Reversing Radicalism

One day in the spring of 2018, 7-year-old Ais squeezed onto a motorcycle with her mother and brother. They carried a package that Ais (pronounced ah-iss) refers to as coconut rice wrapped in banana leaves. Her father and other brother climbed onto a different bike with a second parcel. Both motorcycles sped toward a police station in the Indonesian city of Surabaya, a place where people of many different religions live.

The parcels were bombs, and they were detonated at the gate to the police station. The force of the explosion catapulted Ais off the motorcycle. Every other member of her family died. No bystanders were killed. The terrorist group ISIS, based thousands of miles away, claimed responsibility for the bombing, which was meant as an attack on religious diversity.

Ais, who is being identified by her nickname to protect her privacy, is now part of a deradicalization program for children run by the Indonesian Ministry of Social Affairs on a leafy compound in the capital, Jakarta. Her schoolmates include children of other suicide bombers and of Indonesians who were intent on joining ISIS in Syria.

One day in the spring of 2018, 7-year-old Ais squeezed onto a motorcycle with her mother and brother. They carried a package that Ais (pronounced ah-iss) refers to as coconut rice wrapped in banana leaves. Her father and other brother climbed onto a different bike with a second parcel. Both motorcycles sped toward a police station in the Indonesian city of Surabaya. It’s an area where people of many different religions live.

The parcels were bombs. They were set off at the gate to the police station. The force of the explosion threw Ais off the motorcycle. Every other member of her family died. No bystanders were killed. The terrorist group ISIS, based thousands of miles away, claimed that it was behind the bombing. It was intended to be an attack on religious diversity.

Ais is being identified by her nickname to protect her privacy. She is now part of a deradicalization program for children. The Indonesian Ministry of Social Affairs runs the program on a leafy compound in the capital, Jakarta. The program is for children of suicide bombers and of Indonesians who were intent on joining ISIS in Syria.

With 265 million people, Indonesia has the world’s largest Muslim population (see chart, below). While most Indonesians practice a moderate form of Islam, the country has suffered a series of suicide attacks carried out by radicalized Indonesians in connection with ISIS, also known as the Islamic State. Indonesia’s efforts to purge its society of extremism—including the deradicalization school for children like Ais—are being watched carefully by the international counterterrorism community.

The endeavor has taken on more urgency with the recent chaos in Syria: Turkish incursions of Kurdish-held territory have stoked fears that a terrorist group will try to reorganize and that ISIS families in detention will try to escape. The worry is that ISIS’s violent ideology will not only renew itself in the Middle East but also rear its head thousands of miles away in places like Indonesia.

“Hundreds of Indonesians went to join ISIS,” says Josh Kurlantzick of the Council on Foreign Relations. “So the idea of them coming back and staging attacks or bringing home radical ideas is a major concern for the Indonesian government.”

With 265 million people, Indonesia has the world’s largest Muslim population (see chart, p. 14). Most Indonesians practice a moderate form of Islam. Still, the country has suffered a series of suicide attacks. These attacks have been carried out by radicalized Indonesians in connection with ISIS. That’s another name for the terrorist group known as the Islamic State. Indonesia is trying to end extremism in its society. The deradicalization school for children like Ais is just one part of its strategy. The nation’s efforts are being watched carefully by the international counterterrorism community.

Things have become more urgent with the recent chaos in Syria. Turkish invasions of Kurdish-held territory have fueled fears. People are afraid that a terrorist group will try to reorganize. There are also concerns that ISIS families in detention will try to escape. Ultimately, the worry is that ISIS’s violent ideology will regain influence in the Middle East and spread farther to places like Indonesia.

“Hundreds of Indonesians went to join ISIS,” says Josh Kurlantzick of the Council on Foreign Relations. “So the idea of them coming back and staging attacks or bringing home radical ideas is a major concern for the Indonesian government.”

When Indonesia declared independence from the Netherlands in 1945 in the aftermath of World War II, religious diversity was enshrined in its constitution. More than 85 percent of Indonesia’s population is Muslim, 10 percent is Christian, and the remainder are adherents of many other faiths.

Islam in Indonesia has a long history of being more tolerant than in the Middle East. As Islam began spreading in the 7th century in the Middle East and later elsewhere, it often did so through violent conquest. In contrast, Islam came peacefully to this part of Southeast Asia in the 13th century via traders from India, and Indonesians often layered its beliefs atop existing Buddhist or Hindu practices.

Now that tradition of tolerance seems to be under threat. The rise of ISIS in the past five years has lured hundreds of Indonesians to Syria to fight for the terrorist group (see Key Dates, below). The group was formed in Iraq and Syria in 2013, but it branched out and now has affiliates all over the world, in places ranging from Afghanistan and Yemen to the Philippines and Sri Lanka. It has continued to carry out attacks in those places and has also inspired attacks in Europe and the U.S.

Indonesia declared independence from the Netherlands in 1945 in the aftermath of World War II. The newly independent nation decided to safeguard religious diversity in its constitution. More than 85 percent of Indonesia’s population is Muslim, and 10 percent is Christian. The rest are followers of many other faiths.

Islam in Indonesia has a long history of being more tolerant than in the Middle East. Islam began spreading in the 7th century in the Middle East and later elsewhere. In the Middle East, Islam often spread through violent conquest. In contrast, Islam came peacefully to this part of Southeast Asia in the 13th century. Traders from India brought it to the area. Indonesians often layered the religion’s beliefs atop existing Buddhist or Hindu practices.

Now that tradition of tolerance seems to be under threat. ISIS has gained ground in the past five years. Hundreds of Indonesians have flocked to Syria to fight for the terrorist group (see Key Dates, p. 14). The group was formed in Iraq and Syria in 2013. Since then, it’s branched out. It now has affiliates all over the world, in places ranging from Afghanistan and Yemen to the Philippines and Sri Lanka. It has continued to carry out attacks in those places and has also inspired attacks in Europe and the U.S.

The ISIS fighters who return to Indonesia are bringing a radical interpretation of Islam back with them. Even Indonesians who never left home are succumbing to ISIS’s influence from afar; there is a local militant group that authorities consider an affiliate of ISIS.

All of this radical ideology has filtered down to the very young: thousands of vulnerable children who’ve been indoctrinated by their extremist parents.

Khairul Ghazali, who served nearly five years in prison for terrorism-related crimes, runs an Islamic school in the city of Medan to rehabilitate the children of Islamic extremists. He says he came to renounce violence in prison and draws on his own experience as a former extremist to deradicalize militants’ children.

“We teach them that Islam is a peaceful religion and that jihad is about building not destroying,” Khairul says. “I am a model for the children because I understand where they come from. I know what it is like to suffer. Because I was deradicalized, I know it can be done.”

The ISIS fighters who return to Indonesia are bringing a radical interpretation of Islam back with them. Even Indonesians who never left home are being influenced by ISIS from afar. There is a local militant group that authorities consider an affiliate of ISIS.

All of this radical ideology has filtered down to the very young. Thousands of vulnerable children have been indoctrinated by their extremist parents.

Khairul Ghazali served nearly five years in prison for terrorism-related crimes. He runs an Islamic school in the city of Medan to rehabilitate the children of Islamic extremists. He says he came to renounce violence in prison. He draws on his own experience as a former extremist to deradicalize militants’ children.

“We teach them that Islam is a peaceful religion and that jihad is about building not destroying,” Khairul says. “I am a model for the children because I understand where they come from. I know what it is like to suffer. Because I was deradicalized, I know it can be done.”

The risks of extremist ideology being passed from one generation to the next are well documented, and a number of Indonesians linked to the Islamic State are the children of militants. The son of Imam Samudra, one of the masterminds of the 2002 bombing on the island of Bali that killed 202 people, including 7 Americans, was 12 when his father was executed in 2008. He joined the Islamic State and died in Syria at age 19.

Khairul, whose father and uncles were members of a militant organization, says he understands the pull of family obligation. He landed in prison in 2011 for armed robbery and for planning an attack on a police station. Before his conviction, Khairul taught 4 of his 10 children to fire weapons.

“Deradicalizing my own children was very difficult,” he says.

The risks of extremist ideology being passed from one generation to the next are well documented. In fact, many Indonesians linked to the Islamic State are the children of militants. That includes the son of Imam Samudra. Imam was one of the masterminds of the 2002 bombing on the island of Bali. The attack killed 202 people, including 7 Americans. Imam’s son was 12 when his father was executed in 2008. He joined the Islamic State and died in Syria at age 19.

Khairul’s father and uncles were members of a militant organization. He says he understands the pull of family obligation. He landed in prison in 2011 for armed robbery and for planning an attack on a police station. Before his conviction, Khairul taught 4 of his 10 children to fire weapons.

Some of the children at Khairul’s school learned from family members how to assemble bombs. The parents of about half the students died in armed conflict with the Indonesian counterterrorism police.

“It’s natural for the children to want revenge for their parents’ deaths,” Khairul says. “They were taught to hate the Indonesian state because it is against the [Islamic State].”

The parents of Ais, who is now 8, were members of a local militant group affiliated with ISIS. The day before Ais and her family rode up to the police station in 2018, another family—a mother, father, two sons, and two daughters—made their way to three churches in Surabaya and detonated their explosives. Fifteen bystanders and the entire militant family were killed; the two girls had gone to school with Ais.

Hours later, members of two other families in the militant group also died, either from shoot-outs with police or when explosives hidden in their apartment detonated. The six children who survived the carnage are now in the deradicalization program with Ais.

“Deradicalizing my own children was very difficult,” he says.

Some of the children at Khairul’s school learned from family members how to build bombs. The parents of about half the students died in armed conflict with the Indonesian counterterrorism police.

“It’s natural for the children to want revenge for their parents’ deaths,” Khairul says. “They were taught to hate the Indonesian state because it is against the [Islamic State].”

The parents of Ais, who is now 8, were members of a local militant group affiliated with ISIS. The day before Ais and her family rode up to the police station in 2018, another family carried out an attack. A mother, father, two sons, and two daughters made their way to three churches in Surabaya. They set off their explosives at each of them. Fifteen bystanders and the entire militant family were killed. The two girls had gone to school with Ais.

Hours later, members of two other families in the militant group also died, either from shoot-outs with police or when explosives hidden in their apartment detonated. The six children who survived the carnage are now in the deradicalization program with Ais.

When they first arrived, the children shrank from music and refrained from drawing images of living things because they believed it conflicted with Islam, social workers say. They were horrified by dancing and by a Christian social worker who didn’t wear a head scarf.

In Surabaya, the children had been forced to watch hours of militant videos every day. One of the boys, now 11, knew how to make a bomb.

“Jihad, martyrdom, war, suicide, those were their goals,” says Sri Wahyuni, one of the social workers taking care of the Surabaya children.

The students seem to be making progress. They now draw the human figure, which they once considered taboo. Ais likes to dance to Taylor Swift and she knows the words to “I’m a Little Teapot.”

Hours later, members of two other families in the militant group also died. They were killed during shoot-outs with police or when explosives hidden in their apartment detonated. The six children who survived the suicide attacks are now in the deradicalization program with Ais.

When they first arrived, the children wouldn’t listen to music or draw images of living things. That’s because they believed these activities conflicted with Islam, social workers say. They were horrified by dancing and by a Christian social worker who didn’t wear a head scarf.

In Surabaya, the children had been forced to watch hours of militant videos every day. One of the boys, now 11, knew how to make a bomb.

“Jihad, martyrdom, war, suicide, those were their goals,” says Sri Wahyuni, one of the social workers taking care of the Surabaya children.

The students seem to be making progress. They now draw the human figure, which they once considered taboo. Ais likes to dance to Taylor Swift and she knows the words to “I’m a Little Teapot.”

But there are also troubling signs of how entrenched the problem is. Outside a mosque in Medan, a 12-year-old boy named Dan tells his friends that Indonesia should be an Islamic state. Asked about the churches throughout the city, Dan giggles, makes an explosion gesture, and says a single word: “Bomb.”

Experts say that allowing kids to maintain their religious practice is an important part of deradicalization.

“We don’t want to challenge their religion by stopping them,” says Ahmad Zainal Mutaqin, a social worker who also teaches religion classes. “Indonesians respect their elders, and we don’t want them to think their parents were evil.”

Some day soon, these children of suicide bombers will have to leave the government program in which they’ve been enrolled for 15 months. It’s not clear where they will go, although the ministry is searching for a suitable Islamic boarding school for them.

The children of those who tried to reach Syria to fight get even less time at the deradicalization center—only a month or two. Some then end up in the juvenile detention system, where they re-encounter extremist ideology, counterterrorism experts say.

“We spend all this time working with them, but if they go back to where they came from, radicalism can enter their hearts very quickly,” says Sri Musfiah, a social worker. “It makes me worried.”

But there are also troubling signs of how deep the problem is. Outside a mosque in Medan, a 12-year-old boy named Dan tells his friends that Indonesia should be an Islamic state. Asked about the churches throughout the city, Dan giggles. He then makes an explosion gesture and says a single word: “Bomb.”

Experts say that allowing kids to keep their religious practice is an important part of deradicalization.

“We don’t want to challenge their religion by stopping them,” says Ahmad Zainal Mutaqin, a social worker who also teaches religion classes. “Indonesians respect their elders, and we don’t want them to think their parents were evil.”

The government program for the children of suicide bombers only lasts for 15 months. That means that those who are enrolled in it will have to leave soon. It’s not clear where they will go. But the ministry is searching for a suitable Islamic boarding school for them.

The children of those who tried to reach Syria to fight get even less time at the deradicalization center. They are enrolled for only a month or two. Some then end up in the juvenile detention system. They re-encounter extremist ideology in detention, counterterrorism experts say.

“We spend all this time working with them, but if they go back to where they came from, radicalism can enter their hearts very quickly,” says Sri Musfiah, a social worker. “It makes me worried.”