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THE self-proclaimed caliphate of Islamic State (IS) is weakening fast. In June the jihadists were kicked out of Fallujah by the Iraqi army, then pounded by air strikes as they fled. American-backed rebels in Syria have surrounded the group’s fighters in the northern city of Manbij and are eyeing Raqqa, its de facto capital. In total, IS is now thought to have lost half of the land it seized in Iraq and 20% of its territory in Syria. It is on the verge of losing its main stronghold in Libya, too.
The biggest fights are still to come: for Raqqa and Mosul, in northern Iraq, the two biggest cities under IS control. IS fighters are expected to defend them ferociously. More than just land is at stake. Apart from its savagery, IS has distinguished itself from other jihadist groups—and indeed, surpassed the likes of al-Qaeda—by capturing territory and governing it. As it loses that land, and any chance of building an Islamic Utopia, its appeal to disaffected Muslims may dwindle. So the group is adapting.
In many ways IS is becoming more like a conventional, stateless, terrorist organisation. In an abrupt and remarkable shift, Abu Muhammad al-Adnani, the group’s spokesman, said in May that IS does not fight for territory. It would defend Raqqa and Mosul, of course, but it is also preparing to revert to guerrilla tactics. And Mr Adnani repeated an appeal for followers to hit the group’s enemies abroad. “The smallest action you do in their heartland is better and more enduring to us than what you would [do] if you were with us,” he said.
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