The New Yorker
By
George Packer
Why did ISIS execute
a second Japanese hostage? Before the beheading of the journalist Kenji
Goto, Japan didn’t think that it was even in a fight with the Islamic
State. All Japan had done was contribute a couple of hundred million
dollars in humanitarian aid to countries fighting ISIS.
Then the man who has come to be known as Jihadi John, the executioner
with the London accent seen in several of the group’s videos, threatened
death to every Japanese person on the planet as he prepared to
slaughter Goto. As a result, a political scientist at the University of
Tokyo told the Times, “The cruelty of the Islamic State has
made Japan see a harsh new reality. … We now realize we face the same
dangers as other countries do.” People in Japan are now calling Kenji
Goto’s murder their 9/11.
Why did ISIS
allow its negotiations with Jordan to collapse? Jordan’s 9/11 occurred
on November 9, 2005, when Iraqi suicide bombers blew up fifty-seven
people in three Amman hotels, including twenty-seven members of a
wedding party. One of the wedding-bombing team was a newly married woman
named Sajida al-Rishawi, whose vest failed to detonate, and who is
currently held in a Jordanian prison under a death sentence. The failure
of the talks—a potential deal might have involved trading Goto and/or
the Jordanian Air Force pilot Moaz al-Kasasbeh, an ISIS
captive, for Rishawi—has apparently turned public opinion in Jordan,
which is fertile ground for infiltration by the Islamic State, against ISIS.
For its trouble the Islamic State got no cash and no Sajida al-Rishawi,
only worldwide revulsion. (Update: The barbaric burning alive of
Lieutenant al-Kasasbeh by ISIS makes no tactical sense.
Nor does the release, Tuesday, of a video of his death. It will only
enrage Jordanians. The Islamic State did it, the organization stated, to
gladden the hearts of “believers”—as a morale booster.)
Meanwhile,
the group is running out of high-profile hostages whom it can use to
threaten, extort, and terrify the world. (The hundreds of Syrian
journalists and activists who disappeared in ISIS
territory, the hundreds or thousands of Yazidi women taken into sexual
slavery, the tens or hundreds of thousands of ordinary Syrians and
Iraqis living against their will under the Islamic State’s control—none
of them, unfortunately, have much influence over international opinion.)
So what’s the strategy behind the beheadings, other than to lengthen
the list of countries that now talk about “their” 9/11? Why would ISIS want to make more enemies than it already has?
Why, for that matter, would
ISIS
send thousands of its men to besiege Kobani, a strategically
unimportant Kurdish town on the Turkish-Syrian border where more than a
thousand
ISIS fighters, including many foreigners,
perished after months of street fighting and American air raids? The
Kurds, having secured a bitter victory, regard the destroyed city, with
justified pride, as their Stalingrad. (Based on
the pictures,
the comparison does not seem like a stretch.) The world owes the people
of Kobani a debt, and in the coming years the battle might be seen as a
crucial milestone on the road to Kurdish nationhood. But why would
ISIS throw away a large fraction of its fighting force there?
Is
the larger aim to control all the lands in the Tigris and Euphrates
river basin? If so, why do Islamic State spokesmen have a habit of
declaring war against millions of citizens of various far-flung
countries—Japan, France—on YouTube and Twitter?
It’s
natural to ask these questions. We want to understand the Islamic
State’s thinking, to anticipate its next moves, to assess its relative
strength. But ISIS keeps on defying ordinary questions.
The Islamic State doesn’t behave according to recognizable cost-benefit
analyses. It doesn’t cut its losses or scale down its ambitions. The
very name of the self-proclaimed caliphate strikes most people, not
least other Muslims, as ridiculous, if not delusional. But it’s the
vaulting ambition of an actual Islamic State that inspires ISIS
recruits. The group uses surprise and shock to achieve goals that are
more readily grasped by the apocalyptic imagination than by military or
political theory. The capture of Mosul last June shocked the Iraqi and
U.S. governments; for a while, ISIS seemed to believe
that it could even take Baghdad. The genocidal attack on the Yazidis of
Sinjar, in August, shocked the conscience. The videotaped beheadings
that began at the same time shocked the West. Last week’s decapitation
shocked Japan. Sooner or later, it seems, everyone will have a turn. And
yet, if the group thinks that it will intimidate countries into keeping
out of or leaving the anti-ISIS coalition, its tactics have so far been a failure.
In the end, it isn’t very useful to hold ISIS
to the expectations and standards of other violent groups. Even Al
Qaeda admonished Abu Musab al-Zarqawi, the founder of the Islamic
State’s predecessor organization, Al Qaeda in Iraq, for his nasty habit
of beheading hostages on camera. Why not a bullet to the back of the
head, Ayman al-Zawahiri helpfully suggested from his hideout in the
mountains along the Afghan-Pakistani border? But Zarqawi knew what he
was doing, and he kept on, though he’s been vastly outperformed by his
successors in ISIS. The point isn’t to use the right level of violence to achieve limited goals. The violence is
the point, and the worse the better. The Islamic State doesn’t leave
thousands of corpses in its wake as a means to an end. Slaughter is its
goal—slaughter in the name of higher purification. Mass executions are
proof of the Islamic State’s profound commitment to its vision.
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