Extremist Islam: Recognition and Response in Southeast Asia (Causes and Consequences of Terrorism) 0197610978, 9780197610978

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Extremist Islam

C AU SE S A N D C O N SE QU E N C E S O F T E R R O R I SM SE R I E S Series Editors: Gary LaFree Gary A. Ackerman Anthony Lemieux books in the series: From Freedom Fighters to Jihadists: Human Resources of Non State Armed Groups Vera Mironova ISIS Propaganda: A Full-​Spectrum Extremist Message Edited by Stephane J. Baele, Katharine A. Boyd, and Travis G. Coan

Extremist Islam Recognition and Response in Southeast Asia K UM A R R A M A K R I SH NA , P H D

1

3 Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and certain other countries. Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press 198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America. © University of Maryland National Consortium for the Study of Terrorism and Responses to Terrorism (START) 2022 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, by license, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reproduction rights organization. Inquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above. You must not circulate this work in any other form and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer. CIP data is on file at the Library of Congress ISBN 978–​0–​19–​761097–​8 (pbk.) ISBN 978–​0–​19–​761096–​1 (hbk.) DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197610961.001.0001 1 3 5 7 9 8 6 4 2 Paperback printed by LSC Communications, United States of America Hardback printed by Bridgeport National Bindery, Inc., United States of America

Contents Acknowledgments  Glossary 

ix xiii

Introduction: The Continuing Threat of Extremist Islam in Southeast Asia 

1

1. Recognizing Religious Extremism I: Its Fundamentalist Underpinnings 

9

The Impact of COVID-​19: Not Helping Matters  The Need to Properly Recognize Extremist Islam in Southeast Asia  Brief Note on Sources and Methodology 

1 4 7

Introduction  The Persistent Ubiquity of Religion: Interdisciplinary Perspectives 

9 12

Fundamentalism: Religion on the Defensive  The Violent Potentials within Religious Fundamentalism  Concluding Remarks 

26 32 34

2. Recognizing Religious Extremism II: What It Looks Like, How It Emerges 

35

The Cognitive-​Affective Element  The Structural Element  Enter Religion  How Religion Creates “Us”—​The In-​Group  Religion, Intergroup Contestation—​and Conflict 

Introduction  Going Beyond “Radical Islamic Terrorism”: Fundamentalism,   Radicalism, and Extremism  Diving Deeper: Excavating Religious Extremism  Seven Core Characteristics of the Religious Extremist  Myanmar’s Buddhist Extremists  Extremism in Islam: A Closer Analysis    Salafism, Wahhabism, Islamism—​and “Salafabism” 

14 16 17 22 24

35 37 43 46 56 62 66

Hard Extremism in Islam: Salafi Jihadism  Not Terrorism, But Salafabist Ecosystems 

81 86

Concluding Remarks 

91

The Three Nodes of the Salafabist Ecosystem (SE): Person, Places,    and Platforms 

89

vi Contents

3. Recognizing Extremist Islam in Malaysia: The Bureaucrat—​Wan Min Wan Mat  Introduction  Jemaah Islamiyah: A Short History  Wan Min’s Role in JI: The Bureaucrat  Wan Min Wan Mat as Salafabist Extremist  Persons, Places, and Platforms: The Salafabist Ecosystem of Wan Min   Wan Mat  Persons  Places  Platforms 

94

94 96 98 101 114

114 115 118

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Malaysia: Contemporary Implications   of the Wan Min Wan Mat Case  Concluding Remarks 

121 128

4. Recognizing Extremist Islam in Singapore: The Opportunist—​ Zulfikar Mohamad Shariff 

129

Introduction  Zulfikar Shariff as Salafabist Opportunist 

The Singaporean Constitutional, Political, and Ideological Context 

Platforms, Places, and Persons: Zulfikar Shariff ’s Salafabist Ecosystem  Platforms  Places  Persons 

129 131 131

149

149 152 155

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Singapore: Contemporary Implications   of the Zulfikar Mohamad Shariff Case  157 Beliefs  Behavior  Badges  Bans 

161 163 165 167

Concluding Remarks 

169

5. Recognizing Extremist Islam in the Southern Philippines: The Stimulus Seeker—​Abu Hamdie 

172

Introduction  Islam in Mindanao: A Capsule History  Inside the Abu Sayyaf Group  Abu Hamdie as Salafabist Extremist: The Stimulus Seeker  The Constitutional, Historical, and Political Context 

172 173 183 187 187

Places, Platforms, and Persons: Abu Hamdie’s Salafabist Ecosystem 

191

Recognizing Extremist Islam in the Southern Philippines:   Contemporary Implications of the Abu Hamdie Case  Concluding Remarks 

197 201

Places  Platforms  Persons 

192 194 196

Contents  vii

6. Recognizing Extremist Islam in Indonesia: The Ideologue—​ Aman Abdurrahman 

204

The Indonesian Constitutional, Ideological, and    Theological Context 

206

Introduction  Aman Abdurrahman as Salafabist Extremist Ideologue 

204 206

Places, Platforms, and Persons: Aman Abdurrahman’s Salafabist   Ecosystem 

220

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Indonesia: The Contemporary   Relevance of the Aman Abdurrahman Case  Concluding Remarks 

230 234

Places  Platforms  Persons 

221 223 227

7. Responding to Extremist Islam in Southeast Asia—​The 4M Way  238 Introduction  Recognizing Extremist Islam in Southeast Asia: A Summary  Counter-​Narratives and Alternative Narratives: A Closer Look 

238 240 244

The 4M Way Operationalized in a Southeast Asian Context 

253

Differentiating Between Counter-Narratives and Alternative Narratives 246 CN or AN?  248 The First M: Message Content  The Second M: Message Framing  The Third M: Message Dissemination  The Fourth M: Message Receptivity 

Attaining the Minimal Aim: Effective Political and   Socioeconomic Governance  Attaining the Maximal Aim I: Understanding the Sources of   the Fundamentalist Impulse in Youth  Attaining the Maximal Aim II: The Need for Good Families Via   Good Societies  Concluding Remarks: The Promising Example of PKS? 

Notes  References  Index 

253 260 263 267

268 269 276 279

285 363 401

Acknowledgments I thank Ambassador Ong Keng Yong, Executive Deputy Chairman, and Dean Ralf Emmers of the S. Rajaratnam School of International Studies (RSIS) in Nanyang Technological University in Singapore, for their encouragement and support for this project. My colleagues at the International Centre for Political Violence and Terrorism Research and the National Security Studies Program at RSIS, as well as my invariably stimulating Master’s classes, also provided me with both useful ideas and intellectual fellowship that were much appreciated. My partners at both the National Security Coordination Secretariat, Prime Minister’s Office, and the Ministry of Home Affairs, Singapore, helped establish a working environment that was conducive to serious research, and for that I am grateful. Beyond Singapore, Lord Alderdice, Professor and Director of the Centre for the Resolution of Intractable Conflict (CRIC) at Oxford University, as well as Professors Mike Hardy and David Macilhatton of the Centre for Trust, Peace and Social Relations (CTPSR) at Coventry University, kindly offered me the opportunity to present my ideas at seminars they organized during my various visits to the United Kingdom. The stimulating exchanges with so many colleagues at both CRIC and CTPSR helped me refine my thoughts further. I would like to acknowledge the many interviewees who shared their insights with me during fieldwork in the region as well. I learned a lot from them. Any unforeseen errors or omissions to be found in the book are entirely mine. The book evolved partly out of previous articles I had written. Hence the following acknowledgments for permission to extensively re-​use previously published material are in order: “Unpacking the ISIS Threat: The Violent Potentials of Religious Fundamentalism,” first published in Faith in an Age of Terror, eds. Quek Tze-​Ming and Philip E. Satterthwaite (Singapore: Armour Publishing, 2018), 1–​27. “Reflections of a Reformed Jihadist: The Story of Wan Min Wan Mat,” Contemporary Southeast Asia 38, no. 3 (December 2016), 495–​522. The

x ACKNOWLEDGMENTS article is reproduced here with the kind permission of the publisher, ISEAS-​ Yusuf Ishak Institute, https://​books​hop.iseas.edu.sg. “The Radicalization of Abu Hamdie: Wider Lessons for the Ongoing Struggle Against Violent Extremism in Post-​Marawi Mindanao,” Journal of Asian Security and International Affairs 5, no. 2 (July 2018), 111–​128. Originally published in Journal of Asian Security and International Affairs 5, no. 2. Copyright 2018 © SAGE Publications India Private Limited, New Delhi. All rights reserved. Reproduced with the permission of the copyright holders and the publishers, SAGE Publications India Private Limited, New Delhi. “Understanding Myanmar’s Buddhist Extremists: Some Preliminary Musings,” New England Journal of Public Policy 32, no. 2, Article 4 (2020). Reproduced with the permission of the John W. McCormack Graduate School of Policy and Global Studies, University of Massachusetts, Boston.

In addition, I must thank Datin Paduka Rashidah Ramli, former Director General of the Southeast Asia Regional Centre for Counter-​ Terrorism (SEARCCT), Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Malaysia, for her kind facilitation of my interaction with Wan Min Wan Mat in Kuala Lumpur in August 2012. Special thanks also to former SEARCCT staff Mr. Thomas K. Samuel and Mr. Tan Kwang Seng for their assistance. Similarly, I thank Professor Rommel Banlaoi and the researchers at the Philippine Institute for Political Violence and Terrorism Research for their assistance in facilitating my meeting with Abu Hamdie during fieldwork in Quezon City in March 2011. Thanks also to Abu Hamdie for being willing to share his valuable insights. Last but not least, my thanks to Marika Vicziany of Monash University, Melbourne, Australia, as well as former Monash researcher David Wright-​Neville, for arranging my meeting with Zulfikar Mohamad Shariff in March 2003. Thanks, too, to the Australian Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade for inviting me on the week-​long Special Visits Program during which the meeting took place. Miss Tan Ming Hui was a pillar of strength in providing me with significant research and editorial support at critical points in the process. To her I owe much heartfelt thanks. Mr. Sunil Unnikrishnan and Mr. Ivan Ng Yan Chao also provided useful research support. At Oxford University Press, Nadina Persaud and Katharine Pratt were excellent guides to the intricacies

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS  xi of the publication process, while at the National Consortium for the Study of Terrorism and Responses to Terrorism at the University of Maryland, the interest and strong support of Gary Ackerman, Gary LaFree, and Tony Lemieux proved invaluable to the project. Finally, to Rosemary and the clan, you are God’s gift to me and this one’s for you guys as well. Kumar Ramakrishna Singapore April 2021

Glossary al-​salaf al-​salih

the first three generations of Muslims following Prophet Muhammad al-​wala’ wa-​al-​bara love and friendship with the believers, hatred and enmity toward the unbelievers aqidah creed baatil falsehood deen religious way of life fasiqun iniquitous, poor in character fiqh Islamic jurisprudence fitnah disturbance in society hadith Prophetic sayings hakimiyya the necessity to implement God’s sovereign rule haqq truth ijma the consensus of Islamic scholars on a point of Islamic law ijtihad independent reasoning imaan faith jahiliyya a state of ignorance of the true path jihad struggle, divinely sanctioned warfare khutbah sermons kuffar (kafir) infidels or disbelievers kufr unbelief madrasah Islamic school munafiqun hypocrite murtadin/​murtad apostate/​apostasy nafs the self ra’y considered scholarly opinion sharia Islamic law Sunna Prophetic tradition takfir the willingness to excommunicate ostensibly wayward Muslims from the fold taqiyya the right of Muslims to dissemble whenever they are under the authority of infidels tauhid the declaration of the oneness and unity of God tauhid asma’ wa sifat the unity of God’s names and attributes tauhid rububiyyah the unity of Lordship tauhid ‘uluhiyyah the unity of divinity thaghut false deity—​used to describe an oppressive state apparatus ulama the body of Islamic scholars ummah community

Introduction The Continuing Threat of Extremist Islam in Southeast Asia

The Impact of COVID-​19: Not Helping Matters On April 17, 2020, 11 soldiers of the Armed Forces of the Philippines (AFP) were killed during a battle with 40 fighters of the Abu Sayyaf Group (ASG) in Patikul town, in the Sulu region of Mindanao, southern Philippines. The ASG had apparently ambushed the troops during the latter’s operations aimed at tracking down two senior ASG figures, Radullan Sahiron and Hatib Sawadjaan—​the leader of the Philippine branch of the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria (ISIS) global terror network. The firefight between the pro-​ISIS ASG and the AFP forces was apparently the bloodiest in months. The encounter occurred in the midst of the worldwide novel coronavirus (COVID-​ 19) pandemic that had not spared the southern Philippines. A government spokesperson acknowledged the strain on the armed forces, who were on “the forefront as the government’s arm to prevent the spread of the dreaded disease on the one hand,” while simultaneously engaged in “battling this terrorist Abu Sayyaf Group.”1 It was reported that the ASG were not just busy stocking up on food and other supplies, but also “conducting recruitment and training activities.”2 Two days before the AFP-​ASG battle, across the Celebes Sea, in the city of Poso, Central Sulawesi in eastern Indonesia, two suspected members of another pro-​ ISIS group, the East Indonesian Mujahidin (Mujahidin Indonesia Timur or MIT), had shot and wounded a policeman outside a bank, but they were subsequently killed by other police officers. As in the southern Philippines, with security forces compelled to shift resources elsewhere to assist in dealing with the rapidly spreading disease, pro-​ISIS networks like MIT in Indonesia appeared to be exploiting the COVID-​19 outbreak to ramp up activities. MIT leaders were seen on videos circulating in the community urging “militants and supporters to attack security forces,” and warning that civilians collaborating with the authorities would be killed. Extremist Islam. Kumar Ramakrishna, Oxford University Press. © University of Maryland National Consortium for the Study of Terrorism and Responses to Terrorism (START) 2022. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197610961.003.0001

2  Extremist Islam Seeking to energize MIT militants to keep fighting, one leader proclaimed that the “Thogut [the oppressor] will fall with coronavirus and this war, God willing,” and he predicted that it, “will happen soon.”3Analysts assessed not only did the COVID-​19 pandemic directly boost the morale and operational activity of the likes of ASG and MIT, but also such groups and their support networks in both territories appeared to be recruiting new supporters and regenerating. Referring to the MIT, for instance, the Jakarta-​based Institute for Policy Analysis of Conflict (IPAC) noted that while police rehabilitation programs had “successfully turned several former prisoners away from extremism,” they had failed to “stop recruitment” or “weaken pockets of local support for MIT”—​and significantly—​had not stopped “a few communities that had long been involved in conflict from seeing police as the enemy.”4 Such trends in Indonesia and the southern Philippines were emblematic of the continuing threat of extremist Islam in Southeast Asia. After the September 11, 2001, al-​Qaeda strikes in New York and Washington, Southeast Asia gained a reputation as the so-​called second front in the Bush administration’s Global War on Terror.5 While the decade of the 2000s saw regional governments respond strongly to the threat from al-​Qaeda and its local affiliates, particularly the ASG and the Indonesian Jemaah Islamiyah network and its splinter groups,6 in the following decade, policy attention began focusing more on the rise of the al-​Qaeda splinter network ISIS from mid-​2014 onward. It could be argued that while the Bali bombings in October 2002 represented a turning point in the regional struggle against pro-​al-​ Qaeda Southeast Asian terror networks,7 the 5-​month long battle for control of the Islamic City of Marawi in the southern Philippines, between May and October 2017, exemplified the intensity of the contemporary struggle of governments with regional groups associated with ISIS—​although the threat from al-​Qaeda and its affiliates has not disappeared.8 Post-​Marawi, despite the elimination of key pro-​ISIS Southeast Asian senior militants, the terrorist threat in the region has yet to be neutralized. Since then, security and intelligence services have been busy thwarting various attacks and arresting pro-​ISIS militants and supporters. The estimate in January 2020 was that 519 individuals in Malaysia and another 500 in Indonesia have been arrested, while Singaporean, Thai, and the Philippine governments have broken up suspected additional ISIS cells and supporters. According to observers, nearly 1,000 Indonesians, 100 Malaysians, and several Filipinos and Singaporeans made their way to Syria to join the so-​called ISIS Caliphate between 2015 and 2017. In that period, some 85 Indonesians

Introduction  3 and 40 Malaysians were reportedly killed in battle, many in suicide bombings.9 What is of great concern is that with the loss of ISIS territorial holdings in Syria, many of these “ideologically hardened and combat-​ready fighters” from Southeast Asia have tried to return to the region, bringing with them strong ideological leanings, shared combat and weapons-​handling experience, and close personal networks comprising fighters from within and outside Southeast Asia. The returning fighters could thus “form alliances” with organic Southeast Asian militant cells, assume senior leadership roles—​ and “retaking their pledges of allegiance to the newly declared IS leader Abu Ibrahim al-​ Hashimi al-​ Qurayshi”—​ more effectively coordinate deadlier 10 terror operations around the region. Already, there have been ominous signs of increasing ISIS influence on the modus operandi of Southeast Asian terror networks. On May 13, 2018, at least 13 people were killed and 40 injured after a family of six, including very young children, mounted suicide attacks on three churches in the city of Surabaya, in East Java province, Indonesia. The same day, a mother and her 17-​year-​old daughter were killed in a nearby suburb after a bomb being handled by the father blew up prematurely. The next day, another family of five, riding on motorcycles, detonated a bomb at the entrance of Surabaya’s police headquarters. Only a 7-​year-​old girl survived this attack.11 ISIS influence was evident in two ways. First, the Surabaya attack was the first time whole families including young children were involved in a suicide attack in the country. Women and children, however, have been used in combatant roles in ISIS in the Middle East.12 Second, it transpired that the explosive used in the Surabaya attacks was TATP. The late Syria-​based Indonesian ISIS leader Bahrun Naim had promoted use of TATP through online tutorials that remain widely consumed by supporters in Indonesia. Bahrun had produced online bomb-​making manuals, such as “How to Make a Bomb in 10 Minutes” and “Make Explosive Materials in Your Kitchen.” Moreover, pro-​ ISIS cells in Indonesia have also provided bomb-​making training, including in TATP, for their counterparts from Malaysia. Worryingly, such cells have also been experimenting with mixing radioactive and conventional explosive materials to make a “dirty bomb”—​although such attempts have thus far been very rudimentary at best.13 Meanwhile, in Mindanao, on June 28, 2019, a camp belonging to the AFP’s 1st Brigade Combat Team in Indanan, Sulu, was struck by two suicide bombers—​including a Filipino—​the first officially confirmed case of a suicide bombing in the Philippines executed by a Filipino. This was widely regarded as a major escalation by local extremists,

4  Extremist Islam because suicide bombing—​while used by Jemaah Islamiyah in Indonesia in the 2000s—​had hitherto been unheard of among Filipino militants. ISIS claimed responsibility for the attack, while the Philippine police fingered the pro-​ISIS ASG as being behind the incident.14

The Need to Properly Recognize Extremist Islam in Southeast Asia This book, adopting a broad perspective and a wide conceptual lens, seeks to understand the nature of seemingly resilient, violent, religiously motivated extremist networks like the pro-​ISIS ASG and MIT in the southern Philippines and Indonesia, respectively, as well as similar networks and individuals threatening the neighboring Southeast Asian countries of Singapore and Malaysia. The book aspires to help readers properly recognize extremist Islam in general and especially in the four Southeast Asian countries studied, as the necessary prelude to fashioning an appropriate multistakeholder response. Thus, Chapters 1 and 2 commence the enquiry by exploring what is meant by religious extremism in general. In this respect, we ask if groups like ISIS, ASG, and MIT are motivated in the main by material factors and merely employ religion as a rhetorical device, as some scholars suggest, or is there a type of embattled religious form—​fundamentalism—​that possesses violent potential that in times of intergroup stress and conflict can take on more extremist manifestations? We adopt the latter position and explain why.15 Furthermore, are the oft-​used terms “fundamentalism,” “radicalism,” and “extremism” interchangeable? What is the relationship among them?16 The argument to be developed is that a common fundamentalist psychology underlies both radicalism and extremism. While relatively “open-​minded” radicalism can be considered a mild form of fundamentalism, the real challenge is posed by the acutely fundamentalist form of “closed-​minded” extremism. Another issue to explore is whether there is really such a thing as “nonviolent” extremism, or is it more the case that religious extremism is inherently violent?17 For instance, it has been suggested by some analysts that “quietist Salafis” are the “group best positioned to debate the Islamic State,” because the former are largely “not jihadists.”18 Our argument, however, is that the term “nonviolent” extremism is a misnomer, and governments and civil societies should be concerned about extremism per se—​a point developed in

Introduction  5 relation to Southeast Asia in this study, but arguably having wider applicability as well. Tightening the analytical focus more narrowly, Chapter 2 seeks to unpack a second set of issues related to a particular religion: Islam. Is Islam an inherently violent religion, as some observers suggest? For example, the conservative and high-​profile American political commentator Pamela Geller, who has appeared on FOX News, CNN, and Russia Today, has described Islam as a “religion of violence.”19 Or is the problem an extremist form of the faith? If it is indeed the latter, in extremist Islam, what theological strains then give rise to the extremism that fuels the likes of ISIS, its ideological cousin al-​ Qaeda, and various affiliated Southeast Asian extremist networks like ASG, MIT, and the older Jemaah Islamiyah, the Indonesian network that eventually developed regional and even global jihad aspirations? As is well known, many commentators have offered answers: inter alia, Wahhabism, Salafism, Islamism, Salafi Jihadism—​and as the Trump administration put it—​“radical Islamic terrorism.”20 Therefore, there is a need to recognize as far as possible the precise extremist strain within Islam that has fueled the likes of ISIS, al-​Qaeda, and their affiliates around the world and particularly in Southeast Asia. As we shall see, it is argued herein that rather than Salafism per se, it is in fact the acutely fundamentalist theological-​ideological amalgam that has been called Salafabism that requires the most policy attention.21 The Salafabist lens deserves wider analytical use in the study of extremism in Southeast Asian Islam.22 Very importantly, in relation to religious extremism in the Islamic world, we argue that supposedly nonviolent extremists do not actually counteract their violent counterparts—​but in actual fact sustain the latter.23 This is because both types of extremists share a common theological DNA. In other words, “soft,” ostensibly nonviolent Salafabism possesses inherent violent potentials that can and do get consummated in the form of “hard,” violent Salafabism. This is precisely why, for instance, the American Islamic scholar Hamza Yusuf argues that extremist Islam is a “spectrum disorder”—​with quietists at one pole and jihadists at the other.24 Turning to Southeast Asia, Chapters 3 to 6 examine four Salafabist extremists of varying degrees of theological-​ ideological mastery, background profiles, and roles within the overall Southeast Asian Salafabist movement. Recognizing their extremism within their respective national constitutional, ideological, and mainline Islamic theological contexts, reveals that they are best understood respectively as a Malaysian extremist bureaucrat, a Singaporean opportunist, a southern Philippine stimulus

6  Extremist Islam seeker, and an Indonesian ideologue. This categorization is inspired by research that shows that rather than a single profile, extremists involved with terror networks have unique backgrounds and motivations that lead them to perform differing roles in such networks.25 We shall see how these four Southeast Asian extremists’ respective immersion in Salafabist ecosystems26 comprising persons (specific influencers in direct physical contact with the subject), places (relatively insulated online or real-​world social spaces within which a mix of soft and hard Salafabist views were incubated), and platforms (print and other media consumed by the subject) interacted in various ways to socialize them into, and sustain to varying degrees, their Salafabist outlooks. These four substantive chapters also examine how each individual case of radicalization into Salafabist extremism tells us something about the extent to which the latter has permeated within the wider societies as well, in often less discernible, subtle ways—​hence requiring urgent policy attention. Exploring the contemporary relevance of each individual to their respective evolving national political, ideological, and theological contexts illustrates the manner in which the two forms of Salafabist extremism explored in this study—​ostensibly nonviolent, soft Salafabist political Islamism and violent, hard Salafabist Salafi Jihadism—​interact in subtle ways. Chapter 7 ties the analysis together. It suggests that coping with Salafabism in its inexorably intertwined soft and hard forms in Southeast Asia requires much more than reactive counter-​narratives aimed at discrediting the extremist ideology that radicalized terrorist detainees and their immediate support networks imbibe. Rather, proactive alternative narratives to Salafabism must be effectively employed, so as to create mental firewalls among vulnerable Muslim constituencies—​especially youth—​in Southeast Asia. The alternative narratives should be conceptualized, deployed, managed, and monitored as part of a whole-​of-​society campaign. The latter must involve good governance that creates the overall structural and societal conditions to nurture strong families capable of raising emotionally and cognitively well-​adjusted youth, who are resilient to extremist appeals whether online or in the real world. The chapter offers a useful way to think about a campaign to promote powerful alternative narratives: the 4M Way—​referring to message content, message framing, message dissemination, and message receptivity. Minimally, the 4M Way seeks to ensure that potent, culturally authentic alternative narratives gain information dominance over competing Salafabist storylines within each national context. Maximally—​and admittedly more ambitiously—​the 4M Way aims to foster among target audiences

Introduction  7 what Omar Saif Ghobash calls an essential “independence of mind,”27 which is the ultimate antidote to the acute Salafabist fundamentalism that, as this study shows, animates Salafabist extremism’s two forms: not just overt Salafi Jihadi violence, but also more subtle Islamist political machinations within democratic, multicultural societies in Southeast Asia and beyond. The grand strategic objective of the 4M Way, in the final analysis, is to protect, to strengthen, and to nurture the complex, richly textured tapestry of the moderate Islam Nusantara of Southeast Asia, home to 25 percent of the global Muslim population.28

Brief Note on Sources and Methodology In Harper Lee’s timeless novel, To Kill a Mockingbird, a main character, Atticus Finch, declares, “You never know the person until your jump into their skin and walk around in it.”29 Within the field of terrorism studies, the British scholar Andrew Silke concurs, arguing that “any explanation not backed by direct examination of terrorists” may well be “little more than idle speculation.”30 In researching this book, therefore, I did not confine myself to second-​hand accounts. The material here for three out of the four cases examined is based significantly on direct personal interactions. As is recounted in the following chapters, I had the opportunity to listen to an insightful lecture on Jemaah Islamiyah by the Malaysian Wan Min Wan Mat and to engage with him in Kuala Lumpur; I engaged face to face with the Singaporean Zulfikar Shariff after I had delivered a lecture in Monash University in Melbourne, Australia;31 and I had a long in-​person interview with Abu Hamdie in the Philippines. The interactions with Wan Min Wan Mat and Abu Hamdie were so substantive that they were subsequently turned into peer-​reviewed international journal articles.32 As for Zulfikar Shariff, what helped was the fact that he was also very active on social media, often writing to the press, and as a budding academic, he had also written academic and opinion pieces that were readily available.33 Nevertheless, as is well known, “up-​close-​and-​personal” contact is not always possible.34 Hence, I did not have the opportunity to directly interact with the Indonesian Aman Abdurrahman, the subject of Chapter 6. Basically, because he is the most high-​profile Indonesian extremist detainee, it was challenging to attempt to get direct access to him, for political, legal, and security reasons.35 This is not unheard of, it should be said. In 2006, the Australian sociologist Riaz Hassan

8  Extremist Islam secured funding from the Australian Research Council to conduct research into suicide terrorism. He had planned to interview individuals associated with Hezbollah in Lebanon, Hamas in the Palestinian territories, Egyptian Islamic Jihad, Lashkar e-​Toiba in Pakistan, the Tamil Tigers in Sri Lanka, and Jemaah Islamiyah in Indonesia. As it turned out, he was advised by the Australian Attorney-​General that his project could be in breach of antiterror laws governing contact with individuals belonging to what the federal government classified as “terrorist organizations.”36 In any case, to some extent like Zulfikar, Aman writes a great deal and I was able to gain access to his writings.37 Finally, readers will note in the coming chapters that I believe in trawling across the disciplines for insights into the problem of religious extremism. Hence my discussion of the stubborn ubiquity of religion in human groups draws significantly upon religious sociology, as well as evolutionary and social psychology. The theoretical sections on fundamentalism are similarly interdisciplinary in nature. This is, in my view, the way forward as far as terrorism studies in Southeast Asia or anywhere else are concerned. This interdisciplinary toolkit strategy has support from other scholars. The historian Christopher Browning, for example, has called for more interdisciplinary scholarship in the study of genocide and mass killing.38 Another historian, Richard Hofstadter, avers that engagement with the “social sciences” can help historians identify additional “variables” they should take into account in their analyses, thereby appreciating the “full texture of historical reality.”39 For his part, the psychologist Alan C. Elms has argued that good “psychobiographies” have been constructed by “psychoanalytically inspired political scientists, historians, and literary scholars” and what is required is “a controlled empathy for the subject and a devotion to collecting solid biographical data.”40 It is hoped that the reader will find that I have taken Elm’s call for controlled, data-​driven empathy to heart in analyzing the four Salafabist extremists in this book.

1 Recognizing Religious Extremism I Its Fundamentalist Underpinnings

Introduction On May 22, 2017, at around 2230 hours, a suspected suicide bomber blew himself up in the concourse linking Manchester Arena with Victoria train station in the city of Manchester, United Kingdom. Twenty-​two people, including an 8-​year-​old girl, who were just leaving the arena after the end of a concert by the American pop singer Ariana Grande, were killed, and 59 others were injured. British police soon identified the perpetrator, a young 22-​year-​old British Muslim man called Salman Abedi, whose parents were originally from Libya. Investigations revealed that Abedi had likely spent time in a Syrian training camp run by ISIS. In fact, ISIS claimed responsibility for the attack, calling Abedi a “soldier of the caliphate.”1 While some security analysts have contended that ISIS is essentially a politically driven network exploiting the faith of Islam to legitimize its extreme violence, thoughtful observers, such as the journalist Graeme Wood, have argued that ISIS is essentially what it says it is: that is, rather than Islamic, it is more precisely an Islamist entity. It seeks to employ violent means to seize political power with a view to creating an Islamic Caliphate that would first entrench itself in Iraq and Syria, but then ultimately span the globe.2 As we shall see, this book argues that Islamism in turn should be seen as a “soft” incarnation of Salafabist extremism. But that is for later. This chapter asserts that ISIS—​and for that matter its ideological cousin, the older al-​Qaeda terror network—​are, generally speaking, extreme, violent illustrations of not so much religion per se, but more accurately religious fundamentalism: that is, religion whose adherents feel existentially threatened by powerful secular forces and/​or more dominant religious out-​groups. In making this connection, the chapter seeks to go beyond the likes of ISIS per se to take a broader view of the contemporary phenomenon of religious fundamentalism—​as a necessary prelude to a deeper analysis Extremist Islam. Kumar Ramakrishna, Oxford University Press. © University of Maryland National Consortium for the Study of Terrorism and Responses to Terrorism (START) 2022. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197610961.003.0002

10  Extremist Islam of religious extremism. The assumption that is unpacked in this chapter is that underlying religious extremism is a strong fundamentalist impulse. The chapter examines this assumption in depth, employing an interdisciplinary analysis of how not so much religion per se, but its fundamentalist permutation, possesses extremist, incendiary potentials that could, under certain conditions, turn violent. The chapter’s focus on the role of religion in motivating the violence of terror networks like ISIS and similar entities is not a mere academic exercise. Therefore, it does not agree with those who hold that religion per se has little direct impact on terrorist violence. Some scholars argue that the “pervasive and instrumental professions of faith of these terrorist groups” are either “nothing more than propaganda” or merely serve to legitimize and mask deeper-​rooted grievances arising from “deeper irrational impulses” or more material causes, such as political and socioeconomic deprivation.3 Similarly, in a Southeast Asian context, while Joseph Liow accepts the importance of “religion and religious narratives” in motivating conflict, he sees religion as essentially empowering nationalist conceptions of collective identity, governmental legitimacy, and statehood. Referring to the long-​running Muslim separatist conflict in the southern Philippines, for instance, he argues that “religious discourse has been used to frame grievances over land loss and marginalization” and to “rationalize and explain the decision to bring hostilities against the Philippine state to an end.”4 Meanwhile, in relation to the ongoing Muslim separatist struggle in the Deep South of Thailand, Duncan McCargo avers that “grievances relating to territory, aggression, and injustice are painted in jihadist hues,” and he doubts that “there is a substantive theological dimension to the struggle.”5 While he concedes that “Islam has something to do with it,” he asserts that the conflict in southern Thailand “is not about Islam.”6 Like Liow, McCargo sees Islam in the Deep South as functioning chiefly as a “rhetorical and legitimizing resource” that is “selectively and pragmatically invoked.”7 But is religion’s role simply “rhetorical,” to be invoked to “frame” and “rationalize” conflict motivated by other factors? This strikes one as too trite a stance. Certainly, other scholars demur from the assessments of Liow and McCargo. In relation to the Thai Deep South, Marc Askew has countered that “religious motivation,” far from playing a mere “ ‘rhetorical’ function alone,” is in fact very much a “principal impulse and mechanism of commitment for many recruits.”8 He reminds us that a “more thoroughgoing religious rationale for separatism” was already gestating by the mid-​1980s. In addition, the absence of a well-​thought-​out theology in

Recognizing Religious Extremism I  11 insurgent pronouncements and propaganda,9 which comes across as “inaccurate and simplistic,” does not ipso facto diminish the “dominance of a religious idiom in representing an imagined sovereign territory.”10 Agreeing, Lorne Dawson more generally argues that “faulty theology is not a reliable indicator of the degree or primacy of religion in someone’s motivations”—​what matters is the “perpetrator’s conception of the actions.”11 For Askew, while in southern Thailand “Malay and Muslim identities are clearly mutually reinforcing,” he insists that the “ideological gravity of the current insurgency is weighted heavily toward the religious pole of that dual identification.”12 In examining the “motivations” of violent extremists more generally, who explicitly articulate religious rationales for their violent acts, therefore, observers who diminish the direct influence of religion on terrorist violence may perhaps wish to “guard against substituting” their “explanations for [the extremists’] behavior” for the latter’s “own explanations.”13 Such observers could instead consider examining more closely these extremists’ “definition of the situation” as informed by their “sincere religiosity.”14 By listening to what “the jihadist terrorists consistently say,” giving their own proffered “motivational claims some credence,” we might, as Dawson persuasively asserts, “come closer to understanding what we are really up against and how we might better counter it.”15 This book thus hews to the position that it is certainly not for nothing that the terrorism scholar David Rapoport argued soon after the al-​Qaeda attacks on New York and Washington DC on September 11, 2001, that we are living in what he calls the fourth wave of religiously motivated terrorism.16 This is one reason why so-​called New Atheists like the Oxford biologist Richard Dawkins and the philosopher Sam Harris have gone so far as to decry religious faith as the root of evil in the twenty-​first century and as an anachronism that humankind should consign to the dust-​heap of history.17 Many readers who have found their faith to be a source of deep comfort would likely contend that the New Atheists overstate their case.18 And yet, a cursory glance at today’s newspaper headlines—​as exemplified by the Manchester Arena incident just described—​suggests that perhaps Dawkins and Harris have a point about the considerable, if usually latent, destructive potential of religion. It bears asking, therefore: Under what conditions could religion directly fuel out-​group violence? To attempt what can admittedly only be a preliminary answer to this complex question, this chapter unpacks the argument as follows: the next section surveys some much-​needed interdisciplinary perspectives on why religion has remained very much part of, and will continue to remain—​no

12  Extremist Islam doubt to the disappointment of the New Atheists—​part of the human condition down the millennia. It focuses on the ways in which religious belief has cemented the social cohesion of progressively larger human “in-​groups,” expanding beyond kinship and direct, face-​to-​face mutual support networks. The second substantive section then examines how religion, in creating and cementing together an in-​group, paradoxically creates fissures with religious out-​groups; hence, rather than “universal harmony,” what religion in fact promotes is a narrow in-​group-​based morality and an instinctive distrust of outsiders. This phenomenon helps lays the foundation—​in tandem with other factors—​for potential out-​group violence. The third section takes this theme further, exploring the nature of religious fundamentalism as the form religion takes when it comes under threat of extinction by external forces. The section following then explores the violent potentials within the “fundamentalist mindset.” It is this fundamentalist gestalt, as is discussed in the following chapter, that animates religious extremists—​both violent and otherwise.

The Persistent Ubiquity of Religion: Interdisciplinary Perspectives In 1968—​2 years after Time magazine had famously printed on its cover “Is God Dead?”—​the sociologist Peter Berger predicted that by the twenty-​ first century, “religious believers are likely to be found only in small sects, huddled together to resist a worldwide secular culture.”19 This comment was emblematic of the so-​called secularization thesis, “the prediction that religion would wilt before the juggernauts of the modern world”; certainly, it seemed that competing mass ideologies, such as “nationalism, socialism, and modernization,” would consign religion to the dustheap of history.20 Exactly 30 years later, however, Berger admitted that “the world today is as furiously religious as it ever was, and in some places more so than ever”; the “assumption that we live in a secularized world is false.”21 There have been many attempts to make sense of the enduring nature of religion. The “religious impulse,” Pulitzer Prize-​winning journalist Chris Hedges reminds us, “addresses something just as concrete as the pursuit of scientific or historical knowledge”—​the “human need for the sacred.”22 What was the basis for such a need? The father of psychoanalysis, Sigmund Freud, famously argued that religion was a shared neurosis within the

Recognizing Religious Extremism I  13 human community. Belief in God was simply a manifestation of the “father complex,” and religious people were unable to shake off their infantile belief in an illusory protector. He argued that maturing as an adult would imply growing out of religion.23 Karl Marx explained that religion was opium for the masses to help them cope with life’s miseries. For Marx, religion was moreover an insidious ideological tool, an instrument of the ruling capitalist class to dupe the workers into fatalistically accepting their lot in life. Marx, a descendant of a long line of rabbis and who tended to think in terms of “grand eschatologies,” sought to replace Heaven with the communist substitute of the classless society, in which man himself would rule supreme.24 Religion, others suggest, persists as a human need because it is uniquely positioned to offer the “compensation” that humans need to cope with the reality of death and suffering. No other social institution is able to offer a “product” competitive with life after death.25 In fact, some observers suggest that one reason why America became, and remains, relatively religious today is because the unfettered religious marketplace in the country has encouraged relentless innovation in methods of getting the core religious message across. Innovations down the decades have included easy-​to-​follow and attractive sermons, audience participation, and popular religious music.26 Even today, America arguably leads the world in producing Christian “pastorpreneurs” like Joel Osteen and Bill Hybels, who lead huge mega-​ churches and multimedia empires that emphasize “total service excellence” aimed at “putting the customer first.”27 Some analysts argue that the rest of the world’s religions may be compelled in varying degrees to emulate the successful American-​style blend of religion and media-​savvy capitalism.28 Sociologist Rodney Stark adds that “religious competition” between various faiths or between variants of the same faith in itself “increases the overall religiousness of a population.”29 Such musings, though pertinent, merely scratch the surface of a complex phenomenon. To understand the intrinsic, stubborn appeal of religion to this day requires even deeper analysis. One powerful line of enquiry that enjoys significant contemporary currency in social science circles is that religion endures because human beings are innately prone to “groupishness,” to borrow science writer Matt Ridley’s phrase.30 To understand the intrinsic groupishness of human beings in turn requires two broad sets of explanations: first, the way humans are cognitively hard-​wired to organize cognitively and respond affectively to the social world, and second, the

14  Extremist Islam structural, survival benefits of banding together. We need to explore each perspective in turn.

The Cognitive-​Affective Element Cognitive sociologist Eviatar Zerubavel insists that reality is “continuous,” and if “we envision distinct clusters separated from one another by actual gaps it is because we have been socialized to ‘see’ them.” Zerubavel tellingly adds that when “we cut up the world, we usually do it not as individuals but as members of particular ‘thought communities’.”31 That is, perceiving “the world in terms of groups, ruthlessly categorizing people as us or them,” is a basic fact of human existence.32 The mind tends to use a rough and simple mental algorithm that quickly categorizes not just objects but people, thereby simplifying the present and predicting the future more effectively.33 Harvard evolutionary biologist E. O. Wilson considers “the innate tendency” to “use two-​part classifications in treating socially important arrays,” as a basic feature of human interaction with the environment.34 Evolutionary psychologists hold that such rapid “social categorization” offered advantages to our ancestral forebears by filtering the amount of data they had to process, thereby enhancing the speed of information-​processing. This ability often meant the difference between life and death in our ancestors’ predator-​ rich ancestral environment. “Social categorization” is consequently “universal and pervasive across humankind” and is “as natural to our minds as breathing is to our lungs,” creating and defining our place in the social world.35 In the process, social categorization effectively divides that world into “us” and “them”—​or as American sociologist William Graham Sumner put it, the “we-​group, or in-​group, and everybody else, of the others-​group, out-​groups.”36 Researchers tell us, moreover, that the very process of cognitively dividing the world into the in-​group and the out-​group is inescapably accompanied by certain concomitant emotional or affective side effects. For instance, neuroscience researchers Andrew Newberg and Mark Waldman affirm that, in the process of social categorization, “it is easier for the brain to first quantify objects into pairs, and then to differentiate them into opposing groups,” such as light or dark, fact or fiction, and Republican or Democrat, for example. These “dyads” in fact represent a “unified concept” as “each term is defined according to its relationship to the other.”37 Of particular importance, Newberg

Recognizing Religious Extremism I  15 and Waldman point out that once a so-​called oppositional dyad is generated, the brain will automatically impose an “emotional bias on each part of the dyad,” leading us, after we “divide objects, people, and ideals into groups,” to “express a preference for one and a dislike for the other.”38 Social psychologist Susan Fiske concurs, adding that human biases toward out-​groups are “automatic, unconscious, and unintentional.”39 Functional magnetic resonance imaging (fMRI) experiments affirm that the “impulse to form group identities and favor in-​group members has a neurological basis.”40 Henri Tajfel’s famous experiments with “minimal groups” further underscore the automaticity of the affective biases generated by our ingrained cognitive binary instincts. Complete strangers were randomly divided into two groups using arbitrary criteria. The participants had no contact with either in-​group or out-​group members, neither were they told that they were competing for a prize or some scarce resource. Despite the “minimalness” of these arrangements, however the mere perception of belonging to two different groups—​ social categorization—​ triggered competitive behavior toward the out-​group and favoritism toward randomly assigned in-​group members that, as noted, the participants had never even met. Such findings are robust and have been replicated cross-​culturally.41 The in-​group bias generated by social categorization “emerges early in life”—​even among newborns and preschoolers—​and “seems to be something that must be unlearned, not learned.”42 In-​group bias generates four other related effects. First, we tend to believe that other in-​group members are “more similar to us than to out-​group members” across a “wide range of thoughts, feelings, and behaviors”—​the “assumed similarity effect.”43 Second, the “out-​group homogeneity effect” predisposes in-​group members generally to assume that all out-​group members are alike, and “if we know something about one out-​group member,” we “feel that we know something about all of them.”44 Third, because of the “accentuation effect,” members of the in-​group tend to be biased toward information that amplifies the differences with out-​group members. Intergroup similarities are generally ignored.45 Fourth, evolutionist scholars like David Sloan Wilson and Elliot Sober report that “within-​ group niceness and between-​group nastiness” appear closely intertwined.46 Extensive social psychological research further suggests that the foundational human need for the sense of being in control generates further psychic forces that cleave individuals emotionally to their social group. What does this mean? Basically, we need to believe that we have the basic capacity to interpret and master our environment, to protect ourselves and loved ones from physical

16  Extremist Islam harm, to accomplish important goals, and to lead personally meaningful lives.47 In order to enjoy a sense of control, human beings—​particularly those individuals with a strong “need for cognitive closure” through “knowledge that is certain and firm”—​need to find ways to overcome the myriad uncertainties emanating from their social milieu; and one powerful uncertainty-​reduction mechanism is “group-​centrism.”48 Strong in-​groups are “epistemic providers”—​ that is, “the beliefs, norms, and valued social identities consensually shared by members of a group provide people with certainty about what the world is like, what they should do in various situations, and who they are and why they are important.”49 Strong in-​groups that are effective epistemic providers offer individuals a shared worldview to cope with the challenges of daily life and ultimately a defense from existential anxiety and the fear of death. According to terror management theory, existential uncertainty—​including subtle reminders of death—​prompts people to more strongly “defend” the “cultural worldview” of their in-​group.50 Such processes could ultimately generate extremism.51 Moreover, members of in-​groups perceived to possess relatively high societal status tend to amplify intergroup differences more sharply.52 In short, individuals basically need to identify with specific social groups that they believe are superior to others.53 Psychoanalyst David M. Terman adds that individuals tend to “invest their idealizing needs and wishes in the group,” and going further, warns that “when the group or its ideals are attacked, individuals may feel even more humiliated and enraged than when they are personally shamed.”54 While such cognitive-​affective elements as just described tend to render human beings a particularly “groupish” species, they are not the complete story. External structural factors matter as well.

The Structural Element It has been argued in evolutionary psychology that “group living promoted individual survival,” especially in “settings where collective action facilitated defense or the acquisition of food.”55 Early humans who banded together in a group could cover more ground, readily acquire fresh deer and antelope meat, defend against predators, and better survive drought and famine on the East African savannah.56 Specifically, small hunter-​gatherer groups were more “efficient” than individuals in locating and killing large prey and could coordinate the activities of disparate individuals who otherwise might have interfered with one another. The fate of the individual was thus closely tied

Recognizing Religious Extremism I  17 to that of the group.57 Evolutionary biologist E. O. Wilson likewise affirms that the human “tendency to form groups” has “the earmarks of instinct” and reveals a certain “power and universality.”58 For their part, social network theorists Nicholas Christakis and James Fowler concur that humans “have evolved genetically to adapt to the risks and opportunities of cooperating in groups.”59 Structural pressures like war further reinforced the importance of human groupishness in collective defense against external threats. Prehistoric war was, relative to “population densities and fighting technologies,” at least as common and brutal as modern war.60 Science writer Robert Wright adds that war had the effect of pushing people into an “organic solidarity” to defend against an external threat. He points out, however, that the pushing effect of war was complemented by the pulling effect of another powerful structural factor, that of “trade and other economic sinews.”61 While Matt Ridley likewise acknowledges trade—​the “beneficent side of human groupishness”—​as an important social glue, he avers that “group territoriality and intergroup conflict” were the central drivers of human “social coagulation” in our ancestral past.62 It does seem that war or the threat of war was on balance the prime reason for human groups to coalesce into ever-​greater degrees of organic solidarity. Recent research suggests that societal instabilities and uncertainty arising from climatic changes during the Late Pleistocene era of human history forced once-​isolated hunter-​gatherer bands into much closer contact, increasing the opportunities for intergroup conflict.63 Philosopher Howard Bloom thus quips that whether at the cellular or human level, groups facing threat “constrict,” and nothing “grows a subculture faster than opposition to assault.”64 Social psychological research provides more support for this contention. According to uncertainty-​reduction theory, in “social contexts of particularly high uncertainty,” strongly homogeneous groups that emphasize close conformity to the “group prototype” and “maximally differentiate” themselves from other groups will be successful. As Savage and Liht argue, “individual doubt and ambiguity about the world” would be supplanted by group beliefs, “particularly religious beliefs,” that are “much better equipped to withstand threats to convictions and worth than are an individual’s beliefs.”65

Enter Religion As argued, the need for social coordination to ensure survival of the group in an inclement environment helped foster the intense group cohesion so

18  Extremist Islam evident throughout human history. The record shows us that numerous social groups were so emotionally bound up together that one could arguably speak, as Howard Bloom does, of a “group soul.”66 The development of a group soul was not solely due to external pressures, though. One potent factor that sustained and nourished internal cohesion and the group soul was more intrinsic: what the great sociologist Emile Durkheim regarded as religion, which he defined as “a unified system of beliefs and practices relative to sacred things, that is to say, things set apart and forbidden—​beliefs and practices which unite into one single moral community called a Church all those who adhere to them.”67 Some discussion of the term “religion” is in order at this point. The first thing that must be clarified is that religion is not to be confused with “religiosity.” In the most basic sense, religiosity—​or spirituality—​is a “feeling of being connected to something larger than oneself ”68 or of self-​transcendence.69 The psychiatrist Robert Cloninger has sought rigorously to tease out what it means behaviorally to be “spiritual.” After consulting Western, Eastern, historical, modern, secular, and religious sources and studying the lives of prophets, saints, and mystics, as well as more modern meditators and self-​actualizing individuals, Cloninger developed a self-​transcendence scale based on what he considered to be three related but analytically distinct elements of spirituality: self-​forgetfulness, transpersonal identification, and mysticism. Through experimentation, Cloninger discovered that these three elements tended to occur together. That is, some people who tended to be so absorbed with a task that they lost track of everything else around them also tended to feel emotionally and intimately connected to other people and living things, and to have a deep fascination for things that science cannot explain, such as miracles. Importantly, follow-​ up experimentation by geneticist Dean Hamer and colleagues in the United States found that there were no significant differences in self-​transcendence among different racial, ethnic, and age categories, although women seemed to display greater self-​transcendent capacity than men. Hamer, who had been director of the Gene Structure and Regulation Unit at the National Cancer Institute in the United States, realized that there seemed to be “a common root, a shared mechanism” that tied these three building blocks of spirituality or religiosity—​self-​forgetfulness, transpersonal identification, and mysticism—​together. The shared or common “biological mechanism” is one that gears humans toward “a genetic predisposition for spiritual belief.” He avers that “spirituality is one of

Recognizing Religious Extremism I  19 our basic human inheritances”—​in short, an “instinct.”70 Agreeing, science writer Matthew Alper likens human religiosity to the instinctual seeking out of light by planaria. It is as natural as breathing.71 In fact, experiments show that young children “include supernatural beliefs in their view of the world,” leading evolutionary-​minded scholars to speak of the existence of a “universal grammar for religion as we do for language.”72 For his part, sociologist Christian Smith does not necessarily fully accept that humans possess “an irrepressible need or drive or instinct or desire to be religious,” but he does admit that they do have, “by virtue of their given ontological being, a complex set of innate features, capacities, powers, limitations, and tendencies that capacitate them to be religious”—​and thus, “under the right conditions, tend to predispose and direct them toward religion.”73 Evolutionary psychologist Jesse Bering wryly affirms that “God is an inherent part of our natural cognitive systems, and ridding ourselves of Him” would require “a neurosurgeon, not a science teacher.”74 Hamer the geneticist argues that there are “probably many different genes involved” in generating religiosity, and importantly, that “environmental influences are just as important as genetics” in determining individual personality and religiosity.75 Michael Shermer agrees, observing that while there is a strong genetic basis for religiosity, an equally important role is played by environmental factors, such as family background, social class, and culture, in shaping an individual’s nature and intensity of religiosity. Moreover, precisely because of shifting wider environmental or cultural influences, there is no reason to assume that religiosity should always be expressed outwardly in one way, such as belief in a personal God in, say, the traditional Christian sense. To be sure, the latter belief persists: a 1996 poll in the United States found that 38 percent of Americans believed that the Bible is the literal word of God, and in 2004, 79 percent of Americans polled believed that Jesus Christ was born of a virgin without a human father.76 That said, alternatives to the personal Christian God idea exist: a 1996 poll of Americans found that 30 percent of believers reposed their faith in a deity other than the biblical God; 11 percent conceived of God as a higher consciousness, and 8 percent said that God represented the total attainment of human potential. Another 3 percent expressed belief in many gods with different powers and authority; and another 3 percent went so far as to claim that everyone is his or her own god. In the New Age bastion of southern California, meanwhile, a 1991 survey found that 91 percent of respondents believed in God as a “universal spirit.”77

20  Extremist Islam Moreover, a 2011 poll of Estonians—​statistically the least conventionally religious people on the planet—​nevertheless revealed that well over 50 percent expressed belief in an impersonal life force.78 While religiosity per se is thus instinctual, organized religion “is part of what we absorb from the culture we grow up in” and can be expressed in diverse cultural forms.79 In other words, “genes,” Newberg and Waldman clarify, “do not turn a person into a Muslim, Hindu, or Catholic, for these are matters relating to child rearing, social norms, and an individual’s freedom to choose.”80 Sosis and Kiper likewise argue that religious expression requires “cultural inputs and cultivations,” and whether “one believes in Zeus, Vishnu, or Allah will depend on the cultural environment in which one is raised.”81 In sum, religious forms worldwide may differ in ritual beliefs and details, but in essence, as evolutionary biologist David Sloan Wilson notes, what ties them together is that they represent “a collection of beliefs and practices that honor spirituality.”82 A common human religiosity instinct thus underlies the diversity of human religions throughout history, be they animistic, pantheistic, or monotheistic.83 Of course, environmental influences need not merely canalize religiosity into various cultural expressions adapted to differing ecological niches worldwide.84 They may actually limit or even diminish expression of the human religiosity instinct, as in the case of atheists, whose upbringing, education, and life experiences have generated a “learned attitude” against religious beliefs of any kind.85 In this regard, some scholars, seeking to rehabilitate Berger’s old secularization thesis, assert that globally, rates of “secularity” have been steadily rising. For instance, 100 years ago, only 2 percent of Canadians and 1 percent of Australians claimed to be without religion, compared to 30 percent and 20 percent, respectively, at the present time. In Europe, meanwhile, there are more atheists than theists in Holland and Norway—​which is unprecedented in both countries, while in the United Kingdom, almost half of the public claim no religious identity. Rising secularity rates have also been seen in Latin America and Asia. While rates of religiosity have declined in Japan and South Korea, in China, as in the United Kingdom, about half the population claims to be “nonreligious.”86 Nevertheless, rising rates of secularity do not necessarily imply that religion is “fading away” and that the secularization thesis is correct after all.87 To reiterate, this merely shows that environmental and cultural factors can either augment or inhibit the human religiosity instinct. Hence, even if many contemporary Europeans brought up in the Enlightenment traditions or “glories

Recognizing Religious Extremism I  21 of reason, rationality, and science,” for instance, appear to have given short shrift to organized Christianity, they have steadily been discovering that they retain a deep-​rooted yearning for spiritual meaning in their lives. They recognize intuitively that, as Douglas Murray puts it, as a “societal creed,” meaningless nihilism would be “fatal.”88 This is certainly one reason why young Europeans, disillusioned with mainline Christianity, have begun exploring Islam.89 Hence, while the “screaming atheist” may well dismiss the religious inclinations of the “evangelical preacher,” the common religiosity instinct that the former shares with the latter renders them both “hot and bothered by God”—​albeit in different ways.90 This is precisely why, as Christian Smith insists, the “skeptical Enlightenment, secular humanist, and New Atheist visions for a totally secular human world are simply not realistic.”91 It is thus not without reason that the eminent anthropologist Mircea Eliade calls man Homo religious.92 In any case, Durkheim argued that religion needed to possess a sound “secular utility” beyond simple theorizing about the natural world, or else it would have long been discarded by ancestral humans struggling for survival. One of Durkheim’s enduring contributions was to consider religion as a means for organizing social life, both by defining groups and by prescribing the behavior of its members. As David Sloan Wilson points out, in evolutionary terms, Durkheim was right in conceiving of religion as “an adaptation” that enables human groups to “function as harmonious and coordinated units.”93 Modern social scientists, building upon Durkheim, argue that the “religious system” as a whole, comprising “complex interactions” between “ritual performance and supernatural agent concepts,” enables a social group to adapt successfully to the challenges of surviving in an evolving socioecological context. In this sense therefore, religion—​or the “religious system”—​comprising “an ever-​changing, adaptive amalgam of concepts and behaviors,” has provided the “impetus to maintain social cohesion.”94 Michael Shermer hence asserts that, given that “human culture itself dates back at 35,000 years, if not more,” it stands to reason that the “principal social institution available to facilitate cooperation and goodwill was probably religion.”95 Candace Alcorta has similarly underscored the adaptive function of religion in preserving the cohesion and stability of human societies as they expand beyond smaller kin and face-​to-​face mutual support networks, all the while coping with evolving environmental challenges. She argues that throughout “human history and across the vast majority of cultures throughout the world, religion has been the preferred means of shaping our social and moral brains.”96 She notes that

22  Extremist Islam the majority of societies studied by anthropologists conduct “adolescent rites of passage for the explicit purpose of transforming children into socially responsible adults.”97 Such rites include “sacred beliefs” that “embody idealized social roles and relationships” and identify “corresponding cultural norms and values specific to their respective cultures.”98 Religion has therefore been the key medium through which “enculturation and social bonding took place during the bulk of our evolutionary past.”99 Even Michael Shermer, the thoughtful nontheistic editor of Skeptic magazine, concedes that religion remains “the most powerful institution in human history,”100 not least because it evolved to enable the members of an in-​group to cooperate, to “outcompete other groups,” and ultimately to absorb all competitors.101 In fact, harking back briefly to our earlier discussion on the role of religion as opposed to nationalism in explaining Southeast Asian conflicts, we should see by now that nationalism represents a form of secularized religion. The symbols of hypernationalism, or for that matter the other twentieth-​century secular ideologies of fascism and communism, were always expressions of ersatz religiosity.102 Sociologist of religious violence Mark Juergensmeyer thus sees “nationalism as itself having many of the characteristics of a religion, including doctrine, myth, ethics, ritual experience, and social organization,” and importantly—​the ability “to give moral sanction to martyrdom and violence.”103 As Shermer suggests, “beneath the surface of nationalism often lies religion.”104 To be sure, the precise manner in which religion has played such an adaptive, socially cementing role within myriad in-​groups throughout human history is a complex story. However, recent research suggests that two elements—​the role of supernatural beings as full-​access strategic agents and the importance of costly, hard-​to-​fake rituals, have been particularly important.

How Religion Creates “Us”—​The In-​Group First, research has shown that all over the world, religious people have conceived of supernatural beings or gods as full-​access strategic agents. That is, because supernatural agents like gods “know what you did last night and what you are doing now,” they have “access to all that is needed for making a sound judgment in any particular situation”—​including whether to punish cheaters or to reward altruistic members of the in-​group.105 Interestingly, a study of 186 world cultures found that the concept of supernatural agents’

Recognizing Religious Extremism I  23 punishing human infractions with illness is widespread. This is an important point. Once the concept of the gods as full-​access strategic agents is internalized within a moral community, cheating becomes less likely for fear of supernatural detection and punishment—​which in turn makes social cooperation the norm.106 Cognitive anthropologist Scott Atran observes in this vein that clerics, leaders, and community elders can only intermittently monitor in-​group members to ensure that commitments to the gods and the in-​group are kept. “To keep the morally corrosive temptations to deceive or defect under control—​all concerned, whether beggar or king—​must truly believe that the gods are always watching,” and, pointedly, “they must believe this even when they know that no other person could possibly be looking.”107 In a nutshell, with mass belief in a relatively all-​knowing, interventionist, and potentially punitive god or gods overseeing matters, social cohesion is strengthened.108 Second, full-​access supernatural agents or gods further enhance social cohesion by being widely regarded as insisting on, and monitoring compliance with, costly signals of religious commitment. All religions require their adherents to sacrifice narrow self-​interest in public displays of commitment to the norms and mores of community life perceived to be supernaturally mandated.109 In this regard, Richard Sosis identifies the so-​called four Bs of community life that in-​group members must publicly and genuinely display a commitment to: beliefs, behavior (or rituals), badges (clothing or other markings), and bans (taboos and proscribed activity). Adherence to the four Bs can be costly: certain beliefs and behavioral rituals, such as memorizing in-​group religious texts and complicated ceremonial prayers, require investment of money, time, and other resources, and committing to prescribed badges and bans sharply minimizes the freedom of in-​group members to mingle easily with, and potentially benefit from interaction with, out-​group members. On the other hand, taking on, and being seen by other in-​group members to take on, such hard-​to-​fake costs communicates in-​group members’ investment in the community, and thus raises their status as potentially reliable partners in social cooperation.110 “The more costly the signal,” John Teehan adds, “the more effective it is as a sign of commitment, and the greater [the] level of social cooperation may be.”111 It is no accident, therefore, that “tight-​knit religious communities,” such as Jews, Christian fundamentalists, and Mormons, display high degrees of fidelity to Sosis’s four Bs and at the same time suffer comparatively lower rates of crime, delinquency, and other forms of social cheating within their communities

24  Extremist Islam in comparison to out-​groups.112 In fact, religious groups that demand costlier commitments from their members have been known to outlast less-​demanding groups. This is largely because the sheer personal cost associated with being part of the in-​group “creates a strong, mutual presumption of commitment on the part of the members, thereby facilitating cooperative social action.”113 In sum, an elaborate conception of religious morality and rituals widely regarded as underwritten by full-​access strategic supernatural entities can enable a religious group to function as a coherent unit as it grows in size and becomes more complex.114 The foregoing analysis enables us to develop a useful evolutionist understanding of religion as a cultural artefact that involves omniscient supernatural agents regarded by an in-​group as deeply interested in monitoring costly and hard-​to-​fake commitments of members toward group success—​vis-​a-​vis relevant out-​groups. Two crucial implications flow from such an evolutionist interpretation of religion. First, it implies that religion is potentially well equipped as a cultural mechanism to resolve what John Teehan calls the problem of extension—​ that is, it can enable human groups to expand well beyond the narrower moral circles based on direct kinship and face-​to-​face mutual support to the level of nations and even empires—​and still maintain social cohesion. Cross-​ cultural studies in this connection confirm a direct correlation between mass belief in the concept of powerful high gods policing human morality and higher population densities. Second, and of particular interest to us, these studies also reveal that the correlation holds true especially in conditions of resource stress—​and out-​group conflict.115

Religion, Intergroup Contestation—​and Conflict To recapitulate, religion evolved as a group-​level adaptation to preserve in-​group stability and cohesion as the group expanded beyond the smaller moral circles of family and face-​to-​face mutual support networks to encompass larger communities, entire societies, and even ultimately empires. The high premium placed on strong in-​group cohesion and solidarity was not without good reason. It was because such in-​group growth and territorial expansion could only be achieved at the expense of competing out-​groups. Therefore, religion likely evolved as a mechanism to create altruistic social groups capable of success in competition or conflict with out-​groups. It is noteworthy that the great British naturalist Charles Darwin himself noted

Recognizing Religious Extremism I  25 the possibility of groups comprising relatively altruistic individuals trumping groups comprising relatively more selfish ones. In an oft-​quoted passage, he observed: A tribe including many members who, from possessing in high degree the spirit of patriotism, fidelity, obedience, courage, and sympathy, were always ready to aid one another, and to sacrifice themselves for the common good, would be victorious over most other tribes; and this would be natural selection.116

Thus, while Christakis and Fowler argue that “religion and the inclination to form social networks are both part of our biological heritage,” and that religion is “one means of integrating people into a collective,” this is hardly the full story.117 As Robert Wright reminds us, religiously based “non-​zero-​ sumness within the in-​group, wondrous though it is, was created by, and for, zero-​sumness” vis-​à-​vis out-​groups.118 Overall, organized religion—​based on a moral code promoting in-​group cohesion and policed by powerful supernatural gods—​remains a potent survival response or adaptation for one clear purpose: to enable a social group to “outcompete other groups” and to grow larger at the expense of the latter.119 The problem is, in the process, out-​ group violence may well be the result: hence evolutionary biologist William Hamilton observes that “altruistic groups must expand at the expense of other groups and to do this they need to fight them.” Paradoxically, therefore, what generates “altruism and kindness at one level”—​religion—​may well “produce hatred and violence at the other.”120 This is precisely why David Sloan Wilson reminds us that rather than “universal morality,” religious systems actually promote “in-​group morality and out-​group hostility.”121 That is, religious morality has in fact evolved to be a narrow group-​based morality. Religious morality, John Teehan likewise reiterates, develops as “a system to promote within-​group cohesiveness” that is most useful in competition and conflict with other groups. He opines that morality “is a code of how to treat those in my group” and is “not designed” to extend to “those outside the group,” who therefore “must be treated as potential cheaters” who are “not invested in our group and so cannot be expected to engage in altruism or reciprocation.”122 In other words, Teehan bluntly adds that those “outside the group are in fact a potential threat to my group’s survival.”123 The net effect of such processes, anthropologist Margaret Mead observed, is that tribal injunctions against killing human beings are “universally interpreted to define human

26  Extremist Islam beings as members of one’s own tribe,” and members of competing tribes are ergo “subhuman.”124 Thus, while to kill a member of one’s religious in-​group is murder, to kill an unbelieving out-​group member may not be. “This is not,” Teehan pointedly observes, “what one might expect of a divine law,” but it certainly is what to expect of a law shaped by a “moral psychology” that has evolved out of the human propensity to cleave the world into in-​groups and out-​groups.125 All this, however, does not necessarily vindicate the Oxford biologist Richard Dawkins’ bleak view that religion’s “deliberate and cultivated pandering to humanity’s natural tendency to favor in-​groups and shun out-​ groups” renders it “a significant force for evil in the world.”126 To connect religion per se directly and uncritically with violence would be a gross oversimplification. It is suggested here instead that what more closely links religion and the violence of the likes of al-​Qaeda, ISIS, and their Southeast Asian affiliates—​though again, always in tandem with other factors—​is a particular form of religion, that is, fundamentalism. It is to this topic that we now turn.

Fundamentalism: Religion on the Defensive Several scholars have explained religious fundamentalism as an approach to religion that “elevates the role of the sacred text to a position of supreme authority and subordinates all other potential sources of knowledge and meaning.”127 Since the early 1990s, though, fundamentalism has been understood to be essentially “reactivity against modernism.”128 This understanding of fundamentalism is fleshed out more fully in the following definition by the well-​known Fundamentalism Project at the University of Chicago: “A discernible pattern of religious militance by which self-​styled ‘true believers’ attempt to arrest the erosion of religious identity, fortify the borders of the religious community, and create viable alternatives to secular institutions and behaviors.”129 Broadly agreeing, Malise Ruthven describes fundamentalism as a “religious way of being that manifests itself in a strategy by which beleaguered believers attempt to preserve their distinctive identities as individuals or groups in the face of modernity and secularization.”130 The fundamentalist response is generated in the face of not just the “general processes” of secularization and modernization and a “secular state” aiming to “secularize and delimit the domain of the sacred,” but also—​and importantly for our purposes—​“other religions and/​or ethnic groups.”131 In sum, the “defense of

Recognizing Religious Extremism I  27 religion is the sine qua non of fundamentalism; without it, a movement may not properly be labeled fundamentalist.”132 The term “fundamentalism” itself was coined by Curtis Lee Laws in 1920 to refer to developments in American Christianity in the second decade of the twentieth century.133 In particular, Evangelicals sought to preserve the notion of biblical inerrancy and other Christian “fundamentals” against the perceived onslaught of secular modernism and science. These Protestant fundamentalists did not desire to revise their belief in a supernatural, all-​powerful God in light of continuing scientific discoveries, in particular Darwinian evolution. This tussle culminated in the infamous Scopes “monkey trial” that, although resulting in a countrywide ban on the teaching of evolution in schools until the 1960s, nevertheless left the lingering impression that fundamentalists were “numbskulls and know-​nothings.”134 By the 1980s, however, it was clear that fundamentalism was anything but a narrowly Christian phenomenon. In response to what was seen as a “global epidemic” of religious fundamentalism, an “unexplained resurgence” in which “Christian, Muslim, Jewish, Hindu, and other fundamentalisms exploded onto the world stage, much to the surprise of secularization theorists,”135 the American scholars Martin Marty and Scott Appleby embarked on the aforementioned Fundamentalism Project, a multinational study aimed at discerning and teasing out the Wittgensteinian “family resemblances” linking various fundamentalist movements into a single general category. The Project generated several volumes that in essence showed that fundamentalism represents at root “embattled forms of spirituality” in which fundamentalist believers across all faiths feel under siege from the multifarious forms of secular modernity and, for that matter, competing faith groups.136 The study of fundamentalism is not without difficulties, to be sure. Karen Armstrong notes the technical problems of using the word “fundamentalism” in relation to the various faiths. She concedes, however, that the term is “here to stay.”137 Charles Strozier and Katharine Boyd, for their part, stress the protean nature of fundamentalism, arguing that the phenomenon is “clearest in context.”138 Strozier and David Terman further claim that fundamentalist mindsets can be found even in social movements that are not necessarily religious, such as the French Revolution, and Nazism—​ which they regard as the “most important, fundamentalist, millennial movement in the twentieth century, if not in human history.”139 Disagreeing, however, Ruthven expresses doubt that the “nonreligious uses” of the word “fundamentalism” are “analytically useful.”140 In like vein, Almond, Appleby,

28  Extremist Islam and Sivan dismiss notions of “secular fundamentalism,” as in “Marxism or Soviet-​era state socialism,” as “pseudo-​religious rather than authentically religious.”141 What is beyond doubt, nonetheless, is, as noted, the existence of a common psychology unifying the various manifestations of religious fundamentalism.142 Moreover, while the Fundamentalism Project rightly noted the positive effects of strong beliefs on people’s lives, it also uncovered the less benevolent impact of fundamentalism on world religions, such as the fundamentalist-​extremist turn to “violence as a means of advancing their religious-​cum-​political objectives” in a world in which “borders are daily under assault and in which religious as well as secular enemies proliferate.”143 A caveat is in order: religious orthodoxy is not fundamentalism. Religious orthodoxy (or conservatism) seeks to preserve tradition, and religious believers who are in this category are sometimes called neo-​fundamentalist or pietist, in that they are focused on encouraging a spectrum of ritual and personal practices in terms of worship, dress, and everyday behavior, rather than on promoting a systematic ideological system or for that matter a global political agenda.144 However, in contrast to the orthodox believers, who seek to preserve, fundamentalists seek to transform. Strozier and Terman argue that religious fundamentalism’s primary “impulse is to take back what they often see as an idealized past,” and in the “process they conceive of the struggle as an ultimate one” for “all true believers.” They add that in this struggle to reinstate pure religion, moreover, fundamentalists seek in “decidedly idiosyncratic ways for ideas to ground their reimagining of faith” in a process of “selective retrieval.”145 In the latter process, fundamentalist ideologues commonly adopt a posture of intratextuality, in which contending “sources of knowledge that might relativize the religious claims (such as other interpretations of Islam, Darwinism, or Biblical historical criticism) are excluded.” In a fundamentalist intratextual system, “the text has power to denote itself as sacred, and only a sacred text can specify which truths are absolute.”146 Going further, Karen Armstrong argues that to a far greater extent than the merely orthodox, religious fundamentalists of all stripes view the forces of unbelief as utterly “inimical to religion itself,” and see themselves deeply engaged not so much in a “conventional political struggle” but in nothing less than “a cosmic war between the forces of good and evil.”147 The mutually reinforcing attributes of what Strozier and Boyd consider the “fundamentalist mindset” flow directly from such an existentially threatened in-​group religiosity: paranoia and rage in a group context, an apocalyptic

Recognizing Religious Extremism I  29 orientation, a relationship to charismatic leadership, and a totalized conversion experience.148 This needs further elucidation. First, the paranoid religious fundamentalist in-​group—​thanks to contextually formative cultural and historical experiences—​sees itself locked in mortal conflict and unjustly victimized by a despised, irrevocably evil, but more powerful secular or religious out-​group. The out-​group is seen as bent on unjustly subjugating the supposedly morally superior but beleaguered in-​ group. From the in-​group perspective, therefore, the attainment of religious purity and God-​mandated societal domination can only be achieved not merely through marginalization of the out-​group, but by nothing less than its ultimate destruction.149 Such in-​group paranoid hostility and rage is often exacerbated by apocalyptic thinking, which holds that ultimate salvation not only requires “the absolute destruction of the world and its evils,” but “time is forever running out” and urgent action is called for.150 Other scholars have referred to such apocalyptic sentiments as millennialism.151 Millennial or apocalyptic beliefs include: the sense that the world is facing an impending catastrophe that will have direct effects on the believer; there is a “revelation that explains this state of affairs, and which offers some form of salvation or redressing of ills”; the religious fundamentalist elites possess some special insight that the existentially perilous status of the in-​group is the result of “malevolent forces,” and that fundamentalist elites alone possess the wisdom to “fight the malevolent and corrupting forces”; that it is time to take action because the “forces of corruption are nearing completion of their tasks”; and finally, that victory is divinely assured and “the defeat of the forces of evil will result in the ushering in of a new and better world.”152 Furthermore, fundamentalism gestates within a “cultic” in-​group atmosphere of paranoia and millennial rage against the out-​group, deliberately cultivated by charismatic elites.153 Effective charismatic leaders of religious fundamentalist groups share certain basic characteristics: first, they are generally “psychologically paranoid, which is the source of the certainty with which they speak”; second, they captivate in-​group members with the intensity and assuredness of their beliefs; third, they adroitly adapt “traditional cultural ideas, stigmas and lore” to their “particular fundamentalist ideology”;154 fourth, they are authoritarian by disposition, suppressing criticism and demanding from members obedience and loyalty; and fifth, very importantly, they skillfully exploit the average in-​group member’s more or less unconscious “wish for an idealized parent.”155 Finally, and not insignificantly, the paranoia and siege mentality of religious fundamentalist groups

30  Extremist Islam and their leaders tends to result in a totalized conversion process. That is, the “absolute morality” preached by fundamentalist elites leads logically to “absolute intolerance” toward unbelievers.156 By way of elaboration, psychoanalyst Erik Erikson makes an important distinction between wholeness, the mark of a psychologically integrated and emotionally healthy individual, and totality or totalism, the mark of the existentially anxious religious fundamentalist. Erickson argues that while psychological wholeness connotes “a sound, organic, progressive mutuality between diversified functions and parts within an entirety, the boundaries of which are open and fluid,” totalism on the other hand is different. It “evokes a Gestalt in which an absolute boundary is emphasized” and “given a certain arbitrary delineation, nothing that belongs inside must be left outside, nothing that must be outside can be tolerated inside.” In other words: a “totality” as “absolutely inclusive as it is utterly exclusive.”157 Put differently, the fundamentalist mindset is one with low integrative complexity. While “integratively complex thinking” accepts the “legitimacy of different evaluative viewpoints” and is “capable of higher order synthesis of these viewpoints,” lower integrative complexity is reflected in “binary, black-​and-​white contrasts with little or no integration of the perspectives.”158 Fundamentalists are thus dogmatic and not creative, prompting psychologist J. Harold Ellens to posit that fundamentalist psychology possesses a “rigid structuralist approach that has an obsessive-​compulsive flavor to it.”159 The psychic totalism of religious fundamentalist in-​groups explains the especially pronounced premium placed on in-​group markers of religious purity and distinctiveness—​the previously discussed four Bs of beliefs, behavior, badges, and bans—​expressed in rituals symbolizing the death of the old self and rebirth into the new self, such as the beards of “newly minted jihadis,” for instance.160 The four Bs of fundamentalist movements do much to augment “tremendous cohesion” internally.161 In addition, psychoanalyst Daniel Hill argues that the totalizing “fundamentalist faith state” is one in which the believer possesses a concept of a God who is “only conditionally available and easily angered, with needs that can intrude at any moment and with demands that must be propitiated.”162 Fearing abandonment and divine retribution, fundamentalists tend to be preoccupied with the presumed state of mind of such a deity and the charismatic in-​group elites who putatively represent that deity in the mortal realm. The average fundamentalist therefore operates in a “hyperaroused, dysregulated state that compromises mental functioning” and readily evinces “dualistic” and “Manichean thinking.”163

Recognizing Religious Extremism I  31 On the one hand, the typical fundamentalist manifests an all-​encompassing focus on the four Bs of beliefs, behavior, badges, and bans, accompanied by continual wariness of retribution by powerful supernatural deities if he or his flock fall short of the mark. On the other hand, the fundamentalist responds to the cognitive dissonance generated by the collision with secular and religious out-​groups and their belief systems not by “surrender” or reinterpretation of core scriptures but by, as noted, seeking change. Thus, rather than compromise their beliefs, fundamentalists instead seek to remake reality to fit their religious expectations by demanding that society be restructured based on their religious precepts.164 Hence Bruce Lawrence argues that fundamentalists are “oppositional,” going beyond merely disagreeing with their enemies to confronting them.165 Critical theorist Stuart Sim concurs, adding that fundamentalists ultimately seek the certainty of totalistic, absolute morality and “the power to enforce that certainty on others.”166 There can be no room for compromise or shades of gray. Peter Herriot likewise suggests that “many fundamentalists would like everyone to be like them, preferably under theocratic rule.”167 Hence Sim argues that the fundamentalist ultimately seeks “control, control, control.”168 While Sim also appears to give the impression that religious fundamentalism has “more to do with power than spiritual matters,” this should not be taken to mean that there is no genuine religious element in religious fundamentalism.169 “Fundamentalism,” James W. Jones rightly points out, may not fully encapsulate religion per se but it remains “a way of being religious.”170 Fundamentalism, Malise Ruthven elaborates, is regular “tradition made self-​aware and consequently defensive.”171 Hence, as social psychologist Sara Savage observes, fundamentalism possesses an “armored structure” and “it is the shape that religion takes when it is under threat.”172 Agreeing, political scientist Benjamin Barber avers that fundamentalism represents “religion under siege.”173 As James W. Jones observes, one major consequence of the overriding fundamentalist desire to appease a demanding deity—​which has much relevance for our upcoming discussion of the acute form of fundamentalism known as extremism—​is that it obliterates “empathic connections between human beings” in favor of a “totalizing connection with God alone.”174 In other words, “Love of this demanding God replaces love for other human beings,” who increasingly appear “small and insignificant,” rather than “infinitely precious and made in God’s image.”175 In this sense, therefore, an acute fundamentalist mindset resides at the core

32  Extremist Islam of religious extremism and, in tandem with other factors, can fuel out-​ group violence.

The Violent Potentials within Religious Fundamentalism Does the foregoing analysis lead one to conclude that every religious fundamentalist is deterministically bound to engage in violence at some point? For his part, Herriot insists that “violence is certainly not a defining characteristic of fundamentalism,”176 while Douglas Pratt cautions that not all fundamentalist groups “necessarily resort to violence and terrorism in the attempt to achieve their aims.”177 This is certainly not inaccurate. Still, what seems clear is that there are distinct violent potentials within religious fundamentalism. Social psychologist Neil Kressel opines that while fundamentalists should not be seen “by definition” as “dangerous militants,” he acknowledges that there are “circumstances under which some fundamentalists become dangerous religious extremists.”178 Similarly, Almond, Appleby, and Sivan note that while “extremist violence and intolerance” are “not inevitable” in fundamentalism, there nevertheless exists a “strong tendency” for such manifestations.179 Social psychologist Clark McCauley and sociologist Daniel Chirot, commenting on the combination among religious fundamentalists of a “high level of ideological certitude” and “a sense of hostility and fear against outsiders who are viewed as threatening their existence,” argue that this is “exactly the kind of ideology that easily leads to genocidal violence when there are conflicts between competing communities and states,” even when such conflicts “originate less in ideological differences than in economic and political rivalries.”180 James W. Jones concurs, adding that the “powerful psychological motifs and motivations” that underlie fundamentalism combine to “predispose fundamentalism toward violence”: The fundamentalist mindset not only dichotomizes the world into opposing camps; it also constructs the opposing other as evil, abject, subhuman, and so worthy of elimination. Thus religion’s virtually universal struggle for purification is ultimately transformed into a drive to eliminate the other by violence.181

Recognizing Religious Extremism I  33 Jones’ postulated link between religion’s “struggle for purification” and violence hints at another deeper and more profound reason for the violent potentials within fundamentalism. As Karen Armstrong argues, while fundamentalists fully embrace the tools and pragmatic rationalism of modernity, a visceral fear of “contamination” prompts them to “withdraw from mainstream society to create a counterculture.”182 Essentially, one of the primary reasons for the ban—​one of the four Bs—​as practiced by fundamentalist in-​groups is a focus on maintaining purity by avoiding ostensibly polluting encounters with out-​groups. In the Hebrew Bible, for instance, the Israelites are expressly warned that one reason why they should never associate with, or intermarry with, people who worship a different deity is because those people are considered unclean and an “abomination.”183 Hence, if fundamentalist elites were deliberately and systematically to portray out-​group members as “unclean,” believers might well recoil in disgust from out-​group members—​or do much worse. In particular, Chirot and McCauley argue that when out-​group members are linguistically dehumanized as for instance, “pigs, rats, maggots, cockroaches, and other vermin,” a relation between “disgust and genocide” is established, because these “disgusting characteristics” of the out-​group “threaten to pollute the environment and must be eliminated.”184 History is replete with examples of how linguistic dehumanization of the out-​group often results in their social death—​or exclusion from the well-​defined and ardently defended moral circle of in-​group members.185 It is no accident that during the Rwandan genocide Hutu extremists called their Tutsi rivals inyenzi, meaning “cockroaches” or “insects”; while Nazis euphemistically redefined Jews as, inter alia, “parasites,” “filth,” “excrement,” “plague,” or “tuberculosis.”186 In this respect, it is worrisome that in Middle Eastern “songs, books, newspaper articles, and blogs,” Jews are often compared with “pigs, donkeys, rats, and cockroaches, and also to vampires and a host of other imaginary creatures.”187 Communications studies scholar Haig Bosmajian adds that the “distance between the linguistic dehumanization of a people and their actual suppression and extermination is not that great.”188 Peter Herriot likewise notes that dehumanizing the enemy has been “a staple technique” to motivate the killing of out-​group enemies.189 An authoritative 2010 study on fundamentalism hence concludes that there remains a “disturbing potential within the fundamentalist mindset for violence and destructiveness.”190 Such violent potentials within fundamentalism are especially pronounced in its extremist forms, as we shall see.

34  Extremist Islam

Concluding Remarks The respected scholar of religion and co-​director of the Fundamentalism Project, Scott Appleby, has spoken about the “ambivalence of the sacred”:191 that is, both out-​group violence and acts of deep humanity can flow equally from the wellsprings of religion, which, as we have seen, despite the critiques of the New Atheists, remains stubbornly persistent and very much part of the human condition. What then explains the troubling ambivalence pointed out by Appleby? As this chapter has discussed from an interdisciplinary vantage point, religion per se certainly does create the essential in-​group/​out-​group divide between believers and unbelievers. However, it is really when religion assumes the existentially threatened posture of fundamentalism, with its innate violent potentials, that the possibility of interreligious conflagration—​in tandem with concomitant and inclement combinations of political, social, and economic factors, as shall be seen—​emerges. In essence, an acute fundamentalist impulse resides at the core of religious extremism in general and Salafabist extremism in particular. This point is unpacked next.

2 Recognizing Religious Extremism II What It Looks Like, How It Emerges

Introduction On April 21, 2019, Easter Sunday, suicide bombers attacked churches and hotels in Sri Lanka, killing approximately 250 people—​mainly Sri Lankan Catholic churchgoers and Western tourists. It was the worst terrorist strike in the country’s history, ending a relatively peaceful decade following the end of the long civil war between the majority Buddhist Sinhalese-​dominated government and the Hindu Tamil-​minority separatist Liberation Tigers of Tamil Ealam—​the Tamil Tigers—​that had been fighting for a separate state in the northeastern part of the island. It soon emerged that the attacks had been carried out by elements of a little known Islamic fundamentalist group called National Thowheed Jamaat, and that these individuals had been inspired by, and were acting in support of, ISIS. U.S. Secretary of State Mike Pompeo declared that “radical Islamic terror remains a threat” and that the United States was “continuing to do real work against these evil human beings,” adding that this was “America’s fight, too.”1 Pompeo’s use of the term “radical Islamic terror” was especially telling, suggesting that a certain intellectual continuity in conceptualizing the transnational terrorist threat posed by the likes of al-​Qaeda and ISIS had persisted since the earliest days of the Trump administration. Since his 2016 election campaign, President Donald J. Trump had made it very clear that a central focus of his tenure would be, in his own words, to “eradicate radical Islamic terrorism from the face of the Earth.” In adopting such rhetoric, Trump went further than either Barack Obama or George W. Bush, his immediate predecessors. Both took care to avoid associating Islam with the terrorist threat posed by al-​Qaeda, ISIS, and affiliated networks. While moving to boost defense spending, Trump also declared his intention to mount an “extremely tough secret plan” to defeat ISIS that would “knock the hell out of them.”2 Four years on, though, it seemed that Trump’s global campaign against “radical Islamic terrorism” had Extremist Islam. Kumar Ramakrishna, Oxford University Press. © University of Maryland National Consortium for the Study of Terrorism and Responses to Terrorism (START) 2022. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197610961.003.0003

36  Extremist Islam yet to yield decisive results. For example, jihadist attacks in Europe not only had been increasing in frequency, but also had exceeded all other types of terrorist attacks in terms of the number of deaths and casualties. Out of the 205 failed, foiled, or completed terrorist attacks in Europe in 2017, 16% were linked to “radical Islamic” terrorism.3 At the same time, the principal terrorist threat in Australia in 2019 remained “Sunni Islamist extremism” emanating “primarily from small groups and individuals inspired, directed, or encouraged by extremist groups overseas.”4 This chapter builds upon the argument that religious extremism is an acute form of fundamentalism. Focusing on the case of Islamist—​or as we shall see, more accurately, Salafabist—​extremism, it does so by systematically unpacking the problematic assumptions underlying the Trump administration’s apparent conceptualization of the problem as “radical Islamic terrorism” or “radical Islamic terror.” First, it shows that while radicalism is not necessarily violent and is arguably a challenge that can be coped with through debate and argumentation, extremism—​which is inherently more predisposed to antisystemic violence, although not always openly—​is the more intractable and deserving of particular attention. A more careful examination of radicalism and extremism as expressions of an underlying fundamentalist gestalt follows. It shows how the cognitive radicalization process, beyond the adoption of anti-​status-​quo beliefs, involves a drastic identity-​simplification dynamic within the religious in-​group and relevant out-​groups. Tightening the analytical focus on religious extremism per se, the discussion explains why extremism could be usefully seen as a fundamentalist belief system that legitimizes the structural violence of an in-​group against relevant out-​groups. This serves as a prelude to identifying seven key attributes of a religious extremist. The seven characteristics of religious extremism in general are then illustrated via an examination of Buddhist extremism in Myanmar, before how religious extremism plays out within Islam is laid out at length. As we shall see, it is argued that the acutely fundamentalist theological-​ideological amalgam that has been called Salafabism requires the most policy attention. Moreover, the chapter shows that a shared theological DNA intimately connects the two key forms of Salafabist extremists: “soft” Salafabist Islamists and “hard” Salafabist Salafi Jihadists. Hence any notion of “nonviolent” Salafabists’ being distinct from, and a buffer against, their violent counterparts is a false assumption. The final part of the chapter then suggests that, rather than targeting terrorism per se—​as the Trump administration’s strategic assumptions appeared to suggest—​it

Recognizing Religious Extremism II  37 would make far more sense to conceive of the target more expansively—​as a Salafabist ecosystem (SE).

Going Beyond “Radical Islamic Terrorism”: Fundamentalism, Radicalism, and Extremism First and foremost, the use of the word “radical” by both Trump and Pompeo requires closer examination. Terrorism scholar Alex Schmid argues for greater care in use of such terms and insists that an analytical distinction between “radical” and “extremist” is important. Schmid suggests that while radicals may wish to effect a root-​and-​branch transformation of society, they need not necessarily do so violently.5 They may be debated with, and even won over to one’s side, such as the former British Hizbut Tahrir activists Maajid Nawaz and Ed Husain, who nowadays engage in the ideological counterattack against the likes of ISIS with the needed familiarity and nuance.6 A student of the historical trajectory of fascism and communism, Schmid emphasizes that the “system-​transforming” solutions of radicals need not be “violent and nondemocratic” and that “it does not follow that a radical attitude must result in violent behavior.”7 Actually, many radicals have been shown to be “open to rationality and pragmatic compromise.”8 Of no small consequence, Schmid adds that “radical militants can be brought back into the mainstream.”9 In similar vein, Astrid Botticher argues that while radicals may be “unwilling to compromise their ideals” and may advocate “sweeping political change” animated by “a form of hostility against the status quo and its establishment,” they are “open to rational arguments as to the means to achieve their goals” and are not necessarily predisposed to violence in pursuit of them.10 Religious radicalism, seen in this light, could be said to be a mildly fundamentalist belief system that legitimizes the generally peaceful quest for sociopolitical transformation in line with religious goals. Schmid reckons that it is instead the extremists that pose the real threat. Negotiating with them is largely pointless, given their hidden agendas; the full force of the law should be applied against them. This requires elucidation. The extremist “state of mind,” Schmid observes, “tolerates no diversity” and imbibes an “ideology” characterized by “a simplified monocausal interpretation of the world where you are either with them or against them.”11 Schmid adds—​importantly—​that in relative contrast to radicals, extremists are “positively in favor of the use of force to obtain and maintain political power, although they

38  Extremist Islam may be vague and ambiguous in their public pronouncements, especially when they are in a position of weakness.”12 For these reasons, one should endeavor to differentiate analytically between “(open-​minded) radicals and (closed minded) extremists.”13 For her part, Botticher avers that extremist movements seek “to abolish constitutional democracy and the rule of law” and “cannot be integrated into liberal-​democratic societies due to their intolerance toward ideologies other than their own.”14 She adds that while democracies “can live with radicals,” they cannot do so with “uncompromising, aggressive extremist militants.”15 Ultimately, though, both religious radicalism and extremism are related psychologically because they are manifestations of the underlying gestalt of religious fundamentalism—​both are forms of religion on the defensive.16 Put differently, fundamentalism can be expressed through radicalism or extremism: while fundamentalist radicals become politically activist for fear of group sociopolitical marginalization, fundamentalist extremists potentially go further, driven by fear of group extinction to perpetrate outgroup violence. Both radicals and extremists are therefore radicalized, albeit to differing extents. A brief discussion of radicalization is warranted here. Violent radicalization has been conventionally understood to be “the process of adopting or promoting an extremist belief system for the purpose of facilitating ideologically based violence to advance political, religious, or social change.”17 A similar definition from the United Kingdom is that violent radicalization is the “process by which individuals come to undertake terrorist activity, or directly aid or abet terrorism.”18 Offering a more nuanced view, Lorenzo Vidino argues that the radicalization process has both a cognitive and a behavioral aspect. That is, cognitively—​akin to Schmid—​Vidino argues that radicalization “is the process through which an individual adopts ideas that are severely at odds with those of the mainstream, refutes the legitimacy of the existing social order, and seeks to replace it with a new structure based on a completely different belief system.”19 Vidino adds, moreover, that violent radicalization “occurs when an individual takes the additional step of using violence to further the views derived from cognitive radicalism.”20 In Schmid’s terms, we could say that at this point the radical becomes an extremist. Arguably, though, this is not the full story. It is further suggested here that at the cognitive level, apart from the adoption of an extreme belief system justifying out-​group violence, a drastic identity simplification dynamic accompanies the radicalization process—​be it into radicalism or extremism. What does this mean?

Recognizing Religious Extremism II  39 In normal situations, psychologically healthy individuals possess several coexisting identities. In his inimitable way, the Nobel laureate Amartya Sen puts it: The same person can, for example, be a British citizen, of Malaysian origin, with Chinese racial characteristics, a stockbroker, a nonvegetarian, an asthmatic, a linguist, a bodybuilder, a poet, an opponent of abortion, a birdwatcher, an astrologer, and one who believes that God created Darwin to test the gullible.21

David Berreby describes this situation as an individual’s inhabiting several “humankinds” simultaneously.22 However, when the members of a religious in-​group perceive that they collectively face the threat of either direct physical or, more profoundly, cultural extinction at the hands of a powerful enemy out-​group, all these diverse social identities get drastically simplified to one single axis of collective identification that is perceived to be at risk. Slavenka Drakulic illustrates this dynamic in her harrowing account of the cognitive impact on Croats of Serb attacks during the Balkan wars of the early 1990s: Along with millions of other Croats, I was pinned to the wall of nationhood—​not only by outside pressure from Serbia and the Federal Army but by national homogenization within Croatia itself. That is what the war is doing to us, reducing us to one dimension: the Nation. The trouble with this nationhood, however, is that whereas before, I was defined by my education, my job, my ideas, my character—​and yes, my nationality too—​now I feel stripped of all that. (italics added)23

A similar observation was articulated by Lord Alderdice, but for a different context. A politician and trained psychiatrist, he was involved in brokering the April 1998 Good Friday agreement between feuding Catholics and Protestants in Northern Ireland. Recalling the Troubles of that era, he asserted that “the community had regressed from a myriad of individual differences maintained in a broad mosaic of relationships, to a narrower frame of reference where the single difference between Protestant Unionist and Catholic Nationalist assumed preeminence.”24 In short, cognitively speaking, quite apart from the adoption of an extremist belief system justifying out-​group violence, radicalization occurs when the multiple identities within a community—​as Sen alludes to above—​are sharply reduced to

40  Extremist Islam a single overarching in-​group, Us, while the multiple self-​identifications of members of the out-​group are reduced to a single overarching, adversarial Them. The social psychologist Anthony Stahelski has described in this vein a five-​stage “social psychological conditioning” model that appears to well capture the drastic identity-​simplification process just described: in-​group depluralization, in which all other competing in-​group identities are stripped away; self-​deindividuation, in which in-​group members’ personal identities are eliminated; and other-​deindividuation, in which the personal identities of out-​group members are stripped away.25 On a related, if somewhat parallel, track, the German scholar-​practitioner Daniel Koehler argues that the radicalization process involves depluralization not so much of identities but “in terms of political concepts and values (e.g., justice, freedom, honor, violence, democracy).”26 That is, a “maximally depluralized”—​and hence radicalized—​“individual only recognizes problems, solutions, and future scenarios associated with a specific ideology and does not perceive alternative frames and interpretations of core political values.”27 He argues that this “erasure of competing issues”—​like “everyday tasks, such as exams or work, to social issues, such as unemployment”—​ renders the necessity of addressing “the problem appear increasingly urgent” and often results in violent solutions.28 Certainly, Koehler’s concept of drastic issue depluralization goes hand in glove with the identity-​simplification dynamic being described here. A radicalizing Buddhist in a conflict zone in Myanmar, for instance, would not only cognitively depluralize, regarding himself as a Buddhist above all else, but also simultaneously and similarly depluralize a member of the Muslim community; the former would likely be engaging in issue depluralization as well—​where salient problems involving disputes with Muslims sharpen and assume center stage, excluding other issues. In any case, the cognitive, identity-​simplifying process of radicalization is certainly fueled through deliberate exhortations by fundamentalist ideologues, who, “in nearly all cases,” take pains to “suggest that many aspects of a person’s identity can be—​indeed must be—​reduced to being ‘Muslim,’ to the exclusion of other identities.”29 To be sure, radicalization is not merely an individual phenomenon. While Schmid notes that radicalization can also impact small groups and larger collectivities,30 McCauley and Moskalenko assert that “radicalization is a psychological trajectory that, given the right circumstances, can happen to any person, group, or nation.”31 Hence, whether we are talking about Irish Catholics and Protestants in Ulster during the Troubles, Orthodox Serbs and

Recognizing Religious Extremism II  41 Bosnian Muslims in the Balkans in the early 1990s, Hindus and Buddhists, and lately—​as the aforementioned Easter Sunday attacks suggest—​Muslims and Catholics in Sri Lanka, Shia and Sunni in post-​ Saddam Iraq, or Christians and Muslims in conflict-​prone eastern Indonesia, what ties them together despite their different contexts is the fact that they were all instances of mass radicalization—​that is, as Schmid explains, radicalization that takes place “on both sides of a conflict dyad.”32 While some researchers have argued that mass radicalization in general is relatively underresearched, this may be changing.33 Given the rise of White Supremacist extremist movements and violence, partly in response to ISIS excesses—​exemplified in the killing of 51 Muslim worshippers in two mosques in Christchurch, New Zealand, by the Australian White Supremacist Brenton Tarrant in March 201934—​scholars have increasingly drawn attention to the related phenomena of “reciprocal radicalization,”35 cumulative radicalization,36 or “reactive co-​ radicaliza37 tion” —​which are essentially the mass radicalization of both sides of a conflict dyad as just described. White Supremacists aside, by fomenting a vicious cycle of mass radicalization between Muslims and non-​Muslims in multicultural societies, ISIS, for instance, hopes to extinguish the so-​called gray zone of peaceful coexistence between both communities.38 The upshot of the preceding discussion is: religious fundamentalism can be expressed in mild to moderate forms as radicalism and in a more acute form as extremism. Within most societies, religious in-​groups would likely have some combination of three basic constituencies of believers: mainstream believers, fundamentalist radicals (radicals), and fundamentalist extremists (extremists) of various degrees. Mainstream believers would in their ranks likely display varying extents of nominal, progressive, and orthodox religiosity: while religious nominalism suggests a liberal and lax observance of religious tenets, progressive religiosity connotes some attempt to mesh religious observances with the realities of secular modernity. Orthodoxy or “neo-​fundamentalism” refers to a focus on religious piety and a certain degree of cultural distancing from the wider society—​but with no organized political agenda, which as noted sets neo-​fundamentalists apart from fundamentalists.39 The second broad group of relatively open-​minded radicals, while displaying mild to moderate fundamentalist inclinations, would remain somewhat open to parley and compromise. Third—​and arguably most concerning—​ would be the relatively closed-​ minded extremists, who are more likely under certain conditions to transform their latent but acute fundamentalist potentials into systematic out-​group,

42  Extremist Islam system-​transforming, violence. Table 2.1 summarizes the three main types of religious fundamentalism that are the focus of this book. We could argue that extremist networks within the wider religious in-​ group would view the “broad identity collective” of mainstream believers and radicals just described as targets of radicalization, with a view to recruitment into extremist ranks.40Such extremist “countercultures,” moreover, need not manifest themselves solely through terrorist acts. Contingent on their leaders’ tactical appreciation of the situation, they could engage in a spectrum of activities ranging from “pamphleteering, street protests,” and “street battles” to “firebombings and assassinations”; that said, they are all “collective expressions” of the same underlying extremism.41 It is important to also underscore that within the extremist collective, “radicalized individuals” may not be uniformly religiously knowledgeable. Many indeed could well be relative neophytes—​they “do not necessarily engage with an extremist ideology in a sophisticated manner”; they do not steep themselves in the intricacies of that ideology, are merely content that such a legitimizing narrative for out-​ group violence exists, and “pick and choose the elements that are meaningful to them.”42 For some extremists, “this may entail little beyond a need to act violently against an out-​group.”43 Nevertheless, it could be said that from a policy perspective, mainstream believers and radicals—​to differing degrees—​have a relatively greater chance of being rendered psychologically resistant to extremist ideological appeals.44 Radicals could even integrate into the religious and societal mainstream—​ seeing themselves to some extent as possessing multiple social identities or humankinds, which is the more psychologically healthy identity complex, as Sen describes, for life in multicultural, secular democratic contexts. In fact, in Chapter Seven we shall see a real-​life example of this possibility in an Indonesian context. Such a policy objective of societal integration would, however, likely be relatively more challenging for committed extremists, who possess more acute fundamentalist sentiments that dispose them toward “a

Table 2.1  Three Forms of Religious Fundamentalism Religious Fundamentalism Mild Form Open-​minded Radicalism

Moderate Form Moderate Radicalism

Acute Form Closed-​minded Extremism

Recognizing Religious Extremism II  43 simplified monocausal interpretation of the world where you are either with them or against them.”45 For extremists, behavioral disengagement from out-​ group violence, rather than deep ideological transformation, is likely a more achievable and less daunting policy goal. Nevertheless, as just mentioned, even among extremists, not everyone “will steep themselves in an ideology” and, varying degrees of indoctrination—​and by implication potential rehabilitation—​would be apparent.46 In any case, in this book we shall encounter four basic types of Southeast Asian Salafabist extremists of varying degrees of ideological indoctrination: the bureaucrat, the opportunist, the stimulus seeker, and the ideologue. At this stage, a deeper analysis of religious extremism per se is warranted, as the prelude to an examination of its Salafabist variety.

Diving Deeper: Excavating Religious Extremism To be sure, some scholars posit that being extremist in one’s views does not necessarily mean being violent—​and that when “people shift from indifference to intense concern with local problems, such as poverty and crime,” then “extreme movements are good, even great.”47 Other analysts opine that “extremism is not necessarily bad or good” and can be “employed in the service of goals that may be valued either positively or negatively by a given individual or group.”48 As seen, however, Alex Schmid has argued persuasively that governments should be concerned about extremism in particular.49 Thus far we have argued that as a phenomenon, religious extremism is usefully understood as an acute form of fundamentalism. Nevertheless, what other ways are there of thinking about extremism as described in the extant literature? First, as seen, it has been suggested that the extremist “state of mind tolerates no diversity” and internalizes an “ideology” delineating “a simplified monocausal interpretation of the world where you are either with them or against them.”50 Second, extremism is also said to refer to an intense emotional attachment to that ideology. Klein and Kruglanski argue that it means “zeal or profound conviction” for “a particular position or attitude on a given issue.”51 This notion of zeal or profound conviction for a particular worldview corresponds neatly with what terrorism scholar Max Taylor has called “fanaticism” or “excessive enthusiasm” for the worldview in question, arising from a single-​minded focus on ideological convictions—​ one that is resistant to “other social, political, or personal forces that might

44  Extremist Islam be expected to control and influence behavior.”52 Third, extremism can imply that the zealous adherents to the narrow worldview consider it as dominant over other contending interpretations. Hence extremism “takes its own wider group identity—​be it religion or tradition—​to an extreme; not by a move away from the center, but rather by intensifying its self-​understanding and self-​proclamation as representing, or being, the center.”53 Islamic scholar Mohammad Hashim Kamali offers a similar take, arguing that one of “the first markers of extremism is fanatic advocacy of one view or opinion and ignoring others, even though the person or party concerned knows of the existence of other views.”54 A fourth interpretation of religious extremism is its implicit embrace of violence as a possible tactic to actualize its preferred worldview. As noted, Schmid avers that extremists are “positively in favor of the use of force to obtain and maintain political power,” despite being “vague and ambiguous in their public pronouncements,” particularly “when they are in a position of weakness.”55 Eatwell and Goodwin likewise observe that extremism “involves either the implicit or overt acceptance of violence as legitimate.”56 More recently, in the same vein, J. M. Berger posits that extremism “refers to the belief that an in-​group’s success or survival can never be separated from the need for hostile action against an out-​group,” including “violence, and even genocide.”57 Fifth, scholars suggest that extremism also connotes that the narrow worldview in question resides at the margins and boundaries of the societal mainstream and tends to be only tenuously linked to the normative core or center.58 In this sense, extremism represents a stark deviation from the societal norm or the majority worldview.59In other words, extremism refers to “actions and value systems”—​or worldviews—​“that lie beyond the moral and political center of society.”60 To reiterate the point, worldviews and their associated ideas are extremist if they are far removed from the societal norm. It is worth noting here that, just as there are different societies in the world, there could be differing societal norms. Hence, as Jane Kinninmont notes, the term “extremism” can be interpreted differently in diverse national contexts. While the United Kingdom and the Gulf countries, for example, differ on whether promoting atheist beliefs, LGBT rights, and abortion rights should be considered “extremist,” the UAE and Qatar—​both Gulf countries themselves—​disagree on whether the Muslim Brotherhood should be seen as an extremist entity.61 Extremism may thus have elements of context-​specificity. What is considered extremist in a secular, multicultural country with a unique political and historical trajectory may not be

Recognizing Religious Extremism II  45 seen as such in a country with a more religiously legitimized and racially homogeneous landscape and with an entirely different political and historical heritage.62 Arising from the foregoing analysis, religious extremism is defined in this book as a religious fundamentalist belief system that legitimizes the structural violence of an in-​group against relevant out-​groups. A few points are worth making here by way of elaboration. First, to reiterate, religious extremism is an especially acute form of fundamentalism—​religion on the defensive. Second, cognitively speaking, extremism is a belief system that legitimizes structural violence against relevant out-​groups. J. M. Berger, in his interpretation of extremism as “hostile action” against out-​groups, argues that while physical “violence” is part of the hostile action he mentions, it is not the only form. He adds that such hostile action includes “verbal attacks and diminishment to discriminatory behavior.”63 Actually, we can go further, to more systematically situate Berger’s musings about nonviolent yet hostile out-​ group actions as forms of structural violence. Structural violence includes, but is broader than, mere physical violence. It is not a new idea. In 1969, Norwegian scholar Johan Galtung, the doyen of peace and conflict studies, interpreted violence in a broad fashion. In a famous and wide-​ranging essay, he argued that, in essence, “violence is present when human beings are being influenced so that their actual somatic and mental realizations are below their potential realizations.”64 Applying Galtung’s analysis of violence to our study, it could be said that out-​group members experience violence not just when they are subjected to direct physical attacks—​“personal violence”—​but also when they are subjected to the indirect, sustained psychological threat of harm—​“psychological violence.”65 Moreover, apart from “violence that works on the body,” there is also “violence that works on the soul; where the latter would include lies, brainwashing, indoctrination of various kinds, threats, etc., that serve to decrease mental potentialities.”66 In addition, there need not be any observable “subject” or perpetrator administering violence upon the “objects” or out-​group members. The political system itself that is dominated by powerful in-​groups could ensure that “violence is built into the structure and shows up as unequal power and consequently as unequal life chances.” In other words, when resources are “unevenly distributed, as when income distributions are heavily skewed, literacy/​education unevenly distributed, medical services existent in some districts and for some groups only, and so on”; when “all the power to decide over the distribution of resources is unevenly distributed”; and “if the persons low on income are also

46  Extremist Islam low in education, low on health, and low on power—​as is frequently the case because these rank dimensions tend to be heavily correlated due to the way they are tied together in the social structure”—​we are talking about broader, more subtle, and insidious structural violence.67 Two final, crucial elements of Galtung’s perceptive analysis are of great relevance for our purposes. First, personal, out-​group physical violence is often subtle and “latent.” That is, “latent violence is something [that] is not there, yet might easily come about”; it refers to “a situation where a little challenge would trigger considerable killing and atrocity” and exists “the day, hour, minute, second before the first bomb, shot, fist-​fight, cry.”68 Second, policymakers, rather than expending energies in determining guilt by focusing on whether out-​group violence was intended or unintended on the part of certain perpetrators, should ask instead what the potential consequences of the latter’s actions would have been. As Galtung opines, “ethical systems directed against intended violence will easily fail to capture structural violence in their nets—​and may hence be catching the small fry and letting the big fish loose.”69 Galtung’s insights on latency and consequence are very important. They offer us the opportunity to shift from an excessive downstream analytical focus on only the violent manifestations of religious extremism, to a much-​needed, more upstream excavation of the violent potentials of extremism itself. Specifically, Galtung’s musings on latency and consequence potentially enable us to move away from the “small fry”—​be they rioters, lone actors, or networked terrorists—​to better grasp the structural impact of the ostensibly “nonviolent” ideological extremist entrepreneurs in the background—​“the big fish” whose hateful if carefully calibrated rhetorical remonstrations online or in the real world have been a source of continuing controversy. This issue is now addressed as part of a discussion of seven core characteristics of the religious extremist.

Seven Core Characteristics of the Religious Extremist To reiterate, religious extremism is best seen as an acute form of fundamentalism. Put another way, extremism is a gestalt—​or what psychoanalytically inclined scholar David M. Terman defines as a “perceptual, affective-​cognitive” structure.70 The four individuals covered in this volume, despite surface dissimilarities and backgrounds, nevertheless arguably share a similar underlying psychological structure that qualifies them as religious extremists. It

Recognizing Religious Extremism II  47 is contended that within the wider context of a religious in-​group’s perceiving itself as a whole to be facing varying degrees and combinations of political, social, and/​or economic pressures within a multicultural polity, the religious extremist—​in contrast to other believers within in-​group ranks—​generally evinces the seven core characteristics below. This requires some elaboration. If an individual displays the first three characteristics identified below, we could say that he has an extreme stance. If he displays the first five, we may say that he is showing a more concerning extreme orientation. It is suggested here that to be seen as fully extremist, he must evince all seven of the characteristics below. What, then, are the characteristics of the religious extremist? First, and foremost, he displays an intense emotional, fanatical attachment to his sectarian religious belief system, in the process relegating universally recognized international norms, as well as mainstream national constitutional, ideological, and/​or mainline theological currents to a secondary status. In other words, while the “actions and value systems” of the religious extremist “lie beyond the moral and political center of society,”71 he takes his “own wider group identity” to “an extreme” by “intensifying its self-​understanding and self-​proclamation as representing, or being, the center.”72 The religious extremist is thus an identity supremacist, particularly strongly driven by the “pecking-​order impulse” for in-​group “pride, dignity, and dominance.”73 The uncompromising zeal of the religious extremist to promote and preserve the pecking-​order primacy of his religious belief system and way of life vis-​à-​vis universal international norms and mainstream national ideological and/​or theological worldviews reveals a fundamentalist “obsessive-​compulsive flavor.”74 This is why the extremist comes across as closed-​minded, rigidly certain in his convictions, resistant to countervailing facts, and uninterested in debate and compromise.75 The extremist’s drive for pecking-​order primacy for his religious way of life is further fueled by a perceived sense of victimization by dominant out-​groups. The British Salafabist extremist Anjem Choudary, for example, has charged that mainstream society disadvantages and discriminates against Muslims.76 Another good example of the identity supremacism described here is that evinced by Jewish right-​wing settlers in Israel’s West Bank. The most hard-​ core settlers “profess indifference, even scorn, for the state,” are “free of doubt,” and see “themselves taking orders from God,” not the state.77 As Neil Kressel notes, while mainstream Israelis wish to be governed under secular, humanitarian, and liberal principles, seeing themselves “as more Israelis than Jews,” the so-​called “retros”—​the settlers—​regard “Israel as inherently different

48  Extremist Islam from other nations and separate; they see themselves more as Jews than as Israelis.”78 In short, one indicator of a potentially extremist overall outlook is the acute fundamentalist fixation with championing in-​group identity and prestige, compelling the de-​prioritization of potentially competing identities—​whether they are mainstream religious currents or national constitutional, ideological identities. This supremacist attitudinal orientation becomes especially problematic in secular, multicultural contexts. Francis Fukuyama has cogently argued that stable modern multicultural democracies cannot be based on any single “race, ethnicity, and religion,” but must be based on shared creedal understandings, such as constitutionalism, democratic accountability, the rule of law, and political equality.79 In like vein, legal scholar Amy Chua argues that an overarching American national identity cannot be based on sectarian understandings, such as “whiteness,” “Anglo-​Protestant culture,” “European Christianity,” or “any other terms not inclusive of all religions and ethnicities.”80 Hence, championing a sectarian religious belief system and way of life at the expense of mainstream theological and/​or national constitutional ideals within a secular democratic multicultural context would be, at minimum, a single-​issue extreme stance, and maximally, as noted, one indicator of a full-​fledged extremist outlook. A second core characteristic of the religious extremist flows from this intrinsic identity supremacism: he or she is dogmatically committed to the notion that his religious in-​group is inherently morally superior to relevant out-​groups. Generally, in social categorization—​as previously discussed—​“it is easier for the brain to first quantify objects into pairs, and then to differentiate them into opposing groups,” such as “Republican or Democrat”; furthermore, these “dyads” represent a “unified concept” because “each term is defined according to its relationship to the other.”81 The point is, once an “oppositional dyad” is generated, the brain will automatically impose an “emotional bias on each part of the dyad,” leading us, after we “divide objects, people, and ideals into groups,” to “express a preference for one and a dislike for the other.”82 Evolutionary biologist E. O. Wilson concurs, noting that the root of in-​group bias is the basic human yearning to “belong to any collectivity that can be compared favorably with other competing groups of the same category,” such as a “religious sect.”83 Hence, going from “categorization to stereotyping and favoritism for one’s own group,” social psychologist Neil Kressel asserts, “is not that difficult.”84 Furthermore, religious in-​group members generally believe that co-​religionists are “more similar” to themselves than to “out-​group members” across a “wide range of thoughts,

Recognizing Religious Extremism II  49 feelings, and behaviors,”85 and that the in-​group as a whole basically possesses a good, morally pure “essence”—​“the unseen spirit or nature that is endangered by contact or infection.” In short, such a generalized cognitive-​affective tendency toward in-​group bias, while present among mainstream believers, is far more acutely pronounced in the case of the religious extremist. Clark McCauley and Daniel Chirot observe in this respect that the acute, zealous in-​group “love” of the religious extremist predisposes him to go to extraordinary lengths to protect the “in-​group’s essence” against contamination by ostensibly impure out-​group essences.86 This brings us to the third, related core characteristic of the religious extremist: he or she is equally dogmatically committed to the notion that the out-​group as a whole is evil and poses an urgent, existential threat to the in-​group. There are a few aspects to this. First, for mainstream in-​group members, as discussed previously, the “out-​ group homogeneity effect” predisposes them to assume that all out-​group members are basically alike, and “if we know something about one out-​group member,” we “feel that we know something about all of them.”87 Second, because of the “accentuation effect,” mainstream in-​group members to varying degrees tend to be generally biased toward information that amplifies the differences with out-​group members. Intergroup similarities tend to be downplayed or ignored.88 Within a wider religious in-​group facing stresses within a multicultural polity, while mainstream believers may be experiencing various degrees of mass radicalization, the cognitive processes of in-​group depluralization, in which all other competing in-​group identities are stripped away, self-​deindividuation, in which in-​group members’ personal identities are eliminated, and other-​ deindividuation, in which the personal identities of out-​group members are stripped away, would be far more acute in the case of in-​group religious extremists.89 The deep-​rooted fundamentalist impulse animating the religious extremist would compel him or her to hold that nothing less than a battle of “good and evil” is involved, in which “two incompatible essences” are engaged in cosmic conflict, and where “love of the good means necessarily hate for the threatening out-​group.”90 Any notion of pragmatic compromise with out-​groups is unlikely to be entertained. In short, the “out-​ group’s essence must be kept from contaminating the in-​group’s essence.”91 Moreover, the religious extremist would believe that urgent action is needed to defend the in-​group against the existential “crisis” perpetrated by the out-​ group against the embattled in-​group.92 Following Newberg and Waldman, therefore, while mainstream—​and perhaps more so the radical—​religious

50  Extremist Islam in-​group members may “assign preferences and dislikes to people from different cultural, religious, and ethnic backgrounds” and seek to “develop scenarios—​pass laws, distribute benefits, etc.—​that are less than favorable for the out-​group,”93 the religious extremist would be willing to go much further to engage in stronger forms of structural violence. J. M. Berger identifies a spectrum of possible nonviolent, if structurally violent, extremist responses to perceived out-​group perfidy, ranging from harassment and discrimination to physical segregation. He accepts moreover that extremist responses can escalate further, tipping over into outright physical violence, including hate crimes, or “nonsystematic violence against out-​group members,” and not just “terrorism,” but also “genocide” and “war.”94 The strong fixation and even obsession with purity and fear of contamination of the good essence of the in-​group through commingling with the out-​group is a fourth core characteristic of the religious extremist. To better understand this characteristic, we can return to the previously discussed four Bs of community life that members of a religious in-​group are expected to commit to. To recapitulate, the four Bs refer to beliefs, behavior (or rituals), badges (clothing or other markings), and bans (taboos and proscribed activity). As explained, adhering to certain beliefs, behavioral rituals, badges, and bans often requires costly, sacrificial responses from religious in-​group members.95 In the context of the current discussion, it could be said that while mainstream believers would likely evince nominal adherence to the four Bs, and radicals can be expected to show relatively greater commitment, it would likely be the religious extremists who would hold to the four Bs with much greater degrees of fealty and zeal—​and as acute fundamentalists at the core—​seek to impose such commitment on the wider community of less extreme co-​religionists. An example of an extremist interpretation of the four Bs comes from the United States: some violent Christian anti-​abortion extremists influenced by reconstruction theology hold the belief that the country should become a “Christian theocratic state.” Reconstructionists and other extremists hewing to the related tenets of dominion theology argue that America should function as a “Christian nation” rather than a “secular society,” and in this respect, “abortion on demand, fornication, homosexuality,” and “sexual entertainment” are regarded as bans.96 Behavior-​ wise, another strain of Christian extremism calls for social segregation from, coupled with religiously sanctioned violence against, out-​groups. Hence, adherents of Christian Identity seek to merge religion and the state in “a new society governed by religious law,” leading Identity groups like, inter alia,

Recognizing Religious Extremism II  51 Elohim City, the Aryan Nations Compound, and the Freeman Compound to “live together in theocratic societies” away from the societal mainstream.97 Furthermore, like true fundamentalists, they have an “apocalyptic view of history” and are geared toward “valiant, militant efforts” to threaten the “evil system” of governance, which is said to be manipulated behind the scenes by a global “Jewish-​Freemason conspiracy to control the world and deprive individuals of their freedom.”98 Identity extremists also carry firearms as a badge of their religious commitment to defend their way of life against the trepidations of the “Jewish-​UN-​liberal conspirators.”99 Ultimately, in sum, a fourth core characteristic of the religious extremist can be said—​via the instrumentality of the four Bs—​to be to “enforce rigid boundaries between” his ostensibly beleaguered in-​group and hostile and threatening out-​groups.100 A fifth core characteristic of the religious extremist is particularly pronounced categorical or dualistic thinking. To be sure, as already discussed, cognitively simplifying and organizing the social environment into binary oppositions is rooted in human nature, and encompasses multiple domains, such as ethnic, cultural, linguistic, social class, age, sexual orientation, religious, and other spheres.101 However, the acute fundamentalist mindset animating religious extremists evinces this cognitive tendency much more strongly. In particular, the rigid, dualistic cognitive orientation of the religious extremist arises out of the “psychological anxiety” caused by “perceived threat or uncertainty” to “simplify” and to “eliminate the middle ground, to split, dividing the world into safe and threat, good and evil, life and death.”102 This is why Alex Schmid considers religious extremists to be “single-​minded black-​or-​white thinkers.”103 A related factor intensifying the dualistic thinking of the religious extremist is what has been called, as seen, low integrative complexity, as evinced in the fanatic’s “simplified view of the world.”104 As noted, while “integratively complex thinking recognizes the legitimacy of different evaluative viewpoints and is capable of higher-​order synthesis of these viewpoints,” lower integrative complexity is reflected in terms of “binary, black-​and white contrasts with little or no integration of the perspectives.”105 While stronger integrative complexity is able to “achieve higher levels of integration between noncompatible perspectives” through, for instance, “dialectical reasoning (thesis, antithesis, synthesis) and analogical reasoning (x is like y, as in the metaphor ‘man is a wolf ’),” the lower integrative complexity of the religious extremist tends to result in information processing derived from “classical binary logical/​mathematical thinking.”106 In this respect, it is interesting that Khaled Abou El Fadl, writing about the

52  Extremist Islam Islamic fundamentalist-​extremist variant known as Wahhabism, observes that “the majority” of the Wahhabi “puritan leadership” comprised people who “studied the physical sciences, such as medicine, engineering, and computer science” and hence “anchor themselves in the objectivity and certitude that comes from empiricism.”107 Perhaps the binary logical/​mathematical thinking associated with some of the harder technical sciences fosters a lower integrative complexity, rendering religious extremists from such educational backgrounds prone to “monodimensional or literalist readings of scripture,” in contrast to their “counterparts in the arts and humanities, whose training”—​and consequently higher forms of integrative complexity—​“requires them to approach texts multidimensionally, exploring contradictions and ambiguities.”108 Very few “poets and cosmologists,” the scholars of religious fundamentalism Martin Marty and Scott Appleby wryly observe, “find their way into fundamentalist cadres.”109 While the supposed links between an education in the physical/​technical sciences and fundamentalism/​extremism have attracted scholarly attention, it certainly should not be overdone.110 More generally, the lower integrative complexity and ensuing rigid, dualistic thinking of the religious extremist can also be incubated through sustained socialization within religious enclaves insulated from the multicultural, societal mainstream, or what Cass Sunstein would describe as insulated social spaces or enclaves.111 Hence, while Christian Identity groups live together in theocratic societies away from the societal mainstream, the Indonesian Salafabist extremist and long-​ time spiritual leader of the Jemaah Islamiyah terrorist network, Abu Bakar Ba’asyir, described as “a very simple man” possessing a “horizon” that is “very primordial” and “very much ignorant in other matters” beyond Islam, evolved his low integrative complexity through sustained immersion in almost exclusively Salafabist extremist—​in particular, Darul Islam—​circles.112 Certainly, Ba’asyir’s low integrative complexity has predisposed him to see the world in rigid, dualistic, Manichean terms. His “maximalist” interpretation of Islam “is couched in terms of an oppositional dialectic that juxtaposes Islam against everything else that is deemed un-​Islamic or anti-​Islamic, [such as] secularism, Western culture and values, democracy, [and] worldly politics,” as well as other religions and “all man-​made secular ideologies.”113 The sixth core characteristic of the religious extremist is a tendency to engage in dangerous speech about out-​group members. Dangerous speech, according to Susan Benesch, is “an act of speech [that] has a reasonable chance of catalyzing or amplifying violence by one group against another, given

Recognizing Religious Extremism II  53 the circumstances in which it was made or disseminated.”114 Dangerous speech occurs when several key elements are present: a charismatic extremist ideologue who possesses significant influence over a particular audience, widespread extant grievances and anxieties that can be exploited by that ideologue, a sociohistorical context of past intergroup conflict and weak rule of law, lack of access to countervailing sources of information, and last but by no means least, speech content that dehumanizes the out-​group “as vermin, pests, insects, or animals” and actively justifies violence against its members as legitimate self-​defense.115 Benesch’s perceptive insights on dangerous, linguistically dehumanizing speech are further strengthened by psychologist Paul Rozin’s work on the psychology of disgust. Employing evolutionary insights, Rozin argues that such a psychology is an evolved instinct in human beings. This instinct emerged in ancestral environments in which early human bands not only had to guard against predators and other warring tribes, but also had to worry about the unseen bacteria and germs infesting plant life and the bodies of dead animals. Over time, a powerful, instinctive psychological revulsion toward rotting food and corpses, dirt, and excrement evolved as an important evolutionary adaptation. Rozin argues that the human contagion-​avoidance instinct has so evolved that we automatically assume that “limited contact, however brief,” with a source of dangerous contamination “transmits the whole of the risk.”116 The point is this: the unconscious, evolved human contagion-​avoidance instinct can also be activated when contamination-​averse religious extremists encounter out-​ group members stereotyped as “unclean.” This is not an outlandish idea. John Teehan has reminded us how in the Old Testament, for instance, the Israelites were commanded to destroy entire “sinful” cities and towns because they are “polluted and so everything in [them] must go.”117 In other words, because linguistically dehumanizing speech against out-​ group members activates the evolved contagion-​avoidance instinct that is especially pronounced among religious extremists, even supposedly “nonviolent” but intolerant rhetoric comparing religious out-​group members with “pigs, rats, maggots, cockroaches, and other vermin” becomes dangerous—​even if there is no direct incitement to violence. As argued previously, dehumanizing rhetoric establishes an unconscious link between “disgust and genocide” among religious extremists, encouraging them to believe that these “disgusting characteristics” of the out-​group “threaten to pollute the environment and must be eliminated.”118 In this respect, it could be said that when the Indonesian Jemaah Islamiyah Bali bomber Mukhlas

54  Extremist Islam referred to all Westerners as “dirty animals and insects,”119 such speech was dangerous, because it was what the British counter-​extremism think tank, the Quilliam Foundation, called “mood music to which suicide bombers dance.”120 While not necessarily always inciting out-​group violence directly and explicitly, such mood music, by activating the contagion-​avoidance instinct of in-​group extremists, paves the way psychologically for such violence to be eventually perpetrated. The social psychologist Anthony Stahelski likewise concurs that “dehumanization,” in which out-​group members begin to be regarded as “subhuman” or “inhuman,” and ultimately “demonization,” in which they are reframed as “evil,” are cause for concern.121 Meanwhile, religious scholar James W. Jones holds that when religious extremists subject out-​group members to what he calls “satanization,” then the latter would be seen as subhumans “who embody pure evil,” who “cannot be argued with or compromised with” and “can only be destroyed” as a “moral duty.”122 This is why German-​Egyptian scholar Hamed Abdul-​Samad warns that no one who lets religious extremists preach “antidemocratic, antihuman sermons of hate in public has the right to be surprised when, sooner or later, their messages lead to violence.”123 The dangerous speech of religious extremists can be of two types. In the “hard” mode, the extremist makes little effort to soft-​pedal his incitement to out-​group violence. However, extremists may also operate in a more subtle, harder to detect, “soft” mode, not explicitly inciting violence, for fear of falling afoul of national laws against hate speech. In the United Kingdom, for example, for years the notorious British extremist Anjem Choudary managed to evade arrest by being “careful to avoid being linked to anything actually illegal,” expressing public sympathy for, and defending and justifying the actions of, terrorist plotters—​but adding for good measure that he was not directly involved with their plans.124 Ba’asyir in Indonesia offers an example of operating in both the hard and soft modes. In October 2007, addressing a crowd of young people in East Java, he expressly incited them to “just beat up” foreigners who dared to venture into East Java and to “not tolerate them.”125 Much of the time, though, Ba’asyir operated in “soft” mode, not explicitly calling for violence. His speech in the soft mode, nevertheless, provided the mood music that sustained a combustible climate of out-​group intolerance that could spark into violence should the right circumstances coalesce. Thus, when he exhorted Muslims in Indonesia to “reject the laws of the nation’s parliament” because “following state laws” that contradict “Islamic sharia law” was an “act of blasphemy,” or when he dehumanized non-​Muslim tourists in

Recognizing Religious Extremism II  55 Bali as “worms, snakes, maggots,” that is, “animals that crawl,”126 and advised his followers not to mingle with such outsiders,127 this was not unproblematic. As argued above, given the evolved contagion-​avoidance instinct, such soft hate rhetoric—​even in the absence of direct incitement to act violently—​ can cumulatively be no less dangerous. This is because over time, the soft hate rhetoric of the religious extremist, by subtly normalizing and mainstreaming “discriminatory, intimidating, disapproving, antagonistic, and/​or prejudicial attitudes toward” out-​groups with a view “to injure, dehumanize, harass, intimidate, debase, degrade, and victimize” them, ultimately foments “insensitivity and brutality against them.”128 Little wonder, then, that Alex Schmid has argued that the whole notion of “nonviolent extremism” is “misleading.” While “Gandhian nonviolence is radical,” it is not “extreme”; it is an example of a “principled political philosophy that seeks to hold the moral high ground in the face of a violent opponent.” By contrast, extremism is in essence “not-​violent” or “not-​now violent” in the sense that “the non-​use of violence is based merely on pragmatic, tactical, and/​or temporal considerations.”129 Agreeing, Astrid Botticher argues that “holding extremist views without the political will to translate thoughts into action might be more a question of circumstances and opportunities than principles.”130 In short, the religious extremist can shift between soft and hard modes of dangerous speech depending on his tactical appreciation of the situation. One should not be misled. A seventh core characteristic of the religious extremist is his drive—​arguably more so than that of radical co-​religionists—​to seek the political clout and influence to restructure the wider polity and society to reflect his preferred vision of a religiously legitimated sociopolitical order, in which divinely sanctioned structural violence is inflicted upon hated out-​groups. Animated by an especially acute fundamentalist drive to defend their religious in-​ group from an ostensibly threatening sociopolitical environment of competing out-​groups, extremists “would like everyone to be like them, preferably under theocratic rule.”131 Stuart Sim likewise avers that the acutely fundamentalist extremist, evincing low integrative complexity and consequently driven by the “desire for certainty,” seeks also “the power to enforce that certainty on others.”132 As such, as Sim opines, “power is a political rather than a spiritual issue,” and what sets the extremist apart from radical, politically active co-​believers is a far more pronounced quest for “control, control, control.”133 This fixation with seeking power and control is why the religious extremist, as Alex Schmid notes, is “anti-​constitutional,

56  Extremist Islam anti-​democratic, anti-​pluralist, [and] authoritarian,” as well as “fanatical, intolerant,” “rejecting the rule of law while adhering to an ends-​justify-​means philosophy,” and (of no small consequence) aiming to realize his “goals by any means, including, when the opportunity offers itself, the use of massive political violence against opponents.”134 The extremist drive for power and control is evinced by the Christian extremist network Army of God, for instance, which considers American society to be in a state of moral and spiritual decay and has sought power to construct “a new moral order” based on “Biblical” and not “secular principles.”135Moreover, evincing the always-​present potential for out-​group physical violence, as Schmid indicated, Army of God followers admitted that because “America was on the edge of an abyss,” it was apparent that “civil war was inevitable.”136

Myanmar’s Buddhist Extremists While this book is essentially about extremism in Southeast Asian Islam, it is important to underscore that extremism can infect all faiths, not just in Southeast Asia but elsewhere as well. In this respect, the controversial monk Ashin Wirathu, a nationally known leader of the Buddhist fundamentalist 969 and successor Ma Ba Tha movement in Myanmar—​and fellow monks associated with this movement—​provides a useful illustration of the seven core characteristics of religious extremism just described. The 969 movement arose in the southern city of Mawlamyine in 2011. According to the International Crisis Group, “969 is numerological shorthand for the special attributes of Buddha and his teachings and a riposte to the number ‘786’,” which is a “folk Islam representation of the Basmala long used by Muslims in Myanmar and elsewhere to identify halal restaurants and Muslim-​owned shops.”137 When 969 ran afoul of the authorities after it was accused of fueling Buddhist–​Muslim violence and faded from the scene, Ma Ba Tha—​the Association for the Protection of Race and Religion—​emerged in earnest by early 2014 to take its place.138 Wirathu—​as noted, a central figure in both 969 and Ma Ba Tha—​has appeared on the cover of Time magazine and even been called the “Burmese bin Laden” because his sermons have been blamed for fueling the anti-​Muslim violence that has rocked Myanmar in recent years.139 Wirathu, who had begun preaching in 2001 against the threat of Islam, was arrested in 2003 and slapped with a 25-​year jail term for dangerous speech in the hard mode in the form of inflammatory anti-​Muslim pamphlets. These

Recognizing Religious Extremism II  57 materials had apparently incited deadly violence in Kyaukse, his hometown. He was freed in 2011 as part of a government amnesty.140 In any case, between June and October 2012, 200 people, mainly Muslims, were killed in Buddhist–​Muslim riots in the western Arakan region of Myanmar, and 110,000 villagers, mostly Muslim Rohingya, were displaced. While Wirathu’s role in fomenting Buddhist–​Muslim tensions should not be overplayed—​as mentioned and as we shall see, there have been other extremists as well—​ he seems to have skillfully tapped into widespread Buddhist anxieties about Muslims, who form only about 4 percent of the total population, which is dominated by the Buddhists (88 percent). Myanmar’s Muslims—​save for the disenfranchised Rohingya in Arakan—​are economically comfortable in general. Ordinary Buddhists, influenced by the incendiary sermons of Wirathu and his like, fear that Islam will eventually dominate the country.141 In what ways have Wirathu and his colleagues evinced not just fundamentalist, but more so extremist, tendencies, then? First, Wirathu himself is clearly and unequivocally an identity supremacist, although to be fair, this orientation could be said to be partly a product of the wider historical evolution of Buddhist-​majority but multicultural Myanmar itself. Up until the reign of King Anawratha in the eleventh century CE, the country had hosted several religions, including Hinduism, Theravada Buddhism, and animism. Anawratha, however, began a process of institutionalizing Buddhism as the de facto state religion of his empire, establishing a special, mutually symbiotic politico-​religious relationship with the Sangha monastic order. That said, Anawratha’s successors did not engage in systematic structural depredations against other faiths like Islam—​which had emerged in-​country via Indian and Persian seafaring traders by the ninth century—​cultivating instead a healthy degree of communal harmony. In fact, the “country had on the whole enjoyed a pluralistic society.”142 However, following British colonial political missteps from the late nineteenth century onward, Muslims and other minorities were increasingly viewed as colonial stooges out to undermine the political dominance of the Buddhist Bamar (Burman) majority. A nationalist anticolonial movement gathered steam by the 1930s, fired by “an ethnic and religious chauvinism” toward “non-​Bamar and non-​Buddhist” minorities, that “would carry well into the post-​independence era, splitting the country along multiple lines and paving the way for decades of conflict.”143 After independence, moreover, attempts by the post-​ colonial military regime to designate Buddhism as the state religion were rebuffed by minority groups. By 2008, therefore, the national constitution,

58  Extremist Islam while recognizing the “special position of Buddhism as the faith professed by the great majority of the citizens” (section 361), also took care to stipulate under section 362 that “Christianity, Islam, Hinduism, and Animism” have followers in the country as well.144 By October 2017, moreover, the newly elected National League for Democracy (NLD) civilian government had ratified the International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights, which includes a provision that states are obliged to “guarantee economic and social rights without distinction as to race, religion, or national or social origin.”145 Nevertheless, a widespread notion had long taken root in military-​institutional circles that while building a strong Myanmar based on the “purity and homogeneity” of the Buddhist-​Bamar majority community was utterly imperative, the country was being “ ‘lost’ to Muslims” in particular—​those who were descendants of early Muslim settlers from Bengal between the sixteenth and eighteenth centuries, the laborers brought in by the British during the colonial era of the twentieth century, and latterly the “Bengalis” crossing over into the eastern Rakhine State from Bangladesh—​identifying themselves as ethnic Rohingya.146 Against this backdrop of existential uncertainty, Wirathu’s extremism expressed via identity supremacism comes out clearly. The Buddhist fundamentalist Ma Ba Tha movement of which Wirathu is a part champions the preservation of Buddhist-​Bamar political supremacy—​ and has significant grassroots support among Myanmar Buddhists who buy into its narrative that “inherently peaceful and nonproselytizing” Buddhism in the country is “susceptible to oppression by more aggressive faiths” like Islam.147 Wirathu goes further. He has warned publicly that Muslims have long been “despicable and dangerous destroyers of our Buddhism and Buddhist symbols” and have a “100-​year plan” to take over Myanmar’s “sovereignty through interfaith marriages with Buddhists.”148 Deifying Ma Ba Tha as Buddhism’s divinely sanctioned vanguard in Myanmar, Wirathu has quipped that “we came down from the sky, not like a normal person,” and that “we are brilliant people.”149 Such identity supremacism of Wirathu and other similar Buddhist extremists is further burnished by the second and third core extremist characteristics described earlier of acute in-​group bias and out-​group prejudice. Wirathu’s fellow Ma Ba Tha monk, U Parmoukkha, hinted at what he considered the innate “good essence” of the Buddhist in-​group in Myanmar when he declared that “in Buddhist teaching it is taught that you cannot harm other people,” hence “the person who harms is not someone who follows Buddhist

Recognizing Religious Extremism II  59 teaching.” He claimed that he did not know “whether the people who say they are Buddhist and then attack only temporarily follow Buddhism or whether they follow it at all.”150 In any case, Parmoukkha confidently asserted that if “there is no Buddhism, there will be more violence, and the situation will be even worse.” Parmoukkha added that “all the robbery, all the killings are seen as bad deeds.” Hence, without the Buddhist in-​group, “ideas might come about that these acts are not sinful,” because “there would be no one to teach that they are bad.”151 In stark contrast, Parmoukkha’s anti-​Muslim prejudice and assumption that Muslims possess a “bad essence” was revealed in his assertion that “Muslims have been trained since they are young in the mosque” about “extreme ideas,” such as “to dominate the whole world,” and that “most of the Muslims are touched in this way.”152 Evidence for the worrying mainstreaming of the extremist notions put forth by Wirathu, Parmoukkha, and their ilk, that Muslims in Myanmar—​including Muslims of shared Bamar ethnicity even—​were basically homogeneously evil, is revealed by a young Buddhist who informed the journalist Francis Wade that while he once had a Rohingya friend, he “no longer interacted with Muslims” because “they are very stupid” and their “religion is bad,” and that he did not think his Rohingya former friend was necessarily a “bad person”—​“even though he’s not bad, his ethnicity is bad” and the “group is bad.”153 The fourth characteristic of Buddhist extremism in Myanmar—​the obsession with purity and fear of contamination through intimate contact with the Muslim out-​group, is also obvious. The belief—​one of the aforementioned four Bs—​in the importance of maintaining Buddhist-​Bamar in-​group purity against supposed Muslim bad essence is buttressed by behaviors and bans targeting Muslims.154 In this regard, in a December 2012 sermon in Meikhtila, several months before violence broke out there, Wirathu “explicitly called on Buddhists to disassociate themselves entirely from Muslims,” in the process “solidifying the religious divide and making it clear that they were two very different groups of people, one to be trusted, the other not.”155 Operationalizing such bans included, in Wirathu’s view, buying only from Buddhist-​owned businesses, because patronizing Muslims’ stores would only strengthen their economic and political capacity to “destroy the whole nation and religion,” and they “will take over the whole country.” At the same time, Wirathu advised Buddhists to identify Buddhist stores by a familiar badge, the 969 sticker associated with the Buddhist fundamentalist movement of which he was a part. Several months, later, during the Meikhtila violence, Buddhist mobs scrawled another badge—​the 786 associated with

60  Extremist Islam Islam—​on Muslim houses marked out for attack.156 While reciprocal radicalization of Buddhist–​Muslim dyads in the country leading up to, and in the wake of, communal violence meant that often religiously mixed communities suddenly became polarized and physically segregated, there were some villages—​like the one in central Myanmar where the monk U Parmoukkha hailed from—​“where only Buddhists live and where we didn’t know much about other religions.” Growing up in such an insulated enclave would have helped incubate Parmoukkha’s insular, fundamentalist-​extremist fixation with preserving in-​group purity against the supposedly existential Muslim threat.157 That Wirathu and his fellow Ma Ba Tha extremists seem to possess particularly pronounced dualistic thinking arising from low integrative complexity—​the fifth feature of an extremist mindset, as described—​seems incontrovertible. Wirathu certainly seeks to “eliminate the middle ground, to split, dividing the world into safe and threat, good and evil, life and death.”158 As he puts it, 90 percent of Muslims in the country are “radical, bad people” who are “stealing our women, raping them,” and desire to “occupy our country,” extinguishing Buddhism in the process.159 Wirathu’s narrative—​ disseminated widely via CDs and DVDs—​was, mildly put, simplistic. As Wade observes, Wirathu’s storyline of the existential Muslim threat “linked together in a simple chain of causation the fate of Buddhism to the fate of the nation, and thus the fate of the individual,” and if not checked, “events happening elsewhere in the country would soon come to bear on the security of people hundreds of miles away.”160 Wirathu taught that “in Buddhism, we are not allowed to go on the offensive,” but “we have every right to protect and defend our community” if attacked.161 While the narrative was straightforward and unsophisticated, it was certainly potent, capable of spreading visceral fear of, and hate toward, Muslims from “Rakhine State to towns in the country’s center,” radicalizing communities and “transforming neighbors into enemies.”162 The sixth core characteristic of the religious extremist—​dangerous speech capable of catalyzing out-​group violence given the circumstances in which it is disseminated163—​is also readily evinced among Myanmar’s Buddhist extremists. Wirathu and other influential extremists adroitly exploit long-​ standing anti-​Muslim prejudices and the fact that state authorities seem unable and unwilling to decisively curb their excesses, to dominate the information space with the simple but virulent narrative described above.164 A key element of dangerous speech—​ linguistic dehumanization—​ is in

Recognizing Religious Extremism II  61 abundant evidence as well, and as far as Wirathu himself is concerned, especially so. Perhaps the mildest term he has used to dehumanize Muslims is “kalar”—​a derogatory word, similar to the “N-​word” in an American context.165 He has been more extreme. “Muslims are only well behaved when they are weak,” he has declared, adding that when “they are strong, they are like a wolf or a jackal, in large packs they hunt down other animals.”166 While the Nazis in World War II reframed the Jews as “leeches” and “bloodsuckers,” Wirathu uses the same terms in describing Muslims—​including those of the same Bamar ethnicity even—​illustrating the drastic identity-​simplification dynamic of extremist radicalization.167 Wirathu has also described Muslims as “mad dogs,”168 “cannibals,” and even as “African carp”—​an “invasive species” that “breed quickly,” are “very violent,” “eat each other, and destroy nature.”169 All the preceding examples would be indicative of Wirathu in the soft mode of dangerous speech, where no explicit call to violent action against Muslims is actually made. In fact, Wirathu often emphasizes that “he never encouraged attacks, and nowhere in his sermons does he implore followers to take up the sword.” But as Wade points out, he certainly “did lay down tinder that could easily catch flame.”170 Moreover, according to the U.S.-​based human rights group Justice Trust, “outbreaks of violence often coincide with Wirathu’s speeches or posts on the 969 Facebook page.”171 In any case, Wirathu has not been averse to switching to the hard mode on occasion, actively inciting out-​group violence, as when he urged Buddhist mobs to “cut off the d*cks” of Muslim men “to make an example of Muslim men who marry our women.”172 Wirathu, therefore, seems to exemplify what Alex Schmid calls a “not-​violent” extremist—​or simply, an extremist—​whose position on nonviolent action is based not on pious principle, but on tactical considerations. Hence, when Wirathu assures journalists that he is “going to give lessons to educate the whole people to stop the violence,”173 and implores them, “Look at my face, I don’t have any hatred at all,” it behooves one not to be too readily taken in.174 The seventh core characteristic of the religious extremist, namely his drive to seek political power to restructure the wider polity in line with his preferred fundamentalist vision of a religiously legitimated sociopolitical order, in which divinely sanctioned structural violence is inflicted upon enemy out-​ groups, is fully evidenced in the case of Wirathu and his ilk as well. This is evidenced in his and Ma Ba Tha’s vocal support for four laws enacted by the government in May and August 2015 that, taken together, appear to represent institutionalized discrimination against Muslims.175 First, the Population

62  Extremist Islam Control Law appears to give the government the necessary powers to implement noncoercive population control measures in areas identified as having high population density and growth, together with maternal and child mortality exacerbated by poverty and food scarcity. Observers have pointed out that this law appears to apply especially to Muslim-​majority northern Rakhine State, where coercive local regulations that restricted Muslim couples to two children have been in place in the past. Second, the Buddhist Women’s Special Marriage Law puts several administrative strictures in place to regulate any marriage of a Buddhist woman to a non-​Buddhist male: along with the requirement that a non-​Buddhist man must allow the wife to freely practice her Buddhist faith, abjure attempts to convert her, and permit any children to freely follow the religion of their choice, most pointedly, the law requires that the non-​Buddhist man must never insult Buddhism in any manner, or else he would be liable, inter alia, to 3 years’ imprisonment or a fine. Third, the Religious Conversion Law imposes regulations on Buddhists wanting to convert to other religions; a township Religious Conversion Scrutinising and Registration Board must examine each case and approve such decisions. Finally, the Monogamy Law makes it a criminal offense, among other things, to have multiple spouses; offenders are subject to up to 7 years of imprisonment.176 Such laws reflect how far Buddhist extremism has impacted Myanmar: such regulations deviate from the country’s constitutional provisions on religious freedom and nondiscrimination—​not to mention its treaty obligations under international human rights norms. Additionally, because these national laws appear to “have discriminatory intent and to be targeted at Muslims,” they represent a form of Galtungian structural violence directed at the latter as well, preventing them from actualizing their religious and lifestyle preferences and potentials.177

Extremism in Islam: A Closer Analysis At the beginning of this chapter, it was suggested that the Trump administration’s identification of “radical Islamic terrorism” as a threat to be countered policy-​wise needed much more careful calibration. Thus far, it has become clear first of all, that rather than the challenge’s being posed by mildly fundamentalist religious “radicals,” who may be reasoned with, the real challenge is likely posed by the less open-​minded, acutely fundamentalist extremists—​the “single-​minded black-​or-​white thinkers.”178 While

Recognizing Religious Extremism II  63 extremism in relation to Judaism, Christianity, and particularly Buddhism in Myanmar has been discussed, the bulk of the analysis in this book looks at extremism in Islam in Southeast Asia. In this section, therefore, we need to tighten our conceptual focus on extremism in relation to Islam, to foreground our discussion of specific Southeast Asian examples in the chapters to follow. To be sure, there has been much discussion concerning how Islam precisely infuses the likes of violent extremist networks like al-​Qaeda and ISIS. Graeme Wood, for instance, has argued that ISIS is very Islamic, although its understanding of Islam is “rooted in a minority interpretation of Islamic scripture that has existed, in various forms, for almost as long as the religion itself.”179 This brings us to a first view—​that perhaps was exemplified by some officials in the Trump administration—​that Islam the religion itself is extremist. Trump’s first National Security Advisor, for example, the former general Michael Flynn, went so far as to controversially decry Islam as a “cancer” and to declare that “fear of Muslims” per se was “rational.”180 Flynn obviously wildly exaggerated the point. Nevertheless, more sober academic discussion suggests that given the sociological realities of the “dangers and hardships of desert life” in seventh century Arabia, classical Islam—​that is, Islam in its purest, ideal-​type form—​is a religious system that from the outset evolved to ensure the survivability and success of the tribe against all comers and threats.181 In short, this view asserts that the extremist characteristic of identity supremacism and the drive for pecking-​order primacy vis-​à-​vis religious out-​groups are inherent in the faith itself. Thus, British scholar Anthony Nutting observes that the Prophet Muhammad was more than just a spiritual leader: he was both “head of state and commander-​in-​chief ” of the early Arab Muslim bands, armed with “a spiritual message” that included “a call to social revolution every bit as clear as the writings of Karl Marx or the speeches of Gamel Abdul Nasser” that fueled the “great Arab conquests that followed the Prophet’s death.”182 In like vein, the German-​Egyptian political scientist Hamed Abdel-​Samad reminds us that it was “Muhammad” who “invented jihad” and that “asserting Islam’s universality and agitating against unbelievers are themes in the Qur’an itself.”183 David Cook, a religious studies scholar, has also argued that without early Islamic military conquests, “the religion would not have had the opportunity to spread in the way that it did, nor would it have been the attractant that it was”—​hence “the conquests and the doctrine that motivated these conquests—​jihad—​were crucial to the development of Islam.”184 Nobel

64  Extremist Islam laureate Elias Canetti likewise alludes to the extremism and violent potentials within Islam itself when he calls it a “religion of war,”185 while American political scientist Samuel P. Huntington argues that rather than “Islamic fundamentalism,” it is quite simply “Islam, a different civilization whose people are convinced of the superiority of their culture and are obsessed with the inferiority of their power,”186 that poses the challenge. Even in Southeast Asia, Yahya Cholil Staquf, General Secretary of Nahdlatul Ulama (NU), the 50-​million-​strong traditionalist Indonesian mass Muslim organization—​the world’s largest such institution—​appears to concur on prima facie evidence with Huntington. Cholil asserts that there “is a clear relationship” between “terrorism” and “the basic assumptions of Islamic orthodoxy.”187 He opined that, at root, orthodox Islam—​which fosters “an attitude of segregation and enmity” toward non-​Muslims—​is “an important factor” in understanding extremism in Islam.188 To be precise, what Cholil appears to be alluding to is Islamic orthodoxy or neo-​fundamentalism. To recapitulate, within multicultural societies, religious in-​groups would likely have some combination of three groups of believers: mainstream believers of varying degrees of nominal, progressive, and orthodox religiosity; relatively open-​minded, mildly to moderately fundamentalist radicals; and the relatively closed-​minded acutely fundamentalist extremists who represent the focus of our discussion. Extremist networks within the wider religious in-​group would see the “broad identity collective” of radicals and mainstream believers as targets of radicalization.189 In this respect, the relative vulnerability of orthodox believers to extremist appeals deserves more elucidation at this juncture. Religious orthodoxy, as observed earlier, seeks to preserve tradition, and religious believers who are in this category are sometimes also called neo-​fundamentalist or pietist, in that they are focused on “encouraging a range of ritual and personal behavioral practices linked to worship, dress, and everyday behavior,” rather than—​ like the fundamentalists—​ promoting a “systematic ideology” or 190 “global political agenda.” Alex Schmid refers to orthodox Muslims as “conservative” or “traditional” Muslims, differentiating them from other mainstream believers, whom he terms, inter alia, as “modern Muslims,” “cultural Muslims,” “liberal Muslims,” and “progressive Muslims,” who are the most ideologically aligned with Western concepts of democracy, human rights, tolerance, and social equality.191 To emphasize, religious orthodoxy is not religious fundamentalism as it has been discussed in this book thus far. While the religiously orthodox

Recognizing Religious Extremism II  65 believer shares with the fundamentalist the desire to avoid contamination through overly intimate commingling with unbelievers, the stock solution of the former is to passively withdraw from, and reduce contact with, the societal mainstream; they lack a systematic political program and thus do not significantly impact the extant distribution of power in society.192 Religious fundamentalists, on the other hand, are viscerally more activist, viewing the forces of unbelief as utterly “inimical to religion itself ” and to varying degrees regard themselves as being engaged in “a cosmic war between the forces of good and evil” to avoid “annihilation.”193 That said, religious orthodoxy per se—​even in the absence of an explicit ideological or political agenda for transforming society as per the fundamentalists—​by simply emphasizing above all an in-​group’s four Bs—​its behavioral distinctiveness in dress, diet, marriage, and education—​may well “sharpen the sense of separate religious identities” and “reinforce social boundaries between believers and nonbelievers, or between insiders and outsiders.”194 This is why orthodox believers may be susceptible to more radical and even extremist constructions of the faith.195 A case in point as far as Islamic orthodoxy is concerned is the Tablighi Jamaat, a global Islamic missionary movement that was founded in India in 1926 by Muhammad Ilyas Kandhlawi as an apolitical mass movement aimed at encouraging ordinary Muslims to attain greater levels of personal piety. It has roots in the “Deobandi subschool of Hanafi jurisprudence.”196 The neo-​ fundamentalist Tablighis—​ although not espousing any political agenda—​ are “very introverted” and averse to “dialogue with non-​Muslims.”197 The Tablighis seek to “insulate themselves against the contaminating influences of majority cultures by remaining within their own circles of true believers,” thereby cultivating a “cultural encapsulation that divides them starkly from a larger, evil, and threatening world.”198 Perhaps partly because of such religiously mandated social distancing, some former Tablighi members have been rendered psychologically susceptible to extremist propaganda appeals and have in fact traversed that route.199 There have been examples: Akayed Ullah, the Bangladeshi immigrant who tried to detonate a pipe bomb in a crowded New York City subway station in December 2017, had been a Tablighi Jamaat member in his youth.200 Some observers therefore argue that the Tablighi movement, which has penetrated the remote villages of Southeast Asia, should not be ignored because its “rhetoric of hatred and anti-​Americanism remains a topic of serious concern.”201 In short, while religious orthodoxy in general and Islamic orthodoxy in

66  Extremist Islam particular should not be uncritically and hastily equated with extremism, this does not imply it can be entirely ignored. By simply emphasizing even a passive, dualistic, us-​versus-​them mindset among followers, orthodoxy can arguably soften the ground for the bigger problem of more acutely fundamentalist extremist appeals downstream. Conversely, neo-​fundamentalist believers feeling threatened by the growing ideological and societal influence of their fundamentalist cousins may be radicalized somewhat in opposition to the latter. We return to this point later in the discussion of Malaysia.

Salafism, Wahhabism, Islamism—​and “Salafabism” Nevertheless, the contention in this book is that rather than Islamic neo-​fundamentalist orthodoxy itself, it is the acutely fundamentalist Islamic strain of Salafabism that should garner greater attention. Unpacking the argument requires starting off with the precursor strain of Salafism, a “major ideology-​ cum-​ theology underlying modern Sunni Islamic thought.”202 Salafism considers the al-​salaf al-​salih, the first three generations of Muslims following Prophet Muhammad, as the best ones the religion has ever seen—​and will ever see. Salafis—​although they do not always self-​identify as such and may not even agree on who deserves such an appellation—​are thus Sunni Muslims who essentially claim to be “like the salaf” and seek to emulate them as closely as possible across various spheres of life.203 Salafism, Shiraz Maher observes, is “a redemptive philosophy based around an idealized version of Islam that enshrines both authenticity and purity,” but believes in “progression through regression,” back toward the “Islam of its first three generations.”204 In the studied view of the scholar Henri Lauziere, there are two basic types of Salafism: “Modernist Salafism” and “Purist Salafism.” Modernist Salafis are discussed below. To Lauziere, Purist Salafism—​a moderately fundamentalist Islamic radicalism in the terms of this book—​claims to “follow the only true Islam” that can lead to salvation (see Table 2.2). As true fundamentalist intratextualists, Purist Salafis deny “the validity of any intuitive or esoteric knowledge,” privileging “the supremacy and primacy of scriptural (naql) over rational proofs (‘aql).”205 Ideal-​type Purist Salafism has been said to assume three basic forms: in the main, relatively apolitical quietists who emphasize Islamic study and peaceful propagation and “display full loyalty to their governments”; activists who engage in the political process, such as the Saudi Islamic Awakening movement in the 1990s or the al-​Nour political

Recognizing Religious Extremism II  67 Table 2.2  Islamic Fundamentalism and Its Forms Islamic Fundamentalism Mild Form (Open-​minded radicalism)

Moderate Form (Moderate radicalism)

Modernist Salafism Purist Salafism Salafabist Radicalism Low to Moderate Wahhabization

Acute Form (Closed-​minded extremism) Soft Salafabism Hard Salafabism Islamism Salafi Jihadism Strong Wahhabization

party in Egypt today; and of no small importance, the transnational “Jihadi-​ Salafi” organizations, such as ISIS and al-​Qaeda, who believe in violence as the most effective and legitimate form of activism.206 Observers argue that the “boundaries between the subdivisions are fluid and overlapping.”207 Moreover, while other scholars have put forth additional categories, these three subdivisions remain for the most part widely accepted.208 It is worth noting that quietist Purist Salafis are not apolitical in the sense of the neo-​ fundamentalists. Although such quietists do not participate in political activity and elections per se, they do possess “strong opinions” about the latter and are hence more accurately understood as fundamentalists.209 To be sure, precisely because of the association of the term Salafi with the al-​salaf al-​salih—​venerated by all Muslims—​it is a religiously and politically sensitive exercise to subject it to critical scrutiny to unearth any association with extremism. Nevertheless, at this point, in the spirit of enquiry, it is worth undertaking such an endeavor to offer the following more precise observation: rather than the Purist Salafis per se, it is Wahhabized Purist Salafis—​or Salafabists (to be elucidated upon below)—​who can tend toward extremism in our sense. This argument can be unpacked as follows. Technically, Purist Salafis could be said to have an extreme stance in that they theologically deviate from mainstream Sunni thought. As Wagemakers suggests, under the guidance of especially Ibn Shafi’i (d. 820), after the Prophet’s death, over time “a middle way” emerged “between the different approaches” to attaining Islamic knowledge.210 This primarily included the Qur’an and Sunna (Prophetic tradition), but also other sources, such as scholarly consensus (ijma) and considered scholarly opinion (ra’y). The middle way eventually evolved into “a single legal system that developed into various schools,”

68  Extremist Islam or madhabs: Hanbali, Maliki, Shafi’I, and Hanafi, the four Sunni schools of jurisprudence or fiqh, and came to represent mainstream Sunni Islam.211 Purist Salafis by contrast consider the Qur’an and the Sunna as the exclusive, sole source of Islamic rulings. They believe that rather than relying on uncritical emulation (taqlid) of the rulings of various Islamic scholars, one should simply exercise “independent and direct interpretation” (ijtihad) of the Qur’an and Sunna themselves.212 Purist Salafis thus see their role as “cleansing” Islam of the al-​salaf al-​salih of such “man-​made additions to the religion” caused by ijma and ra’y.213 Purist Salafis believe that because mainstream Muslims have supposedly compromised with the wider realm of unbelief, they alone, as “strangers” or ghuraba among the wider mainstream Islamic in-​group, are the true “sect saved (from hellfire)” or the “victorious group.”214 It should be noted moreover that Purist Salafis not only deviate from mainstream Sunni thought, within secular, democratic, and multicultural contexts, but also—​by definition—​ deviate from mainstream national constitutional and ideological currents. While the Islamic concept of tauhid or the unity of God is a central doctrinal creed for all Muslims, Purist Salafis take this idea further, via the concept of Tauhid 3.0—​tauhid rububiyyah (the unity of Lordship), tauhid asma’ wa sifat (the unity of God’s names and attributes), and tauhid ‘uluhiyyah (the unity of divinity). Particularly pertinent is the concept of tauhid ‘uluhiyyah, which implies inter alia that “following legislative systems other than shari’a is a form of unbelief,” as are “the application of positive law or man-​made laws.”215 Purist Salafi identity supremacism vis-​à-​vis mainstream Islamic thought and prevailing national constitutional-​ideological norms is thus suggestive of a technically extreme stance. However, Purist Salafis, as moderately fundamentalist Islamic radicals, are well capable of moderating such a stance, depending on context, as is clearly seen in the case of Singapore, where they have been willing to accept that Islam can accommodate secular, democratic modernity.216 Moreover, Purist Salafis, while hewing strongly to the notion that “Islam is the only true religion,” can still accept that “all other humans are worthy of respect” as well.217 However, this attitude is somewhat less obvious in the case of Wahhabism—​a “Najdi (Central Arabian) version of Salafism.”218 While Purist Salafis are moderately fundamentalist radicals, Wahhabized Purist Salafis are arguably acutely fundamentalist extremists. Wahhabism is named after the puritanical eighteenth-​century Arab Muslim reformer Muhammad ibn Abd al-​Wahhab (d. 1787). Al-​Wahhab—​deeply influenced

Recognizing Religious Extremism II  69 by the classical Hanbali school of fiqh and medieval scholars of this ilk, such as Ibn Taymiyya (d. 1328) and his student Ibn Qayyim al-​Jawziyya (d. 1350)—​derided the Ottoman Turks, who were at the time controlling large tracts of the Middle East, including Mecca and Medina, as “blasphemers for their constant infractions” of the Qur’an, such as “wine-​drinking, gambling, fornication, and idolatry.”219 Al-​Wahhab and his followers, or “Wahhabis” as they came to be called, much more so than Purist Salafis, had relatively less compunction about using physical violence to purify the faith of cultural contaminants. They destroyed shrines, tombs, and sacred objects that they considered “idolatrous.”220 Arab Muslims who did not embrace al-​Wahhab’s extremely rigid, monotheistic interpretation of the faith were condemned as guilty of shirk (apostasy) and were attacked. Al-​Wahhab proceeded to forge a religio-​political alliance with the powerful tribal sheikh Muhammad bin Saud, a compact that ultimately led to the founding of the Saudi kingdom as well as the successful dissemination of the Wahhabi ideas throughout Arabia from the middle of the eighteenth century.221 Wagemakers contends that “the most important factor” in the spread of Purist Salafism globally “has been the influence of Wahhabism since the 1950s.” Wahhabized Purist Salafism has come to the fore due to three factors. First, the rise of the Saudi oil industry; second, Riyadh’s desire to exploit booming oil revenues to disseminate its theological ideas to counter both socialist Egypt in the 1960s and revolutionary Shia Iran in the 1980s; and finally, to fill the ideological vacuum in the Muslim world following the delegitmization of Nasserite socialism after Israel’s victory in the June 1967 war.222 Purist Salafism in Saudi Arabia today is thus “closely associated with the Wahhabi creed.”223 “By the late 1970s,” Khaled Abou El Fadl explains, “Wahhabism had co-​opted the Salafi creed to the point that Salafism had become a code word for antiliberal values,” and the resulting “puritanism” that emerged from this co-​optation was “invariably intolerant, supremacist, oppressive toward women, opposed to rationalism, hostile toward most forms of artistic expression, and rigidly literalistic.”224 While current Saudi rulers publicly eschew the relevance of Wahhabism, it is difficult to deny its contemporary influence in the country.225 The relative intolerance of Wahhabized Purist Salafism is seen in its stance on the previously discussed second and third characteristics of extremism: in-​group bias and concomitant out-​group prejudice. An analysis of the 1,120-​page volume Legal Rulings of the Scholars of the Sacred Land, a publication of the officially sanctioned Committee of Senior Scholars of Saudi Arabia, is particularly instructive in this regard.

70  Extremist Islam “Replete with citations from the Qur’an and hadith,” the tome promotes an arguably Wahhabized interpretation of the central Purist Salafi concept of al-​wala’ wa-​al-​bara, defined as “love and friendship with the believers, hatred and enmity toward the unbelievers”; the concept is “animated by a strong sense of Muslim superiority and deep distrust of non-​Muslims.”226 The al-​wala’ wa-​al-​bara concept appears to capture both in-​group bias and out-​group prejudice, although it is “difficult to define both linguistically and conceptually.”227 In essence, it enjoins Muslims to emphasize the four Bs by distinguishing “their manners—​greetings, clothing, festivals, and appearance—​from that of non-​Muslims.”228 Moreover, what is clear is that any notion of “accommodation among religions” is “emphatically rejected” on the grounds that “Jews, Christians, and sectarian Muslims” have “falsified and deviated from the truth brought by Prophet Muhammad.”229 No surprise, then, that Wahhabized Purist Salafis tend to be leery of interfaith dialogues. Ali al-​Timimi, said to be the first American-​born, activist, Wahhabized Purist Salafi preacher, argues that Western Muslims should not ignore the principles of al-​wala’ wa-​al-​bara, and instead remember who they should show allegiance to and who “they should disavow, show hatred and warfare to.”230 He added that Muslims should beware of “interfaith dialogue,” as such concepts could “strip them of their beliefs.”231 Tellingly, Saudi Arabia has not signed the International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights, which, among other things, guarantees the equal rights of other religious groups.232 This further hints at the contemporary dominance of an “exclusivist conception of al-​wala’ wa-​al-​bara at the expense of rational ijtihad,” resulting in a “purist form of Salafism” that follows “Wahhabi literalism and xenophobia.”233 A strong focus on purity and fear of contamination of the good essence of the in-​group through commingling with the out-​group is the fourth characteristic of Wahhabized Purist Salafi extremism. Ayaan Hirsi Ali, a Dutch-​ Somali political commentator and former Muslim who grew up in Saudi Arabia, sheds useful light on the Wahhabized Purist Salafi fixation with purity: Everything in Saudi Arabia was about sin. You weren’t naughty; you were sinful. You weren’t clean; you were pure. The word haram, forbidden, was something we heard every day. Taking a bus with men was haram. Boys and girls playing together was haram. When we played with the other girls in

Recognizing Religious Extremism II  71 the courtyard of the Qur’an school, if our white headscarves shook loose, that was haram, too, even if there were no boys around.234

For his part, El Fadl argues that Wahhabis eschew “corruptions,” such as “mysticism, the doctrine of intercession, rationalism, and Shi’ism.”235 In essence, El Fadl argues that as acutely Purist Salafis, “Wahhabis tended to treat everything that did not come out of Arabia proper to be inherently suspect” and “have always equated the austere cultural practices of Bedouin life with the one and only true Islam.”236 Agreeing, the French scholar of Islam Olivier Roy describes Wahhabism as a “disembedding and asceticizing” project, as it has long sought the “purification of religious practice of all elements of social and cultural context.”237 The Wahhabized Purist strain of Salafism that has now been globalized is hence a “de-​territorialized Islam,” purified of “national or cultural identities, traditions, and histories” and reduced to an “abstract faith and moral code.”238 In short, for Akbar Ahmed, chairman of Islamic Studies at American University in Washington DC, Wahhabism is “a tribal, desert Islam” that in its quest for purity is “xenophobic, fiercely opposed to shrines and tombs, disapproving of art and music, and hugely different from the cosmopolitan Islam of diverse trading cities like Baghdad and Cairo.”239 Singaporean Islamic scholar Mohamed Ali concurs, noting that Wahhabized Purist Salafis “are very obsessed with the issues of what is halal (permissible) and haram (forbidden).”240 It cannot be overstated here that while all Wahhabis are Purist Salafis, the converse does not hold: unlike Wahhabis, not all Purist Salafis support the Saudi state and religious establishment. Moreover, while Wahhabis hew closely to the Hanbali school of fiqh—​by definition Purist Salafis do not. This is because the latter consider that the four Sunni schools—​ Hanbali, Maliki, Shafi’I, and Hanafi—​ are sources of division in the Muslim community and in any case one should just refer directly to the Qur’an and the Sunna and exercise ijtihad as the one correct approach to gaining Islamic knowledge.241 Importantly for our purposes, Khaled Abou El Fadl, an internationally recognized scholar and commentator on Islamic law and Islam,242 describes the fusion between Purist Salafism and Wahhabism—​Wahhabized Purist Salafism—​as “Salafabism.”243 In several works, El Fadl captures the essential fundamentalist-​extremist impulse at the core of Salafabism—​the “unity of Wahhabism with the worst that is in Salafism”—​in useful detail:

72  Extremist Islam The consistent characteristic of Salafabism is a supremacist puritanism that compensates for feelings of defeatism, disempowerment, and alienation with a distinct sense of self-​righteous arrogance vis-​á-​vis the nondescript “other”—​whether the “other” is the West, nonbelievers in general, or even Muslim women. . . . According to this model, there are only two paths in life: the path of God (the straight path) and the path of Satan (the crooked path). . . . Islam is the only straight path in life and must be pursued regardless of what others think and how it impacts on their rights and well-​being. (italics added)244

In any case, as hinted in the extract above, Salafabists—​the central conceptual term of choice from this point on—​can certainly be said to display particularly pronounced dualistic thinking arising from low integrative complexity—​the fifth feature of extremism as has been described. Cognitive-​affective dualism is intrinsic in the very concept of al-​wala’ wa-​al-​bara, which legitimizes behavioral norms that require that “Salafis [keep] away from others entirely, which—​especially in a non-​Muslim context like in Western countries—​can hamper the integration of their communities in society.”245 El Fadl explains how such dualism is enhanced by the low integrative complexity that seems to underpin the Salafabist mindset: In [the puritan] paradigm, one often encounters a simplistic attitude that assumes that the Qur’an and Sunna are full of formulas, and that the only thing missing in the equation is the will and determination to apply the correct formula to the appropriate problem. This attitude induces puritans to treat the tradition as a vending machine of sorts.246

Hence, to Salafabists, a “ready-​made solution” can be extracted from “the sources for every problem that confronts people” and if the “lived reality” seems to be at variance with the “puritan pretense,” the Salafabists—​in stock acute fundamentalist fashion—​“conclude that the solution is most certainly correct, and it is the people who must be all wrong.”247 El Fadl has observed in this respect how “the majority” of the Salafabist “puritan leadership” consist of people who “studied the physical sciences, such as medicine, engineering, and computer science” and hence “anchor themselves in the objectivity and certitude that comes from empiricism.”248 The low integrative complexity of the Salafabist cognitive model is also evinced in its rigid literalist readings of holy texts, in which apparent contradictions therein that could be resolved

Recognizing Religious Extremism II  73 through use of metaphor are instead glossed over via adopting the Hanbali posture of “not asking how.”249 This is why hardcore Salafabists, by evincing the fanatic’s “surprising tolerance for inconsistency and incompatibility in the beliefs held”250 tend to “miss the contradiction and complexity because they see Islam as only rule and creed.”251 El Fadl adds in this vein: Salafabists insist that only the mechanics and technicalities of Islamic law define morality. This legalistic way of life is considered inherently superior to all others, and the followers of any other way are regarded as infidels (kuffar), hypocrites (munafiqun), or iniquitous (fasiqun). Lives that are lived outside the divine law are inherently unlawful and therefore an offense against God that must be actively fought or punished.252

The sixth core characteristic of the religious extremist—​dangerous speech capable of catalyzing out-​group violence given the circumstances in which it is disseminated253—​is also acutely evidenced in Salafabist tracts. In her July 2017 testimony before the U.S. House Committee on Foreign Affairs, Nina Shea, Director of the Hudson Institute’s Center for Religious Freedom, observed that a study of the Saudi educational curriculum showed that, even 16 years after the September 11, 2001, attacks, Saudi Ministry of Education textbooks revealed the strong influence of hard-​edged Salafabist tendencies. They “still teach an ideology of hatred and violence against Jews, Christians, Muslims, such as Shiites, Sufis and Ahmadis, Hindus, Bahais, Yizidis, animists, sorcerers, and ‘infidels’ of all stripes, as well as other groups with different beliefs.”254 In particular, she found that educational texts assert that “Christians, Hindus and those ‘practicing witchcraft’ are to be fought and killed,” while “many Muslims should be killed for their beliefs,” including “blasphemers, Christian converts, and those who merely ‘doubt’ the Prophet’s truth, as well as Shiites and Sufis,” who are labeled “polytheists” for “praying or even seen crying at gravesites.”255 In addition, Shea noted that Jews are “demonized, dehumanized, and targeted for violence” and “students are mentally prepared for eventual war with the Jews” because all of Israel is called “occupied Islamic territory.”256 Shea hit the nail on the head when she pointed out that “these textbooks directing religious hatred, violence and war indoctrinate six million Saudi students and reach untold millions of others as they are spread far and wide in the Muslim world by a state that claims moral authority as the custodian of Islam’s holiest sites.”257 It is telling that ISIS even adopted official Saudi textbooks for its schools set up in areas

74  Extremist Islam under its control, until 2015, when it began publishing its own material. This hinted at a “shared theological DNA” between ISIS and the supposedly nonviolent Saudi Salafabist outlook.258 U.S. Treasury Department counterterrorism officials similarly complained that the “Wahhabi teachings of these textbooks” were nothing less than “kindling for Bin Laden’s match.”259 The insidious long-​term impact of primary socialization into such extremist material was alluded to by the Dutch-​Somali analyst Ayaan Hirsi Ali. She recounted that immediately after the September 11, 2001, attacks in the United States, she could fully understand the mindset of the lead al-​Qaeda hijacker, Mohamed Atta. She admitted that at one stage of her life, she could even have done what he had done as well. Her comments are telling: Mohamed Atta was exactly my age. I felt as though I knew him, and in fact I did know many people just like him. . . . There were tens of thousands of people . . . who thought this way. Every devout Muslim who aspired to practice . . . the Muslim Brotherhood Islam, the Islam of the Medina Qur’an schools—​even if they didn’t actively support the attacks, they must at least have approved of them.260

Finally, the seventh core characteristic of the religious extremist: his drive to seek political power by any means necessary to restructure the wider polity in line with his preferred fundamentalist vision of a religiously legitimated sociopolitical order—​in which divinely sanctioned structural violence can be inflicted upon relevant out-​groups—​also appears to characterize aspects of the modern Salafabist worldview. This implicit will to power seems most salient in what could be termed a soft Salafabist strand that has been described as Islamist. Islamism evolved out of a brand of Salafism that emerged in the Arab provinces of the Ottoman empire toward the end of the nineteenth century, whose proponents could be characterized as Modernist Salafis—​as mentioned above. According to Lauziere, Modernist Salafis seek to “reconcile Islam” to “the contemporary realities” and to “rational minds.”261 As exemplified by reformers like Jamal al-​Din al-​Afghani (d. 1897), Muhammad Abduh (d. 1905), and Rashid Rida (d. 1935) in Egypt, Modernist Salafis, “painfully aware of Muslim inferiority to the West,” sought to selectively adopt European institutions and ideas to “rejuvenate the ummah” and “establish an Arab-​Islamic form of modernity” by combining “a romanticized view of Wahhabism” and “Western-​inspired innovations through ijtihad.”262 If, as discussed, Purist Salafis are moderately fundamentalist Islamic radicals,

Recognizing Religious Extremism II  75 Modernist Salafis can be regarded as mildly fundamentalist radicals: while they seek urgent and deep-​rooted transformation of Muslim societies, on the whole they work peacefully and within secular constitutional parameters (see Table 2.2). That said, the musings of the Modernist Salafi Rida, Abduh’s protégé, gradually shaded into a more extreme Salafabist orientation, rendering him “more ‘Wahabist’ than his teacher.”263 Rida subsequently influenced another Egyptian, the schoolteacher Hassan al-​Banna.264 In 1928, al-​Banna formed the Society of Muslim Brothers (the Muslim Brotherhood) as a response to the post-​World War I realities of colonial rule and the abolition of the Ottoman Caliphate.265 While al-​Banna was certainly exercised by the Modernist Salafi anxiety that “Islam was in decline,”266 he blended this with the Salafabist obsession with “maintaining the purity” of the “creed,” thereby ensuring that the Brotherhood meshed piety with “politics and pragmatism”—​a legacy that influenced subsequent Brotherhood offshoots throughout the Middle East and beyond.267 The distinctive soft Salafabism of the Muslim Brotherhood and related movements is known more conventionally as Islamism, the “instrumentalization of Islam by individuals, groups and organizations that pursue political objectives,” and that “provides political responses to today’s societal challenges by imagining a future, the foundations of which rest on reappropriated, reinvented concepts borrowed from the Islamic tradition.”268 Islamist ideology—​revealing the implicit Salafabist will to power—​is based on the notion that “the primary Islamic texts (the Qur’an and hadith)” should be exploited to provide the “blueprint for the creation of a state governed by Islamic law and the restoration of the Caliphate.”269 Barbara Metcalf has observed that Islamists were not at all seminary-​educated but were “engineers and others with technical training, lawyers, doctors, and university professors” who had a low opinion of the ulama class and who “sought to ‘do modernity’ in ways that asserted their ‘cultural pride’.”270 A leading Islamist ideologue, the Pakistani journalist and founder of the Jamaat-​I Islami political party, Abul Ala Mawdudi (d. 1979), “correlated piety with political activity, the cleansing of the soul with political liberation, and salvation with utopia.”271 Mawdudi sought to set up “an Islamic state on the Prophetic model,” believing that societal transformation “would result from taking over centers of political power and effecting wide-​scale reforms from the top down, rather than mobilizing the masses to overthrow the existing order”; he thus envisioned the “Islamic revolution to unfold within the existing state structure rather than [to] destroy it.”272 Mawdudi argued in essence that “no

76  Extremist Islam single individual, a family, a class, a party, or any individual living in the state has the right to hakimiyya”—​God’s sovereignty—​“as Allah is the true ruler and holder of real power.”273 Over the decades, it should be pointed out, further cross-​fertilization has occurred between Wahhabi and Islamist ideas. In Saudi Arabia, for example, the Sahwa (awakening movement), which came to prominence in the early 1990s, is a “hybrid of Wahhabism and the ideology of the Muslim Brotherhood” and “arguably the single most influential activist Salafi movement.”274 Salafism today, deeply influenced by “the purist Hanbali-​Wahhabi creed” and thus better described as Salafabism, has “remained an important component also in the Islamist ideology.”275 We could say that nonviolent Islamism is a soft form of Salafabism. The key point here, as far as soft Salafabist, politically oriented Islamists are concerned, is that they seek ultimately to capture state power and to restructure politics according to their preferred religiously legitimated vision of the ideal society. This drive can manifest in subtle forms. One example in recent years has been the phenomenon of the so-​called sharia patrols of mainly Muslim neighborhoods in east London. Inspired by the British Salafabist Anjem Choudary, the patrols prowled the streets, “intimidating passersby into submission to conservative Islamic religious and cultural norms”—​in short, prescribed badges and behavior—​by harassing “women into covering their bodies and faces” and by emptying out “men’s beers.” More than “petty stunts for publicity” or acts of structural violence against the lifestyle preferences of mainstream Muslims and nonbelievers, these patrols were also regarded as “small steps to a better world” in the eyes of Choudary, who claimed that they later inspired the morality police or hisbah tasked with maintaining the peculiar religiously legitimated social order in ISIS-​controlled areas in Syria.276 After all, al-​Banna, the prototypical soft Salafabist Islamist, clearly evinced the full-​blown extremism implicit and inherent in this creed when he once declared, “It is in the nature of Islam to dominate, not to be dominated, to impose its law on all nations and to extend its power to the entire planet.”277 While Islamist ideologues like al-​Banna and Mawdudi made mention of a global Muslim ummah (community), they were on balance more focused on Islamic nationalism than transnationalism.278 In contrast, a much more self-​consciously transnational variant of soft Salafabist Islamism is the Hizbut Tahrir (HT), founded in 1953 by the Palestinian Shaykh Taqiuddin al-​Nabhani (d. 1977), a religious scholar and magistrate during the period of British rule in Palestine. HT emphasizes the immediate restoration of the old

Recognizing Religious Extremism II  77 Islamic empire or caliphate—​not necessarily by violence but rather through “peaceful politics and ideological subversion.”279 HT employs Muslim Brotherhood organizational models280 and is active in 45 countries, mostly in Central Asia, although much of its global publicity work emerges from the United Kingdom, where it “appeals to a small, articulate group of educated first-​and second-​generation Muslim immigrants primarily from South Asia.”281 HT penetrated Central Asia in the 1990s and has worked hard to extend its influence throughout the region.282 Observers suggest that HT—​ led like other Islamist groups by professionals and not the ulama283—​seeks to politically exploit the conditions created by the enabling environment of state repression and corruption in Central Asia, particularly in the key state of Uzbekistan, to establish a base area or “caliphate state” that can serve as a “jumping-​off point for its goal of a caliphate covering the entire Muslim world.”284 HT is certainly not a hard Salafabist, violent “global jihadist group,” because it believes that it can achieve a global political revolution through the peaceful “penetration of government institutions and the recruitment of key officials.”285 This is not to say, however, that one should not view HT with some caution. Wan Min Wan Mat, a former Malaysian Jemaah Islamiyah leader, considered HT ideologically similar to Jemaah Islamiyah, although in contrast to the violent methodology of the latter, the strategic concept of HT was to educate the people and to mobilize them.286 Even a cursory survey of HT ideology, furthermore, as readily accessed online on the HT Australia website, shows aspects of the extremism that has been discussed thus far: Since the destruction of the Khilafah in 1924 CE, the fundamental tenets of Islam lay dormant due to the absence of an Islamic authority to implement these systems. So, the social, political, economic, judicial, educational, and military aspects of Islam have been neglected, and even the personal aspects of Islam, such as prayer, charity, fasting, and hajj, have not been without corruption and neglect. The enemies of Islam have achieved an unprecedented degree of control over the affairs of Muslims. . . . The struggle of the Muslims is to reverse the decline experienced prior and subsequent to the destruction of the Khilafah. (italics added)287

HT thus enjoins Muslims to engage in an “intellectual struggle” to reconstruct “the clarity of the Islamic creed in the minds of the Muslims,” rebuilding “confidence” in Islam and—​hinting at how the good essence of the Muslims is being contaminated by commingling with bad essence of

78  Extremist Islam unbelievers—​“repelling the poisonous non-​Islamic culture that was forced upon the Muslims.”288 HT also urges Muslims to engage in a “political struggle” aimed at, inter alia, “removing the shackles of Western hegemony in the Muslim world, struggling against the enemies of Islam and their agents in the Muslim world,” and “expending every effort aimed at re-​establishing the Islamic political authority.”289 Displaying the identity supremacy and will to power inherent in extremism, the website reminds Muslims that “we have been ordained as the best nation brought forth for mankind” and thus it is “our divine responsibility to ensure Islam and the Muslims are in an eternal state of superiority, and never can we accept anything less befitting.”290 While the website makes no explicit hard Salafabist, Salafi Jihadi-​type call for out-​ group violence, such rhetoric arguably “makes Muslims psychologically receptive to the jihadi message.”291 Hence a British activist associated with HT conceded to journalist Graeme Wood that “I’m not going to pretend Islam will never fight with you, or that we’ll live in harmony forever,” because “expansion is part of Islam, and eventually we will subjugate you.”292 To reiterate and to take stock at this juncture, Purist Salafis can be seen as moderately fundamentalist radicals, not acutely fundamentalist extremists. At the same time, the moderately fundamentalist Purist Salafi radicals should also be seen as distinct from mildly fundamentalist Modernist Salafi radicals (see Table 2.2). While Purist Salafi radicals are relatively more focused on ensuring that society approximates the piety of the al-​salaf al-​salih, Modernist Salafi radicals are driven by the desire to modernize Islam to ensure that it fits better with contemporary life. While Modernist Salafis work peacefully within constitutional parameters, they are certainly radical to the extent that they demand urgent restructuring of the sociopolitical order. We have seen how it is acutely fundamentalist Salafabism—​whether it is called Salafi-​Wahhabi, Salafi-​Islamist,293 or Wahhabi-​Islamist294—​as well as transnational variants like HT that more fully approach the seven core characteristics associated with religious extremism. While Salafabists do not deterministically proceed to engage in outright out-​group violence, it cannot be assumed that they lack the potential, under certain conditions, to undergo such a trajectory. To be sure, it is worth acknowledging that the issue of whether so-​called nonviolent extremism begets violence eventually has been a subject of much debate. Some analysts argue that there is not much empirical support for a link between extremism and violent extremism.295 They assert instead that nonviolent extremism is even a kind of safety valve or “firewall” that prevents individuals from eventually engaging in violence.296

Recognizing Religious Extremism II  79 McCauley and Moskalenko likewise deny that there is a “royal road” or “conveyor belt” from what they call nonviolent “activism to terrorism.”297 Nevertheless, the Quilliam Foundation, a British counter-​extremism think tank, has insisted that “separatist, confrontational ideas” that are “followed to their logical conclusion, lead to violence” and at “the very least, the rhetoric of radicals provides the mood music to which suicide bombers dance.”298 That is, some ideas carry within them the seeds of at best intolerance and at worst violence. Affirming this point of view is Alex Schmid, who observes that so-​ called nonviolent extremists have been found to be “ideologically closer to jihadi organizations than the peaceful Muslim mainstream majority.”299 Schmid is standing on solid ground. The archetypal nonviolent soft Salafabist Islamist, Hassan al-​Banna himself, argued that “fighting and preparing for combat” are by no means inferior to “jihad of the spirit.”300 In December 2017, moreover, researchers from The Tony Blair Institute for Global Change employed machine-​ learning technologies to compare the content of over 3,000 mainstream, Islamist, Salafi Jihadi, and counternarrative documents in an attempt to pin down the key ideological variations between mainstream Islam and Islamist extremism in its nonviolent and violent forms. Mainstream sources consulted included Sunni Islamic fiqh, religious scholarship, and classical texts from authoritative institutions, such as Egypt’s Al Azhar University. The report found—​tellingly—​that “some 64 percent of the top Qur’anic verses quoted by Salafi-​jihadis are in common with those cited by Islamists,” while there is “only 12 percent crossover between Islamists and the mainstream.”301 Moreover, only “eight percent of the 50 most quoted Qur’anic verses in Salafi-​jihadi material were prevalent in mainstream texts.”302 In short, ostensibly nonviolent “Islamist content has notably more concepts in common with Salafi-​jihadi texts than with mainstream ones” and there is notable “ideological proximity” of “nonviolent Islamism,” not with mainstream Islam, but rather “Salafi-​jihadism.”303 Themes that nonviolent Islamism have more in common with Salafi-​jihadism include notions like “the necessary conflict between Islam and other faiths.”304 Furthermore, while “not necessarily or explicitly invoking violence,” the “nonviolent” Islamists promote “a binary worldview similar to that of the violent extremists” as well as “practices that enforce hardship on non-​Muslims”—​in other words, structural violence.305 The Tony Blair Institute study is pregnant with significance. At the very least, it suggests that nonviolent extremism fosters a climate of intolerance toward, and psychological and social distancing from, out-​groups. Father Christian Delorme,

80  Extremist Islam liaison to the Muslim community in Lyon, France, since the 1980s, considered even the soft Salafabist, assuredly nonviolent, Islamists of the Muslim Brotherhood to be “dangerous” in the secular, multicultural French context: I saw that they cut the ties between the young and their families, explaining that their parents did not practice the true Islam, that they were not on the right path. I also understood that they wormed their way into institutions, taking advantage of secularism, using the rhetoric of secularism, but using it only as a means; for basically they were against integration, and the identity they sought was that of a community of Muslims, living autonomously in the Republic, like a potent countervailing power. (italics added)306

How could the “separatist, confrontational ideas” that Father Delorme alluded to in the Lyon case, when “followed to their logical conclusion, lead to violence,” as the Quilliam Foundation cautions? The U.S. Anti-​Defamation League’s “Pyramid of Hate” is instructive in this regard.307 As the Pyramid suggests, biased attitudes—​such as stereotyping and fear of difference—​can be nourished by soft Salafabist Islamist ideas’ pervading and being gradually normalized within the wider community discourse. Over time, such biased attitudes can be further mainstreamed, for example, via social media influencers, manifesting in real-​world acts of bias, such as bullying, name-​ calling, belittling jokes, and intensified social distancing. With Islamist politicians gaining greater popular influence and winning seats in legislatures, discrimination in the economic, political, housing, and other policy domains could conceivably occur. In response to catalytic events or chosen traumas308 locally and/​or internationally—​such as the Christchurch mosque attacks by the Australian White Supremacist Brenton Tarrant in March 2019309—​mass radicalization could set in, intensifying harder-​edged Salafabist orientations and outlooks, radicalizing susceptible elements within the community, and encouraging behavior that crosses the threshold into hard Salafabist, Salafi Jihadi bias-​motivated violence—​and worse. In sum, “separatist, confrontational ideas” are hardly neutral. They can foster increasingly widespread biased attitudes against certain out-​groups, gradually progressing up the Pyramid of Hate in tandem with other mass-​ radicalizing factors and events, eventually encouraging bias-​motivated violence by radicalized individuals or cells against members of out-​groups. This is how what sociologist Mark Juergensmeyer calls the “culture of violence”310 and psychoanalyst Willard Gaylin terms the “culture of hatred”311

Recognizing Religious Extremism II  81 eventually form and play out. Moreover, as Botticher argues, that power-​ seeking “Islamist fundamentalists” in such scenarios as just described are not already “active jihadists” might be “more a question of circumstances and opportunities than principles.”312 The key point, as Jacob Olidort opines, is that because of a “shared theological DNA,” the “move from quietist to jihadist does not require a significant change in ideology.”313 Thomas Hegghammer likewise notes the sociological and discursive links between “militant Islamists” and “nonviolent actors sharing the same dominant rationale.”314 In this light, Alex Schmid is surely right in arguing that “nonviolent extremism is a contradiction in terms” and extremism can at best be “not-​violent” where the non-​employment of violent methods is more a matter of tactical appreciation than philosophical principle.315 Therefore, contemporary Salafabism—​a form of highly Wahhabized Purist Salafism—​spans the spectrum from soft, not-​violent, political Islamism to hard, violent Salafi Jihadism. As the American Islamic scholar Hamza Yusuf said, Salafabism is a “spectrum disorder”—​with soft, not-​violent Salafabists (Islamists) at one pole and hard, violent Salafabists (Salafi Jihadis) at the other.316 A caveat is in order here. To reiterate: while the relatively closed-​minded and uncompromising Islamists and Salafi Jihadis are acutely fundamentalist Salafabist extremists with merely differing modes of operation, they are not the only ideological permutations possible. As seen, mildly to moderately fundamentalist radicals like Modernist Salafis and Purist Salafis, respectively, exist as well. These radicals may even have imbibed elements of the harder-​edged Salafabist outlook but have nevertheless—​displaying personal agency—​ nuanced them to accommodate local contexts.317 In this book, such locally contextualized and relatively open-​minded Salafabist radicalism is encountered in real-​world Southeast Asian contexts. At this juncture, though, we need to take a closer look at hard Salafabist extremism in the form of Salafi Jihadism, with its outright and explicit calls for out-​group violence.

Hard Extremism in Islam: Salafi Jihadism By the end of the 1940s, the Muslim Brotherhood had become a political force of some weight in Egypt—​by one estimate they had 2,000 branches, each with 300,000 to 600,000 activists.318 Because some Brotherhood activists—​revealing the latent violent potentials within even soft Salafabist Islamism—​took their political activism to extremes, engaging in acts of

82  Extremist Islam terror and political assassination, this prompted the Brotherhood’s banning in 1948 and al-​Banna’s own assassination a year later by King Farouk’s secret police.319 This development led to the rise of another Brotherhood activist with far more overtly violent views on methods for Islamizing society: Sayyid Qutb (d. 1966), who joined the Brotherhood and became its leader in 1953.320 Qutb, like al-​Banna originally part of the Egyptian education establishment, was an erudite individual who started out as a Modernist Salafi, familiar with not only Islamic literature but also Western philosophers, and he had written well-​regarded studies on the Qur’an and literary criticism. However, his experience of imprisonment and torture by the authoritarian regime of President Gamal Abdel Nasser (d. 1970) radicalized him, whereupon he composed his most famous revolutionary tract, Milestones on the Road. Qutb, who was never a “trained jurist,”321 transformed the soft Salafabist Islamist ideology of al-​Banna into an outright “rejectionist revolutionary call to arms.”322 Qutb criticized Nasser’s regime because although it was nominally Muslim, it had in the former’s view deviated from God’s commands. Importantly, Qutb set a modern precedent in his pronouncement of takfir (excommunication) against the nominally Muslim Egyptian government, legitimizing the use of physical violence in seeking its ouster.323 Qutb’s barely concealed extremism, in the form of a starkly adversarial dualistic worldview, was demonstrated when he asserted that “there is only one place on Earth which can be called the home of Islam (Dar-​ul-​Islam), and it is that place where the Islamic state is established and the sharia is the authority”; the “rest of world is the home of hostility (Dar-​ul-​Harb).”324 Like Mawdudi, who was a key intellectual influence, Qutb strongly believed that the whole world, including Muslims, were living in a state of jahiliyya (ignorance of the true path); thus Islam had to combat jahili society—​“by force if necessary”—​to set up hakimiyya, in which God, not human authorities and laws, was sovereign.325 Qutb’s obviously rejectionist, violent Salafabist extremism shaped what came to be known as Salafi Jihadism. To be sure, there have been several variations of this term, such as, inter alia, jihadi Islamism,326 violent Islamism,327 and jihadi Salafism.328 In any case, a recent study identifies five key features of the hard Salafabist doctrine of Salafi Jihadism—​revealing aspects of a shared theological DNA with the soft Salafabist variety of Islamism described earlier: tauhid, al-​wala’ wa-​al-​bara, hakimiyya, takfir, and jihad.329 As seen, tauhid and al-​wala’ wa-​al-​bara are core Salafabist concepts. Hakimiyya (“the securing of political sovereignty for God”) is also a core Salafabist-​Islamist concept, drawing upon the ideas of Mawdudi and Qutb in particular.330

Recognizing Religious Extremism II  83 Takfir (“excommunication”) was an idea that Qutb popularized and Salafi Jihadis have taken on board, with a view to delineating “the boundaries of faith” by explicitly identifying an in-​group of “rightful adherents” and setting them apart from an out-​group of “heretics” who could be rightfully targeted along with unbelievers. Salafi Jihadis see takfir as a mechanism to protect Islam by expelling “errant Muslims” from the fold, thereby maintaining “doctrinal purity”—​a core obsession of both soft and hard Salafabists.331 While Salafi Jihadi theorists like Abu Hamza al-​Masri, Abu Muhammad al-​ Maqdisi, and Omar ‘Abd al-​Rahman have cautioned that one should not pronounce takfir too readily without sufficient warrant, as this in itself amounts to heresy,332 in practice, Salafi Jihadists active in fighting have adopted a far more elastic understanding of the concept: Abu Musab al-​Zarqawi, who founded the al-​Qaeda affiliate in Iraq that later morphed into ISIS, was a good example of this tendency. Al-​Maqdisi hence excoriated his former protégé al-​Zarqawi and his followers for declaring takfir on “anyone except those who completely share their path and beliefs.”333 Fawaz Gerges has likewise observed how even militants who fought with ISIS conceded that “ISIS excommunicates anyone who disagrees with it.”334 Finally, it is their distinctive interpretation of the classical concept of jihad that sets Salafi Jihadis apart. To be sure, all Purist Salafis believe in the legitimacy of jihad “in its spiritual, social, and military forms.”335 After all, the seminal texts that Purist Salafis hew exclusively to do not shy away from discussing the subject. As religious studies scholar David Cook reminds us, “the Qur’an was a powerful exponent of an aggressive jihad doctrine,” while the “hadith literature follows in its footsteps,” providing “a full-​blown description of warfare with a heavy spiritual content,” making it clear that the issue of “militant jihad” in the “military” sense was of critical concern to Muslims during the formative three centuries of Islam.336 Purist Salafis have hence been known to call for “classical jihad” to fight against non-​Muslims occupying Muslim territories or to expand the realm of Islam.337 In contrast, however, hard Salafabist Salafi Jihadis have since the 1980s—​influenced by al-​Qaeda leaders Osama bin Laden and Ayman al-​Zawahiri—​also conceptualized the notion of global jihad, emphasizing mass-​casualty terrorism against civilians of states regarded as oppressing Muslims.338 Such hard Salafabist Salafi Jihadis—​influenced by Qutbian ideas of fighting jahiliyya to set up hakimiyya—​also call for violent struggle against “apostate rulers in the Muslim world itself.”339 This Salafi Jihadi toggling between the near and far enemy has its origins in the ideas of Muhammad ‘Abd al-​Salam Faraj, an

84  Extremist Islam electrical engineer from an Egyptian middle-​class family, who was an ideologue of a violent Brotherhood offshoot, Egyptian Islamic Jihad. He was executed by Cairo in 1982 for his role in the assassination of President Anwar Sadat the year before.340 Faraj unequivocally rejected gradualist approaches as a means of Islamizing jahili society, claiming instead that jihad, understood as armed struggle, was the only way to establish hakimiyya in the form of an Islamic State.341 Faraj argued that the decline of Muslim societies was due to the fact that Muslim leaders had sanitized the original, muscular concept of jihad, thereby robbing it of its “true meaning.”342 Faraj, in his pamphlet the Neglected Obligation, insisted that the “Qu’ran and the hadith were fundamentally about warfare,” and that the concept of jihad was “meant to be taken literally, not allegorically.”343 He argued that jihad represented the “sixth pillar of Islam” and that it calls for “fighting, which meant confrontation and blood.”344 He endorsed takfir, arguing that not just infidels but Muslims who deviated from Islamic Law were kuffar (infidels) and thus legitimate targets for jihad. Faraj concluded that the true soldier of Islam was justified in using virtually any means available to achieve a just objective, including the killing of civilians.345 Faraj’s overall argument was that jihad against apostate Muslim rulers—​the near enemy—​represented the highest form of devotion to God, and Muslims should consider it fard ‘ayn or an individual obligation.346 Another Qutb acolyte who honed contemporary hard Salafabist Salafi Jihadi thinking was the charismatic Palestinian alim (singular for ulama) Abdullah Azzam (d. 1989). Azzam joined the Muslim Brotherhood as a teenager and following the capture of the West Bank by Israel in the Six Day War in 1967, became politically active, organizing Palestinian militant resistance groups from refugee camps in Jordan. Azzam had a stronger theological background than many soft Salafabist Islamists: he secured a doctorate in Islamic fiqh from Al-​Azhar University in Cairo in 1973. Following the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan in 1979, Azzam became heavily involved in recruiting non-​Afghan foreign fighters worldwide for the anti-​Soviet jihad, and he became known later as the father of the Arab-​Afghan jihad movement, “which laid the foundations for the globalization of jihad ideology.”347 After the Soviet withdrawal from Afghanistan in 1989, Azzam argued that Salafi Jihadi victory in Afghanistan was in fact “the prelude to the liberation of Palestine” and other “lost” territories. His view was that armed jihad had been “incumbent on all Muslims” as an individual obligation “since the fall of al-​Andalus, and will remain so until all other lands that were Muslim are

Recognizing Religious Extremism II  85 returned to us,” such as “Palestine, Bukhara, Lebanon, Chad, Eritrea, Somalia, the Philippines, Burma, Southern Yemen, Tashkent, and al-​Andalus.”348 Importantly, while Azzam certainly sought to recapture lost Muslim lands, he believed ultimately in offensive jihad: to “restore the ummah to its full strength” through not merely recapturing the lost territories but thereafter spreading Islam throughout the entire world. Hence the reconquered lands were “to serve as a platform to establish the rule of Islam.”349 In this sense, Azzam clearly believed that violent “conquest and jihad created the conditions for conversion” and “spreading Islam.”350 That said, Azzam—​diverging from Faraj—​did not sanction jihad against the near enemy. Taking a leaf perhaps from quietist Purist Salafis, he argued that jihadis should not attack Muslim governments in Egypt, Jordan, and Syria. Nevertheless, after Azzam’s death in a mysterious car bomb explosion in Peshawar in November 1989, the Afghan Arab community and Azzam’s acolyte, the leader of the newly formed al-​Qaeda network, Osama bin Laden, apparently adopted the Faraj position that targeting apostate Muslim governments—​the near enemy—​was the correct focus. Then, as the 1990s began and American troops arrived in Saudi Arabia and Somalia—​ presumably defiling both Muslim territories with their presence—​ this prompted a reversion to a more geopolitical analysis of Islam’s problems in Salafi Jihadi circles. “Local takfir Muslim leaders,” terrorism scholar Marc Sageman points out, were subsequently “seen as pawns of a global power”—​ the United States—​“which itself was now considered the main obstacle to establishing a transnational ummah from Morocco to the Philippines.”351 Hence, in the evolving al-​Qaeda view, the priority shifted to jihad against the far enemy as opposed to the near enemy.352 Bin Laden himself at this stage argued that systematically and directly “striking America” was necessary to force it to “abandon” apostate Arab and Muslim rulers and “leave the Muslims alone.”353 As far as ISIS is concerned, however, although both it and al-​Qaeda “belong to the same Salafi Jihadist family,” al-​Zarqawi and the late ISIS leader Abu Bakr al-​Baghdadi viewed “the Shia and Iran as the primary enemy.”354 Such nuances in Salafi Jihadist thinking aside, the key point to reiterate is this: there are essential theological continuities between hard Salafi Jihadism and soft political Islamism—​they are inextricably linked by a shared Salafabist extremism. Hence, as Meleagrou-​Hitchens points out, “some of the original Salafi Jihadis are radicalized activist Salafis who initially supported nonviolent activism” but subsequently “adopted violence as a more effective means to achieve their goals.”355 Similarly, Bernard Haykel

86  Extremist Islam observes that the Salafabist “grievance is about theological issues and the need for reform,” but this “quickly acquires a political and militant dimension” with the “Jihadi-​Salafists” who are “frustrated with the inability to effect change through nonviolent means.”356 This intimate nexus between soft and hard forms of Salafabism—​that is, Islamism and Salafi Jihadism, respectively—​should be kept in mind when we examine how some of the Southeast Asian extremists studied in this volume became radicalized via immersion in what we may call Salafabist ecosystems, which are now elaborated on.

Not Terrorism, But Salafabist Ecosystems It may be recalled that the Trump administration identified the core threat to be neutralized as “radical Islamic terrorism.” While intuitively it is understandable why the term “terrorism” was mentioned, it is also a somewhat problematic move. Suffice to say here that it remains a hotly contested term.357 There are hundreds of definitions of the word “terrorism” in academia and government circles and the U.S. government itself has about 20 definitions employed by its various agencies.358 What has not helped matters is that the “lack of a rigorous empirical foundation, a concomitant reliance on secondary sources, [and] a high number of transient contributors to the field who briefly drop by with a single contribution before moving on,” have all contributed to “undermining the quality and validity of terrorism studies.”359 In any case, Alex Schmid, who has been a leading expert studying the definitional issue, has proposed the following academic consensus definition, which has been sharpened by several rounds of consultation since the 1980s and which suggests that “terrorism refers to both ideas (ideology) and action (behavior),” essentially: [terrorism is] a doctrine about the presumed effectiveness of a special form or tactic of fear-​generating, coercive political violence and, on the other hand, a conspiratorial practice of calculated, demonstrative, direct violent action without legal or moral restraints, targeting mainly civilians and non-​ combatants, performed for its propagandistic and psychological effects on various audiences and conflict parties.360

Recognizing Religious Extremism II  87 While Schmid seems to hold that the targets of terrorism are “mainly civilians and noncombatants,” Anthony Richards casts a wider net, arguing that in essence, terrorism is a method that entails the use of violence or force or the threat of violence or force with the primary purpose of generating a psychological impact beyond the immediate victims or object of attack for a political motive.361

Therefore, while he agrees with Schmid about the psychological and demonstrative effect of terrorism beyond the immediate victims, Richards’ understanding of immediate victims goes beyond just civilians and noncombatants to potentially include government, security forces, and other kuffar targets. This would certainly capture Salafi Jihadi attacks in Southeast Asia, which have targeted not only mass civilian casualties of entities associated with the far enemy, but also security forces of the near enemy as well. For instance the terror network Harakat Sunni untuk Masyarakat Indonesia (HASMI)—​the Sunni Movement for Indonesian Society—​disrupted in 2012 by the authorities and whose leader—​one Abu Hanifah—​was said to be a sympathizer of more established Salafi Jihadi terror networks in the country, sought to target not just the “U.S. embassy in Jakarta, the U.S. Consulate in Surabaya, Plaza 89 near the Australian embassy in Jakarta and the Jakarta offices of mining company Freeport-​McMoran,” but also the “Central Java headquarters of the Police Mobile Brigade.”362 That said, if terrorism is a “doctrine” as well as a “practice” and “method,” it behooves one to ask where it comes from. This is why terrorism scholar Scott Atran has for instance called attention to the “passive infrastructure” sustaining Salafi Jihadi extremism in Indonesia, such as “affiliated schools, charities, and publishing houses and other religious networks.”363 The argument here is that national jurisdictions in Southeast Asia—​the focus of this book—​should be mapped much more granularly to identify specific smaller “communities of concern,” where extremist ideology—​for historical, socioeconomic, and political reasons—​has incubated within relatively closed networks of individuals, educational institutions, places of worship, and other social spaces. In short, seeking to target “radical Islamic terrorism,” while perhaps a pithy sound bite, is nevertheless not optimal policy-​wise. While the Trump administration should be applauded for energetically engaging with this issue, what it really should have been targeting is more

88  Extremist Islam precisely termed Salafabist ecosystems (SE). Two questions arise immediately. First, why should we target an “ecosystem”? Journalist Graeme Wood has wryly observed in this regard that it is not that “recruitment begins with a normal person Googling ‘Syria’ and ends days later with the same person beheading an Alawite on Instagram.”364 Mere exposure to online extremist material alone is rarely sufficient to radicalize an individual. If one were to put a pin on a map for every European city, for instance, where an ISIS fighter in Syria came from, if “online chatter alone were sufficient to convince people to emigrate,” one would notice an “even distribution of pins, closely correlating to population centers.”365 Instead, as Wood observes, “the pins cluster,” with a few pins on some localities, but sticking out like “porcupine quills” in other others. This is because as he puts it, the “contagion spreads in person,” via an SE.366 Second, why should we focus on “Salafabist”? As has been discussed at length in the preceding paragraphs, Southeast Asian states are facing an acutely fundamentalist Salafabist challenge. Salafabism—​ in which full-​ blown extremist potentials are inherent—​can manifest itself in a soft form as Islamism as well as in the harder variant of Salafi Jihadism. While the term “Islamism” is more commonly used in academic and policy circles, it does not actually do full justice to the phenomenon of extremism in Islam, which, as seen, spans the spectrum from not-​violent, soft Salafabist Islamism to violent, hard Salafabist Salafi Jihadism, both poles of which are connected by the shared theological DNA of Salafabism. As is shown in the coming chapters, the transition between the soft and hard forms of Salafabism is hardly uncommon in Southeast Asia. The aforementioned HASMI terror network in Indonesia, for example, was said to be an offshoot of the officially registered and ostensibly nonviolent HASMI civic association, in existence since 2005—​which focused on “formal education and peaceful preaching.”367 Nevertheless, while registered HASMI was never involved in violent activity, its members were known to have “taken part in anti-​Christian protests,” its “theological vision” was “regarded as relatively puritanical,” and it was said to have “called for the establishment of an Islamic caliphate to replace the Indonesian State.”368 Registered HASMI members are thus likely to have been socialized into seeing “the world in strongly binary, us-​and-​them, good-​ versus-​evil terms” and to have engaged in “social and moral distancing” from ostensibly “polluting” out-​group members.369 In this respect, one Indonesian observer commented—​ tellingly—​ that the arrested “terror suspects are former HASMI members who then joined violent jihadist movements and

Recognizing Religious Extremism II  89 established a new group.”370 To reiterate: in the registered HASMI–​violent HASMI dyad, one observes clear affirmation of the notion that because of a shared theological DNA, the “move from quietist to jihadist does not require a significant change in ideology”:371 the soft extremism of registered HASMI and the harder one of the HASMI terror network had common roots in Salafabism itself.

The Three Nodes of the Salafabist Ecosystem (SE): Person, Places, and Platforms It is of no small significance that registered HASMI ran its “own school and community radio station”372—​elements of its own “ideological ecosystem” if you like.373 In essence, we could say that the SE in various ways propagates Salafabism—​to reiterate, both its soft, not-​violent Islamist mode as well as its hard, violent Salafi Jihadist mode, as both are tied together by a shared theological DNA. SEs are scalable and can be neighborhoods, districts, towns, and parts of cities, provinces, or regions that have proven, through empirical observation over time, to be so-​called “breeding grounds for terrorism” or “terrorist hotbeds,” such as, for example, “Portsmouth, Molenbeek, Cardiff, [and] the small town of Lunel, France.”374 Each SE, it is suggested, is sustained by three basic types of “nodes”: persons, places, and platforms. Within an SE, the three strategic nodes interact in diverse, unpredictable ways to propagate Salafabist ideas. The first node, persons, are specific Salafabist influencers who are widely and directly followed within the SE; individuals who, as Wood says, are akin to “Patient Zero spreading the Islamic State germ from person to person.”375 The person in a regional or local SE need not even be physically present in the same geographical space as his acolytes, either. The late al-​Qaeda ideologue Anwar al-​Awlaki, for instance, had a digital footprint that was genuinely global in scope, while the British soft Salafabist Islamist Anjem Choudary also appears to have had a similar global reach. Both of these persons were able to personally and directly radicalize individuals at a distance through online means.376 On the other hand, Aman Abdurahman of the pro-​ISIS Jamaah Ansharut Daulah (JAD) militant network in Indonesia appears to possess a largely Indonesia-​centric influence, while his fellow Indonesian ideologue, Abu Bakar Ba’asyir—​co-​founder and spiritual leader of Jemaah Islamiyah—​possessed at his peak an appeal felt most directly and keenly

90  Extremist Islam within a Jemaah Islamiyah SE that spanned Indonesia, Malaysia, and Singapore as well.377 The second node within the SE is places: what Sunstein would describe as insulated social spaces within which Salafabist (some mix of soft Islamist and hard Salafi Jihadi) views are propagated relatively unchallenged.378 Such social spaces may be religious, such as certain mosques or religious schools, but not exclusively so. They may be permanent, or they may be mobile, depending on the movements of certain itinerant clerics, leaders, and their followers. Hence, places could include real-​world, secular sites, such as private homes, university campuses, sports clubs, gymnasiums, prisons, and camps in secluded rural areas. In addition, online sites, such as dedicated chat rooms, Facebook, WhatsApp/​Telegram chat groups, and even online gaming discussion groups, can also be seen as potential virtual places where vulnerable individuals could be ideologically “hothoused” by persons into embracing a Salafabist narrative. The third node of an SE is platforms: publishing houses, news websites, and other online media dedicated primarily not so much to social chatter but to disseminating Salafabist content. It is argued here that the difference between an online place (such as a WhatsApp/​Telegram Group or gaming chat group, for instance) and an online platform is that two-​way interaction and dialogue between sender and recipient are possible only in the former. In a sense, the difference reflects the seminal distinction between Web 1.0 (platform) and Web 2.0 (place). Web 1.0—​the “Information Web”—​which dominated from the early 1990s until about 2000—​was mainly “read-​only and static” and users could not interact with the website. By contrast, Web 2.0—​the “Social Web”—​which emerged in 2000, enabled users “not only [to] read websites but also [to] interact and connect with other users.”379 All social media, including MySpace, Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, Pinterest, Bebo, Flickr, and YouTube, emerged with Web 2.0.380 Some specialists argue that we are currently in the Web 3.0 era, characterized by increasing connectivity between “devices, the Internet, users, and machines.”381 We are heading toward Web 4.0—​the Internet of Things—​ exemplified by the world’s near-​universal dependence on the smartphone as the chief means by which individuals communicate, access the Internet for news and information, and conduct the myriad transactions that make up daily life.382 The smartphone certainly played a role in one SE, the German town of Dinslaken, in the Rhineland. Out of a population of 70,000 people, the town produced more than 20 fighters who went to Syria to join ISIS. On a

Recognizing Religious Extremism II  91 per capita basis, this was high by German standards. The town’s mayor informed journalist Graeme Wood that a local influencer, a “single persuasive individual, the son of a local businessman”—​a person node, in other words—​ had “convinced others to emigrate, then skipped town.”383 The Salafabist “germ” spread by this person, moreover, had gestated in the “growth medium” provided by various “easily accessible” online platforms and places of “social-​media propaganda,” including “sermons, articles, and videos,” enabling individuals to “nurture and feed” the nascent Salafabist extremist idea in their minds till it became full-​blown Salafi Jihadism, prompting them to “dedicate whatever remains of their lives to the Islamic State’s expansion.”384 It should be noted that while SEs are geographically delimited concentrations or pockets of ideological influence and operate locally, they can well be globalized: apart from some persons, elements of online platforms, such as certain websites, and places, like chat rooms, could be hosted beyond national borders. The interaction among persons, platforms, and places in an SE is not centrally directed, but self-​organizing, and in many ways resembles what complexity scientists would call a complex, adaptive system in which emergent order arises from “the interaction of many entities.”385 The final chapter of this book describes how such an SE can possibly be “steered” from “rigid and fixed” Salafabism toward “flexible and tolerant” Islamic values and beliefs compatible with the lived realities of the multicultural, globalized societies of Southeast Asia.386

Concluding Remarks This chapter shows that religious fundamentalism can be understood at two levels. The milder form of fundamentalism—​radicalism—​is not necessarily violent and is a challenge that can be coped with through debate and argumentation. Religious radicalism is conceptualized as a mildly fundamentalist belief system that legitimizes the generally peaceful quest for sociopolitical transformation in line with religious goals. By contrast, religious extremism is defined as an acutely fundamentalist belief system that legitimizes the structural violence of an in-​group against relevant out-​groups. An acute form of fundamentalism, extremism—​which is inherently more predisposed to antisystemic violence, although not always openly—​is the more intractable challenge. The cognitive radicalization process, beyond the adoption of anti-​status-​quo beliefs, involves a drastic identity-​simplification dynamic

92  Extremist Islam within the religious in-​group—​and in the case of mass or reciprocal radicalization of a conflict dyad, relevant out-​groups. Such a cognitive radicalization process may produce relatively open-​minded radicals but more maximally, closed-​minded extremists—​which are the real problem. We identified seven attributes of a religious extremist, which were then illustrated via an examination of Buddhist extremism in Myanmar. How these seven traits of extremism play out within Islam was then investigated in some detail. As seen, as far as Islam is concerned, the acutely fundamentalist, theological-​ideological amalgam of Salafabism is of especial relevance. Salafabism can manifest itself in a softform as nonviolent (more accurately not-​violent) Islamism as well as the hardvariant of violent Salafi Jihadism. Because both these poles are connected by the shared theological DNA of Salafabism—​within which full-​blown extremist potentials are inherent—​ the transition from soft, not-​violent political Islamism to hard, violent Salafi Jihadism is not uncommon. Table 2.2 (see page 67) summarizes and illustrates the argument being made here. Notably, as the table suggests, low to moderate degrees of Wahhabization influence the contours of Modernist and Purist Salafi radicalism, respectively, but beyond a certain point, Wahhabi ideas pivoting on the central theme of al-​wala’ wa-​al-​bara dominate and intensify, and Purist Salafi rational ijtihad shades into the strong “Wahhabi literalism and xenophobia” of soft and hard Salafabism.387 At the same time, the table also suggests that the acutely fundamentalist, closed-​minded extremism of soft Salafabist Islamists and hard Salafabist Salafi Jihadis is not the only possible theological-​ideological permutation possible. Mildly to moderately fundamentalist, relatively open-​ minded Salafabist radicalism—​exemplified by Modernist Salafis and Purist Salafis, respectively—​exist as well. While moderately fundamentalist, Purist Salafi radicals are relatively more focused on ensuring that society approximates the piety of the al-​salaf al-​salih, mildly fundamentalist, Modernist Salafi radicals are driven by the desire to modernize Islam to ensure it fits better with the demands of contemporary life—​albeit by working peacefully within constitutional parameters. These radicals may even have imbibed elements of the harder-​edged Salafabist outlook but can nevertheless nuance them to accommodate diverse local contexts. In later chapters, this book describes such locally contextualized and relatively open-​minded Salafabist radicalism in real-​world Southeast Asian contexts. Finally, we argue that rather than targeting terrorism per se, it would make more sense to conceive of the target more expansively—​as a Salafabist

Recognizing Religious Extremism II  93 ecosystem (SE), comprising three principal nodes—​persons, places, and platforms—​that are constantly interacting in unpredictable ways to propagate extremism within a particular SE. Having established the core characteristics of religious, and by implication Salafabist, extremism, as well as the SE construct as a central organizing framework, we now begin the examination of four Southeast Asian Salafabist extremists—​starting with the very interesting case of the senior Malaysian Jemaah Islamiyah leader and university lecturer Wan Min Wan Mat—​the Jemaah Islamiyah bureaucrat.

3 Recognizing Extremist Islam in Malaysia The Bureaucrat—​Wan Min Wan Mat

Introduction On June 29, 2019, Indonesia’s crack counterterrorism police force, Special Detachment 88 (Detasemen Khusus 88), arrested a wanted violent extremist called Para Wijayanto in Bekasi, West Java. Wijayanto, on the lam from law enforcement since 2008, was the current head of the transnational Salafi Jihadi terror network group Jemaah Islamiyah (JI)—​nowadays referred to as Neo JI by Indonesian security officials.1 To be sure, while JI captured much policy attention from Southeast Asian governments throughout the 2000s, in recent years, focus has shifted to the regional affiliates of ISIS. ISIS, after the inauguration of its so-​called caliphate in the Middle East in June 2014, had less than 2 years later reportedly set up a Southeast Asian wilayat or province in Mindanao in the southern Philippines—​with its attendant worrying security implications for the region.2 The shift in regional policy attention toward ISIS has not been without other implications as well. As Singaporean terrorism specialist Bilveer Singh argues, “Neo-​JI has effectively been given a green light to operate freely.”3 Ignoring JI—​or Neo JI in its newer emerging form—​is problematic. Other scholars have been arguing since 2016 that while the threat to Southeast Asia from ISIS remains significant, “the greater, long-​term threat comes from a rejuvenated Jemaah Islamiyah (JI), which has a larger network and is better funded than the pro-​ISIS groups in the region.”4 A police spokesperson told the Jakarta Post that Neo JI—​whose members were apparently “more militant than IS recruits”—​appeared to have existed for some time, was “well structured” and resourced, and even owned “weapons warehouses.”5 More worryingly, Neo JI has also been found to be relatively more economically self-​sustaining than its predecessor, which had been heavily decimated by security force pressure by 2007. Neo JI members apparently own “palm oil plantations in Sumatra and Kalimantan along with clove and cacao fields in Southeast Sulawesi.”6 Other observers note that Extremist Islam. Kumar Ramakrishna, Oxford University Press. © University of Maryland National Consortium for the Study of Terrorism and Responses to Terrorism (START) 2022. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197610961.003.0004

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Malaysia  95 another source of income for Neo JI is a network of religious schools and social welfare organizations.7 Hence, while Neo JI has been deliberately keeping a low profile for the past decade and has been slowly rebuilding, its recruits—​ who are better indoctrinated than the pro-​ISIS cells that tend to grab the headlines in Indonesia—​and its more resilient socioeconomic base suggest that “JI has become stronger” as well as “far more sophisticated, adaptable, [and] capable of good organisation and exploiting issues.” The Indonesian analyst Alif Satria therefore warns that “Neo-​JI’s strength and threat, similar to that of JI in the past, lie in its long-​term vision of establishing grassroots support and its ability to patiently and astutely wait for opportunities.”8 Moreover, like JI, Neo JI has also built transnational links with al-​Qaeda affiliates in Syria and may revive its older networks in Singapore—​as well as Malaysia, the subject of this chapter.9 To this end, it is timely that the detailed musings of a rehabilitated senior Malaysian JI militant, Wan Min Wan Mat (hereafter Wan Min)—​a former university lecturer who was intimately familiar with the inner workings of the JI network—​have become available, to help us better understand the Neo JI and wider JI ideological ecosystem. Compared to better known JI figures, such as the Malaysian Nasir Abas10 and the Indonesians Ali Imron11 and Imam Samudra,12 Wan Min has had relatively little written about him and his views.13 Drawing on the valuable insights provided by Wan Min on the inner workings of JI—​particularly its Malaysian branch—​this chapter explores the ideological rationale and aims of the network and unpacks its recruitment and indoctrination philosophy and methodology. More than that, using Wan Min’s JI experience as a reference point, this chapter—​employing the conceptual framework developed in the previous chapter—​shows that, as a Salafabist extremist, Wan Min could be considered to typify the type that could be called the bureaucrat: that is, the indoctrinated, more or less efficient middle-​level functionary who keeps the network functioning. First, however, it is necessary to provide some context and background on both JI and the central figure of this chapter, Wan Min. Thus, in the next section, the background of JI is concisely explained, and the role of Wan Min, who was very much an integral part of the JI milieu, is examined. The chapter then ascertains the extent to which Wan Min could be considered extremist during his JI days. It should be noted here that while Wan Min in his JI heyday was a self-​proclaimed Salafi Jihadi explicitly espousing violence, he did not start out that way. Rather, he was psychologically and ideologically socialized within a wider Salafabist ecosystem that, while not outrightly

96  Extremist Islam violence-​oriented, nonetheless in some ways created the mood music for precisely such an outcome in Wan Min’s case. The following section then explicates that Salafabist ecosystem (SE)—​person, platforms, and places—​ within which his eventual Salafi Jihadism found full expression. The chapter finally builds upon the Wan Min case to more generally track the evolution of Salafabism in wider Malaysian Islam—​showing that the inexorable Salafabization of traditionally tolerant Islam in that country is likely to have fateful consequences downstream.

Jemaah Islamiyah: A Short History JI first came to the attention of Southeast Asian and Western security agencies in December 2001, soon after the September 11, 2001, attacks in New York and Washington DC, due to a narrowly averted joint plot with al-​ Qaeda to bomb Western diplomatic and commercial interests in Singapore. Six truck bombs, each rigged with three tons of ammonium nitrate, were to have struck six sites simultaneously. The British, Australian, American, and Israeli diplomatic missions, Changi Naval Base, and Sembawang Wharves (used by U.S. naval forces), as well as U.S. commercial interests in Singapore, were all on JI’s target list. Fortunately, local security agencies disrupted the plot and detained 15 individuals in December and another 21 in August 2002. By mid-​2002, JI’s presence in Singapore had been all but decimated.14 To be sure, it would be a mistake to think of JI as simply an al-​Qaeda outpost in Southeast Asia, existing at the behest of the latter. JI was in fact older than al-​Qaeda, and had emerged from the post-​war Darul Islam separatist movement in Indonesia.15 Darul Islam, led by the mystical and charismatic S. M. Kartosoewirjo between 1948 and 1962, had sought to establish a Negara Islam Indonesia (NII, or Indonesian Islamic State), centered in the restive province of West Java. However, with the capture and execution of Kartosoewirjo by the Indonesian security forces in 1962, Darul Islam fragmented, but this did not mean that the movement was dead. By the early 1970s, two Kartosoewirjo followers, Abdullah Sungkar and Abu Bakar Ba’asyir, were engaged in political, and at times violent, agitation against President Soeharto’s authoritarian New Order regime. These men were further radicalized during their incarceration from 1978 to 1982.16 Another factor contributing to the intensifying extremism of these two figures and their growing support base was Soeharto’s decision in 1984 to require all social and political institutions

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Malaysia  97 to abide by the policy of asas tunggal—​or sole loyalty to the state ideology of Pancasila—​rather than Islamic or other motifs. Pancasila was formulated by secular nationalist Indonesian leaders after World War II to serve as the ideological basis for the pluralistic, multiethnic Indonesian state. Pancasila consists of five elements: belief in God, social justice, humanity, democracy, and nationalism.17 Worse, the heavy-​handed treatment by the security forces of anti-​asas tunggal protestors at the port of Tanjong Priok in Jakarta in 1984—​a chosen trauma for Sungkar, Ba’asyir, and their followers—​further intensified their increasingly virulent worldview. This incident, together with the decision of the Indonesian Supreme Court in February 1985 to re-​arrest both men for their earlier Darul Islam activities, for which they had first been arrested in November 1978, helped precipitate a mass exodus the following year across the Straits of Malacca into Malaysia.18 During the long Malaysian hiatus (1985–​1999), thanks to their preaching prowess and uncompromising call for a genuine Islamic community, Sungkar and Ba’asyir gradually developed a network of supporters in Malaysia and Singapore. Importantly, to secure the training needed to ultimately overthrow the Soeharto regime by force, in the 1980s they also sent their followers to participate in the multinational jihad in Afghanistan against the Soviet military, where influential ideologues like Abdullah Azzam promoted a concept of “jihad as qital, or physical battle” against Soviet occupation forces.19 Azzam emphasized that jihad should be waged globally to liberate Muslim lands currently occupied by nonbelievers, such as Palestine, the Philippines, and Kashmir.20At any rate, after the withdrawal of Soviet forces from Afghanistan in 1989, Sungkar began to distance himself from the Indonesian Darul Islam leader Ajengan Masduki for a variety of reasons, ranging from discomfort with the latter’s mystical Sufi leanings—​anathema to Salafabist-​oriented individuals like Sungkar—​to his alleged misuse of funds. This led to the formal inauguration in January 1993 of JI as a separate entity from Darul Islam, although the former still focused on establishing an Islamic state in Indonesia. Gradually, however, part of the JI network that had been exposed in Afghanistan to Azzam’s more global jihad orientation would adopt the far enemy of the United States and its allies as key targets, an ideological trajectory that would eventually culminate in the 2002 Bali bombings.21 In any case, following the Asian financial crisis of 1997–​1998, and the demise of the New Order in May 1998, Sungkar and Ba’asyir returned to Indonesia, exploiting the newly emerging democratic space to maximal benefit. Sungkar died in November 1999, leaving Ba’asyir and his acolytes to

98  Extremist Islam steer JI, which had from 1995 onward been set up as a hierarchical entity with a well-​defined administrative structure.22 Thus constituted, and in response to the Christian attacks on Muslim communities in Poso and Ambon that peaked during 1999–​2000,23 JI embarked on a campaign of terror attacks within Indonesia in August and December 2000 and, through exploitation of its transnational network of cells that had been set up during the Malaysian exile, attempted the foiled December 2001 Singapore plot described earlier. In fact, the Singapore plot was Plan A, and its failure led directly to Plan B: the JI suicide bombing attacks on Bali nightclubs, which killed 202 civilians, including 88 Australians, on October 12, 2002. Wan Min in fact recounted that after the crackdowns by the Malaysian and Singapore governments on JI and the affiliated hard Salafabist extremist network Kumpulan Militan Malaysia (KMM) at the end of 2001, he joined Hambali, Mukhlas, Zulkifli Marzuki, and his fellow university lecturer colleagues Noordin M. Top and Azahari Husin in Bangkok, where it was decided in February 2002 that JI would next target “bars and nightclubs frequented by Westerners” in Indonesia.24 The Bali bombings highlighted the very real threat that JI posed in Southeast Asia, a point driven home by further deadly attacks by the network and its splinters—​particularly the very active one led by the aforementioned Noordin Top—​throughout the rest of the decade. The incidents included the first Jakarta Marriott bombing (August 2003), the attack outside the Australian Embassy in Jakarta (September 2004), the second Bali attacks (October 2005), and, after a 4-​year hiatus, the July 2009 twin suicide bombings of the Jakarta Marriott hotel again and the nearby Ritz-​Carlton hotel.25 Since then, because of internal dissension among the group’s leading personalities, as well as successes against it by Indonesian security forces, the JI network has evolved, spawning new entities, most notably Jemaah Ansharut Tauhid (JAT), led by Ba’asyir, who was jailed for terrorism-​related offenses in August 2010; and more recently, a virulent JAT offshoot, based in Poso in Central Sulawesi, MIT (described in the Introduction), originally headed by the militant Santoso, who was killed by the Indonesian security forces in July 2016.26 Overall, it can be argued that Neo JI in Indonesia merely represents the latest “mutation” of the older JI network.27

Wan Min’s Role in JI: The Bureaucrat I met and interacted with the JI luminary Wan Min Wan Mat in a hotel in Petaling Jaya, near Kuala Lumpur, on August 29, 2012. Wan

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Malaysia  99 Min—​accompanied by Malaysian Police Special Branch officers—​had been invited by the Southeast Asian Centre for Counter-​Terrorism (SEARCCT), part of the Malaysian Foreign Affairs Ministry, to share with an audience of largely Malaysian counterterrorism practitioners his experiences with JI. I had lectured to the same group earlier, although I had not known that Wan Min would be coming—​his presence was kept under wraps for security reasons, apparently. Wan Min was an excellent lecturer. He appeared enthusiastic in interacting with the participants he was sharing his insights with, and he answered questions readily and in great depth. Portions of this chapter derive from the extensive Malay-​language lecture Wan Min delivered that day, as well as his ensuing candid discussion with Malaysian counterterrorism practitioners and other invited guests, including me. Born in the northern Malaysian state of Kelantan on September 23, 1960, Wan Min bin Wan Mat, who reportedly came from a family of ethnic Chinese descent, was very much an integral part of the extensive Malaysian JI social milieu. He was a regional chief and key financier of the Malaysian cell of JI. He was concurrently a member of the Malaysian-​based hard Salafabist Salafi Jihadi network KMM, which sought the forcible imposition of sharia law in Muslim-​majority Malaysia. Wan Min was well educated. He had obtained a Master of Science in Construction from the University of Manchester in the United Kingdom in the 1980s, and he subsequently joined the Universiti Teknologi Malaysia (UTM) in the southern Malaysian state of Johor, just north of Singapore. Regional intelligence agencies had tracked Wan Min under his known aliases of Abu Hafis, Abu Hidayah, and Wan Halim.28 Because in the 1990s JI was still organized hierarchically—​regional districts called mantiqis were in turn divided into subdistricts or wakalahs—​Wan Min was part of mantiqi 1, which covered peninsular Malaysia, Singapore, and southern Thailand. Mantiqi 1 was tasked with providing economic sustenance for JI operations.29 When his immediate senior, the Indonesian militant cleric Ali Gufron, alias Mukhlas—​later to be a key perpetrator of the 2002 Bali bombings—​was promoted by the Indonesian senior JI leadership to be mantiqi 1 commander, Wan Min took over leadership of the Johor wakalah.30 He later became mantiqi 1 leader himself after Mukhlas was moved on again.31 Wan Min’s roles—​as befitting the appellation of bureaucrat—​were both administrative and religious. He provided religious training to members, identified new recruits, and oversaw the education program at the Al Tarbiyyah Al-​Islamiyyah Luqmanul Hakiem religious boarding school, or pesantren,

100  Extremist Islam in Ulu Tiram in Johor. Luqmanul Hakiem had been set up by Sungkar and Ba’asyir during the duo’s exile in Malaysia, and it was an ideological clone of the well-​known Al-​Mukmin pesantren that had been set up by both JI founders in Ngruki, Solo, in Central Java in the early 1970s, and whose alumni included many JI members.32 Wan Min’s commitment to JI at the time was reflected in the fact that he covered most of the Malaysian pesantren’s bills.33 At JI’s behest, he also undertook overseas military training. In 1994, JI had established a military academy at Camp Hudaibiyah in Mindanao in collaboration with the Moro Islamic Liberation Front (MILF), and the following year, together with other Malaysian JI recruits, Wan Min took part in a 2-​ month training program at Hudaibiyah.34 This program had been arranged by Riduan Isamuddin, alias Hambali, the Indonesian regional JI operations chief who enjoyed close ties with al-​Qaeda leaders. Apparently, Hambali had intended for JI militants undergoing training under the Hudaibiyah program to deepen their ideological commitment to the JI cause and vision. In 2000, moreover, Wan Min and other promising Malaysian JI members spent 2 months in Afghanistan, where they learned surveillance techniques from the Taliban. It could thus be said that by the early 2000s, Wan Min had become very much part of the committed senior middle-​level leadership core of JI.35 In many ways, Wan Min’s “claim to fame,” so to speak, was his court testimony at the trials of the Bali bombers in 2003, in which he confirmed the existence of operational links between al-​Qaeda and JI. To be precise, it appears that Wan Min’s role in the Bali bombings was primarily that of a “bagman”: between March and September 2002, he received US$30,500 in three installments from Hambali, and he passed the funds on to Mukhlas using Indonesian workers in Malaysia. Wan Min appeared to be aware that part of the money came from al-​Qaeda. In addition, he was present at a meeting in early 2002 in Bangkok where JI’s future strategy following the thwarted Singapore plot was discussed and where he was assigned the role of treasurer for the next attack.36 The decision to attack “soft” targets—​such as the Bali nightclubs struck later that year—​was made at this meeting. Soon after the 9/​11 attacks (and after Singapore had discovered JI’s plot to bomb Western targets), Kuala Lumpur initiated a crackdown on JI members, which prompted Wan Min and other JI members to flee to Thailand. A month before the Bali bombings, in September 2002, he was arrested in Kelantan, when apparently homesick, he had slipped back into Malaysia to see his family, only to be detained under the old Malaysian Internal Security Act (ISA).37

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Malaysia  101 After his incarceration, Wan Min claimed that he himself was unaware of the impending Bali attack. During his court deposition, he indicated that “jihad operations” were planned in secrecy to maintain operational security: The jihad operations were run by a special team that was not directly connected with wakalah activities. These were all done in secret, and even though I was head of wakalah Johor, I wasn’t part of the operations team. The details of the jihad operations were never explained to me. If my people were needed, I was only told that certain personnel were going to be used, I wasn’t told for what purpose. This was to protect security.38

Wan Min was released in March 2005 after the Malaysian government determined that he had been rehabilitated. Kuala Lumpur touted him as an example of the effectiveness of its deradicalization efforts, and Wan Min himself spoke in favor of the ISA and thanked the government for detaining him, although human rights groups questioned whether the statement had been made voluntarily.39 Wan Min also publicly called on his senior Malaysian JI colleagues Noordin Top and Dr. Azhari Husin to eschew violence and to surrender.40 Terrorism analysts nevertheless voiced concern about his release, given his importance to the JI network and his role in the Bali attacks.41 However, as noted, Wan Min appears to have forged an effective working relationship with the Malaysian security services, a point that was affirmed in July 2019 by a Malaysian government official who has interacted extensively with Wan Min.42

Wan Min Wan Mat as Salafabist Extremist In the previous chapter we noted that Wahhabized Purist Salafism—​ Salafabism in our terms, within which full-​blown extremist potentials are inherent—​spans the spectrum from “soft,” not-​violent political Islamism to “hard,” violent Salafi Jihadism. In his 2012 Malay-​language lecture in Petaling Jaya, Wan Min essentially applied such insights to Salafabism in Malaysia. He declared that if “you understand JI, you would be able to understand other similar groups,” as all such groups had the same ideology, which he explicitly identified as “Salafiah Jihadiah” or Salafi Jihadism. He explained that the “Gerakan Salafiyah”—​meaning the Salafabist—​movement could be broadly divided into the “Salafiyah Dakwah” and the “Salafi Jihadiyah”—​that is, the

102  Extremist Islam not-​violent Salafabist proselytizers and the “Salafis doing jihad,” respectively. While Salafiyah Dakwah—​the quietists—​emphasized “rituals,” the Salafiyah Jihadiyah were similar but emphasized jihad, or fighting in the path of God to establish his rule on Earth. It cannot be overstated: Wan Min was intimating that quietist (soft) and jihadi (hard) Salafabists were closely interrelated, sharing the same theological DNA. Jihadism was introduced to Darul Islam fighters—​including Malaysians, some of whom later joined JI—​during their stint in Afghanistan.43 Importantly, Wan Min observed that the notion espoused by mainstream Muslim scholars that while in Prophetic tradition the “greater jihad” referred to the struggle to control one’s base desires and the “lesser jihad” meant fighting, in JI circles this particular tradition was not important. What was important was the conscious drilling of potential recruits into an us-​versus-​them mindset that emphasized who “the enemy” of Islam was, be it the United States or “the government.” Interestingly, in light of the discussion in the previous chapter, Wan Min considered the terms “Salafi” and “Wahhabi” interchangeable—​affirming that he was talking about Salafabism in our terms—​although he observed that in his experience, Salafis would never refer to themselves as Wahhabis. Wan Min pointed out that in his view, the Salafi Jihadi ideology animated, in addition to JI, other groups, such as al-​Qaeda, Lashkar-​e-​Taiba in Pakistan, and the ASG and the MILF in the southern Philippines. He emphasized—​importantly—​that while the names and specific contexts of such groups may differ, the underlying ideological frame was built on “the same principles.”44 Recall that the extremist first of all displays an intense emotional, fanatical attachment to his sectarian religious belief system, in the process relegating mainline theological and mainstream national constitutional/​ideological currents, as well as universally recognized international norms, to a secondary status. Was such identity supremacism evinced in the determination that Islam should dominate all comers apparent in Wan Min’s musings? Clearly, yes, because this stance was explicitly revealed in his comments that the strategic goal of the JI movement was to ensure that the Islam of the first three generations after the Prophet Muhammad was implemented in, and dominated, multicultural Malaysian society.45 However, whether this made him an extremist in the context of that society is a more complex question requiring discussion. There are two aspects to this. First is the issue of whether Wan Min’s Salafabism represented a deviation from extant theological understandings of historical Malaysian Islam. To be sure, as early as the seventh century CE, Muslim Arab and Persian traders had known about

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Malaysia  103 the trading and commercial opportunities offered by engagement with the Malay archipelago. However, historians posit that Islam only began to strike deep roots from the thirteenth century onward, albeit confined to “scattered ports along coastal trading routes.”46 Moreover, although Muslim “teacher-​ traders” probably came from various parts of the Islamic world, southern Indian traders are seen as being particularly influential early purveyors of Muslim ideas.47 Some scholars aver that “Bengal is the main source of Sumatran Islam,” while adding that “Arabian and Chinese Muslims” also made contributions to the spread of the faith in the archipelago.48 What made southern Indian Islam in particular attractive to the Malay world at this stage was its openness and flexibility in relation to local conditions. Particularly crucial was the fact that pure Arabian Islam “lost much of its vigor” in passing through Persia and then India, emerging in a more flexible form able to lubricate, rather than impede, commercial exchanges between Muslim merchants and their various partners. Southern Indian, Sufi Islam—​characterized by both “adaptability and tolerance”49—​proved to be well suited to an ecological niche in the form of a busy, bustling, “commercial urban environment.”50 Eventually, it was the mainstream Sunni Shafi’i school of fiqh—​adhered to by most southern Indian Muslims—​that established the deepest roots, and the faith quickly adapted to local realities, giving “Southeast Asian Islam a distinctive character.”51Azyumardi Azra, a leading Indonesian scholar of Islam, put it well: Southeast Asian Islam is distinctive, having a different expression compared with Islams in the Middle East or elsewhere in the Islamic world. In the 1990s Southeast Asian Islam was dubbed by leading international media . . . as “Islam with a smiling face.”52

Specifically, Malaysian Islam emerged from the “creative cultural encounter between the core Islamic religious elements and the core Malay ethnic elements” and in the precolonial era was shaped by independent ulama who built close advisory relationships with Malay sultans.53 When the British arrived in the nineteenth century, some of these traditionalist ulama or kaum tua continued to run pondoks (independent Islamic boarding schools) while others worked with the colonial authorities in the various Malay states to monitor matters related to the religion and Malay culture, matters that the British generally steered clear of. Certainly by the time of Malaysian independence in August 1957, Malaysian Islam, apart from being Shafi’i in terms

104  Extremist Islam of fiqh, was also said to be influenced by the “Ashaarite method of theological reasoning,” which involved “heavy doses of logical argumentation and counter-​argumentation” associated with the medieval Mu’tazilite school, although “interrogated within the framework of the Qur’an and Sunna.”54 In the Malay world, the Ashaarite school of tauhid is known as Tauhid Sifat 20, referring to God’s twenty attributes. Up until the late 1970s, kaum tua-​shaped Malaysian Islam was thus “pluralistic,” heavily influenced by Sufism and “spiritual teachings” and generally tolerant of “myriad interpretations” of religious texts and scriptures based on the Qur’an and the Sunna.55 Malaysian Islam long enjoyed the image of being “moderate and enlightened, rejecting extremism in any form,” as well as being able to co-​exist peacefully with the 40 percent of the citizenry that is non-​Muslim.56 In a nutshell, at that particular historical juncture, Wan Min’s Salafabist supremacist leanings would arguably have been a theological deviation from Malaysian Islam—​in short, extreme. However, the theological contours of Malaysian Islam have hardly remained static and uncontested terrain. The doctrinal hegemony of the kaum tua traditionalist ulama was challenged in the 1930s by a younger faction of Modernist Salafis influenced by the Cairo-​based intellectuals encountered earlier, such as Afghani, Abduh, and Rida, who were called kaum muda (the younger generation).57 At that time, it was the Egyptian Abduh’s “universalistic Islamic ‘modernism’ ” that proved to be the critical intellectual influence on the “growing numbers of Muslim scholars in the modern Malay world.”58 By the early decades of the twentieth century, students from peninsular Malaya, the colonial British Straits Settlements (Singapore, Melaka, Penang), southern Siam, and particularly Sumatra, gradually outnumbered Javanese students in the ideological epicenter of Modernist Salafism, Cairo. Upon their return to the archipelago, the kaum muda opposed the kaum tua, “whose orientation was to Mecca rather than Cairo.”59 The kaum tua, though, thanks to their domination of official positions in the colonial order, such as state religious councils and the office of the mufti—​officially recognized scholars authorized to deliver fatwas or legal edicts—​were able to politically outflank the kaum muda, labeling them “Wahhabis.” Kuam tua traditionalists were viscerally averse to the Wahhabi practice in Mecca and Medina of “leveling the tombstones of the Prophet’s family and companions” and did not want this implanted in Malaya.60 However, the kaum muda’s being labeled Wahhabi was unfair; as Modernist Salafis, the kaum muda could hardly be equated with Wahhabi anti-​intellectualism.61 To reiterate, Modernist

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Malaysia  105 Salafis of the Afghani and Abduh ilk argued that while Muslims should “return to the original textual sources of the Qur’an and the Sunna (precedent) of the Prophet,” they emphasized that the original sources must be freshly reinterpreted in light of modern demands and no one should be “slavishly bound to the interpretive precedents of earlier Muslim generations.”62 This was the crux of the disagreement between the kaum muda and the kaum tua, who placed great stock by what preceding scholarship had to say. Ultimately, therefore, the contest was motivated by a stock fundamentalist impulse: control of the power to define the interpretation of the faith. As Philip Holtmann puts it, Modernist Salafis—​like the kaum muda in 1930s Malaya—​wish to take the “interpretation of religious texts out of the hands of the clergy” and put it into “the hands of the individual.”63 The kaum muda thus “adopted a form of egalitarianism that deconstructed traditional notions of established authority in Islam” and argued instead that “any commoner or layperson could read the Qur’an and the books containing the traditions of the Prophet and his Companions and then issue legal judgments.”64 This doctrinal development, incidentally, was pregnant with geopolitical and historical significance. Modernist Salafism of the nineteenth century Cairene tradition legitimized the rise of a class of new Muslim intellectuals, without any formal training in Islamic jurisprudence but often vested with advanced secular, often technical, training, who rejected notions of the theological hegemony of traditionalist ulama, claiming instead the authority to define and redefine Islam by their own independent exercise of ijtihad (critical judgment). What was of strategic importance as well was that Rashid Rida, who turned out to be “more ‘Wahabist’ than his teacher” Abduh,65 was a “diehard exponent of Tauhid 3”—​ tauhid rububiyyah, tauhid asma’ wa sifat, and tauhid ‘uluhiyyah.66 As noted previously, one implication of tauhid ‘uluhiyyah is that “following legislative systems other than shari’a is a form of unbelief,” as are “the application of positive law or man-​made laws.”67 Because most modern Muslims live in secular, multicultural societies based on man-​made laws, they are unable to pass the test of “Islamicity” that tauhid ‘uluhiyyah demands. This—​as Malaysian scholar Ahmad Fauzi Abdul Hamid points out—​lays “open the door for takfir” and—​via the logic of a shared theological DNA between soft and hard Salafabists—​“militant jihad” against Muslims deemed to have “crossed the line of apostasy by way of polytheistic behavior.”68 Since the late 1970s, as seen, the Saudi state’s desire to exploit booming oil revenues to disseminate worldwide its theological ideas and to counter revolutionary Shiism, has seen a global propagation of the

106  Extremist Islam Wahhabized Salafi—​Salafabist—​creed.69 As argued, though, rather than an Afghani-​Abduh Modernist Salafism, what has been propagated globally by the Saudi state has been a “purist form of Salafism” or Salafabism, based on “Wahhabi literalism and xenophobia” involving the “adoption of the exclusivist conception of al-​wala’ wa-​al-​bara at the expense of rational ijtihad.”70 Adding to this Wahhabized Salafi discourse over the decades has also been politically oriented soft Salafabist Islamist ideas inspired by the Muslim Brotherhood.71 Within Malaysia, by the 1970s the theological descendants of the older kaum muda educational networks had come to political maturity, forming the Islamist political party Parti Islam Se-​Malaysia (PAS), which through its “transnational educational networks” had “broadly adopted a Salafi orientation.”72 In addition, PAS leaders also had connections to the Muslim Brotherhood and were deeply impacted by Qutbian ideas, especially that of hakimiyya—​in effect “elevating sharia toward being part of aqidah.”73 At the same time, the global revival of Islam encouraged a gradual Islamization of Malaysian society, especially on university campuses, where led by charismatic young Muslim Brotherhood-​influenced activists like Anwar Ibrahim, influential youth organizations like the Malaysian Islamic Youth Association (Angkatan Belia Islam Malaysia, or ABIM) emerged to pressure the Malaysian state to promote Islamic values more systematically and strongly society-​wide. This was not lost on Prime Minister Mahathir Mohamad (1981–​2003), leader of the Barisan Nasional coalition government spearheaded by the United Malays National Organisation (UMNO). In order to prevent the Barisan from being politically outflanked by the increasingly powerful Islamist opposition and civil society epitomized by the likes of PAS and ABIM, Mahathir embarked on an official policy of Islamization. Over the years, this resulted in the gradual creation of an Islamized bureaucracy overseeing not merely Islamic religious matters but even an extensive socioeconomic ecosystem, such as Islamic banking, insurance, and pawnshop systems.74 The upshot of these trends “from the 1970s to the 1990s” has been a generalized “Salafization of Malaysian Islam,” in which “Islam” has become “essentialized as Islamism—​a supremacist and ethnocentric dogma.”75 Certainly, concerned observers have noted that in contemporary Malaysia, “with political Islamists in the government, UMNO, and Islamist NGOs taking the upper hand,” rather than its historic pluralistic nature, Malaysian Islam—​reflecting “puritanical Wahhabi-​Salafi” influence76—​has been subtly redefined to consider the Shia sect, “pluralism,” “humanism,” “liberalism,”

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Malaysia  107 the “LGBT community,” and “Liberal Islam” as deviant in the Malaysian context.77 Wan Min’s Salafabist identity supremacism, when juxtaposed against the foregoing evolving developments in Malaysian Islam, therefore, may no longer even be entirely extreme. In any case, how does Wan Min’s desire to ensure that Islam dominates all comers weigh up against the measure of Malaysia’s professed national constitutional character? To be sure, while Article 3(1) of the Malaysian Constitution does indicate that Islam shall be the religion of the Federation, it equally explicitly asserts that “other religions may be practiced in peace and harmony in the country”; moreover until recent times, it was accepted that the Article 3(1) provision “does not support an Islamic state,”78 although due regard is given for the customs and traditions of the Malay states, such as “the Sultanate,” the “Malay language,” “Malay privilege,” and not least, the “Islamic religion.”79 However, while the Constitution in a sense is secular—​ this word does not appear in the Federal Constitution incidentally—​it is not anti-​Islamic; rather, the net effect of the constitutional framework has been to create an overlapping system of civil and sharia jurisdictions, with Islamic law representing the personal law requirements of Muslim Malaysians but not regarded as the supreme law of the land.80 Put another way, the implication of Article 3(1) is that while Muslims would be subject to civil laws like non-​Muslim Malaysians, Islam can be promoted among Muslims, Islamic institutions and courts can be set up, and Muslim Malaysians are subject to “sharia laws in certain areas provided by the Constitution.”81 However, since the constitutional amendment of 1988—​ Article 121(1A)—​ which some observers have argued has eroded the power of civil courts as the “ultimate adjudicator of interreligious litigations,” Malaysia is nowadays seen in some circles as not really a secular state but more accurately as a “hybrid state” in which, since the 1988 constitutional amendments, “the Islamic law system runs parallel to the civil law system.”82 Muddying the waters further was Mahathir, who during his first prime ministerial stint, in 2001, publicly declared Malaysia to be an Islamic state—​a declaration that was met with hostility by non-​Malay citizens; his successor as Prime Minister, Abdullah Badawi, who in promulgating his Islam Hadhari concept asserted that the country was Islamic but not theocratic and run on both Islamic and democratic principles; and Najib Razak, who followed Badawi as Prime Minister, and had declared a few years before assuming power that Malaysia was not a secular state but an “Islamic nation with its own interpretation.”83 In a way, therefore, the extensive

108  Extremist Islam “Salafization”—​Salafabization in our terms—​of Malaysian Islam since the 1980s—​not least because of UMNO’s calculated decades-​long “piety-​outbidding” campaign against its chief political adversary PAS—​has contributed to shifting constitutional understandings of the Malaysian state itself. Not only has the increased “emphasis on a strict, legalistic, and exclusive understanding of Islam” prompted attempts at constitutionally reinterpreting the Malaysian state as at the very least, proto-​Islamic rather than secular, but also, as Wanto and Qadri caution, such Islamization has given rise to “an environment conducive to the emergence of a radical fringe.”84 Paradoxically, therefore, against this evolving contemporary constitutional and theological backdrop, Wan Min’s Salafabist identity supremacism, as expressed in the JI strategic goal of ensuring that Islam dominated multicultural Malaysian society, may increasingly be becoming mainstream—​a worrying trend, given the multicultural make-​up of the country. Such an assessment is given greater weight by the fact that Malaysia has yet to ratify international treaties guaranteeing the rights of religious minorities, such as the International Convention on Civil and Political Rights, which, inter alia, declares that members of such minorities “shall not be denied the right, in community with the other members of their group, to enjoy their own culture, to profess and practice their own religion.”85 That aside, Wan Min clearly and unequivocally evinced the in-​group bias and concomitant out-​group prejudice that are the second and third core characteristics of extremism of the Salafabist kind. He asserted that the ideas of the Salafi Jihadi ideologue Abdullah Azzam were very important in framing the “global jihad” worldview of JI, and that his works translated into Indonesian from the Arabic as Tarbiyah Jihadiyah were essential reading for those seeking to understand the movement. As Wan Min quipped: “Most Salafi groups followed Azzam and jihad followed him.”86 Just as the aforementioned Saudi publication Legal Rulings of the Scholars of the Sacred Land promoted the central Salafabist concept of al-​wala’ wa-​al-​bara, defined as “love and friendship with the believers, hatred and enmity toward the unbelievers,” and encouraged a “strong sense of Muslim superiority and deep distrust of non-​Muslims,”87 Wan Min recalled that this precise al-​wala’ wa-​ al-​bara theme was what JI clerics preached as well, although it was packaged in the harder-​edged extremism of Salafi Jihadism. He noted that JI clerics emphasized tauhid and martyrdom as a way to expiate one’s sins and as a “shortcut to Heaven,” where 72 virgins lingered in apt anticipation of one’s arrival. Wan Min stipulated that JI classes did not require students to read

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Malaysia  109 just the Qur’an. Other writings by the seminal ideologues of Salafi Jihadism were promoted as well, such as, Azzam aside, the medieval scholars Ibn Taymiyyah as well as his students Ibn Qayyim and Ibn Kathir, Muhammad al-​Wahhab “dan lagi-​lagi (and others).”88 Wan Min and his fellow JI acolytes would thus have had their understanding of al-​wala’ wa-​al-​bara sharpened by exposure to Ibn Kathir, for instance, who identified the Qur’anic verse 22:39:—​“Permission [to fight] has been given to those who are being fought, because they were wronged. And indeed, Allah is competent to give them victory”—​as the “first verse of jihad” in that holy book.89 Wan Min wryly added that the stark in-​group love and out-​group hate promoted by JI Salafi Jihadi ideological immersion was not to be found in mainstream mosques, as “nobody will speak like this”90—​although it should be pointed out that given the continuing Salafabization of Malaysian Islam, some observers now contend that the rejection of the non-​Muslim population by young Muslims is increasingly commonplace—​a point elaborated on below. The fourth characteristic of extremism—​ the fundamentalist obsession with purity and fear of contamination through intimate contact with the out-​group, was also a feature of the Malaysian JI milieu, based on Wan Min’s musings. Hence, by the 1990s, Wan Min was deeply immersed in a deeply Salafabist milieu centered on Luqmanul Hakiem, for all intents and purposes the key node of the nascent ideological ecosystem of JI in southern Malaysia at the time. The pesantren community was located in an isolated, rural area, and residents later recalled that the community very noticeably kept to itself.91 The Luqmanul Hakiem community can hence be regarded as an insulated enclave. The extreme lengths to which Wan Min’s compatriots at Luqmanul Hakiem went to maintain purity and, as true fundamentalist-​ extremists, to impose their religious worldview on fellow Muslim out-​groups are well captured in the following account by a bemused Malay-​Muslim neighbor, a young mother called Nor Aishah: They wouldn’t mix with women who didn’t wear the head scarf. . . . If we wanted to mix with them, we couldn’t go in there if our head was not covered. We weren’t allowed to talk loudly, weren’t allowed to laugh, we had to look serious. . . . We’re friendly, we like socialising and then they come here and tell us we’re not allowed to do anything . . . [we] weren’t allowed to watch TV, weren’t allowed to listen to radio. We’re used to TVs and radios. I like watching music shows but they said we couldn’t do any of that. They said it’s forbidden by Islamic law. Everything was forbidden by Islamic law.92

110  Extremist Islam Nor Aisha’s husband, an oil plantation laborer named Yusof, testified to the extremism that animated the Luqmanul Hakiem community, terming its members “fanatics” and asserting that what they propagated “wasn’t simple Islam,” and that he did not like “Islam like that.”93 Little wonder that the surrounding community “opposed” the “Wahhabi” (Salafabist) teachings at the pesantren as well.94 Additionally, Wan Min and his charges seemed to possess particularly pronounced dualistic thinking arising from low integrative complexity—​the fifth feature of an extremist mindset. To reiterate, the dualistic thinking of the religious extremist is buttressed by low integrative complexity arising from a “simplified view of the world,”95 with “binary, black-​and-​white contrasts with little or no integration of the perspectives,” as well as information processing derived from “classical binary logical/​mathematical thinking.”96 Recall also Khaled Abou El Fadl’s comments that “the majority” of the Wahhabi “puritan leadership” was comprised of people who “studied the physical sciences, such as medicine, engineering, and computer science” and hence “anchored themselves in the objectivity and certitude that comes from empiricism.”97 It is thus striking that in Wan Min’s own assessment, the two groups most susceptible to radicalization into JI extremism in southern Malaysia were precisely technical students and Wahhabis. First of all, to Wan Min, university campuses—​particularly technical ones like UTM where he had been based—​ were a very important source of potential recruits. This was because in his estimation—​and it should be kept in mind that he himself had had a technical education—​“academics, scientists, and engineers” tend to be very busy individuals, too busy to be well-​versed in religion, and that consequently they tend to be “alienated” and “feel emptiness” in their lives.98 Hard Salafabist Salafi Jihadism “fills the vacuum,” Wan Min explained, with a cause that is apparently more meaningful.99 JI would show such individuals videos of atrocities perpetrated against Muslims in Chechnya, for example, and they would be filled with rage and express the wish to defend the religion. Wan Min reiterated that JI “specifically targeted” individuals educated in “science and engineering,” who were “working all the time” and involved in “many things” but were “zero in religion.”100 He ventured that it was “very easy to preach to them” because they were “weak in spiritual matters” anyway.101 Adding that the “scientific, engineering mind” is “wired differently,” he recalled that those students and faculty who were studying arts subjects would argue, and that they “think so much, they don’t join in the end.”102 This observation harkens back to a point made earlier: how the

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Malaysia  111 binary logical/​mathematical thinking associated with the harder technical sciences conditions religious extremists from such educational backgrounds to adopt “monodimensional or literalist readings of scripture,” in contrast to their counterparts in the arts and humanities, whose training prompts them to “approach texts multidimensionally, exploring contradictions and ambiguities.”103 Technical campuses like UTM thus proved to be fertile recruitment hotspots for JI and other politically oriented, soft Salafabist Islamist groups like Hizbut Tahrir as well. Wan Min recalled in this respect that engineering students would be influenced by a particular extremist professor, then return with other equally susceptible students, creating a “snowball effect” in recruitment.104 The other relatively susceptible community JI tended to target for recruitment, Wan Min revealed, in contrast to the relatively religiously illiterate technical types, was the very religious, in this case, what he himself called the Wahhabis: those individuals from a largely “pondok and pesantren” background from a young age, who tended to grow up with a strong sense of “categorical thinking”105 that arises from characteristically Salafabist, low integrative complexity: for example, “halal versus haram” (permissible versus impermissible) and “right government versus wrong government.”106 Wan Min opined that these individuals were “very susceptible to jihad thinking.”107 These were the ones, he pointed out, who would viscerally embrace notions like if a person died as a martyr in jihad he would bring 70 family members with him to Heaven and that the “angels would wipe his blood.”108 Even more vulnerable were the Wahhabi-​oriented religious individuals who were not particularly clear about aspects of their own beliefs and were dependent for personal psychological security on an extreme focus on “correct” performance of rituals and forms of worship and observance, down to granular details like “where to put one’s hands when praying,” for example.109 As was the case with the engineers, JI likewise targeted the large Wahhabi community in Johor for recruitment, noting that when Abdullah Sungkar and Abu Bakar Ba’asyir had appeared on the scene and brandished their ostensibly impeccable credentials as authoritative Islamic preachers, they very quickly built up a dedicated Wahhabi following.110 Tellingly, Wan Min went so far as to opine that Wahhabi-​oriented individuals were “five to ten times more likely to become JI members” than individuals from other groups.111 The sixth core characteristic of the religious extremist—​dangerous speech capable of catalyzing out-​group violence given the circumstances in which

112  Extremist Islam it is disseminated112—​was also readily evinced within Wan Min’s Malaysian JI milieu. The Indonesian co-​founder of JI, Ba’asyir, who taught in Indonesia as well as at Luqmanul Hakiem, exemplied dangerous speech in the soft mode—​not necessarily always expressly inciting out-​group violence, but certainly fostering a conducive climate of out-​group intolerance that acted as mood music for such violence downstream. Typically, Ba’asyir urged his charges to adopt the following posture toward unbelievers: We would rather die than follow that which you worship. We do not want to cooperate. This is the workings of religion. We reject all of your beliefs, we reject all of your ideologies, we reject all of your teachings associated with social issues, economics or beliefs. Between you and us there will forever be a ravine of hate and we will be enemies until you follow Allah’s law.113

Addressing Muslims, B’asyir warned: The character of nonbelievers is such that they always work hard to oppose Islam. . . . If nonbelievers have the weapons capacity, the funding, then they will go to war against Islam. . . . Jews and America are waging a war on Muslims.114

What Ba’asyir only hinted at in his soft-​mode discourse above was fully fleshed out by other leading Indonesian extremists who taught at Luqmanul Hakiem. Imam Samudra, one of the JI figures involved in the October 2002 Bali bombing, seemed generally less leery of employing dehumanizing rhetoric about the enemies identified by Ba’asyir above, as well as justifying terrorist attacks on Western civilians, as in Bali. An insight into Samudra’s hard Salafabist Salafi Jihadi discourse—​dangerous speech in the hard mode—​and what he would have shared with the insulated community at Luqmanul Hakiem is revealed by the following passage from his 2004 book Aku Melawan Teroris [I Fight Terrorists]: Israel and America . . . are cruel and sadistic. They are Draculas spawned by Monsters. . . . The Bali bombings were jihad in the true path of God, because the main targets were colonizing peoples like America and its allies. . . . War is indeed cruel, war is horrifying, war is painful, and war is terrifying. But nevertheless . . . permitting the brutality of the colonizing nations toward Muslims peoples is even more brutal. Allowing that horror, that fear and

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Malaysia  113 that pain to continue to affect Muslims as a result of the brutality of the blood-​sucking monsters is even more cruel.115

In like vein, another Indonesian JI Bali bomber, Alki Ghufron (alias Mukhlas)—​who was close to Wan Min and also spent time at Luqmanul Hakiem constructing the psyches of the students and followers there—​ matched the hard Salafabist extremism of Imam Samudra, dehumanizing all Westerners as “dirty animals and insects that need to be wiped out.”116 Last but by no means least, Wan Min and his JI in-​group very clearly displayed the seventh core characteristic of the religious fundamentalist-​extremist: the drive to capture the power and influence to restructure the wider polity and society to reflect a preferred vision of a religiously legitimated sociopolitical order, in which competing out-​groups are thoroughly dominated and/​or assimilated “under theocratic rule.”117 Wan Min himself, in his 2012 Kuala Lumpur lecture, asserted that the Malaysian JI network had sought to ensure that the Islam of the first three generations after the Prophet Muhammad was implemented in society, not just in Malaysia and the wider region, but globally.118 This stance reflected the global jihad thinking that had influenced JI by the 1990s, differentiating the network from Darul Islam, which still focused on establishing an Islamic state in Indonesia.119 Wan Min observed that he and his colleagues pursued three main strategies to achieve this grand strategic JI aim: dakwah (preaching), hijrah (migration to genuinely Islamic lands), and jihad.120 Wan Min stressed that, ideally, in a Malaysian (and presumably Southeast Asian) context, progress toward a genuinely Islamic society would proceed gradually in three stages: first, building up the “Islamic” consciousness of the community through dakwah; second, building up economic and military strength to make the genuinely Islamic community politically viable; and third, and tellingly, “using that strength” to create a “pure Islamic country,” as none currently existed and there was a need to “make a new system.”121 Wan Min added that when a secular government was oppressing Muslims and social injustice was generalized throughout society, this would “make things easier” for hard Salafabist Salafi Jihadis like JI and similar groups, because such an enabling environment acted as an “accelerant” for such groups to exploit.122 What was particularly chilling, though, was Wan Min’s candid admission that his old comrades in JI mantiqi 1—​Hambali in particular in the wake of al-​Qaeda leader Osama bin Laden’s February 1998 fatwa calling for attacks on the United States and its allies, including civilians123—​were eager to push ahead

114  Extremist Islam with violent plans to actualize the JI vision. This was “even if there was no injustice” in society, as “we still wanted to form an Islamic system” and the prevailing mood was “let’s start now, why wait?”124 Hence the original strategic vision of the Malaysian and Singaporean JI branches—​not so much the Indonesian chapter, which remained largely geared toward establishing an Islamic state in Indonesia itself—​was ultimately to establish control of countries like Indonesia, Malaysia, Singapore, and Brunei and to consolidate a “Daulah Islamiyah Nusantara” as an initial step to forming an Islamic alliance globally and not remaining confined to Southeast Asia.125

Persons, Places, and Platforms: The Salafabist Ecosystem of Wan Min Wan Mat As discussed in the previous chapter, what we call Salafabist ecosystems (SEs) comprise three basic nodes: persons, places, and platforms. Within an SE, the three strategic nodes interact in diverse, unpredictable ways to propagate and sustain Salafabist ideology. To recapitulate, the first node, persons, refers to those specific influencers who directly and personally influence individuals within the SE. Such persons, as Graeme Wood says, are akin to “Patient Zero,” spreading the extremist ideological “germ from person to person.”126 The second node in the SE is places, insulated social spaces within which some mix of soft and hard Salafabist views are propagated relatively unchallenged. Places may be religious, such as certain mosques or religious schools, but not exclusively so. They can include real-​world, secular sites, such as private homes, university campuses, sports clubs, gymnasiums, prisons, and camps in secluded rural areas. The third node of an SE is platforms: official institutions, publishing houses, news websites, and other online media dedicated primarily to disseminating Salafabist content. With this in mind, how then did the Salafabist extremism that radicalized and animated Wan Min Wan Mat emerge and spread throughout the SE in the southern Malaysian state of Johore?

Persons Wan Min’s own initiation into JI likely happened informally through social networks in Johore. JI’s central leadership was typically selective in its

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Malaysia  115 recruitment, but given Wan Min’s relatively advanced technical educational background, he would have been seen as a good candidate for JI membership. His direct and personal association with two important persons, JI founders Abdullah Sungkar and Abu Bakar Ba’asyir, began in 1993, around the time that JI was formally instituted. He started attending JI classes as early as 1990, before being inducted into a “small group” in the aforementioned Luqmanul Hakiem pesantren. Apart from the major influencers Sungkar and Ba’asyir, Wan Min also interacted with, and was doubtless influenced by, several well-​known JI figures from the Indonesian diaspora in Malaysia, including Hambali, Zulkarnaen, Mukhlas, Imam Samudra, Ali Imron, Amrozi bin Nurhasyim, Fathur Rahman al-​Ghozi, and Dulmatin—​who were either instructors or students at Luqmanul Hakiem at various times. As John Funston correctly observes, most of the leaders in the Malaysian JI were Indonesians.127 Moreover, because the pesantren also functioned in part as a social hub for the local JI milieu, along with Wan Min, several senior Malaysian JI members who were also lecturers at UTM became associated with Luqmanul Hakiem as well. These UTM “crossover” persons included Azhari Husin, Abdullah Daud, Idris Salim, Roshelmy Sharif, and Shamsul Bahri Hussein. Noordin Top—​a key person who masterminded a number of high-​profile terrorist attacks in Indonesia between 2003 and 2009—​had studied for his Master’s degree at UTM, and he also joined and briefly became the director of the Luqmanul Hakiem fraternity of like-​minded Malaysians and Indonesian emigrés.128 Wan Min was described by some of his UTM peers as a “kind” and “easygoing” individual who was “very dedicated to his work,” albeit “an average person academically”; he apparently also came across as “a bit conservative, inferior, and to a certain extent easily influenced.”129 In any case, Wan Min is likely to have been shaped in his beliefs, attitudes, and orientations through up close and personal interactions with the stronger-​ minded of his peers in the close-​knit JI community.

Places What seems clear is that as far as places in the JI SE in southern Malaysia were concerned, the Luqmanul Hakiem pesantren in Ulu Tiram in Johore in southern Malaysia was pretty much the locus classicus of the network. Started at the behest of Sungkar and Ba’asyir, with Mukhlas as its first director, Luqmanul Hakiem was deliberately modeled along the lines of the

116  Extremist Islam Al-​Mukmin pesantren in Ngruki, in Solo, Indonesia, also founded by Sungkar and Ba’asyir 20 years earlier in 1972. As in Al-​Mukmin, Luqmanul Hakiem’s curriculum was based on hard Salafabist Salafi Jihadist ideology, and its goal was quite simply to promote jihad. The Luqmanul Hakiem community, as an insulated enclave, subjected its inhabitants to powerful psychologically depluralizing and deindividuating pressures, fostering essential in-​group ideological homogeneity and out-​group animosity in the process.130 As Wan Min recalled upon his release from detention in 2005, “We were mesmerized by the JI leadership and its struggle. When you come into a group, you cannot think rationally. We were confident our struggle was correct.”131 He observed that the standard pedagogic style was not just a one-​way impartation of knowledge from JI teacher to student. Rather, the former acted more like a “counselor” at first, encouraging students to ask questions and even to share personal family problems.132 Hence, a key part of the process involved building a relationship of trust with the students. The teacher therefore behaved like a “friend,” listening, imparting advice, and generally making the students “feel better.”133 Where feasible, an attempt was made by the teachers to link the student’s personal issues to “religion”—​that is, ideas culled from, for instance, Ibn Taymiyyah and Abdullah Azzam—​and current affairs.134 In essence, the JI teachers tried to show how buying into hard Salafabist Salafi Jihadism and its stock emphasis on “defending the faith,” the “principles of war,” and “martyrdom” would help resolve the student’s personal issues.135 Wan Min insisted that at least in the early days, JI’s strategi dakwah (preaching strategy) to gradually grow the movement by inducting and radicalizing new recruits was quite systematic. Family members would be top of the list, followed by colleagues, fellow lecturers at UTM, and of course students. The idea was to nudge outsiders from a posture of hostility toward—​at the very least—​a “neutral” stance. Meanwhile, neutrals could be edged toward becoming “sympathizers,” from whom a degree of moral and even material support could be elicited; while sympathizers themselves could be persuaded to take the extra step of becoming ideologically convinced supporters and finally JI members.136 Wan Min added that the JI recruitment process did not merely comprise classes. An important component was physical and military training.137 In this connection, JI leaders frequently led by example. They were apparently “really honest,” and in hiking expeditions they would make sure they “reached the summit of mountains first.”138 Adding to their personal credibility, and by implication the potency of their ideological appeals, was the fact that several of them spoke not just Malay

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Malaysia  117 but Arabic, had experienced combat in Afghanistan, possessed “good knowledge” of many issues as well as clear ideas of what was halal and haram, and yet appeared to remain “humble” and “lived up to all they had preached.”139 He noted that “even on the battlefield,” the teaching “carries on,” through map reading, weapons training, tactics, and field-​craft.140 He added wryly that for the training in Johor, JI instructors and their charges used “toy guns” because in using them “at least you got noise,” which added a bit of realism.141 Wan Min explained that JI took physical training very seriously: recruits would be woken up at midnight during field camps in Malaysia to carry out physical exercises. As he put it in Malay, the basic attitude was “jangan main-​main (don’t play/​fool around).”142 Originally, the JI recruitment process took a long time because the organization at the time was trying “to dig for gold,” and it was “very difficult.”143 Still it was judged to be worth the effort because, as Wan Min put it rather colorfully, with gold JI could make a “chain bracelet.”144 It was only at that point, he noted, when truly “golden” recruits were assayed from the cohort that had first started classes a couple of years earlier, that they were invited to pledge allegiance or bai’ah to the JI leadership.145 At this point, such individuals were judged to have become full-​fledged true Salafi Jihadis, who were “very sure of what we [were] doing” and “where they [were] going,” who were willing to sacrifice their lives, and who could “not be stopped from jihad.”146 Wan Min added that he himself had undergone the rigorous 2-​ year indoctrination and physical training process, as had the Malaysian JI militants behind several terror attacks in Indonesia between 2002 and 2009, Noordin M. Top and Azhari Husin.147 Apart from the pesantren commune itself, other places that served as nodes of the SE included the private homes of JI members. Wan Min, for instance, drawn to the charismatic sermons of Mukhlas, invited him “to speak at the prayer sessions that he held at his home” in Johore and “urged his fellow staff and students from UTM to come along to hear him.”148 For that matter, the UTM campus itself, long before the emergence of the Salafi Jihadi-​focused Luqmanul Hakiem entity in the locality, had long been seen as a showcase of the wider creeping Salafabization that was sweeping Malaysian society. UTM, guided by its motto “For God and mankind,” was regarded in the 1990s as a “hub of the Islamic renewal and a center of radical Muslim politics,” evincing Salafabist-​influenced behavior, such as the strict separation of the sexes at graduation ceremonies; insisting on badges, such as “headscarves and modest attire” for Muslim students; and banning non-​halal food despite “the protests of the large non-​Muslim

118  Extremist Islam Chinese student body.”149 Significantly, several KMM militants detained by Kuala Lumpur in the early 2000s were also lecturers from UTM’s Science Engineering and Geoinformation Faculty.150 Little wonder that UTM in a way acted as a secondary place, complementing the indoctrination processes taking place within Luqmanul Hakiem itself.

Platforms Wan Min recalled that in Malaysian JI circles, the published works of key classical and modern theorists of Salafi Jihadism, such as Abdullah Azzam, Ibn Taymiyyah, Ibn Qayyim, Ibn Kathir, Muhammad al-​Wahhab, and others, served as platforms for disseminating ideological content.151 Other platforms that the Luqmanul Hakiem community would have been exposed to were the publications of ideologues from the Egyptian Muslim Brotherhood and its affiliates, such as Sayyid Qutb, Muhammad ‘Abd al-​Salam Faraj, the Syrian Brotherhood activist Sa’id Hawwa, and the Saudi activist Salafi Sa’id Salim al-​Qathani, who was known for explicating the meaning of the core concept of al-​wala’ wa-​al-​bara.152 In truth, though, Wan Min’s intellectual receptivity to such ideas would have already been honed in his pre-​JI days, simply by his being immersed in the gradually evolving cultural milieu of Malaysian Islam. As already noted, during his first stint as Prime Minister, Mahathir Mohamad had embarked on an official policy of Islamization, which over the years resulted in the gradual creation of an Islamized bureaucratic and socioeconomic ecosystem nationwide.153 Some observers have argued that the enduring consequence of such a drive was the “Salafization of Malaysian Islam,” in which “Islam” was “essentialized as Islamism—​a supremacist and ethnocentric dogma.”154 Hence, by the late 1980s, as Wan Min was coming of age intellectually and in terms of his religious convictions, he had arguably been softened up cognitively and affectively by wider, not-​violent, soft Salafabist Islamist trends, for easier embrace of the harder, decidedly violent Salafi Jihadi extremism he was to absorb as part of the JI network. After all, as John Funston observes, the publications of Salafabist Islamist ideologues like Sayyid Qutb, Hassan al-​Banna, and the Pakistani Mawdudi—​figures who were hardly out of place on JI reading lists—​evinced the shared theological DNA between hard and soft Salafabism, and served as platforms that equally inspired the influential Malaysian Islamist ABIM youth movement in the 1980s as well.155 However, as Sani observes, it was, interestingly enough, the

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Malaysia  119 federal government itself under Mahathir that introduced a whole slew of platforms that were to ultimately—​albeit inadvertently—​become the key vehicles for the wider, often subtle dissemination of soft Salafabist Islamist ideas in society: In 1981, the government announced the Inculcation of Islamic Values Policy to instill universal Islamic values in government institutions. . . . Islamization programs [included] the official use of Islamic terminologies and salutations, the building of Islamic complexes and research and education institutes, and the expansion of Islamic programs on radio and television and Islamic courses for the public. In addition, the Constitution was amended to enhance the powers of the Islamic legal authorities and administration and to promote uniformity and coordination between states in the jurisdiction of Islam. (italics added)156

Perhaps the most important federal government platform for disseminating religious ideas in the 1980s was the Department of Islamic Affairs (Bahagian Hal Ehwal Islam), which was established in 1984. This agency had evolved from the older Division of Religious Affairs (Bahagian Agama), set up a decade earlier to oversee an Islamic research center and an Islamic missionary foundation, YADIM, or the Islamic Preaching Foundation of Malaysia. The Department of Islamic Affairs—​further expanded in 1997 under full ministerial oversight to become the powerful Malaysian Department of Islamic Development—​known by its Malay acronym as JAKIM,157 acted as the “nerve center” of the federal government’s Islamization policies, seeking to streamline the federal and state Islamic bureaucratic administrative machineries.158 To be sure, constitutionally, the administration of Islam in Malaysia is the preserve of the states; the Sultan or Yang di-​Pertuan Agong (King) of each Malaysian state is the titular head of Islamic affairs, supported by the state mufti—​who is authorized to issues legal edicts or fatwas—​and State Islamic Departments (Jabatan Agama Islam) that certify preachers, collect zakat (wealth taxes), supervise mosques and Islamic schools, and run a moral police charged with enforcing the four Bs (badges, bans, behavior, and beliefs): the “observance of fasting, decent attire and prohibitions against close proximity between unmarried couples.”159 Like their federal counterparts, the state-​level entities became “vast bureaucratic organizations” with greatly expanded powers after the Islamic resurgence of the 1970s. Mahathir thus had an extensive

120  Extremist Islam federal and state-​level Islamization machinery to wield his influence over—​ with enduring effects.160 Furthermore, to provide the educated personnel to staff the expanding Islamic bureaucracies at federal and state levels, university education was also Islamized. The International Islamic University Malaysia (IIUM) was established in 1983, while Mahathir’s administration also encouraged the creation of more tertiary level platforms for disseminating Islamic—​and as it turned out in a few cases, soft Salafabist Islamist—​content, such as Islamic studies courses at the University of Islamic Science Malaysia (USIM), University of Science Malaysia (USM), University of Utara Malaysia (UUM), University of Technology MARA (UiTM), and UTM, among others. Mahathir also introduced Islamic civilization as a subject in all Malaysian universities and established the International Institute of Islamic Thought and Civilisation (ISTAC) in October 1991 to offer postgraduate education in “Islamic civilization and Islamic science.”161 The cumulative impact of so many officially sanctioned platforms for disseminating not merely Islamic content, but ultimately also in some cases soft Salafabist Islamist content, was far from sanguine. By the time Mahathir’s successor Abdullah Badawi attempted to promote his relatively enlightened and inclusive vision of Islam Hadhari (Civilizational Islam) in 2004, which aimed to promote an empowered Malaysian Muslim community ready to tackle global challenges—​while at the same time ensuring minority rights in the “multiracial and multireligious” country were protected—​the effort floundered.162 This was not least because the “Islamist intelligentsia” entrusted with operationalizing Islam Hadhari lacked “both the intellectual sophistication and fortitude” to make it come to pass, making a “mockery” of Badawi’s previous assurances that it would be “suitable for all ethno-​religious groups.”163 Certainly, by the time Wan Min was flirting with JI in the 1990s, the face of Malaysian Islam was evolving in ways that, paradoxically, would have nudged him further in that direction. The Malaysian political scientist Farish Noor, in a thoughtful analysis in December 2001, well captured the extent of the creeping Salafabization of Malaysian Islam at that juncture: If some senior Umno leaders, bureaucrats, and members of the Malay middle-​classes are concerned about the tenor and form of political Islam in Malaysia today, they have no-​one else to blame but themselves, for it was they who helped to create the vast Islamist bureaucratic, institutional, legal and educational system that today has so much power and influence on the

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Malaysia  121 Malay-​Muslims of the country. . . . The growing conservatism and defensiveness on the part of so many Malay-​Muslims can also be accounted for by these institutions. . . . By projecting an image and understanding of Islam as a religion under threat of subversion and ‘contamination’ from external threats, they helped to create and foster the ghetto mentality that is prevalent in many quarters of the Malay-​Muslim population in Malaysia (my italics).164

Noor presciently added a warning that “the whole Islamization project embarked upon by UMNO in the 1980s and 1990s” to “out-​Islamize PAS” not only was characterized by an “apparent disregard for alternative viewpoints and beliefs”—​indicative of low integrative complexity—​but also had “managed to sideline the sensitivities and reservations of the non-​Muslims in the country,” who made up almost half the population.165

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Malaysia: Contemporary Implications of the Wan Min Wan Mat Case To sum up, the former senior JI figure Wan Min Wan Mat—​a self-​confessed adherent at one time to the hard Salafabist creed of Salafi Jihadism—​when he was immersed in the JI milieu, clearly evinced or experienced several key elements of Salafabism: strong Muslim in-​group bias and out-​group enmity toward non-​Muslims; the preoccupation with preventing contamination through overly close commingling with even fellow Muslims of a less strict persuasion; dualistic thinking of low integrative complexity; dangerous, dehumanizing speech directed at out-​groups; and the drive to establish an Islamic state in Malaysia, by force if necessary. In the scheme employed in this book, Wan Min would have ticked off all the boxes for being categorized as a full-​blown extremist if it could also be shown that his fringe politicized, supremacist interpretation of Islam—​ soft Salafabist Islamism—​ deviated significantly from the extant theological and constitutional mainstream of Malaysian Islam and politics. It is at this point, actually, that the analysis becomes problematic, because as shown in this chapter, the decades-​long process of the Salafabization of Malaysian Islam has arguably shifted the theological and constitutional goalposts. Malaysian scholar Ahmad Fauzi Abdul Hamid affirms that Wahhabism, which he feels has penetrated Malaysia and other Southeast Asian Muslim communities for four decades now,

122  Extremist Islam promotes a “dichotomous worldview” of Islam as opposed to “infidelity.”166 Hamid cites a 2015 Pew survey as offering discomfiting support for how the mainstreaming of soft Salafabist Islamist ideas down the years has psychologically conditioned or softened up segments of the Malaysian Muslim public to such an extent that they do not appear to find violent hard Salafabist ISIS ideological themes especially unsettling. The survey found that only 26 percent of Malaysian Muslims are “very concerned” about “Islamic extremism,” which the survey clearly equates to ISIS terrorism.167 In like vein, Wanto and Qadri warn that in Muslim-​majority Malaysia, a lax attitude toward the spread of soft Salafabist Islamism over the years has helped lay the foundation for a “narrow and dogmatic interpretation of Islam,” which has served to aid the recruitment efforts of ISIS, because the “emphasis on a strict, legalistic, and exclusive understanding of Islam” essentially divides “society into ‘the house of Islam’ (Dar al-​Islam) and ‘the house of the enemy’ (Dar al-​Harb)—​resulting in the perception that non-​Muslims are permanent ‘enemies of Islam’.”168 In short, “the narrative of IS” cannot but “resonate” within such an exclusionary socio-​religious milieu.169 That this may not be hyperbole is attested to by the fact that by November 2019, Malaysia had foiled 25 ISIS plots and arrested 512 suspects over the preceding 6 years.170 The biggest contemporary implication of the Wan Min Wan Mat story, therefore, is that paradoxically, given the current trajectory of Malaysian Islam and politics, his fringe Salafabist Islamist ideological orientation may be in the process of being mainstreamed. For example, in June 2016, the Mufti of Pahang, Abdul Rahman Osman, articulated the typically Salafabist stance “that supporting the DAP [the largely non-​Muslim Chinese Democratic Action Party] is sinful because they are kafir harbi (infidels at war with the Muslims)” and “oppose Islamic law.”171 It should be noted that the term kafir (kuffar) harbi is not exactly harmless. As soft-​mode dangerous speech, it not only entrenches an us-​versus-​them mindset toward non-​Muslims, it is extremely dehumanizing of the latter as well. Hence, as the German-​Egyptian social scientist and son of a Sunni imam Hamed Abdel-​Samad avers, “because a kafir is lower than an animal” to “utter a word like kafir is to embark on the first step to violence, treating those with different beliefs or ideas like animals and paving the road to acts of terrorism and murder.”172 In another case of nonphysical but certainly structural violence that constrains non-​Muslim rights, a Malacca State Islamic Religious Department (JAIM) official advised even non-​Muslims “to dress modestly”—​dress being a badge

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Malaysia  123 element of the aforementioned four Bs—​to avoid “causing public annoyance.”173 There are further suggestions that the soft Salafabist Islamist notion of the sociopolitical primacy of Islam is gaining traction amongs Malaysian Muslims in general and not merely those living in the traditionally conservative rural northern Malay states of Kelantan, Terengganu, and Kedah. A November 2017 survey of Islam by Singapore’s Institute of Southeast Asian Studies–​Yusof Ishak Institute (ISEAS-​YII) found that of 2,011 respondents in the southernmost Malaysian state of Johore (55 percent Malays, 38 percent Chinese, and 7 percent Indians), 84 percent of Malays polled felt that “Muslims should occupy a majority of state government seats”; 90 percent felt that “increased Islamic religiosity is a positive development in Malaysia”; and 57 percent of Malays want hudud laws to be applied to non-​Malays as well. By sharp contrast, 98 percent of Chinese and 90 percent of Indians polled did not want hudud law to be applied to them, while 79 percent of Chinese and 68 percent of Indians did not see increased Islamic religiosity as a positive development in the country.174 In this connection, the rather telling case of Elit Laundry, at one stage a launderette catering only to Muslim customers in Johore, offers further insights into the steadily intensifying contestation between Salafabism and more progressive, culturally contextualized expressions of Malaysian Islam today, as well as even the rising phenomenon of a reactionary neo-​fundamentalist Islam. In September 2017, the Johore Sultan Ibrahim Iskandar—​as noted, the Malay sultans are custodians of the faith in each state—​ordered Elit Laundry’s management to remove its signage proclaiming that it catered only to Muslims and to make a public apology, because Johore was a multireligious state. Soon after, Zamihan Mat Zin, an accredited neo-​fundamentalist preacher with the aforementioned federal agency JAKIM, waded into the furor and implicitly criticized the sultan for his decision. Zamihan argued that it was perfectly fine for Elit Laundry to cater only to Muslims. In comments that signified the common Salafabist as well as insular, neo-​fundamentalist fear of contamination allegedly brought about by commingling too closely with non-​Muslims—​in this case the Johore Chinese—​he added: Chinese usually don’t wash after they urinate or defecate. What about menstrual blood on their underwear? Or if they had hugged a dog, or spilled alcohol or food containing pork? If they want to enter a laundry, then just go to a normal one.175

124  Extremist Islam While some Malaysians criticized Zamihan for his comments and he was banned from preaching by the Selangor and Johore state authorities, his case adds a certain complexity to the Malaysian picture. Zamihan is also a leading young scholar of the traditional Sunni orthodox Ashaarite-​cum-​ Shafi’i school that is represented in Malaysia by the Malaysian Association of Ahl as-​Sunnah wa’l Jama’ah (ASWAJA). In this connection, Zamihan has even led the ideological attack against soft Salafabist Islamist influences in Malaysia, arguing that it poses a security threat to Malaysia. Hence Zamihan has criticized the controversial Indian social media personality Zakir Naik—​currently residing in Malaysia—​for his “Wahhabi-​Salafi” tendencies.176 More than that, Zamihan had been praised by no less a figure than the former Malaysian Deputy Prime Minister and Home Minister Ahmad Zahid Hamidi for his work in Malaysia’s deradicalization program for terrorists.177 This brings up an important point. One should not ignore the possibility of a hardening neo-​fundamentalist response to perceived ongoing Salafabization of Malaysian Islam. As Norshahril Saat argues, regardless of whether “you are a Sufi, Wahabi, or Salafi, that doesn’t matter,” what does matter is “whether you adopt an exclusivist attitude.”178 This is a sound note of caution. One of the critics of Zamihan, the Mufti of Perlis state, Datuk Mohd Asri Zainul Abidin, criticized Kuala Lumpur for working with somebody like Zamihan, with his “extremist thinking.”179 Asri himself, however, has been known to harbor “hard-​core Wahhabi-​Salafi views,” which could in certain circumstances risk “becoming a conveyor belt toward more extreme tendencies, in spite of [his] maintaining civility in public as an officially appointed religious functionary.”180 Therefore, while Asri may be a soft Salafabist and Zamihan a neo-​fundamentalist, this does not necessarily imply that Asri is the “problem” and Zamihan the “solution.” As the latter’s comments on the Muslim-​only launderette in Johore illustrate, Zamihan is hardly a moderate. Instead, he represents a more radical version of insular, neo-​fundamentalist Islam—​which at times is quite capable of fostering “an attitude of segregation and enmity toward non-​Muslims”181 and sharpens “the sense of separate religious identities,” thereby reinforcing “social boundaries between believers and nonbelievers, or between insiders and outsiders.”182 At the time of writing, the views of a radical neo-​fundamentalist like Zamihan, along with those of the soft Salafabists embedded in the federal and state Islamic bureaucracies, appear to be further putting structural stress on the contours of traditionally pluralistic, progressive, and accommodating Malaysian Islam.183 It is therefore highly instructive that

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Malaysia  125 many mainstream Muslim Malaysians—​such as the Sultan of Johore—​appear to be rather belatedly pushing back. Sultan Ibrahim himself worried that “Malaysian Malays” are “losing their cultural identity by imitating Arabs and abandoning Malay cultural practices.”184 He added that Johore was not a “Taliban state.”185 Soon after, the Keeper of the Ruler’s Seal, Danial Syed Ahmad, even issued a statement on behalf of the country’s sultans in support of the Sultan of Johore: As a religion that encourages its followers to be respectful, moderate, and inclusive, the reputation of Islam must not ever be tainted by the divisive actions of certain groups or individuals which may lead to rifts among the people.186

Syed Ahmad also urged all Malaysians to recall the Rukun Negara, “a set of national principles formulated after the May 13 racial riots in 1969 to uphold Malaysia’s diverse religious and ethnic backgrounds,” which “must continue to serve as a compass to all parties, be they leaders, government officials, and citizens of our country.”187 In order to avoid coming across as overly alarmist, one must acknowledge that to be fair, Salafabists in Malaysia are not all extremists. One also finds mildly fundamentalist Salafabist radicals who have generally accommodated somewhat to the realities of the plural society in Malaysia. Even in the largely rural Malay Muslim societies in the PAS-​dominated northern Malay states of Kelantan and Terengganu, therefore, day-​to-​day relations are good, and it is not uncommon to find a Chinese shopkeeper in a Malay village.188 However, observers caution that ultimately a great deal depends on whether government organizations like JAKIM are able to more strongly promote an Islam in Malaysia that is accommodating to non-​Muslims.189 This not at all clear. It has been noted that by the time of former Prime Minister Najib Razak’s administration (2009–​2018), Malaysia possessed “an Islamist rather than an Islamic bureaucracy,” and “pro-​Salafi voices from within JAKIM were becoming more open in legitimizing Wahhabism as part and parcel of authentic Sunni Islam”—​with the implication that the long established theological emphasis on the rationalistic Ashaarite-​cum-​Shafi’i theological orientation of Tauhid Sifat 20 was being undermined by the intensifying focus on the more rigid Salafabist-​oriented Tauhid 3.0.190 As a further illustration of the real-​world implications of this evolution, it was reported in November 2017 that a young Malaysian Muslim woman from urbanized Johore state, Zakiah

126  Extremist Islam Mat Lila, “has never said ‘Merry Christmas’ or ‘Happy Deepavali’ to her neighbors”—​a Salafabist ban in four B terms.191 In addition, Madam Zakiah mentioned she would “vote only for Muslims and applauds strict Islamic laws, such as cutting off the hands of thieves and caning fornicators.”192 Another Malay-​Muslim housewife from Muar in Johore, in relation to the Elit Laundry controversy, even went against the views of her own sultan, the titular Head of Islam in the state: As Muslims, we all desire a halal way of life. It gives me peace of mind knowing my clothes are not washed in the same machine as those worn by non-​Muslims, which could be contaminated with alcohol, pork and dog hair.193

That such insular attitudes—​pretty much incongruous in a multicultural country like Malaysia—​are not marginal is attested to by academic observers. In July 2019, the Malaysian political scientist James Chin warned that in Malaysian society today there exists an “intolerant climate,” an “us-​versus-​ them” attitude on the part of many Malay Muslims toward non-​Muslims and other Muslim groups deemed too liberal or secular.194 He added that in the largely non-​Muslim east Malaysian states of Sabah and Sarawak, the non-​Muslim publics are “very worried” about “Islamization” in the country, spearheaded in no small way by the efforts of federal bodies like JAKIM, which functions “almost like an autonomous body inside the civil service” to create a “Malay Islamic state.”195 Moreover, the top-​down Salafabization process is supplemented by many contemporary grassroots places in the form of private urban madrassas funded by Middle Eastern and Pakistani sources and called tahfiz.196 Such unregulated private schools were estimated to have numbered 600 by June 2017. Each tahfiz “sets its own syllabus, with an emphasis on memorising the Qur’an,” and most students end up pursuing careers as an ustaz (religious teacher) after they graduate, contributing to a “rising number of religious teachers,” while other graduates “pursue different courses in universities that are usually linked to Islam, such as becoming an imam or a sharia lawyer.”197 Typically the children of parents from an urban, professional, middle-​class demographic, the students in these private, unregulated Islamic educational institutions tend to be immersed in them for a decade, do not go into the government school system, and “have no contact with the non-​Muslim population.”198 Observers thus assert that while tahfiz appear to try to fuse

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Malaysia  127 Islamic education with worldly knowledge, it is an open question whether tahfiz graduates “would be hard-​core Muslims or moderates.”199 Certainly, the Pakatan Harapan coalition that swept to power in the historic, unprecedented May 2018 elections that unseated former Prime Minister Najib Razak’s Barisan Nasional government, was aware of the challenge of the creeping Salafabization of Malaysian Islam but its “hands were tied”—​due to structural factors created paradoxically by Pakatan Prime Minister Mahathir during his first term as prime minister in the Barisan-​led government in the 1980s.200 More worrying, in February 2020 the same structural forces brought down the Pakatan coalition in turn and put in place a new Perikatan Nasional coalition government based at its core on an UMNO-​PAS electoral political pact—​combining UMNO’s Malay-​centric nationalism with the PAS drive to “turn Malaysia into an Islamic state.”201 Observers have argued that such a development represents “a negative outcome for Malaysia” because it is the first time there is a coalition with virtually no non-​Malays.202 This has pushed the country toward greater religious/​racial “polarization.”203 Against this backdrop, it is worth underscoring that while as noted not necessarily uniformly extremist, the soft Salafabist Islamist PAS milieu does appear to orient some individuals toward hard Salafabist Salafi Jihadism: eight out of ten alleged militants from the JI-​Linked KMM group arrested in August 2001 were also members of the PAS youth wing.204 More recently, it transpired that Mohd Lotfi Arifin, a religious teacher who had opened a madrasah in Kedah and was also PAS youth information head for the state, had decamped to Syria, where he was killed while fighting with ISIS against the Assad regime in September 2014. While PAS had reportedly sacked Lotfi in June, declaring that it did not condone its members’ joining armed movements,205 the PAS central information chief tellingly appeared to contradict the general line by asserting that the party “could not deny Lotfi his chosen path and prayed for him to achieve his reward for martyrdom.”206 Incidentally, PAS split the following year, and the splinter group reorganized itself as Parti Amanah Negara, or Amanah. At the time of writing, Amanah remains part of the Pakatan Harapan coalition that was deposed by the Perikatan Nasional in February 2020.207 Amanah leaders have insisted that it is “not ideologically identical to Islamist party PAS,” as the former is “fighting for a “progressive and inclusive Islam” in tune with the “multiracial fabric” of Malaysia.208 This suggests that while Amanah may arguably be seen as comprising largely mildly fundamentalist, soft Salafabist radicals willing to contextualize Islam to the multicultural Malaysian context, the PAS entity

128  Extremist Islam that is back in government may have within its ranks relatively more uncompromising, acutely fundamentalist soft Salafabist extremists—​with all the attendant implications discussed in this chapter.209

Concluding Remarks Against such an evolving and increasingly inclement backdrop, how would we assess Wan Min Wan Mat and his ideas as a middle-​level JI bureaucrat, then? Recall the contention that in order to be considered extremist, one must meet all the seven criteria of religious extremism: identity supremacy and deviation from theological and constitutional mainstream currents, in-​ group love, out-​group hate, an obsession with preventing contamination through commingling with out-​groups, dualistic thinking arising from low integrative complexity, dangerous and dehumanizing speech with violent potentialities, and the quest for political power. It would seem that Wan Min ticked off all the boxes save the first one: while the hard Salafabist strain of Salafi Jihadism of his JI heyday was clearly still extremist in the Malaysian national context, the subtler, softer Salafabist variant of Islamism that he was exposed to as well—​and, as seen, has a shared theological DNA with Salafi Jihadism—​may be becoming mainstream. In short, it is no longer clear that the stock ideological orientation of Salafabist identity supremacism can even be considered as overly deviant from the rapidly evolving theological and constitutional mainstream of Malaysian Islam and politics. Creeping Salafabization, in tandem with a discernibly hardening neo-​fundamentalist reaction in some quarters to it, is increasingly ominous for Malaysia’s sizeable non-​Muslim minorities. It is after all telling that seasoned Malaysian observers acknowledge that “Islamization has become uncomfortable even for the Malays.”210 If active and concrete steps are not taken to preserve the traditional tolerant and accommodating Islam that Malaysia has for decades been world renowned for, then there could be significant implications for communal harmony downstream.

4 Recognizing Extremist Islam in Singapore The Opportunist—​Zulfikar Mohamad Shariff

Introduction In July 2016, Singaporean media announced the arrest, under the Internal Security Act (ISA), of a Muslim Singaporean, Zulfikar Bin Mohamad Shariff. Zulfikar, then 44, and who had acquired Australian citizenship, was on a social visit to Singapore at the time of the arrest. According to the authorities, Zulfikar had made “numerous Facebook postings glorifying and promoting ISIS and their violent actions, while exploiting religion to legitimize” its “terrorist activities.”1 He was said to have “further exhorted Muslims to take up arms and wage militant jihad in places like the Middle East, Palestinian territories, Myanmar, and the Philippines.”2 Moreover, Zulfikar had apparently “made use of social media to propagate and spread his radical messages” as a “form of jihad, by way of creating awareness of ISIS and promoting armed jihad,” in the process contributing to the “radicalization of at least two other Singaporeans.”3 Zulfikar apparently also “admitted” that he had “wanted his online followers to reject the Western secular democratic nation-​state system and instead establish an Islamic caliphate in its place, governed by sharia law”—​and that “violence should be used to achieve this goal if necessary.”4 To be sure, Zulfikar Shariff was hardly a stranger to controversy. He had been known to be a hardline Muslim social activist in the city-​state for years, ever since the Singapore Jemaah Islamiyah (JI) arrests of 2001/​2002 (described in Chapter 3). Back then, as founder of the short-​lived but controversial website fateha.com, he had gained public notoriety for criticizing the Singapore state’s support for the United States’ war on terror and for asserting that al-​Qaeda leader Osama bin Laden “was a better Muslim than the political leaders in parliament.”5 Stoking controversy even further, he agitated on behalf of a few Muslim parents for their daughters to be allowed to wear the tudung (headscarf) to school, in violation of the national education policy of having a common uniform.6 The fact that most Muslim Singaporeans did Extremist Islam. Kumar Ramakrishna, Oxford University Press. © University of Maryland National Consortium for the Study of Terrorism and Responses to Terrorism (START) 2022. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197610961.003.0005

130  Extremist Islam not agree with his perspective did not appear to have moved him.7 When the police began investigations into his activities in July 2002, after his ill-​advised and controversial hosting of politicians from Malaysia’s PAS to discuss the tudung issue, in tandem with his own speaking engagements on the same topic in Malaysia itself, he left for Australia with his family.8 It was there, 8 months later, in March 2003, that I met him for the first and only time. He was in the audience at Monash University in Melbourne, listening intently to a lecture on JI that I delivered as part of a program administered by the Australian government.9 After the lecture organizers introduced us, Zulfikar and I had a relatively substantive chat over coffee. Zulfikar, who came across as a highly intelligent, widely read individual, intimated that he was doing research and hoped one day to complete doctoral studies. But what really left an enduring impression on me was his hardline views toward the Singaporean state, in particular its elected Muslim political leaders. Zulfikar’s view was that they were not doing enough to promote the rights of the Muslim community in Singapore, as exemplified by the tudung and other issues.10 I tried to politely suggest in general terms that in a multicultural society the community leadership of any ethnic and religious group would, by definition, have to be moderate, but he stuck firmly to a parochial, us-​versus-​them mindset. While at no time did he give any strong indication that he unequivocally supported the violent JI agenda, I remember coming away from the meeting thinking that I had just been in the presence of a pretty disaffected individual.11 However, years later, reading about Zulfikar’s arrest for his support and glorification of ISIS, I was stopped cold. It was clear that since our 2003 Melbourne meeting, his hardline ideological leanings had become much more fanatical. He had reportedly even explored organizing “training programs aimed at radicalizing young Singaporeans so that they would be persuaded into joining his extremist agenda.”12 He also set up a Facebook page called “Al-​Makhazin Singapore” with a view to agitating on “Muslim issues in Singapore,” while taking care to conceal the true agenda from Singaporean Al-​Makhazin Singapore participants.13 The fact that he had built up a Facebook following of a few thousand and was said to have radicalized two Singaporeans into the ultraviolent ISIS worldview meant that the authorities had to act before his threat to Singapore’s social fabric grew even worse.14 This chapter undertakes an exploration of Salafabism in the multicultural Singaporean context, using the case of Zulfikar Mohamad Shariff as a reference point. It does so by first applying the conceptual framework for

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Singapore  131 diagnosing religious extremism to Zulfikar. It then examines the Salafabist extremist ecosystem (SE)—​persons, platforms, and places—​within which Zulfikar’s ideological orientation was honed. The chapter ends with a discussion of the challenges of coping with Salafabism in the current multicultural Singaporean milieu.

Zulfikar Shariff as Salafabist Opportunist The Singaporean Constitutional, Political, and Ideological Context To what extent did Zulfikar Shariff display the intense emotional, fanatical attachment to his sectarian religious belief system, in the process relegating mainline theological and mainstream national constitutional/​ideological currents, as well as universally recognized international norms, to a secondary status? As was the case with Wan Min Wan Mat, was Zulfikar equally committed to an identity supremacism evinced in a determination that Islam should dominate all comers? To answer this question, it is first important to sketch out the national constitutional and mainstream Muslim theological consensus within Singapore’s multicultural society. Singapore is a young and densely populated Chinese-​majority island city-​state in the midst of the largely Malay-​Muslim archipelago, 704 square kilometers in size—​which makes it similar in geographical extent to New York City. A former British colony, modern Singapore is a thriving, cosmopolitan metropolis with a population of about 5.88 million as of March 2021.15 A multicultural, multilingual, and multireligious society, the city-​state’s citizenry in 2015—​according to the authoritative General Household Survey—​was principally ethnic Chinese (74.3 percent), with large ethnic Malay (13.3 percent) and Indian (9.1 percent) minorities.16 Importantly, in terms of religious affiliation, most Chinese in Singapore are Buddhists, Taoists, and Christians (both Protestant and Catholic), while most Indians are Hindus, with a smaller number being Christian as well. The Malays are, however, overwhelmingly Muslim.17 Given Singapore’s rather tumultuous postwar history—​marked by intergroup violence linked to the twin threats of Communism and Communalism, against the geopolitical backdrop of the Cold War—​the founding generation of Singapore’s political leaders and their successors have never assumed that racial and religious harmony occurs naturally.18

132  Extremist Islam Instead, the state’s attitude has always been that one has to work hard to attain the multicultural harmony that sustained the political stability needed for the rapid and continuous economic growth from the 1960s until well into the 1980s.19 Hence, while Article 15(1) of the Constitution does assert that every “person has the right to profess and practice his religion and to propagate it,” Article 15(4) qualifies that such freedoms do “not authorize any act contrary to any general law relating to public order.”20 Former Deputy Prime Minister and Coordinating Minister for National Security Professor S. Jayakumar, in this vein opined in October 2007 that for Singapore, “racial and religious harmony is not just a desirable objective to achieve but is the fundamental basis for our social stability, cohesion and security.”21 Even today, religious harmony remains especially important for Singapore, because according to the Pew Research Center in Washington DC, the city-​ state is the most religiously diverse country in the world.22 To this end, in 2009 former Deputy Prime Minister Wong Kan Seng aptly captured the state’s baseline policy posture: Religious individuals have the same rights as any citizen to express their views on issues in the public space, as guided by their teachings and personal conscience. However, like every citizen, they should always be mindful of the sensitivities of living in a multireligious society. . . . We are not a Christian Singapore, or a Muslim Singapore, or a Buddhist or Hindu Singapore. We are a secular Singapore, in which Christians, Muslims, Buddhists, Hindus and others all have to live in peace with one another. (italics added)23

Wong was intimating that the state in Singapore was secular in the sense that it does not profess a state religion nor does it promote any particular faith at the expense of others. It acts as a neutral umpire between the contending interests of the various faiths.24 It should be noted that the Singapore Constitution does explicitly recognize the “special position of the Malays” as the “indigenous people of Singapore,” and the requirement to “protect, safeguard, support, foster, and promote their political, economic, social, and cultural identity and the Malay language”—​an injunction that could be interpreted technically to mandate safeguarding the special position of Islam. Nevertheless, in practice, while the state, through the Administration of Muslim Law Act (AMLA), does provide for the routine needs of the Muslim

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Singapore  133 community, this is not to be interpreted to imply that it promotes Islam per se as a “special religion” in relation to the other faiths.25 Wong added that religious groups should stay out of the political arena and not “campaign to change certain government policies, or use the pulpit to mobilize their followers to pressure the state, or push aggressively to gain ground at the expense of other groups.”26 He asserted that “keeping religion and politics separate is a key rule of political engagement.”27 Driving home the point, he made it clear that Singapore’s “political arena must always be a secular one,” because its “laws and policies do not derive from religious authority, but reflect the judgments and decisions of the secular government and Parliament to serve the national interest and collective good.”28 In September 2017, Law and Home Affairs Minister K. Shanmugam reiterated the state’s stance that religion and politics must not mix in the local context: We have now seen what can happen with clerics all over the world. . . . When they move in the political sphere wearing their robes, it becomes very dangerous of any religion. We don’t allow that in Singapore. . . . You stick to religion, you don’t get involved in the sphere of politics.29

In this respect, a key plank of the state’s approach is to preserve and expand the common space shared by Singaporeans of all racial and religious backgrounds. In August 2009, former DPM Wong well captured the state’s no-​nonsense position on common space: As we seek out religion, we must not do so in a way that leads to closed minds and exclusive groups. Singapore is a dense urban city with people of different races and religions living in close proximity. Our diversity can be both a source of our strength as well as our Achilles heel. The practice of religion should not lead to exclusivity where we only interact with people of the same faith or worse, criticise and exclude people of other faiths. (italics added)30

Ultimately, while the state acknowledges and even encourages the maintenance of the distinctive cultures of the various faith communities in Singapore, at the same time it never loses sight of the objective of continuously promoting an overarching common Singaporean identity. Prime Minister Lee Hsien Loong captured this imperative in May 2017:

134  Extremist Islam So over time, each race has retained and evolved its own culture and heritage; but each has also allowed itself to be influenced by the customs and traditions of other races. The result has been distinctive Singaporean variants of Chinese, Malay, Indian, and Eurasian cultures, and a growing Singaporean identity that we all share, suffusing and linking up our distinct individual identities and ethnic cultures. . . . We are confident of our own Singaporean cultures and identities, even as we are conscious that we are ethnic Chinese, Malays, Indians, or Eurasians. (italics added)31

The state’s emphasis on promoting the common space and an overarching Singaporean identity has been consistent since separation from Malaysia in August 1965. This policy stance has been enshrined in the National Pledge that young Singaporeans of all backgrounds recite every morning during school assemblies nationwide: We, the citizens of Singapore, pledge ourselves as one united people, regardless of race, language or religion, to build a democratic society based on justice and equality, so as to achieve happiness, prosperity and progress for our nation.32

The National Pledge helps illuminate the common space concept further. On the one hand, the common space concept refers to physical opportunities for Singaporeans of all religious backgrounds to interact on a daily basis. As Shanmugam explained at a conference in January 2017: Under the ethnic integration policy [in public housing]—​the Government intervenes on where people live and makes sure that no ethnic enclaves develop. People have to live together. . . . In schools, there are standard uniforms for everyone. There is common identity in schools, with the majority of schools compulsorily racially mixed, offering compulsory education and so our young children have to interact with each other, learn to get on with each other, learn to respect and value each other.33

However, as the National Pledge suggests, the common space of Singaporeans also has a critical psychological aspect. As Shanmugam explained, religious community leaders in Singapore must not only “champion the cause of integration and creation of the common space,” but also, crucially, they must foster among their respective flocks “an acceptance of values which

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Singapore  135 will increase interaction and integration, rather than promoting values that create greater differences.”34 The foregoing analysis of the Singapore state’s historically conditioned policy stance, with its focus on striking a balance between respecting the religio-​cultural distinctiveness of each faith community on the one hand and promoting physical and psychological common space on the other, represents the constitutional and ideological baseline against which Zulfikar’s proffered musings on the relationship of Islam and the state must be evaluated. What seems clear even from the start is that Zulfikar—​in one clear hint of an overall extremist outlook—​appears to have had a fanatical, excessively zealous interpretation of Article 152(2) of the Singapore Constitution, which states: “The Government shall exercise its functions in such manner as to recognize the special position of the Malays, who are the indigenous people of Singapore, and accordingly it shall be the responsibility of the Government to protect, safeguard, support, foster, and promote their political, educational, religious, economic, social, and cultural interests and the Malay language.”35 Zulfikar’s adversarial view was that despite provisions like the aforementioned AMLA and despite the state’s having a Minister of Muslim Affairs, Singaporean “Malays are treated with suspicion” by the state and suffer from political and socioeconomic marginalization.36 He argued that long before Singapore even came into being as an independent nation in August 1965, the Malays in Singapore were part of the larger and much older “Malay world”—​stretching from “the southern states of modern Thailand to Johor Bahru and the thousands of islands in the archipelago” and which includes “Singapura, Malaysia, Indonesia, Moroland, [and] Brunei.”37 Reflecting scholarly consensus, Zulfikar acknowledged that Islam and Malay culture have been intimately intertwined for centuries, as captured in the Malay phrase “masuk Melayu” (to enter Malayness). As he put it: A Melayu . . . is a nation. This nation is defined by language, culture and Islam. . . . The Melayu nation is one people, speaking one language, though spread over so wide a space, and preserving their character and customs.38

Zulfikar emphasized the indigenous and ipso facto special status and character of the Malay nation as “a welcoming and hospitable nation,” that have graciously accepted “others into their society,” be they “Chinese traders, Indian merchants, [or] Arab businessmen,” who were all “accorded respect and welcome, as is known of the Malays.”39 Rather pointedly, he added that

136  Extremist Islam “very few [societies], if any, [have] such openness and acceptance.”40 Rather than embracing the state policy of secular multiculturalism with its emphasis on equal treatment of all ethnic and faith communities, therefore, Zulfikar argued instead for a Malay-​Muslim identity supremacism derived from two pillars: at the regional level, on “Singapore’s place in the ‘Nusantara’ or Malay World,” and following the rise of ISIS in mid-​2014, as part of an emergent global hard Salafabist identity.41 As he put it in a social media post on August 7, 2014: “Stop seeing ourselves as part of a country. We are only part of the Islamic nation. The ummah.” Moreover, in November that year, he outright rejected the secular nature of the Singapore state, posting: “Secularism is the subjugation of religion to the state” and that “Muslims who expect secularism to protect Islam is [sic] like expecting the devil to protect the masjid.”42 It seems clear that Zulfikar’s intrinsic Salafabist identity supremacism long predated the rise of ISIS. Journalist Mike Millard, following a meeting with Zulfikar in Singapore in early 2002, assessed that Zulfikar was in essence “trying to forge Singapore’s Muslims into a separate psychological and political in-​group,” quite clearly at “cross-​purposes with the government’s intention to establish a Singaporean identity that transcended racial and ethnic groups”—​and “more tightly connected to international Islam than to the nation.”43 Furthermore, one observer who knew him well from their activist work in fateha.com felt that Zulfikar was unequivocally an identity supremacist, a “bumi at heart”—​that is, in Malay, bumiputera, or son of the soil—​he felt that “Malay Muslims can make demands of Christians and the LGBT community” without any need for reciprocity, precisely because of the Singaporean Muslim community’s special bumi status.44 In a post on October 15, 2014, Zulfikar posed the point rhetorically: If Allah permits or commands an action (hijab, jihad, hudud, etc.) and the non Muslims dislike and disapprove of it, which [path] will you follow?45

If Zulfikar Shariff can be considered to possess a relatively fanatical commitment to Muslim identity supremacism in the Singaporean secular multicultural context, what about in relation to mainstream Islam in the city-​state? Like other Southeast Asian Muslim communities, the Singapore Muslim community largely conforms to the Sunni Shafi’i madhab in terms of fiqh and the Ashaarite method of theological reasoning, known as Tauhid Sifat 20, as in Malaysia.46 Singaporean Muslims today, to be sure, by and large hold the view that “Islam encompasses every facet of life.”47 This is due in no small

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Singapore  137 part to the global dakwah movement since the 1980s that has “increased religiosity and created greater interest in following Islamic requirements in such areas as dress and diet.”48 As such, key proponents of mainstream Singaporean Islam, such as the influential independent body the Singapore Islamic Scholars and Teachers Association (PERGAS), reject both the nominal or abangan Muslim example in Indonesia and the “secular ideology of Turkey.”49 That said, the Islamic Religious Council of Singapore (Majlis Ulama Islam Singapura—​MUIS), a statutory board created under AMLA to look after Muslim affairs, has sought to foster a Singaporean Muslim community that is both well rooted in the precepts of the faith as well as closely integrated with the wider Singaporean multicultural milieu: in short, a reconciled Singaporean Muslim identity.50 Among other things, MUIS, formed in 1968, oversees the sermons in the 70 Singapore mosques serving Singapore’s half a million Muslims.51 Of particular note, since 2005, MUIS has promoted the notion of a Singaporean Muslim Identity (SMI), which identifies ten desired attributes of the Singaporean Muslim. In sum, these include being both authentically Muslim yet open to “adapting” to “changing context”; “progressive” and practicing Islam “beyond forms/​rituals” and willing to ride “the modernization wave”; able to appreciate not just “Islamic civilization and history” but also “contemporary issues”; appreciative of “other civilizations” and “confident in interacting with and learning from other communities”; believing that “good Muslims are good citizens”; “well-​adjusted” to the realities of a “multireligious society and secular state”; “inclusive” and willing to embrace “universal principles and values” as well as “pluralism, without contradicting Islam” and essentially being a “model and inspiration to all.”52 While PERGAS and other Muslim observers expressed the view that “pluralism” and “secularism in any shape or form” are “against the spirit of Islam”53 and other observers assert that in practice the SMI concept has had only a “marginal” impact,54 the MUIS commitment to the SMI concept endures. In fact, the SMI idea is today a formalized and integral part of the Adult Islamic Learning Program run by MUIS and features in the “Being Muslim in Singapore” series of modules.55 It therefore represents a useful baseline by which to evaluate Zulfikar’s own theological orientation. In this regard, Zulfikar has been described by those who have interacted directly with him as, at the very least, behaving like a “haraki Salafi” or activist Salafi, as evidenced by his political activism in fateha.com and the later Al-​Makhazin groups.56 Another interlocutor who knew Zulfikar well agreed

138  Extremist Islam with this description, because he had first met Zulfikar during a program run by the Darul Arqam association for Muslim converts in Singapore, where Zulfikar was involved in a program aimed at helping new converts to Islam better understand the faith. However, this interlocutor was of the opinion that Zulfikar was better described as “Salafi by orientation” rather than deep theological conviction.57 This observation is examined more closely below. At this point, though, it can be asserted that Zulfikar was relatively consistent over the years in that he was hardly enamored of any notion of the Singaporean Muslim community’s contextualizing its four Bs—​beliefs, behavior, badges, and bans—​to the realities of life in Singapore’s secular, multicultural polity and society. As he put it in a post on August 16, 2014, Islam can never be contextualized: One of the things I fear the most are Muslims who change Allah’s religion to please the politicians or the non-​Muslims. Be confident of our deen [religious lifestyle]. If we are not comfortable with a command, . . . the weakness is ours. Not the command. Stay true. Speak the truth, Let us not play down or change our religion because of our weakness. (italics added)58

Two weeks later, he posted again his desire that “Allah would raise among this ummah people and leaders who live Islam fully and are confident of their deen” and “do not need to compromise.”59 To be sure, simply holding such a view should not be regarded as ipso facto rendering one an extremist per se. As noted, there are other Singaporean Muslims who are not entirely comfortable with the SMI concept, arguing that the “SMI is packaged with touches of the ‘establishment’ views and preferences or that it was a self-​correcting effort to align the community with mainstream secular thinking in the larger society.”60 Instead, to reiterate, it is the fanatical commitment to such views, along with the other characteristics discussed in this book, that are more suggestive of a fully extremist outlook—​rather than merely a single-​issue extreme stance. For that matter, did Zulfikar evince the closely linked second and third characteristics of Salafabism: in-​group bias and out-​group prejudice? We have already seen that he very early on emphasized the special status and character of the Malay Muslim nation as “a welcoming and hospitable nation,” because the indigenous people of the Malay archipelago generously accepted “others into their society,” be they “Chinese traders, Indian merchants, [or] Arab businessmen,” who were all “accorded respect and welcome, as is

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Singapore  139 known of the Malays”—​and that “very few [societies], if any, [have] such openness and acceptance.”61 If anything, it is discernible that Zulfikar evinced a victim’s mentality. That is, his worldview appeared to be built around the narrative of a putatively blameless Singaporean Muslim in-​group that had long been victimized by an ostensibly unjust dominant ethnic Chinese/​non-​ Muslim out-​group in control of the Singapore state apparatus. Again, to be fair, it would be quite disingenuous to suggest that Zulfikar was a lone outlier on this score. To be sure, elements within the Singaporean Muslim community, well before the September 11, 2001, attacks in the United States and the emergence of the JI threat, have long had a sense of generalized angst. There have been several reasons for this. First, to reiterate, Singapore’s Malay Muslims have always felt a certain natural kinship with their brethren in the wider Malay/​ Muslim world—​ particularly Malaysia and Indonesia—​ and they resent the ensuing suspicions of them among the Chinese majority as well as in the state, which has long been seen as keen on promoting an overarching, multiracial Singaporean national identity.62 Elements within the Muslim community have felt that such latent official distrust explains a number of policies that seemingly targeted the community over the years: the perceived lack of representation of proportionate numbers of Muslims in sensitive appointments in the Singapore Armed Forces (SAF);63 the decision by the government to introduce compulsory national education for all children of primary school age, thereby impacting Muslim religious school (madrasah) education;64 the ban on the wearing of headscarves (tudung) by Muslim schoolgirls attending national schools;65 and finally, the penchant of a number of employers in Singapore to require Mandarin proficiency as a job requirement.66 Furthermore, some in the Muslim community have tended to lag behind the Chinese and Indian communities in terms of educational and economic attainment, as well as living standards, although the gap began to close with the setting up (with government support) of MENDAKI (the Council for the Development of the Singapore Muslim Community) in the 1980s.67 Until today, however, there remain residual sentiments among Muslims that they have to put up with a sort of unwarranted “least favorite child” existence within the country, although Chinese-​majority Singapore itself represents a minority within the wider Malay/​Muslim world.68 Reinforcing this low-​level angst were geopolitical factors. While the global Islamic revival since the 1980s did have an impact on the overall piety levels of many local Muslims, this never fully translated into a more pronounced consciousness of the transnational unity of the global Muslim community

140  Extremist Islam (ummah). Nonetheless, there has been a certain long-​running muted resentment toward Israel for its occupation of the Palestinian territories and the United States for its support of Tel Aviv.69However, the Bush administration’s war on terrorism after the September 11, 2001, attacks and in particular, the ill-​conceived 2003 Iraq invasion intensified local Muslim unhappiness with U.S. foreign policy missteps—​and generated a more acute awareness on the part of the average Singaporean Muslim of his wider, transnational Islamic identity. Taken together, these factors help explain why the emergence of JI at the end of 2001 was actually met initially by skepticism among some Muslims. There were even murmurings in some quarters of a Singapore state “conspiracy” to undermine the image of Islam in the country.70 To be sure, however, any notion of an official conspiracy dissipated in short order when two respected independent Muslim religious leaders, Ustaz Haji Ali Haji Mohamed, Chairman of the Khadijah Mosque, and Ustaz Haji Muhammad Hasbi Hassan, President of PERGAS, were invited by the authorities to talk in person with the JI detainees in 2002. Both men, upon speaking with the detainees, not only came away persuaded that was JI very real, but also worried greatly about the dangerous ideology that had been sketched out for them firsthand by the JI detainees themselves.71 Both leaders were subsequently in the forefront of designing a program of religious rehabilitation for the JI detainees and similarly affected members their families.72 Zulfikar was certainly among those in the wider Singapore Muslim community who identified with the “least favorite child syndrome.” The difference, however, is that in contrast to others, the emotion animating his in-​group bias/​out-​group prejudice was discernibly more acute and focused. His ire against the state appeared to revolve particularly around the issues of compulsory education, Mandarin proficiency as a job requirement among some employers, and the right of Muslims schoolgirls to wear the tudung. The Compulsory Education Act (CEA) came into effect in 2003 and required all Singaporean children—​ including those attending the city-​ state’s six madrasahs—​to pass the standardized Primary School Leaving Examination (PSLE). This move by the state generated concerns in some Malay/​Muslim circles that the status of madrasahs in Singapore—​for decades an important “identity marker”—​would be undermined.73 This was a cause of not inconsiderable anxiety in some Singaporean Muslim circles, given that the madrasah was “an extremely important institution in the community, both symbolically and functionally.”74 MUIS was on the receiving end of political flak from the madrasahs for “not championing their cause to the state,” leaving

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Singapore  141 PERGAS to voice community concerns more stridently.75 To be fair, the state’s position on why the CEA was needed and should apply to the Muslims rested on several points. First, it was noted that madrasahs students suffered from “relatively high drop-​out rates and poor academic performances” when compared to Muslim students attending national schools.76 Also, madrasahs, in emphasizing the teaching of Islamic subjects, did not allocate sufficient time to the teaching of academic subjects like English, mathematics, and science, and hence its graduates were suited to become primarily religious teachers and were not deemed to be equipped “with the knowledge and skills for a knowledge-​based economy.”77 Therefore, under the CEA, which began to apply to madrasahs from 2008, more curriculum time was allocated to non-​Islamic subjects, apart from Islamic studies.78 Gradually, further innovations, such as the Joint Madrasah System, introduced in 2009 to enhance the quality of both religious and secular education, came into play as well.79 Against this backdrop, Zulfikar articulated his rejection of the state’s position of madrasah education in an academic essay as follows: The [Singapore State’s claims about the madrasahs] are unjustifiable upon closer examination. Most madrasah students do not work as religious scholars. . . . [They] are in business, accountancy in Muslim firms, working in information technology fields in Muslim companies and other various fields. The problem that has not been elucidated is that many of these graduates can only find employment in Muslim companies and organizations. The reason can be traced to the [state’s] refusal to recognize universities in the Middle East. For example, graduates in Commerce at the University of Al Azhar . . . are not given graduate recognition. The fact that the [state] refuses to recognize them as graduates of a university makes it almost impossible for them to work outside of the Muslim community.80

It is worth noting that nowhere in Zulfikar’s analysis extracted above does he provide backing documentation for his assertions, as per conventional academic practice. Moreover, while Al Azhar is actually recognized by MUIS for its comparative strength in Islamic studies, it is relatively less competitive in nonreligious subjects, such as commerce, as a glance at any international university ranking table would readily show. Hence it is arguably reasonable for the state to require Singaporean students of all backgrounds to get a good grounding in academic subjects from tertiary institutions with better reputations in the subjects. Nevertheless, the central theme at play in

142  Extremist Islam Zulfikar’s imagination, of a blameless Malay-​Muslim in-​group being unjustly thumbed down by a nefarious, calculating dominant non-​Muslim-​ dominated state, comes across clearly. Zulfikar also appeared to chafe at the state’s annual Speak Mandarin campaign—​ launched in 1979 to provide a common lingua franca for Singapore’s many ethnic Chinese dialect groups—​as well as to create a Mandarin-​speaking entrepreneurial class able to exploit emerging market opportunities in China. Zulfikar also felt deeply aggrieved by the apparent penchant of some Singaporean Chinese employers to favor job applicants with the ability speak Mandarin. As he explained to journalist Mike Millard: Mandarin is promoted more than the Malay language. . . . Malaysia is one of the biggest trading partners, we are surrounded by Malay-​speaking nations, and yet, you do not want people to speak Malay? On top of that, Malay is the national language of Singapore. . . . The overpromotion of Mandarin has resulted in chauvinistic attitudes. We still read that companies advertising employment in newspaper classified ads often ask for Mandarin-​speakers only.81

Zulfikar’s sense of in-​group victimization by a dominant and overbearing non-​Muslim state out-​group was perhaps most keenly felt in the tudung affair of early 2002. That year, the parents of four primary schoolgirls sent their children to national schools wearing a distinctly Islamic badge—​the headscarf called the tudung. This was an “audacious” violation of the state’s long-​standing “concept of secularism.”82 Zulfikar was said to have instigated the parents’ actions and was chided by state leaders for his intransigence.83 Actually, Zulfikar was not alone in this stance. PERGAS issued a statement supporting the right of schoolgirls to don the tudung and urged “for greater understanding of our (religious) needs” from “the government as well as every citizen in this multiracial/​ multireligious Singapore.”84 Ultimately, however, the mufti, MUIS, and to be clear, “the majority of the Malay Muslim community,” utterly rejected Zulfikar’s perspective: a poll in February 2002 found that 72 percent of Singapore’s Muslims agreed with the tudung ban in national schools. This was mainly because most Singaporean Muslim parents “pragmatically” desired their children “to be highly proficient in the English language and to obtain modern secular knowledge through schooling in national schools,” in order to “increase their chances of being socioeconomically successful in life.”85 Zulfikar, however, stubbornly clung to a viewpoint

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Singapore  143 on the tudung issue that was demonstrably extreme in relation to the mainstream Singaporean Muslim position. As he complained to Millard: We have something called Racial Harmony Day, and for that you are allowed to put on the tudung. That is supposed to be the ideal, so if that is true, why can’t you wear it everyday?86

Once again, Zulfikar’s narrative was clear: a putatively innocent and blameless Singaporean Muslim in-​group was being unjustly prevented from pursuing its religious observances by a reprehensible out-​group-​dominated state Leviathan. As it turns out, Zulfikar’s especially pronounced in-​group bias was not geographically delimited. After the rise of ISIS in Iraq in mid-​2014, he displayed fawning, uncritical support for ISIS militants—​whom he himself evidently regarded as defending the ummah. He took pains to cast doubt on widely confirmed media reports of their calculated brutality toward their victims, both non-​Muslims and Muslims who did not support them. In a post of August 14, 2014, Zulfikar wrote: There are a lot of rumors and accusations against the group. The Western media accused ISIS of various atrocities. We should be careful when receiving news from Western fasiq [sinful] sources. This is a Muslim’s first hand description of ISIS: “My experiences in Syria, dealing with the Islamic state, were of the best experiences I had. I had never met brothers so humble and dedicated to the deen of Allah, than them.”87

Furthermore, Zulfikar’s deep-​ rooted out-​ group prejudice was revealed in his attack on Singaporean Muslim religious teachers (asatizah) in the all-​volunteer Religious Rehabilitation Group (RRG), who were working on counter-​ideological efforts with the Singapore state’s Internal Security Department (ISD). In a post on September 7, 2014, he asserted that the non-​ Muslim-​dominated Singaporean state out-​group, as represented in this case by the ISD, could not be trusted: To the asatizah in RRG and those working with the ISD. Not everyone who speak[s]‌nicely or pretend[s] to defend you is your friend. Especially when they invite you to perform fitnah and oppress your brothers. . . . Shaitan does not invite us to evil by telling us it is evil. He pretends that it is good for you.88

144  Extremist Islam Did Zulfikar also evince the fourth characteristic of extremism—​the fundamentalist obsession with purity and fear of contamination through intimate contact with the out-​group? It is noteworthy in this respect that in 2014 Zulfikar “made the news as an active member of the Wear White movement,” opposed to “homosexuality and the gay rights event Pink Dot,” held annually in Singapore.89 It is interesting nevertheless that those who knew him had a certain ambivalence on this score. One religious scholar who has interacted with Zulfikar since his 2016 detention recalled that Zulfikar was a firm adherent to the “Wahhabi” preoccupation with al-​wala’ wa-​al-​bara and even sent one of his sons to Medina University in Saudi Arabia to study. Thinking in this way was apparently “as easy as breathing” for him—​although Zulfikar took pains to assure all and sundry that he had “no problems with non-​ Muslims.”90 Another observer who was part of the fateha.com group in the early 2000s felt that Zulfikar was not necessarily rigid in his Salafabist beliefs. In fact, he was quite “flexible” in following Salafabist rituals, interacted much with Singaporean non-​Muslim civil society activists like those associated with the Think Centre, and was known to even be an avid fan of the American reality television series Survivor—​a curious choice for any Salafabist supposedly focused on steering clear of ostensibly contaminating kuffar influences.91 Moreover, Zulfikar was hardly a model of Salafabist probity in other ways. He was conspicuously flirtatious toward women—​despite being married. Such idiosyncracies caused no small amount of angst among his fellow activists at the time and were a factor in prompting some of them to distance themselves from him.92 On top of that, Zulfikar was also regarded as not above dissimulation, “saying one thing” to one interlocutor and “something else to others.”93 He was also said to be quite willing to “lie” and to toggle “his message” between “human rights” and “Islamist” discourses, depending on which audience he was addressing.94 This sounded a lot like taqiyya—​a classical Islamic warfare doctrine that “permits Muslims to lie and dissemble whenever they are under the authority of the infidel.”95 Apparently the renowned classical Muslim scholar Ibn al-​Arabi declared that in “the hadith, practicing deceit in war is well demonstrated” and “is more stressed” than “courage.”96 I asked one informant, a trained Singaporean Islamic scholar who knew Zulfikar, if the latter was in the habit of practicing taqiyya, and the response was that it was likely.97 One other acquaintance added that it is possible that Zulfikar’s time in Melbourne, Australia, from 2002 to 2016 could well have shifted him from merely being “out for self glory” and “the limelight” to becoming more ideologically committed—​ thereby transitioning from having merely an

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Singapore  145 on-​again, off-​again Salafabist “orientation” to becoming a more committed, hard Salafabist, Salafi Jihadi ISIS supporter.98 At first glance, it would seem unlikely that Zulfikar—​described by those who interacted with him as “very smart”99 and who was even enrolled in a doctoral program at La Trobe University researching “international institutionalism with a focus on Asean”100—​would display the fifth feature of Salafabism: low integrative complexity resulting in pronounced “binary, black-​and-​white contrasts with little or no integration of the perspectives”101 and a “simplified view of the world.”102 Zulfikar’s worldview, nevertheless, was strikingly simplified. As seen in some of his earlier writings about Singaporean Malay-​ Muslims, he maintained the black–​ white, us–​ them narrative line that Singapore Muslims—​as indigenous bumi—​deserve preeminent pecking-​order status and protection of rights vis-​à-​vis the other ostensibly less deserving groups. Following his further exposure to Salafabist platforms, places, and persons (discussed in the section “Platforms, Places, and Persons: Zulfikar Shariff ’s Salafabist Ecosystem”), especially during his years in Melbourne, and particularly following the emergence of ISIS in mid-​2014, his simplified worldview perceptibly and consistently hardened, especially around the simple, dualistic narrative that Singaporean Muslims owed no loyalty to the Singapore state, but only to the global Islamic ummah. On August 10, 2014, on the occasion of Singapore’s 49th National Day celebrations, he posted: I am glad most asatizah on my friends list did not show themselves celebrating Singapore national day. May this be the beginning of a group of ulama focused on the ummah. May Allah strengthen them to keep away from state nationalism. May Allah keep them consistent and constantly upon haq (truth or justice).103

Three days earlier, he had mocked Singaporean Muslim religious teachers, whom he identified as working with the state on counter-​extremism efforts, for failing to recognize that their overall attempts at promoting an Islamic faith contextualized to the Singaporean national context were plainly wrong—​and they should know better where their true allegiance should lie: Looking forward to see which asatizah will celebrate Singapore national day. I am sure some will be showing off their red and whites. Keep celebrating and arguing you are part of the country and you will stand against

146  Extremist Islam the ummah. Show us how you love Singapore more than your brothers and sisters.104

On September 4, 2014, Zulfikar posed a rhetorical question that yet again revealed the stubborn dualism at the core of his low integrative complexity, expressed in “binary, black-​and-​white contrasts”: We will be raised with those we love and identify with. Do we want to be raised under the banner of Islam? Or with the banner of our country? Decide which one and then ask whether we give it sufficient priority. (italics added)105

And once again on October 31, he complained that for the “modern colonized Muslims,” the heroic “Mujahideen” tend to be seen as “evil and should be fought,” while a secular “soldier for a country” is regarded as a hero who “should be supported.” 106 It should be added that Zulfikar also evinced the sixth core characteristic of Salafabism—​dangerous speech, albeit primarily in its more subtle, softer mode. To be sure, his interlocutors insisted that he “loved Singapore” but “not the government.”107 Particularly following the rise of ISIS, Zulfikar’s social media postings were characterized by his use of linguistically dehumanizing rhetoric and affirmed his particularly dim view of the state, and to an extent, despite his protestations to his interlocutors of evenhandedness, his dim view of non-​Muslim Singaporeans. For instance, on August 26, 2014, he posted: I have no doubt that when Imam Mahdi appears, the kufar will spread fitnah (disturbances) about him. My only concern is how will Muslims react to these fitnah?108

For good measure, in another posting exactly 3 months later, he declared: Some Muslims who support the non-​Muslim government in its control of the Muslim community try all they can to justify their behavior. Anything to help them feel better in supporting taghut. A lot of them know it is wrong. But the nafs (self) is strong. May they be able to justify their support of the kufr when they face Allah.109

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Singapore  147 At other times, Zulfikar’s dangerous speech edged closer to the more explicit hard mode, and he came considerably closer to justifying violence. For instance on November 20, 2014, he posted: I wonder how long it will take before Muslim leaders declare we should defend Palestinians, the Rohingyas, or any other Muslims who are massacred. They are unable to defend themselves. Do we wait until they are all killed before we act?110

He also attempted to justify the beheadings by ISIS by claiming that they were part of historical Islamic praxis. In again rejecting any attempt at contextualizing classical Islamic norms to modern realities, he declared on August 22, 2014: In fact, there are other accounts of enemies being decapitated by the Muslim army. So when we condemn beheadings as a whole and claim it is outside Islam, is it because we do not know it was practiced by the companions? Or simply because the thought of beheadings turns us off (it turns me off too). Or because we do not know how to respond to those who demand our condemnation? If we want to declare something as unIslamic, let us make sure it really is unIslamic. Or we will make haram what is actually halal.111

Just two days earlier, moreover, Zulfikar—​channeling the hard Salafabist Salafi Jihadi ideologue Abdullah Azzam—​had asserted that quite apart from “defensive wars in Islam” to “defend ourselves when attacked or oppressed,” so-​called “offensive wars” to “fight until the sharia is established” are permissible.112 He had fleshed out this somewhat ominous viewpoint in a posting on August 8. Decrying attempts by some “Muslim individuals” to “reduce Islam to just sweet, fluffy messages,” he declared: Yes, Islam values peace. . . . But peace is not the only form of action. When oppression exists, we are commanded to stand against it. If it requires a declaration of war, then it happens. Offensive wars exist too. When structures are in place to deny the population from learning and understanding Islam, then it is incumbent on the Khalifah to remove these structures, even if it means war.113

148  Extremist Islam To top it all off, Zulfikar, evincing the seventh characteristic of Salafabism—​ the quest for political power—​made it very clear that there really was only one legitimate form of governance for Singaporean Muslims—​and it was anything but the current secular political system in Singapore. On September 21, 2014, he argued for full autonomy of Muslim organizations from state influence: A lot of Muslims question and criticize Arab and Muslim governments who are influenced by America and the West. Yet keep quiet when our organizations are influenced by a non-​Muslim government. If we cannot have independent Muslim organizations, what makes us think we can have independent Muslim countries? Break the chain. Authority over Muslims should only be with Muslims. No influence, authority or co-​option by a non-​Muslim government or anyone else.114

A previous post on August 7 had been more all-​encompassing, evincing his strong Salafabist belief in hakimiyya: We need to address the system. The current [global] system breaks the ummah and forces us to be subservient to the state. This system is not part of Islam. It has brought weakness and with it, oppression on Muslims. Reject it. Stop seeing ourselves as part of a country. We are only part of the Islamic nation. The ummah.115

Three days later, he argued that “a Muslim submits only to Allah. No one else. Not to men. Not to government.”116 Then on December 28, he drove the point home even further: We are a community of house negroes. We know the secular system is against Islam. But we support it. We defend it. We promote it. We strive to maintain the very system we claim to reject. We talk about changing policy but keeping the system. The policy is created by the system. Reject and delegitimize the system. Then we can change it insha Allah. And insha Allah live fully as Muslims.117

In view of the above, it was no real surprise that Zulfikar ultimately ran afoul of the Singapore authorities and was detained under the Internal Security Act for “terrorism-​related activities” in 2016.118 While his family raised

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Singapore  149 objections, insisting that the detention was unjustified because Zulfikar’s views and online postings had actually softened since his inflammatory online observations in 2014,119 the state countered that the case for his detention by 2016 had been built on analysis of information from various sources, including from Zulfikar himself. The authorities also asserted that it was “untrue” that Zulfikar’s online postings after 2014 had been less “radical.”120 Other Singaporean Muslim observers agreed. One individual who had followed Zulfikar’s Facebook postings very closely and considered him “influenced by the Wahhabi sect,” averred that he was “satisfied that he is put away” and that there was “no place in our society for these sorts.”121 Another of Zulfikar’s former close confidants from the fateha.com days concurred, asserting that the state was right to “come down hard” on the former, because he was in essence an opportunistic “sh*t stirrer.”122 Interestingly, this informant opined that even if Zulfikar was not by 2016 a fully ideologically committed hard Salafabist Salafi Jihadi, he certainly was well able to “radicalize others into extremism” and was therefore “dangerous.”123

Platforms, Places, and Persons: Zulfikar Shariff ’s Salafabist Ecosystem What then was the SE within which Zulfikar Shariff incubated his ultimately hard Salafabist, Salafi Jihadi ideas? What combination of persons (direct specific influencers), places (relatively insulated online or real-​world social spaces within which some mix of soft and hard Salafabist views were incubated), and platforms (print and other media) interacted in various ways to propagate and sustain the Salafi Jihadi ideology that shaped his thinking by the time of his arrest in July 2016?

Platforms According to those who interacted with him, Zulfikar, a voracious reader, was an autodidact in matters of theology. He had apparently no formal Islamic training, not even at a weekend madrasah.124 Certainly, he learned how to read the Qur’an in Arabic from private asatizah, but he did not get “radical ideas from them.”125 Basically, he received no guidance on Islam by trained religious teachers and seemed to formulate his ideas through extensive

150  Extremist Islam reading on his own. In this respect, platforms that did influence him were published works by the Saudi Salafabists of the Sahwa or Awakening movement of the 1990s. It seems he studied the ideas on militant jihad by the Egyptian Salafi Jihadi theorist Faraj as well.126 Other platforms in the form of publications that affected Zulfikar were those of the Pakistani soft Salafabist Islamist ideologue Mawdudi—​apparently more so than the works of Sayyid Qutb.127 Zulfikar was also reportedly “influenced by the teachings” of Anwar al-​Awlaki.128 Al-​Awlaki, an American citizen of Yemeni extraction, was a top ideologue associated with al-​Qaeda in the Arabian Peninsula (AQAP) in Yemen. He spoke English and Arabic “with equal fluency, bringing to Islamic teaching the authority of the Arabic original of the Qur’an and hadith and the approachability of colloquial American speech.”129 Called the “bin Laden of the Internet,” al-​Awlaki was killed in a U.S. drone strike in September 2011, but his influence lives on in the online space.130 By one estimate, between 2013 and 2016, the number of hits on YouTube for the search term “Anwar al-​Awlaki” soared from 40,000 to over 65,000.131 The Counter Extremism Project in the United States identified “77 extremists with ties to Awlaki—​43 in the U.S. and 34 in Europe.”132 Al-​Awlaki’s enduring appeal even after his death is well articulated by Scott Shane: [Unlike] every other prominent extremist—​[al-​Awlaki] enjoyed a long, successful career as a mainstream preacher and lecturer before he gradually embraced extremism and violence. And today, all of his material is jumbled together, mixed and remixed and posted online. For a new convert to Islam or a Muslim taking a new interest in the faith, al-​Awlaki can provide an inspiring introduction to Islamic history, a grounding in the basics of the faith, and clerical advice on everything from marital strife to overeating.133

However, in “later material that is equally available,” al-​Awlaki reinforced the stock hard Salafabist, Salafi Jihadi notion that it is “always a mistake to trust non-​Muslims, that the United States is at war with Islam, and that to be true to his faith, any Muslim has the obligation to fight the United States and the other purported enemies of Islam.”134 Al-​Awlaki’s Salafabist supremacist will to power also came across in a series of lectures available on a CD called The Hereafter—​which apparently influenced many al-​Qaeda and ISIS-​linked militants. In the lectures, he predicted that “at some future time, there will be no kuffar, or nonbelievers,” because “Islam will rule the world” and “kuffar will be stamped out”; and for nonbelievers, only two options

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Singapore  151 would remain: “either Islam or death.”135 Some of these themes were reflected by Zulfikar in his own Facebook postings. Al-​Awlaki’s online lectures and even direct email contact radicalized a few other Singaporeans as well as Bangladeshi foreign workers working in the city-​state in 2010 and 2016, respectively.136 If anything, the platforms that seemed to discernibly shape Zulfikar’s thinking, quite apart from those relating to theological-​ideological issues, were those covering current affairs and domestic politics. In this respect, academic works by left-​of-​center writers and activists critical of the Singapore state, such as, inter alia, Christopher Lingle, James Gomez, and Michael Barr, appeared to have been scrutinized by him and were cited in his own publications. One academic in particular, Lily Zubaidah Rahim, seemed to have left an indelible impression.137Zulfikar appeared clearly influenced by Rahim’s book, The Singapore Dilemma: The Political and Economic Marginality of the Malay Community, which made the point that a major reason for the relative socioeconomic and educational backwardness of the Singaporean Muslim community, compared to the non-​Muslim groups in the city-​state, is the state’s unwarranted and unfair adoption of the British colonial “cultural deficit thesis.”138 This thesis holds that it is the anachronistic cultural mindset of the Singaporean Malay-​Muslims themselves that prevents them from progressing faster.139 In a 2009 essay, moreover, Rahim maintained the narrative of a hapless Singaporean Muslim community chafing under the heavy hand of “Singapore’s secular authoritarian” state: In many respects the no-​tudung campaign crystallized the myriad socioeconomic and political grievances of the Malay-​Muslim community—​ grievances that have been denied or attributed to the community’s inherent failings.140

To clarify: this is not to suggest that the publications of Rahim or indeed any of the secular current affairs and political science platforms by the writers mentioned above are extremist in any way. What is being argued here is that, rightly or wrongly, such perspectives appear to have fed and sustained the narrative that Zulfikar seemed to have profoundly imbibed: that of being part of a just community that has been systematically victimized over decades by the non-​Muslim-​dominated Singapore state apparatus. Hence it seems not improbable that in Zulfikar’s case it was his social humiliation and subsequent quest for “symbolic empowerment” and “dehumiliation” that created

152  Extremist Islam the cognitive opening for his ultimate support of—​if not necessarily full indoctrination into—​the hard Salafabist ideology of Salafist Jihadism.141 Social humiliation, it should be noted, can be more potent than personal humiliation. Religious scholar and psychology professor James W. Jones explains that while personal humiliation “is an injury to a person’s sense of self and their self-​esteem, a threat to the self,” if that same individual’s entire sense of self and personal identity is inextricably tied to “some ideal, ideology, institution” or wider community, then threats to these wider social identities “can feel like as much (if not more) of a threat than a direct physical threat”—​compelling in-​group members to respond with a “narcissistic rage” characterized by “totalistic qualities” and a “complete lack of empathy” toward out-​groups.”142 This would be accompanied by the “tendency to see everything in polarized, black-​and-​white terms.”143 As seen above, such polarized, dualistic cognition was certainly evidenced in Zulfikar’s musings.

Places Zulfikar’s long radicalization pathway may have begun in the late 1990s, during the debate over compulsory education and soon after that the no-​tudung policy in national schools. To recapitulate, at that time, while MUIS—​a statutory board—​took a generally conciliatory view, urging the Singaporean Muslim community to go along with the state’s Compulsory Education Act (CEA) and the no-​tudung policy in national schools, PERGAS, a “nongovernmental organization,” raised some concerns, and in the process, according to Abdullah, prompted some local Muslims to “view PERGAS as the most reliable Muslim organization in Singapore” and better able to offer “leadership and inspiration.”144 However, as noted, once PERGAS leaders had recognized the grave nature of the JI threat by early 2002, they began to collaborate more closely with the state by taking the lead in countering violent JI extremism through the RRG.145 It is against this backdrop of wider domestic political currents that Zulfikar became increasingly active, especially in the increasingly important cyber arena, into which “Muslim organisations” began “coming on strongly in 1996.”146 He became deeply involved in a significant online place—​the PERGAS mailing list known as Cyber Ummah. At its peak, Cyber Ummah boasted “about 2,000 members discussing issues [ranging from] matchmaking and restaurant services to theology and politics.”147

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Singapore  153 At the height of the debate on the CEA, Cyber Ummah was a place where critical voices were heard—​although moderated somewhat. It was when the no-​tudung controversy broke out in early 2002, that “four members of Cyber Ummah”—​including Zulfikar—​“came out of the cyber realm and decided to lobby for the tudung in national schools.”148 This core group started a new online place—​a by-​invitation mailing list called Muslim Fund—​to raise funds for a possible legal challenge to the no-​tudung policy. Muslim Fund—​ which had about 33 members and was “largely a collection of some of the most vocal members of Cyber Ummah”—​was a place not only for collecting funds but also for debate on the no-​tudung issue.149 When MUIS, which owned the server from which PERGAS ran Cyber Ummah, demanded that Cyber Ummah be removed, Zulfikar ensured that Muslim Fund stepped into the breach to take over as the support structure for Cyber Ummah. Muslim Fund thereby changed its name to fateha.com—​fateha is an Arabic term meaning “start.” The idea was to denote “the start of Muslim voices being heard.”150 Zulfikar recalled that fateha.com debates were less structured and more free-​flowing than those on Cyber Ummah. It is not unlikely that within the relatively free-​wheeling atmosphere of fateha.com, an online and real-​world place, some of Zulfikar’s extreme orientations began gestating in earnest.151 One close associate revealed that there were about ten well-​educated professionals in fateha.com, although the charismatic Zulfikar was able to manipulate them with his intellectual blandishments. Interestingly it was noted that those individuals with engineering backgrounds appeared more susceptible to Zulfikar’s influence than those with more social science training—​which reinforces the point about the inadvertent role of technical education in fostering the low integrative complexity that sustains simplified worldviews and extreme orientations.152 In any case, fateha.com began fraying at the seams throughout 2002, largely because Zulfikar began to “conflate” the no-​tudung issue, which fateha.com had been set up to confront, with criticism of the state’s JI arrests of 2001 and 2002—​and he did so without consulting his colleagues. In fact, it has been suggested that rather than state pressure, as has been alleged, it was disillusionment with Zulfikar’s unilateral antics that prompted some of his erstwhile colleagues to quit the group.153 During the 14 years (2002–​2016) that Zulfikar spent in Melbourne after his departure from Singapore at the height of the difficulties between the state and fateha.com, he found work as a marketing strategist, becoming Head of Sales and Marketing at the “largest Australian Islamic finance company.”154 According to reports, Zulfikar also started the International Halal

154  Extremist Islam Management company in Melbourne’s north and enrolled as a PhD student and International Relations tutor at La Trobe University, while also becoming a research fellow at Monash University—​where I subsequently encountered him in March 2003.155 Zulfikar reportedly also started an entity called the Association for Democracy in Singapore, which “purported to push for free speech.”156 Of particular interest for our purposes, Zulfikar also immersed himself in another significant place: the Australian branch of the transnational soft Salafabist Islamist organization Hizbut Tahrir.157 Zulfikar’s disdain for the secular Singaporean state system and any notion of a Singaporean Muslim Identity—​as seen earlier in his very telling Facebook postings—​was likely intensified and focused within the ideological crucible of the Hizbut Tahrir milieu. The easily accessible Hizbut Tahrir Australia website—​evincing familiar Salafabist themes—​asserts that the “struggle of the Muslims” is to “reverse the decline experienced prior and subsequent to the destruction of the Khilafah [caliphate].” More than that, it very overtly warns: We must reject the new secular version of Islam that is being constructed by Western governments and their lackeys in the Western and Muslim world. This new “moderate” Islam is a perverted version of Islam that localizes the Muslim’s concerns, removes the political aspects of Islam, such as the Khilafah and its systems of governance, and seeks to redefine Islam along modern secular and liberal interpretations, the ultimate objective of which is the construction of a version of Islam that is incapable of challenging Western hegemony in the Muslim world and the wider world. Muslims must reject this perversion and any individual, group or institution that propagates it.158

Little wonder, therefore, by the time he set up several Facebook groups called Al-​Makahzin—​including Al-​Makhazin Singapore—​while still in Melbourne in 2013, he appeared to have imbibed to a large extent the Hizbut Tahrir worldview. Al-​Makhazin sought to get its online followers to “agitate on Muslim issues in Singapore” and ultimately to “reject the secular democratic nation-​state system and replace it with an Islamic caliphate governed by sharia law.”159 The Al-​Makhazin platform, it should be noted, was equally a place within which extreme orientations could be gestated, with Zulfikar shaping the discourse. As in the earlier fateha.com, there were “smart professionals” involved with Al-​Makhazin. However, the similarities ended there. Unlike its earlier counterpart, and perhaps hinting at a hardened

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Singapore  155 ideological commitment by this time on the part of its founder, there were no females involved in Al-​Makhazin. Moreover, its opposition to the Singapore state across the full range of Muslim issues was far more pronounced and explicit from the beginning.160

Persons Certainly, scanning Zulfikar’s background, it does not appear that there were any really significant persons who directly and personally shaped his thinking at the outset of his involvement in the fateha.com precursor Cyber Ummah in the late 1990s. He had no formal Islamic training and while he learned how to read the Qur’an in Arabic from private asatizah, he did not get “radical ideas from them.”161 However, the Zulfikar Shariff detained in July 2016 had very likely been significantly influenced by direct interactions with key persons during his long Australian hiatus. One of the persons with whom Zulfikar was apparently “close” was Uthman Badar, the Hizbut Tahrir Australia media spokesman.162 In March 2017, the same Badar had told a forum in Bankstown in Sydney that “’the ruling for apostates as such in Islam is clear, that apostates attract capital punishment and we don’t shy away from that.”163 Another person of interest within Zulfikar’s personal circle in Australia was Badar’s boss, Ismail al-​Wahwah, the Hebron-​born spiritual and ideological leader of Hizbut Tahrir Australia. Like Badar, al-​Wahwah was no stranger to controversy. In 2007 he was stopped by Indonesian officials from attending an international Hizbut Tahrir conference where the topic of his speech was “The World needs Khilafah.”164 Staunchly anti-​Israel in his pronouncements, al-​Wahwah had even backed the violent overthrow of non-​ Muslim regimes supported by the West. Moreover, al-​Wahwah’s stance on the four Bs was, it should be said, unequivocally fundamentalist-​extremist as well: “He supports no alcohol, strict enforcement of Islamic dress” for—​ tellingly—​both “Muslims and non-​Muslims” and “wants Arabic to be the world’s only language.”165 Al-​Wahwah had also delivered sermons alongside Musa Cerantonio, a notorious Australian pro-​ISIS ideologue and Muslim convert, whom Zulfikar apparently knew personally as well.166 Cerantonio, the colorful Melbourne ringleader of a plot to sail from Queensland to help encourage an effort to “overthrow the Philippines government” and “establish sharia law there,” was jailed for up to 7 years in May 2019.167 Interestingly, it was suggested that one reason why Zulfikar would have wanted to sidle

156  Extremist Islam up to the high-​profile Cerantonio was because the former “loved the limelight,” although again, it was also entirely possible that the Australian convert had a genuine ideological impact on Zulfikar as well.168 Cerantonio believed and preached that Muslims had an obligation to “fight the kuffar” until the khilafah was re-​established.169 Finally, it seems that while in Australia, Zulfikar may also have established direct contact with a non-​Australian person, the British-​Pakistani extremist Anjem Choudary.170 Choudary, a former lawyer and self-​styled expert on sharia law, was at one time the spokesperson for the extremist group al-​Mujahiroun, an offshoot of the older Hizbut Tahrir UK organization, formed in the 1990s and led by the Syrian extremist Omar Bakri Muhammad until his expulsion from the United Kingdom in 2005. Al-​Mujahiroun was banned in 2004 but re-​formed itself several times between 2005 and 2010 under different names, such as Saviour Sect, Muslims against Crusades, and Islam4UK. All these subsequent incarnations, however, were all also banned. In September 2014, Choudary—​who had always managed to stay on the right side of British law despite criticisms from mainstream Muslim groups that his rhetoric was extremist—​was finally arrested for allegedly drumming up support for ISIS and for circulating material that could be interpreted as encouraging terrorist violence. Two years later, a judge sentenced Choudary to jail for 5 and a half years for his activities in support of ISIS.171 However, he was granted early release in May 2019, albeit with restrictions placed on his activities.172 Choudary’s subtle, dangerous speech, at times poised precariously at the tipping point between the soft and hard modes, was evinced in an interview with the extremist website Arrahmah.com in Indonesia, a country he visited in 2010. He declared in no uncertain terms: The work for the Khilafah [caliphate] is the vital issue for Muslims everywhere, although the burning issue and priority is jihad. Muslims in Indonesia must take the authority from those who have it and appoint a Khalifah who will implement the Shari’ah. In the meantime, whilst they are living under the Kufr system, they must engage in presenting Islam as an alternative to the man-​made law and support those who are trying to take back the authority which is their right. The twin duties of Daw’ah and jihad cannot be separated.173

One can perhaps detect traces of the ideological influences of these persons in Zulfikar’s own evolving extremist leanings, as evidenced in his very

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Singapore  157 revealing 2014 Facebook musings. In sum, the complex interaction among the platforms, places, and persons produced the hard Salafabist, Salafi Jihadism that Zulfikar Shariff appeared to profess by the time of his arrest in July 2016—​prompting the Singaporean authorities to assess him as a sufficiently serious security threat to throw the book at. Some netizens even expressed just how “puzzling” it was that “the authorities tolerated this extremist” for “so many years” and that it seemed clear that “after more than 15 years, Zulfikar Shariff has not changed one bit, he is still the same uncompromising man who believes that violence can solve problems.”174

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Singapore: Contemporary Implications of the Zulfikar Mohamad Shariff Case In October 2017, it was announced that the Singapore Ministry of Home Affairs had banned two foreign preachers, Mufti Ismail Menk, from Zimbabwe, and Haslin Baharim, a Malaysian, from speaking on a religiously themed cruise ship scheduled to be operating in and out of Singapore between November 25 and 29.175 Both preachers had been barred from preaching in Singapore previously. The Ministry reported that it had consulted with MUIS, the Singapore Tourism Board, and the Maritime and Port Authority of Singapore before imposing the ban. In addition, the Ministry asserted that Mufti Menk has been known to propagate “segregationist and divisive teachings,” such as that it is a “sin and crime for a Muslim to wish a non-​ Muslim Merry Christmas or Happy Deepavali.”176The Ministry explained that Haslin Baharim had likewise promoted views sowing disharmony between Muslims and supposedly “deviant” non-​Muslims.177 The Ministry added that: “Such divisive views breed intolerance and exclusivist practices that will damage social harmony and cause communities to drift apart.”178 Hence these views “are unacceptable in the context of Singapore’s multiracial and multireligious society” and “detrimental to our society and way of life.”179 The social media reactions to the Ministry’s ban were mixed. While some observers reacted favorably, others were less supportive and even critical. Broadly speaking, there were three types of negative reactions. The first response was that there was no harm in allowing the preachers to speak, as there should be more space for expressing one’s religious views, even in a multicultural society. In this respect, some netizens endorsed

158  Extremist Islam the Mufti Menk view that it is wrong for a Muslim to explicitly acknowledge the religious festivals of non-​Muslims by name, because by doing so the Muslim implicitly associates other deities with God, implying that he worships other entities besides God. A variation of this reaction, popularized by the controversial Muslim preacher Zakir Naik, was the stance that by verbalizing such greetings to non-​Muslims, Muslims would be implicitly recognizing the veracity of the belief systems of the non-​Muslims, to the detriment of their own faith—​an argument based on zero-​sum logic. Naik has argued that it is “hundred percent wrong” for Muslims to wish a Christian “Merry Christmas,” as that would imply that the Muslim agrees that Jesus is the only begotten Son of God, which would be shirk (apostasy) in Islam.180 Hence, to reiterate, this line of argument and reaction to the state’s ban on Menk and Baharim held that Muslims in Singapore should have the space and freedom to exercise their religious beliefs, even if it means that they only express more neutral, “inclusive” greetings along the lines of “Happy Holidays,” “Season’s Greetings,” or “Have a Good Day.”181 A second type of reaction to the state ban on Menk and Baharim was a criticism that the state—​and Singaporean Muslim religious leaders—​were being overly expansive in their interpretation of what religious “extremism” is. One local Muslim observer on social media commented sarcastically: Lol, so if fellow Muslims never greet other Muslims for the festivities, will they be reported to ISD [Internal Security Department]? And if non-​ Muslims never greet Muslims, can we report them to ISD too? So wishing each other on festivities is obligatory [sic]? If not we will be treated as terrorists?182

In sum, the second broad reaction to the ban was to criticize what was perceived as an overly strict interpretation by the relevant authorities of what extremism is. Of course, such sentiments complemented the first reaction, that such a strong state stance tends to unduly encroach upon the constitutional right to freedom of religious expression and belief of Singaporean Muslims. The third broad reaction to the ban was that it seemed to send the signal that Islam in particular was being targeted unfairly by the state. Even some non-​Muslims appeared to voice concern on this score, as the following comment suggests:

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Singapore  159 How come target only Muslims. There are many fundamentalist Christians walking around in Singapore telling Buddhists they are devil worshippers and it is Buddhist responsibility to convert to Christianity. Some even smash [Buddhist] sculptures and ancestral tablets and [tell] their followers [they] cannot eat from plates with dragons cos they are the devil [sic].183

The three broad reactions to the Menk/​Baharim ban, which can be summarized as concerns that Muslims lacked freedom of religious belief and expression in Singapore, criticism of the state and Muslim leaders’ perceived overly strict interpretation of extremism, and the sentiment that Islam in particular was being unfairly singled out, were arguably symptomatic of a wider issue. There appeared to be a generalized lack of understanding of what extremism in general and Salafabism—​especially the more subtle soft form of Islamism—​meant in the specific context of Singapore’s multicultural society. In Malaysia, some aspects of Wan Min Wan Mat’s exclusionist Salafabist worldview may be gradually becoming mainstream, given the worrying ongoing subtle Salafabization of Malaysian Islam, as discussed in the Chapter 3. On the other hand, in Singapore, the extent to which there was clear understanding within some circles in the Muslim community of the theological and ideological yardsticks by which to identify and call out Salafabist extremism seemed an important issue to track. That even the distinctly hard Salafi Jihadi variety displayed by Zulfikar Shariff by the time of his arrest seemed to go undetected by apparently his close associates was curious: Osman Sulaiman—​to be sure, an opposition Muslim politician of the Reform Party—​raised eyebrows nevertheless when he publicly criticized the Zulfikar arrest, asserting that he knew Zulfikar personally and did not think he was “radicalized.”184 One thing that should be clarified, to be fair, is that the Singapore state has not been targeting Islam in particular. A month before the Menk/​Baharim ban, two Christian preachers were banned as well for remarks made outside Singapore that were seen as denigrating Islam and Buddhism.185 In October 2005, moreover, the Sedition Act was invoked against three ethnic Chinese who had posted disparaging and incendiary comments about ethnic Malay Muslims and Islam online.186 These are not at all isolated instances where the state has defended Muslim interests in Singapore. It is a legal requirement. The Singapore Constitution explicitly recognizes the “special position of the Malays” as the “indigenous people of Singapore” and in particular stipulates

160  Extremist Islam that the state must “protect, safeguard, support, foster, and promote their political, economic, social, and cultural identity and the Malay language”—​an injunction that could be interpreted technically to mandate safeguarding the status of Islam in Singapore, given that the bulk of Singapore’s Malays are Muslims.187 Moreover, AMLA, which came into force in July 1968, created MUIS to specifically oversee the religious and cultural needs of the Muslim community in Singapore.188 While there tends to be healthy and robust discussion within the Singaporean Muslim community about how well MUIS has been carrying out its mission, its legal mandate is clear.189 Moreover, it is also evident that the socioeconomic status of the Muslim community has been steadily improving over the decades, due to both generally competent forward-​looking community leadership and the even-​handed meritocratic governance model the Singaporean authorities try to operationalize. In May 2018, therefore, it was reported that only 1 percent of Singaporean Muslim children did not complete 10 years of schooling, while 94 percent had a post-​ secondary education. Moreover, the percentage of Muslim professionals, managers, executives, and technicians (PMETs) had also increased from just over 7 percent in 1980 to more than 32 percent by 2015.190 Furthermore, in December 2019 it was reported that for the first time, Singaporean Malay-​Muslim students outdid their peers worldwide in mathematics in the Program for International Student Assessment (PISA) test conducted by the Organisation for Economic Co-​operation and Development (OECD) and were assessed as competitive with international students in reading and science. Furthermore, the number of Muslim undergraduates attaining first-​class honors in university had spiked tenfold, from 7 to 70, in 10 years. Meanwhile, eight out of ten Singaporean Muslims reportedly felt confident of achieving success in their life pursuits. Capitalizing on this momentum, the same year MUIS, self-​help group MENDAKI, and the Malay Activity Executive Committees Council (MESRA) formed an alliance called M3 to tap one another’s resources and to mount programs “supporting marriage, parenthood, and early childhood development” as well as “vulnerable individuals and their families,” and, importantly, “empowering and mentoring of youth.”191 One has to say, therefore, that while a few historical grouses may persist, the strength of the aforementioned “least favorite child” argument has been steadily diminishing with every passing decade.192 That said, what is arguably needed to prevent more closed-​ minded Salafabist extremists like Zulfikar from emerging in the future—​and there are indications that there may well be “proto-​Zulfikars” in the making, as we

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Singapore  161 shall see—​is twofold. First, there is a need for a more sustained and sophisticated effort by the leading Muslim religious authorities, particularly MUIS, to work together to promote the idea of a Singaporean Muslim Identity (SMI). A stronger understanding of the SMI initiative among young Muslim Singaporeans, their families, and friends would likely furnish them with the theological yardsticks by which to identify and call out Salafabism in both its hard and trickier-​to-​detect soft varieties. Second, as a complementary measure, the state could probably better educate Singaporean Muslims and non-​Muslims alike on the implications of Singapore’s status as a secular, multicultural state. In this connection, the state could more effectively explicate its oft-​used idea of common space, elaborating on how there is both physical and psychological common space that needs protecting and expanding. By this reasoning, applying the four Bs model to expressions of Islam (and potentially any other faith for that matter) in the Singapore multicultural milieu would more systematically identify those beliefs, attitudes, and practices that could be regarded as extremist, particularly in the Singapore context. In this regard, which of the four Bs (beliefs, behaviors, badges, and bans) related to Salafabist interpretations of Islam, are extremist, not just in the overall terms we have developed in this volume, but especially in a Singaporean context?

Beliefs First, at the core, hard Salafabists like Zulfikar who possess low integrative complexity that sustains a simplified worldview, stubbornly divide the world in binary fashion into the Darul Islam (the abode of Islam) and the Darul Harb (the abode of non-​Muslims and hence of war). Salafabists frame this idea in starkly pronounced understandings of the concept of al-​wala’ wa al-​ bara.193 Second, Salafabists generally hold that Islam should enjoy societal primacy vis-​à-​vis other faiths. Hence when Zakir Naik warned that Muslims should not vote for non-​Muslims, this was pregnant with significance. He was implicitly articulating precisely the core Belief of an immutable division between Muslims and non-​Muslims and the desire for Muslim political dominance over all comers.194 It is worth recalling in this respect the episode where a visiting Indian Muslim imam, Nalla Mohamed Abdul Jameel, during sermons at a Singaporean mosque in early 2017, apparently uttered: “God help us against Jews and Christians”—​arguably evincing the same kind of adversarial and supremacist mindset that Naik advocates and fully in line

162  Extremist Islam with strident Salafabist interpretations of the al-​wala’ wa al-​bara doctrine.195 Third, to reiterate, some Salafabists like Zulfikar would add that all Muslims have a religious obligation to reside in an Islamic state or a global caliphate ruled by an amir (ruler).196 In addition, they may remind Muslims currently not living in a country that is ruled according to the dictates of an Islamic theocracy that they have a duty to engage in hijrah (migration) to a land in which Islamic law is in place. Fourth, in contrast to some largely Western scholars who argue that jihad means a personal struggle for self-​mastery, the classical tradition in Islam is very clear that jihad means warfare against non-​ Muslims to expand the rule of Islam.197 As seen, Zulfikar was discernibly inclined toward the militant understanding of jihad. Clearly, the core beliefs of an immutable division between Muslim and non-​Muslim, the need for Muslim sociopolitical primacy vis-​à-​vis non-​Muslims, the requirement for Muslims to reside in or migrate to an Islamic state, and the importance of armed jihad to expand the influence of Islam, do not fit well at all with the ideal of a secular multicultural Singapore. In the latter conception, citizens of all religious backgrounds are deemed to have equal civil and political rights before the law, and they are supposed to peaceably engage with, and respect, one another in a large shared common space above all else. In short, such core Salafabist beliefs would be destructive of psychological common space and hence extremist in Singapore. Precisely because Muis and the Singapore Mufti’s Office recognize this, it was announced in August 2016 that the Asatizah Recognition Scheme (ARS), first introduced in 2005, was to become compulsory for all teachers of Islam starting in January 2017. To this end, MUIS, the Asatizah Recognition Board, and PERGAS have been working together to ensure that private freelance teachers not currently registered under the ARS—​some of whom have apparently been teaching the faith for decades—​would eventually be able to obtain “at least a diploma in Islamic studies from a recognized institution.”198 By October 2017, there were more than 3,000 asatizah registered under the ARS, and since then the numbers have been growing.199 The ARS mechanism has thus enabled Muslim authorities in Singapore to better delineate those teachings that are extremist in the specific context of secular, multicultural Singapore. Hence, one Singaporean preacher, Rasul Dahri, was identified in June 2017 as unsuitable for registration under the ARS because his teachings “promote enmity, strife, and potentially violence not only toward Muslims but also other religious communities and the state.”200 However, it has hardly been smooth sailing. Of interest are some individuals who—​not

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Singapore  163 unlike Zulfikar—​appear to be seeking to be influencers among Singaporean Muslims, making their views forcefully heard via social media, and even sending emails directly to the press, Singapore government ministers, MUIS officials, academics like myself, and the Mufti of Singapore. While not necessarily extremist overall in terms of the scheme developed in this study, it is posited that such persons do nonetheless appear at the very least to possess an extreme stance on some of the issues that motivated Zulfikar’s more fully developed extremism. One such Indian Muslim individual—​we shall call him “SMH”—​who is hugely active in cyberspace, has attacked the ARS. That he has elements of an extreme stance in the form of in-​group bias and out-​ group prejudice, twinned with a simplified, dualistic worldview, comes out in the following excerpt from a long email diatribe attacking Sufis—​a long-​established Salafabist trait: We need to note that the Saudi Wahhabi Salafi Grand Mufti had voiced his view against suicide bombing even before Sept 11 attack in USA. All along, Saudi Wahhabis have also labeled those who wage war against rulers who allow Muslims to practice Islam as Khwarij. Muslims in Afghanistan, Kashmir etc who are almost all Sufis, have been brainwashed by Sufi wayward scholars not to listen to Wahhabi scholars. Sufi scholars have misled their flock all along and stirred violence in Kashmir, Afghanistan etc and promoted bloodbath there.201

More to the point, SMH also criticized MUIS for promoting the ARS, asking rhetorically if it understands that through the ARS it is “making it harder for Singapore Muslims”—​he never explained why—​and more pointedly, he charged that MUIS is allegedly “curtailing Islam in Singapore.”202

Behavior What about Salafabist behavior inimical to the safeguarding of psychological and physical Common Space in Singapore? On August 19, 2016, two Singaporeans were detained under the Internal Security Act because it was found that they had become radicalized after listening to Radio Hang 106 FM, a Batam-​based radio station devoted to religious programming, and whose coverage included southern Malaysia, the Riau islands, and Singapore. While the station had been in existence for a long time, some Singaporean Muslim

164  Extremist Islam scholars observed that the owner of the station had apparently become “influenced by the ideas of a puritanical Indonesian scholar Abdul Hakim Abdat in the mid-​90s and decided to start airing” his lectures. The station then became known for “promoting religious scholars from a puritanical sect of Islam.”203 In particular, it transpired that while Radio Hang’s “teachings may not directly encourage violence, they ask believers to stay apart from non-​Muslims and Muslims who don’t share their views, and this is a slippery slope.”204 Even Batam-​based Muslim listeners had criticized the station “for divisive leanings” that, inter alia, “say Muslims should isolate themselves to maintain their purity.”205 Radio Hang had also attracted criticism from mainstream Indonesian Muslim organizations for spreading “divisive ideas in the community.”206 In other words, in terms of the second B (behavior), some of the messages on Radio Hang were arguably potentially extremist because they were promoting social distancing of Muslims from non-​Muslims for fear of religious “contamination.” Put another way, Radio Hang messages may well have been religious, as its supporters and the station management averred, but it was a religiosity of the Salafabist type that was obsessed with fear of contamination via mingling with non-​Muslim out-​groups. The station tended to put out programming that constantly warned Muslim listeners of the dangers of living in a non-​Muslim country like Singapore. One speaker the station broadcast, Ustaz Ahmad Zainuddin, quoting the Saudi scholar Shaykh Uthaymeen and referring to Muslims in Singapore, argued: Staying in a kafir [kuffar] land is a big danger to the religion of a Muslim, his akhlaq (ethics), his actions, his adab (behavior), and we have observed the conditions of those who returned from such lands, in a state of fasiq (poverty of character) or murtad (apostasy) or kafir or even atheist until many of them reject all religions, and some become bored of religion.”207

In short, the “exclusivist preachings” put out by Radio Hang speakers, “even if they don’t preach violence overtly,” certainly encouraged intolerance by encouraging Muslim listeners to cultivate “a personal fear of being a disbeliever and disdain for non-​Muslims.”208 In this sense, Radio Hang programming undermined the physical and psychological common space of Muslims and non-​Muslims in Singapore—​and as the case of the two self-​radicalized Singaporean listeners showed, could well influence individuals to be “less tolerant and more receptive of violent preachings.”209 It is worth noting, however, that in November 2017, a review by the regional unit of the Indonesian

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Singapore  165 Broadcasting Commission (KPI) found that Radio Hang no longer promoted “violent Islam” in its features and it was awarded a license to continue broadcasting for the next 5 years.210

Badges As mentioned, the “badge” refers to religious attire and other markings and accouterments. This is hardly a uniquely Singaporean issue. In this respect, in December 2016, German Chancellor Angela Merkel revealed that she supports a partial ban on the Islamic full-​face veil worn by women that has been proposed by her more conservative allies. She asserted that the “full veil is not appropriate here” and that it “should be banned wherever it’s legally possible.”211 The German Interior Minister Thomas de Maizière had articulated similar sentiments earlier in August. Referring again to the full veil, he argued that the garment “doesn’t fit in with our open society” because to “show one’s face is crucial for communicating, for living together in our society and keeping it together.”212 It was not only the Germans who were thinking along these lines. France was the first country in Europe “to implement a no-​ifs, no-​buts full ban on wearing Islamic face veils in public.”213 That is, “no woman, French or foreign, can leave the house with their face obscured by a veil; if they do, they risk a fine.”214 Belgium followed up by implementing a similar ban in July 2011.215 It is worth clarifying the various types of Islamic veils at this point. The burqa—​worn by Afghan and South Asian Muslims in particular—​“is a long, loose veil that covers the woman’s entire body—​sometimes only leaving a thin mesh over the eyes for the wearer to see through.”216 Then there is the niqab—​worn by some Arab Muslim women—​a small veil that is worn over the face but keeping the eyes open.217 The niqab is more common in Europe than the burqa. In Southeast Asia and Singapore, the most common Islamic veil is the headscarf that leaves the face open but covers the head and the neck, called the hijab. Finally, there are also veils that leave the face bare, such as the chador, common in Iran.218 An argument that could potentially be made is that the religious attire of any faith that undermines the psychological common space of the multicultural communities in Singapore should be seen as potentially extremist. In this regard, it could be argued that attire like the burqa and niqab in particular may be unsuited to the Singapore context because they obscure the facial features of the one wearing these garments. This is not so much a security

166  Extremist Islam issue, as some may argue, pointing to Sri Lanka following the Easter Sunday 2019 attacks that killed 258 people, where there were official moves to ban the burqa because the police needed to be able to positively identify persons during investigations.219 Rather than security, it is about psychology: such attire does not promote psychological common space “because seeing one another’s faces is an integral part of human interaction.”220 As such, some may aver that such attire reinforces the extremist behavior of social distancing from non-​Muslims and entrenches the belief of an immutable us-​ versus-​them divide between Muslims and non-​Muslims. Certainly, in the Singapore context, such badge issues are unsurprisingly deeply sensitive. One Singaporean Muslim argued that “just because a Muslim grows a beard, doesn’t mean that he supports terrorism.”221 The aforementioned SMH is certainly sensitive about any attempt by the state or non-​Muslims to touch on the issue of badges, in this case beards. Responding to an op-​ed in the Singapore media that “many Muslims today fret too much about the outward forms of the religion, from clothing to beards,”222 that same day SMH delivered the following email broadside to the op-​ed author and, for good measure, all and sundry: How would Muslim men growing beards justify U.S. President George Bush bombing Iraq a decade ago? Muslim men grow beards to follow the instructions of Prophet Muhammad. . . .There is a clear bias against growing beards in Singapore. While I understand the government bias against beards in Xinjiang, China, I deeply regret such a bias on the part of the Singapore government too, which dictates that those Muslims going for [military] reservist training must shave off their beards for the 2 week stint. Calling Singapore Muslims intolerant is a misplaced allegation.223

As the strident views of SMH suggest, it must be fully recognized that such issues as attire are deeply personal and the way policy is made in this regard must be utterly nuanced and sensitive. It was reported that the ban on Islamic veils in Belgium was imposed without consultation with the Muslim community, while there was minimal prior discussion with the community in France as well. Accordingly, some Muslim women felt Islam had been discriminated against, and a few were even rendered vulnerable to radicalization into extremism.224 Moreover, wearing the burqa and niqab could also be a mark of apolitical neo-​fundamentalist piety rather than any more sinister,

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Singapore  167 extremist impulses. It may even be a fiercely liberal Islamic feminist interpretation of personal choice.225 Hence, while there is probably scope for healthy debate on this issue among Singaporean Muslims, on the part of the relevant civil and Islamic authorities, circumspection is called for in analyzing the relation between badges and Salafabist extremism.

Bans To recapitulate, “bans” are religious taboos and proscribed activity. A good example of bans in the current discussion are the strident Salafabist declarations by Mufti Menk that it is wrong for a Muslim to explicitly acknowledge the religious festivals of non-​Muslims by name (Christmas, Deepavali, etc.) because it suggests that by doing so the Muslim implicitly associates other deities with God, implying that he is guilty of worshipping “others besides God.”226 In January 2016, Singapore Home Affairs Minister K. Shanmugam revealed concerns in official circles that some young Singaporean Muslims held the view that “reciting the National Pledge and serving National Service are at odds with their faith.”227 In other words, they were apparently thinking that there was a religious ban on saying the National Pledge and serving National Service. In December 2017, moreover, another foreign preacher, the American Muslim convert Yusuf Estes, was barred from speaking in Singapore for, among other things, asserting that it was “not part of Islam to celebrate other people’s holidays” and that it was not in the Muslim faith to wish Christians and Jews a “Merry Christmas” and “Happy Hanukkah,” respectively.228 Again, Estes seemed to be suggesting that there was a religious ban on such behavior among Muslims. In short, such views on what constituted religious bans for Muslims could be seen as potentially extremist in the Singapore context because they would undermine the psychological common space that has been at the core of efforts to forge an overarching secular Singaporean identity for the five decades since independence. Furthermore, such bans serve to reinforce the badges and behavior promoting social distancing discussed earlier and are associated with the core belief of Salafabists that there is an immutable chasm between Singaporean Muslims and non-​Muslims. Predictably, individuals like SMH voiced opposition. He argued that “Singapore is a pluralistic society” and a “country is plural in the true sense

168  Extremist Islam only if its citizens are free to practice their way of life true to their beliefs,” which includes the right not to wish Christians and Jews a “Merry Christmas” and “Happy Hanukkah,” respectively.229 SMH—​sharing at least some of Zulfikar’s views—​appeared to evince the extreme stance that the Muslim religious authorities in Singapore are unable and unwilling to defend decontextualized and hence supposedly “pure Islam.”230 In a longer email tirade, he declared: To wish or not to wish someone is one’s right. . . . It is unnecessary to demand Singaporeans to make a stand in secular Singapore. This goes against Singapore Constitution. . . . This is the mark of a secular state, where a religious authority may present the true religious position and citizens adhering to a religion [are] free to accept or reject it. Even non-​Muslims know where Mufti Menk is coming from in his sermons. . . . I won’t be surprised if Singapore becomes another Xinjiang with the state government imposing its views on Xinjiang Muslims, during the tenure of the current Mufti who is unable to articulate Islam clearly to Singapore authorities.231

The challenge of the creeping Salafabization—​ or less technically—​ “Arabization” of Singaporean Islam, as manifested in the issue of the Mufti Menk and Yusus Estes travel bans, remains live at the time of writing. The non-​Muslim former Singaporean diplomat Bilahari Kausikan, nowadays an active public intellectual, speaking at a workshop in Singapore in July 2019, lamented that “while traditional Islam in Southeast Asia was very Sufi and syncretic, it is gone, and cannot be put back together.”232 He observed the increasingly prevalent behavior among Muslims in Singapore of using the phrase “Eid Mubarak” instead of the “good Malay phrase, Selamat Hari Raya” and attributed this trend to a certain “lack of cultural confidence” among all Southeast Asian Muslims, who appeared to possess “a certain uncritical acceptance” that anything coming from the Middle East is “authentic.”233 Interestingly the Malay Mail columnist Surekha Yadav noticed a similar trend in Malaysia, observing that “nobody says ‘Selamat Hari Raya’ any more,” with more people “switching to ‘Eid Mubarak’ casually, unthinkingly and nearly instinctively.”234 Yadav worried that Muslim Malaysians were beginning to frame their “Southeast Asian identity as less than its Arabic counterpart.”235

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Singapore  169

Concluding Remarks Rather than festive greetings per se,236 Kausikan’s comment of a “certain uncritical acceptance” by some Singaporean Muslims of theological currents emanating from the Middle East identifies the real nub of the issue. As discussed, there is probably scope for the Singaporean Muslim authorities, in particular the leading entities, MUIS and PERGAS, to identify and promote clearer theological yardsticks by which Singaporean Muslims can better understand and appreciate their authentic Singaporean Muslim Identity—​ and in the process more readily identify the four Bs proffered by religious teachers—​either foreign or domestic, real-​world or online—​as extremist within the context of the secular multicultural state that is Singapore. At the same time, as a complementary measure, the state can explore more creative ways to explicate the need for psychological and physical common space in the secular multicultural context of Singapore. Having a clearer self-​understanding of what it means to be a Muslim in secular, multicultural Singapore—​ twinned with an appreciation for the need for protecting psychological and physical common space—​ would arguably enable ordinary Singaporean Muslims, and even non-​Muslims, for that matter, to better identify budding hard Salafabist Salafi Jihadi-​oriented individuals like Zulfikar Shariff in their midst—​and to take the necessary countermeasures. That more, and not less, public education on this score is needed is attested to by the continuing cases of radicalized Singaporeans being reported in recent times. In March 2019, Miss Sun Xueling, Senior Parliamentary Secretary for Home Affairs, informed Parliament that since 2015, “24 radicalized Singaporeans have been detected and dealt with” under the ISA, which she noted represented a “stark increase from the 11 such cases that were detected between 2007 and 2014.”237 Ultimately, it does seem that state efforts at educating the public on the importance of promoting common space aside, ways should be found to help MUIS, PERGAS, and other Muslim stakeholders to creatively promote wider community awareness and acceptance of the Singaporean Muslim Identity (SMI). To recapitulate, this calls for the promotion of a reconciled or contextualized SMI, which calls for Muslims, inter alia, to be both authentically Muslim yet open to “adapting” to the “changing context,” to appreciate not just “Islamic civilization and history” but also “contemporary issues” and “other civilizations,” to be “confident in interacting with and learning from other communities,” to be “well-​adjusted” to the realities of a “multireligious

170  Extremist Islam society and secular state” and ultimately to embrace “universal principles and values” as well as “pluralism, without contradicting Islam.”238 As noted, some educated Muslims currently aver that the SMI concept has thus far been making only marginal impact on the community.239 Worse, other interlocutors, very active on social media and displaying traces of a soft Salafabist Islamist stance, adopt a far harsher attitude toward initiatives like the SMI. To them, the SMI project exemplifies a supposedly unjust and ongoing state campaign of criticism, and through the ARS, supposed dilution of “pure Islam.” SMH, for instance, declared, with no little sarcasm: After Sept 11 2001, The Straits Times was determined to link Islam with terrorism. The Straits Times editors spurred me to read up on jihad, ‘black-​ eyed virgins’ and related materials. Thus, I thank all non-​Muslims who criticized Islam and helped me rise up from being a mere blind follower of Islam. Prophet Muhammad has [exhorted] Muslim men and women to “Seek knowledge from cradle to grave.” Such criticism of Islam makes learning of Islam interesting. . . . I welcome non-​Muslims and local media to continue criticizing Islam on newer aspects, which will enable me to deepen my understanding of Islam on these areas as well. If not for the critics, Islam would have been a dry subject for me.240

It is worth reminding ourselves that it was precisely such a grievance-​driven, victimization mentality that helped spur Zulfikar Shariff—​the opportunist—​ on his road to ultimately supporting hard Salafabism in the form of the Salafi Jihadism of ISIS. Promoting the SMI, it should be said, should not be seen as “curtailing Islam,” as the likes of Zulfikar and others argue. After all, one major reason why Islam is the world’s fastest growing religion at this time241 is precisely because down the centuries it has been what Khaled Abou El Fadl calls a vital, hugely adaptable lived Islam, rather than the imagined, decontextualized, monochrome version promulgated by the Salafabist ideologues.242 As another observer argues, “The very reason that Islam took wings and spread so rapidly is because it could adapt itself to different cultures,” and that the worldwide “multiplicity of expressions” of this dynamic faith, from Europe to Asia, evinces “the strength and beauty of Islam.”243 It is worth reiterating, therefore, that the SMI could thus arguably be more than the much-​needed theological yardstick by which Singaporean Muslims can identify and call

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Singapore  171 out hard Salafabist extremists like Zulfikar Shariff and others who might go down the same route. The SMI holds the potential to enable them to be both good Muslims and good citizens within the secular, globalized, multicultural context of modern Singapore. The final chapter of this volume discusses what additional, specific strategies can be used to strengthen the promotion of alternative narratives involving the Singaporean common space idea and the Singapore Muslim Identity.

5 Recognizing Extremist Islam in the Southern Philippines The Stimulus Seeker—​Abu Hamdie

Introduction On March 25, 2011, in a hotel café in Quezon City in the Philippines, I came face to face with a stocky, fit-​looking young man who was accompanied by two other gentlemen whom I later found out to be plainclothes security officers. The man was cordial, but relatively serious. This meeting had been arranged by the Philippine Institute of Political Violence and Terrorism Research (PIPVTR), led by Dr. Rommel C. Banlaoi, its director. The man I was meeting was an ethnic Tausug from Basilan Island in the Sulu Archipelago in the southern Philippines. Although I had known his real name for over a year by then, he preferred to be known as Abu Hamdie. Abu Hamdie had been arrested 3 years earlier in Cotabato City for his involvement in the Abu Sayyaf Group (ASG; previously encountered in the Introduction). However, with the encouragement and support of Banlaoi, he had turned state witness with the Department of Justice, and 2 years after our 2011 meeting, he was working in the Presidential Anti-​Organized Crime Commission and serving as a senior fellow with PIPVTR.1 Abu Hamdie’s story retains contemporary relevance, not least because his experience illumines some of the enduring background factors in the rise of those hard Salafabist Salafi Jihadi groups—​ including the ASG—​that between May and October 2017, attempted to carve out some territorial space in the Islamic City of Marawi in Lanao Del Sur province in Mindanao, with the putative aim of setting up a regional province or wilayat of the so-​called ISIS caliphate. In the event, after 5 months of sustained urban combat, the pro-​ISIS militants failed to establish a foothold—​if they had been successful, it would have been of serious concern not just to the Philippines but to the rest of Southeast Asia as well.2 According to reports, more than a thousand combatants, including foreign fighters Extremist Islam. Kumar Ramakrishna, Oxford University Press. © University of Maryland National Consortium for the Study of Terrorism and Responses to Terrorism (START) 2022. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197610961.003.0006

Recognizing Extremist Islam in the Philippines  173 and civilians, were killed in the fighting. An additional 600,000 civilians were displaced in and around Marawi.3 The pro-​ISIS groups had been led by Basilan-​based ASG leader Isnilon Hapilon, and ASG fighters aside, the groups included those from the Rajah Solaiman Islamic Movement; the Khilafa Islamiya Mindanao; the Maute Group, led by Abdullah Maute and Omarkhayam Maute; the Bangsamoro Islamic Freedom Fighters, especially the faction led by Esmael Abdul Maguid and Abu Turaipe; and the Ansar Khalifa Philippines spearheaded by Muhammad Jaafar Maguid and Commander Tokboy. Banlaoi noted that all these groups had “pledged allegiance to ISIS and recognized Abu Bakhar Baghdadi as their overall caliph.”4 Banlaoi added that these groups considered themselves as part of an “umbrella organization of pro-​ISIS groups in the Philippines officially known as the Daula Islamiya Wilayatul Mashriq or the Islamic State Province East Asia, with Hapilon as the recognized amir.”5 This chapter undertakes the task of exploring Salafabism in the specific context of Muslim Mindanao in the southern Philippine archipelago, using Abu Hamdie’s personal journey as a point of reference. As has been done with the other cases, the chapter applies the conceptual framework for recognizing religious extremism to Abu Hamdie. It then examines the Salafabist ecosystem (SE)—​ persons, platforms, and places—​ within which Abu Hamdie’s hard Salafabist, Salafi Jihadi orientation was honed. The chapter ends in the usual way by discussing the challenges of coping with Salafabism in its soft and hard forms in the contemporary southern Philippine Islamic milieu. Before we proceed further, however, a concise historical survey of the evolution of the Philippine Muslim community—​called Moro or more recently Bangsamoro—​in Mindanao is warranted. Abu Hamdie’s story and the evolution of his hard Salafabist belief system of Salafi Jihadism can then be better appreciated against this backdrop.

Islam in Mindanao: A Capsule History By the end of the fourteenth century CE, “the Islamization process had reached a point where being a Muslim became an acceptable passport into the community” in the Sulu Archipelago and the main island of Mindanao.6 However, this did not mean that there was a particularly strong adherence to Islamic orthodoxy. The Philippine Muslim community that evolved was never as a rule well versed in the religion or the Qur’an, observed very few

174  Extremist Islam rituals, and were syncretic in their religious practices. In essence, rather than an excessively doctrinal approach to the faith, they regarded Islam essentially “as the focal point of their identity and way of life.”7 By 1565, the emerging Sulu and Mindanao sultanates were having to fend off a series of attacks by the arriving Spanish fleet. While the latter were able to occupy and convert the rest of the country to Catholicism, in the course of the next 350 years, they found themselves unable to crush a defiant Muslim resistance in the south of the archipelago. The Spanish, recalling the North African Moors who had conquered the Iberian peninsula in the eighth century, labeled the Muslim resistance movement in Mindanao and Sulu Moro.8 When the Spanish themselves capitulated in 1898 to the United States at the end of the Spanish-​American War, Mindanao and Sulu were ceded to Washington. Despite episodes of traditional local sultans’ and feudal lords’ (datus) making isolated concessions to the Spanish, generalized Moro resistance had yet to be decisively quelled by the beginning of the American colonial era.9 To be sure, the Moro Muslims fought the Americans as hard as they had fought the Spanish before them, leading to the August 1899 signing of the Bates Treaty between the Sultan of Sulu and the United States. This agreement acknowledged the Sultan’s authority over his subjects, but it was suddenly abrogated in 1902, a Moro Province was created, and direct rule was imposed from colonial Manila. In particular, given the perception that the Moro Province was populated by ostensibly “wild tribes,” the U.S. Expeditionary Army was handed the chief responsibility of imposing order on what was seen as a practically “ungovernable” region.10 The wild tribes did not at first present a unified front against the American colonial authorities. As Abinales recounts, resistance was “scattered, and unity never emerged among leaders of the different Muslim communities”; each “ethnic group responded to American military occupation based on how it affected their own areas,” and they did not project the impression of an existing, unified “Moro Mindanao.”11 Nevertheless, the American colonial encounter eventually forged a sense of overarching Moro unity and identity among educated Muslims in the south.12 To be sure, before the arrival of Christian Filipino settlers from the northern islands of Luzon and Visayas after 1912, Mindanao, Sulu, and the island of Palawan were the ancestral homelands of more than 30 ethno-​linguistic groups. While 13 of the groups, such as the Badjao, Molbog, Iranun, Palawani, Sama, Kalagan, Sangil, Jama-​mapun, Kalibugan, and particularly the politically powerful Tausug, Maguindanao, and Maranao, were considered Moro, and more

Recognizing Extremist Islam in the Philippines  175 precisely later on as Bangsamoro, the rest came to be known as Lumad: the non-​Muslim indigenous clans of Mindanao.13 Moshe Yegar adds that, of all the groups, the ethnic Tausugs were the oldest Muslim community and were considered relatively the most orthodox.14 Under direct rule, U.S. military force, operating on the assumption that the southern Mindanao population was “wild, backward, and unpacified,” arrogated to itself the right to “govern the Moro Province differently than other Philippine provinces;” the thinking in official circles being that “success depended on the Army being unhampered in its pursuit of civilizing the Moros.”15 This carte blanche policy contributed to several unseemly episodes: the so-​called Bud Daho (also rendered as Bud Dajo) massacre of March 1906, in which U.S. forces led by General Leonard Wood annihilated nearly 1,000 Tausugs for resisting disarmament. The carnage that day was the outcome in no small measure of one Datu Uti’s refusal to negotiate surrender terms, insisting instead that the ethnic Tausugs—​Moros who have traditionally been known for their warrior ethos16—​would fight until “we can no longer raise aloft the kris [a traditional Malay weapon].”17 Seven years later, 2,000 Tausugs, including women and children, were killed in the so-​called Bud Bagsak incident. That these events continue to represent chosen traumas for the Moro Muslims is suggested by the fact that a former ASG leader—​ the aforementioned Abu Hamdie—​framed the events as community rallying symbols as late as October 2010.18 To be sure, U.S. military officers in Mindanao sought not merely to pacify the Moros, but also to “civilize” them prior to integrating them into the rest of the country. The colonial authorities thus introduced a secular educational system and sent non-​Muslim teachers to Moro schools—​undermining the traditional authority of the religious teachers. Muslims reacted by boycotting the schools, leading over time to a thoroughly unhelpful spike in illiteracy. Furthermore, as part of the “civilizing” project, Christian Filipinos from the rest of the country were encouraged to settle in the Moro Province and were given loans to assist them in doing so. Land legislation passed between 1902 and 1919 gradually claimed all lands in the Philippines as state property—​although individuals could apply for private ownership. However, there was institutional bias built into the system: the 1919 legislation, for instance, permitted a non-​Christian Filipino to apply for 10 hectares of land, while a Christian could apply for 24. The net result was “legalized land grabbing,” with Moro control of their ancestral lands being gradually prised from their collective grasp.19

176  Extremist Islam Eventually, the population in Mindanao came to comprise the Moro Muslims, Lumad, and Christian settlers. In fact, the latter ultimately formed 75 percent of the region encapsulated by Mindanao, Sulu, and Palawan—​except for the five provinces that came to be regarded as the Moro homeland, namely Maguindanao, Lanao del Sur, Basilan, Sulu, and Tawi-​Tawi. At the present time, the Moro people make up 20 percent of the total Philippine population. Apart from the aforementioned five provinces, they are also present in large numbers in some municipalities in Cotabato, Lanao del Norte, Zamboanga del Norte, and Davao del Sur. Significant communities also remain in Sultan Kudarat, South Cotabato, Zamboanga del Sur, and Palawan. Lumads, for their part, today comprise approximately 5 percent of the population in Mindanao.20 In any case, by the time of Philippine independence in 1946, Moro Muslims—​clearly in the throes of mass radicalization as a community21—​were collectively identifying the Christian settlers as Them. A “popular and common perception” held that it “was the settlers who had helped the Spaniards” and who “drove them away from their ancestral lands.”22 In March 1935, 120 datus from Lanao penned the so-​called Dansalan Declaration, demanding that the Moros be excluded from any future independent Philippine nation. They desired to remain under separate U.S. rule in the Mindanao region “if they could not be granted their separate independence simultaneously.”23 The in-​group/​out-​group cognitive divide in the highly prescient Danalan document is unmistakable: We do not want to be included in the Philippines, for once an independent Philippines is launched, there would be trouble between us and the Filipinos because from time immemorial these two peoples have not lived harmoniously together. Our public land must not be given to people other than the Moros. (italics added)24

Moro datus also warned the Americans that it is “not proper” that “[two antagonistic] peoples” such as the Muslim Moros and the Christian Filipinos should be made to “live together under one flag.”25 At any rate, the United States went ahead and granted the Philippines independence in July 1946, incorporating the Sulu-​ Mindanao region and ignoring the statehood 26 aspirations of the Moros. Since Philippine independence, continuing massive inflows of Christian settlers and loss of ancestral lands, together with state-​encouraged and expanding foreign multinational control of the pineapple, banana, sugar

Recognizing Extremist Islam in the Philippines  177 cane, rubber, and other sectors of the Mindanao economy, have intensified the “marginalization and underdevelopment of the Bangsamoro” and for that matter, indigenous Lumads.27 The Mindanao area remains the richest part of the Philippines in terms of natural resources. However, for decades, the pattern of investment has been geared toward production for the global export market rather than local needs, thereby disrupting Moro subsistence production practices, expanding the income gap with the Christians, and pushing the Moro community toward the “economic periphery.”28 Moreover, succor from the democratic political system was never forthcoming. The relatively weak postwar Philippine state was organized in patronage coalitions of state leaders, the country’s wealthy provincial clans, and strongmen in urban and rural areas. Within this political framework, the traditional sultans and datus in the relatively underdeveloped Mindanao area—​the Alontos of Lanao, the Pendatuns, Ampatuans, and Sinsuats of Cotabato, and the Abu Bakrs of Sulu for example—​while lacking the wealth of their Christian counterparts in the central and northern Philippines, managed to manipulate the system to their advantage. Among other things, the traditional leaders secured access to public works’ funding and other types of patronage, gained influence over local police systems, and, in a pattern that endures to this day, created their own private armies.29 By interposing themselves between the “suspicious, increasingly aggrieved Muslim minority and the determined national state associated with Christians,” they “increased their power at the local level” and accumulated “prestige and influence in the national capital.”30 The state permitted the local traditional aristocratic families to keep their largesse and private armies in exchange for keeping order and ensuring the relatively peaceful apportioning of land between the Moros and settlers.31 Nevertheless, certainly by the 1960s, intensifying Moro resentment at their creeping economic and social “minoritization” at the hands of the Christian-​ dominated Filipino state—​despite the best efforts of the datus at keeping the peace—​had led to sporadic rioting as well as violent clashes between Christians and Muslims.32 Exacerbating the situation was the accession to power in the mid-​1960s of the highly ambitious President Ferdinand Marcos, who, in seeking to incorporate the Mindanao region into national development plans, actively sought to destroy the power base of the local strongmen who were allies of opposition elites, as well as those with the independent resources to potentially block him. To this end, Marcos unleashed the Armed Forces of the Philippines (AFP) on the Mindanao region, destroying the old compact between the state and the traditional Muslim leaders, using the

178  Extremist Islam military to break up opposition private armies, and setting up rival Muslim associations loyal to him. The net result was a breakdown in southern stability as a culture of assassinations and electoral violence emerged. The ongoing Muslim–​Christian settler conflict was heightened by military support to the latter. The ultimate result was a co-​optation of the cowed Muslim aristocratic elites by Marcos and their generalized political decline.33 Things were soon to come to a head. In light of Manila’s long-​standing irredentist claims on the Malaysian state of Sabah, in March 1968 elements within the military organized a covert plot—​called Jabaidah (also jabidah)—​to use the island of Corregidor for training a group of Moro Muslims in commando tactics. The idea was that when these agents provocateurs infiltrated Sabah, they could effectively agitate among the population and influence them to demand annexation by the Philippines. In the event, the Moro soldiers decided not to proceed with the mission. As a result, 30 of them were summarily executed by their Christian officers. The so-​called Jabaidah massacre very much led to the coalescence of the first organized violent resistance movements among the Moros.34 Two months after the Jabaidah incident, one of the most prominent and powerful datus of Cotabato, Datu Udtog Matalam, launched the Muslim Independence Movement (MIM), aimed at nothing less than setting up an independent Islamic Republic of Sulu and Mindanao. MIM called for a “jihad or holy war to change Moroland into a Darul Islam.”35 MIM sought the outright secession of the Mindanao, Sulu, and the Palawan regions from Manila’s grasp, and in its public rallies it promoted the telling slogan: “We are not Filipinos, we are Bangsamoros.”36 Rather than posing any significant threat to Philippine stability, the MIM was in the final analysis a desperate attempt to draw public attention to Moro grievances.37 Datu Udtog complained about the diminishing status of traditional leaders and village elders, the educational system that “systematically alienated the school children” by demeaning “the cultural milieu in which they grew,” and the ongoing carving out of agricultural colonies from Moro lands that in effect “reduced the economic base of Moroland.”38 More fundamentally, the Jabaidah incident “generated strong feelings among Muslims and galvanized their fears that their lives were of little value in Philippine society.”39 Importantly, Rommel Banlaoi has argued that “it was through the MIM” that “the ideology of Bangsamorism”—​the Moro nationalist identity frame that was later Salafabized—​“started to develop.”40

Recognizing Extremist Islam in the Philippines  179 At any rate, Datu Udtog’s complaints fell on deaf ears: the Christian-​led anti-​Moro Ilaga movement that was formed in reaction ultimately perpetrated the June 1971 massacre of 70 Muslims in a mosque in Bario Manili, North Cotabato. This attack on a sacred place of the Moro Muslims further contributed to Moro mass radicalization.41 Ultimately, the political co-​ optation by Manila of the MIM leadership further signified the growing irrelevance of the datus. Many young MIM members quit in frustration, and led by a young University of the Philippines political science instructor from Sulu called Nur Misuari, they formed the Moro National Liberation Front (MNLF), committed to the “complete liberation of the Moro’s homeland.”42 Starting in 1969, groups of young Moros were sent to Malaysia for military training, and in the following year, the MNLF was formed.43 From the outset, it was marked by decreasing reliance on “untrustworthy, aristocratic, and egocentric elders” and heightened emphasis on “socialist populists, religious leaders, and student movements” to fill its ranks.44 The charismatic Misuari attracted scores of young Moros eager to take up arms against the Marcos regime, and he promptly deployed them in an armed wing, the Bangsamoro Army, which—​ after Marcos’s declaration of martial law in September 1972—​launched attacks on AFP detachments in Sulu, Cotabato, and Lanao provinces, sparking a “full-​scale war in southern Philippines.”45 The stock ideological frame of the MNLF—​“Bangsamoroism”46—​was well captured in an April 1974 MNLF manifesto: We, the five million oppressed Bangsamoro people, wishing to free ourselves from the terror, oppression, and tyranny of Filipino colonialism, that had caused us untold sufferings and miseries by criminally usurping our land, by threatening Islam through wholesale desecration of its places of worship and its Holy Book, and murdering our innocent brothers, sisters and folks in a genocidal campaign of terrifying magnitude . . . hereby declares the “establishment of the Bangsamoro Republic.”47

What amounted to a conventional war between the Philippine military and the MNLF reached its apogee between 1972 and 1976, resulting in thousands of lives lost and tremendous damage to property. The MNLF could not sustain the tempo of operations, however. Its leadership was inexperienced and was stretched by mounting battlefield losses as the war progressed. These pressures caused simmering tensions between Tausugs, who controlled

180  Extremist Islam the leadership, and the Maguindanaos, who did the bulk of the fighting, to surface.48 Nevertheless, because the intensity of the fighting had attracted concern from the Organisation of the Islamic Conference (OIC; now Organisation of Islamic Cooperation), a fact that Misuari adroitly exploited, a political resolution was eventually reached in December 1976 with the signing of the so-​called Tripoli Agreement in Libya. The agreement called for the creation of an autonomous—​rather than independent—​region in Muslim Mindanao consisting of 13 provinces and nine cities. The region included the five—​ Maguindanao, Lanao del Sur, Basilan, Sulu, and Tawi-​Tawi—​with absolute Muslim majorities. However, because Marcos subsequently demanded that a referendum be held to clarify which provinces and cities named in the agreement should be included in the autonomous region, the ceasefire fell apart, and Misuari went into exile in the Middle East. President Corazon Aquino, who assumed office in 1986, offered a new Constitution and actually set up an Autonomous Region of Muslim Mindanao (ARMM), but Misuari expressed dissatisfaction, because the ARMM granted autonomy to only four provinces, and not the originally envisaged 13 provinces. However, the arrival on the scene of President Fidel Ramos in 1992 improved the situation, and 4 years later a final peace agreement with the MNLF was sealed. The terms included the establishment of the Southern Philippines Council for Peace and Development, with Misuari as governor of the ARMM.49 The ARMM however, unable to satisfy other armed Bangsamoro groups like the MILF (see below), and deeply embroiled in allegations of corruption and sheer incompetence of co-​opted Muslim officials, could not improve regional governance and delivery of basic services to the people. As a result, the region remained as “impoverished and strife-​torn” and “the poorest” in the country.50 Little wonder that critics quickly accused the ARMM of suffering from a “paper autonomy.”51 To be sure, well before the Misuari-​brokered 1996 agreement, misgivings about the earlier 1976 Tripoli accord had severely undermined Misuari politically, splitting the MNLF along ethnic lines. Misuari’s support had come from the Tausugs in the Moro-​populated areas of Lanao del Norte, Basilan, Sulu, Zamboanga, Tawi-​Tawi, and Palawan. His chief rival for control of the trajectory of the Bangsamoro separatist movement by the mid-​1970s, however, a Cairo-​educated religious scholar named Salamat Hashim, drew upon a Maguindanao support base scattered around Maguindanao, Lanao del Sur, Lanao del Norte, and Zamboanga provinces. Hashim had criticized Misuari

Recognizing Extremist Islam in the Philippines  181 then for veering dangerously far away from “the Islamic basis” and toward “Marxist-​Maoist orientations,” while at the same time presiding over a central leadership that had become “mysterious, exclusive, [and] secretive” and that seemed to answer only to Misuari.52 Following an abortive attempt to oust Misuari in 1976, Hashim quit his position as MNLF vice-​chairman and, together with 57 senior leaders, formed a rival leadership bloc. Chafing at the fact that the OIC had formally acknowledged Misuari’s MNLF as the legitimate representative of the Bangsamoro people, Hashim moved to give greater institutional shape to his faction, formally announcing the formation of the Moro Islamic Liberation Front (MILF) in Jeddah in 1984. From the start, the MILF sought to emphasize its Islamic credentials, deliberately contrasting itself with the MNLF, which “under Misuari was beginning to look like a secular relic from the feudal era.”53 That said, until the 1990s, Manila virtually ignored the MILF, buying into Hashim’s astute assurances that his organization was more moderate than the MNLF. This enabled the MILF over this period to “quietly build up power in the areas it controlled, creating a de facto autonomous Islamic community within Philippine territory,” complete with its own “sharia courts, prisons, and even educational system;” meanwhile, the MILF’s armed wing, the Bangsamoro Islamic Army, grew from 6,000 in the early 1990s to 15,000 by the end of the decade.54 In contrast to the MNLF, the MILF placed far more pronounced emphasis on dakwah (proselytization) and tarbiyah (education), and in fact the early years of the organization were “primarily focused” not on fighting, but on “strengthening Islamic identity and consciousness while developing a political community centered on Islam that would form the foundation for the struggle for an independent Bangsamoro Islamic state.”55 That this commitment of the MILF to Islamizing the Bangsamoro struggle was much more than just legitimating rhetoric, and was evidenced in various ways, such as the several hundred Islamic schools (madaris) in its areas of operations, regular ulama summits in the Dakwah Center in Sultan Kudarat in Maguindanao, the murshid (spiritual guides) assigned to every Bangsamoro Islamic Armed Forces unit to ensure, among other things, that Islamic moral standards (such as prohibitions on drinking and smoking) were enforced, and the setting up of a five-​man Islamic court led by a University of Medina Islamic law graduate, overseeing the finer interpretations of Islamic fiqh in areas under its control.56 To be sure, Hashim, who as a young student in the early 1960s at the prestigious Al-​Azhar University in Cairo had been exposed to the works of Qutb and Mawdudi, was a strident Salafabist.57 At the outset,

182  Extremist Islam therefore, the MILF sought nothing less than a Salafabized Bangsamoro State in the Mindanao region, to be achieved by both the soft Salafabist strategy of dakwah and the harder approach of jihad.58 Hashim also framed the Moro struggle as part of the wider struggle of the “entire Islamic ummah, of which we are an integral part.”59 Moreover, the September 11, 2001, al-​Qaeda assault on New York and Washington, DC, gave rise to a certain millennial element in Hashim’s thinking as well, when he noted that in “many parts of the world, we have seen the inevitable collision between Islam and the diabolical forces arrayed against” Muslim communities in “Palestine, Afghanistan, Chechnya” and “Jammu-​Kashmir,” a situation which was “nothing strange” to the long-​suffering and victimized Bangsamoro nation.60 Nevertheless, as early as 1985 even Hashim had begun to demonstrate traces of flexibility in his political aims, noting that the Moro concept of self-​ determination, while of course favoring “complete independence,” could conceivably include “at least, a meaningful autonomous government embracing the traditional homeland of the Bangsamoro, namely, Mindanao, Palawan, Basilan, Sulu, and Tawi-​Tawi.”61 Part of the reason for this tension in Hashim’s thought is that the MILF leadership had no real idea of what really constituted an Islamic State in the Mindanao area, dismissing existing models of putative Islamic governance from Pakistan to Saudi Arabia as inapplicable in the southern Philippines. More than that, Hashim and his colleagues were not always single-​mindedly committed to the violent interpretation of jihad associated with the likes of al-​Qaeda and JI. At various times, they argued that jihad qital (offensive jihad or the lesser jihad) was certainly justified during the Marcos era, when the state had been at war with Muslims, but was less justified since then, as more democratic successor governments appeared willing to engage in peaceful negotiations.62 Finally, despite the MILF’s commitment to an Islamization agenda, its make-​up was not uniformly doctrinaire strident Salafabists: while Hashim and foreign affairs head Abu Zahir were full-​fledged clerics, other senior leaders, such as the current MILF amir, Al Haj Murad Ibrahim (Hashim passed away in July 2003), information head Mohagher Iqbal, and vice-​chairman for internal affairs Abdul Aziz Mimbintas, were more pragmatic in orientation. Added to this, the rank and file, comprising ordinary Maguindanao, Maranao, Tausug, and others, were a mixture of “mainly folk Islam” with “some elements of scholarly Islam.”63 At any rate, the MILF declared its nonrecognition of the 1996 MNLF accord with Manila, organized mass demonstrations in Cotabato City in

Recognizing Extremist Islam in the Philippines  183 December 1996 to protest Misuari’s acceptance of mere autonomy rather than complete independence, and engaged in combat with the AFP that generated scores of dead civilians and thousands of refugees. Such a hostile stance prompted Ramos’ successor as President, Joseph Estrada, to launch an all-​out campaign against the MILF from April to July 2000, and the main MILF camp complex Abubakar was overrun in the process. Nevertheless, in the early 2000s, when Estrada’s successor, Gloria Macapagal-​Arroyo, adopted instead a strategy of limited tactical AFP operations combined with peace talks, the growing pragmatism of Hashim and the other senior leaders meant that the limited olive branch was accepted, and negotiations between the MILF and Manila for a separate peace agreement began in earnest. To be sure, the MILF mirrored the Arroyo strategy, agreeing to talk while granting local commanders enough flexibility to determine when to engage security forces as well. This image of an “armed, but open-​to-​negotiation movement,” its skillful use of traditional politicians in its areas of operation as a “buffer between itself and the national state,” and, once negotiations started in the early 2000s, the wide berth it officially gave to the likes of al-​Qaeda and JI militants, garnered a positive response from Islamic and Western aid agencies, resulting in the inflow of much-​needed funding to reconstruct war-​ torn Mindanao.64 However, in much the same way that Hashim had once railed at Misuari for supposedly selling out the Bangsamoro cause to Manila, the softening stance of the MILF itself toward the kuffar state from the mid-​ 1980s onwards, generated howls of protest within the broad Bangsamoro movement. This set the stage for the rise of the very Abu Sayyaf Group that Abu Hamdie was inducted into.

Inside the Abu Sayyaf Group In 1989, Aburajak Janjalani, a former MNLF member, set up the Al Harakatul Islamiyah, which over time became much better known as the Abu Sayyaf Group, or ASG.65 Aburajak, who had been trained in Afghanistan, named the network after the Afghan mujahidin commander Abdul Rasul Sayyaf, whom he had greatly admired.66 Although Aburajak had attended a Catholic high school called Claret College in Isabela in Basilan, his subsequent education was very much shaped by a Salafabist orientation. He went to Mecca in 1981 and studied Islamic fiqh for 3 years before proceeding to Pakistan, where he became very much attracted to the idea of jihad. Interestingly, it was

184  Extremist Islam in Pakistan that Aburajak became actively involved with the Tablighi Jamaat, to such an extent that when he returned to Basilan in 1984, “he organized a local version” of the Tablighi, under which “he preached in Zamboanga City, Sulu, and Tawi-​Tawi until he became popular as an Ustadj with a new outlook.”67 Nevertheless, while appropriating the pietist public image of the Tablighi, he deviated from the group’s neo-​fundamentalist, apolitical stance. Emphasizing and building upon instead the Tablighi’s intrinsic, puritanical aversion to commingling with unbelievers, in preaching in various mosques, he emphasized the importance of jihad in the sense of “fighting and dying in the cause of Islam.”68 Aburajak was, in this respect, disturbed by what he considered the overly relaxed, folk Islam of the Moros, which to him seemed out of sync with what he, by this time, considered the “true Islam” of their West Asian counterparts.69 More than that, one of the drivers of his decision to set up the ASG was his disappointment by the late 1980s with the supposedly “ ‘heretic’ leadership of the MNLF and MILF.”70 The ASG, like both the MNLF and MILF at the outset, declared that it sought the creation of an “independent Islamic state in Mindanao.”71 Aburajak urged local leaders to actively oppose Manila for its historical injustices against the Moros, and he held that the only way to “seek keadilan or justice for Muslims” was through armed jihad. He even produced eight khutbah (sermons) laying out his thoughts on the way forward for the Moros.72 To this end, Aburajak recruited similarly radicalized younger scholars who had studied in Saudi Arabia, Libya, Pakistan, and Egypt and who were equally disillusioned with both the MNLF and Manila. When ASG first started out, it was quite organized, blending both hard and soft Salafabist strategies: Aburajak presided over an Islamic Executive Council of 15 amirs who oversaw two committees focused on the soft Salafabist strategies of education and fund-​raising, as well as agitation and propaganda. He also set up a military wing tasked with hard Salafabist, Salafi Jihadi tasks (carrying out bombing attacks, tactical coordination, and intelligence operations), and that was comprised “predominantly” of “disgruntled members of MNLF and MILF.”73 One of the earliest Aburajak-​directed ASG operations was the bombing of the Christian missionary ship MV Doulos in August 1991, in retaliation for the perceived overly aggressive proselytizing of Christian missionaries in Mindanao who had ostensibly made derogatory marks about Islam.74 Four years later, the ASG gained further notoriety by burning down the town center of Ipil, Zamboanga del Sur, signaling its expansion outside Basilan.75

Recognizing Extremist Islam in the Philippines  185 Nevertheless, following Aburajak’s elimination by Philippine security forces in December 1998 in Lamitan, Basilan, the ensuing leadership vacuum led to the ASG’s relatively hierarchical original structure’s quickly degenerating into a network of various armed groups with their own amirs commanding their own respective followers and functioning in the main in Sulu, Basilan, and Tawi-​Tawi. By July 1999, however, Khadaffy Janjalani, Aburajak’s younger brother, had been elected by other senior leaders, but he lacked both the organizational discipline and ideological zeal of his older brother. Thus, between 1999 and Khaddafy’s own confirmed death in January 2007, the ASG focused largely on “banditry, piracy, kidnap-​for-​ransom, and other terrorist activities.”76 The network gained global notoriety in April 2000 when it abducted 21 hostages, mainly tourists, from the Malaysian tourist island of Sipadan. This was followed by a raid on the Dos Palmas Resort on Palawan, where another 20 hostages were taken and two Americans were killed.77 These highly lucrative kidnapping activities meant an inflow of huge ransom funds into the pockets of the kin and friends of ASG members in Basilan and Jolo—​resulting in a significant disruption in the distribution of patronage and implying that the ASG effectively became an alternative source of patronage to rival that long offered by local politicians. This meant that pressure mounted on Manila to cooperate with U.S. forces—​newly deployed to the region as part of the George W. Bush administration’s recently inaugurated Global War on Terror—​to eliminate the ASG.78 In the event, intensified security-​force pressure since the 2000s meant that the ASG was forced to consolidate itself in two main areas: Basilan and Sulu. Rather than being a “homogenous organization,” the ASG today is said by most analysts to resemble a “very loose coalition of many groups of radical Muslim leaders and bandits commanding their own loyal followers in the southern Philippines” and possessing “mixed objectives from Islamic fundamentalism to mere banditry.”79 Moreover, rather than following “ASG doctrines,” members of the ASG networks “pay allegiance mostly to their respective leaders.”80 These “highly personalistic” networks in truth display widely varying degrees of commitment to Aburajak Janjalani’s original ideal of a “separate Islamic state in the southern Philippines.”81 Moreover, institutional boundaries have been more imaginary than real; fighters’ crossing between group boundaries is endemic. Despite the official protestations of both the MNLF and MILF that they have no connections with the ASG, whose “un-​Islamic” lawlessness is decried, there are documented links.82 After all, many ASG members are ex-​MNLF, and informal ASG–​MNLF tactical

186  Extremist Islam alliances for specific operations are not unknown. MNLF members provide shelter to ASG militants on the run, while ASG has hired MNLF fighters to mount attacks. For that matter, ethno-​linguistic and kinship ties, intermarriage, and personal relationships connect the ASG and MILF elements. While no formal institutional inks have been detected between the ASG and MILF, unofficial tactical coordination and sharing of resources between elements of both networks have been observed. A former ASG militant even revealed that ASG fighters would fire upon Philippine soldiers wounded by roadside bombs planted by the MILF. Furthermore, ASG and MILF fighters have been jointly trained by the Indonesian JI in bomb-​making.83 In this connection, Mindanaoan analyst Ishak Mastura’s perceptive views on the matter are worth pondering: It needs to be stressed that, from the perspective of the Moro fighters, organizational labels used by the government—​such as “rogue MNLF-​ ASG,” “Misuari Breakaway Group,” or more, recently, the “Lawless MILF Group”—​have no meaning. Rather than a common bond to a group, these individuals are bound together by the perception of the Armed Forces of the Philippines (AFP) as the enemy. The government continues to employ labels like the “Pentagon Gang,” “MILF Special Operations Group,” and “Al-​Khobar” in an effort to link a variety of Moro armed gangs to the insurgency. This process only assists in the creation of new enemies, because rebel fighters easily move between criminal gangs and private armed groups associated with Moro politicians and political clans to the MILF, and vice versa. (italics added)84

In like vein, Kit Collier (following anthropologist Thomas Kiefer) argues that the concept of a “clearly bounded ‘group’—​as in the ‘Abu Sayyaf Group’—​is meaningless in Tausug society.”85 He argues that Tausug military and political life is structured by “temporary factional alliances” and “criss-​crossing ties in which the same men may be torn apart and bound together in multiple ways at the same time.”86 Collier points out that such minimal alliance networks pivot on a charismatic leader and are small, hardly more than a score strong, with membership becoming fuzzy at the edges as one network meshes with another. The “Abu Sayyaf,” he concludes, “is just such a medial alliance” with “no firm boundaries—​only leaders with followers who interact with other leaders with followers.”87 Abu Hamdie, in short, was very much the product of such a historical, sociopolitical, shifting institutional and, not

Recognizing Extremist Islam in the Philippines  187 least, Salafabized Bangsamoro, milieu. It is against such a backdrop, therefore, that the issue of his Salafabism must be gauged.

Abu Hamdie as Salafabist Extremist: The Stimulus Seeker The Constitutional, Historical, and Political Context Constitutionally, Article III, Section 5—​the freedom of religion provision—​ states that “no law shall be made respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof ” and that “the free exercise and enjoyment of religious profession and worship, without discrimination or preference, shall forever be allowed.”88 Additionally, in the Philippines, the strict separation of church and state has been entrenched “since the American colonial period and even during the authoritarian rule of Marcos, as is the freedom of religion and nondiscriminatory practices based on religion.”89 Moreover, the Philippines is also a party to the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR), ratifying it in 1986.90 Under the ICCPR, freedom of religion is protected under Article 18, while Article 20 criminalizes “religious hatred that constitutes incitement to discrimination, hostility, or violence.”91 Furthermore, although there are no explicit hate speech provisions within the Constitution, under the Revised Penal Code of the Philippines, Article 201 makes it an offense to offend any race or religion—​albeit it appears to be extremely narrow in scope, as it only applies to “plays, scenes, acts, or shows.”92 In short, it could be said that at least on paper, the Philippine national constitutional context respects all faiths as equal in status before, and equally deserving of protection by, the law. No particular faith—​Christian, Muslim, or otherwise—​is privileged over the others. How, then, did Abu Hamdie’s religious belief system measure up against this prevailing Philippine national constitutional standard? Already as a bored and impressionable 19-​year-​old enrolled in the hard Salafabist-​ oriented Darul Imam Shafi’i boarding school (see below) in 1990, his worldview was that, rather than the national constitution, sharia or Islamic law was “the best law.”93 Moreover, fired by newfound Salafabist zeal, he “wanted more”: the Islamization of society, women in hijab, and the local government to be Islamic.94 He even claimed to have persuaded his moderately religious father to become a more serious Muslim.95 As mentioned, moreover, until 2008 he had been part of the ASG, which was, at least in the early years under

188  Extremist Islam Aburajak Janjalani, seeking to establish a system of governance in Mindanao that privileged Islam and Islamic law over other contending faiths and legal systems. Abu Hamdie, therefore, very clearly ticked off the first characteristic of Salafabism: identity supremacism in the sense of seeking primacy of the Islamic faith in Mindanao—​which represented a deviation from the national constitutional norm. Additionally, Abu Hamdie as a one-​ time ASG fighter abundantly evinced the second and third characteristics of Salafabism: in-​group bias and out-​group prejudice. As a young man who had grown up in the embattled Bangsamoro historical sociocultural and political milieu, he would have absorbed the sense of victimhood of the Bangsamoro seeking to defend themselves against the relentless depredations of the putatively evil Christian-​dominated central government in Manila and its international Crusader sponsors. As the iconic Bangsamoro separatist figure Salamat Hashim declared in a 2001 speech, the ultimate victory of the “oppressed people here in the Bangsamoro” over the “arrogant powers of the kufr” would mean the “triumph” of the Moro in-​group virtues of “haqq [truth] over baatil [falsehood], and imaan [faith] over kufr [unbelief], in short, the triumph of Islam, our deen [religious way of life].”96 As if to leave his acolytes under no illusion what allowing the putatively unjust kufr out-​ group to triumph would mean, Hashim added that the latter would “go on terrorizing the weak, [and] the oppressors could continue the enslavement of the oppressed and the exploiters could maintain their predatory stranglehold over the exploited.”97 Abu Hamdie also recalled that while he was in the Darul Imam Shafi’i boarding school, he had encountered two views about the nature of the Christian out-​group. On the one hand, it was possible to coexist with them in an Islamic state, as they would be considered protected, tax-​paying, but, importantly, socially inferior dhimmi.98 On the other hand, he was also warned that Christians were implacable “enemies.” He conceded that he had been “a bit confused” about which attitude to adopt toward Christians as a result. He reiterated that Christians had always been seen by the Bangsamoros as “oppressors and colonizers,” and in this respect certain ASG leaders he knew—​such as the late Isnilon Hapilon, the ISIS amir for Southeast Asia until his death during the Marawi fighting of 2017—​“throughout . . . life never engaged with Christians.” Hapilon’s father had apparently brought him up to see Christians not as fellow human beings, but as “animals” and “colonizers who should be driven away.”99

Recognizing Extremist Islam in the Philippines  189 In contrast, the fourth characteristic of extremism—​the fundamentalist obsession with purity and fear of contamination through intimate contact with the out-​group—​was something that Abu Hamdie was fairly clear about, again as a result of his indoctrination in the insulated enclave of the Darul Imam Shafi’i environment. According to Abu Hamdie, “no contact” was permitted with outsiders, and when he did venture outside, he was always strictly supervised. As he recalled, the instructors in Darul Imam Shafi’i controlled “everything: what we think, what we see, and what we speak.”100 In this regard, following the stock Salafabist denunciation of the folk, syncretic Islam of Mindanao and a reminder that the “Moro people should have correct ideology and clear objective,” the familiar concept of al-​wala’ wa-​al-​bara was drilled into the students as a “key factor in ideological indoctrination.”101 Abu Hamdie recalled that the students were warned to steer clear of non-​ Muslims, “who should not be with us.”102 For that matter, the harder Salafabist takfiri (excommunicative) perspective of the teachers was further evidenced when Abu Hamdie was warned that even Muslims not implementing Islamic Law were to be seen as kafir (kuffar). Thus, the MNLF were said to be not “real mujahids” but in actuality “Zionist” and “communists.” Darul Imam Shafi’i teachers added that “negotiations with the government were out of the question.”103 This quintessentially fundamentalist preoccupation with social distancing from the putatively contaminating influence of the out-​group permeated the wider ASG at approximately the time that Abu Hamdie was in its ranks as well. Gracia Burnham, an American missionary who spent a harrowing year in the jungles of Mindanao as a captive of the ASG, recounted that when a fellow female non-​Muslim captive accidentally brushed up against one of the ASG fighters just after he had finished ritual washing for prayer, he erupted: “Why did you touch me? Now I’m unclean, and I have to go start my washing all over again!”104 Additionally, the fifth feature of a Salafabist mindset—​low integrative complexity, resulting in dualistic cognition twinned with a highly simplified worldview and information-​processing style with “little or no integration of the perspectives”—​was also significantly abundant among Abu Hamdie’s ASG comrades.105 The ASG leader Abu Sabaya held a Qur’an reading session with Gracia Burnham and her husband Martin, and he justified their abduction by labeling them as “war booty,” assuring them that this was what the Qur’an permitted. He added that according to other passages,which he appeared, like the essential fundamentalist he was, to have interpreted literally and ahistorically with no sense of contextualization:

190  Extremist Islam There are four options that can be pursued with people who are booty of war: (1) kill them; (2) make them our slaves (3) have them convert to Islam and live with us in peace; (4) collect taxes from them while they continue to practice their religion in secret. All over ther world, these are the four choices. This applies to you, too.106

Meanwhile, another ASG leader, Solaiman, in his own chats with Gracia Burnham, recited the standard violence-​legitimizing narrative—​not entirely without basis, to be fair—​of how the ASG was “trying to get justice for everything bad that has ever happened to us,” reciting “all the atrocities against Muslims starting back before the Crusades,” as well as “AFP atrocities against Islam” and how Manila had sent “Christians” to “colonize” Mindanao and “took away their land.”107 Yet at the same time, Solaiman and his compatriots—​despite their apparent obsession with purifying rituals, as seen—​castigating Hollywood for making “junk, [with] all this immorality and violence” and sending it “around the world,” paradoxically let slip that they had watched the violent Hollywood film Silence of the Lambs and that it was “great.”108 Solaiman’s lack of consistency between his supposed beliefs and his choice of movies—​like Zulfikar’s Shariff ’s lack of consistency between his ostensible puritanical beliefs and his penchant for watching the American reality series Survivor—​underscores the research finding that ideological leanings need not be “wholly logical or consistent.”109 The sixth and seventh core characteristics of Salafabism—​dangerous, dehumanizing speech, in this case in the hard mode, legitimizing out-​group violence with a view to forcibly setting up an Islamic state in Mindanao—​were additionally integral aspects of the environment Abu Hamdie found himself immersed in, whether in Darul Imam Shafi’i or in ASG ranks. Every effort was made by his interlocutors to promote the hard Salafabist, Salafi Jihadi notion that violent action was urgently needed to rectify injustice. Abu Hamdie pointed out that the curriculum and military training programs at the school were geared toward promoting an explicit acceptance of jihad to defend Islam. The message was that as the students were going to be, ultimately, “specialized in jihad,” and that upon graduation they would have “an obligation to do something.”110 Videos of the fighting in Afghanistan were employed “to radicalize and mobilize people to become jihadis.”111 Abu Hamdie admitted that at one point he had fully embraced “jihad against the United States and Israel” and the notion that the kafir (kuffar) or infidel enemy was not just the United States government but the “American people” as well, because they

Recognizing Extremist Islam in the Philippines  191 “are mostly Christian.”112 Interestingly, Abu Hamdie and his fellow Darul Imam Shafi’i and ASG compatriots were indoctrinated not merely to wage violent jihad for an Islamic state in the southern Philippines only. As Gracia Burnham recounted in one of her many telling conversations with rank-​and-​ file ASG fighters during her captivity, the network’s goals seemed a lot more expansive. When one especially “embittered” ASG fighter, Ustedes Hail, who was “passionate about regaining the Muslim homeland,” was asked what exactly he meant by “homeland,” he replied “Tawi-​Tawi, Sulu, Jolo, Basilan, southern Mindanao,” and he did not stop there.113 He added that that “would only be the beginning,” and “we would be obligated to take all of Mindanao,” because it was “a wealthy island.”114 He then continued: And then once we took Mindanao, we would take all of the Visayas [referring to the midsection of the Philippines, such islands as Cebu, Samar, Leyte, Negros, and Panay]. Then, when we were done with Visayas, we would go next to Luzon. When all of the Philippines belonged to us, we’d move on to Thailand and other countries where there is such oppression. You see, Islam is for the whole world.”115

In sum, certainly as a Darul Imam Shafi’i graduate who conceded that the experience at that institution radicalized him and, in his own words, “made me more than myself,” nudging him into ASG ranks, Abu Hamdie appeared to have evinced or intimately experienced all the seven features of full-​blown Salafabist extremism.116 As to the precise mechanisms that fostered his radicalization, as we shall see, as in the cases of the Malaysian Wan Min Wan Mat and the Singaporean Zulfikar Shariff, the interplay between places, persons, and platforms was key.

Places, Platforms, and Persons: Abu Hamdie’s Salafabist Ecosystem As before, the question is: what then was the specific combination of persons (specific direct influencers), places (relatively insulated online or real-​world social spaces within which some mix of hard and soft Salafabist views were incubated), and platforms (publications and other media), that interacted in various ways to propagate and sustain the hard Salafabist, Salafi Jihadi ideology that shaped Abu Hamdie’s thinking?

192  Extremist Islam

Places After his return from attending an “Islamic course” in Tripoli, Libya, in 1987, ASG founder Aburajak Janjalani, together with fellow Moro students he had met in Tripoli, set up what can best be described as an “ideological ecosystem”117 or a “passive infrastructure”118 for the ASG. Through places like “seminars, symposia,” and “small-​group discussions” in Basilan, Zamboanga, Sulu, Tawi-​Tawi, and Jolo, Aburajak’s ideas began to coalesce and be disseminated.119 As part of this process, a particularly important place was formed in 1989 in the Islamic city of Marawi.120 This was the previously mentioned Darul Imam Shafi’i, a boarding school set up and funded by Mohammad Jamal Khalifa, a brother-​in-​law of al-​Qaeda leader Osama bin Laden. Khalifa had earlier started the Philippine branch of the Saudi charity called the International Islamic Relief Organization.121 Darul Imam Shafi’i was a school for students between the ages of and 18 and 21, and it operated 7 days a week. As a strategic place in the Salafabist ecosystem (SE) of the ASG in Mindanao, Darul Imam Shafi’i, apparently patterned after a similar institution in Afghanistan, produced three batches of graduates, according to Abu Hamdie. Many Darul Imam Shafi’i graduates later joined the ASG and even the MILF. Notable Darul Imam Shafi’i alumni included senior ASG leaders Khaddafy Janjalani and Yassir Igasan.122 Apparently, some of the commanders of the pro-​ISIS groups involved in the 2017 Marawi standoff were also educated at Darul Imam Shafi’i.123 Abu Hamdie, who himself spent 2 years in the school between 1990 and 1992, attested to the sheer transformational experience that it had on his own emotional and intellectual development, which “made me more than by myself.”124 The mode of instruction within Darul Imam Shafi’i was the small study circle (halaqah), derived from the soft Salafabist Muslim Brotherhood usroh concept of small, tight-​knit cells devoted to the study of core religious texts and strict observance of rituals. A standard program of reading, understanding, memorizing, and reciting verses—​with a special focus on the jihad texts—​was followed. While there was some discussion, halaqah students took pains “not to argue” and “never challenged” the teachers.125 Instead, they regarded themselves as “subordinate in knowledge” to their Palestinian and/​or Palestinian-​Jordanian instructors, who were regarded as the “source of knowledge.”126 In keeping with being an essentially fundamentalist institution, Darul Imam Shafi’i emphasized “one correct way only.”127 Abu Hamdie and his fellow students were assured that the very same “pure process” of

Recognizing Extremist Islam in the Philippines  193 dakwah and tarbiyah followed in Darul Imam Shafi’i had in fact been that followed by the Prophet himself.128 Abu Hamdie averred that such ideological programming was effective, as “most students” were “changed” because the “teaching” was “strong.”129 To be sure, in any case, the young students of Darul Imam Shafi’i were emotionally primed for relatively unquestioning obedience to their instructors. Due to years of conflict in Mindanao, many of them had suffered “family breakdown” and had become internally displaced persons (IDPs) who had been “displaced as individuals, not as families.”130 They tended to experience, as the Muslim civil society activist Amina Rasul-​Bernardo of the Philippine Council for Islam and Democracy (PCID) argued, an unsettling “temporariness” in their daily lives, going “from one place to the next, full of uncertainty, [with] no stability in the way they live their lives,” bereft of family and the friends they grew up with, and with “no future” and “no sense of community ties.”131 These young IDPs felt “restricted” and weighed down with “uncertainty” about when they were going to get their next meal and where they were going to go to school.132 Political psychologist Clarita Carlos added that these young people “were looking for a father” and were very susceptible to groups promising to meet their need “to belong” and “to want a father.”133 Above all, these youth needed the stability, predictability, and normality of a regular family.134 Abu Hamdie himself agreed that in Darul Imam Shafi’i, deliberate attempts were made to generate a feeling of “family” within the various halaqah circles.135 Darul Imam Shafi’i students were eventually expected to go out and recruit others. In this way, Abu Hamdie recounts, additional places of the ASG SE were created in Lanao and Zamboanga. He himself became a leader of two other places in the form of discussion groups in Zamboanga and Basilan, while other classmates formed similar new places in Davao and Marawi. The Darul Imam Shafi’i boarding school aside, a similar place that sprung up was the Markazos Shabab Al-​Muslim, a religious institution in Marawi City funded, like Darul Imam Shafi’i, by Khalifa’s IIRO. The Markazos Shabab in turn apparently supervised madrasahs in Mindanao and Manila.136 Two other madrasahs, Mahad Basilan Al-​Arabi Al-​Islami and Mahad Shuhada Al-​Arabie Al-​Islamie, were also key places where ASG recruits in the early 1990s were first radicalized.137 It seems that the first generation of Aburajak Janjalani’s ASG recruits were largely Tausug madrasah students.138 Another type of place in the ASG SE in the Mindanao region took the form of hard Salafabist mosques. Abu Hamdie recalled that the Tabuk mosque in Isabela, Santa Barbara Mosque in Zamboanga, and Masjid Tulay in Sulu were “among

194  Extremist Islam the sacred places where radical ulama used to conduct lectures on jihad.”139 Abu Hamdie opined that preachers trained in Libya or Syria usually delivered “a more radical point of view of Islam than those who went to study in Saudi Arabia and Egypt.”140 Mosque khutbah (sermons) emphasized issues like the “sacrifices of Prophet Mohammad and the Sahaba (Companions of the Prophet),” the importance of jihad, and historic Islamic conquests, as well as the continuing Israeli occupation of the Holy Land.141 Despite systematic discourses on the struggles of the global ummah, the centrality of Bangsamoro issues remained: a popular theme at the mosques was “The Bangsamoro People and their Homeland.”142

Platforms Places aside, platforms in the form of publications of key Salafabist ideologues were promoted within the ideological crucible of Darul Imam Shafi’i. Such works included the writings of Ibn Taymiyya—​especially his view on jihad—​the general interpretation of which, Abu Hamdie recalled, was in true hard Salafabist fashion, “always qital (fighting);” as well as other core Salafabist ideologues such as the Pakistani journalist Maulana Mawdudi, Sayyid Qutb of the Egyptian Muslim Brotherhood and tellingly, Al-​Wahhab.143 To recapitulate, Maududi called upon Muslims to fight man-​made tyranny and corruption, create an Islamic State to defend the weak and establish “Muslim supremacy” as the rightful order of things.144 For his part, Qutb excoriated contemporary Muslim political leaders for straying way from strict application of Islamic Law and in the process condemning Muslim societies to a state of pre-​Islamic ignorance or jahiliyya. Hence Qutb argued that it was crucial for Muslims to shake off their collective lethargy, rid themselves of cultural accretions down the centuries that have ostensibly diluted the Prophet’s original muscular Islam—​and engage in violent jihad worldwide to establish Islam at the expense of competing secular ideologies, religious and philosophical systems.145 Abu Hamdie recalled there was tendency to “always take the extremist view of these scholars” and that any scholar presenting alternative ideas was simply munafiq—​meaning hypocritical and not credible.146 In general, ulama or Islamic scholars from the Middle East were “seen as superior.”147 Once again evincing the shared theological DNA between hard Salafabist Salafi Jihadism and soft Salafabist Islamism, Abu Hamdie and his

Recognizing Extremist Islam in the Philippines  195 fellow students were told that the Islamist Muslim Brotherhood was “the best model” to emulate and hence its publications and materials were to be considered de rigueur.148 Conversely—​ and somewhat ironically given ASG founder Aburajak Janjalani’s own Tablighi background—​Abu Hamdie and his fellow students were warned off Platforms in the form of materials by the apolitical Tablighi Jamaat, which was accused of distorting Islamic concepts, and that it was much safer to stick with the “authoritative” Brotherhood approach. Of particular significance was the potent radicalizing influence of the publications of Al-​Wahhab and other proponents what Hamdie himself referred to as “Wahhabism.” To Abu Hamdie, it cannot be over-​emphasized, the shared theological DNA between soft, not-​ violent Salafabist fundamentalist-​ extremism and hard Salafabist, violent Salafi Jihadism was all too apparent. He felt that “in the long run,” young people socialized into the intolerant “Wahhabist” worldview “might do something violent,” because “something may happen: an attack on Muslims, apprehension of the wrong person, an attack on a mosque,” or a “massacre”—​and some “radical personalities” would exploit the issue, making such youth feel “obliged to respond” in violence against the so-​called enemies of Islam.149 Abu Hamdie, it might be pointed out, was hardly the only one expressing such concerns in the southern Philippine context. Yusuf Roque Santos Morales, a Muslim convert, Commissioner representing Muslim Minorities at the National Commission on Muslim Filipinos and a member of the Board of Advisers of Al-​Qalam Institute for Muslim Identities, Ateneo de Davao University, agrees. He considers “takfiri” ideology, espousing “religious exclusivity and salvation, social hate and anger against non-​Islamist society, non-​adherents of their ideology and against non-​Muslims” –​essentially a sharply exclusivist Salafabist outlook—​as problematic. This is because, due to a shared theological DNA with violent “jihadist” ideology, exclusivist Salafabist takfir ideas form the “theological basis for violence against adherents of other faiths or Muslims who do not agree with their perspectives.”150 In other words, Morales affirms that “violence is inherent” in Salafabism and the direct outcome of the “bipolar, black and white” mindset we have described in this study.151 In stark terms, Morales averred that at “the end of the day,” even soft but intolerant Salafabists “will really evolve into violent extremists” and if “they don’t their children will.”152 Finally, Platforms in the form of videos of the fighting in Afghanistan were systematically employed within Darul Imam Shafi’i “to radicalize and mobilize people to become jihadis.” Abu

196  Extremist Islam Hamdie admitted to being deeply impacted himself by these videos in his own radicalization pathway.153

Persons It is important to note that the global jihad orientation of the ASG at the time Abu Hamdie was in its ranks was due in no small part to the strategic impact of key Persons. First and foremost was Mohammad Jamal Khalifa, as noted Al Qaeda leader Osama bin Laden’s brother-​in-​law and the IIRO chief who had set up and funded Darul Imam Shafi’i in 1989. Khalifa built mosques, Arabic schools, and extended livelihood assistance projects in an attempt to not merely assist the local struggle but also generate loyalty amongst the Moros for Al Qaeda.154 He was moreover apparently still an instructor in Darul Imam Shafi’i when Abu Hamdie was enrolled there between 1990 and 1992.155 The globalized jihadi outlook propagated within the school and as seen the ASG ranks was also due to the influence of another strategic Person: Ramzi Yousuf, who carried out the World Trade Center bombing in New York City in 1993. That very same year, Youssef arrived in Basilan, linked up with the ASG and trained its fighters for planned attacks in Manila against Pope John Paul II as well as the American and Israeli embassies. Youssef sought nothing less than to “turn the Abu-​Sayyaf organization into a center for international terror,” and helped build funding, logistics and training ties for the group with the Palestinian Hamas, Hezbollah in Lebanon, and from Arab countries as well as “groups in Pakistan, Malaysia, and apparently, Iran as well.”156 Abu Hamdie additionally highlighted the role of local Persons who “fueled the jihad spirit of the Moro people.”157 These “local religious radicals who propagated armed jihad” were akin to the key strategic Person Aburajak Janjalani, founder of the ASG network.158 Some of these local Salafi Jihadi Persons had been trained overseas—​usually in Islamic Universities in Libya and Syria—​and were deeply influenced by Abdullah Azzam’s global jihad narrative and perhaps linked with Al Qaeda or its affiliates in some way. Nevertheless, they were on balance, relatively more focused on localized Bangsamoro issues.159 Particularly influential local Persons included, inter alia, longtime ASG faction leaders such as Isnilon Hapilon, the first ISIS amir for Southeast Asia till his death in the Marawi fighting and Yassir Igasan, a cleric and Afghan veteran with “good grassroots and organizational skills, and had been educated in Libya, Saudi Arabia, and Syria.”160

Recognizing Extremist Islam in the Philippines  197

Recognizing Extremist Islam in the Southern Philippines: Contemporary Implications of the Abu Hamdie Case The case of Abu Hamdie—​the bored young stimulus seeker—​should not be seen as sui generis in the context of the contemporary situation in the southern Philippines. The wider social, economic and political factors that contributed to the radicalizing power of the Salafabist ecosystem that included at one time the Darul Imam Shafi’i school that Abu Hamdie attended, remains very much apparent. Even after the end of the five-​month battle between pro-​ISIS groups including the ASG and government forces in October 2017, the clear lack of progress in addressing Bangsamoro grievances ensures that Salafabist ideology, that exploits these issues, will continue to have much appeal amongst disaffected target groups. Contemporary Instability in Mindanao continues to create a pool of young, disenfranchised and bored young people from destabilized families—​not unlike Abu Hamdie—​who continue to be susceptible to the seductive ideological appeals of ASG factions today. Abu Hamdie himself took pains to point out that the Bangsamoro have long been angry at the government for being discriminated against and treated as second class and there was generalized angst that Manila was not doing anything for the Mindanao people apart from exploiting the resources in the southern Philippines.161 Even observers on the other side of the fence agreed with this assessment. For his part, a Muslim Philippine Army Colonel, himself a scion of a powerful clan, the Ampatuans, and who had served as a brigade executive and civil-​ military operations officer in Maguindanao in 2009 and 2010, concurred that poverty was exacerbated by corruption and bad governance by local government agencies controlled by the traditional clans. The ensuing prevailing culture of institutional mediocrity meant that internal revenue collection, basic services, and supposedly “big projects” all tended to fall by the wayside. Added to the fact that to this day young people still struggle for access to both quality education and, importantly, employment after graduation, the overall situation simply continues to breed generalized resentment. This helps explain why the MILF, by striving to meet basic needs and offering solutions to most of the problems in Mindanao, enjoys genuine mass support,162 while the ASG, in Abu Hamdie’s assessment, despite suffering from the perception that it has strayed from its once-​hallowed cause, still manages to benefit from the situation.163 As sociopolitical activist and analyst Amina Rasul-​Bernardo

198  Extremist Islam put it, “If you have been un-​served by the government for 40 years or more, as a young person you will believe that this is a Christian government out to get the Islamic community.”164 She reiterated that Bangsamoro social humiliation is pretty much generalized, encompassing not just “uneducated people” but “college students” and “young professionals” as well.165 Not unimportantly, culture also plays a role. Violence, in the considered view of scholar-​activist Yusuf Morales, “has been part of Moro culture for three centuries, and very much part of their expression.”166 Morales provided an anecdote that, although exaggerated, nevertheless encapsulates the systemic violence that seems to be endemic in Mindanao subculture: Two kids are playing a game. Suddenly, one kid slaps the other, who runs home and comes back with his uncle, who slaps the first kid. The first kid in turn goes home, brings his uncle—​who, unhappily, happens to be a cop. Shooting breaks out, and then, Morales wryly added, “You have intergenerational clan war.”167 Morales, a convert whose family hails from Mindanao, insisted that “this mindset has been there since even before the Spaniards arrived.”168 He asked rhetorically: “If this is the case for family matters, what more for political issues?” Hence, violence is a “way of life,” and not just for the Tausugs and Maranaos, who have long seen themselves as warrior subcultures. “Family feuds” are common even within Muslim enclaves in Metro Manila.169 Against the backdrop of such complex, long-​ standing, interconnected challenges, in September 2017—​just as the fighting in Marawi in the south of the country was winding down—​I worked with the Philippine Council of Islam and Democracy, the ASEAN Society Philippines, and the Office of the Presidential Advisor on the Peace Process in putting together a major “Conference on Peace and the Prevention of Violent Extremism in Southeast Asia” in Manila. Involving approximately 400 participants from “the government, ASEAN civil society, women, youth, business, academia, [and] religious and political organizations,” the conference produced a statement that affirmed the pressing need for strengthening “multi-​sectoral convergence in addressing the ‘drivers of conflicts’ and the root causes of violent extremism—​ poverty, social injustice and inequities, marginalization, deprivation and alienation, especially of the women and the youth, and intolerance.”170 Socioeconomic grievances aside, fundamentally, conference participants also reaffirmed the importance of the passage of the Bangsamoro Basic Law (BBL), which “provides a regional governance system, [and] addresses both major political and economic redistribution issues, and important religious and cultural identity needs and grievances of contemporary Moros,” as well

Recognizing Extremist Islam in the Philippines  199 as represents an “important step in insuring [the Philippines] from the threat of ISIS.”171 It must be said that the Marawi crisis of 2017 appeared to have finally prompted President Duterte to invest more political capital in seeking to ensure the successful passage of the BBL, which would be meaningful to the long-​suffering Bangsamoro people.172 Thus, in August 2018, the Duterte administration passed the renamed Bangsamoro Organic Law (BOL), which provided for the demobilization of “tens of thousands of Moro rebels,” while under a “wealth-​sharing arrangement” between the national government and the ethnic Maguindanaon, MILF-​dominated Bangsamoro Autonomous Region (BAR)—​ which replaced the moribund, Tausug, MNLF-​ dominated ARMM—​only 25 percent of locally generated tax revenue went to Manila. In addition, the BOL stipulated that the BAR would receive an annual block grant of up to about USD 1 billion. Not insignificantly, the BAR was empowered to pass its “own unique domestic legislation” and set up “a plethora of distinct administrative systems, including the creation of Islamic law courts.”173 While all this sounded impressive and certainly represented a significant attempt to operationalize the concept of meaningful and substantive Bangsamoro autonomy within the Philippine national constitutional structure, problems remain. If the Moro public perceive that the BAR enjoys only a symbolic autonomy without any substantive addressing of the long-​ standing historic Moro grievances that helped fuel the radicalization of Abu Hamdie—​and indeed other, similar, young, stimulus-​seeking militants who laid siege to Marawi in 2017—​then this would only empower Salafabist worldviews further. This is because rather than stopping violence, such a development would only “fuel the recruitment drives” of not just the ASG but the other Philippine militant groups.174 In this connection, Abu Hamdie himself warned that people in Mindanao have long been “waiting;” if the government does nothing substantive, “more young people will join the ASG,” replenishing its ranks.175 In this respect, it is particularly worrying that an October 2019 analysis found that Marawi “remains a devastated area,” with its residents “still to receive the government aid promised by President Rodrigo Duterte,” who had apparently adopted the position that “enough wealthy Maranao families” exist to play a bigger role in taking up the slack.176 A final but hugely significant issue that remains a problem is the steady spread of Salafabism. As of December 2019, acording to the Institute for Policy Analysis of Conflict, about 500 to 600 Filipino students were enrolled at Saudi universities, and “thousands of Saudi alumni were living and teaching

200  Extremist Islam in Mindanao or elsewhere.”177 The Moro graduates of Saudi schools have “slowly transformed the Islamic landscape in the southern Philippines.”178 Yusuf Morales observed that even in Manila, Muslim converts to, in his terms, “Takfiri Islam”179 would “literally cut their ties with family members who are Christians,” declaring that their “Muslim brothers are the real brothers.”180 Morales was no fan of Salafabism, averring that it runs counter to mainstream Sunni theology, selectively purging ideas from classical theologians that run counter to its main themes. Morales iterated that he had studied this issue personally for years and had consulted with “classmates” who had studied in Medina, and he summed up by noting that “while Sunnis are physicians able to prescribe medicine,” Salafabists are “pharmacists: they can make the medicine but do not know how to use the medicine, so they go haywire.”181 He was adamant that there was a need to ensure that Salafabist ideas did not get further mainstreamed. He appeared quite concerned in this regard about tertiary education. Morales averred that most students of Islamic studies at university had flunked nursing, engineering, and teachers’ examinations, “so the most gullible ones are undergrads frustrated by their failure of entry into higher end courses.”182 These Islamic studies undergraduates do not really develop critical enquiry skills, because they tend to reflexively accord respect to “anybody who speaks in the name of Islam.”183 Moreover, the secular educational system in the Philippines frowns on those who major in Islamic studies, so this results in their social exclusion—​hence Bachelor of Science in Islamic Studies graduates tend to group together. Morales added that “most if not all of them,” as well as their “teachers teaching Islamic studies in the Philippines,” are influenced by hard Salafabist, “Takfiri” ideas.184 “So,” Morales pointed out, “all the guys in Mindanao State University are the protégés of Khalifa, and the legacy lives on.”185 The Islamic studies undergraduates are “indoctrinated by these guys wholesale five days a week,” and upon graduation they become religious police, go into the military or foreign affairs, or join the Department of Education.186 Moreover, a 2018 study of madrasahs in the Autonomous Region of Muslim Mindanao found that 35 percent adopted foreign curricula, of which “half use the Saudi curriculum.”187 Morales’ wide-​ranging and pungent analysis of the deleterious effects of Salafabism seems even more pertinent at the current time. One October 2019 study concurs that in “mainland Mindanao,” students attending places like “mosques and the madrasah schools, especially [those] funded by money from Saudi Arabia,” were being targeted by pro-​ISIS extremist groups

Recognizing Extremist Islam in the Philippines  201 for recruitment, particularly the students who evinced the “devout worship,” “regular participation in Islamic seminars,” and “earnest questions . . . during such gatherings.”188 Other observers have similarly asserted that “traditional Islam” in the southern Philippines has long been in the process of being supplanted by “Wahhabi-​Salafi-​Saudi Islam.”189 Little wonder, then, that the participants at the aforementioned Manila Conference in September 2017 agreed to work with religious leaders and scholars and other stakeholders to counter the use of “religious doctrines to preach the use of violence; [to] strengthen our education system, in particular the madrasah, in inculcating the right values to the youth, and [to] create platforms for both intercultural/​ intracultural and interfaith and intrafaith dialogue”—​all of which appeared for most part to be an attempt to deal with the creeping Salafabization of traditional Islam in the southern Philippines.190 As Criselda Yabes warned in October 2019, the violent, hard Salafabists of the pro-​ISIS groups involved in the Marawi standoff sought “to turn the world of Filipino Muslims—​one that was generally moderate, secular, and still adhering to folk mysticism—​upside down.”191

Concluding Remarks In sum, it is incumbent upon Manila, civil society organizations in the southern Philippines, and their international partners to study the radicalization trajectories and contexts of vulnerable, bored, stimulus-​seeking young people like Abu Hamdie with care and to customize their overall policy interventions appropriately, to ensure that a repeat of the Marawi crisis and the rise of more Abu Hamdies do not occur in the country. That urgent policy attention is required is not an understatement. Already in November 2017, merely a month after the end of the Marawi fighting, reports had emerged of pro-​ISIS militant cells’ regrouping in neighboring Cotabato City.192 Worse was to come: on June 28, 2019, the camp of the Philippine army’s 1st Brigade Combat Team in Indanan, Sulu, was hit by two suicide bombers—​one of whom was a Filipino—​the “first officially confirmed case of a suicide bombing in the Philippines perpetrated by a Filipino.”193 Three soldiers, two civilians, and the two bombers were killed. The local bomber was a young man named Norman Lasuca, and his deed marked “a major escalation in terror tactics by local extremists, as suicide bombing was unheard of among Filipinos—​until now.”194 ISIS

202  Extremist Islam claimed responsibility for the attack, and the Philippine police, while acknowledging no evidence to link Lasuca to the ASG, observed nonetheless that “no other group in Sulu but the Abu Sayyaf could have recruited, trained, and equipped Lasuca for the attack.”195 Philippine National Police spokesperson Bernard Banac observed—​tellingly—​that the Lasuca case was the “result of radicalization that is happening now among our youth” and demonstrated the need for “strengthening of the family, [for] our return to the family, [and for] cooperating with the religious sector and our schools for a return to strong family values.”196 The last chapter of this book returns to the issue of the need for strong families to build emotional and mental resistance among youth to Salafabist appeals. As it turns out, the plot actually thickens. The Philippine authorities not only need to worry about the ongoing radicalization of the youth in Mindanao, they also must watch out for radicalized individuals from neighboring Southeast Asian countries perpetrating attacks in-​country as well. Case in point: in late January 2019, barely a week after the BAR was ratified via referendum in Muslim Mindanao, a bomb exploded inside a Catholic church—​Our Lady of Mount Carmel—​in Jolo in the Sulu Archipelago in the middle of Mass. Moments later, a second bomb went off near the church’s main doors, as panicked worshippers were trying to flee the original blast. ISIS also claimed responsibility for this attack with a formal communique that said two suicide bombers had detonated explosive belts. On the one hand, it was reported that the mastermind and financier of the Jolo church attack was an ASG faction leader, Hatib Hajan Sawadjaan from Sulu, who was also implicated in the Lasuca attack, and who was incidentally the new “ISIS head” in the Philippines after the elimination of Isnilon Hapilon in the Marawi fighting more than a year previously.197 On the other hand, it was later confirmed that the Jolo church suicide bombing, which killed at least 23 people and wounded more than 100 others, was carried out not by Filipinos, but by an Indonesian couple, Rullie Rian Zeke and his wife, Ulfah Handayani Saleh. They had gone to Turkey in 2016 with a view to crossing the border into Syria so as to link up with ISIS. However, they were arrested in January 2017 and were deported back to Indonesia. Rullie and Ulfah were reportedly then recruited in East Kalimantan for the Jolo operation by an Indonesian militant known as “Yoga.” All three individuals were part of the pro-​ISIS Jamaah Ansharut Daulah (JAD), a hard Salafabist network banned in Indonesia.198 Furthermore, JAD is worth a closer look simply because trends in the evolution of Islam in Indonesia have historically tended to have

Recognizing Extremist Islam in the Philippines  203 knock-​on effects on not just the southern Philippines but other neighboring Southeast Asian countries, particularly Singapore and Malaysia. Moreover, the impact is not merely in terms of religious developments, but in security as well. This is why we next examine the radicalization of the JAD founder and leader Aman Abdurrahman—​the extremist ideologue.

6 Recognizing Extremist Islam in Indonesia The Ideologue—​Aman Abdurrahman

Introduction In December 2017, my colleague, the terrorism researcher Rohan Gunaratna, managed to gain access to Aman Abdurrahman,1 who has been described as Indonesia’s “most dangerous man,”2 and who was sentenced to death in June 2018 for his role in various terrorist attacks across Indonesia.3 At the time of the meeting, Aman was incarcerated at the Detention Center of the Marko Brimob, or police mobile brigade, in Kelapa Dua, Depok, West Java. Reportedly, Rohan, following a set of research interviews aimed at seeking a better understanding of Aman’s ideological views, at the request of the Indonesian authorities, also sought to present Aman with three options for cooperation in what appeared—​intriguingly—​to be descending levels of the commitment required: First, if Aman was prepared to compromise with the Indonesian state, “renounce” his “extremist ideology” and his “interest” in Middle East terrorists, as well as live harmoniously with the entire Indonesian community and society, he would be released immediately and allowed to return home to his family. If not, then he would face life in prison. Aman did not bite.4 Dialing things down significantly, Rohan then invited Aman to join him in visiting a museum, because the former claimed to be an admirer of Indonesian history. When Aman still did not budge, Rohan invited Aman to simply have dinner with him outside of the Detention Center. Recalling this unusual meeting at his trial at the South Jakarta District Court in May 2018—​where he pointedly denied involvement in the various bombing cases he was being charged with—​Aman reported that he had rejected the offers.5 He added that he would not leave prison except as a “martyr” or “leave still holding on” to his “teaching.”6 He implored the Court to either sentence him to “life imprisonment,” or to “execute” him, because his “heart only relies on the Master of the sky and the Earth.”7 Aman stuck to his ideological commitments, indicating that “even if he was released he Extremist Islam. Kumar Ramakrishna, Oxford University Press. © University of Maryland National Consortium for the Study of Terrorism and Responses to Terrorism (START) 2022. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197610961.003.0007

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Indonesia  205 would not live with his family” and would “choose to fight in Syria.”8 In June, the Court duly found Aman guilty of inciting others to commit at least five terror attacks, and sentenced him to death.9 Based on previous cases, analysts believe that it is likely that a good number of years will pass before Aman finally is executed.10 Aman Abdurrahman was born Oman Rochman on January 5, 1972, in the town of Sumedang in West Java.11 An ethnic Sundanese12 from a humble and relatively pious family background, he was the fourth of eight children of his farmer father, Ade Sudarma, and mother, Yayah.13 To be sure, Aman’s not-​ always-​obvious fingerprints—​as befitting an evasive not-​violent Salafabist as it were—​have been discerned in a number of ISIS-​inspired terror incidents in Indonesia in recent years. Although Aman did not participate directly in the 2016 Jakarta attacks in the Sarinah Thamrin business district, he is believed to have been involved in the planning after receiving a message from ISIS Central in Syria to carry out an attack in Indonesia.14 One of the attackers in the 2016 Jakarta attacks was Aman’s former fellow inmate in prison.15 Other attacks that have been attributed to Aman include the May 2017 attack in Kampong Melayu in Jakarta, the attacks the following month on policemen in Medan and Jakarta, prison riots in May 2018, and the Surabaya attacks the same month.16 Aman had followed ISIS closely even before the late ISIS leader Abu Bakar al-​ Baghdadi’s declaration of the caliphate in June 2014. In 2013, while the Syrian Civil War was raging, Aman had opted to back ISIS over its main rival, the al-​Qaeda17 offshoot the Al-​Nusra Front.18 In fact, Aman pledged allegiance to ISIS twice from prison—​first in April 2014, and then again in June 2014 upon Al-​Baghdadi’s declaration of the caliphate.19 Observers note that Aman began to throw his full support behind ISIS especially once it began to conquer territory and to apply Islamic law in these locations.20 To carry out the ISIS agenda in Indonesia, moreover, Aman set up a pro-​ISIS network, the aforementioned Jamaah Ansharut Daulah (JAD), in 2014.21 JAD was founded by Aman in October 2014 while he was imprisoned on Nusakambangan Island in Central Java. Aman apparently invited Marwan, alias Abu Musa, and Zainal Anshori, alias Abu Fahry, to visit him at Kembang Kuning Prison on Nusakambangan Island and urged them to join him in declaring support for ISIS and its recently declared caliphate in the Middle East. It seems that it was Marwan who “came up with the name Jamaah Ansharut Daulah, which means Partisans of the (Islamic) State, to facilitate supporters of a caliphate in Indonesia and Syria.”22 Despite Aman’s being imprisoned, JAD has spread ISIS propaganda and continues to recruit.23 The Singaporean scholar Bilveer Singh

206  Extremist Islam has described JAD as the “spearhead” of ISIS activities in Indonesia, and JAD has sent members to Syria to fight with ISIS against the Assad government.24 JAD is organized territorially, and by August 2017 it boasted a presence all over Indonesia, including Jakarta, Banten, Central Java, East Java, West Java, Lampung, Kalimantan, Sulawesi, and Medan.25 Aman is known to be among a small number of Indonesian individuals trusted by ISIS Central. So high is Aman’s personal stock, apparently, that any recommendation from him on a matter is sufficient for ISIS Central.26 Any Indonesians wishing to travel to Syria to join ISIS also need Aman’s approval.27 Aman’s JAD network has counted among its ranks prominent Indonesian pro-​ISIS jihadists, such as Santoso, Bachrumsyah, and Salim Mubarak At-​Tamimi (also known as Abu Jandal).28 Two of them, Bachrumsyah and Abu Jandal—​former students of Aman29—​had travelled to Syria to join ISIS.30 Prior to Aman’s transfer to a maximum-​security prison in 2016, moreover, he had been able to receive visits, to recruit new members, and to organize freely.31 Furthermore, prison corruption meant that the sermons Aman gave in prison reached not just fellow inmates but other prisons as well, through smuggled mobile phones.32 Additionally, as events in the Middle East unfolded, Aman managed to keep pace. In the span of 1 year, from November 2013 to November 2014, he translated more than a hundred ISIS articles into Bahasa Indonesia.33 He passed these translated pages to his visitors, who would then upload them onto social media for even wider dissemination.34 This chapter examines Aman Abdurrahman’s ideological predilections more closely to show how he is best understood as a Salafabist fundamentalist-​extremist ideologue. It does so by assessing, as before, how well Aman displays the seven key characteristics of the religious—​and in this case Salafabist—​extremist. Then, as in the previous chapters, the persons, places, and platforms of the Salafabist ecosystem in Indonesia that socialized Aman into his extremist beliefs are examined. The chapter concludes by exploring the contemporary relevance of Aman’s case for understanding the Salafabist challenge in Indonesia.

Aman Abdurrahman as Salafabist Extremist Ideologue The Indonesian Constitutional, Ideological, and Theological Context Once more, we begin by asking to what extent Aman Amburrahman displays a fanatical attachment to his sectarian religious belief system, in the process

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Indonesia  207 relegating mainline theological and mainstream national constitutional/​ideological currents, as well as universally recognized international norms, to a secondary status. As before, answering this question requires taking a step back to understand wider baseline Indonesian constitutional, ideological, and mainstream theological currents. What seems clear from the outset is that constitutionally at least, Indonesia does provide for freedom of religious expression and does not legally sanction identity supremacism of any stripe. Article 28E, under Section XA of the Constitution, provides that each person “is free to worship and to practice the religion of his choice” and has the right “to be free in his convictions, to assert his thoughts and tenets, in accordance with his conscience,” as well as the right “to freely associate, assemble, and express his opinions.”35 At the same time, Article 28I, which is also under Section XA, further buttresses the protection provided in Article 28E, by stipulating that several rights, including the right “to adhere to a religion,” are rights that shall not be curtailed “under any circumstances.”36 Article 28I, it should be added, also stipulates that each person is to be free from acts of discrimination, although it does not list religion specifically. Meanwhile, Article 29, the single article under Section XI (Religion) of the constitution, while declaring that the Indonesian state is based “on the belief in the One and Only God,” nevertheless equally asserts that the state “guarantees each and every citizen the freedom of religion and of worship in accordance with his religion and belief.”37 Furthermore, in terms of international treaty norms, Indonesia ratified the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR) in 2006, and as seen above, several national constitutional provisions exist that support the ICCPR norm of protecting religious freedoms. Despite such constitutional protections, however, there is some ambiguity that can be arguably exploited by Salafabists. In this respect, former President Soekarno made the insulting of religion an offense in 1965.38 Concerns have since been raised about the use of this law to target members of non-​orthodox religious sects, as well as religious minorities,39 the most serious example being the 2017 trial of former ethnic Chinese Jakarta governor Basuki Tjahaja Purnama, alias Ahok, on charges that he had insulted Islam during a campaign speech.40 Despite this reservation, though, it is manifestly clear that Indonesia has a “pluralist and multifaith constitution.”41 Moreover, in line with such constitutionally mandated religious freedoms, six faiths are officially recognized in the country: Islam, Protestantism, Catholicism, Hinduism, Buddhism, and Confucianism.42 This constitutional posture of a religiously pluralist Indonesia is further buttressed by national ideological formulations dating from the foundation

208  Extremist Islam of the postcolonial State in 1945. The Indonesian national motto, Bhinneka Tunggal Ika, for instance, means “Unity in Diversity.” In addition, the Pancasila concept has long been widely acknowledged as the ideological basis for the essentially secular, multifaith Indonesian state. Pancasila rests on five pillars or principles: belief in God, humanity, democracy, social justice, and nationalism.43 The roots of Pancasila lie in the final months of World War II. Between May and August 1945, a Japanese-​initiated Study Committee for the Preparation of Independence, comprising 62 prominent Indonesian leaders of every stripe, met to discuss the political trajectory of postwar Indonesia. During these meetings, the secular nationalist leader and future President, Soekarno, actively lobbied for the adoption of the five Pancasila principles for the postcolonial Indonesian state. Soekarno, who “had the situation in Java” in mind, argued that although “a large majority of the Indonesian population” was Muslim, the reality was “a considerable proportion” was nominal (abangan), “fairly lax in the discharge of its religious duties” and would prefer a “secular” over an “Islamic state.”44 The Muslim leaders on the Study Committee rather unsurprisingly opposed this argument. Eventually, a compromise—​later called the Jakarta Charter—​was reached that called for a reformulation of Pancasila to require that over and above belief in God, Muslims in Indonesia would also be obligated to adhere to Islamic law. Moreover, it was eventually accepted that the President of Indonesia should be a Muslim. However, the sudden surrender of Tokyo on August 14, 1945, following the U.S. atomic attacks on Hiroshima and Nagasaki ushered in a dramatically new situation. Soekarno proclaimed Indonesian independence 3 days later, and the secular members of the 21-​man Preparatory Committee for Indonesian Independence, put in place by the Japanese to complete the work of the original Study Committee, adroitly exploited both the confused situation as well as the absence of key Muslim committee leaders. On August 18, the Jakarta Charter and the stipulation that the President should always be a Muslim were struck down, with Soekarno elected as President and his close associate Mohammad Hatta as Vice-​President of the new Indonesian Republic. Hatta explained the fait accompli by asserting that, given the historic opportunity afforded by the abrupt Japanese surrender, only a “ ‘secular’ constitution” and the unifying Pancasila ideology “stood a chance of being accepted by the majority of the population.”45 Legions of soft and hard Salafabists since then—​including Aman Abdurrahman at the current time—​ have regarded the nullification of the Jakarta Charter as a historical trauma

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Indonesia  209 to Islam in Indonesia that has long needed fundamental rectification. As far as these Indonesian Salafabists were concerned, by turning its back on Islam, Soekarno’s Pancasila state had made itself “as evil an enemy” as the departing Dutch colonial overlords.46 To be fair, though, Soekarno’s assessment of the kind of government that Indonesian Muslims would accept, given their extant state of religiosity in 1945, really was more in line with ground sentiments than any prevailing Salafabist idealizations. Indonesian Islam then, and even to the current time, has been by and large tolerant and accommodating toward other faiths. A well-​known classification of Muslims in Indonesia divides the latter into two main subgroups, abangan and santri.47 Abangan span the theological continuum from nominal, not particularly observant Muslims, to those who lead “rich but highly syncretic religious lives, in which Islam is blended with other religious or spiritual observances,” such as folk beliefs or Hindu/​Buddhist elements.48 Centered in Java’s rural neighborhoods, the abangan are “famously indifferent” to the “niceties” of strict Islamic orthodoxy—​beliefs, bans, badges, and behavior—​in dress, diet, and other religious observances and practices.49 The term “abangan,” moreover, although originally applied to the Javanese, the biggest ethnic group in Indonesia, has increasingly been applied to non-​Javanese Indonesian Muslims of similar theological outlooks as well.50 Santri, in contrast to both nominal and syncretistic abangan, accord Islamic orthodoxy and praxis a relatively more central role in their religious observances. They pray, fast, go on the pilgrimage (haj) to Mecca, and are generally “concerned about making Islam an important part of their lives.”51 Santri—​more precisely understood as traditionalists—​ seek to preserve the authority of medieval Islamic scholarship as well as to tolerate local customs.52 Santri pay careful attention to the four Bs of Islamic religiosity: “Islamic law, dress, food, and ritual occasions” as well as “Middle Eastern derived arts and Islamic education,” including the “study of Arabic.”53 They hold that the Shafi’i school of fiqh especially “possessed an erudition unrivaled in subsequent centuries” and that Shafi’i teachings offer the most authoritative interpretation of how Islam should be practiced.54 While some scholars of Indonesian Islam have asserted that abangan generally comprised 50 to 70 percent of the Indonesian population as a whole, thereby suggesting that syncretic-​oriented Islam was the dominant trend in the country,55 more recent scholarship observes that by the early years of the 21st century, with urbanization, rising living standards, globalization via the Internet, improved education, and more political space post-​New Order to

210  Extremist Islam promote more conservative versions of Islam, the balance may have shifted more toward the santri side of the equation, with more attention being paid to the four Bs of Islamic religiosity among both men and women.56 That said, as Azyumardi Azra clarifies, such increased levels of santri cultural religiosity do not necessarily translate directly into an affinity for soft Salafabist, political Islamism.57 Moreover, one should not conclude that Javanese traditionalist influences on Islam in the country have been obliterated, either. In this regard, the late Abdurrahman Wahid (more popularly known in Indonesia as Gus Dur), a former President of Indonesia, a leading scholar of the Sunni Shafi’i school of fiqh, and a previous leader of the 40-​million-​strong traditionalist mass organization Nahdlatul Ulama (NU), personified an excellent modern, thriving example of traditionalist Islam in Indonesia. As a committed santri, he was extremely pious, observed the various Islamic rituals, and performed extra prayers at night, while employing numerous references to the Qur’an and the hadith in his speeches. At the same time, he recited zikr (repeated prayers), as Sufis do, and was also known to have prayed at the tombs of the saints.58 More to the point, Gus Dur was famous for his commitment to a religiously tolerant, multifaith, democratic Indonesia—​rather than a theocratic state dominated by Islam.59 The defining essence of the traditionalist position in the Indonesian milieu, that Islam must not be synchronized with a supposedly ideal or pure Arabized template, but rather contextualized to mesh with local cultural realities, was a point Gus Dur always emphasized. He was in particular unequivocally opposed to an uncritical imitation of Arab Islam. “The danger of the process of Arabization or the process of identifying oneself with Middle Eastern cultures,” he once argued, “is that it takes us away from our own cultural roots.”60 Gus Dur insisted that “indigenization is not an attempt to avoid resistance from the forces of local culture,” but is an attempt to avoid “the disappearance of that culture” while ensuring that Islam retained its essential characteristics.61 “The indigenization of Islam,” he argued, “is not ‘Javanization’ or syncretism, because the indigenization of Islam only takes local needs into account in formulating religious laws, without changing the laws themselves.”62 He added that in fact, “indigenization of Islam is part of the history of Islam, both in its place of origin and elsewhere, including Indonesia.”63 In sum, Gus Dur called for an Indonesianized Islam that respected and accommodated indigenous cultural characteristics. Little wonder that he took pains to emphasize that the concept of the Islamic state was an Arab construct, not at all applicable to the Indonesian

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Indonesia  211 case.64 Gus Dur has also been characterized by some scholars as “neo-​modernist.”65 That is, he combined the traditionalist respect for classical Islamic scholarship and piety with a “non-​exclusivistic attitude—​an embracing of pluralism in society.”66 The latter quality differentiates Islamic traditionalists like Gus Dur from Islamic neo-​fundamentalists, who are relatively more insular vis-​à-​vis out-​groups. As the astute scholar of Indonesian Islam George Quinn observes, Gus Dur is even in the process of being canonized as an “Indonesian saint” precisely because of his marriage of “politically powerful orthodox piety, with its high public profile,” and the “enduring charisma of Java’s diverse local traditions.”67 At the same time, apart from abangan and santri forms, it should be noted that Indonesian Islam has long possessed a healthy and thriving Modernist Salafi strain of the Muhammad Abduh variety as well. In this connection, in the first decades of the twentieth century, the leading Javanese modernist Ahmad Dahlan sought “practical changes” to embed Salafist modernism of the Abduh variety in “the Javanese environment.”68 To this end, in 1912 in Yogyakarta, Java, Dahlan founded Muhammadiyah, a Muslim organization whose “earliest members were mainly religious officials, religious teachers, and merchant traders.”69 Evincing its relatively progressive character, Muhammadiyah started an urban-​based network of modern religious schools (madrasah) that offered a wide range of general subjects taught in Western schools, along with religious topics.70 Muhammadiyah also started clinics, hospitals, and libraries.71 By 1938, Muhammadiyah had spread throughout Indonesia and boasted a quarter of a million members,72 and the number had swelled to 30 million by the 2010s.73 In the modern Indonesian context, Modernist Salafis like Ahmad Shafii Maarif, a professor at the State Islamic University of Yogyakarta, who himself was national chairman of Muhammadiyah from 2000 to 2004, when asked if Indonesia should make sharia (Islamic law) the basis of the law of the land, pragmatically replied that while Indonesia was certainly “the nation with the largest Muslim majority in the world, . . . historically, Islam entered Indonesia mainly through a process of acculturation with local cultures” and “the actual number of those who are syncretic and nominal Muslims is quite high.”74 Maarif thus cautioned that “if sharia were actually to be implemented as state law,” it would be politically counterproductive.75 This live-​and-​let-​live attitude was echoed by the late Nurcholish Madjid, more popularly known as Cak Nur (d. 2005), a leading Modernist Salafi intellectual, in comments made about the need

212  Extremist Islam for respecting religious pluralism in Indonesia—​instead of agitating for Islamist identity supremacism. Cak Nur went so far as to assert that, “Even if we think we know for certain that other people are praying to an object that is not the One Almighty God, we are still forbidden from behaving improperly toward those people,” because as the Qur’an commanded: “For you, your religion, for me, my religion.”76 Cak Nur implored Indonesian Muslims to remember that “religion cannot be coerced, and that each person, regardless of their faith, must be respected as a fellow creature of the One Almighty God.”77 Cak Nur was a Muslim public intellectual who was able to “bridge the divide between traditionalists and modernists,” and whose well-​known slogan—​“Islam Yes, Islamic Party No!—​revealed the essential distinction between Islamic values-​focused Modernist Salafis and their relatively more power-​oriented Salafabist cousins.78 Cak Nur also exerted a strong intellectual influence on key figures within the arguably Salafabist radical Prosperous Justice Party (Partai Keadilan Sejahtera, or PKS), a point that is explored Chapter 7.79 Against such a constitutional, ideological, and theological backdrop, therefore, how do Aman Abdurrahman’s views stack up? To what extent can they be considered extremist in the Indonesian context? First, it is clear that he seems to be an unabashed proponent of strident Salafabist identity supremacism. The following statement in a polemical tract entitled Ya, Mereka Memang Thaghut (Yes, Indeed They Are False Deities) represents his fairly consistent posture that Islam and the law of Allah must reign supreme in society and polity—​which in his view is patently not the case in Indonesia today: The point is, that clearly this nation and its government are repeatedly in disbelief. Each and every nation that does not rule with the laws of Allāh and does not submit to the regulations of Allāh, then such a nation/​nations are nations of kāfir (disbelief), ẓālim (tyrannical), fāsiq (rebellious/​ iniquitous), and jāhilīyah (ignorant) based on the decrees of Allāh. (italics added).80

In similar vein, Aman appeared to take particular umbrage at the standard oath that every Indonesian civil servant has to take in order to be inducted into public-​ sector employment, quoting disapprovingly Government Regulation 21 (6) of 1975 as indicative that the Indonesian State was putting man-​made interests and laws above and beyond those of Allah and the ummah:

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Indonesia  213 By Allāh, I swear: That I as an appointed State Civil Servant will be faithful and obedient to Pancasila, the 1945 Constitution, the State and the Government. . . . That I will always uphold the honor of the State, the Government, and the dignity of the Civil Service as well as well as always putting the interests of the State above my own importance, persons or groups. . . . That I will work with honesty, orderliness, meticulousness, and vibrancy for the interests of the State. (italics added).81

Aman’s uncompromising posture appears to very much issue from his own theological background, which in fact represents—​other than Javanized Islamic traditionalism and Javanized Modernist Salafism, as just described—​the third major historical theological current of Islam in Indonesia, which could be called Arabized modernism, in many senses the theological wellspring of Salafabism. The complex, evolving relationship between Arab “metropolitan” Islam and the “little” Islams mixed with local customs on the periphery have long occupied scholars.82 While Indonesian Islamic traditionalists like Gus Dur have sought to preserve a distinctly indigenized Islam, Arabized modernists—​as opposed to the relatively more Javanized Modernist Salafis of the Ahmad Dahlan/​ Muhammadiyah variety—​have for decades tried to cleanse Islam in Indonesia of cultural accretions or innovations (bid’ah), in an attempt to synchronize local theology and praxis with what they considered normative Islam in Arabia. Arabized modernism thus represents “orientations that tend to neglect the centuries old tradition of Muslim learning and cultural development.”83 The Indonesian scholar Azyumardi Azra suggests that Southeast Asia has in fact experienced three waves of Arabized modernism.84 The first wave occurred as early as the seventeenth century, when learned ulama from the Malay archipelago returning from Mecca and Medina—​such as Nuruddin ar-​Raniri, Abdurrauf Singkil, and Syeikh Yusuf Makasar—​were displeased at finding widespread “pre-​Islamic beliefs and practices” among local Muslims thanks to what was perceived to be overly tolerant Sufi influences. They sought to rectify the situation by introducing “the orthodox teachings of the most authoritative Sunni ulama in Arabia” and promoting a “more scriptural-​ oriented brand of Islam” as well as a “more shari’a-​oriented Sufism”85 in place of the relatively relaxed “pantheistic” Sufi outlooks then prevailing.86 A particularly puritanical wave of Arabized modernist reform arrived in the Indonesian archipelago in the late eighteenth to early nineteenth centuries, spearheaded by the so-​called Padri movement centered in the ethnic

214  Extremist Islam Minangkabau (or Minang) community in West Sumatra. The Padris revealed an urgent, even violent quest for “purification of Islamic beliefs and practices mixed with local traditions (adat).”87 The origins of the Padri movement lay in an extended visit by three devout Minang pilgrims from West Sumatra to Arabia, where they encountered the consummate Salafabist extremists—​ the Wahhabis. Profoundly affected by the Wahhabi zeal to rid Islam of all cultural “contaminations,” the pilgrims, upon their return to West Sumatra in 1803, promptly attempted to “Wahhabize” their communities, precipitating a 30-​year civil war. Significantly, the Minang Padri reformers willingly employed forceful methods, which they termed jihad, to compel fellow Muslims to adopt their ultra-​doctrinaire interpretation of Islam. To this end, the Padris sought to eradicate gambling, cockfighting, opium and tobacco smoking, alcohol and betel-​nut consumption, and even the wearing of gold ornaments.88No surprise, then, that the Padris have been called the West Sumatran Wahhabis,89 who embodied “modernist-​extremism.”90 Like the Minangs, the primary ethnic group of West Sumatra, the Hadrami Arab immigrant community also contributed Arabized modernist currents—​some of which were to eventually evolve into Salafabism in the Indonesian context. Thanks to improved communications and travel between Southeast Asia and the Arab heartlands in the course of the eighteenth century, increasing numbers of Hadrami Arabs from the “arid coastal strip of the Yemen” began settling in Sumatra, including in Minangkabau heartlands.91 These Arab “Sayid” migrants were “received with honor” because of their presumed descent from the Prophet, their command of Arabic, and their “assumed expertise in all things Islamic.”92 Significant Hadrami Arab Muslim communities also developed in coastal port towns throughout Java and Sumatra, proceeding to exert a significant effect on the evolution of Indonesian Islam. By the 1780s, “Islamic schools in Minangkabau were giving increased emphasis to the teaching of Muslim law and its application to daily life.”93 By the early twentieth century, therefore, West Sumatra had become an important source of Muslim intellectuals, writers, artists, and teachers, and Minang men were increasingly known for their “ability, competence,” and in particular, “Islamic piety.”94 That the Padri legacy remained enduring is evinced by the fact that long afterward Minang scholars remained strongly critical of the ostensibly contaminating impact of Sufi-​inspired saint worship, mystical practice, and use of amulets, spells, and charms associated with Javanese traditionalists.95 Minang scholars based in Singapore, such as Tahir Jalal

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Indonesia  215 al-​Din al-​Azhari (d. 1957) and Sayyid Shaykh Al-​Hadi (d. 1934), as well as the renowned Haji Rasul of western Sumatra, also derided Javanese traditionalists, warning that their fixation with medieval and early modern Islamic scholarship only bred stagnation and atrophy.96 They argued that the unwarranted immersion in “impure” traditionalist thought and praxis was precisely why the global Muslim ummah had exchanged earlier glories for humiliating Western colonial domination by the nineteenth century.97 By the early decades of the twentieth century, two organizations had emerged that evinced a strong Arabized modernist, Salafabist orientation in the archipelago: the Persatuan Islam (Islamic Association or Persis, founded 1923) and Jam’iyat al-​Islah wal Irsyad (Union for Reformation and Guidance, or simply Al-​Irsyad, founded 1913). Persis was an educational and associational network founded by Muslims of Hadrami Arab descent98 and was seen as the most “puritan” of Indonesian reform movements.99 The schools of both Persis and Al-​Irsyad evolved into strong nodes for the dissemination of Salafabist ideas. “From their inception,” John Sidel observes, “Al-​Irsyad and Persis schools placed great emphasis on the study of Arabic” and “prepared their students for higher education in centers of Islamic learning far from the Indonesian archipelago.”100 Furthermore, Al-​Irsyad and Persis were “more openly and stridently antagonistic toward the influence of Christianity in the archipelago,” as well as “the accretions of local customs, the worship of saints and shrines, and the mysticism of Sufis and Javanists alike.”101 Persis and Al-​Irsyad promoted both a “sense of separateness” from Javanese Islam and “an outward orientation, back to the Middle East,” while their graduates developed an emotional allegiance not to the Indonesian archipelago, but to “the heartland of the Arab world.”102 As discussed below, this evolving Arabized modernist theological milieu berthed the Salafabist ecosystem that shaped Aman Abdurrahman’s own emotional and intellectual affinity with the Middle East—​starkly illustrated by his deep immersion in the publication platforms of the Jordanian hard Salafabist, Salafi Jihadist scholar Abu Muhammad Al-​Maqdisi. Did Aman evince the closely linked second and third characteristics of Salafabism: in-​group bias and out-​group prejudice? The overwhelming impression one gets from a close perusal of Aman’s own musings is that from his vantage point, the world is dark and threatening, full of enemies everywhere. The unsullied moral purity of the Muslim in-​group—​which appears to be a given—​is constantly under threat from a morally inferior but spiritually and physically threatening non-​Muslim out-​group:

216  Extremist Islam Every Prophet possessed enemies against their daʿwah, and those enemies disseminated polished, evil whisperings in the most perfect of forms in order to deceive the community. Likewise also, the successors to the Prophets in giving daʿwah also possessed many adversaries and enemies who hurled falsehoods packed within attractive wrappings in order to deceive the community.103

Aman identified in his writings these out-​group enemies as, first, a “tyrannical government that changes the laws of Allah.”104 It must be said, Aman expressed intense contempt for, and condemnation of, the Indonesian state for ostensibly ignoring the laws of Allah: So, those who decide law with something other than what has been revealed by Allah are not just ṭāghūt, but are also included among those who are the leaders of ṭāghūt. Even while it is the case that belief in Allah is not sound (valid) unless it upholds and maintains disbelief in ṭāghūt. Then how is it possible for this [Indonesian] government to be said to be the government of the faithful Muslims, while they are not merely ṭāghūt but also one of the figures of ṭāghūt, . . . and so they are not merely disbelievers but seriously extreme disbelievers! (italics added)105

In addition, indicating the deep anti-​Christian prejudice instilled in him by his own Arabized modernist theological upbringing, he also vilified “Christians” for moral shortcomings that in his estimation include polytheism. as well as deifying and worshipping their “religious scholars and monks,” thereby upsetting the moral order of hakimiyya in which only Allah can be worshipped.106 In his writings, Aman quite pointedly referred to “disbelievers” as “despicable.”107 In this connection, the fourth characteristic of Salafabism—​the characteristically puritanical, fundamentalist obsession with purity and fear of contamination through any kind of intimate out-​group contact, is blatant in Aman’s narrative. He appears to possess a visceral fear of “the emergence of kinds of familiarity and affection” of Muslims for the “kāfirūn” because of consorting closely with the latter “for too long,” to the point where “the issues of al-​walāʾ wa-​al-​barāʾ have been weakened and also those of love and hate in the way of Allāh.”108 Inspired by his Jordanian ideological mentor Maqdisi, among other Middle Eastern hard Salafabist, Salafi Jihadist theorists,109 Aman took aim at Indonesian Muslims for protecting and defending the

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Indonesia  217 thaghut (oppressive false deity) Indonesian state based on Pancasila ideology,110 as exemplified by lawmakers in the national parliament: A person who makes laws or is part of an institution that makes laws, then his work and the people who are incorporated within it are kāfirūn [kuffar]—​disbelievers. Such as, those people who are in legislative institutions from among members of parliament, because among the duties of parliament is the making of laws, and so this work constitutes disbelief and its people are kāfirūn.111

In like vein, Aman took aim at judges and prosecutors: We know that the judges and prosecutors at the time of decision-​making or at the time of their prosecutions make decisions and prosecutions by means of that which is not the laws of Allāh, namely with jāhilīyah laws (ṭāghūt laws), [and] then their jobs are the jobs of the disbelievers.112

Aman also singled out the security forces and intelligence services as equally guilty: This is as already described in material about the Anṣāru-​ṭ Ṭāghūt, such as the military, the police, or intelligence agencies. Thus, the essence of this kind of work is disbelief because they provide nuṣrah [support] for the ṭāghūt and for their own systems. So, this means services/​jobs that are posited in disbelief and their people are disbelievers.113

So intense was Aman’s hard Salafabist, takfiri slant that he even decried regular civil servants working for the Indonesian state more generally: Every person who swears an oath of loyalty toward legislation or laws, regardless of his service or job, even though he works in the education department, for example, or the department of agriculture, or the forestry service, yet he has sworn an oath to be loyal to the legislation, regulations, or laws of the ṭāghūt, then whatever his form of work if he carried out such an oath, he is a kāfir by virtue of that oath, not because of his work.114

However, Aman did sound a note of circumspection: if such civil servants—​ not directly engaged in defending or protecting the overall thaghut

218  Extremist Islam political structure but rather serving other ancillary functions within it—​ later recanted the oath to the Indonesian state, “had asked for forgiveness from ‘his’ oath of disbelief,” and had “declared the two clauses of shahādat,” then he can be “judged as a Muslim”—​that is, more leniently.115 To Aman, “disbelief ” arising “from the oath” to the Indonesian state apparatus itself was worse than disbelief due to a less important “service or job” that was somewhat removed from the central security, governance, and intelligence structure.116 Thus, Aman made a distinction between “disbelief as a result of the characteristics of the service or job” as opposed to “disbelief as a result of an oath of faithfulness and loyalty to the ṭāghūt.”117 He reiterated that it was those strategic servants of the Indonesian state, “such as members of the DPR/​MPR,” as well as “judges, prosecutors, [and] military or police personnel” who were intrinsically “kāfirūn” and hence deserving of divine punishment—​even “whether they swore oaths or not”—​because the “essence” of their work was to sustain and preserve the overall thaghut political structure that ostensibly morally contaminates Indonesian society.118 It should be obvious from the preceding paragraph that Aman clearly also possesses the fifth characteristic of the Salafabist: low integrative complexity evidenced by pronounced “binary, black-​and-​white contrasts with little or no integration of the perspectives”119 and a primordial, “simplified view of the world.”120 In this worldview, as Aman puts it pithily, “Allāh forbids the Muslims to be loyal toward the disbelievers.”121 To Aman, the finer moral, theological, and political complexities of the outside world are sharply simplified and clarified into the “Dārul Ḥarb or the Dārul Islām,” with no gray zone in between.122 In this respect, Aman quite tellingly rejects the religious diversity enshrined in Indonesia’s national ideology of Pancasila: Within Pancasila is stated “Ketuhanan Yang Maha Esa” (Belief in God Almighty), yet we do not know who it is that is being referred to, because Pancasila acknowledges various religions with a variety of diverse gods. Thus, it is sufficient to know that this philosophy is something that is confusing for a reasonable person. (italics added)123

What he seeks instead, and in any case appears to think in terms of, are simpler and quite separate dualistic, oppositional categories: Muslims versus kāfirūn; believers versus disbelievers; an Islamic state based on sharia versus a ṭāghūt political system based on man-​made laws; and the politically dominant Muslim believers of Darul Islam versus the disbelieving “kāfir dhimī”

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Indonesia  219 living in Darul Islam, “who are subject to the laws of Islām and providing jizyah [poll tax] directly from their hands.”124 As should be clear by now as well, Aman evinced the sixth core characteristic of Salafabism—​dangerous speech, albeit largely in its soft mode—​ extensively employing dehumanizing rhetoric against non-​ Muslims and functionaries of the Indonesian state, such as “kāfirūn” and “ṭāghūt.” Nevertheless, while Aman, based on his writings and above all his reported behavior, certainly comes across as a hard Salafabist, Salafi Jihadi—​he has taken care not to engage in thoroughly explicit, hard-​mode dangerous speech, directly inciting out-​group violence. In the aforementioned interview with Rohan Gunaratna, Aman emphasized that he himself did not engage in violent jihad, adding for theatrical effect that this was, sadly, “sinful” of himself. He asserted that he did his jihad not via physical violence but “through conveying the truth, with the risks that come with it.”125 He pointedly refused to admit culpability for the January 2016 Thamrin attack in Jakarta by a JAD cell, one of whose members—​a fellow ethnic Sundanese called Sunakim—​Aman was said to have been “unusually close to” in Cipinang prison, and with whom he apparently frequently engaged in conversations in the Sundanese dialect that was unknown to fellow inmates. Aman claimed that in Cipinang prison his sermons were attended by many prisoners—​not just Sunakim—​and there was thus no “strong evidence” to connect his preaching to the Thamrin attack. He told Rohan “you cannot prove it even now.”126 Singaporean scholar Bilveer Singh similarly assesses that “Aman cannot be directly associated with any terrorist attacks in Indonesia so far.”127 Moreover, it is worth noting that there are potential pitfalls in any clumsy attempt at laying blame at Aman’s door. Although it is true that Aman’s ideological influence is powerful indeed and could undoubtedly have inspired some of the attacks, sentencing Aman to death without real proof of his role in terrorist attacks could backfire, transmogrifying Aman into “Indonesia’s Sayyid Qutb”—​a martyr par excellence who has been able even in death to inspire modern Salafi Jihadis.128 Jakarta-​ based Sidney Jones concurs that executing Aman would simply enhance his standing among Indonesian extremists.129 Finally, the seventh characteristic of the Salafabist: the drive to restructure the wider Indonesian polity and society by any means necessary to come “under theocratic rule” based on strict enforcement of the sharia, could not be clearer in Aman’s worldview.130 His utter rejection of the democratic basis of the current Indonesian state is unequivocal:

220  Extremist Islam Whereas it is the case that within democracy, laws are sought from the people by means of their representatives, and thus democracy is a system of shirk [apostasy], because it diverts the worship of seeking laws from another/​others besides Allāh. Democracy is a system of shirk that establishes its pillars upon secularism, upon unlimitedness; free to believe whatever despite its being shirk or disbelief. Democracy does not obligate “mankind” to be obedient toward the teachings of Allāh, but they must be obedient toward the agreement of the people, legislative orders that are in process, wherever in fact, there are man-​made laws. (italics added)131

In Aman’s view, therefore, precisely because there can only be one deity worthy of worship—​Allah—​all systems of laws must issue from him and not from man-​made, democratic parliaments or legislatures. The Indonesian state must thus be a theocratically based, Islamic regime committed to ensuring all territories in the realm are fully governed by sharia law. In short, Aman wanted nothing less than establishment of hakimiyya. As he declared in a letter of support for Al-​Baghdadi’s forces, written in Nusakambangan prison on December 30, 2013, several months before the declaration of the so-​called caliphate: The Muslims, whether they are ulama’, Mujahideen, or general public, have hoped that there was for Islam and the Muslims a Daulah (state) that is ruled by the sharia. A Daulah that looks after their properties, . . . sends troops, and [spreads] Islam in the corners of the territories under its control.132

Places, Platforms, and Persons: Aman Abdurrahman’s Salafabist Ecosystem As before, the question here is: what was the specific combination of persons (specific direct Salafabist influencers), places (relatively insulated online or real-​world social spaces within which some mix of hard and soft Salafabist views were incubated), and platforms (publications and other media) that interacted in various ways to propagate and sustain Aman Abdurrahman’s pronounced hard Salafabist outlook?

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Indonesia  221

Places Aman’s early socialization experiences in places like his family home seem to have been characterized by intensive study of the Qur’an and Arabic. In his fifth grade at a state-​run elementary school, a private teacher started to teach him Arabic more formally.133After graduating from elementary school, moreover, he attended Islamic pesantren boarding schools in Sumedang, West Java.134 What seems to have been a particularly strategic place where he honed his incipient Salafabist leanings, however, is almost certainly the Institute for the Study of Islam and Arabic (LIPIA) in Jakarta, where he immersed himself in studying Islamic law.135 LIPIA was set up in 1980 with Saudi funding and was from the outset a branch of the Imam Muhammad bin Saud University in Riyadh. Its faculty were mainly Saudi scholars who taught a curriculum modeled on the parent university. All teaching at LIPIA is conducted in Arabic, and admission standards are strictly enforced. Once a student is accepted, however, tuition is free and students are provided with a generous stipend by Indonesian standards.136 LIPIA graduates have gone on to become preachers on many Indonesian university campuses, as well as “publishers,” not to mention “teachers and ulama.”137 LIPIA graduates have also established Salafabist-​oriented pesantren with Saudi funding, and these have provided a “mechanism” for spreading Salafabist ideas through outreach activities and through training local “teachers and propagators.”138 The upshot of all this has been to ensure that strident Salafabist attitudes have permeated Indonesian society.139 The relatively enlightened Modernist Salafi activist Ulil Abshar Abdalla, who actually studied at LIPIA from 1988 to 1993, recalls that LIPIA’s Salafabist curriculum predisposes its graduates to adopt an attitude “hostile to the local Indonesian culture and Muslim practices.”140 The Australian scholars Greg Fealy and Anthony Bubalo add that “no single institution seems to have done more than LIPIA” to propagate contemporary forms of Salafabism in Indonesia.141 The strident Salafabist orientation of LIPIA meant that a potent soft Salafabist cocktail of Wahhabi puritanism and Muslim Brotherhood-​inspired Islamist political activism came to be circulated in Indonesia.142 After all, as Fealy and Bubalo point out, many LIPIA faculty members have had Muslim Brotherhood backgrounds.143 In any case, within the Arabized modernist, Salafabist echo chamber of LIPIA, Aman became extremely fluent in Arabic.144 Jones and Solahudin, for example, describe Aman as being “a superb Arabic linguist.”145 Somewhat of a star

222  Extremist Islam student, Aman was considered highly knowledgeable about Islam, having memorized the Qur’an146 and being intimately familiar with almost 1,500 Hadith (Prophetic sayings).147 It surprised nobody, therefore, that Aman graduated from LIPIA with honors at the top of his class in 1998.148 He was offered a full scholarship to pursue further studies in Saudi Arabia, but he turned it down.149 After graduation, he became a lecturer and preacher, both at LIPIA itself and at other institutions in Jakarta, Bogor, and Bandung.150 Nevertheless, it would not be entirely accurate to assume that Aman’s embrace of Salafabism was solely due to his LIPIA experience, important as it was. In a way, he is simply the latest product of a long line of Arabized modernist dakwah going back to the early decades of the twentieth century, with the emergence of the aforementioned Al-​Irsyad and Persis networks. In fact, Persis formed the “backbone” of the major postwar Islamist political party Masjumi (Majelis Syuro Muslimin Indonesia, or Indonesian Muslim Consultative Council), until the late 1950s a most significant political place within which Salafabist ideas circulated and were sustained.151 Throughout the era of the secular nationalist President Soekarno’s Liberal Democracy regime, until the late 1950s when he set up a more authoritarian Guided Democracy structure expressly based on Javanese political and cultural hegemony, Masjumi leaders clashed not only with Soekarno, but also with the Indonesian Communist Party (PKI), over the issue of making Islamic law the basis of the Republic’s constitution. Soekarno ultimately banned Masjumi at the end of the 1950s, following the latter’s support of a short-​lived Muslim separatist revolt in West Sumatra and South Sulawesi.152 However, the Masjumi/​Persis ethos survived in the form of another historically crucial soft Salafabist place—​the Dewan Dakwah Islamiyah Indonesia (DDII, or Islamic Propagation Council). DDII was set up in February 1967 by Masjumi/​Persis activists led by Mohammad Natsir (d. 1993), “a pious Islamic scholar from Sumatra who became the first prime minister of independent Indonesia.”153 The soft Salafabist Islamist ethos of DDII was well encapsulated in its slogan: “Before we used politics as a way to preach, now we use preaching as a way to engage in politics.”154 To this end, DDII developed a network of places (e.g., mosques), persons (such as preachers), and platforms, such as publications to target pesantren and university campuses in particular.155 The formation of DDII represented recognition by soft Salafabist Islamist activists that, following the failures of Muslim politicians to legislate the Jakarta Charter into positive law during the heated political debates of the 1940s and 1950s, a more gradual, bottom-​up

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Indonesia  223 approach to dakwah was a better way of Islamizing—​or, more precisely, Salafabizing—​society.156 Given its puritanical Persis doctrinal antecedents, DDII was likewise characterized by a fear of Christian missionary efforts.157 The DDII subsequently—​ and equally unsurprisingly, given its organic Salafabism—​via Natsir, established intimate ties with the Saudi-​based World Islamic League (Rabitat al-​‘Alam al-​Islami).158 This way, the DDII became the “main channel in Indonesia for distributing scholarships” from the Rabitat for study in the Middle East.159 In fact, “young, talented Muslim preachers” sponsored by DDII for study in the Middle East have on their return been “expected to spearhead the expansion of da’wa activities to reach remote areas” in the “hinterlands of Java and other Indonesian islands.”160 DDII also played a key role in translating into Bahasa Indonesia strategic soft Salafabist Islamist platforms in the form of key texts of the Muslim Brotherhood.161 Last but by no means least, DDII leaders also facilitated the setting up of LIPIA—​ the place that honed Aman Abdurrahman’s strident Salafabist leanings.162

Platforms While LIPIA proved to be a highly significant place within which Aman sharpened the hard-​edged Salafabist instincts that played a role in his eventual embrace of violence, what platforms (key publications and/​or media) nourished those theological-​ideological proclivities? Indonesian scholars who have studied Aman’s ideas point out that platforms like the works of the medieval Hanbalite scholars Ibn Taymiyya and his protégé Ibn Qayyim, as well as their intellectual descendent “Wahhab’s books” and the publications of “Nejd scholars” in Saudi Arabia—​in an nutshell, Salafabist publications—​ “greatly influenced Abdurrahman’s thoughts.”163 Moreover, the looming shadow of historic Arabized modernist theological currents circulating within the Indonesian milieu doubtlessly played a role in shaping Aman’s evolving ideas as well. In this connection, the enduring intellectual legacy, as articulated through platforms like the speeches and publications of certain Persis-​inspired ideologues, seem particularly pertinent. One such figure was a highly devout Tamil Muslim, born and educated in a Singaporean Muslim family, called Ahmad Hassan (d. 1957). Hassan’s codified opinions played a key role in shaping the doctrinal trajectory of Persis. Between 1926 and 1941, he advised Persis activists on a range of issues pertaining to the application of uncompromising Salafabist ideas in Java and the wider archipelago. Among

224  Extremist Islam other things, Hassan warned Muslims against overly identifying with nationalist symbols and sentiments at the expense of their devotion to God. In this respect, he severely criticized the “use of flags, anthems, and statues to heroes” as akin to “polytheism.” Hassan has been regarded as “the most strident and uncompromising” of Indonesian reformers.164 Another significant platform that doubtless shaped Aman Abdurrahman’s intellectual worldview would have been the publications and codified opinions of Mohammad Natsir, the west Sumatran Minang who served for a short while as Indonesian prime minister in the early 1950s. Ahmad Hassan was in fact the mentor of Natsir.165 As a young man, Natsir, after attending Dutch-​style schools, moved to Bandung to become an “advanced student” in the Persis school there.166 In the interwar years, Natsir, in response to secular nationalist leaders like Soekarno and Soetomo, who argued that Muslims needed to downplay overt religiosity and focus more on the practical requirements of building a modern society, countered instead that “piety was important,” and only a genuinely strong Islamic society and state would ensure national success. Displaying a strong anti-​Western bent, Natsir insisted that “imitating the Dutch and adopting Dutch institutions as the nationalists suggested” was going against God’s law.167 Later on, during the run-​up to the first national elections in independent Indonesia’s Liberal Democracy era in 1955, Natsir again called for Islam to be instituted as the state religion and rejected the Western systems of capitalism, socialism, and communism.168 Through the platform of his publications and speeches, Natsir insisted that Islam was not an optional “extra” for the Indonesian state, but rather the state was “the apparatus and instrument for Islam.”169 Not insignificantly, Natsir himself was personally acquainted with the Pakistani soft Salafabist Islamist ideologue Mawdudi, who helped nudge him to a “narrower and more rigid” outlook.170 Together with Ahmad Hassan, Natsir was a key intellectual influence on Masjumi, while also playing a leading role in setting up DDII and establishing ties with, and formally serving for a long period as an eminent member of, the Saudi-​based Rabitat. Through Saudi help, moreover, Natsir also played a strategic role in setting up LIPIA—​where Aman studied—​in 1980.171 In sum, following exposure to, inter alia, the platforms propagating the ideas and outlooks of classical Salafabist-​oriented writers and later Indonesian intellectuals possessed of a similar worldview like Ahmad Hassan and Mohammad Natsir, Aman declared himself to be “fully immersed in the Salafi movement” by July 2000.172

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Indonesia  225 The rather porous doctrinal boundaries—​ shared theological DNA—​ between soft and hard Salafabism were evinced yet again when that same year, Aman was actually dismissed from LIPIA for adopting takfiri doctrine.173 From then until around 2003, Aman was the imam of the Al-​Sofwa mosque in Lenteng Agung, South Jakarta, apparently disseminating takfiri views.174 Takfir (excommunication) was an idea that Sayyid Qutb popularized and hard Salafabist, Salafi Jihadis subsequently embraced. Takfiri analysis, to reiterate, delineates “the boundaries of faith” by explicitly identifying an “in-​group of rightful adherents,” setting them apart from an “out-​group of heretics” who can be legitimately targeted along with unbelievers. Salafi Jihadis thus see takfir as a mechanism to protect Islam by expelling “errant Muslims” from the fold, thereby maintaining “doctrinal purity.”175 That Aman eventually began to manifest takfiri tendencies perhaps should not be surprising. The scholar of radical Islam David Cook argues that not-​violent Wahhabism itself is characterized at its core by “an extremely promiscuous use of takfir,” in stark contrast to mainstream Sunnis, who even if attacking their “religious or intellectual opponents, generally avoided charging them with apostasy.”176 Aman’s gradual adoption of harder-​edged Salafabism, including takfiri ideology, would also have been given a nudge by his exposure to the publication platforms of Middle Eastern ideologues like Abu Basher, Syaikh Abdul Kadir bin Abdul Aziz, and other tauhid thinkers and jihadists from Saudi Arabia, and, above all, Abu Muhammad Al-​Maqdisi.177 Maqdisi—​once described as “mild and agreeable, more amiable professor than beguiling mystic”—​although “fearless” when it came to the “printed page,”178 was arguably the most significant influence on Aman’s evolving theological-​ideological orientation.179 To be sure, Salafi Jihadi theorists like Maqdisi have warned against overzealous pronouncements of takfir without credible justification.180 It should be noted that in practice, nevertheless, Salafi Jihadis actively engaged in combat, like the late Maqdisi protégé Abu Musab al-​Zarqawi, founder of the ISIS predecessor entity al-​Qaeda in Iraq, and adopted a truly elastic understanding of takfir concept. Maqdisi hence excoriated al-​Zarqawi and his followers for declaring takfir on “anyone except those who completely share their path and beliefs.”181 Following Maqdisi’s lead, Aman similarly criticized al-​Zarqawi’s emphasis on indiscriminate and massive suicide bombings182 in Iraq, believing that this ultra-​violent strategy not only failed to advance the campaign to establish an Islamic state, but also caused an unacceptable number of Muslim casualties.183 For this reason, Aman also criticized

226  Extremist Islam al-​Zarqawi admirer Noordin Top, the previously encountered Malaysian militant who had led an Indonesian JI splinter cell responsible for several suicide bombing attacks in Indonesia in the 2000s.184 Ironically, though, al-​Zarqawi was in a real sense the ideological godfather of ISIS,185 while, as observed earlier, Aman started to back ISIS once they began to demonstrably conquer territory and apply Islamic law.186 Aman’s preference for ISIS, which is thoroughly animated by the takfiri worldview, is in essence not too surprising given his own hard Salafabist and thus Salafi Jihadi predilections.187 Hence, in true takfiri spirit, Aman argued that any Muslim who did not support ISIS was simply an infidel.188 Furthermore, Aman was taken with Maqdisi’s musings in his publications on the importance of focusing jihad against the “near enemy” of “apostate” governments of Muslim-​majority countries.189 Like Maqdisi, Aman believed that governments in Muslim-​majority countries that did not apply Islamic law and oppressed Islamic movements were kuffar and thaghut.190 Incidentally, this was another area in which Aman took issue with al-​Zarqawi, who had advocated a strategy of mounting mass-​casualty attacks against the “far enemy” of Western states.191 In Aman’s view—​shaped by deep immersion in Maqdisi’s published platforms—​al-​Zarqawi sorely lacked a long-​term strategy, and Aman decried his myopic focus on piecemeal attacks on the enemy as qital nikayah.192 Instead, Aman agreed with Maqdisi that the superior strategy was qital tamkin, built on jihad tanzimi (organized jihad) from a secure base as a more systematic method of applying Islamic law and setting up an Islamic state.193 Such doctrinal influences, arising from close study of Maqdisi’s publication platforms, likely prompted Aman’s involvement, by early 2010, in the so-​called lintas tanzim (cross-​organizational project). This was aimed at setting up a training camp in the jungles of Aceh in northern Sumatra. Such a camp was intended to serve as a secure base for jihad tanzimi against local thaghut officials and police—​the near enemy—​and to form the nucleus for a future Islamic state.194 Encouraged by Aman, militant members of Indonesian Salafi Jihadi networks like JI, Jamaah Ansharut Tauhid (JAT), KOMPAK, and Ring Banten came together in a joint initiative to set up a base in Aceh.195 This alliance of JAT, JI, KOMPAK, Ring Banten, and Aman himself called itself al-​Qaeda for Mecca’s Verandah.196 In the event, Aman’s lintas tanzim experiment failed; the Aceh camp was disrupted by the security forces in February 2010, after its chance discovery by an Acehnese farmer looking for rattan.197 Aman was duly arrested and was sentenced to 9 years in prison, and he has been imprisoned since then to the present day.198

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Indonesia  227 Another significant way in which immersion in Maqdisi’s publication platforms shaped Aman was the latter’s setting up of the takfiri network known as the Jamaah Tauhid wal Jihad in 2004.199 This network emerged after Aman’s reportedly short and ill-​fated stint in the previous year undergoing military training in Sanaa, Yemen, together with 12 other Indonesians. They had been detained and repatriated back to Indonesia.200 Jamaah Tauhid wal Jihad has been said by some observers to have hewn closely to Maqdisi’s ideological formulations.201 It is worth noting in this respect that Aman never actually affiliated particularly closely with Darul Islam or JI, although he has interacted with their followers on occasion.202 Part of the reason for this, ironically, given his criticism of the “supertakfiri” inclinations of the likes of al-​Zarqawi, is that he himself was found to be somewhat overly takfiri by fellow Indonesian Salafi Jihadis. For instance, JI spiritual leader Abu Bakar Ba’asyir ultimately disagreed with what he considered Aman’s overly takfiri tendencies.203 Other JAT members, too, found Aman too exclusive and strict when it came to accepting other Muslims as “true Muslims.”204 This is particularly telling, because it suggests that Aman’s own hard Salafabist, Salafi Jihadi extremism was beyond even what JAT members were comfortable with, bearing in mind that JAT was itself a “dynamic, radical [jihadi] organization.”205 In any case, to date Aman has carved for himself a reputation as an “independent jihadist.”206

Persons Apart from places like LIPIA and platforms like the works of Maqdisi, what persons directly impacted Aman’s radicalization into hard Salafabist, Salafi Jihadism with a pronounced takfiri bent? As noted, following his dismissal from LIPIA, Aman, apart from his writings and translations of publications by Middle Eastern ideologues into Bahasa, also preached at various mosques. One such mosque—​or place in our terms—​that he preached at by 2003 was the At-​Taqwa mosque in Tanah Abang, Central Jakarta.207 It was during that year at this mosque that Aman first met Saiful Munthohir (alias Harun), a veteran jihadist, who had fought in the bloody sectarian conflict in Poso, Central Sulawesi, between 1998 and 2001 in which thousands of Muslims and Christians were killed. As a key person who directly influenced Aman, Saiful trained Aman in fighting skills, bringing him and his followers to a forest near the University of Indonesia campus in Depok, West Java, and

228  Extremist Islam making the group undergo drills as well as physical and self-​defense training, which was considered “harsh.”208 As Renaldi puts it pithily, while Aman instructed Saiful in the “theological justifications for jihad,” as a strategic person of influence, “Saiful taught his scholarly friend how jihad was actually waged.”209 At one point in 2004, Saiful asked Aman if Aman wanted to learn bomb-​making. Aman—​whose transition from soft to hard Salafabist was obviously complete by that time210—​agreed, and his home in Cimanggis, outside Jakarta, was used a venue for not just Qur’an recitation meetings, but bomb-​making classes as well. The classes did not last very long, however, as a bomb accidentally exploded during the fourth bomb-​making lesson. Aman was subsequently arrested and sentenced to 7 years in prison. However, he was released by 2008, “ready to dive deeper into the world of armed jihad.”211 He remained free until his re-​arrest for his involvement in the Aceh training camp in early 2010. However, ironically, his first prison stint in the years 2004 to 2008 in the Dutch colonial-​era Sukamiskin prison in Bandung proved to be the time when “his career as a jihadist really got going.”212 This was due to his efforts at translating the publications of the likes of Maqdisi and his ilk into Bahasa, as well as recording sermons and smuggling them out via mobile phones and recorded cassette tapes.213 It was also in that prison, in 2005, that Aman met the second strategic person who played a role in his radicalization, Ba’asyir. Following the October 2002 Bali bombings by a JI cell linked to him, Ba’asyir had been arrested on charges ranging from a plot to kill Vice-​President Megawati Soekarnoputri, heading JI, and spearheading the 2000 Christmas Eve bombings, as well as immigration violations. He was eventually sentenced to 48 months of imprisonment at first, but the sentence was later reduced to 18 months and he was released early in April 2004. However, Ba’asyir’s freedom was short-​lived. He was soon re-​arrested and accused of helping incite the August 2003 Jakarta Marriott Hotel attack via an inflammatory speech he had given in 2000 in the JI training facility in the MILF complex in Mindanao, at which several of the Marriott attack plotters had been present. In addition, Ba’asyir was charged under Article 183 of the Criminal Code for indirectly encouraging the October 2002 Bali bombers to carry out their action. He was convicted and jailed again in 2005 for two and a half years.214 Before his release the following year on appeal, Ba’asyir met and interacted closely with Aman. Apparently, Ba’asyir’s impact was so significant that when Aman himself was released 2 years later in 2008, he had by then “fallen further into Ba’asyir’s sphere of influence.”215

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Indonesia  229 As a person who clearly impacted Aman’s own evolving views, Ba’asyir is a most telling figure. Interestingly, to reiterate, in line with our ongoing discussion of how low integrative complexity is very much a feature of religious extremists, Ba’asyir has been observed to be “a very simple man” possessed of a “horizon” that is “very primordial,” and who is, outside of Islam, “very much ignorant in other matters.”216 Moreover, in line with our discussion of the tendency of the extremist mindset to hew to notions of in-​group bias and out-​group prejudice, Ba’asyir, the Malaysian scholar Farish Noor adds, adopts a “maximalist” interpretation of Islam that “is couched in terms of an oppositional dialectic that juxtaposes Islam against everything else that is deemed un-​Islamic or anti-​Islamic [such as] secularism, Western culture and values, democracy, [and] worldly politics,” as well as other religions and “all man-​made secular ideologies.”217 In this connection, Tim Behrend further points out that Ba’asyir’s message is “not simply anti-​Zionist or anti-​Israeli, but very deeply and personally anti-​Jewish.”218 Furthermore—​expressing the Salafabist feature of fear of contamination via commingling with out-​ group members—​Ba’asyir interprets the core concept of al-​wala’ wa-​al-​bara in a “decidedly conservative and exclusive tone,” prompting his students “to exclude themselves from the wider circles of Indonesia’s plural multireligious society.”219 In Ba’asyir’s worldview, Muslims should merely tolerate Christians, and “not seek to mingle with them.”220 Last but not least, Ba’asyir’s hard Salafabist identity supremacism—​a worldview in which Islam must be politically and geopolitically dominant—​came out strongly in an August 2005 interview with anthropologist Scott Atran and Indonesian researcher Taufik Andrie: [The Western states] have to stop fighting Islam, but that’s impossible because it is “sunnatullah” [destiny, a law of nature], as Allah has said in the Qu’ran. They will constantly be enemies. But they’ll lose . . . and Islam will win. That was what the Prophet Muhammad has said. Islam must win and Westerners will be destroyed. . . . If they want to have peace, they have to accept to be governed by Islam. (italics added)221

As mentioned, Aman was released in July 2008—​despite concerns among prison officials that Aman had been radicalizing other inmates—​because prisoners in Indonesia are commonly given remissions for good behavior.222 Aman had quite obviously had not been rehabilitated while in prison, as shortly after his release he joined a mosque near Bandung, where he gave

230  Extremist Islam regular monthly sermons that were considered extremist. In time, the mosque became yet another place where Aman was able to bring together like-​minded extremists.223 As noted, Ba’asyir had been released 2 years earlier, and the year that Aman got out the former founded the aforementioned JAT.224 JAT differed from JI in that it had both above-​ground study groups and a secret military wing, was much more clearly organized, and accepted members more easily.225 As seen, Aman soon collaborated with Ba’asyir to set up the ill-​fated Aceh training camp that came unstuck in early in 2010—​ landing Aman a 9-​year term and Ba’asyir a 15-​year prison term.226 Against this backdrop, it is most instructive to note two points: first, by the 2010s Aman had clearly established a popularity in Indonesian hard Salafabist circles that rivaled that of Ba’asyir.227 Second, it is saying something that even a hardcore extremist like Ba’asyir considered Aman’s takfiri tendencies disconcerting.228

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Indonesia: The Contemporary Relevance of the Aman Abdurrahman Case It is difficult to overstate the contemporary relevance of Aman Abdurrahman to the Indonesian state’s ongoing struggle to prevent and counter hard Salafabist Salafi Jihadist threats in the country. Aman represents a proximate, direct threat in which his role in directing, and more commonly inspiring, Salafi Jihadi violence nationally remains significant, even though he remains incarcerated at the time of writing. Even while being primarily imprisoned since the 2000s, he was always an active author and translator, not only publishing his own Salafi Jihadi platforms but also translating those of al-​Qaeda and ISIS ideologues from Arabic into Bahasa, while taking care to contextualize the treatises for an Indonesian audience.229 Therefore, Aman was not just “importing” foreign ideology, but “indigenizing” it as well.230 His writings have thus been described as “standard study material among pro-​Islamic state groups”231 and “common currency in jihadist circles.”232 While in prison, Aman also proved to be popular among inmates from peripheral militant movements, such as those in East Kalimantan and Lombok, who were looking for a spiritual and ideological sanctioner to guide them. These inmates were quickly absorbed into Aman’s growing network.233 Aman’s ideological fingerprints extend well beyond the active, violent Salafi

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Indonesia  231 Jihadi networks per se. Ibnu Mas’ud, an Islamic school Aman had founded in Depok in 2009 and that shifted to a location near Bogor 2 years later, has attracted attention for its focus on socializing young children into takfiri ideology. Ibnu Mas’ud is said not only to educate the children of Indonesian jihadists, but also to have an operational role as a safe house for jihadists on the run. In 2014, after Aman had sworn allegiance to the late ISIS amir al-​ Baghdadi, Ibnu Mas’ud became a place within the pro-​ISIS ecosystem in Indonesia.234 The school became a “launchpad” for youth headed to Syria to fight for ISIS. It was reported that at least 12 people associated with Ibnu Mas’ud, both students and teachers, attempted to travel to the Middle East to join ISIS between 2013 and 2016.235 Moreover, in recent years Aman has increasingly usurped the Indonesian jihadist spiritual leadership mantle of his one-​time mentor, Ba’asyir. An indication of how the balance of influence had shifted as early as 2014 was when Aman managed to convince Ba’asyir—​30 years his senior—​to pledge allegiance to ISIS, an action that angered Ba’asyir’s family and loyalists, who had hitherto been supporters of al-​Qaeda and its Syrian splinter faction, the Al-​Nusra Front.236 At the same time, Aman also moved to bring most of Ba’asyir’s JAT network under his control, while his students infiltrated and recruited members from various pro-​ISIS groups. It has been argued that Aman undertook this process of institutional consolidation of pro-​ ISIS Salafi Jihadi groups to comply with ISIS Central’s stipulations, which required wilayats (governorates) to be established. A wilayat in a territory could only be declared if all pro-​ISIS networks were united under a single leadership acknowledged by the ISIS caliph.237 To further unite the various networks as per ISIS requirements, Aman created JAD in 2014.238 Despite Aman’s being imprisoned, JAD remains active, spearding propaganda and recruiting.239 It bears reiterating that JAD has a country-​wide presence, which by August 2017 included Jakarta, Banten, East Java, West Java, Central Java, Lampung, Kalimantan, Sulawesi, and Medan.240 After the January 2016 terrorist attacks in Jakarta, Aman was transferred into solitary confinement in Jakarta’s most secure prison.241 In any case, the 2016 Jakarta attacks were significant because they were the very first attack in Southeast Asia that ISIS claimed responsibility for.242 The attacks prompted the Indonesian authorities to recognize that Aman’s ideology was influencing attacks despite his being incarcerated.243 Particularly distressing confirmation of this reality were the May 2018 Surabaya attacks. On May 13, at least 13 people were killed and 40 were

232  Extremist Islam injured after a family of six, including very young children—​a 9-​year-​old and 12-​year old—​mounted suicide attacks on three churches in the city of Surabaya, in East Java province, Indonesia. The same day, a mother and her 17-​year-​old daughter were killed in a nearby suburb after a bomb being handled by the father blew up prematurely. Worse, the very next day, another family of five, riding on motorcycles, detonated a bomb at the entrance of Surabaya’s police headquarters. Only a 7-​year-​old girl somehow survived, staggering away from the burnt-​out wreckage, a scene caught on social media and replayed endlessly, to widespread shock and revulsion. It emerged that the central planner of the coordinated attacks on both days was one Dita Oepriarto, who was the leader of the Surabaya branch of the Indonesian JAD network. Dita’s neighbors recalled that he opposed singing the Indonesian national anthem and raising the national flag, while opining that Pancasila was inimical to sharia values.244 Notably, the Amaq news agency of ISIS quickly claimed responsibility for what it called a successful “martyrdom operation.”245 This was the first time entire families, including young children and teenagers, were involved in a violent Islamist attack in Southeast Asia. Regional security officials were quick to express alarm at the emergence in the Surabaya case of what has been called “family terrorism,” which according to Delfin Lorenzana, the Philippine Defence Secretary, was a “new development in Southeast Asia, something local terrorists have never done before.”246 Indeed, the role of youth stands out: in the case of the aforementioned Dita Oepriarto, orchestrator of the May 13 attacks on the three churches, the suicide attackers included his two young daughters, 9 and 12 years old, and his two teenage boys, ages 16 and 18. The following day, Tri Murtiono, who was known to Dita, involved his wife and his two teenage sons, ages 14 and 18, as well as their 7-​year-​old daughter, in the attack on the Surabaya police headquarters. Meanwhile, as mentioned, on May 13, a 17-​year-​old girl died in the accidental bomb detonation by her father, who was yet another accomplice of Dita. As it turned out, Dita’s family, together with the other two families involved, was very much part of the JAD social milieu. Not only were some of the youth home-​schooled to limit their outside exposure, at Sunday religious gatherings following noon prayers, the growing extremism of the families was reportedly nurtured by immersion in films on violent jihad in Iraq and Syria, including suicide bombings, and even instruction in bomb-​making. This had the effect of inculcating the usual dualistic, us-​ versus-​ them/​

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Indonesia  233 pure-​versus-​impure outlook that underpinned the pronounced social distancing that Dita’s non-​ Muslim neighbors in the ethnically integrated Surabaya suburb where the family lived eventually noticed as well.247 Ominously, this trend of terror attacks involving families has continued. In March 2019, a woman militant associated with JAD detonated a bomb, instantly killing herself and her 2-​year-​old child, after police arrested her husband, the suspected terrorist Abu Hamzah and surrounded their house in Sibolga, North Sumatra. Seven months later, in October, two other JAD members, a married couple, Syahril Alamsyah and Fitri Andriana, mounted an opportunistic knife assault on the Indonesian Security Minister Wiranto in Pandeglang, Banten. Worryingly, the influence of JAD—​and by implication Aman—​transcends national boundaries. As described in Chapter 5, another married couple, Rullie Rian Zeke and Ulfah Handayani Saleh of South Sulawesi, carried out a double suicide bombing at Our Lady of Mount Carmel Church in Jolo in the southern Philippines in January 2019.248 In November the same year, yet another suicide bomber linked to a family cell killed himself and injured six others in an attack on a police station in Medan, in Sumatra. Police reported that the bomber and his wife—​as well as a “religious mentor”—​were part of the JAD network. The couple had apparently attended “military camp training” and were taught how to handle guns and “sharp weapons.”249 Malaysian journalist and security analyst Zam Yusa, who has tracked JAD, notes that while JAD members may be scattered geographically, they communicate using the encrypted and popular social media applications WhatsApp and Telegram to keep one another informed of ongoing attack planning.250 Perhaps there is a modicum of good news: some analysts reckon that since Aman was transferred to solitary confinement in January 2016, his influence has declined. Removing Aman’s access to mobile phones has made it extremely difficult for him to spread his ideas. Interestingly, Aman apparently condemned the May 2018 Surabaya attacks involving families as excessive and un-​Islamic. This prompted some pro-​ISIS supporters to criticize him for taking such a stand, suggesting that he may have lost prestige in some Indonesian Salafi Jihadi circles.251 Other analysts, however, caution that on the whole Aman remains very well respected among hard Salafabists. A prison riot that took place in May 2018 at the very prison where Aman is incarcerated clearly evinced the influence he still wields over the movement. The pro-​ISIS inmates, who killed five police officers whom they had taken hostage, had demanded to meet with Aman.252

234  Extremist Islam

Concluding Remarks As seen from the foregoing, the strategic and ideological influence of Aman Abdurrahman and his JAD network poses an ongoing clear and present physical threat to Indonesia. However, it would be remiss not to view Aman’s influence from a wider, strategic perspective. While Aman is operationally very significant, one should not miss the woods for the trees. Aman is equally deeply symptomatic of a larger, longer-​term ideological challenge to the centuries-​old progressive Indonesian Islam that has justly won worldwide respect and admiration. In a way, the challenge is not new. As discussed, Aman is the latest, most high-​profile—​pronouncedly extremist—​representative of the aforementioned historic Arabized modernist strain in Indonesian Islam, namely Salafabism. As seen, Salafabism has always been more openly antagonistic toward the influence of Christianity and local customs. Already there is evidence that some of Aman’s essential Salafabist musings are increasingly mainstream, as shown in rising religious intolerance toward non-​Muslims. In October 2017, the Jakarta-​based Centre for the Study of Islam and Society (PPIM) surveyed 1,800 high school and university students in 34 provinces across Indonesia, and found that “60 percent admitted to having ‘radical’ religious attitudes” and “more than half ” declared that they were “intolerant of minorities,” with “mainstream Muslims not only drawing lines between themselves and non-​Muslims, but also against other Muslim minority communities, such as the Shi’ite and Ahmadiyah.”253 At the same time, “almost a third had no problems with intolerant acts committed by others against minorities”—​in short, structural, if not necessarily physical, violence.254 The following month, the polling firm Alvara surveyed more than 4,200 Muslim students, mainly from the top schools and universities in Java, and even more disconcertingly, found that “nearly one in four students, to varying degrees, was ready to fight to establish an Islamic caliphate.”255 The Alvara firm cautioned that “radical teachings may have infiltrated Indonesia’s elite schools.”256 Furthermore, other observers worry that “preschools [and] primary, secondary, and high schools” have been influenced for years by Salafabism, with sympathetic “lecturers and teachers” recruiting “university students as well as their parents,” and “graduates of those schools” now “working in the civil service, military and police force,” where they “recruit their juniors as well as their families.”257 Such graduates, while not necessarily hard Salafabist Salafi Jihadis, nonetheless evince soft Salafabist, Islamist

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Indonesia  235 attitudes that predispose them to “make enemies out of people who are different from them” and to consider Indonesia an “infidel” country that is not “ruled in accordance with sharia law.”258 As we have seen in this study, the shared theological DNA of Salafabism that links Islamists and Salafi Jihadis suggests that such a situation should not be taken lightly. Worryingly, even the bastion of traditionalist Islam, Gus Dur’s NU, has not escaped the impact of creeping Salafabization. Some younger NU clerics “with significant popular following,” like Buya Yahya, a “charismatic preacher who is widely considered to be a future leader of the NU,” appear to eschew Gus Dur’s traditionalism, pushing instead the Salafabist line that “there is only one universal Islam for all Muslims” and thus, there is no need for “ ‘localized’ Islamic interpretations.”259 That rising religious intolerance is a serious concern in Indonesia was strongly affirmed by the aforementioned Ahok affair. In December 2016, more than 200,000 protestors descended on Jakarta to demand that the city’s governor, Ahok—​“a double minority in Indonesia” as an ethnic Chinese Christian—​resign due to alleged blasphemy, because he had ostensibly suggested that his political opponents exploited a “Qur’anic verse to encourage Muslims to vote against non-​Muslims.”260 Ahok not only lost his re-​ election bid, but also was charged with blasphemy, convicted, and sentenced to 2 years’ imprisonment.261 Among the organizations leading the anti-​Ahok protests, two deserve special mention. First, the Indonesian branch of the previously encountered Hizbut Tahrir (HTI), which has been operating in Indonesia since the early 1980s. HTI has grown rapidly over the past two decades and has branches nationwide. While its membership numbers are not known, it has demonstrably been able to mobilize thousands of supporters to its rallies. More to the point, as in its sister branches elsewhere in the world, HTI’s essential Salafabist ideological leanings are evident in its quest for a “global caliphate,” its dismissal of “democracy as un-​Islamic,” its “rejection of capitalism and secularism,” and its demands for “sharia law implementation.”262 It was banned—​not uncontroversially—​in July 2017 by the Jokowi administration because it was deemed a threat to the constitution and the foundational Pancasila ideology of the Indonesian state.263 Second, the Islamic Defenders Front (Front Pembela Islam or FPI), founded in 1998—​with the support of the military and police, according to some observers—​claims an estimated 200,000 members. While FPI, unlike HTI, has no transnational affiliations and does not agree with the latter’s

236  Extremist Islam dismissal of the nation-​state/​democracy and its quest for a global caliphate—​ it shares the Salafabist preoccupations with Islamizing and purifying society. In this connection, FPI shutters nightclubs and bars during Ramadan, and ominously evinces out-​group intolerance shading even into outright vigilante-​style violence, such as its attacks on the Ahmadiyah minority.264 While in the past FPI was said to have no real systematic political agenda, this appears to have changed.265 In 2013, FPI unveiled an ideology called the Unitary State of Republic Indonesia under Islamic law (NKRI Bersyariah). This ideology asserts that Pancasila is illegitimate. Rather, FPI holds that the Indonesian state should follow Islamic principles and all Indonesian political leaders should be practicing Muslims. Not unlike Aman Abdurrahman, FPI argues that the Indonesian state has strayed from Islamic to secular principles, with disastrous results for the polity and society. FPI thus calls for the reintroduction of the original interpretation of the Jakarta Charter, which requires all Indonesian Muslims to observe sharia law—​something that Aman would approve of. This suggestion is “widely supported by other hardline groups and some politicians who aligned themselves closely with the group.”266 The net effect of strategic persons like Aman Abdurrahman, in tandem with the places and platforms associated with the likes of HTI and FPI, as well as the steady proliferation of other strategic Salafabist platforms, has been the creeping Salafabization of once proudly progressive Indonesian Islam. A typical platform contributing to this trend has been Rodja Radio 756 AM, the leading “Salafi radio station” in Bogor, West Java. Rodja Radio in fact has evolved its own Salafabist mini-​ecosystem: more than 65 radio stations in Indonesia draw upon Rodja’s dakwah programs, and the station also runs streaming and satellite services. It has been estimated that more than a million listeners tune in to the station. These listeners also attend large gatherings organized by Rodja Radio at the Istiqlal mosque in Jakarta and other large mosques.267 What is noteworthy is that almost all the Indonesian preachers on Rodja Radio are graduates of the Islamic University of Medina in Saudi Arabia or LIPIA in Jakarta—​Aman’s alma mater. As Ayang Utrizka Yakin observes, such preachers channel a LIPIA worldview to their listeners, which represents “a microcosm of Saudi ideology in which Salafi-​Wahhabi norms and tradition prevail.”268 Such an outlook—​Yakin pointedly asserts—​ challenges “moderate Indonesian Islam” and instigates the growth of a “puritanical understanding of Islam, which lead into conservatism and even radicalism.”269 Hence, evincing the low integrative complexity associated

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Indonesia  237 with a Salafabist outlook, such preachers’ “rigid position and their mere citing and literally following of the Qur’anic law to solve social problems,” suggests that “they are inflexible in their search for solutions suited to modern Indonesian Muslim society.”270 The cumulative effects of such creeping Salafabization were seen in the anti-​Ahok protests of December 2016 just described. As George Quinn argues, the protests forcefully affirmed the reality that “fundamentalist piety was now a force to be reckoned with in Indonesia’s religious, social, and political mainstream.”271 The final chapter of this book discusses ways and means of preserving the essential progressive, pluralistic, and culturally authentic nature of Southeast Asian Islam—​while building up community resilience to the Salafabist worldview described in Indonesia and the other countries mentioned.

7 Responding to Extremist Islam in Southeast Asia—​The 4M Way Introduction On December 29, 2017, a video surfaced on a website known to be associated with ISIS, called Khayr Wilayah Media. Eight minutes long, the clip—​in Arabic and English—​featured an interview in English with a suicide bomber about to embark on a car bomb attack, along with footage of ISIS attacks in France and Middle Eastern conflict zones, as well as festive celebrations in Western cities, such as Sydney and New York. In particular, the video included a segment in which the known Singaporean ISIS militant Megat Shahdan Abdul Samad, who went by the moniker Abu Uqayl, led two other Southeast Asian-​looking ISIS fighters, most likely wanted Malaysian militants, in executing three kneeling Arab-​looking prisoners by gunshot at close range. Before carrying out the cold-​blooded murders, Abu Uqayl addressed the camera in English. He urged ISIS supporters to “slay the enemies of Allah wherever you can find them,” insisting that every kuffar and murtadin (apostate) will be eliminated until the land of Islam from East Asia to the West of Africa is cleansed.1 The shocking video clip garnered massive attention on social media, prompting MUIS to roundly condemn it as a “desperate attack” by ISIS to drive a wedge between Muslim and non-​Muslim Singaporeans.2 As Bilveer Singh pointed out, the video clip “reinforces the need to be vigilant, as the Islamic State remains an existential threat.”3 He called it “a daring challenge to states,” adding that “it is up to Southeast Asian governments to respond to ensure that the terrorists do not succeed even once.”4 This concluding chapter argues that the overall Southeast Asian response—​the joint responsibility of governments, civil societies, social media firms, and other relevant stakeholders in the region—​must be to gradually steer vulnerable constituencies of Southeast Asian Muslims away from “rigid and fixed” Salafabism—​in both its soft and hard forms—​toward “flexible and Extremist Islam. Kumar Ramakrishna, Oxford University Press. © University of Maryland National Consortium for the Study of Terrorism and Responses to Terrorism (START) 2022. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197610961.003.0008

Responding to Extremist Islam in Southeast Asia  239 tolerant” Islamic values and beliefs that are both theologically authentic and compatible with the lived realities of the multicultural, globalized societies of Southeast Asia.5 To this end, one potentially useful grand strategy for operationalizing such a response is the 4M Way. In essence, the 4M Way seeks to attain two strategic objectives. Minimally, the goal is to ensure that powerful, culturally authentic alternative narratives in particular gain information dominance over competing Salafabist storylines within each national context. Maximally, and admittedly more ambitiously, the aim is to foster among target audiences what Omar Saif Ghobash calls an essential “independence of mind”6 that is the ultimate antidote to the acute Salafabist fundamentalist-​ extremism that, as seen in this study, intimately connects not-​ violent Islamism and violent Salafi Jihadism. The four Ms of the 4M Way are message content, message framing, message dissemination, and message receptivity.7 Unpacking this further, it is posited here that first, the content of the message encoded in countervailing alternative narratives in particular must present a positive societal vision to trump the intolerant and virulent narratives of the Salafabists. Second, the way the message is framed in the eyes of the target audience should generate a mass appeal exceeding that of extremist ideologues vis-​à-​vis that same audience. Third, the mechanisms employed to disseminate the message to the target audience must be more effective than those employed by the Salafabists. Last but not least, the message receptivity of the target audience to countervailing alternative narratives must be promoted by good governance, including social and educational programs supporting strong families, and by implication, emotionally and psychologically well-​adjusted youth. Such young people, attuned to integratively complex thinking rather than fundamentalist dualism, would likely be more receptive to alternative narratives than to highly simplified adversarial extremist storylines. This chapter develops the argument as follows. The next section concisely recapitulates the main arguments of the study, before taking a closer look at what exactly is meant by “alternative” and “counter” narratives—​and why an emphasis on the former in the 4M approach is strategically superior. The rest of the chapter then systematically considers in detail various possible initiatives within the message content, framing, dissemination, and receptivity spaces across the four countries covered in this book. A key argument will be that the vital issue of message receptivity depends on good governance that seeks two goals: first, addressing political and socioeconomic grievances that empower Salafabist narratives, and second, creating the

240  Extremist Islam enabling societal conditions for strong families to emerge. Such families can help raise youth with the necessary integrative complexity to dampen any incipient fundamentalist impulse that may mutate into full-​blown extremism downstream.

Recognizing Extremist Islam in Southeast Asia: A Summary This book argues that religiosity is very much part of the human condition and “God is an inherent part of our natural cognitive systems,” albeit there is great diversity in how such spirituality is expressed across humanity.8 Moreover, at group level, the cultural artefact of religion, comprising “an ever-​changing, adaptive amalgam of concepts and behaviors,” precisely because it has provided the “impetus to maintain social cohesion” within ever-​growing human agglomerations across the long span of human history, has historically been the “principal social institution” sustaining in-​group unity.9 The institution of religion has thus persisted over centuries, despite secularization theorists’ predictions of its demise with the onset of Enlightenment modernity.10 Eschewing any simplistic direct correlation between religion and intergroup violence, we argued instead that it was religion with an “armored structure” and whose adherents were feeling “under threat”11 or “under siege”12 that was more likely to generate violent potentials. This defensive religious condition we called religious fundamentalism, which obliterates “empathic connections between human beings” in favor of a “totalizing connection with God alone.”13 While one relatively mild form of fundamentalism—​ radicalism—​is not necessarily violent and arguably is a challenge that can be coped with through debate and argumentation, acute fundamentalism expressed in the form of extremism, which is inherently more predisposed to anti-​systemic violence, although not always openly, is the more intractable challenge. We showed how the cognitive radicalization process, beyond the adoption of anti-​status-​quo beliefs, involves a drastic identity-​simplification dynamic within the religious in-​group and relevant out-​groups. We then tightened the analytical lens on religious extremism per se, defining it as an acute fundamentalist belief system that legitimizes the structural violence of an in-​group against relevant out-​groups. Structural violence, it is worth reiterating, is more than just direct physical violence directed against out-​groups. According to Galtung, out-​group members experience violence

Responding to Extremist Islam in Southeast Asia  241 not just when they are subjected to direct physical attacks—​“personal violence”—​but also when they are subjected to the indirect, sustained psychological threat of such attacks—​“psychological violence.”14 Importantly, there need not be any observable subject or perpetrator administering violence upon the objects or out-​group members. The political system itself, when dominated by powerful in-​groups, could ensure that violence is embedded in the structure, thereby ensuring also that it is manifested as unequal power and consequently as unequal life chances. That is, when resources are “unevenly distributed” and when “all the power to decide over the distribution” of such resources is “unevenly distributed,” and “if the persons low on income are also low in education, low on health, and low on power,” this is broader, more subtle, and more insidious structural violence.15 We argued that in the case of a religious in-​group within a multicultural polity, the religious extremist—​in contrast to other believers in the in-​group ranks—​generally evinces the following seven core characteristics: First, and foremost, he displays an intense emotional, fanatical, and supremacist attachment to his sectarian religious belief system, in the process relegating mainstream national constitutional, ideological, and/​or mainline theological currents, as well as international norms, to a secondary status. Second, he is dogmatically committed to the notion that his religious in-​group is inherently morally superior to relevant out-​groups. Third, he is equally committed to the notion that the out-​group possesses an evil “essence” and that it poses an urgent, existential, threat to the in-​group. Fourth, the religious extremist possesses a strong fundamentalist fixation with purity and fear of contamination of the “good essence” of the in-​group through commingling with the out-​group. Fifth, he displays dualistic thinking arising out of low integrative complexity. This is seen in his “simplified view of the world,”16 along with a tendency to engage in “binary, black-​and-​white contrasts with little or no integration of the perspectives.”17 Sixth, the religious extremist tends to engage in dangerous speech toward out-​group members. Dangerous speech is “an act of speech [that] has a reasonable chance of catalyzing or amplifying violence by one group against another, given the circumstances in which it was made or disseminated.”18 We noted that there were two types of dangerous speech: in the “hard” mode, the extremist makes little effort to soft-​pedal his incitement to out-​group violence. However, extremists may also operate in a more subtle, harder to detect, “soft mode,” not explicitly inciting violence, for fear of falling afoul of national laws against hate speech. Extremists operating in the soft mode may engage in linguistically dehumanizing rhetoric that

242  Extremist Islam falls short of direct incitement to out-​group violence. Extremists can shift between soft and hard modes of dangerous speech, depending on tactical considerations. This is why Alex Schmid rejects the notion of “nonviolent” extremism, arguing instead that extremism is “not-​violent” or “not-​now violent,” in the sense that “the non-​use of violence is based merely on pragmatic, tactical, and/​or temporal considerations.”19 Finally, a seventh core characteristic of the religious extremist is his drive to seek the political power to restructure the wider polity and society—​forcibly if necessary—​to reflect his preferred vision of a religiously legitimated sociopolitical order, in which divinely sanctioned structural violence is inflicted upon enemy out-​groups. After illustrating the above seven core characteristics via a case study of Buddhist extremism in Myanmar, we engaged with the core issue of this book: recognizing extremism in Southeast Asian Islam. We argued that Southeast Asian states are facing an acutely fundamentalist form of Islamic extremism that can be called Salafabism—​the “bonding” of the “theologies” of Wahhabism and, as Khaled Abou El Fadl argues, the “worst” of Purist Salafism.20 We clarified that while Modernist Salafis wished to “modernize” Islam to compete with the West, Wahhabized Purist Salafis sought above all to “purify” the faith from cultural contamination.21 Moreover, on balance, it has been increasingly Wahhabized Purist Salafism—​Salafabism—​ that “has remained an important component also in the Islamist ideology.”22 Salafabismis thus a most apt term for our purposes and, as argued, spans the continuum between a soft, political Islamism and the hard, violent variant of Salafi Jihadism. In short, extremism is inherent within Salafabism of the soft and hard varieties. To recapitulate, one reason for this assessment was that recent authoritative studies of over 3,000 mainstream, Islamist, Salafi Jihadi, and other relevant sources have found that “some 64 percent of the top Qur’anic verses quoted by Salafi-​Jihadis are in common with those cited by Islamists,” while there is “only 12 percent crossover between Islamists and the mainstream.”23 Moreover, only “eight percent of the 50 most quoted Qur’anic verses in Salafi-​Jihadi material were prevalent in mainstream texts.”24 In other words, “Islamist content” has “notably more concepts in common with Salafi-​Jihadi texts than with mainstream ones,” and there is thus significant “ideological proximity” of “nonviolent Islamism” with “Salafi-​Jihadism.”25 Because of a “shared theological DNA” between soft Salafabist Islamists and hard Salafabist Salafi Jihadis, therefore, the “move from quietist to Jihadist does not require a significant change in ideology.”26 As seen, relatively closed-​ minded Islamists and Salafi Jihadis are acutely fundamentalist Salafabist

Responding to Extremist Islam in Southeast Asia  243 extremists, simply with differing modes of operation. However, mildly to moderately fundamentalist, locally contextualized, and thus relatively open-​minded Salafabist radicals—​like, arguably, Amanah in Malaysia—​also exist. Finally, we argued that rather than targeting terrorism per se, it would make more sense to conceive of the target more expansively, as a Salafabist ecosystem (SE), comprising three principal nodes—​persons, places, and platforms—​that are constantly interacting in unpredictable ways to propagate some mix of soft and hard Salafabism within an SE. We then examined four Southeast Asian Salafabists: the former Malaysian Jemaah Islamiyah (JI) bureaucrat Wan Min Wan Mat, the incarcerated Singaporean Salafabist opportunist Zulfikar Mohamad Shariff, the former Abu Sayyaf Group operative Salafabist stimulus seeker Abu Hamdie, and last, but by no means least, the Salafabist ideologue, the highly influential although currently imprisoned Aman Abdurrahman. In each of these four cases, we discussed how their respective SEs—​persons, platforms, and places—​interacted in distinctly unique ways to radicalize them ultimately into hard Salafabist, Salafi Jihadism. In the case of Wan Min, the increasing mainstreaming of soft Salafabist Islamism in Malaysia arguably laid the groundwork for his subsequent adoption of harder Salafabist worldviews; the same could be said for Aman, who started off in soft Salafabist mode following his education in the strategic place LIPIA, only for his sentiments to be subsequently hardened though immersion in platforms like Maqdisi’s publications, as well as direct personal interaction with Salafi Jihadi persons like the veteran Poso fighter Saiful Munthohir and, of couse, Abu Bakar Ba’asyir. Aman’s case is also instructive in that he illustrates how the hard Salafabist Salafi Jihadi can influence attacks while operating in the soft mode of dangerous speech—​his writings have been full of dehumanizing rhetoric, such as “kāfirūn” and “ṭāghūt,” but “Aman cannot be directly associated with any terrorist attacks in Indonesia so far.”27 It is also telling that Abu Hamdie, referring to the Muslim Mindanao context, observed that “in the long run,” young people socialized into the intolerant “Wahhabist” worldview “might do something violent,” because “something may happen: an attack on Muslims, apprehension of the wrong person, an attack on a mosque,” or a “massacre,” and some “radical personalities” would exploit the issue, making such youth feel “obliged to respond” with violence against the so-​called enemies of Islam.28 In other words, to Abu Hamdie, the shared theological DNA between not-​violent Salafabist fundamentalism and the violent Salafi Jihadism of the Abu Sayyaf Group (ASG) is

244  Extremist Islam a given. The shared theological DNA argument applies to Zulfikar Shariff as well: while he was careful to conceal his true sentiments during our meeting in Melbourne in March 2003—​leading me, perhaps naively, to consider him at the time as perhaps a soft Salafabist Islamist at best,29 it did not escape the notice of other observers that less than 2 years earlier, Zulfikar had publicly expressed support for Osama bin Laden after the al-​Qaeda attacks on the United States, and that by July 2016 when he was arrested, he remained the “same uncompromising man” who believed the hard Salafabist line “that violence can solve problems.”30 On another issue, while Zulfikar’s evident self-​ aggrandizing opportunism may tempt some analysts to use him as evidence that religion is merely a rhetorical device to legitimate material motivations, it should be remembered that those who knew him well concede that it is not improbable that his immersion in the Hizbut Tahrir milieu in Australia hardened his ideological beliefs.31 In these four substantive chapters, we noted how the unique radicalization trajectories of these four individuals also shed light on wider developments within their respective national contexts. In this connection, we saw that, to varying but significant degrees, creeping Salafabization of Southeast Asian Islam is of concern: while the mainstream Muslim communities of Indonesia, the southern Philippines, and Singapore are being increasingly affected by this trend, perhaps the process has already reached a critical tipping point in Malaysia. Having explored the challenge of extremist Southeast Asian Islam in the four countries under review as specifically involving the challenge of Salafabism in its connected soft and hard varieties of Islamism and Salafi Jihadism, respectively, it now behooves us to discuss what appropriate “therapeutic” counter-​strategies are needed. The stock policy response, it is suggested here, revolves around creating effective theological-​ideological antidotes to Salafabism. This is where counter-​narratives and, more importantly, alternative narratives, come into the picture.

Counter-​Narratives and Alternative Narratives: A Closer Look A central theme running through this book is that in extremist Islam in Southeast Asia, it is its organizing ideological paradigm that is its center of gravity, and in dealing with its threat, it is its ideological paradigm against which the efforts of governments and civil society must be directed.32 This is a

Responding to Extremist Islam in Southeast Asia  245 position that is well understood in policy circles worldwide and in Southeast Asia. For instance, in July 2016, Kuala Lumpur set up an ASEAN Regional Digital Counter-​Messaging Communications Centre (RDC3) to combat ISIS ideology online. To be sure, RDC3 represents another initiative in a series of regional, subregional, and extraregional efforts by ASEAN member states to deal with the continually evolving transnational Salafabist challenge.33 Against this backdrop, an emerging issue has been what type of narrative would work to counter the impact of Salafabist appeals. Extremist networks frequently use evocative and emotional narratives as a propaganda tool to attract sympathizers and followers. There have been a variety of dissemination methods, ranging from printed publications to a speech delivered by a charismatic individual to a live audience. In the age of the Internet, however, instant connectivity and the popularity of social media have allowed terrorist groups to influence, radicalize, and recruit at an unprecedented speed and scale. Through resourceful manipulation of social media and creative online propaganda, ISIS managed to recruit more than 40,000 foreigners from 110 countries34 and incited numerous home-​based terrorist activities and attacks. It should be pointed out that this phenomenon is hardly new. In fact, al-​Qaeda also used the same online tools and technologies for more than a decade.35 It is worth noting that it is almost impossible for governments to censor or remove extremist narratives completely. According to one study, while Twitter’s efforts to suspend ISIS accounts did decrease the number of accounts, users simply responded by “aggressively promoting new accounts that had replaced suspended accounts.”36 It is against this backdrop that the whole issue of counter-​and alternative narratives should be discussed. According to Jeffry R. Halverson, a narrative is a “system of stories” that “relate to one another.37 Stories are “pieces that can come and go, change, and morph,” but the overall narrative remains.38 Extremist groups may employ a combination of religious, ideological, moral, and political narratives that could be based on a combination of facts and half-​truths, and that could comprise real or imagined stories of grievances, injustices, and mistreatment.39 Common themes of extremist narratives may include scapegoating and victimization (such as blaming in-​group socioeconomic problems on external, exploitative, aggressive out-​groups), a sense of purpose and belonging, such as an ostensibly brave group of freedom fighters defending a beleaguered faith—​a stock Salafabist motif—​as well as religious justification and reward via rationalizing violence as an act of piety or martyrdom—​yet another Salafabist theme. For example, the Australian scholar

246  Extremist Islam Greg Barton has identified nine major themes in the ISIS online magazine Dabiq: (1) justice, (2) goodness, (3) a sense of belonging, (4) the caliphate (khalifa), (5) hijra, or migration in the path of God, (6) redemption, (7) sin, (8) judgment, and, finally, (9) jihad.40 Al-​Qaeda employs a very similar narrative. Alex Schmid explains that this terrorist network builds its political narrative on Islamic themes, transforming key elements from the Qur’an and the hadith, from the Prophet’s life story and from the early Islamic history, for its own ideological aims. In Schmid’s estimation, the al-​Qaeda strategy of embedding “Salafist and Jihadist Islamism in the Islamic tradition gives al-​Qaeda’s narrative an apparent justification and unique appeal.”41 He also very usefully summarizes the three-​point al-​Qaeda master narrative structure, which very much represents the hard Salafabist, Salafi Jihadi narrative: 1. The Muslim world (the in-​group) is in chaos and a Zionist-​Christian alliance (the out-​group) is held to be basically responsible for all that is wrong in Muslim countries and the way Muslims are humiliated, discriminated against, and mistreated in the world. The collusion of corrupt Muslim rulers (the near enemy) with the West (far enemy) keeps Muslims impotent. Thus, the rulers and those who follow them have turned away from “true Islam” by permitting haram Western ways in Muslim lands. 2. Conversely, al-​Qaeda offers an alternative vision of the “good society”: a single political entity—​the caliphate—​would replace ostensibly corrupt, apostate rulers beholden to the West, with rule under sharia wherever there are Muslims, so that Allah’s will is done and order is restored. 3. There is only one true path to the actualization of the vision: violent jihad, led by the heroic al-​Qaeda vanguard to eliminate Western influence in the Muslim world. However, great sacrifices are required from Muslims. Every “true Muslim” has to engage in a holy jihad against the invading Crusaders to defend the faith and Muslim territories from enemies near and far in order to achieve victory and humiliate the oppressors.42

Differentiating Between Counter-​Narratives and Alternative Narratives It is a well-​known fact that in response to the extremist narratives of ISIS and al-​Qaeda as just described, governments around the world have been

Responding to Extremist Islam in Southeast Asia  247 developing counter-​narratives (CN) and alternative narratives (AN). In essence, these are strategic communications that aim to inform, educate, and reform targeted audiences. CN and AN projects can include fact-​checked information products, awareness campaigns, and community outreach programs conducted via a combination of printed, digital, and face-​to-​face platforms. There appears to be no clear consensus among academics and practitioners on definitions of CN and AN. Some analysts employ “CN” as a broad and catchall term, or see AN as as aspect of a larger CN policy. Ferguson thus observes that “current CVE [countering violent extremism] literature and policy concerned with countering propaganda [are] dominated by the language of ‘counter-​narratives’ yet a common understanding of this relatively new lexicon has not emerged.”43 Nevertheless, it is asserted here that there may be benefits to differentiating between CN and AN. In this respect, Braddock and Horgan suggest that CN approaches “challenge themes within terrorist narratives that are consistent with the group’s ideology.”44 Braddock and Horgan highlight four key methods of doing this, including “revealing incongruities and contradictions in the terrorist narratives and how terrorists act, disrupting analogies between the target narrative and real-​world events, disrupting binary themes of the group’s ideology, and advocating an alternative view of the terrorist narrative’s target.”45 For their part, Briggs and Feve describe a broader “counter-​messaging spectrum” comprising three main types of activities: government strategic communications, AN, and CN—​while clarifying that these categories may overlap to an extent.46 In their view, CN efforts “directly deconstruct, discredit, and demystify violent extremist messaging” and provide a “challenge through ideology, logic, fact, or humor.”47 By contrast, they suggest that AN “undercut violent extremist narratives by focusing on what we are ‘for’ rather than ‘against’ ” by providing a “positive story about social values, tolerance, openness, freedom, and democracy.”48 The respective target audiences also differ. CN are typically aimed at “individuals, groups, and networks further along the path to radicalization,” whether “sympathizers, passive supporters, or those more active within extremist movements.”49 Conversely, AN efforts “attempt to influence those who might be sympathetic toward (but not actively supportive of) extremist causes, or help to unite the silent majority against extremism” by emphasizing “solidarity, common causes, and shared values.”50 Like Briggs and Feve, Gemmerli differentiates between what he terms “direct counter-​narratives” and “positive alternatives.”51 In his view, direct

248  Extremist Islam counter-​narratives try to “win the argument” by “deconstructing and delegitimizing extremist propaganda.”52 This approach attempts to influence the behavior of those who sympathize with, or participate in, violent extremism in the short term. CN in this sense may include “making fun of, challenging, and falsifying the extremist ideology’s claims or demonstrating the contradiction between extremist utopias and their brutal realities.”53 On the other hand, positive alternatives or AN function in the medium term and try to counter the appeal of extremism by promoting alternative worldviews, such as moderate perspectives on religion and ideology or leisure activities based on secular Western values. Importantly, Gemmerli adds that AN do “not challenge extremist narratives directly, but [are] intended to influence young people who are vulnerable to the messages instead.”54 In a similar vein, Ajit Mann avers that CN address “a terrorist narrative on its own terms,” questioning, undermining, and deconstructing the way “the narrative problematic is formulated.”55 CN efforts will thus “expose logical fallacies, false dichotomies, and metaphoric manipulation,” in the process laying bare the “political interests of the powers that generate and perpetuate terrorist narratives.”56 Mann, like the other analysts canvassed here, further makes the important point that AN efforts “should not directly address the terrorist narrative,” but “present an alternative” that does not “define itself by recourse to the problem as defined and framed by terrorists,” because this would limit one “to playing by someone else’s rules within someone else’s narrative.”57

CN or AN? Thus, both CN and AN can help to plant seeds of doubt in the minds of vulnerable audiences who have been exposed to extremist propaganda. In the short term, by directly refuting misinformation with facts, CN can help expose the lies and deliberate omissions by extremist networks, as well as undercut their credibility with target groups. AN can complement this over a longer time frame by systematically broadening the intellectual and ideational horizons of the public, by providing appealing and “alternative offers on the identity market,” such as, as Gemmerli explains, “moderate interpretations of religion and ideology” or “non-​extremist leisure-​time activities” based on secular, accommodationist values.58 Hence, perhaps a combination of short-​term CN and longer-​term AN approaches may help counter extremist narratives like Salafabism in a more comprehensive manner. That

Responding to Extremist Islam in Southeast Asia  249 said, actually trying to operationalize a CN strategy can be very challenging. An effective CN approach necessitates a deep understanding of extremist narratives in order to call out any misinformation and misrepresentation in the latter. It also requires more time and a long-​term commitment of various stakeholders to search for, and identify, the narratives that need to be countered.59 Therefore, the CN approach is inherently reactive. Furthermore, by their nature, CN address the symptoms but not the root causes of extremism. Hence an overemphasis on CN may potentially shift resources and attention away from important factors, such as group or individual socioeconomic and political grievances, not to mention a sense of religious displacement and identity confusion. CN strategies—​because they tend to be reactive—​also run the risk of backfiring, as they are more readily perceived as predictable, countervailing state propaganda or “communications designed to further a state’s political objectives.”60 In fact, because CN may be portrayed as being more about “proving a point rather than winning audiences,” they can be exploited by astute extremists to reinforce narratives of victimization, strengthening vulnerable individuals’ resolve to revolt against governments and progressive religious leaders.61 Cold, rational facts and logical arguments that CN tend to promote may be true and internally consistent, but they lack the emotional appeal of heroism and adventurism that extremist narratives tend to evoke. Moreover, extant research is at this point equivocal on the actual impact of CN in countering extremism. Rosand and Winterbotham explain that it “remains far from clear that counter-​narrative projects and programs are informed by contextual research or even designed with local input to increase the chances that content will resonate in the very communities they are meant to influence.”62 Ferguson agrees, asserting that many who are pursuing CN projects “are doing so without research-​driven position papers, an evidence base, or even a theory of change that sets out measurable objectives.”63 Compounding matters is that the target audience of CN efforts is hardly a passive recipient of messaging. The Australian scholar Anne Aly points to the lack of studies on audiences, “who exercise agency in the ways in which they interact with the messages and whose interpretations of messages are also influenced by a range of factors.”64 One form such audience agency takes is the formation of online “echo chambers,” where people tend to sort themselves into “like-​minded communities” so as to hear only “like-​minded views” and “distrust everybody on the outside of that chamber.”65 Thus, vulnerable target groups of CN efforts—​those who are at a later stage of radicalization into

250  Extremist Islam extremism—​are likely to seek out opinions and narratives that merely confirm and reinforce their own beliefs. This process is known as confirmation bias.66 On the other hand, carefully crafted AN—​ backed by credible stakeholders—​ may be more successful at winning audiences, as such broader narratives are much better placed to proactively offer alternative and peaceful ways to resolve group and personal identity grievances, for example, by highlighting the compatibility of religious piety and faith with secular social values, such as freedom, harmony, tolerance, and democracy.67 While some analysts suggest that AN efforts, like those in the CN domain, currently lack particularly strong theoretical and empirical grounding,68 on balance, analysts like Ferguson argue that AN approaches are, comparatively speaking, supported by a “stronger and more established research base, drawn from the multidisciplinary fields of development, peace building, and social cohesion.”69 AN strategies can thus help empower and unite the silent majority against extremism by emphasizing common values and goals.70 Moreover, while AN strategies—​like CN—​are also relatively vulnerable to the echo chamber effect, they are arguably able to project a more credible image of neutrality from the government than CN efforts. CN efforts are generally tactical, reactive, and more likely to be suspected by vulnerable constituencies of being manipulated behind the scenes by government agencies. AN efforts, on the other hand, such as those mounted by “religious leaders and religious associations” that are “far better placed” than governments anyway to “address alternative interpretations of the Qur’an and other religious texts” online or offline “in response to extremist interpretations of Islam,” are better able to maintain the independent and neutral image that strengthens their credibility with key target groups.71 This is not to say that AN practitioners have cause to be overly sanguine. Even fully independent mainstream religious groups involved in providing alternative views to Salafabism, for instance, need a modicum of coordination with the authorities, and therefore they fear “being seen [as] work[ing] too closely with the state and losing credibility with local communities.”72 For instance, there was significant public backlash when it was revealed that the humanitarian campaign “Help for Syria” was secretly backed by the U.K. government.73 In Southeast Asia, some of the above approaches to CN have already been tried. Singaporean Islamic scholar Mahfuh Halimi, for example, has adeptly deconstructed how Salafi Jihadi ideologues have distorted the Islamic concept of naksh (abrogation of scripture) so as to justify violent interpretations

Responding to Extremist Islam in Southeast Asia  251 of the “sword verses” in the Qur’an.74 Another Singaporean Islamic scholar, Muhammad Saiful Alam Shah bin Sudiman, has similarly critiqued ISIS ideologues’ use of the Islamic concept of hijra (emigration), arguing that modern Muslims need not decamp to Iraq and Syria to strengthen the rank and file of that hard Salafabist terror network.75 In an Indonesian context, it has been suggested that the Indonesian state could potentially exploit Aman Abdurrahman’s ideological differences with other hard Salafabist Salafi Jihadis over the permissibility of the use of families in the May 2018 Surabaya attacks, in CN efforts to split the movement.76 On the other hand, interestingly, the former Malaysian JI operative Wan Min Wan Mat, now working with the Special Branch of the Malaysian Police, does not fully agree with the stance that “direct counter-​narratives” seeking to “win the argument” by “deconstructing and delegitimizing extremist propaganda” and “challenging and falsifying the extremist ideology’s claims,” are a particularly productive approach.77According to Wan Min, after the 2-​year indoctrination process undergone by many JI recruits in Malaysia in the 1990s, any attempt at rehabilitation of such individuals was bound to be very difficult. He argued that “it was next to impossible to get rid of the thinking” of such militants.78 The stock attitude among such individuals was that jihad was the main aim in life. The thinking was, “If you can do jihad, do it; if you cannot, don’t stop others from going for jihad.”79 He went so far as to advise government officials not to try to change the viewpoints of JI detainees as they were too ingrained and “you cannot stop them from doing jihad.”80 An important factor in this regard was that JI militants who had trained in Mindanao or Afghanistan had also met, trained, and interacted with militants from other countries, and thus didn’t “feel alone”; this strong sense of transnational Salafi Jihadi brotherhood was why indoctrinated JI militants felt “we can sacrifice our lives.”81 Hence, rather than trying to discredit, deconstruct, or make fun of hard Salafabist, Salafi Jihadism, Wan Min felt that the best option was to “change the rules” of jihad.82 That is, rather than trying to convince the JI detainee that pursuing violent jihad was wrong, persuade him instead that it was important “to do jihad properly” and to abide by the classical constraints on the use of force in warfare, such as avoiding noncombatant casualties and ensuring that a legitimate Islamic authority declared jihad.83 Hence, while CN efforts suggesting that the hard Salafabist view of jihad was a distortion of scripture may potentially have traction with wider Muslim communities, they may be less effective with the actual detainees and their immediate support network.84

252  Extremist Islam On the issue of who should be engaging in CN efforts directed at JI detainees in the Malaysian context, Wan Min was also far less sanguine about the notion that “religious leaders and religious associations” are “far better placed” than governments to “address alternative interpretations of the Qur’an and other religious texts” online or offline “in response to extremist interpretations of Islam.”85 He opined instead that “religious authorities” or “religious scholars” tended to be less effective because they generally adopted the approach of “I am right, you are wrong” in dealing with detainees, which naturally turned the latter off.86 As he observed, JI detainees “are human after all.”87 He ventured that such religious scholars were “not useful” and “not regarded well by JI,” although he did concede that some scholars “that think like us,” such as the late Hashim Salamat of the MILF in Mindanao, as well as “radicals in Indonesia,” were regarded as satisfactory.88 Wan Min suggested that the religious authorities should “tengoh” (look at) the Malaysian Police Special Branch playbook.89 In his assessment, Special Branch understood the first axiom of CN work, which is: “If you want to rehabilitate me, you must know my principles”—​that is, officials involved in CN efforts must address the issues that helped prompt individual detainees join JI in the first place.90 In short, Wan Min asserted that rather than discrediting hard Salafabist, Salafi Jihadism, the authorities “must understand my JI ideology first then counter it.”91 He reiterated that if the authorities “treat me well, I may change my mind, but if you are confrontational, it won’t work.”92 Moreover, he pointed out that rehabilitation does not stop after the detainee is released into society; “aftercare” is important, and individuals must be helped to find employment so as to provide for their families and gradually reintegrate into society.93 While Wan Min appeared to have a lukewarm attitude toward the role of religious scholars in CN work, close analysis of the Singaporean and Malaysian contexts suggests that it is probably a more optimal strategy to employ a “judicious mix of moderate Muslim scholars and carefully selected ex-​radicals” in such efforts.94 Certainly, care must be exercised in selecting Muslim scholars for CN work. The controversial Malaysian JAKIM official Zamihan Mat Zin, for instance, who for some inscrutable reason had been engaged in CN efforts with Malaysian detainees, was arguably a poor choice for two reasons. First, as an outspoken radical neo-​fundamentalist, he would have been ideologically antagonistic to the Salafabist sentiments of Malaysian JI detainees, therefore possibly provoking visceral resistance to CN appeals among the latter. Second, his evident predilection for social

Responding to Extremist Islam in Southeast Asia  253 distancing from non-​Muslims would hardly have helped prepare his charges for eventual reintegration into Malaysia’s plural society.95 Zamihan Mat Zin is no Gus Dur. On the whole, while there is a need for more empirical research on the effectiveness of both CN and AN efforts, on balance, AN strategies seem to offer more promise. As Ajit Mann argues, AN efforts, by not being bogged down in seeking to “directly address the terrorist narrative,” but looking instead to proactively “present an alternative” that does not “define itself by recourse to the problem as defined and framed by terrorists,” ensure that we do not make the strategic error of limiting ourselves “to playing by someone else’s rules within someone else’s narrative.”96 We take the position here, therefore, that while CN efforts have tactical value, an AN strategy is best placed strategically to attain the minimal aim of securing information dominance over competing Salafabist storylines within each national context, as well as potentially to attain the maximal aim of fostering among target audiences the essential “independence of mind”97 that is the ultimate antidote to Salafabist fundamentalism-​extremism. In the following sections that explicate the 4M Way in the Southeast Asian context, we examine how suitably crafted ANs can be effectively disseminated and, more to the point, absorbed by vulnerable target groups in Southeast Asia, thereby building mental “firewalls”98 against Salafabism.

The 4M Way Operationalized in a Southeast Asian Context The First M: Message Content The first and most important element of proactive 4M Way efforts to generate potent AN able to counter and prevent Salafabist narratives—​spanning the continuum from soft Islamism to hard Salafi Jihadism—​is message content. In turn, it is argued here that in the message content space, three possible themes, which can be employed in combinations as needed, should be exploited. The first theme is that Islam is fully compatible with secular, modern, multicultural, democratic societies. This is by no means misinformation of any kind. Omar Saif Ghobash, a one-​time Ambassador of the United Arab Emirates to Russia, in his excellent book Letters to a Young Muslim,

254  Extremist Islam utterly refutes the Salafabist fundamentalist-​extremist notion of a “binary world” as “the only Islamic world you can live in,” arguing that “there is much more gray in between the black and white”99 that Salafabists typically portray: Perhaps we might realize that Islam is less a set of doctrines that operate like a machine. Perhaps we should consider the idea that Islam’s truth expresses itself differently in different cultures, in different geographies, in different times. Rather than thinking there is only one version of Islam that all Muslims should conform to, as some suggest, we should look around ourselves and discover the multiple ways in which people take up Islam. . . . This approach sees Islam as a set of principles grounded in the humanity of the Qur’an and the wisdom of the Prophet. So that each community, each group, each person has the freedom to re-​express this Islam in accord with the environment that they are in. (italics added)100

While Ghobash comes across as what Alex Schmid would call a “modern” or “progressive” mainstream Muslim with moderate levels of theological training,101 this message of the need for contextualizing Islam to local contexts has also been articulated by relatively more conservative and authoritative Islamic scholars. Mohammad Akram Nadwi, an Indian-​born scholar who is Dean of the Cambridge Islamic College102 in the United Kingdom, has articulated views similar to those of Ghobash. Akram insisted to journalist Carla Power that he is not a “Salafi,” but “just Muslim.”103 Still, his focus on returning to the Qur’an and the Prophet’s Sunna rather than the four schools of fiqh—​together with his interest in the works of Western philosophers like Nietzsche and Sartre and his insistence that his students should not “follow blindly” but think for themselves “as long as they tethered their arguments to the classical sources”—​suggest he could be provisionally regarded to possess aspects of a Modernist Salafi orientation.104 In any case, Akram, like Ghobash, argues that there is no need for Muslims to create an Islamic State under sharia law. Living as a Muslim in the context of a secular, multicultural society that respects all faiths is perfectly acceptable. After all: Is any government stopping you from being pious? When you are in the mosque, is anyone stopping you from being pious? Do you really need an Islamic government to make your house pious?105

Responding to Extremist Islam in Southeast Asia  255 Akram emphasized that the “Prophet is not calling people to get power, or to establish an Islamic government,” but rather to “follow the plan of their Creator” and to “save people from the fire of hell”—​and that rather than “laws” per se, the Qur’an offers “guidance.”106 His view was that having an overly legalistic approach to the texts, a focus on “rules”—​like that of the Salafabists—​produces “extremism,” when “the Qur’an, and the Prophet’s Sunna, want to teach people to be moderate.”107 In Southeast Asia, traditionalist scholars like the late Gus Dur in Indonesia echoed the view of Ghobash and Akram. Gus Dur was famous for his commitment to a religiously tolerant, multifaith, democratic Indonesia—​rather than an Islamic state.108 Unlike the relatively more parochial neo-​fundamentalists, as an Indonesian Islamic traditionalist, Gus Dur blended a genuine concern for “Qur’anic exegesis” with the recognition that this had to be “rational and sensitive to the historical and cultural contexts of both the original scriptures and the modern societies that now seek their guidance.”109 Other Southeast Asian Islamic scholars, such as Muhammad Haniff Hassan, have likewise argued that contextualizing Islam to the realities of multicultural Southeast Asian societies—​ such as Singapore’s Singaporean Muslim Identity initiative—​ is very achievable.110 After all, “the very reason that Islam took wings and spread so rapidly is because it could adapt itself to different cultures,” and the worldwide “multiplicity of expressions” of the faith show “the strength and beauty of Islam.”111 As Akram argues, “the simplicity of its basic tenets” and its theological “suppleness” are why “the faith is flourishing everywhere from rural Africa to Brooklyn brownstones.”112 Encouragingly, in this vein Al Haj Murad Ibrahim, the enlightened MILF governor of the fledgling Bangsamoro Autonomous Region—​proving that Salafabism can be moderated and nuanced with sufficient political will—​likewise argued that rather than strict “Islamic governance” that leads to the “formalization of sharia per se,” he embraces the national “constitution” and “democratic accountability”; what he is seeking is to impose are “the moral virtues of Islam,” whose benefits go beyond just Muslims alone.113 The central theme of an Islam that is resilient, adaptable and compatible with secular, multifaith and democratic Southeast Asia is thus a potentially potent alternative narrative that can and should be exploited. Interestingly, in 2020 Singapore launched a Postgraduate Certificate in Islam in Contemporary Societies (PCICS), which aims to deepen returning Islamic “graduates’ understanding of Singapore’s geopolitical and socioreligious context” and to show “how Islam can be practiced effectively in Singapore’s multiracial and multireligious society.”114 The

256  Extremist Islam PCICS scheme will thus produce modern asatizah theologically equipped to, inter alia, engage in a potentially effective AN effort to cognitively immunize Singaporean Muslims against Salafabist appeals. Complementing the AN notion of a resilient, adaptable Islam is a second theme that celebrates the rich cultural diversity of Southeast Asian Islam itself. In Singapore and Malaysia, for instance, Malay culture has long been seen as synonymous with Islam, through the masuk Melayu (enter Malayness) idea.115 This narrative has already been operationalized as an aspect of the Singaporean Muslim Identity concept. As the former Minister for Muslim Affairs in Singapore, Yaacob Ibrahim, asserted in June 2017: We must remain proud of our heritage . . . of the fact that we’re Malays and there are certain traditional practices we’ve done for many centuries, which we must continue to embrace and continue to strengthen.116

Agreeing, the former Mufti of Singapore, Mohamed Fatris Bakaram, argued that “the desire to live a more Islamic lifestyle,” while symbolizing “one’s spiritual and religious commitment,” does not in any way “mean we should abandon our customs” as long as they “don’t run contrary to Islamic principles.”117 In sum, both leaders were assuring Singapore Muslims that being a good Muslim need not mean uncritically emulating the beliefs, behaviors, badges, and bans of the Middle East, assuming that “what’s foreign is definitely more Islamic,” and in the process jettisoning “communal” Malay “culture that encourages the spirit of gotong royong, or cooperation, in all aspects of life.”118 In other words, the key motif of this narrative is that Nusantara Islam (Islam of the Malay Archipelago), is just as authentic as its Middle Eastern counterpart. As Yahya Cholil Staquf, a senior traditionalist cleric of the Indonesian NU put it: By raising the idea of Islam Nusantara we call upon different Muslim societies everywhere in the world to connect themselves to the actual reality of their social and cultural environment, to maintain a social bond and not to delete it for some alien idea. The Salafist way of thinking is that Muslims must abandon anything that is considered un-​Islamic (italics added).119

When one looks at Indonesia, apart from the well-​known and much-​ discussed relatively recent theological formulations, such as the Islam Nusantara concept of NU120 and Muhammadiyah’s Islam Berkemajuan,

Responding to Extremist Islam in Southeast Asia  257 a “vision of a modern and moderate Islam,”121 there is much more to be mined in terms of potentially potent AN centered on the notion of a culturally and theologically authentic Indonesian Islam. Sunan Kalijaga—​the most beloved of the Wali Sanga, the famous Nine Saints in Javanese folklore, who were said to have been the earliest teachers of Islam in Java in the 1400s and 1500s—​apparently “embodies” how “Islam was ‘tamed’ the Javanese way.”122 Kalijaga’s life story is hardly fringe. It is “told over and over—​in mosque sermons, in books and pamphlets, in television dramas, in history lessons at school, and in origin stories attached to the landscape and sacred tombs.”123 In addition, legend has it that Kalijaga, along with the other Wali Sanga, built the Grand Mosque in Demak, which is still in existence. The mosque has several pillars, and Kalijaga’s pillar—​the sakat attal—​is said to symbolize not just collective Muslim solidarity and community, but also Bhinneka Tunngal Ika—​“in diversity there is unity”—​ which is the national slogan of the modern Indonesian Republic.124 In Malaysia, the traditional and popular northern Malaysian Malay performance form of Mak Yong—​restricted by the soft Salafabist Islamist PAS in Kelantan since 1991 for its relative lack of sharia compliance—​offers another example of how authentic Malay cultural forms offer material for fashioning AN. Mak Yong, a storytelling art form that comprises dancing, singing, and acting, was brought to Kelantan 200 years ago and is very much part of Kelantanese Malay culture.125 According to Mak Yong performers, “the foods we make for the feast and offerings,” the “clothes” worn “during the performance, and the language we talk and sing in” are all “Semuanya Melayu (All Malay).”126 Mak Yong thus possesses the social capital that “strengthens our ties with our neighbors and people surrounding us” and teaches “us to be proud of ourselves” so that there would not be a need to “turn to foreign cultures, which goes against our ways.”127 Similarly, in Mindanao, traditional Moro literature is very rich. It encompasses the whole spectrum of “oral and written expression of Moro culture,” such as “religious and ritual literature; folk literature, such as legends, myths, epics and folktales; and the symbolic speech of courtship, proverbs, and riddles.”128 Thus, Tarsila—​a “written genealogy of an aristocratic family who claim to have descended from sultans and datus from the time of Prophet Muhammad”—​is an example of how the various Moro ethnic groups have long blended Islam with their own rich and colorful cultural forms. Therefore, there is much material that could be exploited from an AN message content perspective.129

258  Extremist Islam A third and final theme in the message content space that could be explored for AN purposes is the national ideologies of the Southeast Asian countries under review. In Singapore, as seen, the well-​known National Pledge to be “one united people, regardless of race, language or religion, to build a democratic society based on justice and equality,” so as to “achieve happiness, prosperity and progress for our nation,” is recited daily by schoolchildren.130Greater public education on the interesting story behind the National Pledge offers much grist for the AN mill.131 As discussed, creative exploration of the Singaporean common space concept offers scope for another potentially strategic AN message to strengthen the city-​state’s multicultural cohesion. This can be done through deeper explication of the psychological and not just the physical dimension of the common space concept to the wider public, through national campaigns and the formal curriculum, perhaps employing some insights from the 4M Way. For its part, Malaysia does not seem to have fully exploited the potential of its Rukun Negara, “a set of national principles formulated” after serious racial unrest in May 1969 to “uphold Malaysia’s diverse religious and ethnic backgrounds” and to serve as “a compass to all parties, be they leaders, government officials and citizens of our country.”132 Rukun Negara aside, another promising AN idea is the 1Malaysia concept first proposed by former Prime Minister Najib Razak in 2010. The 1Malaysia concept identified eight core values for Malaysians of all backgrounds—​“perseverance, acceptance, education, integrity, meritocracy, humility, loyalty, and culture of excellence”—​and was promoted via government programs, social media, seminars, broadcasts on radio and television, cultural activities, and the national service training curriculum.133 Najib had hoped that 1Malaysia would promote “ethnic harmony, national unity, and efficient governance.”134 Unfortunately, Najib’s travails with the infamous 1Malaysia Development Berhad (1MDB) state fund scandal appeared to have scuppered the overall 1Malaysia campaign.135 In any case, going into a new decade, it may be a good idea for the Malaysian government to embark on another sustained systematic campaign to rejuvenate in some form the 1Malaysia national ideology, starting by embedding it structurally within the educational system at all levels. However, it remains to be seen if the current ruling coalition, based essentially on an UMNO-​PAS electoral political pact combining UMNO’s Malay-​centric nationalism with the PAS effort to “turn Malaysia into an Islamic state,” will be up to the task.136 In Indonesia, the founding Pancasila ideology, with its five elements of belief in God, social justice, humanity, democracy, and nationalism,137

Responding to Extremist Islam in Southeast Asia  259 provides ample grist for another AN message. To be fair, President Joko Widodo set up a presidential working group to advise on more effective implementation of the unifying Pancasila state ideology—​which has unfortunately been negatively associated in the public mind with the past excesses of former President Soeharto’s authoritarian New Order regime (1966–​1998).138 The high-​ powered Jokowi group includes Indonesian Democratic Party of Struggle (PDI-​P) chairwoman and former President Megawati Soekarnoputri, former Indonesian military general and former Vice President Try Sutrisno, and former Constitutional Court Chief Justice Mahfud M. D. Other members of the group’s advisory board include leading Muslim intellectuals from NU, Muhammadiyah, and the Indonesian Ulema Council (MUI), as well as representatives from the Communion of Churches in Indonesia (PGI), Indonesia Hindu Religious Councils (PHDI), and the Buddhayana Indonesia Assembly (MBI).139 The Pancasila working group appears to have its work cut out for it. Observers have noted that the ideology is “not very effective with the young.”140 Intriguingly, this third type of narrative, exploiting overarching national ideological and identity formulations, may be less effective in the Philippines. Observers have noted that thanks to complex historical, cultural, and sociopolitical factors, the country appears to lack a strong unifying national identity and ideology—​which helps explain the relative potency of historic Bangsamoro separatist pressures in the first place. For instance, Mark Maca and Paul Morris reiterate that the “post-​independence Filipino state is largely a family enterprise dominated by a landed and political elite with roots in the Spanish-​era plantation economy, subsequently co-​opted by the Americans,” with little in common with ordinary Filipinos—​and as a consequence, an overarching and inclusive “Filipino nationhood” is relatively “underdeveloped.”141 For his part, Niels Mulder adds: The deficiency of strength that Filipino national identity possesses and the insufficient adherence that Filipino nationhood attracts lie in the failure of the state to mold the population into an encompassing moral order in which people can distinctly imagine that they belong together. . . . Because these cleavages are systemic, nation-​building remains a task of which completion will stretch into the distant future.142

In similar vein, the British analyst Bill Durodie has argued that in the British context, one of the structural weaknesses of British PCVE (Preventing and

260  Extremist Islam Countering Violent Extremism)policy has been that the government has not been able to offer young people an “alternative vision of what we stand for as a society, beyond rhetorical references to freedom and democracy.”143 Thus it may be important for Filipino policymakers to invest greater effort in strengthening a stronger, overarching sense of Filipino nationhood. Not only would this be salutary for national integration in that multicultural country, but also it would help in fashioning potentially potent AN for deployment against centrifugal Salafabist pressures.

The Second M: Message Framing In any case, how should an AN message—​based on any or some combination of the three themes identified above—​be framed for greater mass appeal? The advertising world has long understood the principle that the best slogans, memes, and narratives need not be grammatically correct, just memorable. Malcolm Gladwell, author of the classic study The Tipping Point, recounts that in 1954, when the American tobacco company Winston introduced filter-​tip cigarettes, it marketed them with the ungrammatical slogan “Winston tastes good like a cigarette should,” rather than “Winston tastes good as a cigarette should.”144 He notes that, within months, “on the strength of that catchy phrase,” Winston outsold its major rivals and became the top cigarette brand in the country. Thus, to be effective, a message and its constituent memes must be colloquial and memorable—​not necessarily grammatical.145 This point bears further analysis. In our modern, Internet-​saturated world, a surfeit of news—​true and “fake”—​competes for our attention through multiple channels, no longer just television, radio, and print, but online by way of Facebook, Twitter, YouTube, WhatsApp, Telegram, and a myriad other social media applications on our increasingly inexpensive and permanently wired-​up smartphones and laptops. Gladwell thus argues that whatever we are urged “to read and watch, we simply don’t remember.”146 This is why modern actors—​advertisers, political parties, governments, and even terrorist and insurgent groups—​must fight hard to achieve information dominance over competing narratives within each national context. Only through such control can the actor attain the goal of all such quests: capturing the hearts and minds of the constituency in question. To this end, it is argued here that in the struggle with the Salafabists, the essential message of the AN must be “sticky”; that is, the message should

Responding to Extremist Islam in Southeast Asia  261 be framed in a way that is simple to grasp, attention-​grabbing, and memorable. As Gladwell puts it, the “presentation and structuring of information” can “make a big difference in how much of an impact” is made.147 Chip and Dan Heath have identified several factors that make a message sticky: First is simplicity—​the content of the message must be simple but profound so that it can be easily recalled.148 Think of the Nike meme “Just Do It,” for example. Second is unexpectedness—​the message must contain counterintuitive elements that snare attention. “Naturally sticky ideas,” the Heaths observe, are also “full of concrete images—​ice-​filled bathtubs, apples with razors—​because our brains are wired to remember concrete data.”149 Third is credibility. Sticky ideas, the authors aver, need to seem culturally authentic and believable to the target audience. Fourth are emotions—​the message must appeal viscerally to the audience; for example, through the adroit use of humor. Fifth are stories: the Heaths argue that target audiences are better able to recall messages embedded in memorable stories.150 To be sure, there are many progressive Muslim interlocutors in Southeast Asia who appear capable of spinning sticky messages that may be capable of competing effectively against the adversarial ideological appeals of the Salafabists. In village communities in West Java, for example, some preachers are popular because their sticky homilies, rather than engaging with cumbersome, “broader social questions,” focus on “allegories and narrative accounts created out of daily experience.”151 One observer recounts in this regard the impact of an itinerant traditionalist Islamic cleric, Kiai Al-​Jauhari: I have often seen audiences transfixed by Al-​Jauhari’s allegories and narrative accounts. He transforms Islamic messages into narrations made up of highly recognizable material, with no shortage of humor added to the mix. People are engrossed as he unfolds his creations. I have frequently asked village and mosque officials why they engage Al-​Jauhari. . . . The most common answer is that he is able to hold people’s attention for long periods of time. (italics added)152

In fact, one reason why the leading Islamic traditionalist Gus Dur remains so influential with Indonesian Muslim audiences today is that, like Kiai Al-​ Jauhari, he used “santri humor,” which has long been mainstreamed among those from a boarding school or pesantren background, and which attests to the “openness within the religious curriculum” in such institutions in the main.153 As one observer argues, Gus Dur showed—​in stark contrast

262  Extremist Islam to the monochromely puritanical Salafabists—​that “religion does not have to be serious all the time.”154 Memorable, evocative stories that could augment the stickiness of the AN message abound within Southeast Asian Islam. In Java and Madura, numerous pilgrimage sites featuring the tombs of the Nine Saints, for instance, attract at least a million visitors a year.155 Such sites, George Quinn tells us, are “libraries of history” and “sanctuaries of religious practice with its hope-​filled narratives.”156 They are also embedded deep in Java’s “culture” of sticky “storytelling.”157 As he points out: The stories are usually wildly unhistorical but also dramatic, wacky, poignant, funny, kitschy, uplifting, invariably fantastic, yet often revelatory, and profoundly true.158

Another humorous story, “possibly apocryphal,” but worth much wider retelling, to make a key point in the struggle with the Salafabists, is the one where Gus Dur was said to have made the normally taciturn King Fahd of Saudi Arabia “laugh so loud that he showed his gums publicly for the first time”—​typifying the former’s easygoing attitude of “Gitu aja kok repot” or “Don’t sweat the small stuff.”159 It should be recalled that Wan Min Wan Mat, the former Malaysian JI functionary, is also a former university lecturer. I have heard him myself and can attest that he is an engaging speaker, able to hold an audience. That skillset is now being used in CN work but it may be worth exploring if he would be willing and able—​as a further aspect of his own ongoing rehabilitation—​to engage in AN as well. He certainly seemed to have many ideas.160 For that matter, many of the progressive Singaporean Islamic scholars involved in the Religious Rehabilitation Group (RRG), where they have done a signal job in developing CN against the hard Salafabist narrative of JI, al-​Qaeda, and ISIS, are also first-​class speakers, able to engage with the wider community. They are well placed to engage in an enhanced AN effort as well, perhaps helping MUIS further humanize and illustrate in a folksy, humorous way, how the Singapore Muslim Identity applies to every life in the city-​state.161Meanwhile, progressive Philippine Muslim scholars—​for instance returning graduates of the Tablighi-​traditionalist Darul Ulum Al-​ Fatah Temboro boarding school in Indonesia—​are well capable of delivering “engaging lectures off-​and online” in Mindanao, as the dust from the Marawi fighting continues to settle and life slowly returns to normal.162 It is probably a better strategy to employ a “judicious mix of moderate Muslim scholars and carefully selected ex-​radicals” in not just CN but also AN efforts.163 Last

Responding to Extremist Islam in Southeast Asia  263 but not least, in the age of the social media sound bite, it is important for interlocutors charged with developing AN to be able to translate their entertaining homilies into forms that can become readily digestible, “snackable content” for busy, “bored at work” consumers who prefer material that is “fast and fun, geared to spread via Facebook.”164 The role of social media is discussed in more detail in the next section.

The Third M: Message Dissemination Having discussed the first two Ms of the 4M Way, message content and message framing, it behooves us now to examine how potent AN could be effectively disseminated to relevant target constituencies in Southeast Asian countries. One thing for sure, the relative merits of communication platforms, such as the face-​to-​face, print, broadcast, and online media, have received much scrutiny in terms of how they have been used by Salafabist extremists in their own online propaganda and recruitment. For instance, in Indonesia, Twitter has been exploited by “Net-​savvy radicals” to “lobby for their causes.”165 The Jemaah Ansharut Tauhid (JAD) network has also used various “Internet and social networking sites” as well as YouTube to put out content.166 More than a quarter of Indonesia’s 240 million people are on Facebook, “thanks in large part to cheap and fast Internet-​capable phones,” and, unsurprisingly, young people are being targeted for terrorist recruitment through social media.167 That said, face-​to-​face radicalization still remains a factor. The astute and very experienced former Indonesian police chief General Tito Karnavian has opined that face-​to-​face contact is more important than the Internet in socializing individuals into violent Salafi Jihadi ideology, and that the “final touch is the personal touch.”168 Sidney Jones of the Institute of Policy Analysis of Conflict in Jakarta agrees, pointing out that hard Salafabist, Salafi Jihadis “still do most of their recruiting face-​ to-​face at traditional places, such as prayer meetings,” although she adds that “terrorists groups’ Internet use is growing.”169 In general, ISIS and related groups have exploited, saturated, and dominated the social media space “via popular smartphone apps and easy access to powerful encryption.”170 In terms of the message dissemination space of the AN effort, likewise, social media technology is certainly a strategic tool for exploitation, but with careful precision in use of platforms and audience targeting. At an excellent and timely workshop organized by the Global Counterterrorism Forum

264  Extremist Islam (GCTF) in Jakarta in June 2019, a senior staff member of NU Online—​a social media arm of that august traditionalist institution that had emerged in the past decade “with the rise of cheap Chinese smartphones”—​argued that while Twitter can influence the Indonesian media and government officials, Instagram is better for targeting youth.171 Meanwhile, Facebook seems to be used by the so-​called new urban Muslims from secular families. Noting that it was “important to win the Google search,” as well as the debate on “other platforms, such as YouTube and Instagram,” NU Online’s approach was therefore to research and define the audience, create relevant content—​ with the help of more than a thousand contributors—​and then broadcast the content to that specific audience, which in June 2019 was communities in East and Central Java in particular.172 Incidentally, the creators of NU Online have also started another website, Islami.co, targeted at “urbanite Indonesian Muslims” who are not NU members. Islami.co seeks to “facilitate thoughtful debate on Islamic themes, scripture, and topical issues,” consistent with “the tolerant and pluralist tradition of Islam Nusantara,” and focuses on web-​ based search and YouTube.173 Another knowledgeable workshop participant made five important observations about the Twitter platform that are applicable across the four Southeast Asian countries under review: first, it was more important, impact-​ wise, for a tweet to be enduring and remain online for a long time, than for it to go viral for a short period before fizzling out. Second, public communications efforts like AN campaigns should be systematic and part of a planned online drive directed at specific audiences. Third, it was important to engage and to interact with the audience, rather than merely bombarding them with one-​way messaging. Fourth, AN ideas and themes should be market-​tested with the audience in question, to facilitate adjustments if needed. Finally, the most impactful video clips, in terms of “likes,” appear to be between 40 and 60 seconds long.174 This notion of targeted messaging was also articulated by the United Nations Development Program (UNDP), whose representative described its partnership with YouTube’s Creators for Change, an initiative that uses social media influencers to promote social change. The UNDP representative’s view was that videos are the most effective means for tackling online violent extremist content and spreading AN, because by most estimates “video content will be over 80% of all consumer Internet traffic by 2020” and videos represent “a quick and easy way to learn and give a human face to the given issue, building trust in viewers.”175 It was observed that there

Responding to Extremist Islam in Southeast Asia  265 are five billion consumers of YouTube content daily, and blocking a site is ineffective, because a new one will pop up to replace it. Moreover 40 percent of millennials are using YouTube and effective AN “micro-​influencers” could arise from their ranks. To this end, UNDP has given out “small grants” and offered “mentorship and a network to local social media influencers” in Malaysia, Indonesia, the Philippines, and Thailand, to “produce videos that address radical extremist views” and “disseminate positive alternative messages on social media.”176 Another workshop participant from a women’s Muslim NGO in Indonesia provided a much-​needed gender perspective on not just social media-​ based, but more traditional face-​to-​face, message dissemination. She noted that the likes of ISIS exploited “gender inequality” in “patriarchal societies,” and therefore women joined “extremist groups in order to achieve a sense of being recognized, to belong, to gain power and control over others and to feel empowered.”177 While she endorsed the first AN message content theme that “Southeast Asian narratives should recognize the challenges of adapting Islam to local cultures as opposed to following other interpretations of the religion,” she joined other participants in emphasizing targeted messaging for specific groups that is “tailored to the local context, culture, and target audience.”178 In terms of mechanisms for dissemination, she argued for employment of diverse (interfaith, interethnic) channels as well as other “multisectoral” and “different platforms” for wider targeted impact with specific audiences.179 Finally, the workshop participants underscored the importance of “monitoring, measurement, and evaluation” of message dissemination “strategies.” One participant outlined three main types of indicators: awareness indicators (whether the target audience was reached), engagement indicators (how the target audience interacted with the content), and impact indicators (how the narrative changed the target audience’s knowledge and behavior). It was suggested that, for example, the Abu Dhabi-​based GCTF-​linked Hedayah Center’s social media application, called MASAR, is one type of technological tool that could readily assist “practitioners and policymakers” in “monitoring, measurement, and evaluation of P/​CVE programs and projects.”180 Technological means of message dissemination aside, it is worth taking a few steps back to also examine the relatively underexplored issue of the underlying principles that should guide AN dissemination. In this regard, two principles from the comparatively sophisticated and successful

266  Extremist Islam British psychological warfare effort in World War II stand out for their arguably enduring relevance. First, the art of propaganda181 is to conceal that you are actually engaging in it.182 Thus, whether one is using online or offline communications platforms, AN must not come across to the audience as blatantly as in-​your-​face government propaganda. Hence, systematic AN campaigns seeking to create mental firewalls against Salafabism should employ indirect, nongovernmental means, such as blogs, podcasts, documentaries, comics, and talk shows involving not just progressive religious personalities, but also famous sports, social media, and entertainment figures. A second principle is captured in the old World War II British political warfare slogan: “Entertainment is a valuable narcotic for dulling the sensibilities of a propaganda-​conscious mind.”183 British and Malayan counter-​propaganda specialists involved in psychological warfare against the Communist Party of Malaya (CPM) during the Malayan Emergency (1948–​1960) understood this when they invested in a strong Malayan Film Unit and Radio Malaya’s Community Listening Service featuring popular radio personalities like the legendary Lee Dai Soh to enthrall rural and urban audiences with anti-​C ommunist memes integrated with music, drama, humorous sketches, and short films about the new lives of reformed guerillas.184 Thus, it is telling that modern analysts, such as the Dutch-​Somali commentator Ayaan Hirsi Ali, similarly call for the use of indirect entertainment means like satire to undercut Salafabist appeals today.185 The satirical and funny British film Four Lions is one example of the use of entertainment as a way to promote the anti-​extremist meme among vulnerable but wary audiences.186 Additionally, other indirect entertainment platforms, such as print media like the 137-​page comic I Found the Meaning of Jihad, chronicling the well-​known life story of former Malaysian JI leader Nasir Abbas,187 and well-​received documentaries like Prison and Paradise, about the children of the JI perpetrators of the October 2002 Bali bombings as well as their victims, have also proven to be very effective.188 More recently, Indonesian activist-​analyst Noor Huda Ismail’s powerful documentary film about Indonesian ISIS returnees from Syria, Jihad Selfie, represents another example of how carefully crafted low-​key message dissemination methodologies in the form of “infotainment” can enable vulnerable youth to “share stories” and “meaningful conversations” that can help build emotional and community resilience against Salafabism.189

Responding to Extremist Islam in Southeast Asia  267

The Fourth M: Message Receptivity Even if the AN spaces of message content, framing, and dissemination are done right, all these efforts will come to nought if the message itself fails to be absorbed by the target audience. Put another way: Are the “consumers” in the target market more receptive to your “products” than to those of other “competitors”? If the answer is yes, this means that the minimal aim of information dominance has been attained. The historical record, certainly in Southeast Asia, strongly suggests that an audience’s effective absorption of AN—​leaving aside content, framing, and dissemination methods—​is influenced by situational context as well. Using another example from the Malayan Emergency, in September 1949, British High Commissioner Henry Gurney’s amnesty for Malayan Communists failed, but by August 1957, newly independent Malaya’s Prime Minister Tunku Abdul Rahman’s Merdeka (Malay for “freedom”) Amnesty succeeded spectacularly in collapsing the morale of CPM militants—​suggesting that the Amnesty had attained information dominance within that theater. Why? A key factor was that in 1949 the public knew the government was not winning, but by Tunku’s time, it was patently obvious that the Communists were in strategic decline. In other words, by late 1957, the “market” in question, the demoralized, rapidly dwindling numbers of Communist guerrillas in the Malayan jungle, starved of food and medicines and severely harassed by the Security Forces, were ready to lay down arms and were actively looking for a way out.190 Similarly, in today’s struggle against Salafabism, context and therefore by implication message receptivity are important. It is suggested here that the vital element of message receptivity can be enhanced if there is good governance that seeks two goals in particular: first, addressing political and socioeconomic grievances that empower Salafabist narratives, and second, creating the enabling societal conditions for strong families with stable parent–​child dyads to emerge. Such “good families” can help raise youth with the necessary integrative complexity to dampen any incipient fundamentalist impulse that may mutate into full-​blown extremism downstream. Dealing with political and socioeconomic grievances will help in attaining the minimal AN aim of information dominance. Supporting stable families that can foster the healthy emotional and intellectual development of youth can help achieve the maximal AN aim of independence of mind. Let us examine these factors in turn.

268  Extremist Islam

Attaining the Minimal Aim: Effective Political and Socioeconomic Governance At the time of writing, it does seem that the conflict-​stricken southern Philippines continues to be a potential hotbed for the continuing gestation of Salafabist extremism capable of attracting foreign fighters from Southeast Asia and beyond—​ and threatening the other countries in the region. Therefore, stabilizing Muslim Mindanao is strategic in terms of the overall terrorist threat in the region. The Philippines was the only Southeast Asian country to be listed in the top 10 list of countries most affected by terrorism in the 2018 Global Terrorism Index.191 Over 1,000 foreign terrorist fighters traveled to Iraq and Syria from Southeast Asia and the general Indo-​Pacific area, and at least 170 have returned. The number of returnees is expected to increase with the ongoing decline of ISIS Central’s fortunes in Syria.192 Foreign fighters using the southern Philippines as a jumping-​off point to link up with organic hard Salafabist networks in Indonesia and Malaysia, for example, could drastically alter the nature of local conflicts throughout the region.193 Moreover, as long as the objective political and socioeconomic grievances that underpin Muslim separatism in the southern Philippines continue to be relatively unaddressed, we shall likely see more sieges like the standoff between ISIS-​linked militants and the Philippines military in Marawi City in Mindanao that lasted for 5 months (from May to October 2017) and resulted in the killing of more than a thousand people.194 As seen, “poverty, illiteracy, bad governance, wide availability of loose firearms, and non-​enforcement of the rule of law in southern Philippines” created a “fertile ground for radicalization to take root” in the first place.195 In this respect, there is widespread consensus that the Bangsamoro Organic Law, which provides a “regional governance system” that addresses “both major political and economic redistribution issues,” as well as “important religious and cultural identity needs and grievances of contemporary Moros,” represents an “important step in insuring” the Philippines against the ISIS threat.196 Failure of the newly set up Bangsamoro Autonomous Region (BAR)197 to deal with such underlying problems would only “fuel the recruitment drives” of pro-​ISIS militant groups in Mindanao.198 In this respect, there has been growing disenchantment with the pace of Marawi rebuilding efforts. Many residents displaced by the 2017 fighting and who have not yet returned home to their city have reportedly been disillusioned by a glacial, inefficient, and corruption-​riddled reconstruction

Responding to Extremist Islam in Southeast Asia  269 process. The city had been virtually destroyed in the 5-​month battle in 2017 between pro-​ISIS groups and the military, which had employed airstrikes in the fighting. Rebuilding housing for the thousands of displaced residents remains a big issue at the time of writing. While an estimated 7,490 housing units have reportedly been occupied, are being built, or are planned for construction, an additional 4,455 units appear to be needed to house returning residents. In February 2020, it was reported that an NGO, the Moro Consensus Group of Marawi, comprising “young professionals, academics, and activists,” warned that the stalled rehabilitation of the city is “encouraging recruitment of new fighters and could provoke an uprising among displaced residents.”199 Other observers concur, adding that the Duterte government’s “abortive approach to rebuilding Marawi and mishandling of reconstruction” have inadvertently “planted the seeds for future radicalization and possibly a resurgence” of violence by pro-​ISIS groups.200 Compounding grievances further has been lingering resentment at the relative slowness of the Armed Forces of the Philippines (AFP) in applying calibrated hard military power in combat engagements with militant groups. Rather than the traditional strong firepower-​oriented U.S. military, with which the AFP has traditionally had close operational ties, perhaps the British “minimum force” counterinsurgency approach requires serious exploration.201 This would not be an academic exercise. To reiterate, the AFP’s employment of airstrikes in the Marawi battle was adroitly exploited by pro-​ISIS militants. While the latter argued that they were merely seeking to conquer “the city for the purpose of implementing the Laws of Allah,” the “response of the Crusader Army”—​it was pointedly noted—​had been “brutal.”202 Even Duterte was subsequently forced to apologize for the destruction of the city.203 Moreover, the COVID-​ 19 outbreak and its exploitation by the pro-​ISIS ASG to intensify attacks on the military have further destabilized the situation.204 Much remains to be done, therefore, to diminish the underlying conditions that Mindanao’s hard Salafabist, Salafi Jihadi networks can exploit.

Attaining the Maximal Aim I: Understanding the Sources of the Fundamentalist Impulse in Youth In March 2015, a 2-​minute video emerged via ISIS social media sources. On it, ethnic Malay-​looking children were seen training with weapons. The video declared that the children would “finish all oppressors, disbelievers,

270  Extremist Islam apostates.”205 The underlying message to Southeast Asian governments was unmistakable: “These children will be the next generation of fighters. You can capture us, kill us, [but] we will regenerate, no matter how hard you try.”206 In December the same year, Malaysian police reported that ISIS had set up camps in Kazakhstan and Syria to train and indoctrinate children as young as 2 years old to become militants. It was alleged that the camps were training children from all over the world in the use of firearms, as well as immersing them in what one senior Malaysian police officer called a “false jihad.”207 While the Kazakh ambassador in Singapore swiftly issued a rebuttal of the Malaysian claim,208 video evidence produced by ISIS itself of Kazakh children being trained was apparently available in mainstream news sources online.209 More generally, terrorism researchers confirmed that ISIS “actively recruits children” to engage in “combat, including suicide missions.”210 In any case, Southeast Asian authorities were hardly surprised at the latest allegations of ISIS targeting youth for hard Salafabist, Salafi Jihadi indoctrination. Since September 2014, it has been known that ISIS had set up a Southeast Asian unit of Malay-​speaking militants drawn from mainly Indonesia but also Malaysia. According to some estimates, the unit, called Katibah Nusantara (KN), or the Malay Archipelago Unit, by November 2015 held sway among 450 Indonesian and Malaysian fighters and their families in the Syrian/​Iraq region.211 Of particular interest, KN apparently set up the tellingly named Abdullah Azzam Academy for the education and military training of children of Malaysian and Indonesian fighters. The medium of instruction was the Malay language, and KN appeared desirous of training a new generation of Malay-​speaking militants indoctrinated from childhood to be committed to ensuring that the so-​called ISIS Caliphate eventually encompassed Malay-​speaking Southeast Asia as well. Terrorism scholars expressed concern that leadership “decapitation is significantly less likely to be effective against organizations that prepare children to step into their fathers’ shoes.”212 ISIS is hardly unique in targeting youth—​especially young males—​for indoctrination. Its ideological parent al-​Qaeda sought to radicalize youth into its virulent varieties of Salafabism as well. The British MI5 warned in 2007 that al-​Qaeda and its affiliates were seeking to radicalize children as young as 15 into mounting terror attacks in the United Kingdom. In like vein, the former Director of the U.S. Central Intelligence Agency warned that al-​ Qaeda was seeking to radicalize Western youth for the purpose of mounting terror attacks in the West. Some estimates suggest that youth between 15 and

Responding to Extremist Islam in Southeast Asia  271 18 years of age comprise 20 percent of all suicide bombers.213 In any case, quite apart from the children in training camps who have been featured in ISIS propaganda videos, its hard Salafabist message has clearly resonated with youth who are older, as evidenced by a cursory glance at newspaper headlines on lone wolf attacks since the second half of 2014. In September 2014, ISIS spokesman Abu Muhammad al-​Adnani—​in response to the Obama administration’s launching of airstrikes a month earlier to stem the terrorist army’s seemingly inexorable advance in Iraq—​issued a social media call upon ISIS supporters worldwide to engage in so-​called lone wolf attacks in Western coalition capitals. This appeared to be deadly effective: 2 months after al-​Adnani’s call, a 25-​year-​old ISIS-​inspired lone wolf, Martin Roulea, ran over two Canadian soldiers in a Montreal parking lot before being killed by police. In January 2015, 20-​year-​old Christopher Cornell was arrested by the FBI for a plot to open fire on U.S. government officials and the Israeli embassy. He claimed to have been acting on behalf of ISIS. Six months later, during the Muslim holy month of Ramadan, al-​Adnani urged ISIS supporters to turn it into “a month of disasters, defeats, and disgrace for the kuffar everywhere.”214 Subsequently, in the Tunisian tourist resort of Port el Kantaoui near the coastal city of Sousse, 20-​year-​old Rafik el Chelly shot dead 37 mainly Western civilians near the beachside Rui Imperial Hotel.215 Youth have featured heavily in lone wolf incidents in Australia as well. In September 2014, an 18-​year-​old male was killed by police after he stabbed two counterterrorism police officers in Melbourne. In April 2015, several teenagers were arrested on suspicion of plotting an ISIS-​inspired assault on police at a Veterans’ Day ceremony. This particular plot even had a transnational dimension: Australian authorities revealed that the alleged mastermind of the plot was a 14-​year-​old British boy operating from his bedroom in the United Kingdom. A month later, again in Melbourne, police arrested a 17-​year-​old for involvement in a plot to detonate three homemade pipe bombs.216 Southeast Asian youth—​as shown in the Katibah Nusantara case—​have certainly been targeted for recruitment by ISIS and its affiliates. In the southern Philppines, pro-​ISIS groups involved in the 2017 Marawi fighting, like the Abu Sayyaf Group, Maute Group, and the Bangsamoro Islamic Freedom Fighters, used children in combat and noncombat roles. Moreover, JI recruits have tended to be “young and male.”217 In August 2016, a 17-​year-​ old pro-​ISIS militant stabbed a priest and tried to detonate a homemade bomb in Medan, capital city of North Sumatra. The bomb failed to explode. In 2017, the Indonesian government estimated that about 101 children had

272  Extremist Islam joined ISIS in Iraq and Syria, and two had died in combat the previous year. In May 2018, teenagers and young children were directly involved in suicide bombings against churches and a police station in Surabaya in East Java. Analysts are worried that the use of youth in terrorist attacks in Southeast Asia may be a “future trend.”218 In Malaysia, the government noted in 2017 that “around 80 percent of the arrests that the Malaysian police” had made since September 2016 were of people “under the age of 40.”219 In Singapore a year later, the authorities expressed similar concerns about youths between 17 and 19 “falling prey to extremist ideologies” through “heavy reliance” on “social media and the Internet” for information.220 Against this backdrop, therefore, enhancing AN message receptivity must also include good governance measures to create the societal conditions for strong family units with stable parent–​child dyads at their core. Strong and stable families are needed for raising emotionally and psychologically well-​adjusted youth, able to navigate and respond to sociocultural diversity with integratively complex ways of thinking, rather than retreating into the rigid, binary, us-​versus-​them certitudes offered by Salafabist fundamentalist-​extremism. This argument is now unpacked. First, a brief definitional discussion is warranted. The term “youth” is interpreted differently across national and institutional jurisdictions—​and at times even within the latter. While the United Nations Secretariat and the World Bank both define “youth” as individuals between 15 and 24 years old, the Denmark Youth Council establishes the age range of individuals considered to be youth more expansively, as individuals between 15 and 34 years old.221 The African Union further extends the latter definition of youth by a year, to age 35. Within the UN system itself, UNICEF’s Convention on the Rights of the Child broadly defines the term “youth” as a “child until 18,” while the UN Habitat identifies an age range from 15 to 32.222 By 2030, in any case, the UN projects that the youth population will reach almost 1.3 billion. Asia has the largest proportion of young people: 754 million. The UN estimates that Asia will only be overtaken by Africa in terms of youth numbers by 2080.223 To come to the main point: why are youth so heavily represented among militants radicalized by ISIS and fellow Salafabist extremists? While some argue that the role of social media is crucial in understanding how ISIS attracts today’s tech-​savvy youth, in reality the Internet, although not unimportant, is merely an accelerant of the radicalization process.224 What makes youth vulnerable actually resides offline in a real-​world context. To comprehensively elucidate this assertion would require more space than is available

Responding to Extremist Islam in Southeast Asia  273 in this chapter. Nevertheless, insights from several disciplines offer us some preliminary answers. To start with, neurologically, youth are unusual because their brain development proceeds rather unevenly. Specifically, during the teenage years, the prefrontal cortex, which guides reasoning and self-​control, develops more gradually than the amygdala, the center of human emotions. This helps explain why individuals between 18 and 20 years old often appear to many an exasperated parent as impulsive and rash.225 Second, the amygdala-​driven and rather intense emotional turbulence that many teens experience at more or less regular intervals is not without implications. It suggests a certain psychological instability that expresses itself frequently in a quest for absolute cognitive certainty, which groups from the soft political Islamist to the hard Salafi Jihadi ends of the Salafabist continuum conveniently appear to offer. In sum, youth are anything but regular folk: they are actually in a “tumultuous biological, cognitive, social, and emotional transition to adulthood.”226 It is precisely this process of transition that renders youth as psychological putty in the hands of skilled Salafabist ideologues. In this respect, the pro-​ ISIS militant Maute Group that was involved in the Marawi fighting in 2017 as early as 3 years earlier had been creating insulated enclaves, such as an abandoned MILF camp in Butig, where they had adroitly manipulated the malleable psyches of their youthful and impressionable charges. Journalist Criselda Yabes recounts: In Butig, the supposed center of the soon-​to-​evolve ISIS community, the Maute brothers . . . conducted a “seminar” in October 2014, where about 40 participants went through some heavy soul-​searching, complete with full confessions and weeping. They were supposedly to purify themselves of their sins and vices like smoking, drinking, and fornication. They were told that this was the way to repent. They could atone for their sins as well as intercede on behalf of 70 family members in their lineage. (italics added)227

Yabes adds that “there was no letup in changing minds and hearts” until the Maute Group leaders “were convinced of a full conversion.”228 The budding Maute fighters were told that “by way of hadith, even just carrying a weapon was going to make them blessed, which would come with heavenly rewards.”229 Finally, and theatrically, at the end of the indoctrination sessions and combat training, the group “marched in a parade like an army,” led by Abdullah Maute, who rode a horse “waving a black banner with an Arabic

274  Extremist Islam emblem that said ‘There is no god but Allah. Mohammad is the messenger of Allah’.”230 The essential psychological vulnerability of youth arising from neurological factors is further influenced by the immediate family context. In this respect, British psychiatrist Russell Razzaque has argued that the initial parental bond is utterly crucial for the healthy emotional development of youth. He asserts, “Just as oxygen deprivation can impair growth or cause damage to the unborn child,” so the “lack of attachment and emotional deprivation can harm the growing infant and stunt his psychological development.”231 Razzaque warns that a youth growing up without a stable role model in the immediate family context “will see things in a very different light from the way adults do, even as he grows older.”232 This requires elaboration. Psychologically speaking, it has long been understood that “our personality, character, thoughts, and feelings are shaped by our early childhood experiences,” and central to the process of ego and identity formation until well into adulthood is the “early and influential parent–​child dyad.”233 Hence, youth suffering a deeply dysfunctional or no relationship with early parental figures would possess “fragile senses of identity and unhealthily developed egos” and lack the utterly important “inner strength and personal stability required to endure life’s ordinary trials and tribulations.”234 A weak and/​or dysfunctional immediate family context, therefore, could well render a youth “desperately hungry” for “external objects that claim to be perfect and ideal” and that supposedly offer “that necessary sense of connection to something of value” that could “buttress his self-​esteem.”235 This is the point where Salafabist ideologues can strike home with their social media appeals. The adverse impact of a broken and unstable family background is no exaggeration. In Saudi Arabia, for example, it was found that many youths who had grown up in homes of relatives “without their parents present” were in need of attention, as their “personal and social problems” appeared to “contribute to radicalization.”236 In the southern Philippines, analysts pointed out that young people displaced by years of conflict were in dire need of a “father figure” and the “stability, predictability, and normality of a regular family.”237 It was no surprise, therefore, that the likes of ASG and Abu Hamdie’s Darul Imam Shafi’i boarding school in Marawi sought to exploit this need.238 Another factor that plays an instrumental role in at times rendering youth susceptible to Salafabist appeals is the wider social milieu within which they and their immediate families are embedded. Of special concern in this book are Muslim communities or subcultures that are relatively insulated from

Responding to Extremist Islam in Southeast Asia  275 the wider polity and have been beset by a range of political, historical, and socioeconomic setbacks that have generated a sense of alienation vis-​à-​vis dominant out-​groups. In some cases, such “countercultures”—​incidentally not just in Southeast Asia but also in the Middle East, as well as in poorly integrated migrant communities in the West or elsewhere—​may share a generalized perception that their communities are facing political and socioeconomic marginalization, or worse.239 In a broadly similar way, the aforementioned Katibah Nusantara training camps for children that ISIS set up can be considered seminal “cultures of violence,” which are “a crucial part of understanding religious terrorism.”240 Youth from unstable families especially, who are immersed in their formative years in such stressed communities, rarely emerge unscathed. From a neurological perspective, growing up in and being socialized into a countercultural milieu characterized by interactions and experiences that heighten out-​group prejudice have a significant impact on the highly plastic youthful brain. Specifically, in the hippocampus, a part of the ancient limbic system of the brain, strong emotional reactions to experiences of social and economic discrimination or worse at the hands of out-​groups—​as well as repeated exposure to negative out-​group stereotyping—​cannot help but be stored as long-​term memory.241 Freud elaborated on this process with his concept of so-​called critical periods. During such periods, the unique architecture of a youth’s hippocampus stabilizes in a relatively enduring way. Hence, when such critical and brief windows close, the youth’s learned habits, beliefs, and attitudes become relatively resistant to change. Put another way, once certain neural pathways are laid down, they become entrenched.242 In essence, therefore, youth who come of age in cultures of hatred “tend to be self-​righteous, prejudicial, and condemnatory toward people outside their groups,” while possessing an especially pronounced “us versus them” mentality that many will carry throughout their lives—​shaped in no small part as well by “the stories” they have “heard and read while growing up.”243 The Middle East offers one illustration of how culturally sanctioned out-​ group prejudice can be socialized into youth: “hatred for Jews and Zionists” is widespread in the mainstream and social media and even in textbooks for children as young as 3 years old, “complete with illustrations of Jews with monster-​like qualities.”244 In short, Jews are painted as “bloodsuckers who attack the Palestinians.”245 It is not entirely surprising, then, that in one Palestinian refugee camp in the Gaza Strip, a Hamas official informed the terrorism scholar Scott Atran in 2004 that “our youth are running into

276  Extremist Islam martyrdom.”246 So generalized and pervasive was the countercultural hatred of Israelis that one young man very matter-​of-​factly discussed with Atran the “costs and benefits of a roadside versus suicide bombing,” a topic that appeared normal within the “group’s moral frame.”247 Even more remarkable was the little boy kicking a frayed soccer ball near the border crossing at Bayt Lahiyah who assured Atran that “he wanted to die a shaheed, killing Israelis.”248 In Southeast Asia, Isnilon Hapilon, the ISIS amir for Southeast Asia until his death during the Marawi fighting of 2017, “throughout his life never engaged with Christians,” and his father had brought him up to see Christians as “animals” and “colonizers who should be driven away.”249 It is thus not hard to see how immersion in a countercultural milieu characterized by deep out-​group hatred and prejudice can—​in tandem with the neurological, psychological, and family factors just discussed—​erode the youths’ ability to withstand the siren call of skilled Salafabist ideologues, like those promoting the seductive ISIS narrative across various social media platforms in Southeast Asia.

Attaining the Maximal Aim II: The Need for Good Families Via Good Societies In December 2015, the United Nations Secretary-​General inaugurated his Plan of Action for Preventing Violent Extremism, which, inter alia, identified the importance of strategies of preventing radicalization into violent extremism to complement security-​oriented counterterrorist approaches. Moreover, the Secretary-​General specifically identified youth as a critical global resource who had to be protected against the deleterious pull of virulent extremist ideologies.250 In this respect, the foregoing analysis of the unique psychosocial attributes of youth suggests that at a minimum, a suite of policies guided by the principle of promoting “good families via good societies” may represent a way forward to cope with the youth radicalization problem. A “good family” here is defined as one possessing a strong parent–​ child dyad at its core. As seen, this helps foster healthy and normal ego and intellectual development in youth—​which is important to dampen any budding fundamentalist impulse toward quests for absolute ideological security and certainties.251 In similar vein, what the psychoanalyst Donald Winnicott termed “ordinary good homes” are needed to nurture youth capable of navigating the adolescent journey from emotional dependence on parents to

Responding to Extremist Islam in Southeast Asia  277 mature adult independence in the context of a secular, multicultural, democratic society—​with its emphasis on interethnic and interreligious tolerance.252 The Malaysian psychologist Wendy Yee similarly argues that the “emotional and psychological support” provided by “parents and families” go a long way toward nurturing “values and identities” and hence youth resilience to “violent extremism.”253 However—​and this is the critical point—​good families presuppose the prior and enabling existence of the good political and socioeconomic governance provided by what Ervin Staub considers good societies.254 Apart from programs addressing poverty, which “creates stress and negatively affects parenting,” good societies construct “cultural and societal institutions” in ways that help adults and children fulfill their needs, leveraging upon the “resulting potential and inclinations” to further promote inclusiveness instead of out-​group “devaluation” and “discrimination.”255 Moreover, strong and stable families help build and sustain commitment to mainstream values in the larger society. Thus, Wills and Resko reiterate the importance of social policies that help children and their families. Such policies must ensure that parents are empowered “to act supportively,” because this would generate salutary “long-​range effects in terms of prosocial behavior” for their children as they grow up in society.256 In sum, a suite of socioeconomic policies that promote good families via the wider superstructure of good societies—​customized to the evolving needs of each unique national context—​would enhance the capacity of communities to strengthen youth resilience in the face of Salafabist appeals.257 In short, if good governance that provides the enabling societal conditions for strong and stable “good families” is in place, this would increase the chances that the youth produced by such a “good society” would grow up emotionally and intellectually well-​adjusted and resilient—​ in Erickson’s terms, characterized by psychological wholeness rather than totalism258—​and able, as mentioned, to confidently navigate and respond to sociocultural diversity and challenges with integratively complex ways of thinking, rather than retreating into the “simplified monocausal interpretation of the world” offered by Salafabist fundamentalist-​extremism, “where you are either with them or against them.”259 A final piece of the good society puzzle is education. It has been recognized that education that is “grounded on human rights, peace education, and the promotion of arts and culture” from as young as possible, “on the benches of schools,” is important in building mental firewalls against Salafabist extremism.260 One aspect of such education is to provide leadership skills

278  Extremist Islam training for economic participation, as well as “training on human rights, children’s rights, and women’s rights.”261 In particular, the importance of “humanities” education in broadening the minds of technically trained youth and fostering greater integrative complexity has also been long recognized.262 This is perhaps an underappreciated point. As seen, in Malaysia, Wan Min Wan Mat noted that JI “specifically targeted” individuals educated in “science and engineering,” who were involved in “many things” but were “zero in religion” and whose “scientific, engineering mind” was “wired differently.”263 Tellingly, he recalled that those students and faculty who were studying arts subjects would argue and “think so much, they don’t join in the end.”264 In the Indonesian context, the progressive Islamic scholar Jamhari Makruf has observed that “those who study science have a greater tendency to be radical,” influenced by the “one-​track mind of science,” and that “those who study science, engineers, and architects,” tend to “think 2 x 2 is 4, no debate at all.”265 Jamhari’s point was that likewise, when these young people “receive doctrine or teaching from teachers or friends, they accept it.”266 The Indonesian civil society activist Noor Huda Ismail agreed that “most of the Jihadis” who hailed from secular and science/​technical backgrounds tended “to think in black and white” and were “exact and precise.”267 Huda added that “while the social science people” had “no fixed answer” on how to get to Heaven, the “science guys must use one route.”268 One Singaporean Muslim academic who knew Zulfikar Latiff well recalled that he was relatively more adept at influencing “engineers” rather than those with education in the social sciences.269 Southeast Asian observers argue that some social science training in say, discourse analysis and critical theory, could help technical and science students studying religion to develop valuable critical thinking skills that, in turn, may help them detect the contradictions in Salafabist social media appeals.270 In an Indonesian context, such techniques could help students at secular institutions like the University of Indonesia and the Bandung Institute of Technology better deconstruct the relatively sophisticated ideological discourses of the likes of Hizbut Tahrir (HTI), which is very active on university campuses.271 One good example of how the state Islamic University system in Indonesia better hones the integrative complexity of its charges is the Forum Mahasiswa Ciputat (Formaci), which is an important student reading group. Formaci students have an impressively broad reading list, including the works of “progressive Muslim writers from Indonesia” and abroad, as well as philosophers like Hegel and Heidegger, sociologists like

Responding to Extremist Islam in Southeast Asia  279 Karl Marx and Max Weber, “Indonesianists” like Benedict Anderson and Clifford Geertz, and even critical theorists like Theodor Adorno, Anthony Giddens, and Pierre Bourdieu, among others.272 That said, there remains a need to ensure that standards of instruction in the Islamic university system are maintained as well, to ensure that their students receive a well-​grounded theological education.273 In sum—​as the UN Secretary-​General warned—​ the world must “harness the idealism, creativity, and energy of young people” in the struggle against Salafabists. The hearts and minds of Southeast Asian Muslim youth are a battle-​space that we “need to reclaim”—​by means of well-​governed, good societies that sustain good families, and that provide a balanced education at all levels, and that are aimed at securing the maximal aim of the independence of mind of youth in particular.274 Doing so can only enhance the receptivity of such youth to properly and carefully conceived, framed, and disseminated AN messages—​and tip the strategic balance against the forces of soft and hard Salabist extremism.

Concluding Remarks: The Promising Example of PKS? In September 2019, I had the privilege of being invited to deliver a keynote address on the role of ASEAN in countering terrorism at a conference organized by Andalas University (UNAND) in Padang, the capital of West Sumatra, with the support of the Indonesian Ministry of Foreign Affairs.275 Although I had been to Indonesia many times, this was the first time I had actually gone to Padang—​famous for its local delicacies nasi padang and beef rendang. I had the opportunity to interact with the very bright students and the forward-​looking faculty of the Department of International Relations of UNAND, who were the ones ensuring that the 2-​day event ran smoothly. Two chatty female UNAND undergraduates, Vira and Salsa, were assigned as my liaison officers, and they were kind enough to drive me around Padang to see the sights. One of the most unforgettable experiences on that trip was the opportunity to visit the Masjid Raya Sumatera Barat—​the Great Mosque of West Sumatra. Built in 2014, the three-​storey Masjid Raya complex encompasses about 40,000 square meters and is able to host 20,000 worshippers. It is the biggest mosque in West Sumatra province and is a popular tourist draw. What was significant about the Masjid Raya was its architecture: its roof is a very distinctive feature, because it represents a “contemporary interpretation” of the angular roof of a traditional Minangkabau

280  Extremist Islam home, called “gonjong.”276 The architect, Rizal Muslimin, was apparently seeking to portray the history of West Sumatran Islam in terms of how it has been interpreted through the lens of Minangkabau culture. That Muslimin was also trying to capture Islamic authenticity is attested to by the fact that the overall shape of the building is said to resemble the “stretch of cloth used to carry Hajar Aswad, the sacred stone in Mecca.”277 This blend of Islamic religiosity and Minang culture was evident not merely in Padang’s architecture. It came across in lived, dynamic fashion in the bubbly personalities of Vira and Salsa as well. While they wore the Islamic headscarf and dressed conservatively—​like most of the other female UNAND undergraduates I met—​ they were intellectually curious about other cultures and the wider world and were fond of not just Indonesian but Western pop music as well. Such openness was to be expected to some extent, as they were after all studying International Relations and were exposed to many Western social science theories and concepts. That said, given that Minangkabau culture has historically been very Islamically conservative, I must admit I found their degree of openness rather unexpected. My eyes were further opened upon meeting the West Sumatra Governor, Pak Irwan Prayitno, who hosted the conference delegates at his spacious Governor’s Mansion for an evening of cultural performances and welcome speeches. Pak Irwan was serving his second 5-​year term as Governor. He was born in Jogjakarta but grew up in Padang, because both his parents were West Sumatra natives. He studied psychology at the University of Indonesia and obtained his Masters in Human Resource Development and PhD in Field Management Training from Putra University in Malaysia.278 Of interest, before becoming Governor, Pak Irwan had served between 1999 and 2014 in the Indonesian Parliament as a member of the soft Salafabist Islamist Prosperous Justice Party (Partai Keadilan Sejahtera, or PKS). He was still a senior PKS cadre when I met him. To be sure, PKS had its roots in the Arabized modernist currents discussed in the previous chapter. Beginning in the late 1970s, Muslim Brotherhood ideas found expression in Indonesia through the Campus Islam movement that sprouted in response to the bureaucratic-​authoritarian New Order regime’s banning of political activity in universities.279 The largest campus-​based movement was Gerakan Tarbiyah, whose student members were greatly attracted to the Brotherhood model of forming small, tight-​knit cells (usroh) within which emphasis was placed on strict observance of ritual obligations, mutual support, acquiring of Islamic knowledge, and social welfare activities.280

Responding to Extremist Islam in Southeast Asia  281 Tarbiyah members saw themselves as a vanguard tasked with bringing genuine Islamic values to Indonesian society. Influenced by Hasan al-​Banna, whose works were widely read, Tarbiyah activists believed that a genuine Islamization of society had to come before the successful setting up of an Islamic State.281 At the same time, though, Tarbiyah student leaders were also part of the Salman movement, named after the Salman Mosque at the Bandung Institute of Technology in West Java, and which had branches on campuses across the country—​and where they were exposed to the leading Modernist Salafi intellectual Cak Nur’s softer Islamic values-​ based approach.282 In any case, when the Asian Financial Crisis struck and Soeharto’s by-​now unpopular and corrupt New Order regime began to teeter in May 1998, Tarbiyah members began to gravitate toward direct political activity, forming in April 1998 an anti-​Soeharto student organization, KAMMI (Indonesian Muslim Student Action Union), which helped bring down the regime the following month. In August the same year, Tarbiyah activists formed Partai Keadilan (PK, or Justice Party) and proceeded to win 1.9 percent of the overall vote in the 1999 elections and seven seats in the national parliament. Encouraged, the party reorganized for the 2004 elections and as the PKS, secured 7.3 percent of the votes and 45 seats in the new 550-​ member parliament.283 In 2009, PKS secured 8.46 percent,284 but 5 years later it fared less well, securing only 6.8 percent of votes cast.285 In the most recent April 2019 parliamentary hustings, the party recovered somewhat, winning 8.5 percent of the vote share.286 PKS is very interesting in that it has campaigned not so much for an Islamic state—​the goal of other soft and hard Salafabists—​but for secular (if still Islamically relevant) issues like fighting corruption, socioeconomic equality, and political reform. While PKS leaders concede that an Islamic state in Indonesia is still “an aspiration,” they accept that “if the substance sufficiently represents the name [i.e., ‘Islamic state’], the name does not need to reflect the substance.”287 What remains clear is that the PKS sees Islam and politics as “inseparable,” and that “the state should have a role in regulating moral behavior.”288 Against this backdrop, Pak Irwan, as Malaysian scholar Farish Noor observes, “happens to be one of the best-​known leaders of the PKS in Indonesia” and “whose career in student activism and politics has been a meteoric one.”289 Two of Pak Irwan’s publications—​Kepribadian Da’i (The Personality of the Pious Muslim Who Spreads Islam) and Kepribadian Muslim (The Personality of the Muslim)—​have in fact become part of the PKS cadre training program. These two works certainly display stock Salafabist

282  Extremist Islam tropes, as they are “replete with references to the various international ‘plots and stratagems’ that are used to hinder the rise of Muslim power and the success of the Islamists’ project.”290 In one passage, for instance, Pak Irwan warns that “the Jews work hard to wage war on the Muslim community” and that the “actions of the United States in attacking Islamic states are also the result of the strong Jewish lobby in the United States.”291 Nevertheless, as Farish observes, overall, both books—​perhaps revealing traces of Cak Nur’s Modernist Salafi influence—​are actually focused on “the development of a strong and committed Muslim personality.”292 Rather than promoting extremist close-​mindedness, Pak Irwan has helped to shape a PKS cadre training curriculum that, apart from instilling religious discipline, also promotes the “development of strong, independent-​minded individuals” who are “able to think critically for themselves” and able to “contribute to the greater good of the community as a whole.”293 Importantly, PKS leaders add that “Islamist politics is plural,” able to cope with “pluralism for the common good of all”—​significantly “including non-​Muslims.”294 This training emphasis on creating critical-​minded cadres capable of inclusive, integratively complex thinking, is why PKS leaders assured Farish Noor that “the radical Islamist groups are no challenge to us, for our cadre system keeps us solid.”295 It is also the reason why PKS leaders reject the simplistic formulas of other more exteme Salafabists: Anti-​political Islamist groups that criticise Islamist parties are naïve because they often fall back on nostalgia and Utopian visions of the future. Some talk about the ‘Khilafat’ and the coming of a new Caliphate rule that is extra-​territorial, beyond the nation-​state, etc. But honestly, how many times have we heard this, and has any of this become reality? As a political party, we (PKS) say: Be realistic. State capture and state control [are] less about just gaining power and more about showing that with power we can deliver real, tangible results that are meaningful and real to people. Hizbut Tahrir does not believe in a democracy for example. Well, then, tell us what sort of system do they have in mind then? All this talk of non-​democratic Khilafah governance has just been promises with nothing tangible. Show us some results then! How will they govern and manage the most basic things like wages, public transport, water for the people? (italics added)296

The inherent this-​worldly pragmatism of PKS is acknowledged by other observers. Raden Yasin has argued that PKS has struck a dynamic balance

Responding to Extremist Islam in Southeast Asia  283 between adhering to its conservative soft Salafabist, Islamist roots in the Tarbiyah movement, while at the same time, toning down its overt commitment to the implementation of sharia or Islamic law, in order to forge viable political alliances with non-​Islamist and indeed secular political parties. He adds that the motto “da’wa before daulah” well captures the essence of the PKS approach, which puts the emphasis on gradually Islamizing individuals first, before the wider society and ultimately the state.297 As a senior PKS figure, Pak Irwan struck me as exemplifying the mild to moderate fundamentalism of a soft Salafabist radical—​not extremist—​one who is “open to rationality and pragmatic compromise” and who can “accept diversity and believe in the power of reason rather than dogma.”298 Mainstream Muslims aside, it should be said, the tempered, soft Salafabist radicalism of Pak Irwan and like-​minded colleagues within PKS—​perhaps akin to what Tunisian Islamic scholar Rachid Ghannoushi termed “realistic fundamentalism”299—​is something secular, multicultural, democratic societies in Southeast Asia can probably learn to coexist with. In any case, I sat transfixed at that conference dinner in the Governor’s Mansion in Padang in conservative West Sumatra, when Pak Irwan unexpectedly and expertly showcased his drum-​ playing skills, while his own Western-​ style band led UNAND undergraduates in a spirited mass dance and singalong—​in English—​to the rather apropos “It’s My Life” by the Western rock group Bon Jovi, no less. If this was taqiyya and a cunning example of “stealth jihad,”300 well, it certainly was extremely elaborate and—​I have to say it—​entertaining. More likely it was reality in all its complexity and nuance. It hit me there and then: this was Southeast Asian Islam in all its rich, protean complexity—​effortlessly and creatively blending Islamic religiosity and cultural authenticity, comfortable with outside influences, confident, colorful, and joyous. This was what the monochrome Salafabists wish to eliminate—​and they must be stopped. It is hoped that this book can make a small contribution to preserving and championing the “smiling,” inclusive Southeast Asian Islam that the region—​and the world—​have long admired and cherished.

Notes Introduction 1. “Philippines Soldiers Suffer Heavy Death Toll in Clash with Abu Sayyaf Militants,” BenarNews, April 17, 2020, https://​www.benarn​ews.org/​engl​ish/​news/​phi​lipp​ine/​tro​ ops-​kil​led-​041​7202​0112​212.html. 2. Ronna Nirmala, Keisyah Aprilia, and Jeoffrey Maitem, “Reports: Indonesian, Philippine Militants Bolster Ranks, Launch Attacks During Pandemic,” BenarNews, April 29, 2020, https://​www.benarn​ews.org/​engl​ish/​news/​phi​lipp​ine/​phil​ippi​nes-​ milita​nts-​042​9202​0192​952.html. 3. Nirmala, Aprilia, and Maitem, “Reports.” 4. COVID-​19 and the Mujahidin of Eastern Indonesia (Jakarta: Institute for Policy Analysis of Conflict Short Briefing No. 3, April 28, 2020): 1. 5. Much has been written about the threat of extremist Islam in Southeast Asia since the September 11 attacks. For instance, seeKumar Ramakrishna and See Seng Tan, eds., After Bali: The Threat of Terrorism in Southeast Asia (Singapore: World Scientific/​Institute of Defence and Strategic Studies, 2003); Andrew Tan and Kumar Ramakrishna, eds., The New Terrorism: Anatomy, Trends, and Counter-​Strategies (Singapore: Eastern Universities Press, 2002); John Gershman, “Is Southeast Asia the Second Front?,” Foreign Affairs 79, no. 4 (July/​August 2002): 60–​74; Barry Desker and Kumar Ramakrishna, “Forging an Indirect Strategy in Southeast Asia,” The Washington Quarterly 25, no. 2 (Spring 2002): 161–​176; Maria A. Ressa, Seeds of Terror: An Eyewitness Account of Al Qaeda’s Newest Centre of Operations in Southeast Asia (New York: Free Press, 2004); Greg Barton, Jemaah Islamiyah: Radical Islamism in Indonesia (Singapore: Ridge Books, 2005); Greg Fealy, “Half a Century of Violent Jihad in Indonesia,” in Islamic Terrorism in Indonesia: Myths and Realities, eds. Marika Vicziany and David Wright-​Neville (Melbourne: Monash University Press, 2005), 15–​32. Sidney Jones of the Jakarta-​based Institute for Policy Analysis of Conflict (IPAC) has written numerous reports and other works, such as “Terrorism and ‘Radical Islam’ in Indonesia,” in Islamic Terrorism in Indonesia, eds. Vicziany and Wright-​Neville, 3–​13. 6. Kumar Ramakrishna, “Countering the New Terrorism of Al Qaeda Without Generating Civilizational Conflict: The Need for an Indirect Strategy,” in The New Terrorism, eds. Tan and Ramakrishna, 207–​232; Bilveer Singh, The Talibanization of Southeast Asia: Losing the War on Terror to Islamist Extremists (Westport: Praeger Security International, 2007); Rommel C. Banlaoi, The Abu Sayyaf Group and Terrorism in the Southern Philippines Seven Years After 9/​11: Threat and Response

286 Notes (Manila: Philippine Institute for Political Violence and Terrorism Research, September 2008). 7. For a detailed analysis of the Jemaah Islamiyah network involved in the October 2002 Bali attacks, see Kumar Ramakrishna, Radical Pathways: Understanding Muslim Radicalization in Indonesia (Westport: Praeger Security International, 2009). See also Zachary Abuza, Militant Islam in Southeast Asia: Crucible of Terror (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner, 2003); Ken Conboy, The Second Front: Inside Asia’s Most Dangerous Terrorist Network (Jakarta: Equinox, 2006); and Sally Neighbour, In the Shadow of Swords: On the Trail of Terrorism from Afghanistan to Australia (Sydney: HarperCollins, 2004). 8. Rommel C. Banlaoi, ed., The Marawi Siege and Its Aftermath: The Continuing Terrorist Threat (Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2020); Kumar Ramakrishna, “The Growth of ISIS Extremism in Southeast Asia: Its Ideological and Cognitive Features—​and Possible Policy Responses,” New England Journal of Public Policy 29, no. 1 (2017): Article 6, https://​schol​arwo​rks.umb.edu/​nejpp/​vol29/​ iss1/​6; Julie Chernov Hwang and Kirsten E. Schulze, “Why They Join: Pathways into Indonesian Jihadist Organizations,” Terrorism and Political Violence 30, no. 6 (2018): 911–​932; Joseph Chinyong Liow and Aida Arosoiae, “The Sound of Silence: Nuancing Religiopolitical Legitimacy and Conceptualizing the Appeal of ISIS in Malaysia,” Contemporary Southeast Asia 41, no. 1 (April 2019): 86–​113. 9. Jasminder Singh, “Terrorist Leaders Come and Go. Yet Terror Threat in Southeast Asia Persists,” TODAY, January 22, 2020, https://​www.toda​yonl​ine.com/​com​ment​ ary/​terror​ist-​lead​ers-​come-​and-​go-​yet-​ter​ror-​thr​eat-​southe​ast-​asia-​persi​sts. 10. Singh, “Terrorist Leaders Come and Go,” https://​www.toda​yonl​ine.com/​com​ment​ ary/​terror​ist-​lead​ers-​come-​and-​go-​yet-​ter​ror-​thr​eat-​southe​ast-​asia-​persi​sts. 11. Kumar Ramakrishna, “Children and Family Terrorism,” The Cairo Review of Global Affairs, no. 30 (Summer 2018), https://​www.thecairoreview.com/​global-​forum/​ children-​and-​family-​terrorism/​ 12. Kirsten E. Schulze, “The Surabaya Bombings and the Evolution of the Jihadi Threat in Indonesia,” CTC Sentinel 11, Issue 6 (June/​July 2018): 1–​6, https://​ctc.usma.edu/​ surab​aya-​bombi​ngs-​evolut​ion-​jih​adi-​thr​eat-​indone​sia/​; The Children of ISIS: The Indoctrination of Minors in ISIS-​Held Territory (The Hague: National Coordinator for Security and Counterterrorism and General Intelligence and Security Service, 2017). 13. Amalina Abdul Nasir, “Islamic State Militants in Malaysia and Indonesia Increasingly Using High-​End Explosives,” European Eye on Radicalization, December 10, 2019, https://​eerad​ical​izat​ion.com/​isla​mic-​state-​milita​nts-​in-​malay​sia-​and-​ind​ones​ian-​ incre​asin​gly-​using-​high-​end-​exp​losi​ves. 14. J. C. Gotinga, “AFP, PNP: Filipino Suicide Bomber Behind Sulu Attack,” Rappler, July 11, 2019, https://​www.rapp​ler.com/​nat​ion/​235​077-​afp-​pnp-​say-​filip​ino-​suic​ide-​ bom​ber-​beh​ind-​sulu-​att​ack. 15. Scholars who are skeptical about the role of religion in motivating terrorism include, inter alia, Marc Sageman, Understanding Terror Networks (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2004); Andrew Silke, “Holy Warriors: Exploring the Psychological Processes of Jihadi Radicalization,” European Journal of Criminology 5, no. 1 (2008): 99–​123; Charles Mink, “It’s About the Group, Not God: Social Causes

Notes  287 and Cures for Terrorism,” Journal for Deradicalization 5 (2015): 63–​69; and Robert Pape, Dying to Win: The Strategic Logic of Suicide Terrorism (New York: Random House, 2005). 16. Some studies have included Peter Herriot, Religious Fundamentalism and Social Identity (London: Routledge, 2007); Malise Ruthven, Fundamentalism: A Very Short Introduction (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007); Bruce B. Lawrence, Defenders of God: The Fundamentalist Revolt against the Modern Age (Columbia, SC: University of South Carolina, 1995); Karen Armstrong, The Battle for God: Fundamentalism in Judaism, Christianity and Islam (London: HarperCollins, 2001); and Douglas Pratt, “Religion and Terrorism: Christian Fundamentalism and Extremism,” Terrorism and Political Violence 22, no. 3 (2010): 438–​456. 17. See Lorenzo Vidino, Countering Radicalization in America: Lessons from Europe (Washington, DC: United States Institute of Peace Special Report 262, 2010); Lorenzo Vidino, “The Role of Non-​Violent Islamists in Europe,” CTC Sentinel 3, no. 11 (November 2010); Alex P. Schmid, Violent and Non-​Violent Extremism: Two Sides of the Same Coin? (The Hague: International Center for Counterterrorism Research Paper, 2014). 18. Graeme Wood, The Way of the Strangers: Encounters with the Islamic State (New York: Random House, 2017), 234–​235. 19. “Pamela Geller: Purveyor of Anti-​Muslim Prejudice,” Arab News, November 24, 2019, https://​www.arabn​ews.com/​node/​1588​786/​world; see also, inter alia, Glenn Beck, It IS About Islam: Exposing the Truth about ISIS, Al Qaeda, Iran and the Caliphate (New York: Threshold Editions/​Mercury Radio Arts, 2015); and Robert Spencer, “What is a Moderate Muslim?,” Jihad Watch, January 14, 2006, https://​www.jih​adwa​ tch.org/​2006/​01/​what-​is-​a-​moder​ate-​mus​lim. 20. Kumar Ramakrishna, “‘Radical Islamic Terrorism’: What’s in a Name?,” RSIS Commentary, February 7, 2017, https://​www.rsis.edu.sg/​wp-​cont​ent/​uplo​ads/​ 2017/​02/​CO17​023.pdf. The literature is large. For instance, Glenn Beck focuses on Wahhabism and Salafism. See his It IS About Islam, 48–​64; Fawaz Gerges identifies Salafi Jihadism as the key in ISIS: A History (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2016), as does Shiraz Maher, Salafi-​Jihadism: The History of an Idea (London: Penguin Books, 2016). Ed Husain argues that the problem is Islamism, in The Islamist: Why I Joined Radical Islam in Britain, What I Saw Inside and Why I Left (London: Penguin Books, 2007). Hamed Abdel-​Samad agrees that it is Islamism, or more precisely “Islamic Fascism,” that is the problem, in Islamic Fascism (New York: Prometheus Books, 2016). This issue is explored in more depth in this book. 21. The term “Salafabism” was coined by Khaled Abou El Fadl, the Omar and Azmeralda Alfi Professor of Law at the University of California at Los Angeles. 22. The Australian sociologist Riaz Hassan has employed the Salafabist paradigm in his Inside Muslim Minds (Melbourne: Melbourne University Press, 2008). Hassan studied Muslim religiosity in Malaysia, Pakistan, Indonesia, Iran, Kazakshtan, Egypt, and Turkey. His book was not a study of extremism per se. 23. This argument is fleshed out in Chapter 2.

288 Notes 24. In this case, Yusuf was referring to what we call Wahhabized Purist Salafism. This issue is examined in more detail in Chapter 2. See Wood, The Way of the Strangers, 234. 25. Arie Perliger, Gabriel Koehler-​Derrick, and Ami Pedahzur, “The Gap Between Participation and Violence: Why We Need to Disaggregate Terrorist ‘Profiles’,” International Studies Quarterly 60 (2016): 227. 26. I first discussed the concept of an “ideological ecosystem” in Kumar Ramakrishna, Islamist Terrorism and Militancy in Indonesia: The Power of the Manichean Mindset (Singapore: Springer, 2015), 109. I develop the concept further herein. Scott Atran has also discussed a similar concept, which he calls a “passive infrastructure.” See Scott Atran, Talking to the Enemy: Violent Extremism, Sacred Values and What It Means to be Human (London: Allen Lane, 2010), 166. 27. Omar Saif Ghobash, Letters to a Young Muslim (London: Picador, 2017), 244. 28. Adam Minter, “Sharia Shakes Up Southeast Asia,” Pittsburgh Post-​Gazette, January 25, 2015, https://​www.post-​gaze​tte.com/​opin​ion/​Op-​Ed/​2015/​01/​25/​Sha​ria-​sha​kes-​ up-​Southe​ast-​Asia/​stor​ies/​20150​1250​108. 29. Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird (New York: Harper Perennial Modern Classic, 2006). 30. Andrew Silke, “Becoming a Terrorist,” in Terrorists, Victims, and Society: Psychological Perspectives on Terrorism and Its Consequences, ed. Andrew Silke (Chichester, UK: Wiley, 2003), 32. 31. After Zulfikar’s arrest in Singapore in July 2016 (see Chapter 4). it became impossible to gain further access to him. 32. Kumar Ramakrishna, “The Radicalization of Abu Hamdie: Wider Lessons for the Ongoing Struggle Against Violent Extremism in Post-​Marawi Mindanao,” Journal of Asian Security and International Affairs 5, no. 2 (July 2018): 111–​128; and Kumar Ramakrishna, “Reflections of a Reformed Jihadist: The Story of Wan Min Wan Mat,” Contemporary Southeast Asia 38, no. 3 (December 2016): 495–​522. Material from these sources is used in this book, but in extensively revised and expanded form. 33. For a survey of his activism, see Jasmine C., “Bet You Never Knew These Things About ISA-​Detainee Zulfikar Shariff,” Unscrambled.sg, July 29, 2016, https://​www.unsc​ramb​ led.sg/​2016/​07/​29/​bet-​you-​never-​knew-​these-​about-​isa-​detai​nee-​zulki​far-​shar​iff. 34. John M. Davis, “Countering International Terrorism: Perspectives from International Psychology,” in The Psychology of Terrorism, Four: Programs and Practices in Response and Prevention, ed. Chris E. Stout (Westport: Praeger, 2002), 33. 35. Such challenges were exacerbated unfortunately by the publicity surrounding the meeting between another RSIS researcher and Aman, discussed in Chapter 6. 36. Verity Edwards and Cameron Stewart, “Professor Warned Off Terrorist Trip,” The Australian, September 13, 2006. 37. According to one source, by 2019 Aman had authored 26 books and articles in Bahasa Indonesia and translated another 63 into Bahasa. He had also written “several lectures about Islam both inside and outside” prison. See Zubair, “Wahhabi’s Influence on ISIS Ideology in Indonesia: A Study of Aman Abdurrahman’s Theological Thoughts,” Advances in Social Science, Education and Humanities Research 302 (2019): 80.

Notes  289 38. Christopher R. Browning, Ordinary Men: Reserve Police Battalion 101 and the Final Solution in Poland (New York: HarperCollins, 1992). 39. John Tosh, ed., Historians on History (Harlow: Longman, 2000), 220. 40. Alan C. Elms, Uncovering Lives: The Uneasy Alliance of Biography and Psychology (New York: Oxford University Press, 1994), 5.

Chapter 1 1. Chiara Palazzo and Emily Allen, “Manchester Terror Attack: Everything We Know,” The Telegraph, May 25, 2017, http://​www.telegr​aph.co.uk/​news/​0/​man​ches​ter-​ter​ ror-​att​ack-​eve​ryth​ing-​know-​far/​; “Manchester Terror Attack Suspect Identified as Salman Abedi,” Fox News, May 23, 2017, https://​www.foxn​ews.com/​world/​man​ches​ ter-​ter​ror-​att​ack-​susp​ect-​ide​ntif​i ed-​as-​sal​man-​abedi. 2. Wood, The Way of the Strangers. For a similar view, see also, Gerges, History of ISIS. For more on the conventionally made distinction between Islam the personal faith and Islamism the political ideology, see Daniel Pipes, “Islam and Islamism: Faith and Ideology,” The National Interest, no. 59 (Spring 2000): 87–​93. 3. Lorne Dawson, “Challenging the Curious Erasure of Religion from the Study of Religious Terrorism,” Numen 63 (2015): 142. See also Jessica Stern, “5 Myths About Who Becomes a Terrorist,” Washington Post, January 10, 2010, https://​www. was​h ing​tonp​ o st.com/​ w p-​ dyn/​ c ont​ e nt/​ arti​ cle/ ​2010/ ​01/ ​08/ ​AR20​1001​0803​585. html; and Anne Aly and Jason-​Leigh Striegher, “Examining the Role of Religion in Radicalization to Violent Islamist Extremism,” Studies in Conflict and Terrorism 35, no. 12 (2012): 849–​862. 4. Joseph Chinyong Liow, Interreligious Relations: Religion, Nationalism and Politics in Southeast Asia: The Ambivalence of the Sacred in an Uncertain World (Singapore: S. Rajaratnam School of International Studies, June 2019), 4–​5. 5. Duncan McCargo, Tearing Apart the Land: Islam and Legitimacy in Southern Thailand (Singapore: NUS Press, 2009), 178, 180. 6. McCargo in Christopher M. Joll, “Religion and Conflict in Southern Thailand: Beyond Rounding Up the Usual Suspects,” Contemporary Southeast Asia 32, no. 2 (2010): 269. 7. McCargo in Joll, “Religion and Conflict in Southern Thailand.” 8. Marc Askew, “Fighting with Ghosts: Querying Thailand’s ‘Southern Fire’,” Contemporary Southeast Asia 32, no. 2 (2010): 125–​126. 9. McCargo, Tearing Apart the Land, 176. 10. Askew, “Fighting with Ghosts,” 127. 11. Dawson, “Challenging the Curious Erasure of Religion,” 149. 12. Askew, “Fighting with Ghosts,” 126–​127. 13. Dawson, “Challenging the Curious Erasure of Religion,” 142–​144. 14. Dawson, “Challenging the Curious Erasure of Religion,” 142–​144. 15. Dawson, “Challenging the Curious Erasure of Religion,” 159.

290 Notes 16. David C. Rapoport, “The Fourth Wave: September 11 in the History of Terrorism,” Current History 100 (2001): 419–​424. 17. Richard Dawkins, The God Delusion (London: Transworld, 2006); Sam Harris, The End of Faith: Religion, Terror and the Future of Reason (London: The Free Press, 2005). 18. Alister McGrath, with Joanna Collicutt McGrath, The Dawkins Delusion? Atheist Fundamentalism and the Denial of the Divine (London: Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, 2007); Chris Hedges, When Atheism Becomes Religion: America’s New Fundamentalists (New York: Free Press, 2009). 19. See Monica Duffy Toft, Daniel Philpott, and Timothy Samuel Shah, God’s Century: Resurgent Religion and Global Politics (New York: W. W. Norton, 2011), 1. 20. Toft, Philpott, and Shah, God’s Century. 21. Berger in Toft, Philpott, and Shah, God’s Century, 7. 22. Hedges, When Atheism Becomes Religion, 15. 23. John Micklethwait and Adrian Wooldridge, God Is Back: How the Global Revival of Faith Is Changing the World (New York: Penguin, 2010), 42–​43. 24. Micklethwait and Wooldridge, God Is Back, 39–​40. 25. Michael Shermer, How We Believe: Science, Skepticism and the Search for God, 2nd ed. (New York: Holt, 2003), 23–​24. 26. Micklethwait and Wooldridge, God Is Back, 65. 27. Micklethwait and Wooldridge, God Is Back, 170–​191. 28. Micklethwait and Wooldridge, God Is Back, 237–​241. 29. Rodney Stark, Discovering God: The Origins of the Great Religions and the Evolution of Belief (New York: Harper One, 2007), 152. 30. Matt Ridley, The Origins of Virtue (London: Penguin, 1997), 39. 31. Eviatar Zerubavel, “Lumping and Splitting: Notes on Social Classification,” Sociological Forum 11, no. 3 (1996): 426–​427. 32. Ridley, Origins of Virtue, 187–​188. 33. Rush W. Dozier, Jr., Why We Hate: Understanding, Curbing and Eliminating Hate in Ourselves and Our World (New York: Contemporary Books, 2002), 40; and Neil J. Kressel, Mass Hate: The Global Rise of Genocide and Terror, rev. ed. (Cambridge, MA: Westview Press, 2002), 211. 34. Wilson in Dozier, Why We Hate, 40–​41. 35. James Waller, Becoming Evil: How Ordinary People Commit Genocide and Mass Killing (New York: Oxford University Press, 2005), 239. 36. David Berreby, Us and Them: Understanding Your Tribal Mind (New York: Little, Brown and Company, 2005), 211. 37. Andrew B. Newberg and Mark R. Waldman, Why We Believe What We Believe: Uncovering Our Biological Need for Meaning, Spirituality, and Truth (New York: Free Press, 2006), 88. 38. Newberg and Waldman, Why We Believe What We Believe. 39. Susan T. Fiske, “What’s in a Category?: Responsibility, Intent, and the Avoidability of Bias Against Outgroups,” in The Social Psychology of Good and Evil, ed. Arthur G. Miller (New York: The Guildford Press, 2005), 127.

Notes  291 40. Amy Chua, Political Tribes: Group Instinct and the Fate of Nations (London: Bloomsbury, 2018), 39. 41. Chua, Political Tribes, 38–​40; Waller, Becoming Evil, 241–​242. 42. Steven Pinker, The Better Angels of Our Nature: The Decline of Violence in History and Its Causes (London: Allen Lane, 2011), 522–​523; Chua, Political Tribes, 40. 43. Waller, Becoming Evil, 239–​242. 44. Waller, Becoming Evil, 240. 45. Waller, Becoming Evil, 240. 46. Sober and Wilson cited in Waller, Becoming Evil, 152. 47. Erwin Staub, “Basic Human Needs, Altruism, and Aggression,” in Social Psychology of Good and Evil, ed. Miller, 54–​59; A. C. Kay and R. P. Eibach, “Compensatory Control and Its Implications for Ideological Extremism,” Journal of Social Issues 69, no. 3 (2013): 567; Michael Shermer, The Believing Brain: From Spiritual Faiths to Political Convictions—​How We Construct Beliefs and Reinforce Them as Truths (London: Constable and Robinson, 2011), 94. 48. C. M. Federico, C. Hunt, and E. L. Fisher, “Uncertainty and Status-​ Based Asymmetries in the Distinction Between the ‘Good’ Us and ‘Bad’ Them: Evidence that Group Status Strengthens the Relationship Between the Need for Cognitive Closure and Extremity in Intergroup Differentiation,” Journal of Social Issues 69, no. 3 (2013): 474–​475; K. M. Klein and A. W. Kruglanski, “Commitment and Extremism: A Goal Systemic Analysis,” Journal of Social Issues 69, no. 3 (2013): 428–​429. 49. Federico, Hunt, and Fisher, “Uncertainty and Status-​Based Asymmetries,” 475. 50. Sara Savage and Jose Liht, “Mapping Fundamentalisms: The Psychology of Religion as a Sub-​Discipline in the Understanding of Religiously Motivated Violence,” Archive for the Psychology of Religion 30 (2008): 84–​85. 51. J. M. Berger, Extremism (Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 2018): 150. 52. Federico, Hunt, and Fisher, “Uncertainty and Status-​Based Asymmetries,” 477. 53. Waller, Becoming Evil, 242. 54. David M. Terman, “Fundamentalism and the Paranoid Gestalt,” in The Fundamentalist Mindset: Psychological Perspectives on Religion, Violence and History, eds. Charles B. Strozier, David M. Terman, and James W. Jones, with Katharine A. Boyd (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 61. See also B. Doosje, A. Loseman, and K. Van Den Bos, “Determinants of Radicalization of Islamic Youth in the Netherlands: Personal Uncertainty, Perceived Injustice and Perceived Group Threat,” Journal of Social Issues 69, no. 3 (2013): 589. 55. Waller, Becoming Evil, 151. 56. Robert Winston, Human Instinct: How Our Primeval Impulses Shape Our Modern Lives (London: Bantam, 2003), 316–​317. 57. Michael Shermer, The Science of Good and Evil: Why People Cheat, Gossip, Care, Share, and Follow the Golden Rule (New York: Holt, 2004), 40. 58. E. O. Wilson, The Social Conquest of Earth (New York: Liveright Publishing Corporation, 2012), 59.

292 Notes 59. Nicholas A. Christakis and James H. Fowler, Connected: The Amazing Power of Social Networks and How They Shape Our Lives (London: Harper Press, 2011), 228. 60. Shermer, The Science of Good and Evil, 98. 61. Robert Wright, Nonzero: The Logic of Human Destiny (New York: Vintage, 2000), 58–​59. 62. Ridley, Origins of Virtue, 14, 200. 63. Martin Nowak, with Roger Highfield, Supercooperators: Evolution, Altruism and Human Behaviour (Melbourne: Text Publishing, 2011), 90. 64. Howard Bloom, Global Brain: The Evolution of Mass Mind from the Big Bang to the 21st Century (New York: John Wiley and Sons, 2000), 194, 197. 65. Savage and Liht, “Mapping Fundamentalisms,” 86. 66. Howard Bloom, The Lucifer Principle: A Scientific Expedition into the Forces of History (New York: Atlantic Monthly Press, 1997), 144–​145. 67. David Sloan Wilson, Darwin’s Cathedral: Evolution, Religion and the Nature of Society (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2002), 54. 68. Wilson, Darwin’s Cathedral, 3. 69. Newberg and Waldman, Why We Believe What We Believe, 225. 70. Dean Hamer, The God Gene: How Faith Is Hardwired into Our Genes (New York: Anchor Books, 2004), 6–​8, 17–​38. In a generally positive review of Hamer’s book, Michael Goldman affirmed that there are “genetic influences that underlie a tendency toward spirituality.” See Michael A. Goldman, “The God Gene: How Faith Is Hardwired into Our Genes,” Nature Genetics 36, 1241 (2004), https://​www. nat​ure.com/​artic​les/​ng1​204-​1241. 71. Matthew Alper, The “God” Part of the Brain: A Scientific Interpretation of Human Spirituality and God (Naperville: Sourcebooks, 2006), 92. 72. Daniel N. Finkel, Paul Swartwout, and Richard Sosis, “The Socio-​Religious Brain: A Developmental Model,” Proceedings of the British Academy 158 (2009): 292–​294. 73. Christian Smith, “Are Human Beings Naturally Religious?,” in Homo Religiosus? Exploring the Roots of Religion and Religious Freedom in Human Experience, eds. Timothy Samuel Shah and Jack Friedman (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018), 45. 74. Jesse Bering, The God Instinct: The Psychology of Souls, Destiny, and the Meaning of Life (London: Nicholas Brealey, 2013), 200. 75. Hamer, God Gene, 8. 76. Neil J. Kressel, Bad Faith: The Danger of Religious Extremism (New York: Prometheus Books, 2007), 53. Gabriel A. Almond, R. Scott Appleby, and Emmanuel Sivan, Strong Religion: The Rise of Fundamentalisms Around the World (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2003), 17. 77. Shermer, How We Believe, 22, 63–​65. 78. Tom Esslemont, “Spirituality in Estonia—​The World’s ‘Least Religious’ Country,” BBC News, August 26, 2011. 79. Hamer, God Gene, 170. 80. Newberg and Waldman, Why We Believe What We Believe, 225.

Notes  293 81. Richard Sosis and Jordan Kiper, “Sacred versus Secular Values: Cognitive and Evolutionary Sciences of Religion and Their Implications for Religious Freedom,” in Homo Religiosus?, eds. Shah and Friedman, 102. 82. Wilson, Darwin’s Cathedral, 3. 83. Scott Atran, In Gods We Trust: The Evolutionary Landscape of Religion (New York: Oxford University Press, 2002), 9. 84. Atran, In Gods We Trust, 10–​12. 85. Newberg and Waldman, Why We Believe What We Believe, 227. 86. Phil Zuckerman, “Are Human Beings Naturally Religious? A Response,” in Homo Religiosus?, eds. Shah and Friedman, 60–​61. 87. Zuckerman, “Are Human Beings Naturally Religious?,” in Homo Religiosus?, eds. Shah and Friedman, 60–​62. 88. Douglas Murray, The Strange Death of Europe: Immigration, Identity, Islam (London: Bloomsbury, 2018), 264–​269. 89. Murray, The Strange Death of Europe. 90. Bering, The God Instinct, 212. 91. Smith, “Are Human Beings Naturally Religious?,” in Homo Religiosus?, eds. Shah and Friedman, 45. 92. Michael Dowd, Thank God for Evolution: How the Marriage of Science and Religion will Transform Your Life and Our World (New York: Plume, 2009), 34; Jack Friedman and Timothy Samuel Shah, “Introduction,” in Homo Religiosus?, eds. Shah and Friedman, 3. 93. Wilson, Darwin’s Cathedral, 54. 94. Benjamin G. Purzycki and Richard Sosis, “Religious Concepts as Necessary Components of the Adaptive Religious System,” in Interdisciplinary Perspectives on Philosophy: Evolution and Religion, ed. Ulrich Frey (Marburg: Tectum Verlag, 2010), 38–​42, 50–​51; Sosis and Kiper, “Sacred versus Secular Values,” in Homo Religiosus?, eds. Shah and Friedman, 97–​98. 95. Shermer, How We Believe, 162. 96. Candace S. Alcorta, “Biology, Culture, and Religiously Motivated Suicide Terrorism: An Evolutionary Perspective,” Politics and Culture (April 29, 2010), https://​pol​itic​sand​cult​ure.org/​2010/​04/​29/​biol​ogy-​cult​ure-​and-​reli​giou​sly-​motiva​ ted-​suic​ide-​terror​ism-​an-​evolu​tion​ary-​pers​pect​ive. 97. Alcorta, “Biology, Culture, and Religiously Motivated Suicide Terrorism.” 98. Alcorta, “Biology, Culture, and Religiously Motivated Suicide Terrorism.” 99. Finkel, Swartout, and Sosis, “The Socio-​Religious Brain,” 287. 100. Shermer, How We Believe, xvii. 101. John Teehan, In the Name of God: The Evolutionary Origins of Religious Ethics and Violence (Chichester: Wiley-​Blackwell, 2010), 66. 102. David Redles, “Ordering Chaos: Nazi Millennialism and the Quest for Meaning,” in The Fundamentalist Mindset, eds. Strozier et al., 156–​ 174. On the communist penchant for quasi-​ religious rituals and ceremonies, see Kumar Ramakrishna, Emergency Propaganda: The Winning of Malayan Hearts and Minds (Richmond: Curzon, 2002), 37.

294 Notes 103. Ruthven, Fundamentalism, 88. 104. Shermer, How We Believe, 168. 105. John Teehan, In the Name of God, 64. See also Pascal Boyer, Religion Explained: The Evolutionary Origins of Religious Thought (New York: Basic Books, 2001), 157–​160. 106. Teehan, In the Name of God, 66–​67. 107. Atran, In Gods We Trust, 144–​145. 108. Teehan, In the Name of God, 66–​67. 109. Atran, In Gods We Trust, 145. 110. Richard Sosis and Candace Alcorta, “Militants and Martyrs: Evolutionary Perspectives on Religion and Terrorism,” in Natural Security: A Darwinian Approach to a Dangerous World, eds. R. D. Sagarin and T. Taylor (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2008), 110. 111. Teehan, In the Name of God, 68–​69. 112. Atran, In Gods We Trust, 145. 113. Teehan, In the Name of God, 69. 114. Teehan, In the Name of God, 65–​66. 115. Teehan, In the Name of God, 31, 66; see also Richard Sosis and Candace Alcorta, “Signaling, Solidarity, and the Sacred: The Evolution of Religious Behavior,” Evolutionary Anthropology 12 (2003): 266. 116. Cited in Ridley, Origins of Virtue, 172. 117. Christakis and Fowler, Connected, 242. 118. Wright, Nonzero, 325. 119. Teehan, In the Name of God, 66. 120. See Oren Harman, The Price of Altruism: George Price and the Search for the Origins of Human Kindness (London: Vintage, 2011), 222. 121. Wilson, Darwin’s Cathedral, 10. 122. Teehan, In the Name of God, 151. 123. Teehan, In the Name of God, 151. 124. Ridley, Origins of Virtue, 192. 125. Teehan, In the Name of God, 151. 126. Dawkins, The God Delusion, 297. 127. Ralph W. Hood, Jr., Peter C. Hill, and W. Paul Williamson, The Psychology of Religious Fundamentalism (New York: Guildford Press, 2005), 13; see also Lawrence, Defenders of God, 27. 128. Herriot, Religious Fundamentalism and Social Identity, 22. 129. Almond, Appleby, and Sivan, Strong Religion, 17. 130. Ruthven, Fundamentalism, 5–​6. 131. Almond, Appleby, and Sivan, Strong Religion, 94. 132. Almond, Appleby, and Sivan, Strong Religion, 94. 133. Charles B. Strozier and Katharine A. Boyd, “Definitions and Dualisms,” in The Fundamentalist Mindset, eds. Strozier et al., 11. 134. Micklethwait and Wooldridge, God Is Back, 88–​91. 135. Savage and Liht, “Mapping Fundamentalisms,” 78. 136. Almond, Appleby, and Sivan, Strong Religion.

Notes  295 137. Armstrong, Battle for God, x–​xi. 138. Strozier and Boyd, “Definitions and Dualisms,” in The Fundamentalist Mindset, eds. Strozier et al., 11. 139. Charles B. Strozier and David M. Terman, “Introduction,” in The Fundamentalist Mindset, eds. Strozier et al., 4, 7. 140. Ruthven, Fundamentalism, 22. 141. Almond, Appleby, and Sivan, Strong Religion, 15. 142. Strozier and Terman, “Introduction,” in The Fundamentalist Mindset, eds. Strozier et al., 4. 143. Strozier and Terman, “Introduction,” in The Fundamentalist Mindset, eds. Strozier et al., 4; Almond, Appleby, and Sivan, Strong Religion, 234–​237. 144. Barbara D. Metcalf, “Traditionalist” Islamic Activism: Deoband, Tablighis, and Talibs (Leiden: International Institute for the Study of Islam in the Modern World, 2002), 4; Olivier Roy, “Has Islamism a Future in Afghanistan?,” in Fundamentalism Reborn? Afghanistan and the Taliban, ed. William Maley (New York: New York University Press, 2008), 208; Kamaludeen A. Nasir, Alexius A. Pereira, and Bryan S. Turner, Muslims in Singapore: Piety, Politics and Policies (London: Routledge, 2010), 17. 145. Strozier and Terman, “Introduction,” in Strozier et al., eds. The Fundamentalist Mindset, 5. 146. Savage and Liht, “Mapping Fundamentalisms,” 78; Almond, Appleby, and Sivan, Strong Religion, 75–​76; Herriot, Religious Fundamentalism and Social Identity, 18. 147. Armstrong, Battle for God, xi. 148. Strozier and Boyd, “Definitions and Dualisms,” in The Fundamentalist Mindset, eds. Strozier et al., 11. 149. Terman, “Fundamentalism and the Paranoid Gestalt,” in The Fundamentalist Mindset, eds. Strozier et al., 48–​49. 150. Charles B. Strozier, “The Apocalyptic Other,” in The Fundamentalist Mindset, eds. Strozier et al., 62–​63. 151. Herriot, Religious Fundamentalism and Social Identity, 22. 152. Max Taylor and John Horgan, “The Psychological and Behavioural Bases of Islamic Fundamentalism,” Terrorism and Political Violence 13, no. 4 (2001): 46. 153. Charles B. Strozier, Katharine A. Boyd, and James W. Jones, “The Charismatic Leader and the Totalism of Conversion,” in The Fundamentalist Mindset, eds. Strozier et al., 38. 154. Strozier, Boyd, and Jones, “The Charismatic Leader and the Totalism of Conversion,” in The Fundamentalist Mindset, eds. Strozier et al., 38–​39. 155. Arthur J. Deikman, Them and Us: Cult Thinking and the Terrorist Threat (Berkeley: Bay Tree Publishing, 2003), 75. 156. Shermer, Science of Good and Evil, 237. 157. E. H. Erickson, Identity: Youth and Crisis (New York: W. W. Norton, 1994), 80–​81. 158. Savage and Liht, “Mapping Fundamentalisms,” 82. 159. J. Harold Ellens, “Fundamentalism, Orthodoxy, and Violence,” in The Destructive Power of Religion: Violence in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam,

296 Notes Volume 4: Contemporary Views on Spirituality and Violence, ed. J. Harold Ellens (London: Praeger, 2004), 120. 160. Strozier, Boyd, and Jones, “The Charismatic Leader and the Totalism of Conversion,” in The Fundamentalist Mindset, eds. Strozier et al., 40. 161. Herriot, Religious Fundamentalism and Social Identity, 17. 162. Daniel Hill, “Fundamentalist Faith States: Regulation Theory as a Framework for the Psychology of Religious Fundamentalism,” in The Fundamentalist Mindset, eds. Strozier et al., 84–​86. 163. Hill, “Fundamentalist Faith States,” in The Fundamentalist Mindset, eds. Strozier et al., 84–​86. 164. Charles Selengut, Sacred Fury: Understanding Religious Violence (Walnut Creek, CA: Altimira Press, 2003), 65–​68. 165. Lawrence, Defenders of God, 100. 166. Stuart Sim, Fundamentalist World: The New Dark Age of Dogma (Cambridge: Icon Books, 2004), 29. 167. Herriot, Religious Fundamentalism and Social Identity, 11. 168. Sim, Fundamentalist World, 100. 169. Sim, Fundamentalist World, 100. 170. James W. Jones, “Conclusion: A Fundamentalist Mindset?,” in The Fundamentalist Mindset, eds. Strozier et al., 216. 171. Ruthven, Fundamentalism, 11. 172. Sara Savage, “Four Lessons from the Study of Fundamentalism and the Psychology of Religion,” Journal of Strategic Security 4, no. 4 (2011): 133. 173. Cited in Mustafa Akyol, Islam Without Extremes: A Muslim Case for Liberty (London: W. W. Norton, 2011), 177. 174. James W. Jones, Blood that Cries Out from the Earth: The Psychology of Religious Terrorism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), 123. 175. Jones, Blood that Cries Out from the Earth, 123. 176. Herriot, Religious Fundamentalism and Social Identity, 1. 177. Pratt, “Religion and Terrorism,” 455. 178. Kressel, Bad Faith, 53. 179. Almond, Appleby, and Sivan, Strong Religion, 17. 180. Daniel Chirot and Clark McCauley, Why Not Kill Them All? The Logic and Prevention of Mass Political Murder (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2010), 215. 181. Jones, “Conclusion: A Fundamentalist Mindset?,” in The Fundamentalist Mindset, eds. Strozier et al., 218. 182. Armstrong, Battle for God, xi. 183. Teehan, In the Name of God, 152. 184. Chirot and McCauley, Why Not Kill Them All?, 80–​81. 185. Waller, Becoming Evil, 236–​237. 186. Waller, Becoming Evil, 246; Bering, The God Instinct, 16–​17. 187. Ayaan Hirsi Ali, “Raised on Hatred,” New Perspectives Quarterly (2013): 37–​39. 188. Cited in Waller, Becoming Evil, 246.

Notes  297 189. Herriot, Religious Fundamentalism and Social Identity, 15. 190. Jones, “Conclusion: A Fundamentalist Mindset?,” in The Fundamentalist Mindset, eds. Strozier et al., 219. 191. R. Scott Appleby, The Ambivalence of the Sacred: Religion, Violence, and Reconciliation (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2000).

Chapter 2 1. “The United States Will Renew Its Fight Against Terrorism Following the Sri Lanka Attacks,” news.com.au, April 23, 2019, https://​www.news.com.au/​world/​asia/​the-​ uni​ted-​sta​tes-​has-​vowed-​to-​renew-​its-​fight-​agai​nst-​terror​ism-​follow​ing-​the-​sri-​ lanka-​atta​cks/​news-​story/​b24ec​6f7b​b69a​8b35​d4f5​6cd8​e590​89d. 2. Kumar Ramakrishna, “ ‘Radical Islamic Terrorism’: What’s in a Name?” 3. European Union Terrorism Situation and Trend Report 2018 (The Hague: Europol, 2018), 9. 4. ASIO Annual Report 2018–​ 2019 (Canberra: Australian Security Intelligence Organisation, 2019), 19. 5. A. P. Schmid, Radicalisation, De-​ Radicalisation, Counter-​ Radicalisation: A Conceptual Discussion and Literature Review (The Hague: International Center for Counterterrorism Research Paper, 2013), 10. 6. Ramakrishna, “ ‘Radical Islamic Terrorism’.” 7. Schmid, Radicalisation, De-​Radicalisation, Counter-​Radicalisation, 8. 8. Schmid, Radicalisation, De-​Radicalisation, Counter-​Radicalisation, 10. 9. Schmid, Radicalisation, De-​Radicalisation, Counter-​Radicalisation, 10. 10. Astrid Botticher, “Towards Academic Consensus Definitions of Radicalism and Extremism,” Perspectives on Terrorism 11, no. 4 (2017),75. 11. Schmid, Radicalisation, De-​Radicalisation, Counter-​Radicalisation, 10. 12. Schmid, Radicalisation, De-​Radicalisation, Counter-​Radicalisation, 10. 13. Schmid, Radicalisation, De-​Radicalisation, Counter-​Radicalisation, 10. 14. Botticher, “Towards Academic Consensus Definitions of Radicalism and Extremism,” 75. 15. Botticher, “Towards Academic Consensus Definitions of Radicalism and Extremism,” 75. 16. Terman, “Fundamentalism and the Paranoid Gestalt,” in The Fundamentalist Mindset, eds. Strozier et al., 47. 17. “H.R. 1955: Violent Radicalization and Homegrown Terrorism Prevention Act,” October 24, 2007, https://​www.congr​ess.gov/​bill/​110th-​congr​ess/​house-​bill/​ 1955/​text. 18. Jamie Bartlett, Jonathan Birdwell, and Michael King, The Edge of Violence: A Radical Approach to Extremism (London: Demos, 2010), 8. 19. Vidino, Countering Radicalization in America, 4–​5. 20. Vidino, Countering Radicalization in America, 4–​5.

298 Notes 21. Amartya Sen, Identity and Violence: The Illusion of Destiny (London: Allen Lane, 2006), 24. 22. Berreby, Us and Them. 23. Cited in Kressel, Mass Hate, 28. 24. Lord Alderdice, “The Individual, the Group and the Psychology of Terrorism,” International Review of Psychiatry 19 (2007): 204. 25. Anthony Stahelski, “Terrorists Are Made, Not Born: Creating Terrorists Using Social Psychological Conditioning,” Journal of Homeland Security (2004), http://​www. homel​ands​ecur​ity.org/​jour​nal/​artic​les/​stahel​ski.html. 26. Daniel Koehler, “Violent Radicalization Revisited: A Practice-​Oriented Model,” ISN-​ETH Zurich (26 June 2015), https://​www.files.ethz.ch/​isn/​192​640/​ISN_​19​1575​_​ en.pdf. 27. Koehler, “Violent Radicalization Revisited.” 28. Koehler, “Violent Radicalization Revisited.” 29. J. Scott Carpenter, Matthew Levitt, Steven Simon and Juan Zarate, Fighting the Ideological Battle: The Missing Link in US Strategy to Counter Violent Extremism (Washington DC: Washington Institute for Near East Policy, 2010), 8. 30. Schmid, Radicalisation, De-​Radicalisation, Counter-​Radicalisation, 39. 31. Clark McCauley and Sophia Moskalenko, Friction: How Radicalization Happens to Them and Us (New York: Oxford University Press, 2011), 4. 32. Schmid, Radicalisation, De-​Radicalisation, Counter-​Radicalisation, 18–​19. 33. McCauley and Moskalenko, Friction, 145–​148. 34. Tarrant claimed that one of the factors driving him to attack the mosques was revenge for terrorist attacks on White Christian populations. See “Mum of Swedish Girl Named in NZ Killer’s Manifesto Condemns Attacks,” France24.com, March 15, 2019, https://​www.franc​e24.com/​en/​20190​315-​mum-​swed​ish-​girl-​named-​nz-​kill​ ers-​manife​sto-​conde​mns-​atta​cks. 35. Julia Ebner, The Rage: The Vicious Circle of Islamist and Far-​ Right Extremism (London: I.B. Tauris, 2017). 36. Jamie Bartlett and Jonathan Birdwell, Cumulative Radicalisation Between the Far-​Right and Islamist Groups in the UK: A Review of Evidence (London: Demos, November 5, 2013). See also Roger Eatwell, “Community Cohesion and Cumulative Extremism in Contemporary Britain,” The Political Quarterly 77, no. 2 (September 2006): 204–​216. 37. Douglas Pratt, “Islamophobia as Reactive Co-​Radicalization,” Islam and Christian-​ Muslim Relations 26, no. 2 (November 2015): 205–​218. 38. Yousef bin Ahmed Al-​Othaimeen, “Anti-​Muslim Policies Help ISIS With its Goal,” Time.com, March 28, 2017, https://​time.com/​4699​591/​isis-​far-​right-​islam​opho​bia/​. 39. For one useful explanation, see Metcalf, “Traditionalist” Islamic Activism, 4. 40. Berger, Extremism, 62–​63. 41. Peter R. Neumann, “The Trouble with Radicalization,” International Affairs 89, no. 4 (2013): 884. 42. Berger, Extremism, 156–​157. 43. Berger, Extremism, 156–​157.

Notes  299 44. Within the mainstream category, while most neo-​fundamentalist believers may be theologically opposed to, and hence resistant to, extremist appeals, the cultural distancing associated with neo-​fundamentalist pietism may render others in the same category more susceptible, as has been the case with some members of the pietist Tablighi Jamaat, as we shall see. 45. Schmid, Radicalisation, De-​Radicalisation, Counter-​Radicalisation, 10. 46. Berger, Extremism, 156. 47. Cass R. Sunstein, Going to Extremes: How Like Minds Unite and Divide (New York: Oxford University Press, 2009), 149. 48. Klein and Kruglanski, “Commitment and Extremism,” 432. 49. Schmid, Radicalisation, De-​Radicalisation, Counter-​Radicalisation, 8–​10. 50. Schmid, Radicalisation, De-​Radicalisation, Counter-​Radicalisation, 10. 51. Klein and Kruglanski, “Commitment and Extremism,” 422. 52. Maxwell Taylor, The Fanatics: A Behavioural Approach to Political Violence (London: Brassey’s, 1991), 81–​83. 53. Pratt, “Religion and Terrorism,” 440. 54. Mohammad Hashim Kamali, “Extremism Comes in Many Guises,” The New Straits Times, March 9, 2015, https://​www.nst.com.my/​news/​2015/​09/​extrem​ism-​comes-​ many-​gui​ses?d=​1. 55. Schmid, Radicalisation, De-​Radicalisation, Counter-​Radicalisation, 9–​10. 56. Roger Eatwell and Matthew J. Goodwin, “Introduction: The ‘New’ Extremism in Twenty-​First-​Century Britain,” in The New Extremism in 21st Century Britain, eds. Roger Eatwell and Matthew J. Goodwin (Oxon: Routledge, 2010), 9. 57. Berger, Extremism, 44. 58. Pratt, “Religion and Terrorism,” 440. 59. Klein and Kruglanski, “Commitment and Extremism,” 422. 60. Eatwell and Goodwin, “Introduction,” in New Extremism, eds. Eatwell and Goodwin, 8. 61. Jane Kinninmont, “Britain’s Loose Definition of Extremism is Stoking a Global Crackdown on Dissent,” The Guardian (UK), September 23, 2016, “https://​www.theg​ uard​ian.com/​commen​tisf​ree/​2016/​sep/​23/​brit​ain-​extrem​ism-​glo​bal-​effe​cts. 62. Kumar Ramakrishna, “Diagnosing ‘Extremism’: The Case of ‘Muscular’ Secularism in Singapore,” Behavioral Sciences of Terrorism and Political Aggression 11, no. 1 (January 2019): 32. 63. Berger, Extremism, 44. 64. Johan Galtung, “Violence, Peace, and Peace Research,” Journal of Peace Research 6, no. 3 (1969): 168. 65. Galtung, “Violence, Peace, and Peace Research,” 177. 66. Galtung, “Violence, Peace, and Peace Research,” 169. 67. Galtung, “Violence, Peace, and Peace Research,” 170–​171. 68. Galtung, “Violence, Peace, and Peace Research,” 172. 69. Galtung, “Violence, Peace, and Peace Research,” 171–​172. 70. Terman, “Fundamentalism and the Paranoid Gestalt,” in The Fundamentalist Mindset, eds. Strozier et al., 47.

300 Notes 71. Eatwell and Goodwin, “Introduction,” in New Extremism, eds. Eatwell and Goodwin, 8. 72. Pratt, “Religion and Terrorism,” 440. 73. Bloom, Lucifer Principle, 255. 74. Ellens, “Fundamentalism, Orthodoxy, and Violence,” in The Destructive Power of Religion, ed. Ellens, 120. 75. Taylor, The Fanatics, 84. 76. Raffaello Pantucci, “We Love Death as You Love Life”: Britain’s Suburban Terrorists (London: C. Hurst & Co., 2015), 53. 77. Kressel, Bad Faith, 135. 78. Kressel, Bad Faith, 134–​135. 79. Francis Fukuyama, Identity: The Demand for Dignity and the Politics of Resentment (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2018), 158–​159. 80. Chua, Political Tribes, 204. 81. Newberg and Waldman, Why We Believe What We Believe, 88. 82. Newberg and Waldman, Why We Believe What We Believe, 88. 83. Wilson, The Social Conquest of Earth, 57–​58. 84. Kressel, Mass Hate, 211. 85. Waller, Becoming Evil, 239–​242. 86. Chirot and McCauley, Why Not Kill Them All?, 86. 87. Waller, Becoming Evil, 240. 88. Waller, Becoming Evil, 240. 89. Stahelski, “Terrorists Are Made, Not Born.” 90. Chirot and McCauley, Why Not Kill Them All?, 86. 91. Chirot and McCauley, Why Not Kill Them All?, 86. 92. Berger, Extremism, 99. 93. Newberg and Waldman, Why We Believe What We Believe, 88–​89. 94. Berger, Extremism, 99–​100. 95. Sosis and Alcorta, “Militants and Martyrs,” in Natural Security, eds. Sagarin and Taylor, 110. 96. Mark Juergensmeyer, Terror in the Mind of God: The Global Rise of Religious Violence, updated edition with a new preface (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2008), 26–​28. 97. Juergensmeyer, Terror in the Mind of God, 32. 98. Juergensmeyer, Terror in the Mind of God, 32–​34. 99. Juergensmeyer, Terror in the Mind of God, 34. 100. Berger, Extremism, 61. 101. McGrath, The Dawkins Delusion?, 51. See also Shermer, How We Believe, 147. 102. Strozier and Boyd, “Definitions and Dualisms,” in The Fundamentalist Mindset, eds. Strozier et al., 14. 103. Schmid, Radicalisation, De-​Radicalisation, Counter-​Radicalisation, 9. 104. Bart Schuurman and Max Taylor, “Reconsidering Radicalization: Fanaticism and the Link Between Ideas and Violence,” Perspectives on Terrorism 12, no. 1 (February 2018): 13.

Notes  301 105. Savage and Liht, “Mapping Fundamentalisms,” 82. 106. Savage and Liht, “Mapping Fundamentalisms,” 82. 107. Khaled Abou El Fadl, The Great Theft: Wrestling Islam from the Extremists (New York: Harper, 2005), 99, 171. 108. Malise Ruthven, A Fury for God: The Islamist Attack on America (New York: Granta, 2002), 103. 109. R. Scott Appleby and Martin E. Marty, “Think Again: Fundamentalism,” Foreign Policy, November 12, 2009, https://​foreig​npol​icy.com/​2009/​11/​12/​think-​again-​fun​ dame​ntal​ism. 110. Appleby and Marty, “Think Again”; Benjamin Beit-​Hallahmi and Michael Argyle, The Psychology of Religious Behaviour, Belief and Experience (London: Routledge, 1997), 181–​183; Diego Gambetta and Steffen Hertog, Engineers of Jihad: The Curious Connection Between Violent Extremism and Education (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2016). 111. Sunstein, Going to Extremes, 154. 112. Neighbour, In the Shadow of Swords, 228. 113. Farish A. Noor, Ngruki Revisited: Modernity and its Discontents at the Pondok Pesantren al-​Mukmin of Ngruki, Surakarta (Singapore: S. Rajaratnam School of International Studies, 2007), 21, 23. 114. Susan Benesch, “Dangerous Speech: A Proposal to Prevent Group Violence,” Dangerous Speech Project, February 23, 2013, http://​dang​erou​sspe​ech.org/​gui​ deli​nes/​. 115. Benesch, “Dangerous Speech.” 116. Rozin cited in Boyer, Religion Explained, 119–​120. 117. Teehan, In the Name of God, 152. 118. Chirot and McCauley, Why Not Kill Them All?, 80–​81. 119. Kumar Ramakrishna, “Constructing” the Jemaah Islamiyah Terrorist: A Preliminary Inquiry (Singapore: Institute of Defence and Strategic Studies Working Paper 71, 2004), 45. 120. Husain, The Islamist. See also Mark Trevelyan, “Ex-​Radicals Urge Muslims to Shun Extremism,” Reuters, April 23, 2008, https://​uk.reut​ers.com/​arti​cle/​uk-​secur​ity-​brit​ ain-​mus​lim/​ex-​radic​als-​challe​nge-m ​ usl​ims-t​ o-​shun-​extrem​ism-​idUKL2​2670​1962​ 0080​422. 121. Stahelski, “Terrorists Are Made, Not Born.” 122. Jones, Blood That Cries Out from the Earth, 44. 123. Abdel-​Samad, Islamic Fascism, 161. 124. Peter R. Neumann, Radicalized: New Jihadists and the Threat to the West (London: I.B. Tauris, 2016), 116. 125. Natasha Robinson, “Bashir Urges Attacks on ‘Infidel’ Australians,” The Australian, March 24, 2008. 126. Robinson, “Bashir Urges Attacks on ‘Infidel’ Australians.” 127. Tim Behrend, “Reading Past the Myth: Public Teachings of Abu Bakar Ba’asyir,” February  19,  2003,  http:// ​ w ww.arts.auckl ​ a nd.ac.nz/ ​ a sia/ ​ t behr ​ e nd/ ​ a bb-​ myth.htm.

302 Notes 128. Raphael Cohen-​Almagor, Confronting the Internet’s Dark Side: Moral and Social Responsibility on the Free Highway (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2015), 148–​149. 129. Schmid, Violent and Non-​Violent Extremism, 13–​14. 130. Botticher, “Towards Academic Consensus Definitions of Radicalism and Extremism,” 74. 131. Herriot, Religious Fundamentalism and Social Identity, 11. 132. Sim, Fundamentalist World, 29. 133. Sim, Fundamentalist World, 100. 134. Schmid, Radicalisation, De-​Radicalisation, Counter-​Radicalisation, 9. 135. Neumann, Radicalized, 33. 136. Neumann, Radicalized, 33–​34. 137. Buddhism and State Power in Myanmar (Brussels: International Crisis Group Asia Report 290, September 5, 2017), https://​www.cris​isgr​oup.org/​asia/​south-​east-​asia/​ myan​mar/​290-​buddh​ism-​and-​state-​power-​myan​mar. 138. Buddhism and State Power in Myanmar. 139. Hannah Beech, “The Face of Buddhist Terror,” Time, July 1, 2013. 140. Buddhism and State Power in Myanmar. 141. Kumar Ramakrishna, “Religious Extremism: The Case of the Monk Wirathu,” The Nation (Thailand), August 7, 2013, http://​www.natio​nmul​time​dia.com/​news/​opin​ ion/​aec/​30212​037. 142. Francis Wade, Myanmar’s Enemy Within: Buddhist Violence and the Making of a Muslim “Other” (London: Zed Books, 2017), 17–​26. 143. Wade, Myanmar’s Enemy Within, 27–​30. 144. Buddhism and State Power in Myanmar. 145. “Myanmar Ratifies Key Human Rights Treaty,” The Right to Education Initiative, February 27, 2018, https://​www.right-​to-​educat​ion.org/​news/​myan​mar-​ratif​i es-​ key-​human-​rig​hts-​tre​aty. 146. Wade, Myanmar’s Enemy Within, 34–​35, 70. 147. Buddhism and State Power in Myanmar. 148. Ramakrishna, “Religious Extremism.” 149. Wade, Myanmar’s Enemy Within, 165. 150. Wade, Myanmar’s Enemy Within, 193. 151. Wade, Myanmar’s Enemy Within, 195. 152. Wade, Myanmar’s Enemy Within, 192. 153. Wade, Myanmar’s Enemy Within, 204–​205, 213–​215. 154. For the four Bs concept, see Sosis and Alcorta, “Militants and Martyrs,” in Natural Security, eds. Sagarin and Taylor, 110. 155. Wade, Myanmar’s Enemy Within, 156. 156. Wade, Myanmar’s Enemy Within, 144, 154–​155. 157. Wade, Myanmar’s Enemy Within, 191, 226. 158. Strozier and Boyd, “Definitions and Dualisms,” in The Fundamentalist Mindset, eds. Strozier et al., 14. 159. Beech, “The Face of Buddhist Terror.”

Notes  303 160. Wade, Myanmar’s Enemy Within, 158. 161. Beech, “The Face of Buddhist Terror.” 162. Wade, Myanmar’s Enemy Within, 158. 163. Benesch, “Dangerous Speech.” 164. For instance, see Wade, Myanmar’s Enemy Within, 113. 165. Sarah Kaplan, “The Serene-​Looking Buddhist Monk Accused of Inciting Burma’s Sectarian Violence,” The Washington Post, May 27, 2015, https://​www.was​hing​tonp​ ost.com/​news/​morn​ing-​mix/​wp/​2015/​05/​27/​the-​burm​ese-​bin-​laden-​fuel​ing-​the-​ rohin​gya-​migr​ant-​cri​sis-​in-​southe​ast-​asia. 166. Kaplan, “The Serene-​ Looking Buddhist Monk Accused of Inciting Burma’s Sectarian Violence.” 167. Kaplan, “The Serene-​ Looking Buddhist Monk Accused of Inciting Burma’s Sectarian Violence.” 168. Berger, Extremism, 20. 169. Ramakrishna, “Religious Extremism.” 170. Wade, Myanmar’s Enemy Within, 158. 171. Kaplan, “The Serene-​Looking Buddhist Monk.” 172. Ramakrishna, “Religious Extremism.” 173. Danny Gold, “The ‘Burmese bin Laden’ Swears He’s a Good Guy,” Vice.com, January 27, 2014, https://​www.vice.com/​en_​us/​arti​cle/​3b7​bnn/​burm​ese-​bin-​laden-​swe​ ars-​hes-​a-​good-​guy. 174. Kaplan, “The Serene-​Looking Buddhist Monk.” 175. Wade, Myanmar’s Enemy Within, 170. 176. Buddhism and State Power in Myanmar. 177. Buddhism and State Power in Myanmar. 178. Schmid, Radicalisation, De-​Radicalisation, Counter-​Radicalisation, 9. 179. Wood, The Way of the Strangers, xxvii. See also the useful discussion in Amin Saikal, “How Islamic Has the ‘Islamic State’ Been?,” Journal of Muslim Minority Affairs 38, no. 2 (2018): 143–​152, https://​www.tand​fonl​ine.com/​doi/​full/​10.1080/​13602​ 004.2018.1475​620. 180. Zia Weise, “Turkey’s Torrid Love Affair with Michael Flynn,” Politico, November 25, 2017, https://​www.polit​ico.eu/​arti​cle/​turk​eys-​tor​rid-​love-​aff​air-​with-​mich​ael-​ flynn/​. 181. Anthony Nutting, The Arabs: A Narrative History from Mohammed to the Present (New York: Mentor, 1964), 18. 182. Nutting, The Arabs, 37. 183. Abdel-​Samad, Islamic Fascism, 102–​103. 184. David Cook, Understanding Jihad, 2nd edition (Oakland: University of California Press, 2015), 13. 185. Elias Canetti, Crowds and Power, trans. Carol Stewart (New York: Continuum, 1973), 141. 186. Samuel Huntington, The Clash of Civilizations and the Remaking of World Order (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1997), 217.

304 Notes 187. Marco Stahlhut, “In Interview, Top Indonesian Muslim Scholar Says Stop Pretending That Orthodox Islam and Violence Aren’t Linked,” Time.com, September 8, 2017, https://​time.com/​4930​742/​islam-​terror​ism-​islam​opho​bia-​viole​nce. 188. Stahlhut, “In Interview.” 189. Berger, Extremism, 62–​63. 190. Metcalf, “Traditionalist” Islamic Activism, 4; Nasir et al., Muslims in Singapore, 11–​17. 191. Alex Schmid, Moderate Muslims and Islamist Terrorism: Between Denial and Resistance (The Hague: International Centre for Counter-​ Terrorism, August 2017), 8. 192. Daniel Easterman, New Jerusalems: Reflections on Islam, Fundamentalism and the Rushdie Affair (London: Grafton, 1992), 34–​36. 193. Armstrong, Battle for God, xi. 194. Nasir et al., Muslims in Singapore, 11. 195. Joas Wagemakers, “Salafism,” Oxford Research Encyclopedia: Religion (August 2016), https://​oxfor​dre.com/​relig​ion/​view/​10.1093/​acref​ore/​978019​9340​378.001.0001/​ acref​ore-​978019​9340​378-​e-​255. 196. Mohammed Ayoob, The Many Faces of Political Islam: Religion and Politics in the Muslim World (Singapore: NUS Press, 2008), 135. For more on the Hanafi school, see below. 197. Ayoob, The Many Faces of Political Islam, 136–​137. 198. Ayoob, The Many Faces of Political Islam, 137. 199. Alex Alexiev, “Tablighi Jamaat: Jihad’s Stealthy Legions,” The Middle East Quarterly 12, no. 1 (Winter 2005), http://​www.mefo​rum.org/​686/​tabli​ghi-​jam​aat-​jih​ads-​steal​ thy-​legi​ons. 200. Jeffrey Gettleman, “Mysterious Act of Mercy by the Subway Bombing Suspect,” The New York Times, December 18, 2017, https://​www.nyti​mes.com/​2017/​12/​18/​world/​ asia/​ban​glad​esh-​aka​yed-​ullah-​sub​way-​bom​ber.html. 201. Alexander Horstmann, “Transnational Ideologies and Actors at the Level of Society in South and Southeast Asia,” Transnational Islam in South and Southeast Asia: Movements, Networks, and Conflict Dynamics (Washington DC: National Bureau of Asian Research, 2009), 36–​39. 202. Itzhak Weismann, “A Perverted Balance: Modern Salafism Between Reform and Jihad,” Die Welt Des Islams 57 (2017), 34. 203. Wagemakers, “Salafism.” 204. Maher, Salafi-​Jihadism, 7. 205. Henri Lauziere, The Making of Salafism: Islamic Reform in the Twentieth Century (New York: Columbia University Press, 2016), 5–​8. 206. Weismann, “A Perverted Balance,” 34–​35; Alexander Meleagrou-​Hitchens, Salafism in America: History, Evolution, Radicalization (Washington DC: George Washington University, October 2018), 1. 207. Meleagrou-​Hitchens, Salafism in America, 1. 208. Maher, Salafi-​Jihadism, 8–​12. 209. Syed Huzaifah Bin Othman Alkaff and Muhammad Haziq Bin Jani, “Contemporary Salafism in Singapore,” Journal of Muslim Minority Affairs 41, no. 1 (2021): 174.

Notes  305 210. Wagemakers, “Salafism.” 211. Wagemakers, “Salafism.” 212. Wagemakers, “Salafism.” 213. Wagemakers, “Salafism”; Meleagrou-​Hitchens, Salafism in America, 6–​7. 214. Wagemakers, “Salafism”; Maher, Salafi-​Jihadism, 7. 215. Wagemakers, “Salafism.” 216. Alkaff and Jani, “Contemporary Salafism in Singapore,” 171. 217. Alkaff and Jani, “Contemporary Salafism in Singapore,” 171. 218. Wagemakers, “Salafism.” 219. Nutting, The Arabs, 224; Wagemakers, “Salafism.” 220. John L. Esposito, Unholy War: Terror in the Name of Islam (New York: Oxford University Press, 2002), 47. 221. Hamid Algar, Wahhabism: A Critical Essay (New York: Islamic Publications International, 2002). 222. Wagemakers, “Salafism.” 223. Weismann, “A Perverted Balance,” 34. See also Wagemakers, “Salafism” and Saikal, “How Islamic Has the ‘Islamic State’ Been?” 224. El Fadl, The Great Theft, 75, 86. See also Khaled Abou El Fadl, “The Place of Tolerance in Islam,” in The Place of Tolerance in Islam, eds. Joshua Cohen and Ian Lague (Boston: Beacon Press, 2002), 10. 225. In an April 2018 interview, the Saudi Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman—​better known as MBS—​rather histrionically denied the existence of “Wahhabism” in Saudi Arabia (Purist Salafis regard it as a derogatory term, incidentally). Nevertheless, he conceded in an unguarded moment that “we have the four schools—​Hanbali, Hanafi, Shafi’i, Maliki—​and they argue about interpretation.” As seen, a Purist Salafi does not recognize the schools, but a Wahhabi would—​the Hanbali school of fiqh, in particular. It can thus be argued that Saudi Arabia today is in fact a Wahhabized Purist Salafi—​or Salafabist—​state. See Jeffrey Goldberg, “Saudi Crown Prince: Iran’s Supreme Leader ‘Makes Hitler Look Good’,” The Atlantic, April 2, 2018, https://​ www.thea​tlan​tic.com/​intern​atio​nal/​arch​ive/​2018/​04/​moham​med-​bin-​sal​man-​ iran-​isr​ael/​557​036/​; Meleagrou-​Hitchens, Salafism in America, 126. 226. Weismann, “A Perverted Balance,” 47. 227. Maher, Salafi-​Jihadism, 111. 228. Maher, Salafi-​Jihadism, 111. 229. Weismann, “A Perverted Balance,” 47. 230. Meleagrou-​Hitchens, Salafism in America, 72. 231. Meleagrou-​Hitchens, Salafism in America, 72. 232. “Saudi Arabia Must Back Concessions on Human Rights with Action,” Amnesty International, March 19, 2014, https://​www.amne​sty.org/​en/​lat​est/​news/​2014/​03/​ saudi-​ara​bia-​must-​back-​conc​essi​ons-​human-​rig​hts-​act​ion. 233. Weismann, “A Perverted Balance,” 48. 234. Ayaan Hirsi Ali, Infidel: My Life (London: The Free Press, 2007), 42. 235. El Fadl, The Great Theft, 45–​47. 236. El Fadl, The Great Theft, 45–​47.

306 Notes 237. Cited in Joel S. Kahn, Other Malays: Nationalism and Cosmopolitanism in the Malay World (Singapore: Singapore University Press, 2006), 96. 238. Anthony Bubalo and Greg Fealy, Joining the Caravan? The Middle East, Islamism and Indonesia (Alexandria, NSW: The Lowy Institute for International Policy, 2005), 40–​41. 239. Scott Shane, “Saudis and Extremism: ‘Both the Arsonists and the Firefighters’,” The New York Times, August 25, 2016, https://​www.nyti​mes.com/​2016/​08/​26/​world/​ mid​dlee​ast/​saudi-​ara​bia-​islam.html. 240. Mohamed Ali, “Understanding Salafis, Salafism and Modern Salafism,” Islamiyyat 41, no. 1 (2019): 132. While Ali uses the term “Salafi,” the context is clear that he means Wahhabized Purist Salafism. 241. Meleagrou-​Hitchens, Salafism in America, 126; Ali, “Understanding Salafis, Salafism and Modern Salafism,” 133. 242. El Fadl is the Omar and Azmeralda Alfi Professor of Law at the University of California at Los Angeles (UCLA); see https://​law.ucla.edu/​facu​lty/​facu​lty-​profi​les/​ kha​led-​m-​abou-​el-​fadl/​. I had the privilege of moderating a session with Professor El Fadl when he visited my school in the mid-​2000s. 243. Philipp Holtmann, Abu Musab al-​Suri’s Jihad Concept (Tel Aviv: Moshe Dayan Center for Middle Eastern and African Studies, 2009), 97. 244. Khaled Abou El Fadl, “The Orphans of Modernity and the Clash of Civilizations,” Global Dialogue 4, no. 2 (Spring 2002): 1–​16. See also Khaled Abou El Fadl, “The Emergence of Supremacist Puritanism in Modern Islam,” ABC, July 20, 2011, https://​www.abc.net.au/​relig​ion/​the-​emerge​nce-​of-​supr​emac​ist-​pur​itan​ism-​in-​ mod​ern-​islam/​10101​302. El Fadl’s Salafabist paradigm has also influenced other scholars studying Southeast Asian Islam, such as Riaz Hassan. See Hassan, Inside Muslim Minds, 46. 245. Wagemakers, “Salafism.” 246. El Fadl, The Great Theft, 154. 247. El Fadl, The Great Theft, 154. 248. El Fadl, The Great Theft, 17, 99. 249. Wagemakers, “Salafism.” 250. Schuurman and Taylor, “Reconsidering Radicalization,” 13. 251. Noah Feldman, cited in Schmid, Moderate Muslims and Islamist Terrorism, 20. 252. El Fadl, “The Orphans of Modernity and the Clash of Civilizations.” 253. Benesch, “Dangerous Speech.” 254. Nina Shea, “Saudi Arabia’s Troubling Educational Curriculum,” Testimony Before the U.S. House Committee on Foreign Affairs, July 19, 2017. 255. Shea, “Saudi Arabia’s Troubling Educational Curriculum.” 256. Shea, “Saudi Arabia’s Troubling Educational Curriculum.” 257. Shea, “Saudi Arabia’s Troubling Educational Curriculum.” 258. Shane, “Saudis and Extremism.” See also Meleagrou-​ Hitchens, Salafism in America, 29. 259. Shea, “Saudi Arabia’s Troubling Educational Curriculum.” 260. Ali, Infidel, 269–​270.

Notes  307 Lauziere, Making of Salafism, 5. Weismann, “A Perverted Balance,” 35–​38. Kahn, Other Malays, 95. “Hassan al-​Banna,” Harvard Divinity School Religious Literacy Project, n.d., https://​ rlp.hds.harv​ard.edu/​faq/​has​san-​al-​banna. 265. Weismann, “A Perverted Balance,” 48. 266. Weismann, “A Perverted Balance,” 48–​49. 267. Weismann, “A Perverted Balance,” 64; Meleagrou-​Hitchens, Salafism in America, 9. 268. Ayoob, Many Faces of Political Islam, 2. 269. Meleagrou-​Hitchens, Salafism in America, 9. 270. Metcalf, “Traditionalist” Islamic Activism, 3. 271. Ayoob, Many Faces of Political Islam, 67. 272. “Mawdudi, Sayyid Abu al-​Ala,” Oxford Islamic Studies Online, n.d., http://​www. oxfor​disl​amic​stud​ies.com/​arti​cle/​opr/​t125/​e1475. 273. Cited in Gerges, ISIS, 216–​217. 274. Meleagrou-​Hitchens, Salafism in America, 12. 275. Weismann, “A Perverted Balance,” 64. 276. Wood, The Way of the Strangers, 182, 186. 277. Cited in Schmid, Moderate Muslims and Islamist Terrorism, 11–​12. 278. Ayoob, Many Faces of Political Islam, 34. 279. Ayoob, Many Faces of Political Islam, 138. 280. Horstmann, “Transnational Ideologies and Actors,” 38. 281. Ayoob, Many Faces of Political Islam, 139; “Enigmatic Radical Group Raises Fears,” The Sunday Times (Singapore), October 2, 2011. 282. Esposito, Unholy War, 112. 283. Horstmann, “Transnational Ideologies and Actors,” 38. 284. Ayoob, Many Faces of Political Islam, 141. 285. Ayoob, Many Faces of Political Islam, 139. 286. Wan Min Wan Mat is discussed in Chapter 3. 287. See “Muslims in Australia; Considerations in Setting an Agenda,” July 25, 2018, http://​w ww.hizb-​austra ​lia.org/​2018/​07/​musl​ims-​in-​austra​lia-​con​side​rati​ons-​ when-​sett​ing-​an-​age​nda. 288. “Muslims in Australia.” 289. “Muslims in Australia.” 290. “Muslims in Australia.” 291. Ayoob, Many Faces of Political Islam, 140. 292. Wood, The Way of the Strangers, 209–​211. 293. Sara Khan, with Tony McMahon, The Battle for British Islam: Reclaiming Muslim Identity from Extremism (London: Saqi Books, 2016), 56–​58. 294. Mohamed Bin Ali and Muhammad Saiful Alam Shah Bin Sudiaman, “Salafis and Wahhabis: Two Sides of the Same Coin?,” RSIS Commentary, October 11, 2016,  https://​www.rsis.edu.sg/​rsis-​publ​icat ​ion/​rsis/​co16​254-​sala​fis-​and-​wahha​ bis-​two-​sides-​of-​the-​same-​coin. 261. 262. 263. 264.

308 Notes 295. Rachel Briggs, “Community Engagement for Counterterrorism: Lessons from the United Kingdom,” International Affairs 86, no. 4 (2010). 296. Vidino, “The Role of Non-​Violent Islamists in Europe.” 297. McCauley and Moskalenko, Friction, 218. 298. Cited in Vidino, “The Role of Non-​Violent Islamists in Europe.” 299. Schmid, Moderate Muslims and Islamist Terrorism, 4. 300. Al-​Banna, cited in Tommy Larsson, “The Islamist Ideology of Hassan al-​Banna and Sayyid Qutb: A Comparative Analysis,” unpublished Master’s thesis, University of Oslo (Autumn 2017), 42. 301. Milo Comerford and Rachel Bryson, Struggle over Scripture: Charting the Rift Between Islamist Extremism and Mainstream Islam. Foreword by Dr. Emman El-​Baddawy (London: The Tony Blair Institute for Global Change, December 2017), 8. 302. Comerford and Bryson, Struggle over Scripture, 8. 303. Comerford and Bryson, Struggle over Scripture, 6, 8. 304. Comerford and Bryson, Struggle over Scripture, 19. 305. Comerford and Bryson, Struggle over Scripture, 19. 306. Cited in Vidino, “The Role of Non-​Violent Islamists in Europe.” 307. The Anti-​Defamation League’s useful Pyramid of Hate model has been used in educational courses by, for instance, the Seattle-​based Holocaust Center for Humanity. See https://​www.hol​ocau​stce​nter​seat​tle.org/​pyra​mid-​of-​hate. 308. Mass radicalization could be facilitated by religious extremists weaving into their narratives “chosen traumas” to further inflame in-​group opinion against putative out-​group “enemies.” Chosen traumas refer to “shared” mental representations of a “massive trauma” that the in-​group’s ancestors had ostensibly suffered at the hands of the out-​group in the past. These could be “reactivated” by extremists during contemporary crises. See Vamik D. Volkan, “Transgenerational Transmissions and Chosen Traumas: An Aspect of Large Group Identity,” Group Analysis 34, no. 1 (2001): 79. 309. “Mum of Swedish Girl Named in NZ Killer’s Manifesto Condemns Attacks.” 310. Juergensmeyer, Terror in the Mind of God, 10–​15. 311. Willard Gaylin, Hatred: The Psychological Descent into Violence (New York: Public Affairs, 2003), 195. 312. Botticher, “Towards Academic Consensus Definitions of Radicalism and Extremism,” 74. 313. Cited in Meleagrou-​Hitchens, Salafism in America, 29. 314. Thomas Hegghammer, Jihad in Saudi Arabia (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 234. 315. Schmid, Radicalisation, De-​Radicalisation, Counter-​Radicalisation, 10. 316. Wood, The Way of the Strangers, 234. 317. Alkaff and Jani, “Contemporary Salafism in Singapore,” 171. 318. A. G. Noorani, Islam and Jihad: Prejudice versus Reality (London: Zed Books, 2002), 69–​70.

Notes  309 319. Noorani, Islam and Jihad, 70; Angel M. Rabasa, Cheryl Benard, Peter Chalk, C. Christine Fair, Theodore Karasik, Rollie Lal, Ian Lesser, and David Thaler, The Muslim World After 9/​11 (Santa Monica: Rand, 2004), 91. 320. Noorani, Islam and Jihad, 70. 321. El Fadl, The Great Theft, 82. 322. Esposito, Unholy War, 56. 323. Ayoob, Many Faces of Political Islam, 74. 324. Esposito, Unholy War, 60. 325. Gerges, ISIS, 217. 326. Barton, Jemaah Islamiyah, 33–​34. 327. Violent Islamist Extremism: A Global Problem (London: Tony Blair Institute for Global Change, 13 September 2018), https://​instit​ute.glo​bal/​pol​icy/​viol​ent-​islam​ ist-​extrem​ism-​glo​bal-​prob​lem. 328. Muhammad Wildan, “Mapping Radical Islam: A Study of the Proliferation of Radical Islam in Solo, Central Java,” in Contemporary Developments in Indonesian Islam: Explaining the ‘Conservative Turn’, ed. Martin van Bruinessen (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2013), 217. 329. Maher, Salafi-​Jihadism, 14. 330. Maher, Salafi-​Jihadism, 170–​171. 331. Maher, Salafi-​Jihadism, 72. 332. Maher, Salafi-​Jihadism, 75. 333. Wood, The Way of the Strangers, 47–​48. 334. Gerges, ISIS, 200. 335. Wagemakers, “Salafism.” 336. Cook, Understanding Jihad, 19. 337. Wagemakers, “Salafism.” 338. Wagemakers, “Salafism”; Meleagrou-​Hitchens, Salafism in America, 15. 339. Wagemakers, “Salafism.” 340. Selengut, Sacred Fury, 80; Holtmann, Abu Musab al-​Suri’s Jihad Concept, 25. 341. Holtmann, Abu Musab al-​Suri’s Jihad Concept, 26; Sageman, Understanding Terror Networks, 16. 342. Esposito, Unholy War, 62. 343. Juergensmeyer, Terror in the Mind of God, 81. 344. Juergensmeyer, Terror in the Mind of God, 81. 345. Juergensmeyer, Terror in the Mind of God, 81; Holtmann, Abu Musab al-​Suri’s Jihad Concept, 31. 346. Holtmann, Abu Musab al-​Suri’s Jihad Concept, 28–​30; Sageman, Understanding Terror Networks, 16. 347. Holtmann, Abu Musab al-​Suri’s Jihad Concept, 33–​34. 348. Ruthven, A Fury for God, 203. 349. Holtmann, Abu Musab al-​Suri’s Jihad Concept, 43–​48. 350. Cook, Understanding Jihad, 25. 351. Sageman, Understanding Terror Networks, 18.

310 Notes 352. Sageman, Understanding Terror Networks, 18; Holtmann, Abu Musab al-​Suri’s Jihad Concept, 44. 353. Gerges, ISIS, 220. 354. Gerges, ISIS, 220–​221. 355. Meleagrou-​Hitchens, Salafism in America, 15. 356. While Haykel uses the term “Salafi,” the context is clear that he means “Salafabist” in the way being used here. See Bernard Haykel, “The History and Ideology of the Islamic State,” Statement Prepared for the U.S. Senate hearing titled “Inside the Mind of ISIS: Understanding Its Goals and Ideology to Better Protect the Homeland,” January 20, 2016, http://​www.hsgac.sen​ate.gov/​heari​ngs/​ins​ide-​ the-​mind-​of-​isis-​unders​tand​ing-​its-​goals-​and-​ideol​ogy-​to-​bet​ter-​prot​ect-​the-​ homel​and. 357. A good discussion is found in Bruce Hoffman, Inside Terrorism, revised and expanded edition (New York: Columbia University Press, 2006), 1–​41. 358. Schmid, Radicalisation, De-​Radicalisation, Counter-​Radicalisation, 15. 359. Anthony Richards, Conceptualizing Terrorism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015), 30–​31. 360. Schmid, Radicalisation, De-​Radicalisation, Counter-​Radicalisation, 15–​16. 361. Richards, Conceptualizing Terrorism, 146. 362. Kumar Ramakrishna, “The HASMI Network: Case of Cognitive Radicalism Turned Violent?,” RSIS Commentary, November 5, 2012, https://​www.rsis.edu.sg/​rsis-​publ​ icat​ion/​cens/​1868-​the-​hasmi-​netw​ork-​case-​of-​cog. 363. Atran, Talking to the Enemy, 166. 364. Wood, The Way of the Strangers, 91. 365. Wood, The Way of the Strangers, 91. 366. Wood, The Way of the Strangers, 91. 367. Ramakrishna, “The HASMI Network.” 368. Ramakrishna, “The HASMI Network.” 369. Ramakrishna, “The HASMI Network.” 370. Ramakrishna, “The HASMI Network.” 371. Meleagrou-​Hitchens, Salafism in America, 29. 372. Ramakrishna, “The HASMI Network.” 373. Ramakrishna, Islamist Terrorism and Militancy in Indonesia, 109. 374. Wood, The Way of the Strangers, 92. 375. Wood, The Way of the Strangers, 92. 376. Kumar Ramakrishna, “Self-​ Radicalisation and the Awlaki Connection,” RSIS Commentary, July 6, 2010, https://​www.rsis.edu.sg/​rsis-​publ​icat​ion/​cens/​1365-​self-​ rad​ical​isat​ion-​and-​the-​aw; Kumar Ramakrishna, “There’s No Such Thing as Non-​ Violent Extremism,” TODAY, August 18, 2016, https://​www.toda​yonl​ine.com/​com​ ment​ary/​the​res-​no-​such-​thing-​non-​viol​ent-​extrem​ism. 377. For Ba’asyir, see Ramakrishna, Radical Pathways, passim. Aman is discussed in Chapter 6. 378. Sunstein, Going to Extremes, 154.

Notes  311 379. Carike Loretz, “The World Wide Web: From Web 1.0 to Web 5.0,” Social Media Networks in Business, March 15, 2017, https://​carik​esoc​ial.wordpr​ess.com/​2017/​03/​ 15/​the-​world-​wide-​web-​from-​web-​1-​0-​to-​web-​5-​0. 380. Loretz, “The World Wide Web”; Andrea Weckerle, Civility in the Digital Age: How Companies and People Can Triumph Over Haters, Trolls, Bullies and Other Jerks (Indianopolis: Que Publishing, 2013), 3. 381. Thomas Scott Osborne II, “Web 4.0: The Birth of the Hyperlocal Internet,” Medium, August 1, 2018, https://​med​ium.com/​alfae​nzo/​web-​4-​0-​the-​birth-​of-​the-​hyp​erlo​ cal-​inter​net-​2f8e6​5e79​e15. 382. Osborne, “Web 4.0” 383. Wood, The Way of the Strangers, 91–​92. 384. Wood, The Way of the Strangers, 92. 385. C. F. Kurtz and D. J. Snowden, “The New Dynamics of Strategy: Sensemaking in a Complex and Complicated World,” IBM Systems Journal 42, no. 3 (2003): 464. 386. Schmid, Moderate Muslims and Islamist Terrorism, 10. 387. Weismann, “A Perverted Balance,” 48.

Chapter 3 1. Alif Satria, “The Neo-​JI Threat: Jema’ah Islamiyah’s Resurgence in Indonesia Follows an Old Playbook,” New Mandala, August 16, 2019, https://​www.new​mand​ala.org/​the-​ neo-​ji-​thr​eat-​jem​aah-​isl​amiy​ahs-​res​urge​nce-​in-​indone​sia-​foll​ows-​an-​old-​playb​ook. 2. Bilveer Singh and Kumar Ramakrishna, “Islamic State’s Wilayah Philippines: Implications for Southeast Asia,” Eurasia Review, July 22, 2016, https://​www.eurasi​ arev ​iew.com/​22072​016-​isla​mic-​sta​tes-​w ila​yah-​phil​ippi​nes-​impli​c ati​ons-​for-​ southe​ast-​asia-​analy​sis/​; Jasminder Singh and Muhammad Haziq bin Jani, “Al-​ Fatihin: Islamic State’s First Malay Language Newspaper,” RSIS Commentary, June 23, 2016, https://​www.rsis.edu.sg/​wp-​cont​ent/​uplo​ads/​2016/​06/​CO16​155.pdf. 3. Satria, “The Neo-​JI Threat.” 4. Joseph Chinyong Liow, “ISIS in the Pacific: Assessing Terrorism in Southeast Asia and the Threat to the Homeland,” testimony before the Subcommittee on Counterterrorism and Intelligence, Committee on Homeland Security, United States House of Representatives, April 27, 2016, https://​www.brooki​ngs.edu/​wp-​ cont​ent/​uplo​ads/​2016/​07/​Liow-​ISIS-​in-​the-​Paci​fic-​Full-​Testim​ony.pdf. 5. Kusumasari Ayuningtyas, “Police Links Killed Siyono with Neo Jamaah Islamiyah,” The Jakarta Post, March 15, 2016. 6. Satria, “The Neo-​JI Threat.” 7. Amy Chew, “Why a Resurgent Jemaah Islamiah in Indonesia Is Also Bad News for Malaysia and Singapore,” South China Morning Post, July 7, 2019, https://​www. scmp.com/​week-​asia/​society/​article/​3017465/​why-​resurgent-​jemaah-​islamiah​indonesia-​also-​bad-​news-​malaysia

312 Notes 8. Satria, “The Neo-​JI Threat.” 9. Chew, “Why a Resurgent Jemaah Islamiah in Indonesia Is Also Bad News for Malaysia and Singapore.” 10. Nasir Abbas, Membongkar Jamaah Islamiyah: Pengakuan Mantan Anggota JI (Inside Jamaah Islamiyah: The Experience of a Former JI Member) (Jakarta: Penerbit Grafindo Khazanah Ilmu, 2005). 11. Ali Imron, Ali Imron Sang Pengebom (Ali Imron the Bomber) (Jakarta: Penerbit Republika, 2007). 12. Imam Samudra, Aku Melawan Teroris (I Fight Terrorists) (Jazera: Solo, 2004). 13. Apart from rather paltry news reports, Wan Min Wan Mat has received very little attention in the wider literature. A small section about him is found in Kennimrod Sariburaja, Al-​Jamaah Al-​Islamiyyah (Kuala Lumpur: Southeast Asian Regional Centre for Counter-​Terrorism, 2013), 63–​64. 14. Valerie Chew, “Jemaah Islamiyah’s Bomb Plot Against Diplomatic Missions in Singapore, 2001/​2002,” Singapore Infopedia, 2009, http://​ere​sour​ces.nlb.gov.sg/​infope​ dia/​artic​les/​SIP_​14​11_​2​009-​01-​20.html. 15. Solahudin, The Roots of Terrorism in Indonesia: From Darul Islam to Jema’ah Islamiyah, translated by David McRae (Sydney: University of New South Wales Press/​ The Lowy Institute for International Policy, 2013) and Quinton Temby, “Imagining an Islamic State in Indonesia: From Darul Islam to Jemaah Islamiyah,” Indonesia no. 89 (April 2010): 1–​36. 16. Audrey R. Kahin, Islam, Nationalism and Democracy: A Political Biography of Mohammad Natsir (Singapore: NUS Press, 2012), 202. 17. C. Van Dijk, Rebellion Under the Banner of Islam: The Darul Islam in Indonesia (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1981), 45–​47. 18. Ramakrishna, Radical Pathways, 90; Solahudin, Roots of Terrorism, 120. 19. See Soluhudin, Roots of Terrorism, 12–​14. 20. Ruthven, A Fury for God, 203. 21. Solahudin, Roots of Terrorism, 139–​146. 22. Justin V. Hastings, No Man’s Land: Globalization, Territory and Clandestine Groups in Southeast Asia (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2010), 55; Solahudin, Roots of Terrorism, 156–​158. 23. For an explanation of the violence as the product of both internal psychological as well as external, physical “displacement,” see John T. Sidel, “The Manifold Meanings of Displacement: Explaining Inter-​Religious Violence, 1999–​2001,” in Conflict, Violence and Displacement in Indonesia, ed. Eva-​Lotta E. Hedman (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Southeast Asia Program, 2008), 29–​59. 24. Neighbour, In the Shadow of Swords, 256–​258. 25. Kumar Ramakrishna, “The Role of Civil Society in Countering Violent Extremism in Indonesia,” Middle East Institute, July 21, 2014, https://​www.mei.edu/​publi​cati​ons/​ role-​civil-​soci​ety-​cou​nter​ing-​viol​ent-​extrem​ism-​indone​sia . 26. Ramakrishna, Islamist Terrorism and Militancy in Indonesia, 188–​189; 212–​213; “Santoso: Indonesia Police Kill Most Wanted Militant,” BBC News, July 19, 2016, http://​www.bbc.com/​news/​world-​asia-​36833​933.

Notes  313 27. Ba’asyir was released in January 2021. Preeti Jha, “Abu Bakar Ba’asyir: Radical Cleric Linked to Bali Bombings Freed,” BBC News, January 8, 2021, https://​www.bbc.com/​ news/​world-​asia-​55583​154. 28. Matt Cianflone, Jason Cull, John Fisher, Dave Holt, Amanda Krause, Julie Moore, Anita Wadhwani, and Jared Yancey, Anatomy of a Terrorist Attack: An In-​depth Investigation into the 2002 Bali, Indonesia, Bombings (Pittsburgh, PA: Matthew B. Ridgway Center for International Security Studies, University of Pittsburgh, 2007), 100. 29. Jemaah Islamiyah in South East Asia: Damaged but Still Dangerous (Jakarta/​ Brussels: International Crisis Group Asia Report No. 63, August 2003), 11. 30. Conboy, The Second Front, 163. 31. Wan Min Wan Mat Lecture on Jemaah Islamiyah, Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, August 29, 2012. Hereafter referred to as WMWM Lecture. 32. Jemaah Islamiyah in South East Asia, 12. 33. Abuza, Militant Islam in Southeast Asia, 34, 161. 34. Southern Philippines Backgrounder: Terrorism and the Peace Process (Jakarta/​ Brussels: International Crisis Group Asia Report No. 80, July 2004), 14–​15. 35. Conboy, The Second Front, 135; WMWM Lecture. 36. Cianflone et al., Anatomy of a Terrorist Attack, 100. 37. Abuza, Militant Islam in Southeast Asia, 181. 38. Jemaah Islamiyah in South East Asia, 11. 39. Human Rights Watch, “Detained Without Trial: Abuse of Internal Security Act Detainees in Malaysia,” Human Rights Watch 17, no. 9C (September 2005): 9. 40. Elina Noor, “Al-​Ma’unah and KMM in Malaysia,” in A Handbook of Terrorism and Insurgency in Southeast Asia, ed. Andrew T. H. Tan (Cheltenham, UK: Edward Elgar Publishing, 2007), 183. 41. Eva C. Komandjaja, “JP/​Police to Question Malaysian Terror Suspect,” The Jakarta Post, March 24, 2005. 42. Personal communication, Malaysian government official, Kuala Lumpur, July 11, 2019. 43. Solahudin, Roots of Terrorism, 142. 44. WMWM Lecture. 45. WMWM Lecture. 46. Barbara W. Andaya and Yoneo Ishii, “Religious Developments in Southeast Asia, c. 1500–​1800,” in The Cambridge History of Southeast Asia: From c. 1500 to c. 1800, Volume One, Part Two, ed. Nicholas Tarling (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 171. 47. Andaya and Ishii, “Religious Developments in Southeast Asia, c. 1500–​1800,” in Cambridge History of Southeast Asia, Volume One, Part Two, ed. Tarling, 170–​171. 48. R. D. McAmis, Malay Muslims: The History and Challenge of Resurgent Islam in Southeast Asia (Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans, 2002), 17. 49. McAmis, Malay Muslims, 13, 44. 50. Andaya and Ishii, “Religious Developments in Southeast Asia,” in Cambridge History of Southeast Asia, Volume One, Part Two, ed. Tarling, 170.

314 Notes 51. Andaya and Ishii, “Religious Developments in Southeast Asia,” in Cambridge History of Southeast Asia, Volume One, Part Two, ed. Tarling, 170–​171. 52. Cited in Ramakrishna, Islamist Terrorism and Militancy in Indonesia, 135. 53. Ahmad Fauzi Abdul Hamid, The Extensive Salafization of Malaysian Islam (Singapore: ISEAS-​Yusuf Ishak Institute, 2016), 9. 54. Hamid, The Extensive Salafization of Malaysian Islam, 9. 55. Hamid, The Extensive Salafization of Malaysian Islam, 4–​5. 56. John Funston, “Malaysia,” in Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia: A Contemporary Sourcebook, compiled and eds. Greg Fealy and Virginia Hooker (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2006), 56. 57. Hamid, The Extensive Salafization of Malaysian Islam, 5. 58. Kahn, Other Malays, 94. 59. Kahn, Other Malays, 95. 60. Hamid, The Extensive Salafization of Malaysian Islam, 7. 61. Hamid, The Extensive Salafization of Malaysian Islam, 5–​8. 62. El Fadl, The Great Theft, 75–​76. 63. Holtmann, Abu Musab al-​Suri’s Jihad Concept, 11. 64. El Fadl, The Great Theft, 76. 65. Kahn, Other Malays, 95. 66. Hamid, The Extensive Salafization of Malaysian Islam, 6–​7. 67. Wagemakers, “Salafism.” 68. Hamid, The Extensive Salafization of Malaysian Islam, 7. 69. Wagemakers, “Salafism.” 70. Weismann, “A Perverted Balance,” 34, 48. 71. Meleagrou-​Hitchens, Salafism in America, 12. 72. Hamid, The Extensive Salafization of Malaysian Islam, 9–​10. In this context, by “Salafi” Hamid really means “Salafabist” in our terms. 73. Hamid, The Extensive Salafization of Malaysian Islam, 10. Aqidah is an Arabic term that means “creed.” 74. Hamid, The Extensive Salafization of Malaysian Islam, 5–​6; Mohd Azizuddin Mohd Sani, Islamization Policy and Islamic Bureaucracy in Malaysia (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2015), 4–​5. 75. Hamid, The Extensive Salafization of Malaysian Islam, 12. 76. Ahmad Fauzi Abdul Hamid, Political Islam and Islamist Politics in Malaysia (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2013), 13, 21. 77. Sani, Islamization Policy and Islamic Bureaucracy in Malaysia, 16–​22. 78. Sani, Islamization Policy and Islamic Bureaucracy in Malaysia, 1. 79. Mohd Azizuddin Mohd Sani, The Politics of Religious Expression in Malaysia (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2014), 6–​7. 80. Sani, The Politics of Religious Expression in Malaysia, 6–​7; Sani, Islamization Policy and Islamic Bureaucracy in Malaysia, 2. 81. Sani, The Politics of Religious Expression in Malaysia, 8. 82. Sani, The Politics of Religious Expression in Malaysia, 9. 83. Sani, The Politics of Religious Expression in Malaysia, 8–​9.

Notes  315 84. Adri Wanto and Abdul Mateen Qadri, “Islamic State: Understanding the Threat in Indonesia and Malaysia,” RSIS Commentary, October 29, 2015, https://​www.rsis. edu.sg/​wp-​cont​ent/​uplo​ads/​2015/​10/​CO15​231.pdf. 85. “Human Rights,” Attorney-​General’s Chambers of Malaysia, 2016, http://​www. agc.gov.my/​agcpor​tal/​index.php?r=​port​al2/​left&menu​_​id=​L2YvK​3oyc​E5FS​lg1N​ GNmT​GFJd​lNId​z09. For the full text of the ICCPR, see https://​www.ohchr.org/​en/​ profe​ssio​nali​nter​est/​pages/​ccpr.aspx. 86. WMWM Lecture. 87. Weismann, “A Perverted Balance,” 47. 88. WMWM Lecture. 89. Maher, Salafi-​Jihadism, 40. 90. WMWM Lecture. 91. Ramakrishna, Radical Pathways, 134–​135. 92. Neighbour, In the Shadow of Swords, 59. 93. Neighbour, In the Shadow of Swords, 60. 94. Neighbour, In the Shadow of Swords, 60. 95. Schuurman and Taylor, “Reconsidering Radicalization,” 13. 96. Savage and Liht, “Mapping Fundamentalisms,” 82. 97. El Fadl, The Great Theft, 99, 171. 98. WMWM Lecture. 99. WMWM Lecture. 100. WMWM Lecture. 101. WMWM Lecture. 102. WMWM Lecture. 103. Ruthven, A Fury for God, 103. 104. WMWM Lecture. 105. Fathali M. Moghaddam, From the Terrorists’ Point of View: What They Experience and Why They Come to Destroy (London: Praeger Security International, 2006). 106. WMWM Lecture. 107. WMWM Lecture. 108. WMWM Lecture. 109. WMWM Lecture. 110. WMWM Lecture. 111. WMWM Lecture. 112. Benesch, “Dangerous Speech.” 113. “Extract 15-​15: Abu Bakar Ba’asyir,” in Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia, eds. Fealy and Hooker, 443–​444. 114. “Extract 15-​15: Abu Bakar Ba’asyir,” in Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia, eds. Fealy and Hooker, 443–​444. 115. “Extract 14-​5: Imam Samudra,” in Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia, eds. Fealy and Hooker, 374–​377. 116. Ramakrishna, “Constructing” the Jemaah Islamiyah Terrorist, 45. 117. Herriot, Religious Fundamentalism and Social Identity, 11. 118. WMWM Lecture.

316 Notes 119. Solahudin, Roots of Terrorism, 139–​46. 120. WMWM Lecture. 121. WMWM Lecture. 122. WMWM Lecture. 123. “Jihad Against Jews and Crusaders,” February 23, 1998, http://​fas.org/​irp/​world/​ para/​docs/​980​223-​fatwa.htm. 124. WMWM Lecture. 125. WMWM Lecture. 126. Wood, The Way of the Strangers, 92. 127. Funston, “Malaysia,” in Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia, eds. Fealy and Hooker, 58. 128. WMWM Lecture. 129. Neighbour, In the Shadow of Swords, 125–​126. 130. Ramakrishna, Islamist Terrorism, 110–​119. 131. Noor, “Al-​ Ma’unah and KMM in Malaysia,” in Handbook of Terrorism and Insurgency in Southeast Asia, ed. Tan, 183. 132. WMWM Lecture. 133. WMWM Lecture. 134. WMWM Lecture. 135. WMWM Lecture. 136. WMWM Lecture. 137. This was based on guidance notes derived from a textbook on I’dad or “preparation” by Egyptian Islamic Jihad leader Abdul Qadir bin Abdul Aziz, better known in the West as “Dr Fadl.” 138. WMWM Lecture. 139. WMWM Lecture. 140. WMWM Lecture. 141. WMWM Lecture. 142. WMWM Lecture. 143. WMWM Lecture. 144. WMWM Lecture. 145. WMWM Lecture. 146. WMWM Lecture. 147. WMWM Lecture. 148. Neighbour, In the Shadow of Swords, 127. 149. Neighbour, In the Shadow of Swords, 120–​121. 150. Kumar Ramakrishna, “Jemaah Islamiah: Aims, Motivations and Possible Counter-​ Strategies,” RSIS Commentary, October 2, 2002, https://​www.rsis.edu.sg/​rsis-​publ​ icat​ion/​cens/​540-​jem​aah-​islam​iah-​aims-​moti​vat. 151. WMWM Lecture. 152. Maher, Salafi-​Jihadism, 113; Greg Fealy, “Islamic Radicalism in Indonesia: The Faltering Revival?,” Southeast Asian Affairs 2004 (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2004), 112–​113. 153. Hamid, Political Islam and Islamist Politics in Malaysia, 5–​6; Sani, Islamization Policy and Islamic Bureaucracy in Malaysia, 4–​5.

Notes  317 154. Hamid, The Extensive Salafization of Malaysian Islam, 12. 155. Funston, “Malaysia,” in Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia, eds. Fealy and Hooker, 56. 156. Sani, Islamization Policy and Islamic Bureaucracy in Malaysia, 5. 157. Funston, “Malaysia,” in Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia, eds. Fealy and Hooker, 55. 158. Hamid, Political Islam and Islamist Politics in Malaysia, 6. 159. Funston, “Malaysia,” in Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia, eds. Fealy and Hooker, 54–​55. 160. Funston, “Malaysia,” in Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia, eds. Fealy and Hooker, 54–​55. 161. Sani, Islamization Policy and Islamic Bureaucracy in Malaysia, 13. 162. “Extract 12-​18: Abdullah Badawi,” in Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia, eds. Fealy and Hooker, 257–​258. 163. Hamid, Political Islam and Islamist Politics in Malaysia, 8. 164. “Extract 12-​17: Farish A. Noor,” in Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia, eds. Fealy and Hooker, 254. 165. “Extract 12-​17: Farish A. Noor,” in Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia, eds. Fealy and Hooker, 254. 166. Ahmad Fauzi Abdul Hamid, “ISIS in Southeast Asia: Internalized Wahhabism Is a Factor,” Perspective no. 24 (May 15, 2016), https://​www.iseas.edu.sg/​ima​ges/​pdf/​ ISEAS_​Pers​pect​ive_​2016​_​24.pdf. 167. Jacob Poushter, “Extremism Concerns Growing in West and Predominantly Muslim Countries,” Pew Research Center Global Attitudes and Trends, July 16, 2015, http://​w ww.pewglo​bal.org/​2015/​07/​16/​extrem​ism-​conce​rns-​grow​ing-​in-​west-​ and-​predom​inan​tly-​mus​lim-​countr​ies/​. 168. Wanto and Qadri, “Islamic State: Understanding the Threat in Indonesia and Malaysia.” 169. Wanto and Qadri, “Islamic State: Understanding the Threat in Indonesia and Malaysia.” 170. “Malaysia Says Islamic State May Shift Operations to Southeast Asia,” Reuters, November 27, 2019, https://​www.reut​ers.com/​arti​cle/​us-​malay​sia-​secur​ity-​ idUSKB​N1Y1​0JV . 171. Farouk A. Peru, “The Mufti of Pahang and His ‘Kafir Harbi’,” Malay Mail, June 27, 2016, https://​www.malaym​ail.com/​news/​opin​ion/​2016/​06/​27/​the-​mufti-​of-​pah​ ang-​and-​his-​kafir-​harbi/​1149​941. 172. Abdel-​Samad, Islamic Fascism, 155. 173. Kelly Koh, “Jaim Chief Reiterates Advice That Even Non-​Muslims Should ‘Dress Decently’ in Public,” New Straits Times, April 22, 2017, https://​www.nst.com.my/​ news/​nat​ion/​2017/​04/​233​028/​jaim-​chief-​rei​tera​tes-​adv​ice-​even-​non-​musl​ims-​sho​ uld-​dress-​decen​tly. 174. Arlina Arshad, “Johor’ Malays Tilt Now Towards Conservative Islam: Survey,” The Straits Times, November 19, 2017, A8. 175. Shannon Teoh, “Malaysian Preacher Arrested for Sedition After Criticising Johor Sultan’s Decree Against Muslim-​only Launderette,” The Straits Times, October 11,

318 Notes 2017,  http://​www.strai​tsti​mes.com/​asia/​se-​asia/​malays​ian-​preac​her-​apo​logi​ses-​ over-​comme​nts-​crit​icis​ing-​johor-​sult​ans-​dec​ree-​agai​nst. 176. Hamid, The Extensive Salafization of Malaysian Islam, 20–​22. 177. “Zahid Defends Cleric’s Role in Deradicalizing Jailed Terrorists,” The Straits Times, November 21, 2017, A23. 178. Arshad, “Johor’s Malays.” 179. “Zahid Defends Cleric’s Role.” 180. Hamid, The Extensive Salafization of Malaysian Islam, 19–​20. 181. Stahlhut, “In Interview, Top Indonesian Muslim Scholar Says Stop Pretending That Orthodox Islam and Violence Aren’t Linked.” 182. Nasir et al., Muslims in Singapore, 11. 183. The previous Pakatan Harapan government reportedly terminated Zamihan’s contract with the Prison Department’s deradicalization program in August 2018, although Zamihan himself denied this, adding that he was merely recalled to JAKIM and that his “loan” to the Home Affairs Ministry—​which oversees the Prisons Department—​had merely ended. Adam Abu Bakar, “Controversial Jakim Officer Zamihan’s Contract terminated,” Free Malaysia Today, August 23, 2018, https://​ www.freema​lays​iato​day.com/​categ​ory/​nat​ion/​2018/​08/​23/​contro​vers​ial-​jakim-​offi​ cer-​zamih​ans-​contr​act-​ter​mina​ted. 184. Arshad, “Johor’s Malays.” 185. Arshad, “Johor’s Malays.” 186. “Malaysia’s Sultans Express Concern That Religious Controversies Are Splitting the Country,” TODAY, October 11, 2017, http://​www.toda​yonl​ine.com/​world/​malays​ ias-​sult​ans-​expr​ess-​conc​ern-​religi​ous-​contro​vers​ies-​are-​splitt​ing-​coun​try. 187. “Malaysia’s Sultans Express Concern That Religious Controversies Are Splitting the Country.” 188. Discussion with researchers at the Centre for Policy Research and International Studies (CenPRIS), Universiti Sains Malaysia (USM), Penang, Malaysia, March 4, 2019. See https://​cenp​ris.usm.my/​ for more details of this think tank. 189. CenPRIS discussion. 190. Hamid, The Extensive Salafization of Malaysian Islam, 18–​19. 191. Arshad, “Johor’s Malays.” 192. Arshad, “Johor’s Malays.” 193. Arshad, “Johor’s Malays.” 194. James Chin, remarks at forum on “Religion, Extremism and Identity Politics,” organized by Institute of Policy Studies, Lee Kuan Yew School of Public Policy, Singapore, July 24, 2019. 195. Chin, remarks at forum on “Religion, Extremism and Identity Politics.” 196. Chin, remarks at forum on “Religion, Extremism and Identity Politics.” 197. Trinna Leong, “Private Islamic Schools Mushrooming in Malaysia,” The Straits Times, June 28, 2017, https://​www.strai​tsti​mes.com/​asia/​se-​asia/​priv​ate-​isla​mic-​ scho​ols-​mush​room​ing-​in-​malay​sia. 198. Chin, remarks at forum on “Religion, Extremism and Identity Politics.” 199. CenPris discussion.

Notes  319 200. CenPris discussion; Chin, remarks at forum on “Religion, Extremism and Identity Politics.” 201. James Chin, “Malaysia Takes a Turn to the Right, and Many of Its People Are Worried,” The Conversation, March 5, 2020, https://​thec​onve​rsat​ion.com/​malay​sia-​ takes-​a-​turn-​to-​the-​right-​and-​many-​of-​its-​peo​ple-​are-​worr​ied-​132​865. 202. Discussion with the Penang Institute, Penang, Malaysia, March 4, 2019. See https://​ pena​ngin​stit​ute.org/​ for more details of this think tank. 203. CenPris discussion. 204. “Kumpulan Militan Malaysia,” in Dictionary of the Modern Politics of Southeast Asia, ed. Joseph Chinyong Liow, 4th edition (London: Routledge, 2015), 221. 205. “In a Kedah Madrasah, Students Told to Follow Slain Jihadist,” The Edgemarkets. com, January 16, 2015, https://​www.the​edge​mark​ets.com/​arti​cle/​kedah-​madra​sah-​ stude​nts-​told-​fol​low-​slain-​jihad​ist. 206. “Ex-​PAS Man Dies of Injuries in Syria,” New Straits Times, September 15, 2014, https://​www.nst.com.my/​news/​2015/​09/​ex-​pas-​man-​lotfi-​dies-​injur​ies-​syria. 207. Teoh Pei Ying, “PH Now Comprises PKR, DAP and Amanah,” New Straits Times, March 13, 2020, https://​www.nst.com.my/​news/​polit​ics/​2020/​03/​574​398/​ph-​now-​ compri​ses-​pkr-​dap-​and-​ama​nah. 208. Ram Anand, “We Are Not Ideologically Similar to PAS, Amanah Tells MCA,” Malay Mail, July 7, 2017, https://​www.malaym​ail.com/​news/​malay​sia/​2017/​07/​07/​we-​are-​ not-​ideolo​gica​lly-​simi​lar-​to-​pas-​ama​nah-​tells-​mca/​1415​497. 209. Riaz Hassan has also described PAS as “Salafabist.” He considers it “moderate” in that it does not seek to attain an Islamic state in Malaysia by use of direct force. Hassan, Inside Muslim Minds, 47. 210. Penang Institute discussion.

Chapter 4 1. “Press Release: Detentions and Releases Under the Internal Security Act,” Ministry of Home Affairs, Singapore, July 29, 2016. 2. “Press Release: Detentions and Releases Under the Internal Security Act.” 3. “Press Release: Detentions and Releases Under the Internal Security Act.” 4. “Press Release: Detentions and Releases Under the Internal Security Act.” 5. Mike Millard, Jihad in Paradise: Islam and Politics in Southeast Asia (New York: East Gate, 2004), 58–​59. 6. Lim Yan Liang, “Singaporean Zulfikar Mohamad Shariff, 44, Detained Under ISA for Promoting Violence and ISIS, Radicalising Others,” The Straits Times, July 29, 2016, https://​www.strai​tsti​mes.com/​singap​ore/​44-​year-​old-​sing​apor​ean-​detai​ned-​ under-​isa-​for-​promot​ing-​viole​nce-​and-​isis-​radic​alis​ing. 7. Charlene Tan, “Functionalising Islam: The Schooling Experiences of Malay Muslims in Singapore,” HIKMA: Journal of Islamic Theology and Religious Education 3, no. 5 (October 2012): 185 (174–​186).

320 Notes 8. Millard, Jihad in Paradise, 60. 9. This was the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade’s (DFAT’s) Special Visits Program, where I spent a week in March 2003 lecturing on university campuses and meeting Australian scholars, community activists, and government officials in Canberra, Melbourne, and Perth. I remain grateful to DFAT for the eye-​opening and educational experience. 10. He had expressed similar sentiments to Mike Millard as well: Jihad in Paradise, 59. 11. Personal communication, Monash University, Melbourne, Australia, March 2003. 12. “Press Release: Detentions and Releases Under the Internal Security Act.” 13. “Press Release: Detentions and Releases Under the Internal Security Act.” 14. Kumar Ramakrishna, “From Radicalism to Extremism: The Case of Zulfikar Mohamad Shariff,” TODAY, August 1, 2016, https://​www.toda​yonl​ine.com/​com​ment​ ary/​rad​ical​ism-​extrem​ism-​case-​zulfi​kar-​moha​mad-​shar​iff. 15. https://​www.world​omet​ers.info/​world-​pop​ulat​ion/​singap​ore-​pop​ulat​ion. 16. General Household Survey 2015 (Singapore: Department of Statistics, Ministry of Trade and Industry, 2015). 17. Nasir et al., Muslims in Singapore, 5. 18. Robert O. Tilman, Southeast Asia and the Enemy Beyond: ASEAN Perceptions of External Threats (Boulder, CO: Westview, 1987); see also Lee Kuan Yew, The Singapore Story: Memoirs of Lee Kuan Yew (Singapore: Times Editions, 1998). 19. Raj Vasil, A Citizen’s Guide to Government and Politics in Singapore (Singapore: Talisman Publishing, 2004). 20. “Constitution of the Republic of Singapore,” https://​sso.agc.gov.sg/​Act/​CONS1​ 963?Prov​Ids=​P1IV-​#pr15-​. 21. “The Meaning and Importance of the Rule of Law,” Keynote Address by Professor S. Jayakumar, Deputy Prime Minister, Coordinating Minister for National Security and Minister for Law, International Bar Association Symposium on Rule of Law, Singapore, October 19, 2007. 22. Mohammad Alami Musa, “Inter-​faith Dialogue in Singapore Must Go Deeper,” The Straits Times, October 27, 2017, http://​www.strai​tsti​mes.com/​opin​ion/​inter-​faith-​ dialo​gue-​in-​singap​ore-​must-​go-​dee​per. 23. “DPM on AWARE Saga,” The Straits Times, May 15, 2009. 24. Although Singapore has yet to ratify the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR), it has ratified the somewhat related International Convention on All Forms of Racial Discrimination (CERD). See the UN Treaty Body Database at https://​ tbi​nter​net.ohchr.org/​_​layo​uts/​15/​Tre​atyB ​odyE​xter​nal/​Tre​aty.aspx?Countr​yID=​ 157&Lang=​EN. 25. Hussin Mutalib, “Singapore Muslims: The Quest for Identity in a Modern City-​State,” Journal of Muslim Minority Affairs 26, no. 3 (December 2005): 57–​58. 26. “DPM on AWARE Saga.” 27. “DPM on AWARE Saga.” 28. “DPM on AWARE Saga.” 29. “2 Foreign Christian Preachers Barred From Speaking in Singapore for Anti-​Islam, Anti-​Buddhist Comments,” Channel NewsAsia, September 8, 2017, https://​lky​spp.

Notes  321 nus.edu.sg/​docs/​defa​ult-​s ou​rce/​ips/​cna_​2-​fore​ign-​christ ​ian-​preach​ers-​bar​red-​ from-​speak​ing-​in-​singa​pore​_​080​917-​pdf.pdf?sfv​rsn=​3dc​49f0​b_​0 . 30. Wong Kan Seng, “The Single Most Important Principle in Our Approach is to Build Common Spaces,” August 2, 2009. 31. “PM Lee Hsien Loong at the Official Opening of the Singapore Chinese Cultural Centre,” May 19, 2017, http://​www.pmo.gov.sg/​newsr​oom/​pm-​lee-​hsien-​loong-​offic​ ial-​open​ing-​singap​ore-​chin​ese-​cultu​ral-​cen​tre. 32. For background on the National Pledge, see https://​www.nhb.gov.sg/​what-​we-​do/​ our-​work/​commun​ity-​eng​agem​ent/​educat​ion/​resour​ces/​natio​nal-​symb​ols/​natio​ nal-​ple​dge. 33. K. Shanmugam, “The Need to Secure Position of Minorities, Common Space,” The Straits Times, February 2, 2017, http://​www.strai​tsti​mes.com/​singap​ore/​the-​need-​to-​ sec​ure-​posit​ion-​of-​min​orit​ies-​com​mon-​space. 34. Shanmugam, “The Need to Secure Position of Minorities, Common Space.” 35. See “Part 8: General Provisions,” https://​sso.agc.gov.sg/​Act/​CONS1​963?ValidD​ate=​ 20170​401&Prov​Ids=​P1X​III-​. 36. Zulfikar Mohamad Shariff, “Fateha.com: Challenging Control over Malay/​Muslim Voices in Singapore,” in Asian Cyberactivism: Freedom of Expression and Media Censorship, eds. S. Gan, J. Gomez, and U. Johannen (Bangkok: Friedrich Naumann Foundation, 2004), 318–​324. 37. Zulfikar Shariff, “Denial of Singapore Malay History,” Ismaweb, January 25, 2016, http://​isma​web.net/​2016/​01/​den​ial-​of-​singap​ore-​malay-​hist​ory-​zulfi​kar-​shar​iff. 38. Zulfikar Shariff, “‘Melayu’ as a Nation,” Ismaweb, January 16, 2016, http://​isma​web. net/​2016/​01/​mel​ayu-​as-​a-​nat​ion-​zulfi​kar-​shar​iff. 39. Shariff, “ ‘Melayu’ as a Nation.” 40. Shariff, “ ‘Melayu’ as a Nation.” 41. Shariff, “Denial of Singapore Malay History.” 42. Terence Nunis, a Singaporean ex-​Roman Catholic turned Muslim, kept track of Zulfikar’s many social media postings between June and December 2016, coinciding with the rise of the so-​called ISIS caliphate in the Middle East. Zulfikar’s postings were also widely cited by the national media. Nunis kept track in order to support the authorities’ detention of Zulfikar in July 2016. See Nunis’ blog, A Muslim Convert Once More, July 30, 2016, http://​amu​slim​conv​erto​ncem​ore.blogs​pot.com/​2016/​07/​ the-​den​tent​ion-​of-​zulfi​kar-​bin-​moha​mad.html. 43. Millard, Jihad in Paradise, 60. 44. Interview with “MOB,” Singapore, August 27, 2019. MOB is a Singaporean Muslim academic who is a specialist on Islamism in the region. 45. Cited in Nunis, A Muslim Convert Once More. 46. Interview with “Ustaz MA,” Singapore, August 13, 2019. Ustaz MA is a trained Singaporean Islamic scholar who has closely studied the ideology of JI. 47. Walid Jumblatt Abdullah, “Religious Representation in Secular Singapore: A Case Study of MUIS and Pergas,” Asian Survey 53, no. 6 (November/​December 2013): 1185. 48. John Funston, “Singapore,” in Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia, eds. Fealy and Hooker, 75.

322 Notes 49. Funston, “Singapore,” in Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia, eds. Fealy and Hooker, 74. 50. A. R. Zurairi, “The Singaporean Muslim Identity,” The Malay Mail, May 29, 2016, https://​www.malaym​ail.com/​news/​opin​ion/​2016/​05/​29/​the-​sing​apor​ean-​mus​lim-​ ident​ity/​1129​743. 51. See the MUIS website, https://​www.muis.gov.sg/​About-​MUIS/​Vis​ion-​Miss​ion. See also Loh Chee Kong, “New Worry: Homemade Extremists,” TODAY, June 2, 2007. 52. Abdullah, “Religious Representation in Secular Singapore,” 1191–​1192. 53. Abdullah, “Religious Representation in Secular Singapore,” 1192. 54. MOB interview. 55. See https://​www.muis.gov.sg/​ie/​Pro​gram​mes/​Adu​lts/​ADIL-​Modu​les-​and-​Cou​rse-​ Struct​ure#footno​te9. 56. Ustaz MA interview. 57. MOB interview. 58. Cited in Nunis, A Muslim Convert Once More. 59. Cited in Nunis, A Muslim Convert Once More. 60. Yusuf Sulaiman, “Reflections on the Singapore Muslim Identity,” Karyawan: Professionals for the Community 9, no. 2 (January 2009): 2–​4. 61. Shariff, “ ‘Melayu’ as a Nation.” 62. Kahn, Other Malays, 82. 63. For a good summary of this issue, see Kamal Mamat, “Beyond Tokenism, Malays, Integration and the SAF,” The Online Citizen, November 6, 2007, http://​theon​line​ citi​zen.com/​2007/​11/​bey​ond-​token​ism-​mal​ays-​inte​grat​ion-​and-​the-​saf/​. The first Malay-​Muslim general officer was appointed in June 2009. See Nicholas Yong, “SAF’s First Malay General,” The Straits Times, June 26, 2009, http://​www.asia​one.com/​ News/​Asia​One%2BN​ews/​Singap​ore/​Story/​A1St​ory2​0090​626-​151​072.html. 64. See Yang Razali Kassim, “Remodelling the Madrasah in Singapore: Past, Present and Future,” Karyawan 9, no. 1 (July 2008), 25-​27. https://​www.amp.org.sg/​wp-​cont​ent/​ uplo​ads/​2017/​06/​Karyaw​an_​V​ol9-​Iss​ue1.pdf. 65. Eugene K. B. Tan, “Country Report: Singapore,” in Keeping the Faith: A Study of Freedom of Thought, Conscience and Religion in ASEAN, eds. David Cohen, Kevin Tan, Michelle S. Kelsall, and Faith S. D.,R. Kong (Depok, West Java: University of Indonesia Human Rights Resource Centre, 2015), 430. 66. Interview with Ustaz Muhammad Haniff Bin Hassan, Singapore, October 25, 2007. Ustaz Haniff is a trained Islamic scholar who is engaged in counter-​ideological work in Singapore. He is the author of Unlicensed to Kill: Countering Imam Samudra’s Justification for the Bali Bombing (Singapore: Peace Matters, 2006). 67. See the MENDAKI website for some pertinent socioeconomic facts and figures on the Singapore Muslim community, at https://​www.mend​aki.org.sg/​home-​2. 68. See Nur Dianah Suhaimi, “Feeling Like the Least Favorite Child,” The Straits Times, August 17, 2008, http://​nofe​arsi​ngap​ore.blogs​pot.com/​2009/​07/​feel​ing-​like-​least-​ favour​ite-​child-​by.html. 69. Haniff interview, October 25, 2007. 70. Interview with Dr. Mohamed Bin Ali, October 25, 2007. Ali, a trained Islamic scholar, has been personally involved in counseling Singaporean JI detainees.

Notes  323 71. Ali interview, October 25, 2007. 72. Kumar Ramakrishna, “A Holistic Critique of Singapore’s Counter-​ Ideological Program,” CTC Sentinel 2, no. 1 (January 2009), 2, https://​ctc.usma.edu/​a-​holis​tic-​ criti​que-​of-​sin​gapo​res-​coun​ter-​ideo​logi​cal-​prog​ram. 73. Kassim, “Remodelling the Madrasah in Singapore.” 74. Abdullah, “Religious Representation in Secular Singapore,” 1193. 75. Abdullah, “Religious Representation in Secular Singapore,” 1193. 76. Charlene Tan, “(Re)imagining the Muslim Identity in Singapore,” Studies in Ethnicity and Nationalism 8, no. 1 (2008): 9. 77. Tan, “(Re)imagining the Muslim Identity in Singapore.” 78. Tan, “(Re)imagining the Muslim Identity in Singapore.” 79. Charlene Tan and D. B. Abbas, “Reform in Madrasah Education: The Singapore Experience,” in Rethinking Madrasah Edcuation in the Globalised World, ed. M. Abu Bakar (New York: Routledge, 2017), 8. 80. Shariff, “Fateha.com,” in Asian Cyberactivism, eds. Gan et al., 341. 81. Millard, Jihad in Paradise, 57. 82. Abdullah, “Religious Representation in Secular Singapore,” 1193–​1194. 83. Abdullah, “Religious Representation in Secular Singapore,” 1193–​1194. 84. Tan, “Functionalising Islam,” 184. 85. Tan, “Functionalising Islam,” 185. 86. Millard, Jihad in Paradise, 56–​57. 87. Cited in Nunis, A Muslim Convert Once More. 88. Cited in Nunis, A Muslim Convert Once More. 89. Linette Heng, “He Planned to Set Up Islamic State Here,” The New Paper, July 30, 2016, https://​www.tnp.sg/​news/​singap​ore/​he-​plan​ned-​set-​isla​mic-​state-​here. 90. Ustaz MA interview. 91. MOB interview. 92. MOB interview. See also Jasmine C., “Bet You Never Knew These Things About ISA-​Detainee Zulfikar Shariff,” https://​www.unsc​ramb​led.sg/​2016/​07/​29/​bet-​you-​ never-​knew-​these-​about-​isa-​detai​nee-​zulki​far-​shar​iff. 93. Ustaz MA interview. 94. MOB interview. 95. Raymond Ibrahim, “Islam’s War Doctrines Ignored,” Middle East Strategy at Harvard, John M. Olin Institute for Strategic Studies, Harvard University, May 29, 2008, http://​blogs.harv​ard.edu/​mesh/​2008/​05/​islam​s_​wa​r_​do​ctri​nes_​igno​red. 96. Ibrahim, “Islam’s War Doctrines Ignored.” 97. Ustaz MA interview. 98. MOB interview. 99. Ustaz MA interview. 100. Heng, “He Planned to Set Up Islamic State Here.” 101. Savage and Liht, “Mapping Fundamentalisms,” 82. 102. Schuurman and Taylor, “Reconsidering Radicalization,” 13. 103. Cited in Nunis, A Muslim Convert Once More. 104. Cited in Nunis, A Muslim Convert Once More.

324 Notes 105. Cited in Nunis, A Muslim Convert Once More. 106. Cited in Nunis, A Muslim Convert Once More. 107. Ustaz MA interview. 108. Cited in Nunis, A Muslim Convert Once More. 109. Cited in Nunis, A Muslim Convert Once More. 110. Cited in Nunis, A Muslim Convert Once More. 111. Cited in Nunis, A Muslim Convert Once More. 112. Cited in Nunis, A Muslim Convert Once More. 113. Cited in Nunis, A Muslim Convert Once More. 114. Cited in Nunis, A Muslim Convert Once More. 115. Cited in Nunis, A Muslim Convert Once More. 116. Cited in Nunis, A Muslim Convert Once More. 117. Cited in Nunis, A Muslim Convert Once More. 118. “Press Release: Detentions and Releases Under the Internal Security Act.” 119. “Zulfikar’s Views of Extremist Islamic Organisations Has Changed Since 2015, Family of Man Detained Under ISA Claims,” The Independent, August 2, 2016, http://​the​inde​pend​ent.sg/​zulfik​ars-​views-​of-​extrem​ist-​isla​mic-​organi​sati​ons-​has-​ chan​ged-​since-​2015-​fam​ily-​of-​man-​detai​ned-​under-​isa-​cla​ims. 120. Laura Elizabeth Philomin, “Statement by ISA Detainee’s Family Misleading: MHA,” TODAY, August 2, 2016, https://​www.toda​yonl​ine.com/​singap​ore/​isa-​detain​ees-​ fam​ily-​reb​uts-​govt-​accu​sati​ons. 121. Nunis, A Muslim Convert Once More. 122. MOB interview. 123. MOB interview. 124. MOB interview; Ustaz MA interview. 125. Ustaz MA interview. 126. Ustaz MA interview. 127. MOB interview. 128. “Press Release: Detentions and Releases Under the Internal Security Act.” 129. Scott Shane, “The Enduring Influence of Anwar al-​Awlaki in the Age of the Islamic State,” CTC Sentinel 9, no. 7 (July 2016), 18, https://​www.ctc.usma.edu/​the-​endur​ ing-​influe​nce-​of-​anwar-​al-​awl​aki-​in-​the-​age-​of-​the-​isla​mic-​state. 130. “Al-​Awlaki: Who Was He?” Security Blogs CNN.com, September 30, 2011, https://​ secur​ity.blogs.cnn.com/​2011/​09/​30/​al-​awl​aki-​who-​was-​he. 131. Shane, “The Enduring Influence of Anwar al-​Awlaki in the Age of the Islamic State,” 16. 132. Josh Meyer, “Anwar Al-​Awlaki: The Radical Cleric Inspiring Terror from Beyond the Grave,” NBC News, September 21, 2016, https://​w ww.nbcn​ews.com/​ news/​us-​news/​anwar-​a l-​awl​a ki-​radi​cal-​cle​r ic-​inspir​ing-​ter​ror-​b ey​ond-​g rave-​ n651​296. 133. Shane, “The Enduring Influence of Anwar al-​Awlaki in the Age of the Islamic State,” 18. 134. Shane, “The Enduring Influence of Anwar al-​Awlaki in the Age of the Islamic State,” 18.

Notes  325 135. Shane, “The Enduring Influence of Anwar al-​Awlaki in the Age of the Islamic State,” 18. 136. Ramakrishna, “Self-​Radicalisation and the Awlaki Connection”; “Arrests of 27 Radicalised Bangladeshi Nationals under the Internal Security Act,” Ministry of Home Affairs, January 20, 2016, https://​www.mha.gov.sg/​newsr​oom/​press-​rele​ase/​ news/​arre​sts-​of-​27-​radi​cali​sed-​bang​lade​shi-​nation​als-​under-​the-​inter​nal-​secur​ ity-​act. 137. See Shariff, “Fateha.com: Challenging Control over Malay/​ Muslim Voices in Singapore,” in Asian Cyberactivism, eds. Gan et al., passim. 138. Shariff, “Fateha.com: Challenging Control over Malay/​Muslim Voices in Singapore,” in Asian Cyberactivism, eds. Gan et al., 318; Lily Zubaidah Rahim, The Singapore Dilemma: The Political and Economic Marginality of the Malay Community (Kual Lumpur: Oxford University Press, 2001). 139. Rahim, The Singapore Dilemma. 140. Lily Zubaidah Rahim, Governing Islam and Regulating Muslims in Singapore’s Secular Authoritarian State (Sydney: University of Sydney Asia Research Centre, July 2009), 22–​23. 141. Juergensmeyer, Terror in the Mind of God, 184. 142. Jones, Blood That Cries Out from the Earth, 121–​122, 134–​138. 143. Jones, Blood That Cries Out from the Earth, 121–​122, 134–​138. 144. Abdullah, “Religious Representation in Secular Singapore,” 1197. 145. Abdullah, “Religious Representation in Secular Singapore,” 1197–​1202. 146. Shariff, “Fateha.com: Challenging Control over Malay/​Muslim Voices in Singapore,” in Asian Cyberactivism, eds. Gan et al., 339. 147. Shariff, “Fateha.com: Challenging Control over Malay/​Muslim Voices in Singapore,” in Asian Cyberactivism, eds. Gan et al., 339. 148. Shariff, “Fateha.com: Challenging Control over Malay/​Muslim Voices in Singapore,” in Asian Cyberactivism, eds. Gan et al., 342. 149. Shariff, “Fateha.com: Challenging Control over Malay/​Muslim Voices in Singapore,” in Asian Cyberactivism, eds. Gan et al., 342–​343. 150. Shariff, “Fateha.com: Challenging Control over Malay/​Muslim Voices in Singapore,” in Asian Cyberactivism, eds. Gan et al., 343. 151. Shariff, “Fateha.com: Challenging Control over Malay/​Muslim Voices in Singapore,” in Asian Cyberactivism, eds. Gan et al., 343. 152. MOB interview. 153. MOB interview; Shariff, “Fateha.com: Challenging Control over Malay/​Muslim Voices in Singapore,” in Asian Cyberactivism, eds. Gan et al., 349–​350. 154. Jose Raymond, “Fateha.com Fugitive wants to Return,” TODAY, December 10, 2004, http://​www.thin​kcen​tre.org/​arti​cle.php?id=​2516. 155. “Singapore Arrests Facebook-​based Tahrir Preacher,” Dhaka Tribune, August 1, 2016, https://​www.dhaka​trib​une.com/​ban​glad​esh/​2016/​07/​30/​singap​ore-​arre​sts-​ faceb​ook-​based-​tah​rir-​preac​her. 156. “ Singapore Arrests Facebook-​based Tahrir Preacher.” 157. “ Singapore Arrests Facebook-​based Tahrir Preacher.”

326 Notes 158. “Muslims in Australia; Considerations in Setting an Agenda.” 159. Lim, “Singaporean Zulfikar Mohamad Shariff, 44, Detained Under ISA for Promoting Violence.” 160. MOB interview. 161. Ustaz MA interview. 162. MOB interview. 163. Bryant Hevesi and Sam Duncan, “‘You Know What the Islamic Position Is’: Islamist Extremist Leader Stares Down a Former Muslim and Says He Should DIE for Renouncing His Faith,” Daily Mail Australia, August 29, 2018, https://​www.dailym​ ail.co.uk/​news/​arti​cle-​6108​733/​Islam​ist-​extrem​ist-​lea​der-​sta​res-​for​mer-​Mus​lim-​ says-​DIE-​ren​ounc​ing-​faith.html. 164. Geoff Chambers, “Sheikh Ismail al-​Wahwah: A Sinister Player in a World of Radicals,” Daily Telegraph (Australia), October 10, 2014, https://​www.dai​lyte​legr​ aph.com.au/​news/​nsw/​she​ikh-​ism​ail-​alwah​wah-​a-​sinis​ter-​pla​yer-​in-​a-​world-​of-​ radic​als/​news-​story/​e50bb​fc5a​d8fb​3e04​e214​35ea​8761​015. 165. Chambers, “Sheikh Ismail al-​Wahwah.” 166. Chambers, “Sheikh Ismail al-​Wahwah”; Lim, “Singaporean Zulfikar Mohamad Shariff, 44, Detained Under ISA for Promoting Violence.” 167. “Melbourne ‘Tinnie Terrorist’ Leader Jailed for Seven Years over Philippines Plot,” The Guardian Australia, May 3, 2019, https://​www.theg​uard​ian.com/​austra​lia-​ news/​2019/​may/​03/​melbou​rne-​tin​nie-​terror​ist-​lea​der-​jai​led-​for-​seven-​years-​ over-​phil​ippi​nes-​plot. 168. MOB interview. 169. Wood, The Way of the Strangers, 98. 170. “Press Release: Detentions and Releases Under the Internal Security Act.” 171. Ramakrishna, “The Growth of ISIS Extremism in Southeast Asia.” 172. “Hate Preacher Returns to London Home,” The National, May 6, 2019, https://​www. then​atio​nal.ae/​world/​eur​ope/​hate-​preac​her-​retu​rns-​to-​lon​don-​home-​1.858​090. 173. “Arrahmah’s Exclusive Interview with Shaikh Anjem Choudary,” Arrahmah.com, November 11, 2010, https://​www.arrah​mah.com/​arrahm​ahs-​exclus​ive-​interv​iew-​ with-​sha​ikh-​anjem-​choud​ary.. 174. K. Chandra, “S’porean Terror Detainee Zulfikar Shariff Supported Osama & Terrorism Since 2001,” All Singapore Stuff, July 29, 2016, https://​www.allsin​gapo​rest​ uff.com/​arti​cle/​spor​ean-​ter​ror-​detai​nee-​zulfi​kar-​shar​iff-​suppor​ted-​osama-​terror​ ism-​2001. 175. Some analysis in this section expands upon material that first appeared in Kumar Ramakrishna, “Diagnosing ‘Extremism’: The Case of ‘Muscular’ Secularism in Singapore,” Behavioral Sciences of Terrorism and Political Aggression 11, no. 1 (January 2019), 26–​47. 176. “Singapore Government’s Decision to Ban Mufti Menk Draws Mixed Reactions from Netizens,” The Independent, October 30, 2017, http://​www.the​inde​pend​ent. sg/​singap​ore-​gove​rnme​nts-​decis​ion-​to-​ban-​mufti-​menk-​draws-​mixed-​reacti​ons-​ from-​netiz​ens.

Notes  327 177. “ Singapore Government’s Decision to Ban Mufti Menk Draws Mixed Reactions from Netizens.” 178. “Singapore Government’s Decision to Ban Mufti Menk Draws Mixed Reactions from Netizens.” 179. “Singapore Government’s Decision to Ban Mufti Menk Draws Mixed Reactions from Netizens.” 180. See Zakir Naik’s position on this issue on HUDA TV, April 10, 2019, https://​www. yout​ube.com/​watch?v=​wNct​Eo0R​Ccw. 181. “MUZ Council of Islamic Scholars calls Singapore’s Ban of ‘Balanced and Moderate’ Mufti Menk ‘Misguided’,” The Independent, November 1, 2017, http://​www.the​inde​ pend​ent.sg/​muz-​coun​cil-​of-​isla​mic-​schol​ars-​calls-​sin​gapo​res-​ban-​of-​balan​ced-​ and-​moder​ate-​mufti-​menk-​misgui​ded. 182. “Singapore Government’s Decision to Ban Mufti Menk Draws Mixed Reactions from Netizens.” 183. “Singapore Government’s Decision to Ban Mufti Menk Draws Mixed Reactions from Netizens.” 184. “Reform Party’s Osman Sulaiman: Zulfikar Is Not a Radical, He Is My Friend,” All Singapore Stuff, July 30, 2016, https://​www.allsin​gapo​rest​uff.com/​arti​cle/​ref​orm-​ par​tys-​osman-​sulai​man-​zulfi​kar-​not-​radi​cal-​he-​my-​fri​end. 185. “2 Foreign Christian Preachers Barred From Speaking in Singapore.” 186. Gillian Wong, “Singapore Prosecutes Bloggers with Colonial-​Era Sedition Law,” Associated Press, October 1, 2005, http://​www.singap​ore-​win​dow.org/​sw05/​05100​ 1ap.htm. 187. Mutalib, “Singapore Muslims,” 57–​58. 188. “Administration of Muslim Law Act,” Singapore Infopedia, December 28, 2015, https://​ere​sour​ces.nlb.gov.sg/​infope​dia/​artic​les/​SIP_​2​015-​12-​29_​131​700.html. 189. Abdullah, “Religious Representation in Secular Singapore,” passim. 190. “Malay-​ Muslim Community Must Tackle 3 ‘Elements’ to Ensure Continued Progress, says Masagos Zulkifli,” Channel NewsAsia, May 14, 2018, https://​www. chan​neln​ewsa​sia.com/​news/​singap​ore/​malay-​mus​lim-​commun​ity-​tac​kle-​3-​eleme​ nts-​progr​ess-​masa​gos-​10232​318. 191. Nabilah Awang, “Malay-​Muslim Community Continues to be a Model for Success, Says Masagos, Citing Strong Pisa Showing,” TODAY, December 24, 2019, https://​ www.toda​ yonl ​ i ne.com/ ​ s ingap ​ ore/ ​ m alay- ​ mus​ l im-​ c ommun​ ity-​ c ontin​ u es-​ b e-​ model-​succ​ess-​says-​masa​gos-​cit​ing-​str​ong-​pisa-​show​ing. 192. Suhaimi, “Feeling Like the Least Favorite Child.” 193. Cook, Understanding Jihad, 141–​142. 194. “Singapore Says Zakir Naik, Ismail Menk a Threat to Multiracial Society,” Free Malaysia Today, September 14, 2017, http://​www.freema​lays​iato​day.com/​categ​ory/​ nat​ion/​2017/​09/​14/​singap​ore-​says-​zakir-​naik-​ism​ail-​menk-​a-​thr​eat-​to-​mult​irac​ ial-​soci​ety. 195. “Imam Fined S$4,000 For Promoting Enmity with Remarks on Christians, Jews,” Channel NewsAsia, April 3, 2017, https://​www.chan​neln​ewsa​sia.com/​news/​singap​

328 Notes ore/ ​ i mam- ​ f ined-​ s -​ 4 -​ 0 00-​ for-​ promot​ i ng-​ e nm​ ity- ​ w ith- ​ rema​ r ks- ​ on- ​ chris​ t ia-​ 8712​678. 196. Alkaff and Jani, “Contemporary Salafism in Singapore,” 175. 197. Cook, Understanding Jihad, 5–​47. See also Suleiman Mourad, The Mosaic of Islam: A Conversation with Perry Anderson (London: Verso, 2016), 42–​43. 198. Nur Asyiqin Mohamad Salleh and Pearl Lee, “Islamic Teachers Must Be Registered from Jan 1,” The Straits Times, August 22, 2016, https://​www.strai​tsti​mes.com/​ singap​ore/​isla​mic-​teach​ers-​must-​be-​reg​iste​red-​from-​jan-​1. 199. Toh Yong Chuan, “Islamic Schools Must Get MUIS Approval Before Introducing New Religious Textbooks,” October 27, 2017, The Straits Times, https://​www.strai​ tsti​mes.com/​singap​ore/​isla​mic-​scho​ols-​have-​to-​get-​muis-​appro​val-​bef​ore-​intr​ oduc​ing-​new-​religi​ous-​textbo​oks. 200. “Govt Bans ‘Extremist’ Publications by Radical Singaporean Preacher,” Channel NewsAsia, June 20, 2017, http://​www.chan​neln​ewsa​sia.com/​news/​singap​ore/​govt-​ bans-​extrem​ist-​publi​cati​ons-​by-​radi​cal-​sing​apor​ean-​preac​her-​8961​768. 201. SMH, personal communication, November 14, 2017. 202. SMH, personal communication, November 14, 2017. 203. Amanda Lee, “Extremist Ideology a Staple Item on Batam’s Radio Hang,” TODAY, August 20, 2016, http://​www.toda​yonl​ine.com/​singap​ore/​radio-​0. 204. Lim Yan Liang, “Exclusivist Teachings Could Prime Listeners to ISIS Propaganda,” The Straits Times, August 20, 2016, http://​www.strai​tsti​mes.com/​singap​ore/​excl​usiv​ ist-​teachi​ngs-​could-​prime-​listen​ers-​to-​isis-​pro​paga​nda. 205. Liang, “Exclusivist Teachings Could Prime Listeners to ISIS Propaganda.” 206. Norshahril Saat, The Traditionalist Response to Wahhabi-​ Salafism in Batam (Singapore: ISEAS-​YII, 2017), 15. 207. Ustaz Ahmad Zainuddin, quoting the Saudi scholar Shaykh Uthaymeen, cited in Muhammad Haziq Jani, “Radical Radio 106 FM: A Discourse Analysis of Radical Preachers on Radio Hang 106 FM,” unpublished essay, February 3, 2017. 208. Zainuddin, quoting Shaykh Uthaymeen, cited in Jani, “Radical Radio 106 FM.” 209. Lim, “Exclusivist Teachings.” 210. Francis Chan, “‘Extremist’ Batam Radio Station is Cleared After Review,” The Straits Times, November 4, 2017, A14. 211. Adam Taylor, “Germany’s Potential Burqa Ban Has a Problem: Where are the Burqas?” The Washington Post, December 6, 2016, https://​www.was​hing​tonp​ost. com/​news/​wor​ldvi​ews/​wp/​2016/​08/​19/​germa​nys-​potent​ial-​burqa-​ban-​has-​a-​prob​ lem-​where-​are-​the-​bur​qas. 212. Taylor, “Germany’s Potential Burqa Ban Has a Problem.” 213. Josh Lowe, “Europe’s Burqa Bans Show the Problems with Banning the Veil,” Newsweek, April 15, 2017, http://​www.newsw​eek.com/​burqa-​ban-​europ​ean-​peop​ les-​party-​fra​nce-​582​312. 214. Lowe, “Europe’s Burqa Bans Show the Problems with Banning the Veil.” 215. Lowe, “Europe’s Burqa Bans Show the Problems with Banning the Veil.” 216. Taylor, “Germany’s Potential Burqa Ban Has a Problem.” 217. Taylor, “Germany’s Potential Burqa Ban Has a Problem.”

Notes  329 218. Taylor, “Germany’s Potential Burqa Ban Has a Problem.” 219. “Sri Lanka Proposes Immediate Ban of Burqa Following Easter Sunday Terror Attack,” The Print, February 21, 2020, https://​thepr​int.in/​world/​sri-​lanka-​propo​ses-​ immedi​ate-​ban-​of-​burqa-​follow​ing-​eas​ter-​sun​day-​ter​ror-​att​ack/​369​060. 220. Taylor, “Germany’s Potential Burqa Ban Has a Problem.” 221. Raphe P. Soto, “My Beard Is Not Taliban!” August 3, 2010, https://​thi​nkth​ink. wordpr​ess.com/​2010/​08/​03/​my-​beard-​is-​not-​tali​ban. 222. Reme Ahmad, “Don’t Let the Angry Young Men Hijack Islam,” The Straits Times, January 27, 2016, https://​www.strai​tsti​mes.com/​opin​ion/​dont-​let-​the-​angry-​ young-​men-​hij​ack-​islam. 223. SMH, personal communication, January 27, 2016. 224. Lowe, “Europe’s Burqa Bans Show the Problems with Banning the Veil.” 225. Burhan Wazir, “It’s Not about the Burqa Review—​Courageous Essays,” The Guardian (UK), March 26, 2019, https://​www.theg​uard​ian.com/​books/​2019/​mar/​26/​its-​not-​ about-​the-​burqa-​mus​lim-​women-​faith-​femin​ism-​sexual​ity-​race-​ess​ays-​mar​iam-​ khan-​rev​iew. 226. “Singapore Government’s Decision to Ban Mufti Menk.” 227. Siau Ming En, “Muslims Here Growing ‘Somewhat More Distant’: Shanmugam,” TODAY, January 20, 2016, http://​www.toda​yonl​ine.com/​singap​ore/​musl​ims-​here-​ grow​ing-​somew​hat-​more-​dist​ant-​shanmu​gam. 228. “American Muslim Preacher Yusuf Estes Denied Entry into Singapore: MHA,” Channel NewsAsia, December 1, 2017, http://​www.chan​neln​ewsa​sia.com/​news/​singap​ore/​ ameri​can-​mus​lim-​preac​her-​yusuf-​estes-​den​ied-​entry-​into-​singap​ore-​9461​020. 229. SMH, personal communication, November 1, 2017. 230. SMH, personal communication, November 1, 2017. 231. SMH, personal communication, November 1, 2017. 232. Kayla Wong, “Bilahari Kausikan Calls Out 3 Sources of Threat to Social Cohesion in Singapore,” Mothership, July 25, 2019, https://​mot​hers​hip.sg/​2019/​07/​bilah​ari-​ kausi​kan-​singap​ore-​thre​ats-​soc​ial-​cohes​ion. 233. Wong, “Bilahari Kausikan Calls Out 3 Sources of Threat to Social Cohesion in Singapore.” 234. Surekha A. Yadav, “Selamat Hari Raya or Eid Mubarak?” Malay Mail, July 10, 2016, https://​www.malaym​ail.com/​news/​opin​ion/​2016/​07/​10/​sela​mat-​hari-​raya-​or-​eid-​ muba​rak/​1158​421. 235. Yadav, “Selamat Hari Raya or Eid Mubarak?” 236. Like badges (e.g., Islamic attire), behaviors like greetings are deeply personal and potentially sensitive issues. Creative and mutually acceptable ways must be found to ensure that certain badges and behaviors do not adversely impact Singaporeans’ psychological Common Space. 237. Dhany Osman, “Budget 2019 Debate: ‘Stark Increase’ in Number of Radicalised Singaporeans Detected Since 2015,” Yahoo News, March 1, 2019, https://​sg.news. yahoo.com/​bud​get-​2019-​deb​ate-​stark-​incre​ase-​num​ber-​radi​cali​sed-​singa​pore​ ans-​detec​ted-​since-​2015-​101807​735.html. 238. Abdullah, “Religious Representation in Secular Singapore,” 1191–​1192.

330 Notes 239. MOB interview. 240. SMH, personal communication, January 9, 2018. 241. “The Future of World Religions: Population Growth Projections, 2010–​2050,” Pew Research Center, April 2, 2015, http://​www.pewfo​rum.org/​2015/​04/​02/​religi​ous-​ proj​ecti​ons-​2010-​2050. 242. El Fadl, The Great Theft, 278–​279. 243. Dr. D. Latifa, interview in Jonas Yunus Atlas, Halal Monk: A Christian on a Journey through Islam (Brussels: J. Staats, 2015).

Chapter 5 1. Edwin G. Espejo, “Déjà vu Terror,” Mindanews, February 2, 2008, https://​www.mindan​ ews.com/​min​davi​ews/​2008/​02/​com​ment​ary-​deja-​vu-​ter​ror-​by-​edwin-​g-​esp​ejo. 2. Ted Regencia, “Long Road Ahead for Marawi Rebuilding as Fighting Ends,” Al Jazeera.com, October 24, 2017, https://​www.aljaze​era.com/​news/​2017/​10/​long-​ road-​mar​awi-​reb​uild​ing-​fight​ing-​ends-​1710​2314​5832​089.html. 3. Regencia, “Long Road Ahead.” 4. Rommel C. Banlaoi, “The Abu Sayyaf Group’s Persistence and the Marawi City Siege: A Chronological Analysis of the Crime-​Terror Nexus in the Philippines and the ISIS Connection in Southeast Asia,” in The Marawi Siege and Its Aftermath, ed. Banlaoi, 108–​109. 5. Banlaoi, “The Abu Sayyaf Group’s Persistence and the Marawi City Siege,” in The Marawi Siege and Its Aftermath, ed. Banlaoi, 108–​109. 6. Syed Serajul Islam, “The Islamic Independence Movements in Patani of Thailand and Mindanao of the Philippines,” Asian Survey 38, no. 5 (May 1998): 444; Joseph C. Y. Liow, Muslim Resistance in Southern Thailand and Southern Philippines: Religion, Ideology and Politics (Washington, DC: East-​West Center, 2006), 8. 7. Moshe Yegar, Between Integration and Secession: The Muslim Communities of the Southern Philippines, Southern Thailand, and Western Burma/​Myanmar (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2002), 187. 8. Cesar Adib Majul, Muslims in the Philippines (Diliman: University of the Philippines Press, 1999), 89–​92. 9. Islam, “Islamic Independence Movements,” 445; Liow, Muslim Resistance, 9. 10. Islam, “Islamic Independence Movements,” 445; Patricio Abinales, American Military Presence in the Southern Philippines: A Comparative Historical Overview (Honolulu: East-​West Center Working Paper 7, October 2004), 3. 11. Abinales, American Military Presence in the Southern Philippines, 3. 12. Thomas M. McKenna, Muslim Rulers and Rebels: Everyday Politics and Armed Separatism in the Southern Philippines (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998), 132; Joseph Liow, Religion and Nationalism in Southeast Asia (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2016), 65–​66.

Notes  331 13. Jamail A. Kamlian, “Ethnic and Religious Conflict in Southern Philippines: A Discourse on Self Determination, Political Autonomy and Conflict Resolution,” Islam and Human Rights Fellow lecture, Islam and Human Rights Project, School of Law, Emory University, Atlanta, GA, November 4, 2003. It should be noted here that the term “Bangsamoro”—​Bangsa being the Malay term for nation—​emerged over time to function as a clearer identity marker for a “new and distinct nation.” See Liow, Muslim Resistance, 8. 14. Yegar, Between Integration and Secession, 187. 15. Abinales, American Military Presence in the Southern Philippines, 5. 16. Interview with Abu Hamdie, Quezon City, Philippines, March 25, 2011. 17. Abu Hamdie, “Walking Away from Terrorism: A Case of Disengagement,” lecture at the Tenth Biennial International Conference, organized by the Council for Asian Transnational Threat Research (CATR), Manila, October 26–​28, 2010. 18. Hamdie, “Walking Away from Terrorism.” 19. Islam, “Islamic Independence Movements,” 445; Abinales, American Military Presence in the Southern Philippines, 5. 20. Kamlian, “Ethnic and Religious Conflict in Southern Philippines.” 21. In line with earlier discussion, the Moro community would not have been monolithic. There would have been some combination of mainstream believers of varying degrees of religiosity, relatively open-​minded fundamentalist radicals, and the relatively closed-​minded fundamentalist extremists. In particularly intense periods of conflict, the radical and extremist constituencies would have likely drawn more support from the mainstream groups. 22. Kamlian, “Ethnic and Religious Conflict in Southern Philippines.” 23. Kamlian, “Ethnic and Religious Conflict in Southern Philippines.” 24. Kamlian, “Ethnic and Religious Conflict in Southern Philippines.” 25. Kamlian, “Ethnic and Religious Conflict in Southern Philippines.” 26. Kamlian, “Ethnic and Religious Conflict in Southern Philippines” ; Islam, “Islamic Independence Movements,” 446. 27. Kamlian, “Ethnic and Religious Conflict in Southern Philippines.” 28. Islam, “Islamic Independence Movements,” 452. 29. Abinales, American Military Presence in the Southern Philippines, 7. 30. Abinales, American Military Presence in the Southern Philippines, 7. 31. Abinales, American Military Presence in the Southern Philippines, 8. 32. On “minoritization,” see Astrid Tuminez, “Rebellion, Terrorism, Peace: America’s Unfinished Business with Muslims in the Philippines,” Brown Journal of World Affairs 15, no. 1 (Fall/​Winter 2008): 214. 33. Islam, “Islamic Independence Movements,” 448; Abinales, American Military Presence in the Southern Philippines, 9. 34. Islam, “Islamic Independence Movements,” 448, n. 15; Liow, Muslim Resistance, 10; George C. Decasa, The Quranic Concept of Umma and its Function in Philippine Society (Rome: Gregorian University Press, 1999), 374; Patricio P. Diaz, “MNLF: When? Who?” Mindanews, February 7, 2011.

332 Notes 35. Decasa, The Quranic Concept of Umma, 373; also Jamail A. Kamlian, Bangsamoro Society and Culture: A Book of Readings on Peace and Development in Southern Philippines (Iligan: Iligan Centre for Peace Education and Research 1999), 21–​22 36. Kamlian, “Ethnic and Religious Conflict in Southern Philippines.” See also Rommel C. Banlaoi, “Bangsamoroism and the Nexus of Identity Politics and Violent Extremism in the Southern Philippines,” International Workshop on “The Impact of Identity Politics on Violent Extremism,” organized by the Centre of Excellence for National Security of the S. Rajaratnam School of International Studies, Nanyang Technological University, and the Global Futures Forum, Singapore, October 23–​ 25, 2011. 37. Decasa, The Quranic Concept of Umma, 373. 38. Kamlian, “Ethnic and Religious Conflict in Southern Philippines.” 39. Decasa, The Quranic Concept of Umma, 374. 40. Banlaoi, “Bangsamoroism.” 41. Islam, “Islamic Independence Movements,” 448; Liow, Muslim Resistance, 10. 42. Islam, “Islamic Independence Movements,” 449; Decasa, The Quranic Concept of Umma, 377. 43. Decasa, The Quranic Concept of Umma, 377. 44. Liow, Muslim Resistance, 10. 45. Liow, Muslim Resistance, 11; Kamlian, “Ethnic and Religious Conflict in Southern Philippines.” 46. Banlaoi, “Bangsamoroism.” 47. Cited in Banlaoi, “Bangsamoroism.” 48. Abinales, American Military Presence in the Southern Philippines, 10; Islam, “Islamic Independence Movements,” 449; Liow, Muslim Resistance, 11. 49. Islam, “Islamic Independence Movements,” 449–​450; Kamlian, “Ethnic and Religious Conflict in Southern Philippines.” 50. Kamlian, “Ethnic and Religious Conflict in Southern Philippines;” Banlaoi, “Bangsamoroism.” 51. Banlaoi, “Bangsamoroism.” 52. Kamlian, “Ethnic and Religious Conflict in Southern Philippines.” 53. Liow, Muslim Resistance, 12. 54. Abinales, American Military Presence in the Southern Philippines, 11. 55. Liow, Muslim Resistance, 13. 56. Liow, Muslim Resistance, 14. 57. Hashim apparently traces the origins of the MILF back to Cairo in 1962, when he had pulled together other Moro students to form an embryonic Moro Liberation Front. Banlaoi, “Bangsamoroism.” 58. Liow, Muslim Resistance, 14–​17. 59. Liow, Muslim Resistance, 19. 60. Liow, Muslim Resistance, 19. 61. Kamlian, “Ethnic and Religious Conflict in Southern Philippines.” 62. Abinales, American Military Presence in the Southern Philippines, 11–​12. 63. Abinales, American Military Presence in the Southern Philippines, 12.

Notes  333 64. Abinales, American Military Presence in the Southern Philippines, 12; Liow, Muslim Resistance, 16, 18. 65. Rommel C. Banlaoi, Al-​ Harakatul-​ Al Islamiyah: Essays on the Abu Sayyaf Group (Quezon City: Philippine Institute for Peace, Violence and Terrorism Research, 2009). 66. Abu Hamdie, “Walking Away from Terrorism.” 67. Banlaoi, “The Abu Sayyaf Group’s Persistence and the Marawi City Siege,” in The Marawi Siege and its Aftermath, ed. Banlaoi, 53. 68. Rommel C. Banlaoi, Counter-​Terrorism Measures in Southeast Asia: How Effective Are They? (Manila: Yuchengko Center, De La Salle University, 2009), 47–​48, 55. 69. Banlaoi, Counter-​Terrorism Measures in Southeast Asia, 55. 70. Banlaoi, Counter-​Terrorism Measures in Southeast Asia, 48. 71. Kamlian, “Ethnic and Religious Conflict in Southern Philippines.” 72. Banlaoi, Counter-​Terrorism Measures in Southeast Asia, 55. 73. Banlaoi, Counter-​Terrorism Measures in Southeast Asia, 49. 74. Banlaoi, Counter-​Terrorism Measures in Southeast Asia, 56. 75. Abinales, American Military Presence in the Southern Philippines, 13; Kamlian, “Ethnic and Religious Conflict in Southern Philippines.” 76. Banlaoi, Counter-​Terrorism Measures in Southeast Asia, 50. 77. Alexander Aguirre, “The Philippine Response to Terrorism,” Journal of Policing, Intelligence and Counter-​Terrorism 4, no. 1 (April 2009): 50. 78. Abinales, American Military Presence in the Southern Philippines, 13. 79. Banlaoi, Counter-​Terrorism Measures in Southeast Asia, 51. 80. Banlaoi, Counter-​Terrorism Measures in Southeast Asia, 51. 81. Banlaoi, Counter-​Terrorism Measures in Southeast Asia, 51. 82. Kamlian, “Ethnic and Religious Conflict in Southern Philippines.” 83. Banlaoi, Counter-​Terrorism Measures in Southeast Asia, 61–​62. 84. Ishak V. Mastura, “Will the Conflict in Mindanao Look Like the Insurgency in Southern Thailand?” in Conflict, Community, and Criminality in Southeast Asia and Australia: Assessments from the Field, eds. Arnaud de Borchgrave, Thomas Sanderson, and David Gordon (Washington, DC: Center for Strategic and International Studies, 2009), 55–​56. 85. Christopher (Kit) Collier, “‘A Carnival of Crime’: The Enigma of the Abu Sayyaf,” in Conflict, Community and Criminality in Southeast Asia and Australia, eds. de Borchgrave, Sanderson, and Gordon, 48. 86. Collier, “‘A Carnival of Crime’,” in Conflict, Community and Criminality in Southeast Asia and Australia, eds. de Borchgrave, Sanderson, and Gordon, 48. 87. Collier, “‘A Carnival of Crime’,” in Conflict, Community and Criminality in Southeast Asia and Australia, eds. de Borchgrave, Sanderson, and Gordon, 48. 88. Jayeel Serrano Cornelio, “Religious Freedom in the Philippines: From Legalities to Lived Experience.” The Review of Faith & International Affairs 11, no. 2 (2013): 36. 89. Cornelio, “Religious Freedom in the Philippines,” 36. 90. See the United Nations Treaty Body Database, https://​tbi​nter​net.ohchr.org/​_​layo​uts/​ 15/​Tre​atyB​odyE​xter​nal/​Tre​aty.aspx?Countr​yID=​137&Lang=​EN.

334 Notes 91. See the text of the ICCPR at https://​www.ohchr.org/​en/​profe​ssio​nali​nter​est/​pages/​ ccpr.aspx. 92. “Presidential Decree No. 969,” July 24, 1976, https://​www.cha​nrob​les.com/​pres​iden​ tial​decr​eeno​969.htm. 93. Abu Hamdie interview. 94. Abu Hamdie interview. 95. Abu Hamdie interview. 96. “Extract 15-​5: Salamat Hashim,” in Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia, eds. Fealy and Hooker, 421–​422. 97. “Extract 15-​5: Salamat Hashim,” in Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia, eds. Fealy and Hooker, 421–​422. 98. “Dhimmi,” Oxford Islamic Studies Online, n.d., http://​www.oxfor​disl​amic​stud​ies. com/​arti​cle/​opr/​t125/​e536. 99. Abu Hamdie interview. 100. Abu Hamdie interview. 101. Abu Hamdie interview. 102. Abu Hamdie interview. 103. Abu Hamdie interview. 104. Gracia Burnham, with Dean Merrill, In the Presence of My Enemies (Wheaton, IL: Tyndale House, 2003), 97–​98. 105. Savage and Light, “Mapping Fundamentalisms,” 82. 106. Burnham, In the Presence of My Enemies, 114–​115. 107. Burnham, In the Presence of My Enemies, 150. 108. Burnham, In the Presence of My Enemies, 153. 109. Stuart Hall, cited in Donald Holbrook and John Horgan, “Terrorism and Ideology: Cracking the Nut,” Perspectives on Terrorism 13, no. 6 (December 2019): 9. 110. Abu Hamdie interview. 111. Abu Hamdie interview. 112. Abu Hamdie interview. 113. Burnham, In the Presence of My Enemies, 170. 114. Burnham, In the Presence of My Enemies, 170. 115. Burnham, In the Presence of My Enemies, 170. 116. Abu Hamdie interview. 117. Ramakrishna, Islamist Terrorism and Militancy in Indonesia, 105. 118. Atran, Talking to the Enemy, 166. 119. Banlaoi, Counter-​ Terrorism Measures in Southeast Asia, 46–​ 47; Abu Hamdie, “Walking Away from Terrorism.” 120. Marawi was the site of the fighting between pro-​ISIS militants and the Philippine military between May and October 2017. 121. Philippine Terrorism: The Role of Militant Islamic Converts (Jakarta/​ Brussels: International Crisis Group Asia Report 110, 2005). 122. Abu Hamdie, “Walking Away from Terrorism.” 123. Banlaoi, “The Abu Sayyaf Group’s Persistence and the Marawi City Siege,” in The Marawi Siege and its Aftermath, ed. Banlaoi, 1.

Notes  335 124. Abu Hamdie interview. 125. Abu Hamdie interview. 126. Abu Hamdie interview. 127. Abu Hamdie interview. 128. Abu Hamdie interview. 129. Abu Hamdie interview. 130. Interview with Amina Rasul-​ Bernardo, Philippine Council for Islam and Democracy (PCID), Quezon City, March 29, 2011. 131. Rasul-​Bernardo interview. 132. Rasul-​Bernardo interview. 133. Interview with Clarita Carlos, Quezon City, March 25, 2011. 134. Rasul-​Bernardo interview. 135. Abu Hamdie interview. 136. Abu Hamdie interview; Abu Hamdie, “Walking Away from Terrorism.” 137. Abu Hamdie, “Walking Away from Terrorism.” 138. Abu Hamdie interview. 139. Abu Hamdie, “Walking Away from Terrorism.” 140. Abu Hamdie, “Walking Away from Terrorism.” 141. Abu Hamdie, “Walking Away from Terrorism.” 142. Abu Hamdie, “Walking Away from Terrorism.” 143. Abu Hamdie interview. 144. Cook, Understanding Jihad, 100. 145. Cook, Understanding Jihad, 102–​106; Mark Huband, Warriors of the Prophet: The Struggle for Islam (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1999), 88–​89. 146. Abu Hamdie interview. 147. Abu Hamdie interview. 148. Abu Hamdie interview. 149. Abu Hamdie interview. 150. Yusuf Morales, “Addressing Religious Violent Extremism from an Ideological Framework: Some Thoughts for Consideration,” Mindanews, June 15, 2017, https://​ www.mindan​e ws.com/​min​d avi​e ws/​2017/​06/​p eacet​a lk-​add​ress​ing-​religi​ous-​ viol​ent-​extrem​ism-​from-​an-​ideo​logi​cal-​framew​ork-​some-​thoug​hts-​for-​consid​ erat​ion. 151. Interview with Yusuf Morales, Makati City, Manila, March 29, 2011. 152. Morales interview. 153. Abu Hamdie interview. 154. Abu Hamdie, “Walking Away from Terrorism.” 155. Abu Hamdie interview. 156. Yegar, Between Integration and Secession, 346–​347. 157. Abu Hamdie interview. 158. Abu Hamdie interview. 159. Abu Hamdie interview. 160. Kumar Ramakrishna, “The ‘East Asia Wilayah’ of Isis and the Marawi City Siege: A Long Time in the Making,” in The Marawi Siege and Its Aftermath, ed. Banlaoi, 25.

336 Notes 161. Abu Hamdie interview. 162. Interview with AFP senior officer, Quezon City, March 26, 2011. 163. Abu Hamdie, “Walking Away from Terrorism.” 164. Rasul-​Bernardo interview. 165. Rasul-​Bernardo interview. 166. Morales interview. 167. Morales interview. 168. Morales interview. 169. Morales interview. 170. “Statement of the Participants of the Conference on Peace and the Prevention of Violent Extremism in Southeast Asia,” Manila, September 22–​23, 2017. 171. Radicalization in East Asia: Addressing the Challenges of the Expanding ISIS Influence (Diliman, Quezon City: Center for Integrative and Development Studies, 2015), 2. 172. Philip C. Tubeza, “Duterte Ready to Order ‘Carpet Bombing’ of Marawi if Needed,” Inquirer.Net, June 22, 2017, https://​newsi​nfo.inqui​rer.net/​907​564/​dute​rte-​ready-​to-​ order-​car​pet-​bomb​ing-​of-​mar​awi-​if-​neede. 173. Richard Javad Heydarian, “Bangsamoro Organic Law Can be Duterte’s Greatest Legacy,” Al Jazeera, August 1, 2018, https://​www.aljaze​era.com/​inde​pth/​opin​ion/​ ban​gsam​oro-​orga​nic-​law-​dute​rte-​great​est-​leg​acy-​1807​3014​4900​126.html. 174. Teresa Jopson, “Making Peace with the Bangsamoro Basic Law,” East Asia Forum, May 11, 2016, https://​www.eastas​iafo​rum.org/​2016/​05/​11/​mak​ing-​peace-​with-​ the-​ban​gsam​oro-​basic-​law/​. 175. Abu Hamdie interview. 176. Criselda Yabes, “Factors and Forces That Led to the Marawi Debacle,” ABS-​CBN News, October 20, 2019, https://​news.abs-​cbn.com/​spotli​ght/​10/​20/​19/​fact​ors-​ and-​for​ces-​that-​led-​to-​the-​mar​awi-​deba​cle. 177. The Growing Influence of Salafism in Muslim Mindanao (Jakarta: Institute for Policy Analysis of Conflict Report No. 61, (January 8, 2020), 5. 178. The Growing Influence of Salafism in Muslim Mindanao, 4. 179. Morales, “Addressing Religious Violent Extremism from an Ideological Framework.” 180. Morales interview. 181. Morales interview. 182. Morales interview. 183. Morales interview. 184. Morales interview; Morales, “Addressing Religious Violent Extremism from an Ideological Framework.” 185. Morales interview. 186. Morales interview. 187. The Growing Influence of Salafism in Muslim Mindanao, 6. 188. Yabes, “Factors and Forces That Led to the Marawi Debacle.” 189. Vic M. Taylor, “Radicalization of Outlook,” Mindanao Gold Star Daily, May 26, 2017, retrieved from http://​mindan​aogo​ldst​arda​ily.com/​rad​ical​izat​ion-​of-​outl​ook/​. 190. “Statement of the Participants of the Conference on Peace and the Prevention of Violent Extremism in Southeast Asia.”

Notes  337 191. Yabes, “Factors and Forces That Led to the Marawi Debacle.” 192. Mei Lim, “Marawi: Just the Beginning,” Georgetown Security Studies Review, November 28, 2017, https://​geor​geto​wnse​curi​tyst​udie​srev​iew.org/​2017/​11/​28/​mar​ awi-​just-​the-​beginn​ing/​#_​edn8 . 193. Gotinga, “AFP, PNP: Filipino Suicide Bomber Behind Sulu Attack.” 194. Gotinga, “AFP, PNP: Filipino Suicide Bomber Behind Sulu Attack.” 195. Gotinga, “AFP, PNP: Filipino Suicide Bomber Behind Sulu Attack.” 196. Gotinga, “AFP, PNP: Filipino Suicide Bomber Behind Sulu Attack.” 197. Gotinga, “AFP, PNP: Filipino Suicide Bomber Behind Sulu Attack”; Jeofrey Maitem and Mark Navales, “Philippine Defense Chief: Latest Suicide Bombing in South ‘Very Important’ Development,” BenarNews, July 1, 2019, https://​www.benarn​ews. org/​engl​ish/​news/​phi​lipp​ine/​bomb-​upd​ate-​070​1201​9152​627.html; Rommel C. Banlaoi, “Isis Threats After Marawi Liberation: Continuing Terrorist Threats and Emerging Security Challenges of Violent Extremism in the Philippines,” in The Marawi Siege and its Aftermath, ed. Banlaoi, 123–​124. 198. J. C. Gotinga, “AFP Confirms Report: Indonesian Couple Behind Jolo Cathedral Bombing,” Rappler, July 24, 2019, https://​www.rapp​ler.com/​nat​ion/​236​181-​afp-​ confi​rms-​rep​ort-​ind​ones​ian-​cou​ple-​beh​ind-​jolo-​cathed​ral-​bomb​ing.

Chapter 6 1. “Rohan Akui Aman Abdurrahman Tolak Kompromi Dengan Pemerintah,” CNN Indonesia, May 25, 2018, https://​www.cnnin​done​sia.com/​nasio​nal/​201​8052​5195​ 113-​20-​301​398/​rohan-​akui-​aman-​abdu​rrah​man-​tolak-​kompr​omi-​den​gan-​pem​ erin​tah. 2. David Lipson, “Aman Abdurrahman: Is This Indonesia’s Most Dangerous Man?,” ABC News, May 31, 2018, https://​www.abc.net.au/​news/​2018-​05-​31/​aman-​abdu​ rrah​amn-​ind​ones​ias-​most-​danger​ous-​man/​9817​546. 3. “Pro-​ISIS Indonesian Cleric Aman Abdurrahman Won’t Appeal Against Death Sentence,” The Straits Times, June 29, 2018, https://​www.strai​tsti​mes.com/​asia/​se-​ asia/​pro-​isis-​ind​ones​ian-​cle​ric-​aman-​abdu​rrah​man-​wont-​app​eal-​death-​sente​nce. 4. “Rohan Akui Aman Abdurrahman Tolak Kompromi Dengan Pemerintah.” 5. Arif Satrio Nugroho, “Aman Abdurrahman Claims to be Offered ‘Compromise’ by the Government,” Republika, May 25, 2018, https://​republ​ika.co.id/​ber​ita/​nasio​nal/​ hukum/​18/​05/​25/​p99ziy​409-​aman-​abdu​rrah​man-​meng​aku-​ditaw​ari-​kompr​omi-​ oleh-​pem​erin​tah . 6. Qoid, “Kisah Aman Abdurrahman Ditemui Profesor dari Singapura Di Penjara.” 7. Qoid, “Kisah Aman Abdurrahman Ditemui Profesor dari Singapura Di Penjara.” 8. “Rohan Akui Aman Abdurrahman Tolak Kompromi Dengan Pemerintah.” 9. “Pro-​ISIS Indonesian Cleric Aman Abdurrahman Won’t Appeal Against Death Sentence.” 10. Lipson, “Aman Abdurrahman: Is This Indonesia’s Most Dangerous Man?”

338 Notes 11. V. Arianti, “Aman Abdurrahman: Ideologue and ‘Commander’ of IS Supporters in Indonesia,” Counter Terrorist Trends and Analyses 9, no. 2 (2017): 4–​9. 12. Bilveer Singh, “Will Aman Abdurrahman’s Death Sentence Backfire?,” The Diplomat, July 6, 2018, https://​thed​iplo​mat.com/​2018/​07/​will-​aman-​abdur​rahm​ans-​death-​ sente​nce-​backf​i re. 13. Rendi A. Witular, “How Son of Poor Farmer Evolved into IS Master Ideologue,” The Jakarta Post, March 22, 2016, https://​www.the​jaka​rtap​ost.com/​news/​2016/​03/​22/​ com​ment​ary-​how-​son-​poor-​far​mer-​evol​ved-​is-​mas​ter-​ideolo​gue.html. 14. Arianti, “Aman Abdurrahman,” 4–​9. 15. Channel NewsAsia, “From Jail to Jihad,” documentary, https://​www.chan​neln​ewsa​sia. com/​news/​video-​on-​dem​and/​und​erco​ver-​asia-​s5/​from-​jail-​to-​jihad-​10018​148. 16. Singh,“Will Aman Abdurrahman’s Death Sentence Backfire?” 17. Arianti, “Aman Abdurrahman,” 4–​9. 18. Rendi A. Witular, “The Rise of Aman Abdurrahman, IS Master Ideologue,” The Jakarta Post, January 25, 2016, https://​www.the​jaka​rtap​ost.com/​news/​2016/​01/​25/​ the-​rise-​aman-​abdu​rrah​man-​is-​mas​ter-​ideolo​gue.html. 19. Cameron Sumpter, “Aman Abdurrahman: Leading Indonesia’s Jihadists from Behind Bars,” The Diplomat, March 1, 2018. 20. Sidney Jones and Solahudin, “ISIS in Indonesia,” Southeast Asian Affairs 2015 (Singapore: ISEAS-​Yusof Ishak Institute, 2015). 21. Singh, “Will Aman Abdurrahman’s Death Sentence Backfire?” 22. Farouk Arnaz and Heru Adriayanto, “Who Is JAD, the Group Blamed for Attacking Indonesia’s Chief Security Minister?,” Jakarta Globe, October 13, 2019, http://​jakar​ tagl​obe.id/​news/​who-​is-​jad-​the-​group-​bla​med-​for-​attack​ing-​ind​ones​ias-​chief-​ secur​ity-​minis​ter. 23. Nathaniel L. Moir, “ISIL Radicalization, Recruitment, and Social Media Operations in Indonesia, Malaysia, and the Philippines,” PRISM 7, no. 1 (2017): 94. 24. Singh, “Will Aman Abdurrahman’s Death Sentence Backfire?” 25. Kirsten E. Schulze and Joseph Chinyong Liow (2019), “Making Jihadis, Waging Jihad: Transnational and Local Dimensions of the ISIS Phenomenon in Indonesia and Malaysia,” Asian Security 15, no. 2 (2019): 134. 26. Witular, “The Rise of Aman Abdurrahman.” 27. United Nations Security Council, “Oman Rochman,” https://​www.un.org/​secu​rity​ coun​cil/​sancti​ons/​1267/​aq_​san​ctio​ns_​l​ist/​summar​ies/​ind​ivid​ual/​oman-​roch​man. 28. United Nations Security Council, “Oman Rochman.” 29. V. Arianti and Jasminder Singh, “ISIS’ Southeast Asia Unit: Raising the Security Threat,” RSIS Commentary, October 19, 2015. 30. Witular, “The Rise of Aman Abdurrahman.” 31. “Jail Sheikh: Terrorism in Indonesia,” The Economist, November 17, 2018, https://​ www.econom​ist.com/​asia/​2018/​11/​17/​ind​ones​ias-​pris​ons-​will-​soon-​start-​spawn​ ing-​even-​more-​jihadi​sts. 32. Ken Miichi, “Looking at Links and Nodes: How Jihadists in Indonesia Survived,” Southeast Asian Studies 5, no. 1 (2016): 148.

Notes  339 33. Sumpter, “Aman Abdurrahman.” 34. Sumpter, “Aman Abdurrahman.” 35. “Constitution of the Republic of Indonesia 1945 (last amended 2002),” https://​www. refwo​rld.org/​docid/​46af43​f12.html. 36. “Constitution of the Republic of Indonesia 1945 (last amended 2002).” 37. “Constitution of the Republic of Indonesia 1945 (last amended 2002).” 38. Melissa A. Crouch, “Law and Religion in Indonesia: The Constitutional Court and the Blasphemy Law,” Asian Journal of Comparative Law 7, no. 1 (2012): 4. 39. Crouch, “Law and Religion in Indonesia,” 11. 40. “Indonesia Islam: Governor’s Blasphemy Conviction Divides a Nation,” BBC News, May 9, 2017, https://​www.bbc.com/​news/​world-​asia-​39856​413. 41. “ Indonesia Islam.” 42. McKenzie Perkins, “Religion in Indonesia,” Learn Religions, August 6, 2019, https://​ www.lea​rnre​ligi​ons.com/​relig​ion-​in-​indone​sia-​4588​353. 43. Originally Soekarno had wanted belief in God to be the last pillar, but due to pressure from the Muslim leaders, this pillar became the first instead. See Van Dijk, Rebellion Under the Banner of Islam, 45–​47. 44. Van Dijk, Rebellion Under the Banner of Islam, 45–​46. 45. Van Dijk, Rebellion Under the Banner of Islam, 48–​62. 46. Neighbour, In the Shadow of Swords, 9. 47. Greg Fealy, Virginia Hooker, and Sally White, “Indonesia,” in Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia, eds. Fealy and Hooker, 39–​41. See also Noorhaidi Hasan, Islamic Militancy, Sharia, and Democratic Consolidation in Post-​ Suharto Indonesia (Singapore: S. Rajaratnam School of International Studies Working Paper 143, October 23, 2007), 8, n. 7. 48. Fealy, Hooker, and White, “Indonesia,” in Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia, eds. Fealy and Hooker, 39–​40. 49. George Quinn, Bandit Saints of Java: How Java’s Eccentric Saints Are Challenging Fundamentalist Islam in Modern Indonesia (Burrough on the Hill, Leicestershire: Monsoon Books, 2019), 376. 50. Fealy, Hooker, and White, “Indonesia,” in Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia, eds. Fealy and Hooker, 40. 51. Howard M. Federspiel, Indonesian Muslim Intellectuals of the 20th Century (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2006), 5. 52. Fealy, Hooker, and White, “Indonesia,” in Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia, eds. Fealy and Hooker, 40. 53. Quinn, Bandit Saints of Java, 376. 54. Fealy, Hooker, and White, “Indonesia,” in Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia, eds. Fealy and Hooker, 40. 55. Federspiel, Indonesian Muslim Intellectuals, 5. 56. Quinn, Bandit Saints of Java, 377–​378. 57. Azyumardi Azra, “Bali and Southeast Asian Islam: Debunking the Myths,” in After Bali, eds. Ramakrishna and Tan, 42–​43.

340 Notes 58. Mark R. Woodward, Introduction to Speech by Abdurrahman Wahid, “Islam, Pluralism and Democracy,” Consortium for Strategic Communication, Arizona State University, April 19, 2007, 2. 59. Mark R. Woodward, “President Gus Dur: Indonesia, Islam and Reformasi,” n.d., http://​web.arch​ive.org/​web/​200​3021​9093​713/​http://​www.asu.edu/​clas/​asian/​pubs/​ woodw​ard.htm. 60. “Extract 15-​2: Abdurrahman Wahid,” in Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia, eds. Fealy and Hooker, 417. 61. “Extract 15-​2: Abdurrahman Wahid,” in Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia, eds. Fealy and Hooker, 417. 62. “Extract 15-​2: Abdurrahman Wahid,” in Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia, eds. Fealy and Hooker, 417. 63. “Extract 15-​2: Abdurrahman Wahid,” in Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia, eds. Fealy and Hooker, 417. 64. John L. Esposito and John O. Voll, eds., Makers of Contemporary Islam (New York: Oxford University Press, 2001), 204–​207. 65. Greg Barton, “Neo-​Modernism: A Vital Synthesis of Traditionalist and Modernist Islamic Thought in Indonesia,” Studia Islamika 2, no. 3 (1995): 6–​8. 66. Barton, “Neo-​Modernism,” 6–​8. 67. Quinn, Bandit Saints of Java, 399–​400. 68. Federspiel, Indonesian Muslim Intellectuals, 29. 69. Fealy, Hooker, and White, “Indonesia,” in Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia, eds. Fealy and Hooker, 44. 70. Fealy, Hooker, and White, “Indonesia,” in Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia, eds. Fealy and Hooker, 44. 71. Federspiel, Indonesian Muslim Intellectuals, 29. 72. Fealy, Hooker, and White, “Indonesia,” in Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia, eds. Fealy and Hooker, 44. 73. Zubaidah Nazeer, “Battle to Shape Future of Islam in Indonesia,” The Straits Times, August 6, 2011. 74. “Extract 11-​4: Ahmad Shafii Maarif,” in Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia, eds. Fealy and Hooker, 149–​150. 75. “Extract 11-​4: Ahmad Shafii Maarif,” in Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia, eds. Fealy and Hooker, 149–​150. 76. “Extract 15-​20: Nurcholish Madjid,” in Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia, eds. Fealy and Hooker, 453–​454. 77. “Extract 15-​20: Nurcholish Madjid,” in Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia, eds. Fealy and Hooker, 453–​454. 78. “40 Years of Islamic Yes, Islamic Parties No, Commemorated,” Pusad Paramadina, January 8, 2010, https://​www.par​amad​ina-​pusad.or.id/​40-​tahun-​islam-​yes-​par​tai-​ islam-​no-​dipe​ring​ati. 79. Australian scholar Greg Barton considers that the theological similarities in the writings of the modernist Cak Nur and the traditionalist Gus Dur justify

Notes  341 characterizing both as neo-​modernist intellectuals. He claims that both scholars concurred with this view. See Barton, “Neo-​Modernism,” 6. 80. Aman Abdurrahman, Ya, Mereka Memang Thaghut, 34. 81. Abdurrahman, Ya, Mereka Memang Thaghut, 47. 82. Fealy, Hooker, and White, “Indonesia,” in Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia, eds. Fealy and Hooker, 42. 83. Syed Farid Alatas, “The Study of Muslim Revival: A General Framework,” in Muslim Reform in Southeast Asia: Perspectives from Malaysia, Indonesia and Singapore, ed. Syed Farid Alatas (Singapore: Islamic Religious Council of Singapore, 2009), 9. 84. He takes issue with the conventional view that modernist currents emerged only in the late nineteenth century. See Azyumardi Azra, “Islamic Reform in Southeast Asia: Assimilation, Continuity and Change,” in Muslim Reform in Southeast Asia, ed. Alatas, 16. 85. Azra, “Islamic Reform in Southeast Asia,” in Muslim Reform in Southeast Asia, ed. Alatas, 19–​21. 86. See Azyumardi Azra, “The Transmission of Islamic Reformism to Indonesia: Networks of Middle Eastern and Malay-​Indonesian Ulama in the 17th and 18th Centuries” (PhD dissertation, Columbia University, 1992). 87. Azra, “Islamic Reform in Southeast Asia,” in Muslim Reform in Southeast Asia, ed. Alatas, 16. 88. J. Kathirithamby-​Wells, “The Age of Transition: The Mid-​Eighteenth to the Early Nineteenth Centuries,” in Cambridge History of Southeast Asia, Volume One, Part Two, ed. Tarling, 262. 89. Azra, “Bali and Southeast Asian Islam,” in After Bali, eds. Ramakrishna and Tan, 46–​47. 90. Alatas, “The Study of Muslim Revival,” in Muslim Reform in Southeast Asia, ed. Alatas, 9. 91. Andaya and Ishii, “Religious Developments in Southeast Asia,” in Cambridge History of Southeast Asia, Volume One, Part Two, ed. Tarling, 214. 92. Andaya and Ishii, “Religious Developments in Southeast Asia,” in Cambridge History of Southeast Asia, Volume One, Part Two, ed. Tarling, 214–​215. 93. Andaya and Ishii, “Religious Developments in Southeast Asia,” in Cambridge History of Southeast Asia, Volume One, Part Two, ed. Tarling, 215. 94. Federspiel, Indonesian Muslim Intellectuals, 15. 95. Federspiel, Indonesian Muslim Intellectuals, 16–​17. 96. Federspiel, Indonesian Muslim Intellectuals, 17–​19. 97. Fealy, Hooker, and White, “Indonesia,” in Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia, eds. Fealy and Hooker, 40–​41. 98. John T. Sidel, Riots, Pogroms, Jihad: Religious Violence in Indonesia (Singapore: NUS Press, 2007), 203. 99. Martin van Bruinessen, “ ‘Traditionalist’ and ‘Islamist’ Pesantren in Contemporary Indonesia,” paper presented at the workshop “The Madrasa in Asia: Transnational Linkages and Alleged or Real Political Activities,” organized by the International

342 Notes Institute for the Study of Islam in the Modern World [ISIM], Leiden, the Netherlands, 24–​25 May 2004. 100. Sidel, Riots, Pogroms, Jihad, 203. 101. Sidel, Riots, Pogroms, Jihad, 203. 102. Sidel, Riots, Pogroms, Jihad, 204. 103. Abdurrahman, Ya, Mereka Memang Thaghut, 8. 104. Abdurrahman, Ya, Mereka Memang Thaghut, 22. 105. Abdurrahman, Ya, Mereka Memang Thaghut, 28. 106. Abdurrahman, Ya, Mereka Memang Thaghut, 23. 107. Abdurrahman, Ya, Mereka Memang Thaghut, 94. 108. Abdurrahman, Ya, Mereka Memang Thaghut, 95. 109. Reinforcing our central theme about the shared theological DNA between soft and hard Salafabism, Singaporean Islamic scholar Mohamed Ali argues that al-​Maqdisi’s understanding of the concept of al-​wala’ wa-​al-​bara has a “strong Jihadi element.” Mohamed bin Ali, “Defining the Enemies of God: Muslim Extremists Perception of the Religious Other,” Journal of Islamic Studies and Culture 6, no. 1 (June 2018): 91. See also Maher, Salafi-​Jihadism, 94–​95. 110. Abdurrahman, Ya, Mereka Memang Thaghut, 32. 111. Abdurrahman, Ya, Mereka Memang Thaghut, 37. 112. Abdurrahman, Ya, Mereka Memang Thaghut, 41. 113. Abdurrahman, Ya, Mereka Memang Thaghut, 42. See also Maher, Salafi-​Jihadism, 94, and Ali, “Defining the Enemies of God,” 90. 114. Abdurrahman, Ya, Mereka Memang Thaghut, 45. 115. Abdurrahman, Ya, Mereka Memang Thaghut, 43–​48. 116. Abdurrahman, Ya, Mereka Memang Thaghut, 43–​48. 117. Abdurrahman, Ya, Mereka Memang Thaghut, 43–​48. 118. Abdurrahman, Ya, Mereka Memang Thaghut, 43–​48. 119. Savage and Light, “Mapping Fundamentalism,” 82. 120. Schuurman and Taylor, “Reconsidering Radicalization,” 13. 121. Abdurrahman, Ya, Mereka Memang Thaghut, 33. 122. Abdurrahman, Ya, Mereka Memang Thaghut, 51. 123. Abdurrahman, Ya, Mereka Memang Thaghut, 32. 124. Abdurrahman, Ya, Mereka Memang Thaghut, 94. 125. “From Jail to Jihad” documentary. 126. “From Jail to Jihad” documentary. 127. Singh, “Will Aman Abdurrahman’s Death Sentence Backfire?” 128. Singh, “Will Aman Abdurrahman’s Death Sentence Backfire?” 129. Muktita Suhartono and Richard C. Paddock, “Indonesia Sentences ISIS Recruiter to Death,” The New York Times, June 22, 2018, https://​www.nyti​mes.com/​2018/​06/​22/​ world/​asia/​indone​sia-​isis-​aman-​abdu​rrah​man.html. 130. Herriot, Religious Fundamentalism and Social Identity, 11. 131. Abdurrahman, Ya, Mereka Memang Thaghut, 32. 132. “A Devotee of the Daulah Islam Abu Sulaiman Aman Abdur-​ Rahman Al-​ Arkhabiiliy Al-​Andunisiy” 26 Safar 1435 (December 30, 2013).

Notes  343 133. Witular, “The Rise of Aman Abdurrahman.” 134. Witular, “The Rise of Aman Abdurrahman”; “Aman Abdurrahman,” Counter Extremism Project, n.d., https://​www.count​erex​trem​ism.com/​ext​remi​sts/​aman-​ abdu​rrah​man. 135. Witular, “The Rise of Aman Abdurrahman.” 136. Bubalo and Fealy, Joining the Caravan?, 57. 137. Bubalo and Fealy, Joining the Caravan?, 58. 138. Bubalo and Fealy, Joining the Caravan?, 58. 139. Why Salafism and Terrorism Mostly Don’t Mix (Jakarta/​Brussels: International Crisis Group Asia Report 83, September 13, 2004), 6–​8. Also Bubalo and Fealy, Joining the Caravan?, 58. 140. Bubalo and Fealy, Joining the Caravan?, 57. 141. Bubalo and Fealy, Joining the Caravan?, 58. While Fealy and Bubalo use the term “Salafism,” it is clear from the context that they mean Salafabism in the sense used here. 142. Krithika Varagur, “How Saudi Arabia’s Religious Project Transformed Indonesia,” The Guardian, April 16, 2020, https://​www.theg​uard​ian.com/​news/​2020/​apr/​16/​ how-​saudi-​ara​bia-​religi​ous-​proj​ect-​tran​sfor​med-​indone​sia-​islam?CMP=​Sha​re_​i​ OSAp​p_​Ot​her. 143. Bubalo and Fealy, Joining the Caravan?, 57–​59. 144. Sumpter, “Aman Abdurrahman.” 145. Jones and Solahudin, “ISIS in Indonesia.” 146. Adi Renaldi, “The Inside Story of JAD, Indonesia’s Newest, and Deadliest, Terrorist Group,” Vice News, May 31, 2018, https://​www.vice.com/​en_​a​sia/​arti​cle/​pav​339/​ the-​ins​ide-​story-​of-​jad-​ind​ones​ias-​new​est-​and-​deadli​est-​terror​ist-​group. 147. Arianti, “Aman Abdurrahman,” 4–​9. 148. Witular, “How Son of Poor Farmer Evolved into IS Master Ideologue.” 149. Witular, “How Son of Poor Farmer Evolved into IS Master Ideologue.” 150. Witular, “The Rise of Aman Abdurrahman.” 151. “Rais Wins More Support,” Laksamana.Net, June 8, 2004. 152. Yong Mun Cheong, “The Political Structures of the Independent States,” in The Cambridge History of Southeast Asia, Volume Two, Part Two: From World War Two to the Present (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 94–​96. 153. Varagur, “How Saudi Arabia’s Religious Project Transformed Indonesia.” 154. Why Salafism and Terrorism Mostly Don’t Mix, 6. 155. Why Salafism and Terrorism Mostly Don’t Mix, 7. 156. Martin van Bruinessen, “Indonesia’s Ulama and Politics: Caught Between Legitimizing the Status Quo and Searching for Alternatives,” Prisma: The Indonesian Indicator 49 (1990): 52–​69. 157. “Rais Wins More Support;” Hasan, Islamic Militancy, Sharia, and Democratic Consolidation, 8. 158. van Bruinessen, “Indonesia’s Ulama and Politics”; Varagur, “How Saudi Arabia’s Religious Project Transformed Indonesia.” 159. Why Salafism and Terrorism Mostly Don’t Mix, 6–​7.

344 Notes 160. Hasan, Islamic Militancy, Sharia, and Democratic Consolidation, 8. 161. Bubalo and Fealy, Joining the Caravan?, 60. 162. Bubalo and Fealy, Joining the Caravan?, 57–​60. 163. Zubair, “Wahhabi’s Influence on ISIS Ideology in Indonesia,” 81. 164. Federspiel, Indonesian Muslim Intellectuals, 31–​33. 165. Audrey Kahin, “Natsir and Sukarno: Their Clash over Nationalism, Religion and Democracy, 1928–​1958,” in Encountering Islam: The Politics of Religious Identities in Southeast Asia, ed. Hui Yew-​Foong (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2013), 193. 166. Federspiel, Indonesian Muslim Intellectuals, 39. 167. Federspiel, Indonesian Muslim Intellectuals, 39–​40. 168. Federspiel, Indonesian Muslim Intellectuals, 51–​52. 169. Kahin, “Natsir and Sukarno,” in Hui, ed., Encountering Islam, 196. 170. Kahin, “Natsir and Sukarno,” in Hui, ed., Encountering Islam, 207; M. C. Ricklefs, “Religious Elites and the State in Indonesia and Elsewhere: Why Takeovers Are So Difficult and Usually Don’t Work,” in Encountering Islam, ed. Hui, 25. 171. Sidel, Riots, Pogroms, Jihad, 206; Hasan, Islamic Militancy, Sharia, and Democratic Consolidation, 6; Bubalo and Fealy, Joining the Caravan?, 57–​60. 172. Witular, “How Son of Poor Farmer Evolved into IS Master Ideologue.” 173. Witular, “How Son of Poor Farmer Evolved into IS Master Ideologue.” 174. Witular, “How Son of Poor Farmer Evolved into IS Master Ideologue.” 175. Maher, Salafi-​Jihadism, 72. 176. Cook, Understanding Jihad, 74. 177. Noor Huda Ismail and Carl Ungerer, “Jemaah Islamiyah: A Renewed Struggle?” (Canberra: Australian Strategic Policy Institute, July 16, 2009). 178. Joby Warrick, Black Flags: The Rise of ISIS (London: Corgi Books, 2015), 45–​46. 179. Schulze and Liow, “Making Jihadis, Waging Jihad,” 134. 180. Maher, Salafi-​Jihadism, 75. 181. Wood, The Way of the Strangers, 47–​48. 182. Miichi Ken, “Looking at Links and Nodes,” 147. 183. Sidney Jones, “The Ongoing Extremist Threat in Indonesia,” Southeast Asian Affairs 2011 (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2011). 184. Jones, “The Ongoing Extremist Threat in Indonesia.” 185. A good analysis of al-​Zarqawi’s background is found in Warrick, Black Flags, passim. 186. Jones and Solahudin, “ISIS in Indonesia.” 187. Witular, “The Rise of Aman Abdurrahman.” 188. Jones and Solahudin, “ISIS in Indonesia.” 189. Sumpter, “Aman Abdurrahman”; Indonesian Jihadism: Small Groups, Big Plans (Jakarta/​Brussels: International Crisis Group Asia Report 204, 2011), 4. 190. Miichi, “Looking at Links and Nodes,” 147. 191. Sumpter, “Aman Abdurrahman.” 192. Jones and Solahudin, “ISIS in Indonesia.” 193. Indonesian Jihadism, 4.

Notes  345 194. Indonesian Jihadism, 4; Indonesia: Jihadi Surprise in Aceh (Jakarta/​ Brussels: International Crisis Group Asia Report 189, 2010), i. 195. Julie Chernov Hwang, Terrorism in Perspective: An Assessment of “Jihad Project” Trends in Indonesia (Honolulu: East-​West Center Asia Pacific Issues No. 104, September 2012). 196. Jones, “The Ongoing Extremist Threat in Indonesia,” in Singh, ed., Southeast Asian Affairs 2011. 197. Hwang, “Terrorism in Perspective.” 198. Sumpter, “Aman Abdurrahman.” 199. Singh, “Will Aman Abdurrahman’s Death Sentence Backfire?” 200. Singh, “Will Aman Abdurrahman’s Death Sentence Backfire?” 201. Schulze and Liow, “Making Jihadis, Waging Jihad,” 134. 202. Miichi, “Looking at Links and Nodes,” 147. 203. Sumpter, “Aman Abdurrahman.” 204. Miichi, “Looking at Links and Nodes,” 148. 205. Hwang, “Terrorism in Perspective.” 206. Miichi, “Looking at Links and Nodes,” 147. 207. Renaldi, “The Inside Story of JAD.” 208. Witular, “How Son of Poor Farmer Evolved into IS Master Ideologue.” 209. Renaldi, “The Inside Story of JAD.” 210. Ken Ward, “Indonesian Terrorism: From Jihad to Dakwah?,” in Expressing Islam: Religious Life and Politics in Indonesia, eds. Greg Fealy and Sally White (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2008), 218, note 12. 211. Renaldi, “The Inside Story of JAD.” 212. “Jail Sheikh: Terrorism in Indonesia.” 213. Sumpter, “Aman Abdurrahman.” 214. Cindy Wockner, “Evil Behind Bali Is Behind Bars,” The Courier-​Mail, June 18, 2011, https://​w ww.cour​ierm​ail.com.au/​ipad/​e vil-​b eh​ind-​bali-​is-​b eh​ind-​bars/​news-​ story/​bfed8​15d3​e212​0f40​2eb4​933e​3e47​6e7?sv=​b2525​2217​b4b6​73e8​17d9​0faf​4752​ 0b4.See also Ramakrishna, Islamist Terrorism and Militancy in Indonesia, 188-​189. 215. Witular, “How Son of Poor Farmer Evolved into IS Master Ideologue.” 216. Neighbour, In the Shadow of Swords, 228. 217. Noor, Ngruki Revisited, 21, 23. 218. Behrend, “Reading Past the Myth.” 219. Noor, Ngruki Revisited, 20. 220. Behrend, “Reading Past the Myth.” 221. Scott Atran with Taufik Andrie, “The Emir: An Interview with Abu Bakar Ba’asyir, Alleged Leader of the Southeast Asian Jemaah Islamiyah Organization,” The Jamestown Foundation, December 16, 2005, https://​jamest​own.org/​interv​iew/​the-​ emir-​an-​interv​iew-​with-​abu-​bakar-​baas​yir-​alle​ged-​lea​der-​of-​the-​southe​ast-​asian-​ jem​aah-​islami​yah-​organ​izat​ion. “An Interview with Abu Bakar B’asyir,” August 13 and 15, 2005. 222. Sumpter, “Aman Abdurrahman.” 223. Sumpter, “Aman Abdurrahman.”

346 Notes 224. Hwang, “Terrorism in Perspective.” 225. Hwang, “Terrorism in Perspective.” 226. Witular, “How Son of Poor Farmer Evolved into IS Master Ideologue.” 227. Miichi, “Looking at Links and Nodes,” 148. 228. Sumpter, “Aman Abdurrahman.” 229. Arianti, “Aman Abdurrahman,” 4–​9. 230. Schulze and Liow, “Making Jihadis, Waging Jihad,” 134. 231. Anita Rachman and Ben Otto, “Terror Leader’s Death Sentence Highlights Indonesia’s Harder Mood,” Wall Street Journal, June 22, 2018. 232. Ian Chalmers, “Countering Violent Extremism in Indonesia: Bringing Back the Jihadists,” Asian Studies Review 41, no. 3 (2017): 336. 233. Miichi, “Looking at Links and Nodes,” 148. 234. Hwang and Schulze, “Why They Join,” 927. 235. Tom Allard, “Indonesian School a Launchpad for Child Fighters in Syria’s Islamic State,” Reuters, September 7, 2017, https://​www.reut​ers.com/​arti​cle/​us-​indone​sia-​ milita​nts-​sch​ool-​insi​ght/​ind​ones​ian-​sch​ool-​a-​launch​pad-​for-​child-​fight​ers-​in-​syr​ ias-​isla​mic-​state-​idUSKC​N1BI​0A7. 236. Witular, “The Rise of Aman Abdurrahman.” 237. Arianti, “Aman Abdurrahman,” 4–​9. 238. Singh, “Will Aman Abdurrahman’s Death Sentence Backfire?” 239. Moir, “ISIL Radicalization, Recruitment, and Social Media Operations in Indonesia, Malaysia, and the Philippines,” 94. 240. Schulze and Liow, “Making Jihadis, Waging Jihad,” 134. 241. Lipson, “Aman Abdurrahman: Is This Indonesia’s Most Dangerous Man?” 242. Wahyudi Soeriaatmadja, “Indonesian Cleric Aman Abdurrahman Sentenced to Death for Inciting Terror Attacks,” The Straits Times, June 22, 2018, https://​www. strai​tsti​mes.com/​asia/​se-​asia/​ind​ones​ian-​cle​ric-​aman-​abdu​rrah​man-​senten​ced-​ to-​death-​for-​incit​ing-​ter​ror-​atta​cks. 243. Witular, “The Rise of Aman Abdurrahman.” 244. Schulze, “The Surabaya Bombings and the Evolution of the Jihadi Threat in Indonesia.” 245. Ramakrishna, “Children and Family Terrorism.” 246. Ramakrishna, “Children and Family Terrorism.” 247. Ramakrishna, “Children and Family Terrorism.”; Schulze, “The Surabaya Bombings and the Evolution of the Jihadi Threat in Indonesia.” 248. Arnaz and Adriayanto, “Who Is JAD, the Group Blamed for Attacking Indonesia’s Chief Security Minister?”; “Another Sibolga Terrorism Suspect Arrested in East Kalimantan,” The Jakarta Post, March 21, 2019, https://​www.the​jaka​rtap​ost.com/​ news/​2019/​03/​21/​anot​her-​sibo​lga-​terror​ism-​susp​ect-​arres​ted-​in-​east-​kal​iman​ tan.html. 249. “Indonesia Arrests Dozens After IS-​Linked Suicide Bombing,” Channel NewsAsia, November 18, 2019, https://​www.chan​neln​ewsa​sia.com/​news/​asia/​indone​sia-​ medan-​suic​ide-​bomb​ing-​arre​sts-​doz​ens-​after-​is-​lin​ked-​12103​922.

Notes  347 250. See Zam Yusa, “JAD Cells Work Independently but Chat on Whatsapp and Telegram to Update on Each Others’ Plans,” Facebook, October 25, 2019, https://​www.faceb​ ook.com/​permal​ink.php?id=​11931​1840​7489​121&sto​ry_​f​b id=​17788​4181​5583​441. 251. “Aman Abdurrahman Losing Influence Among IS Supporters: Analyst,” The Jakarta Post, May 25, 2018, https://​www.the​jaka​rtap​ost.com/​news/​2018/​05/​25/​aman-​abdu​ rrah​man-​los​ing-​influe​nce-​among-​is-​sup​port​ers-​anal​yst.html. 252. Lipson, “Aman Abdurrahman: Is This Indonesia’s Most Dangerous Man?” 253. Francis Chan, “‘Hidden Fire’ of Intolerance Among Indonesia’s Young,” The Straits Times, November 16, 2017, https://​www.strai​tsti​mes.com/​opin​ion/​hid​den-​fire-​of-​ into​lera​nce-​among-​ind​ones​ias-​young. 254. Chan, “ ‘Hidden Fire’ of Intolerance Among Indonesia’s Young.” 255. Chan, “ ‘Hidden Fire’ of Intolerance Among Indonesia’s Young.” 256. Chan, “ ‘Hidden Fire’ of Intolerance Among Indonesia’s Young.” 257. Amy Chew, “Indonesia’s Ma’ruf Amin to Fight Radicalisation That Has Spread from Play Groups to Government,” South China Morning Post, November 29, 2019, https://​www.scmp.com/​week-​asia/​polit​ics/​arti​cle/​3039​821/​indone​sia-​appoi​nts-​ vice-​presid​ent-​and-​mus​lim-​cle​ric-​maruf-​amin. 258. Chew, “Indonesia’s Ma’ruf Amin to Fight Radicalisation.” 259. Alexander R. Arifianto, “Islam Nusantara and Its Critics: The Rise of NU’s Young Clerics,” RSIS Commentary, January 23, 2017, https://​www.rsis.edu.sg/​wp-​cont​ent/​ uplo​ads/​2017/​01/​CO17​018.pdf. 260. Wil Mackey and Ben Dolven, “Religious Intolerance in Indonesia,” Congressional Research Service In Focus, October 10, 2018, https://​sgp.fas.org/​crs/​row/​IF11​001. pdf . 261. Mackey and Dolven, “Religious Intolerance in Indonesia.” 262. Gregory Fealy, “Jokowi’s Bungled Ban of Hizbut Tahrir,” The Interpreter (Sydney: The Lowy Institute, July 17, 2017), https://​www.lowyin​stit​ute.org/​the-​inte​rpre​ter/​jok​ owi-​s-​bung​led-​ban-​hiz​but-​tah​rir . 263. Fealy, “Jokowi’s Bungled Ban of Hizbut Tahrir.” 264. Mackey and Dolven, “Religious Intolerance in Indonesia”; Mona Kanwal Sheikh, “Islamic State and Al-​Qaeda in a Thriving Indonesian Democracy,” in Global Jihad in Southeast Asia: Examining the Expansion of the Islamic State and al-​Qaeda, ed. Mona Kanwal Sheikh (Copenhagen: Danish Institute for International Studies, 2019), 49. 265. Fealy, “Islamic Radicalism in Indonesia,” 114. 266. Alexander R. Arifianto, “Islamic Defenders Front: An Ideological Evolution?,” RSIS Commentary, December 4, 2017, https://​www.rsis.edu.sg/​rsis-​publ​icat​ion/​rsis/​ co17​228-​isla​mic-​defend​ers-​front-​an-​ideo​logi​cal-​evolut​ion. 267. Ayang Utriza Yakin, “Salafi Dakwah and the Dissemination of Islamic Puritanism in Indonesia: A Case Study of the Radio of Rodja,” Ulumuna: Journal of Islamic Studies, State Islamic University Mataram 22, no. 2 (2018): 213–​214. 268. Yakin, “Salafi Dakwah and the Dissemination of Islamic Puritanism in Indonesia,” 215.

348 Notes 269. Yakin, “Salafi Dakwah and the Dissemination of Islamic Puritanism in Indonesia,” 215. 270. Yakin, “Salafi Dakwah and the Dissemination of Islamic Puritanism in Indonesia,” 219. 271. Quinn, Bandit Saints of Java, 381.

Chapter 7 1. Kumar Ramakrishna “What the Taped Execution of Prisoners by a Singapore Militant Tells Us,” TODAY, January 28, 2018, https://​www.toda​yonl​ine.com/​com​ ment​ary/​what-​taped-​execut​ion-​prison​ers-​singap​ore-​milit​ant-​tells-​us. 2. Ramakrishna “What the Taped Execution of Prisoners by a Singapore Militant Tells Us.” 3. Bilveer Singh, “Singapore’s Islamic State Jihadi: The Regional Security Implications of Abu Uqayl’s New Islamic State Video,” The Diplomat, January 3, 2018, https://​thed​ iplo​mat.com/​2018/​01/​sin​gapo​res-​isla​mic-​state-​jih​adi. 4. Singh, “Singapore’s Islamic State Jihadi.” 5. Schmid, Moderate Muslims and Islamist Terrorism, 10. 6. Ghobash, Letters to a Young Muslim, 244. 7. This chapter extensively revises an earlier iteration of the 4M Way concept. The original 4Ms referred to message, messenger, mechanism, and market receptivity. See Kumar Ramakrishna, “The 4M Way of Combating Violent Extremism: An Analysis,” New England Journal of Public Policy 31, no. 1, Article 9, 2019, https://​ schol​arwo​rks.umb.edu/​nejpp/​vol31/​iss1/​9. 8. Bering, The God Instinct, 200. 9. Purzycki and Sosis, “Religious Concepts as Necessary Components of the Adaptive Religious System,” in Interdisciplinary Perspectives on Philosophy, ed. Frey, 38–​42, 50–​51; Sosis and Kiper, “Sacred versus Secular Values: Cognitive and Evolutionary Sciences of Religion and Their Implications for Religious Freedom,” in Homo Religiosus?, eds. Shah and Friedman, 97–​98. 10. Shermer, How We Believe, 162. 11. Savage, “Four Lessons from the Study of Fundamentalism and the Psychology of Religion,” 133. 12. Akyol, Islam Without Extremes, 177. 13. Jones, Blood That Cries Out from the Earth, 123. 14. Galtung, “Violence, Peace, and Peace Research,” 177. 15. Galtung, “Violence, Peace, and Peace Research,” 170–​171. 16. Schuurman and Taylor, “Reconsidering Radicalization,” 13. 17. Savage and Liht, “Mapping Fundamentalisms,” 82. 18. Benesch, “Dangerous Speech.” 19. Violent and Non-​Violent Extremism, 13–​14. 20. El Fadl, “The Orphans of Modernity and the Clash of Civilisations.”

Notes  349 21. Wagemakers, “Salafism.” 22. Weismann, “A Perverted Balance,” 64. 23. Comerford and Bryson, Struggle over Scripture, 6–​8. 24. Comerford and Bryson, Struggle over Scripture, 6–​8. 25. Comerford and Bryson, Struggle over Scripture, 6–​8. 26. Meleagrou-​Hitchens, Salafism in America, 29. 27. Singh, “Will Aman Abdurrahman’s Death Sentence Backfire?” 28. Abu Hamdie interview. 29. Ramakrishna, “From Radicalism to Extremism.” 30. Chandra, “S’porean Terror Detainee Zulfikar Shariff Supported Osama and Terrorism Since 2001.” 31. MNO interview. 32. For a discussion on ideology as the center of gravity of the violent Islamist threat, see Ramakrishna, Islamist Terrorism and Militancy in Indonesia, 221–​223. For a similar argument, see also Michael Chertoff, “The Ideology of Terrorism: Radicalism Revisited,” Brown Journal of International Affairs 15, no. 1 (Fall/​Winter 2008): 11–​20. Chertoff was Secretary of the U.S. Department of Homeland Security under President George W. Bush. 33. Kamles Kumar, “Malaysia Launches Regional Centre to Counter IS Messaging,” Malay Mail Online, July 26, 2016, http://​www.the​mala​ymai​lonl​ine.com/​malay​sia/​arti​cle/​malay​ sia-​launc​hes-​regio​nal-​cen​tre-​to-​coun​ter-​is-​messag​ing. For more information on ASEAN counterterrorism efforts, see S. Pushpanathan, “ASEAN Efforts to Counter Terrorism,” ASEAN.org, August 20, 2003, http://​asean.org/​?stat​ic_​p​ost=​asean-​effo​rts-​to-​com​bat-​ terror​ism-​by-​spushp​anat​han; ASEAN Secretariat, “ASEAN Convention on Counter-​ Terrorism Completes Ratification Process,” ASEAN.org, January 22, 2013, http://​asean. org/​asean-​con​vent​ion-​on-​coun​ter-​terror​ism-​comple​tes-​ratif​i cat​ion-​proc​ess. 34. “IS Foreign Fighters: 5,600 Have Returned Home—​Report,” BBC News, October 24, 2017, https://​www.bbc.com/​news/​world-​mid​dle-​east-​41734​069. 35. Antonia Ward, “ISIS’s Use of Social Media Still Poses a Threat to Stability in the Middle East and Africa,” Georgetown Security Studies Review, December 10, 2018, https://​geor​geto​wnse​curi​tyst​udie​srev​iew.org/​2018/​12/​10/​isiss-​use-​of-​soc​ial-​media-​ still-​poses-​a-​thr​eat-​to-​stabil​ity-​in-​the-​mid​dle-​east-​and-​afr​ica. 36. J. M. Berger and Jonathon Morgan, The ISIS Twitter Census: Defining and Describing the Population of ISIS Supporters on Twitter (Washington, DC: Brookings Institution Analysis Paper No. 20, March 2015). 37. Jeffry R. Halverson, “Why Story Is Not Narrative,” Center for Strategic Communication, Arizona State University, December 8, 2011, http://​csc.asu.edu/​ 2011/​12/​08/​why-​story-​is-​not-​narrat​ive. 38. Halverson, “Why Story Is Not Narrative.” 39. Rachel Briggs and Sebastien Feve, Review of Programs to Counter Narratives of Violent Extremism: What Works and What Are the Implications for Government? (London: Institute for Strategic Dialogue, 2013), 4. 40. Greg Barton, “Understanding Key Themes in the ISIS Narrative: An Examination of Dabiq Magazine,” in Contesting the Theological Foundations of Islamism and Violent

350 Notes Extremism, eds. Fethi Mansouri and Zuleyha Keskin (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2019), 139–​161. 41. Schmid, Violent and Non-​Violent Extremism, 4. 42. Schmid, Violent and Non-​Violent Extremism, 6. 43. Kate Ferguson, Countering Violent Extremism through Media and Communication Strategies: A Review of the Evidence, University of East Anglia Partnership for Conflict, Crime & Security Research, March 1, 2016, 7, http://​www.paccsr​esea​rch. org.uk/​wp-​cont​ent/​uplo​ads/​2016/​03/​C ou​nter​ing-​Viol​ent-​Extrem​ism-​Thro​ugh-​ Media-​and-​Commun​icat​ion-​Str​ateg​ies-​.pdf. 44. Kurt Braddock and John G. Horgan, “Towards a Guide for Constructing and Disseminating Counter‐Narratives to Reduce Support for Terrorism,” Studies in Conflict & Terrorism 39, no. 5 (2016): 381–​404. 45. Braddock and Horgan, “Towards a Guide for Constructing and Disseminating Counter‐Narratives.” 46. Briggs and Feve, Review of Programs to Counter Narratives of Violent Extremism, 6. 47. Briggs and Feve, Review of Programs to Counter Narratives of Violent Extremism, 6. 48. Briggs and Feve, Review of Programs to Counter Narratives of Violent Extremism, 6. 49. Briggs and Feve, Review of Programs to Counter Narratives of Violent Extremism, 16. 50. Briggs and Feve, Review of Programs to Counter Narratives of Violent Extremism, 12. 51. Tobias Gemmerli, The Fight Against Online Radicalisation Starts Offline (Copenhagen: Danish Institute for International Studies, 2015). 52. Gemmerli, The Fight Against Online Radicalisation Starts Offline. 53. Gemmerli, The Fight Against Online Radicalisation Starts Offline. 54. Gemmerli, The Fight Against Online Radicalisation Starts Offline. 55. Ajit Mann, Counter-​Terrorism Narrative Strategies (Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 2015). 56. Mann, Counter-​Terrorism Narrative Strategies, 3. 57. Mann, Counter-​Terrorism Narrative Strategies, 3. 58. Gemmerli, The Fight Against Online Radicalisation Starts Offline. 59. Bibi T. Van Ginkel, Responding to Cyber Jihad: Towards an Effective Counter Narrative (The Hague: International Centre for Counter Terrorism, 2015), 7. 60. Andrew Glazzard, Losing the Plot: Narrative, Counter‐Narrative and Violent Extremism (The Hague: International Centre for Counter Terrorism, 2017), 6–​7. 61. Benjamin Lee, “Countering Violent Extremism Online: The Experiences of Informal Counter Messaging Actors,” Policy & Internet 12, no. 1 (March 2020), 83. . 62. Eric Rosand and Emily Winterbotham, “Do Counter-​Narratives Actually Reduce Violent Extremism?” Brookings, March 20, 2019, https://​www.brooki​ngs.edu/​blog/​ order-​f rom-​chaos/​2019/​03/​20/​do-​coun​ter-​nar​rati​ves-​actua ​l ly-​red​uce-​viol​ent-​ extrem​ism. 63. Ferguson, “Countering Violent Extremism Through Media and Communication Strategies,” 9. 64. Anne Aly, “Brothers, Believers, Brave Mujahideen: Focusing Attention on the Audience of Violent Jihadist Preachers,” in Violent Extremism Online: New

Notes  351 Perspectives on Terrorism and the Internet, eds. Anne Aly, Stuart Macdonald, Lee Jarvis, and Thomas Chen (London: Routledge, 2016), 120. 65. C. Thi Nguyen, “The Problem of Living Inside Echo Chambers,” The Conversation, September 11, 2019, https://​thec​onve​rsat​ion.com/​the-​prob​lem-​of-​liv​ing-​ins​ide-​ echo-​chamb​ers-​110​486. 66. Michael Shermer, “The Believing Brain: Why Science Is the Only Way Out of Belief-​ Dependent Realism,” Scientific American, July 1, 2011, https://​www.sci​enti​fica​meri​ can.com/​arti​cle/​the-​believ​ing-​brain/​. 67. van Ginkel, Responding to Cyber Jihad, 6. 68. Glazzard, Losing the Plot, 3. 69. Ferguson, “Countering Violent Extremism Through Media and Communication Strategies,” 25. 70. Gemmerli, The Fight Against Online Radicalisation Starts Offline. 71. van Ginkel, Responding to Cyber Jihad, 11. 72. David Parker, Julia M. Pearce, Lasse Lindekilde, and M. Brooke Rogers, “Challenges for Effective Counterterrorism Communication: Practitioner Insights and Policy Implications for Preventing Radicalization, Disrupting Attack Planning, and Mitigating Terrorist Attacks,” Studies in Conflict & Terrorism 42, no. 3 (2019): 269. 73. Ian Cobain, Alice Ross, Rob Evans, and Mona Mahmood, “Help for Syria: The ‘Aid Campaign’ Secretly Run by the UK Government,” The Guardian, May 3, 2016, https://​ www.theg​uard​ian.com/​world/​2016/​may/​03/​help-​for-​syria-​aid-​campa​ign-​secre​tly-​ run-​by-​uk-​gov​ernm​ent. 74. Mahfuh Halimi, “Abrogation and the Verse of the Sword: Countering Extremists’ Justification for Violence,” Counter Terrorist Trends and Analyses 9, no. 7 (July 2017). 75. Muhammad Saiful Alam Shah bin Sudiman, “Countering ISIS Call for Hijra (Emigration): A Review Through the Lens of Maqāṣid Ash-​Sharīʿah,” Journal for Deradicalization, no. 12 (Fall 2017): 60–​83. 76. Suhartono and Paddock, “Indonesia Sentences ISIS Recruiter to Death.” 77. Gemmerli, The Fight Against Online Radicalisation Starts Offline. 78. WMWM Lecture. 79. WMWM Lecture. 80. WMWM Lecture. 81. WMWM Lecture. 82. WMWM Lecture. 83. WMWM Lecture. 84. Ramakrishna, Radical Pathways, 172–​174. 85. van Ginkel, Responding to Cyber Jihad, 11. 86. WMWM Lecture. 87. WMWM Lecture. 88. WMWM Lecture. 89. WMWM Lecture. 90. WMWM Lecture.

352 Notes 91. WMWM Lecture. 92. WMWM Lecture. 93. WMWM Lecture. 94. Kumar Ramakrishna, “Countering Al-​Qaeda as a ‘State of Mind’,” Southeast Asia Regional Centre for Counter-​Terrorism, Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Malaysia, website updated September 30, 2016, http://​www.sear​cct.gov.my/​featu​red-​artic​les/​ 53-​cou​nter​ing-​al-​qaeda-​as-​a-​state-​of-​mind. 95. In fairness, the pre-​Pakatan Government Home Minister had hailed Zamihan as “an important asset” and “rehabilitation expert.” See Bakar, “Controversial Jakim Officer Zamihan’s Contract Terminated.” 96. Mann, Counter-​Terrorism Narrative Strategies, 3. 97. Ghobash, Letters to a Young Muslim, 244. 98. Ramakrishna, “Self-​Radicalisation and the Awlaki Connection.” 99. Ghobash, Letters to a Young Muslim, 24. 100. Ghobash, Letters to a Young Muslim, 76–​77. 101. Schmid, Moderate Muslims and Islamist Terrorism, 8. 102. The Cambridge Islamic College website is at https://​www.camb​ridg​eisl​amic​coll​ ege.org/​. 103. Carla Power, If the Oceans Were Ink: An Unlikely Friendship and a Journey to the Heart of the Quran (New York: Henry Holt and Company, 2015), 51. 104. Power, If the Oceans Were Ink, 66–​72. 105. Power, If the Oceans Were Ink, 107. 106. Power, If the Oceans Were Ink, 58–​59. 107. Power, If the Oceans Were Ink, 67. 108. Woodward, “President Gus Dur: Indonesia, Islam and Reformasi.” 109. Barton, “Neo-​Modernism,” 7–​8. 110. Muhammad Haniff Hassan, “Community-​Based Initiatives Against JI by Singapore’s Islamic Community,” IDSS Commentary, January 16, 2006, https://​www.rsis.edu.sg/​ wp-​cont​ent/​uplo​ads/​2014/​07/​CO06​004.pdf. 111. Atlas, Halal Monk. 112. Power, If the Oceans Were Ink, 67. 113. The Growing Influence of Salafism in Muslim Mindanao, 12. 114. Awang, “Malay-​Muslim Community Continues To Be a Model for Success.” 115. Andaya and Ishii, “Religious Developments in Southeast Asia,” in Cambridge History of Southeast Asia, Volume One, Part Two, ed. Tarling, 173. 116. Kelly Ng, “Don’t Impose Foreign Islamic Culture on Muslims: Mufti,” TODAY, June 26, 2017, http://​www.toda​yonl​ine.com/​singap​ore/​bea​uty-​islam-​it-​respe​cts-​all-​ cultu​res-​spore-​mufti. 117. Ng, “Don’t Impose Foreign Islamic Culture on Muslims.” 118. Ng, “Don’t Impose Foreign Islamic Culture on Muslims.” 119. John McBeth, “Indonesians Champion Their Own Way of Practising Islam,” The National, October 28, 2016, https://​www.then​atio​nal.ae/​world/​asia/​indo​nesi​ans-​ champ​ion-​their-​own-​way-​of-​pra​ctis​ing-​islam-​1.156​410. 120. Arifianto, “Islam Nusantara and Its Critics.”

Notes  353 121. “Islam Nusantara Can Protect RI from Fundamentalism,” The Jakarta Post, August 24, 2015, https://​www.the​jaka​rtap​ost.com/​news/​2015/​08/​24/​islam-​nusant​ara-​can-​ prot​ect-​ri-​fun​dame​ntal​ism.html. 122. Quinn, Bandit Saints of Java, 37–​45. 123. Quinn, Bandit Saints of Java, 44–​45. 124. Quinn, Bandit Saints of Java, 38–​39. 1 25. The PAS-​c ontrolled Kelantan state government lifted the ban in September 2019. However, Mak Yong performances need to be “sharia compliant,” which some observers argue would undermine the cultural essence of the performance. See Mohamed Ghouse Nasuruddin, “PAS Inflicted Irreparable Damage on Mak Yong,” New Straits Times, October 14, 2019, https://​w ww.nst. com.my/​opin​i on/​c ol​u mni​sts/​2 019/​1 0/​5 29​5 97/​p as-​i nflic​ted-​i rre​p ara​ble-​d am​ age-​mak-​yong; Zurairi Ar, “Kelantan Lifts Mak Yong Ban After Two Decades, But Insists Performances Must be Sharia-​C ompliant,” Malay Mail, September 25, 2019, https://​w ww.malaym​ail.com/​news/​malay​sia/​2019/​09/​25/​kelan​ tan-​l ifts-​m ak-​yong-​b an-​after-​t wo-​d eca​d es-​but-​i nsi​s ts-​p erfo​r man​c es-​must/​ 1794​2 02. 126. Dina Zaman, “Cultural Diplomacy, Mak Yong and Preventing and Countering Violent Extremism,” LinkedIn, April 7, 2020, https://​www.linke​din.com/​pulse/​cultu​ ral-​diplom​acy-​mak-​yong-​pre​vent​ing-​cou​nter​ing-​viol​ent-​dina-​zaman. 127. Zaman, “Cultural Diplomacy, Mak Yong and Preventing and Countering Violent Extremism.” 128. See “Website on Muslim Mindanao for Journalists and Other Communicators,” Asian Institute of Journalism and Communication, 2011, http://​www.mus​limm​ inda​nao.ph/​musl​im_​a​rts.html. 129. “Website on Muslim Mindanao for Journalists and Other Communicators.” 130. For the Singapore National Pledge, see https://​www.nhb.gov.sg/​what-​we-​do/​our-​ work/​commun​ity-​eng​agem​ent/​educat​ion/​resour​ces/​natio​nal-​symb​ols/​natio​nal-​ ple​dge. 131. Tee Zhuo, “1966 Letter Sheds Light on Origins of National Pledge,” The Straits Times, August 11, 2018, https://​www.strai​tsti​mes.com/​singap​ore/​1966-​let​ter-​sheds-​light-​ on-​orig​ins-​of-​natio​nal-​ple​dge. 132. “Malaysia’s Sultans Express Concern That Religious Controversies Are Splitting the Country.” 133. Joshua Foong, “Understanding 1Malaysia,” The Star, December 15, 2010, https://​ www.thes​tar.com.my/​news/​nat​ion/​2010/​12/​15/​unders​tand​ing-​1malay​sia. 134. “1Malaysia Plan Among Reasons Mahathir and I Fell Out: Najib,” The Straits Times, July 7, 2018, https://​www.strai​tsti​mes.com/​asia/​se-​asia/​1malay​sia-​plan-​among-​ reas​ons-​mahat​hir-​and-​i-​fell-​out-​najib. 135. Hannah Ellis-​Peterson, “1MDB Scandal Explained: A Tale of Malaysia’s Missing Billions,” The Guardian, October 25, 2018, https://​www.theg​uard​ian.com/​world/​ 2018/​oct/​25/​1mdb-​scan​dal-​explai​ned-​a-​tale-​of-​malays​ias-​miss​ing-​billi​ons. 136. Chin, “Malaysia Takes a Turn to the Right.” 137. Van Dijk, Rebellion Under the Banner of Islam, 45–​47.

354 Notes 138. Deasy Simandjuntak, “Jokowi’s Ban on Radical Groups and Pancasila’s Uncomfortable Past,” Channel NewsAsia, July 22, 2017, http://​www.chan​neln​ewsa​ sia.com/​news/​asia​paci​f ic/​com​ment​ary-​jok​owi-​s-​ban-​on-​radi​cal-​gro​ups-​and-​ pancas​ila-​s-​9047​670. 139. Haeril Halim, “Jokowi Inaugurates Chief, Advisors of Pancasila Working Unit,” The Jakarta Post, June 7, 2017, http://​www.the​jaka​rtap​ost.com/​news/​2017/​06/​07/​jok​ owi-​inau​gura​tes-​chief-​advis​ors-​of-​pancas​ila-​work​ing-​unit.html. 140. Discussion with staff of NU Online, Jakarta, June 25, 2019. 141. Mark Maca and Paul Morris, “Education, National Identity and State Formation in the Modern Philippines,” in Constructing Modern Asian Citizenship, eds. Edward Vickers and Krishna Kumar (London: Routledge, 2015), 142. 142. Niels Mulder, “Filipino Identity: The Haunting Question,” Journal of Current Southeast Asian Affairs 32, no. 1 (2013): 77. 143. Bill Durodie, “Why ‘Deradicalisation’ Is Not the Answer,” Spiked, June 5, 2008, https://​w ww.spi​ked-​onl​ine.com/​2008/​06/​05/​why-​derad​ical​isat ​ion-​is-​not-​the-​ ans​wer. 144. Malcolm Gladwell, The Tipping Point: How Little Things Can Make a Big Difference (London: Abacus, 2004), 25. 145. Gladwell, The Tipping Point, 25. 146. Gladwell, The Tipping Point, 99. 147. Gladwell, The Tipping Point, 25. 148. Chip Heath and Dan Heath, Made to Stick: Why Some Ideas Take Hold and Others Come Unstuck (London: Arrow, 2008), 16. 149. Heath and Heath, Made to Stick, 17. 150. Heath and Heath, Made to Stick, 17–​18. 151. Julian Millie, “‘Spiritual Meal’ or Ongoing Project? The Dilemma of Dakwah Oratory,” in Expressing Islam: Religious Life and Politics in Indonesia, eds. Greg Fealy and Sally White (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2008), 82. 152. Millie, “‘Spiritual Meal’ or Ongoing Project?,” in Expressing Islam, eds. Fealy and White, 91–​92. 153. Nur Amali Ibrahim, Improvisational Islam: Indonesian Youth in a Time of Possibility (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2018), 116–​117 154. Ibrahim, Improvisational Islam, 117 155. Quinn, Bandit Saints of Java, 26. 156. Quinn, Bandit Saints of Java, 31. 157. Quinn, Bandit Saints of Java, 31. 158. Quinn, Bandit Saints of Java, 31. 159. Ibrahim, Improvisational Islam, 116. 160. Ramakrishna, “Reflections of a Reformed Jihadist.” 161. Kumar Ramakrishna, “The ‘Three Rings’ of Terrorist Rehabilitation and Counter-​Ideological Work in Singapore: A Decade On,” in Prisons, Terrorism & Extremism: Critical Issues in Management, Radicalisation and Reform, ed. Andrew Silke (London: Routledge 2014), 197–​213.

Notes  355 162. The Growing Influence of Salafism in Muslim Mindanao, 8–​9. 163. Ramakrishna, “Countering Al-​Qaeda as a ‘State of Mind’.” 164. Franklin Foer, World Without Mind: The Existential Threat of Big Tech (London: Jonathan Cape, 2017), 140. 165. Zubaidah Nazeer, “Indonesia Faces Rising Intolerance,” Straits Times, March 5, 2011. 166. Indonesia: The Dark Side of Jama’ah Ansharut Tauhid (Jakarta/​Brussels: International Crisis Group Asia Briefing no. 107, (2010): 5. 167. Niniek Karmini, “Facebook Broke Indonesia Terror Case,” Associated Press, June 21, 2013, https://​new​sok.com/​arti​cle/​feed/​556​547/​ap-​exclus​ive-​faceb​ook-​broke-​ indone​sia-​ter​ror-​case. 168. Ramakrishna, Islamist Terrorism and Militancy in Indonesia, 231–​232. 169. Karmini, “Facebook Broke Indonesia Terror Case.” 170. “Post-​Sept 11, War on Terror Gets Harder,” The Straits Times, September 10, 2016. 171. GCTF Countering Violent Extremism (CVE) Working Group Workshop on Counter and Alternative Narratives, June 24–​25, 2019 Jakarta, Indonesia. 172. GCTF Countering Violent Extremism (CVE) Working Group Workshop on Counter and Alternative Narratives. 173. Max Walden, “Millennial-​ focused, Muslim Site Is Alternative to Extremism Online,” International Journalists’ Network, January 10, 2019, https://​ijnet.org/​en/​ story/​mil​lenn​ial-​focu​sed-​mus​lim-​site-​alte​rnat​ive-​extrem​ism-​onl​ine. 174. GCTF Countering Violent Extremism (CVE) Working Group Workshop on Counter and Alternative Narratives. 175. GCTF Countering Violent Extremism (CVE) Working Group Workshop on Counter and Alternative Narratives. 176. GCTF Countering Violent Extremism (CVE) Working Group Workshop on Counter and Alternative Narratives. See the UNDP Creators for Change website: https://​www.asia-​paci​fic.undp.org/​cont​ent/​rbap/​en/​home/​pro​gram​mes-​and-​ init​iati​ves/​creat​ors-​for-​cha​nge.html. 177. GCTF Countering Violent Extremism (CVE) Working Group Workshop on Counter and Alternative Narratives. 178. GCTF Countering Violent Extremism (CVE) Working Group Workshop on Counter and Alternative Narratives. 179. GCTF Countering Violent Extremism (CVE) Working Group Workshop on Counter and Alternative Narratives. 180. GCTF Countering Violent Extremism (CVE) Working Group Workshop on Counter and Alternative Narratives. For more on the MASAR app developed by the Hedayah Center think tank, see https://​www.hedaya​hcen​ter.org/​resour​ces/​inter​acti​ ve_​c​ve_​a​pps/​pre​vent​ing-​and-​cou​nter​ing-​rad​ical​izat​ion-​and-​viol​ent-​extrem​ism-​ as-​rela​ted-​to-​the-​ftf-​thr​eat/​. 181. While the term “propaganda” has long been sullied by association with the Nazis in World War II, in a technical sense the term has been used to describe mass communications—​words and deeds—​that can influence a target audience to behave in desired ways. See Ramakrishna, Emergency Propaganda, 13.

356 Notes 182. M. Nirmala, “Waging Propaganda War Against Terrorists,” Straits Times, December 16, 2013, http://​www.strai​tsti​mes.com/​singap​ore/​wag​ing-​pro​paga​nda-​war-​agai​ nst-​ter​rori​sts. 183. Crossman, cited in Ramakrishna, Emergency Propaganda, 19. 184. Ramakrishna, Emergency Propaganda, 110–​113. 185. Damian Whitworth, “We’ve Had Life of Brian, Now We Need Life of Muhammad,” Times (London), 15 April 2017, https://​www.theti​mes.co.uk/​arti​cle/​weve-​had-​life-​ of-​brian-​now-​we-​need-​life-​of-​muham​mad-​09dkqx​mjm. 186. Four Lions, directed by Chris Morris (UK: Film4 Productions and Wild Bunch, Warp Films, 2010), DVD. 187. Robin McDowell, “Captain Jihad: Ex-​Terrorist Is Now Comic Book Hero,” Jakarta Post, September 9, 2011, http://​www.nbcn​ews.com/​id/​44449​487/​ns/​wor​ld_​n​ews-​ asia_​paci​fic/​t/​capt​ain-​jihad-​ex-​terror​ist-​now-​comic-​book-​hero. 188. Desy Nurhayati, “‘Prison and Paradise’ Gives a Voice to Terrorism Survivors,” The Jakarta Post, October 12, 2011, http://​www.the​jaka​rtap​ost.com/​news/​2011/​10/​12/​ pri​son-​and-​parad​ise-​gives-​a-​voice-​terror​ism-​surviv​ors.html. 189. Ramadi to Marawi: Proceedings of the Conference on Peace and Prevention of Violent Extremism in Southeast Asia (Manila: Philippine Centre for Islam and Democracy, 2018), 94. 190. Kumar Ramakrishna, “Content, Credibility and Context: Propaganda, Government Surrender Policy, and the Malayan Communist Terrorist Mass Surrenders of 1958,” Intelligence and National Security 14, no. 4 (1999): 242–​266. 191. Anjo Bagoisan, “PH Among Top 10 Countries ‘Most Impacted’ by Terrorism: Report,” ABS-​CBN News, December 20, 2018, https://​news.abs-​cbn. com/​news/​12/​20/​18/​ph-​among-​top-​10-​countr​ies-​most-​impac​ted-​by-​terror​ism-​ rep​ort. 192. “Statement of Admiral Philip S. Davidson, U.S Navy Commander, U.S. Indo-​Pacific Command Before the Senate Armed Services Committee on U.S. Indo-​Pacific Command Posture,” February 12, 2019, https://​www.armed-​servi​ces.sen​ate.gov/​ imo/​media/​doc/​Davi​dson​_​02-​12-​19.pdf. 193. Chew, “Islamic State’s Grip Widening in Southern Philippines, Says MILF Leader.” 194. “Army Says Battle for Marawi to End Soon, 1000 Dead” AFP, October 16, 2017, http://​news.abs-​cbn.com/​news/​10/​16/​17/​army-​says-​bat​tle-​for-​mar​awi-​to-​end​soon-​1000-​dead. 195. Radicalization in East Asia, 1. 196. Radicalization in East Asia, 2. 197. See the website of the BAR at https://​ban​gsam​oro.gov.ph/​. 198. Jopson, “Making Peace with the Bangsamoro Basic Law.” 199. Jeoffrey Maitem and Richel V. Umel, “Philippine NGO: Delays in Rebuilding Marawi Fuel IS Recruitment,” Relief Web, February 19, 2020, https://​relief​web.int/​ rep​ort/​phil​ippi​nes/​phi​lipp​ine-​ngo-​del​ays-​reb​uild​ing-​mar​awi-​fuel-​recr​uitm​ent. 200. Paul Millar, “Whatever Happened to the Liberation of Marawi City,” Southeast Asia Globe, October 17, 2018, https://​sou​thea​stas​iagl​obe.com/​whate​ver-​happe​ned-​to-​ the-​lib​erat​ion-​of-​mar​awi-​city/​.

Notes  357 201. Ramakrishna, Emergency Propaganda. 202. Marawi, The “East Asia Wilayah” and Indonesia (Jakarta: Institute for the Policy Analysis of Conflict Report no. 38, July 21, 2017), 24. 203. Tubeza, “Duterte Ready to Order ‘Carpet Bombing’ of Marawi if Needed.” 204. Nirmala, Aprilia, and Maitem, “Reports: Indonesian, Philippine Militants Bolster Ranks, Launch Attacks During Pandemic.” 205. Zakir Hussain, “ISIS Posts Footage of Boy-​Trainees from South-​east Asia,” Straits Times, March 17, 2015, http://​www.strai​tsti​mes.com/​asia/​se-​asia/​isis-​posts-​foot​age-​ of-​boy-​train​ees-​from-​south-​east-​asia. This section draws upon Kumar Ramakrishna, “Understanding Youth Radicalization in the Age of ISIS: A Psychosocial Analysis,” E-​International Relations, February 11, 2016, https://​www.e-​ir.info/​2016/​02/​11/​ understanding-​youth-​radicalization-​in-​the-​age-​of-​isis-​a-​psychosocial-​analysis/​ 206. Hussain, “ISIS Posts Footage of Boy-​Trainees.” 207. “ISIS Camps Training Children to Kill,” The Straits Times, December 14, 2015, http://​www.strai​tsti​mes.com/​asia/​se-​asia/​isis-​camps-​train​ing-​child​ren-​to-​kill. 208. “No ISIS Camps in Kazakhstan, Says Ambassador,” Channel News Asia, December 15, 2015, http://​www.chan​neln​ewsa​sia.com/​news/​asia​paci​fic/​no-​isis-​camps-​in/​ 2348​010.html. 209. Tom Wyke and Darren Boyle, “ISIS Release Shocking New Video of Child Soldiers from Kazakhstan Being Trained with AK47s,” Mail Online, November 23, 2014, http://​w ww.dailym​ail.co.uk/​news/​arti​cle-​2845​531/​ISIS-​rele​ase-​shock​ing-​new-​ video-​child-​soldi​ers-​Kaz​akhs​tan-​trai​ned-​AK47s.html. 210. Jessica Stern and J. M. Berger, ISIS: The State of Terror (New York: Ecco, 2015), 210. 211. Arianti and Singh, “ISIS’ Southeast Asia Unit: Raising the Security Threat.” 212. Stern and Berger, ISIS, 211. 213. Thomas K. Samuel, “The Lure of Youth into Terrorism,” SEARCCT’s Selection of Articles 2 (2011), 109–​113. SEARCCT refers to the Southeast Asia Regional Centre for Counter-​Terrorism, based in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. 214. Kumar Ramakrishna, “The Paris Attacks: Ramping Up of Islamic State ‘Indirect Strategy?’” Eurasia Review, November 18, 2015, http://​www.eurasi​arev​iew.com/​ 18112 ​ 0 15-​ t he-​ p aris-​ atta​ cks-​ r amp​ i ng-​ up-​ of-​ isla​ m ic-​ state-​ i ndir​ e ct-​ strat​ e gy-​ analy​sis. 215. Ramakrishna, “The Paris Attacks.” 216. Kristen Gelineau, “Teen’s Slaying of Sydney Police Worker May Have Terror Links,” The Jakarta Post, October 3, 2015, http://​www.the​jaka​rtap​ost.com/​news/​2015/​10/​ 03/​teens-​slay​ing-​syd​ney-​pol​ice-​wor​ker-​may-​have-​ter​ror-​links.html. 217. Ramadi to Marawi, 90–​91. 218. V. Aranti, “Participation of Children in Terrorist Attacks in Indonesia: A Possible Future Trend,” Counter-​Terrorist Trends and Analyses 10, no. 11 (November 2018): 4. 219. Prashanth Parameswaran, “The Youth Battle in Malaysia’s Islamic State War,” The Diplomat, March 10, 2017, https://​thed​iplo​mat.com/​2017/​03/​the-​youth-​bat​tle-​in-​ malays​ias-​isla​mic-​state-​war.

358 Notes 220. Toh Ee Ming, “Youth Self-​Radicalisation a Concern: Shanmugam,” TODAY, March 13, 2018, https://​www.toda​yonl​ine.com/​singap​ore/​youth-​self-​rad​ical​isat​ion-​conc​ ern-​shanmu​gam. 221. Ramakrishna, Islamist Terrorism and Militancy in Indonesia, 115. 222. See “Definition of ‘Youth’,” www.un.org/​esa/​socdev/​documents/​youth/​fact-​sheets/​ youth-​definition.pdf. In some UN agencies, alternative terms, such as “adolescent” (10–​19) and “young people” (10–​24), are used as well. Note the overlap with the 15–​24 age range used by the UN Secretariat. 223. Ramadi to Marawi, 88. 224. The Internet as a Terrorist Tool for Recruitment and Radicalization of Youth (Washington, DC: Homeland Security Institute, April 24, 2009), 6. 225. Goh Chee Leong, “How, What and Why: Understanding Them—​A Psychological Overview of the Youth,” SEARCCT Symposium on the Dynamics of Youth and Terrorism, Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, May 9, 2011. 226. Ramakrishna, Islamist Terrorism and Militancy in Indonesia, 116. 227. Yabes, “Factors and Forces That Led to the Marawi Debacle.” 228. Yabes, “Factors and Forces That Led to the Marawi Debacle.” 229. Yabes, “Factors and Forces That Led to the Marawi Debacle.” 230. Yabes, “Factors and Forces That Led to the Marawi Debacle.” 231. Russell Razzaque, Human Being to Human Bomb: Inside the Mind of a Terrorist (Cambridge: Icon Books, 2008), 80–​83. 232. Razzaque, Human Being to Human Bomb, 80–​83. 233. Jones, Blood That Cries Out from the Earth, 119. 234. Alper, The “God” Part of the Brain, 173–​174. 235. Jones, Blood That Cries Out from the Earth, 133–​134. 236. A New Approach? Deradicalization Programs and Counterterrorism (New York: International Peace Institute, 2010), 9. 237. Amina Rasul-​Benardo interview. 238. Abu Hamdie interview. 239. Juergensmeyer, Terror in the Mind of God, 12. 240. Jones, Blood That Cries Out from the Earth, 120. 241. Steven Johnson, Mind Wide Open: Why You Are What You Think (London: Penguin, 2004), 8; E. O. Wilson, Consilience: The Unity of Knowledge (New York: Vintage Books, 1999), 116–​ 117; Newberg and Waldman, Why We Believe What We Believe, 32. 242. Norman Doidge, The Brain That Changes Itself: Stories of Personal Triumph from the Frontiers of Brain Science (London: Penguin, 2008), 52–​53, 209; Matt Ridley, The Agile Gene: How Nature Turns on Nurture (New York: Perennial, 2004), 167–​170. 243. Newberg and Waldman, Why We Believe What We Believe, 120–​121. 244. Ali, “Raised on Hatred,” 37. 245. Ali, “Raised on Hatred,” 37. 246. Atran, Talking to the Enemy, 353. 247. Atran, Talking to the Enemy, 355. 248. Atran, Talking to the Enemy, 356.

Notes  359 249. Abu Hamdie interview. 250. Report of the UN Secretary-​General: Plan of Action to Prevent Violent Extremism, December 24, 2015, 3–​ 4, 17–​ 18, https://​www.un.org/​en/​ga/​sea​rch/​view_​doc. asp?sym​bol=​A/​70/​674. 251. Jones, Blood That Cries Out from the Earth, 119–​120. 252. Donald W. Winnicott, The Family and Individual Development. With a New Introduction by Martha Nussbaum (London: Routledge, 2006), 148–​149, 236–​238. 253. Ramadi to Marawi, 92. 254. Staub, “Basic Human Needs, Altruism, and Aggression,” in The Social Psychology of Good and Evil, ed. Miller, 76. 255. Staub, “Basic Human Needs, Altruism, and Aggression,” in The Social Psychology of Good and Evil, ed. Miller, 76. 256. Thomas Ashby Wills and Jody A. Resko, “Social Support and Behavior Toward Others,” in The Social Psychology of Good and Evil, ed. Miller, 419–​436. 257. A. Ozerdem and S. Podder, “Disarming Youth Combatants: Mitigating Youth Radicalization and Violent Extremism,” Journal of Strategic Security 4, no. 4 (2011): 71. 258. Erickson, Identity, 80–​81. 259. Schmid, Radicalisation, De-​Radicalisation, Counter-​Radicalisation, 10. 260. Ramadi to Marawi, 92. 261. Ramadi to Marawi, 93. 262. Ramadi to Marawi, 93. For an early analysis of the importance of humanities education in reducing susceptibility to extremist narratives, see Kumar Ramakrishna, “Countering the New Terrorism of Al Qaeda without Generating Civilizational Conflict: The Need for an Indirect Strategy,” in The New Terrorism: Anatomy, Trends and Counter-​ Strategies, eds. Andrew Tan and Kumar Ramakrishna (Singapore: Eastern Universities Press, 2002), 216–​217. 263. WMWM Lecture. 264. WMWM Lecture. 265. Jamhari Makruf interview, Jakarta, April 5, 2011. 266. Jamhari Makruf interview, Jakarta, April 5, 2011. 267. Noor Huda Ismail interview, Jakarta, April 6, 2011. 268. Noor Huda Ismail interview, Jakarta, April 6, 2011. 269. MNO interview. 270. Jamhari Makruf interview. 271. Dina Afrianty, personal communication, May 2, 2012, Bangkok, Thailand. 272. Ibrahim, Improvisational Islam, 103–​104. 273. Dina Afrianty, “Islamic Education and Youth Extremism in Indonesia,” Journal of Policing, Intelligence and Counter-​Terrorism 7, no. 2 (2012): 142–​144. 274. Report of the UN Secretary-​General, 3–​4, 17–​18. 275. The website is at http://​ic-​asean.unand.ac.id. 276. Ivany Atina Arbi, “Malaysian NGO Offers Disabled Access Solution to Padang Mosque ‘Expulsion’,” The Jakarta Post, February 18, 2019, https://​www.the​jaka​rtap​ ost.com/​news/​2019/​02/​18/​malays​ian-​ngo-​off​ers-​disab​led-​acc​ess-​solut​ion-​to-​pad​ ang-​mos​que-​expus​ion.html.

360 Notes 277. Hery Sisworo, “The Unusual and Unique Masjid Raya Sumatra Barat,” Travelingkuy. com, June 24, 2019, https://​trave​ling​kuy.com/​mas​jid-​raya-​suma​tra-​barat/​210​194. 278. “Upgrading in Progress,” The Business Year, 2018, https://​www.theb​usin​essy​ear. com/​indone​sia-​2018/​upgrad​ing-​in-​progr​ess/​interv​iew; “Profile of Irwan Prayitno,” Merdeka.com, n.d., https://​www.merd​eka.com/​irwan-​prayi​tno/​pro​fil/​. 279. Fealy, Hooker, and White, “Indonesia,” in Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia, eds. Fealy and Hooker, 48; Hasan, Islamic Militancy, Sharia, and Democratic Consolidation in Post-​Suharto Indonesia. 280. Bubalo and Fealy, Joining the Caravan?, 67. 281. Bubalo and Fealy, Joining the Caravan?, 67–​68. 282. Farish A. Noor, The Partai Keadilan Sejahtera (PKS) in the Landscape of Indonesian Islamist Politics: Cadre-​Training as Mode of Preventive Radicalisation? (Singapore: S. Rajaratnam School of International Studies, 2011), 5. 283. Fealy, Hooker, and White, “Indonesia,” in Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia, eds. Fealy and Hooker, 49; Bubalo and Fealy, Joining the Caravan?, 69. 284. Ahmad Suaedy, “Islam, Democracy and the 2009 Elections,” The Jakarta Post, April 21, 2009, https://​www.the​jaka​rtap​ost.com/​news/​2009/​04/​21/​islam-​democr​acy-​ and-​2009-​electi​ons.html. 285. Rina Chadijah and Ahmad Syamsudin, “Indonesian Election: Muslim Parties Seen Losing Votes,” BenarNews, April 12, 2019, https://​www.benarn​ews.org/​engl​ish/​ news/​ind​ones​ian/​mus​lim-​part​ies-​elect​ion-​041​2201​9155​721.html. 286. Linda Yulisman, “Indonesia Election: Ruling Coalition Led by PDI-​P on Track to Win Most Seats in Parliament,” April 17, 2019, https://​www.strai​tsti​mes.com/​asia/​ se-​asia/​ind​ones​ias-​rul​ing-​coalit​ion-​led-​by-​pdi-​p-​on-​track-​to-​win-​most-​seats-​in-​ par​liam​ent. 287. Bubalo and Fealy, Joining the Caravan?, 70–​71. 288. Rachel Rinaldo, “Religion and the Politics of Morality: Muslim Women Activists and the Pornography Debate in Indonesia,” in Encountering Islam, ed. Hui, 261. 289. Noor, The Partai Keadilan Sejahtera (PKS) in the Landscape of Indonesian Islamist Politics, 15. Farish unfortunately misspelled “Irwan Prayitno” as “Irwan Priyanto.” The former is the correct spelling. 290. Noor, The Partai Keadilan Sejahtera (PKS), 15. 291. “Extract 15-​13: Irwan Prayitno,” in Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia, eds. Fealy and Hooker, 439–​440. 292. “Extract 15-​13: Irwan Prayitno,” in Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia, eds. Fealy and Hooker, 439–​440. 293. “Extract 15-​13: Irwan Prayitno,” in Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia, eds. Fealy and Hooker, 17. 294. “Extract 15-​13: Irwan Prayitno,” in Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia, eds. Fealy and Hooker, 23. 295. “Extract 15-​13: Irwan Prayitno,” in Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia, eds. Fealy and Hooker, 28. 296. “Extract 15-​13: Irwan Prayitno,” in Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia, eds. Fealy and Hooker, 28.

Notes  361 297. Raden Yasin, “The Attitude of PKS on the Implementation of Sharia in Democratic Indonesia,” PhD Dissertation, Deakin University, Australia, 2017. 298. Schmid, Radicalisation, De-​Radicalisation, Counter-​Radicalisation, 9–​10. 299. Cited in Esposito and Voll, eds., Makers of Contemporary Islam, 108. 300. Robert Spencer, Stealth Jihad: How Radical Islam Is Subverting America Without Guns or Bombs (Washington, DC: Regnery Publishing, 2008).

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368 References Ruthven, Malise. A Fury for God: The Islamist Attack on America. New York: Granta, 2002. Sageman, Marc. Understanding Terror Networks. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2004. Samudra, Imam. Aku Melawan Teroris [I Fight Terrorists]. Jazera: Solo, 2004. Selengut, Charles. Sacred Fury: Understanding Religious Violence. Walnut Creek, CA: Altimira Press, 2003. Sen, Amartya. Identity and Violence: The Illusion of Destiny. London: Allen Lane, 2006. Shermer, Michael. How We Believe: Science, Skepticism and the Search for God, 2nd edition. New York: Holt, 2003. Shermer, Michael. The Believing Brain: From Spiritual Faiths to Political Convictions—​ How We Construct Beliefs and Reinforce Them as Truths. London: Constable and Robinson, 2011. Shermer, Michael. The Science of Good and Evil: Why People Cheat, Gossip, Care, Share, and Follow the Golden Rule. New York: Holt, 2004. Sidel, John T. Riots, Pogroms, Jihad: Religious Violence in Indonesia. Singapore: NUS Press, 2007. Sim, Stuart. Fundamentalist World: The New Dark Age of Dogma. Cambridge: Icon Books, 2004. Singh, Bilveer. The Talibanization of Southeast Asia: Losing the War on Terror to Islamist Extremists. London: Praeger Security International, 2007. Solahudin. The Roots of Terrorism in Indonesia: From Darul Islam to Jema’ah Islamiyah. Translated by David McRae. Sydney: University of New South Wales Press/​The Lowy Institute for International Policy, 2013. Spencer, Robert. Stealth Jihad: How Radical Islam Is Subverting America Without Guns or Bombs. Washington, DC: Regnery Publishing, 2008. Stark, Rodney. Discovering God: The Origins of the Great Religions and the Evolution of Belief. New York: Harper One, 2007. Stern, Jessica, and J. M. Berger. ISIS: The State of Terror. New York: Ecco, 2015. Sunstein, Cass R. Going to Extremes: How Like Minds Unite and Divide. New York: Oxford University Press, 2009. Tan, Andrew, and Kumar Ramakrishna, eds. The New Terrorism: Anatomy, Trends, and Counter-​Strategies. Singapore: Eastern Universities Press, 2002. Taylor, Maxwell. The Fanatics: A Behavioural Approach to Political Violence. London: Brassey’s, 1991. Teehan, John. In the Name of God: The Evolutionary Origins of Religious Ethics and Violence. Chichester: Wiley-​Blackwell, 2010. Tilman, Robert O. Southeast Asia and the Enemy Beyond: ASEAN Perceptions of External Threats. Boulder, CO: Westview, 1987. Toft, Monica Duffy, Daniel Philpott, and Timothy Samuel Shah. God’s Century: Resurgent Religion and Global Politics. New York: W. W. Norton, 2011. Tosh, John, ed. Historians on History. Harlow: Longman, 2000. Van Dijk, C. Rebellion Under the Banner of Islam: The Darul Islam in Indonesia. The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1981. Vasil, Raj. A Citizen’s Guide to Government and Politics in Singapore. Singapore: Talisman Publishing, 2004. Wade, Francis. Myanmar’s Enemy Within: Buddhist Violence and the Making of a Muslim “Other.” London: Zed Books, 2017.

References  369 Waller, James. Becoming Evil: How Ordinary People Commit Genocide and Mass Killing. New York: Oxford University Press, 2005. Warrick, Joby. Black Flags: The Rise of ISIS. London: Corgi Books, 2015. Weckerle, Andrea. Civility in the Digital Age: How Companies and People Can Triumph Over Haters, Trolls, Bullies and Other Jerks. Indianapolis, IN: Que Publishing, 2013. Wilson, David Sloan. Darwin’s Cathedral: Evolution, Religion and the Nature of Society. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2002. Wilson, E. O. Consilience: The Unity of Knowledge. New York: Vintage Books, 1999. Wilson, E. O. The Social Conquest of Earth. New York: Liveright Publishing, 2012. Winnicott, Donald W. The Family and Individual Development. With a new introduction by Martha Nussbaum. London: Routledge, 2006. Winston, Robert. Human Instinct: How Our Primeval Impulses Shape Our Modern Lives. London: Bantam, 2003. Wood, Graeme. The Way of the Strangers: Encounters with the Islamic State. New York: Random House, 2017. Wright, Robert. Nonzero: The Logic of Human Destiny. New York: Vintage, 2000. Yegar, Moshe. Between Integration and Secession: The Muslim Communities of the Southern Philippines, Southern Thailand, and Western Burma/​Myanmar. Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2002.

Book Chapters Alatas, Syed Farid. “The Study of Muslim Revival: A General Framework.” In Muslim Reform in Southeast Asia: Perspectives from Malaysia, Indonesia and Singapore, ed. Syed Farid Alatas, 6–​15. Singapore: Islamic Religious Council of Singapore, 2009. Aly, Anne. “Brothers, Believers, Brave Mujahideen: Focusing Attention on the Audience of Violent Jihadist Preachers.” In Violent Extremism Online: New Perspectives on Terrorism and the Internet, eds. Anne Aly, Stuart Macdonald, Lee Jarvis, and Thomas Chen, 106–​122. London: Routledge, 2016. Andaya, Barbara W., and Yoneo Ishii. “Religious Developments in Southeast Asia, c. 1500–​ 1800.” In The Cambridge History of Southeast Asia: From c. 1500 to c. 1800, Volume One, Part Two, ed. Nicholas Tarling, 164–​227. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999. Azra, Azyumardi. “Bali and Southeast Asian Islam: Debunking the Myths.” In After Bali: The Threat of Terrorism in Southeast Asia, eds. Kumar Ramakrishna and See Seng Tan, 39–​ 57. Singapore: World Scientific/​ Institute of Defence and Strategic Studies, 2003. Azra, Azyumardi. “Islamic Reform in Southeast Asia: Assimilation, Continuity and Change.” In Muslim Reform in Southeast Asia: Perspectives from Malaysia, Indonesia and Singapore, ed. Syed Farid Alatas, 16–​29. Singapore: Islamic Religious Council of Singapore, 2009. Banlaoi, Rommel C. “The Abu Sayyaf Group’s Persistence and the Marawi City Siege: A Chronological Analysis of the Crime–​Terror Nexus in the Philippines and the ISIS Connection in Southeast Asia.” In The Marawi Siege and Its Aftermath: The Continuing Terrorist Threat, ed. Rommel C. Banlaoi, 47–​71. Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2020.

370 References Banlaoi, Rommel C. “Isis Threats After Marawi Liberation: Continuing Terrorist Threats and Emerging Security Challenges of Violent Extremism in the Philippines.” In The Marawi Siege and Its Aftermath: The Continuing Terrorist Threat, ed. Rommel C. Banlaoi, 105–​125. Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2020. Barton, Greg. “Understanding Key Themes in the ISIS Narrative: An Examination of Dabiq Magazine.” In Contesting the Theological Foundations of Islamism and Violent Extremism, eds. Fethi Mansouri and Zuleyha Keskin, 139–​161. London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2019. Collier, Christopher (Kit). “‘A Carnival of Crime’: The Enigma of the Abu Sayyaf.” In Conflict, Community, and Criminality in Southeast Asia and Australia: Assessments from the Field, eds. Arnaud de Borchgrave, Thomas Sanderson, and David Gordon, 44–​53. Washington, DC: Center for Strategic and International Studies, 2009. Davis, John M. “Countering International Terrorism: Perspectives from International Psychology.” In The Psychology of Terrorism, Volume Four: Programs and Practices in Response and Prevention, ed. Chris E. Stout, 33–​56. Westport, CT: Praeger, 2002. Eatwell, Roger, and Matthew J. Goodwin. “Introduction: The ‘New’ Extremism in Twenty-​First-​Century Britain.” In The New Extremism in 21st Century Britain, eds. Roger Eatwell and Matthew J. Goodwin, 1–​19. Oxon: Routledge, 2010. El Fadl, Khaled Abou. “The Place of Tolerance in Islam.” In The Place of Tolerance in Islam, eds. Joshua Cohen and Ian Lague, 3–​23. Boston: Beacon Press, 2002. Ellens, J. Harold. “Fundamentalism, Orthodoxy, and Violence.” In The Destructive Power of Religion: Violence in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, Volume 4: Contemporary Views on Spirituality and Violence, ed. J. Harold Ellens, 119–​142. London: Praeger, 2004. “Extract 11-​4: Ahmad Shafii Maarif.” In Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia: A Contemporary Sourcebook, compiled and edited by Greg Fealy and Virginia Hooker, 149–​150. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2006. “Extract 12-​17: Farish A. Noor.” In Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia: A Contemporary Sourcebook, compiled and edited by Greg Fealy and Virginia Hooker, 253–​256. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2006. “Extract 12-​18: Abdullah Badawi.” In Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia: A Contemporary Sourcebook, compiled and edited by Greg Fealy and Virginia Hooker, 257–​258. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2006. “Extract 14-​5: Imam Samudra.” In Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia: A Contemporary Sourcebook, compiled and edited by Greg Fealy and Virginia Hooker, 373–​377. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2006. “Extract 15-​2: Abdurrahman Wahid.” In Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia: A Contemporary Sourcebook, compiled and edited by Greg Fealy and Virginia Hooker, 417–​418. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2006. “Extract 15-​5: Salamat Hashim.” In Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia: A Contemporary Sourcebook, compiled and edited by Greg Fealy and Virginia Hooker, 421–​422. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2006. “Extract 15-​13: Irwan Prayitno.” In Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia: A Contemporary Sourcebook, compiled and edited by Greg Fealy and Virginia Hooker, 439–​440. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2006. “Extract 15-​15: Abu Bakar Ba’asyir.” In Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia: A Contemporary Sourcebook, compiled and edited by Greg Fealy and Virginia Hooker, 442–​445. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2006.

References  371 “Extract 15-​20: Nurcholish Madjid.” In Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia: A Contemporary Sourcebook, compiled and edited by Greg Fealy and Virginia Hooker, 453–​456. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2006. Fealy, Greg. “Half a Century of Violent Jihad in Indonesia.” In Islamic Terrorism in Indonesia: Myths and Realities, eds. Marika Vicziany and David Wright-​Neville, 15–​32. Melbourne: Monash University Press, 2005. Fealy, Greg. “Islamic Radicalism in Indonesia: The Faltering Revival?” In Southeast Asian Affairs 2004, eds. Daljit Singh and Chin Kin Wah, 104–​121. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2004. Fealy, Greg, Virginia Hooker, and Sally White. “Indonesia.” In Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia: A Contemporary Sourcebook, compiled and edited by Greg Fealy and Virginia Hooker, 39–​50. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2006. Fiske, Susan T. “What’s in a Category? Responsibility, Intent, and the Avoidability of Bias Against Outgroups.” In The Social Psychology of Good and Evil, ed. Arthur G. Miller, 127–​140. New York: Guilford Press, 2005. Funston, John. “Malaysia.” In Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia: A Contemporary Sourcebook, compiled and edited by Greg Fealy and Virginia Hooker, 51–​ 61. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2006. Funston, John. “Singapore.” In Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia: A Contemporary Sourcebook, compiled and edited by Greg Fealy and Virginia Hooker, 71–​ 75. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2006. Friedman, Jack, and Timothy Samuel Shah. “Introduction.” In Homo Religiosus? Exploring the Roots of Religion and Religious Freedom in Human Experience, eds. Timothy Samuel Shah and Jack Friedman, 1–​34. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018. Hill, Daniel. “Fundamentalist Faith States: Regulation Theory as a Framework for the Psychology of Religious Fundamentalism.” In The Fundamentalist Mindset: Psychological Perspectives on Religion, Violence and History, eds. Charles B. Strozier, David M. Terman, and James W. Jones, with Katharine A. Boyd, 80–​88. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010. Jones, James W. “Conclusion: A Fundamentalist Mindset?” In The Fundamentalist Mindset: Psychological Perspectives on Religion, Violence and History, eds. Charles B. Strozier, David M. Terman, and James W. Jones, with Katharine A. Boyd, 216–​220. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010. Jones, Sidney. “Terrorism and ‘Radical Islam’ in Indonesia.” In Islamic Terrorism in Indonesia: Myths and Realities, eds. Marika Vicziany and David Wright-​Neville, 3–​13. Melbourne: Monash University Press, 2005. Jones, Sidney. “The Ongoing Extremist Threat in Indonesia.” In Southeast Asian Affairs 2011, ed. Daljit Singh, 91–​104. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2011. Jones, Sidney, and Solahudin. “ISIS in Indonesia.” In Southeast Asian Affairs 2015, ed. Daljit Singh, 154–​164. Singapore: ISEAS-​Yusof Ishak Institute, 2015. Kahin, Audrey. “Natsir and Sukarno: Their Clash Over Nationalism, Religion and Democracy, 1928–​1958.” In Encountering Islam: The Politics of Religious Identities in Southeast Asia, ed. Hui Yew-​Foong, 191–​217. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2013. Kathirithamby-​ Wells, J. “The Age of Transition: The Mid-​ Eighteenth to the Early Nineteenth Centuries.” In The Cambridge History of Southeast Asia: From c. 1500 to c. 1800, Volume One, Part Two, ed. Nicholas Tarling, 228–​275. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999.

372 References “Kumpulan Militan Malaysia.” In Dictionary of the Modern Politics of Southeast Asia, 4th edition, ed. Joseph Chinyong Liow, 221. London: Routledge, 2015. Maca, Mark, and Paul Morris. “Education, National Identity and State Formation in the Modern Philippines.” In Constructing Modern Asian Citizenship, eds. Edward Vickers and Krishna Kumar, 139–​162. London: Routledge, 2015. Mastura, Ishak V. “Will the Conflict in Mindanao Look Like the Insurgency in Southern Thailand?” In Conflict, Community, and Criminality in Southeast Asia and Australia: Assessments from the Field, eds. Arnaud de Borchgrave, Thomas Sanderson, and David Gordon, 54–​57. Washington, DC: Center for Strategic and International Studies, 2009. Millie, Julian. “‘Spiritual Meal’ or Ongoing Project? The Dilemma of Dakwah Oratory.” In Expressing Islam: Religious Life and Politics in Indonesia, eds. Greg Fealy and Sally White, 80–​94. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2008. Noor, Elina. “Al-​Ma’unah and KMM in Malaysia.” In A Handbook of Terrorism and Insurgency in Southeast Asia, ed. Andrew T. H. Tan, 167–​193. Cheltenham, UK: Edward Elgar Publishing, 2007. Purzycki, Benjamin G., and Richard Sosis. “Religious Concepts as Necessary Components of the Adaptive Religious System.” In Interdisciplinary Perspectives on Philosophy: Evolution and Religion, ed. Ulrich Frey, 37–​59. Marburg: Tectum Verlag, 2010. Ramakrishna, Kumar. “Countering the New Terrorism of Al Qaeda Without Generating Civilizational Conflict: The Need for an Indirect Strategy.” In The New Terrorism, Anatomy, Trends, and Counter-​Strategies, eds. Andrew Tan and Kumar Ramakrishna, 207–​232. Singapore: Eastern Universities Press, 2002. Ramakrishna, Kumar. “The ‘East Asia Wilayah’ of Isis and the Marawi City Siege: A Long Time in the Making.” In The Marawi Siege and Its Aftermath: The Continuing Terrorist Threat, ed. Rommel C. Banlaoi, 5–​46. Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2020. Ramakrishna, Kumar. “The ‘Three Rings’ of Terrorist Rehabilitation and Counter-​ Ideological Work in Singapore: A Decade On.” In Prisons, Terrorism & Extremism: Critical Issues in Management, Radicalisation and Reform, ed. Andrew Silke, 197–​213. London: Routledge, 2014. Redles, David. “Ordering Chaos: Nazi Millennialism and the Quest for Meaning.” In The Fundamentalist Mindset: Psychological Perspectives on Religion, Violence and History, eds. Charles B. Strozier, David M. Terman, and James W. Jones, with Katharine A. Boyd, 156–​174. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010. Ricklefs, M. C. “Religious Elites and the State in Indonesia and Elsewhere: Why Takeovers Are So Difficult and Usually Don’t Work.” In Encountering Islam: The Politics of Religious Identities in Southeast Asia, ed. Hui Yew-​Foong, 17–​46. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2013. Rinaldo, Rachel. “Religion and the Politics of Morality: Muslim Women Activists and the Pornography Debate in Indonesia.” In Encountering Islam: The Politics of Religious Identities in Southeast Asia, ed. Hui Yew-​Foong, 247–​270. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2013. Roy, Olivier. “Has Islamism a Future in Afghanistan?” In Fundamentalism Reborn? Afghanistan and the Taliban, ed. William Maley, 119–​211. New York: New York University Press, 2008.

References  373 Shariff, Zulfikar Mohamad. “Fateha.com: Challenging Control over Malay/​Muslim Voices in Singapore.” In Asian Cyberactivism: Freedom of Expression and Media Censorship, eds. S. Gan, J. Gomez, and U. Johannen, 318–​368. Bangkok: Friedrich Naumann Foundation, 2004. Sheikh, Mona Kanwal. “Islamic State and al-​Qaeda in a Thriving Indonesian Democracy.” In Global Jihad in Southeast Asia: Examining the Expansion of the Islamic State and al-​Qaeda, ed. Mona Kanwal Sheikh, 39–​57. Copenhagen: Danish Institute for International Studies, 2019. Sidel, John T. “The Manifold Meanings of Displacement: Explaining Inter-​Religious Violence, 1999–​2001.” In Conflict, Violence and Displacement in Indonesia, ed. Eva-​ Lotta E. Hedman, 29–​59. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Southeast Asia Program, 2008. Silke, Andrew. “Becoming a Terrorist.” In Terrorists, Victims, and Society: Psychological Perspectives on Terrorism and Its Consequences, ed. Andrew Silke, 29–​53. Chichester, UK: Wiley, 2003. Smith, Christian. “Are Human Beings Naturally Religious?” In Homo Religiosus? Exploring the Roots of Religion and Religious Freedom in Human Experience, eds. Timothy Samuel Shah and Jack Friedman, 35–​54. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018. Sosis, Richard, and Candace Alcorta. “Militants and Martyrs: Evolutionary Perspectives on Religion and Terrorism.” In Natural Security: A Darwinian Approach to a Dangerous World, eds. R. D. Sagarin and T. Taylor, 105–​124. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2008. Sosis, Richard, and Jordan Kiper. “Sacred versus Secular Values: Cognitive and Evolutionary Sciences of Religion and Their Implications for Religious Freedom.” In Homo Religiosus? Exploring the Roots of Religion and Religious Freedom in Human Experience, eds. Timothy Samuel Shah and Jack Friedman, 89–​ 119. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018. Staub, Erwin. “Basic Human Needs, Altruism, and Aggression.” In The Social Psychology of Good and Evil, edited by Arthur G. Miller, 51–​84. New York: Guilford Press, 2005. Strozier, Charles B. “The Apocalyptic Other.” In The Fundamentalist Mindset: Psychological Perspectives on Religion, Violence and History, eds. Charles B. Strozier, David M. Terman, and James W. Jones, with Katharine A. Boyd, 62–​ 70. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010. Strozier, Charles B., and Katharine A. Boyd. “Definitions and Dualisms.” In The Fundamentalist Mindset: Psychological Perspectives on Religion, Violence and History, eds. Charles B. Strozier, David M. Terman, and James W. Jones, with Katharine A. Boyd, 11–​15. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010. Strozier, Charles B., Katharine A. Boyd, and James W. Jones. “The Charismatic Leader and the Totalism of Conversion.” In The Fundamentalist Mindset: Psychological Perspectives on Religion, Violence and History, eds. Charles B. Strozier, David M. Terman, and James W. Jones, with Katharine A. Boyd, 38–​43. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010. Strozier, Charles B., and David M. Terman. “Introduction.” In The Fundamentalist Mindset: Psychological Perspectives on Religion, Violence and History, eds. Charles B. Strozier, David M. Terman, and James W. Jones, with Katharine A. Boyd, 3–​7. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010. Tan, Charlene, and D. B. Abbas. “Reform in Madrasah Education: The Singapore Experience.” In Rethinking Madrasah Education in the Globalised World, ed. M. Abu Bakar, 195–​209. New York: Routledge, 2017.

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Workshop Presentations/​Public Lectures/​Testimony Banlaoi, Rommel C. “Bangsamoroism and the Nexus of Identity Politics and Violent Extremism in the Southern Philippines.” Remarks at “International Workshop on the Impact of Identity Politics on Violent Extremism.” Organized by the Centre of Excellence for National Security, S. Rajaratnam School of International Studies, Nanyang Technological University and the Global Futures Forum, Singapore, October 23–​25 2011. Chin, James. Remarks at forum, “Religion, Extremism and Identity Politics.” Organized by the Institute of Policy Studies, Lee Kuan Yew School of Public Policy, National University of Singapore, July 24, 2019. Davidson, Admiral Philip S. Testimony before the Senate Armed Services Committee on U.S. Indo-​Pacific Command Posture. February 12, 2019. https://​www.armed-​servi​ces. sen​ate.gov/​imo/​media/​doc/​Davi​dson​_​02-​12-​19.pdf. Goh, Chee Leong. “How, What and Why: Understanding Them—​ A Psychological Overview of the Youth.” SEARCCT Symposium on the Dynamics of Youth and Terrorism, Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, May 9, 2011. Hamdie, Abu. “Walking Away from Terrorism: A Case of Disengagement.” Lecture at the Tenth Biennial International Conference, organized by the Council for Asian Transnational Threat Research (CATR), Manila, October 26–​28, 2010. Haykel, Bernard. “The History and Ideology of the Islamic State.” Statement Prepared for the U.S. Senate hearing, “Inside the Mind of ISIS: Understanding Its Goals and Ideology to Better Protect the Homeland,” January 20, 2016. http://​www.hsgac.sen​ate. gov/​heari​ngs/​ins​ide-​the-​mind-​of-​isis-​unders​tand​ing-​its-​goals-​and-​ideol​ogy-​to-​bet​ ter-​prot​ect-​the-​homel​and. Kamlian, Jamail A. “Ethnic and Religious Conflict in Southern Philippines: A Discourse on Self Determination, Political Autonomy and Conflict Resolution.” Islam and Human Rights Fellow Lecture, Islam and Human Rights Project, School of Law, Emory University, Atlanta, GA, November 4, 2003. Liow, Joseph Chinyong. “ISIS in the Pacific: Assessing Terrorism in Southeast Asia and the Threat to the Homeland.” Testimony before the Subcommittee on Counterterrorism and Intelligence, Committee on Homeland Security, United States House of Representatives, April 27, 2016. https://​www.brooki​ngs.edu/​wp-​cont​ent/​uplo​ads/​ 2016/​07/​Liow-​ISIS-​in-​the-​Paci​fic-​Full-​Testim​ony.pdf. Shea, Nina. “Saudi Arabia’s Troubling Educational Curriculum.” Testimony Before the United States House Committee on Foreign Affairs, July 19, 2017. Van Bruinessen, Martin. “‘Traditionalist’ and ‘Islamist’ Pesantren in Contemporary Indonesia.” Presentation at “The Madrasa in Asia: Transnational Linkages and Alleged or Real Political Activities.” Organized by the International Institute for the Study of Islam in the Modern World [ISIM], Leiden, the Netherlands, May 24-​25, 2004.

Other Sources “A Devotee of the Daulah Islam Abu Sulaiman Aman Abdur-​Rahman Al-​Arkhabiiliy Al-​ Andunisiy.” 26 Safar 1435, December 30, 2013.

400 References “Arrests of 27 Radicalised Bangladeshi Nationals Under the Internal Security Act.” Ministry of Home Affairs, January 20, 2016. https://​www.mha.gov.sg/​newsr​oom/​ press-​rele​ase/​news/​arre​sts-​of-​27-​radi​cali​sed-​bang​lade​shi-​nation​als-​under-​the-​inter​ nal-​secur​ity-​act. Channel NewsAsia. “From Jail to Jihad” (documentary). https://​www.chan​neln​ewsa​sia. com/​news/​video-​on-​dem​and/​und​erco​ver-​asia-​s5/​from-​jail-​to-​jihad-​10018​148. “Detained Without Trial: Abuse of Internal Security Act Detainees in Malaysia.” Human Rights Watch 17, no. 9C (September 2005): 1–​34. Four Lions (DVD), directed by Chris Morris. UK: Film4 Productions and Wild Bunch, Warp Films, 2010. Global Counter-​ Terrorism Forum (GCTF), Countering Violent Extremism (CVE) Working Group Workshop on Counter and Alternative Narratives. Jakarta, Indonesia, June 24–​25, 2019. “Jihad against Jews and Crusaders.” February 23, 1998. http://​fas.org/​irp/​world/​para/​ docs/​980​223-​fatwa.htm. “Saudi Arabia Must Back Concessions on Human Rights with Action.” Amnesty International, March 19, 2014. https://​www.amne​sty.org/​en/​lat​est/​news/​2014/​03/​ saudi-​ara​bia-​must-​back-​conc​essi​ons-​human-​rig​hts-​act​ion/​. “Statement of the Participants of the Conference on Peace and the Prevention of Violent Extremism in Southeast Asia.” Organized by S. Rajaratnam School of International Studies, Nanyang Technological University, Singapore, and Philippine Center for Islam and Democracy, Manila, Philippines, September 22–​23, 2017.

Index For the benefit of digital users, indexed terms that span two pages (e.g., 52–​53) may, on occasion, appear on only one of those pages. Tables are indicated by t following the page number abangan, 209–​10 Abdel-​Samad, Hamed, 53–​54, 63–​64, 122–​23 Abedi, Salman, 9 Abinales, Patricio, 174–​75 Abu Hamdie, 172–​73 bias and prejudice of, 188 contemporary implications of case, 197–​201 dangerous speech of, 190–​91 dualistic thinking of, 189–​90 identity supremacism of, 187–​88 obsession with purity and fear of contamination, 189 overview, 243–​44 persons in SE of, 196 Philippine constitutional, historical, and political context, 187–​91 places in SE of, 192–​94 platforms in SE of, 194–​96 Abu Sabaya, 189–​90 Abu Sayyaf Group (ASG), 1–​2, 172–​73 general discussion, 183–​87 places in SE of, 192–​94 Abu Uqayl, 238 Aburajak Janjalani, 183–​85, 192 accentuation effect, 15, 49–​50 Aceh training camp, Indonesia, 226, 229–​30 Afghanistan, 97–​98, 195–​96 AFP (Armed Forces of the Philippines), 1–​2, 3–​4, 268–​69 Ahmed, Akbar, 71 Ahok (Basuki Tjahaja Purnama), 206–​7, 235 Akram Nadwi, Mohammad, 254–​56 Aku Melawan Teroris [I Fight Terrorists] (Samudra), 112–​13

al-​Adnani, Abu Muhammad, 270–​71 al-​Awlaki, Anwar, 89–​90, 149–​51 al-​Banna, Hassan, 74–​75, 76, 79–​80 Alcorta, Candace, 21–​22 Alderdice, John, 39–​40 Ali, Ayaan Hirsi, 70–​71, 73–​74 Ali, Mohamed, 71, 342n.109 Al-​Irsyad school, 215 Al-​Jauhari, Kiai, 260–​61 Al-​Makahzin platform, 154–​55 Almond, Gabriel A., 27–​28, 32 al-​Mujahiroun, 156 Alper, Matthew, 18–​19 al-​Qaeda, 2, 66–​67, 73–​74 jihad and, 85–​86 narratives used by, 246 youths targeted for indoctrination by, 270–​71 alternative narratives (AN). See also 4M Way general discussion, 246–​53 message content, 253–​60 message dissemination, 263–​66 message framing, 260–​63 message receptivity, 267 al-​Timimi, Ali, 69–​70 Alvara, 234–​35 al-​Wahhab, Muhammad ibn Abd, 68–​69 al-​Wahwah, Ismail, 155–​56 al-​wala’ wa-​al-​bara concept, 69–​70, 72, 82–​83, 342n.109 of Ba’asyir, 229 in Singapore, 161–​62 of Wan Min Wan Mat, 108–​9 Aly, Anne, 249–​50 al-​Zarqawi, Abu Musab, 82–​83, 225–​26

402 Index Aman Abdurrahman, 7–​8, 89–​90, 204–​6, 288n.36 bias and prejudice of, 215–​16 contemporary implications of case in Indonesia, 230–​33 dangerous speech of, 219 dualistic thinking of, 218–​19 identity supremacism of, 212–​15 Indonesian constitutional, ideological, and theological context, 206–​12 obsession with purity and fear of contamination, 216–​18 overview, 243 persons in SE of, 227–​30 places in SE of, 221–​23 platforms in SE of, 223–​27 power, fixation with seeking, 219–​20 Amanah, 127–​28 AN. See alternative narratives Andalas University (UNAND), Indonesia, 279–​80 Andrie, Taufik, 229 anti-​abortion extremists, 50–​51 apocalyptic thinking, 29 Appleby, Scott, 27–​28, 32, 34, 51–​52 Arabized modernism, 213–​15 Armed Forces of the Philippines (AFP), 1–​2, 3–​4, 268–​69 ARMM (Autonomous Region of Muslim Mindanao), 180 Armstrong, Karen, 27–​29, 33 Army of God, 55–​56 art of propaganda, 265–​66 Asatizah Recognition Scheme (ARS), 162–​63 ASG. See Abu Sayyaf Group Ashaarite method of theological reasoning, 103–​4, 136–​37 Askew, Marc, 10–​11 Asri Zainul Abidin, Datuk Mohd, 124–​25 assumed similarity effect, 15 Atran, Scott, 22–​23, 87–​88, 229, 275–​76 Atta, Mohamed, 73–​74 Australia, time spent by Zulfikar in, 153–​ 54, 155–​56 Autonomous Region of Muslim Mindanao (ARMM), 180 Azzam, Abdullah, 84–​86, 97–​98

Ba’asyir, Abu Bakar, 89–​90 dangerous speech by, 54–​55, 111–​12 formation of JI, 96–​98 low integrative complexity of, 52 relationship with Aman Abdurrahman, 228–​30, 231 Badar, Uthman, 155–​56 Badawi, Abdullah, 120 badges face veils, European bans on, 165 general discussion, 23–​24, 30–​31, 50–​51 of Salafabists in Singapore, 165–​67 tudung ban in Singapore schools, 142–​43, 153 types of veils, 165 Baharim, Haslin, 157–​59 Bali bombings by JI, 98, 100–​1 Balkan wars, 39 Banac, Bernard, 201–​2 Bangsamoro Autonomous Region (BAR), 198–​99, 268 Bangsamoro Basic Law (BBL), 198–​99 Bangsamoro community, Philippines Bangsamorism, 178–​80 contemporary implications of Abu Hamdie case, 197–​201 history of, 173–​83 Bangsamoro Organic Law (BOL), 198–​ 99, 268 Banlaoi, Rommel C., 172–​73, 178 bans general discussion, 23–​24, 30–​31, 33, 50–​51 of Salafabists in Singapore, 167–​68 BAR (Bangsamoro Autonomous Region), 198–​99, 268 Barber, Benjamin, 31–​32 Barton, Greg, 245–​46, 340–​41n.79 BBL (Bangsamoro Basic Law), 198–​99 beards, 165–​66 behavior general discussion, 23–​24, 30–​31, 50–​51 of Salafabists in Singapore, 163–​65 Behrend, Tim, 229 beliefs general discussion, 23–​24, 30–​31, 50–​51 of Salafabists in Singapore, 161–​63 Benesch, Susan, 52–​53

Index  403 Berger, J. M., 44–​46 Berger, Peter, 12–​13 Bering, Jesse, 18–​19 Berreby, David, 39 bias, in-​group, 48–​49, 58–​59 of Abu Hamdie, 188 of Aman Abdurrahman, 215–​16 overview, 241–​42 in Purist Salafism, 69–​70 in Salafabist Islamism, 80–​81 of Wan Min Wan Mat, 108–​9 of Zulfikar Mohamad Shariff, 138–​43 Bin Laden, Osama, 85–​86 bin Salman, Mohammed, 305n.225 Bloom, Howard, 17–​18 BOL (Bangsamoro Organic Law), 198–​ 99, 268 Bosmajian, Haig, 33 Botticher, Astrid, 37–​38, 54–​55, 80–​81 Boyd, Katharine, 27–​28 Braddock, Kurt, 246–​47 Briggs, Rachel, 246–​47 British psychological warfare in World War II, 265–​66 Browning, Christopher, 8 Bubalo, Anthony, 221–​22 Bud Bagsak incident, Philippines, 175 Bud Daho massacre, Philippines, 175 Buddhist extremism in Myanmar, 56–​62 Buddhist Women’s Special Marriage Law, Myanmar, 61–​62 Burnham, Gracia, 189–​91 burqa, 165–​66 Cak Nur, 211–​12, 340–​41n.79 Canetti, Elias, 63–​64 Carlos, Clarita, 192–​93 categorical thinking. See dualistic thinking CEA (Compulsory Education Act), Singapore, 140–​41, 152–​53 Centre for the Study of Islam and Society (PPIM), 234 Cerantonio, Musa, 155–​56 chador, 165 characteristics of religious extremists. Seealso specific characteristics dangerous speech, 52–​55 dualistic thinking, 51–​52

fanatical attachment to belief system, 47–​48 fixation with purity and fear of contamination, 50–​51 fixation with seeking power and control, 55–​56 in-​group bias, 48–​49 overview, 46–​47, 241–​42 prejudice against out-​group, 49–​50 charismatic leaders, 29–​30 children family terrorism, 231–​33 parent–​child dyads, strengthening, 267, 269–​76 as targets of indoctrination, 269–​76 Chin, James, 126 Chirot, Daniel, 32, 33, 48–​49 Cholil Staquf, Yahya, 63–​64, 256 chosen traumas, 175, 308n.308 Choudary, Anjem, 54–​55, 76, 89–​90, 156 Christakis, Nicholas, 16–​17, 25–​26 Christian Identity, 50–​51, 52 Chua, Amy, 47–​48 Cloninger, Robert, 17–​18 CN (counter-​narratives), 246–​53 cognitive-​affective element in religion, 14–​16 Collier, Kit, 186–​87 Common Space, in Singapore, 133–​35, 163–​64, 165, 167, 258 Compulsory Education Act (CEA), Singapore, 140–​41, 152–​53 “Conference on Peace and the Prevention of Violent Extremism in Southeast Asia” (Philippines), 198–​99 confirmation bias, 249–​50 constitutional context in Indonesia, 206–​7 in Malaysia, 107 in Philippines, 187–​91 in Singapore, 132–​35 contagion-​avoidance instinct, 52–​55 content of message, 238–​39, 253–​60 contextualizing Islam, 253–​56 control, extremist fixation with of Aman Abdurrahman, 219–​20 overview, 55–​56, 61–​62, 241–​42 in Salafabism, 74–​75 of Wan Min Wan Mat, 113–​14

404 Index conversion process, totalized, 29–​30 Cook, David, 63–​64, 83–​84, 225 countercultures, 274–​75 countering violent terrorism. See 4M Way counter-​messaging spectrum, 246–​47 counter-​narratives (CN), 246–​53 COVID-​19, 1–​4 critical periods, 274–​75 Croats, effect of Balkan wars on, 39 cultural diversity of Southeast Asian Islam, 256–​57 Cyber Ummah, 152–​53 dangerous speech of Abu Hamdie, 190–​91 of Aman Abdurrahman, 219 general discussion, 52–​55 in Malaysia, 122–​23 overview, 60–​61, 241–​42 in Salafabism, 73–​74 of Wan Min Wan Mat, 111–​13 of Zulfikar Mohamad Shariff, 146–​47 Dansalan Declaration, 176 Darul Imam Shafi’i boarding school, Philippines, 187–​89, 190–​91, 192–​96 Darul Islam, 96–​98, 101–​2 Darwin, Charles, 24–​25 Datu Udtog Matalam, 178 Dawkins, Richard, 26 Dawson, Lorne, 10–​11 de Maizière, Thomas, 165 dehumanizing rhetoric, 33, 60–​61 by Aman Abdurrahman, 219 general discussion, 52–​54 by JI figures, 112–​13 Delorme, Christian, 79–​80 Department of Islamic Affairs, Malaysia, 119–​20 depluralization, issue, 40 Dewan Dakwah Islamiyah Indonesia (DDII, or Islamic Propagation Council), 222–​23 direct counter-​narratives, 247–​48, 250–​51 dissemination, message, 238–​39, 263–​66 Dita Oepriarto, 231–​32

Drakulic, Slavenka, 39 dualistic thinking, 60 of Abu Hamdie, 189–​90 of Aman Abdurrahman, 218–​19 general discussion, 51–​52 overview, 241–​42 in Salafabism, 72–​73 of Wan Min Wan Mat, 110–​11 of Zulfikar Mohamad Shariff, 145–​46 Durkheim, Emile, 17–​18, 21–​22 Durodie, Bill, 259–​60 East Indonesian Mujahidin (Mujahidin Indonesia Timur or MIT), 1–​2, 98 Eatwell, Roger, 44–​45 echo chambers, 249–​50 education in physical/​technical sciences, 51–​52, 110–​11, 277–​79 role in counterterrorism, 277–​79 El Fadl, Khaled Abou, 51–​52, 69–​70, 71–​73, 110 Eliade, Mircea, 20–​21 Elit Laundry, Malaysia, 123, 125–​26 Ellens, J. Harold, 29–​30 Elms, Alan C., 8 emotional attachment to ideology. See fanatical attachment to belief system enter Malayness (masuk Melayu) concept, 256 entertainment, 265–​66 epistemic providers, in-​groups as, 15–​16 Erikson, Erik, 29–​30 Estes, Yusuf, 167 evilness of out-​group, extremist belief in. See prejudice, out-​group evolutionary psychology, 16–​17 evolutionist interpretation of religion, 23–​24 Facebook, AN message dissemination over, 263–​64 face-​to-​face radicalization, 263, 265 families family terrorism, 231–​33 societal support for strong, 267, 269–​76 via good societies, 276–​79

Index  405 fanatical attachment to belief system, 43–​44 general discussion, 47–​48 overview, 241–​42 of Wan Min Wan Mat, 102–​8 of Zulfikar Mohamad Shariff, 135–​38 Faraj, Muhammad ‘Abd al-​Salam, 83–​84 fateha.com, 136, 144–​45, 148–​49, 153 Fealy, Greg, 221–​22 fear of contamination, fixation with of Abu Hamdie, 189 of Aman Abdurrahman, 216–​18 overview, 50–​51, 59–​60, 241–​42 Radio Hang programming in Singapore, 163–​65 in Salafabism, 70–​71 of Wan Min Wan Mat, 109–​10 of Zulfikar Mohamad Shariff, 144–​45 Ferguson, Kate, 246–​47, 249–​50 Feve, Sebastien, 246–​47 films, message dissemination in, 265–​66 Fiske, Susan, 14–​15 Flynn, Michael, 63 Forum Mahasiswa Ciputat (Formaci), 278–​79 four Bs of fundamentalist movements overview, 23–​24, 30–​31, 33, 50–​51 in Purist Salafism, 69–​70 in Singapore, 161–​68 4M Way counter-​narratives and alternative narratives, 244–​53 good families via good societies, 276–​79 message content, 253–​60 message dissemination, 263–​66 message framing, 260–​63 message receptivity, 267 overview, 6–​7, 238–​40 PKS and, 279–​83 political and socioeconomic governance, 268–​69 recognizing extremist Islam, 240–​44 societal support for strong families, 269–​76 Fowler, James, 16–​17, 25–​26 FPI (Islamic Defenders Front, or Front Pembela Islam), 235–​36 framing of message, 238–​39, 260–​63

Freud, Sigmund, 12–​13 Front Pembela Islam (Islamic Defenders Front or FPI), 235–​36 Fukuyama, Francis, 47–​48 Fundamentalism Project, 26–​28 Galtung, Johan, 45–​46 Gaylin, Willard, 80–​81 Gemmerli, Tobias, 247–​49 gender perspective on message dissemination, 265 Gerakan Tarbiyah, 280–​81 Germany, Salafabist ecosystem in, 90–​91 Ghobash, Omar Saif, 253–​54 Ghufron, Alki, 113 Gladwell, Malcolm, 260–​61 gods, as strategic agents, 22–​24 good families, 267, 276–​79 good societies, 277 Goodwin, Matthew J., 44–​45 governance addressing political and socioeconomic grievances, 268–​69 good families via good societies, 276–​79 support for strong families, 269–​76 group soul, 17–​18 groupishness, intrinsic, 13–​14 Gufron, Ali, 99 Gus Dur, 209–​11, 255–​56, 261–​63 Hadrami Arab immigrant community, 214–​15 hakimiyya, 82–​84 Halimi, Mahfuh, 250–​51 Halverson, Jeffry R., 245–​46 Hamdie, Abu, 7–​8 Hamer, Dean, 18–​19 Hamid, Ahmad Fauzi Abdul, 105–​6, 121–​22 Hamilton, William, 25–​26 Hapilon, Isnilon, 188, 196, 275–​76 Harakat Sunni untuk Masyarakat Indonesia (HASMI), 87, 88–​89 hard mode of dangerous speech, 54–​55, 112–​13, 241–​42 Hashim, Salamat, 180–​83, 188 Hassan, Ahmad, 223–​24 Hassan, Muhammad Haniff, 255–​56

406 Index Hassan, Riaz, 7–​8 Haykel, Bernard, 85–​86 head coverings. See Islamic veils Heath, Chip, 260–​61 Heath, Dan, 260–​61 Hedges, Chris, 12–​13 Hegghammer, Thomas, 80–​81 Herriot, Peter, 30–​31, 32, 33 hijab, 165 Hill, Daniel, 30–​31 Hizbut Tahrir (HT), 76–​79, 153–​54, 155–​56, 235 Hofstadter, Richard, 8 Holtmann, Philip, 104–​5 Horgan, John G., 246–​47 Huda Ismail, Noor, 265–​66, 277–​78 humiliation, 151–​52, 197–​98 humor, in narratives, 260–​63 Huntington, Samuel P., 63–​64 Ibn Kathir, 108–​9 Ibnu Mas’ud school, 230–​31 Ibrahim, Yaacob, 256 Ibrahim Iskandar, 123, 124–​25 identity simplification dynamic, 38–​40 identity supremacism of Abu Hamdie, 187–​88 of Aman Abdurrahman, 212–​15 of Ashin Wirathu, 58–​59 of Ba’asyir, 229 overview, 47–​48, 63 of Wan Min Wan Mat, 102–​8 of Zulfikar Mohamad Shariff, 135–​38 ideologies, national in AN, 258–​60 in Indonesia, 207–​8 in Singapore, 133–​35 IDPs (internally displaced persons), 192–​93 ijtihad, 105–​6 indigenization of Islam, 210–​11 Indonesia. See also Aman Abdurrahman constitutional, ideological, and theological context, 206–​12 contemporary implications of Aman case in, 230–​33 impact of COVID-​19 in, 1–​2 increase of ISIS activity in, 1–​4

JI activity in, 94–​95, 96–​97, 98 Pancasila ideology, 207–​9, 218, 258–​59 recruitment of youths in, 271–​72 Indonesian Islam, 209–​12, 213–​14 Indonesianized Islam, 210–​11 in-​groups, 14–​16, 22–​24. See also bias, in-​group Instagram, AN message dissemination over, 263–​64 Institute for Policy Analysis of Conflict (IPAC), 1–​2 Institute for the Study of Islam and Arabic (LIPIA), Indonesia, 221–​22 integrative complexity, low, 29–​30, 60 of Abu Hamdie, 189–​90 of Aman Abdurrahman, 218–​19 general discussion, 51–​52 overview, 241–​42 in Salafabism, 72–​73 of Wan Min Wan Mat, 110–​11 of Zulfikar Mohamad Shariff, 145–​46 intergroup contestation and conflict created by religion, 24–​26 internally displaced persons (IDPs), 192–​93 intratextuality, 28–​29 intrinsic groupishness, 13–​14 IPAC (Institute for Policy Analysis of Conflict), 1–​2 Isamuddin, Riduan, 99–​100 ISIS, 66–​67 increase of activity in Southeast Asia, 1–​4 Manchester terrorist attack, 9 narratives used by, 245–​46 role of Islam in, 63 suicide bombings in Philippines, 201–​3 support from Aman Abdurrahman, 205–​6, 225–​26, 231 support from Zulfikar, 143, 147 threat in Philippines, 268–​69 youths targeted for indoctrination by, 269–​76 Islam cultural diversity in AN, 256–​57 extremism in, 62–​66 Indonesian, 209–​12, 213–​15 Malaysian, 103–​5, 106–​8

Index  407 multicultural compatibility in AN, 253–​56 Singaporean, 136–​37 Southeast Asian, 102–​3 Islam Nusantara, 256–​57 Islamic Defenders Front (Front Pembela Islam or FPI), 235–​36 Islamic fundamentalism, 67t, See also Salafabism Salafism, 66–​71 Islamic Propagation Council (DDII, or Dewan Dakwah Islamiyah Indonesia), 222–​23 Islamic Religious Council of Singapore (Majlis Ulama Islam Singapura—​ MUIS), 136–​37, 153, 160–​61 Islamic veils badges of Salafabists in Singapore, 165–​67 European bans on, 165 tudung ban in Singapore schools, 142–​43, 153 types of, 165 Islami.co, 263–​64 Islamism, 74–​77, 79–​80 Hizbut Tahrir, 76–​79 in Malaysia, 106–​7 Islamiyah, Jemaah, 7–​8 Israel, Jewish right-​wing settlers in West Bank, 47–​48 issue depluralization, 40 Jabaidah massacre, Philippines, 177–​78 Jakarta Charter, 207–​9, 235–​36 JAKIM (Malaysian Department of Islamic Development), 119–​20, 125–​26 Jamaah Ansharut Daulah (JAD), 202–​3, 205–​6, 231–​33 Jamaah Tauhid wal Jihad, 227 Jamhari Makruf, 277–​78 Jayakumar, S., 132 Jemaah Ansharut Tauhid (JAT), 98, 227, 229–​30 Jemaah Islamiyah (JI), 139–​40 al-​wala’ wa-​al-​bara concept, 108–​9 dangerous speech by figures in, 112–​13 global jihad thinking, 113–​14 growing threat of, 94–​95 history of, 96–​98

persons in SE of, 114–​15 places in SE of, 115–​18 platforms in SE of, 118–​21 role of Wan Min in, 98–​101 Jewish right-​wing settlers in West Bank, 47–​48 jihad. See also Salafi Jihadism Abu Hamdie on, 190–​91 in al-​Qaeda narrative, 246 counter-​narratives, 250–​51 in Singaporean context, 161–​62 Wan Min Wan Mat on, 101–​2, 113–​14 Jihad Selfie (film), 265–​66 Jolo church attack, Philippines, 202–​3, 233 Jones, James W., 31–​33, 53–​54, 151–​52 Jones, Sidney, 263 Juergensmeyer, Mark, 22, 80–​81 kafir (kuffar) harbi, 122–​23 Kalijaga, Sunan, 256–​57 Kamali, Hashim, 43–​44 Karnavian, Tito, 263 Kartosoewirjo, S. M., 96–​97 Katibah Nusantara (KN), 269–​70 kaum muda, 104–​5, 106–​7 kaum tua, 104–​5 Kausikan, Bilahari, 168 Khalifa, Mohammad Jamal, 196 Kiper, Jordan, 20 Klein, K. M., 43–​44 KN (Katibah Nusantara), 269–​70 Koehler, Daniel, 40 Kressel, Neil, 32, 48–​49 Kruglanski, A. W., 43–​44 land legislation, Philippines, 175 Lasuca, Norman, 201–​2 latent violence, 46 Lauziere, Henri, 66–​67, 74–​75 Lawrence, Bruce, 30–​31 Laws, Curtis Lee, 26–​27 Lee Hsien Loong, 133–​34 Letters to a Young Muslim (Ghobash), 253–​54 Liht, Jose, 17 linguistic dehumanization of out-​group. See dehumanizing rhetoric lintas tanzim, 226

408 Index Liow, Joseph, 10–​11 LIPIA (Institute for the Study of Islam and Arabic), Indonesia, 221–​22 lone wolf attacks, 270–​71 Lotfi Arifin, Mohd, 127–​28 Luqmanul Hakiem community, Malaysia, 109–​10, 111–​13, 114–​16 Ma Ba Tha movement, 56–​62 Maarif, Ahmad Shafii, 211–​12 Maca, Mark, 259 madrasah education, 140–​42, 193–​94 Mahathir Mohamad, 106–​8, 118–​20 Maher, Shiraz, 66–​67 mainstream believers, 41–​43 Majlis Ulama Islam Singapura (MUIS, or Islamic Religious Council of Singapore), 136–​37, 153, 160–​61 Mak Yong, 256–​57, 353n.125 Malay culture, 256–​57 Malay Muslim nation, 135–​36, 138–​39 Malayan Emergency, 265–​66, 267 Malaysia. See also Wan Min Wan Mat contemporary implications of Wan Min case, 121–​28 dissemination of Salafabism, 118–​22 doctrinal developments of Islam in, 102–​7 history of Jemaah Islamiyah, 96–​98 increase of ISIS activity in, 1–​4 Luqmanul Hakiem community in, 109–​ 10, 111–​13, 114–​16 national constitutional character, 107 1Malaysia concept, 258 recruitment of youths in, 271–​72 Malaysian Department of Islamic Development (JAKIM), 119–​ 20, 125–​26 Malaysian Islam, 103–​5, 106–​8 Salafabization of, 118–​22 Manchester, United Kingdom, terrorist attack in, 9 Mandarin, use in Singapore, 142 Mann, Ajit, 247–​48, 253 Maqdisi, Abu Muhammad Al-​, 225–​26 Marawi City, Philippines, 268–​69 Marcos, Ferdinand, 177–​78 marginalization, effects of, 274–​75

Markazos Shabab Al-​Muslim, 193–​94 Marty, Martin, 51–​52 Marx, Karl, 12–​13 MASAR, 265 Masjid Raya Sumatera Barat, Indonesia, 279–​80 mass radicalization, 40–​41 Mastura, Ishak, 185–​86 masuk Melayu (enter Malayness) concept, 256 Maute Group, 273–​74 Mawdudi, Abul Ala, 75–​76 McCargo, Duncan, 10–​11 McCauley, Clark, 32, 33, 40–​41, 48–​ 49, 78–​79 Mead, Margaret, 25–​26 Meleagrou-​Hitchens, Alexander, 85–​86 Menk, Mufti Ismail, 157–​59, 167 Merkel, Angela, 165 message content, 238–​39, 253–​60 message dissemination, 238–​39, 263–​66 message framing, 238–​39, 260–​63 message receptivity, 238–​39, 267 Metcalf, Barbara, 75–​76 MILF (Moro Islamic Liberation Front), 180–​83, 185–​86, 197–​98 Millard, Mike, 142, 143 millennialism, 29 MIM (Muslim Independence Movement), 178–​79 Mindanao, Philippines, 268–​69 Abu Sayyaf Group, 183–​87 history of Islam in, 173–​83 Misuari, Nur, 179, 180–​81 MIT (Mujahidin Indonesia Timur or East Indonesian Mujahidin), 1–​2, 98 MNLF (Moro National Liberation Front), 179–​81, 185–​86 Modernist Salafism, 66–​67, 74–​75, 78–​79 doctrinal developments, 104–​6 in Indonesia, 211–​12 Monogamy Law, Myanmar, 61–​62 moral superiority, extremist belief in, 48–​49 Morales, Yusuf Roque Santos, 195–​96, 198, 199–​201 morality, 25–​26 Moro Consensus Group of Marawi, 268–​69

Index  409 Moro Islamic Liberation Front (MILF), 180–​83, 185–​86, 197–​98 Moro Muslims contemporary implications of Abu Hamdie case, 197–​201 history of, 173–​83 traditional literature of, 256–​57 Moro National Liberation Front (MNLF), 179–​81, 185–​86 Morris, Paul, 259 Moskalenko, Sophia, 40–​41, 78–​79 mosques, in ASG SE, 193–​94 Muhammad, Prophet, 63 Muhammadiyah, 211–​12 MUIS (Majlis Ulama Islam Singapura—​ Islamic Religious Council of Singapore), 136–​37, 153, 160–​61 Mujahidin Indonesia Timur (MIT or East Indonesian Mujahidin), 1–​2, 98 Mulder, Niels, 259 multicultural compatibility of Islam, 253–​56 Murad Ibrahim, Al Haj, 255–​56 Murray, Douglas, 20–​21 Muslim Brotherhood, 79–​80, 81–​ 82, 194–​95 formation of, 74–​75 influence in Indonesia, 221–​22 influence in Malaysia, 106–​7 Muslim Fund, 153 Muslim Independence Movement (MIM), 178–​79 Muslim scholars, including in counterterrorism efforts, 252–​ 53, 262–​63 Muslimin, Rizal, 279–​80 Myanmar, Buddhist extremism in, 56–​62 Naik, Zakir, 157–​58, 161–​62 Naim, Bahrun, 3–​4 narratives. See also 4M Way alternative, 246–​53 counter-​narratives, 246–​53 extremist, 244–​46 national ideologies. See ideologies, national National Pledge, Singapore, 134, 258 National Thowheed Jamaat, 35–​36 nationalism, 22

Natsir, Mohammad, 222–​23, 224 Neo JI, 94–​95, 98. See also Jemaah Islamiyah neo-​fundamentalism, 41–​42, 64, 123–​25 New Atheists, 11, 20–​21 Newberg, Andrew, 14–​15, 20, 49–​50 969 movement, 56–​62 niqab, 165–​66 nonviolent extremism, 79–​81 Noor, Farish, 120–​21, 229, 281–​82 Nor Aishah, 109–​10 Northern Ireland, 39–​40 NU Online, 263–​64 Nunis, Terence, 321n.42 Nurcholish Madjid. See Cak Nur Nusantara Islam, 256–​57 Nutting, Anthony, 63 Olidort, Jacob, 80–​81 1Malaysia concept, 258 online places, 90 online platforms, 90 online propaganda extremist, 238, 244–​45 AN message dissemination, 263–​66 orthodoxy, religious, 28–​29, 63–​65 Osman, Abdul Rahman, 122–​23 out-​group homogeneity effect, 15, 49–​50 out-​groups, 14–​16, 49–​50. See also prejudice, out-​group Padri movement, 213–​15 Pak Irwan Prayitno, 280, 281–​82, 283 Pancasila ideology, Indonesia, 207–​9, 218, 258–​59 paranoid religious fundamentalists, 29 parent–​child dyads, strengthening, 272–​76 Parmoukkha, U, 58–​60 Partai Keadilan Sejahtera (Prosperous Justice Party, or PKS), 211–​12, 280–​83 Parti Islam Se-​Malaysia (PAS), 106–​ 7, 127–​28 PCICS (Postgraduate Certificate in Islam in Contemporary Societies), 255–​56 pecking-​order primacy, 47, 63 PERGAS (Singapore Islamic Scholars and Teachers Association), 136–​37, 142–​ 43, 152–​53

410 Index Persis school, 215, 222, 223–​24 personal humiliation, 151–​52 persons, in Salafabist ecosystems of Abu Hamdie, 196 of Aman Abdurrahman, 227–​30 overview, 89–​91 of Wan Min Wan Mat, 114–​15 of Zulfikar Mohamad Shariff, 155–​57 Philippines. See also Abu Hamdie Abu Sayyaf Group, 183–​87 addressing political and socioeconomic grievances, 268–​69 constitutional, historical, and political context, 187–​91 contemporary implications of Abu Hamdie case, 197–​201 impact of COVID-​19 in, 1–​2 increase of ISIS activity in, 1–​4 Islam in Mindanao, 173–​83 national ideology in, 259–​60 recruitment of youths in, 271–​72 physical/​technical sciences, education in, 51–​52, 110–​11, 277–​79 PKS (Partai Keadilan Sejahtera, or Prosperous Justice Party), 211–​ 12, 280–​83 places, in Salafabist ecosystems of Abu Hamdie, 192–​94 of Aman Abdurrahman, 221–​23 overview, 89–​91 of Wan Min Wan Mat, 115–​18 of Zulfikar Mohamad Shariff, 152–​55 platforms, in Salafabist ecosystems of Abu Hamdie, 194–​96 of Aman Abdurrahman, 223–​27 overview, 89–​91 of Wan Min Wan Mat, 118–​21 of Zulfikar Mohamad Shariff, 149–​52 political grievances, addressing, 268–​69 political power, fixation with seeking. See power, fixation with seeking Pompeo, Mike, 35–​36 Population Control Law, Myanmar, 61–​62 positive alternatives, 247–​48 Postgraduate Certificate in Islam in Contemporary Societies (PCICS), 255–​56

power, fixation with seeking of Aman Abdurrahman, 219–​20 overview, 55–​56, 61–​62, 241–​42 in Salafabism, 74–​75 of Wan Min Wan Mat, 113–​14 of Zulfikar Mohamad Shariff, 148–​49 PPIM (Centre for the Study of Islam and Society), 234 Pratt, Douglas, 32 prejudice, out-​group, 58–​59 of Abu Hamdie, 188 of Aman Abdurrahman, 215–​16 effect on youth, 274–​76 overview, 241–​42 in Purist Salafism, 69–​70 in Salafabist Islamism, 80–​81 of Wan Min Wan Mat, 108–​9 of Zulfikar Mohamad Shariff, 138–​43 print media, message dissemination in, 265–​66 Prosperous Justice Party (Partai Keadilan Sejahtera, or PKS), 211–​12, 280–​83 psychological violence, 45–​46, 240–​41 psychological vulnerability of youth, 273–​74 psychological warfare in World War II, 265–​66 psychology of disgust, 52–​53 Purist Salafism, 66–​71, 78–​79, 83–​84 purity, fixation with of Abu Hamdie, 189 of Aman Abdurrahman, 216–​18 overview, 50–​51, 59–​60, 241–​42 in Salafabism, 70–​71 of Wan Min Wan Mat, 109–​10 of Zulfikar Mohamad Shariff, 144–​45 Pyramid of Hate, U.S. Anti-​Defamation League, 80–​81 Quilliam Foundation, 78–​79 Quinn, George, 236–​37, 261–​62 Qutb, Sayyid, 81–​83, 194–​95 radical Islamic terrorism, 35–​38, 86 radicalism, 37–​43, 240–​41 radicalization general discussion, 38–​42 strategy of JI, 116–​18

Index  411 Radio Hang 106 FM, 163–​65 Rahim, Lily Zubaidah, 151–​52 Rapoport, David, 11 Rasul-​Bernardo, Amina, 192–​93, 197–​98 Razzaque, Russell, 274 receptivity, message, 238–​39, 267 recruitment by JI, 110–​11, 114–​18 of youths, 269–​76 Regional Digital Counter-​Messaging Communications Centre (RDC3), 244–​45 religion. See also religious extremism; religious fundamentalism cognitive-​affective element, 14–​16 defined, 17–​18 in-​groups, 22–​24 intergroup contestation and conflict, 24–​26 motivation of violent extremists, 10–​11 overview, 12–​14 religiosity instinct underlying, 17–​22 religious orthodoxy, 28–​29 structural element, 16–​17 religiosity, 17–​22 Religious Conversion Law, Myanmar, 61–​62 religious extremism. See also characteristics of religious extremists; Salafabism; Salafabist ecosystems among Buddhists in Myanmar, 56–​62 deeper analysis of, 43–​46 defined, 45–​46 fundamentalism, radicalism, and, 37–​43 in Islam, 62–​66 overview, 36–​37 radical Islamic terrorism, 35–​38 Salafi Jihadism, 81–​86 religious fundamentalism defined, 26–​27 extremism and radicalism as form of, 38–​43 forms of, 41–​43, 42t overview, 9–​12, 240–​41 as religion on defense, 26–​32 versus religious orthodoxy, 64–​65 violent potentials within, 32–​33

religious morality, 25–​26 religious orthodoxy, 28–​29, 63–​65 Religious Rehabilitation Group (RRG), 143, 262–​63 religious scholars, including in counterterrorism efforts, 252–​53, 262–​63 Resko, Jody A., 277 Richards, Anthony, 87 Ridley, Matt, 17 Rodja Radio 756 AM, 236–​37 Rohan Gunaratna, 204–​5, 219 Rohingya people, 56–​57, 58–​59 Rosand, Eric, 249–​50 Roy, Olivier, 71 Rozin, Paul, 52–​53 RRG (Religious Rehabilitation Group), 143, 262–​63 Rukun Negara, Malaysia, 258 Rullie Rian Zeke, 202–​3, 233 Ruthven, Malise, 26–​28, 31–​32 Sageman, Marc, 85–​86 Sahwa (awakening movement), 76 Saiful Munthohir, 227–​28 Salafabism, 5, 66–​81. See also Salafabist ecosystems dissemination in Malaysia, 118–​22 Islamism as soft form of, 74–​77 overview, 242–​43 Salafi Jihadism, 81–​86 in Saudi Arabia, 69–​71, 73–​74, 76, 105–​ 6, 305n.225 spread in Philippines of, 199–​201 Salafabist ecosystems (SEs), 5–​6 of Abu Hamdie, 191–​96 of Aman Abdurrahman, 221–​30 general discussion, 86–​89 overview, 242–​43 strategic nodes of, 89–​91 of Wan Min Wan Mat, 114–​21 of Zulfikar Mohamad Shariff, 149–​57 Salafi Jihadism, 81–​86, 87 Abu Hamdie on, 195–​96 overview, 242–​43 Wan Min Wan Mat and, 101–​2, 108–​9, 110–​11, 113–​14 Salafism, 66–​71

412 Index Samudra, Imam, 112–​13 santri, 209–​10 satanization, 53–​54 Satria, Alif, 94–​95 Saudi Arabia, Salafabism in, 69–​71, 73–​74, 76, 105–​6, 305n.225 Savage, Sara, 17, 31–​32 Schmid, Alex, 37–​38, 43–​45, 51–​52, 54–​56, 64, 78–​79, 86, 241–​42, 246 secular fundamentalism, 27–​28 secular utility of religion, 21–​22 secularization thesis, 12–​13, 20–​21 self-​transcendence, 17–​19 Sen, Amartya, 39 SEs. See Salafabist ecosystems Shane, Scott, 149–​51 Shanmugam, K., 133, 134–​35, 167 shariah patrols in London, 76 Shariff, Zulfikar, 7–​8 Shea, Nina, 73–​74 Shermer, Michael, 19, 21–​22 Sidel, John, 215 Silke, Andrew, 7–​8 Sim, Stuart, 30–​32, 55–​56 Singapore. See also Zulfikar Mohamad Shariff badges of Salafabists, 165–​67 bans of Salafabists, 167–​68 behavior of Salafabists, 163–​65 beliefs of Salafabists, 161–​63 Compulsory Education Act, 140–​ 42, 152–​53 constitutional, political, and ideological context, 132–​35 defense of Muslim interests in, 159–​60 increase of ISIS activity in, 1–​4 Menk/​Baharim ban, 157–​59 National Pledge, 134, 258 planned JI attacks in, 96–​97, 98 preventing extremism in, 160–​61 recruitment of youths in, 271–​72 Speak Mandarin campaign, 142 treatment of Malays in, 135–​36, 138–​39 tudung ban in schools, 142–​43, 153 Singapore Islamic Scholars and Teachers Association (PERGAS), 136–​37, 142–​43, 152–​53

Singaporean Islam, 136–​37 Singaporean Muslim Identity (SMI), 137–​38, 160–​61, 169–​71, 255–​56 Singh, Bilveer, 94–​95, 205–​6, 219, 238 Sivan, Emmanuel, 27–​28, 32 smartphones, role of, 90–​91 Smith, Christian, 18–​19, 20–​21 Sober, Elliot, 15 social categorization, 14–​16 social cohesion, role of religion in, 21–​24 social humiliation, 151–​52, 197–​98 social media, 90, 238, 244–​45 AN message dissemination over, 263–​66 social psychological conditioning model, 39–​40 societal support for strong families, 269–​76 socioeconomic grievances, addressing, 268–​69 soft mode of dangerous speech, 54–​55, 111–​12, 241–​42 Sosis, Richard, 20, 23–​24 Southeast Asian Islam, 102–​3 spirituality, 17–​19 Sri Lanka, suicide bombings in, 35–​36 Stahelski, Anthony, 39–​40, 53–​54 Stark, Rodney, 13 sticky messages, 260–​61 strong families, societal support for, 269–​76 Strozier, Charles, 27–​29 structural element in religion, 16–​17 structural violence, 45–​46, 49–​50, 74–​75, 81–​86, 122–​23, 240–​41 Sudiman, Muhammad Saiful Alam Shah, 250–​51 suicide bombings on Bali nightclubs by JI, 98 linked to JAD, 231–​33 in Manchester, United Kingdom, 9 in Philippines, 201–​3 in Sri Lanka, 35–​36 in Surubaya, Indonesia, 3–​4 Sulaiman, Osman, 159 Sumner, William Graham, 14 Sun Xueling, 169–​70 Sungkar, Abdullah, 96–​98

Index  413 supernatural agents, 22–​24 Surabaya, Indonesia, terrorist attacks in, 3–​4 Syed Ahmad, Danial, 124–​25 Tablighi Jamaat, 63–​66 tahfiz, 126–​27 Tajfel, Henri, 15 takfir, 82–​83, 225 taqiyya warfare doctrine, 144–​45 tauhid, 68, 82–​83, 103–​4, 105–​6 Tauhid Sifat 20, 136–​37 Tausugs, 174–​75 Taylor, Max, 43–​44 technical sciences, education in, 51–​52, 110–​11, 277–​79 Teehan, John, 23–​24, 25–​26, 52–​53 Terman, David, 15–​16, 27–​29, 46–​47 terrorism, discussion of, 86–​88 threat, solidarity in face of, 17 Tony Blair Institute for Global Change, The, 79–​80 totalism, 29–​31 totalized conversion process, 29–​30 transnationalism, 76–​77, 139–​40 Tripoli Agreement, 180 Trump, Donald J., 35–​36 tudung ban in Singapore schools, 142–​43, 153 Twitter, AN message dissemination over, 263–​65 ulama, 104–​6 Ulfah Handayani Saleh, 202–​3, 233 Ullah, Akayed, 65–​66 UNAND (Andalas University), Indonesia, 279–​80 uncertainty-​reduction theory, 17 United Malays National Organisation (UMNO), 106–​7 United Nations Development Program (UNDP), 264–​65 Universiti Teknologi Malaysia (UTM), 99, 110, 114–​15, 117–​18 Ustaz Haji Ali Haji Mohamed, 139–​40 Ustaz Haji Muhammad Hasbi Hassan, 139–​40

veils, Islamic. See Islamic veils video messages, in alternative narrative efforts, 264–​65 Vidino, Lorenzo, 38 violence. See also jihad; suicide bombings in Moro culture, 198 motivation of extremists, 10–​11 potential within religious fundamentalism, 9–​10, 32–​33 psychological, 45–​46, 240–​41 radicalization, 38 Salafi Jihadism, 81–​86 structural, 44–​46, 49–​50, 74–​75 Wade, Francis, 58–​59, 60–​61 Wagemakers, Joas, 66–​67, 68–​69 Wahhabism, 51–​52, 68–​71 Islamism and, 76 recruitment by JI, 111 Wahhabized Purist Salafism. See Salafabism Wahid, Abdurrahman. See Gus Dur Waldman, Mark, 14–​15, 20, 49–​50 Wali Sanga, 256–​57 Wan Min Wan Mat, 76–​77, 262–​ 63, 277–​78 bias and prejudice of, 108–​9 contemporary implications of case, 121–​28 on counter-​narratives, 250–​52 dangerous speech of, 111–​13 dualistic thinking of, 110–​11 history of Jemaah Islamiyah, 96–​98 identity supremacism of, 102–​8 obsession with purity and fear of contamination, 109–​10 overview, 94–​96, 243 persons in SE of, 114–​15 places in SE of, 115–​18 platforms in SE of, 118–​21 power, fixation with seeking, 113–​14 role in Jemaah Islamiyah, 98–​101 war, solidarity in face of, 16–​17 White Supremacist extremist movements, 40–​41 wholeness, psychological, 29–​30 Wijayanto, Para, 94–​95 Wills, Thomas Ashby, 277 Wilson, David Sloan, 15, 20, 21–​22, 25–​26

414 Index Wilson, E. O., 14, 16–​17, 48–​49 Winnicott, Donald, 276–​77 Winterbotham, Emily, 249–​50 Wirathu, Ashin, 56–​62 Wong Kan Seng, 132–​33 Wood, Graeme, 9, 63, 77–​78, 87–​88, 89–​90, 114 World War II, psychological warfare in, 265–​66 worldviews, extreme, 44–​45 Wright, Robert, 16–​17, 25–​26 Yabes, Criselda, 200–​1, 273–​74 Yakin, Ayang Utrizka, 236–​37 Yasin, Raden, 282–​83 Yee, Wendy, 276–​77 Yousuf, Ramzi, 196 youths good families via good societies, 276–​79 parent–​child dyads, strengthening, 272–​76 as targets of indoctrination, 269–​76

YouTube videos, in alternative narrative efforts, 264–​65 Yusuf, Hamza, 5, 80–​81 Zainuddin, Ustaz Ahmad, 163–​64 Zamihan Mat Zin, 123–​25, 252–​53, 318n.183 zeal, 43–​44 Zerubavel, Eviatar, 14 Zulfikar Mohamad Shariff, 129–​31 bias and prejudice of, 138–​43 dangerous speech of, 146–​47 identity supremacism of, 135–​38 integrative complexity, 145–​46 obsession with purity and fear of contamination, 144–​45 overview, 243–​44 persons in SE of, 155–​57 places in SE of, 152–​55 platforms in SE of, 149–​52 power, fixation with seeking, 148–​49 Singaporean constitutional, political, and ideological context, 132–​35