Countering Violent Extremism in Indonesia: Bringing Back the Jihadists

Abstract

While Indonesia’s efforts at countering violent extremism have enjoyed some successes, a section of its Islamist community remains committed to militant jihadism. The return from overseas of hundreds of militants linked to ISIS means that there is now a greater need than ever for interventions to prevent radicalisation – and for programs to reintegrate militants back into society. Drawing on 20 selected interviews with former jihadists, this article asks how successful official efforts have been at disengaging those convicted under Indonesia’s Anti-Terrorism Law from violent extremism. A significant minority remain welded to a militant mindset: “committed jihadists” who are likely to reoffend. Some former jihadists have “disengaged provisionally” but remain vulnerable: they have only disengaged for tactical or practical reasons. Yet some have also begun to disengage emotionally. While they may not disavow completely the use of force, these “provisionally deradicalised” activists have moved closer to that minority of interviewees who are “fully deradicalised”. Using this four-part typology of the pathways by which some militant jihadists have disengaged but others have not, this article finds that disengagement is a gradual process shaped by social networks. Consequently, it is suggested that a variety of methods be used to promote disengagement both before and after inmates leave prison.

Abstrak

Walaupun upaya resmi di Indonesia untuk mengendalikan perilaku kaum ekstrimis cukup berhasil, sebagian masyarakat eks jihadis tetap terikat kepada pemikiran yang militan. Kembalinya ratusan aktivis militan yang mendukung ISIS di luar negeri membawa implikasi semakin diperlukannya intervensi untuk mencegah radikalisasi serta pengintegrasian kembali eks jihadis agar kembali ke dalam masyarakat. Berdasarkan wawancara terpilih dengan 20 eks jihadis, artikel ini mengedepankan masalah, sampai berapa jauh upaya resmi sehingga jihadis-jihadis yang dihukum dan dipenjarakan berdasarkan Undang-Undang Anti-Teror di Indonesia disengage, yaitu ‘menjauhkan diri dari kegiatan ekstrim’? Digambarkan bahwa sebagaian kecil eks jihadis tetap terikat kepada pemikiran yang keras, yaitu jihadis militan (‘committed jihadists’) yang mungkin sekali dapat melakukan pelanggaran lagi. Sebagian lain sudah mulai menjauhkan diri dari kekerasan (‘provisionally disengaged’), namun tetap rawan terhadap kemungkinan pelanggaran – kelompok ini melakukan disengagement untuk alasan taktis atau praktis saja. Akan tetapi ada juga eks jihadis yang sudah mulai menjalani proses disengagement secara psikologis. Kendati belum menolak penggunaan kekerasan secara mutlak, tokoh yang ‘provisionally deradicalised’ (setengah deradikalisasi) sudah mulai mendekati kelompok kecil eks jihadis yang betul-betul sudah menjalani proses deradikalisasi (‘fully deradicalised’). Dengan menerapkan tipologi yang mengandung empat bagian ini, disimpulkan bahwa disengagement merupakan proses bertahap yang sangat dipengaruhi oleh jaringan sosial. Oleh karena itu, disarankan agar berbagai metoda digunakan untuk menghasilkan disengagement, baik sebelum maupun setelah tahanan dilepaskan dari penjara.

Keywords:

• Indonesia
• Islam
• ISIS
• countering violent extremism
• jihadism
• militant Islam in Indonesia
• disengagement
• deradicalisation
• Jemaah Islamiyah

It is widely acknowledged that Muslims in Indonesia are adherents of moderate versions of the faith. Indonesia’s tradition of harmonious interaction between followers of different religions has endowed this most populous of Muslim nations with a well-earned reputation for religious tolerance. The leaders of its two major Muslim socio-cultural organisations have generally rejected more doctrinaire and militant interpretations of Islam. Both Muhammadiyah and Nahdlatul Ulama, the “Revival of the Ulama”, have instead favoured a “peaceful jihad” to promote the religion (Lukens-Bull, 2005).

Jihadism nevertheless has its local advocates. Today’s militants have instrumental links to Darul Islam, the social movement that took up arms to establish an Islamic state in the 1940s and that resurfaced in the late New Order period (Temby, 2010; ICG, 2005a). Drawing on these activists and veterans of conflicts in Afghanistan and Mindanao, the Jemaah Islamiyah (JI) organisation established in 1993 sought to revive the fortunes of militant Islam. JI was subsequently linked to a series of bombings, targeting churches, nightclubs and other symbols of “Western decadence”. In the years following the first Bali bombings of October 2002 the police arrested more than 1,000 people, most of whom were subsequently charged with terrorism offences; between 2010 and late 2012 alone more than 20 alleged terrorists were killed and more than 200 arrested. The apparent success of these security measures was certainly costly to the perpetrators in terms of deaths and arrests. It also provides concrete evidence that, in some quarters, support for jihadism remains resilient (Jones & Solahudin, 2014).

The point of departure for this article is the need to better understand the mindset of this social grouping. Within Indonesia’s large Muslim community, those who would subject political and social life to Islamic law – the Islamists – are clearly a minority. Of these Islamists, only a few could be categorised as truly radical, and only a minority of radical Islamists are prepared to countenance the use of violence. Indonesia’s jihadists, therefore, constitute a minority of a minority of a minority – and may number not much more than 1,000 individuals.¹ Yet even a small number of determined extremists can do considerable damage, so it is important to understand the discourse that prevails within this small community such that some remain militant – but others have come to reject the use of violence.

Scholarly work has begun to fill in many of the gaps in our knowledge about Indonesia’s jihadi networks (Barton, 2004; Fealy & Borgu, 2005; Barton, 2009; Solahudin, 2011; Solahudin, 2013). There have also been some useful studies of leading jihadists.² Yet we still have an incomplete understanding of the process by which some individual jihadists disengage. How important are religious factors in encouraging disengagement? Do those who disengage share certain demographic or social characteristics? And perhaps the most important issue for both law enforcement officers and security analysts is, how do jihadists react to the possibility of incarceration and perhaps execution? In a thoughtful evidence-based article, Julie Chernov-Hwang (2017) analyses processes of disengagement among a number of militants jailed for actions in Poso in Central Sulawesi. She finds that a confluence of factors led some individuals to disengage, “reinforcement loops” that moved them to abandon the struggle. Building on this study and those mentioned above,³ here I seek to explore the factors that may encourage a lasting disengagement. Specifically, this article asks, how enduring is the commitment to non-violence among jihadists who have ostensibly disengaged?

After describing the aims, methods and intellectual framework of the research project upon which this article is based, the substantive sections that follow present extracts from selected interviews with former militants, categorised according to how firmly they still believe in jihadist principles. The intent is thus primarily conceptual, presenting a framework that might help us better understand a particular social phenomenon. The findings nevertheless have obvious policy consequences. The final section explores the implications of the proposed typology for efforts to Counter Violent Extremism (CVE).

The Disengagement of Indonesian Jihadists: Conducting the Research

Before proceeding further, it is appropriate to define how certain key terms will be used.⁴ By “engagement” is meant a readiness to become actively involved in an extremist group, which might take various forms. Importantly, it need not entail participating in violent acts, but can include carrying out background (and perfectly legal) research to support extremist objectives (Horgan, 2008; Horgan, 2009a, pp. 152–153). In the following analysis “engagement” is thus understood broadly, as a readiness to become involved in extremist actions, even if the jihadist is incarcerated and may have lost contact with former colleagues.

“Disengagement” indicates that an individual is no longer a member of a terrorist organisation. Such a change may occur for a variety of reasons, usually involving changes in personal circumstances. This “physical disengagement” might then be followed by a more important phase, namely “psychological disengagement”, an emotional distancing arising from a fear of being killed or arrested, from concern for one’s family, or simply from boredom (Horgan, 2005, pp. 140–153).

“Deradicalisation” connotes much more than disengagement. It requires a qualitative change in the attitudes and, perhaps, values of erstwhile terrorists, a process of physical, social and psychological disengagement “to the extent that they are no longer at risk of re-offending ... a change at the cognitive level, not simply the physical cessation of some observable behaviour” (Horgan & Braddock, 2010, p. 280).

Looking at the Indonesian experience, we are prompted to ask, to what extent have the hundreds of individuals jailed for terrorism-related offences now “come back” from a jihadist understanding of Islam? Beginning in 2009 a study was undertaken to investigate this issue, a “bottom-up” project that entailed detailed investigation of this particular community.⁵ Between 2010 and 2014 interviews were conducted with more than 70 Indonesian jihadists, men⁶ found guilty of committing offences under Indonesia’s 2002 Anti-Terrorism Law and given sentences ranging from several years to life imprisonment.

In order to obtain a representative sample, efforts were made to interview a broad range of informants. Around half of those interviewed were inmates in prison; around half had obtained conditional release. Some had at one stage important leadership roles; others were influential ideologues. The primary purpose of the research was not to identify those responsible for particular actions, but to gain a better understanding of the conceptual framework within which they operated. Most respondents were therefore people involved in either carrying out or assisting with particular operations, men whom we might call “foot soldiers” providing basic logistical support such as accommodation or transportation; many were couriers or had simply agreed to let “brothers” stay at their homes.

Access to interviewees was gained by two means. Some were approached via staff of the Muhammadiyah University of Malang (UMM), an institution well respected within the Muslim community; informants often knew the UMM staff personally from the local mosque. A second medium for access was via the “Institute for International Peace-Building” (IIPB), an NGO that runs a well-organised program for the rehabilitation of former jihadists.⁷ The presence of either IIPB or UMM staff before (and sometimes during) the interviews was crucial. The former militants spoke freely in the presence of people whom they trusted, presumably glad to be able to reflect upon their experiences beyond the presence of the authorities; this privilege was then extended to a guest introduced as an observer conducting independent research. It was thus the involvement of these two organisations that made the research possible – and ensured that the informants spoke openly and without fear of repercussions.

There are two issues regarding the information provided by the interviewees that are worthy of note. The first concerns the reliability of their responses. We were seeking the informants’ recollection of events that had often occurred several years earlier – recollections that were, by definition, subjective. The inmates had also often committed serious crimes, so a degree of obfuscation and perhaps deceit could have been expected. However, they were well aware that the interviewers were familiar with their past histories, and thus spoke frankly about their experience.

The second issue concerns the protection of the informants themselves. Much of the information provided was potentially incriminating, so interviewees were assured that official agencies would not be appraised of these discussions. They were also promised that the interviews would be kept confidential if the individual so chose. Some informants were proud of their exploits and quite willing to have their names associated with particular actions. This was not, however, the case for all, particularly some of the less well-known activists. Accordingly, some identities have been kept anonymous, with the interviewee referred to simply by a number, e.g. “Interviewee #72”.

The project had two research foci. The first was to gain a better understanding of the circumstances that led to the original engagement. Clearly, little useful data would have been gathered by making direct enquiries, ex post facto, about their original motives. The interviews were thus semi-structured, with the informants encouraged to raise issues that they considered personally important. Not surprisingly, interviewees described a wide range of circumstances leading to their engagement (Chalmers, 2011). Topics covered by the informants included difficulties with personal employment, dissatisfaction with various Islamic organisations, and a distrust of people of other faiths and of non-Salafi Muslims. Nevertheless, despite obvious differences in life experience and modes of radicalisation, informants also indicated that they had once held a common religious worldview. Virtually all recalled that, at one stage, they had adhered to a form of militant Islamism with several principles in common: that there is a global conspiracy to destroy Islam, that in confronting Islam’s enemies the noblest form of jihad is Holy War (jihad qital; jihad perang), that violence in pursuit of this goal is morally justified, and that Indonesian Muslims should also take up such a jihad to defend other Muslim communities. In other words, their engagement contained the principal elements of global Salafi jihadism (Wiktorowicz, 2006).

The second and more important focus of the project emerged while conducting the interviews themselves, and concerns the extent to which these activists still maintained a militant mindset. Before proceeding further, a short discussion of Islamist theology is required. Salafi jihadism is a subset of Salafism, the broad set of ideas whose adherents seek to purify the faith by emulating early Muslim leaders known as salaf as-salih, the “pious ancestors” (Hooker & Fealy, 2006, p. 5). Although most modern-day Salafis reject many of the trappings of modernity as jahiliyah (“heathen, ignorant of God”), they also generally reject the use of force. This is not the case for Salafi jihadists, however, who actually embrace the use of violent struggle as a valid form of jihad. A major element in Islamic belief, jihad is perhaps best translated as the “struggle” to promote the religion (Fealy, 2006, p. 353). All Muslims consider it incumbent upon them to observe the Five Pillars of the faith, obligations generally termed fard al’ayn, “personal responsibilities” (Glasse, 2008, pp. 151–152, pp. 163–164). Meeting these obligations in the effort to set a good example has traditionally been considered the “greater jihad”, for it entails personal sacrifice in the struggle to master one’s own desires. By contrast, physical jihad is considered the “lesser jihad” and can only be undertaken if the community is under attack – and under strict conditions. But for modern-day extremists (including most of those interviewed below) physical jihad is also fard al’ayn – a personal duty in the struggle to expand the realm of Islam (Roy, 2004, pp. 254–257; Devji, 2005, p. 34). For jihadists, warfare is thus no longer defensive and collective, but “requires full and permanent mobilisation against real and imagined enemies at home and abroad” (Gerges, 2005, p. 4).

It was this form of Salafism that gained adherents among Indonesian militant groups in recent decades, particularly during the Afghan War of the 1980s. Jihadism has its own history in Indonesia, and these jihadist groups built on earlier movements (Fealy, 2005; Hasan, 2006, pp. 31–61). Yet a qualitative change occurred in the 1980s when militants from around the world were drawn to the Afghan struggle, and thousands of mujahidin of diverse backgrounds studied both radical theology and military tactics in the training colleges set up in Pakistan by Abdullah Azzam and later Osama bin Laden; the war became “the religious and social incubator for globalised radical Islam” (Cook, 2005, p. 128). Several hundred Indonesians and Malaysians participated (Solahudin, 2013, pp. 8–21). And after they returned home the jihadist ideas that they popularised won many local followers – including most of those interviewed for this study.

As it evolved, the second research focus thus became to gauge whether those jailed for terrorism-related offences had now “come back” from this Salafi jihadist mindset. To return to the terms used here, we sought to establish, to what extent have those jailed under the Anti-Terrorism Law of 2002 made a transition from engagement to physical disengagement, to psychological disengagement and, perhaps, to being deradicalised? It was this research question that provided the key variable that came to be used in the field: did these former jihadists still believe that today’s conditions justify violent jihad? We did not, of course, ask explicitly whether they supported the use of violence or were planning to become engaged in terrorist activities; any answers to such questions would be meaningless, particularly for those still serving time in prison. With a little prodding, however, we were able to gain from most interviewees unsolicited indications of the extent to which they still approved of the use of violence for religious and/or political ends. “Do you reject or still maintain the understanding of religious teachings that you held in the past? Do you believe that conflict between Muslims and non-Muslims is inevitable, and perhaps imminent? Under what conditions is violence admissible – or even obligatory? If current social and political conditions mean that violent jihad is inappropriate, when would it be justifiable?” By asking such questions the interviews provided an insight into the present mindset of most informants; their narratives provide us with a measure of the extent to which incarceration had moderated their views.

Some of the 70 jihadists contacted refused to speak openly on these issues, and we were not able to discern the current mindset of some who did. We were, however, able to gain an approximate measure of the current mindsets of 58 of our informants, affirmations that constitute the raw database used for the study. In terms of our original criteria, it quickly became clear that these former jihadists are at different levels of disengagement: 17 remain committed to jihadism; 23 were not engaged when interviewed, but remain vulnerable to re-engagement; 5 are ostensibly deradicalised, but only provisionally; and a minority of 13 are completely deradicalised.

In order to better delineate the differences between the four categories that emerged, quotations from 20 representative interviews are presented below.⁸ The interviews were conducted in Indonesian, although the informants’ enthusiasm for discussing theological issues inevitably entailed a scattering of Arabic phrases. (The interviewees and their responses are summarised in Table 1.)

Table 1. Summary Data on Selected Jailed Jihadists

Name	Prior employment	Ethnic Background	Affiliation	Incidents or “fields” of struggle	Sentence in years, commenced
Committed Jihadists:
Aman Abdurrachman	Cleric	Sundanese	Leader Jamaah Tauhid wal Jihad	Cimanggis 2004; Aceh 2010	7, 2004 (released 2008); 9, 2010
Jailed 2004 for encouraging his followers to violent action; again in 2010 for recruiting for Aceh military training camp. Still an influential ideologue for extremist jihadism.
Abdullah Sonata	Cleric	Betawi	KOMPAK, Noordin	Ambon 2000, Poso, Aceh 2010	7, 2005 (released 2009); 10, 2010
Head KOMPAK in Ambon, established “Mujahidin KOMPAK” 2000. Jailed twice for supporting extremists. Proponent global jihadism, still opposes both the state and moderate Muslims.
Interviewee #21	Driver	Central Java santri	JI	Afghanistan, Poso, Bali 1 2002	7, 2002 (released 2007)
Militant from an early age, this veteran of Afghanistan recruited to JI to help with Bali 2002. Still believes in the cause – although now more cautious for family reasons.
Interviewee #13	Doctor	East Java	DI, JI, Noordin	Ambon, Poso 2005–06	9, 2008 (released 2013)
Joined DI in high school; switched allegiance to JI at uni; then leader of its Poso branch. Doctor to leading jihadists in conflict zones.
Interviewee #64	Petty trader	Sundanese	DI, JI	Ambon, Poso mid-2000s, Aceh 2010	7, 2010
Drawn to global jihadism after fighting in Poso/Ambon. Now sees Indonesian government as the lackey of an imperialist West supporting Christians and demonising Islam.
Mohamad Soleh	Unknown	Betawi	JI	Ambon	10, 2005
Incrementally more militant in 1990s, joined JI 2000 for action in Ambon. Now key proponent of global jihadism within jail.
Provisionally Disengaged:
Solahuddin al Ayyubi	Cleric	Java, santri	KOMPAK, JI	Poso ‘99, 2000 Church bombings, Atrium 2001	7, 2005 (released 2008)
A long-time militant Islamist, recruited to both Noordin’s group and Mujahidin KOMPAK. Now prefers jihad “by the book”, but is ready to fight again.
Interviewee #34	Petty trader	Central Java, santri	Noordin, KOMPAK	Poso, Ambon	3, 2005 (released 2007)
Working-class background, progressively radicalised in 1990s, took part in conflicts in eastern Indonesia 2002–03, then aide to Noordin. Now ambivalent about violent jihad.
Interviewee #1	Student	Yemeni Arab	Noordin	Bali 2 2005	8, 2006
Devout Muslim activist from JI-linked pesantren, recruited while studying for technical degree. Later used skills for Bali 2005. Now ambivalent about the struggle, needs to protect family.
Abdul Rauf alias Sam	Petty trader (snacks)	Sundanese	“Ring Banten” of DI	Ambon, Bali 2 2005	8, 2006 (released 2012)
Committed JI activist, member of DI, Ring Banten, studied al-Mukmin; fought Maluku; numerous robberies to finance Bali 2005. No regrets. Killed 2014 fighting for ISIS in Iraq.
Provisionally Deradicalised:
Abu Dujana	Teacher	Sundanese	JI, Noordin	Afghanistan, Mindanao	15, 2007 (released 2015)
Afghan veteran, head of JI mid-2000s. Involved in number of violent incidents, but for strategic reasons opposed Noordin and led JI’s reorientation to a non-violent path in mid-2000s.
Interviewee #20	Petty trader, labourer	Central Java, abangan	Noordin, JI	Noordin, Jihadist texts	8, 2007
From abangan farming backround, became more devout; joined JI 2000; logistical support to Noordin mid-2000s. Now opposes jihad because Islam in Indonesia is not under threat.
Asep Jaja alias Dahlan	Petty trader	Sundanese	KOMPAK, JI,	Maluku 1999–2005, Mindanao 2001	life, 2006
Central role recruiting & fighting in Ambon & Poso 1999–2005, linking up various extremist networks. His “cost-benefit analysis” means he now opposes violence, cooperates with BNPT.
Interviewee #59	Shop assistant, small business	Central Java, abangan	Noordin	Robberies 2005	10, 2006 (released 2011)
From a modest social background, recruited by one of Noordin’s followers mid-2000s to raise finance. Now regrets his actions.
Interviewee #58	Student	Central Java, santri	JI, Noordin, KOMPAK	Ambon 1999–2001, Aust embassy 2004	7, 2005 (released 2007)
Progressively more radical 1990s; engaged 1999–2000 in Ambon conflict; intermediary between militant groups mid-2000s. Now favours deeper social involvement with broad community.
Deradicalised:
Nasir Abas	not known	Malaysian	DI, JI	Afg’stan, Mindanao, Ambon/Poso, Bali 1 2002	10, 2003 (released 2004)
After Afghanistan became a key military trainer and recruiter for JI. Now released, he campaigns strongly within Islamist communities for deradicalisation.
Ali Imron	not known	East Java, santri	JI	Afg’stan, Mind, Ambon, churches 2000, Bali 02	life, 2003
Drawn into militancy through family links, this veteran of Afghanistan then fought in various “fields of struggle” 1999-2001. Now campaigns for deradicalisation within jail.
Yusuf Adirama	Student	East Java, abangan	JI, Mindanao	JI	10, 2003 (released 2009)
Trained in Mindanao in 2000. Since released after almost seven years in jail involving study of Islamic teachings. Now a public CVE campaigner.
Interviewee #47	Factory worker	Ctrl Java, Protestant	JI	Mind 1995–96, 2000 bombings, Bali 1 2002	life, 2002
A key figure in JI’s “special brigade”, this Mindanao veteran involved in various local actions after 2000. Has “self-deradicalised” since entering jail.
Pepen	Petty trader, repair shop	Central Java, santri	DI, JI, Noordin	Afghanistan, Ambon 2002	3, 2003 (released 2006)
Joined DI at an early age via a family tradition, military training in Poso, then fought in Ambon. Initial tactical disengagement deepened following deeper social involvement.

Ideological Engagement: The “Committed Jihadists”

Slightly less than one-third of the interviewees (17) remain deeply committed to jihadist principles. Despite their incarceration, sometimes for many years, informants in this group hold that the struggle should continue, even if the Muslim community in Indonesia is not under immediate physical attack. As the following examples illustrate, they still hold to the belief that the use of violence is justified because Indonesia is caught up in the universal struggle between Islam and its enemies.

An important representative of this perspective is Aman Abdurrahman alias Oman Rahman, a man who has played only a minor role in terrorist actions but is nevertheless an influential proponent of jihadist doctrines. A prolific writer and translator, Aman was jailed for instructing a number of young activists who accidentally set off a bomb in West Java in 2004. Undeterred by this experience, after he was released in 2008 he helped establish a training camp for militants in Aceh, an activity for which he was arrested in March 2010 and sentenced to prison for a further nine years. Despite being jailed twice and currently isolated in a prison cell without light at night, Aman still maintains that the Indonesian government should be overthrown and replaced with leaders who will truly implement Islamic law. He has refused to apply for conditional release, for any reduction in his sentence could only be granted by a heathen (jahiliyah) regime. He has translated around a dozen jihadist books from Arabic, has written many articles strongly opposing government deradicalisation campaigns, and continues to preach through writings and recorded speeches made available on the internet. As a result of this “promulgation by the pen”, his ideas and translations have become common currency in jihadist circles.

A second representative of this group is Abdullah Sonata, one of the more colourful jihadists interviewed who has played an important role in recruiting new activists. After establishing a militant organisation to channel arms to Muslims in conflict zones in the eastern islands (“Mujahidin KOMPAK”) and then fighting in Mindanao, Sonata was jailed in 2005 for possession of the firearms used for the 2003 Marriott Hotel and 2004 Australian Embassy bombings – and for assisting the leading terrorist Noordin Top. He was released in 2009, but soon became active once more. After helping to organise a military training camp in Aceh, he was arrested in mid-2010 and sentenced to a further jail term of 10 years. Throughout these years and whether inside jail or not, Sonata has consistently opposed laws that he says discriminate against Muslims in zones of conflict. When interviewed he stated that he considered war a necessary part of a global struggle, arguing that in this time of relative peace the Muslim community should conduct military training (iddad) to prepare for the conflict with its enemies that would inevitably come. Now held in the Nusakambangan high security prison, he maintains a “blog war” with activists such as Ali Imron and Nasir Abas, who he believes are collaborating with a toghut (“infidel”) government; his plea from Nusakambangan for Muslims to support the ISIS caliphate appeared in a number of Islamist websites in mid-2014.

A number of other former jihadists from different generations and backgrounds indicated that they also remain engaged. A middle-aged former courier jailed for helping to prepare the 2002 Bali bombing was ostensibly no longer active. But he also made it clear that he still believed in the struggle, arguing that jihadists had to prepare more carefully for the forthcoming jihad against non-believers (Interviewee #21):

If we did it right now it would be too hurried. There is much that we have to take into consideration… The Prophet retreated (hijrah) first before developing his government… The Islamic order may be 10 or 20 years away… The important thing is that we plan for the future more carefully…

Another committed jihadist is a middle-aged medical doctor who became engaged during the wave of conflicts in eastern Indonesia in the mid-2000s and was jailed for conducting robberies and a bombing of a largely Christian market place (Interviewee #13). When interviewed in 2012 it became clear that he had lost faith in the leadership, and regretted how the struggle was carried out. Yet the qualifications he made only concerned tactics and the selection of targets, not the propriety of violent struggle. He was clearly still engaged:

I believe that the intention to wage jihad is good, and God willing we will [in future] make the correct choice. But we can see that all the actions [in Bali] and similar acts of piety (amaliyat) were ruled by emotion. There was not enough consideration and evaluation…

Even more radical views were expressed by a young former university student who was drawn away from Marxism to militant jihadism by the conflicts with Christians in eastern Indonesia in the mid-2000s. Disengagement is currently out of the question (Interviewee #63):

The struggle is not over, [because] many in the Muslim community are so repressed that we cannot stay quiet. Our government is evil (thogut), a pawn of America and the West. Revolution is now the [only] option... Our comrades are now lying low (tiarap) and could rise up (bergejolak) again at any time.

The most unambiguous rationale for the committed jihadists, however, was provided by a man who also became engaged during the conflicts in eastern Indonesia. Mohamad Soleh carried out a number of actions in the early 2000s, but was arrested in 2005 for his role in the conflict with Christians in Ambon. He received a sentence of 10 years, but clearly retains his commitment to jihadism. His views are presented at some length below because they encapsulate the three main elements of the jihadi belief system for which he had become an important advocate within the jail.

Now, there are some who say that jihad really means no more than “to be serious” (bersungguh-sungguh): that going to work is jihad, that going to meetings is jihad. But this is just its everyday (secara bahasa) understanding. In its true religious form as it is meant in the Qur’an jihad means war, namely killing non-believers (kafir). That’s how it is! ...

[And] nowadays God’s commandments are just trampled on (diinjak-injak)… Democracy means upholding the views of the majority, doesn’t it? But democracy is a blasphemous (kufr) teaching, and Muslims must never accept kufr teachings. Of all the teachings of democracy, from start to finish there is nothing that accords with Islam…

[Our Muslim leaders] call themselves Muslims, but we call them hypocrites (munafik)... These false Muslims now dominate the state: they are faithless powerholders who have introduced modern violations of God’s word (syirik moderen)... Theirs is a heathen government (pemerintahan jahiliyah).

We can draw three preliminary observations from these six examples of “committed jihadists” who have retained their militant worldviews despite incarceration. First of all, their commitment is not related to social class, because they came from various backgrounds – some were workers, some small-scale traders and some professionals. A second observation is that these militant worldviews are retained by activists of different generations. Whether born in the 1960s or later, they all strongly believed in the validity of the jihadist struggle.

The third observation is perhaps the most important, for it concerns the transmission of these ideas. The teachings of prominent ideologues such as Aman Abdurrahman provide vital spiritual succour to the jihadist community generally, for he continues to consult his followers from jail, to denounce government deradicalisation campaigns, and to respond to publications that contradict his version of the teachings. His ideas have thus become common currency in jihadist circles, where recruitment takes place chiefly via face-to-face meetings (IPAC, 2013, p. 23; IPAC, 2015, p. 24). The fact that these ideas have persisted among different classes and are transmitted across different generations despite opposition from both state agencies and the majority Muslim community strongly suggests that they are sustained by an identifiable community, a social milieu.

Pragmatic Disengagement: The “Provisionally Disengaged”

Unlike those who remain wholeheartedly committed to the cause, 23 interviewees (40 per cent of our sample) expressed significant reservations. Changes in their personal circumstances (especially imprisonment) had encouraged a reassessment of their objectives such that they were no longer engaged in jihadist activism; some disavowed links with their former jihadist colleagues. Yet the individuals in this sizeable grouping still supported jihadist objectives on religious and moral grounds, and indicated that they would take up the struggle again if conditions allowed – particularly if instructed to do so by someone whom they believed had the requisite religious authority. As the following examples show, it was an unfavourable socio-political context rather than changes in personal motives that had led these jihadists to disengage.

A good example of a man who has disengaged for tactical reasons is Solahuddin al Ayyubi, a man arrested at a shoot-out with police in 2006 who was charged and jailed that year for having planned the bombing of the Atrium elite department store in central Jakarta in 2001. That plan did not succeed because the bomb exploded prematurely. He was eventually jailed because the authorities knew of his jihadist background, his involvement with earlier church bombings and his links to Noordin Top. Nevertheless, he gained conditional early release a few years later, because he had evidently disengaged. When interviewed in 2010 – after his release – he disavowed violence and placed strict conditions on its legitimate use for religious ends.

Violent jihad is justified if three conditions are met: if it doesn’t kill innocents, is conducted in a time of war, and is to defend the community. If these conditions don’t apply [and we do conduct violent jihad], then we would be vilified (justeru difitnahi).

This disengagement was highly qualified, however, for he also indicated that he believed that the aborted attack of 2001 had been a justifiable response to social injustice. “In this society real power lies in the hands of the people who control money: we aimed to destroy the venue for the regular meeting [of] many rich people on the 11^th floor of Atrium”. He stated that violent jihad is its highest and most important form, and would willingly fight again if called upon by an emir leading a movement to create an Islamic order. Indeed, he believes that the current strategy of conducting peaceful jihad should be used to prepare for the forthcoming clash with the enemy.

A second example in this category is provided by Interviewee #34, a devout Muslim Javanese who has now ostensibly disengaged, but who also indicated that he could easily become involved again. He had been attracted to radical politics while at university, fought in eastern Indonesia with the militant organisation Mujahidin KOMPAK in the early 2000s, then served several years in jail for withholding information about the whereabouts of Noordin Top. Released in the late 2000s, when interviewed he affirmed that Islam is, fundamentally, a religion of peace, while also noting that the use of force is not prohibited – even if it was not the right time for active combat. Employing a common Indonesian-Arabic phrase, he said that when weighing up the “costs and benefits” (mudharat dan manfaatnya) there was now nothing to be gained from continuing the struggle. He nevertheless affirmed that he would take up arms again if the situation warranted, for Muslims have a responsibility to fight if the religion is attacked or Muslims are repressed – which is inevitable in countries where they are in a minority. Significantly, he remarked that Muslims are duty-bound to wage physical jihad in order to defend their spiritual brothers overseas. “To be a true Muslim is to undertake jihad, and not be half-hearted about it.”

A third former jihadist who has also partly disengaged was a committed activist found guilty of helping to plan the second Bali bombing of 2005. An engineering student from East Java, Interviewee #1 had been recruited while still at university and, when he later became a college teacher, joined the militant al-Irsyad reading group. There he met Noordin Top, who involved him in providing logistical support for the bombing. During his trial it became clear that he was not the most hard-line of jihadists; he apologised for his actions and received a sentence of eight years – considerably less than that of his co-defendants. When interviewed in jail in 2010 he stated that he now regretted the bombing, and that his major concern once released would be to provide for his wife and children. However, he also indicated that he was not opposed to violence on religious grounds. While he was unsure whether or not violent jihad was justified in today’s conditions, he did believe that it was sometimes an individual religious duty, a fard al’ayn. “This controversial matter is still being debated by Muslim scholars (para kyai). But I cannot pass judgment [on others] if they do carry it out.” While he showed more uncertainty than others about the propriety of violent jihad in today’s circumstances, it is not impossible that he would reoffend; his disengagement must therefore be considered only provisional.

These three examples thus represent the range of views of men who remain committed ideologically to jihadist principles, but have disengaged for two principal reasons: family responsibilities and a sense of futility in taking up the struggle against a security apparatus backed by international agencies. On the basis of their declarations asserting the validity of the struggle to achieve religious goals, it is not difficult to imagine circumstances in which they would become engaged again. Indeed, the fate of a fourth interviewee in this category gives a measure of this conditionality. Abdul Rauf alias Sam was given a 16-year sentence in 2003 for conducting robberies to help fund the 2002 Bali bombing. He later expressed sincere regret for his actions and became a model prisoner. When interviewed in 2010 he seemed to be an exemplary case of a former inmate undergoing rehabilitation. However, after his early release for good behaviour in 2012 he collected funds for ISIS, left to fight in Iraq in 2013, and was killed by Kurdish forces in Ramadi in May 2014. Despite his apparent disengagement, Abdul Rauf’s faith in global jihadism had in fact endured, a commitment that eventually led to his death.

Scripture and Tactics: The “Provisionally Deradicalised”

During the interviews it emerged that a small number of men had progressed further than those who had disengaged only provisionally. Five individuals (9 per cent) said that they would defend the community if attacked, but would only condone the use of violence in extreme conditions. They retained some sympathy for the cause and their disengagement was therefore conditional. But it was also clear that they had evidently begun to reject the use of violence at an emotional level.

Where the “provisionally disengaged” shades into the “provisionally deradicalised” is obviously somewhat arbitrary; the divide between these two categories is not clear-cut. In addition, the same individual would respond to different contexts in different ways, so any affirmation of opposition to the use of violence must be contingent. Nevertheless, in order to better understand the factors that may move militants away from extremism it is important to distinguish those who are inclined to return to their previous activities from those whose disengagement is likely to deepen. All five informants in this category are therefore described below.

A good example of provisional deradicalisation is that of a former militant whose initial disaffection with militancy was based on both scriptural and tactical concerns. Coming from an abangan (“nominal Muslim”) Javanese farming background, Interviewee #20 joined JI in 2000, became a “foot soldier” to Noordin Top, provided logistical assistance for the 2005 bombing, then helped translate from Arabic the jihadist text “Sow the Jihad, Harvest the Terror” (Menebar Jihad, Menuai Teror). Jailed since 2009 for these deeds, he does retain some affection for the struggle, remains in contact with his former colleagues, and still defines jihad in romantic terms; he may become engaged once more. But his willingness to criticise militant actions today suggests that this is not likely. When interviewed in 2012 his principal message was that violent jihad would now be a religious and therefore a tactical mistake.

If there is no enemy [attacking] us from overseas, Muslims in Indonesia will not support the jihad... If someone does undertake jihad, then it should be called an “individual jihad”, not a jihad of the Muslim community – as it was at the time of the Prophet or in Afghanistan…

A second interviewee in this category illustrates the importance of family and group dynamics in accounting for both engagement and disengagement. Interviewee #59 had been a cleaner and shop assistant from Semarang with no religious training. In the mid-2000s he began attending a pengajian (“reading group”) run by one of Noordin Top’s chief lieutenants, Subur Sugiarto. Here, new activists were instructed in what they were told were the truths of Islam. “We learnt that war must be waged against people who are oppressing (mendholimi) the Muslim community.” Arrested and sentenced to 10 years in jail in 2006 for robbing a Chinese-owned shop, he was released conditionally in 2011, but while in jail he had already begun a process of disengagement. His mentor Subur had been jailed in 2008, after which this interviewee received little outside help from his former associates. Isolated in prison, he began to re-evaluate the difficulties his absence had caused his family. Interviews in 2013 made it clear that he still had a lingering sympathy for those who carry out militant actions; he cannot be considered to be fully deradicalised. However, he does now regret the harm caused to his family and actively participates in the voluntary self-improvement programs run by the jail authorities. He can therefore be classified as “provisionally deradicalised” – with indications that he is likely to progress further.

Our third example is an activist whose tactical disengagement has gone further. Asep Jaja alias Dahlan was a highly motivated jihadist who became head of Mujahidin KOMPAK in the early 2000s and led an attack on a police station in 2005, leaving six dead. In his subsequent trial he was initially sentenced to death, a sentence commuted to life imprisonment on appeal (ICG, 2005b, pp. 3–7). When interviewed in jail in 2010 he clearly harboured reservations about jihadist objectives, noting that militant action inevitably harmed the Muslim community. At this stage, his disengagement was qualified, and based simply on a cost-benefit analysis; he was still only “provisionally disengaged”. Since 2010, however, Jaja has studied religious texts more seriously, has often held religious discussions with visiting clerics, and no longer believes that Muslims who cooperate with the government’s religious campaigns are kufr, “infidels”. He collaborates willingly with prison and officials of the National Counter-Terrorism Agency (BNPT), and has begun to write about his own experience. In other words, Jaja has begun what we can call a process of “self-disengagement”, moving to somewhere between “provisional” and “full” deradicalisation.

A fourth and more unambiguous example of deepening disengagement is that of Abu Dujana, a key architect of JI’s evolving tactical strategies. A Sundanese from West Java, Dujana joined Darul Islam while still at high school, taught in Malaysia and then JI’s military camps in Afghanistan and Mindanao, before effectively becoming the emir of JI following the arrest of Abu Bakar Ba’asyir in 2003. He was arrested in 2007 and jailed for possession of explosives. But he had already begun to alter JI’s focus: in 2005–06 he had opposed the use of resources for the Poso campaign, arguing that it wasted scarce moral and financial capital. After he entered jail he continued JI’s renewal, leading eventually to its adoption of a non-violent strategy. Although still committed to the goal of eventually establishing an Islamic state in Southeast Asia, when interviewed in 2010 he advocated a three-pronged strategy to that end: to promote JI through religious instruction (dakwah), to train its younger members for leadership roles (kaderisasi), and to promote the economic welfare of Muslims generally. His initial disengagement may have been for purely tactical reasons; when interviewed he did not explicitly reject the use of violence. But he has since gone further, participating in the deradicalisation campaign of the police both before and after his release in 2015.

The fifth and final example illustrates the circumstances that can deepen tactical disengagement. While at university during the 1990s Interviewee #58 joined KOMPAK, the organisation providing medical aid and supplies to Muslims involved in communal conflicts in the eastern islands. In 1999 he abandoned his studies to go to Ambon, and it was this experience that precipitated his engagement. “I saw the bodies after the killings, and wanted revenge.” He became active in Mujahidin KOMPAK, but his practical experience also made him valuable to other organisations: he swore an oath of allegiance (dibaiat) to the JI leader, underwent military training on Buru Island, and later served as a courier for Noordin Top. He was arrested in 2005 for his role in supplying weapons and equipment used in actions organised by Noordin, such as the 2004 Australian Embassy bombing, receiving a jail term of seven years. Given his important supportive role in linking up various militant sub-groups, it is not surprising that his subsequent disengagement only took place gradually. He won conditional release for good behaviour in 2009, but remained committed, at least initially. When interviewed in 2010 he expressed no regret for his earlier actions, stating that the use of violence had been warranted – and was indeed praiseworthy. “Our people were under attack. And whenever a tragedy occurs and you come to assist a Muslim, then the reward for good deeds (pahala) is greater; it’s easier to go to heaven.” At this stage he was only “provisionally disengaged”, for he was clearly prepared to fight again. But he also indicated that he was beginning to lose faith in the cause. “The conditions are now very difficult – I don’t know how we can continue the struggle.” Not long after the 2010 interview he drew closer to Ali Imron, who evidently convinced him that jihadist actions could not be justified on religious grounds. And in the following years he became increasingly disillusioned with the cause. While he still believes in the need for an Islamic state, he no longer associates with militant Islamists and considers it wrong to attack either non-combatants or government officials. He argues that the best pathway to advance Islam when confronting the forces of globalisation is through education and dakwah (“religious proselytisation”), a view that reflects his subsequent career path. He has completed his master’s degree (S2) at a prestigious university, works for an Islamic cooperative, and is now conducting research for his PhD in Islamic economics. Although his views remain radical, this example illustrates how deepening immersion in mainstream social and institutional networks can lead to more comprehensive disengagement – and take an individual further along the path towards deradicalisation.

These five examples are thus cases of former militants who disengaged initially for tactical reasons, but have become progressively less militant. Some have a lingering sympathy for the cause they once embraced, and often recall their past efforts with nostalgia. Their statements suggest that they might become engaged again if circumstances change dramatically, but are generally critical of the jihadist project today and believe that this context is unlikely to change. Unless there is an upsurge in religious conflict within Indonesia they are thus likely to become further deradicalised.

The “Fully Deradicalised”: Regret and Self-interest

Thirteen individuals (22 per cent) now consistently disavow the use of violence altogether. They remain Islamist in orientation, for they all believe that Islam remains the best means to organise social and political life, but whereas they were once committed to the struggle to create an Islamic order, by force if necessary, they now reject violent jihad as an appropriate means to that end. They have clearly “come back” from terrorism, for they have become active campaigners for non-violence within their communities, whether inside or outside jail.

Nasir Abas is perhaps the best known deradicalised militant. A Malaysian national, Mohammed Nasir bin Abas had long been attracted to the teachings of the militant Javanese cleric Abdullah Sungkar, whose group he joined in the mid-1980s. He was recruited to Darul Islam in 1987, taught military tactics in Afghanistan for six years, helped set up the JI training camp in Mindanao in the mid-1990s, and then became head of JI’s regional command for Sabah, Mindanao and Sulawesi. Like many other JI operatives, he was arrested six months after the 2002 Bali bombings but may have already begun to disengage. Abas says that he was not involved in planning that operation – and would have opposed the plans if he had known of them. Whether or not this is so, after his arrest he soon abandoned his former mentors and immediately agreed to cooperate with the Indonesian police. He was released from jail in February 2004 and has now gained something of celebrity status as a “reformed terrorist”. He has published a number of best-selling books in which he roundly criticises his former colleagues on religious grounds (Abas, 2005, 2007).

[To praise violent jihad] is to slander Islam, leading non-Muslims to consider Islam a religion that is sadistic and cruel towards fellow people of God, while misleading that minor section of the Muslim community that has its own particular definition of jihad… [So] let us work together in a mission to spread the true meaning of Islam and expose the false interpretations favoured by JI members like Imam Samudra and his colleagues (Abas, 2005, pp. 316–317).

His success in deradicalising many jihadists, his evident skill at marketing his former exploits, and the enmity he has gained from within the jihadist community as a traitor to the cause mean that it is scarcely conceivable that he could ever return to jihadism.

Another former jihadist who has now “turned” is Ali Imron, the driver of the van that carried the bombs used in the 2002 Bali bombings. After his arrest in January 2003 he became a police informant, revealing many details of JI’s more militant activities. Although Imron had played a central role in implementing the bombings, the information he provided allowed him to escape the firing squad. He was given a life sentence, and has now completely disengaged. A ghost-written autobiography has been published by a leading Islamic publishing group (Imron, 2007), and he has now been moved from jail to the more relaxed POLDA Detention Center. Although he still hopes for the establishment of an Islamic state, his vocal support for teachings critical of violence and the extent to which he is now derided by radicals as a government “stooge” mean that it is most unlikely that he would ever return to his earlier jihadist ways.

Three less well-known jihadists have followed somewhat different paths to disengagement. Yusuf Adirama was a veteran of JI’s Mindanao campaign who was arrested in 2003 for storing ammunition to be used for bombings. Sentenced to 10 years in jail, he was released for good behaviour after five years. While in jail he used his time to study, an effort that he says taught him the true meaning of jihad; and he has now become a prominent campaigner for an end to religious-inspired violence. While generally supportive of the CVE efforts of the authorities, in recent years his focus has been increasingly on community-based campaigns. He participates both nationally and overseas in anti-violence campaigns run by, among others, the “Institute for International Peace Building” (IIPB). His involvement with such civil society organisations reflects changes in his personal circumstances: he has established a successful small business, a warung (cafe) managed by his family that serves coffee and food in the hills outside Semarang and is often visited by local and foreign CVE campaigners who want to meet a “reformed jihadist”. His deepening engagement with such organisations and the support he has gained since his release have thus led Yusuf further from the jihadi mindset of his youth. Moreover, his familiarity with the cultural norms of the jihadist community means that he is likely to gain continued support from both official and community-based organisations.

A fourth example in this category illustrates the importance of peer influence in processes of both engagement and disengagement. Interviewee #47 is a former Protestant trainee priest of abangan Javanese background whose religious journey took a new and decisive path when he began to admire the Muslim students he met while at university. He converted to Islam, became increasingly devout, then progressively more radical. He drew close to senior JI figures such as Nasir Abas, Imam Samudra and Ali Imron, fought in Afghanistan in the early 1990s, then instructed recruits at the JI camp in Mindanao on the craft of warfare. Returning to Indonesia, he joined JI’s “Special Brigade” (Laskar Khos), the elite unit of several dozen militants responsible for carrying out strategic attacks. He was involved in the Christmas church bombings of 2000 and in transporting the explosives used for the 2002 Bali bombings, for which he was arrested in 2003 and received a life sentence. After he was incarcerated, however, he began to distance himself from his jihadist colleagues; the psychological gap with those who maintained the struggle deepened. When interviewed in 2010 his expressions of remorse indicated that he had by then already rejected his earlier mindset: “Before, I wounded people, but now I want to care for them (mengobatinya); before, I made people cry, but now I want to make them smile”. The most avid consumer of literature in the jail, he became something of an autodidact of comparative religion. The enthusiasm with which he discussed the theology of Islam and other religions in 2010 suggests that he was, at this stage, seeking religious answers for new questions. By 2014 he had progressed further, becoming a devotee of the local Sufi (tassawuf) variant of Islam and receiving regular visits from the social organisation responsible for his rehabilitation (IIPB).⁹ We are thus confident that he can be classified as “fully deradicalised”.

The fifth and final example in this category is of a highly committed militant whose journey back from jihadism can tell us much about the social processes involved. Slamet Widodo alias Urwah alias Pepen had a long history of militant activities, being drawn in through family connections and close friendships formed while studying at the pesantren in Central Java run by Abu Bakar Ba’asyir. Pepen joined Darul Islam in the 1980s, fought in Afghanistan and later Ambon, and was also recruited to JI’s “Special Brigade” in 2003. He was arrested that year for the illegal possession of weapons and for withholding information about the whereabouts of Noordin Top. Given a three-year sentence, he was released from jail in 2006. Whether he had already begun to disengage during his incarceration is not clear, but his views certainly mellowed thereafter. When interviewed in 2010 he indicated that his disengagement was still purely tactical, because his chief concern then was that the authorities were preventing recruitment. “There is no space for the community to organise; Indonesia is not ready for jihad… But I would fight again if [we had] the right spiritual leader.” His disengagement deepened in the following years, however, and he became progressively less interested in violent jihad. He joined a body created by the police for “Indonesian Veterans of the Afghanistan Conflict” (FKEAI), an organisation that assists its members and provides a forum to socialise as respected veterans – with the implicit encouragement to distance themselves from the jihadist community (Andrie, 2011). By the time of his death in 2012 Pepen was completely deradicalised, and had resolved to never fight again for religious causes.¹⁰

These then are brief descriptions of five men who had been keen proponents of the jihadist cause, but who eventually came to repudiate their erstwhile militant worldviews. As with other informants, various factors were associated with their initial disengagement, including concern for their family’s welfare, fear of the death penalty, a tactical assessment of the organisations’ weaknesses, and the difficulty of maintaining effective communication with colleagues. All five interviewees also recalled that they had grown weary of the attention that their actions were attracting from counter-terrorism agencies. Yet unlike the Provisionally Disengaged and the Provisionally Deradicalised, the individuals in this category also eventually came to reject their former identities and seek to adopt a new persona.

How then might we account for this process of “deepening” disengagement and eventual deradicalisation? One important variable was the reality, or threat, of a period of lengthy incarceration. These five jihadists were all arrested in the early to mid-2000s, as were most of the fully deradicalised activists not described here. Nasir Abas and Ali Imron recanted almost immediately upon their arrest, indicating that it is likely that they were already prepared to disengage; their deradicalisation soon followed. Yet the deradicalisation of the other individuals took place over a period of time and, presumably, of reflection; the likelihood of lengthy isolation if they became engaged again caused their initial pragmatic disengagement to deepen. By the time these men were interviewed between 2010 and 2014 all had rejected their past association with militancy and sought to establish a new identity.

The question of whether disengagement will lead to deradicalisation depends on more, however, than simply the passage of time. For these interviewees, enhanced religious understanding led to a principled rejection of militancy. All five interviewees volunteered that they had previously misunderstood the true meaning of Islam, but could now embrace the faith more fully. During their disengagement, these men studied the texts more closely and engaged in discussions with Islamic clerics, whether still in jail (Yusuf, Imron, #47) or now released (Abas, #57). The second factor shared by these interviewees, therefore, was that their disengagement was reinforced by mainstream interpretations of the faith.

A third and more tangible factor reinforcing this process of deepening disengagement was the expectation that they would, at a minimum, find a source of livelihood able to sustain them and their families into the future. Abas and Imron have both established public personae that depend on them remaining active CVE campaigners; their new business and media interests militate against a return to extremism. Yusuf’s religious studies when in prison encouraged his initial disengagement and won him a reduced jail sentence; his subsequent deradicalisation was consolidated by a rising profile with national and international CVE agencies. Both Interviewees #47 and #57 are now cooperating closely with the police to convince other former jihadists to disengage, and are likely to continue to receive official sponsorship. These former militants have thus now established a secure source of income – or at least its likelihood when released. Accordingly, the final and perhaps most important factor that can help us account for long-term deradicalisation is that psychological disengagement be accompanied by supportive economic activity. The consolidation of such activity makes it likely that all 13 “fully deradicalised” former jihadists will remain so.

Towards a Typology of Deradicalisation

Before drawing some provisional conclusions from this study, a number of its limitations should be acknowledged. It is an empirical study based on selected discussions with several dozen individuals, and does not aspire to provide a comprehensive account of the Indonesian jihadist experience.¹¹ Nor is it a focused analysis of the security agencies, the object of much critical commentary by foreign observers. Nevertheless, the study does have broad policy implications, for these four categories can be understood not as static descriptors but as separate stages in a process. Certainly, there is no guarantee that disengagement will ensue; as we have seen, recidivism and re-radicalisation certainly occur. The evidence drawn from the cases presented here is nevertheless generally of movement in one direction.

The question for CVE practitioners, then, is how to encourage the trend for disengagement to lead to deradicalisation. As expressed in the terms that emerged from the interviews, the task is to encourage the “provisionally disengaged” to become “provisionally deradicalised”, and the “provisionally deradicalised” to become “fully deradicalised”. Using this four-part typology, I propose four tentative hypotheses for how deradicalisation might be promoted, some informed by the literature on CVE, some deemed appropriate for Indonesia specifically, but most induced from the empirical findings.

Firstly, prolonged incarceration is almost certainly necessary for some individuals. As the interviews show, most (but not all) “committed jihadists” retain an almost visceral hatred of the state apparatus and its kufr prison system. Until such time as their antipathy towards the authorities as agents of a global enemy has waned, the prospects for rehabilitation are remote.

A second hypothesis is that policies that focus on disengagement rather than deradicalisation are more likely to succeed. Most extremists who change their behaviour do not actually abandon their belief system, confirming Schmid’s (2013, p. 29) conclusion that “disengagement without deradicalisation might be the rule rather than the exception” (see also Horgan, 2009b, pp. 27–29). In this context, it may simply be more cost-effective for the authorities to encourage the disengagement of terrorists from specific movements rather than trying to convince them that they are misguided (Horgan & Braddock, 2010). As we have seen, those in the large category of the “provisionally disengaged” distanced themselves from their jihadist colleagues without changing their worldviews. In other words, when hard policy choices need to be made scarce resources might be best employed in trying to change behaviour rather than attitudes – an important consideration for a country with limited administrative resources.

My third hypothesis is that complete deradicalisation should nevertheless continue to be the ultimate objective, if only for the practical reason that terrorists who begin to disengage may reoffend. As we have seen, both the “committed jihadists” and the “provisionally disengaged” retain their faith in the righteousness of the cause, despite having spent many years in jail. As illustrated by the examples of Amin Abdurrachman, Abdullah Sonata and Abdul Rauf, recidivism remains a real possibility if individuals in these categories are released. Yet such re-engagement was not the general pattern, for most often a process of “deepening disengagement” did lead towards deradicalisation. As a number of studies have found, terrorists who disengage beyond a short period of time and leave the group of their own volition are more likely to undergo a cognitive change. “Secondary desistance signifies a more lasting long-term shift” (Horgan, 2009a, p. 157; see also Clubb, 2009, p. 28). In this context, measures to encourage either disengagement or deradicalisation need not be seen as policy alternatives. In terms of our typology, it might be only a matter of time before a militant who has provisionally disengaged for personal or even tactical reasons is fully deradicalised.

The fourth hypothesis refers to the Indonesian context, and concerns the policy framework for encouraging such a process of deepening disengagement. It has been noted that CVE measures can “generate communities of suspicion”, isolating radicals socially and thus rendering them less willing to cooperate with the authorities (Nasser-Eddine, Garnham, Agostino, & Caluya, 2011, pp. 62–64). Indonesian authorities have generally sought to avoid such marginalisation, for their distinctive policy orientation has been to encourage deradicalisation while maintaining open lines of communication, notably via respected imams. As Horgan (2009a, p. 161) notes, one of the most powerful tools in Indonesia’s CVE armoury is “the extraordinary potential former terrorists may have in countering radicalisation into violence”. And the evidence presented here suggests that Indonesia’s use of deradicalised former terrorists to speak out against terrorism is an effective means to that end. It is not possible to know how many people have left – or avoided recruitment into – jihadist circles because of the efforts of deradicalised militants such as Yusuf Adirama, Nasir Abas and Ali Imron. But their theological arguments have certainly weakened the religious authority of the militants, while the role models they present have encouraged others to further disengage.

A final suggestion to be drawn from this study is that successful deradicalisation is more likely where emphasis is placed on community-based measures. It is certainly the case that limited state capacity has constrained official efforts to guide (or even monitor) the CVE process. This limitation has led some to conclude that Indonesia’s policy framework has been ineffective, proposing that priority should instead be given to strengthening the security agencies (Abuza, 2009; Gunaratna, 2007). A more efficient and more powerful security apparatus is, however, unlikely to lead to the rehabilitation of large numbers of former jihadists if not accompanied by broader social and cultural changes. Although improved administrative capacities would allow the authorities to better identify vulnerable individuals, the evidence presented here suggests that state authority is most effective if reinforced by a diverse range of CVE measures. And while it is true that some jihadists did disengage initially as a direct result (or the threat) of incarceration itself, their disengagement deepened substantially only after further religious study or through contact with CVE activists, Islamic clerics or trusted figures from the Muslim community – in many cases while they were still in jail. These contacts gave them access to a range of social groups, allowing them to distance themselves from the small coterie of jihadists after their release. It is therefore important that disengagement be reinforced by building links with CVE organisations and Muslim leaders before inmates are released into the broader community.

Disclosure statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author.

Funding

The project upon which this article is based was largely funded by a grant from the US Ambassador’s Fund on Counter-Terrorism.

Acknowledgments

I would like to acknowledge the generous feedback provided by Greg Barton, Ken Ward and Sidney Jones on an early draft of this article.

Notes

1. The size of this community can be gauged by the fact that between 2002 and 2012 60 jihadists were shot dead and more than 700 militants served time in jail at some stage (Solahudin, 2013, p. 201).

2. Ken Ward (2008, pp. 212–220) compares the impact of jail upon Abu Dujana and Aman Abdurrachman; Angus McIntyre (2016) describes the emotional factors that may have led Imam Samudra to organise the 2002 Bali bombings. The most useful published data on individual jihadists, however, are provided in the reports produced by ICG and IPAC.

3. See also Taufiqurrohman (2010) and Sarwono (2012), and relevant articles in a 2013 issue of Asian Journal of Social Psychology (Vol 16, No. 2).

4. Since the mid-1980s the literature on radicalisation, deradicalisation and counter-terrorism has grown almost exponentially. For useful overviews, see Schmid (2013) and Nasser-Eddine, Garnham, Agostino, & Caluya (2011).

5. This “Life Stories of Indonesian Jihadists” was a joint project designed by myself, Zifirdaus Adnan, Greg Barton and John Horgan, with the research hosted by the Muhammadiyah University of Malang.

6. While some women have been charged with terrorist offences, circumstances prevented us from interviewing such activists.

7. Better known by its Indonesian title, YPP (Yayasan Prasasti Perdamaian) is directed by Dr Noor Huda Ismail, himself an alumni of a pesantren linked to many JI militants (see Ismail, 2010; Ismail, 2013). IIPB’s Vice-Director Taufik Andrie provided invaluable assistance in contacting former jihadists; he also conducted some of the interviews himself.

8. Quotations here are taken from selected interviews conducted by myself and Taufik Andrie; all the translations are my own. In the following account, the interviewees’ full names and aliases are provided when they are first mentioned; subsequent references are to their preferred common names.

9. Taufik Andrie, personal communication, December 2014.

10. Taufik Andrie, personal communication, December 2014.

11. It is proposed that this will be the first of several studies leading to a collective biography of this community – its demography, ideological complexion, religious structures and changing socio-political characteristics.