An uncomfortable lesson in jihad

Earlier this month, a UCL board of inquiry was assembled to determine whether or not Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab—variously know as the “Detroit,” “Christmas,” “Syringe” and “Underwear” bomber—had been radicalised while studying for an engineering degree at the university between 2005 and 2008. So far there is scant evidence that this is the case. But I have had exclusive access to recordings that may suggest otherwise. And if he was indeed radicalised here, how should UCL—and other academic institutions across Britain—respond?

Most of the details reported thus far about Abdulmutallab’s life have centred around his late teenage years in west Africa—in internet chat rooms he talked about his loneliness and his jihad fantasies—or from his time in Yemen in 2009. The radical Yemeni-based preacher, Anwar Al Awlaki, has admitted that Abdulmutallab was one of his students, adding: “I did not tell him to do this operation, but I support it.”

The years of Abdulmutallab’s life that most lack detail, in fact, are those three years at UCL. We do know that he was president of the Islamic Society (Isoc) from 2006 to 2007. In an interview with the BBC’s Daniel Sandford, Qasim Rafiq, UCL Isoc president during Abdulmutallab’s first year of university, said he was “shocked” that one of his friends had been involved in a plot to kill 289 passengers. Rafiq, now the media officer for the Federation of Student Islamic Societies (FOSIS), the student body that represents Muslims students at a national level, has not given any further interviews about his friend.

The inquiry, set up by UCL’s provost Malcolm Grant, is expected to take between two and three months to complete, and is being headed by Fiona Caldicott, pro-vice chancellor of Oxford University. As an expert in psychiatry and psychology, she should be well qualified for the task. And one question she might well wish to consider is the role of the radical Islamist preacher Abdur Raheem Green at UCL.

Green, who was educated at Ampleforth College and converted to Islam in 1988, was a regular feature of the UCL Isoc schedule, speaking three times during 2005-2009. The first of these talks, on the 23rd November 2005, was entitled “Islam and Terrorism.” It closely followed an outing in which Green and several friends accompanied three London university Islamic societies on a paintballing trip (and during which Abdulmutallab captained the UCL team). I have had exclusive access to the recording of the talk, and it makes for interesting listening.

During Green's two-hour discourse he argues that Bin Laden’s terrorism as a rational strategy makes sense: “If you kill our women and children we’re going to kill your women and children. And we’re going to keep on killing your women and children until you stop killing our women and children. This is his rationale. If you just take the point of view of just logic and reasoned argument... it’s pretty difficult to counter an argument like that. It’s pretty difficult to do it. There’s a sort of justice to that, isn’t there?”

After half-an-hour, however, Green dismisses the idea that Muslims should be persuaded by rational argument. Instead, he states that Islam does not support the deliberate “targeting”—a word he stresses on a number of occasions—of civilians, because the Koran says it is wrong. By equating terrorism with the deliberate killing of civilians, Green concludes that terrorism must be Islamically wrong.

But then, as he continues to talk and take questions from the audience, Green elaborates—adding three further points that muddy the theological water.

Crucially, he makes it quite clear that Islam is not a pacifist religion: “[Islam] is not a religion that teaches us not to resist. It teaches us to fight against tyranny and oppression... Those verses in the Koran that talk about ‘fight those who disbelieve,’ they are talking about those people who are fighting you. They come to fight us so we fight them. So Allah says fight them, go and fight them. And when you fight them kill them…this is serious matter, so of course you fight them and kill them and you do it in the most effective way. So, as the Koran says: ‘strike them at their necks’… When we fight we really are going to fight. This is what these verses are talking about.”

Green also points out that it is not “blameworthy” if women and children are killed during otherwise legitimate fighting: “If in the course of fighting that some women and children are caught up and accidentally killed… that is something that, in the process of war, is sometimes unavoidable and that is not blameworthy.” The blame he refers to here is the concept of religious sin. Green is saying that, theologically speaking, it isn’t wrong to kill women and children per se, it is only wrong to “target” them. It is about one’s intention before God.

Finally, Green reminds his audience that, “It is impossible that you are Muslim and you don’t believe in the obligation and the necessity of having a Khalifah. It is from our religion. There is no doubt about it.”

Should Caldicott and her seven-member board listen to the recording, they may not find any problem with it. Green’s speech is nuanced, and therefore very unlike tracts that landed hate preachers such as the hook-handed Abu Hamza in jail. As UCL’s provost has already stated: “Campuses are and should be safe homes for controversy, argument and debate.”

However uncomfortable, the right to free speech often does entail the right to advocate the deaths of others. The supporters of the Iraq war or bombing of Serbia in 1999, for example, or those agitating for the downfall of fascist Spain during the 1930s, were all ultimately stating that killing others—the enemy—was a necessary part of making the world a safer and better place. In this light, Green is not doing anything different.

But there is no escaping the fact that Green is a religious minister, invited by Isoc to speak as a minister of religion, and that the conclusion of his talk to the faithful is that, given certain provisos, killing in the name of their religion may be right. So the real question is: should we be worried because we believe that theology and faith have special persuasive powers? And if so, should we treat believers and their institutions separately within the framework of campus life?

UCL’s provost has also stated that “we must continue to regard students as adults.” To treat Muslims on campus otherwise, by somehow getting university authorities to police events such as these would be unfair, patronising and only encourage a backlash.

The real problem, though, is the lack of proper debate taking place in many of these institutions. Mainstream, liberal campus society does not have the tools to defeat arguments like Green’s: many radical preachers are comfortable with leftist arguments about imperialism and racism and respond in kind to rational attacks on their beliefs from non-believers. Yet these arguments—many of which I have witnessed during my own time following groups such as Hizb ut-Tahrir and others—only serve to sidestep the real centre of the issue: theology.

In religious meetings like these, it is the various theological interpretations that persuade or dissuade believers into thought and reaction. (Note how Green himself was careful to make the distinction between rational argument and theology.) Green derives his authority from his religious standing and “the Koran says this” is what young Muslim students pay attention to.

Of course, university authorities could try to ensure that for every such meeting there is a theological counterweight on campus; a plurality of views that guarantees an equal debate. But if we are to treat students as adults, then it should be Muslim students themselves who provide this counterweight. The Federation of Student Islamic Societies (mentioned above) would be the best-placed to foster this. Yet many Muslims working against campus radicalism, from the Quilliam foundation and British Muslims for Secular Democracy, are concerned that FOSIS has become a proto-Islamist institution—giving a platform to not only the likes of Green, but also Abdulmutallab’s Yemeni preacher Anwar al Awlaki, whom FOSIS members invited to give a number of talks during the early noughties.

It may also be a matter of growing concern that many university Islamic societies are turning to FOSIS and their theological message. It is worth noting that four presidents of London university Islamic societies have now been charged or prosecuted for terrorism offences in the last three years.

Again, liberals might argue that this is not a problem; for many years the National Union of Students was a bastion of extreme left-wing politics. The hope is that those who believe in radical Islamist theology are also an extreme minority, and in anti-Islamist circles there is talk of creating a new institution—bureaucratically identical to FOSIS but representing a counterweight to their theology—to compete for the loyalty of Islamic societies across Britain. Theological tensions between Muslims on campus would increase, but ultimately Muslim students would be served by a better debate. This might be the only way to break the stranglehold the radicals currently maintain on campuses up and down the country.

But even if this does happen, such efforts will take considerable time to have an effect. And, in the meantime, what of the UCL inquiry? It is unlikely that it will find enough evidence to point a finger of blame at anyone in Britain for the Christmas Day bomb attempt itself. Abdulmutallab didn’t build his bomb here, so at best Caldicott will be examining subtle shifts in his mindset. This may be found within his emails and by probing his activities as president of the Islamic society. The likelihood is that she’ll be wading through a lot of theology and for that reason, might not feel justified to judge what is right or wrong.

Yet whatever the outcome, the UCL board should make the primary evidence public. Ultimately, terrorists like Abdulmutallab function by making everyday events—like getting on a plane or a bus—seem deadly. Their hope is that this will create enough fear to make citizens more malleable to their objectives. After every such incident, both al Qaeda and those on the receiving end of such acts vie for a narrative of explanation. However, in the case of Abdullmutallab, no one—not even his wealthy upper-class family—really knows why he was inspired to kill. Much like the aftermath of 7th July, a veil of silence has descended over his life. No one will talk about him, even though he was president of a society with hundreds of attendees. Explanations of his actions might be forthcoming during his US trial—but, until then, the fear he has generated will remain. At least with the biographical details of his life to hand, the public will be able to make some sense of it themselves. And, for now, that is the best anyone can expect.