Unholy foot soldiers in a foreign fight

AUSTRALIAN jihadists secretly travel to take part in the violent conflict ripping apart Syria and Iraq: the battle for Islam.

THERE was something about the six Australians that made them stand out.

Thousands of foreigners have ventured into Syria and Iraq during the past year for their journey to jihad; but, for locals who live along the border between Turkey and Syria, this group was different.

As they sat drinking coffee before making their final walk into a foreign war, these Australians stood out: they were supremely confident, well-dressed and well-resourced.

“It was clear they were not rookies,” says one local who watched them sitting at the coffee shop in Turkey about 50m from the border with Syria.

“They seemed to know what they were doing.”

The last two days before this group crossed from Turkey into Syria illustrate the dangerous new world created by this ever-worsening distant war.

It is a conflict increasingly drawing in Australians who will return, at some point, with a range of new and highly unwelcome skills, from bomb-making to expertise with weapons.

It was April 29 this year, and five Australians sat in the cafe waiting for the sixth member of the group.

They had arrived at about 10am, loaded down with backpacks that were so full they looked as if they would burst, and with bags hung over their shoulders.

Hour after hour they sat drinking coffee and waiting. But as the sun set they got up to leave. They did not cross the border but returned, presumably to where they had come from that morning. The Australian they had been waiting for had failed to appear.

Next morning they were back, again at about 10am. At about 3pm the sixth man appeared, accom­panied by a Syrian guide.

Locals watching the group were struck by several things. First, only one of them spoke Arabic and had to translate everything for the other five. He seemed to be their leader and looked to be in his 40s while the others were younger, in their 30s. Every so often he walked away from the group to talk on the phone, as if for privacy.

Second, they were clearly well prepared; they wore new, strong-looking walking boots, a contrast to many of the bedraggled jihadists who depart from this cafe clothed in little more than their well-worn attire and a desire to join the battle for Islam between Sunnis and Shi’ites. Good shoes and bags full of supplies were low on the list of priorities for those zealots.

Observers who saw the group of Australians said they seemed prepared for a long assignment. But what stood out most was their demeanour. They were calm, confident and relaxed. Locals noticed they all had Australian passports.

They were, one local commented, physically very large — he found them intimidating — and they wore the crocheted woollen caps popular with some Muslim men. All were “very beardy”.

Once they had organised themselves, they left, but not through the main Hatay crossing. Instead they were crossing illegally a few kilometres away, along a route used by many foreign fighters.

The most likely reason was that the Australians did not want anyone — particularly their own government — to know they were going to fight. This way they would leave no paper trail showing they had been in Syria or Iraq.

Because they had so much luggage, they asked one of the locals to give them a lift. He agreed, but it took two trips because of the amount of gear they had.

They drove about 10 minutes along the border to a place where many foreign fighters cross. The man who drove them — who asked The Weekend Australian not to use his name — said they were confident and relaxed.

He assumed they were wealthy as they paid him 150 Turkish lira ($75) for a 10-minute journey; normally it would take him a week to earn that much.

The Syrian guide knew exactly where the men were to cross and as the car arrived the driver saw three Syrian men waiting — all armed with handguns. The driver then watched the nine men — the six Australians with their bulging backpacks and their three Syrian guides — walk across some dirt roads and fields into Syria.

Six more Australians had just gone to the war in Syria, joining the scores who have travelled there since the conflict erupted 3½ years ago.

For these Australians, the final journey to jihad would have marked the end of a long journey from Australia.

Based on the assessments of Australia’s intelligence services, which are gravely concerned about this phenomenon, the journey most likely would have begun in southwestern Sydney.

It is here would-be jihadists are being cultivated, then recruited, by radical preachers who are inculcating in them the belief that this is the time join the religious war in Syria and Iraq.

A senior Australian counter-terrorism officer tells Inquirer young Australians find their way to Syria in one of two ways.

“Some young guys are being tapped on the shoulder and asked if they want to go,’’ says the officer, who asks not to be named.

“That’s where the facilitation comes in. The second way is through some of the mosques or the Islamic bookshops where the hardcore guys hang out. But just lobbing up isn’t going to cut it.’’

For that reason, networks have begun to emerge dedicated to supplying Syria’s jihadist groups with the recruits they need to fight this bloody and protracted war.

Organised, small and highly secretive, these networks are the bridge that links the angry young Muslims of Australia to the battlefields of the Middle East.

In December the public got a rare insight into one such group when its alleged leader, Hamdi al-Qudsi, 39, was arrested by Australian police. Court documents allege al-Qudsi facilitated the travel of six people to Syria, although privately police are convinced he has sent more.

At least three of those people are now dead, victims, it would seem, of the vicious infighting that has plagued Syria’s rebel movement and ensured the survival of the Assad regime.

Caner Temel was reportedly fighting with the Islamic State of Iraq and al-Sham (now known as the Islamic State) after his unit was attacked by a less extreme rebel group. He was shot in the head.

Yusuf Ali and his wife Amira are believed to have suffered a similar fate — killed by the Free Syrian Army near Aleppo.

In the world of jihadist fighters from Australia, al-Qudsi was a major player, although police are realistic about the impact of one arrest. “We’re not naive enough to think there aren’t others moving into that void,’’ the officer said.

Certainly there has been no obvious abatement in the number of Australians travelling to the battle­fields of Syria and Iraq.

If anything, the extraordinary military victories by the Islamic State in northern Iraq — including storming into Iraq’s second largest city, Mosul — have spurred interest and served as a recruitment bonanza for the jihadist group.

ASIO estimates there are about 150 Australians directly involved, one way or another, in Syria and Iraq; about 60 are believed to actually be fighting. The remainder are elsewhere, but mostly in Australia, where they are believed to be recruiting fighters, fundraising or planning to join the fight. Almost all are Sunni Muslims.

Initially they were energised by the fight against Syria’s Alawite regime — an offshoot of Shia Islam — and the brutality of its leader, President Bashar al-Assad.

In the early days of the Syrian war, social media images of the Assad regime’s atrocities were broadcast far and wide, serving as recruitment videos. But in recent times would-be jihadists have been lured by the propaganda material of the Islamic State as well as Jabhat al-Nusra.

Ironically, much of that propaganda has been produced by Australians, several of whom have gone on to become senior operational figures within al-Qa’ida.

Former Sydney sheik Abu Sulayman is one such figure. Since arriving in Syria, Sulayman has become a top official in Jabhat al-Nusra. ASIO regards Sulayman as the most senior terrorist Australia has produced.

Another is Musa Cerantonio, the enigmatic former Catholic from Melbourne who converted to Islam and has become one of the most influential online preachers.

Like most jihadists, Cerantonio and Sulayman are avid users of social media. Their tweets, Facebook posts and YouTube sermons are devoured by an army of online followers, as well as more than a few police and intelligence officers. They promote a vision of jihad — sacred, exciting and noble — that resonates with the young men they target.

To counter the attraction, ASIO has been cancelling the passports of would-be fighters, usually before they leave Australia — if they have intelligence of their plans — but sometimes after they arrive in Syria.

The latter approach has led to controversy, with some arguing that by grounding Australians overseas, the government is leaving them stranded, potentially signing their death warrants.

ASIO sees it differently. It argues it has a larger obligation to ensure radicalised Australians don’t use their passports to board planes or travel to the West.

Since the war began ASIO has cancelled the passports of more than 50 alleged extremists it believed were planning to travel to Syria, although the number is steadily increasing. But ASIO realises it cannot stop everyone.

Many of the fighters are what intelligence officers refer to as “cleanskins” — people with no known history of radicalism before they board a plane to Syria.

In a recent text message to journalists, the head of Sydney’s al-Risalah Islamic Centre and staunch Islamic State supporter Wissam Haddad offered this insight into why young Australian Muslims were so drawn to the Syrian jihad.

“We are not hiding this fact that, yes, people want to help raise Allah’s word the highest, and yes, people want to help lift oppression, and yes, people want to help in humanitarian aid.” he says. “What’s the problem?’’

Police say jihadists are becoming better at disguising their travel plans. They book their flights late and they board at the last minute. Sometimes they are ticketed through to Turkey, although that in itself says nothing about their intentions. Thousands of Australians travel each year to Turkey. Most of them go as tourists or to visit ­Gallipoli.

But often the jihadists will disguise their travel plans by flying to Malaysia, Singapore or Dubai.

Khaled Sharrouf, the convicted terrorist who fled Australia for Syria in December using his brother’s passport, flew via Bali.

Sharrouf also took his family, a trend police say is becoming more popular. Sharrouf’s travelling companion, fellow Sydney man Mohamed Elomar, whom Sharrouf met in Malaysia, also tried to get his family out.

Fatima Elomar was arrested at Sydney airport in May as she boarded a flight to Malaysia. Her bags were stuffed with material police allege was intended for her husband — camouflage gear, GPS watches, money and some medical supplies. In tow were the couple’s four children.

“I’d actually say that in the last 12 months we’re seeing a lot more of that,’’ the senior counter-terrorism official says.

One young Australian Muslim, who travelled to Syria for what he says were humanitarian reasons, agrees. He says fighters for the Islamic State are particularly fond of taking their families.

“They’ve created a state and their thing is people should come to live there,’’ says the young man, whom Inquirer will call Mohammed to protect his identity.

Taking children seems particularly incongruous — the Islamic State has proved to be the most barbaric of all the jihadist groups, prompting even al-Qa’da, its original partner, to disown it and order its fighters out of Syria.

Mohammed shares this anecdote to illustrate the cruelty of the group.

“I once entered this area and saw these ISIS guys sleeping under a tree,’’ he says. “Do you know what was lying around them? Heads. Free Syrian Army heads. The smell was disgusting.’’

Although getting out of Australia undetected is becoming harder, getting into Syria is easy.

In the early days of the conflict, Australian fighters could enter Syria from the south, via Lebanon. But northern Lebanon is Shia-dominated territory — tiger country for Sunni radicals — so southern Turkey has become a much safer entry point.

Security on the border is lax, as the six Australians in April discovered. Holes are everywhere. Crossing from Turkey to the rebel-held areas of northern Syria is relatively easy, just as it is easy for war-weary fighters to leave Syria for some rest or medical treatment in Turkey, something they do often.

“It’s the Club Med of terrorism,’’ one diplomat tells Inquirer, referring to the amenities available to fighters north of the border.

Inquirer spent three days along the Turkey-Syria border. It is a highly-porous crossing — an 18-year-old said for $US25 he could walk us across the border through one of the large holes in the wire fence. He would arrange for one of his friends to meet us on the other side and take us to Aleppo or any other place we requested.

As Inquirer stood there, several people crossed both ways. The emergency of a Turkish army Jeep driving along a road near the border brought the human traffic to a temporary halt, but it resumed once the Jeep had moved on.

One Syrian man crossing into Turkey said he was a fighter with the Free Syrian Army and was coming into Turkey “for a few supplies”. Injured fighters cross into Turkey for treatment as medical services in rebel-controlled areas of Syria are now virtually non-existent.

Says the Australian counter-terrorism official: “As far as we’re aware most of them are still going to Aleppo, so they cross anywhere along the border.

“There’s no normal route, if you like.’’

There is, however, a normal routine, which is built on trusted relationships.

“From Ankara they’ll make a call to someone on the Syrian or Turkish side of the border,’’ the official says.

“They’ll make their way down to the border and a cab or a bus will come across and pick them up.’’

Before they enter Syria, foreign fighters will drop their mobile phones. This is rigorously enforced by jihadists groups, which know how easily such devices can be tracked. Once in Syria, foreign fighters will typically join Jabhat al-Nusra or the Islamic State.

Before the eruption of the Islamic State-led insurgency in Iraq, Australian jihadists split pretty evenly between the two.

Now, the momentum is said to be with the Islamic State, particularly among the radical Muslims in Sydney.

According to Mohammed, who says he needed to work closely with both groups to distribute humanitarian supplies, membership of both groups is tightly controlled.

“ISIS and al-Nusra, you need two people to vouch for you and they have to be in Syria already,’’ he says.

“Nobody in Australia can vouch for you.’’

This fits with the assessment of the authorities, which say both groups have become “absolutely paranoid’’ about infiltration by foreign intelligence agencies.

“Unless you’re vouched for, you’re a spy,’’ a second counter-terrorism official says.

Responding to Inquirer’s query about who is vouching for the Australians in Syria, the first official says it is not always clear. “But our view is that it’s people who’ve been there for 12 months,’’ he adds.

Of the two groups, Jabhat al-Nusra, al-Qa’ida’s recognised affiliate in Syria, is said to be the more difficult to join.

“(The Islamic State) is much more an equal opportunity employer,’’ the diplomat says. “If you’re sufficiently keen they’d take you on.

“Al-Nusra is more specific and knows what it’s doing. And it is limited to Syria, whereas (the Islamic State) is much broader.’’

Mohammed agrees. “If you’re a foreigner it’s harder to join JN. I think they (the Islamic State) just need as many fighters as they can. Twice they tried to force me to join.’’

Not that joining any one group guarantees that you’ll stay there.

“Some join JN or ISIS by default,’’ says Mohammed. “They’ll join the (FSA) but then a commander of the Free Syrian Army pledges to al-Qa’ida. That happens quite often.’’

ISIS fighters are required to burn their passports, a symbolic act intended to show their allegiance to the Islamic caliphate they are fighting to establish.

But for many of the Australian fighters this has no practical impact as ASIO has already cancelled their passports.

Mohamed Elomar appears to have taken part in the ritual of destroying his Australian passport.

“It was the best day of my life,’’ he tweeted, referring to the moment he destroyed his documents.

Humanitarian worker Mohammed says that in the early days of the conflict the first phase of membership in either jihadist group was sharia, or Islamic law, classes: one month for Jabat al-Nusra and two for Islamic State.

“There’s one that’s taught for the foreigners and one for the locals in Arabic,’’ he says. “The locals and the foreigners never get to see each other, except rarely.’’

But officials contacted by Inquirer are sceptical of this. They paint a picture of a much more fluid environment where the demands of war mean foreigners are being thrust on to the battlefield with rudimentary training.

“Some guys are pretty much on the frontline immediately,’’ the senior official says. “They’re given some training, but not a lot.’’

Chechens are said to be particularly popular as trainers, although some Australians have weapons-handling experience when they arrive.

One of the more alarming features of the Syrian jihad is the extent to which it has attracted recidivists — known extremists who have long been on ASIO’s radar. Sharrouf is one, but Inquirer understands there are other convicted terrorists in Syria.

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