COVER STORY Standing Up for Islam
Muslims are fighting back—not just against the West but also against the militancy in their midst. A TIME Special Report on the diversity of Islam in Asia
After Bali
Asia—and the world—reels after a devastating attack (Oct. 28, 2002)
Indonesia's Rage Culture
Why does a moderate Islamic nation serve as a hotbed for religious extremists? (Oct. 28, 2002)
Taking the Hard Road
Indonesia's tough choice: crack down on extremists and risk backlash—or incur America's wrath (Sep. 30, 2002)
The Moderate Majority
Asia's progressive Islam can be a strong weapon against extremism (Oct. 28, 2002)
A Jihadi's Tale — page 3
The young Habib is not immune to the Islamic fervor of the times, yet dares not participate even in the comparatively tame Islamic student group on campus. He has a lot to lose. "The pressure of the Suharto regime on the Islamic community was huge. I was just a young man who went to discos and movies.
"I had a good life," he recalls. And while he is moved by Afghanistan's plight, he sneers at news that Muslims from other countries have begun to fight alongside their Afghan brothers. Why fight someone else's war, he wonders?
Then comes the chance encounter at al-Azhar mosque and Habib feeling that somehow the spiritual foundations of his secure life have been shaken. The young student can't sleep, and soon returns to confront the mujahedin recruiter who dared challenge his Muslim credentials. Instead of debating with the jihadi, he finds himself unusually desperate to prove his faith to this unsettling newcomer whose Afghan experience, in the eyes of the younger man, lend him a Sufi-like power and mysticism. As it dawns on Habib that pedigree alone does not make him a good Muslim, he finds himself considering an idea he had previously dismissed as "stupid": fighting in Afghanistan. But is this his true path? First, he prays for a sign. That night, his globe-trotting grandfather appears to him in a dream and says, "You have my blessing." Habib rushes to the mosque the next morning to tell the mujahedin recruiter. Both men burst into tears and then embrace. And that's it: the inner conflict resolved in a transforming moment, when Habib decides to park his red Mercedes and walk the path of a born-again Muslim. He leaves for Afghanistan the day after his exams, telling his tearful parents, "My fate now belongs to God."
For Habib and uncounted hundreds of Southeast Asians, Afghanistan is the ultimate culture shock: an alien landscape of forbidding mountains, plunging ravines and valley floors stretching off into shimmering dust; a country so cold in winter that snow falls waist-deep, and so hot in summer that you don't perspire because the sweat evaporates as it leaves your pores. The food is bad and sickness inevitable. Yet Habib finds such hardships inspirational: jihad was never going to be a night out at the Pink Panther Club. "From beginning to end," he now enthuses, a distant look in his eyes, "it gripped my heart."
The year is 1986, and 25-year-old Habib is en route to war. He has joined the Peshawar-based mujahedin faction Jamiat-i-Islami. Here he is lectured on jihad and taught how to use the AK-47 he bought upon arrival. "It was with me day and night, like a wife," he recalls. To the west of the city lies the Khyber Pass. Beyond, the front awaits.
Anyone reporting the war in the 1980s encounters Muslims from across the globe: Bangladeshis, Lebanese, Chinese Uighurs, Sudanese, Saudi Arabians and even the occasional Thai or Malaysian. But Indonesians are seldom met, and rarely spotted on the front line. "We Indonesians were small and physically weak," says Habib. "All we had was our courage. So very few of us went in the front line. We were cooks or medical staff, or else we carried ammunition."
During his first bitter Afghan winter, a Soviet missile tears into a Kandahar-bound truck, part of a convoy carrying mujahedin medicine and food supplies. Fifteen mujahedin are blown apart. This is the young Habib's first taste of real battle, and he feels fear and revulsion—and also a new type of sadness not only at the martyrdom of 15 fellow fighters but because he himself has not been martyred. Later he will have the chance to fight—and to kill. "I'm not proud of doing that," he now says, "but I'm proud that I did my duty." Despite having Allah on their side, not all of Habib's fellow jihadis are brave. Some are courageous. But he notices that others, when they are ordered to stand up and shoot, piss themselves with fear. "We didn't win because of one or two men," he insists today. "We won because of Allah." In Afghanistan, Habib, born and bred a Muslim, realizes the true dimensions of that faith. Jihad, a holy war fought and won by righteous Muslims against godless Soviets, is a purifying ritual, and he believes he learns of both the brutality of man and the sweetness of Allah. No experience will ever come close. "Experts still wonder how the mujahedin beat the Soviets," Habib marvels. "It was because the Soviets fought for rubles, and we fought for what we believed."
