I Was Told to Come Alone: My Journey Behind the Lines of Jihad

by Souad Mekhennet

All this speculation made me angry. I felt that I needed to be in Iraq, to see with my own eyes what was happening there. I didn’t want to be like those foreign affairs “experts” who lived comfortably in Germany but went on TV day and night to talk about global hot spots they never dared to visit. I thought back to the famous foreign correspondent who spoke to my journalism school class about reporting on Iran by telephone.

“Of all places, you need to go there?” my father asked. “It is very dangerous. How will we know where you are?” My mother burst into tears. “Where will you sleep? Who will take care of your safety?” she asked, then shook her head. “If only I’d let you become an actress.”

My classmates talked about the rest of the world with typical Western arrogance, but they’d never seen the suffering or complexity of war up close. What had been tolerable to me before was now unbearable. Once you’ve wept with someone who’s lost a family member because of another country’s political decisions, it’s hard to view international relations with detachment.

“People in the West are the last ones in the world that should talk about human rights,” he told me. “Look what they have done to me and others. There have been no consequences for those responsible. On one hand, they are great at pointing at others and criticizing them, but then they don’t want to look inside and have accountability for violations of human rights.”

“Only the caliphate can protect Muslim interests,” he told me. It was a stunning statement, and it showed that the idea of a new kind of Islamic state in the Middle East long predated the arrival of ISIS. In fact, the notion had been gestating for years in the minds of militants fighting first in Afghanistan and later in Iraq and elsewhere.

In democracies like the United States, he said, each citizen was responsible for the actions of his government. The people in such countries could not be said to be innocent of what was done in their name. Even American antiwar protesters bore some blame, he said.

“We were at the camp, Baba, and they showed me a real gun,” the boy answered. “And then I played jihad and killed the kuffar,” he added, using the Arabic word for “unbelievers.” The man started laughing. “You killed the kuffar?” “Yes, Baba, with the pistol.” The man kissed his forehead. “I am very proud of you, my son.” It hit me like a knife.

In 2004, a GSPC commander named Abdelmalek Droukdal became the group’s emir. That fall, he got in touch with Abu Musab al-Zarqawi in Iraq. The Algerians needed support, Droukdal told him. In return, their organization would become an Al Qaeda franchise, operating under the distant leadership of Osama bin Laden. In 2006, the alliance between the GSPC and Al Qaeda became official.

I knew that sometimes democracy wasn’t good for minorities. From my history lessons in school and in my research for the Nazi book, I’d read about how Hitler and his party had won power through elections and coalition politics. Why did people think that a voting system was protection against totalitarianism?

There was something else Iraq had taught me. When there was a growing overlap between sectarianism and politics on one side of the divide, the other side would grow more extreme in response.

“But that doesn’t matter,” Abu Hussain answered. “Democracy means that the majority will win and has the right to rule over the minority, like in the West.” But what about a constitution that protected the rights of other groups as well? My conversations with Al Wefaq members and Abu Hussain made it clear to me that while Bahrainis and Westerners both talked about “democracy,” each side used the word to mean something different.

“Could it be that you guys were members of the Iraqi army or some militias?” One of the men put his index finger to his lips, signaling that I should not mention this too loudly. “Why?” I asked. “Because members of other groups are here as well.”

Now there was a large group of people coming to Europe who had not been through rigorous security screenings. There was also the question of what they expected from their new lives and what they would do if those expectations were not met.

The kids didn’t know if they were Belgian, French, or Moroccan, and the parents didn’t care if their children integrated. They cared about making money and building businesses, but especially about becoming somebody in the eyes of people back home. The drive to prove they had succeeded was so powerful that it overwhelmed everything else.

Sonia believes that people like Abdelhamid Abaaoud drift into the arms of ISIS not because of Islam but because of their broken families and the racism they face in Europe.

Can’s killing brought back memories of terrible violence, and the scars from those old wounds began to hurt again. What happened to him had made it clearer than ever how easy it was to die before you’d led the life you hoped for.

Instead of talking about the need for a voting system, we should seek to adhere to a code of universal values.

Religion doesn’t radicalize people; people radicalize religion.

In Mecca, where I recently made the umra pilgrimage, women are not supposed to cover their faces, and there is no separation of the sexes. How can we argue that a woman should cover her face and be separated from men when it doesn’t even happen in the holiest place in Islam? Opportunists have created their own ideology within Islam, and this is profoundly dangerous. If no one is willing to speak up for what the religion actually requires, anyone can use it for his own ends. Way back in 1979,

The world is not facing a clash of civilizations or cultures, but a clash between those who want to build bridges and those who would rather see the world in polarities, who are working hard to spread hatred and divide us.

If I’ve learned anything, it’s this: a mother’s screams over the body of her murdered child sound the same, no matter if she is black, brown, or white; Muslim, Jewish, or Christian; Shia or Sunni.