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Special Report 186 April 2007

United States Institute of Peace

Special Report

The views expressed in this report do not necessarily 

reflect the views of the United States Institute of Peace, 

which does not advocate specific policy positions .

Contents 

Introduction 1

Personal Journeys of Transformation 3

Themes and Observations 10

Recommendations 14

About the Report

Behavioral scientists have devoted considerable attention 

to religious extremism and the psychological factors that 

contribute to an individual’s propensity toward violence. 

However, relatively little data are available on those who 

abandon extremism and become proponents of conciliation 

and peace. Dr. Renee Garfinkel offers a number of tentative 

conclusions about individuals she has interviewed who have 

made this transition.

Renee Garfinkel received a Ph.D. in psychology from Lund 

University (Sweden). She is a clinical psychologist in 

Washington, D.C., an author, and a faculty member at the 

Institute for Crisis, Disaster, and Risk Management of the 

George Washington University.

Renee Garfinkel

Personal Transformations

Moving from Violence to Peace

Summary

• Just as people become religious extremists, some of them abandon extremism and 

embrace peace. For some this change is a spiritual transformation, similar to religious 

conversion.

• Under certain circumstances stress, crisis, and trauma appear to play an important role 

in the process of change.

• Geographic relocation may be important for some. Migration involves novelty, insecurity, and instability, conditions that enhance vulnerability and, perhaps, openness to 

change.

• The transformation experienced by religious extremists involves a reorientation in 

outlook and direction but does not necessarily imply an alteration in basic personality 

structure.

• A key factor in the transition is personal relationships. Change often hinges on a 

relationship with a mentor or friend who supports and affirms peaceful behavior.

Introduction 

“The fire of vengeance was kindled in me.... Religion is more powerful than atomic bomb. 

The passion of religion is more terrible than Katrina, more terrible than a tsunami. But if it 

is used positively, it can change the world.” —Imam Muhammad Nurayn Ashafa, Nigeria

“Going from a place where I hate the Arabs and I hate the government and I hate this and 

I hated that, you go to a place where you love your neighbor and you love the other, even 

though it’s difficult, but you still try.” —Leah Lubin, Israel

“Would Jesus fight the Muslims or preach to them? That was my turning point. Christians 

were always on defense, we never attacked first. But the issue was when to stop the defense. 

Knowing when defense becomes offense is a problem.” —Pastor James Wuye, Nigeria
Optimism was in short supply around the world at the beginning of 2007. Suspicion and 

distrust, violence and extremism took center stage in international news and hijacked the 

agenda. Much of the conflict was expressed in the language of religion.

Sectarian violence between Sunni and Shia continued without letup in Iraq. Casualties 

among Iraqis and Americans reached the thousands. The genocide in Sudan went on, with 

Arabized Muslims killing African Muslims. Iran and North Korea declared their intention 

to become nuclear powers, and the Iranian president called for the annihilation of Israel. 

Attacks on Israel by Hezbollah had led to a month-long war and revealed a vast buildup 

of sophisticated weapons in Lebanon. Added to that were the continuing fallout from the 

publication of polemical cartoons in Denmark in 2006 and a controversial academic speech 

by Pope Benedict XVI in Germany. At times it seemed that religion itself might be driving 

the escalation of violence and extremism.

Despite the ugly power of violent words and actions, a quiet counter-rhythm kept beating. It was made by peaceful men and women motivated and inspired by religion to seek 

alternative means of connecting with one another across religious divisions. 

This report is neither exhaustive nor definitive. Rather, I seek to take a closer look 

at the phenomenon of transformation through several individual cases. How it is that in 

societies at war, surrounded by ideologies of violence and experiences of threat, some 

people nevertheless become seekers of peace, advocates and practitioners of nonviolent 

conflict resolution? 

In his bestselling book, The Tipping Point, Malcolm Gladwell argues that the best way 

to understand changes within society—from the emergence of fashions to the ebb and 

flow of crime waves, the rise of teenage smoking, or any of myriad ideas, behaviors, and 

messages that spread through society—is to learn from what we know of the dynamics 

of the spread of epidemics. He posits a basic, underlying pattern in the movement of any 

idea or action through society, regardless of whether it is trivial or deadly. 

Gladwell is interested in the forces that lead large numbers of people to know, accept, 

and follow a trend. But some individuals resist those forces. A minority can think and act 

against the prevailing winds.

In the psychological and behavioral literature, individuals noted for their ability to 

withstand negative pressure are called “resilient.” They have experienced very adverse 

circumstances typically associated with poor psychological and social outcomes. They may 

be children of mentally ill parents, or they may have grown up in very deprived economic 

or social conditions, but they turn out to be healthy and productive, despite the odds 

against them. 

Another, similar approach to understanding the spread of social pathology (whether 

grounded in ideology, theology, economics, biology, or anything else) is to examine individuals who may have been swept up in the harmful trend but did not succumb to it. They 

recovered from the social pathology and were no longer vulnerable to it. These individuals 

are not typical. On the contrary, the fact that they are exceptional is precisely why they 

are of interest. Our project is to understand how they emerged from the world of violence. 

Representing an extreme of resilience, they survived the malignant forces of religious 

extremism and then went on to develop exceptionally powerful alternatives.

Like other trends, today’s trend toward violent religious extremism spreads through 

social networks. Violence is a primitive form of resolving conflict. It is basic, widespread, 

and self-evidently effective in imposing one person’s will on another. Violence is attractive. It enhances the superficial appearance of strength and leadership. From teenage 

gangs to military parades, a show of force—potential or actual violence—impresses followers and onlookers.

Violence sanctioned by religious authorities is particularly easy for some believers to 

accept. In the context of religiously sanctioned violence, when a believer continues to 

maintain faith and religious loyalty but changes his or her views and rejects violence, that 

is a transformation we need to understand. How does it happen? What are some of the 

factors that influence such a change? And, most important, how can it be encouraged?

About the Institute

The United States Institute of Peace is an independent, 

non-partisan institution established and funded by 

Congress. Its goals are to help prevent and resolve 

violent conflicts, promote post-conflict peacebuilding, 

and increase conflict-management tools, capacity, and 

intellectual capital worldwide. The Institute does this by 

empowering others with knowledge, skills, and resources, 

as well as by its direct involvement in conflict zones 

around the globe.

Board of Directors

J. Robinson West (Chair), Chairman, PFC Energy, 

Washington, D.C. • María Otero (Vice Chair), President, 

ACCION International, Boston, Mass. • Betty F. Bumpers, 

Founder and former President, Peace Links, Washington, 

D.C. • Holly J. Burkhalter, Vice President of Government 

Affairs, International Justice Mission, Washington, D.C. 

• Chester A. Crocker, James R. Schlesinger Professor of 

Strategic Studies, School of Foreign Service, Georgetown 

University, Washington, D.C. • Laurie S. Fulton, Partner, 

Williams and Connolly, Washington, D.C. • Charles 

Horner, Senior Fellow, Hudson Institute, Washington, D.C. 

• Mora L. McLean, President, Africa-America Institute, 

New York, N.Y. • Barbara W. Snelling, former State 

Senator and former Lieutenant Governor, Shelburne, Vt. 

Members ex officio

Barry F. Lowenkron, Assistant Secretary of State for 

Democracy, Human Rights, and Labor • Peter W. Rodman,

Assistant Secretary of Defense for International Security 

Affairs • Richard H. Solomon, President, United States 

Institute of Peace (nonvoting) • Frances C. Wilson,

Lieutenant General, U.S. Marine Corps; President, National 

Defense University.
I began studying the dynamics of some religious extremists’ transformation into proponents of peace by interviewing people living in regions of conflict around the world. 

Some of them had significant careers as fighters and leaders of militant groups. Some had 

supported violent political solutions. All are now working for peaceful change.

They are not saints. Their politics and ideologies are not necessarily those of traditional pacifists, nor are they equally positive toward all of their adversaries. They are not 

equally understanding of all groups they consider “other.” But they no longer advocate 

violence as a means to achieve their goals. Each interviewee has come a long way from his 

or her former belief system. In an affirmative and nonviolent manner each now engages 

people he or she once would have fought or shunned. These are spiritual people who 

continue to be committed to their religious path and feel elevated and inspired by the 

direction they have taken and for which they have paid a price.

The following accounts of former extremists, interviewed by telephone in late 2006 

and early 2007, are intended to stimulate discussion of an oft-neglected theme. Although 

few in number, they might nevertheless yield hints of commonalities in underlying processes of growth, change, and development.

Personal Journeys of Transformation

Pastor James Movel Wuye, Nigeria: Conversion within the Faith

Pastor James of Kaduna, Nigeria, was a leader in the Christian youth militia in a country 

fraught with interreligious and interethnic warfare. Militancy came naturally to him: He 

grew up in a military barracks while his father pursued a career in the armed forces during 

Nigeria’s civil war. In Kaduna there was frequent violence. Christians were marginalized 

under a Muslim caliphate. Pastor James described Muslims as being “like masters.” Muslim 

militias would attack Christian villages and churches for many kinds of provocations, such 

as alleged blasphemy. They saw attacks on Christians as a way of “purifying society.” Pastor James enrolled in the Christian militia and rose in its ranks. He saw combat. It was 

clear to him that his acts of violence were defensive: He was working to protect Christian 

families and villages and his country. He saw many young men die in combat and was 

severely injured himself. He lost a hand.

A public health problem brought Pastor James in contact with the Muslim leader who 

would later become his partner in peacebuilding. The problem was the refusal of Muslim 

mothers to let their children be immunized. A rumor had circulated that immunization 

was a Western plot aimed at sterilizing children. Recognizing the power of religion, 

government authorities made an effort to show that childhood immunization was in 

everyone’s best interest by recruiting religious leaders of both faiths to help change 

attitudes. The officials thought that Christian leaders promoting immunization for their 

own community might show everyone there was nothing to fear. Pastor James and his 

Muslim colleague Imam Ashafa (whose own journey follows) met on this project. Their 

cooperation might have ended there, but for a mutual friend—an important and trusted 

companion in this faith journey—who urged the two to talk to “increase peace and 

understanding in Nigeria.”

That meeting was not followed by overnight change. Rather, the two worked for several 

years on programs of dialogue designed to reduce passions in both communities. They 

cooperated with interfaith groups in Nigeria and around the world. At that stage, Pastor 

James admitted, he worked with Muslims but remained suspicious.

This theme emerges in many of the interviews: It continues to be emotionally and 

socially difficult to engage peacefully with the enemy. Suspicion and doubt persist. Fear 

and aversion are dogged. Resistance to encountering the hated and feared “other” is 

great. For some who have gone from combatant to proponent of peace, resistance to 

working with the enemy is always to be reckoned with and is not entirely overcome for 

a long, long time. 

These are spiritual people who 

continue to be committed to 

their religious path. 

A public health problem brought 

Pastor James in contact with the 

Muslim leader who would later 

become his partner in peacebuilding.

Resistance to encountering the 

hated and feared “other” is great.
But some aspects of basic humanity reach across the divide to the heart. Pastor James 

experienced one such moment when his mother was sick in the hospital, and his Muslim 

colleague Ashafa visited her. The compassionate gesture “confused” Pastor James. It 

breached an emotional barrier and challenged his long-held assumptions.

For Pastor James, resistance came in the form of self-doubt and in objections from 

his colleagues. He wondered how he could work with unbelievers. “The house of Baal has 

nothing to do with the house of God,” he thought. Some of his friends saw his work as a 

betrayal, and he worried that his militant colleagues might even try to kill him.

A memorable moment of change came when he was working with a U.S.-based, 

Christian missionary organization. At the orientation for his new position as coordinator for western Nigeria, a respected colleague and his wife asserted, “You cannot preach 

Christianity with hate. It is hard to love the Muslims, but you must try. What would 

Jesus do, fight the Muslims or preach to them?” Pastor James recalled this moment as a 

turning point in his life. He could now be resolute in what he understood to be a divine 

mission. His first choice would be to convert his friend to Christianity, but since that was 

not possible, it was his mission to create a space where all faiths could flourish. “To live 

like a Christian is to live in peace with all people.... To be a Christian is to treat people 

with righteousness,” he said. 

Although Pastor James could identify a turning point, his narrative tells of spiritual 

transformation that was years in the making. Years of working peacefully and productively 

with Muslim colleagues, both on civic projects and in careful public religious dialogue, 

preceded the turning point. 

The experience also had a dark emotional and spiritual side. Pastor James considered 

years of his life before his transformation to have been wasted. The lives of many young 

people were lost; many families were bereaved. He lost his hand and feels his amputated 

limb was a kind of sacrifice. “I have only one hand left from militancy. Now I would try 

to defend the church with dialogue.”

Pastor James is passionate about peace, and his passion is infectious: “We are turning 

people around from hate to dialogue.” He and his partner, Imam Ashafa, have become 

role models for others. 

Imam Muhammad Nurayn Ashafa, Nigeria: Transforming the Terrible Power of Revenge

Imam Ashafa is a devout, religiously observant man who asserts, “I am not a conservative 

Muslim.” He identifies the conservative, popular expression of Islam with the barbarism 

of the seventh century, which he calls “our dark ages.” Ashafa defines himself as a “real, 

traditionalist Muslim, following the principles of Muhammad.... Muhammad forgave his 

worst enemy, who murdered his own daughter and made him leave Mecca.”

Imam Ashafa works as a motivational speaker to Islamic groups and as a peacemaker 

with his Christian partner, Pastor James. For his efforts he lost his best friends and was 

called a hypocrite and a fool, a compromiser. He even had a fatwa issued against him 

because he insisted that Muslims are permitted to have a dialogue with non-Muslims and 

live together in peace “as long as they do not kill us.” The fatwa was dismissed when the 

arbiter of Sharia law agreed that Ashafa had committed no crime and that his work was 

not anti-Islamic but was in line with Islam’s true spirit. 

Imam Ashafa was raised in a religious home. His father was a mufti, and Ashafa grew 

up in a monolithically Muslim community. As a boy he was not exposed to secular education because Christians ran the schools, and the Muslim community feared Christian 

efforts to evangelize their children. He was permitted to attend secondary school, however, in Kaduna, where the interactions of the Christian and Muslim communities were 

characterized by mutual demonization and destruction of places of worship. After joining 

a movement for the revival of Islamic values, he said, “by an accident of history, I found 

myself on the side of what today are called Islamists or Islamic fundamentalists.” A leader, 

he became the general secretary of the Association of Muslim Youth Organizations.

Some of his friends saw his work 

as a betrayal, and he worried 

that his militant colleagues 

might even try to kill him.

Pastor James considered years of 

his life before his transformation 

to have been wasted.

For his efforts he lost his best 

friends and was called a hypocrite 

and a fool, a compromiser.
Ashafa described two important incidents in his history of violence. One was a 1992 

conflict between the Christian and Muslim communities. Forty-eight hours of reprisals and 

counter-reprisals left 3,000 people dead and hundreds missing. Describing the devastation 

he said, “It was a small kindergarten for the Rwandan genocide.” 

Another powerfully radicalizing experience was the death of his Sufi mentor. Sufis 

are nonviolent, and his mentor had urged him “to share the seed of love in your heart.” 

When this man was murdered along with two of his own cousins, Ashafa said, “the fire of 

vengeance was kindled.”

There was no dramatic and emotional turning point in his way out of violence. It was a 

slow, hard-won path. It began with the public health crisis, when the government turned 

to religious leaders to help quell rumors that immunization caused sterility in children. 

The rumors led Muslim parents to refuse to immunize their children. Like Pastor James, 

Imam Ashafa was recruited to help. They met on that occasion. When a mutual friend put 

their hands together, saying, “I want you two to talk about peace,” Ashafa recalled pretending to be polite while his heart was “bleeding revenge. My intention was to discover 

how to hurt them.”

Years of yearning for revenge do not turn around in an instant. Imam Ashafa and 

Pastor James went forward carefully and warily, taking tiny programmatic steps together 

and in their own communities. Imam Ashafa described hearing a sermon on forgiveness 

in a mosque and thinking, “How is it possible to forgive the colonial masters, or those 

who killed my spiritual mentor?” and crying. He prayed with other people, he tried to 

forgive and let go of his deep anger. Cognitively he tried to look to the future rather than 

the past. He also worked on understanding the larger context in which his pain existed: 

“People are remotely controlled. They are manipulated. They become like robots.... The 

seeds of genocide were sown by very few elites who control the masses, control their 

social lives. They demonize others, making them appear less than human until there is 

nothing holding them back from harming them. They are not killing a person but killing 

a snake, something that is a source of danger.”

A deeply religious man, Imam Ashafa said, “The Quran was my source of healing.” To 

illustrate, he pointed to the Quranic law that permits the family of a murder victim to 

choose not to execute the murderer, nor even to take “blood money” (compensation), 

but to let the murderer go and even help him overcome the circumstances that caused 

him to murder.

Imam Ashafa’s transformation from revenge seeking to peacemaking was a hard spiritual task that took place simultaneously on many levels. He carefully built a slowly growing relationship of trust with Pastor James. That relationship was supported by at least 

one important friend. Spiritually and religiously, he used prayer and the study of texts to 

come to a new understanding of the deeper values of his religion. He had the will to let 

go of his anger and found ways to do so, using tools such as introspection and analysis 

of the large political and social forces that perpetuate hate.

Yasin Malik, Kashmir: A Prison Conversion to Nonviolence

Although he believed and practiced violence under the banner of an Islamic group, Yasin 

Malik objected to being called a “religious extremist.” He identified himself as a secular 

moderate. His extremism had been nationalistic. As a convert to nonviolence, he includes 

among his role models Hindus, Christians, and secular leaders. Nevertheless, he said, “I 

consider Muhammad to have been the father of nonviolence. For thirteen years he suffered 

persecution and humiliation.... The soul of Islam, its essence, is nonviolent.”

As a young man Malik was a leader of the Islamic Student League, committed to armed 

struggle for Kashmiri independence. His record is one of outright violence, first as victim, 

then as perpetrator. As commander-in-chief of Islamic forces during the 1990 massacres 

in Kashmir, he was arrested and given a long sentence in solitary confinement. 

This was not his first arrest, nor would it be his last. His story is in part a chronological listing of attacks, arrests and beatings, imprisonment, torture, and brutality. He 

said he has been jailed more than two hundred times. Still the chairman of the Jammu 

Years of yearning for revenge do 

not turn around in an instant.

Imam Ashafa’s transformation from 

revenge seeking to peacemaking 

was a hard spiritual task.
and Kashmir Liberation Front, Malik continues to fear an attack on his life and to speak 

out for an independent Kashmir.

But during years in solitary confinement he had time to read. He studied the intellectual history of nonviolence and became committed to it. Gandhi and others were not 

just role models and inspiration; in his isolation they became his companions as well—his 

mentors. They were his “spiritual support while I learned to suffer.” Most of all, they 

taught him patience along with hope. Just as they patiently suffered and eventually prevailed, so he and his cause would prevail.

Trauma and loss figure prominently in the spiritual transformation of those who leave 

violence behind. Malik’s experiences of physical abuse and loss are of mythic proportions. 

For some people, traumatic pain and loss are also opportunities. When Malik was hospitalized for serious surgery he realized that the two Hindu physicians who were treating him 

so tenderly knew he was a terrorist. They could have neglected him, or worse. They could 

have—perhaps even should have—considered him their enemy. Nevertheless they treated 

him with compassion. Like so many others who have changed their attitudes and actions 

toward enemies, Malik recalled having been treated with compassion at a time of need as 

an important step in his journey. 

Solitary confinement represents a nearly total loss, and it was in those depths that 

Malik was able to reflect and relate to men from other times and places who led their 

people with nonviolence. He became convinced and committed to that way and wanted 

to create a nonviolent culture for his people.

Demonstrating his deep commitment to nonviolence, Malik declared a unilateral ceasefire at a time when there were 50,000 Kashmiri militants. Now, he reported, only 1,500 

armed youths remain active.

Today Malik’s vision extends beyond self-determination for Kashmir. “I want to create a nonviolent culture in the world,” he said. He believes the media, which now play a 

destructive role by obsessively focusing on violence, could make different choices and help 

create a space for nonviolence.

Leah Lubin, Israel: A Journey Away from Fear

Leah Lubin is the interviewee who spoke most openly about the importance of fear in 

religious extremism. Fear is the source of the emotional nourishment of hate. Now Lubin 

delights in her freedom from irrational fear. That freedom is part of her spiritual transformation.

Lubin is the Jewish coordinator (along with Christian and Muslim coordinators) of the 

Jerusalem group that is part of the Interfaith Encounter Association, an Israeli organization. Lubin’s group is called Reut Sazaqa, an Arabic name meaning “unconditional friendship.” 

A religious, observant Jew, Lubin was attracted by Rabbi Meir Kahane’s early writings, 

which challenged Jews to live with less complacency and materialism. He preached a 

more idealistic, dedicated, and religious way of life. And he advocated the use of violence. 

Kahane said “never again” would Jews be victims. The land of Israel was promised to the 

Jewish people in the Bible, he believed, and Jews must be prepared to defend themselves 

and their birthright aggressively.

The Rambo style of Kahane’s small group of followers appealed to Lubin, who was a 

mother of young babies at the time. She was building a family, and it made sense to her to 

be building a country and a society based on firm nationalistic and religious values. These 

all needed vigorous protection from real enemies. Lubin was proud of her Judaism and her 

Zionism, and Kahane affirmed that pride. Violence was just part of the package.

Like most people, Lubin lived in a community that shared her views. The sameness 

supported a way of life that was comfortable—until Yitzhak Rabin was murdered.

The assassination of Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin was an Israeli and a Jewish trauma. 

In its wake Lubin found she was no longer “comfortable” with her circle of friends. She 

said, “I just remember, you know, feeling really, really weird for the first time and telling 

my husband that it just doesn’t feel right.... We were basically focusing on cursing Rabin, 

Trauma and loss figure prominently 

in the spiritual transformation of 

those who leave violence behind.

The assassination of Prime 

Minister Yitzhak Rabin was an 

Israeli and a Jewish trauma.
even though he was dead, and everyone else who doesn’t agree with them.... I just didn’t 

feel good about it. On the other hand, I didn’t feel ready to get to know the other, either. 

So I was kind of stuck in limbo.”

She tried to continue to be with her friends and social and political community as 

before, but she no longer fit. Following the violence of Rabin’s murder, she “felt weird” 

during conversations about violence. Both Kahane and Rabin had been murdered. Rabin’s 

murder made her feel ashamed because the murderer was a religious Jew. Along with the 

emotional discomfort went thoughts: “Even if the Arabs talk about killing us, that doesn’t 

mean it is right for us to do that.”

During the time the Palestinian intifada was increasing the violence around her, Lubin 

came across some newspaper articles about interfaith work, particularly Yehuda Stolov’s 

Interfaith Encounter Association. The idea of people sitting and celebrating holidays 

together and learning about one another’s experiences appealed to her. She thought, 

“Perhaps this is the path I am looking for.” 

The interfaith groups are explicitly nonpolitical. “We’re not allowed to talk politics, 

but you know, all informal conversations end up being just that.” The Palestinian group 

members challenged Lubin. “After the initial yelling and screaming ... I understood they 

had the same misconceptions and fears about us as we had about them.”

Lubin’s involvement in the interfaith group led to changes in her social world as well. 

Formerly enveloped in a politically and religiously homogeneous community, she now 

found “a different kind of community and they were all mixed. They were Orthodox, they 

were nonaffiliated, and they were atheists.”

Some of her old friends were curious about her interfaith activities and asked to be put 

on the association’s mailing list. But social resistance to change is a powerful force, she 

said. “People are curious. I think they want to know, but what would the neighbors think? 

I have the same problem with some of our Arab colleagues. A lot of them can’t tell their 

neighbors and friends exactly what they do. It’s not an easy thing here.”

Lubin sees her transformation in spiritual, not political, terms: “I am not a left-wing 

activist. I am not against the occupation, against this, against that. I don’t want to be 

against anything. I don’t want to hate Arabs. I don’t want to hate Jews.... I focus on 

being positive, and that was the big change. I felt that everything was going to be more 

positive in my life. That was going to be the change.”

She feels enriched by her increased understanding of her neighbors’ customs, practices, 

holidays, and experiences. Although both Israelis and Palestinians suffer in the conflict, 

she feels the group is an oasis of peace. That peace makes spiritual reverberations within 

her that make her happy. She used an intimate illustration to describe how she has 

changed: “It used to be that you saw an Arab and that’s it, he’s going to kill me or.... I 

remember walking down the street in Jerusalem with my baby, and this Arab woman came 

by and started stroking her arm, and I was petrified. ‘Oh my gosh, she’s going to kill my 

baby.’ I yanked it away from her. She noticed how I just grabbed the baby away.... Now 

I would strike up a conversation with her.”

Lubin believes the best way to promote her approach is to live it. “If people see that I 

am continuing and happy and I am inviting Palestinians into my home during the holidays 

... I’ll make an effort to invite some Jewish families, too, who would normally not meet 

one another.” People are often, but not always, receptive. “Just by telling my story people 

can get to think about it,” she said. Lubin’s blog about her peace group came to the 

attention of a woman in Bahrain, who described herself as very militant. She wrote, “You 

know what, your blog changed my view. I didn’t know that there were Israelis who wanted 

peace.” She invited Lubin to write for her Web site, aimed at Middle Eastern youth.

Souliman Khatib, Palestinian Territories: Evolving toward Nonviolence

“I used to believe only a military solution would work,” Souliman Khatib explained. “Now 

I don’t believe in military solutions. Only nonviolence will lead to change.”

She tried to continue to be with 

her friends and social and political 

community as before, but she no 

longer fit.

Lubin sees her transformation in 

spiritual, not political, terms.

Lubin believes the best way to 

promote her approach is to live it.
When he was a young teen, Khatib wanted to be a hero. So he did what the cool guys 

did and what his culture idealized: He attacked Israelis. He considered himself part of the 

violent struggle. He was arrested for that violence and spent ten years in prison.

Somewhat defensive about his younger self, Khatib was quick to add, “Our violence was 

not criminal. It wasn’t because we liked violence.”

He emerged from prison with an education in history and politics and the desire to 

have a normal life. The years in prison left their mark, he admitted, but he did not elaborate except to say that he went on to work for the cause “in other ways.” He worked with 

Fatah and other organizations and supported the 1993 Oslo Accords.

Although he spoke warmly about the role of emotion and the importance of personal 

relationships in bringing people along the road to nonviolence, when he described his own 

process of change, Khatib confined himself to the intellect. He stressed the role of reason 

and cognition and talked about embracing nonviolence the way someone might describe 

recognizing that a sledgehammer was simply the wrong tool for the job. Khatib reported 

that his growing understanding of politics and the history of the Arab-Israeli conflict 

brought him to the realization that violence would not succeed. 

For the past four years Khatib has advocated nonviolent means of achieving his political goals. He was one of four Palestinians who traveled with Israelis on the “Breaking the 

Ice” expedition to Antarctica in 2003. The experience gave him his first personal contact 

with Israelis. He observed, “Palestinians think of Israelis as soldiers, Israelis think of Palestinians as terrorists. Both are human beings. Both have a right to live.” 

In 2006 he toured the United States with an organization called Combatants for Peace, 

composed of about 200 former Palestinian militants and former Israeli soldiers who are 

committed to peaceful dialogue and establishment of two states living side by side in 

peace. Their literature asserts, “We refuse to be enemies.”

The importance of age and stage of development, both psychological and spiritual, can 

be seen in Khatib’s story. As a teenager, he wanted the approval of his peers and tried to 

live up to what his society admired. He believed he could be somebody by being tough. 

His political view was limited to us vs. them. He was violent. Now in his fifties, he has 

a wider and longer view of history and politics. The work he is most proud of is being a 

conduit of connection between the two peoples. He said, “I don’t try to effect change 

directly. I believe I’ve gotten people to accept one another. Some people were difficult to 

bring to a joint (Israeli-Palestinian) project, especially the youth and the students.... It 

is not just about ideology, it is about connection with a person. I tell people my story. I 

use my emotion and experience, my heart. I talk about things I am close to, and I become 

emotional when I talk. The contact between mind and heart is what changes people.”

Assad Shaftary, Lebanon: Learning to Listen

Assad Shaftary survived six attempts on his life and wondered why. Why had he been 

spared when others had died? Perhaps there was a reason.

A veteran of Lebanon’s long civil war, Shaftary served in the Lebanese intelligence 

service. At the end of the war he looked back at his own actions and those of his comrades and concluded, “We’ve gone too far.” He judged himself, saying: “I am not a good 

Christian.”

A coup followed the war, and Shaftary fled from the Christian area where suddenly he 

was considered a traitor by the very people he thought he had been fighting for. During 

that time he met members of Moral Rearmament, who introduced him to the idea that if 

he really wanted to change the world, he must start with himself. He began a process of 

self-examination that continued for many years.

On a personal level Shaftary dealt with the way he treated his wife and his friends. He 

examined how he dealt with the other during the war. He engaged in dialogue with Muslims for the first time. Most dramatically, following the internal process of change, Shaftary 

went public. He apologized in the press for what he had done in the war.



When he described his own process 

of change, Khatib confined himself 

to the intellect.

Now in his fifties, he has a 

wider and longer view of history 

and politics.

He judged himself, saying: “I 

am not a good Christian.”
Now he speaks out publicly against prejudice, telling his story to audiences in schools 

and universities. His approach is low-key and has the quality of spiritual atonement. “I 

owe it to humankind in general and the Lebanese people in particular. I did so much damage, I have to do this.” He works with a Muslim at both Christian and Muslim schools. 

As a Christian in Lebanon, Shaftary grew up hating Muslims. The political reason was 

their support for a pan-Arab nation, while he was loyal to Lebanon. Shaftary’s hatred for 

Muslims was deep. He considered them to be less than human—traitors and killers. The 

war’s daily kill report was just a score, just numbers. “I lost all sense of humanity,” he 

said.

Shaftary sees the new generation in Lebanon repeating the same tragic mistakes today. 

He hears the same expressions that he heard in his youth. “Society keeps regenerating the 

same hatred and prejudice,” he said. When he heard his own son express such ideas, his 

mission of peace acquired particular urgency. He and others like him go out and tell their 

stories. “Many know me and know what I did during the war, what I was responsible for. 

Many people tell me privately that they agree but don’t want to publicly say things that 

are bad for the image of Christians.” 

When Shaftary began to speak out, he was accused of having a personal political 

agenda. But he and others persisted in a quiet way, without seeking publicity, merely telling the truth together. They talk about how they felt about each other before the war and 

how they changed. “I thought I was the perfect Christian because I was killing Muslims.... 

Killing became automatic and systematic,” Shaftary said. He speaks to Christian groups 

and Christian friends while Muslims try to explain to Muslim schools and Muslim friends. 

Shaftary credits Moral Rearmament with having had a great influence on his spiritual 

change. First, by example: Members of the group engaged in their constructive work 

throughout Lebanon’s long civil war while others were fighting and killing. Perhaps most 

important, they taught him to listen—both to the other in dialogue and to the Other, 

God. “I knew how to pray, but they taught me to listen,” he says. The discipline of taking 

daily quiet time gave him the opportunity to analyze his life in moral terms and listen to 

what God’s plan for him might be. For Shaftary, it felt like a gradual cleansing process: “I 

had a black soul that slowly became whiter, shades of grey.” 

Shaftary’s transformation includes many of the elements that recur in the stories of 

deep change. Trauma and closeness to death made him question his life and seek purpose 

and meaning. His flight from home was important as well. In various religious traditions 

and mythologies, spiritual and religious heroes frequently need to leave home and their 

country to grow. Being away exposes the individual to new realities or old realities seen 

from a new perspective, without the protection of the familiar and the lulling embrace of 

home. Fleeing danger, the refugee becomes open and vulnerable in a way he had not been 

before, when he was secure in his native location. Perhaps escape from danger and the 

humbling status of an alien make one more aware and sensitive. As Shaftary put it, “If I 

had stayed in place, maybe I wouldn’t have heard God’s voice telling me to change.”

Yossi Klein Halevi, Israel: A Religious Extremist’s Adolescence Outgrown

Halevi’s book titles can serve as shorthand for his life changes: Memoirs of a Jewish 

Extremist was published in 1995, and in 2001 he wrote At the Entrance to the Garden of 

Eden: A Jew’s Search for Hope with Christians and Muslims in the Holy Land. 

An insightful, introspective writer, Halevi describes many of the characteristics of 

other interviewees in his own brief career as an extremist. Like many militants, he was 

attracted to extremism because of his father’s history of victimization and courage. When 

the Nazis invaded Transylvania and sent Jews to concentration camps in cattle cars, 

Yossi’s father hid in a hole in the forest with two other men. They hid in the forest until 

the war’s end. 

Young Halevi took several messages from his father’s experience: First, Jews must 

always be vigilant and expect the worst. Hungarian Jews did not believe reports about 

Nazi death camps and the destruction of Polish Jewry. They felt secure. They were wrong. 

He and others persisted in a 

quiet way, without seeking 

publicity, merely telling the 

truth together.

Perhaps escape from danger and the 

humbling status of an alien make 

one more aware and sensitive.
10

One must see the world as it is, without illusion. Second, think for yourself; don’t be 

swayed by what people say. People said attempting escape would make things worse. 

They and the naïve Jewish leadership were wrong.

Halevi internalized the rage his father felt, and as an adolescent sought Jewish groups 

in which he could express his solidarity with his people against those who did or would 

(because both so easily become conflated) do them harm. He joined a right-wing, militant 

group. Reflecting on that group’s culture, he says, “We neutralized our moral dilemmas 

with euphemism. Murder was called ‘resistance.’ ”

Halevi met several people he respected and liked, idealists he could relate to. One 

was the organizer of a peaceful movement to help liberate Jews from the Soviet Union, 

a visionary leader, Yaakov Birnbaum, “who, like Moses, had a speech impediment.” The 

fact that he was religious but not a quietist attracted Halevi. Birnbaum believed in the 

messianic ideal of universal respect for human and civil rights. Theirs was a campaign of 

peaceful protest and education.

But others were active in the Soviet Jewry campaign at the time, and that was how 

Halevi became involved with the Jewish Defense League (JDL). The magnetism of charismatic leaders comes from the deep resonance between the narcissistic needs of leaders 

and followers. Halevi described one particular leader as “an egoist who was willing to 

take personal risks, endanger his precious self; and that paradox was the source of his 

charisma.... Beneath his seeming equilibrium lay rage, some hidden wound to his sense 

of preeminence—a wound he might someday avenge.”

To someone burdened with rage, whether his own or his parents’, this kind of leadership and group identity were deeply satisfying. For Halevi as for others, extremism meant 

passion, life. 

Demonization and all-or-nothing thinking are the basic stock-in-trade of religious 

fundamentalists and other extremists. As Halevi puts it in Memoirs of a Jewish Extremist, 

“I believed we inhabited a world of total barbarism without relief. Civilization itself was 

poisoned.”

Halevi emerged from his brief, adolescent flirtation with extremism gradually. He 

began to recognize the flaws in those he idealized. The leader of JDL acted as a liberator 

of Jews in the Soviet Union but as a thug toward Arabs in Israel. His own psychological 

development began to compete with the group ethos. He felt inauthentic, uncomfortable, 

and imitative. He was undermined by self-doubt and the sense that his political self was 

taking the place of a real self. With the wisdom of hindsight he writes, “I had tried to 

be selfless, but that requires a developed self to surrender. Otherwise, altruism becomes 

an alibi for an unformed personality. I sensed I’d reached the point where idealists go 

wrong, begin to turn into politicians. A young person is energized by self-righteousness, 

but an adult trying to remake the world without confronting his own flaws risks hypocrisy 

and worse.”

He continues, “I wanted to define myself not by what I did but by who I was, to be 

as vital privately as publicly. I wanted to be so much an individualist that I wouldn’t care 

whether others perceived me that way or not.”

For Halevi, extremism was just an adolescent stop on his way to maturity. Fortunately 

he did not commit any acts that derailed his future during this time, and he had positive options to integrate his emotional, religious, historical, and nationalistic impulses. 

Journalism became his vehicle for remaining vigilant and responsive to danger while 

maintaining balance. In Halevi’s view, a good journalist resists all-or-nothing thinking; 

he is capable of empathizing with all sides.

Themes and Observations

Like the resilient people who flourish despite adverse circumstances or people who survive an illness to which most people succumb, the individuals featured in this report are 

extraordinary. Despite their individual uniqueness, however, some of their stories exhibit 

common elements. Further investigation will be needed before firm conclusions can be 

drawn. But this initial look at people who emerged from religious extremism and violence 

For Halevi as for others, extremism 

meant passion, life. 

For Halevi, extremism was just 

an adolescent stop on his way 

to maturity. 
11

suggests a number of trends and themes that call for further study. Among these themes, 

based upon but not limited to the interviews, three stand out: Change is a spiritual transformation; the experience of trauma is powerful; personality matters.

The change from religious extremist to proponent of peace can be a spiritual transformation, much akin to religious conversion. Anecdotes and writings about the experience of 

religious conversion generally take two forms. One is a gradual, tentative process, the 

other a sudden, dramatic sense of deliverance or discovery. The classic and unsurpassed 

description of the latter is found in William James’s Varieties of Religious Experience. 

There are many anecdotal accounts of religious conversion, but the one systematic 

study with a control group examined forty converts aged twenty to forty.1 It found religious conversion to be less of an ideological change and more like falling in love. The 

typical convert changed in the context of interpersonal relationships. Religious conversion 

was an emotional, not an intellectual, change. Of critical importance was the convert’s 

history of emotional upheaval, which conversion promised to relieve. 

The converts studied reported a great deal of emotional distress in the two years 

preceding their conversion—despair and rage, estrangement from others, and doubts 

about their own self-worth. In their emotional turmoil and afterward, the converts were 

preoccupied with the self, not with ideas. The new religion (regardless of what it was) 

provided them with confirmation of the self through the promise of everlasting acceptance. Sometimes the process seemed to be infatuation with a powerful authority figure, 

often with a peer group that lavished them with “love” and acceptance. What persuaded 

the converts was the prospect and promise of emotional relief. Thus it was not primarily 

beliefs but experiences that mattered. 

Our interviewees also described a period of emotional turmoil and trauma preceding 

their early ventures into peacemaking. They spoke of a sense of relief and self-acceptance, 

peace of mind, or spiritual comfort (such as cleansing of the soul) after renouncing their 

former violence and committing themselves to, and working for, peace. They were happier with themselves and their new relationships, as well as their new insight into their 

religious obligations. Their lives became larger and more meaningful.

But the former religious extremists who became proponents of peace differ from the 

converts in two important ways: No looming authority figure played a strong role in the 

extremists’ spiritual transformation. Rather than finding acceptance from a peer group, 

the new proponents of peace tended to lose old friends and relationships. They all experienced loneliness until they eventually created a new and different social network.

Most significant is the observation that 25 percent of converts in the study reported 

having experienced trauma, such as rape, a car accident, or illness, in the two years 

preceding their conversion. A recent trauma—grave injury, death of significant figures, or 

imprisonment—is characteristic of our interviewees as well.

The experience of trauma appears to be important in the process of change. In these 

narratives major trauma triggered, set the stage for, caused, or enabled the individual to 

undergo a profound transformation from militant extremist to proponent of peace.

Trauma is powerful. By definition it overwhelms the capacity of an individual by threatening with death him or her or those he or she cares for. Traumatic events, whether human 

or natural, challenge the coherence of the individual’s worldview. Thus traumatic events 

shatter the world. One thinks, this can’t be happening! Traumatic events are characteristically sudden, unexpected, and uncontrollable. All kinds of traumatic events—from private 

events such as a serious illness, an accident, or being the victim of a crime to mass events 

such as natural disasters or war—can sometimes have lifelong effects. 

Recent research in the field of trauma studies has shown that some people experience 

post-traumatic growth. Not only do they escape disabling post-traumatic stress syndrome, 

but they experience positive growth following such events. This kind of growth does not 

happen right away; it was revealed only in long-term studies, such as those that followed 

people who experienced the common trauma of cancer diagnosis. For example, among one 

group that underwent the long, difficult, and painful bone-marrow transplant treatment, 

The typical convert changed 

in the context of interpersonal 

relationships.

Rather than finding acceptance 

from a peer group, the new proponents of peace tended to lose 

old friends and relationships.

Recent research in the field of 

trauma studies has shown that 

some people experience posttraumatic growth.
12

90 percent of patients reported increased spirituality, change in life philosophy, new life 

directions, and improved interpersonal relationships.2 Many of the people who shared 

their stories of transformation with us came through the crucible of great loss. They saw 

and in some cases caused death in violent conflict or were injured or imprisoned. Most 

of all, they were confronted with what they perceived as the failure of their values and 

beliefs. Like Job, our interviewees struggled to reconcile their faith in goodness, justice, 

mercy, and peace with a particular kind of suffering and cruelty. And like Job, these individuals emerged spiritually renewed.

The psychological literature suggests some of the factors that may make it more likely 

that one will have positive growth after a traumatic life event. Some of these include 

personal traits, such as optimism, and the coping style an individual brings to the trauma. 

Coping through approach strategies—by actively doing something—is more likely to 

produce positive growth than by using avoidance strategies, such as trying not to feel 

the pain or not to think. 

The narratives in this report represent active struggles to move forward, to rebuild the 

peacemakers’ selves, lives, and worlds in light of the trauma.

Times of trauma, loss, and change are also opportunities. Like our interviewees, others 

who have written stories of transformation, such as Nonie Darwish and Brigitte Gabriel, 

note the powerful effect that acts of compassion had on their own progress away from 

hate.3 Darwish is the daughter of an Arab shaheed, a “martyr” killed in the line of duty, 

honored for organizing the fedayeen (assassins), an Arab terrorist group in the 1950s in 

Gaza. Gabriel grew up in Lebanon. Both women came from societies drenched in antisemitic and anti-Israel propaganda. 

Each describes her amazement when, in a time of illness, injury, and need, Israeli 

Jews, acting in their official capacity as healthcare providers and extending themselves 

as human beings, treated her with compassion. Yasin Malik had the same experience with 

Hindu doctors. For Pastor James Wuye, the catalyst was a Muslim imam. What the stories 

share is the expression of compassion on one side and receptivity to it on the other, 

along with the courage to recognize that since the source of compassion was a member 

of a loathed group, they had to reconsider their loathing and the actions that grew from 

it. Compassion alone would not have been enough; the recipient of compassion from a 

hated other must be honest enough to recognize what has been given, must be gracious 

in accepting it, and must have the humility and courage to learn its lesson.

Our interviewees differ from generally studied trauma survivors in at least one important way: Social support is often critical in determining how well survivors of serious 

illness or loss will overcome the experience. For most of our interviewees, however, the 

journey from violence to peace was, for a long time, a lonely journey. Social connections 

and loyalty constituted an attraction of extremism and a source of resistance against the 

changes they eventually made. Nevertheless, no one made the transition entirely alone. 

Most of the narratives mention at least one supportive person who could be trusted. 

And when there was no such flesh-and-blood person, imagination supplied an inspiring 

historical or political figure who served as comfort, consolation, and connection to a new 

community.

Personality factors play a role in transformation. We have examined individuals whose 

lives radically changed focus, from combat to peacebuilding. Along with their activities, 

what has changed is their life narrative, their personal story. Some of them describe a 

transformation of belief, outlook, and spiritual understanding. But have their personalities changed? 

Based on interviews alone it is not possible to answer this question. Behavioral scientists inform us that certain personality traits are hard-wired, stable inclinations that have 

been identified even in tiny babies and are cross-culturally consistent. Beyond that basic 

level of personality, people develop characteristic adaptations to life that integrate their 

culture, motivation, social roles, values, and coping methods. Some of these adaptations 

may change throughout life. 

Times of trauma, loss, and 

change are also opportunities.

The journey from violence to 

peace was, for a long time, a 

lonely journey.
13

Finally, each of us creates a life narrative that integrates our experiences in a meaningful way. It is our evolving life story, which continually integrates and reconstructs the 

past and projects into the future. The life narrative provides identity, a sense of personal 

continuity, and meaning. It draws upon cultural and religious models, and it can change 

over time.

Thus, although we are inclined to respond to the world in broadly characteristic ways, 

our culture and individual experience refine those inclinations. As we grow through 

life, we participate in our personality development by constructing an integrative life 

narrative.

Jerrold Post and other writers have described some psychological characteristics of 

extremists and terrorists.4 Although our subjects had been extremists, they did not share 

these characteristics.

In their careers as militants and extremists, none described having been emotionally 

bound to a particular extremist leader. Devoted followers of charismatic leaders are often 

narcissistic personalities, individuals who seek emotional gratification and confirmation 

of themselves by identifying with ideal authority figures. The charismatic leader provides 

the personal affirmation these personalities need, as does the overwhelming identification 

with the idealized group and a projection of evil and weakness onto the enemy.

Although they reported having shared the prejudice and black-and-white assumptions of their group about the other, they had acquired their extremism “naturally,” via 

family, history, culture, and society, rather than seeking it as a means of healing an 

injured self.

Even without a charismatic leader-follower relationship, some personalities incline 

toward extremism.

Following World War II a great deal of social science and psychiatric research explored 

the authoritarian personality and its particularly high level of ethnocentrism. This authoritarian type was characterized by an internal conflict between respect for authority and 

desire for independence. Unconsciously rejecting weakness and dependency (except in 

circumstances clearly beyond one’s control, such as an illness), this personality identified 

with authority and disdained those considered weak or members of the social out-group. 

This personality was rigid, emotionally repressed, and conventional in self-presentation. 

Authoritarian personalities are not open to experience, nor do they really like anyone. 

When their hostility is diverted from one group, it will probably be directed to another. 

They are emotionally cold, and their personal relationships tend to be power-oriented or 

exploitative. The authoritarian personality provides fertile ground for prejudice.

Since they fear their own weakness, authoritarian personalities are unlikely to be 

moved by appeals to their sympathy. Appeals to reason are also unlikely to be persuasive. 

Rather, the authoritarian personality can be swayed by appeals to conventionality or 

submission to authority. 

In some ways, the description of the authoritarian personality suits some of the followers of militant extremism. But it does not fit our interviewees. Perhaps they had never 

been typical religious extremists; or perhaps there are many types.

Whether they were naturally inclined to be open to experience or were broken open 

by the force of their traumas and losses we cannot know, since we met them after the 

fact. Reason played a role in all their transformations. So did the inspiration of important 

relationships or role models. It seems unlikely that they were authoritarian personalities 

to begin with, unlike some of their former colleagues who are extremists.

For the interviewees, change happened by degrees, and even when the new, more 

peaceful outlook was consolidated, it was nuanced and fluid. Acceptance of the oncehated “other” is part of a process that takes place over time.

One of the key psychological characteristics of extremism is black-and-white thinking: 

ascribing goodness to one’s own group and projecting evil onto the other. The culture 

of extremism contains language, stories, and reasoning that contribute to the demonization of the other. This “us and them” mentality has been documented in a great range 

As we grow through life, we 

participate in our personality 

development by constructing an 

integrative life narrative.

The description of the 

authoritarian personality 

does not fit our interviewees.
14

of extremist cultures, including those that have led to genocide. (See, for example, Ervin 

Staub’s seminal studies.)5

In religious extremism, the projection of evil onto the other is expressed in transcendent terms that imbue hate with cosmic significance. Images of God and the devil, for 

example, are handy and serviceable. This splitting of the world into good and evil is one 

of the most fundamental assumptions that our interviewees challenged in their journey to 

peacemaking. Recognizing the shared humanity of the enemy was a necessary, but often 

very difficult, step.

It was a step that had to be taken and retaken, over and over again. Change is partial and happens by degrees. It frequently appears to be one step forward, two steps 

back—particularly in relating to the other.

One interviewee shared a long and heartfelt description of becoming more aware of 

the emotional dynamics underlying acts of mutual cruelty between religious groups in the 

Middle East. He had slowly and painstakingly become sensitive to the way people who 

have suffered oppression, loss, and humiliation in war become aggressive. He recognized 

that process in himself and his Christian colleagues as well as in his former enemies, 

Muslims. 

About Israelis he confessed, “I don’t understand how people who suffered so much 

can make others suffer.” He denied feeling any hostility to them and quickly added that 

there are both good and bad Israelis. But he was unable to understand a phenomenon in 

one group that he was quite able to understand in another. This difference reflects the 

intimate relationship between emotion and reason. What he probably meant was that one 

group was still more alien, more foreign, to him. He found it more difficult to empathize 

with their psychological and political reality than with others’.

An early step in the journey away from extremism is the recognition of nuance in the 

other. Similarly, peaceseekers need to be understood as nuanced. Peace and peacemaking 

is not an all-or-nothing posture; it is partial and particular. It grows and changes. 

Recommendations

• Further and more systematic study of people who have left extremism behind is 

urgently needed. The emergence of common themes in this preliminary work calls for 

further examination, to understand and promote the exit from extremist groups.

• Nearly all who have told the story of their transformation begin with their former 

immersion in a culture of hate. Hate literature and speech or media of all kinds need 

to be vigorously challenged, to facilitate independent thinking. 

• Religious leaders should promote more concrete, specific, and detailed religious language and imagery for peace. Visual imagery and metaphor should engage the imagination with the richness and satisfactions of peace. We have an elaborate language of 

violence that is visual, visceral, and imaginative. In contrast, the language of peace 

tends to be simplistic, bland, and uninspiring. 

• We should publicize mythic stories of nonviolence and positive, constructive heroes 

with whom people can identify. When individuals search for who they really are, it 

helps to have mythical as well as vigorous contemporary role models.

• Each faith group should talk about the other in its own language to its own people, 

encouraging complex thinking instead of all-or-nothing, black-and-white concepts. A 

more nuanced view of one’s own group as well as of the other includes consideration 

of the challenging empathic question, how do others see themselves? 

• Trauma, such as illness, injury, loss, or relocation, can facilitate positive encounters 

with the other and with individuals who represent and promote alternatives to violence. Trauma offers an opportunity for spiritual growth as well as new, significant 

Peace and peacemaking is not 

an all-or-nothing posture; it is 

partial and particular.

Recognizing the shared humanity 

of the enemy was a necessary, but 

often very difficult, step.
15

relationships. We should take the opportunity to reach out to people struggling to 

cope with change.

• Relationships are key. Extremists risk losing a great deal of social, emotional, and 

interpersonal support when they convert to a more peaceful outlook. They often risk 

physical harm and other loss as well. For those who have made the transformation, a 

supportive community is essential. Organizations and individuals who encounter them 

should provide support and even protection as they make the transition.

Notes

1. Chana Ullman, The Transformed Self: The Psychology of Religious Conversion (New York: Plenum Press, 

1989).

2. B.A. Tallman, E. Altmaier, and C. Garcia, “Finding Benefit from Cancer” (2006), unpublished manuscript.

3. Nonie Darwish, Now They Call Me Infidel: Why I Renounced Jihad for America, Israel, and the War on 

Terror (New York: Penguin, 2006); Brigitte Gabriel, Because They Hate: A Survivor of Islamic Terror Warns 

America (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2006).

4. Jerrold M. Post, Leaders and Their Followers in a Dangerous World: The Psychology of Political Behavior 

(Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 2004).

5. Ervin Staub, The Roots of Evil: The Origins of Genocide and Other Group Violence (Cambridge, U.K.: 

Cambridge University Press, 1992).

Other Sources

Caprara, Gian Vittorio, Shalom Schwartz, Cristina Capanna, Michele Vecchione, and Claudio Barbaranelli. “Personality and Politics: Values, Traits, and Political Choice.” Political 

Psychology 27 (2006): 1–28.

Gladwell, Malcolm. The Tipping Point: How Little Things Can Make a Big Difference. New 

York: Little, Brown, 2006.

James, William. The Varieties of Religious Experience. New York: Vintage, 1990.

Post, Jerrold M., Ehud Sprinzak, and Laurita M. Denny. “The Terrorists in their Own Words: 

Interviews with Thirty-Five Incarcerated Middle Eastern Terrorists.” In Violence and Terrorism, edited by Thomas Badey. New York: McGraw-Hill, 2003.

Shoebat, Walid. Why I Left Jihad: The Root of Terrorism and the Return of Radical Islam.

N.p.: Top Executive Media, 2005. 

Tedeschi, Richard G., and Lawrence G. Calhoun. Trauma and Transformation: Growing in 

the Aftermath of Suffering. Thousand Oaks, Calif.: Sage, 1995. 
Of Related Interest

A number of other publications from the United States Institute of Peace examine issues 

related to interfaith dialogue and peacemaking.

Recent Institute reports include

• Teaching about the Religious Other, by David Smock (Special Report, July 2005)

• What Works? Evaluating Interfaith Dialogue Programs, by Renee Garfinkel (Special 

Report, July 2004)

United States 

Institute of Peace

1200 17th Street NW

Washington, DC 20036

www.usip.org

An online edition of this and related 

reports can be found on our Web site 

(www.usip.org), together with additional 

information on the subject.