These Aren’t the Terrorists You’re Looking For

Why does the Egyptian government insist on blaming the Muslim Brotherhood for every act of terrorism, even as a dangerous jihadist group claims the attacks as their own?

On Feb. 16, a bus full of South Korean tourists was idling near the Taba border crossing in South Sinai, waiting to cross from Egypt into Israel. As some passengers disembarked to retrieve their bags, a man walked up to the bus door and detonated himself, according to preliminary Egyptian security reports. The blast shredded the bus, killing three South Korean tourists and the Egyptian bus driver as well as injuring over a dozen more.

The explosion was only the latest in a string of terror attacks that have gripped Egypt recently, undermining the new government's efforts to establish a sense of normalcy. And there's no doubt whom the powers that be in Cairo blame: Ever since the overthrow of former President Mohammed Morsi, Egypt's military-backed government has insisted that the Muslim Brotherhood is behind the uptick in terrorist violence throughout the country. This claim has been a critical component in Cairo's justification for its ongoing crackdown, as army chief Abdel Fattah al-Sisi called for mass protests to give him a mandate to confront "violence and terrorism" shortly after last year's coup, and the government declared on Dec. 25 that the Brotherhood itself was a terrorist organization.

The Egyptian government is now detaining suspected Muslim Brotherhood members for their alleged terror links. On Feb. 9, the Interior Ministry announced the arrest of members of a Muslim Brotherhood "military wing." The detained were allegedly involved in the slaying of five Egyptian policemen in the town of Beni Suef in late January. The accusations were reportedly detailed -- but in today's Egypt, it is hard to separate such claims from the politically-charged campaign against the regime's arch-rivals.

There's little doubt, however, that the real terror threat in Egypt currently stems not from the Brotherhood, but the jihadist group Ansar Bayt al-Maqdis (ABM). In recent months, the group has unleashed a barrage of attacks in its traditional base of North Sinai, and has also expanded the reach and sophistication of its attacks, orchestrating bombings in the Nile Delta, Cairo, and South Sinai -- including the Taba attack. The attacks outside North Sinai that ABM has claimed as its own, four of which have been suicide bombings, have killed at least 31 people and wounded more than 300 since September.   

However, the Egyptian government seems more focused on politicizing the threat by lumping together ABM and the Brotherhood. The Brotherhood's terror designation, for example, came a day after the deadliest attack outside North Sinai since Morsi's ouster -- a suicide car bombing outside a security site in the Nile Delta city of Mansoura that killed 16 and wounded more than 130. Even though ABM took responsibility for the attack, the regime insisted the Brotherhood was to blame. The same dynamic played out with the Taba bombing -- the Interior Ministry spokesman blamed the Brotherhood, even though ABM ultimately took responsibility.

Egyptian officials have claimed repeatedly that the Brotherhood itself is linked to ABM. Interior Minister Mohamed Ibrahim, who was targeted by an ABM suicide car bomber in September, has accused the Brotherhood of supporting and financing attacks in Egypt. Egyptian security officials have also alleged an alliance between the Muslim Brotherhood, ABM, and the al-Furqan Brigades, another jihadist group. Other security sources contend that Brotherhood financier Khairat al-Shater gave millions to Mohamed al-Zawahiri, the brother of al Qaeda's leader, to buy weapons for Sinai jihadists. Evidence to support these serious allegations has yet to be presented.

In January, the Interior Ministry released what was said to be the first evidence linking ABM and the Brotherhood. It was the video confession of Yahia Mongi, who the Interior Ministry claimed was the son of a Brotherhood official. In the video, Mongi explained that he joined ABM in 2011 and played a role in the group's December attack in Mansoura.

However, the video may have been nothing more than a propaganda ploy. Mongi's father denied his connection to the Brotherhood, and so did the Brotherhood. But even if the Brotherhood and the family were covering for Mongi, his confession does not amount to a smoking gun. One member of the Brotherhood joining ABM does not mean that it is owned or controlled by the fallen Islamist movement.

There is no doubt that some members of ABM were previously part of the Brotherhood. For example, ABM's Ahmed Waji, who died in a September 2012 cross-border attack against Israel, was unapologetic about leaving the Brotherhood because it was not implementing violent jihad.

"I was a member of the Muslim Brotherhood and I trusted its leadership completely.... I was raised in their arms while I was young," Waji said in a posthumous clip released by ABM in January 2013. However, he said, he was surprised that upon assuming power, the Islamist organization did not implement their credos, which included "jihad is our way" and "death for the sake of Allah is the highest of our aspirations."

It's unclear how many members of the Brotherhood have joined ABM -- but the jihadist group is certainly trying to bring disillusioned Brothers into their ranks. For example, in an October video, ABM's Walid Badr, the suicide bomber in the group's September attack targeting the interior minister, made a direct plea to frustrated Islamists: "Enough playing around," he said. "Why do you shy away from armed confrontation? Logic dictates that iron must be faced with iron and fire with fire."

Whether or not this strategy is working is still unclear. There is little reliable information about the number of fighters within ABM's ranks -- and the information about the backgrounds of the fighters themselves is even harder to come by. But this does not seem to bother the regime in Cairo, which continues to push the claim that ABM is either loyal to the Brotherhood -- or that the two organizations are one in the same.

To be sure, Brotherhood officials have made irresponsible comments regarding the recent violence, which has only served to irk the regime. However, there is simply no conclusive public evidence at this point detailing the Brotherhood's direct involvement in ABM attacks or financial support for the jihadist group.

While a legitimate argument can be made that the Morsi regime maintained a soft policy on Sinai jihadists, was cozy with Islamist radicals who called for jihad in Syria, and that it released jihadists who should have been jailed, the current allegations appear to be more grounded in politics than reality. In fact, a recent investigation by the Egyptian publication Mada Masr found that the Supreme Council of the Armed Forces (SCAF), the military body that ruled the country immediately after Hosni Mubarak's fall, likely released far more Islamists than Morsi. Remarkably, Egyptian officials have also been caught lying about when certain suspected militants were released: In late October 2013, Egyptian officials announced the arrest of Nabil al-Maghrabi, who officials said was close to Walid Badr and had been released as a result of a Morsi pardon. However, press reports indicate that Maghrabi was actually freed in June 2011 -- during SCAF's rule.  

The Egyptian government appears to be hoping to further wreck the Brotherhood's reputation -- something the organization has done effectively on its own -- by tying the group to ABM. However, in the absence of any verifiable evidence to back up this claim, their strategy may be backfiring in two significant ways: For one, it has served to harden opinions abroad about the regime's anti-democratic tendencies. But more importantly, it may inadvertently be pushing some Brotherhood cadres -- in particular those already promoting small-scale violence -- into the waiting arms of the jihadist group. Thus, the unsubstantiated political narrative of Egypt's rulers may, perversely, be exacerbating the nascent insurgency they're trying to fight.

STR/AFP/Getty Images


Adiós, El Chapo

The good news is that Mexico's biggest drug kingpin has been arrested. The bad news is that it will trigger new violence on both sides of the border and do little to stem the flow of cocaine.

Mexican President Enrique Peña Nieto is taking a victory lap of sorts after the capture of drug kingpin Joaquín "El Chapo" Guzmán, the notorious leader of the Sinaloa cartel, taking to Twitter to herald his country's security forces and accepting congratulatory phone calls from an array of world leaders.

But Nieto might want to think twice about popping the champagne: If history is any indication, Guzmán's fall points to a difficult and likely violent time ahead, both in Mexico and the United States.

When Pablo Escobar, the notorious head of the Medellín cartel was killed in 1993, his demise was widely celebrated. When the competing Cali cartel's leaders, brothers Gilberto and Miguel Rodriguez Orejuela, were arrested a few years later there was talk of the end of mass cocaine trafficking. Variants of those optimistic predictions are repeated with every major arrest.

Taking out kingpins in transnational criminal organizations has enormous benefits, but also enormous dangers. Chief among them: the violent aftershocks that play out as rival cartels try to move in on a weakened enemy and old scores are settled within the cartel itself. In Guzmán's case, that could mean sustained bloodshed in both Mexico and the United States.

As one recent United Nations report on drug trafficking correctly noted, "The key driver of violence is not cocaine, but change: change in the negotiated power relations between and within groups, and with the state."

The capture of Guzmán is the type of change that upsets all of these relationships and is paradoxically likely to make it harder, not easier, to dent the flood of cocaine that washes into the United States.

On the plus side, the cartel's command and control chain is disrupted and, at least temporarily, delivery services can be disrupted. But this seldom translates into a long-term decline in availability of cocaine on the streets of the United States and Europe.

That's because even though once solid trafficking structures fragment into many smaller organizations, each less efficient than the original, in aggregate they're able to move enough cocaine to keep the market relatively stable. Even worse, rather than having one main target to focus on, law enforcement is soon faced with five or six new, smaller but lethal organizations.

Perhaps the most damaging impact of taking out old, established leaders is that they are almost always replaced by younger, more violent, and less seasoned leaders as drug trafficking structures splinter into smaller pieces. This period, lasting from months to years, usually brings a spike in violence.

In Colombia, the Cali cartel leadership, while violent, preferred to buy or negotiate with its potential enemies, and homicides were rare. They were replaced by the Northern Valley cartel, whose young and violent leaders' preferred method of dealing with enemies was cutting them up with chainsaws and dumping the bodies in the river. Rather than buying policemen or politicians and negotiating with rivals, they killed them and often their families and turned once-tranquil parts of the country into war zones.

In Mexico, the Zetas broke away from the Gulf cartel, setting of a bloody war that simmers to this day. There are many other examples of a large corporate drug trafficking structure turning into a series of mid-size companies at war with each other.

Given the size and reach of Guzmán's organization, this type of violence is likely to play out on both sides of the border now that he is no longer able to call the shots and make executive decisions. 

While Guzmán has had years to set up a line of succession, such plans seldom play out as planned and can be further disrupted if law enforcement officials can rapidly grab some members of the second tier.

Young triggermen, sensing opportunities or mid-level operatives resentful at being passed over for promotions or others with grievances almost always make a violent play for a bigger share of the pie. Old scores are usually settled as rival groups sense weakness and also try to move into new territory, leading to multi-sided violent confrontations that leave many dead. In addition, following a significant arrest there is almost always an internal probe to see who leaked the information to law enforcement, often leading to the killings of scores of suspected informants. 

Most of that bloodletting will take place in Mexico, but some could spill into the United States, especially in Chicago. Guzmán had made the city one of his biggest distribution hubs in recent years. Guzmán's organization had embedded in the Chicago Hispanic community, and had also begun widespread heroin distribution as well, according to my law enforcement sources. It is not clear why Chicago, but once senior cartel leaders embed themselves in a community, they bring up family and others they can trust. Some of those former Guzmán allies are likely to turn their guns on each other. 

The border areas where his organization controls key crossing points are likely to be another focal point of violence between competing cartels or within the remaining fragments of the Sinoloa organization. 

None of that, unfortunately, is likely to mean a noticeable decline in the amount of cocaine on U.S. streets. There is usually enough cocaine in the pipeline to cover any short-term slowdown in supply. As U.S. consumption has declined, according to Colombian and Mexican law enforcement officials, the surplus production is so great that it often takes a kilo of cocaine four to six months to move from Colombia to the streets of U.S. cities. Central America has turned into a vast warehouse for cocaine waiting to be moved to market.

The second is that while smaller structures emerge and each one handles less than the prior cartel, the overall amount of cocaine moving generally stabilizes at its previous level after a few weeks, sparking price hiccups but little permanent change.

Guzmán's arrest is good for the rule of law and good for Mexico because it destroys the myths of the invincible drug baron, much as Escobar's death did in Colombia. It shows that ultimately a kingpin can be put out of business. What it doesn't do, though, is suggest that the business itself is going anywhere.