The World Needs Clearer Definitions for Terror and Torture

The Sydney Siege of Monday 15 December 2014 was horrific on many levels.

It was horrific because two innocent people lost their lives. It was horrific because it's becoming increasingly aware that the perpetrator should have long been behind bars. It was horrific because we as a country are not emotionally prepared for the sort of attack we imagine only happens to Other Countries. It was horrific because the gunman identifying himself as being some sort of religious warrior now means an increase in Islamaphobia is very likely. It was horrific because we now have politicians calling for a relaxation of our gun laws, convinced against all logic, reason and evidence that armed civilians would lead to fewer gun deaths.

It was also horrific because in the midst of this siege, and long afterwards, and days from the event, we didn't know if it was an act of terror.

The gunman – whose name I will refrain from mentioning, to at least partially deny him the notoriety he so desired – was keen to align himself with the Islamic State, although this may have been an afterthought: one of his demands was an IS flag, something he'd clearly failed to bring with him.

This begs two questions:

1) Why would we consider it an act of terror?

Because Commonwealth law defines terrorism as attempting to advance a political, ideological or religious cause, by intimidating through act or threat the Australian government, a foreign government, or the public. The Sydney gunman threatened and then took lives, had a list of demands, and was known for his religious and political activism. By the legal definition, it was an act of terror.

2) Why wouldn't we consider it an act of terror?

Because lone gunman are not always considered terrorists. The US man who opened fire on a theatre full of people at a midnight screening of The Dark Knight Rises was not considered a terrorist, because there was no list of demands. He did not have a political agenda. He was, by any reasonable definition, mentally unbalanced. And if that's the distinction we choose to draw, then the Sydney Siege is not as clear as it may seem: that gunman's demands for an IS flag and for direct contact with Prime Minister Tony Abbott were vague and his expectations unclear. From all reports, it seems he had no real affiliation with IS, as if the connection was something he'd thought of only once he was in the middle of it all. We're yet to hear all the details, but we know enough for there to be doubt as to whether or not this was simply a disturbed man covering himself in the veil of political ideology.

Which brings us to the next problem: the world does not have an internationally-accepted legal definition of terrorism. Australia has its own, but it's so broad that last week I was able to prove without much difficulty that Scott Morrison, our Immigration Minister up until last weekend, technically qualified as one. Whether that says more about the law or Morrison is up to you.

So, in this instance, the law is not much help. We could define an act of terrorism as something that makes us feel terrified, but heading further down the subjective rabbit hole would only make things more difficult.

Terrorism isn't the only word that's causing problems. In the US, the debate continues to rage over the definition of torture. The word is important for many reasons, because if the USA is guilty of torturing prisoners, then it has numerous implications, not least of which is the loss of the moral high ground when their own captured soldiers are being tortured. Admitting to something like torture and losing their perceived moral standing is a big risk to their national identity.

In a recent edition of American political news show Meet the Press, former Vice President Dick Cheney was asked by Chuck Todd to define torture. Here's what Cheney said:

"Well, torture, to me, Chuck, is an American citizen on a cell phone making a last call to his four young daughters shortly before he burns to death in the upper levels of the Trade Centre in New York City on 9/11."

It's a breathtaking answer on many levels, one of which is he's closer to addressing our other issue – a definition of "terrorism" – than defining torture. But it's a deliberate and steadfast refusal to define this important term, and that's a more powerful act than the torture itself, which we've long established doesn't actually work. The moment Cheney draws a line in the sand, he's committed himself to a guilty/innocent binary. So long as the definitions and the acts and the resulting protections are fuzzy and grey, he is safe.

When the definitions are fuzzy, the things we do are not torture; the things our enemies do are terrorism. If the definitions are available to everyone, then we can all make our own value judgements over what does and does not qualify, but if it's up to the government to name torture as this, or terrorism as that, then the power remains in their hands.

If the tragic events in Sydney are terrorism, it changes how we deal with it. This is not an isolated incident, and it's definitely symptomatic of a larger problem, but which? Radical Islam, mental health care, the judicial system, the accessibility of guns?

Culturally, we have a very specific view of terrorism. The word has come to represent a growing political tide, whether real or imagined: Middle Eastern hordes that have replaced our Cold War fear of communism. Terrorist is used in the same way that communist once was: a bogeyman with an identifiable political agenda and, more importantly, a distinct ethnicity.

It's one of the reasons why we're reluctant to call the distinctly Anglo-Saxon Martin Bryant (religion unknown), perpetrator of the Port Arthur massacre, a terrorist; it's one of the reasons that far-right Scandinavian Christian Anders Behring Breivik, perpetrator of the 2011 Norwegian attacks, was rarely referred to in the press as a terrorist, despite being literally convicted of terrorism.

So if gunmen acting alone, and for reasons more closely linked to mental illness than institutional strategy, are not called terrorists, but those claiming to act in the name of Islam are, then what of the Sydney perpetrator? A figure who desired IS affiliation, despite apparently possessing none; who was driven by an ideology, but carried it out in an unhinged, strategy-free way that strongly suggested mental illness?

And this is the issue. We don't know what terrorism is, but we see it everywhere. We're afraid of it, but we struggle to define it.

If propaganda is the most important tool in war, then the words we use matter. It's how a freedom fighter becomes a terrorist; how an asylum seeker becomes an illegal; how a military operation becomes an invasion. If we're going to use these labels, we need to know what they mean.

Follow Lee on Twitter: @leezachariah