Whether to Kill: The Cognitive Maps of Violent and Nonviolent Individuals 0812247701, 9780812247701

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Whether to Kill

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Whether to Kill The Cognitive Maps of Violent and Nonviolent Individuals

Stephanie Dornschneider

U N I V E R S I T Y O F P E N N S Y LVA N I A P R E S S PHIL ADELPHIA

Copyright © 2016 University of Pennsylvania Press All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations used for purposes of review or scholarly citation, none of this book may be reproduced in any form by any means without written permission from the publisher. Published by University of Pennsylvania Press Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 19104-4112 www.upenn.edu/pennpress Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Dornschneider, Stephanie, author. Whether to kill : the cognitive maps of violent and nonviolent individuals / Stephanie Dornschneider. pages cm Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-0-8122-4770-1 (alk. paper) 1. Political violence— Egypt— Psychological aspects— History—20th century— Case studies. 2. Political violence— Germany— Psychological aspects— History—20th century— Case studies. 3. Nonviolence—Political aspects— Egypt— History—20th century— Case studies. 4. Nonviolence— Political aspects— Germany— History—20th century— Case studies. 5. Political activists—Egypt—History—20th century— Case studies. 6. Political activists— Germany— History— 20th century— Case studies. 7. Political psychology— Egypt— History—20th century— Case studies. 8. Political psychology— Germany— History—20th century— Case studies. 9. Cognitive maps (Psychology)—Political aspects— Case studies. I. Title. HN786.Z9V536 2016 155.9'4— dc23 2015017686 ISBN 978-0-8122-4770-1

To my family

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Contents

Introduction 1 1. A Cognitive Mapping Approach to Political Violence 25 2. Interviewing Violent and Nonviolent Individuals 3. A Short History of the Individuals’ Groups

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4. Constructing Cognitive Maps About Political Violence

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5. A Computational Analysis of Violent and Nonviolent Activism 6. Alternative Worlds Without Violence Conclusion

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Appendix 1 259 Appendix 2

Notes

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287

Bibliography

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Index 313 Acknowledgments

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Introduction

As a child, Najeh Ibrahim loved his president. “We all loved Nasser,” he recalls. “He emphasized our country.” However, Ibrahim’s positive attitude toward the leader of his country changed as he grew older. Observing waves of arrests of Muslim Brothers and other political opponents, he began to resent the state. “We were seeing them come out of prison with marks of torture.” When he was seventeen, Ibrahim founded a small group, which quickly spread all over Egypt and soon posed a serious threat to the state: al-Jamaʿat al-Islamiyya. In 1981, this group changed the history of the country: it participated in the assassination of President Anwar al-Sadat. Ibrahim was among the leaders who decided to kill the president. He says the decision was made to resist state repression, by “young and strong” men who had alternatives: “Of course I had an alternative. I am a doctor. Look at bin Laden: He is a millionaire but lives like a beggar.” Had the state not engaged in repression, Ibrahim believes, “Sadat would not have been dead.” Ahmad Saif al-Islam Hassan al-Banna did not love his president as a child. His father was the founder of the Muslim Brotherhood and assassinated in 1949. When Saif al-Islam became politically active himself, he had bitter experiences. “I tried to oppose parliament twice,” he recalls his time in the People’s Assembly. “They threatened to kill me . . . . They also threatened my family.” He says he refused to give in and went to court instead—but nothing happened. In spite of such experiences, he did not lose hope and continued to believe that the Muslim Brothers’ participation in politics could change the state. “It is better to succeed. Someone else replaced me,” he comments on his forced withdrawal from elections. “I left, and I understand it is not only me who is treated like that.” Saif al-Islam says he never considered the use of physical force to confront the state: “I will not use violence. I am a judge, and I studied law. My mind does not accept a violation of the law. If I use violence, I will lose. The state will kill us all. Now the state has no reason to do anything against us.”

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Introduction

The difference in the behav ior of Saif al-Islam and Najeh Ibrahim could not be larger, but the two individuals have some basic commonalities. They believe in the same religion; they lived in the same country during the same time; and they resented the government enough to become politically active against it—even though this exposed them and their families to state repression. These similarities make the difference in the behav ior of Saif al-Islam and Najeh Ibrahim puzzling and raise the following research question: Why do some individuals (like Najeh Ibrahim) take up arms, while others who live under the same conditions (like Saif al-Islam) conduct nonviolent activities instead? This book is dedicated to investigating this question. Focusing on the individuals who take up arms, this question explores areas that may have been overlooked by the large body of literature on violent groups. Specifically, focusing on groups cannot explain why certain individuals but not others form or join violent groups, carry out particular attacks, or sometimes break away from their groups. The central argument in my investigation of this question is that, contrary to widespread assumptions, both violent and nonviolent individuals act in response to the belief that the state is aggressive. Unlike what is widely believed, I also find that violent individuals do not act in response to beliefs in Islam. Instead, I argue that the motivations of violent and nonviolent individuals are surprisingly similar, and that there are no significant differences between Muslims and non-Muslims. Specifically, my analysis identifies ten mechanisms related to decisions to take up arms (five mechanisms) and to engage in nonviolent activism (five mechanisms). These mechanisms show that the belief that the state is aggressive is so significant that individuals who hold it may decide to take up arms even if they also believe the state is stronger than they are, and that they will suffer severe consequences from engaging in violence. They also show that the belief that the state is aggressive may encourage individuals to decide to engage in nonviolent activism, even though they do not believe their activity is going to have any effect on state aggression. The analysis furthermore investigates when the individuals would not have decided to take up arms or to engage in nonviolent activism. This counterfactual analysis shows that in the absence of beliefs about threatening state behav ior, no individuals would have decided to take up arms, and significantly fewer individuals would have decided to engage in nonviolent activism. By contrast, absence of beliefs about Islam would not have changed the individuals’ decisions. The analysis also shows

Introduction

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that nonviolent individuals may be motivated by the belief that there is economic deprivation in their direct environment—a motivation that is usually attributed to violent individuals. These findings have implications for our understanding of violent individuals by showing that rather than being crazy religious fanatics, violent individuals are not that different from nonviolent individuals and engage in very similar reasoning processes to those underlying mainstream political behav ior. They also put in perspective existing explanations by suggesting that political violence is not a consequence of Islam, economic deprivation, or access to violent groups. To develop this argument, this book draws on political psychology literature and adopts a cognitive mapping approach (CMA) (Axelrod 1976). To my knowledge, this is the first study that adopts this approach to study violent individuals. Cognitive mapping explores the belief systems underlying human behav ior, such as violent and nonviolent activism. In this way, it bridges the gap between actors and structures and adds to theories that focus on external factors, which cannot by themselves explain why people engage in certain behavior. Moreover, cognitive mapping allows the systematic exploration of various types of factors underlying behav ior—modeled as beliefs—as well as the study of the mechanisms by which these factors are connected with behav ior—modeled as systems of beliefs. In this way, the CMA synthesizes factors that are usually addressed by different theories, and it goes beyond analyses that focus on direct relations between particular variables and behav ior, rather than on the microlevel mechanisms underlying this behav ior. Taking the actors’ own explanations as the starting point of the analysis, the CMA provides rich inside knowledge into behav ior, which cannot be obtained from other methods that involve external research categories. Cognitive maps do not a priori consider certain factors at the expense of others; instead, they cover a large range of factors that the actors themselves consider relevant. These inside factors, which offer a rigorous basis for a bottom-up analysis of human behavior, can then be analyzed by the researcher. Cognitive maps are usually highly complex and difficult to analyze: typically, they consist of dozens of beliefs and connections between beliefs, which are related to decisions for action. Because of this complexity, it is not obvious how to systematically analyze such maps, and most political scientists have abandoned the approach—even though cognitive mapping used to be considered a “valuable tool” that “has been used successfully” (Young 1996: 395).

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Introduction

This book reintroduces the CMA to studies of political science by presenting new possibilities for research with cognitive maps. To cope with the complexity of cognitive maps, I present a computer program I developed with Nick Henderson from the Institute of Mathematical and Computational Engineering at Stanford University. The program is nonstatistical and enables the researcher to systematically study the connections between beliefs and decisions. Specifically, it enables the researcher to (1) systematically identify beliefs connected to decisions to take up arms or engage in nonviolent activism; (2) systematically trace belief chains connected to these decisions; and (3) explore counterfactuals, which show under what conditions individuals would not have decided to take up arms or engage in nonviolent activism. The program is applied to cognitive maps that involve trillions of combinations of beliefs. To construct cognitive maps, this book applies qualitative methods. Specifically, I conducted ethnographic interviews with formerly violent and nonviolent individuals, and employed James Spradley’s theme analysis (1979) to develop a coding scheme that abstracts the beliefs of different individuals into comparable categories. In this way, this book contributes in-depth knowledge about political violence. It also contributes one of the few studies constructing cognitive maps from ethnographic interviews, which present new information that is very difficult to gather. Based on this information, it provides rich insight that both complements and serves as a check on the large body of literature on political violence that focuses on macrolevel factors without engaging with the actors’ own explanations. As I discuss below, the findings obtained from the analysis put into perspective much of the existing research in political violence. The research design is a double-paired comparison that includes important control groups that remain absent from most existing studies: violent and nonviolent individuals, as well as Muslims and non-Muslims. To investigate these individuals, this study focuses on two countries, Egypt and Germany. Egypt is an authoritarian state located in the Middle East—a region with a long history of political violence. Over the past decades, Egypt has experienced numerous acts of violence, and Egyptians continue to play an impor tant role in violent groups abroad (for example, the current leader of al-Qaeda, Ayman al-Zawahiri, is an Egyptian). A hub of political activism, Egypt is moreover the home of the Muslim Brotherhood—the largest opposition movement in the Middle East and one of the most influential Muslim movements in the world. Most of the individuals who participated in violent

Introduction

5

and nonviolent activism in Egypt have been Muslim, which indicates that Islam plays an important role in the country. Egypt has a population with a large Muslim majority and a long history of Islamic thought. It has been the home of numerous influential Muslim thinkers (Ibn Khaldun and Muhammad Rashid Rida, for instance, died there), and it houses the greatest authority in Sunni Islam, al-Azhar University. As the most populous state in its region, Egypt also plays a major role in Arab politics. It houses the Arab League and has frequently led talks between Arab states, or between Israel and its neighbors. Finally, Egypt is a rather poor state. In 2013, it ranked number 110 of 187 countries and territories in the UNDP Human Development Index. It has high rates of unemployment and illiteracy. By contrast, Germany is a democratic state. Since its system was designed very carefully after the fall of the Nazis, it is known as a model of a modern democracy. As the largest economy in Europe, it has played an impor tant role in regional politics, and its people enjoy one of the highest living standards in the world. Nevertheless, Germany has also experienced political violence, and it has been a major setting of political activism in Europe. Unlike their Egyptian counterparts, the individuals who participated in these activities were not Muslim and did not try to introduce an Islamic state. What they had in common was the goal of expelling their government. As a result of these characteristics, violent and nonviolent individuals from Germany can serve as a control group, checking on the findings obtained for the individuals from Egypt. Specifically, studying violent and nonviolent individuals from Germany ensures that results are not subject to individuals who believe in Islam and live in a state that is authoritarian or suffers from economic hardship. Most of the individuals I study in this book were living in hiding or persecuted by the government at the time I conducted field research for this study (2009–2010). Specifically, the formerly violent individuals I met in Egypt are members of al-Jamaʿat al-Islamiyya and al-Jihad. These groups are responsible for numerous attacks on the Egyptian state, including the assassination of President Sadat in 1981. After the assassination, most of the members of these groups were imprisoned, but some were released a few years later. Some of them, including Ayman al-Zawahiri, left Egypt to unite with other individuals abroad, where they helped form al-Qaeda. Most of them, however, spent decades in Egyptian prisons, where they were often tortured and isolated from their families for extended periods of time. At the end of the 1990s, al-Jamaʿat al-Islamiyya announced an initiative to end violence, which encouraged the

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Introduction

state to begin releasing its members from prison. At the time I conducted research for this book, some of them had just been released, which allowed me to contact them in private and try to set up meetings. Although they were usually highly reluctant to talk with me, some agreed to meet with me and, after many hours together, let me ask questions about why they had decided to take up arms. The nonviolent individuals I interviewed in Egypt are members of the Muslim Brotherhood. At the time I conducted field research, President Husni Mubarak was still in power and the Muslim Brotherhood was his largest opposition. The movement was outlawed and its members were persecuted, although they were allowed to run in the elections as independents. Most of the nonviolent individuals I met had spent time in prison and experienced torture as well. All of them believed they could be arrested and imprisoned because of their resistance to the state. As a result, many of them were difficult to locate and highly reluctant to speak with me. In Germany, I interviewed formerly violent individuals from the Red Army Faction and Bewegung 2. Juni. The Red Army Faction was the most violent organization in Germany after World War II and responsible for the killing of dozens of people between 1971 and 1993. Bewegung 2. Juni was active during the same period, but since it killed only two people, it received much less attention. Although they are no longer persecuted by the state, the members of these groups receive a lot of media attention, especially related to attacks that remain unresolved (for example, the assassination of German attorney general Siegfried Buback). These individuals were also very difficult to locate, and highly reluctant to speak with me. Dozens refused to be interviewed for this study, but those who agreed gave me the chance to ask questions about their actions for many hours. The nonviolent individuals I interviewed in Germany are from the Socialist German Student Union and Kommune 1. These groups developed as part of the worldwide student revolts that broke out at the end of the 1960s, and became the major drivers of these protests in Germany. While many of these individuals were under surveillance during and after the student revolts, they were living ordinary lives at the time I conducted field research. Most were even mentioned in the phone book, which made it easy to locate and establish contact with them. With the exception of one individual, none asked to remain anonymous. Before elaborating on the analysis of these individuals, the following pages further introduce the subject of this book: they critique the existing lit-

Introduction

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erature on political violence, develop several working hypotheses that serve as an analytical framework for this study, and define violent and nonviolent activism.

Studying Beliefs Related to Political Violence This book contributes to the study of beliefs related to political behavior. Beliefs can be considered “the set of lenses through which information concerning the physical and social environment is received” (Holsti 1962: 245), and have been a powerful tool to understand political behav ior. Focusing on the actors’ perspective on the world, beliefs contribute to studies of structural factors, which cannot by themselves explain human behav ior (see Young 1996: 395). As Jonathan Renshon observes, “In the context of political decision making, leaders react not to an objective reality but to a subjective reality that is filtered through their belief system” (Renshon 2008: 822, my italics). The study of beliefs originated in the field of foreign policy analysis (George 1969; Holsti 1962; Leites 1953). Although it has spread to other fields including public opinion or voting behav ior (Caplan 2007; Page and Shapiro 1992), there are only a few studies about the beliefs connected to political violence.1 Due to this gap, we have very little knowledge about the subjective reality to which violent individuals react, and about whether the external categories presented by existing studies of political violence actually matter from the actors’ own perspective. This gap not only prevents us from understanding the rich microlevel mechanisms that drive the people who engage in political violence, but also from comparing the motivations underlying political violence as opposed to other types of behavior, such as nonviolent activism. This book explores the beliefs of violent individuals and compares them with the beliefs of nonviolent individuals. This exploration suggests that, unlike what is widely assumed, the motivations underlying extremist behav ior such as violence and mainstream behav ior such as nonviolent activism appear to be rather similar. Specifically, I find that both violent and nonviolent individuals act in response to particular beliefs about aggressive state behavior. This implies that rather than being crazy religious fanatics, violent individuals are not that different from nonviolent individuals and engage in very similar reasoning processes. These findings put into perspective existing explanations of political violence that apply external categories of research. In the following paragraphs,

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Introduction

I elaborate on these theories and explain how this book contributes to them by investigating the beliefs of violent individuals. Rather than offering a comprehensive overview of the vast literature on political violence, I focus on theories that continue being examined in the major political science publications and that speak to the belief systems literature by implying that violent individuals hold certain beliefs (although they do not explicitly explore the subjective reality of violent individuals). I proceed by providing brief introductions to each theory, commenting on its limits, and explaining the contribution of this book.

Cultural-Psychological Theories

Cultural-psychological theories are arguably the most famous type of theories about the beliefs of violent individuals. Focusing on religion, they imply that violent individuals are motivated by religious beliefs. In “The Roots of Muslim Rage,” Bernard Lewis (1990) argues that “Islam, like other religions has also known periods when it inspired in some of its followers a mood of hatred and violence”—an argument Samuel Huntington later developed into the theory of the “clash of civilizations” (1993). In spite of their publicity, cultural-psychological theories have been widely disputed. On the one hand, the claim that religion matters to violence has been supported. As Jessica Stern has pointed out, violent individuals are “spiritually intoxicated” and engage in violence “to ‘cleanse’ the world of ‘impurities’ ” (2003: 281; cf. Juergensmeyer 2009). On the other hand, recent findings have questioned the role of religious beliefs. “Large-scale political violence is not disproportionately common or deadly in Muslim lands,” Fish, Jensenius, and Michel (2010: 1342) conclude in a statistical analysis building on Monty Marshall’s Major Episodes of Political Violence dataset. At the same time, the authors note that this finding does not provide information about the motivations of individuals (1342). In a statistical analysis of two distinct datasets and an independent sample of Muslims and Jews, Canetti et al. (2010) have explored these motivations. They find that religion does not directly encourage individuals to take up arms, and that “the relationship between religion and political violence only holds true when mediated by deprivations and psychological resource loss” (575). While these findings contribute insight, we “still lack much hard evidence on whether a relationship between Islam and political violence really exists”

Introduction

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(Fish et al. 2010: 1327). More specifically, we cannot explain why only some people who believe in Islam take up arms, or why the majority of Muslims do not take up arms: As Canetti et al. criticize, “on the individual level, existing empirical accounts are both sparse and conflicting” (575). This book contributes new empirical insight at the individual level, and suggests that the main assumption of cultural-psychological theories is incorrect: investigating the beliefs of violent individuals who are Muslim, my analysis shows that they are not motivated by religious beliefs, but rather by other beliefs about state aggression. By contrast, it shows that beliefs about Islam may help encourage individuals to engage in nonviolent activism instead. The analysis adds analytical rigor to existing studies in the field of cultural-psychological theories by exploring the beliefs of both violent and nonviolent Muslims, and of violent and nonviolent non-Muslims. Moreover, it explores belief systems, which sheds light on the interrelationships by which different types of factors may motivate actors to engage in violence, building on Canetti et  al.’s observation that the motivations underlying violence are complex.

Environmental-Psychological Theories

Environmental-psychological theories focus on the environment in which violence occurs. Much of this literature focuses on economic deprivation, implying that violent individuals are motivated by beliefs that they suffer from environmental strains, such as economic hardships. Early research in this field suggests that people who take up arms against their states are motivated by feelings of frustration related to perceived deprivation and that “rebellions come to be when people cannot bear the misery of their lot” (Victoroff 2005: 19). Building on John Dollard et  al.’s frustration-aggression hypothesis (1939) and Alexis de Tocqueville’s work on people’s dissatisfaction with their living situation ([1835] 2000), Ted Robert Gurr argues that “the proposed relation between perceived deprivation and the frustration concept in frustration-anger-aggression theory . . . provides a rationale for a more general definition of magnitude of violence and a more precise specification of what it comprises” (2011: 9). Related recent analyses have presented an ambiguous picture. “Economic conditions and education are largely unrelated to participation in, and support for, terrorism,” according to a statistical analysis of the determinants of partici-

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Introduction

pation in Hezbollah activities in Lebanon (Krueger and Maleckova 2002, 2003). The authors conclude that “having a living standard above the poverty line or a secondary school or higher education is positively associated with participation in Hezbollah” and “that Israeli Jewish settlers who attacked Palestinians in the West Bank in the early 1980s were overwhelmingly from high-paying occupations” (2002: abstract). In their 2011 statistical analysis of surveys from Afghanistan, Iraq, and the Philippines, Berman et al. reach a similar conclusion: “The data rule out a positive correlation between unemployment and violence for all three countries: if there is an opportunity-cost effect, it is not dominant in any of them” (2011: 498; cf. Mousseau 2011; Blair et al. 2013). On the other hand, Meierrieks and Gries (2012) have provided new support for environmentalpsychological explanations (2012). Based on an analysis of panel data for 160 countries from 1970 to 2007, they show that there is a “causal relationship between terrorism and growth” that is “heterogeneous over time and across space.” They conclude: “Growth unidirectionally Granger-causes terrorism for the Cold War era, while terrorism unilaterally Granger-causes growth for the post-Cold War era” (102, my italics). Similarly, James Piazza’s analysis of data from the Minority at Risk Project concludes that economic deprivation matters: “The empirical results show that countries that permit their minority communities to be afflicted by economic discrimination make themselves more vulnerable to domestic terrorism in a substantive way” (2011: 350). Although not refuting the frustration-aggression hypothesis, these results suggest that its significance is limited, and that the relationship between environmental strains and violence remains unclear. In the words of Piazza, environmental-psychological explanations remain “inconclusive” (2011: 339). A major limitation is that environmental-psychological theories are rather static, implying that if environmental conditions change, the frequency with which political violence occurs will change as well. Such a linear causal relation can be refuted with reference to observations that the majority of people living in poverty do not take up arms (Victoroff 2005), that individuals as well as groups have embraced or renounced violence when environmental conditions stayed the same (Ashour 2007; Wickham 2002), or that individuals of the same group came from different environments (Ansari 1984; Ibrahim 1980). This book shows that, as opposed to what is expected from environmentalpsychological theories, violent individuals are not motivated by beliefs about environmental conditions, such as economic deprivation. Investigating the beliefs of violent individuals from two opposite environments—an authori-

Introduction

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tarian state suffering from economic hardship (Egypt) and a wealthy democracy (Germany)—the analysis shows that individuals instead decide to take up arms in response to the belief that the state is aggressive. By contrast, it shows that, surprisingly, individuals who engage in nonviolent activism in the same environments may be motivated by beliefs about economic deprivation.

Group Theories

Much of the recent research has examined the role of violent groups. This research emphasizes that individuals usually engage in violence against the state as part of groups, rather than as lone-wolf actors. Th is implies that violent individuals are motivated by beliefs about their groups. Although much of this literature focuses on groups rather than individuals, some analysts in this field have also explored how groups may motivate individuals to turn to violence. For example, they have pointed to sociopsychological mechanisms according to which individuals first get in contact and are then absorbed by violent groups. Based on Marc Sageman’s famous analysis of the biographies of 172 individuals, for instance, it has been suggested that “terrorism is an emergent quality of the social networks formed by alienated young men who become transformed into fanatics yearning for martyrdom and eager to kill” (2004: vii). Albert Bandura has specified the psychological aspect of this theory by pointing to “mechanisms of moral disengagement” in which violent individuals abandon the “moral standards” adopted during their earlier “course of socialization” and begin to “refute” moral arguments, referring to “a higher level of morality, derived from communal concerns” (Bandura 1998: 161, 165). More recently, Omar McDoom’s statistical analysis of 3,426 residents of a Rwanda community has provided support for the social aspect of this theory by showing that violent individuals “are likely to live either in the same neighbourhood or in the same household as other participants” (2013: 1). “Specifically, as the number of violent to nonviolent individuals in an individual’s neighbourhood or household increases, the likelihood of this individual’s participation also increases.” Three studies by Scott Atran and Jeremy Ginges on Palestinians and Jews have further specified psychological aspects according to which violent individuals “are motivated by moral commitments to collective sacred values” (2009: 115).

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Introduction

The finding that violent groups matter is widely accepted. In spite of the insight gained from the mentioned works, focusing on groups cannot explain the behav ior of the individuals participating in those groups. Specifically, group theories leave open the questions of why certain individuals join violent groups as opposed to others who have access to the same groups; why certain but not other members of violent groups carry out particular attacks; or why certain members sometimes break away from their violent groups. Often, group theories also fail to consider that nonviolent groups may be interacting with the same individuals, operating in the same environment, and against the same targets. As opposed to what is expected from group theories, this book shows that violent individuals are not motivated by beliefs about violent groups. Specifically, I find that the beliefs violent individuals hold about their groups do not matter to their decisions to take up arms. Moreover, I find that, surprisingly, nonviolent individuals may hold the same beliefs about violent groups. In particular, the nonviolent individuals I interviewed also hold beliefs that they interacted with members of violent groups. This indicates that they also had group access, but as opposed to what is expected from group theories, this did not motivate them to take up arms.

Psychopathological Theories

Although psychopathological theories have been widely discarded, they deserve attention because they continue to be quoted by numerous analysts of political violence and by the news. Specifically, psychopathological theories have been dedicated to searching for a “terrorist personality.” They have also argued that violent individuals suffer from mental illness. This implies that violent individuals are motivated by beliefs that do not correspond to reality (mental illnesses) or beliefs related to their personality (“terrorist personality”). Theodor Adorno et al.’s The Authoritarian Personality, written in the aftermath of World War II, presents one of the first contributions to this field. Focusing on “the potentially fascistic individual,” the book explores the hypothesis “that the political, economic, and social convictions of an individual often form a broad and coherent pattern, as if bound together by a ‘mentality’ or ‘spirit,’ and that this pattern is an expression of deep-lying trends in his personality” (1950: 1). Lloyd Etheredge’s “Hardball Politics: A Model” (1979)

Introduction

13

builds on Adorno’s theory and has inspired numerous additional works.2 Specifically, Etheredge explores “the syndrome” of “hardball politics” where “tough, ambitious, shrewdly calculating men vie for power and status behind a public veneer of civilization and idealistic concern” (3). Treating political behavior as the result of personality structures, Etheredge presents “hardball politics as a subculture . . . constructed and sustained by a particular personality type, men with what is known clinically as a narcissistic personality disorder” (1979: 3, my italics). In spite of their contribution and publicity, psychopathological theories have been widely discarded. As Crenshaw (1981: 390) notes, “the outstanding common characteristic of terrorists is their normality.” Moreover, Post has observed that “research on the psychology of terrorists does not reveal major psychopathology” (2004: 128). And Silke has pointed out that “the findings supporting the pathology model are rare and generally of poor quality” (1998: 51). This book offers new evidence that violent individuals do not suffer from mental illness and that there appears to be no “terrorist personality.” Specifically, my study of the beliefs of violent individuals does not identify any beliefs that do not correspond to the external world, which would indicate that they suffer from illnesses, such as hallucinations. My study also identifies very few beliefs about the individuals’ personality, and it finds that these do not matter to decisions to take up arms. These findings point to the limits of psychopathological theories, which continue to enjoy much publicity.

Analytical Framework Analyzing the beliefs of violent individuals provides an inside perspective that identifies the limits of existing theories on political violence that focus on external factors such as poverty, or access to violent groups, or on particular beliefs related to Islam or mental illness. Specifically, it shows that violent individuals are not motivated by the main factors that are assumed to explain violence by these theories. Rather, the analysis shows that violent individuals primarily act in response to beliefs about aggressive state behavior. It also suggests that the motivations of violent and nonviolent individuals are surprisingly similar, and that violent individuals engage in reasoning processes that strongly resemble those underlying mainstream political behav ior. These fi ndings

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Introduction

indicate that analyzing the beliefs of political actors can contribute indepth knowledge that is not available from analyses of external research categories. By adopting the CMA, this book promises to synthesize the existing literature. Specifically, belief systems represented by cognitive maps consist of beliefs about various types of factors, which are usually addressed by different theories. For example, one can hold beliefs about religious norms like God forbids the killing of innocent people (cultural-psychological theories); about economic conditions like poverty (environmental-psychological theories); or about interacting with violent groups like meeting members of al-Qaeda (group theories). Cognitive maps can moreover investigate the mechanisms3 by which these factors encourage individuals to take up arms or to engage in nonviolent activism instead. As I explain in Chapter 1, it can do so because beliefs are by nature connected in a systematic way. Because of this, the CMA promises to provide new knowledge about the complex interrelationships between different types of factors connected to violence, adding to other methods such as statistical analyses that focus more on the direct relationships between particular variables and behav ior. Exploring various types of factors, the CMA can shed light on the relevance of existing theories. The following study is guided by an analytical framework of four hypotheses about the main factors addressed by these theories, formulated as beliefs. To formulate the hypotheses, I revisited the theories discussed above and focused on the main factors addressed by each of them. I then related those factors to the beliefs of violent and nonviolent individuals. Table 1 gives an overview. These hypotheses serve as an analytical framework to guide the following study. Specifically, they allow me to evaluate the importance of the main types of factors that have been found related to political violence by existing research. This serves to reassess the relevance of existing theories on political violence. More specifically, it shows whether, as assumed by culturalpsychological theories, violent individuals are motivated by Islam; whether, as assumed by environmental-psychological theories, violent individuals are motivated by environmental conditions; whether, as assumed by group theories, violent individuals are motivated by access to violent groups; or whether, as assumed by psychological theories, violent individuals are motivated by mental illness or personality.

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Table 1: Analytical Framework Number of hypothesis

1

2

3

4

Theories addressed by hypothesis

Culturalpsychological theories

Environmentalpsychological theories

Group theories

Psychopathological theories

Main factors addressed by theories

Islam

Environmental conditions

Access to violent groups

Mental illness and personality

Hypothesis for violent individuals

Violent individuals explain their decisions by beliefs about Islam

Violent individuals explain their decisions by beliefs about economic hardship

Violent individuals explain their decisions by beliefs about interacting with violent groups

Violent individuals explain their decisions by beliefs that do not correspond to reality

Corresponding hypothesis for nonviolent individuals (control group)

Nonviolent individuals do not explain their decisions by beliefs about Islam

Nonviolent individuals do not explain their decisions by beliefs about economic hardship

Nonviolent individuals do not explain their decisions by beliefs about interacting with violent groups

Nonviolent individuals explain their decisions by beliefs that correspond to reality

Defining Political Violence and Nonviolent Activism Political Violence

Defining political violence is subject to various challenges. From an empirical perspective, there is “a vast array of types of violence” (Collins 2008: 1), and from a theoretical perspective violence can be considered “a conceptual minefield” (Kalyvas 2013: 19).4 To gain clarity, I identify four features of political violence agreed on by most analysts. First, the most significant characteristic is that political violence involves “physical force” (della Porta 1995: 2; Tilly 1978: 176). While Gurr (2001) mentions “the use or threat” of force, the majority of works presented above deal with the application of physical force, connected with the occurrence of

16

Introduction

physical harm. The harm addressed by the literature is mostly death, but it can in principle also include nonlethal physical injuries or the destruction or damaging of objects. Based on these considerations, I treat political violence as behavior that applies physical force and that is connected with the occurrence of physical harm. As Tilly observes, such a focus establishes a relatively “narrow” definition of political violence and ensures “at least a chance to sort out the regularities in the appearance” of it (1978: 174). By contrast, a broader definition of political violence that goes beyond the application of physical force “to include all violations of human rights not only requires agreement on the character of those rights, but also expands the phenomenon to such a large range of social relations as to make systematic study of it almost unthinkable.” Second, much of the literature I have discussed relates physical force to civil perpetrators. This confirms the continuing relevance of the original use of the term political violence, which occurred in the 1960s (Gurr 2001) and only later started to include other perpetrators, such as the state, or no perpetrators, as in “structural violence” (Galtung 1990). In spite of their common focus on civil perpetrators, the literature discussed above deals with these perpetrators from two different angles—groups and individuals. Given my attempt to differentiate individuals who take up arms from those who engage in nonviolent activism instead, this book emphasizes the role of individuals rather than collectives: focusing on groups does not allow a differentiation of the individuals who form, run, or break away from their groups. This does not mean, however, that I think political violence cannot be considered to belong to “the repertoires of collective actions” (della Porta 1995: 2; cf. Tilly 2003). Rather, my focus adds to existing studies by drawing attention to the individuals who are responsible for the exercise of physical force, although groups or larger collectives plan and claim responsibility for it. Third, as suggested by their common focus on perpetrators, the majority of the works discussed above share a focus on a particular target: the state, defined as a polity that has a government that holds a monopoly of legitimate use of force over a certain territory (Weber 1992). State targets may be people who directly represent the government, such as the head of state, the prime minister, or other ministers. They may also be people who have especially close ties to the government, such as leading businessmen. They may moreover be people who are represented by governments, that is, citizens of the state, or people whose existence is closely connected to that of the government, such as tourists in states where tourism is a major source of income.5 Finally, state

Introduction

17

targets can be objects owned by the state, such as government buildings and highways. Some examples of political violence involving state targets are the assassination of President Sadat during a military parade in 1981; the murder of German police officer Franz Sippel when he wanted to check the passports of members of the Red Army Faction (1976); the kidnapping and shooting of the chairman of the German Employers’ Organization, HannsMartin Schleyer (1977); the kidnapping of the candidate for the mayoral elections in Berlin, Peter Lorenz (1975); or the attack on the building of the Law School in Berlin (1972). Regardless of its theoretical background, most of the literature is dedicated to physical force applied against civilians living in a state. In spite of extensive criticism related to the term, this is usually referred to as “terrorism.” For the purpose of this study, it is important to emphasize that much of what is called terrorism goes beyond physical force targeting the state (although physical force targeting the state may be called “terrorism”). Quite frequently, for instance, “terrorism” is used to describe physical force targeting particular religious groups. For example, consider the attack on Copts, a religious minority in Egypt, in “The Saints Church” in Alexandria during the Coptic Christmas mass at the beginning of 2011. While the attack has been called “terrorism,” the religious background of the victims (Coptic), the location of the attack (a church), and its timing (during Christmas mass) suggest that the state was not the primary target. Rather, they suggest that this attack is an act of political violence against the Coptic community. This is the case, although one might add that, by exposing the Egyptian state’s inability to prevent the catastrophe, the attack also hurt the state. On the other hand, the massacre of tourists at the Temple of Hatshepsut in 1997, which has also been called terrorism, may be considered an attack against the state: the targeting of tourists is an attack on the Egyptian tourism industry—a major source of state income. Moreover, the perpetrators had a history of targeting state representatives, during which they stated they were indeed targeting the state (Peters 2006). It might be objected that focusing on political violence against the targets mentioned appears to be somewhat arbitrary and rather narrow. However, the definitions provided in this section establish the basis for a rigorous comparison of violent and nonviolent activism that happens in the same environment—and not for exploring all forms of political violence. Focusing on a wider range of targets (including nonstate targets, for example) would have made it much more difficult to conduct this comparison, even if both violent and nonviolent activism happened in the same environment.

18

Introduction

Fourth, physical force is widely considered a means rather than an end, and there is a consensus that the people who exercise physical force do so for a purpose beyond the mere application of physical force.6 Since goals exist prior to the performance of actions, political violence appears to be a planned rather than spontaneous type of behavior.7 Goals also indicate that political violence may involve deliberation, including alternative means—for example, about forcing the repeal of a new law by planting a bomb inside the Ministry of Justice rather than by demonstrating in front of it. In spite of a more or less general consensus that political violence includes goals, the literature differs on the nature of these goals: cultural-psychological theories assume the goals are based on religious beliefs, and in par ticular on Islam. Environmental-psychological theories suggest that the goals are based on economic hardship and express people’s desire to improve their living conditions. Focusing on violent groups that absorb individuals who establish contact with them, group theories seem to equate goals with groups, suggesting that the group itself can be a goal. Finally, psychopathological theories imply that goals are subject to the personality of individuals. This study supports the general consensus that political violence involves certain goals. Since the cognitive mapping approach does not specify particular factors in advance, I do not formulate par ticular types of goals at this stage. Rather, my construction of data provides insight into the goals related to political violence (see Chapter 4).

Nonviolent Activism and Borderline Behavior

At first sight, the literature discussed above offers little ground to develop a definition of nonviolent activism. This is due to its more general neglect of the absence of political violence8 as well as to the absence of control groups in existing studies of violence. To cope with this difficulty, I draw on the definition of political violence to define nonviolent activism. Nonviolent activism is a behav ior that involves a means that is not physical force. For examples of such activities, Gene Sharp’s famous article on nonviolence (1959) serves as a valuable source.9 In particular, Sharp mentions boycotts, strikes, or noncooperation movements exercised as passive or peaceful resistance in the context of conflicts with the goal of “achieving or thwarting of social, economic, or political change” (53). More specifically, he cites Mohandas Gandhi’s resistance campaign; the Montgomery, Alabama, Negro

Introduction

19

bus boycott in 1955–1956; the 1952 “Defy Unjust Laws” campaign in South Africa; and the 1942 Norwegian teachers’ resistance to Nazi use of Norwegian schools for indoctrination, which was among the “most important actions in halting Quisling’s plans for instituting the Corporate State in Norway.” Further drawing on my definition of political violence, I consider nonviolent activism to involve civilian perpetrators and state targets. Such a common focus provides a rigorous basis for comparison—although it limits a wider exploration of violent and nonviolent activism, which may involve noncivil perpetrators and nonstate targets. As mentioned, it is nevertheless much more difficult to compare violent and nonviolent activism conducted by different perpetrators against different targets. It is also important to note that violent and nonviolent activism that involves civil perpetrators and state targets does occur; and that focusing on exactly these activities provides an especially rigorous basis to systematically differentiate between the two. Following my definition of political violence, I further consider nonviolent activism to involve goals. By definition, violent and nonviolent activism might involve the same goals. However, nonviolent activism is distinguishable from political violence by its means, which are not physical force. As a result, the goals of nonviolent activism are nevertheless related to the rejection of physical force and the embrace of other means instead. Th is is expressed by Gandhi: “Non-violence is the greatest force at the disposal of mankind. It is mightier than the mightiest weapon of destruction devised by the ingenuity of man” (Gandhi 2007: 23). It is also interesting to note that, in this context, it is possible to differentiate nonviolent activism from peaceful activism: goals indicate that an activity is planned and is intended to exercise certain but not other means. By contrast, peaceful activism may be considered to not involve any goals and be unplanned or spontaneous. Peaceful activism may moreover be considered to involve goals without considering physical force as a means. In the following analysis, this aspect is addressed by coding the individuals’ direct speech into different types of categories representing peaceful and nonviolent activities (see Chapter 4). Although the examples of nonviolent activism mentioned above do not involve physical force, the same cannot be said about other activities, which appear to be very similar: As Sharp observes, demonstrations or strikes, for instance, in principle involve nonviolent means—but their occurrence has often been connected with physical force.10 Some examples are the Egyptian revolution in 2011, the Greek protests against austerity measures in 2011, the

20

Introduction

Table 2: Examples of Borderline Activities (general) Failed application of physical force Not pulling the trigger of a gun pointed at a target Failed detonation of a bomb

Application of both violent and nonviolent means Joining a protest after planting a bomb Protestors hitting the police during a demonstration

strikes of textile workers in Mahalla, Egypt, in 2008, or the student revolts in Germany in 1968. In addition, there are activities whose goals involve physical force but whose application does not occur. Examples are the failure to detonate of a bomb intended to kill the hostages and hostage takers during the RAF siege of the German embassy in Stockholm in 1975, or the failed detonation of bombs placed on German trains in 2006. There are at least two types of borderline behav ior in which either both nonviolent and violent means are applied or the application of a particular means fails. An example of the first is the throwing of stones at the police by protestors during a demonstration: the activity of demonstrating indicates an application of a nonviolent means, and the activity of throwing stones at the police indicates an additional activity that involves application of physical force. An example of the second type is a person’s refraining from pulling the trigger of a gun that is pointed at a policeman: in this case, there is no application of physical force, even though, by pointing the gun at the policeman, it can be said that physical force is considered a means. Table 2 gives an overview. Based on these considerations, nonviolent activism may include a large range of activities. What they all have in common is that they (1) exclude physical force, (2) involve goals related to the rejection of physical force and the embrace of other means instead, (3) are conducted by civil perpetrators, and (4) target the state. The Venn diagram in Figure 1 gives an overview of the concepts discussed in this section. Specifically, it identifies various types of activities as political violence, nonviolent activism, and borderline behavior. Note that although the second type of borderline behavior does not occur, it has been placed at the intersection of political violence and nonviolent activism, because it is identifiable as borderline behavior by negating the major components of violent and nonviolent activism. Table 3 provides particular examples of activities.

Figure 1. Venn diagram of political violence, borderline behavior, and nonviolent activism.

22

Introduction

Table 3: Examples of Political Violence, Borderline Behavior, and Nonviolent Activism Political violence

Borderline behavior

Nonviolent activism

Hatschepsut Massacre, 1997

Egyptian Revolution, 2011 (violent and nonviolent activism)

Gandhi’s resistance campaign

Assassination of President Sadat, 1981 Kidnapping and shooting of the chairman of the Confederation of German Employers’ Associations, Hanns-Martin Schleyer, 1977 Killing of a German police officer who wanted to check passports of members of the Red Army Faction, 1976 Attack on the building of the Berlin Law School, 1976 Kidnapping of the candidate for the mayoral elections in Berlin, Peter Lorenz, 1975

Greek protests against austerity measures, 2011 (violent and nonviolent activism) Strike of Egyptian textile workers in Mahallah, April 2008 (violent and nonviolent activism)

Montgomery bus boycott in Alabama, 1955–1956 “Defy Unjust Laws” campaign in South Africa, 1952 Norwegian teachers’ resistance to the Nazis’ use of their schools for indoctrination, 1942

German student protests, 1960s (violent and nonviolent activism) Failure of detonation of bombs placed on German trains, 2006 (none) Failure of detonation of a bomb placed in the main train station of Bonn, Germany, 2012 (none)

Outlook: Chapter Overview Drawing on these definitions, the following chapters investigate the question why some individuals take up arms while others who live under the same conditions engage in nonviolent activism instead. In Chapter 1, I introduce the CMA and show how it can be used to study political violence. I also introduce a formalization of cognitive maps that copes with the maps’ complexity: it allows the researcher to develop computational models processing the cognitive maps as directed acyclical graphs (DAGs). The formalization is based on Judea Pearl’s theory of causality (2000)

Introduction

23

and provides new possibilities for the application of the CMA. It also presents a new approach to studying counterfactuals. Specifically, it suggests how intervening on the actors’ beliefs about the world rather than on the world itself can explore their behav ior in alternative worlds. In Chapter 2, I introduce the individuals I interviewed for this study and describe several situations in which I interviewed individuals. I elaborate on the research design—a double-paired comparison of violent and nonviolent individuals from Egypt and Germany—and explain my identification strategy of individuals while conducting fieldwork. I also consider potential biases related to this research. Finally, I draw comparisons with other analyses about violent individuals from Egypt and Germany. In Chapter 3, I describe the historical context in which the individuals decided to engage in violent or nonviolent activism. Specifically, I introduce their groups: the nonviolent Muslim Brotherhood and the violent al-Jihad and al-Jamaʿat al-Islamiyya in Egypt, and the violent Red Army Faction and Bewegung 2. Juni, as well as the nonviolent Kommune 1 and the Socialist German Student Union in Germany. I discuss the beginning, development, and, in some cases, dissolution of these groups with special emphasis on the 1970s, when most of the individuals I interviewed were active. In Chapter 4, I describe how I constructed cognitive maps from the interviews and how I identified the three main components of cognitive maps from the direct speech of the individuals—beliefs, belief connections, and decisions. Since they are constructed from direct speech, these cognitive maps are not immediately comparable. Accordingly, I employed Spradley’s theme analysis to abstract the beliefs of different individuals into more general categories. I show how I constructed a coding scheme, which consists of several dozen categories. The scheme identifies five broad sets of factors related to political violence and speaks to the analytical framework presented in this Introduction. It shows that the reasoning processes of violent and nonviolent individuals are surprisingly similar, and that there are no significant differences between Muslims and non-Muslims who engage in violence. Rather, the reasoning processes of all individuals primarily rely on beliefs about the state environment. There are also extraordinarily few beliefs about violent groups and about the individuals’ personality. There is no evidence that violent individuals suffer from mental illnesses or act based on a “terrorist personality.” Chapter 5 presents the computer program and analysis of the cognitive maps. In more than 100,000 runs, the analysis identifies ten mechanisms

24

Introduction

related to political violence (five mechanisms) and nonviolent activism (five mechanisms). These mechanisms show that both violent and nonviolent individuals act in self-defense by responding to the belief that the state is aggressive. More specifically, this belief is so significant that individuals who hold it may decide to take up arms even if they believe the state is stronger than they are, and that they will suffer severe consequences from engaging in violence. This belief may also encourage nonviolent individuals to make decisions, even if they do not believe their activity will have any effect on state aggression. Nonviolent individuals may further be motivated by the belief that there is economic deprivation in their direct environment—a motivation usually attributed to violent individuals. In Chapter 6, I show how the program can be applied to study counterfactuals. In more than 100,000 runs, the analysis investigates alternative worlds in which violent individuals would not have taken up arms. Individuals would not have decided to take up arms had they not believed their state was aggressive, and the majority would not have decided to engage in nonviolent activism in the absence of beliefs about state aggression. By contrast, a few nonviolent individuals would have been motivated to make decisions in alternative worlds by the belief that their state was not religious. Confirming that Islam is not found to explain violence, no violent individual would have continued making a decision based on this belief. In the Conclusion, I reconsider the results and comment on the utility of applying the cognitive mapping approach in the particular field of political violence and political science more generally. In addition, I share what I as a German woman experienced going to Egypt and conducting interviews with violent and nonviolent individuals. I also give a few personal reactions to returning to Egypt for this research, after having lived in Cairo as a student of political science and Middle East studies from 2004 to 2007. I end by commenting on the changed lives of the individuals in the aftermath of the Arab Spring.

Chapter 1

A Cognitive Mapping Approach to Political Violence

Cognitive maps identify the reasoning processes by which human beings decide to engage in certain behavior. Representing a large range of factors, they capture the complex “subjective reality” that motivates people to behave in certain ways (Renshon 2008: 822). In political science, cognitive mapping has been a valuable approach to explore policy decisions. However, applications have been widely abandoned because cognitive maps are highly complex: typically, they contain reasoning processes that consist of more than a dozen beliefs and connections between beliefs. This abandonment is unfortunate because cognitive mapping has at least two major advantages. First, it overcomes the gap between human behav ior and the structures in which humans act. This is achieved by modeling human behavior as decisions that are motivated by beliefs about various types of internal factors (for example, feelings of fear) or external factors (for example, conditions of poverty). Second, as indicated by increasing applications of cognitive mapping in other disciplines, such as computer science, engineering, economics, and medicine, the approach allows systematic investigation of the mechanisms underlying human behavior. Specifically, these mechanisms are modeled as direct and indirect connections between beliefs and decisions for actions (chains of beliefs). As noted in the Introduction, to cope with the complexity of cognitive maps, this book presents a computational model formalizing cognitive maps into directed acyclical graphs (DAGs). This formalization is based on Pearl’s theory of causality (2000). It provides new possibilities not only for the application of cognitive mapping but also for the study of counterfactuals.

26

Chapter 1

Specifically, the model enables the researcher to (1) systematically identify beliefs that motivate, or fail to motivate, decisions to engage in certain behav ior; (2) systematically trace chains of beliefs that encourage certain decisions; and (3) explore counterfactuals, which show what would have prevented people from deciding to engage in certain behav ior. To study counterfactuals, the model intervenes on the belief systems of political actors and examines their behav ior in alternative worlds following from this intervention. This allows us to explore alternative worlds in which the individuals would not have decided to take up arms (Chapter 6). Intervening on the actors’ beliefs about the world rather than on the world itself, this analysis bridges the gap between actors and political structures. This presents a new approach to the study of counterfactuals (cf. Fearon 1991; Sylvan and Majeski 1998; Tetlock and Belkin 1996), and is to my knowledge the first application of cognitive mapping to the study of counterfactuals. This chapter is dedicated to introducing the cognitive mapping approach, the formalization of cognitive maps into DAGs, and its application to the study of counterfactuals. The first section introduces the cognitive mapping approach, and presents the main components of cognitive maps: beliefs, belief connections or inferences, and decisions for actions. The second section presents the formalization of cognitive maps, following Pearl’s theory of causality, and its application to counterfactuals via external interventions.

Cognitive Mapping According to Axelrod (1976: 8–9), the roots of cognitive mapping lie in at least four fields: (1) psycho-logic, (2) causal inferences, (3) graph theory, and (4) evaluative assertion analysis.1 While several researchers working in these fields have been political scientists, the first rigorous application of cognitive mapping to studies of political science was presented by Robert Axelrod in 1976 in Structure of Decision. It had the practical goal of helping policy-makers reach better decisions. Cognitive maps are illustrations of belief systems. They consist of three major components, which I present in this chapter: (1) beliefs, (2) belief connections or inferences, and (3) decisions for actions. Specifically, cognitive maps visualize beliefs and decisions as text in circles, and belief connections as arrows. Beliefs are located in circles that also have arrows pointing away from them.2 Decisions are located in circles that only have arrows pointing toward

A Cognitive Mapping Approach 27

them.3 The following figure shows an excerpt from a cognitive map that I constructed for this research. As I show below, cognitive maps allow the researcher to systematically trace chains of beliefs that are antecedent to decisions. These chains represent the complex microlevel mechanisms underlying human behavior, drawing on inside categories provided by the actors themselves. They are complex representations of the subjective realities that motivate people to engage in certain behav ior, rather than representations of an external selection of certain factors and not others. Cognitive mapping thus contributes to methods that are based on external categories assigned by the researcher, and which focus more on the direct relations between particular variables and behavior, rather than on the complex microlevel mechanisms underlying this behav ior. As mentioned in the Introduction, cognitive mapping also offers to synthesize and put into perspective the literature on particular behaviors. Specifically, the belief systems represented by cognitive maps consist of beliefs about various types of factors, which are usually addressed by different theories. For example, related to violence, one can hold beliefs about religious norms like God forbids killing of innocent people (cf. cultural-psychological theories of violence); about economic conditions like poverty (cf. environmentalpsychological theories of violence); or about interacting with violent groups like meeting members of al-Qaeda (cf. group theories of violence). In applying cognitive mapping, I first construct cognitive maps from interviews with violent individuals (Chapter 4). Second, I analyze the maps to identify chains of beliefs that are antecedent to decisions to engage in political violence (Chapter 5). Third, I intervene on the cognitive maps to model counterfactuals and explore alternative worlds in which the individuals would not have decided to take up arms (Chapter 6). This application involves various methods. Specifically, my construction of cognitive maps draws on the textual analysis of my interviews and applies Spradley’s theme analysis to abstract the individuals’ beliefs into comparable categories. The analysis of the cognitive maps and the counterfactual analysis draw on a computational model developed for this study. The model formalizes cognitive maps into DAGs, a formalization presented in the second part of this chapter. Numerous studies, mostly in the field of foreign policy, have applied the cognitive mapping approach. Some examples are Alastair Iain Johnston’s analysis of Chinese strategic culture (1995), Matthew Bonham, Victor Sergeev,

Figure 2. Excerpt from the cognitive map of a Muslim Brother.

A Cognitive Mapping Approach 29

and Pavel Parshin’s examination of international negotiations (1997), Jonathan Klein’s and Dale Cooper’s analysis of military officers (1982), or Tuomas Tapio’s doctoral thesis about cooperation in foreign economic policy (2003). But most political scientists have nevertheless abandoned cognitive mapping because of the maps’ complexity. By contrast, cognitive mapping has been applied by researchers from various other disciplines. Indeed, as Elpiniki Papageorgiou and Jose Salmeron note in their review of fuzzy cognitive mapping over the past decade, the approach has “gained considerable research interest” (2013: 66; my italics). Examples range from economics (Lee et  al. 2012; Zhang, Shen, and Jin 2011; Krüger, Salomon, and Heydebreck 2011), to engineering (Mendonca et al. 2013; Zarandi et al. 2012; Bhatia and Kapoor 2011), to medical studies (Georgopoulos and Stylios 2013; Giabbanelli, Torsney-Weir, and Mago 2012; Papageorgiou 2011), geography (Soler et al. 2012), and biology (Wills et al. 2010; Wehner and Menzel 1990). Indeed, cognitive maps have become a subject of research themselves (Peng, Wu, and Yang 2011; Miao 2010; Eden 2004; Montello 2002; Nadkarni and Shenoy 2001; Brotons 1999; Chaib-Draa and Desharnais 1998; Young 1996).

What Is New About the Application of Cognitive Mapping in This Book

What all applications of the cognitive mapping approach have in common is that they investigate behav ior by focusing on the actors’ belief systems. This makes cognitive mapping a power ful tool to investigate human behav ior, bridging the gap between actors and external structures, and allowing study of the mechanisms underlying human behavior. What is new about this book is the application of cognitive mapping to the study of violent individuals. It is extremely difficult to identify and locate violent individuals, and to convince them to consent to be interviewed. Therefore, violent individuals who agree to be interviewed add a group of particular interest to the existing literature on political violence. Several researchers have conducted interviews with violent individuals, but to my knowledge none of them has applied the cognitive mapping approach to analyze these interviews. Moreover, my construction of cognitive maps from ethnographic interviews adds to the more general cognitive mapping literature, which often uses policy transcripts or public speeches. The individuals who participated in these

30

Chapter 1

interviews not only include individuals who engaged in violence, but also individuals who engaged in nonviolent activism, both Muslims and non-Muslims. This diversity adds analytical rigor to the cognitive maps by involving control groups that often remain absent from the study of political violence. What is also new about the application of the cognitive mapping approach in this book is the formalization of cognitive maps into DAGs. As described, this formalization copes with the complexity of cognitive maps that has led to the abandonment of the approach in political science. Based on recent literature in graph theory and computer science (see Pearl 2000; Koller and Friedman 2009), this formalization cannot only be used to rigorously compare the cognitive maps of different individuals but also to model alternative worlds in which individuals would not have decided to engage in certain behavior.

Part 1: Main Elements and Structure of Cognitive Maps Beliefs

Beliefs are a major component of cognitive maps. Specifically, beliefs identify the factors motivating human behav ior. In this study, beliefs identify the factors motivating individuals to take up arms, or to refrain from doing so (see Chapters 4–6). Beliefs are usually defined as mental states.4 More specifically, beliefs are “a person’s subjective probability that an object has a particular characteristic (for example, how sure the person feels that ‘This book is interesting’ . . . )” (Fishbein and Ajzen in Oskamp and Schultz 2005: 11). Since they are held by individuals, beliefs are by nature subjective. However, beliefs may be intersubjective or shared (it is possible to say “we believe in X”; cf. Bar-Tal 2000). This is possible because many beliefs address observations that are accessible to anybody. As Nilsson writes, “I believe I exist on a planet that we call Earth and that I share it with billions of other people” (2014: 1). Such beliefs are called true beliefs or knowledge. Since they address observations, true beliefs are verifiable by a perspective external to the subject who holds them. Beliefs can also address other factors, which may not be observable. For example, they can address abstract ideas, such as today is Monday; moral rules, such as it is forbidden to kill somebody; religious beliefs, such as God exists;

A Cognitive Mapping Approach 31

Table 4: Subjective, Intersubjective, and True Beliefs Subjective beliefs

A subject believing something to have a particular characteristic

Intersubjective beliefs

Several subjects believing something to have a particular characteristic

True beliefs

Are believed to have a particular characteristic (verifiable from an external perspective)

feelings like I am happy; social encounters like I am visiting my brother; or even assumptions that contradict observations in the world, such as all swans are black. Table 4 gives an overview. When theorizing about political behavior, it is important whether the beliefs held by the actors are true beliefs, intersubjective, or purely subjective. The most significant beliefs are true beliefs, rather than intersubjective or purely subjective beliefs, because true beliefs identify factors that can be verified from an external perspective. As I elaborate in Chapters 4 and 5, the major beliefs identified by this study are true beliefs. These show that violent individuals are neither mentally ill nor driven by religious beliefs. More specifically, they show that both violent and nonviolent activism are primarily motivated by state aggression. Whether beliefs are true, intersubjective, or subjective is indicated by what the beliefs address and is called propositional content.5 The form of propositional content is (I believe) that X. For example, the propositional content of my belief that there is a car in front of my house is “that there is a car in front of my house”; the propositional content of my belief that tables can talk is “that tables can talk”; and the propositional content of my belief that lying is wrong is “that lying is wrong.” Different propositional contents may identify different types of beliefs, and the following paragraphs identify six types of beliefs. Rather than being exhaustive, these types show that beliefs can be used to study various types of factors, such as observations, abstract ideas, social norms, and feelings. The first type addresses observable things that can be verified in the external world by one’s senses (sight, hearing, taste, smell, touch). Examples of such beliefs are “I believe that dogs have four legs,” “I believe that there is a desk in my office,” or “I believe that fish live in water.” Since these beliefs are

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Chapter 1

verifiable from a perspective external to the subjects holding them, they can be called true beliefs.6 The second type addresses something that logically contradicts an observable thing. Some examples are “I believe that tigers are pink,” “I believe that trees can fly,” or “I believe that the world is flat.” Based on verification in the external world, beliefs that address such propositions can be called false beliefs. Although what is addressed by their propositional contents is false from empirical evidence, people may nevertheless hold such beliefs, for example when they dream, when they deny certain things, or when they hallucinate. The third type addresses abstract ideas. Abstract in this sense means that what is described by this type of belief cannot be perceived by one’s senses. Some examples are nationality, time, or religion. Nevertheless, abstract ideas may be verifiable in the external world by certain things or words. For example, it is possible to verify my belief that I am Australian by checking my passport; it is possible to verify my belief that I am unpopular by asking people who know me what they think about me; and it is possible to verify my belief that it is the year 2060 by looking at a calendar. Thus, beliefs of this type may be true beliefs or false beliefs. Nevertheless, some beliefs of this type cannot be verified in the external world. Such beliefs cannot be true beliefs or false beliefs. Examples are beliefs about religion, such as “I believe that Jesus rose from the dead,” or “I believe that Mohammad is the prophet of God.” Nonreligious examples include “I believe that everybody has human dignity,” or “I believe that I am destined to become a lawyer.” Although such beliefs cannot be verified in the external world, it is possible that they are held by several people. Therefore, they may be intersubjective. The fourth type addresses something that has not been observed but that may be observable in the future. An example is “I believe that aliens exist.” Although these beliefs do not contradict anything that has been observed, they cannot be verified (yet) by observation. They can consequently not be called true beliefs or false beliefs. Nevertheless, they may be intersubjective. The fift h type addresses emotions. Examples of such beliefs are “I believe he is very angry,” or “I believe that I cannot bear this any longer.” Since they address something that is felt by human beings, these beliefs have a strong subjective dimension. However, like beliefs themselves, feelings may be shared, and different individuals may hold the same feelings about the same

A Cognitive Mapping Approach 33

Table 5: Typology of Beliefs Number of type of belief

1

2

3

4

5

6

Propositional content

Observations of things

Contradiction to observation of things

Abstract idea

Absence of observation of things

Feelings

Moral norms

Subjective

yes

yes

yes

yes

yes

yes

True belief, knowledge

yes

no

Possibly yes

no

Possibly yes

Possibly yes

False belief

no

yes

Possibly yes

no

Possibly yes

Possibly yes

Intersubjective

Usually yes

Possibly yes

Possibly yes

Possibly yes

Possibly yes

Possibly yes

things. For example, a lot of people felt fear after 9/11. Beliefs about feelings may therefore be intersubjective. Moreover, they may be verifiable in the external world: “I believe that he is very angry,” for instance, may be verifiable by an observation in which the person addressed by “he” actually shouts out “I am so angry.”7 The sixth type addresses moral norms. Examples of such beliefs are “I believe that it is wrong to kill somebody,” or “I believe that nobody should lie.” Moral norms cannot be perceived with one’s senses, but like feelings they may manifest themselves in observable behavior, for example in telling the truth.8 Because of this, they may be true beliefs. Moreover, they can be intersubjective. Referring to the example above, it is possible that more than one person believes that “it is wrong to kill somebody.” Table 5 provides an overview. Recall that the main purpose of this typology is not to be exhaustive but to show that beliefs can be used to study different types of factors, and that the most impor tant distinction indicated by this typology is that between true beliefs and all other beliefs. The findings of the following analysis show that the most significant beliefs underlying  political violence are true beliefs, rather than intersubjective or purely subjective beliefs. This shows that political violence is a response to things that exist in the world, rather than to religious beliefs, or even false beliefs. It shows that political violence is not cultural or a form of mental illness, and

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Chapter 1

that the reasoning processes connected to it are surprisingly similar to those underlying mainstream political behav ior.

Belief Connections

Another major component of cognitive maps are the connections between beliefs, also called inferences. These connections reveal the complex mechanisms by which certain factors, represented as beliefs, motivate humans to engage in certain behav ior. In this study, belief connections identify the microlevel mechanisms motivating individuals to take up arms, or to refrain from doing so (see Chapters 4–6). Belief connections indicate people’s subjective probability that an object has a particular characteristic in relation to the particular characteristic of another object, or in relation to another characteristic of the same object. Belief connections further indicate the logical order of this relation. In the words of Stenning and van Lambalgen: “the psychology of reasoning and logic are in a sense about the same subject” (2008: 3). More specifically, belief connections consist of beliefs that are coherent or directed within certain belief contexts.9 Coherence

Coherent connections address objects whose characteristics are logically consistent. Take the example of B1 “I believe that dogs have wings” and B2 “I believe that dogs can fly.” Both beliefs describe the same object (dogs). Moreover, B1 offers information about what dogs can do with wings (fly), and B2 about how dogs can fly (by using their wings). B1 and B2 can therefore be considered coherent (see Figure 3). As a contrast, consider the example of B2 “I believe that dogs can fly” and B3 “I believe that dogs cannot fly.” The propositional contents of these beliefs also address the same object (dogs) and may therefore appear to be connected in a similar way. However, B2 and B3 also address particular characteristics of dogs that are contradictory: “can fly” versus “cannot fly.” This contradiction indicates that B2 and B3 cannot be considered coherent (see Figure  3).10 Rather, they are incoherent. These examples suggest that coherence is the same as logical consistency. However, it is helpful to add that some researchers have put forward the stronger notion of “continuity of senses” to define coherence (De Beaugrande

A Cognitive Mapping Approach 35

Figure 3. Example of a coherent and incoherent belief connection.

and Dressler 1981, chap. 5). Continuity of senses means that two beliefs cannot only be considered connected but also to complement each other. In the example above, one could say that B1 complements B2 (by offering information about what dogs can do with wings). Based on these observations, coherence can indicate whether it is possible for a person who holds a particular belief to also hold a particular other belief in a certain belief context.11 This can be evaluated from a perspective that is external to the subject who believes certain things to be connected (or even by the subject himself, as he considers the beliefs he holds). The examples above suggest that, while belief connections in certain belief contexts are not limited to true beliefs, they cannot contain opposite types of beliefs whose propositional contents address the same thing: a person can believe that dogs can fly and that dogs have wings (example 1), but it is not possible for a person to believe that dogs can fly and that they do not fly (example 2). The first example is a coherent connection between two false beliefs about the same thing,12 and the second is an incoherent connection between a false and a true belief about the same thing. Absence of Connection

Apart from being connected coherently or incoherently, particular beliefs can also be considered unconnected. This emphasizes that beliefs are context dependent, even though all beliefs are embedded in mental processes and may therefore be considered connected on a more general basis. Take the example of B5 “I believe that Germany is in Europe” and B6 “I believe that fish

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live in water.” By themselves, B5 and B6 do not address anything by which they could be considered connected. Another example are the beliefs B3 “I believe that dogs cannot fly” and B7 “I believe that John is the son of Jack and Pamela,” which by themselves do not address anything that allows us to consider these beliefs connected, either. Whether particular beliefs are connected is subject to their belief context. It is possible, and indeed quite common, that all the beliefs somebody holds include beliefs that are contradictory. For example, I may hold the true belief that Alexander is wearing a green shirt in a belief context about my meeting with Alexander on Monday, and hold the true belief that Alexander is wearing a yellow shirt in a belief context about my meeting with Alexander on Tuesday. Considered in the same belief context, or by themselves, the beliefs that Alexander is wearing a green shirt and that Alexander is wearing a yellow shirt are contradictory, or incoherent. However, since they are related to different belief contexts addressing different situations, they can be considered unconnected rather than incoherent. Directedness

Directed belief connections address objects whose characteristics can be considered logically dependent on each other. Specifically, a characteristic of an object can be considered logically prior to another characteristic of another object, or to the same object. Consider the connection between two true beliefs, describing something that is verifiable in the external world (see Figure 4): B1 I believe that my glass of water fell to the floor. B2 I believe that the floor is wet. In this example, B1 addresses something that can be considered a logical antecedent (water falling to the floor) of what is addressed by B2 (wet state of floor). Conversely, what is addressed by B2 can be considered a logical consequent of B1. This can be represented as B1 → B2.

Figure 4. Example of a directed belief connection I.

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Figure 5. Example of a directed belief connection II.

Consider another example about the connection between two true beliefs that describe something that is verifiable in the external world (B1) and addresses an internal sensation (B2) (see Figure 5): B1 I believe that I ran 10 kilometers. B2 I believe that my muscles are sore. In this example, B1 also addresses something that can be considered a logical antecedent (running 10 km) of what is addressed by B2 (sore muscles). This can also be represented as B1 → B2. Possibility Versus Necessity

Such belief connections indicate possibilities rather than necessities. Specifically, there are other possible antecedents of a floor’s being wet or muscles’ being sore (hence the terminology “logical antecedent” and “logical consequent”). Indeed, what is described by B2 (in both examples) may in reality be the consequence of something else, for example a person cleaning the floor (example 1) or climbing ten flights of stairs (example 2). This indicates the limits of human knowledge, which also become relevant later in this chapter (see section on External Interventions on Cognitive Maps). Here, it suffices to note that regardless whether what is described by B1 is the real antecedent of what is described by B2, it is possible for a person to consider B1 an antecedent of B2. Temporality

Belief connections often represent common-sense temporal connections between physical things, and it might be tempting to think of directedness in terms of temporal structures.13 However, it is important to recall that all belief connections exist in human minds, and not in the external world where things unfold in time. Belief connections may give a cognitive account of time, but no chronological account of time. Cognitive accounts of time indicate people’s understanding about how things happen in time, and are not to be confused with the unfolding of time itself. Instead, they show how

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Figure 6. Logical versus chronological order of beliefs.

individuals at certain points in time believe time to be unfolding. It is therefore misleading to think of belief connections as representations of the chronological order by which things unfold. On another level, the unfolding of time itself can be misleading for understanding certain phenomena or behavior. This becomes obvious from the following example of the connection between two true beliefs, based on Pearl’s Causality (2000: 252). It shows that the chronological order may differ from the logical order addressed by the beliefs (see Figure 6): B1: I believe that it is raining. B2: I believe that the barometer is falling. In this example, what is addressed by B1 (rain) can be considered a logical antecedent of what is addressed by B2 (falling of the barometer). Again, this can be expressed as B1 → B2. However, the temporal order of the propositional contents of these beliefs cannot be considered in the order B1 → B2. According to the temporal order, B2 (falling of the barometer) is prior to B1 (rain), which translates into the opposite B2 → B1. This order contradicts the logical order, as rain is not a consequence of the falling of the barometer. Directedness Implies Coherence

Directedness implies coherence, because considering something to be logically prior to something else implies that the two can be considered logically consistent. For example, B1 and B2 “I believe that dogs have wings” and “I believe that dogs can fly” described earlier as having a coherent connection can also be considered to have a directed connection, so that B1 → B2.

A Cognitive Mapping Approach 39

Figure 7. Overview of belief connections.

On the other hand, not every coherent belief connection can be considered directed. Take the example of the belief connection between beliefs B1 “I believe that the street is wet” and B2 “I believe that I am wet.” B1 and B2 can be considered logically consistent, because both address the state of being wet. However, B1 cannot be considered a logical antecedent of B2, or vice versa. Figure 7 indicates this relationship between coherent and directed belief connections. It also includes unconnected beliefs.

Belief Systems

As described earlier, cognitive maps are illustrations of belief systems. Belief systems provide in-depth insight into the mechanisms underlying human behav ior, such as political violence. My study examines belief systems to show how humans can reach decisions to take up arms against their state, or to refrain from doing so (Chapters 4–6). Providing the framework for this analysis, this section lays out the basic structure of belief systems. The next section deals with the semantics and some structural aspects specific to belief systems related to political violence. Belief systems consist of belief connections. Belief connections follow certain rules, and belief systems therefore offer a consistent method to trace the microlevel mechanisms motivating human behav ior. There are two types of

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belief connections: direct belief connections, which I have discussed above, and indirect belief connections, which consist of more than one direct belief connection. The indirect connections between beliefs can be called chains of beliefs. Those that include directed (rather than only coherent) belief connections can be called directed chains of beliefs. They can be represented in the following way: Directed Belief Chain: B → B → B → B → B Each belief system includes at least two belief chains. Inside a belief system, every belief is directly connected to at least one other belief and indirectly connected to all the other beliefs of the system. In the system, each belief chain shares at least one and at most all but one belief or belief connection with another chain. In principle, belief systems can involve an infinite number of belief chains. Moreover, they can address various types of factors (see “Belief Typology”). Accordingly, belief systems can be highly complex. If belief systems are considered unlimited, it is not immediately obvious how to identify particular belief systems, such as those related to violence. It is therefore helpful to note that cognitive scientists more or less generally assume that beliefs are context dependent (Österholm 2010: 41). This suggests that belief systems can be limited by reference to certain contexts.14 If belief structures are limited, it is possible to identify particular belief systems and examine these in their entirety. In such systems, it is possible to identify various types of beliefs by referring to their position in the structure (rather than based on the issues they address). This significantly advances the analysis. Specifically, it allows the researcher to identify the logical order between connected beliefs and to systematically explore what is logically prior to certain behav ior. In particular, this can be achieved by identifying three types of beliefs: Pure Antecedents: beliefs that are only logical antecedents and never logical consequents of another belief in the system; Intermediate Beliefs: beliefs that are both logical antecedents and logical consequents of other beliefs in the system; Pure Consequents: beliefs that are only logical consequents and never logical antecedents of other beliefs in the system. Figure 8 presents a simple example.

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Figure 8. Example of a simple belief system.

These beliefs identify the beginning, middle, and end of belief chains. They indicate how reasoning processes begin, proceed, and end. Since beliefs address what motivates human behav ior (see “Belief Typology”), pure antecedents, intermediate beliefs, and pure consequents provide in-depth knowledge about the underlying structures of human behav ior. Specifically, pure antecedents can indicate what triggers the reasoning processes motivating certain behav ior. Intermediate beliefs can show what constitutes the microlevel mechanisms underlying the behav ior. Finally, pure consequents can identify the behav ior itself. In the following analysis, pure antecedents and intermediate beliefs identify the microlevel mechanisms motivating people to engage in political violence, whereas pure consequents identify the behavior itself.

Belief Systems Related to Political Violence and Nonviolent Activism

This book investigates belief systems about political violence. Political violence is a particular type of behavior. Given the discussion so far, it is not immediately obvious how a type of behav ior can be addressed by beliefs.

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It is also unclear what the belief contexts of beliefs about political violence may be. This section clarifies these points. Specifically, it shows how political violence can be represented by beliefs, and provides thoughts on possible belief contexts motivating beliefs about political violence. Beliefs Addressing Violent and Nonviolent Activism

There are two types of beliefs that can address political violence or nonviolent activism: beliefs that address things that have a material existence in the external word (Type 1) and beliefs that describe abstract ideas that may be observable (Type 3). There is an additional type of belief I discuss in the following section: beliefs that address decisions to perform certain actions. Beliefs of Type 1 address something that has a material existence in the external world. They are based on people’s ability to store in memory the things they observe in the world. Drawing on Alfred Schütz, it is not only possible to store those things in memory but also to generalize them into types (in the order thing → type) (Schütz 1973, drawing on Max Weber’s ideal types).15 Types are generalizations that indicate not only the “factual existence” of things but their “typical being-thus-and-so” (230). Their configuration establishes meaning-contexts in which certain things can be understood and meaning be imposed on entire situations. For example, “four-footed, wags its tail, barks” establishes a meaning-context that, together with a “theme” such as “bites,” can provide a meaning structure for a situation where somebody is bitten by a dog (231). The typology provided by Schütz provides helpful insight about how beliefs can address political violence or nonviolent activism. Specifically, it suggests that beliefs can address certain things in the world that have a configuration of “typical beings” that can be generalized into “political violence” and “nonviolent activism,” in the order things → types → political violence; things → types → nonviolent activism. In the Introduction, I defined three types of things that together can be considered “political violence”: (1) application of physical force, (2) civil perpetrator, and (3) state target. I have also defined three types of things that together can be considered “nonviolent activism”: (1) application of a means that is not physical force, (2) civil perpetrator, and (3) state target. The first type can be a thing like bombing, shooting, hitting (political violence), or protesting, participating in a sit-in, or writing a newspaper article (nonviolent activism). The second type can be a “thing” like Muslim Brother or a member of German Socialist Student Union (violent and

A Cognitive Mapping Approach 43

nonviolent activism); the third type can be a “thing” like the prime minister or the building of parliament (violent and nonviolent activism). All these things can be addressed by the propositional contents of beliefs. The following are some examples: B1 “I believe that a man is shooting the prime minister.” B2 “I believe that a group of people is planting a bomb in the Ministry of Interior.” B3 “I believe that a person is beating up a policeman.” These examples show that beliefs can represent various things belonging to the mentioned types. They also show that belief systems representing certain things of the same type might at first sight appear very different from each other—for example, systems with beliefs about planting a bomb versus systems with beliefs about hitting, or systems about shooting versus systems about throwing stones. This indicates that the typology allows the researcher to generalize these seemingly different things and to identify belief systems about violent and nonviolent activism that are comparable (Chapter 4 is dedicated to this task). Table 6 gives an overview of the configuration of the types and examples of things that can be generalized into violent and nonviolent activism. It is moreover possible that beliefs address violent and nonviolent activism as types, rather than as things or configuration of types. Type in this sense adds Table 6: Beliefs Representing Violent and Nonviolent Activism Political violence

Nonviolent activism

Type

Physical force

Civil perpetrator

State target

Means that is not physical force

Civil perpetrator

State target

Things

Shooting, bombing, throwing stones, hitting (physical force)

Peter, Jane, student, union, workers

Prime minister, parliament, Ministry of the Interior, car of the president

Writing an article, boycotting, protesting (nonviolent means)

Peter, Jane, student, union, workers

Prime minister, parliament, Ministry of the Interior, car of the president

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a level of abstraction to the terminology used above (so that things → subtypes [formerly types] → types [political violence, nonviolent activism]) and indicates that it is also immediately possible for humans to abstract from the things they see to identify belief systems about “political violence” and “nonviolent activism.” Some examples of beliefs that address political violence or nonviolent activism as types are B4 “I believe that there is political violence.” B5 “I believe that Ahmed engages in nonviolent activism.” B6 “I believe that some people engage in violent and nonviolent activism.” Since types are abstractions of things, the beliefs that address violent or nonviolent activism as types are beliefs that address abstract ideas (beliefs of Type 3).16 Belief Contexts Related to Beliefs About Violent and Nonviolent Activism

Belief systems also allow the study of the belief contexts17 connected with the beliefs addressing violent and nonviolent activism.18 The following is an example of a belief chain addressing political violence in a certain context: B1 B2 B3 B4

I believe that Peter is facing a person in a state uniform. I believe that Peter is shouting at the person. I believe that the person is shouting back at Peter. I believe that Peter is hitting the person in the state uniform.

The belief context is represented by B1, B2, B3, which represent a situation in which a civilian has a quarrel with a state employee. This is recognizable from the following “things” that can be abstracted into types: 1. thing: “Peter” (B1, B2, B3, B4) 2. thing: “shouting” (B2) and “shouting back” (B3) 3. thing: “person in state uniform” (B1)

type: civilian type: quarrel type: state employee

This belief context moreover has a particular structure: the belief connections between B1, B2, and B3 are directed. Specifically, B3 can be considered logi-

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cally prior to B2, because the person’s shouting back at Peter can be considered to indicate that Peter shouted at the person first; and B2 can be considered logically prior to B1, because Peter’s shouting at the person presupposes he is faced with a particular person, as indicated by B1. These belief connections can be expressed as B1 → B2 → B3. B4 indicates something that can be considered to represent political violence. In particular, it addresses the following things that can be abstracted into the configuration of types that can be called political violence: 1. thing: “is hitting” 2. thing: “Peter” 3. thing: “the person in state uniform”

type: application of physical force type: civil perpetrator type: state target

With the exception of “is hitting,” B1, B2, and B3 address the same things as B4, which indicates that B1, B2, and B3 can be considered a belief context of B4. At the same time “is hitting” (B4) allows the generalization of “Peter” and “the person in state uniform” into slightly different types: civil perpetrator (rather than “civilian”) and state target (rather than “state employee”). B1, B2, and B3 can moreover be considered directed toward B4. Specifically, B3 describes something that can be considered to encourage Peter to hit the state employee— “shouting back.” This relation between B3 and B4 can be expressed as B3 → B4. Since B3 is in turn the logical consequence of B2, which is in turn the logical consequence of B1, the entire chain can be expressed as B1 → B2 → B3 → B4. Since these beliefs address things that have a material existence in the external world, belief systems about violent and nonviolent activism may appear to consist of true beliefs, and to be intersubjective. However, it is important to note that the belief contexts of violent and nonviolent activism may not consist of true or intersubjective beliefs, and instead include religious beliefs, moral beliefs, or even incorrect beliefs. For instance, the example above could contain additional beliefs B1* “I believe that a witch told Peter to shout at the person in state uniform,” B1** “I believe that the person in state uniform is afraid,” or B1*** “I believe that the person in the state uniform believes that it is wrong to hit somebody.” Belief systems about violent and nonviolent activism may therefore not entirely consist of true beliefs or intersubjective beliefs. However, they must include the mentioned true beliefs addressing violent and nonviolent activism.

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In general, belief systems have an ultimately subjective dimension by being held by particular individuals. On the other hand, what is addressed by them has an ultimately objective dimension if it includes things that have material existence in the world.19

Decisions

In the previous section, I have shown that political violence can be represented by beliefs. In particular, I have explained that political violence can be addressed as beliefs of Type 1 that can be generalized, or, on a more abstract level, as beliefs of Type 3. Throughout the discussion, I have presented examples of beliefs of people who observe rather than engage in political violence. What has therefore not been explained so far is how studies can be conducted from the perspective of the people who engage in political violence. This section is devoted to this task. Examining political violence via belief systems involves the question how people’s belief systems are connected to their actions. This connection can be established by particular beliefs about intentions to perform certain actions. I call these beliefs decisions.20 In the following section, I introduce decisions. Decisions connect beliefs to behavior, which shows how cognitive mapping can bridge the gap between actors and external structures. Internal Structure

Decisions involve intentions. Intention is based on the notion of intentionality. Intentionality in the sense introduced by Franz Brentano refers to a “mental phenomenon” that “is characterized by . . . what we might call . . . reference to a content, a direction towards an object (which is not understood here as meaning a thing)” (2015: 92). This reference is also contained by my earlier definition of beliefs, which treats beliefs as mental states related to certain objects. Specifically, intentionality addresses the same relation between mental states and objects: mental state → object. Every belief involves intentionality. Beliefs that are decisions moreover directly address an intention and a particular object: actions.21 Following the internal structure of intentionality (mental state → object), decisions involve a directed connection between the intention and the action in the order intention → action. This can be considered to establish a directed connection between the subject and the action. This can be expressed as

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INTENTION → OBJECT subject → action Furthermore, actions can be considered interventions of the subject on the external world. This means that they involve an additional directed connection toward the world, so that action → world. Decisions then include two directed connections between the subject, the action, and the world. The first arrow represents the directedness of the intention, and the second that of the intended action:22 subject → action → world. Planning

Intentions indicate that the subjects who consider an action also carry out the action. My understanding of this follows Michael Bratman’s definition of intentions, by which they contain (partial) plans to perform actions (1987). Planning can be considered a mental state in which the subject is in control of an object. This subject-object connection is stronger than assigning certain properties to an object because it addresses an intervention of the subject on the world. This means that decisions can be considered as beliefs that involve stronger mental states than other beliefs introduced earlier. External and Internal Obstacles

Planning an action also has a temporal dimension: it is directed toward the future, in which the action will be conducted (or in which it will be continued).23 This indicates that decisions are temporally prior to actions. It also indicates that deciding to perform an action is not the same as performing the action.24 In the words of John Searle, there is a “gap” (2001: 61). As a result, it is possible that even though people decide to perform certain actions, they do not actually do so. This could be the case because of external obstacles that prevent the performance of the action—an example is the failure of the detonation of the bombs placed on German trains in 2006. It could also be the case because of internal obstacles, such as people obtaining new knowledge on which they form different intentions in favor of different actions, or people suffering from weakness of will (Searle 2001). According to Searle, the primary feature of “the gap” is, however, not temporal. Rather, the gap indicates that “we do not normally experience the stages of our deliberation and voluntary actions as having causally sufficient conditions or as setting causally sufficient conditions for the next stage” (Searle 2001: 50: 61–96). This emphasizes that, like the connections between

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Table 7: Decisions, Actions, Intentions, and Self-Knowledge

Intentionality Intention (planning) Self-knowledge

Decision

Beliefs that are not decisions

Actions

Yes Yes Yes

Yes No Maybe

Maybe Maybe Maybe

beliefs (see “Belief Connections”), the connections between decisions and behav ior are not causal—once a decision occurs, it does not necessarily translate into behav ior. Self-Knowledge

Planning also implies self-knowledge, that is, the subject knows he is planning to do X (one cannot plan something without having knowledge about what it is that one is doing). Since political violence involves high risks, the actors studied in this book actually planned their actions and have selfknowledge. However, on a more general level, it is not necessary that subjects plan their actions. For instance, my shaking of somebody’s hand may not be planned or include self-knowledge (but only self-awareness). Other actions, such as my turning right on my way to work may neither be planned nor include self-knowledge (and not even self-awareness). In fact, subjects may not even have self-knowledge or self-awareness related to their own beliefs, as is suggested by the impossibility of calling upon all the beliefs that one holds when asked to do so. Given these considerations, there seem to be numerous actions that are not planned. Since I define intention by reference to planning, such actions do not involve intentions, which means that such actions do not involve decisions, either. Consequently, there can be actions without decisions. Table 7 provides a summary. Desires

Planning also suggests that somebody wants to do something, which is often understood as an indication of desire. Basically, this addresses the question what is logically prior to the intention, whether desire → intention → action.25 Based on this, it can be questioned whether intentions are mental states.26 Wanting may but need not indicate a desire; someone may want to perform an action but not have a desire to do so. An example is the following

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sentence, which contradicts my dislike of cleaning up and suggests that intentions can be considered mental states, rather than desires: “I want to clean up my room.” Since people can believe they have feelings, which include desires (see beliefs of Type 5), it is nevertheless possible that intentions are ultimately based on desires. Here, it is helpful to consider another example, which corresponds to what I like after traveling for a long period of time: “I believe that I want to go home.” In this example, wanting may indeed be understood to indicate a desire—however, by saying “I want,” it is possible for me to describe a desire in the propositional content of a belief. Th is shows that people who feel desires can describe these desires and believe they feel these desires—which suggests it is helpful to not treat intentions as desires. It also supports the view that intentions are plans in which people have some kind of mental control over something, such as desires. In the last example, for instance, it would have been possible for me to plan to perform another action that does not correspond to my desire—or to do nothing. Goals

The previous section related political violence to three observable things: (1) means (physical force), (2) perpetrators (civil), and (3) target (state). What has not been addressed, however, is the mental component of political violence, its goals. As described in the Introduction, there is consensus that people do not engage in political violence for the mere sake of using physical force. Rather, political violence is a type of behav ior thought to involve goals. Goals are particular types of beliefs that may motivate certain decisions, such as decisions to take up arms. Like decisions, goals establish a connection between the actor (who believes in certain goals) and behav ior (the behav ior the actor engages in related to his goals). For example, one can have a goal of following God’s will (Belief Type 4, “I believe that my goal is to follow God’s will”) underlying one’s praying. One can also have a goal of stopping the government from attacking its citizens (Belief Type 1, “I believe that my goal is to stop the government from attacking its citizens”) underlying one’s leaving a demonstration. Or one can have a goal of fulfi lling a certain desire, such as the goal to be happy (Belief Type 5, “I believe that my goal is to be happy”) underlying one’s going on vacation. Goals are beliefs about what the subject considers the desired consequence of his action, so that action → goal achieved. This is opposed to performing the action for the sake of performing the action, so that action → action achieved. Th is structure underlines that people do not take up arms for

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the mere purpose of engaging in violence. Rather, their actions involve certain goals. It is important to note that whether one’s goals are achieved can be evaluated only after the action has been performed. As a result, goals imply a forward-looking dimension that transcends both decisions and actions. Conclusion and Outlook

This section and the previous ones introduced decisions to engage in certain behavior, such as political violence, and the beliefs connected to such decisions. The following discussion applies these ideas by modeling political violence as decisions to take up arms based on chains of interconnected beliefs. In the next chapters, I identify these chains of beliefs by coding the actors’ direct speech for decisions to take up arms, as well as for other beliefs related to these decisions. Based on this, I construct cognitive maps that make visible the complex belief systems underlying political violence. I then analyze the maps and identify different types of belief chains that motivate decisions, which sheds light on the complex microlevel mechanisms underlying political violence.

Part II. Formalization and Counterfactuals Formalizing Cognitive Maps into Directed Acyclical Graphs

Cognitive maps typically contain large numbers of beliefs and inferences. Therefore, it is impossible to systematically analyze them by hand. To cope with this problem, it is helpful to formalize cognitive maps. As shown by Axelrod (1984),27 formal models make traceable processes that would otherwise not be analyzable, or only be analyzable on a much smaller scale. They allow the researcher to systematically explore the reasoning processes represented by cognitive maps. Based on the literature in graph theory28 and computer science, cognitive maps can be formalized into directed acyclical graphs (DAGs). This offers new possibilities for studying human behavior via the cognitive mapping approach. DAGs are often used in computer science to study structures of variables that are directed and limited (Koller and Friedman 2009; Pearl 2000). The reasoning processes represented by cognitive maps are also directed by involving antecedent and consequent beliefs. They are also limited by involving traceable chains of beliefs that end in decisions. As a result of this simi-

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larity, formalizing cognitive maps into DAGs offers a convenient basis for an automated analysis. In the following, I explain how cognitive maps can be formalized into DAGs. Specifically, I do so by drawing on Judea Pearl’s theory of causality. This formalization also offers new possibilities for the study of counterfactuals, and allows me to explore alternative worlds in which individuals would not have decided to take up arms (see Chapter 6).

Directed Acyclical Graphs

According to Pearl (2000), DAGs are graphs with a par ticu lar structure. Graphs are structures with two components: V = set of variables of vertices E = set of edges connecting the vertices DAGs differ from other graphs by being directed and not containing cycles or self-loops (see Figure 9). Directedness means that each edge in the graph is an arrow pointing from one vertex to another. Not containing directed cycles or self-loops means that there are no relationships such as A → B, B → A (cycle), or A → A (self-loop). In this structure, it is possible to trace paths between vertices that are separated by more than one arrow by following the direction of the edges between these vertices (see Figure 9). According to Pearl (2000: 12), the following labels, taken from graph theory, describe the major components of DAGs: • All vertices are called parents or children. Parents are the starting points of arrows. Children are the ending points of arrows. • Vertices that do not have parents are called roots. • Vertices that do not have children are called sinks. • Indirect connections between vertices are called paths. This structure corresponds to the structure of cognitive maps. The similarity between DAGs and cognitive maps is indicated by the terminology used to describe both structures. In particular, Pearl’s graph theory terminology corresponds almost exactly to the belief system terminology introduced in the previous sections. This shows that, although cognitive maps are considered

Figure 9. Structure of a directed acyclical graph.

Table 8: Compatibility of DAGs and Cognitive Maps DAG

Vertices Edges

Cognitive map

Beliefs

Parents

Children

Path

Sinks

Roots

Pure Belief Intermediate Intermediate Chain of Pure beliefs consequents antecedents beliefs connections beliefs (decisions) (antecedents) (consequents)

belief systems rather than graphs, it is possible to think of them as DAGs. Table 8 gives an overview. Figure 10 visualizes these elements. The upper part is a cognitive map, the lower part is a DAG. Cycles and Self-Loops

In spite of these similarities, there is a feature of DAGs that does not necessarily correspond to cognitive maps in particular, or to the nature of reasoning processes more generally: the absence of cycles or self-loops. Specifically, humans may reconsider certain beliefs before/if reaching a decision. Such reconsiderations may be represented as cycles or self-loops. Nevertheless, recall that all reasoning processes represented by cognitive maps end in decisions. Because of this, they are directed toward decisions, even if they contain cycles or selfloops. Cycles or self-loops in cognitive maps therefore represent reconsidera-

Figure 10. Compatibility of directed acyclical graphs and cognitive maps. (2 graphs)

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tions only within reasoning processes that end in decisions. They do not change decisions. Based on this, it is possible to formalize cognitive maps into DAGs.29

Counterfactuals

Following Pearl, formalizing cognitive maps into DAGs allows the researcher to intervene on the actors’ belief systems and explore when they would not have made certain decisions. In Chapter 6, I use this approach to study worlds in which the individuals I interviewed for this research would not have decided to take up arms. Studies exploring whether people would have behaved differently had the reality been different are called counterfactual studies. In political science, counterfactuals30 have been defined as “subjunctive conditionals in which the antecedent is known or supposed for purposes of argument to be wrong” (Brian Skyrms, quoted in Tetlock and Belkin 1996: 4).31 They are considered to offer a convenient tool to explore whether “things could have turned out differently” (7). There is a general consensus among researchers from various fields that counterfactual analysis is “unavoidable” to explain phenomena that cannot be studied by controlled experiments that randomize the initial conditions (Tetlock and Belkin 1996: 6). There is, however, no consensus about how to engage in counterfactual analysis.32 Formalizing cognitive maps into DAGs provides a new approach to study counterfactuals.33 Specifically, it allows the researcher to intervene on the actors’ belief systems and test when they would have made different decisions had they held different beliefs. This bridges the gap between actors and structures by intervening on beliefs about the world, rather than on the world itself.

Modeling Change in the External World External Interventions

To model change in the world, Pearl introduces external interventions. To illustrate this, Pearl draws on a simple DAG, shown below. This DAG represents relationships between the seasons of the year (A), the falling of rain (B), the sprinkler being turned on (C), the pavement being wet (D), and the pavement being slippery (E) (15). Specifically, the DAG shows a directed order from A to E in which the season influences the falling of rain (A → B) and the turning

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Figure 11. Example of a directed acyclical graph. Pearl 2000: 15.

on of the sprinkler (A → C); the falling of rain and turning on of the sprinkler in turn influence the pavement being wet (B → D and C → D); and the pavement being wet in turn influences the pavement being slippery (D → E). The directed order from A to E may be described as dependency (e.g., Spirtes 1995). It differs from other orders that do not address directed relationships. For example, consider flipping a coin multiple times: the result of one toss does not depend on the result of the previous toss. Specifically, there are two types of dependency conditions: (1) conditional dependencies between particular vertices connected by an edge, and (2) conditional independence between vertices that are not connected by an edge. For example, given three variables A, B, and C, one can say that A and B are independent if knowing A remains unchanged by knowing B. Formally this can be expressed as a conditional probability statement: P(A|B, C) = P(A|C). On the other hand, one can say that A is conditionally dependent on B if knowing B influences knowledge of A. Formally, this can be expressed as a conditional probability statement: P(A|B) = P(A,B)|P(B). The DAG above then illustrates the following condition of independence. Knowing that the pavement is wet (D) makes knowing that the pavement is slippery (E) independent of knowing the season (A), whether it rains (B), or whether the sprinkler is turned on (C). In short, knowledge of D establishes independence between E and A, B, C. On the other hand, knowing the season (A), whether it rains (B), or whether the sprinkler is turned on (C) does not make knowing the pavement is slippery (E) independent of knowing the pavement is wet (D). In short, E is conditionally dependent on D. This is the case because knowing the pavement is slippery (E) is directly dependent on knowing that the pavement is wet (E), but only indirectly dependent on

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Figure 12. Example of an intervention. Pearl 2000: 23.

knowing the season (A), whether it rains (B), or whether the sprinkler is turned on (C). In Pearl’s (2000: 21) vocabulary, the pavement’s being wet (B) “mediates” between the pavement’s being slippery (D) and whether it rains (B), the sprinkler is turned on (C), and the season (A). Given these observations, Pearl models an external intervention in which the vertex representing knowledge about whether the sprinkler is on is defined as “SPRINKLER = ON.” This is visualized by Figure 12. This figure shows that intervening on C so that it is known that the sprinkler is on makes it possible to consider the effect of “SPRINKLER = ON” without considering A →  C. In the figure, this is shown by the deletion of the arrow between A and C. Formally, this can be expressed by a change in the probability distributions representing this DAG. The probability distribution of this DAG before the intervention (Figure 11) can be represented as P(A, B, C, D, E) = P(A) P(B|A) P(C|A) P(D|B, C) P(E|D). The probability distribution of this DAG after the intervention (Figure 12) lacks P(C|A) due to knowledge of C and can be represented as PC=On(A, B, D, E) = P(A) P(B|A) P(D|B, C=On) P(E|D). The removal of A → C [P(C|A)] from the probability function is possible, because knowing C (that the sprinkler is on) makes it unnecessary to consider whether C and A (season) had an influence on C, as indicated by A →  C. In Pearl’s words, “Once we physically turn the sprinkler on and keep it on, a new mechanism (in which the season has no say) determines the state of the sprinkler” (23).

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Drawing on such interventions, it becomes possible to study change in the external world. Specifically, it becomes possible to intervene on particular vertices that represent certain states of the world. Related to cognitive maps, it becomes possible to intervene on particular beliefs. As I show below, this allows me to explore when individuals would not have decided to take up arms.

Causal Relationships

Before relating external interventions to cognitive maps, it is important to note an important underlying assumption of external interventions—namely, that the edges in DAGs represent causal relationships. As Pearl observes, it is not possible to model external interventions by relying exclusively on probabilistic models. In this context, Pearl argues that DAGs by nature represent causal rather than probabilistic relationships, that their edges indicate “a stable and autonomous physical mechanism” (22). Concerning the example above, he says that the directed order from A to E is established by “causal intuition” (15). Following this intuition, one understands that the season influences the falling of rain (A → B) and the turning on of the sprinkler (A → C), that the falling of rain and turning on of the sprinkler in turn influences the pavement being wet (B → D and C → D), and that the pavement being wet in turn influences the pavement being slippery (D → E). According to Pearl, cause-effect connections of such physical mechanisms are so strong that it is “conceivable to change such [a connection] without changing the others” (22; emphasis in original). This allows Pearl to model an external intervention by defining a particular vertex as a particular state or thing, and to trace the effect of this intervention on what else is represented by the DAG (as indicated by the remaining vertices). Accordingly, it is no longer necessary to specify a new probability function that represents the impact of each intervention on all the other vertices. Instead, the external intervention requires only a “minimum of extra information” (22).

External Interventions on Cognitive Maps

Based on the similarity between DAGs and cognitive maps, it is possible to apply Pearl’s external intervention to cognitive maps. This allows me to study

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when individuals would not have decided to engage in certain behavior, such as political violence (see Chapter 6). At this stage, however, it is important to note that cognitive maps represent belief systems, whereas Pearl’s examples refer to physical mechanisms in the world. Therefore, it is not immediately obvious that external interventions can be applied to cognitive maps. In the following, I show that this is nevertheless the case, and that belief connections can be modeled as if they were causal. Belief Connections Can Be Modeled as if They Were Causal

Pearl’s example about the sprinkler implies that it is principally possible to perform external interventions on cognitive maps. This is the case because the example in which he performs his external intervention can itself be considered a cognitive map: Pearl treats the vertices of this DAG as knowledge, or true beliefs. Specifically, he treats them as knowledge about what season it is; whether the sprinkler is turned on; whether it rains; whether the pavement is wet; and whether the pavement is slippery. If the vertices of this DAG can be considered true beliefs, they can also be considered beliefs; and if the vertices can be considered beliefs, the edges between the vertices can also be considered belief connections. Pearl’s example therefore shows that one can model external interventions on cognitive maps by changing particular beliefs that are knowledge.34 However, it is not clear whether the connections between the true beliefs on which the external intervention is performed and the remaining beliefs can be considered as Pearl proposes (deleting A → C; tracing effect of C = SPRINKLER ON). This is due to two reasons: (1) the remaining beliefs of cognitive maps may not be true beliefs as in Pearl’s example, and (2) by their nature all belief connections have a subjective dimension (see section on Belief Connections), and Pearl’s treatment of edges as stable and autonomous physical mechanisms does not apply immediately. Accordingly, it is helpful to consider the purpose of Pearl’s external intervention, which is to deal with the uncertainty of human knowledge about cause-effect relationships in the external world. Specifically, Pearl’s external intervention overcomes this uncertainty by defining certain things to be. Upon knowledge about the existence of these particular things, their causes become irrelevant for considering their consequences; and their consequences can in turn be considered from additional knowledge about the connections between the things that are defined to be (causes) to other things (effects).

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Table 9: Causal and Logical Connections Connection

Major Components

Directedness

Strength

Causal

Cause Effect

Cause → Effect

Certainty

Logical

Antecedent Consequent

Antecedent → Consequent

Possibility

Relating this to belief connections, the major issue is not whether there is uncertainty about what causes certain things in the external world. Belief connections consist of logical antecedents and consequents, and represent possibilities rather than necessities.35 These connections are by their nature less strong than cause-effect connections, but they have the same structure: both express directed relationships in which certain components depend on others (see Table 9, column “Directedness”). Based on this structural similarity, it is possible for belief connections to represent cause-effect connections, even though they are not cause-effect connections themselves—as demonstrated by Pearl’s sprinkler example, involving a DAG with vertices representing knowledge about the world. On the other hand, they may also represent purely logical connections including beliefs that are not knowledge—whose internal structure is the same. This structural compatibility of belief-belief and cause-effect connections suggests that, although belief connections are logical, it is nevertheless possible to model them as if they were causal. In the following section, I show how this can serve the systematic study of alternative worlds in which actors would not have decided to engage in certain behav ior. Extending External Interventions to Beliefs That Are Not Knowledge

Given that cognitive maps can be modeled as if they were causal, it becomes possible to intervene on different types of beliefs, including beliefs that are not knowledge. For example, one can also intervene on religious beliefs, or on beliefs about feelings. This offers new possibilities for the study of counterfactuals by intervening on internal rather than external factors. In other words, it becomes possible to study counterfactuals that include actors with different internal worlds. This study does not pursue this avenue, as external factors are identified as mattering more than internal factors in relation to

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political violence. However, other studies might pursue this avenue to develop deeper insight into other phenomena.

Counterfactual Model

Based on the previous section, it is possible to extend Pearl’s external interventions to cognitive maps, and to use the cognitive mapping approach to study counterfactuals. In order to do so, it is necessary to consider the main components by which Pearl formally defines counterfactuals: • A Causal Model that represents the entire structure on which the counterfactual will be modeled. • A Submodel that represents only the change that is made to the model when introducing an external intervention. • The Effect and Potential Response that represent what follows from the external intervention in the model. • The entire structure of the Counterfactual resulting from the external intervention. Figure 13 illustrates these components, building on my earlier presentation of external interventions. The figure is divided into two parts. The upper part illustrates a cognitive map before an external intervention (Pearl’s causal model). The lower part illustrates the cognitive map after an external intervention is performed (Pearl’s submodel, effect, potential response, and counterfactual). Note that it is only possible to identify the submodel, the effect, the potential response, and the entire counterfactual after introducing the intervention. Pearl’s definitions for the main components of counterfactuals are presented in the Appendix. To follow the analysis in this book, however, it is not necessary to read the Appendix. Instead, I explain in Chapter 6 how the computational model developed for this research applies Pearl’s theory to model counterfactuals.

Other Theories of Counterfactuals

Pearl’s theory of counterfactuals makes a significant contribution to the existing literature on counterfactuals. As Pearl writes, using external interven-

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Figure 13. Modeling counterfactuals. (2 graphs)

tions to model counterfactuals has major advantages over other theories of counterfactuals (238–40), first addressed by David Hume and later presented by John Stuart Mill, David Lewis, or Saul Kripke. Specifically, Pearl’s theory differs from the works of these authors by focusing on the processes by which counterfactuals are constructed. There is a vast body of literature about theories of counterfactuals, particularly in the field of philosophy, and the following paragraphs can by no means give a complete overview or analysis. Rather, my aim is to briefly present some of the main features of this literature and identify some of the major contributions offered by Pearl’s approach. Following Pearl’s own references, this section addresses Lewis’s theory of counterfactuals, to which various works in the study of political science refer (e.g., Fearon 1991; Sylvan and Majeski 1998). In addition, the section addresses Hume, because he was

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the first researcher to explicitly address counterfactuals, and Kripke, whose theory of counterfactuals draws on the work of Lewis; Kripke’s theory has also been applied to the study of political science (Sylvan and Majeski 1998) and computer science (Peralta, Mukhopadhyay, and Bharadwaj 2011). According to David Hume, knowledge about cause and effect is available to humans from their experience (rather than from reasoning by itself), in which they frequently find that certain things are conjoined with each other (regularity account of causation) His definition of causation, which was the first to directly address counterfactuals, is (1772: 90; also quoted in Pearl 2000: 238): “we may define a cause to be an object followed by another, and where all the objects, similar to the first, are followed by objects similar to the second. Or, in other words, where, if the first object had not been, the second never had existed.” Following Hume, causality and counterfactuals appear to be connected to the regularity of observations. However, this overlooks that counterfactuals are by nature not observed. As Peter Menzies has written (2014): “It is difficult to understand how Hume could have confused the first, regularity definition with the second, very different counterfactual definition.” Pearl understands this defi nition to indicate that “Hume must have felt that the counterfactual criterion is less problematic and more illuminating” than the regularity account itself (238), and observes that Hume, who never explored counterfactuals more deeply to present a theory about them, does not acknowledge that counterfactual statements are by nature more complicated than causal statements. Perhaps the most famous contribution to the study of counterfactuals was presented by Lewis in 1973. In his theory, counterfactuals are considered possible worlds—a term that immediately indicates that Lewis treats counterfactuals as possible, while Pearl models them as if they were real. Lewis’s possible worlds are different from the real world and can be evaluated to have more or less similarity to the real world. Information about this similarity is measured by the truth condition that compares different possible worlds with the real world.36 Following this understanding, Lewis treats counterfactuals as entirely separate from the real world, that is, to have an independent existence that may be similar to the real world.37 By contrast, Pearl treats counterfactuals as based on the same mechanisms as the real world. In Pearl’s approach, counterfactuals are never entirely separate from the real world. On the one hand,

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there could be counterfactuals that are exactly like the real world with the only exception that they include one different “thing” (the variable on which the intervention is performed); on the other hand, it is also possible that there are counterfactuals where every “thing” is different from the real world, but their causal connections are the same as in the real world. Accordingly, Pearl’s counterfactuals include different antecedents but the same consequences that exist in the real world, as well as different antecedents and consequences than the ones that exist in the real world. Like Lewis, however, they do not include the same antecedents and consequences that exist in the real world. Lewis, moreover, defines causation based on counterfactuals, not counterfactuals based on causation like Pearl. He does so by defining (1) causal dependency between two different possible events, (2) truth conditions for causal dependence that reflect the real world, and (3) a causal chain that consists of a sequence of events. Lewis’s specific definitions have been discussed in a large body of literature and far exceed what can be offered here. Rather, his procedure by itself indicates that, instead of intuiting directly causal connections in the world like Pearl, Lewis approaches causality by looking at what the world is not. Accordingly, counterfactuals are a way to understand the real world and involve looking backward into the past, based on which one knows that certain things in the real world exist. This proceeds in the following way: (1) real world: consequence → (2) modified real world: counterfactual consequence → (3) search for counterfactual antecedents. Pearl’s approach instead directly looks at the mechanisms that make up the world as it is, so that his modeling of counterfactuals can be expressed as (1) real world → (2) modified real world: counterfactual antecedent → (3) search for consequences of counterfactual antecedents. The works of Saul Kripke present another account of counterfactuals, based on the semantic analysis of modal logic (1980, 1963).38 Kripke’s account also considers counterfactuals as possible worlds, but rejects the notion that every possible world is entirely different from the real world.39 In this sense, Kripke’s work is closer to that of Pearl. Specifically, Kripke treats the connections between things (represented by functions) to identify different worlds, and treats different worlds as being connected to each other by certain components (represented by necessary propositions). By contrast, Pearl treats the connections between things in the real world and counterfactuals to be the same (causal mechanisms), and counterfactuals to be identified from the modification of particular things in the real world (external interventions).

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This difference is indicated by contrasting Kripke’s definition of worlds with Pearl’s definition of counterfactuals and the reality: Kripke draws on binary functions that have the output of truth conditions, whereas Pearl draws on directed functions that identify parents and children. Kripke’s account of counterfactuals therefore allows the exploration of par ticular propositions that are only true in certain as opposed to all worlds, whereas Pearl’s work allows investigation of the effects that particular propositions that are not true in the real world would have on the reality.

Conclusion

This chapter has introduced the cognitive mapping approach, which I apply to study the question why some individuals decide to take up arms while others, who live under the same conditions, engage in nonviolent activism instead. Responding to the abandonment of the cognitive mapping approach in the field of political science, I have presented a formalization that allows researchers to systematically analyze cognitive maps. Specifically, I have formalized cognitive maps into DAGs, which makes it possible to develop computational models that process cognitive maps, and presents new possibilities for the application of cognitive maps in political science. My formalization is based on Pearl’s theory of causality. It provides new possibilities not only for application of cognitive mapping but also for the study of counterfactuals. Specifically, it suggests how intervening on the belief systems of political actors allows us to explore their behav ior in alternative worlds, or in the reality in which they hold different beliefs about religion, or other factors that are not knowledge. This new approach to the study of counterfactuals intervenes on the actors’ beliefs about the world rather than the world itself. Later chapters apply this formalization to develop a computational model that provides the tools to systematically study cognitive maps, involving more than a trillion combinations of beliefs. The findings of this analysis emphasize that cognitive mapping can contribute to the literature in political science. It bridges the gap between actors and structures and allows systematic investigation of the complex microlevel mechanisms underlying human behavior. Knowledge about these mechanisms contributes to other analyses focusing more on direct relationships between par ticular factors, or par ticular

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factors and certain behavior. Drawing on inside categories obtained from the actors, cognitive mapping provides new in-depth insight that is not available from analyses of external categories inferred by the researcher. As I show in the remainder of this book, this sheds new light on the sources of political violence.

Chapter 2

Interviewing Violent and Nonviolent Individuals

On a warm and sunny day in early 2010, I took the train from Cairo to Alexandria to meet with the founder of al-Jamaʿat al-Islamiyya, one of the two groups that assassinated President Sadat. Entering his neighborhood, I could smell fish from the market across the street, and hear the voices of children behind the wall surrounding a school. Part of the entrance into his building was covered in sand from the street, and two bearded men in galabiyyas (long and wide robes) were standing next to it. Both smiled at me as I entered the building. While I was taking the elevator more than a dozen floors, my cell phone rang. “Duktura,” I heard him say in his deep and voluminous voice, “where are you?” I reached the top floor, and stood in a dark hallway that ended at the front door of his apartment. The door opened, and suddenly there was bright light. Then I saw his face. With the long, gray beard and brown eyes I was already familiar from the Internet. Unlike his pictures in the news, Najeh Ibrahim was smiling at me very widely. It was a holiday, and he was wearing his home clothes—fl ip-flops and a dark green jogging suit with white letters saying “Nike.” I took off my sandy shoes and entered the apartment. Najeh Ibrahim invited me to sit in an armchair in the reception room. His wife walked in and welcomed me very warmly, saying that the family was very happy to meet me, and thanking me for making such a long trip to see them. Soon I also met her daughters and son, with whom I would spend a lot of time the following year. But for now, we just sat together, drinking sweet black tea, and eating Egyptian pastry. Najeh Ibrahim led the conversation. “Kidnapping and

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blowing up planes is wrong,” he said, referring to the recent attempted attack by a Nigerian on an airplane headed toward Detroit that was foiled by the passengers. “This is forbidden in Islam.” He continued by asking me: “For example, do you think it is justified to blow up a plane with Swiss citizens on it, because Switzerland recently banned minarets?” On my negative reply, he said, “You see.” These statements might make it difficult to believe Najeh Ibrahim is the founder of one of the most violent groups in recent Egyptian history. They indicate that his decision to take up arms was not easy—it put his own life at risk and jeopardized the lives of his family. It was a decision that cost him decades in prison and led to torture and complete isolation from his family for extended periods of time. When deciding that President Sadat should be killed, and leading an armed rising in Assyut, Najeh Ibrahim was very aware of these costs. So why did he decide to engage in violence? When thinking about the choices he made in life, Najeh Ibrahim talks about his youth in Assyut. According to his own description, he is from a poor, average, very religious family. His father was a postal clerk, and his mother stayed at home. He had numerous siblings. “We all loved Nasser,” he said, “because he emphasized our country.” Soon, however, he recalled, “we saw what Nasser did to the Muslim Brothers.” After two assassination attempts in 1954 and 1956, President Nasser launched a campaign against the Muslim Brothers suspected of being behind the attacks—although his relations with the Muslim Brotherhood had initially been friendly. Najeh Ibrahim remembered: “I was seeing them come from prison with marks of torture.” This contributed to changing his view of the government. When he was seventeen and a student at the University of Assyut, Najeh Ibrahim formed a small group, al-Jamaʿat al-Islamiyya, to respond to the social needs at school. Soon al-Jamaʿat turned into a movement that would expand across Egypt and later participate in the assassination of Sadat. Because of this, Najeh Ibrahim was arrested in his mid-twenties, and spent the following decades in prison (by contrast, Ayman al-Zawahiri, imprisoned with him, was released after three years). “We were the losers, and not the winners,” Najeh Ibrahim commented on the imprisonment. But at the time, neither he nor his friends had doubts about their decision, he said: “This was the first time in Egyptian history that young people like us were thinking our way, and tried to take over the state.” He said he had been aware of the risks and prepared to die: “We were young and strong.” He also emphasized

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he had not acted out of lack of choice: “Of course I had an alternative. I am a doctor. Look at bin Laden: he is a millionaire but lives like a beggar.” According to Najeh Ibrahim, the problems between the government and al-Jamaʿat al-Islamiyya started with the Camp David Accords and the arrival of the shah of Iran in Egypt. “Before that, we only prohibited music and parties,” he said. “Or, when we found an unmarried couple going out together, we separated them.” But at that point, they poured into the streets and protested against the government across the country. The state responded by launching a campaign of repression that, after more than twenty years, would remind Najeh Ibrahim of the appalling observations he had made as a teenager: “Sadat arrested thousands of us. This was exactly what the government did in 1954. We saw the similarity.” He said: “It was at this point that we decided to kill him.” On the day of the assassination, he was in Assyut, where he wanted to begin a revolution. Prior to that, he had participated in the Shura meeting at which al-Jamaʿat al-Islamiyya, in cooperation with a group called al-Jihad, decided to assassinate the president. “Khalid Islambuli was participating in a military show and suggested that he could do this,” Najeh Ibrahim recalled. “His brother had recently been arrested. Karam Zuhdi and Muhammad ʿAbd al-Salam Faraj agreed. Then they came to our Shura.” He said the meeting was held by a handful of individuals. One leader could not attend, as he was trying to escape from the state. “Khalid asked us for three more individuals, whom we smuggled in with fake papers. All of them are dead today.” Najeh Ibrahim explained that the arrests by the state had been going on for six months, affecting thousands of his fellows. “We believed the repression would never stop. We thought that this was an eternal state,” he said. “Unfortunately, we heard much too late that Sadat had genuinely wanted to release the prisoners. But we did not know that.” When I asked what would have happened had the state not engaged in repression, he replied: “Sadat would not have been dead.” These were some of the things I learned about Najeh Ibrahim when I first began visiting him at the beginning of 2010. Our meetings continued during the summer, and we also occasionally talked on the phone when I was outside Egypt. After six months, I returned to his home in Alexandria on a hot afternoon during Ramadan. His son opened the door, and told me that Najeh Ibrahim and his wife were resting after a long day of fasting. I offered to leave and come back later, but the son led me through the reception room into a back room where the family spent their time eating, reading, praying,

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or talking. On a blanket in the middle of the room was a baby. I had heard about her birth in an email from Najeh Ibrahim a few months earlier. The son lifted her up and put her in my arms. “Meet our new family member,” he said. For the following hour, I was left to play with the baby. At some point, Najeh Ibrahim entered the room, barefoot and in a white galabiyya. He welcomed me back with the same wide smile, and took the baby in his arms as if it were the most natural thing that I had been holding her while he was resting. While the family of Najeh Ibrahim treated me like one of their own and continue to take an interest in my well-being, the circumstances in which I conducted other interviews were not as friendly. My first meeting with a leader of al-Jihad, the group with whom al-Jamaʿat conducted the assassination of President Sadat, for instance, was much less comfortable. The meeting was scheduled for an afternoon in the summer of 2009 at the Egyptian Press Syndicate in downtown Cairo. After my arrival, I wandered around the reception area for several minutes. I was not sure whom I was looking for, since no photo of this individual had been available on the Internet. Suddenly, a tall, slender man with a black prayer mark on his forehead blocked my way and welcomed me. He was wearing khaki pants and a sand-colored shirt with short sleeves. He did not smile, but he said he was happy to meet with me, and led me into a large room. The room had no windows. All the seats were pushed against the wall, so that the middle was completely empty. Several male journalists occupied seats. Throughout my meeting with the individual, they would listen to the conversation, and sometimes intervene to ask me questions about my research and my origin. The individual invited me to sit down close to the journalists, and ordered tea for me. Then he was silent. I reacted by asking him questions about his writings. When I got rather brief responses and no questions in return, I started telling him about my research, my interest in political science, and my studies at the American University in Cairo. At some point he asked me: “Why are you telling me this?” I replied: “To introduce myself and my work to you.” He nodded and said: “That’s very good, please continue.” The meeting lasted about two hours. This individual was much less interested than his colleagues in my personal life, and much more interested in my work. I ended up drawing some imaginary cognitive maps for him, which he examined meticulously. He also asked me a lot of questions about the Red Army Faction, and about my personal opinion on individuals who

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engage in violence against their states. At the end of the meeting he nodded at me and said: “It’s OK. I will help you with your research. When you come back to Egypt in January, just give me a call.” I met him again one evening in January 2010. This time, he invited me to his office. It was a simple room in an ordinary building, with a desk, a chair, and a wardrobe. “You’re most welcome to send me your questions by e-mail,” he said, as I was sitting down. When I told him I preferred to talk, he picked up his phone and asked a friend to come to his office. I spent the next twenty minutes being introduced to his friend and explaining my work again. Then the individual finally began telling me more about himself. He grew up in Cairo as one of five children. His father worked in housing, while his mother stayed at home. “We never talked about politics at home,” he recalled. He said he only started to understand what was happening in Egypt at fourteen, when Nasser died: “I was very sad on that day. We loved him very much. We are the sons of Nasser’s state. When he died, we lost our nationalism.” In the following years, he became interested in politics. He started studying, and protesting against the government, although he emphasized he never had a direct encounter with the state at that time. “Sadat changed the state,” he said, referring to foreign policy with Israel, and the bread riots that happened at  home after Sadat cut food subsidies in 1977. “I joined the opposition everywhere—not as a Muslim Brother, but as a student.” Around the same time, he was drafted by the army, where he came to believe that “physical force is an achievement.” He said he was still convinced of that: “The army can change the society without shedding blood. At the time, I firmly believed that the army could bring the change. I knew the army. I had friends.” When President Sadat had large numbers of protesters arrested, the individual supported the participation of his group in the assassination. Like Najeh Ibrahim, he emphasized that the decision to kill Sadat was directly related to a roundup in early September 1981. According to him, 1,536 individuals were arrested. “This event made us all very angry,” he said. “We wanted revenge.” I came back to meet with this individual one last time, in the summer of 2010. Unlike in January, I found him in a very bad mood. He did not welcome me, and when I asked whether someone else from al-Jihad had agreed to talk to me, he replied that he wanted money. I told him I had not paid any individual for talking with me, and that I did not want to give benefits to some but not others. He replied that, in that case, he was not going to answer any of my questions any longer, and that he would not connect me with other

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members of al-Jihad. In this way, I lost an important entry point to other individuals from this group. In Germany, I had a similar encounter with an individual the same year. A former member of the Red Army Faction told me that, since he was living just above the poverty line, he could only talk with me if I paid him 500 Euros. I decided not to accept this condition, although I deemed this a very unfortunate loss at the time, when I had contacted dozens of individuals from the Red Army Faction and received only one positive answer. However, a few other individuals later agreed to talk with me. Karl-Heinz Dellwo was one of them. He is a prominent member of the Red Army Faction who participated in the siege of the German Embassy in Sweden on April 24, 1975. During the siege, two hostages were killed, and two hostage takers were wounded and died shortly afterwards. However, the attackers failed to blow up the remaining hostages and themselves as planned. When I first contacted Dellwo, he told me he was too busy to meet with me in the following months. After I met with two other members of the Red Army Faction, and contacted him again a few months later, he agreed to talk. We met in Hamburg in April 2010. It was a sunny day, and people were sitting outside in the cafes in the Schanze district, where his office was. Today Dellwo is the head of Laika Publishing, and at the time we met he was busy preparing his “Encyclopedia of Resistance,” a series of books and fi lms centering on leftist opposition around the world since the 1960s.1 We began talking about this work, and he showed me one of his books. Then he suggested we go outside and sit in one of the cafes. We found a café around the corner and sat down at a table in the shade, surrounded by groups of people who came and went in the following four hours. Dellwo ordered white wine, and I asked for a glass of Coke. At the beginning of the talk, I repeated the main question of my research—why some individuals take up arms against their states, but not others who live under the same conditions. His immediate response was “I don’t know if I would have survived, had I not gone to the RAF. There is something more important than what is yours. Everyone must justify one’s actions to oneself.” Dellwo grew up in various places. He said he always felt like der Zugezogene (“the one who had just moved in”), who did not belong to the community he lived in. He was born close to Cologne. From age four to fifteen, he lived in small, isolated villages in the Eifel area. He remembers the place to be marked by the war, divided by the tank traps of the Westwall and covered

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with blown-up bunkers. His next home was the Saargebiet, from which he moved to Freudenstadt—a gray, dull town, according to his description. Dellwo said that his feeling of not belonging was not only related to constantly moving around. Rather, he thinks it was part of his family: “We were also different.” His grandfather had been a political prisoner in Dachau, while his grandmother had Jewish roots. His father had been forced to leave grammar school for being Nicht-Arier (non-Aryan), and he was later imprisoned by the Nazis. As a child, Dellwo had strong opinions and questioned what he observed in his environment. Maybe this contributed to his feeling of being a stranger who did not know what it meant to feel at home somewhere. “I made myself an outsider,” he recalled. At the same time, he was not indifferent to others, and was very sensitive to his place in society. He longed for a sense of belonging somewhere. When he visited England as a teenager, he put on tight pants and a T-shirt with the British flag. “I realized that this sense of identity was exaggerated,” he recalled. “You cannot belong to something just because of outer appearances.” Dellwo recognized and began to criticize the social structures in his environment at a young age. “Th is is not fair,” he thought, when he and his brother had to pluck pheasants for a meal served for the rich family who employed his mother as a housekeeper. “I was plucking these pheasants when I had never eaten one myself,” he remembered. Another event he criticized was the promotion of an employee after he married the daughter of the head of the firm. “These are people who are permanently deceiving somebody,” he recalled. “This also gives you the right to do something.” One day the daughter of a businessman, who was critical of her parents’ work and against capitalism, told him and a few friends that her parents were going out at night. Dellwo and four other friends broke into the house and stole the company cash box and a leather jacket. “Since I can remember, I have always wanted to belong to those who are not authoritarian,” he said. At the same time, he strongly opposed violence. “I hated it,” he said. “I always tried to prevent fights. I also refused to be drawnin by the army.” However, had he had access to the Red Army Faction at the time, he would have joined. “I was sitting there, young and hungry. I wanted to change the whole world. I was glad that there was someone. I trusted them, and thought that they were honest.” He first noticed the Red Army Faction through its attacks on U.S. army headquarters. “I thought this was great,” he said. “This was against the Vietnam War. It was right.” He continued, saying

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he had ignored the news pictures from the scene. “As a kid, I had been friends with the GIs. They had given me chewing gum, and listened to the Rolling Stones. I really liked them, there was a great feeling of life about them. I would have really felt sorry for a particular individual. But then there was Lieutenant Calley and I was thinking that now they are getting something back.” Dellwo joined the Red Army Faction after he left Freudenstadt and moved to Hamburg. At the time, the group was already planning the attack on the German embassy in Stockholm. “I wanted to participate,” he said. “But Ulrich Wessel talked me out of it. He told me that they also needed people on the outside.” He also said he had doubts about the operation. “First of all, I was against it. It could not work. I was standing there with mixed feelings. I had doubts.” He remembered that they were planning to conduct this attack abroad “because we all knew already that they would create a massacre if we tried to do it inside Germany.” He remembered, “We thought of Austria and Holland. We said that the Swedish social democracy will not want a massacre and will exert pressure on the BRD [Bundesrepublik Deutschland, or West Germany]. I said [Swedish social democratic prime minister Olaf] Palme will support [German social democratic leader and former chancellor Willy] Brandt through the Socialist International.” When Dellwo and his friends later stormed the embassy and took the people inside as hostages, he found that this assumption had been correct. “Palme gave us safe conduct,” he recalled, “but when this became clear, the BRD said they would not negotiate.” In response, they executed another hostage, economic attaché Heinz Hillegart: “We then immediately killed the second hostage.” When I asked why, Dellwo was silent for some time. Then he replied: “You created a huge storm. You presented an immense question of power. And the other side is a wall of concrete. So you kick against it once. Then you realize: ‘This is concrete.’ We did not realize this immediately. Killing the second hostage expresses that.” About killing the first hostage, he said: “It was forced on us by the Swedish police. There was an immediate threat. They wanted to penetrate the embassy. They were standing downstairs. We did it so the police would leave.” I asked what they would have done, had the police not threatened to enter the building. He responded: “We would not have killed the first hostage.” He continued: “Had one been calmer and more experienced, one could have placed the hostages next to the windows, and threatened to kill them live on TV. We were missing someone who suggested something like this.” I asked why they didn’t kill a third hostage. He replied: “We had said: ‘We are demanding. . . .’ So you had already created a lot of pressure on yourself. At that point, we all

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understood the uselessness. We released the women. We said with the group that we wanted to die. We wanted to kill ourselves and the hostages. The consequence for them was the same as for us.”

Research Design: A Double-Paired Comparison of Violent and Nonviolent Individuals Najeh Ibrahim and Karl-Heinz Dellwo were two of the violent individuals I interviewed while conducting fieldwork. As discussed in the Introduction, the goal of these interviews was to investigate why some individuals take up arms against their states versus others who live under the same conditions but engage in nonviolent activism instead. Specifically, I adopted a political psychology approach to explore this question, and used the interviews to construct cognitive maps. Cognitive maps identify the reasoning processes underlying individuals’ decisions to engage in certain behav ior, such as violent or nonviolent activism (see Chapter 1). They provide the basis for a rigorous in-depth exploration of political behav ior, taking the actors’ own explanations as the starting point of the analysis. This provides surprising insights unavailable from existing research on violence. My interviews contribute a new dataset and build on other analyses of political violence, which focus on cultural, environmental, or social factors. Specifically, they add a focus on the people who engage in violence. Violence does not occur in a more or less automated fashion in response to external conditions such as poverty or authoritarianism, and it is not exclusively the outcome of group dynamics or interactions with violent groups. It depends on the individuals who form, run, or may break away from violent groups. My interviews add two important control groups largely absent from most analyses of political violence: nonviolent individuals and non-Muslims. I conducted approximately eighty ethnographic interviews with twenty-seven violent and nonviolent individuals. Half the individuals are Muslims from a poor authoritarian state—Egypt; the other half are non-Muslims from a wealthy democratic state—Germany. Thus, the research design underlying this study is a double-paired comparison (see Table 10) and allows the systematic investigation of the hypotheses that serve as the analytical framework of this study (see Introduction). In the following paragraphs, I elaborate on the details of this framework.

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Table 10: Double-Paired Comparison of Violent and Nonviolent Individuals

Egypt Germany

Political violence

Nonviolent activism

Seven individuals Six individuals

Eight individuals Six individuals

Analytical Framework Investigation of Cultural-Psychological Theories

Focusing on Muslims and non-Muslims, this research design enables the investigation of the importance of Islam. Specifically, the individuals I interviewed in Egypt believe in Islam, whereas the individuals I interviewed in Germany do not. This reflects the religious faith of the majority of the people living in Egypt and Germany, and the more general role of religion in the daily lives of the citizens of the two countries. In Egypt, about 90 percent of the inhabitants are Sunni. According to Article 2 of the constitution, Shariʿa serves as the ultimate source of law.2 Egypt is also the home of al-Azhar University, the highest authority in Sunni Islam. In the words of President Nasser, who subordinated al-Azhar to the state, “the Arab world cannot function without Egypt and its Azhar” (Abdo 2002: 54). His successor Sadat also recognized the importance of religion in Egypt. According to his personal adviser, he said: “I want us to raise Muslim boys, and to spend money on them, so they can become rakizitna [our anchor] in the university” (Abed-Kotob and Sullivan 1999: 73). When Sadat was assassinated in 1981, researchers observed that an “intense and visible religiousness developed in Egypt which continues up to the present among the urban population in general, including Muslims and Copts” (al-Guindi 1981: 469). The importance of religion remains palpable today. According to a 2011 Pew Research Center poll, 85  percent of Egyptian respondents said that Islam played a positive role in politics (Auxier 2011). By contrast, Germany is a secular state. In the German constitution, this is expressed by Article 4, which protects inhabitants’ freedom of religion, and by Article 140. Article 140 is a continuation of Article 137 of the Weimar Republic, stating that there is no state church, which provides the basis for “a

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system founded on a rigid separatism” (Pacillo 2011: 4). In this way, the German constitution reflects that the “philosophy of Enlightenment . . . has placed religion in the private domain of individual believers and opposed to ‘public reason’,” so the “political community [is now] comprised of individual citizens” who are free from religious constraints (Kastoryano 2004: 1234). Nevertheless, a majority of Germans belong to a religion. About 60 percent are Christian, although this number has been falling over the past few decades. Following the separation of church and state, no German chancellor has asserted the role of religion in politics as had Presidents Nasser and Sadat. My study investigates the role of Islam by comparing Muslims with nonMuslims. Focusing on Muslim individuals rather than groups or entire cultures (Lewis 1990; Huntington 1993), it adds depth to existing studies by emphasizing that it is individuals who hold religious beliefs. Including nonMuslims introduces a control group that is largely absent from existing literature about the relation between Islam and violence. This study promises to answer questions such as: Do Muslims engage in violence because of their religion? Why do many Muslims not engage in violence? Why do non-Muslims also engage in violence?

Investigation of Environmental-Psychological Theories

The research design also serves to investigate the significance of the political environment by including individuals from two states: Egypt and Germany. Egypt is an authoritarian state located in the Middle East, which has been ruled by a military elite for the past decades except for a short period after the ouster of President Mubarak. As home of the Arab League, Egypt has played a crucial role in regional politics. Its importance is also palpable from its large number of inhabitants, which makes it one of the most populous countries in the Middle East and Africa, and from being one of the world’s main exporters of cotton, petroleum, and natural gas. Nevertheless, Egypt is also a poor country facing economic hardships. Large parts of its population struggle to survive, and illiteracy and unemployment are widespread (UNDP 2013). A hub of political activism, Egypt is the origin of the largest opposition movement in the Middle East, the Muslim Brotherhood, founded by Hassan al-Banna in 1928 and now one of the most influential and largest Muslim movements in the world. It is also in Egypt where individuals who later con-

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tributed to the formation of al-Qaeda began to meet during the 1960s and 1970s (for further information on these groups, see below and Chapter 3). Unlike Egypt, Germany is a democracy. Since its democratic structure was set up very carefully after the dictatorship of the Nazis, Germany is also known as a model of a modern democracy. As opposed to Egypt, Germany is moreover a wealthy country: it is the largest economy in Europe, and its inhabitants enjoy one of the highest living standards in the world. Like Egypt, Germany is one of the major political powers in its region. It is not only one of the founding members of the European Community, but also the largest economy in Europe. In spite of these differences, Germany also experienced violent and nonviolent activism: between the 1960s and 1990s, dozens of state representatives were killed, and hundreds of thousands protested on the streets. Germany became known worldwide as a major scene of student revolts and violent opposition to the state. Based on this background, this study investigates the importance of the political environment by focusing on individuals from two very different states. This allows exploration of the role of the environment bottom-up, by focusing on the actors who live in it. Moreover, it analyzes both violent and nonviolent individuals from the same states, which adds a control group that remains largely unexplored by existing studies. Finally, it centers on two very different states. Th is ensures that the fi ndings are not unique to par ticu lar states—like Egypt—or to particular types of states—like authoritarian states. My study promises to provide answers to such questions as: Do individuals take up arms because they live in certain environments? Why do not all individuals from a given environment take up arms? Why do individuals from wealthy and democratic environments like Germany take up arms?

Investigation of Group Theories

The research design also serves to investigate the significance of violent groups by including individuals from seven violent and nonviolent groups. Specifically, the individuals from Egypt are from the formerly violent groups al-Jihad (JI) and al-Jamaʿat al-Islamiyya (JA), and the nonviolent Muslim Brotherhood (MB), whereas the individuals from Germany are from the Red Army Faction (RAF), Bewegung 2. Juni (B2J), the Socialist German Student Union (SDS), and Kommune 1 (K1) (for further information, see Chapter 3).

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JA and JI developed during the 1970s and engaged in several attacks on the Egyptian state, including the assassination of President Sadat in 1981. They are the most violent groups active in recent Egyptian history before the Arab Spring. Some JI members helped form al-Qaeda (Wright 2006). The MB was founded in Ismaʿiliyya in 1928. It is the largest opposition movement in the Middle East, and one of the most influential and largest Muslim movements in the world. The RAF was the most violent organization in Germany after the end of the Second World War. It was responsible for killing thirty-four people between 1971 and 1993 (Peters 2004: 17, 846). B2J was active at the same time. However, since it killed only two people, it received much less attention by German state security (Reinders and Fritzsch 1995: 7–9). The SDS and K1 developed as part of the worldwide student revolts at the end of the 1960s, and were known to be the major drivers of the protests in Germany. The following analysis investigates the importance of groups by centering on the individuals who constitute these groups. As mentioned, individuals are essential, since it is they who form, run, or sometimes break away from their groups. Focusing on individuals from nonviolent groups, the design adds an important control group that has often remained overlooked. Finally, it includes individuals from rival groups that apply the same means against the same target. This ensures that the findings obtained for the individuals from one particular group (for example, the violent JI) are not unique to the members of that par ticu lar group, but to individuals of this type of group more generally (violent groups in general). My study promises to answer such questions as: Does having access to violent groups encourage individuals to take up arms? Are there individuals who have access to violent groups but engage in nonviolent activism instead? What are the differences between individuals who belong to violent as opposed to nonviolent groups?

Investigation of Psychopathological Theories

Although mental illnesses are not explicitly addressed by the double-paired comparison, this study explores psychopathological theories by adopting the cognitive mapping approach. Specifically, it focuses on the beliefs of violent individuals, which can indicate whether they suffer from mental illnesses by reference to true as opposed to false beliefs (see Chapter 1). For example, the analysis can show whether violent individuals suffer from hallucinations,

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which would be indicated by beliefs in events that did not happen—for instance, the Muslim Brothers signing a peace treaty with Israel, or things that do not exist—for instance, President Nasser having supernatural powers. As explained in the Introduction, the more recent literature assumes that violence is not connected to mental illnesses, and this study promises to support such assumptions by empirical evidence. Including the control group of nonviolent individuals, it moreover adds to the existing literature on this subject.

Investigation of the Main Research Question

The main question I investigate here is why some individuals take up arms as opposed to others who live under the same conditions but engage in nonviolent activism instead. The research design of this study investigates the conditions under which individuals engaged in violent or nonviolent activism by reference to the states in which they live (political environment), and to the religion they believe in (cultural environment). According to existing studies, states and religion are the major factors that address the common “conditions” under which violent and nonviolent individuals were living in Egypt and Germany. Studies have found that more specific factors vary widely—as Hamied Ansari has observed, members of violent groups in Egypt are “a curious mixture of people with different backgrounds and social origins” (1984: 134). Later sections in this chapter provide more information about this aspect.

Selecting and Meeting Individuals The sample of this study consists of twenty-seven individuals who engaged in violent and nonviolent activism in Egypt and Germany. My strategy of selecting these individuals differed in Egypt and Germany. In Egypt, it was usually difficult to identify individuals, because all of them were persecuted at the time I conducted this research. Many were hiding from the state and did not even tell their wider families about their political activities. Their names were therefore often unknown. In Germany, it was much easier to identify individuals, because many are well-known figures whose names are available from German media.

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In Egypt, I started this research with the names and phone numbers of two individuals from the MB who were living in hiding. I obtained their names and numbers from a friend, whom I knew from studying in Egypt for my master’s degree. During my first meetings with these individuals, I had to find out whether they were willing to identify themselves as members of the MB, and whether they would agree to talk with me about their political activities. While spending a few afternoons with them in the park, I got to know both of them, and gained their consent for participating in my study. Eventually, we became friends and kept meeting until I left Cairo. Based on my successful meetings with these individuals, I gained access to a third member of the MB, also hiding from the state. Although I also had the chance to interview him extensively and we eventually became friends, I did not succeed in establishing contact with the local leaders of the MB groups of these individuals. I failed in this effort, because the individuals did not want it known that they had talked to me about their activities. Because of this gap, I had to rely on other people to gain access to more prominent Muslim Brothers. First, I got help from a grandchild of the founder of the MB, Hassan al-Banna, whom I knew from living in Geneva: Hani Ramadan. When I left Geneva for my first field trip, he gave me the phone number of his uncle Ahmad Saif al-Islam Hassan al-Banna, who lives in Cairo. On my arrival, I called Saif al-Islam, and was able to arrange several interviews. Furthermore, I got help through my friends in Egypt, whom I asked if they knew anyone who could put me into touch with senior figures of the MB. In this way, I identified people with connections and obtained the phone numbers of several prominent Muslim Brothers. I was able to reach and set up interviews with two leaders, Mahmud ʿIzzat and Saʿad Katatni, and another Muslim Brother who gained nationwide popularity after being arrested by the police: ʿAbd al-Munʿim Mahmud. In this way, I also obtained the phone number of a member of a violent group. This was my first contact to an individual who had engaged in political violence. I described my first meeting with this individual at the beginning of this chapter. Although the meeting was successful, it did not provide me with access to other individuals who had engaged in violence. I was asked to pay money for being connected to others—a request I declined, and through which I lost an impor tant opportunity to make further contacts. Nevertheless, I managed to get in touch with other members of violent groups through numerous meetings with friends of friends, researchers, journalists, and bloggers. Specifically, I identified a lawyer who used to participate in a

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violent group himself; and two journalists who had written extensively about violent groups in Egypt. Through these individuals, I obtained three more names and phone numbers of individuals who had engaged in violence. Two of them agreed to meet with me. The third declined after a long phone call during which he interrogated me about my personal life. When he heard that I was not Muslim, twenty-nine, and not married, he said he did not wish to meet with me. On the other hand, I had numerous successful meetings with the two remaining individuals, who also became my friends. They connected me with four more individuals who had also engaged in violence. In Germany, I selected individuals based on searching the news for names. Concerning individuals who had engaged in nonviolent activism, I was able to find their names in the phone book, and called them. I arranged all of my interviews with individuals who had engaged in nonviolent activism this way, except one, which I set up through my family connections. Concerning the individuals who had engaged in violence, there were no entries in the phone book. Instead, I established contact by calling and sending letters or e-mails to their lawyers, whose names were often mentioned in the news. In this way, I contacted about sixty individuals from the Red Army Faction. Although their lawyers assured me that the individuals had received my letters, I only obtained four responses—two of them negative. Based on my interviews with the two individuals who agreed to participate in my study, I was able to get in touch with two more individuals who had earlier not agreed to meet with me. I conducted interviews with these individuals during field research in 2009 and 2010. In Egypt, I traveled to Greater Cairo and Alexandria during the summer of 2009, the winter of 2010, and the summer of 2010. In Germany, I conducted interviews in cities across the country, including Hamburg, Berlin, and Munich, during short-term visits between 2009 and 2010. In Egypt, I met with each individual between two and ten times, whereas I met each individual in Germany only once. Interviews in Egypt lasted between ten minutes and almost entire days, and were often interrupted by family, friends, and colleagues. Interviews in Germany lasted between two and five hours without interruptions. In both countries, I met the individuals in various places—in the individuals’ homes, in public places such as parks and cafes, or at their workplace. In Egypt, no individual allowed me to record the interview because of the sensitivity of the topic: at the time when I conducted this research, all the individuals were living in hiding from the state or were under state surveillance. When interviewing individuals in Egypt, I never wore a headscarf,

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and I always said I was not Muslim when asked. I also wore long blouses and wide pants. Some individuals suggested I wear the scarf, and, as mentioned, I was once refused an interview after saying I was not Muslim, twenty-nine, and not married. However, most individuals accepted my appearance and occasionally even defended my non-Islamic dress in front of their friends. After about half a dozen meetings, one interviewee told me he wished I would convert to Islam, but appreciated talking to me “the way you are.” Many individuals also introduced me to their families, including their wives, who are fully veiled outside their private environments and do not usually interact with strangers. In spite of my religious and cultural differences, these women immediately treated me as if I were a member of the family, and continue taking an eager interest in my well-being today. The interviews were usually conducted in three main stages. At the beginning, most individuals wanted to get to know me and I did not ask them about their political activities. At this first stage, they often interviewed me extensively, posing all kinds of private questions about my religious beliefs, family background, relationships, or life in “the West.” As a result, my interviewees usually knew information I normally do not share with people I have just met. During the second stage, I asked the individuals various types of questions to investigate the main research question of this book. Throughout this stage, I asked as few questions as possible to let the individuals tell their stories from their own perspective. In my initial questions, I usually asked about the beginning of their political activities, their views of the state, their experiences with the state, private and political goals, and the origins of their belief in Islam. Some examples of these questions are, when did you begin to follow politics? and could you tell me about the first time you engaged in a political activity? Many individuals responded by giving detailed descriptions of their lives, during which they often started addressing questions related to their decisions to engage in violence without being asked to do so. At the third stage, I started asking more specific questions about their decisions, although I continued to ask as few questions as possible. For example, I asked an individual who killed a state representative why he had killed this par ticu lar representative. It was often not even necessary to ask such questions, as the individuals recalled their decisions in great depth and elaborated on them for a long time without interruption. At the end of this stage, I asked the individuals if they had had alternatives: I asked violent individuals why they did not decide to engage in nonviolent activism, and nonviolent individuals why they did not decide to take up arms. Moreover, I asked if

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anything could have prevented them from deciding to do what they did, and whether they thought it would be justified to use violence against the German and Egyptian states today. Based on this procedure, I collected extensive information about my interviewees. Indeed, this information goes far beyond what appears to be immediately related to decisions to take up arms (or to not do so). Rather, it represents the individuals’ life stories. For example, individuals talked about their childhood and the beginning of their political activities; about whom they met at what stages in their lives and how they made friends; or about how they thought about themselves and the challenges they faced in life. In this way, the information I collected includes many different types of factors, such as self-perception, observations of external events, social interactions, personal problems, and religious convictions. Despite the underlying structure guiding all interviews, the information I obtained during my meetings varied, as individuals reacted differently to the questions. While some remained fearful throughout the conversation and only gave more general overviews, others recalled their experiences in detail, during which they often experienced emotional stress. A few individuals also remained very reluctant to speak with me after several interviews. Sometimes they got angry at more detailed questions. One individual, for instance, was very annoyed and shouted at me when I tried to introduce myself to her over several phone calls. I eventually gave up on interviewing her. This was very unfortunate, especially because I managed to speak with only one woman who had engaged in violence. Another individual frequently asked me to travel to his office in the heat of the Egyptian summer. He always asked me to arrive during the hottest time of day and then let me wait for several hours. I got used to sitting on a brown plastic couch in his front room, which had no air conditioning. Many people were passing by, and many sat down to ask who I was and why I had come to this place. When the individual finally allowed me to enter his office, he was usually willing to take only three to four questions at a time. Surrounded by three phones that kept ringing in the sound of suras from the Qur’an, he talked to me for about 15 to 20 minutes. When he wanted me to leave, he just closed his eyes and put his head on his desk.3 In Germany, I had only one long meeting with each person. At the beginning, I introduced myself and my research and let the individuals ask any questions they deemed important. Some wanted to discuss the topic of my research in more detail, while others wanted to know more about me. These initial conversations never came as close to private issues as with the Egyptians, from

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whom I differ much more in culture and religion. Nevertheless, in most cases, I had the chance to get to know my interviewees quite well. Overall, the individuals in Germany were much more willing to talk about their decisions in great detail, and they took comparatively little time to start doing so. Although some also seemed to experience emotional stress when remembering their decisions, especially in relation to prison experiences, they were usually able to give very detailed descriptions of their reasoning processes. The individuals from Germany did not live in constant fear of being arrested when I met them, although the topic of this study was sensitive in Germany as well. The RAF members especially keep receiving extensive media attention, and they were very difficult to convince to participate in my study. I therefore decided to not record my interviews with individuals from Germany. At the beginning of my field research, I tried using a tape recorder during an interview with a nonviolent individual. However, he immediately told me he preferred not to be recorded, and not to have his name mentioned. Afterward, I decided to not even suggest taping conversations, because I thought not asking would avoid making individuals feel stressed. I was therefore surprised when a few other individuals, whom I met later, asked me where my tape recorder was. Unfortunately, I had left it home during the meetings I could have recorded, and lost information that could have been very valuable.4 Like the Egyptians, all the individuals from Germany trusted me to show them my analysis, and, in several cases, not to mention their names. They gave me this trust although they got to know me only on the day of the interview, and although I told them I had worked as a newspaper journalist between 1994 and 2007.

Research Biases Postfact Explanations

To study political violence, this analysis employs interviews with the actors who engage in this behavior. Since violent individuals are extraordinarily difficult to access, interviews are a unique source of information. Nevertheless, my interviews suffer from an important source of bias: they were conducted after the individuals took up arms. Postfact explanations are a very good way to obtain deeper insight into political violence, a behavior whose study suffers from significant constraints.

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First, it is a behavior that cannot be analyzed by experiments that randomize the conditions under which it occurs. Second, political violence belongs to those types of behavior that can rarely be watched as they happen, which adds to the difficulty of studying it. In fact, even if it is possible to watch violence as it happens, that does not provide insight into the actors’ beliefs. In this light, postfact explanations are a highly valuable source, offering unique insight into the actor’s own perspective, even though they are provided after the action. Nevertheless, one might object that there are texts in which violent individuals explained their actions at the time they engaged in it (for example, Qutb 1982; Faraj, quoted in Jansen 1986; al-Zawahiri 1999, 2002). These texts were written for a much wider audience, however, and they cannot compare with the detailed explanations gathered from extensive faceto-face interviews conducted in private. Such interviews can explore the individuals’ explanations for engaging in political violence in extraordinary depth, which is not available from any other source. For example, one of the violent individuals I interviewed in Germany recollected in great detail how his father had raised him without giving him the chance to express his own opinion, which is why he began to reject authorities of any kind. To my knowledge, such accounts of par ticu lar experiences are not available from the public writings of individuals as they were engaging in political violence. One might still argue that it would have been possible to arrange interviews with individuals who are currently engaging in violence, for example with individuals from Hamas. Usually, these people are fugitives and live in hiding, but in journalism, which is also my professional background, it is actually quite common to trace such individuals for interviews. Nevertheless, these interviews always introduce a high risk for the person conducting them, and I was not willing to take that risk. Moreover, as I have described, it was already extraordinarily difficult to set up my interviews with individuals who had engaged in political violence in the past. Arranging interviews with individuals still engaging in it would have been even more time-consuming, and have significantly delayed the conduct of this study. As a result, postfact explanations were the best possible way I could construct data for this book. Specifically, the individuals I interviewed were active between the 1960s and 1980s, and primarily in the 1970s. One could therefore assume that their explanations suffer from memory loss, meaning that the individuals cannot remember all of the details related to their decisions. However, decisions to take up arms are not everyday decisions individuals take frequently—like

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turning left at the crossroad on the way to work. Rather, decisions to take up arms involve high risks and mark turning points in individuals’ lives. They can forever change, or end the lives of the people who make them. Because of this, the reasoning processes related to these decisions are extraordinarily strong, and accessible much more easily in much more detail than most other reasoning processes by which people make decisions. As a result, one can expect that the crucial beliefs underlying these decisions can be captured by the interviews in spite of the large time difference. As I show in the following chapters, this indeed appears to be the case: the individuals’ explanations were usually so rich that one can say most people are probably not able to explain other actions performed only a few weeks ago in similar depth. One might also assume that the individuals in retrospect provide incorrect explanations of their actions. They might not only seek to do so in front of the researcher but also in front of themselves. However, the explanations I obtained from the individuals are surprisingly similar—by contrast, one would expect their explanations to differ if they were incorrect. More generally, regardless of whether explanations are right or wrong, they indicate what is possible. As I showed in Chapter 1, all explanations—including incorrect explanations—are structured according to certain rules that make sense, and therefore identify mechanisms that can encourage people to engage in certain behav ior. Specifically, explanations consist of chains of interconnected beliefs that represent the logical microlevel mechanisms underlying human behavior. In this structure, explanations by nature identify mechanisms that can motivate people’s behav ior. While a particular mechanism might not occur in reality, what matters is that it could in principle be a real mechanism underlying an individual’s behav ior. One might continue to object that to obtain such possible explanations it is not necessary to interview people who actually engaged in political violence. Instead, one might object, it is sufficient to examine the literature on the subject, or to interview somebody who knows somebody who engaged in violence. However, taking up arms has an extraordinarily strong impact on a person’s life, which is why incorrect explanations from the people who actually engaged in political violence still promise to offer unique insight that cannot be obtained from an outsider. Another objection related to postfact explanations is that engaging in political violence is so gruesome that, in retrospect, individuals naturally provide explanations that do not adequately address why they engaged in this behavior. More specifically, one might assume that postfact explanations only

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mirror the act itself, not what was logically prior to it. But it is commonly agreed that people who engage in political violence are aware of their actions, and engage in them to achieve certain goals, not for the sake of violence itself. The gruesomeness of the act may therefore reinforce the individuals’ motivations rather than allow them to forget what motivated their actions. As I show in the following chapters, the interviews suggest this is the case by showing that the explanations of violent and nonviolent individuals are surprisingly similar: this contradicts what is expected if the performance of political violence makes all explanations mirrors of the act. One might further object that postfact explanations suffer from hindsight biases, meaning that the individuals consider the things that happened as inevitable. One might thus object that the cognitive maps constructed for this research do not adequately reflect the world as it was, and fail to account for the possibility that things could have turned out differently. More specifically, one might object that the finding that state aggression plays a crucial role in decisions to take up arms is exaggerated, because it is based on people’s retrospective perceptions of the world. However, the cognitive maps constructed for this research do not contain the same beliefs about the things that happened: a number of individuals frequently talked about positive behav ior by the state, such as providing education and supporting its citizens. Consequently, the cognitive maps represent particular events, such as state aggression, not as inevitable, but rather as various, and at times contradictory, types of state behav ior. Furthermore, the possibility that things could have turned out differently is addressed by my investigation of alternative worlds (counterfactuals; see Chapter 6). In this investigation, I systematically intervene on individuals’ beliefs about the world, and test whether they would have still decided to take up arms, given the interventions. Since the individuals’ descriptions of the world include a few contradictions, one might further assume that the individuals’ statements are not veridical. It is impor tant to note that contradictory events—such as state aggression and state support of citizens—exist, and that most of the events cited by the individuals—such as Sadat’s release of prisoners at the beginning of the 1970s or the capture of hundreds of activists at the beginning of the 1980s—are widely known, and therefore verifiable. Moreover, other events not so widely known—such as the arrest of the individuals themselves or their friends or family members—were usually described in great detail that would be very difficult to invent. The individuals also often experienced emotional stress when talking about such events.5 As a result, the explanations obtained

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from the individuals appear to represent the reality as it was, and they do so by including the contradictions of this reality.

Conduct of Interviews

Another source of bias is my conduct of interviews. As I have explained, I met individuals in Egypt between two and ten times, whereas I met individuals from Germany only once. Interviews in Egypt lasted from ten minutes to almost entire days, and were often interrupted by family, friends, and colleagues. By contrast, interviews in Germany lasted two to five hours without interruptions, and I was always alone with the individuals. One might assume that there are biases connected with these differences. For example, one might assume that short interviews can only convey more general information and not explore particular aspects in depth. As opposed to what is expected from this assumption, the information I obtained during my shorter interviews in Egypt is extensive. Since I met each individual from Egypt several times, I was usually able to begin follow-up interviews with more specific questions, and eventually obtained the same level of detail as in the longer interviews in Germany. One might also assume that long interviews make the interviewees tired and cannot convey new information after a certain time. In contrast, the information provided by individuals from Germany during the last hour always contributed new insight, in spite of some repetition, which occurred throughout the interviews. In general, I was able to ask all kinds of questions during the later hours. In some cases, I was able to explore several activities the individuals engaged in; in others, I was able to ask about alternative actions they would have decided to conduct in retrospect. Overall, the breadth and depth of information I obtained from the interviews in Egypt and Germany is surprisingly similar. One might further object that, since my interviews in Egypt were often conducted surrounded by families and friends, the information obtained overlooks important aspects that were not made explicit but implied by the Egyptian context in which people share information.6 With one exception, I actually met all the Egyptians alone, and the majority of the interviews in Egypt involved a dialogue between myself and my interviewee, not between my interviewee and his friends or family. Furthermore, even when I was surrounded by friends and families and people were talking among themselves, they never perceived me

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as a member of their group and always felt the need to explain themselves to me. This was due to various issues, such as my accent when speaking Arabic, my use of Modern Standard Arabic rather than the Egyptian dialect, my looks, or my presence without a companion such as my father or brother. It was obvious that I was a foreigner. In fact, I was often surprised by what was explained to me, including things I had known for years—for example, that Muslims pray five times a day, or what hassanat are.7

Research Design

The research design presented above may also introduce biases. First, choosing Egypt as an example of an authoritarian state suffering from economic hardship and Germany as an example of a wealthy democracy may involve biases. Egypt, for instance, opened its party system during the 1970s and allowed political participation on an unprecedented scale in spite of its authoritarian structure. Furthermore, its economy initially improved during this time, which contradicts characterizing it as a country facing economic hardships. Germany, the democratic state, engaged in behavior typically connected with authoritarian regimes: large-scale repression, employed to end the student protests that broke out at the end of the 1960s. At this time, Germany also underwent its first major economic crisis, which contradicts characterizing it as a wealthy country. It is helpful to note that authoritarianism and democracy, as well as poverty and wealth, are not static, and that it is in fact quite common for states described by them to have particular features that do not immediately correspond to these descriptions. For example, Germany is currently widely considered one of the wealthiest countries in the world, but German media frequently feature reports about economic loss and hardship (similar observations could be made about the United States, France, or Great Britain). The analysis presented in this book deals with such contradictions by focusing on individuals’ own descriptions of their states. It shows what individuals believed to be important to their decisions, identifying which aspects of the state mattered versus others that were of no significance. Surprisingly, what mattered most to the decisions of individuals from both states were beliefs about aggressive state behav ior. Second, choosing individuals from certain cultures may involve biases. For example, the individuals I interviewed are Sunni (like the majority of

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Egyptians) rather than Shiʿa. As a result, their explanations might involve beliefs that are unique to Sunnis in particular, rather than Muslims in general. On the other hand, Germany has a large Muslim minority. Although no individual from Germany I interviewed believes in Islam, one might assume that this minority nevertheless had an indirect impact on their activism. For instance, certain statements by government officials in favor of the Muslim minority could have encouraged individuals to engage in activities opposing those officials. The differences between Sunni and Shiʿa Muslims concerning the political system overall appear rather minor: they are mainly limited to the question of succession,8 and not to other major issues about the nature and organization of the state. The influence of the Muslim minority on German politics in the 1970s appears to have been rather small, if not absent. To my knowledge, there are no studies that show the Muslim minority influenced political activism in Germany. Nevertheless, the analysis here could still show that these issues mattered: focusing on the individuals’ own explanations of their actions, it deals with any aspect the individuals consider relevant, including beliefs particular to Sunnis and the role of the Muslim minority in Germany. Third, recruiting individuals from the mentioned violent and nonviolent groups might involve biases. For example, one might observe that the SDS was a particular student movement formed during the protests of the 1960s and 1970s, and that the MB is a par ticular Islamic opposition movement formed in 1928 in response to British occupation. It is important to note that the mentioned groups were the major groups active in Egypt and Germany during the period I investigate in this book. They were also part of a larger movement of international resistance: the SDS, for instance, organized demonstrations in cooperation with the international student resistance abroad; the MB was the largest opposition movement in the entire Middle East; the RAF collaborated with a violent group from the Middle East to hijack a plane; and JI members contributed to the formation of al-Qaeda. As a result, the groups of individuals I interviewed appear to be less unique than what might be suggested by some of their particular characteristics. This is confirmed by literature such as Kraushaar, who draws on the international context to “analyze the RAF phenomenon more deeply” (2006: 57). A final possible source of bias is internal rivalries between groups that used the same means, which existed in spite of the competition between groups using opposite means. Although the groups whose members I interviewed were the main groups active in Egypt and Germany between the 1960s and 1990s,

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they are not the only ones. In Egypt, there were the additional violent groups al-Takfir wa al-Hijra and the Technical Military Academy group (al-Jamaʿat al-Fanniyya al-ʿAskariyya), and in Germany, the Revolutionäre Zellen and Rote Zora. Similarly, the groups engaging in nonviolent activism had competitors. In Egypt, the competition mainly consisted of political parties opposed to state policies, with the Wafd the most prominent example. In Germany, this opposition was initially conducted by the Social Democrats (SPD), although it more or less disappeared as the SPD came to power and made Helmut Schmidt chancellor. Such competition might have encouraged the groups to conduct certain rather than other activities, or to refrain from conducting particular activities. In response, most individuals I interviewed provided explanations for activities they performed in cooperation with rival groups, such as the assassination of President Sadat (conducted by JI and JA), emphasizing that competition between groups using the same means played a comparably minor role and does not appear to have had a major influence on the findings of this research. Apart from that, the analysis can still identify the influence of rival groups, if these are part of individuals’ explanations of their actions.

Who Are the Individuals Background

The sample of this study consists of twenty-seven individuals from Egypt and Germany, from various backgrounds and with different occupations. The Egyptians come from places such as Upper Egypt, the Nile Delta, and Greater Cairo, the Germans from cities such as Munich, Hamburg, and Berlin. The individuals also have different professions: the Egyptians work as doctors, journalists, students, or engineers, the Germans as lawyers, writers, or teachers. This diversity is also visible from the occupations of their parents: while some were public political figures, others worked as teachers, state employees, or private businessmen. Table 11 provides an overview.

Age and Gender

In spite of this diversity, the individuals have two similarities: all were young at the time they engaged in violent and nonviolent activism, and, with one

Table 11: Individuals Interviewed for This Study Name

Group

Position in group

Egypt A S W ʿAbd al-Munʿim Mahmud Ahmad Saif al-Islam

MB MB MB MB MB

Follower Follower Follower Follower Son of founder of MB

Saʿad Katatni

MB

Leader

Mahmud ʿIzzat K B Najeh Ibrahim N T Z Y I

MB JI JI JA JA JA JA JA Preached in JA mosque

Leader Leader Leader Founder of JA Follower Follower Former leader Former leader Says he was never part of JA

Germany H Rainer Langhans Bernd Rabehl Ulrich Enzensberger Tilman Fichter Jürgen Holtfreter Karl-Heinz Dellwo L E O R G

SDS K1, SDS K1, SDS K1 SDS I RAF RAF RAF RAF B2J B2J

Follower Founder of K1 Among first members of K1 Among first members of K1 Leader — Member of 2nd generation Member of 2nd generation Member of 1st generation Member of 2nd generation Member Member

Abbreviations: MB Muslim Brotherhood JI al-Jihad JA al-Jamaʿat al-Islamiyya RAF Red Army Faction B2J Bewegung 2. Juni K1 Kommune 1 SDS Socialist German Student Union I Independent

Table 11: Individuals Interviewed for This Study Occupation at time of interview

University degree

Place of entry into group

PhD student PhD student Engineer Journalist Retired MB leader

MA MA MA BA PhD

Speaker of MB parliamentary bloc MB secretary-general Journalist and writer Journalist Dermatologist Veterinarian Chemist Lawyer Writer ?

PhD

Cairo Cairo Cairo Alexandria Affi liation since birth southern Egypt

MD PhD BA MD, license in law and Islamic studies MD PhD JD BA Law degree

Cairo Cairo Cairo Assyut ? southern Egypt southern Egypt southern Egypt —

Self-employed Author Author Author Political scientist Self-employed Author, fi lmmaker Community worker — Employee Self-employed Self-employed

MA Studied law Professor University degree MA Apprenticeship Apprenticeship ? University degree — Apprenticeship Apprenticeship

Münster Berlin Berlin Berlin Berlin — Hamburg Karlsruhe Berlin Karlsruhe Berlin Berlin

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exception, all are male. As I describe below, other studies of violent individuals have also pointed to these similarities, but these are rather broad—after all, only a tiny minority of young males take up arms. The following analysis therefore investigates the beliefs motivating individuals, rather than more general similarities like age and gender. The analysis may nevertheless show that age and gender matter by pointing to the importance of beliefs unique to young people or men—for example, beliefs about particular goals concerning the individuals’ future (as indicator of youth), or about experiences in the army (as indicator of gender). The sample includes only one woman who participated in violence. This is the case because no other woman I contacted agreed to meet with me— although the percentage of women among the individuals I tried to recruit for my study in Germany was 30  percent (twenty individuals), which corresponds to the percentage of women assumed to have participated in political violence in Germany (30–35  percent, see Diewald-Kerkmann 2006). Although this lack of female individuals is unfortunate, it does not appear to create a significant bias for the study: as mentioned, being male or female is a rather broad characteristic that does not appear to explain why individuals take up arms against their state. Moreover, none of the crucial beliefs identified by the analysis are unique to young people or males.

Actions

All the individuals engaged in violent or nonviolent activism several times rather than only once. Their par ticular actions varied. For instance, several individuals participated in the meeting during which JA and JI decided to kill President Sadat. One individual also participated in the uprising in Assyut on the day of the assassination. Another individual participated in the RAF siege of the German embassy in Stockholm in 1975, during which two hostages were killed. Other individuals participated in the kidnapping of a prominent politician and in the freeing of prisoners. All the violent individuals I recruited for this study stayed in their groups until the groups dissolved (Germany) or became nonviolent (Egypt),9 and participated in more than one activity of their groups. It is important to mention that there were limits to how much the individuals were willing to say about their actions. In general, they did not want

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to give information about their involvement in particular activities that remain unresolved by the police (for example, the assassination of Siegfried Buback). Two of the individuals I interviewed did talk about their involvement in unresolved violent activities. Since they wanted their names to be unknown, this book does not provide details of these interviews or describe these individuals’ activities in depth. Four individuals said they were part of violent groups and participated in the groups’ activities but were not willing to specify their involvement in particular attacks. Although one might assume that their refusal prevented me from gathering information, it also shows that their memberships in the groups by itself indicates a commitment to political violence, and that talking to these individuals can provide very valuable information not easily obtainable other wise.10 The individuals who engaged in nonviolent activism were less secretive, although several Egyptians who were hiding from the state also refused to answer some of my questions. In general, however, nonviolent individuals were rather outspoken and provided extensive information about their activities. In Germany, all the individuals participated in demonstrations, sit-ins, or workshops about nonviolent resistance. Moreover, they engaged in activities that gained wide publicity. One of them, for example, was involved in the famous “Pudding Assassination” (“Pudding-Attentat”), during which members of K1 wanted to throw pudding at U.S. vice-president Hubert Humphrey while he was visiting Berlin. The “attack” was discovered, and prevented by the police. Another individual changed a poster advertising the Deutsche Bahn (the German federal train system) into a poster advertising the opposition. He kept the slogan “Everyone talks about the weather. We don’t.” but replaced the picture of the E 10 railway engine in the center with the heads of Karl Marx, Friedrich Engels, and Vladimir Lenin. He also changed the background color from black to red, deleted the logo of the Deutsche Bahn, and inserted the name of his movement—the Sozialistischer Deutscher Studentenbund (Socialist German Student Union). The poster was printed 50,000 times, and provided the SDS with money for the trials in which they were accused of breach of peace after demonstrating against the imposition of emergency law. Another individual was involved in a satirical rally during the funeral of Paul Löbe, a former president of the German Reichstag. During the ceremony, a group of activists carried a coffin to the city hall. Suddenly, the coffin opened, and one of the activists appeared from inside. Dressed in a nightshirt, he distributed leaflets criticizing the deceased president and the political regime. In Egypt, all

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individuals participated in local meetings of the Muslim Brothers, during which they prayed, organized communal services, and talked about how to oppose the state. The leading Muslim Brothers I interviewed also gave public statements, and one of the followers gained nationwide publicity after being arrested and tortured by the police. As opposed to the individuals from Germany, however, many of the Muslim Brothers did not participate in demonstrations frequently, because they were afraid of being arrested. They tried to hide from the state, rather than attempting to criticize it in public.

Existing Studies of Violent Individuals A few studies about violent individuals from Egypt and Germany exist. As mentioned above, these studies do not identify conditions under which the individuals took up arms that are more specific than living in the same states (Egypt and Germany) and believing in the same religion (Islam in Egypt). Rather, these studies indicate that violent individuals came from various backgrounds, had various occupations, and had rather different life stories before taking up arms—although they also underline that much information about the individuals remains debated or unverifiable. The most common characteristics identified by this literature are youth (Egypt and Germany) and gender (male in Egypt). I have mentioned that the individuals I interviewed shared these features, but remarked that youth and gender are rather general features too broad to identify what is unique about violent individuals—after all, the majority of young men do not engage in violence. The literature about Germany moreover suggests that many violent individuals are not male. A comprehensive overview of violent individuals has been provided by Victoroff (2005), who compares nine studies conducted by different researchers about political violence in Europe, the United States, Middle East, and Indonesia. He finds no common characterization of violent individuals and instead identifies different types of violent individuals in each region. In particular, he identifies “a profile of the typical terrorist as a well-educated single male in his mid-twenties from a middle-class background” in the United States and Europe during the 1960s and 1970s; a “typical Palestinian terrorist of that later period [in the 1980s]” age “seventeen to twenty-three,” who “came from a large family with an impoverished background, and had low educational achievement”; and “Middle Eastern terrorists in the late 1990s

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and early twenty-first century” who came from “a wider demographic range, including university students, professionals, married men in their late forties, and young women” (7). A well-known study that points to the diversity of violent individuals from Egypt in particular is Ansari’s (1988) examination of 280 individuals who are listed among the detainees captured during Sadat’s crackdown in September 1981.11 These included members of JA and JI (3). Ansari fi nds that “there is sufficient evidence to suggest that the most active militant groups affi liated with the Tanzim [JI and affi liates] were concentrated in the Upper Egyptian region,” which suggests that the proportion of the “militants” is “decisively higher” where rates of development have lagged behind (130). On the other hand, he finds that shifting the focus from geographic range to occupation and social origin shows that all the individuals had access to education and were politically aware, despite being from relatively poor areas. In fact, Ansari also finds that some of the leaders came from local elites (1988, 133–34): However, looking at the leadership of the Tanzim groups reveals a curious mixture of people with different backgrounds and social origins. There is some evidence suggesting that the extremists became available to leaders of rural elite origin. It must be stressed that only two Tanzim members had such a background, but their participation was most effective in the execution of the assassination plot. These are Colonel Abbud al-Zomor and Lieutenant Khalid al-Islambuli. These contradictory findings show that it is not immediately obvious how to characterize violent individuals from Egypt. Parts of Ansari’s findings were confirmed by Guenana (1986) and Ibrahim (1980), who examined 101 individuals of JI and 34 members of the Technical Military Academy and Takfir wa al-Hijra groups, who engaged in political violence in the 1970s. Specifically, Guenana concludes that “the information available in the case file does validate al-Ansari’s postulates,” revealing a high rate of students and a low rate of farmers, with class affiliation mostly from the lower middle class or with rural or small town origin (67). Ibrahim also observes a high rate of students, whom he describes as “decidedly high in both motivation and achievement” with a median age of twenty-two to twenty-four (438–40). The remaining classifiable members of his sample are professionals employed by the government: teachers, engineers, doctors, and agronomists; three were self-employed

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(a pharmacist, a doctor, and an accountant); and one worked as a conductor for a bus company. Ibrahim furthermore identified a gap in the geographic range of the two violent groups, with one operating in the south and the other one in the north (438). Based on these studies, the characteristics of violent individuals from Egypt remain debated, and the group is best described as a heterogeneous mix of people. Studies on violent individuals from Germany suggest that this is also true in the German context. Jäger, Schmidtchen, and Süllwold (1981), for instance, draw on “heterogeneous psychological categories” (in Victoroff 2005: 9) to study 250 individuals from Left and Right extremist groups in Germany. They fi nd that these individuals have “heterogeneous” criminal records and “heterogeneous” backgrounds and motivations (19, 111): In regard to background and motivation, the group of persons over 50 is heterogeneous. Some persons, who have adhered to their Nazi orientation, see as a result of the contact with susceptible younger people that they can get out of a position where respect was denied them on account of their views. Subjectively, they experience a change of life and are convinced they are finally in a position to pass on the truth. Some individuals who experienced a communist dictatorship see the terrorism of the right as an anticommunist struggle that the democratic institutions are too weak to engage in. The spectrum includes persons who pursue only a partial goal, e.g., the liberation of an ethnic minority from cultural and political subjugation. In one case, attacks by political enemies appear to have strengthened the conviction of being obligated actively to oppose a threat. (111) In spite of these differences, the authors identify various similarities, such as “a relatively high educational background” among violent individuals from the Left, growing up in “incomplete families” for “every fourth terrorist,” or conflicts and criminal convictions during their youth (26–32). In their conclusions, the authors nevertheless note: “Our study did not produce any theories concerning conditions, factors and causes that could provide prognostically useful explanations of the origin of terrorism or of the individual behavior of the persons involved in terrorist actions” (232). Instead, they point to “social dynamics” that demonstrate that “personal development is dependent on

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personal and historical constellations and frequently also on accidental circumstances”: The political socialization of the members of terrorist groups whose personal histories we were able to study presents itself as a sequence of sociocultural reference systems, i.e., as a gradual process of personal dissociation from the majority culture and of integration into a political counterculture. . . . Whereas recurring characteristics of the individual stages of this process can be described in some detail, it is impossible accurately to identify the factors that influenced the personal development of individual members of terrorist groups. (232) On this basis, it seems adequate to describe violent individuals from Germany as a heterogeneous group as well. This is also supported by della Porta, who emphasizes that the SDS, which first included the individuals who formed the RAF, “allowed people of different ideological backgrounds to join” (1995: 96–97). The literature about violent individuals from Germany suggests that the most similar feature they have in common is age. Referring to Fichter and Lönnendonker’s historical analysis (2008), for instance, della Porta (2008) notes that the members who joined the SDS, and later formed the RAF were rather young.12 Another example is Sontheimer’s more recent observation that the founders of the RAF were educated and not “oppressed workers but the daughters and sons of academics from the middle spectrum of society” (2010: 16; my emphasis). Moreover, the name of both violent and nonviolent opposition in Germany at the time implies that most individuals participating in violence were rather young: it was called the student movement. Winkler, for example, argues that the RAF “made itself the tool of the student movement” (2007: 15). By contrast, the literature about violent individuals from Germany does not confirm that violent individuals from Germany were mostly male. According to Diewald-Kerkmann, the percentage of women in the RAF and B2J reached 35–36 percent between 1970 and 1975 (2006: 673). Crenshaw has also recognized the participation of women in violence in Germany (1986). Specifically, she refers to the mentioned study by Jäger, Schmidtchen, and Süllwold that “does not regard the causes of female participation in terrorism as unusual.” Rather, the study “views such assumptions as the result of social stereotyping rather than objective analysis” and

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“suggests that the significant contribution of women to leftwing West German terrorism . . . stemmed from the same factors that drove men to terrorism” (106–11, quoted by Crenshaw).

Outlook: History of the Individuals’ Groups and Analysis of the Interviews Having introduced the individuals I recruited for this study, I will now place them in their political and cultural setting: the following chapter presents a brief history of the individuals’ groups. This history focuses on what was happening in Egypt and Germany during the time when the individuals were engaging in violent and nonviolent activism. The remainder of this book will be dedicated to the analysis of the interviews. In Chapter 4, I show how I coded the individuals’ direct speech to construct cognitive maps, which represent the reasoning processes underlying their decisions to engage in violent or nonviolent activism. In Chapter 5, I systematically study the cognitive maps. The analysis, which applies a computational model, shows that the reasoning processes of violent and nonviolent individuals are surprisingly similar, and that political violence is not a response to believing in Islam. Rather, I find both violent and nonviolent individuals are primarily motivated by the belief that their state is aggressive. In Chapter 6, I use the model to systematically modify the cognitive maps and explore alternative worlds in which the individuals would not have engaged in violence. This analysis demonstrates that in the absence of beliefs about state aggression, none of my interviewees would have decided to take up arms, and significantly fewer would have engaged in nonviolent activism. In the Conclusion, I summarize my findings, and comment on their implications, as well as my personal reaction to conducting field research in Egypt as a German woman.

Chapter 3

A Short History of the Individuals’ Groups

On October 6, 1981, President Sadat was attending a military parade to commemorate the eighth anniversary of the war with Israel. He accepted a salute, put down a wreath, and began watching a display of the Egyptian air force. Suddenly two grenades exploded, and gunmen jumped off a truck and began shooting at the presidential viewing stand. By the time Sadat’s bodyguards started returning their fire, at least ten people on the stand were already lying on the ground. The president himself was airlifted to a hospital. He did not survive the attack. On April 7, 1977, attorney general of Germany Friedrich Buback was traveling from his home in Neureut to the federal court in Karlsruhe. His Mercedes stopped at a traffic light, when a Suzuki motorcycle with two passengers wearing olive green helmets pulled up next to the car. Suddenly the person on the rear of the motorcycle started shooting at Buback’s car. Fifteen shots were fired, and Buback died at the scene. In Chapter 2, I introduced some of the individuals who played a role in these assassinations.1 In this chapter, I elaborate on their groups, which claimed responsibility for the deaths of Sadat and Buback: al-Jihad and alJamaʿat al-Islamiyya (Sadat) and the Red Army Faction (Buback). I also introduce the violent Bewegung 2. Juni, whose members I met as well, and the groups of the nonviolent individuals I interviewed for this study, the Muslim Brotherhood (Egypt) and the German Socialist Student Union and Kommune 1 (Germany). Specifically, my introduction traces the development of each group, and elaborates on some major events and actions of the governments in Egypt and Germany. Mostly, I focus on the 1970s, when the majority of individuals I

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interviewed were engaging in violent and nonviolent activism. The first part of the chapter focuses on the oldest group, the Muslim Brotherhood, before turning to its violent counterparts al-Jihad and al-Jamaʿat. In the second part of the chapter, I discuss the groups from Germany, beginning with the German Socialist Union and Kommune 1, and then turning to the Red Army Faction and Bewegung 2. Juni.

Egypt The Muslim Brotherhood Foundation and Early Violent and Nonviolent Activism

The Muslim Brothers are the largest Islamic opposition organization in the Arab world and have a long history of political activism (Rashwan 2007: 165; Tammam 2010: 29). Founded in 1928 by Hassan al-Banna, they began in Ismaʿiliyya, which is in the Suez Canal Zone and had a high concentration of British occupying forces (al-Sayyid 2003: 8). In spite of a “modest beginning,” membership reached one million by 1948 (Mitchell 1993: 12; Abdelnasser 1994: 22). Over the years, the Brothers managed to have an “enormous impact” (Rashwan 2007: 165), and often enjoyed more popularity than the government. The Brothers have always been a political actor (Aly 2007: 2). At the beginning, they challenged the modern Egyptian state when it was still a kingdom (1922–53). Later, they continued challenging it when it became a republic (since 1953). Initially, the Brothers consisted of small societies focusing on various objectives, mostly “social, charitable, co-operative and vocational” (Phelps Harris 1964: 140). Their objective was to “bring the community back to the Shari-yah and away from Westernism.” Although al-Banna briefly considered running for election in 1941 and 1942 and the Brothers fielded candidates in the parliamentary elections of 1944 (Phelps Harris 1964: 184; al-Sayyid 2003: 8–9), most of their activities took place behind the political scenes. Examples are their passive support for the Wafd Party and their establishment of unions by which they “threw themselves with fervor into the Arab-Israeli war” in 1948 (Phelps Harris 1964: 184). During the first two decades after their foundation, the Brothers pursued their goals “peacefully,” by “publishing a newspaper, making speeches, and distributing the writings of their leaders” (al-Sayyid 2003: 8). However, “fric-

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tions” with the state are said to have made them “more hostile”: the Brothers created a unit called “al-nizam al-khass” (“the special section”), which represented “the first stages of resort to extra-legal action” (Mitchell 1993: 30–32). In 1943, this unit became “the defender of the movement against the police and the governments of Egypt” and was immediately “rationalized as an instrument for the defense of Islam.” The foundation of the special section coincided with the Brothers’ activities in Palestine, from which “they brought back with them enough arms and ammunition to become a [real] security problem in Egypt” (Phelps Harris 1964: 184). Government figures who did not conform with the Brothers’ political programs were attacked, and when Prime Minister Mahmud Fahmi al-Nuqrashi dissolved the movement in 1948, he was assassinated (184). Just seven weeks later—on February 12, 1949—the founder of the Muslim Brotherhood was killed (Rashwan 2007: 169). In spite of the assassination of al-Banna, the Brothers remained the “largest orga nized popu lar force in the country” (Kassem 2004: 138). Their new general guide was Hassan al-Hudaybi, a judge of the Egyptian Court of Appeal (al-Sayyid 2003: 9). Under his leadership, the Brothers were successful in reaching a rapprochement with the king, which enabled them to operate again. At the time of the coup d’état in 1952, the Brothers worked closely with the Free Officers. The new ruling elite even promised them that they would Islamize the new constitution (Leiken and Brooke 2007: 108). However, these promises were not fulfi lled. Instead, the ties between the Brothers and the new government “grew strained, as the army came to resent sharing power” (al-Sayyid 2003: 9). The Brothers were banned again in January and outlawed in October 1954 (Kassem 2004: 138). During the reign of Nasser, there were two more occurrences of violence connected with the Muslim Brothers. Both were assassination attempts on the president, and they happened in 1954 and 1965. The president survived both. Indeed, it has been argued that the attacks strengthened him. As Lawrence Wright describes, Nasser’s reaction to the first attack on his life won him the admiration and love of many Egyptians: the president was speaking to a crowd in Alexandria when a Muslim Brother began firing shots at him. Nasser stayed at the stand with the microphone. “Let them kill Nasser! Who is Nasser but one among many?” he shouted. “I am alive, and even if I die, all of you are Gamal Abdul Nasser!” (Wright 2006: 28). In response to these attacks, Nasser’s government employed unprecedented “brutality” (Kassem 2004: 137)—repression, imprisonment, torture,

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and death sentences. Thousands of Brothers were affected by these measures. Among the men sentenced to death was Sayyid Qutb, author of Maʿalim fi al-tariq (Milestones on the Way), which later became the manifesto for armed struggle against non-Islamic governments. Qutb’s suffering in prison became “a kind of Passion play for Islamic fundamentalists” (Wright 2006: 28), and Nasser realized that Qutb was more dangerous to the government in prison than outside. The president offered Qutb a pardon, but Qutb refused to accept the offer. When his sister begged him to accept, Qutb said: “My words will be stronger if they kill me.” He was hanged after the morning prayers on August 29, 1966. His corpse was never returned to his family (31). Faced with the government’s brutality, the Muslim Brothers had to redefine their relationship with the state, while wondering “How could those who stood shoulder to shoulder with us against the British and the king now set their dogs on us?” (Leiken and Brooke 2007: 110). The leadership reacted by rejecting Qutb’s writings and strongly opposing violent means: in his famous book Preachers Not Judges, General Guide Hudaybi responded to Qutb’s Milestones by condemning the use of physical force and urging Muslims to leave judgment to God alone (1977). Hudaybi also opposed the special section and tried dissolving it immediately after learning about its existence (Mitchell 1993: 119). Until recently, this nonviolent stance has characterized the Muslim Brothers and differentiated them from violent groups that formed in the 1970s. In the words of Hamzawy and Grebowski (2010: 2): Neither the weak outcome of its political participation, nor systematic regime repression—for example, frequent arrests and trials of Brotherhood leaders and activists, manipulation against its candidates in the elections, and the limiting of the movement’s social and political activities through a mixture of legal measures and direct government intervention—have pushed the Brotherhood away from its commitment to nonviolent activism and peaceful participation.

The Muslim Brothers During the 1970s When Nasser died in 1970, Sadat took over the presidency. The beginning of his reign marked a turning point in the strained relationship between the Brothers and the state (Rashwan 2007: 167). It also coincided with the arrival

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of a new generation of Muslim Brothers, to which the majority of individuals interviewed for this book belong. In the following paragraphs, I give a brief overview of the main political changes during Sadat’s presidency and the actions of the Brothers in response to Sadat’s politics. I deepen this description in the following section about the violent groups that formed during the reign of Sadat.

Political Changes Under Sadat

When he came into power, Sadat was “acceptable to most Egyptians”: he managed to remove all his political rivals in the “Corrective May Revolution,” and had “the image of a daring man of action” (Ibrahim 1996: 202–4). This positive image was even improved by the 1973 Arab-Israeli War, his “moment of glory,” which made him “a true champion in the eyes of Egyptians and other Arabs alike.” Sadat immediately introduced political changes that at least on the surface seemed to move toward more openness and political freedom. Saad Eddin Ibrahim has named four key criteria he calls a “cohesive four pillar vision” to characterize the policy changes introduced by Sadat: (1) Controlled Democratization, (2) Infitah, Open-door Economic Policy, (3) Alignment with the West, (4) Peace with Israel. “Whether truly intended or not,” Ibrahim writes, “Sadat’s vision was the gradual democratization of Egypt’s political system” (205). The actions usually cited to confirm this “vision” of democratization (pillar 1) are Sadat’s release of thousands of political prisoners at the beginning of his reign (Ansari 1986: 179), his tolerance of Islamic activism (Abed-Kotob and Sullivan 1999: 72; Ansari: 211), and his introduction of a multiparty system in 1976 (Ibrahim 1996: 206; Kassem 2004: 52). The creation of this new system was based on the immediate transformation of Egypt’s only political party, the Arab Socialist Union, by the “Corrective Revolution” and a “period of open dialogue.” Moreover, Sadat approved three platforms that later became parties and allowed independent individuals to run as election candidates (Blaydes 2011: 34–35). The infitah policy (pillar 2) was based on Law 43 and proclaimed in 1974, promising to “invigorate the public sector through competition” rather than to reverse Nasser’s socialism (Ibrahim 1996: 204). It aimed at attracting Western capital and technology to improve Egypt’s economic condition together

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with Arab capital and cheap Egyptian labor (Al-Sayyid Marsot 1985: 134). It lessened banking controls and lifted travel restrictions, granted tax exemptions and the transfer of joint-venture profits, and began reducing the subsidies for basic goods. Sadat’s foreign policy and approach toward Israel (pillars 3 and 4) were directed at ensuring regional and social peace, an impor tant condition for the success of his other new policies (Ibrahim 1996: 205). By aligning with the West and making peace with Israel, Sadat is said to have capitalized on “the tremendous stress and strain felt by the Egyptians since 1967” and their “deep yearning for peace and stability” (209). A survey reported that at the time of the peace settlement, 54 percent of the Egyptian population was supportive of his action in contrast to only 33  percent of the entire Arab sample. Th is suggests that Sadat had succeeded in the “difficult part” of at least temporarily winning over the people, who generally considered the struggle to free Palestine as “sacred” (209).

The Muslim Brothers in the New Political Environment

In this new political climate, the Brothers were able to rebuild their organization. They even expressed gratitude toward the government: when ʿUmar alTilmisani, titular head of the Brothers, was released from prison in 1971, he went to Abdin Palace to thank the president personally. “My Islamic upbringing and education,” he told Sadat, “do not allow me to conspire against you” (Baker 1990: 245) Despite this new mutual tolerance, the Brothers continued criticizing the state, and kept urging the government to apply “God’s Law” (Baker 1990: 244). Much of this was expressed in the Brothers’ newspaper, Daʿwa, where al-Tilmisani published the following excerpt (in Ibrahim 1996: 40): These tremendous fortunes of the few, with its opulent display for everyone to see, and which the rich are spending conspicuously on luxury . . . could it not have eased the hardship of the needy? . . . If we do not take from the rich to spend on the poor are we not violating the dicta of the Holy Quran? Are we not subjecting our nation and government to God’s wrath? . . . The Infitah would have helped in solving part of our serious crisis had it been devoted to productive en-

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terprises rather than luxury items which aggravate the hardship. And these embezzlements which we read about every day could have been eradicated if the pure and the faithful were in charge. This form of criticism further signaled a return to their original peaceful means—a return they continued to pursue throughout Sadat’s reign and beyond, and a return that made them known to “stand out as a politically centrist and moderate group, representing mainstream political Islam” (Abed-Kotob 1995: 322). In the following years, the Brothers played “a relatively limited role in fomenting unrest,” and “its leaders often warn[ed] that the civil disobedience called for by parts of the opposition could trigger chaos” (International Crisis Group 2008: 3). The Muslim Brothers I interviewed often expressed views reflecting these observations. For example, one of my interviewees said “we must go step by step,” when referring to a change of government. Another one commented on political violence in the 1940s by saying: “Look at what happened after Nuqrashi2—only bad things came out of it.” It is also interesting to note that many analysts (and even some of the Brothers themselves) have emphasized that the Brothers’ ideology is “accommodationist” (Abed-Kotob 1995) and at times even “apolitical” (Ibrahim 1988), treating Islam as an all-encompassing system that includes politics as just one of many aspects of life. Abed-Kotob, for instance, observes that al-Tilmisani referred to the Brothers as more than a political party, as a spiritual worldwide orga ni zation. She points out that this orientation fundamentally relies on changing people rather than governments: “This emphasis on the nature of governance, as opposed to the person who governs, is in agreement with the philosophy of al-Banna, who stressed that the goal of the Brethren is to build Islamic individuals who will then build an Islamic state” (1995: 323–24). Based on this, the Muslim Brothers have a history as a nonviolent opposition movement.

Al-Jamaʿat al-Islamiyya and al-Jihad Although al-Jamaʿat al-Islamiyya and al-Jihad developed in the same political climate that allowed the Brothers to flourish, they resorted to physical force instead of interacting with Sadat by nonviolent means: in October 1981 they killed the president. In the following paragraphs, I elaborate more on

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the political context in which these violent groups developed, and then describe their development and actions.

Continuity of Authoritarianism and Economic Challenges Under Sadat

At first glance, Sadat’s policy shifts and their positive reception seem to suggest that Egypt does not really fit the description of an authoritarian state. However, in retrospect it is widely acknowledged that Sadat did not fundamentally change the political system. As ʿAwad al-Mar, former chief justice of the Supreme Constitutional Court, said on the fiftieth anniversary of Egypt’s 23 July 1952 revolution (cited in Kassem 2004: 1; cf. Mustafa 1996: 111): I don’t believe the 1952 revolution had any positive features, since democracy is still missing. Even its social reforms led to the failure of our economy. The greatest failure of the revolution is the lack of democracy, which I believe led to our defeat in 1967. Egypt has never experienced a democracy until now. Th is indicates that, today, Sadat’s policy of opening the political system is mainly understood as an attempt to strengthen his control over the country rather than to give more power to the opposition and the Egyptian people; the president used his “visions” in order to “silence the opposition” while keeping “his hold on the political process” and ensuring that “the Egyptian elite remained unchanged in its characteristics” (Aoudé 1994). In the words of Springborg (1982: 213): He [Sadat] seemed personally to prefer a system more open than that which had been established by Nasser, although his commitment to democracy did not take precedence over his desire to keep a firm grip on the reins of power. Presumably his calculations were that liberalization would make ruling easier, especially in that as “the hero of the crossing” he had won considerable legitimacy. By elevating himself to the position of supreme arbiter, he could observe the political battles played out beneath him, intervening occasionally to ensure desired outcomes.

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A similar point of view was more recently adopted by Blaydes (2011: xvi), who argues that the authoritarian regime in Egypt has endured not despite competitive elections, but, to some degree, because of these elections. In particular, competitive parliamentary elections in Egypt are incentives compatible for a series of important political actors and ease important forms of distributional conflict, particularly conflict over access to spoils. Apart from this long-term effect, Sadat’s policy changes also started to “cause a societal shift ing and sorting of protagonists and antagonists” (Ibrahim 1996: 205), as it became clear that he “was unable to put into practice what he preached” (Derek Hopwood 1982: 54). One of the biggest challenges the president faced was the failure of his infitah policy. In contrast to what had been hoped from observing Taiwan or South Korea, this policy failed to transform Egypt into a major center of investment by multinational corporations, and foreign debt grew from less than $1.5 billion at the time of Nasser’s death to about $29 billion at the time of Sadat’s assassination (Ibrahim 1996: 205). For ordinary Egyptians, this failure was connected with “the bitter experience of general underemployment,” which led people to start questioning the government’s legitimacy and asking for “an accounting for the two or three decades of rule since independence” (Kepel 1985: 11). When the government announced it would not pay the subsidies for basic food items any longer, food riots broke out. Sadat responded by asking the army to intervene (Al-Sayyid Marsot 1985: 135), and also started repressing the Left, whom he considered responsible for the unrest. Specifically, he introduced a stricter censorship and emergency measures (Hopwood 1982: 109). The riots, on January 18 and 19, 1977, became known as “one of the worst Egyptian upheavals in recent memory” (Ansari 1986: 185). They reflected not only the continuation of political repression but also the difficult living conditions “of the average Egyptian where a few piastres difference in his budget would be the difference between eating and starving” (Al-Sayyid Marsot 1985: 135). Sadat also started facing serious resistance to his foreign policy. Despite early approval, peace with Israel soon faced strong opposition. The religious groups, whose development the president had earlier supported, became fierce opponents of this policy. Sadat observed them with less and less

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patience, saying that “most fires come from the tiniest sparks” and “realizing that the groups posed an increasing threat” (Abed-Kotob and Sullivan 1999: 74). On October 6, 1981, Sadat was assassinated during a military parade in commemoration of the 1973 Arab-Israeli War. Connected to the assassination, there was an armed insurrection in Assyut to overthrow the government that claimed dozens of victims. During the next two decades, the groups who committed these acts—al-Jamaʿat al-Islamiyya and al-Jihad—would be “responsible for all acts of political violence carried out in Egypt in the name of Islam” (al-Sayyid 2003: 13).

Violent Resistance to Sadat

Considered “a counter model” to the well-known Muslim Brothers (Hamzawy and Grebowski 2010: 2), al-Jihad and al-Jamaʿat al-Islamiyya shared a belief “that the Brothers’ peaceful efforts had failed,” and that “therefore, armed struggle, which they called jihad (holy war), would be necessary for the birth of an Islamist state” (al-Sayyid 2003: 13; cf. Munib 2009: 42). According to Dia Rashwan, the beginning of al-Jihad can be traced back to a small group created in 1967, which included several prominent figures such as Ayman al-Zawahiri (2007: 61). In the following years, several small groups were formed in the area of Cairo, and they united around the end of 1980 through the publication of Muhammad ʿAbd al-Salam Faraj’s Al-farida al-ghaʾiba (The neglected duty) (Rashwan 2007: 62). The book, which is based on the writings of Ibn Taymiyyah, outlines the groups’ common ideology and their neglected duty—violent jihad against the non-Muslim or nominally Muslim rulers (Ibrahim 1988: 652): The State is ruled by heathen laws despite the fact that the majority of its people are Muslims. . . . The aim of our Group is to rise up to establish the Islamic State and restore Islam to this Nation. . . . The means to this end is to fight against heretical rulers and to eradicate the despots who are no more than human beings who have not found those who can suppress them with the order of God almighty. In 1974, one of the small groups, al-Jamaʿat al-Fanniya al-ʿAskariyya (Technical Military Academy group), made the first violent attempt to over-

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throw the Egyptian government. Another group, al-Takfir wa al-Hijra (Excommunication and Holy Flight), became widely known when it kidnapped and assassinated the former minister of religious properties (al-Sayyid 2003: 12). While these small groups focusing on the idea of violent jihad remained on the margins of Egyptian society, al-Jamaʿat al-Islamiyya managed to monopolize the Islamic movement and rapidly spread through Egyptian universities all over the country (Mubarak 1995: 141; al-Zayyat 2005: 131). Al-Jamaʿat al-Islamiyya differed from the other groups by the means with which it wanted to introduce Islamic governance. Rather than promoting “sudden military action against the state leadership,” it advertised “a combination of popular rebellions and wide-ranging, repeated military operations” (Rashwan 2007: 62; cf. Said 2008: 127; Munib 2009: 62–63; Ansari 1984: 128). It also relied on a particular “mixture of public and clandestine activities,” which allowed it “to recruit members from a broad grassroots base” and to create “several effective military wings” (128). According to Rashwan, alJamaʿat started in Assyut and focused on southern Egypt before moving to Greater Cairo, and especially to slum areas (2007: 62; cf. Guenena 1986: 66). On the other hand, al-Jihad was “rarely found” in Upper Egypt. Al-Jamaʿat came to life during summer camps dedicated to “pure Islamic life,” expressed in daily prayers, ideological training, education in preaching, and practice in proselytism (Kepel 2000: 77). First, it had a “harmless ideological outlook,” focusing on daʿwa (invitation to Islam) among the student bodies and some levels of society (Kassem 2004: 142–43). However, it soon developed from a “skeleton network of cadres” into associations of “the dominant Islamic voice in the universities of the Arab world,” becoming a wellknown opposition movement (Kepel 2006: 81). Much of the success of the Jamaʿat was connected with its supply of practical ser vices combined with promoting moral standards, such as the organization of minibuses for female students at a time when the transportation system was notoriously overcrowded (Kepel 2000:78). Kepel writes (1985: 141): It was by elaborating a strategy to transform campus life that the jamaʿat islamiyya were able to persuade the students that it was through them that they could take their own destiny in hand here and now, and not by parroting official slogans and government projects which were in any case fated to sink without a trace beneath the weight of mismanagement and corruption.

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While growing more powerful on local levels, the Jamaʿat also became increasingly threatening to the government on the national level, despite Sadat’s initial support for religious groups and his “gentleman’s agreement” with the Jamaʿat (Kepel 2000: 79). When the infitah policy failed to deliver on its promises and food riots occurred, there was a break between the Jamaʿat and the president (79)—a break deepened further by Sadat’s peace with “the Zionist enemy” (ʿAli 2002: 139). By 1981, Sadat had outlawed the Jamaʿat, started withholding subsidies from the student unions, and closed the Islamic youth summer camps (AbedKotob 1995: 75; cf. ʿAli 2002: 139). As he “was receiving almost daily reports from security forces suggesting that Egypt was about to fall from his hands,” he launched a wave of arrests, affecting more than a thousand Muslim activists (Abed-Kotob 1995: 75; al-Zayyat 2005: 162). Sadat threatened to “arrest five thousand additional opponents if they did not behave” (Abed-Kotob and Sullivan 1999: 75). After this event, the leaders of al-Jihad and al-Jamaʿat came together for a Shura council session and decided to kill the president (interviews with leaders).

Initiative to End Violence (Mubadarat Waqf al-ʿUnf)

After Sadat’s assassination, there were mass arrests and several hundred trials (Ibrahim 1988: 650). The four men who participated in the assassination and their ideological father were punished with death sentences. The remaining 311 accused, including innocent individuals, received prison sentences between three years and life (al-ʿAwa 2006: 114). The years until 1987 were followed by a period of “relative calm” (al-Sayyid 2003: 14), until violence flared up again for several years (Ibrahim 1988: 651). In 1997, the Jamaʿat announced an initiative to end violence. The initiative to end violence (mubadarat waqf al-ʿunf ) was announced during a trial of al-Jamaʿat members in southern Egypt and accompanied by four books, outlining a new peaceful ideology (Ibrahim and al-Sharif 2002; Hạfi z and al-Majid Muhammad 2002; al-Sharif and Hạfi z 2002; ʿAbd alRahman et  al. 2002). It was implemented with the release of prisoners in 2001 (interview with a historical leader). Ten years later, a similar development was observed concerning al-Jihad, some of whose early members had left Egypt and joined al-Qaeda (Wright 2008). One of its most prominent

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leaders, known as Dr. Fadl—who had earlier written al-Qaeda’s 1,000-page manifesto Al-ʿumda fi ʿidad al-ʿidda (The essential guide for preparation)— published what became known as the Review Document. In this publication, Fadl renounced violence (al-Sharif 2007, first episode): “There is nothing that provokes God’s anger and indignation like the shedding of blood and the destruction of property without a right to do so, and this is what causes abandonment in the world and embarrassment and accountability in world hereafter.” Both initiatives against violence were successful and resulted in the mass release of the political prisoners belonging to al-Jihad and al-Jamaʿat. According to Najeh Ibrahim, thousands were released and dozens of death sentences were suspended (interview in January 2009; four of the seven members of these groups I have met were also released in this context). On their new website, the Jamaʿat describe its recent activities in these words: “Politeness in disagreement . . . honesty in promises . . . compliance with commitments . . . purity in worship . . . maturity in expectations . . . distinction in transaction . . . diligence in worship . . . nobility in feelings and morals” (al-Jamaʿa al-Islamiyya 2011). Despite its success on a national level, appeasement toward the Egyptian government has remained contested abroad, and some members who left Egypt after being released from prison have declared that they do not accept the initiative. Among the most prominent critics is al-Zawahiri, the former leader of al-Jihad, for whom “the battle is ongoing.” In his book Fursan tahta rayat al-nabi (Knights under the prophet’s banner), al-Zawahiri, referring to the 9/11 attacks, talks about “the blessed invasions on Washington, New York and Pennsylvania” (2002), and he reminds the reader of the mass arrests of the Muslim Brothers during the 1960s, remarking that “God wanted that these events sparked the jihadi movement against the government in Egypt.” By contrast, al-Zawahiri’s former followers in Egypt have turned to nonviolent means, and ask the visitors of their new website: “Can kindness be rewarded with anything but kindness?”3

Germany In contrast to Egypt, Germany was a functioning democracy when violent groups formed and started attacking the state. Peter Wende observed:

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“Germans, for the first time in history, enjoyed political stability and political freedom at the same time” (2005: 108). Decades later, Gesine Schwan added: “German democracy has itself shown to be sustainable. It has worked for 50 years in the West, and it has helped society to unexpected wealth, and following surveys among the population it has gained more and more approval” (Ellwein and Holtmann 1999: 108). As opposed to Egypt, Germany was founded not by a coup d’état, but in response to the Second World War, in which it tried to impose a worldwide dictatorship. The end of the war marked the end of this dictatorship and a “fundamental change” into the opposite (Calließ 2006: 7)—a state based on freedom and equal rights. On May 23, 1949, a new constitution providing a foundation for democracy was ratified by the representatives of the federal states (Görtemaker 1999: 74). At the time, Germany was “militarily defeated, without rights, politically and morally in a dead-end” (Schwan and Steininger 2009: 7). Politicians like Dwight Eisenhower said they were never going to shake the hand of a German again. Nevertheless, Germany managed to “return to the society of the civilized people” within the following decades (7). In light of this history, it is surprising that violent groups developed in Germany and started attacking the state. It is even more surprising that this development was paralleled by the formation of nonviolent groups that became increasingly active against the state as well. In the following section, I elaborate on the development of these groups. I begin by presenting the political context in which the groups formed. Then I discuss the German Socialist Student Union and Kommune 1, before turning to the violent Red Army Faction and Bewegung 2. Juni.

Political Context

The activities of the violent and nonviolent individuals I interviewed mainly targeted two German governments headed by chancellors Willy Brandt (1969–1974) and Helmut Schmidt (1974–1982). Despite their differences to the authoritarian Egyptian regime, these governments pursued similar policies: (1) introducing a new type of foreign policy, (2) responding to economic hardships that followed a period of unexpected prosperity, (3) introducing more restrictive domestic politics toward political activism.

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During the years after the war, German foreign policy had aimed at reintegrating the country into the international environment. This demanded close cooperation with the Allied forces. German foreign policy was based on the recognition that the country “owes its existence” to the victors of the war (Schweigler 1984: 4). It exercised “self-restraint” based on “a lack of sovereignty” (Haftendorn 2006: 4), and it concentrated on reconciliation with the West (Wolfrum 2006: 283). Brandt was the first chancellor to attempt to improve relations with the GDR and other eastern countries by his Ostpolitik (Marshall 1997: 66–77). Several treaties and agreements constituted this policy, including the Treaty of Warsaw between Poland and West Germany (1970), the Basic Treaty between East and West Germany (1972), and the Four Power Agreement on Berlin between the Allied forces of the war (1971). While politicians widely criticized these treaties for giving up “too much of Germany’s interest without receiving concrete concessions in return” (Marshall 1997: 81), Brandt’s Ostpolitik proved popular with the German public. One of its major goals was the reunification of West and East Germany by linking them together in a network of balanced relationships with countries from Western and Eastern Europe (Wende 2005: 68). This goal was accepted and shared by many Germans. It was a goal that fundamentally contributed to the victory of Brandt’s Social Democratic Party in the 1972 elections (Görtemaker 1999: 562–63). And it was a goal that did not create public outrage like Sadat’s foreign policy with Israel. On the other hand, German foreign policy toward the West received a lot of public criticism. In particular, people were outraged by their country’s silence on the war in Vietnam, which was often understood as a “form of respect” toward the United States (Gölz 2001: 36). During the first large demonstration against U.S. involvement in the war, sitting protestors managed to block the traffic on the famous Kurfürstendamm for twenty minutes. Some of them threw eggs against the Amerika-Haus at Bahnhof Zoo (Zoo Station). They shouted slogans such as “Disgraceful!” “Unthinkable!” “the idiots of West Berlin!” and “a disgrace for our Berlin!” (Görtemaker 1999: 484). The German government responded by tightening control: on May 30, 1968, the Bundestag ratified an emergency constitution with 384 votes in favor and 100 votes against (36–37). Nevertheless, the protests continued, and there were numerous fights between the demonstrators and security forces. There were continuous reports of repression—although della Porta has observed that this remained somewhat moderate, involving “a mixture of ‘hard’ and ‘soft’ tactics” of policing.4

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Another major problem Germany faced at the beginning of the 1970s, which soon became related to mass protests, was a worldwide economic crisis. This hit the country just after its economy had recovered from a mild recession during the 1960s (Marshall 1997: 77; Görtemaker 1999: 564). The crisis was relatively severe: for the fi rst time since the war, there was a decrease of economic growth, and the number of unemployed rose to 600,000 (Gölz 2001: 32). Inflation was rising faster than growth, the government was unable to reduce inflation and unemployment, and the labor unions were demanding “unusually high increases of income” (Görtemaker 1999: 567). The oil crisis resulting from the Arab-Israeli War in 1973 worsened the situation (Gölz 2001: 78–79), and the government adopted drastic measures such as banning driving on four Sundays in November and December 1973. Th is “standing still of the otherwise very mobile society,” the “empty and deserted streets and Autobahnen,” and the “sudden silence in the villages and towns” came as a “shock” to the German public. For the first time, it became aware of the limits of energy security. People began pouring into the street to protest. Like in Egypt, the demonstrations developed into severe clashes between protestors and the police. This started to significantly weaken the state, and it also marked the end of the “time of success” of the Brandt government. In May 1974, Helmut Schmidt, one of Brandt’s fiercest rivals, became chancellor (Görtemaker 1999: 578). Like Sadat, he faced violent attacks, which were launched by groups developing out of the protests at the end of the 1960s. Yet, as opposed to Sadat, Schmidt immediately faced this opposition with an extraordinarily uncompromising attitude. When Hanns Martin Schleyer, president of the German Confederation of Employers’ Associations and the Federation of German Industries, was kidnapped, Schmidt told public television: “The state has to respond to this with relentlessness” (Die Zeit 2007). In a more recent interview with Die Zeit, Schmidt’s wife said that the couple would not even have made concessions had one of them become a victim of a kidnapping: “After the attack on the embassy in Stockholm, Helmut and I went for a walk in the park in the dark. After we talked about this affair, we made a decision: tomorrow we will go to the head of the Kanzleramt (German Chancellery) and let it be written that none of us must do anything special to save the other.” Schmidt added to his wife’s statement by saying, “If you are talking about this, you need to say this precisely. Th is entry must be in the archive of the Kanzleramt until today. It says: If Mrs.  Schmidt or Mr.  Schmidt are kidnapped, the state should not make an exchange.”

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Although Schmidt did not succeed in preventing the assassination of several prominent figures, including Schleyer, he did manage to increase the pressure on the violent groups. At the end of the 1990s, the Red Army Faction dissolved. Unlike the Egyptian president, the German chancellor did not pay with his own life. But in his Die Zeit interview, he admitted that he continues to live with a sense of guilt: Zeit: You wrote in 1989 that one of your worst memories is the hour in which you sat next to the widow of Schleyer during the funeral service. Schmidt: Yes, of course I always knew that I was not only in the eyes of Mrs. Schleyer and their son Hanns Eberhard Schleyer but also in my own eyes partly responsible for the death of Hanns Martin Schleyer. (talks very quietly) I always knew this. I also knew this during all these weeks when we were searching for him. If it does not succeed, you are partly responsible yourself. Zeit: Terrible, to live with this. Schmidt: It is certainly not easy.

The German Socialist Student Union (SDS) and Kommune 1(K1)

As in Egypt, the German wave of protests started in the universities. Beginning in the late 1960s, it challenged the existing political system. Unlike the Egyptian regime of army officers, it targeted a system that had been built by the parents of the protestors after the Second World War (Peters 2004: 81). At the beginning, the protests therefore primarily focused on criticizing the older generation, and had a “spontaneous understanding of politics” (Görtemaker 1999: 479). They presented a “conflict of not having faced the past” in which the older generation had supported Hitler rather than a “conflict” challenging the “tradition of democratic self-determination” (Fichter and Lönnendonker 2008: 26). However, in the context of other student protests, which started occurring around the world, the protests in Germany became increasingly politicized (Görtemaker 1999: 479). Soon they seriously challenged the role of existing authorities and the mass media, criticized consumption and the economic system in general, and demanded a transformation of

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traditional forms of life (interviews with participants). The SDS and K1 were two groups that played a major role in these protests. The SDS was the “motor of the protest in form and content” (Görtemaker 1999: 480). It was founded in 1946 as an independent group close to the Social Democrats. At the beginning, it revived student unions, provided an “academic basis for the careers of politicians from the Social Democrats” such as Helmut Schmidt, and it promoted a leftist ideology, criticizing some of the politics pursued at the time, such as West Germany’s rearmament (480). In 1961, this led to the exclusion of its members from the Social Democratic Party (Fichter and Lönnendonker 2008: 58, 111). With the joining of Rudi Dutschke and Bernd Rabehl at the beginning of the 1960s, the SDS gained political force, and it orga nized its fi rst student demonstration, against the visit of Congolese president Moïse Tschombé in December 1964 (Görtemaker 1999: 482)—an event followed by numerous other protests about various issues, such as the media monopoly of Axel-Springer, German foreign policy, and the foreign policy of other European countries in Africa. The most well-known demonstration orga nized by the SDS marked a “turning point in the history of the movement of student protests in West Berlin and in the Bundesrepublik” (Fichter and Lönnendonker 2008: 159). It happened on June 2, 1967, during the visit of the shah of Iran to Berlin and is remembered for the murder of twenty-six-year-old student Benno Ohnesorg. Ohnesorg was standing among the protestors in front of the opera, where the shah was scheduled to watch Die Zauberflöte. Protesters were chanting angry slogans, such as “Mo Mo Mossadegh” and “Shah, Shah, Charlatan,” when the cars of the shah arrived (Müller 2008: 19–20). While the shah disappeared into the opera, the protestors threw “all kinds of objects” in his direction (20). Soon, they were confronted by the police, and many found themselves trapped. Around 8.30 p.m., a gunshot was heard in the area of Krumme Strasse. Several people said they heard a terrified voice shouting shortly before the sound of the weapon: “Please, please don’t shoot” (Drimecker 2008: 28). Ohnesorg was shot in the head from a very close distance. He died shortly afterward. His killer, policeman Karl-Heinz Kurras, was twice acquitted of any wrongdoing in this incident. The public was outraged by the murder. Many protestors were so ignited they started questioning their use of nonviolent means. By the 1970s, two violent groups had been formed to overthrow the government: the Red Army

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Faction (RAF) and Bewegung 2. Juni, named after the day when Ohnesorg was killed, emerged. I further introduce these violent groups below. In contrast to the SDS, K1 was founded rather late, on January 1, 1967. And in contrast to the SDS, it aimed to transform not only political but also private life, to establish “a form of living and working together, helping each other in all circumstances of life” as “the adequate alternative to the existence of small families” (Winkler 2007: 63). K1 lasted only until 1969, but there was a similar attempt to create a new form of life by the foundation of Kommune 2, and some of its members continue a similar lifestyle today. Originally, K1 was part of SDS, and for a time SDS even asked its members to live in communes (Langhans 2008: 44). However, it was soon excluded from the SDS as a result of its psychoanalytic experiments during which all the members secluded themselves in an apartment, observing each other night and day (Winkler 2007: 64). K1 organized several peaceful political activities, which drew strongly on “mockery” (della Porta 1995: 37), and which made it a well-known opposition group. It had a “strong influence” on “daily life in the Bundesrepublik” (Gölz 2001: 33). Among the most famous actions organized by K1 is the socalled Pudding-Attentat (“pudding assassination”) during which the K1 members wanted to throw pudding at U.S. vice-president Hubert Humphrey during his 1967 visit to Berlin. This “assassination” was prevented by the German police, who thought K1 members were planning a real assassination. Another action that received public attention, mentioned in Chapter 2, was the appearance of a K1 member out of a coffin during a commemoration of former president of the Reichstag Paul Löbe (Hüetlin 1999). Like the Muslim Brothers, the SDS and K1 became connected with acts of political violence—in spite of their focus on nonviolent means. Della Porta has referred to this as “defensive, spontaneous violence” (46–47), during which “demonstrators occasionally clashed with the police” (37).5 It was also observed that such violent clashes became “increasingly acceptable” after there was an attempt to assassinate SDS leader Rudi Dutschke. However, like the Muslim Brothers, SDS and K1 generally rejected physical force and continued applying nonviolent means. They also distanced themselves from the members who broke away and founded the RAF. In the words of Mario Krebs: “The majority of the SDS, however, favored mass action and condemned violent clashes between students and the police in Berlin in spring 1968 (‘Eastern riots’) as adventurism” (della Porta 1995: 38). This was also true for the

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K1, which, according to my interview with Rainer Langhans, “would have never conducted a real assassination.” This rejection of physical force was especially palpable from the groups’ strategy to change the political system from within, called Marsch durch die Institutionen (“long march through the institutions”). Th is strategy was announced by Dutschke at the end of the 1960s, referring to the Long March of Mao Tse-Tung. It relied on the organization of peaceful mass opposition at all levels of society. According to Burns and van der Will, this involved several stages, such as (1) local initiatives “defined by the need to gain publicity for the purpose of expanding the circle of sympathizers and establishing the identity of the initiative in the mind of the addressee; (2) a “second stage where more demonstrative forms of actions such as rallies and mass meetings may be contemplated”; and (3) “if all else failed, some action groups have recourse to a strategy of disruption and civil disobedience, engaging in activities such as the occupation of building sites, squats, sit-down strikes in town centers, etc.” (in della Porta 1995: 38). Based on this, the outlook and basic nature of the SDS and K1 remained nonviolent, even during severe state repression.

Rote Armee Fraktion (RAF) and Bewegung 2. Juni

The RAF is the most violent organization in Germany since the end of the Second World War. It is responsible for killing 34 people—most of them state representatives—between 1971 and  1993 (Peters 2004: 17, 846). German state security campaign to track down RAF members and stop the continuation of violence generated eleven million pages of documents, and an entire courtroom was built, at a cost of sixteen million deutsche marks, for the trials of leaders Andreas Baader, Ulrike Meinhof, and Gudrun Ensslin (17). By contrast, Bewegung 2. Juni received much less attention by state security. It is responsible for the deaths of two people. One of the victims was a janitor who discovered a bomb intended to explode at the British Yacht Club The other was Günter von Drenkmann, president of the Superior Court of Justice in Berlin, who died during a failed kidnapping attempt (Reinders and Fritzsch 1995: 7–9). Overall, Bewegung 2. Juni not only was less violent than the RAF but also tried reaching out to the people, for example by distributing chocolate marshmallows during bank robberies (interview).

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The two violent groups did not immediately cooperate and were often highly critical of each other (Tobias Wunschik 2006: 554; this was also confirmed during my interviews in which several members criticized their violent counterparts). Despite their internal differences, the RAF and Bewegung 2. Juni resorted to the same means to confront the state. Although Bewegung 2. Juni tried to reach out to the public, neither of the German groups ever became a popu lar movement like the Egyptian al-Jamaʿat alIslamiyya. Instead, they remained on the margins of society from their formation until their dissolution. As touched on above, the roots of both groups are often traced back to the murder of Benno Ohnesorg on June 2, 1967. Bewegung 2. Juni was named after the event, and created during the last years of the 1960s. The exact beginning of the RAF is usually connected with the freeing of Andreas Baader from prison on May 14, 1970 (Aust 2008: 24; interview with a former member). The groups had similar goals aiming at a revolution. In its first publication “Die Rote Armee aufbauen,” the RAF wrote (1970): You have to demonstrate that claiming that it is possible to undermine, take over, intimidate or abolish peacefully imperialism . . . is social democratic nonsense. Make it clear that the revolution is not going to be a stroll along the East Coast. . . . Without building the Red Army, every conflict, every political work in a company and in Wedding and in the Märkische Viertel and in the Plötze and in the courtroom will become reformism. That means: You are only providing better means for discipline, intimidation and exploitation. In the declaration of its program, Bewegung 2. Juni also announced that it wanted to initiate a revolution (1970): The movement tries to conduct revolutionary practice frequently. . . . It understands itself as anti-authoritarian, but there must always be a strategic plan, theoretical and practical principles and a guerrillalike discipline. . . . The fight against capital and against the state is not a fight against masks. It is a fight against 1.3 percent of the population which has 74  percent of the fortune of production, including their state and civil servants. Our goal is not the establishment of a dictatorship of the proletariat but the elimination of the reign of the Schweine [pigs] over human beings, it is the elimination of

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the reign of capital, of the parties of the state. The goal is to have a republic. Like their Egyptian counterparts, the German groups became increasingly threatening after an initial stage, during which they were born out of the student movement. And like the Egyptian government, the German government took immediate actions to destroy them. The history of the RAF is frequently divided into three stages referring to different individuals launching attacks (Peters 2004; Kraushaar 2006). This indicates that the group continued to survive wide-ranging arrests including its core leadership several times. In particular, analysts differentiate between three generations of the RAF: (1) First generation, 1970–72, (2) second generation, 1973–82; (3) third generation, 1982–98. Della Porta has extended this timeline to Bewegung 2. Juni and German social movements in general (37–47). In particular, she identifies the following six “phases”: (1) the student movement (1967–69); (2) the long march inside the institutions (1970– 73); (3) disillusionment (1974–76); (4) the German Autumn (1977–80); (5) the Anticruise Campaign (1981–83); (6) the Pragmatic Years (1984–90). While the RAF was active throughout phases 2 to 6, Bewegung 2. Juni started in phase 1 and was mainly active between 1972 and 1978, during della Porta’s phases of the long march inside the institutions, disillusionment, and German autumn. This time was characterized by “a shift in the forms of action,” during which “political protest became more radical” and confrontational, as illustrated by the RAF takeover of the German embassy in Stockholm in 1975 (41). The climate worsened during the following period, and especially during 1977, when a wave of violent acts occurred. These included the assassination of federal general prosecutor Siegfried Buback, banker Jürgen Ponto, and president of the Association of German Industrialists, Hanns Martin Schleyer, as well as the hijacking of a Luft hansa airplane. Most of the violence was perpetrated by the RAF, while Bewegung 2. Juni played a minor role. The peak of the activities launched by Bewegung 2. Juni was the kidnapping of Peter Lorenz, the major candidate challenging the mayor of Berlin during the elections in 1975. This kidnapping showed that Bewegung 2. Juni “also challenged the political system of the Bundesrepublik,” and that it was “successful in what made the RAF fail (and eventually dissolve): the freeing of imprisoned leftists through the kidnapping of a leading representative of the system [Peter Lorenz]” (Wunschik 2006: 531).

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Nevertheless, like their Egyptian counter parts, both groups were ultimately defeated by the state.

Dissolution

“Almost 18 years ago, the RAF was created during an act of liberation on May 14, 1970. Today we stop the project. The city guerrilla in the form of the RAF is now history.” These are the first sentences of the eight-page announcement of the dissolution of the RAF, sent to the Reuters news agency on April 20, 1998 (Peters 2004: 715). In this announcement, the RAF acknowledged having reached its “limits,” as well as its “defeat”—a defeat that also cost the lives of many of its members. According to the RAF’s own analysis, its main mistake was its failure to reach out to the people and build a “politicalsocial organization” in addition to its military wing (716). Its leading ranks never included more than “several dozens” (Varon 2004, 2), and it had a “small dimension” throughout its existence (della Porta 1995: 185; italics in original). In della Porta’s words, “radical groups constituted only a small minority among the mass movements: a few thousand people in Italy, a few hundred in Germany” (165). During its last years, the RAF tried to unite with Bewegung 2. Juni and create a “common frontline” (RAF dissolution statement, in Peters: 716), despite their differences and their “ambivalent” relationship (Wunschik 2006: 554). This was mainly the result of the increasing pressure both groups were facing from state security, including the arrest of several Bewegung 2. Juni members in May 1980, which strongly damaged the organization. In its dissolution announcement, the RAF acknowledged this merger to have been an “unrealistic undertaking” that could not have survived in the climate of state repression. It also noted that in addition to failing to create a public platform, it was now also suffering from a “painful separation of a part of our prisoners, in which we were announced enemies,” from the disappearance of “solidarity and the fight for collectivity” (RAF dissolution statement, in Peters 2004: 716). Today, what remains of the RAF in Germany are media reports—in fact, as Alexander Straßner writes “there is no end to the coverage of the terrorist organization” (2006: 491). Unlike its Egyptian counterparts, it did not become a nonviolent group that integrated into the system. Rather, the former members broke off their organizational ties, although they maintain private contacts. Occasionally, there have been public appearances by some of the former

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members (Peters 2004: 714), but most of them stay away from the public. Since the announcement of the end of the organization, there have been no more acts of political violence committed in the name of the RAF, and unlike the Egyptian al-Jihad the RAF is not facing a wing that challenges its renunciation of physical force from abroad. As opposed to Egypt, Germany has not experienced a continuation of violence since the dissolution of the RAF. Ending violent attacks on the state is considered a success.

Chapter 4

Constructing Cognitive Maps About Political Violence

You need to be credible and truthful to yourself. Either you become corrupt, or you make a decision. I don’t know if I had survived, had I not gone to the Red Army Faction. There is something more important than what is yours. Everyone must justify one’s action to oneself. . . . I did not want to betray myself. I could not go back. I told the other youths: You’ll have careers and become CEOs. That’s much worse [than joining the RAF]. —RAF member In this chapter, I explain how I constructed cognitive maps from the textual analysis of my interviews with violent and nonviolent individuals. These maps consist of quotes like the statement above. They show that the reasoning processes of violent and nonviolent individuals are surprisingly similar and rely primarily on beliefs about the state environment. This suggests that both violent and nonviolent activism are responses to the political setting in which they occur. Moreover, my maps indicate that, in contrast to what is expected from cultural-psychological theories, there are no significant differences between violent Muslims and non-Muslims. This implies that Islam does not explain political violence. My maps also show that, as opposed to what is suggested by group theories and psychopathological theories, violent individuals

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have extraordinarily few beliefs representing violent groups or their personality, and there is no evidence that violent individuals suffer from mental illnesses. These findings have implications for our understanding of violent individuals by suggesting that rather than being crazy religious fanatics, violent individuals are not that different from nonviolent individuals and engage in very similar reasoning processes to those underlying mainstream political behav ior. As explained in Chapter 1, cognitive maps illustrate belief systems motivating decisions, such as taking up arms or refraining from doing so. In this chapter, I will explain how I constructed cognitive maps from my interviews. This construction involved two main steps: the identification of the main components of cognitive maps from my notes of the interviews (Step 1), and the abstraction of the individuals’ direct speech into a coding scheme that makes the beliefs of different individuals comparable (Step 2). In the first step, I coded the individuals’ direct speech for the three main components of cognitive maps: (1) beliefs; (2) connections between beliefs; and (3) decisions for actions. Since the direct speech of different individuals is not immediately comparable, it was not clear how the maps created by this coding procedure could be compared.1 In response, I applied Spradley’s theme analysis (1979), a qualitative method, which allowed me to create a coding scheme by abstracting the quotes of different individuals into more general categories. Th is coding scheme made the cognitive maps comparable, and pointed to the mentioned results—namely, that the reasoning processes of violent and nonviolent individuals are surprisingly similar and primarily rely on beliefs about the state environment, rather than about Islam, violent groups, or personality. In Chapter 5, I deepen this analysis with the help of a computer program. In this computational analysis, I systematically study the entire reasoning processes represented by the cognitive maps. Adding to other analyses which focus more on the direct relationships between particular factors and political violence, this analysis will identify ten microlevel mechanisms connected to violent activism (five mechanisms ) as opposed to nonviolent activism (five mechanisms). These mechanisms confirm that rather than being crazy religious fanatics, violent individuals are motivated by the same main factor as nonviolent individuals: state aggression. Specifically, I find that both violent and nonviolent individuals are primarily motivated by the belief that their state is aggressive. I find this belief to be so significant that individuals who hold it may decide to take up arms even if they also believe the state is stron-

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ger than they are, and that they will suffer severe consequences from engaging in violence. I also find that this belief may encourage nonviolent individuals to make decisions, although they need not believe that their activity is going to have any effect on state aggression.

Taking Notes Before elaborating on the coding procedure by which I identified the main components of cognitive maps, I briefly describe how I captured what the individuals said during the interviews. As I have explained in Chapter 2, the vast majority of individuals did not let me record their direct speech, which is why my construction of cognitive maps depended on my notes. The individuals’ refusal to allow me to record them emphasizes the sensitivity of the subject: all the individuals I met in Egypt—including individuals engaging in nonviolent activism—were persecuted at the time I conducted field research for this study. As I described, convincing them to talk with me was a major challenge, and I only succeeded in recruiting individuals for this study during many months of fieldwork. In Germany, violent individuals were easier to locate, but they were also highly reluctant to speak with me. Various attacks conducted by the Red Army Faction (RAF) remain unresolved until today, which is why its members continue to receive high media attention, and usually avoid public appearances. As mentioned in Chapter 3, I initially only received four replies to sixty interview requests I sent to members of the RAF (two of them negative). In this climate, it was generally not possible to record the interviews, and taking notes was the best way for me to capture how the individuals explained their actions. To conduct interviews, I used the native language of the individuals in both countries, that is, Arabic in Egypt and German in Germany. I later translated the individuals’ direct speech into English. My notes of the interviews in Germany are written in German, my native language. Most of my notes of the interviews I conducted in Arabic are also written in German because, unfortunately, my writing skills in Arabic are insufficient to take notes at the speed of natural speech. Nevertheless, if there was a long pause or if an individual spoke very slowly, I usually wrote down their speech in Arabic. Furthermore, I always used Arabic whenever the individuals mentioned specific terms, such as names of certain groups, religious practices, and so forth.

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There are at least three pitfalls related to this procedure: (1) taking notes in general; (2) translating notes into English; and (3) taking notes in German from interviews in Arabic. These pitfalls involve the danger of losing information, or misrepresenting the individuals’ replies. Specifically, taking notes rather than recording the interviews risks missing important details of the individuals’ speech. Translating from Arabic into German, and from both Arabic and German into English, may moreover misrepresent the individuals’ speech. To name just one of many challenges, the word “inshaʾallah,” which translates into “in God’s will,” is always employed in Arabic sentences about the future in a way comparable to the use of “will” in English sentences about the future. I took several steps to cope with such challenges and reduce the danger of losing information or misrepresenting the individuals’ speech as much as possible. First, my construction of cognitive maps always focused on certain key words and basic grammatical structures—a procedure I describe below. This supported the identification of the main beliefs underlying the individuals’ decisions to engage in violent or nonviolent activism. Second, I took additional notes after each interview about the setting and the individuals’ reactions to certain questions. For example, I noted whether we met in places like a public park, which happened three times, or in the bedroom of the individuals’ children, which happened once, or whether an individual smiled or frowned at my question. In these notes, I never added direct speech of the individuals, but I commented on what they said, and how they said it. This added important contextual information, which made it easier to understand the individuals’ direct speech. Third, I contacted each individual again after I had constructed their cognitive maps, and showed them my work. Th is served as a check, ensuring that my maps represented the individuals’ belief systems in their own words. During certain moments of the interviews, I stopped taking notes. This usually happened when the individuals were experiencing emotional stress, or when they were telling me about very sensitive issues, such as their involvement in the assassination of Sadat, or the possibility of picking up arms against the current government. When listening to these issues, I often just wrote down content words, as this is less time consuming and allows more interaction with the interviewee. After the interviews, I added comments to these words. As in my remaining comments, I never added information to the individuals’ explanations. Rather, I added words describing the immedi-

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ate context in which the individuals expressed certain quotes. For example, one of the individuals talked about President Sadat’s arrests of hundreds of political activists in 1981 related to his decision to take up arms. During the interview, I just wrote down “1981” and added “Sadat’s arrest of hundreds of political activists” later. A few individuals became very emotional when remembering how they had been tortured, and I refrained from taking any notes about this during the interview. For example, one of the individuals was given electric shocks when he was still a teenager, and I just listened to him without writing down anything. After the interview, I made a note on his experience of torture. Another individual started crying when remembering the death of a family member. At that moment, I stopped taking notes as well and just listened to what he wanted to say. We talked a little bit about this family member, and after fifteen to twenty minutes we changed the subject, and I resumed taking notes. After the interview, I made a note on the personal loss of this individual without mentioning details.

Constructing Cognitive Maps Identifying Beliefs

To identify beliefs, one of the main components of cognitive maps, I relied on the structure of my notes. Semantically, my notes are structured according to the questions I asked and the issues the individuals addressed in their replies. Syntactically, they are structured according to particular words and grammatical constructs the individuals employed to explain their actions. As defined in Chapter 1, beliefs are psychological states in which humans consider objects to have certain properties. Identifying beliefs from interviews therefore depends on identifying expressions indicating such psychological states. Such expressions are called assertions.2 To identify assertions from the structured notes of my interviews, I focused on particular words and syntactical structures the individuals used to explain their actions. When taking notes, I frequently indicated these entities by line breaks, which supported the process of identifying beliefs. Specifically, I identified beliefs from (1) content words; (2) short sentences; (3) long sentences; (4) main-clauses; and (5) sub-clauses. In the following

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section, I provide examples of my identification of beliefs from each of these entities. 1. Content Words and Short Sentences

The following is an excerpt of my structured notes from which I identified five assertions with reference to content words and short sentences. In this particular excerpt, each line of my notes identifies an assertion. I obtained this quote from an interview with an individual who engaged in political violence in Egypt. When he responded to my question about how he wanted to pursue his dream of building a caliphate, he said3: A1. Line 1 Line 2 Line 3 Line 4 Line 5

through the daʿwa through ending the evil ending violence we went to the mosque of al jamaʿat there were meetings . . .

In this excerpt, I broke down the individual’s speech into content words (lines 1 to 3) and short sentences (lines 4 and 5). All these immediately identify assertions. The content words indicate the main parts of three assertions that can be completed in relation to an earlier assertion: that the individual dreamed of building a caliphate (also repeated by my question). Specifically, lines 1 to 3 identify the following three assertions: “the daʿwa is a means to build a caliphate” (line 1), “the caliphate could be built through ending the evil” (line 2), “the caliphate could be built through ending violence” (line 3). The short sentences furthermore identify two other assertions which provide information about particular activities the individual engaged in (line 4) and observed (line 5) in relation to building a caliphate: “we went to the mosque of al jamaʿat” (line 4) and “there were meetings” (line 5).4 2. Short and Long Sentences

The following is an excerpt from which I identified eight assertions with reference to both long and short sentences. I took these notes during an interview with a violent individual from Egypt. Specifically, the excerpt provides information about the experience of this individual with the government before he decided to take up arms:

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A2. Line 1 In 1981 I went to the faculty of economics for my postgraduate degree Line 2 Then the arrests of September occurred Line 3 On September 3rd, Sadat arrested 1,536 of us Line 4 This event made us all very angry Line 5 We wanted revenge . . . All these lines contain sentences that identify at least one complete assertion. Line 1 is a long sentence that indicates three assertions that establish a frame for the following lines. Specifically, this frame addresses: (1) the time—it was in 1981, (2) the activity of visiting a particular place—I went to the faculty of economics, and (3) the activity of pursuing postgraduate education—I pursued my postgraduate degree. The remaining lines each contain short sentences that identify one assertion. In particular, the assertions are “Then the arrests of September occurred” (line 2), “On September 3rd, Sadat arrested 1,536 of us” (line 3), “This event made us all very angry” (line 4), and “We wanted revenge” (line 5). All the assertions contained by these sentences refer to the time frame established by line 1, as indicated by the expressions “then,” “September” (line 2), “on September 3rd” (line 3), and “this” (line 4). 3. Sub- and Main-Clauses

To identify assertions, I also considered sub- and main-clauses. These were also often indicated by line breaks. Sentences containing sub- and mainclauses included either one assertion (the entire sentence expresses an assertion) or two assertions (each clause expresses an assertion). I usually followed the grammatical rules of the verb to assert, which takes that-clause complements, to identify assertions from sub- and main-clauses. Consider the following excerpts obtained from an interview with a nonviolent individual from Egypt. They show how this individual reasoned about political violence, although he eventually chose against engaging in it. A3. Line 1 I saw that the government sinned . . . Line 2 I saw that it could work in Pakistan and Iran . . . Line 3 I do not say that there is no violence

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Line 4 Under certain circumstances it always exists Line 5 This is human Line 6 The Egyptian people do not have experience in revolutions like the Americans When analyzing this excerpt, I followed the grammatical rules of to assert.5 This allowed me to differentiate between main-clauses, which contain frames, and sub-clauses, which contain what is framed by the main-clauses. The suband main-clauses of lines 1 to 3 illustrate this: the main-clauses (marked in italics) present the observer’s identity (lines 1 to 3) and a certain time (line 1) as a frame. The sub-clauses address what is framed by the main-clauses: the government’s sins (line 1), violence in Pakistan and Iran (line 2; it was replaced by violence based on additional quotes preceding line 2), and the general existence of violence (line 3). In lines 4 to 6, the frame established by lines 1–3 is implicitly carried on to other sentences, even though these sentences are not divided into mainand sub-clauses. Specifically, lines 4 to 6 imply that the observer’s identity is carried on (cf. line 3: “I do not say”), because the speaker does not introduce another observer—such an introduction could have happened by saying “Ahmad said that this is human” in line 5, for instance. Given these frames, A3 identifies the following assertions: “the government sinned” (line 1); “violence could work in Pakistan and Iran” (line 2; note that it was replaced by violence based on preceding remarks of the individual); “there is violence” (line 3, based on I do not say that there is no violence); “under certain circumstances violence always exists” (line 4; following line 3, it was replaced by violence); “violence is human” (line 5; following lines 3 and 4, this was replaced by violence); and “the Egyptian people do not have experience in revolutions like the Americans” (line 6). Note that, as indicated inside the brackets above, I usually replaced indexical words such as it and this with the content words they referred to. This was possible because my structured notes preserved the chronological order in which the individuals made assertions. The replacement of indexical words by content words was helpful in the following step of the analysis, in which I abstracted the individuals’ direct speech. I explain the abstraction process in the second part of this chapter. Furthermore, I identified assertions from relative clauses and temporal clauses. These clauses can generally be recognized by conditional or causal prepositions. Conditional sentences are formed by two components expressed

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in the sub- and main-clauses respectively: certain states of the world and their consequences. Both components of the sentences hold different claims, and I therefore treated them as separate assertions. For instance, the answer of a leading Muslim Brother to my question whether he would participate in armed jihad in Iraq was6 A4. Line 1 Only if the government issues its approval, am I allowed to participate Line 2 The government must defend us From this quote, I identified three assertions:7 the first from the sub-clause in line 1, the second from the main-clause in line 1, and the third from the next sentence in line 2. Specifically, they are “the government issues its approval,” “I am allowed to participate,” and “the government must defend us.” I applied the same logic to sentences with causal clauses.

Identifying Belief Connections (Inferences) My analysis then explored the connections between beliefs (inferences), which are another major component of cognitive maps. As I explained in Chapter 1, belief connections are directed and indicate that something is a logical antecedent or consequent of something else. They enable the researcher to trace chains of beliefs that are antecedent decisions to engage in certain behav ior, such as violent or nonviolent activism. These belief chains represent the microlevel mechanisms underlying human behav ior. Identifying inferences from interview transcripts requires identifying at least two beliefs and a connection between them. I therefore searched my structured notes of the interviews for expressions indicating connections between at least two assertions. In this search, I focused on three types of clues: (1) causal connectors like “because” or “therefore;” (2) Conditional connectors like if-then structures such as “If you shoot me, I will shoot you”; and (3) the order of propositional contents of assertions. In this section, I elaborate on each of these clues and show how I constructed chains of beliefs from my interviews. Since inferences are directed belief connections, it is convenient to represent them by arrows. It is usual to do so—both in the literature on cognitive

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mapping and in the more general literature in the field of computer science. As a result, my identification of inferences relied on drawing arrows as well, and the following discussion describes how I drew them. 1. Causal Clauses

When taking notes, I indicated causal structures by the part of an arrow that identifies what is a logical antecedent, and what is a logical consequent: “>.” I recognized such structures from the individuals’ use of causal connectors, such as “because,” “that is why,” or “therefore.” The following excerpt is an example, obtained from my notes on the comments of an individual who engaged in nonviolent activism in Egypt on peaceful jihad in Palestine. It involves two causal indicators: A5. Line 1 the governments’ stance differs from the Arab peoples Line 2 > peaceful effort Line 3 I think that stopping violence needs pressure from the whole world Line 4 alone it is too weak Line 5 it needs the whole world Line 6 it needs the agreement of the peoples Line 7 > it is a kind of jihad In this excerpt, “>” indicates what the individual believes to be logically antecedent to (1) peaceful activism in a certain place (line 2), and (2) his acceptance of peaceful means (line 7; “it” refers to “stopping violence” [line 3]). Based on this, I drew two arrows that indicate belief connections: The first connects a belief about the government’s stance differing from the Arab peoples (line 1) with a belief that there is peaceful effort (line 2). The second connects a belief that it needs the agreement of the peoples (line 6) with a belief that it is a kind of jihad (line 7). Note that from the excerpt one can infer that “it” in the second belief connection (lines 6 and 7) refers to “peaceful effort” (line 2). From the context of the excerpt, one can moreover infer that “peaceful effort” in the first belief connection (line 2) refers to Palestine. Figure 14 illustrates the two belief connections drawn from this excerpt. Note that I did not draw any arrows connecting assertions that were not directly made before the appearance of >.

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Figure 14. Identifying belief connections from causal sentences.

2. Conditional Clauses

I moreover considered conditional clauses to identify belief connections. These clauses also express dependencies between certain assertions, but since the assertions made in conditional clauses need not be true, conditional connectors are weaker than causal ones. To identify belief connections from conditional structures, I studied the main- and sub-clauses separating causes from consequents. For example, reconsider excerpt A4, which I presented above: A4. Line 1 Only if the government issues its approval, am I allowed to participate Line 2 The government must defend us As discussed, line 1 of this excerpt contains a sub-clause and a main-clause, from which I identified two separate assertions. Given the conditional connection, I drew an arrow from a belief about the government issuing an approval to a belief that the individual is allowed to participate in armed jihad in Iraq. Figure 15 illustrates this belief connection. However, the occurrence of conditional clauses was relatively low and I did not usually rely on this procedure to identify inferences. 3. Propositional Contents of Assertions

As mentioned, the individuals did not usually apply conditional clauses to explain their actions. In fact, their use of causal clauses was relatively limited as well. I therefore also analyzed assertions to identify connections between beliefs. Specifically, I analyzed the propositional contents of assertions,

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Figure 15. Identifying belief connections from conditional sentences.

and the order in which the assertions were made. This is a valid procedure to identify inferences, because, as described in Chapter 1, the construction of interviews (and of natural speech in general) is not arbitrary: both the structure and semantics of natural speech follow certain rules that make it intelligible. Following my notes, assertions were ordered with reference to certain themes that the individuals mentioned when explaining their actions. My analysis of their assertions followed this order. If there were only a handful of assertions about a theme, I considered all of them together. However, I divided the assertions into sub-groups if there were a dozen or more. The following example presents a group of assertions from which I identified belief connections. I obtained these assertions from an interview with a leading Muslim Brother. Specifically, he responded to my question why he did not join a violent group after his release from prison. A6. Line 1 Line 2 Line 3 Line 4 Line 5 Line 6 Line 7 Line 8

Islam builds an inner system Allah sees everything in prison, there was torture this was an exam we saw the jihad from prison torture and prison are part of the exam when I was released I was convinced of that I wanted to prevent the jihadis from using violence

When analyzing the assertions of this excerpt, I identified the last line (line 8) as a decision against taking up arms. I explain the process by which I identified decisions more closely in the following section. My analysis then focused on the remaining assertions (lines 1–7). Specifically, I followed the order in which the assertions are connected with the decision, starting with the most immediate one. I noticed that some assertions are very similar to each other. For example, both “Islam builds an inner system” (line 1) and

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“Allah sees everything” (line 2) express the existence of a religious context the individual relates to his life. Furthermore, both “this was an exam” (line 4) and “torture and prison are part of the exam” (line 6) refer to the application of the religious context to specific experiences of the individual, and both “we saw the jihadis from prison” (line 5) and “in prison, there was torture” (line 3) refer to the existence of violent opposition against the state and aggression by the state against the individual. Finally, “when I was released I was convinced of that” (line 7) need not be treated as an additional assertion because its propositional contents do not provide information about anything new—rather, it is a confirmation of what is expressed by the previous assertion. I therefore only added the temporal frame expressed by this assertion— “when I was released”—to the following assertion (the decision against taking up arms). Given these similarities, I started identifying a chain of beliefs antecedent to a decision against taking up arms. As indicated by the order in which the individual made the assertions, certain assertions depend on others. This indicates the directedness of the connection between them. For instance, “torture and prison are part of the exam” (line 6) depends on both “in prison, there was torture” (line 3) and “Allah sees everything” (line 2). Accordingly, I drew arrows to represent belief connections from both “Allah sees everything” and “in prison, there was torture” to “torture and prison are part of an exam.” I also drew arrows from both “torture and prison are part of an exam” and “we saw the jihad from prison” to the decision. The following figure illustrates these connections. I kept expanding such chains of beliefs. At the last stage of the drawing process, I compared all assertions of particular individuals. In the final cognitive map of this nonviolent individual, for instance, the quote “prison and torture do not give you the right to use violence,” which I discovered in another group of assertions he made, was inserted as a belief following “torture and prison are part of an exam” and antecedent to the decision. The following figure visualizes the respective excerpt of the cognitive map. A larger excerpt of a cognitive map is shown by Figure 2 in Chapter 1.

Decisions Conducting interviews with violent and nonviolent individuals involved numerous problems. Even if I managed to gain access to an individual and

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Figure 16. Identifying belief connections from propositional contents.

Figure 17. Identifying belief connections from propositional contents continued.

convince him to participate in my study, he usually did not speak easily about his decision to engage in violent or nonviolent activism. As I described in depth in Chapter 2, individuals sometimes remained fearful throughout the interview, or would get angry at my questions. Several individuals were also unwilling to tell me about the attacks they had been involved in (although I knew they had engaged in violence). As a result of such obstacles, I could often not immediately identify decisions from the assertions the individuals made during the interviews. The following examples illustrate this difficulty. They are divided into two groups. The first group of assertions (I1–I4) has propositional contents that immediately indicate decisions, whereas the second group of assertions (I5– I8) has propositional contents that do not immediately identify decisions:

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139

We decided to kill Sadat I was absolutely in favor of using violence myself We did not use violence in 1952 I do not agree with violent jihad against the Egyptian state I cannot go the straight way I participate in politics I advised the change We agreed and gave Khalid three more people

The first four assertions immediately address physical force, while the last four assertions do not. More specifically, consider I1 and I7. I1 explicitly addresses the decision to kill Sadat, whereas I7 refers only to “change.” “Change” could be related to various things, such as change of weather or change of clothes. Another example is I2, which directly addresses the individual’s readiness to use physical force, as opposed to I6, which refers only to the individual’s political activism. Th is activity need not involve a consideration of physical force as a means, and it is therefore not immediately clear whether I6 identifies a decision against engaging in political violence. To understand how I identified decisions from such quotes, it is necessary to consider the context in which the individuals made them. In particu lar, I5 followed the individual’s comments on Ayman al-Zawahiri, who “walks the straight way.” As I explain in the following sections, I abstracted such comments into more general categories, and the par ticu lar assertion obtained from this comment into a category called Existence of Violence against Home State—a category that contained only assertions addressing the use of physical force. In this context, “I cannot walk the straight way” means that the individual cannot use physical force himself, and therefore identifies a decision to refrain from picking up arms. I6 followed another assertion that using physical force would result in his own death as well as in the death of thousands of other people. In this context, I6 does not only express that the individual participated in politics but also that he rejects physical force. I therefore identified it as a decision against taking up arms. Note that I6 is almost identical to other assertions, such as “the Muslim Brothers participate in politics.” However, most such assertions did not follow expressions about the rejection of physical force. I therefore did not code most of them as decisions. Rather, I abstracted them into

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a different category called Peaceful Activity against Home State.8 I explain the process of abstraction, and present an overview of all the categories I created in this way, in the following sections of this chapter. I7 followed assertions in which the individual related change to the government and identified physical force as a means to achieve this change. More specifically, the previous assertions addressed the individual’s discussions with other people about engaging in armed jihad to introduce an Islamic government. In this context, “I advised to do the change” indicates that the individual advised using physical force against the government, and I coded this assertion as a decision to take up arms. I8 followed another assertion about the Shura council session during which the leaders of al-Jihad and al-Jamaʿat agreed on the assassination of Sadat. Agreement in this context means agreement to kill Sadat, and giving Khalid more people describes the specific preparations for the attack. I therefore also identified this assertion as a decision to take up arms. These examples indicate that I did not only identify decisions from assertions about the performance of an action (violent and nonviolent individuals) but also from assertions about the support for (violent individuals) and rejection of (nonviolent individuals) violence. I proceeded in this way because individuals were often reluctant to speak about their involvement in particular actions. I could identify decisions from assertions about the support for or the rejection of violence because I knew that the individuals had engaged in violent or nonviolent activism. This knowledge was available to me from the individuals’ more general assertions not referring to particular situations, and from assertions by other members of their group or lawyers. Moreover, the individuals’ membership in their groups by itself indicates that they were strongly committed to the means used by their groups (see Chapter 2). Finally, the large majority of the individuals told me directly that they engaged in violent or nonviolent activism, even though they were sometimes unwilling to provide detailed information about their activities.

Validity of Belief Chains The cognitive maps constructed in this way represent the reasoning processes by which the individuals decided to engage in violent or nonviolent activism. Since I identified them from the individuals’ direct speech, the maps offer valid representations of the individuals’ reasoning processes.

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However, the direct speech of different individuals is not immediately comparable, which is why I abstracted the beliefs contained by the cognitive maps into a more general coding scheme. This raises the question whether the beliefs investigated by my later analysis are valid representations of the beliefs expressed by the individuals’ direct speech. In the following section, I show how I created the coding scheme by applying theme analysis, which preserved the main contents of the individuals’ direct speech and ensured that the beliefs investigated by my later analysis are valid representations of the individuals’ beliefs. Before turning to this part of the analysis, it is important to note that the reasoning processes investigated by my analysis are valid (and not only the beliefs contained by them). These reasoning processes also involve indirect connections between beliefs. For example, Figure 17 represents indirect connections between the belief that Allah sees everything (upper left corner) and the belief that prison and torture do not give you the right to use violence (second column from right), and between the belief that there was torture in prison (lower left corner) and the belief that prison and torture do not give you the right to use violence (second column from right). Since they were not expressed directly by the individuals, it is not immediately obvious that these indirect connections between beliefs are valid. But beliefs are by nature connected, and what is an antecedent of one inference is often the consequent of another inference (and vice versa), so that it is by nature possible to trace chains of inferences that indirectly connect beliefs. As I have shown, my identification of such chains was based entirely on the individuals’ direct speech. Specifically, I proceeded by identifying the direct connections between beliefs expressed by the individuals, which is why each arrow of a chain actually represents a direct belief connection identified from a quote (following the rules I have specified above). Based on this, the indirect belief connections contained by the chains are valid as well. Specifically, they make visible what is implied by the individuals’ direct speech. As I show in the next chapter, the entire analysis followed the reasoning processes as identified from the individuals’ direct speech. This was achieved by preserving each cognitive map as it was throughout the analysis, rather than breaking the maps up into the belief connections of which they consist. Specifically, the computer program analyzes each cognitive map individually, translated into a separate Excel spreadsheet that represents each inference in the order in which the individuals actually expressed it. Since the analysis always compares the indirect connections between certain beliefs

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and decisions represented by these spreadsheets, all the indirect inferences identified by it represent the direct speech of at least one individual. I describe this process more closely in Chapter 5.

Toward a Coding Scheme Since the cognitive maps constructed in this way identify the individuals’ reasoning processes in their own words, they are not immediately comparable. Specifically, it is not clear whether particular beliefs are similar to others, and whether entire chains of beliefs connected with decisions are similar or shared. To begin making comparisons, I created a coding scheme in which I abstracted each belief into a more general category, which I called a belief class. Furthermore, I abstracted all the belief classes into more general categories called belief superclasses and belief super-superclasses (see Table 13). As I show in the following chapters, belief classes helped me trace the mechanisms underlying violent and nonviolent activism, and belief superclasses and supersuperclasses helped me identify the main components of these mechanisms. Both categories were necessary to systematically analyze the cognitive maps, which are by nature highly complex and typically contain at least a dozen beliefs and belief connections. To create the coding scheme, I applied Spradley’s theme analysis (1979). Theme analysis is a qualitative method that allows the exploration of the semantics of belief systems by identifying “meaning that is integrated into some kind of larger pattern” (Spradley 1979: 140–41). This allowed me to create belief classes, superclasses, and super-superclasses by systematically analyzing the beliefs I identified from the individuals’ direct speech with reference to the main theme they address. The creation of this coding scheme was theoretically motivated (Armstrong and Nakayama 2005: 32, “theory-driven coding procedures”). It aimed at creating categories that serve the systematic comparison of the beliefs underlying violent as opposed to nonviolent activism, while investigating the main hypotheses of the analytical framework presented in the Introduction. To ensure that the scheme was both abstract enough to capture the larger differences between violent and nonviolent activism and specific enough to identify the microlevel mechanisms connected to this behav ior, it contains four levels of abstraction, which I introduce in the following paragraphs.

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Table 12: Coding Scheme of Beliefs Underlying Violent and Nonviolent Activism Abstraction level

Type of category

Number of occurrences

4 3 2 1

Belief super-superclass Belief superclass Belief class Instance

Five Thirteen Dozens Hundreds

Abstraction Level 1: Instances

In the first step of the analysis, I wrote down the assertions of all the cognitive maps as lists. I called these assertions, which identify the individuals’ beliefs in their own words, instances. As indicated by their common name instances, each instance represents a certain type of belief held by all individuals. This indicates that the cognitive maps of different individuals are in principle comparable. Abstraction Level 2: Belief Classes

In the second step, I compared hundreds of instances, and sorted them into groups. I called these groups belief classes. When creating belief classes, I followed the individuals’ own words as closely as possible, and focused on the propositional contents of the instances (meaning what they address) to identify common themes. For example, instance I1 “The government started attacking its opponents” (MB leader) addresses an observation of aggressive behavior by the state. The same could be said about I2 “Islamists were coming from prison with marks of torture” (Najeh Ibrahim, founder of al-Jamaʿat al-Islamiyya), and about I3 “The police was very violent against us” (member of the RAF). Based on this, I created a belief class called Aggression by Home State, and grouped I1, I2, and I3 inside this class. In total, I created several dozen of such belief classes by generalizing hundreds of instances. Abstraction Level 3: Belief Superclasses

In the third step, I created belief superclasses by abstracting the belief classes into more general themes. In this step, I wrote down all the belief classes, and compared the main themes addressed by them. In this process, more general themes became visible. These themes were indicated by the names assigned

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to belief classes in the previous step. For example, Aggression by Home State addresses the theme of state aggression. Another example is Domination by Home State, which addresses the theme of state oppression; it was identified from instances such as “There was no real party, only Sadat’s party” (MB member), or “Our teachers had also taught as Nazis” (RAF member). Since both Aggression by Home State and Domination by Home State address negative aspects of the state environment, I grouped both classes in a superclass called Negative Nature of Home State. In total, I created twelve belief superclasses. Abstraction Level 4: Belief Super-Superclasses

In the last step, I created belief super-superclasses, which added another level of abstraction by generalizing the belief superclasses into more common themes. Again, the main themes of the belief superclasses were indicated by the names I had assigned in the previous step, and comparing them made visible more general themes. For example, belief superclasses Consequences of Violence and Consequences of Peaceful Activity both address the means used by the individuals, and I assigned them to a super-superclass called Means. Another example are superclasses Personality and Private Life, which both address private issues, which I assigned to a super-superclass called Private Issues. When creating this coding scheme, I also assigned positive and negative values to the belief classes within each superclass. This added more detailed information about the individuals’ reasoning processes. For example, in the superclass Negative Nature of Home State I assigned a negative value (−) to the belief class Aggression by Home State, whereas I assigned a positive value (+) to the belief class Support by Home State. In addition, I assigned numbers to each belief class to indicate their comparative strength inside their superclasses. For example, the belief class Continuous Aggression by Home State obtained the number 1, indicating that it is the strongest negative belief class in the superclass Negative Nature of Home State, whereas the belief class Domination by Previous Home State obtained the number 5, indicating that it is only the fifth strongest belief class in the superclass Negative Nature of Home State. Following this procedure, I assigned five belief super-superclasses and thirteen superclasses that indicate the general themes underlying the individuals’ decisions to engage in violent or nonviolent activism. I further assigned dozens of belief classes that provide more extensive information about the individuals’ reasoning processes. The following table presents my creation of the belief super-superclass State Environment as an example. This

Table 13: Abstraction Process of Super-Superclass State Environment Value and strength

Super-superclass

Superclass

Belief class

State Environment

Negative Nature of Home State

Continuous Aggression by Home State Aggression by Home State Domination by Home State Strained Living Conditions Unreligious State Aggression by Previous State Domination by Previous State Absence of State Structures Ignorance of Fellow Citizens

−1 −2 −3 −4 −5 −6 −7 −8 −9

Support by Home State

+1

Religious State Education of the People Absence of Domination by Home State Absence of Aggression by Home State

+2 +3 +4 +5

Change of Home State

+6

Aggression by Foreign State

−1

Imperialism Disunity of Muslims Absence of Domination by Foreign State

−2 −3 +1

Negative Nature of State System

Example of an instance (out of more than 100 in total) There was a circle of violence conducted by the state Sadat arrested the brother of Khalid Islambouli There was no real party, only Sadat’s party There was social poverty My country wasn’t Islamic Hitler waged the Second World War People had lived under the terrible Nazis If there were no state structures The people are interested in the African Cup, not politics The state agency gave me an apprenticeship as a librarian The government is Muslim The people become educated Sadat had given us freedom The police stood in front of the building for days and didn’t do anything Sadat changed everything General Taylor said they were going to bomb Vietnam back into the Stone Age The U.S. conducts imperialism The ummah is suffering from disunity We have to thank the Americans and the British for freedom of speech

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super-superclass is found to matter most to the decisions of both violent and nonviolent individuals.

Similarity of Beliefs of Violent and Nonviolent Individuals The coding scheme allowed me to compare the cognitive maps of different individuals, and to identify the more general themes of their reasoning processes. In Chapter 5, I present a systematic analysis comparing the cognitive maps of all individuals. This analysis traces entire chains of beliefs and identifies ten types of reasoning processes that represent mechanisms connected with decisions to engage in violent or nonviolent activism. In the remainder of this chapter, I explore the more general themes involved in these reasoning processes. The coding scheme shows that there are five major themes in the reasoning processes of violent and nonviolent individuals. These are indicated by the belief super-superclasses: (1) Private Issues, (2) State Environment, (3) Acceptance of State, (4) Means to Confront the State, and (5) Goals. At this level of abstraction, there are no visible differences between the reasoning processes of violent and nonviolent individuals, or between Muslims and non-Muslims: in a double-paired comparison, I found all the five supersuperclasses in the cognitive maps of each group examined by the analysis. Table 14 illustrates this finding. Surprisingly, I also discovered this similarity at the less abstract levels of belief superclasses, and, to a large extent, at the level of belief classes. This suggests that there are no significant differences between the beliefs of violent and nonviolent individuals, or between Muslims and non-Muslims. Rather, the reasoning processes of violent and nonviolent individuals appear to be surprisingly similar. Specifically, the number of belief classes unique to violent individuals ranges only between zero and two for all superclasses, except for Availability of Means, which addresses the individuals’ consideration of violent and nonviolent means (five unique classes), and Consequences of Violence, which addresses the individuals’ consideration of the consequences of physical force (four unique classes). The number of belief classes shared by violent and nonviolent individuals is larger than the number of belief classes unique to violent individuals for all superclasses except Consequences of Violence.

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Table 14: Basic Similarity of Belief Super-Superclasses Between Violent and Nonviolent Individuals from Egypt and Germany Violent individual

Nonviolent individual

Egypt

Belief super-superclasses 1-5 (all super-superclasses)

Belief super-superclasses 1-5 (all super-superclasses)

Germany

Belief super-superclasses 1-5 (all super-superclasses)

Belief super-superclasses 1-5 (all super-superclasses)

It is also surprising which belief classes are found to be unique to violent individuals: only violent individuals are found to hold beliefs about Dislike of Violence, which indicates that they dislike the use of physical force, and Alternative to Violence, which indicates that they had an alternative to using physical force. Violent individuals are further found to hold beliefs about Impossibility of Reaching Goals by Violence, which indicates that they do not believe that physical force will help them reach their goals; Absence of Success of Violence, which indicates that they believe the use of physical force has failed in the past; and Negative Consequences of Violence, which indicates that they believe that applying physical force has bad consequences. These examples illustrate that the beliefs of violent and nonviolent individuals appear to be much more similar than what one would expect. Table 15 gives an overview. All the superclasses are shared by Muslims and non-Muslims, suggesting that Islam does not explain violence. In fact, it is very surprising that of all belief classes, only five are specific to Islam: Religious Government, which indicates the belief that the state is run by a religious government; Unreligious Government, which indicates the belief that the state is run by a government that is not religious; Disunity of Muslims, which indicates the belief that Muslims are divided in the international system; Obedience to God, which indicates an individual’s belief that he follows the rules prescribed by Islam; and God’s Might, which indicates the belief that God is almighty and controls what happens on earth. In total, there are 22 belief classes that are unique to Muslims, but the large majority does not deal with religion and could in principle be held by non-Muslims. Examples of these classes are Absence of Activity against Home

Table 15: Similarity of Beliefs Held by Violent and Nonviolent Individuals Number of belief classes held by: Supersuperclass

Superclass

violent and nonviolent individuals

Number of belief classes only held by:

Number of belief blasses only held by:

violent individuals

nonviolent individuals

Comments

State Environment

Negative Nature of Home State

10

0

4

Most negative beliefs about the state are shared. Nonviolent individuals additionally hold three positive beliefs and one moderately negative belief about the state.

State Environment

Negative Nature of State System

2

0

2

Most negative beliefs about the system of states are shared. Nonviolent individuals hold an additional positive and an additional moderately negative belief about the system.

Acceptance of State

Respect for State

4

1

9

Beliefs about not accepting the state are shared. Only violent individuals do not accept state aggression in particular. Only nonviolent individuals believe that the state structures are indispensible.

Acceptance of State

Strength of State

2

1

2

Some violent and nonviolent individuals believe that the state is strong. Some violent and nonviolent individuals believe that the state is not strong. Only nonviolent individuals have beliefs about the strength of foreign states.

Acceptance of State

Strength of Resistance Against State

2

1

3

Beliefs about the strength of the resistance against the state are shared. Nonviolent individuals also hold beliefs about the weakness of the resistance.

Table 15: (continued) Number of belief classes held by:

Number of belief classes only held by:

Number of belief blasses only held by:

violent individuals

nonviolent individuals

Supersuperclass

Superclass

violent and nonviolent individuals

Goals

Goals

3

1

4

There are three types of goals. All of them are shared. The unique beliefs indicate that violent and nonviolent individuals give priority to different types of goals.

Means

Availability of Means

7

5

8

Some of the nonshared beliefs are counterintuitive: only violent individuals believe that they dislike the use of physical force (belief class Dislike of Violence) and that they have an alternative to using physical force (belief class Alternative to Violence). By contrast, only nonviolent individuals believe that using physical force can be enjoyable (belief class Enjoyment of Violence).

Means

Peaceful Activity Against State

2

0

2

Beliefs about peaceful activity against the state are shared: both violent and nonviolent individuals believe that they engaged in peaceful activism against the state (belief class Peaceful Activity Against State). Only nonviolent individuals hold beliefs that they engaged in peaceful activism that supports rather than opposes the state (belief class Peaceful Activity Supporting the State), or about not being active at all (belief class Absence of Activity Against State).

Comments

(continued)

Table 15: (continued) Number of belief classes held by: Supersuperclass

Superclass

violent and nonviolent individuals

Number of belief classes only held by:

Number of belief blasses only held by:

violent individuals

nonviolent individuals

Comments

Means

Consequences of Violence

3

4

2

Surprisingly, the beliefs shared by nonviolent and violent individuals are beliefs that it is impossible to reach one’s goals by physical force (belief class Impossibility of Reaching Goals by Violence), that using physical force against the state in the past has not been successful (belief class Absence of Success of Violence), and that using physical force against the state has negative consequences (belief class Negative Consequences of Violence).

Means

Consequences of Peaceful Activity

1

0

2

The only belief violent individuals hold about the consequences of peaceful activities are shared with nonviolent individuals.

Private Issues

Personality

2

0

1

Most positive and negative beliefs about one’s personality are shared. One nonviolent individual holds additional negative beliefs about himself (belief class Personal Problems).

Private Issues

Private Life

6

2

5

Beliefs about the activities during one’s youth are shared. Beliefs about the success of these activities are also shared. Only nonviolent individuals hold beliefs about joining the army. Only one violent individual holds beliefs that he suffered from lack of education and distance from social structures.

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State, which indicates the belief that one is not engaging in any activity to confront the state; Weakness of Will, which indicates the belief that one has no strength of will; and Absence of Interest in Politics, which indicates the belief that one has no interest in politics. Th is suggests that Islam does not matter significantly to the reasoning processes by which Muslims decide to take up arms. Moreover, the classes specific to Islam are shared by violent and nonviolent Muslims, which indicates that Islam does not appear to explain violence. It is especially interesting that even the belief class Unreligious State is held not only by violent but also by nonviolent Muslims. This contradicts assumptions that only violent individuals believe that their state does not conform to the rules of Islam. Finally, it was astonishing that Muslims and non-Muslims believe in the same types of goals: Transformatory Goals (goals to transform the state), Political Goals (goals to change par ticular aspects of the state without transforming it), and Private Goals (goals for one’s private life). This contradicts assumptions that only violent Muslims hold transformatory goals and attack the state because of these goals. Table 16 illustrates these findings.

Implications for Theories of Political Violence (Analytical Framework) The coding scheme offers some immediate conclusions about the hypotheses addressed by the analytical framework of this study. Specifically, the belief classes can be sorted into groups representing particular hypotheses. The following table provides an overview, before I conclude this chapter with some preliminary comments on the confirmation, or the absence of confirmation, of particular hypotheses.

Significance of the State Environment (Hypothesis 2: Environmental-Psychological Theories)

The table suggests that the state environment matters most to the individuals’ decisions to engage in violent or nonviolent activism. The number of belief classes about the state environment is the largest of all (16 versus 12, 2, 5, and 3). In fact, the state environment is represented by two entire superclasses and a super-superclass: Negative Nature of Home State (superclass), Negative

Table 16: Similarity of Beliefs Held by Muslims and non-Muslims Supersuperclass State Environment

Superclass Negative Nature of Home State

Held by both Muslims and non-Muslims

Held only by Muslims

Yes

2

Comments Only one of the beliefs unique to Muslims is specific to religion, namely the belief that the state is run by a religious government (belief class Religious Government). One of the beliefs shared by Muslims and non-Muslims is also specific to religion, namely the belief that the state is run by a government that is not religious (belief class Unreligious Government).

State Environment

Negative Nature of State System

Yes

1

The belief unique to Muslims is specific to Islam. It is a belief that Muslims are divided in the international system (belief class Disunity of Muslims).

Acceptance of State

Respect for State

Yes

6

None of the beliefs unique to Muslims is specific to Islam. Each belief could in principle be held by non-Muslims (for example, the belief that aggression by the state can be accepted [belief class Acceptance of State Aggression], or the belief that the structure provided by the state is the basis of one’s life [belief class Indispensability of State Structures]).

Acceptance of State

Strength of State

Yes

0

Acceptance of State

Strength of Resistance Against State

Yes

3

None of the beliefs unique to Muslims is specific to Islam and could in principle be held by non-Muslims (for example, the belief that the resistance against states abroad has been successful in some cases [belief class Victory of International Resistance Against State System]).

Goals

Goals

Yes

2

The beliefs unique to Muslims are not specific to Islam: both Muslims and non-Muslims hold the same types of goals. The beliefs unique to Muslims address the priority of particular goals, for example the belief that they give priority to changing certain policies, rather than to transforming the state or to pursuing private goals (belief class Absolute Priority of Political Goal). Note that all individuals hold beliefs about giving priority to nonprivate goals.

Table 16: (continued ) Supersuperclass

Superclass

Held by both Muslims and non-Muslims

Held only by Muslims

Comments

Means

Availability of Means

Yes

4

None of the beliefs unique to Muslims is specific to Islam. Each belief could in principle be held by non-Muslims (for example, the belief that the people support using physical force against the state [belief class Support from the People for Violence] or that there is an alternative to using physical force against the state [belief class Alternative to Violence]).

Means

Peaceful Activity Against State

Yes

1

The belief unique to Muslims is not specific to Islam, and could in principle be held by non-Muslims. Specifically, it is the belief that one is not engaging in any type of activism against the state (belief class Absence of Activity Against State).

Means

Consequences of Violence

Yes

0

Means

Consequences of Peaceful Activity

Yes

0

Private Issues

Personality

Yes

2

The belief unique to Muslims is not specific to Islam, and could in principle be held by non-Muslims. Specifically, it is the belief that one suffers from a weak will (belief class Weakness of Will).

Private Issues

Private Life

Yes

1

The beliefs unique to Muslims are specific to religion. Specifically, they indicate that individuals believe that they follow the rules prescribed by Islam (belief class Obedience to God), and that God is almighty and controls what happens on earth (belief class God’s Might).

Table 17: Belief Classes Representing Research Hypotheses of Analytical Framework (Belief Superclasses in Brackets) Belief classes representing Incorrect Observations of the World

Belief classes representing Individuals’ Personalities

Hypothesis 4 (psychopathological theories)

Hypothesis 4 (psychopathological theories)

Belief classes representing Islam

Belief classes representing State Environment

Belief classes representing Access to Violent Groups

Hypothesis 1 (culturalpsychological theories)

Hypothesis 2 (environmentalpsychological theories)

Hypothesis 3 (group theories)

Religious Government (Negative Nature of Home State)

Continuation of Aggression by Home State (Negative Nature of Home State)

Support for Violence in Direct Environment (Availability of Means)

Weakness of Will (Personality)

Unreligious Government (Negative Nature of Home State)

Aggression by Home State (Negative Nature of Home State)

Efficient Structure of Violent Group (Strength of Resistance)

Self-Confidence (Personality)

Disunity of Muslims (Negative Nature of State Structures)

Domination by Home State (Negative Nature of Home State)

Obedience to God (Personal Life)

Aggression by Previous State (Negative Nature of Home State)

God’s Might (Personal Life)

Domination by Previous State (Negative Nature of Home State) Strained Living Conditions (Negative Nature of Home State) Absence of State Structures (Negative Nature of Home State)

Personal Problems (Personality)

Table 17: (continued )

Belief classes representing Islam

Belief classes representing State Environment Ignorance of Fellow Citizens (Negative Nature of Home State) Support by Home State (Negative Nature of Home State) Absence of Aggression by Home State (Negative Nature of Home State) Absence of Domination by Home State (Negative Nature of Home State) Change of Home State (Negative Nature of Home State) Education of the People (Negative Nature of Home State) Imperialism (Negative Nature of State System) Absence of Domination by Foreign State (Negative Nature of State System) Aggression by Foreign State (Negative Nature of State System)

Belief classes representing Access to Violent Groups

Belief classes representing Incorrect Observations of the World

Belief classes representing Individuals’ Personalities

156 Chapter 4

Nature of State System (superclass), and State Environment (super-superclass). This is not the case for the beliefs representing the remaining hypotheses, suggesting that the individuals’ reasoning processes rely primarily on beliefs about their state environment.

No Significance of Violent Groups (Hypothesis 3: Group Theories)

The table shows that only two of all the belief classes deal with violent groups. This suggests that violent groups do not matter significantly to the individuals’ decisions. Specifically, there is a belief class addressing access to violent groups, called Support for Violence in Direct Environment. It indicates that individuals were interacting with other individuals who supported the application of physical force against the government. As opposed to what is expected from group theories, this belief class was held by both violent and nonviolent individuals, which indicates that nonviolent individuals also had contact with violent groups. This contradicts assumptions that having access to violent groups alienates individuals from the society and transforms them into killers. Moreover, there is a belief class about the structure of violent groups, called Efficient Structure of Violent Group. This class indicates that individuals believe their group to be well orga nized. As opposed to what is expected from group theories, this class was, however, only found in the map of a single individual who engaged in violence.

No Evidence for Mental Illness (Hypothesis 4: Psychopathological Theories)

The analysis identified no belief classes about incorrect observations of the external world, which could have indicated mental illness. Rather, the beliefs suggest that the individuals reason about things that exist(ed). Many of these beliefs are verifiable by historical evidence: for example, several Egyptians commented on the 1970s bread riots, and all Germans commented on the murder of Benno Ohnesorg (an innocent student who was shot dead during a demonstration in 1967). Other beliefs refer to the direct experiences of the individuals and are not verifiable by historical evidence. For example, sev-

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eral individuals held beliefs about their arrests by the police or about the arrests of family members and friends. Although these events are not well known, the individuals usually mentioned them in connection with other events that are historically verifiable (for example, the events mentioned above). Moreover, they provided many details to describe their direct experiences, which would be very difficult to make up. The analysis therefore does not show evidence that violent individuals suffer from mental illnesses.

No Significance of Personality (Hypothesis 4: Psychopathological Theories)

The table shows that only three belief classes represent the individuals’ personality. Since the analysis overall identified dozens of beliefs, this number is very low and suggests that the individuals’ personality does not matter significantly to their decisions. Specifically, the belief classes about the individuals’ personality are Weakness of Will, which indicates that individuals believe they suffer from a weak will; Self-Confidence, which indicates that individuals believe that they are self-confident; and Personal Problems, which indicates that individuals believe that they suffer from problems related to themselves (such as loneliness). As opposed to what is expected from psychopathological theories, none of these three classes was found to be unique to violent individuals. Rather, Personal Problems was held by a nonviolent individual, and the remaining belief classes were shared by both violent and nonviolent individuals. As a result, there is no evidence that the individuals’ personalities matter to their decisions to take up arms.

No Significance of Islam (Hypothesis 1: Cultural-Psychological Theories)

Finally, the table shows that, as I have mentioned above, there are only five belief classes about Islam. Since the coding scheme consists of dozens of belief classes, this number is surprisingly low, and suggests that Islam does not matter significantly to the individuals’ decisions to engage in violent or nonviolent activism. As I have noted above, the five belief classes about Islam are moreover shared by nonviolent individuals, which indicates that Islam cannot

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explain violence. Finally, I have noted that both Muslims and non-Muslims believe in the same types of goals, which contradicts assumptions that violent Muslims in particular are motivated by transformatory goals.

Summary and Outlook This chapter shows how I constructed cognitive maps from interviews with violent and nonviolent individuals and abstracted the beliefs of these maps into comparable categories. The textual analysis suggests that the reasoning processes of violent and nonviolent individuals are surprisingly similar and that there are no significant differences between violent Muslims and nonMuslims. Instead, it shows that the reasoning processes of all individuals primarily rely on beliefs about the state environment. It also shows that there are extraordinarily few beliefs about violent groups and the individuals’ personality, and that there is no evidence that violent individuals suffer from mental illnesses. These findings have implications for our understanding of violent individuals by suggesting that rather than being crazy religious fanatics, violent individuals are not that different from nonviolent individuals and engage in very similar reasoning processes to those underlying mainstream political behav ior. In the next chapters, I deepen this analysis by tracing and systematically comparing the reasoning processes illustrated by the cognitive maps. I do so by applying a computer program developed for this particular purpose. Adding to other analyses, which examine the direct relationships between particu lar factors and political violence, this analysis identifies ten microlevel mechanisms underlying violent activism (five mechanisms) versus nonviolent activism (five mechanisms). These mechanisms confirm that violent individuals are motivated by the same main factor as nonviolent individuals: state aggression. Specifically, I find the belief that the state is aggressive to be so significant that it may motivate individuals to decide to take up arms even if they also believe the state is stronger than they are, and that they will suffer severe consequences from engaging in violence. I also find that this belief may encourage individuals to decide to engage in nonviolent activism, even though they do not believe their activity is going to have any effect on state aggression.

Chapter 5

A Computational Analysis of Violent and Nonviolent Activism

Violence is generally prohibited But in our times it sometimes becomes necessary This is the fault of the United States of America They have lied to us This encourages al-Qaeda —Nonviolent Muslim Brother from Egypt In Chapter 4, I constructed cognitive maps from my interviews with violent and nonviolent individuals. These maps show that, as opposed to what is assumed by the existing literature, the beliefs of violent and nonviolent individuals are surprisingly similar, and that there are no significant differences between the beliefs of Muslims and non-Muslims who engage in violence. Specifically, I find that the reasoning processes of all individuals rely primarily on beliefs about the state environment. How can individuals who hold such similar beliefs make opposite decisions, so that half take up arms and the other half engage in nonviolent activism? In this chapter, I investigate this question. I systematically investigate the connections between particular beliefs, on the one hand, and decisions to take up arms or engage in nonviolent activism, on the other hand. In this way, I identify ten types of reasoning processes connected with decisions to engage in violent versus nonviolent activism. As discussed in Chapter 1, these reasoning processes represent logical microlevel mechanisms underlying violent and nonviolent activism.

160 Chapter 5

The analysis shows that both violent and nonviolent individuals act in selfdefense: both are found to be primarily motivated by the belief that the state is aggressive. I find this belief to be so significant that individuals who hold it may decide to take up arms even if they also believe the state is stronger than they are, and that they will suffer severe consequences from engaging in violence. I also find that this belief may encourage nonviolent individuals to make decisions, although they need not believe that their activity is going to have any effect on state aggression. Finally, the analysis confi rms that, contrary to well-known arguments, violent individuals are not motivated by beliefs about Islam, economic deprivation, or interaction with violent groups. These findings have implications for our understanding of violent individuals by showing that rather than being crazy religious fanatics, violent individuals are not that different from nonviolent individuals and engage in very similar reasoning processes to those underlying mainstream political behav ior. The analysis further shows that, in spite of these similarities, the motivations of violent and nonviolent individuals can be differentiated by beliefs about (1) state aggression (violence) versus economic deprivation (nonviolent activism); (2) continuation of state aggression (violence) versus impossibility of ending state aggression (nonviolent activism); (3) acceptability of physical force (violence) versus unacceptability of the consequences of physical force (nonviolent activism); and (4) necessity of transforming the state (violence) versus necessity of keeping the state structures (nonviolent activism). The analysis applies a computational model I developed together with Nick Henderson from the Institute for Computational and Mathematical Engineering at Stanford University for the specific purpose of this study. Such a model is necessary because, as explained in Chapter 1, cognitive maps contain more than a dozen beliefs and belief connections that involve thousands of belief combinations. For example, examination of only seventeen beliefs requires consideration of 131,072 combinations of beliefs.1 Thus, studying my cognitive maps by hand would have been impossible. The computational model allows the researcher to systematically study cognitive maps by identifying the interconnections between certain beliefs and decisions to engage in violent or nonviolent activism. As I show in Chapter 6, it moreover allows systematic interventions on cognitive maps. This serves the exploration of alternative worlds in which the individuals would not have decided to take up arms. Th is chapter is divided into three main parts. The fi rst explains how the model was developed, and how it functions. The second shows

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how the model was applied to differentiate the reasoning processes of violent as opposed to nonviolent individuals. The third presents the fi ndings obtained from the analysis. These consist of ten chains of beliefs underlying violent as opposed to nonviolent activism, as well as four types of belief combinations based on which individuals decide, or fail to decide, to take up arms.

A Computational Model for the Analysis of Cognitive Maps The model is designed in MATLAB, which stands for MATrix LABoratory. MATLAB is a numerical computing environment and programming language developed in the late 1970s. It has about one million users in academia and industry worldwide. As indicated by its name, computations in MATLAB are performed via matrices, which is why the cognitive maps were translated into matrices (see Appendix). Based on this translation, MATLAB can access the maps and analyze them for this study. There are three essential stages in this computational analysis, which can be summarized in the following way. All these stages represent one run of the program. STAGE 1, INPUT: Assert certain beliefs. → STAGE 2, PROCESSING Search each cognitive map for the asserted beliefs. If beliefs detected: 1. Activate beliefs 2. Activate the belief chains based on beliefs. If beliefs not detected: 1. No belief is activated 2. Consequently, no belief chain is activated, either. → STAGE 3, OUTPUT: If belief chains activated by the asserted beliefs end in decisions, the program displays: • The decisions • The names of the individuals making the decisions

162 Chapter 5

• Figures that illustrate the belief chains connecting the asserted beliefs with decisions. If belief chains activated by the asserted beliefs end in beliefs that are not decisions, the program displays: • The beliefs in which the chains end 2 • The names of the individuals whose reasoning ends in those beliefs. If no belief chains are activated by the asserted beliefs: • There is no display, indicating that there is no possibility for the individuals to decide to engage in violent or nonviolent activism. Table 18 summarizes the stages of the analysis. Figure 18 provides a simple example. For clarity, it includes only two excerpts of two different cognitive maps (by contrast, the real analysis included 27 entire maps). The upper excerpt of the example illustrates a belief chain that includes a belief class called Domination by Home State, which is connected to a decision to take up arms. The lower excerpt does not include the belief class Domination by Home State. The figure shows how asserting the belief class Domination by Home State activates a belief chain in the upper excerpt but fails to activate such a chain in the lower excerpt, because that excerpt does not include Domination by Home State. Thus, the figure shows that a decision is activated in the upper excerpt, but not in the lower excerpt. The activation process in indicated from left to right, marked by bold letters. Based on this procedure, the program systematically analyzed and compared the cognitive maps of my twenty-seven interviewees, identifying the reasoning processes by which they decided to engage in violent or nonviolent activism. The following section is an overview of the different steps related to Table 18: Running the Model in MATLAB Stage 1

Stage 2

Stage 3

Input

Processing

Output

Assert beliefs

Search each cognitive map for belief chains activated by asserted beliefs

Display cognitive maps in which activated belief chains end in decisions

Figure 18. Running the model on two excerpts of cognitive maps: successful (upper excerpt) versus failure (lower excerpt) of activation of decision (based on the assertion of domination by home state).

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this analysis including a few comments on the limits of the program. The remainder of the chapter elaborates on the analysis and findings.

Limits of the Model Before presenting the application of the model, it is impor tant to comment on some limits. First, the model allows the systematic analysis of cognitive maps once the maps are available. As explained in Chapter 4, I constructed cognitive maps manually, by coding the structured notes of my interviews. By contrast, there are a few researchers who have tried to construct cognitive maps automatically; the most prominent example is Young (1996; also see Bonham and Shapiro 1976). To my knowledge, such endeavors have been limited to cognitive maps constructed from English sources—whereas this study involved two languages whose structures are fundamentally different. Attempting to create a program that constructs cognitive maps from German sources, one might have drawn on the familiar subject-verb-object relation, which was also used by Young. However, constructing cognitive maps from sources in Arabic, this would not have been possible: Arabic consists of noun phrases (jumla ismiyya) and verb phrases (jumla fiʿliyya)—a structure in which the subject-verb-object relation is not always obvious. Indeed, creating a program that constructs cognitive maps from Arabic would have been the subject of an entire research project. Apart from these difficulties, there are more fundamental problems related to automating the construction of cognitive maps. These are also palpable from the existing programs that create cognitive maps. The most difficult challenge concerns the construction of meaningful coding categories. In this study, these categories correspond to belief classes, superclasses, and supersuperclasses. The problem of automating the construction of such categories is related to the ambiguity inherent in human language. For example, the word “mean” can mean “to signify,” but it can also mean “to intend” (as in “I meant to write this chapter until the end of the day”). The severity of such problems is palpable from observing that even the most recent soft ware in the field of natural language processing continues to make “some mistakes.”3 On the other hand, it must be noted that there have been great advances. For example, it is now possible to parse Arabic and German and obtain the same output. This could facilitate the construction of cognitive maps in the future.

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For example, it might help identify beliefs and belief connections via the grammatical function of certain words in sentences. Another limitation of the model is the restriction of the analysis to decisions without explicitly examining whether these decisions could occur again, or change. As discussed in Chapter 1, modeling reasoning processes as directed acyclical graphs (DAGs) implies studying the occurrence of decisions, rather than the reccurrence, or change, of decisions. Nevertheless, the program at least implies the recurrence of decisions: as described above, each run of the model begins with the assertion of beliefs, and ends by showing whether individuals make decisions based on the asserted beliefs. Since the analysis in Chapters 5 and 6 involves more than 200,000 runs, decisions frequently occur again (or fail to do so) while applying the model. Finally, there are a few limitations related to the model. Specifically, there are a few features of MATLAB that the model does not apply. For example, it does not involve backward inference, which could have traced back decisions to certain beliefs. Instead, it applies only forward inference, which traces how certain beliefs allow individuals to reach decisions. Forward reasoning corresponds to the nature of the human reasoning processes. It has the advantage of allowing the researcher to examine when the individuals would not have arrived at certain decisions (counterfactual analysis, see Chapter 6). Th is could not have been accomplished by backward inference: tracing back decisions cannot test when decisions do not occur.4

Comparing the Reasoning Processes of Violent and Nonviolent Individuals To identify and differentiate the reasoning processes of violent and nonviolent individuals, the analysis applied six main steps (see Table 19). First, it tested how many individuals decide to engage in violent and nonviolent activism based on entire belief superclasses (Step 1). This confirmed that beliefs about the state environment matter most. The following analysis consequently focused on beliefs about the state environment in particular (Step 2). This confirmed that the reasoning processes underlying violent and nonviolent activism are surprisingly similar. Specifically, it showed that the number of individuals who decide to engage

166 Chapter 5

Table 19: Steps of the Analysis STEP 1

STEP 2

STEP 3

STEP 4

STEP 5

STEP 6

Running the program on each belief superclass

Running the program on the belief classes in the superclass based on which most individuals make decisions

Developing a set of experimental belief classes

Running the program on experimental set

Analysis of results: identification of the most significant belief combinations

Analysis of results continued: identification of the most significant belief chains

in violent and nonviolent activism increases and decreases proportionally to the assertion of negative beliefs about the state environment. To further deepen the analysis, the following step developed a set of experimental beliefs (Step 3). These beliefs explored whether there were differences between violent and nonviolent individuals that had not been discovered by the previous analysis. Specifically, the program was run on all possible combinations of experimental beliefs, including a total of 131,0725 runs (Step 4). The next step of the analysis was dedicated to identifying the beliefs that matter most to decisions to engage in violent or nonviolent activism (Step 5). This was accomplished by applying filters to the results of the 131,072 runs (see Appendix 1). These filters identified the beliefs motivating (1) no individuals to make a decision (absence of violent and nonviolent activism); (2) all individuals to make a decision (maximum of violent and nonviolent activism); and (3) the most different numbers of violent and nonviolent individuals to make decisions (minimum of nonviolent versus violent activism). This added information to the earlier analysis by showing that no individuals make decisions based on positive and neutral beliefs about the state, such as the belief that the state supports them (belief class Support by Home State); all individuals make decisions based on beliefs that the state is aggressive (belief class Aggression by Home State) and oppressive (belief class Domination by Home State); and only nonviolent individuals make decisions based on the belief that there are environmental strains such as economic deprivation or a lack of education (belief class Strained Living Conditions).

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Finally, the program displayed the belief chains activated by the most significant belief combinations (Step 6). In this way, it became possible to trace the reasoning processes by which the individuals decided to take up arms or to engage in nonviolent activism. As mentioned, these reasoning processes represent the logical microlevel mechanisms underlying violent and nonviolent activism. Specifically, the analysis identified ten mechanisms that confirm that both violent and nonviolent individuals are motivated by the belief that the state is aggressive, and show how this belief encouraged them to decide to engage in violent or nonviolent activism. The mechanisms show that the belief that the state is aggressive is so significant that individuals who hold it may decide to take up arms even if they also believe the state is stronger than they are, and that they will suffer severe consequences from engaging in violence. They also show that the belief that the state is aggressive may encourage nonviolent individuals to make decisions, although they need not believe that their activity is going to have any effect on state aggression. Furthermore, the mechanisms show that nonviolent individuals may be motivated by the belief that there is economic deprivation in their direct environment—a motivation that is usually attributed to violent individuals. Finally, the mechanisms confirm that, contrary to well-known arguments, violent individuals are not motivated by beliefs about Islam, economic deprivation, or interaction with violent groups.

Significance of the State Environment (Step 1) First, the analysis compared the significance of different superclasses to decisions to engage in violent or nonviolent activism. This was based on the assumption that certain superclasses, such as Consequences of Violence, matter more than others, such as Private Issues. The analysis confirmed this assumption. Specifically, it showed that beliefs about the state environment matter more than all other beliefs. The analysis compared how many individuals decide to engage in violent or nonviolent activism based on the assertion of each superclass. If the number was comparatively high, the superclass was considered comparatively significant, and if the number was comparatively low, the superclass was considered comparatively insignificant. First, all belief classes of each superclass were asserted at once. Th is provided an overview of the comparative significance of entire superclasses. The results indicated large differences between superclasses. They show that

168 Chapter 5

beliefs about the state environment matter most, confirming the findings in Chapter 4. They also show that beliefs about the availability and consequences of violent and nonviolent means play a role. Specifically, beliefs about the state environment encourage nineteen individuals to decide to engage in violent and nonviolent activism. Beliefs about the consequences of violence encourage seventeen individuals to make decisions. Beliefs about the availability of means encourage fifteen individuals, and beliefs about the consequences of nonviolent means encourage eight individuals to make decisions. By contrast, only four individuals make decisions based on the superclasses about the strength of the state or resistance, four based on the superclasses about personality and personal life, and five based on the superclass about goals. Based on this result, the analysis explored the comparative significance of the state environment. Specifically, it compared random beliefs6 with beliefs about the state environment (and with the remaining superclasses). Confirming the previous findings, this analysis showed that the state environment matters significantly to decisions to engage in violent or nonviolent activism. The results are illustrated in Figure 19 and Table 20. They show that, given the same number of random beliefs, only beliefs about the state environment and the consequences of violent and nonviolent activism encourage more than the average number of individuals to make decisions. Specifically, the results show that for beliefs about the state environment, there is a 21.6 percent chance that a random selection of beliefs would motivate at least as many individuals to make decisions. By contrast, with two exceptions, the chances for the remaining superclasses range from 71.1 to 99.7 percent (see Table 20). The analysis confi rmed that beliefs about the consequences of violent and nonviolent activism encourage observably more individuals to make decisions than the average, given the same number of random beliefs (see Figure 19). There is only a 1.5 and 14.4 percent chance that a random selection of beliefs would motivate at least as many individuals to make decisions as would beliefs about the consequences of violent and nonviolent activism. These findings might lead to the conclusion that beliefs about the consequences of violent and nonviolent activism matter more than beliefs about the state environment. However, as I show below, the mechanisms underlying violent and nonviolent activism instead suggest that beliefs about the consequences of violent and nonviolent activism are based on beliefs about the state environment (see “Belief Chains Motivating Decisions to Engage in Violent and Nonviolent Activism”).

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Figure 19. Number of individuals reaching decisions (y-axis) motivated by belief classes (BCs) representing superclasses versus random belief classes (x-axis).

Religion and Violent Groups It is worth repeating that religion and violent groups are not addressed by belief superclasses, indicating that these factors do not matter significantly to decisions to take up arms or to engage in nonviolent activism. Th is contradicts cultural and group theories (see Introduction). Specifically, religion is addressed by only five belief classes: Religious State, Unreligious State, Disunity of Muslims, Obedience to God, and God’s Might. These motivated only three individuals to make decisions. Disunity of Muslims motivated a decision to engage in nonviolent activism, Unreligious State a decision to engage in violence, and Unreligious State in combination with

170 Chapter 5

Table 20: Significance of Selected Superclasses and Beliefs Representing Religion and Group Access p-value State Environment Religion Violent Group Access Goals Strength of State/ Resistance Availability of Means Consequences of Violence Consequences of Nonviolent Activism Personality and Private Life

0.216433333 0.741767 0.711538462 0.7854 0.968 0.710566667 0.015366667 0.144233 0.9967

The p-value is the probability that the beliefs from the most significant superclasses and the beliefs about religion and access to violent groups encourage at least as many decisions as random combinations including the same number of beliefs. Mathematically: p (decisions from random selection ≥ decisions from beliefs from superclasses).

Obedience to God a decision to engage in nonviolent activism. Violent groups are addressed by only two belief classes: Support for Violence in Direct Environment and Efficient Structure of Violent Group. Support for Violence in Direct Environment motivated one individual to decide to engage in violence.

Similarity of Violent and Nonviolent Activism The analysis supported the earlier finding that the reasoning processes of violent and nonviolent individuals appear to be surprisingly similar (see Chapter 4). Specifically, asserting random belief combinations showed that the number of violent and nonviolent individuals reaching decisions increases proportionally to the number of asserted beliefs (see Figure 19). Based on this, it was tested whether the distributions of the decisions to engage in violent versus nonviolent activism might be the same. Although the distributions differ, this test nevertheless revealed that both distributions have a similar structure (Figure 20).

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Figure 20. Empirical distribution functions associated with decisions by violent and nonviolent individuals (Kolmogorov-Smirnov test).

This similarity was confirmed by investigating correlations between decisions to engage in violent versus nonviolent activism, given a random selection of beliefs: all these were positive or zero (Figure 21). It was further confirmed by a comparison of the number of inferences between each belief and decisions to engage in violent versus nonviolent activism. This showed that there is a correlation of .58 between violent and nonviolent individuals for beliefs held by at least one violent and one nonviolent individual. For beliefs held by either violent or nonviolent individuals, the correlation coefficient is positive but reduced (.40).

172 Chapter 5

Figure 21. Correlations of decisions by violent and nonviolent individuals motivated by random combinations of belief classes.

Positive and Negative Beliefs About the State Environment (Step 2) To further explore differences between violent and nonviolent individuals, the following analysis explored beliefs about the state environment in particular. It proceeded by manually asserting positive and negative belief classes of the super-superclass State Environment, as indicated by the cod-

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ing scheme.7 Th is followed the assumption that the negative beliefs are connected with decisions to take up arms, whereas the positive beliefs are connected with decisions to engage in nonviolent activism. By contrast, the analysis showed that negative beliefs encourage both violent and nonviolent individuals to make decisions. In particular, the largest number of individuals makes decisions based on the assertion of negative beliefs about the state: eleven nonviolent and six violent individuals. By contrast, only three nonviolent and zero violent individuals make decisions based on positive beliefs about the state. The analysis also showed that the number of individuals deciding to engage in violent or nonviolent activism increases proportionally to the number of negative beliefs about the state. Tables 21 and 22 give an overview. The negative classes are located on the left side of the table. The most negative class is located on the very left (Continuation of Aggression by Home State). The positive classes are located to the right of the negative classes. The most positive class is Support by Home State. The numbers of individuals deciding based on certain classes are located on the very right side of the table in the columns NV and V. NV and V indicate the number of individuals deciding to engage in nonviolent activism or to take up arms, respectively, based on certain beliefs about the state environment. The belief classes asserted in each run are marked by X. Each row represents a run in which a certain combination of beliefs was asserted. For example, the second row in the first table shows the numbers of individuals making decisions based on the assertion of all (positive and negative) belief classes. The third row shows the numbers of individuals making decisions based on the assertion of all the negative belief classes. The fourth row shows the numbers of individuals making decisions based on the assertion of all positive belief classes.

Developing an Experimental Set of Beliefs (Step 3) So far, the analysis has shown that decisions to engage in violent versus nonviolent activism involve surprisingly similar beliefs and occur primarily in reaction to negative beliefs about the state environment. Since the goal of this study is to differentiate violent from nonviolent activism, additional steps were taken to deepen the analysis. Specifically, the manual analysis of the belief classes about the state environment (conducted in Step 2) was expanded

unreligious-state

BC_6− x x BC_7− x x BC_2+ x BC_3+ x BC_4+ x BC_5+ x BC_6+ x

x x x x x x

V

BC_1+ x

NV

absence-of-state-structures

strained-living-conditions

BC_5− x x

change-of-home-state

domination-by-previousstate

BC_4− x x religious-state

aggression-by-previousstate

BC_3− x x absence-of-domination-byhome-state

domination-by-home-state

BC_2− x x absence-of-aggression-byhome-state

aggression-by-home-state

BC_1− x x support-by-home-state

continued-aggression-byhome-state

Table 21: Number of Individuals Deciding to Take Up Arms (V) or to Engage in Nonviolent Activism (NV) Based on Superclass Negative Nature of Home State

DEC− 13 11 3 DEC+ 6 6 0

unreligious-state

BC_6− x x BC_7− x x

x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

BC_2+ x BC_3+ x BC_4+ x BC_5+ x BC_6+ x

x x x x x x

x x x x x x

V

BC_1+ x

NV

absence-of-state-structures

strained-living-conditions

BC_5− x x

change-of-home-state

domination-by-previousstate

BC_4− x x

religious-state

aggression-by-previousstate

BC_3− x x

absence-of-dominationby-home-state

domination-by-homestate

BC_2− x x

absence-of-aggression-byhome-state

aggression-by-home-state

BC_1− x x support-by-home-state

continued-aggression-byhome-state

Table 22: Number of Individuals Deciding to Take Up Arms (V) or to Engage in Nonviolent Activism (NV) Based on Superclass Negative Nature of Home State (continued)

DEC− 13 11 3 11 9 6 5 3 0 0 1 3 0 0 0 DEC+ 6 6 0 6 3 2 2 1 1 0 0 0 0 0 0

176 Chapter 5

Table 23: Experimental Set of Beliefs (for Values, see Chapter 5) Main set of experimental classes Super-superclass

Superclass

Belief class

State Environment

Negative Nature of Home State

Continued Aggression by Home State Aggression by Home State Domination by Home State Strained Living Conditions Unreligious State Aggression by Previous Home State Domination by Previous Home State Absence of State Structures Ignorance of Fellow Citizens Support by Home State Religious State Education of the People Absence of Domination by Home State Absence of Aggression by Home State Change of Home State

Negative Nature of Foreign State

Imperialism Absence of Domination by Foreign State

Value −1 −2 −3 −4 −5 −6 −7 −8 −9 +1 +2 +3 +4 +5 +6 −1 +1

in response to two constraints. First, the analysis has so far been constrained by asserting par ticu lar positive as opposed to negative belief combinations. Second, the range of individuals deciding to engage in violent or nonviolent activism based on these belief combinations has been confined to zero to nineteen individuals, rather than zero to twenty-seven individuals (as expected from the sample size of twenty-seven individuals). Based on these limits, the analysis of the beliefs about the state environment was broadened. It was automated to test all possible combinations of beliefs, rather than positive as opposed to negative beliefs. Moreover, beliefs were added, so that zero to twenty-seven individuals make decisions. Specifically, the analysis was automated by adding code that investigated all

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Table 23: (continued ) Additional classes Super-superclass

Superclass

Belief class

Acceptance of State

Strength of State

Weakness of Home State Absence of Strength of Home State

−1 −2

Strength of Resistance

Strength of International Resistance Flexible Structure of Violent Group

+1

Goals Private Issues

Personal Life Personality

Value

+2

Political Goal

+2

Experience of Violence Self-Conviction

−1 +1

possible belief combinations. Beliefs were added by manually analyzing the cognitive maps of the individuals who failed to make decisions in the previous analysis. The entire experimental set consists of a main set of belief classes and an additional set of belief classes. The main set consists of belief classes from the superclasses Negative Nature of State Environment (containing beliefs about the home state) and Negative Nature of State System (containing beliefs about the international state environment). This set includes all the belief classes mentioned in Table 23.8 To investigate all possible combinations of beliefs, the number of experimental beliefs needed to be kept low. This was the case because, as mentioned,

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the number of all possible combinations of beliefs is two to the power of the number of experimental beliefs. This means there are trillions of combinations of beliefs related to all belief classes identified by the earlier analysis. Indeed, there are already 131,072 combinations of the 17 beliefs mentioned above, and running the program on them lasted about four hours.9 Adding more beliefs to the experimental set would have significantly burdened the analysis. For example, running the program on the 25 beliefs related to the environment would have involved testing 33,554,432 combinations and would have lasted several days. However, even disregarding this inconvenience, none of the remaining beliefs were earlier found to be connected with large numbers of individuals deciding to engage in violent or nonviolent activism. Consequently, it was unnecessary to conduct such an analysis. The set of additional belief classes was developed by identifying and studying the eight cognitive maps of the individuals who do not decide to engage in violent or nonviolent activism when asserting the main set of beliefs. It is shown by Table 23. Specifically, the set of additional belief classes was developed following two main criteria. Recall that the purpose of the additional set was to motivate zero to twenty-seven individuals to make decisions. (rather than zero to nineteen individuals), while maintaining the focus on the main set of beliefs about the state environment. The first criterion was to ensure that based on the assertion of both additional and main beliefs, all twenty-seven individuals decide to engage in violent and nonviolent activism. Th is ensured that the additional beliefs actually served the purpose of expanding the range to twenty-seven individuals making decisions. The second criterion was that when asserting the additional beliefs by themselves, zero individuals decide to engage in violent or nonviolent activism. This ensured that the beliefs of the main set were necessary for individuals to reach decisions. It is interesting to note that the cognitive maps show that none of the additional belief classes is frequently directly connected with decisions. Rather, they are indirectly connected with decisions. This is also the case for almost all the beliefs in the main set. Because of this, the analysis promises to identify chains of beliefs that motivate decisions to take up arms, and that represent the mechanisms underlying political violence. Several beliefs of the additional set belong to superclasses about the strength of the state and of the individuals—beliefs that were found to be of little importance by the previous step of the analysis. The additional set shows

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that these beliefs matter in combination with beliefs about the state environment. Such a role is also observed concerning the additional beliefs in the superclasses addressing violent means. Their inclusion in the additional set shows that these beliefs matter in combination with beliefs about the state environment.

Differentiating Violent from Nonviolent Activism (Steps 4 and 5) In the next step of the analysis (Step 4), the program analyzed the experimental belief classes to further investigate the difference between decisions to engage in violent versus nonviolent activism. As mentioned, this analysis was automated. Specifically, each run corresponded to the assertion of a belief combination of the experimental set, so that the program was run 131,072 times.10 The results were summarized by a matrix (Step 5). This matrix, which is shown in Figure 22, identifies the belief combinations that best differentiate decisions to take up arms from decisions to engage in nonviolent activism. Specifically, it does this by showing how many belief combinations (center; the total is 131,072) encourage violent as opposed to nonviolent individuals to make decisions. The numbers of individuals deciding to engage in violent versus nonviolent activism are shown separately on the top row (nonviolent activism: maximum of fourteen individuals) and in the left column (political violence: maximum of thirteen individuals). The number of belief combinations motivating decisions is shown by the center. The following figure shows the matrix. Appendix 1 explains the results indicated by this matrix in detail. The matrix supports the earlier finding that the beliefs connected to decisions to engage in violent versus nonviolent activism are surprisingly similar. This is indicated by the zero entries in the positions of the most different numbers of individuals making decisions (located in the upper right and lower left of the matrix). For example, the matrix shows that there are zero belief combinations based on which thirteen individuals decide to take up arms as opposed to zero individuals deciding to engage in nonviolent activism (lower left corner); and that there are zero belief combinations based on which fourteen individuals decide to engage in nonviolent activism as opposed to zero individuals deciding to take up arms.

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0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13

0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 8 48 96 104 128 104 24 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 8 80 192 264 320 296 120 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 8 40 72 144 344 608 544 552 248 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 48 136 208 416 984 672 872 248 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 16 104 304 368 560 1192 880 960 224 0 0 0 0 0 0 16 96 320 704 1024 1392 2288 1840 1024 256 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 112 448 912 1360 2048 3504 2688 1088 128 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 240 704 1312 2816 4400 2752 576 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 32 208 720 2832 4752 5216 1920 192 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 16 112 560 1712 5344 6432 4192 960 128 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 32 224 736 2976 6656 5632 1792 384 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 128 768 4352 6656 3200 256 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 384 4608 5248 1024 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 2048 2048

Figure 22. Matrix identifying the most different numbers of individuals deciding to engage in violent versus nonviolent activism (see Appendix 1 for further elaborations on this matrix).

By contrast, the largest difference of individuals—identified from all of the 131,072 belief combinations—is only six. This is a very low number given that there are thirteen violent and fourteen nonviolent individuals. In the matrix, two of the cells indicating this small difference are marked by a gray background and bold numbers: located in the upper center, there is a cell identifying twenty-four belief combinations based on which six individuals decide to engage in nonviolent activism and zero individuals decide to take up arms; in the middle right, there is a cell identifying 128 belief combinations based on which twelve individuals decide to engage in nonviolent activism and six individuals decide to take up arms. It is also important to note that the number of belief combinations based on which the most different numbers of individuals make decisions is comparatively low. Specifically, the most different numbers range from twentyfour belief combinations (as shown by the cell indicating that six individuals decide to engage in nonviolent activism, and zero decide to take up arms; located in upper center) to 256 belief combinations (as shown by the cell indicating that eleven individuals decide to engage in nonviolent activism, and five decide to take up arms; located in the right center). By contrast, there are 6,656 belief combinations based on which ten individuals decide to take up arms and eleven to engage in nonviolent activism, or 2,048 belief combinations based on which all twenty-seven individuals make decisions.

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Beliefs Motivating and Nonviolent Activism (Step 5 continued) The following analysis applied filters to translate the numbers of belief combinations inside the matrix into the names of belief classes that constitute these combinations. An example of such a filter is shown by Appendix 1. The analysis showed that there are four types of belief combinations that encourage or prevent individuals from deciding to engage in violent or nonviolent activism (marked by bold numbers and a dark background in the matrix above): 1. First, there are belief combinations preventing all individuals from deciding to engage in violent or nonviolent activism (zero decisions by both violent and nonviolent individuals). This corresponds to the absence of violent and nonviolent activism. 2. Second, there are belief combinations encouraging a small number of individuals to decide to engage in nonviolent activism, but no individuals to decide to take up arms (six decisions by nonviolent individuals and zero decisions by violent individuals). This corresponds to a minimum of nonviolent activism. 3. Third, there are belief combinations allowing a small number of individuals to decide to take up arms and a larger number of individuals to decide to engage in nonviolent activism (six decisions by violent individuals and twelve decisions by nonviolent individuals). This corresponds to a minimum of violence. 4. Fourth, there are belief combinations encouraging all individuals to decide to engage in violent or nonviolent activism (thirteen decisions by violent individuals and fourteen decisions by nonviolent individuals). Th is corresponds to a maximum of violent and nonviolent activism. The analysis confirmed that the number of individuals deciding to engage in violent or nonviolent activism grows proportionally to the number of negative beliefs about the state environment, and to the strength of those beliefs. It showed that no individuals make decisions based on positive and neutral beliefs about the state, such as the belief that the state supports them (belief class Support by Home State). By contrast, it showed that all individuals make decisions based on beliefs that the state is aggressive (belief class Aggression by Home State) and oppressive (belief class Domination by Home State).

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It also indicated that nonviolent individuals may make decisions based on the belief that there are environmental strains such as economic deprivation or a lack of education (belief class Strained Living Conditions). By contrast, it indicates that violent individuals do not make decisions based on this belief, indicating that violence is a response to aggressive state behav ior in particular.

Absence of Violence and Nonviolent Activism (Belief Combinations of Type 1)

The matrix in Figure 22 shows that only eight of all 131,072 belief combinations motivate no individuals to make a decision to engage in violent or nonviolent activism. The fi lter identified the beliefs constituting these eight belief combinations. It showed that the beliefs preventing individuals from making decisions are positive or neutral beliefs about the state. Specifically, the fi lter indicates that the belief combinations motivating no individuals to make decisions involve only three belief classes:11 Support by Home State, Religious State, and Change of Home State. Support by Home State is the strongest positive belief class in the superclass Negative Nature of Home State. Religious State is the fourth strongest positive belief, while Change of Home State is the least positive belief in this superclass. It might be surprising that none of the remaining positive beliefs prevent individuals from making decisions. However, the remaining beliefs negate negative aspects of the state, and therefore still imply the possibility that the state could be negative. Two examples are the belief classes Absence of Aggression by Home State and Absence of Domination by Home State. The results therefore indicate that even considering the possibility that the state may be aggressive in theory while it is not in reality can encourage individuals to take up arms or to engage in nonviolent activism.

Maximum Occurrence of Violence and Nonviolent Activism (Belief Combinations of Type 4)

The matrix also shows that all individuals make decisions based on 2,048 belief combinations. Since the total number of combinations is 131,072, this number might appear low. However, bearing in mind that there are only eight

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combinations based on which no individuals reach decisions, 2,048 can be considered a comparably high number. The fi lter showed that all the beliefs constituting these 2,048 combinations contain negative beliefs about the state. Specifically, the analysis identified six beliefs that are included by all of the 2,048 combinations: Aggression by Home State, Domination by Home State, Unreligious State, Religious State, Strained Living Conditions, and Absence of Domination by Home State. Aggression by Home State and Domination by Home State are the second and third strongest negative beliefs in the superclass Negative Aspects of Home State, while Strained Living Conditions and Unreligious State are the fourth and fift h strongest. By contrast, Religious State and Absence of Domination by Home State are positive beliefs about the state. In fact, Religious State and Absence of Domination by Home State are the opposite beliefs to Unreligious State and Domination by Home State.12 One might assume that the negative beliefs encourage all individuals to decide to take up arms, whereas the positive beliefs encourage all individuals to engage in nonviolent activism. However, recall that I abstracted both Unreligious State and Absence of Domination by Home State from interviews with violent and nonviolent individuals (see Chapter 4). Because of this, it is incorrect to assume the positive beliefs are related to the decisions of nonviolent individuals, and it becomes necessary to explore the belief chains by which these beliefs motivate decisions to draw further conclusions. The next step of the analysis is dedicated to this task. It is impor tant to recall that Religious State is also contained by the belief combinations preventing individuals from making decisions. In fact, the fi lter also showed that some of the 2,048 combinations contain the beliefs Change of Home State and Support by Home State—the remaining two beliefs constituting the combinations preventing all individuals from making decisions. This emphasizes the importance of studying belief combinations rather than isolated beliefs, and of exploring which beliefs together encourage individuals to make decisions. The next step of the analysis provides further information about this important aspect. Minimum of Violent Versus Nonviolent Activism (Belief Combinations of Types 2 and 3)

The matrix shows that the biggest difference between decisions to engage in violent versus nonviolent activism is only six individuals (of thirteen violent

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and fourteen nonviolent individuals). Specifically, this difference is related to a minimum of nonviolent activism versus the absence of violence (Type 2: six nonviolent versus zero violent individuals make decisions), and a minimum of violent versus nonviolent activism (Type 3: six violent versus twelve nonviolent individuals make decisions). Again, the filter identified the beliefs that constitute these combinations.13 It suggests that individuals begin to decide to take up arms based on more threatening beliefs about the state environment, particularly about state oppression. By contrast, individuals begin to decide to engage in nonviolent activism based on less threatening beliefs about the state environment, particularly about strained living conditions such as economic deprivation and a lack of education. Specifically, the filter showed that the most negative belief contained by all combinations connected to a minimum of violence (Type 3) was Domination by Home State. By contrast, all combinations related to a minimum of nonviolent activism (Type 2) contained the less negative beliefs Strained Living Conditions, Absence of State Structures, and Education of the People.14 Table 24 summarizes these findings in comparison with the analysis of the belief combinations based on which zero as opposed to all individuals make decisions. V indicates the number of individuals deciding to take up arms and NV the number deciding to engage in nonviolent activism. The most negative beliefs are marked in bold and placed on top of the cells containing the beliefs. The combinations based on which zero individuals make decisions are summarized in the left column; the combinations based on which all individuals make decisions are summarized in the right column; and the combinations based on which the most different numbers of individuals make decisions are located in the two middle columns.

Unrelated Beliefs (Types 2 and 3)

In addition, the filter also identified beliefs that are not contained by any of the combinations differentiating violent from nonviolent individuals (Types 2 and 3). With one exception, all these beliefs are negative. Specifically, they include the most negative beliefs, Aggression by Home State, which had been found to be connected with combinations based on which all individuals make decisions (Type 4), and Continuation of Aggression by Home State.

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Table 24: Beliefs Underlying Violent and Nonviolent Activism: Absence, Minimum, and Maximum Occurrences (for numbers of values and strength, see Table 13) Absence of violent and nonviolent activism

Minimum of nonviolent activism

Minimum of violence

Maximum of violent and nonviolent activism

Beliefs contained by all combinations of Type 1 (0 V and 0 NV)

Beliefs contained by all combinations of Type 2 (0 V vs. 6 NV)

Beliefs contained by all combinations of Type 3 (6 V vs. 12 NV)

Beliefs contained by all combinations of Type 4 (13 V and 14 NV)

positive beliefs

positive and moderately negative beliefs

positive and moderately negative beliefs

negative and some moderately positive beliefs

Support by Home State (+1)

Strained Living Conditions (−4)

Domination by Home State (−3)

Aggression by Home State (−2)

Religious State (+2)

Aggression by Previous State (−6)

Strained Living Conditions (−4)

Domination by Home State (−3)

Absence of State Structures (−8)

Absence of State Structures (−8)

Strained Living Conditions (−4)

Absence of Domination by Foreign State (+1)

Absence of Domination by Home State (+4)

Unreligious State (−5)

Education of the People (+3)

Education of the People (+3)

Change of Home State (+6)

Religious State (+2) Absence of Domination by Home State (+4)

It is also interesting to note that Unreligious State is not contained by any of the combinations based on which the most different numbers of violent and nonviolent individuals make decisions. Th is indicates that religion cannot differentiate between violent and nonviolent individuals and confirms the earlier finding that religion does not explain violence. The analysis moreover found that Domination by Home State is not contained by any of the combinations related to a minimum of nonviolent activism and the absence of political violence (Type 2). Rather, it is only related to the combinations underlying a minimum of political violence (Type 3). This confirms that decisions to take up arms are based on more negative beliefs than decisions to engage in nonviolent activism.

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Overlaps (All Types)

The analysis also identified overlaps between the different belief combinations presented so far. These overlaps confirm that the beliefs based on which individuals decide to engage in violent versus nonviolent activism are surprisingly similar. First, there is an overlap between the main beliefs based on which all individuals make decisions (Type 4), on the one hand, and based on which the most different numbers of violent and nonviolent individuals make decisions (Types 2 and 3), on the other hand. Specifically, Strained Living Conditions is contained by all belief combinations based on which all individuals make decisions (Type 4) and based on which the most different numbers of violent and nonviolent individuals make decisions (Types 2 and 3). Second, there is an overlap between the main beliefs based on which no individuals make a decision (Type 1), on the one hand, and the complementary beliefs based on which the most different numbers of violent and nonviolent individuals make decisions (Types 2 and 3), on the other hand. Specifically, all of the beliefs based on which no individual makes a decision (Type 1) are contained by some of the combinations based on which the most different numbers of violent and nonviolent individuals make decisions (Types 2 and 3).

Belief Chains Motivating Decisions to Engage in Violent and Nonviolent Activism (Step 6) The following analysis explored the reasoning processes by which the four types of belief combinations encourage or prevent individuals from making decisions. As explained in Chapter 1, these reasoning processes are modeled as chains of beliefs, and represent the logical microlevel mechanisms underlying violent and nonviolent activism. In total, the analysis identified ten types of reasoning processes, representing five mechanisms connected to political violence and five connected to nonviolent activism. The analysis shows that both violent and nonviolent individuals are motivated by the belief that the state is aggressive, indicating that they act in selfdefense. The reasoning processes connected to political violence show that the belief that the state is aggressive may motivate individuals to take up arms by itself (V-Mechanism 1), or in combination with additional beliefs that state aggression is going to continue (V-Mechanism 2); that using violence can im-

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prove the state (V-Mechanism 3); that it is absolutely necessary to transform the state (V-Mechanism 4); and that the consequences of using physical force are acceptable (V-Mechanism 5). They also show that the belief that the state is aggressive is so significant that individuals who hold it may decide to take up arms even if they also believe that the state is stronger than they are, and that they will suffer severe consequences from engaging in violence. The analysis moreover shows that the belief that the state is aggressive may motivate individuals to engage in nonviolent activism. Specifically, the reasoning processes connected to nonviolent activism show that the belief that the state is aggressive may motivate individuals to engage in nonviolent activism in combination with additional beliefs that violence cannot remove state aggression (NV-Mechanism 1); that the consequences of violence are unacceptable (NV-Mechanism 2); that the structures provided by the state constitute the basis of their lives (NV-Mechanism 3); and that the people support nonviolent activism (NV-Mechanism 4). They also show that nonviolent individuals may be motivated by the belief that there is economic deprivation in their direct environment (NV-Mechanism 5)—a motivation usually attributed to violent individuals. Finally, they show that the belief that the state is aggressive may encourage nonviolent individuals to make decisions, although they need not believe that their activity is going to have any effect on state aggression. These mechanisms were identified through a visualization tool, drawing on the MATLAB graphviz.15 This tool produced pictures of the entire belief chains activated by the belief combinations. It also produced inference counts that identified the belief connections that were activated in most cognitive maps. Thus, it became possible to identify typical reasoning processes connected to decisions to engage in violent and nonviolent activism.16 Table 25 gives an overview of the analysis. The remainder of this chapter presents each of the mechanisms, and concludes with a brief summary of the results of the computational analysis.

Fighting State Aggression (Violence Mechanism 1) During demonstrations, it was mandatory that one would be beaten up This was normal It was normal that the bat came down on one’s head

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Table 25: Identification of Reasoning Processes Underlying Violent Versus Nonviolent Activism Outstep

Step 1

Step 2

Step 3

Type 1 belief combination Type 2 belief combination Type 3 belief combination Type 4 belief combination

Assert a combination type

Obtain illustrations of the maps of the individuals who make decisions, including inference counts

Manual analysis of belief chains activated by asserted belief combinations

It was also clear that this wasn’t an isolated occurrence This was not a singular event . . . [At the beginning] one was trying to defend oneself One wasn’t prepared One first needed to digest this . . . At the beginning we went without stones But then we made the bitter experience of always returning with bruises and black eyes The tiniest violation of a rule was always immediately answered with the most extreme violence So the question of not using violence did not pose itself —RAF member As shown by this quote, individuals who decide to take up arms by this type of reasoning process believe that the state is aggressive (as indicated by the individual’s statement about being beaten up). The main belief of this reasoning process is Aggression by Home State—a belief indicating either an attack on the individual himself or his direct or indirect observation of an attack on a fellow citizen (in his direct environment or in the news). Unlike the following mechanisms related to violence, this mechanism does not depend on additional beliefs that the state is becoming increasingly threatening (V-Mechanism 2), or beliefs that do not directly address the state (V-Mechanisms 3 and 4). Instead, it shows that the belief the state is aggressive can be sufficient to encourage peaceful individuals to take up arms.

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Figure 23 illustrate this reasoning process. Specifically, it shows excerpts of the cognitive maps of two violent individuals from Germany and Egypt. For illustrative reasons, I have cut the first excerpt into two components. The upper part shows how the belief that the state is oppressing its citizens (belief class Domination by Home State) helps encourage an individual to become politically active. Specifically, Domination by Home State is shown to be an antecedent of the belief that the individual’s private peaceful activities are failing (belief class Absence of Success of Peaceful Activity). Absence of Success in turn encourages the individual to become politically active (belief class Peaceful Activity against the State). Together Peaceful Activity against the State and Domination by Home State encourage the individual to continue engaging in peaceful activity against the state (belief class Continuation of Peaceful Activity against the State). The lower part of this excerpt shows how adding Aggression by Home State changes this reasoning process, specifically by encouraging the individual to believe that his peaceful activity against the state is insufficient (belief class Insufficiency of Peaceful Activity Against Home State). In combination with other beliefs that are triggered by Aggression by Home State—for example, that he wants to transform the state (belief class Transformatory Goals17) and that he has a duty to act against the state (belief class Duty for Action against the State)— Insufficiency of Peaceful Activity Against Home State is indirectly connected with a decision to take up arms. The second excerpt illustrates a similar impact of adding Aggression by Home State to the reasoning process: it shows that another individual believes that his peaceful activities against the state are insufficient (belief class Absence of Success of Peaceful Activity Against Home State) based on the belief that his state is oppressive (belief class Domination by Home State). However, he also only makes a decision to take up arms based on the belief that his state is aggressive.

The Last Resort of Defense Against an Increasingly Threatening State (Violence Mechanism 2) The government attacked us I tried peaceful ways at first In the society, in the mosque, in the university

Figure 23. V-mechanism 1: state aggression. (3 graphs)

Figure 23. (Continued)

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Then we changed very easily from peaceful means to violence Why? It was prohibited to talk, in the mosque, in the society, and in the university We wanted the daʿwa We wanted to change Sadat peacefully Didn’t Sadat support the Islamists? He only did that to differentiate himself from Nasser, and to gain clout He gave us hope at first But he did not fulfi ll our hope [In 1981] he captured 1,536 of our people That’s when our leaders decided to kill him —Member of al-Jamaʿat al-Islamiyya As indicated by this quote, individuals who reach a decision to take up arms by this type of reasoning process believe the state is becoming increasingly aggressive—so aggressive that they eventually have no other choice but to take up arms. The main beliefs activating this reasoning process are Aggression by Home State or Domination by Home State (as indicated by the individual’s statements about the arrests by the government), and the major belief necessary for reaching a decision to take up arms is Absence of Peaceful Means (as indicated by the individual’s statements on prohibitions of such means). Specifically, the analysis shows that this type of reasoning process involves certain connections between beliefs that represent the increasing threat posed by the state: the connection from Domination by Home State to Aggression by Home State, and the connection from Aggression by Home State to Continuation of Aggression by Home State. Believing in such an increasingly threatening state environment encourages individuals to believe that there is no other means but physical force to confront the state (belief class Absence of Peaceful Means). Absence of Peaceful Means is the last belief in this chain, and directly connected to the decision to take up arms. Figure  24 (Part 1) illustrates this process. It was obtained from the cognitive map of a violent individual from Germany. Figure 24 (Part 2, upper chain) also shows that Absence of Peaceful Means may be a consequent of an additional belief about one’s engagement in peaceful activity against the state (belief class Peaceful Activity against Home State), or

Figure 24. V-mechanism 2: the last resort of defense. (3 graphs)

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that it might be accompanied by a belief that the individual wants to transform the state (belief class Transformatory Goals). All chains of Figure 24 contain beliefs that the state is a threat, confirming the relevance of state aggression in particular, and of the state environment more generally. Figure 24 (Part 2), shows excerpts from the cognitive maps of a violent individual from Germany (upper), and of a violent individual from Egypt (lower excerpt). Note that the lower excerpt involves the belief that nonviolent activism is insufficient to confront the state (belief class Insufficiency of Nonviolent Activity), which is slightly weaker than the belief that there are no peaceful means to confront the state (belief class Absence of Peaceful Means).

Improvement of Threatening State (Violence Mechanism 3) I thought that one could create a different balance of power Today there are free spaces because of us . . . [We wanted] to change the balance of power Like a chain of pearls around the whole world . . . The police were arming because of us So we could be more offensive Some of us were beaten down but I saw this [process] in its entirety Later, people abroad knew about us even though we were such a small group —RAF member As indicated by this quote, individuals who decide to take up arms by this type of reasoning process believe violence can improve their state environment. Th is goes beyond believing they can defend themselves against the state (V-Mechanism 2) to believing they can actually reduce or remove the threat posed by the state. The main belief activating this belief chain is Domination by Home State (indicated by the individual’s statement on arming of the police), which is directly connected to Aggression by Home State (indicated by the individual’s statement on people being beaten down)—a connection representing an increasing threat posed by the state. The main belief allowing individuals to reach a decision to engage in violent rather than nonviolent activism is Possibility of Reaching Goals by Violence (indicated by the

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individual’s statements on creating a different balance of power and being well known abroad). More specifically, the analysis shows that this reasoning process has three main features. First, it addresses an increasingly threatening state environment. Second, as implied by Possibility of Reaching Goals by Violence, it involves additional beliefs about goals—particularly Transformatory Goals, which aim to transform the state in its entirety, or Political Goals, which aim to change par ticular politics exercised by the state. Third, it includes beliefs about individuals’ own strength (belief classes Self-Confidence and Strength of Resistance Against Home State) and the weakness of the state (belief classes Weakness of Home State and Absence of Strength of Home State), which encourage the individuals to believe they can change the state. The analysis also shows that the additional beliefs about goals and strength may be consequents of beliefs about the threatening state environment, and about state aggression in particular. This confirms the importance of state aggression to political violence. The following figure illustrates this reasoning process by four belief chains. The first two chains represent excerpts from two different cognitive maps, which are almost identical. The first chain is contained by the cognitive map of a violent individual from Germany, and the second chain by the cognitive map of a violent individual from Egypt. The third and fourth chains show excerpts of cognitive maps by violent individuals from Egypt (third chain) and Germany (fourth chain). The third and fourth chains add information on beliefs about the individuals’ strength and the state’s weakness. Specifically, they show that these beliefs may be consequents of negative beliefs about the state environment. Beliefs indicating the individuals’ own strength (belief class Self-Conviction), or the strength of the resistance against the state (belief class Strength of Resistance Against State), may be based on the belief that the state is aggressive (belief class Aggression by Home State) or that there are environmental strains such as economic deprivation or a lack of education (belief class Strained Living Conditions). Moreover, the belief that the state is weak (belief class Weakness of Home State) may be based on the belief that the state has changed (Change of Home State). Note that the lower chain additionally involves the belief Absence of Peaceful Means Against State, which confi rms Violence Mechanism 2. To reduce complexity, the antecedents of Absence of Peaceful Means are not shown by the fourth chain.

Figure 25. V-Mechanism 3: improvement of threatening state. (4 graphs)

Figure 25. (Continued)

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Absolute Necessity of Transforming the State (Violence Mechanism 4) I was very young I was dreaming, I was dreaming of an Islamic state . . . This [dream] was more impor tant to me than anything else —Member of al-Jihad As indicated by this quote, individuals who decide to take up arms by this type of reasoning process believe that it is absolutely necessary to transform the state. The main belief in this reasoning process is Absolute Priority of Transformatory Goals, which may be directly connected with a decision to engage in violence. Like the previous mechanisms related to violence, this mechanism depends on additional beliefs about aggressive state behav ior. More specifically, the analysis shows that individuals may believe in Absolute Priority of Transformatory Goals based on a combination of other beliefs that they want to transform the state (belief class Transformatory Goals) and that the state is weak (belief class Absence of Strength of Home State). The following figure, which represents an excerpt from a cognitive map of a violent individual from Egypt, illustrates such a reasoning process. Note that it also underlines the importance of the state environment, because it depends on additional beliefs that the state is oppressive and aggressive (belief classes Domination by Home State and Aggression by Home State). The analysis also shows that religion may play a complementary role to this type of reasoning process. In fact, this is the only reasoning process discovered by the analysis by which religion may contribute to a decision to take up arms. Specifically, the analysis finds that Transformatory Goals may be based on the belief that the state is not religious (belief class Unreligious State). In combination with the beliefs that the state is not strong (belief class Absence of Strength of Home State) but that the individual is strong (belief class Self-Conviction), Transformatory Goals may encourage individuals to believe in Absolute Priority of Transformatory Goals. The following figure, based on the cognitive map of a violent individual from Egypt, illustrates this reasoning process. Note that this is an excerpt from a cognitive map consisting of 22 beliefs, whose purpose is to illustrate the role of Unreligious State. Note that Absolute Priority of Transformatory Goals is not directly connected to a decision, which depends on additional beliefs about state aggression.

Figure 26. V-mechanism 4: absolute necessity of transforming state. (2 graphs)

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Acceptance of Negative Consequences of Physical Force (Violence Mechanism 5) There was an insane superpower trying to suppress the people by terror and torture We saw that we were lost There was an atmosphere of death [In Stockholm] we said we will die here We would have been destroyed anyway I saw: either you fight and lose Or you don’t fight and lose So it was obvious that you fought —RAF member This quote indicates that individuals may decide to take up arms even though they believe that they will suffer severe consequences, and possibly die, if they do so. This is the only type of reasoning process discovered by the analysis that centers on beliefs that immediately discourage, rather than encourage, individuals from taking up arms. The analysis shows that individuals may nevertheless reach a decision to do so because they also hold the belief that their state is aggressive—a finding that provides strong support for the earlier observation that beliefs about state aggression matter most to the decisions of violent individuals. More specifically, the analysis shows that individuals believe that they will suffer negative consequences if they use physical force against the state (belief class Negative Consequences of Violence) in connection with beliefs about their own strength compared with the state. Surprisingly, the analysis finds that individuals may decide to take up arms even though they believe the state to be stronger than they are. The belief that the state is strong (belief class Strength by Home State) may be an antecedent of Negative Consequences of Violence. In combination with the belief that their peaceful activity against the state is insufficient (belief class Insufficiency of Peaceful Activity Against State), Negative Consequences of Violence may encourage individuals to accept the negative consequences of using physical force against the state (belief class Acceptance of Negative Consequences of Violence). This reasoning process is illustrated by the upper part of Figure 27, representing an excerpt of a cognitive map of a violent individual from Germany.

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Figure 27. V-mechanism 5: acceptance of negative consequences of violence.

On the other hand, the analysis also finds that Acceptance of Negative Consequences of Violence might be based on beliefs that the individual is strong (belief class Self-Confidence) and the state weak (belief class Absence of Strength of Home State). In combination with individuals’ beliefs that the state is aggressive (belief class Aggression by Home State), and that they want

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to transform the state (belief class Transformatory Goals), this can encourage individuals to take up arms. This reasoning process is illustrated by the lower part of Figure 27, which shows an excerpt from a cognitive map of a violent individual from Egypt.

Impossibility of Ending State Aggression by Physical Force (Nonviolent Activism Mechanism 1) What is the use of violence against the state? Violence only creates more evil, more violence —Muslim Brother As indicated by this quote, individuals who decide to engage in nonviolent activism by this type of reasoning process believe that physical force cannot help them reach their goals. This stands in contrast to other reasoning processes of nonviolent individuals, which are based on the belief that nonviolent activism can help them improve their environment (NV-Mechanism 5). Instead, it shows that the belief that physical force is not a means to realize one’s goals can be sufficient to encourage individuals to engage in nonviolent activism. This also indicates that, surprisingly, individuals may decide to engage in nonviolent activism without necessarily believing that this behav ior is effective to confront the state. The main belief activating this reasoning process is Aggression by Home State, and the major belief necessary for reaching a decision to engage in nonviolent activism (rather than political violence) is the belief that physical force cannot help achieve one’s goals (belief class Impossibility of Reaching Goals by Violence). Specifically, Aggression by Home State may encourage individuals to believe physical force is available as a means to confront the state (belief class Possibility for Violence). In combination with Impossibility of Reaching Goals by Violence, Possibility for Violence is however connected with a decision to engage in nonviolent activism rather than political violence. Impossibility of Reaching Goals by Violence is in turn based on the belief to want to transform the state (belief class Transformatory Goals), and the belief that their fellow citizens are ignorant (belief class Ignorance of Fellow Citizens). Surprisingly, the analysis also shows that Transformatory Goals may be based on the belief that the state is not religious (belief class Unreligious State).

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This emphasizes that religion may play a complementary role to nonviolent activism. It is important to recall that the same role was observed concerning political violence. In fact, V-Mechanism 4 showed that violent individuals may also hold the belief to want to transform the state based on the belief that the state is not religious. This underlines that the reasoning processes of violent and nonviolent individuals are surprisingly similar. It also emphasizes that Islam does not explain violence. Finally, Ignorance of Fellow Citizens confi rms the importance of the people to decisions to engage in nonviolent activism. In this reasoning process, Ignorance of Fellow citizens is in turn based on Strained Living Conditions. Figure 28 illustrates this reasoning process. It shows an excerpt of a cognitive map of an individual who engaged in nonviolent activism in Egypt.

Rejection of Consequences of Physical Force (Nonviolent Activism Mechanism 2) I knew Ulrike Meinhof and Gudrun Ensslin well I told them to abandon this ridiculous fight I thought that they would soon be chased like rabbits And that they would have no chance to survive In my opinion, the student movement was going to collapse if the RAF continued to push for this atmosphere of civil war —Leader of Socialist German Student Union This quote indicates that individuals who decide to engage in nonviolent activism by this type of reasoning process believe that physical force is available as a means (as indicated by the individual’s comments on Ulrike Meinhof and Gudrun Ensslin, two leading members of the Red Army Faction), but that it has consequences that are unacceptable (as indicated by his comments on chances to survive and on the student movement’s collapse). The main belief activating this reasoning process is Aggression by Home State, and the main belief necessary to reach a decision to engage in nonviolent activism rather than violence is Unacceptability of Consequences of Violence. The analysis moreover shows that individuals may believe that the consequences of physical force are unacceptable (belief class Unacceptability of Consequences of Violence) based on three belief chains. All these chains

Figure 28. NV-mechanism 1: impossibility of ending state aggression by violence. (2 graphs)

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involve beliefs about the observation of political violence, either by direct experience (belief class Experience of Violence) or indirect experience (belief class Existence of Violence). This shows that observing political violence can play a crucial role for deciding to engage in nonviolent activism. The first chain shows that individuals may hold beliefs that their state is becoming increasingly threatening, as indicated by the belief connections between Aggression by Home State and Continuation of Aggression by Home State. Aggression by Home State encourages them to also believe that there is a possibility of using physical force against the state (belief class Possibility for Violence), and that there are people who are already using physical force against the state (belief class Existence of Violence). Together, these beliefs may encourage individuals to believe that using physical force has negative consequences (belief class Negative Consequences of Violence), which may in turn encourage them to believe that these consequences are unacceptable (belief class Unacceptability of Consequences of Violence). The upper chain of Figure 29 illustrates this reasoning process. It shows an excerpt of a cognitive map by a nonviolent individual from Egypt. The second chain shows that individuals may believe that they have experienced violence (belief class Experience of Violence) based on the belief that their state is aggressive (belief class Aggression by Home State). Experience of Violence may in turn encourage them to believe that the consequences of  physical force are unacceptable (belief class Unacceptability of Consequences of Violence). The middle chain of Figure 29 illustrates this reasoning process. It shows an excerpt of a cognitive map by a nonviolent individual from Germany. The third chain shows that the belief that the state is strong (belief class Strength of Home State) may encourage individuals to believe that using physical force has negative consequences (belief class Negative Consequences of Violence). In combination with Experience of Violence, Negative Consequences of Violence may encourage individuals to believe that the consequences of physical force are unacceptable (belief class Unacceptability of Consequences of Violence). Further, Experience of Violence can be based on the belief that one’s peaceful activity against the state is unsuccessful (belief class Absence of Success of Peaceful Activity Against State, which in turn is based on the beliefs Strength of Home State and Peaceful Activity Against Home State). The lower chain of Figure 29 illustrates this reasoning process. It represents an excerpt of a cognitive map by a nonviolent individual from Germany.

Figure 29. NV-mechanism 2: rejecting consequences of violence. (3 graphs)

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Acceptance of State Structures in Spite of State Aggression (Nonviolent Activism Mechanism 3) Were you among those people beaten up by the police? (Smiles) Of course I have been imprisoned three times In 2003 . . . 2006 . . . and 2007 I have been tortured Why have you stayed in the Muslim Brotherhood? Because it is my duty It is a moral question . . . I respect the constitution and the state . . . I support the system in every possible way The system is our structure, our basis —Muslim Brother As indicated by this quote, individuals who reach a decision to engage in nonviolent activism by this type of reasoning process believe that the structure provided by the state constitutes the basis of their lives. They believe that this structure is so important that it must be respected even if the government attacks the citizens. There are two main types of beliefs involved in this reasoning process: Superiority of State Structures, which expresses the individuals’ acceptance of the structure provided by the state (as indicated by the individual’s statement that the system is the basis), and Possibility for Violence or Impossibility of Reaching Goals by Violence, which indicate that the individuals nevertheless consider using physical force against the state. More specifically, the analysis shows that individuals may believe in Superiority of State Structures based on other beliefs about not having structures provided by the state (belief class Absence of State Structures). Particularly, Absence of State Structures can encourage individuals to believe in Superiority of State Structures by beliefs that the absence of the structure provided by the state has bad consequences, such as chaos, or fitna (belief class Negative Consequences of Absence of State Structures). Moreover, the analysis confirms the relevance of state aggression by showing that individuals may be encouraged to consider using physical force against the state (belief classes Impossibility of Reaching Goals by Violence and Possibility for Violence) based on Aggression by Home State (as indicated

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by the individual’s statement on his arrest in the quote above). It furthermore shows that the belief that there are environmental strains such as economic deprivation or a lack of education (belief class Strained Living Conditions) may encourage them to consider using physical force against the state. Figure 30 presents excerpts of the cognitive maps of two individuals who decided to engage in nonviolent activism in Egypt by this type of reasoning process. Note that the reasoning processes that motivate the belief Superiority of State Structures are identical.

Support by the People for Nonviolent Activism (Nonviolent Activism Mechanism 4) I am writing so that society understands me The government attacks me more because of this But the people also see more, and the evilness of the government becomes more and more obvious When I was in prison in 2004, many people were talking about me They supported me I was on TV I won —Muslim Brother This quote shows that even if they have been personally attacked by the state, individuals may decide to engage in nonviolent activism because they believe that the people support this activity. The belief activating this type of reasoning process is Aggression by Home State (as indicated by the individual’s statement on governmental attacks), and the major belief allowing individuals to reach a decision to engage in nonviolent activism is Support by the People for Peaceful Activity Against the State (indicated by the individual’s statement on the people’s reaction to his TV appearance). The analysis shows that Support of People for Peaceful Activity is in turn based on two additional beliefs: the belief that the state is aggressive (Aggression by Home State) and the belief that the individuals are engaging in peaceful activity against the state (belief class Peaceful Activity Against the State). Figure 31, which shows excerpts from the cognitive maps of two nonviolent individuals from Egypt, illustrates this reasoning process.

Figure 30. NV-mechanism 3: acceptance of state structures in spite of state aggression. (2 graphs)

Figure 31. NV-mechanism 4: support by the people. (2 graphs)

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Improvement of Strained Living Conditions (Nonviolent Activism Mechanism 5) Political participation is a way we chose strategically It can bring change Through our presence in parliament we gain a voice There are many uneducated people in Egypt, especially in the countryside Through our presence in politics we show them the situation The people understand this, and will bring the change If we exchanged the French against the Egyptians, what would happen? Everything would be better The French know their voice They know the value of their voice —Muslim Brothers As indicated by these quotes, individuals who reach a decision to engage in nonviolent activism by this type of reasoning process believe that they can improve their environment by this activity. The belief activating this reasoning process is Strained Living Conditions, which addresses the individuals’ observations of environmental strains such as economic deprivation or a lack of education (as indicated by the individual’s statement about uneducated people in the countryside), and the major belief necessary for reaching a decision to engage in nonviolent activism is Possibility of Reaching Goals by Nonviolent Means (as indicated by the individual’s statement that political participation can bring change in the quote above). More specifically, the analysis shows that beliefs about strains such as economic deprivation or a lack of education (belief class Strained Living Conditions) may encourage individuals to believe that they hold goals to improve their environment (belief class Political Goals), and that they become politically active (belief class Peaceful Activity Against State). In combination with Strained Living Conditions, Peaceful Activity Against the State may furthermore encourage them to believe that the people support their activity (belief class Support of the People for Peaceful Activity), which, in combination with Political Goals, may in turn encourage them to believe that it is possible to reach their goals by nonviolent means (belief class Possibility of Reaching

Figure 32. NV-mechanism 5: improvement of strained living conditions. (2 graphs)

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Goals by Nonviolent Means). Moreover, the belief Education of the People may play a supportive role as direct or indirect antecedent of Possibility of Reaching Goals by Nonviolent Means. Figure 32 demonstrates this reasoning process. It consists of two excerpts obtained from the cognitive maps of two individuals who engaged in nonviolent activism in Egypt. The lower chain includes the belief Education of the People.

Conclusions In this chapter, I have presented a computational analysis of cognitive maps constructed from interviews with violent and nonviolent individuals. This analysis has identified the main beliefs motivating decisions to engage in violent or nonviolent activism, as well as ten types of reasoning processes by which these beliefs can encourage individuals to make decisions to take up arms (five mechanisms) or to engage in nonviolent activism (five mechanism). The analysis has shown that both violent and nonviolent individuals act in self-defense: both were found to be primarily motivated by the belief that the state is aggressive. Specifically, I found that all violent and nonviolent individuals make decisions based on beliefs that the state is aggressive and oppressive (Type 4 Belief Combinations). By contrast, I found that no violent or nonviolent individuals make decisions based on positive and neutral beliefs about the state, such as the belief that the state supports them (Type 1 Belief Combinations). Moreover, I found that nonviolent individuals may make decisions based on the belief that there are environmental strains such as economic deprivation or a lack of education (Type 2 Belief Combinations). By contrast, violent individuals were not found to make decisions based on this belief (Type 3 Belief Combinations). This contradicts well-known arguments and indicates that violence is a response to aggressive state behav ior in particular. The analysis identified ten types of reasoning processes that represent the microlevel mechanisms underlying violent and nonviolent activism. These mechanisms confirm that both violent and nonviolent individuals are primarily motivated by the belief that the state is aggressive. They show that this belief is so significant that individuals who hold it may decide to take up arms even if they also believe the state is stronger than they are, and that they will suffer severe consequences from engaging in violence. The mechanisms also

Table 26: Belief Combinations and Belief Chains Underlying Decisions of Violent and Nonviolent Individuals Type of belief combinations

1

2

3

4

Most negative belief class

Change of Home State

Strained Living Conditions

Domination by Home State

Aggression by Home State

Mechanisms underlying violence (V) versus nonviolent activism (NV)

NV-Mechanism 5: Improvement of Strained Living Conditions NV-Mechanism 1: Impossibility of Ending State Aggression by Physical Force NV-Mechanism 2: Rejection of the Consequences of Physical Force NV-Mechanism 3: Acceptance of State Structures in Spite of State Aggression NV-Mechanism 4: Support by the People for Nonviolent Activism V-Mechanism 1: Fighting State Aggression V-Mechanism 2: The Last Resort of Defense Against an Increasingly Threatening State V-Mechanism 3: Improvement of Threatening State V-Mechanism 4: Absolute Necessity of Transforming the State V-Mechanism 5: Acceptance of Negative Consequences of Physical Force

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show that the belief that the state is aggressive may encourage nonviolent individuals to make decisions, although they need not believe that their activity is going to have any effect on state aggression. Finally, they confirm that, contrary to well-known arguments, violent individuals are not motivated by beliefs about Islam, economic deprivation, or interaction with violent groups. These findings suggest that the reasoning processes motivating political violence as opposed to mainstream political behavior are surprisingly similar. In spite of this similarity, the analysis showed that the motivations of violent and nonviolent individuals can be differentiated by particular beliefs about (1) state aggression (violence) versus economic deprivation (nonviolent activism); (2) the continuation of state aggression (violence) versus the impossibility of ending state aggression (nonviolent activism); (3) the acceptability of physical force (violence) versus the unacceptability of the consequences of physical force (nonviolent activism); and (4) the necessity of transforming the state (violence) versus the necessity of keeping the state structures (nonviolent activism). Table 26 summarizes these results; Chapter 6 presents a counterfactual analysis that examines when the individuals would not have decided to take up arms or engage in nonviolent activism.

Chapter 6

Alternative Worlds Without Violence

Question: What would have happened, had the mass arrests not occurred? Answer: Sadat would not have been dead. —Member of al-Jamaʿat al-Islamiyya who participated in the Shura meeting when it was decided to kill the president Are there alternative worlds in which violent individuals would not have decided to take up arms? And if so, what are the features of such alternative worlds? These questions lie at the heart of understanding political violence. Yet their study suffers from severe constraints, as it is impossible to go back in time, change the world, and observe whether violent individuals would have made the same decisions. The study of counterfactuals addresses this problem by assuming the world to have been different and investigating the implications of the assumed differences. In this chapter, I present such a counterfactual analysis, exploring alternative worlds in which violent individuals would not have decided to engage in violence. Specifically, the analysis will systematically intervene on the individuals’ beliefs about the external world and test whether these interventions would have prevented them from deciding to take up arms. This presents a new approach to the study of counterfactuals, which usually directly intervenes on the external world and not on people’s beliefs about the world (Fearon 1991; Sylvan and Majeski 1998; Tetlock and Belkin 1996). As such, it bridges the gap between actors on the one hand and the external world on the other hand, emphasizing that human behav ior does not occur as an automated response to the external world.

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As suggested by the quote above, I find that violent individuals would not have decided to take up arms had they not believed that their state was aggressive. I also find that the majority would not have decided to engage in nonviolent activism in the absence of beliefs about state aggression. Moreover, I identify three mechanisms that would have prevented the individuals from taking up arms in worlds without state aggression, and five mechanisms that would have prevented most individuals from engaging in nonviolent activism in alternative worlds without state aggression, or with less threatening state behav ior. Finally, I show that the absence of beliefs about Islam would not have changed the number of violent individuals who make decisions. By contrast, I find that a few nonviolent individuals would have been motivated to make decisions in alternative worlds by the belief that their government was not religious. This confirms that Islam does not explain violence. These findings confirm that violent individuals act in self-defense, and take up arms primarily in response to state aggression. As opposed to what is expected from other studies of violence, my results suggest that violence is neither a response to economic deprivation, nor access to violent groups, nor Islam. Furthermore, the analysis supports findings from earlier chapters that the reasoning processes of violent and nonviolent individuals are surprisingly similar. This implies that violent individuals are not crazy religious fanatics, and that the reasoning processes motivating their behav ior are very similar to those motivating nonviolent activism. The analysis also has implications for the study of counterfactuals. Specifically, it puts into perspective existing approaches that treat alternative worlds as entirely separated from the real world (see Chapter 1) by identifying surprisingly few differences between the real world and alternative worlds. More specifically, the analysis shows that the reasoning processes of all violent individuals, which consist of trillions of belief combinations, can be interrupted by intervening on only three beliefs about threatening state behav ior. This chapter is divided into four parts. In the first part, I explain how the model presented in Chapter 5 can be applied to explore counterfactuals. In the second part, I present an application that tests the findings of Chapter 5. Specifically, it explores which beliefs about the reality are essential as opposed to insignificant for making decisions to engage in violent or nonviolent activism. This confirms that both violent and nonviolent activism occur in reaction to beliefs about threatening state behavior; but not in reaction to positive or neutral beliefs about the state. In the third part, I present an application that explores alternative worlds in which the most different numbers of individuals

218 Chapter 6

would have made decisions in direct comparison with the reality. This shows that no individuals would have decided to take up arms, and significantly fewer individuals would have decided to engage in nonviolent activism in alternative worlds without threatening state behavior. In the fourth part, I present an analysis that investigates the mechanisms by which the individuals would have been prevented from making decisions in such alternative worlds. This shows that the individuals would not have made decisions in the absence of increasingly threatening state behav ior.

Modeling Counterfactuals To explore alternative worlds in which violent individuals would not have picked up arms, the analysis applied the computer program presented in Chapter 5. As explained, it was necessary to develop such a program because cognitive maps are by their nature too complex to be analyzed systematically by hand. The program copes with this complexity by formalizing the maps into directed acyclical graphs (DAGs). The program can systematically evaluate cognitive maps and analyze the reasoning processes underlying certain behav ior. As I will show in this chapter, it can also systematically intervene on these reasoning processes to study when the actors would not have engaged in certain behav ior. To model counterfactuals, I draw on Pearl’s theory, presented in Chapter 1, which has three main steps: Abduction (Step 1); Action (Step 2); and Prediction (Step 3). Step 1 identifies and interprets the reality. Step 2 performs interventions on the structures constituting the reality. And Step 3 studies the implications of the intervention by identifying the pure consequents that can be activated after the intervention. In this study, Step 1 was performed by constructing cognitive maps (see Chapter 4)—structures that represent the reality as pure antecedents, intermediate beliefs, and pure consequents, which can be translated into DAGs. Step 2 (interventions) was performed by changing par ticu lar antecedents, rather than entire cognitive maps. Specifically, particular beliefs were systematically deactivated from all the maps at the same time. All the beliefs on which the intervention was performed were beliefs about the reality, and the interventions therefore represent changes in the reality. Step 3 was performed by examining whether individuals can still decide to take up arms if certain

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beliefs are deactivated by external interventions. Since interventions represent changes in the reality, this step shows whether individuals would have decided to take up arms in alternative worlds. When running the program, the interventions were performed during the first step of the application (Input; see section “A Computational Model for the Analysis of Cognitive Maps,” Chapter 5). Specifically, this step was extended by deactivating certain beliefs, while continuing to assert other beliefs. Based on this, the belief chains connecting certain beliefs with decisions could be interrupted by the deactivated beliefs.

Example

Figure 33 provides a hypothetical example. Specifically, it illustrates a run in which the class Imperialism is asserted and the class Strained Living Conditions is deactivated. The deactivation of this class interrupts a belief chain antecedent to a decision to take up arms (lower part of figure). The figure also illustrates a run in which Strained Living Conditions is not deactivated and the belief chain is not interrupted (upper part of the figure). To further understand this process, consider another example, involving a hypothetical set of four belief classes: Aggressive Home Government American Imperialism Corrupt Home Government Muslim Disunity To assert beliefs representing the real world, we can simply assert the following two classes: American Imperialism Corrupt Home State In this way, we model a reality in which there is American imperialism and a corrupt home government. As logical consequents of American imperialism and a corrupt home government, the home government in this reality could moreover be aggressive, and Muslims could be divided. Thus, individuals in

Figure 33. Hypothetical interruption of a belief chain antecedent to a decision to pick up arms.

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this reality can decide to take up arms based on any of the four beliefs of the experimental set. Figure 34 shows a reasoning process that could represent such a reality in connection with a decision to take up arms.1 By contrast, we model alternative worlds by deactivating all the beliefs of the experimental set that are not asserted. For example, we could assert the same two beliefs as in the example above. In addition, we deactivate all the remaining beliefs. In this way, we model alternative worlds where there is American imperialism and a corrupt home government, but no aggression by the home government and no disunity among Muslims. This is illustrated in Figure 35. Specifically, the figure shows how the deactivation of Aggressive Home Government and Muslim Disunity interrupts this reasoning process and prevents the individual from deciding to take up arms. Based on this, the counterfactual analysis can test which aspects in the reality are necessary to encourage the individuals to take up arms, and which are not necessary to do so. Moreover, the analysis can trace the mechanisms by which particular beliefs would have prevented individuals from making decisions in alternative worlds. Accordingly, it becomes possible to use belief systems to systematically study human behav ior in alternative worlds.

Methodological Implications In the previous chapters, the analysis was limited to the actors’ beliefs about the world they were living in. This world was specified by my double-paired comparison (see Chapter 2) and focused on a small set of conditions under which both political violence and its opposite behav ior, nonviolent activism, have occurred. I introduced this design in response to the more general limits of studying social behav ior, which cannot apply experiments to randomize the conditions under which it occurs. My more general focus on people’s beliefs about the world, rather than on the world itself, was adopted because humans do not act in an automated way responding to external factors. It allowed me to show that the reasoning processes motivating violent and nonviolent activism are surprisingly similar, and that people take up arms in response to beliefs about aggressive state behav ior, rather than about Islam, access to violent groups, or economic deprivation. The counterfactual analysis presented in this chapter makes two additions to Chapter 5. First, it explores alternative worlds that have not been examined so far by intervening on the actors’ beliefs about the reality. Second, it

Figure 34. Example of a belief chain motivating a decision to take up arms in the real world.

Figure 35. Example of an interrupted belief chain representing counterfactuals.

224 Chapter 6

adds a temporal dimension because it intervenes on belief systems, which are held at certain points in time. Recall that belief systems by themselves do not immediately represent the unfolding of time, although they imply temporality by identifying the logical connections between things that happen in time (see Chapter 1). By contrast, intervening on belief systems represents a belief change that can only occur in real time. In par ticu lar, the following analysis performs such interventions by changing particular beliefs rather than all the beliefs contained by the cognitive maps. In this way, it overcomes an important problem of counterfactual studies—the problem of identifying antecedents that promise to offer meaningful insight. Specifically, intervening on particular antecedents of belief systems makes it unnecessary to consider a vast number of possible antecedents. Recall that Pearl shows that it is possible to model counterfactuals in this way, because the belief structures involving alternative worlds and the reality rely on the same mechanisms (see Chapter 1). As he points out, it may be unclear if the reasoning processes in alternative worlds differ from the reasoning processes in the real world—or if only the antecedents but not the pure consequents differ from the reality. Most existing approaches to counterfactuals cannot account for this similarity because they separate the real world from alternative worlds. By contrast, applying Pearl’s external interventions to the study of cognitive maps allows the exploration of alternative worlds that are not entirely different from the real world. This is an addition to existing counterfactual analyses more generally.

Counterfactual Analysis If there were a group like this [RAF] today, I would resist it strongly I am against repeating this experience —RAF member The counterfactual analysis was conducted with the set of experimental beliefs presented in Chapter 5.2 In contrast to the previous analysis, it asserted certain beliefs and deactivated others (rather than only asserting certain beliefs). This showed that in the absence of beliefs about state aggression, no violent individual would have decided to take up arms, and the majority

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of nonviolent individuals would not have decided to engage in nonviolent activism. To have a rigorous basis for comparing the reality with alternative worlds, the counterfactual analysis concentrated on the belief combinations asserting the same beliefs as the previous analysis (but denying the nonasserted beliefs of the experimental set). Th is comparison involved 262,144 runs (131,072 runs of the analysis in Chapter 5 and 131,072 runs of the counterfactual analysis). From these runs, the most significant counterfactuals were identified by belief combinations representing alternative worlds in which the most different numbers of individuals make decisions compared with their corresponding belief combinations representing reality. The counterfactual analysis also served as a check on the previous analysis by systematically exploring the belief combinations representing alternative worlds based on which all as opposed to no individuals make decisions. In this way, it added information to the previous results.

Analysis I Israel was created by violence and terror There is a duty to fight against their army If I were Palestinian, I would do that But since I am Egyptian, I am not going to do that —Muslim Brother The counterfactual analysis showed that no individual would have decided to take up arms and significantly fewer individuals would have decided to engage in nonviolent activism had they not held beliefs about threatening state behav ior. It also confirmed the results presented in Chapter 5, specifically the finding that both violent and nonviolent activism occur in reaction to beliefs that the state is threatening, but not in reaction to positive or neutral beliefs about the state. It also confirmed that beliefs about Islam cannot explain violence. As in the previous analysis, a two-dimensional matrix summarized the results of the analysis (see Figure 36; see also Appendix 1). As explained,3 the matrix identifies the numbers of belief combinations based on which individuals make, or fail to make, decisions. Specifically, it does this by separately

226 Chapter 6

V

0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13

NV 0 192 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

1 928 0 0 0 96 96 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

2 2304 0 0 0 560 560 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

3 3456 0 0 0 1568 1184 384 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

4 4096 0 0 0 2432 1392 1136 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

5 3552 0 128 0 2240 976 1728 48 32 48 16 0 0 0

6 1600 0 576 128 1104 464 1680 528 192 304 112 0 0 0

7 256 0 1344 576 192 576 1344 1568 768 928 544 64 0 0

8 0 0 1856 1344 0 656 1744 3360 1856 1792 1376 288 0 0

9 0 0 2112 1856 0 240 1664 4560 3680 2512 2256 896 32 0

10 0 0 1664 2112 0 0 560 3824 4224 2352 2608 1856 320 0

11 0 0 512 1664 0 0 0 2016 3072 2176 1792 2240 1152 128

12 0 0 0 512 0 0 0 480 1920 1696 1408 1952 2240 384

13 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 640 480 1536 896 1888 896

Figure 36. Two-dimensional matrix with results of counterfactual analysis.

listing the number of individuals deciding to take up arms (y-axis) and to engage in nonviolent activism (x-axis), and the number of belief combinations based on which a certain number of individuals reach decisions (center). Recall that there are thirteen individuals who picked up arms, fourteen individuals who engaged in nonviolent activity, and 131,072 belief combinations. Since the following sections focus on the belief combinations based on which no as opposed to all individuals reach decisions, these combinations are marked by a gray background. The matrix identifies belief combinations as numbers. Therefore, the matrix does not convey information about the beliefs that constitute the combinations. To analyze the belief combinations, the analysis drew on the fi lters developed previously (see “Belief Combinations of Types 1, 2, 3, and 4” in Chapter 5; Appendix 1 presents an example of a fi lter). These filters list the belief classes constituting the belief combinations shown by the matrix. The analysis of the fi lters shows which beliefs encourage, and which fail to encourage, individuals to make decisions in alternative worlds.

Counterfactual Belief Combinations That Do Not Encourage Any Individual to Make a Decision

The counterfactual analysis confi rms that no individual makes a decision based on positive or neutral beliefs about the state. It also confi rms that

14 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 640 0 512 640

Alternative Worlds Without Violence 227

Islam does not encourage individuals to take up arms. Specifically, the matrix shows that there are 192 belief combinations representing alternative worlds in which no individuals make a decision.4 The filter identified the beliefs that constitute the 192 belief combinations representing alternative worlds in which no individual makes a decision. The analy sis confirms the earlier finding that the belief classes Support by Home State, Religious State, and Change of Home State do not  motivate any individual to make a decision (cf. Chapter  5, “Belief Combinations of Type 1”). The fi lter also shows that adding the class Unreligious State does not motivate individuals to make a decision, supporting the earlier fi nding that Islam does not encourage individuals to take up arms. The analysis further shows that no individual makes a decision based on additional belief classes about the state environment, which were not identified by the previous analysis. Particularly, these belief classes are Absence of Domination by Foreign State, Absence of State Structures, Ignorance of Fellow Citizens, and Imperialism. These beliefs are positive (Unreligious State) (Absence of Domination by Foreign State), neutral (Absence of State Structures), and  moderately negative (Ignorance of Fellow Citizens and Imperialism). Th is confi rms that individuals begin to make decisions only in response to more negative beliefs about the state environment. Table 27 gives an overview.

Counterfactual Belief Combinations That Encourage All Individuals to Make Decisions

The counterfactual analysis also confirms that most individuals are motivated to make decisions by beliefs about threatening state behav ior, and particularly by the belief that the state is aggressive. Specifically, the matrix indicates that there are 640 belief combinations representing alternative worlds in which all the individuals make decisions,5 and the filter identified the beliefs that constitute these combinations. Adding to the previous analysis, the fi lter indicates that the most negative belief class, Continuation of Aggression by Home State, is necessary to encourage all individuals to make decisions. Specifically, it shows that this belief is contained by all 640 combinations, which the previous analysis did

228 Chapter 6

Table 27: Belief Combinations Representing Worlds in Which No Individuals Make a Decision Beliefs asserted by all corresponding real world combinations

Beliefs asserted by all counterfactual combinations

Beliefs deactivated by all counterfactual combinations

positive and neutral beliefs

positive and moderately negative beliefs

moderately positive and strongly negative beliefs

Support by Home State (+1) Religious State (+2) Change of Home State (+6)

Support by Home State (+1) Religious State (+2) Change of Home State (+6)

Continuation of Aggression by Home State (−1) Aggression by Home State (−2)

Unreligious State (−5)

Domination by Home State (−3)

Absence of Domination by Foreign State (+1)

Strained Living Conditions (−4)

Absence of State Structures (−8) Ignorance of Fellow Citizens (−9) Imperialism (−2)

Aggression by Previous Home State (−6) Domination by Previous Home State (−7) Absence of Aggression by Home State (+5) Absence of Domination by Home State (+4) Education of the People (+3)

not identify as necessary for all individuals to make decisions (see Chapter 5, “Belief Combinations of Type 4”). This confirms the significance of state aggression to decisions to take up arms. The fi lter moreover confirms that the belief Aggression by Home State is necessary to encourage all individuals to make decisions by showing that all 640 combinations include this particular belief class. It also confirms that the belief class Domination by Home State is necessary to encourage all indi-

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Table 28: Belief Combinations Representing Worlds in Which All Individuals Make Decisions Beliefs asserted by all counterfactual combinations

Beliefs asserted by all corresponding real world combinations

Beliefs deactivated by all counterfactual combinations

strongly negative and moderately positive

negative and moderately positive

strongly positive and moderately negative

Continuation of Aggression by Home State (−1)

Aggression by Home State (−2)

Support by Home State (+1)

Domination by Home State (−3)

Education of the People (+3)

Strained Living Conditions (−4)

Change of Home State (+6)

Unreligious State (−5)

Absence of Aggression by Home State (+5)

Aggression by Home State (−2) Domination by Home State (−3) Strained Living Conditions (−4) Unreligious State (−5) Absence of Domination by Home State (+4) Religious State (+2)

Absence of Domination by Home State (+4) Religious State (+2)

Absence of Domination by Foreign State (+1) Imperialism (−2) Ignorance of Fellow Citizens (−9) Aggression by Previous State (−6) Domination by Previous State (−7)

viduals to make decisions by showing that this class is also included by all 640 belief combinations. These fi ndings support the earlier conclusion that violent and nonviolent activism occur in response to threatening state behav ior. Finally, the fi lter confi rms the remaining belief classes earlier identified to motivate all individuals to make decisions, namely Strained Living Conditions (Belief Combinations of Type 2, 3, 4), Unreligious State (Belief Combinations of Type 4), Absence of Domination by Home State and Absence of State Structures (Belief Combinations of Types 2, 3, and  4), and

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Religious State (Belief Combinations of Type 1 and 4).6 Table 28 provides an overview.

Analysis II Without [attacking] people, our actions would not have been sustainable —RAF member Having failed is not a bad thing What would have been a bad thing would have been to do nothing —another RAF member The main part of the counterfactual analysis explored alternative worlds in which the individuals would not have decided to take up arms. As explained, this analysis was conducted by comparing belief combinations representing alternative worlds with belief combinations representing reality. This comparison showed that the largest difference in numbers of individuals who make decisions in the reality as opposed to alternative worlds is thirteen. This appears to be a rather high number, given that the largest difference between individuals deciding to take up arms as opposed to engage in nonviolent activism is only six. However, it is rather small considering that there are twentyseven individuals, and the largest possible difference in numbers would therefore have been twenty-seven. Moreover, out of all belief combinations, only 128 showed a difference of thirteen individuals. This supports Pearl’s argument that the distance between the real world and alternative worlds is by its nature rather small. Table 29 provides an overview. The left column shows the difference in numbers of individuals who make decisions based on the belief combinations representing the reality as opposed to belief combinations representing alternative worlds. The right column indicates the numbers of belief combinations corresponding to this difference (of a total of 131,072). For example, the first row indicates that there are 12,784 belief combinations based on whose assertion the same numbers of individuals make decisions in the reality and the corresponding alternative worlds (the difference is zero). By contrast, the last row indicates that there are 128 belief combinations based on whose assertion thirteen individuals make decisions in

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Table 29: Differences in Numbers of Individuals Making Decisions in the Reality Versus Alternative Worlds Difference in numbers of individuals making decisions in reality versus alternative worlds 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13

Number of belief combinations based on which individuals make decisions 12,784 14,272 17,488 18,768 18,208 16,704 14,368 8,560 4,688 1,984 1,328 1,152 640 128

the reality but not in the corresponding alternative worlds (the difference is thirteen).

Alternative Worlds in Which the Individuals Would Not Have Decided to Take Up Arms These findings were analyzed to identify the beliefs that constitute the 128 combinations indicating the largest differences between reality and alternative worlds. As in the previous analysis, this was accomplished by fi lters. The analysis shows that deactivation of only four beliefs prevents all the violent individuals and most of the nonviolent individuals from making decisions in alternative worlds. These belief classes are Continuation of Aggression by Home State, Aggression by Home State, Domination by Home State, and Education of the People. They are explored further in the remainder of this chapter. Education of the People was earlier found to be connected with nonviolent as opposed to violent activism (see Chapter 5, “Belief Combinations of Type 2”), individuals would not have decided to take up arms in alternative worlds indicating that it plays only a minor role.

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The analysis also identified which features of alternative worlds are not related to changes in the individuals’ decisions. Specifically, this is indicated by the beliefs that are asserted (rather than deactivated) by all the belief combinations representing alternative worlds. In particular, these belief classes are Absence of Domination by Home State, which indicates the belief that the state is not oppressive; Domination by Previous State, which indicates the belief that a previous government was oppressive; Ignorance of Fellow Citizens, which indicates the belief that one’s fellow citizens are not educated; and Imperialism, which indicates the belief that there is imperialism. As expected from the previous findings, none of these beliefs represents particularly threatening aspects of the state environment. Rather, these beliefs are the most moderately negative classes in the super-superclass State Environment. They indicate that in alternative worlds that have only these moderately negative features, no violent individual would have picked up arms, and the majority of nonviolent individuals would not have engaged in nonviolent activism. Figure 37 provides an overview that visualizes these findings. Specifically, it identifies four types of beliefs: beliefs that are asserted by all combinations representing the reality and alternative worlds (Type 1); beliefs that are never asserted by the combinations representing the reality (Type 2); beliefs that are deactivated by all combinations representing alternative worlds (Type 3); beliefs that are asserted by some combinations representing the reality and alternative worlds, and not asserted or deactivated by other combinations (Type 4). The arrows indicate the processing of the cognitive maps after the assertion (and deactivation) of certain beliefs. The ranges of individuals who make decisions are indicated on the right.7

Mechanisms Underlying the Absence of Decisions to Take Up Arms in Alternative Worlds I don’t know if I had survived, had I not gone to the Red Army Faction. —RAF member So far, the analysis has shown that no individual would have decided to take up arms and significantly fewer individuals would have decided to engage in nonviolent activism had they not held beliefs about threatening state behavior, namely state aggression and oppression. The analysis further confirms the re-

Figure 37. Decisions in the reality and alternative worlds. (2 graphs)

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sults in Chapter 5 by showing that both types of activism occur in reaction to threatening state behavior, but not in reaction to positive or neutral beliefs about the state. It has also confirmed that Islam cannot explain violence. What the analysis has not shown so far are the mechanisms by which the deactivation of beliefs about threatening state behav ior prevents individuals from making decisions. This section is dedicated to exploring these mechanisms, which I call interruption mechanisms. It will show that violent individuals would not have decided to take up arms had they not believed that the state was becoming increasingly threatening, and that significantly fewer individuals would have decided to engage in nonviolent activism had they not held beliefs about particularly threatening aspects of their state environment. Specifically, I will identify eight interruption mechanisms representing alternative worlds in which the state environment is not becoming increasingly threatening, or does not have particularly threatening features. The analysis presented in this section proceeded in three main steps. First, I focused on the most different numbers of individuals making decisions based on belief combinations representing the reality as opposed to alternative worlds. In this way, the analysis explored the interruption mechanisms that have the largest impact on decisions (by maximally reducing the numbers of individuals making decisions). Second, I identified the individuals who make decisions only in the reality but not by the corresponding alternative worlds.8 Third, MATLAB visualizations and text documents were produced for the belief chains interrupted in each of the cognitive maps of these individuals (see “Modeling Counterfactuals” for an explanation of this process).9 Appendix 2 shows examples for each mechanism.

Interruption Mechanisms Related to Violence V-Interruption Mechanism 1: Alternative Worlds Without Increasingly Threatening State Behavior

The analysis shows that, surprisingly, deactivating beliefs about state aggression interrupts all five mechanisms underlying decisions to take up arms identified in Chapter 5. The analysis shows that even decisions involving additional beliefs that do not deal with the state environment cannot be reached if individuals do not believe that their state is aggressive. Specifically, V-Mechanisms 2 and 3, which involve goals that do not deal with defending oneself against

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state aggression, are not activated if the beliefs about state aggression are deactivated. This demonstrates the importance of state aggression. The analysis identified three microlevel interruption mechanisms by which violent individuals would have refrained from making decisions to take up arms in alternative worlds. These mechanisms deactivate beliefs representing state environments that change from being a minor to being a major threat (V-Interruption Mechanism 1-1); state environments that change from being a threat to being a major threat (V-Interruption Mechanism 1-2); and state aggression (V-Interruption Mechanism 1-3). In the following paragraphs, I will present these mechanisms. Each is illustrated in Appendix 2.

V-Interruption Mechanism 1-1: Alternative Worlds Without States Changing from Being a Minor to Being a Major Threat

This interruption mechanism is the most elaborate one, because it involves the deactivation of an entire belief chain. Specifically, the deactivated chain consists of the following inferences: Domination by Home State → Aggression by Home State → Continuation of Aggression by Home State The inferences constituting this chain represent a process in which a state that poses a minor threat (belief class Domination by Home State) turns into a state that poses a major threat (belief class Continuation of Aggression by Home State).

V-Interruption Mechanism 1-2: Alternative Worlds Without States Becoming Increasingly Threatening

This interruption mechanism is slightly less elaborate. It involves the deactivation of a particular inference, which is included by the inference chain of V-Interruption Mechanism 1-1: Aggression by Home State → Continuation of Aggression by Home State

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This inference also represents a process in which a state becomes a major threat (belief class Continuation of Aggression by Home State). As opposed to the previous mechanism, however, this interruption mechanism is initialized by Aggression by Home State, and not Domination by Home State. Therefore, it represents a comparably minor change in the threat posed by the state.

V-Interruption Mechanism 1-3: Alternative Worlds Without State Aggression

This interruption mechanism involves only one belief and is the least elaborate interruption mechanism related to political violence. Specifically, the deactivated belief preventing individuals from making a decision to take up arms in this interruption mechanism is Aggression by Home State. Th is emphasizes the relevance of state aggression.

Interruption Mechanisms Related to Nonviolent Activism NV-Interruption Mechanism 1: Alternative Worlds Without States Changing from a Minor to a Major Threat

The analysis shows that deactivating particular beliefs about threatening state behav ior interrupts the mechanisms underlying decisions to engage in nonviolent activism. This confirms that nonviolent activism is a response to the state environment, and particularly to threatening state behavior. It also confirms that the motivations underlying violent and nonviolent activism appear to be surprisingly similar. With two exceptions (see below, NV-Interruption Mechanisms 1-4 and 1-5), the interruption mechanisms related to nonviolent activism are the same as those related to violence. This emphasizes the similarity between the motivations underlying violent and nonviolent activism. In total, the analysis identified five microlevel interruption mechanisms by which nonviolent individuals would have been prevented from making decisions in alternative worlds. These mechanisms deactivate beliefs representing state environments that change from being a minor to being a major threat (NV-Interruption Mechanism 1-1); state environments that change from being a threat to be-

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ing a major threat (NV-Interruption Mechanism 1-2); state aggression (NVInterruption Mechanism 1-3); state environments becoming threatening (NV-Interruption Mechanism 1-4); and state oppression (NV-Interruption Mechanism 1-5). NV-Interruption Mechanism 1-2 also confi rms a minor role of Education of the People. In the following paragraphs I will present these mechanisms. Each of them is illustrated in Appendix 2. Before proceeding, it is important to note that the interruption mechanisms related to nonviolent activism never affect the decisions of all the nonviolent individuals: the cognitive maps of three nonviolent individuals remain resistant to the deactivation of the main beliefs constituting the interruption mechanisms throughout the analysis. This indicates that some individuals would have continued to engage in nonviolent activism in alternative worlds with less threatening state behav ior. Th is confi rms the earlier fi nding that individuals may also decide to engage in nonviolent activism based on less negative beliefs about the state (see Chapter  5, “Belief Combinations of Type 2”). Nevertheless, the analysis shows that the majority of nonviolent individuals would not have decided to engage in nonviolent activism in the alternative worlds without threatening state behavior. It also shows that the impact of the interruption mechanisms related to nonviolent activism is surprisingly strong: they interrupt not only reasoning processes that involve beliefs about the state (NV-Mechanisms 1, 2, and 4), but also reasoning processes involving beliefs about the negative consequences of violence, which one might have expected to not depend on beliefs about the state (NV-Mechanism 3).

NV-Interruption Mechanism 1-1: Alternative Worlds Without States Changing from a Minor to a Major Threat

This interruption mechanism is equivalent to V-Interruption Mechanism 1-1, which underlines that the reasoning processes of violent and nonviolent individuals are surprisingly similar. As observed, this mechanism involves deactivation of an entire belief chain consisting of two inferences: Domination by Home State → Aggression by Home State → Continuation of Aggression by Home State

238 Chapter 6

These inferences represent a process in which a state that poses a minor threat (belief class Domination by Home State) turns into a state that poses a major threat (belief class Continuation of Aggression by Home State).

NV-Interruption Mechanism 1-2: Alternative Worlds Without States Becoming Increasingly Threatening

This interruption mechanism is equivalent to V-Interruption Mechanism 1-2, which further supports the finding that the reasoning processes of violent and nonviolent individuals are similar. As observed, this mechanism is slightly less elaborate, involving the deactivation of a particular inference included by the inference chain of Interruption Mechanism 1-1: Aggression by Home State → Continuation of Aggression by Home State Th is inference also represents a process in which a state becomes a major threat (belief class Continuation of Aggression by Home State). Initialized by Aggression by Home State, and not Domination by Home State, it represents a comparably minor change of the threat posed by the state. As opposed to V-Interruption Mechanism 1-2, the analysis shows that nonviolent individuals would have additionally been prevented from making a decision in alternative worlds without education. This indicates education may play a complementary role to nonviolent activism in par ticu lar. Specifically, this is indicated by the additional deactivation of the belief class Education of the People in NV-Interruption Mechanism 1-2.10 Appendix 2 shows an example.

NV-Interruption Mechanism 1-3: Alternative Worlds Without State Aggression

This interruption mechanism is equivalent to V-Interruption Mechanism 1-3. It was the most frequent interruption mechanism related to nonviolent activism. As discussed, this mechanism only involves one belief and is the least elaborate interruption mechanism. Specifically, the deactivated belief that

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prevents individuals from making a decision in this interruption mechanism is Aggression by Home State. This emphasizes the relevance of state aggression to nonviolent activism. NV-Interruption Mechanism 1-3 may involve three additional beliefs: Strained Living Conditions, Domination by Home State, and Continuation of Aggression by Home State. The inclusion of these beliefs in this interruption mechanism indicates that, unlike violent individuals, nonviolent individuals would have also refrained from making decisions in alternative worlds without environmental strains such as poverty or a lack of education (belief class Strained Living Conditions) or state oppression (belief class Domination by Home State). This confirms the earlier finding that nonviolent individuals may be motivated by less threatening state environments than violent individuals (see Chapter 5, “Belief Combinations of Type 2”). By contrast, the inclusion of Continuation of Aggression by Home State confirms that, like violent individuals, nonviolent individuals would not have made decisions in alternative worlds without continuous aggression by the state. Finally, unlike the beliefs constituting the previous mechanisms, the additional beliefs of this mechanism are not directly connected to Aggression by Home State. Therefore, this mechanism does not represent a process in which the state is becoming increasingly aggressive.

NV-Interruption Mechanism 1-4: Alternative Worlds Without States Becoming Threatening

This interruption mechanism is a weaker version of NV-Mechanisms 1-2. It was not observed related to violence, and therefore differentiates the reasoning processes of nonviolent and violent individuals. Specifically, it involves the deactivation of an inference representing a process in which a state becomes a threat: Domination by Home State → Aggression by Home State Unlike NV-Mechanism 1-2, this interruption mechanism is initialized by Domination by Home State, rather than Aggression by Home State. And unlike NV-Mechanism 1-2, it ends in Aggression by Home State, rather than Continuation of Aggression by Home State. In this way, it represents a comparably

240 Chapter 6

weak mechanism, which underlines that nonviolent individuals may be motivated by less threatening state environments than violent individuals.

NV-Interruption Mechanism 1-5: Alternative Worlds Without State Oppression

This interruption mechanism was not observed related to violence, and therefore also differentiates the reasoning processes of nonviolent and violent individuals. Like NV-Mechanism 1-3, it involves the deactivation of only one belief: Domination by Home State. This indicates that nonviolent individuals would not have decided to engage in nonviolent activism in alternative worlds without state oppression. It confirms that nonviolent individuals may be motivated by less threatening state environments than violent individuals.

Failure to Prevent Nonviolent Individuals from Making Decisions in Alternative Worlds Three nonviolent individuals would have continued to make decisions in all the alternative worlds presented above. The reasoning processes of these individuals identify both the limits of the interruption mechanisms related to nonviolent activism and the similarities between the reality and alternative worlds related to nonviolent activism. Specifically, the analysis shows that the three individuals would have continued deciding to engage in nonviolent activism in alternative worlds where there is no state aggression and no state oppression. As opposed to what one might assume, this does not indicate that the analysis would have needed to deactivate more negative belief classes to prevent these individuals from making decisions.11 Instead, the analysis shows that, surprisingly, one of the individuals would have been motivated to continue making a decision by the negative beliefs that the government is not religious (belief class Unreligious State) and that his fellow citizens are uneducated (belief class Ignorance of Fellow Citizens), and by beliefs related to the absence of state structures (belief class Absence of State Structures). This confirms the earlier finding that religion does not explain violence. The reasoning process is shown in Appendix 2. Two nonviolent individuals would have been encouraged to continue making decisions by beliefs that the state is not aggressive (belief class Ab-

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sence of Aggression by Home State), or combinations involving the belief that the state is not oppressive (belief class Absence of Domination by Home State). While this underlines the relevance of aggression, it also indicates that nonviolent individuals can be motivated to make decisions by less threatening beliefs about the state. Appendix 2 illustrates these reasoning processes. Finally, the analysis shows that one individual would have continued making a decision based on an inference representing a state environment that becomes less threatening. Specifically, the inference consists of Aggression by Home State and Domination by Home State in the opposite order of the interruption mechanisms identified above: Aggression by Home State → Domination by Home State This further emphasizes that nonviolent individuals may be motivated by less threatening beliefs about the state. By contrast, the analysis confirms that no individuals would have continued making decisions based on inferences representing a change in which the state environment becomes increasingly threatening. This confirms the interruption mechanisms presented above. The findings also confirm Pearl’s argument that the reality and alternative worlds are closely related. Specifically, they suggest that even in the alternative worlds that are most different from the reality, some individuals would have decided to engage in nonviolent activism.

Conclusions In this chapter, I have explored alternative worlds in which violent individuals would not have decided to take up arms. This counterfactual analysis has systematically intervened on the individuals’ beliefs about the world to test what would have prevented them from deciding to take up arms. It has shown that no individuals would have decided to take up arms and significantly fewer individuals would have decided to engage in nonviolent activism in alternative worlds without state aggression and oppression. Specifically, the analysis has identified five interruption mechanisms by which the individuals would have been prevented from making decisions in such alternative worlds. These mechanisms show that the decisions of both violent and nonviolent

242 Chapter 6

Table 30: Alternative Worlds Without Violence and Nonviolent Activism Alternative worlds without violence (V-interruption mechanisms)

Alternative worlds without nonviolent activism (NV-interruption mechanisms)

Alternative worlds without states changing from being a minor to being a major threat (Mechanism 1) Alternative worlds without states becoming increasingly threatening (Mechanism 2) Alternative worlds without state aggression (Mechanism 3) Alternative worlds without states becoming threatening (Mechanism 4) Alternative worlds without state oppression (Mechanism 5)

individuals are motivated by beliefs about increasingly threatening state behavior. While this confirms that the reasoning processes of violent and nonviolent individuals appear to be surprisingly similar, the analysis has also shown that a few nonviolent individuals would have continued to make decisions in alternative worlds without state aggression. This has confirmed the earlier finding that nonviolent individuals may be motivated by less threatening state environments. Most notably, it has shown that nonviolent individuals may be encouraged to make a decision based on the belief that the state is not religious, which underlines that Islam cannot explain violence. Table 30 gives an overview of the interruption mechanisms identified by the analysis. These findings confirm that violent individuals act in self-defense, and take up arms primarily in response to state aggression. As opposed to what is expected from other studies of violence, my results suggest that violence is neither a response to economic deprivation, nor access to violent groups, nor Islam. Furthermore, the analysis supports findings from earlier chapters that the reasoning processes of violent and nonviolent individuals are surprisingly similar. This implies that violent individuals are not crazy religious fanatics, and the reasoning processes motivating their behav ior are very similar to those motivating nonviolent activism. This analysis has added a new approach to the study of counterfactuals, which usually directly intervenes on the external world and not on people’s beliefs about the world. Emphasizing that human behav ior does not occur as an automated response to the external world, this approach bridges the gap between actors on the one hand and the external world on the other hand.

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The analysis has shown that, surprisingly, all reasoning processes motivating political violence can be interrupted by the deactivation of only three beliefs about threatening state behav ior. It also showed that, surprisingly, a few individuals would have continued making decisions to engage in nonviolent activism in the most different alternative worlds. These findings suggest that the distance between counterfactuals and the reality is rather small, putting into perspective other approaches that treat counterfactuals as being entirely separated from the real world (see Chapter 1).

Conclusion

This book has explored the question why certain individuals take up arms against their states as opposed to others who live under the same conditions and engage in nonviolent activism instead. The central argument put forward by the analysis is that, contrary to widespread assumptions, both violent and nonviolent individuals act primarily in response to the belief that the state is aggressive. Unlike what is widely believed, violent individuals are not found to act in response to Islam. Based on these findings, I have argued that the motivations of violent and nonviolent individuals are surprisingly similar, and that there are no significant differences between Muslims and non-Muslims. Specifically, my analysis has identified ten mechanisms related to decisions to take up arms (five mechanisms) as opposed to engaging in nonviolent activism (five mechanisms). These mechanisms show that the belief that the state is aggressive is so significant that individuals who hold it may decide to take up arms even if they also believe the state is stronger than they are, and that they will suffer severe consequences from engaging in violence. They also show that the belief that the state is aggressive may encourage individuals to decide to engage in nonviolent activism, even though they do not believe that their activity is going to have any effect on state aggression. The analysis has further investigated when the individuals would not have decided to take up arms. This counterfactual analysis has shown that in the absence of beliefs about threatening state behavior, no individuals would have decided to take up arms and significantly fewer individuals would have decided to engage in nonviolent activism. By contrast, the absence of beliefs about Islam would not have changed the individuals’ decisions, which confirms that violence is not a response to Islam. Finally, the analysis has shown that nonviolent individuals may also be motivated by the belief that there is eco-

Conclusion 245

nomic deprivation in their direct environment—a motivation that is usually attributed to violent individuals. These findings have implications for our understanding of violent individuals by showing that rather than being crazy religious fanatics, violent individuals are not that different from nonviolent individuals and engage in very similar reasoning processes to those underlying mainstream political behav ior. They also put into perspective existing explanations of political violence by showing that the actors themselves do not believe that their actions are the consequence of believing in Islam, suffering from economic deprivation, or interacting with other individuals who belong to violent groups. To develop this argument, this book has drawn on the political psychology literature and adopted Axelrod’s cognitive mapping approach (CMA) (Axelrod 1976). To my knowledge, it is the first analysis adopting this approach to study violent individuals. To construct cognitive maps, I have conducted ethnographic interviews with formerly violent and nonviolent individuals, and employed Spradley’s theme analysis to abstract the beliefs of different individuals into comparable categories. My analysis of the cognitive maps has applied a computer program that offers new research opportunities for the application of the CMA more generally. The design underlying these interviews was a double-paired comparison, including important control groups that remain absent from most existing studies: violent and nonviolent Muslims and non-Muslims. Half of them are from a poor authoritarian state (Egypt), and the other half are from a wealthy democracy (Germany). Specifically, I interviewed formerly violent individuals from the Egyptian al-Jamaʿat al-Islamiyya and al-Jihad, some of whose early members helped shape al-Qaeda, and the German Red Army Faction and Bewegung 2. Juni. I conducted field research for about two years to locate and convince these individuals to participate in this study. My findings have provided rich insight that both complements and serves as a check on the large body of literature on political violence: as opposed to what is expected from theories attributing violence to Islam (Hypothesis 1), this book has shown that violent individuals are not motivated by religious beliefs. Specifically, I have shown that the reasoning processes of violent individuals contain surprisingly few beliefs about Islam, and these do not matter significantly to decisions to take up arms. Moreover, I found that nonviolent individuals hold the same beliefs about Islam as violent individuals and these

246 Conclusion

beliefs may contribute to their decisions to engage in nonviolent activism. This emphasizes that Islam does not explain violence. As opposed to what is expected from environmental-psychological theories (Hypothesis 2), this book has also shown that violent individuals are not motivated by beliefs about economic deprivation. Investigating the beliefs of violent individuals from two opposite environments—a poor authoritarian state (Egypt) and a wealthy democracy (Germany)—I have shown that individuals instead decide to take up arms in response to the belief that the state is aggressive. By contrast, I have found that individuals who engage in nonviolent activism may be motivated by beliefs about economic deprivation. This contradicts assumptions that violent individuals are motivated by economic deprivation. As opposed to what is expected from group theories (Hypothesis 3), this book has moreover shown that violent individuals are not motivated by beliefs about violent groups. Specifically, I have found that violent individuals hold very few beliefs about their groups, and that these beliefs do not matter significantly to their decisions to take up arms. Moreover, I have found that nonviolent individuals also hold beliefs about violent groups; in particular, they also hold beliefs that they interacted with members of violent groups. This contradicts assumptions that having access to violent groups alienates individuals from society and transforms them into killers. This book has further offered new evidence that violent individuals do not suffer from mental illness (Hypothesis 4). Specifically, my study of the beliefs of violent individuals has not identified any beliefs that do not correspond to the external world, which would have indicated that they suffer from mental illnesses, such as hallucinations. My fi ndings have also shown  that there are very few beliefs about the individuals’ personality, and that these do not matter to their decisions to take up arms. Th is result points to the limits of psychopathological theories, which continue to enjoy much publicity.

Contribution of the Cognitive Mapping Approach The results of this study point to the value of the field of political psychology in general and of the CMA in particular. They underline that the CMA adds to theories that focus on external factors, which cannot by themselves explain why people engage in certain behav ior. Specifically, my findings show that

Conclusion 247

exploring the actors’ reasoning processes, represented by cognitive maps, can generate very elaborate explanations of political behavior. These explanations may integrate multiple factors from different approaches—such as environmental theories, group theories, or theories of psychopathology in the case of political violence—and they may add significantly to available knowledge. In this book, I have reintroduced the CMA to studies of political science by presenting a computer program that overcomes the complexity of cognitive maps, which is why most political scientists have abandoned the CMA in the past. Specifically, the program enables the researcher to systematically study the connections between beliefs and decisions by (1) systematically identifying beliefs connected, or not connected, to decisions to take up arms or engage in nonviolent activism; (2) systematically tracing belief chains connected to these decisions; and (3) exploring counterfactuals, which show under what conditions individuals would not have decided to take up arms or to engage in nonviolent activism. Drawing on this program, CMA can offer extraordinary insight into the microlevel mechanisms connected to human behavior. Since these microlevel mechanisms are obtained from analyzing the actors’ own explanations, they provide rich inside knowledge into behav ior that cannot be obtained from other methods involving external research categories. Specifically, the CMA models human behav ior, such as political violence, as decisions based on chains of interconnected beliefs about various types of factors. For example, one can hold beliefs about state aggression, economic hardship, or Islam (e.g., environmental theories); access to violent groups, or group dynamics (e.g., group theories); or personal characteristics like self-love (e.g., psychopathological theories). Since these beliefs can have both direct and indirect connections with decisions to engage in certain behavior, the CMA provides a consistent methodology to systematically explore the mechanisms by which these factors allow individuals to engage in this behavior (modeled as chains of interconnected beliefs). Based on this, the CMA offers a rigorous analytical framework that synthesizes existing approaches to political behavior. Applying the CMA to analyze other types of behav ior could be very beneficial. Specifically, other applications promise to bridge existing gaps between the actors and the external factors related to their behav ior, and to obtain more knowledge about the microlevel mechanisms underlying this behavior. As indicated by the application of the CMA in numerous other disciplines, there is a large variety of behavior to whose study the approach could be applied. Examples in the field of political science could range from voting,

248 Conclusion

to mobilization, to deradicalization. A more recent example of par ticu lar interest to the field of political science could be the Arab Spring, or occurrences of similar mass protests. Such behav ior could be studied by exploring the reasoning processes that are antecedent to people’s decisions to pour into the streets and revolt against their governments. Applying the CMA to investigate this behav ior could add to existing analyses focusing on external factors that are static or change too slowly to explain the unexpected outbreak of the Arab Spring (e.g., authoritarianism, poverty, or existence of social networks such as Facebook). Another example of interest to the field of political science is the behav ior of governments. Since a major finding of this book is that violence is a response to state aggression, it might be fruitful to apply the CMA to study this particular type of state behav ior. Specifically, this could be accomplished by analyzing the reasoning processes of the state employees who make decisions to launch government attacks. Th is would contribute to existing explanations of state behav ior that focus on external conditions and cannot account for differences in behav ior if conditions are the same. Such analyses could offer new insight into political behav ior. In general, they could be conducted in the same way as this study, which would involve four main steps: (1) coding interviews or other sources, (2) constructing cognitive maps based on these codes, (3) developing or choosing a model for the systematic analysis of the cognitive maps, and (4) running the model on the cognitive maps. Although the sources of other analyses would certainly be different, and the creation of a coding scheme capturing the major factors driving certain phenomena would also depend on the researcher,1 this principal procedure could be applied to a wide range of studies. Moreover, once sources and coding scheme are available, the formalization of the cognitive maps could follow the same process presented in this book. It would even be possible to apply the same program. This study therefore not only presents new insight about political violence but it also offers a methodology to shed light on various topics related to political science more generally. Finally, my application of the CMA has presented new possibilities for the study of counterfactuals, and added knowledge to existing theories about counterfactuals. Specifically, my analysis has systematically intervened on the individuals’ beliefs about the external world, and tested whether these interventions would have prevented them from deciding to engage in certain behav ior. In this way, it has introduced a new approach to the study of counterfactuals, which usually directly intervenes on the external world and not

Conclusion 249

on people’s beliefs about this world (cf. Fearon 1991; Sylvan and Majeski 1998; Tetlock and Belkin 1996). It has further helped bridge the gap between actors and the external world, emphasizing that human behav ior does not occur as an automated response to outside structures. Moreover, the findings of this application have put into perspective existing theories on counterfactuals that treat alternative worlds as being entirely separated from the real world. Specifically, my analysis has identified surprisingly few differences between the real world and alternative worlds: it has shown that the reasoning processes of all violent individuals, which consist of trillions of belief combinations, can be interrupted by intervening on only three beliefs about threatening state behavior. This confirms Pearl’s more recent theory of counterfactuals (2009).

Objections, Generalizability, and Avenues for Future Research The analysis I have presented in this book is subject to various objections, which I have discussed in Chapter 2. Among the most important objections is the observation that the sample size of this study is rather small: 27 individuals. It is important to recall that gaining access to this small number of individuals overall took me about two years of fieldwork. The individuals were extraordinarily difficult to locate and convince to participate in this study. Apart from this difficulty, even studying only 27 individuals led to the analysis of trillions of combinations of beliefs that were held by these individuals. This shows that extraordinarily detailed information can be obtained from a small number of individuals, and that analyses of small samples promise to provide new, in-depth information that may have been overlooked by analyses of large samples. It also emphasizes that, as I have shown throughout this book, the CMA is a very powerful approach to explore human behav ior. Specifically, it provides bottom-up analyses by studying the actors’ reasoning processes, which, in this particular study, allowed me to identify and examine hundreds of thousands of belief combinations related to decisions to engage in violent or nonviolent activism. A related objection is that this study involves individuals from only two countries: Egypt and Germany. It is important to note that the analysis involved two dimensions—the reality and alternative worlds (counterfactuals). The first dimension deals with beliefs the individuals actually held about the

250 Conclusion

world, whereas the second dimension deals with beliefs they did not hold. Consequently, this study also tested whether the individuals would have engaged in different behav ior had they not held certain beliefs about the reality. The scope of this analysis not only goes beyond the reality related to Egypt and Germany. Indeed, it would not even have been achievable by significantly expanding the sample size—even if this analysis had involved hundreds of individuals from dozens of countries. Moreover, as I have noted above, the analysis about the reality by itself involved an extraordinarily large number of combinations of beliefs (trillions of combinations, obtained from dozens of beliefs). As a result, the scope of this analysis goes far beyond what might immediately be obvious from the sample of twenty-seven individuals from two countries. These observations also put into perspective another objection following from the main findings of this book: the seeming absence of difference between violent and nonviolent activism. After all, these two types of behav ior are opposites, and the major goal of this study was to answer the question why some individuals take up arms as opposed to others who live under the same conditions and engage in nonviolent activism instead. Yet the depth of my analysis, and the large number of beliefs examined by it indicates that the reasoning processes of violent and nonviolent individuals indeed appear to be surprisingly similar. This emphasizes that the CMA can generate surprising results that are counterintuitive and contradict existing knowledge. Nevertheless, as I have noted earlier, the generalizability of my findings is limited. Ultimately, whether other violent and nonviolent individuals from different groups or different countries engage in the same reasoning processes is an empirical question. It is therefore important to note that other studies have produced similar results. Robert Pape’s 2005 investigation of suicide attacks, for instance, has also shown that political violence is a reaction to threatening state behav ior (foreign occupation), suggesting that Islam does not explain political violence. Furthermore, Kepel(2006) has emphasized the relevance of the state to political violence. Drawing on examples from the Muslim world including Afghanistan, Algeria, Sudan, Palestine, and Egypt, he has pointed out that “jihadism . . . must be seen as a primordially political, rather than religious movement” that occurs in reaction to “policy” in the Middle East (2006, viii). Finally, Beggan (2006) has shown that similar conclusions can be reached about political violence in Northern Ireland. Specifically, he has found that political violence in Northern Ireland between 1969 and 1999 was due to three major factors including repressive policies by the

Conclusion 251

state. He concludes that “different types of repression by the state appeared to have impacted various forms of violence differently, hence varied outcomes to repression may be due not only to the nature of the type of repression, but also to the form of violence adopted by insurgents to combat it” (61). My finding suggest that in the absence of threatening state behav ior, violent individuals would not have decided to take up arms. This is supported indirectly by various studies. Horgan and Braddock, for example, have commented on the importance of “rehabilitation” of the individuals who engage in political violence into their states and societies (2010). Ashour has related the “relative success of the de-radicalization process” to “three developments”: a period of “de-repression” marking the beginning of interactions between the state and leaders of violent groups, “coordination” between the regime and the groups’ leaders, and “selective inducements”, such as the release of prisoners (2007: 622–23). And Kruglanski, Gelfand, and Gunaratna have offered indirect support by observing that trying to deradicalize individuals through a religious dialogue was unsuccessful (2010): To counter the notion that Islam tolerates terrorism against civilians, rehabilitation programs rely on Islamic scholars who carry “epistemic authority” for the detainees [Kruglanski et al. 2005]; the scholars engage detainees in a religious dialogue aimed to convince them that the terrorists blasphemously twist Islam’s most cherished values. Despite their weight and authority, such arguments might fall on deaf ears if not combined with the readiness to listen. . . . In other words, the “minds” need to be prepared by readying the “hearts.” In spite of such empirical support for the main findings of this book, my analysis remains subject to limitations. Most notably, the issue of postfact explanation, discussed in depth in Chapter 2, remains an important limitation. As I have noted, postfact explanations are the best way to obtain insight into the reasoning processes of violent individuals: it is impossible to interview people as they are engaging in violence, and it is also impossible to randomize the analysis and watch individuals as they turn to, or fail to turn to, violence. Instead, I have emphasized throughout this book that, like all explanations, postfact explanations have to be intelligible and structured according to the rules discussed in Chapter 1. Therefore, they naturally indicate possible mechanisms underlying violence, regardless whether these are the real mechanisms in particular cases.

252 Conclusion

Nevertheless, it would be fruitful to test my findings by studying some of the texts written by violent individuals at the time they were engaging in violence. As Altier, Horgan, and Thoroughgood have noted, various autobiographies have become available, which “not only offers additional data points for the study of individual psychological issues, but also provides valuable perspectives on the internal structures, processes, and dynamics of terrorist organizations more broadly” (2012: 85). This could also provide support for the main findings identified by this book. Such studies could also support my earlier argument that my findings do not appear to suffer from endogeneity biases. As discussed in Chapter 2, objections related to endogeneity biases assume that postfact explanations are themselves the result of engaging in behav ior and can therefore not explain it. I have elaborated in detail on why postfact explanations can provide valid and verifiable information about the antecedents of behav ior—even if individuals seek to justify their actions in retrospect and lie, or if they do not remember their reasoning processes in all details. My findings confirm this argument by showing that the reasoning processes of violent and nonviolent individuals are surprisingly similar—had the individuals’ explanations been the result of engaging in violence as opposed to nonviolent activism, the reasoning processes should have been fundamentally different. Another avenue for future research identified by this book is the question why some individuals may believe the state to be more threatening than others. Specifically, my findings indicate that violent individuals may believe the state to be more threatening than nonviolent individuals. My interviews suggest that such beliefs may be based on the direct experience of state aggression in the form of being arrested or tortured, on indirect experience via reports from the news or friends, or from observations on the streets (see Chapters 4 and 5). More research would nevertheless be needed to further explore this impor tant aspect.

Personal Experiences While Conducting Research for This Book When I first started thinking about talking to formerly violent individuals from the Middle East, someone recommended that I use interviews already conducted by other researchers instead. I was told it would be highly doubtful that individuals who engaged in political violence in Egypt would accept

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talking to a non-Muslim woman from Europe. While this recommendation underlines how problematic it was to set up and conduct interviews, I nevertheless decided to try talking to violent individuals. I had lived in Egypt for three years, studying and working as a journalist. I had found that even the most conservative people I approached for interviews on the street were often willing to talk to me—although they were initially surprised and sometimes reluctant to speak with a Western woman. I found that many individuals soon warmed up and wanted to talk to people like me. In the course of such conversations, I was often invited into their shops or homes, offered tea and snacks, and sometimes met entire families. Indeed, even the most conservative individuals were often curious and wanted to talk about life in the West. My research for this book confirmed that it was not only worth trying to interview individuals who engaged in violence. It showed that these individuals, who are demonized by the Western media, are ready to accept and sometimes befriend a non-Muslim woman from the West—something many people in the West might not be able to do when approached by a fully veiled woman from the Middle East. My research showed that even individuals who had interacted with al-Qaeda members like Ayman al-Zawahiri were extraordinarily kind and open. I found that many took interest in me as a person: I was invited into their families, shared homemade food, played with their children, was shown around town by their oldest son, asked if I wanted to come to the wedding of their friends, or if I wanted to stay overnight. During my interviews, I appreciated the direct way in which the individuals expressed their convictions and opinions. I was also surprised that they often asked for my opinion, listened to me carefully, and accepted me although I disagreed with them. In this way, I had the chance to get to know many of my interviewees rather well. Often in visiting their homes, boundaries between interviews and leisure also occasionally became blurred—for example, I once conducted an interview in the children’s bedroom. By the end of my research, spending time with my interviewees and families often gave me a feeling of belonging and protection. I was greeted like a person who was loved and had been missed while away. Even today I receive messages asking me how I am, how my family is, and how my research is going. By the time we said good-bye, I felt much closer to many of these individuals than I feel to other people from my own culture with whom I have much more in common. Th is experience stands in sharp contrast to what is expected from the Western news. However, it is an experience shared by many people from the

254 Conclusion

West who visit Egypt. One of my family members, for example, was very surprised when visiting Cairo for the first time. Looking rather foreign to Egyptians, he attracted a lot of attention: when we went out, he was greeted by strangers, asked where he was from, and given gifts. People often went out of their way to welcome him to their country, fetching him orange juice, or walking around town with us to explain sights to him. On his way to the airport to fly home, he said: “It is very hard to imagine that al-Qaeda is supposed to come from this part of the world. The people here are too nice.” Nevertheless, I often remembered the recommendation not to conduct interviews while conducting research for this book. Especially at the early stages of my fieldwork, I was faced with numerous difficulties in identifying and talking to individuals. For example, individuals often said they would be in a certain place but failed to show up. Because of this, I spent many hours slowly passing through the overcrowded streets of Cairo only to arrive at remote places at which individuals had not shown up. Once I spent five consecutive days going to such a remote place only to find the individual was not there. Some potential interviewees also did not want to talk to me. As described in Chapter 2, I once called an individual—whose phone number I had managed to obtain only after weeks of research—who told me that he did not wish to talk to me when he learned that I was twenty-nine, non-Muslim, and not married. However, there were other experiences that not only convinced me that my efforts were not made in vain but far exceeded my best expectations. Among my most memorable experiences, which I also mention in Chapter 2, was my return to the house of an individual who helped plan the assassination of Sadat. The man and his wife were asleep, but his son opened the door and let me in. He led me into a room behind the reception hall, where he placed a baby in my arms. After about an hour, the individual I wanted to interview walked into the room and found me with his baby. Without hesitation he greeted me with a warm smile and words of affection, welcoming me back as if it were the most natural thing that I was holding his baby.

In the Aftermath of the Arab Spring Since I conducted research for this book, Egypt has been transformed. Something happened that nobody I talked to considered possible at the time: President Mubarak was ousted. While the future of Egypt remains unclear, the

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situation of the individuals I interviewed changed fundamentally—the regime they had opposed for decades was forced out of office. In this new climate, the individuals had to position themselves again. In this process, many of the nonviolent individuals became labeled “violent,” while formerly violent individuals acted as opponents of violence.2 This emphasizes just how thin the boundaries between violent and nonviolent activism appear to be. The Muslim Brothers experienced major changes in the aftermath of the Arab Spring. First, they were strongly empowered through the free elections in 2012. They won the majority of votes, and named the new president, Muhammad Mursi. A year later, however, the new president had become widely criticized, and the country was polarized. Wide-ranging demonstrations marked the first anniversary of President Mursi’s rule. The military reacted by issuing an ultimatum and then taking over power. Today, the Muslim Brothers are more persecuted than they were under Mubarak. They have been declared a terrorist orga nization, and hundreds of their members have been sentenced to death. This has reversed the situation and thrown the Brothers back into the position of a persecuted opposition movement—a position they have known for many decades since their foundation in 1928. Mahmud ʿIzzat was among the leading Muslim Brothers who experienced these changes. At the time I interviewed him, he spent much of his time in the Brothers headquarters on an island in the Nile. He was secretary-general and known to be one of the most powerful Muslim Brothers; some even said he was more powerful than the general guide himself. The Arab Spring changed ʿIzzat’s way of life and made him a fugitive. Taking over power when the general guide was arrested, ʿIzzat fled the country, supposedly taking refuge in Gaza. The Egyptian government requested his arrest through Interpol, accusing him of inciting violence. Yet, Mahmud ʿIzzat is one of the nonviolent individuals I interviewed for this study. Indeed, ʿIzzat argued against using physical force when I spoke with him in 2009 and 2010. He said he did not want to engage in violence, even though he understood why it occurred: There are many big reasons for violence . . . Those who fought against violence often became a reason for new violence For example, the police have to keep violence away, but sometimes engage in actions that make humans violent . . . For example, the police give information to the youth, who then go out and engage in violence

256 Conclusion

The police then catch the youth and take them to court In court, the police then present the case as if it were they [the police] who ended the violence . . . [Or] the USA goes to Iraq with an army The extremists around al-Qaeda answer with violence Those who were sent to end violence then become those who created violence . . . If I engage in violence, I will receive a response . . . They [the Egyptian state] have thousands of us If I pick up arms, they can use physical force against all of these people . . . That would be an even bigger damage. While the Muslim Brothers experienced a remarkable rise followed by a deep decline, the situation of the formerly violent individuals was more stable in the aftermath of the Arab Spring. Unlike the Muslim Brothers, they had already experienced a major transformation when the revolution occurred: the renunciation of violence, initiated at the end of the 1990s (see Chapter 3). When the Arab Spring happened, these individuals were already leading lives very different from their past: after spending decades in prison, they had come to accept the Egyptian government. Most were living more or less ordinary lives in which they engaged in ordinary professions. Najeh Ibrahim, for instance, was working as a doctor, writing books about Islam, and commenting on politics when the revolution happened. In the new political climate, he became a well-known commentator, appearing on TV and engaging in public discussions. The man who had earlier helped plan the assassination of President Sadat now warned of polarization and confrontation. “The Islamic movement must distance itself from clashes with the societal forces,” he said in July 2013 (in al-Jindi). He moreover noted: “I feel sorry that the blood that has been spilled this month . . . is more than the blood spilled in the war of ’73 with the Israeli enemy” (al-ʿArabiyya 2013). In the new political climate, Ibrahim also agreed to a public debate with satirist Bassem Youssef (El-Kamel 2013). The event, titled “Debating Political Satire: Fans and Foes,” happened at the American University in Cairo. Ibrahim surprised his audience by saying that political satire is not forbidden in Islam and instead recommended to make it less “ bitter” and “sweeten” it “with a pinch of sugar.” His opponent Youssef commented: “I wish that all Islamists were like Najeh Ibrahim.”

Conclusion 257

This example emphasizes that individuals who engage in violence are not blind to its costs, and may be ready to support alternative means if given the chance. It supports my finding that the boundaries between violent and nonviolent activism appear to be rather thin, much thinner than we think. As my interviews with people like Najeh Ibrahim show, violent individuals are not the crazy religious fanatics we hear about on the news. Rather, my findings suggest that the people who engage in violence are much closer to us than we imagine.

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Appendix 1

Chapter 1: Pearl’s Definitions for Causal Models and Counterfactuals (Pearl 2000) Causal Model

Pearl defines a causal model to be based on a causal structure (defined as a DAG), called D, and parameters that are compatible with this structure, called ΘD. The directedness of this structure is created by functions provided by the parameters. Specifically, these functions assign parent-child relationships in the order parent → child between variables, called PAi (parents) and Xi (children), in the set of all variables, called V. In addition, each relationship of the model is subject to disturbances, called Ui, which are assigned as functions on each relationship. The impact of disturbances on the causal structure is addressed by probability measures (of each disturbance). All disturbances are random and independent from each other, so that they do not constitute a secondary causal structure. Formally, this is expressed as A causal model is a pair M = < D, ΘD > consisting of a causal structure D and a set of parameters ΘD compatible with D. The parameters ΘD assign a function xi = fi ,(pai , ui) to each Xi ∈ V and a probability measure P(ui) to each ui , where PAi are the parents of Xi in D and where each Ui is a random disturbance distributed according to P(ui ) independent of all other u. (Pearl 2000: 44, emphasis in original)

260 Appendix 1

Causal Model Revisited

To introduce counterfactuals, Searle expands this formalization. First, he identifies the causes of the background variables, called U, which define the boundaries of the model by being located outside it. He then includes the background variables in the model, together with all the other variables. The resulting structure consists of both background variables U and all other variables V. The connections in this structure are defined as a set of functions, called F. Each function directly connects variables in the order U → parent → child, thus creating a set of variables consisting of subsets of both U and V. The set of all functions has one solution for all variables given U, so that each function is a mapping from a background variable or parent to a child. Formally, Pearl expresses this as A causal model is a triple M = , where (i) U is a set of background variables, (also called exogenous), that are determined by factors outside the model; (ii) V is a set {V1, V2, . . . , Vn } of variables, called endogenous, that are determined by variables in the model—that is, variables in U ∪ V; and (iii) F is a set of functions {f1, f2, . . . , fn } such that each fi is a mapping from (the respective domains of) Ui ∪ PAi to Vi, where Ui ⊆ U and PAi ⊆ V\ Vi and the entire set F forms a mapping from U to V. In other words, each fi in vi = fi (pai, ui),

i = 1, . . . , n,

assigns a value to Vi that depends on (the values of) a select set of variables in V ∪ U, and the entire set F has a unique solution V(u). (Pearl 2000: 203)

Submodel

Based on this, Pearl (2000: 204) introduces the submodel. The submodel represents the original model after the introduction of external interventions

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261

(formally: X = x). As explained in Chapter 1, external interventions change particular variables to be certain states (or things), so the parents of the variable on which the intervention is performed become irrelevant. In the submodel, this change is indicated by the set of functions Fx (see above). Specifically, the set of functions related to the variables in X are replaced ( fi : Vi ∉ X) with a set of constant functions (X = x). Based on this, the submodel only differs from the original model by the deletion of the direct connections between the variables on which the interventions are performed and their parents. Formally, this is expressed as Let M be a causal model, X a set of variables in V, and x a particular realization of X. A submodel Mx of M is the causal model Mx = , where Fx = { fi : Vi ∉ X } ∪ {X = x}.

Effect of Action

Effects of the action are the children, children of children, and so forth, of the variables on which external interventions are performed. The submodel captures both the connections between the variables on which external interventions are performed and their offspring and the deletion of the connections between the variables on which external interventions are performed and their parents. Formally, Pearl expresses this as Let M be a causal model, X a set of variables in V, and x a particular realization of X. The effect of action do(X=x) on M is given by the submodel Mx. (Pearl 2000: 204)

Potential Response

This definition differentiates between two sets of variables in submodels: (1) variables called X that are changed to introduce external interventions, and

262 Appendix 1

(2) variables called Y that, via connections between X and the children of X, are the submodels’ sinks. These sinks are called “Potential Response.” Since Y is connected to X via the children of X, Y is part of the submodel Mx and located in the submodels’ set of variables V in the same space U. Formally, this is expressed as Let X and Y be two subsets of variables in V. The potential response of Y to action do(X=x), denoted Yx (u), is the solution for Y of the set of equations Fx , that is, Yx (u) = YM (u). (Pearl 2000: 204) x

Counterfactual

Based on this, Pearl defines counterfactuals as the potential responses to the external interventions that are performed on particular variables in the original model. Formally, this is expressed as Let X and Y be two subsets of variables in V. The counterfactual sentence “Y would be y (in situation u), had X been x” is interpreted as the equality Yx (u) = y, with Yx (u) being the potential response of Y to X = x. (Pearl 2000: 204)

Chapter 5: Translating Cognitive Maps into Sparse Matrices The computational model applied in this analysis was designed in MATLAB. The code was written by Nick Henderson, a postdoctoral fellow in the Department of Computational and Mathematical Engineering at Stanford University. We designed the basic features of the model over a time frame of eight months in 2011, and continued adjusting the model during the following three years. Given the possibility of formalizing cognitive maps (CMs) into DAGs, we decided to use the programming environment MATLAB, a high-level language and interactive environment developed in the late 1970s. As indicated by its name (MATLAB = matrix laboratory), computations in MATLAB are based on matrices and analyzing CMs in MATLAB requires a translation of CMs into matrices.

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263

Specifically, the computational model designed for this research treats CMs as sparse adjacency matrixes, which are the same as regular adjacency matrices except for only including nonzero entries. They are used frequently, because they require much less memory than regular matrices. The following is an example, where A is a regular and S a sparse matrix, with the numbers in brackets indicating the position of the entries in rows and columns: A= 0

0

3

15

0

0

0

400

0

S= (2,1)

15

(3,2)

400

(1,3)

3

The sparse matrices representing CMs look slightly different: their two major components reflect the major components of CMs, beliefs, and connections between the beliefs. Beliefs are stored as strings in certain positions of the rows and columns of the matrices. Connections between the beliefs are indicated by the entries of the matrices, which are always 1 (not 3, 15, or 400 as in the example above). Th is number indicates the existence of direct connections between certain beliefs, as opposed to 0, which indicates the absence of direct connections between beliefs (and which is not explicitly represented in the sparse matrix). The following is an example, where A* is a regular and S* a sparse matrix, and G a belief chain from a CM represented by A* and S*. The positions of the strings stored in the rows and columns is given below G, A*, and S*. G=

264 Appendix 1

A*= 0

1

0

0

0

1

0

0

0

S*= (1,2)

1

(2,3)

1

Positions of the Beliefs of G in A* and S*: Row 1 and Column 1 ‘strained-living-conditions’ Row 2 and Column 2 ‘political-participation’ Row 3 and Column 3 ‘aggression-by-home-state’

Creating Sparse Matrices from CMs: Excel Spreadsheets and Cell Arrays

In order to store CMs as sparse matrices, several steps had to be taken. As apparent from the example above, it is necessary to convert the beliefs of CMs into rows and columns representing the antecedents and consequents of the inferences. In order to undertake this conversion, we translated CMs into Excel spreadsheets, which can be accessed by MATLAB and stored as rows and columns. This translation is straightforward: there is one column for all the antecedent belief classes and a second column for the consequent belief classes of each inference: Antecedent political-goal peaceful-activity-against-home-state domination-by-home-state

Consequent peaceful-activity-againsthome-state aggression-by-home-state aggression-by-home-state

In this translation, inferences involving more than one consequent were represented in more than one row, listing the different consequents separately while repeating the antecedent(s). Similarly, inferences involving more than

Appendix 1

265

one antecedent in the form of an “or-connection” were represented in more than one row, listing the different antecedents separately while repeating the consequent. Consider this example: Inference abduced from CM IF strained-living-conditions OR domination-by-home-state THEN aggression-by-home-state Excel Spreadsheet Antecedent strained-living-conditions domination-by-home-state

Consequent aggression-by-home-state aggression-by-home-state

On the other hand, inferences involving more than one antecedent in the form of an “and-connection” were never separated into several rows, because the “and-connection” indicates that the antecedents are insufficient by themselves to produce the consequent. To capture this difference, we introduced the semicolon to separate the different antecedents in relation to the same consequent(s): Inference abduced from CM IF strained-living-conditions AND domination-by-home-state THEN aggression-by-home-state Excel Spreadsheet Antecedent strained-living-conditions; domination-by-home-state

Consequent aggression-by-home-state

Once these spreadsheets are available, it is possible to import CMs into MATLAB and store them as cell arrays. The following is an example. P stands for predicate or antecedent, C for consequent. MATLAB Cell Array P = {‘political-goal’, ‘peacefulC = {‘peaceful-activity-againstactivity-against-home-state’,  home-state’, ‘aggression-by‘domination-by-home-state’}  home-state’, ‘aggression-byhome-state’}

266 Appendix 1

Cell arrays can be converted into sparse matrixes. Specifically, this was accomplished by a function that takes cell arrays as an input and delivers sparse matrices as output.

Chapters 5 and 6: Two-Dimensional Matrix The following matrix was used to identify belief combinations that motivate individuals to engage in violent as opposed to nonviolent activism. It was necessary to identify these combinations because there were too many runs— more than 100,000  in total—to immediately know which combinations mattered more than others. Specifically, the matrix shows how many belief combinations (center; the total is 131,072) encourage violent as opposed to nonviolent individuals to make decisions. The numbers of individuals deciding to engage in violent versus nonviolent activism are shown separately on the top row (nonviolent activism: maximum of fourteen individuals) and in the left column (political violence: maximum of thirteen individuals). The number of belief combinations motivating decisions is shown inside the frame.

The second row of the matrix (located inside the frame, marked in bold) reads as follows, from left to right: There are 8 out of the 131,072 belief combinations based on which 0 individuals reach a decision to engage in political violence (0 in

V

0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13

NV 0 8 0 8 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

1 48 8 40 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

2 96 80 72 48 16 16 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

3 104 192 144 136 104 96 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

4 128 264 344 208 304 320 112 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

5 104 320 608 416 368 704 448 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

6 24 296 544 984 560 1024 912 240 32 16 0 0 0 0

7 0 120 552 672 1192 1392 1360 704 208 112 32 0 0 0

8 0 0 248 872 880 2288 2048 1312 720 560 224 0 0 0

9 0 0 0 248 960 1840 3504 2816 2832 1712 736 128 0 0

10 0 0 0 0 224 1024 2688 4400 4752 5344 2976 768 0 0

11 0 0 0 0 0 256 1088 2752 5216 6432 6656 4352 384 0

12 0 0 0 0 0 0 128 576 1920 4192 5632 6656 4608 0

13 14 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 192 0 960 128 1792 384 3200 256 5248 1024 2048 2048

Appendix 1

left column, second row) and 0 individuals reach a decision to engage in nonviolent activism (0 in first row, second column). There are 48 out of the 131,072 belief combinations based on which 0 individuals reach a decision to engage in political violence (0 in left column, second row) and 1 individual reaches a decision to engage in nonviolent activism (1 in first row, third column). There are 96 out of the 131,072 belief combinations based on which 0 individuals reach a decision to engage in political violence (0 in left column, second row) and 2 individuals reach a decision to engage in nonviolent activism (2 in first row, fourth column). There are 104 out of the 131,072 belief combinations based on which 0 individuals reach a decision to engage in political violence (0 in left column, second row) and 3 individuals reach a decision to engage in nonviolent activism (3 in first row, fift h column). There are 128 out of the 131,072 belief combinations based on which 0 individuals reach a decision to engage in political violence (0 in left column, second row) and 4 individuals reach a decision to engage in nonviolent activism (4 in first row, sixth column). There are 104 out of the 131,072 belief combinations based on which 0 individuals reach a decision to engage in political violence (0 in left column, second row) and 5 individuals reach a decision to engage in nonviolent activism (5 in first row, seventh column). There are 24 out of the 131,072 belief combinations based on which 0 individuals reach a decision to engage in political violence (0 in left column, second row) and 6 individuals reach a decision to engage in nonviolent activism (6 in first row, eight column).

267

268 Appendix 1

There are 0 out of the 131,072 belief combinations based on which 0 individuals reach a decision to engage in political violence (0 in left column, second row) and 7 individuals reach a decision to engage in nonviolent activism (7 in first row, ninth column). There are 0 out of the 131,072 belief combinations based on which 0 individuals reach a decision to engage in political violence (0 in left column, second row) and 8 individuals reach a decision to engage in nonviolent activism (8 in first row, tenth column). There are 0 out of the 131,072 belief combinations based on which 0 individuals reach a decision to engage in political violence (0 in left column, second row) and 9 individuals reach a decision to engage in nonviolent activism (9 in first row, eleventh column). There are 0 out of the 131,072 belief combinations based on which 0 individuals reach a decision to engage in political violence (0 in left column, second row) and 10 individuals reach a decision to engage in nonviolent activism (10 in first row, twelft h column). There are 0 out of the 131,072 belief combinations based on which 0 individuals reach a decision to engage in political violence (0 in left column, second row) and 11 individuals reach a decision to  engage in nonviolent activism (11 in first row, thirteenth column). There are 0 out of the 131,072 belief combinations based on which 0 individuals reach a decision to engage in political violence (0 in left column, second row) and 12 individuals reach a decision to engage in nonviolent activism (12 in first row, fourteenth column). There are 0 out of the 131,072 belief combinations based on which 0 individuals reach a decision to engage in political violence (0 in left column, second row) and 13 individuals reach a decision to engage in nonviolent activism (13 in first row, fi fteenth column).

Appendix 1

269

There are 0 out of the 131,072 belief combinations based on which 0 individuals reach a decision to engage in political violence (0 in left column, second row) and 14 individuals reach a decision to engage in nonviolent activism (14 in first row, sixteenth column).

Chapters 5 and 6: Filters As mentioned in Chapters 5 and 6, the analysis often applied filters to identify the beliefs motivating violent or nonviolent activism. These filters had the form of Excel tables. Specifically, these tables provide information about the beliefs making up the combinations identified by the twodimensional matrix: based on the matrix, it is not immediately possible to see which belief classes are part of certain belief combinations. (Rather, the matrix provides information about the numbers of belief combinations that motivate individuals to decide to engage in violent or nonviolent activism.) Specifically, the fi lters look like the table. The right part of the table shows the belief classes that make up certain belief combinations. The names of the belief classes are shown in the first row. The rows below the names indicate the presence and absence of each class in each combination. Each row represents one combination: 0 indicates the absence of a par ticu lar belief class in a combination, 1 indicates its presence (marked by a dark background). The left part of the table shows the numbers of decisions activated by each belief combinations and additional information on the analysis. The column under the cell “exp_cnt” in the middle of the top row shows the number of the belief classes making up the belief combinations in each row. The column under the cell “run_idx” in the top row (first column from the left) shows the number of the run in which each belief combination was asserted (this is a number out of a total of 131,072, as explained in Chapter 5)—it is simply an index created while running the program on the experimental set of beliefs. The remaining columns under the cells “map_” and “dec_” indicate how many individuals reach decisions given the belief combinations indicated on the right. “Map_cnt” gives the total numbers of individuals making decisions per belief combination indicated in the rows. “Dec_cnt” gives the total numbers of decisions reached by the individuals based on the combinations indicated in the rows. “V” refers to decisions made by violent individuals, and “NV” to

Appendix 1

271

decisions by nonviolent individuals. “E” refers to decisions by Egyptians (Muslims), and “G” refers to decisions by Germans (non-Muslims). As shown by the zero entries under all these cells, this table provides information about the belief combinations based on which no individuals decide to engage in violent or nonviolent activism (as discussed in Chapter 5).

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Appendix 2: Alternative Worlds Without Violence

Asserted belief classes: Circled in Green Deactivated belief classes: Circled in Red Belief classes activated by asserted classes: Circled in Blue Decision to pick up arms: “v” Decision to engage in nonviolent activism: “nv” Decision activated by asserted belief classes: Circled in Blue

Overview of Interruption Mechanisms Violence

V-Interruption Mechanism 1: Alternative Worlds Without States Changing from Being a Minor to Being a Major Threat V-Interruption Mechanism 1: Alternative Worlds Without States Becoming Increasingly Threatening V-Interruption Mechanism 1: Alternative Worlds Without State Aggression

Nonviolent Activism

NV-Interruption Mechanism 1: Alternative Worlds Without States Changing from Being a Minor to Being a Major Threat NV-Interruption Mechanism 1: Alternative Worlds Without States Becoming Increasingly Threatening NV-Interruption Mechanism 1: Alternative Worlds Without State Aggression

274 Appendix 2

NV-Interruption Mechanism 4: Alternative Worlds Without States Becoming Threatening NV-Interruption Mechanism 5: Alternative Worlds Without State Oppression

domination by previous state

domination by home state

unreligious state

existence of peaceful activity against home state

strength of resistance against home state

aggression by home state

insufficiency of activity inside state structures

necessity for violence

transformatory goal

peaceful activity against home state

continuation of aggression by home state

obedience to god

private goal

absence of strength of home state

political goal

possibility of reaching goals by violence

negative consequences of violence

acceptance of negative consequences of violence

support for violence in direct environment

absence of peaceful means

v

V-Interruption-Mechanism-1-1: Deactivation of Inference Chain from Domination by Home State to Continuation of Aggression by Home State.

political goal

existence of international resistance against state system

imperialism

self conviction

absence of acceptance of aggression by home state

peaceful activity against home state

support for violence in direct environment

domination by home state

transformatory goal

existence of violence against home state

weakness of home state

possibility of reaching goals by violence

aggression by home state

duty for action against home state

insufficiency of activity inside state structures

negative consequences of violence

continuation of aggression by home state

necessity for violence

acceptance of negative consequences of violence

absence of success of violence

v

V-Interruption-Mechanism-1-2: Deactivation of Inference from Aggression by Home State to Continuation of Aggression by Home State.

absence of peaceful means

existence of international resistance against state system

negative experience in state system

strained living conditions

duty for action against home state

distance from social structures

continuation of peaceful activity against home state

absence of peaceful means

transformatory goal

political goal

avoidance of negative consequences of violence

self conviction

impossibility of accepting home state

dislike of violence

possibility of reaching goals by violence

absence of acceptance of home state

absence of approval for violence by the people

ignorance of fellow citizens

strength of home state

aggression by home state

insufficiency of activity inside state structures

domination by home state

education during childhood

peaceful activity against home state

necessity for violence

negative consequences of violence

acceptance of negative consequences of violence

support for violence in direct environment

v

V-Interruption-Mechanism-1-3: Deactivation of Aggression by Home State.

imperialism

strength of home state

peaceful activity against home state

change of home state

domination by home state

weakness of home state

aggression by home state

possibility for violence

existence of violence against home state

continuation of aggression by home state

absence of state structures

negative consequences of violence

success of peaceful activity

negative consequences of absence of state structures

absence of acceptance of negative consequences of violence

acceptance of state structures

superiority of state structures

ignorance of fellow citizens

importance of the people

priority of goal opposing violence

nv

NV-Interruption-Mechanism-1-1: Deactivation of Inference Chain from Domination by Home State to Continuation of Aggression by Home State.

disunity of muslims

weakness of international resistance against state system

aggression by home state

continuation of aggression by home state

impossibility of reaching goals by violence

imperialism

private goal

duty for action against home state

domination by home state

transformatory goal

absence of approval for violence by the people

possibility for violence

negative consequences of violence

education of the people

possibility of reaching goals by peaceful means

nv

NV-Interruption-Mechanism-1-2: Deactivation of Inference from Aggression by Home State to Continuation of Aggression by Home State.

existence of peaceful activity against home state

strained living conditions

private goal

peaceful activity against home state

continuation of peaceful activity against home state

political goal

support from the people for peaceful activity against home state

possibility for nonviolence

negative experience in state system

duty for action against home state

possibility of reaching goals by peaceful means

aggression by home state

obedience to god

existence of violence against home state

absence of success of violence

impossibility of reaching goals by violence

nv

NV-Interruption-Mechanism-1-3: Deactivation of Aggression by Home State.

domination by previous state

absence of domination by home state

domination by home state

existence of peaceful activity against home state

absence of success of violence

absence of approval for violence by the people negative consequences of absence of action against home state strength of international resistance against state system

possibility of reaching goals by peaceful means

absence of necessity for violence

imperialism

aggression by foreign state

interest in politics

aggression by home state

experience of violence

peaceful activity supporting home state

negative consequences of violence

absence of acceptance of negative consequences of violence

refusal to join army

duty for action against home state

peaceful activity

transformatory goal

ignorance of fellow citizens

education during childhood

aggression by previous state

peaceful activity against home state

strength of home state

impossibility of reaching goals by violence

support for violence in direct environment

possibility for violence

nv

NV-Interruption-Mechanism-1-4: Deactivation of Inference from Domination by Home State to Aggression by Home State.

impossibility of accepting home state

domination by previous state

imperialism

negative experience in state system

domination by home state

personal problems

acceptance of state structures

peaceful activity

joining the army

absence of interest in politics

interest in politics

experience of violence

negative consequences of victory of the resistance in foreign state

peaceful activity against home state

enjoyment of violence

negative consequences of violence

transformatory goal

nv

NV-Interruption-Mechanism-1-5: Deactivation of Domination by Home State.

domination by previous state

absence of domination by foreign state

domination by home state

peaceful activity

transformatory goal

peaceful activity against home state

continuation of peaceful activity against home state

support for violence in direct environment

political goal

absence of domination by home state

education during childhood

negative consequences of victory of the resistance in foreign state

acceptance of state structures

absence of success of peaceful activity against home state

absence of success of violence

absence of aggression by home state

possibility of reaching goals by peaceful means

negative consequences of violence

impossibility of reaching goals by violence

existence of violence against home state

acceptance of state representatives

nv

Failure of NV-Interruption Mechanisms. (3 graphs)

unreligious state

duty for action against home state

obedience to god

peaceful activity

strained living conditions

ignorance of fellow citizens

priority of goal opposing violence

existence of absolute priority of transformatory goal

existence of violence against home state

support for violence in direct environment

transformatory goal

peaceful activity against home state

impossibility of reaching goals by violence

existence of peaceful activity against home state

absence of state structures

support from the people for peaceful activity against home state

negative consequences of absence of state structures

aggression by home state

indispensability of state structures

possibility for violence

nv

Failure of NV-Interruption Mechanisms. (Continued)

superiority of state structures

absence of peaceful means

private goal

existence of international resistance against state system

peaceful activity

imperialism

interest in politics

political goal

peaceful activity against home state

strength of international resistance against state system

existence of violence against home state

absence of approval for violence by the people

absence of success of violence

absence of acceptance of negative consequences of violence

aggression by foreign state

absence of success of peaceful activity against home state

success of peaceful activity against home state

absence of domination by home state

strength of resistance against home state

negative consequences of victory of the resistance in foreign state

continuation of peaceful activity against home state

support from the people for peaceful activity against home state

support for violence in direct environment

impossibility of reaching goals by violence

nv

Failure of NV-Interruption Mechanisms. (Continued)

absence of absolute priority of political goal

possibility of reaching goals by peaceful means

aggression by home state

ignorance of fellow citizens

domination by home state

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Notes

Introduction 1. Moreover, most of these do not directly focus on beliefs, and to my knowledge none explore the belief systems connected to political violence (e.g., Atran 2010; Blair et al. 2013; Halperin and Bar-Tal 2011; Hegghammer 2013). 2. Related famous examples are Richard Hofstadter, “The Paranoid Style” (1964); James David Barber, The Presidential Character (1992); and Margaret Hermann and Thomas Preston, “Presidents, Advisers, and Foreign Policy: The Effect of Leadership Styles on Executive Arrangements” (1994). Two well-known examples in political violence are Friedrich Hacker, Crusaders, Criminals, Crazies: Terror and Terrorism in Our Time (1976) and David Hubbard, The Skyjacker: His Flight of Fantasy (1971). 3. Specifically, these mechanisms are modeled as chains of beliefs that are antecedent to decisions (belief → belief → belief → decision). 4. It is a concept that has been “imported” into studies of political science from daily life and therefore lacks some of the major prerequisites for scientific research: neutrality, clarity, communicability, and discriminatory power (della Porta 1995: 2). 5. Note, however, that not every actor in a state is considered a state target. An example of an actor not considered a state target is the leader of the opposition. 6. This is emphasized by the criticism that political violence has often been considered “synonymous with cognate but distinct concepts such as ‘confl ict,’ ‘revolution,’ or ‘war,’ ” rather than as the application of physical force in the context of par ticu lar conflicts—or independent of conflict, as it may be (Kalyvas 2013: 20). This criticism shows that physical force is understood as a means to serve the goals of the parties involved in conflicts, rather than as the confl ict itself. 7. As discussed below, when considering borderline behav ior, it is nevertheless possible that it occurs spontaneously. 8. Since violence cannot be conceived of without considering its absence, this neglect is rather unfortunate. 9. In this article, Sharp also puts forward nine types of nonviolence. These can be differentiated by various features (for instance, by the strength of the action they involve— interventions versus refusal to participate in conflict versus passive resistance), which

288

Notes to Pages 18–34

are nevertheless of minor importance for the purpose of this study. Exclusively addressing nonviolence, none of them are necessary to differentiate nonviolent from violent activism. Rather, the presence or absence of physical force is sufficient for this differentiation. Many of his types do not fit the criteria I have specified to define nonviolent activism, because they address “passive behav ior” that represents refraining from political activism (Sharp 1959: 46–47). 10. This is confirmed by della Porta, who observes that determining whether certain actions are political violence can be “highly subjective” (2). Chapter 1. A Cognitive Mapping Approach to Political Violence 1. Following Axelrod 1976: 8–9 (citing Abelson and Rosenberg 1958 and Lambert 1966 for psycho-logic; Simon 1957 and Blalock 1964 for causal inferences; Cartwright and Harary 1965 and Harary, Norman, and Cartwright 1965 for graph theory; and Osgood, Saporta, and Nunnally 1956 and Luce and Raiffa 1957 for evaluative assertion analysis). 2. These are called pure antecedents or intermediate beliefs. See the section in this chapter on “Belief Connections.” 3. These are called pure consequents. See “Belief Connections” for further information. 4. Nevertheless, there are other approaches, and researchers have also treated beliefs as feelings or dispositions (Hacker 2004). 5. For reasons of clarity, I refrain from mentioning propositional contents in most of this chapter. Note, however, that when I talk about “beliefs that address” or “beliefs about” I am really referring to the propositional contents of certain beliefs. 6. Since the things addressed by these beliefs are observable by anyone, they are usually also intersubjective. Nevertheless, it is in principle possible that only one person observes a certain thing and holds a true belief about it. Due to the thing’s existence in the external world, it is possible other people will observe it and form true beliefs about it at a later point in time. 7. Nevertheless, people often do not express their feelings—this belief may therefore not be observable at all, or only by the person screaming or hitting something. As a result, beliefs of this type are often not true beliefs or false beliefs, and they may not be intersubjective. 8. Although, as I discuss in Chapter 3, people may also lie, and it may be difficult to verify whether someone is telling the truth. This emphasizes that moral norms can but need not be manifested in observable behav ior. 9. Because of this, they are by nature verifiable from a perspective external to the subject who holds them. In par ticu lar, they indicate what can be considered connected (coherence) or connected in a certain logical order (directedness) by anybody. Like true beliefs, belief connections therefore indicate that the reasoning processes underlying human behav ior, such as violent and nonviolent activism, are not purely subjective. Nevertheless, this does not mean that the “things” considered connected must be ver-

Notes to Pages 34–46 289

ifiable in the external world and accessible to anybody (true beliefs), or that they are considered connected by more than one person (intersubjective beliefs). For example, I can believe aliens exist in connection with believing aliens have five legs, although neither of these beliefs is observable, and although there may not be anyone else holding them. Nevertheless, it is possible to verify whether my two beliefs can be considered connected from an external perspective. This emphasizes that all belief connections are in principle identifiable from a perspective external to the subject who holds them. 10. As observed by George Edward Moore, it is impossible to coherently say “p but I do not believe (know) p” (Hendricks and Symons 2014). 11. Note that it does not indicate whether it is possible for a person to hold at least one of these beliefs. 12. This emphasizes that belief connections can also involve beliefs that are not true beliefs or that may only be subjective. 13. Note that it may also represent connections that are not temporal, such as the connection between “I believe that I am thirty-three” and “I believe that I exist.” 14. These contexts are provided by the experiences people have in their lives, in which every person is “born into a historical social world” where “his biographical situation is, from the beginning, socially delimited and determined by social givens that find specific expressions” (Schütz 1973: 243). In the following sections, I show how these contexts can be represented by the propositional contents of beliefs and connections between beliefs. 15. They also make it possible to identify the boundaries of certain situations, which become especially visible when problems occur and no routine handling is possible (Schütz 1973: 120). 16. Given that violent and nonviolent activism can be considered as abstractions that generalize the “typical beings” of certain things that have a “factual existence” in the external world, it seems adequate to consider beliefs like B4, B5, and B6 as generalizations of beliefs like B1, B2, and B3. This suggests that beliefs of Type 3 may be considered as generalizations of beliefs of Type 1, if their propositional contents describe generalizations of certain things that have a material existence in the external world. It is, however, impor tant to note that, in general, beliefs of Type 3 need not be verifiable in the external world and that it is in principle possible to hold beliefs whose propositional contents address types that cannot be verified by certain things in the world (see “Typology of Beliefs”). 17. Note that how beliefs may be acquired is a different issue. 18. These belief contexts are directed, because they address “things” based on which it becomes possible to hold other beliefs that address violent and nonviolent activism. 19. In general, it is possible, indeed quite common, for the belief systems of different people about the same observable things to include different beliefs. For example, different people often give very different descriptions of the same political event. 20. Note that other researchers do not usually define decisions as certain types of beliefs (see Eagly and Chaiken 1993). I nevertheless defi ne decisions as certain types of

290

Notes to Pages 46–54

beliefs differing from other beliefs by semantics and structure because decisions are components of cognitive maps representing belief systems. 21. Intentions are always directed toward actions or states (e.g., being free or being rich); a person cannot intend something that is not an action or a state (e.g., “intending a person,” “intending money”). 22. It is impor tant to note that these elaborations only consider decisions to do something in the world, and not the consequences of the action, or whether the goal of the action is achieved. 23. This is the case even if the action does not occur. However, it is not the case referring to actions that are announced but not supported by deliberation, such as military contingency plans. 24. More precisely, the literature expresses this by introducing an additional intention related to the actual performance of the action, called intention-in-action (see Searle 2001). 25. In belief systems, this may be indicated by the beliefs directed toward the decision (pure antecedents and intermediate beliefs). 26. The nature of intentions remains debated in the literature. 27. Also see Schrodt 1995; Taber 1992; Cederman 2005; Bhavnani, Miodownik and Choi 2011. 28. Graph theory is the study of graphs (Harary, Norman, and Cartwright 1965). In computer science, graph theory is often applied in fields such as data mining or clustering to study problems that are other wise abstract and highly complex. Representing such problems as graphs offers a powerful way to analyze and fi nd solutions. 29. Specifically, it is possible to remove cycles or self-loops if they occur in certain cognitive maps. 30. The name counterfactual is actually a “misnomer” (Pearl 2000: 217), because it refers to something that is not verifiable empirically, or even contradictory to facts. This makes it difficult to answer counterfactual questions, and some statisticians have consequently claimed that counterfactual inquiries are metaphysical (Alexander Philip Dawid cited in Pearl 2000: 33–34). Pearl has answered that since “our scientific, legal, and ordinary languages are loaded with counterfactual utterances,” there is evidence “that counterfactuals are far from being metaphysical” (217). He believes “they must have definite testable implications and must carry valuable substantive information.” 31. Also see Fearon 1991, 1996; Sylvan and Majeski 1998; Tetlock and Nebow 2001; Morgan and Winship 2007; Funke and Gronwald 2009; Booth et al. 2009; Grynaviski 2013; Hendrickson 2012. 32. Some researchers use case studies and focus on “points of indeterminacy at particu lar junctures in history (reminding us how easily things could have worked out differently and how difficult it is to apply abstract hypothetico-deductive laws to concrete cases)” (idiographic study of counterfactuals). Others use “well-defined theoretical or empirical generalizations to well-defined antecedent conditions (reminding us that deterministic laws may have been at work that were invisible to the original his-

Notes to Pages 54–63 291

torical actor as well as to contemporary scholars who insist on a radically idiographic focus on the par ticu lar)” (nomothetic study of counterfactuals). Others try to combine the two (idiographic-nomothetic study of counterfactuals). Finally, some identify the “logical contradictions and gaps” in the arguments of formal theories by “rerunning ‘history’ in artificial worlds that capture key functional properties of the actual world” (computational simulations of counterfactuals) (Tetlock and Belkin 1996: 6). 33. Specifically, it combines various aspects from the approaches to the study of counterfactuals mentioned in note 32. First, it draws on par ticu lar cases by representing the belief systems of certain actors. Second, it allows the defi nition of well-defined antecedent conditions by performing external interventions on the actors’ beliefs about the world. It also allows theoretical or empirical generalizations by tracing the “effects” of external interventions as if they were physical mechanisms. Third, it “reruns history” in an artificial world that captures the key functional properties of the actual world by tracing the “effects” of external interventions in a belief context that does not exist. 34. It is possible to consider such changes external interventions, because knowledge is a true belief about something that exists in reality, and changing it represents changing something in reality. 35. In fact, the terminology of logical antecedent and consequent may seem more appropriate to describe human knowledge of the connections in the external world than the terminology of cause and effect because it indicates the limitedness of knowledge about causes. Pearl’s use of the cause-effect terminology instead underlines that it is possible to make causal statements and model them as if they were true in the external world—although he acknowledges there is uncertainty about cause-effect relationships in the external world. Pearl also formally addresses the uncertainty connected to human knowledge by assigning disturbances to the functions that represent causal connections. 36. In par ticu lar, the truth condition reads as follows, with A standing for antecedent and C for consequent (in Menzies 2014): “ ’If A were the case, C would be the case’ is true in the actual world if and only if (i) there are no possible A-worlds; or (ii) some A-world where C holds is closer to the actual world than is any A-world where C does not hold.” 37. Lewis also argues that every “thing” has counter parts in different worlds—a notion that has been criticized widely. For the most prominent criticism, see Kripke 1980. 38. Modal logic is a type of formal logic that addresses relations of possibility (it is possible that) and necessity (it is necessary that), and also of morality (it is mandatory that) and temporality (it was the case that). 39. Specifically, Kripke proceeds by defining a “normal model structure” that is “an ordered triple” (G, K, R) (1963: 68–69). In this structure, K is considered a nonempty set, G an element of K, and R a reflexive relation defined on K. Second, he considers an M model for a well-formulated formula A of M that is a binary function F(P, H), whose

292

Notes to Pages 63–97

output is either “true” or “false,” related to a given model structure (G, K, R). The function involves two variables, P and H. P ranges over the propositional variables of A, and H over the members of K. Third, he considers a model related to a model structure (G, K, R) in which any subformulas B of A and any H that is an element of K has a truth value T(B, H). B may not be a propositional variable and includes all subformulae of A that are not propositional variables. Finally, he defines B to be necessarily true in H if the function F(B, H′) has output “true” for every H′ in K, so that H R H′. Kripke goes on to consider K the set of all possible worlds, G the real world, and H and H′ two worlds. Based on this, he is able to identify (1) A necessary component that is true in all worlds: “We were given a set K of possible worlds, with one element G singled out as the ‘real’ world. A proposition was to be necessary iff it was ‘true in all possible worlds’ ” (69). (In the paragraph above, this necessary component is B.) (2) Entire worlds that are different from each other: “This last clause [defining H as a function that assigns a truth-value to each atomic subformula of formula A] means that there can be no two worlds in which the same truth-value is assigned to each atomic formula” (69; emphasis in original). In the paragraph above, entire worlds are given by the function F(P, H). Chapter 2. Interviewing Violent and Nonviolent Individuals 1. His current work is available at www.laika-verlag.de. 2. Note that the constitution written under President Muhammad Mursi did not change this. 3. Under these conditions, only certain information was accessible. As I elaborate in later chapters, the reasoning processes identified by this study are therefore often only observed in the cognitive maps of certain individuals. However, the analysis also shows that the main beliefs motivating decisions are shared by a large majority of individuals. Moreover, as explained in Chapter 1, reasoning processes connected with decisions for actions consist of inferences that can be drawn by anyone. Therefore, they need not be observed more than once. 4. Examples are the details with which one individual described his involvement in making a poster criticizing the state, or the details with which another individual recollected his childhood memories during World War II that were connected to his later contempt for the German state. 5. As I describe in Chapter 4, I took notes after the interviews about the individuals’ gestures, facial expressions, and so forth, which indicate such negative emotions. 6. For further information on this aspect, see Hall 1976 on “high context culture.” 7. Hassanat denotes benefits obtained from God as a reward for good deeds. 8. The Shiʿa only accept successors to the prophet who are descendants of his family, whereas Sunnis also accept nondescendants. 9. See Chapter 3 for a brief history of the individuals’ groups. 10. In Chapter 4, I elaborate on my identification of this information from the interviews with these individuals. 11. The number of individuals detained during this crackdown exceeds 1,000.

Notes to Pages 99–129 293

12. Fichter and Lönnendonker explain this age by reference to the absence of a “dialogue” between the older generation who had fought in the World War II and its children, to “generation-specific estrangement” (2008: 40). Chapter 3. A Short History of the Individuals’ Groups 1. The assassination of Buback remains unresolved. The individuals who assassinated Sadat were sentenced to death, but I was able to interview individuals who participated in the Shura session in which the leaders decided to kill the president. 2. Egyptian prime minister assassinated in 1948. 3. al-Tawhid, June 2011; homepage. http://tawhed.ws/. 4. Della Porta (1995: 64) noted that the German police “tended to avoid physical repression,” which eventually led to criticism from the right-wing press. On the other hand, Görtemaker and della Porta herself have observed that police violence strongly influenced the behav ior of the political activism at the time (Görtemaker 1999: 482; della Porta 1995: 38). 5. Recall that, in the Introduction, application of physical force in the context of demonstrations was labeled a borderline activity that involves both violent and nonviolent means. Chapter 4. Constructing Cognitive Maps About Political Violence 1. For example, try to compare the quote above with a quote by a different RAF member, which does not seem to be immediately comparable because it involves different vocabulary and appears to address different things. At the beginning we went [to demonstrations] without stones. But then we made the bitter experiences of always returning with bruises and black eyes. The tiniest violation of a rule was always immediately answered with the most extreme violence. So the question of not using violence did not pose itself. 2. Bringing in elements such as intentionality, inconclusive evidence, and indirect insincerity, many analysts (cf. Owens 2006; Williamson 2000) have pointed to differences between what is believed, on the one hand, and what is asserted, on the other hand. Assertions may express lies. In Chapters 1 and 2, I discussed that, disregarding whether the individuals express the beliefs that actually motivated their decisions, what they say provides information about the reasoning processes by which it is possible to decide to engage in violent or nonviolent activism. Due to their internal structure, even wrong explanations provide information about how individuals can decide to take up arms. Apart from that, it is often possible to check on whether my interviewees told me the truth by reference to the propositional contents of their beliefs. For example, the belief of an Egyptian that the government cut bread subsidies is

294

Notes to Pages 129–168

verifiable by historical evidence, and beliefs that contradict such evidence can be considered lies. However, none of my interviews contained such lies. Although this does not mean that the individuals might not have lied about things not verifiable by empirical evidence, it raises confidence that they actually told the truth. 3. Note that this, as well as the following examples of this section, also contains belief connections. This section focuses on identifying beliefs from assertions and does not address these connections. The following section elaborates on identification of belief connections. 4. Based on this procedure, it might appear that certain beliefs may be identified many times, which suggests the analysis may overemphasize certain beliefs. However, as I explain in the following part of this chapter, the beliefs identified this way were abstracted into more general categories, which eliminated repetition of certain beliefs. 5. Note that any assertion could be formulated in the form of a main- and a subclause. For example, the fi rst assertion identified from A1 then reads “I believe that the daʿwa is a means to build a caliphate” rather than “daʿwa is a means to build a caliphate.” 6. Note that in this case I did not structure my notes according to sub- and mainclauses but made reference to sentences. 7. Recall that the quotes also indicate belief connections, as “only if” in this case, explained in the following section. 8. This procedure followed my definition of nonviolent activism, outlined in the Introduction. Chapter 5. A Computational Analysis of Violent and Nonviolent Activism For more technical elaborations on the results presented in this chapter see Dornschneider and Henderson 2014. 1. This number is calculated by taking 2 to the power of the number of beliefs (17). 2. As explained in Chapter 1, particular reasoning processes need not be connected with decisions for action. Based on this, it is possible that pure consequents are not decisions to engage in violent or nonviolent activism, but any of the other beliefs contained by the cognitive maps. Th is was a relatively rare occurrence in this research, but there were a few such cases, which is why it was impor tant to pay attention to this aspect. 3. See the Stanford Parser at the Natural Language Processing Group of Stanford University, November 2012, http://nlp.stanford.edu/soft ware/lex-parser.shtml. 4. Nevertheless, it is important to bear in mind that backward inference could support other analyses of cognitive maps that do not explore counterfactuals. 5. This number is calculated by taking 2 to the power of the number of beliefs (17). 6. Monte Carlo sampling; each combination of beliefs included one to nineteen beliefs.

Notes to Pages 173–187 295

7. This analysis was performed manually, meaning that the names of the asserted belief classes were typed into MATLAB (rather than using additional code that automatically asserted certain belief classes). All the belief classes listed in the supersuperclass State Environment were included except the classes Education of the People and Ignorance of Fellow Citizens, which do not directly address the state. 8. In addition to the previous analysis, it includes the positive belief class Education of the People and the negative belief class Ignorance of Fellow Citizens, as well as two belief classes about the international state environment, Imperialism (negative) and Absence of Aggression by Foreign State (positive). 9. On an Intel Core i7 processor with 8 gigabytes of memory. 10. In each run, one of all possible combinations of belief classes from the main experimental set was asserted, as well as all the belief classes of the additional set. A more detailed description of how these runs were performed is presented at the beginning of this chapter. 11. Support by Home State indicates that an individual believes the state to be supportive of its citizens, for example by providing jobs. Religious State indicates that an individual believes the people who run the state are religious (Muslim). Change of State indicates that an individual believes the state is experiencing change. 12. Recall that this is possible because belief classes are abstractions of the direct speech of the individuals in which they described both positive and negative aspects of the state (see Chapter 4). 13. Specifically, the analysis focused on the highest and lowest most different numbers of individuals making decisions, that is, twelve individuals deciding to engage in nonviolent activism as opposed to six individuals deciding to take up arms (highest most different number; Belief Combination of Type 3), and six individuals deciding to engage in nonviolent activism as opposed to zero individuals deciding to take up arms (lowest most different number; Belief Combination of Type 2). Moreover, the analysis focused on the belief combinations with the largest numbers of belief classes. 14. Combinations encouraging a minimum of nonviolent activism also include the beliefs Aggression by Previous State and Absence of Domination by Foreign State; combinations encouraging a minimum of violence include Absence of Domination by Home State. These beliefs were, however, not found to be significant by the following analysis. 15. For information about the development of the program, see “A Computational Model for the Analysis of Cognitive Maps” above. 16. Specifically, automated inference counts identified shared inferences. These were then extended by manual comparison between inference chains. All chains obtained from this analysis contain at least one, and most several shared inferences. Most chains, involving between five and twenty beliefs, are nevertheless unique in their entirety. Recall that identifying shared inferences is not a necessary requirement for the analysis (see Chapter 1): once observed, an inference indicates the possibility that anyone can make it.

296

Notes to Pages 189–238

17. Transformative Goals indicate that the individual wants to transform the state, which stands in contrast to only wanting to change par ticu lar politics, as indicated by the belief class Political Goals. Chapter 6. Alternative Worlds Without Violence 1. Note that this is just one of many possible examples available from this set of beliefs. 2. As such, it involved 131,072 runs. Recall that this is two to the power of the number of beliefs in the experimental set. 3. See section “Applying the Experimental Set to Differentiate Violent from Nonviolent Activism” in Chapter 5; for a detailed explanation of the matrix, see Appendix 1. 4. Th is is a much larger number than the belief combinations representing the reality in which no individuals make a decision (8), but very small given the total of 131,072 belief combinations. 5. In comparison with the number of the corresponding real world belief combinations (2,048), this number appears very small. Recall that this is the case because the number of individuals who make decisions is reduced in the counterfactual analysis because all nonasserted beliefs are deactivated. 6. For elaboration, see Chapter 5. Recall that religion is also addressed by the belief combinations preventing all individuals from making decisions, and that it is not found to explain violence. Further recall that it is possible to have opposite belief classes—such as Religious State and Unreligious State, or Domination by Home State and Absence of Domination by Home State—because the individuals described their actions referring to negative and positive factors (see Chapters 4 and 5). 7. The fi lters also identified the numbers of individuals deciding to take up arms as opposed to engaging in nonviolent activism based on these belief combinations: when asserting the 128 belief combinations representing the reality, six to seven individuals decide to take up arms, whereas nine to ten individuals decide to engage in nonviolent activism. By contrast, zero individuals decide to take up arms, whereas two to four individuals decide to engage in nonviolent activism, when asserting the 128 belief combinations representing the corresponding alternative worlds. 8. Recall that the analysis has shown that the most different number of individuals who make decisions in the reality as opposed to alternative worlds was thirteen. 9. This analysis proceeded in the same way as the analysis of belief combinations presented in Chapter 5, with one exception: I focused on the belief combinations that asserted the largest and deactivated the lowest number of beliefs (rather than asserting the smallest and not asserting the largest number of beliefs). In this way, the counterfactual analysis concentrated on the identification of the belief classes whose deactivation maximally reduces the making of decisions (rather than on the belief classes whose assertion motivates decisions). 10. I touched on this earlier in this chapter, when elaborating on the most different numbers of individuals who make decisions based on belief combinations represent-

Notes to Pages 238–255 297

ing reality as opposed to alternative worlds: Education of the People was one of the four belief classes deactivated by all the belief combinations representing alternative worlds in which the most different numbers of individuals make decisions (see “Alternative Worlds in Which the Individuals Would Not Have Decided to Take Up Arms”). 11. Recall that, had this been the case, those negative classes would have been deactivated, because they were always deactivated in the counterfactual belief combinations explored in this analysis. The findings rather show that the beliefs about reality held by these individuals do not involve more negative belief classes. Chapter 7. Conclusion 1. The first publication about the cognitive mapping approach introduced coding rules that serve as a guideline (Axelrod 1976: Appendix 1). 2. This behav ior conformed to the initiative to end violence (see Chapter 3).

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Index

al-Jamaʿat al-Islamiyya (JA), 5, 97–98, 110–13 al-Jihad (JI), 5, 90, 97–98, 110–13 analytical framework, 13–15, 75–79, 151, 154–58. See also hypotheses assertion. See beliefs (identifying beliefs from interviews) authoritarian state. See Egypt; biases (research design); state aggression Axelrod, Robert. See cognitive mapping approach belief: defi nition, 30–34; beliefs about violent and nonviolent activism (general), 42–44; false beliefs, 32; identifying beliefs from interviews, 129–33 studying beliefs, 7–8; true beliefs, 30–31, 58. See also analytical framework; coding scheme; computational analysis (experimental set of beliefs); hypotheses belief chain: identifying belief chains from interviews, 136–37, 140–42; intermediate beliefs, 40; pure antecedents, 40. See also nonviolent activism; political violence belief connection: defi nition, 34–39; absence of connection, 35–36; chronological versus logical order, 37–38; coherence, 34–35; continuity of sentences, 34–35; identifying belief connections from interviews, 133–37; logical consistency, 34–35; logical order, 34, 36–37, 59; possibility versus necessity, 37 belief system: general, 39; related to violence, 39–46. See also belief chain; nonviolent activism; political violence belief typology, general, 31–34. See also nonviolent activism, political violence

Bewegung 2. Juni (B2J), 6, 99, 120–24 biases: conduct of interviews, 88–89; endogeneity bias, 86–87, 252; hindsight bias, 87; postfact explanations, 84–88; research design, 89–91 borderline behavior, 19–22 Brandt, Willy, 114–15 coding scheme: theme analysis, 142–46; instances, 143, 145; belief classes, 143, 145, 182–85, 231–32; superclasses, 143–45, 167–69; super-superclasses, 144–45. See also computational analysis (experimental set of beliefs) cognitive mapping approach (CMA): contribution of this study, 246–49; past and present applications, 25–30; short introduction, 3; studying counterfactuals, 57–60. See also belief; belief connection; decision computational analysis: computer program, 4, 161–65, 218–21; counterfactual belief combinations, 225–30; differentiating violent from nonviolent activism, 179–86; experimental set of beliefs, 173, 176–79; identifying alternative worlds without violent and nonviolent activism, 231–32; identifying reasoning processes related to violent versus nonviolent activism, 186–212; mechanisms underlying absence of violent and nonviolent activism, 232–41; overview, 165–67, 224–25, 230–34; random belief combinations, 168–69, 170–72; superclasses and classes, 167–70, 172–75. See also coding scheme contact with violent groups, 11–12, 156, 169–70. See also group theories

314 Index counterfactuals: application to cognitive maps, 57–61; counterfactual analysis, 224–41; counterfactual model, 60–61; defi nition, 54, 60–61; external intervention, 54–57; interruption mechanism, 234–40; modeling counterfactuals, 218–24; theories of counterfactuals, 60–64 cultural-psychological theories, 8–9, 75–76, 154–56, 157–58, 245–46 cycle. See Directed Acyclical Graph

Islam, 8–9, 75–76, 147, 151–54, 157–58, 169–70, 203–4, 227, 240, 245–46. See also cultural-psychological theories ʿIzzat, Mahmud, 80, 255–56

decision: defi nition, 46, 289–90 n20; desire, 48–49; gap, 47–48; identifying decisions from interviews, 137–40; intention, 46–48; intentionality, 46, 48. See also political violence (goals) Dellwo, Karl-Heinz, 71–74 Directed Acyclical Graph (DAG), 50–54. See also counterfactuals (external inter vention) directedness. See belief chain; belief connection (logical order); Directed Acyclical Graph double-paired comparison, 4, 74–75, 89–91

Nasser, Gamal Abdul, 103–4 nonviolent activism: alternative worlds without nonviolent activism, 236–40; beliefs and belief contexts (general), 42–46; belief chains related to nonviolent activism, 186–87, 201–14; belief typology related to nonviolent activism, 181–85, 226–30; defi nition, 18–22; goals, 19, 201–3; means, 18–19; perpetrators and targets, 19

economic deprivation, 9–11, 76, 210–12, 246. See also environmentalpsychological theories Egypt, 4–5, 17, 102–13 environmental-psychological theories, 9–11, 76–77, 151, 154–56, 246 ethnographic interviews: biases, 88–89; interviewees, 91–96; selecting and meeting individuals, 79–84; short introduction, 4; taking notes, 127–29 external intervention. See counter factuals

Kommune 1 (K1), 6, 95, 117–20 knowledge. See beliefs (true beliefs) mental illness, 12–13, 78–79, 156–57, 246. See also psychopathological theories Muslim Brotherhood (MB), 6, 90, 102–7

Pearl, Judea. See counterfactuals; DAG political violence: defi nition, 15–18, 21–22; alternative worlds without violence, 234–37; beliefs and belief contexts (general), 42–46; belief chains related to violence, 186–202, 214; belief typology related to violence, 181–85, 226–30; goals, 18, 49, 195–200; perpetrators, 16–17, 42–45; physical force, 16, 42–45; targets, 16–17, 42–45 postfact explanations. See biases propositional content, 31. See also beliefs psychopathological theories, 12–13, 78–79, 154–57, 246. See also mental illness Red Army Faction (RAF), 6, 90, 99, 120–24

Germany, 5, 113–24 group theories, 11–12, 77–78, 154–56, 246. See also contact with violent groups hypotheses, 14–15, 151, 154–58, 245–46 Ibrahim, Najeh, 1, 66–69, 256–57 inference. See belief connection interruption mechanism. See counterfactuals

Schmidt, Helmut, 116–17 Schütz, Alfred. See types Sadat, Anwar, 104–6, 108–10, 112 Saif al-Islam Hassan al-Banna, Ahmad, 1, 80 self-loop. See Directed Acyclical Graph Socialist German Student Union (SDS), 6, 90, 95, 99, 117–20 Spradley, James. See coding scheme (theme analysis)

Index state aggression: alternative worlds, 224–25, 227–29, 232–40; belief chains: violence mechanisms 1–5 and nonviolent mechanisms 1–4, 188–210; belief class related to instances, 143, 145; belief class related to other classes,

315

183, 185–87; future studies, 252; main fi nding, 2, 244–45; related studies, 251 theme analysis. See coding scheme types (Schütz), 42–46, 289n15

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Acknowledgments

Many people from many different countries have contributed to this book. I am highly indebted to David Sylvan, Riccardo Bocco, Philip Schrodt, Nick Henderson, Peter Agree, Areej Allawzi, Martha Crenshaw, Marwa Daoudy, Bill Finan, Hoda Gamal, Radhia Ghasmi, Bahgat Korany, Clark McCauley, Marc Sageman, and all individuals with whom I had discussions about this research at Stanford University, as well as the Annual Meetings of the American Political Science Association, the Middle East Studies Association, the International Studies Association, and the International Society of Political Psychology. I am especially indebted to David Sylvan, whose exceptional support and guidance are the foundation of this work, and to Nick Henderson, with whom I spent numerous months developing the model applied in the analysis. I am also highly indebted to Marc Sageman, who provided valuable comments on an earlier version of the manuscript, and Riccardo Bocco, who contributed great insight. I am very grateful to Peter Agree, Bill Finan, and all other individuals at the University of Pennsylvania Press who provided exceptional advice and support. I am also very thankful to the Swiss National Fund and the German Academic Exchange Ser vice for their generous support of this research. I am highly indebted to all the people who helped me arrange interviews, and to my interviewees, who had the courage to speak with me about their political activities. I was very touched by their trust, and by the generosity and kindness with which I was welcomed into their families. Finally, I am very thankful to all my friends who have accompanied me throughout this research project, and to my beloved family.