Terrorism has many facets and many names. ISIS, Al Qaeda or Boko Haram; and, if you are not a child of the 1990s, names such as IRA, ETA and Red Army Faction will most likely tell you something as well. Irrespective of whether terrorism is considered part of a broader conflict (a view you are more likely to find among observers of social movements) or as a self-contained phenomenon (more likely to find among scholars of terrorism studies), it is easy to get very confused in light of the great variety of answers about what terrorism actually is. From terrorism as abhorrent, indiscriminate violence by non-state actors to terrorism as oppressive acts of states, definitions abound. And in light of decades of searching for a global definition of terrorism and countless academic treatments of the matter, a certain fatigue with the issue can be observed today. Continue reading
The violent and often destructive nature of civil wars is well documented. Its transformative nature, its ability to spur a cultural transformation that can pave the way for a democratic culture, however, has not yet received much scholarly attention. Civil wars as a special case of contentious politics do not occur in a vacuum. Violence, as arguably the most defining characteristic of civil wars that differentiates this phenomenon from other forms of social movements, is often a result of sociopolitical environments characterized by resentment, discontent, and repression. In other words, in such a context violence is not irrational or beastly but rather occurs when our sense of justice is offended. In line with studies that have pointed to cultural outcomes of social movements and the difficulty of drawing neat boundaries between the complex concepts of civil wars, revolution, terrorism, and social movements, my research on the armed conflict between the Kurdistan Workers’ Party (PKK) and Turkey points to the transformative nature of civil wars that has resulted in transforming the insurgent group and also engendering important social and political outcomes. Continue reading
By Cem Emrence
In this essay, I examine the effects of political violence on movements. My discussion provides a general sketch of several processes at work and deals with movements that challenge political hierarchies in developing country settings. I will argue that integrating violence into social movement theory offers a truly dynamic account. Violence fulfills this mission in two ways. First, as an extreme form of interaction, it links movement to its opponents in consequential ways. Second, violence allows us to think about movement as a family of organizations. Movements develop complex relations with insurgencies and political parties to alter power deficits in a society. Continue reading
By Susan Olzak
If a gap exists between studies on civil war/terrorism and contentious politics/social movements, it may be at least partially due to the segregation of discipline boundaries. Sociologists are less likely than other disciplines to analyze civil war or terrorism, but when they do, they seldom engage debates from other disciplines studying these topics. Moreover, even though many political scientists routinely study civil war and insurgencies, they rarely adopt social movement perspectives to study these topics (see essays by Goldstone and Beck posted earlier). Continue reading
Scholars have long debated the role of social movements in changing policy outcomes – whether and how do they matter. Policies can also create political opportunities for social movements. Policies empower historically disadvantaged groups and provide them with the tools and resources to mobilize their rights. Indeed, as David Meyer put it, scholars often grapple with the “chicken-and-egg” problem of policy and mobilization; that is, which comes first? Thinking about this alleged paradox raises questions about the role of social movements following legislative “victories.”
Today marks the 30th anniversary of the overthrow of Ferdinand Marcos and his authoritarian regime in the Philippines. From February 22-25, 1986, over two million Filipinos held demonstrations in the capital of Manila. The struggle against the two-decade authoritarian rule transpired for years and Filipinos expected a protracted and bloody revolution to bring down an entrenched dictatorship. Yet, unlike other sultanistic or neopatrimonial regimes that were defeated by a revolutionary movement or ousted by a coup d’état, Marcos was dethroned by nonviolent protesters, largely from the middle class, who were held together not by a common political ideology but by moral indignation founded on basic distrust of the government (see David 1985, Thompson 1995).
Named after the urban space in Manila where this historical watershed occurred, the EDSA “People Power” Revolution was the first democratic transition in Asia during the so-called “third wave of democratization” (Huntington 1991). It initiated a powerful “demonstration effect” and inspired activists in in Burma, China, and countries in Eastern Europe to try to overturn their authoritarian governments with nonviolent action. The EDSA Revolution has been the subject of studies on revolutions and democratization, often compared to the mobilizations in Iran and Nicaragua that led to the toppling of the Shah and the Somoza dynasty respectively (see Parsa 2000). Scholars ask why the Philippines only achieved regime change and not social revolution like the two countries. They explain the success of People Power in the Philippines in instituting regime change by focusing on (1) the breakdown of the state, especially on administrative and intramilitary conflict and withdrawal of external support; (2) the interplay between regime and opposition, particularly patterns and styles of state repression and the complexities of movement response; and (3) the relationship between civil resistance and armed struggle, specifically the tactical mistakes of the communist movement, the maneuvers of the democratic elite opposition, and the mobilization of the Catholic Church (see Boudreau 2004; Chenoweth and Stephan 2011; Foran 2005; Lee 2009; Nepstad 2011; Schock 2005; Thompson 2004).
I remember those four days in the last week of February 1986. I was seven years old, living in Ilocos region, the stranglehold of the Marcoses, where the dictator was considered a demigod. “Apo Marcos” (roughly translated as “Master Marcos”) as they called him. With media blackout and Manila a six-hour bus ride from our province, we had little knowledge about the unending and massive protests happening in the capital. I remember my brother and I getting upset for not being able to watch our shows because the only available television network was showing Marcos propaganda all day. When the protestors had finally taken control of the media and we saw the large gathering of people in EDSA and the eventual storming of Malacañang Palace, I remember all the adults in our neighborhood congregating and talking about how the communists and Cory Aquino will take power together and send all Marcos loyalists to jail. I remember a boy from my class telling me that military men will come to our house if we support Marcos, so I removed the “Marcos Pa Rin!” (“Marcos Still”) sticker in our gate when I got home. I remember asking my father: “If he is such a good president, why are the people so mad?” It was only when I went to graduate school and studied social movements that I understood, from a theoretical point of view, the contentious episode of 1986—and the years before that—that culminated in the ouster of Marcos and the return to oligarchic democracy.
Every year since then, the EDSA Revolution has been commemorated—with a celebratory tone in the first few years, often focusing on Aquino and the elites who opposed the dictator. This triumphant mood eventually dissipated and was replaced by anger. In the last decade or so, this anger has turned into outrage. Because not only did the People Power uprising restore power to the oligarchy, it also created the conditions for the children of Marcos’s ascent to elective positions at the national level. In the upcoming Philippine presidential elections in May 2016, Ferdinand “Bongbong” Marcos Jr. is running for vice-president, while his sister, Imee, for Governor of Ilocos Norte for the third time. A “betrayal” of what ordinary citizens regard as the true essence of EDSA—“the collective power of the people to fight tyranny and oppression”—is further seen in the longing of Filipinos for the purported “golden years” of Marcos, in light of problems associated with crime, corruption, and poverty. This yearning has resulted in the popularity of presidential candidate Rodrigo Duterte, who has no qualms calling himself a dictator and publicly expressing admiration to Marcos. A disturbing finding of a 2007 study on normative commitment to democracy using the Asian Barometer Surveys shows that pockets of support for authoritarianism is growing rather than diminishing in the Philippines.
Movement participants in the EDSA Revolution has seized the opportunity of the 30th anniversary to construct a collective memory of the uprising and the Marcos dictatorship, not only as a cure to historical amnesia and authoritarian nostalgia, but also as a means of reclaiming the “power to the people” that was lost with the proclamation of a member of a landed political dynasty as president, after the departure of the Marcoses. Collective memory helps bring the past into the present, strengthens protest identities, provides shared meanings to different social movements, and allows the imagination of alternatives to the current system. These former anti-Marcos activists have become “memory entrepreneurs,” who counter dominant discourses and persistent narratives about the authoritarian regime, revive past repertoires of resistance and recast their meaning based on the present, and institutionalize collective memory in material forms—such as museums and books—and representational practices.
Although political elites and activists mobilize annually to look back on the EDSA
Revolution, a “memory movement” has grown in the last year, with ordinary Filipinos coming out and sharing their own remembrances of the past. Through collective storytelling, participants of this movement exercise agency and motivate action. For instance, armed with personal accounts of persecution and abuse during Marcos’s rule, martial law victims dispute mythic tales about the regime through the “Campaign Against the Return of the Marcoses to Malacañang.” The group has used social media to engage the youth, who they regard as “mostly naive about what happened in the 1970s.” A blog called “Hindi Kami Ulyanin (We Are Not Forgetful): Remember 1081” publishes stories of disappearance and torture during martial law. Even Filipinos born after 1986 have shared their insights and responded to accusations of “millennial apathy.” In the Twitter world, the hashtags #NeverAgain and #EDSA30 feature a variety of voices from different subject positions. Indeed, the Internet has become a virtual meeting place for Filipinos to talk about the past—a discursive field that consists of contradictory and competing discourses that give meaning to events and processes.
But in the case of the Philippines, where a self-proclaimed dictator is the most popular presidential candidate and the son of a former dictator could be the first person in the presidential line of succession, the struggle for collective memory is more than just an annual occasion. It remains to be seen how far the memory movement can build on the momentum of the present to reconstruct the past for the future.
In a 2007 review piece for Perspective in Politics, Sid Tarrow identified the need for studies of civil wars to consider the broader context of political contention, and indeed social movements. We have asked our contributors to consider this intersection of topics. While civil wars may be a special case of political conflict, players often have a multitude of relations or connections to non-violent movements and groups. One primary example of this is the civil war in Syria, and the emergence of ISIS in Syria and Iraq. Mobilizing Ideas has asked contributors to consider the gap between studies on civil wars and terrorism, and that of contentious politics and social movements. Focal topics include terrorism, the onset and cessation of violence, political and ethnic violence, repression, and rebellion.
Many thanks to our fantastic group of contributors.
Editors in Chief,
Grace Yukich, David Ortiz, Rory McVeigh, Guillermo Trejo