The Psychology of Terrorism

Under the series heading 'Just the Facts' Gerald Posner posted on 5th May 2024 a reasoned plea titled 'Words Matter: Why Not Call A Terrorist a Terrorist?'. 

He detected, in parts of the main-stream press,  a reluctance to call Hamas a terrorist organisation. Apparently Associated Press says that "the terms terrorism and terrorist have become too politicized and [are] often applied inconsistently."  Likewise the world affairs editor for the BBC, John Simpson, said last October that terrorism "is a loaded word," and that "it's simply not the BBC's job to tell people who to support and who to condemn......".

Gerald Posner thinks otherwise. He wants to call Hamas a terrorist organisation. He thinks that calling Hamas 'militant' is not strong enough; that it 'normalizes' their 'horrific acts of terrorism'.

I do not think the terms 'terrorist' and 'terrorism' are useful in this situation. They are ill-defined, and tend to obscure the issues. When an angry many loses his temper, he loses the argument; vilifying the enemy is similar; it does not help. 

Calling Hamas a terrorist organisation adds nothing except an unnecessary and unfocussed implication of disapproval. It points to the scary nature of their criminal actions, and hints at a deliberate use of fear to enhance the military and political effectiveness of their crimes. As though such a strategy was not used by large and disciplined armies; nor allowed by the laws of war; because it breaks the rules, like hitting below the belt. Yet, as normally used, the term "terrorist" describes the attitude of the onlooker more than the nature of the crimes. It sheds little light on the psychological motivation of the perpetrator.

Hamas is certainly 'militant'. From the level of support given to Hamas, it seems that many of the 2 million people of Gaza feel desperate. With inadequate weapons, a bunch of brave zealots, maddened by decades of frustration, rush out and attack a powerful, ever-encroaching and inexorable enemy, which is supported and equipped by a superpower. What use is that? 

But what else could they do? Their protests were not heard, and their rockets proved useless. They had only their fists and kitchen knives. 

Who said Palestine belongs to the Jewish people; was it God or Mr. Balfour? And, whoever made the declaration, were they right to do so? 

Is there no grown-up person in the room to explain how mixed races and mixed religions can live together? It worked, more-or-less, under the Babylonians, and the Romans, and perhaps best of all under the Turks. 

Inequality: good or bad?

 Inequality: good or bad?

       This post has been revised. Please see the new version at:

https://occidentis.blogspot.com/2025/02/how-bad-is-social-inequality.html 

Pacifism: exploring non-violence.

 Pacifism: exploring non-violence.
(See Notes and Comments below)

Introduction.

Quakers are known for their consistent repudiation of war. But times change. Wars change. Our understanding of heaven and hell changes. Do we need to re-think our readiness to fight (in defence of self, or others, or in defence of our commercial interests)? Not all Quakers affirm the peace testimony; some fought in the second world war. What follow are some of the thoughts that occurred to me.

Quaker Pacifism.

A principled refusal to fight under any circumstances, is the best known feature of Quakerism. The 'Quaker Peace Testimony' is clearly and forcefully expressed in many places, and by many witnesses. 

Thus, William Dewsbury wrote (in 1655) "And the word of the Lord came up to me and said, "put up thy sword into thy scabbard; if my kingdom were of this world, then would my children fight", which word enlightened my heart and discovered the mystery of iniquity, and that the kingdom of Christ was within, and the enem[y] was within, and was spiritual, and my weapons against them must be spiritual, the power of God." [Note1]

In 1693, William Penn wrote "A good end cannot justify evil means, nor must we ever do evil that good may come of it". [Note 2]

Robert Barclay, in 1678, underlined the consistency of this pacifist stance with the direct teaching of Jesus in such gospel passages as: "Resist not evil", "Give also thy other cheek", "Love thine enemies" and  "Pray for those that persecute you and those that calumniate you". He could have added "Blessed are the peacemakers".  Yet many people who profess, as Christians, to follow the teachings of the "Prince of Peace", find themselves going to war, and praying to God for victory. 

However, Nietzsche scoffed at these teachings of Jesus, calling it slave morality by which meekness is elevated and nobility downgraded. I think many fellow Britons would agree with Nietzsche and would rather chance a fight than concede defeat without a struggle.

The refusal to fight with 'outward' weapons therefore runs right to the heart of what it is to be a Quaker. Do we respond to violence with violence, like the dominant type of savage human? Or do we avoid all (unnecessary) killing? Is war even good, for the species?

The two great wars of the 20th century brought home to millions of perfectly ordinary Europeans  these questions about the morality of war. The first World War seems to have been the devastating result of imperial pride. It quickly became obvious that the foot-soldiers on either side were being tricked  by their leaders into sacrificing their own lives and murdering their neighbouring brothers. Compulsory conscription was introduced in 1916. Some 16,000 (predominantly Quakers) sought exemption on conscientious grounds (political or religious). The majority were refused and were sent to prison. It took  courage, but the State did eventually recognise that there could be a conscientious refusal to fight. 

The second World War emerged from the nineteen thirties in much the same way as the first – as an imperial war. It was only at the end of the war that the moral depravity of the Nazi regime was unambiguously documented. Then (in retrospect) one might conclude that standing up to Hitler might have been the right thing to do.

In the present century, there have been, and still are, a surprising number of small wars in various parts of the world that do not demand, and largely escape, our notice: Syria, Yemen, Ethiopia, Myanmar, Sudan. Perhaps racial or religious wars, exacerbated by scarcity and population pressure.

However, several other wars of the present century are presented to us by our media as just wars.  We are encouraged to consider the crimes of the enemy regimes (whether of Saddam Hussain, Bashar al-Assad, or Vladimir Putin) sufficient to justify war. Or a sufficient threat to our own peace. We pay for shells and drones to kill Russians and Palestinians, thereby  stimulating those to kill Israelis and Ukrainians. Sincere moralists might still believe that there is such a thing as a just war; e.g. when the enemy is undeniably wicked, and the only way to stop his terror is by fighting him (and winning). Note, however, that we are only presented the case for our own side of the dispute, and a brief reflection will suggest that many of our 'enemies' appear to be equally convinced of the justice of their war aims. 

But what if there were an undeniably bad man with a bomb, or a delusional maniac with millions of brainwashed followers? How would we stop him? Would it really be wrong to fight him and his armies? Is the principle of non-violence absolute?

Is pacifism a survival strategy, or an admission of inferiority, or a claim to superiority? There seems to be a case for testing, and continually re-testing, the Quaker Peace Testimony.

Grounds for a policy of non-violence.

[1] "Peter: Put up again thy sword into its place: for all they that take the sword shall perish with the sword". Matthew's text rather argues that violence is dangerous to the perpetrator, particularly if he is outnumbered.

[2] There is a visceral, unthinking, reluctance to spill blood, and to take a life. This could be seen as a squeamish or vegetarian objection to war. 

[3] One is loath to harm family, and friends, and by extension anybody with whom one can empathise, and who we can see as a friend. (This thought doubtless occurred to many soldiers in no-man's-land, on Christmas Eve 1914.)

[4] The 'Gandhi tactic': take possession of the moral high ground. Passive resistance, in a very public but harmless way, can show strength of feeling against a powerful minority. (This method of winning requires the foe to have some awareness of morality, which doubtless covers most cases, but maybe not all. )

[5] The 'Margaret Fell' position which might be paraphrased as 'We Quakers do not pose a threat. We combat, but not with outward weapons.'

[6] The 'Ranyard West' position. We shall always misjudge the rights and wrongs of a dispute if we are a party to it. Force may often be necessary but that can only be decided by an independent entity like the United Nations.) By this standard, the Kuwait war of 1990, was legal; the Iraq war of 2003, criminal. 

[7] The 'William Penn' position: that the 'collateral death' of a single innocent non-combatant is an unacceptable, criminal, action.  [Note 2]

[8] The position of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane: to teach a new morality he took possession of the high ground at the expense of his own life. Did he choose to die and be remembered rather than to live and be forgotten?

By what principles do we wish to be judged?

Are we trying to be intelligent, sympathetic, modern citizens? 

Or are we building a new Jerusalem, accepting the whole prescription that Jesus laid out for us: a community of equals, based on love, co-operation, sharing of goods, caring for the needy, binding up the wounded, forgiving and being forgiven; trying to persuade others that we have found The Truth and are in the process of creating for ourselves heaven on earth?

Or are we going to listen more to our feelings, as guidance from our true nature, eschewing what make us feel guilty and embracing what warms and gladdens us? 

By whom do we wish to be judged?  By ourselves, our families, our friends?   Who are our friends?

Conclusions.

I endorse grounds [1] to [7] above. I fully support the aim of creating the sort of world I would like to live in; i.e. 'heaven on earth'.  But I do not, for myself, feel called on to follow Jesus the whole way. I think that survival is our ultimate duty 

My father (Ranyard West) taught that, inside a civilised country, a police force is necessary to control rebel elements; so also in a civilised world to control strife between nations. But I wish to point out that even that force need not involve killing. Note that civilised countries no longer exact the death penalty of their criminal citizens.

To postulate a rogue state with no moral sense is merely to hypothesise; such a state may not exist.

Try first the route of friendship and understanding. Try also the route of arbitration. Retain the 'moral high ground', by avoiding that which make one feel guilty. Make sure that others know your moral preferences. Avoid being misled by your own leaders into actions that are both criminal, and damaging to millions of innocent bystanders. Make sure your leaders know your position in good time, so that their policy is not decided in haste and in error. 

An attempt to accept passive defeat and affirm the absolute rejection of violence may be to attempt to leap an impossible, but also an imaginary, hurdle.  

Can this be called a Peace Testimony?

NOTES AND COMMENTS

[Note 1] Was Dewsbury aiming to conquer the sword with the spirit, hoping that the assailant, bristling with intent to cause pain or death, would grow sheepish in the face of his calm indifference? Or is he saying that he is indifferent to being pushed around by the forces of 'this world'?  I think the latter.

[Note 2] The William Penn position – collateral deaths are murder, and on a large scale are a war crime. Mankind may be inching forwards towards civilisation, over the centuries. Many countries have denied themselves capital punishment even for capital crimes like murder. Yet, in some advance societies the standard response to an armed assailant seems to be to shoot to kill, rather than to disable. And some armies seem to condone the bombing of non-combatants as 'unfortunate collateral damage', where the bombing of inanimate targets might work just as well. 

[Note 3]  A friend warned against hugging oneself for pietistic purity while actually enjoying the protection afforded by a well prepared military umbrella. He argues that 'man' (Homo sapiens) is still a flawed creation, of body and soul, the world a 'fallen' world; and that armament has proved to be a better way to peace than disarmament.

Awake

 Awake: A Wake

     The bar was full of strangers dressed in black. I looked at the barmaid. Was she also new? Or familiar? (I had been away six weeks and my jet lag was yet to wear off.) I looked at her full in the face, from quite close up, which combined to render her face almost featureless, and completely unfamiliar.

     Mind you, that was always a problem for me –– I only had to look at a face intently, deliberately, and it ceased to seem familiar. Faces are so arbitrary; faces and names. If only people looked like their names! " Hello Beefy, you seem in good form today". Messers Loud, Acerbic and Peaky! Or Percy, for that matter.

     Words do the same thing for me. I can write a number of words correctly as long as I do not think about the spelling. But if I lose my nerve, they suddenly appear unfamiliar, unlikely, meaningless; and there is no way I can infer the correct spelling; or their correct meaning. In that respect I share one of William Spooner's problems. Once, when reading his own sermon in New College chapel, he came on the word 'misléd'. "Do not be místled", he read; then doubted himself, and the sense was irretrievably lost. Nothing for it but to repeat the exhortation and press on. 

     I think the barmaid is the one they call 'Liv'. I used to call her “Lev” for a while, like a Russian; until H told me it was short for 'Lavinia'; or was it 'Olivia'? If I could ask her to show me her profile, I might get more certain. I hate calling people by their wrong name. It makes me look so stupid. I suppose I am, in a way. "Your spectacles“ I murmur, in a half hearted attempt to explain my hesitancy, touching my own in case she did not grasp what I meant by 'spectacles'.

     “A wake", I said. She nodded. 

     "I’ve only been in the village 10 years" I said, looking over my shoulder at the crowd.  

      Liv leant forward slightly and said in a quiet voice "I think the deceased was called Jenkins."  

     I was certain that I did not know the deceased, nor any of his folk. I was impressed at the consistency of the black dress code. I have been to some half-dozen of my own family funerals and never wore a shred of black. Nor did most of the mourners, as far as I can remember, except at the burial of cousin Jean at Lilliesleaf in the Scottish Borders. Yet black is certainly the uniform dress in this Northamptonshire village. From the empty plates, and the cheerful conversation, it would seem that they were recovering from their numbing sense of loss, and beginning to enjoy meeting members of the family not seen in a while. Little groups. In each, one person talking, the others listening. 

     "Still awake! Just got back" I said to Liv. 

     "Mexico?" she said, tentatively. 

     "Yes." I agreed. I like Liv.

Street sounds in our Colonia

 Street sounds in our Colonia

Each time I hear a new noise I am tempted to look out of the window to see if I can identify the source. It might be a wheezy whistle, or a clear warble, a distant trumpet, or a marimba played with 4 hammers, or distant but uplifting snatches of brass band music; or, as yesterday and today, the unrelenting and shattering sound of nearby road works. So today, to escape the frightful din, I popped out before lunch to Sanborns’ to drink a beer, and to recollect the more pleasant, interesting, and distinctive sounds of Colonia San Miguel Chapultepec, Mexico City. Sounds that make this so very different from my little village in middle England.

One such sound comes from the truck that tours round each street each day offering to collect any old iron. The cry comes over a loudspeaker with the same childish female voice, the same unvarying intonation, the same repeated words, of which I only catch “..estufas, microondas,…” (stoves, microwave ovens). Towards evening another truck, using a similar business model, advertises “tamales, oaxaqueñas, " and suchlike food.

I prefer, for its old fashioned quaintness, the wheezy whistle that advertises roasted sweet potatoes (camotes). Toward evening, a man lights a small wood fire on his trolly, which presumably roasts the camotes, but at the same time makes steam. When all is ready, he pushes his trolly out onto the street and opens the valve to the whistle. This emits a piercing shriek that dies slowly away to a dismal groan.   

Another sound, which I had often heard over the years, I identified only yesterday, but relish for its throwback quaintness. An elderly man cycled slowly up the road towards me, one hand holding the handlebar, the other holding a small set of panpipes. Every now and then he warbled a handful of notes. Behind, on the carrier, he had a small two-stroke motor that would drive two grinding stones. So here was the 'sharpener of knives and scissors' that I had heard spoken of. One has to know the meaning of his warble in order to rush out and catch him before he disappeared down the road. 

The brass band was a one-off. But the other day, as I worked at my computer, I enjoyed for an hour their rousing snatches of melody and, occasionally, song. I had to go out onto the street to find the source. It did not take me long. The band were having their practice in the converted gym across the intersection, now called "La casa del humor", which, on weekend evenings, emits gales of laughter and applause. 

When I sat down to lunch just now, I heard the distant thump-thump of a drum, and some disjointed notes from a brass instrument. As they slowly approached our house I got up and looked discretely out. A man, on the far side of the street, thumped the drum keeping level with a man on our side playing the disjointed notes on a shiny trombone. I was reminded of a tip my father told me regarding busking in London before the war; "the worse you play the more you collect". A similar strategy may have motivated this duo. 

Not so the marimba duettists. They played their two or three pieces with considerable panache and some skill,  though I am afraid they collected little or nothing from either of their two stands in our street. 

These sounds, also, seem to be from a bygone era. These days, with iPod and earphones piping Mozart or Reggae straight into people's brains, who needs a barrel-organ or a marimba duo to enliven the siesta hours? 

(For others of my posts about Mexico, put the keyword Mexico in the search box.)

Cost of carbon capture as timber

Cost of carbon capture as timber

     More and more people are promoting the idea of saving the world from overheating by capturing atmospheric CO2 (as insoluble carbonates, c.f. limestone, or suphates, c.f. gypsum). But need that be an industrial process? Carbon capture happens naturally – in photosynthesis. The world has been through many cycles of high and low levels of atmospheric CO2. In the Durham coalfield one can count 7 successive coal seams as the climate cycled through carbon-depositing and coal-free layers. I want to know if we can logically advocate the growth of plants (trees and algae), as a cheaper, easier, and more attractive alternative to the yet-to-be-developed industrial process of carbon capture.

 

    I have long looked for a way of comparing the cost of industrial CCS ('Carbon Capture and Storage') with that of simply growing trees. I think I have an answer.

     Timothy Taylor's blog essay on Carbon Capture and Storage gives us a start. Carbon capture is cheapest when done at the sources of CO2 for the concentration can be far higher than ambient; let us say $80 (ranging from $15 to $120) per metric tonne captured. Capture at ambient concentration of 0.04% is about $200 (ranging from $120 - $350) per tonne.

     I have seen a figure of 48 pounds (weight) of CO2 fixed per tree-year. Likewise a figure of 2014 trees/km^2. Based on those figures, I find the capture of carbon dioxide (per Km^2-year) to be: 

    48 x 2014 = 96,672 lb, 

    or 43,850 kg, 

    or 43.85 metric tonnes per Km^2-year. 

So to fix a metric tonne each year you need land of:

    1/43.85 km^2, = 0.0228 Km^2 = 5.634 acres. 

     With this biological method of carbon capture the fixing is free; the cost is the cost of the land. In the United States the average cost of land is $14,326 per acre. If annual rent was at 1% of the capital cost (which is admittedly low),  to fix a metric tonne as wood, in the USA, would cost:  

    $14,326 x 5.634/100 = $807 per tonne-year.

     That is a pity! For I hoped that forestry would turn out to be cheaper than fooling around with chemical engineering. Unless, of course, the land is loaned free of charge, when the cost comes down to zero. 

Impressions of Mexico

Some early impressions from my latest visit to Mexico.

It is my tenth visit to Mexico since 2015, but in the first 24 hours of this latest visit I already have three rather terrible stories to record. 

I have often been told tales of kidnappings in the City, and drug-related murders in the country, and learned the shocking word 'feminicidio'; but until now I was always able to waive that away, calling it 'hearsay', and saying that it did not impinge on me personally, nor on my friends, directly. Not now! Perhaps this is a 'new Mexico', a post-COVID Mexico, an AMLO-governed Mexico, suffering a spike in unemployment and a deliberate erosion of respect for middle-class virtues.

I was met by Isaura and her driver as I issued from customs at Benito Juarez airport and we drove in modest traffic to General Juan Cano 79. Eduardo (the driver) brought the suitcases up from the basement garage while we contacted Valeria to see if she was at the Wine Shop (Brutal Vinata) further up the street at No. 42. I washed my face, changed my boots for sandals, stripped off a couple of layers of surplus clothing and was ready to go out. It was only 8 pm and the evening still warm. I calculated that for my internal clock it was 2am and I had been awake for 19 hours. 

At the wine shop we met and greeted Valeria and her friend Mercedes, a friend from primary school days. We joined them at their end of the long stone table, Isaura for a glass of Fluxus Blanco (a Mexican Chardonnay/Chenin Blanc), I for water, as I had already drunk well over my daily allowance on the long flight. I learned that the husband of Mercedes made and repaired instruments (violins, and organs), that they had 2 children and lived near San Angel. On my heavy-lidded way back to our flat at 10 pm (4 am GMT), Isaura told me that Valeria had lent Mercedes a large sum of money which she and her husband were steadily, and scrupulously, repaying. The luthier had been kidnapped and had been forced to pay a large ransom for his release.

Next morning, after a somewhat restless night, Isaura and I had got up at 8 am to be ready to join the Banbury Spanish class by Zoom. Eduardo the driver arrived punctually at 10am. We decided to go south to the 'Cineteca' to see the new Mexican film Tótem, by Lila Avilés. We set off after lunch with Eduardo to drive the 8 km south (25-30 minutes). There he left us and made his own way to his home in an eastern suburb of the city. 

Why was this punctilious and capable man driving us around the city, and doing odd jobs around the house ⎯ even washing the dishes on occasion? It turns out that Eduardo used to run (or own) a taquería, had been asked to pay 'protection money' by a gang, had refused; whereupon the shop had been attacked and one of his employees murdered. 

We bought our tickets for the 4.30 pm showing, but had half and hour spare, so we decided to call in on Cati Bloch, now at the age of 81 a sub-director of the Cineteca National and in charge of the library. She greeted us warmly and took us along to the Cafetería, where we drank various types of water. Two senior men passed us, greeting Cati as they did so. When they were out of earshot, Cati wrinkled her nose and told us that the taller man was her boss, the director; no love lost there; did not normally greet her in like circumstance. She then explained that the National Film Library had just celebrated its 50th anniversary, that a book had been planned, and created under the direction of Cati, printer chosen and contracts signed. The director was to write a preface. When that failed to turn up, the director told Cati that he had decided to scrap the project, and with it a year's worth of her time and effort, not to mention that of others, and the costs involved. 

What a climate in which to work! Nothing to compare, of course, with my two previous stories; but the story still shocked me, coming (as it did) on the heels of the other two.

On the other hand, the film Tótem was a delight. It has scored 95% satisfaction in the Rotten Tomatoes scale, and won prizes everywhere. It is surprising, stimulating and warming. Totally Mexican, it is drenched in colour, emotion, fun, flavour, and originality. It seems to speak about ordinary people doing extraordinary thing with complete naturalness, and ordinary things with extraordinary gusto. A birthday party with a hot-air balloon, a parrot, an exorcism. A cancer death framed in love and gratitude.

We came out into the rapidly fading daylight. Still warm. Youngsters in groups on the grass. A short queue quietly waiting to buy tickets for later showings on one or other of the ten screens.
A waxing moon was already bright in the darkening sky, positioned vertically above us ⎯ something you never see in England; which could as well be said of all the above.  

(For others of my posts about Mexico, put the keyword Mexico in the search box.)