Noor Huda Ismail: Is Ngruki a terrorism school?

The Jakarta Post on Feb. 28, 2005 released a report on a Ngruki alumni involved in terrorism activity. As a graduate of that school, I understand how such people think. In this brief report, I (Noor Huda Ismail, the writer) would like to share my experiences studying there and investigate why a fringe of Ngruki alumni are involved in terrorism activities but the majority are not. What does he say about Ngruki?

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Ngruki: It is a terrorism school?

By Noor Huda Ismail


The Jakarta Post on Feb. 28, 2005 released a report on a Ngruki alumni involved in terrorism activity. As a graduate of that school, I understand how such people think. In this brief report, I would like to share my experiences studying there and investigate why a fringe of Ngruki alumni are involved in terrorism activities but the majority are not.

From age 12 to 17 I attended the now-famous Islamic boarding school. A simple plastic mattress served as my bed in a dingy student dormitory together with about 20 other students and a volunteer resident assistant named Fadlullah Hasan, who was three years older than me. Hasan had a perpetual blue bruise on his forehead from bowing his head to the floor as the result of his five prayers per day.

Despite his zealous attitude and my more moderate beliefs, Hasan and I developed a tight bond, mostly rooted in the fact that we both hailed from the outskirts of Yogyakarta, a two-hour bus ride from Ngruki.

At 4.am. Hasan habitually rose without an alarm clock and promptly woke us up by gently tapping our backs. After morning prayers in the adjacent mosque, we read the Koran and consumed Hasan's encouraging words that reminded us to study and to proselytize Islam.

After two months at Ngruki I realized Hasan used an alias. Like many Ngruki students, Hasan rejected his given name, Utomo Pamungkas, because it sounded too Javanese, and not Islamic enough. Hasan, as I always called him, vanished from Ngruki the following year, and I wouldn't learn his whereabouts until we had a rather ironic encounter 15 years later.

Ngruki wasn't always famous. It is merely one of thousands of Islamic boarding schools across Indonesia. But it has emerged as the most notorious of such schools because dozens of convicted Bali bombers are Ngruki alumni and its co-founder is Abu Bakar Ba'asyir. Security analysts and police investigators insist Ngruki's activities are linked with the three major bombings in Indonesia and at least two dozen smaller explosions, mostly targeting churches.

Sidney Jones, the director of the Indonesian branch of the International Crisis Group, has dubbed Ngruki the "Ivy League" of JI members who are recruited clandestinely.

Jones has a point. Days before my graduation, Ngruki's faith teacher, Abdurrohim alias Abu Husna, called me and five other students -- all of whom had high academic achievements or zealous attitudes -- into his poorly-lit home. He said, "A Muslim should join the Islamic group called Jamaah Islamiyah," he said. He explained how this movement aimed to establish an Islamic state.

I was a 17-year-old, and wise enough to refuse his proposal. In fact, my days at Ngruki were a misfit from the beginning. My secular father worked as a parole officer who was mainly responsible for handling Islamic militants that opposed former president and dictator Soeharto. As a means for him to find out more about the group, he enrolled me in Ngruki.

"You make it easy for me to enter and observe the school," my father told me.

One of his targets of observation was Ngruki's co-founder, Abu Bakar Ba'asyir, an alleged terrorist leader who I interviewed for my current job as a reporter for The Washington Post, just a few days before an Indonesian prosecutor reopened the case against him. In a 65-page indictment, the prosecutor charged him for being the amir, or leader, of Jamaah Islamiyah (JI) and declared him responsible for the Marriott Hotel and Bali bombings.

Abu Bakar Basyir, 65, approached me in the crowded and poorly maintained jail hall wearing a white shirt, a white, boxed Islamic cap, and faded white-framed eyeglasses. The stocky prisoner by his side was convicted of blowing up the residence of the Philippines ambassador in 2000. His unofficial job was to coordinate six prisoners who provide Baasyir daily assistance with food and laundry.

Baasyir, a self-proclaimed admirer of Osama bin Laden, spewed out his usual rhetoric, portraying himself as a victim of the infidel Bush's America. Then he quoted the Koran "The infidels will never stop fighting us until we follow their way."

I know this verse all too well because various teachers drilled it into my brain by day and night some 14 years ago, when I studied in the sweltering classrooms that taught nothing but Islam. The only music blasting from Ngruki's speakers was Nasyid, an Arabic song about Jihad. Painted Arabic calligraphy covered the dormitory walls. One of them read "Die as a noble man or die as a martyr."

Inside Ngruki's brick walls, anti-Semitism was rampant. On Thursday night public speaking classes, the most popular topic was the threats facing Islam. Global Jewish power and Indonesia's Christian-controlled economy fueled our fears. We, the students, delivered impassioned speeches quoting the verse of the Koran that reads "the infidels and Jews will never stop fighting us until we follow their religion." I was no different, and my words received warm praise and injected me with pride and genuine satisfaction.

There is no doubt that all the teachers were fiercely for an Islamic state and the implementation of sharia law. They regarded the existing secular national law as illegitimate. They refused the fly Indonesia's red and white flag, and shunned Pancasila -- Indonesia's national philosophy. Their motivation was once again a Koranic verse that reads, "Whoever doesn't follow God's law is an infidel."

This anti-nationalism led Ngruki's co-founders, Ba'asyir and Abdullah Sungkar, to flee into exile in neighboring Malaysia, where they avoided imprisonment for subversion by Soeharto.

My father did, in fact, find out a lot about life in Ngruki. He learned that Ngruki, despite its radical slant, produced a handful of moderate Indonesian Muslims like me. I pray five times a day, study the Koran and wish to visit Mecca. I work for the American media, host Jewish-American friends in my home, and spend Friday nights at a local bar. Most of my fellow graduates may not be open-minded by Western standards, but they don't support violence in the name of Islam either. And despite their occasional narrow vision, many are likely to have succeeded in the secular, business world.

Why did only some Ngruki alumni take the road to terrorism?

Ngruki teachings proved unrealistic in the real world, especially the emphasis on the strict interpretation of Islam that was at complete odds with the environment where we ended up working. After graduation, I had to obtain a personal ID card from the government, the same government I was taught to disregard. I choose to further my study at two government-run universities, where I had to sing the national anthem and respect the national flag. All of this was necessary to start a successful career.

According to my interviews in Arabic and Indonesian with convinced terrorists from Ngruki, most received military academy training in the Dar Al Ittihad Al Islamy camp in Afghanistan or in Camp Hudaibiyah in Moro, the Philippines. They went in the name of JI and candidly discussed how they killed in the name of God. They justified their jihad as a revenge for the butchering of Muslims by infidels such as the U.S. and its allies.

Hasan was among them. When I met with him again last year, the setting was not a run-down dormitory, but instead an equally dilapidated Jakarta jail. Hasan's jaw nearly dropped to the floor when he first saw me. It looked like he wanted to hug me, but he hesitated and awkwardly opted for a handshake. Other prisoners must have informed him that his long-lost roommate was now a special correspondent for the Washington Post journalist, a position he would deem an extension of the infidels. Hasan is now a convict, jailed for his involvement in the Bali blast.

We engaged in small talk in Arabic until his comfort level increased. However, took many meetings spanning two months for us to return to our previous rapport.

Hasan is the fifth of seven children from a simple peasant family in a remote Java village. His father sent him to Ngruki from 1986 to 1989 expecting him to become his village's religious teacher.

"I have disappointed my father," he said in a solemn voice. "Instead of being a religious teacher, I'm a terrorist. Now, I am locked here."

In 1990, under the influence of the emir of JI, Abdullah Sungkar, he went to Malaysia, Pakistan, Afghanistan and the Philippines to study a radical strain of Islam and to wage Jihad as a missionary in Malaysia and Indonesia. Hasan met Sungkar at Ngruki before Sungkar fled to Malaysia. "He was like a father to me," said Hasan, who later became a senior JI member.

He was instructed to establish the Hudaibiyah Camp and train Moro Independent Liberation Front members and JI members.

Sitting cross-legged on his black mattress, Hasan talked sadly about his wife and his two children who live in an Islamic boarding school in East Java.

"Each time I think of them, I feel so sad," he said. Hasan also lived in this school in 2000, and it was there that he met the Bali bombers, most of whom were Ngruki graduates from different years. But Hasan sensed the police on his tail, and he fled on a two-day boat ride to faraway Kalimantan.

Hasan wasn't in jail alone -- he was with other former Ngruki students; Muhammad Saefudin and Muhammad Rais. Along with Saefudin and Rais, he met Osama bin Laden in Afghanistan in 2001.

Rais relayed Osama bin Laden's message to Ba'asyir and was arrested for storing explosive materials used for the Marriott Hotel bombing, while Saefudin was groomed by JI as its future leader.

I wondered. If it weren't for my secular roots, would I too have been with my former classmates behind bars?

*The writer is a journalist, Jakarta

Source: The Jakarta Post, March 14-15, 2005.

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Editorial: 'Mudik' and tolerance

The fasting month of Ramadhan will soon be over, and Islamic peoples all over the world reflect on the values of their religion as they prepare to celebrate Idul Fitri.

For most Jakartans, particularly Muslims, Idul Fitri is a special day set aside for reunions with relatives and old friends. Residents of the capital want nothing more than to be in their hometowns for the holiday and are prepared to pay extra for bus, train, plane or ferry tickets. From year to year, the mass departure of residents grows in number. It is a phenomenon locally called mudik. The Jakarta Transportation Agency estimates that some 2.5 million people will travel to their hometowns this year, 60 percent higher than last year's figure. Why are they so eager to 'mudik'?

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'Mudik' and tolerance

Opinion and Editorial - October 29, 2005


The fasting month of Ramadhan will soon be over, and Islamic peoples all over the world reflect on the values of their religion as they prepare to celebrate Idul Fitri.

For most Jakartans, particularly Muslims, Idul Fitri is a special day set aside for reunions with relatives and old friends.

Residents of the capital want nothing more than to be in their hometowns for the holiday and are prepared to pay extra for bus, train, plane or ferry tickets.

From year to year, the mass departure of residents grows in number. It is a phenomenon locally called mudik. The Jakarta Transportation Agency estimates that some 2.5 million people will travel to their hometowns this year, 60 percent higher than last year's figure.

While Islam does not explicitly recommend mudik, it encourages people to come together, to love and know one another, to forgive one another. Idul Fitri is a day for reflection, devotion, self-control and also a time to share joy and happiness.

For some, Idul Fitri is a chance to relax or break with routine. For others, it is a matter of pride. To arrive home laden with gifts is a sign of success, though spreading good deeds would perhaps be more fitting.

It is not uncommon for a year's savings to be spent on Idul Fitri. On presents -- including cash for relatives -- food and the journey home.

According to the transportation agency around 1.6 billion people will return home via train, bus or private car. And, as happens every year, the government is busy making infrastructure and security preparations.

As the annual exodus has proved unstoppable the government has no other choice but to improve roads and other services to ensure a safe and secure journey for all.

Mudik is the right of each and every person. However, considering their absence over a number of days, the matter of home security is worthy of attention.

Those going home by car or motorcycle (usually in large groups) must abide by the traffic regulations and respect other road users. That they return safely to their homes is more important than the speed of their journey. Life goes on after the festivities.

Celebrating holidays at home means big spending, and therefore, from an economic point of view mudik benefits the villages. While visitors' money rarely lasts until the end of the holiday, injecting cash into the villages improves the purchasing power of residents.

People should refrain, however, from buying unnecessary things. Good intention should be encouraged, including renouncing any feelings of superiority. They should guide the misled and assist the needy -- perhaps even their neighbors who cannot enjoy the festivities even in a modest way.

People have been experiencing hardships due to the increase in the prices of fuel and other commodities. Thus, it is somewhat indifferent to celebrate Idul Fitri in a joyous and prodigal way while thousands of people have been left disheartened after lining up for -- or missing out on -- cash aid distributed under a government scheme to offset the effects of the fuel price increases.

To live without discrimination or distinction is easier said than done. Just look at the members of the House of Representatives as they demand an additional monthly allowance of Rp 10 million (US$1,000) while the people struggle to make ends meet. Considering these bitter realities, Muslims must use Idul Fitri as a time to embrace the good aims of their religion and to set examples of tolerance, patience and justice as taught by Islam.

Wishing all our readers a peaceful and prosperous Idul Fitri.

Minal aidin walfaidzin.

Source: The Jakarta Post

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Farish A. Noor: After Bali, can we still live with our modern Myths?

Writing against the current of popular opinion these days is an
unceasing struggle against the current of stale cliches and
platitudes. Immediately after the recent bombings on the Indonesian
island of Bali the familiar refrains were heard: `destruction of the
paradise island', `loss of a tourist haven', etc, etc. While it is
true that Bali has indeed been seen (and sold) as a tourists'
paradise, we forget that the island has a darker side to its history.
The Question: Why is it in Bali?

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After Bali, can we still live with our modern Myths?

By Farish A. Noor


Writing against the current of popular opinion these days is an
unceasing struggle against the current of stale cliches and
platitudes. Immediately after the recent bombings on the Indonesian
island of Bali the familiar refrains were heard: `destruction of the
paradise island', `loss of a tourist haven', etc, etc. While it is
true that Bali has indeed been seen (and sold) as a tourists'
paradise, we forget that the island has a darker side to its history.

Bali, like the rest of Southeast Asia, inherits at best a troubled
past. The 1950s and 1960s witnessed some of the bloodiest conflict
ever seen in Southeast Asia. The Vietnam war led to the deaths of
millions, and contributed to the destabilisation of the region as a
whole. The capitals of Southeast Asian countries like Bangkok and
Manila became known as flesh pots where brothels and bars flourished
to keep America's soldiers entertained while they were on leave. The
support of Western governments also meant that pro-Western dictators
including Ferdinand Marcos of the Philippines and General Soeharto of
Indonesia were allowed to rule the roost with impunity.

Indonesia was one country where the battle for the hearts and minds
of the people was fought in earnest. Following a failed coup by the
Indonesian communists in 1965, the right-wing nationalists of the
country, with the active support of the Indonesian army, began a
nation-wide purge that led to the massacre of hundreds of thousands.
Bali, the island paradise visited by millions of tourists every year,
was not spared. Across the island right-wing mobs, with the support
of the army and local officials, went hunting for leftists to maim
and murder.

Bali was later sold as a tourist paradise; an idyllic retreat that
was a sanctuary from the troubles of the world, like some modern-day
consumerist Shangri-La of infinite promise. But the myth of Bali
rings hollow when contrasted to the realities of Indonesia and the
rest of Southeast Asia.

Which brings us to the present. And life in present-day Indonesia is
depressingly hard for many.

Should it be proven that religious militants were indeed responsible
for last week's attack on Bali, it would certainly not come as news
to the Indonesians themselves. Indonesia's brush with religiously
inspired militants goes all the way back to the 1960s. During the
anti-Communist purge of 1965, right-wing religious movements –
including Muslim, Christian and even Hindu ones – were allowed to
destroy the offices and homes of leftist sympathisers. The mobs that
burned down the offices of the Indonesian Communist party, and who
killed suspected Communists all over the country, were given a free
hand by the security forces who conveniently looked the other way. No-
one raised questions about the potential danger of politicised
religion then.

In the late 1970s a mysterious group calling itself the Komando Jihad
appeared. The Komando Jihad was the first group of its kind. Its
members were from the disaffected youth of the big cities, notably
Jakarta. In 1981 it staged the country's first ever hijacking of a
plane when it took control of a Garuda Airlines DC-9. The hijackers
were caught and many of them killed by the Indonesian security
forces, but word soon got out that the very same group had been under
the control of maverick elements within the Indonesian army itself.

Two decades on, the spectre of clandestine militant groups still
haunts the country. In the late 1990s groups like Laskar Jihad
emerged, making the headlines when they sent their hot-headed members
to fight a holy war against the Christians in Ambon in the Moluccan
islands. Following Washington's declaration of the global `war on
terror' the Indonesian government felt compelled to come down hard on
groups like Laskar Jihad, but not before its leader embarrassed the
government by stating to the press that his organisation had been
supported by elements in the Indonesian army all along...

So Indonesians can be forgiven if they seem less than convinced about
the stories they hear and read about the Jama'ah Islamiyah and the
Bali bombings. For a nation brought low by the East Asian economic
crisis of 1997, the Bali bombing of 2002, the Jakarta bombings of
2003 and 2004, and the tsunami of last year; there are other bread-
and-butter issues to consider.

The violence we see in Indonesia today is the culmination of a grand
experiment that has gone disastrously wrong. For nearly three decades
the dictators of Southeast Asia were supported by their Western
allies as long as they remained on the right side: the Western bloc.
Tarted up as she was, Bali was and remained a painted mask for many.
For carefree foreign tourists with money and time to spend, a trip to
Indonesia meant a holiday in Bali, with perhaps a few hours of
waiting in the Jakarta airport lobby along the way. The realities of
life in other parts of the country: from the terrible atrocities that
were being conducted in East Timor and West Papua, to the crackdown
on democratic opposition groups in the country's universities and
inner cities were kept at bay. Bali was not merely a tranquil oasis
in Indonesia; it became an asylum from the realities of Indonesia
under military law as well.

The blasts in Bali have tore off that mask and laid bare the
realities of this country of two hundred and forty million souls.
Indonesia remains a country in search of its destiny and its struggle
towards democracy remains a difficult and painful one. The myth of
Bali was a distraction that averted our eyes from the complexities
and painful realities of the country itself, and for too long it
served as a convenient diversion for those who preferred to entertain
the polite fiction that life is a bed of roses.

Can we, living in the turbulent world we live in today, still
entertain the myth of a tropical paradise that is removed from the
rest of the world? If we have grown wise enough to know that `free
trade' is never free; that `holy causes' have been used to justify
the unholiest of crimes; and that fantasies are just a form of
escapism; then perhaps we should all grow up and see through the mask
of Bali, to realise that behind the smile of the Balinese waiter is
the simple desire to live a dignified life, without remaining forever
on his knees to serve the whims of rich tourists with too much money
on their hands. Perhaps in the wake of the Bali bombing the ones who
should really be asking these questions are the tourists themselves.

If the myth of Bali has been irreparably shattered, then whose myth
was it in the first place? No, there are no safe havens in this world
of ours, and perhaps the human race is not entitled to a little piece
of paradise on earth after all.

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