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

A Leader of Compassion and Humility

Today, the world mourns the loss of a beacon of hope and love, Pope Francis. Known for his deep compassion and unwavering commitment to social justice, Pope Francis touched the lives of millions around the globe. His dedication to the poor and marginalized set an example for us all, reminding us of the power of love and empathy.

A Legacy of Unity

Pope Francis was not just a leader of the Catholic Church, but a unifier across religions and cultures. His efforts to foster dialogue and understanding among different faiths will always be remembered as a cornerstone of his papacy. He believed in the strength of unity and the beauty of diversity.

Remembering His Words

“The true strength of a nation is not measured by how many powerful weapons it possesses, but by how it treats its weakest members.”

These words from Pope Francis will continue to inspire and guide us in the pursuit of a kinder, more inclusive world.

A Call to Action

Let us honor Pope Francis’s memory by continuing his work: advocating for peace, justice, and compassion. May we all strive to walk the path he paved with humility and grace.

Join us in celebrating a life devoted to love and service. Rest in peace, Pope Francis. Your legacy will continue to light our way.

We no longer fight wars. We stream them.

Modern conflict has shifted shape—not merely in weaponry or geography, but in feeling. Increasingly, the battlefield is a narrative. And those who wage war in its shadowed corners, be they jihadists, lone wolves, and foreign proxies, understand this all too well.

This is the essence of liminal warfare, a term crystallized by counterinsurgency expert Dr. David Kilcullen to describe forms of conflict that operate beneath the threshold of conventional war. These are battles fought not in declared theatres, but in the informational fog between peace and open violence. In this liminal zone, war is unclaimed, unattributed, and asymmetric. It’s not about the territory you hold but the attention you hijack. A new generation of terrorists have demonstrated that they have embraced this dynamic.

Liminal warfare is not new—but its tools are. Today’s insurgents, terrorists, and hybrid actors do not merely fight to kill; they fight to be seen, and more crucially, to be shared. Mass media, especially the digital, mobile, algorithmic kind, has become both battlefield and weapon. The meme, the livestream, the viral clip: these are no longer collateral to political violence; they are constitutive of it.

The Logic of ISIS’ Aestheticized Violence

One of the most chilling expressions of this was the Islamic State’s digital campaign of aestheticized brutality from 2013 – 2017.

The function of ISIS’ execution videos, such as the killings of James Foley and Steven Sotloff, functioned not merely as propaganda or deterrence, but as performative acts of sovereignty. These carefully scripted spectacles converted individual acts of death into visual dramas of humiliation, vengeance, and legitimacy. The hostages’ orange jumpsuits evoked Guantánamo; their scripted confessions accused America of its own crimes; and their beheadings, conspicuously edited offscreen, invited a visceral audience ritual of suspense, complicity, and horror.

ISIS wasn’t just killing. It was staging sovereignty, casting itself as the new arbiter of life and death in a post-Westphalian, digitally mediated Caliphate. Understanding this, and not inscribing our own western logic, is the key to understanding the alternate logic of modern terror groups. The goal wasn’t just recruitment or terror, though it achieved both. The goal was inversion; to symbolically emasculate the West, to portray the United States not as a hegemon, but as a paper tiger—impotent, criminal, and absurd. Here, what mattered was not the battlefield, but the framing.

The Weaponization of Attention

Scholars have coined the term ‘digital time’ to describe the accelerated, affective temporality in which these videos circulated. The endless, on-demand replay of brutal images collapses the space between event and response. It forces the viewer to begin ‘thinking less and feeling more’, and in doing so, becomes the default mode of online engagement with such groups.

And therein lies the mechanism of modern terror: not just killing, but curating the spectacle of killing; not just shock, but ritualized viewing that creates emotional publics, radicalized identities, and new interpretive communities. The audience becomes part of the performance. This is no longer about mass armies but mass network effects.

The Liminal Mode of Terror

Here, Kilcullen’s concept of liminal warfare becomes key to understanding this phenomenon. Liminal actors—ISIS, stochastic terrorists, proxy saboteurs—thrive in ambiguity. Their violence is often deniable, asymmetric, and decentralized. What ties it together is its ritualistic, media-first logic. Whether it’s the Christchurch shooter livestreaming a massacre like a Twitch streamer, or a domestic extremist posting manifestos as memetic call-to-arms, the pattern holds – violence as virality. Strategy becomes spectacle. Kill counts are tallied in retweets.

In doing so, traditional models of counterterrorism falter. Attribution is obscured and culpability is diluted, leading to the public being saturated by such violent content. The algorithms, indifferent to moral weight, deliver content with the same mechanical efficiency—whether it’s a makeup tutorial or a martyrdom video. In some cases, such content may even be boosted, a concept called ‘Algorithmic Radicalisation’ as its virality attracts attention to online platforms.

We are no longer asking, “Who pulled the trigger?” We are asking, “Who edited the video?”

Toward a New Counter-Terror Methodology

If liminal warfare is the new mode of terrorism, then narrative pre-emption, not just military deterrence, must become part of our strategic response.

The task ahead is twofold:
1. Mapping digital rituals of violence, not merely the actors or ideologies. Understanding how spectacle functions, how it recruits, humiliates, and inverts.
2. Disrupting narrative architectures before they congeal. This means developing counter-narratives that are not only informative but symbolically potent—ones that break the spell of spectacle rather than amplify it through sterile denunciation.

It also means cultivating new forms of public literacy: helping audiences discern the symbolic grammar of online violence, the scripts beneath the shock and the roles we are invited to play. To recognize liminal warfare is to understand that the first strike is often not a bullet but a clip. A viral video. A miscaptioned meme. A livestreamed grievance – these make us, the viewers, both aggregators and multipliers of the terrorist message.

The challenge of our age is not merely defending against the kinetic aftershocks of radicalization. It is recognizing that the war has already begun, perhaps not simply on the battlefield, but in social media and message boards. If sovereignty used to be exercised through territory, today it is often first exercised through screens.

And if we wish to protect what remains of peace, we must learn to read the image like a battlefield—because for many of our enemies, that is exactly what it is.

By Etienne Darcas, Research Fellow, Rise to Peace.

I see Türkiye’s politics as a tug-of-war between two camps. On one side, the AK Party, led by Recep Tayyip Erdoğan since 2003 — first as prime minister (March 14, 2003) and then president (August 28, 2014) — pushes an Ottoman-inspired, religious and world vision. On the other, the CHP, rooted in Mustafa Kemal Atatürk’s secular, Western-leaning legacy, leans nationalist, wary of immigration, and critical of foreign spending. Ekrem İmamoğlu, the detained Istanbul mayor, is the CHP’s latest rising star.

A History of Coups — and Blood

Türkiye’s democracy has been rocked by six major military coup attempts since 1923. The most recent hit on July 15, 2016, when rogue soldiers attacked the government, killed at least 241 Turkish citizens, and bombed parliament. Erdoğan survived, crushed the coup, and unleashed a massive crackdown during a state of emergency (July 20, 2016–July 19, 2018). Thousands — rivals, critics, and alleged “traitors” — were arrested or purged. That violent night still echoes: anyone accused of betrayal faces a harsh reckoning.

The Latest Flashpoint

On March 19, 2025, İmamoğlu’s arrest threw Türkiye into chaos. He’s a popular CHP figure polls pegged as Erdoğan’s biggest threat in a presidential race. The charges — corruption and alleged terrorist links — dropped just before the CHP’s primary (set for March 23, 2025). Is he guilty? I don’t know — maybe he’s corrupt, maybe he sided with shady terrorist groups, or maybe Erdoğan’s just neutralizing a rival. What’s undeniable is the pattern: since 2016, Erdoğan’s sidelined opponents with arrests, whether for corruption, “terrorism,” or technicalities (like voiding İmamoğlu’s degree on March 18, 2025, barring him from running).

Chaos Unleashed

The fallout’s been explosive. Clashes erupted in Istanbul on March 19–20, 2025, as İmamoğlu’s supporters defied a protest ban (March 19–23, 2025). The Turkish lira crashed to 42 against the dollar on March 19, 2025, before settling at 38 by March 20, 2025. Social media — X, YouTube, Instagram — got throttled nationwide (March 19, 2025). Türkiye’s at a breaking point: Erdoğan’s clinging to power amid economic ruin and unrest, while the CHP pushes back.

Whether İmamoğlu’s a victim or a crook, this fits Erdoğan’s playbook since those tanks rolled in 2016.

Why It Matters

Türkiye’s teetering between past promises — of democracy, stability — and a present defined by power struggles. The 2016 coup scarred the nation, but the scars keep reopening. Is this arrest justice or suppression? Either way, the stakes are sky-high, and the world’s watching.

A Personal Note

I visit Türkiye all the time — it’s a beautiful country with the best food and incredible hospitality. The people are amazing. I just pray for peace. I don’t care who runs the place — they know what’s best for them — but coming from a war-torn background, I’ve seen how war and division bring nothing good to anyone.

Ahmad Shah Mohibi, Founder of Rise to Peace.

On March 5, 2025, President Donald Trump announced the arrest of Mohammad Sharifullah, also known as “Jafar,” an ISIS-K operative linked to the August 26, 2021, bombing at Kabul’s Abbey Gate that killed 13 U.S. service members and more than 170 Afghan civilians. While this arrest is a critical counterterrorism success, it also reinforces a long-standing truth: Pakistan remains deeply entangled with the militant networks that continue to threaten regional and global security.

Sharifullah’s Capture: A Joint Intelligence Operation

Sharifullah was apprehended near the Pakistan-Afghanistan border by a Pakistani intelligence unit, acting on CIA intelligence. Once in custody, he was transferred to U.S. authorities and now faces prosecution in Washington, D.C. According to the Department of Justice, he admitted during an FBI interview on March 2, 2025, that he helped prepare for the Abbey Gate suicide bombing by scouting the area and planning the attack route to avoid detection.

This arrest confirms what counterterrorism analysts have long argued: the Afghanistan-Pakistan border remains a lawless corridor exploited by terror groups. Sharifullah’s presence in this zone is no coincidence—it’s part of a broader pattern enabled by decades of strategic tolerance and facilitation of extremists by the Pakistani state.

Former CIA officer Sarah Adams, who led investigations into terrorist threats including Benghazi: Know Thy Enemy, has publicly questioned the U.S. narrative. She stated that while Sharifullah met ISIS-K leaders the week of the bombing, his role was minor—delivering messages, not planning attacks.

“My biggest concern is that Sharifullah—someone so low-level—is being treated like a Bin Laden… Our government is treating him like a high-value target when he’s not.”

ISI and the Militant Ecosystem

Pakistan’s Inter-Services Intelligence (ISI) has a decades-long history of nurturing militant proxies. The Haqqani Network—a group responsible for high-profile attacks including assaults on the U.S. Embassy in Kabul—has been called a “veritable arm” of the ISI by Admiral Mike Mullen, former Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Despite banning the Haqqani Network in 2015 after pressure from then-Secretary of State John Kerry, Pakistan never dismantled its infrastructure. Instead, the network continued operations and today has deep ties with the Taliban government in Kabul.

Sharifullah’s affiliation with ISIS-K does not make Pakistan’s role any less central. In fact, ISIS-K was founded in 2015 by disaffected members of Tehrik-e-Taliban Pakistan (TTP) and other regional militants—many of whom were trained, funded, or sheltered within Pakistani borders. The U.S. Director of National Intelligence and the National Counterterrorism Center have both highlighted how ISIS-K exploits ungoverned spaces in the border region to plan, recruit, and launch attacks.

A Pattern of Duplicity

The Sharifullah case fits into a broader pattern of Pakistan playing both sides. While accepting billions in U.S. counterterrorism aid—$33 billion between 2002 and 2018—Pakistan continued to shelter and empower groups responsible for attacks on American forces and Afghan civilians. Osama bin Laden lived in Abbottabad for years, just a short drive from Pakistan’s military academy, before being killed by U.S. Navy SEALs in 2011.

President Trump was among the few U.S. leaders who openly called out Pakistan’s duplicity. In a January 2018 tweet, he declared that the U.S. had given Pakistan “more than 33 billion dollars in aid over the last 15 years,” and received “nothing but lies and deceit” in return. Later that month, the Trump administration suspended $300 million in military aid due to Pakistan’s failure to take “decisive action” against terrorist groups targeting American forces.

Pakistan’s Continued Challenges

Despite various military operations and counterterrorism laws, Pakistan has failed to eliminate safe havens for militants. Groups like the TTP and ISIS-K remain active, resilient, and capable of launching deadly attacks. The United States Institute of Peace notes that while Pakistan backs the Afghan Taliban, the Taliban continues to shelter the TTP—Pakistan’s own internal threat. The irony is deadly: Islamabad enables the very forces that later turn their guns on Pakistani soil.

Conclusion: More Than One Arrest

Mohammad Sharifullah’s arrest is a milestone, but it cannot be viewed in isolation. It is a symptom of a deeper, systemic issue: Pakistan’s long-standing entanglement with jihadist groups. Until that nexus is broken—through pressure, sanctions, and diplomatic accountability—the threat will persist.

True justice for the victims of the Kabul airport bombing requires more than prosecution. It demands that the U.S. and its allies confront the uncomfortable reality of Pakistan’s terror infrastructure. Only by dismantling the pipeline that produces men like Sharifullah can regional and global security be assured.

Since the Taliban’s return to power in August 2021—with direct support and safe harbor from Pakistan—Afghanistan has once again descended into authoritarian rule and extremism. The regime’s hardline enforcement of Sharia law has erased decades of progress, banning women from schools, workplaces, and public life. These actions have turned Afghanistan into a pariah state—isolated, oppressive, and increasingly unstable.

More critically, Afghanistan is once again becoming a haven for terrorist groups. ISIS-K, Al-Qaeda, and other extremist networks now operate freely under the Taliban’s watch, raising alarms across global intelligence communities. The arrest of Mohammad Sharifullah, the ISIS-K operative behind the Abbey Gate bombing, is a grim reminder: the threat did not end with the U.S. withdrawal—it evolved and embedded itself deeper into a region historically used to harbor and export terror.

America must not repeat the mistake of turning its back on Afghanistan. U.S. disengagement in the 1990s gave terrorists space to plan 9/11. Today, the risk is just as real. One captured terrorist does not absolve Pakistan, nor does it make the Taliban a partner. These actors have long played both sides—sheltering extremists while leveraging diplomacy for legitimacy.

Terrorists cannot be allies. The United States must be clear-eyed and firm: there can be no recognition of the Taliban and no trust extended to Pakistan simply because they handed over one operative. The stakes are too high. Afghanistan’s collapse into extremism threatens not just the region—but the security of the world. Not again. Not on our watch.

About the Author
Ahmad Shah Mohibi is the Founder of Rise to Peace and Director of Counterterrorism. He is a former U.S. advisor who supported U.S. efforts in Afghanistan and Washington. He authored Inside the Mindset of Terrorists, a chapter in NATO’s Enduring Mission: Security in a Changing World, and has written more than 100 articles, including a landmark report on ISIS-K.
X: @ahmadsmohibi