Echoes of Enoch Powell

Rivers of Blood, multiculturalism and the BBC - Martin O'Neill on a film that's part of the BBC's Wh

As part of its ill-conceived White season, the BBC on Saturday showed Denys Blakeway's 'Rivers of Blood' documentary, a film that attempts something of a critical rehabilitation of the reputation of Enoch Powell.

Powell is a fascinating, although thoroughly divisive, figure, and would make an excellent subject for a careful, balanced documentary examination. Far from being a one-dimensional right-winger, Powell was a cerebral polyglot (he read in a dozen languages), who was staunchly in favour of civil liberties and against the death penalty. Given his influence, both positive and negative, it is reasonable to think that a clear-eyed understanding of British politics during the past forty years can only be achieved if we are able to make sense of Powell's place within it.

But the BBC's 'Rivers of Blood' was not that careful or balanced examination of Powell. Instead, it was a disgracefully misleading, cowardly, manipulative and politically irresponsible programme, which brings great discredit to Denys Blakeway for directing it, and to the BBC for showing it.

I'll begin with the ways in which Blakeway's documentary is misleading. Despite trumpeting itself as an effort to get at the truth about "the most misquoted speech of the twentieth century", the film was selective in its attention and extremely telling in what it left out.

The most inflammatory parts of Powell's 1968 speech spoke of Black immigrants harassing a elderly white widow in Wolverhampton, who found "excreta pushed through her letterbox" and who, "when she goes to the shops is followed by children, charming, wide-grinning piccaninnies".

Blakeway's documentary attempts to some degree to exculpate Powell with regard to this offensive content by pointing out that Powell was simply quoting from a letter he received in his constituency postbag, rather than speaking in his own voice.

What the BBC documentary did not point out was that Powell's rhetorical device of placing the most inflammatory parts of his speech within the framework of a quotation from a correspondent may well have been no more than a cynical presentational technique. After Powell's speech, a number of national newspapers, as well as the Wolverhampton Express & Star, sent reporters to track down this elderly woman and none produced any results. Moreover, Powell withdrew a libel action against The Sunday Times, which had branded him a "racialist", when he was obliged to provide physical evidence of the letters from which he claimed to have been quoting.

It is hard to resist the judgement of Dominic Sandbrook, in his magnificent history of the Sixties, White Heat: "Powell's story about the old lady, the "excreta" and the "piccaninnies", seemed to have been borrowed from the stock racist fables of the far right. Very similar anecdotes were circulated in the late sixties by the National Front and others: it was the kind of story that most councillors and MPs regularly dismissed as extremist rabble-rousing." Indeed, Powell's persecuted old woman probably never existed.

But let us grant Enoch Powell the benefit of the doubt, and suppose that his correspondent really existed. Despite the BBC film's constant claims to be carefully examining the real content of the Rivers of Blood speech, it is curiously silent on the full setting of the story of the besieged widow. In Powell's speech, the old lady has become the subject of charges of "racialism" from the tormenting "picanninies" precisely because she has barred black people from her guest house.

Powell's argument was that landlords and employers should be free to discriminate against ethnic minorities as they wished. It is no coincidence that the most emotive part of his speech involved inviting his audience to identify with a racist landlady, who would like to run a business as long as she can exclude blacks from it. Powell's conservatism and commitment to a mystic British identity was a commitment to the Britain of signs saying 'No Blacks, No Dogs, No Irish'; where vulnerable immigrants could be kept marginalized, impoverished and downtrodden.

Blakeway’s film is cowardly in that, like Powell’s speech itself, it seeks to make offensive political points not in its own words, but through quotations from unidentified third-parties. The film tells us, right at the start, that "in the wake of riots and terror attacks, many are now asking, was Enoch Powell right to predict disaster in his ‘Rivers of Blood’ speech?".

At the end of the film, these mysterious ‘others’ appear again – when Blakeway tells us that "ten years after his death, many believe that Powell’s arguments were often prescient." Who believes this? Well, the British National Party believe this, but not many others.

In my view, the film was manipulative. Its simplistic argument was that anti-racist reaction to Powell’s speech led to multiculturalism, and that multiculturalism led to violence, death and suffering. It made this tenuous argument not by reason, but by emotive appeals via arresting imagery. Here again we have an echo of Powell’s methods as with the vivid images of ‘grinning picanninies’ that, despite Powell’s cherished patina of logical argument, actually carry all the argumentative weight in Powell’s infamous speech. Blakeway’s film juxtaposed the use of the word “multiculturalism” with footage of the 7/7 Bombings. Are we supposed to think 7/7 was an inevitable consequence of not following Powell’s advice?

The thought that 7/7 was a direct product of multiculturalism, without making any reference to the broader context of British foreign policy, the Iraq war, and the ‘war on terror’, is insultingly facile. Equally preposterous is the suggestion that Powell’s policies, from advocating repatriation to removing any legal bars on discrimination in housing and employment, would somehow have made for a less violent or more cohesive Britain.

The real absence of Blakeway’s film gets to the centre of both its mendacity and its political irresponsibility. It is the absence of a balanced view of multicultural Britain, of any good news alongside the apocalyptic vistas of bomb damage and race-riots.

The truth, of course, is that Britain is a broadly tolerant, liberal and diverse society, with less racist violence today than it had in the late 1960s. A romantic conservative British nationalist like Powell would have wept at the thought that our national dish might have become chicken tikka massala, or that the Britain of class deference, Anglicanism and hierarchy should be submerged by a more modern Britain of equality and diversity. Reactionaries like Simon Heffer and Roger Scruton, whom Blakeway’s film quotes so fully and uncritically, think likewise.

But the tolerant and liberal mainstream of this country – the very people who were outraged by Powell, from the radical student protestors who dogged him wherever he tried to speak after 1968, to the decent liberal Conservatives like Iain Macleod who demanded his resignation from the Shadow Cabinet – do not share Powell’s reactionary, oppressive politics. Macleod’s verdict in 1968 was that “Enoch’s gone mad and hates the blacks”, and therein do we hear the voice of the sane wing of British conservatism.

It is a shame indeed that Enoch Powell’s oppressive and reactionary politics should find their tinny echo in Blakeway’s morally and intellectually backwards piece of film-making. It is an even greater shame that the BBC should have committed the substantial error of judgement in airing such a muddled, mendacious film.

The political ostracism that Powell suffered is one of the glories of recent British politics: it shows that we as a nation decided that there would never be a British version of Jean-Marie Le Pen. If one wants to look for a sense of British identity worth celebrating, you can find it there.

Martin O’Neill is a political philosopher, based at the Centre for Political Theory in the Department of Politics at the University of Manchester. He has previously taught at Cambridge and Harvard, and is writing a book on Corporations and Social Justice.
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Inside the minds of the Isis murderers

As pressure on the terror group who claimed responsiblity for the Manchester attack intensifies, the threat to Britain will only become more acute.

The police and security services had consistently warned that a significant terrorist attack in Britain was inevitable. Yet no warning could have prepared us for the horror of the suicide attack on the Manchester Arena on Monday night. Twenty-two people were killed and at least 60 were wounded as they were leaving a concert by Ariana Grande in what was the most deadly attack in Britain since the London bombings of 7 July 2005, in which 56 people died.

Like the London bombers, the Manchester suicide attacker, Salman Ramadan Abedi, was British. He was 22, lived in Manchester and studied business management at Salford University before dropping out. He worshipped at Didsbury Mosque. The son of Libyans, Abedi is said to have returned recently from a visit to the North African country, where Islamic State has a foothold.

Ariana Grande is a former children’s TV star who made her name on channels such as Nickelodeon. Her fan base is overwhelmingly young and female, and many of those killed or wounded were children, including Saffie Rose Roussos, an eight-year-old girl from Leyland, Lancashire.

Islamic State inevitably claimed responsibility for the massacre, dismissing the victims as “crusaders”, “polytheists” and “worshippers of the cross”. This is not the first time Islamist terrorists have targeted children.

A Chechen jihadist group calling itself ­Riyad-us Saliheen (meaning “Gardens of the Righteous”) took more than 1,100 hostages, including 777 children, in a school siege in Beslan, Russia, in September 2004. In the event, more than 330 were massacred, including 186 children. Gunmen from the Pakistani Taliban also stormed a school in 2014, killing 148.

For terrorist actors, these are neither whimsical nor irrational acts. Contemporary jihadist movements have curated a broad and expansive intellectual ecosystem that rationalises and directs their actions. What they want is to create an asymmetry of fear by employing indiscriminate barbarism to intimidate and subdue their opponents into submission.

We have grown accustomed to a wave of terrorist attacks being carried out in the name of the self-styled Islamic State ever since the group’s official spokesman Abu Muhammad al-Adnani began prioritising them in 2014. (He was killed in an American air strike on Aleppo province in Syria in August last year.)

The US-led coalition against Islamic State has weakened the terror group in its former strongholds of Mosul in Iraq and Raqqa in Syria. In response, IS has been forced to concentrate more on what it calls “external operations” – by which it means inspiring its sympathisers and operatives to carry out attacks on Western countries. Indeed, al-Adnani encouraged the group’s supporters not to migrate towards IS-held territory but rather to focus their efforts on attacks in their home countries.

“The tiniest action you do in the heart of their [Western] land is dearer to us than the biggest action by us,” he said in an audio statement released last year. “There are no innocents in the heart of the lands of the crusaders.”

Islamic State refers to its strategy as “just terror”. Its framing places culpability for attacks on Western states on these nations themselves by claiming that IS actions are a response to aggression or assault. That much has been outlined in the group’s literature. “When will the crusaders end their hostilities towards Islam and the Muslims? . . . When will they recognise that the solution to their pathetic turmoil is right before their blinded eyes?” the militants ask in the IS magazine Dabiq. “Until then, the just terror will continue to strike them to the core of their deadened hearts.”

IS offered a rationale of this sort as justification for its bombing of a Russian commercial aircraft – Metrojet Flight 9268, travelling from Sharm el-Sheikh in Egypt to St Petersburg. That attack in October 2015 killed 224. Similar reasoning was offered for the attacks in Paris the following month in which 137 people were killed, in a series of co-ordinated, commando-style gun and bomb outrages across the city.

“Revenge was exacted upon those who felt safe,” IS declared in Dabiq. “Let the world know that we are living today in a new era. Whoever was heedless must now be alert. Whoever was sleeping must now awaken . . . The [caliphate] will take revenge for any aggression against its religion and people, sooner rather than later. Let the ­arrogant know that the skies and the lands are Allah’s.”

***

Through my academic research at King’s College London, I have ­interviewed scores of Westerners who became foreign fighters in Syria and Iraq to quiz them about their motives. Last year, one man from High Wycombe who had joined IS told me that it wanted to attack British targets in response to the vote in the House of Commons to extend British air strikes against IS targets to include sites in Syria (the British had only been targeting the group in Iraq until that point). “Do they [the British government] expect us to sit back and do nothing? ­Idiots,” he said.

In this respect, IS frames its attacks as acts of “revenge” and predicates its response on the Islamic principle of qisas, which is comparable to lex talionis or the doctrine of “an eye for an eye”. Qisas was always intended to be a tool of private redress for an individual or his/her family to seek justice in matters relating to bodily harm. Typically, it relates to cases of murder and manslaughter, or acts involving physical mutilation (say, leading to loss of limbs). The principle creates a framework for retributive justice.

The contemporary Salafi-jihadi movement has adopted a particularly innovative approach to the concept of qisas in two ways. First, groups such as IS have taken the idea and construed it in a way that justifies indiscriminate terrorism, such as the attack in Manchester. They argue that qisas has a political dimension and that it can be applied to international affairs in a way that holds civilians responsible for the perceived crimes of their governments.

Second, qisas is normally applied only in cases where the aggressor is known. IS, by contrast, holds every citizen-stranger of an enemy state responsible for the actions of his or her government. Thus, when it released its statement claiming responsibility for the Manchester attack, it said that it had struck against a “gathering of the crusaders . . . in response to their transgressions against the lands of the Muslims”.

It is this militaristic construction of qisas that allows IS to rationalise the bombing of a venue where large numbers of young girls had gathered to watch a pop concert, dismissing them as “crusaders”.

This is not new. In 1997, Osama Bin Laden told CBS News that “all Americans are our enemies, not just the ones who fight us directly, but also the ones who pay their ­taxes”. His rationale was that all Americans, by virtue of citizenship alone, are vicariously liable for the actions of their government.

Just a few years later, Bin Laden used the same idea to justify the 11 September 2001 attacks and also invoked it in reference to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. “The blood pouring out of Palestine must be equally revenged,” he wrote. “You must know that the Palestinians do not cry alone; their women are not widowed alone; their sons are not orphaned alone.”

IS used the concept most dramatically in January 2015, when it burned alive a Royal Jordanian Air Force pilot, Muath al-Kasasbeh, whose plane had crashed in its territory. A video of the killing was circulated on the internet and social media. The group claimed his bombing raids had killed civilians and that it wanted to punish him with “equal retaliation”, in keeping with qisas.

What is well known about al-Kasasbeh’s murder is that he was burned alive inside a cage – but that is not the whole story. To understand how IS tethered this to the principle of qisas, it is the end of the gruesome video that is invested with most significance. After al-Kasasbeh has died, a truck emerges and dumps rubble over the cage. It was claimed this was debris from a site he had bombed, thus completing the “equal retaliation” of returning like for like. The idea was that IS had retaliated using the two principal forms in which a missile attack kills – by fire or debris.

***

The Manchester attack came on the fourth anniversary of the brutal murder of Fusilier Lee Rigby in Woolwich, south London. Rigby was killed by Michael Adebolajo and Michael Adebowale in the middle of the afternoon on a street outside a military barracks. That attack was in keeping with a pattern we have become increasingly accustomed to in Europe: an unsophisticated plot that employs ordinary, everyday items – a car, say, or a knife.

The consequences of such attacks have been seen across Europe, most notably in Nice on 14 July 2016, when 86 people were killed during Bastille Day celebrations after a jihadist drove a truck into crowds on the promenade. Similar attacks followed in Berlin, Westminster and Stockholm.

The security services find that these murderous attacks are extremely hard to disrupt because they typically involve lone actors who can mobilise quickly and with discretion. The Manchester attack was different. Explosives were used, which means the plot was inherently more sophisticated, requiring careful planning and preparation.

We know that two of the 7/7 bombers had previously trained in Pakistan’s lawless tribal regions, where they honed their skills. In other plots, such as the connected attacks in London and Glasgow Airport of 2007, the explosive devices failed mainly because the bomb-makers had found it difficult to travel abroad and develop their skills in safe environments. Whatever Abedi’s connections, the long war in Syria and Iraq has once again created a permissive environment for terrorist training and attack planning.

The devastating impact of this has already been felt across Europe. Since the Syrian uprising began in 2011, more than 800 Britons are believed to have travelled there to fight. From Europe as a whole, the figure is over 5,000, of which a significant number are believed to have joined IS. Of the British contingent, the security services estimate that about half have returned or become disengaged from the conflict. Of those who remained, a hundred are believed to be active, the rest having been killed.

It is improbable that Abedi acted alone in Manchester or that this plot had no international component. Indeed, he was already known to the authorities (and had returned recently from Libya). As pressure on IS intensifies across Syria and Iraq, the threat to Britain will only become more acute as the group’s sympathisers prepare for what they consider to be a fightback.

This speaks to the scale of the threat facing Britain, and Europe more generally. Our police and security services have been stretched and continuously tested in recent years. Just recently, in March, the Metropolitan Police assistant commissioner Mark Rowley told Radio 4’s Today programme that 13 plots had been thwarted since Lee Rigby’s murder in 2013. Put another way, the police have disrupted terrorist plots every four months for the past four years.

Naturally, Islamic State is not the only threat. On 13 May, one of Osama Bin Laden’s sons, Hamza, released a video, titled “Advice for martyrdom-seekers in the West”, on behalf of al-Qaeda. Hamza, 27, who was his father’s favoured successor to lead the group, called on its supporters to concentrate on attacks in the West rather than migrating to conflict zones in the Middle East and beyond. Scenes of previous ­terrorist attacks in Britain played throughout the video.

The central leadership of al-Qaeda is increasingly looking for opportunities to reassert itself after being eclipsed by Islamic State and losing control of its affiliates in Syria. It needs attacks and a cause in the West with which to revive itself. Hamza therefore cited the January 2015 Charlie Hebdo attack in Paris as a critical example, calling for the assassination of anyone deemed to have “insulted” Islam.

The Charlie Hebdo attack was especially important for al-Qaeda because it enabled the group to transcend the fratricidal conflicts that frequently define relations between the various jihadist groups. In Syria, for instance, al-Qaeda’s affiliates (when it had better control over them) and Islamic State have been in open war with each other.

Yet, the Charlie Hebdo attack brought warm praise from the group’s Islamist rivals because none of them wanted to appear ­unsupportive of an atrocity that had, as the terrorists proclaimed, “avenged” the Prophet Muhammad’s honour.

The British man from High Wycombe who joined IS told me the group had welcomed the attack for precisely those reasons. It was something that, in his view, had confirmed the “nobility” of the attackers, even if they had not been members of IS.

Is it too late for the West to save itself, I asked him. What if the West simply accepted all of Islamic State’s demands: would that provide respite?

The answer was as emphatic as it was stark: “We primarily fight wars due to ppl [sic] being disbelievers. Their drones against us are a secondary issue.”

He went on: “Their kufr [disbelief] against Allah is sufficient of a reason for us to invade and kill them. Only if they stop their kufr will they no longer be a target.”

In other words, we are all guilty, and we are all legitimate targets.

Shiraz Maher is a contributing writer for the New Statesman and a senior research fellow at King’s College London’s International Centre for the Study of Radicalisation.

This article first appeared in the 25 May 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Why Islamic State targets Britain

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