Image by Mika Baumeister.
With Trump’s designation of the Antifa movement as a terrorist organization, it is an appropriate time for reconsidering what ‘terrorism’ means. While the left often points to instances of state terrorism, the right is increasingly labeling political opponents as terrorists. This is not an argument for redefining the term, but rather a thought experiment: let’s look at whether narrowing the term’s definition might curb its political use.
In a general sense, terrorism is referred to as an individual, group, or organization that commits violence for political ends. Under this definition, the state excludes itself and other states. From a state survival perspective, the term applies only to those who seek to disrupt policy, for at its core the state strives to perpetuate the status quo. If anything, the state will allow piecemeal change, though even this it often fights tooth and nail.
Yet if we veer from the traditional and state-centric definitions of terrorism and expand it to a state which terrorizes people within and beyond its borders, it lays the groundwork for defining acts of war as potential terrorism. Under this rubric, the definition of terrorism could also expand to any party commencing war or engaging in war crimes. This may give many political scientists pause, as this would change the definition so fully that it would lose its original meaning and gravity.
For these purposes, and because of the wide net that Trump has recently cast on terrorism, I shall stick with the narrow definition – the state survival perspective – to analyze some 21st-century cases.
Before moving on, we should differentiate assassination from terrorism. Assassination is targeted at a specific person, such as RFK, Charlie Kirk, and Democratic House Speaker of Minnesota Melissa Hortman, while terrorism is an act of non-person-specific violence.
Under the state survival (differing from regime survival, which encompasses hybrid and autocratic regimes) view, the January 6th Insurrection would undoubtedly be considered an act of terrorism. It was relatively low scale in causing few casualties, but high scale in attempting to directly prevent a mechanism inherent in a democratic state: the transition of power. If a transition of power fails to occur in a democracy following an election, it’s raison d’être as a state has shattered.
ISIS-inspired vehicle-ramming and mass stabbings in Europe during the late 2010s cannot be considered acts of terrorism in the strict sense, because they lacked concrete political ends. ISIS harbored a vehement hatred towards Shi’ites and the West; unlike Al Qaeda, it was less political, but rather a mix of a thirst for power and backward hatred (albeit not unrelated to actual grievances). The ISIS-inspired mass violence against ‘the West’ in Europe was carried out by a small number of radicalized Muslims, whose alienation often grew from social isolation and experiences of discrimination or disrespect within mainstream society. These attacks were not directed at state institutions or policies but reflected a broader, undirected anger toward Western society itself.
This stands in stark contrast to the 9/11 attacks, the 2004 Madrid train bombings and 2005 London subway and bus bombings. The goal in 9/11 was to change US policy toward Israel and to have US troops leave Saudi Arabia. In the latter two cases, the goal was to dismantle the “Coalition of the Willing” in Iraq; to an extent, the train bombings in Spain helped achieve that objective.
The act of James Alex Field Jr., the neo-Nazi who drove his car into an anti-racist counterprotest in 2017 in Charlottesville, killing Heather Heyer, was not an act of terrorism. The object of the neo-Nazi’s attack was not directly political in nature, but more of a hatred of the idea of social change and that historic figures who fought to defend slavery should be worshipped as heroes. In essence, it was related to the decision of the state to maintain or take down Confederate monuments, yet the proximity is not close enough to concern the state. The action taken against counter protesters did have intent to impact state policy.
Hamas’s October 7th attack was not terrorism either. Hamas is the elected leadership of a kind of [imprisoned] state existing in occupied territory; in this sense, it is treated similar to a state in actions of war and peace. Thus, though this was a ruthless attack on civilians, killing more than a thousand, it should be considered a war crime rather than an act of terrorism.
Similarly, Israel’s genocidal response was not terrorism despite its clear effort to eliminate and starve to death a population of 2.2 million. For it is a state after all.
Perhaps this may be an overly narrow way of defining terrorism. But it hints at the overall framing and re-framings of the term throughout history. The state has always framed terrorism in its own perceived interest. If we stick to the strictest, state-centric view, we don’t lose sight of its original intent; additionally, it helps prevent casting the “terrorism” net too wide, while at the same time being consistent.
In the context of the US wannabe dictator’s labeling Antifa and plans to label other dissenters as terrorists, reverting—even hypothetically—to a stricter definition may be helpful. Leaving aside for a moment the fact that Antifa is not a group but a movement, no members of this movement have orchestrated mass violence to change state policy, nor – of course – have the millions of dissenters to the Trump administration.
Ironically, Trump seeks to cast the designation of terrorism on dissent. Yet his dissenters are the ones who try to preserve the republic from its slip into fascist authoritarianism.
The post In Light of the Antifa Designation: Rethinking What We Call ‘Terrorism’ appeared first on CounterPunch.org.
This content originally appeared on CounterPunch.org and was authored by Peter Crowley.