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‘When civilians are the main target, it is an act of terrorism‘

Is this correct?

‘When all acts of harm wear the mask of terror, justice itself loses its face.’

An examination of legal distinctions, real-world cases, and moral frameworks clearly evidences that motive and consequence draw the fine line between moral absolutism and contextual relativism. This raises the critical question of whether civilian-targeted crimes fall under the ambit of terrorism, or belong to a different category of crime or justice altogether. This essay dismantles the reductive generalisation of civilian-targeted acts being equated with terrorism, instead emphasising the role of rationalist ethics in defining legal ambit through the lens of international law.

The first construct is that the oversimplification of the label of ‘terrorism’ is what fundamentally undermines this claim. Rationalist ethics emphasise that only a framework anchored in reasoned, consistent definitions can uphold justice, shielding it from the distortions of fear and bias. The Oxford English Dictionary defines “terrorism”1 as the use of violence, especially against civilians, to intimidate a government or society, often to achieve political aims¹. Thus, terrorism is a subset of crimes against humanity, aimed to establish fear with an ulterior political motive. To then generalise this term to encompass all targeted acts against civilians denies true victims of terrorism the justice they deserve while simultaneously mislabelling and neglecting acts of homicide, forced deportation, and countless others under a false brand.

Moreover, Article 51 of Additional Protocol I to the Geneva Conventions (1977)² states that any deliberate targeting of civilians constitutes a grave breach under international humanitarian law, but stops short of classifying all harm to civilians as terrorism.

The Mexican Drug War, for instance, is a non-political war which has been ongoing since 2006. It is currently being fought between the government of Mexico and various underground drug syndicates and has led to countless civilian casualties. However, these casualties do not meet the criteria of a terrorist agenda³.

The underground Los Zetas cartel massacred 72 immigrants (San Fernando Massacre)⁴, making a bold testimony of the lengths it will go to in order to profit off the black-market trade of cocaine and heroin to the USA. A scenario like this prompts a critical question; should the members of the gang now be classified as terrorists? The answer to that, legally—No. The annihilation has been aptly described by Global Guardian, ABC News, NPR and other credible legacy media sources as a criminal conflict, not an act of terrorism⁴. Punishment was meted out in keeping with Article Two of the Federal Law Against Organized Crime⁵ rather than Section 139 of the Federal Penal Code, which pertains to terrorism⁶.

In a parallel case in the United States of America, on 15th March 2025, Abrego Garcia was deported to a prison in El Salvador under the Trump Administration. The Supreme Court ruled that he was falsely accused of being a member of MS-13, an international gang⁷. This case not only fits the ambit of being civilian-targeted but also of being a political move and yet, it is not terrorism. The incident was only an extension of the larger administrative deportation policy of the state. State actors are traditionally not defined as terrorists⁷.

Further, the Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court explicitly defines war crimes under Article 8 but does not define grassroots terrorism as a standalone crime⁸. This omission reflects a deliberate legal distinction. This is because acts of terrorism are extremely subjective to the conditions within the national borders. A suicide bombing during an unprovoked time of peace would equate to terrorism under national law, but if the same were to happen in a warzone, it would no longer be defined as terrorism but instead as a crime of war⁸.

These instances supplement the theory of rationalism⁹ by highlighting that cause and context are singlehandedly the most important factors in assessing the criminality of the act. To miscategorise the various spectrum of crimes under a single umbrella term leads to a fractured legal process where all delinquencies are treated with similar weightage, lacking consideration of motive and result. In the process, true terror victims of mass fear campaigns would lose the distinct recognition they warrant.

A second construct is to not only look at the claim with respect to the definition of terrorist but also with respect to that of a civilian.

The term ‘civilian’ is defined by the Oxford English Dictionary as ‘a person not in the armed services or the police force’¹⁰. By that definition, a terrorist in himself is a civilian, so is a rapist as well as a murderer—many of whom are legally qualified for life imprisonment or capital punishment. Claiming that ‘when civilians are the main target, the act is terrorism and thus evil’, falls back on a romanticised interpretation of the term ‘civilian’ with ‘innocent’. Indulging in the definitional paradox of what is meant by a ‘civilian’, one could just as easily flip the question to ask: weren’t the perpetrators of some of the most gruesome crimes in history civilians too? Would their punishment by our legal systems, then, be considered an act of terror?

The current landscape of hybrid and asymmetrical warfare increasingly problematizes the role of civilians in targeted attacks, because often they serve as informal means of spreading war propaganda themselves. As explained by the Hobbesian Theory¹¹, the ‘natural condition of mankind’ is rampaged with conflict, disorder and a state of immorality. Man, time and time again, reverts to the instinctive drive of chaos when he lacks a strong sovereign power to govern him. An illustrative example is the Interahamwe, perpetrators of the 1994 Rwandan genocide. They were not soldiers. They were ordinary citizens of Rwanda—citizens who tortured, dismembered, raped and killed upwards of 800,000 Tutsis¹². It compels reflection on whether to bring these civilians to justice is evil.

Georges Rutaganda, the vice-president of the Interahamwe organisation, was sentenced to life in prison, where he later passed away in 2010¹³.

In individual capacity, his punishment is a violation of Libertarian philosophy¹⁴. The International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda, responsible for his sentencing, essentially role-played a God, undermining Rutaganda’s right of self-possession, by deciding the fate of his life on their terms. However, there is an importance in looking at the same situation from a utilitarian perspective¹⁵, on the lines of retributive justice—as propagated by most of the judicial systems of the world. The rationale for punishment is in fact the minimisation of evil, not an evil itself. The verdict of the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda was not an infliction of terror on Georges Rutaganda but a deterrence to the unspeakable terror which would otherwise have resulted from his continued operations.

Once more, we return to the central flaw inherent in the hypothesis. The claim is too general to be applied accurately or specifically. Following it alone, one can say that judicial systems are glorified facades of terrorism because they target civilians.

Libertarian ethics passionately advocate that certain individual rights are non-negotiable and cannot be targeted under any circumstances. However, there is a crucial reason that our judiciary is not built on superficially communal feelings. This is because people are not inherently moralistic.

To believe that is not only an overly optimistic outlook, but a blatantly ignorant one. While there is no universal philosophy that controls the mechanisms of true justice, punitive justice demands a clear distinction from labels of terrorism. By accepting the claim at face value, we essentially negate and dismantle the architecture of internationally applied humanitarian law. It would be intellectually lazy and morally disingenuous to believe that when courts pass sentences on these ‘civilians’, regardless of cause, the verdict of conviction is evil.

John Stuart Mill’s harm principle¹⁶ affirms that in some cases, harm committed on civilians serves as a higher form of justice which contributes to the greater moral and civic health of society.

While weighing the argument it also becomes important to evaluate a world modelled along the lines of the claim.

The international diplomatic consequence is a diluted importance given to sanctions and agreements. Multilateral conventions such as the United Nations Global Counter-Terrorism Strategy, the International Convention for the Suppression of the Financing of Terrorism, and countless other bilateral and security agreements are framed on a clear, narrow, and universally accepted definition of international terrorism.

When smaller crimes like fraud and harassment start to be included in this definition, the ability to enforce these treaties and agreements reduces drastically, losing their operational value.

Global commercial markets also risk a prolonged recession under this model, since global industries rely on distinct definitions of various incidents and crimes in order to assess risks, liabilities and premiums. Taking the insurance sector for example:

Consider a person suffering from food poisoning due to consumption of adulterated foods. Under the model favoured by the claim, this could be construed as an act of terrorism by the food manufacturer, who knowingly uses unethical, inexpensive ingredients to gain higher profit margins and manipulate consumers. The insurance payout to this consumer would no longer be ensured under medical requirements but instead as compensation for terrorism.

If instances like food adulteration are now referred to as terrorism, it would cause insurance premiums to unprecedentedly rise to account for this broader, more uncertain risk category. The result? The ability to afford risk management services would concentrate only into the hands of the ultra-wealthy populations of society. As emphasised by the John Rawls’ theory on distributive justice¹⁷, overly broad label of terrorism would unfairly burden vulnerable populations with higher costs, contradicting equitable principles.

Paradoxically, while premiums soar to cover this exaggerated terrorism risk, insurers would face mounting payouts even for routine consumer claims—eroding profit and threatening the solvency of the entire insurance sector. This would be unsustainable on both the consumer and producer ends.

Finally, it becomes impossible to ignore the adverse psychological impact on collective society—the primary stakeholder in this discourse. If even instances of clashing public opinion are soon inflated as terrorist propaganda, people would start to fear the consequences of any and every action they take.

While a superficial analysis of this overly-cautious behaviour would conclude a more morally sound society, the deeper result is a lack of faith in the government and judiciary.

If a heated online satire under this overreach, is reframed as ideological intimidation, it essentially criminalises free speech in its most harmless forms. People will be forced to restrict physical and online interactions and their freedoms of speech and opinion. Democracy would soon erode meaning as we would find ourselves in a society with an overly-cautious framework of conscience.

In conclusion, the claim builds a world defined by economic, social, political and psychological collapse on each front. We are stripped of our facets and instead looked at through a single exaggerated lens of what it means to be a terrorist versus a civilian. Justice becomes terror when people are driven by fear that their actions may be inflated and labelled as ‘terrorising’. Global markets and treaties face complete operational obsolescence.

If such conditions were to persist, faith in our bureaucracy, in justice and in ourselves would face a relentlessly quick and irreparable decay.

Thus, evaluation ends where it started; when all acts of harm wear the mask of terror, justice itself loses its face.

Bibliography:

1. Oxford English Dictionary, s.v. “terrorism”, Oxford University Press.
2.  Article 51 Protocol Additional I to the Geneva Conventions of 12 August 1949, Article 51 (1977). International Committee of the Red Cross.
3. BBC News. “Mexico migrants victimised by drug cartels.” BBC News, August 26, 2010.
4. San Fernando Massacre, Global Guardian Risk Management, and ABC News, 2011–2019 archives.
5. Article 2 of the Federal Law Against Organized Crime, Mexico. Federal Criminal Code, Mexico
6. Mexican Federal Penal Code, Section 139 (Anti-Terrorism Laws). Codigo Penal Federal published in the Official Journal of the Federation on July 1, 2020.
7. Georgetown Washington Law Review. “Kilmar Ábrego García and the Problem of Presumptive Guilt.” April 18, 2025.
8. Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court, Article 8, 1998.
9. Rationalism, Brand Blanshard, Encyclopaedia Britannica
10. Oxford English Dictionary, s.v. “civilian”, Oxford University Press.

11. Hobbesian Theory, 1994 [1651/1668]) Leviathan, ed Edwin Curley (Hackett, Indianapolis)
12. Leave None to Tell the Story: Genocide in Rwanda. Human Rights Watch, 1999.
13. Prosecutor v. Georges Rutaganda. International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda, Judgment (1999).
14. Libertarian Philosophy: Traces of a Libertarian Theory of  Punishment, Erik Luna, Marquette Law Review
15. Bentham, Jeremy. An Introduction to the Principles of Morals and Legislation, 1789.
16. John Stuart Mill’s Harm Principle, On Liberty by John Stuart Mill, (1860) London: John W. Parker & Son. ISBN 9781499238341
17. John Rawls’ Theory on Distributive Justice, Rawls, John (1971). A Theory of Justice. ISBN 0674017722

(Credit to John Locke Institute for the prompt)