An Opinion Piece for Rise to Peace

The assassination of Charlie Kirk on September 10 at Utah Valley University has become, in death, what he was in life: a mirror reflecting back America’s deepest pathologies. The 31-year-old founder of Turning Point USA, the largest such Conservative youth organisation in the United States, had a complex legacy – now a blank canvas onto which a fractured nation projects its fears, hatreds, and delusions. In the fevered hours and days following his killing, we have witnessed not grief or reflection, but a grotesque scramble to weaponize a corpse for ideological gain. In all this, we must take stock of what is at stake, while also recognising the profound tragedy and loss that such a political murder represents.

The response to Kirk’s murder reveals something profoundly disturbing about our current moment: we have become so thoroughly colonized by political narratives that we cannot even see death clearly anymore. Instead of confronting the horror of political violence, we immediately conscript it into our pre-existing battles. The right sees a martyred patriot; the left struggles between condemnation and barely concealed satisfaction; and in the digital shadows, a carnival of celebration and conspiracy unfolds – Israel, the Mossad, ANTIFA, radical Trans activists and Masonic influences all being named as potential perpetrators of this killing. All of this obscures the most important truth: that both Kirk and his killer were products of the same diseased system, servants of the same chaos they claimed to oppose.

The Rush to Meaning

Within minutes of the news breaking, before Kirks body had even gone cold, the meaning-making machines of American politics roared to life. Conservative media immediately painted Kirk as a “warrior for free speech,” assassinated by the “violent left.” Liberal commentators, while officially condemning the violence, couldn’t resist pointing out the irony of someone who had built a career on inflammatory rhetoric meeting a violent end. The darker corners of social media erupted in barely disguised glee, with memes and jokes proliferating faster than they could be deleted. On both sides, a barely concealed sadism and desire to punish the other came to the fore. We must observe this sadistic tendency that has come to define American politics with the alarm that it deserves, before it turns into outright mutual mutilation.

This immediate narrativization of tragedy is not new, but its speed and intensity have reached pathological levels. We no longer experience events; we experience interpretations of events, pre-packaged and delivered to our respective ideological silos before we can form our own thoughts. Kirk’s death became, in essence, whatever the observer needed it to be. For MAGA faithful, he was Thomas More, executed for refusing to bend the knee to woke orthodoxy. For resistance liberals, he was a cautionary tale about the dangers of stoking division. For the terminally online, he was content—raw material for the next viral post.

A Mormon influencer known as ‘Elder TikTok’, his phone out, livestreamed the chaos in the moments after Kirks murder and promoted his own channel and brand. Within minutes, he was ransacking the abandoned merchandise table, stuffing bloodied MAGA hats and “Big Government Sucks” t-shirts into his bag, contaminating what should have been preserved as evidence for the FBI. His behaviour is not incidental, but is rather the performance of the same dynamic that is now being observed by many media outlets and political figures across the spectrum of American politics – vultures circling a body not yet cold, each wanting a morsel out of it to further their own ends and penalise their perceived opponents.

The reality, when it emerged, was far more banal and infinitely more depressing than any of these narratives that either side suggested. Tyler Robinson, the 19-year-old alleged shooter, was neither a ‘Groyper’ terrorist nor an Antifa super-soldier. He was, investigators discovered, a confused teenager without a manifesto. His online footprint pointed to an incoherent jumble of memes, video game references, and edgy trolling. The bullets that killed Kirk reportedly had phrases etched into them: ‘Notices, bulges, OwO what’s this?’, “Hey fascist! CATCH!” with arrow symbols. “O Bella ciao, Bella ciao, Bella ciao, Ciao, ciao”. “If you read this, you are GAY Lmao”. Robinson’s online history showed engagement with both left and right-wing content, but in essence, he had a somewhat Liberal-oriented view that clashed with that of his Republican, Mormon parents, but transposed over a thick layer of incomprehensibility that has come to define much of Generation Z’s political thought. Latent dissatisfaction and anger, but with no actual ideological prism in which to channel it into something productive and communal, leaving only an act of almost random seeming violence like this one.

In this way, Robinson may be akin to Thomas Crooks, the would-be Trump assassin whose digital footprint was so sparse and contradictory that he became a cipher, readable only through the lens of whoever was doing the reading. These are not ideological warriors but products of our poisoned information ecosystem, young men who are so thoroughly scrambled by the endless churn of online discourse that violence becomes their only legible form of expression.

The Dangerous Dance of Celebration

Among the most disturbing responses to Kirk’s death has been the open celebration in certain online spaces. The hashtag #KirkDown trended briefly before being removed, accumulating thousands of posts ranging from dark humor to explicit approval. Such reactions represent not just a moral failure but a fundamental misunderstanding of how political violence operates in modern America.

As the Muslim intellectual Shahid Bolsen observed in his sobering commentary on the killing, those celebrating Kirk’s death fail to grasp that “they didn’t silence Charlie Kirk. They amplified Charlie Kirk.” This is the cruel paradox of political assassination in the modern age: killing the messenger doesn’t kill the message; it sanctifies it. Kirk alive was a divisive figure whose influence was confined largely to already-converted audiences. Kirk dead becomes an unchallengeable martyr whose every utterance is now wrapped in the protective shroud of tragedy.

The celebration of political violence, regardless of the target, represents a kind of nihilistic surrender to the logic of force. It admits that we have given up on the possibility of political persuasion, of changing minds through argument and evidence. It concedes the field to those who have always argued that politics is simply war by other means. When we cheer for the death of our political opponents, we don’t demonstrate strength; we reveal our own intellectual and moral bankruptcy.

Moreover, this celebration plays directly into the hands of those who would expand the security state and restrict civil liberties. Every tweet celebrating Kirk’s death, every meme mocking his murder, becomes evidence for the necessity of more surveillance, more censorship, more control. The killer didn’t strike a blow against the system; he handed it a gift-wrapped justification for its own expansion. Many disparate community and political organisations, of which Robinson had zero relation to, will now feasibly be targeted by the crack-down. In doing so, Republicans may appeal to their base, but run the risk of over-playing their hand in a big way, as Americans are likely to react poorly to such heavy-handed measures being utilised against disparate civil society groups.

Kirk’s Complex Legacy

While denouncing his murder and those who celebrate it, we cannot allow Kirk’s death to wash clean his life’s work. Charlie Kirk was not merely a conservative activist or a free speech advocate, as his posthumous hagiographers would have us believe. He was an architect of division, a maestro of manufactured outrage who built an empire on the weaponization of young people’s anxieties and resentments. Similarly, those who celebrated his violent death, ostensibly online Liberals and internet-nihilists, have let the cynicism and nihilism of modern American political life infect them to the point where they relish such profoundly anti-social sentiments as the cold-blooded murder of a father and husband, whose crime was being a political provocateur. Now, all of civil society may pay the price for this.

Through Turning Point USA, the largest such youth political organisation in American history, Kirk created a vast network dedicated not to education or genuine political engagement but to the production of viral confrontations and liberal tears. His campus tours were exercises in provocation, designed to generate clips of angry protesters that could be packaged as evidence of left-wing intolerance. His rhetoric consistently pushed boundaries, from calling for the monitoring of Muslim communities to suggesting that Democrats wanted to “replace” white Americans with immigrants.

Kirk understood, perhaps better than most, that in the attention economy, outrage is currency. Every inflammatory statement, every bad-faith argument, every divisive tweet was carefully calibrated to generate maximum engagement. He didn’t seek to convince or persuade so much as to activate and monetize existing grievances. In this sense, he was less a political activist than an entrepreneur of anger, someone who recognized that division could be packaged and sold like any other product.

This is not to justify or minimize his murder, political violence is never acceptable, and Kirk’s tactics, however destructive, were protected speech. But we must be honest about the role he played in creating the very climate of hostility and paranoia that has spilled over into everyday life. Kirk spent years telling young conservatives that they were under existential threat from the left, that their way of life was being deliberately destroyed, that they were engaged in a civilizational struggle with forces that wanted them dead. The tragedy layered over the tragedy of his murder is that someone as immature and reactive as Robinson could take the bait, and in doing so, potentially alter the course of political history in the United States.

The Pornography of Political Violence

There is something obscene about how Kirk’s death has been consumed and metabolized by our digital body politic. Within hours, footage from security cameras was circulating on social media, slowed down, enhanced, set to music. The killing became content, to be analyzed, remixed, and monetized like any other piece of media detritus.

It played out like a snuff film. For many, on September 10 in the hours afterwards, the first thing you saw upon opening your phone was the clip of Kirk being shot – murdered violently, and then replaying again and again on short-format platforms like TikTok and Instagram before meaning could replace the sensation of shock. This saturation of violent, bloodied death into our digital everyday, the mainstream of discourse and online experience, will doubtlessly pour fuel on the fire of this violent phenomena and alienation.

This treatment of political violence as entertainment represents a dangerous new development in American culture. We have become consumers of carnage, treating real human death with the same detachment we might bring to a video game or action movie. The line between representation and reality has become so blurred that many seem genuinely unable to distinguish between the two.

The assassination itself was dissected on podcasts with the clinical fascination usually reserved for true crime stories. Kirk’s final moments were reconstructed in elaborate Twitter threads, complete with diagrams and timeline graphics. The killer’s identity was memed before it was understood, its incoherent rambling transformed into shareable content before anyone had actually grappled with what it revealed about our current moment.

This pornographic consumption of political violence doesn’t just desensitize us; it creates a feedback loop that makes future violence more likely. When assassination becomes content, when murder becomes meme, we create incentive structures for the next confused young man looking to make his mark on the world. The attention, even negative attention, becomes its own reward.

The Systematic Production of Chaos

Perhaps the most important thing to understand about both Kirk and his killer is that they were not anomalies but inevitable products of our current system. Kirk didn’t create the appetite for division; he simply fed it. Robinson didn’t invent political violence; he simply enacted it. Both were expressions of deeper structural forces that we seem unwilling or unable to address.

American society has commodified outrage, weaponized identity, and transformed politics into a blood sport for mass consumption. Social media algorithms actively promote divisive content because it generates engagement. News networks amplify the most extreme voices because they deliver ratings. Politicians embrace apocalyptic rhetoric because it motivates turnout. In such an environment, figures like Kirk don’t just emerge; they flourish. And in such an environment, confused young men like Robinson don’t just spiral; they explode. They don’t need a concrete system of belief to kill, because their anger and visiting target is reason enough to them.

The real tragedy is that Kirk’s death will change nothing. nothing for the better, at least. If anything, it will accelerate the very dynamics that produced both him and his killer. The right will use his martyrdom to justify further restricting legislation. The left will use the warning about right-wing rhetoric while continuing its own escalatory language. The security state will use the assassination to expand its reach. The media will use the controversy to generate content. And somewhere, another confused young person is absorbing all of this, their mind being slowly poisoned by the same toxic brew that produced Robinson.

The Failure of Adult Leadership

What’s perhaps most damning about our current moment is the complete absence of adult leadership capable of breaking these cycles. Where are the voices calling for genuine de-escalation? Where are the leaders willing to acknowledge their own side’s contribution to our poisoned discourse? Where are the adults willing to say that, regardless of our political differences, we must not become monsters in fighting monsters?

Instead, we get the opposite. Politicians who immediately sought to fundraise off Kirk’s death. Media figures who used his assassination to score points against their rivals. Online influencers who transformed a murder into content within hours. The very people who should be providing moral leadership in this moment have instead chosen to pour gasoline on an already raging fire. Too many incentives exist for them not to.

This failure extends beyond individual actors to our institutions themselves. Our churches, universities, civic organizations—all the mediating institutions that once helped channel political passion into productive action—have either collapsed or been conscripted into the culture war. There are no neutral spaces left, no common ground on which to stand and say that political violence is wrong, regardless of the target.

The Path Forward

If there is any hope to be found in this darkness, it lies in recognizing that we still have a choice. We can continue down this path, treating political opponents as existential enemies, celebrating violence against those we disagree with, consuming carnage as entertainment. Or we can recognize that this way leads only to mutual destruction.

This doesn’t mean abandoning our principles or refusing to fight for what we believe in. It doesn’t mean pretending that all political positions are equally valid or that there aren’t real stakes to our political battles. But it does mean recognizing that our political opponents are still human beings, that violence is never an acceptable response to speech, and that a democracy cannot survive when its citizens view each other as enemies to be destroyed rather than fellow citizens to be persuaded.

Kirk’s murder should be a wake-up call, not because he was a martyr or a monster, but because his death represents the logical endpoint of our current trajectory. When we treat politics as war, we shouldn’t be surprised when people start taking casualties. When we tell people that their very existence is under threat, we shouldn’t be shocked when someone decides to strike first.

The most radical thing we can do in this moment is refuse to play our assigned roles in this tragedy. Refuse to celebrate or sanctify. Refuse to use Kirk’s death as ammunition in ongoing culture wars. Refuse to pretend that either Kirk or his killer were anything other than products of division and rage.

Conclusion: Breaking the Cycle

Charlie Kirk is dead, and nothing about that should bring anyone joy. A young man threw away his life to commit an act that will only strengthen the forces he presumably opposed. Families are shattered. A movement has its martyr. The cycle continues, accelerating toward some terrible conclusion we can sense but not yet see.

But perhaps, in this moment of horror, we can finally see clearly what we have become. Perhaps Kirk’s death can serve not as a rallying cry for one side or the other, but as a mirror in which we recognize our own moral deformation. Perhaps we can look at the celebration and the sanctification, the meaning-making and the mythologizing, and recognize it for what it is: a kind of cultural autoimmune disease, our body politic attacking itself in confused fury.

The alternative is too terrible to contemplate. If we cannot break this cycle, if we cannot find a way back from the brink, then Kirk’s assassination will not be an aberration but a preview. The ideological Rorschach test of his murder will give way to more murders, each one interpreted according to the observer’s biases, each one accelerating our descent into chaos. Indeed, the reference to the Italian ‘Years of Lead’ has already begun to take popular precedence in American cultural and political discourse as of late.

Charlie Kirk spent his life making enemies. The greatest tribute we could pay to the gravity of his death would be to refuse to be enemies any longer. Not to agree with what he said or excuse what he did, but to recognize that the path he helped chart leads nowhere good for anyone. His murder is not a victory for anyone; it is a defeat for everyone who believes that democracy can still function, that persuasion is still possible, that we can share a country without sharing a politics.

The carrion birds are already circling, eager to feast on this tragedy. Let us deny them their meal. Let us bury Charlie Kirk with the dignity due to any human being, condemn his killer with the clarity required by justice, and then turn our attention to the much harder task of healing a culture so sick that it produces both martyrs and murderers with such terrifying regularity. The alternative is too dark to contemplate, but increasingly too obvious to ignore, otherwise.

By Etienne Darcas – Rise to Peace Media Lead

In June 2025, the fragile equilibrium of the Middle East was once again disrupted when Israel launched a series of coordinated airstrikes on Iranian nuclear facilities at Natanz, Esfahan, and Fordow. Citing an imminent threat posed by Iran’s advancing uranium enrichment programme and the potential weaponisation of nuclear material, Israeli Prime Minister Netanyahu declared the operation a matter of national survival. The strikes, which occurred with limited prior warning, have triggered renewed debate over the legality and strategic prudence of unilateral pre-emptive military action. 

Iran’s Nuclear Programme

The geopolitical landscape surrounding Iran’s nuclear programme has long constituted a central axis of tension in US-Iran relations, reflecting broader regional rivalries and international security concerns. Since the 1979 Iranian Revolution, bilateral ties have oscillated between sporadic cooperation and entrenched hostility, shaped by mutual distrust and diverging strategic objectives. Iran’s pursuit of nuclear capabilities, coupled with its support for regional proxy groups and its growing influence across the Middle East, has repeatedly intensified these tensions. While Iran has consistently asserted that its nuclear activities are for peaceful purposes, both the US and Israel view its programme with deep suspicion, particularly the latter, which perceives any Iranian nuclear capability as an existential threat. This perception had fuelled repeated discussions in Israeli security discourse concerning the potential for pre-emptive strikes, with Prime Minister Netanyahu, as early as February 2025, urging the US to  ‘finish the job’, a request declined at the time. 

Iran, in turn, has cultivated deliberate ambiguity regarding its nuclear intentions. As a signatory to the 1970 Non-Proliferation Treaty (NPT), it is bound by an international legal framework for nuclear oversight. However, its compliance has increasingly come under scrutiny. Despite not officially withdrawing from the 2015 Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action (JCPOA), Iran has exceeded key enrichment thresholds, prompting threats from European states to refer the matter to the United Nations Security Council. It has also constructed fortified underground facilities at sites such as Natanz, designed to withstand conventional attacks and even US bunker-busting munitions. These installations have withstood repeated sabotage attempts, including Israeli cyber and kinetic operations, underscoring Iran’s resilience and strategic resolve. 

Consequently, the International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) was tasked with monitoring Iran’s nuclear activities in late 2024 and early 2025. The agency then reported uranium enrichment levels surpassing 60%, nearing weapons-grade thresholds, alongside restricted access to inspection sites. These developments have fuelled suspicions that Iran is maintaining strategic ambiguity, deliberately obscuring the extent of its nuclear progress while avoiding overt violations that would trigger unified international condemnation.

The June 2025 Israeli Strike

On 13 June 2025, Israel initiated a comprehensive military campaign against Iran’s nuclear facilities, targeting sites in Isfahan and Natanz. The operation, reportedly named ‘Operation Rising Lion,’ involved a combination of aerial bombardments and cyber operations aimed at crippling Iran’s nuclear capabilities. Israeli officials claimed that the strikes significantly damaged Iran’s uranium enrichment infrastructure, setting back its nuclear program by years. However, independent assessments suggest that while the attacks caused substantial damage, they may have only delayed Iran’s nuclear ambitions by a few months. In response, Iran condemned the Israeli strikes as violations of its sovereignty and international law. The Iranian government vowed retaliation, stating that ‘all options are on the table.’ Subsequently, Iran launched missile attacks on Israeli military sites and reportedly activated proxy groups in the region to carry out further strikes. Therefore, the US, under President Trump, expressed support for Israel’s action, framing it as a necessary step to counter Iran’s nuclear ambitions. The US military conducted its own strikes on Iranian sites, further escalating tensions. 

The European Union called for restraint and urged all parties to return to diplomatic negotiations to prevent further escalation. European leaders emphasised the importance of dialogue in addressing the nuclear issue and maintaining regional stability. Russia and China, similarly, strongly condemned the Israeli and US actions, labelling them as violations of international law and calling for an immediate ceasefire. Both countries expressed deep concern over the potential for further destabilisation in the Middle East. 

The timing and legality of the strikes have sparked significant debate. Critics argue that the attacks may have violated international law, particularly the principles of sovereignty and non-intervention. Supporters contend that the strikes were a legitimate exercise of preemptive self-defence, given the perceived imminent threat posed by Iran’s nuclear program. The international community remains divided on this issue, highlighting the complexities of applying international legal norms to such situations.

The Theory of Preemptive Self-Defence 

Under Article 51 of the United Nations Charter, the right to self-defence is triggered only in the event of an armed attack and is conditioned on immediate notification to the UN Security Council. This restrictive interpretation, codified by UN General Assembly Resolution 3314 (1974), affirms that any act of self-defence must conform to the principles of necessity and proportionality, permitting only those measures strictly required to repel an ongoing or imminent assault. Within this framework, the expanding discourse around anticipatory, pre-emptive, or preventive self-defence, advanced notably by the United States in recent decades, sits uneasily within established international legal norms. Though not formally recognised under positive international law, the doctrine of pre-emptive self-defence has been invoked in state practice, generating sustained legal controversy due to its susceptibility to subjective threat perception and potential misuse. A crucial distinction persists between anticipatory self-defence, as articulated in the 1837 Caroline case, recognising that forces may be used only in response to an instant threat, leaving no choice of means; and preventive war, which targets hypothetical future dangers and remains broadly prohibited under contemporary international law.

Israel’s approach to self-defence has long operated in the ambiguous space between these doctrines. Its 1967 pre-emptive strike against Egypt, which launched the Six-Day War, was retrospectively presented as a necessary response to an imminent Arab offensive, though its legal justification remains contested. Similarly, the 1975 incursion into Palestinian camps in Lebanon and the 1981 bombing of Iraq’s Osirak nuclear reactor, based on suspicions of potential militarisation, reflect a strategic doctrine rooted in existential pre-emption. In each case, Israel defended its actions as indispensable to neutralising unfolding threats, yet the imminence and necessity of such operations have been the subject of enduring legal and scholarly debate. Therefore, the June 2025 strike on Iranian nuclear sites adheres to this historical logic but raises fresh legal and normative challenges. Although Iran’s nuclear programme has exceeded the constraints of the JCPOA and remains shrouded in opacity, it is officially classified as civilian, with no verifiable evidence of weaponisation. Some legal scholars argue that speculative intelligence and uncertain intent fail to satisfy the threshold of lawful anticipatory self-defence. Nevertheless, Israeli officials contend that Iran’s continued uranium enrichment and the reinforcement of fortified sites such as Natanz constitute a de facto military threat necessitating urgent disruption.

Iran’s strategy of deliberate opacity further complicates any clear legal assessment. By exploiting ambiguity, Tehran maintains strategic deterrence while avoiding definitive legal culpability. Israel’s invocation of this ambiguity to legitimise preemptive strikes, in the absence of a demonstrable armed attack, thus highlights the erosion of consensus surrounding the lawful use of force. Meanwhile, continued US support, either tacit or overt, echoes post-2002 trends that appear to favour a norm of permissibility for preemptive action. This development not only challenges the integrity of the UN Charter system but also raises serious implications for global nuclear governance and the legitimacy of international legal restraint. 

By Charlotte Soulé,  Rise to Peace intern and Masters of International War Studies student at University College Dublin

Terrorism is a man’s game and women’s role in violence is often neglected due to the widely believed societal myth that women are inherently non-violent. Women are seen as life-givers rather than life-takers, and are commonly associated with peace, cooperation, and dialogue rather than terrorism. When women are discussed in the context of terrorism, they are frequently portrayed as passive victims, reinforcing stereotypical notions of female vulnerability. 

However, recent trends in terrorist organizations and attacks stand in stark contrast to such assumptions. Women have not only actively taken part in spreading extremism but have also been directly involved in inflicting violence by performing deadly attacks such as suicide bombings. 

Many women in terrorism have often used their roles as mothers and educators in society as a tool to radicalize others. 

Samira al-Jassem, widely known as Umm al-Mumineen, which translates into “Mother of believers,” is one such example. While living in Sinsin village located in the Diyala province, Jaseem was accused of training at least eighty women to take part in suicide terrorism in support of the al-Qaeda. Twenty-eight of them successfully carried out suicide bombings following her instructions. In a confessional video she later retracted, Jaseem admitted that she helped orchestrate rapes in Diyala. Accordingly, she would later intervene and convert the victims to suicide bombers to escape the cultural shame associated with rape in Iraq. 

Such accounts are not limited to women living in war-torn countries like Iraq. Malika El-Aroud who resided in Belgium, at the heart of Europe, tactfully used modern technology to recruit and persuade others to join the jihadist cause. Using websites and forums such as Minbar SOS, which attracted over 1400 full-time members, and Ansar al-Haqq, she used guilt and glory to push others to join jihadists in the name of protecting the ummah, the global Muslim community. Going further, Aroud posted guidelines on how to make bombs and allowed al-Qaeda affiliates to publish resources through her websites. Her teachings have inspired individuals like Muriel Degauque, considered to be the first European female suicide bomber, to carry out the deadly attack on American troops in Iraq in 2005. Due to her influence and devotion to al-Qaeda, she is also known as “Mother Jihad,” “Black Widow of the Jihad,” and “First Lady of Jihad.”

Jaseem in Iraq and Aroud in Belgium show that women have undoubtedly played a significant role in radicalizing and advancing extremism. Therefore, counterterrorism mechanisms should strip away stereotypical notions of seeing women only as victims and reflect the active role women play in radicalizing the future generation.

Apart from spreading extremism, women have also played an active role in inflicting violence through suicide attacks. Research indicates that female suicide bombers are more successful and lethal with an average of 8.4 victims in comparison to 5.3 for attacks carried out by men. 

This makes female suicide bombers more attractive to terrorist organizations. For instance, female suicide bombers make up over two-thirds of the suicide attackers of Boko Haram in Nigeria, killing over 1200 between 2014-2018. Similarly, 30-40% of the overall suicide attacks that were carried out by Black Tigers, the suicide squad of the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE) in Sri Lanka, were composed of women. 

Several reasons can explain this strategic success of using women as suicide bombers. 

Firstly, women are less likely to be suspected as terrorists, allowing them to get better access to targets while avoiding detection. Thenmozhi Rajaratnam, famously known as Dhanu, who was a part of the Black Tigers of LTTE, detonated herself while presenting a flower garland to the Indian Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi in 1991. Her unassuming nature allowed her to steer clear of any suspicions making her attack successful. 

Similarly, the Black Tiger who established her alias by repeatedly visiting the Army hospital while pretending to be pregnant, attacked the Sri Lankan Army Commander in 2006 by hiding the bomb in her stomach. 

This ability of women to pass security checkpoints without raising suspicion, often due to stereotypes of female non-violence and cultural protections, was well used by terrorist organizations.  

As a result, many jihadist suicide bombers have used traditional garments such as abayas and burkas to hide their suicide vests. As men are not allowed to touch women in traditional Muslim societies, such contraptions go undetected. 

Boko Haram’s repeated use of female suicide bombers and exploitation of their traditional clothing to evade detection in attacks in Fotokol, Cameroon, and Borno state in Nigeria is one such example. Bibi Halima who attacked U.S. and Afghan soldiers that were on patrol in Kunar province is another who hid her suicide vest under her burqa. This tactical advantage has also prompted men to disguise themselves as women on several occasions in Afghanistan.

Secondly, female suicide bombings generate more attention and media coverage both locally and internationally, advancing terrorist organizations’ publicity goals. 

Liza Taraki, a Palestinian sociologist, stated that “Suicide attacks are done for effect, and the more dramatic the effect, the stronger the message; thus a potential interest on the part of some groups in recruiting women.”

According to research conducted by Mia Bloom, a suicide attack carried out by a woman produces eight times more media coverage and articles than a male counterpart. Given the ever-changing landscape of conflict and the expanding digital sphere in which terrorist organizations are competing for visibility, the use of women as suicide bombers becomes a strategic choice.

The societal myth that promotes women to be inherently non-violent causes the shock factor of female suicide bombers to be amplified. Consequently, the psychological effects of female suicide bombers go beyond the immediate victims of the attack and reach a much larger audience. This allows the cause of the terrorist groups to gain publicity and even sympathy. 

The presence of a female suicide bomber is startling in itself, but even more so when she is young, attractive, and seemingly accomplished.

Sana’a Mehaidli, a 17-year-old Christian from Lebanon, carried out a suicide attack against the Israeli occupation in 1985. The following year, Norma Abi Hassan, a 29-year-old Christian, drove a car filled with explosives to a checkpoint of the Israeli-backed South Lebanon Army militia. Similarly, Wafa Idris, the first Palestinian female suicide bomber and a 27-year-old ambulance driver for the Red Crescent Society, detonated herself on a crowded street in Jerusalem. These cases illustrate how young, conventionally attractive women, those who embodied the “girl next door” image, were deliberately chosen as suicide bombers. Their involvement not only intensified the psychological impact of the attacks but also generated significant public and media attention.

Hence, it is clear that women, transcending geographical and religious boundaries, have taken an active part in conducting suicide bombings and inflicting terror and violence. Their involvement has provided strategic benefits to many terrorist organizations allowing successful attacks and amplified media attention. 

The question remains as to why women would choose to turn their bodies into weapons. Despite the common misconception, women who engage in suicide terrorism are not all passive and vulnerable victims. While there are many accounts where rape victims join the LTTE as suicide bombers or women are coerced into carrying out attacks by Boko Haram, studies show that many women share similar motivations for becoming suicide bombers as their male counterparts. 

Mia Bloom categorized these motivations under what she calls the “R Theory,” identifying redemption, revenge, respect, and relationships as common reasons cited by women who become suicide bombers.

Consequently, there is no one-size-fits-all profile for female suicide bombers. They vary widely in background, religion, geography, and pathways to radicalization. Many have also led seemingly stable lives and careers, challenging the stereotype that only marginalized women engage in such acts.

Yet despite these nuances, a common thread persists: the societal status of women often remains unchanged—or even worsens. While female suicide bombers are sometimes romanticized as heroes or martyrs, their actions have not led to meaningful emancipation. Women continue to be largely excluded from leadership roles within terrorist organizations, and many face disempowerment after carrying out attacks or failing to do so. Rather than receiving the recognition they may have anticipated, they are frequently ostracized for defying gender norms and failing to adhere to traditional roles.

Therefore, it is imperative that the continuous participation of women as suicide bombers and their targeted recruitment by terrorist organizations for strategic advantage be reflected in counterterrorism measures. Security protocols embedded with stereotypical gender roles should be updated. We must recognize that women are fully capable of playing operational roles within terrorist organizations—as recruiters, planners, intelligence gatherers, and suicide bombers. Ignoring this reality creates dangerous blind spots in both prevention and response efforts.

Furthermore, counterterrorism strategies must incorporate gender-sensitive approaches that take into account the specific psychological, social, and cultural drivers influencing women. Tailored interventions are more likely to be effective in deterring female recruitment and supporting rehabilitation for those who have disengaged from violent extremism.

Finally, counterterrorism efforts must actively disrupt the narratives that terrorist organizations use to recruit women. Groups often portray female participation as a path to empowerment, heroism, or redemption—especially in contexts where women feel socially or politically marginalized. However, the reality is that many women are excluded from leadership roles, used for tactical purposes, and abandoned or shunned afterward. Strategic counter-narratives that expose this exploitation and emphasize the long-term disempowerment many women experience can be powerful tools in undermining terrorist propaganda and preventing further recruitment.

By Nimaya Premachandra, Research Fellow and Public Relations Lead, Rise to Peace

The body count remains modest by historical standards; a Democratic legislator here, an abortion provider there. Not quite yet Italy’s Anni di Piombo, those Years of Lead when ideological warfare and near civil-war conditions left hundreds dead. Yet, a not dissimilar infrastructure is emerging, featuring kill lists circulating through encrypted channels, self-styled constitutional militias casing state capitols and pastors offering prayers with implicit crosshairs.

In Minnesota, Vance Boelter, self-appointed “Dr. Vance Boelter,” with fraudulent credentials from the Christ for the Nations Institute, embodies this new terror paradigm. Using a fake police SUV and a carefully curated kill list mingling political targets with abortion providers – he gunned down Democratic lawmaker Melissa Hortman and her husband. Officials say Melissa Hortman and John Hoffman were targeted because they were public servants. Their spouses, Marc Hortman and Yvette Hoffman, were targeted too, with Hoffman shielding her daughter with her body from the bullets of the assailant in an act of extreme self-sacrifice and courage. In the tragedy of this event, solace can be gained from the fact that they survived this harrowing ordeal.

How can we make sense of this clear-cut politically motivated assassination? America’s nascent Years of Lead operates under different mechanics than traditional terrorism. The violent acts emerge not from well-defined ideological factions but from an ecosystem of stochastic terrorism. Its characteristics are unpredictable, non-linear violence propelled by radicalization without coherent ideological structures. Radical ideas circulate through mainstream institutions: megachurches, Bible colleges, and online platforms. Boelter’s theology of “violent prayer” was not secretive or underground; it was openly taught at Christ for the Nations Institute in Dallas, where students learn daily that the unsaved, their neighbours, communities, cultural institutions and more are all spiritual enemies in literal warfare.

Our previous framework of liminal terror and violence is instructive here. It describes actors like Boelter not as isolated extremists but as liminal agents – radicalized individuals who occupy an interstitial ideological space, shaped by fragmented online subcultures, conspiracy theories, and institutionalized extremism. Boelter, whose ideological profile combined evangelical zealotry, anti-abortion militancy, and conspiratorial paranoia, fits this model precisely.

This marks a profound shift from previous eras of ideological violence. Italy’s Years of Lead featured clearly delineated groups, ranging from the Red Brigades to neo-fascist militants, with each attack serving as a violent communiqué. American stochastic terror, however, emerges from seemingly disparate ideological fragments. Rather than radical vanguardist Marxism, or the hold-outs of Italian Fascism, we see instead QAnon conspiracies, Seven Mountains Dominionism, and aggressive anti-abortion activism. These movements are always, in friction, coalescing unpredictably within individuals who act without centralized direction. Traditional ideologies and architectures of political violence break down, leaving in their stead a diffuse language of political violence that is much more fringe and disaggregated in nature.

Gordon Lindsay founded Christ for the Nations with a theology born from the racist and conspiratorial currents of British Israelism. Today, his institution has produced figures like the “Apostle” Dutch Sheets, whose Millenarian prophecies fuelled the January 6th insurrectionists. The transformation of spiritual metaphors into violent action has been gradual but deliberate, facilitated by a media landscape and institutional network that turns metaphoric warfare into real-world violence. Such actors see themselves as eternal revolutionaries in a fundamentalist movement known as the ‘New Apostolic Reformation‘. For them, America is anointed by God to convert the world to Christianity – by force if necessary – and to that end all can be permitted in order to accelerate Jesus’ return and rule over the Earth. This divine mission, as they see it, will be carried out when true believers seize control of the institutions of the U.S. government.

Boelter exemplifies this progression and phenomena perfectly. Initially a missionary, later head of “Praetorian Guard” security services, he compiled kill lists blending political and medical targets. His 2022 sermon quoted Galatians on “self-control”; by 2025, self-control meant disciplined violence, justified by the phrase, “against such things there is no law.” Stochastic terrorism thrives on precisely this ideological fluidity, as it is disconnected from structured commands but intimately tied to legitimizing institutions, such as those in the US Government..

An example of this can be seen as regards the financing structures of American Christian nationalism, which diverge notably from traditional terrorist funding. Rather than clandestine support, money flows through legal channels: tax-exempt institutions, political action committees, and multimillion-dollar media enterprises. The terror is both mainstream yet underground, revolutionary yet institutional. In always exists in these binary spaces at once, producing figures who exist perpetually at the threshold of violence. Boelter and similar figures are not aberrations but inevitable outcomes of this system. They inhabit a world of ‘stigmatized knowledge’, as sociologist Michael Barkun terms it, which creates in-group identities through rejection of mainstream society.

Violence thus emerges unpredictably but systematically from this broader ideological environment. Boelter was never truly alone. Rather, he was always swimming within a sea of radical preparation. Institutions like Christ for the Nations foster these conditions openly, portraying fellow citizens as existential threats. Such environments are fertile ground for stochastic violence.

The recent acceleration toward violence stems partly from Christian nationalists’ realization that despite their institutional strength in the Supreme Court, their broad electoral power and their powerful media reach, they are losing the cultural battle. America continues becoming more secular and diverse, challenging their worldview. As in Italy, when electoral politics fails to achieve revolutionary goals, extremists increasingly regard democracy itself as the obstacle. But the violence shaping America’s current political landscape cannot be attributed solely to anxieties of cultural displacement; such an explanation simplifies deeper complexities. Instead, it stems from a more troubling source: a profound disillusionment and political alienation intensified by decades of declining institutional legitimacy and partisan paralysis. Christian nationalist extremism, therefore, is not purely reactionary, for it has a distinctly apocalyptic character, driven by a perceived necessity to disrupt an unacceptable status quo and confront what adherents view as an irreparable moral decline.

This extremism isn’t simply one-directional, or somehow the fault of purely those Christian Nationalist organisation who have thrown their support behind the Republican Party and President Donald Trump in a fraying domestic political environment. Rather, it has been able to grow in part because the Democratic opposition has struggled to present a unified and effective response. Fragmented in approach, inconsistent in messaging and unable to differentiate themselves as a necessary lever in the balance of power due to an obsession with proceduralism and managerialism, Democrats have inadvertently allowed space for extremist narratives to flourish. Radicalized individuals do not merely consider themselves victims of cultural marginalization but view their actions through the lens of a deeper, existential conflict, lending a profound significance to their acts of violence.

Thus, the new wave of political violence in America is characterized by a clear ideological purpose. It manifests as a symbolic confrontation, driven by narratives that frame violence as morally justified, even necessary. Such violence does not arise solely from perceived cultural defeat but from a perceived absence of credible political leadership, leaving an opening for extremist rhetoric to dominate public discourse.

Preventing America’s descent into its own Years of Lead requires confronting the roots of ideological radicalization, acknowledging institutions that mainstream violence, and recognizing stochastic terrorism as a structural problem, not just individual criminality. Italy’s crisis ended through robust policing, political reform, and societal exhaustion with violence. America faces different challenges, including deeply embedded extremism within legitimate, mainstream institutions.

Ultimately, we must understand stochastic terrorism as not merely random or isolated acts but as symptoms of a systemic legitimacy crisis. To prevent widespread violence, we must address institutional complicity in radicalization, reject the literalization of spiritual warfare, and challenge the theological foundations that transform metaphor into massacre. When “violent prayer” becomes institutional curriculum, we have moved beyond normal politics into pre-civil-war conditions. Recognizing this is the first step to avoiding our own Years of Lead.

By Etienne Darcas, Media and Terror Team Lead, Rise to Peace

Though terrorist organisations today often operate without clear borders, their digital footprints travel freely, amplified by algorithms, shared by users, and at times left unchecked by the very platforms that host them. In response, a global reckoning is underway over the question of liability: should social media companies be held responsible for the spread of terrorist content online?

This debate is far from settled. Across the globe, governments are adopting radically different legal frameworks to regulate tech platforms’ responsibilities. These approaches reflect not only varying levels of technological capacity and political will but diverging philosophies about the balance between public safety, freedom of expression, and corporate accountability. The result is a fragmented legal landscape in which global platforms must navigate contradictory demands from nation-states, sometimes with grave human rights implications.

Diverging Approaches in Europe and the United States

The European Union has taken a more interventionist approach with its Digital Service Act (DSA), enacted in 2022. This legislation requires large platforms like X (formerly Twitter), Meta, and YouTube to assess and mitigate systemic risks, including the dissemination of terrorist content. The DSA’s enforcement was tested during the October 2023 Israel-Hamas conflict, when graphic images and propaganda spread rapidly. The EU opened an investigation into X for allegedly failing to remove illegal content, prompting Internal Market Commissioner Thierry Breton to issue a formal warning. Breton made it clear that X’s subsequent withdrawal from the EU’s voluntary Code of Practice on Disinformation would not exempt it from its legal obligation under the DSA. ‘You can run, but you can’t hide,’ he warned. The incident underlined the EU’s intent to hold platforms accountable and its belief that freedom of expression must be balanced with civic responsibility. However, a structural limitation of the DSA lies in its procedural ambiguity: the regulation does not impose a legal deadline for concluding formal proceedings. Additionally, the length of an in-depth investigation is contingent upon various factors, including the intricacy of the case, the degree of cooperation from the platform under scrutiny, and the procedural rights exercised by the company in question.

In contrast, the United States upholds one of the strongest legal shields through Section 230 of the Communications Decency Act, granting platforms a broad immunity from liability for user-generated content. As supported by American jurisprudence, Section 230 buffers them from being treated as publishers of third-party material and protects platforms that remove harmful content in good faith. These provisions have enabled moderation without liability, but continue to fuel debate over platform accountability and content amplification. In Twitter Inc. v. Taamneh(2023), the US Supreme Court held that platforms like X, Twitter at the time, cannot be held liable for terrorist content merely for hosting it. In fact, liability requires proof that the platform knowingly provided substantial assistance to a specific act of terrorism. The Court warned that imposing broader liability would ‘run roughshod over the typical limits on tort liability’ and risk treating any communications provider as complicit simply for failing to prevent misuse of its services. While critics argue that Section 230 has been interpreted too broadly, granting platforms sweeping immunity, defenders caution that reform could trigger over-censorship.

Regulatory Variations Across Jurisdictions

In different political contexts, approaches to regulating terrorist content often reflect broader governance priorities, including the management of dissent and control over information environments. In India, authorities have used the Unlawful Activities Prevention Act (UAPA), a national instrument, to compel social media companies to remove content related to terrorist activities, as well as the Financial Action Task Force (FATF), an international instrument, to tackle money laundering, terrorism and proliferation financing. Nonetheless, the use of these instruments by the Indian government has prompted alarm. Amnesty International argues they have been weaponised to suppress legitimate dissent and dismantle civil society. While UAPA was deployed to arrest activists and human rights defenders, the FATF framework has been invoked through foreign funding laws to restrict the operations of critical NGOs. Amnesty contends that the use of both instruments has a chilling effect on civil society and free expression, raising concerns about compliance with international norms on human rights and the rule of law. Turkey has taken a similarly assertive approach, passing the ‘Disinformation Law’ in 2022, requiring platforms to appoint local representatives and comply with takedown orders or face penalties. While aimed at combating disinformation, its vague criminalisation of ‘misleading information’ threatens free expression. Critics argue it increases government control over content and fuels media repression and self-censorship rather than fostering reliable information. Likewise, Human rights groups report that terrorism and defamation charges under this law have been deployed to intimidate journalists, human rights defenders, and civil society actors, raising concerns about due process, media freedom, and the chilling of democratic debate.

In conflict-prone regions such as Myanmar and Ethiopia, the challenge is often one of under-moderation. Meta has faced criticism for failing to adequately monitor hate speech in languages other than English. In Myanmar, according to a United Nations Report, Facebook became a platform for inciting violence against the Rohingya minority, contributing to real-world atrocities. In Ethiopia, similar failures were evident during the Tigray conflict, when posts inciting ethnic violence and misinformation circulated widely with minimal intervention. These cases illustrate how enforcement disparities, particularly in multilingual and high-conflict environments, expose the limits of global platforms’ current content moderation strategies.

Competing Values and Shared Frameworks

At the heart of this global debate lies a fundamental tension: how to reconcile the protection of free expression with the need to prevent real-world harm. In some jurisdictions, as noted, there is a growing recognition that platforms must assume greater responsibility, particularly when engagement-driven algorithms amplify harmful content. Yet determining the threshold for liability remains deeply contested, both legally and ideologically. Compounding this challenge is the absence of a unified international standard; in fact, what constitutes a terrorist in content in one country may be viewed as protected speech in another. Governments leverage these ambiguities to demand takedowns or justify inaction based on political expediency rather than principle. These inconsistencies not only expose users to unequal protections but also place tech platforms in the impossible position of being arbiters of global speech.

Efforts towards consensus are emerging. For instance, the Christchurch Call, initiated by France and New Zealand, encourages states and tech firms to collaborate in tackling terrorist content online. Similarly, the Global Internet Forum to Counter Terrorism (GIFCT) supports a shared database of extremist material. Nonetheless, criticism persists regarding transparency and governance. While some advocate for a binding international framework, a ‘digital Geneva Convention’, to establish baseline norms for content moderation, others argue that it is unnecessary, asserting that existing Geneva Conventions already extend to cyberspace. They caution that creating a new, standalone legal regime could lead to redundancy, legal confusion, and political impracticality. 

Though the road to convergence is long, the stakes are undeniable: a global digital commons demands a shared principled approach. As the legal battleground over terrorist content intensifies, it becomes clear that digital platforms are not passive conduits but active architects of the online environment, whether through algorithmic design, content moderation practices, or compliance with government mandates. The liability question thus transcends legal technicalities. It reflects deeper normative struggles over who gets to define harm, enforce norms, and shape public discourse in the digital age. In the absence of coherent international standards, the fragmentation of regulatory approaches risks entrenching inequalities, empowering authoritarian tendencies, and undermining both the protection of human rights and the effectiveness of counterterrorism efforts.

By Charlotte Soulé,  Rise to Peace intern and Masters of International War Studies student at University College Dublin

Editor’s Note: This article is a research contribution from Giana Romo Bastidas, Research Fellow and Intern at Rise to Peace. It explores the shifting landscape of modern conflict, contrasting conventional and liminal (hybrid) warfare, and examines their divergent impacts on human security. The piece is academic in scope and includes references for further reading. We at Rise to Peace encourage readers to consider how these evolving forms of warfare complicate the boundaries of conflict and security in the 21st century.

Executive Summary
The nature of war in the 21st century is shifting from conventional, state-on-state conflict to ambiguous, hybrid, and liminal forms of confrontation. Liminal warfare, operating in the “gray zone” between peace and war, leverages non-military tactics (cyberattacks, disinformation, economic coercion) to undermine security in ways that are often invisible and difficult to attribute. While conventional warfare’s impact on human security is overt, kinetic, and triggers organized humanitarian responses, liminal warfare erodes economic stability, societal cohesion, and political integrity, often below the threshold of traditional response mechanisms. Humanitarian and legal frameworks designed for conventional conflict struggle to address the chronic insecurity and ambiguity produced by liminal warfare. The article calls for new, adaptive, human-centric frameworks to address the complexities and persistent threats posed by this evolving landscape of conflict.


Liminal Warfare and Human Security: Rethinking the Impact of Modern Conflict

The character of conflict in the 21^st century has undergone significant changes, moving from the traditional model of state-on-state warfare toward more fragmented, ambiguous, and non-linear forms or confrontation. While war has always changed its form and appearances, recent discussions highlight the hybridization of warfare (Mälksoo,2018), which involves the increasing interconnection of military, information, and cyber means of confrontation (Eberle & Daniel, 2023). This shift includes concepts like asymmetric warfare, counterinsurgency, and cyber warfare, and involves the strategic use of non-violent means. This transformation has profoundly blurred the lines between war and non-war. Traditionally, conventional warfare understands security in terms of individual states, focusing on the protection of the state’s sovereignty and territorial integrity from external military threats. It is defined by the military capabilities used against invading armies and involves combat operations carried out by organized armed forces, often through physical violence and destruction. The general impact of conventional warfare on human security, while focused on state survival, historically included devastating civilian suffering and loss life, as seen in the catastrophic scope of conflicts like world war I and II.

In contrast, liminal warfare, often discussed alongside or as part of hybrid warfare, refers to conflict that occurs “in-between” space or zone of uncertainty between established states of war and peace. The concept of liminality, originating in anthropology, describes an “interstructural position” of being stuck “betwixt and between” recognized structures and categories, characterized by uncertainty and ambiguity (Mälksoo, 2018). In the context of conflict, this means it is difficult to clearly establish if one is in a state of war or peace. A contemporary example of this change is the Russian annexation of Crimea in 2014, which involved the use of “little polite green men” alongside information and cyber means. Illustrating the increasing hybrization of warfare (Eberle & Daniel, 2023). This event, along with Russia’s ongoing military involvement in Ukraine, illuminates this shift. Hybrid warfare, particularly as a discourse, operates by extending the logic of war into wider areas, such as, social life, blurring the distinction between peacetime and conflict. It can often be described as undeclared, insidious and even invisible, happening here and now without clear delimitations or battlefields.

This essay argues that while conventional warfare primarily impacts human security overtly through state-centric kinetic violence, leading to direct physical harm and large-scale destruction, liminal or hybrid warfare operates differently. Characterized by its inherent ambiguity and use of non-military means in the in between space of war and peace, it insidiously targets broader dimensions of human security, including economic stability, societal cohesion, and political integrity.  

Human security is a concept that gained significant traction in the post-Cold War era, fundamentally reorients the focus of security studies from the state to the individual. Traditional security paradigms tend to center the state, while human security seeks to protect ‘the vital core of all human lives in ways that enhance human freedoms and human fulfillment’ (Liotta & Owen, 2006). It advocates for the protection of people from a broad spectrum of threats, encompassing not only “freedom from fear” but also “freedom from want” (Acharya et al, 2006). This expansive understanding recognizes that security extends beyond traditional military concepts to include economic, food, health, environmental, personal, community and political dimensions. Conventional warfare, in stark contrast, traditionally understands security in terms of individual states, primarily focusing on the protection of the state’s sovereignty and territorial integrity form external military threats. It is defined by military capabilities used against invading armies and involves combat operations carried out by organized armed forces, characterized by physical violence and direct destruction (Sari, 2023). The primary impact of conventional warfare on human security, while often framed around state survival, historically entails devastating civilian suffering and loss of life, as evidenced by the catastrophic scope of conflicts like World war I and II (Sari, 2023). The overt and violent nature of such conflicts often leads to severe physical harm, mass displacement, and the extensive destruction of vital infrastructure. This creates “security vulnerabilities and challenges in the context of forced migration” and triggers large-scale humanitarian crises, though these are typically understood in conventional terms (Rowa, 2023).

Liminal warfare, often discussed interchangeably with “hybrid warfare” or “gray zone conflict” fundamentally operates in a space that is “in-between the traditional duality of war and peace” (Eberle & Daniel, 2023). This concept draws heavily from the anthropological notion of “liminality”, originally articulated by French ethnographer and folklorist Arnold van Gennep and further developed by cultural anthropologist Victor Turner. Liminality refers to an “interstructural position” (Mälksoo, 2018) of being “betwixt and between” established structures and categories, characterized by inherent “uncertainty and ambiguity”. Liminal entities are ambiguous they elude or slip through the classifications that normally locate states and positions in cultural space (Mälksoo, 2018).

Scholars like Maria Mälksoo have adapted this concept to international relations, employing it to analyze “the politics of the transitional” and highlights its “theoretical and empirical mileage “in understanding large-scale shifts in global affairs. Similarly, Hazel Andrews and Les Roberts demonstrate liminality’s application to geographical spaces, underscoring its manifestation in various spatial and experiential domains. In the context of conflict, this ambiguity is a critical aspect, making it difficult to clearly establish if one is in state of war or peace (Eberle & Daniel, 2023), and hostile actors deliberately generate ambiguity to obscure what is happening and mask the differentiation between war and peace. The defining features of liminal warfare include its inherent ambiguity and uncertainty, a lack of formal declarations, and an extensive reliance on non-military tactics, particularly in the information sphere. This form of conflict blurs the lines between state of war and non-war (Eberle & Daniel, 2023), operating below the threshold of conventional war while pursuing strategic objectives. Core tactics often associated with this liminal space encompass cyberattacks, disinformation and propaganda, economic coercion, and political subversion, all contributing to a conflict environment that is undeclared without clear battlefields (Eberle & Daniel, 2023).

The impact of warfare on human security diverges significantly when comparing conventional and liminal approaches, particularly concerning physical and economic security. In conventional warfare, physical security is directly and overtly threatened. It involves primarily through direct violence, combat, deaths, physical injuries, and the destruction of infrastructure (Sari, 2023). Its immediate physicality, though devastating, often prompts organized humanitarian responses. In contrast, liminal warfare causes physical insecurity through indirect and systemic means. Cyberattacks on hospitals, power grids or transportation systems can disrupt essential services, delay medical treatment, and indirectly cause fatalities (Eberle & Daniel, 2023). Moreover, coordinated disinformation campaigns can incite social unrest and violence, contributing to civilian insecurity without clear perpetrators.

Economically, conventional wars destroy physical capital, disrupt production chains, and cause inflation and unemployment in conflict zones. Liminal warfare, however, strategically undermines economic security without kinetic force. It employs tools such as sanctions evasion, intellectual property theft, and currency manipulation to erode the economic stability of target states (Eberle & Daniel, 2023). These tactics, often difficult to attribute, result in prolonged poverty, stagnation and public distrust in financial institutions. The threatening nature of such aggression means populations may experience economic collapse without ever recognizing the mechanisms of warfare acting upon them.

In some contexts, conventional warfare may paradoxically strengthen social cohesion as communities rally against a visible external enemy. However, liminal warfare deliberately targets the internal bonds that maintain societal unity. By leveraging propaganda, deepfake technology, and algorithm-driven misinformation, it sows distrust between citizens and their governments, polarizes electorates, and exacerbates social fragmentation (Pendaroski, 2015). The outcome is a state of chronic insecurity where fear is not caused by bombs but by the erosion of shared truths and mutual trust. Similarly, political stability suffers differently. While conventional wars may involve direct regime change or military coups, liminal tactics destabilize political systems more subtly; from within. Interference in electoral processes, the funding of extremist political parties, and the erosion of public confidence in democratic institutions have all become common features of liminal conflict (Eberle & Daniel, 2023). The absence of overt aggression allows these actions to occur below the threshold of international response mechanisms, creating enduring political uncertainty and weakening state governance capacities.

Conventional warfare often generates visible and traceable humanitarian crises, mass displacement, infrastructure collapse, and widespread human suffering. These outcomes typically activate international mechanisms such as the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), the international Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC), and formal humanitarian corridors, providing structured responses to protect civilians (Rowa, 2023). Legal instruments such as the Geneva Conventions are designed for such scenarios, enabling clear, accountability and coordination.

Liminal Warfare, by contrast, presents unique challenges to humanitarian systems. The weaponization of migration; whereby displaced populations are used as tools to exert pressure on adversaries. Rowa (2023), highlights how securitization processes embedded within protection regimes often fail to address these ambiguous crises. Refugees caught in liminal conflicts frequently fall outside conventional frameworks of protection, facing prolonged uncertainty and neglect. States may intentionally facilitate refugee flows to destabilize neighboring countries or overwhelm asylum systems, intensifying vulnerabilities. Moreover, attribution in liminal warfare is profoundly difficult. Without clear perpetrators or legal thresholds for conflict, holding actors accountable becomes a challenge. This undermines international justice mechanisms and delays or prevents the activation of protective responses. As such, liminal warfare not only destabilizes regions but also exploits and erodes the very systems designed to protect vulnerable populations in times of crisis.

Liminal warfare presents a fundamentally distinct threat to human security when compared to conventional warfare. While traditional conflicts inflict immediate and visible harm (mobilizing structured humanitarian and legal responses) liminal warfare operates in the shadows, targeting the economic foundations, societal cohesion, and political integrity of its victims through prolonged ambiguity and non-kinetic strategies. These indirect methods produce chronic insecurity, erode public trust, and complicated international response mechanisms. As this essay has shown, the multifaceted and often invisible nature of liminal conflict demands a reevaluation of security paradigms and shift toward more adaptive, human-centric approaches. The pervasive “chronic insecurity” fostered by this form of conflict, a state of perpetual anxiety rather than acute trauma, demands a fundamental re-evaluation of how security is conceptualized and addressed. Ultimately, effectively navigating the complexities of contemporary global insecurity necessitates developing new analytical frameworks and response strategies that account for the pervasive, multi-dimensional, and often invisible threats posed by liminal warfare.

References:

Acharya, A., 2001. Human Security: East versus West. International Journal, 56(3), pp.442–460.

Andrews, H. and Roberts, L. eds., 2012. Liminal Landscapes: Travel, Experience and Spaces In-between. London: Routledge.

Eberle, J. and Daniel, J., 2023. Politics of Hybrid Warfare: The Remaking of Security in Czechia after 2014. Cham: Palgrave Macmillan.

Liotta, P.H. and Owen, T., 2006. Why Human Security? Whitehead Journal of Diplomacy and International Relations, 7(1), pp.37–54.

Mälksoo, M., 2012. Liminality and the Politics of the Transitional. In: Wydra, H. ed. Handbook of Political Anthropology. Cheltenham: Edward Elgar, pp.145–162.

Pendaroski, M., 2015. Personal Security in Times of Globalisation – A Perceptive Illusion or a Struggle for Self-Actualization. In: Đorđević, I., Glamotchak, M., Stanarević, S. and Gačić, J. eds. Twenty Years of Human Security: Theoretical Foundations and Practical Applications. Belgrade: Faculty of Security Studies, University of Belgrade, pp.79–94.

Rowa, Y.J., 2023. Refugee Protection, Securitization, and Liminality. Oxford Research Encyclopedia of International Studies. [online] Available at: https://doi.org/10.1093/acrefore/9780190846626.013.715 [Accessed 26 May 2025].

Sari, A., 2023. Warfare Between Metaphor and Reality: Legal Challenges of Hybrid Conflict. University of St. Thomas Journal of Law and Public Policy, 16(2), pp.594–679.

Turner, V., 1969. The Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-Structure. Chicago: Aldine Publishing.

Van Gennep, A., 1909. The Rites of Passage. Paris: Émile Nourry.

Though the Islamic State, or ISIS, has long lost its territorial grip, the influence of its digital propaganda machine endures. At the height of its power, ISIS pioneered a sophisticated media strategy that transformed how terrorist organisations project influence, prioritising decentralisation, visual coherence, and emotional resonance to attract supporters and instil fear on a global scale. This communications model, while not unique to ISIS, has left a lasting imprint on the media operations of other jihadist movements. Recognising these patterns is not simply an exercise in retrospective analysis. As contemporary terrorist groups adopt similar techniques, understanding the architecture of ISIS’s media playbook offers a critical lens for identifying emerging threats. When narratives follow familiar contours, counterrorism efforts can respond not only to what is said, but to how and why it is said.

Platforms and Content

The Islamic State’s media strategy leveraged a range of platforms, including Telegram, X (previously Twitter), Facebook, YouTube, and TikTok. These platforms were crucial for spreading ISIS propaganda and recruiting new members, particularly among disenfranchised youth. Telegram, in particular, allowed ISIS to maintain encrypted communication and distribute a variety of content to its followers while evading censorship. TikTok, on the other hand, attracted a younger demographic, providing an avenue to disseminate short-form video that combined violent imagery with messages promoting martyrdom and jihad. An example of this can be seen in the case of L. Walby, a 19-year-old convert from Kent, UK, who posted ISIS propaganda videos on such platforms. According to the BBC, Walby, who had over 1.500 followers on TikTok and more than 10.000 likes on his posts, explained that he had ‘joined the trend’. This reflects a wider trend seen across social media where individuals, often younger, become part of an online subculture that glorifies extremism and terrorism. The videos Walby posted included graphic footage of combat scenes, executions, and martyrdom, aimed at normalising violence and encouraging others to embrace jihad.

Additionally, the Islamic State leveraged dedicated media outlets, such as Amaq News Agency and Al-Hayat Media Centre, to distribute its propaganda. These platforms produced high-quality content that reinforced ISIS’s ideological narrative. For instance, Amaq News Agency was central to ISIS’s communication strategy, offering real-time updates on operations and attacks, often glorifying these actions as part of a larger struggle against the West; while Dabiq was a digital magazine published in several languages, aimed at inspiring Muslim youth globally, urging them to join the caliphate. It presented a vision of a utopian Islamic state, promising a sense of belonging and purpose for those who joined. The strategic goal behind ISIS’s media framework has three key components: recruitment, intimidation, and legitimacy. The use of social media platforms was central to the group’s recruitment efforts, offering a sense of camaraderie and ideological purity to individuals who felt disconnected or marginalised. Intimidation was another key goal, These graphic materials were intended to instil fear and signal the group’s ruthless commitment to its cause. Finally, by producing highly polished, professional content in multiple languages and through diverse channels, ISIS sought to legitimise itself as the vanguard of a global Islamic struggle, rather than merely a terrorist group. This pattern is not isolated, and it highlights the potential for counterterrorism efforts to focus on identifying and disrupting the digital activities of such groups.

The Spread of a Template

The Islamic State’s digital blueprint has had a lasting impact well beyond its core territory, and its media strategy has served as a model for several jihadist groups operating in Syria, Afghanistan and parts of Africa. These groups have adapted and reinterpreted ISIS’s template to suit local contexts, but the core elements remain recognisable: strong branding, glorified portrayals of martyrdom, and the strategic use of social media to project legitimacy and reach a global audience. 

In northern Syria, Hay’at Tahrir al-Sham (HTS) offers one of the clearest examples of aesthetic and narrative imitation. While distancing itself from ISIS ideologically, HTS has adopted similar media tactics to rebrand itself as a legitimate governing actor. Under the leadership of al-Jolani, the group has curated a public image centred on moderation and local governance. Its videos often show Jolani engaging with civilians, attending religious events, and meeting with local leaders; an imagery designed to soften perception and attract external legitimacy. This media campaign has included calculated outreach to Western audience, most notably through Jolani’s 2021 appearance on PBS Frontline. The visual polish and messaging coherence evoke the same media discipline pioneered by ISIS, albeit directed at different political ends.  

In contrast, Islamic State Khorasan Province (ISKP), in Afghanistan, has pushed the model further. Following the Taliban’s return to power, ISKP has doubled down on online propaganda, using AI tools to produce and disseminate multilingual content through its media arm, Al-Azaim Foundation. These efforts aim to radicalise, recruit, and assert the group’s ideological purity in contrast to its rivals. Similarly, Jama’at Nusrat al-Islam wal-Muslimin (JNIM) in the Sahel has utilised media to bolster its narrative of religious legitimacy. Though seemly technologically less advanced, JNIM has borrowed from ISIS’s approach to visual propaganda, including footage of attacks and the imposition of conservative Islamic law in controlled areas.  

Lastly, Islamic State West Africa Province (ISWAP), born from Boko Haram’s allegiance to ISIS, has closely followed the ISIS model in both tone and technique. Between 2016 and 2020, it released over 100 videos, often showing executions, attacks, and hostage situations. ISWAP has also made use of platforms like Telegram, YouTube, X, and encrypted messaging apps to distribute content, echoing ISIS’s emphasis on platform diversification and digital security.

Digital Arms Race

As jihadist groups have grown more agile in their use of digital platforms, states, institutions, and technology companies have scrambled to catch up; often reacting rather than anticipating. In the European Union, new legislation mandates that internet platforms remove terrorist content within one hour of a removal order, while specialised bodies like the EU Internet Referral Unit and the Radicalisation Awareness Network work to identify extremist narratives and support member states in mitigation. In the US, the Global Engagement Centre (GEC) has adopted a more decentralised approach, collaborating with community actors, former extremists, and religious leaders to deliver counter-narratives and build resilience in targeted communities. In the Middle East and North Africa (MENA) region, responses have largely followed a top-down securitised model, where state policies prioritise regime stability and ideological control. Here, counterterrorism strategies often blur the lines between legitimate dissent and violent extremism, creating a restrictive media environment that can inadvertently drive extremist narratives underground rather than dismantling them. Yet despite these developments, jihadist media strategies remain highly resilient. A constant cat-and-mouse dynamic characterises the digital battlefield: as content is removed from mainstream platforms, extremist groups shift to encrypted apps, decentralised networks, and cloud-based repositories. The adaptive use of language, hashtags, and platform migration techniques ensures that even as specific content is taken down, the propaganda architecture remains largely intact. Groups like ISKP and ISWAP not only pre-empt takedowns but often exploit the takedown process itself to frame narratives of persecution and legitimacy.

This enduring adaptability reveals a critical oversight in counterterrorism policy: the tendency to view jihadist propaganda as peripheral rather than central to insurgent strategy. The influence of ISIS’s model: high-impact visuals, multilingual messaging, and decentralised media production, remains visible across successor groups, even in regions with limited connectivity or state presence. This digital legacy matters precisely because it has become a strategic blueprint. Its methods are easily replicated, widely disseminated, and difficult to erase. Graphic content, algorithmic optimisation, and culturally tailored messaging can be deployed by both major organisations and lone actors, allowing terrorist ideology to persist and mutate even in the absence of territorial control. 

Ultimately, a reactive approach to extremist content moderation is no longer sufficient. What is needed is a proactive, systemic understanding of jihadist media strategy; one that anticipates its evolution, counters its appeal, and treats the information space not as an auxiliary front, but as a core battleground in contemporary terrorism. 

Charlotte Soulé, Rise to Peace Contributor and Masters of International War Studies student at University College Dublin

The ‘Tradwife’ (traditional wife) movement in the United States operates as a digital phenomenon that promotes a return to conventional gender roles, where women embrace domesticity, submission to a male partner, and a homemaker lifestyle as empowering choices. In contrast, Afghan women face traditional roles enforced through legal and political structures. These two models of gender normativity illustrate how context transforms meaning. While American tradwives present their lifestyle as a revival of femininity, Afghan women live a reality of restricted agency, silenced discourse, and structural resistance. This comparison exposes key differences between performative and imposed domesticity.

The tradwife phenomenon fits squarely within the logic of liminal warfare; a form of modern terrorism that Rise to Peace is exploring and which relies not only on direct violence but on gray zones of information warfare, identity manipulation, and narrative control. When co-opted by far-right extremists, tradwife content becomes a digital vehicle for radicalization, as modern terrorism increasingly leverages aestheticized content and algorithmic exposure to draw individuals into ideologically extreme spaces. Tradwife influencers, especially those aligned with alt-right ideologies, repurposing everyday imagery as a subtle vehicle for radicalization.

American tradwives often frame domestic roles as a form of empowerment and resistance to feminism. Deem (2023) notes that many in this movement adopt the label “feminine, not feminist,” positioning themselves in opposition to gender equality discourse. Llanera (2023) argues that this framing aligns with alt-right ideologies that use idealized femininity to reinforce patriarchal structures.

In Afghanistan, gender roles are not a matter of personal identity but the result of coercive state control. Since the return of Taliban rule, multiple international bodies, such as Human Rights Watch and UN Women, have issued alerts highlighting the institutionalized oppression of Afghan women, ranging from bans on education to exclusion from public life. These reports illustrate how domesticity becomes a condition of survival, not a personal or ideological stance.

Tradwife content spreads rapidly through algorithm-driven platforms like Instagram and TikTok. Bail et al. (2018) demonstrate that exposure to polarized views intensifies ideological divides, creating echo chambers that prevent people from being exposed to information that contradicts their pre-existing beliefs. Tradwife influencers benefit from this structure by distributing emotionally charged, aesthetically appealing content that builds loyal followings.

This mirrors the mechanics of liminal warfare. Terrorist movements now use soft-entry tactics, ranging from memes, nostalgia, and lifestyle aesthetics to lower cognitive defenses and normalize extremist ideologies. Tradwife narratives foster a sense of comfort and tradition while quietly pushing audiences toward radical worldviews.

Meanwhile, Afghan women are largely excluded from these digital arenas. Internet access remains limited and heavily monitored, especially for women and girls. The same platforms that enable Western women to craft their identities and project narratives are unavailable to those whose lives are tightly controlled by state power.

Simpson (2024) found that the #tradwife trend shaped women’s political identities during a U.S. election year. What appears as an innocuous embrace of femininity often operates as an entry point to far-right ideology. Sitler-Elbel (2021) describes the pathway from “Swiffers to Swastikas” as deliberately structured through content ecosystems and influencer networks.

This pathway aligns with what Rise to Peace calls the new economy of terror, where ideology is consumed through clicks and shares. In this model, tradwife content becomes a vector for extremism masked in nostalgia and moral certainty. Afghan women, in contrast, face ideological control through state power, not social media. Their silencing is institutional and physical—not algorithmic. They do not choose submission; it is enforced.

Marzochi and Balieiro (2021) describe the tradwife phenomenon as a product of political narcissism. Carefully curated content reinforces a feedback loop that isolates creators from criticism and sustains ideological rigidity.

In Afghanistan, the echo chamber is real but systemic. Gender segregation enforces physical and social separation, upheld by legal and religious codes. While Western women struggle with digital misrepresentation, Afghan women confront state-sanctioned erasure.

Some American tradwife influencers are attempting to distance themselves from regressive ideologies. Sykes and Hopner (2024) show how tradwife influencers mobilize domestic aesthetics and traditional femininity to subtly reinforce far-right ideologies, often without overt political messaging but still embedded within ethnonationalist values.

Afghan women resist under far more dangerous conditions. Many have built underground education networks, engaged in international advocacy, or organized in secrecy. Their goal is not to redefine femininity within neoliberal frameworks, but to reclaim basic rights and visibility.

The concept of the traditional wife cannot be separated from its political and technological context. In the United States, the tradwife identity is voluntary, aesthetic, and digitally enabled. In Afghanistan, it is a product of authoritarian control.

Yet both can function as instruments in liminal warfare. As the team at Rise to Peace has explained, extremist movements no longer rely solely on violence. They weaponize stories, visuals, and identities to push ideological agendas. Tradwife content when linked to far-right ideologies becomes a tool for this subtle but powerful form of radicalization.

Peacebuilding strategies must recognize how gender, culture, and digital ecosystems interact across borders. Empowerment narratives deserve scrutiny. In some cases, choice is real. In others, it is manufactured. And in many, it is absent entirely.

Ahmad Shah Mohibi, Founder and Director of Counterterrorism, Rise to Peace
Giana Romo B, Research Fellow at Rise to Peace