Chapter Seven

Narcissists with Bombs

The culture of PR and exhibitionism has lately given rise to a particularly narcissistic form of terrorism (the murder of Lee Rigby in Woolwich, and the Boston bombings, in 2012) and other political violence (the 2011 London Riots, for instance), in part because the media tend to focus on exhibitionist behaviour when they cover these stories, which means that we see more narcissism and less politics. The attention given to gratuitous violence in these instances has arguably inspired groups such as ISIS to produce a sustained campaign of sensationally gory propaganda in order to attract this attention for their own ends. While Michael Adebolajo (who murdered Lee Rigby) and the Boston Bombers’ attacks were called ‘amateurish’, ISIS has used similarly excessive levels of violence but in a more methodical and sustained manner, with professional film-editing and the cunning planning of an advertising campaign. It is hard not to attribute some responsibility to news outlets in such instances where a group chooses a particularly violent PR method in response to the media’s preferential treatment of it. As already mentioned, though, column inches and airtime do not necessarily correlate to political success. They are PR battles, violently fought, that do not win the war. And yet the tactic has remained popular for these individuals and groups.

Murder of Lee Rigby

The murder of Lee Rigby, for instance, was obviously designed with the media in mind. When Michael Adebolajo ran over and then decapitated soldier Lee Rigby with a meat cleaver, images of the attack quickly went viral on Facebook, Twitter, and YouTube, not to mention becoming a leading story for many days on the mainstream news media. As the Guardian pointed out, it was the “first UK murder to be transmitted ‘live’ on [the] Internet” (07/06/15). Adebolajo spent the moments after the attack talking to the press, in some attempt to justify or explain his actions, clearly aware of the inevitable media and then public interest:

The only reason we have killed this man today is because Muslims are dying daily by British soldiers. And this British soldier is one… By Allah, we swear by the almighty Allah we will never stop fighting you until you leave us alone. So what if we want to live by the Sharia in Muslim lands? Why does that mean you must follow us and chase us and call us extremists and kill us?… When you drop a bomb do you think it hits one person? Or rather your bomb wipes out a whole family?… Through many passages in the Koran we must fight them as they fight us… I apologise that women had to witness this today but in our lands women have to see the same. You people will never be safe. Remove your governments, they don’t care about you. You think David Cameron is gonna get caught in the street when we start busting our guns? Do you think politicians are going to die? No, it’s going to be the average guy, like you and your children. So get rid of them. Tell them to bring our troops back… Leave our lands and you will live in peace. (From Daily Telegraph transcript: “Woolwich attack: the terrorist’s rant,” 22/05/13)

Clearly rehearsed, Adebolajo’s speech nevertheless betrayed a sense of shock and nervousness in its speaker; the act and the narration did not quite fit. However pre-planned, the attack came across as nonsensical, even when its supposed point was explained for everyone to hear. The mainstream media described his speech as a “rant” (the Daily Telegraph), and despite Adebolajo trying to seem political and justified, his speech and actions were quickly dismissed as the ramblings of an evil madman. His stunt was quickly hijacked to become propaganda for the establishment rather than against it.

The particular focus on his being ‘evil’ via being a ‘fanatic’, ‘ranting’, etc. connected the threat of terrorism, as well as Islamic fundamentalism, to madness, lack of reason and sense, and individual chaos and insanity, thus discrediting the cause and its people. The headline “Muslim fanatic’s evil rant after beheading” (the Sun), for example, connected ‘Muslim’, ‘evil’ and ‘fanatic’, implying a connection between Muslim identity and ideas, and ‘evil’ as well as ‘mad’. So it conflated Muslim identity with this ‘evil’ existential threat. It also implied Adebolajo to be a monster, rather than a person, further adding to the idea that he was somehow sub-human. The use of the word ‘barbaric’, in particular, implied him to be uncivilised, mad and out of control (as well as ‘other’ and not ‘British’). The Daily Mail‘s headline, “Blood on his hands, hatred in his eyes,” meanwhile, showed Adebolajo as guilty, violent and fuelled by emotion or madness, rather than any reason, which took away any sense of political agency in favour of an image of insanity and barbarism. The Independent, too, emphasised the idea of barbarism: “Unarmed. Attacked from behind. Butchered like a piece of meat” (30/11/13). The apparent treatment of Lee Rigby as a “piece of meat” made the perpetrator seem barbaric and monstrous rather than a political actor behaving strategically or with agency. The Guardian also referred to Adebolajo as “savage” (30/11/13), further characterising him as barbaric and sub-human.

In this context of demonisation, it seems unlikely that Adebolajo’s pleas for the British public to throw out its government, to denounce the politicians, and so on, were taken remotely seriously by anyone. Rather, the murder of Lee Rigby became one more justification of surveillance and other tightened security measures against that public, who, rather than being inspired to rebel, or spurred to empathise with people in the Middle East, were further scared into support of, and subordination to, the British government.

Boston Bombings

The Boston Bombings were perpetrated by two brothers, Dzhokhar Tsarnev and Tamerlan Tsarnev, and from the moment they were identified, stories about their conflicting Chechen-American identities, their fall from innocence, and a certain ‘good terrorist / bad terrorist’ dynamic began to emerge. The press clearly favoured the younger brother, Dzhokhar, as did a niche group of teenage fans, who bemoaned on social media that he was too good looking to be so bad. Rolling Stone magazine ran with this idea, and used the 19 year-old bomber as its cover boy in a following issue, and fan-sites cropped up on the Internet (Segran, 04/03/15), mourning the jailing of a doomed, attractive teenager, as if he were a rock star.

This contributed to the idea that Dzhokhar was a weakened character with little political agency, rather than a politically powerful activist. There was an emphasis on the youth and naivety of Dzhokhar Tsarnaev – for example, the use of the word ‘boyhood’ by the Arizona Daily Sun; the mention of high school and the interviewing of high-school friends, such as in the Anniston Star: “‘This is nothing we would ever expect’: Friends of suspects shocked by allegations.” This emphasis on youth demeaned the bombing suspects in the sense that they were seen as young, foolish and easily influenced. It also implied that Tamerlan Tsarnaev, the older brother and the second suspect, was a bad influence and that his brother, Dzhokhar Tsarnaev, was by comparison the impressionable innocent led astray (such as in the Arkansas Democrat Gazette: “Picture emerges of brothers on different paths: 1 had ‘Terrorists’ video file”).

These bombings may have achieved some infamy for their perpetrators, but they were politically rather pointless and ineffective. As with the murder of Lee Rigby, the bombings served to frighten people, but the effect was not to switch sides and criticise the government, but to reaffirm solidarity and American identity, and to believe that the people, after all, needed the protection of their government. The ‘terrorist threat’ became ‘real’ again, even if the Boston attack had little to do with Al Qaeda or any specific revolutionary group.

The press used the attack to remind its readers of the ‘evil’ of this international terrorism and the ‘enemy within’, however. An emphasis on the innocent young American led astray by Islamic extremism emphasised that the American way of life was stronger and better than any other – especially ‘Muslim’ or ‘terrorist’ – way of life. That the suspects were American but also Chechen put a focus on ethnicity and the conflict between America and the ‘other’ — in this case the Muslim ‘enemy within’. (The Montgomery Advertiser, for example, noted: “Botched escape: Chechen brothers kill 1 cop, wound another.”) That there was apparently a personal conflict of Chechen ‘other’ vs. American underlined that conflict and difference. It also connected a domestic incident, without any obvious links to international terrorism, to a global threat and global conflicts, and therefore made this incident representative of a wider existential threat rather than a domestic problem.

Bostonians represented all Americans, and their ordeal became a crime against all of the US, rather than one city (giving a renewed sense of American identity, presumably). The lockdown was a communal ‘nightmare’, with a happy ending only thanks to the heroic police. Pictures of uniformed officers protecting the people and searching out their evil prey illustrated sensational stories of a terrified community and its innocent victims battling the forces of evil in the world.

The police were framed as ‘good’ protectors, therefore purging the community of evil and saving the people. They were at once tough and masculine (with guns, intimidating expressions and uniforms), and accessible and friendly (smiling and proud, and celebrated by the crowds). They were also shown to be victorious and successful in their mission to protect the people and carry out justice efficiently. The portrayal of the police using words like ‘battle’, ‘gun battles’ and other military language, despite a domestic setting, raised their importance and status, and the status of the drama, from domestic to international. Police officers were also seen as victims, occasionally, to emphasise their sacrifice for the community and their bravery in death. The use of the word ‘slain’ for example (in the Daily Herald) is quite romantic, and makes the death of a police officer seem like a form of martyrdom. This contributed to the ‘unreality’ of the story, and the transcendent goodness of the police.

The story was told in a generally (and typically) sensationalist manner, in fact, with emphasis on a huge chase, trapped civilians, and heroic police officers sweeping the drama to a cathartic close where Tamerlan Tsarnaev was killed and Dzhokhar Tsarnaev shot and caught. The events of the brothers’ capture, incarceration and death were communicated with optimum drama; their demise was met with literal applause and widespread conviction that good had triumphed evil once again. Ultimately, the Boston Bombings, awful acts of violence, were politically ineffective, except as a way to remind Americans that they needed their government and police. It may have been a rebellion against the government, and its foreign policy, but it seems unlikely that the bombings did anything except act as publicity for the US government and its security services.

When it comes to PR, then, these cases (along with most overtly violent dissent) illustrate what not to do. Gratuitous violence may make a statement, and make the perpetrator infamous; it could fuel the perpetrator’s own personal narrative of him or herself as a martyr and a soldier. But to the public, especially in a democratic society where other forms of dissent are allowed, it seems unnecessary and alienating, especially if the violence has no clear and obtainable political aims.

While longer campaigns of violence such as the Provisional IRA’s Armed Struggle, and Hamas’ campaign of violence against the IDF, worked better than the Boston Bombings and Lee Rigby’s murder, this is because they were fighting against the state military for the most part, and there was a widely held belief (in their communities) in their legitimacy, and the state’s provocation of organised, violent defence. Violence was one strategy among many. Even these long campaigns that involved violence have not achieved their main aims, however, and have alienated potential supporters of their causes, and it is arguable whether political violence of this kind ever really ‘works’, or – if it does – whether the negative effects of using violence (in PR terms especially) override potential strategic benefits.

In Erica Chenoweth and Maria J Stephen’s 2011 study, Why Civil Resistance Works, for instance, their research shows that peaceful democratic dissenting movements are generally more successful than their more violent counterparts – more than twice as effective, in fact. From statistical analysis and case studies, the authors conclude that there are less obstacles to involvement for followers when a movement is non-violent, which gives those groups the edge (in terms of resilience, tactical innovation and general ‘people power’) when it comes to ultimately overthrowing a regime or fighting for democratic rights. Significantly, too, the authors found that non-violent initiatives were less likely to spiral into civil war and bloody counter measures – meaning that eventual success comes with less of a human price tag.

From a PR point of view, the use of violence undermines a movement because, if captured on camera, it becomes very easy for the media and establishment to portray that group in a negative way. That said, a movement can be overwhelmingly peaceful and receive the same treatment, either through association or provocation, or old-fashioned sabotage. There is a sense, perhaps, of ‘damned if you do, damned if you don’t’, when it comes to dissenting movements and bad PR. Yes, violent campaigns receive negative PR. But so do peaceful movements. Nevertheless, a group would be wise to at least avoid a public image of being violent, and to manage the media as best it can even when confronted with unfair associations and portrayals. A dissenting movement should expect the media to be sensationalistic and biased; it should learn to deal with that reality, rather than be surprised when it all goes wrong. Subsequent chapters will outline ways of doing so, including the option of avoiding all publicity, in preference of other means of protest and subversion.

First, though, it is worth looking at the other extreme: the embracing of ‘bad PR’ by ISIS, and what this says about their relationship with the US and UK governments and the media, and what it means for other dissenting groups.