Transcriber: Jeff Broadbent Reviewer: Denise RQ
One morning in December 2015, I was in my home office reading an article
about the mass shooting in San Bernardino, California
that took the lives of 14 innocent civilians.
While I was reading, my son came to me,
as he usually does when he wants something.
He probably noticed that I was engaged in the article,
and so he stood next to me and started reading along.
After I finished and turned toward him, my son started asking questions,
"Who are these bad guys?", "Are they really Muslim?",
Why are they doing that?"
My son kept pressing me for answers, and I found myself incapable of explaining
why someone would commit such violence against innocent people.
After thinking deep and long about this,
I realized that the only thing I could tell my son
was that this horrible act cannot be explained
because it doesn't make sense.
It's irrational.
About two weeks later, my son asked if we could move to Turkey.
His request was surprising because we visited Turkey twice before,
and he wasn't particularly thrilled with the experience.
Plus, he's very attached to his country, the United States.
For example, when we play the FIFA game together on PlayStation,
he always insists on being the US team.
He identifies himself as American rather than Syrian,
although his mother and I were both born in Syria.
I asked him why he wanted to go to Turkey.
It turned out that one of his classmates had told him that a politician
is planning to ban all Muslims from entering the US.
This was another moment where I couldn't find words to explain
a nonsensical situation to my son.
"The proposed ban," I told him, "is irrational
because it assumes that religion causes violence.
It establishes this causal relationship based on biases rather than on facts
which is not the right way to arrive at logical conclusions."
I told him, though, that a proposal to ban more than one and a half billion people
based on their beliefs can only be made by arrogant people
who feel entitled to judge others
based on their own prejudices
rather than based on what's right or moral.
I, my son, and millions of other people are affected by these two alarming trends:
acts of violence and voices of arrogance.
Acts of violence committed by or under the name of
the self proclaimed Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant, or ISIL
are on the rise.
Similarly, voices of arrogance,
traditionally represented by right-wing populists and right-wing media
have become clearly visible in the US 2016 elections,
with their frequent slandering of minority groups, particularly Muslims.
These acts of violence and voices of arrogance
have been widely and globally denounced.
They continue to grow.
As a researcher of linguistics, I am interested in comparing
the discourses behind the acts of violence and voices of arrogance.
More specifically, I'm interested in the striking similarities between them.
When I say discourse, I'm referring to speeches and texts
that are accepted as reality by a large part of a given society.
Discourses are created and understood through language,
which, I think,
is one of the most significant tools and weapons we humans possess.
To many observers,
the discourses supporting ISIL
and the discourses supporting right-wing populists
may seem completely opposite to each other.
In fact, there's a striking similarity between them.
The nature of the discourses of violence and the discourses of arrogance
is linked in six important ways.
First, the discourses of violence and arrogance are both built
on fear and hate.
Since the tragic 9/11 attacks
and subsequent wars in Afghanistan and Iraq
one of the common questions
in the Middle East as well as in the United States
is, "Why do they hate us?"
This topic has developed into a main theme in the discourse of violent groups.
Their argument is that America's interventions in the Middle East
are a war on Muslims
because of their religious affiliation rather than anything else.
A similar style of discourse has been used
by American right-wing populists and media
where the argument is that Muslims hate America
because of its democratic ideals and freedom.
Some politicians have used fear and hate speech
to gain more supporters.
In a recent interview on CNN,
Mr. Donald Trump stated that, "Islam hates us."
Using fear is a very common political tactic.
But as the famous philosopher Michel Foucault said,
"Fear creates realities often distant from actual world events."
Second, the discourses of violence and arrogance
undermine the ideals of the groups they claim to represent.
While ISIL claims to represent Sunni Muslims,
most of the victims of its violent attacks are Sunni Muslims.
In the past few years, ISIL has claimed tens of bombings targeting Sunni Muslims
in Turkey, Syria, Jordan, Egypt, Libya, Saudi Arabia,
Yemen, Pakistan, Afghanistan, and Bangladesh.
One of these bombings targeted prophet Muhammad's mosque in Saudi Arabia,
which is considered the second most sacred place to Sunni Muslims.
According to the GTD, the world's largest public database on terrorist attacks,
75% of the victims of terrorism between 2001 and 2015 are Muslims,
whereas only 2.2% of the victims are European or American.
Similarly, the discourse of arrogance is against the principles
of equal opportunity, justice, and peace upon which the United States is built.
It intends to restore America's greatness,
while at the same time, ignoring the values
that made America great in the first place.
Third, the discourses of violence and arrogance
play on the power of labeling.
In the case of ISIL, they often use terms like infidels, crusaders, and apostates
to label those who do not follow their ideology
and to justify their violent acts against them,
whereas the discourse of the arrogant identifies the other
as terrorist, jihadist, or extremist
to justify their verbal and physical aggression against them.
Labels are used to fix the identity of a vaguely identified other.
The power of labels shouldn't be overlooked.
Labels are not mere price tags attached to commodities.
They have long histories and emotions attached to them,
and they are used selectively to demonize the other
or to make them less worthy of fair treatment, respect, or even life.
Fourth, the discourses of violence and arrogance
are built on stereotypes and sweeping generalizations.
In the discourse of the violent,
Americans are typically presented as irreligious and as hostile to Muslims.
On the other side, the media of the American right tries
to create a direct link
between mainstream Islam
and the violent acts done by anyone remotely related to Islam.
This implies that, unlike other groups, Muslims are senseless beings
driven solely by religious programming and indoctrination.
Take the perpetrator of the Orlando mass shooting, Omar Mateen.
Though his parents were from Afghanistan,
he was described by his ex-wife and some acquaintances as irreligious.
The unasked question by the media
is, "How representative is this person of a typical Muslim?"
Fifth, the discourses of violence and arrogance
rely heavily on claims of victimization.
The discourse of violence draws attention
to America's interventions in the Middle East
and its support of corrupt regimes in the region
to portray themselves as victims to American imperialism.
In the same way,
the discourse of the arrogant draws attention
to the violent acts of groups like ISIL
to argue that America and the West in general are victims to radical Muslims.
Both discourses play the victim role.
Ironically, the victimization rhetoric is often presented
as a justification for retaliatory acts against the other.
For example, ISIL leaders have constantly been encouraging indiscriminate attacks
in retaliation for coalition air strikes in Iraq and Syria.
Similarly, the retaliatory acts of right-wing populists included proposals
for nuking or carpet bombing large areas of the Middle East.
Both discourses seem to see no problem in targeting innocent civilians.
In other words, the discourse of violence and the discourse of arrogance
encourage unjustifiable acts based on what they see as justifiable causes.
Lastly, the discourses of violence and arrogance
mainly target vulnerable groups.
I believe the main common attribute
of the shooters in San Bernardino, Orlando, Paris, and Nice
is not that they are Muslim, but that they have a troubled history,
something that they share with many lawbreakers,
regardless of their religion.
In fact, Lydia Wilson from Oxford University reported
the majority of ISIL fighters in Syria and Iraq
had gone through horrific experiences before they joined this group.
This, of course, doesn't justify their crimes,
but it shows how vulnerable groups can be easily manipulated
for a variety of unworthy causes.
Similarly, the arrogant discourse of right-wing populists serves Americans
who no longer feel secure about their advantages in the American society,
and who have lost hope in the future.
Vulnerable groups may embrace the discourses of violence or arrogance,
not necessarily because they agree with them
but because they present them with a window of hope
or a way to reclaim their status.
The discourses of violence and the discourses of arrogance
are more than just words.
They are springboards for action, and they are our history in process.
They matter because they have the potential to affect
the lives and the thinking of generations to come.
I've seen their effects already
when I heard my own child ask to leave his home country.
Since that day, I've been trying to share with him
speeches and writings that explain the misconceptions and prejudices
underlying the fear-based discourses of ISIL and right-wing populists.
I've been trying to show him there is hope in constructive discourses.
Unlike the discourses of violence and arrogance,
constructive discourses engage genuinely and sincerely
in answering key questions about ideological conflicts,
such as the question of, "Why do they hate us?"
They focus not just on differences
but also on similarities and shared values.
They start with the assumption
that all humans have hopes, feelings, and basic needs.
Constructive discourses allow for multiple perspectives and voices
instead of being self-centered.
They view others in their full humanity,
which is easily lost when they are stripped of their voice.
Constructive discourses try
to find ways to elevate the self rather than ways to put down the other.
I sometimes feel sad to have to engage my ten-year-old son
in the politics of language and discourse,
but I also want to restore his hope in a better future
where he doesn't feel accountable for crimes he didn't commit
nor does he feel insecure in his own country.
I know that those affected directly or indirectly by this conflict,
including me,
have greater responsibility to encourage and promote these constructive discourses.
As a father and as a researcher of linguistics,
I have chosen to speak out more broadly.
When we make room for constructive discourse,
not only do we provide hope for individual people
but we also create a platform
for increasing understanding, justice, and peace in the world.