The Islamist

by Ed Husain

  Our discussions inside the mosque and in various meetings did not come out of the abstract. Those of us who read material from Islamist writers knew that the world we espoused was underpinned by the writings of Mawdudi and another, more crucial, character: Syed Qutb.

  Syed Qutb was a name I first heard from YMO. I knew that Mawdudi had laid the intellectual basis for drawing the battle lines between Islamism and all other systems of thought. Just as his ideas were propagated in English-speaking countries by the Islamic Foundation in Leicester, they were disseminated by several Arab organizations in the Middle East in search of an ideological alternative to Arab socialism, nationalism, and Nasserism. Syed Qutb, a middle-aged Egyptian bachelor and literary critic, rose to the challenge.

  When Hasan al-Banna, the leader of the Egyptian Muslim Brotherhood, was assassinated in 1949, the Brotherhood became an orphan movement. Qutb became more than its adoptive father - he became its chief ideologue. Hardened by social isolation in the United States, he became an ardent anti-Westerner. His stance was further radicalized by his terrible experiences in Nasser’s prisons from the late 1950s onwards. The horrendous, inhumane torture Qutb and other members of the Muslim Brotherhood experienced resulted in Qutb smuggling Milestones, the Communist Manifesto of Islamism, out to the wider world.

  In YMO Milestones, along with Qutb’s personal commentary on the Koran, was mandatory reading. When I read Milestones I felt growing animosity towards the kuffar. True Muslims had been defeated by the imperialists and their agents, the rulers of the Muslim world. We had to regain the upper hand in Muslim countries and reject the culture of the West. Qutb spoke about his own experiences in America, and declared that a total jihad was the only way to remove the disbelieving presidents and princes of the Arab world.

  From what I understood, Qutb had adopted Mawdudi’s paradigm, but developed it much further. Mawdudi was prepared to make concessions to the West, gain power for Islamism via parliamentary democracy while infiltrating the army simultaneously to ensure that, once power had been grasped, the military would be supportive. Qutb, however, declared all-out war. There was no room for gradualism in Qutb’s prescription for changing the world.

  Egypt’s prisons in the 1950s and 1960s served as a networking forum for Islamists of various persuasions. Qutb, heavily influenced by Mawdudi’s writing, met a group of Muslims who helped him further crystallize his thinking. Soon I was to learn who this particular group of people were. Ideas, intellect, thought, challenge, systems, concepts, destruction, construction were key words discussed by them with Qutb which he then introduced in Milestones. For writing this book, Qutb was hanged by the Egyptian government in 1966.

  The Koran repeatedly reminds us that the vast majority of the world’s population will not become believers, in the Muslim sense. It accepts religious diversity, creedal plurality. Koranic verses include such Prophetic declarations as ‘to you your religion, and to me mine’. However, to Qutb, this was unacceptable. ‘Islam is not merely “belief”,’ he wrote. ‘Islam is a declaration of the freedom of man from servitude to other men. Thus it strives from the beginning to abolish all these systems and governments which are based on the rule of man over man.’

  We sat in the East London mosque and discussed at length how Hasan al-Banna and Qutb had given their lives to the movement; how they had stood steadfastly against the disbelieving governments of the Muslim world; and how we had to gain popular support of the Muslims to remove these regimes, and create God’s government on God’s earth, or, as Mawdudi put it, ‘Allah’s law in Allah’s land’. However, seizing political power by the ballot box was not our only option. The Islamization of powerful elements of society would ensure that in the end, if need be, our counterparts in the Muslim world would take power by force.

  Now I was convinced that Grandpa and the majority of the world’s traditional Muslims were on the wrong path. How could they coexist with jahiliyyah, the ignorants, as the Koran called the pagan Arabs of pre-Islamic Arabia? Qutb taught us that the Prophet had declared war on the infidels of Mecca because it was in the nature of Islam that it must dominate. In Milestones the world was divided into two: Islam and jahiliyyah, or Dar al-Harb and Dar al-Islam. Just as in seventh-century Mecca, today’s world was divided into these two camps: the half-believing Muslim world and the rest of the non-believing world, on whom we declared war. Where Mawdudi advocated gradual change by takeover of parliament, the military, and various arms of the modern state, Qutb declared jihad against the jahiliyyah . Where Mawdudi questioned the belief of the Muslim rulers, Qutb declared them infidels, on a par with pagans. It was the expression of these sentiments, and the ferocious advocacy of violence against the Egyptian and other Arab governments, that led to his death, and the birth of a fully formed Islamist ideology.

  Qutb was a martyr, a hero. His life and death gave us inspiration to continue with the work of changing the world, bringing Islamism to power, as he and Mawdudi had wanted.

  In the malaise of the 1960s Middle East, the confusion of conflicting ideologies, the Muslim Brotherhood had coined the popular phrase, ‘al-Islam huwa al-hall’, ‘Islam is the solution’. To ordinary Muslims this had a certain resonance. The power of Islam over its adherents is absolute and, as people who played politics with Islam, we knew how to deploy religion to manipulate the emotions of its followers.

  On my bedroom wall I had a sticker from Jamat-e-Islami which bore the following quote from Hasan al-Banna:

  Allah is Our Lord.

  Mohammed is Our Leader.

  The Koran is Our Constitution.

  Jihad is Our Way.

  Martyrdom is Our Desire.

  One day my father saw that sticker and broke out in tears. He was in no position to threaten me, but neither could he silently watch me manifest my commitment to the Islamic movement. He said to me, ‘My son, the Prophet is not our leader, he is our master, the source of our spiritual nourishment. Leaders are for political movements, which Islam is not. The Koran is his articulation, as inspired by God, not a political document. It is not a constitution, but guidance and serenity for the believing heart. How can you believe in these new definitions of everything we hold so dear? Jihad is a just war against tyranny and oppression, fought by the Prophet after persecution, not “a way”. Why do these people call for martyrdom when their sons are in the best universities across the West?’

  Then, in highly personal terms, my father spoke about the sons of leaders of the Islamist movements, almost all of whom had received a good education in Britain or another Western country. He cited Gulam Azam’s son, a graduate from Manchester University and working for Hackney Council, and others who were in business. He argued that ordinary Muslims like me were caught up in jihad and martyrdom. Factually, my father was right. Hasan al-Banna’s own offspring lived in the comfort of Switzerland. But I knew that al-Banna and Qutb had dedicated their lives for the movement; they were my examples, not Gulam Azam’s sons. That night I heard my father weep profusely and pray in a loud, pained voice to God after dawn prayers.

  At Tower Hamlets College a revolution of sorts was underway. During my first year there a group of student Islamists had come up with a novel idea for a high-profile event at the main campus in Poplar. Their advertising technique was adapted from that used by motor manufacturers when launching a new model: initially covered in a white sheet, it is slowly unveiled before a curious public. The president of the college Islamic Society at that time was a mature, sedate student who was also a member of Islamic Forum Europe. Although there were other Islamist groups at the college with whom we were in conflict (such as the despised Dawatul Islam group), we were keen to present a united front, particularly to the detested kuffar. To a large extent we achieved that objective; indeed, the presentation of a united Islamist front to the outside world continues today.

  Away from the bickering elders of the East London mosque, as time passed the YMO contingent at Tower Hamlets College worked well with our rival Islamists. Afte
r all, we shared a common ideology and veneration for Mawdudi and Qutb and we all despised traditional Islam.

  Together we worked under the religious banner of the Islamic Society, knowing full well that it was a front organization for political Islamism. We began our campaign with posters on every college notice board, classroom door, and staircase which read:

  Prophets of Islam:

  Adam

  Noah

  Abraham

  Jacob

  Joseph

  Moses

  Jesus

  Mohammed

  What is Islam?

  Within days, there were complaints from Jewish teachers and students that these were Old Testament prophets. Immediately, the seeds of conflict were sown. In an attempt to promote Islam we had offended Jews, even Christians, by claiming that their religious figures were, in fact, ours. The Islamic Society was the subject of conversation in every class. We drew back the sheet a little further each time with a series of provocative posters, all of which ended with the ‘What is Islam?’ punchline. The revelation came in our final poster, again plastered all across the college and even on lampposts in the street outside:Islam: The Final Solution

  There was uproar on campus. The entire teaching community was outraged. Time and again the principal’s assistant came to see us in the prayer hall (our gathering place) to remind us that the college was a secular institution. For most of us the word secular had no meaning. We were Muslims - full stop. Our Islam we wore proudly on our sleeves.

  Islam was the solution for all the world’s ills. As Islamists, our contention was that the world had been failed by capitalism and communism, as Qutb had so eloquently put it in Milestones. Islam’s era had now arrived. But we knew that it would not come to pass peacefully.

  Our teachers pointed out that Adolf Hitler had made exactly the same claim as a prelude to murdering 6 million people, mostly Jewish, in the Holocaust. In our minds, that was coincidental. We failed to comprehend the totalitarian nature of what we were promoting. Besides, deep down, we never really objected to the Holocaust. Indeed, in the prayer room we were convinced that the college principal, Annette Zera, as well as several other members of the management, were Zionist agents. Without question we despised Jews and perceived a Jewish conspiracy against our nascent Islamic Society.

  Our student event, billed as the largest in college history, was a phenomenal success. The main dining hall was filled with students and teachers who sat and listened to Imam Murad Deen, an American whose powerful presentations were a regular feature at Speakers’ Corner in Hyde Park on Sunday afternoons. To avoid hecklers, we announced that any questions would have to be written. A mature student, the president of the Student Union, walked to the stage from the back of the hall and handed the imam a piece of paper.

  Before the student had returned to his seat the imam had read the questions and shouted, ‘I knew you were a faggot by the way you walked up here!’

  Laughter broke out among the students, then jeering and hissing, and finally a heated argument between the imam and the gay student, whose question, we discovered, had concerned homosexuality and Islam. The event descended into chaos.

  The following week the management committee went to great lengths to drum into the Muslim students at college that homophobia, a new word for us, would not be tolerated. Homophobia and sexism, just like racism, were disciplinary offences. We, however, failed to understand that the secular liberal ideals that allowed Muslims to congregate at college in Britain were the very same ideals that tolerated homosexuality. It was secularism that allowed Muslims to build mosques, worship freely, and live in harmony - not Christianity. But my appreciation of secularism came only later in life; for now, we had Jews and gays to battle.

  In the prayer room, we suspected that the college management was dominated not only by Jews, but by homosexuals too. How else could they possibly reprimand us and condemn our imam for standing up to homosexuality? So now we were convinced that there was a gay-Jewish conspiracy to undermine our efforts.

  Among the students, however, we were hugely admired. They thought the speaker, his American accent and direct mannerisms, were cool. In accordance with Islamist rigidity, I was convinced that the imam was right to say that faggots would go to hell. After all, what was Sodom and Gomorrah all about?

  In classes, our politically correct teachers tried to imbue us with lessons in tolerance and plurality. My response, without hesitation, was ‘God created Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve’, which fellow students always applauded.

  As Islamic Society president I had a ten-member committee, which met once a week, planned events, and then critically evaluated the successes and failures of every gathering. I chaired the meetings, minutes were taken, and decisions were acted upon. We ran the Islamic Society like a military operation: we had a chain of command and a clear vision of where we were headed. Last year’s successful campaign was still in the air and we were determined to build upon it. I was now promoting Islamism every day, at college, in my private life, and in public with the YMO.

  However, there was more to it this time round. Before the term started, the then president of the YMO, Habibur Rahman, an IT lecturer at CityPoly, had gone to great lengths to arrange a two-hour meeting with me. I had no idea why. We sat at the large meeting room in East London mosque and he asked, ‘How is your daily routine sheet?’

  ‘It could be better,’ I replied. ‘You know, my parents still aren’t altogether happy with me, so I have difficulties helping out in office hours, or praying at mosques, or attending the taleemi jalsa.’

  ‘How long do you envisage this situation will continue?’ he asked.

  ‘My father has eased up since I went back home, but now I feel as though I should try, at least, to maintain some peace there.’

  ‘OK. I understand your parents have problems with the Islamist movement, but where do you see yourself in, say, ten years’ time? Do you still think you’ll have problems at home?’

  ‘Hopefully, by then, my parents will have overcome their fears. You know, my parents are planning to move out of Tower Hamlets very soon, mainly to get me away from this mosque, though I’ll continue to travel here anyway. But honestly, in the long run, let us pray that my parents relax more.’

  ‘How are your studies?’ he asked. I was both intrigued and flattered by his interest. To get so much attention from the leader of YMO was an honour for me; he was a busy person, with nearly a hundred young, committed men at his command.

  ‘Not bad,’ I replied.

  ‘And how is college life?’

  ‘Well, as you know, we held that talk last year. This year we’re hoping to hold more such events. Introduce Islam to the students, do more da’wah work.’

  Da’wah was an Arabic word I had learnt while I was at YMO. The Islamist equivalent of evangelism, it literally means ‘invitation’, a call to Islam. I remember Grandpa was always against da’wah to Muslims, the primary work of the Islamist movement. He always asked how we could call to Islam those who already believed. Yes, Muslims may need reminders of their sense of duty to God, like believers of any religion, but da’wah was not a term I heard used among Grandpa’s community of moderate Muslims. In YMO, however, da’wah was key. We organized everything, from tournaments to camps, for da’wah. Our events at college were da’wah, calling students to Islam, or rather Islamism.

  The Islamic Society at college was an avenue for us to carry out more da’wah work. We never stopped to ask how we could possibly be doing da’wah in a college that was predominantly Muslim. And if it was our non-Muslim teachers we sought to convert, then presenting Islam as the ‘final solution’ was hardly the best way to do it. No, in our context da’wah really meant getting people to join YMO or Islamic Forum Europe, become part of the Islamist movement or at least support it. I, as Habibur Rahman pointed out, had lost sight of this aim, seeking only to ensure that Islamism was the dominant force at college. The YMO president wanted more.

 
; ‘And how do you anticipate the da’wah will be this year?’ he asked.

  ‘We have a strong Islamic Society committee. Inshallah, most of the brothers are members of YMO, though we have three who are from other groups. But as president I call the shots, approve the speakers and events.’

  ‘OK. You organize events, create a stir, and then what?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked, genuinely confused.

  ‘You are a member of YMO. What is the connection between the work you will do at Tower Hamlets College and YMO?’

  Now I got it. Or so I thought.

  ‘To be frank, it is because of the training I got at YMO that I am able to manage the Islamic Society. Organizing events was something I learnt from my involvement with YMO. And most of the Islamic Society’s committee members are from YMO. So I suppose that link is there.’

  He gave me a wry smile. I still had not understood what he meant.

  ‘I appreciate that,’ he said. ‘And we from outside the college are happy to support the da’wah in whatever capacity. But there needs to be a clearer aim for YMO workers like those of you who are leading the Islamic Society at college. All those young people who attend your events, what happens to them afterwards? Yes, you create an interest in Islam, hopefully in the Islamist movement, and then where do they go? Do you see what I mean . . . ?’