National Security

Boston's Jihadist Past

Long before the marathon bombing, Islamists in Massachusetts were helping militants in Chechnya.

When Boston Marathon runners rounded the bend from Beacon Street last week, they were in the home stretch of the race. As they poured through the closed intersection, they ran past a nondescript address: 510 Commonwealth Avenue.

The location was once home to an international support network that raised funds and recruited fighters for a jihadist insurgency against Russian rule over Chechnya, a region and a conflict that few of the runners had likely ever given any serious thought.

One mile farther, life in Boston was transformed in an act of horror that killed three and injured scores. And one week later, everyone in Boston and around the United States is thinking and talking and asking about Chechnya.

The investigation into alleged marathon bombers Tamerlan and Dzhokhar Tsarnaev is still in its infancy, but a press release issued by the FBI late Friday suggested that at least one of the brothers may have had some kind of connection to Chechen Islamist militant networks, a suspicion heightened by the fact that elder brother Tamerlan spent about six months in Russia in 2012. (The most important Chechen jihadist group has disavowed the attack, but has not unequivocally ruled out the possibility of some kind of contact with Tamerlan.)

It will take time to discover whether there was a militant connection and, if there was, to what extent it is pertinent to the Tsarnaevs' decision to bomb the marathon.

But if the lead pans out, it won't be Boston's first brush with that faraway war. During the 1980s and into the 1990s, Islamist foreign fighters operated robust recruiting and financing networks that supported Chechen jihadists from the United States, and Boston was home to one of the most significant centers: a branch of the Al Kifah Center based in Brooklyn, which would later be rechristened CARE International.

Al Kifah sprang from the military jihad against the Soviets in Afghanistan. Through the end of the occupation, a network of centers in the United States helped support the efforts of Afghan and Arab mujahedeen, soliciting donations and recruiting fighters, including at least four from Boston who died in action (one of them a former Dunkin Donuts employee). When the war ended, those networks did not disappear; they refocused on other activities.

In Brooklyn, that network turned against the United States. The center's leaders and many of its members helped facilitate the 1993 World Trade Center bombing, and they actively planned and attempted to execute a subsequent plot that summer to blow up the Lincoln and Holland Tunnels in New York, which would have killed thousands.

When the FBI thwarted the tunnels plot, the Brooklyn Al Kifah office and most of the other satellite locations were shuttered. But in Boston, the work continued under a new name and with a new focus: supporting foreign-fighter efforts in Bosnia and Chechnya.

The following narrative is derived from interviews and thousands of pages of court exhibits, including correspondence, Al Kifah and CARE International publications, and telephone intercepts developed over a years-long series of FBI investigations into the charity that were made public as part of multiple terrorism-related prosecutions.

Established in the early 1990s, the Boston branch had emerged from the World Trade Center investigation relatively unscathed. Little more than two weeks after the bombing, the head of the Boston office, Emad Muntasser, changed his operation's name from Al Kifah to CARE International (not to be confused with the legitimate charity of the same name).

Telling the IRS it was a non-political charity, CARE applied for and received a tax exemption, but its operations continued as before -- supporting jihad overseas with money and men. Although it was heavily focused on the ongoing conflicts in Bosnia and Chechnya, its interests reached around the globe to anywhere mujahideen were fighting. As one associate of the group put it in a phone call recorded by the FBI, "As long as there is slaughtering, we're with them. If there's no slaughtering, there's none, that's it. Buzz off."

The name change deflected public scrutiny, and while law enforcement monitored the Boston operation for many years, the Justice Department made no attempt to prosecute the organization's principal leaders until after the September 11, 2001 attacks.

Jihadist propaganda and recruiting didn't begin with the Internet, as it sometimes seems today. CARE's tactics included dinner speeches and events at local mosques and universities, among them MIT, Boston College, and Boston University, usually slipping them in under the auspices of the local Muslim Students Association, sometimes as part of Friday services. They ran "phonathons" to contact potential donors at home with urgent appeals for generosity.

The charity also arranged public screenings of jihadist videos, long before the advent of YouTube. One letter to CARE supporters promised to "bring to your [mosque] the latest video tape from CHECHNYA showing how Grouznyy [sic] was recaptured by Muslims and how the CHECHENS are struggling to implement the Islamic rule in their land by help of Allah (S.W.T). It will be a fund raising event. For the Donations we have our direct contact to CHECHNYA."

When the Internet did come along, CARE was an early adopter, using email blasts and websites to further spread its message.

Although CARE was based in Boston, the radical fundamentalists who ran the charity (a mix of American citizens and immigrants from the Middle East and North Africa) were often disappointed with local Muslims, who were not particularly interested in their cause.

"I hate Boston," said Mohammed Chehade, a director of the Global Relief Foundation, one of the charities through which CARE laundered its money, in a phone conversation with CARE's directors that was recorded by the FBI in 2000. "Do you know why I hate it? The men are far from each other, far away, it is a trip between one and another. They are busy. I mean, Boston... if someone wants to stay in America temporarily, it is not a place to be."

In other conversations, CARE's leaders bemoaned the fact that area Muslims refused to cough up money for the network's radical speakers, suggesting that they avoid bringing prominent speakers to the city, or at least characterize the trips as something other than fundraising, for fear of an embarrassingly low result.

Nevertheless, one of those jihadist celebrities traveled to Boston on a number of occasions to raise money and the ire of audiences regarding Islamist conflicts in Chechnya and Bosnia. An American-born citizen of Egyptian descent, Mohammed Zaki sported a long red beard and a broad, engaging smile. He inspired fierce loyalty in those he met. One of his comrades described him as "a man whose like is rare nowadays," telling a comrade, "You will be amazed by him."

Zaki was involved in several so-called charities that actually helped finance and supply the mujahideen in Bosnia and Chechnya, while creating and distributing a steady stream of propaganda to support these efforts.

Based in San Diego, Zaki frequently traveled to Boston to take part in Al Kifah events and fire up crowds with his charisma and tough talk. At one point, a government wiretap overheard Muntasser, CARE's leader, asking him to fly to Boston "because we are looking for a brother who knows about matters [in Bosnia] to give an inciting speech."

Unlike some of his peers, Zaki wasn't just talk. He had fought the Soviets in Afghanistan, alongside other American recruits. In 1993 and 1994, he traveled to Bosnia, where he fought alongside the mujahedeen, becoming well-known as "Abu Umar the American." He also made videotapes of the mujahedeen camps, which he took back the United States to use for fundraising. When foreign fighters began flocking to Chechnya in the mid-1990s to battle Russian forces, Zaki shifted his focus. In a telephone conversation recorded by the FBI in February 1995, he told one of his followers, "Chechnya comes first."

Zaki recruited a number of Americans to serve as Islamist foreign fighters, as well as coordinating and supporting recruitment in the Middle East. One of the young men he inspired was Aukai Collins, an American convert from an Irish family, who would wage war in Bosnia, Kosovo, and Chechnya. Dismayed by attacks on civilians under the pretext of jihad, Colllins returned to the United States in the 1990s and began working with the FBI as an informant.

A number of other American citizens or long-term residents are known to have played roles supporting Chechen jihadists over the years, although the details are sometimes murky. The exact number who have fought with or otherwise been meaningfully involved in Chechen jihadist networks is unknown, but likely runs into the dozens.

In early 1995, Zaki departed for Chechnya himself, telling a friend, "I hope that I will be granted martyrdom this time." That wish was granted in May, around a month after he arrived. According to his comrades, Zaki was discussing the Quran with his fellow fighters when the class was shelled by the Russians. Zaki was the only casualty.

Struck by shrapnel, he lingered briefly before dying. On his deathbed, he said he had seen the virgins of paradise promised to jihadist martyrs. "They told me I would follow them," he said. His supporters back in Boston took up collections for his family, a wife and four children left behind in San Diego.

The major recruiting tool for the Boston office was a newsletter called Al Hussam, which translates as "The Sword." Published in both English and Arabic, the newsletter was stuffed with short, informative news items from various fronts in the global jihad. Bosnia, the most active theater, took up most of the ink, but updates also flowed in from Chechnya, Afghanistan, Algeria, Egypt, and elsewhere. The authors also tried, with less success, to whip up support for Islamic revolts in Saudi Arabia and Libya.

Correspondents in Chechnya communicated with the writers of Al Hussam by phone with reports from the front lines. From time to time, the newsletter would interview prominent mujahedeen commanders and fawningly profile leaders of the movement, such as Shamil Basayev, mastermind of the notorious 2004 Beslan school massacre that left 331 people dead. One flyer distributed by CARE and affiliated charities described Basayev as "a Muslim hero."

These endorsements came because of, not in spite of, Basayev's terrorist tactics. In one issue, Al Hussam ran a glowing review of an incident in which Basayev took hundreds of hostages at a hospital. In the same edition, it praised the formation of Chechen "suicide brigades to carry on suicide attacks," writing "we have to fight evil with evil." Another issue praised a terrorist bombing attack against a Russian mediator who was trying to negotiate a ceasefire with the mujahideen.

Checks flowed into CARE from individuals around the United States -- sometimes just $10 or $50, with the word "Chechen Muslim fighters" or "martyr's family" scrawled in the memo line. Sometimes individual donations ran into the thousands. The total collected from 1993 to 2003 was $1.7 million, according to the Justice Department.

Once deposited with CARE, the money was laundered through other fraudulent charities, including the al Qaeda-linked Benevolence International Foundation and the Global Relief Foundation, both in Chicago, and sent to front organizations in Bosnia and Chechnya. In total, hundreds of thousands of dollars passed through CARE for distribution to jihadists and jihad-support organizations overseas.

A significant portion of that money -- exactly how much is difficult to determine -- went to support Chechen Islamist fighters, although CARE International's books listed the recipients as orphanages and refugees. Individual transfers could be as low as $1,000 but often ran between $20,000 and $30,000. Funds, and occasionally supplies, were transferred to a contact in Chechnya through an elaborate series of middlemen, including individuals in Turkey and Azerbaijan.

The FBI monitored CARE's activities, off and on, for nearly a decade, but the Justice Department never made an effort to prosecute, in part because prosecuting foreign-fighter activity was difficult under existing laws.

But after September 11, the U.S. government aggressively pursued anything relating to jihadist extremism, including several cases of foreign-fighter support. Just weeks after the attacks, the Justice Department shuttered the Global Relief Foundation and the Benevolence International Foundation, raiding the latter's offices in Chicago and Sarajevo, where they found extensive evidence of support for foreign fighters in Bosnia and Chechnya, as well as significant links to al Qaeda. They also found checks and receipts from CARE.

It took longer to build a case against CARE. In 2005, prosecutors in Boston went after the charity's directors using the Al Capone strategy. Muntasser and fellow Boston-area CARE officials Samir Al Monla and Muhamed Mubayyid were charged with filing false tax returns and related crimes, having misrepresented their political and militant activity as relief for orphans and widows in order to obtain a nonprofit tax exemption.

The strategy was not as successful as it was with Capone. The defendants were convicted but received minimal sentences after years of appeals and legal disputes. Muntasser and Al Monla have since been released from prison and are living in the United States, according to public records databases. Mubayyid was deported after a short sentence and was last reported to be living in Australia.

Some of the group's other associates, linked to al Qaeda, were convicted of conspiracy to commit murder overseas. But many involved in CARE's operations at various levels were never arrested.

In some cases, people who were involved in supporting jihadist activity abroad came to realize after 9/11 that their often well-intentioned support had been used to support terrorism against civilians and against the United States, and stopped participating in the scene.

Others were simply not implicated adequately to prosecute, although they may have played important roles. Not everyone involved with CARE went to jail, but the organization itself had shut down when the IRS and FBI began investigating it aggressively in 2003, and almost no one involved completely escaped scrutiny.

Although the formal network had collapsed, its activism echoed through Boston's radical scene for years afterward and those echoes persist today.

In 2008, Boston-area resident Tarek Mehanna wrote a widely circulated piece called "The Aafia Siddiqui I Saw" about local residents' experience with Siddiqui, a former MIT student arrested in Afghanistan and charged with trying to murder U.S. personnel. Siddiqui had been an enthusiastic volunteer with CARE International.

Mehanna himself was convicted of material support of terrorism, in part for translating and disseminating al Qaeda propaganda online, and in April 2012, he was sentenced to more than 17 years in prison.

Today, traffic on Commonwealth Avenue has returned to normal, and the office building that once hosted CARE International is filled with other people -- restaurants, an art gallery, residential apartments, and more. The story that unfolded there more than a decade ago will not be remembered as keenly as what happened last week, and rightly so. But Boston's first encounter with the Chechen jihad holds a place in the history of that event, a reminder that sometimes what happened behind the headlines can have unexpected resonance with the events of the day. 

MICHAEL EVSTAFIEV/AFP/Getty Images

Argument

China's Victim Complex

Why are Chinese leaders so paranoid about the United States?

Every two years, Beijing issues a defense white paper assessing its national security environment and describing the ongoing modernization of China's military, the People's Liberation Army (PLA). And every two years, U.S. defense analysts are disappointed by just how little useful information it contains.

The latest offering, "The Diversified Employment of China's Armed Forces," released in mid-April, does provide some new details on the roles, organization, and size of the PLA and its paramilitary force, the People's Armed Police. Building on the previous seven editions, the report also describes the widening scope of Chinese military missions as well as China's growing ability to protect those interests overseas. But mostly the paper regurgitates propagandistic platitudes and pre-existing material.

What the 2013 white paper does show is a China deeply concerned about the "pivot" to Asia by U.S. President Barack Obama's administration. China is facing a "volatile security situation," it reads, in part because U.S. rebalancing is sabotaging regional stability. Although the document innocuously notes that the United States is "adjusting its Asia-Pacific security strategy," it goes on to suggest: "Some country [read: the United States] has strengthened its Asia-Pacific military alliances, expanded its military presence in the region, and frequently makes the situation there tenser."

This argument is frequently heard in China and regularly devolves into conspiracy theories about how Washington has been pushing and prodding its allies to challenge Beijing. Senior Chinese officials claim, even in private, that the United States masterminded a number of actions against China in the region, including Burma's September 2011 suspension of the corruption-ridden Chinese-sponsored Myitsone Dam project; the Philippines' April 2012 decision to detain illegal Chinese fishermen near Scarborough Shoal, which both countries claim; and the former Tokyo governor's April 2012 announcement that he intended to purchase three Senkaku Islands, which the Chinese claim as their own and call the Diaoyu Islands, from a private Japanese citizen.

In October, Chen Jian, a former Chinese ambassador to Japan, told a Hong Kong audience that many Chinese viewed the Senkaku dispute as "a time bomb planted by the U.S. between China and Japan." The purpose of this "bomb," or so the narrative goes, is to draw the U.S. military deeper into the region's security affairs, preserving U.S. preeminence by constraining China's rise.

Alas, this argument runs counter to both reality and U.S. strategy. The United States has de-escalated tensions by responding to crises in the South China and East China seas with intense, high-level U.S. diplomacy. U.S. policymakers know that it is counterproductive for the United States to ignite regional crises, which are bad for business and unnecessarily complicate relations with Beijing. Most components of the U.S. rebalancing -- from enhanced security cooperation to increased trade ties to greater engagement with regional institutions -- would suffer from a more fractured Asia. This is one of the main reasons that ensuring stable U.S.-China relations is central to the overall strategy.

For the sake of argument, let's assume the white paper's accusations reflect a more nuanced Chinese position that renewed U.S. engagement in Asia emboldens U.S. allies to take actions they would not do otherwise. As Shi Yinhong, director of the Center for American Studies at Renmin University's School of International Studies in Beijing, said in September 2012, "Japan would not have been so aggressive without the support and actions of the U.S."

Fortunately, the United States has been dealing with the challenges of alliance management for over 60 years, and U.S. diplomats have been quick to express significant concerns to the likes of Japan and the Philippines about potentially destabilizing behavior. Secretary of State John Kerry's remarks in Tokyo in mid-April urging countries to avoid "unilateral" and "provocative" actions were intended for capitals throughout the region, not just Beijing. Although allies could always miscalculate, it does not appear that their foreign-policy decisions are distorted by a serious misunderstanding of U.S. intentions and expectations.

Nevertheless, what is striking about Chinese assessments of the U.S. rebalancing is that they are rarely, if ever, accompanied by an awareness of the self-defeating consequences of China's own coercive behavior. Instead, a deeply embedded historical perception of victimization persists in China.

Despite a regional consensus to the contrary, China continues to argue that it is being provoked into confronting its neighbors. This is possible in theory, but China has been extraordinarily escalatory during recent crises. In the last year alone, it erected a rope barrier to block Philippine ships during a standoff at Scarborough Shoal, sent maritime and naval vessels into waters it has not historically administered, and engaged in economic coercion to exact financial pain on its antagonists. Whatever one thinks about the misdeeds of the Philippines, Japan, and Vietnam, in the last few years no country in the region has even come close to this level of provocation.

And Beijing's undiplomatic behavior is often in sharp and bewildering contrast to the "charm offensive" that scholars were describing less than a decade ago. Diplomats in the region are saying privately that Fu Ying, China's vice minister of foreign affairs for Asia, recently summoned Southeast Asian ambassadors in Beijing to propose excluding the Philippines, a member of the Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN), from ongoing China-ASEAN negotiations over a code of conduct for the South China Sea.

This followed on the heels of Beijing's 2012 efforts to co-opt Cambodia's chairmanship of ASEAN. Both incidents have blown up in Beijing's face, renewing regional efforts to strengthen ASEAN and contest growing Chinese influence and interference. While the white paper denounces the "increasing hegemonism, power politics and neo-interventionism" (presumably of the United States), these words could easily be used to describe China's approach to Southeast Asia over the last two years.

Now the region is spooked and responding accordingly, with countries throughout Asia looking to the United States and each other to stem Chinese assertiveness. Singapore, the bellwether of pragmatism and balance, has been decreasingly shy about providing access to U.S. naval vessels, highlighted by the arrival of the first U.S. littoral combat ship in mid-April. And independent from the United States, countries including Australia, India, Japan, the Philippines, and Vietnam are deepening intraregional security cooperation.

These trends will almost assuredly result in greater U.S. military presence in Asia, complemented by growing security ties among its allies and partners. This is precisely what Beijing would like to avoid, yet China's foreign-policy behavior marches on, creating new anxieties in the region that leave Beijing more isolated and insecure.

This raises the question of why Beijing keeps acting this way. Doesn't it realize that forcing Southeast Asian countries to choose between China and ASEAN is a losing battle? Isn't its illegal occupation of Scarborough Shoal a daily reminder of China's willingness to bully the states that claim disputed territory in the South China Sea? And how should Vietnam or the Philippines interpret Beijing's recent decision to make incursions into Japanese-administered airspace over the Senkaku Islands for the first time in 55 years?

It was previously thought that bureaucratic politics were to blame for Chinese adventurism.

While Chinese foreign policy is undoubtedly growing more pluralistic, bureaucratic explanations are less convincing now given significant efforts to better coordinate China's actions in its near seas. President Xi Jinping himself leads China's new maritime policymaking body. Rogue ship captains can always create incidents and accidents, but patterns of incrementally assertive behavior would not be occurring today without top-level guidance.

More insidious explanations remain. One is that a noxious combination of economic growth, military modernization, rising nationalism, and China's perseverance through the global financial crisis has created a sense of outsized triumphalism.

The most likely -- and worrisome -- explanation is that domestic priorities drive China's foreign policies, which are therefore often formulated at the expense of strategic and diplomatic considerations. And while the implications of coercing neighbors and illegally seizing territory are not necessarily desirable, they pale in comparison to the consequences of failing to confront the regime's existential domestic challenges: economic slowdown, energy insecurity, and the growing political instabilities associated with dead pigs floating in rivers, a potential nationwide outbreak of avian flu, terrible traffic jams, sky-high real estate prices, and unbreathable air. No wonder the Chinese Communist Party works hard to keep populist foreign-policy issues in the headlines.

It would be comforting to learn that the defense white paper's finger-pointing at the United States was just old-fashioned propaganda, behind which China is reassessing its foreign-policy approach. If domestic politics continue to drive Chinese diplomacy, however, Beijing will likely be unable and unwilling to recalibrate. The result will be an increasingly isolated China.

Perhaps the best hope is that Xi will begin confronting the reality that Beijing's heavy-handed foreign policies are the principal cause of its rapidly deteriorating security environment. He could announce that China will negotiate with ASEAN on a full and meaningful code of conduct, agree to abide by future decisions of the International Tribunal for the Law of the Sea, launch maritime confidence-building measures with the United States, end its occupation of Scarborough Shoal, and stop trying to alter the status quo of Japan's decades-long administration of the Senkaku Islands. These actions would provide a tremendous boost to China's standing in the region and likely curb the regional trends that Beijing perceives as restraining its rise. But they would also require a serious discussion with the Chinese people that is at odds with the current government's jingoist rhetoric.

In the meantime, whatever China's defense white paper has to say, the U.S. rebalancing to Asia is not containing China. Besides, a U.S. policy of containment is hardly necessary when China is so effectively containing itself.

TYRONE SIU/AFP/Getty Images