Wounds this deep: Extremism and exclusion
Deeyah Khan June, 2015
Each of us handles dozens of interactions every day: buying a bus ticket, acknowledging an acquaintance in the street, drinking coffee with friends, a quick hello to a neighbour – and these have emotional and psychological effects. A well-meant compliment from a stranger can put a spring in your step; but an unwelcome and aggressive sexual approach can leave you grinding your teeth for hours. In many ways, these small interactions represent our experiences of the society that exists beyond the sanctuaries of our homes and families.
One of the former extremists I interviewed for my latest documentary Jihad writes out three words on a sheet of paper: PAKI GO HOME. These three words were a phrase that formed the backdrop of his childhood. I, too, recognise the unnerving power of these three words, which I heard myself growing up as a young woman of South Asian ancestry in the streets of Oslo. All of my interviewees in this documentary seemed to have grown up in this hostile ambience, from regularly facing racist violence in their communities from young white men, to the chilly rejection of the middle-class parents who warned their daughter off a relationship that they feared would result in 'mongrel children.' There is an African saying: If the young are not initiated into the village, they will burn it down just to feel its warmth. Where young men like him are constantly told they are not part of society, when they see themselves and people like them excluded and harassed in various ways, it creates a societal wound in which the infection of Islamic extremism can fester.
This is, in fact, how extremisms of all kinds propagate themselves. Muslim extremists and right-wing racists share more than the fantasy of their own cultural supremacy: they are, in a sense, interdependent – predicated upon the existence of a demonised enemy. Both seek to recruit people to their own side through creating narratives of fear, hate, and resentment, of 'us and them'. By tearing the wound ever wider, they seek to grind the infection of their world view even deeper into the flesh. It's a vicious circle of mutually reinforcing hatreds.
However, I also learned that this is not inevitable. The extremist worldview is irrational, fragile and inconsistent, and thus can be vulnerable. Just as the sense of otherness builds from interactions which are felt as exclusionary, unjust and humiliating, interactions which are inclusive, fair and respectful can introduce a contradiction in their stark worldview and provide a reminder of our shared humanity. For instance, Ken Ballen tells the story of Ahmad, a naive young Saudi radicalised by the grotesque tortures uncovered in Abu Ghraib, and manipulated into an attempted suicide bombing in Iraq. With an odd symmetry, the badly burned Ahmad was sl0wly nursed back to health by American nurses and doctors who treated him with greater respect and kindness than he had received in Al Qaeda, creating a profound change in his worldview.
Deradicalisation needs more than programmes and projects it will require changes in the everyday interactions between people – in smiles, favours, and acts of kindness; in actions which are rooted in a refusal to accept the 'us and them' narrative peddled by extremists on all sides. We need to make greater efforts to combat injustice and exclusion through all means, from the highest level of government to our own everyday behaviour, to make sure we all share in a sense of belonging, justice and feelings of respect within our society. This will reduce the appeal of the extremist narrative. Wounds this deep need stitches: but we can all be a part of the healing process.Share this story Facebook,Twitter