Objective Troy

by Scott Shane

  The Koran alone did not occupy him entirely over the long days and nights. He requested Islamic books, but “a particularly mean Prison Head” turned him down. So he asked his family for English books. They were selected by his mother, Saleha, who had come from a humble tribal background (her husband once called her “a Bedouin from Shabwah,” the Awlakis’ territory in southern Yemen), had earned a high school equivalency certificate in the United States, and had ultimately received a degree in English literature from Sanaa University, to the lasting pride of Nasser al-Awlaki and the entire family. She chose novels by Charles Dickens and Thomas Hardy, which held considerable appeal for Anwar, and plays by Shakespeare, which decidedly did not (“Shakespeare was the worst thing I read during my entire stay in prison”). At Anwar’s request, Nasser included the copy of Moby-Dick that an American colleague had given him in the United States when Anwar was six, saying that he should read it when he was older. He was not especially impressed with Herman Melville’s epic but remarked, “In jail, anything is good,” even the Yemeni government newspapers he usually scorned.

  In recounting his reading, Awlaki provided a disclaimer in keeping with his conservative Salafi principles: “Now, I want to stress that I do not encourage any serious Muslim brother or sister to waste time with novels.” He suggested, not especially convincingly, that his real reason for reading the English literature was to refresh his language skills. And he made exceptions for Orwell’s Animal Farm and 1984, which he thought offered insight into “how the West is treating Muslims today,” and for David Attenborough’s Life on Air, a memoir by the British naturalist and broadcaster. In an aside that is a reminder of the kinship between fundamentalist Muslims and fundamentalist Christians, Awlaki added: “I was disappointed to find out that such a person, one who has firsthand knowledge and experience with some of the most amazing signs of Allah, is a person who believes in evolution and shows no signs of believing in a creator.”

  Awlaki eventually got access to Islamic books, despite the initial ban, and immersed himself in them. He pored over the works of Ibn Taymiyyah, a deeply conservative Islamic scholar who even in the fourteenth century had called for Islam to return to its authentic roots. He had been imprisoned for his views and died in prison, perhaps lending his story greater resonance for the imprisoned Awlaki. But apart from the Koran, the books that won his most outspoken praise were those of Sayyid Qutb, the Egyptian leader of the Muslim Brotherhood whose imprisonment in 1966, followed by his execution, again gave Awlaki a tacit connection. Qutb, whose ruminations on the fleshly temptations of American life were so memorable, wrote massive books that included his detailed thirty-volume commentary on the Koran and his blistering critiques of modern Muslim states, whose leaders he believed should be overthrown to make way for genuinely Islamic rule. “Because of the flowing style of Sayyid I would read between 100–150 pages a day,” Awlaki wrote. “In fact I would read until my eyes got tired,” eventually covering his weaker left eye and continuing with his right eye until it “just shut down.” Awlaki was swept away by Qutb, widely considered the father of modern radical Islamism. “I would be so immersed with the author I would feel that Sayyid was with me in my cell speaking to me directly,” he wrote. “So even though I was in solitary confinement I was never alone.” The young American imam, once known for his friendly and outgoing approach to his diverse congregations and to his neighbors, now was closeted with a single intellectual companion, one who had preached a bitter and exclusive faith.

  By the testimony of a somewhat worshipful Al Qaeda member who knew Awlaki and was imprisoned at the same time, he projected calm and dignity, as if to show that the machinations of his enemies could not disturb his sense of spiritual contentment. The fellow prisoner, Harith al-Nadari, described his friend as even “more steadfast” than before his arrest, showing no “distress or boredom.” “He was the same man I knew from before. A man with a kind smile,” Nadari recounted, a “tranquil self that is confident in Allah and His decree.” Other prisoners backed down from their radical views in order to earn better treatment, Nadari wrote later. “He refused to soften his position when others did through taking the excuse of being under coercion,” and thus the prison authorities left him in solitary confinement. Even allowing for exaggeration by the admiring Nadari, the portrait of Awlaki’s self-conscious cultivation of the image of a principled religious leader with unshakable convictions is quite convincing. He had long lectured on the Salaf, the ancestors, and now, it seemed, he was emulating the great figures from the days of the Prophet. “In the seclusion room, he divided his time between worship and reading,” Nadari recalled. “That allowed him to sail in a sea of folders of Tafseer and jurisprudence, fatwa and history”—in other words, commentary on the Koran; writings on Islamic law; Islamic rulings; and the early history of Islam that he had taught for so long.

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  As Awlaki reveled in his uninterrupted reading time, his father and uncle lobbied feverishly for his release from prison. They made an extraordinary team: the former agriculture minister, who had been appointed by President Saleh, and the wealthy businessman and tribal leader. Both had been distressed by what they saw as Anwar’s drift into radicalism and his failure to find success in a secular career, but they knew of nothing he had done to justify his arrest. They met multiple times with President Saleh and his intelligence director, General Ghaleb al-Qamish, who assured them—with whatever degree of sincerity—that Anwar was imprisoned without charges only because of unbearable pressure from the Americans. Their repeated access to the president and his powerful security chief, who had been in office together for nearly three decades, attested to the clout and reputation of the family. At different times, they spoke also with the Saudi Prince Bandar bin Sultan, who had served as ambassador to the United States until 2005, and Abdulwahab al-Hajjri, Yemen’s ambassador to Washington for many years. But for months Yemeni officials were polite but unmoved.

  “At the beginning they said, ‘Oh, we want to keep him for a while and then we will tell you,’ ” Bin Fareed said. “They never gave us any reason at the beginning, but they said, ‘You can be sure he’s in a safe place, a nice place.’ ” When Bin Fareed went to see Qamish, the general assured him “we have nothing against him at all” and flattered the uncle by praising the nephew, whom he portrayed as a brilliant thinker and teacher. “We sit with him, we talked and we thought we would change his thinking, what he believes,” Bin Fareed recalled Qamish telling him. “And we do not find anything wrong with this young man except he’s a religious leader. And instead of us educating him, he was educating us. And we became very influenced by him.” Still, Qamish directed him to President Saleh for an explanation of why he could not be released. The president told Bin Fareed, “ ‘Be cool, don’t worry, don’t be angry. He’s our son, the same as he’s your son, and he’s well looked after.’ ” Eventually, after months of this runaround, Qamish acknowledged that he had a thick file of correspondence with American officials about Awlaki and that they insisted he stay in prison. Qamish said Yemeni officials had repeatedly asked the United States for solid evidence against Awlaki supporting his involvement in terrorism or other crimes “so we can take him to the court. And they kept telling us tomorrow, after tomorrow—but till today they have not given us anything, not even a single paper.”

  The US-Yemeni correspondence remains classified, and it is hard to be certain how serious the demand from Washington was to keep Awlaki locked up after Negroponte’s initial green light. Yemeni authorities had, of course, kept Awlaki under surveillance long before his arrest, and American pressure was a handy excuse for the Saleh administration in many instances. But the American track record for brushing aside concerns about rights and erring on the side of security was well established by 2006. Believing that the United States was the problem, Nasser al-Awlaki persuaded his son to talk to two FBI agents, who visited for two days in mid-2007, about a year after his arrest. They asked him mainly about the 9/11
hijackers, according to his father, evidently trying to complete the investigation that the 9/11 Commission had felt was superficial and inconclusive. Certainly at this point there is no evidence that US officials had any basis to charge Awlaki with a crime. He was talking about jihad, but that was not illegal. It was unlikely that they had more evidence than the Yemenis on his involvement in the alleged oil attacks or Somali arms shipments—if he was, in fact, involved. And Yemeni authorities had not charged him.

  By Awlaki’s account, his exchanges with the visiting FBI agents were testy but largely respectful. He later boasted to Harith al-Nadari, his fellow prisoner, that he had taken charge of the interview, acting the role of the sheikh. “He entered the office…like a boss,” Nadari recounted later. “He chose to sit on the most appropriate seat, ate from the fruits prepared by the Yemenis to host the Americans and poured a cup of tea for himself.” Awlaki told Nadari that the FBI agents were determined “to find any tiny violation that would permit them to prosecute him back in an American court. It was an interrogation, he said. Nevertheless, they didn’t find what they were searching after and they returned frustrated.” In an account he gave to a British supporter shortly after his release, Awlaki spoke somewhat mysteriously of the prison interview with the FBI. “There was some pressure, which I refused to accept, and that led to a conflict that occurred between me and them, because I felt that it was improper behavior from their behalf,” Awlaki recounted. “That was solved, however, later on, and they apologized.” It is conceivable that the agents pressured Awlaki to inform on Americans or Yemenis suspected of militancy and that he rejected the request. But whatever was said, it did not lead to Awlaki’s release or to criminal charges. The limbo continued.

  Inside the Bush administration there was an intermittent debate about Awlaki’s fate, and some officials, including the FBI director, Robert Mueller, expressed uneasiness that an American citizen was being incarcerated indefinitely without charges and with American connivance. Some American officials believe a green light eventually came from Washington for Awlaki’s release. But by the account of Awlaki’s father and uncle, the release occurred shortly after they met again with President Saleh at the president’s Aden residence. Bin Fareed told Saleh, “If you have any evidence against him, you take him to the court and we will never ever object.” In fact, he said, “If anything proves that he’s got anything to do with anything, with terrorism, we don’t mind if you execute him the next day. Or, as he’s a US citizen, if the United States has anything to prove against him, we don’t mind if you deport him and send him to the States to court.” According to Bin Fareed, President Saleh laughed and said again that he had repeatedly pressed the Americans for any evidence against Awlaki. After promising and then failing to deliver such evidence, the president said, the Americans gave him a more candid account of their concern. Saleh said the American officials’ real worry was that Awlaki was “a very well known personality and very influential religious man in the United States” and that “when he gives a speech, thousands and thousands of people will listen to him.” In view of that potent influence, Saleh said, the Americans told him that “we think that it will be good for him and good for us and Yemen to keep him in jail—in prison—for a few years until people forget about him.”

  Again, it is impossible to say for sure whether any American official actually made such a statement or whether it was a product of President Saleh’s fertile imagination. But Bin Fareed said that he and Nasser al-Awlaki did believe that Anwar was a pawn in a game Saleh was playing with American authorities, whom the Yemeni president ceaselessly courted for counterterrorism aid. So they pressed Saleh, suggesting that he should not knuckle under to the American pressure, and eventually Saleh suggested that Anwar might be released if someone would guarantee that he would stay out of trouble. At first Saleh proposed that Bin Fareed give the guarantee himself. But then he realized that he would have a hard time pressuring a tribal leader if things went wrong and asked that they arrange for such a guarantee from a Yemeni businessman instead. Before they could recruit a businessman, however, the mercurial president changed his mind again. “He said, ‘Don’t worry, I will allow him out without anyone signing for him, because I take your word and I have nothing against Anwar.’ ” He was indeed released after a week or so in mid-December.

  Word reached Washington on December 19, 2007, that an American citizen, whose government had connived in his imprisonment without charges, was free: “AmCit Terror Suspect Released from Yemeni Custody,” the cable from the American embassy in Sanaa announced. By then, American officials, evidently worried that Awlaki might try to return to the United States, were already at work on a criminal case against him. Heavily redacted e-mail exchanges released by the FBI do not make clear the nature of the charges under consideration; the statute of limitations on any prostitution charge would probably have expired, and charging Awlaki for his generic and historical praise for jihad seemed like a stretch. But a criminal complaint of some sort was drafted, apparently with a double purpose: deterring Awlaki’s return to the United States and, if he did return, giving authorities at least a chance to arrest and question him. “It would buy us a couple of weeks and HQ wants to pursue it as an option,” wrote one counterterrorism agent. The agent said Yemeni authorities had been asked to inform Awlaki that if he returned to the United States he “faces potential criminal exposure.” In the end, however, the plan was dropped. On December 31, an FBI official wrote to colleagues: “I think that collectively we have decided not to go forward with a criminal case. First this is an extremely weak criminal case. Second, we are not inclined to bring charges against someone with the whole plan that we would dismiss the case if and when he was arrested.” It was at least the third time federal law enforcement officials had considered charging Awlaki with a crime, following the floating of prostitution and then passport fraud cases in 2002. Each time they had decided not to proceed.

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  Well read and well rested, and with no plans to travel to the United States, Awlaki resumed his habitual frenzy of activity. Morten Storm, his Danish acolyte, saw him a week after his release and found him pale and thin, hardened in his views and paranoid about spies. Less than two weeks after his release, on December 31, 2007, the day the FBI was giving up on the idea of charging him, Awlaki gave a long-distance interview to an enthralled Moazzam Begg, the founder of Cageprisoners, which had lobbied for his release. A British Muslim activist who had been held for three years by the United States in Afghanistan and at Guantanamo Bay, Begg sought in his questions to draw a parallel between his imprisonment and Awlaki’s, and they agreed on the comfort of the Koran while behind bars.

  By February of 2008, Awlaki had registered a website, www.anwar-alawlaki.com. On May 31, 2008, he thanked the unnamed “brothers who are behind the idea of this website” and who set it up for him. He reveled in the new reach it gave him, exceeding even the tens of thousands of CDs he had sold. “In the old times it used to take a few days to travel, for example, from Makkah,” or Mecca, “to Medina which are only 450km apart. Now we can communicate all over the globe within seconds; text, audio and video, all within seconds. So I would like to tell all of the brothers out there whom I personally know and whom I spent memorable time with: Assalamu alaykum and insha Allah I will never forget you. And to those whom I grew to know through these modern means of communication but the circumstances have separated me from meeting them, nevertheless, I still feel a bond with them and I love them for the sake of Allah because they have chosen to follow Islam.”

  A few days later an American fan wrote: “Imam Anwar, Do you plan on coming back to VA to visit your old community? Or to attend conventions in the US?” Awlaki answered: “I do not intend at the moment on visiting the US. So please convey my salaams to my brothers and sisters in VA.” He began to post some of the lectures that had made his reputation, comment on current events on his blog, and hear from admirers via his “Contact the Sheikh” page. In Jun
e he wrote the first of many posts telling the story of his imprisonment and his reading while incarcerated.

  Theo Padnos, the American writer who spent months among the questing young Muslims who had come to Yemen from all over the world, described the powerful effect of prison on Awlaki’s appeal. “This prison spell was a gift from Allah, and bound Awlaki much more tightly to his fans,” Padnos explained. “The battle he now fought purified his soul, and opened up to him the mysteries of the sacred writings. His ordeal, as several of his fans pointed out on the website, never threatened his faith in God; it brought him inner strength. This is the experience of which these young Muslims in the West dream. To have had it is the truest Islamic credential in today’s world.”

  But even as Awlaki was reaching out to his fans with new authority, Yemeni security officials would not leave him alone. “After he was allowed out, from the first minute he was out, he told me several times, ‘I do not feel safe and I am not free,’ ” said Bin Fareed, who had done so much to get him out of prison. Anwar told him, “They count my breathing, and wherever I go, two people will always follow me. If I go to the mosque, they are right and left of me. If I jump in a taxi, they will be following me in another car. If I go to eat in a restaurant or if I have a cup of tea in a coffee shop, they will be around me. If I go and see a friend they will be following me.” Fed up with the scrutiny—and possibly with other motives as well—Awlaki decided to leave the capital and move south to his family’s tribal territory of Shabwah province. First he moved to the provincial capital, Al Ataq. Then he moved to his grandfather’s empty house in the family’s village, Al Saeed, a mud-brick hamlet of about one hundred people. By the account of his uncle, who had a big house in the village and saw him regularly, Anwar split his time between his new home and the village mosque, where he preached, led prayers, and became a sort of problem-solving authority. “He’d sit most of his time in the mosque. People would ask him questions—people would have family problems, children problems, and they would ask him, and he would advise them what to do,” Bin Fareed said. Somehow, from this backwater, he managed to get Internet access, and he kept posting on his blog every week or two, often taking a militant stance.