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‘Jihad Jane’ visited Sweden to plan attack

The American woman known as "Jihad Jane", charged by US authorities on Tuesday with conspiring to kill Swedish Muhammad cartoonist Lars Vilks, is reported to have paid a visit to Sweden in August.

'Jihad Jane' visited Sweden to plan attack
Image provided by the SITE Intelligence Group shows Colleen LaRose

The woman, who is in her 40s and is named as Colleen LaRose was arrested in October 2009 but news of her indictment was made known only hours after the arrest of seven alleged jihadists in Ireland on Tuesday.

Over the course of at least a year, LaRose is alleged to have used the internet to recruit men in South Asia, Europe and the United States for terror attacks.

As part of these preparations Jihad Jane, as is her internet alias, travelled to Sweden in August, a federal US official told the Washington Post.

According to the newspaper, LaRose was interviewed by the FBI in July but denied then that she was in contact with any terrorist groups.

Before her trip to Sweden she is reported to have removed the hard disk from her PC and hidden it. Later the same day she travelled to Sweden to live with and train with jihadis, as well as find and kill her target, Lars Vilks, the newspaper writes.

But the woman instead returned to the USA and was arrested on her arrival in Philadelphia on October 15th 2009.

According to American media, the 40-year-old had internet contact with at least one of the seven people arrested in Ireland.

The connection between Jihad Jane and the seven, four men and three women, has been confirmed by two US officials to The Philadelphia Enquirer and by a spokesperson for the Irish police to news agency TT. The nature of the link is not yet known.

According to the charges in her indictment published on Tuesday, Colleen LaRose is suspected of “conspiracy to provide material support to terrorists, conspiracy to kill in a foreign country, making false statements to a government official and attempted identity theft.”

Swedish prime minister Fredrik Reinfeldt commented on Wednesday on the suspected murder plans against Vilks by saying that “there is every reason to take this seriously if there had been plot of this nature.”

Lars Vilks was meanwhile taking the attention in his stride on Wednesday.

“I see this as a repetition of the events of 2007 and this will probably happen a couple more times. With a little luck and caution I’ll survive,” he said.

Leading Swedish newspapers on Wednesday published the cartoon at the centre of the drama – depicting the Islamic prophet Muhammad with the body of a dog.

Sweden’s paper of reference Dagens Nyheter published the controversial drawing for the fourth time, insisting artist Lars Vilks “is not alone in this conflict.”

“A threat against him is, ultimately, a threat against all Swedish people,” the paper said in an editorial and called on the Swedish state to give Vilks “all the protection he needs.”

It said authorities must take action “against an attack aimed at one of our most fundamental rights, freedom of expression.”

The Expressen tabloid also published the cartoon, insisting it was important “to defend freedom of expression which is more and more threatened.”

“An open society must show that it will not give in to threats, that it is ready to fight for freedom of expression,” added the daily in an editorial.

The regional daily Nerikes Allehanda started the controversy when it first published Vilks’ satirical cartoon on August 18th 2007 to illustrate an editorial on the importance of freedom of expression.

That paper did not choose to republish the drawing on Wednesday.

“I don’t think it is relevant to publish the picture,” Nerikes Allehanda’s chief editor Ulf Johansson, who has also faced threats over the initial publication, wrote in the paper.

“If I were to publish it, it would have another symbolical value than when other papers publish it. Dagens Nyheter has published the picture three to four times already and no one has cared,” he added.

The Aftonbladet tabloid, which published the drawing in 2007, also refrained from republishing it Wednesday, with chief editor Jan Helin insisting “the picture has no news value today.”

“Publishing the same picture now would … only increase the level of conflict and provocation in a situation that requires enlightenment, discussion,” he wrote.

Vilks showed no remorse on Tuesday, telling the TV4 commercial broadcaster that he would consider doing it all over again “if the occasion was right.”

“One is allowed to insult all religions but not Islam. That is the exception. There is a problem there,” he said.

Social Democrat politician Nalin Pekgul has meanwhile criticised Vilks and his cartoon, arguing that instead of aiding freedom of speech he had in fact “weakened” Muslims fighting for democracy and democratic values, and played into the hands of the extremists.

“For me an artist is someone that fights upwards, against the powers-that-be. Not downwards at a group that is already on the ground,” Pekgul told TV4.

Pekgul, who is a Muslim with Kurdish-Turkish roots, told of how she was personally insulted by Vilks’ cartoon when it was published in 2007.

“In the Muslim part of the world the dog is unclean, it is not even allowed to come in the house. To draw Muhammad as a dog is indescribably hurtful,” she said.

Pekgul argued that is wrong to lump all Muslims together as extremists if they object to Vilks’ illustrations, but she thinks that the cartoons give the extremists a useful argument with which to recruit young European Muslim’s to fundamentalism.

The threat against Vilks has its parallel in neighbouring Denmark, where several plots to murder cartoonist Kurt Westergaard have been foiled since his drawing of

Muhammad with a turban in the shape of a bomb was first published in September 2005, along with 11 other drawings focused on Islam.

The threat against Vilks “is very sad, I think,” Westergaard told Expressen on Wednesday.

“But I am impressed by his courage and that he refuses to give in,” he said.

JIHAD

What makes someone leave Denmark to fight as an Islamist militant?

A Danish scientist followed six Danish foreign fighters to try to understand what makes people leave security and safety in Denmark to fight for an extremist cause.

What makes someone leave Denmark to fight as an Islamist militant?
An Islamic State (Isis) militant in Raqqa, Syria in 2014. Photo: Stringer / Reuters / Ritzau Scanpix

This article was originally published on ScienceNordic and Videnskab.dk

In the picture I am looking at, the two young men currently sitting in front of me are standing on an Iraqi battlefield. They are wearing army gear in non-matching camouflage. They each have their arm around a clerical militia commander. 

Elwan and Yosef may look at ease in the photos, but they simultaneously look out of place. Their tank tops are cut to reveal their biceps and their sports shoes stand out against the official-looking uniforms of their stern-faced commanders.

Back in Denmark, Elwan and Yosef flick past ‘selfies’ of themselves posing on landscape hilltops, sunburned in shades of dark red with sunglasses on their foreheads, looking more like European tourists than the foreign fighters their story would reveal them to be.

READ MORE from ScienceNordic: How does social media affect your well-being?

Elwan and Yosef are two of the six Danish foreign fighters I followed for several years, to come closer to an understanding of what happened when more than 150 Danes and 4,000 Europeans went to the Middle East to join Islamist militant movements fighting in the conflicts that followed in the wake of the Arab Spring. 

These foreign fighters appear to come from all strata of society and represent a broad spectrum – from young idealists to pious Salafi-jihadists or hardened criminals. Some sought a completely new life fighting jihad, while others went for the duration of their school holiday.

Ideology, social marginalization or both? 

Journalists, policy makers and academics alike were taken aback by this phenomenon – why would young men who were born or brought up in the Danish welfare state choose to replace its comforts with the violent scenes of a far-removed conflict? 

As a decision, it goes against liberal democratic logic of striving for ‘the good life’: one generally defined by stability, safety and opportunity for economic advancement. 

There are also immediate concerns over how such motivations could reflect a desire to engage in terrorism ‘at home’. 

READ MORE from ScienceNordic: Wolves, but no dogs, in Scandinavian wolf population’s heritage

Debates on these questions have evolved around whether the ‘root cause’ is a religious or ideological radicalisation, or the consequences of socio-economic marginalisation. Although these two elements are not mutually exclusive, and many studies consider both factors, they appear to bite each other’s tail. 

Are such violent actions a consequence of radicalisation and dogma inherent in a particular religious ideology, or does the religious ideology merely provide a legitimising narrative for violent actions that grow out of frustrations caused by social marginalisation?

What do they think about going?

Although ‘Why do they go?’ is an important question, it may not be the best one to ask as a researcher, because of its in-built orientation towards simple answers to a difficult question. 

Instead, I sought to answer the related question of how becoming a foreign fighter came to seem meaningful and purposeful to each person I came to know. This meant taking religious ideology seriously while also remaining sensitive to their social realities.

I broadened the focus to include their life stories prior to leaving, their experiences on the battlefield as well as of returning. 

What I encountered in my study was neither brainwashed cult members nor bloodthirsty terrorists but a far more human story about seeking out a chance at glory by fighting what they thought of as jihad. 

Rather than being mindlessly radicalised, these individuals actively sought out jihad as a vindication of the frustrations and anxieties of their lives. Therefore, their choice to fight jihad related as much to their position within Danish society as it did to religious creeds or Middle Eastern politics.

God’s own weapons

Now, let me introduce you properly to Elwan and Yosef, as well as some of the other participants. Elwan and Yosef are friends and grew up together in the concrete surroundings where we met.

Their faces carry old scars, and their tattooed arms tell their own story. They have led chaotic existences on the fringes of society and appear as if they are not trying to succeed in life as much as avoid major tragedy. 

They were kicked out of school, have criminal convictions and are estranged from their families. Their time is mainly spent lifting weights in the local gym.

Working out is no longer just about body image and vanity, but a form of worship of God by improving their bodies as his fighting tools.

A chance at absolution

A similar transformation happens in how they see themselves. Whereas before they were merely ‘thugs’ hustling to get by, they now see themselves as the soldiers of God. Elwan was not exactly looking forward to standing before God on judgement day and welcomes fighting jihad as an unexpected chance to redeem himself of his former sins. 

As well as forgiving all sins in the afterlife by the first drop of blood, Elwan explains, fighting jihad also levels him with society’s high achievers; efforts towards earning status through education or employment are insignificant compared to jihad, in his eyes. 

But only half of the six foreign fighters I follow have criminal backgrounds. Many led rather unremarkable and ‘straight’ lives before prior to fighting abroad. They were enrolled in education or hold stable jobs. Their frustrations were more indirect, yet a very real presence in their lives prior to going to fight. 

READ MORE from ScienceNordic: Beautiful buildings are more sustainable

A telling example is how another fighter, Ameer, relays missing study group sessions at the public library in Copenhagen, because of his fear of being profiled according to [2015 Copenhagen attacks shooter, ed.] Omar el-Hussein’s stereotype by the heavily armed guards permanently installed by the synagogue entrance [opposite the library, ed.] since el-Hussein’s attack. 


A soldier guards the synagogue at Krystalgade, Copenhagen, the target of a fatal 2015 terror attack by a radicalised Danish Muslim. Photo: Sofie Mathiassen / Ritzau Scanpix

He would carefully consider in advance what to wear, foregoing a ‘hoodie’ or other street wear. Or if the library visit was planned spontaneously, he would start to feel queasy and get sweaty palms as he turned down the narrow side street leading to the library. 

He also focused on seeming calm, as he was worried that nervousness could be seen as displaying suspicious behaviour. Sometimes, he would simply turn around and miss the study group session.

A chance at vindication

These experiences are mirrored by Samir, who tells of having been stopped on the street as a teenager while walking with his friends ordered to take turns opening each other’s jackets and patting down each other’s trousers, the police officer remarking ‘better you do it, if one of you is wearing a suicide vest’. 

“How do you look each other in the eyes after that?”, Samir asks rhetorically. He adds that he and his friends stopped spending time at playgrounds after police had approached them there and asked if they were selling drugs to minors – when they themselves were barely teenagers. 

His tone of voice turns dark as he tells about being stopped along with his younger brothers on the way home from the grocery shop, bags of vegetables in hand, to be quizzed about being a gang.

Jihad as violent self-realisation

Becoming a foreign fighter offered the promise of a solution, however partial and ultimately self-contradictory, to feelings of frustration regarding their moral place in the world. 

Rather than having been radicalised into a certain dogmatism, these men were actively shaping the purpose fighting abroad would serve for them. 

Yet, their fighting represented an ambiguous redemption, because the meanings that the journeys have for these men are negated by the communities and wider society to which they return. 

They are not greeted as returning heroes by their families or local communities upon return, but rather shunned, and excluded from marriage opportunities or the local mosque. Yet, giving in to social judgement would, for some, mean giving up the only thing they ever felt proud about. 

Instead, they cling to their view of having fought a moral fight and condemn the rest as hypocrites, separating them further from the social fabric they were already struggling to find their place in.

What can we learn from talking to people?

This glimpse into the experience of becoming a foreign fighter shows how religious creeds, Middle Eastern conflicts and frustrations regarding their positions within Danish society came together in how these men were actively shaping the purpose they attached to their journeys. 

Furthermore, it shows that talking to people to understand the logic of their (violent) actions may prove that concepts such as radicalisation are lacking in their abilities to grasp the many facets of the human experience. 

Finally, it suggests that when researchers show willingness to adopt new perspectives, seeing our own society through different lenses, we may uncover uneasy positions within it not otherwise visible to us.

Maja Touzari Greenwood, PhD, is a researcher in international security at the Danish Institute for International Studies

This article was originally published on ScienceNordic and Videnskab.dk

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