If the concept of “terror” – both its perpetuation and prevention – continues to live in the popular imagination as a largely male battleground, the time to readdress that is now. We hardly need reminding how Shamima Begum – the British-born schoolgirl who left the UK aged 15 to join Isil in Syria – dominated headlines in spring. And, on the flip side, in the past few years a new group of women has come to prominence as some of the keenest minds in counter-extremism. They are not spies, nor running intelligence services – their broad skill sets are also enigmatic ones – but they are among the key people keeping us safe today.
Take Yasmin Green, the 37-year-old Iranian-born, British-raised, New York-based director of research and development at Jigsaw, a Google think tank, the aim of which is to build more safety into a world of fear. Most days, the work involves a short hop from her Brooklyn home to her office in Manhattan, where she takes meetings with coders, academics and engineers to help shape important conversations – be it about best YouTube practice around hate-filled video posts, or what role virtual reality may come to play in the war on terror.
Then, there are the other days. “We went into the maximum-security wing and there were captured pirates and Al-Shabaab, who are kind of the Somali wing of Al-Qaeda,” she recalls of one of her fact-finding missions to a prison outside Mogadishu. “The way they looked at me…” she says, exhaling at the memory of what felt like actual death stares from the prisoners. “I was wearing cargo pants and a T-shirt, so it’s not as though I was in a minidress. But it was triggering for those inmates.”
Read more: Jourdan Dunn Covers The November Issue Of British Vogue
Domestic settings have their complications, too. Sara Khan, who leads the government’s Commission for Countering Extremism, earlier this year travelled to Birmingham in the wake of the row between Muslim parents and local primary schools over the introduction of LGBTQ+ inclusivity lessons. “When I spoke to the teaching staff there,” she says, “they said how intimidating and frightening it was. We heard how some of these protesters were saying, ‘The children are being made to watch pornography.’ Completely false. Extremists whip up the issue to create that atmosphere of division and hatred.”
In the throes of the 24-hour news cycle’s darkest turns, their lives are often unplannable. Nikita Malik, director of the Centre on Radicalisation & Terrorism at The Henry Jackson Society in London, works to mould society’s conversation around terror in the UK. When, in May 2017, a bomb at Ariana Grande’s Manchester Arena concert killed 23, including its detonator, Malik was about to leave on her honeymoon. “The first level of analysis is always factual,” she explains. “What materials have been used? Is this linked to Islamic State, or has it been inspired? Who is the individual? What were their networks?” Did she keep her honeymoon plans with her husband? “I was on emails, unfortunately for him, for the majority of that holiday,” she sighs.
The work is ceaseless. On a wet London afternoon, tucked away in a government office block a few moments from Fleet Street, Sara Khan, 39, is in the last stages of preparing her Home Office-commissioned report on the scope and effect of extremism in modern Britain. It is the culmination of 18 months’ endeavour, and she is unflappable.
It hasn’t been an easy ride. Her appointment in January 2018 was so controversial that a hundred Muslim organisations co-signed a petition demanding her resignation. You’d think a Muslim woman in high office would generally be considered a good thing – but putting her in charge led some to believe the Home Office was labelling extremism an exclusively Muslim problem. Khan had also been an advocate of Prevent, the contentious government strategy that has its defenders but potentially divides communities by encouraging them to report one another. “The one thing I would say,” she acknowledges of the furore over her hiring, “is throughout my career, I’ve always had people say, ‘You can’t do it.’ I think women know we’re often told we can’t.” She thumps the table cheerfully. “I’m just going to get on with it.”
Born and raised in Bradford, to Pakistani immigrant parents, Khan trained as a pharmacist, wore the hijab as a teen and young woman, and initially joined some conservative Islamic youth organisations. But, in the wake of the 7/7 bombings, she founded the charity Inspire to challenge extremism and promote gender equality at a grass-roots level with outreach programmes.
Conversation and empathy, she believes, are vital to stopping radicalisation. “The reality is that extremism is a spectrum,” she explains in a no-nonsense but upbeat tone. “We understand what we’re talking about when we talk about terrorism, but when we’re talking about other manifestations of extremism – the suppression and denial of individual liberty and rights, and the propagating of hatred – that’s something we want to try and bring out to the fore a lot more.”
The report’s findings zero in on “hateful extremism” in all its political and religious flavours, and the insidious way it bleeds into communities and becomes a tinderbox for violence. Khan’s public consultation received almost 3,000 responses: “Hard-left extremism, hard-right extremism, animal rights extremism, Islamist extremism, Sikh extremism, other forms of religious extremism…” Broadly, the most evolved threats remain from hard-right and Islamist groups. Khan toured more than 20 towns speaking to people on all sides. She found that nuance ruled in a way that was not always apparent from a distance. As divided as society can feel, it is often still small, organised groups of travelling hate-mongers who head to any community on the edge of division.
In Birmingham, Islamist extremists descended on the school protests, though, Khan insists, the situation is never black and white. “There were Muslim parents who supported their children being taught about LGBTQ+ rights, and wanted to support the teachers.”
Across the spectrum, Khan discovered that little differentiates the extremists’ approach. Sunderland – with low employment and a newly arrived community of asylum seekers – was already on the watch list when, in 2016, Chelsey Wright, a local mother on a night out in the city, alleged that she had been gang-raped by six immigrants. It became a big regional story.
Following an extensive police investigation, the Crown Prosecution Service, lacking evidence to substantiate the claim, did not authorise the police to charge any suspects. “What made that entire situation worse,” says Khan, “were far-right groups seeing that and going, ‘This is a wonderful opportunity’ – Tommy Robinson and members of Britain First, for example. Sunderland experienced, in the space of 13 months, 13 far-right demonstrations.” Yet, once again, Khan found a modulated narrative on the ground. “You had people who were travelling from outside the city to cause disruption, and residents despise that. A lot of residents I spoke to really were angry and thought this unacceptable.”
On the 26th floor of Millbank Tower, 31-year-old Nikita Malik is sitting in a meeting room overlooking the Houses of Parliament, her dress a welcome pop of turquoise in a world of greige. Her job is multifaceted, but broadly it’s to sway governments, corporations and popular opinion on the power of her research into extremism, radicalisation and terrorism. It’s hard to quantify her “wins”, she says (though some of her recent work was instrumental in YouTube banning videos that deny factual catastrophes, such as the Holocaust). Forbes recently put her on its 30 Under 30 list of European law and policy influencers.
Malik – who was born in India, grew up in the Middle East and Africa, studied economics and management at Oxford, and has previously worked at the coalface of de-radicalisation in Jordan – was an impassioned voice in the media storm surrounding the now “stateless” Shamima Begum. “We have these very strong reactions when it comes to women and what punishment they do or do not deserve,” says Malik. “Is she a victim or is she a criminal? It’s often neither.” She believes Begum should be allowed to return (and face the might of the British judicial system), but is also keen to redraw the way we imagine young women and radicalisation. Instead of poor, uneducated girls, she says, “It could actually be very brilliant young girls exploring ideas on the internet about their religion, which I think most people do when they’re trying to form their identity.”
The vulnerability, she insists, isn’t necessarily because they’re preyed on by older extremists. “The word grooming gets used a lot, which in my mind always involves an older man duping a young woman. Actually, in these cases, we see groups – say, four to nine girls – in this herd mentality, incentivising and informing each other.” Essentially, old-fashioned peer pressure at its most toxic. This is why youth de-radicalisation is so fraught, Malik says, as teens are so suspicious of anyone older.
Yasmin Green has seen a similar story at Jigsaw, too. A star figure in global anti-extremism (with the Ted Talk to prove it), she’s been instrumental in establishing the company’s Redirect Method. If someone is searching for extreme material online, “it uses YouTube playlists to serve those people with information that could change their minds,” she says from her Manhattan office.
Her work has brought her face-to-face with those most in danger, including a 14-year-old girl in the UK who, “had to be taken off the plane [to Syria] in Heathrow. When we sat down with her and her father, she said: ‘I thought I was going to go and live in the Islamic Disney World.’” Thanks to its one-time sophistication, the Isil online recruitment campaign meant, “she thought she was going to find some kind of Jihadi Brad Pitt, and then go shopping in a mall”.
Of course, much of the material online requires a strong stomach, something all the women share. Of the first beheading video she saw, Green says, “I remember showing it to my husband and he was so appalled. Not about the video, but that I would show it to him. But I think it does help. To have empathy for people who are being preyed upon.”
The most necessary question seems to be a practical one: in the face of so much hate, how do they keep going? “You know,” says Malik, “Sara and Yasmin are both mothers, and I think that passion keeps you going when dealing with very difficult things. It’s this idea that, hopefully, you are making a change.”
Meanwhile, Khan stresses that every woman is key in the fight. “If we empower women to challenge extremism, you will see a shift in our society. Women are the backbone. They can see if their children are being radicalised, they are often the first to see there’s something wrong,” she says, determined but positive in the face of the job at hand. “It’s equipping women with the know-how where they can make a difference.”
This article appears in the November 2019 issue of British Vogue.
More from British Vogue:
