The search for extremist answers

Updated

Families of Australian extremists have come forward for a rare series of interviews they hope will help others pick up on signs of radicalisation they might have missed.

He knew he was going to die. So the Islamic State fighter in Syria made one last phone call.

It was to his family, at home in Melbourne's suburbs.

"He called and said he was going on a suicide mission in the morning and he was just calling to say goodbye," a family member said.

It left his family desperately searching for answers that would never come.

Every act of violent extremism, whether it occurs thousands of kilometres away or on Bourke Street, leaves a series of questions.

Researchers and community leaders believe a new series of interviews with families of young extremists from Melbourne could provide some answers.

The identities of the 11 families — who agreed to be interviewed because of their involvement with a Broadmeadows-based social services provider — were protected.

The report's researchers say it is the first time Australian families of violent extremists have participated in research of this scale and nature.

The interviews paint a complex picture of the anger, sorrow and bewilderment felt by those closest to a violent extremist, and detail troubling allegations about the handling of some cases by authorities and the process of radicalisation.

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Some families saw the signs and reported them. Others realised, in hindsight, what they had missed. Often, violent extremists gave no indication that they had started to spiral.

"Believe me, there was nothing," one woman said, "He grew up his beard, but so what?

"He still hung out with his cousins, everything was normal.

"But sometimes he watched YouTube, Syria, and kids being killed. When he saw this he would get upset, saying 'why this, why that?'"

Otherwise routine adolescent behaviour — playing video games, spending a lot of time online, partying, risk taking or becoming withdrawn — was later seen in a sinister light by some family members.

There were also recurring concerns around drug use — particularly ice — as a key factor in their family members becoming vulnerable to extremism.

Leila Alloush, the chief executive of Victorian Arabic Social Services, which partnered with Deakin University to produce the report, described drug addiction as "the number one" factor driving young men to violent extremism.

In two recent fatal attacks linked by authorities to Islamic State — in Bourke Street last month and in Brighton last year — both perpetrators had histories of substance abuse.

Participants in the research reported some young men became more devout to distance themselves from past drug use, but later became extremists.

In one case, a foreign fighter had alternated between partying hard and following religion, behaviour a relative regarded as intended to "do a bit of good and a bit of bad".

Another relative said he thought this increased piety was a positive thing.

"I thought he was just giving up his bad boy ways and becoming a bit more devout," he said.

"I thought he was just maturing, coming out of a phase."

Some said their young male relatives would, on occasion, leave early in the morning and not return until later in the day. They would often pray in small groups, away from established mosques or masjids, without their parents' knowledge.

"They'll gather likeminded people and isolate themselves," one participant said, describing the segregation as "quite toxic".

Fears son was used as 'bait'

The interviews were conducted in collaboration between researchers and Victorian Arabic Social Services and form part of a new Victorian government-funded report.

One mother told interviewers her son was used as "bait" to gather evidence about Islamic State recruiters.

"He was used by both the traitors in IS and also by the government. I am a victim of IS recruiters and of the federal police."

Researchers did not independently verify the information provided during the interviews.

The Department of Home Affairs would not comment on whether any Australians had been allowed to join Islamic State for the purpose of gaining intelligence, but said in a statement it had early intervention arrangements in place across Australia.

"The radicalisation to violence process is unique to each person and responses need to be flexible to meet the individual's needs," a spokesperson said.

"We encourage families, friends and communities to contact authorities for help and advice if they see indications an individual may be radicalising to violence or considering participating in a foreign conflict."

Another interviewee said after cooperating extensively with investigators who were seeking information about a foreign fighter, she was told they could not provide support services to help her cope with his death.

Authorities also failed to detect a young man who had obsessed about suicide bombing, bought religious textbooks and chemicals used to make bombs, was collecting metal fragments, and researched bomb making online, and then travelled overseas to join Islamic State, his family said.

Duncan Lewis, the director general of ASIO, told a Senate estimates hearing in October that 230 people had travelled to the Middle East to fight in foreign conflicts since 2012, and that as many as 94 of them had died.

The majority left Australia to join Islamic State.

Online, obsessive and vulnerable

As the war raged in Syria, the social media feeds of young men quickly filled with images of violence.

"This is what made all our kids angry — the extensive killing of Muslims overseas," one woman said.

"I think that is what has motivated many of them to radicalise. Sometimes they go crazy — they lose their mind — they want to help."

Often, the language that accompanied such images reinforced a black and white interpretation of Islam.

"Social media puts out so much negativity about Islam that it's easy for influencers to construct these narratives of not really belonging," one man said.

"It's easy for people to say, 'These people don't really want me here, why am I here?'"

It was particularly dangerous for those already predisposed to fixations.

"My [relative] always flipped from obsessing about one thing to another thing," a woman said.

"He was a teenager and was looking for identity. He'd go from obsessing about one sport or hobby to another.

"So while the religion part was unusual, his fastening onto and obsessing about things wasn't."

Islamic State propaganda reinforced these narratives, some family members said, and packaged them in a way that appealed to young men looking for adventure.

"For me it's war propaganda — it's the same way … a paedophile would lure a child in," a woman said.

"It's very seductive — they offer them excitement — that feeling that they are doing something great, a greater purpose than what they are doing here.

"Daily life here can get boring."

When one young man was challenged on his beliefs, and told he was brainwashed, "he was sure that he hadn't [been] and I was the brainwashed one who didn't understand the truth".

'I pushed my kids away from religion and they rebelled'



A father suffered a fatal heart attack after hearing his son died fighting with Islamic State, researchers were told.

Another family only learned their relative had died after reading about it in the media.

A sense of grief and shame filled the room during the interviews, Deakin University researchers Professor Michele Grossman and Dr Vivian Gerrand said.

It was this grief that motivated the families to speak, in the hope their experiences will guide others.

"I just wanted to sit in my room and cry and cry and cry and think about my brother," the sister of a foreign fighter said.

Others regretted not challenging their children to think differently about religion.

"I left it to externals and God knows what they put in my son's head. Islam is not about extremism. They got the wrong message from others," one woman said.

A mother said she should have nurtured religious interest in her son.

"I pushed my kids away from religion and they rebelled and went towards religion."

There were also lessons for authorities and community leaders, families believed.

These included forbidding private lectures from those who extol a hardline interpretation of Islam, stricter accreditation for those who teach Arabic or Islamic studies, and community-led support services for the families of violent extremists.

They also called for assistance with practical tasks, such as obtaining death certificates, which in some cases compounded their grief.

Professor Michele Grossman said there was also a need for greater research into the role of Islamic State recruiters.

"We really do need to understand more about how they operate if we are to build resiliance [against] that kind of recruitment."

The original target had been 20 families, but after repeated instances of families postponing and then cancelling their interviews, the researchers had to downsize.

Of the 11 families that participated, all lived in Melbourne, eight were Lebanese Muslim, nine spoke Arabic and English at home, and eight had secure housing.

There were between three and 12 children, aged from two to 41, in eight of the families.

Four of the interviewees were siblings, three were mothers, three were friends or cousins, and two were wives of foreign fighters.

The content has been used by Victorian Arabic Social Services to formulate a training program for families about what to look for in a relative who could becoming radicalised, and what to do next.

Professor Grossman said it should also be used to inform ongoing public debate and policy regarding extremism.

In the Bourke Street attack, and in the case of three men who were charged 11 days later for allegedly planning a terror attack, authorities had cancelled their passports.

The research showed there were significant problems with how this process was generally handled, Professor Grossman said, and the thoughts of the families should be considered to ensure this punitive approach was matched with support.

A similar stance should be taken when a young person comes to the attention of authorities, but does not have their passport cancelled, she said.

"One of the lessons that law enforcement can draw from this research is that early intervention for families means providing support — not necessarily what you might think of as a traditional law enforcement investigation response," Professor Grossman said.

Credits:

Reporter: Nino Bucci

Digital Producer: Jeremy Story Carter

Illustrator: Paul McClintock

Topics: government-and-politics, unrest-conflict-and-war, terrorism, islam

First posted