TUNIS, Tunisia (AP) — In Tunis, Ghaith stands furtively on a street corner, his face masked by a hoodie, his tense eyes scanning the crowd for any hint of Islamic State militants.
He chain-smokes as he describes the indiscriminate
killing, the abuse of female recruits, the discomfort of a life where
meals were little more than bread and cheese or oil. He recounts the
knife held to his throat by fellow fighters who demanded he recite a
particular Quranic verse on Islamic warfare to prove himself.
"It
was totally different from what they said jihad would be like," said
Ghaith, who asked to be identified by his first name only for fear of
being killed. Ghaith eventually surrendered to Syrian soldiers.
While
foreigners from across the world have joined the Islamic State militant
group, some find day-to-day life in Iraq or Syria much more austere and
violent than they had expected. These disillusioned new recruits also
soon discover that it is a lot harder to leave than to join. The Syrian
Observatory for Human Rights says the Islamic State group has killed 120
of its own members in the past six months, most of them foreign
fighters hoping to return home.
Even if they manage to get out,
former fighters are considered terrorists and security risks in their
own countries. Thousands are under surveillance or in jail in North
Africa and Europe, where former militants massacred 17 people last month
in terror attacks in Paris.
"Not everyone who returns is a
budding criminal. Not everyone is going to kill — far from it," said
France's top anti-terror judge, Marc Trevidic. "But it's probable that
there is a small fringe that is capable of just about anything."
The number of French returnees has recently increased, their
enthusiasm dented by the reality of militant life and by the allied
bombing campaign, according to a top French security official who spoke
anonymously because the issue is sensitive. Some foreign recruits have
written home to say they are being held against their will, the official
said.
The Associated Press talked to more than a dozen former
fighters, their families and lawyers about life in and escape from
Islamic State, many of whom spoke only on condition of anonymity for
fear of retribution.
Youssef
Akkari used to spend hours in his room in Tunisia listening to religious
chants and reading, according to his brother, Mehdi Akkari. One day the
family received a message that he was going to Syria. But he lost his
glasses and couldn't fight, his brother said, so he was put in charge of
preaching jihad to new recruits instead.
After seven months he began to plot his escape, along with two brothers.
The
brothers were discovered and killed. Youssef turned himself in to
Kurdish fighters and made his way back to Tunisia, where he felt trapped
between police harassment and his terror of the vengeful militants. He
returned to Syria and died in an airstrike in October.
The Islamic State group works to prevent recruits from leaving from the time they join.
The
first step is removing their passports and identity documents. Hamad
Abdul-Rahman, an 18-year-old Saudi, said he was met at the Syrian border
last summer by militants who escorted him to a training camp in Tabaqa,
Syria.
"They took all my documents and asked me if I want to be a
fighter or a suicide bomber," Abdul-Rahman told AP from prison in
Baghdad, where he was shackled, handcuffed and hooded.
He chose to fight.
In
early September, he surrendered to Iraqi forces. An Iraqi defense
ministry video shows Abdul-Rahman minutes after his arrest, identifying
himself to soldiers.
Another Tunisian recruit, Ali, escaped after he was made a
courier in the winter of 2013. He made four courier trips between Syria
and Tunisia in three weeks, taking back news, money and propaganda
videos. On the last trip to Tunisia, he simply stayed.
"I feel
like I was a terrorist, I was shocked by what I did," said Ali, dropping
his voice low and moving when people approached. His advice for
would-be jihadis: "Go have a drink. Don't pray. It's not Islam. Don't
give your life up for nothing."
The predicament for governments is
to figure out whether a recruit is returning home to escape from the
Islamic State or to spread its violence.
France has detained more
than 150 returnees — including eight on Tuesday — and says about 3,000
need surveillance. Britain has arrested 165 returnees, and Germany
considers about 30 of its 180 returnees extremely dangerous. There is no
way to prove their intentions.
"(For many in France), they need
to be punished. That's it," said Justice Minister Christian Taubira.
"These are the people who can bear witness, who can dissuade others."
French lawyer Martin Pradel said his client is one of 10 men
from Strasbourg who left for Syria last winter to take up arms on behalf
of Syrian civilians. But they crossed into territory controlled by
militants, who suspected they were spies or enemies. They were jailed
for two weeks, then transferred and locked up for another three. Two of
the French recruits died in an ambush.
The men decided to leave, one by one so as not to draw attention.
"They left at night, they ran across fields, they practically crept across the border," Pradel said.
His
client surrendered to Turkish authorities. Since he lacked ID, he got
temporary transit papers from the French embassy. He is now in jail in
France, where the government accuses the Strasbourg men of running a
recruiting ring for extremists.
It was a similar escape for four Frenchmen from Toulouse, according to their lawyers.
Pierre
Dunac, the lawyer for Imad Jjebali, said the men went to Syria in hopes
of helping civilians, but ended up in Islamic State territory and were
thrown in jail. One day, Dunac said, their jailer gave them their
papers. He told them, "I'm going to pray," and he left them alone right
by the door.
"They understood that he was letting them leave,"
Dunac said. "Why? It's astonishing. ... They themselves didn't
understand why."
The men surrendered to Turkish soldiers and were deported to France. They are now in jail facing terrorism charges.
In
Tunisia, where close surveillance of 400 returnees is far more common
than arrests, Ghaith is now a free man by most measures. But he does not
act like one. He neck still bears a scar where his fellow fighters held
the knife.
"It's not a revolution or jihad," he said. "It's a slaughter."
___
Hinnant
reported from Paris. Associated Press writers Zeina Karam in Beirut;
Jamey Keaten and Nicolas Vaux-Montagny in Paris; Vivian Salama in
Baghdad; and Danica Kirka in London contributed.
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