My Year Inside Radical Islam Read Online Free

to al-Husein quickly because he had a depth that most people lack. This depth was a double-edged sword that often resulted in brooding. Al-Husein generally wanted to focus his conversations and thoughts not on small day-to-day matters, but on big, significant issues. He believed that others should focus on the big issues as well. One night, another student told me that he had decided to write a term paper about Nirvana frontman Kurt Cobain. Al-Husein butted in. “Kurt Cobain? Why aren’t you writing about racism?”
    The other student stuttered out a bashful explanation, but al-Husein had made his point. Why are you wasting your time writing about some singer when we have real and pervasive social problems? It was classic college thinking.
    Al-Husein had a definite sense of the image he projected. He usually spoke slowly and softly, as though parsing every word, as though he had no doubt that he would hold the listener’s attention. Although he spoke with a soft voice, his words were like a victory speech, to be savored and passed down for generations.
    Al-Husein was also socially daring. One frequent exchange was the unanswered question that he’d return to days later. One day, I saw al-Husein in the hall and asked him to recommend a good book. He looked at me quizzically and walked off without saying a word. When I saw him three days later, he said, without introduction, “ The Autobiography of Malcolm X. ”
    “What?” I said.
    “You asked me to recommend a book three days ago. That’s my recommendation. ”
    “Why didn’t you just tell me when I asked?”
    “I wanted to think about it.”
    This habit initially struck me as both rude and impressive. I had never met someone with enough social confidence to ignore people seemingly completely, only to continue the discussion after a few days’ hiatus.
    My view shifted slightly when I learned more about Sufism, the mystical strain of Islam to which al-Husein adhered. Sufism’s emphasis on emptying the heart of attachment to anything but God can produce idiosyncratic behavior in its devotees. As I learned about how Sufis value patience, I realized there may have been a deeper reason for al-Husein’s behavior. In a famous story, the Sufi philosopher Ibn ‘Arabi was asked by his sheikh to explain the meaning of a specific Qur’anic verse. After some contemplation, Ibn ‘Arabi left without saying a word—and didn’t return for four years. The sheikh wanted a deeper interpretation than he could give. On Ibn ‘Arabi’s return, his sheikh said, “Give me your answer. After four years, the time is ripe for it.”
    Al-Husein may have had this or a similar Sufi example in mind when he decided to wait three days before answering a basic question of mine.
    Before I knew al-Husein, I was living in my own world, divorced from other people’s needs and struggles. I was an island that longed to be a peninsula. My time was divided between my studies and intercollegiate debate, and little else. The three biggest things that were missing from my life were friendship, a sense of purpose, and a relationship with God.
    I had opportunities to get involved in matters of importance to other students, but always let them pass by. Wake Forest is north of downtown Winston-Salem, a city where crime rates in every major category are worse than the national average. Since a campus crawling with rich kids makes a tempting target for criminals, a handful of armed robberies rocked the campus during my sophomore year. When the school announced that it would therefore erect gatehouses staffed with security personnel, student activists responded in a rage. They were concerned that people of color would face greater scrutiny at the gates. I understood their concerns, but when friends asked me to join the protests, I refused. I had far too busy a life, it seemed, to get involved in causes of that kind.
    I was also cut off from other people socially. Moving to the South was a culture shock.