There he sat, gray-haired though still young, his eyes distinctly sad and his voice quiet and steady. He began talking about an experience — one that, according to him, was unfortunately all too common for his entire generation. His subject was being hijacked by extremists and extremist thought. In his book, “The Twentieth Terrorist,” Abdullah Thabit stresses that while the story is based mainly on his own experiences with extremism, he wants everybody to see it as something that could happen to many young men — and women — and is in fact still happening to some. To him, the future seems cloudy and uncertain though he admits there are rays of light that may indicate changes and differences. Interviewed in Jeddah by Faiza Ambah for “The Washington Post,” Abdullah said that shortly after the Sept. 11 attacks, he recognized the picture of one of the hijackers as someone from his hometown. He immediately realized that he could easily have been one of the hijackers. Indeed, he could have been No. 20.
The book begins with a backward look by Zahi, the main character, at the town where he grew up and the people who lived there. There is more than a touch of nostalgia for the simple life that virtually disappeared with the arrival of extremist thought. This backward look at a world which many of us city-dwellers have never experienced but have heard about from our parents and grandparents is mesmerizing. The town seems a magical place, one that could not have existed outside a song or a poem. The town also serves as a basis of comparison for Zahi; it is the beautiful past, the ideal place that we long for but to which we cannot return. For the rest of us, it is an unspoiled picture of life, one that has not been disturbed by dark splashes of color hiding its beauty.
When Zahi reaches school age, his older brother who is a more strict Muslim convinces him to go to a Qur’anic school. Zahi is tempted by the stipend the school gives to each student and so agrees to go. Once in, he is introduced to a different way of living and thinking. It is a much stricter way, one in which he could not even draw the butterflies he loved. He was in fact beaten for drawing a butterfly; the teacher scolded him for drawing a living creature, saying it was “haram” (forbidden). He ordered the boy to draw instead the Kaaba in Makkah or the Al-Aqsa Mosque in Jerusalem. Zahi says that he loved mosques and holy places before that time but when he was forced to draw them, he felt stifled and oppressed and that in turn affected the way he felt about them. As he grows older and goes into intermediate school, he is introduced to a religious group that uses football, a game Zahi loves, to attract and hold the interest of young men. Slowly he becomes immersed in the teachings of the group and becomes as fanatic and intolerant as they are. He turns his back on his family and begins to scorn and distrust everything outside the group’s narrow universe. He learns from the group that music and art are forbidden and that they corrupt people’s minds. He is taught to hate those who do not share his beliefs and opinions; he learns not to imitate “infidels” in any way — clothing, amusements or behavior.
On camping trips, the boys are introduced to Afghan war games; they practice fighting and when Zahi is asked if he would like to go to Afghanistan and join the “mujahedeen” there, he refuses because he realizes he is afraid. The author makes it clear that when families are not understanding but are very strict and oppressive, children will seek comfort and satisfaction elsewhere. And it is at that point that “other forces” will pick them up and use them.
In reading “The Twentieth Terrorist,” one recognizes that a society deprived of art, freedom and tolerance is a society heading toward crisis. During a public reading, when the author stressed society’s need for art, theater and music, a young woman, who seemed skeptical of his intentions, asked him suspiciously, “What kind of art are you talking about?” He simply looked at her as if trying to figure out what she meant while she obviously shared the beliefs of some extremists that cinemas and theaters are evidence of corruption.
Zahi moves on and goes to university. He began to think about all the restrictions he endures and his mind dwells on the nature of religion. At this point, the group begins to sense his questioning and drifting away and to treat him unkindly. Disillusioned, he drifts further away; he turns to reading whatever he can lay his hands on. And as a result, his eyes are opened to a different world. His journey of recovery and discovery has begun.
The novel opens a window onto a slice of life in Saudi Arabia, which not everyone knows and it provides answers to many questions. Nonetheless, the author is so intent on delivering his message that he sometimes goes into descriptions and analyses that seem more like anthropology than fiction.
The same is true with the group he was a part of. At those times, the storyline suffers but the reader never doubts that the writer is pouring out his sincere feelings. The important thing, however, is what Abdullah Thabit felt he needed to say and what we needed to be told. It is a book to be read for the information it contains rather than for the high artistry of its style. And the book is one that clearly and undeniably delivers its message.
