The Violence We Refuse to Understand: Rethinking Terrorism in an Age of Endless War

Why breaking the cycle of retaliation requires more than security—it demands justice, recognition, and historical reckoning.

When violence erupts in the Middle East, the rhetoric escalates just as quickly. “Terrorist.” “Barbaric.” “Inhuman.” These words come preloaded with moral judgment and political intent. But if we want to understand this conflict—not just react to it—we need to ask a basic question: what do we mean when we say “terrorism”?

Terrorism is not just about violence. It is a label, a tactic, and a strategy of delegitimization. It reflects how states define themselves, whom they fear, and what they are willing to do in the name of security. The term doesn’t just describe acts—it assigns meaning. And in doing so, it shapes public discourse, justifies repression, and silences dissent.

This becomes especially clear in the wake of the October 7 attacks by Hamas and the massive Israeli assault on Gaza that followed. The attack that day—murder of civilians, the taking of hostages—was horrific. My cousin was among those killed. I do not diminish the trauma or deny Israel’s right to defend itself. But the lives of all those who suffer the consequences matter. The present conflict is locked in a vicious cycle of retaliation and revenge. Unless we break that cycle, more innocent lives will be lost.

The current conflict did not begin on October 7, nor will it end with military victory. It is rooted in decades of unresolved grievances—dispossession, occupation, economic marginalization, and the systematic denial of Palestinian rights. To treat this as a matter of good versus evil is to miss the deeper dynamics driving the bloodshed.

The deep structure of this conflict—like many others across the Global South—has roots in colonial partition, displacement, and the carving up of territory without regard for the lives, histories, and claims of those who lived there. These colonial legacies didn’t just shape borders; they hardened identities, made coexistence harder, and framed land not as shared space, but as a prize to be won or lost.

Terrorism, as a concept, is almost always wielded by states. Governments claim a monopoly on legitimate violence—and with it, the power to define who is a “terrorist” and who is a “freedom fighter.” That distinction is rarely neutral. It is used to turn political problems into security threats, and security threats into justification for military force. It reframes dissent as danger. It reframes injustice as disorder.

Terrorism is also an ideology—a story that gives violence meaning. It casts death as sacrifice, vengeance as justice, and brutality as defense. But states too operate within ideological frames. The language of “security,” “defense,” and “civilization” can obscure power and naturalize force. When both insurgents and governments lean on redemptive narratives, violence becomes not just strategic but sacred.

When marginalized populations are denied political voice, when nonviolent protest is criminalized, when entire communities are treated as suspect, violence becomes not just a tactic—it becomes, for some, the only way to be heard. That does not excuse it. But understanding is not the same as condoning. And without understanding, there can be no path forward.

This is not just a political conflict—it is a clash of wounded memories. Generational traumas—Holocaust, Nakba, displacement, siege—do not fade. They are passed down in stories, in silences, in everyday anxieties about survival. Fear becomes structure. And when fear is weaponized by politicians, it deepens the chasm between justice and security.

In many parts of the world, so-called terrorist movements have emerged from the ashes of neoliberal dispossession, racialized policing, and imperial warfare. When governments dismantle public services in the name of the market, entrench inequality, and respond to unrest with militarization, they sow the seeds of radicalization. Into that void step actors who promise justice through violence. They rarely deliver it. But they speak to grievances that cannot be bombed away.

Some populations are doubly targeted—not only because they are poor, mobile, or politically defiant, but because they defy classification. States fear what they cannot count. Nomads, informal workers, and migrants are rendered “illegible” by bureaucratic systems. When state violence seeks to render these groups knowable, it often does so through control, displacement, and sometimes, elimination.

Israel’s war in Gaza must be seen in this broader light. Yes, Hamas committed terrible acts. But the state response has caused more trauma, more rage, more loss. It does not end terrorism. It perpetuates the very conditions in which terrorism flourishes.

We need to acknowledge the paradox: in fighting terrorism, states often adopt its methods—using fear, violence, and dehumanization to impose control. But the cost is legitimacy. The cost is peace.

Terrorism today is not only a tactic—it is a performance. Aimed at state power, yes, but also at the global stage. And the same is true of state violence, which is justified, staged, and managed through media narratives. The battle is not just over territory, but over truth. And in this war of images, victims are often invisible unless they fit the script.

The language of war is drenched in masculine ideals—heroism, martyrdom, protection, vengeance. Both Hamas and the Israeli military draw on these scripts, turning bodies into messages and sacrifice into political currency. These narratives do not just justify violence—they demand it.

History shows that terrorism rarely ends through annihilation. It ends through transformation. Mandela. Begin. Arafat. All once labeled terrorists. All later became political actors. That is not hypocrisy. That is how political problems get resolved—through recognition, negotiation, and inclusion.

My aim here is not to defend acts of violence, but to analyze the systems that produce them—and the ways we can dismantle them. We cannot build peace if we cannot imagine it. And yet the label of terrorism often shuts down precisely the civic space where alternatives could emerge—dialogue, protest, resistance that seeks to transform rather than destroy. A future beyond retaliation will require not just justice, but imagination.

If we are ever to escape this mindless cycle of retaliation, we must confront not only the horrors of today but the histories and structures that made them possible. We must ask who is denied dignity, who profits from conflict, and what kind of world we are complicit in building when we choose revenge over justice.

Because in the end, the only way to end terrorism is not through more war. It’s through more justice.

Suggested Readings

English, Richard. Does Counter‑Terrorism Work? Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2024.

James, Alex, et al. “Geometric Persistence & Distributional Trends in Worldwide Terrorism.” arXiv (2023). https://arxiv.org/abs/2301.11700

Klausen, Jytte. Western Jihadism: A Thirty‑Year History. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2021.

Kilcullen, David. The Dragons and the Snakes: How the Rest Learned to Fight the West.Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2020.

Mamdani, Mahmood. Good Muslim, Bad Muslim: America, the Cold War, and the Roots of Terror. Revised edition. New York: Pantheon, 2022.

McQuade, Christine. A Genealogy of Terrorism. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2024.

Miller, Martin A. The Foundations of Modern Terrorism: State, Society and the Dynamics of Political Violence. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012.

Nguyen, Nicole. Terrorism on Trial. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2023.

Risius, Marten, et al. “Dynamic Matrix of Extremisms and Terrorism (DMET).” arXiv (2023). https://arxiv.org/abs/2303.12345

Toobin, Jeffrey. Homegrown: Timothy McVeigh and the Rise of Right‑Wing Extremism. New York: Simon & Schuster, 2023.