with Armstrong. Like her, I think that politics and human ambition are behind most acts of violence in public life, including those tarred with the rhetoric and symbols of religion. Yet at the end of her book the reader is left with a nagging question: what is there about religion, both historically and today, that makes it such an appealing cloak for the venal aspirations of powerhungry people? Religion may not cause violence—Armstrong is right— but there appears to be a dark attraction between the two that needs to be explained.13 For this reason I have argued that although religion might not be the problem—however one might conceive of that term, as ideology, institutions, or culture—it nevertheless is problematic.14 When conflicts are lifted into the high proscenium of religious drama and cosmic war, the contests are transformed beyond the ordinary calculations of mortal enemies. Thus religion is a factor, and an important one, though usually only one of a complex nexus of motivations. I found agreement on this point of view some years ago when I was invited to a convocation of terrorism experts meeting in Madrid, Spain, the year after the horrendous terrorist attack on four trains converging on central Madrid during the morning rush hour, killing almost two hundred commuters on their way

The Mind of God |

269

to work. The Spanish government convened the terrorism experts to seek explanations about how such a thing could have happened. I was asked to lead a group of experts focusing on religion-related terrorism, and we were given the assignment to find “the root causes” of religious terrorism. Our group quickly came to a conclusion, but it was not an answer to the assignment; rather, it was a comment about how it was phrased. We had problems with the metaphor associated with the word root. A root suggests that there are one or more main causes and if you can find them and uproot them then the problem will be solved. Instead, we suggested a different metaphor: a forest fire. A forest fire occurs only with a combination of factors—the availability of combustible material, dry windy weather conditions, and some spark to ignite the conflagration—and even then, with all of these conditions met, sometimes fires start and sometimes they do not. Chance is also a factor. Religious ideologies—perhaps the spark in the metaphor that we offered—are only part of the picture. Yet without the spark the fire might not be ignited. Religious ideas and symbols can make a difference. In this book we have observed the potency of religion in certain pockets of public life. We have seen how religious ideas and the sense of religious community have been tied to the cultures of violence from which terrorism has sprung; how the drama of religion has been especially appropriate to the theater of terror; how religious images of martyrdom, satanization, and cosmic war have been central to violent ideologies; and how these images and ideas have been agents of social empowerment, personal pride, and political legitimization. The conclusion is inescapable: even at the dawn of a new millennium, religion continues to make a claim on public life, and as the cases in this book show, the claim has sometimes been violent. Religion has given an extraordinary twist to the practice of public terrorism. It is true that terrorism is terrorism, and many of the characteristics of religious terrorism described in this book are the same as those associated with terrorist acts that have nothing to do with religion. All terrorism is violent, and its violence may be performed for symbolic as well as strategic reasons, regardless of its relationship to religion. Much of what I have said in this book about religious terrorism may be applied to other forms of political violence—including those that are nationalist, leftist, and ethnic in nature—and acts of terrorism perpetrated by the state. To some degree all of them—the terrorist acts of anarchists, separatists, dictators, and religious nationalists—are expressions of what I have called performance violence.

270

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

There are, however, some things that are different. What is striking about terrorism associated with religion is that it is almost exclusively symbolic, performed in remarkably dramatic ways consistent with legendary images of grand encounters between existential foes. Moreover, these disturbing displays of violence have been accompanied by strong claims of moral justification and an enduring absolutism, characterized by the intensity of the religious activists’ commitment and the transhistorical scope of their goals. The absolutism of religion has been revealed especially in the notion of cosmic war. Although left-wing movements subscribe to what may seem a similar idea—the concept of class conflict—ordinarily this contest is thought to take place only on a social plane and within the temporal limitations of history. In fact, in the more humane versions of Marxist conflict theory, persons can be separated from their class roles: capitalists, for instance, can be reeducated, as the leaders in Mao Zedong’s Chinese communist regime attempted to do with former landlords and businessmen. Religious concepts of cosmic war, however, are ultimately beyond historical control, even though they are identified with thisworldly struggles. Although even in religious wars some infidels can be converted, ordinarily a satanic enemy cannot be transformed; it can only be destroyed. The vast time lines of religious struggles also set them apart from secular conflicts. Most social and political struggles have sought conclusions within the lifetimes of their participants. But religious struggles have taken generations to succeed. As we have seen, the leaders of Hamas have claimed that they can persevere even in the face of Israel’s overwhelming military superiority. “Palestine was occupied before,” a Hamas leader reminded me, “for two hundred years.” He assured me that he and his Palestinian comrades “can wait again—at least that long.”15 In some cases religious activists have been prepared to wait for eons—and some struggles have not been expected to be completed within human history; they must await their fulfillment in some transtemporal realm. There is no need, therefore, to compromise one’s goals in a struggle that has been waged in divine time and with the promise of heaven’s rewards. There is no need, also, to contend with society’s laws and limitations when one is obeying a higher authority. In spiritualizing violence, therefore, religion has given terrorism a remarkable power. Ironically, the reverse is also true: terrorism has given religion power as well. Although, as I have noted in the previous chapter, sporadic acts of terrorism usually do not lead to the establishment of new religious

The Mind of God |

271

states, they make the political potency of religious ideology impossible to ignore. Along with empowering individuals and movements, therefore, violence has empowered religion: it has given religious organizations and ideas a public importance that they have not enjoyed for many years. The crisis in public confidence in an era of globalization has empowered particular movements and ambitious leaders, and it has also given rise to a new appreciation for the role of religion in public life.

empowering religion When Rev. Mike Bray said that in bombing abortion clinics he was making people reflect on “what God thinks,” how does he claim to know? Regardless of what Mike Bray thinks God thinks, not everyone—not all Christians, not all Lutherans, not even all members of Bray’s church or the culture of violence with which he has been associated—would agree. Interpretations of scripture vary widely, and much of the controversy within religious traditions has been precisely over the issue of God’s will. The discipline of theology emerged as a human attempt to try to construe theo-logos, literally, the knowledge, or thinking, related to God. Only rarely does this thinking justify acts of violence, and yet these rare occasions have appeared in virtually every religious tradition. The Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Hindu, Sikh, and Buddhist cultures of violence described earlier in this book rely on these precedents and justifications for their own acts of religious violence. With these justifications for violence in mind, the religious activists cited in this book have been able to go about their business of killing with the certainty that they were following the logic of God. In each case, however, other members of their traditions have strongly disagreed. In fact, all of the groups that have sanctioned violence in the form of terrorism have been marginal—in varying degrees—to their own religious societies. Their violence has been in part a counterbalance to their marginality, a way of empowering them within their own religious communities. This marginality often preceded their acts of violence, and became more extreme afterward. In some cases the movements were proudly peripheral, and the disdain that the wider religious community displayed toward them was reciprocated. Muslim clerics around the world were quick to denounce ISIS and proclaim it un-Islamic. In 2014, over a hundred Muslim scholars posted an open “Letter to Baghdadi,” in which they castigated him for incorrect usage of the Qur’an and Muslim legal precedents regarding two

272

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

dozen issues, including indiscriminate killing, the reinstitution of slavery, issuing fatwas, and proclaiming himself a caliph. It was signed by the Grand Mufti of Egypt, and by leading Islamic scholars in Pakistan, Nigeria, Indonesia, and elsewhere.16 Seventy thousand Muslim clerics in India signed a fatwa against ISIS and other terrorist organizations, and a poll in Muslim countries conducted by the Pew Research Center showed that 95 percent of Muslims around the world regarded ISIS as non-Muslim.17 In Iraq and Syria, when local clerics protested the takeover of their mosques by ISIS-appointed clergy they were summarily executed. Virtually nowhere in the Muslim world does ISIS have clerical support for its claims. Much the same is true of other extremist movements. In Myanmar, when I visited the headquarters of the fiery anti-Muslim monk Ashin Wirathu, I was surprised to find that most of the monks with whom I spoke in Myanmar, his home city, including those in his own monastic compound, found Wirathu to be extreme and not exemplary of Buddhist tolerance. In Japan, after the nerve gas incident perpetrated by members of the Aum Shinrikyo movement, many religious leaders denied that Aum was even a religion, much less a form of Buddhism. Even the movement to which it was most closely related—a new religion called Agonshu, in which the Aum Shinrikyo leader, Shoko Asahara. had once participated—questioned Aum’s legitimacy as a religious organization.18 In America and Europe, most Christians disavow the actions of violent activists such as Timothy McVeigh and Anders Breivik, even though both of them claimed to be defending Christendom. Both of these Christian terrorists returned the favor, regarding ordinary Christian churches to be weak and ineffectual. Breivik had no use for ordinary churches, but at his trial he described himself as “a militant Christian” who was dedicated to “prevent the de-Christianization of Europe.”19 McVeigh also disdained ordinary Christianity and his teacher, William Pierce, writing in The Turner Diaries, observed that “the Jewish takeover of the Christian churches and corruption of the ministry is now virtually complete.”20 Pierce went on to say that the liberal clergy was less interested in the teachings of Christianity than in “government ‘study’ grants, ‘brotherhood’ awards, fees for speaking engagements, and a good press.” He was even more vituperative about conservative Christians, whom he called “the world’s greatest cowards.” Adding insult to injury, Pierce claimed that the cowardice of most Christian conservatives was “excelled only by their stupidity.”21 Pierce said it was the rare Christian who saw,

The Mind of God |

273

as Pierce’s characters did, that the governmental system played a key role in “undermining and perverting Christendom” and that that system’s destruction was essential for the emergence of true Christianity.22 The tension between militant and mainstream religion has existed within virtually every tradition. In Judaism, for example, at the time of the assassination of Yitzhak Rabin, the orthodox Jewish leadership in Israel was dubious that rabbis could be found who would give religious sanction to such an act, and their doubt turned to astonishment when several rabbis were located who indeed gave authorization for killing another Jew under the moral precedents of traditional law. A militant Jewish activist told me that he regarded the rabbinic establishment in Israel as “comfortable” and “cowardly”—“unwilling to rock the boat” over political issues that he thought their beliefs should command them to champion.23 In addition to ISIS, other radical Muslim groups have also been marginal. In Nigeria, virtually no member of the Muslim clergy has supported the Boko Haram movement, and any who have spoken out against it have been killed. In 2014, frustrated with its lack of support from most Muslims, the movement’s leaders announced an assault against the Muslim establishment. The movement began to attack worshippers in mosques in the northern part of the country, including a devastating attack on the Grand Mosque in Kano in November 2014, killing hundreds. Though the Hamas movement has had its clerical supporters—sheikhs and mullahs who have provided religious legitimization for its ventures and been widely revered throughout Palestinian society,—Hamas has not been authorized by all members of the Islamic hierarchy in Palestine, nor has it ever sought such authorization. The first attack on the World Trade Center was conducted by a group connected to a mosque in New Jersey and to a radical cleric, Sheikh Omar Abdul Rahman, who was shunned by other Muslim clergy in the New York area, and when they criticized him, the sheikh’s followers attacked them. Mahmud Abouhalima is said to have engineered a leadership coup in the Abu Bakr mosque in Brooklyn over the protests of its more moderate members.24 What was for several years the most successful of the recent radical Islamic movements, Afghanistan’s Taliban, also had an uneasy relationship with the more moderate clergy of its country. Shoving aside many of the traditional leaders, these former students of Islamic schools seized power through military means, capturing the capital, Kabul, in 1995. Adopting an even stricter interpretation of Islamic law than most

274

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

of the Kabul clergy, the Taliban leaders refused to let women work, even as nurses and doctors in the hospitals or as teachers in women’s schools. But the Taliban never won the hearts of most Afghanis, including the traditional Muslim clergy. After the 9/11 attacks, when the U.S. government accused the Taliban of harboring Al-Qaeda terrorists, a convention of the country’s religious leaders seemed ambivalent about the Taliban’s support for Al-Qaeda, and requested Osama bin Laden and his Saudi retinue to leave the country. When the U.S. military attacked Afghanistan several days later, and the combined efforts of American military air strikes and Northern Alliance caused the Taliban regime to crumble at the end of 2001, it was clear that very few Afghanis had risen to defend the Taliban regime. Even members of the Taliban’s own ethnic community, the Pushtuns, celebrated as if the country had been liberated from an evil oppressive rule. By 2003, however, many clergy began to back the Taliban insurgency, both in Afghanistan and across the border in Pashtun regions of Pakistan. The reason for this was in part due to what has been called “the crisis of Afghan rural society,” and the decrease in influence of traditional tribal leaders, leaving room for Taliban-influenced clergy to rise to positions of political influence in rural areas.25 Polls showed that ordinary people in Afghanistan, however, continued overwhelmingly to reject the Taliban.26 In India, most Hindus have rejected the extreme anti-Muslim rhetoric of the activists who fomented attacks such as the Gujarat massacre, and virtually no Hindu authority would support such violence. The radical Sikh leader Sant Jarnail Singh Bhindranwale was indeed a religious figure, however. He emerged from the pastorate of the Damdami Taksal, a relatively obscure religious ashram—although one marginal to the traditional bases of Sikh political power—and was elevated to the leadership of a large and potent movement. After his death many Sikhs revered Bhindranwale as a martyr, and some Sikh congregations (gurdwaras) were dedicated to his memory, but most Sikhs have expressed uncertainty about his legitimacy in their tradition and questioned the role that history would ultimately accord him. In most cases of terrorism related to religion in recent decades, therefore, mainstream religious leaders have been silent or actively opposed to them. The function of violence in these cases has been not only to empower individuals and their ideological causes, but also to vault marginal religious movements into positions of power vis-à-vis their moderate, mainstream rivals. Yet violence alone does not allow marginal religious groups to enjoy positions of prominence, at least not for very

The Mind of God |

275

long. The groups that have made a long-term impact, such as Hamas, Hezbollah, the Khalistan movement, Christian Identity, and the Jewish right wing, have used violence not only to draw attention to themselves but also to articulate the concerns of those within their wider cultures. Within these circles they have not been marginal at all. Radical though they may be, they have represented widely held feelings of alienation and oppression, and for this reason their strident language and violent acts have been considered by their cohorts as perhaps intemperate but understandable. This point was brought home to me in Gaza when a young man who worked as a waiter at a seaside café and attended business school told me that although he was not a member of Hamas, he was glad it existed. He supported the movement, he told me, because he thought that it kept moderate Palestinian leaders “more Islamic and more aggressive towards Israel.”27 ISIS flourished in eastern Syria and western Iraq with the support of disaffected Arab Sunni Muslims who thought they were being marginalized by the governments in Damascus and Baghdad and saw the Islamic State as a haven for Arab Sunni interests.. Many Buddhists in Myanmar have concurred with the fear expressed by Ashin Wirathu that Muslims threaten their traditional cultural life, and many Christians in the United States and Europe have sensed that the antiimmigrant rhetoric of Norway’s Anders Breivik and the racist positions of Christian Identity activists have some merit, even though they would never agree with their violent tactics. The Al-Qaeda movement has relied on hostility toward some aspects of economic and cultural globalization and an implicit anti-Americanism that prevails throughout the Muslim world as a tacit support for their terrorist acts. Even members of the large majorities of Muslim countries who disapproved of Osama bin Laden’s violence have from time to time shared with him the attitude that the United States is something of a global bully that deserves to be humiliated. Like other people who live within cultures of violence, they have understood that often the violence that emerges from within their own ranks, though not morally justified, is a reaction to the experience of being oppressed and violated. The strident religious movements that have formed as a response to these cultures of violence throughout the world are remarkably similar, be they Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist, or Sikh. What they have in common are three things. First, they have rejected the compromises with liberal values and secular institutions that were made by most mainstream religious leaders and organizations. Second, they have

276

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

refused to observe the boundaries that secular society has imposed around religion—keeping it private rather than allowing it to intrude into public spaces. And third, they have replaced what they regard as weak modern substitutes with the more vibrant and demanding forms of religion that they imagine to be a part of their tradition’s beginnings. The fact that these movements are marginal, however, does not mean that they are intrinsically different from mainstream religion. As strident as some of them appear, I hesitate to label them “cultic” or “fundamentalist,” as some observers have in describing the politically active religious movements that have emerged in the late twentieth century. In my view, it is not their spirituality that is unusual, but the political application of their religious ideas, cultural contexts, and worldviews— a political position shaped by the social and historical forces of their times. These movements are not simply aberrations but religious responses to social situations and expressions of deeply held convictions. In talking with many of the supporters of these cultures of violence, I was struck with the intensity of their quests for a deeper level of spirituality than that offered by the superficial values of the modern world. Mahmud Abouhalima, a convicted conspirator in the first World Trade Center attack, told me that the critical moment in his religious life came when he realized that he could not compromise his Islamic integrity with the easy vices offered by modern society. Abouhalima claimed that he had spent the early part of his life running away from himself. Although involved in radical Egyptian Islamic movements since his college years in Alexandria, he felt there was no place where he could settle down. He told me that the low point came when he was in Germany, trying to live the way that he imagined Europeans and Americans carried on: a life in which the superficial comforts of sex and inebriants masked an internal emptiness and despair.28 Abouhalima said his return to Islam as the center of his life carried with it a renewed sense of obligation to make Islamic society truly Islamic—to “struggle against oppression and injustice” wherever it existed.29 What was constant, Abouhalima said, was his family and his faith. Islam was both “a rock and a pillar of mercy.”30 But it was not the Islam of liberal, modern Muslims: they, he felt, had compromised the tough and disciplined life the faith demanded. Abouhalima wanted his religion to be hard, unlike the humiliating, mind-numbing comforts of secular modernity. His newfound religion was what he thought religion should be like—tough,

The Mind of God |

277

demanding, and uncompromising. This was also the case with ardent Christian activists in the United States and Europe, and with born-again Sikhs in the separatist movement in India: theirs, they claimed, was real Christianity and real Sikhism. Followers of Christian Identity and Christian Reconstruction movements, though aware that they were involved in nontraditional forms of religion, have insisted that their new religions have had ancient roots. In Timothy McVeigh’s favorite novel, The Turner Diaries, William Pierce wrote about the role that his militants played in restoring Christianity’s “spiritual strength” and “spiritual health.”31 But because churches had subverted the Christian message, Pierce’s Cosmotheist ideology had to invent its own version of traditional religion—a curious amalgam that was partly mystical, partly medieval, and partly a juvenile revival of Boy Scout and fraternity rites. Without the benefit of clergy, the members of the fictional Order in Pierce’s novel undertook an initiation similar to the rites of joining a monastic order. The central character in the novel told of wearing “something like a monk’s robe” and being led to a dark ceremony room where the leader’s face was illuminated by candles. The leader explained that the initiates had “passed the test of the Word and the test of the Deed” and shown “a correct attitude toward the Cause.” The high point of the initiation came when the members were told to take an oath—“a mighty Oath, a moving Oath,” the central character in the novel recalled, saying that it “shook me to my bones and raised the hair on the back of my neck.”32 With this oath the members of the Order were spiritually armed to be “bearers of the Faith” in a godless world.33 (The capitalizing of Word, Deed, Cause, Oath, and Order is in the novel.) Almost every religious group that has taken a strong public stand in recent decades has declared that it was the true faith, even if the particulars had to be invented. The ISIS apocalyptic ideology, though based on radical groups and ideologies at the fringe of Muslim societies, was distinctly al-Baghdadi’s creation. The catastrophic Messianic Zionism of extremists in Israel looked for a Judaism that virtually no other Jew regarded as either possible or desirable. The “true Buddhism,” “true Hinduism,” and “true Sikhism” of religious activists in South and Southeast Asia were largely products of their own fertile imaginations. Activists such as McVeigh and Abouhalima and the rest have imagined themselves as defenders of ancient faiths. But in fact they have created new religious forms: like many present-day spiritual leaders, they have

278

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

used the language of traditional religion to build bulwarks around aspects of modernity that have threatened them and to suggest ways out of the mindless humiliation of modern life. It was vital to their image of religion, however, that it be perceived as ancient. The need for religion—a “hard” religion as Abouhalima called it, an “ancient” one as Pierce imagined it—was a response to the soft treachery they observed in the new societies around them. The modern secular world that Abouhalima, Pierce, and many other religious extremists inhabited was a dangerous, chaotic, and violent sea for which religion was an anchor in a harbor of calm. At some deep and almost transcendent level of consciousness, they sensed their lives slipping out of control, and they felt both responsible for the disarray and a victim of it. To be abandoned by religion in such a world would mean a loss of their own individual identities. In fashioning a “traditional religion” of their own, they exposed their concerns not so much with their religious, ethnic, or national communities as with their own personal, imperiled selves. These intimate concerns of Abouhalima, McVeigh, al-Baghdadi and other activists were prompted by the perceived failures of public institutions. As Pierre Bourdieu has observed, social structures never have a disembodied reality; they are always negotiated by individuals in their own strategies for maintaining personal identity and success in life. Such institutions are legitimized by the “symbolic capital” they accrue through the collective trust of many individuals.34 When that symbolic capital is devalued, when political and religious institutions undergo what Jürgen Habermas has called a “crisis of legitimacy,” this devaluation of authority is experienced not only as a political problem but as an intensely personal one, as a loss of agency.35 It is this sense of a personal loss of power in the face of chaotic political and religious authorities that has been common, and I believe critical, to Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi’s ISIS network, Timothy McVeigh’s circle of militia activists, and most other movements for Christian, Muslim, Jewish, Sikh, Buddhist, and Hindu nationalism around the world. The syndrome begins with the perception that the public world has gone awry, and the suspicion that behind this social confusion lies a great spiritual and moral conflict, a cosmic battle between the forces of order and chaos, good and evil. Such a conflict is understandably violent, and this violence is often felt by the victimized activist as powerlessness, either individually or in association with others of his gender, race, or ethnicity. The government—already delegitimized—is perceived to be in league with the forces of chaos and evil.

The Mind of God |

279

postmodern terror One of the reasons government is easily labeled the enemy of religion is that to some degree it is. By its nature, the secular state is opposed to the idea that religion should have a role in public life. From the time that modern secular nationalism emerged in the eighteenth century as a product of the European Enlightenment’s political values, it has assumed a distinctly antireligious, or at least anticlerical, posture. The ideas of John Locke about the origins of a civil community and the “social contract” theories of Jean Jacques Rousseau required very little commitment to religious belief. Although they allowed for a divine order that made the rights of humans possible, their ideas had the effect of taking religion—at least Church religion—out of public life. At the time, religious “enemies of the Enlightenment”—as the historian Darrin McMahon described them—protested religion’s public demise.36 But their views were submerged in a wave of approval for a new view of social order in which secular nationalism was thought to be virtually a natural law, universally applicable and morally right. Enlightenment modernity proclaimed the death of religion. Modernity signaled not only the demise of the Church’s institutional authority and clerical control, but also the loosening of religion’s ideological and intellectual grip on society. Scientific reasoning and the moral claims of the secular social contract replaced theology and the Church as the bases for truth and social identity. The result of religion’s devaluation has been “a general crisis of religious belief,” as Bourdieu has put it.37 This has been a problem not just for believers but for society as a whole, for it has undercut the public’s ability to rely on shared cultural symbols. According to Bourdieu, “The crisis of religious language and its performative efficacy” is part of the collapse of an old worldview: “the disintegration of an entire universe of social relations.”38 In countering this disintegration, resurgent religious activists have proclaimed the death of secularism. They have dismissed the efforts of secular culture and its forms of nationalism to replace religion. They have challenged the notion that secular society and the modern nation-state can provide the moral fiber that unites national communities or the ideological strength to sustain states buffeted by ethical, economic, and military failures. Their message has been easy to believe and has been widely received because the failures of the secular state have been so apparent. The moral leadership of the secular state has become increasingly challenged in the decades following the end of the Cold War and the rise

280

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

of a global economy. The Cold War provided contesting models of moral politics—communism and democracy—that have been replaced by a global market that has weakened national sovereignty and is conspicuously devoid of political ideals. The global economy became characterized by transnational businesses accountable to no single governmental authority and with no clear ideological or moral standards of behavior. But while both Christian and Enlightenment values were left behind, transnational commerce transported aspects of westernized popular culture to the rest of the world. American and European music, videos, and films were beamed across national boundaries, where they threatened to obliterate local and traditional forms of artistic expression. Added to this social confusion were convulsive shifts in political power that followed the breakup of the Soviet Union and the faltering of Asian economies. The public sense of insecurity that has come in the wake of these cataclysmic global changes has been felt not only in the societies of those nations that were economically affected by them—especially countries in Africa, Asia, and the Middle East—but also in economically stronger industrialized societies. The United States, for example, has seen a remarkable degree of disaffection with its political leaders and witnessed the rise of right-wing religious movements that feed on the public’s perception of the inherent immorality of government. Is the rise of religious terrorism related to these global changes? We know that some groups associated with violence in industrialized societies have an antimodernist political agenda. At the extreme end of this religious rejection of modernism in the United States are members of the American anti-abortion group Defensive Action, the Christian militia and Christian Identity movement, and isolated groups such as the Branch Davidian sect in Waco, Texas. When Michael Bray and other members of the religious right cast aspersions at “the new world order” allegedly promoted by the political leaders of the United States and the United Nations, what he and his colleagues feared was the imposition of a reign of order that was not just tyrannical but atheist. They saw evidence of an antireligious governmental pogrom in what they regarded as a pandering to pluralist cultural values in a society with no single set of religious moorings. Similar attitudes toward secular government have emerged in Japan, India, Turkey, Austria, Norway, and elsewhere in Europe where religious nationalism is fused with anti-immigrant opposition. As in the United States, contentious groups within these countries became disil-

The Mind of God |

281

lusioned about the ability of secular leaders to guide their countries’ destinies. They identified government as the enemy. In Israel, for instance, Hamas and the Jewish right have been in opposition not so much to each other as to their own secular leaders. This fact was demonstrated by the reaction of Jewish settlers to a Hamas suicide bombing attempt in which an activist attempted to ram a car loaded with explosives into a school bus filled with forty of the settlers’ children. One of the parents immediately lashed out in hatred—not against the Arabs who tried to kill her child, but against Israeli political leaders, whom she blamed for precipitating the action by entering into peace talks with Palestinians.39 Her comments demonstrated that the religious war in Israel and Palestine has not been a war between religions, but a double set of religious wars—Jewish and Muslim—against secularism. The global shifts that have given rise to antimodernist movements have also affected less-developed nations. India’s Jawaharlal Nehru, Egypt’s Gamal Abdel Nasser, and Iran’s Riza Shah Pahlavi were once committed to creating versions of America—or a kind of cross between America and the Soviet Union—in their own countries. But newer generations of leaders no longer believed in the westernized visions of Nehru, Nasser, or the shah. Rather, they were eager to complete the process of decolonialization and build new, indigenous nationalisms. In Iran after the Islamic revolution, America became a “great Satan”; and in Egypt after the Arab Spring both Muslim activists and the military junta found it convenient to blame Egypt’s problems on its reliance on the United States. ISIS militants in Syria and Iraq, Algerian activists in the Islamic Salvation Front, Islamic revolutionaries in Iran, Muslim rebels in in Palestine, Lebanon, and Egypt, Hindu nationalists in India, Buddhist activists in Myanmar and Sri Lanka, and Sikh militants in India’s Punjab have all asserted the legitimacy of a postcolonial national identity based on traditional culture.40 The result of this disaffection with the values of the modern West has been what I once called a “loss of faith” in the ideological form of that culture, secular nationalism.41 Although a few years ago it would have been a startling notion, the idea has now become virtually commonplace that secular nationalism—the principle that the nation is rooted in a secular compact rather than a religious or ethnic identity—is in crisis. In many parts of the world it is seen as an alien cultural construction, one closely linked with what has been called “the project of modernity.”42 In such cases, religious alternatives to secular ideologies have had extraordinary appeal.

282

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

The uncertainty about what constitutes a valid basis for national identity is a political form of postmodernism.43 In Iran it has resulted in the rejection of a modern western political regime and the creation of a successful religious state. Increasingly, even secular scholars in the West have recognized that religious ideologies might offer an alternative to modernity in the political sphere.44 Yet what lies beyond modernity is not necessarily a new form of political order, religious or otherwise. In nations formerly under Soviet control, for example, the specter of the future beyond the socialist form of modernity has been one of cultural anarchism. The fear of a spiritual as well as a political collapse at modernity’s center has, in many parts of the world, led to terror. Both violence and religion have emerged at times when authority is in question, since they are both ways of challenging and replacing authority. One gains its power from force and the other from its claims to ultimate order. The combination of the two in acts of religious terrorism has been a potent assertion indeed. Whether or not the perpetrators of these acts consciously intended them to be political acts, any public act of violence has political consequences. Insofar as they have been attempts to reshape the public order, they have been examples of what José Casanova has called the increasing “deprivatization” of religion.45 In various parts of the world where attempts have been made by defenders of religion to reclaim the center of public attention and authority, religious terrorism is often the violent face of these attempts. The postmodern religious rebels that we have examined in this book have therefore been neither anomalies nor anachronisms. From Syria to Sri Lanka, these small but potent groups of violent activists have represented growing masses of supporters, and they have exemplified currents of thinking and cultures of commitment that have risen to counter the prevailing modernism—the ideology of individualism and skepticism—that has emerged in the past three centuries from the European Enlightenment and spread throughout the world. They have come to hate secular governments with an almost transcendent passion. These guerrilla nationalists have dreamed of revolutionary changes that would establish a godly social order in the rubble of what the citizens of most secular societies have regarded as modern, egalitarian democracies. Their enemies have seemed to most people to be both benign and banal: modern, secular leaders such as Yitzhak Rabin and Anwar Sadat, and such symbols of prosperity and authority as the Brussels airport, the World Trade Center, and the Japanese subway system. The logic of this kind of militant religiosity has therefore been difficult for many people

The Mind of God |

283

to comprehend. Yet its challenge has been profound, for it has contained a fundamental critique of the world’s post-Enlightenment secular culture and politics. For this reason these acts of guerrilla religious warfare have been not only attempts at “delegitimization,” as Ehud Sprinzak has put it, but also relegitimization: attempts to purchase public recognition of the legitimacy of religious worldviews with the currency of violence.46 Since religious authority can provide a ready-made replacement for secular leadership, it is no surprise that when secular leaders have been deemed inadequate or corrupt, the challenges to their legitimacy and the attempts to gain support for their rivals have been based on religion. When the proponents of religion have asserted their claims to be the moral force undergirding public order, they sometimes have done so with the kind of power that a confused society can graphically recognize: the force of terror.

curing violence How will it end, all this mayhem and bloodshed? When the United States responded to attacks on its embassies in Africa allegedly perpetrated by Muslim extremists, the U.S. secretary of state at that time, Madeleine Albright, proclaimed that America was at war with religious terrorists. It would be “a long-term struggle,” she predicted, adding that “unfortunately, this is the war of the future.”47 Although her dismal prognosis was probably correct, it is also true that all wars eventually end. Even long-term struggles that sputter on sporadically for decades come to a conclusion, as the Cold War did in 1990, when the Soviet Union dissolved and the dream of a global conquest of communism was abandoned. Moreover, in long struggles especially, the pace of war sometimes changes: there are small victories, occasional breaks, tentative resolutions, and attempts to forge a reconciliation. The war with religious terrorism has been waged from the point of view of military and diplomatic leaders as a kind of global guerrilla war. It has been a difficult conflict to fight with weapons designed for conventional and technological warfare. Yet military officers have deemed it a war that can be won. Many secular political leaders have described it as a war that must be won—not only to avenge such savage acts as 9/11 and the Paris attacks, but also to allow civilization as the modern West has known it to survive. From the point of view of religious

284

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

activists like Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi, as we have seen, religious terrorism has been an aspect of cosmic war, one that need not be won in ordinary history, and one in which they are convinced they will eventually triumph. It is, in any event, a war that they cannot conceive of losing. In such a war, one that seems so absolute and unyielding on both sides, what can be the possible outcomes? Extrapolating from current trends and recent examples, I see the following five possibilities. Destroying Violence Often one of the first responses to terrorism that comes to the minds of authorities and the general public is one of a solution forged by force. This response encompasses instances in which the aim is for the movements behind the terrorists to be literally destroyed or to be forcibly controlled. The U.S. military response to the September 11, 2001, attacks on the World Trade Center and Pentagon buildings is a dramatic example of this strategy. After vigorous internal debate about what should be the appropriate response to what was the largest terrorist assault ever perpetrated on American soil, President George W. Bush and his advisors embarked on a multifaceted “war on terror.” It was to involve both political alliances and military encounters, including an intensive campaign to search for and destroy the headquarters of the Al-Qaeda network in Afghanistan and to incapacitate the Taliban regime that harbored Osama bin Laden and his cadres, most of them Saudis. The U.S. missile attacks that began on October 2, 2001, culminated in a military victory later that year that unseated the Taliban regime and demolished the Al-Qaeda facilities in Afghanistan, killing many of its leaders and incarcerating thousands of alleged Al-Qaeda soldiers, many of whom languished in the U.S. military detention center in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, for over a decade. Throughout the eight years of the Bush administration’s regime, however, the war on terror continued. Bin Laden and his inner circle had still not been caught and terrorism related to Al-Qaeda was on the rise around the world. Attacks in London, Madrid, Bali, Kenya, and Saudi Arabia—all committed by activists allegedly associated with AlQaeda—showed that the network was still dangerously alive. The invasion and occupation of two Islamic countries in the region—Afghanistan and Iraq—did not serve to advance the war on terror; quite to the contrary, many observers, including myself, thought that these military occupations were helping to fuel the anti-American climate that produced terrorism, rather than diminish it.

The Mind of God |

285

The U.S. government’s own assessment made clear that its violent assault against Al-Qaeda—the largest military operation ever conducted against a nonstate activist network—was of only limited success. Other means would also be necessary to combat the potential for anti-American violence. The “war on terror” would have to be waged on many fronts through a variety of means. Colin Powell, the U.S. secretary of state, spoke about the necessity of dealing with the social and economic grievances that fueled the anti-American disaffection in the Middle East and elsewhere as a way of undercutting Al-Qaeda support. In this regard, U.S. leaders were urged to help bring about a peace settlement between Israeli and Palestinian leaders as a way of eliminating the perception that the United States has taken an anti-Muslim and anti-Arab stance; it was an approach that the George W. Bush administration was unable to achieve. The president who succeeded Bush, Barack Obama, took a different tack, though it also involved a military approach to terrorism. Obama scaled back the direct military assaults, overseeing the withdrawal of U.S. forces from Iraq and setting a time line for the withdrawal of troops from Afghanistan. He quietly dropped the term war on terror, and focused instead on specific targets. Using drone technology of small unmanned planes, Obama presided over a new kind of military assault on terrorism, one that would be more specific and, its architects hoped, more productive. In the eight years of Obama’s administration, hundreds of drone strikes were ordered in Pakistan, Afghanistan, Yemen, Somalia, and elsewhere, and over twenty-five hundred non-U.S. individuals were killed, many of them civilians who happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.48 There is no doubt that this approach was more effective than all-out war, especially in degrading the organizational infrastructure of jihadi-related movements. The most spectacular success of this approach was the raid on the Abbottabad, Pakistan, compound by U.S. Navy Seals on May 2, 2011, that resulted in the capture and killing of Osama bin Laden. Yet the U.S. Navy Seals did not capture all of the Al-Qaeda inner circle. Bin Laden’s associate, Ayman al-Zawahiri, was not apprehended in that raid, and he soon assumed the mantle of leadership of the organization. Al-Qaeda–related movements from Yemen to Somalia and Iraq were untouched by the bin Laden capture. The U.S. military assault, beginning with the invasions of Afghanistan and Iraq and continuing with the drone warfare in Pakistan, may have in fact elevated the possibility of terrorist acts in reprisal. The war-against-terror strategy can be

286

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

dangerous, in that it can play into the scenario that religious terrorists themselves have fostered: the image of a world at war between secular and religious forces. A belligerent secular enemy has often been just what religious activists have hoped for. The videotape of Osama bin Laden that was evidently prepared in advance of the U.S. attacks in Afghanistan and played on Al-Jazeera television immediately after the attacks were launched portrays a bin Laden jubilant that the United States had bitten the bait and was now regarding Al-Qaeda as its foe in a global war. The increased number of volunteers supporting Al-Qaeda at the time indicated that the American reprisals had made recruitment to the Al-Qaeda cause easier, for the U.S. actions demonstrated that the secular side could be as brutal as it had been portrayed by the religious ideologues. Several of the ISIS attacks in Europe appear to have been conducted for the purpose of bolstering the support of its followers by demonstrating that ISIS was engaged in a great war on equal footing with European and American powers. The terrorist attacks may also have been intended to goad France, Belgium, and other countries into military reprisals. The Paris attacks in November 2015 were portrayed in Dabiq, the ISIS online magazine, as forerunners of a global war. ISIS supporters’ Twitter feeds at the time fantasized about the possibility of fairskinned European and American soldiers encountering tough ISIS militants and being slaughtered by the thousands. A war on the ground was a battle that ISIS thought that it could win, as opposed to the steady flow of missiles from American and European air power. In the days after the Paris attacks, the French president, Francois Holland, used the term war to characterize the struggle with ISIS and its jihadi operatives, but he stopped short of sending in troops on the ground, perhaps to the disappointment of ISIS leadership. Similarly, President Obama pledged that the United States would never be committed to a ground war in Iraq under his watch, even though the number of U.S. military advisors to the Iraq army increased considerably as the campaign against ISIS increased in the last months of his administration in 2016. In general, however, Obama and other western leaders were aware that massive military responses could be counterproductive, and lead to an increase in the very terrorism that the responses were meant to diminish. In India, Prime Minister Indira Gandhi’s decision to use a military invasion against the Sikh militants in the pilgrimage city of Amritsar resulted in her own assassination; the Sikh conflict intensified after the invasion and lasted for several more years before it collapsed. In Algeria, attempts to eliminate Muslim militants also had violent repercussions. When the

The Mind of God |

287

military junta in Algeria halted the elections and began running the country with an iron hand, popular support for the Islamic party and violent resistance against the junta escalated. In Israel, after an Israeli military airstrike killed the Hamas leader Sheikh Ahmed Yassin, and soon afterward another killed his successor, Dr. Abdul Aziz Rantisi, Hamas was not quelled. In fact Yassin and Rantisi were regarded as martyrs and the popularity of the movement skyrocketed, leading to electoral successes that established Hamas as the governmental authority in Gaza for years. Thus the cycle of violence escalated. The destructive response to terrorism can work only in limited circumstances, even if a secular government is willing to declare total war against terrorist movements and wage it over many years, as President George W. Bush pledged to do in his call for a “war against terror,” and which the Israeli government attempted to do in decades of struggle against its Palestinian terrorist opponents. In these cases the wars against terror were not quickly won. The prognosis for victory in the military war against terrorism has been hopeful only when the opponents have been easily identified and—perhaps more important—contained within a specific region. Because America’s Al-Qaeda foes and Israel’s Palestinian enemies have been mobile, the attempts to squash them have had a limited degree of success. The government of India, on the other hand, was able to virtually obliterate the most militant of the Sikh separatists in 1992, in part because it embarked on a ruthless search-and-destroy mission against the activists within the confines of the state of Punjab. The end of the Sikh militant movement, however, was not due solely to police efforts, since at the same time support for the movement had collapsed from within. Destroying a rebellious movement by legal means has also been attempted, but these efforts have been effective only when the government has had direct legal authority over the group. In Japan, for instance, the government was able not only to bring the Aum Shinrikyo leaders to trial and imprison them, but also to use its legislative and police powers to restrict the movement’s activities. In 1999 China outlawed the Falun Gong movement, which it considered dangerous. After a failed coup in Turkey in 2016, President Erdogan declared the Gulen movement to be the terrorist enemy behind it and arrested anyone associated with the moderate Muslim social network. In both China and Turkey, however, the outlawed movements proliferated in other parts of the world. As the United States discovered in the case of the Libyan terrorists who allegedly destroyed Pan Am Flight 103 over Lockerbie,

288

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

Scotland, controlling activists in another country—especially an unfriendly one—can be a difficult matter. Activist groups sometimes have destroyed themselves, however. The infighting within some movements has become so severe that they literally killed each other off, or so weakened their military defenses that their government opponents could handily subdue them. The internal squabbling of various Sikh factions, for instance, made it easier for the movement to be conquered by the Indian government. In some extreme cases, such as the nonterrorist but heavily armed Branch Davidian movement in Waco, the members of the movement have resorted to suicide when they perceived no viable options for the future. In the year before he instigated the nerve gas attack in the Tokyo subways, Shoko Asahara mentioned group suicide as a way out of what he thought was a government conspiracy against his movement.49 Thus although it is difficult for a government’s military power to obliterate a terrorist band, sometimes its own internal tensions can accomplish the task. Terrifying Terrorists A second kind of response to potential terrorists is one in which the threat of violent reprisals or imprisonment so frightens religious activists that they hesitate to act. This is the strategy adopted by many law enforcement agencies to “crack down” on terrorists: even if the authorities cannot eliminate the terrorists completely, they can at least frighten them by raising the stakes associated with involvement in terrorist activity. Israel has widened this concept with its notion of “collective punishment,” targeting whole regions or sections of a population from which terrorist are thought to have come, thereby raise the stakes of the consequences of any terrorist acts. This was said to have been one of the reasons that the Israeli government occupied the Palestinian town of Janeen in 2002. It was also one of the arguments given for waging the American military campaign in Iraq in 2003: the toppling of Saddam Hussein’s regime in Iraq, some said, would be a deterrent to violent activists everywhere. Though some fringe members of activist groups may have been sobered by such threats, it is doubtful that the “get tough with terrorists” strategy has had much of an effect on the more dedicated members. As we have seen in the case studies explored in this book, in the view of most of the activists involved with terrorist acts, the world is already at war, and they have always expected the enemy to act harshly.

The Mind of God |

289

In fact, they would be puzzled if it did not. So the threat of an additional increment of penalty to be meted out for their actions has had little if any deterrent effect. In fact a harsh response from the government might actually encourage the activists, since it would help to confirm their own perception of the world at war between secular and sacred forces. In the ISIS attacks in Paris in 2015, for example, the ISIS supporters seemed to be hoping for a military response. The case that is sometimes offered as a successful instance of terrorist intimidation is the one involving Libya. In the mid-1980s Libya was thought to harbor Muslim activists responsible for a series of acts of international terrorism against the United States. In 1986 the United States undertook an air strike against the leader of the country, President Muammar el-Qaddafi, in reprisal, and in fact a member of his family was killed in the attack, but Qaddafi himself survived. Over ten years later there were very few terrorist acts aimed at the United States attributed to Libya. Even in this case, however, it is doubtful that the air strikes were effective. According to the RAND-St. Andrews Chronology of International Terrorism, the number of terrorist incidents linked to Libya and directed against the United States rose in the two years following the U.S. air strikes: fifteen in 1987 and eight in 1988.50 The most devastating terrorist attack against the United States in which Libya has been implicated—the tragic explosion of Pan Am Flight 103 over Lockerbie, Scotland, killing all 259 on board—occurred in December 1988. Comments made by Qaddafi in 1998 indicated that economic sanctions leveled against Libya were much more effective than the military strike. He broke off relations with Arab states in a pique of anger after they failed to support the abandonment of the boycott.51 There is no clear evidence that he or any other supporter of international terrorism has been intimidated by America’s show of military might. There is a possibility that in some cases, however, terrorists have frightened themselves. In some instances the magnitude of their destructive acts has been so enormous that they were shaken into a realistic understanding of what their symbolic violence can in fact produce. After Timothy McVeigh fulfilled a horrific vision from the novel The Turner Diaries by destroying the Oklahoma City federal building in 1995, the number of violent incidents from Christian militia members in the United States diminished. After Paul Hill killed abortion clinic staff in Florida in 1994, Rev. Michael Bray said there was no need for further action from his circle of activists; the killing of abortion clinic doctor George Tiller in Wichita Kansas in 2009 was applauded by Bray,

290

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

but the assassin, Scott Roeder, was not part of Bray’s immediate circle. In other cases, activists have had an epiphany on their way to committing their deeds of destruction. Some ISIS volunteers have tried to escape from their service in Iraq and Syria rather than to carry out their assignments as suicide bombers. The Christian activist Kerry Noble reported that when he was sent to destroy a gay church and its parishioners in Kansas City, the moments in which he sat in the pew before he was to trigger his bomb and depart was an occasion for him to seriously reflect on what his intended act would achieve: “All I could envision was torn bodies, limbs ripped from torsos,” Noble recalled. Sobered and shaken, he left the sanctuary with the briefcase containing the bomb still in his hand.52 Seeking Accommodation The third kind of response is the reverse of those cases in which terrorism is defeated or diffused: it is when some of the goals of the activists are met, usually as the outcome of political negotiation. Terrorism, in this way, is used as a bargaining chip to gain political concessions. This was widely assumed to be the position behind the strategy of suicide bombings in the Palestinian struggle; the assumption is that the bombings would stop if and when Israel accommodated Palestinian political demands. What was not clear was how much of an accommodation would be necessary to stop the bombings: provisions for Palestinian autonomy would be a realistic goal, the idea that Israel would simply cease to exist would be an unrealistic one. It was not clear how extreme the demands would be. When I asked the Hamas leader Dr. Abdul Aziz Rantisi whether Jews and Muslims could live in harmony in the area he described as Palestine, he affirmed that they could—but not under the present arrangement. He could not accept “Israel’s sovereignty over Palestinian land,” he said. But the two groups could live in peace if the situation were reversed and the land were controlled by Palestinian Arabs.53 “Jews would be welcomed in our nation,” Rantisi explained, adding that he did not hate Jews as such. He pledged not to mistreat them “when we become strong.”54 He hoped for a South Africa–type solution, where the whole of the area would be united—Israel, Gaza, and the West Bank—and the Palestinians who had left the region would be allowed to return. With Arabs then a majority, Rantisi would accept democratic rule over the united region, which would be called something other than Israel.

The Mind of God |

291

It is a solution that would delight Palestinians both inside and outside the Hamas movement. Needless to say, it has not been a solution enthusiastically embraced by Israeli Jews. Given that fact, and considering that Israel holds a preponderance of military power in the region, could any part of the radical Islamic Palestinian objective be achieved? As I suggested earlier, acts of terrorism tend to be strategically unproductive and do not usually lead to transformations of power. If one is not willing to wait, as Dr. Rantisi claimed he was willing to do, beyond his own generation and perhaps the next, symbolic action will have to be replaced by the kind of strategic planning aimed at achieving goals either totally or incrementally. Revolutionary changes can occur through a well-organized mass movement, as in Iran, or an effective military force, as in Afghanistan. Changes might also come about through political pressures, as in Sudan and Pakistan, where regimes have capitulated to religious nationalist ideologies in what have been incremental but virtually bloodless coups. But as noted earlier, none of these cases has involved terrorist acts as the primary means of achieving power. There have been instances, however, where the power accrued through terrorist acts was converted into bargaining chips for negotiated settlements, and where formerly terrorist organizations were forged into effective political parties. An example of this process, which might be called the domestication of violence, was the negotiated peace settlement in Northern Ireland and the emergence of Sinn Féin as an effective force in local elections. Yet, as the bombing in the village of Omagh in August 1998 revealed, such compromises are not always accepted gracefully by renegade members of activist movements, who insist on continuing their violent paramilitary campaigns. After all, the ideology of cosmic war does not easily submit to accommodation. But as the Omagh incident also indicated, public support for a compromise solution may isolate perpetrators of acts of violence, and their continued terrorism may undercut their public support. It takes a certain amount of trust for both sides to accept the other even when sporadic acts of violence continue. The attempted resolutions of the Northern Ireland and Palestine conflicts are interesting cases in point. In Northern Ireland, the British did not blame Sinn Féin for the Omagh violence, and both British and Sinn Féin leaders formed a united front against it. Hence the public perception of Omagh was that of a senseless act, one that was peripheral and counterproductive to the political purposes of the Northern Irish Catholic community. In Israel, however, when Hamas terrorist activities were renewed after the peace

292

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

accords floundered, Israeli leaders publicly blamed the Palestinian peacemaker, Yasir Arafat, for the terrorism. Thus, perhaps inadvertently, the Hamas activists were given credibility by Ariel Sharon and other Israeli leaders by equating them with Arafat, and the legitimacy of the secular Palestinian leader was undercut by his being blamed for the acts of renegade activists whom he could hardly control. With Arafat weakened and Hamas emboldened by the effect of their incidents of terrorism, the spiral of violence continued. Thus a negotiated compromise with activists involved in terrorism is fraught with difficulties. It is a solution that does not always work. A few activists may be appeased, but others may be angered by what they regard as a sellout of their principles. The case of Arafat and Hamas was complicated not only by the lack of cooperation from the Israeli side following the elections that brought Ariel Sharon into power, but also by the intractability of Hamas and its own fears of losing whatever leverage it had gained through its previous tactics. Some members of the movement advocated a shift of strategy and participation in Palestinian elections as a political party. It was a shift that the leadership of Hamas at that time rejected. One of their concerns was political: they knew that although they might have won in Gaza, their level of support in the West Bank was not sufficient to rout Fateh and the other parties that supported Arafat’s Palestinian Authority. Another concern of the Hamas leadership was ideological: once one has entered into the rhetoric of cosmic war, the struggle cannot easily be abandoned without forsaking the will of God. Defusing Cosmic War This observation, that the idea of cosmic war is a stumbling block to any possibilities of a negotiated settlement, leads to the fourth kind of response to terrorism: desacralization. These are instances in which the absolutism of the struggle is defused, and the religious aspects are taken out of politics and retired to the moral and metaphysical planes. As long as images of spiritual warfare remain strong in the minds of religious activists and are linked with struggles in the social world around them, the scenarios we have just discussed—achieving an easy victory over religious activists, intimidating them into submission, or forging a compromise with them—are problematic at best. It is possible to imagine that in some cases where religious politics had previously been strong, however, the image of cosmic war itself can been transformed.

The Mind of God |

293

The extreme form of this solution is one in which religion returns to what Casanova described as its privatization in the post-Enlightenment world.55 That is unlikely, however. Few religious activists would be willing to retreat to the time when secular authorities ran the public arena and religion remained safely within the confines of churches, mosques, temples, and synagogues. Most religious activists regard the social manifestation of cosmic struggle to be at the very heart of their faith and dream of restoring religion to what they regard as its rightful position at the center of public consciousness. But this need not be an angry form of religion. In the first decades of the twenty-first century, many Islamic countries witnessed a certain reaction against politicized religion. During the 2011 protests in Cairo’s Tahrir Square at the beginning of the Arab Spring movement, religion came into the picture in interesting ways. In some cases sympathetic mullahs would urge the faithful into joining the protest as a religious duty. In other cases there was a remarkable display of interfaith cooperation. On one occasion when Muslim protestors were trying to conduct their prayers in the square and they were being attacked by government sympathizers, a cordon of Egyptian Coptic Christians who had joined the protests circled around their Muslim compatriots, shielding them. Later in the week a phalanx of Muslim protestors protected their Christian comrades as they worshipped in the public square. In protests in Iran, students demonstrated in support of moderate theologian Abdolkarim Soroush, who argued that interpretations of religion are relative and change over time.56 He made a distinction between ideology and religion, and claimed that Muslim clergy had no business being in politics.57 Similar statements have been made by such Islamic thinkers as Hassan Hanafi in Egypt, Rashid Ghannouchi in Tunisia, and Algeria’s Mohammed Arkoun. For them, the image of struggle consists largely of a spiritual battle or a contest between moral positions rather than between armed enemies. To some degree their position is similar to what René Girard recommended in his analysis of how religion can cure violence, by putting religious drama back in the box of cultural symbols. He regarded the rite of sacrifice as deflected violence—a token of what I call ritualized cosmic war. According to Girard, when religion conducts its business adequately, it provides for society a symbolic way of acting out violent impulses so that they need not be expressed in the real world.58 One of Girard’s colleagues, Mark Anspach, observed that Islam lacks the developed sacrificial ritual structure of many other religious traditions, and

294

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

hence it has always skirted the danger of “the confusion of ritual and history,” resulting in ritualized—albeit real—violence against its sacred enemies.59 What Soroush and his fellow Islamic thinkers proposed, however, was a Muslim religiosity sufficiently vital and symbolically rich to do what Girard and Anspach argued all religion should be able to do: deflect violence through its ritual enactment. Moreover, Soroush’s vision of Islam allows religion to play a significant albeit noncontrolling public role—a prophetic part in the public arena. This is a form of social activism that eschews political power in favor of moral suasion, and it transforms the idea of struggle into a contestation of ideas rather than opposing political sides. Solutions such as the one that Soroush formulated in Iran do not require the image of cosmic war to be removed from public life or abandoned altogether. Rather, it is redirected to the battlefield of ideas. For such a transformation to come about, however, two conditions must be met: members of the activists’ religious community have to embrace this moderate form of social struggle as a legitimate representation of cosmic war, and the opponents have to accept it without being threatened by it. Secular authorities can do little about the first criterion, since it requires a transformation of thinking and leadership within the religious movement itself, a transformation that may come about when it is clear that its struggle cannot be won, and the victory of cosmic war is only a hope for the distant future. But they can affect the second criterion by resisting the temptation to act like an enemy in a cosmic war and being open to a social role for religion on a less violently confrontational level. When one is treated like an enemy, however, the temptation to respond like an enemy is considerable. This has been especially so when the provocations have been savage. As I have mentioned, French President Francois Holland instinctively spoke about war in his response to the Paris terrorist attacks in 2015, and after the September 11, 2001, assault on the World Trade Center and Pentagon, the U.S. government almost immediately declared a “war on terror,” and began to conduct massive retaliatory military operations. But we have seen, such military strikes seldom destroy their targets completely, invite more terrorist acts in return, and play into the terrorists’ scenarios of war in which there can be no easy compromise. Understandably, governments cannot afford to let acts of terrorism go unaddressed. But the tit-for-tat approach to terrorism has usually failed if for no other reason than that few governments have been willing to sink to the savage levels and

The Mind of God |

295

adopt the same means of gutter combat as the groups involved in terrorist acts. Any response to the perpetration of violent acts, even in the form of retaliatory strikes, enhance the credibility of the terrorists’ view of cosmic war within their own community. Hence the first step in desacralizing the image of cosmic war is for terrorists’ enemies to stop acting as enemies. Examples of attempts to respond to terrorism in a nonmilitary way may be found in some of the British reactions to the violence of the Irish Republican Army after initial military responses turned out to be a disaster, and in some Israeli attempts to reach across religious divides and embrace the peace process with Palestinians. When Britain’s Prime Minister Tony Blair befriended Gerry Adams, the leader of the IRA’s political wing, Sinn Féin, and when Israel’s Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin shook the hand of Palestine’s Yasir Arafat, many in these prime ministers’ respective countries were convinced that they had sold out to terrorists. Within Adams’s and Arafat’s camps were those who felt that the Sinn Féin and Palestinian leaders had also abandoned their principles. As we have seen, the Omagh tragedy and the Hamas suicide bombings, aimed at both the governments’ and the bombers’ own moderate leaders, were violent expressions of this displeasure. Yet the British and Israeli authorities persevered because they recognized the opportunity to support a peaceful solution over a violent one, and—for the most part—they continued on a path of reconciliation that rewarded those who favored a transformation from terror to cooperation. Taking the Moral High Ground The most successful solutions are those that have been forged on a moral plane, respecting one’s foes and following the rule of law, and bringing to justice those who have committed destructive acts without playing into the dramatic scenario of cosmic war. This approach undercuts the argument of many religious activists that secular authorities are bereft of moral principles. It makes it difficult for the authorities to be demonized, and increases the possibilities of a negotiated solution. This, then, is the fifth response to terrorism: when secular authorities embrace legal and moral values, including those associated with religion. Case studies have demonstrated the utility of this approach. The U.S. government responses to the two largest acts of terrorism on American soil—9/11 and the Oklahoma City federal building bombing—provide an almost textbook comparison between two opposite responses to

296

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

similar kinds of terrorist incidents. In both cases the activists believed that the U.S. government was responsible for perverting public order, and in both cases the perpetrators—the Al-Qaeda hijackers on one hand, Timothy McVeigh and Terry Nichols on the other—wanted both to punish the United States and symbolically show that a cosmic war was raging in which the American government was the enemy. In the case of 9/11, the response of President George W. Bush supported the Al-Qaeda perspective with the image of a “war on terror,” where there was no middle ground: “Either you are with us or you are with the terrorists,” Bush proclaimed to the nations around the world in his September 20, 2001, address to a joint session of Congress. Soon afterward he invaded Afghanistan in an attempt at a military solution in destroying Al-Qaeda. Only years later, however, under the Obama administration was Osama bin Laden captured and killed in the raid on his Abbottabad, Pakistan, safe house. The chief conspirator in the 9/11 case, according to the 9/11 Commission Report, was Khalid Sheikh Mohammed, who was captured in 2003 in Pakistan and transferred to the U.S. military detention facility in Guantanamo Bay, where for over a decade he was detained without a trial. In the case of the Oklahoma City federal building bombing, however, there was no invasion and no “war on terror”; the culprits were identified and captured with days of the bombing. The incident was regarded by both the government authorities and the press as a crime rather than an act of war, and eventually both conspirators were put on trial. McVeigh was sentenced to death, and his execution was carried out in 2001; Nichols was sentenced to life in prison without parole. There was no noticeable increase in Christian terrorism in sympathy with the Oklahoma City bombers since the incident, but Muslim terrorism in support of Al-Qaeda and affiliated organizations increased seemingly exponentially after the war on terror was proclaimed around the world. It is true that the cases are not quite equivalent; Al-Qaeda was a substantial organization and McVeigh’s ties to Christian extremist movements were looser, though there were such ties. Still, the responses were so opposite in scale and intensity that it would be surprising if they did not have a considerable impact on the trajectory of terrorist activities related to the two movements of Muslim and Christian extremists, respectively. Another case of a measured governmental response was the reaction of the Spanish government to the Madrid commuter train attacks in 2004. Suspects related to the attack were arrested and put on trial, and instead of branding a large international organization such as Al-Qaeda

The Mind of God |

297

for the plot, the trial revealed that “local cells of Islamic extremists inspired through the internet” were responsible for the attacks.60 A year after the attacks, at a large public event sponsored by the Spanish government, the emphasis was on multiculturalism, bringing the diverse elements of Spanish society together, including disaffected minority communities such as immigrant Moroccans, the group from which the attackers had sprung. In Sri Lanka, the government hunted down and brought to justice those Buddhist activists who were creating acts of terrorism against the government, but it also created a fund for the financial support of Buddhist schools and social services, and created a Ministry of Buddhist Affairs. One of the radical Buddhist monks who had been quite critical of the secular government told me that after these pro-religious measures, the government was finally beginning to “reflect Buddhist values.”61 In other cases, such as the British response to Irish terrorism, the government’s stance in following the rule of law and not overreacting to terrorist provocations demonstrated its subscription to moral values. This made it difficult for religious activists— with the exception of the most extreme, such as Rev. Ian Paisley—to portray the government as a satanic enemy. It also increased the possibility of some sort of accommodation with religious activists on both sides of the Northern Ireland dispute—leading to the signing of a peace accord in 1998. When government authorities abandon their own moral principles in responding to terrorism, they inadvertently validate the religious activists’ most devastating critique of them: that secular politics are devoid of morality.

healing politics with religion Given that the Enlightenment concepts that launched the modern nation-state were characterized by a fair amount of moralistic fervor, it is poignant that the governments of modern nations have so often been perceived as being morally corrupt and spiritually vacuous. JeanJacques Rousseau coined the term civil religion to describe what he regarded as the moral and spiritual foundation essential for any modern society that wanted to sustain an enduring political order. Such a “religion,” Rousseau claimed, was to be based not on the “dogmas of religion” but on what he called the “the sanctity of the social contract.”62 Despite the noble rhetoric of Enlightenment thinkers, their opponents at the time belittled the secularists’ morality just as their modern

298

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

critics have done; and just as religious activists have done in our time, they accused the secularists of hypocrisy. As Darrin McMahon has pointed out, religious critics of thinkers such as Rousseau accused them, perhaps unfairly, of cloaking self-interest in the garb of high-minded abstractions.63 It is this apparent hypocrisy—and what they regard as the inherent vacuousness of secular life—that has continued to disturb religious activists from the time of the Enlightenment to the present day. This point was made clear to me in a direct way in a peculiar place— the federal penitentiary in Lompoc, California—where a convicted terrorist lectured me on my lack of moral and spiritual purpose. Mahmud Abouhalima accused American people in general, and me in particular, of secularism. He challenged our dedication to the virtue of tolerance when we have been unwilling to tolerate religious enthusiasts such as himself. He insisted that he knew what people like me lacked: “the soul of religion,” he said, “that’s what’s missing.” He went on to say that people in the secular world “are just living day by day, looking for jobs, for money to live.” They were living, he said, “like sheep.”64 I accepted that there was some truth to Abouhalima’s analysis, but that most people did not want to live like sheep. Like him, they longed for a life of dignity and quiet pride. I interpreted what Abouhalima advocated to be not just religious doctrine, or even a “born-again” religious conversion, but a longing for vitality and meaning in life. What he wanted was a tough, grounded existence, not one simply floating toward a pointless death. I agreed with Abouhalima that religion at its best helps to give people that sense of purpose. I wondered, though, to what extent Abouhalima was correct in his assessment that secular politics and modern social values have prevented individuals from having this kind of satisfying life. Can social and political institutions in society be blamed for our lack of spirituality? Answers to this question have been varied. Those who have responded “no” include those who have accepted the modernist assumption that private and public lives are separate, and that individuals are solely responsible for whatever integrity and morality they possess. Among those who have answered “yes” are modernity’s critics, who have pointed to the deleterious effects of a consumer culture and its numbing assault on the senses by seemingly endless media images, and the cynicism with which most people view the moral integrity of those in public life. The American sociologist Robert Bellah argued that the bland multicultural climate that has overcome American society at the dawn of the twenty-first century has been fostered by what he regards

The Mind of God |

299

as the great agents of socialization—education and television—and encouraged through public policy.65 But even those who have condemned modern society for its aesthetic and ethical poverty may wonder if the entrance of religion into public life would help to leaven these negative influences. Several thoughtful observers of western society have suggested that indeed it might—if religion could enter the public arena in an undogmatic and unobtrusive way. A French theorist, Marcel Gauchet, has called for western society to recover the spiritual roots that it abandoned when it transferred the sense of sacrality from God to the nation.66 An American theologian, Reinhold Niebuhr, has made a similar argument, even though Niebuhr was wary of religion’s intrusion into politics. Niebuhr was suspicious of religion because it absolutizes and moralizes political calculations that realistically are made for reasons of selfinterest. Yet he could see a political role for what he called the “illusions” of religion in providing the ties that bind people together “in spite of social conflict.” He described these as “the peculiar gifts of religion to the human spirit.” Niebuhr claimed that secular imagination is not capable of producing them, for they require “a sublime madness which disregards immediate appearance and emphasizes profound and ultimate unities.”67 I agree with Niebuhr that what religion provides society is not just high-mindedness, but also a concern with the quality of life—a goal more ennobling than the simple accretion of power and possessions. For that reason religious rhetoric has entered into political discourse at times when the moral and spiritual roots of a community have been challenged or have been in danger of being severed. In an era of globalization, traditional societies have been uprooted by transnational forces that have undercut familiar social identities, challenged established authority, and eroded the security that traditional institutions have provided. Especially within the religious cultures of violence that we have examined in this book, people have criticized these aspects of the global era and the vacuousness of modern secular life. They have sought religion as a balm for their fractured existences. For some, religion—like art, education, or sports—can be an escape from political turmoil. It provides a sense of identity and the reassurance of traditional authority. Other people have found a safe harbor in other forms of public life during times of social turbulence. During the height of the conflict in Bosnia in the mid-1990s, for instance, mosques stayed open and the symphony orchestra of Sarejevo kept to its concert schedule, performing

300

|

The Logic of Religious Violence

to audiences of mixed ethnic identities. In Palestine it has been higher education and sports along with religion that have symbolized this unity beyond the violence of ethnic conflict. When I asked a member of Hamas where the future generation of Palestinians and Israelis might come together, he told me, “it would be in a university.” He could imagine a situation in which his son and the child of one of his Israeli opponents might relate to one another someday as friends and fellow students on a neutral arena—“perhaps on your campus of the University of California,” he suggested.68 “I miss soccer,” a young Hamas supporter told a journalist who interviewed him in an Israeli prison for the documentary film Shaheed (Martyr). The young man had been designated to be a suicide bomber but was intercepted by the Israeli police before he could demolish himself and his target, a crowd of innocent Israeli bystanders. He explained to the interviewer that he hated the Jews. “I despise them,” he said. “They took our land.” But when asked about Israel’s soccer team, he said that he greatly admired Israeli players and knew many by name. When the journalist asked him what he would do if he were asked to carry out his suicide mission in a soccer stadium—one that was filled with his enemies, Zionists and nonbelievers—the young man seemed genuinely troubled. “On a soccer field?” he asked, his sensibilities clearly offended. “No,” he said, “I couldn’t do that.”69 In the mind of the erstwhile suicide bomber, soccer rose above the turmoil of terrorism, just as higher education and symphony concerts have provided neutral planes beyond ethnic, religious, and ideological tensions. Religion can also provide such a neutral space: in Israel, rabbis and mullahs have shared ideas almost as extensively as their political counterparts have. Though religion has scarcely been perceived as being neutral in the same way that art, education, and sports have been, virtually every religious tradition has projected images of tranquility that are even more profound and unifying. It is, after all, for the sake of the tranquil and universal ideal of sacred transformation that one struggles in the battles of a cosmic war. In a curious way, then, the goal of all this religious violence is peace. As we have seen in the case studies in this book, religious ideas have given a profundity and ideological clarity to what in many cases have been real experiences of economic destitution, social oppression, political corruption, and a desperate need for the hope of rising above the limitations of contemporary life buffeted by the transnational forces of the global era. The image of cosmic struggle has given these bitter experi-

The Mind of God |

301

ences meaning, and the involvement in a grand conflict has been exhilarating for some participants. It has even been empowering. Persons and social movements engaged in such a conflict have gained a sense of their own destinies. In such situations, acts of violence, even what appear to those of us outside the movements as vicious acts of terrorism, have been viewed by insiders in cultures of violence as both appropriate and justified. Why, in a few extreme instances, violence has accompanied religion’s renewed political presence is something that this book has tried to explore. My conclusion is that it has much to do with the nature of the religious imagination, which always has had the propensity to absolutize and to project images of cosmic war. It also has much to do with the social tensions of this moment of history that cry out for absolute solutions, and the sense of personal humiliation experienced by men who long to restore an integrity they perceive as lost in the wake of virtually global social and political shifts. To some extent it is also related to the role that violence has played in public life. Since public violence is a display of power, it appeals to those who want to make dramatic statements and reclaim public space. In moments of social transition and uncertainty it can simultaneously hold both political currency and religious meaning. It can be used to remind the populace of the godly power that makes a religious ideology potent, and it can be used to render divine judgments. It can create manmade incidents of fear on heaven’s behalf, as if its perpetrators could discern the mind of God. This is one of history’s ironies: that although religion has been used to justify violence, violence can also empower religion. Perhaps understandably, therefore, in the wake of secularism, and after years of waiting in history’s wings, religion has made its reappearance as an ideology of social order in a dramatic fashion: violently. In time the violence will end, but the point will remain. Religion gives spirit to public life and provides a beacon for moral order. At the same time it needs the temper of rationality and fair play that Enlightenment values give to civil society. Thus religious violence cannot end until some accommodation can be forged between the two—some assertion of moderation in religion’s passion, and some acknowledgment of religion in elevating the spiritual and moral values of public life. In a curious way, then, the cure for religious violence may ultimately lie in a renewed appreciation for religion itself.

Notes

chapter 1. introduction: terror and god 1. “Global Terror,” Los Angeles Times, August 8, 1998, A16. 2. Bruce Hoffman, Inside Terrorism (New York: Columbia University Press, 1998), 91. 3. Warren Christopher, “Fighting Terrorism: Challenges for Peacemakers,” address to the Washington Institute for Near East Policy, May 21, 1996. Reprinted in Warren Christopher, In the Stream of History: Shaping Foreign Policy for a New Era (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1998), 446. 4. See, for example, the essays from a conference on the psychology of terrorism held at the Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars, in Walter Reich, ed., Origins of Terrorism: Psychologies, Ideologies, Theologies, States of Mind (Cambridge: Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars and Cambridge University Press, 1990). 5. Baruch Goldstein, letter to the editor, New York Times, June 30, 1981. 6. Interview with Rev. Michael Bray, Bowie, Maryland, April 25, 1996. 7. Interview with Sohan Singh, Mohali, Punjab, August 3, 1996. 8. Interview with Mahmud Abouhalima, federal penitentiary, Lompoc, California, September 30, 1997. 9. Interview with Dr. Abdul Aziz Rantisi, Khan Yunis, Gaza, March 1, 1998. 10. Unni Turrettini, The Mystery of the Lone Wolf Killer: Anders Behring Breivik and the Threat of Terror in Plain Sight (New York: Pegasus, 2015). 11. In using the phrase cultures of violence, I realize that for some this will evoke the term cultures of poverty, coined by Oscar Lewis and other anthropologists in the 1960s to describe the mindset of the barrios of Latin America and African-American ghettos in the United States. Lewis was accused of presenting a static set of values, forged through desperate conditions, that on the one hand explained away many of the moral and intellectual shortcomings of 303

304

|

Notes to Pages 12–13

the people who came from such cultures, and on the other hand seemed to imply that nothing could be done to help them. My term, cultures of violence, does not carry these implications. 12. For more about the idea of epistemic worldview analysis and the broader turn toward sociotheology in the social sciences see our article: Mark Juergensmeyer and Mona Kanwal Sheikh, “A Sociotheological Approach to Understanding Religious Violence,” in The Oxford Handbook of Religion and Violence, ed. Mark Juergensmeyer, Margo Kitts, and Michael Jerryson (New York: Oxford University Press, 2013), 620–43. 13. Michel Foucault, The Order of Things: An Archaeology of Human Sciences (New York: Vintage, 1973), 168. 14. Pierre Bourdieu, Outline of a Theory of Practice, trans. Richard Nice (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977), 76. 15. Clifford Geertz, “Ideology as a Cultural System,” in Ideology and Discontent, ed. David Apter (New York: Free Press), 1964; and “Religion as a Cultural System,” reprinted in William A. Lessa and Evon Z. Vogt, eds., Reader in Comparative Religion: An Anthropological Approach, 3rd ed. (New York: Harper & Row, 1972). 16. Walter Laqueur, Terrorism (Boston: Little, Brown, 1977), revised and republished as The Age of Terrorism (Boston: Little, Brown, 1987); Hoffman, Inside Terrorism. See also Carola Dietze and Claudia Verhoeffen, The Oxford Handbook of the History of Terrorism (New York: Oxford University Press, 2016); and Alex Schmid, The Routledge Handbook of Terrorism Research (London: Routledge, 2011). 17. Reich, ed., Origins of Terrorism; Robert S. Robins and Jerrold Post, Political Paranoia: The Psychopolitics of Hatred (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1997). 18. Louise Richardson, What Terrorists Want: Understanding the Enemy, Containing the Threat (New York: Random House, 2007); Martha Crenshaw, Revolutionary Terrorism: The FLN in Algeria, 1954–1962 (Stanford, CA: Hoover Institution, 1978); Peter H. Merkl, “West German Left-Wing Terrorism,” in Terrorism in Context, ed. Martha Crenshaw (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1995), 73–97. See also Crenshaw’s article on instrumental and organizational approaches to the study of terrorism, “Theories of Terrorism,” in Inside Terrorist Organizations, ed. David C. Rapoport (New York: Columbia University Press, 1988), 13–31. 19. Paul Wilkinson, Political Terrorism (London: Macmillan, 1974); Brian Jenkins, International Terrorism: Trends and Potentialities (Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corporation, 1978). See also Paul Wilkinson and A. M. Stewart, eds., Contemporary Research on Terrorism (Aberdeen: Aberdeen University Press, 1987); Bruce Hoffman, An Agenda for Research on Terrorism and LIC [LowIntensity Conflict] in the 1990s (Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corporation, 1991). 20. Julie Ingersoll, Building God’s Kingdom: Inside the World of Christian Reconstruction (New York: Oxford University Press, 2015); James Aho, The Politics of Righteousness: Idaho Christian Patriotism (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1990); Martin Dillon, God and the Gun: The Church and

Notes to Pages 21–27 |

305

Irish Terrorism (New York: Routledge, 1997); Cynthia Keppley Mahmood, Fighting for Faith and Nation: Dialogues with Sikh Militants (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1997); Ehud Sprinzak, The Ascendance of Israel’s Radical Right (New York: Oxford University Press, 1991); Anna Marie Oliver and Paul Steinberg, The Road to Martyrs’ Square: A Journey Into the World of the Suicide Bomber (New York: Oxford University Press, 2005); and Mona Kanwal Sheikh, Guardians of God: Understanding the Religious Violence of the Pakistan Taliban (Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2016). See also the essays in Mark Juergensmeyer and Mona Kanwal Sheikh, eds., Entering Religious Minds (forthcoming), and my essay,”Entering the Mindset of Violent Religious Activists,” special issue of the journal, Religions, ed. John Esposito, 6:3 (2015): 852–59.

chapter 2. soldiers for christ 1. Andrew Brewick (Anders Breivik), “2083—A European Declaration of Independence” (posted on Breivik’s Facebook page on July 22, 2011), 811. 2. Ibid. 3. Michael Bray, “Running with Rudolph,” Capital Area Christian News 28 (Winter 1998–99): 2. 4. Ibid. 5. Morris Dees, with James Corcoran, Gathering Storm: America’s Militia Threat (New York: HarperCollins, 1996), 165. Reports of McVeigh visiting Elohim City are made in David Hoffman, The Oklahoma City Bombing and the Politics of Terror (Venice, CA: Feral House, 1998), 83–84. 6. Andrew Macdonald [William Pierce], The Turner Diaries (Hillsboro, WV: National Vanguard Books, 1978; repr., Arlington, VA: National Alliance, 1985; New York: Barricade Books, 1996). 7. Dees, Gathering Storm, 154. 8. Ibid., 158. 9. Although Pierce, the author of The Turner Diaries, denies knowing McVeigh or talking to him, two separate law enforcement sources claim to have telephone records proving that McVeigh placed a lengthy call to Pierce’s unlisted number in West Virginia in the weeks before the bombing. This information was first reported by CNN and is mentioned in Dees, Gathering Storm, 165. 10. Amy C. Solnin, William L. Pierce: Novelist of Hate, research report of the Anti-Defamation League (New York: Anti-Defamation League, 1995), 8. 11. Macdonald [Pierce], Turner Diaries, 64. 12. Michael Barkun, Religion and the Racist Right: The Origins of the Christian Identity Movement (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1994). 13. Ibid., 7. 14. Leonard Zeskind, The “Christian Identity” Movement: Analyzing Its Theological Rationalization for Racist and Anti-Semitic Violence (New York: Division of Church and Society of the National Council of Churches of Christ in the U.S.A., 1986), 12. 15. Ibid., 14.

306

|

Notes to Pages 27–34

16. Jeffrey Kaplan, Radical Religion in America: Millenarian Movements from the Far Right to the Children of Noah (Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press, 1997), 175. 17. Zeskind, “Christian Identity” Movement, 45. 18. Gerald Baumgarten, Paranoia as Patriotism: Far-Right Influences on the Militia Movement (New York: Anti-Defamation League, 1995), 17. 19. Gordon “Jack” Mohr (founder of the Christian Patriot Defense League), Know Your Enemies, 1982 pamphlet. Quoted in James Aho, The Politics of Righteousness: Idaho Christian Patriotism (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1990), 96. 20. Aho, Politics of Righteousness, 91. 21. Kim Murphy, “Last Stand of an Aging Aryan,” Los Angeles Times, January 10, 1999, A1. 22. Kim Murphy, “Hate’s Affluent New Godfathers,” Los Angeles Times, January 10, 1999, A14. 23. Michael Bray, A Time to Kill: A Study Concerning the Use of Force and Abortion (Portland, OR: Advocates for Life Publications, 1994), 9. 24. Interview with Rev. Michael Bray, Bowie, Maryland, April 25, 1996, and March 20, 1998. The quotations from Bray in this section, unless otherwise cited, are from these interviews. 25. Nightline, March 9, 1998. 26. Interview with Bray, March 20, 1998. Bray clarified his position in correspondence to me on March 9, 1999, from which this quotation is taken. 27. Michael Bray, “Thoughts on Tiller, Justified Homicide, and Persisting Abortionists,” Army of God website, www.armyofgod.com/MikeBrayThoughts OnTillerJustifiableHomicide.html, May 31, 2009. 28. Bray, A Time to Kill. The book was written before Hill’s murder of Britton and Barrett. It defended Michael Griffin’s slaying of Dr. David Gunn, also in Florida (p. 124). Articles written by Bray after Hill’s action indicate that the argument in his book extended to Hill and may indeed have been a justification in advance for Hill’s act. 29. Paul Hill, “Why I Shot an Abortionist,” December 22, 1997, open letter to Rev. Michael Bray and the attendees of the White Rose Banquet, circulated by Bray. 30. See Reinhold Niebuhr, Moral Man and Immoral Society (New York: Scribner’s, 1932), and Why the Christian Church Is Not Pacifist (London: Student Christian Movement Press, 1940). 31. For a somewhat controversial statement of the position that early Christianity was perceived during its own time as a political movement, see S. F. G. Brandon, Jesus and the Zealots: A Study of the Political Factor in Primitive Christianity (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1967). For a more recent presentation of this revolutionary view of Jesus, see Reza Aslan, Zealot: The Life and Times of Jesus of Nazareth (New York: Random House, 2013). 32. See Albert Marrin, ed., War and the Christian Conscience: From Augustine to Martin Luther King, Jr. (Chicago: Henry Regnery, 1971); James Turner Johnson, Ideology, Reason, and the Limitation of War: Religious and Secular Concepts, 1200–1740 (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1975). See

Notes to Pages 34–39 |

307

also my article “Nonviolence,” in The Encyclopedia of Religion, ed. Mircea Eliade (New York: Macmillan, 1987), 10: 463–67. 33. See Ralph Potter, War and Moral Discourse (Richmond, VA: John Knox Press, 1969); Paul Ramsey, The Just War: Force and Political Responsibility (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1968); Thomas Merton, Faith and Violence: Christian Teaching and Christian Practice (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1968). 34. See Robert McAfee Brown, Religion and Violence, 2nd ed. (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1987), esp. 56–61; Gustavo Gutierrez, A Theology of Liberation: History, Politics, and Salvation, rev. ed. (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1988); Teofilo Cabastrero, Revolutionaries for the Gospel: Testimonies of Fifteen Christians in the Nicaraguan Government (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1986). 35. Niebuhr, Why the Christian Church Is Not Pacifist. 36. See Niebuhr, Moral Man and Immoral Society. 37. “Manifesto for the Christian Church,” Crosswinds. Quoted in Chip Berlet, John Salvi, Abortion Clinic Violence, and Catholic Right Conspiracism (Somerville, MA: Political Research Associates, 1996), 8. 38. See Julie Ingersoll, Building God’s Kingdom: Inside the World of Christian Reconstruction (New York: Oxford University Press, 2015). 39. Gary North, Lone Gunners for Jesus: Letters to Paul J. Hill (Tyler, TX: Institute for Christian Economics, 1994), 2. 40. The book that established Reconstruction Theology as a movement is Rousas John Rushdoony’s two-volume Institutes of Biblical Law (Nutley, NJ: Craig Press, 1973). Introductions to Cornelius Van Til’s thought are found in R. J. Rushdoony, By What Standard? (Tyler, TX: Thoburn Press, 1978), and Richard Pratt, Every Thought Captive (Phillipsburg, NJ: Presbyterian and Reformed Publishing, 1982). The journal of Reconstruction thought, Chalcedon Report, was established in 1965 and later changed its name to Faith in All of Life, a bimonthly print magazine, and was supplanted by a blog post on the website www.chalcedon.edu. Other original sources for the movement are cited in Ingersoll. 41. Gary North, Backward, Christian Soldiers? An Action Manual for Christian Reconstruction (Tyler, TX: Institute for Christian Economics, 1984), 267. According to North, the four main tenets of Christian Reconstruction are biblical law, optimistic eschatology, predestination, and “presuppositional apologetics,” which North defines as a “philosophical defense of the faith” (p. 267). North has authored or edited over twenty books, including An Introduction to Christian Economics (Tyler, TX: Institute for Christian Economics, 1973), Millennialism and Social Theory (Tyler, TX: Institute for Christian Economics, 1990), and Unconditional Surrender: God’s Program for Victory (Tyler, TX: Institute for Christian Economics, 1988). 42. North, Lone Gunners for Jesus, 25. 43. Ibid., 6–8. 44. Paul Hill, Paul Hill Speaks (pamphlet published by Reformation Press, Bowie, Maryland, June 1997), 1. 45. Ibid., 2. 46. Bray, A Time to Kill, 158. 47. Aho, Politics of Righteousness, 85.

308

|

Notes to Pages 41–49

48. See Gerry Adams, Before the Dawn: An Autobiography (London: Mandarin Paperbacks, 1996), 246, 274–75. 49. Interview with Tom Hartley, Belfast, Northern Ireland, July 31, 1998. 50. Dennis Cooke, Persecuting Zeal: A Portrait of Ian Paisley (Kerry, Ireland: Brandon Book Publishers, 1996), 23. 51. Ian Paisley, The Preaching of Ian Paisley (Belfast: Martyrs’ Memorial Recordings, 17 November 1985). Cited in Cooke, Persecuting Zeal, 1. 52. Notice in The Battle Standard: The Journal of the European Institute of Protestant Studies 1:1 (October 1997): 8. 53. Ibid. 54. Ian Paisley, quoted in Marjorie Miller, “Two Northern Ireland Leaders Share Nobel Peace Prize,” Los Angeles Times, October 17, 1998, A1. 55. Interview with Stuart Dignan, Belfast, July 30, 1998. 56. Ian Paisley, sermon reprinted in The Revivalist, September 1983. Cited in Cooke, Persecuting Zeal, 42. Cooke persuasively argues that Paisley is even less tolerant of Catholics than the Protestant reformers he quotes. Unlike Paisley, he notes, Calvin accepted Catholics as Christians, and although John Wesley rejected the authority of the pope, he accepted Catholics into the wider, hidden fellowship of Christians (47–53). 57. Ian Paisley, “Swearing Allegiance to King Jesus,” sermon of March 24, 1991, Belfast. Reprinted in Ian Paisley, Sermons on Special Occasions (Belfast: Ambassador Productions, 1996), 114. 58. Martin Dillon, God and the Gun: The Church and Irish Terrorism (New York: Routledge, 1997), 73. 59. Ibid., 64–65. 60. Interview with Hartley, July 31, 1998. 61. Dillon, God and the Gun, 89–90. 62. Ibid., 93. 63. Conor Cruise O’Brien, Ancestral Voices: Religion and Nationalism in Ireland (Dublin: Poolbeg Press, 1994), 3–4. 64. Ibid., 4. 65. Ian Paisley, editorial, Protestant Telegraph, August 12, 1972, 5. Cited in Cooke, Persecuting Zeal, 57. 66. Interview with Hartley, July 31, 1998. 67. Dillon, God and the Gun, 93.

chapter 3. zion betrayed 1. Meir Ettinger, “Meir Ettinger, in His Own Words: The Delicate Bridges,” Hakol HaYahudi (English version), www.hakolhayehudi.com (accessed August 11, 2015). 2. Interview with Zohair Ahmad Dawabsheh in Duma, West Bank, June 2, 2016. 3. Interview with Abou Dawabsheh in Duma, West Bank, June 2, 2016. 4. Nigel Wilson, “Duma Attack: ‘Israeli Settlers Are Burning Everything,’” Al-Jazeera, August 2, 2015.

Notes to Pages 50–54 |

309

5. Quoted in Tovah Lazaroff, “Netanyahu on Duma Attack,” Times of Israel, July 31, 2015. 6. Chaim Levinson, “Video Shows Jewish Radicals Celebrating Wedding by Stabbing Photo of Dawabsheh Baby,” Haaretz, December 24, 2015. 7. Isabel Kershner, “Israel Faces New Brand of Terrorism, This Time from Young Settlers,” New York Times, January 11, 2016. 8. Interview with Ezri Tubi, near the city of Nablus in the West Bank, June 4, 2016. 9. Ibid. 10. Interview with Rabbi Meir Kahane, Jerusalem, January 18, 1989. 11. See Robert Friedman, The False Prophet: Rabbi Meir Kahane; From FBI Informant to Knesset Member (London: Faber and Faber, 1990). 12. M. K. Michael Eitan, 1984 speech to the Knesset Rules Committee, quoted in Gerald Cromer, The Debate about Kahanism in Israeli Society, 1984– 1988, Occasional Papers no. 3 (New York: Harry Frank Guggenheim Foundation, 1988), 37–38. 13. Yair Kotler, Heil Kahane (New York: Adama Books, 1986). 14. John Kifner, “A Militant Leader, Fiery Politician and Founder of AntiArab Crusade,” New York Times, November 7, 1990, B12. 15. Ehud Sprinzak, “Violence and Catastrophe in the Theology of Rabbi Meir Kahane: The Ideologization of Mimetic Desire,” in Violence and the Sacred in the Modern World, ed. Mark Juergensmeyer (London: Frank Cass, 1991), 48–70; and Sprinzak, The Ascendance of Israel’s Radical Right (New York: Oxford University Press, 1991), 220–23. See also Kahane’s writings, including Listen World, Listen Jew (Jerusalem: Institute of the Jewish Idea, 1978) and They Must Go (Jerusalem: Institute of the Jewish Idea, 1981); Ehud Sprinzak, Brother against Brother: Violence and Extremism in Israeli Politics from Altalena to the Rabin Assassination (New York: Free Press, 1999); Cromer, Debate about Kahanism in Israeli Society. 16. See Sprinzak, Ascendance of Israel’s Radical Religious Right and Brother against Brother; and Ian S. Lustick, For the Land and the Lord: Jewish Fundamentalism in Israel (New York: Council on Foreign Relations, 1989). 17. Alter B. Z. Metzger, Rabbi Kook’s Philosophy of Repentance: A Translation of “Orot Ha-Teshuvah,” Studies in Torah Judaism no. 11 (New York: Yeshiva University Press, 1968), 111. See also Jacob B. Agus, Banner of Jerusalem: The Life, Times, and Thought of Abraham Isaac Kuk (New York: Bloch, 1946). 18. “In ‘Rebel Manifesto’ Meir Kahane’s Grandson Calls to Bring Down State,” Times of Israel, January 1, 2016. 19. Interview with Kahane, January 18, 1989. 20. According to Sprinzak, Kahane did not make the usual nationalist argument that the Jews deserved the land because it was their ancient birthplace; rather, the Jews “expropriated it in the name of God and his sovereign will” (Ascendance of Israel’s Radical Right, 225; italics in the original). 21. See M. Landsbaum and E. Litschblau, “Pair Suspected in Bombings Held in Israel,” Los Angeles Times, March 25, 1991, A1. My thanks to Rimah

310

|

Notes to Pages 54–60

Khouri, a student in the Global Peace and Security Program at the University of California, Santa Barbara, for providing information on the investigation related to the killing of Alex Odeh, her uncle. 22. Interview with Kahane, January 18, 1989. 23. Ibid. See also similar comments by Kahane in an interview published as an appendix in Raphael Mergui and Philippe Simonnot, Israel’s Ayatollahs: Meir Kahane and the Far Right in Israel (originally published as Meir Kahane: Le rabbin qui fait peur aux juifs, Lausanne, Switzerland: Éditions Pierre-Marcel Favre, 1985; repr., London: Saqi Books, 1987), 43, 44, 68, 76–77, 150. 24. Interview with Yoel Lerner, Jerusalem, January 20, 1989. 25. Interview with Kahane, January 18, 1989. 26. See David Biale, Power and Powerlessness in Jewish History (New York: Schocken Books, 1987); and Salo Baron, George S. Wise, and Lenn Goodman, eds., Violence and Defense in the Jewish Experience (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society of America, 1977). 27. Speech given by Kahane, Jerusalem, January 18, 1989. I am indebted to Prof. Ehud Sprinzak and his students for providing me with a simultaneous English translation at the event. For a summary of the discussion in the Gush Emunim about the appropriateness of using violence, see Ian S. Lustick, For the Land and the Lord: Jewish Fundamentalism in Israel (New York: Council on Foreign Relations, 1988), 93–100. 28. Speech given by Kahane, Jerusalem, January 18, 1989. 29. Interview with Lerner, January 20, 1989. 30. Mergui and Simonnot, Israel’s Ayatollahs, 52. 31. Ibid., 50. 32. Ibid. See also Kotler, Heil Kahane. 33. “The Legacy of Hate,” New York Times, November 7, 1990, A30. 34. Aharan Domb, Jewish settler on the West Bank, quoted in Norman Kempster, “Arafat, Netanyahu Sign Pact,” Los Angeles Times, October 24, 1998, A1. 35. Margot Dudkevitch, “Settlers: Netanyahu No Longer Our Leader,” Jerusalem Post, October 26, 1998. 36. Interview with Lerner, March 2, 1998. 37. Sprinzak, Ascendance of Israel’s Radical Right, 278. See pp. 274–79 for Sprinzak’s description of Lerner and his views. 38. Interview with Lerner, January 20, 1989. 39. Interview with Lerner, August 17, 1995. 40. Sprinzak, Ascendance of Israel’s Radical Right, 278. 41. Interview with Lerner, March 2, 1998. 42. Conversation with Leah Rabin, Tel Aviv, March 2, 1998. 43. Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin, quoted in Serge Schmemann, “Rabin Assassinated in Jerusalem,” New York Times, November 5, 1995, 1. 44. Yigal Amir, quoted in Joel Greenberg, “Rabin’s Assassin,” New York Times, November 5, 1995, A1. 45. Serge Schmemann, “Rabbinic Justification for Killing Rabin,” New York Times, November 11, 1995, A1.

Notes to Pages 61–75 |

311

46. Arieh O’Sullivan, “Netanyahu Flies to Capital to Avoid Protestors,” Jerusalem Post (international edition), October 26, 1998; Deborah Sontag, “Israelis Get an Eerie Reminder That Words Do Kill,” New York Times, November 1, 1998, D3. 47. Interview with Lerner, March 2, 1998. 48. Yossi Klein Halevi, “Kahane’s Murderous Legacy,” Jerusalem Report, March 24, 1994, 12. 49. Interview with Yochay Ron, Hebron, August 18, 1995. 50. Interview with Lerner, March 2, 1998. Ben Gurion had given the orders, transmitted by a young Yitzhak Rabin, to attack a boat, the Altalena, which contained illegal weapons brought to Israel by the right-wing Irgun militia group. Ben Gurion feared the weapons might be used to undermine his own moderate authority in the new state. The boat was set on fire near Tel Aviv, and fifteen men were killed in the skirmish. See Bruce Hoffman, Anonymous Soldiers: The Struggle for Israel, 1917–1947 (New York: Knopf, 2015). 51. Sprinzak, Ascendance of Israel’s Radical Right, 90. 52. Rivka Zerbib, quoted in Marjorie Miller, “Hebron’s Fifty Jewish Families Unsettle Mideast,” Los Angeles Times, October 20, 1996, A1. 53. Interview with Yochay Ron, August 18, 1995. 54. Jim Dwyer et al., Two Seconds under the World: Terror Comes to America; The Conspiracy behind the World Trade Center Bombing (New York: Crown, 1994), 112. 55. Ibid., 111. Nosair was never convicted of killing Kahane but received a prison sentence on a lesser charge of weapons possession.

chapter 4. islam’s “neglected duty” 1. See a longer version of this report on my interviews with ISIS refugees posted as “‘What Kind of Religion Is That?’ Talking with Refugees from ISIS,” (accessed Religion Dispatches, September 4, 2015). 2. Interview with Abdul Salam al-Kubaisi, Baghdad, May 6, 2004; translation assistance by Shirouk al-Abayaji. 3. Interview with Nouri al-Maliki at the Da’wa Party Headquarters in Baghdad, May 7, 2004. 4. Quoted in Rachel Levy, “Muslims Say ISIS Has Nothing to Do With Islam,” Jewish Press, September 17, 2014. 5. Priyangi Agarwal, “70,000 Clerics Issue Fatwa against Terrorism,” Times of India, December 2015. 6. Graeme Wood, “The Three Types of People Who Fight for ISIS,” New Republic, September 10, 2014. 7. William McCants, The ISIS Apocalypse: The History, Strategy, and Doomsday Vision of the Islamic State (New York: St Martin’s Press, 2015). 8. Amarnath Amarsingam, “What Twitter Really Means for Islamic State Supporters,” War on the Rocks (an online news and commentary website), http://warontherocks.com/2015/12/what-twitter-really-means-for-islamic-statesupporters, posted on December 30, 2015 (accessed December 6, 2016).

312

|

Notes to Pages 76–86

9. Marc-André Argentino, “Terrorism on the Internet: the Use of Social Media by the Islamic State,” unpublished paper, 2016. For the category of “belonging” see Charlie Winter, The Virtual “Caliphate”: Understanding Islamic State’s Propaganda Strategy (London: Quilliam Foundation, July 2015). 10. William McCants, The ISIS Apocalypse. 11. Reza Aslan, How to Win a Cosmic War: God, Globalization, and the End of the War on Terror (New York: Random House, 2009). See also his Ph.D. dissertation, “Global Jihadism as a Transnational Social Movement: A Theoretical Framework,” Department of Sociology, University of California, Santa Barbara, 2009. 12. See my essay, “ISIS Inspired—or Branded?” in Huffington Post, posted on June 20, 2016. 13. Interview with Mahmud Abouhalima, federal penitentiary, Lompoc, California, August 19 and September 30, 1997. 14. See, for example, Richard Behar, “The Secret Life of Mahmud the Red,” Time, October 4, 1993, 54–64. 15. Benjamin Weiser, Susan Sachs, and David Kocieniewski, “U.S. Sees Brooklyn Connection to Embassy Bombings,” New York Times, October 22, 1998, A1. 16. Jim Dwyer et al., Two Seconds under the World: Terror Comes to America; The Conspiracy behind the World Trade Center Bombing (New York: Crown, 1994), 192. 17. Ibid., 1–5. 18. Interview with Abouhalima, August 19, 1997. A similar account of what happened in the trial is described in Dwyer et al., Two Seconds under the World, 278–79. He repeated his claim of innocence in correspondence to me on May 20, 1999. 19. Interview with Abouhalima, September 30, 1997. 20. Interview with Abouhalima, August 19, 1997. The topic of the relationship between Islam and public order was discussed in both interviews, and clarified in his correspondence to me on May 20, 1999. 21. Interview with Abouhalima, August 19, 1997. 22. Behar, “Secret Life of Mahmud the Red,” 58. 23. Interview with Abouhalima, August 19, 1997. 24. Ibid. 25. Newstand, CNN television news program, December 20, 1998. 26. Dwyer et al., Two Seconds under the World, 148. In his correspondence to me on May 20, 1999, Abouhalima underscored the point that he was in Afghanistan solely “for civil purposes.” 27. Interview with Abouhalima, August 19, 1997. 28. Dwyer et al., Two Seconds under the World, 148; see also Behar, “Secret Life of Mahmud the Red,” 60. 29. Sheikh Omar Abdul Rahman, quoted in the British newspaper The Independent. Cited in Kim Murphy, “Have the Islamic Militants Turned to a New Battlefront in the U.S.?” Los Angeles Times, May 5, 1993, A20. 30. Interview with Abouhalima, August 19, 1997. 31. Ibid.

Notes to Pages 86–98 |

313

32. Judge Michael B. Mukasey, quoted in John J. Goldman, “Defendants Given 25 Years to Life in N.Y. Terror Plot,” Los Angeles Times, January 18, 1996, A1. 33. Anne Marie Oliver and Paul Steinberg, The Road to Martyrs’ Square: A Journey into the World of the Suicide Bomber (New York: Oxford University Press, 2005). 34. Hamas videotape from the collection of Anne Marie Oliver and Paul Steinberg. 35. Ibid. The quotation is from the words of Abdullah Azzam. 36. Lisa Beyer, “Jerusalem Bombing,” New York Times, August 21, 1995. 37. Interview with Dr. Abdul Aziz Rantisi, Khan Yunis, Gaza, March 1, 1998. 38. Ibid. 39. Interview with Imad Faluji, Hamas, Gaza, August 19, 1995. Faluji left the Hamas movement and joined the Palestinian Authority. 40. Interview with Rantisi, March 2, 1998. 41. Ibid. 42. Interview with Faluji, August 19, 1995. 43. Ibid. 44. Interview with Sheikh Yassin, January 14, 1989. 45. Ibid. 46. For an overview of the Hamas movement, see Roger Friedland and Richard Hecht, To Rule Jerusalem (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 366–84; and Mark Juergensmeyer, Global Rebellion: Religious Challenges to the Secular State (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2008), 69–77. 47. Quoted in Jean-Francois Legrain, “The Islamic Movement and the Intifada,” in Intifada: Palestine at the Crossroads, ed. Jamal R. Nassar and Roger Heacock (New York: Praeger, 1990), 182. 48. Interview with Rantisi, March 2, 1998. 49. See Elie Rekhess, “The Iranian Impact on the Islamic Jihad Movement in the Gaza Strip,” in The Iranian Revolution and the Muslim World, ed. David Menashvi (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1990), 155–70. An excerpt from this article, under the title “The Growth of Khomeinism in Gaza,” was published in Jerusalem Post Magazine, January 26, 1991, 12. 50. Interviews with Hassan Salameh and Mohammad Abulwardi, by Bob Simon in “Suicide Bomber,” produced by Michael Gavson, aired on 60 Minutes, October 5, 1997. 51. Interview with Ariel Merari, Center for the Study of Terrorism and Political Violence, Tel Aviv University, March 3, 1998. 52. Interview with Ashraf Yaghi, Gaza, August 19, 1995. 53. Qur’an 6:152. 54. Philip Jenkins, Laying Down the Sword: Why We Can’t Ignore the Bible’s Violent Passages (New York: HarperOne, 2012); see also the comparison beween the Qur’an and the Bible, in Mark Juergensmeyer and Margo Kitts, eds., The Princeton Readings in Religion and Violence (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2011). 55. Sheikh Omar Abdul Rahman, quoted in James Mann and Robert L. Jackson, “Motive behind Trade Center Bombing Remains a Mystery,” Los Angeles Times, March 20, 1993, A16.

314

|

Notes to Pages 98–101

56. John Kifner, “Suspect in Kahane Case Is Muslim Born in Egypt,” New York Times, November 7, 1990, A1. 57. Imam [Ayatollah] Sayyed Ruhollah Mousavi Khomeini, Collection of Speeches, Position Statements, translations on Near East and North Africa no. 1902 (Arlington, VA: Joint Publications Research Service, 1979), 7. 58. See Rudolph Peters, Islam and Colonialism: The Doctrine of Jihad in Modern History (The Hague: Mouton, 1979); Richard C. Martin, “Religious Violence in Islam: Towards an Understanding of the Discourse on Jihad in Modern Egypt,” in Contemporary Research on Terrorism, ed. Paul Wilkinson and A. M. Stewart (Aberdeen: Aberdeen University Press, 1969), 54–71; John Kelsay, Islam and War: A Study in Comparative Ethics (Louisville, KY: Westminster / John Knox Press, 1993). 59. See David C. Rapoport, Assassination and Terrorism (Toronto: Canadian Broadcasting Corporation, 1971), 3–4. 60. Interview with Sheikh Yassin, January 14, 1989; interview with Dr. Rantisi, March 2, 1998. 61. Interview with Sheikh ‘Odeh, in Islam and Palestine, Leaflet 5 (Limasol, Cyprus, June 1988). 62. It was published in Al-Ahrar, an Egyptian newspaper, on December 14, 1981. An English translation, accompanied by an extensive essay about the document, can be found in Johannes J. G. Jansen, The Neglected Duty: The Creed of Sadat’s Assassins and Islamic Resurgence in the Middle East (New York: Macmillan, 1986). I have also found helpful the analysis of this document by David Rapoport in “Sacred Terror: A Case from Islam,” unpublished paper delivered at the 1988 Annual Meeting of the American Political Science Association, Washington DC, September 1–4, 1988. The political implications of the document are discussed in Mohammed Heikal, Autumn of Fury: The Assassination of Sadat (London: Andre Deutsch, 1983). 63. Faraj, par. 84, in Jansen, Neglected Duty, 199. 64. Faraj, pars. 102 and 109, in ibid., 210–11. 65. Faraj, par. 113, in ibid., 212–13; see also par. 109, 211. 66. According to an Egyptian scholar who interviewed in prison members of the group responsible for Sadat’s assassination, the writings of Mawdudi were “important in shaping the group’s ideas.” See Saad Eddin Ibrahim, “Islamic Militancy as a Social Movement: The Case of Two Groups in Egypt,” in Islamic Resurgence in the Arab World, ed. Ali E. Hillal Dessouki (New York: Praeger, 1982), 125. 67. For a discussion of the significance of Sayyid Qutb’s life and work, see Martin, “Religious Violence in Islam”; Gilles Kepel, Muslim Extremism in Egypt: The Prophet and Pharaoh (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003), 36–69; Yvonne V. Haddad, “Sayyid Qutb: Ideologue of Islamic Revival,” in Voices of Resurgent Islam, ed. John L. Esposito (New York: Oxford University Press, 1983); Ronald L. Nettler, Past Trials and Present Tribulations: A Muslim Fundamentalist’s View of the Jews (New York: Pergamon Press, 1987). 68. Qutb studied in Washington DC and California from 1949 to 1951; see Haddad, “Sayyid Qutb,” 69.

Notes to Pages 101–112 |

315

69. Sayyid Qutb, This Religion of Islam (Hadha ‘d-Din), trans. Islamdust (Palo Alto, CA: Al-Manar Press, 1967), 87. 70. Interview with Rantisi, March 2, 1998. 71. Interview with Abouhalima, August 19, 1997.

chapter 5. the spear of shiva, the sword of sikhism 1. Quoted in Mukul Sinha, “Gujarat Riots: The Death Dance at Naroda Patiya,” on the website Truth of Gujarat, www.truthofgujarat.com/the-deathdance-at-naroda-patiya, posted on August 2, 2013 (accessed December 3, 2016). 2. See, for example, Parvis Ghassem-Fachandi, Pogrom in Gujarat: Hindu Nationalism and Anti-Muslim Violence in India (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2012). 3. Martha Nussbaum, The Clash Within: Democracy, Religious Violence, and India’s Future (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2009), 50–51. 4. The statement was published on the front page of the Gujarati newspaper Sandesh, on February 28, 2002, according to Ghassem-Fachandi, Pogrom in Gujarat, 59. The article was written in Gujarati, and the English translation was provided by Ghassem-Fachandi. 5. Ghassem-Fachandi, Pogrom in Gujarat, 59. 6. Human Rights Watch report, cited in ibid., 99. 7. From a statement made by a witness included in the 2004 documentary film Final Solution, by Rakesh Sharma, reported in Ghassem-Fachandi, Pogrom in Gujarat, 101. 8. This account of Jafri’s death is based on reports from the Concerned Citizens Tribunal and Human Rights Watch, and reported in Ghassem-Fachandi, Pogrom in Gujarat, 101–3. 9. This quote was take from a court deposition reported in Mukul Sinha, “Gujarat Riots: The Death Dance at Naroda Patiya,” posted on the website, Truth of Gujarat, August 2, 2013. 10. “Naroda Patiya: How Maya Kodnani Fell from BJP Poster Girl to Convict,” posted on the F. Politics website of First Post, www.firstpost.com/politics /naroda-patiya-how-maya-kodnani-fell-from-bjp-poster-girl-to-convict-436232 .html, London, May 14, 2013 (accessed December 3, 2016). 11. From the court records cited in Sinha, “Gujarat Riots.” 12. Ghassem-Fachandi, Gujarat Pogrom, 278. 13. Times of India, March 2, 2002, 1. 14. Ramesh Vinayak, “Striking Terror,” India Today, September 30, 1995, 27. 15. Ibid., 34. 16. Ritu Sarin, The Assassination of Indira Gandhi (New Delhi: Penguin Books, 1990), 125–33. 17. Interview with Simranjit Singh Mann, Chandigarh, India, August 4, 1996. 18. Simranjit Singh Mann, letter to Zail Singh, June 1984. Reprinted in Ian Mulgrew, Unholy Terror: The Sikhs and International Terrorism (Toronto: Key Porter Books, 1988).

316

|

Notes to Pages 114–121

19. Mark Juergensmeyer, “The Logic of Religious Violence,” in Inside Terrorist Organizations, ed. David Rapoport (London: Frank Cass, 1988), 172–93. 20. Jarnail Singh Bhindranwale, “Address to the Sikh Congregation,” transcript of a sermon given in the Golden Temple, November 1983 (translated by Ranbir Singh Sandhu, April 1985, and distributed by the Sikh Religious and Educational Trust, Dublin, Ohio); and “Two Lectures,” July 19 and September 20, 1983, at the Sikh Religious and Educational Trust, Dublin, Ohio (translated from the videotaped originals by Ranbir Singh Sandhu and distributed by the Sikh Religious and Educational Trust). 21. Bhindranwale, “Address to the Sikh Congregation.” Among the other sources of Bhindranwale’s words are Surjeet Jalandhary, ed., Bhindranwale Sant (Jalandhar, India: Punjab Pocket Books, n.d. [ca. 1985]); and Joyce Pettigrew, “In Search of a New Kingdom of Lahore,” Pacific Affairs 60:1 (Spring 1987): 78–92. 22. Interview with Jasvinder Singh, member of the Delhi branch, All-India Sikh Students Federation (Mehta-Chawla group), Rakabganj Gurdwara, New Delhi, January 13, 1991. 23. See Salman Khurshid, Beyond Terrorism: New Hope for Kashmir (New Delhi: UBS, 1994). 24. Sarin, Assassination of Indira Gandhi, 149. 25. Interview with Harjap Singh, Sultanwind village, Amritsar, Punjab, January 21, 1998, in English and Punjabi, with translation assistance of Prof. Harish Puri, Raminder Bir Singh, and Harbhajan Singh. 26. Ibid. 27. See, for example, Wendy Doniger O’Flaherty, Tales of Sex and Violence: Folklore, Sacrifice, and Danger in the Jaiminiya Brahmana (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1984). 28. For violence in later Hindu mythology, see David Kinsley, The Sword and the Flute: Kali and Krsna, Dark Visions of the Terrible and the Sublime in Hindu Mythology (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1975). 29. Mohandas Gandhi, Discourses on the Gita, trans. from the original Gujarati by V. G. Desai (Ahmedabad: Navajivan Publishing House, 1960). 30. See Mark Juergensmeyer, Gandhi’s Way: A Handbook of Conflict Resolution, rev. ed. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005). 31. This incident likely prompted Gandhi to write his book Hind Swaraj; or, Indian Home Rule, onboard the boat as he returned to South Africa later that year. See my article, “Gandhi vs Terrorism,” Daedalus, December 27, 2005. 32. Indian Sociologist, September 1909; quoted in James D. Hunt, Gandhi in London (New Delhi: Promilla, 1973), 134. My thanks to Lloyd Rudolph for reminding me of this incident. 33. Gandhi’s letter to Ampthill, October 30, 1909, Collected Works of Mahatma Gandhi, 100 vols (New Delhi: Publications Division, Ministry of Information and Broadcasting, Govt. of India, 1960–94), 9: 509. 34. Mohandas Gandhi, Hind Swaraj; or, Indian Home Rule, 2nd ed. (1910; repr., Ahmedabad, India: Navajivan Publishing House, 1938), 69. 35. Website of the Vishva Hindu Parishad (www.vhp.org), accessed on January 24, 2016.

Notes to Pages 122–125 |

317

36. This history of Sikh nationalism is drawn from Mark Juergensmeyer, Global Rebellions: Religious Challenges to the Secular State (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2008), 115–24. 37. The leading scholarly work on Guru Nanak is W. H. McLeod, Guru Nanak and the Sikh Religion (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1968). See also Gurinder Singh Mann, The Making of Sikh Scripture (New York: Oxford University Press, 2001), and the introduction to Nanak’s writings in John Stratton Hawley and Mark Juergensmeyer, trans., Songs of the Saints of India (New York: Oxford University Press, 1988). 38. This transition is described in W. H. McLeod, Evolution of the Sikh Community (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1976), 1–19. See also McLeod’s Who Is a Sikh? The Problem of Sikh Identity (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1989). 39. The idea that the circular form in the Sikh symbol is a cooking vessel has been offered in Gurinder Singh Mann, Your Sikh Neighbors (Richmond Hill, NY: Sikh Cultural Society, 1999), 8. 40. See Ainslie Embree, “A Sikh Challenge to the Indian State,” in Utopias in Conflict: Religion and Nationalism in Modern India (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990), 113–32. 41. For accounts of the Punjab crisis in the 1980s, see Mark Tully and Satish Jacob, Amritsar: Mrs. Gandhi’s Last Battle (London: Pan Books, 1985); Amarjit Kaur, The Punjab Story (New Delhi: Roli Books International, 1984); and Kuldip Nayar and Khushwant Singh, Tragedy of Punjab: Operation Bluestar and After (New Delhi: Vision Books, 1984). 42. See Tully and Jacob, Amritsar. 43. See Gobinda Mukhoty and Rajni Kothari et al., Who Are the Guilty? Report of a Joint Inquiry into the Causes and Impact of the Riots in Delhi from 31 October to 10 November (Delhi: People’s Union for Democratic Rights and People’s Union for Civil Liberties, 1984). An interesting study of the Delhi event and other riots in South Asia is Stanley Jeyaraja Tambiah, Leveling Crowds: Ethnonationalist Conflicts and Collective Violence in South Asia (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1996). 44. For a discussion of the political implications of the concept of qaum in the Punjab, see Mark Juergensmeyer, Religion as Social Vision (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1982), 45. 45. Bhindranwale, “Address to the Sikh Congregation,” 9. 46. Joyce Pettigrew examines Bhindranwale’s use of the concept of miri-piri in “In Search of a New Kingdom of Lahore.” 47. Bhindranwale, “Two Lectures,” 2. 48. Bhindranwale, “Address to the Sikh Congregation,” 1. 49. For the ethic of nonviolence in Sikhism, see W. Owen Cole and Piara Singh Sambhi, The Sikhs: Their Religious Beliefs and Practices (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1978), 138; Avtar Singh, Ethics of the Sikhs (Patiala: Punjabi University Press); and S. S. Kohli, Sikh Ethics (New Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal, 1975). 50. See Mohinder Singh, “Gandhi, Sikhs and Non-Violence,” Khera: The Journal of Religious Understanding 9:3 (July–September 1990): 72–87. 51. Bhindranwale, “Two Lectures,” 21.

318

|

Notes to Pages 125–139

52. Excerpt from one of Bhindranwale’s speeches, quoted in Pettigrew, “In Search of a New Kingdom of Lahore.” 53. Interview with Sohan Singh, Mohali, Punjab, August 3, 1996. For the role of his coordinating body, also known as the Second Panthic Committee, see Cynthia Keppley Mahmood, Fighting for Faith and Nation: Dialogues with Sikh Militants (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1996), 159–61. 54. Interview with Sohan Singh, August 3, 1996. 55. Mahmood, Fighting for Faith and Nation. See also the interviews with Sikh militants in Joyce Pettigrew, The Sikhs of the Punjab: Unheard Voice of State and Guerrilla Violence (Atlantic Highlands, NJ: Zed Books, 1995). 56. Mahmood, Fighting for Faith and Nation, 149. 57. Interview with Sohan Singh, August 3, 1996. 58. Interview with Narinder Singh, Chandigarh, Punjab, August 3, 1996. 59. Ibid.

chapter 6. buddhist faces of terror 1. Interview with Ashin Wirathu, Ma Soe Yein Tike Thit Monastery, Mandalay, Myanmar, September 3, 2014; translation assistance by Thein Toe Win. 2. Interview with Noor Salim, Mandalay, Myanmar, September 3, 2014. 3. Interview with Khin Maung Myint, Yangon, Myanmar, September 1, 2014. 4. Interview with Sherpa Husseini, Yangon, Myanmar, August 31, 2014. 5. Michael Jerryson, Buddhist Fury: Religion and Violence in Southern Thailand. New York: Oxford University Press, 2011. 6. David E. Kaplan and Andrew Marshall, The Cult at the End of the World: The Terrifying Story of the Aum Doomsday Cult (New York: Crown, 1996), 2. 7. Ibid., 246. 8. Interviews with Tatsuko Muraoka and with Yasuo Hiramatsu, Aoyama, Tokyo, January 13, 1996. 9. Teresa Watanabe and Hilary E. MacGregor, “Plan to Rein in Religious Groups Worries Japanese,” Los Angeles Times, October 16, 1995, A1. 10. Interview with Hiramatsu, January 13, 1996. 11. Interview with Tomoko and Ayako (no last names given), Satian Bookstore, Shibuya, Tokyo, January 11, 1996. 12. Interview with “Takeshi Nakamura,” Tokyo, January 12, 1996; translation assistance provided by Amy Arakane and Prof. Susumu Shimazono. At his request I changed his name and omitted any personal information that might allow current members of the movement to identify him. 13. Ibid. 14. D. W. Brackett, Holy Terror: Armageddon in Tokyo (New York: Weatherhill, 1996), 60. 15. Ibid., 60. 16. Interview with Nakamura, January 12, 1996. 17. Revelation 16:16–21. 18. Shoko Asahara, Disaster Approaches the Land of the Rising Sun: Shoko Asahara’s Apocalyptic Predictions, trans. and ed. Aum Translation Committee (Shizuoka, Japan: Aum, 1995), 190.

Notes to Pages 139–146 |

319

19. Ibid., 135–36. 20. Ibid., 136. 21. Interview with Nakamura, January 12, 1996. 22. Asahara, Disaster Approaches, 190. 23. Ibid. 24. Brackett, Holy Terror, 183. 25. Interview with Nakamura, January 12, 1996. 26. Ibid. 27. Ibid. 28. Stanley Jeyaraja Tambiah, World Conqueror and World Renouncer (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987). 29. Hajime Nakamura, “Violence and Nonviolence in Buddhism,” in Violence and Aggression in the History of Ideas, ed. Philip P. Wiener and John Fisher (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1974), 173–86. See also H. Saddhatissa, Buddhist Ethics (London: George Allen and Unwin, 1970). 30. See Jerryson, Buddhist Fury. 31. Interview with Venerable Palipana Chandananda, Kandy, Sri Lanka, January 4, 1991. 32. Ibid. 33. For a discussion of Buddhist violence in Sri Lanka in the rise of Sinhalese nationalism, see the section on Sri Lanka in my book, Global Rebellions: Religious Challenges to the Secular State (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2008), 125–35. 34. Rohini Mohan, “Sri Lanka’s Violent Buddhists,” New York Times, January 2, 2015. 35. See the cases described in Michael Jerryson and Mark Juergensmeyer, eds., Buddhist Warfare (New York: Oxford University Press, 2010). 36. See Ian Reader, A Poisonous Cocktail? Aum Shinrikyo’s Path to Violence (Copenhagen: Nordic Institute of Asian Studies, 1996), 17. 37. These accounts were related to me by Susumu Shimazono, professor of religion, Tokyo University Faculty Club, January 9, 1996. 38. Ian Reader, personal correspondence, January 12, 1999. 39. Interview with Hiromi Shimada, Suginami-ku, Tokyo, January 10, 1996. 40. Asahara, Disaster Approaches, 274. 41. Ibid., 275. 42. Ibid., 169. 43. Reader, A Poisonous Cocktail? 35. 44. Interview with Shimazono, January 9, 1996. See also his article “In the Wake of Aum,” Japanese Journal of Religious Studies 22:3–4 (1995): 381–415 (which is a condensed version of Shimazono’s book Aum Shinrikyo no kiseki, trans. Robert Kisala); and “New ‘New Religions’ and This World: Religious Movements in Japan after the 1970s and Their Beliefs about Salvation,” Social Compass 42:2 (1995): 193–202. 45. “Resurgence of Interest in Aum Shinrikyo,” New York Times, October 28, 1998, A3. 46. Interview with Nakamura, January 12, 1996.

320

|

Notes to Pages 150–154

chapter 7. theater of terror 1. Although the video of this incident was accepted as accurate by most news media around the world, there have been assertions that it was staged, and that computer-generated images were inserted to create the impression of flames. See, for instance, Sheldon Helton, “Misfire: the Burning of Captured Jordanian Pilot, Staged Propaganda and Coalition Airstrikes,” on 21st Century Wire, a web magazine, February 8, 2015; and Thomas Wictor, “The Jordanian Pilot Was Not Burned Alive,” on the Thomas Wictor website, February 5, 2015, www.thomaswictor. com/the-jordanian-pilot-was-not-burned-alive (accessed October 17, 2016). 2. “Just Terror Tactics,” Rumiyah (ISIS magazine) (December 2016): 13 and Kenny McClinton, quoted in Martin Dillon, God and the Gun: The Church and Irish Terrorism (New York: Routledge, 1997), 27. 3. McClinton, quoted in ibid. 4. Ibid. 5. D. W. Brackett, Holy Terror: Armageddon in Tokyo (New York: Weatherhill, 1996), 184. 6. Mo Mowlam, quoted in “Apology Comes as First Victims Are Buried,” San Francisco Chronicle, August 19, 1998, A3. 7. From a video posted on the website of the New York Times, May 5, 2014, www.nytimes.com/video/world/africa/100000002863071/boko-haram-leaderreleases-video.html (accessed December 3, 2016). 8. Brackett, Holy Terror, 157. 9. Walter Laqueur, The Age of Terrorism (Boston: Little, Brown, 1987), 72. For a discussion of the problem of defining terrorism, see Bruce Hoffman, Inside Terrorism (New York: Columbia University Press, 1998), 13–44; Michel Wieviorka, “Terrorism in the Context of Academic Research,” in Terrorism in Context, ed. Martha Crenshaw (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1995), 599–600; Thomas Perry Thornton, “Terrorism as a Weapon of Political Agitation,” in Internal War: Problems and Approaches, ed. Harry Eckstein (New York: Free Press, 1964), 222–40; David Rapoport, “The Politics of Atrocity,” in Terrorism: Interdisciplinary Perspectives, ed. Yonah Alexander and Seymour Finger (New York: John Jay, 1977), 89–102. 10. Jethro Mullen and Margot Haddad, “‘France Is at War,’ President Hollande Says after ISIS Attack,” on the Cable News Network website, November 16, 2015. 11. Interview with Abdul Aziz Rantisi, Khan Yunis, Gaza, March 1, 1998. The quotation from Hassan Salameh, the Hamas operative who planned the 1996 suicide bombings in Jerusalem and Tel Aviv, is from a televised interview with Bob Simon, “Suicide Bomber,” produced by Michael Gavson, aired on 60 Minutes, October 5, 1997. 12. Interview with Mahmud Abouhalima, federal penitentiary, Lompoc, California, September 30, 1997. 13. Martha Crenshaw, “The Logic of Terrorism: Terrorist Behavior as a Product of Strategic Choice,” in Origins of Terrorism: Psychologies, Ideologies, Theologies, States of Mind, ed. Walter Reich (Cambridge: Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars and Cambridge University Press, 1990), 7–24.

Notes to Pages 155–165 |

321

14. See Catherine Bell, Ritual Theory, Ritual Practice (New York: Oxford University Press, 1992); Richard Schechner, The Future of Ritual: Writings on Culture and Performance (London: Routledge, 1993); Felicia Hughes-Freeland, ed., Ritual, Performance, Media (London: Routledge, 1998); David Parkin, Lionel Caplan, and Humphrey Fisher, eds., The Politics of Cultural Performance (Providence, RI: Berghahn Books, 1996). I am grateful to Shawn Landres for keeping me up to date on this growing field of academic study. 15. Neil Jarman, Material Conflicts: Parades and Visual Displays in Northern Ireland (Oxford: Berg, 1997). 16. See J. L. Austin, How to Do Things with Words (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1962). 17. Ibid., 4. 18. Pierre Bourdieu, Language and Symbolic Power, trans. Gino Raymond and Matthew Adamson from the 1982 French edition, ed. John B. Thompson (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1991), 117. 19. David C. Rapoport, introduction to David C. Rapoport and Yonah Alexander, eds., The Morality of Terrorism: Religious and Secular Justifications (New York: Pergamon Press, 1982), xiii. 20. Don DeLillo, Mao II (New York: Penguin Books, 1991), 157. 21. John J. Goldman and William C. Rempel, “Blast Rips World Trade Center in N.Y.,” Los Angeles Times, February 27, 1993, A1. 22. The question of whether the bombing was undertaken by Yousef’s accomplices as an act of revenge for his indictment is discussed in Robin Wright, “Suspect Search Is Wide Open and Baffling,” Los Angeles Times, July 22, 1996, A1. 23. “Colonel Gaddafi ‘Ordered Lockerbie Bombing,’” BBC News website, February 23, 2011. 24. Interview with Simranjit Singh Mann, Chandigarh, India, August 4, 1996. Two writers who examined the Air India bombing make the astounding suggestion that, since the public would rush to the conclusion that the bombing was a Sikh terrorist act, it might have been committed by Indian government agents seeking to discredit the Sikh movement. See Zuhair Kashmeri and Brian McAndrew, Soft Target: How the Indian Intelligence Service Penetrated Canada (Toronto: J. Lorimer, 1989). 25. Bruce Hoffman, “Holy Terror”: The Implications of Terrorism Motivated by a Religious Imperative (Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corporation, 1993), 10. 26. Muhammad Sidique Khan, in “London Bomber: Text in Full,” on BBC News website, September 1, 2005. 27. Sheikh Omar Abdul Rahman, quoted in Kim Murphy, “Militant Mullah Speaks Out,” Los Angeles Times, March 5, 1993, A1. 28. Hoffman, Holy Terror, 13. See also Mark Hosenball, “Another Holy War, Waged on American Soil: Al-Fuqra, a Muslim Sect with a Dangerous Agenda,” Newsweek, February 28, 1995, 29–31. 29. David C. Rapoport, “Observations on the Importance of Space in Violent Ethno-Religious Strife,” paper presented at the seminar Religious and Ethnic Conflict, University of California, Riverside, April 28, 1995.

322

|

Notes to Pages 166–173

30. Roger Friedland and Richard Hecht, “The Bodies of Nations: A Comparative Study of Religious Violence in Jerusalem and Ayodhya, History of Religions (November 1998): 101–49; and Ron Hassner, War on Sacred Grounds (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2010). 31. Andrew Brewick (Anders Breivik), “2083—A European Declaration of Independence” (posted on Breivik’s Facebook page on July 22, 2011), section 3.11. 32. Kerry Noble, Tabernacle of Hate: Why They Bombed Oklahoma City (Prescott, Ontario: Voyageur, 1998), 206. 33. Ibid., 207. According to Noble, the producers of a Canadian Broadcasting Corporation program, The Fifth Estate, secured footage from a security camera documenting the customer’s report and verifying that McVeigh mentioned the April 19 date. 34. Ibid., 9. 35. Ibid., 225. 36. Yossi Klein Halevi, “Kahane’s Murderous Legacy,” Jerusalem Report, March 24, 1994, 17. 37. Interview with Imad Faluji, Gaza, August 19, 1995. The same idea was conveyed by Dr. Abdul Aziz Rantisi in my interview with him on March 1, 1998. 38. “Death Toll in Algeria Rises to 52 in Pre-Ramadan Violence,” Los Angeles Times, December 7, 1998, A7. I am indebted also to an unpublished paper on this topic by Michelle Zimney, “Ramadan’s Killing Fields: Sacrifice and National Struggle in Algeria.” 39. “Groups Attack Two Algerian Villages,” Los Angeles Times, December 29, 1998. 40. Michael Bray, A Time to Kill: A Study Concerning the Use of Force and Abortion (Portland, OR: Advocates for Life Publications, 1994). 41. Interview with Rev. Michael Bray, Bowie, Maryland, April 25, 1996. 42. Ibid. 43. Ibid. 44. Paul Hill, “Why I Shot an Abortionist,” December 22, 1997, an open letter to Rev. Michael Bray and the attendees of the White Rose Banquet, circulated by Bray. 45. Paul Hill, quoted in Henry Chu and Mike Clary, “Doctor, Volunteer Slain Outside Abortion Clinic,” Los Angeles Times, July 30, 1994, A1. 46. Website of Michael Bray, May 23, 2012. http://michaelbray.org/?p=639 (accessed November 4, 2016). 47. “Israel Orders Deportation of 11 Cult Members,” Los Angeles Times, January 5, 1999, A4. See also Tracy Wilkinson, “Israel Has Eye on Christians Who Have Their Eyes on 2000,” Los Angeles Times, January 10, 1999, A1. 48. Clifford Geertz, “Centers, Kings, and Charisma: Reflections on the Symbolics of Power,” in Culture and Its Creators: Essays in Honor of Edward Shils, ed. Joseph Ben-David and Terry Nichols Clark (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1977), reprinted in Clifford Geertz, Local Knowledge: Further Essays in Interpretive Anthropology (New York: Basic Books, 1983), 121–46.

Notes to Pages 173–184 |

323

49. Geertz, “Centers, Kings, and Charisma,” 151. 50. DeLillo, Mao II, 157. 51. Report on ISIS by the Human Rights Council of the United Nations, November 14, 2014, www.ohchr.org/EN/NewsEvents/Pages/DisplayNews.aspx? NewsID=15295 (accessed December 3, 2016). 52. Interview with Bray, March 20, 1998. 53. Interview with Abouhalima, August 19, 1997. 54. Jim Dwyer et al., Two Seconds under the World: Terror Comes to America; The Conspiracy behind the World Trade Center Bombing (New York: Crown, 1994). 55. Egawa Shoko’s book on the Aum Shinrikyo movement is Kyuseishu no yabo (Tokyo: Kyoikushiryo Shuppankai, 1995). 56. Interview with Seth Sutel, Tokyo, January 9, 1996. 57. Arthur Sulzberger, Jr., quoted in Robert D. McFadden, “Unabomber Manifesto to Be Published,” New York Times News Service (posted on America Online), September 18, 1995. 58. Jean Baudrillard, “The Mirror of Terrorism,” in The Transparency of Evil: Essays on the Extreme Phenomena, trans. James Benedict from the 1990 French edition (London: Verso, 1993), 75. 59. Baudrillard, “Mirror of Terrorism,” 75. 60. Issues of Dabiq, the online magazine of ISIS, are posted on the website of the Clarion Project, www.clarionproject.org/news/islamic-state-isis-isilpropaganda-magazine-dabiq (accessed October 17, 2016). 61. Neal Horsley, quoted in “Internet Provider Shuts Down Anti-Abortion Site,” Los Angeles Times, February 6, 1999, A17. 62. Interview with Abouhalima, September 30, 1997. 63. Bourdieu, Language and Symbolic Power, 117.

chapter 8. cosmic war 1. Mohammad Siddique Khan, “London Bomber: Text in Full,” English transcript of the videotape aired in Arabic on Al-Jazeera television and posted on the website of the British Broadcasting Company’s BBC News website, September 1, 2005. 2. Foreward to issue 13 of Dabiq, the online magazine of ISIS, posted on the website of the Clarion Project, January 2016, www.clarionproject.org/news /islamic-state-isis-isil-propaganda-magazine-dabiq (accessed February 20, 2016). 3. World Islamic Front Statement, “Declaration of Jihad,” February 23, 1998. English translation posted on the website of the Intelligence Resource Program of the Federation of American Scientists, http://fas.org/irp/world/para /docs/980223-fatwa.htm (accessed February 25, 2016). See also the excerpts from the declaration in Bruce B. Lawrence, ed., Messages to the World: The Statements of Osama bin Laden (London: Verso, 2005). 4. Kerry Noble, Tabernacle of Hate: Why They Bombed Oklahoma City (Prescott, Ontario: Voyageur, 1998), 206. 5. Ibid., 215.

324

|

Notes to Pages 184–189

6. Bob Matthews, quoted in a story aired on ABC’s Turning Point, October 5, 1995; Journal Graphics Transcript 150, 7. 7. Michael Teague, quoted in Kim Murphy, “Last Stand of an Aging Aryan,” Los Angeles Times, January 10, 1999, A14. 8. James A. Aho, The Politics of Righteousness: Idaho Christian Patriotism (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1990), 85. 9. This Is Aryan Nations, undated, no publisher or place, quoted in Bruce Hoffman, “Holy Terror”: The Implications of Terrorism Motivated by a Religious Imperative (Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corporation, 1993), 7. The capitalization of “believe” is in the original. 10. Interview with Rev. Michael Bray, Bowie, Maryland, March 20, 1998. 11. The Battle Standard: Journal of the European Institute of Protestant Studies 1:1 (October 1997). The editor of the newspaper is listed as Dr. Ian R. K. Paisley MP, MEP. 12. Billy Wright, quoted in Martin Dillon, God and the Gun: The Church and Irish Terrorism (New York: Routledge, 1997), 64. 13. Interview with Yochay Ron, Kiryat Arba settlement, Hebron, August 18, 1995. 14. Interview with Imad Faluji, Gaza, August 19, 1995. 15. Interview with Sheik Ahmed Yassin, Gaza, January 14, 1989. 16. Interview with Mahmud Abouhalima, federal penitentiary, Lompoc, California, August 19, 1997. 17. Richard Behar, “The Secret Life of Mahmud the Red,” Time, October 4, 1993, 59. 18. Ayatollah Khomeini, Collection of Speeches, Position Statements, translated from “Najaf Min watha ‘iq al-Imam al-Khomeyni did al-Quwa al-Imbiriyaliyah wa al-Sahyuniyah wa al-Raj’iyah” (The Papers of Imam Khomeyni against Imperialist, Zionist, and Reactionist Powers), translations on Near East and North Africa, no. 1902, 1977 (Arlington, VA: Joint Publications Research Service, 1979), 6. 19. Bruce B. Lawrence, Shattering the Myth: Islam beyond Violence (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1998), 181. 20. Jarnail Singh Bhindranwale, “Two Lectures,” July 19 and September 20, 1983, at the Sikh Religious and Educational Trust, Dublin, Ohio (translated from the videotaped originals by Ranbir Singh Sandhu and distributed by the Sikh Religious and Educational Trust), 2. 21. Shoko Asahara, Disaster Approaches the Land of the Rising Sun: Shoko Asahara’s Apocalyptic Predictions (Tokyo: Aum, 1995). 22. The literature on conflict resolution is immense. My own ideas about the subject are based on the teachings of Mohandas Gandhi, with whom I nevertheless have some quarrels. See my Fighting with Gandhi (San Francisco: Harper, 1984), reprinted as Gandhi’s Way: A Handbook of Conflict Resolution, rev. ed. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005). 23. Interview with Bray, Bowie, Maryland, April 25, 1996. 24. Ibid. 25. Asahara, Disaster Approaches, 265. 26. Ibid., 279.

Notes to Pages 190–196 |

325

27. This summary of Christian Identity teachings comes from Michael Barkun, Religion and the Racist Right: The Origins of the Christian Identity Movement (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1994); and Aho, Politics of Righteousness. 28. Aho, Politics of Righteousness, 90. 29. Interview with Ezri Tubi, Yitzhar settlement, near the city of Nablus in the West Bank, June 4, 2016. 30. Interview with Ron, August 18, 1995. 31. Nadav Shragai, “An Amalek in Our Times?” Haartez, March 26, 2008. 32. Sarah Nachshon, quoted in Marjorie Miller, “Hebron’s Fifty Jewish Families Unsettle Mideast,” Los Angeles Times, October 20, 1996, A1. 33. Hamas communique no. 64, September 26, 1990, quoted in Jean-Francois Legrain, “A Defining Moment: Palestinian Islamic Fundamentalism,” in Islamic Fundamentalisms and the Gulf Crisis, ed. James Piscatori (Chicago: Fundamentalism Project, American Academy of Arts and Sciences, 1991), 75–76. 34. George W. Bush, “Address to the Nation,” September 12, 2001; complete transcript on the website of the BBC, September 12, 2001. 35. From an excerpt from Adnan Taha, “The Final Days,” included as an appendix to William McCants, The ISIS Apocalypse: The History, Strategy, and Doomsday Vision of the Islamic State (New York: St Martin’s Press, 2015). 36. Abolhassan Banisadr, The Fundamental Principles and Precepts of Islamic Government, trans. Mohammed R. Ghanoonparvar (Lexington, KY: Mazda, 1981), 28–35. 37. Interview with Yoel Lerner, Jerusalem, March 2, 1998. 38. Interview with Abdul Aziz Rantisi, Khan Yunis, Gaza, March 1, 1998. 39. Bruce Pierce, member of Aryan Nations’ The Order, quoted in ABC’s Turning Point, October 5, 1995; Journal Graphics Transcript 150, 8. 40. Nathuram Godse, deposition, appeals court, government of India, 1948. Godse’s court testimony has been made into a controversial play, Mee Nathuram Godse Boltoy (I Am Nathuram Godse Speaking), banned by the Maharashtra state government under pressure by the BJP-led federal government in 1998. 41. Kim Murphy, “Last Stand of an Aging Aryan,” Los Angeles Times, January 10, 1999, A15. 42. Denver Parmenter, member of the Aryan Nations accused of conspiring to kill radio commentator Alan Berg, quoted in ABC’s Turning Point, October 5, 1995; Journal Graphics Transcript 150, 2. 43. Natalie Zemon Davis, “The Rites of Violence: Religious Riots in Sixteenth-Century France,” Past and Present 59 (May 1973): 52–53. 44. Ibid., 81–82. 45. Stanley Tambiah, Leveling Crowds: Ethnonationalist Conflicts and Collective Violence in South Asia (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1996), 310–11. 46. Ibid., 311. 47. For a selection of descriptions of warfare and religious violence in a variety of religious texts, see Mark Juergensmeyer and Margo Kitts, eds., The

326

|

Notes to Pages 197–201

Princeton Readings in Religion and Violence (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2011). 48. In this section I repeat some of the arguments about the relationship of violence and religion first stated in my book The New Cold War? republished in a revised edition as Global Rebellions: Religious Challenges to the Secular State (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2008), 153–70. 49. For an analysis of “Onward Christian Soldiers” and other hymns of America’s frontier revival movements, see Sandra Sizer, Gospel Hymns and Social Religion: The Rhetoric of Nineteenth-Century Revivalism (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1978). 50. Harriet Crabtree, The Christian Life: Traditional Metaphors and Contemporary Theologies (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, Harvard Dissertations in Religion, 1991). Her findings with regard to warfare are summarized in her article, “Onward Christian Soldiers? The Fortunes of a Traditional Christian Symbol in the Modern Age,” Bulletin of the Center for the Study of World Religion (Harvard University) 16:2 (1989–90): 6–27. 51. Arthur Wallis, Into Battle: A Manual of Christian Life (New York: Harper, 1973), 10. The italics are in the original. 52. Crabtree, “Onward Christian Soldiers,” 7. 53. Bhagavad Gita 1:45. The cousins were not quite morally equal, however. One set, the Pandavas, were more wicked than the other. 54. Bhagavad Gita 2:19–34. 55. Ernest Becker, The Denial of Death (New York: Free Press, 1973). See also his Escape from Evil (New York: Free Press, 1975). 56. Mark Juergensmeyer, “The Logic of Religious Violence,” in Inside Terrorist Organizations, ed. David C. Rapoport (New York: Columbia University Press, 1988), 185–90. 57. Weston LaBarre, The Ghost Dance: Origins of Religion (London: Allen and Unwin, 1972).

chapter 9. martyrs and demons 1. Court statement of Anders Breivik, quoted in Richard Orange, “Anders Breivik: I Was Defending the Norwegian People,” in The Independent (London), June 22, 2012. 2. Timothy McVeigh, quoted in Richard A. Serrano, “McVeigh Speaks Out, Receives Death Sentence,” Los Angeles Times, August 15, 1997, A1. 3. Interview with Dr. Abdul Aziz Rantisi, Khan Yunis, Gaza, March 1, 1998. 4. This tweet and poster are included in Steven Stalinsky, Faces of Death: On Twitter, Jihadis Distribute Photos of “Martyrs” (Middle East Media Research Institute, Inquiry and Analysis Series Report no. 939, February 22, 2013). 5. “The Capture of the 4th Regiment Base,” Dabiq, issue 9, June 2015, 30. 6. An English translation of the German newspaper reports may be found on “German Twins Die Fighting for ISIS in Iraq,” posted on The Local de: Germany’s News in English, May 26, 2015, and in “IS Celebrates German Twins,” posted on May 27, 2015, www.thelocal.de/20150526/german-twins-die-fightingfor-isis-in-iraq (accessed December 3, 2016).

Notes to Pages 202–213 |

327

7. Interview with Yochay Ron, Hebron, August 18, 1995. 8. Interview with Jasvinder Singh, New Delhi, January 13, 1991. 9. Interview with Harjap Singh, Sultanwind village, Amritsar district, India, January 21, 1998; with translation assistance from Prof. Harish Puri, Raminder Bir Singh, and Harbhajan Singh. 10. Michael Bray, “The Impending Execution of Paul Hill,” Capitol Area Christian News 25 (Summer 1997): 1:7. 11. Billy Wright, quoted in Martin Dillon, God and the Gun: The Church and Irish Terrorism (New York: Routledge, 1998), 65. 12. Osama bin Laden, quoted in “Jihad Is an Individual Duty,” Los Angeles Times, August 13, 1998, B9. 13. J. Frits Staal, Agni: The Vedic Ritual of the Fire Altar (Berkeley: Asian Humanities Press, 1983). 14. Maurice Bloch, Prey into Hunter: The Politics of Religious Experience (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992); René Girard, Violence and the Sacred, trans. Patrick Gregory from the 1972 French edition (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1977); René Girard, The Scapegoat, trans. Yvonne Freccero (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1986); Walter Burkert, Homo Necans: The Anthropology of Ancient Greek Sacrificial Ritual and Myth, trans. Peter Bing from the 1972 German edition (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1983); Walter Burkert, René Girard, and Jonathan Z. Smith, Violent Origins: Ritual Killing and Cultural Formation, ed. Robert G. Hamerton-Kelly (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1987); Eli Sagan, The Lust to Annihilate: A Psychoanalytic Study of Violence in Ancient Greek Culture (New York: Psychohistory Press, 1972); Eli Sagan, Cannibalism: Human Aggression and Cultural Form (New York: Psychohistory Press, 1974). For a review of these and other studies, see Richard Hecht, “Studies on Sacrifice, 1970–1980,” Religious Studies Review 8:3 (1982): 13–19. 15. Girard, Violence and the Sacred, 36. 16. René Girard, “Disorder and Order in Mythology,” in Disorder and Order: Proceedings of the Stanford International Symposium, ed. Paisley Livingston (Saratoga, CA: Anma Libri, 1984), 97. 17. For a discussion of Girard’s theories, and an alternative to certain aspects of it, see my article “Sacrifice and Cosmic War,” in Violence and the Sacred in the Modern World, ed. Mark Juergensmeyer (London: Frank Cass, 1991), 101– 17; and the concluding reply from Girard in the same volume. 18. See the essays in John Stratton Hawley, ed., Sati, the Blessing and the Curse: The Burning of Wives in India (New York: Oxford University Press, 1994). 19. Anthony F. C. Wallace, The Death and Rebirth of the Seneca (New York: Random House, 1969), 102–7. 20. For a summary of the project, see John Stratton Hawley, “Saints and Virtues,” introduction to Saints and Virtues, ed. John Stratton Hawley (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1987), xi–xxiv. 21. Martin Kramer, “Sacrifice and Fratricide in Shiite Lebanon,” in Violence and the Sacred, ed. Juergensmeyer, 38–40. 22. James Aho, This Thing of Darkness: A Sociology of the Enemy (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1994), 6.

328

|

Notes to Pages 213–220

23. Stanley Tambiah, Leveling Crowds: Ethnonationalist Conflicts and Collective Violence in South Asia (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1996), 310–11. 24. Twitter account of Abdullah Salih, @Abdul_Salih1997, May 25, 2016. 25. Twitter account of @7layers_, June 20, 2016. 26. Interview with Ashin Wirathu, Mandalay, Myanmar, September 3, 2014. 27. Shoko Asahara, Disaster Approaches the Land of the Rising Sun: Shoko Asahara’s Apocalyptic Predictions, trans. and ed. Aum Translation Committee (Shizuoka, Japan: Aum, 1995), 281. 28. See, for example, Hirose Takashi and Akama Takashi, The Structure of Japan and the Jewish Conspiracy (Tokyo: Tokuma Press, n.d.); Uno Magami, If You Understand the Jewish Situation, You Can Understand the World Situation (Tokyo: Tokuma Press, n.d.). 29. Capitol Area Christian News, September 1992, p. 5. 30. Matthew Hale, quoted in Stephanie Simon, “Leader of Hate’s Church Mourns ‘One White Man,’” Los Angeles Times, July 6, 1999, A1. 31. Robert Matthews, quoted in “Views of a Racist Anti-Government Leader,” Washington Post, December 26, 1984, 3. 32. Richard Butler, quoted in Kim Murphy, “Last Stand of an Aging Aryan,” Los Angeles Times, January 10, 1999, A15. 33. Denver Parmenter, interviewed on ABC’s Turning Point, October 5, 1995; Journal Graphics Transcript 150, 2. 34. Jewish Radicals Celebrate Wedding by Stabbing Photo of Dawasheeb Baby, video posted on the website of Haaretz, December 23, 2015. 35. Rabbi Yitzhak Ginsburgh, quoted in Yossi Klein Halevi, “Kahane’s Murderous Legacy,” Jerusalem Report, March 24, 1994, 17. 36. Halevi, “Kahane’s Murderous Legacy,” 17. 37. Interview with Ron, August 18, 1995. 38. Interview with Imad Faluji, Gaza, August 19, 1995. 39. Andrew Macdonald [William Pierce], The Turner Diaries (Hillsboro, WV: National Vanguard Books, 1978; repr., Arlington, VA: National Alliance, 1985; New York: Barricade Books, 1996), 42. 40. Jarnail Singh Bhindranwale, “Address to the Sikh Congregation,” transcript of a sermon given in the Golden Temple, November 1983 (translated by Ranbir Singh Sandhu, April 1985, and distributed by the Sikh Religious and Educational Trust, Dublin, Ohio), 1. 41. Bhindranwale, “Two Lectures,” July 19 and September 20, 1983, at the Sikh Religious and Educational Trust, Dublin, Ohio (translated from the videotaped originals by Ranbir Singh Sandhu and distributed by the Sikh Religious and Educational Trust), 22. 42. Ehud Sprinzak, “Right-Wing Terrorism in a Comparative Perspective: The Case of Split Delegitimization,” in Terror from the Extreme Right, ed. Tore Bjørgo (London: Frank Cass, 1995), 20. 43. Ian Paisley, editorial in The Revivalist, January 1983, 10. 44. Bhindranwale, “Address to the Sikh Congregation,” 1. 45. Richard Butler, quoted in Murphy, “Last Stand of an Aging Aryan,” A15.

Notes to Pages 220–227 |

329

46. Interview with Rabbi Meir Kahane, Jerusalem, January 18, 1989. 47. Interview with Mahmud Abouhalima, federal penitentiary, Lompoc, California, August 19, 1997. 48. Ian Paisley, The Preaching of Ian Paisley (Belfast: Martyrs’ Memorial Recordings, 17 November 1985), cited in Dennis Cooke, Persecuting Zeal: A Portrait of Ian Paisley (Kerry, Ireland: Brandon Book Publishers, 1996), 1. 49. Halevi, “Kahane’s Murderous Legacy,” 18. 50. The list of terrorism incidents worldwide is based on a two-year analysis of statistics from the University of Maryland’s National Consortium for the Study of Terrorism and Responses to Terrorism, reported in Jennifer Harper, “As a Target for Terrorists, U.S. Ranks No. 41 in World,” Washington Times, December 4, 2012. 51. Robin Wright, “Prophetic ‘Terror 2000’ Mapped Evolving Threat,” Los Angeles Times, August 9, 1998, A16. 52. Interview with Abouhalima, September 30, 1997. 53. John J. Goldman, “Defendants Given 25 years to Life in New York Terror Plot,” Los Angeles Times, January 18, 1996, A1. 54. Osama bin Laden, interviewed on an ABC News report rebroadcast on August 9, 1998. 55. Fatwa of Osama bin Laden, “Jihad Is an Individual Duty,” Los Angeles Times, August 13, 1998, B9. 56. Ibid. 57. Sheikh Omar Abdul Rahman, quoted in Kim Murphy, “Have the Islamic Militants Turned to a New Battlefront in the US?” Los Angeles Times, March 3, 1993, A20. 58. Ayatollah Khomeini, Collection of Speeches, Position Statements (Arlington, VA: Joint Publications Research Service, 1979), 24. 59. Ibid., 30. 60. Interview with Rabbi Manachem Fruman, Tuqua settlement, West Bank, Israel, August 14, 1995. 61. Interview with Abouhalima, September 30, 1997. 62. Imam [Ayatollah] Khomeini, Islam and Revolution: Writings and Declarations, trans. and annotated by Hamid Algar (Berkeley, CA: Mizan Press, 1981. Repr., London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1985), 27–28. 63. Khomeini, Collection, 3. 64. Ibid., 25. 65. Interview with Rantisi, March 2, 1989. 66. Ehud Sprinzak, “The Process of Delegitimization: Towards a Linkage Theory of Political Terrorism,” in Terrorism and Public Policy, ed. Clark McCauley (London: Frank Cass, 1991), 98–111. See also his essay, “RightWing Terrorism,” in Terror from the Extreme Right, ed. Bjørgo. 67. Sprinzak, “Process of Delegitimation,” 55. 68. Ibid., 56. 69. Ibid. 70. Rabbi Meir Kahane, speech on the announcement of the creation of the independent state of Judea, Jerusalem, January 18, 1989 (from my notes). 71. Interview with Yoel Lerner, Jerusalem, January 20, 1989.

330

|

Notes to Pages 230–235

chapter 10. warriors’ power 1. Abu Muhammad al-Adnani, Islamic State spokesperson, statement released in May 2016, and quoted in Hassan Hassan, “Is the Islamic State Unstoppable?” New York Times, July 10, 2016, Section SR, 3. 2. Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi, “A Message to the Mujahadin and the Muslim Ummah in the Month of Ramadan,” posted online by Alihayat Media Center, September 2016, https://alhayatmedia.wordpress.com/media (accessed October 24, 2016). 3. Interview with Dr. Abdul Aziz Rantisi, Khan Yunis, Gaza, March 1, 1998. 4. Ibid. 5. Antonia Molloy, “British ISIS fighter in Syria Says He Is Willing to Die,” The Independent (London), July 7, 2014. 6. Interview with Jasvinder Singh, member of the Delhi branch of the All India Sikh Students Federation (Mehta-Chawla group), Rakabganj Gurdwara, New Delhi, January 13, 1991. See also Cynthia Keppley Mahmood, Fighting for Faith and Nation: Dialogues with Sikh Militants (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1996), 188. 7. Interview with Takeshi Nakamura (pseudonym for a former member of Aum Shinrikyo), Tokyo, January 12, 1996, in English and Japanese; translation assistance provided by Amy Arakane and Prof. Susumu Shimazono. 8. Interview with Ashin Wirathu, Mandalay, Myanmar, September 3, 2014. 9. Sheikh Omar Abdul Rahman, quoted in Kim Murphy, “Have the Islamic Militants Turned to a New Battlefront in the US?” Los Angeles Times, March 3, 1993, A20. 10. Interview with Rev. Michael Bray, Bowie, Maryland, March 20, 1998. 11. Floyd Cochran, quoted in Kim Murphy, “Last Stand of an Aging Aryan,” Los Angeles Times, January 10, 1999, A15. 12. Jonathan Franklin, “Timothy McVeigh, Soldier,” Playboy, October 1995, 78 ff. 13. Reported on NBC’s Dateline, July 28, 1995, transcript by Burrelle’s Information Services, Livingston, New Jersey, 15. 14. Jim Dwyer et al., Two Seconds under the World: Terror Comes to America; The Conspiracy behind the World Trade Center Bombing (New York: Crown, 1994), 148. 15. Interview with Mahmud Abouhalima, federal penitentiary, Lompoc, California, August 19, 1997. 16. Unnamed leader in the mosque that Mahmud Abouhalima attended, quoted in Richard Behar, “The Secret Life of Mahmud the Red,” Time, October 4, 1993, 60. 17. Interview with Narinder Singh, Chandigarh, India, August 3, 1996. 18. See Ritu Sarin, The Assassination of Indira Gandhi (New Delhi: Penguin Books, 1990), 125 ff. 19. Testimony of Sharif Zahde, who was worshipping at the site, reported in Joel Greenberg, “Sounds of Chanting and Gunfire Echo in a Town Awash in Blood,” New York Times, February 26, 1994, A1. 20. From figures compiled by Prof. Gurinder Singh Mann from twenty obituaries printed in the World Sikh News during 1988.

Notes to Pages 235–245 |

331

21. Emmanuel Sivan, “Why Radical Muslims Aren’t Taking over Governments,” Middle East Quarterly; reprinted in Middle East Review of International Affairs 2:2 (May 1998): 2. 22. Kim Murphy, “Islamic Party Wins Power in Algeria,” Los Angeles Times, December 28, 1991, A15. 23. Kerry Noble, Tabernacle of Hate: Why They Bombed Oklahoma City (Prescott, Ontario: Voyageur, 1998), 91. 24. For background on Punjab untouchables, see Mark Juergensmeyer, Religion as Social Vision: The Movement against Untouchability in 20th Century Punjab (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1982), 11–21. 25. Ramesh Vinayak, “Striking Terror,” India Today, September 30, 1995, 27. 26. Malloy, “British Fighter in Syria,” 1. 27. Charlie Winter, The Virtual “Caliphate”: Understanding Islamic State’s Propaganda Strategy (London: Quilliam Foundation, July 2015); and MarcAndré Argentino, “Terrorism on the Internet: The Use of Social Media by the Islamic State,” unpublished paper, 2016. 28. My term internet ethnicities is a revised version of the term e-mail ethnicities, which may have been used by other scholars but I first heard it in comments made by the anthropologist Benedict Anderson, at a conference on nationalism held by the Center for German and European Studies, University of California, Berkeley, March 15, 1992. 29. I discuss further this notion of the global diaspora of religious cultures in my essay “Thinking Globally about Religion,” in Global Religion: A Handbook, ed. Mark Juergensmeyer (New York: Oxford University Press, 2006), 3–12. 30. Dwyer et al., Two Seconds under the World, 89–101. 31. Martin Dillon, God and the Gun: The Church and Irish Terrorism (New York: Routledge, 1997), 138, 143–57. 32. Mahmood, Fighting for Faith and Nation, 215. 33. Ibid., 218. 34. Ibid. 35. Martin Riesebrodt, Pious Passion: The Emergence of Modern Fundamentalism in the United States and Iran (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993), 176. See also the essays in John Stratton Hawley, ed., Fundamentalism and Gender (New York: Oxford University Press, 1994). 36. Kim Murphy, “Algerian Election to Test Strength of Radical Islam,” Los Angeles Times, December 26, 1991, 19. 37. Murphy, “Islamic Party Wins Power in Algeria,” A1. 38. Janey Stephenson, “It’s Not Muslims or People with Mental Health Problems Who Are Most Likely to Kill You in a Terrorist Attack—It’s Men,” The Independent (London), July 27, 2016. 39. Rashid Sakher, an Islamic Jihad suicide bomber, interviewed by Dan Setton in the documentary film Shaheed; the interview was transcribed and published as “A Terrorist Moves the Goalposts,” Harper’s, August 1997, 19–22. 40. Salman al-Hashimi, Twitter posting on @_SalmanHashimi_, May 29, 2016.

332

|

Notes to Pages 245–252

41. Andrew Macdonald [William Pierce], The Turner Diaries (Hillsboro, WV: National Vanguard Books, 1978; repr., Arlington, VA: National Alliance, 1985; New York: Barricade Books, 1996), 45. 42. Parvis Ghassem-Fachandi, Pogrom in Gujarat: Hindu Nationalism and Anti-Muslim Violence in India (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2012). 43. Darrin McMahon, Enemies of the Enlightenment: The French CounterEnlightenment and the Making of Modernity (New York: Oxford, 2001). For the history of varying Christian attitudes toward homosexuality, see John Boswell, Christianity, Social Tolerance, and Homosexuality: Gay People in Western Europe from the Beginning of the Christian Era to the Fourteenth Century (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1980). 44. Macdonald [Pierce], Turner Diaries, 45. 45. David Lane, “Race, Reason, Religion,” unpublished manuscript, 1984, cited in James Aho, The Politics of Righteousness: Idaho Christian Patriotism (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1990), 86. 46. Interview with Avigdor Eskin, Jerusalem, March 3, 1998. 47. Ian Paisley, “Swearing Allegiance to King Jesus,” sermon of March 24, 1991, Belfast; reprinted in Ian Paisley, Sermons on Special Occasions (Belfast: Ambassador Productions, 1996), 124. 48. Paisley, “Swearing Allegiance to King Jesus,” 120. 49. Noble, Tabernacle of Hate, 216. 50. Interviews Bray, Bowie, Maryland, April 25, 1996, and March 20, 1998. 51. Macdonald [Pierce], Turner Diaries, 203; italics in the original. 52. Murphy, “Last Stand of an Aging Aryan,” A15. 53. Hamas videotape from the collection of Anne Marie Oliver and Paul Steinberg. 54. Mahmood, Fighting for Faith and Nation, 200. 55. Ibid., 201. 56. Sant Jarnail Singh Bhindranwale, quoted in Shekhar Gupta, “Temple Intrigue,” India Today, May 15, 1984, 56–57. 57. Gupta, “Temple Intrigue,” 56–57. Sodhi was accused of the murders of H. S. Manchanda in Delhi and Harbans Lal Khanna in Amritsar, and of various robberies. 58. Bhindranwale, quoted in Gupta, “Temple Intrigue,” 56. Sodhi had been shot as he sat at a tea stall outside the temple compound by a lower-caste woman, Baljit Kaur, who worked for Surinder Singh, alias Chhinda. Sodhi had allegedly previously collaborated in a series of crimes with Chhinda, but the two had a falling out. Bhindranwale claimed that Chhinda and Baljit Kaur were hired as a hit team by the Akali leaders. Both were tortured and murdered hours after Sodhi’s killing, as was the owner of the tea stall where Sodhi was shot. 59. Jeffrey J. Kripal, Kali’s Child: The Mystical and the Erotic in the Life and Teachings of Ramakrishna (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1995). 60. Narasingha Sil, “Re: Vahbharambhe Laghurkriya,” Religion in South Asia, an internet listserv, May 10, 1998; quoted with the permission of Prof. Sil. 61. This account, based on Syrian News Agency reports and the eyewitness account from a Syrian who escaped from the region, is described in Tim Teeman,

Notes to Pages 252–261 |

333

“The Secret, Hypocritical Gay World of ISIS,” in the Daily Beast, January 5, 2016. 62. Khaled Hosseini, The Kite Runner (New York: Riverhead Books, 2003). 63. Sarah Lee Caldwell, “Re: Kali’s Child—Reply,” Religion in South Asia, an internet listserv, May 5, 1998; quoted with the permission of Prof. Caldwell. 64. See Kripal, Kali’s Child, 301–2. 65. See Ashis Nandy, The Intimate Enemy: Loss and Recovery of Self under Colonialism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1983); Joseph Alter, The Wrestler’s Body (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1992); Mrinalini Sinha, Colonial Masculinity: The “Manly Englishman” and the “Effeminate Bengali” in the Late Nineteenth Century (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1995); Indira Chowdhury, Frail Hero and Virile History: Gender and the Politics of Culture in Colonial Bengal (Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1998). 66. Nandy, Intimate Enemy. 67. Vinay Lal, “The Cultural Politics of Indian Nuclearism,” op-ed article, Los Angeles Times, May 18, 1998. 68. Macdonald [Pierce], Turner Diaries, 42. 69. Interview with Eskin, March 3, 1998. 70. Paul Hill, “Why I Shot an Abortionist,” letter to the White Rose Banquet, December 22, 1997; posted on the website of the Reformation Lutheran Church, www.christiangallery.com/hill3b.html (accessed October 25, 2016). 71. Erik Erikson, Identity and the Life Cycle (New York: Norton, 1980), 55. 72. Ibid., 65. 73. Martha Crenshaw, “Theories of Terrorism: Instrumental and Organizational Approaches,” in Inside Terrorist Organizations, ed. David C. Rapoport (London: Frank Cass, and New York: Columbia University Press, 1988), 13–31. 74. Interview with Harjap Singh, Sultanwind village, Amritsar, Punjab, India, January 20, 1998, in English and Punjabi, with translation assistance of Prof. Harish Puri, Raminder Bir Singh, and Harbhajan Singh. 75. Ian Paisley, This Is My Life (Belfast: Martyrs’ Memorial Church Recordings, undated), tape 5, quoted in Dennis Cooke, Persecuting Zeal: A Portrait of Ian Paisley (Kerry, Ireland: Brandon Book Publishers, 1996), 77. 76. Michel Wieviorka, The Making of Terrorism, trans. David Gordon White from Sociétés et terrorisme, 1988 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1993). 77. Ibid., 291. 78. Interview with Bray, March 20, 1998. 79. Ibid., April 25, 1996. 80. Paul Hill, quoted in Mike Clary, “Suspect in Abortion Slayings Acts as Own Attorney at Trial, Los Angeles Times, October 5, 1994, A5. 81. Salman al-Hashimi, Twitter account @_SalmanHashimi_, posted May 29, 2016. 82. Interview with Imad Faluji, Gaza, August 19, 1995. 83. Pierre Bourdieu and Loïc J. D. Wacquant, An Invitation to Reflexive Sociology (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992), 131. 84. Interview with Bray, March 20, 1998.

334

|

Notes to Pages 261–267

85. Dr. Baruch Goldstein, letter to the editor, New York Times, June 30, 1981. 86. Interview with Yochay Ron, Hebron, August 18, 1995. 87. Interview with Yoel Lerner, Jerusalem, August 17, 1995. 88. Leonard Zeskind, The “Christian Identity” Movement: Analyzing Its Theological Rationalization for Racist and Anti-Semitic Violence (New York: Division of Church and Society of the National Council of Churches of Christ in the U.S.A., 1986), 35–42. 89. Reported in Arkansas Gazette, April 27, 1987; quoted in Bruce Hoffman, “Holy Terror”: The Implications of Terrorism Motivated by a Religious Imperative (Santa Mnica, CA: RAND Corporation, 1993), 8. 90. Interview with Bray, March 20, 1998. 91. Ibid. 92. Interview with Abouhalima, August 19, 1997. 93. Interview with Dr. Muhammad Ibraheem el-Geyoushi, Cairo, May 30, 1990. 94. Interview with Darshan Singh Ragi, New Delhi, January 13, 1991. 95. Ibid. 96. Interview with Sohan Singh, Mohali, Punjab, August 3, 1996. 97. Interview with Rantisi, March 1, 1998. 98. Frantz Fanon, The Wretched of the Earth (New York: Grove Press, 1963).

chapter 11. the mind of god 1. Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi, “A Message to the Mujahidin and the Muslim Ummah in the Month of Ramadan,” Alhayat Media Center, posted online by Alihayat Media Center, September 2016, https://alhayatmedia.wordpress.com /media (accessed October 24, 2016). 2. From a videotape of Hamas suicide bombers in the collection of Anne Marie Oliver and Paul Steinberg. 3. Interview with Rev. Michael Bray, Bowie, Maryland, March 20, 1998. 4. Richard Dawkins, The God Delusion (New York: Mariner Books, 2008), 343. 5. Sam Harris, The End of Faith: Religion, Terror, and the Future of Reason (New York: Norton, 2005), 26, 27. 6. Hector Avalos, Fighting Words: The Origins of Religious Violence (New York: Prometheus Books, 2005). 7. Bruce Lawrence, Shattering the Myth: Islam beyond Violence (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1998). 8. Meic Pearse, The Gods of War: Is Religion the Primary Cause of Violent Conflict? (Westmont IL: InterVarsity Press, 2007). 9. William T. Cavanaugh, The Myth of Religious Violence: Secular Ideology and the Roots of Modern Conflict (New York: Oxford University Press, 2009). 10. My assessment about the origins of the Enlightenment ideas of secularism and religion may be found in the introduction to the book, and in my essay, “Rethinking the Secular and Religious Aspects of Violence,” in Rethinking Secularism, ed. Craig Calhoun, Mark Juergensmeyer, and Jonathan VanAntwerpen

Notes to Pages 268–278 |

335

(New York: Oxford University Press, 2011), 3–30 and 185–203. My response to Cavanaugh’s book—and his mischaracterization of my views on religion causing violence—is published as an essay, “Thinking about Religion and Violence,” in the Harvard Divinity School Bulletin 36:1 (Winter 2008): 6–7. 11. Karen Armstrong, Fields of Blood: Religion and the History of Violence (New York: Knopf, 2014). 12. Ibid., 412. 13. See my review of Armstrong’s Fields of Blood in the Washington Post, October 24, 2014. 14. See my article “Is Religion the Problem?” Hedgehog Review 6:1 (Spring 2004): 21–33. 15. Interview with Abdul Aziz Rantisi, Khan Yunis, Gaza, March 1, 1998. 16. Letter to Baghdadi, posted on the website www.lettertobaghdadi.com, in September 2014. 17. Jacob Poushter, “In Nations with Significant Muslim Populations, Much Disdain for ISIS,” website of the Pew Research Center, www.pewresearch.org /fact-tank/2015/11/17/in-nations-with-significant-muslim-populations-muchdisdain-for-isis/ft_15–11–17_isis_views, posted on November 17, 2015 (accessed November 3, 2016). 18. Interview with Setsufumi Kamuro and with Chieko Haniu, Tokyo, January 10, 1996. 19. “Anders Breivik Wants Acquittal or Death Penalty,” website of BBC News, April 18, 2012. 20. Andrew Macdonald [William L. Pierce], The Turner Diaries (Hillsboro, WV: National Vanguard Books, 1978; repr., Arlington, VA: National Alliance, 1985; New York: Barricade Books, 1996), 64. 21. Ibid., 63. 22. Ibid., 64. 23. Interview with Yoel Lerner, Jerusalem, March 2, 1998. 24. For an account of the Abu Bakr takeover, see Jim Dwyer et al., Two Seconds under the World: Terror Comes to America; The Conspiracy behind the World Trade Center Bombing (New York: Crown, 1994), 140–56. 25. David Cortright, Ending Obama’s War: Responsible Military Withdrawal from Afghanistan (London: Routledge, 2011), 3. 26. Ibid. See also Masoud Popalzai, “What Do Ordinary Afghanis Think about the Taliban’s Resurgence?”CNN website, October 2, 2015. 27. Interview with Ashraf Yaghi, Gaza City, August 19, 1995. 28. Interview with Mahmud Abouhalima, federal penitentiary, Lompoc, California, August 19, 1997. 29. Ibid. 30. Interview with Abouhalima, September 30, 1997. 31. Macdonald [Pierce], Turner Diaries, 42. 32. Ibid., 73. 33. Ibid., 74. The capitalizing of Word, Deed, Cause, Oath, and Order is in the novel. 34. Pierre Bourdieu, Language and Symbolic Power, trans. Gino Raymond and Matthew Adamson from the 1982 French edition, ed. John B. Thompson

336

|

Notes to Pages 278–289

(Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1991), 72–76. See also Pierre Bourdieu, Outline of a Theory of Practice, trans. Richard Nice from the 1972 French edition (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977) 171–83. 35. Jürgen Habermas, Legitimation Crisis, trans. Thomas McCarthy (Boston: Beacon Press, 1975). 36. Darrin McMahon, Enemies of the Enlightenment: The French CounterEnlightenment and the Making of Modernity (New York: Oxford University Press, 2001). 37. Bourdieu, Language and Symbolic Power, 116. 38. Ibid. 39. Margot Dudkevitch, “Settlers: Netanyahu No Longer Our Leader,” Jerusalem Post, October 26, 1998. 40. Some scholars have also called for the creation of a postcolonial culture. See Partha Chatterjee, The Nation and Its Fragments: Colonial and Postcolonial Histories (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1993). 41. Mark Juergensmeyer, Global Rebellions: Religious Challenges to the Secular State (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2008), 11–17. 42. Jürgen Habermas, “Modernity—An Incomplete Project,” in Interpretive Social Science: A Second Look, ed. Paul Rabinow and William M. Sullivan (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1987), 148. 43. For the distinction between postmodernity as a social phenomenon and as a mode of analysis, see David Lyon, Postmodernity (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1994). 44. See, for instance, Roger Friedland, “When God Walks in History: The Institutional Politics of Religious Nationalism,” in International Sociology 14:30 (September 1999): 301–19. 45. José Casanova, Public Religions in the Modern World (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994), 211. 46. Ehud Sprinzak, “The Process of Delegitimization: Towards a Linkage Theory of Political Terrorism,” in Terrorism and Public Policy, ed. Clark McCauley (London: Frank Cass, 1991), 98–111; Ehud Sprinzak, “Right-Wing Terrorism in a Comparative Perspective: The Case of Split Delegitimization,” in Terror from the Extreme Right, ed. Tore Bjørgo (London: Frank Cass, 1995), 17–43. 47. Press conference with U.S. Secretary of State Madeleine Albright, reported on ABC’s Nightline, August 21, 1998. 48. Jack Serle, “Almost 2500 Now Killed by Covert US Drone Strikes since Obama Inauguration,” posted on the website of the Bureau of Investigative Journalism, February 2, 2015, www.thebureauinvestigates.com/2015/02/02/almost2500-killed-covert-us-drone-strikes-obama-inauguration (accessed November 13, 2016). 49. Shoko Asahara, speech of April 1994, cited in Ian Reader, A Poisonous Cocktail? Aum Shinrikyo’s Path to Violence (Copenhagen: Nordic Institute of Asian Studies, 1996), 69. 50. Cited in Bruce Hoffman, Inside Terrorism (New York: Columbia University Press, 1998), 192. 51. Douglas Jehl, “Despite Bluster Qaddafi Weighs Deal,” New York Times, November 1, 1998, A8.

Notes to Pages 290–300 |

337

52. Kerry Noble, Tabernacle of Hate: Why They Bombed Oklahoma City (Prescott, Ontario: Voyageur, 1998), 146. 53. Interview with Rantisi, March 1, 1998. 54. Ibid. 55. Casanova, Public Religions in the Modern World, 40 ff. 56. Robin Wright, “Islamist’s Theory of Relativity,” Los Angeles Times, January 27, 1995, A1. 57. Behrooz Ghamari-Tabrizi, “From Liberation Theology to State Ideology—Modern Conceptions of Islam in Revolutionary Iran: Ali Shari’ati and Abdolkarim Soroush,” unpublished article, 1997; and Behrooz GhamariTabrizi, Islam and Dissent in Postrevolutionary Iran: Abdolkarim Soroush, Religious Politics and Democratic Reform, International Library of Iranian Studies (London: Taurus, 2008). 58. René Girard, Violence and the Sacred, trans. Patrick Gregory from the 1972 French edition (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1977). 59. Mark Anspach, “Violence against Violence: Islam in Comparative Context,” in Religion and the Sacred in the Modern World, ed. Mark Juergensmeyer (London: Frank Cass, 1991), 25. 60. Transcript of the judge’s comments during the trial published in the Madrid newspapers, El Mundo and El Pais, February 17, 2007. 61. Interview with the Venerable Palipana Chandananda, Sri Lanka, January 4, 1991. 62. Jean-Jacques Rousseau, “On Civil Religion,” chapter 8, book 4, of On the Social Contract; see Basic Political Writings, ed. and trans. Donald A. Cress (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1987), 226. 63. Darrin McMahon, Enemies of Enlightenment: The French CounterEnlightenment and the Making of Modernity (New York: Oxford University Press, 2001), chap. 1. 64. Interview with Abouhalima, September 30, 1997. 65. Robert N. Bellah, “Is There a Common American Culture?” Journal of the American Academy of Religion 66:3 (Fall 1998): 614, 616. 66. Marcel Gauchet, The Disenchantment of the World: A Political History of Religion, trans. Oscar Burge (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1997). 67. Reinhold Niebuhr, Moral Man and Immoral Society (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1932), 255. 68. Interview with Imad Faluji, Gaza, August 19, 1995. 69. Rashid Sakher, Islamic jihad suicide bomber, interviewed by Dan Setton in the documentary film Shaheed; transcribed and published as “A Terrorist Moves the Goalposts,” Harper’s, August 1997, 19–22.

Interviews and Correspondence

Abdulla, Kurdo. General Director, Directorate of Combatting Violence against Women, Regional Government of Kurdistan, Iraq, in Irbil, July 26, 2015. Abdullah, Dr. Farooq (conversation). Chief Minister, State of Jummu and Kashmir, India. Jummu, India, January 20, 1998. Abe, Yoshiya. Professor of Religion, Kokugakuin University. Tokyo, January 9, 1996. Abouhalima, Mahmud. Political activist, convicted co-conspirator of 1993 World Trade Center bombing. Federal penitentiary, Lompoc, California, August 19 and September 30, 1997. . Correspondence from Lompoc, September 25 and October 21, 1996; January 3, June 15, July 20, and August 28, 1997; January 7, 1998. From Leavenworth, Kansas, May 20, 1999. Abu-Amr, Zaid. Professor of Philosophy and Cultural Studies, Bir Zeit University. Jerusalem, August 15, 1995. Ahmed, Showkat. Student, Aligarh Muslim University. Pathankot, India, January 18, 1998. al-Dhari, Muthanna Hareth. Press Officer, Association of Muslim Clergy in AlAnbar Province. Baghdad, May 6, 2004. Translation assistance by Shirouk al-Abayaji. al-Kubaisi, Abdul Salam. Chief of External Relations, Council of Islamic Clergy (Sunni) in Al-Anbar Province. Baghdad, May 6, 2004. Translation assistance by Shirouk al-Abayaji. al-Kubaisi, Muhammad. Deputy Secretary General, Association of Muslim Clergy in Al-Anbar Province. Baghdad, May 6, 2004. Translation assistance by Shirouk al-Abayaji. al-Maliki, Nouri. General Secretary, Da’wa Party Headquarters (later Prime Minister). Baghdad, May 7, 2004. 339

340

|

Interviews and Correspondence

al-Mashda, Jalal. Editor, Al-Nahdah newspaper. Baghdad, May 9, 2004. Asafi, Muhammad. Medical doctor. Jabaliya camp, Gaza, January 14, 1989. Asfour, Gaber. Professor of Arabic Literature, Cairo University. Cairo, May 26, 1990. Ashur, Prof. A. K. Dean of the Faculty of Education, Al-Azhar University. Cairo, May 27, 1990. Auda, Gehad. Research scholar, Al-Ahram Institute. Cairo, May 31, 1990. Ayako (no last name given). Comanager, Satian Bookstore, Aum Shinrikyo. Shibuya, Tokyo, January 11, 1996. Balancar, Ferda, Editor-in-Chief of Agos, Armenian language newspaper. Istanbul, July 24, 2015. bar Nathan, Arie. Settler in Mitzpeh Jericho. Jerusalem, January 16, 1989. Baysal, Nuran. Kurdish activist and Member, Executive Committee, Diyarbakir Institute for Political and Social Research. Diyarbakir, Turkey, July 28, 2015. ben Horin, Michael. Manager of Kach office. Jerusalem, January 15, 1989. Bray, Rev. Michael. Pastor, Reformation Lutheran Church, and editor, Capitol Area Christian News. Bowie, Maryland, April 25, 1996; March 20, 1998. . Correspondence from Bowie, Maryland, July 20, 1997; March 9, 1999. Burns, Bertha Mae (conversation). Staff member, Martyrs Memorial Free Presbyterian Church. Belfast, Northern Ireland, July 30, 1998. Chandananda, Venerable Palipana. Mahanayake, Asigiriya chapter, Sinhalese Buddhist Sangha. Kandy, Sri Lanka, January 4, 1991. Chandra, Ram. Office worker in Bharatiya Janata Party. Delhi, January 10, 1991. Chkam, Hakim. Head of Mission, Premiere Urgence. Baghdad, May 8, 2004. Dawabsheh, Abou. Relative of firebomb victims. Duma, West Bank, June 2, 2016. Dawabsheh, Omar. Relative of firebomb victims. Duma, West Bank, June 2, 2016. Dawabsheh, Zohair Ahmad. Relative of firebomb victims. Duma, West Bank, June 2, 2016. Desouki, Ali. Member of Muslim Brotherhood. Cairo, January 11, 1989. Dhaman, Kuldip Kumar. Student at Guru Nanak Dev University. Amritsar, Punjab, January 11 and January 12, 1991. Dignan, Stuart. Office staff, Democratic Unionist Party. Belfast, Northern Ireland, July 30, 1998. Edwards, Hanaa. Director, Al-Amal Human Rights Organization. Baghdad, Iraq, May 5, 2004. el-Arian, Essam. Medical doctor, member of the Assembly, and member of the Muslim Brotherhood. Cairo, January 11, 1989. el-Geyoushi, Muhammad Ibraheem. Dean of the Faculty of Dawah, Al-Azhar University. Cairo, May 30, 1990. el-Hamamsy, Leila. Director, Social Research Center, American University. Cairo, January 10, 1989. Eskin, Avigdor. Writer and activist for right-wing Jewish causes. Jerusalem, March 3, 1998.

Interviews and Correspondence | 341

Faluji, Imad. Journalist and member of the policy wing of Hamas. Gaza, August 19, 1995. Falwell, Jerry (conversation). Pastor, Thomas Road Baptist Church. Lynchburg, VA, February 23, 1997. Fruman, Manachem. Rabbi at Tuqua settlement. West Bank, Israel, August 14, 1995. Gibney, Jim (conversation). Sinn Féin Public Affairs Officer. Belfast, Northern Ireland, July 30, 1998. Hamid, Muhsin Abdul. General Secretary, Iraq Islamic Party. Baghdad, Iraq. Translation assistance by Shirouk al-Abayaji. Hanafi, Hasan. Student leader of Muslim Brotherhood, Cairo University. Cairo, May 30, 1990. Haniu, Chieko. Public Affairs Officer, Tokyo office of Agonshu. Tokyo, January 10, 1996. Hartley, Tom. Councillor and leader of Sinn Féin in Belfast City Council. Belfast, Northern Ireland, July 31, 1998. Hassan, Ali. Student at Islamic University of Gaza and supporter of Hamas. Gaza, March 1, 1998. Hiramatsu, Yasuo. Public Affairs Officer, Tokyo office of Aum Shinrikyo. Aoyama, Tokyo, January 13, 1996. Husseini, Sherpa. Journalist and editor with the Myanmar Business Times. Yangon, Myanmar, August 31, 2014. Jamaluddin, Sheikh. Shi’a Political Activist. Baghdad, May 9, 2004. Kahane, Rabbi Meir. Former member of the Knesset and leader of Israel’s Kach Party. Jerusalem, January 18, 1989. Kamal, Muhammad. Student at Islamic University of Gaza and supporter of Hamas. Gaza, March 1, 1998. Kamuro, Setsufumi. Secretary General of Tokyo office of Agonshu. Tokyo, January 10, 1996. Kaur, Surjit, President of Delhi branch of Women’s Akali Dal (Mann group). Rakabganj Gurdwara, New Delhi, January 13, 1991. Khalifa, Muhammad. Professor of Comparative Religion, Department of Oriental Languages, Cairo University. Cairo, January 9, 1989. Khin, U Kyaw. General Secretary, Myanmar Muslim National Affairs Organization. Yangon, Myanmar, September 1, 2014. Lamba, Navneet. Librarian, Bhai Vir Singh Sahitya Sadan. New Delhi, January 9, 1991. Lerner, Yoel. Director of Sannhedrin Institute. Jerusalem, January 20, 1989; August 17, 1995; March 2 and March 3, 1998. Levinger, Rabbi Moshe. Leader of Gush Emunim. Jerusalem, January 16, 1989. Mann, Simranjit Singh. Former Member of Parliament and leader of Akali Dal (Mann faction). Chandigarh, Punjab, August 4, 1996. Marzel, Baruch. Settler in Kiryat Arba, Hebron. Jerusalem, January 17, 1989. Merari, Ariel. Center for the Study of Terrorism and Political Violence, Tel Aviv University, Tel Aviv, March 3, 1998. Miller, Davy (conversation). Sinn Féin supporter. Belfast, Northern Ireland, July 30, 1998.

342

|

Interviews and Correspondence

Muraoka, Tatsuko. Secretary General of Tokyo office, Aum Shinrikyo. Aoyama, Tokyo, January 13, 1996. Myint, Khin Maung. National Democratic Party for Development, a proRohingya political party. Yangon, Myanmar, September 1, 2014. Nakamura, Takeshi (pseudonym for a former member of Aum Shinrikyo). Tokyo, January 12, 1996. In English and Japanese; translation assistance provided by Amy Arakane and Prof. Susumu Shimazono. Narang, Surjit Singh. Professor of Political Science, Guru Nanak Dev University. Amritsar, Punjab, January 11, 1991. Pandher, Sarabjit. Principal correspondent, The Hindu. Jummu, India, January 19, 1998. Puri, Harish. Professor of Political Science, Guru Nanak Dev University, Amritsar. Delhi, January 10, 1991. Amritsar, Punjab, January 11, 1991; May 20, 1993; January 20, 1998. Rabin, Leah (conversation). Widow of former Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin. Tel Aviv, March 2, 1998. Ragi, Darshan Singh. Former Jathedar, Akal Takhat. Bhai Vir Singh Sadan, New Delhi, January 13, 1991. Rajagopal, Hari. Office worker in Bharatiya Janata Party. Delhi, January 9, 1991. Rantisi, Dr. Abdul Aziz. Cofounder and political leader of Hamas. Khan Yunis, Gaza, March 1, 1998. Rey, Roy (conversation). Staff member, Martyrs Memorial Free Presbyterian Church. Belfast, Northern Ireland, July 30, 1998. Ron, Yochay. Guard, Goldstein shrine, Kiryat Arba settlement. Hebron, August 18, 1995. Refugees from ISIS-held territory in Iraq. Barzani Refugee Camp, Ankara Refugee Camp and other camps and refugee housing in and around Erbil, Kurdistan, Iraq, July 25, 2015. Translation assistance by Ibrahim Anli and Ardalan Jalal. . Qushtapa Refugee Camp, Erbil, Kurdistan, Iraq, July 26, 2015. Translation assistance by Ibrahim Anli and Ardalan Jalal. Refugees from ISIS-held territory in Syria. Kimse Yok Mu social service center, Istanbul, July 24, 2015. Translation assistance by Ibrahim Barlas. . Zaatari Camp, near Irbid, Jordan, June 2, 2016. Translation assistance by Hatim Hassan. Salameh, Sheikh. Spiritual teacher at Al-Nur Mosque. Cairo, May 28, 1990. Salem, Mohamed Elmisilhi. Professor of Educational Psychology, Al-Azhar University. Cairo, May 27, 1990. Salim, Noor. Leader of the Mandalay Muslim community. Mandalay, Myanmar, September 3, 2014. Salomon, Gershom. Head of “Faithful of Temple Mount.” Jerusalem, May 25, 1990. Schleiffer, Abdullah. Director of Communications Center, American University. Cairo, January 7, 1989. Sekhon, Kuldip Singh. Lawyer for Sikh immigration cases. Berkeley, CA, June 1, 1996.

Interviews and Correspondence | 343

Shiha, Abdul Hamid. Professor of dar el Alum, Cairo University. Cairo, May 27, 1990. Shimada, Hiromi. Former Professor of Religion. Suginami-ku, Tokyo, January 10, 1996. Shitta, Ibrahim Dasuqi. Professor of Persian Literature, Cairo University. Cairo, January 10 and January 11, 1989. Shohdy, Nancy A. Director of Public and Ecumenical Relations, Coptic Orthodox Church. Cairo, May 28, 1990. Singh, Dr. Amrik. Member of All-India Sikh Student’s Federation (MehtaChawla group). Rakabganj Gurdwara, New Delhi, January 13, 1991. Singh, Bhagwan. Mulgranthi (chief worship leader), Golden Temple. Amritsar, Punjab, January 11, 1991. Singh, Darshan. Professor and Head, Department of Guru Nanak Studies, Punjab University. Chandigarh, Punjab, August 2, 1996. Singh, Gurmit. President of the Delhi branch of the All-India Sikh Students Federation (Mehta-Chawla group). Rakabganj Gurdwara, New Delhi, January 13, 1991. In English and Punjabi. Singh, Gurnam. Professor of Political Science, Guru Nanak Dev University. Amritsar, Punjab, January 11, 1991. Singh, Harbinder. General Secretary, Delhi branch of All-India Sikh Students Federation (Mehta-Chawla group). Rakabganj Gurdwara, New Delhi, January 13, 1991. In English and Punjabi. Singh, Harcharan. Former Jathedar of the Golden Temple. Rakabganj Gurdwara, New Delhi, January 13, 1991. Singh, Harjap. Council Member of Amritsar Municipal Corporation and brother of Kanwarjit Singh, leader of Khalistan Commando Force, 1987–89. Sultanwind village, Amritsar, Punjab, January 20, 1998. In English and Punjabi, with translation assistance of Prof. Harish Puri, Raminder Bir Singh, and Harbhajan Singh. Singh, Jasvinder. Member of the Delhi branch of the All-India Sikh Students Federation (Mehta-Chawla group). Rakabganj Gurdwara, New Delhi, January 13, 1991. Singh, Mohinder. Director, National Institute for Punjab Studies. Bhai Vir Singh Sadan, New Delhi, January 9, 1991. Singh, Narinder. Retired Major General, Indian Army. Chandigarh, Punjab, August 3, 1996. Singh, Ramander Bir. Junior Research Fellow, Guru Nanak Dev University. Amritsar, Punjab, January 20, 1998. Singh, Sohan. Leader of Sohan Singh Panthic Committee. Mohali, Punjab, August 3, 1996. Singh, Yashwant Pal. Manager of Delhi office, All-India Sikh Students Federation (Mehta-Chawla group). Rakabganj Gurdwara, New Delhi, January 13, 1991. In English and Punjabi. Sorani, Saman. Political advisor to the Minister of Foreign Affairs, Kurdistan, Iraq. Erbil, July 25, 2015. Sutel, Seth. Correspondent for Associated Press. Tokyo, January 9, 1996.

344

|

Interviews and Correspondence

Teikkha, U. Buddhist monk (teacher-mentor of Ashin Wirathu). Mandalay, Myanmar, September 3, 2014. Translation assistance by Thein Toe Win. Tomoko (no last name given). Comanager of Satian Bookstore, Aum Shinrikyo. Shibuya, Tokyo, January 11, 1996. Tubi, Ezri. Former spokesperson for Yitzhar settlement. Yitzhar settlement, near the city of Nablus in the West Bank, June 4, 2016. Wirathu, Ashin. Founder and leader of the 969 Movement. Ma Soe Yein Tike Thit Monastery, Mandalay, Myanmar, September 3, 2014. Translation assistance by Thein Toe Win. Yaghi, Ashraf. Hamas supporter. Gaza, August 19, 1995. Yassin, Sheikh Ahmed. Founder and leader of Hamas. Gaza, January 14, 1989. Yazidi refugees from ISIS-held territory in Iraq. Yenisehir Refugee Camp, near Diyarbakir, Turkey, July 28, 2015. Translation assistance by Ibrahim Anli and Hasan Yilmaz. Yokoyama, Minoru. Sociologist and Professor of Criminology, Kokugakuin University. Tokyo, January 10, 1996. Zamlot, Saleh. Student leader of Fateh, Palestianian Liberation Organization. Al-Azhar University, Cairo, May 27, 1990. Zilberman, Ifrah. Research scholar, Hebrew University. Jerusalem, January 18, 1989; May 25, 1990.

Selected Bibliography

This bibliography is separated into sections for easy referral to the topics of religion and violence, terrorism, and violence related to each of the major religious traditions. It includes most of the publications cited in this book as well as a selection of other items in these categories that the reader might find useful.

religion and violence Aho, James. This Thing of Darkness: A Sociology of the Enemy. Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1994. Armstrong, Karen. Fields of Blood: Religion and the History of Violence, New York: Knopf, 2014. Aslan, Reza. How to Win a Cosmic War: God, Globalization, and the End of the War on Terror. New York: Random House, 2009. Audi, Robert, and Nicholas Wolterstorff. Religion in the Public Square: The Place of Religious Convictions in Political Debate. New York: Rowman and Littlefield, 1997. Avalos, Hector. Fighting Words: The Origins of Religious Violence, New York: Prometheus Books, 2005. Barkun, Michael, ed. Millenialism and Violence. London: Frank Cass, 1996. Baudrillard, Jean. The Transparency of Evil: Essays on the Extreme Phenomena. Trans. James Benedict from the 1990 French edition. London: Verso, 1993. Bell, Catherine M. Ritual Theory, Ritual Practice. New York: Oxford University Press, 1992. Bloch, Maurice. Prey into Hunter: The Politics of Religious Experience. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992.

345

346

|

Selected Bibliography

Bourdieu, Pierre. Language and Symbolic Power. Trans. Gino Raymond and Matthew Adamson from the 1982 French edition. Ed. John B. Thompson. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1991. . Outline of a Theory of Practice. Trans. Richard Nice from the 1972 French edition. New York: Cambridge University Press, 1977. Bourdieu, Pierre, and Loïc J. D. Wacquant. An Invitation to Reflexive Sociology. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992. Brass, Paul R. Theft of an Idol: Text and Context in the Representation of Collective Violence. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1997 Brown, Robert McAfee. Religion and Violence. 2nd ed. Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1987. Burkert, Walter. Homo Necans: The Anthropology of Ancient Greek Sacrificial Ritual and Myth. Trans. Peter Bing from the 1972 German edition. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1983. Burkert, Walter, René Girard, and Jonathan Z. Smith. Violent Origins: Ritual Killing and Cultural Formation. Ed. Robert G. Hamerton-Kelly. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1987. Calhoun, Craig, Mark Juergensmeyer, and Jonathan VanAntwerpen, eds. Rethinking Secularism, New York: Oxford University Press, 2011 Candland, Christopher, comp. The Spirit of Violence: An Annotated Bibliography on Religious Violence. New York: Harry Frank Guggenheim Foundation, 1993. Caplan, Lionel, ed. Studies in Religious Fundamentalism. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1987. Casanova, José. Public Religions in the Modern World. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994. Cavanaugh, William T. The Myth of Religious Violence: Secular Ideology and the Roots of Modern Conflict. New York: Oxford University Press, 2009. Davis, Natalie Zemon. “The Rites of Violence: Religious Riots in Sixteenth Century France.” Past and Present 59 (May 1973): 51–91. Detienne, Marcel, and Jean-Pierre Vernant. The Cuisine of Sacrifice among the Greeks. Trans. Paula Wissing from the 1979 French edition. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1989. Dumouchel, Paul, ed. Violence and Truth: On the Work of René Girard. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1988. Dupuy, Jean-Pierre. Ordres et désordres: Enquêtes sur un nouveau paradigme. Paris: Éditions du Seuil, 1982. Ferguson, John. War and Peace in the World’s Religions. New York: Oxford University Press, 1977. Fine, Jonathan. Political Violence in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam: From Holy War to Modern Terror. London: Routledge, 2015. Firestone, Rueven. “Conceptions of Holy War in Biblical and Qur’anic Tradition.” Journal of Religious Ethics 24:1 (Spring 1996): 99–123. Foucault, Michel. The Archaeology of Knowledge. Trans. A. M. Sheridan Smith from the French. New York: Pantheon Books, 1972. . Power/Knowledge: Selected Interviews and Other Writings, 1972– 1977. New York: Pantheon Books, 1980.

Selected Bibliography | 347

Gauchet, Marcel. The Disenchantment of the World: A Political History of Religion. Trans. Oscar Burge. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1997. Gelven, Michael. War and Existence: A Philosophical Inquiry. University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1994. Girard, René. “Disorder and Order in Mythology.” In Disorder and Order: Proceedings of the Stanford International Symposium, ed. Paisley Livingston, 80–97. Saratoga, CA: Anma Libri, 1984. . The Scapegoat. Trans. Yvonne Freccero from the 1982 French edition. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1986. . Violence and the Sacred. Trans. Patrick Gregory from the 1972 French edition. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1977. Girard, René, and Mark Anspach. “Reflections from the Perspective of Mimetic Theory.” In Violence and the Sacred in the Modern World, ed. Mark Juergensmeyer, 141–48. London: Frank Cass, 1991. Hammoudi, Abellah. The Victim and Its Masks: An Essay on Sacrifice and Masquerade in the Maghred. Trans. Paula Wissing. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994. Harris, Sam. The End of Faith: Religion, Terror, and the Future of Reason, New York: Norton, 2005. Hawley, John Stratton, ed. Fundamentalism and Gender. New York: Oxford University Press, 1994. Haynes, Jeff. Routledge Handbook of Religion and Politics. London: Routledge, 2016. Hoffman, Bruce. “Holy Terror”: The Implications of Terrorism Motivated by a Religious Imperative. Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corporation, 1993. Hubert, Henri, and Marcel Mauss. Sacrifice: Its Nature and Function. Trans. W. D. Halls from the French “Essai sur la nature et la function du sacrifice,” in M. Mauss, Oeuvres, vol. 1 (Paris: Éditions de Minuit, 1898). Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1964. Hughes-Freeland, Felicia, ed. Ritual, Performance, Media. London: Routledge, 1998. Hurd, Elizabeth. Beyond Religious Freedom: The New Global Politics of Religion. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2015. Ingebretsen, Edward J. Maps of Heaven, Maps of Hell: Religious Terror as Memory from the Puritans to Stephen King. New York: Continuum, 1994. Juergensmeyer, Mark. “Cosmic War.” In Oxford Encyclopedia of Religion. New York: Oxford University Press, 2016. . “Entering the Mindset of Violent Religious Activists.” Special issue of Religions, ed. John Esposito, 6:3 (2015): 852–59. . Global Rebellions: Religious Challenges to the Secular State. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2008. . “Is Religion the Problem?”Hedgehog Review 6:1 (Spring 2004): 21–33. . “Sacrifice and Cosmic War.” In Violence and the Sacred in the Modern World, ed. Mark Juergensmeyer, 101–17. London: Frank Cass, 1991. . “Thinking about Religion and Violence.” Harvard Divinity School Bulletin 36:1 (Winter 2008): 6–7.

348

|

Selected Bibliography

, ed. Violence and the Sacred in the Modern World. London: Frank Cass, 1991. Juergensmeyer, Mark, Dinah Griego, and John Soboslai. God in the Tumult of the Global Square: Religion in Global Civil Society. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2016. Juergensmeyer, Mark, and Margo Kitts, eds. The Princeton Readings in Religion and Violence. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2011. Juergensmeyer, Mark, Margo Kitts, and Michael Jerryson, eds. The Oxford Handbook of Religion and Violence. New York: Oxford University Press, 2013. Juergensmeyer, Mark, and Mona Kanwal Sheikh. “A Sociotheological Approach to Understanding Religious Violence.” In The Oxford Handbook of Religion and Violence, ed. Mark Juergensmeyer, Margo Kitts, and Michael Jerryson, 620–43. New York: Oxford University Press, 2013. , eds. Entering Religious Minds. Forthcoming. Kaplan, Jeffrey. Radical Religion and Violence: Theory and Case Studies. London: Routledge, 2015. Kelsay, John, and James Turner Johnson, eds. Cross, Crescent, and Sword: The Justification and Limitation of War in Western and Islamic Tradition. New York: Greenwood Press, 1991. , eds. Just War and Jihad: Historical and Theoretical Perspectives on War and Peace in Western and Islamic Traditions. New York: Greenwood Press, 1991. Kimball, Charles. When Religion Becomes Lethal: The Explosive Mix of Politics and Religion in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. New York: JosseyBass, 2011. Kippenberg, Hans. Violence as Worship: Religious Wars in the Age of Globalization. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2011. LaBarre, Weston. The Ghost Dance: Origins of Religion. London: Allen and Unwin, 1972. Laitin, David D. Nations, States, and Violence. New York: Oxford University Press, 2007. Larsson, J. P. Understanding Religious Violence: Thinking outside the Box on Religious Terrorism. Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing, 2004. Lawrence, Bruce. Defenders of God: The Fundamentalist Revolt against the Modern Age. San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1989. Lewis, James. Violence and New Religious Movements. New York: Oxford University Press, 2011. Lewy, Guenter. Religion and Revolution. New York: Oxford University Press, 1974. Lincoln, Bruce. Death, War, and Sacrifice: Studies in Ideology and Practice. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1991. . Holy Terrors: Thinking about Religion after September 11. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2006. , ed. Religion, Rebellion, Revolution: An Interdisciplinary and CrossCultural Collection of Essays. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1985. Livingston, Paisley, ed. Disorder and Order: Proceedings of the Stanford International Symposium. Saratoga, CA: Anma Libri, 1984.

Selected Bibliography | 349

Marty, Martin E., and R. Scott Appleby, eds. Accounting for Fundamentalisms: The Dynamic Character of Movements. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994. , eds. Fundamentalisms Comprehended. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1995. , eds. Fundamentalisms Observed. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1991. , eds. Fundamentalisms and Society. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1993. , eds. Fundamentalisms and the State. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1993. McMahon, Darrin. Enemies of the Enlightenment: The French CounterEnlightenment and the Making of Modernity. New York: Oxford University Press, 2001. Nandy, Ashis. The Savage Freud and Other Essays on Possible Retrievable Selves. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1995. Nardin, Terry, ed. The Ethics of War and Peace: Religious and Secular Perspectives. Ethikon Series in Comparative Ethics, vol. 1. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1996. Parkin, David, Lionel Caplan, and Humphrey Fisher, eds. The Politics of Cultural Performance. Providence, RI: Berghahn Books, 1996. Pearse, Meic. The Gods of War: Is Religion the Primary Cause of Violent Conflict? Westmont, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2007. Rapoport, David C. “Observations on the Importance of Space in Violent Ethno-Religious Strife.” Unpublished paper. Reeder, John P., Jr. Killing and Saving: Abortion, Hunger, and War. University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1996. Riesebrodt, Martin. Pious Passion: The Emergence of Modern Fundamentalism in the United States and Iran. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993. Robbins, Thomas. “Religious Movements and Violence: A Friendly Critique of the Interpretive Approach.” Nova Religio: The Journal of Alternative and Emergent Religions 1:1 (Fall 1997): 13–29. Rudolph, Susanne Hoeber, and James Piscatori, eds. Transnational Religion and Fading States. Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1997. Sagan, Eli. Cannibalism: Human Aggression and Cultural Form. New York: Psychohistory Press, 1974. . The Lust to Annihilate: A Psychoanalytic Study of Violence in Ancient Greek Culture. New York: Psychohistory Press, 1972. Selengut, Charles. Sacred Fury: Understanding Religious Violence. Walnut Creek, CA: Altamira Press, 2003. Sells, Michael A. The Bridge Betrayed: Religion and Genocide in Bosnia. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1996. Shani, Giorgio. Religion, Identity, and Human Security. London: Routledge, 2014. Sproxton, Judy. Violence and Religion: Attitudes towards Militancy in the French Civil Wars and the English Revolution. London: Routledge, 1995.

350

|

Selected Bibliography

Svensson, Isak. Ending Holy Wars: Religion and Conflict Resolution in Civil Wars. Sydney: University of Queensland Press, 2013. Tambiah, Stanley. Leveling Crowds: Ethnonationalist Conflicts and Collective Violence in South Asia. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1996. Toft, Monica Duffy, Daniel Philpott, and Timothy Shah. God’s Century: Resurgent Religion and Global Politics. New York: Norton, 2011. Villa-Vicencio, Charles, ed. Theology and Violence: The South African Debate. Johannesburg: Skotaville, 1987. Walzer, Michael. Just and Unjust Wars. New York: Basic Books, 1977. Westerlund, David, ed. Questioning the Secular State: The Worldwide Resurgence of Religion in Politics. London: Hurst, 1996.

terrorism Alexander, Yonah, David Carlton, and Paul Wilkinson. Terrorism: Theory and Practice. Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1979. Alexander, Yonah, and Seymour Finger, eds. Terrorism: Interdisciplinary Perspectives. New York: John Jay, 1977. Alexander, Yonah, and Dennis A. Pluchinsky, eds. European Terrorism: Today and Tomorrow. New York: Brassey’s, 1992. Appleby, R. Scott, ed. Spokesman for the Despised: Fundamentalist Leaders of the Middle East. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1997. Arnold, Terrel E. The Violence Formula: Why People Lend Sympathy and Support to Terrorism. Lexington, MA: Lexington Books, 1988. Aslan, Reza. How to Win a Cosmic War: God, Globalization, and the End of the War on Terror. New York: Random House, 2009. Bjørgo, Tore, ed. Terror from the Extreme Right. London: Frank Cass, 1995. Brown, D. J., and R. Merrill, eds. Violent Persuasions: The Politics and Imagery of Terrorism. Seattle: Bay Press, 1993. Combs, Cindy C. Terrorism in the Twenty-first Century. Upper Saddle River, NJ: Prentice Hall, 1997. Crelinsten, D. Ronald, and Alex P. Schmid, eds. The Politics of Pain: Torturers and Their Masters. Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1994. Crelinsten, D. Ronald, and Denis Szabo. Hostage Taking. Lexington, MA: Lexington Books, 1979. Crenshaw, Martha. “How Terrorists Think: Psychological Contributions to Understanding Terrorism.” In Terrorism: Roots, Impact, Response, ed. Lawrence Howard, 120–37. New York: Praeger, 1992. . Revolutionary Terrorism: The FLN in Algeria, 1954–1962. Stanford, CA: Hoover Institution, 1978. , ed. Terrorism in Context. University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1995. . Terrorism and International Cooperation. New York: Institute For East-West Security Studies, 1989; distributed by Westview Press. Crenshaw, Martha, and John Pimlott, eds. Encyclopedia of World Terrorism. Armonk, NY: Sharpe Reference, 1997.

Selected Bibliography | 351

Cronin, Audrey Kurth. How Terrorism Ends: Understanding the Decline and Demise of Terrorist Campaigns. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2008. della Porta, Donatella, ed. Social Movements, Political Violence, and the State. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995. . Social Movements and Violence: Participation in Underground Organizations. Greenwich, CT: JAI Press, 1992. Dietze, Carola, and Claudia Verhoeffen, The Oxford Handbook of the History of Terrorism. New York: Oxford University Press, 2016. Erikson, Richard J. Legitimate Use of Military Force against State-Sponsored International Terrorism. Maxwell Air Force Base, Montgomery, AL: Air University Press, 1989. Grabosky, Peter, and Michael S. Stohl, Crime and Terrorism. London: Sage Publications, 2010. Guelke, Adrian. The Age of Terrorism and the International Political System. London: I. B. Tauris, 1995. Gutteridge, William, ed. The New Terrorism. London: Mansell, 1986. Hoffman, Bruce. An Agenda for Research on Terrorism and LIC [Low-Intensity Conflict] in the 1990s. Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corporation, 1991. . “Holy Terror”: The Implications of Terrorism Motivated by a Religious Imperative. Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corporation, 1993. . Inside Terrorism. New York: Columbia University Press, 1998. . Terrorism Targeting: Tactics, Trends, and Potentialities. Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corporation, 1992. Howard, Lawrence, ed. Terrorism: Roots, Impact, Response. New York: Praeger, 1992. Jenkins, Brian. International Terrorism: A New Kind of Warfare. Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corporation, 1974. . International Terrorism: Trends and Potentialities. Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corporation, 1978. Jones, James. Blood That Cries Out from the Earth: The Psychology of Religious Terrorism. New York: Oxford University Press, 2008. Kurz, Anat, and Ariel Merari. ASALA—Irrational Terror or Political Tool. Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1985. Larsson, J. P. Understanding Religious Violence: Thinking outside the Box on Religious Terrorism. Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing, 2004. Laqueur, Walter. The Age of Terrorism. Boston: Little, Brown, 1987. . “Postmodern Terrorism.” Foreign Affairs 75:5 (September 1996): 24–36. McCauley, Clark, ed. Terrorism and Public Policy. London: Frank Cass, 1991. Merari, Ariel, and Anat Kurz. International Terrorism in 1987. Jerusalem: Jerusalem Post and Jaffee Center for Strategic Studies, 1987. Merkl, Peter H., ed. Political Violence and Terror. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1986. Merkl, Peter H., and Leonard Weinberg, eds. Encounters with the Contemporary Radical Right. Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1993.

352

|

Selected Bibliography

Nasr, Kameel B. Arab and Israeli Terrorism: The Causes and Effects of Political Violence, 1936–1993. Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 1997. Oliver, Anne Marie, and Paul Steinberg. The Road to Martyrs’ Square. New York: Oxford University Press, 2005. Olson-Raymer, Gayle, with Judith Ann Ryder. Terrorism: A Historical and Contemporary Perspective. New York: American Heritage, Custom Publishing Group, 1996. Pape, Robert. Dying to Win: The Strategic Logic of Suicide Terrorism. New York: Random House, 2005. Rapoport, David C. Assassination and Terrorism. Toronto: Canadian Broadcast Corporation, 1971. . “Comparing Militant Fundamentalist Movements and Groups.” In Fundamentalisms and the State, ed. Martin Marty and Scott Appleby, 158– 72. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1993. , ed. Inside Terrorist Organizations. New York: Columbia University Press, 1988. Rapoport, David C., and Yonah Alexander, eds. The Morality of Terrorism: Religious and Secular Justifications. New York: Pergamon Press, 1982. Reich, Walter, ed. Origins of Terrorism: Psychologies, Ideologies, Theologies, States of Mind. Cambridge: Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars and Cambridge University Press, 1990. Rennie, Bryan, and Phillip L. Tite, eds. Religion, Terror, and Violence: Religious Studies Perspectives. London: Routledge, 2008. Reuter, Christoph. My Life Is a Weapon: A Modern History of Suicide Bombing. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2004. Richardson, Louise. What Terrorists Want: Understanding the Enemy, Containing the Threat. New York: Random House, 2007. Robins, Robert S., and Jerold Post. Political Paranoia: The Psychopolitics of Hatred. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1997. Schmid, Alex. The Routledge Handbook of Terrorism Research. London: Routledge, 2011. Snow, Donald M. Distant Thunder: Patterns of Conflict in the Developing World. Armonk, NY: M. E. Sharpe, 1997. Sprinzak, Ehud. “The Process of Delegitimization: Towards a Linkage Theory of Political Terrorism.” In Terrorism and Public Policy, ed. Clark McCauley, 98–111. London: Frank Cass, 1991. Sterling, Claire. The Terror Network: The Secret of International Terrorism. New York: Holt, Rinehart & Winston, 1981. Stern, Jessica. Terror in the Name of God: Why Religious Militants Kill. New York: Ecco, 2003. . The Ultimate Terrorists. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1999. Sutherland, Charles W. Disciples of Destruction: The Religious Origins of War and Terrorism. Buffalo, NY: Prometheus Press, 1987. Turrettini, Unni. The Mystery of the Lone Wolf Killer: Anders Behring Breivik and the Threat of Terror in Plain Sight. New York: Pegasus, 2015.

Selected Bibliography | 353

Warner, Martin, and Roger Crisp. Terrorism, Protest, and Power. Brookfield, VT: Grower, 1990. Wieviorka, Michel. The Making of Terrorism. Trans. David Gordon White from Sociétés et terrorisme, 1988. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1993. Wilkinson, Paul. “The Media and Terrorism.” Terrorism and Political Violence 9:2 (Summer 1997): 51–64. . Political Terrorism. London: Macmillan, 1974. . Terror and the Liberal State. London: Macmillan, 1977. Wilkinson, Paul, and A. M. Stewart, eds. Contemporary Research on Terrorism. Aberdeen: Aberdeen University Press, 1987. Zulaika, Joseph, and William A. Douglass. Terror and Taboo. London: Routledge, 1996.

christian violence Abanes, Richard. American Militias: Rebellion, Racism, and Religion. Downers Grove, IL: Inter Varsity Press, 1996. Aho, James. The Politics of Righteousness: Idaho Christian Patriotism. Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1990. Alexander, Yonah, and Dennis A. Pluehinsky, eds. European Terrorism Today and Tomorrow. Washington, DC: Brassey’s (U.S.), 1992. Ammerman, Nancy T. Bible Believers: Fundamentalists in the Modern World. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1987. Aslan, Reza. Zealot: The Life and Times of Jesus of Nazareth. New York: Random House, 2013. Balmer, Randall. Mine Eyes Have Seen the Glory: A Journey into the Evangelical Subculture in America. New York: Oxford University Press, 1989. Bangstad, Sindre. Anders Breivik and the Rise of Islamophobia. London: Zed, 2014. Barkun, Michael. A Culture of Conspiracy: Apocalyptic Visions in Contemporary America. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003. , ed. Millennialism and Violence. London: Frank Cass, 1996. . Religion and the Racist Right: The Origins of the Christian Identity Movement. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1994. Barron, Bruce. Heaven on Earth? The Social and Political Agendas on Dominion Theology. Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 1992. Baumgarten, Gerald. Paranoia as Patriotism: Far-Right Influences on the Militia Movement. New York: Anti-Defamation League, 1995. Bennett, David H. The Party of Fear: The American Far Right from Nativism to the Militia Movement. New York: Vintage Books, 1995. Berlet, Chip, ed. Eyes Right: Challenging the Right Wing Backlash. Boston: South End Press, 1995. . The Increasing Popularity of Right Wing Conspiracy Theories. Somerville, MA: Political Research Associates, 1996. . John Salvi, Abortion Clinic Violence, and Catholic Right Conspiracism. Somerville, MA: Political Research Associates, 1996.

354

|

Selected Bibliography

Berlet, Chip, and Matthew N. Lyons. Too Close for Comfort: Rightwing Populism, Scapegoating, and Fascist Potentials in US Political Traditions. Boston: South End Press, 1996. Berwick, Andrew (Anders Breivik). “2083—A European Declaration of Independence,” posted on Breivik’s Facebook page on July 22, 2011. The full manuscript has been posted on line at http://www.deism.com/images /breivik-manifesto-2011.pdf. Blanchard, Dallas A., and Terry J. Prewitt. Religious Violence and Abortion: The Gideon Project. Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 1993. Borchgrevink, Aage. A Norwegian Tragedy: Anders Behring Breivik and the Massacre on Utoya. London: Polity Press, 2013. Brandon, S. F. G. Jesus and the Zealots: A Study of the Political Factor in Primitive Christianity. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1967. Bray, Michael. “Thoughts on Tiller, Justified Homicide, and Persisting Abortionists.” Army of God website, May 31, 2009, www.armyofgod.com /MikeBrayThoughtsOnTillerJustifiableHomicide.html (accessed September 5, 2016). . A Time to Kill: A Study Concerning the Use of Force and Abortion. Portland, OR: Advocates for Life, 1994. Buc, Philippe. Holy War, Martyrdom, and Terror: Christianity, Violence, and the West. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2015. Capps, Walter H. The New Religious Right: Piety, Patriotism, and Politics. Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 1990. Clarke, Sister Sarah. No Faith in the System. Cork, Ireland: Mercier Press, 1995. Cline, Lawrence. The Lord’s Resistance Army. New York: Praeger, 2013. Coates, James. Armed and Dangerous: The Rise of the Survivalist Right. New York: Hill & Wang, 1987. Cooke, Dennis. Persecuting Zeal: A Portrait of Ian Paisley. Kerry, Ireland: Brandon, 1996. Coppola, Vincent. Dragons of God: A Journey through Far-Right America. Atlanta: Longstreet Press, 1996. Corcoran, James. Bitter Harvest: Gordan Kahl and the Posse Comitatus; Murder in the Heartland. New York: Penguin Books, 1990. Crabtree, Harriet. The Christian Life: Traditional Metaphors and Contemporary Theologies. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, Harvard Dissertations in Religion, 1991. . “Onward Christian Soldiers? The Fortunes of a Traditional Christian Symbol in the Modern Age.” Bulletin of the Center for the Study of World Religion (Harvard University) 16:2 (1989–90): 6–27. Dees, Morris, with James Corcoran. Gathering Storm: America’s Militia Threat. New York: HarperCollins, 1996. Diamond, Sara. Roads to Dominion: Right-Wing Movements and Political Power in the United States. New York: Guilford, 1995. . Spiritual Warfare: The Politics of the Christian Right. Boston: South End Press, 1989. Dillon, Martin. God and the Gun: The Church and Irish Terrorism. New York: Routledge, 1997.

Selected Bibliography | 355

Dunlop, John. A Precarious Belonging: Presbyterians and the Conflict in Ireland. Belfast: Blackstaff Press, 1995. Flynn, Kevin, and Gary Gerhardt. The Silent Brotherhood: Inside America’s Racist Underground. New York: Free Press, 1989. Griffin, Leslie, ed. Religion and Politics in the American Milieu. Notre Dame, IN: Office of Policy Studies, University of Notre Dame, 1989. Hoffman, David S. The Oklahoma City Bombing and the Politics of Terror. Venice, CA: Feral House, 1998. . The Web of Hate: Extremists Exploit the Internet. New York: AntiDefamation League, 1996. Hudson, Winthrop S., ed. Nationalism and Religion in America: Concepts of American Identity and Mission. New York: Harper & Row, 1970. Ingersoll, Julie. Building God’s Kingdom: Inside the World of Christian Reconstruction. New York: Oxford University Press, 2015. Jarman, Neil. Material Conflicts: Parades and Visual Displays in Northern Ireland. Oxford: Berg, 1997. Jenkins, Philip. Laying Down the Sword: Why We Can’t Ignore the Bible’s Violent Passages. New York: HarperOne, 2012. Johnson, James Turner. Ideology, Reason, and the Limitation of War: Religious and Secular Concepts, 1200–1740. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1975. Kaplan, Jeffrey. “The Context of American Millenarian Revolutionary Theology: The Case of the ‘Identity Christian’ Church of Israel.” Terrorism and Political Violence 5:1 (Spring 1993): 30–82. . Radical Religion in America: Millenarian Movements from the Far Right to the Children of Noah. Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press, 1997. . “Right-Wing Violence in North America.” In Terror from the Extreme Right, ed. Tore Bjørgo, 44–95. London: Frank Cass, 1995. Lienesch, Michael. Redeeming America: Piety and Politics in the New Christian Right. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1993. Macdonald, Andrew [William Pierce]. The Turner Diaries. Hillsboro, WV: National Vanguard Books, 1978. Repr., Arlington, VA: National Alliance, 1985; New York: Barricade Books, 1996. Marrin, Albert, ed. War and the Christian Conscience: From Augustine to Martin Luther King, Jr. Chicago: Henry Regnery, 1971. Marsden, George M. Fundamentalism and American Culture: The Shaping of Twentieth-Century Evangelicalism, 1870–1925. New York: Oxford University Press, 1980. McVeigh, Joseph. A Wounded Church: Religion, Politics, and Justice in Ireland. Dublin: Mercier Press, 1989. Merton, Thomas. Faith and Violence: Christian Teaching and Christian Practice. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1968. Niebuhr, Reinhold. Why the Christian Church Is Not Pacifist. London: Student Christian Movement Press, 1940. Noble, Kerry. Tabernacle of Hate: Why They Bombed Oklahoma City. Prescott, Ontario: Voyageur, 1998. North, Gary. Backward Christian Soldiers? An Action Manual for Christian Reconstruction. Tyler, TX: Institute for Christian Economics, 1984.

356

|

Selected Bibliography

. Conspiracy: A Biblical View. Fort Worth, TX: Dominion Press, 1986. . The Dominion Covenant: An Economic Commentary on the Bible. Tyler, TX: Institute for Christian Economics, 1987. . Is the World Running Down? Crisis in the Christian Worldview. Tyler, TX: Institute for Christian Economics, 1998. . The Judeo-Christian Tradition: A Guide for the Perplexed. Tyler, TX: Institute for Christian Economics, 1990. . Lone Gunners for Jesus: Letters to Paul J. Hill. Tyler, TX: Institute for Christian Economics, 1994. . Millennialism and Social Theory. Tyler, TX: Institute for Christian Economics, 1990. North, Gary, and Gary DeMar. Christian Reconstruction: What It Is, What It Isn’t. Tyler, TX: Institute for Christian Economics, 1991. O’Brien, Conor Cruise. Ancestral Voices: Religion and Nationalism In Ireland. Dublin: Poolbeg Press, 1994. Paisley, Ian. Sermons on Special Occasions. Belfast: Ambassador Productions, 1996. Paneth, Donald. The Literature of the Apocalypse: Far-Right Voices of Violence. New York: Anti-Defamation League, 1996. Potter, Ralph. War and Moral Discourse. Richmond, VA: John Knox Press, 1969. Ramsey, Paul. The Just War: Force and Political Responsibility. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1968. Rose, Dorothy. The Jubilee: New Voice of the Far Right. New York: AntiDefamation League, 1996. Roy, Joseph T., ed. False Patriots: The Threat of Antigovernment Extremists. Montgomery, AL: Southern Poverty Law Center, Klanwatch Project, 1996. Rushdoony, Rousas John. Christianity and the State. Vallecito, CA: Ross House Books, 1986. . The Institutes of Biblical Law. 2 vols. Nutley, NJ: Craig Press, 1973. Shaeffer, Francis. A Christian Manifesto. Westchester, IL: Crossway Books, in Association with Nims Communication, 1982. Smith, Brent L. Terrorism in America: Pipe Bombs and Pipe Dreams. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1994. Solnin, Amy C. William L. Pierce: Novelist of Hate. New York: Anti-Defamation League, 1995. Stern, Kenneth S. A Force upon the Plain: The American Militia Movement and the Politics of Hate. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1996. Strozier, Charles B. Apocalypse: On the Psychology of Fundamentalism in America. Boston: Beacon Press, 1995. Strozier, Charles B., and Michael Flynn. Two Thousand: Essays on the End. New York: New York University Press, 1997. Suall, Irwin. The Skinhead International: A Worldwide Survey of Neo-Nazi Skinheads. New York: Anti-Defamation League, 1995. Tabor, James D., and Eugene V. Gallagher. Why Waco: Cults and the Battle for Religious Freedom in America. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1995. Turrettini, Unni. The Mystery of the Lone Wolf Killer: Anders Behring Breivik and the Threat of Terror in Plain Sight. New York: Pegasus, 2015.

Selected Bibliography | 357

Walter, Jess. Every Knee Shall Bow: The Truth and Tragedy of Ruby Ridge and the Randy Weaver Family. New York: HarperCollins, 1995. Whitsel, Brad. “The Turner Diaries and Cosmotheism: William Pierce’s Theology of Revolution.” Nova Religio: The Journal of Alternative and Emergent Religions 1:2 (April 1998): 183–97. Wills, Garry. Under God: Religion and American Politics. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1990. Wright, Stuart A., ed. Armageddon in Waco: Critical Perspectives on the Branch Davidian Conflict. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1995. Zeskind, Leonard. The “Christian Identity” Movement: Analyzing Its Theological Rationalization for Racist and Anti-Semitic Violence. New York: Division of Church and Society of the National Council of Churches of Christ in the U.S.A., 1986.

jewish violence Agus, Jacob B. Banner of Jerusalem: The Life, Times, and Thought of Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kuk. New York: Bloch, 1946. Aran, Gideon. Accidental Monsters and the Cult of Dismembered Limbs: A Study of Suicide Terrorism. Forthcoming. . “From Religious Zionism to Zionist Religion: The Roots of Gush Emunim.” In Studies in Contemporary Jewry, ed. Peter Medding, 2: 221–34. New York: Oxford University Press, 1986. . “Jewish Zionist Fundamentalism: The Bloc of the Faithful in Israel (Gush Emunim).” In Fundamentalism Observed, ed. Martin E. Marty and R. Scott Appleby, 272–86. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1991. Baron, Salo, George S. Wise, and Lenn Goodman, eds. Violence and Defense in the Jewish Experience. Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society of America, 1977. Biale, David. Power and Powerlessness in Jewish History. New York: Schocken Books, 1987. Cromer, Gerald. The Debate about Kahanism in Israeli Society, 1984–1988. Occasional Papers no. 3. New York: Harry Frank Guggenheim Foundation, 1988. Ettinger, Meir. “Meir Ettinger, in His Own Words: The Delicate Bridges.” Hakol HaYahudi (English version), August 11, 2015, www.hakolhayehudi.com/inthe-words-of-meir-ettinger-the-delicate-bridges (accessed October 6, 2016). Frankel, Jonathan, ed. Jews and Messianism in the Modern Era: Metaphor and Meaning. Vol. 7 of Studies in Contemporary Jewry. New York: Oxford University Press; and Jerusalem: Institute of Contemporary Jewry, Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 1991. Friedman, Robert. The False Prophet: Rabbi Meir Kahane; From FBI Informant to Knesset Member. London: Faber and Faber, 1990. . Zealots for Zion: Inside Israel’s West Bank Movement. New York: Random House, 1992. Friedland, Roger, and Richard Hecht. To Rule Jerusalem. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996.

358

|

Selected Bibliography

Gelvin, James. The Israel-Palestine Conflict: One Hundred Years of War. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2016. Grossman, David. The Yellow Wind. Trans. Haim Watzman from the Hebrew. New York: Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 1988. Halevi, Yossi Klein. “Kahane’s Murderous Legacy.” Jerusalem Report, March 24, 1994, 12–18. . “Torn between God and Country.” Jerusalem Report, August 10, 1995, 12–17. Hoffman, Bruce. Anonymous Soldiers: The Struggle for Israel, 1917–1947. New York: Knopf, 2015. Kahane, Meir. Listen World, Listen Jew. Jerusalem: Institute of the Jewish Idea, 1978. . They Must Go. Jerusalem: Institute of the Jewish Idea, 1981. Kotler, Yair. Heil Kahane. New York: Adama Books, 1986. Lustick, Ian S. For the Land and the Lord: Jewish Fundamentalism in Israel. New York: Council on Foreign Relations, 1989. Mergui, Raphael, and Philippe Simonnot. Israel’s Ayatollahs: Meir Kahane and the Far Right in Israel. Originally published as Meir Kahane: Le rabbin qui fait peur aux juifs. Lausanne, Switzerland: Éditions Pierre-Marcel Favre, 1985. Repr., London: Saqi Books, 1987. Metzger, Alter B. Z. Rabbi Kook’s Philosophy of Repentance: A Translation of “Orot Ha-Teshuvah.” Studies in Torah Judaism no. 11. New York: Yeshiva University Press, 1968. Nasr, Kameel B. Arab and Israeli Terrorism: The Causes and Effects of Political Violence. Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 1997. Pappe, Ilan. The Ethnic Cleansing of Palestine. New York: Oneworld Publications, 2007. Paz, Reuven. Ha-’imna ha-islamit umichma’utah ‘iyyon rechoni utargum (The Covenant of the Islamicists and Its Significance—Analysis and Translation). Tel Aviv: Dayan Center, Tel Aviv University, 1988. Sprinzak, Ehud. The Ascendance of Israel’s Radical Right. New York: Oxford University Press, 1991. . Brother against Brother: Violence and Extremism in Israeli Politics from Altalena to the Rabin Assasination. New York: Free Press, 1999. . Gush Emunim: The Politics of Zionist Fundamentalism in Israel. New York: American Jewish Committee, 1986. Weisburd, David. Jewish Settler Violence: Deviance as Social Reaction. University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1989. Wilson, Nigel. “Duma Attack: ‘Israeli Settlers Are Burning Everything.’” AlJazeera, August 2, 2015. Zadka, Saul. Blood in Zion: How Jewish Guerrillas Drove the British out of Palestine. London: Brassey’s, 1995.

muslim violence Abu-Amr, Ziad. Islamic Fundamentalism in the West Bank and Gaza: Muslim Brotherhood and Islamic Jihad. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1994.

Selected Bibliography | 359

Ahmad, Mumtaz. “Islamic Fundamentalism in South Asia: The Jamaat-i-Islami and the Tablighi Jamaat.” In Fundamentalisms Observed, ed. Martin E. Marty and R. Scott Appleby, 457–530. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1991. Amarsingam, Amarnath. “What Twitter Really Means for Islamic State Supporters.” War on the Rocks, an online news and commentary website, posted on December 30, 2015, http://warontherocks.com/2015/12/what-twitterreally-means-for-islamic-state-supporters (accessed December 30, 2015). Argentino, Marc-André. “Terrorism on the Internet: The Use of Social Media by the Islamic State.” Unpublished paper, 2016. Arjomand, Said Amir, ed. From Nationalism to Revolutionary Islam. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1984. , ed. Political Dimensions of Religion. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1993. Asad, Talal. On Suicide Bombing. New York: Columbia University Press, 2007. Aslan, Reza. “Global Jihadism as a Transnational Social Movement: A Theoretical Framework.” Ph. D. diss., Department of Sociology, University of California, Santa Barbara, 2009. Benjamin, Daniel, and Steven Simon. The Age of Sacred Terror: Radical Islam’s War against America. New York: Random House Trade Paperbacks, 2003. Comolli, Virginia. Boko Haram: Nigeria’s Islamist Insurgency. London: Hurst, 2015. Dahlby, Tracy. Allah’s Torch: A Report from behind the Scenes in Asia’s War on Terror. New York: William Morrow, 2005 Dwyer, James, et al. Two Seconds under the World: Terror Comes to America; The Conspiracy behind the World Trade Center Bombing. New York: Crown, 1994. Esposito, John. Unholy War: Terror in the Name of Islam New York. Oxford University Press, 2003. Friedman, Robert I. Sheik Abdel Rahman, the World Trade Center Bombing and the CIA. Westfield, NJ: Open Media, 1993. Gerges, Fawaz. The Rise and Fall of Al-Qaeda. New York: Oxford, 2014. Ghamari-Tabrizi, Behrooz. Islam and Dissent in Postrevolutionary Iran: Abdolkarim Soroush, Religious Politics and Democratic Reform. International Library of Iranian Studies. London: Taurus, 2008. Haddad, Yvonne V. “Sayyid Qutb: Ideologue of Islamic Revival.” In Voices of Resurgent Islam, ed. John L. Esposito. New York: Oxford University Press, 1983. Heikal, Mohammed. Autumn of Fury: The Assassination of Sadat. London: Andre Deutsch, 1983. Hiro, Dilip. Holy Wars: The Rise of Islamic Fundamentalism. New York: Routledge, 1989. Humphreys, R. Stephen. Between Memories and Desire: The Middle East in a Troubled Age. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999. Hunter, Shireen T., ed. The Politics of Islamic Revivalism: Diversity and Unity. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1988.

360

|

Selected Bibliography

Jansen, Johannes J. G. The Neglected Duty: The Creed of Sadat’s Assassins and Islamic Resurgence in the Middle East. New York: Macmillan, 1986. Juergensmeyer, Mark. “How ISIS Will End.” Cairo Review of Global Affairs (Fall 2016), www.thecairoreview.com/essays/how-isis-will-end (accessed November 13, 2016). . “ ‘What Kind of Religion is That?’ Talking with Refugees from ISIS.” Religion Dispatches, September 4, 2015. Keddie, Nikki R., ed. Religion and Politics in Iran: Shi’ism from Quietism to Revolution. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1983. Kelsay, John. Islam and War: A Study in Comparative Ethics. Louisville, KY: Westminster / John Knox Press, 1993. Kepel, Gilles. Jihad: The Trail of Political Islam. Cambridge: Belnap Press, 2003. . The Revenge of God: The Resurgence of Islam, Christianity and Judaism in the Modern World. Trans. Alan Braley. University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1994. Khomeini, Imam [Ayatollah]. Islam and Revolution: Writings and Declarations. Trans. and annotated by Hamid Algar. Berkeley, CA: Mizan Press, 1981. Repr., London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1985. Kippenberg, Hans, and Tilman Seidensticker. 9/11 Handbook: Annotated Translation and Interpretation of the Attackers’ Spiritual Manual. New York: Equinox Publishing, 2006. Kramer, Martin, ed. Shi’ism: Resistance and Revolution. Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1987. Lawrence, Bruce B., ed. Messages to the World: The Statements of Osama bin Laden. London: Verso, 2005. . Shattering the Myth: Islam beyond Violence. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1998. Lean, Nathan, and John Esposito, The Islamophobia Industry: How the Right Manufactures Fear of Muslims. New York: Pluto Press, 2012. Legrain, Jean-Francois. “A Defining Moment: Palestinian Islamic Fundamentalism.” In Islamic Fundamentalisms and the Gulf Crisis, ed. James P. Piscatori, 221–34. Chicago: Fundamentalism Project, American Academy of Arts and Sciences, 1991. Marsden, Peter. The Taliban: War, Religion, and the New World Order in Afghanistan. London: Oxford University Press, 1998.a Martin, Richard C. “Religious Violence in Islam: Towards an Understanding of the Discourse on Jihad in Modern Egypt.” In Contemporary Research on Terrorism, ed. Paul Wilkinson and A. M. Stewart, 87–99. Aberdeen: Aberdeen University Press, 1987. McCants, William. The ISIS Apocalypse: The History, Strategy, and Doomsday Vision of the Islamic State. New York: St Martin’s Press, 2015. Merari, Ariel, and Shlomi Elad. The International Dimension of Palestinian Terrorism. Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1993. Mitchell, Richard P. The Society of the Muslim Brothers. London: Oxford University Press, 1969. Morgan, George, and Scott Poynting, eds. Global Islamophobia: Muslims and Moral Panic in the West. Burlington, VT. Ashgate Publishing, 2012.

Selected Bibliography | 361

Munson, Henry, Jr. Islam and Revolution in the Middle East. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1988. Nasr, Kameel B. Arab and Israeli Terrorism: The Causes and Effects of Political Violence. Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 1997. Nasr, Seyyed Vali Reza. The Vanguard of the Islamic Revolution: The Jama’at-i Islami of Pakistan. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994. O’Balance, Edgar. Islamic Fundamentalist Terrorism, 1979–95: The Iranian Connection. New York: New York University Press, 1997. Oliver, Anne Marie, and Paul Steinberg. The Road to Martyrs’ Square: A Journey into the World of the Suicide Bomber. New York: Oxford University Press, 2005. Peters, Rudolph. Islam and Colonialism: The Doctrine of Jihad in Modern History. The Hague: Mouton, 1979. Piscatori, James P. Islam in the Political Process. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983. , ed. Islamic Fundamentalisms and the Gulf Crisis. Chicago: Fundamentalism Project, American Academy of Arts and Sciences, 1991. Qutb, Sayyid. This Religion of Islam (Hadha ‘d-Din). Trans. Islamdust. Palo Alto, CA: Al-Manar Press, 1967. Rashid, Ahmed. Taliban: Militant Islam, Oil, and Fundamentalism in Central Asia. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2010. Rekhess, Elie. “The Iranian Impact on the Islamic Jihad Movement in the Gaza Strip.” In The Iranian Revolution and the Muslim World, ed. David Menashri, 123–35. Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1990. Roberts, Hugh. “Radical Islamism and the Dilemma of Algerian Nationalism: The Embattled Arians of Algiers.” Third World Quarterly 10:2 (April 1988): 567–75. Roy, Olivier. Globalized Islam: The Search for a New Ummah. New York: Columbia University Press, 2006. Sheikh, Mona Kanwal. Guardians of God: Understanding the Religious Violence of the Pakistan Taliban. Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2016. Sivan, Emmanuel. “The Islamic Resurgence: Civil Society Strikes Back.” Journal of Contemporary History (London) 25 (1990): 353–64. . Radical Islam: Medieval Theology and Modern Politics. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1985. Sivan, Emmanuel, and Menachem Friedman, eds. Religious Radicalism and Politics in the Middle East. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1990. Stalinsky, Steven. Faces of Death: On Twitter, Jihadis Distribute Photos of “Martyrs.” Middle East Media Research Institute. Inquiry and Analysis Series Report no. 939, February 22, 2013. Stern, Jessica, and J. M. Berger. ISIS: The State of Terror. New York: Ecco, 2015. Subcommittee on Crime and Criminal Justice, Committee on the Judiciary, United States Congress. World Trade Center Bombing: Terror Hits Home. Hearing before the subcommittee. Washington, DC: U.S. Government Printing Office, 1994.

362

|

Selected Bibliography

Taheri, Amir. Holy Terror: Inside the World of Islamic Terrorism. Bethesda, MD: Alder and Alder, 1987. Tibi, Bassam. The Challenge of Fundamentalism: Political Islam and the New World Disorder. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998. Weiss, Michael, and Hassan Hassan. ISIS: Inside the Army of Terror. New York: Regan Arts, 2015 Wendell, Charles, trans. Five Tracts of Hasan al-Banna (1906–1949). Berkeley: University of California Press, 1978. Winter, Charlie. The Virtual “Caliphate”: Understanding Islamic State’s Propaganda Strategy. London: Quilliam Foundation, July 2015. Wood, Graeme. “The Three Types of People Who Fight for ISIS.” New Republic, September 10, 2014. Wright, Robin. The Last Great Revolution: Turmoil and Transformation in Iran. New York: Simon & Schuster, 2000. . Sacred Rage: The Wrath of Militant Islam. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1985.

hindu and sikh violence Afzal, Muhammad Mujeeb. Bharatiya Janata Party and the Indian Muslims. Karachi: Oxford University Press, 2014. Akbar, M. J. Riot after Riot: Reports on Case and Communal Violence in India. New Delhi: Penguin Books, 1988. Ashis, Nandy. “The Discrete Charm of Indian Terrorism.” In The Savage Freud and Other Essays. New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1995. Repr., Mark Juergensmeyer and Margo Kitts, eds, Princeton Readings in Religion and Violence (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2011). Banerjee, Sikata. Warriors in Politics: Hindu Nationalism, Violence, and the Shiv Sena in India. Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1999. Basu, Amrita. Violent Conjunctures in Democratic India. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015. Berenshot, Ward. Riot Politics: Hindu Muslim Violence and the Indian State. London: C. Hurst, 2012. Bhatt, Chetan. Hindu Nationalism: Origins, Ideologies and Modern Myths. Oxford: Berg, 2001. Bhindranwale, Jarnail Singh. “Address to the Sikh Congregation.” Transcript of a sermon given in the Golden Temple in November 1983. Trans. Ranbir Singh Sandhu, April 1985. Dublin, OH: Sikh Religious and Educational Trust, 1985. Bhindranwale, Sant Jarnail Singh Khalsa and Ranbir Singh Sandhu (trans.), Struggle for Justice: Sermons and Speeches of Sant Jarnail Singh Khalsa Bhindranwale. Dublin OH: Sikh Educational and Religious Foundation, 2000. . “Two Lectures.” Given on July 19 and September 20, 1983, at the Sikh Religious and Educational Trust, Dublin, OH. Trans. from the videotaped originals by Ranbir Singh Sandhu. Bjørkman, James W., ed. Fundamentalism, Revivalists, and Violence in South Asia. Riverdale, MD: Riverdale, 1986.

Selected Bibliography | 363

Bunsha, Dionne. Scarred: Experiments With Violence In Gujarat. New Delhi: Penguin Books, 2005. Brass, Paul R. The Production of Hindu-Muslim Violence in Contemporary India. Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2005. Chopra, V. D., R. K. Mishra, and Nirmal Singh. Agony of Punjab. New Delhi: Patriot, 1984. Citizens for Democracy. Oppression in Punjab. Columbus, OH: Sikh Religious and Educational Trust, 1985. Das, Veena, ed. Mirrors of Violence: Communities, Riots and Survivors in South Asia. Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1990. Embree, Ainslie. Utopias in Conflict: Religion and Nationalism in Modern India. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990. Engineer, Asgharali. The Gujarat Carnage. Delhi: Orient Blackswan, 2003. Ganguly, Rajat, and Ian Macduffi, eds. Ethnic Conflict and Secessionism in South and Southeast Asia: Causes, Dynamics, Solutions. New Delhi: Sage Publications, 2003. Ganguly, Sumit. The Crisis in Kashmir: Portraits of War, Hopes of Peace. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997 Ghassem-Fachandi, Parvis. Pogrom in Gujarat: Hindu Nationalism and AntiMuslim Violence in India. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2012. Gupta, Lina. “Indian Secularism and the Problem of the Sikhs.” In Religion and Political Power, ed. Gustavo Benavides and M. W. Daly. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1989. Gupta, N. L., ed. Communal Riots. Delhi: Gyan Publishing House, 2000. Hansen, Thomas Blom. The Saffron Wave: Democracy and Hindu Nationalism in Modern India. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1999. Hawley, John Stratton, ed. Sati, the Blessing and the Curse: The Burning of Wives in India. New York: Oxford University Press, 1994. Houben, Jan E. M., and Karel R. Van Kooij. Violence Denied: Violence, NonViolence and the Rationalization of Violence in South Asian Cultural History. Boston: Brill, 1999. Jaffrelot, Christophe. The Hindu Nationalist Movement in India. New York: Columbia University Press, 1993. . Religion, Caste and Politics in India. New York: Columbia University Press, 2011. Jalandhary, Surjeet, ed. Bhindranwale Sant. Jalandhar, India: Punjab Pocket Books, n.d. [ca. 1985]. Jeffrey, Robin. What’s Happening to India? Punjab, Ethnic Conflict, Mrs. Gandhi’s Death and the Test for Federalism. New York: Holmes and Meier, 1986. Juergensmeyer, Mark. “From Bhindranwale to Bin Laden: A Search for Understanding Religious Violence.” In Religion and Conflict in Asia: Disrupting Violence, ed. Linell Cady and Shell Simon, 21–30. London: Routledge, Taylor and Francis Group, 2006. . “Gandhi vs Terrorism.” Daedalus, December 27, 2005. . Gandhi’s Way: A Handbook of Conflict Resolution. Rev. ed. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005.

364

|

Selected Bibliography

Juergensmeyer, Mark, and N. Gerald Barrier, eds. Sikh Studies: Comparative Perspectives on Changing Tradition. Berkeley Religious Studies Series no. 1. Berkeley, CA: Graduate Theological Union, 1979. Kapur, Rajiv A. Sikh Separatism: The Politics of Faith. London: Allen & Unwin, 1986. Kashmeri, Zuhair, and Brian McAndrew. Soft Target: How the Indian Intelligence Service Penetrated Canada. Toronto: J. Lorimer, 1989. Kaur, Amarjit. The Punjab Story. New Delhi: Roli Books International, 1984. Kaur, Ravinder, ed. Religion, Violence, and Political Mobilisation in South Asia. New Delhi: Sage Publications, 2005. Khurshid, Salman. Beyond Terrorism: New Hope for Kashmir. New Delhi: UBS, 1994. Kinsley, David. The Sword and the Flute: Kali and Krsna, Dark Visions of the Terrible and the Sublime in Hindu Mythology. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1975. Lal, Vinay, ed. Political Hinduism: The Religious Imagination in Public Spheres. Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2009. Madan, T. N. “The Double-Edged Sword: Fundamentalism and the Sikh Religious Tradition.” In Fundamentalisms Observed, ed. Martin E. Marty and R. Scott Appleby, 345–58. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1991. Mahmood, Cynthia Keppley. Fighting for Faith and Nation: Dialogues with Sikh Militants. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1996. Mann, Gurinder Singh. The Making of Sikh Scripture. New York: Oxford University Press, 2001. . “Sikh Rebellion and the Hindu Concept of Order.” Asian Survey 29:3 (1989): 326–40. Marhwah, Ved. Uncivil Wars: Pathology of Terrorism in India. New Delhi: Indus (HarperCollins India), 1995. McLeod, W. H. Who Is a Sikh? The Problem of Sikh Identity. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1989. Morgan, George, and Scott Poynting, eds. Global Islamophobia: Muslims and Moral Panic in the West. Farnham, Surrey; Burlington, VT: Ashgate Publishing, ca. 2012. Mukherjee, Bharati, and Clark Blaise. The Sorrow and the Terror: The Haunting Legacy of the Air India Tragedy. Markham, Ontario: Viking Press, 1987. Mukhoty, Gobinda, and Rajni Kothari et al. Who Are the Guilty? Report of a Joint Inquiry into the Causes and Impact of the Riots in Delhi from 31 October to 10 November. Delhi: People’s Union for Democratic Rights and People’s Union for Civil Liberties, 1984. Mulgrew, Ian. Unholy Terror: The Sikhs and International Terrorism. Toronto: Key Porter Books, 1988. Nandy, Ashis. “An Anti-Secularist Manifesto.” In Gandhi’s Significance for Today: The Elusive Legacy, ed. John Hick and Lamont C. Hempel, 118–30. London: Macmillan, 1989. . The Intimate Enemy: Loss and Recovery of Self under Colonialism. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1983.

Selected Bibliography | 365

Nayar, Kuldip, and Khushwant Singh. Tragedy of Punjab: Operation Bluestar and After. New Delhi: Vision Books, 1984. Nussbaum, Martha. The Clash Within: Democracy, Religious Violence, and India’s Future. Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press, 2009. Oberoi, Harjot Singh. “Sikh Fundamentalism: Translating History into Theory.” In Fundamentalisms and the State, ed. Martin E. Marty and R. Scott Appleby, 356–85. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1993. O’Brien, Conor Cruise. “Holy War against India.” Atlantic 262 (August 1988), 78–86. O’Connell, Joseph T., Milton Israel, and Willard G. Oxtoby, eds. Sikh History and Religion in the Twentieth Century. Toronto: Centre for South Asian Studies, University of Toronto, 1988. O’Flaherty, Wendy Doniger. Tales of Sex and Violence: Folklore, Sacrifice, and Danger in the Jaiminiya Brahmana. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1984. Pandey, Gyanendra. Remembering Partition: Violence, Nationalism, and History in India. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press Foundation Books, 2005. Pettigrew, Joyce. “In Search of a New Kingdom of Lahore.” Pacific Affairs 60:1 (Spring 1987): 78–92. . Martyrdom and Political Resistance: Essays from Asia and Europe. Amsterdam: VU University Press, 1997. . The Sikhs of the Punjab: Unheard Voice of State and Guerrilla Violence. Atlantic Highlands, NJ: Zed Books, 1995. Premdas, Ralph R., S. W. R. de A. Samarasinghe, and Alan B. Anderson, eds. Secessionist Movements in Comparative Perspective. London: Pinter, 1990. Puri, Harish, Paramjit S. Judge, and Jagroop S. Sekhon. “Terrorism in Punjab: Understanding Reality at the Grass-Roots Level.” Guru Nanak Journal of Sociology 18:1 (1997): 5–12. Sarin, Ritu. The Assassination of Indira Gandhi. New Delhi: Penguin Books, 1990. Shani, Ornit. Communalism, Caste and Hindu Nationalism: The Violence in Gujarat. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007. Singh, Amrik, ed. Punjab in Indian Politics: Issues and Trends. New Delhi: Ajanta Books, 1985. Singh, Jagtar. Khalistan Struggle: A Non-Movement. Delhi: Aakar Books, 2011. Singh, Mohinder. “Gandhi, Sikhs, and Non-Violence.” Khera: The Journal of Religious Understanding 9:3 (July–September 1990): 72–87. Tambiah, Stanley J. Leveling Crowds: Ethnonationalist Conflicts and Collective Violence in South Asia. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1996. Tully, Mark, and Satish Jacob. Amritsar: Mrs. Gandhi’s Last Battle. London: Pan Books, 1985. van der Veer, Peter. Religious Nationalism: Hindus and Muslims in India. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994. Wallace, Paul, and Surendra Chopra, eds. Political Dynamics and Crisis in Punjab. Amritsar, Punjab: Guru Nanak Dev University Press, 1988. Varshney, Ashutosh. Ethnic Conflict and Civic Life: Hindus and Muslims in India. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2002.

366

|

Selected Bibliography

buddhist violence Abeysekere, Ananda. Colors of the Robe: Religion, Identity, and Difference. Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 2002. . “The Saffron Army, Violence, Terror(ism): Buddhism, Identity and Difference in Sri Lanka.” Numen 48:1. 2001. Asahara, Shoko. Beyond Life and Death. Shizuoka, Japan: Aum, 1992. . Declaring Myself the Christ: Disclosing the True Meanings of Jesus Christ’s Gospel. Shizuoka, Japan: Aum, 1992. . Disaster Approaches the Land of the Rising Sun: Shoko Asahara’s Apocalyptic Predictions. Trans. and ed. Aum Translation Committee. Shizuoka, Japan: Aum, 1995. Bartholomeusz, Tessa. In Defense of Dharma : Just-war Ideology in Buddhist Sri Lanka. London; New York: Routledge Curzon, 2002. Brackett, D. W. Holy Terror: Armageddon in Tokyo. New York: Weatherhill, 1996. Deegalle, Mahinda. Buddhism, Conflict and Violence in Modern Sri Lanka. London: Routledge, 2009. Hardacre, Helen. Aum Shinrikyo and the Japanese Media: The Pied Piper Meets the Lamb of God. New York: East Asian Institute Report, Columbia University, 1995. Ibrahim, Azeem. The Rohingyas: Inside Myanmar’s Hidden Genocide. London: Hurst, 2015. Jerryson, Michael. Buddhist Fury: Religion and Violence in Southern Thailand. New York: Oxford University Press, 2011. Jerryson, Michael, and Mark Juergensmeyer, eds. Buddhist Warfare. New York: Oxford University Press, 2010. Kapferer, Bruce. Legends of People, Myths of State: Violence, Intolerance, and Political Culture in Sri Lanka and Australia. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1988. Kaplan, David E., and Andrew Marshall. The Cult at the End of the World: The Terrifying Story of the Aum Doomsday Cult. New York: Crown, 1996. Keyes, Charles. “Millennialism, Theravada Buddhism, and Thai Society.” Journal of Asian Studies 36 (1977): 53–67. Kitabatake, Kiyoyasu. “Aum Shinrikyo: Society Begets an Aberration.” Japan Quarterly 42:4 (1995): 376–83. Manor, James. “Organizational Weakness and the Rise of Sinhalese Buddhist Extremism.” In Accounting for Fundamentalisms: The Dynamic Character of Movements, ed. Martin E. Marty and R. Scott Appleby, 347–60. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994. May, John D’Arcy. Transcendence and Violence: The Encounter of Buddhist, Christian and Primal Traditions. New York: Continuum, 2003. Nakamura, Hajime. “Violence and Nonviolence in Buddhism.” In Violence and Aggression in the History of Ideas, ed. Philip P. Wiener and John Fisher, 173–86. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1974. Reader, Ian. A Poisonous Cocktail? Aum Shinrikyo’s Path to Violence. Copenhagen: Nordic Institute of Asian Studies, 1996.

Selected Bibliography | 367

Shimazono, Susumu. Aum Shinrikyo no kiseki. Booklet no. 379. Tokyo: Iwanami, 1995. .“The Expansion of Japan’s New Religions into Foreign Cultures.” In Religion and Society in Modern Japan, ed. M. Mullins, S. Shimazono, and P. Swanson, 273–300. Berkeley: Asian Humanities Press, 1993. .“In the Wake of Aum.” Japanese Journal of Religious Studies 22:3–4 (1995): 381–415. Condensed version of Shimazono, Aum Shinrikyo no kiseki, trans. Robert Kisala. . “New ‘New Religions’ and This World: Religious Movements in Japan after the 1970s and Their Beliefs about Salvation.” Social Compass 42:2 (1995): 193–202. Tambiah, Stanley Jeyaraja. Buddhism Betrayed? Religion, Politics, and Violence in Sri Lanka. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992. . Leveling Crowds: Ethnonationalist Conflicts and Collective Violence in South Asia. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1996. . Sri Lanka: Ethnic Fratricide and the Dismantling of Democracy. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1991. Tikhonov, Vladimir, and Torkel Brekke. Buddhism and Violence: Militarism and Buddhism in Modern Asia. London: Routledge, 2015. Walton, Matthew J., and Susan Hayward. Contesting Buddhist Narratives: Democratization, Nationalism, and Communal Violence in Myanmar. Honolulu: East West Center, 2014. Yoshino, Kosaku. Cultural Nationalism in Contemporary Japan. London: Routledge, 1992.

Index

Abaaoud, Abdelhamid, 242 Abbas, Mahmoud, 97–98 Abdulmatallab, Umar Farouk (“underwear bomber”), 161 abortion clinic attacks, 8, 11; in Alabama and Georgia, 2, 24; by Army of God, 30; by Bray, 29–33; burning of, 150; Christian militants support of, 13, 19; in Florida, 10; by Griffin, 171; by Hill, 10, 30, 32, 38, 171–72, 208; Nuremberg Files and, 178; by Roeder, 31; by Shannon, 30–31. See also anti-abortion activism Abouhalima, Mahmud, fig. 14, 14, 76–87; Afghanistan and, 84; on America as worldwide enemy, 221, 223; on committing terrorist acts, 154, 155; common theme in story of, 149; Germany residency, 83; on indiscriminate killings by U.S., 82; on Islam and political order, 82–83; justifications for violence and, 227; Kahane’s assassination and, 79; loathing for secular Muslims, 220; media consciousness of, 175–76; on media misrepresentation, 175; Mubarak and, 262; mujahideen service in Afghanistan, 233–34; Nosair and, 79; on the Oklahoma City bombing, 81, 82, 180, 221–22; Rahman and, 79, 83, 84–86, 180; religious beliefs, influences, motivations of,

83–84, 276–77, 278; rumored murder of moderate Muslim leader, 258; secular nationalism and, 83, 84, 86–87, 102, 175, 220, 298; self-image of, 159, 277; sexuality and, 255; U.S. prosecution of, 86–87; U.S. residency, 83–84; warning of “a war going on,” 185; World Trade Center bombing and, 2, 11, 65, 66–67, 78–87, 276 Abrahamic/non-Abrahamic faiths, 186 absolutism, 193, 270, 292 Abu Bakr mosque (Brooklyn, NY), 86 accommodation with terrorists, 290–92 Adams, Gerry, 40–42, 261, 295 Advice Centers (Sinn Féin), 46 Afghanistan: Abouhalima and, 84; Al-Qaeda members in, 181; bacha bazi (boy play) in, 252; bin Laden’s cave headquarters in, 77, 256; comparison of terrorist attacks in, 221; large incidents of terrorism in, 221; terrorist sympathizers, 10; U.S. drone strikes in, 285; U.S. invasion of, 4, 285; war on terror and, 284. See also Taliban Africa: Al-Qaeda in the Mahgreb in, 78; attacks on American embassies, 2, 150, 176, 259; Hutus/Tutsis violence in, 4 Agag (Amalekite king), 169 The Age of Terrorism (Laquer), 12–13 Agonshu spiritual movement (Japan), 137, 212

369

370

|

Index

ahimsa (doctrine of nonviolence), 142 Ahmedabad Municipal Corporation, 108 Aho, James, 13, 190, 213 Air India airlines attack, 152, 160, 162, 179 airport/airline attacks: Air India airlines, 152, 160, 162, 179; American Airlines, 161, 162, 164; El Al Airlines attack, 160; Pan American airlines, 160, 162, 165, 179, 287–89; Philippine Airlines, 161; Russian airbus, 160, 179. See also hijackings Aitboulahcen, Hasna, 242 Akali Dal reform movement, 123 Akali Party, 113, 115, 116, 118, 250–51 al-Adnani, Abu Muhammad, 230 al-Almani, Abu Mus’ab, 206–7 Al-Anbar Province (Iraq), 71, 72–73 Al-Aqsa Mosque (Jerusalem) incident, 59, 92, 95 al-Assad, Bashar, 74 al-Australi, Abu al-Walid, 206 al-Awlaki, Anwar, 161 Al-Azhar theological school, 85, 262 al-Baghdadi, Abu Bakr (caliph of ISIS), fig. 19, 71–76; common theme in story of, 149, 278; cosmic war and, 192, 284; on empowerment in acts of terror, 230–31; praise for mujahideen, 266; sexuality and, 255 Al-Faridah al-Gha’ibah (The Neglected Duty) (Faraj), 100 Al-Gamaa-i lslamiya (Egypt), 83, 85, 95, 102 Al-Jazeera television network, 181, 264, 266, 286 al-Jazrawi, Abu Zaid, 252 al-Kubaisi, Abdul Salam, fig. 18 al-Mahgoub, Rifaat, 220 al-Maliki, Nouri, 73 al-Marsi, Abu Ayyub, 72 Al-Nusra Front (Syria), 73 Al-Qaeda, 8; on America as worldwide enemy, 221; attitude toward globalization, 77, 275; bin Laden’s leadership of, fig. 17; Bush’s “war on terror” and, 284; discomfort with Zarqawi, 72; global attacks by, 181, 284; imagined wars of, 183; limited religious credentials of leaders, 76–77; multinational membership, 181; name origins, 78; nightclub bombings, 2–3; self-branding by, 78; September 11, 2001 terrorist attacks, fig. 1, 2, 10, 77, 80, 82, 150, 152, 154, 155, 158, 179, 183, 217, 221, 238, 284,

294; Taliban support of, 274; U.S. assault on, 285; Wirathu on atrocities of, 130; World Trade Center bombing, 11, 13, 79, 157–58. See also bin Laden, Osama Al-Qaeda in Iraq (AQI): cosmic warfare and, 202; elimination of, 72–73; al-Marsi’s leadership of, 72; Zarqawi’s creation of, 72 Al-Qaeda in the Mahgreb in Africa, 78 Al-Qaeda in Yemen, 78 Al-Salam mosque (New Jersey), 85, 98 al-Tamimi, As’ad Bayud, 95 al-Zarqawi, Abu Musab: anti- Shi’a stance of, 72; beheadings by, 72; creation of Al-Qaeda in Iraq, 72, 76 al-Zawahiri, Ayman, 73, 77 Albright, Madeleine, 283 Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building (Oklahoma City). See Oklahoma City bombing Algeria: Al-Qaeda members in, 181; attacks by Islamic Salvation Front, 3; efforts at eliminating Muslim militants, 286–87; Islamic Resistance in, 236; Muslim politicians in, 11; terrorist organizations in, 13 Algerian Islamic activists, 2 Ali, Siddig, 86 Alkifah Afghan Refugee Center (Brooklyn, NY), 84–85 Amal sect (Lebanon), 212 Amarsingam, Amarnath, 75–76 Amelek people, 191 American Airlines attack, 161, 162, 164 American-Arab Anti-Discrimination Committee, 54 American Identity compound, 24 American Nazi Party, 25 American Patriot movement, 183 American Revolution, 168 America (U.S.) as enemy, 221–25 Amir, Yigal, 10, 54, 56–61, 153 Amtrak train sabotage (Phoenix, Arizona), 163 anarchists, 269 anarchy/anarchists, 127, 189, 269, 282 Anspach, Mark, 293–94 anti-abortion activism: by Army of God, 30; of Bray, fig. 5., 29–33, 39–40, 170–72, 188–89; by Defensive Action movement, 30, 280; of Hill, 10, 30, 32, 38, 172, 208; Operation Rescue and, 36; by Shannon, 30–31

Index anti-abortion activism (U.S.), 10, 11 antidisestablishmentarianism, 38 anti-Semitism: Bray and, 39; of Ford, 27; Jewish Defense League and, 52; stereotyping and, 217 Aoun, Michael, 263–64 Arab Spring movement, 222, 262, 281, 293 Arab Sunnis, 72, 73 Arafat, Yasir: blame of, for terrorism, 292; Hamas and, 292; homosexuality and, 254; justification for violence and, 169; Oslo Peace Accord and, 59; peace process and, 57, 93, 94, 258, 295; Rantisi and, 194; sexuality issues, 246, 254. See also Palestinian Authority Argentino, Marc-André, 76 Arkoun, Mohammed, 293 Armageddon: Aum Shinrikyo and, 138–41, 145, 173, 189, 214; Christian right and, 216 Armstrong, Herbert, 24 Armstrong, Karen, 268 Army of God (AOG) movement, 30 Aryan Nations: Christian Identity and, 24, 26, 27–28; compound, 26, 27–28; cosmic war and, 184–85; dehumanization of enemies by, 216; financial support for, 28–29; Idaho compound, 26, 27, 28, 249, 262; male membership, 249; Matthews’ leadership of, 216; Montana compound, 262; O.J. Simpson as hero to, 220; same-sex intimacy and, 249; 10 percent solution offered by, 262; use of websites, 178; website of, 178 Asahara, Shoko: arrest of, fig. 25, 135, 136, 144, 146; devotion of followers to, 134, 136; justifications for violence and, 143, 145; leadership of Aum Shinrikyo, 134–41, 143–46; mystical beliefs of, 137–38; prophecies of, 138–41, 145, 173 Asian immigrants, 237 Aslan, Reza, 78 assassination: of al-Mahgoub, 220; of Bandaranaike, 143; of Beant Singh, 13, 109, 110, 111–12, 116, 117, 126–27, 156, 234, 258; of Indira Gandhi, 13, 110–12, 116–17, 220, 234, 238, 251; of Jewish talk-show host, 25; of Kahane, 52, 56, 65–67; of Mohandas Gandhi, 121, 124, 194; of Rabin, 10, 13, 55, 56–61, 153, 221; of Rajiv Gandhi, 241; of Sadat, 83, 101, 220

|

371

Assassini (of medieval Islam), 248 Association of Muslim Clerics (Al-Anbar Province), 71 atheistic internationalism, 24 atheists (“new atheists”), 267 Atlanta Olympic Park bombing, 183 Atta, Mohammad, 10 Aum Shinrikyo, fig. 24–25, 133–46; alternate government of, 256, 262–63; Asahara’s leadership of, 134–41, 143–46; cosmic war and, 145, 186, 189; failure at the polls, 263; invention of enemies by, 214; media coverage of, 176; nerve gas laboratories, fig. 24; profile of followers, 236; Tokyo nerve gas attack by, 128–29, 133–46 Aung San Suu Kyi, 131, 133 Austin, J. L., 156 Austria, secular nationalism in, 280 Avalos, Hector, 267 Ayodhya mosque destruction (India), 104–5, 109, 121, 122, 165–66 Ayyad, Midal, 86 Aztec Empire, human sacrifice, 210 Babbar Khalsa, 110, 114 bacha bazi (boy play), 252 Badr, Battle of, 99 Bahnsen, Greg, 37 Bajrang Dal, 104, 108 Bali nightclub bombing, 2–3, 150, 178, 179, 285 Bandaranaike, S.W.R.D., 142, 143 Banisadr, Abolhassan, 193 Barak, Ehud, 57 Barkun, Michael, 26 Barrett, James, 10, 30, 32, 38, 172, 208 Basque militants (Spain), 5 Battle Standard magazine (Paisley), 43, 185 Baudrillard, Jean, 177 BBS movement. See Bodu Bala Sena (BBS) movement Becker, Ernest, 198 beheadings: Internet postings of, 74; by ISIS, 74, 150, 174, 177, 257; McClinton’s advocacy for, 150; in Wahhabi form of Islam, 72 Beit Hadassah settlement, 64–65, 191–92 Belgian youths, attack on Stade de France sports arena, 1–2 Bellah, Robert, 298–99 Benan, Flip, 259 Berg, Alan, 216 Bertollini, R. Vincent, 29

372

|

Index

Bhagavad Gita, 120, 198 Bharatiya Janata Party (Indian People’s Party; BJP), 104–6, 108, 109, 113, 116, 121–22, 186, 251, 253–54 Bhatt, Sajneev, 108–9 Bhindranwale, Jarnail Singh, 113, 118, 124, 186, 208, 214–15, 219, 234, 238, 243, 250, 257, 274 Bhindranwale Tiger Force, 110, 114, 119 Billy Budd (Melville), 212 bin Laden, Osama, fig. 17; Afghanistan cave headquarters of, 77, 256; on America as worldwide enemy, 221, 222; background information, 76, 77; Bush’s war on terror and, 284; capture and killing of, 285, 296; common theme in story of, 149; fatwa against America, 183, 209, 221–22; funding of Alkifah Afghan Refugee Center, 84; grandiose self-portrayal by, 264; Project Bojinka and, 87, 160; September 11 terrorist attacks and, 77, 79, 154, 183, 206, 218; Sudan and Afghanistan operations, 78; U.S. embassy attacks and, 77, 183; videotape of, 266, 286; World Trade Center bombing and, 11; Yousef and, 79; Zarqawi and, 72. See also Al-Qaeda BJP. See Bharatiya Janata Party “Black Widow” fighters (Russia), 241 Blair, Tony, 295 Bloch, Maurice, 210 Bodu Bala Sena (BBS) movement (Sri Lanka), 132, 143 Bojinka plot, 87, 160–61 Boko Haram (Nigeria), 2, 78, 152, 230 bombings: Africa, 2, 150, 176, 259; Atlanta Olympics, 2; Bali, 2–3, 150, 178, 179, 285; Georgia, 2; India, 2; Northern Ireland, 3. See also Oklahoma City bombing Bonhoeffer, Dietrich, 33, 35–36 Bosnia, 4, 299–300 Boston Marathon assault, 10, 236 Bourdieu, Pierre: on “a general crisis of religious belief,” 279; on creating a “habitus,” 12, 260; on performative speech, 156–57, 279; on shaping of public life, 181; on social structures, 278 Branch Davidian sect (Waco, Texas), 23, 32, 82, 159, 163, 168, 280, 288 Brandeis, Louis, 204, 260 Bray, Michael, 14; admiration for Nazi Germany, 32, 33; anti-abortion activism, fig. 5, 29–33, 39–40, 170–72,

259, 266; belief in Reconstruction Theology, 36, 38; Bonhoeffer and, 33–36; Christian Reconstruction perspective of, 261–62; common theme in story of, 149; cosmic war and, 39, 185, 188–89; on “culture war” in modern society, 24; defense of Hill’s killing of Britton, 32–33; depersonalization of enemies by, 215; on Hill’s murders at abortion clinic, 259; homosexuality and, 30, 247; on IRA bombings, 260–61; justifications for violence and, 39–40, 170–72, 188–89, 194, 266; Niebuhr and, 33–36; North and, 39; personality profile, 29–30; Reconstruction Theology and, 36, 38, 185; religious law and, 32, 33, 38, 39, 261–62; reverence for martyrs, 208–9; on “righteous rebellion,” 39; on secondary effect of bombing abortion clinics, 175; secular nationalism and, 35, 36, 39–40, 247, 259; television appearances, 30; on “the new world order,” 280; theological justifications of, 32–33; A Time to Kill, 31, 39; on what he thinks God thinks, 271 Breivik, Anders, fig. 2; absence of strategic value in attacks, 154; anti-immigrant rhetoric of, 187–88, 275; common theme in story of, 149; cosmic war and, 21–22, 188, 189, 204; as defender of Christendom, 11, 22–23; imagined self-portrayal of, 183; as “Justiciar Knight Commander for Knights Templar Europe,” 167; justifications for violence and, 204, 260; manifesto of, 20–23, 167, 177, 184, 187; media portrayal of, 22–23; posting on YouTube, 21–22; profile of, 236; self-image of, 22, 233; sexuality and, 255; statement made at trial, 204; youth camp massacre by, 9–10, 9–11, 20–23, 77, 149, 154, 167, 187, 204 British Israelism, 26–27 Britton, John, 10, 30, 32, 38, 172, 208 Brooklyn, New York, 7, 11, 65–66, 84, 86, 273 Buddhism, 128–46; Burmese Buddhism, 10, 11, 129–33; justifications for violence and, 141–46; levels of consciousness in, 198; in Myanmar, 10, 11; terrorismrelated groups, 5; Theraveda Buddhism, 201 Buddhist militants, 2, 13

Index Buddhist 969 movement, fig. 26, 11, 129, 130, 132 Buddhist nationalists, 2, 129 Buddhist syncretist movement. See Aum Shinrikyo Burkert, Walter, 210 Burmese Buddhism, 10, 11, 129–33, 189, 237, 258. See also Myanmar bus bombings, 3, 89–90, 162, 164, 182, 281 Bush, George W.: military “surge in Iraq,” 73; “new world order” proclaimed by, 224; 9/11 and, 183, 192, 284, 296; promises of democracy in Iraq, 71; “war on terror” of, 183, 192, 284, 287, 296 Butler, Richard, 28–29, 39, 195, 216, 249 Caldwell, Sarah Lee, 253 California: Chalcedon Foundation in, 37; Christian Defense League in, 27; ethnic shootings in, 2; Jewish day care center shootings, 19, 24; San Bernardino shooting, 182–83, 231, 242 Calvin, John, 42, 44 Calvinism, 29, 44 Cambodia, genocide in, 4 Cameron, William, 27 Capitol Area Christian News, 30 car bombings: in Afghanistan, 151; in India, 2, 151, 156; in Iraq, 151, 152, 207; in Northern Ireland, 3, 40, 41; shock value of, 151 Casanova, José, 282, 293 Cavanaugh, William, 267 Center for the Study of Terrorism and Political Violence (Tel Aviv University), 96 Central Africa, Hutus-Tutsis violence, 4 centrality: computer networks, internet channels as symbols of, 165; of sacrificial events, 210; of space, 160, 166; of time, 166–74 Chandigarh secretariat building bombing (India), 109–11 Change and Reform Party, 97 Charlie Hebdo headquarters attack (Paris), 2, 9, 236–37 Chauhans, 118 Christian Church of the Multiplication of the Loaves and Fishes (Israel), 50 Christian Coalition, 38 Christian Crusades, 23, 35, 167, 183, 195, 197, 248 Christian Defense League, 27

|

373

Christian Identity movement: advocacy for a Christian Republic, 261; Aryan Nations and, 24; basis of beliefs of, 277; beliefs about Jews, 139, 216; Breivik and, 11; British Israelism origins of, 26–27; Cameron and, 27; Comparet and, 27; cosmic war and, 39, 189–91, 194; Cosmotheist Community and, 25; depersonalization of Jews, 216–17; description, 24; Eleventh Hour Remnant Messenger and, 29; Elohim City compound of, 25, 28, 168, 256; enemy invention by, 218–19; gun control and, 28; Internet member-only access, 178; Jews and, 27, 28, 139, 169, 189–90, 216–17; long-term impact of, 275; McVeigh and, 10–11, 24, 25, 26, 28; militia movements and, 24; Oklahoma City bombing and, 168; Parmenter and, 195; Pierce and, 26; radical right and, 28–29; Ruby Ridge and, 24; Rudolph and, 24; Sellner and, 233; studies of, 13; UN, Democratic Party, and, 28; U.S.-based groups, 27–29; warning to government agencies, 168–69 Christian martyrs, 209 Christian militancy, 19–47; by Bray, 29–33; by Breivik, 20–23; justifications for violence, 33–40; Knights Templar and, 22, 167, 183, 188; by McVey, 23–29; opposition to homosexuality, 247; by Rudolph, 24; support of abortion clinic attacks, 13, 19 Christian militias, 5, 11, 190, 249, 254, 280, 289 Christian Reconstruction. See Reconstruction Theology Christian Republic, 261 Christian Right, 36 Christian Syrians, 69 Christmas market terrorism (Germany), 151 Church of Jesus Christ-Christian, 27 CIA (Central Intelligence Agency), 139, 222–23 civil religion, 297 class conflict, 270 clinic bombings, 2 Clinton, Bill, 32, 57, 215, 255–56, 261 Clinton, Hillary, 220 Cold War, 5, 280, 283 Colvin, Michael, 31–32 Comparet, Bertrarm, 27 Concerned Christians, 173

374

|

Index

Congress Party (Gujarat state, India), 103, 106–7, 115–16, 123, 124 consciousness, planes of, 144 Coptic Christians (Egypt), 293 cosmic war, 182–203; al-Baghdadi and, 192, 284; Al-Qaeda and, 189; Al-Qaeda in Iraq and, 202; Aryan Nations and, 184–85; Aum Shinrikyo and, 145, 186, 189; Banisadr and, 193; Bray and, 39, 185, 188–89; Breivik and, 21–22, 188, 189, 204; Buddhist militants and, 189; Christian Identity and, 39, 189–91, 194; confrontation as, 201–3; defusing, 292–95; empowerment of warriors in, 230–65; Ettinger and, 185, 227; global social struggles and, 9; grand scenarios of, 186–94; Great Britain and, 182, 295; Hamas and, 185, 192; images of, 183–84; immigrants and, 187–88; invention of enemies in, 213–21; ISIS and, 192–94; Jews and, 184–85, 193–94, 227; jihadi movement and, 186; Jones and, 202; justifications for, 14; Kahane and, 56, 185, 189, 227; McVeigh and, 23, 39, 204–5; Paisley and, 185; Protestant Christianity and, 197; Rantisi and, 205; religious absolutism and, 270; religious concepts of, 270; sacrifice and, 211–12; satanization of enemies and, 225–29; script of, 184–85; secondary enemies and, 219; symbolic war and, 195–203; triumph in, 205; The Turner Diaries and, 184–85 Cosmotheist ideology (of Pierce), 25, 26, 277 Council of Jewish Communities, 57 Covenant, the Sword, and the Arm of the Lord (CSA), 28, 168, 183–84, 237, 256 Crabtree, Harriet, 197 Crenshaw, Martha, 13, 154, 257 crisis of legitimacy, 278 Crosswinds magazine (Dominion Theology), 36 Crusades, 23, 35, 167, 183, 195, 197, 248 cultural anarchism, 282 cultures of violence: background information, 9–15; betrayal of Zion, 48–67; Bhindranwale and, 243; Buddhism and, 128–46; community-building within, 256, 269; cosmic war and, 228; Hindu/ Sikh justifications for violence, 117–27; homophobia and, 246; justifications for violence in, 271; Kodnani and Gujarat

massacre, 104–9; Mann and Sikh separatists, 109–17; “neglected duty” of Islam, 68–102; religious terrorism and, 235; satanization of enemies and, 228, 248; similarities of, 275–76; soldiers for Christ, 19–47; symbolic empowerment and, 228–29. See also names of specific terrorists, terrorist groups, and terrorist acts Cumann Na Mbann (Irish paramilitary group), 241 Dabiq web magazine (ISIS), 174, 192, 206, 207, 224, 225 Daesh (Al-Dawla al-Islamiya al-Iraq al-Sham) (“The Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant”). See ISIS Dal Khalsa (“army of the faithful”), 124, 196 Daly, Cahal, 46 Damdami Taksal ashram, 124, 254, 257 Davis, Natalie Zemon, 195–96 Davis, Nord, 24 Dawabsheh, Rahim, 49 Dawabsheh, Saad, fig. 12, 12, 48–49 Dawabsheh, Zohair, fig. 12, 12, 48–49 Dawkins, Richard, 267 death squads (El Salvador), 4 Defense Action movement, 30 Defensive Action movement, 30, 280 dehumanization of enemies, 214, 215, 217, 226, 228 Deir ez-Zor, Syria, 69–70, 252 delegitimization of enemies, 226–27, 283 Delhi riots, 125 DeLillo, Don, 157, 174 Democratic Party (U.S.), 28 Democratic Unionist Party (DUP), 43, 44 depersonalization, 215–16 desacralization, 292 destruction of violence. See violence, destruction of dharma (moral obligation), 120, 121 dictatorial secularism, 26 dictatorships, 191, 269 Dignan, Stuart, 44 Dillon, Martin, 13, 45 Dipavamsa (Pali Chronicles), 196 divine warfare. See cosmic war Dome of the Rock (Jerusalem), fig. 8, 58, 59, 92, 94, 254 Dominion Theology, 36–38 dramatic violence. See theater of terror dukkha, 142, 143

Index Duma firebomb attack (West Bank), 50, 51 Durkheim, Émile, 5, 210–11 Economist magazine, 132 egalitarian democracies, 282 Egypt: Abouhalima and, 79, 82–84, 86, 221, 276; Al-Gamaa-i lslamiya, 83, 85, 95, 102; Al-Qaeda members in, 181; Arab Spring in, 222, 281; assassinations in, 220; Coptic Christians in, 293; denunciations of ISIS, 74; financial aid for leaders in, 225; Islamic attacks in, 2; Mubarak’s leadership of, 83, 86, 220, 262; Muslim Brotherhood and, 94–95, 222, 262, 263; postcolonial culture and, 281; Qutb and, 101; Rahman and, 85, 239, 240; secular government corruption in, 228; symbolic empowerment and, 228; tourist boat attacks in, 164–65; World Trade Center bombing and, 11 EI-Gabrowny, Ibrahim, 86 El Al Airlines attack, 160 Eleventh Hour Remnant Messenger, 29 Elohim City compound (Christian Identity), 25, 28, 168, 256 El Salvador, government-supplied death squads in, 4 embassy attacks, 2, 77, 183, 259 empowerment: ISIS and, 70; of religion, 271–78; religious violence and, 14, 187; satanization and the stages of, 225–27; of Sikhs, in India, 237; of Sunni tribal leaders, 14, 73; of warriors, 230–65. See also symbolic empowerment Endtime Overcomer Survival Training School, 28 enemies: dehumanization of, 214, 215, 217, 226, 228; delegitimization of, 226–27, 283; of Enlightenment, 279; invention of, 213–21; satanization of, 14, 215, 225–29, 248, 269. See also militia movements England, London subway bombings, 2, 165 English Catholics, 244 Enlightenment, 37, 246, 267–68, 279–80, 282–83, 297–98, 301 Epstein, Kathie (Lee), 31 Erdoğan, Recep Tayyip, 287 Erikson, Eric, 256 Eskin, Avigdor, 61, 254 Esther (Old Testament), 169 ethnic cleansing, 4 ethnic shootings, 2

|

375

Ettinger, Meir, fig. 11; common theme in story of, 149; cosmic war and, 185, 227; on Israel’s betrayal of Zionism, 48; Kahane and, 51–56; messianic vision of Israel, 53–54; position on Palestinian Arabs, 51; radical activities, 50; “The Rebel Manifesto,” 53; West Bank settlement and, 50 Ettinger, Mordechai, 51 Europe: Al-Qaeda sympathizers in, 10; Aum Shinrikyo and, 214; Cavanaugh and, 267; Christians activists and, 19, 24, 236, 272, 275, 277; dehumanization in, 228; immigrant concerns in, 2, 9, 153, 218, 237, 238, 280; increasing violence in, 19; ISIS and, 223, 239, 249, 286; Kashmiri rebels and, 2, 9259; marginalization of immigrants, 75; terrorist attacks in France, 2, 9, 149, 153, 165, 166, 236–37, 242; terrorist sympathizers, 10. See also Breivik, Anders; Irish confrontation European Enlightenment, 268, 279, 280 European Institute of Protestant Studies, 43 External Relations for the Council of Islamic Clergy (Sunni), fig. 18 Facebook, 22 “fake Muslims,” 219 Fallujah, Iraq, 72, 214 Faluji, Imad, 93 Falun Gong movement, 287 Falwell, Jerry, 254 Faraj, Abd al-Salam, 100–102, 185 Farook, Syed Rizwan, 182–83 fatwa against America, by bin Laden, 183, 209, 221–22 Fawkes, Guy, 244, 248 Fields of Blood: Religion and the History of Violence (Armstrong), 268 Fighting for Faith and Nation (Mahmood), 126 firebombing, in West Bank settlements, 14 Foran, John, 21 Ford, Henry, 27 Foucault, Michel, 12 Fourth of July sniper. See Smith, Benjamin France: Charlie Hebdo headquarters attack, 2, 9, 236–37; Davis’s study of religious riots in, 195–96; Paris nightclub attacks, 149, 165, 166, 242; sports arena attack, 1–2; Wars of Religion in, 195 Freeman Compound, 24, 26, 256 Freemasons, 141

376

|

Index

Free Presbyterian Church, 43, 44 French Revolution, 4 French youths, attack on Stade de France sports arena, 1–2 Freud, Sigmund, 5, 210–11 Friedland, Roger, 165–66 Fruman, Manachem, 223 Fuchs, Keith, 54 Furrow, Buford, 24, 29, 39 Gale, Bill, 27 Gandhi, Indira: action against Sikh militants, 286; assassination of, fig. 22, 13, 110–12, 116–17, 220, 234, 238, 251; Beant Singh and, 238; Bhindranwale and, 114, 208, 215; Mann and, 117; Operation Bluestar and, 111, 124–25, 251, 286 Gandhi, Mohandas, 120–21, 194 Gandhi, Rajiv, 116, 241 Gandhi, Sanjay, 124 Gandhi, Sonia, 107 Gans, Eric, 211 Gauchet, Marcel, 299 Gayman, Dan, 24 gay nightclub attack (Orlando, Florida), 169–70 Gaza: Hamas and, 90, 92, 96–98, 194, 207, 263, 275, 287, 292; Israeli air strike in, 92; Israel-Palestinian peace talks and, 56–57; Jewish settlements in, 64, 93; PLO and, 93; Rantisi and, 97, 225; suicide bombing and, 88, 90, 207; Yassin and, fig. 16, 94, 95 Geertz, Clifford, 12, 173 genocide: in Cambodia, 4; in India, 112 Georgia, clinic bombings in, 2 Gerard, René, 210 Germany: Al-Qaeda attacks in, 181; left-wing terrorism in, 13; truck rampage on Christmas market, 151 Ghannouchi, Rashid, 293 Ghassem-Fachandi, Parvis, 105, 245 Ghost Dance (Plains Indians), 202 Gill, K. P. S., 127 Girard, René, 210–11, 260, 293–94 globalization: Al-Qaeda and, 77, 275; McVeigh and, 23; public fears related to, 224, 280; symbolic empowerment and, 228, 271 Gnanasara, Galagoda Aththe, 132, 143 Godse, Nathuram, 194 Golan Heights, 64 Golden Temple, 112, 123–25, 220, 251, 257

Goldstein, Baruch: common theme in story of, 149; guard at gravesite, fig. 10; honoring at funeral of, 63; Israeli military service by, 234; Kahane’s mentoring of, 63; Rantisi and, 92; Tomb of the Patriarchs massacre and, 7, 10, 56, 57, 61–67, 92, 165, 169, 185, 232, 261; West Bank settlements and, 61–62 Graham, Billy, 31 Great Britain: cosmic war and, 182, 295; ISIS recruitment in, 232, 239; Muslim youth from, 74. See also Irish confrontation Green, Andy, 54 Griffin, Michael, 171 Gritz, Bo, 183 Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, 78, 284, 296 guerilla religious warfare: by Babbar Khalsa, 110; characteristics of, 263; by Christian patriots, 191; by McVeigh, 26; by Michigan Militia, 190–91; by the Order, 25–26; by postmodern religious rebels, 282; Sprinzak on, 283; symbolic acts of power and, 228–29 Gujarat Legislative Assembly, 104 Gujarat massacre: BJD and, 105; characterization of Muslims during, 214; denial of guilt by accused, 180; Ghassem-Fachandi and, 105; Gulbarg Society and, 106–7; Hindus in, 13, 104–9; Kodnani and, 103, 104–9, 242; Kodnani’s role in, fig. 21, 103, 107–8, 149, 242; Modi and, 104; Muslims and, 104–8; rape and, 104, 106–7, 245; VHP and, 104–5, 106 Gujarat State Intelligence Bureau, 109 Gulbarg Society neighborhood, 107 Gulen movement, 287 Gulf War, 233 gun control, Christian Identity and, 28 Gunn, David, 171 gurdwaras (houses of worship), 123, 199, 274 Guru Nanak, 118, 122–23 Gush Emunim movement, 52, 64 Habermas, Jürgen, 278 el-Hage, Wadih, 79 Hale, Matthew, 215–16 Haman (Old Testament), 169 Hamas: backing of Change and Reform Party, 97; Bourdieu on, 260; cosmic war and, 185, 192; culture of violence of, 12; Gaza and, 90, 92, 96–98, 194, 207,

Index 263, 275, 287, 292; humanitarian work in settlements, 96–97; intifada backed by, 95; Jews and, 217–18, 300; justifications for violence by, 65, 227; Kahane’s assassination and, 66; long-term impact of, 275; 1990s expansion, 95–96; opposition to secular leaders, 281; origins, name derivation, 95, 98; Palestinian support for, 97–98; Rabin and, 60; Rantisi’s leadership of, 93, 97, 205; on retaliation against Israel, 169; reverence for suicide bombers, 207–8; suicide bombings by, 3, 8, 13, 65, 74, 88–98, 151, 213, 250, 260, 281; teenage fighters in, 235; use of websites, 178. See also Palestinian conflict Hanafi, Hassan, 293 Haniyeh, Ismail, 97 Harris, Sam, 267 Hartley, Tom, 14, 40–42, 45–46 hashshashin (drug users), 99–100 Hassan, Nidal, 233 Hassner, Ron, 166 Hebrew Bible, 55, 98, 191, 196–97, 199, 210 Hebron massacre. See Tomb of the Patriarchs massacre Herzl, Theodor, 190 Hezbollah movement, 207, 212, 263–64, 275 Hezbollah movement (Lebanon), 263 hijackings, 124, 125, 162, 296 Hill, Paul: Bray and, 39, 171; declaration of “unjust” trial, 260; justifications for violence by, fig. 5, 256; murder of Britton and Barrett, 10, 30, 32, 38, 172, 208; North and, 38–39; profile of, 236; Reconstruction Theology and, 36–37 “hilltop gangs” of Settler activists (West Bank), 50 Hindu-Buddhist sect, 2 Hindu nationalism, 103–4, 281; Gujarat massacre and, 104–5, 108, 113; hypermasculinity and, 253–54; justifications for violence, 117–27; Kodnani’s support of, 107–8; rejection of anti-Muslim rhetoric, 274; rise of, 116. See also Bharatiya Janata Party; Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh Hiramatsu, Yasuo, 136 Hiroshima, atomic bombing, 4, 82, 138, 189, 221 Hispanic immigrants, 237 Hitchens, Christopher, 267

|

377

Hitler, Adolf, 111, 169 Hobsbawm, Eric, 21 Hoffman, Bruce, 13, 162 Hollande, François, 1–2, 153, 294 Hollywood, 223 homophobia, 246–47, 254–55 homosexuality: bacha bazi (boy play) and, 252; Bray and, 30, 247; Christian opposition to, 24, 36, 247; conservative religion’s disdain of, 245–46; executions for, 251–52; ISIS’s opposition to, 252–53; Noble and, 247; Paisley and, 246; of Ramakrishna, 252–53; Reconstructionists and, 37; religious activists aversion to, 247–48; in right-wing movements, 249; Taliban and, 252–53; The Turner Diaries on, 246 Horsley, Neal, 178 Human Rights Watch, 103 human sacrifice, 209–10, 212 Hume, John, 43–44 Huron Indians, human sacrifice, 212 Hussein, Saddam, 71, 192, 235, 256 Hutus, 4 Illinois, ethnic shootings in, 2 immigrants: Algerian, 9; Asian and Hispanic, 237; Breivik’s anti-immigrant rhetoric, 187–88, 275; cosmic war and, 187–88; Egyptian, 65; European concerns about, 187; Haitian, 240; marginalization of, 75; Middle Eastern, 237, 240; Moroccans, 297; Muslim, 11, 13, 19; in Myanmar, 131; Pakistani, 164; religious nationalism and, 280; Russian, 64, 254; South African Indian, 120; xenophobia toward, 11, 13, 19, 187, 237, 275, 280 Independence Day (U.S.), 170 India: assassination of Gandhi, Indira, fig. 22, 13, 110–12, 116–17, 220, 234, 238, 251; assassination of Gandhi, Mohandas, 121, 124; assassination of Gandhi, Rajiv, 241; assertion of manly leadership in, 253; Ayodhya mosque destruction, 104–5, 109, 121, 122, 165–66; car bombings, 2; Chandigarh secretariat building bombing, 109–11; Congress Party, 103, 106–7, 115–16, 123, 124; empowerment of Sikhs in, 237; genocide in, 112; Hindu epics of, 186, 196; Hindu nationalist movement, 103–5, 108, 113, 121–22, 251, 253–54,

378

|

Index

India (continued) 281; images of warfare in Hindu epics, 120, 186, 196, 197–98; invention of enemies in, 213; massacre in New Delhi, 125; Naroda Patiya massacre, 106, 107; New Delhi car bombings, 2; postcolonial culture and, 281; secular government corruption in, 228; secular nationalism and, 114, 116, 125, 215, 228, 237; Shiv Sena Party, 254; Sikh activism in, 11, 114, 115, 125, 237, 263; slayings of Hindu pilgrims in, 150; symbolic empowerment and, 228; Vedic Agnicayana ritual, 210. See also Gujarat massacre Indian Airlines, hijacking of, 124 Indian police, 106–8, 110–12, 114–16 Ingersoll, Julie, 13 Inside Terrorism (Hoffman), 13 Institute for Religion and Human Happiness, 145 International Court of Justice, 50 The International Jew: The World’s Foremost Problem (Cameron), 27 internet: beheadings posted on, 74; Breivik’s manifesto on, 20–21; caged ISIS captive on, 150; centrality of society and, 165; Christian Identity member-only access, 178; effectiveness of, 178; Oklahoma City bombing images on, 175; online jihadi network, 239; sense of belonging and, 75–76. See also social media internet ethnicities, 239 intifada, 95, 100 invention of enemies, 213–21 Iran: Islamic Revolution in, 263; postcolonial culture and, 281 Iraq: Al-Anbar Province, 71, 72–73; al-Almani’s suicide mission in, 206–7; attacks by Sunni/Shi’a militants, 3; bombings in, 3; Bush’s “war on terror” and, 71, 73, 284; car bombings in, 151, 152, 207; comparison of terrorist attacks in, 221; ISIS in, 8, 230, 251–52, 256, 275; large incidents of terrorism in, 221; murder of Shi’a Muslims, 152; Persian Gulf War, 71; Petraeus and, 73–74; post-Saddam Shi’a majority, 70; pragmatists in, 74; Sunni Muslims in, 70, 71, 202, 228; U.S. invasion of, 4, 71, 285; U.S. marginalization of Sunni Muslims in, 222; Yazidi religion in, figure 20, 70, 74, 152, 245 Irish Catholics, 2, 11, 13, 40–47, 150–51, 155–56, 185, 215, 220, 258, 291

Irish confrontation, 19, 40–47; Adams and, 40–42; car bombing, 3, 40; Cumann Na Mbann paramility group, 241; firebombing of shops, 40; Hartley and, 14, 40–42, 45–46; Irish Catholics and, 2, 11, 13, 40–47, 150–51, 155–56, 185, 215, 220, 258, 291; Irish Protestants and, 11, 13, 19, 40–47, 150–51, 155–56, 201, 208–9, 215, 219, 246, 248, 258; justifications for violence, 13; Mitchell and, 40, 43; Omagh attack, 40, 42, 151, 218, 291, 295; Paisley and, 13, 42–47; Sands and, 40, 45; Sinn Féin and, 40–41, 42, 45–46, 291, 295; Trimble and, 43–44 Irish nationalism, 45–46, 150 Irish paramilitarists, 13 Irish Protestants, 11, 13, 19, 40–47, 150–51, 155–56, 201, 208–9, 215, 219, 246, 248, 258 Irish Republican Army (IRA), 42–43, 45–46, 150–51, 218, 241, 261, 295. See also Real IRA; Sinn Féin ISIL (Iraq, Jordan, Lebanon, Israel), 69, 73–74 ISIS (Islamic State in Iraq and Syria): al-Baghdadi as caliph of, 71–76; apocalyptic ideology of, 277; association of Muslims with, 13; beheadings by, 74, 150, 174, 177, 257; call for global terrorist attacks, 259; call for maelstrom of terror, 169–70; capture of Jordanian pilot, 150; cosmic war and, 192–94; Dabiq web magazine and, 174, 192, 206, 207, 224; in Deir ez-Zor, 70; delegitimization of enemies by, 226; diversity of supporters, 239, 249; domination in Iraq, 8, 230; empowerment of refugees and, 70; escape efforts of volunteers, 290; European attacks by, 286; exhilaration of recruits, 195; extreme tactics of, 263; on “fake Muslims,” 219; Falujah attacks, 214; imagined wars of, 183; influence in Myanmar, 130; in Iraq, 8, 230, 251–52, 256, 275; luring of youth into, 75; martyrdom of volunteers, 206–7; media coverage of, 177–78; Muslim clerics denunciation of, 271–72; objection to U.S. economic colonialism, 223–24; Organization of Islamic Cooperation on, 74; Paris attacks, 1, 153; performance violence by, 156, 178–79; Qur’an and, 74, 271–72; recruitment by, 249;

Index refugees from, fig. 20–21, 14, 68–69; rise of, 8, 13, 256; Rumiyah web magazine, 174, 193, 206; Russian airbus attack arrest, 179; self-branding by, 78; sex slavery of women by, 69, 70, 74–75; in Syria, 13, 68, 69, 73–74, 251–52, 275; teenage volunteers in, 235; terrorist acts by, 1–2, 10, 11, 19, 68; torture by, 257; Twitter feed of, 75–76, 206, 213–14, 242, 260; 2014 military conquests, 256; violence as unifying force, 257; web magazines of, 174–75; Wirathu on atrocities of, 130 Islam, modern, justifications for violence, 98–102 Islamic al-Fuqra (“the impoverished”) movement, 165 Islamic Front Party (FIS), 164 Islamic militancy, 2, 68–102. See also specific militants and groups Islamic religious law, 74, 83, 98–102, 220, 262, 273–74 Islamic Resistance, 236 Islamic Revolution, in Iran, 263 Islamic Salvation Front, 3, 170, 220, 281 Israel: Al-Aqsa Mosque, 59, 92, 95; anti-terrorism laws in, 58; attack on Palestinians, 92; delegitimization of enemies and, 226; Dome of the Rock, figure 8, 58, 59, 92, 94, 254; financial aid for leaders in, 225; Jewish militancy and, 48–67; Kach Party, 51, 52, 64, 65, 189, 216, 221, 263; killing of Rantisi and Yassin in, 287; Messianic Zionism in, 10, 51, 277; opposition to secular leaders in, 281; Rabin’s assassination and, 10, 13, 55, 56–61, 153; Russian Israeli community, 254; secular nationalism and, 51, 53–56, 61, 162, 220, 246, 258, 261, 281, 282, 292; suicide bombings in, 3, 66, 88, 96, 153, 162; West Bank Jewish settlements, 11. See also Palestinian conflict; West Bank; Zionism istishhadi (self-chosen martyrdom), 91, 92, 95–96, 207 Jalandhar (India), 119 Jallianwala Bagh atrocities, 112 Jamaat-i-Islami religious party (Pakistan), 83 Japan: Agonshu spiritual movement, 137, 212; atomic bombing of Hiroshima, Nagasaki, 4, 82, 138, 189, 221; dehumanization in, 228; Red Army, 4;

|

379

Religious Corporation Law, 136; secular nationalism in, 280; Tupac Amaru’s hostage taking in, 155. See also Aum Shinrikyo; Tokyo subway, nerve gas attack Japanese Buddhism, 143 Jats, 122, 237–38 Jenkins, Brian, 13 Jesus Christ: Armageddon and, 173, 214; Christian Identity movement and, 168–69; martyrdom of, 209; North on, 37; Paisley on, 44; Premillennialists and, 37–38; Reconstructionists and, 37; soldiering for, 19–47; violence and, 34; Wilson on, 26–27 Jewish center assault (California), 24 Jewish Defense League (JDL), 52, 54, 79 Jewish militancy, 3, 48–67; common theme in story of, 278; Goldstein and, 7, 10; long-term impact of, 275; Messianic Zionism, 10; Sprinzak’s study of, 13; in the U.S., 11. See also specific names of Jewish militants and groups Jewish nationalism, 58 Jewish Nazism, 53 Jewish right, 261 Jewish Settlement movement (West Bank), 50 Jews: Aum Shinrikyo and, 214; Christian Identity and, 27, 28, 139, 169, 189–90, 216–17; cosmic war and, 184–85, 193–94, 227; Hamas and, 217–18, 300; Hebrew Bible and, 210; Khomeini and, 224; Noble and, 237; Rantisi and, 290–91; religious law and, 55, 57, 60, 261, 273; Russian Jewish community, 254; Spanish Inquisition and, 35; Wilson on, 27. See also Palestinian conflict jihadi movement: al-Baghdadi and, 73; al-Zarqawi and, 72; basis of, 186; cosmic war and, 186; Faraj and, 100–101, 185; global participation in, 78–79; jihad, definition, 99; London subway bombings and, 2; online jihadi network, 239; Reid and, 161; tight bonds of association in, 259; World Trade Center bombing and, 66–6. See also Al-Qaeda; bin Laden, Osama; ISIS; Jinda, 250 Jinnah, Mohammad Ali, 123 Jones, Bob, 43 Jones, Jim, 202 Jordan, 69, 72, 76, 150, 192, 225, 240, 249

380

|

Index

justifications, moral and theological, 295–97; of Abouhalima, 227; of Arafat, 169; of Asahara, 143, 145; of Bray, fig. 5, 32–36, 33, 39–40, 170–72, 188–89; of Breivik, 204, 260; of Buddhism, 141–46; Christian, 33–40; of Christianity, 33–40; in cultures of violence, 271; of Hamas, 65, 227; of Hill, 32–33, 36–37, 256; of Hindus and Sikhs, 117–27; of Irish Catholics, 13; of Kahane, 54–56; of McVeigh, 204–5; of modern Islam, 98–102; of Myanmar, 130–31, 142; of the Qur’an, 99; of Rantisi, 91–92, 95, 100, 153, 209, 213, 227; of Reconstruction Theology, 38–39, 194; of Sikh separatists, 117–27, 199, 200–201; in The Turner Diaries, 255 Kach (Thus) Party (Israel), 51, 52, 64, 65, 189, 216, 221, 263 Kaczynski, Theodore (Unabomber), 177 kafir/kuffar (unbelievers), 214 Kahane, Meir: anti-Arab ideology of, 66; assassination of, 52, 56, 65–67, 86; cosmic war and, 56, 185, 189, 227; Ettinger and, 51–56; founding of Jewish Defense League, 52; Goldstein and, 7; hatred for secular government of Israel, 220; as “Israel’s Ayatollah,” 56; Jewish civil war idea and, 258; justifications for violence, 54–56; Kach Party of, 51, 52, 64, 65, 189, 216, 221, 263; kiddush ha-Shem notion of, 54; mentoring of Goldstein, 63; messianic vision of Israel, 52–54; Palestinian conflict and, 51–52, 220, 257 Kahane, Tovah, 51 Kairon, Pratap Singh, 118 Kaldor, Mary, 71 Karim, Abdul Basit Mahmoud Abdul. See Yousef, Ramzi Ahmed karma, 139, 143 Kashmiri hostages, 115 Kashmiri separatists, 2 Kashmir Liberation Front, 115 Kashmir separatist movement, 115–16 Kassig, Peter, 174 Khalistan Commando Force (KCF), 110, 118, 257 Khalistan Liberation Force, 114 Khalistan movement, 109–17, 214–15, 234, 275. See also names of specific militants and groups

Khan, Mohammad Sidique, 182 Khmer Rouge, 4 Khomeini, Ayatollah, 98, 185, 193, 223–24 kiddush ha-Shem (sanctification of God), 53, 54 kidnappings: by Aum Shinrikyo group, 172–73; of Romanian diplomat, 115 Kiryat Arba settlement (West Bank), 7, 10, 11, 54, 61–62, 64, 207 The Kite Runner (novel and movie), 252–53 Knights Templar, 22, 167, 183, 188 Kodnani, Maya, fig. 21; common theme in story of, 149; conviction for terrorism, 242; Gujarat massacre and, 103, 104–9, 242; support for Hindu nationalists, 107–8 Kony, Joseph, 2 Korani, Kishan, 108 Kosovo, ethnic cleansing in, 4 Kouachi, Chérif, 9, 236–37 Kouachi, Saïd, 9, 236–37 Kripal, Jeffrey, 251 Krishna (Lord Krishna), 120, 198 ksatriya (warrior), 120 Kuk, Avraham Yitzhak ha-Kohen, 53 Ku Klux Klan, 27 Kuntsler, William, fig. 14 Kurdish nationalists (Turkey), 5 Kurdistan, fig. 21, 14, 15, 68–70 LaBarre, Weston, 202 Ladies Center abortion clinic (Florida), 30 Laquer, Walter, 12–13 Lashkar-e-Taiba (Pakistani militant Muslim movement), 163 Lawrence, Bruce, 186, 267 Lebanon, 69, 90, 192, 212, 263, 281 Lectures on Our Israelitish Origin (Wilson), 26–27 Lee, Kathie (Epstein), 31 leftist ideologies, 4–5, 269, 270 Lerner, Yoel, fig. 9, 14; common theme in story of, 149; Goldstein and, 63; on Israel as a “Torahcracy,” 261; on Netanyahu’s “treason,” 61; opposition to peace talks with Palestinians, 56–57; Rabin assassination and, 57–61; rejection of Palestinian claims, 57–58; religious nationalism of, 58–59; Sprinzak on, 59 lesbian bar bombing (Georgia), 24 lesbianism, 246 Levant, 69, 73, 192. See also Iraq; Israel; Jordan; Lebanon; Syria

Index Libya: harboring of Muslim activists, 289; Israel and, 93; Pan Am airline attack, 160, 162, 165, 179, 287–89; uprising, overthrow of Qaddafi, 162 Libyan terrorists, 287–88 Likud Party, 57 Locke, John, 279 London subway bombings, 2, 165 Longowal, Harchand Singh, 250–51 Lord Krishna, 120, 198 Lord’s Resistance Army, 2 Luther, Martin, 42 Ma’ale Efraim (Jewish settlement), 49 Maccabean Revolt (166–164 B.C.E.), 55 Macdonald, Andrew. See Pierce, William Madani, Iyad Ameen, 74 Mahabharata (Hindu epic), 120, 186, 196, 197–98 Mahavamsa (Pali Chronicles), 196, 197 Mahmood, Cynthia Keppley, 13, 126, 242, 250, 259 male bonding, 248–51, 255 Malik, Tashfeen, 182–83 Mandalay, Burma, 129, 130, 132 manifesto: of Breivik, 20–23, 167, 177, 184, 187; of Ettinger, 53; of Kaczynski, 177; of Terry, 36 “Manifesto for the Christian Church” (Terry), 36 Mann, Simranjit Singh, fig. 22, 14, 111–14, 116–18, 127, 149 Manning, Robert, 54 Mao Zedong, 270 marriage: ethnic intermarriage in Myanmar, 130; rules for Palestinian Arabs, 236 martyrdom: of Baba Deep Singh, 124; of Bhindranwale, 113; Bonhoeffer’s image of violence and, 33; cosmic war and, 186; of Hamas suicide bombers, 207; historical background of, 209; of ISIS recruits, 206–7; of Jesus Christ, 209; of Rantisi, 97, 287; Rantisi on, 91–93, 95; rites of sacrifice and, 200; self-martyrdom, 91, 92, 93, 95–97, 207, 244; of suicide bombers, 88–89; as a supreme honor, 122; violence and, 5; of Yassin, 97, 287 martyrs: Bray’s reverence for, 208–9; in Christianity, 209; demons and, 204–29; of Jewish freedom, 62; “living martyrs,” 96; in the Protestant tradition, 42; in Sikh history, 110, 120–21, 199; Sikh’s reverence for, 208

|

381

Marxism, 20, 21, 270 Matsumoto, Chizuo. See Asahara, Shoko Matthews, Robert, 25–26, 184. See also Order movement Mauss, Marcel, 5 Mawdudi, Maulana Abu al-Ala, 101, 102 McClinton, Kenny, 150 McMahon, Darrin, 279, 298 McVeigh, Timothy, fig. 3; Christian Identity and, 10–11, 24, 25, 26, 28; citing of Justice Brandeis, 204, 260; common theme in story of, 149, 278; cosmic war and, 23, 39, 204–5; death sentence and execution of, 296; as defender of Christendom, 23–24; friendship with Nichols, 249; Identity/Cosmotheist ideas of, 25; justification for violence by, 204–5; Michigan Militia and, 190–91; Oklahoma City bombing by, 10–11, 23–29, 77, 167–68, 180, 204–5, 218, 233; Operation Desert Storm service, 233; pre-bombing bragging by, 168; profile of, 236; reason for Oklahoma bombing, 296; self-image of, 23, 277; sexuality and, 255; The Turner Diaries and, 23, 25, 26, 184. See also Nichols, Terry media: Aum Shinrikyo and, 141, 176; coverage of global terrorist events, 177–78; Ettinger and, 48; ISIS and, 76; Islamic extremists and, 132; Kahane, JDL, and, 52–53; labeling of terrorism, 4, 8, 81; Paris attack coverage, 1; performance violence and, 88, 155, 174–77, 174–78; portrayal of Breivik, 22–23. See also television Melville, Herman, 212 Merari, Ariel, 96 Merkl, Peter, 13 Messianic Zionism, 10, 51, 277 Michigan Militia, 190–91 Middle East: Al-Jazeera network broadcasts in, 181; al-Zawahiri and, 19; anti-American disaffection in, 285; bin Laden and, 19, 183, 209, 223–24; Christian activist attacks in, 19; Hamas targets in, 13; ISIS supporters in, 239; public insecurity in, 280; Qutb and, 101; Rahman and, 85; refugees from, 239–40; symbolic empowerment and, 228 military housing complex destruction (Saudi Arabia), 2 militia movements: Aho’s study of, 213; Christian Identity and, 24–25, 178, 233,

382

|

Index

militia movements (continued) 278; Christian militias, 5, 11, 190, 249, 254, 280, 289; guerilla warfare, survivalist training by, 191; Hezbollah militia, 263–64; Islamic State militia, 235; literature of, 184; Michigan Militia, 190–91; Punjab militants, 238; right-wing, 159, 224; Shi’a militia groups, 214, 226; Sunni tribal leaders in Al-Anbar, 73; symbolic acts of power and, 229; violent actions by, 13 Millar, Robert, 28, 168 Miller, Glenn, 28 mimetic desire, 201–11 misogynistic culture, 252 Mitchell, George, 40, 43 modernity: activists and, 276–78; critics of, 298–99; jihad and, 101; opposition to, 280–81; religious ideologies as alternative, 282 Modhwadia, Arjun, 103 Modi, Narendra, 103–9, 121 Moghni, Abdelkhader, 243 Mohammad, Khalid, 77–78, 86, 296 Morocco, Al-Qaeda attacks in, 181 Mossadeq, Mohammad, 223 Mosul, Iraq, 69, 74, 256 Mother of All Battles Mosque (Baghdad), fig. 18, 71 Mountbaten, Lord, 220 MTV, 223 Mubarak, Hosni, 83, 86, 220, 262 mudpeople, 23, 215–16, 218 Muhammad (Prophet), 99 mujahideen: Abouhalima’s service in, 233–34; in Afghanistan war, 78, 84, 233; al-Baghdadi’s praise for, 266; ISIS followers self-labeling as, 233; Muslim United Front and, 78, 115–16 Muslim Brotherhood, 94–95, 222, 262, 263 Myanmar: anti-Muslim Buddhist movements in, 2, 10, 129, 131–32; attacks on mosques, 150; Aung San Suu Kyi and, 131, 133; Buddhist 969 movement, fig. 26, 11, 129, 130, 132; Buddhist solidarity in, 143; Islamic extremists in, 130, 132–33; justifications for violence in, 130–31, 142; mosque and shop attacks, 10; Muslims in, 133; postcolonial culture and, 281; Rohingya Muslims, 131–33, 214; USDP in, 133; vulnerability of Buddhism in, 129–30, 201. See also Burmese Buddhism

Nachshon, Sarah, 191–92 Nagasaki, atomic bombing, 4, 82, 138, 189 Nakamura, Takeshi, 14, 136–41, 144, 146, 149. See also Aum Shinrikyo Naroda Patiya massacre (India), 106, 107 Nasser, Gamal Abdel, 281 National Front Party (Algeria), 236 National Rifle Association, 28 Nazi Germany, 32, 33, 168, 188 Nazi Party (U.S.), 28 Nehru, Jawaharlal, 281 nerve gas attack, Tokyo, 2, 13 Netanyahu, Benjamin, 49–50, 153 New Delhi, India: car bombings, 2; Congress Party in, 107; massacre in, 125; Sikh activism in, 114, 115, 125 Newsday, fig. 15, 176 New Testament, 34, 138, 196–97 New York Times, 7, 56, 176, 177, 261 Nichols, Terry: life without parole sentence of, 296; Oklahoma City bombing by, 81, 159, 167–68, 233, 249, 296; veteran status of, 233. See also McVeigh, Timothy Niebuhr, Reinhold, 33–36, 299 Nigeria, Boko Haram in, 2, 78, 152, 230 Nightline TV show, 30, 54 9/11. See World Trade Center aerial attacks 969 Buddhist movement (Myanmar), 11 9/11 Commission Report, 77 Nirankari movement, 124 Nobel Prize for Peace, 43–44, 131 Noble, Kerry, 168, 183–84, 237, 247, 290 North, Gary, 37–39 Northern Ireland troubles. See Irish confrontation Norway: secular nationalism in, 280; youth camp massacre, fig. 2, 9–10, 9–11, 20–23, 77, 149, 154, 167, 187, 204. See also Breivik, Anders Norwegian Liberal Party, 22 Nosair, El-Sayyid, figure 14, 65–66, 79, 86 Nostradamus (Michel de Nostredame), 139 Nuremberg Files, 178 Nuremberg trials, 188 Nussbaum, Martha, 104 Obama, Barack: anti-boots on the ground pledge, 153, 286; capture of bin Laden and, 296; military approach to terrorism by, 285; opposition to ground war in Iraq, 286; use of drone technology, 285; violent plots against, 220; Wirathu on duping of, 132

Index O’Brien, Conor Cruise, 45 Odeh, Abd al-Aziz, 95, 100 Odeh, Alex, 54 Oklahoma City bombing, fig. 3–4; Abouhalima on, 81, 82, 180, 221–22; absence of strategic value in, 154; Christian Identity and, 28, 168; Christian militant support for, 10–11, 13, 19, 296; damage, deaths and injuries, 159–60; denial of guilt by accused, 180; McVeigh and, 10–11, 23–29, 77, 167–68, 180, 204–5, 218, 233; media and, 175, 176; Nichols and, 81, 159, 167–68, 180, 233, 249, 289, 296; as performance violence, 159–60; religious terrorism and, 154; Snell and, 168; theater of terror and, 150; U.S. government response, 295–96; World Trade Center bombing comparison, 159–60, 165 Old Testament, 98, 139, 169 Oliver, Anne Marie, 13, 88–89 Olympics (Atlanta), bombing, 2, 24 Omagh attack, fig. 7, 40, 42, 151, 218, 291, 295 online jihadi network, 239 Operation Bluestar, 111, 112, 124–25, 251, 286 Operation Desert Storm, 233 Operation Rescue, 36, 259 Orange Order, 43 Order movement, 24, 25–26, 29, 216, 249, 277 Organization of Islamic Cooperation, 74 Orlando, Florida, gay nightclub attack, 169–70 Oslo Peace Accord, 59 Pahlavi, Riza Shah, 281 Paisley, Ian: Battle Standard magazine of, 43, 185; common theme in story of, 149; cosmic war and, 185, 201; criticism of homosexuality, 246; establishment of international religious organizations, 43; harsh rhetoric against “apostates,” 219; hatred for British government, 220; lack of respect for Catholics and Protestants, 258; satanization of Catholics by, 215. See also Irish confrontation Pakistan: Al-Qaeda members in, 181; bin Laden’s capture in, 285, 296; comparison of terrorist attacks in, 221; geographic border violence in, 115;

|

383

Indian Airlines plane hijacking in, 124; Jamaat-i-Islami religious party, 83; Jinnah and, 123; K. Mohammad’s capture in, 296; Kashmir Liberation Front and, 115; large incidents of terrorism in, 221; Lashkar-e-Taiba movement, 163; religious nationalism in, 291; Taliban insurgency in, 12, 13, 272; U.S. drone strikes in, 285; Yousef’s capture in, 87; Zarqawi and, 72 Pakistani Taliban, 12, 13 Palestinian Authority, 52, 59, 60, 65, 97–98, 262, 264, 292 Palestinian conflict, 202, 236; accommodation strategy, 291–92; anti-peace demonstrations, 57; Arab attack on Jewish settlement, 61–62; conditions for peace settlement, 290; cosmic war and, 56, 192; Duma firebombing, 14, 51; Ettinger and, 51–56; Jewish extremis settlements and, 257; Jewish extremist settlements and, 257; Kahane and, 51–52, 220, 257; Lerner and, 57–58; origins of, 52; peace process, 52, 56–57, 59–60, 290; Rivlin and, 48; Tubi and, 50–51; UN, International Court of Justice and, 50; U.S. oppression of Palestinians, 225; women suicide bombers and, 241; Wye River negotiations, 56–57. See also Hamas; West Bank Palestinian Liberation Organization (PLO), 60, 93–94 Palestinian Muslim Brotherhood, 94–95 Palestinian Muslim movement, 3, 12 Pali Chronicles (Sri Lanka), 196 Pan American airline attack, 160, 162, 165, 179, 287–89 Panchal, Bipin, 108 Panthic Committee, 126 Paris, France: attacks on nightclubs, cafes, 149, 165, 166, 242, 283, 294; Charlie Hebdo headquarters attack, 2, 9, 236–37; sports arena attack, 1–2 Parmenter, Denver, 195 patriarchalism, 243, 252 The Patriot Report, 25 Paul, Denis, 45 Pearse, Meic, 267 pederasty, 252 Pentagon terrorist attack (September 11, 2001), 77, 105, 150, 165, 183, 218, 221, 238, 284, 294. See also World Trade Center aerial attacks Peres, Shimon, 153, 226

384

|

Index

performance violence, 153–57; analysis of, 155–56; audience for, 174–81; Breivik’s manifesto as, 177; dramatic time of, 166–74; faith and, 157; imfluence on public opinion, 153–54; by ISIS, 156, 178–79; Oklahoma City bombing as, 159–60; sacrifice as, 209–13; setting the stage for, 157–66; street theater aspect of, 157; symbolic value of targets, 164–65; terrorists acts as, 156; Tokyo nerve gas attack as, 172–73; World Trade Center bombing as, 157–59 Persian Gulf War (1990–1991), 71 Peru, 4, 155, 241 Petraeus, David, 72–73 Philbin, Regis, 31 Philippine Airlines attack, 161 Phineas Priesthood, 194 phoa, 143 Pierce, William: Cosmotheist ideology of, 25, 26, 277; religion as anchor for, 278; The Turner Diaries, 23, 25, 26, 184–85, 190–91, 249, 255, 277 Plains Indians Ghost Dance, 202 planes of consciousness, 144 Posse Comitatus, 24, 27 Post, Jerrold, 13 postcolonial culture, 281 postmillennialism, 37–38 postmodern terror, 279–83 Powell, Colin, 285 Prepare War! booklet (Noble), 184 presuppositionalism, 37 Project Bojinka, 87 prophecies, of Asahara, 138–41, 145, 173 Protestant Christianity: Bonhoeffer and, 36; Bray and, 33, 36, 261–62; Christian Identity and, 190; cosmic war and, 197; in early American colonies, 261; Falwell and, 36; Freemason order, 27, 248; Irish conflict and, 13, 19, 40, 41–47, 150–51, 155–56, 201, 208–9, 215, 219, 246, 258; Niebuhr and, 33, 36; Reconstruction movement and, 37; Robertson and, 36 Protestant Orangemen (Northern Ireland), 155–56 Protestant Ulster Volunteer Force, 44, 208–9 The Protocols of the Learned Elders of Zion, 190 Provisional Irish Republican Army, 241 psychology of terrorism, 7 Punjab militants, 238

el-Qaddafi, Muammar, 162, 289 Qur’an: Abouhalima and, 83; al-Baghdadi and, 76; brothers Kevin and Mark K. and, 206; on the greater jihad, 199–200; ISIS and, 69–70, 74, 271–72; Islamic terrorists and, 100; justification for violence and, 99; prohibition against killing, 98–99; Prophet Muhammad and, 99; suicide bombing and, 206; Yassin and, 94 Qutb, Sayyid, 101–2 Rabin, Yitzhak: assassination of, 10, 13, 55, 56–61, 153, 221; Hamas and, 60; Lerner on assassination of, 60–61; meeting with Arafat, 295; Oslo Peace Accord and, 59 racial supremacy, 24 radical patriarchalism, 243 Rahman, Omar Abdul: Abouhalima and, 79, 83, 84–86, 180; Al-Gamaa-i lslamiya and, 83, 85, 95, 102; on America as worldwide enemy, 221–22; on Muslims and violence, 98; Salameh and, 240; self-description of, 233; on tourist sites as “sinful,” 165; World Trade Center bombing and, 95, 98 RAHOWA (“racial holy war”), 183 Rakhine province, Myanmar, 131–32 Ramadan, 83, 92, 169–70, 266 Ramakrishna, 251–53 Ramayana (Hindu epic), 186, 196, 197 RAND Corporation, 162 RAND–St. Andrews Chronology of International Terrorism, 5 Rantisi, Abdul Aziz, fig. 15, 14, 88–98; common theme in story of, 149; cosmic war and, 205; on distinction of his organization, 264; Goldstein and, 92; on Hamas suicide missions, 90–93; justifications for violence by, 91–92, 95, 100, 153, 209, 213, 227; leadership of Hamas, 93, 97, 205; on the Muslim Brotherhood, 95; on U.S. as enemy, 225 rape: Gujarat massacre and, 104, 106–7, 245; homosexuality and, 252; ISIS and, 245; Islam and, 68 Rapoport, David C., 157, 165 Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (National Volunteer Organization; RSS), 103–5, 121, 251 Reader, Ian, 144, 145 Real IRA, 42, 151, 218. See also Irish Republican Army

Index “The Rebel Manifesto” (Ettinger), 53 Reconstruction Theology, 13, 29, 37–40; basis of beliefs of, 36–38, 277; Bray and, 36, 38, 185; Hill and, 36–37; justifications for violence and, 38–39, 194; North and, 37; Paisley and, 44; postmillennialism and, 37–38; Rushdoony and, 37; Van Til and, 37 Red Army (Japan), 4 Reformation Lutheran Church, 31 Reformed Theological Seminary (Jackson, Mississippi), 37 Reich, Walter, 13 Reid, Richard, 161 Reign of Terror (French Revolution), 4 religion, empowerment of, 271–78 religion and terrorism: al-Baghdadi and, 266; Armstrong on, 268; Avalos on, 267; Bray and, 266; Dawkins on, 267; empowerment of individuals, movements, 270–71; Harris on, 267; justifications for violence and, 270; postmodernity and, 279–83; religious leaders’ position on, 274–75; Spain train attack and, 268–69; symbolic aspects of, 270. See also specific individuals, groups, conflicts and acts of terrorism religious communalism, 26 Religious Corporation Law (Japan), 136 religious law: biblical code and, 38; Bray and, 32, 33, 38, 39, 261–62; Buddhist, 143; Christian Identity and, 26, 261; Christian Reconstruction, 261; Islamic, 74, 83, 98–102, 220, 262, 273–74; Judaic, 55, 57, 60, 261, 273; Muslim groups, 262; North and, 38–39; Roman Catholic, 261; Sikh, 263 religious nationalism: anti-immigrant opposition and, 280–81; Buddhism and, 129; description of, 9; empowerment of, 271–78; fighting for, 255–65; images of, 42; India and, 109, 115, 116, 122, 253–54, 278; Ireland and, 45–46; ISIS and, 264; Islamic, 91; Israel and, 52, 58; Pakistan and, 291; Palestinian conflict and, 93; PLO and, 93; secular nationalism and, 166, 283–84, 286, 293, 295.301; of Wirathu, 129 religious riots: in sixteenth-century France, 195–96; in South Asia, 196, 213 religious terrorism. See cosmic war; terrorist acts religious war: Christian Crusades, 23, 35, 167, 183, 195, 197; destruction of

|

385

satanic enemies in, 270; Irish Protestants and, 45, 185; between Israel and Palestine, 281; Judaism and, 55; radial Muslims and, 101; sacrifice, martyrdom, and, 211; Sprinzak on, 283; in twenty-first century societies, 20 Reno, Janet, 32 Revelation (Christian Bible), 138–39, 173 Richardson, Louise, 4 Riesebrodt, Martin, 243 “rites of violence,” 181, 195, 196, 200, 213 Rivlin, Reuven, 48 Robertson, Pat, 38, 254 Roeder, Scott, 31, 172, 290 Rohingya Muslims (Myanmar), 131–33, 214 Roman Catholic Church: Bray and, 38; emergence in Europe, 190; Hartley and, 45–46; O’Brien and, 45–46; satanization of, 215; Sinn Féin and, 46 Romanian diplomat kidnapping, 115 Ron, Yochay, 14, 63–65, 191 Rosen, Yisrael, 191 Rousseau, Jean Jacques, 279, 297 RSS (Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh), 103–5, 121, 251 Ruby Ridge, 24 Rudolph, Eric Robert, 24, 183 Rumiyah web magazine (ISIS), 174, 193, 206 Rushdoony, Rousas John, 37 Russian airbus attack, 160, 179 Russian “Black Widow” fighters, 241 Russian Israeli community, 254 Russian Jewish community, 254 Ryder rental trucks, 158, 159, 240 sabotage, 30, 165 sacralization, 202 sacrifice: of animals, 209–10; cosmic war and, 211–12; of human victims, 209–10, 212; by Huron and Seneca Indians, 212; martyrdom and, 209–13; symbolic empowerment and, 231; Vedic Agnicayana ritual, 210 Sadat, Anwar, 83, 101, 220 Sadra, Saba, 75 Sagan, Eli, 210 Salameh, Muhammad A., 85–86, 158, 239–40 Salvation Army, 196 same-sex intimacy. See homosexuality San Bernardino, California shooting (2015), 182–83, 231, 242

386

|

Index

Sands, Bobby, 40, 45 Sant Nirankaris, 124 sarin gas, 129, 134–35, 140, 145, 151, 152, 164 satanization of enemies: conflict of legitimacy stage, 226; cosmic war and, 225–29, 248; crisis of confidence stage, 226; crisis of legitimacy stage, 226; influence of religious images of, 269; by Paisley, 215 Saudi Arabia: Al-Qaeda attacks in, 181, 284; financial aid for leaders in, 225; military housing destruction, 2; terrorist sympathizers, 10; Wahhabi form of Islam in, 72 scientific reasoning, 279 secondary enemies, 219 secular nationalism: Abouhalima and, 83, 84, 86–87, 102, 175, 220, 298; Algeria and, 236; Bray and, 35, 36, 39–40, 247, 259; Christianity and, 40; description, 281; Egypt and, 85, 228; emergence of, 279; Enlightenment and, 268, 283; India and, 114, 116, 125, 215, 228, 237; Iraq and, 71; Islamic countries and, 12, 67, 77, 100, 193, 236; Israel and, 51, 53–56, 61, 162, 220, 246, 258, 261, 282, 292; Mann and, 113; moral leadership challenges, 279–80; Palestinians and, 94, 98, 241, 292; Rahman and, 85; Rantisi and, 194; Reconstructionists and, 37; religious nationalism and, 166, 280, 283–84, 286, 293, 295.301; U.S. and, 24, 37, 166, 221–22, 223, 225, 286, 287 self-martyrdom (istishhadi), 91, 92, 93, 95–96, 95–97, 207, 244 Sellner, Gordon, 233 Seneca Indians, human sacrifice, 212 September 11, 2001 terrorist attacks. See World Trade Center aerial attacks sex slavery, 69, 70, 74–75 sexuallty: male toxic masculinity and, 244; motivation for violence and, 210; symbolic empowerment and, 241–55; terrorism and, 24. See also homosexuality Shaheed (Martyr) film, 300 Shankhill Butchers, 150–51 Shannon, Rachelle, 30, 172 sharia law, 74, 262 Sharm el-Sheikh (Egypt), 160, 179 Sharon, Ariel, 57, 93, 292 Shattering the Myth (Lawrence), 267

Sheikh, Mona Kanwal, 12, 13 Shekau, Abubakar, 152 Shi’a Da’wa Party, 73 Shi’a militants, 3, 214, 226 Shi’a Muslims: in Iraq, 70, 73, 74, 152, 222; in Syria, 74 Shimada, Hiromi, 144 Shimazono, Susumu, 145 Shining Path (Peru), 4 Shiromani Gurdwara Parbandhak Committee (SGPC), 123, 124 Shiv Sena Party, 254 Sikh separatists, 103–26; call for reforms, 123; common theme in story of, 278; cosmic war and, 201; Dal Khalsa (“army of the faithful”) in, 196; empowerment in India, 114, 115, 125, 237; enemies of, 214–15; Gandhi’s actions against, 286; hijackings by, 124, 125; India and, 11, 114, 115, 125, 237, 263; invention of enemies by, 214–15; justifications for violence, 117–27, 199, 200–201; kidnapping of Romanian diplomat, 115; leadership in India, 8; male bonding and, 250; reason for end of militant movement, 287; reverence for martyrs, 208; slayings of Hindu pilgrims, 150; soldier crossover into Khalistani revolt, 234; terrorist acts by, 2, 109; women’s support roles, 242–43 Sil, Narasingha, 251 Simpson, O. J., 176, 220 Sindhi, Ashok, 108 Singh, Atinder Pal, 111 Singh, Baba Deep, 124 Singh, Balwant, 234 Singh, Beant (assassin), 110–11, 238 Singh, Beant (assassination), 13, 109, 110, 111–12, 116, 117, 126–27, 156, 234, 258 Singh, Dhanna, 126 Singh, Dilawar, 110, 234, 238 Singh, Fateh, 124 Singh, Gobind, 122 Singh, Gurcharan, 250, 251 Singh, Harjap, 118, 120 Singh, Kanwarjit, 118, 119 Singh, Kehar, 111 Singh, Narinder, 127, 234 Singh, Ranjit, 123 Singh, Satwant, 110–11 Singh, Shabeg, 234 Singh, Sohan, 126–27 Singh, Surinder, 250

Index Singh, Zail, 112, 124 Singh Sabha movement, 123 Sinhalese militants, 2, 142 Sinn Féin, fig. 6, 40–41, 42, 45–46, 291, 295 Sivan, Emmanuel, 235 Six-Day War, 53 Skocpol, Theda, 21 Smith, Benjamin Nathaniel, 29, 39, 170, 183, 215–16, 246 Smith, Gerald L. K., 27 Snell, Richard Wayne, 168 social contract theories, 279, 297 social media, 1, 178, 228–30, 239, 249. See also Facebook; YouTube Sodhi, Surinder Singh, 250 Sohan Singh Panthic Committee, 126 Somalia, U.S. drone strikes in, 285 Soroush, Abdolkarim, 293–94 South Asia religious riots, 196, 213 Soviet Union, 64, 225, 280, 281, 283 space: centrality of, 166, 173; cyberspace, 76, 166, 207, 239; neutral, 300; physical space, 76; public space, 166, 181, 276, 301; worship space, 130 Spain: Al-Qaeda attacks in, 181, 284; Basque militants in, 5; Madrid train attacks, 268–69, 296–97 Spanish Inquisition, 35 Sprinzak, Ehud: on delegitimization, 283; on guerilla religious warfare, 283; Kahane and, 52, 53, 58; Lerner and, 58, 59; on “the radicalization of a group of extremists,” 219; on the satanization of enemies, 226 Sri Lanka: assassination of Bandaranaike in, 143; BBS movement, 132, 143; Buddhist solidarity in, 143; capturing, sentencing of terrorists, 297; justifications for violence in, 142; Pali Chronicles, 196; postcolonial culture and, 281 Sri Lankan Muslims, 237 Sri Lankan Tamil separatists, 241 Stade de France, sports arena attack, 1–2 State of Israel. See Jewish militancy state terrorism, 4 Statue of Liberty, 159 Steinberg, Paul, 13, 88–89 Stepian, Barnett, 178 stereotyping, 217, 224, 236 Story, Carl E., 29 Sudan, Al-Qaeda attacks in, 181 suicide bombers: efforts at escaping by, 290, 300; Hamas’s reverence for, 207–8;

|

387

ISIS’s reverence for, 206; male bonding and, 250; Rantisi on, 91; sense of pride of, 232, 244; women as, 241 suicide bombings: in Afghanistan, 150; by Hamas, 3, 8, 13, 65, 74, 88–98, 151, 153, 213, 238, 250, 260, 281; in Iraq, 3, 150; by ISIS volunteers, 74, 206–7; in Israel, 3, 66, 88, 89–90, 96, 150, 153, 162; Qur’an and, 206; videotaping of, 88–89 Sukha, 250 Sultanwind village (India), 118 Sulzberger, Arthur, Jr., 177 Sunni militants, 3, 72, 73, 76 Sunni Muslims: alienation of, 228; beheadings of, 74; in Iraq, 8, 70, 71–74, 202, 228, 275; ISIS and, 275; marginalization of, 222; Mawdudi and, 101; in Syria, 70, 74, 228 Swift, Wesley, 27 symbolic empowerment: acts of, 228–29; feeling of strength as, 231, 232; globalization and, 228, 271; Hamas and, 260; of marginal men, 232–41, 255; religious nationalism and, 255–65; sacrifice and, 231; sexuality and, 241–55; stages of, 14, 228–29 symbolic religious terrorism, 154–55, 210–11 symbolic war, 195–203 Syria: Al-Nusra Front, 73; Christian Syrians, 69; comparison of terrorist attacks in, 221; ISIS in, 13, 68, 69, 73–74, 251–52, 275; Maccabean Revolt and, 55; opposition groups, 70; pragmatists in, 74; Sunni Muslims in, 70, 73, 228; terrorist attacks in, 3; uprisings in, 73; Wadi al-Deif military base, 206. See also ISIS Taha, Mufid, 75 Taliban (Afghanistan): attitude toward women, 273–74; bacha bazi practice and, 252–53; Bush’s “war on terror” and, 284; extreme tactics of, 263; homosexuality and, 251–52; insurgency in Pakistan, 12, 13, 272; male-dominant culture of, 243, 273–74; ordinary Afghani people opposition to, 274; support for Al-Qaeda, 274 Tambiah, Stanley, 142, 196, 213 Tamil Hindus, 237 Tamil separatist groups, 2 targeted killings, 56, 127, 156, 183

388

|

Index

television: Al-Jazeera network, 181, 264, 266, 286; Aum Shinrikyo coverage on, 176; Baudrillard’s advice to readers about, 177; Bray’s appearance on, 30; Hill’s appearance on, 171; Internet and social media alternatives, 178; interview with Hamas organizer, recruiter, 96; Israeli videos on, 50; Modi’s appearance on, 105, 109; Odeh’s appearance on, 54; Oklahoma City bombing coverage, 168; Oslo youth camp massacre coverage, 20, 167, 177; Paris attack coverage, 1; Rantisi’s appearance on, 92 Terrorism (Laquer), 12–13 terrorist acts: Abouhalima on, 80–83, 154; al-Baghdadi’s praise for, 266; as bargaining chips, 291; Baudrillard on, 177; Bray on, 170, 175; Bush’s “war on terror” against, 192; “collective punishment” for, 288; by Concerned Christians group, 173; culture and, 12; destruction of, 284–88; influence on public policy, 153; local feuds context of, 162–63; motives for committing, 227, 231, 263; Muslim world’s support for, 275; as performance violence, 156, 269; post-attack apologies by perpetrators, 218; righteous rule goal of, 263; as symbolic empowerment for me, 241; symbolic side of, 157; transforming death motif and, 207; by women, 242. See also religion and terrorism; specific individuals, groups, conflicts and acts of terrorism terrorist acts, strategies against: defusing cosmic war, 292–95; forceful response, 284–88; seeking accommodation, 290–92; taking the moral high ground, 295–97; terrifying terrorists, 288–90 Terry, Randall, 36 Thackeray, Balasaheb K., 253–54 Thatcher, Margaret, 42 theater of terror, 149–81; dramatic time of, 166–74; performance violence, 153–57; reaching the audience, 174–81; setting the stage for, 157–66 theonomy, 37, 38 Theorizing Revolution (Foran), 21 Theraveda Buddhism, 201 Thuggees (cult assassins), 248 Tibetan Buddhism, 143–44 Tiller, George, 30–31, 172, 289–90 Time magazine, 132 A Time to Kill (Bray), 31, 39, 170

Tokyo subway, nerve gas attack, 2, 13, 150; absence of strategic value in, 154; Asahara and, 135; Aum Shinrikyo and, 133–41; deaths in, 135; denial of guilt by accused, 180; Nakamura and, 136–41, 144, 146; as performance violence, 172–73; sarin gas and, 129, 134–35, 140, 151, 152, 164 Tomb of the Patriarchs massacre, 7, 10, 56, 57, 61–67, 92, 165, 169, 185, 232, 261 torture, 35, 110, 112–13, 119, 212, 245, 257, 259 train attacks in Madrid, Spain, 268–69 Treasures of the Temple exhibit, 58 Trench, Battle of the, 99 Trimble, David, 43–44 truck rampage on Christmas market (Germany), 151 Trump, Donald, 220 trust (basic trust), Erikson on, 256 Tsarnaev, Dzhokhar, 10, 236 Tsarnaev, Tamerlane, 10, 236 Tubi, Ezri, 50, 191 Tupac Amaru (Peru), 4, 155, 241 Turkey: CIA and, 222–23; ISIS refugees in, 70; Kurdish nationalists in, 5; secular nationalism in, 280 The Turner Diaries (Pierce): cosmic war in, 184–85; gun control in, 191; justification for violence in, 255; male bonding in, 249; McVeigh and, 23, 25, 26, 184, 190–91; on role of Christianity, 277; warfare images in, 184 Tutsis, 4 Twitter: effectiveness of, 178; ISIS feed, 75–76, 206–7, 213–14, 223, 242, 260; monitoring of, 75, 213–14 “2083–A European Declaration of Independence” (Breivik’s manifesto), 20–23, 167, 177 Two Seconds under the World (Dwyer, Murphy, Tyre, Kocieniewski), 176 Tzomet Institute (Israel), 191 Udasis (Sikh sect), 123 Ulster Resistance movement, 44 Ulster Volunteer Force, 44, 208 Union Solidarity and Development Party (USDP; Myanmar), 133 Union Theological Seminary (New York, N.Y.), 33 United Kingdom, 19, 42, 103, 109, 239. See also Irish confrontation

Index United Nations, 11, 28, 39, 49–50, 131–32, 174, 181, 280 United States (U.S.): Abouhalima and, 81–86; accusations of terrorist acts by, 4; Al-Qaeda and, 157, 181; Amtrak train sabotage, 163; anti-abortion activism, 10, 11, 13, 39, 188; Aryan nation and, 261; Asian and Hispanic immigrants, 237; attacks on embassies of, 2, 77, 183, 259; banning of Modi, 103; bin Laden’s fatwa against, 183, 209, 221–22; bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, 4, 82, 138, 189, 221; British Israelism in, 27; Christian activists and, 24, 27–29, 38, 39, 254, 277, 280; cultures of violence in, 11–12, 185; dehumanization in, 228; disillusionment with political leaders in, 280–81; economic disdain of, 223–24; as the enemy, 221–25, 275, 281; Fallujah destroyed by, 72; Free Presbyterian Church in, 43; Iraq invaded by, 4, 71, 285; ISIS and, 153; killing of beheading executioner, 74; killing of Zarqawi, 72; Mann and, 54, 117; marginalization of immigrants, 75; Middle Eastern immigrants in, 238; Modi’s ban from, 103, 109; Muslim youth from, 74; oppression of Palestinian Arabs, 225; religious rejection of modernism, 280; religious terrorists groups in, 5, 19; response to 9/11 and Oklahoma City bombing, 295–96; Salameh and, 240; symbolic empowerment and, 228; 2016 presidential campaign, 220; white supremacists in, 261; Zionist Emergency Evacuation Rescue Organization and, 66. See also Bush, George W.; Obama, Barack; World Trade Center aerial attacks; World Trade Center bombing U.S. Army Medical Corps (Texas), 233 U.S. Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms, 28, 159 U.S. Department of Justice, 86, 260 U.S. Navy Seals, 285 U.S. presidential elections (2016), 220, 255 U.S. State Department, 5, 236 Van Til, Cornelius, 37 Vedic Agnicayana ritual, 210 VHP. See Vishva Hindu Parishad videotapes: of beheadings, 74, 174; of Bhindranwale, 238; of bin Laden, 266,

|

389

286; of Kassig’s beheading, 174; of young suicide bombers, 88–89, 213 Vienna, Battle of, 21, 167 violence, destruction of, 284–88; Algeria and, 286–87; Aum Shinrikyo and, 287; bin Laden’s capture and killing, 285, 296; Bush, George W. and, 183, 192, 284, 287, 296; Falun Gong movement and, 287; Gandhi and, 286; Gulen movement and, 287; Obama and, 285, 286; self-destruction of activist groups, 288 Vishva Hindu Parishad (World Hindu Council; VHP), 104–5, 106 Waco, Texas, Branch Davidian sect, 23, 32, 82, 159, 163, 168, 280, 288 Wahhabi Islam, 72 Wallerstein, Immanuel, 21 Wallis, Arthur, 197 War on Sacred Grounds (Hassner), 166 “war on terror” (of Bush, George W.), 183, 192, 284, 287, 296 warriors, empowerment of, 230–65 Warsaw ghetto, 168 Wars of Religion, 195 Washington Monument, 159 Washington Post, 191 weapons of mass destruction, 71, 135, 140 Weaver, Randy, 24 Wesley, John, 42, 44 West Bank: Duma firebombing, 14, 51; Ettinger and, 48; Fruman and, 223; Goldstein and, 61–62; Gush Emunim movement and, 52, 64; Hamas and, 96; “hilltop gangs” of Settler activists, 50; Jewish Settlement movement in, 50; recruitment of suicide bombers in, 207–8; Ron and, 63–65, 191; setting fire to Palestinian houses, 149; settlements on, 7, 10, 11, 49, 50, 54, 61–62, 64–65, 191–92, 207; suicide bombing videotapes and, 88–89; Tubi and, 50, 191 What Terrorists Want (Richardson), 4 Whitefield, George, 42, 44 white supremacists, 261 Wieviorka, Michel, 258–59 Wilkinson, Paul, 13 Wilson, John, 26–27 Windows of the World restaurant, 158 Winters, Charlie, 239 Wirathu, Ashin, fig. 26, 14; on atrocities of Al-Qaeda and ISIS, 130; Burmese Buddhism and, 129–33, 186, 189, 237,

390

|

Index

Wirathu, Ashin (continued) 258; common theme in story of, 149; human rights abuses against Muslims, 131; portrayal as “face of Buddhist terror,” 126; suspicion of Muslims being with ISIS, 214 women: as assistants in terrorist attacks, 241–43; Belhaj on the role of, 243; in Cumann Na Mbann, Irish paramility group, 241; extramarital male-female relationships, 250; Moghni’s complaints about, 243; Riesebrodt on the role of, 243; Russian “Black Widow” fighters, 241; as sex slaves, 83; as suicide bombers, 241; Taliban attitude toward, 273–74; in Tupac Amaru movement, 241; 2016 U.S. presidential elections and, 255. See also specific women World Church of the Creator, 24, 183, 215–16 World Congress of Fundamentalists, 43 World Council of Churches, 43 Worldmate, 145 World of Warcraft, 22 World Trade Center aerial attacks (September 11, 2001), fig. 1; Al-Qaeda and, 2, 10, 77, 80, 82, 150, 152, 154, 155, 158, 179, 183, 217, 221, 238, 284, 294; America as enemy in, 221; bin Laden and, 77, 79, 154, 183, 206, 218; Khalid Sheikh Mohammed and, 78; as “mesmerizing theater,” 155; profile of attackers, 238–39; U.S. military response to, 284. See also Pentagon terrorist attack World Trade Center bombing (1993): Abouhalima and, 2, 11, 65, 66–67,

76–87; Al-Qaeda network and, 11, 79, 157–58; Kahane assassination and, 65–67; Oklahoma City bombing comparison, 159–60, 165; as performance violence, 157–59; Rahman and, 95; strategic value of, 154; strength of explosives in, 152; victims, fig. 13 World War III, 189 Worldwide Church of God, 24 Wright, Billy, 45, 208–9 Wye River negotiations, 56–57 Yagnik, Jyostna, 108 yar, 250 yaro-ki yar, 250 Yassin, Ahmed, fig. 16, figures 15–16, 90, 93–95, 97, 100, 185, 192, 287 Yazidi religion (Iraq), figure 20, 70, 74, 152, 245 Yemen, U.S. drone strikes in, 285 Yousef, Ramzi Ahmed, 79, 86, 87, 160–61 youth camp massacre (Norway), fig. 2, 9–11, 20–23, 77, 149, 154, 167, 187, 204 YouTube, 21–22, 74, 216, 223, 246 Zealots, 34 Zerbib, Rivka, 65 Zionism: belief in “established biblical Israel,” 53; Ettinger on Israel’s betrayal of, 48; Goldstein’s commitment to, 7; Messianic Zionism, 10; Six-Day War and, 53. See also Jewish militancy Zionist Emergency Evacuation Rescue Organization, 66 Zoroastrianism, 70