No, what I seized on was al-Husein and Liana’s positive feelings about the book, and his affirmation that they were honored to be included. I was filled with a sense of relief and happiness. Relief because the book covered so many matters that were of clear import to me and al-Husein, but matters that we had never discussed over the years. Relief because I wasn’t sure if, upon reading the book, he would be angry, defensive, hurt. And I felt happiness because, in seeing his reaction— one that was measured and reflective—I recognized the same friend, the same brother, whom I had known years ago.
I had dinner with al-Husein and Liana in mid-July, a few days before I handed this manuscript over to my publisher. We met at an Indian restaurant in D.C. (Both al-Husein and Liana would point out that they were the only people of Indian descent dining there; never a good sign for an Indian restaurant.)
It was at that dinner that I began to learn where al-Husein’s spiritual journey had taken him. He said that the Salafi voice was at its peak for him in November of 1999; by the time I saw him at his wedding, that voice was receding—although it was still quite strong. Al-Husein was then experiencing a great degree of cognitive dissonance. On the one hand, Brother Taha’s voice filled his head. On the other hand, there was lived reality.
The reason the Salafi voice had begun to recede for al-Husein by December 1999 was the meeting with Liana, their families, and the Orlando imam in November. Liana and others who cared about al-Husein were concerned about the theological turn he had taken, and decided to confront him.
After this intervention, another significant event helped bring al-Husein out of Salafism. This was a conference that he helped organize at Harvard called “Islam in America,” which was designed to examine the lived experience of Islam in the United States. In organizing and hosting the conference, al-Husein noticed that the Salafis refused to enter into dialogue with Muslim progressives like Asma Gull Hassan (the author of American Muslims: The New Generation; she graduated from NYU Law around the same time I did).
This obstinacy on the Salafis’ part upset al-Husein, as did their tendency to deny the experience of Muslims who collectively lacked power, such as African-American Muslims. Al-Husein and I spoke at some length about Salafism’s appeal. The Salafis have a logical approach to the faith that seems compelling. Even if your heart rebels against Salafism (as both mine and al-Husein’s did), a key Salafi ideal teaches you to question your heart. Al-Husein suggested that there are two ways Salafism’s hold on a believer may collapse. The first is when the believer sees its failure to provide the answers one needs for actual, lived reality—something that was made plain to al-Husein at the Islam in America conference. Also, its hold may collapse when the believer has enough knowledge of Islamic history, theology, and Arabic to assess the Salafis’ seemingly powerful arguments more critically, from a position of confidence.
Our first dinner together in more than half a decade didn’t give me the opportunity to learn all the details of al-Husein’s spiritual transformation away from extreme Salafism, but I believe that he too has an important story to tell.
Al-Husein also offered a couple of interesting insights into what may have been going through his head during our parallel journeys toward and away from radical Islam. For one thing, he said that his own practice of Islam probably wasn’t as extreme at the time of his wedding as it came across to me. The environment at the Ismaili-dominated wedding was the exact opposite of the environment I knew at Al Haramain. At Al Haramain, I was dealing with people who thought that Freecell and credit cards were haram; at the wedding, al-Husein was dealing with nominal Muslims who wanted alcohol at the wedding and urged him not to fast for Ramadan. The role you take often depends on the environment you’re in, and al-Husein said that much of the stance he adopted at the wedding was a reaction to its ultraliberal Islamic environment. (Of course, Salafism hadn’t lost its hold on al-Husein at that point. But neither was the hold as strong as it appeared.)
In particular, al-Husein said that when he showed me the photo of the Chechen mujahideen, it wasn’t out of a desire to cheerlead for their jihad. Rather, he showed me the photo of the Chechens because it was a symbol of his own struggles in Orlando. There were the Chechen warriors with their fight, and here was al-Husein, thousands of miles away, with his own very different fight—struggling for a sound practice of Islam in an environment that tried to turn him away from it.
He also had an interesting remark about the conversation we had about an Islamic reformation, the conversation where I felt he was probing for deviant beliefs. At one point we had served as religious sounding boards for each other; by the time al-Husein asked if I still believed in an Islamic reformation, I felt that this was no longer true. While I felt that al-Husein was probing for deviance, he may have had a very different purpose: he may have been reaching out to me as a sounding board, hoping that I could help pull him from his own radicalism. That, sadly, is something I was unable to do for al-Husein.
We finished dinner around ten o’clock, and Liana had to get to sleep. Al-Husein and I ended the night in the Ritz-Carlton’s lounge in Arlington, Virginia. We went through his thoughts on the book in detail, but our discussion went far beyond that. By the time I dropped al-Husein off at his apartment at two thirty in the morning, it reminded me of the nights that we used to have. Far-ranging conversation, staying up far too late, and regretting not a thing when we were done. It was an evening spent with the same friend, the same brother, whom I had known years ago.
What al-Husein’s friendship meant to me over the four brilliant years that we were close cannot be overstated. He was my first true mentor. I fondly remember our late-night talks and walks around the quad. I remember how al-Husein always had something new to teach me. Some of these were college-type lessons involving exercises in absurd left-of-center thinking. But other lessons remain with me to this day. When we were in Istanbul together, I pointed out to al-Husein that other people seemed to gravitate toward him while often almost completely ignoring me. That observation began a several-week-long lesson in how to dress and carry myself more professionally, how to build my presence. That was an example of al-Husein at his best: having something extraordinary to teach me, understanding what I needed better than I did.
Al-Husein was the kind of friend that I never expected to have because I never knew that friendship like his existed. He once described ours as a “found” friendship. That is, there are some friendships that you work to cultivate for weeks, months, or years; after much effort, a friendship has been made. There are other friendships that you simply stumble upon and immediately realize that they had always existed. All you had to do was uncover the friendship in order for it to be.
In the past few years, I’ve gained a lot and lost a lot. But I’m surprised and delighted that the friendship I gained in al-Husein has not been lost.
He’s still there, and so am I.
epilogue
FRIENDS AND FUGITIVES
When I worked for the Al Haramain Islamic Foundation, I was overwhelmed by the rules and restrictions, and it slowly seduced me into a radical interpretation of Islam. I’m sure that radical Islam’s dark undertow has dragged many unsuspecting believers into those deep waters as well.
In the West, we tend to see all religions as variations on a theme. But Christianity and Islam stand in marked contrast to each other. For example, in the West religion is private and primarily a matter of conscience. In the Middle East, religion is public and is a matter of ritual as well as conscience. These differences are reflected in the divergent ways that prayer takes place within both faiths. Prayer in Islam is more ritualized than in Christianity, with the believer praying in Arabic and putting his body through a series of standing, bowing, kneeling, and prostrating positions. These differences are reflected in the oft-repeated saying that Islam is “a complete way of life”—as Pete Seda once observed to me, it leaves no doubt about the smallest detail, from the proper way to eat your food down to how to clean
se yourself after using the bathroom. And these differences can be seen in the lack of separation between mosque and state within Islam.
Part of Islam’s seduction is its otherness—how different it is from anything else. And it would be a mistake to shortchange how satisfying a life is inside radical Islam. As I descended into radicalism, I had a greater feeling of certainty than I had known before. I felt that for the first time, I could truly comprehend and follow Allah’s will—and I knew that those who disagreed with me were just following their own desires. There was a sense of community that came with this certainty. I was part of an exclusive club composed of those who could see beyond the shallow Western liberal values with which I was raised.
People I met within Islam were pulled in many different directions. You’ve already learned about what happened to al-Husein. Here’s what became of the rest.
My feelings about Pete Seda changed over time. At first I was taken in by his charm, and it took me a while to realize that there were two sides to Pete: a public side and a private one. While the public Pete could befriend local rabbis and put a good face on the Al Haramain Islamic Foundation, the private one had a very rigid view of Islam that was extremely critical of Jews, homosexuals, and even his own family for following the Shia branch of Islam.
A grand jury indicted Pete in early 2005 on charges of conspiracy to defraud the United States and file a false IRS return by a tax-exempt organization. The charges stemmed from Soliman al-But’he’s March 2000 visit to Oregon—the one during which Pete tried to convince me to meet Soliman at a New York airport.
The indictment explains that in February 2000, an individual in Egypt donated about $150,000 to Al Haramain, writing that the money was given “as Zakat [charity] in order to participate in your nobel support to our muslim brothers in Chychnia.” That individual then undertook a wire transfer to Al Haramain’s bank account in Oregon. In early March, Soliman flew from Riyadh to southern Oregon. There, he and Pete bought 130 thousand-dollar American Express traveler’s checks (at a cost of $131,300) as well as a $21,000 cashier’s check issued to Soliman from the local Bank of America.
Soliman then left the country via JFK International Airport in New York. He failed to file a Form 4790, Report of International Transportation of Currency or Monetary Instruments, as required by law when an individual leaves the United States with traveler’s checks exceeding $10,000. The indictment alleges that Pete then tried to disguise the money sent to Chechnya by inflating the cost of a building that Al Haramain had bought in Springfield, Missouri, by $131,300—the price of the traveler’s checks.
Rather than facing trial in the United States, Pete left the country and is now living as a fugitive overseas. I spoke with Soliman by phone in late 2005 and he told me that Pete is in Iran and not doing well there, lonely and almost out of money.
After Pete was indicted, the local press was filled with an outpouring of community support for him. Rabbi David Zaslow had long been Pete’s biggest public defender, and was undeterred by the indictment. After it came down, he was quoted in the Medford Mail Tribune saying that Pete has “been an outspoken spokesman against violence and terrorism, and he has earned my respect.”
Probably the most ridiculous defense of Pete and Al Haramain that I have seen is a column published in the Washington Times in late November 2003 called “Stereotyping Hurts the War.” Written by Lynne Bernabei, a Washington, D.C.based attorney who represents Al Haramain, and Georgetown law professor David Cole, the column describes Al Haramain in the following manner:[T]he Al Haramain Islamic Foundation, Inc. of Oregon has been unfairly accused of links to terrorists. Al Haramain Oregon is a Muslim charity dedicated to distributing Islamic information and Qur’ans to Muslims throughout the United States, and to educating the public at large that Islam is opposed to terrorism in all forms. Its mission, in part, is to spread the word that true Muslims abhor violence against the innocent. It would, therefore, seem to be a natural partner in the war against terror. Its articles of incorporation, filed with the Oregon Secretary of State in 1998, provide that it is dedicated to peace and the fight against terrorism. One of the group’s most vocal supporters is a local rabbi, with whom Al Haramain has engaged in joint public education activities. As an Islamic charity, however, Al Haramain (Oregon) has been suspected and labeled as a terrorist by many who accuse first, and find out the truth later.
Having been on the inside of the group, I found the description of Al Haramain as “a natural partner in the war against terror” downright laughable. Lynne Bernabei is a paid advocate for Al Haramain; David Cole has no similar excuse for such slovenly research.
Soliman al-But’he was indicted along with Pete. Although a fellow fugitive, Soliman seems to be living a much more comfortable life. When I spoke with him in late 2005, Soliman was living in Riyadh and had just earned a promotion to assistant general manager of Riyadh’s parks and recreation department. The one downside for Soliman is that he’s no longer allowed outside of Saudi Arabia.
I don’t know what became of Dennis Geren and Charlie Jones. From what I’ve heard, it seems that both men left town. Charlie may have gone to Wisconsin and Dennis may have moved to Portland, Oregon; but my information here is far from reliable. For all I know, both men are still going to the gym. Charlie may still be talking about how miraculous it is that someone who was once a sperm can lift as much as he does, while Dennis may still be correcting young Muslims whose shorts reveal a bit too much flesh.
Abdi Guled and Mary Foster are still living in Ashland. Mary had been a public-school teacher, and Oregon’s generous public employee retirement system allowed her to achieve some small piece of the American dream: she retired while still young enough to enjoy her retirement.
Abdi, Mary, and the remaining congregation in Ashland weren’t untouched by the legal troubles that Pete and Soliman found themselves in. They were once able to pray in a beautiful Musalla on the south end of town, but when I last spoke to Mary she told me that she and Abdi would hold services in their house on Saturday nights. Mary graciously invited me to these services the last time I was in town, saying that I was welcome even if Islam wasn’t “my thing” anymore. (Alas, my schedule didn’t allow me to make it out there.)
Mary told me that she had recently spoken with Rabbi David Zaslow, who suggested that perhaps the Muslim community remaining in Ashland could use the local synagogue for their juma prayers.
There is one sad note related to Mary and Abdi. They had always loved traveling together. I remember back in 1999 they showed me videotapes they made of various exotic locations they had visited, ranging from Africa to the Middle East. When I last spoke with Mary, I was saddened to hear that traveling had become far less joyful for them because she and Abdi seem to be on a watch list. Mary said they would be selected for extra security screening whenever they flew. It had gotten to the point where whenever Mary spoke with Abdi about traveling, he would reflexively recoil.
Then there are the friends and family who played such a big role in my life when I was being radicalized and deradicalized. Mike and Amy Hollister are still happily married. They have three kids with a fourth on the way as of this writing. They attend services at a United Reformed Church near their home in the Bellingham, Washington, area. Mike is working as a successful investment adviser.
When al-Husein and I visited Mike in Bellingham back in 1997, it struck me that the connection Mike and I once had was fizzling and might soon be lost. That has turned out not to be the case. Mike is again one of my closest friends; as with al-Husein, Mike’s is one of the few “found” friendships that I’ve known in my life.
My parents continue to live in Ashland. Whenever I return home, their love for each other and the serenity they feel in their relationship with God is apparent. Although I was initially nervous about telling them that I had become Christian, they immediately accepted this new spiritual change—just as they have unconditionally accepted most of the choices that I’ve made in this life.
/>
My dad is now semiretired and working in real estate.
Amy Powell had a brilliant career as a law student. She was among the top ten students in her class academically after her second and third semesters of law school, made it onto the Law Review, and earned a prestigious clerkship on the United States Court of Appeals for the Second Circuit. Amy is now beginning what will almost certainly be a similarly brilliant career as an attorney; she currently works as a trial lawyer for the Department of Justice.
Since Amy was never baptized as a child, she and I had the pleasure of being baptized together in the summer of 2003.
Amy and I celebrated our fifth anniversary on June 3, 2006, just before the final push to finish writing this book began. Whenever I take the time to think about the role that Amy has played in my life, I cannot believe how strongly she supported me every step of the way. It is a quiet yet strong kind of support that she continues to bless me with to this day.
As for me, today I work as a counterterrorism consultant. I work with federal law enforcement and local police departments in several capacities, including providing analysis of Islamic extremism and possible terrorist activity, and providing training to agents and officers. I am also an explainer of radical Islam to the public, not just through this book but also through articles and television and radio appearances.
The public, I find, does not have a good understanding of radical Islam because most Americans have trouble understanding how people in other parts of the world view religion. They have trouble understanding religion as an ideology and a true political force rather than a private relationship between the believer and his god. While many people are curious and open-minded, both the press and the government have done a poor job of educating Americans about this pressing issue.
My Year Inside Radical Islam Page 27