Terrorism is a communicative act: The way we report and comment on atrocities matters
Consider the following. A terrorist attack occurs. Journalist: “Quick, breaking news — better get on top of it to boost our traffic.” Researcher: “Not again — but this is relevant to my work, an opportunity to prove my research has impact!” It is truly terrifying to think that a terrorist attack can serve as a vehicle for meeting performance benchmarks in competitive work environments.
One cannot blame academics or journalists for doing their best to stay in their jobs. One can instead review the systems and structures that are inadvertently rewarding terrorist ecosystems by ensuring they are granted maximum attention at all times in an economy of competing visibilities.
As a scholar of political violence, in addition to feeling distressed whenever I learn of a terrorist attack, I am also anxious about how it will be reported. The rush of attention is understandable, and investigation is crucial to understanding how to prevent future attacks. While we attempt to publicly make sense of what happened without knowing all the facts, ethical considerations of how we comment on terrorist attacks often come second. With journalists and academics encouraged to produce content quickly and boost their profiles in a precarious environment, the pressure to provide a hot take is both real and dangerous.
Virality over verity
Akin to legacy media, social networking sites often privilege virality over verity. Virality can be an excellent tool for promoting social justice; it can also be the reverse. Social media platforms profit when content is shared. Journalists are promoted when their stories take off; academics are more likely to receive funding for their research when they can prove its broader societal relevance including through media appearances. Being asked to weigh in on a breaking news story can equate to increased likelihood of winning a grant.
The logics of news and social media, journalism and academia, have never been so closely aligned, and this has significant implications for how we talk about terrorism.
When job security is scarce — media outlets and universities both went through major restructures during the peak COVID-19 pandemic years — the need to prove one’s worth is a constant in order to ensure survival. Online metrics reward visibility, regardless of the quality of what is being shared. In an unequal neoliberal society of “winners” and “losers” in which work is insecure and there is a cost-of-living crisis, career advancement may be more readily obtained through being regarded as “somebody” than “nobody”.
Interestingly enough, joining an extremist group is also a vehicle through which to achieve status. Indeed, in addition to the narratives of belonging and dignity promoted by terrorist groups to recruit people, being a “former” extremist is now a viable career path. While there are former extremists doing vital prevention work, others — as in any other celebrated career — may be motivated by notoriety.
Celebrity — micro and macro — is achieved through virality. When this is valued above integrity and quality, we are in danger of reinforcing the performative mechanisms by which terrorist groups gain traction.
De- and re-platforming actors
In a “post-truth” world of growing inequality in which billionaires buy and sell social media platforms, accessible online spaces for public interest, evidence-based journalism and commentary have never been more vital for democracy.
Until very recently, not having a Twitter account was viewed as a liability if one was trying to make it in journalism or academia. Twitter has been a key means of gaining professional visibility and networks: two key ingredients in ensuring relevance and thus likelihood of future work. As we have seen over the past month, however, Twitter is as subject to private interests as any other corporation.
From virality to verity
Violent extremism is a communicative act. Research shows that terrorist attacks, when amplified, can serve to empower other prospective attackers. In the unfolding story of the Wieambilla atrocity, it was reported that a YouTube video was made by the perpetrators following their murder of two police officers. A haunting, chiaroscuro still image of the couple’s video was consequently published across media outlets.
While what happened in Queensland on 12 December 2022 is yet to be designated as “terrorism”, one of the perpetrators identified as “an extremist”, and it appears that the violence was part of an ideologically and socially motivated plot to kill police.
Given the sensational nature of terrorist attacks, it is a matter of urgency that we find ways to report on them without further sensationalising them and thereby increasing the likelihood of their repetition. Avoiding naming perpetrators is one strategy that was deployed by some commentators of the Christchurch massacre that left 51 dead in March 2019. With the recent rise of conspiracy-driven and fluid ideological terrorism, it has never been more critical to develop clear ethical reporting guidelines similar to those that exist in suicide reporting.
Architectures of reporting and commentary may need to be further refined to ensure we are doing everything we can to diminish the appeal of terrorism. This starts with adequately resourcing media outlets and academia through granting equal opportunities for job security to journalists and researchers regardless of their perceived impact and celebrity status.
Poverty is a policy choice: we are currently working in an environment of impoverished journalism and academia thanks to years of cuts and political interference. Slower processes of academia and investigative journalism — in which there is time to respond, and not simply react, to breaking news — may sound romantic in a fast-paced world. In reality, such processes are essential to ensuring our approaches to reporting and addressing violent extremism and radicalisation to terrorism are ethical.
This article was originally published at ABC Religion and Ethics here.
Photo credit: Ales Nesetril on Unsplash
