by Ed Husain
At the end of term a group of Saudi and Yemeni students asked me if I would miss Jeddah when I left the following week.
‘No,’ I said frankly, ‘I am afraid I won’t.’
A young student of about sixteen replied, ‘Yes, Teacher. You will not miss Jeddah or Saudi Arabia. We don’t have enough Islam here. We need more Islam.’
What on earth is he babbling about? I thought.
‘In Saudi Arabia we only have 70 per cent Islam. In Afghanistan, under the Taliban, they had 100 per cent Islam. Very good, Teacher. Very good. No problems in Afghanistan with Taliban. We need more Islam.’
Where he found such statistics on levels of extremism I know not, but one thing was clear: the fanatics had taught him that there was not ‘enough Islam’ in Saudi Arabia, despite all the loss, mayhem, perversion and hypocrisy that ‘70 per cent’ had created there.
At this point another student announced proudly to me, ‘My friend went to Iraq for jihad, Teacher. He went to Baghdad.’ Miming an embrace, he continued, ‘My friend held an American car and he died a shaheed, a martyr. We need more martyrs for more Islam.’
They had been brainwashed so effectively by the Saudi religious authorities that they now saw themselves as friends of martyrs, not murderers. They were keen to continue the tradition.
The first student piped up again: ‘Teacher, in Iraq we have two cities where we have 100 per cent Islam. Life is perfect!’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, Haditha and Qaimah,’ he said with pride. ‘There, there are no American soldiers. One day, all of Iraq will be like this when your country and America leave Iraq.’
Yes, Iraq was a mess and horrifying blunders had been made during its invasion, but the way to solve the country’s problems was not by bombing innocent Shia people and police recruits. That was Wahhabi thinking: the Shia Muslims were infidels who thus deserved to die as much as the occupying troops did.
The Saudi continued calmly, ‘If the British don’t leave Iraq, then more people will die in London. There will be more bombs.’ Here was a teenager studying at the British Council, endorsing the murder of innocent people with complete equanimity. To him, as to many young Saudis, this was normal. I felt profound sadness at how nothing had changed in Saudi Arabia, home to most of the perpetrators of 9/11.
The British media, caught unawares by the new threat of home-grown terror in Britain, recalled Britain’s first suicide bomber, Asif Hanif. Asif blew himself up in a bar in Tel Aviv in April 2003. At the time, I was in Damascus and the Sun had sent its reporters to Damascus University, assuming that Asif became a suicide bomber during his time in the city. The Sun had got it wrong: Asif was radicalized not in Damascus but in London. Omar Bakri confirmed that he had met Asif and his accomplice before they left for Syria.
Although we were both in Damascus at the same time, I never saw Asif there. But I knew him - I had met him in Hounslow mosque - and I remember him as a kind man. One Sunday afternoon in 2002, tired from an intensive study programme at the mosque with the Syrian scholar and spiritual guide Shaikh Mohammed al-Ya’qubi, I had gone to the cafeteria in search of a cup of tea. Asif was busy doing the unglamorous job of clearing the mess left behind by 200 lunching students. He was working voluntarily.
‘What can I do for you, brother?’ he asked.
‘A cup of tea please, if you wouldn’t mind?’
‘Oh no, brother, of course I don’t mind. You’re our guest. It’s our duty to serve.’
As we spoke I recognized him. I recalled that I had eaten iftar, a light meal to end a day of fasting during Ramadan, at his family home the previous year when a mutual American friend had been visiting Britain. He had given me a lift to the station, speaking fondly during the journey of traditional Muslim scholars in Syria.
Asif was a teddy bear of a character: generous, kind, selfless and committed. He, like me, went to Damascus to study Arabic and the Koran. Regrettably, his good nature was exploited by Islamist militants from Hamas. The qualities that made Asif a great Muslim host - selflessness and commitment - were the same traits that, when corrupted, transformed him into a suicide bomber.
Asif was only twenty-one when he died. Young and vulnerable, he came under the influences of an older, more developed Islamist from Derby by the name of Omar Sharif Khan. Both men had explosives attached to them that day in Tel Aviv, but Omar’s failed to detonate. Sharif did not simply wake up one morning, see Israeli aggression against Palestinians, and decide to kill himself and as many Israelis as possible in Tel Aviv. He had travelled a path of rejection, confrontation, and ultimately violence.
Sharif was a mathematics undergraduate at King’s College London. During his first year he started to attend meetings organized by Hizb ut-Tahrir on campus. He became close to a Hizb member, Reza Pankhurst (released in 2006 after serving a four-year prison sentence with my old friend, Majid Nawaz). Soon Sharif became close to Omar Bakri and followed him when he left the Hizb to form al-Muhajiroun.
Whether Sharif can be ‘proven’ to be a member of the Hizb is immaterial. What is beyond doubt is that he was introduced to radical ideas by the Hizb as an undergraduate and later developed those ideas to the point where he planned to die for Hamas. Asif’s recruitment to suicide bombing came about against a backdrop of increasingly radicalized young Muslims in communities across Britain. Interestingly, neither Asif Hanif nor Omar Sharif Khan came from an unemployed, disenchanted inner-city Muslim community; both had middle-class backgrounds.
After Asif ’s death his shocked English neighbours and former schoolteachers spoke highly of him. The Asif I knew did not believe in killing innocent civilians in Britain or any other country, but Islamist rhetoric had convinced him that Israelis, without exception, were not innocent but occupiers of the Palestinian homeland. Israel was a war zone, most Israelis had undergone military training and all were, therefore, legitimate targets.
Even in Syria many seemingly Westernized students of mine made that point very clear to me: killing Jews in Israel is acceptable. These were not Hizbullah or Hamas supporters, just ordinary Syrians expressing a commonly held viewpoint.
As an Islamist, I too believed that the taking of Jewish and non-Muslim lives was perfectly acceptable if it would facilitate Islamist domination. Islamism, with its heavy emphasis on religious identity, dehumanized others. Only Muslims were worthy of our attention; and then only those Muslims who would listen to us. The trigger for my enlightenment was when I saw at first hand the destructive power of Islamist ideas in emboldening British Muslim teenagers to confront others in the name of religion, a confrontation that ended with a young man lying dead in a pool of blood outside Newham College.
The suicide bombing campaign in Israel has brought only misery, destruction and poverty to the Palestinian people. Leaving aside the Koran’s proscription of suicide, even as a political strategy suicide bombing has backfired disastrously, provoking far worse Israeli reprisals and the strengthening and extension of the Israeli West Bank barrier wall which physically separates the two communities.
Killing innocent people is wrong, regardless of where it occurs. Neither is there an excuse for state terrorism: the governments of Britain, the US and Israel are as guilty as any 9/11 hijacker. We must not stoop to the level of the terrorists, kill and torture innocent people, and hide behind cries of ‘collateral damage’, ‘rogue elements’. The scandalous abuse of prisoners at Abu Ghraib boosted al-Qaeda’s recruitment drive and today no serious democrat can proudly hold up Western democracy as an example in the Middle East.
But, just as voters can decide at the ballot box who should lead them, Muslims can make their own choices. If the taking of innocent lives, Israeli or otherwise, continues to be ‘accept able’, if Islamist thought continues to influence Muslim minds, then what happened in London on 7/7 will be as nothing in comparison with what is yet to come. For when the political pretexts of Palestine and Iraq have been dealt with, Wahhabi-inspired militants will turn to other social grievances
: drinking alcohol, ‘impropriety’, gambling, cohabitation, inappropriate dress - these and a host of miscellaneous others will become excuses for jihad, for martyrdom, feeding the tumour of Islamist domination which grows in the Wahhabi and Islamist mind. Why else was Bali bombed, Egyptian tourist resorts attacked, and plans made to bomb nightclubs in London?
I fear the unleashing of a firestorm of violence by home-grown Wahhabi jihadists, inflamed by Islamist rhetoric, on the major cities of America and Britain.
Jihad originated in chivalry on the battlefield, not cowardly suicide attacks on innocent people. The Prophet’s teachings were not abstract. He reprimanded even his bravest fighters for killing unarmed soldiers. When he returned victorious from Medina to his home city of Mecca he declared a general amnesty to those who only a decade previously had tortured his nascent community of believers in the most violent way. Meccan pagans killed Sayyidah Sumayyah, Islam’s first martyr and one of the Prophet’s first followers, by piercing her vagina with spears, and still the Prophet Mohammed remained merciful, forgiving. While the Vikings were preparing to unleash two centuries of mayhem on Europe, in the small Arabian city of Medina the Prophet Mohammed was creating holistic humans. The people and the faith he bequeathed to the world created civilizations from Spain in the west to China in the east.
Even in battle, the Prophet’s spirit of fair play shone through. During the Crusades, Saladin famously threw a sword to Richard the Lionheart so that he might defend himself fairly rather than be at a disadvantage.
The Prophet preferred treaties, peace, conciliation but, when all these failed, he was not afraid to fight. Muslims are not pacifists. As one of my teachers once said, we take up the sword to take the sword out of madmen’s hands. Today, the sword is once again in the hands of the madmen.
My time in Saudi Arabia bolstered my conviction that an austere form of Islam (Wahhabism) married to a politicized Islam (Islamism) is wreaking havoc in the world: Baghdad, Tel Aviv, Haifa, Cairo, Istanbul, New York, Madrid, London . . . the list of cities that have suffered Islamist wrath goes on. This anger-ridden ideology, an ideology I once advocated, is not only a threat to Islam and Muslims, but to the entire civilized world.
I vowed, in my own limited way, to fight those who had hijacked my faith, defamed my Prophet, and killed thousands of my own people: the human race. I was encouraged when Tony Blair announced on 5 August 2005 plans to proscribe an array of Islamist organizations that operated in Britain, foremost among them Hizb ut-Tahrir. At the time I was impressed by Blair’s resolve. The Hizb should have been outlawed a decade ago, and so spared many of us so much misery. Sadly, the legislation was shelved in 2006 amid fears that a ban would only add to the group’s attraction, so it remains both legal and active today. But it is not too late. Will the British government deliver?
Throughout our seven-month stay in Saudi Arabia Faye and I maintained our equilibrium by visiting the sepulchre of the Arabian Apostle of God as often as possible. Medina never disappointed; the presence of the Prophet could be felt and we always returned to Jeddah as calmer people. The Prophet Mohammed frequently used to pray to God, ‘Allahumma antha al-Salam, wa minka al-salam’, ‘My Lord, you are Peace and from you is peace’. In his city, that peace is palpable.
Medina was not free of the discord and dissension of Wahhabism. Wahhabi religious police, zealous and harsh, patrolled the Prophet’s mosque to ensure that nobody worshipped him there. Arrogant guards looked down with contempt at the visitors - to them we are mushrikeen, polytheists, like the ‘misguided Christians’ who deify Jesus. The Wahhabis cannot comprehend the difference between love and worship. Never in the history of Islam has the Prophet been worshipped or deified. Islamic theology is sufficiently sound to prevent Islam from St Paul’s type of Christology. And yet the Wahhabis rant on about polytheism among Muslims.
They broke up gatherings of Shia Muslims and forcefully moved on spiritual Muslims who wished to recite poetry at the tomb of the Prophet. On many instances I found myself standing in the intense heat outside the mosque beside lovers of the Prophet from central Asia, Turkey, and Pakistan. They wept out of yearning for him and I wondered why they had been expelled. Why could Wahhabism not allow the Prophet’s followers to be close to the one they loved? This Wahhabi mindset, this inability to tolerate difference, forcibly removing any who exhibited non-Wahhabi behaviour, was symbolic of Wahhabi confrontation with the wider world. Al-Qaeda is only one manifestation of Wahhabism.
Non-Muslims do not have access to Mecca and Medina. They do not know about the daily battles of pilgrims with strict Wahhabism, the demolition of our heritage, and the imposition of extremist literalism in worship on Muslim pilgrims. Every year Wahhabi authorities control the Haj and actively discourage expressions of love and attachment to the Prophet. The inclination towards literalism and extremism, and the removal of love and joy from religion, stem from an attack on the traditional Muslim veneration of the Prophet. What started in the eighteenth century in Najd as opposition to mainstream Islam and its practices has now reached the capitals of the West. Whether attacking Muslims or non-Muslims, the underlying principles are the same: scriptural rigidity, bigotry, intolerance, and violence.
Two days before we left Saudi Arabia we went to the Prophet one last time. I approached his tomb and said my goodbyes. In 1183 the Spanish traveller Ibn Jubayr wrote that he knelt beside the sepulchre and ‘kissed the earth on its sacred sites’. Today’s Muslims risk being kicked in the face by the Wahhabi guards if we so much as bow our heads.
As I walked away from his serene presence, the magnificent Green Dome more distant with my every step, my dry eyes began to water. The pirates that control access to this sea of love may not allow my humble boat to return, but I have been taught that the spiritual presence of the Prophet can be invoked from afar by those who love him and I comfort myself with this knowledge. The extraordinary fragrance of rose musk, much loved by the Prophet, which I had smelt in the alleyways and mountain paths of Medina, is no longer confined to this ancient city.
15.
Return to England
I am slowly discovering England, which is the most wonderful foreign land I have ever been in.
Rudyard Kipling
When I was in the Middle East, I often missed many aspects of life in Britain and yearned to be home. Now I’m in Britain, I miss the warmth of Arabs, the joys of ubiquitous Arabic, and the landscape of minarets and mountains of ancient cities. Just as my Britishness had come to the fore while living in the Muslim world, my Muslimness now seeks expression. I feel as though I belong to both the East and the West, and sometimes find it difficult to reconcile the two sides of my personality. Then I remind myself that, before I am anything, I am human, and in this I am at one with the world.
Still, I belong to two communities: Muslim and British. In some cases my twin identities merge neatly and sometimes they are at odds. I am a follower of the second largest religion in the United Kingdom, and the behaviour of my co-religionists is of great significance to both me and my country.
For me, being a Muslim is not a political identity - Islam does not teach us a monolithic approach to life. The Prophet did not create new systems of government, but adopted existing paradigms from seventh-century Arabia. His was not a radical break with the past. When the Muslims of Indonesia, India, China, Persia, and Africa embraced Islam they did not disavow their own native cultures; their architecture and customs testify to that fact. In Mecca I met Muslims who were unalike in their background and culture but united in their belief. For me that is the true ummah - a spiritual community, not a political bloc.
Upon returning to England I enrolled at the University of London for postgraduate studies. Visiting different campuses and libraries reminded me of my days with Hizb ut-Tahrir. I thought that, after the suicide bombings of 7 July 2005, and the intense media scrutiny of extremism in Britain, the Hizb might have withdrawn from activities at universities, and Islamists at least be displaying some sign
s of contrition.
Outside the university’s Senate House library I met my old friend from college, Majid Nawaz, recently returned from serving a four-year prison sentence in Egypt for plotting to overthrow the Mubarak government. It was a memorable if hasty reunion. Several years ago, on the very same spot, I had blown Majid’s cover to one of his potential recruits, Ali from Iraq. Majid had been busy buying Ali lunch, discussing politics and indirectly introducing Ali to ‘the concepts’. At the time, I had recently left the Hizb and had some harsh words to say about Majid. We parted on a sour note.
Now here we were again. Majid was in a hurry because a local student Islamic society had invited him to deliver the Friday sermon and he was running late. We exchanged numbers and agreed to meet. The old bitterness, it seemed, had passed away. Still, meeting Majid reminded me of our days at Newham College, where we watched the Hizb’s ideas transform from thought to action. The murder of an innocent student, a direct consequence of the Hizb’s ideas, I took as a personal warning and changed my own life. But Majid remained with the Hizb and now sits on the national executive committee of Hizb ut-Tahrir in Britain.
We soon met again and went for lunch at the Institute of Education cafeteria. We spoke for hours, always returning to the subject of Hizb ut-Tahrir. I told Majid that I was writing this book and listed my criticisms of the Hizb. To his credit, he agreed that much was wrong with the organization: its arrogance, extremism, superiority complex, confrontational style, cultism, rejection of Britishness or any national identity, and serious lack of spirituality.
‘How could it be, Majid,’ I asked, ‘that when I was in the Hizb we broke up meetings and caused chaos when Amnesty International visited a mosque in East Ham, on the grounds that they opposed capital punishment and were thus anti-Islamic, but when you were interviewed by Sarah Montague on BBC’s Hardtalk recently, you were happy to quote Amnesty’s campaign for your release? Does that not seem hypocritical?’