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Countering violent extremism in a multicultural city : from national security to local implementation… Nolan, Elanna Louise 2019

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  COUNTERING VIOLENT EXTREMISM IN A MULTICULTURAL CITY: FROM NATIONAL SECURITY TO LOCAL IMPLEMENTATION  IN MELBOURNE, AUSTRALIA by ELANNA LOUISE NOLAN  B.A. (Hons.), The University of Melbourne, 2008 M.U.P., The University of Melbourne, 2010  A THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF  DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY in THE FACULTY OF GRADUATE AND POSTDOCTORAL STUDIES (Geography) THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA (Vancouver) September 2019  ©Elanna Louise Nolan, 2019     ii The following individuals certify that they have read, and recommend to the Faculty of Graduate and Postdoctoral Studies for acceptance, the dissertation entitled:   Countering Violent Extremism in a Multicultural City: From national security to local implementation in Melbourne, Australia         submitted by  Elanna Nolan     in partial fulfillment of the requirements for  the degree of  Doctor of Philosophy          in   Geography            Examining Committee:   Daniel Hiebert, Geography          Supervisor   David Ley, Geography          Supervisory Committee Member   Jamie Peck, Geography           University Examiner   Brian Job, Political Science           University Examiner   Additional Supervisory Committee Members:  Sara Thompson, Criminology          Supervisory Committee Member   Kurt Iveson, Geography          Supervisory Committee Member    iii Abstract Since the events of 9/11, counter-terrorism has been a top priority for governments around the world. Concern over “homegrown” or domestic terrorism has led many governments to consider community engagement as fundamental to counter-terrorism and national security policy. Preventative frameworks are now commonplace. “Soft” approaches to counter violent extremism (CVE) rely on community-based models to tackle the underlying causes of violent radicalisation. Counter-terrorism and CVE programs have been seen to disproportionately target Muslim youth, typically seeking to address disenfranchisement, alienation and social exclusion as factors contributing to trajectories of radicalisation to violent extremism. Critics have described a national security paradox, in which soft security measures have “securitised” integration, social cohesion, and multicultural policies and programs. Implicit to the examination of national security policy in a multicultural setting are the scalar dynamics that shape how national policies are translated and implemented. By adopting an approach that cuts across multiple scales, it becomes clear that when paradoxical national security policies are ported to the local scale, significant negative consequences can follow. Under Australian national security policy and rhetoric, Muslim communities have been targeted, anti-Muslim sentiment and suspicion of Muslims has been endorsed, and belonging and access to welfare services rendered conditional upon self-identification as “at risk” of radicalisation. This dissertation is motivated by a pressing central question: what is at stake when social policy is predicated on fear? Drawing on semi-structured interviews with state and local government workers and extended participant observation in a Melbourne local government this dissertation uncovers how policy practitioners negotiate two potentially conflicting objectives—multiculturalism and national security policy. The extended case study highlights capacities at state and local levels to mitigate the detrimental effects of hostile national security rhetoric, policy contradictions, and the stigmatising effects of participation associated with CVE. This dissertation argues that combining multicultural social policy with a national security agenda risks undermining positive social relations and service delivery for marginalised communities. However, it also highlights the conditions under which local government can afford resistance to the securitisation of Muslims, extend new spaces of belonging, and to promote a meaningful politics of diversity.     iv Lay Summary This dissertation seeks to interrogate the relationship between multiculturalism and terrorism prevention. By showing the contradictory ways in which national security and multiculturalism are brought together in Australian policy and rhetoric, it highlights the challenge facing institutions and individuals involved in delivering multicultural service provision alongside terrorism prevention programs. This dissertation argues that combining multicultural social policy with a national security agenda risks undermining positive multicultural social relations and social service delivery for marginalised communities. However, opportunities exist at the state government and local government level to push back against these stigmatising and divisive effects. In particular, this dissertation shows under these conditions local government workers can support marginalised young people to find ways to speak out and be heard on their own terms, to create positive opportunities for multicultural belonging.        v Preface This dissertation is an original intellectual product of the author, Elanna Nolan. The fieldwork reported in Chapters 4-6 was covered by UBC Behavioural Research Ethics Board (BREB) Certificate number H18-01672. Chapter 2 draws substantially on work previously published in Nolan, E., & Hiebert, D. (2014). Social Perspectives on National Security: A review of recent literature. TSAS Working Paper Series 14-10, October 2014. The author contributed the majority of literature search, analysis and writing, supported in an editorial capacity by her supervisor Dr. Daniel Hiebert.  Chapter 4 draws on work previously published in Nolan, E. (2016). Teaching CVE: a review of the Preventing Violent Extremism and Radicalisation in Australia handbook, and challenges across policy and practice. TSAS Working Paper Series 16-06, May 2016.     vi Table of Contents Abstract .......................................................................................................................................... iii Lay Summary ................................................................................................................................ iv Preface ............................................................................................................................................ v Table of Contents ........................................................................................................................... vi List of Tables ................................................................................................................................. ix List of Figures ................................................................................................................................. x Glossary ......................................................................................................................................... xi Acknowledgements ...................................................................................................................... xii Chapter 1: Introduction ................................................................................................................... 1 1.1 One step forward, two steps back ................................................................................... 1 1.2 National security divided: between hard and soft measures ........................................... 3 1.3 Multiculturalism is our best defence? ............................................................................. 6 1.4 National security arrives at the local scale ..................................................................... 9 1.5 Research design and questions ..................................................................................... 11 1.6 Structure of the thesis ................................................................................................... 14 1.7 Conclusions .................................................................................................................. 16 Chapter 2: What We Know So Far: A Review of Existing Literature ......................................... 18 2.1 Introduction .................................................................................................................. 18 2.2  Defining terrorism and violent extremism .................................................................... 20 2.3 The “homegrown” threat and the prevention paradigm ............................................... 22 2.4 Tenuous links between social exclusion & violent radicalisation ................................ 23 2.5 Framing security policy in multicultural settings with concepts of social cohesion and community resilience ................................................................................................................ 36 2.6 Major critiques of soft security policy .......................................................................... 44   vii 2.7 Making “suspect communities” .................................................................................... 59 2.8 Unintended impacts and negative effects ..................................................................... 62 2.9 Conclusions: Escaping the prevention paradox? .......................................................... 64 Chapter 3: Methodology ............................................................................................................... 68 3.1  Introduction .................................................................................................................. 68 3.2 Research sites and design, by opportunities and constraints ........................................ 69 3.3 Sources and methods .................................................................................................... 72 3.4 Ethnography at the local scale ...................................................................................... 78 3.5 Limits of interpretation ................................................................................................. 81 3.6 Conclusion: The research destination ........................................................................... 84 Chapter 4: The Inclusion Paradox: Terrorism Prevention at the National Scale .......................... 86 4.1 Introduction .................................................................................................................. 86 4.2 Australian institutional context ..................................................................................... 90 4.3  Narratives of Australian multiculturalism .................................................................. 103 4.4 Conclusions: Constantly changing landscape ............................................................. 117 Chapter 5: Policy Translation Across Scales: Reception, Positioning and Implementation ...... 121 5.1 Introduction ................................................................................................................ 121 5.2 Reception: the Victorian context ................................................................................ 123 5.3 Positioning: The Victorian Community Resilience Unit ............................................ 127 5.4 Implementation: Challenges and opportunities at the state-scale ............................... 133 5.5 Conclusions: Opportunities & discontinuities across scales ...................................... 153 Chapter 6: Local government as Community Activist: Municipal interventions in national security ........................................................................................................................................ 156 6.1 Introduction ................................................................................................................ 156 PART ONE: Radical Municipalism: Local governments as community activists ................. 158   viii 6.2 Thinking globally, acting locally: From anti-nuclear movements to sanctuary cities 160 6.3 Local government in Australia and the possibilities for municipal activism ............. 165 6.4 The City of Dean: More than “roads, rates and rubbish” ........................................... 170 PART TWO: Business as usual?: A local government’s national security intervention ....... 175 6.5  Dean’s Muslim community call for local government support .................................. 177 6.6 Deliberating on CVE: The Dean Community Inclusion Research Project ................. 180 6.7 “How can we make the most difference?”: CVE as strategic advocacy and resourcing ..   .................................................................................................................................... 182 6.8 Letting go: Collaboration and compromise ................................................................ 189 6.9 Extending the life of D-SPEAK? ................................................................................ 199 6.10 Avoiding the prevention paradox: Traps, tactics and subversions ............................. 200 6.11 Dean City Council and the Equity and Diversity Unit: As community advocate, activist and quango under a neoliberal regime .................................................................................... 207 6.12 Conclusions: Is there a role for local government in countering violent extremism? 214 Chapter 7: Conclusions ............................................................................................................... 219 7.1 Summary ..................................................................................................................... 219 7.2 Research questions and themes .................................................................................. 223 7.3 Limitations and future directions ................................................................................ 226 7.4 Final reflections .......................................................................................................... 227 Bibliography ............................................................................................................................... 229 Appendices ................................................................................................................................. 256 Appendix A: Interview Schedule – Policy Makers, bureaucrats, administrators ................... 256 Appendix B: Interview Schedule – NGOs, community and social service organisations ...... 257     ix List of Tables Table 3.1: Summary of semi-structured interviews and their function in the research design. ... 75 Table 4.1: Summary of hard counter-terrorism funding compared to soft counter-terrorism funding across select states, October 2016. Source: Hardy, 2018. ............................................. 102 Table 4.2: Australia Immigration Department names 1945-2019. Source: Fincher 2001; Dunn 2005; Tate 2009; Koleth 2010; Castles 2016. ............................................................................ 104      x List of Figures Figure 1.1: Australian Government Department of Home Affairs internet homepage. Source: http://www.homeafairs.gov.au accessed 20 May 2019. Published with permission. ..................... 9 Figure 1.2: Email from the AG Department, 6th June 2016. Source: shared by IFO, City of Dean. Published with permission. ........................................................................................................... 11 Figure 4.1. Significant terrorism related events affecting Australians and Australia’s CT arrangements: 1977-2015, in Australia’s Counter Terrorism Strategy – Strengthening Our Resilience, 2015. Source: Licensed from the Commonwealth of Australia under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Australia Licence. The Commonwealth of Australia does not necessarily endorse the content of this publication. ..................................................................... 92 Figure 4.2: Intergovernmental Agreements and Coordination Bodies relating to Counter-Terrorism (note: “National” refers to nationally coordinated). Source: National Counter-Terrorism Plan, ANZCTC, 2017. Published with permission. ..................................................... 95 Figure 4.3: Australian Government, Department of Home Affairs homepage. Source:  http://www.homeaffairs.gov.au, 2018. Published with permission. ............................................. 97 Figure 5.1 Excerpt from Nuclear Free Zones: Some Basic Questions by Keith D. Suter, 1985. Source: Reason In Revolt, http://www.reasoninrevolt.net.au/objects/pdf/d0405.pdf accessed 1 May 2018. Published with permission. ...................................................................................... 162 Figure 6.2: D-SPEAK program components. Source: Author’s own, 2019. .............................. 190       xi Glossary 3Rs  Roads, rates, rubbish ABC  Australian Broadcasting Corporation  ABF  Australian Border Force ACIC  Australian Criminal Intelligence Commission AFP  Australian federal Police AGD  Attorney-General’s Department AISH  Australian Intervention Support Hub ANZCTC  Australia-New Zealand Counter Terrorism Committee  ASIO  Australian Security Intelligence Organisation ASPI  Australian Strategic Policy Institute  AUSTRAC Australian Transaction Reports and Analysis Centre BCRGP Building Community Resilience Grants Program COAG  Commonwealth Of Australian Governments CRU  Community Resilience Unit, State of Victoria  CT  Counter-terrorism CVE  Countering Violent Extremism DECC  Dean Ethnic Communities Council DHHS  Department of Health and Human Services, State of Victoria E&D Unit Equity and Diversity Unit, Dean City Council ESC  Victorian Essential Services Commission GTReC Global Terrorism Research Centre, Monash University ICE  Immigration and Customs Enforcement, USA ICV  Islamic Council of Victoria IFO  Interfaith Officer ISIS  Islamic State (of Iraq and Syria) LG  Local government MASC  Multicultural Affairs and Social Cohesion MCO  Multicultural Officer, Dean City Council   NGO  Non-government organisation OMAC Office for Multicultural Affairs, State of Victoria PM  Prime Minister PVERA Preventing Violent Extremism to Radicalisation in Australia handbook RIOSC Research Institute of Social Cohesion RWE  Right-wing extremism SO  Somali organisation TSAS  Canadian Network for research on Terrorism, Security and Society  UPF  United Patriot’s Front VMC  Victorian Multicultural Commission       xii Acknowledgements Six weeks into my PhD program, I told my supervisor Dan Hiebert that I wanted to quit. Coming from a more applied world of urban planning, I felt out of place in the UBC Geography Department. Dan patiently and generously asked me, “How can I help to make this experience what you would like it to be?” That conversation eventually led to an RA-ship and trips to Ottawa, where I was introduced to Canadian policy “on-the-ground.” It led to meetings at Vancouver-based NGOs, to invaluable connections with the City of Vancouver, Richmond and, surprisingly, the RCMP. When I told Dan that I was okay with my program taking five to six years, he cautioned me, “If you let yourself think five years is okay, it’ll take you six, and six will take you seven. It’s best to think of it as four.” He was not wrong. Though it might have been nice to finish sooner, my longer program has allowed me the privilege of setting deeper and satisfying roots in Vancouver and cultivating an appreciation for all that I had overlooked during my first six weeks in the UBC Geography Department.  First and foremost, I must thank Dan, for his patience, care and generosity. You have helped me carve out a PhD experience that has been surprising, satisfying and humbling. You regularly take time to share your invaluable knowledge, rambling tangents, experience and advice. You turn my work around with lightning speed, and pause to ask after my partner, brother and parents. For all of this, I can’t thank you enough.  I am also deeply grateful for the guidance and supervision by committee members David Ley, Sara Thompson, Kurt Iveson, and in the earlier stages Jo-Anne Dillabough. Thank you for sticking with me, for your generous readings, your clarity, and extensive feedback.  To those who played the role of de-facto committee members and to those who did a whole lot of reading and discussing, thank you Sophie Webber, Ruth Fincher, Elliott Child, Jayne Lovelock, Jess Hallenbeck, Kerria Gray, Sarah Przedpelska, Criag Jones, Marika Neustupny, Sophie Rudolph, Cindy Watkin, Lisian Teh and Gab Olah. If not for those who agreed to be interviewed, to be observed and to vouch for me and my research, this study would not exist. There are key moments that I can pin-point when the research was unlocked. Michele Grossman and Carolyn Whitzman—two impressive North American women, so at home in Melbourne—were crucial to getting me through the gates and connecting me with remarkable “groundworkers.” To those at the Community Resilience Unit   xiii who spoke so frankly and were willing to reflect on their own work and practice, thank you. To those at Dean who let me see them “in all their mess” and for extended stretches of time, thank you for your courage and humility. I have been repeatedly struck by the care with which you engage in your work, the principles you uphold and the ways in which you navigate an often-challenging system. And to the D-SPEAK participants, whose voices are not directly represented in this dissertation; your resolve has been its anchor.  I have received generous financial support for this research, thanks to the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada, the UBC Faculty of Graduate Studies, the UBC Geography Department and the Canadian Research Network on Terrorism, Security and Society. Also, this research would not have been possible without the administration, reminders to register and kindness of the UBC Geography staff, in particular Suzanne, Jeanne, Mimi, Vicky, Danny and Sandy. I am so grateful to know so many geographers and non-geographers in Vancouver with whom discussions over shared meals, mornings at the Marché and Thursday night documentaries both nurtured my thinking and made Vancouver home. For this, thank you to Craig and Caitrin (the best neighbours we’ll ever have), Sarah, Kerria, Jenny, Erin, Shambhavi, Andrew, Joey, Adam, Bart, Fiona, Jed, Amy, Jess, Dan B, Geneviève J, Dan C, Tom H, Elliott, Hannah, Baldwin, Tom Y, Erica, Salome, Leonora, Emily, Bret, Sage, Geneviève P, Justin, Bronwyn, Tania, Hamish, Elisa, Colin, Jenna, Culum, Dave, Lori, Sam and Olivia. And, of course, to our friends Anne and Brian, who have done so much more than offer us a place to stay in a beautiful city. Returning to Melbourne, first for fieldwork and later to live was made possible, and a joy, thanks to welcoming friends, accommodation, an institutional home and my family. For so much, thank you to Julia, Jayne, Elo, Hannah, Lisian, Steph and Sophie. For the most incredible accommodation, sparkling and more, thank you Sarah and Paul. For the institutional homes, thank you to the University of Mebourne and Victoria University, to Carolyn Whitzman, Michele Grossman, David Nichols, Kathryn Davidson, John Stone and Geoff Browne. And to my sprawling family whose warmth is constant, especially the spectacular Shiel family, Zol and Jo, and Grandma and Dodo.  Finally, to those at the core, thank you to Mum, Dad and Marshall.  And to Gab, for making the kuckó.    xiv  That she isn’t trying, that she isn’t trying, that she isn’t trying To remove layers of her clothing  To remove layers of her comfort To live up to your standards You remind her that she isn’t trying  To break her back, carrying your expectations That she isn’t trying to scrub away at her culture, her lineage, her bloodline Because she is busy fighting Trying to take back a story that was stolen from her A story that you deemed not worthy to be heard or uttered I mean how  How are you meant to see her when all you do is look at her through security feeds Stare at her through car windows Or quickly gaze at her through shopping isles How, how are you meant to see her when you’re not even looking? –Zaynab Farah, She Is Light (excerpt), 2018   [Dean] Council has been criticised for taking these stands, told to stick to “roads, rates and rubbish”… But if there are people within our community who are discriminated against, marginalised or feel threatened simply because of the way they look, how they worship, who they love or their gender, then it is absolutely our business. Who else gives these people a voice?  – Dean Mayor, 2019      1 Chapter 1: Introduction That is why my Government works hard to promote inclusion and mutual respect, ensuring that all communities and all faiths feel part of ours, the most successful multicultural society in the world…Strong borders, vigilant security agencies governed by the rule of law, and a steadfast commitment to the shared values of freedom and mutual respect — these are the ingredients of multicultural success — which is what we have achieved in Australia.  (Turnbull, 2016) What is it like to live in a world where intimations of incipient terrorism, whether considered or casual, have become the new channel for everyday racism and ethnic hysteria?  (Dillabough & Kennelly, 2010, p. 15) The fact that it happens a lot in our community; we get so used to it that it becomes so normal to us. So, we won’t be surprised if there’s a couple of Somali boys hanging in the group and they get harassed by the cops. It feels as if it’s normal for us, you know. Like, it’s an everyday thing.  (D-SPEAK participant, 2017)  1.1 One step forward, two steps back  In the ornate Dean City Council1 Chambers in northern Melbourne, a group of 19 and 20-year old Somali-Australians stood facing their City Councillors. They formally addressed their local political representatives, sharing personal experiences of ongoing harassment and discrimination at a nearby shopping mall. The Councillors were moved and responded with compassion and promises of action. A local youth employment taskforce would be initiated, some of the youth  1 The name of the local government under study has been changed to Dean City Council (Dean) to reduce exposure through online searches and alerts. Full anonymity was not required by the participating local government.   2 participants would join the City’s Youth Jury, and a meeting date would be set with the shopping mall management where Councillors would stand with the youth and demand accountability and change. Riding high on the back of what they felt was a surprising and empowering session of political self-advocacy, a group of young women, all wearing the hijab, spilled out into the street. Having become somewhat resigned to the everyday micro-abuses they regularly encounter; they shared their collective surprise at the attentiveness and compassion of their local government representatives. The sense of having been heard and respected by those in positions of power and political leadership was for them, after all, novel. As this group of freshly empowered and optimistic young people began to disband, they were confronted by vicious profanities and insults from a passing car. Their high immediately deflated. One step forward, two steps back.  Last year I attended a seminar in Melbourne, where the results from the first ever Australian Multicultural Youth Survey were discussed. I was struck by one finding in particular: according to the survey, first and second-generation (“multicultural”) young people feel more optimistic about their futures than the general youth population (Johanna Wyn, Rimi Khan, & Babak Dadvand, 2018, p. 30). Considering the challenges faced by migrant young people, including discrimination, mental health issues, and family conflict, their reported confidence in achieving their future goals and their positivity was all the more striking. However, the survey showed that such optimism tends to decline over time, particularly in cases where young people have been in Australia for more than five years.  I reflected on the incident outside Dean City Council Chambers. These politically driven young people, enrolled in a countering violent extremism (CVE) program, had spent three months readying themselves to present issues important to them to their local elected representatives. They had attended facilitated workshops after school, they had learnt how to write letters to Ministers and apply for government grants, they had engaged in critical discussions about (un)belonging and their experiences in the public education system, they had met with council staff to advise on community outreach planning, and they advocated for their parents and community. All this was done on their own time, when not occupied by other responsibilities like caring for their siblings, studying, or working.  While the abuse they sustained outside Council Chambers did not undo their sense of achievement or determination, it was observed and absorbed. The knowledge that the program   3 that had led them to Council Chambers was a national security-funded CVE program, necessitating their definition as “youth at risk of radicalisation,” did not diminish their sense of accomplishment and purpose. But it was observed, and absorbed. It occurred to me that the balance between their resignation and optimism could be labelled resilience. Yet this kind of resilience cannot be limitless, nor should such resilience be expected. The fact that for “multicultural” young people in Australia, optimism declines over time, is deeply troubling. When reactions to this concern around discrimination, un-belonging, and declining optimism include national security responses, what does this mean for multiculturalism, minoritised youth, and multicultural belonging?   1.2 National security divided: between hard and soft measures Just a few months earlier, following the 2017 London Bridge attack, former Australian Prime Minister Tony Abbott used the opportunity to justify Australia’s national security regime, which he had played a critical role in assembling. Feeling vindicated in the aftermath of the horrific event, Abbott used the moment to speak back to his critics who had contested the narrowly focused counter-terrorism policies that targeted Muslim-Australian communities, were expanded under his leadership. In a press conference following the attack, Abbott called for tougher counter-terrorism legislation and increased police powers (Bickers & Jefferson, 2017): We've got to avoid any spirit of surrender, any spirit of defeatism and all too often in officialdom's ranks there is this notion that Islamophobia is almost as big a problem as Islamist terrorism. Well, Islamophobia hasn't killed anyone, Islamist terrorism has now killed tens of thousands of people. That's why it's absolutely critical that there be the strongest possible response at every level. (Abbott cited in Koziol, 2019) The London Bridge attack had come just days after two non-Muslim men had been killed on a Portland, Oregon train while defending hijab-wearing teenagers from an Islamophobic attack. Earlier that year, an attack on a mosque in Quebec left six worshippers dead. A Wikipedia page established in 2011 has become a register for Islamophobic attacks; countless international incidents of Islamophobia that have resulted in deaths have been documented. Abbott’s assertion that Islamophobia is benign does not hold up. Moreover, the notion that Islamophobia is an expendable concern could be read as an admission of Islamophobic policy. Statements like this   4 fly in the face of contemporary “soft” terrorism prevention strategies, including those adopted by the Australian federal government.  Contemporary national security strategies are typically made up of two component parts: one “hard,” the other “soft.” Hard strategies like those advocated by Abbott disrupt and respond to terror plots and incidents. They often rely on surveillance, intelligence, profiling, broad stop-and-search powers, arrests and liberal detainment orders. On the other hand, soft strategies seek to prevent and divert radicalisation to violent extremism by addressing perceived “drivers” of radicalisation. Soft approaches, including programs to counter violent extremism (CVE), invoke social cohesion and belonging, contest threatening radical narratives, and aim to increase employment and civic participation of individuals seen to be “at risk” of radicalisation.  Within the national security apparatus, both elements are identified as essential. In practice, they are often found to conflict. Hard approaches such as aggressive profiling and stop-and-search powers, that have been used to target Muslim youth, have been shown to undermine engagement with Muslim communities in the service of terrorism prevention (Cherney & Hartley, 2017; Choudhury & Fenwick, 2011a; Innes, 2006; Spalek & McDonald, 2010). Abbott’s rhetoric, in combination with his call for increased law enforcement and military powers to counter terrorism, indicate a national security policy paradox as they occur at the known expense of community relations between law enforcement, the state, and stigmatised Muslim communities.  Because of the sensitive nature of engagements between state agencies and communities who have been marginalised and stigmatised by national security threat narratives, soft security CVE programs require trusting relationships (Spalek & Lambert, 2010). These relationships are therefore fragile. Gains made through local state and non-state agency community outreach are vulnerable to multiple scales of political rhetoric and to backlash. This is particularly the case in periods following ISIS-inspired terror events (Briskman et al., 2017). Not infrequently, this leaves community engagement workers and other agencies scrambling to enact “damage control” to defend and protect delicate relationships, community cohesion, and belonging in the face of declarations of un-belonging, of broad-spectrum vilification, and hate speech.  I first encountered this paradox as a research assistant in 2014, while preparing a literature review for Public Safety Canada on the relationship between social inclusion, exclusion and radicalisation to violent extremism. In the process of preparing the review, I was exposed to British, German, Australian and Danish policy makers and researchers. In describing their   5 respective terrorism prevention programs, each of which sought to connect stigmatised and alienated Muslim communities with state agencies, aiming to improve interrelations and encourage partnership efforts to combat terrorism.  It was during this time that three distinct but interrelated policy announcements converged in my home country of Australia. Prime Minister Abbott announced a $600 million increase in funding for hard security measures administered through Australian intelligence and counter-terrorism agencies to “fight the threat of home-grown terrorism” (Bourke, 2014). The announcement of the funding boost was paired with the announcement of the winding back of section 18c of the Racial Discrimination Act. Section 18c makes it unlawful to “offend, insult, humiliate or intimidate another person or group of people…because of the race, colour or national or ethnic origin of the person or some or all of the people in the group” (Commonwealth Consolidated Acts, 1975).2 The third point of note was the introduction of Abbott’s “Team Australia” political rhetoric; his articulation of an emergent reshaping of national multicultural policy. “You don’t migrate to this country,” Abbott declared, “unless you want to join our team” (Cox, 2014). In response, the Islamic Council of Victoria (ICV) boycotted a meeting with the Prime Minister that week.  I knew that soft terrorism prevention approaches had been adopted in Australia as early as 2010. The ICV had even partnered with the federal Attorney-General’s Department to develop CVE programs. Yet the rhetoric, legislative developments, and active demarcation of Muslim Australians as “outsiders,” unwilling to join “Team Australia” was entirely at odds with the prevention agenda. How could soft approaches to national security remain viable under these conditions? For those working in state-sponsored terrorism prevention, would this mixed-messaging not undermine their community outreach? In light of federal leadership’s disregard for Muslim-Australians’ citizenship, rights and belonging, how could community workers and Muslim leaders possibly sustain relationships and CVE program engagements? This question was made more crucial given that the relationships and programs had been premised squarely on recognising and celebrating Australian multiculturalism.   2 Missing from this legislation was reference to religious freedoms and protections.   6 1.3 Multiculturalism is our best defence? Proponents of CVE have typically been countries described as multicultural or super-diverse, like Canada, Australia, Denmark and Britain. Inherent in each of their terrorism prevention models is a particular attentiveness to this demographic and socio-cultural condition. CVE models recognise and applaud cultural and ethnic diversity through the promotion of multiculturalism and social cohesion, yet policies and programs have disproportionately identified immigrant and second-generation immigrant youth as vulnerable, target populations (Abbas, 2007; Nagra, 2011; Ragazzi, 2016, 2017). More specifically, CVE interventions have tended to focus primarily on Muslim communities, contributing to the harmful conflation of Islam with terrorism (Akbarzadeh, 2016; Perry & Poynting, 2006). As a result, CVE strategies, policies, and programs have often been described as inherently contradictory — discursively promoting social cohesion, but undermining cohesion through a pervasive approach of targeting, suspicion, and stigmatisation (Awan, 2012; Choudhury, 2010; Heath-Kelly, 2013; Husband & Alam, 2011; Nickels, Thomas, Hickman, & Silvestri, 2012). This incongruity is another expression of the national security policy paradox.  Abbott exemplified this paradox in another significant moment at a CVE Summit in Sydney in 2015. In the presence of academic, civil society, religious and community leaders, and NGO workers, Abbott reinforced alienating political rhetoric, feeding an anti-Muslim-endorsing atmosphere. The Summit marked six months since a siege occurred at the Lindt Café in downtown Sydney. Not far from the location of the Summit, Man Haron Monis had held hostage a group of café employees and customers, during a 16-hour standoff with police. In the window of the café, Monis had hung a black Islamic flag. The aftermath of this event was notable for spikes in Islamaphobic political speech and harassment of Muslims in public spaces and on public transport across Australia (Akbarzadeh, 2016; Briskman et al., 2017). Though the Summit set out a collaborative agenda focused on community-oriented approaches and promoting social cohesion, then-Prime Minister Abbott opened proceedings by setting an aggressive and alarmist tone. He began by referring to ISIS as a “hydra-headed monster” and warned: Daesh is coming, if it can, for every person and for every government with a simple message: submit or die. The declaration of a caliphate, preposterous though it seems, is a brazen claim to universal dominion. You can’t negotiate   7 with an entity like this; you can only fight it. (Abbott cited in Clarke Jones, 2015) Abbott’s address undercut the CVE theme of the Summit, with his hyperbolic scare-mongering galvanising fear, suspicion, panic and a “hard,” not “soft,” national security response. Abbott’s fear-mongering has been widely criticised (see for example Akbarzadeh, 2016), and there has since been a consistent effort to alter the rhetorical tone within the federal leadership. For example, former Prime Minister Turnbull (2016) described the objective of terrorism, “to make us turn on each other,” to feed distrust, resentment and conflict.  In 2016, he defined the tenets of Australian multiculturalism: …Strong borders, vigilant security agencies governed by the rule of law, and a steadfast commitment to the shared values of freedom and mutual respect — these are the ingredients of multicultural success — which is what we have achieved in Australia. (Turnbull, 2016)  However, with this definition, multiculturalism was again subsumed by the national security agenda. This securitising “turn” is not unique to Australia. Most notably, in Britain this definition of multiculturalism, or its redefinition as social cohesion, has been largely seen as responsive to the threat of so-called “homegrown” terrorism (Eatwell, 2006; Mary J Hickman, Lyn Thomas, Henri C Nickels, & Sara Silvestri, 2012; Husband & Alam, 2011; Pickering, McCulloch, & Wright-Neville, 2008b).  The conceptualisation of multiculturalism has not been fixed, it shifts and changes in different times and in different places. Yet since 2001, it has experienced a broad and sweeping backlash in many places where it has long been embedded in social policy and public culture (Vertovec & Wessendorf, 2010). Early multicultural policy is notable for its recognition of demographic diversity, symbolic and financial investment in and celebration of diversity (heritage and cultural difference), and the promotion of equal opportunity, representation, and treatment (Ley, 2010, p. 190). Over the past twenty years, critics of multiculturalism have contended that as a policy regime, it has divided society by failing to compel immigrants to integrate into “mainstream” society, leading to immigrants living “parallel lives” (see for example Cantle, 2001). This view was explicitly articulated in 2011 by UK Prime Minister David Cameron, who blamed   8 compromised national security on social fragmentation caused by “the doctrine of state multiculturalism” (Cameron, 2011): This hands-off tolerance has only served to reinforce the sense that not enough is shared.  And this all leaves some young Muslims feeling rootless.  And the search for something to belong to and something to believe in can lead them to this extremist ideology.  Now for sure, they don’t turn into terrorists overnight, but what we see – and what we see in so many European countries – is a process of radicalisation. (Cameron, 2011) In this way, Cameron unambiguously tied the perceived failure of “old” (or state) multiculturalism to the perception of the threat of homegrown terrorism.  There has been a simultaneous hollowing out and doubling-down on multiculturalism in the Australian setting, though with a slight variation. That is, the term multiculturalism has been strategically retained, but federal policy positioning around multiculturalism has shifted, motivated by a national security agenda. Nowhere is this incongruity so patently visible as in the location of the Multicultural Affairs portfolio inside the Australian Government Department of Home Affairs (Figure 1.1). Just as the definition of multiculturalism by “vigilant security agencies” is troubling, so is the implication of a national security governance structure that contains within it the Immigration, Citizenship and Multiculturalism Policy portfolio.    9  Figure 1.1: Australian Government Department of Home Affairs internet homepage. Source: http://www.homeafairs.gov.au accessed 20 May 2019. Published with permission. 1.4 National security arrives at the local scale Jihadist terrorism is not a future possibility, it is a present reality…Violent Jihadism is not just a danger somewhere else. It seeks to harm us here in Canada, in our cities, and in our neighbourhoods through horrific acts. (Harper cited in Leblanc and Hannay, 2015, my emphasis).  Multiculturalism policy is often articulated at the federal level, but largely plays out in locally nuanced multicultural strategies, local programs and service provision. Threats to national security and counter-terrorism responses are more directly and conceptually tied to the nation. Terrorist events are, however, planned and executed by individuals or groups in specific locations: in cities, in neighbourhoods. Counter-terrorism responses have thus been re-scaled to “the local.” Coaffee and Wood (2006) have described this as a “local turn” in national security:  There appears to be an ongoing rescaling and reterritorialisation of security as both a concept and a practice, with security more focused on the civic,   10 urban, domestic and personal realms: in essence, security is coming home. (Coaffee & Wood, 2006, p. 504) While there is substantial research describing radicalisation taking place online, facilitated by social media channels, online magazines, and YouTube algorithms, there remains a strong belief in the influential role of local communities (Conway, 2017; Rogan, 2006). The role of local communities can be seen from at least two vantage points. On the one hand, in some cases radicalisation to violent extremism can be facilitated by a small number of likeminded individuals at the community level (Neumann, 2011; Sageman, 2004). On the other, the community level is seen as protective and crucial to detection and mitigation of national security threats (Thomas, Grossman, Miah, & Christmann, 2017; Williams, Horgan, & Evans, 2016). As such, terrorism prevention strategies have increasingly prioritised the local scale. Under these combined conditions, individuals working in multicultural service provision are increasingly being tasked with the responsibility of implementing national security policy (Cherney et al., 2017; Husband & Alam, 2011). This poses a particular set of challenges, as multicultural “groundworkers” (Ahmed, 2012) or “street-level bureaucrats” (Lipsky, 1980) must navigate dual policy objectives: multiculturalism (or social cohesion) and national security.  The fusion of the fields of local multicultural service provision with national security strategy places these multicultural “groundworkers” at the centre of the national security policy paradox. This new positionality is irreconcilable for many, particularly in the targeted way Muslim-Australians have been framed in this evolved policy framework. One local state multicultural officer shared with me an email they received from the Australian Government Attorney-General’s Department in 2016. Islamic centres and community organisations around Australia had also received the email wishing recipients “Ramadan Mubarak” (Figure 1.2). The email was signed by the leaders of the Countering Violent Extremism Centre, and the message included a patronising reminder to recipients, from its non-Muslim authors, of the message of Ramadan, “of friendship, generosity and sacrifice [that] reminds us all of the need to be kind, to respect each other and to help our fellow Australians.” Recipients were stunned, some taking to Twitter to express outrage over the singular way in which Muslims were seen by the Australian Government: as a potential terror threat.    11  Figure 1.2: Email from the AG Department, 6th June 2016. Source: shared by IFO, City of Dean. Published with permission. One incensed recipient tweeted: This is absolutely nuts. Can you believe your eyes whilst reading this? This message could not be left just coming from the Attorney General's Department without referencing where it is really coming from, direct from the Countering Violent Extremism (CVE) Centre. It's not even subtle, it's deliberate. Muslims cannot be wished a happy Ramadan by the Government without referencing violence and terrorism. Absolutely no respect whatsoever. (Thomsen, 2016) The Attorney-General’s Department correspondence succinctly captures the way the national security agenda sidles up to, and draws on, multicultural rhetoric; undercutting notions of respect and inclusion with an alienating lens of “pre-emptive criminalisation” and suspicion (Heath-Kelly, 2012, p. 70). Here again we see the national security, or CVE, paradox.  1.5 Research design and questions This thesis engages with the critiques of scholars who have observed that terrorism prevention strategies reframe multiculturalism and social cohesion as components of the national security apparatus to detrimental effect. At its core, this thesis is motivated by the pressing question: what is at stake when social policy is predicated on fear?   12 As such, the objective of the thesis is to describe the specific entanglement of national security and multiculturalism in Australia and the nature and potential impacts of this policy paradox for local state actors—multicultural “groundworkers”—responsible for multicultural service provision (Ahmed, 2012). To glean insights into, and an understanding of, everyday expressions of national security and securitised multiculturalism at the local scale, this research explores the journey of national security policy to its arrival, reception and implementation at that scale. For a variety of reasons, it is difficult to directly evaluate the impact of these strategies (Horgan 2014; Lindekilde 2012a). Rather than evaluating policies and their effects, I have looked to the experience of multicultural groundworkers to understand how they have responded to the hollowing out of multiculturalism and its reframing as a component part of Australian national security strategy. This examination has led me to ask: how are institutions and state agents responding to the securitisation of multiculturalism as national security policy travels from federal to the local scale? Optimistically, I also ask: at which points in this journey, from policy definition at the federal level to local implementation, might we locate subversive potential and resistance to the alienating effects of the national security paradox?  This research began as a comparative project between Australia and Canada. However, during the early phase of research it quickly became apparent that to undertake research in such a sensitive area in two countries—with similar but yet quite different contexts—would require an inordinate time commitment. After the first period of fieldwork in Australia, it was clear that I would need to narrow my focus to one site. This research has developed over a long period of time, helped along by my longstanding connection to the research site. Travelling between my new home in Vancouver and my old home in Melbourne, I began spending extended periods of time at and with staff from the local government of my childhood, Dean City Council (Dean).  Through a series of professional connections, I had become aware of Dean’s interest in developing a CVE program. Gaining the trust of local government staff through shared connections and my status as a PhD candidate at an international university, I was permitted a privileged vantage point from which I observed and participated in their efforts to obtain funds to engage in CVE. With funds secured, I went on to observe as Dean staff co-designed and implemented a CVE program with a group of local Somali-Australian youth. The combination of my longstanding ties as a previous resident of Dean and extended time I had spent in the year prior to program funding meant that I was able to participate and observe the evolution of the   13 CVE program in close proximity. The program was established in mid-2017 and ran its initial funding course over less than a year. By this time, I had already spent a full year in close contact with Dean staff during the development and planning phase. Just as ethnographic research takes time, so does community engagement. A state government bureaucrat I interviewed reflected on the exaggeration of this slow pace in the case of sensitive CVE engagements, “you can only move at the speed of trust.” My immersion in the spaces of local government in particular, ultimately allowed me to develop a deeper understanding of the context, nuance, agency and constraints facing both groundworkers and the institution of local government.   The local experience of soft national security implementation is shaped and influenced by the national security policy journey. I have followed national security policy from the federal through the state level, before its arrival at the local scale. In doing so, I have been able to examine the multi-scalar reverberations that are experienced at the local scale. At each point in the journey of national security to the local scale, unique conditions have informed the way the policy is interpreted, reformulated and implemented.  Discrepancies arise along the way and I have conceived of these as “gaps,” after Czaika and de Haas (2013). Specifically, it is in discursive and implementation gaps that policy negotiation, application and transformation are rendered visible at the scale of the everyday. The voices and actions of groundworkers and institutions tasked with the everyday implementation of national security provide the opportunity to consider these gaps as limitations, contradictions and challenges, but also as openings, opportunities for subversion and resistance. This conceptual framework and methodological design are explored in more depth in Chapter 3.  The questions that shape my research are as follows: 1. How is national security policy articulated and interpreted across scales? 2. How do state actors and institutions negotiate the two potentially conflicting objectives of national security and multiculturalism on their journey from national policy to local implementation? 3. How do local government workers negotiate these two policy priorities—multiculturalism and national security—in everyday practice?   14 In seeking to illuminate the ways in which the national security paradox is both constructed, deployed and negotiated at the level of translation and implementation, I draw from critical terrorism studies, multiculturalism and urban diversity literatures, and critical policy studies.  1.6 Structure of the thesis The dissertation is presented in three parts, with each part framing the next. I begin with a macro-level focus from the point of ideation – theory, policy, political speech – then zoom into the local scale to consider local government. Local government can be seen as an actor in a national drama where the terms of belonging, multiculturalism, and national security are confronted. This drama plays out as policies travel from federal to state to local scale, in policy reception, response, and local implementation (Peck & Theodore, 2012). It is only at this local scale that we can come to terms with what these macro-level ideas mean in practice.  In the two chapters that follow, I set out the literature that has informed this research and to which I aim to contribute. Chapter 2 presents the terrorism prevention literature and its relationship to multiculturalism. Chapter 3 outlines how I conducted my research, my research objectives, and the limits of my interpretations. In Chapters 4 to 6, I present my research findings according to a scalar logic, from national to state, and finally and most substantially, to the local state scale.  More specifically, Chapter 4 sets the scene for the dissertation by outlining the context that informs state and local government policy and implementation. Before unpacking the ways in which institutions and actors are responding to national security trickling down from the federal to state and local government scales, it is important to understand how the policies and strategies themselves interact; how they are positioned in relation to each other as reinforcing and/or reactive. To understand the context in which institutions and policy actors are operating, the policies themselves are illuminated in light of the surrounding rhetoric and policy context. This chapter ultimately argues that multicultural policy has been enlisted by national security strategy at the federal level. Chapter 5 focuses on the state scale and considers the Victorian state government’s approach to terrorism prevention. The state-scale is important as a filter between the federal and local scales. Understanding how the state scale intervenes between the federal and local, is essential for appreciating the way in which the local scale becomes entangled in national security issues. I   15 argue that the Victorian government’s approach can be read as a direct response to the federal government’s national security agenda—specifically, its discursive and implementation gaps. In particular, a close look at the state government’s reception and adaptation of soft national security policy reveals points of distinction and deviation in the state government’s definition of collective belonging. Discrepancies between federal and state government conceptions of national security, collective identity, and multiculturalism thus become opportunities to carve out alternative narratives for belonging and state-community partnerships. In this chapter, I identify openings or possibilities that are generated by this inter-scalar tension.  Chapter 6 focuses on the potential role of the local state as a site and actor capable of advancing a multicultural “politics of difference,” pushing back against the exclusionary effects of Australia’s national security strategy and rhetoric. This chapter is split into two parts, yet both draw on ethnographic data collected incrementally over the course of two years at a single local government site: Dean City Council (Dean). In Part One, I explore the rise of municipal activism and the possibilities of local states challenging dominant national narratives and policies through local resistance, policy adaptation, and entrepreneurial social service provision.  In the second part of Chapter 6, Dean’s decision to pilot a CVE program is documented, exploring the ways local government workers negotiated the national security policy paradox as it became part of their daily work. The subsequent CVE program took on a life of its own, and the program outputs and outcomes provide insights into the challenges of “doing” CVE at the local scale. This in-depth case study offers insights into emergent opportunities, through the combination of the initiative of staff and participants, as they navigated the grey area of soft national security. These insights indicate a need for more broad-spectrum and open-ended welfare programming for communities marginalised by national security policy, exclusivist visions of national citizenship, everyday racism, and xenophobia.  Chapter 7 concludes the thesis and brings these scalar analyses together to consider the study’s implications for national security policy, CVE, and the subversive potential of the local state. In this final chapter, I present a summary of the thesis to directly address the research questions and the implications of the analyses. Missing in this thesis are the voices of those who are directly impacted by national security policy in Australia. Arguably all Australians are impacted by the securitisation of social policy, of multiculturalism as it envisages an exclusivist society with reduced scope for expressions of   16 difference simultaneously with solidarity amongst difference. More specifically, national security policy and its rhetoric have made the lives of Muslim-Australians particularly challenging. My research methods have engaged directly and primarily with people like me: often white, middle-class, educated and socially mobile individuals; policy makers and government workers. I have elected not to research up, or research down, but instead to research across. I cannot and do not intend to speak for, or over, those who are most directly impacted by the national security agenda.   1.7 Conclusions In the final weeks of writing this thesis, there was an horrific terror event in Christchurch, New Zealand. On the 15th of March, 2019, Australian-born Brenton Tarrant killed 51 people, and injured another 50 individuals during prayers in the Al Noor Mosque and Linwood Islamic Centre. In the aftermath, in Australia, there was a brief reckoning. Many asked, how was this individual missed by intelligence agents? As discussion circulated over the challenges associated with profiling right-wing extremist radicalisation, the myopic lens of Australian counter-terrorism and terrorism prevention was exposed. In the cacophony of “hate speech” found online, its incorporation of “legitimate” political discourse can require little manipulation. Spotting the “signs” of radicalisation is thus difficult when online radicalisation includes the celebration of populist pronouncements by notable figures like Australian Senators Fraser Anning and Pauline Hanson. Statements like these are considered at worst “hate speech,” but are not necessarily unusual enough to send up red flags. We are told that identifying those who pose an imminent right-wing extremist and violent threat can therefore be difficult (Wilson, 2019).  Some, have called right wing extremism a “blind spot” in Australia’s national security regime (Campion, 2019; Tarabay & Graham-McLay, 2019). This “blind spot” also underscores how multiculturalism has been enlisted in national security approaches in which migrants are responsible for cultivating social cohesion—"multicultural success.” Missing, and vital, is a definition of multiculturalism that recognises the messiness and inevitable tensions of multi-cultural society (Pardy, 2005), while also prescribing respect and dignity. Yes, terrorism is a reality in contemporary cities. The ways in which we choose to respond to this reality will define what a multicultural society means. Looking at a layered case study, anchored at the local scale in Melbourne, this thesis explores the challenges community workers grappled with as they   17 negotiated community concerns over the reality of terrorism, radicalisation, and the anti-Muslim implications of a narrowly-focused national security regime.      18 Chapter 2: What We Know So Far: A Review of Existing Literature 2.1 Introduction In this chapter I have two primary objectives. I seek to highlight the paradox of soft counter-terrorism (CT) policy and to relocate the critical study of CT and its preventative turn from the realm of security studies to geography, where security is located in a larger context of transnational, national, local and inter-scalar relations. I aim to bring attention to the ways everyday lives of individuals and communities are impacted at the local scale by national security policy on a daily basis. The literature assembled in this chapter seeks to contextualise and orient the research questions: 1. How is national security policy articulated and interpreted across scales? 2. How do state actors and institutions negotiate the two potentially conflicting objectives of national security and multiculturalism on their journey from national policy to local implementation? 3. How do local government workers negotiate these two policy priorities—multiculturalism and national security—in everyday practice? The literature review is primarily engaged with terrorism prevention scholarship and addresses the introduction of the soft national security paradigm from which countering violent extremism (CVE) emerged. Next, this chapter considers multiculturalism, social cohesion and resilience as key concepts that are employed and deployed in the service of CVE. In the final part of the literature review, I briefly consider the theoretical underpinnings of the methodological approach – the distinction between policy intention and effects. While this thesis does not seek to explore policy effects, per se, it is interested in the enlisting of multiculturalism (in its multiple incarnations), in addition to the gaps between policy intention and its presentation, reception, interpretation and implementation by those who are tasked with implementing it.  Much of the literature this thesis draws on has come out of the field of critical security studies. Scholarly progress has been slow, and in part this has been due to the problem of and preoccupation with defining terrorism (Horgan & Boyle, 2008; Lindekilde, 2012c; Stampnitzky, 2013). Such challenges are revealing, with contention over a term like “terrorism” exposing the relational and contextually contingent nature of the term. It is activated in varying ways:   19 authoritatively by the state because of the legislative power it holds; to launch a war; and with sensationalist weight it is enlisted by the media (Kaya, 2011; Stampnitzky, 2013).  In this chapter, I recognise, yet avoid the distraction of such definitional struggles in order to focus on the ways in which the concepts of terrorism, counter-terrorism and the homegrown threat have been deployed to animate CVE interventions. I do not, however, endorse the use of this term unquestioningly but rather recognise its discursive necessity for this discussion. I use the terms terrorism and terrorism prevention often interchangeably with violent extremism and countering violent extremism respectively, in response to the often interchangeable legislative and rhetorical uses of this terminology.  In order to understand the premise of this thesis, of a policy paradox of terrorism prevention and soft security interventions, this chapter proceeds in four parts. The first outlines contemporary terrorism prevention as community outreach and countering violent extremism (CVE), borne of the dominant themes for understanding the process of radicalisation to violent extremism. In this part, I trace the circumstances that led to a change in security strategy–from “hard” to “soft”–and contemporary concerns over what has been termed homegrown or domestic terrorism, together with a growing perception that disenfranchised youth present a new kind of threat to national security. In order to fully appreciate the shift to prevention and its associated policy frameworks of social cohesion and resilience, I have outlined the existing literature (or lack thereof) that has sought to understand the radicalisation process under themes of social exclusion, identity, deprivation, and recognition.  In the section that then follows, I move from this foundational discourse and hypotheses of radicalisation to consider the way social cohesion and resilience policy frames emerge in the context of multicultural states. These lenses prescribe programmatic responses to prevent “homegrown” terrorism through community partnerships, with or supported by the state, and seek to avoid the negative impacts often associated with more traditional hard forms of counterterrorism.  In the third part of the chapter, I outline the major challenges to soft security policies and interventions. These challenges and critiques emerge often from a practice-based perspective seeking to uncover “best practice.” Here I consider factors including the complexities of state-community partnerships to prevent terrorism, challenges associated with community complexity and diversity, the limits of state-based engagements in relation to “extremism,” troubling sites of   20 CVE, and the problem over CVE evaluation. Importantly, these are the challenges and critiques often encountered by those tasked with policy implementation. Thus, they provide important insights into how “ground workers” interact with soft security policy as it plays out at the local scale.  In the final part of the chapter, I return to the central concern of the thesis: the prevention paradox. Here I highlight the literature that explores the securitisation of social policy and the making of “suspect communities.” Unintended and negative effects are also addressed in this section, as a synthesis of terrorism prevention policy and soft security implementation. In particular, this part addresses directly the soft national security and CVE paradox, whereby interventions produce “suspect communities” and cause the very experiences of profiling, exclusion, disenfranchisement and alienation they propose to counteract. Finally, I present a summary of conclusions that set out the challenge for multicultural groundworkers navigating the policy paradox. Given the pace at which prevention policies and programs are being rolled out, there is another concern to consider – what are the implications of this prevention paradigm on the everyday lives of young people deemed “at risk” of violent radicalisation? Herein lies a space in which geographers have much to contribute, and as such, the agenda of this thesis is situated in the final part of this chapter.   2.2  Defining terrorism and violent extremism Debates over the definition of terrorism continue to preoccupy critical terrorism scholars and political scientists. In 1988, Schmid and Jongman surveyed academics and counted 109 definitions of terrorism (cited in Ganor, 2002). These definitional debates have been playing since as early as the 1970s and will likely continue to do so. The push to come to some agreed upon definition of terrorism relates in part to the effective operationalisation of laws and international conventions to combat terrorism (Ganor, 2002). But also, this push comprises efforts to prevent terror organisations or terrorists from gaining public legitimacy and support. However, the challenge to define terrorism in some normative or singular way is particularly challenging in light of the heavily value-laden nature of the term itself and its deployment as a political tool (Stampnitzky, 2013). Contention exists over the definition of what constitutes “terrorism” particularly when considering the severity of state responses, applied legislation, and political designation of   21 significance (Huff & Kertzer, 2018; McGhee, 2008; Pain, 2014). Perpetrators of violence, including high school shooters, white supremacists, extremist “right to life” activists, and intimate abusers typically fall under categories of hate crimes, domestic violence, or simply criminal activities. It is in the aftermath of instances like these, where public debates over what constitutes terrorism are most pronounced and where definitions are “qualified” and politically defined in public discourse (Huff & Kertzer, 2018). In recent years, it has been through policy discourse, framing, and implementation that definitions of terrorism and radicalisation have been expressed through disproportionate application to Muslim populations (Brown & Saeed, 2015; Choudhury & Fenwick, 2011a; Husband & Alam, 2011; Sullaway, 2016). In policy, the Australian government defines terrorism as “an act, or a threat to act, that…intends to coerce or influence the public or any government by intimidation to advance a political, religious or ideological cause” (Austrlaian Government, 2019). Violent extremism has been the terminology used to refer to the outcome of a process through which an individual comes to produce an act of terror. Terrorism and violent extremism are often used relatedly and interchangeably. The Australian government has defined violent extremism as (Australian Government cited in Barker, 2015): All forms of violent extremism seek change through fear and intimidation rather than through peaceful means. If a person or group decides that fear, terror and violence are justified to achieve ideological, political or social change, and then acts accordingly, this is violent extremism. Theoretically, definitions of terrorism and violent extremism such as these encompass a multitude of violent acts that could be classified as terrorism (Gunning & Jackson, 2011; Richards, 2011; Schmid, 2013a; Stampnitzky, 2013). Harris-Horgan and Barelle (2016) posit that terms like terrorism are poorly defined and carry connotative baggage. The language of counter-terrorism has expanded, in part to create distance between the “connotative baggage” and revised approaches: from counter-terrorism, to countering violent extremism (CVE) to countering radicalisation. Of course, each of these iterative terms in time becomes equally loaded with their own stigma and become objects of debate (Awan, 2012; Harris-Hogan & Barrelle, 2016; McGhee, 2008; Spalek, 2011).   22 2.3 The “homegrown” threat and the prevention paradigm Since the events of 9/11, counter-terrorism has been a top priority for governments around the world. With the emergence of homegrown or domestic terrorism, many governments have begun to consider community engagement as fundamental to counter-terrorism and security policy and strategy. In the UK, Australia, Canada, the US, and more generally in the EU, preventative frameworks involving soft and localised approaches have been adopted, intent on building resilience against the threat of terrorism. Engaging communities in counter-terrorism is not novel; soft security measures were first employed in Northern Ireland, in the latter stages of The Troubles (Spalek & Imtoual, 2007). However, immediately following the events of 9/11, local community-based approaches were seen to be ineffective, in the face of a globalised international threat (Briggs, 2010, p. 971). In the years that followed, precipitated by a series of homegrown terror plots in various Western countries, preventative soft security approaches have been adopted once more.    From “hard” to “soft” security strategies Soft approaches to counter-terrorism use community-based models in efforts to tackle the underlying causes of violent radicalisation and terrorism. Softer approaches are generally focused on economic, social, and political reform, development, and equality. Critical of the pre-emptive nature of soft security, Alexander Dunlap (2016, pp. 382-383) describes the post-9/11 reification of soft approaches to counter-terrorism as a “liberal form of warfare” and as “soft counter-insurgency” carried out through “armed social work” (see also Kilcullen 2006). A more positive interpretation has contrastingly recognised soft approaches as enabling citizen influence over the nature of community and security practitioner relations (Myhill, 2006). The shift from hard top-down counterterrorism policing to soft approaches speaks to a shift in how governments understand domestic and homegrown terrorism. Softer approaches emphasise local concerns, social exclusion, and disenfranchisement based on the assumption that it is through these experiences that risk or possibility of violent radicalisation is produced (Pickering, McCulloch, & Wright-Neville, 2008a; Spalek, 2012).    Following the events of 9/11, “hard power” security responses were favoured. Multicultural states prioritised identification and surveillance of high-risk groups, prosecution of individuals, racial profiling and expanded stop-and-search police powers, and the targeted pursuit of known threats (Pickering et al., 2008a). Critiques of hard policing have been focused on the ways in   23 which securitised landscapes emerge, where public consent is not sought and individuals are cast as informants rather than partners (Innes, 2006). The challenge for super-diverse immigrant societies, like Canada and Australia, is that under this model that treats individuals with suspicion and distrust, there is an inherent risk of endorsing intolerance, racial profiling, and amplifying differences to the point of alienation and conflict.  Since 9/11, due to a variety of factors, scholars reported that the social organisation of terrorism had become more diffuse (Gunaratna & Oreg, 2010; Innes, 2006; Calvert Jones, 2006). Innes (2006) posits that this diffusion was driven by al Qaida’s imperative to capitalise on the increasing tensions in multicultural states, where Muslims often experience acute social exclusion (p. 226). With the realisation that hard strategies were increasing experiences of alienation and disenfranchisement (Choudhury & Fenwick, 2011a; Stasiulis & Ross, 2006) and producing a more generalised “atmosphere of fear and a culture of surveillance” (Coaffee & Rogers, 2008, p. 102), both scholars and states came to see a new approach as both urgent and necessary (Innes, 2006). Though the shift toward ensuring greater balance between hard and soft security strategies has been attributed to the specific threat of al Qaida and its affiliates, this preventative model has been applied to all groups considered to be national security threats (Hanniman, 2008).  2.4 Tenuous links between social exclusion & violent radicalisation  Are young people who experience an array of political, social, cultural, and/or economic disadvantages more likely to become radicalised than young people with greater cultural, social, and/or human capital, and who have an expectation of upward socio-economic mobility? The hypothesis that this is the case—i.e., that those experiencing marginalisation and disadvantage are more vulnerable to extremist radicalisation—has provided a rationale for counter-radicalisation policies emerging in several countries (Lindekilde, 2012a; Spalek, 2007). However, for the most part, scholars have dismissed the premise of clear correlations between social exclusion and a susceptibility to extremist radicalisation (e.g. Piazza, 2006).  Most broadly, causal connections have been dismissed on the basis of there being no single predictive narrative of radicalisation to violence (Dawson, 2009). For example, correlations between low socio-economic status, low levels of education, and a lack of social integration have been widely rejected as providing the grounds for disenfranchisement and alienation that leads to radicalisation to violence (d'Appolonia, 2010). Of course, a predictive formula of risk calculation   24 or distinctive set of phases would be useful, and scholars such as Horgan (2005, 2008), Moghaddam (2005), Silber and Bhatt (2007), and Glees and Pope (2005) have tried to map these out, for the benefit of policing agencies. However, Ariane Chebel d’Appollonia (2010) reports that in many instances of homegrown terrorism since 9-11, investigations have uncovered profiles that do not fit with this trajectory. Instead, she reports that culprits have been well integrated, middle-class, without criminal records, and educated (2010, p. 128).  How have connections been drawn between social exclusion and violent radicalisation? In late 2011 riots broke out in several London neighbourhoods. The Globe and Mail reported “London police overwhelmed in explosion of violence by futureless youth” (Saunders, 2011). What was described in The Globe and Mail and elsewhere was an outbreak of violence, evocative of riots elsewhere (i.e., the suburbs of French cities), that revealed deep-seated dissatisfaction, disaffection, and disenfranchisement among marginalised young people (Body-Gendrot, 2012). This narrative of disaffected youth resorting to violence has gained currency and is frequently the starting point for research dealing with youth experiences of social exclusion.  In the case of counter-terrorism policies, social exclusion is frequently considered as paving a pathway toward violent extremism. Soft security approaches are designed to be preventative. They address conditions that are seen to produce “vulnerable” young people. In other words, they tackle the precursors of youth radicalisation to violence, and are expressed in policy through a discourse about the vulnerability of minoritised youth.  This discourse is most evident in efforts to explain homegrown terrorism. In the case of al Qaida inspired homegrown terrorism, Githens-Mazer and Lambert (2010, p. 889) suggest that a conventional wisdom has developed over time, in particular through media coverage and the political response to homegrown terror events. “To a significant extent, this shift in focus away from international to “homegrown” terrorism reflected the need of politicians and the media for easy-to-understand narratives that explained how a “good Muslim boy” (or “a good Asian boy”) became a suicide bomber” (Githens-Mazer & Lambert, 2010, pp. 889-890). Githens-Mazer and Lambert argue that this conventional wisdom is not based on evidence but has become a familiar narrative that is thus generally accepted (2010, p. 889). D’Appolonia (2010, pp. 127-128) similarly observes how accepted and unsubstantiated social exclusion rationales, such as those that highlight socio-economic deprivation as a precursor to   25 radicalisation to violence, serve to explain how a young person could come to feel hostility toward his or her host society. According to d’Appolonia, it is at this point that a young person could begin to see violence as the best expression for their frustration and disenfranchisement.  The concept of vulnerability is central to counter-radicalisation and counter-terrorism focused on prevention. A spectrum of vulnerability is imagined, along which youth identity struggles are key in explaining how a young person could come to turn on their host society. Vulnerability is incorporated in policies through an acknowledgement of youth identity struggles, with youth from minority populations seen as particularly at risk (see Lindekilde, 2012c; L. Z. McDonald, 2011; M. McDonald, 2005).  However, some scholars believe this line of research to be peripheral. For instance, although acknowledging that root causes are important, Richards (2011, 2015) argues that talking about potential terrorists in terms of vulnerability is distracting. Richards worries that viewing terrorism and radicalisation in terms of vulnerability deflects attention from seeing terrorist acts as “rational and calculated acts of violence” (2011, p. 151).  Despite these assertions, some factors linked to experiences of social exclusion have been signalled in the literature as worthy of attention and continue to influence counter-terrorism policies. Scholars are generally quick to qualify their studies with the insistence that while they might propose a correlation, there is no “single fit” model of radicalisation, no single factor that can necessarily be identified as an exclusive indicator of extremist radicalisation.  Social exclusion by a lack of acceptance and belonging There are two contradictory discourses applied to young people in western societies. Young people are simultaneously characterised as vulnerable, in need of protection, and as risky, requiring control (Valentine 1996). It is in this way that young people hold a particularly vital position in our contemporary social imaginations. As Pain et al., (2010, p. 972) put it, young people are becoming the “focus of fears, rather than the hopes, of western societies.”  Imagining young people as a threat is not a new phenomenon. Stanley Cohen’s famous book, Folk Devils and Moral Panics (Cohen, 1972) first introduced the concept of youth as “folk devils.” During the mid-1960s, British Mods and Rockers were cast as a violent threat, living alternative lifestyles perceived to undermine the dominant Western Christian faith. Media coverage at the time incited moral panic in response to a perception of an acute threat to public   26 order (Valentine 2001). In recent discourse of homegrown terrorism, these anxieties are resurfacing as the media, policy makers, and the public grapple with exceptional cases, in which young people have become perpetrators of terrorism. Identity struggles and reactive formations Young people today are in a difficult position, negotiating complex identity struggles, in order to define themselves in the context of globalisation, diasporic attachments, intergenerational differences, and in many places, religious affiliations within secular society (Nayak, 2003; Valentine, 2000). According to Dillabough and Kennelly (2010), today’s folk devils are drawn in the image of “deeply disaffected low-income young people, characteristically, but not always, from ethnic or religious minorities” (p. 1; see also Poynting & Briskman, 2018).  The coalescence of this suspicion, projected incrimination, and the youthful experience of identity definition produces a challenging context for young people to navigate. This struggle is perceived by many as a period in which young people are looking for purpose and meaning in their lives, looking for a place in which they can feel confident, and part of a community. The NYPD describe “a crossroad in life–those who are trying to establish an identity or a direction while seeking approval and validation for the path taken” (Silber and Bhatt 2007, 32). Like the moment Dawson (2012) describes, at some point in time many young people are open to possibility, in the search for a sense of significance and their “true self” (p. 8).  In various multicultural societies, scholars have focused on youth negotiating hyphenated identities. Rima Berns-McGown’s (2013) research with second-generation migrant youth elucidates this unique identity struggle. Berns-McGown, reflecting on Canadian understanding of integration, suggests that there is discord between integration expectations and the specific difficulties faced by Somali youth settled in Canada. Asked to comment on the experience of being diasporic in Canada (i.e. having identity attachments to two different places), young Somali Canadians and hundreds of other second-generation youth engaged by Berns-McGowan “consistently emphasise two facts: they feel Canadian but struggle to balance other connections and cultures as well; ‘back home’ is a strong influence in their lives, and they are under very real pressure from their parents not to ‘lose their culture.’ ” According to Berns-McGowan, this experience is not unique to any one group of diasporic Canadian youth, but is “as true of young people from Poland as it is of young people from Pakistan or from Somalia” (Berns-McGown, 2013, p. 21). In terms of policy implications Berns-McGowan’s message is clear (p. 21):    27 Integration takes time, and people who are balancing those connections and who run into barriers to their participation in the form of racism will react to it not by feeling less Canadian, but by feeling that they are being told they do not fully belong in this country.  By producing a dichotomous and irreconcilable set of identities or loyalties (e.g. Muslim and secular Canadian)–through experiences of racism, rejection, alienation, and social exclusion–a false and limited choice is communicated.  In places where lines like “go back to where you came from” can be heard shouted from passing cars, painted on walls and expressed in political rhetoric and where nationalism is expressed through fixations on what constitutes national heritage, youth identity struggles are also loaded with cumulative affective weight (Hage, 1998; Nayak, 2017). In Nayak’s (2017) study of Bangladeshi Muslim women living in white majority London neighbourhoods, research participants described their everyday negotiation of spaces where they were ever-wary of racist harassment. They also described their persistent and continued use of such spaces, marked by ambivalence for they were often spaces where “pleasure and danger collide” (p. 297). It is in these spaces, Nayak argues, that the “borders of citizenship and belonging” are encountered and embodied (p. 293). Nayak highlights the ways in which past experiences or “past encounters bleed into future” produce feelings of “fear, risk, suspicion and discomfort” (2017, p. 196). Nayak, along with Ahmed (2013) and Tolia-Kelly (2006) emphasise the affective dimensions of belonging, central to racialised youth struggling find their place and a sense of belonging in multicultural settler nations.  Reactive identity formation is a term coined by Baljit Nagra (2011) which seeks to make sense of the effects of social exclusion on minoritised youth. Nagra set out to interview young Canadian Muslims post-9/11, with the hypothesis that after 9/11 many may have distanced themselves from their religious affiliations. Instead he found the opposite. Drawing on Portes and Rumbaut’s (2001) theory of reactive ethnicity, Nagra defines reactive identity formation as a response to prejudice, persecution, suspicion, and racism. Rather than concealing those qualities that make an individual subject to alienation and exclusion, those qualities are instead amplified, and an increased identification is observed (p. 426).  Nagra’s work gives some credence to Abbas’ (2007) concerns over radicalisation trajectories; however Nagra is careful not to speak specifically to potential radicalisation, instead simply   28 explaining the impact of such discourses on Muslim youth. Nagra instead focuses on the reasons behind the reactive identity formations of his research participants who affirmed their Muslim identities in different ways. First, in order to cope with the discrimination they faced; second, as a display of resistance and religious reclamation; and third, thanks to increased religious exposure and understanding, a stronger religious bond had formed (Nagra, 2011, p. 438). Returning specifically to discourses of violent radicalisation, Berns-McGowan’s message is reiterated by other scholars, particularly in relation to Muslim youth growing up in the West. Diane Frost (2008) argues that it is young supporters and followers of Islam that are most incriminated and alienated by post-9/11 secular society. Further, Sobolewska (2010) argues that experiences of rejection, alienation, and the effects of discrimination, are better predictors than socio-economic status or social mobility, in defining youth at risk of violent radicalisation. Tahir Abbas (2007), similarly, explains that Islamophobia, racism, racial profiling, and the failure of the state to address foreign policy in relation to homegrown threats preclude the possibility of feeling a sense of acceptance, belonging, and political agency.  According to Abbas, al Qaida is attentive to this experience, and initiates the process of radicalisation to violence by appealing to this sense of social exclusion and disenfranchisement among young Muslims to aide their recruitment process. Vulnerability is most pronounced at the moment in which “already marginalized and predisposed” young Muslims seek alternative information, in isolation from their local communities (p. 297). In this narrative, minoritised youth are seen to feel a dual sense of dislocation–from their host country and from their local community - and it is posited that they could go in search of answers and acceptance in places in which they may be at an increased risk of being radicalised to violence.  This narrative is troubling because it can quickly translate to panic, with the assumption that disengagement from the host society or the mainstream necessarily means that radicalisation is inevitable or likely. Bartlett and Miller (2012) highlight the critical distinction that youth resistance is not necessarily violent. Bartlett and Miller insist on the possibility of being safely radical (i.e. non-violent)—after all, youth resistance and radical thinking has been the source of countless positive changes throughout modern history. Furthermore, they are sure to remind us that while minoritised youth face specific challenges in places like Canada or Australia, they also face youthful clichéd desires in terms of radicalisation not dissimilar to those identified in gang recruitment: emotional pull, adventure and being “cool”, status, and peer pressure (see also   29 Chettleburgh, 2012). In terms of producing a predictive formula of radicalisation toward violence, these elements are crucial in emphasising the irregularity of trajectories, and the highly personalised nature of identity formation (Bartlett & Miller, 2012, p. 13).   Relative deprivation Although socio-economic deprivation has been largely dismissed as a predictor or determinant of extremist radicalisation (d'Appolonia, 2010; Klausen, 2009), the notion of deprivation does hold currency in radicalisation discourse. Scholars have suggested what is more likely is a measure of relative deprivation–i.e. social, psychological, moral (Dawson, 2009).  Relative moral and psychological deprivation can be understood as a lack of sense of meaning and purpose, and fits with the youth identity struggle narrative. A fundamental part of being young is the often awkward and intense process of defining one's identity. It is a time in which young people begin to establish independent world-views, self-views, and how the two relate to one another (Doosje, Loseman, & van den Bos, 2013). For many, this process involves a quest for purpose and meaning. Dawson (2009) advises that scholarship around New Religious Movements is helpful in understanding how an individual might become compelled to act on extremist ideology. According to Dawson, youthful questioning is typical, and youthful idealism and the process of becoming an adult provides fertile ground for recruitment to a radical movement or cause. Following this logic and under these conditions, a young person experiencing personal and political doubt, displacement or dislocation, and exclusion could be open to ideology offering answers, a sense of purpose, and a strategy for empowering action.  Relative deprivation more generally is usually defined in relation to real deprivation. Real deprivation describes the barriers an individual might face, for example, to participation in the labour market and socio-economic advancement. Relative deprivation, on the other hand, refers to the perception of deprivation, which may or may not in fact exist. In terms of socio-economic status, for instance, Dawson (2006, p. 73) describes relative deprivation in terms of an individual’s perception that a discrepancy exists, “between the social rewards they feel entitled to and the rewards they think they are getting or they believe others are getting.” Dawson insists, however, that ultimately this notion has little utility in predicting the risk of violent radicalisation as it does not differentiate between dissatisfaction that leads to violent rather than non-violent extremism.    30 In studies of extreme-right terrorism, particularly during the 1980s and 1990s, scholars have observed reactions to relative deprivation experienced alongside deteriorating and globalizing economies. In the United States, Crothers (2002) explains that industrial and farming industries were transformed by the corporatisation that came with increasing economies of scale and globalisation (cited in Vertigans, 2007). Alienated by these changes and seeking answers, some farmers turned to militia and extremist groups ready to provide answers in the form of ideology (Vertigans, 2007). Vertigans (2007) notes that while various studies have suggested links between extremist radicalisation of the far-right and socio-economic deprivation (see Van Dyke & Soule, 2002), there is a growing realisation that it is not only the impoverished who experience deprivation, but relative deprivation may also be felt by members of the majority middle class (Vertigans, 2007, p. 646).  Accusations of the preferential treatment of minorities have ignited resentment and fuelled ideology that declares injustice (see also Goodwin, Ford, Duffy, & Robey, 2010; Vertigans, 2007). Rendered as a racialised injustice, Shanks-Meile (2000) posits that it is in this manner that extremist movements cut across classes. Engaging the example of Timothy McVeigh and the 1995 Oklahoma Bombing, Vertigans argues that radicalisation begins with a sense of individual or community injustice that is expanded to a higher scale (i.e. racial group, nation), thus justifying and sanctioning criminal behaviour and violence (Vertigans, 2007). For instance, “when these messages are allied to interpretations of American history that are also advanced to justify the use of arms when its legacy is under threat, then a climate is being created in which people become radicalised, in some instances unintentionally” (2007, p. 647).  The concept of relative deprivation has also been useful for researchers trying to understand the specific difficulties faced by second and third generation migrants growing up in multicultural states. Maria Sobolewska (2010), for instance, conducted a study of second and third generation migrant youth in Britain and found that they would sooner compare their social mobility and status to their peers who were part of the majority population, rather than judge their experience against that of their migrant parents. Sobolewska, like Portes (1984), acknowledges that second and third generation migrant youth face more barriers to social mobility and participation than majority youth due to a hierarchical system that privileges Anglo-ethnic or majority populations over ethnicised populations (2010, p. 40). The result, she argues, is dissatisfaction, frustration at the inequality, and resultant distrust in government. Bartlett and Miller (2012, p. 6) also make   31 this assertion, reporting that young Muslims in Canada and the UK display significantly lower levels of trust in government and higher levels of cynicism when compared to their parents. By highlighting the perception and experience of injustice by minoritised youth, a number of scholars attempt to demonstrate the conditions in which a young person might become more susceptible to extreme ideas and groups (Doosje et al., 2013; Moghaddam, 2005). Vicarious exclusion by fraternal deprivation Related to relative deprivation is the experience of vicarious exclusion–experiencing others’ exclusion as if it were one’s own. Runciman (1966) distinguishes between “egoistical” deprivation and “fraternal” deprivation–the former being the individual’s experience of his or her own position in a group, and the latter as deprivation felt on behalf of a group’s status in society relative to other groups. Research has shown that in many instances minorities’ feelings of discontent are more likely based on fraternal than egoistic deprivation (Moghaddam, 2005). For example, Moghaddam explains that, in the case of terrorism, “especially important could be a perceived right to independence and the retention of indigenous cultures for a society, a perception that other societies have achieved this goal, and a feeling that under present conditions, the path to this goal has been blocked (e.g., by Americans)” (p. 163).  Vicarious exclusion is also experienced through “humiliation-by-proxy”. Brendan O’Duffy (2008) argues that individuals may look beyond their local borders to experiences of repression elsewhere, particularly in relation to foreign policy. D’Appolonia agrees, and notes that humiliation-by-proxy occurs “when perceptions of injustice at national and international levels mirror local and personal experience, or when local discrimination is consonant with perceptions of liberal imperialist foreign policies, a larger pool of recruits become available for indoctrination” (d'Appolonia, 2010, p. 120). As Schmid (2013b, 26) explains, “terrorist groups sometimes adopt somebody else’s grievances and become self-appointed champions of a cause other than their own.” Farhad Khosrokhavar (2005) in his study of suicide bombers is in agreement, arguing that through identification with victims of repression, individuals are led to believe that ends justify means, and thus violence and ideology merge.  A lack of recognition: (political) disenfranchisement Caught in a state, described by youth geographers, between “being” and “becoming”, young people face barriers to being considered as active agents and as full citizens (Philo & Smith,   32 2003; Worth, 2009).  On the one hand, growing apathy and political disengagement of youth in political processes has been cause for concern (Gauthier, 2003). The extent to which young people should be considered as fully evolved adults with equal political influence as their elders remains contested (Vanderbeck, 2008). The fact that their futures are acutely and unevenly affected by social exclusion, however, is unequivocal. Youth who are members of minority groups experience an amplified sense of social exclusion in terms of political recognition and representation. Research on minority populations’ political participation has shown that racism, discrimination, and lack of familiarity with local political culture all contribute to feelings of political exclusion and can lead to a sense of disenfranchisement (Abu-Laban, 2002; Bullock & Nesbitt-Larking, 2013; Henn, Weinstein, & Forrest, 2005). In a study of British Muslims, Sobolewska (2010, p. 33) defines four factors or dimensions of political exclusion: (1) trust in institutions; (2) political participation; (3) a sense of belonging to Britain; and (4) feeling of political efficacy (influence). In general, she found that compared to other religiously defined populations, British-Muslims had high levels of trust in government, were least likely to feel as though they had no influence over state decision-making, and displayed high levels of belonging to Britain (p. 33). However, in terms of political participation, they displayed a higher degree of political alienation via low levels of political (non-electoral) participation. There was nothing particularly alarming for Sobolewska in this set of results. However, isolating for age, she found that young British-born Muslims displayed statistically significant disparities across all indicators, except for a feeling of belonging to Britain (p. 40).  In terms of political participation, young British Muslims reported higher levels of political participation, in the form of rallies, protests, and demonstrations (p. 41). However, ultimately Sobolewska found no grounds on which to conclude that British-born Muslim youth are disproportionately vulnerable to extremism or violent radicalisation.  In Canada, youth participation in formal politics (i.e. voting) is generally low, and according to scholars young people increasingly find alternative ways of engaging politically (Adsett, 2003; Bullock & Nesbitt-Larking, 2011). In Bullock and Nesbitt-Larking’s (2011, p. 13) study exploring young Canadian Muslim’s political participation, the most common reasons for non-participation in formal politics were reported as: “lack of interest, lack of time, boredom, the belief that things are smooth in Canada, not like back home, and being under age (with the expectation of becoming interested in politics once reaching the legal age for voting).” In terms   33 of informal political engagement, “while very few were interested in following formal politics, and even less actively involved in traditional parties, at least half of those who said they were not political, or interested in politics, had participated in rallies, protests, petitions, or had conversations with friends about political issues thought directly to affect them, such as lobbying against the niqab ban or Palestinian issues” (p. 18). The researchers draw a direct link between political participation and a fragile sense of belonging for Canadian Muslim youth (p. 47). Like Sobolewska’s (2010) study of British-Muslim youth, Bulluck and Nesbitt-Larking (2011) argue that the youth most targeted by counter-terrorism strategies are in fact “amongst the most highly engaged and positive in their attitudes towards holding Canadian citizenship” (p. 47). Findings from a recent study by Thompson and Bucerius (2019) highlighted young Somali-Canadians in Toronto as active agents within their communities, as well as the perceived need for safe spaces for critical discussions. Taken together, they highlight the capacity of these youth to act as “positive change agents,” and note the positive possibilities if communities were provided for with such spaces (p. 589).  In Australia, perceptions of low rates of Muslim-Australian participation in formal politics has fed the narrative link between Islamic religiosity and national disloyalty (Johns, Mansouri, & Lobo, 2015; Vergani, Johns, Lobo, & Mansouri, 2017). Studies have shown that negative political and media rhetoric have a direct and negative impact on Muslim-Australians’ active citizenship (Kabir, 2004; Vergani et al., 2017). Vergani and colleagues’ study found that Muslim youth are withdrawing from formal political participation as a consequence of seeing Australian-Muslim voices regularly disregarded. Indignation was also reported in response to mainstream political presentations of Islam, its demonisation, and the projection of Islam as incompatible with Australian society by its rendering as competing or alternative law. Contrary to popular assumptions, Vergani et al., find religiosity to be a predictor of civic engagement, and grassroots community engagement holds greater potential for active citizenship thereby circumventing the negative associations with formalised, institutional political engagements (see also Davies, 2015). Their findings trouble the notion of political participation, and the frequent definitional distinction between formal political participation compared to organised religiosity as civic participation (Vergani et al., 2017, p. 75). Political exclusion also occurs through the framing of informal political participation (i.e. dissent and protest) as legitimate or illegitimate by the state. Lodenthal’s (2013, p. 95) commentary on   34 policy constructions of eco-terrorism argues that “the framing of such socio-political movements within a veneer of terrorism serves a variety of causes for the state in question.” He explains that in doing so, individuals and movements are thus legitimated or incriminated. “Not only does it aid in the regulation of dissent through the construction of a ‘good protestor/bad protestor’, activist/terrorist dichotomy, it also serves to provide an impetus and justification for state manoeuvres which require a constructed enemy” (p. 95; see also good Muslim/bad Muslim in Vergani et al., 2017, p. 75). According to Liddick (2006), this can be seen in the criminalisation of ecological and animal rights movements from the 1970s. While informal political participation goes some way to compensate for lower levels of formal political engagement by youth, delegitimizing tactics can both de-value alternative viewpoints and participation, as well as reinforce distrust in the formal system and feelings of marginalisation.  Marginalisation also occurs by those issues for which participation is invited or allowed. While there have been global moves to include young people more actively in decisions made at local scales (e.g. “UNICEF Child Friendly Cities Charter”), larger issues and macro-scale politics remain less attended to. Particular issues, such as economic and foreign policy, are spaces in which youth voices are not often heard (Skelton, 2010). Abbas (2007) and Heath-Kelly (2012) are both critical of the lack of attention to foreign policy and its relationship to counter-radicalisation policies in Britain. Both scholars have found that time and time again, youth that identify with marginalised groups express concern over their home country’s military presence in foreign lands, yet feel unable to voice or have their concern heard. As Abbas (2007) explains, “Certainly, there is a feeling among many that British and US foreign policy has impacted on the perceptions of already much maligned and disenfranchised young Muslim males who feel they have no voice” (p. 291). This critique could easily be echoed, based on similarities in policies, in both Canada (Bartlett and Miller 2012) and Australia (Spalek & Imtoual, 2007; Vergani et al., 2017).  Although they face multiple barriers to participation, some scholars express positive possibilities and hope for youth political engagement and recognition. In terms of a distinction between minoritised and majority youth’s political recognition, Sobolewska (2010, p. 41) reports that minoritised youth do not necessarily feel at a great disadvantage relative to their majority counterparts, in measuring their influence on British politics. Further, in considering the forms of political engagement, although likely to be considered radical, rallies and demonstrations, in fact   35 demonstrate an engagement that diverges from that which is associated with extremist radicalisation (Bartlett, Birdwell, & King, 2010). According to Bartlett et al., this is a significant point of distinction. “Young people need space to be radical: bold, different, awkward and dissenting. This can be an important antidote to radicalisation that leads to violence” (Bartlett et al. 2010, p. 19). They posit “that civic engagement and political protest distinguishes radicals from terrorists” (p. 19).  In the radicalisation literature it seems we are all too often faced with a choice, between community-labelling and individual patholagisation. Spalek and Imtoual (2007, p. 194) remind us of the inadequacy and difficulties faced by current policy directives, based at the neighbourhood or community scale:  The notion that extremists can be located within any community is problematic…extremists may be pursuing their own individualised quests, which may have little, if any, connection with any wider communities that they may nominally belong to, in terms of family, ethnic grouping or nationality. It seems that militants may join an “imagined community” that works through minds, attitudes and discourses rather than geographical locales or through social and familial ties. Despite the unresolved linkage issue in the literature, there is evidence that terrorist recruitment often targets disenfranchised youth.  There are many ways in which young people are led to feel disenfranchised, distrustful of the state, and as terrorism recruiters become attuned to this, their tactics adapt and target the weak spots. Some scholars have attempted to map out trajectories and profiles that aide risk assessment (Glees and Pope 2005; Horgan 2005; Moghaddam 2005; Silber and Bhatt 2007). However, scepticism over correlations between social exclusion and violent radicalisation remind us that there is no singular narrative of violent extremist radicalisation (Dawson 2009; d’Appolonia 2010).   While understanding of the links between social exclusion and radicalisation to violence is still underdeveloped, there is no question that the problem of socially excluded youth is in need of attention and resourcing. But there is a risk of stigmatisation. Therefore, such attention must be mindful, and executed in a way that does not first render young people as potential terrorists, as suspects, or as a problem in need of solving.    36 2.5 Framing security policy in multicultural settings with concepts of social cohesion and community resilience Where soft security policies have been adopted, they have generally been framed by ideas of social cohesion and resilience. Homegrown terrorism and new conceptions of national security threats, in both terrorism and security scholarship, frequently locate current national security concerns within a context of immigrant, secular societies grappling with changing social landscapes, super-diversity, and questions of citizenship and identity politics.   The term, “homegrown terrorism” is itself implicitly linked to both preventative national security and soft security strategies (Eatwell and Goodwin 2010). It describes terror attacks planned or executed by individuals who live in the countries in which the attacks take place. Increasingly, over the past few years, concern has been raised over the effectiveness of the preventative model and its implementation. Primarily, critiques have been levelled at the associated risks of conflating social cohesion objectives with national security efforts (Aly 2013; Choudhury and Fenwick 2011). Because the soft security, preventative approach has developed in response to a very specific set of events and circumstances, these concerns can only be understood by first outlining how and why this shift occurred.  Five key events occurred between 2004 and 2006 that focused attention specifically on the threat of domestic and homegrown counter-terrorism.  • In March 2004, a train bombing in Madrid killed 191 people and injured 1,800.  • Later that year, Mohammed Bouyeri, member of Islamist terrorist organisation, the Hofstad Network, assassinated Dutch film-director Theo Van Gogh in Amsterdam.  • In Australia the following year, Operation Pendennis intercepted planned attacks in Sydney and Melbourne and resulted in the arrest of twenty-two men.  • On the 2 June 2006, eighteen men who were planning to attack downtown Toronto, were arrested in a counter-terrorism raid. Those arrested were labelled the “Toronto 18.”  • The following month, the London 7/7 attack occurred, killing fifty-two and injuring 700 people. All attacks were either attributed to or reportedly inspired by al Qaida (Gunaratna 2011).  Increasingly, governments have been explicit about the ways in which the threat of terrorism and violent radicalisation can be diminished through national solidarity (Aly, 2013).     37 The idea of a prevention strategy was first introduced in the UK, with CONTEST, a “multi-dimensional counter-terrorism strategy” (2011), and later in revised versions (Home Office, 2006, 2009, 2011). The strategy is composed of four elements: Pursue, Prevent, Protect, and Prepare. The Prevent strategy, most notably, has provided a model for soft security counter-terrorism elsewhere–in particular, in Australia and Canada. Soft counter-terrorism strategies under the Prevent umbrella have been subject to major critique, in particular, in the earlier versions, for effectively securitizing social and integration agendas. Notably, these critiques were outlined in a report commissioned by the UK House of Commons’ Communities and local government Committee, entitled “Preventing Violent Extremism Report” (2010), and in a report commissioned by the UK’s Equality and Human Rights Commission, “Research Report 72: The impact of counter-terrorism measures on Muslim communities” (Choudhury & Fenwick, 2011b). Having come under extensive criticism by scholars and activists in the UK, the 2011 version includes the following caveat (Home Office, 2011, p. 12): Having widened the scope of Prevent we also intend to narrow its focus. Prevent depends on a successful integration strategy, which establishes a stronger sense of common ground and shared values, which enables participation and the empowerment of all communities and which also provides social mobility. But integration alone will not deliver Prevent objectives. And Prevent must not – as it has it the past – assume control of funding for integration projects which have a purpose and value far wider than security and counter-terrorism. The Government will not securitise its integration work: that would be neither effective, proportionate nor necessary.  The dynamic nature of Prevent evolution in the UK speaks to the trial and error nature of a strategy developed under tight timelines, and, according to Choudhury and Fenwick (2011, p. 48), in direct response to terror events:  The urgent need to develop the strategy following the attacks of 7/7 meant that there was limited time to carry out the research needed to inform policy. As one official noted, research was commissioned but by the time the results came in, spending on projects had already started.    38 A large body of critique has emerged in the wake of this policy, which has also informed policy and program development in other parts of the world (Birt, 2009; CLG, 2010; Thomas, 2010). Echoes of the UK’s policy can be seen the United States, the “National Strategy for Counter-Terrorism” (2011), guided by four core principles: “Adhering to U.S. Core Values”, “Building Security Partnerships”, “Applying CT Tools and Capabilities Appropriately,” and “Building a Culture of Resilience”. Again, resilience is employed in a way that aims to develop national cohesion in the face of a threat. As Anne Aly (2013, p. 5) points out, this can be seen as a distinctive change from the United States’ 2003 counter-terrorism strategy that set out a slightly different set of principles: “Defeating”, “Denying”, “Diminishing”, and “Defending”. Aly notes that while the Diminish goal endorses similar community-oriented programming, by replacing it alongside the principle of resilience, support has focused more on localised, community-level development measures.   In Australia, the counter-terrorism approach, charted in “Counter Terrorism White Paper: Securing Australia, Protecting our Community” (2010) was largely shaped by the UK’s Prevent strategy, with four guiding principles: “Analysis”, “Protection”, “Response”, and “Resilience”. Using the concept of resilience, the Australian Government described the way the national community would be included in efforts to resist “violent radicalisation and terrorism on the home front” (p. 65).  In 2013, Canada released “Building Resilience Against Terrorism: Canada’s Counter-Terrorism Strategy” (2013), based on the principles: Prevent; Detect; Deny; and Respond. Resilience is central to the strategy and is explained as follows (2013, p. 11): Building a resilient Canada involves fostering a society in which individuals and communities are able to withstand violent extremist ideologies and challenge those who espouse them. They support and participate in efforts that seek to protect Canada and Canadian interests from terrorist threats. A resilient Canada is one that is able to mitigate the impacts of a terrorist attack, ensuring a rapid return to ordinary life. In 2018, Canada rolled out its CVE strategy, National Strategy on Countering Radicalisation to Violence, supported by the Canada Centre’s Community Resilience Fund that resources targeted prevention programming across Canada. In both the 2013 and 2018 Canadian strategies, we   39 again see an emphasis on openness, diversity, and inclusivity–each expressed as elements of social cohesion. The 2013 policy is explicit in insisting that this strategy does not intend to be divisive or exclusionary, but rather allow for “positive alternative narratives” that will “foster a greater sense of Canadian identity and belonging for all” (2013, pp. 16-17).   In recent years, researchers have been busy trying to understand and explain domestic and homegrown terrorism. Because narratives of marginalised and socially excluded youth have formed the basis of policy development, scholarship in critical terrorism studies has been drawn to debates over multiculturalism, integration, and social cohesion (McGhee, 2008). In order to explain the shift from hard to soft security mandates, it is therefore necessary to be attentive to the policy landscapes in which this has occurred.  The quest for social cohesion: soft security in multicultural settings Social cohesion was identified as a crucial policy issue in relation to immigration in the mid-1990s (Spoonley, Peace, Butcher, & O’Neill, 2005, p. 89). Generally, it has been rhetorically focused on shared values and equal opportunities, and it grounded national membership as a relationship based on trust, hope, and reciprocity (see for example, Canadian Council on Social Development 2000). It has been suggested that following 9/11 there was a significant shift in social cohesion discourse, when it became more explicitly linked with social capital and shared citizenship–no longer as a policy lens, but as “a high-level policy ambition” (Spoonley et al. 2005, p. 89). In other words, for some, this shift indicated a re-focusing on a national community defined more structurally by shared citizenship rather than by a culture in which shared values, opportunities, and reciprocity are emphasised. Essentially, this shift represented a turn away from “means-based” to “values-based” approaches to social policy and programs, narrowly and increasingly framed through national security objectives (Birt, 2009). Social cohesion frameworks have been adopted elsewhere, and have faced similar iterations, manipulated in the face of economic and social challenges. In the UK, the adoption of social cohesion as the framework for social policy was focused on galvanizing a British community through a dominant set of shared values (Thomas, 2010). In a new iteration of what Thomas calls integrationism, commonality was privileged over diversity: “Britishness” was used euphemistically, and expressed with hyphenation, to denote a national community before ethnicity or religion, i.e. British-Muslim, British-Sikh, British-Algerian (Thomas, 2010, p. 3). Or, put another way, a requirement is “placed on racialised ‘others’ to feel like part of the nation,   40 while being constantly reminded of one’s exclusion from it” (Fortier 2008 cited in H. Jones, 2014b, p. 74; see also Ahmed 2010 on 'happy multiculturalism'). In Australia, also, there was a return to nationalist conceptions of identity as a strategy for managing emergent social tensions within a super-diverse society (Jon Stratton, 2006). In Europe, states moved away from multiculturalism toward a notion of “civic integrationism” (Kymlicka, 2010), in what has been criticised as a “rights deficit” approach (Spoonley et al., 2005, p. 90). With the exception of Canada, in each of these instances, the language of social cohesion has been (to varying degrees) substituted for, and to express “the failure of multiculturalism” (Joppke, 2004; Jupp, 2002; Phillips, 2007). Under these conditions, a binary discourse has emerged that presents integration as distinct from multiculturalism and serves to highlight continuing challenges in immigrant societies. Security strategies based on dialogue and partnerships attempt to address these inherent challenges. Kymlicka’s (2003, p. 3; in Spoonley et al., 2005) list is pertinent here, as the questions he sets out echo those confronted in community-based counter-terrorism: • How to reconcile the recognition of diversity with building common feelings of membership and solidarity?  • How to understand the links between economic disadvantage and cultural exclusion, since many minoritised groups suffer from both?  • How to promote genuine mutual understanding rather than simply a tokenistic appreciation of diversity?  • How to enable greater public participation, yet also ensure that participation is conducted responsibly, with a spirit of openness and fairness, and is not simply a way of asserting dogmatic claims or scapegoating unpopular groups? For policy makers, these questions have become more urgent following a series of urban disturbances (i.e. riots) in the UK in 2001, France in 2005, and Australia in 2005 (Thomas 2011). Laying the groundwork for social cohesion to be adopted more formally as social policy, these disturbances, combined with the domestic terror events already mentioned, provoked concern over a cumulative trajectory of dissent and extremism (Eatwell 2006). In this dark scenario, one extremist event fuels and aggravates another, and so on, in a spiraling of conflict and violence   41 (Eatwell and Goodwin 2010, p. 7). Social cohesion is therefore proposed as a social policy outcome that works against the effects of rising social polarisation, inter-community tensions, and extremist radicalisation by increasing community resilience. Building resilience: Local solutions to local problems Resilience, popularised in both ecology and psychology fields, has gained increasing traction in counter-terrorism and national security policy (Stephens, Sieckelinck, & Boutellier, 2019). In the face of terror threats, the ecology of urban space is securitised (or militarised) with the installation of surveillance cameras, bollards, and other built interventions; commercial operators have been allocated responsibility as first responders; and the public have been enlisted as surveillants, always on watch (Coaffee, 2018; Coaffee & Fussey, 2015; Graham, 2004; Swanstrom, 2002). With this security infrastructure and “bordering”, the city is expected to better cope with the ongoing stress of the terror threat and minimise and rapidly respond in the event of a terror attack.  The concept of community resilience is also embedded in the vision of a responsive, resilient urban ecology. Through a logics of social capital, Aldrich and Meyer (2015, p. 2) define community resilience as “the collective ability of a neighborhood or geographically defined area to deal with stressors and efficiently resume the rhythms of daily life through cooperation following shocks.” In the case of a terror threat, networks of social capital become lifelines for individuals, families and communities to access resources – social infrastructure – that allow them to carry on in spite of the challenges they might face (Dalgaard-Nielsen & Schack, 2016). Bonding capital comes from strong ties, with individuals’ closest social networks (e.g. family, friends, kin); bridging social capital through loose connections (e.g. social and religious groups, scene, professional connections); and linking social capital through connections between individuals and those with institutional power (e.g. decision makers, politicians, representatives) (Aldrich & Meyer, 2015). In different ways, these social ties can provide protection against ongoing stressors and shocks. Hypothetically, high levels of bonding social capital could mean that an individual is able to easily reach out or seek help from a family member; high levels of bridging social capital could provide that same individual to access resources beyond those available through their closer social networks, expanding the possibilities of their coping and recovery capacity; and linking social capital might mean that that individuals are able to leverage their connections to have their experience and challenges heard by those in positions of power.   42 By this logic, developing bonding, bridging and linking social capital is theorised to lead to increased community resilience. From a terrorism prevention standpoint, community resilience is positioned socially and psychologically in relation to radicalisation. The resilience paradigm is mobilised under a “strengths-based” or “affirmative” regime (Stephens et al., 2019), with efforts to counter-terrorism focus on developing community capacity: to reject hostile terror narratives, intra-community reporting, and cultivating protective factors against radicalisation (i.e. employment, educational engagement, civic participation, etc.) (see Grossman & Tahiri, 2015; Joosse, Bucerius, & Thompson, 2015; Thomas et al., 2017). Under the paradigm of resilience, community empowerment is privileged over coercive law enforcement; individuals and communities are rendered as "vulnerable” rather than victims; and the focus is on bottom-up rather than top-down tactics (Chandler 2012, p. 223). Many of the interventions funded by these new security schemes have been remarkably similar to those funded by social cohesion, social inclusion, community resilience, and multicultural infrastructure. Examples drawn from the European Union include: interfaith meetings, professional development seminars, police-run sports teams, clubs and competitions, citizenship education programming, and establishment of helpdesks at which the public can access information on signs of radicalisation and responsive intervention methods (Schmid, 2013a, p. 51). Underpinning these programs is the idea that individuals and communities seen as “vulnerable” to violent radicalisation can be enlisted in programs through which their resilience to radicalisation can be developed. Some describe this resilience as the product of cultivated national loyalties, improved relationships and collaboration with law enforcement, and communities learning to self-manage risk (Briggs, 2010; Chandler, 2012). Others have resisted this notion of vulnerability by highlighting the rarity of young people who are recruited by terror organisations, and majority who are, in fact, actively critical of radicalisation or terror group narratives. For example, Joosse, Bucerius and Thompson (2015, p. 827) argue that there is power in the “narrative incredulity” or “storied rejections” within Canada’s Somali diaspora. They invert the notion of counternarratives that must be cultivated as part of a CVE program, instead recognise this “incredulity” as an already existing and powerful resource for terrorism prevention. On the one hand, resilience is envisaged as the capacity to divert frustration and hostility away from illegal violent expression, toward or in   43 support of legal radicalism in the form of activism – as critical and active citizenship (Spalek & Lambert, 2008). Some see this framing as an offloading of responsibility to prevent terrorism from the state to communities themselves, who are then expected to self-police (Ragazzi, 2016). While this model is framed in security policies and strategies as empowering communities, resilience critics warn that this framing also serves to place the risk and responsibility squarely on the shoulders of “vulnerable” communities – in this case, to prevent terrorism (Davoudi et al., 2012, p. 305). For example, scholars warn of the “grave” toll placed on family members when compelled to report loved ones exhibiting “signs” of radicalisation (Thomas et al., 2017). Here, there is a risk that rolling back state supports in the name of community resilience, and transferring the burden of this responsibility onto marginalised communities alone, can in fact result in the erosion of resilience (Coaffee & Fussey, 2015; Davoudi et al., 2012).  The implicit locatedness of community resilience – combined with social cohesion – has made it a good policy “fit” with terrorism prevention. The necessity of a localised, context-specific strategy has been seen as vital, given the continuous risk of “distant and global concerns can [gain] currency only when they are able to feed off local, everyday, personal grievances” (Briggs et al. 2006, p. 13). To address the perceived risk factor of local grievances feeding the radicalisation process, prevention strategies have tended to focus on “local solutions to local problems” (Lowndes et al. 2010, p. 123). It is at this intersection that various place-based programs are captured in the auspice of a national security agenda. These programs, often underwritten by the notion of “common ground” have framed a vision of resilient communities as those that can maintain social cohesion in the face of ongoing stresses and unexpected shocks (Aly, 2013; Husband & Alam, 2011; Richards, 2011).  State-community partnerships or community-led CVE approaches have been recognised in policy for their inclusionary potential and fit with narratives of social cohesion, liberalism, democracy, belonging and citizenship (e.g. The White House, 2011; Victorian Government, 2015). In this way it has been possible for states to render interventions as neutral, community-empowering investments. However, as Spalek and Lambert (2010, p. 105) insist, community-based counter-terrorism is never neutral and partnerships are never balanced. With this in mind,   44 the following section presents dominant themes of critique associated with soft security policy and strategies to counter violent extremism. 2.6 Major critiques of soft security policy Summarizing the points raised in this discussion, critics of prevention and soft security measures have highlighted that community outreach and community-based counterterrorism is never neutral, and partnerships cannot necessarily be balanced (Spalek and Lambert 2010, p. 105). The major concerns expressed in the counterterrorism literature include: • disputes over funding allocation (O'Toole, DeHanas, & Modood, 2012; Richards, 2011); • rendering of legitimate and illegitimate partners (O’Toole, Meer, DeHanas, Jones, & Modood, 2016; Spalek & Imtoual, 2007); • making of suspect communities (Awan, 2012; Choudhury, 2010; Mary J. Hickman, Lyn Thomas, Henri C. Nickels, & Sara Silvestri, 2012; Vermeulen, 2014); • securitisation of Muslims (Akbarzadeh, 2016; Bonino, 2012; Brown & Saeed, 2015; McCaffrey, 2016); • community engagement privileging community “centres” over “peripheries” (Klausen 2009; Bartlett et al. 2010; O’Toole et al. 2012); • social service workers in compromised relationships with clients and students (Kühle & Lindekilde, 2010; Awan, 2012; O’Donnell, 2016; Mattson & Säljö, 2018; Cherney et al., 2017); • questions of effectiveness, in light of the difficulties associated with evaluation (Lum et al., 2008; Lindekilde 2012c); • accusations of intel-gathering in disguise (Awan, 2012; Innes, 2006; Kundnani, 2009; Spalek & O'Rawe, 2014); • lack of police competencies (interpersonal, social, political) and cultural sensitivity (d'Appolonia, 2010); • failure to engage with concerns over foreign policy (Abbas, 2007; d'Appolonia, 2010); • difficulties associated with trust-building–which takes time and openness, that cannot always be fulfilled (Innes, 2006; Spalek & Lambert, 2010).   45 In the next section, four key components of enacting soft security policy are outlined, highlighting challenges and concerns identified from critical terrorism scholarship.  Supporting dialogue and establishing partnerships The central remit of terrorism prevention strategies has been building partnerships between state and non-state actors and agencies. Primarily this has meant developing connections between selected community organisations and either funding agencies or national security police agents. Objectives of these collaborations are, generally, to foster openness and counter-narratives to those expressed in extremist ideologies; to encourage information-sharing that is mutually beneficial; to repair community and police relations where they have been tarnished; and to create a forum in which community concerns can be voiced and heard.  Underlying the partnership model of counter-terrorism policing is the assumption that terrorists and potential terrorists are social actors embedded in networks, or rather, communities of some kind (Sageman, 2004). Therefore, partnerships between state organisations and community organisations can produce avenues for intervening and averting ideological and social processes that can lead to radicalisation and violent mobilisation (Briggs, Fieschi, & Lownsbrough, 2006). One way in which this is achieved is by helping or supporting community leaders to present alternative, and what are deemed to be more moderate, “counter-narratives” to those offered by extremist ideologues (Grossman, 2014; Schmid, 2013a).  Leaving aside the question of who decides what narratives are considered too radical, and what a moderate narrative should look like, criticism over the partnership model has predominantly been concerned with the selection of partners, and its consequences. Klausen (2009) describes the unavoidable socio-political complexities of choosing some community partners while excluding others. Referencing the British Prevent program, Klausen describes the implicit risk of community-based partnerships (p. 415): One is political. Governments worry about becoming “entrapped” by Muslim groups and the political consequences of embracing Muslims as “partners”. Muslim groups have the same worry about the authorities. The need to build partnerships with representatives has put the police in the unenviable position of having to pick partners and, while Muslim groups have been receptive to the challenge, working with one group often excludes working with another.    46 In his paper, Klausen explains the tension that developed as a result of a partnership between the Metropolitan Police and a particular Muslim community group. In this instance, Muhammed Abdul Bari, Secretary of the General Muslim Council of Britain, was angered by what he saw as a move that sidelined his organisation. In effect, the Prevent program circumvented umbrella organisations, like the General Muslim Council of Britain, in favour of a more localised and neighbourhood-level approach. This move also frustrated others, including high-ranking members of the Church of England, who accused the British Government of showing “favouritism to Muslims” (p. 415). Government funding is always controversial. Nevertheless, the conflict presented by Klausen highlights how adversarial inter- and intra-community relations are easily enflamed by affronts to institutional order and perceptions of inequitable distribution of funds.    Understanding community complexity Recognizing diversity within religious, ethnic, or political communities is important to avoiding further distress and antagonism within and between community groups and/or state agencies in efforts to prevent violent radicalisation. As has been well established, community is a contestable term and is regularly enlisted in government policy and strategies to organise collections of individuals sharing some particular quality–be it religion, politics, or ethnicity (Spalek, 2012). While used positively to designate a national community under the banner of social cohesion, for many individuals, the designation of, for instance, “the Muslim community” or “the Sikh Community” is alienating and misleading (Nagra, 2011). Innes (2006, p. 231) shares an interview with a British police officer, apparently frustrated at the rendering of a monolithic Muslim community: “There is no such thing as THE Muslim community. There is a hugely complex set of people making up different sub-sections of a community who have different divisions, rivalries and factions.”  Policing through community partnerships is shown here to be a highly sensitive and nuanced project. Attempts to sweep multiple stakeholders into a homogenous community that is expected to speak with a single voice, Innes suggests, will inevitably inflame tensions, and be counterproductive to state-efforts that aim to foster trusting and meaningful partnerships. Innes warns (p. 231): “First, as peoples’ conception of belonging become more tightly defined, and they no longer feel that who they are is sufficiently represented by broader classifications of   47 identity, the potential for intergroup tensions is increased.” Community intelligence, it is suggested by Spalek (2012), provides police with avenues for understanding the complexities of inter-community relations (Hanniman, 2008). Similarly, Innes posits that this is precisely the kind of intelligence authorities need to “circumvent the intelligence gaps and blind spots that seemingly inhere in their established methods” (2006, p. 230). Different organisations will, after all, have “different sets of priorities” (Spalek and Lambert 2010, p. 105), and to undertake comprehensive engagement it is argued that these different sets of priorities must first be acknowledged and understood. When identifying partners, Bartlett et al., (2010, p. 29) argue that community-engagement efforts should focus not just on the centre–the most visible sites of religious, ethnic or political communities–but equally, if not more importantly, include and be responsive to diversity by engaging the periphery (see also Grossman, 2014). Indeed, O’Toole et al., (2012) reflect on Britain’s Prevent program and argue that to counter violent radicalisation, outreach must engage non-violent extremists. They posit that some of these organisations are, in fact, key (i.e. embedded in local governance structures) to effectively diffusing trajectories of radicalisation to violent extremism, to avoid amplifying local antagonisms, and to foster more collaborative or cohesive inter-community relations (see also Lindekilde, 2012d). As the number of groups that fall under anti-terror legislation rises, Spalek and Imatoual (2009) have surmised that more and more individuals will be excluded from engagement mechanisms. This outlook would appear to be antithetical to the inclusive intentions of soft security policy and programming.   Although community-based policing sometimes attempts to recognise diversity and difference between different community groups, community structures can obscure the diversity within them. For instance, Spalek and Lambert (2010, p. 105) argue that in the rollout of Britain’s Prevent strategy, community representatives were generally middle-aged and older men, disconnected from the experiences and immediate concerns of youth and females. While multiple communities were engaged under the partnership model, the effectiveness of this strategy was compromised by intra-community dynamics, which were more difficult to regulate. Being attentive to diversity within communities, and to who does and doesn’t have voice within those groups, is an important aspect of comprehensive community engagement.    48 Soft security and “moderation”: the limits of inclusion Another cautionary warning, through critique of the selection of community-partners, is the possibility of rendering some community groups as legitimate and others as illegitimate (Spalek and Imtoual 2007). This critique is raised repeatedly in scholarly research over how citizenship is defined, particularly for young people (Anwar, 1998; Dillabough and Kennelly, 2010; Kennelly, 2011; Nayak, 2003). In the counter-terrorism literature it becomes a matter of good citizens being defined by their selection and participation in community engagement programs. For instance, commenting on community engagement strategies involving Muslim communities in Australia, Spalek and Imtoual describe a “tenuous path between being a ‘good’ Muslim community member and/or being a ‘good’ citizen” (p. 185). Just like with the multiculturalism and integration debates, aspects of an individual’s identity are divided and set in a state of opposition and competition (Spalek and Lambert, 2008; Dillabough and Kennelly, 2010). Perceived through the lens of radicalisation and terrorism, non-participation (whether self-elected or by exclusion) essentially pits individuals or communities in an adversarial relationship with the state.  Similarly, the Danish government’s action plan for preventing violent radicalisation, “A Common and Safe Future”, has been criticised for its narrow conception of citizenship, ruling out non-violent radicalisation, and imposing subsequent limitations on free speech (Lindekilde, 2012d). Lindekilde writes of the Danish action plan (p. 111): The action plan to prevent radicalisation is, in short, all about formation of responsible, liberal citizens at the expense of “radical” identities, and the two fundamental subject positions are understood in terms of either-or. Either you take on the liberal identity, or you take on a radical identity and become the target of corrective policies of intervention. This perception leaves little room for, for example, verbally supporting violent groups like Hamas or al-Shabaab and at the same time being a responsible, liberal citizen. The result, Lindekilde (2012d) warns, is that key community leaders may withdraw from public debate in fear of being labeled radical and thus delegitimised. He argues that in Denmark, while   49 these individuals at risk of being labeled radical might not be the most integrated or assimilated liberal citizens, rendering them a security threat is counterproductive and unjust:  Such Muslim actors, be they local imams, community leaders, or influential sheiks, may very well be the best suited to reach young Muslims flirting with violent jihadism. But […] they would lose their legitimacy if they first had to comply with the premises of the radicalisation discourse by confirming democratic ideals and dismissing principles of sharia. So if the authorities were to make use of such actors in the battle against radicalisation it would mean overlooking intolerant and non-integrationist perspectives for the sake of addressing security concerns. So far the Danish authorities have been very reluctant to do this. (Lindekilde 2012d, p. 30) Michele Grossman (2014) calls for a more inclusive approach, where peripheral voices are not excluded by virtue of their extreme tendencies. Rather, she advocates for deliberate engagement of peripheral voices, matched with investment in critical thinking skills development that might lead to the cultivation of counter- or counterterrorism narratives. This kind of engagement, however, carries a certain amount of risk.  These challenges speak to the question previously raised: what and whose message is considered to be moderate? And further, it highlights an unresolved and important question: when community leaders are selected, how are their rights and autonomy to be protected, within a state-community partnership model?  Location matters in community partnerships Another consideration, in thinking about how partnerships are devised between state actors and community agents, is the location in which they are enacted. In the UK context Prevent programs have been rolled out in local settings including municipal governments, religious institutions and community centres and schools, and have been subject to sweeping critique (e.g. CLG, 2010). The “where” of CVE is garnering attention as socio-cultural and contextual factors are increasingly understood to provide both opportunities and threats to community relations, experiences of soft counter-terrorism interventions, civic participation, and access to integral services and supports. Cherney et al., (2017) in Australia and Mattsson (2019) in Sweden highlight the potential for compromised trust and service outcomes when local service providers   50 are in a position where they are required to report on their clients, or - in the case of Küle and Lindekilde’s study – their students (Kühle & Lindekilde, 2010).  In some nations, youth-targeted soft security programs have been proposed for schools. Numerous scholars have been explicit in contesting the role of educational institutions in national security and terrorism prevention regimes (Awan, 2012; Mattsson & Säljö, 2018; O’Donnell, 2016). The argument is that teachers and professors should not be responsible for monitoring their students; that reporting requirements undermine the productive and necessarily trusting relationships that can exist between teachers and students. Nevertheless, universities and schools are sited as key arenas for soft security counter-terrorism programming, in part based on the unsubstantiated profile of the university-educated terrorist. In the UK, Simcox, Stuart, and Ahmed (2010) report that only one-third of terrorist offences, as of 2010, have been committed by university-educated individuals.  Awan (2012, p. 1174) explains that this number is not revealing when compared with Britain’s national university educated average, with 40 percent of British young people attending university.  Under Danish counter-radicalisation policy, schools were identified as key sites for soft security interventions. Under the “School–Social Services–Police” (SSP) partnership, schoolteachers were trained to specifically identify radicalisation predictors, to recognise trajectories of extremist radicalisation toward violence, and to instigate pre-emptive interventions (Lindekilde, 2012d). In their study of young Muslims impacted by counter-terrorism policies in the Danish city of Aarhus, Kühle and Lindekilde (2010, p. 130) report that schools programs were met with resistance by some teachers, who felt their responsibility to and relationships with their students would be compromised by the task to “spot signs of radicalization.”  In a slightly different approach, a prevention program in Australia incorporated counter-terrorism programming into mainstream high school curriculum (Aly, Taylor, & Karnovsky, 2014; Taylor, Taylor, Karnovsky, Aly, & Taylor, 2017). In a novel approach that has seen the Resilience strand of Australia’s counter-terrorism strategy shift from solely funding programs targeting Muslim youth exclusively, a new program, “Beyond Bali,” was first trialled in high schools in 2012. Teachers were not enlisted as surveyors, but were instead responsible for moral development teaching modules (Aly et al., 2014, p. 379). The Program includes five modules, each intended to “build social cognitive resilience to violent extremism by preparing students to challenge the influence of violent extremism that can lead to moral disengagement” (p370).   51 Program exercises are all based on 2002 Bali bombing (in which 88 Australians were killed) and its impact, with activities requiring students to reflect on moral dilemmas related to the event. These “dilemmas” allow them to question their values in a safe environment, and think through conflict resolution and “making good decisions” (p. 380). Taylor et al., (2017) recognise the limits of the program that focuses the effects of terrorism, rather than its causes; victims’ stories, rather than perpetrators’. The burden on participating Muslim students and teaching staff to manage classroom dynamics through such sensitive material remains challenging, however this kind of programming is seen to bring complexity and dialogue into classrooms with a transformative learning approach. Others have considered a more critical approach to the way education institutions and other social infrastructure might be conceived of as sites for terrorism prevention. Davies (2016) proposes a transitional justice approach that she terms “positive insecurity,” comprised of four key framing principles of inclusivity, contact theory (or encounters with difference), bridging and linking, and active citizenship. There is substantial research to suggest value in support of youth engagement through developing supporting youth activism (HoSang, 2006; Sutton & Kemp, 2011). Davies (2016) argues that in the case of CVE, it is possible to subvert the securitising effects by bringing difficult conversations into classrooms, allowing for conflict, critique and open debate, and to “build habits of engagement” in non-violent participation. Nevertheless, engaging social infrastructure, like schools, and those whose role it is to support youth through everyday and challenging periods like teachers, social and community works remains contentious (Mattsson & Säljö, 2018). According to Awan (2012), envisioning schools, universities, mosques and community centres as potential “breeding grounds” for extremism and terrorist violence produces geographies of suspicion, fear and exclusion. Moreover, Choudhury and Fenwick (2011) remind us that counter-terrorism prevention strategies are relatively recent, are generally experimental, and based on still superficial understandings of “radicalisation” (see also Mattsson & Säljö, 2018). As such, scholars have warned of further alienating populations already subject to significant discrimination, marginalisation and deprivation by tasking support workers in key service spaces (i.e. schools, community centres, and religious spaces) with surveillance and the role of moral police significantly reduces the provision of spaces of belonging, acceptance and of open discussion.    52 Particularly challenging in these kinds of soft security partnerships is the need to balance autonomy, empowerment, and support of local actors, engaged in what are ultimately state-initiated programs. While communities might share the concerns expressed in preventative policies, the ways in which they are enacted, through partnerships, inevitably requires negotiation (Cherney et al., 2017; Husband & Alam, 2011; H. Jones, 2013). Further, the sites in which these partnerships unfold can never be neutral. Just as there are challenges inherent in conflating integration and security agendas, so too are there conflicts of interest in conflating community, education, and other kinds of social spaces with security agendas.  State-community relations & the problem of trust  Partnerships between state-agents and community organisations require levels of trust and commitment that are unlikely to be even. Because partnerships are developed, based on state-level policy directives, communities are engaged through this frame, and thus, through an already established set of objectives. As such, trust is a key element of an effective partnership (Hanniman, 2008; McDonald, 2012). Many partnership models involve the participation of state-agents, like police. Initiating state-community partnerships based on openness between parties (likely more one way than the other) is made particularly tenuous if there has been a history of targeted and/or over-policing and subsequent “trust deficit” (Dalgaard-Nielsen & Schack, 2016; Grossman & Sharples, 2010; Innes, 2006; Pantazis & Pemberton, 2009). With trust writ as a key element of soft security policy–trust in the state, that is–state agents must be particularly attentive to their contextual histories in particular locations and with particular communities.  Minoritised communities have been disproportionately impacted by the use of stop-and-search police tactics, both within and outside of the national security context. Bowling and Philips (2003) report that as well as being subject to greater levels of surveillance and repeatedly rendered as suspect, minoritised communities are simultaneously under-policed as victims. Pantazis and Pemberton (2009) report that after 9-11 in the UK, Black and Asian populations were disproportionately targeted by stop and search powers, by a factor of three. In 2017, Black British citizens were eight times more likely to be stopped, and minority ethnic groups were four times more likely to be stopped and searched (Bartkowiak-Théron & Asquith, 2019, p. 8; Dodd, 2017).  This situation makes for shaky ground on which to enact soft security strategies, with police as community-partners talking about trust and information-sharing (Innes, 2006). In studies   53 conducted by Spalek and Lambert (2010, p. 107; see also Lambert, 2008), they found that individuals who had first-hand experience of anti-terror measures “were less likely to engage with state authorities in the future.” A study by Cherney and Murphy (2013) revealed that in Australia, experiences with and perceptions of procedural justice were essential in community willingness to support law enforcement in counter terrorism efforts. In this context, community partnerships cannot be meaningful without first acknowledging pre-existing and historically antagonistic relationships, and the need to rehabilitate, recover, and redefine the role of police, and their community relationships–a kind of law enforcement reset (Cherney & Murphy, 2013).  Part of this process, in moving toward a soft security community policing strategy necessarily involves state agents seeking consent from community partners. Reflecting on the UK’s Prevent strategy, Briggs argues that without consent counter-terrorism operations become unsustainable and at constant risk of causing the very effects they aim to curb (Briggs, 2010, p. 973; see also, Coaffee & Fussey, 2015): The police and Security Service cannot act without the consent of the communities they are there to protect, because they need communities to extend to them the benefit of the doubt when they make mistakes, and forgive them infringements of civil liberties that might happen in the heat of the moment  (although civil liberties should be fiercely guarded at all times). The nature of the threat from Al-Qaeda, which is determined to cause maximum damage without warning, compels the police to intervene much earlier than they would in other circumstances, which increases the likelihood of mistakes. The sustainability of this model, according to Briggs, is made possible by strong resilient relationships that can withstand the sometimes-contradictory stressors imposed by trying to blend top-down and bottom-up policing strategies. Building resilient relationships, however, is made difficult by high police officer and social service worker turnover. As Spalek, McDonald, and El Alwa (2011a, p. 20) state: “it is personal relationships that matter.” They argue that with a strong brand name or reputation based on consistency, mutual understanding, and predictability, the barrier presented by, for example, high police officer turnover rates may be mitigated. Failing this, in moments in which civil liberties   54 are infringed upon, unsuccessful trust-building projects and community engagement can undermine all previous efforts to foster security (Lindekilde, 2012a, 2012b; Sheptycki, 2007). Scholars critical of what are seen to be imbalanced soft security partnerships cite a lack of sincerity, transparency, and visibility on the part of state agents. Following concerns over staff turnover (seen as a lack of commitment), tall orders of understanding (for when civil liberties are infringed upon and mistakes made), and in light of histories of over-policing and racial profiling, Spalek and Lambert (2010) call for sensitivity and reflexivity in the relationships between state agents and community members. Highlighting the very complex conditions under which these partnerships are engaged, Spalek and Lambert cite examples of reciprocal information sharing and dialogue between community members and police, in which counter-terrorism, community issues, and policing strategies and impacts could be discussed. Other scholars have raised similar arguments for more open and reciprocal dialogue between marginalised communities and police, as a way of developing police competencies around cultural sensitivity, ethnic, religious and cultural heterogeneity, foreign policy, and transnational politics (d’Appolonia, 2010; Berns-McGown, 2013; Cherney & Hartley, 2017).  Repeatedly in the literature, community distress is expressed with instances of disingenuous community-based policing, particularly in relation to counter-terrorism policing. Basia Spalek (2012, p. 76), voicing the concern of many (i.e. Baker, 2012; Spalek & O'Rawe, 2014), asks whether state engagements and partnerships with community groups are merely intelligence-gathering in disguise? Awan’s (2011) use of the term “community surveillance” expresses the deep scepticism felt by critics of the present state of preventative soft security. In the UK, Innes (2006) found that relations between British Muslims and policing agencies have, in many cases, been damaged by Prevent policing, and that reception of the community-outreach model has been mixed. Spalek, El Awa, and McDonald (2011a, p. 19) reported that generally British Muslims responses to “Prevent” policing had been positive, however a greater “level of concern and dissatisfaction among younger British Muslim men” was expressed, paired with the suggestion that “counterterrorism policing was being abused by the police.” Again, Cherney and Murphy’s (2013) findings are pertinent, procedural justice is an important indicator of the possibility and effectiveness of community engagement in terrorism prevention.  Ultimately, many critical scholars are calling attention to the perceived and real general lack of accountability of counter-terrorism agents to community partners. In practice, accountability and   55 transparency require responding to community demands, including those that may not fall under the direct remit of counter-terrorism teams (Grossman, 2017; Basia Spalek, Laura Zahra McDonald, & S El Awa, 2011b, p. 17). Spalek et al. (2011) are explicit in their insistence upon open and candid identification of officers as members of counter-terrorism units, at the outset of any program. Further, they make a strong case for the upfront negotiation of information sharing as a two-way relationship. In addition to the reinvention, or policing reset, noted previously, these tactics are proposed in response to the exclusive and secretive culture of hard counter-terrorism security practice (Spalek, McDonald et al., 2011, p. 18). With a culture of openness, clarity, and transparency, Choudhury and Fenwick (2011) claim that opportunities can be created in which rumours, media reportage, and stereotypes relating to policing operations can be dispelled or elucidated. Further, these kinds of community contracts set out clear expectations and lines of communication, important in the process of developing trust between partners.  However, calls for a more open culture in policing have are not always met with warm reception by police/security agencies, despite a significant body of research stating its value. Briggs (2010) explains that these kinds of open channels of communication go against the grain of traditional policing, with discretionary power shaping a need-to-know culture. As such, Briggs argues that a structural shift is required, to legislate transparent decision-making around funding allocation, reporting, and program delivery (p. 980).  While many engaged communities have been receptive to this directive, it is likely that–as was found by the Home Office RICU–it is not always clear what this should look like in practice (Turnstone, 2010). Further, criticisms of partnerships that end up looking more like public relations exercises (Innes, 2006) or market-research consultations are understood to potentially cause disenfranchisement, leaving communities feeling patronised (Cook, 2006, p. 105). Choudhury and Fenwick (2011) in the UK, and Hanniman (2008) in Canada, make clear that failing to ensure that community partnerships are based on sincerity, consistency, and longer-term community investment risks undermining established relationships and the possibility of collaborative efforts to counter violent extremism, and arguably civic participation more generally (Vergani et al., 2017).    56 The problem of evaluation All over the world, governments are allocating substantial funds to their counter-terrorism and national security budgets. At the same time, governments have increasingly been drawn to the idea of evidence-based policy, which first emerged in the field of clinical health sciences (Young, 2011). However, according to Lum and Kennedy (2012, p. 3), increased counter-terrorism funding “has not been matched by evaluation and assessment regarding the cost-effectiveness of these expenditures.”  According to Young (2011, p. 20), evidence-based approaches to policy were instigated by the clinical health sciences and based on “the belief that ‘science’ and ‘evidence’ are inextricably interconnected.” In other words, the idea of evidence-based policy is based on the conviction that a scientific approach to policy evaluation can produce unbiased information, providing grounds for rational, accountable, ethical, and fiscally responsible decision-making by government (Chalmers, 2003; Lum, W Kennedy, & Sherley, 2008). As such, these evaluations and assessments are often outsourced to private consultancies or public-private partnerships (Lindekilde 2012c, p. 387). Various scholars have pointed to the complexities associated with the labelling of certain kinds of knowledge as “evidence” (Glasby, Walshe, & Harvey, 2007; Marston & Watts, 2003; Sempik, Becker, & Bryman, 2007). In particular, they emphasise the subjective and contextual nature of what becomes considered evidence (Nutley, Walter, & Davies, 2007).  Despite this cautionary warning, many researchers remain adamant that this approach is essential to promoting accountable, responsible, and transparent policy-making (Chalmers, 2003), and specifically in order to moderate the moral panic that is often associated with counter-terrorism policy development (Lum et al., 2008; Lum and Kennedy, 2012). For example, when there is a terrorist incident, the public may expect immediate action and resolution of the issues involved, even though they may not be fully understood (Brannan, Esler, & Anders Strindberg, 2001). Growth in critical terrorism research in academic journals (e.g. Critical Studies on Terrorism, Terrorism and Political Violence, Studies in Conflict and Terrorism, and the International Journal of Conflict and Violence) remains largely theoretical, lacking grounding in empirical data (Sageman, 2014). In their assessment of the literature, Lum and Kennedy (2012) assert there is an astounding deficiency of empirical analysis and evaluation of counter-terrorism policies   57 and programs. In 2006, Lum et al. reported that only 3-4 percent of terrorism publications included some kind of analysis based on empirical information (p. 892). Four years later, Lum (2012) again expressed surprise at the lack of empirical assessment and evaluation. Putting this scarcity into perspective, she reports that “evaluations of police interventions outnumber those on security and counterterrorism more than tenfold” (National Research Council 2010, cited in Lum and Kennedy, 2012, p. 4). While there is a growing library of such research, the historical paucity of empirical research, assessment and evaluation is attributed in large part to definitional struggles, along with what Sageman (2004, p. 565) calls “an unbridgeable gap between academia and the intelligence community.” Notably, in this dissertation, both definitional struggles and this “unbridgeable gap” imposed limitations methodologically and in the analysis, some of which are discussed in Chapter 3. Before tackling the above-noted definitional issues, it is instructive to outline some of the most common challenges that have been noted, in conducting research on radicalisation toward violence and, particularly, evaluation of programs designed to prevent it: • The radicalisation process unfolds over time and understanding it requires painstaking, longitudinal analysis, which is difficult to reconcile with the government’s desire for immediate information; • Researchers need to gain the trust of individuals and/or groups to conduct their investigation—the very same individuals and groups that feel threatened by the securitisation of society; • Researchers face the same challenges as officials working for security agencies, in identifying radicalised individuals who are willing to take part in studies (the “needle in a haystack” problem); • Any attempt to validate CVE strategies must face the crucial question of causality. It is exceedingly difficult to know when specific policies are or are not responsible for specific events or outcomes. For example, if a state spends money on CVE and there are fewer incidents, was it the CVE measures that led to this outcome, or some other factors? More precisely, how much of that outcome can be attributed to CVE measures vs. other factors? Answering this question requires many assumptions, each of which is subject to critical debate.   58 With so many knowledge gaps, combined with a lack of clear and specific evidence-based directives (i.e. “best practice”), security and law enforcement agencies tend to introduce ad-hoc programs and discretionary interventions.  Addressing national security interventions through a preventative framework begs the question of who is at risk? Who are the young people who have been prevented from engaging with terrorist activity? Identifying “end target” (Lindekilde 2012b, p. 340) or at-risk (Heath-Kelly, 2013) populations requires that national security policy become localised, with policy objectives scaled down and specifically targeted. According to many scholars (see Choudhury & Fenwick, 2011a; Heath-Kelly, 2013; Spalek, 2012), it is in this process of policy making (i.e. policy knowledge production) and scaling down to implementation–where radicalisation narratives become linear, and indicators become more specific and contained or measurable–that programs may produce and perpetuate a terrorist profile. Despite growing consensus amongst researchers that there is no single terrorist profile, prescriptive profiles and suspect communities continue to emerge through the policy, interventions, and actions of governments (Heath-Kelly, 2012).  With small data samples, data shortages, narrative-based correlations, a lack of longitudinal studies, and limited understanding of what constitutes a person “at risk of extremist radicalisation,” the generation of false positives becomes a serious problem (Heath-Kelly, 2012).  Under a security model based on prevention, “the intended impact is that nothing happens, e.g. no radicalisation…proving the negative” (Lindekilde 2012c, p. 398). Given these problems of evaluation, and a strategy of prevention, Heath-Kelly (2012, p. 70) warns of the likelihood of false positives:  We might see more mistakes, more “false positives,” now that the policy is explicitly concerned with the lives of those ‘vulnerable’ to extremism, because terrorism knowledge can never encompass the ‘tipping point between the suspect subjectivities it produces and the figure of the terrorist. Lindekilde (2012c) and Heath-Kelly (2013) describe subjective policies and interventions that allow for discretionary policing, and what Butler (Butler, 2006) and Heath-Kelly refer to as “petty sovereignties,” whereby “persons are exposed to the force of sovereign power–and yet later proven innocent” (Heath-Kelly 2013, 79). The implications of false positives have been   59 raised by various scholars in relation to the formation of suspect communities and attributed to amplified experiences of marginalisation and disenfranchisement.  Reinforcing the difficulties associated with the absence of foundational clarity, Horgan and Braddock (2010, p. 286) argue that trying to develop a set of best practice recommendations, either through policy and program evaluation, is a naïve task. With a diversity of terrorism “types,” related to the interrelation of multiple scales (i.e. Local networks, national or global concerns), “what works in one region could not necessarily be expected to work in another and the internal expectations of the initiatives vary considerably” (p. 286). For Horgan and Braddock, the uncritical use of the concept of “best practice” obscures the complexities associated with the phenomenon of violent extremism and terrorism, and they argue that this approach will inevitably result in more limited, rather than expanded, knowledge and learning.  2.7 Making “suspect communities” The term suspect community has been used in the past to describe the treatment of the Irish Republican Army (Hillyard, 1993), but has more recently seen a revival by scholars describing the treatment and impact of community-targeted counter-terrorism in the UK (see Awan, 2012; Choudhury, 2010; Heath-Kelly, 2013; Mary J. Hickman et al., 2012). A suspect community is a sub-group of the population that has been identified and labelled problematic, and specifically recognised as a threat to the state (Pantzis & Pemberton, 2009, p. 649). Pantzis and Pemberton (2009) encourage us to think of a pyramid, in which the media sits at the bottom and policy at the pinnacle. In this structure language, media and policy interrelate in particular ways, and in the case of terrorism, policy can easily become united with a media discourse of moral panic (Pantazis and Pemberton 2009; see also Dillabough and Kennelly 2010), Islamophobia (Frost, 2008; Kaya, 2011; Poynting & Briskman, 2018), and the resulting public discourse ultimately shapes who the public imagines as suspect (Miller & Sack, 2010; Nickels, Thomas, Hickman, & Silvestri, 2012). But as Randa Abdel-Fattah (2019, p. 2) notes, it is not just in a top-down order that the label of “suspect” and the “regime of truth” that sees Muslim youth as either moderate or extremist occurs, but through the circulation of policies, grants, media, and the public statements of community leaders too.  Critical terrorism scholars who take this position generally describe communities rendered suspect through CVE policies and programs in two key ways: through policy frameworks that conflate vulnerability and a need for support with the prospect of threat and violence, and in   60 related processes of self-identification that occur when marginalised communities adopt the language of vulnerability to radicalisation to access state-sponsored resources (Abdel-Fattah, 2019; H. Jones, 2013). This critical discourse around suspect communities and the impact of prevention policies is primarily associated with the UK, with some similar accounts in Australia (Spalek and Imatoual, 2009; McCulloch and Pickering, 2012).  CVE policies have not existed in a vacuum, but have been shaped by the political statements and media framing that circulate around them (Boukes, Boomgaarden, Moorman, & de Vreese, 2015). Boukes and colleagues (2015) have shown that there is a direct relationship between public policy development and journalism; elsewhere regarded as “agenda setting” (Husband & Alam, 2011, p. 79). In other words, the commentary, editorial choices and depiction of policies by journalists influences public understanding and reception of policies, producing significant pressures and consequences for policy makers. Husband and Alam’s (2011) study of UK counter-terrorism policy reveals the media context characterised by moral panic and perpetuating “conventional wisdom” radicalisation narratives focused on Muslim youth has directly influenced counter-terrorism policy’s framing and reception in the UK (p. 80). Analysis of British news media revealed that in the majority of cases in which Muslims were noted in articles, it was in reference to terrorism, and in 55 per cent of articles where they were given a voice it was in relation to terrorism (Firmstone et al., 2009, cited in Husband & Alam, 2001, p.81). Research participants expressed anger and distress at the way news media depictions of Muslim and Islam emphasised terrorism potential (p. 81). Husband and Alam’s study highlights how—in light of this media setting—references to CVE policy and programs contribute to anti-Muslim sentiments, support the making of “suspect communities,” securitise Islam, and undo the alleged community-bonding intent of social cohesion policy. They contend that any examination of terrorism prevention policy requires contextualisation from the perspective of both media and political discourse. In examining the implementation of terrorism prevention policy, researchers in the UK have concluded that CVE programs contain an implicit logic that depicts some individuals as more vulnerable than others. This assumption of vulnerability authorises a politics and practice of pre-emption (Heath-Kelly, 2013), as well as of pre-criminalisation (McCulloch and Pickering, 2009; 2012). Further, in some jurisdictions, it has legitimated the adoption of intrusive measures, including the alleged embedding of under-cover officers in community spaces (Spalek and   61 O’Rawe, 2014) and, in a number of places, increased stop-and-search powers and pre-detention charges (Pickering et al. 2008; McCulloch and Pickering, 2009; Choudhury, 2010). In the UK and Australia, these practices are seen as undermining social cohesion and multiculturalism standards with interventions targeted at particular sub-populations (i.e., racial profiling, see Spalek and Imtoual, 2007; Awan, 2012). In the Netherlands and Denmark the logic of vulnerability has also amplified pressure to follow more prescriptive immigration and integration policies (Lindekilde, 2012a).  Critics argue that funding that requires community organisations to frame themselves as vulnerable and thus deserving of additional attention from the state, including funds for community development, does those communities a disservice, by requiring them to self-identify as suspect (Spalek and Imtoual, 2007; Kundnani, 2009; Choudhury and Fenwick, 2011). Choudhury and Fenwick (2011, p. ix), in their report for the Equality and Human Rights Commission, described concern over the way the Prevent program both targeted British Muslim communities and put them in a compromising position–in desperate need of financial support, yet requiring negative social identifications in order to access it (see also H. Jones, 2013): Muslims working on Prevent often referred to the process of having to rationalise and justify participation, in light of their concerns about its nature and impact. For some, their concerns were countered by realism and pragmatism about the opportunity that [CVE] created for making a difference in their communities (Choudhury and Fenwick, 2011, p. 51).  Choudhury and Fenwick also cite interviews in which community leaders expressed frustration at having to “misrepresent their activities and to exaggerate the threat in order to secure funding” (p. 51).  Each of these problems speak to the way in the UK, as in Australia, Canada, and elsewhere, there may be an awkward tension between social cohesion agendas and national security goals (Husband and Alam, 2011; Richards, 2011; Hickman et al., 2012). While there may be “well-intentioned” reasoning behind CVE programs, the discourse around “suspect communities” highlights some of the associated problems and unintended consequences.    62 2.8 Unintended impacts and negative effects  Although, as already noted, evaluations that speak to the efficacy of CVE programming are difficult to undertake and few are representative enough to really refine understandings of the process of radicalisation toward violent extremism, a number of scholars demonstrate grounds for serious concern. Lindekilde’s (2012a, p. 111) question is pertinent:  More precisely, the question investigated is if the neo-liberal intention of preventing radicalisation by shaping and creating liberal-democratic citizens may be counter-productive, and in the worst-case scenario contribute to the creation of oppositional, illiberal identities? In other words, while evaluations are unable to demonstrate, or even define, what success would look like, equally they are also unable to communicate, for certain, failure.  That said, it seems far easier to demonstrate failure than success, and perhaps for this reason, scholarship reporting the failure of prevention campaigns has been relatively robust. The concern though, is that policies and programs intended to foster social cohesion and prevent violent radicalisation could instead serve to amplify inequality, social exclusion (Kundnani, 2009; Spalek & Imatoual, 2007), disenfranchisement, negative relationships with the state and state agents (Eijkman, 2011), and potentially contribute to violent radicalisation and extremism (Lindekilde, 2012a).  Assessing the Prevent policy post-2011, Awan (2012) suggests that the policy may further alienate and stigmatise Muslim communities in Britain, and instead contribute to an environment in which extremist ideologies could gain more traction. In explaining his critique, Awan highlights the tendency of police officers and security agents to profile potential extremists without an evidence base, and to conflate religious participation with vulnerability to extremism, such as envisaging Mosques as “breeding grounds” for extremism (p. 1178).  In the UK and in Europe, Awan (2012) and Eijkman (2011) argue that governments need to better understand the causes of extremism if they are to develop strategies that work to prevent extremism, rather than feed it. Outlining his recommendations for the future of the UK’s Prevent strategy, Awan states (p. 1177):  The Prevent 2011 strategy should do more to challenge and understand what makes someone become an extremist, and begin a process of engagement that   63 can help remove the ‘suspect’ community label that has been associated with the Muslim community. Reiterating this warning, Kundani (2009) asserts that “bad” CVE partnerships do more than hurt relationships between those involved; they also shape future possibilities of partnerships, trust more broadly, and influence feelings of communities and individuals toward the state in which they live (also see Eijkman, 2011).   Identity politics are stressed and loyalties divided when communities are labelled as suspect and vulnerable to extremism. For diaspora and ethno-culturally defined communities, Hickman et al. (2012) describe the pressure to pick a side–the national community (i.e. the state) or the local community (i.e. sub-population). Hickman and colleagues’ qualitative study focused on the experiences of Irish and Muslim communities in the UK and involved discussion groups where individuals were invited to share their experiences of and concerns over community-oriented counter-terrorism strategies. One key informant, a British Muslim, explained the experience of feeling divided (Hickman et al., 2012, p. 98):  The experience is very alienating. And I think, is alienating and creating, is promoting the concept of ‘us and them’ and dividing communities [….] There [are] huge problems with the psychological impact of all this demonisation which it has never been measured and I think that needs to be measured, what psychological impact it has got and how that is going to affect the whole community–people have got a lot of psychosis that is connected to police and security and so forth. Hickman et al. (2012), posit that this kind of alienation can pave pathways toward reactive identity formation, highlighting gang participation and the development of more radical politicisation (not necessarily extremist). Similarities are drawn out in the Australian context, where Spalek and Imtoual (2007) confirm this binary of “us” and “them,” explaining that those who seek to avoid being branded suspects are forced to choose between identities–those that are deemed legitimate by the state, and those that are not. Ultimately, this choice may rule out the possibility of productive and resistant politics of participation, and limits legitimate or transparent spaces in which individuals and communities are able to enact their democratic rights to express dissent and protest (p. 197).    64 While there are instances in which more positive stories of community engagement and counter-radicalisation are surfacing, (see, for example “Beyond Bali” in Australia and HAYAT in Berlin) the general lack of a solid body of evaluative scholarship means that there still remain a lot of unknowns. Choudhury and Fenwick (2011) are pragmatic in their assessment of counter-radicalisation policy and programming in the UK, noting that this strategy has ultimately been an experiment, from which policy makers have been learning as they go. Similarly, Cherney et al.’s (2017) study of the enlistment of local service providers in CVE indicates an absence of critical understanding as to the implications of this new mandate. What this tells us is that there is a great need for critical examination, challenge and critique–all with the knowledge that these policies exist in different socio-cultural and political climates, and at specific sites. 2.9 Conclusions: Escaping the prevention paradox? Although there has been recent growth in empirically-grounded critical terrorism scholarship, growth remains slow. As noted, empirical data remains a pressing  challenge for critical studies of terrorism and counter-terrorism, and its development continues to be stifled by the inherent difficulties in defining the relative concept of terrorism, radicalisation, and what successful disengagement, resilience to violent extremism, and counter-terrorism might look like (Lum and Kennedy, 2010; Lindekilde, 2012c). However, in the critical scholarship that does exist, concern first and foremost revolves around the impact of attempts to govern risk and potential threats (i.e. Heath-Kelly 2012; 2013). In the various ways that concerns have been articulated over the unintended and negative impacts of soft security measures, a common problem arises: expression of critique and its significance tends to rely on and reinforce the “conventional wisdom” radicalisation trajectory. For instance, various scholars have argued that soft security interventions label individuals and communities as “vulnerable” to radicalisation to violent extremism, produce suspect communities, and thus amplify experiences of marginalisation and disenfranchisement that are seen to be stepping-stones toward terrorist radicalisation trajectories (Eijkman, 2011; Kundnani, 2009; Lindekilde, 2012a; Spalek and Imatoual, 2007). Whether the scholars themselves support the “conventional wisdom” trajectory of radicalisation (i.e. that alienation, disenfranchisement, and socio-economic deprivation lead to radicalisation that can, under the right circumstances become violent) or not, it has become so influential that these cautionary warnings of unintended consequences of soft prevention strategies easily become trapped in the dominant radicalisation discourse. By my own admission, I too am guilty of this   65 offense in this chapter, and I actively seek to guard against this throughout this thesis. This “trap” creates a difficult terrain for research that seeks to understand both the phenomena of so-called “homegrown terrorism,” the “how” of prevention regimes, and also the impacts of soft and hard interventions.  Herein lies a case for critical scholarship tackling these questions, outside of the field of critical studies on terrorism. Silke (2004) and Stampinitzky (2010) have both observed that the development of terrorism expertise and research itself has relied heavily on financial and intellectual dependence on government resourcing, in part due to its devaluing via traditional academic means (see also Sageman, 2014). As Stampinitzky (2010, p. 7) explains:  Terrorism expertise has its origins as an adjunct to the developing counterterrorism apparatus of the state, with the earliest organised efforts at terrorism studies largely sponsored by the state, and often explicitly oriented toward developing practical techniques of control. Perhaps even more significantly, the state has been not just the primary sponsor of knowledge-production, but also the primary consumer of research.  Often subject to narrow parameters, resulting research becomes focused and narrow too. Additionally, there is often an expectation for research to produce an output the looks like a solution or remedy to the problem of terrorism. Stampinitzky and others (i.e. Schmid, 2004; Norricks, 2009) are also critical of progress hampered by the subjective, relative and politically contingent concept of terrorism. The term violent-extremism attempts to “solve” this definitional conundrum by eschewing the political baggage of “terrorism” in favour of a descriptor of the action (violence) over the affect (terror). But this move fails to override the fixation on defining radicalisation trajectories. While these are all important issues, deserving of scholarly attention and in need of constant critique, what seems to be missed through this focus is a broader consideration of prevention strategies as a single piece of a puzzle that, in the case of the primary terrorism threat outlined in all the strategies referenced here – al Qaida, which has since become displaced by the threat of ISIS – is part of a much more extensive national security strategy.  While prevention, social cohesion, and resilience are celebrated in outlines of soft and local approaches to counter-terrorism over and over again, the persistent hermeneutics of crisis management supersedes comprehensive community-based approaches with hard, top-down and   66 oppressive security measures. This means that in any given community-level intervention, multiple scales of policy, media coverage, political rhetoric and ground-level policing and surveillance each influence the nature and experience of community-based approaches.  As previously noted, Heath-Kelly (2012)  has cautioned that the more knowledge generated about “‘pre-terrorist’ behaviours and risks, the greater the uncertainty about the ‘tipping point’ where a suspect subjectivity morphs into the figure of the terrorist,” and the greater likelihood of producing “false positives” (2012, p. 70). In light of countless legislative developments across national boundaries, legal protections are being reduced in the service of more pre-emptive intelligence gathering, detainments and arrests. Under these conditions, how can state-community partnerships develop trust and open communication when there is no legal protection for those characterised as “vulnerable” to extremism? How are young people to feel appreciated in these imbalanced relationships? How are young people’s democratic rights and freedom of speech to be protected when the radicalisation “tipping point” itself is pre-empted? And where can, in particular, Muslim young people voice their concern over their treatment, the rise of Islamophobia, socio-economic inequality or foreign policy without having their concerns illegitimated by their casting as dangerously radical?  Soft security prevention strategies aspire to localise national security through partnerships that give agency to community organisations and local institutions. These strategies embrace the idea of a micro-politics, of convivial encounters with state actors and security agents that are expected to breed familiarity and thus trust. Furthermore, through these relationships it is hoped that there exists the possibility of negotiating local concerns that, if left unattended, could contribute to breed hostility between the state and its public. However, so far these strategies and much of the critical literature that discusses them, fail to recognise the interdependent nature of the various strands of counter-terrorism policy and strategy along with the inter-scalar dimensions of CVE engagements, and how local actors might navigate these multi-scalar dynamics.   A critique of soft terrorism prevention or countering violent extremism necessarily needs to be located within a larger paradigm that acknowledges 1) the legitimacy of non-violent radicalisation; 2) the value of radicalisation of various forms for the progress of political thought, social and environmental justice (to name a few); 3) the social and political effects of a pre-emptive “soft” security strategy; and 4) the quality of the multi-scalar experience of “the war on   67 terror” and its multiple “threats,” on the lives of those who are subjected to labels of “vulnerable” or “at risk.” Critical studies of terrorism and terrorism prevention need to do better to locate and recognise the international, transnational and local as overlapping and interdependent. Furthermore, missing from the literature is the perspective of the groundworkers who face these complex circuits and seek to intervene in the everyday lives of those most impacted by them (Cherney et al., 2017). Given the growing role or implication of community service providers (including local government groundworkers) in the securitisation of social policies – as CVE community outreach programs – there is a need to better understand the challenges, opportunities, capacities and affects within this regime.           68 Chapter 3: Methodology 3.1  Introduction Developments in terrorism prevention policy and programs have been characterised as ad-hoc, building in a trial-and-error manner. Although it has grown in recent years, critical scholarship has been similarly piecemeal. Evaluations of countering violent extremism programs and terrorism prevention research based on novel empirical data are few (Lum & Kennedy, 2012; Lum, Kennedy, & Sherley, 2006; Lum et al., 2008), and  scholarly and policy development has been stifled by the inherent difficulties and subsequent debates over the definitions of terrorism and radicalisation (Heydemann, 2014; Lindekilde, 2012c; Silke, 1996). Empirical studies encounter multiple challenges including, for example, barriers in accessing research “subjects” (i.e. “terrorists” won’t speak with researchers, or are out of reach) and information sensitivities and restrictions (Lindekilde, 2012c; Mastroe, 2016). The lack of a substantial evidence-base and definitional clarity over terrorism prevention, and specifically countering violent extremism (CVE), makes for a particularly messy policy domain. Harris-Horgan et al., put it succinctly, “many CVE approaches cannot define the specifics of what they are preventing, let alone how or whether they have prevented it” (Harris-Hogan, Barrelle, & Zammit, 2016, p. 1). Meanwhile, there is considerable support for a preventative approach to counter-terrorism that continues to push CVE forward, as undefined as it might be, as a necessary component of pre-emptive national security.  Early interventions to curtail radicalisation to violent extremism have been seen to target and stigmatise already marginalised young people; “justified and depoliticised as relationships of care” (de Goede and Simon 2013, p320). There continues to be concern that CVE programs seeking to combat “the material and ideological causes of radicalisation” risk reinforcing them (Lindekilde, 2012c, p. 343). Dillabough and Kennelly’s (2010) study of marginalised youth growing up in global cities acknowledges the myriad ways in which young people are labelled as “problems”, and asks under these circumstances how young people can feel “at home” in a “world where intimations of incipient terrorism, whether considered or casual, have become the new channel for everyday racism and ethnic hysteria” (Dillabough & Kennelly, 2010, p. 15)? When young, racialised Muslims are repeatedly told they don’t belong—through vilification in media and political rhetoric, everyday harassment, and over-policing—but are then engaged by   69 national security outreach programs that seek to prevent radicalisation to violence by insisting on their belonging, how is this message received? How is belonging circumscribed?  I am indebted to Charles Husband and Yunis Alam (2011), whose study of local government workers implementing the UK’s Prevent strategy in the aftermath of the 7/7 bombings from 2005 has provided a model for the study of policy analysis through the study of its implementation. Like Husband and Alam, I do not seek to evaluate CVE effectiveness or policy efficacy with my research program. Rather, my study is interested in the interface of social and security policy. What happens where terrorism prevention and multiculturalism meet? I seek to better understand the nature and potential impacts of this policy entanglement. My research responds to the critiques of scholars who have observed the way that terrorism prevention strategies reframe multiculturalism and social cohesion as components of the national security apparatus, to detrimental effect. While it’s not a question I am able to definitively answer with my research program, this study is motivated by a pressing concern: what is at stake when social policy is predicated on fear?  3.2 Research sites and design, by opportunities and constraints Until 2017, when I would tell people I was researching terrorism prevention in Australia, the typical response is: “Why? Terrorism isn’t really an issue in Australia.” Indeed, while there had been a small number of attacks, the intensity of the real terrorism threat in Australia has remained at “probable” since the introduction of the current National Terrorism Threat Advisory System (beneath “expected” and “certain”). Discursively, however, terrorism has been at the forefront of Australian border protection policy and political fear-mongering since 9-11, intensified following the Bali bombings, the Sydney Lindt Café siege in 2014, and Parramatta police station shooting in 2015. The influence of these events on legislation and policy has been substantial (see Chapter 4).  Initially it had been my intention to undertake a comparative study between Canada and Australia. Canada and Australia have long shared policy across contexts, particularly as it relates to immigration (Hawkins, 1991; Mann, 2012). I witnessed this policy circuitry in action while attending Canadian Network for research on Terrorism, Security and Society (TSAS) workshop in the first year of my PhD program, where Australian researchers and consultants travelled to Ottawa to participate in policy and practice-based discussion with their Canadian and US counterparts. I believed that applying a comparative approach to my observation of how   70 terrorism prevention programs were shaping up in each of these settings would reveal insights into the ways in which CVE and multicultural policy paradigms might interact under similar but distinct demographic and policy conditions. At the time, the aim was to consider how social policy was becoming securitised under different sets of contextual circumstances. I judged the comparative fit appropriate given that Canada and Australia were at the time, under conservative leadership: PM Stephen Harper in Canada, and PM Tony Abbott in Australia. Both leaders had relegated multiculturalism to a demographic descriptor, and were known to use alienating language, conflating Islam and terrorism. In both settings there was a sense of an encroachment on immigration and multicultural policies by heavy-handed national security agendas.  As I began my fieldwork there was a leadership change in both countries; Australia saw Abbott replaced by the slightly moderated PM Malcolm Turnbull, and Canada experienced a more dramatic shift with the election of PM Justin Trudeau. These leadership changes directly impacted the progress and viability of my comparative research program; CVE policy was put on hiatus as the new government slowly surveyed the policy landscape. Trudeau’s Liberal Party had replaced Harper’s Conservative government of nine years, and there was a great deal of change in the institutional pipeline that impacted the timeline of my study. National security policy and legislation, particularly around counter-terrorism intelligence and sentencing had become a priority issue. In the lead-up to the election Bill C-51 Anti-Terrorism Act and Bill C-24 New Canadian Citizenship Bill were contested, centring around questions of constitutional rights and multiculturalism.3 The instatement of a progressive Liberal government meant that the grounds  3 Bill C-51, also known as the Anti-Terrorism Act was passed by the Canadian Harper Government in 2015. The controversial Bill broadened the information sharing capacities of Canadian government (including intelligence) agencies, and importantly, would give the Canadian Security Intelligence Services (CSIS) the ability to disrupt terror plots. Concerns were raised over what was seen as being a major reduction in transparency and oversight, including allowing agencies to act in ways previously prevented without a formal court order, extensive data gathering, and the potential for misuse. In 2015, Trudeau was elected on a platform in which he promised to repeal Bill C-51. In 2017, the process of repealing Bill C-51 began with introduction of additional oversight, adding limits to government surveillance, among other changes. Bill C-24, also known as the Canadian Citizenship Law Bill, became law in 2014 also under the Harper Government. Under this Law, Canadian citizenship could be rescinded for reasons other than fraud with no right to appeal. The Bill was criticised for creating a second class of citizenship—those for whom citizenship could be revoked in cases where an individual held multiple citizenships, or could potentially hold non-Canadian citizenship. Again, there was concern over the misuse and targeting of immigrants with this new legislation. Both Bills have been interpreted as targeting minority communities and political activists, blurring the lines between democracy, free speech, and criminality in significant ways. For a fuller discussion of Canadian Anti-Terror and Citizenship legislation during this period, see Forcese and Roach (2015).    71 on which I had planned to undertake transnational comparative research had shifted. Between these two factors, the possibility of comparative research had become far more challenging to rationalise.  The decision to ground my research in a single country, at a single city site, was reinforced as I began to come to terms with the complex circuitry involved in the implementation of national security at the scale of the city. In one single local site’s soft security intervention I encountered three scales of government. I understood quickly that any attempt to fully comprehend the entanglement of terrorism prevention policy with multiculturalism would require following the policy from the national scale, through to the local scale (McCann & Ward, 2012).  Barriers to access are inevitable with the study of national security and terrorism prevention (O’Hare, Coaffee, & Hawkesworth, 2010; Sageman, 2014). After a series of “failures to launch” – including pursuing a proposed ethnographic study of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police’s national security community outreach team until it was halted by “higher ups” at the point of seeking Top Secret Security Clearance – I took stock of these barriers to access and how I might circumnavigate them in a way that would allow me to maintain my research focus. My familiarity and professional experience in Australia, and Victoria specifically, provided me with a “way in” to the research that might have otherwise proved challenging. Drawing on contacts with previous Victorian government colleagues I quickly gained access to a key “policy elite” from the Victorian Community Resilience Unit (CRU), the Victorian government’s terrorism prevention team. It was through this “gatekeeper” (and their vouching for me) that I was invited to future meetings with staff from the CRU and the Office for Multicultural Affairs (OMAC). These initial meetings and informal conversations over coffee were essential to my scoping and provided for further introductions to government staff and non-government actors involved in terrorism prevention in and around Melbourne.  My research sites and program emerged as much from opportunism as deliberate methodological design. Once granted access to the halls of the Victorian state government, I arrived at an immediate impression that state government bureaucrats working in the terrorism prevention space were driven by concern over, and in response to, the federal government-generated national security context (as will be discussed in Chapter 5). In this way, I came to see the Victorian state government as a filter through which national policy moved on its way to the local scale. Through an incidental conversation with an academic colleague, I was alerted to the   72 presence of an Interfaith Officer in my old home municipality who was interested in engaging in CVE at the local scale. Her recommendation was endorsed by a member of CRU staff, and when I contacted him, he was immediately receptive to some kind of collaboration or research participation. The sampling for the purposes of conducting ethnographic research was effectively a snowball process, and the feeling of serendipity likely a reflection of the moment in time during which CVE was unfolding as a new, unchartered frontier in the Victorian setting. This relative openness I encountered throughout the early phase of my research is documented in Chapter 5.    The instability and constant shifting ground of the federal government – in both leadership and institutional arrangements – made finding an opportune time to engage federal bureaucrats difficult. My field trips to Australia repeatedly coincided with leadership changes, pre-election and post-election periods of “freeze” and departmental re-shuffles. In light of these conditions, I discerned that interviews with federal bureaucrats would be unfruitful. My sense that I would have difficulty penetrating beneath the “hidden transcripts” of Canberra’s policy elites was reinforced during attendance at the Safeguarding Australia conference in May 2016; despite the almost exclusive attendance of “insiders”, staff from the Attorney-General’s Department and the Australian Federal Police were tight-lipped and remained strictly on-script in the Q&A following their presentations.  I therefore resolved to consider the national scale through policy, political speech, and institutional arrangements and therefore documentary analysis provided a way into comprehending from “where” policy travelled downstream (discussed in Chapter 4). Here I recognised that terrorism prevention policies, and CVE itself, are part of a global marketplace (McCann & Ward, 2012). Consultants, bureaucrats and academic researchers are all participants in this market that sustains the policy adoption and learning through doing experimentation, in the absence of a substantial library of empirical studies. It was my own participation in these spaces that initially led me to this research project, after all.  3.3 Sources and methods Like Ahmed (2012, p. 6), I quickly learnt that “documents, once written, acquire lives of their own.” I have treated terrorism prevention policy as my (immutable) object of study, with my attention directed at the life of the policy – reception, interpretation, implementation and effects. Following these documents around means following them into what becomes their institutional   73 and physical form (Ahmed, 2012, p. 12). Put another way, I have considered the circuitry of terrorism prevention policy, particularly in its downstream journey, to where policy is made “real,” to the “prosaic netherworlds of policy implementation” (Peck & Theodore, 2012, p. 24). It is in the spaces of translation and implementation where “diversity practitioners” or “ground workers” become policy interlocutors, the actors who use the policies in their institutional and physical form, in places or nodes where they become situated (Ahmed, 2012; Husband & Alam, 2011).  To interrogate the Australian terrorism prevention policy’s foundational claim of its compatibility with multiculturalism, my research program engaged policy translators and program implementers who, aware of these challenges, are left to work through them. Close examination of the process of “working through” these apparent discrepancies and contradictions, revealed “gaps” between policy, discourse and implementation, and uncovered persistent problems as well as possibilities (Czaika & De Haas, 2013). It is in these gaps that my project contributes to expanding the study of how terrorism prevention policy operates (or doesn’t). Through the experience of these workers, it becomes possible to better comprehend what it means to implement national security policy within the rubric of local social service provision. First-hand accounts in interviews and in the course of participant observation revealed the ways policy processing plays out. It also expands the potential for exploring the ways in which soft security and social service provision; and CVE and social cohesion; national security and multiculturalism interact and impact one another on a daily basis, and in practice. My research used a mix of methods and is guided by a grounded approach. Grounded theory emphasises the possibility of developing theory from observation and analysis of observed empirical realities (Corbin & Strauss, 1990). Following this approach, observing and interviewing actors involved in the translation and implementation of CVE policies and programs over an extended period of time, allowed for theoretical analysis and a rich account of how policy translation and implementation as a process of “discovery.” Because grounded theory recognises that phenomena change continuously and are never static, this approach incorporates change into its process by a method that “provisionally” held data as it was collected, confirming its significance by repetition in interviews, observations and document analysis. Throughout the research period, politicians, staff, policies, strategies, legislation, implementation plans, as well as the cultural and political climate continued to change. My   74 project struggled with but responded to this inevitable flux by documenting significant changes, and by anchoring a focus on the experience of the policy-makers and implementation actors’ experiences throughout this period, in an effort to capture the interplay between “change” and its grounded impacts.   Consequently, while interested in the journey of policy from national to local scale, this thesis is primarily oriented toward the local scale of policy implementation. Interviews and document analysis were thickened by a more in-depth ethnographic study of a single local government site. The central focus of my research has thus been a terrorism prevention program in situ; recognising the ecology in which that program came into being. Following Greenhalgh (2008, p. xv), I understand there to be a feedback loop between policy constructs and the institutions that craft them, but also the individual actors who make up those institutions.  The context of national security, terrorism prevention policy and its implementation is “socially constructed and discursively constituted” (Peck & Theodore, 2012, p. 23). Public policy does not exist in a vacuum, but in a constellation of political and media discourse, hierarchies, and interests (Boukes et al., 2015). In Husband and Alam’s (2011) study of UK terrorism prevention policy, they explicitly examine the media context and its explicit influence in framing terrorism prevention policy and its reception. Their study revealed how CVE policy and programs become enlisted by anti-Muslim public sentiment, supporting the making of “suspect communities”, and undoing the community-bonding intent of social cohesion policy. As such, examining the implementation of terrorism prevention at the local scale requires contextualization from the perspective of both popular discourse and political rhetoric. To this end, I undertook documentary analysis that allowed me to contextualise local policy implementation through the discursive context of national security policy at the federal level, and again at the state level. This work informs, in particular, Chapter 4’s focus on the national scale, and Chapter 5’s attention to the state-level reception and adaptation of national security policy. From the early stages of my research, I was connected — both directly and indirectly — with staff in all the above-noted organisations and Departments. Perhaps a testament to my relative “insider” status (discussed below), without having sought formal interviews, in a number of cases I was offered interviews. In total I conducted 25 semi-structured interviews with 21 individuals (Table 3.1). I met with participants and conducted the interviews one-on-one over 60-90 minutes each. These included four state bureaucrats, thirteen local government officers   75 and one councillor, and five CVE program staff from a range of NGOs. Follow-up interviews were conducted with key individuals, including three key local government officers at the ethnographic field site, and with one state government policy officer. In all cases of interviews with state and local government participants, I received permission to note individuals by their institutional roles but not names. In the case of NGO actors, aside from the Islamic Council of Victoria (ICV), participants expressed ambivalence around naming their organisations and we together decided to maintain their anonymity.  Table 3.1: Summary of semi-structured interviews and their function in the research design.  Interview participants Number Function City of Dean4 13 Interviews were largely used to document first-person accounts of activities in local government setting, including exposure to national security policy and programming (including CVE).  These interviews were also used to cross-check participatory observations, provide alternative perspectives from staff on single topics or issues, and to aid development of interpretation and analysis.  Local Government Other 2 Interviews primarily focused on other local government experience with national security, CVE and multicultural policy. These interviews provided alternative perspectives to Dean, the primary site under study. State Government of Victoria  5 Interviews explored policy development, translation and implementation at the state scale; negotiation of multicultural and national security policy; and state government activities. Other CVE/NGO Actors 5  Interviews explored past and current experiences of engaging in CVE, through local government and NGO engagements. These interviews provided important context, in particular, for ambivalences of NGOs and other agencies engaging with federal government, and the tensions between national security and multicultural policy and programming.   While the focus of the research was somewhat narrowly defined by the three-tiered policy journey from federal, to Victorian state and then to a specific local site, interviews were conducted with actors outside of these agencies. Interviews with local government workers from other local councils and NGO actors were valuable in avoiding “entrapment” within these  4 City of Dean refers to the local government under study. Although anonymity was not required for the study, it is referred to as City of Dean to limit exposure through keyword searches and alerts.    76 defined institutional spaces. For instance, interviews with local government workers where CVE programs were specifically not being adopted were important to appreciating the perceived “risks” of engaging in terrorism prevention at the local government scale. Further, interviews with NGO actors provided perspectives from outside the state that were at times more critical and at others pragmatic. These interviews, in addition to the broad spectrum of informal meetings I undertook with agents outside of my designated study boundaries supported my effort to, as Kuus (2013, p. 7) puts it, minimise my “risk of entrapment in the technocratic echo-chamber''. Because of both the sensitive nature of this area of work, its newness, and its political volatility, naming agencies can have potentially negative impacts for both program participants and relationships of trust between policy and program actors and engaged communities. As was seen in a number of instances throughout the period of study, leaked information around applications for funding and existing state-funded programs in the aftermath of a terror event resulted as part of a political “blame game,” compromising the continuity of program funding and both NGO and state agency reputations. As such, there was an apprehension around full disclosure and despite interest in co-producing knowledge through participation in research projects, details were carefully guarded (O’Hare et al., 2010). In a few cases where individuals were willing to be named in the research, I anonymised their participation if I felt their identity may be likely to expose others who had requested anonymity.  For some participants, the interviews were seen as opportunities to discuss or process some of the questions they had themselves about the work they were doing. For example, as I explained my interest in asking policy makers and practitioners about if and how they reconcile CVE, multiculturalism and social cohesion in their own thinking, one policy officer responded: Look, I think one of the ongoing challenges we have, and I'd be happy to talk about it, again I don't have a script, so probably talking out loud and thinking out loud, thinking out loud, as I go… I would be really interested in talking some more about that. I was surprised at this general willingness. On the one hand I wondered if it was just that I was in the “right place at the right time,” when individuals were yet to feel the political consequences of a program gone wrong. It could also have been a strategic manoeuvre of charismatic policy   77 elites, acknowledging eschewing their use of “political script” (Kuus, 2013). Or perhaps it was my presentation as an almost-insider: a Caucasian 30-year-old Australian-Canadian PhD student, both local and distant, with state and local government professional credentials, membership in the Canadian network for research on Terrorism Security and Society (TSAS), and a PhD supervisor with influence, who was at the time TSAS co-Director. Whatever the reason, the tone of the interviews allowed for unexpected dialogue and moved beyond the “extractive” (Peck & Theodore, 2012, p. 26). My strategy with these interviews was to initially have research participants detail their day-to-day practices and the specifics of how they see the development and implementation of terrorism prevention policy. Interviews with state-level and local-level policy and program actors were focused on the perceptions of how national policy had travelled to the local scale, and how its reception and implementation were likely to develop or were already developing (Greenhalgh, 2008). Interviews, in particular, at the local government field site were utilised as an opportunity for me to clarify what I was “witnessing,” and to clarify my interpretations and develop confidence in my data interpretation (Kuus, 2013, p. 9). Critically, my ability to ask specific questions “on the record” during these extended interviews allowed me to cross-check my reading of how policy was being interpreted, and how programs were progressing, in addition to opening discussions of individual apprehensions, ambivalences, uncertainty and positionality. These interviews also allowed me to cross-check interpretations of events by different staff working on the same program, as individual positions tended to influence the interpretation of developments.5 Isolating points of difference between individual interpretations of policy and implementation provided a way into distinguishing between the local state as a single institution, and as collection of individual actors with different motivations, perspectives, degrees of agency and constraint, and modes of operating within the institution (Greenhalgh, 2008).    5 For example, during the development and implementation of the D-SPEAK program, program officers with more face-time with youth participants tended to have a clearer understanding of why the program was developing as it was. Those who were involved in planning or support roles, with some distance, tended to project their general ambivalence around the CVE project onto their explanations of program development. This was the case when youth participants chose to focus on an anti-euthanasia campaign as their advocacy issue to present to councillors and state Ministers, which turned out to be the result of a miscommunication between youth participants and their Sheikh. This is event is discussed in more detail in Chapter 6.   78 In processing the audio-recorded interview data, I followed a basic method of first transcribing and then manual coding. I read and re-read the interviews to identify recurring themes and concepts. As per my previously noted grounded method, I looked for patterns, deduced and cross-checked themes and elaborated sub-themes accordingly. Where recurrent themes emerged, I looked for specific iterations and differences in expression and interpretation that could add nuance as sub-themes (Corbin & Strauss, 1990). This process relied heavily too on the combination of long interviews with observations gathered during the local government ethnographic fieldwork (see 3.4). This combination allowed me to begin to sketch out the contours of my analytical chapters, with emergent themes generating their sub-headings.   3.4 Ethnography at the local scale Kuus posits that, “In theory, ethnography refers to the methodology of endeavouring to make sense of how others make sense of the world” (Kuus, 2013, p. 117). Generally speaking, my research program was designed to dig into the various ways in which, primarily, state actors were making sense of terrorism prevention policy and its relationship to multiculturalism and social cohesion. This was achieved by observing and documenting the ways in which, in particular, ground level workers put terrorism prevention policy to work: how they sought funds, how they designed programs, and how they sought to rationalise or justify their engagement in CVE. Moving between the discursively constructed national scale to examine the journey through the state and implementation at the local provided a framework for seeing the gaps between what was said and what was done.  I followed terrorism prevention policy between May 2016 and August 2017, at a local government, Dean City Council (Dean). While not strictly an institutional ethnography, a significant component of the fieldwork for this thesis was undertaken in an institutional setting and drew on institutional ethnographic methodological practices, including participant-observation in institutional spaces, interviews conducted within the physical spaces of the institution, and following key actors (Billo & Mountz, 2016, p. 10). Over this time period, there were two distinct phases of participant observation. The first began in May 2016 prior to initiation of the CVE program, D-SPEAK. The second, began with the approval of funds in May 2017, and rapid program design and implementation. Phase 1 was characterised as a period of policy reception, interpretation, and terrain mapping, while Phase 2 was focused more on policy   79 implementation, policy in practice. Following from policy reception, to interpretation and then to implementation provided unprecedented contextual appreciation for how ultimately the policy materialised as a youth outreach program. Throughout the entire period of study, I remained in regular contact with Equity and Diversity (E&D) Unit staff, conducted interviews, would regularly attend meetings and receive updates over coffee, and receive relevant documents and correspondence over email.  Phase 1 included a six-week period of “time on the inside” beginning in May 2016, embedded in the physical space of the E&D Unit, responsible for the CVE program I followed a year later (Billo & Mountz, 2016, p. 11). I was allocated a desk amongst the E&D Unit staff, introduced and spent approximately 3-4 days a week working from that desk, shadowing the Interfaith Officer during his daily engagements with community agencies and other staff, and providing material support in the preparation of a literature review and grant application. At least three times a week, there would be time to break with the Interfaith and Multicultural Affairs Officer, with whom I followed most closely, to have a coffee at Tasties Coffee Shop and discuss progress, his concerns and insecurities, and his plans. I had a strong feeling I was fast being his confidante; he expressed gratitude for the opportunity to process, question, reflect and sometimes vent his frustrations. I often wondered how our dynamic might be different were I not a white non-Muslim 30-year old woman, who also happened to be an attentive listener, invested in following and seeing his labour. Was his usual flow—stream of consciousness—as he chatted with me over coffee, evidence of his comfort, and my non-threatening status? The intimacy these kinds of moments afforded, extended his willingness to include me in episodes of his everyday work. He would typically take me along to all his community meetings throughout the week, with various religious and community leaders. For example, I attended a series of meetings with him as he worked on preparations for an upcoming Interfaith conference. I participated in meetings where we workshopped grant applications and met with staff at the Dean Ethnic Communities Council to discuss room bookings and resourcing. I helped with two community consultations: one with Muslim youth at an evening homework club, and for another I documented and analysed the results of a public consultation on the topic of the community safety of Muslims in Dean. Much of my time during Phase 1 was spent sitting at a desk in the open plan E&D office, where I worked on the literature review and participated in informal office discussions around the various staff portfolios. This exposure was essential to my appreciation of individual E&D Unit staff, and their individual and collective intentions in their   80 work. This exposure also helped me to understand the bureaucratic challenges that are inevitable in a financially constrained local government setting. My presence was somewhat disruptive and in the first couple of weeks comments were made by the E&D Unit coordinator that suggested a degree of self-consciousness: “you’re really seeing us in all our mess.” However, my capacity to support staff in the process of reviewing literature, applying for funding, and bringing a critical lens to an area in which the Unit felt ambivalent and inexperienced, rendered me a useful resource during this time. My knowledge of the CVE literature, by virtue of my PhD student status and involvement in the Canadian Research Network on Terrorism, Security and Society (TSAS) was, in some ways, my currency in this ethnographic exchange. Once inside, however, it grew into something more—a critical friend and friend. At the end of Phase 1 the staff organised a celebration with cake and coffee, during which they presented me with a Dean lapel pin and welcomed me “to the family.” As I note later, this presented me with both the privilege of access, but also the later challenge of negotiating my own sense of “betrayal” that I arrived at in the process of writing the dissertation. Phase 2 took place in 2017, with a 12-week period of closely following the funded D-SPEAK project from the Working Group initiation meeting to the completion of the first period of program funding. This phase also included participant-observation, but through an incremental presence timed with the bi-monthly meetings at the Dean offices. New staff were employed during this phase, and staff who had a lesser presence in Phase 1 became more involved in Phase 2, bringing new perspectives to the policy reception and interpretation during discussions over implementation. During Phase 2, the bi-monthly meetings provided more structure to my participant observation, influenced too by a more deliberative work practice by staff. At the Working Group initiation meeting, a model of “reflective practice” was endorsed by the group that included the E&D coordinator to collect written reflections from staff after meetings. This commitment to reflexive practice underpinned the reasoning behind endorsing my presence, too. At the early stages, I participated in this reflective process too and in response to one of my submissions where I expressed my own wariness as an observer documenting work-in-progress, the coordinator responded over email:  I was mindful of this last week – and realised I was under ‘scrutiny’ – albeit for the public good! – but reflected afterwards about my own standards and professional ethics.   81 Gilmer observes the way that participant observation, or ethnographic immersion, allow the researcher “to observe  the minutiae of daily work” and  “the power struggles made within the office” (VandeBerg and Gilmer 2014 cited in Billo & Mountz, 2016, p. 11). Participant-observation during Phase 1 was particularly important for coming to understand the way in which the CVE program was later positioned, the individuals who “ran” it, and how different actors became more or less critical during Phase 2. In this way it became possible to read the CVE program as a response to national security strategy and policy, tempered by the specific dynamics within the local state institution.  3.5 Limits of interpretation  Disclosure and scrutiny As I previously noted, I came to this research as much through serendipity as by deliberate design. Barriers to access and constraints on disclosure have inevitably impacted my effort to answer the question of how terrorism prevention might securitise multicultural policies. As O’Hare and colleagues (2010, p. 244) warned, undertaking research in the field of national security policy is always marked by “an aversion to disclosure and scrutiny.” While O’Hare et al., recommend collaborative research as a response to this obstacle, and while I often considered my relationship with the local government Equity and Diversity Unit as collaborative (i.e. “critical friend”), I was reminded on a few occasions of the limits of collaborative research in this space, and the political pressure and limitations imposed on disclosure. My plan to co-author a chapter with staff from the local government under study was thwarted by the concern, at the time, over revealing the local government’s identity by naming co-authors. I was contacted at one point by a state government official who “encouraged” me to send my draft chapters to him for review and reminded me – in what I found to be a patronising tone – of the risks associated with revealing the geography and potentially identity of participants in a CVE program. It had never been my intention to name participants or identify community agencies explicitly in my published work, and I was familiar with the risks he described. Furthermore, I had engaged in open dialogue with research participants about the pros and cons of transparency in this research. The willingness of Dean to be identified in the study was intrinsic to their desire to be transparent about engaging in this terrorism prevention space, to both hold themselves accountable and to speak back to the associations and politics of national security in Australia. Generically referring to the Somali organisation (SO) engaged with Dean was also discussed.   82 Given the broad coverage of African-Australians in news coverage over the course of the research, and in the context of the narrative and arguments that came out of the dissertation analysis, it was felt that such generic reference was appropriate. As is outlined in Chapter 6, Dean’s stance on CVE was oftentimes a critical response to national rhetoric as well as state government policy directives and the voices of the youth participants projected publicly.    Access, positionality, betrayal  Common problems I encountered throughout my thesis research could be characterised by either not knowing enough or knowing too much. It has often been the case that I have not known enough. While frustrating, this is unsurprising. National security policy and programs writ-large develop in meeting rooms and conferences governed by the Chatham House Rule. As is reflected in Lum and colleagues’ surveys (Lum & Kennedy, 2012; Lum et al., 2006; Lum et al., 2008), empirics are sparse in counter-terrorism scholarship. During the period in which I was frequently attending TSAS meetings I bore witness to this circulation of knowledge and anecdotal evidence. This proved useful in my early interviews with state government bureaucrats, as I was able to leverage my association with TSAS to gain access to key actors, and once granted access to these bureaucrats I was also able to present as “in the know.” However, less frequent participation in such meetings in the latter part of my research has left me feeling slightly less confident in my ability to anticipate the knowledge of policy elites. Working in the interface of academic research and policy means there is always a fear of, in particular, telling people things they already know, and thus losing credibility. In cases where I have known too much, this has been challenging in writing up my research findings.  In many cases key actors were unwilling to speak with me “on the record” but willing to speak very frankly “off the record.” These conversations were useful in mapping the terrain and understanding “what matters” and to whom. However, it has at times put me in a difficult position in the writing of this dissertation, as it has prevented me from explaining the why and how of some policy decisions. In some ways it has also prevented me from presenting a richer picture of those who advocate strongly for soft terrorism prevention and CVE programming. These considerations have resulted in limitations to my interpretations, and as much I as have tried to circumvent them, there are traces of these limits in what is included and excluded from the thesis and, at times, the appearance of a confirmatory approach or bias.    83 At times I felt acutely the absurdity of my role as researcher in the space of policy implementation. In interviews with key actors, like the community engagement worker responsible for implementing Dean’s CVE program—a Muslim woman of colour, who was also the same age as me—I was humbled by her extensive (insider) knowledge, experience, generous insights and sensitivity. Given her own personal experience, I was moved by her willingness to share it, and her clear sense of purpose and rationalisation for being involved in Dean’s program (see Chapter 6). The interview ended with me questioning why I was there when her description and experience of the program, directed at policy elites, would be far more poignant and enlightening. Instead I was there as an interlocutor—a white, non-Muslim interlocutor, no less—recording her voice, transcribing her words and assembling them in my thesis. The transcript of that interview alone answered my persistent question of what constitutes “policy relevant research.”  I was humbled by moments like these and reminded too of my situated—partial and embodied—knowledge (Haraway, 1991, p. 193). In my analysis and writing I have sought to be mindful of the situatedness of my knowledge and attempted to craft a “useable objectivity” through qualified writing and triangulated research practice. The process of writing, in particular, the extended ethnographic case study at Dean City Council, was made more challenging by the sense of betrayal I felt; a result of “the intimate entanglements that emerge through friendship and working ethnographic relationships” (Billo & Mountz, 2016, p. 11, see also Stacey, 1988; Visweswaran, 1994; Mountz, 2007). There were two kinds of betrayal I felt. One was in the “simple” act of interpreting and using the words of others at times has felt like betrayal, by virtue of the limitations I experience in understanding what it would feel like to be Muslim, to be racialised, to be surveilled in grocery stores and regularly selected at airports for random additional screening. The implications of the securitisation of multicultural policy and of social welfare are for me a step removed from my personhood. The second betrayal I felt was in the knowledge of the personal lives of the local government workers, their private lives, domestic challenges and insecurities which were often shared with me in ways that felt like “confidences” rather than moments under observation. In her study of local governments implementing community cohesion policy and programs, Hannah Jones’ (H. Jones, 2014b) addresses an absence in research that considers the affective dimension of local government workers. While I have incorporated a degree of this in my analysis (see Chapter 4), omissions have resulted from my own sense of personal responsibility to those whom I observed at Dean, and with whom I   84 developed meaningful and ongoing relationships with since initiating the research relationship in 2016. Throughout the various stages of the research I have reflected on the role and responsibility of the researcher. In conversations with groundworker participants, in particular, we discussed how I could “value-add” through our interviews and my presence in the office, rather than simply “mine.” I recognise there is complexity in this desire too, which undoes notions or the performance of neutrality (especially in interviewing) and provokes questions of bias and complicity. However, given the access and intimacy I was afforded through extended ethnographic fieldwork, that included participation in and observation of the process of developing a CVE program focused on, and co-led by young Muslim people of colour, I was driven by my own desire for transparency and by a framing of research as critical service. This is not something I have fully resolved in my own mind but expect to continue to grapple with throughout my career. The words of Sophie Rudolph—a white Australian Settler researcher working in the space of Indigenous studies—resonate this necessarily ongoing and uncomfortable process: To be a critic and take seriously these conditions is, therefore, to be uncomfortably aware of the ways in which the critic cannot always escape complicities in the legacies and violence of the past, even when attempting to highlight injustice. It is how one addresses this complicity, I suggest, that is what matters. (Rudolph, 2019, p. 80) 3.6 Conclusion: The research destination  At previously noted, I have struggled with the question of how this could be “policy relevant research” when I was not evaluating the outcomes of terrorism prevention policies or CVE programs. Without “policy relevance” who would be the audience for me research project? Through my interviews, and my extended presence at the Dean E&D office, I came to realise that there was a thirst for deeper understanding of what happens when these policies, based on limited evidence, were being adopted without adequate time and opportunity for critical reflection. Ward (2006) notes that knowledge production is the result of interaction and dialogue between researchers and publics. He states that, “there is a sense that through interaction and   85 reciprocity progress is “possible,” whatever that might mean in different situations” (p. 499). This thesis doesn’t so much have a “destination,” as much as I might have wanted it to.  Rather, the purpose of this study is to extend, deepen and enrich understanding of the complexity and stakes involved in the development and implementation of terrorism prevention policy in a multicultural context. In the following chapter, I begin to map out the federal policy context and paradox that directly and indirectly influences the local case central to this study.      86 Chapter 4: The Inclusion Paradox: Terrorism Prevention at the National Scale 4.1 Introduction During the years spent researching and writing this dissertation Australia has had five Prime Ministers (PM)—a consequence of no less than four leadership “spills” and only two elections. The past few years have been spent learning the new names of constantly changing Australian immigration departments and their responsible Ministers: from the 2012 Department of Immigration and Citizenship, to the 2013 Department of Immigration and Border Protection, and most recently to the Department of Home Affairs. Throughout this politically tumultuous period, the Australian national identity rhetoric has shifted and morphed (if only slightly), influenced by the national security politics of the day.  This chapter sets out Australia’s current approach to national security, including the threat landscape and the prevention landscape. The threat landscape, as articulated through federal government policy and statements, has been primarily concerned with the rising threat of ISIS enacted through “homegrown terrorism” and foreign fighters. The absence of concern over the rise of the far right, particularly as it relates to anti-immigration populism and white supremacy, is perhaps reflective of what many see as an atmosphere of tacit endorsement. As has been the case elsewhere, at the federal level, the focus on “homegrown terrorism” has prescribed a primary focus on first- and second-generation migrants, typically Muslim youth (for example, in the UK see: Kundnani, 2009; Thomas, 2010). Through this logic there has been a distinct overlapping of immigration and asylum policy with national security strategy. This relationship was made explicit with the formation of the Home Affairs Office in December 2017, which brought together security agencies, immigration and multicultural affairs under one departmental roof.  As has been the case elsewhere (see Chapter 2), the overlapping of social and immigration policies with national security have seen the policy and rhetoric of multiculturalism enlisted in national security defence strategy. Multiculturalism has been a constant descriptor for Australian society since the early 1970s, though the governance regime it encompasses has had many lives. Over the past decade two such lives can be discerned, between PM Julia Gillard’s 2011 multicultural policy statement centred on principles of social inclusion and equality, to PM   87 Malcolm Turnbull’s declarations of “multicultural success” defined against the threat of terrorism. Given its most recent enlistment in the national security agenda, the latter formulation has enormous relevance for explaining the current Australian approach to terrorism prevention. Therefore, to examine the soft security turn in Australian counter-terrorism (CT), it is vital to begin by considering how multiculturalism has been rhetorically adapted and carried through this turn, under this new threat landscape. In short, this chapter explores how multiculturalism is instrumentalised under national security policy. Australia’s Counter-Terrorism Strategy: Strengthening Our Resilience (2015) prescribes the promotion of social cohesion and increasing social and economic participation as the antidote to violent radicalisation risk factors and identifies local communities as the prevention “frontlines” (Commonwealth of Australia, 2015, p. 10). As such, the Strategy places the obligation for terrorism prevention at the local scale, in the hands of communities, local groundworkers and street-level bureaucrats.  The relationship between federal and local governments, however, is not simply a matter of two-scale interaction. As soft security policy travels down to local actors it must pass through the state government level, where social and economic participation policy objectives tend to be delegated by the federal government. This means that soft national security strategies are filtered through a state-tier lens (see Chapter 5). In 2015, the federal government’s Strategy was endorsed by the Commonwealth of Australian Governments (COAG), which means that states and territories across Australia were consulted, met and agreed upon a coordinated approach. However, each state has its own distinctive media and political context. Accordingly, the journey of a national strategy into state level policy is informed by both inter-scalar political dynamics and local priorities.  In Chapter 5, I explore how the Victorian government’s terrorism prevention policy can be read as both consistent with the national strategy, and as a reaction against the federal government’s rhetoric. There are both “discursive gaps” and “implementation gaps” between national and state policies, which become evident as the national strategy lands in the state context (Czaika & De Haas, 2013). These gaps produce unique opportunities and challenges for discourse around social cohesion and belonging, as well as terrorism prevention programs.  These “gaps” are again encountered as policy travels one more tier, to the local scale (see Chapter 6). The complex dynamics that exist across the three tiers of Australian federalist   88 governance present the possibility of seeing more clearly the sometimes divergent or dissenting interpretations of what constitutes national security, multiculturalism and social cohesion. The way in which these concepts become written into state policies and expressed in local programs reveals geographically distinctive interpretations of national identity, social inclusion, exclusion, and possibilities for belonging.  Observing terrorism prevention in a multicultural setting, as a social policy regime framed through a lens of national (in)security risk and fear, this chapter asks:  1. What is Australia’s national approach to terrorism prevention?  2. How has Australian multiculturalism become entangled in national security policy and rhetoric and to what effect? The current threat landscape in Australia Since 2014, Australia’s official Terrorism Threat Level has remained set at the third of five levels: “Probable” (Australian Government, 2018c). Between 2014-2018, 14 significant disruption operations were reported by the federal government at the stage of “imminent attack planning,” in addition to six planned onshore attacks (Australian Government, 2018c). Figure 4.1 highlights key terror-related events that have informed the current CT infrastructure and focus. Since the emergence of ISIS and the subsequent declaration of caliphate in 2014, the federal government has reported that the number of individuals becoming radicalised has been steadily growing. Between August 2014 and May 2015, authorities reported they had assisted in the “offloading” of (prevented flying)  284 passengers at international airports, based on “security concerns” — including 17 passengers offloaded in May alone (Bergin et al., 2015, p. 43). The Australian Strategic Policy Institute (ASPI, 2015) regards 2014 as a critical turning point in the Australian national security threat landscape. The Sydney Lindt Café siege of December 2014 and the death of two police officers in Melbourne in September 2014 have been considered critical points in narratives of terrorism in Australia; symbolically expressing the real possibility and potential for this kind of extremist violence in Australia. The 2014 declaration of caliphate led to a rise in individuals leaving Australia to fight in foreign conflicts. The Australian Government has stated that as of May 2018, there were approximately   89 110 Australians fighting in conflicts in Syria and Iraq, of an estimated 220 individuals who have travelled to support designated terrorist groups in recent years (Kfir, Patel, & Batt, 2018). It is estimated that at least 90 individuals have died fighting and 40 foreign fighters have returned to Australia, but according to authorities no individual has returned to Australia after fighting with ISIS (Kfir et al., 2018). Inside Australia, 160 individuals are allegedly actively working with recognised terrorist organisations (Barker, 2015).  In public and political discourse, this threat landscape has served as justification for extensive legislative change, at least for security-conscious policymakers and national authorities. Notably, rights to citizenship have been reviewed and a regime of citizenship-stripping in cases involving dual-nationals endorsed. As of October 2018, six dual-nationals have been stripped of their Australian citizenship. The first was Kaled Sharrouf in 2015, following the publication of an image of his seven-year old son holding a severed human head (Norman & Gribbin, 2017). Sharrouf was known to authorities, having been arrested in 2005 during Operation Penndenis – then Australia’s largest terrorism raid – and convicted on terrorism charges. Having served four years in prison, he was released and, in 2014, using his brother’s passport, he travelled to Syria to fight with ISIS. In August 2018, a group of five men aged in their 20s and 30s were next to be stripped of their Australian citizenship for their involvement with ISIS in foreign conflict (Borys & Yaxley, 2018). Plans to extend the Minister for Home Affairs’ discretionary powers to strip any individual (not just dual nationals) charged with a terrorism offence of their Australian citizenship have been proposed, making Australia’s citizenship-stripping powers the most extensive in the world (Pillai, 2019).  Following the Bourke Street attack in November 2018, in an effort to convince the Australian public of the initiatives being undertaken and proposed by security, policing and intelligence agencies, PM Morrison presented a counter-terrorism stocktake. Between September 2014 (when the terror threat was raised to “probable”) and November 2018, across Australia, 90 people were charged with terror-related offences resulting from 40 counter-terrorism operations and 14 major disruptions of planned attacks (Maiden, 2018). In November 2018, PM Morrison revealed that there were more than 400 individuals on a “terrorism watchlist” and at least 230 individuals whose passports had been cancelled (to prevent their leaving to fight in foreign conflicts) (Karp, 2018a). In an effort to explain how events like the Bourke Street attack could take place, Morrison explained that there simply were not sufficient resources to surveil all persons of   90 interest at all times. Resourcing limitations have factored into decision-making around defining priority and “target” communities, with prevention programs overwhelmingly focused on first and second-generation immigrant and refugee youth (Kehoe & Tillett, 2019; Wilson, 2019).6  4.2 Australian institutional context The dominant terrorism narrative in Australia prior to 2014 was shaped by events that had taken place elsewhere, in which Australian citizens had been victims (Figure 4.1). Both before 2014 and since, the discourse around terrorism has consistently and almost exclusively been associated with so-called “Islamist extremism.” Key events include the September 11, 2001 attack on the World Trade Centre in which ten Australians were killed, and the Bali Bombings of 2002, in which 202 people were killed, including 88 Australians. The two events of 2014, noted above, provided the foundations for a national counter-terrorism strategy with significantly increased political currency and budget. As expressed by the Prime Minister at the time, Julia Gillard, in Strong and Secure, A Strategy for Australia’s National Security (Australian Government, 2013, p. ii, pii):  The attacks of 11 September 2001 are the most influential national security event in our recent history. The threat of global terrorism not only shaped the national security landscape of the past decade, but also heralded a new era for national security across the globe. Since then, much of our national security focus has been dedicated to guarding against such an attack occurring on our own soil. Strong and Secure was Australia’s second national security strategy – following the first, Counter Terrorism White Paper: Securing Australia, Protecting our Community (2010) (see Chapter 2). It signalled a more serious threat of domestic radicalisation to extremist violence. At this time, the Attorney-General’s Department (AGD) had been tasked with the responsibility of housing a Countering-Violent Extremism Unit, with $9.7 million over four years, outlined in the 2010-11 Budget. Over half of funding announced for CVE in 2010-11 Budget went to $5,000- 6 Following the 15 March, 2019, Christchurch mosque shootings, carried out by a radicalised right-wing extremist Australian citizen, there have been calls to redress this focus (Kehoe & Tillett, 2019; Wilson, 2019). This impetus has been reflected in recent Calls for Proposals for CT research and community interventions.    91 $10,000 grants administered by the Attorney-Generals’ Department. It was during this time that CVE began to take shape in Australia, in an ad-hoc manner. By 2011, based on community feedback, more substantial CVE funding became available under the Building Community Resilience Grants Program (BCRGP), with individual grants of up to $100,000 for programs that fulfilled broad socially cohesive aims, similar to those in the UK’s Prevent program (e.g. mentoring and youth sports programs; see Chapter 2).      92   Figure 4.1. Significant terrorism related events affecting Australians and Australia’s CT arrangements: 1977-2015, in Australia’s Counter Terrorism Strategy – Strengthening Our Resilience, 2015. Source: Licensed from the Commonwealth of Australia under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Australia Licence. The Commonwealth of Australia does not necessarily endorse the content of this publication.   93 Current approach In 2015, soon after the Sydney Lindt Café hostage crisis, Australia’s third national security strategy was released, Australia’s Counter Terrorism Strategy – Strengthening Our Resilience (Strengthening Our Resilience or the Strategy) and endorsed by the Commonwealth of Australia Governments (COAG). The Strategy maintains and promotes themes of resilience, social cohesion, and celebrating the ethnic, religious and cultural diversity in Australia. Unlike Strong and Secure (2013), however, it is explicit in its primary focus: Muslim communities. Strengthening Our Resilience identifies ISIL, Al Qaeda and similar groups as the principal national security threat:  “Terrorism based on other ideological, religious, or political beliefs – such as right wing or left wing extremists – is also of concern, though it does not represent the same magnitude of threat as that posed by violent extremists claiming to act in the name of Islam” (Commonwealth of Australia, 2015, pp. v-vi).  The strategy is elaborated in the National Counter Terrorism Plan (Commonwealth of Australia, 2017), which is broken into four component parts: prepare, prevent, respond, recover. These elements echo common practice in comparable national settings and appear most directly inspired by the model originally developed in the United Kingdom’s CONTEST strategies (see Chapter 2). Australia’s “prevent” component includes countering violent extremism (CVE) and intelligence-led disruption activities (Commonwealth of Australia, 2017, p. 18):  CVE aims to reduce the risk of individuals becoming or remaining violent extremists and to address the social impacts of violent extremism. CVE activities are distinct from, but complement counterterrorism activities such as investigations and operational responses.  The objectives of CVE are described along the usual lines of developing community resilience to violent extremism, to divert individuals seen to be “at risk of becoming violent extremists” and highlights potential for rehabilitation. Key stakeholders are identified as: civil society, community organisations, academics, and international partnerships that provide the possibility of collaboration, partnership, and co-designed diversion or prevention programs.   94 Social cohesion and resilience are the conceptual frameworks on which Australia’s counter-terrorism prevention strand is based. In simple terms this means two things: (1) fostering a cohesive, socially bonded society in which individuals feel a sense of belonging that inoculates them to the attraction of violent extremism, and (2) that in the case of a terrorism event, society will be capable of recovering from the trauma together, rather than precipitating reactionary violence. The prevention paradigm underpins a broad framework of counter-terrorism that aims to interrupt the process and narratives of radicalization to violent extremism. Prevention could occur, for example, through diversion in airports (i.e. no-fly orders or passport suspension), as well as through counter-narratives based on interventions in school classrooms with counter-radicalization curriculum (i.e. Beyond Bali education module, see Aly et al., 2014). The federal government explicitly recognises that developing social cohesion will fall within the jurisdiction of other non-security-oriented federal government departments, agencies, and programs, but will nonetheless have a preventative impact (Commonwealth of Australia, 2017, p. 19): Building and sustaining social cohesion at the local level helps create a sense of shared purpose and belonging for all Australians… Australian governments’ activities include funding and conducting social policy programs that support community harmony and address barriers to social and economic participation. While these programs are not funded for security purposes they may indirectly contribute to security by developing protective factors in individuals and groups that can act as buffers against violent extremist influences.  It is in this recognition of the broad-spectrum welfare-oriented interventions as terrorism prevention that the waters of what constitutes CVE become muddied. In theory, all programs funded through the Department of Social Services could potentially be framed as terrorism prevention. When it comes to funding then, when is a program funded with CT funds, and when is it not? And, does it matter? If so, to whom? I return to these questions in Chapter 6.  Apparatus & delegation Counter terrorism policy and governance is coordinated across various committees and assemblies (Figure 4.2). As is often the case, keeping track of all the acronyms and membership   95 of each assembly can be difficult. In regard to terrorism prevention, the most important bodies appear to be the Council of Australian Governments (COAG), an intergovernmental forum bringing together state and territory governments, typically twice a year. It is in these meetings, that policy is coordinated, reviewed and endorsed, as was the case with Strengthening Our Resilience (2015). Given the delegation of activities to the local scale, as per Strengthening Our Resilience, COAG meetings are where state and territory governments discuss, share and negotiate how they will operationalise national security, including counter-terrorism and emergency management planning. As evidenced in Figure 4.2, an international and coordinated outlook is encapsulated in the primacy of the Australia-New Zealand Counter Terrorism Committee (ANZCTC), allowing for transnational capacity building (policy development and operations) and intelligence sharing.     In Australia, CT is overseen directly by the Prime Minister, supported by the Department of Home Affairs. Counter-terrorism interagency coordination includes security, policing, border force and intelligence operational agencies. Until January 2018, the Attorney General’s Department was home to counter-terrorism; however, with the announcement of the new Figure 4.2: Intergovernmental Agreements and Coordination Bodies relating to Counter-Terrorism (note: “National” refers to nationally coordinated). Source: National Counter-Terrorism Plan, ANZCTC, 2017. Published with permission.    96 Department of Home Affairs, the component units of CT were shifted across to this new super-department, to improve coordination across agencies. At present, the Home Affairs Portfolio includes the Australian Border Force (ABF), Australian Criminal Intelligence Commission (ACIC), Australian Federal Police (AFP), the Australian Transaction Reports and Analysis Centre (AUSTRAC), and soon the Australian Security Intelligence Organisation (ASIO). Outside these five operational bodies, the Portfolio also includes emergency management, transport security, criminal justice, multicultural affairs, and immigration and border control. The rationale for the new Department was to assemble operational and policy elements that feed the government’s national security agenda (Figure 4.3). Put another way, bringing together these units previously housed in the Attorney General’s Department (security, law enforcement policy and emergency management), the Department of Social Services (multicultural affairs), the Department of Infrastructure (transport security), and the Department of the Prime Minister and Cabinet (counter-terrorism and cyber security) is a strong statement of the federal government’s prioritization of national security.  To analyse how national security strategy is received and implemented at the local scale does not require detailing all the various tentacles of operational agencies. That being said, in interviews with both state and local government officials, an awareness of concerns from the community around infiltration and contact with federal intelligence officers was expressed. To fully explore the entire CT assemblage would require empirical data that is beyond the scope of this study – both in regard to access and in regard to scale. These issues are explored more fully in Chapter 3 of this dissertation. Understanding the specific experiences of state and local government reception and implementation of soft CT policy is the focus of this project.     97    Legal framework Counter-terrorism legislation change has tended to flow rapidly following terror events. Examples of rapid and far-reaching expanded police powers were observed following the 2005 London bombings (Choudhury & Fenwick, 2011a) and more recently in France following the 2016 Nice truck attack (Bogain, 2017). Research by Ariane Bogain (2017) has evidenced the public’s willingness to accept “exceptional measures” that reduce their civil liberties, in the aftermath of a terror event, particularly when the consequent reduction in civil liberties is framed through a rationale of protecting human-rights. In a survey of public attitudes toward civil liberties in the context of terror attacks, Davis and Silver (2004) found that trust in government Figure 4.3: Australian Government, Department of Home Affairs homepage. Source:  http://www.homeaffairs.gov.au, 2018. Published with permission.    98 and individuals’ experiential histories of compromised civil liberties are important factors influencing factors willingness to accept increased restrictions to personal freedoms in the name of terrorism prevention (i.e. African Americans are less willing). When a terror threat is felt to be an immediate threat to one’s safety there generally follows  a greater acceptance of restrictions. However, this tendency is found to wane over time, and therefore cannot be used to predict future willingness to trade individual liberties for national security. The predictable pattern of rapid legislative change, focused on the reduction in individual freedoms in the immediate aftermath of a terror event speaks to the “hermeneutics of crisis management” noted by Brannan and colleagues (2001, p. 4). Brannan et al., find that a crisis management response is combined with an antagonism toward the subject of the threat, which overpowers the motivation to understand the threat, or for that matter, to understand the individual who poses the threat. Rather than asking “why did this happen?” and developing a response to the “why” question, the response is to swiftly clamp down in a show of “hard” security protectionism. Of course, condemnation of such acts of violence is essential, but the condemnation that has often come in the immediate aftermath of a terror event, in Australia and elsewhere, has resulted in the alienation of entire communities based on the vilification of Islam, of immigrants, refugees, and individuals deemed as outsiders (see “Team Australia”). While Brannan and his colleagues originally introduced their concept to describe the “antagonistic relationship” between researchers and their “terrorist” research subjects, it can be argued that this same antagonism extends to the favouring of an immediate legislative response. While counter-terrorism legislation is directly implicated at the “pointy end” of the counter-terrorism system itself, it has been seen to marginalise communities and can directly influence the atmosphere of “softer” interventions (Mitchell, 2015).  Key tools in the CT legislative toolkit include control orders, preventative detention orders, and declared area offences. In Australia, “control orders” are based on a British model, whereby police can arrest and detain individuals “if it substantially helps prevent a terrorist attack” (Australian Government, 2017b). A control order can only be issued by the court, and applications must be received from the Australian Federal Police, with consent from the Minister for Home Affairs. A control order can impose detention, the wearing of a tracking device, and require the constant reporting of movements.    99 “Preventative detention orders” are another form of Australian control order, that apply to any person aged at least 16-years-old (Australian Government, 2017c). Under these orders, individuals can be detained when there is threat of an imminent terrorist attack or immediately following an attack. Preventative detention orders allow for an individual to be held for between 48-hours (Commonwealth law) and 14 days (state and territory laws, or in combination with Commonwealth regime) for questioning. F law enforcement have described control orders as a measure of “last resort” (Kfir et al., 2018, p. 14). A review of Control Orders and Preventative Detention Orders Annual Reports by the Attorney-General from 2009 to 2017 reveal that during this period no preventative detention orders have been made. The latest reports indicate that in March 2018, only six control orders had been sought (Kfir et al., 2018). However, concern persists as to their future application.  In the case of “declared area offences,” the Minister for Foreign Affairs is responsible for declaring areas in foreign countries as “declared areas” where it is known that hostile activity by a listed terrorist organization is taking place. Currently listed declared areas include the Mosul district in Iraq, and until November 2017, Al-Raqqa province in Syria was listed also (Australian Government, 2018b). Individuals who enter or remain in declared areas are subject to up to 10-years imprisonment upon return to Australia. It has been proposed that individuals found to have travelled to declared areas and returned to Australia be stripped of their citizenship, however this proposal has not yet been passed. While recognised as playing an important role in preventing terror attacks, these key counter-terrorism legal instruments have been subject to criticism by both public media and non-government agencies. For example, in a Parliamentary review submission, legal experts McGarrity and Williams (cited in Kfir et al., 2018, p. 14) refer to the “law’s reverse onus on proof” that ultimately compromises due process. A similar critique of due process is highlighted by the Australian Human Rights Commission in relation to control orders, which are seen to allow for restrictions on human rights without sufficient justification (Australian Human Rights Commission, 2017). Preventative detention orders are considered particularly controversial as they allow individuals to be detained by the AFP without charge, and without free access to the circumstances of their detainment or evidence that may be held by authorities (Farrell, 2014).  The President of the NSW council of civil liberties, Stephen Banks, stated (Medhora, 2015):   100 Australia has legislated more than any other country in response to terrorism and the legislation has been utterly counterproductive. What more legislation does is alienate sections of the community. The proposed laws are undoubtedly going to be in breach of human rights standards. Greg Barnes of the Australian Lawyers Alliance agreed, identifying in particular the amendment to control order provisions which saw the minimum age of individuals subject to the order reduced from 16 to 14-years (Medhora, 2015): If you want to further radicalise people, if you want them feeling they are completely alienated from society and you do that to a 14-year-old kid then you’re going the right way about it. The legislation was proposed and passed not long after the death of civilian police worker, Curtis Cheng, who was shot and killed outside a western Sydney police station by 15-year-old Farhard Khalil Mohammad (Bright, 2016).  States and territories have extended their counter-terrorism legislation further, in many cases with agreements spanning jurisdictions in order to aid local policing capabilities. In 2017 three new measures were introduced as states and territories agreed to enhance their CT legislation, making it possible to hold terrorism suspects as young as 10-years-old, for up to two weeks without charge; to broadcast terrorism incident warnings over telecommunications networks for cell phones within range of an incident; and adding state and territory driver’s licence photographs to a national database to allow for cross-referencing with facial recognition technology. Victorian Premier Daniel Andrews acknowledged that this development curtailed civil liberties, but reasoned that “national considerations of civil liberties do not trump the very real threat, the very real threat of terror in our country today” (Andrews cited inYaxley, 2017). Critics, wary of the “scope creep” associated with facial recognition capabilities were vindicated when seven months later, Home Affairs Minister Peter Dutton proposed extending the application of biometric technology to target identity crime.  In a similar pattern of reactive legislative amendments, two weeks after the Bourke Street attack, in November 2018, PM Scott Morrison proposed changes to Australian citizenship legislation. As previously noted, this would make it easier to strip dual-nationals convicted of terrorism offences of their Australian citizenship (Doran & Belot, 2018). This move extends PM Tony   101 Abbott’s 2015 citizenship-stripping legislation, previously limited to dual nationals convicted of terrorism charges who had served six years in prison. The proposed legislation waives the condition of six years served. Legislation like this is found elsewhere, and in Canada critics have argued that it creates two classes of citizens: those protected by single citizenship status – in this case, Canadian-only citizens – and dual nationals who are vulnerable to “citizenship stripping” (Forcese, 2014). In most cases, vulnerable individuals are first and second-generation immigrants. In the Canadian case, there are clear constitutional implications, in particular in relation to the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms of which there is no Australian equivalent. Against Australia’s obligations under the UNHRC Conventions on Statelessness, additional legislation was introduced in November 2018 in the form of a new “exclusion order.” This order prevents individuals who have travelled to conflict zones from returning to Australia for at least two years (Karp, 2018b). In this scenario, Australian-only nationals would effectively be rendered stateless. The Australian Strategic Policy Institute has argued that counter-terrorism legislation must carefully balance national security and individual rights. They explain that this is achieved through important oversight mechanisms and in some instances, sunset provisions (Kfir et al., 2018). Observing the remarkably low usage rate of much of this legislation, they astutely argue that, “while in theory these laws are sound and appropriate, serious consideration needs to be given to why they aren’t being used” (Kfir et al., 2018, p. 14).  Funding The 2017-2018 Australian federal government budget allocated $9.3 million for programs to counter violent extremism to prevent terrorism (Australian Government, 2017a). Forward estimates for the following three years estimate that $6.1 million per annum was to be spent on CVE. However, the 2018-2019 budget of $158 million is allocated to what was previously the Attorney General’s National Security and Criminal Justice Program, with no specific designation listed for CVE programs (Australian Government, 2018a). It is expected that a portion of these funds will be allocated to community prevention programs, consistent with the National Counter-Terrorism Plan (2017), as has previously been the case. There is a lack of clarity over exactly how and through what channels the federal government will fund CVE programs. Keiran Hardy (2018) points out that $36.6 million has been allocated by the Department of Social Services in a community resilience fund, from which “Grants help to strengthen the capacity of   102 communities to become more self-reliant and empowered to address local issues” (Australian Government, 2018d). This funding is not designed to address the tenets of what is generally understood to be CVE-specific interventions, addressing ideology and processes of radicalisation. However, it could be indicative of a shift in approach, away from securitising broader social and economic participation, belonging, and social inclusion programming. The implications of this withdrawal from designated federal CVE funding has not yet been explained. Prior to the establishment of the Home Affairs Department, soft prevention programs were funded through the Attorney-General’s Department, through Building Community Resilience Grants that resourced community-oriented programs and the production of “soft” security resources. Between 2015-2017, the federal government spent $1.2 billion on the “hard” side of CT (i.e. intel gathering and security capabilities), and $40 million was spent on CVE and community cohesion programs (Pash, 2015). Of that $40 million, only $2 million was awarded to successful community-level grant applicants (42 successful out of 97 applicants) (Clarke Jones, 2017).  Some state governments have been filling the CVE funding gap, with investment in community programs and de-radicalisation interventions. But, as Hardy (2018) has documented, the soft terrorism prevention funding pales in comparison to hard security funding allocations (Table 4.1). The Victorian approach to CVE, including its funding regime is detailed in Chapter 5. Table 4.1: Summary of hard counter-terrorism funding compared to soft counter-terrorism funding across select states, October 2016. Source: Hardy, 2018.  State Government Hard counter-terrorism funding Soft counter-terrorism funding (CVE) Queensland $53.8 million over four years to boost CT policing  $46.7 million to build a counter-terrorism and community safety centre No funding allocated New South Wales $89 million to monitor high-risk terrorism-related offenders $12 million for community-based CVE programs Victoria $20.9 million to implement new anti-terror laws  $25 million for long-range firearms to respond to terror attacks $14.1 million over two years for CVE programs    103 Although pre-2018 funding had been available for one-off community-based CVE programs, the uptake of federal funding was not straightforward. Some organisations were resistant to taking federal funds due to negative associations with federal rhetoric and distrust of the federal government and its intelligence agency, ASIO (see Chapters 5 and 6). During this period federal funds were sometimes channelled through state government and awarded to local initiatives on a more ad-hoc basis. Both hard and soft counter-terrorism funding regimes in Australia remain an understudied area. Understanding the ways in which funds are managed, distributed, and their complex arrangements would be a worthy topic for further investigation. However, issues of confidentiality and high sensitivity would make such a project difficult. 4.3  Narratives of Australian multiculturalism A close look at multiculturalism reveals the shifting foci of Australian multicultural policy over the past fifty years. What began as a nation building project premised on the notion of the “Australian family” with attempts at times to apply a welfare lens, has in recent years increasingly trended toward security. The trajectory from, and distinction between, welfare and security lenses, and inclusionary/exclusionary policy framing has also influenced public discourse. Despite efforts under the Howard Government in the 1990s to abandon multiculturalism in Australian policy and rhetoric, it has persisted. At the same time in the UK, there was an explicit rejection of multiculturalism and shift to social and community cohesion. In the Australian context, a similar shift has occurred in the policy landscape, but the language of multiculturalism has been retained. Forrest and Dunn (2010) observe a contradiction in Australian multiculturalism discourse whereby public support for cultural diversity is reported across Australia, together with negative attitudes toward multiculturalism. The dissonance between multiculturalism as demographic reality (cultural diversity) and multicultural values (recognition and celebration of “difference”), in part, speaks to the shift from means-based to values-based approaches to social policy (Birt, 2009). It perhaps also provides insight into the way social cohesion is supplanting multiculturalism as a policy ambition, seen in declarations of “successful multiculturalism” (Spoonley et al., 2005). Mapping the meaning of multiculturalism policy (and rhetoric) provides insight into how multiculturalism and national security have become entangled, and the implications for national belonging, inclusion, exclusion and vilification.    104 In spite of its lack of federal legislative recognition, multiculturalism has persisted in Australian policy discourse. It is this absence of legislative definition that has made it particularly vulnerable to appropriation under different governments and at different times. One need only look at the changing titles of the departments that have been home to immigration policy over time to get a sense of the ways in which immigration, integration, multiculturalism and citizenship have been framed over the course of the last fifty years (Table 4.2). Table 4.2: Australia Immigration Department names 1945-2019. Source: Fincher 2001; Dunn 2005; Tate 2009; Koleth 2010; Castles 2016.  Department name  Period  Summary of approach Department of Immigration (DI) 1945-1974 • Pre-multiculturalism  • “Populate or perish” post-war migration scheme, settler-migration  • White Australia Policy, assimilationist regime Department of Labour and Immigration (DLI) 1974-1975 • Under Whitlam Labour, shift from racial preferencing toward social policy approach  o Social and economic participation central to immigration and integration regime  o Introduction of concept of “multi-cultural society” (Minister Al Grassby) Department of Immigration and Ethnic Affairs (DIEA) 1975-1987 • Under Fraser Liberal government (19751983-) bipartisan support for concept of multiculturalism was achieved, using terminology ‘multicultural’ and ‘cultural pluralism’ • ‘Unity’ promoted over assimilationist ‘similarity’; morality as guiding principle • Substantial intake of refugees, including boat arrivals • Focus on migrant access to and provision of social services and supports • Under Hawke Labour government (1983-1991) o Office for Multicultural Affairs (OMA), given status by location in the Prime Minister’s Department Department of Immigration, Local Government and Ethnic Affairs (DILGEA)  Department of Immigration and Ethnic Affairs (DIEA) 1987-1993     1993-1996 • Under Keating Labour government (1991-1996), policy focus: cultural identity, social justice and productive diversity o Expansion of multicultural programs, prioritise increasing participation of “ethnic” communities and representation of diversity  o Investment in immigration and multicultural research and advisory bodies  o Introduction of multicultural nationalist narrative   105 Department of Immigration and Multicultural Affairs (DIMA)      Department of Immigration and Multicultural and Indigenous Affairs (DIMIA)  Department of Immigration and Multicultural Affairs (DIMA) 1996-2001        2001-2006     2006-2007 • Under Howard Coalition government, marked retreat from previous constructions of multiculturalism seen as leading to separatism • Withdrawal and reduction in funding for new migrant services incl. English language and settlement services  • Disinvestment in immigration and multicultural research and advisory bodies • Immigration with economic lens, shift from family reunification to focus on “skilled migration”  • Continuation of Howard Coalition government and economic lens • Hostile, anti-asylum and refugee policies • Increasingly assimilationist framing of multiculturalism    • Howard Coalition government, continuation of above • Introduction of Australian “citizenship test” Department of Immigration and Citizenship (DIAC) 2007-2013 • Under Rudd-Gillard Labour government:  o Dismantling, and later reinstatement, of anti-asylum and refugee policies o Maintenance of economic lens, with focus on employment outcomes (sponsored skilled migrants) o Reinstatement of multicultural “pride,” framed as “progressive patriotism” o Shift from multiculturalism in policy, toward “social cohesion” and “citizenship”  Department of Immigration and Border Protection (DIBP)     Department of Home Affairs 2013-2017      2017-present • Under Abbott and Turnbull Coalition governments, strong focus on “securing” borders, including national security and counter-terrorism rationales o Securitization and militarization of asylum o “Migration as threat” rhetoric; “Team Australia” national loyalty rhetoric o “Multicultural success” narrative tied to preventing terrorism  • Under Turnbull and Morrison Coalition governments, maintained focus on security and immigration policy; border protection o Multiculturalism relocated, along with Immigration portfolios to Dept. Home Affairs o “Multicultural success” narrative tied to preventing terrorism The Australian government’s most recent multicultural policy statement is titled Multicultural Australia: United, Strong, Successful (2015). While related, the three strands of this policy statement are distinct in their framing. A “united” Australia is a socially cohesive Australia, with a shared sense of loyalty, belonging and equal (not equitable) opportunity. A “strong” Australia introduces national security into the multicultural policy frame. And a “successful” Australia, allows for the framing of immigration as enterprising, supportive of global innovation and economic realisation. Here we see the twin drivers of multicultural policy: security and economy, while social or intercultural objectives are contained within a security agenda. In this framing, the social policy objective is to achieve social cohesion that will generate resilience to the dual threats of radicalisation and terrorism. Arguably, multiculturalism, at least in its promotion through Australian federal policy, has always been informed by economic drivers. But in its current iteration, we see it closely nested in a national security regime (see Home   106 Affairs Department, Figure 4.3). This development can be seen as the latest step in the continuing project of multicultural policy nation-building. Nation-building multiculturalism Since its inception, multiculturalism in Australia has been envisaged as a nation-building program (Collins, 2013; Mann, 2012; Moran, 2011). Christian Joppke has argued that unlike European interpretations of multiculturalism, this combination is unique to settler societies like Australia and Canada (2004a, p. 244). In Australia, it has created a particularly difficult entanglement with “problems of self-definition” (2004a, p. 244). Rather than being focused on serving minority rights as it does in Europe, multiculturalism in Australia emerged in the 1970s as a collective notion, famously expressed by Al Grassby as “the family of the nation” (Mann, 2012, p. 494). During the incubation stages of a fully-fledged multicultural policy, the Whitlam Government dismantled the longstanding White Australia Policy, which had so vehemently determined Australia’s society to be fundamentally Anglo-Celtic (Tavan, 2005). During this period, which saw increased immigration from non-European countries, such as Lebanon and Vietnam, an ideology and language of multiculturalism became infused in political discourse (Mann, 2012; Moran, 2011). However, it remained paired with a policy of integration. In 1973, Grassby, as Minister for Immigration, addressed parliament with a recommendation to promote multicultural pride:  A positive and continuing campaign to inculcate in the present and future generations, a feeling of national pride in the achievements of Australians of many national origins in the fields of human endeavour. (Grassby, 14 March 1973) Grassby’s recommendation received wide supported. As did the recommendation that recognition coincide with equal citizenship in order to contribute to a bonding and cohesive national community. From its earliest days, the ideology of multiculturalism in Australia was not just about recognition of already existing diversity but set the tone for an active and productive diversity that would continue and grow national interests. While the early 1970s were still marked by an integrationist approach and limited non-white immigration, the move to a formal policy of multiculturalism slowly seeped into the Australian popular imaginary. Jatinder Mann (2012), in her revision of the history of multiculturalism in   107 Australia, contends that the official adoption of multicultural policy can be attributed to the rapid increase of Vietnamese asylum seekers, fleeing the Vietnam War. While under the Whitlam government, Vietnamese fleeing the Vietcong were admitted in smaller numbers, later, under conservative Prime Minister Malcolm Fraser, Vietnamese asylum seekers were both welcomed and offered settlement and financial assistance. Recommendations from the Galbally Report (1978) expressed the benefits of preservation of immigrant cultures and fostering cultural exchange for the nation, and led to public funding and provision of migrant support services (Jupp, 2002). Funding and service provision was endorsed with a declaration of moral obligation by PM Fraser (Mann, 2012, p. 493). Enlisting moral responsibility as rationale for taking in and supporting asylum seekers and new migrants would require a resilient, robust and confident sense of Australian identity.  Looking back, it is possible to see a disconnect between policy at the top and attitudes on the ground. Insufficient funding and support services inhibited full realization of multiculturalism as policy, beyond rhetoric and ideology. Moreover, Tavan (2005) recounts growing public anxiety over arrivals of Vietnamese refugees. Though Jupp (2002) describes general support for multiculturalism between the late 1970s into the 1990s, Tavan’s point highlights that while politically optimistic, there is an ongoing history of divisiveness (see also Forrest and Dunn 2010).  Border security multiculturalism, a turning point: the Howard and Hanson years Border anxiety reached new peaks during the 1990s, laying the groundwork for increasingly exclusivist visions of Australia. The coalescing of a multicultural national identity over several decades was not sufficient to avert another wave of panic when the arrival of boats carrying asylum seekers to Australian shores spiked significantly (Betts, 2001). In the 2000s, asylum-seekers attracted unprecedented public and political vilification, dramatically transforming their place in the broader Australian imagination (Letki 2008). Most saliently, the new, seemingly inflexible immigration policy of “mandatory detention” for all people arriving by sea without visas underwrote a phase change in the political framing of multiculturalism in Australia (Letki, 2008; Suvendrini Perera, 2009, p. 7). Seemingly, while cosmopolitan multiculturalism continued to be celebrated over espressos and paninis in Little Italy’s all over Australia (Hage, 1998), the national imaginary did not always stretch to include all newcomers.     108 Along with increasing border insecurity, and a pervasive “Asian invasion” discourse pushed by PM John Howard, the 1990s were also riddled with a national identity politics concerned with “official” Australian history (Shaw, 2009, p. 429). Conservative scholars like Geoffrey Blainey and other “white armband” historians sought to re-write British pride into the contemporary imaginary. In what became known as the “history wars,” Blainey and other “white armbands” attacked “black armband” scholars for challenging official, written Australian history (Blainey, 1993). Howard endorsed a prideful view of Australian history, that actively neglected accounting for past colonial atrocities, celebrating settler-heroism and national achievement (Howard & Trust, 1996; Macintyre & Clark, 2003). This period was thus marked by a turn toward a re-invigorated British heritage as part of a broader program of national self-definition. Amelia Johns (2008) writes of the return of the ANZAC soldier into the national imaginary, via political discourse. She recounts routine speeches in which Howard’s language increasingly defined “Australian values” in terms of “Anzac spirit.” Johns argues that in doing so, Howard elicited a public revisionism that implied a hierarchy of Australian belonging, with British heritage ascendant. Earlier iterations of multiculturalism were undercut by a new exclusivist, nationalistic formation of public discourse (Macintyre & Clark, 2003).  A simmering debate exploded into the popular sphere in the mid-1990s. In 1996, the right-wing firebrand, Pauline Hanson was disendorsed by the conservative centrist, Liberal Party. The party she and her supporters formed in response, One Nation, was vociferously anti-immigration and pro-“traditional”—British or colonial—Australian cultural values (Hage, 1998). When Hanson’s party polled second in the 1998 Queensland state election, receiving almost as many votes as the two leading conservative parties combined, the national political dynamics surrounding multiculturalism were transformed virtually overnight (Green, 2018). Before the election of John Howard, the first Liberal Prime Minister in more than two decades, and Hanson’s rise, PM Paul Keating had promoted Australia as a “hybrid nation,” celebrating “the mixing of ‘imported and home-grown cultures'” (Department of Communications and the Arts, 1994 cited in Dunn, 2005, p. 34). Hanson rejected this vision as she invoked a “flooding” and “dilution” of national identity (Pikó, 2018), demarcating boundaries between “us” and “them.” I believe we are in danger of being swamped by Asians…They have their own culture and religion, form ghettos and do not assimilate. (Hanson, 1996)   109 Hanson described multiculturalism as a policy that had punctured holes in an exclusively white, Anglo-Celtic national border. Hanson’s rhetoric imagined a loss of pre-existing, defined national identity in direct opposition to that promoted by Keating. Once again re-elected to the Australian Senate after years in the political wilderness, Hanson would later update and reiterate border anxiety in 2016 – declaring, “now we are in danger of being swamped by Muslims, who bear a culture and ideology that is incompatible with our own” – calling for a ban on Muslim immigration to Australia and “banning the burqa” (Hanson, 2016). Her white nationalist image leaves no space for negotiation and hybridity; instead a “finite and singular national identity…[can] only experience change as a threat” (Pikó, 2018, p. 461). In her Maiden Speech in 1996, Hanson declared (Hanson, 1996, my emphasis):  I and most Australians want our immigration policy radically reviewed and that of multiculturalism abolished. Of course, I will be called racist but if I can invite whom I want into my home, then I should have the right to have a say in who comes into my country. A true multicultural country can never be strong or united. Positioning herself as “just an ordinary Australian” (Rapley, 1998), the plain speaking single mother and former fish-and-chip shop operator mapped out the contours of an increasingly exclusive national identity (Ahluwalia & McCarthy, 1998). Hanson and One Nation’s rise is a significant moment in the narrative that begins with the downscaling of multiculturalism in Australia and climaxes with the Cronulla “race riots” of 2005. Not only did it initiate a large-scale division in nationalist rhetoric, it also created a space in which John Howard, as Prime Minister, was able to appear as moderator while denying new migrants welfare benefits (Galligan & Roberts, 2003; Koleth, 2010a).  Perhaps counter-intuitively, investment in multiculturalism – including its expression in public rhetoric — and immigration have not gone hand in hand. During the early to mid-1990s, Labour PM Paul Keating (1991-1996) was an active proponent of multiculturalism. Yet under Keating migrant intake was substantially cropped. In part a response to economic recession, skilled intake was roughly halved between 1992-1993, and the family stream was also substantially reduced during this time (Betts, 2003, p. 175). In the final years of the Keating Government, immigration quotas began to increase slightly, but remained lower than they had been under the previous Hawke administration. For Keating, multiculturalism was expressed in both rhetoric   110 and efforts to support immigrant economic and social integration through targeted service provision and efforts to reduce barriers to participation (Birrell, 1996). This approach was expressed in Our nation: multicultural Australia and the 21st century (1996), released by the Office of Multicultural Affairs, which promoted a proactive, affirmative action-oriented multicultural vision and strategy for Australia.  Under the Keating government, immigration quotas were reduced but immigrant integration service provision increased. Whereas under the leadership of Howard (1996-2007) an inverse regime was implemented. Howard famously avoided any use or reference to the word “multiculturalism,” attempted to remove the term from Australian policy discourse, and generally expressed and enforced negative rhetoric around immigration, particularly in his strident opposition to accommodating asylum seekers. Yet, under Howard, migration intake increased, with substantial growth in the permanent program in the “skilled” stream, student visas, and the 457 temporary business visa stream (Goethe-Snape, 2018). Many of these leaps coincided with his increasingly hard-line immigration rhetoric. Here again, we see a mismatch between rhetoric and policy. Under Howard, immigration and integration policy shifted away from social and economic participation, to economic rationalization. Access to welfare by new migrants was stripped back: only humanitarian migrants would be eligible for Austudy (tertiary education and apprenticeship payments) and welfare payments during their first two years, all other immigrants were barred access. It was durin