To deprogram a Jihadist

But there are questions. The program’s turnaround time is astonishingly short. Most complete it in 8 to 12 weeks. And how do authorities know a conversion is sincere given the rewards: a shortened sentence, a new car. That is one of the hardest questions about this campaign to fight ideas with ideas.

Repeated requests by Maclean’s to get comment from the Saudi government regarding the program were ignored, but authorities say roughly 3,000 inmates have voluntarily participated, and only nine have been arrested for returning to jihad, and another 35 for security offences since leaving the centre, which opened two years ago. This figure contradicts other reports; indeed, data measuring the effectiveness of the programs in many countries is unavailable.

The other big problem in assessing their efficacy is that the programs themselves vary wildly. Yemen’s, a bare-bones and poorly funded effort, was suspended temporarily in 2005 over a shameful failure rate after a number of the “rehabilitated” turned up in Iraq, where they had merrily joined the insurgency. Singapore, by comparison, has been quite successful in crippling the Jemaah Islamiyah network after authorities conducted two major arrest sweeps in 2002. Of 55 members detained, at least 32 have been released after undergoing religious counseling and meeting regularly with psychologists, case officers and their families to discuss progress.

Some experts acknowledge the Saudi program is more holistic in its approach, compared with programs where the only thing addressed is ideology. But not everyone is impressed. “It gives me no confidence that the Saudis are equipped, let alone seriously disposed to bring about a shift in the behaviour of supremacist thinking,” says David Harris, a terrorism expert and former CSIS chief of strategic planning. Harris believes deprogramming is possible but questions the kingdom’s commitment to eradicating extremism, citing as an example the government appointment of Abdur Rahman al-Sudais, chief imam of the Grand Mosque of Mecca. Al–Sudais is hostile toward non–Muslims and has called Jews “the scum of the Earth,” and “monkeys and pigs.”

“With our conditioning we think: what could be more admirable than fighting evil with ideas and not violence?” says Harris. “It sounds progressive. But then I wake up.” He points out that the motivation for establishing these programs varies widely depending on the country, and that the Saudi program is a face-value measure to placate the West after the 9/11 inquiry identified the kingdom as the primary source for al-Qaeda’s funding. Transparency is also an issue, he adds: knowing who the 150 scholars are who interpret the Quran with detainees is crucial, because their own ideology is highly influential.

Singapore, in contrast, is much more open. Ustaz Mohamed bin Ali is charged with rehabilitating prisoners there. His conversion technique starts by examining which texts prisoners use to justify violence before asking them to look beyond their tafsir, or literal Quranic interpretation. Verses are often taken out of context, says Ali, a graduate of Al-Azhar University in Cairo, the foremost seat of learning for Sunni Muslims. He says a fanatic may have whole sections of the Quran memorized but can struggle to interpret their meaning. “Jihad itself has several meanings. One of them is to fight, but to fight on a legitimate battlefield. So what these guys are doing is not jihad,” he says. “Jihad is to strive for anything good in yourself. To fight your own desires.”

Nasir Abbas is a firm believer in what such programs can achieve with low-ranking group members. Abbas knows the other side of the battle line well. Whether it was an M-16 or a Quran in his hand, the former weapons instructor for Jemaah Islamiyah believed Allah was on his side. One of the most wanted men in Malaysia, he felt justified fighting Soviet forces in Afghanistan and training Islamists in how to use weapons. (His past students include the three men executed in November for killing 202 people in the Bali nightclub bombing.) He never went through a rehab program himself, but following his departure from the militant group—they had begun “terrorizing civilians,” something he says he never supported—and his release from prison in 2004, his “new jihad” is rehabilitating extremists in Indonesia. “Violence cannot be fought with violence,” he says. “Fire can only be extinguished by water.”

For al-Shihri, soft power didn’t seem to work. But there are no guarantees a dip in the pool is any more effective than a waterboarding exercise in inspiring a change of attitude. And in the battle to win over “hearts and minds,” governments seem keen on trying something beyond just catching and killing terrorists. However, experts like Silke warn that environment dictates what happens next, and the marginalization or mistreatment of groups will continue to be extremism’s most powerful recruiter.

“A lot of the time when we look at a terrorist we put the responsibility of violence on the individual. We don’t look at the environment around them,” says Silke, using an extreme scenario to make his point. “But if Saudi Arabia has all these deradicalization programs and America invades next week—what do you think is gonna happen to those prisoners that have gone through the program?”