Shutting the door on former Islamic
State recruits seeking repatriation may miss an opportunity to block the
radicalisation path. After all, law enforcement strategies and name-calling by
government voices have not curbed the magnetism of this "death cult".
Yes, the chorus of cautious voices is justified.
Yes, the disillusioned youth should have renounced IS on the same public
platforms that drew them in: online for other youth to see and hear, loud and
clear. Yes, the youth who have broken our counterterrorism "foreign
fighters" legislation must be
subjected to the full force of our criminal justice system, including
imprisonment. Yes, we need to ensure that we do not inadvertently create an
escape clause for "jihadis" who want to "get out of jail
free".
But if ever there was an opportunity to benefit
from these deradicalised voices, and benefit from the lessons learnt in other
parts of the world, this is it. Surely, our intelligence authorities should be
trusted to be intelligent enough to harness rather than squander this
opportunity.
In Europe, former extremists have
long been recruited by organisations such as Exit and the Institute for
Strategic Dialogue. These movements recognise that angry, rejected youth need a
counter-narrative and "tangible alternatives to violence". They recognise
that "formers" have a credibility that governments lack.
Former extremists now
understand the continuum from isolation to belonging to disengagement better
than most. They now understand the consequences when one is seduced by the
two-dimensional videos then lands in a three-dimensional reality, sometimes
cleaning toilets and babysitting. They now understand how to resist these
temptations and learn to act on their anger through legitimate channels such as
social justice and politics. They now understand what many non-Muslim
"experts" are grappling with: why people go and why they return.
No amount of funding or education can substitute for the firsthand testimonies
of "formers".
In the United States, the
diminution and implosion of the Ku Klux Klan was partly due to former members
publicly denouncing its violence, such as the late Elwin Wilson in
2009. For more than a century, former members have proven to be a more
formidable force than law enforcement authorities or external critics.
Even in Australia, a mercy
campaign involved eminent Australians petitioning for clemency
for the "extraordinary rehabilitation" of former drug smugglers
Myuran Sukumaran and Andrew Chan, before their tragic execution last month.
There was growing recognition that their genuine and demonstrable reform could
have aided the war against drug smuggling.
Clearly, cynicism prevails about
the sincerity of reformed jihadis returning from the Middle East. The same
logic does not apply, yet Australia has never tested this theory of deploying
deradicalised and disillusioned youth to aid the war against violent extremism
and home-grown terrorists.
Prime Minister Tony Abbott
reflected the broad Australian sentiment when he declared that
"there is no place in our society for people who have been
radicalised". Perhaps those deradicalised now passionately agree with him,
but offer a more credible voice. Perhaps they are now the most potent strings
on his bow. Perhaps their testimonials are our best weapon in this battle for
young minds.
This logic has been echoed by
counterterrorism experts including Professor Michele Grossman, who argue that the most authentic
counter-narratives come from disillusioned foreign fighters who are in a
unique position because of their firsthand experiences.
Rather than investing $21.7
million in an online social media campaign to counter pro-ISIS propaganda, our
government could spend less money by amplifying the testimonials of
deradicalised formers through all the clandestine channels. The money could be
spent to build resilience and resistance against the groomers and traffickers.
Surely our authorities can
discern who among the three young jihadis now seeking repatriation has
already demonstrated to other disoriented youth: "wrong way – go
back!"
If we are serious about fighting
the recruitment of IS and its ilk, we need to learn from international
experiences and recognise when opportunity knocks. Before us now, we have
people who have been "educated" and exploited as frontline
fodder. They can in turn educate us to inoculate other vulnerable youth
against this dead-end street, sold as a path to paradise.
What needs rehabilitation now is
our policy on these "formers", when the policy of fear is lifted to
give way to clarity.
Our own clemency policy and
counter-narrative need not be as black and white as the ISIS propaganda.
Conditions apply.
Joseph Wakim is the founder of
the Australian Arabic Council, a former multicultural affairs commissioner
and author of Sorry We Have No Space
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