Introduction

The work of Countering Violent Extremism (CVE) Intervention Practitioners takes place at the front-line of (de)radicalization and involves a multiplicity of skills. CVE Intervention Practitioners primarily seek to reduce radicalization and recruitment through a strategic consideration of various contributing social factors while exploring opportunities to reduce levels of marginalization for vulnerable people (Adams, Stahl & Oberg, 2023; Oberg, Adams & Stahl, 2023; Stahl, Adams & Oberg, 2024). Such strategies and approaches have been coined ‘preventing violent extremism’, ‘countering violent extremism’, ‘preventing radicalization to violent extremism’ or more recently, ‘preventing and countering violent extremism’ (P/CVE) (Stephens et al., 2019). For clarity in this article, we have used the acronym CVE and ‘CVE Intervention Practitioner’ to reflect the terminology often used in Australia, while acknowledging that the ‘prevention’ aspect of this work is emphasized in the programs we are writing about and by the practitioners we spoke with. Our research is focused on CVE Intervention Practitioners’ daily work with individuals, mainly male, who may be engaged in behaviours associated with extremist beliefs or inclined toward violent extremism. While there has been increased attention on the work of CVE Intervention Practitioners (Cherney, 2016; Cherney et al., 2022; Lehane, 2018), for the most part how gender contributes to the interaction between practitioner and client remains underexplored (with the exception of Wdzięczak, 2022).

Various scholars have noted that CVE programming is often mapped according to the public health model (Thompson & Leroux, 2023; Eisenman et al., 2019; Harris-Hogan et al., 2016; Weine et al., 2019), as a three-tier preventative strategy where “the first tier addresses underlying societal level drivers of VE [violent extremism], the second tier addresses those groups who are “at risk” of joining VE groups, and the third tier addresses deradicalizing and reintegrating those who have already been participating in VE” (White, 2020, p. 3–4).Footnote 1 While we note this multi-tier public health model of primary, secondary and tertiary intervention levels in order to contextualise the broad and complex scope of CVE activities as a whole, the interventions and interactions we explore in this study were all situated at the second tier of intervention, involving specific clients deemed ‘at risk’ of radicalising to violent extremism. At this second-tier level – as well as third tier – a case-managed approach has become common across many Western jurisdictions (Cherney & Belton, 2021b), involving the development of tailored intervention plans and the use of multiple service providers to assist clients. However, as Cherney (2022) notes, we still “know very little about the content of case-managed schemes, how they aim to facilitate disengagement and if they are effective” (p. 2).

With this in mind, we are focused on what gender dynamics emerge in the discursive space between client and CVE Intervention Practitioners within a case management model. Given that their caseloads are overwhelmingly male dominated, we are interested in their perspectives on the role gender plays in their work. As Pearson (2019) writes: “Simplistic accounts of masculinities increasingly ‘fill the gaps’ in both understandings of extreme groups and policy to counter them (‘countering violent extremism’ or CVE)” (p. 1252) and, therefore, further research is required. In previous work, we have highlighted the ways CVE Intervention Practitioners build and maintain rapport (Stahl, Adams & Oberg, 2024) and for the purposes of this article we consider how rapport is influenced by gender assumptions regarding how male clients perform or behave as they construct and express their masculinities in relation to hegemonic norms (Duriesmith, 2020). As potentially potent sites where identities are negotiated, we are interested in how interactions between CVE Intervention Practitioners and male clients constitute a space where hegemonic gender expectations are negotiated and, in some cases, reaffirmed.

The article proceeds in five parts. First, we discuss some of the connections between extremism and masculinities. Second, we focus on how masculinities are discursively constructed highlighting the ways this contributes to how subjectivities are constituted before making some tentative links with susceptibility to extremist beliefs. Third, we outline the study and methodology as well as our analytical approach. This is followed by the findings section, where we focus on not only those gender dynamics according to CVE Intervention Practitioners but the key tensions they encountered in their work. The paper ends with a discussion and conclusion where we address the implications of this research, along with its limitations, before suggesting areas for further investigation.

Extremism and Masculinities

On a semantic level, the terms ‘radicalization’ and ‘violent extremism’ have become closely related and are sometimes used interchangeably (Cherney et al., 2022). Research by Grossman and Tahiri (2015) found little consensus regarding the relationship between these dual concepts of radicalization and extremism, noting divergent understandings where “some government stakeholders and community leaders felt that radicalization was a process that led to extremism, while for others extremism led to radicalisation” (p. 16).

However, it is important to distinguish between ‘radical’ views or beliefs and violent behavioural outcomes (Horgan & Braddock, 2010). This is for a variety of reasons, including “the need to work with legal and illegal forms of radicalisation” and to help negotiate “a number of moral difficulties related to the legal demarcation between acceptable or tolerable and non-tolerable forms of radicalisation” (Koehler, 2017, p. 68). We adopt the view that radicalization is simply “the process by which individuals come to hold radical views in relation to the status quo […] but not necessarily in a violent or even problematic manner” (Bartlett & Miller, 2012, p. 2). This often involves someone believing or supporting extreme views, which can be motivated by a range of material and ideological factors, including certain religious or political beliefs. Extremism – whether it be political, religious or ideological – refers to advocacy for, support or endorsement of, extreme or radical views, ideologies, or actions. It involves holding beliefs or engaging in activities often defined as intolerant, or violent.

According to Ezekilov (2017) men are more likely drawn toward extremist groups when “they are struggling to fulfil their perceived needs and identities as men, rather than through an inherent hatred of specific groups or radical ideologies” (p. 2). Without discounting the diversity of masculinities present in society, masculine identities are often constructed in relation to a dominant, hegemonic (or normative) form of masculinity that is upheld as the standard by which all men are judged (Connell & Messerschmidt, 2005). Those men at risk of radicalisation may identify strongly with notions of masculinity grounded in strength, virility and control, and which foreground notions of the man as protector (Pearson, 2019). Sunderland (2023) notes that a desire for power and control is integral to the construction of alt-right masculinities, where many of the narratives shaping their identity practices concern losing ‘specific ways of life’ and the desire to defend or recapture them. Prevalent within research on masculinities and extremism is the role of violence, where research suggests that masculinity, extremism and violence are often mutually informing (Ezekilov, 2017; Brown et al., 2020). For men who identify with extremist ideologies, violence is often constitutive of masculinity, where modes of violence can become ways by which individuals assert their masculinity (Mattsson & Johansson, 2021).

We know violent extremism is, in various ways, a highly gendered phenomenon where “men are still more often the perpetrators of violent extremist acts and therefore the targets of recruitment campaigns” (UNESCO, 2017, p. 43). Dier and Baldwin (2022, p. 5) write:

Masculinities play a critical role not only in attracting men to violent extremist groups but also in keeping them in these groups. Initiation or bonding rituals may provide a sense of belonging or pride that encourages men to join, remain in, or escalate violent behaviors within extremist groups. For many, the sense of identity and belonging or of being valued as a senior member, teacher, mentor, or mentee makes it difficult to break away.

Furthermore, research continues to highlight that masculine expectations present in the mainstream of various societies contribute to enactments of violence and susceptibility toward radical beliefs (White, 2020; Sunderland, 2023) and that violence remains “a significant element in the constitution, emotional structure, and reproduction of right-wing extremism and neo-Nazism” (Mattsson & Johansson, 2021).

Arguably, there exist certain gender blind-spots in research on CVE intervention, leading to calls for a greater focus on considerations of the role of gender in susceptibility to extremism (see Dier & Baldwin, 2022). Before setting out tools to demystify the role of gender, Donnelly (2021) contends that the incorporation of gender analysis into countering violent extremism could lead to more accurate conclusions about how violent extremist organizations operate, arguing that when “scholars, policymakers, and activists pay attention to gender dynamics, they gain new insights about power, identities, and relationships” (p. 2). Complementing this work, White (2020) asserts that existing security frameworks limit “the scope for understanding and recognition of the importance of gender to CT [Countering Terrorism] measures” (p. 1). Given these assertions, there is a real need to investigate the gender dynamics embedded within relationships between CVE Intervention Practitioners and their clients.

Discursive Constructions of Masculinity

Drawing on the work of Connell (1989), our analysis is underpinned by attention to how masculine identities are actively constructed and performed through everyday actions within institutions which carry social power such as families, sporting clubs, the military, schools, etc. In fact, despite the differing perspectives on masculinity found within these various institutions, each nevertheless holds a degree of social power influential to how masculine identities are constructed. We know men’s identities are confirmed relationally through peer cultures and the circulation of traits commonly associated with hegemonic masculinity (physicality, toughness, collectivism, territoriality/exclusion, hedonism and opposition to authority). Connell’s scholarship on gender identity and gender relations emphasizes how even “historically specific masculinities, including subordinate, complicit and marginalised masculinities” (Wedgwood, 2009, p. 335) exist in relation to these hegemonic formations. We conceive of gender as a performance, a ‘process’ or a project; toward understanding one’s identity, individually and in relation to others’ identities as ‘social practice’ (Connell, 2005). According to Connell’s three-fold model of masculine identity there is power (e.g., subordination of women), production (e.g., division of labour) and cathexis (e.g., emotional attachments). For Connell hegemonic masculinity is about power, where status is integral to how hegemonic masculinities are produced; however, as Skelton (1997) notes, often the most “visible bearers of hegemonic masculinity are not always the most powerful people” (p. 351).

We are interested in discursive constructions of masculinity and how this influences the ways in which masculinities are produced and performed. Such approaches foreground how masculinities are constructed and reinforced through ongoing processes of communication, dialogue, and language use. Martino (1999) examined adolescent masculinities and the ways subjects constitute themselves, highlighting how modalities of power are channelled through normalizing regimes of practice which, in turn, inform individual modes of behaviour. In considering the relationship between gender performativity and gender normativity, we highlight Allen’s (2005) work on male sexual identity performances in focus groups, where she draws our attention to the limits of discursive space:

This function of talk as a means of achieving and preserving the masculine self highlights an intimate relationship between language and subjectivity, one in which young men are both the subjects and the objects of language in that their utilization of it produces them as types of sexual subjects which are not of their own making (i.e. which they did not author). Willig explains this relationship with reference to the way that subjects are constrained by available discourses because ‘discursive positions pre-exist the individual whose sense of “self” or (subjectivity) and range of experience are circumscribed by available discourses’ (Willig, 1999: 114). (p. 43)

As masculine subjectivities are influenced by the discursive space, post-structuralist theorizing contends men do “not construct ‘fixed’ or consistent masculinities; they shifted between alternative identity positions” where research has noted that men often “talked about trying to ‘leave’ some identities” (Archer & Yamashita, 2003, p. 127). This highlights how, as men move through various social milieus, they can be flexible to a certain degree, adopting and performing identities which they perceive to have certain currencies within the discursive spaces they inhabit. Toxic masculinity, which has received a lot of recent scholarly attention (see Harrington, 2021), could be considered a performance closely aligned with temporal socio-cultural contexts. For example, Kupers (2005) suggests toxic masculinity is “the constellation of socially regressive male traits that serve to foster domination, the devaluation of women, homophobia, and wanton violence” (p. 714).

In considering the relationship between the production of masculinities and susceptibility to extremist beliefs, Ezekilov (2017) calls attention to push factors (e.g., poverty, social marginalization, lack of marriage prospects) and pull factors (e.g., sense of belonging, defence of one’s identity, search for respect). What underpins both push and pull factors are a combination of structural and identity-based considerations where the pursuit of connection and validation seem pivotal in how extremists come to understand themselves and their actions. In connecting this pursuit of validation back to Connell’s (2005) work on gender as performance, ‘process’ and ‘social practice,’ it is important to emphasize that in research on radicalization and masculinities, what counts as ‘hegemonic’ remains subject to debate. In Sunderland’s (2023) research on alt-right and White Nationalist masculinities on Stormfront.org, she highlights the diversity in extreme-right masculinity within online forums, but also how masculinities are contested in ways that have become central to developing masculine hegemony within men’s social movements. For example, she emphasizes how the movement’s organizational impetus involves active construction of masculinities through opposition to what they are not (e.g., femininity and certain racial, class or sexual identity categories). Finally, Sunderland (2023) highlights that what remains largely unexamined is how a collective masculine identity is developed and sustained for those holding extremist views.

Gender and Rapport in the Work of CVE Intervention Practitioners

The diverse cohort of CVE Intervention Practitioners we spoke with told us their clients often held rigid ideas about the roles of men and women in society. Many of their clients often identified with Islamist fundamentalism or extreme right-wing ideologies – both of which can often reinforce various forms of gendered essentialism and misogynistic assumptions (Roose & Cook, 2022). Furthermore, many of the Intervention Practitioners discussed male clients who experienced difficulties in expressing and understanding their own masculinity. While practitioner responses were varied regarding the influence of gender dynamics on their interactions with clients, we focus our attention on some of the gendered tensions that arose within these instances of CVE practice.

In our analysis, we foreground the work of CVE Intervention Practitioners as affective labour, requiring a specific skillset and the capacity to adapt accordingly (see Stahl, Adams & Oberg, 2024). Humans are social animals with a need for close personal relationships, and research continues to suggest that interpersonal relationships – negotiated over time – significantly influence an individual’s radicalisation to extremist views and violent forms of extremism (see Mattsson & Johansson, 2021; Pearson, 2019). Borum (2011), for example, argues a strong contextual risk factor for radicalisation to violent extremism is consistent contact with, or exposure to, radicalised individuals in one’s familial and social networks. For some individuals, important family members or close social friends introduce them to violent extremist narratives and groups (Harris-Hogan, 2014). These affective relationships can lead men to “maintain and defend the gender order and patriarchy by building closed teams and defending their privileges and positions” (Mattsson & Johansson, 2021, p. 397). Conversely, for others involved in deradicalization programs it is fractured relationships which have often influenced their susceptibility to radicalization (Gill et al., 2021). The flipside of this – how relationships with practitioners can affect deradicalisation or disengagement prospects – is also a key theme in correctional research, where Cherney et al. (2021) note how “the quality of the relationship between parole/probation supervisors and the individuals they supervise impacts reoffending” (p. 20). Such client/practitioner relationships arguably face greater challenges in contexts where client involvement has been mandated – not the case, however, in the voluntary-based programs we discuss here.

Clearly, this relational aspect to radicalization remains a complex picture, but certainly how men come to identify with extremist beliefs remains a gendered, affective and social process – which calls into question how strategic efforts to counteract a susceptibility to extremism must also consider gender, affect and the social (e.g. relationships, rapport). And, as we consider this, it is important to recognize that the work of CVE Intervention Practitioners may also be influenced by their perceptions and understandings of gender, which may play out in diverse ways. Given this, our research seeks to explore how practitioners view the gendered dynamics with their clients and how gender may influence the ways in which clients may come to disassociate themselves from powerful extremist beliefs.

The Study and Methodology

Amid continuing attention to extremism and radicalization in media, political and other public discourse, it is vital to continue building on emergent work examining what role gender plays in the field of CVE intervention. In considering the enactments, performances, and embodiment of different masculinities, we are interested in how CVE Intervention Practitioners view the masculinities and gendered ideologies of young male clients. These practitioners were responsible for the case management of clients, coordinating services with different agencies to reduce susceptibility to extremist radicalisation. This also involves regular meetings with clients, which can take place in public spaces, at government offices or in the homes of clients. Thus, we conceive of the contact zone between client and practitioner as a discursive space, where masculinities are enacted (and negotiated) within certain limits set by practitioners themselves, the programs of which they are a part, and wider social gender norms or assumptions. It is important to note that in Australia, all CVE clients are considered to be voluntarily participating in their programs. If they are outside the justice system, it is more likely truly voluntary. If clients are in the system, then they are offered participation in a program which is technically voluntary but may involve consequences for not engaging.

A guiding principle in the work of CVE Intervention Practitioners is to remain largely non-judgemental, suggesting a desire to keep the relational space as ‘neutral’ ground. When practitioners spend time with clients, it can often be informal and focused on relationship-building. While each client is different and requires a personalized approach, CVE Intervention Practitioners are actively engaged in developing strategies and approaches to problematise extremist beliefs with their clients which are often informed by conceptions of gender.

Our interpretive analysis of the data is informed by feminist approaches to securitisation and terrorism studies (see Sjoberg, 2009), specifically our understanding of how power is structured along gender lines, how this structuring influences security dynamics, and how studies of securitisation are enhanced though unpacking traditional gender norms, roles, and stereotypes that shape security practices, policies, and outcomes. Feminist approaches to security theory seek to problematise gender essentialism (the notion that men and women are fundamentally different, where “women are one homogenized group and men are another”) and, instead, focus on gender as socially and culturally constructed (White, 2020, p. 14). As we will see, one problem such approaches seek to address are the ways in which gender essentialism can still influence and be reinscribed within CVE-practitioner-client relationships.

Context and Methods

The article draws on a selection of findings related to gender from a larger study, Delivering Effective Services for CVE Intervention, which used a qualitative research methodology to examine the lived professional experiences of a diverse cohort of CVE Intervention Practitioners living and working in Australia today (Adams, Stahl & Oberg, 2023; Oberg, Adams & Stahl, 2023; Stahl, Adams & Oberg, 2024). It is important to keep in mind that CVE practice is a developing field. Adding a layer of complexity, the work of CVE Intervention Practitioners can be difficult to define as some practitioners may be working in government positions, in community development or be more closely aligned with the police force. The practitioners we spoke with reported that their work could often be fragmented, intermittent, and, in more remote parts of Australia, often done in isolation. The data highlighted that some jurisdictions may not employ a full-time staff member (see Table 1).

Table 1 CVE intervention practitioner attributes from Delivering Effective Services for CVE Intervention
Full size table

After ethics permission was granted by the ethics review board of the university, we began recruitment. As a mixed gender research team, we worked closely with a CVE Intervention Practitioner, who functioned as a gatekeeper, to recruit nationally and we were able to speak to twelve CVE Intervention Practitioners in all: eight women and four men. The gatekeeper joined the interviews as a professional peer and critical friend. Because of this relationship, which was foundational to attaining the data, we adopted a work-based and “insider researcher” approach. The presence of the gatekeeper allayed the concerns of the CVE Intervention Practitioners that their work could be misconstrued and misrepresented.

In terms of our positionality, as qualitative researchers, our interaction with the narratives shared with us was influenced by our own experiences as well as our relationship to the participants in our study. Furthermore, we believe our perspectives and close working relationship with the gatekeeper allowed us to deepen our research and align ourselves with Bonner and Tolhurst’s (2002) arguments which identify three key advantages to being an insider researcher: (a) having a deeper understanding of the culture being studied; (b) not unnaturally shifting the flow of social interaction; and (c) having an established familiarity which promotes the telling and judging of truth.

Adopting the approach of semi-structured interviews allowed for the collection of rich data, as we were able to probe deeply while also identifying emergent themes and unexpected insights (Bengtsson & Fynbo, 2018; Fritz & Vandermause, 2018; Pope & Mays, 2006). Due in part to COVID-19 and, also, the geographical dispersion of our interviewees, we were unable to conduct face-to-face interviews and data was collected via Zoom. While many advantages have been found in using digital technologies as a tool for gathering qualitative data, we do highlight some practical and ethical challenges such as poor audio and video quality, including faces obscured by poor lighting, dropped signals and delayed connections (Archibald et al., 2019; Gray et al., 2020; Oliffe et al., 2021). Given the diversity of the CVE work, we adopted an approach which used a mind map which allowed interviewees to choose what they felt comfortable speaking about and what aspects of CVE work were most aligned with their current role.Footnote 2 This approach was developed during pilot work on a previous study (Author). We feel the mind map approach contributed to the success of the interviews, alongside the strategies we adopted to establish a rapport so that participants felt comfortable, as every effort was made not to assume an authoritative position and maintain a friendly manner.

Analysis

To ensure security and safety for our interviewees, any identifying information such as their location or workplace name was removed from participant data. We recognize the Australian CVE field is small and, thus, special care is required at all stages of the research and publication process to maintain anonymity. In conducting the analysis, Braun and Clarke’s (2019) reflexive thematic analysis informed our approach. The various categories and questions included on our mind map provided the starting point for manual coding of our qualitative interview data, which we performed in a shared process between the research team. Our first step was to read and re-read the interview transcripts. Then, initial codes for analysis were derived from these transcripts and entered into NVivo, a computerized qualitative data tool. The interview transcripts were first coded to parent nodes (n = 4) and then further categorized into different levels using child nodes (n = 29). Throughout the process, we looked across the parent and child nodes to make connections and develop a synthesis regarding the CVE Intervention Practitioners’ experiences as well as the strategies they adopted. This led to a productive discussion around connecting the data to previous literature. Once some consensus was reached regarding contribution to the field, key quotes from the practitioners representing each code were compiled in separate documents which we referred to as the themes.

Findings

While the CVE Intervention Practitioners we spoke with were majority female, the overwhelming majority of clients discussed in our interviews were male, many of whom were reported as having quite rigid ideas about social gender roles. These rigid views were often presumed to be related – as previously mentioned – to clients identifying with fundamentalist Islam or extreme right-wing ideologies. In this section we explore how the CVE Intervention Practitioners we interviewed engaged in rapport building strategies, which has been noted as an important process within programs targeting radicalised offenders both in Australia and overseas (see Cherney, 2022; Hecker, 2021). We consider rapport as a specifically “affective structuring force within interactional contexts” (Johnson et al., 2022), along with the gendered elements of how these affective dynamics are developed. While previous scholarship has highlighted that, depending on the social dynamic, masculinities are performed and expressed in relation to a hegemonic norm (Duriesmith, 2020), our data suggests ways in which such relationships to hegemonic masculinity are often complex. As Connell and Messerschmidt (2005) note, “violence and other noxious practices are not always the defining characteristics, since hegemony has numerous configurations” (p. 840).

In exploring the perspectives of these practitioners regarding what role gender plays in both client identity construction and their professional interactions with clients, we are interested in how gendered issues may inform potentially iatrogenic effects, where certain approaches can sometimes worsen and amplify the very problem they are intended to solve (Gottfredson, 2010; Welsh & Rocque, 2014). When dealing with efforts aimed at changing human behavior, specifically radicalization and violent extremism, there is a need to recognize the plethora of sensitivities involved (Cherney, 2016). Within CVE work, the approach could have implications for recidivism or re-radicalization. Therefore, our data and analysis speak to how practitioners can effectively intervene, as well as to wider primary and secondary initiatives aimed at deradicalization and counter-violent extremism (Zane et al., 2016; Cherney, 2016).

Donnelly (2021) highlights several ways CVE Intervention Practitioners can incorporate gender informed analysis into their work with young people to achieve better outcomes. She notes that gender has a ‘structuring power’ where “it is important to understand who has access to different forms of power” (p. 8). Part of the significance in this observation is that sophisticated analysis of gendered power dynamics requires going beyond reductive assumptions based on binary or essentialist gender frameworks. Given this, effective CVE work requires a consideration and recognition of how power dynamics play out in gendered ways, “not only between men and women, but also between women, between men, between boys, and between girls” (Donnelly, 2021, p. 8). Many of the practitioners we spoke with seemed aware that client perspectives on gender could influence the dynamics of their discursive encounters but did not, necessarily, interrogate the nature of this gendered influence in great detail. Rather, they tended to limit their considerations to whether a particular client might build better rapport working with either male, or female, practitioners. This was an observation made by one participant, Cheree, who told us about a particular male client’s positive response to working with her and another female practitioner:

And my other case manager that works with me, with him [the client], is also female. But we’ve also thought about it too, is one of the things that he feels is deficient in him is that he’s not masculine enough. So, maybe having a police officer is very masculine, and […] might be too confronting for him anyway. So, having females engaging with him has worked pretty well. (Cheree, female)

Cheree’s response here suggests a desire to ‘avoid making assumptions’ about whether male clients will relate better to male practitioners, instead suggesting that in cases like this, a client’s own sense of inadequate masculinity (or not living up to hegemonic norms) may be less confronted or challenged in interactions with women compared to male authority figures – especially stereotypically masculine figures such as police officers. Stewart, a male practitioner, also makes similar comments regarding a right-wing male client who presented as a “really strong alpha male” type but who, perhaps because of this:

wants someone that’s probably sympathetic to their ear, to listen to what their griefs are and their issues, and is a female going to be really good in that environment? We had one individual who I knew was young, had strong [right wing] political and ideological views […] and two females ended up being the absolute recipe for success for this person. And so, we’d made that decision at the beginning only based on some of the information that we’d received. (Stewart, male)

One minor point to be made here is the potentially limited extent to which clients can be assigned specific CVE Intervention Practitioners based on such personally tailored considerations, rather than such decisions being subject to broader scheduling and resource considerations.

However, a more significant point involves the way in which practitioners themselves can end up relying on and potentially reinscribing certain gendered assumptions when making such assessments. While certainly an active engagement with gender dynamics is important within the CVE space, what our interview data suggests is that how these gendered dynamics are interpreted or acted on is heavily influenced by the practitioner-client discursive space itself – where making such decisions, as Stewart puts it, often “get down to rolling the dice at one point.” More than just a ‘rolling the dice’ process of trial and error, however, we suggest instances like this reflect a tendency to reproduce certain essentialist and stereotypical understandings of femininity and masculinity. In this case, the idea that an ‘alpha male’ personality will respond better to a sympathetic woman – who listens to their grievances and helps talk through issues they may be struggling with – than they would with a (presumed to be) stern or judgmental man. This is not to say that Stewart was incorrect in his assessment about how a given client might engage differently (or, for the purposes of CVE intervention, more productively in particular ways) with male or female practitioners. Rather, it is simply to highlight how the reproduction of hegemonic masculinities can often be a part of ‘negotiating gender’ in these contexts.

Donnelly (2021) highlights how CVE Intervention Practitioners should consider the context-dependent aspect of analysing gender dynamics, where expectations “about femininity and masculinity vary based on different environments, time periods, and social groups” (p. 8). While for the most part, the practitioners we interviewed described their male clients as having strong ideological tendencies endorsing the subjugation of women in various ways, they also reported that clients did not necessarily ‘perform’ these ideological sympathies within the practitioner-client space. In a post-structuralist sense, this might suggest a degree of adaptability on the part of these ideologically misogynist men, whereby they adopt and perform varied masculine identities depending on the currency certain dispositions are perceived to have in different contexts. However, while this may form part of the picture, it risks invoking a reductive or flattened understanding of what misogyny is and the structural dynamics that drive it. Pearson (2019) provides useful insight here by questioning “the essentialisms of ‘toxic masculinity’,” exploring ways to “disrupt the idea of ‘toxicity’ as distinct from patriarchy” and instead recognise ‘extreme’ or ‘toxic’ masculine identities “as belonging to a repertoire of wider social norms” (p. 1252). This can help explain why particular men often engage only selectively in certain ‘toxic’ behaviours or misogynistic expressions – even despite their apparent adherence to extreme forms of misogynist ideology.

However, acknowledging ‘toxicity’ as one part of a wider patriarchal spectrum and structure can also – and more significantly – point to ways in which ‘extremism’ is “divorced from wider society through a move to associate particular men with uniquely ‘toxic’ behaviours. Masculinity (singular) is not explored as a feature of gendered relations but essentialized in sex” (Pearson, 2019, p. 1269). In reality, though, masculinities are not necessarily linked to men’s bodies or biological sex characteristics, as Pearson (2019) highlights regarding the adoption of “masculine roles and practices” by women members of the far-right English Defence League (p. 1264). Nevertheless, some of the practitioners we spoke with still reflected elements of either simplified or essentialist thinking when it came to the behaviours of male clients. Some, for example, expressed surprise when client views seemed at odds with their behaviour toward or engagement with female practitioners – as Cheree highlighted explicitly in response to a question regarding her thoughts on the gender dynamics of working in CVE:

[Gender] hasn’t actually been a massive issue, which has surprised me, especially with the Islamic extremist. But [the client] he’s engaged absolutely fine with me, shows me respect, all that sort of thing. And even the youngster, he’s got very strong ideas about gender roles, like he thinks [women should be] wearing skirts and should be doing woman’s work and all of that sort of stuff, but he’s also happy to engage with us. (Cheree, female)

While the respectfulness of her (otherwise) ideologically misogynist client might suggest a degree of ‘code switching’ on his part, it is also important to remember that, as Manne (2017) argues, misogyny cannot be reduced to an interactional stance against all women, all the time. Certainly, an individual’s expression of respect toward or positive engagement with one or some women does not indicate the absence of a misogynistic perspective more generally.

Given the general preponderance of misogynistic perspectives and ideological commitments among their (especially) male clients, many practitioners expressed a necessity for caution – especially when first interacting with a new client. Another participant we spoke with, Charlotte – who was based in a rural area – highlights her hesitancy to interact with neo-Nazi groups, specifically the National Socialist Network (NSN):

we’ve just had some [NSN activity] up here, and obviously they’re trying to get us prepared to go and talk to them, and I’m like, ‘I can’t talk to them, I’m a female,’ [and] I’ve had advice from other jurisdictions that have said, ‘are you the only one there’ and I’m like, ‘yes’ and they’ve gone, ‘well you can’t do it, so you’re going to have to find someone else to go and put themselves in front of them.’ (Charlotte, female).

When we asked Charlotte if she felt this recommendation was made because of potentially direct physical risk to her, or rather because the clients in question would refuse to speak with a woman based on their misogynistic viewpoint, she responded: “I think it’s just because […] I’m a woman and they don’t see me as their equal. So […] when I’m trying to speak to them and create that sort of relationship with them, they’re not going to with me.” Charlotte highlights several things here. Aside from a desire to be effective at her job, what seems to inform her thinking are experiences with young men who have either not chosen, or not been able, to shift between alternative identity positions, suggesting in some cases a more rigid adherence to and manifestation of ‘toxic’ misogynist traits.

However, while we are reminded that toxic masculinity can often represent merely the “socially destructive” extreme of broader hegemonic masculine norms (Kupers, 2005, p. 716), we also note how masculine subjectivities are produced through modalities of power, which thus contribute to individual modes of behaviour (Martino, 1999). It bears noting that Charlotte was a young woman who perhaps has, therefore, a different relationship to power and the dynamics of gendered prejudice than her older female colleagues such as Cheree. In this sense, it is not hard to imagine how the (assumed) attitudes of these specific far-right male activists – along with the assumption of Charlotte’s colleagues or superiors in other jurisdictions that she would not be able to engage effectively with them – may have been rooted less in an especially unique or toxic brand of misogyny, but more in the ways that other dynamics of power (in this case, age) always intersect and influence those of gender.

As previously mentioned, CVE Intervention Practitioners’ training can be fragmented and, furthermore, there is no prescriptive set of policies regarding how to engage with gender norms in practitioner-client interactions. When we asked practitioners to reflect on how they perceived the role of masculinity in (de)radicalization, many highlighted how they had done their own research, or drawn upon existing networks, to enhance their knowledge regarding how gender may contribute toward young males being drawn into the world of violent extremism. Trent, a male practitioner, quite self-consciously indicated that he subscribed to certain – potentially controversial – explanatory frameworks regarding the influence of biological sex characteristics on violence among young men, telling us:

it’s not politically correct to say this […] but the neurobiology is […] pretty clear […] that men between the ages of 20 and 25 generally – at a population level – have less development, shall we say, in the prefrontal cortex and as a result […] they struggle to make rational, careful decisions about their behaviour, particularly in relation to violence and particularly in relation to social context. So, what that means essentially is that a 20-year-old male is more likely to act violently – and less likely to make careful decisions about behaviour in a social setting – than a female of the same age, generally speaking. (Trent, male)

Reinforcing a sense of gender essentialism, Trent here identifies what he terms ‘neurobiology’ as a key cause of violent or impulsive tendencies in the behaviour of young men – which, we assume, also informs his practice with these clients. Strongly emphasising biological explanations for behavioural trends – whether it be hormones or developmental phases – can undercut a consideration of the powerful socialization factors influencing how boys and young men develop. This data highlights the importance of what a feminist lens could offer in problematising gender essentialist notions (Sjoberg, 2009). Certainly, by foregrounding socialization and considering gender as multiple and performative, a CVE Intervention Practitioner may choose to make certain decisions regarding how to problematise and critique the tenets of hegemonic masculinity in practitioner-client interaction. Conversely, subscribing strongly or exclusively to ‘neurobiological’ explanations may influence the extent to which different forms of masculinity might be encouraged or developed with young male clients.

Other practitioners spoke about male role models and the significant influence they could have on clients. While “alternative representations of masculinity and positive male role models” have certainly been recommended as promising ‘prevention tools’ in the CVE space (see Wolf, 2022, p. 13), they have also been subject to critique. For example, Pearson (2019) makes notes that in the UK’s Prevent program “extremism” was typified “as a problem of the ‘low-achieving’, effectively discounting explanations of male violence that did not feature educational, familial or economic dysfunction. The effect is the ‘toxification’ of masculinities in communities understood as ‘extreme’ (p. 1256). Keeping the risks of such circular policy logics in mind, practitioner Opal spoke about the role models her young male clients have in their home lives, calling attention to how young men learn what masculinity looks like from older community or family members, in this case fathers. Discussing one young male client, Opal told us:

he lives with dad and there are concerns around dad having and holding violent extremist ideologies and beliefs. And then because of their religious background, they also believe that, like, men are like, superior – men hold all the power, all that sort of stuff. And so now that the young person is living with dad, you know, we’re concerned that the child is being influenced by dad’s beliefs and following those sorts of misogynistic, sort of, views on life and how, like, where women belong and all those sorts of things […] And then when he’s with mum, mum has commented to say that, you know, ‘I see those sorts of comments.’ And he – there are some concerns for this young person, [he] has, like, sexually exploited another young lady as well, and things like that. So, like, there’s definitely that, like, male authority – sort of, power dominance – aspect to his behaviours as well. (Opal, female)

Research continues to highlight that men at risk of radicalisation into violent extremism may identify strongly with traditional masculine tropes concerning power, control and dominance (Pearson, 2019; Sunderland, 2023) which has implications for the influence of different role models in their lives. In this instance, Opal’s comments suggest not only that the young man is influenced by his father’s beliefs, but that there is a behaviourally-causal element where he is acting on these beliefs. We also see a contrast drawn between the interactions with his father and mother, suggesting the client is being exposed to different (gendered) discursive spaces, but that the masculine space appears to be more influential.

As a final point, it is important to consider that certain forms of misogyny and toxicity are not present for all clients – and that the needs of each client vary substantively. For example, Tim delineated ideological differences regarding the influence of extreme masculinity on radicalisation processes, noting that his team saw such an influence more in Right-Wing extremists than within other groups:

Well to look at different ideology, I don’t see that in Islam obviously, but maybe down the Right Wing you do see that a little bit, but you know – I know – that just looking at clients we had [as] they were growing up, that it was about masculinity. It was about, ‘okay, show your dominance, don’t show fear.’ I agree that does form in the Right-Wing space, not necessarily other spaces. Some of my clients they grew up with, ‘some will put it over you,’ that their family will be going, ‘don’t let them put it over you.’ Like, show violence – like, I do think [this has influence on] Right Wing [extremism] I do agree. So, it’s to that extent, that they do show that masculinity. That’s how they do it, but not necessarily other spaces. Does that make sense? (Tim, male)

Ideologies, like masculinities, are not all encompassing. Given the shifting nature of CVE work, the strategies that practitioners draw upon are varied, often aligned with what they view as their own strengths (Stahl, Adams & Oberg, 2024). Trent, for example, described for us how his first strategy with clients was to use humour, “because that’s a jumping off point for a lot of people to get involved in the ideology in the first place.” However, like Tim, Trent delineates this strategy based on his understanding of ideology, where the use of humour is “less present for Islamic extremism, that is religiously motivated extremism, but it’s certainly very present in the right-wing space.” Elaborating this point further, Trent describes a client who according to him:

doesn’t have a sophisticated understanding of the ideology at all, is kind of – I wouldn’t even describe him as being a garden variety racist – he’s just kind of, he just has some strange ideas about women and he has some strange ideas about, you know […] some strange conceptions of masculinity, shall we say. But he goes to a boxing gym pretty regularly and plays a lot of sport. He is fairly big, fairly strong and there’s a number of indicators of concern to suggest that he is fairly controlling in terms of his relationship with his girlfriend, and that he’s also had a pretty strained relationship with his mother in the past where he hasn’t necessarily been particularly respectful to her, or particularly decent in his conduct, shall we say….

As Trent describes his client, we are reminded of Connell’s theory of masculinities and the hegemonic, specifically with the attention to sport, strength and physical fitness, but also an expression of ‘othering’ through the subordination of women, along with limited cathexis or emotional attachment. For Connell, hegemonic masculinity is about power – more specifically about maintaining power – and we glimpse how, for Trent’s client, his masculinity is produced within discursive space largely controlled by him. It was unclear from our conversations with Trent how much ‘problematizing gender’ would figure into working with his client, or inform the tools developed with him to guard against further extremist susceptibility. It was also unclear how Trent’s own gender identity – and his beliefs around gender – would influence these practitioner-client interactions.

Discussion

Research into how gender is understood in CVE programs remains limited, which results in certain blind spots regarding how we understand the relationship between gender, violent extremism and various approaches to countering it. White (2020) writes that gender “must be more meaningfully understood for a holistic solution to be found, otherwise CVE programming will remain incomplete and gendered goals easily overlooked” (p. 18). Donnelly (2021) suggests that researchers “cannot ignore the gender dimension of violent extremism because [violent extremist organizations] understand the importance of gender and leverage ideas about gender for their own advantage” (p. 2). We agree with these arguments and, furthermore, believe it is important that the field of CVE more actively engage with diverse theorizations of masculinity in order to enhance understanding of how masculinity is discursively produced and performed, especially in relation to practitioner-client interaction. As susceptibility to extremism remains a conflicted picture, it is important we increase our understanding of the relational aspects of CVE work so CVE Intervention Practitioners can be better equipped to adapt to circumstance. This includes how gender may be negotiated in ways that encourage male participants to disassociate themselves from powerful extremist perspectives, rather than reinscribing certain form of gender essentialism – or other patriarchal assumptions – that risk endorsing the underlying logics of those beliefs.

Relationality – specifically the continued interaction between practitioner and client – is a critical area of study with clear implications regarding potential iatrogenic effects, including recidivism or re-radicalisation. Our data, while limited, suggests client-practitioner relationships are not only informed by a range of experience circumscribed via available (gendered) discourses for both practitioners and clients, but that they are also new discursive spaces where (gender) constraints can be problematised. Highlighting the importance of relationships, in their systematic review of mental health problems and violent extremism, Gill et al. (2021) call attention to how various case studies utilising primary materials demonstrate the impact of bad relationships upon radicalisation processes, highlighting “poor intimate partner relationships which have been linked with feelings of emptiness and isolation, search for security, commitment problems, and the development of new (extreme) relationships to replace the void” while others involve “family situations characterised as turbulent and instable” (p. 63). Furthermore, the relationships between clients and CVE Intervention Practitioners are an important leverage point, one which can be affected by the degree to which clients feel compelled to participate in programs. Cherney et al. (2021) note, “radicalised offenders in prison or under community supervision, may perceive mandated interventions as an example of authorities treating them unfairly by forcing them into a program, thus increasing the grievances about how they are treated” (p. 20).

Drawing on a feminist perspective and Connell’s conceptualization of masculinities, this research indicates that CVE Intervention Practitioners’ interactions with clients likely fail to challenge certain aspects of hegemonic masculinity and the related subjugation of women. Cheree, for example, expressed the importance of ‘not having assumptions’ yet reproduces a strong sense of stereotypical masculinities and femininities, including their relationship with strength and gender hierarchies. It is beyond the scope of this study to document precisely how implied understandings of masculinity, femininity, or gender more broadly structure dialogue between practitioners and clients. However, further discourse analysis regarding this issue would allow insight into how (hegemonic) masculinities and (patriarchal) gender relations are co-produced; furthermore, it could highlight the extent to which radicalization into certain forms of violent extremism is informed by issues regarding (masculine) gender identity and gendered ideological assumptions.

Mattsson and Johansson (2021) describe how, for former neo-Nazis, their own masculine identities formed in relation to the peer group – and that it was those homosocial bonds which contributed to both the maintenance of hegemonic masculinity and a normalization of violence. We note that violence remains integral to “the constitution, emotional structure, and reproduction” of extremist ideology (Mattsson & Johansson, 2021, p. 394; see also Pearson, 2019); however, regardless of their gender, none of the CVE Intervention Practitioners we spoke with reported being victims of violence, though some did highlight feeling threatened when working with some male clients. Mattsson and Johansson (2021) also found that violence had always been a part of their subjects’ lives, stressing that all their participants “possessed a high level of agency and were not lured into a violent milieu where they learned, ideologically and physically, to use violence. Rather, we see violence as a part of the homosociality developed in these closely knit groups, and in how relationships and structures were developed among them and their peers” (p. 408).

While our data from the project, Deliving Effective Services for CVE Practitioners, suggests that interactions between practitioner and client continue to be quite varied, our interviews also highlight that male clients often work well with female practitioners in contrast to many assumptions regarding individuals who identify strongly with extremist and, especially, misogynistic beliefs. This suggests several possible, overlapping, implications. First, explicitly misogynistic beliefs – which are often associated with radicalization – are not expressed in ‘all-encompassing’ ways and may, in fact, be reproduced in multiple, varied manifestations. There is evidence that ‘othering’ women, in an effort to reaffirm one’s masculine identity, is more pronounced in scenarios where men intend to curry favour with certain types of other men they see as powerful, or in social milieus where considering women as inferior is closely aligned with hegemonic forms of masculinity. Second, perhaps a female practitioner’s formality and ‘neutral’ approach could also be interpreted by these men as aligned with their own understanding of gender and gender relations. While our data is too limited to make any firm assertions, it does suggest how male practitioners may have been viewed as overly authoritative figures, especially when the client in question felt insecure about their own masculinity (see Table 1). Third, radicalization is a process which involves strong identification with a personal (affective) narrative and a search for belonging. Considering (de)radicalization on a spectrum, perhaps some of the interactions between clients and practitioners were, themselves, an important part of the process whereby clients could start to generate new personal affinities and forms of belonging.

We accept this study, like all research, has several limitations. The sample size was relatively small, the online interview format could have constrained rapport building with participants and contributed to them being less forthcoming. Furthermore, while the gatekeeper was essential to recruitment, his presence and professional reputation may have also influenced what our participants were willing to share.

Conclusion

A plethora of CVE programs, of varying size and focus, have been implemented globally in the last twenty to thirty years. Pearson (2019) argues that governments “have focused on extremism, first violent Islamism and now the radical right, and in so doing have produced as embodying ‘risk’ particular racialized and marginalized men, framed through the prism of ‘toxicity’” (p. 1269). Drawing on feminist approaches to securitisation and terrorism studies (White, 2020; Donnelly, 2021), this article focused on gender in relation to social practices and institutions where “traits traditionally associated with masculinity (strength, rationality, etc.) and femininity (peacefulness, irrationality, etc.) are often reinforced” (White, 2020, p. 11). We know that the need for belonging is often a key driver of radicalisation. A key focal point for research on (de)radicalisation is that male clients feel the ‘need to belong’ to a predominantly male community, where their perceptions of masculine normativity can be affirmed. This search for belonging is in continual process, never quite fulfilled. By focusing on the experiences of practitioners – and their perspective on the gender identity of men who are presenting beliefs which suggest radicalization – we foreground the affective relational aspects between practitioner and client, calling attention to the ways that many practitioners discussed male clients who experienced difficulties in expressing and understanding their own masculinity (see Author). This, we believe, is very telling and should be the focus of future research.