British jihadists: Turning them around WREATHS of poppies were laid to commemorate Britain's war dead on Remembrance Day. But days before, police arrested four men suspected of planning a terrorist attack, perhaps aimed at disrupting the tributes. The plot was foiled, but the security services say an attack is "almost inevitable." Other European countries fear the same. They fret especially about the threat posed by jihadists returning from Syria and Iraq. But they also worry about attacks at home. As the scale of the threat grows, the government's response is becoming more sophisticated. Around 500-600 Britons are thought to have gone to fight, one of the largest Western contingents (in absolute terms if not per head of population). The flow has slowed in recent months, perhaps as the brutality of the Islamic State (IS) has become more evident. A handful have gone from Tower Hamlets in east London, but the recent murder of Alan Henning, a British taxi driver who went to Syria with an aid convoy, has deterred others, says Salman Farsi of the East London Mosque. About half are thought to have returned. Some will be battle-hardened, but the training IS gives to many of its foreign recruits is limited, explains Peter Neumann of the International Centre for the Study of Radicalisation, a London-based think-tank. On arrival in Syria they are vetted (to weed out spies) and their skills assessed. Most are then given about ten days of basic fighting instruction. So far there is little evidence of the kind of training camps once seen in Afghanistan and Pakistan (attended by at least one of the 2005 London bombers), says Thomas Hegghammer, an expert on violent extremism. As a result, smaller attacks may be more likely than sophisticated bomb plots. But as worries grow, the government's response has evolved. David Cameron, the prime minister, and Theresa May, his home secretary, initially talked tough, suggesting they would seize fighters" passports and prosecute the jihadists for treason. But such harsh ideas have proved tricky to implement. Just 24 people have been charged and only five successfully prosecuted for Syria-related offences. Monitoring every returnee is not feasible. Sir Malcolm Rifkind, the head of Parliament's Intelligence and Security committee points to the legal and financial constraints the spooks face. Putting suspects under 24-hour surveillance is costly and legal permission for such tracking is not open-ended. Now the government is warming to the idea that focusing more on rehabilitation could be more effective. Some returnees are dangerous, but others are disillusioned or disturbed, argues Mr Neumann. For them, alternatives to prison could be more appropriate. In October Ms May confirmed that some former fighters would be dealt with through a programme called Channel, part of the government's anti-radicalisation strategy which aims to divert people from extremism of all kinds. Such programmes rarely work on hardened ideologues. But for those who feel they made a mistake going to war or who have been traumatised by the experience, the process of deradicalisation can be more appealing than a jail sentence. The police decide whether an individual should be prosecuted or given the opportunity for deradicalisation. If deemed to be suitable, they undergo tailored interventions led by religious figures, police, social services, psychologists and others. The worry is that, squeezed by the government's broader budget cuts, those tasked with delivering the services, such as local councils, will not have the resources to do so, suggests Charlie Edwards of RUSI, a think-tank. Channel saw 1,281 referrals in 2013-14, a 71% increase on the year before. As it expands to encompass returning fighters, as well as those at risk of radicalisation, numbers will creep higher, increasing the pressure on such agencies. In pursuing these strategies Britain is following more closely the examples of some neighbours - and diverging from that of others. France - from where almost 1,000 fighters are thought to have departed - takes a tough approach. It focuses on intelligence and law enforcement in its counter-terrorism strategy (although it has recently set up a hotline for worried relatives of those who might be lured to battle). By contrast, Denmark focuses on deradicalisation, using existing structures that deal with other social problems. Rachel Briggs of the Institute for Strategic Dialogue points to Germany's tradition of programmes to help people leave extremist groups. Sweden does the same. In the past they have dealt with members of far-right groups, but their attention is turning to Islamic extremists. Promoting such programmes can be tricky. Few politicians want to appear soft on terrorists. But it is in Britain's interest to pursue such options, says Ms Briggs. Extremists who are not rehabilitated may radicalise the next generation. And the state cannot lock people up forever. As the government's approach is changing, so is that of its opponents. The West's bombing campaign has prompted a shift in IS's propaganda. In a recent speech, Abu Muhammad al-Adnani, an IS spokesman, urged the group's foreign sympathisers to take the fight to Europe, killing disbelieving Westerners ("especially the spiteful and filthy French"), rather than fighting in Syria and Iraq. Preventing attacks by zealots untouched by the horrors of IS's war could prove harder than dealing with disillusioned returning jihadists.