Do not fall for simplistic portrayals of the New Orleans attacker

In the Louisiana city of New Orleans, the new year began with a horrible tragedy after a man ploughed his truck into a crowd of revellers in the early hours of January 1, killing at least 15 people and wounding dozens of others.

The attacker was soon formally identified as Shamsud-Din Jabbar, a 42-year-old United States citizen from the neighbouring state of Texas. As the story unfolded, news outlets zeroed in on two key details mentioned in the FBI’s preliminary statement on the incident: an ISIL (ISIS) flag was found in Jabbar’s vehicle, and his social media accounts contained posts that suggest he may have been “inspired” by the group. For many, this was enough to frame Jabbar, who was killed at the scene by police gunfire, as a terrorist “linked” to ISIL.

While the FBI says it is investigating the attack as an act of “terrorism”, at the time of this writing, there is no evidence to suggest Jabbar was ordered by ISIL to carry out an attack on US soil. The FBI has not specified what evidence it has used to make that legal determination, or released detailed information on a possible motive.

What we do know is that Jabbar was a US Army veteran who served in the US military for 13 years, including a deployment to Afghanistan. He was reportedly going through a divorce and had expressed a desire to kill his entire family. All this complicates the narrative significantly and calls into question the assumptions being made about what drove him to kill so many people.

Challenging official statements

The claim by FBI officials and even US President Joe Biden that the attacker was “inspired” by ISIL raises important questions about journalistic responsibility. How do we, as journalists, extrapolate our reporting from official statements versus the broader context of facts?

Context is key. Our reporting on what government officials say should immediately be followed with the other facts we know about the attacker’s background, statements and personal life. This is especially true when covering developing stories like this one, where authorities release conflicting information in the heat of the moment, only to quietly walk it back later.

Jabbar was not an impressionable youth but a middle-aged military veteran with significant life experience and a lot of baggage. For all we know he may have been “radicalised” by what he experienced during his time in the US military. What about the trauma of his divorce and the anger he reportedly had for his own family?

The point is, we just don’t know enough yet. What we do know is that we should be asking more questions.

So far, the Western media seems to be choosing the easy path, and following a well-tested formula when covering this tragic story: “Bad Brown Muslim committed terrorism in the name of ISIL.” This narrative conveniently ignores the complexity of Jabbar’s circumstances and sidesteps deeper questions about his mental state, his time serving in Afghanistan and the personal crises he faced.

Contrast this with how stories involving white male shooters are often treated. Reporters pedal hard to humanise the perpetrators and illuminate their mental health issues, isolated lives and personal struggles.

This double standard not only prevents the public from learning the whole truth about an incident that affects their lives in a timely manner, but also reinforces harmful stereotypes and further alienates marginalised communities. The Muslim communities in New Orleans, and the attacker’s hometown of Houston, many of whom likely never knew Jabbar, for example, could now face collective blame for his actions due to the irresponsible actions of media organisations.

A headline’s life cycle

As journalists, we know that the process of reporting developing stories is a journey. First, we break the story with the few facts we know, often relying on official lines because that’s all we have at the time. This is an understandable and necessary first step. But as more information comes to light, it is our responsibility to avoid oversimplifying what is often a complex and multilayered story.

There have been other cases where attacks were credited to ISIL but later revealed to be the acts of just one person. In 2016, initial reports about Pulse nightclub shooter Omar Mateen emphasised his declared allegiance to ISIL, but further investigation revealed a deeply disturbed individual with no operational ties to the group.

This matters because of the consequences such narratives have on real lives. When media coverage fixates on tenuous connections to ISIL, it fuels anti-Muslim sentiment and policy. After the 2015 San Bernardino shooting, misinformation linking the attackers to a broader ISIL network contributed to public support for then-candidate Donald Trump’s proposed “Muslim ban”. Following 9/11, vague and unsubstantiated claims about Saddam Hussein’s ties to al-Qaeda were instrumental in justifying the invasion of Iraq, which led to the deaths of hundreds of thousands of Iraqi civilians and the political instability that birthed ISIL.

We also owe it to the families of the victims to uncover and report the whole truth of what happened that day. They deserve to know the real motives of the attacker and whether anything could have been done to prevent the tragedy.

None of this is to say we should ignore potential evidence of something bigger at play here. But discernment is key. As we continue to report on this tragedy, let us centre the facts, and the context necessary to paint the most accurate and responsible picture.