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The stories of those formerly involved in violent extremism must be told in order for us to understand and reverse the potential for brutality

A beautiful man, or a cold-blooded killer: this is the current dichotomy conjured by the name Mohammed Emwazi, or perhaps more commonly known by his media sobriquet “Jihadi John”, a name that elicits justifiable hostility, revulsion and perplexity in that it presents the image of a vicious, brutal, murdering IS henchman.

In recent weeks, the quest to reveal the man behind the mask has led to descriptions of his personality and actions before Syria, from a teacher’s assessment describing him as a steady, ordinary boy, to security service assertions that he was a young man on a violent radical trajectory. Most controversial of these analyses has been the words of Asim Qureshi of the human rights group Cage, who described his impression of Emwazi as a “beautiful young man” – a comment interpreted as inappropriate and outrageous in light of Emwazi’s metamorphosis into a killer. Yet the notion that Emwazi was, in the past, “very good with people”, as described by his previous employer, and appeared “beautiful” in character, should act as a trigger for deeper examination, for it hits a nerve in our social psyche. It demonstrates that the defining of ourselves and our fellow humans as inherently good or evil does not accurately reflect the awful reality that ordinary people can commit hideous acts of violence and cruelty.

The lessons of war, genocide and terror are not particular to any type of society, culture, or person: the path of violence is a horribly routine aspect of our collective and individual behaviour. In the case of violent radicalisation within extremist groups such as “Islamic State”, nationalist movements and the far-right, the complex and personal process can be experienced by ordinary people, and it is this disturbing reality that should galvanise united, constructive and urgent action – rather than the jejune finger-pointing and outrage of popular commentary. This is a politicised arena and one which – against the backdrop of the War on Terror and increasing xenophobia – has triggered inter- and intra-community divisions alongside mistrust between the grassroots and state.

There are many examples of individual “turn-arounds”, of formers whose pasts illustrate the reversibility of violent extremisms. Sometimes high profile and often controversial, examples include Pat McGee, responsible for planting the bomb which killed and maimed attendees at the Conservative Party Conference in Brighton, 1984. He now works with Jo Berry – daughter of Sir Anthony Berry who died in the blast – to promote peace and better understanding of conflict. Further afield, the founding leaders of the notorious Egyptian terror group al-Gama’a al-Islamiyya now speak out against violence, including theological tracts against their own previous actions, promoting political engagement as an alternative. Less high profile, but demonstrating that these are not exceptional cases, are the formers of violent extremist groups within all of our communities, whose personal journeys are testament to change. The triggers to leave violence stem from internal change, but the roots are found in external impacts – the disillusionment and the realisation of the reality and futility of violence.

For the organisation of which I am a director, ConnectJustice, part of the long-term solution lies in better engagement across the divides, and crucially, the use of credible, community-rooted expertise including those who have been there. Our team’s research and practitioner experience, alongside a growing body of academic and policy literature, suggests that the stories of “formers” – those who have followed a path of violence and subsequently desisted – not only demonstrate the diversity of such stories, but highlight the prospect of reversing violent radicalisation.

Yet the stories of formers are not just a source of knowledge and understanding: they have the potential to educate and inspire. By sharing the uncomfortable truths about their journeys in and out of violence, and the reality of violent groups, the attraction for some young people may be significantly reduced. And while there will always be a small number of blood-lusting sadists looking for a cause, when ordinary young people talk about ”five-star jihad”, adventure, redemption, righteous brotherhood and foreign enemies, the idealistic romanticism needs debunking quick. The testimony of formers can cut through the zeal, the black and white thinking, and the fantasy. When you hear that the group you hold as pure and unified is a motley crew of infighting misfits, the attraction wanes. When you know that the leaders of these groups are as corrupt, hypocritical and oppressive as those you rail against, the prospect of joining them fades. It is not from a government official or disrespectful authority figure that these messages can be truly heard, but through credible, candid figures whose experiences can penetrate hearts and change minds.

We must accept, as a society, that stories of good versus evil are not as clear-cut as we may think, but in their ambivalence, have a power that can be harnessed for change.

ConnectJustice is crowdfunding an innovative and ambitious series of short films – five stories of formers for free, public use. If you are interested in pledging your support and giving a donation please follow this link: https://peoplesrepublic.co/p/connectjustice/