German Jihad Homegrown Terror Takes on New Dimensions
Part 2: 'Embark on Jihad in Your Own Countries'
He went to Mir Ali in Waziristan, in Pakistan's remote border region. When he arrived, an Uzbek group took away his money and possessions and interrogated him. There was a great fear of traitors. Makanesi rented a room for 500 rupees a month, or about 5 ($7), next to the largest mosque in the town. When he felt homesick, he bought Pepsi-Cola and Nutella in the market. The traditional Pashtun dish of potatoes with oil disgusted him.
When the war came to Waziristan in the fall of 2009, Makanesi dragged anti-aircraft missiles up a hill to fight the Pakistani army, which was on the march in the tribal areas. He had little knowledge of war. He weighed 125 kilos (275 pounds), had trouble with his knee and shoulders and felt more comfortable with big talk than with heavy weapons.
The defense efforts failed miserably. When Pakistani forces captured the nearby city of Makin, the al-Qaida fighters disassembled their machine guns and fled.
Anyone who was in Waziristan at that time almost automatically became a fighter. That also applied to most of the Germans. The BKA kept a classified list of between 30 and 40 people from Germany who were believed to be in Waziristan. There were over a dozen from Berlin alone. One of them was Fatih T., 27.
'Thirty-Nine Ways to Support Jihad'
In the propaganda videos T. used to target adolescents in Germany, he was shown proudly pointing at the wreckage of a downed helicopter. Wearing a heavy black beard, he called upon young people in neighborhoods with large numbers of immigrants, such as Kreuzberg in Berlin and Wilhelmsburg in Hamburg, to join him in the fight against the infidels. He told them that it was up to them "to embark on jihad in your own countries."
Fatih T. had lived in the quiet Berlin neighborhood of Lankwitz, where he had attracted little attention to himself and was considered friendly. He had an iPhone, drove a scooter and was officially a student at a technical college. He even received state educational assistance payments totaling about 600 a month. But when family members were clearing out his apartment, they found a book titled "Thirty-Nine Ways to Support Jihad."
In Pakistan, he now went by the name of Abd al-Fattah al-Muhajir, and was the leader of a group calling itself the German Taliban Mujahideen. As awe-inspiring as the group's name was intended to sound, it actually consisted of no more than a handful of members.
In the run-up to the 2009 national election in Germany, the German Taliban issued a video that warned of attacks in Germany and showed photos of the Brandenburg Gate, the main train station in Hamburg and the Oktoberfest in Munich. Then-Interior Minister Wolfgang Schäuble took the warning seriously. Fatih T. and his friends must have felt very important indeed.
Requests for Money
From Waziristan, Fatih T. directed a network of supporters, most of them in Berlin. On one occasion, he asked them to send him up to $2,000 every three months, and on another he told them to take certain Turkish-language Islamic religious courses. He also told them that he couldn't contact them by phone, because he was staying in a country that the infidels viewed as a threat.
His family members received an email telling them that Fatih T. had a tumor in his kidney, was in a hospital in Yemen and urgently needed money for a transplant, which cost about 50,000. But the email was sent from Pakistan, not Yemen. The fighters apparently needed the money for their holy war.
In an Internet chat, Fatih T. tried to convince an old acquaintance from Kreuzberg to commit a suicide bombing attack in Germany, or at least that was how German investigators interpreted what T. had typed into his computer. A Berlin court had already convicted two of his supporters, with one receiving a prison sentence of two-and-a-half years and the other 22 months. Another of his closest associates was still on trial.
In the emails T. sent to Berlin from Waziristan, he wrote that he was "high on adrenaline." He was apparently referring to the effects of the bloody battles, in which losses were high. A number of the friends who had accompanied T. were already dead, shot by the Pakistani army.
Those in Mir Ali, including Makanesi, whose situation was similarly grim, quickly got wind of the names of the fallen jihadists. He had already lost 13 of his fellow combatants, Makanesi said in a telephone conversation with his wife, who had remained in Germany. He had a death wish, and yet he was afraid to die. He felt torn, asking himself whether Allah would take him to paradise, or whether he should return to his wife and daughter in Germany.
Computer Training for Jihad
He wrote a letter requesting a meeting with the mayor of Mir Ali, who was also a member of al-Qaida. Soon afterwards, a man arrived in a Toyota SUV who called himself Mohammed Younis al-Mauretani. The sheikh was slim and had dark eyes, a sharp chin and curly brown hair. He knew the entire Koran by heart. One night Makanesi watched Sheikh Younis spend hours playing an economic simulation game on a computer.
Makanesi said that he could raise money for al-Qaida in Germany. "Perfect. That's exactly what I would like," Sheikh Younis allegedly replied.
Sheikh Younis, Makanesi, his friend Ahmad Sidiqi and a Hamburg Islamist associated with the 9/11 pilots trained on the computer. The sheikh showed them how to use two computer programs called "Asrar" and "Camouflage." One is an encryption program for messages, and the other is used to hide encoded messages in image files. This was the way al-Qaida planned to communicate with the future German cell to be headed by Makanesi.
Sheikh Younis told the Germans that he had asked bin Laden for his permission to establish the cell, and that the terrorist leader had given his approval and had also agreed to provide some of the funding. The connection was apparently made through an al-Qaida member who would later play an important role for Germany, even though Makanesi didn't know it at the time. A Libyan with a thin moustache and a turban, his name was Atiyah Abd al-Rahman. According to Makanesi, he is the head of al-Qaida in Afghanistan.
During that summer and fall, in which Makanesi and his friend Ahmad Sidiqi began to talk to authorities, a third German began providing information. He contacted the BKA in November 2010. The man, like Sidiqi, told the BKA about other cells on German soil and described the individuals involved. The pieces of the puzzle suddenly came together when, in early 2011, American intelligence officials informed the Germans that a senior member of al-Qaida had established contact from Pakistan, via the Internet, to a man from Düsseldorf.
In Contact with Bin Laden
The German investigators were alarmed when they heard the name of the mysterious unknown man from Pakistan: It was not Mohammed Younis but Atiyah Abd al-Rahman, who, according to the US authorities, had joined bin Laden's group as an adolescent in the 1980s. German and American investigators believe that he is one of the top five al-Qaida officials, and there is a $1 million reward for his capture in the United States. Abd al-Rahman is the only person who was in contact with bin Laden, says Makanesi. He describes the senior terrorist as "highly intelligent" and as a "very fastidious and serious person" who hardly ever laughed. The German met Abd al-Rahman in the summer of 2009. At the time, Abd al-Rahman was reportedly traveling around and talking about his life. Afterwards, according to Makanesi, he took down the names of fighters.
The BKA's investigation of the Düsseldorf cell was in high gear. Their computers came up with a list of 740 possible suspects, which was analyzed and narrowed down to 10 people. In the end, everything pointed to Abdeladim el-K. Surveillance of several callshops revealed that the Moroccan had tried to contact Abd al-Rahman several times. But his subsequent attempts to communicate with him failed. The Düsseldorf cell was now a satellite that had lost contact with the ground station.
There are many indications that al-Qaida in Pakistan and Afghanistan is deliberately recruiting volunteers like Abdeladim el-K. from Germany and then sending them back to their countries of origin to commit attacks. The Islamists' hope is that at least one cell will eventually succeed. Makanesi, who now claims that he regrets his time with al-Qaida, says that he sometimes had the feeling "that we were being used to test how far they could go in Europe."
No More Certainties
A few certainties were thought to apply after 9/11. One was that the third-generation youth of Turkish origin who had grown up in Germany had a more moderate understanding of Islam and were therefore less susceptible to Sunni extremism. Another was that it was primarily Arabs who sympathized with bin Laden, and a third was that terrorists could be spotted by the fact that they were in touch with other terrorists in places like Afghanistan.
There are no longer any certainties today. Young Turkish-Germans like Fatih T. embark on jihad, filled with hate, and eventually end up with some splinter group. Others escape the notice of the authorities completely as they become radicalized and turn into lone attackers like Arid U., who killed two American soldiers at Frankfurt Airport in March in an execution-style shooting. And then there are people like Makanesi and Abdeladim el-K., who were apparently in direct contact with al-Qaida officials.
Early this year, el-K. spent a few weeks in his native Morocco, where the local intelligence agency kept him under tight surveillance. After returning to Düsseldorf he became increasingly cautious, almost paranoid. He took to wearing a wig whenever he left his apartment, as if this would enable him to elude the people who were shadowing him.
But the wig did him as little good as hiding out in Abbottabad did bin Laden.
Translated from the German by Christopher Sultan
- Part 1: Homegrown Terror Takes on New Dimensions
- Part 2: 'Embark on Jihad in Your Own Countries'