by Aimen Dean
Six months before the embassy bombings, bin Laden had issued the now famous fatwah against the ‘Jews and the Crusaders’ in which he called for Muslims to kill American soldiers and civilians wherever they could find them. I had not taken him literally; perhaps American military personnel in Saudi Arabia would be targeted. But huge truck bombs 2,000 miles from Mecca and Medina? Were we going to fight the Americans in Africa to try to expel them from the Arabian Peninsula? Was this now a global campaign where any civilian – a woman and child on a beach, an elderly couple at an archaeological site – was a legitimate target? And were casualties among locals now acceptable collateral damage, really the ‘cost of doing business’?
There was certainly historical and religious justification for offensive jihad. It was usually carried out against what the Muslim leadership of the time perceived to be a threat to the community, the Ummah. The Persian and Byzantine empires had constituted such threats. Had Muslim communities not taken desperate steps against both these empires, they would have been subdued or exterminated. Pre-emptive action to prevent defeat was entirely permissible. But such action had traditionally been the prerogative of the Caliph.*
In Bosnia, Abu Ayoub Shamrani had preached to us that in the absence of a Caliph a Vanguard of mujahideen could wage a new form of jihad to spread Islam around the world. Eventually, Abu Hamza al-Ghamdi – in his guileful, charming way – had convinced me that Osama bin Laden was leading such a Vanguard. I had pledged allegiance to follow his orders so long as these did not disobey God. But in killing innocents in Africa was bin Laden disobeying God? This terrorist spectacular risked provoking an American response which would bring suffering to millions of Muslims and destabilize the Muslim world.
My unease grew when I spoke to Sheikh al-Muhajir himself. He was one of several figures who were highly influential inside al-Qaeda but known by very few beyond it. Years later he would collect his teachings in a book on the dogma of jihad which would make a deep impression on the founders of the Islamic State.
I caught up with al-Muhajir after Friday prayers and asked him if he had a few minutes. He probably imagined that I was coming to ask him for advice or flatter him about his sermon. I intended neither. Instead, as we sat on the carpet of his book-lined study, I had a few questions. I was careful not to express any doubts about the embassy attacks.
‘Sheikh,’ I said, ‘how do we respond to criticism that we have killed innocent civilians while attacking the Crusaders?’
Al-Muhajir smiled. It was an invitation to show off his great erudition. He launched into a detailed description of the Mongol invasions of Muslim lands in the thirteenth century. The scholar Ibn Taymiyyah had issued a fatwah that clearly legitimized the deaths of Muslims and non-Muslims alike where the enemy is using them as a human shield.
‘This fatwah is comprehensive; it gives us justification,’ he said firmly.
Al-Muhajir probably assumed I would go away reassured and impressed. I didn’t. Instead I took advantage of a long-planned trip to the villa which served as al-Qaeda’s guest house in Kabul to consult its well stocked library of Islamic texts. I sought out the fatwah – in the twenty-eighth volume of a thirty-seven-volume encyclopaedia – and found that it had no relevance whatsoever.
It had been issued in response to Mongol attacks on Muslim cities in Central Asia. Every time the Mongols sacked a city, they took civilians – sometimes as many as a couple of thousand – and forced them to push siege towers towards the walls of the next city. The fatwah said the defenders of a city were permitted to kill Muslims being used as human shields – because otherwise they and their families would end up being killed, and the Mongols would go on conquering more Muslim cities.
But the fatwah (known as al-Tatarus) had been proclaimed in very specific circumstances.*
To me, there was no resemblance or parallel between Muslims being used as human shields by Mongol armies and the attacks in East Africa. Al-Muhajir’s precedent was a castle of sand. Were al-Qaeda’s other theological justifications, including its interpretation of the prophecies, built on equally shaky foundations? Was al-Qaeda really the Vanguard that would fight with the Mahdi or was it set on a path that future generations of Muslims would reject rather than celebrate?
As I stared at the dusty volumes spread around me, I felt a nauseating knot of doubt. In Bosnia I had worn a military uniform with the insignia of the Bosnian army and had passionately believed I was serving my religion. Despite my reservations, Abu Hamza al-Ghamdi had persuaded me that al-Qaeda offered the truest path to serve Islam in a looming clash of civilizations. But within months of pledging allegiance to bin Laden, I was beginning to feel that al-Qaeda might actually be harming our faith by offering specious justifications for abhorrent behaviour. If that was the direction the jihadi movement was shifting, how could I be a part of it? How could I continue to teach young Yemenis and other gullible recruits that religious texts and prophecies justified a global jihad that included the maiming and murdering of innocents? If this new definition of jihad did not offer a path to paradise, then it offered no path at all.
Feeling dazed, I wandered out onto the street. I had an appointment to meet one of the most eminent jihadis in Afghanistan. I had longed to meet Abu Musab al-Suri3 ever since reading his book The Syrian Experience while recuperating from typhoid and malaria. In over 900 pages the Aleppo-born jihadi had forensically examined the reasons for the outbreak and failure of the jihadi uprising in the city of Hama in 1982, which had been brutally put down by Bashar al-Assad’s father, Hafez.
Al-Suri had joined the uprising before being forced to flee the country. He argued that its failure to reach out to different factions to create a broad and unified rebel movement and mobilize the wider population had been fatal. The book helped establish him as one of the most brilliant jihadi strategists of his generation, and years later greatly influenced jihadis trying to overthrow Bashar al-Assad.*
Al-Suri had a volatile relationship with Osama bin Laden. He joined al-Qaeda soon after it was founded but their paths had diverged after bin Laden decamped to Sudan in the early 1990s. In 1997 he had escorted CNN journalists to interview al-Qaeda’s leader.4 Soon afterwards he moved to Kabul where he built strong relations with the Taliban, whose ‘emirate’ he viewed as paramount to the future of the jihadi movement.
Over time al-Suri had become exasperated with bin Laden’s provocative media statements, especially as the Taliban, faced with growing international pressure, had asked him to stop grandstanding.* Unsurprisingly, Abu Hamza al-Ghamdi had looked less than pleased when I asked for permission to meet al-Suri. I assured him, looking hurt, that I had no intention of breaking my bayat to bin Laden.
‘Good,’ he replied, and then with a twinkle in his eye added, ‘let us know what he’s up to.’
Informing on al-Suri to al-Qaeda was the last thing on my mind as I approached his villa in the Wazarak Khan neighbourhood. I hoped that if anybody had the answers to my doubts about the path al-Qaeda appeared to be taking it would be him.
I was immediately taken aback by his red hair, pale complexion and intense green eyes, a genetic legacy of the conquest of northern Syria by the Normans during the First Crusade. He escorted me to his study, shooing away his four young children so that we could speak.
And speak we did, for hours. Al-Ghamdi had been right to be suspicious. Al-Suri was looking for recruits and seemed impressed with my grasp of history and theology.
‘You know, Abu al-Abbas, you’re the first jihadi under twenty I’ve met in Afghanistan who has even heard of the Cuban Missile Crisis. I want to start teaching recruits here soon and I could do with your help.’
‘But I have pledged bayat to the Sheikh,’ I answered feebly, suddenly feeling like the customer who realizes he’s been fooled into buying faulty goods. He rolled his eyes and I wondered if I heard him muttering ‘the Sheikh’ under his breath.
Al-Suri was by far the most interesting thinker I met during all my time as a jihadi.
He had little time for Salafis, whom he accused of inflexible dogmatism. Instead he peppered his remarks with references to Che Guevara and Fidel Castro, from whom he said the mujahideen had much to learn.
‘They built a broad coalition and waged a brilliant propaganda campaign to win the support of the masses. That was the key to the Cuban revolution. Overthrowing regimes requires strength in numbers.’
Until then his tone had been professorial. Suddenly he raised his voice. ‘What we need, Abu al-Abbas, is to rouse the believers! Only then can we drive the Americans from our land and oust the regimes they imposed on us! Only then can we exterminate from this earth Assad, Mubarak and the corrupt imposters of the so-called House of Saud.’
I was taken aback at his eruption of anger towards the rulers of the Arab world. Al-Suri had a brilliant mind but also a taste for revenge and violence. It made him both captivating and frightening – and potentially more dangerous than bin Laden. After the devastation in East Africa, bloodshed back home was literally the last thing I wanted. It was one thing to target Americans, but I remained deeply uncomfortable with the idea of fighting our own rulers and dividing the population, especially in Saudi Arabia.
‘What do you think will be the impact of embassy bombings?’ I asked, anxious to change the subject.
He did not mince his words. ‘Bin Laden is an idiot. I’m all for killing Americans but we need to build up our capabilities first. Bombing their embassies in Africa is not going to make a blind bit of difference at this point. You might as well go to fight them in Argentina.’
The trauma of Hama was still very real for al-Suri.
‘Do they think the dictators and their American backers with their armies and their charming security services are going to suddenly wave the white flag of surrender? You can’t launch a few attacks and hope the spirit of jihad will trickle down to the masses. You need to be on the ground, mobilizing every last Muslim for a rebellion from below.’
Al-Suri’s strategy was not to carry out sporadic attacks worldwide, which seemed the direction in which al-Qaeda was going, but to mobilize worldwide. ‘We need to start exploiting the Internet! We need to trigger a global jihadi intifada,’ he said.
By now he was on his feet, pacing across the room. And his views were unvarnished.
‘What makes bin Laden worse than an idiot is that he carried out these attacks with absolutely no permission from the Taliban. They told me that themselves. He’s put the Islamic emirate here in jeopardy and he knows it. That’s why he’s not claimed responsibility.*
‘The Islamic emirate of Afghanistan is the biggest success story in the entire history of the jihadi movement, but now this provincial from Hadramaut** who fancies himself as the next Caliph risks sabotaging the base we need to build up our strength. Now, the Americans will pressure the Pakistanis to put the squeeze on us. They might even intervene against the Taliban militarily.’
I sat back against the cushions, drained and deflated. Hearing a jihadi I held in such high regard denigrate bin Laden and speak so eagerly of exterminating the rulers of the Arab world made me feel lost.
The ideological edifice of my jihad was tottering like a house of cards. Earlier that day I had concluded that al-Qaeda’s theological justification for the Nairobi attack was at best flawed, at worst fraudulent. Perhaps, even then, I could have justified the bombings as a means to an end. Now I was being told the strategic rationale was flawed, too. If the strategy and tactics had been mistaken but the theology sound, then maybe I could have accepted the attack. But if both the theology and the strategy were flawed, how could there be any justification at all?
My soul-searching was interrupted on 20 August. I was at Camp Faruq, using the latrines on the edge of the camp. It was about 10:00 p.m. The sky was suddenly illuminated by what seemed to be magnesium flares, descending rapidly towards me. Within seconds there was a series of detonations that shook the entire hillside. Balls of fire erupted, and pungent clouds of smoke and dust enveloped the whole camp. Those few moments of privacy in the latrines probably saved my life. I ran back up the hill to see fires sprouting across the camp and fighters screaming in pain from horrendous injuries. A companion in my tent was severely injured.
The United States had fired back, declaring Operation Infinite Reach as retaliation for the embassy attacks.* Altogether some two-dozen people, including Arab and Pakistani fighters, were killed in the cruise missile attack on Camp Faruq and nearby facilities.
Fearing further attacks, and possibly a commando raid on the camps, al-Qaeda moved dozens of fighters, including me, to safe houses in Jalalabad.
After the initial shock, I noticed a hardening of resolve among al-Qaeda leaders and fighters alike. America had been dragged into a war, but its cowardice meant that it would only use missiles against us. It had confirmed al-Qaeda as the Vanguard of jihad, brave enough to take on the most powerful country on earth. But in my mind that bestowed on al-Qaeda even greater responsibility to be sure that its path was legitimate.
Spinning my wheels in Jalalabad, I visited Abu Khabab at his house at the university compound. Staying with him was the quiet British citizen of Egyptian background I had encountered in Gipsy Hill in London. Safwat** had swapped his fine suit for flowing robes to become a ‘mature’ student of Abu Khabab’s.
Over the next few days he revealed to me that he had married and separated from an upper-class Englishwoman in London, with whom he had a daughter. He never made clear to me the reason he had so late in life suddenly decided to come to Afghanistan, but perhaps it was the problems in his personal life. I found him to be the essential geek, always working on formulae for explosives and devices.
When Safwat heard I was travelling to Peshawar (to replace reading glasses which had been incinerated in the cruise missile strike) he asked me to deliver something. Worried the Americans might hit Darunta, he had created an almanac of Abu Khabab’s research on two floppy disks: hundreds of pages of computer-typed documents as well as scans of handwritten notes and diagrams.
‘If something happens to us then this knowledge needs to be preserved,’ Safwat said, pressing the disks into my hands. ‘Take care of them,’ he said, his sad, drooping eyes beseeching me.
My instructions were to leave the disks with an American Jordanian called Khalil bin Saeed al-Deek, who had a guest house in Peshawar.* I couldn’t help thinking that if Western intelligence really wanted to go after al-Qaeda, they should spend more time wandering the streets of Peshawar than firing missiles at Afghan hillsides.
An IT expert and sometime resident of California, Deek had set up a website for al-Qaeda in 1997 and a sham charity to search out recruits. I had first met him at Darunta in 1996; he was just about to start at Abu Khabab’s embryonic camp and had raised money for the Egyptian bomb-maker.
I arrived in Peshawar in a dark mood, still wrestling with the implications of al-Qaeda’s new strategy. I looked at the disks Safwat had given me, realizing that the information they contained might one day give al-Qaeda terrifying destructive power. I also felt that I was responsible for much of that information, having worked closely with Abu Khabab.
I passed an Internet café in a busy commercial street and almost involuntarily stopped. Without thinking through the consequences, I instinctively went in and asked for copies of the disks. I assumed that the shopkeeper could neither speak nor read Arabic.
Why did I do it? Twenty years later, I still can’t say for sure. Was I already subconsciously hatching a plan to alert the wider world, somehow, to al-Qaeda’s plans? Probably not – but I did want to preserve the knowledge I had helped generate. After all the long hours in Darunta, that information was – in a sense – part of me. What I could not appreciate at the time was that for the princely sum of $20 I had bought my passage to another life.
I hid the copies deep in my rucksack and proceeded to Deek’s house, where I dutifully handed over the disks with a brief explanation. Deek was, to put it mildly, extremely interested.
One evening at his home, my dinner companions included Ibn Sheikh al-Libi, head of the Khalden training camp, and none other than Khalid Sheikh Mohammed.*
While he had not yet sworn an oath of allegiance to bin Laden, KSM was now working closely with al-Qaeda.
‘I had heard you joined our ranks. I’m glad you took my advice brother,’ he said with a smile, embracing me.
I attempted a smile in return. It didn’t seem the right moment to announce I was increasingly wracked with doubts. He was ebullient about the embassy attacks.
‘Jihad has come of age. The attacks in Africa have energized the whole Muslim world and there is widespread fury over the missile strikes. We have more recruits joining than ever before. Nairobi and Dar es Salaam was just the opening salvo, Insha’allah.’
Deek chimed in, ‘The only thing the Americans understand is force.’
I chose my words carefully.
‘But are we ready for the consequences? Think of all the charities that work among Muslim communities. And think of anyone who carries an Arab passport. It’s alright for those with US passports. I’m a Bahraini.’
There was an awkward silence, before KSM fixed me with a gaze that said you are but an apprentice.
‘As I said, jihad has come of age. The Ummah must be ready for suffering,’ he said firmly.
In an effort to ease the tension, al-Libi took me to one side.
‘I probably shouldn’t tell you this,’ he said, ‘but the embassy attacks were meant to take place two years ago.’*
They had been postponed, al-Libi said, after one of bin Laden’s top aides, an Egyptian called Abu Ubaidah al-Banshiri, had drowned in a ferry accident on Lake Victoria in May 1996. He was carrying plans for the attack.9 Random moments where fate intervenes, I thought, can change an awful lot.
