My life, my Tunisia – Complete audiobook in English

My life, my Tunisia Testimony from Salah Karkar’s   brother-in-law, former leader of Ennahdha Written by Massin Kevin Labidi   Book sponsored by MCAN Website: mcantimes.com   To infinity… Notice  The emotions and hopes of a personal experience  are as extraordinary and moving as the one you  

Are about to discover in the following pages. “My  life, my Tunisia: Tes-timony of the Brother-in-law   of Salah Karkar, Former Leader of Ennahdha  and Former Follower of Shiism” is a poignant   and deeply unsettling narrative that plunges us  into the heart of a reality far too little known. 

This book recounts my life within a Mahdist  Islamist movement in Iran between 1983 and   1990. At a time when the world was in the  grip of numerous conflicts and upheavals,   this personal experience took on an  incredibly intense and devastating dimension. 

The rise of the Ayatollahs in Iran from 1979  saw the emergence of a sacred war machine   preparing for the return of the Savior,  according to mystical Shiite precepts. It   is an en-lightened warning about the dangers  that threaten humanity due to the plans and  

Ob-jectives of these Mahdist movements. Often  remaining in the shadows, these move-ments are   based on sacred texts and pursue a short-term  and long-term plan to impose their vision of   the world globally, in the name of Allah. All these movements rely on the same sacred  

Texts and work to achieve goals that, although  they may vary in details and methods, converge   towards a common objective: to dominate the world  under the banner of Islam. Their strategy does not   shy away from the idea of annihilating two-thirds  of humanity and causing blood to flow knee-deep  

Because they believe that blood always triumphs  over the sword, provided that the re-maining   third is in accordance with the divine will. I will guide you through the intricacies of   this complex reality, where religious beliefs  intertwine with political and ideological   ambitions. You will discover how these move-ments  spread, influence, and seek to destabilize entire  

Regions, while manipulating Muslim populations  that fall into the darkness of ignorance. Through   this exceptional account, you will understand  the stakes behind religious discourses and   power ambi-tions, as well as the disastrous  consequences this can have on our world. 

I invite you through this book to discover the  hidden face of Islam, especially the iceberg of   Iranian Shiism that exploits religious  sentiments to expand its influence,   whether in the Middle East, Africa, Asia,  Europe, as well as the rest of the world. 

This testimony is a living example of the Shiite  Iranian infiltration within Islamist movements,   aiming to destabilize states and infiltrate  the populations of the Muslim world, with the   goal of becoming the dominant force everywhere.  They seek to act in one stroke to destroy what  

They call the satanic Judeo-Christian alliance. ‘My life, my Tunisia’ is a call to vigilance,   a heartfelt cry to raise awareness in the world  about the insidious threats that weigh on our   civilization. I hope that this testimo-ny  will contribute, even if only a little,  

To the fight against the danger represented by  the Iranian Shiite Ayatollahs for our countries,   our populations, and our human achievements. You will not emerge unscathed from this reading,   but you will undoubtedly be more aware  of the challenges that surround us.  Happy reading, and may the light  always shine above the shadows.  

Dedication  I dedicate this book : To Queen Amazigh Dihya Tadmut,   beheaded by the Arab-Islamic occupier  for her struggle for freedom and dignity.  To my late mother, for her patience and  her fight for the success of her offspring. 

To my late father, with all my esteem and respect. To my children, with my deep affection and love.  Special Dedication : To Madame Shiraz Rahhal… An extraordinary woman   without whom this book would never have come to  light. Our sincere thanks for her attentive review   and invaluable correction of the content. Introduction 

I was born in Tunisia into a traditional Muslim  family of nine chil-dren, like any other Tunisian   family in the sixties. In my innocent childhood,  I viewed life with purity and optimism, guided   by a strong faith in God, which brought  me peace and confidence. Unfortunately,  

Everything changed when Islamists infiltrated  my family between 1975 and 1980. Looking back,   I realized that my childhood was taken away  from me, and I endured five years of nightmarish   experiences. The lightness of my youthful  spirit vanished, replaced by fear and darkness  

That haunted my every step. The trauma from that  period left a lasting mark, and I couldn’t help   but see parallels with the unsettling events that  unfolded in Tunisia in 2011. It became evident to   me that the ac-tions at the state level have a  profound impact on local communities, and our  

History and beliefs play a significant role in  shaping the present. Moved by my experiences,   I feel compelled to shed light on my encoun-ter  with the Islamist movement. I will explore the   mechanisms and tac-tics that led my family to  embrace Islamist ideologies, ultimately causing  

Its disintegration. Additionally, I will share  my personal involvement with the international   Shiite movement and its messianic ideology, which  continues to operate today with impunity, having   relocated its bases from Iran to Syria and Iraq. My attention is to expose the strategy of the  

Islamist attack through the example of this  elite Shiite network “Rissali”. This network is   no dif-ferent from other Islamist movements that  exploit naive youth in their quest of identity.   I use it as an example because I know all its  tricks, ideologies, and methods, having been  

An active member myself. Since breaking free  from its grip, I have consistently emphasized   the danger posed by these movements. I hold a  firm belief that it is crucial for the world   to recognize the influence exerted by Islamist  networks, taking advantage of an uninformed public  

About the genuine history of Islam. They employ  deceptive language and utilize diverse methods,   which in-clude promoting their cause through  charitable activities while also re-sorting to   physical, intellectual, and political terrorism.  Furthermore, they enforce censorship, deny the   right to individuality, and impose a singular  mode of thinking, all in the name of Allah. It is  

Essential to shed light on these tactics to raise  awareness about the true nature of these networks.  Muslims, from the most radical to the most  pacifist, share a dream ex-pressed in the   Quran, Surah 21, “The Prophets”, verse 105: And We have written in the Psalms (Zabur),  

After the reminder (Torah), my righteous  servants shall inherit the earth.  Every school, sect, or Islamic movement considers  itself as “the saved sect”, following the right   path through obedience to Allah’s rules. The  “promised land” mentioned here is interpreted   in various ways by differ-ent exegetes. It  could refer to the earthly world in general,  

Specifically to Jerusalem, or the paradise  promised to the righteous after death, as taught   in pre-Islamic traditions. However, the Islamists  firmly exceed the last interpretation: when   they oppose the globalization stemming from the  Western world, it is not out of love for humanity,  

But because they believe they possess the absolute  truth regarding this verse. Accord-ing to them,   Islam is meant to subjugate the earthly world. Driven by a relentless desire for power,   fuelled by blind persuasion, Is-lamism employs a  ruthless strategy that will be explored in detail  

Throughout this book. This ideology infiltrates  internal opposition movements, Arab nationalistic   sentiments, and anti-Western attitudes in Third  World countries. The recruitment of potential   Islamists or pro-Islamist individuals is carried  out on a global scale, spanning across fam-ilies,   streets, public and private institutions, and  the internet. It primari-ly targets vulnerable  

And indoctrinated youth, driven to confront an  un-certain destiny on their own. These young   individuals have been stig-matized and rendered  completely submissive under the mercy of a sa-cred   authority, in the absence of proper guidance  within their families and society. The underlying  

Objective of this recruitment effort is to combat  what they see as “Judeo-Christian imperialism   oppressing the weak.” Islamism positions  itself as the liberator of the oppressed, while   paradoxically imposing its own form of imperialism  through its cultural and ideological dominance. 

It is essential for us to unite as governments,  society, and individuals to confront those who,   under the banner of Allah, perpetrate nothing  but crimes – primarily against themselves,   and secondarily against their own society  and humanity. Their higher-ups within the   Islamist hierarchy manipulate them, instilling  fear of divine retribution solely to further  

Their own political and personal interests. My motivation to write after all these years   stems from the prevailing state of insecurity  witnessed across the world. The situation began to   de-teriorate following the events of September 11  in the United States, which triggered collective  

Anger among the people. This anger subse-quently  led to the Tunisian uprising on January 14, 2011,   followed by protests and violent upheavals  in Egypt, Yemen, Libya, and Syria. Moreover,   Iraq and Syria witnessed the rise and eventual  downfall of the so-called Islamic State (ISIS).   The hidden influence of Arab hegem-ony,  particularly the Iranian Shiite influence,  

Has resulted in the loss of identity and grave  decadence among forcibly Arabized and colonized   peoples under the guise of Arab Islam. Presently,  there is a notable crackdown on freedoms, coupled   with a growing appeal of conservative political  parties with nationalist and sectarian leanings.  

This phenome-non is occurring as a response to  the challenge of Islamist terrorism worldwide.   One illustrative example of this trend is  the state of affairs in the United States   following Donald Trump’s assumption of power. The purpose of this book is to caution young  

Individuals against blind-ly falling into an  infernal spiral from which they will find it   challenging to break free. I hope that this  testimony will dissuade some readers from   treading a disastrous path and enable others to  understand the ominous reality of Islamist agendas  

And the darker aspects of Islam. It is of ut-most  importance that we reach out to the youth who feel   marginalized by society, listen to their stories,  help them in rebuilding their lives, and restore   their hope and sense of purpose to prevent them  from becoming victims of humanity enemies. Their  

Rehabilitation is essential for the greater good. This work expresses my modest perspective on   international conflicts involving Islam’s central  role. These rivalries have the potential to   trig-ger a global catastrophe if urgent actions  are not taken to de-escalate tensions. Let us hope   that developed nations, promoting secularism,  freedom, equality, and humanity, stand in  

Support of loyal freethinkers within their own  countries, rather than aligning with dictators   seeking agreements for self-serving interests. May  they actively support underde-veloped countries   in achieving civility and modernity without  demand-ing submission to their own economic or   political systems. It is im-portant to recognize  that the progress of these nations benefits all of  

Humanity. Through the narratives shared in these  pages, my objective is to clarify the difference   between genuine Islam and orthodox Islam. I  advocate for a greater awareness of the rights to   diversity, freedom, and embracing differences. The decision to write this new version of my  

Testimony is also driven by my dissatisfaction  with the previous publication. I began the   first ver-sion in Arabic during my detention  when Ben Ali came to power in 1987. In 1990,   after returning to France from Syria, I made  the choice to share my experiences with readers,  

Fuelled by the anger of a wounded heart that  refuses to surrender. Due to the instability   in my life, I couldn’t publish it alone, so I  entrusted this task to one of my sisters be-fore   retreating to Tunisia and later Morocco, believing  she would faith-fully pass on my testimony. Sadly,  

That was not the case. The French version, titled  “Karim, mon frère ex-intégriste terroriste” which   was published in 1997 by Flammarion, deviated from  the message I wanted to convey. The information   was manipulated and interpreted to serve political  and personal interests. This time, I have chosen  

To release this testimony under my own name and in  the first person. I have eliminat-ed anything that   did not come directly from me and was unrelated  to my experiences, character, and objective   which is the exposure of politi-cal Islam. I want to emphasize that this testimony is  

Purely autobiographical, reflecting my personal  experiences and viewpoint. Other characters are   mentioned only when their actions are relevant to  the narrative, and I merely cite public figures of   that era without any ulterior motive. De-spite  the potential adverse repercussions for me,  

I am committed to speaking out in the hope of  contributing to global peace. As the saying goes,   “the earth is round, and the sun shines  above everyone.” Unyield-ing joy is what   we should believe in to bring about a  brighter future for all of humanity. 

Chaotic childhood My story takes root from my birth; a trajectory   unfolds, taking an un-expected turn at the age of  three with a car accident. The fragile bal-ance   of my world is shaken, and a veil of autism  extends over my reality. Sensations intensify,   sounds become enchanting melodies, and social  interactions transform into captivating puzzles. 

My parents, caught in their own relational  turmoil, face unforeseen challenges. The   rare presence of my father creates a void  in me, despite the large sibling circle   surrounding me. But this is only  one element of the complex puzzle.  The infiltration of Islamism into my family adds  layers of anxiety to my troubled world. School,  

Once a place of learning, becomes a battle-ground  where I struggle to understand myself.  As the chapter reaches its climax with a  radical move to France – a new country,   a new culture, new apprehensions – it concludes  in a duali-ty of excitement and apprehension. 

This prelude foreshadows the adventures  and challenges to come in this narrative of   resilience, growth, and transformation. My heritage  Throughout North African families, dreams and  premonitions have always held a prominent role.   My childhood was enveloped by the oral traditions  of ancient tales, legends, the remedies of wise  

Women, and the deciphering of omens and signs. In the household where we all lived,   my grandmother was a constant presence, never seen  without her traditional attire. Though she was of   petite stature, one wouldn’t notice, as her gentle  and round face framed two piercing eyes that  

Seemed to see through one’s innermost thoughts. When listening to a child, her gaze exuded warmth   and tenderness, yet keen and insightful when  expressing her opinion, leading it towards   a distant where destinies converge. She would  fervently recount her memories to her children,  

Drawing inspiration from the enchanting ta-les  of One Thousand and One Nights. Her expressions   were like a can-vas painted with a multitude of  colours, adorned with proverbs and metaphors,   and enriched with visions and glimpses of the  future, almost prophetic in nature. Even though  

She couldn’t always put her feelings into  words, she had a remarkable ability to sense   things deeply. A mere glance at a house’s facade  allowed her to discern the history of its past   inhabitants. To me, she resembled a historical  monument, having wit-nessed the repetitive events  

Of the ages, from the most insignificant to the  most extraordinary. While this impression may   sound peculiar, I be-lieve that everyone, at some  point, has experienced a similar feeling about one   of their ancestors, making them seem surrounded by  a magi-cal aura and transcending the confines of  

Time. It is this sentiment that makes them  beloved and deserving of immense respect.  In 1910, in Tunis, my grandmother was born into  a Moroccan Jewish family that had embraced Islam   and moved from Fes to Tunisia in the 18th century.  Her mother had served as the cook for the Bey of  

Tunis. At the time she met my grandfather,  she was divorced and had two daughters.   They eventually married each other for love. My maternal grandfather, born in Tunis in 1903,   hailed from Turkish roots. His father, originally  a Jewish man who later embraced Islam, had come  

From Izmir to work as an accountant in Tunis. He  found de-light in life’s simple joys, like smoking   the hookah under the night sky while gazing at  the stars. I never witnessed him lose his temper,   and his smile was always genuine and radiant.  His outlook on life was to seize the moment  

And not worry about what the future might bring.  His mantra was, “What’s done is done. Why fear   the uncertainties of to-morrow when each passing  minute holds its own happiness?” His slen-der,   nimble body moved with remarkable grace,  deftly navigating through obstacles as if  

Guided by some mystical force, always reaching  his objectives with the certainty of a stream   flowing into a river. He re-sembled a blind man  led by the hand of a benevolent angel. To him,   the universe was a harmonious whole, where people  were intertwined with life itself, and pleasures  

Found their essence in the places where they  blossomed. That was the philosophy he lived by.  My father, born in Bou Salem near Jendouba,  came from a wealthy landowning family. He was   remarkably secretive about his family back-ground  and origins. Perhaps he had chosen to erase that  

Part of his past from his memory? His life  began tragically when his mother passed away   during childbirth on March 28, 1928. A few  years later, his father also passed away,   leaving behind four orphans. The boy and his three  older brothers were then taken in by their uncle,  

The family’s eldest, who inherited the entire  estate, following the rural tradition. Back then,   guardians had the authority to hand over the  children under their care to affluent adoptive   families in exchange for money. In the case of  these boys, they were given away, thus being  

Deprived of their rightful inher-itance, and ended  up as “boys for everything” in a family of Turkish   origin living in Tunis. The patriarch who adopted  them taught them the textile trade. The eldest of   the four, closest to this adoptive father, held  him in great admiration and willingly embraced  

The responsibili-ties. The second brother didn’t  shine with any qualities, he was not mis-chievous,   He remained quiet and self-contained, often  looking down-ward as if life only existed at the   tip of his shoe. He rarely spoke, and when he did,  it was only to convey essential information. The  

Third brother joined the resistance and tragically  lost his life during the Inde-pendence War. The   fourth, my father, was a rebellious boy, causing  his adoptive father a great deal of trouble.  During the French protectorate, education was a  privilege reserved for a small elite residing in  

The larger cities. My father lacked literacy  skills, and this was a source of distress for   him. The luminosity of the capital city held him  in its spell, enticing him towards the unknown,   and he consistently allowed himself to be  drawn into adventurous pur-suits instead of  

Adhering to schedules. At the age of twenty,  he would escape from his responsibilities,   spending his nights wandering the streets of Tunis  and leading a life marked by disorder. He indulged   in smoking and drinking, behaviours that were  incongruous with his reli-gious beliefs. It’s  

Likely that he engaged in clandestine dealings  within the concealed corners of gambling   establishments. During his night-time escapades,  he frequented the cousin of his adoptive father,   who of-ten welcomed him into his home in  the old city and would eventually become   his future father-in-law. They shared a mutual  enjoyment of life’s pleasures, yet they held  

Differing viewpoints on a significant matter: my  maternal grandfather embraced the comforts of life   while also dis-playing respect for others,  whereas my father had poor listening skills.  My grandmother felt compassion for this  uprooted boy who hadn’t known his parents,   had left his native countryside, and was  living in Tunis like an exile. He became  

Close to the family and endeavoured to be  helpful in every way, until he was granted   permission to settle per-manently. He was then  adopted as a full-fledged member of the family.   A Forced Marriage From the union of my grandparents, a girl  

And a boy were brought into the world. The girl,  Wassila, inherited her mother’s resilience and   culinary talents. Born on May 6, 1938, during the  era of the French protectorate, she pursued her   studies under the guidance of the White Fathers,  whose quality of education was highly regarded  

At the time. There, she acquired various skills,  including sewing and embroidery. In the realm of   embroidery, her expertise was unparalleled. She  crafted genuine pieces of art that garnered her a   reputation throughout the en-tire neighbourhood.  This was not just a job, but also a passion – a  

Way for her to find solace through a labour  that demanded both dedication and skilfulness.  During her adolescence, Wassila was known for her  enchanting beau-ty. She had a tall and graceful   figure, her stature accentuated by a slen-der  neck, and lips that resembled a ripe fruit. What  

Made her beauty even more appealing was her  seeming unawareness of it. Often, exces-sive   vanity can diminish the allure of beauty, but  Wassila’s modesty seemed to enhance it. At a   young age, Wassila developed a deep affec-tion  for her paternal cousin. Her love was profound,  

The kind that en-gulfs both mind and body with  intense fervour. If allowed to flourish, it could   have been the love story of her life, filled with  beauty and passion. Unfortunately, my grandmother   opposed this relationship, claiming that the young  man her daughter had chosen lacked a promising  

Fu-ture. My grandmother held strict beliefs, and  she wasn’t willing to easily entrust her daughter   to a man whose priorities centred around his own  desires. From her perspective, without a doubt,   her daughter’s husband needed to be protective. The reasons that supported the latter choice could  

Be summed up in three words: firstly, he was a  mature man, a decade older than her daughter.   Secondly, he had practically grown up within the  family, and my grandmother always maintained that   someone you’re familiar with is far superior to a  stranger. Thirdly, he held my grandmother in high  

Regard and diligently followed all her directives.  She repeatedly advised her daughter, “Marry him,   and you’ll be performing a noble act. You’ll guide  him away from his reckless life. Through you,   he’ll discover the right path, and you’ll help  shape him into a responsible man.” When my  

Father sought her daughter’s hand in marriage,  she readily consent-ed. Despite her daughter’s   vehement objections, she pushed for this un-ion,  resulting in their marriage in the early 1950s.  As my father reached the age of twenty-five, my  mother was a mere fourteen years old. Given her  

Status as a minor, my grandfather, who rarely  opposed his wife’s wishes, personally affixed   his signature to the marriage contract, leaving  their daughter without a voice in the deci-sion.  Forced marriage is a common practice in orthodox  Islam, especially when the bride is a child. This  

Criminal and demeaning act is a tradi-tion  that persists in several Muslim countries,   following the example of the prophet of Islam,  who married Aisha at the age of fifty-one when   she was only six years old, and consummated  the marriage when she reached nine years old.  

Bourguiba fought against this practice. He  en-shrined in the Tunisian constitution the   legal marriage age as eighteen for both women and  men. Below this age, marriage can only occur with   a special authorization from a judge, granted for  serious reasons and in the best interests of both  

Prospective spouses. The consent of the guardian  and the mother is also required for minors under   eighteen, such as in cases of rape where the  young girl becomes pregnant. A law inspired   by Islamic Sharia then allows the rapist to be  exempted from punishment if he marries his victim. 

The wedding celebrations spanned three consecutive  days and nights in the old city. The bride had   donned a black gown, using it as a symbol of her  resistance and sorrow. Her hips were gracefully   adorned with a belt, accentuating the curve of  her lower back in a movement imbued with allure.  

Bracelets of gold jingled on her wrists, their  melodious sounds touched the heart, akin to the   gentle murmur of a fountain muf-fled by a cushion  of foam. Completing the poignant crowning of the   bride was a pearl necklace gracing her neck.  Laughter permeated the surroundings as guests  

Revelled, their songs weaving an atmosphere of  cheerfulness, while their dances carried them into   an exuberant state, light and unburdened, inviting  the rediscovery of the enchantment of innocence.  During that entire time, Wassila struggled to  suppress her distress. In the wedding photographs,  

Her composed smile thinly veiled her inner  turmoil. Her face emanated an immeasurable sorrow,   one that still makes me shiver when recalling.  It seemed as she had just lost her soul,   as if a sombre vortex had swept her away to  an unfamiliar and hostile world. She cried so  

Much that her makeup had to be reapplied three  times in succession. How she must have despised   this unending ceremo-ny! Out of the blue, her  forthcoming life unfolded before her like a   grim nightmare, and all at once, she envisaged  the worst: the private mo-ments she would have  

To share with her husband while concealing  her bitterness, the compromises she made   under the weight of humiliation, the ceaseless  sacrifices. Suddenly, she saw doors closing,   and her dreams of happiness faded away. When I browse through our family photos,   I am consistently taken aback by how much  she changed after her wedding. Her radiance  

Seemed to have vanished. She was no longer the  young woman with her vibrant and clear gaze,   and her slender figure. Her face had dulled,  slowly succumbing to an emotional setback from   which she struggled to recover. Yet, beneath this  facade, there was a feeling that a mere whis-per  

Could rekindle the grace she once embodied. The young couple took up residence with my   grandmother. The ini-tial years of their married  life unfolded much as one might have ex-pected:   my father clung to his bachelor life. He was  always out and about. Having left behind his rural  

Roots to embrace urban life, he somewhat viewed  himself as a heroic figure. A skilled athlete,   particular-ly adept at gymnastics, he trained  the resistance members he was a part of before   the country gained independence. Following  independence, he continued to serve this role for  

The official Tunisian army during the Bourguiba  era. His most cherished pastime was photography,   he ex-celled as an expert photographer.  His professional life was also thriving,   well-versed and talented in textiles, he  specialized in silk production and enjoyed   a comfortable income. Nonetheless, he didn’t  contribute finan-cially to his family, using  

His earnings elsewhere for personal indulgenc-es.  He appeared to have scant concern for the future,   harbouring min-imal ambition and making no  arrangements to bring happiness to his spouse.   He seemed oblivious to the distress caused by his  fickle and im-mature conduct on my mother’s side. 

So many dreams wasted! So much energy  squandered on mere frivoli-ties!  My mother was able to read and write  in French. She was a genuine Tunisian,   taking pride in her affiliation with the  capital city. She em-braced the customs,   philosophy, and mindset characteristic of Tunis.  She held onto her own sense of dignity. Despite  

Residing with her par-ents, she had the desire  to contribute to the household expenses. She was   determined that her marital life wouldn’t burden  the family, even though her parents lacked for   nothing. My grandfather indeed held a substantial  real estate portfolio that yielded monthly rents.  

Given his aversion to work, he refrained from  it. Similarly, my father earned a comfortable   income and could have offered his family a life  of ease, yet he never considered it. Frustrated   by this situation, my mother engaged in embroidery  work to earn her livelihood. Though demanding,  

This pursuit provided her a certain tranquillity  that helped her endure the routine of daily life.  As I mentioned, my father couldn’t read  or write. It was challenging for him to   distance himself from his rural background.  The idea of planning his life eluded him.  

He had embraced the enjoyable yet shal-low  aspects of city life: he lived like a pasha.  This marriage made no sense, it was a complete  failure, a mistake with far-reaching consequences   that are still hard to measure. The troubles  this situation caused within the family were  

Immense. Thank-fully, sometimes suffering can  lead to a fresh start, and good can emerge   from adversity. Tragedy, no matter how persistent,  ultimately gives way in the face of the unwavering   resolve of those who remain courageous. In any case, that’s my utmost wish. 

I don’t hold grudges against my grandparents  for arranging this mar-riage. The weight of   tradition and societal norms led them  astray. While tradition is significant,   it should serve as a source of learning  ra-ther than be blindly adhered to. They  

Struggled to reinvent a way of life and reshape  a culture in line with the emerging modern era.  What was my father’s perspective? What were  his desires? Did he con-template the future   and his married life? What efforts  did he make to bring about change? 

Indeed, his lack of literacy presented a  significant challenge. It wasn’t the sole cause,   merely a part of the situation. The most  poignant aspect is his lack of awareness.   Does he comprehend now the extent of his poor  judgment and how his lack of inner strength  

Contributed to the fracture of our family? Though there were occasional moments of happiness,   they always ex-isted alongside  the fear of what the next day   might bring, the fear of an irreversible  catastrophe or an irreparable rupture.  – What do you have to do today? asked my mother. – I don’t know, I’m probably going  

To visit your father. – You’re going to spend   your day lazing around, right? while I have to  clean the house? Poor man, how I pity you! – You think I don’t care about you?  She remained silent, aching to respond  and show acceptance of her fate. Yet,  

Her thoughts were entangled in a confusing  maze, and words struggled to escape her lips.  Could time mend the wound? Unlikely. Despite the ceaseless   embroidery stitches, a glimmer of hope  lingered. A voice within her whispered   that someday, sooner or later, she would  rediscover the one she had cherished. 

Despite the challenges in her marriage, my  mother held a strong de-sire for children   above all else. Perhaps seeking their support  amidst her struggles within an unwanted marriage.   Maybe she aimed to guide them towards freedom  and the ability to shape their destinies,  

In con-trast to her own experiences. Even  though her romantic life had faced setbacks,   she hoped her children would find success in  theirs. That’s like-ly how my mother saw it.  Finally, the long-awaited joyous occasion arrived  in early February 1955, approximately three years  

After her wedding. She gave birth to a daughter.  At that time, she was not yet seventeen years old.  The birth of their first child exhausted my  mother. It took her several months of recovery   to regain her energy. My grandmother cared  for the baby as if it were a precious wonder,  

And this experience made her feel young again. My father wasn’t happy about the birth of his   daughter. This might sound strong, but even  with time, the upset feelings are hard to smooth   over. His upbringing, influenced by orthodox  Islam, played a role. In his rural hometown,  

He had been considered important  due to his family being landowners,   demanding respect and obedience. He carried  over these attitudes. His own laziness didn’t   change the proud way he acted, which sometimes  seemed disrespectful. In tradition, passing on  

The fami-ly name is important. So, he blamed  my mother for not giving him the son he wanted.  He completely lost interest in  his family. He would escape,   rushing toward the illusory pleasures of  Tunis’ streets, seeking an unlikely para-dise   with companions in meaningless conversations. The arguments escalated, mixing fire and ice,  

Violence and deceit, savagery and hypocrisy.  These conflicts wore on my mother. Her   ex-pression revealed immense despair, and  her body had undergone a transformation.  Amidst this distress, the beauty of Tunis, its  illustrious past interwoven with oriental tales,   its markets, the intoxicating aroma of spices  and jasmine in spring, all came to comfort my  

Mother and alleviate her torment. Above  all, she cherished the radiant abundance,   the serene sun casting contemplative shadows in  the alleys of the old city, between the walls   of houses – mystical and virtuous shadows whose  subtle move-ments one would await, languishingly   secluded in the coolness of the bedrooms. My grandmother tried to comfort her. 

– Mom, I’m lost and don’t know what to do! – Hang in there, things will get better.  Did she regret arranging this marriage? I’ll never  find out. Her sym-pathy for my father blinded her.   Because of that, I can’t hold it against her. Repelled by the situation, my mother initially  

Contemplated divorcing her husband. However,  as she watched her daughter share her first   smiles and embrace life’s sensations, the idea  pained her deeply. Out of love for her daughter,   she abandoned the thought. Instead, determined  to preserve her freedom and demonstrate her  

Resilience to the family, she transformed her  skills in embroidery and sewing into a genuine   pro-fession. It was then that she began to  earn her living through her craft, and her   reputation extended across the entire old city. Why did she continue to have children even though  

Her marriage was in such a difficult state? This  was a mystery to me for a long time. Was the   desire for procreation so strong? Was it a way  to make up for the lack of connection in their  

Relationship? Did she have a form of maso-chism  within her? Or was it a type of revenge, like   “You wanted to mar-ry me, so now deal with this?” One day, she explained it to me: she was trying   to create distance from my father. She had  never experienced love or pleasure with  

Him. Each one of us was born as a result of  a violation she couldn’t speak of or prevent,   given that in Islamic tradition, a husband has  the right to force himself upon his wife and   she doesn’t have the right to refuse. But with  each pregnancy, she could be free from him for a  

Few months. That’s why she kept having children. In early April 1956, she gave birth to a second   child, another girl. Then, at the end of  December 1957, she had another daughter.   The following December, a fourth daughter  arrived. Was this some sort of irony on her part? 

My father’s anger was like an overflowing  river. Their fights never stopped. They   came close to divorce multiple times, yet my  grandmoth-er always stepped in during the height   of the turmoil to mend their rela-tionship. The escalating tension between my parents was  

Worsening day by day. The situation had become  unbearable. As my sisters were growing up,   the ongoing conflicts had the potential to deeply  affect them. Action was needed to prompt my father   to realize the seriousness of the situa-tion. Once  again, my mother took the lead. She decided to  

Make a move, a somewhat risky move as a last-ditch  effort. They left the old city and settled into a   house owned by my grandmother, in the Zayatine  neighbourhood, just outside the capital.  Although my mother’s decision was driven by  desperation and she had doubts about its success,  

My father’s behaviour began to change  gradually, which was surprisingly positive.   He managed to find steady work, finally. He  secured a job at the Ministry of Equipment,   working in the photography department. This  stable employment compelled him to think more   seriously about the future, marking his first  true engage-ment with reality. His regular  

Income allowed him to meet the family’s needs,  representing a significant shift in his approach.  Strangely, this new phase of their lives coincided  with the birth of a boy in December 1961. Finally,   my father’s desire to carry on his family name was  fulfilled. One morning, he arrived full of joy,  

Pulling a rope with a sheep at the other  end. He was planning to sacrifice the sheep   in celebration of his son’s birth, which  would become a significant family occasion.  The yearly practice of sacrificing a sheep  during Eid al-Adha, meant to uphold the  

Tradition of Abraham, is actually an act of  bravery show-casing the father’s masculinity   and his ongoing willingness to take ac-tion when  necessary. In many societies, the sacrifice of   the animal is carried out by a butcher, but  among Muslims, every father is required to  

Embody this role, even if just once a year, to  exhibit his submission to the divine message.  The birth of a boy in Muslim countries  differs significantly from that of a   girl. This discrimination, which begins at birth,  continues into up-bringing. In Islamic tradition,  

Boys and girls are educated differently.  My mother didn’t believe in these outdated   norms. She suffered due to this tradition. To her,  there was no difference between a girl and a boy.  With the birth of their first son, the  arguments between my parents became less  

Frequent. Additionally, Tunisia’s independence  had become a reality after the treaty led by   Mendès France in July 1954. Bourguiba now  held the reins of the country. He ordered   the nationalization of ag-ricultural lands,  aiming to distribute them among Tunisians,   especially those who had been part of the  resistance and were among the first beneficiaries. 

Was my father finally stepping into the shoes of  a responsible man? He thought it was high time to   settle his family into their own space. He asked  my mother to approach my grandmother about selling   the house in Goulette, our cherished spot for  summer breaks. Should my grand-mother agree to  

Contribute the proceeds from the sale, he  could then purchase one of the affordable   plots assigned by his ministry and con-struct a  spacious, beautiful home. My grandmother agreed,   and she ini-tiated the process of  selling the Goulette house. Meanwhile,  

Our family returned to live in the old city. Thanks to his job at the Ministry of Equipment,   my father was grant-ed a plot of land in  Ariana, a nearby suburb of Tunis. Later on,   he se-cured a loan from the Ministry of Housing. My mother took on the essential responsibilities  

In our household: car-ing for the children,  managing maintenance, handling grocery shop-ping,   and dealing with administrative matters  related to securing the building permit   for the forthcoming house. Not only did she  contribute financially to the project, but she   also visited Ariana frequently to coor-dinate with  the contractors and prepare the construction site! 

However, with the birth of a fifth daughter,  my father’s attitude began to change. He,   who had been carefree all along, now started  to feel overwhelmed by the responsibilities   he had assumed. As his sense of freedom  gradually dwindled, he began to direct   his anxiety towards my mother, targeting her  vulnerabilities. He especially criticized her  

For the multiple pregnancies she had gone  through. He was adamant about not wanting   more children. He even pressured my mother to  use contracep-tion, as per the recommendations   of Bourguiba’s government during that time. Despite this, my mother refused this option,  

Finding it against her nat-ural beliefs. I came  into the world in 1966. She then gave birth to a   third son in 1969 and a fourth child in 1973. Islam and Arabization  Bourguiba’s decisions to permit contraception  and abortion, as well as promote education and  

Awareness in schools and media to curb births in  Tunisia, went against the principles of orthodox   Islam. This was driven by a linguistic and  religious belief that aimed to Arabize peoples,   particularly in North Africa and the northern  Middle East. This belief held that the Arabic  

Language, used by the Prophet, the Quran, and  Is-lam, was also the sacred language of Allah,   paradise, and its angels. It was considered  the original language of Adam and Eve,   from which all other languages in the world  originated. Consequently, this language was  

Seen as destined to spread across the world! Arabic Islam emerged in the harsh terrain   of the Arabian Peninsula, a land  marked by tribal conflicts, diseases,   and short lifespans. During that time, a society’s  strength was often determined by its population.  

Orthodox Islam provided a practical solution  to the challenges of that era and region. Many   Hadiths encouraged procreation. For  example, this Hadith from Muhammad:   “Marry and beget children for I’ll be proud of you  before the nations on the Day of Resurrection”[1].  

This principle became deeply ingrained in the  minds of orthodox Muslims, even if not taken   literally. Bearing many sons continued to be a  way of advancing the ex-pansion of orthodox Islam,   such as in Europe, where growing the Mus-lim  population aimed to ensure future dominance. 

Throughout history, spanning over a thousand  years of invasions and forced colonization,   Islam eradicated various cultures, societies,  and be-liefs. This colonization in the name of   Allah persists to this day. Arabi-zation and  Islamism are like two sides of the same coin:  

They cannot be separated and naturally converge  despite efforts to the contrary. In the 1970s,   Islamism took root in North African societies.  The consequences of policies promoting Arabization   and uprooting are evident today: with  identities often tied solely to Islam,   what is considered sacred becomes a symbol of  identity, sometimes with menacing undertones. 

The widespread Arabization that accompanies  the rise of radical Is-lam, bringing along   both physical and intellectual terrorism,  reveals a significant goal: the subjugation   of communities by the Arab world. This charade  requires exposure and restraint. People should   have the freedom to access their heritage,  original language, and traditions, ena-bling  

Them to reclaim their identity, bridge divisions,  and regain self-confidence to contribute to the   advancement of humanity. The time of lethargy  I was born on August 4, 1966, a day when Tunis  was under the grip of intense heat, an ambivalent  

Sign of both hope and apprehension. I can imagine  that, just like any other day, the bustling sounds   of the markets, the aroma of spice stalls, and the  laughter of children filled the old city’s narrow   streets as evening approached, gradually fading  into the dis-tance. The night likely enveloped  

The mosques and whitewashed houses, while a vast  expanse of sparkling stars adorned the sky above.  During my early years, I was a quiet and  unsocial child. Later, I would hear stories   that described me, a child, often nestled in  the house’s courtyard at night, spending hours  

Observing the stars, much like a wanderer  quenching their thirst at an oasis spring.  By the age of two, despite the dedicated  attention from my mother and sisters,   I still didn’t respond when my name was called.  I hadn’t yet begun using words to communicate,  

Raising concerns that I might be facing a  significant delay in language development. Our   family doctor suggested that I might be dealing  with a form of autism. Omi Zohra, my grandmother,   applied her age-old remedies to the situation.  Every Friday during prayer time, she would  

Have me turn a key in my mouth seven times. Even  more intriguingly, on Eid al-Adha[2], she would   col-lect the tongues of the sacrificed sheep from  neighbours, string them to-gether into a necklace,   and use them to prepare a dish for me to eat  regularly. At one point, she advised my mother,  

“Find a bird and place its head in your child’s  mouth. When the bird sings, your son’s tongue will   be set free.” My mother followed this peculiar  remedy in the hopes of helping me find my voice.  When I turned three years old, I began to  speak my first words. My mother was overjoyed,  

Even though my utterances consisted of phonetic  units repeating at regular intervals and following   a logic that no one around me comprehended.  During that year, as I played with my turtle   in the courtyard, I took advantage of an open  door and ventured out-side, trailing after the  

Turtle. By the time my absence was realized,  it was too late, as none of our neighbours   had seen me. Panic gripped the household. My  mom shouted, and my sisters rushed around, not   know-ing what to do. There was a short period of  confusion as everyone tried to help. Eventually,  

We split into groups to search for me. One  of my sis-ters went far down the street near   the busy road. Suddenly, she spotted me about  fifteen steps away, walking on the sidewalk.  – Karim! she shouted. Come here! Oh no! The worried tone of those  

Words got me all worked up. I quickly dashed onto  the road and got hit by a car, right in front of   my frozen sister, who seemed rooted to the spot. I was bleeding a lot, but I was still alive. In  

Situations like this, it’s usu-ally best not  to move the injured person and wait for help.   But the driv-er took a big risk and put me in  his car to rush me to Charles Nicole Hospital   in the Bab Saadoun neighbourhood. At the hospital,  the doc-tor had good news: I was incredibly lucky  

Because the head X-rays showed no damage. I was a  survivor! After a few days of being watched over,   I was taken back home. From then on, my mother  and the whole family were extra careful with me.  However, the shock from that accident probably  made my speech problems last longer. By the time I  

Turned four, I still wasn’t speaking clearly. Our  family doctor suggested enrolling me in a school   for deaf and mute children, but my mother said no.  With help from a friend who worked in education,   she managed to get me into a regular prima-ry  school before the usual age. The teacher really  

Liked me and did her best to help me, but progress  was slow. At the end of my first school year,   the principal agreed to let me stay, but with  a condition: if I didn’t start improving,   they might have to move me to a specialized  school for deaf and mute children. 

With the help of my teacher, I made noticeable  progress and moved on to 2nd grade. While I began   to speak words and form sentences, only those  close to me could understand what I was saying.   I distanced my-self from my classmates, and no  one attempted to communicate with me. The world  

I existed in seemed shut off from the outside. I  don’t re-call anything from that time. My first   year of school is a blank memory, and how I  advanced to the next grade remains a mystery,   details later filled in by my mother and sisters. The construction of our house in Ariana continued,  

Though not with-out its share of difficulties and  delays. The ground turned out to be quite damp,   causing problems for the stability of the  foundation. My father was slow in progressing   the work, whether due to lack of effort or  indif-ference. Even though he showed some  

Improvement, a hint of selfish-ness mixed with  fear of confronting reality still lingered in   him. It seemed he cared little about anything  and was unable to grasp the es-sence of life.   He consistently evaded self-reflection, fearing  he might have to acknowledge his limitations.  

Naturally, this rekindled disputes between  my parents. My mother aimed to finish the   construction quick-ly, yearning for independence  and the ability to raise her children in   peace – her sole purpose in life. Exploring self-consciousness  Because humans can sometimes see the real as  unreal and mistake the imaginary for truth, they  

Often find themselves torn between what’s real and  what’s not. This is how my childhood started, on   the day I turned seven and realized my existence. I remember that moment so clearly. I was in a  

Dark, empty room at my grandmother’s place in the  old city. I felt a tingling in my hands and feet,   like I was discovering them for the first  time. Lost in the confu-sion between reality   and fantasy, I heard a voice without really  under-standing it. Then, somehow and for  

Reasons I couldn’t explain, I real-ized  it was my mother’s voice calling my name.  Panic surged through me, and I flailed around like  a bird struggling to break free from its cage,   bumping into the walls. It took me a while to  find the door. I rushed out into the courtyard  

And paused in front of a pile of boxes. Everyone around me was bustling with an   energy I hadn’t seen be-fore. What was going on? – Where were you? my mother asked urgently. I   looked everywhere and called for you  so many times! Come with me quickly. 

Her words echoed in my mind and seeing her  wearing the sefsari add-ed to my confusion.   Thoughts rushed through me as if memories  of words and speaking were coming back,   and suddenly, I understood eve-rything she  was saying, as if I’d experienced it before. 

I climbed into the truck with her, sitting close  to the driver who was moving our furniture to our   new house in Ariana. Along the way, I stared into  the distance, pondering those big questions: Who   was I? What was I doing here? Where were we going? Finally, we reached our new house. My mother  

Opened the truck door for me and told me to go  play in the garden until it was time for dinner.  I dashed outside, my understanding of  the situation around me still hazy. I   made my way to the far end of the garden, where I  discovered a sizable well. I perched on its rim,  

Observing the well’s depths reflect the vivid  blue sky. My gaze alternated between the heavens   above and the watery bottom below, engrossed in  the interplay of reality and its reflec-tion.  I lingered in this state for more than  an hour until a firm hand jolted me,  

And an irritated voice addressed me. – What are you doing here? Go join   your brothers for dinner! And so began my life of   self-consciousness. It was as though I had nev-er  truly existed before. My knowledge of events prior  

To my seventh year comes solely from the stories  recounted by my family, particularly my mother.  The sensation of discovering my newfound  consciousness was an un-paralleled delight.   I revelled in sensing and grasping the world  around me for the very first time. Every  

Aspect was an adventure, an explora-tion,  a revelation. I awakened to my five senses,   exploring them with intrigue, attempting to touch  and comprehend all that surrounded me. Beneath   this placid exterior, I was a calm child, yet my  mind was brimming with curiosity and exploration. 

This profound feeling of existence, of inhaling  life itself, that exhilarat-ing liberation of   the mind – I’ve experienced it only twice more  after that pivotal moment: on December 8, 1998,   following my mother’s passing, when I took the  monumental step of departing from orthodox Islam,  

Openly professing my atheism to my family  and friends; and on January 14, 2011,   the historic day when Ben Ali relinquished  Tunisia, leaving the nation to its destiny,   and I, at last, sensed freedom within my homeland. Among those around me, no one realized that I had  

No memories prior to the age of seven. Except  for my mother, nobody in my family noticed   the transformation, as she consistently  asked me, “Karim, what’s on your mind?”  I consistently responded with silence. Only when I  turned twenty-one and was released from prison in  

December 1987 did I finally reveal this impactful  experience to my close ones. Here is the content   of that con-fession that I read aloud to them: I am truly happy to finally muster the courage   to narrate this painful phase of my childhood. Bearing the weight of having no memory during  

The most crucial years of my  life is an enormous ordeal,   a truly dreadful experience. No one can truly  grasp the suffering I underwent before evolving   into the boy capable of expressing himself in  the lan-guage of people. The most agonizing  

Aspect was the sensation that those around me  were light-years apart on some distant shore.  When I recaptured my memory at the age of seven,  I was taken to a house. Who were those people   laughing, playing, referred to as ‘the children’?  Why did the grown-ups carry me, their faces  

Darkening when I couldn’t respond to their calls?  The world I was entering wasn’t familiar! Yet,   it felt like I had known it forever. My family  embraced me as I was. They seemed like companions   from nowhere. I recognized their faces, understood  their conduct, their gestures. However, I still  

Struggled to understand why we lived together. I  couldn’t figure out where the thoughts flooding my   mind originated. I had lived through this before,  but when and where? I strained with all my might,   perpetually pulling myself from the darkness to  reach a slightly thinner, yet at times more biting  

Twilight. Mornings found me at school. Other kids  stared at me, turned away, spoke softly when I   approached. My stomach churned. How would I manage  to grasp the teacher’s lessons? I endeavoured to   link his questions to the students’ answers.  Slowly, the significance of certain words,  

Certain concepts became clear, even if the rest  remained shrouded. I absorbed numbers and letters   without certainty, often misconstruing. The  following day, I’d nearly forgotten everything.  Gradually, the scattered fragments of my past life  started falling into place. I be-gan deciphering   and recalling without effort what was being  discussed around me. What sheer elation! You  

Cannot fathom the immense pleasure I felt in those  instanc-es! Nonetheless, I didn’t feel compelled   to proclaim my joy aloud. I believe, quite the  opposite, I’d rather keep the inferno I’d just   escaped forever hushed. That is how I was born  into consciousness at the age of seven. I don’t  

Precisely know what triggered this sudden return  of memory and immediate recollection. Was it the   move? The void I sensed in the room? A union  of both? The riddle remains unsolved for me.  After making that confession, I felt relieved  and freed from a secret that I had kept within  

Me all that time. Since then, I never engaged  in hidden behaviour again. I entered a phase   of my life where I could openly share what I  thought and felt, express my viewpoint aloud   with-out fearing others. I had finally grasped  that sharing is a natural human behaviour,  

And that social life forms the basis of  a balanced existence for an individual.  These profound sensations I experienced for  the first time – conscious-ness, reflection,   aggression – still intrigue me after all these  years: could they be the fundamental elements that  

Set humans apart from the ani-mal world? I’m not  certain whether I was aware of my existence before   that. Did I contemplate, ponder questions? Could  I differentiate be-tween an aggressive gesture and   an affectionate one? What I am sure of is that,  following that sudden awakening of consciousness,  

I began to question myself and everything around  me. I sought to understand and compare things,   sorting them into pairs of opposites:  me and others, high and low, and so   forth. I understood my mother’s affectionate  dis-tress over my disappearance before the move,  

And my father’s frustra-tion and irritation  when he nudged me to join my brothers.   Discovering Space At first, Ariana looked like the countryside. It   was a new and open place, not heavily populated,  with olive fields all around, some houses being  

Built here and there, some occupied, some not. The  sea wasn’t far, and you could smell its freshness   in the air. There’s a saying in Tu-nisia that “if  the sea were in Ariana, no one would go to the  

Grave”. Nearby, in front of our house, there was a  hill with two big water tanks on top that supplied   the town. And behind that was a big fortress. Ariana is called “the city of roses” because of  

The gardens it had dur-ing the Hafsids period.  In the old part of the city, there’s still the   Sidi Ammar mausoleum. It’s next to Tunis in  the south, and to the north, there used to   be fields all the way to Carthage. The government  started dividing these fields to make residential  

Areas. Our family house was in the Ennouzha  neighbourhood, very close to the old city.  The Ariana house had numerous rooms, with  three bedrooms in total: one for my parents,   another for the boys, and a separate one for the  girls, where boys were restricted from entering,  

Except for me. I had the run of the entire house. The house also featured a kitchen, dining area,   a spacious living room, and a bathroom, although  these weren’t fully finished at the time. Some   doors and windows were still missing, and the  painting was incomplete. Outside, a semi-oval  

Veranda adorned the front, while a second  veranda at the back extended into a generous   garden. Its lush vegetation stoked my curiosity  to uncover hidden treasures that only na-ture   could offer to imaginative children. During the  daytime, I’d explore the area around the house,  

Gradually venturing farther each day. How-ever,  night-time was my refuge. I’d peer at the sky   from the boys’ bed-room window, losing myself  in the inky vastness and the glittering stars.  After we settled in, our initial dinners were  illuminated by oil lamps. My mother blocked  

The entrance with large barrels and improvised  wooden covers for the windows. The evenings were   electrifying, as eve-rything was novel to us. Our  joyful noise reached new heights of ex-citement.  Amidst this, my parents’ quarrels were  exceptionally intense. My fa-ther was  

Against the move, fearing the loss of his  old routines, friends from the old city,   and the challenges of managing a new, unfinished  in-dependent dwelling. Yet, my mother’s word   always held sway, leaving my father with the  option of stepping out and returning late at  

Night, somewhat more at ease after sharing a few  glasses of wine with friends at a bar in Tunis.  My mother always looked out for our well-being.  We were dressed tastefully, not to make an   impression, but to teach us respect for our  bodies and cultivate discipline. In her opinion,  

Clean and simple attire, free from excessive  style, went hand in hand with good mental hygiene.  The moral values she instilled in us were  based on common sense: maintaining courage   in all situations, even the toughest ones, and  showing love and respect for others. However,  

She placed a special em-phasis on our education.  To her, it was crucial; true mental wealth   couldn’t exist without a strong intellectual  foundation. Above all, she was determined to   shield us from the difficult life she continued  to en-dure. On matters of education, my parents  

Were in full agreement. This was, in fact, one of  the few areas of accord I observed between them.  While my father had his shortcomings due to his  rough nature, he shared my mother’s sentiment   that girls should have the same opportu-nities  as boys, even though deep inside, he favoured his  

Sons. His rural background sometimes influenced  him, much like his illiteracy created a complex   he wouldn’t have wanted to see in his children. – Only your studies can help you, he often said.   The top students get what they want. Our move occurred toward the end of  

The winter break, at the start of 1973.  A few days passed, and school resumed.  My older sisters hadn’t switched schools; they  had to travel to Tunis every day. At noon,   they’d have lunch at the old house in the old  city, which was close by, and in the evening,  

They’d return tired, to study. As for my  youngest sister and me, my mother had enrolled   us in a primary school not far from our home. I was in the 3rd grade class. Even though I had   regained a significant portion of my intellectual  abilities before school resumed, I remained rather  

Quiet. My face and manners were still confined to  my inner world. What frightened me the most was   the number of children my age. Why was my mother  putting me in this place? I was perfectly fine at  

Home! The love my family had for me was eminent. I  never quite knew if it was a natural love or pity,   compassion, because I was the most fragile. I  spent most of the lunch break in the classroom,   away from the others’ commotion, after  eating alone in a corner of the schoolyard,  

The sandwich my mother prepared for us daily. In class, the teacher treated me somewhat   differently. I was always seated in front of his  desk, under his watchful eyes. I later understood   that my mother had asked him to look out for me  because I had a soli-tary, unsocial behaviour  

And struggled with articulation. The first  days of school were quite tough, but as the   days went by, I started to develop good habits. As soon as I got home, I worked hard to catch up,   erase my numerous gaps, and improve my focus. I  had noticed that everyone was taking care of me,  

Especially my second sister, Samira, who paid  me great at-tention and patiently helped me   revise my lessons with delicacy,  as if she were my second mother.  Unlike my siblings, I enjoyed being alone,  away from the crowd. Pay-ing attention to my  

Surroundings was something I started doing early  on. In our new Ariana house, I often found myself   hiding in the cellar, spending hours lost in  thought, trying to make sense of the world   around me. I always had a longing to be more than  just an ordinary person. I envisioned myself as a  

Night owl, active when others slept. I mostly kept  to myself, finding comfort in my own private space   that no one else could enter, and this shaped me  over the years. While life’s bumps and bruises,   big or small, are just part of the journey, they  quietly influence us and gradually change us. 

I had a fondness for playing with animals the  most. I carried out ex-periments as if I were   a scientist. As time went by, my ability  to observe things improved. I could spend   a lot of time watching a leaf on a tree or a  twig, without saying anything or showing any  

Emotions. It was like having my own world  where I was the ruler, secret hideouts,   and imag-inary friends I chatted with in my mind.  I still didn’t mingle with boys my age. If a   curious kid came over because of my unique games,  I’d chase them away, wearing a fierce expression. 

My family was like many other middle-class  Tunisian families. We valued our culture,   loved our country, and kept our heads high  despite financial struggles. Raising and   educating nine children and meeting  their needs wasn’t easy. Thankfully,   Bourguiba had made education free for all! I rarely saw my father, as he lingered at  

Work or with his friends. It was my mother  with whom I spent most of my time. When I was   at home, I stuck close to her, eagerly  observing her every word and ges-ture.  Taking care of her nine children seemed to cause  her no fatigue. Her determination rarely wavered,  

And even if it did, she would mock it  right after. Her persistence was immense,   almost obsessive. What was she seeking in  this determination that bordered on obsession?  Idleness wore her out. She never rested,  constantly busy. In addition to her household  

Chores, she would go to the market in the old  city. I accompanied her to help carry bags and,   at the same time, to explore this world, full of  surprises, into which I found myself parachuted.  My mother didn’t ask my sisters for  help with household tasks. When one of  

Them offered assistance, she would say, “Go  review your lessons; it’s better for you.”  She did everything to ensure her daughters  led modern and inde-pendent lives. Outside,   she habitually wore the traditional sefsari,  even though Bourguiba encouraged Tunisian women  

To remove it. However, for her daughters, that  was out of the question. She bought them jeans,   mini-skirts, and stylish shirts. They were  young women immersed in the emerging modernity,   determined to challenge the conservative  con-straints of the traditionalists who confined   women’s roles to that of serv-ants. Discovering the Afterlife 

The days went by quickly between school and home.  Each day brought a new sensation or concept that   had been unfamiliar to me be-fore. My maternal  grandmother came to visit us to experience my   mother’s life in her new home. One late afternoon,  with the sweet aro-ma of freshly made pastries  

Drifting from the kitchen, I found her kneel-ing  in prayer, performing the Salat El Asr prayer.  I approached her and asked. – What are you doing?  – I’m praying to Rabbi, asking  him to accept me by his side and  

To ease my suffering, as I will be leaving soon. – Does God grant all your requests? I continued.  – Of course! He gives us everything we ask for.  With those words, I set-tled onto the prayer mat,   mimicking her actions, and fervently ex-claimed. – My God, make me a monkey! 

Omi Zohra thought I was asking for yogurt, as  “yogurt” and “mon-key” sound quite similar in our   dialect, especially from a child who ar-ticulates  imperfectly and a grandmother whose hearing isn’t   much bet-ter. Consequently, she fulfilled  my request by giving me some coins and said. 

– Go buy your yogurt, my child. I followed her instructions, fearing to upset her.   However, upon re-turning home, I asked my mother. – Does God answer all our requests?  – Without a doubt! she responded. – Why didn’t he transform me into  

A monkey as I asked in my prayer? – You’ve forgotten the essential part:   after the prayer, you need to wash yourself with  milk and then sleep naked. When you wake up,   you’ll be transformed into a monkey. I thought that this procedure was far  

Too complex to carry out. I would tackle it  when I was older. I would become a monkey,   and then I could climb everywhere! The next day, my grandmother felt   extremely downcast. She decided to  return to Tunis. Before leaving,  

She turned around one last time to look  at our house. Sadness filled her eyes. She   uttered a few incompre-hensible words  and then kissed us. A few days later,   she took to her bed. Her condition worsened day  by day, to the point that she lost the ability  

To speak. My mother had to go to her bedside. – Listen to me, Karim, she told me. I need to   go to Tunis. Your grandmother is very  ill. I trust you to take care of the   house. Stay calm and don’t leave here. When  your father comes back, tell him to join me. 

Suddenly, I found myself alone. All this  turmoil had left me unsettled. Making   the most of my solitude, I began wandering in  the garden fol-lowing my instincts, paying no   attention to the passing time. I walked back and  forth, crossed the garden several times, returned  

To the veran-da, went back near the trees… I saw my grandmother’s face among the branches.   I remembered our last conversation on the prayer  mat. Now, I linked her image with that of God,   and I had never felt so close to her. I was afraid  of the vastness of this new dimension opening up  

To my consciousness, yet simultane-ously, it  stirred a feeling of well-being within me.  As the light dimmed, I sat on the steps in  front of the house and watched the sunset   behind the mountain, observing the twilight  gradu-ally unfold until my father arrived. I  

Delivered my mother’s message to him. He waited  for one of my sisters to arrive, instructed her   to look af-ter me, and then hurriedly left. The following day, a blanket of sorrow covered   every face. Omi Zohra had passed away. It was  February 20, 1973. Everyone went to attend her  

Funeral except me. As far as I understood,  my grandmother had ad-vised my mother not to   bring me along; she didn’t want me to see  her either before or after her passing,   considering me too fragile for such an  experience and fearing it might deeply affect me. 

I struggled to comprehend the concept of  death. I repeatedly ques-tioned my mother.   All she could tell me was that omi Zohra  had as-cended to heaven, up there near God.  Who is God? Why in heaven? What was she doing  near God? How did she manage to join him? 

These questions swirled within me, yet I lacked  the courage to voice them. All I comprehended   was that I would never lay eyes on her again,  or perhaps only after my own demise. Still,   I persisted in con-templating the  question: “What does death mean?” 

The questions I pondered, I kept mostly to  myself, fearing that I might not express   them well. Indeed, they were clear in my mind,  but trans-forming them into words and sentences   was difficult. I only asked the questions  that I could articulate properly. Sometimes,  

I would isolate myself and ask the question  aloud to myself before posing it to my moth-er or   someone else, just to make sure I could manage it. Eventually, I came to agree with my mother’s   belief that death is an irreversible journey to  heaven. The discovery of death and God led me to  

Contemplate the relationship between these two  words. By connect-ing my grandmother to death,   she had gone near God, the God who fulfils all  our desires. I wished to die to also go near God,   to join omi Zohra whom I loved so much. Looking  back, I realize that I loved God through the  

Image of her that I held in my mind: her  tenderness and her affection towards me.  A few months later, my mother gave  birth to my very little brother.  I didn’t understand anything! My mother  was in the kitchen prepar-ing lunch. She  

Had a stomach-ache. She rushed out and came  back a few hours later, holding a little baby   wrapped in a white blanket, which she placed  on the sofa. She surrounded him with cushions   and told me to be very careful not to harm my  little brother while she prepared din-ner. I  

Stayed beside him, staring at him in amazement. As far as I can remember, it was a surprise for   everyone, on the 28th of May 1973. The whole  family was delighted with this unexpected   new-born; no one was expecting his arrival. The arrival of my little brother marked the final  

Addition to our fami-ly. My mother didn’t have  any more children after him. She wasn’t ex-pecting   to become pregnant again because, when she was  about to give birth to her second-to-last child,   my father had asked the doctor on duty at  the hospital to perform a tubal ligation on  

Her without her knowledge. The doctor had agreed,  crossing ethical boundaries. After the delivery,   he had operated on my mother. However, by a  miracle I can’t explain, the operation had failed,   and my youngest brother came into the world. Naturally, I asked my mother the usual questions  

Any child of my age would ask: where did this  little brother come from, and how did he ar-rive?   My mother had always trained us to answer our  questions, each answer tailored to our age and   level of understanding and thinking. I observed  that when one of my sisters posed a question to  

Her, she some-times responded with “I don’t  know,” while other times, she would pro-vide   an answer. And whenever we sought her opinion, she  always gave it, adding “it’s up to you.” However,   when it came to me, she consistent-ly offered  a response. This encouraged me to summon the  

Courage to inquire further. But this time, her response   wasn’t very convincing. – Your brother was in my belly,   she told me. He was sleeping. When  he woke up, he came out to join us.  I understood this with the reasoning of a young  child: if we go to God when we die, logically,  

We come from him when we’re born. So, my lit-tle  brother had come from God into my mother’s belly.   Discovering Life At the end of the school year,   I managed to achieve an average, and I was  promoted to the 4th grade. Summer arrived,  

And along with it, the holidays. The school  routine was over! There was a festive atmosphere   at home, and everyone was in high spirits. I vividly remember the summer of 1973 when   I could truly enjoy my-self: swimming, playing,  evening strolls on the beaches of La Goulette,  

Sidi Bou Said, Carthage, or Hammam Lif, and  daydreaming about countless possibilities.  Frequently in the mornings, a friend of my  father would drive by with his daughter,   who was the same age as my sisters, to take us to  the sea. Swimming was pure delight. We relished  

The waves, the wind, and the saltwater. Feeling  the sun warming our bodies, rolling in the sand,   and sharing laughter—it all seemed to matter  more than anything else. It was a time of   carefree living, with tomorrow seeming so distant. The days I cherished the most were when my mother  

Accompanied us. The day before, she would prepare  everything needed for a long day at the beach. We   set off early in the morning to secure a good  spot on the sand. Once settled, my mother would   arrange a large umbrella as a landmark, where  she’d be with my little brother in her arms or  

By her side. My sisters would put on their bikinis  and go for a walk. As for me, I would stay back,   playing in the sand with my brothers, all under  my mother’s watchful gaze. Her discreet glances   in my direction provided a sense of security and  protection that was always with me. Despite that,  

I felt an absolute freedom without boundaries,  much like the sea stretch-ing out to the horizon.  Upon our return, the evenings would pass  peacefully in a blend of joy and shared   affection, akin to any typical Tunisian  family, with a touch of conservatism. 

The new school year starting in September marked  the end of our games and regular swims. We had to   confront new realities and contin-ue expanding our  intellectual horizons. For both my sister and me,   a primary school opened just two minutes away  from home, saving us from a long commute:  

El Ferdaous School. The instruction was divided  between French and Arabic. I had a French teacher   with whom I de-veloped an excellent rapport.  On the other hand, my Arabic teacher, a tall   man with a moustache, would arrive every morning  on his bicycle, sitting upright on the saddle as  

If in a horse-riding competition. He would then  meticulously adjust his trouser cuffs, grab his   satchel, and head to the teachers’ room. He didn’t  hold me in high regard, consider-ing me a dreamy   and lazy child by nature. Instead of offering  compli-ments when the opportunity arose, he would  

Often label me as foolish: “If this one manages to  accomplish anything, I’ll happily quit teach-ing!”  Certainly, during Arabic classes, I spent most  of my time gazing out of the window. The world   outside was so captivating! In contrast to the  French classroom that overlooked the courtyard,  

The windows of the Arabic classroom offered  a view of a vast field of olive trees,   accompa-nied by a few goats and sheep that I would  follow with my eyes. My mind functioned with its   own distinct logic, far removed from conven-tional  criteria. How could my teacher possibly detect the  

Visions in which I continued to be immersed? Except for mathematics, where I excelled,   and the dictation and reci-tations in which I  ranked first, Arabic was my weak point. My teacher   summoned my parents several times to complain  and discuss strict measures with them. However,  

These efforts were futile, as it was my mother  who managed all communication and matters related   to our schooling. My father never attended these  meetings; he wouldn’t even have been aware if she   hadn’t informed him of my issues. And appar-ently,  he paid little attention to what she told him. 

As the end of 1973 approached, preparations were  underway to cele-brate New Year’s Eve at home.   I couldn’t recall the New Year’s Eves of previous  years, but I understood that our family marked the   occasion annually, much like in Europe. This year  was going to be special, as my father had decided  

To invite his friends over to our house instead  of go-ing to their places. My mother was in favour   of the idea; in fact, she had encouraged  him to do so, just to have him close by.  The house was filled with a festive atmosphere.  Everyone had their role to play. My mother was  

Busy preparing dinner and the cake, my sisters  took charge of decorating the house with balloons   and motifs, and my father went out to buy wine.  As for us boys, we helped set up the tables and   chairs and participated in all the arrangements. We were the most open family in the neighbourhood.  

My sisters had invited their friends, my mother  did too, and of course, my father. Eve-ryone   was in high spirits. My father’s closest friend  had gifted a large Christmas tree. We positioned   it in the spacious living room, adorned  with colourful lights. As night descended,  

Music reverberated, and the festivities kicked  off. At midnight, there were exchanges of hugs   and mu-tual wishes for a happy 1974. The  celebration continued nearly until dawn.  I was witnessing such a moment for the first  time, and it felt to me as if life had always  

Been joyful. The next morning, my mother woke  up early to tidy up the house, and when we rose   around noon, everything was back in order and  breakfast was ready. Smiles lit up every face,   and the new year promised happiness and hope. After a few days of vacation, each of us  

Returned to our usual school rhythm.  The school year went by as usual. Often,   on Sundays, my mother would take us for  picnics in the Belvedere Park in Tunis,   which had a zoo. We spent the day outdoors, and  it was a big day for me – running on the grass,  

Climbing trees, and, most importantly,  observing the zoo animals. We returned   home tired in the evening, each of  us get-ting ready to face a new week.  For me, going to school was a challenge, but  I had no choice. I eager-ly awaited the end of  

Classes or short breaks, but my ultimate  goal was the start of summer vacation.  The construction of the house continued at  full speed. Before the end of the school year,   the work was nearly finished, at least on the  inside of the house. The doors were installed,  

Along with the windows. Everyone was pleased with  these developments, and we were getting ready for   summer – beach trips, and late-night excursions  to the coastline – the blissful life of summer   holidays, where everyone has fun and does what  they please. My mother gave us a lot of freedom;  

She preferred to teach us responsibility rather  than imposing restrictions. She always said,   “Try things on your own to form your judgment.” That summer, my father began inviting his   friends over on Saturdays to enjoy wine  and play cards at home. On those days,  

My mother would prepare dinner and everything  they needed before going to bed, while my   brothers and I played outside until exhaustion  took over. My father’s best friend was a generous   and kind-hearted man. He ensured we lacked  nothing and frequently showered us with gifts. 

Everything we desired; he would buy for  us. I remember a phrase he often repeated,   which I only understood twenty years later:  “Life is short, make the most of it.” One day,   coming back from the beach, I noticed a little  goat among a herd. I grew fond of this adorable  

Creature that embodied pure innocence. My father’s  friend, giving in to my whim, caught the animal   and bought it before putting it in the car. I  adored my new friend. I climbed on its back,   kissed it, told it stories, and it never left  my side. We became inseparable. Until the day  

My father grabbed the goat and slaughtered it for  dinner with his friends. I screamed, raged against   my father, and cried the entire day. On that  day, I grasped the meaning of the word “hate”.   In an instant, I under-stood all the dangers and  power of hatred, and how it can stir the soul. 

The September 1974 school year began in a  special way as my older sister was taking   her baccalaureate exams. We, the boys, weren’t  al-lowed to play inside the house. My mother   would have us go to the gar-den so as not to  disturb her. She doubled her efforts so that my  

Older sis-ter could focus solely on her studies.  She would bring her breakfast in bed and prepare   her things. She lived like a princess,  and every whim was catered to. That year,   she corresponded with a girl her age named Wendy  who lived in America. She eagerly awaited her  

Letters and tasked me with checking if the mailman  had come. She invited Wendy to spend a few weeks   with us during the summer holidays. My mother  wasn’t against the idea, and Wendy accepted.  As the holidays approached, an unusual tension  hung in the house. We awaited the results of  

My older sister’s baccalaureate,  and nobody paid attention to me,   despite the difficulties I had overcome in school.  My older sister didn’t pass her baccalaureate. It   was a huge shock for my mother. I saw her  face go pale when she heard the news. Yet,  

She didn’t want to show her disappointment. – It’s not a big deal, she said. You’ll have fun   this summer to forget the stress, and I want you  to study hard from the start of the term to earn  

Your diploma next year. Your sister will take it  alongside you, so it’ll be a double celebration.  On the day of the American friend’s arrival,  my mother prepared her bed in the girls’ room,   and my two elder sisters went to pick her up from  the airport. Joy filled the air when they returned  

With her. They spent the entire night laughing and  chatting in their room, and the next day they set   out to show her around Tunis. They conversed in  English amongst themselves, a language I naturally   couldn’t understand, but I recognized the evident  pleasure on my sisters’ beaming faces, stemming  

From the hospitality of Tunisia. One would have  searched in vain for any distinction between them   and their guest, be it in appearance, at-tire, or  mentality. All three had been educated within the   same modern framework. Wendy stayed with us for  about a month, and I recall the sombre atmosphere  

And my sisters’ misty eyes on the day of her  depar-ture. Besides the gifts she had brought,   Wendy left almost all of her al-luring attire  behind as a gesture of gratitude. After seeing her   off at the Tunis-Carthage airport, they returned  downcast and quietly withdrew to their room. 

That summer, the days sped by, and I didn’t  get to see my elder sisters much, as they were   engaged with their guest. However, I felt that  some-thing had shifted within the family. There   were now two worlds – that of the grown-ups and  that of the little ones. It was as if they were  

No longer part of our world; they had their  own commitments, went out with their friends,   and sometimes brought them home, as if their world  was separate. Even for beach outings, they no   longer joined us. Conse-quently, I had more time  to pursue my own dreams. Yes, that summer, each  

Of us began to grow and construct our own world.  But it didn’t bother anyone; quite the contrary.   We remained united, and everyone was fulfilled. In September 1975, I entered the 5th grade.   This year appeared chal-lenging for me, as my  second sister would no longer have the time  

To take care of me and assist me in catching  up. I had only myself to rely on. Of course,   my mother attended to me a little in place of my  sister, but it wasn’t the same. My second sister  

Understood me and had the pa-tience to calmly and  wisely explain everything to me, and sometimes   she would play with me. My mother was a different  matter. Her house-hold responsibilities left her   with little time. All she could do was assist  me a bit in the evening with French language  

Lessons. As for Arabic, she knew nothing about it,  as her studies were under the Christian sisters.  In Arabic, my grade quickly dropped. My  teacher hated me even more, to the extent   that he compelled me to sit at the back, declaring  that at the back of the class, I could take the  

Opportunity to sleep and rest. In the first term,  I scored below the average. My father, furious,   yelled at me, calling me a donkey, and began  punishing me every even-ing by making me copy   a text in French and another in Arabic, which  I mindlessly transcribed without understanding. 

My isolation in the face of this tense  situation led me to withdraw into myself,   and I started disliking everyone. I had  created my own charac-ters in my mind,   my own friends among the animals. Upon returning  from school, I would toss my bag, take refuge in  

The basement with the dog and the chickens, and  talk to them. Then, before my father arrived,   I would rush up to my room, open a book, and  pretend to study. It was enough for him to see  

Me with a book or a pen in hand to close the door,  thinking that I was studying. I feigned copying   the texts he gave me, but as he couldn’t read, I  showed him texts that I had already tran-scribed   previously, and he left me alone. The winter holidays were approaching,  

Along with the New Year’s Eve that I awaited  eagerly. That year, the celebration was even more   magnificent than the previous year, as our house  was fully completed, including the house’s fence!  Thus, two years of happiness had just passed. The greatest joy of my mother 

The return in January 1976 after the winter  vacation was tough for the two baccalaureate   candidates. This year, my mother didn’t want any  failures. Everyone had to provide them with calm   and serenity so they could revise well. Even my  father didn’t bring friends home on Saturdays  

Anymore. After work, he joined them at the bar  in Tunis and returned home late at night. As   for my mother, she woke up at 6 AM to bring them  breakfast in bed and stayed up with them in the  

Evening un-til they almost fell asleep over their  studies. And after turning off the lights in the   girls’ room, she would still come to the boys’  room to take a look at each of us and cover us.  For me, this January return was even  more difficult. Hardly anyone paid  

Attention to me anymore. I didn’t achieve  the passing grade in the second trimester.   Even my father was now indifferent. – I won’t bother with him anymore,   he said. Whether he studies or  not, he won’t pass this year.  Becoming increasingly isolated at home and at  school, I immersed myself in my dreams. The  

Household pets were the only friends left to me. I  spent most of my time with them, even at night. I   waited for eve-ryone to be asleep before slipping  out the window. I would sleep in the basement with  

Them and wake up at sunrise to return to my bed. At the end of the 1976 school year, the verdict   came: I had to repeat my 5th-grade class.  That’s when I began to lose my footing.   Studies no longer intrigued me. Around me, the  family only cared about my two sisters’ results.  

When they found out I was repeating a grade,  there was no reaction, as if it was normal and   everyone expected it. A bit of atten-tion would  have helped me, but I resigned myself. Everyone   was waiting for the success of the girls. Finally, the news arrived: my two sisters  

Had obtained their diplomas, and the second one  with the distinction of “very good!” As soon as my   mother heard the news, a loud ululation resonated  throughout the house! We hadn’t seen her so joyful  

Since the passing of her own moth-er, tears in her  eyes as if she were the one who had received the   diplo-ma! After all those years of hard work, she  truly deserved this joy. Eve-ryone was thrilled   with their success. For several days, visitors  streamed into the house to congratulate my  

Sisters. My mother welcomed them enthusiastically,  offering Tunisian pastries with green or red pine   nut tea. I had to run to the corner store  several times to get what was need-ed.  A busy week had just passed. My older sisters were  becoming more dis-tant, living in their own world  

Of grown-ups. As for us, the younger ones, we  had our own world. My mother didn’t change her   routines. She took us to the beach as she did  every summer. My father had re-sumed the habit   of inviting friends over in the evenings. Life  was return-ing to normal after all that tension. 

On Wednesday, August 4, 1976, I turned ten. The  day of my birthday held a significant place in my   mind since the beginning of my new life. As with  each of our birthdays, my mother baked a large  

Cake, and it was a special day for me. I didn’t  have friends to invite, but I was very happy to   spend this day with family, and everyone embraced  me, wishing me a long life, a joyful birthday, and  

Success for the year ahead. I had failed my school  year, but thanks to my two sisters’ success,   it seemed like eve-ryone had forgotten about it! The Islamist Infiltration of the family  At the end of the summer vacation, I began my  5th-grade year again with the same teachers.  

The students had changed, except for those  like me who were repeating the grade. This   return to school was so difficult for me  that I no longer wanted to go to school,   but my mother worked to convince me that she  would take better care of me from now on and that,  

In the end, I would also reach the baccalaureate.  This reassured me a bit, but deep down,   I no longer believed in my ability to succeed. My two older sisters were enrolled in university.   The first one wanted to become a  teacher. As for the second one,  

She was starting mathemat-ics studies. After  a few weeks, I noticed that she was smiling   less and be-ginning to change her behaviour. I had known Samira since I opened my eyes to   this world, and she had taken care of me the  most since my birth. So, if there was anyone  

In the siblings who was close to me, it was her.  Up until then, I knew her by heart, I could sense   everything she felt. She exerted considerable  and natural energy to brighten our lives. Her   dedication had contribut-ed to my happiness and  to maintaining an open-minded spirit among us. 

She always found new game ideas. She liked  dressing fashionably and creating a lively   atmosphere at home. She was a young woman  steeped in modernity. She had inherited   from our mother her strong character that never  gives up regardless of the circumstances. She  

Was known for her free and critical spirit,  her humour, her warmth. She was always ready   to embrace new experiences. But since she  had joined the univer-sity, she seemed to   be losing the cheerfulness that was the charm of  her personality. She wasn’t the same anymore, she  

Isolated herself more and more, locking herself in  her room when she returned from the uni-versity.  One day, I overheard this strange  conversation between her and my mother:  – Mom, do you know that we are  surrounded by forces of evil?  – What do you mean, my child? Samira started pacing back and  

Forth in the kitchen. Her excitement  carried a kind of discomfort that   she was trying unsuccessfully to hide. – There are many people who want to divert   us from the path that leads to Allah. – What you’re saying worries me. Is   someone trying to harm you? – Oh no! I feel strong,  

Mom! Allah is with me. Allah is so good!  I’ve never felt so close to his heart.  Sensing that her daughter wasn’t  in her normal state, my mother   abandoned the lunch preparations and sat down. – This is the first time I’ve heard you talk  

About Allah with such pas-sion! I commend you  for that. But why are your hands trembling like   that? What’s happening to you? Are you unwell? – Am I unwell? Not at all! On the contrary,   I feel as strong as a block of granite! – But then, why are you trembling? 

– I tremble because my love for Allah is immense,   and I know He’s watching me. – He watches over all of us,   my mother retorted placidly. – You’re wrong, Mom. Allah only watches over   those who sacrifice everything for him, those who  place themselves body and soul under his light. 

– Since you’ve been at the university,  Samira, your words have changed a lot,   and I feel you’ve lost some of your zest for life. – I’ve never been happier! I’ve met new people who   have opened my mind and given me back my freedom. – I appreciate your sensitivity, my daughter…  

Did I raise you under a glass bell? – You didn’t raise me to access the true word   of God! My sister ex-claimed with fervour, as if  my mother had hidden the truth of Allah from her. 

She sat down in turn, rubbing her face with her  hands. For a few sec-onds, her mind seemed lost in   silence, then she fixed her gaze on my mother. – We all must learn to listen to the word  

Of Allah. What we’ve done for him so far is  nothing. From now on, all our actions, deeds,   and thoughts must be turned toward him, otherwise  the gates of paradise will remain closed to us. 

– Be quiet! Your words hurt me. As if I’m not a  Muslim! I don’t want to listen to you anymore.  – Yet, you’ll have to, because  it’s the will of Allah!  This discussion sent chills down my spine.  Why was Samira so ada-mant in her words? My  

Mother practiced daily prayers, she raised  us without making distinctions between us,   giving each of us equal atten-tion, fulfilling  her motherly role to the best of her ability.   She had noth-ing to be ashamed of, except  for her numerous arguments with her hus-band.  

But she wasn’t responsible for them as she  hadn’t chosen this marriage. On the contrary,   she accepted her fate despite her pain and worked  tirelessly for the well-being of the family. She   fought for us to have our own roof over our heads.  What more could she do to deserve Allah’s love? 

My sister was taking a turn that foretold  difficult days. Her change in attitude was   reflected in her clothing: within a few months,  their attrac-tive colours shifted to grey,   and surprisingly, for someone who usually dressed  rather short, her skirts now reached her calves.  

She would lock herself in their room with her  two younger sisters to discuss Allah and Islam   in hushed voices. I noticed that the younger ones  were starting to imitate her. As for the eldest,   she refused to listen to her younger sibling.  Their disagreements escalated. The younger one  

Wouldn’t give up and applied pressure. She  opposed her way of dressing, intervened in   her private life, and behaviour. The atmosphere  had become charged. My mother had to intervene   to calm them down. Previously, there were trivial,  daily arguments, like: “Why did you take my jeans  

Without ask-ing?” Now, I heard my older sister  shouting: “Mind your own business and let me live   my life!” My older sister had been raised to be  free and independent; she couldn’t stand others   making decisions for her. The attire of my second  sister became the embodiment of her new discourse,  

But that wasn’t enough. She transformed into  a true proselytizer. She set her sights on our   family, and of course, soon it was my turn. – Tell me, Karim, do you know   who Allah is? My sister asked me. – Someone who wishes us well, and one day,  

We’ll depart to his abode in the sky. – That’s good, I see you’ve   grasped the core: real life doesn’t unfold on Earth but in the heavens, alongside   Allah. That’s what we refer to as paradise. – Oh, I know about the things that transpire  

In the sky! I quite enjoy gazing at the stars,  I comprehend when they converse with me.  – What are you saying? Stars don’t speak! – Of course they do. You simply   don’t know how to listen. Behind them, there exist entities resembling animals and trees,  

And they converse with us. And I also perceive  the countenance of Grandma Zohra who speaks to   me and accompanies me from above. – You possess a vivid imagination,   Karim. However, you must heed my words. – When you were a little boy, I took care of you,  

You ought to place trust in me. Beyond these  entities you speak of, Allah exists. All of us   must head towards him, as our rightful place lies  beside him. Our terres-trial existence is merely   fleeting. There is nothing good in this world.  To aspire to reach Allah, we need to adhere to  

A set of regulations. Among them, prayer holds  the utmost significance. From this point onward,   I recommend that you perform it each day. – Prayer? But it feels like I’ve been praying   for a considerable time al-ready! – You are mistaken, Karim. I shall  

Educate you on the proper method of prayer. – If it brings you contentment. Yet, tell me,   why do you engage in so many disputes with Mother? – They are not disputes. I solely intend what’s   best for her. – Still,   it brings her sorrow. – Be at ease, we shall all transform  

Into devout and true Muslims. – For the reason that we   are not authentic Muslims? – No, a genuine Muslim must fully   submit to Allah to attain his para-dise. – And how does one submit to Allah?  – That’s what I am going to teach you. And  the entire family will sur-render to Allah. 

Fuelled by her initial successes, my sister  became more active than ev-er. She attended   meetings with her new friends to discuss religion  and politics. At home, she started spouting   frenzied declarations about hell, paradise, and  the West – Islam’s supposed great enemy – at  

The drop of a hat. Her gaze was no longer the  same. Was someone manipulating her from behind?  My mother’s worry grew. She saw that her  daughter was going through a delicate phase,   that she was falling victim to bad influences, but  she held onto the hope that she would soon revert  

To her true na-ture. It seemed implausible to her  that a well-educated person with a good level of   education could be so easily manipulated. She  didn’t want to impose anything on her children,   preferring that they make their own choices, with  full responsibility. I remember when my little  

Brother wanted to touch the hot water in the  bathroom; she let him do so. When he got burned,   she comforted him with laughter, saying that  now he wouldn’t touch it again. She had raised   us this way. She didn’t want us to experience  what she had experienced – not having a say  

In her ex-periences and her partner. She had  suffered all her life from her forced marriage   and refused to let her children face the same  fate. No, that couldn’t happen in her family;   she had done everything to shield us from that! The major mistake my mother made was not acting  

In time against this danger, because she believed  in everyone’s freedom of conscience. Alas, she   underestimated the danger. She couldn’t fathom the  various methods of infiltration and manipulation   through which Islamism maintains its grip on those  who fall into its trap. My sister had fallen in-to  

One of these traps: the love of an Islamist and  the aspiration to be-come an exemplary woman in   Allah’s service through marriage, which is the  dream of every girl at that age. This method has   been used, among others, by Muhammad himself:  to secure an alliance with a family or tribe  

And propagate Islam, he would marry one of their  daughters. We also see this among many converts to   Islam in Europe: love and marriage are among the  tactics of Islamism to infiltrate socie-ty. Today,   I can’t help but think that this situation,  which was the source of our family’s misery,  

Foreshadowed what Tunisia is experienc-ing today.  Ben Ali’s departure allowed an Islamist-oriented   political party to act with impunity on a  still-fragile Tunisian population, lacking   experience in the realm of democratic freedom and  predominantly in-fluenced by Islam. This party   took advantage of this religious sway to deceive  thousands of families like ours and rise to power. 

Therefore, my mother didn’t want to intervene in  my sister’s choices, and things got worse. This   toxic atmosphere led to another event. My elder  sister was being courted by one of her friends,   a tall man with Western features and appearance  – he could have been mistaken for a German. As  

He was kind, well-mannered, and had a stable  job, my mother encouraged my sister to marry   him. Unable to bear the tension prevailing at  home any longer, she agreed quite quickly. He   came with his family to ask for her hand,  and my parents agreed for the marriage  

To take place at the end of the year 1976. The wedding ceremony organized by my parents   at home delighted us. It was a modern Tunisian  wedding. My elder sister wore a white dress,   a symbol of light and joy. After the three days  and three nights of festivities, she left home  

With her husband to build their family life. My mother was overflowing with joy as this union   promised great happiness for her daughter. She was  thrilled to see her finding her path and becoming   independent. However, these wedding celebrations  were only a momentary respite. The very next day,  

The extremist regime re-sumed its hold in  our home. My second sister found herself   without a ri-val to oppose her purpose: to  compel us to become “good Muslims in Al-lah’s   service” according to her own ideas. The Cyclone of the Islamic Revolution 

As the end of the year 1976 approached, my sister  expressed her oppo-sition. For her, there was no   question of celebrating the end of the year;  it was a Western holiday and Islam forbade   it. Of course, my mother didn’t listen to her. – If you don’t want to celebrate with us, you’re  

Free to stay in your room, my mother retorted. My sister replied sharply.  – No way am I going to witness sin right in  front of my eyes and do nothing! It’s up to   you to leave the house for that; I don’t  want to see this house tainted by sin! 

But seeing that she couldn’t convince my mother,  she changed her strategy. She skilfully exploited   my father’s weaknesses. – Dad, do you really   think you’re the master of the house? – You know your mother’s character.   She’s rebellious, my father grumbled. – What does the Quran and the hadiths  

Tell us about the role of a wife in the household? – You won’t have to wait long for me to tell you.  – The woman can’t act without the consent  of her husband. The woman is the right   hand of the husband. She suggests,  her husband de-cides and commands. 

– The hadith is accurate, my father acknowledged. – And what does your wife do? Have you   ever been able to control her actions? – You know that as well as I do, my daughter.  – But that’s not all, my sister continued. Does a  master of the house spend his time away from his  

Wife? Does he constantly go out with his friends?  Does he drink alcohol? If that’s the life of a   master of the house, when could he pray? – You’re asking a lot of me, my child.  – It’s not me who’s asking you, it’s Allah. – And what should I do to please Allah? 

– You have a lot to do. I will teach you the path  of Allah that will make you the master of your   family, but you’ll have to follow what I tell you. – I agree, if it’s going to please Allah… 

We almost heard him add in his mind, “And  if it allows me to subdue their mother and   make myself the true master of the house!” After this discussion, my father changed his   habits. He was almost al-ways at home, shouting  and imposing his will like a chief of a barbaric  

Tribe. His orders had to be executed to the  letter, without discussion. Disputes between   my parents became daily occurrences. Tension was  extremely high in the house. The girls would hide   in their room, and my younger brother and I  would escape to the garden. As for my moth-er,  

She would either be in her room crying  or in the kitchen preparing meals,   her face pale and tears in her eyes. Despite all of my sister’s efforts to prevent it,   New Year’s Eve was cele-brated, but in a modest  manner. My mother had prepared a large cake and  

Candles, and we spent the evening in front  of the TV. This end of the year was one of   the saddest I had experienced, and it was  the last time we celebrated New Year’s Day   at home. The atmosphere was tense. My mother  forced herself to smile. My three older sisters  

Present chose to stay in their room, away  from us, so as not to sin and partici-pate   in what they saw as a betrayal of Islam. As for my father, instead of inviting his   friends over as he had been do-ing since we  moved to Ariana, he preferred to go out and  

Spend New Year’s Eve with his friends without  telling anyone, completely forgetting what my   sister had told him. He came back early in the  morning, com-pletely drunk, walking on tiptoe so   that no one would know. It was the first time  I saw my father hide like a thief. Usually,  

When he came home drunk, he would wake  everyone up with his restlessness. That night,   I sensed a deep fear within him, the kind  that Islam instils in an individu-al’s heart.  The next morning, I woke up hearing my second  sister performing the morning prayer with the  

Other two. I heard her loudly asking Allah for  forgiveness for the great sin committed in the   house the previous evening. She asked  for the support and strength of Allah   to combat sin wherever it may be. Since the  boys’ room was adjacent to the girls’ room,  

I could hear all of her supplications. It  gave me goosebumps. I felt that this New   Year’s Day wouldn’t pass without consequences,  especial-ly when I heard her say she was ready   to give her life for Islam to be implemented in  the house. A major Islamic revolution was brewing. 

I crossed my fingers, waiting for what  would happen on this first day of 1977.  When my mother got up, I could no  longer hear Samira imploring Allah,   but my three sisters were whispering so that no  one could hear them. I waited a little before  

Getting up to join my mother in the kitch-en. She was cleaning, as usual. She seemed pleased   to have allowed us to celebrate the New Year  despite Samira’s opposition, but there was also   sadness in her eyes because the three eldest  girls hadn’t participated in the celebration.  

When I entered the kitchen, she was surprised. – Why are you getting up so early? she asked   when she saw me. Go back to rest, I’ll  wake you up when breakfast is ready.  – No, I replied, I can’t sleep.  I’d rather go see my animals. 

I opened the door leading to the garden  and went outside to take care of my   animals until I heard loud voices in the  kitchen between my mother and my father.  My mother was reproaching him for showing weakness  in front of his daughters. Instead of facing the  

Situation with courage and spending New Year’s Eve  together as usual, he had chosen to run away and   spend the evening outside, like a coward, to avoid  confronting his daughter who was trying to impose   her rules in the house. My father couldn’t bear  this honesty. Feeling guilty, he decided to shout,  

Insulted my mother with all sorts of names,  and then stormed out, slamming the door.  Shortly after, seeing my father’s  friend’s car parking on the street,   I ran to open the gate before he rang the bell,  but I was intercepted by Samira, who had seen  

Him from her bedroom window and ordered me  to tell him that our father wasn’t there.  Without fully understanding,  I went to carry out this task.  As soon as he saw me, our friend embraced me and  asked for my assis-tance in carrying the gifts he  

Had brought for the New Year. When I informed  him that my father wasn’t at home, he smiled.  – I didn’t come to see your father; I spent the  entire night with him. I came to see all of you!  Not knowing what else to say, I  joined him in taking the gifts,  

And we entered the house. He rapped on the  garden door with rhythmic knocks while singing:  – Happy New Year 1977 to my  dearest friends in this world!  However, there was no response. He turned to me, appearing perplexed.  – Is there no one home? – Yes, I replied,  

Everyone is here except my father. Thus, he continued knocking with   increasing force until we heard  Samira’s voice from behind the door.  – Return to your home; you have no business left  here! Do not return to this house to sully it,  

You devil! Depart from us and our father and  permit us to live on the righteous path of Allah!  My father’s friend was visibly surprised. – What is happening here? he exclaimed, turning   to me. I struggled to find words to say to him. I observed his countenance grow serious. He  

Arranged the gifts in front of the door  and bade me farewell with a hug, stating,   “Send my regards to your mother.” He  then drove away without looking back.  A few minutes later, Samira came out,  her head covered with a veil and her  

Body wrapped in a sort of cloak to conceal her  form, leaving only her face and hands visible.  I didn’t recognize her immediately. I  had never seen such attire in my life.   I was familiar with the traditional Tunisian  sefsari that my mother wore when she went out,  

Like many women of her age, but the outfit my  sister was wearing was entirely new to me. But   what shocked me the most was seeing my sister,  in a state of anger, demolishing and breaking   the gifts that my father’s friend had brought. – We don’t need gifts from a demon! she shouted.  

We don’t need gifts from an impure man! Afterward, she collected everything in a   trash bag and told me to throw it away. Terrified,  I complied without questioning. I was shocked,   but I couldn’t do anything about it. I returned  home with my head down. I looked for my mother,  

But she had locked herself in her room and  didn’t want to see anyone. As for my siblings,   they were in the kitchen having breakfast. Samira  called me to eat as if nothing had happened,   and I sat at the table without saying a  word. No one spoke. The tension was palpable. 

When my father came back, my second sister  rushed to the hallway to talk to him.  – We don’t want to see your friend or  any of your friends coming to our house   from now on. Do you forget that you have  daughters and that you should protect them? 

– Exactly, my daughter, I wanted to tell them.  It’s just that I didn’t find the time to do so.  – No need, I did it for you. Your best friend  just came by, and I sent him away. This way,   he’ll tell the others, and you  just have to confirm it for them. 

– No problem, so be it. – Dad, did you understand   what we talked about the other day? – Yes, of course, my daughter,   and I’m making efforts. – What efforts? Yesterday, you left in   the evening and only came back in the morning. – You know, my daughter, the devil tempts  

Me. Pray to Allah to help me. – You need to want it, Allah   doesn’t change people who don’t want to change. – May Allah help me to be in His service…   Where is your mother? – She’s in her room.  My father went into the room  and closed the door. Apparently,  

He was trying to calm things down with my  mother. Indeed, she came out to prepare lunch,   and we all had lunch together. But the atmosphere  remained tense. After lunch, my sisters wanted to   help my mother with the housework, but she sent  them away, and they returned to their room to  

Pray the midday prayer together. The afternoon  passed quietly until around 4 p.m. Samira called   my younger brother and me into their room. – Are you ready to do something that will   bring a lot of pleasure to Al-lah? – What for? I asked cautiously,  

Not quite understanding her intentions. – Do you not trust me?  – I do. I just want to know  precisely what you’re planning.  – It’s not me who wants this, it’s Allah. – What exactly does he want from me, Allah? 

– Not just from you, but from all of us. And if  you want to please Allah, you must join us in what   we’re about to do to make him pleased with us. – What are you planning to do?  – Well, let me explain. Islam triumphed  only after our beloved Prophet decided  

To conquer Mecca and destroy the idols around  the Kaaba[3]. That purified Allah’s house. So,   we’re going to name this New Year’s Day “the  day of statue demolition” and we’ll purify   our house to make it a clean and sacred space  for Allah alone. You’ll light a large fire. 

Creating a fire in the garden sounded harmless to  me. It was like a simple child’s play. My younger   brother and I collected branches and papers, and  I ignited the fire while shouting in excitement,   not realizing what was about to happen. Then my sisters emerged, carrying suitcases  

Full of clothes. Samira proclaimed  that these were Satan’s garments,   and she began to burn them, one by one. – Allah is great! The truth has come,   and evil has departed! she cried out. Among these clothes were the ones the  

American guest had gifted the previous year.  After the clothes, it was the turn of their   makeup kit and everything that enhances a  woman’s beauty. They then proceeded to burn   paintings that Samira herself had created. She,  who adored draw-ing and painting so passionately! 

My mother observed everything in silence  from the kitchen window. As for my father,   he didn’t intervene. These were their personal  affairs that the girls were discarding, so he   saw no reason to interfere. But once the purging  began, it didn’t stop there. After burning all  

These items that contradicted Islamic principles,  Samira instructed me to gather all the bottles of   wine, whether full or empty, along with the wine  glasses in the kitchen, and even the corkscrew.  My younger brother and I went about her  request. In the kitchen, my mother interjected. 

– Do not touch anything before  asking your father’s permission.  He didn’t object, and he even  accompanied us to hand over every-thing.  We began smashing these items with stones,  while my second sister chanted Islamist slogans.  When she noticed that my father  was silently observing this  

Destruc-tion without any opposition, she grinned. – The good has arrived, and the evil has departed,   she declared trium-phantly. – Glory to Almighty Allah!  – Anyway, it’s over! my father muttered.  I won’t consume this filth an-ymore;   may Allah aid me in following the righteous  path. Starting to-day, I’ll start praying. 

It was a somewhat unique scene, but I genuinely  felt a sense of satis-faction. I believed that   a new chapter had been initiated, and from  that New Year’s Day of 1977, I anticipated   that our family would step into a happier phase. My second sister didn’t stop there. She went into  

The house to remove the paintings and family  photos that adorned the walls of the rooms   and the hallway. She explained that angels  don’t enter a house where there are pictures.   She clarified that creating portraits and taking  pho-tos is forbidden in Islam because it amounts  

To attempting to imitate the all-powerful Allah.  The person who takes a photo or draws a living   be-ing, be it an animal or a human, will be  commanded by Allah, on the Day of Judgment,   to give life to this representation. If  they fail, they will be cast into hell. 

My sisters were also avid about drawing at  school, particularly por-traits. They possessed   beautiful drawings. They cast these into the  fire while seeking forgiveness from Allah.  Upon seeing them beginning to burn the  photos, my father’s face turned pale.   However, my sister’s explanation about  Allah’s punishment for photographers  

And artists intensified his trepidation. – Alright, he declared… Starting today,   I won’t capture anyone’s im-age anymore.  It’s finished. I hope Allah forgives me   for all the wrongs I’ve committed. My sister cast him a stern look.  – To demonstrate to Allah that you’re remorseful  and for him to par-don you, you must burn all  

The photos you’ve taken, she said unwaver-ing. Photography was my father’s preferred hobby. He   had carried a cam-era since his youth. He  photographed us almost every day and took   pic-tures at every place he visited, especially  on special occasions. Over nearly thirty years,  

He amassed tens of thousands of photos along with  their negatives. He even had daguerreotypes – very   old glass negatives – because in addition to  taking his own photos, he collected photos dating   back to the early century. He also possessed a  significant number of pho-tos featuring Bourguiba,  

Captured during the Independence events. The  sheer quantity of photos my father had amassed was   almost unimagina-ble. In the hallway, two sizable  closets stood, each boasting at least six shelves   packed with photo albums, prints, and negatives.  A collection of immeasurable historical value. 

I observed my father accompanying my sister to  retrieve all these pho-tos and tossing them into   the fire while echoing the same slogans. The glass  negatives shattered due to the heat. Everything   was consumed by the flames until nothing  remained, and the closets were entirely empty. 

Twenty years later, I discovered that my mother  had secretly stashed three sets of photos under   her bed. Subsequently, she removed them from our  home without anyone’s knowledge and concealed them   at her sister’s house in the Tunis old city. When  she informed me about their existence, I collected  

Them to preserve them with me. Regrettably,  two sets were lost, but I still have one today,   containing glimpses of hundreds of photos. Samira burned everything conflicting with   Allah’s law, including books. My sisters were  enthusiastic readers of novels, and on that day,  

Hundreds of books were consigned to the flames  in the name of Allah. Except for the Quran,   study books, and those pertaining to Islam that  my sister had brought into our home, nothing   survived. This process persisted for hours,  concluding at sunset. It seemed never-ending. 

I remember that day as the longest in  my life. The cyclone of the Is-lamic   revolution had just swept through our family  home. After that day, nothing was the same.  What had just happened in our home mirrored  what occurred in the time of Muhammad in  

Thousands of families. Destroying anything that  contradicts Islam, regardless of its historical,   emotional, or cultural sig-nificance, erasing  the past completely to construct a new history.   Anni-hilating identities to forge a single and  unified Islamic identity. I under-stood all of   this much later from books about Islamic history.  I then fully grasped historical events through  

What my family had experienced. We had suddenly  transitioned from a traditional and tolerant   Islam that was passed down through generations  to an extremist Islam that re-spects nothing,   that condemns and destroys everything in its path. Before, in our family, only my mother prayed,  

And she was the only one who covered herself  in traditional clothing. Despite this,   we never saw any signs of extremism.  Quite the opposite, she was tolerant,   never forced my sisters to wear such clothing,  and didn’t impose prayer on any of us. For her,  

Everyone was free and responsible for themselves.  She had instilled this spirit of tolerance and   love in us from a young age. Nobody doubted her  Islamic faith or sincerity until Islamism entered   our family – the aggressive, violent Islam of its  beginnings, the Islam of hatred and submission  

That coerces others to follow it by destroying  and burning anything that contradicts it.  After that day, my mother became the non-believer  in the family. She lost her authority, and my   father seized the opportunity. Gradually,  he raised his voice, positioned himself as  

The rectifier of wrongs, and began monitoring his  wife’s every move. Through my sister’s influence,   he as-sumed the role of the leader he had secretly  dreamed of being. My mother’s autonomy diminished.   Soon, she couldn’t make any decisions without  her husband’s consent. Raising the children,  

Managing the household, selecting meals,  expenses – all required the approval of the   “master”. After her romantic disappointment,  this was her second, dev-astating failure.  Her children no longer supported her, except  reluctantly, fearing my sister’s anger,   who had become the household’s representative of  God. The unhealthy marital climate that prevailed  

Had weakened us. As im-pressionable  children, we lacked critical thinking.   Extremism had infil-trated our family. My sisters also decided to wear the “Islamic   attire”, known as “zai is-lami”. My second sister  began teaching us how to pray. She talked about it  

As if it were a financial balance sheet: the more  prayers you ac-cumulate in a day, the higher your   chances of gaining paradise. Ac-cording to her,  what distinguished a Muslim from a non-believer   was the frequency of prayers. So, now everyone  had to submit and perform as many daily prayers  

As possible to please the Almighty Allah. I, too, got caught up in the cycle. I   started praying, just like the others. Family Life Amidst Islamic Dictatorship  The manoeuvre of my sister had succeeded  perfectly. She was now imposing all her wishes  

Through the intermediary of paternal authority.  This system boosted my father’s self-esteem;   he believed he was acting as a true Muslim by  disciplining us at the slightest deviation. Deep   down, his religiosity was driven by self-interest.  My siblings and I lived in fear. Samira kept a  

Close watch on us, intervening whenever anyone  did or said anything. If we lied, didn’t pray, or   didn’t strictly follow Allah’s will, we would burn  in the flames of hell! Like everyone else, I was   terrified. My heart leaned towards the idea that  she was mistaken, but my ado-lescent reasoning  

Advised me to obey her orders to avoid the worst. Despite my young age, I clearly sensed the   irreversible fracture she had caused within the  family. The house now resembled a prison-like   environment, with walls and furniture laden  with the darkness of our relationships. 

Previously, Sundays were dedicated to the  beach or the viewpoint for a change of   scenery and fun. But that had changed; the day  of rest had become Allah’s day. On that day,   my sister would take us to the mosque for lessons  on “Halaka” the Islamic legislation, equivalent to  

Christian catechism. There, the religious teachers  instructed us on how a Muslim should behave. In   reality, the topics covered contained the seeds of  ex-tremism. This education aimed to shape the new   generation that would soon confront the “traitors”  – Muslims westernized in their ways – and the  

“conspirators” in plain terms, the Westerners.  All of this was done in subtle increments.  Remaining true to her combative spirit,  my mother battled against her husband’s   despotism. She also stood up fiercely to  sweep away the extremist wave initiated  

By my sister. Where was she drawing such strength  from after enduring so many humiliations? Let the   women suf-fering in the shadows of tyrannical  husbands look at her and follow her example!  Unfortunately, her attempts remained fruitless.  Her own mother, her sole support, was no longer  

There. Her isolation was too great. The family was sinking into the   quagmire of inquisition. Times had changed. After the winter holidays, my second sister   announced to my parents that she had met the  man of her life at university and wished to get  

Married. She described him as an exceptional  person, both brilliant and kind-hearted,   who had deeply contemplated the history of  the country. He harboured grand plans for the   future of Islam. His study of sacred texts had  infused him with a profound sense of religion.  

Furthermore, his expertise in economics  enabled him to fuse religion with the   realities of the modern world. He aligned with  the Islamic movement and advo-cated religious   revolution as the only conceivable solution  to lift North Africa out of its troubles.  My sister had met this exceptional man during  feminist gatherings held on the university campus.  

Initially, when she converted to Islam-ism,  she hadn’t envisioned the political dimension   that a certain ex-tremist elite would bring to the  women’s movement. At first, the wom-en’s movement   coalition aimed to combat the objectification of  women perpetuated by Western ideology. It was a  

Pseudo-feminist movement, akin to those that  had emerged in European countries in the early   1960s. The founders of this line of thought were  distinguished by their high level of education.   Mistakenly, they saw a return to Islamic values  as a means to restore women’s dignity. Encouraging  

The wearing of the veil and traditional  attire was, above all, a political act:   the aim was to eradicate the image of women as  mere sexual objects and establish recognition   as fully-fledged individuals. Religion  served feminism. But this movement was   gradually infiltrated by religious extremists.  Ironical-ly, this political feminism succumbed  

To religious fanaticism due to male influence. This man, Salah Karkar, changed her life and   that of our family for the worse. It’s likely that  he took the initiative to meet my sister, who was   noted by all for her vivacity and enthusiasm.  This alliance fit well with his strategy. 

When my mother learned about her future  son-in-law’s affiliation with the Islamist   movement, she tried to convince her  daughter to re-consider the marriage.  – If you marry him, you’ll ruin your life, just  as you’ve already begun to do. He will confine you  

To his home. You’ll be subjected to his will  until the end of your life. Open your eyes,   my daughter! There’s still time to back  out. I fought for you to become a free   and independent woman. How can you allow  yourself to be deceived like this? My child,  

You’re meant for love and to bring happiness  to your children. Please give up this marriage!   Otherwise, you’ll experience eternal torment. – Mama, I am a fulfilled woman. I know where   to find my happiness! Samira retorted. Allah has  entrusted me with a mission. If I don’t fulfil it,  

My life will have no meaning. – May God protect you, my child,   that’s all I can say. I don’t  want to impose anything on you,   as was done to me. But I hope you’ll  find your path before it’s too late. 

I imagine my mother must have retreated  to her room after that and cried for hours   in the face of the resounding failure  that had struck her dearest loved ones.  I remember distinctly the impression that my  future brother-in-law left on me when he came  

To introduce himself to us. At first, I didn’t see  him well because he stood back behind my sister,   like a raptor that knows patience guarantees a  royal feast. He was of short stature, well-built,   with a sparse beard. The thin, withdrawn line  of his lips suggested the dryness of his soul.  

His broad forehead sweated, wetting the roots of  his hair. His gaze contained an opaque strength,   something tenacious that mixed iron and reed. When  he looked at me, his eyebrows seemed to move very   slowly, like a spider’s legs. To greet me, he  crushed my hand in a way I will never forget. 

After the customary pleasantries, he poured  himself another cup of tea, chatting about   various topics, entirely at ease. – Do you want to marry our   daughter? my mother addressed him. – Yes, indeed, he replied. I wish to be her  

Husband; I am confident I will make her happy. – Based on what my daughter told me,   you’re an Islamist and a  revo-lutionary? my mother continued.  – The latter word is a bit strong. I am indeed a  devout practitioner, proud of my religion, just  

Like you. I am also studying economics because I  want to contribute to my country’s development.  – I find that my daughter has changed a lot  recently. Her practice of religion certainly   doesn’t match mine. I don’t share her ideas. – Your daughter is an admirable person. Now that I  

Know you, I real-ize this even more. Your daughter  is brave. In her everyday work, she defends the   rights of women, which are unfortunately often  violated in our country. I will do everything   to protect her, as prescribed in Islam. – I don’t know how to believe you… I  

Want my daughter to continue her  studies and be able to freely   pursue the career she chooses, my mother said. The man nodded his head for a prolonged period,   seemingly to em-phasize his response. – Of course. That’s also my view of  

Modern life. I am in favor of gen-der equality.  If your daughter wishes to have a profession   after her stud-ies, she will be free to choose. – Enough with your questions! my father said.   This man is a devout Muslim, a serious  student, destined for a great career.  

Let them get married! That’s my decision. The prospective groom was eager to celebrate   the marriage. After ob-taining my father’s  initial approval, he returned a week later with   his parents for an official agreement and to set  the wedding date. Accord-ing to him, there was no  

Reason to wait. If everyone agreed, the sooner the  better. Long engagements were part of the negative   traditions that needed to be changed to better  align with the Islam transmitted by the Prophet.  My father wasn’t opposed to it. They settled  on a wedding date two months before the end  

Of the academic year, during the spring  break, allowing time to prepare everything.  In reality, the future groom had been meticulously  brainwashing my sister for several months. She   was now devoted to him body and soul, deprived of  all critical thinking and freedom of expression.  

Through her future husband’s coercive efforts,  Islamist propaganda had become her sole interest.   Worse, a genuine obsession. When it came to  instilling a political message within our family,   he never appeared in person. For that purpose,  he systematically used my sister’s voice. She  

Took the fore-front, thus adopting the image  of an extremist zealot. In this context,   his psychological destabilization method was  inspired by the most so-phisticated techniques.  This is how Salah Karkar became the true master of  the house. He visited our home regularly. He clung  

To our walls and minds like a leech. Protected  by my father, he controlled our days with the   systematic co-operation of his future wife. A climate of suspicion settled in the house.   Everyone watched and dis-trusted one another.  As for me, I remained suspended in my dreams;  

There was always a part of my mind wandering  in some remote region of the universe.   But his arrival made my skin crawl. I  expected the worst. What kind of moral   torments would he subject us to this time? He always put on a friendly demeanour to  

Talk to us, as if we were in-nocent lambs, but his  rhetoric revealed his true intentions. His lessons   on the Quran, the interpretation of Muhammad’s  words, the history of Muslim civilization,   all converged toward the same goal: to prove  that only the Islamist religion could save  

Humanity and to instil in us a ha-tred of the  West. His project aimed to transform us into   obedient sol-diers of the war machine planned  for the upcoming Islamist crusade. Our strong   religious passion would become even stronger  and more per-sistent, as he had sown these  

Deadly poisons in our hearts beforehand: the  sense of persecution and the spirit of revenge.  Every time my future brother-in-law came to the  house, he observed everything, and before leaving,   he gave instructions to my sister on what she  should do. I noticed that each time he visited,  

My sister would lecture us on morality  and issue orders. I also recall that,   under the pre-text of preparing the house for her  marriage, she changed all the cur-tains in the   house, as well as the covers of the benches and  cushions. No one paid much attention to this act,  

Which seemed to be well-intentioned, but I  realized later that it was simply because the   house’s furnishings featured colours and patterns,  something abhorred by Islam. Salah Karkar must   have noticed this, and he tasked Samira with  recti-fying it. She replaced everything with plain  

Fabric in a single colour. Af-terward, the house  seemed even more drab, lacking colour and life.  My mother, even though she disagreed with this  marriage, was pleased that her second daughter   was getting married. After all, it was her choice!  Like any mother preparing her daughter’s wedding,  

She suggested embroidery designs for Samira’s  bedroom and pillow, as is customary. However,   my sister stated that it wasn’t necessary and  she didn’t want it. To her, all of that was just   a waste of time and money. Having a husband  who was a true believer was enough for her.  

With her love for Allah, she could sleep and  eat anywhere. The most im-portant thing was   that Allah was pleased with her, because life  is transi-ent and the true life is with him.  My mother was deeply hurt by not being able to  participate in prepar-ing her daughter’s wedding.  

But she still held hope that things would improve  with time, and she encouraged us to do everything   we could to succeed in our studies, which, in  her view, was the main path to living freely and   independently. She outwardly appeared to step back  to allow us to study without too much disruption.  

In the worst-case scenario, when Samira was  married and had left the house, she would regain   control and set things right. Losing a daughter  was preferable to losing all her children.  However, this reasoning was in vain, as my  sister’s fiancé took charge in the meantime  

Of the romantic relationships of my two other  sisters who were reaching marriageable age.   Trustworthy husbands had to be found for them,  faithful to the teachings of the Prophet! He even   went so far as to compile a list of my sisters’  preferences and expectations, creating a sort of  

Composite portrait of the man each one dreamed  of marrying. In this way, he introduced a career   military man to my third sister and a bookseller  involved with the El Maarifa[4] newspaper,   the first Tunisian Islamist newspaper published by  MTI, to the fourth sister. Both engagements were  

Swiftly concluded. My father, whose foolishness  continued to grow, accepted their engagements and,   to celebrate the happy occasion, decided  to slaughter the rooster for which I had   great affection. I pleaded with him to spare the  animal’s life, but he paid no heed and carried  

Out the deed in front of my tearful eyes. My mother was beginning to lose hope that   her three daughters would be more liberated than  she was. Despite that, she tried in every way to   ease the atmosphere. But my second sister gave her  no chance; she was always behind her. The family  

Space had transformed into a sort of prison where  no one could express their viewpoint. Only the   word of Allah was meant to be heard, nothing else. My second sister’s wedding took place in April   1977. The Islamist re-gime didn’t allow music or  traditional extravagance, so the ceremony unfolded  

In immeasurable sadness. Women were separated  from men, and the bride was covered from head   to toe. It resembled more of a fu-neral. Taking  photos was prohibited, as was the three-day,   three-night ceremony that is customary in  Tunisia: since it wasn’t part of Islam,  

It went against Islam. Everything happened in a  single afternoon, the time it took for the bride   and groom to stand before an imam friendly to my  future brother-in-law and read a bit of the Quran,   and the wedding was over. There was a meal,  a couscous made with the sheep’s meat that  

My father had slaughtered, and then everyone  returned home, in-cluding the newlyweds. My   sister moved in with her husband not far from us.  They had settled in a modest, discreet house in   line with Islam-ist conduct, where luxury was  prohibited – nothing free there either. And  

It only took a few steps for my sister to cross  our threshold and con-tinue her undermining work.  After Samira left home, my mother believed she  could regain control of the family. Unfortunately,   it only lasted a few days. She returned to visit  us almost every day, closely monitoring whether  

We were observing true Islam. Our house had  become a stopping point on her tours to spread   Allah’s word. Sometimes, she invited “sisters  in Islam” from the neighbourhood to our house   to discuss and spread Allah’s message around her. Worried about her neglecting her studies, one day  

My mother ex-pressed her thoughts to her sister. – Do you have nothing else to do but go door to   door? Focus on your studies, it would be  better for your future. You never know,   with a hus-band like yours, you  might find yourself alone one day… 

This enraged her sister. – And what will I do with my   studies? Find a job? Studies are a waste of time  for a woman who must establish a household and   raise her chil-dren according to the principles  of Islam! What I’ve studied is enough for me to  

Raise my children well, and what I’m doing now  will serve me after my death. Continuing my   studies would be of no use to me. When Allah  asks me what I’ve done for him in this life,   do you think He will ask for my diplomas? My mother was left astounded, wondering if  

She truly had her daugh-ter in front of her, the  one she had raised to be a rational and educated   woman. The soothing words her husband had spoken  were nothing but a web of lies. Driven by him,   she had dropped out of her studies without  her parents’ knowledge. She now spent her  

Days spreading Allah’s word among her neighbours.  Not long ago, she had been a brilliant student,   and now she was embarking on a career as  a speaker while her husband continued his   university education! My recruitment  Amidst the turmoil, I grew tougher.  Faced with the harshness of reali-ty,  

Dreams became my sanctuary. Often, I would try to  imagine Allah. One day, during an Arabic class,   the teacher asked each student what they wanted  to become in the future. Some wanted to become   doctors, soldiers, or police officers, while  others aspired to be architects. When it was  

My turn to express myself, I blurted out without  thinking that I wanted to become like Allah. A   dreadful silence descended, and all eyes turned  toward me. Petrified, I saw the teacher turn red,   his eyes flashing with anger. – What? he shouted angrily.  

What do you aspire to become? Out of fear, I changed my answer and   stated that I wanted to become closer to Allah. – You, close to Allah? he exclaimed mockingly.  – Yes. – Well,   first learn to use your mind and think! After  that, you can ask to be close to Allah. Because  

Allah will never accept a fool like you near him. Those words stung me. From that day on, I resolved   to change. No more childhood dreams, no more  wasting time. I had to do everything to prove to  

Allah that I wasn’t the fool they thought I was.  And the most apparent way to get closer to Allah   seemed to be completely sub-mitting myself to  whatever my sister and her husband would command.   They had to be the closest to Allah! So, I would  do everything they told me without questioning. 

I can confidently say today that I left my  childhood behind forever to enter this other world   that was supposed to bring me closer to Allah. By the end of the school year in 1977,   I was starting to lose my foot-ing. Studies  didn’t excite me. My past was like a long sleep  

Filled with visions, my present resembled hell,  and the future only offered me hazy and tedious   prospects. The only silver lining of that year  was that I moved on to the next grade – normal   for a repeater. In fact, I just man-aged  to advance to the 6th-grade class. However,  

Since I had passed, Salah Karkar took an interest  in me and encouraged me to continue my studies:   the more I learned, the better I could serve  the Islamist cause and fight the enemy.  The family around me was tearing apart.  Disheartened, my mother began to let go.  

My father had acquired a new tool to turn his  children against her: aware of our family’s   dire situation, he turned a blind eye. He  no longer paid attention to their studies,   allowing them to pursue other activities. Through  this thoughtless tactic, he bolstered his control  

Over them. The role of an uncontested leader  was evidently satisfying! Amidst this chaos,   only my older sister managed to stand  out. She had successfully completed her   teacher training exams and would assume  her first position in the upcoming term. 

The start of the summer of 1977 was rather bleak.  We were barred from swimming. My younger brother   and I were obligated to attend a Quranic school  each morning, followed by mosque prayers. On my   eleventh birthday, my second sister prohibited  celebrating it, claiming it was a distinctly  

European custom unworthy of adopting. During  that summer, her husband frequented our home.   The process of psychologi-cal destabilization  accelerated. He asserted that Bourguiba was   subser-vient to France and other Western nations.  Consequently, he was una-ble to liberate the   people from neo-colonial enslavement! Though he may have been accurate on  

Certain points, his arguments were intentionally  exaggerated, distorting reality and, as a result,   moulding my impressionable mind. With the  incessant repetition of this discourse,   it began to infiltrate my subconscious. His words  immersed me in the imagery of Jihad, the “holy   war,” arousing a morbid fascina-tion within me and  convincing me that Westerners relentlessly sought  

To demean Muslims, subjugate them, and plunder  their possessions. To-day, this indoctrination   leads me back to my grandmother’s sagacity. – Monsters like djinns and   devils, Omi Zohra, do they exist? – The only monster in this world,   my child, is the one who walks on two legs. During the summer, my older sister’s husband  

Invited my older broth-er and me to spend three  weeks at a military-run summer camp near Bizerte,   in northern Tunisia. This allowed us to escape  the clutches of the infernal couple. In Bizerte,   we stayed in a barracks close to the sea. While  my brother was interested in barracks life,  

I fully enjoyed the sea air. Finally, I understood  what freedom meant! This revelation imprint-ed   deep within me, probably even saving me a few  years later. I loved this feeling so much that   I forgot about the burden of prayer! However, almost as if by design,  

Our surroundings bore all the signs of the  impending war: rifles, machine guns, fighter jets,   combat boats – all this warlike gear also left an  impression on my subconscious. Feelings of freedom   and visions of war coexisted within me throughout  those weeks, blending exaltation with fear. 

Back in Ariana, the fundamentalist beasts  pounced on me once again, stoking my guilt for   having breathed freedom and abandoned prayers,  especially when my second sister had warned so   much about this danger before our departure. With the start of the 1977-1978 school year,  

My academic perfor-mance appeared mediocre. I  had to go to Samira’s house every evening for   private lessons. These lessons covered the school  curriculum as well as Islam and the behaviour of a   good Muslim. She emphasized the reli-gious content  most, even though I was in my last year of primary  

School before moving on to middle school. She  kept repeating that it was the only thing one   took with them after death. She linked everything  to death, the Day of Judgment, and eternal life,   rather than encouraging my studies. As for my older brother, he was indirectly  

Advised by my father to en-ter a military  secondary school. My second sister’s husband   was knowl-edgeable in the art of warfare! The plan  was simple: infiltrate hench-men into strategic   sectors of the country – the military, the media,  etc. Recruit followers who would spread Islamist  

Propaganda to all neigh-bourhoods to incite a  genuine popular uprising. This didn’t only apply   to our family. Thousands of others across Tunisia  underwent similar fates to varying degrees. Many   Tunisians who were adolescents in the 1970s  will recognize themselves in this narrative.  In any case, my disinterest in studies  deepened to a critical point. Be-tween  

My father’s boorishness and the moral  sedition imposed by my brother-in-law,   the chances of renewal seemed non-existent. With  my mother’s increasing withdrawal, as she was more   and more belittled and humiliated, my sister  took her place, and I could no longer rely on  

Any dependable shoulder. Feeling harassed from  all sides, I retreated within myself once again   to immerse in dreams, my lifebuoy. In the face  of family turmoil and prevailing tyranny, this   allowed me to survive. I fashioned my own world  with rules and laws of my own. In my delirium,  

I even devised a secret language, creating an  alphabet using symbols of which only I held the   key. I also focused on the history of Islam, which  my sister compelled me to recite. I developed a   passion for its great ad-venturers, especially Ibn  Battuta, whose thrilling life kindled in me a love  

For travel, far from the situation I was living. – You must succeed in your studies at all costs   to become a commercial pilot, one day my third  sister reiterated. You’ll have a lot of money,   and you can serve the cause of Islam. – I’ll do it like Ibn Battuta, I retorted.  

He wasn’t a pilot, he wasn’t rich, he wasn’t  studious, yet he travelled all around the world!  In such a mindset, my poor academic performance  worsened. My fa-ther openly mocked me. He said,   ‘If you don’t pass this year, I’ll throw  a big celebration for your repetition.’  

Tortured internally, I didn’t express  my suffering, letting the forces within   me marinate, which would later come to  consume my revenge on the adult world.  The December 1977 holiday was even sadder than  the previous year, but this year was going to  

Be more eventful. Salah Karkar began organ-izing  secret meetings at our house with other Islamist   members under the pretext that his own house was  being watched by undercover police. He came in the   afternoon with my sister, and other people would  dis-creetly arrive at our house. At nightfall,  

The meeting would begin. They reported on  their activities, devised action plans,   and assigned tasks. They stayed until late at  night, discussing what each person should do,   then left the house in small groups. The meetings became regular, and the  

Number of participants grew. My mother was very  upset about it; she struggled with this intrusion   into our home. But she couldn’t do anything. – You see that house? You count up to the tenth   house, you knock on the door, and you ask  for Sheikh Abdelfattah. As soon as he says,  

‘Yes, this is Abdelfattah,’ you tell him that  I send my regards, and you give him this paper.  – No problem. He walked away,   and I did as he had asked. When I reached the  tenth door, I knocked. A young unveiled woman  

Opened the door. I was surprised and thought I had  mistaken the house. I almost left, but the young   woman held me back with a smile. – Are you looking for someone?  – I want to see Sheikh Abdelfattah. As soon as I mentioned that name,  

A man appeared at the doorframe. – Yes, it’s me. Come in,   my son, you’re in the right house. – I’m here on behalf of Salah Karkar,   who sends his regards. I gave him the paper,   which he read and promptly tore apart. – Come in and have something to drink,  

He said with a smile. I didn’t dare accept. I thanked him   politely and returned to my broth-er-in-law. I was only twelve years old when I started   carrying out these missions. Honestly, at  that time, I was truly beginning to believe  

What my second sister and her husband  were saying. It can be said that I was   actively in-volved in the Islamist cause daily. Samira or her husband would ask me for information   about the stu-dents and their parents. My sister  had told me, ‘When a teacher wants to summon your  

Parents, don’t tell Mom, tell me instead.’  Thus, she at-tended parent-teacher meetings   in my mother’s place, forging friend-ships  with the mothers of students she was trying   to bring into the fold of the Islamic cause.  Our house had become a real den of Islamists,  

With Salah Karkar being the only master. When  there was a major meeting at the house, I would   count the number of shoes in front of the main  liv-ing room door to know how many people we   needed to prepare dinner for. Sometimes, there  would be up to a hundred people. The meetings  

Happened about three times per week, to the extent  that our house was nicknamed the house of Al Arqam   ibn Abi al-Arqam, a reference to the one where  Muhammad and the early Muslims secretly gathered   for three years before making Islam public. Why had Islam been kept secret for all that time? 

This point wasn’t clear in my mind. Today, I  no longer question it. Based on my experience,   movements that operate in secrecy for a peri-od  are either terrorist, sectarian, or mafia-related.   This point and many others show that Islam is  a sectarian political ideology before it is a  

Reli-gion. Its primary goal is power, even if it  emphasizes faith. Studying Is-lam and its history   is enough to understand that it’s inseparable  from Islamism. Same tactics, same strategy. My   brother-in-law, like Islamists in general, used  the same methods as Muhammad to spread Islamism. 

My older brother was studying at the military  school, so we saw him rarely. After the weddings   of my third and fourth sisters in April and Ju-ly  1978, there were only four of us children left at   home: my two young-er brothers, me, and my  fifth and youngest sister Samia, who was two  

Years older than me and turning sixteen. One  day, Samira announced that they had found a   suitable Muslim husband for her, a fighter  pilot in the military. It was Saïd Ferjani,   the future shadow man of Ennahdha. Fortunately,  this attempt failed as Samia was still very young. 

In June 1978, despite the evening classes taught  by my second sister, my very poor grades didn’t   allow me to advance to the next grade. I had to  repeat my last year of primary school. It was   normal for me to repeat because I was constantly  on missions. My mind wasn’t focused on studies;  

I was busy running errands for my sister  and brother-in-law. The house became   their preferred meeting place, along with  their Is-lamist friends. The veranda was   transformed into a feverish room for political  and religious meetings, filled with hatred for  

The West. My two sisters who had recently married  decided to quit their studies and stay at home.  My mother couldn’t take it anymore. She had  already left the marital home several times.   Seeing that the situation was deteriorating,  her au-thority wasn’t respected anymore,  

And all she had done to educate and empower  her daughters had gone down the drain,   she decided to leave for good. Torn,  she held me tight in her arms, sobbing.  – Listen to me, my son! Don’t give up on your  studies. Persevere, and heaven will reward you. 

I had just turned twelve. I tried  in vain to wipe away her tears. I   had never seen her cry like this before. Once she found refuge with her family,   she let my father know that she  wanted a divorce, but he refused. 

She stayed away from us for over a month.  However, as the 1978-1979 school year approached,   she returned to the family home, con-cerned  about protecting the remaining brood. But her   return was as fleeting as a lightning flash, as  the house had fallen under the control of Salah  

Karkar and Samira. Our home had turned into  a meeting centre and now resembled a bustling   fairground. The veranda was weighed down by rows  of kneeling bodies. The number of participants   in the Is-lamist meetings organized by  my brother-in-law had grown to around  

Three hundred! People came and went day and night,  it looked like a political party headquarters.  She found the courage to joke. – They’re not Muslims, she said,   they’re mousrimine! Which meant zombies,   people without heads or tails. My poor  moth-er! Driven away from her own home,  

Returning because of her guilt, leaving again  defenceless, tossed between mountains of despair   and re-morse. She had become a sort of living dead  in the house. She couldn’t bear to leave us alone,   always holding onto the hope of saving us from  these leeches that were bleeding our family. For  

Her, saving even one of us would have been  worth it. She never gave up, she spoke her   mind whenever she had the chance, confronting my  sister time and time again. I remember her mocking   my sister about her Islamic veil. My sis-ter  would respond that her own sefsari had nothing  

To do with the true Islam of Muhammad’s time. – Why? My mother retorted. Were you there with   him to see how women dressed in his time? – The attire I’m wearing is described in   history books. You wouldn’t know  since you can’t even read Arabic. 

– Oh really? Well, the attire I’m  wearing, I inherited it from my mother,   and all Tunisian women inherited it from  their mothers. I keep it out of tradition,   even though Bourguiba asked women to remove it. – Don’t talk about Bourguiba, that enemy of  

Allah and Islam! This guy shouldn’t govern a  Muslim country; he’s a kafir [non-believer],   a murtad [apostate], a traitor! He should  die for all the harm he’s done to Tunisia!  Knowing that the discussion wouldn’t end if  my sister got agitated, my mother shrugged  

And resumed her activity, lamenting softly. – My poor daughter! She’s talking nonsense.   She doesn’t even know what she’s saying. She’s  just repeating what she’s been told. Poor thing,   she’s lost her mind to the point of parroting  words that have been put into her head… 

My sister, rolling her eyes,  would walk into another room,   leaving my mother to talk to herself. Salah Karkar’s hatred for Bourguiba had   no bounds. In every meet-ing, he disparaged and  insulted him whenever he got the chance, call-ing  

Him an apostate, a traitor, a Zionist Jew, and so  on. The Tunisian mentality is generally favourable   to foreign support, but according to him, they  should only deal with Arab-Muslim countries;   any other alli-ance was considered a betrayal. The Politics of Bourguiba 

Indeed, Habib Bourguiba was captivated by the West  due to his French education. A lawyer trained in   the 1920s, upon his return to Tunisia, he  engaged in the nationalist milieu comprised   of three groups: the Islamists guided by the  sheikhs of Zitouna and the imams; the pro-Arab  

Factions led by the Eastern Arab nationalists;  and the left led by the workers’ syndicate. All   these groups advocated for Tunisia’s military  and, most importantly, cultural independence,   while the bey and his circle, the Francophones,  the wealthy, and the intellectuals were in   fa-vour of the French protectorate. In 1934, at the age of thirty-one,  

Bourguiba established the Neo-Destour. This  movement for Tunisia’s military independence,   however, considered France as the model to follow.  Given its alignment with the West, Tunisia would   be counted among the developed countries. To  achieve this, French interests needed to be  

Managed, and an independ-ent Tunisia had to be  presented as a reliable ally of Europe. However,   these values also needed to be tailored to  Tunisian society and account for the composition   of the Tunisian population, which could only be  ac-complished with a territorial military force.   Bourguiba’s nationalist ap-proach introduced  something novel. The concept of achieving  

Military independence without causing economic  and cultural ruptures united both the affluent   and the intellectuals, including modernists  and na-tionalists. Bourguiba convinced the   French political establishment of his vision,  secured Tunisia’s independence on March 20,   1956, and became the leader of the entire  Tunisian population. A unity that France had  

Failed to achieve since its protectorate in 1881. According to Bourguiba, what hindered Tunisia from   reaching the level of so-called civilized nations  was its archaic form of Islam. The sig-nificance   of Quranic schools needed to be diminished, and  efforts need-ed to be made for Western-style  

Education. After gaining independence, the  emphasis shifted towards developing the education   system. The budget allocated to national education  continued to grow, reaching 32% by 1976. Education   became public, free, and compulsory, includ-ing  for girls. During the French protectorate era,   education, on par with the French standards, was  accessible primarily to the upper urban classes.  

Bourguiba extended it to the entire territory,  acknowledging the rural population component.   Furthermore, he integrated Islamic edu-cation into  the national education system, modernizing it and   reducing the influence of Quranic schools. The  modern constitution he estab-lished eliminated   the confusion between Islamic and civil laws. He  put an end to the influence of religious figures  

On the judiciary by imple-menting courses in  civil law. In 1958, Arabic education at Zitouna   Uni-versity was integrated into the bilingual  education system. He prohibit-ed polygamy and   advocated for gender equality. He discouraged  women from wearing the sefsari and banned it in  

The public administration. Women became eligible  to vote and stand for office as early as 1957,   an unprecedented development in the Muslim world!  Except in Turkey. Tunisian women still take   immense pride in these advancements to this day.  Lastly, rebelling against ‘backward mentalities,  

Archaic behaviours, and inherited flaws from  the past’ that contributed to the misery,   he challenged one of the most sensitive aspects  of religious practice in the Islamic world:   fasting during Ramadan. On February 5,  1960, three weeks before the sacred month,  

In a speech to the members of the Neo-Destour,  the ruling party at that time, he invoked the   right to interpret the Quran, reminding his  astonished listeners that the Prophet had   eat-en during Ramadan to combat the adversary: I also tell you not to observe fasting in order  

To confront your enemy, which is pov-erty,  destitution, humiliation, decadence,   and underdevelopment (…). At a time when we  are doing the impossible to increase production,   how can we resign ourselves to seeing it  collapse for a whole month, dropping to a  

Value close to zero? (…). Whether you are  in the military, civil service, or students,   I demand that you not neglect your duty.  Administrative and school schedules will   no longer be adjusted based on Ram-adan (…). I  am merely interpreting the message of the Quran.I  

Declare that this is my personal opinion. If you  are not convinced, you are free not to adopt it.  Bourguiba claimed his own interpretation of Islam  influenced by be-lieving authors favourable to   evolution. For him, Muhammad preached to warring  tribes. The only thing to borrow from that time  

Was the fight against ignorance and foolishness.  Despite protests in favour of Rama-dan fasting   that erupted on January 17, 1961, notably in  Kairouan where they escalated into bloody clashes,   he urged his fellow citizens in February 1961 to  abandon fasting to combat underdevelopment. And  

In March 1964, in the midst of Lent, he drove the  point home by osten-tatiously drinking a glass of   orange juice on television in broad daylight.  Since then, no other Muslim head of state has   displayed such audacity to challenge traditions. This policy brought change to Tunisians. My mother  

Considered Bourguiba as the father of modern  Tunisia. But this policy infuriated conservatives,   Islamists, and pro-Arabs. Especially the  scholars of Zitouna saw their religious   dominion over the masses weakening. For  them, Bourguiba was an enemy of Allah,   selling the country to the West, about to destroy  the Arab-Muslim identity, the root of our people. 

They forgot that Tunisia’s history goes beyond  the Arab-Muslim peri-od and that this latter era,   in fact, disconnected Tunisia from its  Amazigh origins and multicultural history,   imposing Arab culture and religion on it. Annoyed by the rise of Arab nationalism from  

Egypt, Bourguiba won this battle by destroying  the Salah Ben Youssef movement in Tunisia, which   had infiltrated Arabism at the country level.  Before the for-mation of the Arab world union,   he sought progress. For him, the battle  was cultural and economic. After education  

And economic progress, democracy was the third  step he reserved for his people. In that sense,   it can be conceded that he was a stern father for  Tunisia, in other words, a good dictator who led   it with a single objective: to make it a sovereign  country within its territory and borders. 

Before the French occupation, Tunisia,  although belonging to the Ot-toman Empire,   was already relatively independent. Minister  Khair-Eddine Pacha made radical changes in the   educational system, opening the country to the  West and in favor of Western markets. This led to   French colonization. France greatly influenced the  Tunisian mindset. It couldn’t fully Europeanize it  

Due to fierce opposition from Islamists and the  ulama of Zitouna, but the introduction of exact   sciences into the university allowed the rise of  a few intellectuals. Mohamed Tahar Ibn Achour,   Tahar Haddad, and others sought a balanced  approach in the dual obligation to evolve  

And preserve cultural identity. The Tunisians  themselves willingly adopted certain aspects of   European culture, even though Islamists  attributed this solely to Bourguiba.  What Bourguiba achieved in liberating from  religious influence, gen-der equality,   and education cannot be denied. The Western  model brought concrete benefits socially and  

Intellectually. The only other Ar-ab-Muslim  president who dared was Atatürk. What they   accomplished in their time would be impossible  today as the situation has changed both externally   and internally in our countries, but it  was the right thing to do then. Today,  

Tunisia and Turkey are exceptions in the  Mus-lim world. One can criticize their policies,   but they are the most ad-vanced countries in  terms of their tolerance, open-mindedness,   and ed-ucation level. Tunisia is more  advanced socially, Turkey politically:   Turkish society has changed little but has  strong government institu-tions. In contrast,  

The mentality of Tunisians is more advanced,  but their government and political class   are as fragile as in other Muslim countries.  These two nations, which followed the Western   model to es-cape backwardness, thereby  exhibit their distinctive character.  Given his age, Bourguiba did not witness the  economic progress mate-rialize. Tunisia entered  

This stage after the arrival of Ben Ali. Under  his rule, Tunisian society disintegrated. He   damaged the education sector by Arabizing it. We  saw censorship take hold and the economy stagnate   under the mafia-like control of his associates.  State-level corruption, the deterioration of  

Education, social injustice, and a military  state eroded the achievements that had been   gained. Since democratic principles are scarcely  compatible with poverty and ignorance, this led   to the aban-donment of the democratic project with  Ben Ali’s 98% victory in the 2009 elections. The  

Announcement of a new mandate in 2014 triggered  an uprising that ousted the Ben Ali family. The   dire situation they left behind after their  escape allowed Islamists to come to power and   de-stroy what little remained of modern Tunisia. The question is whether the Tunisian people were  

Ready to live in freedom at that time. Personally,  I don’t believe so, not as long as reli-gion took   precedence over everything else. The current  turmoil of the Tunisian people reminds me of my   family’s downfall despite all that my mother  did to ensure her children’s independence:  

When Islamism is in control, one must brace for  the worst, regardless of the proclaimed eth-ics.   In his early days, Muhammad stood for differences  and the rights of all, but once in power,   he turned into a monster. How can we believe that  Islamists would do better, even if they claim to  

Stand for tolerance and openness? The Iranian Islamic Revolution  At the end of 1978, my first quarter grades were  at their lowest, even though I was repeating the   school year, but nobody cared anymore. My Islamic  activities had intensified to the point where  

I completely disre-garded my studies. My goal  was to please Allah. Entering paradise after my   death was the only victory I awaited. My mother  would leave the house during every argument.   We would end up alone, and I had to take care of  everything then. I was on the brink of collapse. 

During the winter vacation, I ran away. One  night, I headed towards the coast with a stick   and a bundle, just as I had often dreamed of  do-ing. I reached the port of La Goulette,   facing the sea. The starlight shimmered on the  waves. I spent the night imagining distant shores. 

When I returned in the morning, with my head down  and hungry, my father pounced on me. He didn’t   even bother to reason with me. As soon as he saw  me, he grabbed me like a sheep and began hitting  

The soles of my feet. He wanted to know where  I had gone. Of course, I re-fused to tell him.   While he was hitting me, I clung to the thought  of Bi-lal Ibn Rabah, the companion of Mohammed,   when he was tortured to renounce Islam.  He resisted by repeating: “Allah is one,  

Allah is one.” I did the same, repeating in my  mind: “Allah is one, Allah is one.” My father   was sitting in a chair, smoking his pipe. He  continued like that for hours until my mother   came to rescue me from him. Since I hadn’t cried,  she didn’t realize he was hitting me. After that,  

I couldn’t stand on my feet for a week. My  hatred towards my father escalated even fur-ther.  At the beginning of 1979, Salah Karkar gave us  a gift: a colour televi-sion. My brothers and   I were very happy with this gift. I was watching  television in colour for the first time. Before,  

We had a black and white TV. Since the  infiltration of Islamists, Italian channels   were forbidden to us. When my older brother  came home, he would secretly watch them,   and sometimes we would too. With colour, it would  be a thou-sand times better! I appreciated this  

Gesture from my brother-in-law, but I quickly  understood why he had done it. It was to come   every evening with his friends to watch the  news about the Islamic revolution in Iran. So,   when the Shah of Iran left the country in early  1979, we were all in the living room shouting  

“Allah is great” with dozens of other Islamists. The Iranian Islamic revolution had just triumphed,   placing the reins of the country in the hands of  Khomeini. From then on, the cry of fun-damentalism   echoed throughout North Africa. Salah Karkar, who  had gone to Tehran during his economics studies,  

Had witnessed the begin-nings of this revolution  first-hand. He was very moved and followed eve-ry   moment of what was happening. For him,  this was the example to follow in Tunisia.  This atmosphere of uprising, combined with  my brother-in-law’s pros-elytizing and   family conflicts, heightened the psychological  turmoil I was struggling with. This bundle of  

Events was imprinted on my subcon-scious,  making me the prey of all contradictions.   For the better, but mostly for the worse. I had finally grasped Salah Karkar’s ambition:   to incite a popular up-rising against Bourguiba’s  government. Since the beginning of 1978, his  

Islamist activity had intensified and become more  official. He was part of the leadership of the   MTI, the political movement preaching a re-turn  to orthodox Islam in Tunisia. By the end of the   1970s, the Tunisi-an authorities were turning  a blind eye to their activities because they  

Countered the rise of communism in universities.  Indeed, for the Islam-ists, the communists   represented the most dangerous faction since  they openly declared themselves atheists – worse   than Bourguiba, who was, but didn’t dare say  it publicly, according to my brother-in-law.  I now understood his determination. But  where did this excessive in-sistence on  

Implementing Arab Islam in Tunisia come from? To understand this, we need to go back to the   origins of the MTI, the Association  for the Preservation of the Quran,   founded in 1969 by three men. Rached Ghannouchi,  a philosophy professor, led the Al-Ma’arifa  

Magazine and spoke in mosques. His sermons were  increasingly fol-lowed by the youth. Abdelfattah   Mourou, a theology and law student at the  University of Tunis, led discussion circles, as   did Hmida Ennaifer, a doctor from the University  of Zitouna in Tunis and the Sorbonne in Paris. 

It is these three individuals who are responsible  for the emergence of the Islamist movement,   inspired by the Egyptian Muslim Brotherhood  movement, aiming to counter the westernization   of Tunisia. At the be-ginning, the Tunisian state  tolerated their activities, which were limited to   promoting good behaviour and Islamic teachings.  When they emerged in the highly politicized  

Universities in 1970, numerous debates and  confrontations with left-wing political   parties occurred. The MTI created significant  room for theoretical and political debates. It   began to formulate an Islamic political  line. Recognizing this politicization,   the government encouraged them to counter the  left-wing parties, espe-cially the communists  

Who had control over the university. This  gov-ernment approval allowed the movement to grow.  In a matter of a few years, the MTI became  the major political rival to the left-wing   parties in an era when they dominated most of  the so-cio-political space. By around 1974,  

It had become highly influential in  universities and Tunisian society.   Veiled female members were multiply-ing. Their  distinct veil, the same one my sister wore,   proclaimed their affiliation. It was a kind of  banner. Men, too, exhibited a distinct style,   with my future brother-in-law leading the way. Salah Karkar, born in 1948 in Boudher in the  

Sahel, came from a peasant family. The Tunisian  Sahel region had long experienced pov-erty. The   centuries-old lack of consideration from the  state had instilled in the Sahel residents a   spirit of revenge and even a fascination with  power. Bourguiba was also from the Sahel, as  

Were the majority of his ministers and political  officials who followed him. Remarkably, most of   the key positions in the administration were  held by Sahel residents. The people from Tunis,   more laid-back, seldom accessed these spheres.  My future brother-in-law, a brilliant student,  

Joined the university to achieve his share  of glory and power. Upon his arrival,   he aligned him-self with the Islamists who echoed  his line of thinking. He had a strong personality.   He eventually became one of the leaders of the  MTI. Persis-tent and unwavering, he was later seen  

As its iron man. It was during his preparation  for a master’s degree in economics that he met   my sister and drew her into the movement. In 1975, the movement wasn’t yet officially   recognized by the law. In fact, the Tunisian  constitution didn’t clearly permit political  

Pluralism before the 1980s. However, the  MTI pulled all the levers in mosques,   universities, and society. It strategically  infiltrated families across the country – as we   observed in our own case – not only in major  cities but also in the overlooked interior   localities due to Bourguiba’s policies. Following the Iranian Islamic Revolution,  

The government finally be-gan to take the  potential threat of the MTI seriously. The   movement had surpassed the left-wing  parties and posed a challenge to the   Bour-guibist achievements. The police started  collecting information about its members.   El Ghazali Secondary School At present, my sister and her husband didn’t  

Come over as often. With the family now on their  side, they spread the Islamic message elsewhere,   apart from the Islamist meetings. The increasing  number of partici-pants forced them to revert to   our house where space was abundant, both indoors  and outdoors. The house resembled Mecca at times,  

Given the multitude of people. Only men were  present. Women were there solely to assist my   sisters in the kitchen. And of course, my  brothers and I managed the service between   the kitchen and the numerous men seated on the  floor throughout the house, veranda, and garden. 

Around April 1979, my mother reached her  breaking point. She left the house again,   this time for an extended period, and my  father en-trusted me with the daily tasks.  – You have no future since you won’t  move on to secondary school. So,  

Take care of the household and your brothers.  At least, you’ll serve some purpose.  From then on, in addition to studying Islam in the  evenings at the mosque or at my sister’s place,   I took care of housekeeping, shopping,  meal preparation, and attending to my  

Younger siblings. School be-came the least of my  concerns. For me, education was forever over! I   assumed my mother’s role at home and tended to the  garden, cultivat-ing vegetables and tending to the   animals. At the end of the 1979 school year, I  refused to repeat the 6th grade once more and  

Declared that my dearest wish now was to till the  land. I would tend to the beasts and the humble.  Seeing the opportunity to firmly establish  his authority over me, my brother-in-law   proposed that I work on agricultural land he  owned, and this plan was easily endorsed by  

My father. But my joy dwindled when I realized  that this supposed future was a laughingstock   to the entire fami-ly. This deeply shocked  me and caused me to abandon my intention.   This new wound added to the previous ones. My sister then suggested enrolling me in a  

One-month catch-up course leading to an entrance  exam for a private school. My father wasn’t   op-posed, especially since my brother-in-law  offered to pay for my educa-tion if I succeeded,   as the school was run by Islamists and  affiliated with the MTI. This institution   catered to academically challenged youth,  aiming to shape the warriors of tomorrow. 

During the summer of 1979, I worked tirelessly  to catch up. My confi-dence was restored as all   the exam questions were related to Islam,  and months of Islamic lessons and teachings   had given me a foundation in Islam and its  history. Eventually, the administration of  

El Ghazali Sec-ondary School accepted me into  the 7th grade. I was rather proud, though I   suspected my advancement to the next grade  had been made possible by my brother-in-law’s   intervention. The dice were now loaded. In September 1979, I began the 7th grade at the  

Private secondary school located in the old city,  not far from my grandmother’s house, on Sidi Abdel   Salem Street, almost as if fate had determined  that I return there after all these years. I took   the bus in the morning. At noon, I would eat at  my aunt’s house, which was my grandmother’s home,  

And there, I would reunite with my mother,  who stayed with her sister when she wasn’t in   Ariana. In the evening, I would return home.  This change allowed me to mature a little.  El Ghazali Secondary School resembled a modern  Quranic school. The teachers were all Islamists,  

Mostly men, with only two or three veiled women.  The students were also predominantly boys. There   were a few girls too, whether veiled or not,  but over time, they all began wearing veils.   The curriculum revolved entirely around Islam. Not  only were there classes on the Quran and Islamic  

Education, but also French and Arabic. Even in  mathematics, we mostly learned about ancient   Muslim mathematicians, and the same applied to  the physical sciences. It wasn’t too challenging   for me due to the foundation I already had in  Islam. During prayer times, we would gather  

Behind the teacher. Some students didn’t initially  participate in prayers, but over time, they joined   in as well. In summary, the school served as a  recruitment ground. It welcomed everyone, but   its true purpose was to recruit future Islamists. One morning in February, I woke up as usual to  

Head to school. That day, I was a bit late. When  I reached the bus stop, there was a large crowd.   The first bus that arrived was packed, people were  squeezing in to get on. I managed to hold onto the  

Bus, as did others. We had to squeeze in so the  door could close. At the next stop, the door got   stuck and couldn’t open. I was pressed against  the door when suddenly it got unstuck. My right   arm got crushed. I blacked out and don’t recall  what happened next. I regained consciousness in  

The ambulance. A nurse was searching through my  belongings to inform my parents. I told them to   inform my mother. She joined us at the hospital,  panicked. We arrived in ten minutes, but we waited   for over eight hours before the doctor could  examine me, despite the urgency. After seeing  

My arm, he or-dered that a cast be placed on  it. Two months later, when the cast was removed,   my right hand wouldn’t open, and I couldn’t  move it. The doctor said they shouldn’t have   casted it as the arm had multiple frac-tures.  To fix it all, an operation was needed, which  

Was costly and diffi-cult to perform in Tunisia.  So, I kept my hand in that state. Fortunate-ly,   after a few months, I was able to move my fingers  and hold a pen to write, albeit with difficulty. 

At the end of the 1980 school year, I moved  on to the 8th grade with a good average,   even though it wasn’t at the level of public  school. This success boosted my confidence.   That summer, despite the usual family tension,  I was full of hope. My objective was to study  

And serve the Is-lamist cause. My mother rarely visited us now,   but I saw her at her sister’s place in the old  city. Among the children, I was the only one   maintaining a good connection with her. When she  learned that I had progressed to the next grade,  

She hugged me tightly, as if I were her last  hope. She then informed me that she was planning   to divorce my father because she couldn’t  bear the atmosphere at the house in Ariana   and needed a place of her own. Journey to the Unknown 

Since I had regained consciousness, I had begun to  find a taste for life, to appreciate the world and   everything around me. My curiosity had developed;  adventure, risk, the unknown, and even mystery   attracted me. I wanted to know everything.  However, the imposition of Islamism within  

My family, at the heart of my social nucleus,  prevented me from asking questions freely.  My sister Samira kept telling me that Islam  prohibits questions that lead to doubting the   truth of Islam, as well as dreams and imagination.  At an age when I needed it so much, this  

Deprivation pushed me to cre-ate an inner world  that was undetectable and to withdraw into myself.  But now, my mother’s top priority was for me  to escape the prevailing Islamism. She devised   a thousand plans to pull me out of it. An idea  fi-nally imposed itself in her mind, as clear as  

Crystal: my broken arm from the bus accident had  been poorly treated, and it was urgent to send me   to Paris to be examined by a specialist. Building  on this obvious fact, she concocted a plan that   gave me hope for embarking on a new life and  new adventures in complete freedom. Once again,  

Pain was the driving force of my destiny. My Mother’s Plan  My uncle Larbi, my mother’s brother, had been  living in the suburbs of Paris, in Argenteuil, for   several years. He would regularly return to our  homeland for vacations. With a tough character,  

Not hesitating to raise his voice to assert his  authority, he was also a helpful man and liked me   because he thought I resembled him. His wife also  had a fond-ness for me. In June 1980, they invited  

Me to spend a few days under their roof, not far  from our place, along with their children who   were nearly my age. My father didn’t object, after  consulting my second sister and her husband, who   were heavily engaged in their Islamist activities. This was an unexpected escape for me. I hastily  

Packed my belong-ings, and my uncle  came to pick me up in his car.  Those days filled me with joy. I saw different  faces, breathed freely, and momentarily forgot the   gloomy life at the Ariana house. And above all,  through my uncle’s accounts of life in France,  

I began to dream about the European continent. My uncle had seven daughters and only one son.   His daughters, most of them older than me, were  quite modern and spoke French better than Arabic.   Of course, at the age of fourteen, I felt a bit  awkward around my cousins. I performed my prayers  

On time every day, read the Quran, and avoided  looking at or chatting with them. I stuck close   to my uncle all the time. He wasn’t an Islamist  but rather a traditional Muslim, like my mother.  In fact, like her, he despised the Islamists.  Yet, he trusted that I would evolve over time. So,  

He welcomed me into his home as one of his  own children, to the extent that he asked my   father if I could stay with him and his family  for the entire summer, which was accepted.  During this stay, my mother came to visit us and  had a private discus-sion with my uncle about my  

Future. It was then that I understood that his  invitation hadn’t been a coincidence: she had   orchestrated every-thing from the very beginning. The matter shocked me a bit, as did the fact that   she had removed the traditional sefsari and  was now dressing in a modern manner. When I  

Saw her like this for the first time, I initially  thought it was just within the house, but when   she invited me to go out with her, I noticed that  she was going out without wearing the headscarf.  – Mum, I asked, are you not  wearing your sefsari anymore? 

She responded promptly and firmly. – No, I don’t wear it anymore! Now,   I dress like everyone else. I’ve  left the veil to the extremists.  – Ah? And why? This time, she looked   straight ahead and took a while before replying. – They’ve made me grow to detest Islam with their  

Intolerance, she fi-nally murmured. I  don’t want to hear about it anymore.  She was visibly at her wits’ end. – Listen, my son, she said suddenly,   I want to talk to you about some-thing important,  but until you tell me if you’re in agreement,  

It must remain between us. No one should know  what I’m going to tell you, not even your sister!  – No problem, Mum. – For several months,   since I left the Ariana house, I’ve been  in con-tact with your uncle by phone. He  

Told me he’s coming to Tunisia this summer,  and I’ve arranged with him for you to spend   the summer with him. Look, my son, I know you  achieved a good average at the private school,   but between us, I don’t have confidence in that  school or those Islamists for your future. So,  

You need to escape and leave Tunisia. – Leave Tunisia! But where to?  – Are you willing to leave Tunisia or not? – I don’t have a problem with it. But   will my father and sister accept it? – Leave that to me, I have a plan. I  

Only want to know if you’re on board. – I agree, Mum. But where would I go?  – To France, with your uncle. To treat your  arm and at the same time continue your studies.  Uncle Larbi was returning to Argenteuil in a few  weeks; he could be a reliable guardian during my  

Stay in France. Additionally, there,  I could study and learn a real trade.  Given such arguments, my father couldn’t  help but side with my mother. Logically,   my sister and her husband, who now saw me as  a fu-ture warrior of the Islamist revolution,  

Initially opposed my departure. They tried  to dissuade me, describing Europe as a realm   of inequality, racism, and decadence. But I replied that my faith was strong,   and no force could deviate me from my path  towards Allah. I managed to convince my  

Sister that this stay would allow me, while  treating my arm, to spread Islam from there.   I presented it to her as a mission to serve  Almighty Allah, and she accepted the omen.  In truth, my demeanour was merely a ploy suggested  by my mother to convince my sister and her husband  

To ease their moral pressure on me. Deep down, I  doubted their version of Islam. I had witnessed my   sister and her husband destroy our family, robbing  us of the most precious days of our childhood. I   had seen my mother suffer, and my brother-in-law  had tarnished our family’s reputation. Our  

Surroundings viewed us as religious fanatics  and anti-Europeans. Our family came under   au-thorities’ surveillance, and our vague  pro-Islamist reputation began to cause serious   problems. I was no longer entirely convinced  that they had brought us closer to Allah. 

Throughout that year, I had stayed in contact  with my mother, and she had made me realise that   an Islam that seeks to impose itself through  force and lacks a love for life isn’t true   Islam. My doubt about the Islamic religion  dates back to that year. My sole concern  

Was now to venture towards new horizons.  As the time for my departure ap-proached,   Samira finalised her advice. – You’re still very young,   my brother. You’ll need many years to dis-cern  all the dangers that will arise on your journey.   Remain vigilant at all times. Allah willed  this journey to test your faith. Never forget  

That Europeans have one goal in mind: to divert  Muslims from their religion in order to dominate   them. Your only weapon is your faith. Therefore,  never cease praying and implore Allah to grant you   strength and faith to confront any temptation  that might lead you astray from the true path. 

On the eve of the big day, there was a  farewell dinner prepared by my mother’s   expert hands. I was at the peak of my joy. What  a feast! The pleasure of the food mingled with   countless images swirling in my mind: the  boat, the crossing, the port of Marseille,  

Provence, the countryside landscapes, the road  to Paris – all that wonderful unknown I sensed,   like an unfamiliar body about to be embraced. During this meal, my brother-in-law looked   downcast. I was slipping through his fingers. How  would he be able to control me from a dis-tance?  

In the end, he leaned towards me gently. – Islam will need you in the future.   It’s Allah’s will that you go, so  study well and pray tirelessly.  Those were the last words he said to me  before leaving the house with my sister. 

Through her cunning, my mother had achieved a  significant victory over them. Did she imagine   how many disappointments the coming years  held in store for her? The education an   adolescent receives from their family generally  enables them to make correct choices, to ponder  

Before venturing or taking risks. An isolated  adolescent without knowledge or experience can   stray from the right path, and the missteps  they make can upheave the rest of their life.  Between 1980 and 1983, I would experience what  every North Afri-can immigrant encounters upon  

Arriving in France: the fear of the West, doubts  about this new people, and then the identity   crisis after re-turning to Tunisia for summer  holidays – a homecoming that prevents immigrant   children from integrating into their host country.  It periodi-cally rekindles the rift between Europe  

And Africa, resulting in a re-newed identity  crisis within the North African milieu, familiar   with rac-ism and hatred. Lastly, my time in Paris  would lead me to discover Shi-ism. This would   trigger my escape to Iran to study Islam and my  im-mersion in the international Islamist network,  

Leaving behind what I had built in France. The Distrust of the West  On the night preceding my departure, I couldn’t  sleep. From dusk un-til the sunrise of September   12, 1980, I remained leaning against  the window. For anything in the world,  

I wouldn’t have wanted to miss the birth of that  day, and my mouth smiled ceaselessly until dawn.  With eyes wide open, I relived the seven  years that had passed since the day I regained   consciousness: the beautiful days lived before  the infil-tration of Islamism into our family  

And the years of nightmares lived be-cause of  Islamism… But all of that was about to change;   my dreams of travel were about to come true!  In a few hours, I would be taking the boat   to Marseille. I was setting out towards new  horizons, new hopes, and an entirely fresh life. 

I lingered in the garden for over two hours,  waiting for my uncle. I sat on the edge of the   well and recalled the scene I had experienced  there seven years earlier, upon arriving in   Ariana. When I heard my uncle’s car stop in  front of the house, before rushing towards him,  

I mentally said goodbye to everything that had  surrounded me until then: the house, the walls   of my room, the scents, the trees, the familiar  animals, the faces of my family, all my childhood   memories. I will never forget that moment. My uncle stepped out of his car and greeted  

My mother, who was running from the kitchen. She  embraced me tightly, tears in her eyes. She kept   telling me to take very good care of myself. – Come on, get in! my uncle called to me.  I sat next to him. The car started, heading  towards La Goulette, rele-gating all of this  

To the past, and the house disappeared  around the cor-ner of the street.  I knew that, as tradition dictates, my  mother would pour a bucket of water in   front of the door so that I could return one day. – So, my nephew, are you happy? my uncle asked. 

– More than you can even imagine! – I’m warning you, you’ll have to obey me!   Otherwise, my anger will be fierce. – Yes, uncle.  – I know you’re a good lad. While my uncle recited passages from the  

Quran, I remained silent, my eyes on the road,  remembering the time I had walked it on foot,   at night, with my pilgrim’s staff during  my escape to reach the other con-tinent,   far beyond the waves. When we arrived at the port  of La Gou-lette, I craned my neck to see the jetty  

At the end of which I had to halt my journey in  the face of the sea, that impassable barrier.  Today, it was no longer impassable! The ship on which we were embarking   was named the “Liberty.” In this case, one  couldn’t dream of a more symbolic name! As  

We moved away from the coastline, I remained  on the deck for a long while, watching the   strip of land vanish into the distance. Leaving one’s country and loved ones,   even for the most thrilling of adventures,  doesn’t come without some heartache. Tearing  

Myself away from this unique family atmosphere,  I was conscious that it was still mine and I   wouldn’t find it anywhere else. Despite the  misfortune of my childhood, I was now feeling   a bitter nostalgia. Surely, there was an un-known  land on the other side of the Mediterranean where  

I hoped to be reborn, but what would I find  there? Would I truly no longer be op-pressed?  I remained cautious, with questions crowding my  mind. I thought about everything my sister and   her husband had told me about this West that  seeks to destroy us and erase our Arab-Muslim  

Identity. Yet, I could see that my uncle had  retained his identity while living in France   for a long time. Certainly, he was a Muslim by  tradition and not by ex-tremism, like most, but   France had never forced him to abandon his faith. I’ve always believed that what saved me throughout  

My life is my crit-ical thinking, despite my naive  appearance that might suggest I easily give my   trust and believe everything I’m told. Because  in a second phase, I reflect, examine the issue   from all angles, and if I’m not con-vinced,  I change direction. During my childhood,  

I was fascinated by the idea of an all-powerful  god who possesses all the powers of this world,   from whom we come and to whom we will return.  A simple be-lief, learned or inherited from   my grandmother and mother. I didn’t doubt the  existence of this force that watches over us  

And guides us in life as its children. I used to  talk naturally to this merciful god, asking for   help and to show me the right path. I believed at  that time that the name of this god was Allah, but  

I have learned since that each belief names its  own god and that the name of Allah was specific   to the Arabs before being propagated by Islam. Despite the appearances I presented to my sister,   which led her to be-lieve I was following  her, I was never convinced of the value of  

The Is-lamism imposed by her husband and herself.  I saw it as too rigid and harsh, hindering living   and leading to hypocrisy towards others and  oneself. Thus, the fear my sister inspired in   me was greater than my fear of Allah himself. Rules, nothing but rules! This is forbidden,  

This is obligatory, this is al-lowed, this should  be avoided. In this form of Islam, the believer   is con-ditioned in every action and gesture, they  can’t do, say, or think any-thing without being   guided to please Allah. I was already wondering  why this Allah demanded prayers five times a day.  

I had even asked my sister this question. – Why do we pray?  – To thank Allah for everything he gives us. – But why thank him five times a day,   wouldn’t once be enough? – She hadn’t immediately found a response. 

– It’s Allah who demands us to pray five  times a day. We must obey and submit   to him, she declared in conclusion. This answer didn’t convince me. So,   when I couldn’t find the oppor-tunity to  pray, I wouldn’t do it, because for me,  

Prayer wasn’t about thanking Allah, as my sister  said, but about feeling close to him. There-fore,   I only prayed when I needed to, and the  rest of the time, I just pre-tended.  The ship entered the port of Marseille. I had wide-open eyes. How immense this  

City seemed to me! Some-thing mysterious emanated  from the oddly shaped rocks along the shore, but   the foliage on the heights reminded me of Tunis.  It was still the spirit of the South speaking.  The customs clearance represented my first  contact with the Western world. Timidly,  

I expected to hear harsh words, but not at all.  These men in regulation uniforms were smiling,   performing their duties seri-ously, without  seeking to harm foreigners. Had I been lied   to about the cruelty of the Westerners? I took a deep breath and relaxed a bit. 

The long journey to Paris began. I discovered the  variety of French landscapes, the small provincial   towns, the isolated villages, the farms lost in  the middle of fields, the woods, the forests,   but also the factories, the multi-story buildings,  the enormous cranes, the shopping centres. France  

Appeared to me as a very modern country  that had managed to preserve its past, its   characteristics. There was nothing devilish about  these architectures, these landscapes. Certainly,   people seemed very busy, but their faces appeared  serene. In the courtyards, on the sports grounds,  

The children were playing, laughing freely. In just one day, I stored so many new   images that my head felt all fuzzy  when we arrived in Saint-Gratien.  My uncle lived in an apartment, in an area  where all the neighbours were Europeans. The  

Family welcomed us with hysterical joy. Shouts,  tears, embraces, laughter. With the tiredness of   the journey, I felt very weak, as small as a fly,  barely daring to open my mouth. I reunited with my   maternal grandfather who had joined his son after  my grandmoth-er’s death. It was the first time I  

Had seen him since. I barely remem-bered him, but  his presence reassured me because he reminded me   of my grandmother whom I had loved very much. My  uncle’s wife brought my belongings to his room   and showed me my bed not far from his. – Here’s your room, my son, rest well. 

Thanks to my grandfather, the link with Tunis  was maintained. The wisdom of this majestic man   created around him a sort of native land where  I could set foot without fear. But the next day,   I would have to face the reality of an unknown  world, far from what I had been taught until then. 

I only found sleep with difficulty, despite  the fatigue of those forty-eight hours spent   almost without sleeping, part of which was  on the boat, in the excitement of discovery.  The next day, my uncle took care of enrolling me  in a vocational school. As my parents had wished,  

He began by contacting vocational high schools,  which wasn’t my own preference. I dreamt of   becoming a veterinarian. For that, I first had to  follow the traditional path to the baccalaureate.   Fortunately, the registration dates for technical  courses had passed, so my uncle had to enrol me  

At Jean Zay College in Saint-Gratien,  where all his children were studying.  I was enrolled in the fifth grade, equivalent to  the second year of sec-ondary school in Tunisia,   at the same level as my cousin who was my age.  The first days of classes were terrifying,  

And I had to show great courage. Alone, with  a poor understanding of the French language,   compelled to quickly adapt to a new mentality  and fight against my natural shyness, I couldn’t   manage to connect with my classmates. My complexes  hindered my interactions, and I also felt an  

Inexplicable sort of discomfort. The presence of  my cousin in the establishment comfort-ed me a   little. During break time, I searched for her  desperately in the chaotic crowd of students,   and as soon as I spotted her, I went to  her and eagerly shared my impressions. 

The teachers were particularly understanding  towards me. Conscien-tious, they dedicated their   free time between classes to support me in my  work, especially the French teacher. I will never   forget their kindness and dedication. However,  during these delicate and hesitant begin-nings,  

I remained wary of them. The satanic image of  Europeans in-stilled in me by my brother-in-law   and the Islamists continued to influ-ence me. The  time of innocence in me had been so ephemeral!  Despite the language barrier, I got off to a  good start. At the end of the first trimester,  

My academic results were very satisfactory. To  im-prove my French, I frequently went to the   college library. I devoured novels, newspapers,  science books. My thirst for learning was   such that the librarian took a liking to me. One day, I stumbled upon a French translation  

Of the Quran. Strange! Why would the “enemies  of Islam” publish such a work? Was it a trap?  I confessed my surprise to the librarian. – There’s nothing very surprising about that,   she told me. A good li-brary is impartial; it  must offer the widest possible choice to everyone.  

Like all sacred texts, the Quran belongs to the  history of humanity, so it’s normal that you find   it here. It’s my role to make the entirety  of human knowledge available to students,   even if this book is rarely con-sulted. – But you’re Christians,  

Why would you be interested in Islam? – You see, this college is secular. Teachers   can teach students about the history of religions,  even though they won’t force them to practice them   in any way. Do you understand the distinction? – Yes, it seems so, I mumbled, not very convinced. 

– And then, in the college, there are students  of North African origin who were born in France   and who don’t know the Arabic language.  This translation is also intended for them.  My thoughts remained confused. What was the  difference between studying a religion and  

Practicing it? Why seek to understand a religion  when you don’t believe in it? For me, there   was no difference. The words of the librarian  seemed suspicious to me. How could Christians,   who fought Islam in the past, allow students to  read the Quran? Why had they translated the Quran  

Into French? Perhaps to understand us and know  how to fight us? In that case, we also had to   understand them to protect ourselves from them! This allowed me to be more open to understanding   and knowledge of European culture. The librarian  was amazed at the number of books I read,  

Whether those I consulted in the library during  break hours or those I borrowed to read at home.   I focused on history and natural sci-ence books,  particularly about animals, which fascinated me.  The winter holidays were approaching;  soon it would be Christmas. 

My uncle bought a large tree. This reminded me of  the early days in Ariana when we celebrated the   end of the year. This time, I would cel-ebrate  it on Western soil. In the streets and stores,   everyone was getting ready for this festival;  there were decorations everywhere, Santa Claus  

Was moving around and distributing gifts to  the neighbourhood chil-dren. This end of the   year 1980 remains unforgettable for me. During those first months, nothing could   distract me from my goal: to succeed in my  school year. I dedicated myself exclusively  

To my studies. The atmosphere at home was  good despite my uncle’s fits of bad mood,   usually related to money matters. He was frugal!  For him, everything was calculated down to the   last penny, the lights had to be turned off by  11 PM, mealtimes had to be adhered to down to  

The exact minute. It was a kind of military regime  at home; everyone had to obey without discussion,   or else they would be locked in a room or  thrown out into the street. Everyone feared   him. Children could only find a bit of free-dom  outside the house. As soon as they returned,  

Everything had to go back to normal. My aunt  kept a close watch to ensure he wouldn’t no-tice   anything. When one of us did something wrong, she  often took the blame. It was her who was punished,   and sometimes even beaten. All of this didn’t  bother me too much because everyone liked me,  

And my un-cle treated me somewhat differently.  But when I needed something, I would ask my   grandfather or my aunt rather than him directly. My grandfather liked me as well. Of course,   I was the child of his fa-vourite daughter! I  spent good moments with him since we shared the  

Same room. He loved giving me advice. – My boy, he would say, I’m almost   a hundred years old. I’ve had plenty of time to  learn a lot in my life. So, take advantage of it   while I’m still alive. As the proverb goes,  ‘seek advice from someone with experi-ence.’ 

My grandfather had nothing in common with my  grandmother. I saw him as a stern and proud   man at the same time. He had no friends in the  neighbourhood and didn’t want any. For him, it   wouldn’t have served any purpose. He was always in  his room, but he sometimes went out to the market,  

Took a walk, or sat in the public garden.  I accompa-nied him several times. He was as   punctual as a clock. He did the same things every  day in a well-structured routine. I had never   seen anyone so punctual in all their actions. I learned a lot from him; he told me about his  

Youth. He had hardly ever worked in his life  because his parents left him a large fortune,   but now he had not a penny left due to his former  Arab friends. Grandfa-ther hated Arabs. Certainly,   in North Africa, it’s common to insult  Ar-abs, and there are even proverbs about  

It. But my grandfather’s hatred towards  them was boundless. When I went out with   him and we en-countered an Arab beggar,  he gave them money. On the other hand,   when he saw a French beggar, he gave them nothing. – Why do you give money to Arabs you don’t like,  

And not to the French? I asked him. – I give money to Arabs so that they   remain beggars their whole lives. I don’t give  to the French so that they go and find a job.  My grandfather’s behaviour and his hatred  towards Arabs were in-comprehensible to me.  

Was it because he was of Turkish origin, and  his Turkish pride pushed him to act this way,   or was it due to his Jewish background? – Look, my son, he told me one day,   I’m telling you the truth: non-Arabs, in  general, won’t say hello to you, but the  

Day one of them greets you, he does it sincerely.  On the other hand, when an Arab says hello to you,   it’s because he has some interest or benefit  in it. When an Arab doesn’t say hello to you,  

It means he doesn’t need you. So, be cautious  of Arabs who greet you and try to talk to you.  He even once entrusted me with a secret. – When I want to insult Arabs, I pretend   to insult my son Larbi, whose name means ‘the  Arab,’ and no one knows that I’m insulting Arabs. 

My grandfather prayed every day on time, even the  dawn prayer, and he read the Quran every day. He   never abandoned his traditional Tuni-sian attire,  even in France, but he despised Islamism. When we   saw news about the Iranian revolution on TV, he  would call Khomeini a devil who thinks he’s a god,  

He cursed him and his followers, and he would  retreat to his room, refusing to see any more.  In my uncle’s house, only he, my grandfather,  and I prayed every day. The children didn’t pray,   or rarely did so when their father asked  them to. I was used to this situation too:  

I prayed when I was obligated to or  when I wanted to ask for Allah’s help.  I was well integrated into the family’s way of  life and considered my-self one of their children.   Even the neighbours believed I was my uncle’s son,  as I was the one who accompanied him most of the  

Time when he needed it. He wasn’t such a difficult  man, deep down. He hated being contradicted,   but a simple pretence was enough, and everything  would be fine. At the end of the school year,   I was promoted to the fourth grade. The average  of my grades was even higher than that of my  

Cousin! I could already envision myself at the  end of the road in my white veterinarian coat,   but my uncle congratulated me in his own way. – I’m proud of you, my boy, but it’s not enough!  You must do even better starting next September. Integration 

Nearly a year after my arrival in France, I was  already speaking French quite well. At least,   everyone understood me. I had integrated well and  didn’t feel any racism towards me. In my class,   I was consid-ered just like the other  students. My cousin was also there,  

Along with two Africans. Everyone else was  Spanish and French. In our neigh-bourhood,   I never felt any injustice or racist behaviour.  This situation gave me confidence and gradually   convinced me that my sister and her husband  had told me lies. Despite this, deep down,  

I remained cautious. I told myself that  all of this was too good to be true.  The beginning of summer 1981 brought good news:  my mother was coming to Saint-Gratien for a few   weeks! I counted the days nervously. My mother finally arrived, without a  

Sefsari and dressed in European clothes,  well-coiffed and wearing makeup. At first,   I didn’t even recog-nize her. At forty-three years  old, she looked like a young girl! What joy to   embrace the one I loved so much! My mother cried  tears of joy and looked at me for a long time,  

As if she couldn’t get enough of seeing me. – You’ve grown so much, my son, she finally said,   with a hint of sad-ness in her voice. Her face still bore the marks of a   life marked by constant disappoint-ment.  Her strength was the same, the weight of  

Her defeat unchanged. The situation had  continued to deteriorate with my father,   and she had finally obtained a divorce. She hoped  to find some respite at her broth-er’s place.  My injured arm still hadn’t healed. If this  wound had opened the doors to travel for me,  

It was important to get it treated quickly.  My un-cle had waited until I was enrolled in   health insurance to take me to see a doctor.  After a consultation, it was determined that   surgery was neces-sary. A few days later, I  entered the hospital, my heart pounding. The  

Surgery went well. Once the cast was removed, I  had to attend daily re-habilitation sessions for   several weeks. I followed this diligently, but  it didn’t yield any positive results. A second   surgery was scheduled for the end of 1981. During the summer vacation, I devoted myself  

Intensively to studying the French language. My  determination had never been stronger. The future   held strange surprises for me, I instinctively  sensed it, like an ani-mal sensing the approach   of a natural catastrophe. Learning was my best  weapon, a way to get closer to God – ’my God,’  

The one my grand-mother believed in. On August 4th, I turned fifteen. A   big celebration was organized, and  my mother made wonderful pastries,   just like in the good old days in Ar-iana. At the end of the summer, my mother decided  

To stay permanently in Paris. I’m pretty sure  she had made this decision from the moment she   left for France. This choice was driven by a  desire for freedom. Her forced marriage had   stripped her of her dignity as an independent  woman. By taking the risk of breaking it, she  

Was finally regaining that dignity… except that  the world of work was entirely unfamiliar to her,   and she was starting from scratch. The benefit  of this sought-after free-dom began with learning   French; it was crucial for her to speak the  language of our host country well enough to  

Hope for employment. She already had a good  foundation since she had studied in a French   school before her marriage. I accompanied her  three times a week to evening classes where she   improved her French. We were inseparable, and her  courage strengthened my determination to overcome. 

She and I, my uncle and his family, grandfather –  we should have all come together in the spacious   apartment in Saint-Gratien to recreate the  family harmony that the house in the Medina   had known under the guidance of my grandmother.  But my uncle’s anger would erupt at any moment  

And wasn’t conducive to a serene atmosphere. Worn  out by years of disputes with my father, my mother   found it hard to tolerate her brother’s mood  swings and his stinginess. Moreover, my privileged   relationship with her sparked jealousy in my  uncle. The presence of his sister cast a shadow  

On his role as the dominant male, a role in which  he was never happier than when others lived under   his dependence. Sure of his judgment, he couldn’t  accept that anyone could act without seeking   his advice beforehand. His experience seemed  irreplaceable to him. The old demons of tradition,  

Poorly digested, spoke louder than reason. In September, I entered the fourth grade,   more motivated than ever. But the relationship  between my mother and her brother deteriorated   each day. My mother hadn’t left my father  to relive the same conflicts. Naturally,  

I supported her, which fuelled my uncle’s anger. – You, a boy, you’re taking the side of   a woman who knows nothing about life here? Eventually, my mother moved into a small room   located in the 19th arrondissement of Paris, at  the Jean Jaures station. She, who had lived among  

Her children, in a spacious villa surrounded by a  beautiful gar-den, now found herself in a rabbit   cage, alone and without friends. What irony of  fate! She was finally achieving her independence,   but at the highest cost. It was as if you have  to hit rock bottom before you can rebuild a  

Life. She couldn’t even take care of me until  she obtained her resident card, found a job,   and a larger place to live. So, she would  call me regularly to ask about my well-being.  At the end of 1981, I returned to the Argenteuil  hospital. There, I be-friended a very young nurse  

With a delicate face and almond-shaped eyes.  When she entered my room for the first time,   I was immediately moved by her presence. The  gentleness of her gestures and attentiveness   revealed an open spirit. On Christmas Eve, we had  one of those rare and profound conversations that  

Leave a mark for the rest of one’s life. – How are you feeling? she asked, smiling.  – I feel good, but I’m a little scared. – Don’t worry, everything will go well.   Dr. Four is an excellent physi-cian. He’s  very experienced with this kind of surgery. 

– You’re kind, I mumbled. – According to your records,   I see that you were born in Tunis. How  long have you been living in France?  – I’ve been living with my  uncle since September 1980.  – Is life here not too difficult? – At first, you feel lost. But since my mother  

Came to live here, I feel better,I answered. A little surprised by her show of interest.  – I might be prying, but what does your mother do? – She’s looking for work,   I said. lowering my eyes. – I imagine it’s not easy every day. And  

Why did both of you leave your country? – It’s a long story. Life   there was very difficult… – Forgive me, I’m being quite nosy.   – Oh no! It’s good for me to talk. You know,  in my country, there are many believers,  

But some Muslims try to control others.  That’s why my mother and I left the country.  – I see. Religion is sometimes a source of  conflict. There are all sorts of things said   about Islam, especially concerning women  being mistreated, she said with unease. 

– According to the Quran, men and women  are equal. But some Mus-lims – the   extremists – have a false idea of life and  want to reform every-thing. For instance,   they claim that a woman who is alone in a room  with a man attracts evil spirits. It’s ridiculous. 

– I share your opinion. And why do women have to  wear the veil? Isn’t that a way to demean them?  I sat up on my bed with fervour. – There are a thousand ways to wear   the veil! I burst out. Above all, it’s a sign  of nobility and courage! Are you a believer? 

The nurse observed a moment of silence  and sat on the chair next to my bed.  – That’s a question to which I don’t  have an answer. You know, in the West,   religion has lost many followers. The desire  to consume, to be-come rich, to climb higher  

And higher on the social ladder, diverts peo-ple  from the Church. I believe primarily in reason,   in logic. But respect-ing others and their  beliefs is fundamental to me. I am a humanist,   that’s why I’m learning this profession. I’m  on an internship. Later, I plan to work for  

A humanitarian organization in Africa to care for  the sick, Muslims, Christians, and animists alike.  Suddenly, I thought of my sister  and brother-in-law, of their   intoler-ance, and I felt ashamed for them. – You must love God, seek the path, I muttered.  There was a long silence, as if our unspoken  thoughts were secretly communicating. 

– Christians and Muslims have hurt each other a  lot, she resumed. It’s probably a utopia, but I   wish so much for peace to settle among peoples! – Me too, I’m for peace. But I wonder… Can a   Muslim marry a Christian? It seems difficult. – In that case, religion would be an enemy of  

Peace! We exchanged an understanding  look, and I suddenly realized how much   this young girl resembled the images from my  dreams. I would have liked to hold her hand,   to embrace her. But this gesture filled me with  immense fear, and I lacked the courage for it,  

Knowing that it was forbidden by  Islam and considered a grave sin.  I closed my eyes for a moment. – Maybe, I said with a sigh.  The age I was at the time, fifteen, was premature  for a boy to experi-ence the emotion of love for  

The first time. Such feelings were a taboo  for me, I mustn’t think about them, let alone   mention them. I had to reject them because,  in principle, a woman is a devil who tries to   tempt a man and lead him away from Allah’s path.  However, I didn’t feel any distance from Allah  

In the presence of this kind nurse. Her behaviour  was entirely natural and good. On my part, I felt   more than that, an upsurge of love, but I couldn’t  express it, mainly because she was older than me.  Before she left, she wished me good luck. I remained speechless, watching her leave  

My room. I would have liked her to stay with  me longer. Of course, that wasn’t possible,   she had other patients and work to do… – You too, I hastened to reply   before she disappeared. She turned back to give  

Me a knowing smile, and I waited for her to  visit me again for a good part of the night.  In vain. The next day, I learned that she   had finished her shift after leaving me. A week  later, on New Year’s Day, I found a love novel on  

My bed-side table, along with her wishes. A love  novel. I reread it several times, still hoping to   uncover a hidden meaning. I waited for her in vain  in the hallways. Would I see her again someday,   that young girl with such moving eyes? This  conversation had loosened some restraints  

Within me. Staying away from people was clearly a  sterile attitude; truth could be found everywhere.   My wariness toward Europeans had receded, I wanted  to integrate into society, become a full-fledged   citizen of the world, live as an adventurer  of the human soul, not just a mere visitor. 

On January 1, 1982, I felt free and strong to  face the world. Human-ism couldn’t be just a   pretence. I sensed sincerity and transparency in  the minds of the people I encountered everywhere,   at school, on the street, in the neighbourhood,  among the elderly, the young, women, and men. I  

Was increasingly convinced that the West didn’t  wish harm upon Muslims, and that Muslims imagined   such things just to compli-cate their lives! With the plaster on my arm removed, Dr. Four   was unpleasantly sur-prised to find that the  fracture hadn’t healed. Despite numerous tests,  

No medical explanation was found to clarify this  mystery. The rehabili-tation sessions changed   nothing. Clearly, there was something strange  about this non-healing fracture, as if destiny   forbade it. Soon, I gave up on physical therapy.  At least, I could use my fingers normally.  As I approached my sixteenth  birthday, my relationship with  

My un-cle began to seriously darken. Since my mother’s departure, he had   wanted to strengthen his au-thority, but I was  no longer a timid young boy, and I was achieving   good results in school. Consequently, his anger  was unjustified, and I stood up to him. One day,  

Unable to tolerate my defiance, he raised his  cane to strike me. I pushed him aside with a   sudden shoulder move-ment, gathered my things, and  joined my mother in Paris in her tiny apartment.  I had to go back to Saint-Gratien every day to  finish the last trimester. We both lived a life  

Of hermits, simple and hardworking  but happy. In the summer of 1982,   I successfully passed into the third grade and  re-ceived a certificate of encouragement..   Summer in the Country To Reward Me for My Excellent Work,   my mother had offered me the trip to Tunis.  The family reunion was joyful, as blood ties  

Prevailed over past wounds. Moreover, my  success in foreign land made me a true hero:   I had experienced solitude, conquered my fear,  defied the madness of the Western world! I was now   shown a new respect. My second sister prepared a  feast, and I was placed at the head of the table.  

Everyone looked at me with consideration,  as if I had come from a distant planet.  Meanwhile, things had taken a new turn: my  brother-in-law was spending his days in prison   temporarily. The authorities had deemed his  politico-religious activities dangerous,   capable of jeopardizing the stabil-ity of the  state. He was accused of planning an Islamist  

Revolution in-spired by the Iranian model. The  main leaders of the MTI had been ar-rested and   detained. The political climate was tense. The  Iranian revo-lution had echoed in all the North   African countries, stirring minds, awakening  passions, giving weight to Tunisian Islamists.  

The govern-ment remained constantly on guard, and  the police dispatched agents to infiltrate various   places to nip the Islamist serpent in the bud,  a ser-pent that slithered in the shadows. Soon,   the West would experience bloody attacks  indirectly or directly orchestrated by the  

Islamic interna-tional. The Islamic war of the  ‘Enraged of Allah’ was being organized despite   the noise of politicians. Nothing indicated the  time or place where it would start to blaze,   but there was a smell of death in the air. Samira’s changed appearance had shocked me upon  

My arrival. She was poorly dressed, resembling  a servant. She was no longer the strong woman   I knew. She was alone with two children, a boy and  a girl. She gave private math lessons to earn some  

Money, but as it wasn’t enough to pay the rent,  she had to move into the house in Ariana. She   occupied one of the rooms with her children and  took care of everything at home. With her husband  

In prison, she had to visit him every week to  bring him food. She deprived herself to keep   the little money she re-ceived as charity from  the Islamists. The Samira I had always known to   hold her head high now walked with her head down  and avoided eye contact with others. She no longer  

Found time to propagate Islamism or discuss  Islamic morality, being preoccupied with her   children, her hus-band, her father, and the rest  of the family. She was resigned, a true doormat.   When I talked to her about this, all she could  say was that it was “a trial ordained by Allah  

To test our belief and strengthen our faith.”  But I could tell that she wasn’t convinced and   was only repeating it to convince herself. Did she regret following the Islamists?   Was she aware of all the harm she had  caused to our family? Was she aware  

Of the tear she had wrought in each of  us? These questions, I still ask myself,   and I don’t know if I’ll ever have the answers. That summer, while I was in Tunis, we learned   that my mother had remarried her cousin, her first  love, the one she had always loved. He had come to  

France, completely ruined and seriously ill, for  a treatment that unfortunately proved ineffective.   But it didn’t matter to my mother; she was able  to surround him with her affection until the   end. She had found a job and had moved into a  bigger place. Nothing was stopping her now. Her  

Sole obsession was to do everything she could  to save those of her children she could still   rescue from the grip of Islamism. In preparation to head to Paris,   my brothers were getting ready. They too wanted  to experience Western life, to go through this  

Unique jour-ney that would shape their minds with  new realities. So, my father was soon going to be   left with most of his children absent, surrounded  only by my younger brother and my second sister,   whose religious fanaticism had significantly  worsened. To avoid escalating matters, I refrained  

From expressing to her my favorable judgments  about Europeans. She, who still considered me   a naive being, would have easily reproached my  weakness, my failure in front of the enemy. But   Samira was no longer the woman I had known, and  her words no longer touched me or made me afraid,  

Neither for me nor for the rest of the family.  Even my father no longer treated her as before.   Sometimes he spoke to her like a slave, and  she couldn’t say anything since she lived in   his house and depended on him economically.  The situation had turned around. She was at  

His mercy and had to obey him without opposition,  as Islam had taught her: a woman must obey a man,   whether it’s her husband or her father. After a few days, she took me to Bizerte,   to El Nadhour Prison, where her husband was  incarcerated along with his Islamist comrades.  

The place was filled with armed guards. On one of  the roofs at the entrance of the camp, there was a   machine gun ready to open fire at the slightest  suspicious movement. This significant security   deployment testified to the severity with which  the authorities now viewed religious extremism. 

We passed several checkpoints  before reaching Salah’s cell.  My sister and her husband greeted each other  without excessive emo-tion. Affection had no place   in this location or in a revolutionary’s life. – Ah! Karim, finally! exclaimed Salah Karkar.  He didn’t seem to have suffered mistreatment.  His face only bore a slight sign of fatigue.  

His faith in the Islamic revolution had  shielded him from physical and moral decay:   belief is the best remedy against deprivation. His  calm gaze displayed the firmness of his patience,   the determinism of his struggle. – So, did you resist the   European devils? he asked me. I had now mastered the art of  

Avoiding confrontation. I told him what he  wanted to hear without getting involved.  – I let them come to me to observe  them better. They revealed them-selves,   but they never knew I understood their game. – Good! I’m very pleased. Listen to me carefully  

Now. The Tunisian state has transformed into  a hellish despotic machine. The politicians   imprisoned me while I am an honest man. They  threw me behind bars like a common dog just   because I defend the freedom of believers. Is it  a crime to want to live in the love of Allah? I  

Am a victim of the greatest injustice. But my  imprisonment serves the cause of Islam. Know   that other fighters have taken up the torch.  Soon, the Islamic state will be victorious,   it’s the will of Allah! Until that glorious day  comes, relentless-ly pursue your learning so that  

Tomorrow you can participate in the revolution. Then my brother-in-law took my sister aside,   and they began a hushed conversation. They spoke  as discreetly as possible, but I still heard   despite that. He gave her instructions, a list  of contacts. Salah Karkar evidently continued  

To communicate with the Islamist party through  my sister. This weekly meeting allowed him to   direct the movement. From what I understood, he  was in conflict with Rached El Ghannouchi. He   accused him of high-level treason concerning the  Is-lamist cause, told my sister that Rached was  

Likely a spy for the Tunisian state, and that  she should warn the party’s people against him   and his circle. He also discussed negotiations  with the state for the release of Is-lamist   detainees. He was furious, saying he’d prefer  to die than to aban-don or change their plans,  

And there was no need to negotiate with the enemy. The detainees were divided between pro-Ghannouchi   and pro-Karkar, that is, between those  who wanted to negotiate with the state   and those who refused any discussion. The  divide was growing, which would change the  

Course for the future of the Islamist movement. The visit over, we headed back home. My sister   didn’t say a word on the way back, as if she no  longer believed in her husband. But it was clear   that she would continue to follow him to the  end. She would re-turn to her miserable present  

Life only to bring him the food he de-manded the  following week. Two days before the prison visit,   I had seen her prepare all kinds of food –  chicken, meat, three to four types of fruits,   a real feast. Indeed, each political prisoner was  entitled to one visit per week, so the families of  

Seven detainees organized themselves to cover all  seven days of the week. They prepared meals fit   for kings! Hence their good appearance: they had  nothing else to do but eat, sleep, talk, and pray.   On the other hand, Samira and her children didn’t  taste this food; they had to make do with a meagre  

Soup. I felt sad to see her in such a precarious  situation, but everything my mother had predicted   was true: my sister was without work or support. Anti-Islamic practice or not, I celebrated my 16th   birthday on August 4, 1982, my own way, without  asking anyone’s permission, not even my sister’s,  

Who said nothing as she was too busy securing  her own survival and that of her children.  This stay in Tunisia, though short, reminded me  that I was Tunisian and that, whatever I did,   I would always remain so. That, I had some-what  forgotten, as I had integrated so well into France  

That I almost considered myself French. But this  return to the homeland reminded me of my origins   and what I truly was, inducing doubt about my  identi-ty. I asked myself the big question:   what am I? Who am I? Indeed, this return once  again shuffled all the cards in my mind. And the  

Worst was seeing what had become of my second  sister. Despite all my resentment towards her,   her distress shocked me, and at that moment, I  blamed neither Islam nor Islamism. In my eyes,   the culprit was the government. Why did Bourguiba  hold such animosity towards Islamists? I knew my  

Mother had feared these same Islamists, but due  to my young age, I couldn’t connect my mother’s   fear for her children with Bourguiba’s fear for  his people. It was only later that I managed to   do so. Bourguiba had taken strong measures  against Islamists. My mother had witnessed,  

Powerless and defenceless, the tearing apart  of our family. If she hadn’t used cunning to   save what she could of the family from Islamism,  and especially to save herself, she would never   have succeeded. Unfortunate-ly, by placing her  trust in French society, she was wrong once  

Again. Believing that in France, we would be safe  from Islamism, she didn’t watch over us enough,   thinking that the most important thing to  achieve independence was to have money. Thus,   she was wrong multi-ple times, like those  governments that fail to overcome this  

Globally transmissible disease called Islamism. Despite the difficult situation my sister found   herself in after her hus-band’s arrest, she still  believed in Islam. Throughout my stay in Tunisia,   she kept urging me not to forget my origins  and my faith in Allah. And above all,  

She advised me to enrol in a school where Arabic  is studied. All this influenced me and once again   raised doubts in me about the French. Moreover,  seeing her situation and that of her husband,   I couldn’t help but feel revolted with her against  this pro-Western gov-ernment that sought to uproot  

The Tunisian people from their roots and strip  them of their identity. Samira repeated that the   West couldn’t achieve this goal through direct  colonization, but it left our countries through   the door only to return through the window by  putting gov-ernments in power that served its  

Interests and made us submissive slaves. To hear  her speak, the only thing that could save us was   holding onto our faith in Islam and spreading  it in Europe. In reality, these ide-as didn’t   originate from her but from her husband: every  time she visited him in prison, he filled her head  

And gave her directions on everything she should  do and say, like a puppet. She had become a faded   person, without her own personality. Islamism  had achieved from her what it imposes on all its   followers: complete erasure. The Delinquency 

Late August, I returned to Paris. On that day,  a storm was brewing. Dark clouds gathered on the   horizon like an endless funeral procession.  Around 5 PM, lightning tore through the sky,   and torrential rain poured down  on the city, slowing down traffic,  

Driving pedestrians off the streets. When the  rain ceased, a smell of soot filled the air.  My mother’s new home was in Houilles-Carrières, in  a quiet neigh-bourhood in the western suburbs. It   was a house without a garden, with a ground-floor  shop. The first-floor accommodation included,  

Apart from the kitchen and bathroom, two bedrooms  and a living room. This tight space forced the   partially reassembled family unit into a certain  solidarity. However, everyone had their own   activities and organized their days freely. As a  half-board student, I only came home late in the  

Day, sometimes very late. To ensure that we lacked  nothing, my mother took on several jobs. For the   first time, signs of fatigue were showing on  her. Her eyes were circled, her complexion grey,   her breath short. In addition to her role as  head of the family, urban stress contributed  

To wearing her down. She left early in the morning  and often returned af-ter 10 PM. When she arrived,   she cleaned the house because no one else took  care of it, except for me when I found the time.   Each of the others only cared about themselves.  After cleaning, she prepared food for the next  

Day, washed the dishes, and went to bed after  midnight. She was up again at 6 AM to prepare   breakfast for us before going to work. She did  this every day, even on Sundays. She regained   her freedom and her little family, which she had  lost in Tunisia due to Islamism. She wanted to  

Rebuild a family in exile, giving more importance  this time to money than to education. Yes, she had   indeed changed! She no longer believed that only  education could provide a decent living; now,   money also mattered. She encouraged us to work as  early as possible, and she of-fered new proverbs:  

‘With money, you leave a good trail in the sea,’  or ‘With money, the tail becomes the head.’  Due to the change of residence, I could no longer  continue my studies at Jean Zay Middle School. So,  

I had to change schools. Since I knew Arabic, I  asked to enrol in a school where Arabic could be   chosen as the first language. The closest  school to us with this option was André   Doucet Middle School in Nanterre. The students  there were mostly Al-gerian. I thought that I  

Would easily adapt to this new life, where I  would find North African camaraderie again.  One of the reasons that had led me to choose a  school where Arabic was taught was my sister’s   recommendation to associate with Muslims and  not forget my origins. Moreover, since I already  

Knew Arabic, I would have a good level that would  strengthen my overall average. Ear-lier, I would   have never thought about it. I didn’t even know  that you could study Arabic in France! But after   my summer stay in Tunisia, sev-eral things had  changed in me as I witnessed my sister’s distress  

Follow-ing her husband’s imprisonment. I couldn’t  accept this, and I decided to empathize in my own   way by enrolling in a school where I would study  Arabic. It was only later that I understood that   Islamists tend to posi-tion themselves as  victims to gain the support of the naive. 

With my enrolment in this school, I discovered  another side of France. I expected French racism   against foreigners, and it was quite the opposite.  Strong racism towards France and the French had   devel-oped among the students, especially the  Algerians. This racism wasn’t concealed behind  

Diplomatic or veiled words, as is often the case.  On the contrary, it was openly displayed without   shame, sometimes even shouted out loud. Within the  walls of this institution, I found the hatred that   my brother-in-law kept harping on and had tried to  instil in me in the past. This deeply shocked me. 

In my class, four Algerians spent their  time disrupting and causing chaos during   lessons. They couldn’t sit still, gesticulating  in all direc-tions. Their nervousness showed an   internal turmoil, a glaring psycho-logical  instability. Uprooted, lacking ambition,   constantly convincing themselves that they  had no future, they filled the void of their  

Existence by swearing all day long against the  French, whom they blamed for their misfortunes.  Where did this resentment come from? Apparently,  it originated from the numerous traumas resulting   from the Algerian War. It seems that this wound  never healed. These adolescents were drowned  

In the hate-ful words of their parents, who  themselves were engulfed in the bloody memory   of the war. ‘Vengeance, death to the French  who burned our brothers and our land!’ – this   is what they heard daily from their earliest  childhood. Moreover, the urban environment  

Did not aid their integra-tion. They lived in  housing projects where the concrete-coloured   build-ings stood like pylons. Boredom lingered  everywhere, it saturated the walls of the complex,   the stores, the parking lots, the stairwells,  the hallways. In the courtyards, on the plazas,  

Young people of North Afri-can origin seemed  to endlessly circle, their demeanour as gloomy   as the faded façades of the buildings. They  engaged in disorderly games that often ended   in confusion, revealing a profound idleness. It was at this moment that the drift began that  

Would lead me back to Islamist circles. It’s a  natural behaviour for a North African to side   with their fellow people, even if they’re wrong. I  had to choose my side, and I couldn’t agree with a   foreigner, especially a French person, even if  they were right. Otherwise, I would have been  

Considered a traitor, a sell-out. I didn’t have a  choice. And then, while condemning deep down the   racism of these four boys, I felt irresistibly  drawn to them by a force I couldn’t resist. Evil   is as attractive as good. Did the intensity of  their words evoke a kind of exhilaration in me?  

A vibration of rebellion? A dark romanticism? I became friends with them and soon tragically   slipped to the wrong side. Initially just  acquaintances, we became inseparable friends.   Very quickly, I gained their trust, and even  faster, I became their accomplice. Strangely,  

My companions had not yet been touched by  Islamism. They had certainly heard the word,   which sometimes circulated in conversa-tion,  but they had never sought to know its meaning.   Islamist agents had not yet come to exert their  deleterious influence in their suburban community.  

Their hatred was expressed through acts of  vandalism, threatening words directed at any   European-looking passer-by. They incited fights,  threw stones at cars, showing no fear in the face   of dan-ger, as if to make it clear to their  victims that they were capable of the worst.  

French students, young Algerians hit them, stole  their school supplies, their cafeteria meals,   under the pretext that the French didn’t want our  success, that they hindered us, that they were   traitors. The others were terrified; they didn’t  dare to complain out of fear of new re-prisals. 

Caught in such turmoil, I lost interest in my  studies. In the family, with each occupied by   their own studies, my descent into violence went  unnoticed. Teachers tried to reason with me,   but nothing worked. I was literally  enchanted by these reprehensible acts,  

The tormented expres-sions of our victims  exhilarated me. How could I give up such power?  Most teachers couldn’t control the unruly  behaviour of the gang. On-ly the history and   geography teacher managed to maintain relative  calm in her class. Attentive to students,  

Never giving up, smiling when some minds began  to heat up, this woman had managed to assert   her authority gently through the simple power  of her kindness and her words. When she spoke,   there was an extraordinary grace in her  that enchanted even the most stubborn. 

One day, while discussing the Nazi period, one of  my companions ut-tered hateful words about Jews.   Concealing her anger as much as her disgust, she  tried to open his mind by recounting the genocide   of Jews in all its ignominy, explaining how his  words could someday turn against his own people  

To the point of provoking a new massacre. Hatred  begets hatred, she reminded us. She also explained   the equality of peoples, the foundations of human  rights, and the meaning of the word tolerance. For   over half an hour, she lectured with incredible  rigor, supporting her arguments with specific  

Examples. The power of her speech was such that  we all remained speechless. I was captivated. We   received an im-mense lesson in humanism there,  realizing the horror of the Holocaust. However,   it wasn’t until years later that I would grasp  its true signifi-cance. Something beneficial was  

Taking shape within me, which would continue to  mature even as I followed the path of violence.  I found myself caught in the grip of opposing  forces. My quest for ab-solutes had yet to   find the breath that would allow me to  flourish. I felt it without being able to  

Explain it. The sufferings endured during my  childhood continued to affect me internally,   to the point that I delight-ed in reproducing  them onto others. My violence further debased me,   granting me a perverse pleasure, an infernal cycle  of masochism. Lastly, the brainwashing done by my  

Brother-in-law contributed to my down-ward spiral. My quarterly school report was more than mediocre.   My mother didn’t realize. She was tired, lacking  the will to oversee her children’s education. Her   mind was elsewhere, searching for the peace she  had been deprived of until then. The years passed,  

She hadn’t had her share of dreams, her  happiness had repeatedly been postponed   to tomorrows that had come too late. It  was time for her to take care of her own   life. I found myself left to my own devices. A new event marked me to the point of pushing  

Me further onto the wrong path. While we were in  the neighbourhood where my friends lived, suddenly   the sound of a gunshot rang out. On the ground,  a young North African lay in a pool of blood,   his abdomen pierced by a bullet. Hypnotized by  the sight of the corpse, I began to tremble,  

My anxiety mixing with the sorrow felt over  the loss of a Muslim brother. The ambulance   arrived in moments and left with the body. In the  af-ternoon, it was learned that the murderer was a   Frenchman who lived nearby. In the evening, the  news on TV announced the tragedy. The assassin  

Claimed to have shot because he couldn’t stand  to hear the young people making noise outside   his windows. Deemed mentally ill, he was placed  in a psychiatric hospital by the court. The swift   handling of the case by the authorities caused a  deep sense of injustice within the entire North  

African community of Nanterre. A protest  demonstration was organized. I took part,   along with students, teachers, the school  principal, and the mayor of Nanterre.   But it changed nothing, the case was closed. It was then that my four Algerian companions and  

I decided to avenge this unjust decision. We would  wage this war in the name of the murdered young   brother, but also in the name of the resistance  fighters killed during the Algerian War. The   infernal spiral of violence was ac-celerating.  This time, it took the form of a genuine plan  

Of destruction. Each member of the gang received  a daily mission. Telephone booths, RER trains,   warehouses, cars, shop windows, and more were  all vandal-ized with meticulous care, the city   walls were covered in offensive graffi-ti.  Each person contributed to an internal fund  

To purchase the neces-sary materials. As for me,  I assumed the coordination of all the opera-tions.  I no longer know what personally drove me to  continue these delin-quent acts. In matters   of violence, logic often fades, leaving dark  forces to take hold of one’s being. In a nameless  

Blindness, I began to trans-form this anarchic  gang into an organized, structured movement,   equipped with an effective strategy and carrying  out actions on a re-gional scale. From petty   delinquency, I now claimed to enter the realm of  politics: our movement would defend the sacred  

Cause. Victims would no longer be chosen at  random but according to precise criteria,   partic-ularly for their displayed hatred towards  the Muslim world. We needed to quickly come   up with a symbol, a secret code, rules of  conduct, fund-ing, establish a manifesto,   annual objectives – in short, transition  from amateurism to professionalism. 

Intoxicated by these acts of violence, I was like  a madman, devoid of any reference points, having   lost the sense of values. I acted unbe-knownst  to my family, never displaying my disdain for the   French at any moment. To my family, I was still  a teenager with a gentle charac-ter. Suddenly,  

I realized that I had crossed the limits of  tolerance: all of this was leading to disaster.   Our blind hatred had led us to attack inno-cents.  This war we were waging against the French would   turn its vic-tims into martyrs, forcing them to  take up arms in return! Remorse tore at my soul,  

But how could I turn back? It was too late,  evil wore its wick-ed grin… I was like a child   struggling amidst contradictions. Not know-ing how  to return to normalcy, I plunged into distress.  Strangely, the shame of these excesses seized our  group as quickly as the spirit of vengeance had  

Ignited it. Almost without needing to consult each  other, we completely stopped these activities.   What has become of my former companions today?  Have they truly realized the madness that hatred   led us into? I have never crossed paths with  them again. Our friendship had rested on a  

Bad foundation. We had wasted that school year. Idleness plunged me into incredible sadness. My   shame was immense, I no longer ate and remained  huddled in my room, fearing the wrath of hell.   I was seized by dizziness, spasms that lifted  my heart to the point of vomiting. At night,  

I sank into dreadful nightmares, from which I woke  up in a startle, panting and covered in sweat.  In the surrounding neighbourhoods, delinquency  triumphed. Families were breaking apart,   academic failure, drugs, unemployment,  idleness. For thousands of teenagers,   the horizon was clouded with black. Elders set  a bad example for the younger ones. Everyday  

Life was steeped in in-sults, the poverty of  language the only means of expression reflecting   misunderstood sensitivities, while the State  allowed the situation to dete-riorate. A windfall   for the Islamist networks! Soon, all these youths  would swell the ranks of Islamist warriors,  

The hatred of the suburbs would spread  to the gates of the capital. And France   would tremble from this boundless delinquency  that nothing could contain except Is-lamism,   a more organized and dangerous Islamism because  it directed a sacred and thoughtful delinquency. 

My mother’s exhaustion worsened. Her new husband  was in agony at the hospital. I had changed,   but no one noticed or suspected the drama  of my drift. As often happens in families,   tragedies unfold right under their noses,  but they don’t see them. I had to bear the  

Weight of my own life, which made me less  clear-sighted towards the outside world.  Since the death of that young Moroccan, I could no  longer look at the French as before. I had already   begun to focus only on their nega-tive aspects.  I had become attentive to all words, gestures,  

And behav-iours that could contain racism  towards Arabs and especially Islam. At first,   I also saw the racism of Muslims towards the  French, but after this crime, I only saw the   racism of the French towards Muslims. A simple  look, gesture, or word from a French person,  

And for me, it was a racist act. I became paranoid  and hypersensitive, and I began to think that my   place was no longer in France. I lost interest in  my studies, especially with my poor results and no  

Family supervision. Sometimes, I didn’t even go to  school. I found myself wandering alone in Paris.   Paris and Christianity During the school year 1982-1983,   since no one was asking me where I was or what I  was doing, I truly began to explore Paris. I had a  

Zone 4 Orange card, which allowed me to travel  anywhere, and I could wander the streets and   admire the landmarks from morning till night if I  wished. I first explored the Montmartre district:   Place du Tertre, the esplanade… I also  enjoyed slipping into the Sacré-Cœur church,  

Where I marvelled at the beauty of the blue and  gold stained glass windows that reminded me of the   wings of the giant birds from my childhood dreams. One day, I turned into Martyrs Street,   headed towards the Opera, passed by the Louvre,  crossed the Seine, and stopped for a long while to  

Watch the boats facing the Île Saint-Louis. Then  I reached the Saint-Germain district, where I was   surprised to find so many bookstores. I pe-rused  many books, measuring with astonishment the extent   of human knowledge: philosophy, anthropology,  sociology, literature, law, market-ing, occult  

Sciences, management – so many specialized and  varied fields. What was all this knowledge for?   Was it for the sake of domina-tion? The Western  man didn’t pray, he raced in all directions,   mastered interest rates, spoke of economic  warfare, created material wealth, com-fort,  

Leisure, and always seemed unsatisfied. Toward  what ideal was he striving? All of this remained   confused in my mind, torn by contradic-tion. I had a special fondness for the Georges Pompidou   Centre district, and I made it my headquarters.  One afternoon, I saw a gathering of people on  

The esplanade of the Beaubourg museum. They were  Chris-tians who called themselves the Children of   Christ. One of them, with long hair and an exalted  face, was preaching with remarkable fervour. His   hands kept tracing movements filled with his  religious passion. Mys-ticism suddenly awakened  

Deep within me. In fact, anything related to  spirituality immediately transported me. Nothing   else truly interested me, my dreams and gazes  would eventually merge into the idea of God.  Fascinated by this young man’s words, I  decided to talk to him, and soon we moved  

To a café to continue our discussion. – I don’t see people praying around me,   I pointed out. Have Chris-tians lost faith? – People are preoccupied with the problems   of daily life, the young man retorted.  They live far from the principles of  

Love and respect for their neighbours,  which are the only path to happiness.   They fail to see that Jesus’ words are  the answer to all their woes. In truth,   they are lost in a world of doubt. – Love and respect for one’s  

Neighbour are also at the core of Islam. – Of course! Because our two religions   come from the Old Testament, which establishes  love as a universal truth. Every person seeks   God in their own way, the forms of belief  are manifold, but their goal is identi-cal:  

To merge with heaven, that is, to love infinitely.  The diversity of worship attests to the richness   of man. This richness is in the image of God. – Then why did Christians once fight Muslims?  – Because evil exists and it is inseparable  from Truth. Evil is a mirror, a tool. God  

Leaves us free to choose our actions, for  man must find his own path to redemption   through his battle against evil. The Crusades  responded to political and economic ambitions.   Evil also acted by culti-vating in man a taste  for power. This is part of the trial we will  

One day overcome. In Islam today, there is also  this desire for domination. That’s why I preach   the rapprochement of all humanist believers. The conversation lasted until late afternoon,   and it continued on the following Saturdays.  I always emerged from it deeply moved,  

My imagi-nation ablaze. After these discussions,  I reconsidered my judgment of Christians and the   French. It was during this period that I began  read-ing the Bible and the Gospels. The history   of religions became my pas-sion. I delved  into Judaism, Buddhism. My readings led me  

To recognize that Islam didn’t hold a monopoly  on truth, contrary to what I had al-ways been   told. Far from wanting to abandon Islam, I tried  to highlight the commonalities or divergences   between different religions without subjecting  them to any order of preference. I learned from  

Then on that the word God is a general term, that  each belief has its God, and that Allah is the   God that Muslims want to impose on the world. At Christmas 1982, I broke a serious taboo:   I attended a Christian Mass. The fervour of  the songs and the sermon washed over me like  

A crashing wave. But even though I felt great  joy in experiencing this re-ligious practice,   I decided to set it aside for the moment,  deeming it es-sential to preserve my   roots above all. Because I believed that an  indi-vidual without roots is a dead person. 

What I liked most about the Christians I  interacted with was, on one hand, their warmth,   and on the other, their faith. With them, I  felt in a very special way the faith in a God   of tenderness and forgiveness that my grandmother  had instilled in me. This divine tenderness, this  

For-giveness, I would have needed so much during  that period! It was a rev-elation for me. Not to   the extent of converting to Christianity, but at  least I had this spiritual revelation of a God of   love, a notion unknown in Sunni Islam. Because,  I still affirm today after all these years,  

I have never detected an ounce of spirituality in  Sunni Islam, except for that of my grandmother,   inherited from distant traditions that  have little to do with orthodox Islam.  This group of Christians, the Children of Christ,  I don’t know if they were a sect or just a group,  

As my interactions with them were personal  relationships with some of their members.   But I didn’t feel any racism from them. On the  contrary, I sensed a very elevated humanism,   a love for human beings, and a strong  spirituality directed toward God. 

And I must say that associating with them  prevented me from sinking into delinquency and   helped me maintain my distance from the Algeri-an  group, to which I still maintained a friendship.   I even tried to calm them down, to talk to them  about Islam and its principles of tolerance, as I  

Believed before. Despite their rebellious spirit,  when I talked to them about it, they showed great   respect, as if it were a sacred thing not to be  touched or discussed. They felt like sinners and   hoped to one day find the path to peace. Discovery of Shiism 

I had never finished exploring Paris.  One Saturday, as I was passing through   the Barbès district, I heard a clamour rising  from Boulevard Magenta. I seemed to recognize   Arabic words. I took a few steps, turned,  and stopped in amazement: in front of me,  

A crowd of Muslim religious figures were  shouting in unison, ‘Allahu Akbar,’ ‘God   is great,’ Khomeini has won the victory of  Islam! He is our leader! Down with despots! At   the forefront of the demonstration, there were  women dressed in black fabrics. Their graceful  

Stride expressed the grandeur of mysticism. I was captivated. There was an intense spiritual   emotion emanating from these religious figures.  I had never experienced such strength be-fore.   Besides their mystical fervour, they seemed  bound by a fraternal bond. Their powerful   voices intoxicated my soul. Passers-by couldn’t  help but watch the religious procession. They  

Were intrigued, irritated, but ultimately they  stopped for a long moment, unable to utter a word.  After all the doubts that had poisoned my  life, I felt a sense of well-being at the   sight of these believers. It was as if they were  calling me to join them. I had finally found what  

I had always been looking for: a cer-tainty,  a tranquillity, a sort of paradise on Earth.  Seeing that I was about to follow  their march, a young protester broke   away from his group and approached me. – Forgive me, he said, are you a Muslim? 

– Yes, I replied timidly. – Would you be willing to   sign a petition against the war Saddam Hussein  is waging against Iran and its people? He is a   criminal wasting the blood of Muslims. – How will my signature help you?  – The more signatures we have,  the better we can pressure the  

Inter-national opinion and end this war. – Alright. Then, I would be happy to   participate in your movement. By agreeing to join this cause,   I had no idea that I was fulfilling the wish of  my sister and my brother-in-law. This encounter   would indeed have dramatic consequences. The  protester was Algerian. I walked alongside him,  

Proud to share his struggle. During the march,  the pro-cession stopped in front of a synagogue.   The protesters began to shout anti-Semitic words  and recite verses from the Quran. We all clung to   each other’s arms to move forward in unison and  shout slogans like ‘Khaybar, Khaybar, O Jews,  

The army of Muhammad is thirsty for you.’ The  Battle of Khaybar was fought during the time of   Muhammad by the Muslim army against the Jews. The  defeated Jews were reduced to servitude, and this   became a symbol of Muslim victory over the Jews. At the end of the demonstration, the Algerian  

Who recruited me held me back gently. – Would you be interested in visiting   our cultural centre? – Oh yes! I responded   enthusiastically, unknowingly signing my  alle-giance to Shiite political Islam.  In the middle of the reception hall of  the Iranian cultural centre El Kanoun,  

An immense portrait of Khomeini seemed to  radiate a magi-cal aura throughout the room.   His white beard and piercing eyes com-manded  respect. The Algerian led me to the first floor,   where about thirty people were engaged in  conversations in small groups. One of them  

Gave me a suspicious look. He stared at me for a  moment so in-tense that I had to lower my gaze.   The atmosphere of the place was strange,  despite the lingering spiritual ambiance.  I was offered to watch a film about the  Iranian Revolution. The lights went out,  

And the image of Khomeini appeared on the screen. Soon, a mystical fervour took hold of me. My hands   were trembling, I felt both hot and  cold at the same time. On the screen,   the faithful were seen raising their fists,  marching in the streets of Tehran, chanting the  

Victory of their spiritual leader. The portrait  of the Shah was burning amidst the believers’   cries. The people were finally liberated from  the monarchist dictatorship, secretly supported   by Western countries. The people would live in  Allah’s will, experiencing happiness on Earth.   Re-ligious schools were being organized,  and the new society was setting in motion. 

Like most propaganda films, this documentary  aimed to awaken forms of primal patriotism,   except that it was a religious patriotism. The  array of lyrical imagery was deployed to touch   the viewer’s sensitive chord. In one hour, I  experienced centuries of religious fervour.  

I was in a trance. When prayer time arrived, the  believers headed to the restroom for ab-lutions.   I noticed that the rituals of ablution and prayer  were different from what I had known until then.  – What is this way of performing prayer? I asked. – You know there are two doctrines in Islam,  

I was told, one Sunni, which is widespread  in North African regions and the majority of   Mus-lim countries, and the other Shiite,  which is mainly in Iran and some Middle   Eastern countries. We follow the Shiite tradition. I was then asked to introduce myself. Remaining  

Reserved, I told the story of my family  while softening certain facts, especially   my brother-in-law’s activities. I also shared  my ideas, plans, how I envisioned the future,   emphasizing my ambition to contribute to the  construction of a just and spiritual society,  

As well as a society concerned with maintain-ing  peace among peoples. Except for my naive pacifism,   which pro-voked a few ironic smiles in the  assembly, my declaration of faith was not   displeasing to my interlocutors. My admission  to the centre was ac-cepted unanimously,  

And the religious figures warmly welcomed  me as a brother and invited me to share   their dinner. We sat on the linoleum floor  for the meal. The atmosphere was joyful,   without departing from a spirit of discipline  and seriousness that seemed to be their common  

Mot-to. I was asked to join them at the centre  the following Saturday morn-ing at 10 o’clock.  Returning home, I was exhilarated with happiness.  I had found a sec-ond family where I could freely   express myself, surrounded by my Mus-lim brothers. – What’s the matter, my son, that you’re so  

Excited? My mother asked me. – I’m just as happy as a   bird flying in the blue sky. – It’s strange, your attitude reminds   me of your sister’s before her mar-riage. – Rest assured, Mum, I’m a free man,   and I will always remain one. – She said the same thing,  

And you know how far she went. – Yes. But I’m not like her. I’m   not imposing anything on you. – Thankfully! she said.   We know where this madness led us. The following Saturday, I arrived at the  

Iranian cultural centre well before the scheduled  time. I had to pace up and down the street out of   fear that arriving too early would reveal to my  new companions my lack of serenity. In the early   days, I was tasked with preparing banners for  protests against the war led by Saddam Hussein  

Against Iran. While working, I conversed with  my Algerian interlocutor. These discussions made   me realize the gap between Sunnis and Shiites in  terms of their approach to the Islamic revolution.  From the Shiite perspective, here’s how a Sunni  Islamist behaves: once religious practice and  

Learning are assimilated, they engage in  the fight to convince the unbelievers to   join their faith. To do this, they use indirect  language, avoiding direct confrontation. Family   members are their first targets, any  rebellious element is avoided. Then,   the circle widens to neighbours, friends, and  ascends to regional and national rep-resentatives,  

And finally to state representatives and the  supreme leader. International war can then   take place. Sunni Islamism thus starts with the  individual and reaches the state. Once it becomes   the majority, it imposes its rules through  elections or by force if refused. This method  

Was indeed the one used by my brother-in-law!  Suddenly, my family’s past took on a new light.  The Shiite approach in this matter is the  opposite: it’s the enemy states that are   subjected to relentless attacks first, namely the  United States, Israel, and European countries.  

Political action is dominant. All human,  strategic, military, economic means, etc.,   must be used to anni-hilate them from within. On  a daily basis, the Shiite revolutionary’s mission   is to convince those around him of the political  and economic failure of the country’s leaders,  

Then to train new fighters on the ground,  who will replicate the same process according   to the principle of the pyramidal system. This is primarily an ideological war aimed   at creating a dissenting opinion current  within countries, leading to the overthrow  

Of states. Re-ligion doesn’t play a role during  this initial phase. Convinced of the po-litical   power of Shia Islam, the revolutionary can then  begin converting Sunni elements to this doctrine.   Religion comes into play then, without attempting  to impose worship practices like prayer, fasting,   etc., on the prospective converts.  The political tool becomes the  

Major weapon of the Shia revolutionaries. This Shia method of focusing on the common   enemy and immediate-ly targeting a political  objective to topple, with everyone participating,   believers and non-believers, practitioners and  non-practitioners, re-minded me of the Iranian   revolution, where veiled and unveiled wom-en,  Christians, Jews, Islamist and communist Muslims  

All stood against the Shah of Iran. For the Shia,  bringing down the head is the first step. The rest   follows gradually, as per a precise plan. It  brings to mind what’s happening today in the   Arab-Muslim world, where it seems like we’re  witnessing mini-Islamic revolutions, like in  

Tunisia. Certainly, neither the situation nor the  time allows for a repeat of the Iranian ex-ample,   but isn’t the goal the same: to establish Islamic  states through means other than elections? How   sad it is to see supposedly free coun-tries,  progressive political parties, and humanitarian  

Organizations be-lieving in an Islam of freedom… Listening to the Shia comrades, I was discovering   a new perspective. In its complexity, Shiism  addressed what I had always dreamed of,   both in terms of politics and religion: unifying  humanity beyond its contra-dictions. Through  

These conversations, I absorbed this idea  a bit more. I didn’t yet perceive the true   intentions of the advocates of this doctrine,  who ultimately covet global power. At times,   I had moments of clarity and kept some distance.  But the persuasive force of my interlocutors  

Al-ways pulled me back into their ranks. I  was caught in the trap of politi-cal Islam,   as I would come to realize later on. My Conversion to Shiism  In the evenings after class, I regularly headed  to the Iranian cultural center, and also on  

Weekends. Initially, my younger brother willingly  accompanied me, but he quickly grew bored of these   meetings. This pe-riod allowed me to shape my  political thoughts. Through interactions with   my newfound brothers, I sharpened my arguments,  enriched my vocabulary, and read numerous books,   to the point where I soon pos-sessed the  entire arsenal of revolutionary rhetoric. 

One day, I hung a poster of Khomeiny in my room.  When my older brother woke up in the same room,   he thought he saw the devil himself above his bed.  He found the religious leader’s head horrifying,   to the ex-tent that he had nightmares. The  poster, however, remained in its place. I  

Was drawn to this spiritual leader, even if  I didn’t follow the re-ligious practices he   advocated. It might sound paradoxical, but a  part of my consciousness refused to submit,   instinctively. I was both curious and sceptical.  These two tendencies constantly clashed within me,  

Some-times plunging me into deep confusion. Truth be told, I may not have met the criteria of   the perfect practi-tioner as my Shiite companions  understood it, but religious practice took a back   seat for them. This continued for more than six  months, an intensive training: reading, videos,  

Audio materials, not to mention speeches and  private discussions to thoroughly inform myself,   especially in terms of politics. Whether  one was Shiite or not, prayed or not,   wore a veil or not. The important thing  was to be part of the Islamic Ummah against  

Everything Western and Zionist. Throughout the  1982-1983 school year, I was guided and trained,   body and soul, toward one goal: hatred of the  West and the promotion of the Islamic nation.  At the beginning of the summer of 1983,  pro-Khomeiny demonstra-tions were taking  

Place in a tense atmosphere. The police closely  moni-tored the activities of the Iranian cultural   centre and intervened most of the time to  disperse the protesters. This didn’t change   my habits. One day, when I had settled into  the library on the first floor of the centre,  

I met a young man from southern Tunisia.  The conversation with him started quickly,   as if we knew each other, or rather as if he  already knew some things about me, which has   made me think since then that my Algerian  friend was the initiator of this encounter. 

– Why are you living in Paris, Karim? – Well, it’s a long story! I initially came to   have my injured arm exam-ined by a specialist. – What’s wrong with your arm?  – It’s fractured. I’ve had two surgeries at the  hospital in Argenteuil, without success. As you  

Can see, my arm doesn’t fully extend. – Does it bother you in performing   everyday tasks? – No, not really.   I’ve gotten used to it. But why this question? – I’m always concerned about my brothers’ health.  – Tell me about your family. – We’re a Tunisian family with nine  

Children. I live in a suburb with my mother and  siblings. My father lives in Tunis in the Ariana   neigh-bourhood. One of my sisters is the wife  of a leader of the Islamist move-ment Ennahdha,   previously known as MTI or “El Itijah El Islami.”  The authorities have imprisoned him. I believe  

He will be released soon. – Ah? That’s interesting…   Are you close to your brother-in-law? – Let’s just say that certain aspects of   his character strongly displease me. – Which ones?  – His interpretation of religion  is not quite the same as mine. 

– Your brother-in-law is Sunni, I suppose. That’s  probably why you can’t fully embrace his ideas.  – That’s right. Plus, I  fear he’s not a trustworthy   person. Power is all that matters to him. – I see, my interlocutor said thoughtfully.  

But you should still maintain contact with him.  Now tell me, what are your plans for the future?  – To build a better world. – So, you’re a brother… You know, I used to   be part of the Tunisian Islamic movement too. – Oh really? And now you’re not a  

Part of it anymore? – No. Now I’m Shiite,   the young man concluded. – Actually, I’d like to know   how to become Shiite because, honestly, I’ve read  a lot about their ideas and I’m drawn to them. It   seems to me that Shiism is the true Islam. – Everything in due time, my brother. If  

You’d like, I’ll personally take care of you. With my new Tunisian friend, we met several times   at the same place. However, he quickly advised me  to definitively leave the Iranian cultural centre,   which was under close surveillance by the  French police. This warning was well-founded,  

As a few days later the police expelled the  Iranian religious figures and shut down the   centre. This proved that this young friend  had first-hand information! From then on,   we met either at the Beaubourg district or  on the Champs-Élysées. He provided me with  

The documentation and books I needed to fully  understand Shiism and convert. In reality, he   belonged to the Islamist network in which he was  notably responsible for recruitment. Unbeknownst   to me, I was on the list of future agents  for this organization. My familial connection  

With a high-ranking leader of MTI was of great  interest to the leaders of the Islamist network   based in Iran. Through this connection, they saw  a means to infiltrate existing Tunisian Islamists,   given that Tunisia played a central role in  the international Islamic network’s strategy. 

As the days went by, our friendship solidified.  This young Tunisian displayed a strong sense of   organization and quick decision-making skills. The  time and location of our meetings were decided at   the last moment and changed each time. When we  walked together on the street – he preferred  

Walking to talk, as walking attracted less  attention – he would frequently stop in front of   a shop window to check if we were being followed.  He lived in a small room that he shared with two  

Other Tunisians who were part of MTI and who were  unaware that he had become Shiite. He had asked me   to never mention this fact. Our discus-sions often  revolved around the differences between Sunnis and   Shiites. My friend used great finesse to guide me  toward embracing the Shiite doctrine, with the art  

Being that the initiative should come from me. After a few weeks, I clearly voiced my support   for the Shiite doctrine, convinced that it  aligned with my deep-seated convictions.   My Tunisian friend had achieved a first  victory; the hardest part was done. The  

Next step was to convince me to undergo special  training in Iran to attain the status of an   agent in the international Islamist network. According to my friend, a good Shiite should   know the names of the twelve imams descending from  Imam Hussein, son of Ali and his wife Fatma. Only  

They can perpetuate the word of Allah, ‘for there  is no god but Allah, and Muhammad is his prophet.’   The twelfth imam, Mehdi, who disappeared  in a cave in Iraq, is supposed to return   among men to save humanity. For me, this was a  significant revelation. From that day forward,  

I began studying the foundations of the Shiite  doctrine in depth, unbeknownst to my instructor.  My academic results were mediocre that year. I  didn’t repeat the grade, but I also didn’t pass   the exams to continue my studies up to the  baccalaureate level. So, against my wishes,  

I had to steer towards a technical track. This  saddened and discouraged me. My mother, how-ever,   wasn’t upset; quite the opposite. She said it  would allow me to learn a trade, find a job, and   build my future more quickly. So, I was en-rolled  to start in September 1983 in a vocational  

High school, in the electronics section. But I was beginning to see my future not in   a trade, but rather as a soldier of Allah. – If you only knew how bored I am with   electronics! I confided in the young  Tunisian. These vocational studies  

Won’t bring me anything. This isn’t the way I’ll  achieve my goals. I have to take action quickly.  – What would you like to do exactly? – You know as well as I do!  – Be patient, the horizon should clear up  soon. My friend obviously had an idea in mind. 

In July, my older brother left home to live  with his girlfriend, the rest of the family   went on vacation to Tunis, and I found  myself alone in Paris. As I was alone,   I invited the young Tunisian to stay at  my place. Several peaceful days passed,  

During which we were able to strengthen our ties  around the Shiite doctrine, and then we organized   our first meeting. The neighbourhood was discreet,  and the house could serve as a meeting place for   Shiites: we organized several gatherings the  follow-ing week. Unfortunately, this disturbed  

The neighbours, especially the landlords. One  evening, while we were having dinner together,   some-one knocked on the door. – Who’s there? I asked.  – The landlady. Will you please open the door? My friend hid behind the partition while I   opened the door. The land-lady, a well-dressed  woman in her forties, was impatiently standing  

On the doorstep, a man by her side. The man,  a real Hercules, was her new prince charming.  – So, young man, he started, are you  the one collecting Khomeini posters?  – How do you know? I replied, offended. – Listen, the lady intervened,  

I’m asking you to vacate the premises  immediately. Pack your things and leave.  – What’s this? What’s the reason? The man stepped forward, looking   threatening. He was blocking the doorway,  ready to burst inside the apartment.  – No arguing! – I refuse to leave! I shouted.  

We’ll see about this when my mother re-turns! The man began pushing me when the young   Tunisian burst forward to stop him.  The assailant stepped back but pulled   a revolver from his jacket and aimed it at us. – She told you to leave, clear? he thundered. 

It was the first time I saw a  firearm pointed at me, but I   felt no fear; I was so consumed by anger. – No way! I yelled. We are at home here!  – Fine, my Tunisian friend said,  raising his hands. Come on, Karim,  

Pull yourself together, we’re leaving. We found ourselves on the street, where I   let out my rage and swore to get revenge. – France is a sick country!   Something must be done! – Calm down, shouting won’t help, my friend   retorted. You need to learn to control yourself;  otherwise, you’re heading towards great dan-ger. 

– I can’t stand injustice! He then took me by the   arm and looked into my eyes. – You want to do something? Well,   here’s what I propose: I have con-nections with  the leaders of a religious school near Tehran. You  

Would receive thorough religious education there.  I’m sure they would be hap-py to welcome you.  – I’m in! When can I leave? – Give me a few days, and I’ll tell you more.  And so, on a whim, I truly entered  the Islamist network. Of course,  

This couldn’t have happened without the preceding  tragic events in my life. Nevertheless, I needed   this final shock to bring me to this point. My Tunisian friend left me in a public garden,   saying he would come back to get me.  The wait felt endless. I waited and  

Questioned myself. What was he doing all  this time? I had been waiting for hours!  I returned home to check if  everything was okay and discovered   that the landlady had changed the locks. Enough was enough! I went straight to the  

Nearest police station to file a complaint. The landlady and her friend were summoned and   flatly denied the al-leged incidents, including  the attempt at intimidation with a firearm.   Informed of the incident, my brother went to the  police station. Accord-ing to the commissioner,  

The only alternative was for me to be placed  in a boarding school for minors until my mother   returned. As for the land-lady and her friend,  they were severely reprimanded; if they repeated   such actions, they would face legal consequences. I was pleasantly surprised by the police’s  

Loyalty. I couldn’t believe that it might be in  my favour. Was the law truly equal for everyone?   In the car that took me to the boarding  school, one of the officers reassured me,   saying he would intervene at the  slightest misstep by the landlady. 

I settled my things in my new room. Two days  later, I asked the headmaster for permission   to leave for a few hours. He agreed. Immedi-ately,  I went to Paris to reassure my older brother and,   above all, to find the young Tunisian. – So, I pressed him, do you have any news  

About Iran? When can I leave? – You’ll have to wait a few   more days, my friend retorted. – Ah! I’m so happy! I’m so eager!  – Hey, a little patience! – You know, the landlady changed the locks  

At the house. I had to complain to the police. – The police? he breathed, looking alarmed and   scanning his sur-roundings. What happened? Did  they ask you about your family, your friends?  – Not really. Why, does that worry you? – The police don’t like Muslims,  

You know that well. They look for  all ways to drive them out of the   country. Once they’ve gained your trust  and you’re off guard, that’s when they   trap you. Do you understand? – Yes. But I assure you,   the commissioner was very kind to me! – That confirms what I just told you,  

Idiot. Where are you living now? – I’ve been placed in a boarding   school for minors. – Better and better!   the young man became agitated. Now, the police  can monitor you as they please! I told you to  

Wait for me and not move. When I came back and  couldn’t find you, I thought you might have gone   home. I was waiting for you to contact me. – You’re really too suspicious. Well,   here I am, I came to see you as  soon as I sorted out my problems. 

– Never forget that the Europeans want  the destruction of Islam! Be-hind them   are the forces of evil conspiring to  turn them against the Muslim people.  – What are you talking about? – You’ll learn about it later. For now,   watch your actions and your words, okay? This conversation left me puzzled. I didn’t  

Feel that the police had in-tended to trap me; I  had behaved normally, and so had they. Moreover,   the people at the boarding school had been  courteous and hadn’t asked any intrusive   questions. My friend’s attitude was curious… I visited him every two days, hoping to finally  

Get a positive answer. When would  I leave for Iran? The agreement   from the religious school seemed to be  undergoing a very lengthy consideration!  Luckily, life at the boarding school was pleasant.  I often went to the pool or on outings with the  

Other boarders. The atmosphere was friend-ly,  filled with games. And even on August 4th, my   seventeenth birthday, the people at the boarding  school surprised me: the monitor took us out to   dinner in Paris and even treated us to ice cream.  We had a lovely evening before returning to sleep.  

In this boarding school that housed a cosmopolitan  youth in exile, all the conditions were met for   optimal in-tegration. We learned about communal  living, mingled with other cul-tures. In short,   I recharged, lived happy days, and regained a  promising balance. Then the long-awaited answer  

Arrived: I had to prepare to leave French soil to  join a religious school in Iran, the name of which   would be revealed to me later.. Last Days of Freedom  The day of departure was not yet set; I was  waiting for the final in-structions. Overjoyed,  

I called Samira to share the happy news with  her. She encouraged me to follow this path which,   according to her, was ‘the true path leading to  Allah.’ My sister’s blessing reassured me in my   decision. Nothing could stop this journey now. However, faced with the proposition from the  

Boarding school direc-tor to spend the end of  summer in a holiday camp in the Lyon country-side,   I found myself caught in a dilemma. The  camp offered a wide range of appealing   sports and cultural activities. If I  refused, I would have to explain myself,  

Potentially raising suspicions. On the other hand,  if I accepted, it would jeopardize my departure to   Iran. I had twenty-four hours to decide. What  should I do? My confusion made me nervous;   I envisioned several courses of action,  chose one, then recon-sidered. Frustrated,  

I postponed my decision until the next  day. They say the night brings counsel;   Allah would surely guide me. However, upon waking up, things   weren’t any clearer. I entered the director’s  office without knowing what I would say,   and ended up ac-cepting while stuttering. – Are you sure?’ the director insisted. 

I nodded, unable to look him in the eye.  Afterward, I went to the Tu-nisian’s place,   who couldn’t hide his irritation. – What’s this about you going to   Lyon? Are you backing out after all? – No, no, not at all! I’m going to Lyon,  

But I’ll be back whenever it’s necessary. – Listen carefully, Karim. Your trip to   Iran is finally ready. You’ll be  taking the plane next Saturday.   You need to come to my place at 7  AM I’ll give you your ticket and the  

Final instructions. So, what’s your deci-sion? – That’s perfect. Trust me, I’ll be there next   Saturday at 7 AM sharp. God willing! – Alright.  I feverishly prepared my belongings. I sandwiched  my passport be-tween piles of clothes, then moved  

It, struggling to control my nervous-ness. I  felt like my life was on the edge of change.   It seemed like the slightest misstep could  have dire consequences for the events to come.  On Sunday, a train took us towards Saint-Étienne,  myself and about ten other boys. Unable to focus,  

I spoke little to my new comrades. I kept to  myself, my face glued to the train window,   lost in thought. I couldn’t shake off my anxiety.  My feverish thoughts were already in the streets   of Tehran, the faces of those waiting for me  there, the walls of the religious school where I  

Would enhance my knowledge of the Shiite doctrine.  Would I become a hero? A great theologian?   The future was brimming with mysteries. Upon arrival, a bus took us a few kilometres   outside the city, deep into the countryside.  In the middle of the holiday camp, there was  

A football field where the boys immediately  began to run around, releasing their joy. I   started preparing my escape, which I scheduled  for the night be-tween Thursday and Friday.  In the following days, the group went on long  hikes under the sun, en-joying picnics in the  

Countryside. During these few days, I appreciated  the landscapes of rural France, with its forests,   meadows, and hamlets. Far from the hustle  and bustle of big cities, there were families   living peacefully, in harmony with the land! Doubt  occasionally crossed my mind, making me hesitate  

About leaving, but curiosity remained strong-er. On Thursday, at dawn, I paced back and forth like   a caged lion. Anx-ious, I waited for nightfall  away from my comrades. Finally, after hours of   anguish, I fled around 2 AM The half-full moon  gently illuminated the road. I walked briskly,  

Nothing else mattered, I was now certain of my  good fortune. Freedom was mine! Two hours later,   I reached a vil-lage and hitchhiked on the  national road. A van stopped next to me. I   got in, intrigued by the Italian driver who  looked like an adventurer. I had a distinct  

Feeling of knowing him, though it was probably my  heightened imagination. After a few kilometres,   he dropped me off at an SNCF train station  on the outskirts of Saint-Étienne. As the   day was breaking, I spotted the car of the  camp supervisor, likely searching for me. 

Caution! Nothing was certain yet! I turned back and arrived at a freight   train station. There, a railway worker allowed me  to climb into a wagon heading to Lyon. I thanked   him profusely. He was a local man, short,  round, full of kindness. Un-derstanding that  

I was on the run, he probably wanted to help  me see this through. The rest was easy, and I   knocked on my Tunisian friend’s door at 5 AM. – Ah, there you are! he said. This means Allah   is with you. – Allah is  

Everywhere! I replied, smiling. – I almost thought you wouldn’t come.  – Know that when I give my word, I follow through. – Hmm… Now, listen carefully. Here’s your flight   ticket. Take-off is scheduled for 10 o’clock.  Before boarding, avoid moving around the airport.  

Buy a French newspaper and focus on reading it.  Don’t cast suspicious glances at others. You’ll   have a layover in Rome, where you’ll board for  Istanbul. There, you’ll call the Marmara hotel   and ask for an Iraqi named Saïd on my behalf. He  will then give you further instruc-tions. Here’s  

The hotel’s phone number. Memorize it. – I understand.  – Are you sure you’ve memorized the number well? – Don’t worry, dear brother, I have an elephant’s   memory. I can re-tain several pages of  text in a single reading. It’s a gift.  – Thank Allah, for your memory  will be your best weapon. 

– When will I see you again? – Only Allah knows. A revolutionary’s   life is subject to many uncer-tainties.  Now, take courage and good luck!  – I arrived at Charles de Gaulle Airport and  patiently waited for boarding, following my  

Friend’s instructions. By late morning, I landed  in Rome. There, making the most of a few hours of   transit, I called my second sister. – I’m proud of you, she said. So,   what’s this religious school you’re joining? – It’s near Tehran, but I can’t tell you more. 

– Take good care of yourself, little  brother! When I think that just a few   years ago, I used to hold you in my arms! – All that’s in the past, sister. Now,   we need to look at the future with a new  perspective. Reflect on your actions,  

For I’m not certain you’re on the right path. – You hurt me, she said. Listen, the whole   family knows you’re on the run. Our mother is very  worried. I’ll reassure her, tell her you’ve gone   on a trip and everything’s fine. – I send my regards, sister. 

– Same to you. May Allah be with you. The Road to Turkey  Istanbul, the ancient Constantinople,  magnificent Byzantium, the Suleymaniye Mosque,   the crescent of religious passions! I exulted  as the plane touched down on this land with   an incomparable past. At seven-teen,  turning away from my contradictions,  

I had abandoned every-thing to live this  beautiful adventure. I was embracing my dream!  Outside, the heat was stifling, but  instead of calling the Marmara Ho-tel,   I decided to walk there to familiarize myself with  the area. It turned out to be a very long walk. 

The hotel was luxurious. I couldn’t imagine  my contact staying in such a place. Strange!   I slipped inside the building and asked for Saïd,  the Iraqi. The receptionist told me she didn’t   know this person, that it was probably a mistake.  My confusion made me nervous, and I insisted,  

Almost creating a scene. Then another receptionist  informed me that there was a second hotel with   the same name located in the old quarter of  Istanbul, near the Blue Mosque. I walked out,   red-faced with embar-rassment. I had indeed gotten  the address wrong, and my clumsiness could have  

Ruined everything! I had just landed in a world  that was for-eign to me, and I suddenly realized   it. I allowed myself to be carried by the crowd  for a long moment, disoriented and undecided.  Night fell. I spent the night in a  public park. When I woke up, I re-turned  

To the airport, where I called my contact. – Hello, my name is Karim, I come on behalf   of someone from Tuni-sia in Paris. – Very well. Have you encountered   any difficulties? – No, everything is fine. 

– Make sure you’re not being followed and call  me back in an hour from a different phone booth.  The Iraqi hung up. I was a bit stunned.   I expected a warmer welcome. Did Islam have so  many enemies? I looked around, took a few steps,  

Trying to spot possible spies. How to recognize  them in this immense crowd? The few Europe-an   tourists sweating like miserable creatures, their  faces flushed, seemed solely occupied with finding   a taxi, retrieving their luggage, or examin-ing  the city map. An hour later, I called again. 

– Is everything normal? The Iraqi inquired. – Yes, I believe so.  – You believe, or you are sure? – Well, how can I possibly assure you!  – Keep your calm, young man. And stay  where you are. We have your description,  

Someone will come to pick you up. Two hours later, a man approached me.   He was small, with decayed teeth, his left  eye was wandering. In short, one would feel   inclined to give him alms. – Follow me, he said. 

As we left the airport, we got into a taxi  whose driver seemed to know my mysterious   companion. We roamed the city. The man beside  me remained expressionless. A bit annoyed by   this frosty welcome, I kept my gaze fixed on the  window. My bad mood even prevented me from fully  

Enjoying the spectacle of the street. The taxi  stopped at a bus sta-tion. A person with fiery   eyes dressed in Western attire approached us. – You must be Karim, I suppose, said the stranger.  – Yes. But what a welcome, tell me! – Don’t be offended, it’s the usual procedure.  

We are always on guard, especially in Turkey, a  country sold to the West and an indirect enemy of   the Islamic revolution. The religious revolution  led by our great Imam Khomeini disrupted their   plans in the region, and Western intel-ligence  services are tracking us. That’s why. 

I thought I recognized the voice of the Iraqi. – Who are you? I asked.  – It doesn’t matter. – How do I know you’re not an impostor?  – Congratulations! I see you have good reflexes! A hesitant smile appeared on my lips. I regretted  

My somewhat ag-gressive attitude. Alone, without  true friends, I couldn’t do without the help of my   interlocutors. I wasn’t out of the woods yet… – Are you daydreaming, Karim?   the stranger said to me. – Um… No, I’m listening.  – You’ll take the next bus to  Tehran, which leaves in half an hour. 

The stranger verbally gave me a phone number to  call upon my arri-val in Tehran. He didn’t give me   any name, I just had to present myself on behalf  of Saïd. He also provided me with a visa in my  

Name to pre-sent with my passport at the Iranian  border. If I was asked why I was coming to Iran,   I had to say that I was coming to study in  Qum and that I was a Shiite. He emphasized   not to talk too much and to answer  questions briefly. If I had a problem,  

I was to tell them to contact the office  of El Said Alshirazi in Qum. After that,   he bid me farewell and wished me good luck. – Wait, I said to him,   I don’t have much money left. – You have your bus ticket, that should be enough. 

The stranger got into a taxi and turned one last  time to give me a smile full of ambiguity. The car   started and disappeared into a cloud of dust. I settled into the bus, soon filled with   travellers. There were no Euro-peans on  board, most were Iranians and Iraqis,  

All Muslims. Some women were not veiled, but  as we approached the Iranian border, they put   on their veils, a sign that we were entering  the realm of believers… I had taken a seat   on the bus next to an Iranian Kurd who spoke some  Arabic, he kept me company the whole way and told  

Me about the suf-fering of the Kurds. It was the  first time I had heard about the Kurdish people.  The journey lasted two days. The bus, which  wasn’t very comfortable, first reached Ankara,   then skirted the northern Taurus Mountains and  then crossed Malatya. When it was time to cross  

The Iranian border, my companion became very  nervous and stopped talking to me. For me, there   was no problem; as soon as the customs officer  saw my visa, he waved me through with a big smile,   and I went back to my seat on the bus. However,  my Kurdish friend and several other people were  

De-tained by the Revolutionary Guards, and the  driver had to leave with-out them. Either they   were wanted, or there were doubts about them. I  felt sorry for him. We continued the journey to   Tabriz, Qazvin, and fi-nally arrived in Tehran. At Last, Iran 

I got off the bus, feeling numb as if in a dream.  The journey had left me drained, my back was sore,   my legs weak, and the scorching heat was further  dulling my senses. But what a joy it was! Finally,  

I was reaching my destination! I dozed  off for a while on a shaded bench,   then explored the surroundings before  considering contacting my con-tact.  The street was filled with many women  wearing loose black tunics, all donning   the chador. They seemed cheerful, free in their  movements. Men were dressed in Western attire,  

Except for some who wore the clothing of  religious scholars. Contrary to my expectations,   the markets were brimming with a variety of  food items. The economic war waged against Iran   by Western powers since the rise of Khomeini  had, at least, not hindered the flow of goods  

And commodities in the country! The population  appeared captivated by the Islamic revolution,   patiently abiding by the discipline imposed by the  Revolutionary Guards. Teh-ran’s architecture was   not what I had imagined. The capital had re-tained  few ancient monuments; the buildings were rather   modern. Dur-ing the reign of Mohammad Reza Shah  (1941-1979), significant urban development had  

Transformed the city’s appearance: removal  of city walls, construction of wide avenues.  After this pleasant rest, it was time to get  to the heart of the matter. Before me, I read   a sign indicating the direction to the airport.  I decid-ed to head there. Inside, I entered a  

Phone booth and dialled my con-tact’s number. – My name is Karim, I come on behalf of Said.  – Welcome, my young friend. – I am at the airport.  – Don’t move, someone will  come to pick you up soon. 

Two hours later, no one had come to meet me.  Hunger began gnaw-ing at my stomach. I had almost   no money left in my pocket, and I pre-ferred not  to spend it, guessing that a ruthless tug-of-war   had just begun. Had my interlocutors decided  to play tricks on me? Eventually, I gave in  

To my impatience and called again. – So, what’s happening? I asked.  – Nothing serious, just a delay. Please wait a  little longer; your guide is on the way. Oh! I   almost forgot, did you have a good journey? I almost hung up on him. 

– Excellent, thank you! I’ll wait here for  years if necessary, even if I die of hunger!   I retorted in an ironic tone. – Absolutely not! We need you,   my friend. See you very soon. Regretting the arrogance of my reply,  

I tapped my foot, throwing dark glances  around. How many faces did I not scrutinize,   hoping to find a kindred soul as lost as I  was? But no, nothing except the numer-ous,   flat crowd, indifferent to my miserable fate. At  one point, my empty stomach gave me dizziness,  

And I thought I might faint. I took a few steps  to stretch my legs, then decided to call again.  – It’s me, Karim, I began weakly, eliciting pity. – So, are you feeling better?  – What do you mean? – I assume you’re now  

Comfortably seated, enjoying a good meal. – No, I’m still at the airport.  – What? Your guide didn’t come to pick you up? – No, sir. And I’m spending my last coins   to call you. – Alright,   I’ll inquire. Call me again in ten minutes. I was despairing. Perhaps the leaders of the  

Religious school had re-considered my  application only to ultimately reject   it. My interlocutor’s evasive  tone indicated his discomfort;   he probably didn’t know how to break the news to  me. It was over; I would have to sleep outside,   call my sister in Tunis as a last resort  for help, go back home, ashamed, ridi-culed,  

Under the mocking laughter of my father. Suddenly, I saw a man heading towards me,   smiling, arms out-stretched. I lit up  at his approach. But the man brushed   past me without stopping, going to embrace a  little girl jumping for joy: ‘Daddy, daddy!’ 

My God, I was losing my mind. It had been over  half an hour of wait-ing. Quick, the phone!  My interlocutor provided me with the address of  a hotel where I had to go immediately. There,   someone would take care of me. Finally, I would  be leaving this accursed place! Revitalized,  

I hopped into a taxi driven by an  Iraqi who spoke Arabic fluently.  – I arrived in Tehran this morning  to study at a religious school,   and I have no more money to pay for my fare, I  told the driver once we reached the destination. 

I pulled out a shirt from my bag. – Take it, if it suits you.  – Alright, young man. May Allah be with you. With a peaceful mind, I watched the vehicle   disappear around the corner of the street.  What a kind man! But as I turned towards  

The hotel entrance, my stomach knotted. My  first interactions with the religious had   been so difficult. What would I find now? I pushed the door open and stepped inside.  In front of me, a man sat in a chair, arms  crossed, gaze fixed. As I stopped in front of him,  

He became animated and stood up. Short, brown  hair, dressed in Islamic attire and a white   turban, he moved with delicacy. – Karim, it’s you, right? he   asked with a warm smile. – Yes, I timidly replied.  – Delighted to meet you! I’m El Sheikh  Ahmed. You are my guest. Please, have a seat. 

With intense relief, I sank into a chair. My  nerves suddenly relaxed, and I felt like I had   lost control of my muscles. It all felt so unreal! – Did the journey tire you   out? El Sheikh Ahmed continued. – A bit. But I’m eager to begin my learning. 

– Religion is a serious matter. We’re looking for  strong men who can adapt to any situation. The   road to the universal revolution is still long.  Courage and patience are qualities to cultivate.  – I understand. – You need to eat and rest.  

Tomorrow, one of our companions will contact you. I fell asleep like a log. Early in the morning,   just after finishing my ab-lutions,  I heard a knock on my room door.  – Come in! A man entered wearing the same  

Religious attire as my host, a little younger. – Good morning, young man. El Sheikh Ahmed   invites you to follow me. I need to take you  to a place where you’ll spend a few days.  – Alright. When can I join the religious school? – I cannot tell you that. 

This non-answer frustrated me. I had  hoped to meet my future reli-gious   teachers during the day! The vagueness of my  interlocutors’ speech was testing me severely.  Apparently, this deliberate ambiguity was  intentional; I had to endure it patiently and   await the conclusion of the assessment procedures.  De-spite my motivation, my instinct advised me  

To remain reserved: after all, who were these  religious individuals? Did they hold the truth?   Wasn’t my desire to sacrifice myself for God’s  work evidence of my sin-cerity? And why were some   of them refusing to reveal their identities? – How is El Sheikh Ahmed? I inquired. 

– Why would you assume he’s not well? my  interlocutor retorted with a touch of arrogance.  – I simply wanted to be polite… – That’s to your credit, young man, he interrupted   me, as if putting a subordinate in his place. Certainly, this man blew hot and cold! 

I decided to keep quiet. – From now on, the religious continued,   forbid yourself from revealing your true  identity to anyone. I propose the pseudonym   Falahi Hassan Mohamed for you. This name  is dear to me. It’s the name of a recently  

Deceased Iranian fighter pilot in combat against  the Iraqi enemy. A martyr. Be proud to perpetuate   his memory by taking this name. I followed my guide without a word.  We left the hotel to head north in Tehran  to a three-story villa. This once luxurious  

Residence had belonged to an Iranian Shah’s  general and had been requisitioned at the   beginning of the revolution. A sprawling,  tree-filled garden extended to the back,   surrounded by a wall tall enough to prevent  intrusion or indiscretion. Amidst the   self-sustaining vegetation, an out-of-service  pool testified to the former own-er’s wealth. 

– I’m Saudi, the religious confided in  me. I abandoned the Sunni doc-trine for   Shia. I hope you will follow the same path. – I came to Iran for that, I replied coldly.  – You’ll remain in this house  until further notice. Goodbye. 

And the Saudi man left, dragging his feet like  a disenchanted child. This man, visibly from a   wealthy family, did not inspire confidence in  me. He seemed to be serving Allah on a whim.  I took possession of my room, which  faced the garden, to the south. 

The occupants of the two upper floors – the  active members of the El Rissali network,   whose name hadn’t yet reached my ears – stood out  for their calmness. They spoke in hushed tones,   never laughed, and seemed absorbed in matters  of the highest importance. In contrast,  

About ten Afghan families lived on the  ground floor. Children ran everywhere,   mothers chasing after them. These  people were also dependent on the   network. The leaders placed them there to  train them before sending them on missions.  In the afternoon, a man entered my room, dressed  like his predeces-sors in Islamic attire,  

A thin beard, and an intense gaze. Without the  faintest smile, he stared at me straight in the   eyes for several seconds that felt like centuries.  He didn’t seem to be joking. I remained still,   straightening my shoulders to hide my anxiety and  muster courage. My destiny was at stake. Outside  

In the garden, children played, their high-pitched  cries filling the air. My thoughts briefly drifted   to my mother, who must be worried sick. – So, young man, you want to learn the   Shiite doctrine? the religious man began. – Yes, and many other things as well.  – And why? – Because I believe  

In the all-powerful twelve infallible Imams  descend-ing from Ali and Fatma. I also believe   in the salvational return of Imam El Mehdi. – Return? But Imam El Mehdi has never stopped   speaking to us. – Ah, I see…  – What do you see, my young friend? – I see nothing. I’m just seeking the  

Path of the Lord, I replied. – I can only encourage you   in that. Tell me about your parents now. – My parents are humble believers. I have   great admiration for my mother,  a little less for my father.  – Yet your father is a good man.  Don’t you owe your life to him? 

– I prefer to speak with honesty  rather than lie! I exclaimed.  – Ah, ‘lying’, the religious man repeated with  a kind of delight. A fas-cinating subject.   Don’t you think that lying, in certain  circumstances, can lead to the truth? 

– No, I don’t believe so. Isn’t it a sin? – Certainly. But let’s pose the question   from a different angle: wouldn’t you  be willing to lie to save Allah’s word?  – I don’t know what to say… – Don’t worry, you’ll have time to think  

About it. In a few months, I’m convinced you’ll  better grasp the multiple meanings contained   within the concepts of lying and truth. – I hope so, I cautiously responded.  – First, learn the fundamentals  of the Shiite religion. Afterward,   I’m sure you’ll find your true path. – Can I join the religious school  

Quickly? I inquired after a hesitation. – How would I know, young man? It depends on you.  – What do you mean? – Are you truly certain   that you want to learn in our school? – I left my family, left my mother in  

Sorrow. Isn’t that enough for you? I exclaimed  furiously. We’ll talk about it another day.  The religious man greeted me with  a gentle gesture and then left.  I threw myself onto the bed, head in my hands. I cursed him with rage, ready to pour out the  

Most despicable insults. But wasn’t this man  right to ensure the validity of my approach?   The West had already shown its strength in  the past, it possessed powerful weapons,   and it desired the death of Muslims. Therefore,  no security measure should be dismissed. I  

Was the innocent victim of a paradox, both  eager to dedicate myself entirely to Islam   and suspicious in the eyes of my brethren. I could do nothing but wait for the sincerity   of my intentions to finally be acknowledged. I was forced to stay in this magnificent house,  

Transformed into a gild-ed prison for young  recruits, for more than a month. I underwent   nu-merous interrogations, never knowing at  any moment what was truly thought of me.   The trial was exhausting, humiliating;  I was tormented by doubt and dismay.  Then, one morning, the Saudi religious man  came to announce that I would be transferred  

To the religious school El Qaem El Mehdi. Finally, I was accepted! But, already trained   to control my emotions during psychological  tests, I refrained from showing my joy.   Indoctrination The majority of Muslims denounce the Zionist and   Western conspira-cy and manipulation. According  to them, the Judeo-Christians shame-lessly plot  

Against the Muslim world to destroy it. Islam,  their rival, is the absolute truth. Allah is   the true God, and Muslims represent the force of  good and justice. In contrast, Judeo-Christians   represent Satan, the source of evil and injustice. During my stay in Iran, I observed an opposite  

Reality: cunning, lies, and scheming  are fundamental elements within global   Islamist move-ments. In Islam, life cannot be  conceived outside of spirituality and mys-tery.   This partly explains why some believers  get drawn into the most radical Islamist   extremism without truly being aware of it. Added to this is the perfidy of professional  

Extremists, advancing with covered  faces to indoctrinate people subtly,   through insidious touches. This is how they  manage to exert their influence on dreamers,   mallea-ble souls, as well as those who have  not yet gained enough perspective in life – a   category to which I belonged. The El Qaem Religious School 

We first went to the offices of Mohamed Taki El  Moudarissi, not far from Meyden Ferdaoussi Square,   south of Tehran. I had a feeling that he was an  eminent figure. Indeed, this man, the right-hand   man of a party affiliated with the El Rissali  network, was responsible for political strategy.  

There, I had to wait for a large part of the day,  forced to an-swer all sorts of tricky questions,   always with the aim of verifying my sin-cerity.  After that, the Saudi religious leader took me   to the El Qaem School, located about fifteen  kilometres from Tehran between the cities of  

Mamazend and Parchin, on the road to Mashhad.  During the jour-ney, my guide bombarded me with   recommendations, the most im-portant of which  was to only trust my religious supervisor.  Since I had come to Tehran precisely to study and  live my faith in Shi’ism, I couldn’t understand  

The reasons for these quasi-military  in-structions. But when we arrived at the   El Qaem School after changing taxis in Mamazend,  my incomprehension reached its peak: the en-trance   to the building was guarded by an armed sentinel  with a Kal-ashnikov. Did this weapon prevent  

People from entering the school or leaving it? This sight sent shivers down my spine,   but I remained under the sway of my desire to  discover a new source of the Muslim religion.   The explo-ration of Shi’ism produced a kind  of constant ecstasy in me. At that moment,  

I had no idea that I had now become a part of the  oldest and largest Islamist network. It would only   be in the following months that I would fully  grasp the extent of this, especially through   reading the countless activity reports gleaned  from the network’s archives. For now, I was  

Intoxicated with joy. Under the beautiful early  September sun, my dream was becoming reality!  After the obligatory visit to the school’s  administrative offices, I settled my belongings   in the room I shared with three other students,  and I familiarized myself with the premises,  

Happy and confident. The El Qaem School’s compound  covered about ten thousand square meters. The main   building had three levels. On the ground floor,  there were classrooms, a dining hall, a theatre,   a library, administrative offices, and a prayer  room. The dormitories were located on the upper  

Two floors. The site presented a pleasant setting,  likely to excite the enthusiasm of the students.   On one side, there was a swimming pool, and on  the oth-er, a garden adjacent to the forest.   Before Khomeini’s revolution, the school used to  admit young girls from wealthy families under the  

Direc-tion of the Shah’s sister. They were taught  the art of social and diplo-matic receptions,   intended for their marriages to future political,  mili-tary, or administrative leaders. After the   fall of the Shah, heated nego-tiations took place  between the El Rissali network and Khomeini for  

The sharing of power. Among the resolutions made  during these discus-sions was the creation of   the El Qaem Religious School. Its objective  was to train young Muslims from all over the   world for international Islamic warfare. With  supreme skill, this school that advanced under  

The veil of religious education did not create  ‘cannon fodder’ – experts in handling weapons and   bomb-making – but rather, thought terrorists,  exceptional organizers capable of forming   networks, manipulating in-formation, and stirring  up crowds. The school produced white-collar  

Terrorists, the elite of El Rissali. In contrast,  a few kilometres away, in a secret camp located on   the border with Afghanistan, the network trained  soldiers who would directly engage in combat.  During the year 1980, when the Iranian cultural  centre in Paris was visited by Hédi El Moudarissi,  

The ‘right-hand man’ of the network re-sponsible  for the military aspect and the creator of the   movement for the Islamic revolution in Bahrain,  a large number of North Africans took part in   demonstrations supporting the Islamic revolution  in Iran, to the point that the network decided to  

Recruit from this source. The first three recruits  from this region were Sheikh Djamel, a Moroccan   born in Meknes better known by the pseudonym Mehdi  Atlas, Abed El Rahman, my Algerian recruiter from   Paris, and Falahi Hassan Mo-hamed, my assumed  name. The three North African countries were  

Thus represented. When I entered the school in  September 1983, it had about a hundred students,   mainly Saudis and Afghans. It also welcomed a few  Arab Iranians, Tanzanians, and Comorians. We were   divided in-to groups of around twenty students.  I was part of the El Imam El Kad-him group. 

Between strict teachings and cultural  activities, everything was de-signed to   instil revolutionary ideas into the minds of  future fighters, making them enlightened and   easily manipulable. After their training, these  recruits would open offices in strategic capitals   to serve Islamist propaganda and action. The day after my arrival, my awakening  

Within the El Qaem School compound was marked  by a first disappointment: when I presented   my-self at the prayer room for the morning  prayer, the place was deserted. Naively,   I thought there was some sort of rebellion. But  as I went up to the dormitories, I realized that  

All the students were sleeping like logs. Was this how faith was lived here, at the   El Qaem School? Later, I questioned  my fellow students, who mocked me.  – A revolutionary needs to  sleep to recover his strength!  I was taken aback by this infidel-like  response. From then on, my sus-picion  

Towards our leaders continued to grow. We didn’t have time to get bored. Classes   started at 8 in the morning and ended at  noon. Five subjects followed one another.   The first lesson was dedicated to the study of the  Quran. The second covered Islamic jurisprudence,  

El Fiqh, which encompasses the reference works of  the great religious scholars. In the second year,   this course involved studying the teachings  of Jaafar El Sadek, the sixth imam descended   from Ali and Fatma, condensed into six volumes  that formed the synthesis of Shi-ite positions  

In numerous fields. The study of the Arabic  language came in third position. The fourth   course was devoted to the analysis of Hédi El  Moudarissi’s Book of Beliefs. In the second year,   we studied The His-tory of Islam written by his  brother, Mohamed Taki El Moudarissi. The fifth  

And final lesson involved a debate on general  culture, moderated each time by a different sheikh   presenting a current topic. Under the pretext of  objectivity, most Shiite schools of thought were   covered in this program: those championed by  prominent members of the network, of course,  

The one of Imam Khomeini, the grandmaster of  the Iranian revolution, and that of Imam Khouii,   advocate of apolitical peaceful Shi’ism. Each  student had to choose their spiritual guide   among three prominent names: Mohammad Al-Husayni  Al-Shirazi, the public face of the El Rissali  

Network, responsible for the social aspect, Imam  Kho-meini, and Imam El Khouii. This pluralism   flattered the sensitivity of each student, pushing  them to defend a particular opinion leader. At   the end of their training, they would join the  circle corresponding to their favourite faction  

And infiltrate it on behalf of the network. Before lunch, students observed the second and   third prayers of the day. At 2 PM., the program  continued with various sports and cultural   activities. Students could choose between team  sports, the library, or theatre arts, very useful  

For developing propaganda and oratory skills.  The day ended with the fourth and fifth prayers.  Students’ lives were governed by about ten  committees. The most im-portant, El Tekthir,   managed video cassettes containing  the key speech-es of network thinkers,   masterpieces of propaganda skill. Located on the  second floor of the school, this committee had  

Thousands of hours of vid-eo tapes and highly  sophisticated equipment. The library committee   managed a multitude of religious and political  works, including a sec-tion of secret documents   about the network’s activities, accessible only  to a select few. Authorization was required for   each requested book. There were also various  other committees: cleaning and maintenance of  

The school, mosque (El Mesjid), art, cooking,  gardening, sports, and finally, security. Each   student had to spend an hour and a half daily  on rotation to supervise the establishment. This   unit always had sixteen armed indi-viduals  patrolling the perimeter day and night. 

I, for my part, continued my practices  as a devout Muslim. Early in the morning,   I would rise and head straight to the prayer  room. Kneel-ing in the direction of Mecca,   I would offer to the Lord what was right-fully  His, while most of my companions indulged in their  

Last hours of sleep. On my way back, I would cross  paths with the group of guards, rifles in hand,   finishing their patrol. They would sometimes  address me with friendly or sarcastic remarks:  – So, Falahi, was the prayer good? I would return to the dormitory to read the works  

Of the great reli-gious scholars. It was around  7 in the morning that my comrades would wake   up. Some mumbled, dragging their feet, expressing  their lack of enthusiasm for the morning program.   Attending classes didn’t please them much. What  they were waiting for was to go and fight the  

Enemy. Killing, that was the exciting program they  wanted to follow! An hour later, the first class   would begin. The teacher would teach the students  how to read and interpret the Quran. Gradually,   the sacred text would be sieved through the  Islamist ideology. This was done gently,  

Tactfully, meticulously. The teacher would appeal  to each individual’s sensitivity, awakening their   warrior instincts. At the end of the discussions,  every-one would feel honoured, entrusted with an   exhilarating mission: they became lords in the  noble circle of heroes of the ongoing history.  

They were princes under the authority of the  teacher, who knew how to step back at the right   moment to let collective pride emerge. Because the  idea that we belonged to a sacred caste was also   widely developed to cement the group. Thus,  individual hatred found its place within the  

Community spirit. By the end of the morning, the  students would be in a state of almost hysterical   excitement. They couldn’t be contained any-more.  I myself was caught up in the extremist contagion,   a real drug. I was ensnared by the fervour  of blood-coloured religious devotion. 

In the afternoon, most students engaged in soccer.  More than just a release, it was a challenge,   a way to rile up nerves in anticipation of  up-coming battles against the Western enemy.  I rarely participated in these games,  preferring to join the school li-brary,  

Where I quickly gained access. At first,  the teachers looked at me with indulgence,   but by the end of my stay, they were monitoring  my every move: any soldier who approached the   sensitive core of the net-work’s underground  activities was subject to close surveillance. 

At night, I would fall asleep, numbed by  revolutionary slogans and in-doctrination.  Awareness came step by step. My doubts would  dissipate, only to re-turn. I was engaged in a   terrible internal conflict, gradually discovering  the demons hiding behind the personalities and  

Organs of the network. I remained inert, unable  to relinquish my belief in the revolution,   as that would have meant the end of my dream of  a rediscovered humanity. Torn from my naivety,   I inevitably sank into a nightmare where every  word uttered by my mentors became threatening,  

Revealing to me the foul stench of the  wildest ambition: the pursuit of global power.  On the other hand, it was almost enchanting.  I had a salary, I en-joyed a comfortable   living environment in a pleasant place,  bordered by splendid trees under whose  

Shade I could seek refuge and meditate.  My mentors, with their scientific rigor,   allowed me to glimpse the resolutely heroic lines  of an exceptional life. Sometimes, I even imagined   benefit-ing from it personally by playing on  the weaknesses of my superiors. I had a purpose,  

A story that was shaping itself day by day, worthy  of be-ing recorded later in the golden book of   mythical religious leaders. I was in Allah’s  wake. I was respected, I was feared – at least,   I believed so. It flattered me, reassured me,  placed my future under very favourable aus-pices. 

However, when I subjected the teaching offered by  the school to an objective critique, and when I   thought about the bloodthirsty acts of the Rissali  leaders, even if I refused to fully believe it,   at those moments, I felt disgust. I enjoyed the  privileges, but my conscience was burdened with  

Unspeakable shame. I felt lost, powerless, just  like in the past when, as a memory-deprived child,   I couldn’t communicate with the outside world.  I was caught in the gears of terrorism. The   path to rebirth was still very far away for  me. Death loomed over me. Pages and pages of  

Hesitant commentary would likely be insufficient  to explain the dilemma in which I found myself,   as emotions and religion, history and educa-tion,  utopia and reality intertwined within me.  Where was this truth I was searching for? And then, there’s a dimension that often eludes  

Us, as those who have experienced it only express  it in half-words, or they perish because of it.   I’m talking about the devil’s beauty. The leaders  of El Rissali, Moham-mad Al-Husayni Al-Shirazi or   Mohamed Taki El Moudarissi, to men-tion just  these two names, were fiery, bloodthirsty,  

And luminous figures. They combined brutality  and savagery, but also the mystery of faith,   the brilliance of a diamond. From the height  of their stature as great reli-gious scholars,   they reconciled the magnificence of speech and the  harmfulness of thoughts. Their words annihilated  

Us. They didn’t call for any response, so  everyone ended up finding the crimes they   men-tioned acceptable. Hence the terrible power  of attraction they had on us, even though they   were actually incurable madmen, bloodthirsty  psy-chopaths with whom it was impossible to  

Negotiate. This point cannot be emphasized enough:  religion, once perverted, can turn the fear of   the unknown into a fountain of false pleasures in  which those who doubt existence willingly drown.  If the Rissali leaders manipulated through  politics and religion, they also dabbled in  

The occult sciences. I attended a course on magic  in-tended to ward off the evil eye from packages   rigged for enemies of the network. Similarly,  when a soldier was about to plant a bomb,   his mas-ter had to provide him with charms, recite  lengthy incantations, anoint his body with a  

Special oil that would render him invincible!  I even heard that they conducted experiments   in remote enchantment… For the network,  anything was fair game to drag others into   supernatural madness. This explains the sometimes  strange atmosphere that pre-vailed in the school.  Everything was monitored in a thousand ways.  We couldn’t leave the school premises without  

Permission. Solo outings were an exception. The  students were subject to strict chaperoning by an   escort who took their task very seriously, as per  the strict regulations. Excursions were generally   done in groups of around twenty students, to visit  religious or governmental sites, like the National  

Assembly. On the other hand, we had free access  to official buildings upon presenting our student   ID cards, which demonstrated the good relations  between the network and the Iranian government,   at least during the years 1984-1985. Some-times,  we were introduced to prominent figures. It was  

At the Assembly, where he was presiding,  that I got to know Hachemi Rafsandjani,   who was accused by the German justice of  ordering the assassination of Kurdish opponents.  In this way, I often had the opportunity  to roam the streets of Tehran. Every time,  

The abundance of foodstuffs and other goods in the  markets surprised me. The Iranians lacked nothing,   even though the country was excluded from global  trade under the pressure of the international   community! This was even more striking as  the purchasing power of the inhabitants was  

Practically non-existent. Certainly, a parallel  economy based on bartering had been established,   but Iran also received support from friendly  states, like Syria. The second striking fact   was the partici-pation of women in all sectors  of activity, whether in administration, trade,   or political organizations. In this  regard, the current government had for  

A time improved the status of women compared to  other Muslim countries. Another peculiarity was   that the population of Tehran in-cluded  Christian and Jewish communities that   seemed to be subject to no persecution. I thus met a young Christian woman in a  

Bookstore. She invited me to share tea to  continue our conversation, and she didn’t   hesitate to criticize the power of Khomeini,  without considering fleeing the coun-try. Out of   fear of hurting her, I didn’t tell her about my  affiliation with Shia Islam and El Qaem School. 

I absorbed the lessons from my masters  perfectly in the realm of espio-nage,   simulation, and counterfeiting. I learned to  be a true chameleon, capable of constructing   a new personality in the blink of an eye.  It must be said that I had possessed this  

Psychological ability from an early age that  some individuals have to instinctively blend into   their environment. At school, from the very first  days, I chose to mingle with the Saudi stu-dents,   the majority group. I dressed like them in a  white djellaba, I grew a beard, mimicked their  

Speech patterns, their customs, their quirks. It was a war-like mimicry, a feline strategy:   for every situation, there was  a corresponding manoeuvre.   The Rebellion However, I wasn’t fooled by the   perverse effects that my mentors’ speeches could  trigger in my mind. The tireless discussions,  

The frenzied debates among the students, the  propaganda films extolling revolution-ary   globalization replayed and commented upon a  hundred times, the apocalyptic prophecies,   the calls for hatred and revenge, the religious  justifications, the plundering of God’s word,   the false prayers, the pre-tension, the  desire for dominance – all this sulfurous  

Atmosphere prompted me to remain reserved. My internal rebellion, which I painfully   suppressed, made me silent and irritable. As  the days went by, I sought refuge in silence,   broken on-ly by sudden outbursts of temper at  the most unexpected moments. The personal mentor  

Assigned to each of us in turn had little chance  of get-ting along with me. Ten mentors took their   turns in that role during the first year. I wore  them out one by one with my refusal to conform.  The Rissali teaching method aimed to adapt  to each student’s psycho-logical profile,  

With the goal of stimulating their awareness  rather than imposing anything by force. An   individual who convinces themselves demonstrates  a mental superiority over someone whose will has   been forced or violated. According to network  members, everything should come from within…   An ambiguous principle, since at the same time,  under the guise of religious education, we  

Replayed and discussed the in-cantatory speeches  from the audio and video tapes at our disposal.  If I had succumbed from the start to my mentors’  teachings, I might have been classified as a bomb   maker. My resistance to rules and the string of  teachers it exhausted, on the contrary, led the  

Rissali leaders to entrust me with a task more in  line with my inflexible character: organ-ization.   Mohamed Taki El Moudarissi, the school’s leader,  was never-theless perturbed by my outrageous   attitude, which he labelled as “taste-less.” I  later understood that his frustration was all  

The greater because, planning to send me abroad  for a very particular mission, he was be-ginning   to doubt his protégé’s real capabilities.  Could he truly trust such a troublemaker?   He reproached me verbally several times, to no  avail. But he eventually found the gem that would  

Set the rebellious me back on the right path. My new overseer was named Abou Moustapha. Of   Saudi origin, dressed in traditional attire, in  his forties, stout, with brown and supple hair,   and a tan complexion, his presence exuded a  sea of calmness. Even hurtful words couldn’t  

Erase his smile. When he spoke, his head remained  still, only his mouth moved slightly. His soft   voice required at-tentive listening. However, when  addressing an important gathering, he could raise   his tone like a speaker. A keen psychologist,  he spoke tact-fully and gently. He managed  

To quell my protesting tendencies. Unlike other  teachers, he tended to show me trust and gradually   revealed to me the medium-term objectives  of the network’s policy in North Africa.  But before getting to the point, he took detours. – I’ve been observing you for several weeks,  

Young man, but I don’t know how to  judge you, he said to me one day.  I blushed. Previously, Abou Moustapha  had been rather flattering to-wards   me. Was he now trying to provoke me? – Nevertheless, I am a simple boy,   I retorted, not without irony. – Let’s say, an intelligent boy.  

That being said, you don’t seem to like  to reveal much about yourself. Am I wrong?  Clearly, he wanted to steer the conversation  on a purely friendly level, as if a new   step had been taken in our relationship. – This is the first time you’ve spoken to me  

This way, I replied, some-what brusquely. – Does that surprise you?  – I’m not used to it. – There’s a first time for everything.   Learning is a long path, some-times experienced  as a trial by some. When harvest time comes,   the horizon suddenly clears. But that can  only come from you. Without your goodwill,  

I can’t do anything for you. To approach  God, you must first understand yourself. Dive   into your own mind, and rise to the heav-ens. This man almost took the words right out of my   mouth, as what he was saying exactly matched  my philosophy. Was he reading my thoughts? 

– Yes, I said, I also believe that God  is first within us. But I doubt that   everyone would agree with this idea. – You’re mistaken. Many of us share   this intuition. So, if you think that  God resides in the depths of your mind,   why not express it more boldly? – You know, usually,  

We’re advised to keep quiet. I’ve heard that from   reputable sources, much like yourself. – It takes all sorts to make a world,   Abou Moustapha replied, undis-turbed. – Yes, as long as you don’t   cross the boundaries of morality. – Excellent! the master exclaimed. You see,  

You know how to let your heart speak! – It wasn’t my heart that just spoke,   but the voice of reason, I retorted slyly. – Reason is but a facade, my boy. Isn’t every line   of reasoning moti-vated by a broader dimension  that curiously resembles that of the heart? 

– I suppose, yes. – I’d like to delve into your   thoughts. Speak, go ahead, speak from your gut!  About what you hold dear, your fears, your joys,   awaken the God sleeping within you. Come, tell me  about your plans! And in re-turn, I’ll share mine. 

– Well… I would be happy to serve my people. – Ah! The Maghreb! A distinguished land! A land   of the future! Let me confide something in you  now: the network plans to assist the peo-ples of   North Africa, notably Tunisia. – In what way? I asked,  

Immediately and keenly interested. – By helping them rid themselves   of the tyranny of the ruling powers. – Tyranny! The word is a bit strong, isn’t it?  – Young man, the states of the Maghreb are  pursuing an outrageous policy against their  

Peoples. Their leaders are discrediting the Muslim  reality. Justice doesn’t exist in these countries   because Westerners ma-nipulate the governments  with the sole aim of stripping the region of   its wealth. Under the pretext of economic  cooperation, the Westerners are, in reality,   practicing disguised slavery. – Really? 

Abou Moustapha continued his tirade. – What we intend to do in the Maghreb   simply responds to the deep aspirations of  Maghrebians. Out of solidarity, the network   has decided to support them, even at the risk of  losing men. Sooner or later, you’ll return to your   country to realize your dream… I listened, half unbelieving. 

For me, faith had nothing to do with the economy. The intervention of Western countries didn’t   prohibit Muslims from praying or  seeking God’s word. Furthermore,   Europe held knowledge in many areas that could  help build future Muslim societies and apply an  

Open and generous Islam, as Mohammed had taught. Resistant to the indoctrination of my mentors,   I sought genuine dia-logue elsewhere in order  to deepen my knowledge through the experi-ences   of others. With this in mind, I preferred to  associate with the most unruly students. One of my  

Comrades, an Iraqi, provided me with in-formation  about the network’s secret activities that   confirmed the suspi-cions I held. Thanks to him,  I also learned what certain code names concealed.   Both of us enjoyed theatre. We participated in the  staging of plays written by Muslim playwrights,  

Mostly inspired by the life of Mo-hammed or heroes  from the history of Shiism, such as El Afghani,   a Rissali spy who operated at the end of the 19th  century. Assisted by an attentive teacher, we put   on several performances that were a great success. Of course, we suspected that the drama teacher  

Was passing on his re-ports to Mohammed  Taki El Moudarissi. Through this activity,   the network detected future religious  orators. The stage play prepared us to   overcome our shyness. In addition to imparting a  certain ideology through cultural entertainment,   we delved into the art of mystical pleading, the  mastery of speech. Thus, a vocation could emerge,  

And a cunning mind could find a new reason to  take an interest in the Islamic revolution.  It might be challenging for a European to grasp  the reasons that led me to Islamism. As I’ve   mentioned before, the spiritual dimension in which  a Muslim is immersed from birth partly explains  

Certain unfortu-nate deviations. The believer is  a fragile being because to live in Allah’s spirit,   they must strive for perfection. Moreover,  they often live in pov-erty. Thirst for the   absolute and poverty are two very sensitive  strings. This is where the power of the El  

Rissali network and the Islamist in-ternational  in general lies. Anyone who crosses their path   easily gets en-tangled. What I was discovering  about the network’s activities was hor-rifying.  No government had truly assessed the extent of  this evil yet. There was no miracle solution  

To confront it, other than quickly creating a  large-scale pacifist movement uniting democratic   state from both hemi-spheres, whether they are  Muslim, Jewish, Christian, Buddhist, atheist,   as long as they simply wanted to see their  children grow up far from bombs and murder. 

The months passed like a slow agony, torn  between the search for truth, disillusionments,   and anxiety. How could I escape the trap that  was closing in on me more each day? Sometimes,   I felt as if a colony of rats was gnawing at my  belly. Fear twisted my guts, exerting its blind  

Torture deep within my soul. It would never  leave me. I feared for my own mental health.  I decided that the solution lay within myself:  since I was learning the art of appearance,   false compromises, lies, political intrigues, in  short, all the baseness and tricks that turn a  

Person into a war machine, it might as well serve  some purpose! My only recourse was to sharpen my   powers of observation and investigation to try  to understand from with-in the monstrous organism   into whose bowels I had stumbled. Access to the Archives 

Becoming a regular visitor to the section of El  Qaem’s library reserved for El Rissali activities,   I realized that the network was involved  indi-rectly in most cases, using a vast   labyrinth of associations, moles, finan-cial  intermediaries, and relationships with other  

Groups to do so. Thus, the infamous Algerian  GIA knew the nature of the links it had forged   with different Islamist networks including El  Rissali. ‘Go ahead, friends, slit the throats   of your children and mothers! Don’t hesitate!  Soon, it will be your turn!’ Even Imam Khomeini  

Himself was subject to their Machiavellian  manipulations, just like the youth in the suburbs   who are offered the keys to Allah’s paradise. Who were the leaders of this sprawling network?   Unfortunately, I could only know the  names of those who operated in the realm  

Of the overt. Indeed, the organization was  structured in such a way that reaching the   top of the hierarchy was practically impossible.  Through numerous discussions with my schoolmates   and religious mentors, cross-referencing  and comparing each person’s statements,   I was able to piece together the puzzle. The  most significant revelations came when I read the  

Top-secret documents from the school’s library,  and yet, luck also took my hand in a nearly   miraculous way. In any case, too good to be true. One day, while my group was out visiting the   religious city of Qom to see the mausoleum of  Imam El Ridha’s sister, a modestly dressed man  

Called out to me. – Young man,   would you like me to show you a marvel? Conditioned by months of brainwashing and   revolutionary training, I remained defensive.  I was now suspicious to the extreme. How could   this person approach me, out of all people,  when my comrades had just passed by the same  

Spot two minutes ago? Wasn’t this a trap? – What marvel? I asked, my face impassive.  – It’s a surprise, young man. – I don’t like surprises.  – This one will please you, trust me. – And why?  – Because I see on your face that  you are one of Allah’s chosen ones. 

This kind of expression is very common  in an attempt to gain trust. However,   I felt flattered despite myself. – I don’t see what you mean, I replied.  – Listen, young man, you should  follow me. Your future depends on it,  

The stranger insisted in a very gentle voice. Eventually, I consented to let myself be   guided. We arrived at a hum-ble building. – This is my house, the man said. Come in.  Once inside, he led me down into  what looked like a dried-up well. 

– Where are you taking me? – This well leads to old   cellars. Come, have no fear. A string of light bulbs fixed   to the walls illuminated our path with a feeble  light. We walked through several narrow corridors   until we reached a large vaulted gallery. – What is this about? I asked, amazed at  

The rows of books that filled the space. – It’s a very ancient Shiite library. You’ll   find manuscripts dating back centuries,  some even from the time of the caliphs.  – I can’t believe it! – Oh, but this isn’t the  

Only place of its kind in Iran! Know, young  man, that the ground of our country conceals   hiding places where the archives of the greatest  religious scholars of our history and numerous   documents related to Shiite politics are stored.  Now, I’ll leave you. Make good use of what you’ll  

Discover. Come back to see me whenever you  like. As payment, you can give me what you can.  Fascinated, I didn’t know where to start. I  stayed in this place filled with mysteries for   the entire afternoon, reading voraciously. According to the authors of some of these  

Documents, the El Rissali network originated  from a very ancient religious order whose   sacred texts advocated the use of force for  centuries to come. Some claimed it dated   back to the time of Mohammed. Indeed,  some of these manu-scripts seemed to  

Belong to a very distant past, suggesting that  genera-tions of scribes had spent their lives   transcribing these scrolls over the centuries. I returned to this place several times during   my time at El Qaem, nev-er ceasing to  ask questions. How had such a wealth of  

Knowledge man-aged to traverse the ages? Were  they genuine incunabula? Wasn’t I the target of   a ruse intended to prove the legitimacy of the  network to strong-willed individuals like me?  Today, regarding this last question,  doubt is no longer allowed.   The Centuries-spanning Journey  of the El Rissali Network 

Here’s how the Rissalists present  their origins. This is a story to   be read with the utmost caution, but it  is instructive regarding their mind-set.  Upon the disappearance of the twelfth infallible  Imam, the renowned hidden Imam El Mehdi, in 878,   the early supporters of the El Rissali  network, “the messenger,” claimed that  

Despite his temporary with-drawal from public  life, he continued to send prophetic messages to   be-lievers. Through them, he would soon designate  his successor – the sole religious scholar   capable of shaping the future of the Muslim world.  Pur-sued by their opponents and greatly weakened,  

The network members decided to also withdraw  from the political scene, escaping torture and   preparing in the shadows for the revival of the  Shiite faith in light of texts derived from the   words of El Mehdi. Thus, his disappearance marked  the beginning of their clandestine operations. 

At that time, the first task undertaken by the  Rissalist scholars was to preserve and protect   for centuries to come the writings that formed  the basis of the network’s strategy. These texts   had two parts: one intended for the masses  of believers and the other for the elite,  

Which was to be kept secret. Religious  schools were established, exclusively   for their de-scendants. Network members retreated  into these elitist schools, consol-idating their   organization. Before being admitted, each  applicant was subjected to rigorous tests,   and an investigation into their past and fami-ly  history was conducted. The religious training  

Consisted of seven stag-es, detailed as follows: The first stage took place over several years,   during which the student learned the  basics of Islam and Fiqh (jurisprudence),   guided by a mujta-hid – an “assiduous” or  expert – who provided instruction in Shiite  

Scholars’ exegeses. The second elevated the  student to the status of a re-ligious scholar,   yet still under the guidance of a master  who taught the nuances of jurisprudence.  In the third stage, the student reached the  rank of Houjatou El Islam, where they could   partially detach from their master. They  then formu-lated their own jurisprudence,  

Achieving the level of ihtiate, or “pru-dent.” In the fourth stage, the student defended their   Rissala El Amalia the-sis on jurisprudential  practices before the greatest Shiite scholars,   who bestowed upon them the title of  exegesis, allowing them to express their   personal opinion independently of a master. The fifth stage elevated them to the rank of  

Ayatollah, granting them the right to lead  their own religious school and send their   disciples around the world to propagate their  jurisprudence. Students owed them alms (el zakat).  The sixth corresponded to the rank of grand  Ayatollah El Ouadha-ma, the “sign of the Grand  

God,” the highest level of knowledge.  Few religious figures could claim it.  Finally, the seventh stage, known as Wilayat-Al  Faqih, crowned the supreme religious scholar. Yet,   this degree remains largely theoretical. According  to some, only Imam El Mehdi holds it. In practice,  

No reli-gious figure has dared to claim  it, except for Imam Khomeiny during his   revolution against the Shah of Iran. Thus, the Rissalist Shiite ideology   managed to span the ages. The Rise of Modern Terrorism  Around 1860, the emergence of Djamel Eddin  El Afghani on the po-litico-religious  

Stage marked the network’s entry into the  political do-main, at the root of terrorism.  This Afghan, born in 1839, under his real  name Djamel Eddin Assad Abadi, was one of   the first to participate in the infiltration of  the Sunni body. Converted to the Shiite doctrine,  

He received religious education in Iran and joined  the ranks of the network. He infiltrated among   the Sunnis in Afghanistan to understand their  logic and mode of operation. Later, he gained   access to the famous religious school El Azhar in  Egypt. He propagated Shiite political ideas within  

This institution. This served as a test for the  development of the science of infiltration that   fu-ture agents would benefit from. He initiated  Mohamed Abdou (1849-1905), one of the first   Sunni politicians to teach at El Azhar and the  founding father of Islamic reformism El Nahdha,  

“the renaissance.” A precursor of secret warfare,  El Afghani had plans since 1867 to establish an   Islamist movement in Egypt and push it to seize  power. From there, he aimed to unify the Arab   world and expel Western colonizers from the land  of Islam. Interestingly, this spy, operating  

Throughout the Ar-ab-Islamic world on behalf of  the network, maintained excellent rela-tionships   with European colonizers, especially the British,  to whom he provided various information about   opposition parties – communists, na-tionalists,  and Shiites – that were not part of the network. 

In the 1920s, after the fall of the Ottoman  Empire and the partition of the Arab-Islamic   world between the British and the French,  El Ris-sali’s leaders fully realized the   power of the West. This led to a harden-ing  of the movement and a reconsideration of its  

Political strategy. Con-fronted with the  enormous Sunni body and Western dominance,   direct confrontation proved ineffective.  Infiltration, manipulation, destabiliza-tion,   in short, everything related to secret warfare,  became the favoured weapons. The leaders isolated   themselves even more in their ivory tow-er,  establishing a highly secured system of  

Communication both hori-zontally and vertically.  At the same time, they formed a secret appa-ratus   intended to carry out terrorist actions against  Western interests and to create Islamist movements   within the Sunni community. They also developed  the technique of the double agent, taqiya. 

With Egypt’s independence in 1936, the Muslim  Brotherhood move-ment, founded in 1928 by Hassan   al-Banna, hastened the departure of the British.  This religious fraternity had originated through   the influ-ence of El Afghani, but the lack of  political experience among its leaders prevented  

Them from attaining power. This failure forced  them to reor-ganize. They developed a specific   economic and social system, distinct from  capitalism and socialism. At the same time,   they preached a com-plete return to Islamic  tradition. Gradually, they fell into fanaticism,   endangering Rissali’s plans. However, the network  managed to regain control of the movement through  

Said Quotb, a leader of the Muslim Brotherhood  and a sympathizer of the network. He even provided   them with significant financial support. As  the politico-religious ideas of the Muslim   Brotherhood spread across the Islamic world, the  presence of El Rissali became stronger. After  

Said Quotb was sentenced to death by Egyptian  authorities, the network continued to exert   its influence over the Muslim Brotherhood until  the 1950s, when they were eradicated by Nasser.   This relative defeat pushed the Rissalists to  intensify their infil-tration into the Sunni body  

In Egypt. Choosing a new strategic posi-tion,  they maneuvered to develop Islamic movements   under their agents’ control while preserving the  local religion. This way, they strengthened their   positions in major Egyptian cities, from  which they later established branches in   neighbouring countries. Through my Iraqi friend,  I learned about Rissali’s underground activity  

In North Africa in the 1960s, particularly in  Algeria. Whether true or false, the answer is   secondary as long as the movement’s followers  take it as truth. This stu-dent claimed that   the El Rissali network actively participated in  Alge-ria’s independence. Long before liberation,  

They sent soldiers to Algeri-an military camps.  Mustapha Bou Yaali, a resistance fighter who   op-posed the National Liberation Front (FLN) to  establish an Islamic state after independence,   was, according to him, a member of the network.  According to this Iraqi, the Rissalists, faithful   to their policy of all-encompassing infiltration,  maintained excellent relations with Ben Bel-la  

And certain FLN militants. Through the leader of  the Algerian in-surgency and his armed movement,   the network hoped to accelerate the Islamization  of the country initiated by Bou Yaali. Ben Bella   came to power in 1963. The understanding between  the new president and the Rissalists was well  

Underway, but in 1965, Boumediene’s coup thwarted  the network’s plans. A fierce anti-Islamist,   Boumediene estab-lished a totalitarian socialist  regime to suppress any politico-religious   in-clinations in the population. He assigned key  military positions to Ka-byle Amazighs known for   their opposition to Arabization and their  an-imosity towards Islamists. Nevertheless,  

A secret agreement was reached between the  Rissalists and Boumediene, a mutual non-aggression   pact also accepted by the governments of Nasser  in Egypt, Gaddafi in Libya, and Assad in Syria.   The network committed to withdraw from these  countries, which they had used as support  

And transit points. In return, the respective  governments were to support Islamist movements,   recruit Rissalist soldiers into their own military  camps, and turn a blind eye to their proselytism.  Initially, these statements seemed far-fetched  to me. However, in 1985, an Algerian economist   who was at El Qaem school for elite  sol-dier training changed my perspective. 

– My country needs warriors more than scholars, he  told me. The network should help create military   camps there instead of opening re-ligious  schools. Leave that to the Gulf people, who   prefer the ease of ji-had over wielding weapons! Upon hearing this, I had to admit that the links  

Between the network and Algeria were indeed  longstanding and solid. A year later, while I   was in Syria, I met this Algerian again. – What are you doing here? I asked him.  – The network should provide me with fake  passports for compatriots who are going for  

Military training in Algeria. Due to a technical  glitch, I couldn’t get them back into the country   on my own, so I had to report to Bou Yaali. – Bou Yaali? I repeated,   trying to recall the name. – What, you don’t know Bou Yaali? He’s our leader,  

One of the prom-inent Algerian Islamist militants!  After independence, he continued the fight for   the establishment of a religious state. It’s the  Rissalist leaders who train our troops. We also   receive financial aid from the network. – I suppose he’s in hiding?  – Yes, he moves constantly. The  Algerian government wants him dead. 

Since independence, Algeria  had remained a battlefield!  The infiltration effort aimed primarily at  erasing differences with the Sunni populations,   who constituted 90% of the Muslim people.  The Ris-salists’ idea was to work with these   communities, encouraging them to create their  own Islamist organizations and supporting thought  

Cur-rents closest to Shiism, such as the Quranic  groups or the Sunni Islamic left that advocates a   reinterpretation of the bloody Muslim history.  Once the Muslim community was united under a   politically accepted ideal, indoctrination  into Shiite ideas could take place.  

The Offensive in the West After the first Rissali offensive in the Middle   East, the next one was launched towards the West. The analysis of the El Rissali leaders – which I   do not share, I must clarify – is that the Western  world is infiltrated by Zionist Jews who con-trol  

Many financial, civil, and military institutions.  Taking advantage of the naivety of Christians and   their lack of understanding of the Jewish-Islamic  conflict, they orchestrate a secret war aimed at   annihilating Muslims. The fundamental premise  of the revolutionary theory of the Rissalis,  

The one they develop for their troops and  adapt as events un-fold, is as follows:   the struggle for global domination pits two  symmet-rical entities against each other,   each composed of three ideological groups: 1. Pro-Arab Shiites (El Rissali), the rest of   the Shiites, and the Sunnis. 2. Zionist Jews,  

The rest of the Jews, and Christians. Within these two entities, the dynamics   of influence are similar. Ac-cording to their  perspective, Christians are manipulated by Jews,   who themselves are under the influence of the  Zionists, just as Sunnis are manipulated by  

Shiites, who in turn are influenced by El Rissali,  the hard-line branch of the Shiite movement that   actively prepares the ground for the famous Mahdi  through various underground actions. Therefore,   the Rissalis and the Zionists are sworn enemies.  Each Zionist offensive receives an equally or  

Even greater-sized counterattack. For instance,  when the State of Israel was established after   the Second World War, El Rissali decided to  respond by creating an Islamist gov-ernment.   This was realized years later in Iran. When  the Zionists ac-quired their territorial base,   the Rissali Shiites decided to achieve  the equivalent, always indirectly to avoid  

Condemnation from the interna-tional community.  At least, this is what their leaders claim.  The Rissalis then dispatched spies to Europe  tasked with compiling de-tailed reports on Zionist   activities, meticulous and long-term work that did  not intimidate the network, which operates with a  

Very long-term view based on the predictions of El  Mehdi. The leaders of El Rissali ad-mit to having   had contact with the Nazis. I have seen documents  indi-cating their connections with the Nazis   through the network and the support they provided  to Hitler, facilitating his rise to power.  

Similarly, they appear to have supported all  anti-Semitic organizations in France, Italy, and   Spain, indirectly aiding far-right and neo-Nazi  parties active on the European continent. This   policy was clear: eliminate the Jewish presence  in Europe, then strengthen the presence of popular   Muslim communities and maintain their cohesion  by preventing or delaying their integration  

To turn them into an intervention force, while  simul-taneously encouraging an elite to integrate   and occupy key positions, all to prepare for  the conquest of Europe at the right time.   Wilayat-Al Faqih The efforts of the Rissalists also  

Extended towards the creation of their own state,  indirectly led by them, with the principle of not   appearing openly. They set their sights on Iran,  where the supreme leader, the Shah, began showing   signs of weakness in the late 1970s, while the  in-fluence of Imam Khomeini continued to grow. By  

That time, the Ris-salists had already infiltrated  various Iranian Shia factions, and their influence   among the people was not insignificant.  The supporters of Khomeini could not avoid   dealing with them. In fact, in 1961, when this  religious leader launched his initial calls   for a popular uprising, the Rissalists swiftly  orchestrated the political support that allowed  

Him to establish his authority over the people. Leveraging Khomeini’s popularity, the Rissalist   agents worked on be-half of the network: their  superiors wanted to bring Khomeini to power,   designating him as a figurehead in the short or  medium term. Negotia-tions between the Rissalists  

And the leaders of Khomeini’s party began while  Khomeini was in exile in France. An agreement   was reached, in-volving the establishment of an  explicitly Shia Islamic state in Iran. However,   points of divergence remained. The  pro-Khomeini forces were leaning   towards a pacifist revolution – the future  Iranian leader called for a popular uprising  

Initiated by women and children ‘holding roses’,  while the Rissalists advocated armed force.  Khomeini was essentially caught in a dilemma.  Al Mahdi, ‘the Sav-ior’, had not yet revealed   himself. Who could take his place in the inter-im?  What non-religious message could be the foundation  

For the revolu-tion? He had no other choice  but to claim the highest spiritual degree,   Wilayat-Al Faqih, not as a substitute for El  Mahdi, but as his repre-sentative among the   believers. This seemingly simple move becomes  much more complex upon closer examination: this  

Title effectively posi-tioned him above all other  religious leaders, compelling his rivals to submit   to his authority. Nonetheless, they remained  free in the exercise of their faith. With the   preservation of doctrinal plurality, he unified  the entire religious spectrum of the country and  

Its followers around two clear ideas: removing the  Shah, seen as a traitor subservient to the West,   and transferring power to religious scholars, seen  as the only sal-vation for Shia and all Muslims.  In the absence of El Mahdi, entrusting the  absolute power, which is typically reserved  

For an infallible Imam, to a parliament comprised  of religious scholars is called Wilayat al-Faqih   or Choura el foukah. The idea of a parliamentary  power structure emerged after the disappear-ance   of the twelfth infallible Imam. Shiite teachings  prohibit engaging in warfare or politics without  

Being directed by such an Imam, chosen by Allah  himself. As long as the last Imam remains hidden,   no Faqih can take his place. That’s why Shiites  have remained passive since his disappearance.   The idea of Wilayat al-Faqih resurfaced with the  fall of the Ottoman Empire when Shiite religious  

Leaders sought a way to ex-ert political power  in the absence of an infallible Imam. Some,   includ-ing Mohammad Sadek al-Sadr and Khomeini,  revived the idea of Wilayat al-Faqih, leading to   a split in the Shiite political branch into  two groups: one supporting Wilayat al-Faqih,   the other for unofficial actions. When the revolution overthrew the Shah,  

The network presented itself under the name El  Rissali Alshirazi, named after its mastermind.   Until then, only the second segment of the name  had been emphasized. Its leaders continued their   militant activities, so much so that most of the  bloody actions commissioned in the 1980s were  

Attributed to Imam Khomeini, who publicly claimed  responsibility for some. If he failed gravely to   stem the tide of violence that spread panic in  the West, he must be considered more complicit   than accountable. History is more intricate than  simple minds want to believe. His supporters found  

Them-selves caught in a dilemma. By attacking  the Rissalists, they risked pre-cipitating   the downfall of their supreme leader. The future leader of Iran eventually learned   the true intentions of the Rissalists. Had he  placed a spy within the network? Had one of their  

Agents betrayed them? He kept his discovery  secret and tried to gradual-ly remove the   Rissalist elements from his surroundings. However,  he had underestimated their power, and he had to   negotiate power-sharing with them. The agents of  El Rissali seized control of key sectors in the  

Country: military barracks, television, radio,  press, banks, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs,   and hence embassies abroad, which would soon serve  as bases for the development of their deadly war.   Thanks to the success of the Iranian revolution,  the network achieved its first ma-jor victory and  

Solidified its positions worldwide. They elevated  Imam Khomeini to a mythical hero to accelerate   the unification of the Mus-lim community,  with the ultimate goal of seizing power.  Equipped with exceptional media, military, and  human resources, the Rissalists had succeeded   in implanting their ideas in significant  areas: the Middle East, Russia, Egypt,  

North Africa, Sub-Saharan Africa, Eu-rope, and  the United States. At the network’s request,   most of the lead-ing Sunni religious scholars  rallied behind the cause of the Iranian   revo-lution. Mind control reached its zenith. As  the Islamist fervour grew since the early 1980s,  

Western nations finally became aware of the  dan-ger, albeit ignorant of the identities of   the protagonists of this interna-tional rebellion.  From within the network, I was able to observe the   ac-tions and deep motivations of its leaders.  Driven by success, these lead-ers, disregarding  

International law, spread blood and terror through  other movements like Hezbollah. Horrific attacks,   such as the suicide truck bombing that killed 241  Marines and 58 French soldiers in Beirut in 1983,   can be attributed to them, as well as hostage  takings like those of Marcel Carton, Marcel  

Fontaine, Jean-Paul Kaufmann, and Michel Seurat. They funded drug networks destined for the West   to weaken it. They formed the  elite army Haras El Thaoura,   “the guards of the revolu-tion,” leading people  to believe it belonged to Khomeini’s supporters,   while it was led by one of theirs, Mohamed  Muntadhiri, assisted by Hédi El Moudarissi,  

A key figure in the network. Officially tasked  with pro-tecting the interests of the Iranian   revolution, it was ready to intervene  abroad in the event of a serious conflict.  The history of the El Rissali network is  symptomatic of the profound troubles that  

Have shaken the world since the beginning of  the century, namely the gap of misunderstanding   between the North and the South, a consequence  of a painful decolonization, and the entrenched   conflict between Jews and Muslims. The strength  of this constantly moving network lies in the   diversity of its members: religious figures,  intellectu-als, bankers, military personnel,  

Politicians, warriors, kamikazes, and a large mass  of frustrated believers easily manipulated. Beyond   this, its strength lies in its organization, all  the more alarming because it seems more difficult   to attack. The apparent leaders of El Rissali are  religious scholars or those presenting themselves  

As such, powerful figures I have met and can  talk about. However, its greatest manipulators   remain un-known, individuals I have spoken  to, admired at times, and despised at others,   without fully understanding their hidden power. The Organizational Structure of the Network 

Before delving into the details of the El  Rissali organizational struc-ture as it appears,   it is necessary to recall how this terrorist  group per-ceives the world. This will provide   a better explanation of its structure. The Rissalists view religion beyond the  

Common interpretation de-rived from a traditional  analysis of the Quran and hadith. They place the   human body at the pinnacle of their value system.  To them, hu-mans are a perfect machine, endowed   with qualities borrowed from both the animal and  plant worlds, yet unmatched in the universe. The  

Spirit of this machine belongs solely to Allah. In  the end times, it will re-join the divine Spirit.   Emotions are merely expressions of a pretentious,  misguided consciousness that hinders its function.  Since the Rissalists consider humans as mere  tools, their techniques of infiltration and  

Manipulation take on a different perspective.  This also explains why, in the face of adversity,   the network needs to protect itself behind  numerous screens. As I mentioned earlier,   its organization re-sembles a human  body composed of two symmetrical parts:  

One appar-ent, the other secret. This structure,  of which only one of my superiors gave me a   hint during a private conversation. At the end of my first year of study,   eager to forcefully confirm the ex-istence of  the network’s secret part, I dared and requested  

A meeting with Mohamed Taki El Moudarissi. – Do you have a secret role? I asked him directly.  – What do you mean, my boy? – I thought I understood that there are   leaders whose identities should not be known. – Be careful of what some may tell you. 

– Allow me to insist. I am a fighter. As  such, I have sacrificed my life for the   network. Therefore, I believe  I have the right to the truth.  – Falahi, I have affection for you, but I think  you are putting false ide-as in your head. A piece  

Of advice: stay in your place, and everything will  go well. Learn the Shiite doctrine well. A day   will come when you will be a great religious  scholar. You would be wrong to want to skip   ahead. Think carefully about what I have just  told you. I trust your wis-dom. Now, leave me. 

This message seemed quite clear to me: the  network’s secret entity was indeed real. I   had to be patient before gaining access  to it, or I would face serious trouble.  This binary structure serves as a model of  simulation and lockdown. Thus, a distinction  

Must be made between the function and the position  held in the Rissalist network’s hierarchy. Indeed,   an individual can be assigned a secret task  without necessarily belonging to the hidden   entity. The distinction is significant, as  every member is susceptible to occupy-ing  

Both apparent and secret roles. This makes  it impossible to know the true extent of   each person’s roles and powers. For example, one  Rissalist may suspect another of conducting an   underground mission when in fact they are not.  Doubt constantly prevails, forcing everyone to  

Hold their place and especially their tongue. This ongoing ambiguity ensures security on   both a human and politi-cal level. Which Rissalist  would dare confess their problems to a col-league,   knowing that they might be the instigator?  Because an apparent member can become a hidden  

Leader while maintaining their primary activity.  In such cases, their peers are unaware of this   ‘double role.’ When danger becomes too imminent,  they abandon their external (offi-cial) functions,   employing a strategy of retreat or masking.  On the other hand, if a Rissalist belonging   to the internal (unofficial) entity  reduces their activities within it,  

They are forbidden from leaving. Membership  in the secret realm is conceived as a   priesthood, a total and permanent sacrifice. This organization is also inspired by a saying   of Imam Ali, cousin of the Prophet Muhammad,  who defined the notion of a state based on five  

Pillars: social, cultural, political, military,  and economic. The value of these terms diminishes:   social service corresponds to the head, culture to  the left arm (the voice of the heart), politics to   the right arm (the voice of reason), military to  the right leg, and economic to the left leg. This  

Is the apparent hierarchy of the network. The  hidden part pre-sumably follows the same order,   although it remains impossible to con-firm, as it  is inherently secret. It is somewhat the soul of   the apparent entity, representing the eternal  energy inaccessible to all. Its dimension is  

Immaterial, in contrast to the visible body that  is the apparent net-work. This organization also   aligns with the theory of imamate, trans-cending  the boundary between the visible and the   invisible. Lastly, it in-triguingly corresponds  to the myth of El Mehdi, the hidden Imam. 

This operation may seem obscure, even  bewildering, to a Western mind accustomed to   Cartesian reasoning. One might even be tempted to  think that its description cultivates a paranoid   delusion. However, the complexity of the rules  that govern the network is commensurate with the  

Grandiose political and religious ambition  of the Rissalists. By being in their midst,   by being part of their organism, I have been a  privileged witness to the transgressions of these   men for whom religion is merely a pretext,  and who are experts in the art of secrecy,  

Concealment, and the game of masks. This account  serves as a warning: just because some-thing is   difficult to conceive or disbelieved,  it does not mean it does not exist.  A secretive and compartmentalized  network, El Rissali therefore had   visible leaders, whose portraits are as follows: Mohammad al-Husayni Al-Shirazi, the Social Aspect 

Mohammad al-Husayni Al-Shirazi, responsible for  the social aspect, was the official head at the   time. The passage of information between the two  entities of the network relied on him. He alone   had access to the hidden domain through constant  consultation with his phantom counterpart, also  

Responsible for the social aspect. He would pass  on in-formation that came up to him and circulate   among his subordinates in the visible network  the information that came from the higher entity.   He was thus at the heart of the Rissali octopus.  However, he probably had only a fragmented view of  

The secret network’s activities. Moreover, was his  counterpart in the hidden entity necessarily the   head of the network? The regime of Saddam Hussein  claimed he was of Iranian origin for obvious   domestic political reasons, but he came from a  family of prominent Iraqi religious scholars.  

Members of this family had always opposed the  ruling power, advocating for the creation of   an Islamic empire uniting Muslim countries. In  this regard, they shared Rissalist ideas – no   surprise, as they belonged to the network. He belonged to the sixth degree of Shi’ism,  

That of the Grand Ayatol-lah. This title earned  him the admiration and respect of all. He was   a religious reference. He lived in Qom where he  led a religious school. At the time, he was over   sixty years old, married and a family man, of  small stature, with a round belly, white hair,  

And a light beard, a sign of the nobility of his  lineage. Usually dressed in a djellaba or kamis,   he wore a black or amema turban, signifying  his affiliation with the Proph-et’s family.   Paradox seemed to be the foundation of his  personality: one day he would say white,  

The next day black. It was impossible to know  what he truly thought. His gaze seemed to come   from nowhere, some-times warm, sometimes icy. His  speech was always carefully considered. He never   mentioned war. His cause claimed to be pacifist,  apolitical, dealing solely with social issues. 

In reality, his secret activities involved  directing four major Islamist movements   through multiple screens, which he  founded. When he is-sued a fatwa,   an order to initiate a terrorist action, it  was immediately executed without discussion,   regardless of its nature, scope, or distance.  To think that some saw him as an ethereal being,  

A pacifist, while he was planning one of the  world’s largest Islamist terrorist networks!  Al-Shirazi presided over the seemingly social  organization that served as the network’s basic   cover: the Harakat El Jamahire El Muslima, the  ‘Movement of Muslim Populations,’ headquartered  

In Qom but with branches in London, the United  States, Turkey, Tanzania, and India. Through this   socially oriented movement, he primarily  intervened with-in the Shia community,   where his ideology was widely disseminated,  encouraging people to unite in order to create  

An empire of a billion Muslims, echoing arguments  used by the Al Tabligh Oua Al Daoua movement,   whose followers claimed to be apolitical and  anti-terrorist. In reality, it gathered together   proselytizing missionaries active across Islamic  countries. Their goal was to plague consciousness  

In a way that hastened a return to traditional  religious practice. Al-Shirazi seized the work   of these fervent preachers and also controlled it  from a distance through his agents and channels.   Anything that could directly or indi-rectly  serve the El Rissali network was collected  

And financially support-ed through underground  channels. In this way, thousands of doubting   young people were indoctrinated unknowingly. He also waged a secret war against the Sunni   community and other religions. The  order of priority was as follows:   convert Sunnis to Shiism, then Christians  to Shia Islam, and finally remove Jews from  

Economic and political circuits. His designated  area of intervention covered East Asia, India,   Pakistan, the southern part of the former Soviet  Union, and sub-Saharan Africa – that is, non-Arab   Muslim communities. These communities, often  living away from the international political scene  

And often unaware of the dangers of Islamism,  were more easily swayed towards Shia ideas.  During my stay in Iran, I met Al-Shirazi on  three occasions. During an excursion to Qom   that I participated in with a group of students,  the head of the official network received us  

In his offices. When my com-rades and I were  received by him, he sat in the lotus position   and pressed his fingertips together under his  chin to show that he was giving us his full   attention. As soon as a sentence was finished,  he would briefly tilt his forehead forward as if  

Trying to penetrate the profound meaning of the  words. Strangely, although my initial impression   advised me to be reserved, he managed to gain  my sincerity with astonishing economy. Quickly,   I felt an irresistible desire to confide in him.  He had the ability to address both the hearts  

Of men and their unspoken desires. That’s where  his strength lay. What could be more reassuring   for an Islamist network than having a man who  had the power to probe the reins and hearts?  During the conversation, he turned to me. – Why did you decide to  

Convert to Shiism, young man? – While I was in France, I became convinced that   the descendants of Ahl al-Bayt (the holy family)  are the only true representatives of Allah’s word.  He nodded his head with solemnity. – Very well, young man! This is fundamental.  

The transmission of the prophetic message relies  on the bond of blood, which holds the secret of   the unseen and circulates it through lineage.  Beware of the impostors that some Sunnis can be,   my children. But I would like to take ad-vantage  of the presence among you of our Maghreb brothers  

To pay homage to their people. My thoughts  go especially to the Algerian community,   which has suffered so much from the Westerners’  torture. But Shia doctrine is rapidly spreading   in the lands of Algeria, Tunisia, and Libya. I  can only invite you to spread it around you! Visit  

Me whenever you like, you will always be welcome. The second meeting took place a few months later.   A new student us-ing the pseudonym Ibrahim  had just arrived at the El Qaem school. He   came from Syria, where he had studied  theology for several years. As a Sunni,  

Not yet converted to the Shia doctrine,  he found me reserved, lacking personality,   far from his own ideas. He even reproached me  for converting to Shiism. Despite this animosity,   I sought to win his friend-ship and invited  him to meet Mohammad al-Husayni Al-Shirazi. 

Upon arriving at the location, we had to wait  as Al-Shirazi was in conversation with other   visitors. I overheard one of them asking him for  permission to kill guards from the Iraqi State’s   security. Al-Shirazi dis-suaded him, not out of  kindness, but because he believed this act to be  

A serious political mistake that could jeopardize  the network’s balance and personally compromise   the perpetrator. He used this opportunity to give  these agents a lesson in the art of war. He knew   the subject like the back of his hand. When Al-Shirazi was alone, Ibrahim  

And I were allowed in. – What brings you to me,   my children? the religious leader began. – I wanted to introduce Ibrahim to you,   I replied. He comes from Syr-ia. I thought you would be happy to   meet one of our Sunni brothers. – You flatter me, young man. And  

How can I be of service to please you? – In your capacity as the venerable   master of Shia doctrine, would you perhaps be  willing to enlighten Ibrahim with your wisdom?  – With pleasure! In my opinion, the key is to  cultivate the diversity of doctrines within the  

Muslim community. That’s the wealth of Islam.  After all, the differences between Sunnis and   Shia are slight, if not non-existent. Each can  interpret the sacred texts in their own way;   freedom of jurisprudence is inherent to Islam. I was left speechless. How could Al-Shirazi defend  

Ideas he didn’t be-lieve in for a single moment?  How could he, a man of faith, a religious figure,   say the opposite of what he had always preached? – Those who seek to pit Sunnis against Shia are   traitors, he continued. Open your eyes,  my friends: it’s the Jews who conspire in  

The shadows to divide Muslims, to sow war  between our brethren and weaken them. This   age-old technique can be highly effective if  not guarded against. Sunni Muslims represent   a massive force. We must help them as best  we can. Our common goal is to unify Muslims  

To crush the Zionist enemy. Lastly, why would I  acknowledge any superiority of Shia over Sunni,   given that they both draw from the  same texts, the Quran and the had-ith?  I blushed with shame and anger. What  humiliation! Ibrahim was overjoyed,  

So happy to hear the undisputed master agreeing  with him! As we left, he undoubtedly thought that   the Shiite scholars were great men. During my third and final visit,   this time I was accompanied by an Iraqi student. – With all due respect, I must admit, I began,  

I was shocked by the speech you gave to  our brother Ibrahim last month. How am   I supposed to interpret your words? – Every situation has its context,   Al-Shirazi replied, a smile on his lips. – That’s a bit harsh.  – Harsh? Don’t you want to  practice your faith freely? 

– That’s my dearest wish. – Well, this freedom comes at a price. Strategy,   my dear! It’s the only thing that can save us.  You understand that if I had acknowledged the   superiority of the Shiites in front of Ibrahim, he  would have considered me an enemy. Those resistant  

To our doctrine must never be alienated;  otherwise, they could become our fiercest   adversaries. A religious schol-ar has the duty to  adapt to each situation. His mission, I repeat,   is to unify the Muslim community. Therefore, he  is forbidden from publicly displaying his personal  

Beliefs. It’s war, my child. ‘Al-harbu khidā’un’  (war is a deception), as the Prophet said.  I wanted to shout at him that he was  mistaken, that Allah would not command   the death of all humanity to save  a single man! But I bit my tongue.  Mohamed Taki El Moudarissi,  the Political Dimension 

Next to Al-Shirazi was his right-hand man,  responsible for the politi-cal dimension:   Mohamed Taki El Moudarissi. In his fifties,  with a thick beard and deep-set eyes,   he was Al-Shirazi’s son-in-law. His composure was  impressive. In truth, his entire demeanour exuded  

A kind of morbid gravity. It seemed that the  role he held within the network did not al-low   for affectionate displays. His charisma stemmed  from the seriousness that characterized every   action he took and the quality of his speech. When  he spoke, words flowed smoothly from his mouth,  

His sentences were fluid and precise, getting  straight to the point. His father had en-trusted   the religious education of his seven sons  to Al-Shirazi. All had later become great   religious scholars closely or remotely associated  with the El Rissali network. As the right-hand man  

Of the network, Mo-hamed Taki El Moudarissi  reported directly to his father-in-law. Like   Al-Shirazi, he was a substantial spiritual  reference and has now become an ayatollah.  He presided over the Iraqi Islamic Work  Organization, Moun-athamet El Amel El Islami   El lraqia. Under the guise of social work, it  concealed a political function, the network’s  

Favoured domain. The term ‘Iraqi’ was used to  muddy the waters, as this organization, within   which major political strategies were decided, was  based in Tehran at that time – today, it has been   transferred to Iraq and operates interna-tionally.  Its activities revolved around three main areas:  

The publication of propagandist documents,  the gathering of information on global state   situations, and recruitment. The first journal  published under its wing was ‘El Aamel El Islami’,   ‘Islamic Work’, with a very limited dis-tribution.  The second, ‘El Shahid’, ‘The Martyr’,   on the other hand, was circulated worldwide,  notably through Iranian embassies, locked down  

By the Rissalists. Their printing press was in  Tehran. The offices of the intelligence service   were also located in the Iranian capital, not far  from the residence of Mohamed Taki El Moudarissi.   They were equipped with state-of-the-art  equipment. Numerous agents around the world  

Provided the massive amount of information the  network needed. The Rissalists thus created   an exceptional database. As for recruitment, it  occurred within various organizations such as the   now-closed Iranian Cultural Centre in Paris, which  he had founded, and continued within religious   schools under the organization’s control. So,  Mohamed Taki El Moudarissi was the spiritual  

Master of the El Qaem school. Among the five major  leaders of the visible network, he was the one I   held in highest esteem. Certainly, this man was a  dangerous Islamist, but who else could I rely on?   He usually came on Thursdays to deliver a lecture  on current political topics. It was an opportunity  

For mental realign-ment. He also regularly came to  review school records. The principal and teachers   would present their reports to him. Based on the  conclu-sions in these reports, he might sometimes   interrupt an ongoing curricu-lum to revise  it. He also decided the fate of disciples:  

One would be dis-missed due to incapacity, another  sent on a mission to their country of origin,   a third assigned to economic or military  training, and the last propelled into a   non-political religious school, like that of Qom,  admin-istered by Al-Shirazi. In this latter case,  

The student escaped his tutelage. He also reviewed  applications for prospective students. He was   overly meticulous. He sometimes spent several  consecutive days reviewing a case. He might even   gather additional information about a candidate’s  personality before making a decision – this is   how I understood the missed appointments,  special conditions, and delays that led to  

My re-cruitment. He wasn’t stingy with advice and  repeatedly warned students against squandering the   money given to them by the school. He la-mented  the frivolousness of those from the Gulf region,   whom he con-sidered dilettantes. According to  him, this attitude contributed to the Muslims’  

Lag behind. But one had to compromise. When asked  why he entrusted responsibilities to them then,   he would reply that ‘only don-keys are guided by  donkeys’. Our fight had to be followed by all,   includ-ing the fools. And well, the wallets  of these people weren’t exactly emp-ty. 

Hassan al-Saffar, the Cultural Dimension The Cultural Dimension was entrusted to   Hassan al-Saffar. At the age of thirty, a theology  student by profession, slim with a budding beard,   he looked more like a socialite than a religious  figure. During our first meeting, I was taken  

Aback by his voice, as delicate as a woman’s.  His duties required numerous trips abroad. Due   to his Saudi origin, he was tasked, among other  things, with infiltrating the Sunni body within   the lower social strata. He lacked the charisma  and persuasive power of someone like Mohamed Taki  

El Moudarissi, and his religious writings were  of mediocre quality. However, nothing here was   without purpose, and the Rissalist leaders had  calculatedly chosen him as a recruiter among the   humble and the weak-willed. Nonetheless, rumours  circulat-ed that most members of the network did  

Not hold him in high regard. I saw him as a weak  and easily influenced individual who enjoyed   flattery and was unreliable. Yet, he was the best  Saudi Shiite I had encoun-tered. It’s likely that   the hidden leaders closely monitored him, waiting  for him to falter in his task to eliminate him.  

He had left the eastern part of Saudi Arabia at  a young age for Kuwait, where he studied in a   religious school affiliated with the network.  After the success of the Khomeini revolution,   he made his way to Iran, and the Rissalists  had placed him at the head of the left arm of  

The network. Thus, he became responsible for  a cultural organization named ‘El Thaoura El   Islamia Litahrir El Jézira El Arabia’ (The  Islamic Revolution for the Liberation of the   Arabian Peninsula), which served as a cover  for a secret propa-ganda organ. Its official  

Headquarters was in Tehran, though I couldn’t  confirm this due to the well-guarded secrecy.  The absence of the term ‘organization’ indicates  that the political role played by this structure   was secondary. Al-Saffar’s underground work  primarily involved transforming Muslim societies   towards the Islamic ideal, without which the  international Shiite revolution cannot take place.  

In summary, it involved discreetly substituting  Shiite ideas for traditional practices, aiming   for a worldwide population uprising. The method,  repeated throughout different layers of society,   was always the same but terribly effective. The  main target was Saudi Arabia, a pre-dominantly  

Sunni nation, with the network leaders not  recognizing the legitimacy of the Al Saud power or   that of other Gulf emirs. Outside of Saudi Arabia,  Al-Saffar’s activities extended worldwide. One of   his sig-nificant operational places was the Centre  of Young Muslims in the United States. Under the  

Guise of promoting Islamic culture, this centre  worked to recruit future Rissalist elements.   Similar structures mainly ex-isted in Europe.  There were also such centres in Kenya, Tanzania,   and Syria, particularly active in Sayyida Zainab. Al-Saffar published a number of magazines,   such as ‘La Révolution Is-lamique’ in London and  the ‘Afef’ magazine in Lebanon, which dis-cussed  

Women’s issues. These publications aimed to  rival ‘El Watan El Arabie’ and ‘El Moustekbil.’   The newspaper ‘El Alem’ (The World), based  in the English capital, was also under the   umbrella of the El Ris-sali network, not the  Iranian government, as some believed. The goal  

Was to inundate the Arab-Muslim world with widely  circulated publica-tions, some of which were even   distributed free of charge to households.  These primarily targeted Sunni Muslims,   and their editorial line worked to smooth out  ideological differences in the interest of unity. 

Among the five major intervention zones defined  by the network since 1979, Hassan al-Saffar was   the primary person in charge of the Arabi-an  Peninsula, Oman, Jordan, and Yemen. Since the   Rissalists were thwarted in Saudi Arabia due to  strong opposition from Wahhabi Sun-nis, they had  

To shift their focus to the latter two countries.  To complete this picture, Mohamed Faouzi,   a Shiite of Saudi origin and a prominent member  of the network, was responsible for the four major   regions of Africa: northeast (Sudan, Somalia,  Ethiopia, Egypt, the starting point of the  

Revolution), southeast (Kenya, Tanzania, Comoros  Islands, Mau-ritius), southwest (Cameroon, Niger,   Senegal, Côte d’Ivoire, Benin). Special efforts  were placed on the last two countries due to   their signifi-cant population of Lebanese origin.  Lastly, the Maghreb. When I com-pleted my studies  

At El Qaem, I had to collaborate with this man and  with Sheikh Ahmed, a leading Maghreb specialist.  Hédi El Moudarissi, the Military Dimension Brother of Mohamed Taki El Moudarissi,   Hédi El Moudarissi was re-sponsible for the  military aspect of the network. He was a  

Physically ro-bust man, tall, slender, dynamic, a  true champion of combat action, prone to furious   outbursts of anger. His hoarse voice often carried  threatening tones. His influence was significant,   as was his passion for the revolution. He led  El Jibha El Islamia Litahrir El Bahrein (the  

Is-lamic Front for the Liberation of Bahrain).  The term ‘Bahrain’ had not been chosen innocently,   as Iran has long claimed, even under the Shah’s  regime, ownership of these thirty-five islands   with a substantial Shiite Iranian population. The  complete control of the Rissalist net-work over  

The country would put the network in a perilous  position vis-à-vis the Gulf countries. In fact,   this armed front is responsible for the  serious disturbances that the archipelago   has been experiencing for the past few years:  attempted coups, bombings, Shiite population  

Riots. The Emir of Bahrain struggles to quell the  growing unrest. Thus, Cheikh Ali Salman, a young   thirty-one-year-old mullah and sympathizer of  the Rissalist cause, expelled from the territory   on January 15, 1995, was preaching rebellion at  the Khawwajah Shiite Grand Mosque in the capital.  

This geographical area resembles a powder keg. The armed front located in Tehran has training   camps in the north-ern part of the capital,  as well as near Mashhad in Iran, Lebanon,   and Afghanistan, as I learned from discussions  with soldiers who were part of it. This is  

Where the network’s troops are trained. These  are not just conscripts armed with bayonets,   but true war professionals equipped  with state-of-the-art weaponry,   both psychologically and physically trained. The armed forces are divided into three groups.   The first, El Joundi El Rissali, “the soldier  of El Rissali,” brings together men prepared  

For sui-cide commando missions who live in  isolation, kept in a state of perpet-ual   religious trance. When a suicide attack or an  assassination is decided by the network’s leaders,   one of these warriors is selected. On the day  of his departure, he is given the details of  

The operation. Armed with fake documents,  he crosses borders and waits for a month in   the country be-fore carrying out his terrorist  action. During this time, the network pro-vides   him with the necessary information for carrying  out his mission, such as contacts with agents in  

Place who will provide him with explo-sives and  other materials. When the attack takes place on   the soil of a Western country with a highly  efficient police system, the soldier returns   to his base once his crime is committed. This is  called “fugitive terrorist work.” If the affected  

Country is politically unstable, such as Lebanon,  Afghanistan, or Algeria, the soldier remains   in place to carry out new attacks. This is the  “permanent terrorist work.” These soldiers stand   out for their dedication and complete obedience.  They are trained in a camp called the “suicide  

School.” Everything is said in this title. They  are named Safouine, after the surname of Navvab   Safavi, a former member of the network and creator  of the Rissalist armed forces, exe-cuted by the   Shah before the Iranian revolution. To recruit the  first Ris-salist soldiers, Safavi drew inspiration  

From the methods of an ancient Islamic order  called El Hachachine, “the Assassins’ sect.”   This religious order had invented the suicide  commando in the 10th century, based on the tragic   end of Imam El Hussein, who allowed himself  to be assassi-nated to save the Shiite cause. 

The second group, El Joundi El Rissali El Kahfi,  “the secret soldier of El Rissali,” brings   together explosives experts responsible for making  bombs, homemade chemical weapons, and transporting   arms. They are fast, efficient, quick-witted,  capable of making decisions within minutes.  The third group, El Joundi El Halaka, “the  soldiers of the circle,” forms the elite  

Of this fight. They are organizers and serve as a  link be-tween the previous two groups. Once their   training is completed, they travel around the  world collecting information to enrich military   data-bases and prepare the ground for future  terrorist actions. They live a Western lifestyle,  

In legal status, often holding significant  positions in European civil society. Consequently,   they represent a latent terrorist threat that is  all the more serious as it is difficult to detect.   Intelligence is just another commodity that is  traded among unscrupulous vendors. Thanks to them,   the network holds vital information  about European and American forces. 

Hédi El Moudarissi was propelled to the position  of military chief be-cause he had lived in Bahrain   for a long time, where he was recognized as a  prominent religious scholar with the degree of   Houjatou El Islam. I know of no enemies he had.  He’s a respected and feared man. In his role as  

Military chief, he operates numerous levers  within the network’s structure. Furthermore,   he has written several works on the meaning  of religion, considered to have significant   philosophical implications by critics. This  individual of steely resolve could be gentle   one moment and terrifyingly harsh the next.  Fortunately, I never had reason to complain  

About him. It is true that he was capable of  the worst. At the slightest perceived threat,   he would eliminate the nuisance. In his eyes,  only the success of the revolution mattered, even   if it required massacring half the world. He was  probably the bloodiest of them all. Shedding blood  

Seemed to him the most effective means to hasten  the downfall of enemy states. He incessantly   pushed for more suicide commandos. In fact, he  volunteered for a major operation intended to   assassinate several Mus-lim heads of state in  Morocco during a political meeting where he was  

To represent Iran. Since he enjoyed diplomatic  immunity, he would evade border controls and   easily approach the target. However, the leaders  refused to sacrifice a man of his calibre.   Believers, yet also calcu-lating! Nonetheless,  this did not prevent Hédi El Moudarissi from   or-ganizing a failed coup against the Bahraini  government, fortunately. The operation ended  

With the arrest of seventy-five Rissalists. Like his brother Mohamed Taki, Hédi did not hold   people from the Gulf in high regard. He would say,  ‘The future of the Arabs is the Greater Maghreb,   and for non-Arabs, it’s Persia.’ Conversely, he  held Maghreb residents in high esteem. One day,  

He recounted his travels to me, particularly in  Tunis, where he had met Islamist elements, whose   names he naturally refrained from mentioning.  He also visited Libya, where he had excellent   relations with Abdessalam Jalloud, Gaddafi’s  advisor and the second most powerful man in  

The regime. Abdessalam Jalloud visited him in Iran  to coordinate a joint policy regarding terror-ist   operations against Western interests. Hédi El  Moudarissi proposed opening military training   camps in Libya to cover the Maghreb region,  and the Libyan gave his approval. However,   Kadhafi ultimately reject-ed this project.  In reality, the Libyan president had no trust  

In Islamists and did not want to risk becoming  embroiled in an Arab-Muslim con-flict. Especially   since he desired to improve his image in the eyes  of the international community. Nevertheless,   the ties of friendship between the Rissalists  and Abdessalam Jalloud persisted. The latter   secretly pro-vided financial, logistical,  and military assistance to the network,  

Even supplying individuals capable of carrying  out terrorist attacks against Western countries,   funded through Libyan state accounts. Based on the  information I gathered or was permitted to see,   the El Rissali network thus participated in the  Pan Am (Lockerbie) and UTA plane bombings with  

The complicity of Libyan intelligence services  and Abdessalam Jalloud. These horrific attacks   were conceived as retaliation against the United  States, whose military had mistakenly shot down   an Iranian air-line a while back, and against the  French authorities for their neo-colonial policies   in African countries. Upon discovering he had been  double-crossed, Kadhafi ousted Jalloud from power,  

But he continued to refuse to hand over the  suspected Libyan spies involved in the affair,   as he was keen on avoiding exposure of his  former advisor’s criminal activi-ties – though   it doesn’t absolve him of other wrongdoings.  While he was betrayed on this matter,  

He remains a tyrant with blood on his hands. Kadhem El Moudarissi, the Economic Dimension  Finally, the last visible leader, Kadhem  El Moudarissi, held the posi-tion of the   ‘left leg,’ overseeing the economic aspect. The  younger brother of Taki and Hédi El Moudarissi,  

This man of then thirty-five years, with a  somewhat fragile appearance, didn’t often adopt   the Is-lamic attire, unlike his elder siblings.  He preferred the attire of a West-ern businessman.  There isn’t a specific organization dedicated to  the financial aspect. In reality, each branch of  

The network has its autonomy in this matter  and sets its budget according to its needs.   The ‘Islamic Revolution for the Liberation  of the Arabian Peninsula,’ the branch led by   Hassan al-Saffar, derives its resources from funds  coming from Saudi Arabia and the Gulf countries.  

The movement within Al-Shirazi’s population  sur-vives thanks to private donations such   as zakat and khums. ‘The Islamic Front for the  Liberation of Bahrain’ led by Hédi El Moudarissi   is funded by wealthy Iranian merchants. ‘Muslim Work Organization of Iraq,’ headed   by Mohamed Taki El Moudarissi, inherits its  finances from wealthy businessmen affiliated  

With the Iranian government. To avoid budget  disparities among the various branches of the   network, its leaders decided in 1982 to  create an economic department responsible   for managing revenues. A placement office was  established in Tehran. It invested in the East  

And in Europe in various sectors such as real  estate and hospitality, and then distribut-ed   the profits generated among El Rissali’s sectors. Thanks to Kadhem El Moudarissi’s managerial and   negotiating skills, assisted by his brother Ali  Akbar, the network’s revenues reach stagger-ing  

Amounts. It trains its own businessmen who go on  to open branches in Scandinavian countries, the   United States, the Gulf, and especially in Kuwait,  a country that serves as a cover for launching   extensive finan-cial operations. The West is  the sworn enemy but also an excellent cash cow! 

Money from the Gulf countries reaches Iran and  Lebanon via Syria. From Lebanon, it is directed to   Lebanese individuals in Africa who are responsible  for integrating it into the drug circuits in   Europe. Once mul-tiplied, the money is used to buy  weapons and cutting-edge technology to provide the  

Network with top-notch logistics. Apart from the  place-ment office in Tehran, it appears impossible   to locate the nerve centre of this activity.  Undoubtedly, the El Rissali network holds a   significant number of shares in internationally  renowned financial institutions through a network   of shell companies. It also maintains close  relations with less scrupulous Arab banks, as  

Money knows no bounds, even in the realm of God. These funds are intended for the network’s   soldiers: terrorism is a pro-fession, and  despite hiding behind a religious facade,   the God of Money is also revered! Every new member  of El Rissali is granted a lifetime sal-ary,  

A bank card, accommodation, household staff (with  keen ears), a tutor for children’s education,   and many other benefits. I myself enjoyed a salary  and the largesse of the network for a while.   The prospect of the return of the hidden Imam An incredibly organized, notably entrenched,  

And even tentacular or-ganization, El Rissali  pursues a single goal: to dominate the world   in anticipation of the return of the hidden  Imam. This pursuit is carried out through an   exceptionally long-term strategy that very few  individu-als in the West can fathom, as it has  

Been plotted, according to them, for centuries. The Rissalists firmly believe in the righteousness   of their harmful en-deavour. They are malefactors  with unparalleled determination. I wit-nessed   that any order originating from the leadership  is executed to the letter and without delay,  

As it is believed to come directly from  Imam El Mehdi, the holder of hidden truth,   who entrusted his powers to Shiite religious  scholars before disappearing. As a result,   every member of El Rissali considers themselves  as his soldier, his knight protected by the  

Hand of Allah. Here lies the essence of their  fanaticism. Imam El Mehdi is regarded as the   true secret leader of the network, who continues  to enlighten men from the shadows and perpetually   convey his will. The idea of insinuating that  the network emanates from the founders of Is-lam,  

And therefore from Allah, is cunning as it fosters  confusion among the feeble-minded and frustrated,   lulling them into the illusion that they  touch divine power by obeying orders. The   hadith proclaims that any soldier of Allah  who perishes in the execution of their duties  

Reincar-nates alongside Mahdi to fight the  enemy with him and spread Islam across the   Earth. This prophecy is successfully disseminated  among both Shiite and Sunni populations: a hope   of reincarnation for the former and a promise  of a higher place in paradise for the latter. 

As seen, I managed to approach certain  sacred texts purportedly tran-scribing the   words of Imam El Mehdi, buried according  to tradition near the mausoleums of the   infallible Imams. This is evidently a devout  imposture that has been woven over time,  

And it is likely that the net-work intentionally  allowed me access to these texts to make me   adhere to its alleged religious legitimacy.  Convincing the followers that the network is   an emanation of Prophet Muhammad constitutes  the ulti-mate weapon. The art of mystification  

Works here in full force to induce a sense of  enlightenment among the young terrorist recruits.  These works trace the history from Adam to the  end of the world. Their content is intended to be   clinically precise. They determine the network’s  rules of life and its strategy within the  

Framework of the holy war that is meant to lead to  the advent of the Muslim Empire. This war, which   is said to have begun on the day of Muhammad’s  birth in 571 and is expected to conclude in   the year 2299, is of an unimaginable scale and  duration when considered within an individual’s  

Lifespan. It is divided into twelve generations  spread across four periods. Each genera-tion   lasts for a hundred and forty-four years and  consists of twelve twelve-year plans, which are   further divided into four three-year peri-ods. The tenth generation covers the period between  

1867 and 2011. The actions undertaken by the  network in the thirty-six years leading up   to its end, according to Rissalists, aim to  demonstrate to the international community   that Islam is an invisible and indestructible  force, ‘the last religion of the last prophet,  

And its civilization, the last of all.’ Accord-ing  to them, El Mehdi will resurface when the flags of   the following na-tions are united: Iran (the  black), the Greater Maghreb (the yellow),   and Yemen (the white). At that point,  Israel will be encircled. Here are,  

Loosely translated, the ten hadiths that  announce to the Rissalists the return of Imam   El Mehdi and on which they base their strategy: 1. After me (Mohammad), there will be caliphs,   Arab kings, non-Arab kings, then despotic kings,  dictators, and tyrants. According to Rissalists,  

This sacred utterance materialized when the  Abbasid dynasty collapsed and the Ottoman Empire   (the non-Arab monarchy, Ajam) triumphed,  subjecting Arabs to Turkish dominance.  2. The union of the two greatest enemies of  Islam (Jews and Chris-tians) will take place   to combat and weaken Islam. Christians have long  condemned Jews for allowing the assassination of  

Christ. Conversely, Jews reproach Christians for  their rejection of Judaism and their failure to   recognize the coming prophet. Rissalists believe  this ancient rivalry ended after World War II,   uniting adherents of the Old and New Tes-taments  in a shared will to combat the Muslim threat. 

3. A time will come when there will be towers  and when space will be subjected to the laws   of men. The development of modern society  (sky-scrapers, airplanes, telephones, etc.)   could be seen as the fulfilment of this prophecy. 4. A time will come when the Islamic world will be  

Fragmented under the domination of the Romans.  The colonization and division of Arab-Muslim   countries by the West after the fall of the  Ottoman Empire con-stitute the fourth sign.  5. When Jews and Arabs are seen sitting at  the same table to negoti-ate a peace treaty,  

It will herald the imminent fall of Israel and  the re-turn of El Mehdi. The creation of the   State of Israel in Palestine after World War II  is another herald of the return of Imam El Mehdi.   The Quran and hadith specify that Israel’s  fall will happen under the pres-sure of the  

Eastern Persians (Iranians) and the Western  Berbers (Ma-ghrebis). Muslim countries would   then be governed by despots with whom it would  be forbidden to negotiate, and this period would   witness the emergence of two global powers, one  atheistic and the other non-practicing. The former  

Would correspond to the ex-Soviet Union, and the  latter to the United States and Europe. Finally,   another prophecy predicts that a significant  federation, seemingly referring to the USSR,   will collapse, allowing some of its former  republics to unite with the Is-lamic world. 

6. Small black flags will rise in Persian  land under the authority of a descendant of   the Prophet’s family, whose supporters will be  soldiers of God and El Mehdi. He will destroy El   Basra (Bassorah, a significant city in Iraq during  the Abbasid era) without being able to conquer it,  

And he will die in bitterness. Rissalists see in  this word the announcement of Khomeini’s Iranian   revolution. Another prediction indicates  the ap-pearance of large black flags raised   by El Khourassani (named after the Persian  city of Khorasan, today’s Mashhad in Iran),  

Who will destroy El Basra, colonize Iraq,  and stop at the gates of Jerusalem. This   would herald a new revolution against the  Iranian government in the near future.  7. Beware of the Egyptians of Berber descent;  they will eliminate so many Egyptians that only  

One man will remain for every ten women. They  will then establish themselves on the throne   of the country and head towards the gates of  Jerusalem to join El Khourassani’s black flags.   This sacred word would reveal the creation  of an Islamic state in the Greater Maghreb,  

In Berber land. Rissalists, relying on various  hadiths, see this happening as follows: first,   the side-lining of the despot of Ifriqi-ya  (Tunis), an enemy of Islam and Muslims, in   other words, President Bourguiba. This happened.  He will pass away when the Islamic clam-our  

Resounds in Tunis and throughout the Maghreb.  King Hassan, con-sidered the last strong king   of the Moroccan Alaouite dynasty, will also die,  leading to significant political instability until   El Kindy arrives in his country. El Kindy, “the  lame” or of the Kindy Berber tribe, will pro-ceed  

To unify the Muslims. Raising the yellow flags,  he will gather Mo-rocco and the neighbouring   countries into an Islamic state. Egypt will  tremble, just like the Western countries.  8. White flags will emerge from Yemen under the  leadership of El Yemeni. After a long period of  

Political instability in Yemen, a leader will  unite the people; he will invade Saudi Arabia   and head towards Je-rusalem to join the black and  yellow flags. The Jews will then be massa-cred,   and the holy city will be “liberated.” 9. The reunification of Islamic states will occur  

Under the banner of Imam El Mehdi. In reality, the  Rissalists have already begun this reuni-fication.  10. The Antichrist embodied by El Soufiani (of  Jewish origin) will col-onize the five cowardly   states (Palestine, Jordan, Lebanon, Syria, and  Iraq). The State of Israel will cover the region  

Between the Nile and the Euphrates, and corruption  and injustice will reign. At that point,   Imam El Mehdi will emerge to liberate Jerusalem.  Christ, who, according to Islam, did not die,   will be by his side. During this period, Muslims  will be united. El Mehdi will declare war on the  

West, conquer it, and domi-nate the planet,  where Islam will remain the sole religion.  These, according to the Rissalists, are the ten  heralds of the return of Imam El Mehdi. Thus,   the manipulation continues through the  biased interpretation of sacred texts.  

Religion becomes, in the hands of exe-getes, a  more formidable weapon than bombs and cannons:   an entire bewildered and galvanized populace  risks rising up in the name of a sa-cred cause   shamelessly distorted. The Network’s Strategy  I had access to the detailed interpretation  of the tenth generation (1867-2011). The  

Period 1975-1999, in particular, is instructive.  These pieces of information should not be taken   literally, especially not their dates, which can  advance or recede depending on the evolution of   the global situation. The main goal is to present  the internal information provided by the network. 

1975-1987: The El Rissali network increases its  support for Islamic movements and intensifies   the spread of revolutionary ideas throughout  all layers of the Muslim community. The end   of this period marks its first major victory,  the establishment of an Islamic state in Iran.  1987-1999: The objective involves several  points. First, to trigger the creation of  

A second Islamic state in Asia, even if it is not  Shiite. The targeted countries are Iraq, Lebanon,   and Afghanistan. Then, to con-tinue destabilizing  North African states to bring forth an Islamist   re-gime that appears Sunni but is allied with  Shiites. The targeted coun-tries are Egypt,  

Tunisia, Algeria, and Sudan. Next, to intensify  terrorist acts against Western countries.   Eliminate opponents of the Iranian rev-olution,  pro-Israeli and pro-Western individuals. Finally,   to reorganize the network, redistribute  key positions, and unify various Islamist   movements under the control of El Rissali. As we have seen, after the Iranian revolution,  

Most of the strategic branches of power  were monopolized by Rissali terrorists:   radio, televi-sion, print media, intelligence  services, barracks, embassies, banks. Khomeiny   retained only his supreme title of Wilayat-Al  Faqih, the sev-enth spiritual degree according   to Shiite doctrine. The network then hoped to pass  on this title to Houssein Ali El Mountadhiri, a  

Full-fledged Rissali member. Iran would become the  state of all Muslims, the fifth Islamic empire,   with Qom as its capital. After tense negotiations  with the ruling party, the Rissalis had to revise   their ambitions, realizing the need to protect the  ongoing change in order to progress more surely  

Towards the universal propagation of Shiism.  Here are the details of these negotiations:  Khomeiny appoints Houssein Ali El Mountadhiri as  his legitimate successor, the heir to the title   of Wilayat-Al faqih. El Rissali withdraws its  non-Iranian agents from the Revolutionary Guard,  

Which comes under El Mountadhiri’s command. This  armed corps becomes an elite force dedicated to   defending the supreme title of Wilayat-Al faqih.  The network returns control of audio-visual   and print media on the condi-tion that it can  continue to propagate its ideas through them.  

Its mem-bers are now allowed to run for local  and national elections. The net-work agrees   to release embassies but retains the right to  use them as needed. It has complete freedom to   support Islamic movements world-wide from Iranian  soil. The Iranian government contributes to the  

Network’s funding and provides it with state  tools and military aid. The network retains   ownership of real estate acquired during  the revolution (land, schools, facilities,   etc.) but participates in defending the  state and supporting it in its struggle   against the Iraqi regime. If the Iraqi regime  is overthrown, El Rissali will assume power. 

These agreements strengthened the  power of the El Rissali network in   Iran. The public image of Iran was officially  preserved, but the conces-sions were minimal,   if not non-existent. This allowed the network to  create a micro-state within the Iranian regime   that could secretly buy weapons abroad and carry  out all sorts of illegal operations. Hence-forth,  

It could use the regime as a shield and a  springboard to accelerate the global Islamic war.  The network’s strategic plan covering the period  1987-1999 is divided into four three-year periods,   which starkly illustrate the madness of  these individuals who are intoxicated   with the blood of their victims. 1987-1990: The network accelerates  

The establishment of Islamist movements  in Muslim countries. A selected group of   individuals from each country comes to Iran to  receive comprehensive training. Subse-quently,   these individuals return to their respective  countries with a mis-sion of propaganda,   recruitment, and destabilization. The selection  cri-teria were as follows: candidates had to be  

Between seventeen and twen-ty-four years old,  open to various Islamic doctrines, fascinated   by the Iranian revolution, interested in Shiism,  hold disdain for the West and the current regime,   possess a liking for travel, have a sense of risk,  sacri-fice, and obedience, and be intellectually  

Sharp and independent from their families. Several  terrorist groups were formed in Tunisia, Algeria,   Morocco, and Egypt. The network focused its  efforts on Algerian terri-tory to strengthen   the Bou Yaali movement, which ended on February  3, 1987. This attempt was unsuccessful, as the  

Organization was banned by the State Security  Court in June 1987. The network then formed the   ‘Islamic Jihad’ in Egypt, where it apparently  orchestrated the horrific attack of October 6,   1981, which ended the life of President Anwar  El-Sadat, a fervent advocate for peace. The  

Method was simple: recruit supporters within  countries from all layers of society to weave a   network for propaganda and espionage. Prepare  an elite group to take power. Store weapons   and explosives near sensitive areas to arm a  hardcore group of illuminated soldiers capable   of executing suicide commandos at any time.  Simultaneously, monitor any Islamic movement  

That sprouted independently from revolutionary  initiators and infiltrate it quickly. This work   was made possible by observation offices  spread all over the world. Alongside the   destabilization of Arab-Muslim countries, moles  infiltrat-ed most Western countries, fanning the   flames of future chaos in the impious lands. 1990-1993: The objective is to shake the  

West through the multiplica-tion of  terrorist acts and regular dispatch   of threats to political leaders. The goal is  to demonstrate the unwavering power of Islam.  The war was declared. The attacks  targeted plotters, neo-colonists,   but also women and children. No one was spared.  This was a test for both the West and the network;  

If vulnerabilities appeared, they would adjust  their fighting methods. This new war pitted shadow   forces against millions of defenceless innocents  who could become human torches at any moment.   It sowed devastation and panic in families. I  will never forget the speech given by a speaker  

At El Qaem School, a few hours after the heinous  attack that killed nearly three hundred peo-ple in   Beirut in 1983 (241 Marines, 58 French soldiers): – Let us rejoice, for this day marks a great   victory! We have turned Lebanon into  a graveyard for the Westerners! Soon,  

An Islamic state will rise here. It’s young  people like you who made the success of this   op-eration possible. They sacrificed themselves in  the name of Allah and now stand by his side. Soon,   it will be your turn to fulfil your  soldier’s mission against the infidels. 

This phase, marked by a rising spirit of  vengeance and lingering suspi-cion, also saw the   annihilation of rival Islamist movements, either  through denunciation or outright elimination of   their leaders. Contacts with terrorists of all  stripes multiplied, as did the deployment of moles  

To the West. According to the figures I had access  to, ten thousand agents infiltrated territories   in France, England, Belgium, Spain, and the  United States. They appeared to be pacifists and   anti-Islamists, studying in universities, managing  hotels, restaurants, working in banks, and so on. 

1993-1996: The network revises its relationship  with the Iranian state. A few years earlier,   in early 1985, a conflict had erupted with  Khomei-ny’s People’s Party supporters,   who had taken over the government. The network  then decides to undertake a purge called   ‘reorganization within the house.’ Weapons and  explosives are sent to the West, particu-larly  

Through Italy and Germany. Destabilization  operations continue within Arab-Muslim   countries (Iraq, Lebanon, Jordan, Palestine).  The network acts formidably in Afghanistan,   a springboard to Russian Mus-lim countries, and  orchestrates a coup in Tunisia. Egypt resists,   but it achieves notable success in Sudan. This  arms convoy, in which the net-work collaborates  

With ETA, IRA, and Nazi groups under the rule  ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend,’ which   began in 1984, apparently concludes in 1996.  It is difficult to estimate its importance.  1996-1999: Analysis of the international political  situation to prepare for the next war plan. The  

Second wave of terrorism is expected to ex-tend  until 2004. In fact, it has already begun,   especially in France. Simi-larly, the program of  infiltrating foreign countries is well underway.   Moroccan members of the network are sent to  Spain, Algerians to France, Tunisians to Libya,  

Gulf militants to the United Kingdom and the  United States of America, Egyptians to Greece,   Turks and Kurds to Germany, Iraqis  and Iranians to Eastern Europe.  Fortunately, not everything the Rissali terrorists  boast about is neces-sarily true; they don’t win  

On all fronts. The greater Maghreb still stands.  While Algeria is drowning in blood, there is still   no indication that clandestine Islamist forces  will prevail. Afghanistan, which was so coveted,   slipped through their fingers; when the Soviets  withdrew, Borhane Eddin Rabani, a staunch  

Opponent of the network, seized power. On this  occasion, the network suffered a severe defeat.  Some readers might be tempted to think that  the events recorded here are deliberately   exaggerated. How I wish they were right! But El  Rissali is in no way akin to a simple Islamist  

Movement. It is a secretive organi-zation whose  supporters are strategically distributed across   all conti-nents under various covers, ranging  from isolated regions to major capi-tals,   sometimes occupying high-responsibility positions.  Their desire for domination is even stronger as   they believe they are rivals with the Zi-onists in  their quest for world conquest. It is a relentless  

Struggle that they claim to have been waging for  centuries. Thus, the terrorist mad-ness is far   from being over, and it continues to torment us. So, this is what I discovered between my   eighteenth and twentieth years during  the months spent at El Qaem School: 

‘What I discovered or what I was allowed  to discover. Through read-ings, interviews,   deductions, I managed to piece together a  part of the puzzle of El Rissali’s secret   organization and strategy. All this while  continuing to believe, despite everything,   in the justification of an Islam-ic revolution,  with the fear that its leaders might discover that  

I knew things I should have been ignorant  of, and with the rising anxiety of be-ing   manipulated myself. This testimony is directed  at the slumbering consciences of the Western   bloc’s politicians. What are governments do-ing  to stem this deadly tide? With each passing day,  

War draws nearer. Without peace returning to  Muslim countries, the West cannot con-template   the future with serenity. Let’s just imagine for a  moment that our children might see the sky covered   in ashes tomorrow! Let’s forget the differences in  race, skin colour, the wounds of the past. Let’s  

Think about life. Let’s face this grim reality  with a resolute heart, a reality that only steps   aside to strike even harder. Special Missions  The leaders of El Rissali are attentive to global  events and have no-ticed that it is opportune to  

Assign me a mission in Tunisia. This oc-curred  after my brother-in-law Salah Karkar assumed   the leadership of MTI, replacing Ghannouchi. For them, this opportunity must not be overlooked,   as it would pave the way for establishing  direct ties with Tunisian Islamic movements. 

After realizing that my recruitment and  training at the El Qaem school were not   a matter of chance but meticulously planned for  this mission, I left Iran heading towards Europe.  That’s where I began to establish contacts. This  included not only my brother-in-law but also all  

Islamic groups or individuals, whether Shiite  or Sunni, that I could meet during my journey.  This hands-on experience allowed me to understand  precisely how Is-lamists operate and think. I   also grasped how they formulate long-term plans,  placing the concern for individuals at the core  

Of their actions. Their religious ideological  goals take precedence over any other aspect,   regardless of the cost. My New Supervisor  The second year, the school administration  replaced Abou Moustapha with Sheikh Djamel by   my side, a Moroccan considered a grand master  of politico-religious matters, who regularly  

Collaborated using the pseudonym Mehdi Atlas for  the journal El Shahid belonging to the network.  This decision was deliberate. In the eyes of  the school leaders, they needed to silence   my hesitations and prepare me for action.  Under the skilled guidance of my new mentor,  

I would eventually yield to the Ris-sali  order. Indeed, this change bore fruit.   As my mentors taught me the art and manner  of conducting myself in all circumstances,   I became a diligent student, ready for war –  religious war, certainly, but above all, war. 

I learned how to write a coded letter, falsify a  passport, tail an enemy without their knowledge,   set up eavesdropping, evade police pursuit,  re-spond to an interrogation. They also taught me,   someone who never had any taste for violence, the  basics of handling weapons and explo-sives. In  

Short, I was initiated into all the techniques  useful for a novice Islamist spy in the field.  In reality, it excited me. This training presaged  an extraordinary life for me, one subject to   danger yet exhilarating. Violence, when adorned  with the allure of adventure, has the power to  

Stir even the most phleg-matic individual. Worse,  it places them on a pedestal. From there, on the   heights, the sense of belonging to a singular  elite goes to your head, so much so that common   mortals, those helpless insects, seem infinitely  mediocre to you. You feel like a superhuman,  

Wielding considerable power. You have the sense  of belonging to a united family, the only one that   matters now: the family of theory and arms. The  Rissalists are well-acquainted with this kind of   ecstasy that flatters the pride of young peo-ple,  and they know how to play it in a thousand ways.  

Infiltration Plan Hédi El Moudarissi   summoned me one morning to his office in Teh-ran. The room was decorated in an oriental style,   with trinkets and intri-cately carved wood panels,  creating a subdued atmosphere with dimmed lights   and delicate scents. Quite the opposite of the  harshness of terrorism! In the corridors roamed  

A strange array of individuals, silent and  with closed expressions, gliding across the   floor like sleepwalking felines. There were  religious adherents of El Rissali, but also   figures re-sembling businessmen, children playing  cards while waiting for some unknown reward,   elderly women mumbling prayers, the needy… In  fact, the building housed agents of the network’s  

Secret services. This is where activity reports  from Rissalists all over the world converged,   to be processed, analysed, and archived. Without quite understanding why,   I felt a sense of pride being in that place.  Perhaps I was suddenly becoming aware of the  

Significance the leaders attached to me. – Have a seat, began Hédi El Moudarissi.   I’ve been observing you for several months.  You’ve made great progress since your arrival   at the school. However, I must mention that  you easily succumb to daydream-ing. I suppose  

That’s the manifestation of your love for  God. But our Lord also demands vigilance,   activity – in other words, defending Islam. – I’m simply trying to understand God’s message.  – His message is clear; the words of Imam El  Mehdi leave no room for doubt in this regard. Now,  

It’s a matter of how you envision the  future. Do you want to fight alongside us,   or do you think our efforts to make you  an honourable being will be in vain?  At those words, I felt fear prickle at  me, sensing a threat in the words of the  

High military chief. Hédi El Moudarissi  had just given me an ul-timatum. Since I   had been living comfortably on their expenses  for al-most two years, I owed them answers.  – I… Of course, I want to serve Islam in the  name of Imam El Mehdi, I cautiously replied.  

But what exactly do you expect from me? – That you become an honourable being,   as I’ve already mentioned. – I’m listening, sir.  – Master Sheikh Djamel has spoken to you at  length about the Ma-ghreb countries. We want   to help Tunisia break free from its predica-ment.  For that to happen, it’s necessary to overthrow  

Bourguiba and establish an Islamic state, of which  you will naturally be one of the pil-lars. I will   provide you with a comprehensive dossier on  local revolu-tionary movements. You’ll also   find a detailed account of the political life  of Tunisia and its neighbouring countries. We  

Are well aware of most factions linked to the  MTI party, with one exception: the one led by   your brother-in-law Salah Karkar. – Ah! The excellent Salah Karkar!   I exclaimed ironically. – Does he appreciate you? 

– Yes, I believe so. But I, myself, don’t trust  him much. In my opinion, trying to deal with him   is a mistake, I dared, happy to offer this sage  ad-vice to one of the network’s highest leaders.  – Be assured, we have the means to control any  type of situation, Hédi El Moudarissi whispered,  

A satisfied expression on his face… Know  that I have significant plans for your future.  – Ah? – Are you worthy of serving Tunisia?  – I do love my country, indeed. – Then you will be one of its   most notable leaders. – You flatter me,  

I don’t deserve such honours. – Come now, dear Falahi,   take your destiny by the horns! – What will my mission entail?  – You will need to persuade your brother-in-law to  collaborate with us. But I will provide you with   more details later. Read this dossier first. We parted, warmly shaking hands. Hédi El  

Moudarissi had further enticed  me: I was elated, electrified,   ready to take up arms, eager to de-part, to  guide my country down the paths of freedom,   to serve God and His messenger, Imam El Mehdi. In fact, I had just stepped into the grave. I  

Didn’t imagine for a single second that I  was now an armed apostle of the forces of   evil and that I might have to shed the  blood of innocents on my sacred land.  The next day, my position was transferred  to Tehran. Every morning, I took a taxi,  

As discretion required, to the offices of El  Rissali’s secret services to receive further   training. This training included all sorts  of ethnic, political, economic, military,   and psychological data about the Maghreb, its  heads of state, its main Islamist leaders,   and personalities within the police,  high administration, and finance. During  

These ses-sions, my instructors described the  specifics of my future role as an or-ganizer,   including forming bomb-setting cells, spreading  revolutionary ideas within Sunni communities,   preparing popular demonstrations as a  prelude to religious revolt, and so on.  On this occasion, I once again realized the  power of the network and its almost neurotic  

Concept of global Islamism. But now, the only  thing that mattered was the hope of soon seeing   a religious state born in my country. The  rest mattered little to me. My discussion   with Hédi El Moudarissi had struck me like an  electric shock: Tunisia was waiting for me. 

A few days later, Hédi El Moudarissi called  me again. When I entered the chief’s office,   I had the pleasant surprise of finding  my friend from Paris, Abou Ahmed, there.  – What are you doing here? I  exclaimed, opening my arms wide.  – I’ve come specifically for you! – For me, really? 

– And how! Today, you’re going to take an oath. – What do you mean?  – You’re one of us now. In a few days, you’ll  embark on your first mis-sion. But before that,   you need to pledge allegiance to  our cause for the rest of your life. 

Hédi El Moudarissi maintained a religious silence,  but his smile testi-fied to his inner jubilation.   He seemed to experience a physical pleasure from  this. A new recruit was about to bow his head,   submit to the Ris-sali order, and sacrifice his  life for the holy war! This ritual of the oath  

Rewarded him each time with his own sacrifice.  Revolutionary blood merged with the blood of   God. What a moment of grace! I stepped back. – Tell me, Ahmed, did you plan everything   from the beginning of our meeting to  get me into the network, is that it? 

– Aren’t you happy to serve  your country? Rejoice instead!  – Now listen to how we’ll proceed. For the  execution of your mission, you’ll act under   the authority of three comrades: Hassan El  Safar, re-sponsible for the cultural aspect,   Mohamed Faouzi and his brother, El Sheikh  Ahmed, both in charge of directing the  

Tunisian and greater Maghreb Rissalis. – How? I refuse to be commanded by   those individuals! I exclaimed. – What’s happening to you? Have you   lost your mind? Abou Ahmed asked, surprised. – El Sheikh Ahmed has a reputation for never   keeping his word. Stu-dents call him ‘the  liar.’ As for the other two, they’re lazy,  

They lack the weight and seriousness of  our venerable Hédi El Moudarissi here.  – If you start trusting rumours, you’re doomed,  you know that. And be-sides, you won’t have to   deal with them. In reality, you’ll be under my  direct supervision. I’ll be your intermediary. 

– Ah, I see. That changes everything. – So, are you going to take the oath? Abou   Ahmed asked, coming closer to me. I decided to go all out.  – I can’t pledge allegiance for my entire  life. To be completely honest, I doubt the  

Usefulness of our objectives on some days. An oppressive silence spread. Only Hédi El   Moudarissi, eyebrows fur-rowed,  tapped his fingers on his desk.  Finally, he addressed me. – You’re an intriguing young man,   Falahi. Would you reconsider your decision? – I can’t pledge allegiance for my entire  

Life because I’m not sure the network is  entirely truthful. I want to commit for   a period of one year. I also want  the freedom to choose my missions.  – This procedure is unusual, Hédi  El Moudarissi responded. That said,  

I’m willing to make an exception. All I  ask is that you convince Salah Karkar to   collaborate with us, for him to understand that,  without the network’s help, he’ll never succeed   in overthrowing Bourguiba’s gov-ernment. – Trust me, I’ll manage to convince him. 

The rest of the discussion was more relaxed. I  took an oath of alle-giance to the Rissali cause   for a year, as I had requested. Return to Europe  Once the fake passports and visas were prepared,  the day of departure arrived for Abou Ahmed and  

Me. The wife of a Rissali agent living in Brussels  was also traveling with us. She pretended to be   Abou Ahmed’s wife. Under her black chador, she  hid top-secret coded documents on the network’s   activities in Europe for her real husband. A  taxi took the three of us to Tehran’s airport. 

I was going to travel under the pseudonym Falahi  Hassan Mohamed, dressed in Western attire,   posing as an Iraqi student. To perfectly fit into  this role, I had been trained to behave like them,   using the same lan-guage quirks. Additionally,  I had learned a set of magical phrases to say  

Mentally in various situations, like handing my  passport to customs, be-fore boarding the plane,   or when contacting certain individuals,  all to ward off bad luck. As we’ve seen,   the network also delved into the irra-tional! When the Lufthansa plane took off, I felt immense  

Relief. While I had been happy during those two  years in Iran – the religious fervour of Ira-nian   Shiism, excursions to historical sites, meeting  illustrious personali-ties, studying Quranic   exegesis, the beauty of certain landscapes, and  strolling through Tehran’s streets in search  

Of the unknown – I cher-ished the prospect of  returning to the vibrant colours of the West,   its modernism, and the bustling population. The flight attendants removed their chadors,   revealing their golden hair. What beauty!  God had indeed crafted things perfectly,   or so I thought in October 1984. We landed in Amsterdam via Frankfurt.  

For security reasons, agents heading on foreign  missions never took direct flights. Even when I   had first journeyed to Iran, I had made two stops  before taking a bus from Istanbul to Tehran. Upon   arriving in Dutch territory, Abou Ahmed called  a network member to set up a meeting at the  

Train station. A few hours later, we boarded a  train bound for Brussels. Beforehand, Abou Ahmed   discreetly handed over some of the coded documents  to his Ris-sali contact in Amsterdam. During the   journey, he attempted to broach the subject  of my reservations about joining the network,  

But I pretend-ed not to hear. From then  on, an awkward silence lingered between us.  Once we reached our destination, the young  woman’s real husband, a man named Abou Ali,   welcomed us without excessive enthusiasm and took  us to the Rissali cultural centre in Brussels,  

Where I stayed for two days with Abou Ahmed. This facility was an apartment in an old   building in the city centre. The entrance  was guarded by a man who pretended to read   the news-paper. His gaze scrutinized every  newcomer before returning to the crumpled  

Pages of his newspaper. A door led to  a service staircase, typi-cally used by   individuals who didn’t want to be seen by the  building’s occupants. Inside the apartment,   there was a library containing most of the  publications of Islamist networks. I observed   some prominent figures frequenting this den  of criminals, including the son of Rafsanjani,  

A member of El Rissali, the leader of  compatriot students, a representative   from the Iranian embassy, a Belgian member of  the communist terrorist group, the CCC, who had   come seeking logistical support from the network.  These encounters underscored the significant role  

Played by the Iranian state in terrorism. The details of my mission had not yet   been specified. Before we parted  ways, Abou Ahmed, my superior,   informed me of it and added his rec-ommendations. – Now, you will reunite with your family members.  

Be cautious. Apart from your sister and her  husband, no one should know that you are   re-turning from Iran. You can say you’re  coming from Syria, where you studied at   a religious school. Begin your report as  I’ve instructed, and contact me in a week. 

I landed in Paris in an indescribable  state of pent-up excitement. Fi-nally,   I was back in the city I loved so much!  Memories of walks came flooding back,   but also, with less pleasure, memories of the  long days spent at the Iranian cultural centre,  

Where unknowingly, I had sealed my fate. I headed towards Wagram Avenue and entered   an upscale building. I rapidly climbed the  seven flights of stairs, walked along the   narrow cor-ridor of the maid’s rooms, and knocked  on the door of one of them, my heart pounding. 

It was my elder brother who opened the door. – Mum, mum! Karim is back!  After such a painful separation, words were unable  to escape our lips, but we exchanged melancholic   and intense looks for several minutes. What joy  it was to embrace each other again and again!  

My mother, a woman of heart and tact, didn’t  interrogate me about my past. Never-theless,   she was not naive and suspected that I would lie  to her. Life had not been kind to her, and she   preferred not to know, simply praying for God to  help her children, especially me, who she believed  

To be the most fragile. On the other hand, my  elder brother, naturally curious, ques-tioned me   incessantly, but I skilfully evaded his inquiries. A few days after my return, I settled into the   maid’s room next to my mother’s, bought a  typewriter, and regularly, in the evenings,  

I started typing on the keyboard everything I had  seen and heard during the day. “I write whatever   comes to mind,” I claimed. In reality, I was  begin-ning my espionage work. At the end of the   week, I handed my first re-port to Abou Ahmed, who  sent a copy to the cultural centre in Brussels,  

Which then forwarded it to Tehran. For several months, I meticulously   combed through the capital, not-ing numerous  addresses of interest to the network: mosques,   cultural centres, embassies, bookstores, and high  schools of Muslim communities. At the same time,   I tried to observe the habits of the people  frequenting these places. I also examined the  

Jewish and Arab neighbourhoods, as-sessing the  situation of their businesses. I even delved into   the pasts of certain individuals. Any element that  could destabilize public order was meticulously   noted. I compiled a dossier for each district.  When an indi-vidual posed a potential threat  

To the network or served as a political target,  I opened a special file on them. In such cases,   I investigated their private lives  and conducted an in-depth analysis.  Once in action, I had no doubts anymore. I  carried out my mission as an Islamist cadre  

With zeal. Apart from that, I prayed whenever I  pleased. Sometimes I listened to religious chants,   other times to rock music. Occasionally, I drank  alcohol and smoked cigarettes. I wore jeans,   sneakers, and a leather jacket. A real hipster!  I didn’t ask anyone for money. I claimed to  

Have earned a living during my travels and saved  quite a bit. I was a mystery to everyone. However,   having received no news regarding the follow-up  to my Tunisian mission, I had to estab-lish a   cover for myself. I decided to enrol in a school  in Paris attended by affluent Libyans, the sons of  

Ambassadors and industrialists. To do this, Abou  Ahmed provided me with fake academic certificates.   From then on, the mornings were dedicated to the  network’s leaders, who seemed very satisfied with   my work. I was particularly meticulous, not  hesitating to accompany my reports with plans  

And all sorts of seemingly insignifi-cant details  at first glance. Furthermore, I was instructed to   convert members of my family to the Shiite  doctrine gradually, in a detached manner,   through subtle means, avoiding abruptness. My  skills as a preacher were finely honed. I took  

Them aside to create intimacy or gathered them  in groups to better expose their contradictions.   When I had successfully sown doubt in their  minds and they no longer knew what to say,   I proposed an alternative solution. With them, I  had found a sensitive point: Sunnis, I would say,  

Prohibit women from leaving the house. What  nonsense! A reactionary practice! Shiite Islam   places great importance on women’s empowerment  in society. They can engage in politics. In fact,   they are considered equals to men. So, my  role as a Ris-sali agent had three aspects:   espionage, underground preaching, and  the development of the El Taqiya method,  

Which involved integrating into French  society without arousing suspicion.   Al Taqiya I will try   to summarize this vast and thorny subject to  the best of my ability. Many people think that   taqiya is limited to the realm of religion,  often associating it solely with Shia Islam.  

Others attribute it solely to dissimulation. In  reality, taqiya applies to all Islamic currents,   whether in politics, economics, the military, or  religion. Dissimulation is just one of its forms.  There are essentially two forms of  taqiya: (A) defensive (B) and tacti-cal. 

A. Defensive taqiya is used to protect oneself  from external aggression. It is commonly practiced   on an individual level to limit the influence of  one’s surroundings. It is employed in cases of   legitimate defence by any minority seeking to  preserve its right to be different. This form  

Of taqiya also applies at the level of sectarian  orders like Shia or Sufism in order to survive.   There’s no need to dwell on this approach as it  falls under classical simulation and is harmless.  b. Tactical taqiya, on the other hand,  has a strong political connota-tion,  

Aiming to seize power in a country and  eventually over all of hu-manity. It   works towards the extinction of human diversity  and richness through sophisticated techniques   that can be divided into three main points: 1. Methods used to reach as many followers as  

Possible within the di-versity of a population. 2. The application of a step-by-step procedure   to gradually infiltrate minds and  gently subject them to control.  3. Adaptation to different situations based  on their severity and the available means.  The renewal of tactical taqiya emerged with  Muhammad. He want-ed, with the support of his  

Tribe, Bani Hashem, to form a kind of  opposi-tion to the social, political,   and religious power monopolized at the time by  the rival tribe of Bani Umayya. The goal was to   regain control over the region and unite the Arab  tribes around Mecca in the name of one God, Allah,  

And one religion, Islam. Muhammad exploited the  absence of a sacred book among the Arabs to impose   a despotic scriptural ideol-ogy on them. The  totalitarian nature of the new belief contained   a highly efficient germ of domination at the local  level – and which turns out to be disastrous on a  

Global scale – but its implementation required  subtlety. Muhammad bet on tactical Al Taqiya to   achieve his dominat-ing will. It was thanks to  his mastery of this art that he succeeded in   in-troducing Islam and that it slowly but  surely spread throughout the world. This  

Delusion exists in all Islamists, whether Shia  or Sunni, with the difference that among Shia,   only Ahl al-Bayt can take control of all Muslims  to establish the Caliphate on earth, while among   Sunni, this right of command belongs to religious  leaders. The visions differ, but the goal is the  

Same. I will only talk about taqiya among the  Rissalists to understand how it works and draw   appropriate solutions to identify and counter it. Before discussing tactical Al Taqiya, I would   like to say a word about my legitimacy to speak  about it as a former extremist who belonged to  

An international Islamist network. This experience  allowed me to un-derstand the logic of taqiya and   grasp the threat that this practice rep-resents  on a global scale. To those who might think that,   given my young age at the time, a four-year  experience is insufficient to gather so much  

Information about the Islamist threat, I would  reply that one can obtain a master’s or even a   doctorate in four years. A student who de-votes  four years to a thesis topic with targeted   education, reading hun-dreds of carefully selected  books, watching hundreds of tapes, ends up delving  

Deep into the subject, especially if they  have the opportunity to apply their knowledge,   as I did during missions for the network  in the West and, above all, in Tunisia.  With twenty years of hindsight and an analysis of  the functioning of the Islamist octopus, I measure  

With anxiety, in light of current interna-tional  events, that what I have learned applies to all   existing Islamist movements. My experience  ultimately amounts to an understanding of   one tentacular system among others. Each of them  presents itself as the legitimate representative  

Of the Khilafa, God’s will to spread Islam on  earth. Their only difference lies in the thought   current through which each network claims to  achieve this goal. I do not ask to be believed on   my word, but that you reflect on what I denounce  and become aware of the magnitude of the threat,  

Regardless of the form my testimony takes. I draw  attention to the hundreds of young people who have   acquired the same training as me. If I managed to  get out myself, many of them, now adults, continue   to work tirelessly around the world to realize  this inhuman plan. And I’m only talking about  

The network I knew up close, not to mention all  those I am unaware of. Because knowingly or not,   every Islamist feeds on this idea of the global  domination of Islam. The longer time passes,   the more the danger amplifies and becomes  difficult to combat. Everything must be  

Done to prevent the evil from spreading further  and to eradicate it. Whether within governments,   associations, intellectual elites, media,  business, or artistic circles, we must   all fight against this fanaticism that murders  freedom of thought in the name of a certain Allah.  El imam Ja’far al-Sadiq, the 6th  infallible Shiite imam, said this: 

“Al Taqiya as I understand it is our true  religion and that of our parents. Who-ever   does not practice it should be considered  a non-practitioner of authentic Islam.”  At first, I thought that the course called “El  Taqiya” consisted of in-tensive training in   simulation techniques, like in any classical  secret ser-vice training. But over time,  

I realized that it went far beyond a mere  circumstantial practice of dissimulation. It was,   in fact, a complete be-lief, an unwavering faith  in a fool proof tactic that would eventually lead   to the desired outcome. Taqiya is more than  an attitude; it’s a sec-tarian behaviour that  

Becomes second nature. It’s a religion  in itself and a practice at all levels,   supported by unwavering faith. In El Rissali, it  is more important than the five pillars of Islam   and takes precedence over everything else to keep  its members constantly elusive. A political rather  

Than religious approach, it is only assimilated  by those who have the opportunity to practice   it diligently. A true circulatory network of  this international octopus, it reaches even the   most obscure members who work in the shadows to  pull the strings. The emblem of this network is  

The quote from Imam Ali: “Be among them without  being one of them,” so as not to be singled out   and eliminated at the first opportuni-ty. The origin of Al Taqiya as taught by the   network dates back to the creation of man. It  was the first knowledge imparted to Adam after  

His creation in order to unmask Satan, an expert  in this technique, by dis-tinguishing him from   the angels among whom he hid. God was aware  of his vile intentions, but Satan’s extreme   skill in the practice of taqiya prevented Him  from taking action against him due to a lack of  

Clear ev-idence. That’s why He created Adam and  taught him this technique to reveal the falsehood   of Satan’s submission, to dissociate him from the  other angels, and to justify his expulsion from   heavenly paradise. This version is derived from  the following Quranic verse (Chapter 2, Verse 30): 

“When your Lord said to the angels, ‘I am  placing a viceroy (khalifa, ‘caliph’) on the   earth,’ they said, ‘Will You place in it someone  who will cause corruption in it and shed blood,   while we declare Your praises and sanctify  You?’ He said, ‘I know what you do not know.” 

The network claims that the one who  speaks in the name of the an-gels,   named Iblis in Islamic tradition, is none other  than Satan, who occupies the highest position   in the hierarchy due to his apparent ex-emplary  submission to the divine will. It is through his  

Extreme mastery of Al Taqiya that he succeeded  in holding such a prestigious rank. The angels   support him in his opposition to the divine will  out of ignorance of his true intentions: he wants   to be the sole representative of God on earth, and  mankind may steal the spotlight from him. That’s  

Why God responds to them: “I know what you do not  know.” The divine decision to create Adam aims to   unmask Satan to distance him and replace him with  man. So that the latter can thwart Satan’s tricks,  

God first teaches him the art of taqiya. If  Adam eats the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge,   it is with God’s consent because he could  not violate a divine order like Satan did.   He defies the prohibition to touch the tree  with divine per-mission to appear to have  

Sinned and thus reveal to the angels Satan’s  bad faith and his scheming to lead him astray.  It must be believed that Adam learned his lesson  well since he passed on this knowledge to his   descendants through the generations to the present  day! According to the network, only the direct  

Descendants of Mohammed and the children of Israel  know this truth: the Jews use it in the service of   Satan, while the Muslims use it in the service  of God. In this secret complicity with God to   confuse the tracks, Adam uses Eve, a symbol of  weakness and ignorance, to strengthen his image  

As a sinner tempted by the devil. This is why the  first rule of El Taqiya is to use the weakness and   ignorance of the other. Here, “the other” refers  to El Aamma, the simple-minded popular masses:  

One must blend into the crowd to go unnoticed.  This mass has no choice; either it submits to the   imams, or it is exploited by the enemy. Right  from the start, this illus-trates the modus   operandi of Islamism, where the human being is of  no importance compared to the intended objective. 

Another example of the application of taqiya  according to the net-work is the story of Joseph,   where Jacob manoeuvres with the complicity of  his eldest son and Joseph to bring his people   into Egypt. As a prophet, Jacob is a righteous man  among the righteous, so his apparent favourit-ism  

Towards Joseph is part of taqiya: he deliberately  favours him to make his other sons jealous. When   they conspire to murder Joseph, the eldest  suggests throwing him into an empty well,   knowing that he will be picked up by the  caravaners. We know the rest. The story of  

The Exodus is similar: Pharaoh, having refused to  grant freedom to the Jewish peo-ple, his wife, who   is of Jewish origin and has infiltrated the top of  power, arranges with her sister, Moses’ mother, to   adopt the child and raise him as a future leader.  Once he has become an adult, informants work-ing  

For the Jews warn Pharaoh of the danger posed by  this people, who have become too numerous and too   wealthy. This initially prompts Pharaoh to oppress  the Jews, and subsequently to accede to Moses’   re-quest to let them leave Egypt, something he had  previously refused. So, thanks to taqiya, Moses is  

Spared and raised in the palace until the Jew-ish  people, enriched but worn down by oppression,   decide to leave Egypt for the Promised Land. These biblical episodes are studied at   El Qaim School as examples to follow and as  a lesson in the use of Al Taqiya by the Jews,  

By divine or-der at the time, but which continues  to this day in the service of Satan to satisfy   personal ambitions. According to our teachers,  the same sce-nario is repeated by the Zionists to   create the State of Israel: after the Jews’ exodus  to Europe, where they became rich and multiplied,  

Hitler is warned about the danger they represent  so that he initiates their mas-sacre, which   encourages the survivors to flock to the State  of Israel. Ac-cording to the network, without the   deliberate provocation of the Holo-caust, the  Jews would never have agreed to leave Europe. 

Following in the footsteps of his ancestors,  Muhammad used taqiya to fulfil the mission he   had undertaken. The gradual “revelation” of the  Quran demonstrates its use through the principle   of “El naskh ouel mansoukh,” which involves  abrogating one verse with another meant to erase  

The effect of the first. Abrogation is based on  taqiya to deceive the enemy and lead them astray.  Muhammad was not randomly supported by the people  of Medina during his exodus; several branches of   his followers were eagerly await-ing there,  hiding behind the mask of taqiya. Similarly,  

The message of tolerance at the beginning of  his prophethood was tactical; it only last-ed   long enough to strengthen before he could  change his rhetoric. Lat-er, after his death,   the use of taqiya was adopted by his cousin  Ali, who temporarily accepted the caliphate of  

Abu Bakr, one of Muhammad’s disciples, for his own  protection. In fact, it is necessary to re-examine   the entire history of Islam in light of taqiya  to truly understand its course and intentions.   The practice of Al Taqiya today It is reported from Imam Ja’far  

Al-Sadiq that he said: ‘Dissimulation (Al  Taqiya) is my religion and the religion of my   ancestors.’ He also said: “One who does not have  dissimulation (Al Taqiya) has no reli-gion.” This   is an example of how Taqiya is practiced. Many  interpret this hadith as a call to positively  

Consider the diversity of religions, but if  this might be true among Muslims, it is by no   means the case towards non-Muslims, meaning, at  that time, the followers of the religion of Rome   who absolutely had to fall under the control  of Islam. The real question is what different  

Islamist tendencies, from the most barbaric  to the most moderate, mean today by “Rome.’  Al Taqiya reappeared in modern Islamism with the  fall of the Otto-man Turkish Empire, with Jamal El   Dine El Afghani, the father of po-litical Islam to  whom all Islamists refer, whether Shiite or Sunni.  

Faced with the weakness of the Muslim world and  the emergence of the West as the new international   force, the Islamist international community then  takes a hit, but it does not lose sight of its   objective, which is to im-plement divine will  on Earth. Islamists then believe that it is the  

Slumber of Muslims that allowed the Jews to invade  the West and turn it against them, destroying the   Arab-Muslim world, and allowing Satan’s voice to  prevail over that of Allah. According to their   mode of reasoning, Mus-lims are being punished  by God for straying from their basic objective.  

It is their fault if Satan’s will has prevailed. Indeed, the average traditional Muslim assumes   that nothing exists or can exist outside of divine  will. It is God who orchestrates his life down to   the smallest details, and he must submit to  His order without ques-tioning anything. It  

Is God who guides him on the right path of Islam  to save his soul from any deviation and admit it   to His heavenly para-dise. Therefore, there is no  room for free will. The slightest catastrophe is  

Interpreted as a divine sign. If it occurs in the  enemy camp, it is a sign of support for Muslims,   but if it falls on them, it is a sign  of divine anger and a reminder to obey.  To make up for lost time and return to the  international stage as an unstoppable force,  

All means are fair. It is simply  a matter of tactics, of Taqiya.  This is the beginning of Islamist movements  with a clear political connotation in order   to regain control of power. The Arab world is  tar-geted first, then the Muslim world in general,  

And finally the entire planet. Here are some  examples of the modern application of Taqiya.   This shows how difficult it is to collect  evidence in this regard. On the other hand,   if we continue to wait for evidence, we will have  more than we can handle the day when speech will  

Only be granted to the so-called representatives  of Allah, but it will be too late.   Moderate Islamism Some Shiite scholars   (clerics) may appear as moderate as Ayatollah  Al-Sistani. His followers are accepted worldwide   as representatives of a tolerant Islam. In this  regard, all doors are open to them in Asia,  

The West, and Africa to create associations and  recruit freely. However, it is forgotten that   these adherents are muglidin, mere “followers” who  simply advance on the path their spiritual leader   indicates, and their leader holds unquestionable  authority over them. In other words, as long as  

The master calls for peace, they are pacifists,  but if he changes his tone and calls for violence,   they will obey without hesitation. If he asks them  to give their lives to God, they will turn into an   army of un-controllable and devastating suicide  bombers. Moreover, in Shiism, which has a clergy  

And hierarchy similar to Christian churches, the  death of an ayatollah leads to the emergence of   his successor. It is enough for a pacifist leader  to die and be replaced by a fanatic to re-verse   the situation and create a catastrophic one. What does Al-Sistani’s approach consist of, apart  

From the fact that he is not currently calling for  war against the West? His position can be compared   to that of Orthodox Jews who refuse to recognize  the State of Israel until the Messiah arrives.   Among Shiites, a significant fraction believes  that they should not act until the Mahdi returns  

To spread di-vine word across the entire planet.  I leave it to your imagination what will happen   the day an ayatollah issues a fatwa announcing  the return of the Mahdi and demanding that all   Muslims worldwide follow his in-structions.  This time bomb can explode at any moment. 

We should also mention Sunni Islamist movements,  such as the Mus-lim Brotherhood in Egypt or those   in Jordan, Kuwait, or North Africa, which advance  in the name of democracy to reach power but,   once ob-tained, transform it into a lifelong  theocratic dictatorship spanning generations.   State Islamism Countries considered  

Islamic, such as Saudi Arabia, Iran, or Sudan, or  pro-Islamic countries like Syria or Lebanon, claim   to respect interna-tional laws while providing  support to Islamists on a global scale. At the   forefront of this list are Saudi Arabia and, in  general, the Gulf countries. They clandestinely  

Encourage the actions of Islamists in three ways: 1. These states make no effort to help their   respective populations break free from the  orthodox religious influence. On the contrary,   they ensure that their populations remain in  ignorance. Political and media propaganda portrays   Arab-Muslim countries and the Islamic ummah as  victims of a Judeo-Christian conspiracy seeking  

To dominate them. Simply watching a few programs  on Arab satellite channels reveals the negative   sentiments that this interpretation of the current  situation can provoke among the average citizens.   This keeps the general population in this part  of the world on high alert, especially given  

Recent events in Palestine and Iraq. Jews and the  West are presented as scapegoats in the streets,   mosques, and even on the Internet. The result  is unsurpris-ing: there has never been such   a resurgence of religiosity, more as a form  of opposition to the enemies of Muslims than  

Out of genuine con-viction. Islamists  have never recruited so effectively and   found so much support among the middle class. 2. Arab-Muslim territories serve as a platform   for various logistical and financial operations  of extremist and terrorist movements. While this   may not involve state-level funding, governments  often turn a blind eye to the financing networks  

Operating within their borders. A clear complicity  has unquestionably developed between certain Arab   gov-ernments and Islamists: the latter can  operate with impunity as long as they do not   threaten the existing regime. I am thinking in  particular of Syria, which serves as a transit  

Point for safe passage to Iran or Leba-non. 3. Terrorist extremists are tolerated. The main   concern is the founda-tion of their belief,  regardless of their unacceptable methods,   their im-plicit state of religious war against  the Judeo-Christian alliance, and their assumption  

Of the right to sow religious tyranny among  their own and terrorize others. In other words,   these various actors work to make Islam a  formidable force against the Judeo-Christian   camp. Once again, a qualitative minority  instrumentalizes a quantitative majority.   The Islamist International Through the attacks perpetrated worldwide,  

It is not the number of victims that matters, but  the medium and long-term repercussions. Mo-hammed   proclaims: “Islam has become powerful thanks  to its strong capacity to terrorize the enemy.”   Indeed, the primary goal of these attacks is  to sow ter-ror within the adversary’s camp,  

Creating a neurosis and destabilizing them with  minimal effort. The strikes are sporadic and do   not follow a particular logic to remain elusive.  The aim of these attacks is nothing other than a   reminder to the “enemies of God’ that Jihad is  always pre-sent on the international stage. The  

International Islamist terrorism aims for the  maximum by exerting the minimum. It adopts two   parallel strategies in the East and in the West. By practicing terrorism in the West,   Islamists provoke the populations against their  governments due to the lack of security and local  

Policies. The immediate result is the negative and  weakened image that even powerful states display,   losing their credibility day by day in the eyes  of their citizens. This policy of terror allows   so-called moderate movements to be better  accepted within host societies. I know of  

No worse case than France, which legitimizes  the actions of Islamists by creating a “French   Islam” under state patronage to represent the  Arab-Muslim communi-ty, which neither identifies   with nor endorses this CFCM. It is, if I may say,  ‘thanks’ to the attacks that France began to take  

An interest in this community to better regulate  it through the attempt to create a “French Islam.”  In the case of Arab-Muslim countries affected  by barbarism, extremist terrorism targets   the economy, especially tourism, and foreign  invest-ments due to the climate of insecurity  

It instils. There, too, at the gov-ernment level,  there is a return to Islamic practices to block   the path for extremists, indirectly responding  to their demands. It’s a way of saying to them,   ‘We retain power, but what you want to  do, we will do it in your place.’ Thus,  

Instead of helping populations free themselves  from religious influence, the existing states keep   them there, as long as they do not lose power.  Instead of moving towards modernity by further   sep-arating religion and state, they multiply  speeches ‘in the name of God’ and official  

Representations during religious holidays, and  they reinforce the masses in their ignorance.  Disinformation circulates at all  levels to achieve the impossible. Thus,   it is not necessarily the actual instigators of  the attacks who claim re-sponsibility. This is a  

Way to confuse the trail and further disorient  the enemy, both in the East and in the West.  The international network calls upon foreign  forces when needed. The most glaring example is   the attack on Iraq by the Americans. Eve-ryone  knows that the Islamists had a sworn enemy in  

Saddam Hussein, who knew all their machinations  and represented a significant obstacle to their   access to power in Iraq. Alone, they would  never have succeed-ed in overthrowing this   dictator. The September 11th attack provided  the ideal opportunity to involve the Iraqis  

And provoke a war aimed at toppling Saddam  Hussein with the help of the Americans, who   contin-ue to err out of ignorance. Saddam’s fall  represented a gain in time and an unprecedented   victory for the Islamists. A Counteroffensive from Within  Therefore, we should not underestimate the  capabilities of orthodox Islam. One only  

Needs to look back in history to see what  it has achieved in a short time thanks to   taqiya. As seen, it indirectly benefits from  “moderate” and state-sponsored Islamism, and   all these branches of the same tree consciously  or unconsciously work towards global dom-ination. 

What solutions do we have to thwart its plans?  Once we realize that the ultimate goal of   Islamism is to dominate humanity in the name of a  single mass ideology, several alternatives remain.  First and foremost, we are in the realm of science  fiction! This over-sized goal cannot be achieved  

In a sustainable way; the most colossal powers all  eventually crumble, as the need for autonomy and   diversity is ingrained in the souls of nations.  However, it can develop considerable nuisances.   The counter-objective should, therefore,  aim to limit these nuisances. Mohammed,  

Who knew the weaknesses of his religion, said  himself, “I do not fear for you the external   enemy, but I greatly fear the one from within”. This hadith reveals the way in which Islamism can   be attacked: by bombarding Arab-Muslim countries  from the outside, it only strength-ens it.  

Consequently, the change must come from within.  Since Islam-ism is based on five major networks   – military, cultural, political, social, and  economic – mobilization must occur in these five   areas to block these networks sooner or later. The  fight will bear fruit as long as many physical,  

Moral, and state actors as possible participate,  each according to their means. Several key ideas   can already be proposed, which seem common  sense among others, to outline an action plan.  1. Military Domain First, eliminate external factors   that fuel hatred within Arab-Muslim countries.  Concerning the Israeli-Palestinian conflict,  

Quickly create a Palestinian state alongside the  Israeli state. We must remove this signifi-cant   argument that Islamists use to stir up the  masses and gain sympa-thies. Initially,   we should stick to the borders recognized  in 1967, with the status of Jerusalem being   re-evaluated and resolved in the medium term. Stop American interference, which seems boundless  

In its selfishness and misunderstanding of the  Arab and Muslim world. Thinking only of their   immediate interest, they continue to support  the Wahhabi regime in Saudi Arabia after having   fomented the El Qaeda movement there, which turned  against them before spreading globally. They are  

Now opening a new gulag in Iraq, all in the name  of fighting the Axis of Evil. After Iran, we will   witness the creation of a new Afghanistan, and a  few years later, we will see Islamist terrorists   from Iraq springing up all over the world, as  was the case with Arab Afghan terrorists. The  

Dam-age is done; now we must limit the harm. For  this, Americans and their allies must withdraw   from Iraq and let the country rebuild itself from  within under the control of the United Nations.  Strengthen international cooperation in the  fight against terrorism. Under the leadership  

Of the United Nations, establish an international  counter-terrorism unit composed of specialists and   endowed with unlim-ited resources to safeguard  the planet from this threat that concerns us   all. This unit will have two structures:  one for information collection on behalf   of an independent intelligence service,  with the aim of infiltrat-ing, observing,  

And monitoring the different movements and their  mo-bilization methods to create new networks.   The other is a rapid re-sponse unit under  the control of the United Nations, ready to   intervene to neutralize terrorists worldwide with  the collaboration of local inter-vention services.  2. Political Domain Free-thinking individuals from the Arab-Muslim  

World possess the means to eradicate evil in the  long term. We thirst for freedom of ex-pression,   but the most urgent need is not to establish  democracy, which we unfortunately are still far   from. Today, this would lead in the short term  to Islamist dictatorships from which we would  

Have even more dif-ficulty extricating ourselves.  Islamist dictatorship risks further stifling the   masses to secure power. To avoid falling into  such excesses, several measures are necessary:  Prohibit the creation of any political movement  with a religious con-notation. Even those that  

Present themselves in the most moderate guise  should not be allowed to stand in free elections.   Only secular par-ties that respect the right to  difference will be admitted representing a nation   with a secular constitution that speaks  on behalf of its people and their needs,  

Not in the name of a religion and its dictates. Close down print or broadcast media outlets that   propagate Islamist and pro-Islamist propaganda  and enact laws to prevent indoctrination   campaigns from reaching populations  unable to distinguish fact from fiction.  Stop sparing religious sensitivities at the  expense of freedom of expres-sion and conscience.  

Every time an atheist raises their voice, the  sen-tence of apostasy falls, followed by a death   sentence, without anyone daring to oppose it. The  actions of free thinkers in this part of the world   must be protected from any abusive censorship. Ex-Muslims should be able to express themselves  

Safely, just like reli-gious individuals,  without being labelled as Islamophobes,   traitors, or infidels because they dare to think  for themselves without reference to a deity.  Eliminate laws that interfere with citizens’  private lives. Freedom of morals encourages   people to adopt responsible behaviour  instead of liv-ing under guardianship  

Like perpetual minors without judgment. Be wary of Islamist and pro-Islamist   countries that profess openness and tolerance  without meaning a word of it. Put pressure on   such re-gimes to encourage them to respect and  consider all components of their society. Isolate   them if necessary. Marginalize religious leaders  and officials who call for proselytism to strip  

The gullible of their identity. So-licitation,  which is prohibited for cults in public places,   should also be prohibited for religious adherents. 3. Cultural Domain  The elite must work towards a cultural  revolution that respects the sa-cred   right of peoples to self-determination in the  face of intellectual and religious enslavement  

That keeps them under tutelage. To achieve  this, several points must be implemented:  Launch campaigns against obscurantism that  will be broadcast unan-imously across all   media to raise awareness of the threat that this  scourge still poses in the twenty-first century.  Give voice in the media to secularists, free  thinkers, atheists, whether they are scientists,  

Historians, writers, artists, or any open and  tolerant individuals, so that public opinion   becomes aware of the lamentable narrow-mindedness  to which it has been confined until now.  Revise national educational programs to  bring them in line with the requirements of   our time. Allow and encourage the publication  of works discussing the foundations of Islam,  

Whether in Arabic or other lan-guages. Finance the  creation of secular television and radio channels,   as well as press outlets, to awaken populations  from their ancestral lethar-gy and free them from   Islamist influence. 4. Social Domain  It is essential to differentiate between a  terrorist and an Islamist. The former is a  

Criminal against humanity: whether active or not,  they must be struck without hesitation wherever   they are found. As for the latter, we will do them  a service by keeping them under surveillance so   that they do not join the ranks of the former. It is also important to distinguish between a  

Muslim and an Islamist, to avoid falling into  a confusion that feeds the rise of religious   extrem-ism. The systematic apprehension of any  woman wearing a veil and any man growing a beard   fosters rejection and misunderstanding. All  con-spicuous religious signs should be banned  

In schools and government of-fices, but in public  spaces, everyone should be free in their attire   as long as it is decent. In the West, people are  stopped in the street because they have a beard   and fit a certain profile. While I personally  remain under-standing in such situations,  

Others have a hard time accepting it and  become easy prey for Islamist recruiters.  Law enforcement must be made aware of this danger  so that they can cooperate as much as possible.   The fight is against an archaic ideology, not  against individuals. It is not about replacing  

One form of intellectual terrorism with another  but about defending the right to difference and   freedom of conscience in every sense of the term.  The majority, which has remained silent until now,   must be able to show solidarity inside and outside  of Arab-Muslim countries to confront the fascist  

Terrorist minori-ty that only recognizes itself. Instead of publicizing the horrors committed by   Islamists, which only gives them more publicity,  we should support those who call for peace among   people, far from religious influence.  Extend a hand to those who have fallen  

Into the traps of Islamists. Encourage them  to desert the en-emy’s camp, to denounce it,   and to partly make amends for their mis-guided  actions due to their youth and ignorance of the   harmful conse-quences of their commitment to  humanity. Encourage them to testify to bypass  

Evil instead of refusing their rehabilitation  and labelling them shamefully for eternity.  Protect children from parental dictates so they  can freely seek their path. Paternal religion   must cease to be imposed. Everyone should  be able to choose their religion, change it,  

Or have none without risking their reputation  or life, whether they are girls or boys.  Encourage the creation of non-governmental  organizations to fill the gaps left by the state   in defending human and citizen rights. 5. Economic Domain  In this domain, the urgency, in my opinion, is to  limit the self-financing of the extremist faction  

By creating control and management organizations  for charitable donations. Islamists have no   shortage of sources of funding, between the  financial support of Arab-Muslim states,   the religious obligation of zakat (charity), khoms  (religious wealth tax), and the donations of a   wealthy business class looking to absolve itself  of sins. This system leads to the proliferation of  

Mosque constructions worldwide under the pretext  of promoting Arab-Muslim culture and identity,   while advocates for the separation of religion  and state receive only lukewarm encouragement.   We must reverse this trend and provide them  with the means to match their responsibilities.   Money should be redistributed to new secular  organizations in need of guidance and sup-port. 

An international monetary fund should also be  established under the auspices of the United   Nations to involve states in funding projects  that contribute to the eradication of Islamism.  Al Taqiya is both a philosophy and a strategy  applied. Fully exploring the topic is difficult,  

Which is why I limit myself to relatively simple  ex-amples, whether occasional or permanent. I do   not wish to plunge the reader into unnecessary  paranoia but rather want them to become aware of   the situation. I readily acknowledge that the East  does not function like the West: when the West  

Demands evidence in the name of rationalism, the  East dispenses with it in the name of intuition.   When the West accuses the East of obscurantism,  the East accuses the West of being naive,   hovering over the surface of things without  discerning their complexity. One is too distant,  

And the other too close to effectively as-sess  the Islamist threat and understand its mode of   operation to counter it. However, it should be  known that Islamists do not disdain learning   the Western mode of reasoning while retaining  their own, which puts them ahead in this regard:  

Underestimation only goes in one direction, making  the situation critical. Indeed, education does not   necessarily re-side in the number of diplomas. In  the West, there is a crucial lack of knowledge of   neighbouring cultures. This lack of information  constitutes the ideal ingredient for fuelling  

Fanaticism and obscurantism in third-world  countries, but it also applies to the West. Even   at the highest lev-els of government, notorious  Islamists are sometimes granted political refugee   status on the pretext that they are victims  of the dictatorships in their home countries. 

Whether we are born Muslims or not, we want our  children to be born free and to live in peace. So,   whether the Islamist attitude is logi-cal  or not, the essential thing is to admit that   thousands adhere to it without a shadow  of a doubt. Even if it is pure fiction,  

We must face it concretely. The struggle  must apply to all the domains mentioned.   The primary weapon is to dispel ignorance and  raise awareness in society of the threat posed by   the rise of Islamist fundamentalism. To confront  it, we must deprive it of its two major assets:  

The unawareness of the vast majority and that of  the international order, which only takes into   ac-count the concrete aspect of things. The  solution is in the hands of free minds. All   actors, whether individual or collective, must  work simulta-neously and on an international  

Scale to eradicate this destructive scourge of the  rights of peoples and individuals. Otherwise, we   inevitably become part of the ingredients of this  rise of obscurantism nurtured by human folly.   Salah Karkar’s Approach in Tunis In early April 1985, Abou Ahmed  

Informed me of my upcoming de-parture to Tunisia  because the revolution against the government   of Bourguiba was about to be launched. I felt some reluctance to participate in   this operation, having regained some of my  past doubts while in Paris. Truth be told,  

I harboured no hatred towards the Tunisian  president. On the contrary, I considered his   political track record favourable, even though  I deplored his anti-democratic stances. However,   I didn’t share these thoughts with my friend.  Once on the ground, I would assess the situation.  I’ve always been extremely carefree, and  while it sometimes caused me trouble,  

It also saved me on many occasions. I faced danger  and the gravity of my actions with insouciance,   walking through life like a tight-rope walker who  had forgotten he was on a wire. This often led me   to unexpected places and helped me avoid numerous  pitfalls, often without even realizing it. 

Abou Ahmed gave me his instructions: – The top priority of your mission is to   establish contact between the network and your  brother-in-law. Be cautious, as he will likely   be suspi-cious. We don’t know exactly what  he’s up to. Upon your arrival, you will wait  

To be contacted by the Tunisian leader and hand  over a cer-tain number of documents to him. It’s   crucial that no one knows about your trip; this  is very important. Your stay will last ten days.   Here’s how you will proceed: first, keep an eye on  Salah Karkar and try to gather as much information  

As possible about his activities. When you talk  to him about your religious experience in Iran,   carefully analyse his reactions and note the  questions he asks. Act like a skilled tactician.   Then, through your sister, request a private  meeting with him. If he refuses, do not insist.  

We will decide accordingly. If he agrees, set the  meeting three days before your return to Paris.  – Why? I interrupted. – It’s a matter of security. That’s exactly   what I was coming to. It’s imperative that you be  alone with your brother-in-law. Turn on the ra-dio  

To interfere with potential listening devices.  Don’t forget that the national gendarmerie station   is just a stone’s throw from your place! When all  this is verified and trust is well-established,   ask him the follow-ing question: “Do you  want to meet Mohamed Faouzi, the leader of  

The Islamist movement in Iran? He is ready to  collaborate with you to over-throw Bourguiba   and create a revolutionary Islamic state.” If he  ac-cepts, inform us immediately. On the eve of   your departure, one of our agents will provide you  with a report on the network’s activities in the  

Country and a list of the needs necessary for the  continuation of the rev-olution. Tell this man to   select ten Tunisian Shiites and send them to Iran. We bid each other farewell solemnly. Everything   was about to accel-erate. This did not  prevent Abou Ahmed from giving me a dark  

Look be-fore leaving, expressing some  lingering resentment. He had still not   for-given my lack of enthusiasm during the oath. The idea of returning to my homeland filled me   with excitement. This time, I was traveling with  my real passport. No need to deceive. On May 2,  

1985, I flew to my native land. As I stepped off  the plane, the scents of Tunis stirred my blood.   Happy and slightly dazed, I spent a few moments  at the airport cafeteria, watching the crowd. I   particularly en-joy these places where thousands  of travellers cross paths every day. Half an hour  

Later, I got into a taxi that took me home. – Is that you, my son? My father exclaimed   as he opened the door. But why didn’t  you let me know about your arrival?  – I wanted to surprise you, Dad. – Well, you succeeded!  

Come here and let me hug you. Despite the little affection I felt for my   father, I gave in to the pleasure of our reunion,  unable, however, to completely dispel a certain   distance. It was stronger than me; I couldn’t  forget his paternal cruelty from the past. 

I was struck by the state of neglect in which the  Ariana house found itself. Just like my father,   whose face bore the marks of time, the villa had  aged considerably. The hedges grew crooked, the   trees were thirsty, a layer of dried moss covered  the veranda’s tiles, objects were scattered  

Everywhere, paint peeled off the walls, and the  gate was falling apart. Clearly, since my mother’s   departure, nothing had functioned normal-ly. All of this saddened me. I was delighted to return   to the land of my childhood, but it reflected a  gloomy image back at me. What kind of miserable  

Life had my family led in recent years? When  Samira spotted me, she rushed across the garden.  The closer she got, the more I was moved by the  changes evident in her body. There was something   fundamentally neglected in her ap-pearance. Her  hairstyle was a mess, her clothes poorly patched,  

Dark circles marred her face, and her skin seemed  dehydrated. The weight of religious obligations   that denied the expression of the body had  trans-formed her into a poor woman. What a   waste! Now the mother of three children,  subjected to the abhorrent Islamist laws,  

She continued to de-scend into a confined  hell of renunciations and unspoken remorse.  Behind her, her husband moved forward with slow  steps, looking up. He was still the same, with his   round face, receding hairline, short stat-ure,  short legs, massive thighs, protruding belly,  

And a dark gaze. Dark with hatred, dark with  power. At first glance, he seemed to be doing   very well. His time in prison had evidently  been kind to him. Some seeds withstand the   wear and tear of time and deprivation better  than others. Salah Karkar was taking his time,  

Probably wanting to show that he wasn’t easily  moved. Rivalry, after all, had resumed in this   setting that resembled the end of an era. – How happy I am! said Samira.  – What joy to see you again! I exclaimed. – Assalamu Aleikoum, Karim, said Salah Karkar. So,  

You must have plenty to tell. I needed to keep my distance.   Following the lessons instilled in  me, I didn’t respond immediately,   as if I were wary of him. – Well, continued Salah Karkar,   a bit disconcerted, have you lost your tongue? – Let me enjoy some time with  

My big sister! I retorted. – Let’s cool off a bit, my father said cheerfully.   The next day, I confid-ed in my sister. – Do you remember when you used to cradle   me in your arms? I said to her. – Oh yes! That seems so long ago! 

– Now, it’s my turn to comfort you, Samira. – How so?  – By talking to you about God. – God? Ah! You know I’m   in a tough school with Salah. – Has your religion made you a happy person?  – Happiness, you must wait  to get to heaven to know it. 

– I’ve learned many things in Iran,  and I’d like to share them with you.  – Do you take me for an ignoramus? Samira snapped. – One never stops learning, my dear sister.  – That’s obvious. – Do you know about Shiite doctrine? 

– Yes, I’ve heard of it, but not much more. – For the Shiites, faith is freedom. The freedom   to love God not only based on the Scriptures but  above all by listening to the voice of your heart.   The nuance is significant. Someone who forgot  to look at them-selves before turning to God  

Wouldn’t truly be a believer. – Is that what Shiism is   about? she said, incredulous. – I could talk to you about it for hours,   and still, I would only distort Shiite  thought because God cannot be explained;  

He is. All paths lead to Him as long as you  live in respect for others and your own will.  – All of this seems quite confusing, Karim. – But just look at yourself! Your eyes seem so  

Sad for a woman of your quality. Your dark clothes  reflect a soul dried up by a religious practice   that is far too removed from human realities. Samira lowered her head.  Deep down, my words must have been shaking her.  But her husband’s intense pressure prevented  

Her from existing as she had dreamed when she  was a child. Admitting her failure would have   been unbearable, as it would have meant  suddenly acknowledging the madness of her   years of emotional distress. A terrible shock! – What exactly did you do in Iran? Tell me about  

It, she inquired to hide her embarrassment. – I saw a people marching towards a just and   better world. You see, over there, women are  active, working alongside men on an equal   foot-ing! People are happy, all children go to  school. Solidarity is in full swing. The poor  

Are less poor, and the rich know how to share… I spoke to her at length about the El Qaem school,   Iran, my fellow revolutionaries, extolling  the virtues of Shiite doctrine. I didn’t   really believe everything I was saying,  but I needed to impress her, provoke her,  

Touch her unconscious so that she would  change – and also to make her my ally.  Not far away, Salah Karkar was reading  the newspaper. Occasional-ly, I raised my   voice slightly so that he could hear some  remarks that might pique his curiosity. 

– Samira, would you do me a favour? – With pleasure, little brother.  – Tell your husband that I would  like to speak to him privately.  – Very well, I’ll arrange that for you. Thanks to my sister’s intervention,   the private meeting between Salah Karkar and  me was able to take place two days later,  

On May 5, 1985. On that day, the Ariana  house was empty. My father was in Tunis,   probably with a few playmates. So, we settled in  the kitchen. Before sit-ting down, I took care to   turn on the radio to discourage any prying ears. – What are you doing? We can’t hear each other,  

Protested Salah Karkar. – A bit of music, it’ll relax us,   I replied with a conspiratorial smile. – If you insist… So,   what do you have to tell me? – In the end, we don’t know each other well.  – All the better! I love discoveries. – So, how is the revolution progressing  

Around here? Salah Karkar frowned. My sister had given him her report.   In fact, he was wary of the young wolf of  Iranian Shiism that I appeared to be in   his eyes. Hadn’t I been corrupted by Western  powers? Wasn’t my entire history in Iran just  

A pretext to approach and trap him? – The revolution is moving forward,   he replied. It’s the people who will  decide when it’s time for its culmination.  – The people! You know very well that  they’re nothing without the power of leaders.  – You’re mistaken, the people have  a soul. Leaders are only there to  

Show the way. Then, they must step aside. – Oh yes! I said knowingly. It’s Marxism   applied to Islamism. Well done! God and his  people in power, the disappearance of the elite,   the abolition of classes. – In a way,  

Yes. But tell me, you’re quite cultured now! – Reading has never harmed anyone, I retorted.  – You still need to understand what the books say. I approached my brother-in-law as if I   were about to entrust him with a  matter of the utmost importance. 

– Wasn’t it you who told me a few years ago, “one  day, you’ll become a soldier of Allah?” Well,   here I am, well-armed now to fight the  impi-ous. But that’s another story…   Between us, who would know better how to lead  the country than those who have learned to love  

It and who un-derstand the course of history? – I don’t see where you’re going with this,   Salah Karkar said, leaning back in his chair. – I don’t believe that the people are capable   of governing Tunisia on their  own. Let’s not kid ourselves;   the country needs people of your  cali-bre. You must fulfil the  

Mission that God has seen fit to give you. – Do you think I waited for you to act in   this direction? Salah Karkar exclaimed proudly. – I don’t believe that the people are capable   of governing Tunisia on their own. Would  you be willing to meet Mohamed Faouzi? 

– Mohamed Faouzi? – He’s an Islamist   leader responsible for the Greater Maghreb. He’s  very powerful. He would like to talk to you.  The fish took the bait even faster than  I had imagined. Salah Karkar was already   in a state of furious agitation; he  could see himself in the spotlight,  

Rallying the crowds with frenetic speeches. I immediately called my superior to   inform him of the good news. The meeting between Salah Karkar   and Mohamed Faouzi took place the very next day  at the Ariana house. But just as negotiations  

Were about to begin, Mohamed Faouzi whispered  in my ear that my presence was not welcome.  My pride took a serious blow. I  strolled in the garden for the duration   of the meeting, my nerves in tatters. On May 10, 1985, at the end of my stay,  

I was contacted as planned by one of the  local leaders of the network. We arranged   to meet in Tu-nis at Le Diplomate Cafe, a  modern hotel located in the city centre.  – I’m really happy to meet you,  the Tunisian Rissalist began. 

In his thirties, dressed in the fashion of  young people at the time, a light beard,   a sign of his Shiite affiliation, the man didn’t  seem to be in his element. He pressed his lips   together in a nervous grimace. – It’s like I’m your messiah!  

I said with a broad smile. – This is no time for jokes.   I have serious problems. – We all do, I said,   surprised by this unexpected panic. – Isn’t the continuation of the revolution in   Tunisia one of the net-work’s top priorities? – That’s correct. 

– I’ve sent several messages to Tehran.  I still haven’t received a re-sponse. I’m   desperately short of resources. – What do you need specifically?  – Money, of course! – Like everyone else.   Why do you want additional funds? – Because the number of Shiite recruits  

Keeps increasing. It’s a real success. I’ve done  my job well, you see. And I’m alone in training   our future soldiers. Without money, how do  you expect to retain the young people who   have given their lives to the network? I need new  premises, more equipment, and above all, trainers. 

– I see. Where are the new recruits coming from? – Shiism is gaining a lot of traction among the   intellectual and afflu-ent classes, as well as in  the working-class communities. There’s no middle   ground. In the hinterlands, we are also very  influential. Many people are willing to take up  

Arms to defend our cause. That’s why the network  needs to send me money, and quickly! I must admit,   I don’t understand the slowness of their response. – I don’t either, I admitted.  The Rissalist pulled at my shirt sleeve. – Make a move! 

Did he think I was the El Rissali banker? Had Abou  Ahmed intro-duced me as a high-ranking official?  – Listen, I’ll take care of resolving your  problem, I promise you that. In exchange,   you can select the ten best individuals from  your ranks. Send them to Tehran for ideological  

And military training. Training future Tunisian  revolutionaries in Iranian camps is one less worry   for you. And besides, it’s essential that we can  test them, know their resili-ence. The revolution   is in motion; things will soon accelerate. – Deal! declared his interlocutor, now reassured.  He handed me a detailed dossier  of his activities and needs. 

The matter had been swiftly handled. I  flew back to Paris with my head held high,   like a glorious warrior whose destiny was now  inter-twined with the thoughts of the Lord.   Agent Recruiter Mission in Paris Upon my return to the French capital on May 12,  

1985, I didn’t change my routine. In the mornings,  I attended classes at the school (mathematics,   physics, etc., all in Arabic). In the afternoons,  I worked for the network. I also obtained a   temporary residence permit valid for three months.  At the end of the week, I visited Abou Ahmed,  

Curious about the developments. – How did the meeting between   Salah Karkar and Faouzi go? I in-quired. – Perfectly! Salah Karkar firmly believes   in the success of the Iranian revolution.  He sees no objection to collaborating   with a Shiite Islamist movement. He has shown  remarkable flexibility on this point. For him,  

The future leaders of Tunisia must base  their politics on the fight against the West,   with Islam at the forefront. Faouzi claims  that Salah Karkar is the right man for the job.  – There are many people in this world! I grumbled. – I agree. But for now, we are obliged to follow  

Orders. Faouzi and Sa-lah Karkar have begun  to devise the two-year coup plan, from 1986   to 1988. Bourguiba will be outwitted! – Bourguiba may be a rat, as you say,   but he’s also a respectable man, I continued. – Have you lost your mind! Bourguiba is a puppet,  

An agent of the Western enemy! – Alright, alright! But does the   religious revolution require systematic use of  force? Isn’t there another path, one that would   make Islam a true place of encounter and exchange? – Are you aware of the absurdity of your words?  

It’s impossible to ne-gotiate with anyone because  the Islam we understand is not recognized by   Bourguiba or the Western countries. But keep your  head up, open your eyes a little. Be careful what   you say, my friend! – Is that a threat? 

– Idiot! You know you’re my friend. Just moderate  your language, as some walls have ears. Be   patient; things will get better. – I hope so…  – Now, the most important thing: our superiors are  asking you to go to Brussels as soon as possible  

To meet with the key leaders and discuss the  details of our attack plan. Your stay should   not exceed three days. – Very well,   I concluded soberly, flattered to my core. The day after next, I flew to the Belgian capital,  

Where I mainly met with Mohamed Faouzi’s brother,  whom I had already met at El Qaem School. His   pseudonym was Abou Ouajih. Together, we developed  a plan with the following main points: for one   month, I would guide Abou Ouajih and introduce him  into the Islamic milieu in Tunisia, without being  

His hierarchical superior. Once in Tunisia, Salah  Karkar would be responsible for selecting about   twenty Islamists from his net-work who would  be invited to receive a six-month religious,   political, and military training in Iran. They  wouldn’t be able to return to Tunis before  

This period. I would be responsible for these  future young terror-ists, whose character and   combat aptitude Abou Ouajih would study. My excitement grew day by day. Although I   remained divided on the relevance of the  objectives set by the Rissali leaders,  

My ascent in the hierarchy, at least as  I perceived it, continued to dazzle me.  When I returned to Paris, I  hurried to Abou Ahmed’s place.  – I have excellent news to share with  you, my friend announced im-mediately.   The bosses have agreed to your plan. – Well, it seems I’ve moved up the ranks! 

I exclaimed, enthusiastic. However, Abou Ahmed’s face turned   grey. He remained silent for a few moments. – I’m not sure we’re on the right track,   he finally said reluctantly. This coup  against Bourguiba seems premature to me.  – Now you’re having doubts too, you, the  most ardent supporter of the Rissali cause? 

– To be honest, I don’t trust the MTI. This sudden mistrust betrayed a much deeper pain.   Clearly, my friend was not feeling his usual self. I assumed he was hurt that the leaders   had side-lined him from the process. – Trust me, I said reassuringly. I’m your friend,  

And I know my broth-er-in-law well. It’s all good. – Certainly, Salah Karkar is one of its   main activists, but who knows what lies  behind this nebula? Do you know, perhaps?  Abou Ahmed angrily retorted. The conversation ended in confusion.  In the days that followed, I inherited  a bank account on which the network  

Had deposited the sum of two thousand US  dollars, an interna-tional credit card,   and traveller’s checks amounting to one thousand  US dollars. This account was opened at the   Crédit Lyonnais branch near Avenue de Wagram. My mission was to receive the Islamist candidates  

Sent by Salah Karkar, interrogate them, and verify  their sincerity. As a recruiter, I would finally   put into practice what I had learned from my  mentors in Iran, namely, to test the personalities   and verify the motivations of the future Rissali  soldiers. I took a certain pride in this role. 

This initial group proved, in any case, that Salah  Karkar was keeping his commitments with Faouzi,   namely, respecting parity  between Sun-nis and Shiites.  I first welcomed a couple, Sami and Samia Ayad.  The young woman claimed her affiliation with   the Shiite doctrine, just like her husband  (Shiites accept women in armed cells). Their  

Goal was to acquire a solid religious and military  education to serve the revolution at all levels.   They claimed it was the dream of their lives.  Sami had studied in Paris before being expelled   from the country, suspected of involvement in  a train bombing near Marseille. He claimed not  

To be connected to the incident, but he knew the  perpetrators, whose network had been dis-mantled   by the police. Since his arrival in Tunis,  he had been actively involved in the MTI.  After subtly questioning them, I prepared a report  that I sent to the cultural centre in Brussels to  

Abou Ali, one of the local leaders. In my opinion,  Samia’s revolutionary passion was genuine. She had   a strong personality and spoke enthusiastically,  but this fiery energy could push her to act too   hastily and make mistakes. Furthermore,  while she showed a form of independence,  

She couldn’t bear the idea of living apart from  her husband, which was paradoxical. In summary,   she could prove to be a loyal revolutionary due  to her strong and rigid nature, but also a fierce   opponent if she felt deceived. As for Sami,  her husband, he expressed himself lightly and  

Presented his ideas in a simple and inco-herent  manner. However, his courage and hatred for the   West were remarkable. He welcomed risk and was  the kind of person to accept the most perilous   missions without seeking revenge if there was a  disagree-ment. A man of action with a big heart,  

He would discreetly withdraw if needed. Shortly after that, I received two new   recruits in Paris, Abd Eltif El Tlili  and Mongi El Fatnassi, who were devoted   supporters of Salah Karkar. Here again, as  the guardian of strict Islamic principles,  

I had to test their convictions and commitment  to the revolution. When I in-formed Abou Ali   of their arrival, he instructed me to implement  the “desperation plan” for three or four days.  When the two soldiers  approached me, I appeared sorry.  – I apologize, but I don’t have the money  necessary for your accom-modation. I  

Already live in a small room that I share  with another companion. I’m in a hurry,   I have to leave. Call me tomorrow morn-ing. Not having anticipated such a reception,   the two young men had to spend the  night under the open sky. The next day,  

They contacted me as agreed. From postponed  meetings to abruptly disconnected phone lines,   I made them wait the whole day. In the evening,  I finally joined the two budding revolutionaries.  Their condition was pitiful. Hungry,  with dark-circled eyes, they trembled   with frustration and despair. I judged them  unfit for combat but, remembering the similar  

Treatment I had endured in Tehran, I sympathized  with their pain and composed a glowing report.   At Abou Ali’s request, I accompanied them  to Spain, to the cultural centre in Madrid,   where the responsible person would take charge  of them to ob-fuscate their trail. From there,  

They would be sent to Syria, a friendly country  to the Rissalis, before eventually reaching Iran.  A few days later, I took care of two other  Islamists, Abdullah and Ib-rahim. This time, they   were mature men in their thirties who belonged to  the Tunisian Islamic Front movement. Possessing  

Significant finan-cial resources, they wanted to  ensure the seriousness of the operation planned   against Bourguiba’s government before investing  funds in the terrorist network. Salah Karkar   had invited them to meet me in Paris so that I  could provide them with the desired information. 

After a detailed presentation of the situation,  I led them to Spain. Since airports were under   police surveillance, we travelled by train. I  had reserved all the seats in the compartment to   prevent the intrusion of strangers and had drawn  the curtain over the door. The landscape passed by  

The window like scenes from a silent movie. During the journey, I continued to gauge   their revolutionary zeal. – How do you envision the   future Islamic state in Tunisia? I asked. – I hope for a strong government entirely   focused on the people, Ibra-him replied. – Yes, but on what religious basis? 

– Sunni Islam is the only possible path. In the meantime, Abdullah, the other Tunisian   Islamist, examined us with clenched jaws  and an exasperated look. He seemed to suffer   from having to wait for many more months  before taking up arms. He re-mained still,  

But the swaying of the train made his head  move with the regularity of a clock’s pendulum,   like that of a prehistoric insect ready  to deliver its deadly poison to the enemy.  – What do you think of Shiism? I continued. – I have no attraction to that doctrine. 

– The diversity of beliefs doesn’t  matter, I replied. What’s important   is to carry the revolution to its  conclusion beyond our differences.  I was obviously using the method advocated by  Mohamed Alshirazi, the leader of the network’s   apparent entity: resorting to deception  ra-ther than risking division among the  

Troops. Ironically, I had despised the treacherous  rhetoric of the great Rissali leader, but now I   adopted it without the slightest hesitation. – The country has been drifting for too   many years, Ibrahim contin-ued.  It’s important to restore order,   to instil in the people the values  of Islam. How does the network plan  

To help us with that? – First and foremost,   through training. If you accept, your  men will receive military and political   education in Tehran. Believe me, the net-work  is powerful and has excellent instructors,   solid experience, and sig-nificant arms reserves. – All right. But on the ground, I mean in Tunisia,  

For the coup and af-terward, what  support will the network provide?  – I couldn’t tell you the details; this is  currently being discussed be-tween Salah   Karkar and the Rissali leaders. However, I  can tell you this: in the preparatory phase,   the network will provide its soldiers.  After the coup, its economists will come  

To assist you in establishing the new regime. – Will we have guarantees about the withdrawal   of Rissali forces once the operations are over? – To know that, you should address your chief,   Salah Karkar. But the country will remain in the  hands of Tunisian revolutionaries. The net-work  

Never appears on the front stage. It prefers  to work in the shadows for security reasons.  – I think you’ve understood the essence of my  question, Ibrahim insist-ed. Abdullah and I,   as well as a few others, are going to contribute  sig-nificant funds to this revolution. It would  

Be regrettable if we lost our investment. – The Rissalis will also contribute from their   own pockets. In this re-gard, they rely on the  MTI’s rigor to successfully carry out this coup.  This response silenced Ibrahim’s suspicions.  Abdullah, who had been silent until then,  

Leaned forward and shook my hand enthusiastically. – Let those who love the Lord know   their moment of glory! Upon arriving in Madrid,   I introduced them to the local leader, Said El  Mousaab. Following negotiations, agreements were   reached: in ex-change for financial support,  El Rissali agreed to train the supporters of  

The two Islamist businessmen while allowing  them the freedom to prac-tice Sunni Islam.  It was within this framework that I later  examined the candidacy of Mohamed El Harath.   I strongly disliked this individual; I  found him narrow-minded, ultra-fanatic,   reactionary, refusing to listen to anyone’s  ideas. However, as Salah Karkar reminded me  

Of the terms of recent agreements, I was  compelled to direct him towards Syria.   Tour for the Preparation of the Coup in Tunisia In May 1986, Abou Ahmed suddenly reappeared to   inform me that my role as an intermediary  was temporarily postponed. I had to quickly  

Go to Tehran to welcome the Tunisian  elements and provide on-site training.  I wasn’t pleased with this new assignment,  and I immediately ex-pressed my discontent.  – I hope you haven’t forgotten that I should  be free to choose my mis-sions? I protested. 

– No, but there are certain imperatives that  cannot be avoided. You can’t indefinitely   be both inside and outside the  network! My friend ex-ploded,   clearly tired of my constant reservations. – I have not failed in my duty! The leaders  

Have no reason to com-plain about my actions! After an animated exchange in which I didn’t   yield an inch, Abou Ahmed referred the matter to  our superiors, who accepted my demands. However,   in return, I had to first go  to Tunisia with Abou Ouajih,  

Mo-hamed Faouzi’s brother, to introduce him to  the local Islamists on a re-connaissance mission.  I needed to find a way to leave the Libyan school  without arousing suspicion, so I decided to adopt   an “Iraqi stance” by openly insulting the Iranian  government and its people. As Palestinian and  

Egyptian stu-dents began to support my viewpoint,  it worried the school director, who eventually   expelled me. My manoeuvre had worked splendidly. A few days before my departure, a student’s   father approached me. – Would you like to   join an Iraqi school? He asked. – I won’t say no, but for now,  

I need to return to Tunisia. My father is very  ill. Could we discuss it again in early September?  – Of course. I am officially a journalist  and a political refugee, but in reality,   I belong to the Iraqi Baath Party.  Would you be willing to join us? 

– With pleasure, I replied. That’s how I attended secret meetings   of the Baath Party in Paris, taking on the role  of a double agent as established by El Afghani.   One of the Iraqi supporters even entrusted me with  documents intended for a Tunisian correspondent,  

Documents sealed in an envelope, the contents  of which I didn’t know. For security reasons, I   immediately informed my superiors: if I were to be  arrested by Bourguiba’s police, it was better to   appear as a Baath Party member than an Islamist. I must admit that I was secretly thrilled.  

Organizer, recruiter, emis-sary,  double agent – I wore many hats!  Upon arriving at the Ariana house, I  introduced my Saudi friend, Abou Ouajih,   as “visiting the country for some business  affairs.” This al-lowed him and Salah Karkar   to work in peace on the future coup against  the Bourguiba government. The house saw a  

Parade of the re-gion’s top terrorists:  military personnel like Said El Ferjani,   as well as businessmen and unknown individuals  whose identities weren’t disclosed to me.  As agreed upon in the Brussels accords  a few months earlier, I took on the task  

Of introducing Abou Ouajih into the Tunisian  Islamist milieu. For a month, we met numerous   religious revolutionaries, both in the most  remote villages of the country and in Tunis.   This journey was akin to a political campaign  conducted at breakneck speed: analysing the   troops’ morale, explaining the rationale behind  Islamizing the country, encouraging, unifying,  

Distributing roles, resolving disputes, training  spies, making pacts, establishing connections,   disseminating propagan-da materials,  preparing for future demonstrations   against the current regime, organizing the  war machine down to the smallest details.  Abou Ouajih and I returned to Paris armed with  numerous reports as-sessing the needs for Shiite  

Forces in Tunisia. We scheduled a meeting in Syria  as per the agreements concluded in Brussels.   Return to El Qaem School When I landed in Damascus,   I was hosted for a week by a former stu-dent of  El Qaem School while we obtained visas for Iran.  

The crossing of the Syrian border presented no  difficulties, neither for me nor for my friend.  In June 1986, I found myself back within the walls  of El Qaem School. I immediately noticed that   new nationalities were among the students. North  Africa was now strongly represented. For the rest,  

Noth-ing had changed; the atmosphere of tension,  simmering war, and suspi-cion remained just   as heavy. Upon my arrival, El Sheikh Ahmed,  known as “the liar,” outlined my new mission:   to train the Tunisian el-ements sent  by Salah Karkar, gently steering them   towards the Shiite doctrine, disregarding  the agreements made with Salah Karkar. 

At this point, my doubts grew, and I  reiterated my wish to return to the   French capital within the next four to six  months. El Sheikh Ahmed assured me of this.  The group of students I was responsible  for consisted of ten individuals. The  

First four were supporters of Salah Karkar,  the next belonged to the Tunisian Islamic   Front movement mentioned earlier, two  were Shiites, two were recruited by me,   and the last was part of the European net-work.  I was approaching my twentieth year, which barely  

Exceeded the average age of the group. However,  the influence I had gained over most of them   during the recruitment phase made me confident. Initially, I met with them individually,   with each of these interviews resulting in a  report that I sent to my superiors to assess  

The level of training that would be suitable for  the entire group. I had grand ambi-tions to turn   them into intellectuals in the truest sense of  the word, ra-ther than bloodthirsty killers.  I inherited an office located in the school  garden, equipped with high-quality computer  

Equipment, a luxury I promptly put to use. Soon, I  be-gan publishing a newspaper titled “Information   on North Africa” with the Quranic motto, “When  a wicked person brings you news, ascertain the   truth.” Through this publication, intended for  the students’ infor-mation, I didn’t hesitate  

To disseminate encrypted messages here and there  about the network’s secret activities, such as the   one at the begin-ning of my newspaper, which meant  in my mind, “Beware, the network may deceive you!”  This publication featured general news articles  about the political, economic, and cultural life  

Of North Africa, a sort of press review. Its  reputation grew rapidly within the school.  My increasing desire to distance myself from  terrorism had led me to play multiple roles.   However, due to the success of my newspaper, my  work as an editor consumed more and more of my  

Time, leaving me less time to attend to my own  studies. In addition to this overload, for which   I was partly responsible, I soon had to address  complaints from my stu-dents, who now demanded   to receive training solely based on political  and military education, rather than inspired by  

Shiite doctrine. One of the students, belonging to  the Tunisian Islamic Front movement, con-sidered   Shiites as atheists and accused them of neglecting  the religious aspect in favour of social and   politico-military concerns. During classes, I  had to tread carefully, fearing the catastrophic  

Incident that would erupt within the group. Students criticized my lack of realism and   accused me of limiting my classes to theoretical  teaching. Most of the time, classes ended in   a furi-ous cacophony, with students banging on  tables and throwing projec-tiles across the room.  This near-mutinous atmosphere concerned the  school administration. Teki El Moudarissi,  

The headmaster, had to intervene several times to  calm tempers. However, it was the arrival of an   eleventh student, Ibra-him, to whom Salah Karkar  had given full authority over the Tunisian group,   that triggered their division into three factions. The Shiites, led by Sami Ayad, refused to submit  

To Ibrahim’s authori-ty, the official  representative of Salah Karkar,   arguing that they did not belong to the MTI, and  since Salah Karkar was thousands of kilometres   away from the school, he could not appreciate  the actual circumstances. They demanded to be  

Repatriated to Tunisia. I later learned that a  compromise was reached: the followers of Rissal   accepted to provide them with rapid military  training, after which these Tunisian elements   would consent to go on missions in the West  on behalf of the network, albeit indirectly. 

Mohamed El Harath, the recruit from the Tunisian  Islamic Front movement, also refused to recognize   Ibrahim’s authority. In his view, Ibrahim was  merely a figurehead. Furthermore, he had no   respect for the Shiites, whom he deemed too far  removed from true Islamic values. He even went  

As far as to insult the infallible twelve imams.  His opposi-tion was so vocal that the Rissalist   leaders contemplated eliminating him. I intervened  at the last moment to prevent bloodshed, and the   op-posing Tunisian was sent back home unharmed. On the other hand, Salah Karkar’s supporters,  

Led by Abd Eltif El Tli-li, willingly obeyed  Ibrahim’s orders. For them, the network had   to honour its commitments, namely, to train them  militarily rather than doctrinally. Consequently,   they were directed to another school to re-ceive  training specifically for terrorist activities. 

Thus, discord had reached a point of no  return. The initial reports I had sent to   Paris regarding these young recruits had hinted at  the possi-bility of conflicts erupting, and this   confusion actually stemmed from the underground  war between Salah Karkar and the Rissalists,  

A war fur-ther complicated by religious  antagonisms. But regardless of the rea-sons,   the cohesion of the Tunisian group had  shattered; I had failed in my mission.  The network’s leaders began to view me with  suspicion. On my part, completely cut off  

From the preparations for the coup in Tunisia,  I some-times wondered if my new assignment in   Iran had been a ploy by the network to keep me  away, which only exacerbated my frustration.  I asked El Sheikh Ahmed to relieve me of  the role of trainer, as I seemed to lack  

The required skills for it. I received a  categorical refusal and was tasked with   training Shiite elements sent by my friend Abou  Ahmed. In the initial classes, I tried to explain   the importance of the ideological struggle to  convert Sunnis to Shiism, but these zealous  

Youths only cared about armed conflict. War,  blood, the smell of explo-sives – that’s what   they aspired to! Had the youth become  a machine for grinding up human flesh?  I gave up, facing a second failure. The management  promptly re-placed me. In the wake of this,  

The Grand Maghreb School was estab-lished, a  special school located in both Damascus and   Tehran, dedicat-ed to instructing  Tunisian elements, among others.  From that point on, my relationship with the  network deteriorated significantly. The Rissalists   might have been willing to accept my con-stant  demands if I had appeared as an effective teacher,  

But as my defi-ance was not matched by major  teaching skills, they found me increas-ingly   burdensome. The resentments from the past  resurfaced on both sides like a deadly venom,   infecting minds and breeding suspicion to an  unprecedented degree. They demanded all the  

Passports in my posses-sion, including my own.  I refused, knowing I would need them to return   to Paris. Although I believed I had hidden them  safely, they were stolen shortly afterward. I   protested loudly, accusing my leaders of  being thieves, while they reproached me  

For my inability to follow orders. The strength  of my commitment to the network, already tested   several times, was cracking further. I saw my freedom shrinking day by day,   and my convictions followed the same path. The  authorities prevented me from returning to France,  

And spies shadowed my every move. Indirect death  threats constantly hung over me: one person   told me that a friend had just died in a tragic  accident, another had been stabbed by an unknown   assailant… It was a genuine nerve-wracking  experience, a constant psychological pressure.  

For the first time, I realized that I was on the  verge of becoming es-tranged from the network.  El Sheikh Ahmed further humiliated me by assigning  me a dirty job: selecting addresses from a file   of several thousand references and send-ing  propaganda materials to the Greater Maghreb.  

The sample had to include a specific number of  selections per country (Mauritania: 50; Lib-ya:   50; Morocco: 150; Tunisia: 400; Algeria: 3,000).  So, I was sending nearly a thousand packages a   week containing pamphlets, newspapers, books,  etc., either directly from Iranian territory   or through centres in Brussels or Madrid. It was an unrewarding, subordinate job,  

Far removed from the role I had held until  then. After two months, El Sheikh Ahmed   ordered me to prepare to go to Belgium for  one final mission before returning to France.  Despite my reservations, a glimmer of hope  began to emerge within me. Was purgatory  

Over? Was I going to re-join the cell tasked  with overthrowing the Bourguiba government?  As I had to cross borders under a Saudi  identity using the alias Hassan Ali El   Marhoun, I made an effort to assimilate the  customs and tradi-tions of the Gulf country. 

My thoughts were becoming clearer; I had somewhat  distanced my-self from the Rissalist doctrine.   But nothing was set in stone yet; I could still  permanently distance myself from it or relapse.   For a person, whether it’s religious or  otherwise, sectarianism is like a drug,  

An almost incurable virus that becomes a part  of you. Even when doubt creeps in and the   desire to break free gnaws at you, you are still  susceptible to fall-ing back under its influence.  

Return to the West and Break with the Network On the day of departure, I felt a deep sense of   relief. It was at the be-ginning of November 1986.  I made the journey with Ali Akbar El Mou-darissi,   his wife, and his mentally handicapped  daughter whom he had decided to have  

Treated in Brussels. Since he spoke no  language other than Arabic and Persian,   I had to serve as his guide and interpreter. Wasn’t that the only reason motivating   my repatriation to Europe? In any case, I wanted to free  

Myself from my obligations quickly in the hope of  returning to Paris, but every time El Moudarissi   assigned me a new mission. The last thing he asked  me to do was to serve as an inter-preter for a  

Network member who had had an accident. A bomb  had exploded near him, and he risked a serious   hand injury. He had come to Belgium with fake  papers, officially sent as a military personnel. I   had to translate all the lies he told so that the  doctor wouldn’t realize he was an Islamist agent. 

Late December was approaching, and my passport’s  validity was ex-piring on January 1, 1987. If I   continued to wait like this, I would soon find  myself stuck in Belgium. However, I desired more   than anything to return to Paris. That city was  like my second home; I had taken my first steps  

There as a man barely out of adolescence, and  my mother, the per-son I cherished the most,   lived there. I loved the bustling and  cosmopol-itan atmosphere of its streets.  Furthermore, according to the  agreement with my superiors,   I was officially allowed to settle there. So,  why did it seem like the network was blocking me? 

I wanted to get to the bottom of this. – When can I return to Paris? I   asked Abou Ali once again. – I don’t know, he replied.  – What do you mean? – I haven’t received   any directives regarding that. – Some directives are unshakable. It has  

Always been said that I should be based in Paris. – The situation is different today. The revolution   takes precedence over personal interests.  We all must comply with the demands of   our common project. Patience is necessary. – I’m useless in Brussels! I don’t like being  

Idle. And what about the coup against Bourguiba? – I have no information on that last point. As for   your activity in Bel-gium, we are considering it. – You’re making a mockery of me!  – Not at all, I have a great deal of respect for  you. Besides, the leaders also appreciate you. 

– Flattery is not the response I’m expecting! – Don’t be offended. It seems like you’re   looking for trouble just for the sake of it! – Don’t think I don’t see where you’re going   with this! You want eve-rything to be  under your control, that’s the truth! 

– I hope you’re joking. Take a few days  to rest, and we’ll discuss it calmly.  – Oh yes, we’ll discuss it  sooner than you think, trust me!  This conversation had put me in a black  rage. I felt betrayed, humili-ated,  

As if I had been deceived. The ambiguity in which  my superiors kept me compounded my frustration.   Until proven otherwise, I had kept my promises.  But had they kept theirs? What were they up to?   Were they working against me? Once my passport  expired, what would be-come of me? In any case,  

I realized that I was just a mere puppet  in their capricious hands, a victim of   their changing and incoherent de-sires. This wasn’t the first offense I had suffered,   and I had known for a long time their penchant  for sedition and their desire for destruction,  

But this time the desire to harm them began  to take root in my mind. As often happens   in tales of high-level crime, it takes a  tiny detail for everything to tip over,   a misplaced or misinterpreted word for dedication  to sudden-ly transform into a spirit of vengeance.  

Amid past grudges, shattered dreams, false  justifications, I rebelled. And the more I   rebelled, the more the idea that the Rissalists  were the worst enemies on Earth imposed itself.  Almost without thinking, impulsively, I decided  to change my destiny. I made the painful decision  

To escape and lead my own battle. On December 27th, I withdrew a sum of   one thousand US dollars from my account, took a  number of secret documents about the net-work’s   activities, Abou Ali’s fake passport, and video  equipment. In the afternoon, I called Abou Ali. 

– I’ve had enough of your scheming, I told him, my  nerves on edge. I’m leaving the country. A piece   of advice, don’t do anything to try to corner  me, or I’ll give your passport to the police and   reveal your secret activities. Understand? And I hung up. 

With this blackmail, I was employing the very  method of the Ris-salists, inspired by the old   saying that you must fight fire with fire. I had  deliberately put myself on the side-lines of the   network; now the worst could happen to me. Forced  to engage in a power struggle with the network,  

I was at a disadvantage because the battle  pitted me, a lone twenty-year-old man,   against an indoctrinated army. Putting into  prac-tice what I had learned from my masters   was the only way to fight against them. The next morning, I took the plane and  

Landed in Madrid under cold but dry  weather, under a metallic blue sky.  I had no choice. First and foremost, I needed  to assess the situation. Like a tightrope   walker with a knot in my throat, I entered  the cultural centre building, ready to flee  

At the slightest suspicious movement. Sitting in his office, Saïd Mousaab,   the local leader, seemed to be ex-pecting me. – The leadership has just contacted me. They want   you to join Syria immediately! he declared. – In what tone are you telling me this? 

– Do you think this is a time for jokes? – No, but I’m not just a commodity.  – You are a soldier of Allah. – A soldier who is mistreated! The   network guaranteed my return to Paris.  According to Hedi El Moudarissi, I was  

Going to become one of the pillars of the future  Islamic state in Tunisia. What about that today?  – I’ll turn the question around: what about your  fight for Islam? You know well that personal   interests must be set aside for the sake of the  revolution. You acted like a spoiled child. Abou  

Ali was only following instructions from  above. He was about to send you to Syria,   where a school for training residents of the  Greater Arab Maghreb is about to open. That’s   why your presence there is crucial. – But the leaders know that  

I’m not fit for that kind of work. – They are giving you a second chance.  – I have already paid a lot. – Not nearly enough!  As I didn’t respond, Mousaab added: – Give me your passport. I will get  

You a new one for your departure to Syria. I found myself trapped. Danger was inexorably   closing in on me; I could feel it without  being able to explain in what form it would   appear. Mousaab had lost his smile, he  was tapping his fingers on his desk,  

Indi-cating that his patience was near its  breaking point. His gravity had reached a   point of extreme tension. There was no doubt; I  had to sub-mit before taking the initiative again.  I handed him the document. – Come by tomorrow at 2 pm. Where   will you be staying tonight? – With a trusted friend. 

I left the cultural centre, a little dazed.  The Rissalists’ grip was tight-ening. But the   next morning, after regaining my strength, I  was firmly determined to defy my superiors.  Without further ado, I called Mousaab. – I’ve thought it over. I refuse to go  

To Syria. I had committed for a limited time,  and that time has expired for some time now. I   won’t go to Iran either. From now on, I will  only accept to operate on French territory.  – Listen, the leadership regards you as  far superior to Abou Ahmed. They want to  

Deal directly with you. Furthermore, the plan  to over-throw Bourguiba is now operational.   The leaders insist that you actively  participate in the Tunisian revolution.  – Oh really! First, you tell me Syria, then  Tunisia! You see, none of this is serious! Do  

I have to go to Syria or Tunisia? In any case,  I’m go-ing to Paris. My decision is final.  – But you have to go to Syria  first. After that, they will tell   you what to do and how to participate. A chilling shiver ran down my spine. 

I wasn’t the type to tremble in the face  of danger. I had been trained for it,   and as I said, I had retained from my childhood  a kind of care-freeness that made me downplay   tragedies. But, knowing the cruelty of  the Rissalists, I felt an unspeakable  

Fear take hold of me for the first time. – Perhaps we got a bit carried away,   I muttered to calm things down. Give me a  few days to think. That’s all I’m asking.  Of course, I was manoeuvring to buy time; I  had no intention of re-versing my decision. The  

Leadership of El Rissali only thought of its own  interests; there was no doubt that the human being   I was had no value outside of serving the cause. I went to the Tunisian consulate and explained   that my passport and money had been stolen,  and I needed to return to my country as soon as  

Possible. I was pleasantly surprised by the kind  reception I received from the official. Three days   later, I returned to collect my laissez-passer.  One of the consulate employees drove me to the   airport. I was so astonished by the courtesy  with which I was treated that I feared it might  

Be a trap. But, after all, I preferred dealing  with the administration of a state suspected of   atheism rather than with Islamist terrorists. In fact, it was not the case. The consulate   officials had genuinely be-lieved my story.  Contrary to what the Rissalists had been trying to  

Instil in me, there were open-minded individuals  within the Tunisian gov-ernment willing to help!   The Learning of Fear I landed in Tunis on January 2,   1987, without any issues and as free as a bird. However, as soon as I set foot on native soil,  

I felt a strange sense of unease. It seemed like  a civil war could erupt at any moment. National   police agents patrolled everywhere. People  hurried along the streets as if a storm were   imminent. Sirens wailed in the city streets.  Had the day of revolution been moved up,  

Or was it a projection of my troubled mind? When the taxi dropped me off in front of the   Ariana house, Salah Karkar emerged from  the villa and approached me briskly,   as if he had been watching for me for hours. As I later learned, he had been elected president  

Of MTI in 1985, but he had also formed his own  group of loyalists within MTI. He was thus playing   a double game, both in his responsibilities  within MTI and as the leader of a secret group   with a hidden agenda. If the situation dur-ing  the revolution were to be stalled, this group,  

Consisting of men whol-ly dedicated to his cause,  could intervene to tip the balance in his favour   and seize power in Tunisia if the opportunity  arose. With this backup plan in case of MTI’s   failure, Salah Karkar, cautious and mistrustful  as he was, had secured his position. In the  

Struggle for power, all means are fair! After brief greetings, he immediately   got down to business. – So, what’s the news?  Naturally, I kept my dispute with the  Rissalists to myself. The goal was to   reassure Salah Karkar and buy some time. – The network leaders are pleased with the  

Progress of negotiations with MTI. – But what else? Be more specific!  – Without wanting to sing your praises, I  continued cautiously, I be-lieve you are   highly regarded in high places. My superiors  are counting on your combat skills to change   the fate of the country. – What is your role now? 

– In what capacity? I asked cautiously. – Between the network and Tunisia.  – It hasn’t changed. Alongside Mohamed Faouzi,  I am the official representative of El Rissali.  Salah Karkar placed his hand on my shoulder. – I’ve always known that you are a true  

Believer and a fighter, he said  with an obviously staged seriousness   that I saw through. – The future is ours,   I replied with the necessary solemnity. When I woke up, I paced around the garden.   That day, I understood how bleak my future  was. Despite my withdrawal from the network,  

I remained, in the eyes of the law, an extremist  liable to a heavy sen-tence. Moreover, the idea of   declaring war on the Rissalists was taking root  in my mind. The time for retaliation had come.  I called my Moroccan friend from Madrid to  have him send me the secret documents taken  

From the cultural centre in Brussels, which  in-criminated several high-ranking network   members. When I received them a few days  later, I buried them deep in the garden.  Then I went to visit Abd Eltif El Tilli, also  known as Samir, who had just arrived from Tehran. 

Tall, slim, moustached, with a dark complexion,  El Tlili was Salah Karkar’s right-hand man,   undoubtedly his most loyal soldier. A me-chanic by  profession, like many young people manipulated by   the admi-rable promises of Islamists, he  had left the security of his job to join  

The Islamist camp. Experienced in the use of  weapons, he had received mili-tary training   in Iran. I distrusted him like the plague. – When did you return from Tehran? I asked him.  – About a week ago, Tlili replied. – What’s new in Tehran? 

– The same old routine, nothing has changed. – You seem a bit bitter, I said to provoke him.   Do you regret your in-volvement with the network? – Let’s talk about you instead, he replied,   apparently trying to divert the  conversation. Do you know when  

The revolution will be triggered? – It shouldn’t be much longer. But   you should have information through Karkar, right? – Ah! Sometimes, I feel like they’re mocking us…  – I’ll confide in you, I continued, sensing  that Tlili was waiting for just that. I,   too, am filled with doubt. – Never a moment’s peace,  

Vague situations, orders from above with  no explanation, whispered Tlili, implying   that he implicitly shared my discouragement. – To tell you the truth, I’ve lost trust in the   network. We’re just pup-pets in their hands. – You’re absolutely right. I’m disgusted too.  

By the way, you should be careful. Mousaab has  contacted your friend Elias to have him spread   the word in Shiite and Sunni circles that you’re a  spy working for Iraq and the Tunisian government.  This news left me speechless. – The network’s objective was clear: to close all  

Doors on me complete-ly, isolating me entirely. Elias was one of my best friends, also a Shiite.   We had met a few years earlier and had never  stopped corresponding since. If there were   some people in my life I trusted, Elias was one of  them. I couldn’t believe El Tlili’s allegations. 

– Elias! I finally said. Are you sure? – Absolutely.  After I had left El Tlili, I hurried to  call Elias to get to the bottom of this.  – Can you imagine me being a spy? – El Tlili is exaggerating, Elias told me. 

– What do you know, Elias? Tell me honestly. – I heard that the network had assigned someone   to tail you. Unfortu-nately, I don’t know their  identity. If you think it’s me, I’d be very sad.  – The person assigned to tail me is El Tlili! – That’s likely. Be careful, my friend,  

I wouldn’t want to lose you. For me, there was no doubt: El Tlili was   indeed the agent tasked with monitoring me. For the first time, I felt fear in my bones.   The network could do any-thing in  its interest. I didn’t know what,  

But everything was possible, and I had to  expect the worst. It was like an enormous,   monstrous ma-chine that had just been set in  motion against me. An invisible, blind machine   programmed to harm me in one way or another.  From now on, I couldn’t fall asleep without  

Risking waking up in a startle, senses alert to  any suspicious noise, or walk down the street   without constantly looking over my shoulder.  I would never again know which path to take to   avoid traps. I would always be suspicious of my  friends, a passer-by searching his coat pocket,  

A car braking suddenly. I went to see Tlili a   second time to try to unmask him. – All Rissalists are corrupt, I declared. I’m   going to report them to the Tunisian government. – Wait a moment, El Tlili retorted. We still need  

Them for now. Let’s be smarter. The network  has promised to supply weapons via Germany and   Spain. So far, we haven’t received anything  on that front. Let’s wait for the delivery,   and then we can expose them. – Do you think they’ll do it? 

– Listen, a first shipment from Libya  has arrived. We immediately hid it in   the forest. The most important part is  yet to come. What do you think of that?  El Tlili was trying to make me talk so he  could report back to Mousaab, undoubtedly! 

I cut the conversation short. From that day on, I took enormous precautions   whenever I had to leave the house. Every day, I  feared the stab in the back or the gunshot that   would cut me down on the street corner. To protect  myself, I made appointments at the last minute,  

Constantly changed my route, never made phone  calls from home, and trusted no one. My father   had no idea of the situation I was in. We lived  in two different worlds, as we al-ways had.  I continued to secretly meet with Elias. Through  him, I used the net-work for my own purposes.  

He and I had gathered young Shiites with the  idea of leading a religious revolution based   on peaceful resistance, much like Gandhi. By  doing so, not only did I not admit defeat, but   I also outmanoeuvred El Rissali. It was a way of  shouting in the face of my former masters that I,  

Too, could manipulate them. Because deep down,  I still believed in creating an Islamic state   in my country, but in my way, without resorting  to force, solely through the will of the people.  At my request, Elias asked the Rissalists for  permission to expand his group from seven to  

Fourteen individuals. The network agreed on the  condition that his supporters would back MTI   while spreading the ru-mour that Salah Karkar had  converted to Shiism and had become pro-Iranian.   In the Islamist circles where information spread  rapidly and passion reigned, a rumour could indeed  

Ruin the most solid reputation in no time.. Salah Karkar, the MTI, and Al Rissali  As a reminder, the Sunni Islamic organization,  founded in 1928 in Egypt by Hassan El Banna,   outwardly advocates nonviolent resistance  against secularism and Western values   but promotes a totalitarian ide-ology that  encompasses all aspects of social, political,  

Economic, and military life. For its members,  Allah’s religion contains everything and remains   valid for all people, at all times and in all  places. Known for their traditional attire,   they form a brotherhood whose goal is to strictly  apply orthodox Islam to counter the departure from  

Islamic precepts in modern society. This ideology  has spread in the Middle East and North Africa.   In Tunisia, Rached el Ghannouchi, the founder  of MTI in the 1970s, followed the example of   Hassan el Banna, the Muslim Brother-hood, and  Sayed Quotb, who are the reference in political  

Islam. The movement influenced academic circles.  Like El Banna in Egypt, El Ghannouchi created his   own secret network: he sent young graduates from  the movement to infiltrate state institutions,   including security and the military. In 1981,  following several acts of violence, the government  

Recognized the danger posed by the movement. About  a hundred mem-bers were arrested. El Ghannouchi   was sentenced to eleven years in prison, and  Karkar to ten years. El Ghannouchi, more moderate,   nego-tiated with Prime Minister Mohamed Mzali,  which led to their release in August 1984. 

At that time, Tunisia was facing a severe economic  crisis. The in-crease in bread prices due to   the demands of the International Mone-tary Fund  had sparked the “bread riots” in December 1983,   causing more than seventy deaths. Afterward, given  the government’s fragility and his own health,  

Bourguiba had to accept an agreement with  the Gulf countries that included a return   to Islamic values in Tunisia, in-cluding the  Arabization of education. This agreement allowed   Islamists to indoctrinate society under Mzali’s  control, who was close to Saudi Arabia and vying   for Bourguiba’s succession. The MTI returned  to oc-cupy mosques, multiplied associations,  

And, with Mzali’s complicity, be-came the  main opposition to Bourguiba’s regime.  Since their release from prison, Salah Karkar  accused Ghannouchi of betraying the movement’s   values. According to him, the MTI should not have  accepted reconciliation with the enemy of Islam,   Bourguiba. He presented a plan to change the  structure of the movement and es-tablish the  

Rules to be applied within the MTI. This request  was ig-nored, which fuelled his resentment.   According to him, the MTI had become Ghannouchi’s  private property, and he made decisions alone.   Unable to openly counter Ghannouchi’s actions  as he had strong sup-port within the movement,  

Salah Karkar began to create his own net-work.  This put Ghannouchi in a difficult position, given   the agreement with Mzali not to work secretly,  which had led him to put his own net-work for   infiltrating government bodies on hold. But he  turned a blind eye to Salah Karkar’s activities  

And continued to strengthen his rela-tions  with the Gulf countries. As for Salah Karkar,   he tried to raise global public opinion and  human rights organizations against Bourgui-ba’s   policies. My sister told me that he wrote letters  to organizations like Amnesty International to   denounce the scandalous situation faced by  Islamists in Tunisia. Within the movement, he  

Had the support of young activists. This approach  allowed him to lead the movement within a year,   with Ghannouchi stepping back in 1985. When  I contacted my brother-in-law again in 1985,   he was the absolute leader of the MTI. He  discussed and concluded agreements himself  

With El Rissali as part of his approach to  reconcile with any Islamic organization,   even Shiite. This did not please Ghannouchi, who  was moving closer to Salafism and relying on the   Gulf countries at the expense of the Shiites.  In con-trast, Salah Karkar dealt with all social  

Or political organizations that represented  the interests of Islam. Djamā’at al-tablīgh,   the Muslim Brotherhood, Ibadi businessmen,  he had connections everywhere. He advised   young people to learn the art of combat by  joining karate clubs, while my sister led a   women’s network… If Ghannouchi’s network  was oriented toward state institutions,  

He was developing his own within so-ciety.  Based on the information I gathered from   several sources, here are the agreements that  were concluded between the Rissalists and him:  The network provides 50% of the material needs. It  commits to train-ing MTI soldiers in political and  

Military matters and makes explosives specialists  available to coordinate field operations. It   takes responsibility for delivering the necessary  weaponry to the MTI and ensures its distri-bution   across Tunisian territory. Supporters can use  the network’s channels to conduct a campaign of   denunciation against the govern-ment of Bourguiba  in Arab and Islamic countries. The Rissalists  

Already present, about 200 to 300 elements, make  themselves available to the MTI. If necessary,   this force will be reinforced by tapping into the  pool of 2,000 pro-Rissalist Tunisian Shiites. In   case of success, the network sends its instructors  to help with the training of the new government  

And the management of the country’s affairs for a  period of six months. Finally, in case of defeat,   it guarantees the safety of MTI leaders and  their escape abroad. In return, El Rissali   is allowed to distribute propa-ganda materials  within the country that downplay the points of  

Disa-greement between Sunnis and Shiites. The MTI itself has a significant stock of   weapons and substantial fi-nancial support  from Tunisian businessmen. It has 2,000   supporters ready to take up arms at any  time, dispersed within the Tunisian army,   the National Guard acting as the police, and the  Ministry of Interior. Among these supporters is  

A hardcore nucleus of 200 individuals capable of  circulating weapons, inciting the population, and   organizing support demonstrations during the coup,  as well as executives and engineers ex-perienced   in wielding power and an elite troop skilled  in the use of weapons and terrorist actions.  

One million people support the MTI throughout the  country, including 200,000 directly linked to the   grass-roots cell ready to initiate protests on the  territory. A map of strategic sites is developed   in anticipation of occupying central Tunisia and  Bizer-te to counter a potential foreign offensive. 

These were the secret agreements negotiated  between the Rissalists and the MTI,   especially during the two meetings between Salah  Karkar and Mohamed Faouzi and then Abou Ouajih.   I should clarify that Salah Karkar negotiated  these agreements in his own name, in his capacity  

As the military leader of the MTI. It was only  later that he in-formed Rached El Ghannouchi and   Abdelfattah Mourou to obtain their approval. By 1985, the Rissalists had laid the initial   foundations for this action by training about  a hundred terrorists from the Tunisian youth  

In Iran. Isolated cells of three individuals,  detached from one another, were formed. These   cells, in turn, created new cells of the same  size (no more than twelve individuals), and so   on. The criteria for selecting individuals were  as follows: they should be attracted to holy war,  

But more im-portantly, they should be suffering  from family problems (academic fail-ure,   discord). This selection targeted outcasts,  malleable individuals to whom the path to paradise   was opened by proposing that they die for Islam.  After thorough brainwashing, they were released   into society and began operations, carrying out  attacks against law enforcement, tourist sites,  

And so on. Their lack of experience and the  emotional deprivation they experienced pushed them   to make mistakes, and the police arrested them  quite quickly. Once imprisoned, the majority of   them regretted their actions, but it was too late.  In fact, this scorched-earth policy con-stituted  

The second phase of the plan organized by the  Rissalists in asso-ciation with Salah Karkar, with   no limits to taqiyya. These arrests were desired.  The Islamists did not hesitate to accuse the   government of chas-ing poor adolescents excluded  from society without regard for human rights,  

Thereby reaping the benefits: the popularity  of religious oppo-nents grew in the country,   from the capital to the most remote regions. The Betrayal of El Ghannouchi and the Coup  When I returned to Tunis in early 1987, Bourguiba,  aware of the plot being prepared by Mzali[5],  

Had dismissed him and replaced him a few months  earlier with Rachid Sfar. Zine El-Abidine Ben Ali   had just joined the Sfar government as Minister  of the Interior. The confronta-tion between the   state and the Islamists had begun, with protests  led by Salah Karkar’s men erupting everywhere. 

I was able to closely follow the situation  because my brother-in-law was commanding his   groups from our house in Ariana. He was sending  men for military training in Iran and Sudan,   but some were trained in Ariana itself,  in the Nahli forest, near a stone quarry.  

No one suspected this because dynamite explosions  were common in the area. Through his connections,   Salah Karkar was clandestinely importing weapons  from Germany and Libya. Unlike Ghannouchi,   who allowed his cells to act independently, he did  not engage in terrorist acts against civilians and  

Tourists. He personally directed the protests. I  saw him giving orders for the major demonstration   in the Bab El Khadra district. His project  was to foment a widespread popular protest   movement in the country. When the situation  deteriorated, as it did in Iran, he would  

Intervene with the armed groups whose loyalists  already held key positions within the state.  Ghannouchi was under house arrest at the  time. In March, he was officially arrested,   along with thousands of Islamists. However, Salah  Karkar went into hiding in Ariana with an Ibadite  

Person and contin-ued to pull the strings of  the protest movement. In the summer of 1987,   the protests escalated, and on August 2, the  day before Bourguiba’s eighty-fourth birthday,   a series of bombings occurred in  hotels in Sousse and Monastir.  Following these horrors, many members of the  MTI were arrested. I was arrested in September,  

Along with sixteen members of my group. The  first to be arrested was Faouzi el Warteni,   who was severely tor-tured. The rest of the group  followed, and I was the last to be taken into   custody. I was transported to the Wardia police  station and then trans-ferred to Bouchoucha. 

In the El Chourouk newspaper, journalist Kamel  Labidi wrote: “The leader of a terrorist group,   Mohamed Karim Labidi, was arrested with  sixteen individuals. This pro-Iranian   terrorist group was working with the MTI to  spread panic in Tunisia. Following this arrest,   Tunisia sev-ered its relations with Iran, and its  cultural attaché at the embassy was expelled.” 

I only learned about everything that  happened during this arrest af-terward.  The leaders of the MTI were sentenced  to life imprisonment on Sep-tember 27,   1987. Seven of them were sentenced to death,  including Sa-lah Karkar, who was on the run.   Ghannouchi, who was incarcerated at the time  of the events, was not sentenced to death,  

Although Bourguiba had requested his execution. Ben Ali, promoted to Minister of State in charge   of the Interior in May 1987, was appointed Prime  Minister on October 2 of the same year while   retaining the Ministry of the Interior.  Through my arrest, he obtained evidence  

Of my brother-in-law’s involvement with Iran.  After giving the order to arrest Salah Karkar,   Saudi Arabia, Iran’s long-standing  enemy, supported his rise to power.  The agreements with Saudi Arabia promised  a transition of power without deviating too   far from the constitution’s laws. Ben Ali had the  situation under control. With foreign countries’  

Support secured, the “constitutional coup” against  Bourguiba proceeded. Ben Ali separately met with   Tunisia’s two important forces: the Bourguibists  represented by Habib Ammar and the Islamists   represented by Rached El Ghan-nouchi. He convinced  Habib Ammar that Bourguiba was too old to govern,  

That the country was in danger, and that  if it fell into the hands of the Islamists,   Bourguibism would disappear. Habib  Ammar was per-suaded and helped Ben Ali,   who nonetheless dismissed him eight months after  the operation’s success and his rise to power. 

On the other hand, he spoke with Rached El  Ghannouchi, warning him about Salah Karkar   and the dangerous nature of his involvement  with the Shiite network. I’m not sure if the   meeting was direct, but the information I have  comes from a source close to its organizer,  

Abdelfat-tah Mourou, a key figure in the MTI. Abdelfattah Mourou was a lawyer. He was the   first to meet Ghan-nouchi. He maintained good  relations with other founders of the MTI like   Hamida Ennaifer, as well as with the sheikhs  of Zitouna and influ-ential political figures  

Within the country. Known for his multiple  trips to Europe and the Gulf countries,   he had foreign relations with im-portant leaders  such as Kadhafi, as well as in Saudi Arabia and   France. He was arrested in 1981 with the leaders  of the MTI. Despite a heavy sentence, he was  

Released before the others and contacted Mzali  with Ghannouchi’s blessing to find common ground   with the government. It was the famous letter in  which he promised to protect the constitution and   not threaten the republic, which, when transmitted  to the presi-dency by Mzali, convinced Bourguiba  

To release the leaders of the MTI. Salah Karkar  nicknamed Abdelfattah Mourou ‘the wolf.’ He spoke   of him as a dangerous man with many facets who  played on all sides. If you wanted to transmit   information to the enemy, you just had to men-tion  it in the presence of Mourou. At the same time,  

The balance of the MTI was maintained through  him: he prevented the rupture between Ghannouchi   and Salah Karkar. The latter relied heavily on  Mourou, despite the little trust he inspired   and his close relationship with Ghan-nouchi. Abdelfattah Mourou left Tunisia in 1986 when  

The situation became critical between the  MTI and the government. He held a series of   meet-ings in France with François Mitterrand and  in Germany, then settled in Saudi Arabia. He now   worked within the framework of the constitu-tion.  In this new context, he abandoned Salah Karkar,  

Aligned himself with Ben Ali, contributed  to Ghannouchi’s release, and organized   sup-port for Ben Ali with the complicity of  Ghannouchi and his armed net-work. In return,   he changed the name of the MTI to Ennahda. Therefore, Ben Ali succeeded in his coup on   November 7, 1987, with the  help of foreign countries,  

Habib Ammar, and the moderate branch of the MTI. My sister Samira later told me how it happened   for Salah: he followed a well-defined program to  incite the people without a coup or bloodshed by   organizing protests from July to December 1987  until a nationwide revolution occurred. Then,  

His groups would occupy the country’s cul-tural  and economic strategic points. Simultaneously,   Ghannouchi’s branch would infiltrate the  police and the army, disrupt radar systems,   and use military aircraft to attack the  Carthage Palace, the Ministry of the Interior,   and free the prisoners. But Ghannouchi’s  security group informed him that they  

Wouldn’t wait until December, and a coup was  planned for November 8. When Salah asked for   an explanation for this change in plans, he was  told that Rached’s life was in danger as he would   be executed beforehand. Salah did not take this  response into ac-count and continued his action,  

Unaware that Ghannouchi and his group had betrayed  him and were colluding with Ben Ali to overthrow   Bourguiba with the blessing of Saudi Arabia and  international opinion. But Ben Ali was cleverer!   He did not trust Ghannouchi, the Bour-guibists,  or other opponents. He betrayed all his allies and  

Carried out his coup alone, a day in advance,  by manipulating the Tunisian consti-tution.  During this period, I was in prison in Bouchoucha.  The inspector who interrogated me informed me that   Bourguiba had requested the death penalty for me  and my group, and that I faced capital punishment. 

I was barely twenty-one. I saw my life flash  before my eyes, yet I couldn’t believe I was   going to die so soon. What disturbed me more was  not knowing who had betrayed me. I had been very  

Discreet, and no one knew me. Could it be a matter  of chance? At first, I believed the inspector’s   version, which claimed that it was a phone call  from Spain, from another Islamist network that   had learned that I was working against them in  Tunisia. After that, I suspected Salah Karkar.  

But over time, I understood that our arrest  must have been part of the agree-ments concluded   between Rached El Ghannouchi and Ben Ali. During my arrest, I saw men belonging to   Salah Karkar’s group be-ing incarcerated one  after the other, day after day. What was most  

In-triguing was that the Tunisian government could  not have known these people. I saw Samir Tlili,   who had joined me in Iran before, arrive at  the prison on a stretcher with bullets in his   body. All of this confirmed to me that Rached  el Ghannouchi, who knew everyone around Salah,  

Had sold him and his entire network.  He had become a servant of Ben Ali,   as summarized by this little phrase uttered during  a political speech: ‘we have trust in Allah and in   Ben Ali.’ What’s surprising coming from a man my  sister told me had amassed a fortune in prison  

With the dona-tions from prisoners’ families,  claiming that the Tunisian state confis-cated   the money sent! Rached el Ghannouchi had betrayed  his own, he wanted to lead the MTI all by himself,   and in turn, he was betrayed by Ben Ali, causing  the downfall of both branches of the MTI. 

In 1988, Ghannouchi was given the green light to  resume his activi-ties with Abdelfattah Mourou   under the name Ennahda. Said el Ferjani resigned  from the army and went into exile in London,   where he pros-pered in business thanks to his  contacts in Turkey and the Gulf coun-tries.  

As for Salah Karkar, who had fled to France, he  was side-lined, and his group was scattered among   those who were arrested, silenced, or exiled. At the end of December 1987, I was pardoned,   along with others, by Ben Ali and left prison. For your information, I knew before my arrest  

That Rached el Ghan-nouchi had a group of  loyalists infiltrated into the army and security   forces from the 1970s, including my brother-in-law  Abdessalem Khammari. A second group was under the   command of my other brother-in-law, Salah Karkar.  These soldiers appeared to be civilians integrated  

Into society, but they could turn into fighters  to incite crowds and occupy key positions at   any time. The Tunisian intelligence services were  aware of this, as was Ben Ali, but they had more   information about Rached’s branch than Salah’s. Upon coming to power, Ben Ali’s top priority was  

To eliminate the Bourguibists. Then, he settled  his score with Salah Karkar by manipu-lating   my testimony to clear Ghannouchi and blame  Salah for all the MTI’s crimes. After that,   he waited for four years and in 1992, he  ban-ished Rached’s infiltrated members  

Who had participated in the coup with him,  accusing them of preparing a new power shift.  I know that Salah Karkar was not involved in  the terrorist acts in Sousse and Monastir,   the acid attacks, the 1991 Bab Souika bombing,  or other less publicized attacks. In my opinion,  

These acts were indirectly ordered by  close associates of Ghannouchi. Indeed,   Islamist leaders could take initiatives to  add to the prevailing confusion. They would   then use submissive and naive young people,  as was the case in the Bab Souika incident,   where Abdelghani and Hicham Bennour, two of my  cousins, were sentenced, one to twenty-five years  

In prison and the other to life imprisonment.  They were not active members of the MTI but   simple sympathizers who wanted to burn documents.  The Tunisian state took advantage of the situation   to eradicate Ennahda from its ter-ritory. Having  thus disposed of all his opponents, Ben Ali  

Became the absolute master of Tunisia in 1992. Rached el Ghannouchi had anticipated Ben Ali’s   plan. He left Tuni-sia for Algeria in 1989 and  then moved to Sudan after Omar-El-Bachir’s coup.   He worked with Hassan El Tourabi to lead  a Sudanese Islamist movement. In 1990, he  

Went to Turkey to stay with Recep Tayyip Erdogan.  Having obtained political refugee status in 1993,   he ensured the elimination of his rivals  for control of Ennahda. He orga-nized a   meeting in Germany to permanently exclude Salah  Karkar. This decision was postponed following an  

Agreement between Charles Pasqua and Ben Ali to  repatriate the Islamists to Tunisia, where Salah   Karkar risked the death penalty. However, in 2002,  the news came: Sa-lah Karkar was excluded from the   Islamist movement. He withdrew from political life  in 2005 after a stroke, and Ghannouchi remained  

The supreme leader. In 2005, opponents of Ben Ali  united under the leader-ship of Ennahda to work   for his downfall from abroad. Nobody likes to talk  about all of this, but this account might help to   better understand what happened after 2011. The Uncertainty 

“Doubt Leads to Reason.” – Averroes[6] I have reached a very important moment in my life:   the critical period I went through between  1987 and 2001. My arrest in the last days of   Bourguiba’s rule deeply disturbed me: I began to  doubt everything. Dis-traught, caught in an inner  

Struggle, without guidance and without help, I  plunged into a true existential crisis. I don’t   like doubt and do not flee from obstacles. Upon my release after Ben Ali came to power,   I decided to return to Syria, even if it meant  risking my life, hoping to find an answer or truth  

In the East. There, I completely freed myself from  orthodox Islam and banished Islamism from my mind   once and for all. This led me to turn to mystical  Islam and Sufism upon my return to the West.   Finally, my doubts about the foundations of Islam  and my meditations in the isola-tion of a mystical  

Journey in Morocco led me to atheism. Imprisonment  In March 1987, tensions were rising in  Tunis. It was not safe to linger in the   streets. Secretly organized demonstrations  by Islamist forces erupted regularly,   ending in panic and screams. A sense of impending  doom filled the air as the police ruthlessly  

Charged the crowds, arresting dozens of people. At the same time, they raided the homes of   suspected Islamists, smash-ing everything in their  path and making new arrests. An air of blood-shed   and war seemed to hang over the country. Tunisia  was on the brink of a civil war. The government  

Feared that the agitation would spread everywhere.  Islamist terrorist forces were secretly finalizing   prep-arations for a revolution, positioning  themselves in all the hotspots across the country.   In a few months, they would launch hostilities,  and nothing would stop the wave from surging  

Through the streets and stir-ring up the people.  The country was heading toward a bloodbath.  Faced with this explosive climate, I observed  things with a mixture of fury and compassion.   I felt sorry for my brothers who had been  prom-ised the world, only to soon discover  

The harsh reality of the situation and witness  many deaths in their families. I was torn.   Should I collabo-rate with the authorities  to avert the impending massacre? Should I,   at the last minute, involve myself in the popular  revolt to help rescue my country from disaster? 

In fact, the police had an eye on anything  related to Islamism. The meetings held in Ariana   were infiltrated by moles from the Tunisian  se-cret services. On the night of March 12,   Rachid Ghannouchi was ar-rested and placed  under house arrest. My brother-in-law was  

Interro-gated and then released due to lack of  evidence. Cautious, he went into hiding before   fleeing to France during the following summer,  thanks to his brother, who was a gendarme and   used his official vehicle to take him to the boat. The Tunisian Islamic revolution had lost two of  

Its leaders. After this setback, the Rissalistes  (followers of the Rissali network) respected   their commitments and organized the escape of the  main leaders. This was how Salah Karkar obtained   political refugee status in Paris. However, they  withdrew their trust from the MTI (Movement of the  

Islamic Ten-dency), and the criminal activities  of the network were redirected to-ward Algeria.   There, after the civil war between the Algerian  army and clandestine Islamist militants,   the Islamist forces were in hiding, biding  their time. The surviving Tunisian cells,   saved from Bourguiba’s raids, were sent there. The  Islamist agents resumed their painstaking work,  

Aiming to overthrow the Algerian government,  establish an Islamic state, and eventually conquer   North Africa. This mission was entrusted, among  others, to Salah Karkar, despite the distance.  In Tunis, tensions between the government and  Islamist forces con-tinued to escalate. The   situation was fraught with risks for both sides,  given the numerous moles operating everywhere,  

From within the police and Islamist ranks to the  MTI, Salah Karkar, and the Rissalistes. As for me,   I continued from March to September 1987 to  organize a revolu-tionary pacifist party,   mainly composed of young Tunisian Shiites. My  fear was suppressed by my unwavering belief  

In Allah. Some kill in the name of the  Lord, while others survive through him.  My friend Elias was my most loyal ally. He  retained his position with-in the Rissali   network and used its mechanisms for our benefit.  He did not hesitate to manipulate the reports  

Sent to his superiors and send false information  to Tehran, following the decoy technique taught   by our masters. We knew that danger was lurking  around us, but we had no idea of the intricate   interplay of forces at play, turning the  political and military landscape of the  

Country into an unbelievable game of pick-up  sticks. With agents wearing multiple hats,   corrupt police officers, profiteers of all kinds,  professional informants, repentant Islamists,   the situation was immensely complex. In this web  of rivalries, who could have made sense of it all? 

On September 10th, I had a meeting with my friend  at around 4 p.m. I had been waiting for a good   ten minutes. I kept an eye out for Elias but  also for any potential trouble, as in the eyes  

Of the Rissalistes, I was still a marked man.  My friend and I had established a common rule   to ensure our safety during meetings: if one of  us was more than twenty minutes late, the other   should return home and wait for a phone call over  the next two hours. If there was complete silence,  

It meant that an arrest had probably occurred,  and it was time to flee. After twenty-five   minutes, there was still no sign of Elias. I returned home and waited for the agreed-upon   two hours. Elias didn’t call. I had to prepare  to leave for hiding in Gabes, further south. But  

Something strange held me back. No matter how much  I told my-self that I was putting myself in more   danger with each passing minute, it didn’t matter. Hearing the creaking of the gate, I looked out   the window. Three po-lice cars blocked the  way, and law enforcement officers surrounded  

The house. It was over! I had wanted to  confront the unknown, and I was caught.  Strangely, the police officers didn’t seem in  a hurry. They walked lei-surely, as if it were   a routine operation. It was nothing like the  raids I had witnessed in the preceding days. 

Later, I learned that Salah Karkar, who was  in Paris closely monitor-ing the political   situation in Tunisia, had denounced  us as dangerous terrorists. In a way,   it was fair game since I had managed to convince  the Shiite community that the MTI was working on  

Behalf of an inter-national terrorist network. When I disclosed my identity, the interrogating   police officer was sur-prised by my age. – So young… What a pity, he muttered.  My father couldn’t believe his eyes; he looked  at me with a bewildered expression. He, who had  

Mocked me throughout my life, suddenly real-ized  that his son’s life had taken an unexpected turn.   The years had dis-solved almost unnoticed in  the relentless hourglass of time. A passive   spectator until now, he suddenly realized that  his child had grown up without him, like a wild  

Weed in a field. He hadn’t seen anything, too  selfish to take an interest in other people’s   lives. Destiny caught up with him in a matter  of seconds, throwing the result of his years   of absence in his face. A harsh awakening for a  father! The wheel had turned; it was too late. 

During the search, no weapons, no pamphlets,  not a single piece of evidence was found.   Only a few books about the Iraqi Baath Party  were confiscated as evidence. I was relieved   and even went so far as to facili-tate the  police’s work. My composure was exemplary.  However, something seemed  amiss to the police officers. 

– Are you really an Islamist? insisted  the one who had interrogated me.  To reassure him, I gave him a smile. – Think what you want, I retorted.  It was as if I wanted to defy  death, to push my own limits. 

After an hour, I got into the police van,  where I found Elias, his face marked by   worry. Our dreams were definitively shattered. My fear had dissipated, but this respite was   short-lived. Sitting in front of the  police commissioner’s desk at the El   Wardia police station, I didn’t flinch.  The commissioner, sitting across from me,  

Stared without saying a word. Long minutes of silence passed,   heavy and unforgettable. In the corri-dor,  I could hear raised voices, screams. The   commotion was at its peak. Other young people  who had just been arrested were undergoing   inter-rogations with a different fate. In such a situation, a simple,  

Unwavering gaze directed at the suspect can  be an extremely effective form of torture.   What would the repre-sentative of the law  finally do? What irrational and bestial act   was brewing in the mind of this man about whom I  knew nothing, a man who might be capable of the  

Worst? Would he beat me? Leave me in suspense  for days on end? Should I break the silence?  I don’t know exactly how long this silence  lasted, but suddenly, I saw my past flash   before me at such a speed that I felt dizzy. Finally, the commissioner decided to speak. 

– Are you proud of yourself? – Not particularly.  The commissioner got up from his chair,  closed the office door behind me, then   approached me from behind and began to berate me. – So, here’s Mohamed Karim Labidi! Look at this  

Islamist seed, dressed in leather and styled  like Travolta! I can’t believe my eyes. Ah!   When they say you have to track them down even  in the discotheques, they’re absolutely right…  Accustomed to blending into the crowd  to avoid drawing attention to myself,  

I adopted the fashion of young people of the time  influenced by rock music. It had become a reflex:   as soon as I settled in a place,  I adopted the locals’ habits.  – Do you agree to tell the truth?  the threatening voice continued. 

I didn’t dare turn my head. – Everything is in your hands;   I have nothing more to say. – Then off to the slammer, young man!  When I entered the cell, an abominable  stench of filth choked me, as if the  

Air hadn’t been refreshed for months. I heard a  man moaning and coughing. He opened his mouth,   but no words came out. I sat down beside him to  comfort him. I’ll never know what he tried to say.  – Water, water, please! shouted  detainees in nearby cells. 

It was true; we were suffocating. The lack  of air and the dust burned our lungs. When   I managed to fall asleep, I woke up every  hour, feeling as though my end was near.  I was transferred shortly afterward to Bouchoucha  Barracks. As sol-diers were taking me for  

Questioning, I saw others bringing Elias back in  the opposite direction, looking terribly battered.  He and I were on opposite sides of the bars now! I tried to catch his eye to give him a sign of  

Friendship, but he was lost in another world. I  had the feeling that I would never see him again.  In the room where I was taken, two  police officers began to harass me.  – So, you little bastard! shouted the sergeant,  you want to start a revo-lution? Take this! 

And he kneed me in the stomach. I lowered my head. – What! Did I hurt you? What do   you say to that, you bastard? Then, speaking to his colleague:  – Do you think I hurt him? – I didn’t see anything. When are you really  

Going to deal with this dog? I’m already bored. – Did you hear, troublemaker? My friend is   getting bored of seeing you as silent as a fish! And the police officer started beating me again.  I rolled on the ground, continuing  to receive kicks in the kidneys. 

– Get up! You’re making your Lord pity you! I got up. My mouth was bleeding.  The police officer rubbed my ears vigorously. – Can you hear better now?  – Yes, sir. – I’m not sure. We’ll   see how we can unblock your ears for you! Afterward, my friend will probably want  

To have a little fun with you. You  know, you have to understand us.   Life in the police isn’t always fun… After an hour of torture, I was thrown   into a cell, nearly unconscious. I didn’t know  where I was or if I was still alive. When I came  

To my senses, all the prisoners in the cell –  about twenty of them – were gath-ered around me.  – Are you okay? one of them asked. – I’ve had better days.  – They beat you? – Yes, and how, I said,  

Trying to sit up as best I could. – You’re not the only one.  – I figured. – Are you an Islamist or a communist? continued   the prisoner who seemed to be the leader. – Neither one.  – Really? Then what are you? – Why do you want to know? 

– We’re all detainees. You have to reveal  your identity, or none of us will speak to   you. You could very well be a government spy. – In that case, I’m playing my role perfectly!   Did you see what they did to me? – It’s not difficult to fake  

Appearances. We’ve seen worse. – I’m Shiite, and Salah Karkar   is my brother-in-law. At these words,   some prisoners distanced themselves, while  others, on the contrary, drew closer to me.  By mentioning my brother-in-law’s name, I had  garnered admiration but also suspicion. This   duality in the prisoners’ reactions illustrated  the rivalries within the Tunisian Islamist milieu.  

From the beginning, the dice were loaded. Over the course of the days, after witnessing   many prisoners tortured, I managed to gather  them around me and began to talk to them about   the conflict between Sunnis and Shiites. My  argumentation started with the origins of  

Islam to try to explain the stupidity of certain  interpreta-tions. I emphasized the notions of   brotherhood and sharing, which were, I repeated,  the very foundation of the Muslim religion:   the people must bury the hatred of the past, build  a generous Islam through re-newed unity, or else  

Muslims would remain indefinitely isolated. Prisoners were summoned one by one by the   barracks’ authorities. They would leave in the  morning and return in the evening, humiliated and   battered. Every morning, everyone dreaded hearing  their name shouted through the cell’s vent. 

A month passed before I was interrogated again.  Deprived of visits, forced to wash myself with   a thin trickle of water from a rubber hose,  undernourished, I was a pitiful sight. I was   stripped naked from head to toe except for my  underwear, then the guard forced me to lie on  

The tiled floor, handcuffed. I remained in this  position for several hours. Among Islamists,   the body should not be exposed; modesty  is required. By forcing me to undress,   the military thought they would humiliate me  further. However, I didn’t care. Nudity mattered  

Little to me, unlike the other prisoners. When I entered the chief inspector’s office,   my limbs were stiff. – Have you thought about   it? the investigator asked me. – I’ve done nothing but.  – Your friend confessed to everything. 

So, Elias was alive! This news gave me hope. – I have no intention of denying the truth.  – Did you work for the Iranian terrorists? – Yes, but I left that network before returning   to Tunisia. – Why? 

– I no longer believe in their ideas. I was wrong  all along. They are murderers, no more, no less.  – Yet, the investigator continued, you continued  to engage in terror-ism by creating your own   revolutionary party. – That’s true,  

But I had no intention of shedding anyone’s blood. – Don’t play the frightened pacifist! You did plan   to overthrow Bour-guiba’s government, didn’t you? – What can I say? I’m full of contradictions.  – Do you think this is a time for jokes? – No. But it’s true;  

I had no intention of killing anyone. – That’s not what your friend told us.  – What did he confess, exactly? – If you think I’m going to tell   you… Just know that he hates you. Letting me believe that my best friend  

Had told the worst things about me was probably  meant to psychologically destabilize me. It was   well played, in the pure style of mental torture.  In fact, I felt betrayed, but this feeling only   lasted a short moment. – I doubt it.  – We received a report about your  activities, an anonymous report. 

– Ah, Salah Karkar! I said, clenching my fists. – Salah Karkar. That’s an interesting subject.  – He’s on the run, and I’m in  prison. Don’t you find that   curious? Jus-tice isn’t the same for everyone. – Are you insinuating that the government made  

Secret agreements with your brother-in-law? – No, I’m just stating the facts. It’s   always the same story: the poor  people pay for the big bosses.  – You’re not here to philosophize  but to tell the truth. Do you want   to cooperate with us? Admit to the facts? – Brutality is unnecessary. I will tell  

What I know. – We can work   together then. Do you want something? – Yes, a cigarette… and above all, sleep.  The next day, the guard came to get me, and I  had to lie down half-naked in the corridor next  

To the investigator’s room again. I spent the day  in that position without being interrogated. This   treatment repeat-ed for three consecutive days. Finally, I was heard.  I then revealed everything I knew, trying not to  implicate the MTI or the Iranian government too  

Much, out of solidarity with the supporters who  had been deceived. I was asked to be a mole in the   prison, but I re-fused. Under no circumstances  would I have accepted the dependence on an   authority, even a respectable one, again. Now, I  wanted to be free, independent, owing nothing to  

Anyone. This painful experience had revealed to  me the madness of my crime. My actions had been   all the more absurd because I appreciated certain  aspects of President Bourguiba’s political work,   especially concerning women’s rights. The Marriage as a Reintegration Attempt 

Very weakened for several months, Bourguiba no  longer had the strength to govern and was sorely   lacking in lucidity. The Islamists had sensed this  for a long time. Despite the raids, they had not   given up on the coup planned for December.  The streets were overflowing with pro-tests,  

The police were making more arrests, which led to  new protests. The El Rissali network was carefully   preparing its operation on its side. From Paris,  Salah Karkar was monitoring the manoeuvre. Was   he pull-ing the strings? Some have said so. In the end, history did not want their coup to  

Succeed. Zine el-Abidine Ben Ali replaced  Bourguiba on November 7. He deposed the   potentate in a very legal manner: already prime  minister, he replaced the defi-cient president   through a kind of chic coup, waving the promise  of free elections. These elections never really  

Took place. Some claim that the American secret  services had warned Ben Ali that an operation   was in the works. In any case, he tightened the  police and made new arrests in Islamist circles.  In early November 1987, my Islamist accomplices  and I appeared be-fore the investigating judge  

Hassan Ben Fellah. As I climbed the steps  of the courthouse, the ultimate symbol   of state authority, my heart was heavy. – Do you want a lawyer? I was asked before   entering the courtroom. – No, I replied.  – Are you a member of the MTI? the judge began. – No. 

– Do you have an organizational  relationship with Karkar?  – No. – Did   you participate in the training of MTI members? – No. But I trained supporters of Salah Karkar.  – Weren’t these supporters members of the MTI? – No, they were exclusively under Karkar. 

– Does the training of the armed  forces of the MTI take place in Iran?  – Yes. – Was the political and military objective of   the MTI to overthrow the Bourguiba government? – Yes.  – Do you know how to handle weapons? – Yes, the Kalashnikov.  – And bombs? – No, only the Kalashnikov. 

– Despite all these wrongdoings and especially  thanks to your coopera-tion, you will soon be   free, the judge continued. Tunisia has just turned  a page in its history. A new era is dawning. Learn   from your mistakes. Practicing the Shiite or Sunni  religion is not a crime, but trying to im-pose it  

On others by force in an attempt to overthrow  the government is an attack on public order   and the security of the state. Such acts will be  severely punished in the future. Never forget it.  I nodded my head, looking the judge in the eyes. Such acts now seemed to me to be criminal  

Childishness, and I knew I would  never fall for them again. But many   obstacles would still be in my way. The prison where I was held had about   a hundred prisoners, all Is-lamists. My father and  one of my sisters were now visiting me regularly,  

Bringing comfort and food. I had become  friends with another inmate, Mounir,   to whom I confided one day that I would like to  get married when I was released from prison. But   it would have to be an independ-ent, autonomous  woman, so that I could fully devote myself  

To the fight against Islamist terrorism. – I know someone who fits that description,   Mounir told me. I promise to  introduce you to her someday.  In reality, after these years of madness, I  longed for a quiet and settled life. I don’t  

Think I was ever made for marriage. It was,  above all, a means of integration for me,   as marriage is in most societies the strong-est  model of social reference. A married man is   a normal man, and therefore more likely to  be accepted by his surroundings. Afterward,  

I could envision the future in a completely  different light. That was my ambition at the time.  On December 30, 1987, I was released. When I arrived home, I asked the taxi   driver to wait a bit while I fetched the money  to pay the fare. He told me that he was a  

Sympathiz-er of the Islamists and, therefore,  a friend. I didn’t have to pay any-thing.  The family reception was cold. Samira,  Salah Karkar’s wife, barely spoke to me.  From what I understood, the rumour was that  my arrest had been a pretext to clear me.  

Most of my former associates accused me of  being an agent of the Tunisian government,   which was completely false. After my release from Bouchoucha,   I was approached by the inspector who had  interrogated me. We got to know each other  

Better. This man knew everything about the MTI  because he had been a part of it in the 1970s   until he realized that they posed a threat to  the country. He then turned against them by   working for the state’s intelligence services.  He fought firmly, severely, and relentlessly  

Against Islamist movements. He promised to help me  reintegrate into society and even suggested that I   work with the police. Of course, I refused,  while promising that if I learned anything   concerning the country’s security, I would inform  the authorities. After that, I was summoned to the  

Ministry of the Interior several times to talk to  him, and we stayed in touch. He helped me through   the difficult period after my release from prison,  but when he saw that there was no chance of me  

Working with the police, he left me to my fate. I soon received a call from my brother-in-law:   ‘Traitor! Sooner or lat-er, you will be punished!’ ‘Punished,’ did that mean eliminated?  I hung up on him. Although hurt in my pride, I  decided not to pay at-tention to these threats. 

Despite the risk of the defamatory rumours  about me growing, I con-tinued to see Elias.   During our meetings, we tried to persuade young  be-lievers to stay away from Islamist movements:  – You are sacrificing yourselves for individuals  whose only goal is to satisfy their personal  

Ambitions, we repeated. They don’t care about your  work. They are cowards. Remember what Karkar said:   no matter what happens, he would never leave  Tunisia. Yet, he was the first to flee as soon as   the revolution failed, and El Tlili did the same. One day, my friend Mounir, whom I had  

Met in prison, invited me for coffee. – I have a surprise for you, he said. I’ve   arranged a meeting with the girl I told you about. I rushed to the meeting, dressed in my best shirt. 

When I saw the young woman sitting next to Mounir,  I decided in-stantly to make her my bride. I spent   the afternoon with her. In the evening, I  asked her to marry me. This eagerness might   seem strange, but I needed to compensate for the  emotional void created by my fami-ly’s rejection. 

A few days later, she accepted the  marriage proposal. On May 28, 1988,   we celebrated our union, and then we moved into  my father’s house in Ariana, where he lived alone.   My marriage helped me stabilize and ignore the  rumours that still circulated about me. Soon,  

I found a job as a sales agent at the Africa  Hotel on Bourguiba Avenue, in the heart of Tunis.  The first few weeks there were happy.  However, at the end of the pro-bationary   period, my employer asked me for a copy of my  criminal rec-ord before hiring me permanently. 

Just when I was starting to believe that a  normal life was still possible despite my past,   my doubts resurfaced. The tortures I endured  during my arrest had affected my mental balance.   Deep down, I still believed I was guilty. Guilty  to my country and my people, guilty to the Lord,  

Guilty of plotting an insurrection  that could have caused many deaths.  I called my contact at the ministry several  times to find a solution re-garding this cursed   criminal record, which surely contained my former  involvement in Islamism, but he didn’t answer or  

Gave me excuses. He always found a reason to evade  it. I saw no end to my dark thoughts. I was going   through this ordeal alone, with no one’s help.  Everything was uncertain, hanging by a thread.  Society, as is well known, is  not very open to former inmates,  

Especial-ly ex-Islamists. My employer repeated  his request. I wanted to buy some time,   fearing that producing this document, which surely  indicated my previous association with Islamism,   would cost me my job. I kept my boss waiting  for six months, and then, fed up, he fired me. 

I found myself without money and  the responsibility of a family.   This failure devastated me, and I felt rejected.  In desperation, I requested my criminal record,   which, ironically, was completely clean! I then went through very tough times. Without  

Money, soon to be a family man, with no future  in sight, surrounded by scoundrels who spent   their time slandering me, my days passed under  the weight of remorse and guilt. I searched for   God everywhere but couldn’t find Him any-where. Moreover, my married life bored me, just as I was  

Bored with being nothing, aspiring to nothing.  Just a few months earlier, I belonged to a large   family, admittedly a criminal one, but they  provided me with shel-ter and took care of me   completely. If I had stayed, I would undoubtedly  have become a millionaire, I would have been one  

Of the dignitaries of El Rissali with all the  privileges that came with that caste. People   would have respected me, rushed to seek my advice.  At the age of forty, I would have become an adored   patriarch. How far away all of that seemed now! Far away? Not so much. 

Psychological fatigue, a backlash from my years  of brainwashing in Tehran, of suspicion and   humiliation, confused me. One day, my nerves  gave way. Like a heroin addict deprived of   artificial paradise for too long, I seriously  considered relapsing: to become someone again,  

To re-gain the political status assigned to  me, to reconnect with the thrill of danger,   to no longer be a solitary beast hunted down,  I decided to re-connect with El Rissali.  Many examples show the complexity of the violence  syndrome, how difficult it is to cure oneself of  

This ailment that functions like intoxica-tion,  just like a drug. Part of me remained aware that   it was heresy: I was heading back to the hell  of terrorism, this time with full knowledge.   After successfully leaving that bloody sect, I  was preparing to jump back into the lion’s den! 

In an attempt to ease my conscience, I settled on  the following pre-text: did the Rissali leaders   know about the lax behaviour of their base’s  leaders? Maybe not, after all? In any case,   I absolutely had to check this point. Although this decision may seem inconsistent  

To those who have fol-lowed this story, it  should be noted that I had hardly any other   choice. Living was like a Chinese puzzle for me.  I was rejected everywhere, my future was bleak.  Moreover, the Rissalis certainly hadn’t  forgotten me. They would soon order my execution,  

If it hadn’t already happened. At least, by go-ing  to meet them, I retained a chance at redemption.   In Syria in the Clutches of El Rissali A short while later, I retrieved my new   passport and immediately left Tunisia heading  for Syria, defying death, whether in the form  

Of a knife in the back or a gunshot to the head. I landed in Damascus. I made my way through the   city to reach the neighbourhood of El Sayyida  Zeinab, where El Sheikh Abou Moustapha lived.  

He was a religious scholar who had been my teacher  at El Qaem School, and I appreciated him for his   kindness. I had no doubt about his generosity.  Indeed, he welcomed me with open arms. He  

Didn’t seem to be aware of the dispute between the  network and me, or at least, he didn’t mention it.  At forty years old, dressed in religious attire,  Abou Moustapha was a renowned Shiite pacifist.   He belonged to the network but was unaware of its  criminal activities, as everyone made sure to hide  

The truth from him. To Abou Moustapha, El Rissali  was a charitable religious move-ment. In fact,   like many others, he was the subject of  extensive manipu-lation by the Rissalis,   who used his pacifism as a facade. In certain  cir-cles, the network boasted having this  

Honourable personality among its members. I called my wife to reassure her. Then,   having settled in, I went back to my studies  in religious school after a week, at the new   Maghreb School under the guidance of one of the  greatest Shiite scholars, El Saïd El Tib Tabaii,  

A Syrian of Iraqi origin. The serum of extremist  ideology flowed through my veins once again.  The Rissali leaders would soon be informed of  my presence in their stronghold. From then on,   how would they come to meet me? Would I have  the courage to express my true thoughts to  

Them? In any case, I was ready to face them. With each passing day, I regained hope. Life   at the school seemed promising. I was provided  for and taken care of. Abou Moustapha al-lowed   me to bring my wife, who had given birth to a  little girl on April 3, 1989. When she arrived  

At the airport, I gave her a headscarf to  cov-er her head and blend into the crowd,   then I embraced my child. Thanks to Abou  Moustapha’s financial support, we rented an   apart-ment where we lived modestly but happily.  I had my daughter baptized by my teacher,  

El Tib Tabaii, in the Zeinab mausoleum, and I  took her name from there. During the ceremony,   the religious scholar placed a bit of ‘El Hussein,  son of Ali’ soil in my child’s mouth, poured water   on her head, and recited some Quranic verses. In  short, I was at peace. I even reproached myself  

For my poor attitude towards the Rissalis.  I thought I had been mistaken about them.  Poor me! My naivety, which had  sometimes saved me from madness,   had now completely misled me. How could I hope  to change the behav-iour of these bloodthirsty  

Monsters? My ambition was akin to crucifix-ion. One morning, as I was heading to school,   I witnessed a peculiar sight: there was not a soul  outside. The wind whistled through the streets,   lift-ing dust from the sidewalks.  Silence enveloped everything,  

And the light cast an eerie glow on the walls. Did this atmosphere herald the return of God to   Earth? Had a nucle-ar war just been unleashed? I froze for a moment and then, panicked,   I ran back to my apart-ment. I knocked on my neighbour’s door.  

The man appeared, his face in tears. – What’s happening? I asked,   my stomach tied in knots. – Imam Khomeiny has died.  I went to the mausoleum where El Tib Tabaii had  baptized my daughter just a few days earlier.   People were weeping, lamenting, some even  fainted. All hearts seemed to have joined  

In solemn communion. I too broke into tears. The mourning continued for a whole week. Schools,   offices, and gov-ernment agencies were all closed,  and black flags were lowered every-where. Syria   behaved as if it were Iran’s little sister. Shortly after, Abou Moustapha informed me of  

The arrival in Damas-cus of a delegation from  the network, consisting of Mohamed Faouzi and   El Sheikh Ahmed, Hassan El Safar’s brother,  and apprehension once again took hold of me.  The network’s approach was slow. They  started sending me cryptic messages:  

‘Dear Karim, has Tunisia been profitable  for you?’ A few days later, I was told,   ‘We think about you.’ Then another time: ‘Death  is just a passage.’ And the next day: ‘What does   the smile of a wounded man hide?’ How should I interpret these  

Little ‘words of love’? After a few days of this regime,   silence fell again. The network gave me no sign  of life for more than a week. The Rissalis were   playing with my nerves. The game was just  beginning. Finally, my last secret tutor  

At El Quaem School and one of the leaders of  the new Maghreb School, El Maghribi Jamal,   a Moroccan who despised me, let me know through  an intermediary that I would be interrogated.  I chose to plead guilty. I wrote a report in which  I admitted to all the accusations against me. In  

Conclusion, I requested the establishment of a  tribunal at El Quaem School, composed of all the   Rissali leaders, with Hedi El Moudarissi as the  supreme judge. I would come before this court to   present my defence. In fact, I was trying to  create an excep-tional event that could later  

Set a precedent for my comrades. I hoped to  be able to reveal during this plenary meeting   the dirty tricks and atrocities I had witnessed,  in order to provoke an internal confronta-tion.   I wanted to somehow foment a coup in the  realm of these special-ists in manipulation! 

On paper, the operation seemed clever. A good  countermove, indeed. But once again, my naivety   betrayed me. As expected, the leaders re-fused to  go along with such a procedure. Worse, Hassan El   Safar’s brother reported the following to me: – Hédi El Moudarissi has no trust in you. From  

The first days of your arrival here, he  considered you a traitor. He ordered your   execution. It’s a chance for you that  this order has not yet been carried out.  Another person told me: – If you want to be judged,  

It will be done in a small committee,  and your judge will be El Sheikh Ahmed.  – In that case, I request to be  permanently excluded from the network!  For the moment, I was still alive, but in what  state! From then on, my wife and I felt the  

Flames of hell approaching us a hundredfold.  At night, someone would knock on our door to   wake us up. I would get up, but there was no  one there. This happened several times. Then   this per-secution stopped, only to be replaced  by another of the same kind but more insidious:  

We would hear people walking on the roof  of the apart-ment, making mournful moans,   and creating all sorts of strange noises, as  if it were a black mass. My wife was terrified,   and our baby couldn’t sleep. Later, we received  death threats through third parties. As I  

Resist-ed, the telephone was cut off, then  the water and electricity, as the building   belonged to the network. My wife and I found  ourselves on the streets, with no resources.  As a last resort, I requested  a meeting with Hassan El Safar,  

But I learned that he wanted nothing to do with  me and had already issued orders concerning me.  I appealed to the Rissalis once more. – My wife and daughter are   innocent! Give them food. – You can all die of hunger. 

In a matter of days, we sank into poverty  once and for all. Our mar-riage fell into   total degradation, forced to beg near the  Zeinab mauso-leum. We were hungry and thirsty,   living in filth amid the cries of our baby. In  addition to destitution, fear gnawed at us. I  

Stayed awake day and night, trying to spot in  the crowd the one who would come to slaughter us.  We lived in horror. I never would have imagined how   fear could reduce a person to a pleading worm. My  throat was perpetually constricted, my legs shaky,  

My pulse sometimes slowed, sometimes racing. The  harassment by the Rissalis took on new forms each   time. So-called protectors would give us food…  spoiled! Firecrackers were set off in the middle   of the night just steps from our baby. We were  insulted, pelted with projectiles. I became so  

Thin that I could barely walk. My wife and  daughter cried all day long. Their cries   pierced my brain like red-hot needles. They were  going to die before my eyes, a terrible torture.   I felt so guilty! And still, these cries that  tore at my heart, pounded my soul, and reminded  

Me of my wrongs. Why wouldn’t death come to take  me away so that this tor-ment would finally end!  I tried to sell my child’s stroller. With  the money I could collect, I could buy two   bus tickets and reach Istanbul. A passer-by  offered me a hundred pounds for the stroller,  

Eight times less than its value. I refused to  sell off the only semblance of comfort that   remained for my wife and daughter. Fortunately, unlike the Saudis,   the Iraqi residents were generous: women from the  neighbourhood, although impoverished themselves,   gathered five hundred pounds and gave them to  my wife without ex-pecting anything in return. 

We were going to be able  to leave, to escape death!  Unfortunately, fate was against us. The travel  agency had no availa-ble tickets for a week. Then,   the next day, I received the following mes-sage:  ‘We give you forty-eight hours to leave Syria,   or you will be elimi-nated.’ I didn’t tell my wife,  

But this time, the end was near. Around us,  the crowd moved slowly, mothers strolled   with their children, life went on. Without us. I need to pray, I thought, looking up at the sky.  That’s when the faces of my family came  back to my memory. How foolish I had been  

To leave! There was only one thing left to do. I got up and told my wife to follow me. Like a   sleepwalker, I cradled my little Zeyneb in my  arms and headed to the United Nations office,   determined to tell my story and seek help. – Sorry, sir, we only deal with Palestinians  

And Lebanese, the official told me. – So, what can I do? I asked, revolted.  – Ask to meet with the head of  human rights at the French embassy.  We went to the French embassy, where we were  warmly received. The senior official took my  

Confession very seriously and eventually of-fered  to repatriate my family to Tunisia. In the   meantime, he provided us with accommodation. That’s how we managed to escape death:   in the heart of the Arab world,  a Frenchman lent us a hand. 

On July 23, 1989, while my wife waited a few more  days in Damascus for a direct flight to Tunis,   I landed in Paris. At the airport,  two police-men welcomed me and took   me to a hotel not far from the Eiffel Tow-er. – Do you have any important information to provide  

Us regarding ter-rorism? one of them asked me. – Yes.  – Don’t worry, everything will be fine.  Rest up; we will contact you in a few   days. Let your beard grow to avoid being  recognized. Wait a while before contacting  

Your family. Don’t tell them we intervened.  You can say you returned from Syria by land.  On the day of Eid, I rang the  doorbell at my mother’s house,   where she had just moved to in Bagnolet. What a surprise for my mother! What a surprise  

Also for Salah Karkar and Samira, who were present  that day! My brother-in-law was left speechless.  Yes, I was still alive! And the  struggle was just beginning.  In the following days, I re-established  communication with my sister. After Salah   Karkar arrived in France, Samira had settled with  the chil-dren in Eaubonne near Paris. Although  

She was still with her husband and had joined him  with their six children, she was timidly becoming   aware of certain realities. She had abandoned  Islam after an overdose of Islamism. Now,   all she aspired to was to hear no more  about ortho-dox Islam or politics. She  

Continued her quest for truth individually,  without resorting to any brainwashing dogma.  When I had regained my strength, I went to  see Abou Ahmed, the one who had recruited me.  – Karim, my brother! he  exclaimed. I was less tender.  – Do you want to convey a  message from me to the network? 

– Of course, but… – Karim Labidi declares war on the Rissalis.  – Forget about them and start a new life! – How could I forget those who destroyed my   life and who are also de-stroying the  future of thousands of young people? 

– They are many, Karim. You are alone. – One man can defeat an entire   army if Allah is with him. – But Allah is also with them…  – What are you talking about? If these monsters  are promised para-dise, then I’d much prefer to  

Join the devil and hell than end up with  them. They let my wife and child starve to   death before my eyes. And they call themselves  Muslims! It’s enough to disgust you with Islam!  I poured out my heart with rage, my eyes  bulging. I had never experi-enced such  

Anger. My friend didn’t know how to calm  me down. Hav-ing not followed the same   path as me, he couldn’t understand. – It’s true, they acted very badly,   Abou Ahmed replied. But to err is human… – They’re not human; they’re demons! 

– Listen, it’s a misunderstanding. I can  still fix things. I’d like to recon-cile   you with them. Let me handle it. – That’s out of the question!   The harm is irreparable. Abou Ahmed had to face the facts:  

I had finally and definitively crossed over to  the other side. He had to stop meeting me under   pres-sure from the Rissalis, as he moved shortly  afterward, and we never saw each other again. I   confessed to the French intelligence officials  every-thing I knew about the El Rissali network,  

Including the plan of destruc-tion that  these fanatical terrorists had prepared   for the years 1999 to 2011, of which I had  learned just before my imprisonment in 1987.  So that the reader can gauge the horror that  hangs over our heads if we continue to turn  

A blind eye, here is a summary: During the Ramadan month in 1999,   the network would officially announce to  the religious elite the imminent return of   Imam El Mehdi. The march toward international  revolution would be meticulously or-ganized.   Russia would fall into chaos, leaving the  United States as the world’s great masters. 

The transport of weapons to the USA and European  countries would be renewed, especially through the   Franco-Spanish, Franco-German, and Scandinavian  borders. From 1999 to 2004, the network planned   to weaken most Arab-Islamic countries and  sow disorder, fear, and division in the   West. They would discreetly support far-right and  neo-Nazi par-ties, as well as Basque, Corsican,  

And Irish nationalism, to incite civil war. The plan also included circulating significant   quantities of hard drugs in Western countries  to destroy the family unit. This would overwhelm   politicians, and Muslim communities would have  a free hand to organ-ize rebellion. A wave of  

Major attacks would occur. Orders (fatwas)  would fall in the suburbs and elsewhere,   and uprooted young Muslims, promised paradise  by the zealots, would commit constant murders.   Var-ious forms of terrorist actions would be  implemented, including the use of bladed weapons. 

The key dates of this plan, some of which  have been revised since, were as follows:  Between 1992 and 1999, trigger a possible  change in Iran and ensure the weakening of as   many Arab-Islamic countries as possible – Algeria,  Egypt, Tunisia, Libya, Morocco, Afghanistan, the  

Five Russian Islamic countries, Yemen, Pakistan,  Iraq, and the new internal revolution in Iran.  From 1999 to 2011, practice a policy of alliance  among all Islamic countries while destabilizing   the West with internal and external strikes. In 2011, war against the Westerners would be  

Officially declared. This is when those  preparing the return of Imam El Mehdi to   unite the masses would appear. They would  lead hostilities for several years until   they dominated the entire world. All of this was merely a prelude   to the reincarnation (El Rijaa) of the other  eleven infallible imams around the year 2299. 

I explained as clearly as possible to  the French police officers how the threat   posed by this terrorist sect remained more  present than ever over France and Europe. I   didn’t hesitate to express my opinion  that Islam-ists should not be treated   as religious figures but as pure criminals. However, they responded that, lacking evidence,  

They couldn’t consid-er arresting these wrongdoers  before they acted – which seemed to me like an   admission of powerlessness. They suggested  that I become an in-formant for them, offering   payment for my services within international  terrorism networks. I refused. As I mentioned,  

I no longer wanted to depend on anyone. However, I agreed to collaborate with   French intelligence services and provided  them with multiple pieces of information.   I was also in contact with Belgian police, who  appeared to take my account very se-riously. I  

Pointed out cultural centres and secret bases of  Islamists, as well as the names of their leaders.  During that time, I resumed writing my confession,  which I had start-ed during my imprisonment,   so that my experience would not disappear  with me. During the year I spent in Paris,  

I used all my leisure moments to write. I was  driven by the need to put it all on paper. It   was stronger than me; it had to come out, to  come into the light. I had to get rid of it.  

Return to Origins and Spiritual Quest My wife had chosen to stay in Tunis.   While I was still in Paris, she  gave birth to a boy named Houssem.  At the age of twenty-four, it was time for me to  return to the reality of men and build something  

Solid. I decided to wipe the slate clean of the  past and start over. I gathered the manuscript   in which I had written in Arabic the account  of my struggle with Islamism, and I entrusted   it to Samia, my fifth sister, who was studying  sociology and social and politi-cal economics  

In Paris. She agreed to translate it into French  and pub-lish it under her name. Since she needed   an expert to turn to if neces-sary, I gave her  the contact information for Inspector Bouchoucha,   whose extensive knowledge and dedication to  the fight against Islamist movements I admired. 

In August 1990, I travelled to Spain to reach  Tunis via Morocco and Algeria. In Spain,   I met a Moroccan with whom I began a  beautiful and promising friendship. My   new friend invited me to Meknes, and I stayed  there for some time, enjoying the sun and the  

Relaxed lifestyle, finally feeling at ease. After this refreshing break, I returned to   Tunisia by train. Traveling by rail allowed me to  observe the catastrophic situation in Algeria. In   Tunis, I faced the harsh reality: the Tunisian  intelligence services didn’t trust me since I  

Had returned from Syria, and I was constantly  under surveillance, summoned to the Ministry   of Interior for routine interro-gations.  This situation became unbearable for me.  The following summer, as the Gulf War raged on, I  decided to turn my back on the evils of political  

Islam and embarked on a journey through Berber  countries. This escape from the complexities of   the world lasted for several months: I travelled  along the southern coast of Tunisia, then crossed   Algeria and Morocco from south to north before  returning to Tunisia through northern Algeria. I  

Made this journey us-ing local transportation and  by foot, with almost no money, like a vag-abond   but infinitely rich in my freedom of movement. Upon returning to Tunis, I stayed with my   mother-in-law for a few months before finding  a small apartment to rent, where I intended to  

Resume a normal life. However, I felt unsafe  in Tunisia. Whenever an Islamist was arrested,   I was asked if I knew them and what I knew about  them. Sometimes, I was detained just to provide   information! On top of that, I always feared  potential revenge from either the network or my  

Brother-in-law’s followers. The idea grew within  me to start anew in a place where no one knew me.  I chose Morocco and decided to settle  in Agadir. I did so on January 27, 1992,   without hesitation, boarding the first train. I reached Annaba in north-eastern Algeria,  

From where I planned to enter Morocco by  road. When my bus left Annaba on January 29,   I heard on the radio that President  Boudiaf had just been assassinated while   giving a speech in Annaba itself. All the passengers were shocked,  

And perhaps I was even more so, se-cretly. I felt  that horror was following in my footsteps. For me,   it was a sign that I needed to find inner  peace, rid myself of my demons defini-tively,   and progress in spirituality to rediscover  a connection with God through Sufism. 

The journey took several weeks, passing through  various Moroccan cities. When I arrived in   Marrakech, I had spent all my savings, and I had  nothing left but the clothes on my back. I had to   sell my belongings to buy a bus ticket to Agadir. I arrived there at night with nothing but the  

Clothes I was wearing. The following months  were miserable. With no money and no job,   I wandered the streets of Agadir, surviving  only on the charity of passers-by. I remained   in this situation for several months. Life had  lost its meaning for me, and I lived day by day  

Among beggars and the forsak-en, pursued by  the townspeople and the police. In the depths   of this ini-tiatory fading, I experienced  what it means to be alone, with nothing   to expect in this world but a revelation from  heaven. However, during my dreamlike visions,  

A profound contemplation on the question of God  be-gan to take shape – God in the absolute sense,   no longer the God whom Muslims call Allah. I eventually retreated to the hinterlands,   primarily in Inezgane, Dchi-ra, Pergola,  the suburbs of Agadir. The Agadir region   in southwestern Morocco is poor and  agricultural, predominantly inhabited  

By an Amazigh population with an unwelcoming  demeanour towards non-Amazigh individuals. It   was challenging for anyone who wasn’t Amazigh  to engage in profitable activities there.  However, one day in Inezgane, a small town  adjacent to Agadir in the Souss Valley, a man at a  

Market offered me work in the fruit and vegetable  trade. As our rapport grew stronger, we decided   to establish a company in wholesale trading. The  business started to take shape in early 1993: my   new friend handled the commercial relationships,  while I managed the accounting and dealt with  

Administrative issues. From there, I was able  to begin documenting my spiritual experiences.  I met a young man from the city of Taroudant with  whom I became friends. He had delicate features,   a slender build, clear eyes, and an open mind. He  became more than a friend; he became a confidant  

Ready to help and accompany me in my quest. Thanks  to this friendship, I gradually discovered the   Souss Valley, its beauty, and its people. My  friend introduced me to pious Sufis who lived   in the mountains and re-mote regions. I was able  to spend time with them and learned a lot about  

Life and their worldview. It was a very enriching  experience that lasted nearly four years and freed   me from preconceived and inherited notions. During those four years, I dedicated myself   to my spiritual quest, with my commercial  activities merely serving as a cover and a  

Means of sus-tenance. My thirst for deepening  my spiritual knowledge continued to grow. I   wanted to unravel the mysteries that were kept  beyond the reach of ordinary mortals. I sought   contact with every person I knew or believed  had spiritual knowledge in the region. I even  

Approached ec-centric old men at the markets  who served as healers or miracle work-ers,   as well as sellers of medicinal plants. I  sought to learn their knowledge. Sometimes,   I offered to be their student, and at times,  I ac-cepted being a humble servant under their  

Guidance. In this very secre-tive field of  folk tradition infused with magic, I learned   a great deal. Of course, I purchased every old or  recent book I could find that discussed Sufism and   mysticism. I wrote tirelessly, living modestly,  eating little, and immersed in tranquillity. 

Gradually, the foundations of a work that went  beyond mere confes-sion began to take shape in   my mind. I delved into the development  of an essay that started not from sacred   texts but from number theory. I devised  a mathematical system that determined the  

Existence or ab-sence of divine nature. What  might seem at least fanciful out of context was   based on strict deduction from my experience. In my thirtieth year, I gradually freed myself   from all the constraints that had hindered  my personal growth. I became allergic to all  

Reli-gions, sects, or political affiliations  from any side. I had only one idea left:   to become myself and nothing else. Realizing that it was time to normalize   a situation that had become unsustainable, I  decided to settle permanently in Morocco. To  

Do so, I needed to obtain my residence card. In  November 1996, I went to the Tunisian consulate   in Rabat to request a passport renewal. – Do you have your residence card? asked   the Tunisian official. – Of course not. 

– In that case, I cannot renew your passport. – But this is absurd! You know very well that   I cannot obtain a resi-dence  card without a valid passport.  – Sorry, but that’s the law. – Please be understanding, I continued. 

– Listen, I might be able to do something  for you. I’ll talk to my super-visor. Come   back to see me in a few days. I left the consulate with an   indescribable anxiety. Since I had arrived  in Morocco, I hadn’t mentioned my past to  

Anyone. I lived like an ordi-nary person,  a simple Muslim without an Islamist past.   I was known as something of a mystic, and  many sought my advice. Suddenly, memo-ries   of my troubles in Islamist terrorism resurfaced.  The old traumas were far from erased, and their  

Burning blades returned to irritate my nerves. Is the Tunisian state seeking new charges against   me? In a panic, I presented myself at the Inezgane  police station without really under-standing why.  The commissioner received me, all  smiles and full of benevolence. 

– Your situation is not simple, he said.  But rest assured, I am ready to help you.  – Really? – You’ve been working in Morocco for   several years now. You have a job and don’t bother  anyone. We should be able to obtain an exception  

And give you a residence card within a reasonable  time. I’ll discuss it with my superiors tomorrow.  – At the consulate, they told me the same thing. – You see, the problem will be resolved quickly!  I left the police station feeling just as uneasy. Upon returning to the fleeting calm of my home,  

I reflected at length. I had a friend who  had many connections and a well-paying job   in a company. I had done him many favours,  and he had done the same for me. However,   he knew nothing about my past; I had only ever  discussed my professional experience with my  

Amazigh friends. I convinced my-self that I  needed to tell him everything to get his opinion.  I went to see him, invited him to lunch,  and told him I needed to talk to him.  He readily agreed to listen. We shared the midday meal. Amicably,  

Almost jokingly, I began to tell him  about my past. My friend was astonished,   to say the least. In the end, I felt that  he was afraid of me without wanting to show   it. He ad-vised me to tell everything to  the police. I have never seen him since. 

On December 5, 1996, I was invited  to the police station, where the   commissioner welcomed me with great joviality. – The management has ordered me to treat you with   care. Wasn’t I right to be optimistic? – Perhaps…  Without being able to explain it to myself,  I felt uneasy. There was a perverse tone in  

This man’s voice, as if the friend to whom I  had re-vealed my past had come to see him the   day before and told him every-thing  – which must have indeed happened.  I began to regret getting involved with the  local police and confiding in my friend. But  

What else could I do? I absolutely needed my  residence card to regularize my situation.  Everything happened quickly on Wednesday, December  20. While I was quietly at home in Pergola,   I heard knocks on the door. I didn’t have time  to react before two police officers burst into  

The room, grabbed me, and put handcuffs on me. – By what right are you doing this? I shouted.  – Shut up, you filthy traitor! The officers searched the house   and confiscated my manuscripts and  anything else they deemed valuable,  

Including money. Then they put me in a large car. They blindfolded me so I couldn’t see the road. I   just knew we were headed towards  Rabat. The violence with which I   had been arrested made me fear the worst.  This time, I might not make it out alive! 

The vehicle drove for about  three-quarters of an hour before stopping.  When they made me get out of the car,  I smelled the sea. The place was calm,   with the sound of birds singing and  the trickle of water jets. Where was I? 

The police officers pushed me in the direction  they wanted me to go. I stumbled. Immediately,   I received kicks in the back. – Come on, move, vermin!  I got up and walked hesitantly,  afraid of losing my balance again.  We entered a building. I had the impression  of walking through end-less corridors. I  

Climbed a staircase. A door creaked. – Get in there! they shouted at me.  I took a few steps into what seemed to be a  room. The police officers first made me sit on   a bed before tying me to a chair. Then nothing.  Only silence, a heavy silence that smelled of  

Death. Outside, there was no noise except for the  sound of a fountain or an automatic sprinkler.  Obviously, I was being held captive in an  imposing residence. Bound, blindfolded,   I remained in the same position for  over half an hour, my heart pounding,  

My shirt soaked in sweat, dreading the  blow from a ba-ton that was about to come.  After this dreadful wait, the door reopened. A  man approached. Per-haps trying to impress me   even more, he started by slapping me. – Who are you? Who do you work for? 

– I don’t work for anyone. I’m an honest worker  who wants to estab-lish himself in your country.  – Liar! my tormentor shouted,  punching me in the stomach.  His breath reeked of alcohol. My God! This man was completely drunk;  

He had lost his reason; he was going to kill me! – Then, you confess, and we’ll finish it? yelled   my torturer, pulling my hair at the temple. – I told the truth! I whimpered.  – You continue to lie! Scumbag!  We’ve verified your statements:  

You’re a spy for the Tunisian government! – It’s not what you think. I used to belong to   an international terrorist network based in Iran.  But I realized I was wrong. I left it. Since then,   I’ve been trying to rebuild my life. I don’t  depend on anyone, and I want to remain free. 

– Then why did you flee Tunisia? – My life was in danger there.   Islamist terrorists want me dead. I  needed to hide somewhere to start over.  My tormentor began to beat me even more  vigorously. Then another man who hadn’t   shown himself until now began torturing  me in turn. While threatening to burn  

Me with his cigarette butt, he kept hitting  me with the flat of his hand, apparently to   leave fewer traces. A true professional in tough  interrogations, he combined physical violence with   psychological torment with ruthless precision. The two men left the room before returning a  

Little later to question me again. This must  have repeated about twenty times. Blindfolded,   hands and feet in handcuffs, I suffered  immensely. I spent the night writhing in pain.  The next day, the man with the alcohol-laden  breath continued to in-terrogate me.  – The boss doesn’t believe your story,  he said. Morocco can’t accept atheists  

Like you. Ben Ali is in the same boat. We know  he doesn’t ob-serve Ramadan fasting. Besides,   all the political leaders in your country  are dogs, sell-outs, infidels! You’re a   spy sent by Ben Ali’s government to track  down Tunisian Islamists who are political  

Refugees here. Are you finally going to confess? – It’s not true! If I were the spy you claim,   why would I risk contacting the Moroccan police? – To infiltrate us better! Do you take me for a   fool or what? The writ-ings we found at your  place are unequivocal: you want to distort  

Reli-gion. You’re an enemy of Islam, just like Ben  Ali and his gang. If you were a Tunisian Islamist,   we would have given you your residence pa-pers. – I’m telling you I’m not a spy! And,   thank God, I’m no longer an Is-lamist. – I’ll make you an honest proposal:  

You agree to work for Morocco,   and I’ll give you your papers immediately. – Not a chance. I am a free man. I repeat,   I don’t work for anyone. I’d prefer to die. – Ah, before you die,   you’ll experience hell, believe me! Insulted, tortured, I fell into a state close  

To a coma after three weeks of this treatment. When I came to, my body was in agony. I felt   my face disfigured, my eye swollen,  dried blood on my mouth. Daylight   blinded me; they had removed my blindfold. Gradually, I discovered the walls of my prison,  

Quite different from what I had known before.  I was in a luxurious room. Across from me,   on a table covered with an embroidered tablecloth,  was a plate of food. From the open window came   the scent of flowers and the smell of the sea. What had happened? Why this change in treatment? 

Leaning on the edge of the bed,  I sat up with great difficulty.  Before me stood a man wearing a mask, like those  puppets that be-came popular in French television   satire shows. Beside him, an individ-ual with  a moon-shaped face was sitting in an armchair,  

Dressed in tra-ditional religious attire.  In the background of the room, I discerned   a third person dressed in civilian clothes. – So, you’ve regained your strength? asked   the masked man. I didn’t answer.  His voice was the same as that of  my tormentor from the previous days,  

The one the alcoholic called Sidna, “the  boss”. But who were the other two characters?  The religious man rose slowly  and approached the bed.  A powerful gleam emanated from his eyes. – I specialize in religious matters,   young man. And the other person is a psychiatrist. – Do you think I’m insane? I asked, struggling. 

– Do you write the manuscripts we found at  your place in Pergola? the religious man asked.  – Yes. – Where do these writings come from?  – Only from me. – I don’t believe you. These writings   are much too learned for some-one your age. – If I really reveal their source to you,  

You won’t believe me. – In Morocco,   we take supernatural phenomena very seriously,   the re-ligious man replied. Speak openly. – I receive these ideas from the wise   people I meet. I learn from them what they  know. Then, based on what I understand,   I give free rein to my pen. At these words, the religious  

Man widened his eyes and fell silent. – Do you have any questions to ask him? the   masked man said, ad-dressing the psychiatrist,  who had not moved from the back of the room.  – No, none, the psychiatrist replied. As they prepared to leave the cell,  

I noticed depigmentation spots on the hands  of the masked man. I later understood that it   was Idris El Basri, the Minister of the  Interior under King Hassan II himself.  Change of tactics. After this exchange, I was  treated better. They gave me what I wanted while  

Still keeping me confined to my room. From the  window, I could see an immense garden stretching   as far as the eye could see. Only an extremely  wealthy man could maintain such a property!  Over the next four days, the masked man continued  his interrogation. This time, my account of my  

Islamist past in Iran was taken very seri-ously. – Do you know these men? he asked,   handing me several photos. – Yes, some of them. That   one is Said El Mousaab, the Rissalist leader in  Madrid. This one, Sheikh Atif, is his brother,   and Sheikh Djamel, re-sponsible for  Morocco, is the brother of the latter. 

At first glance, the photos appeared to have  been taken recently, ex-cept for Sheikh Djamel’s.  About ten days later, blindfolded, I was taken to  the central police sta-tion in Rabat. Locked in a   cell, sleeping on the floor, I plunged back in-to  the misery of incarceration for over two weeks. I  

Endured the same fate as the undocumented  immigrants I shared the cell with. To the   Moroccan authorities, I had to be treated as an  illegal immigrant so as not to arouse suspicion.  On Wednesday, January 8, 1997, the commissioner  called me into his office and told me that I would  

Be sent back to Tunis. I would be escort-ed  to Agadir to retrieve my personal belongings.   Then, I would board a flight from Casablanca. On Thursday, January 9, 1997, two police   officers took me out of my cell and  handcuffed me. I had been told that I  

Would be able to retrieve my belongings, but  it was a lie. I found myself at the airport,   where I was handed over to officers who, after  routine procedures, put me on a plane heading to   Mauritania. The plane stopped for a few hours in  Nouakchott and then resumed its flight to Tunisia. 

I arrived in Tunis on the night of January 9  to 10, 1997, with nothing more than the jeans   I was wearing at my arrest, a torn shirt, and a  sin-gle plastic sandal on my right foot. But the  

Most important thing was that I was safe and  sound. I was back home, and life could regain   its course. I could hardly imagine experiencing  another great misfortune in my life after this.   Return to the Realities of the Modern World What had become of my parents? After  

Years of arguments, separa-tions, and false  reconciliations, they had finally remarried,   each main-taining their independence. My father  had spent a period in France with my mother,   but he couldn’t endure Parisian life. He  was living in Ariana. As for my mother, she  

Still lived in France in her house in Bagnolet. After settling in with my father and regaining   my strength, I was able to see my children, who  came to the house periodically. My wife had given   birth to our third child, a boy named Mehdi  Hédi, who was now four years old. We mutually  

Agreed to initiate divorce proceedings,  which we obtained after a few months.  The entire family had gradually but surely  distanced themselves from Islamism. Awareness   had penetrated our minds after that sad  experi-ence that had shaken each of us.   Everyone was working, more or less, to thwart  the irresistible rise of political Islam. 

On September 1, 1997, the first edition of my  book, translated into French and signed by my   sister Samia, appeared in bookstores under  the title “Karim, mon frère ex-intégriste   terroriste” To be honest, I didn’t read it upon  its release because I didn’t want to relive those  

Memories. I trusted Samia. Nevertheless, I  was unhappy with the title. I told her that   the title was not accurate because I had never  been a fun-damentalist or a terrorist, just a   convinced Islamist who believed that Islam was  the only good way of life. My sister assured me  

That it didn’t matter; it was just for marketing. This first-hand account from inside a family and   a Shiite Islamist sect from the international  Islamist movement was ground-breaking. De-spite   the release of ‘The Yann Piat Affair,’ which had  shaken the pub-lishing house and occupied minds  

For a while, the book found its way in-to Islamist  circles, which were tracking any information in   this area. Shortly before the expiration of  the statute of limitations for defama-tion,   allowing for a lawsuit, Salah Karkar attacked  the book and the publisher Flammarion from his  

Place of house arrest in Digne-les-Bains. I  had to travel to France to testify in court.  After losing the case in the  first instance, we eventually   won on appeal and in the Court of Cassation. I began to feel that I existed again. As in  

My childhood during the first days when it had  happened, I advanced rapidly in my observations   to make up for lost time. I realized how deeply  Europe was plagued by Islamism. Of course,   I knew that Islamist sects were determined to  de-stroy freedom and democracy in the West,  

And we saw every day how freedom was shrinking in  Europe out of fear of terrorist attacks intended   to terrorize the population. I have already  talked about this reality sev-eral times. We   saw how Islamist political parties fled to Europe,  grew there, and indoctrinated young people from  

Immigrant backgrounds. Islamist terrorists clearly  used Europe as a platform for propaganda. But it   dismayed me to see the results materializing. In the 1990s, the use of the Internet as a   means of expression began. Freedom of speech  took a leap forward as censorship became  

Practically impossible with the emergence  of proxies, anonymity, and countless ways to   express one’s views without being recognized or  prosecuted. I got my first computer in 1997 and   then discovered an infinite virtual world. In those times, a few blogs and forums were  

Discreetly beginning to criticize Islamism. This  immediately led to a strong backlash. For years,   there was a heated debate about the right to  criticize Islam. Islamists accused those in   favour of free criticism of all sorts of ills  – racism, intol-erance, and so on. Behind them,  

Moderate Muslims protested against open criticism  of Islam and its symbols, and the European left,   under the guise of humanism, lamented that  this criticism affected the sensibil-ities of   a religious community. This ‘for show’ debate came  to an end after the September 11, 2001 attacks.  

There, everyone agreed that the application  of Islam according to the Quran, the Hadiths,   and the Sunnah was a crime against humanity. This  launched an unprecedent-ed wave of criticism of   Islam on the internet and in the media, leading  to what is now called ‘Islamophobia’ to describe  

The fear of Islam and its criminal ideas. This  criminalization put Islamophobia on par with   anti-Semitism. This was the pretext that Islamists  used to reject any criti-cism. Since then, anyone   who criticizes Islam is labelled Islamophobic. It’s important to know that accusing someone   of being Islamophobic is, according  to the Quran, a death threat. Indeed,  

It is clearly stated that those who fight against  Allah and his prophet – here in the form of   criticism – their punishment is death. Here is  Surah 5, Al-Ma’idah, the Table Spread, verse 33:  “The punishment of those who wage  war against Allah and his Mes-senger,  

And strive with might and main for mischief  through the land is: execution, or crucifixion,   or the cutting off of hands and feet from  oppo-site sides, or exile from the land:   that is their disgrace in this world, and a  heavy punishment is theirs in the Hereafter.” 

Therefore, this accusation should be  taken seriously, and anyone who labels   someone else as Islamophobic should be held  accountable, as it is an indirect death threat.  In those days, I would say, ‘I am  Islamophobic, and I am proud of it,  

It is an honourable and humane stance.’  I explained in an article that one should   be Islamophobic because Islam is a murderous  ideology that leads to crimes against humanity.  However, as I look back on the nearly twenty years  that I have been fighting Islam and Islamism,  

I now reflect that the success of this  crimi-nal ideology is not solely due to   its actors; those who are supposed  to fight it are partly responsible.  Firstly, moderate Muslims denounce criticism  of Islam but rarely its crimes. They position   themselves as accusers but do not engage in  self-criticism. However, it can be observed that,  

To this day, the sacred texts of Islam have  not been purged of their criminal passages.  Secondly, the European left claims to  have humanitarian goals and pretends   to defend Muslims. This is false. The discourse  it presents to de-fend Muslims insidiously aims   to keep these peoples dependent. It re-gards  Muslims as welfare recipients and political  

Wards. It denies them the basic right to exercise  their own self-critique. For the left, they are   intellectually minors. Thus, it displays a hidden  racism towards them and keeps them in barbarism.  Thirdly, other organizations, under the  guise of humanism or for per-sonal reasons,  

Disrupt the debate and create discord instead of  uniting their efforts to push back the danger.   Among them, ex-Muslims who leave their loved  ones subjected to submission and fanaticism,   consider-ing them as ignorant and incapable  of thinking for themselves and evolving.  These three groups, far from contributing  to genuine work for free-dom and respect for  

Humanity, become accomplices of the Islamists  in-stead of doing their utmost to limit their   actions. They must prove to humanity that they  are not complicit in crimes against humanity   being committed before their eyes. They have an  obligation to make an effort, if not to achieve a  

Result. It’s up to them to prove that they are  imple-menting these means. Who is humane and   civilized, and who respects others when we call  on a Muslim to face the morbid reality of Islam?   We do it out of fraternity, esteem, and respect  for their discernment abilities, so they can know  

The truth and exercise their freedom in rela-tion  to Islam, unlike all these pseudo-humanitarians   who treat them as mentally handicapped. Today, criticism of Islam encounters   indifference from Muslims, as many of them do not  feel concerned; for them, the Islam they practice  

Is not the one being criticized. Indeed, the  religion they practice is a substitute for true   Islam. Despite this, they are part of the ummah,  they protect this ummah, and, more seriously,   they are a source of propa-ganda and constitute  an important reservoir of people, money,  

And re-sources for the Islamist offensive. This  must stop. They must choose, ei-ther be part of   the ummah or separate their personal belief from  the sources of Islam. They can have their own God,   but they must know that the Islam of Muhammad,  the Quran, the Sunnah, and the Had-iths is an  

Outdated and detestable history, a global danger  for our time. Every passive Muslim must realize   that they fuel Islamism and indirectly participate  in crimes against humanity through the following   behav-iours: 1. The veil  The wearing of the Islamic veil is first and  foremost an indirect sup-port for Islamism,  

A kind of free advertising to assert the  subjugation of women, the fact that they are   subhuman under male authority. Every-one is free  to wear traditional clothing or not, but not the   Islamic veil, which carries a sexist connotation.  A woman who wears it affirms her adherence to  

What Islam asserts: that women are evil and the  source of evil, that they are not respectable,   and therefore legitimately despised by men.  The wearing of this veil should be prohibited   in civilized countries because it perpetuates  the inferior status of women. Any woman who  

Wears it participates in crimes against women. 2. Circumcision and female genital mutilation  Male circumcision and female genital  mutilation have well-known devastating effects,   both physically and psychologically. These  practices disrespect the rights of children   and violate their bodies. Any mutilation of a  child must be prohibited in civilized countries,  

And anyone defying this prohibition participates  in this interference and crime against childhood.   Those who wish to be circumcised should do  so with full knowledge, at their legal age.  3. Halal meat Anyone in favour of halal meat,   who buys it or permits it, contributes to  animal cruelty and finances the rise of Islamism  

Worldwide. If you look closely, the distribution  networks of halal meat, especially in Eu-rope,   conceal hardcore Islamists who use the money  to fund Islamist ex-tremism. Therefore,   halal meat must be boycotted. 4. Dual nationality  A Muslim cannot integrate if torn between  two cultures and two countries. Taking on the  

Nationality of a country entails embracing its  culture, values, and principles. Consequently,   the Muslim must choose a single and unique  nation. If a North African wishes to retain   their orig-inal nationality, it does not prevent  them from obtaining a residence permit and living  

In Europe without necessarily becoming European.  Any Muslim who claims dual nationality must deny   their belonging to the Muslim nation and respect  the values of their new country. They must,   under no circumstances, impose their  religious practices. How can we accept   that a person holds French nationality if they  themselves do not acknowledge French values? 

5. The prohibition of apostasy We know that thousands of ex-Muslims   hide their apostasy from their parents,  who are supposedly moderate Muslims. I ask:   if these parents are ‘moderate,’ why do  they reject their sons, daughters, brothers,   and others’ apostasy? If they do not accept it, it  means they follow Islam that punishes apostates.  

Therefore, they are not moderate at all. The  law must criminalize anyone who refuses apostasy   or insults apostates, as an-ti-racism laws do.  Apostates need protection from their intolerant   and sometimes even criminal families. 6. The prohibition of criticizing Islam 

Those who oppose criticizing Islam, the Quran,  the Hadiths, or the life of Muhammad in the media   concede to being against the criticism of any  religion or ideology, which they nevertheless   do not refrain from. This hypocrisy is glaring. On  the contrary, we must admit that any in-junction  

Can be examined and debated. We particularly  assert the right to denounce texts that incite   hatred, war, and murder, to proclaim that they  contain retrogressive ideas, and to classify   the Quran as a harmful book for humanity. 7. The impunity of activism in mosques 

Mosques are places of propaganda, recruitment  for future Islamists, and even criminals. These   places of worship that manufacture bombs must  be rigorously controlled and placed under state   authorities’ surveil-lance, including those  who attend them, the speeches delivered there,   and the income, often used for Islamization. These  places must be re-stricted and declared to the  

Municipality. Illegal mosques must be closed. 8. Hajj agencies  Hajj and Umrah agencies to the Muslim holy sites  are money laun-dering bodies and vehicles for the   spread of Islam. Anyone using these agencies  indirectly contributes to the financing of   Islamism. Therefore, these agencies must be  monitored, controlled, and limited by the state. 

9. Almsgiving Giving money is mandatory in Islam. In theory,   it is to redirect surplus wealth to the needy.  In practice, whether the annual Sunni 1/10th,   Shiite 20/100th, or almsgiving at the  end of Ramadan, all the money collected   is used to build mosques and promote Islamism. Anyone who donates money, even in good faith,  

Participates in the spread of Islamism and its  crimes against humanity. This vast scam must be   exposed and prohibited. 10. Muslim identity  Claiming to be a Muslim and belonging to the  ummah means that you adhere to the values of  

Islam and the criminal laws brought by Is-lam.  This is by default defining oneself as an enemy   of civilization, pro-gress, and science. To  avoid participating in this disastrous denial,   we must acknowledge that Islamic laws are  outdated, that the Quran is merely a history  

Book, and choose our own belief far from the  criminal laws instigated by orthodox Islam.  In conclusion, anyone defending these ten  practices contributes to Is-lamization,   which means the destruction of humanistic values.  Those who seek progress and evolution must abandon  

These practices, and they will be welcome in  civilized society. As for those who wish to follow   or-thodox Islam, they should go to a country where  this form of Islam is practiced and not impose it   on others. Then, we can find a national destiny  of which we can be proud as Tunisians, Moroccans,  

Algerians, French, or any other nationality. I believe this is clear enough; the goal of   Islamists is to implement Al-lah’s law by any  means – physical and intellectual terrorism,   legal and illegal methods. They are also  willing to use humanistic principles to   de-stroy humanistic achievements. It is  urgent to limit the Islamization of youth,  

Who benefit from these achievements in Europe,  and mobilize them against Islamist interference   ready to destroy them. Objectively, everyone is  involved in one way or another. We all directly   or indirectly participate in the spread  of this scourge, and we are responsible  

To vary-ing degrees following the logic of  ‘those who sow the wind reap the whirlwind.’  The United States of America now positions  itself as a leader against terrorism,   but it was the first to finance and host  Islamic terrorist per-sonalities and groups  

When they were a weapon against the former  USSR. Europe claims to be free and democratic,   but it has hosted Is-lamic political figures  convicted in their countries for crimes against   the people. By offering them asylum, it allowed  them to move freely and speak on behalf of human  

Rights. The results speak for themselves. Most  other countries behave as passive spectators,   like people watching their neighbour’s house burn  without doing anything until the fire reaches   their own. Self-interest is their motto. They  forget that in today’s world, they can be affected  

Without being directly targeted. No country  is iso-lated anymore. The smallest event has   consequences worldwide. Muslim countries still  believe they are in the time of Muhammad. They   live with the Quran and the Hadiths. Islam governs  every action. Gulf state magnates finance Quranic   schools and so-called humanitarian organi-zations  in former USSR countries, Afghanistan, Pakistan,  

Malaysia, Indonesia, using it as a pretext to  invest in economic development. They do not do   this for God but to have an army at their command  through the brainwashing of young beneficiaries.  Among the Arab countries, those in the Gulf  are the leaders. The po-litical establishment  

Supported by the USA keeps the people  in igno-rance by providing them with an   education based on Wahhabi Islam, one of the most  Salafist sects of Islam. As long as an Arab is   not affect-ed, they don’t care about the world’s  misfortunes. Some countries live under terrifying  

Dictatorships, like Syria. Others have controlled  free-dom. Fearing that Islamists will seize power,   they don’t allow anyone to speak out. They believe  they can control things by creating a Ministry   of Religious Affairs and broadcasting the call  to prayer on TV. In reali-ty, they do what the  

Islamists want, even though the Islamists do not  consider them legitimate. They prove incapable of   establishing con-structive dialogue, leading to  the division these countries are experienc-ing.  The wealthy in the Arab-Muslim world fund  terrorists, either out of fear or to seek  

Forgiveness for their sins. They are made  to believe that God will forgive them if   they act this way. The rich from the rest  of the world indulge in consumer goods,   preferring to forget that everything  can be destroyed in a terrorist attack. 

Free-thinkers in the Western world, who are mostly  individualistic, rarely support their counterparts   in Arab-Muslim countries, even moral-ly. The  latter are the black sheep of society. If their   government doesn’t silence them, the Islamists  take care of it with fatwas. They end up ei-ther  

Staying silent, hiding, or being killed. The global population without Islamic culture   swallows the manipula-tive discourse of Islamists.  The peoples of the Arab-Muslim world live in   poverty, endure oppression, and languish in  ignorance. They are forced to become soldiers of   Allah to access food, self-esteem, and paradise. The last culprits are humanitarian organizations  

And the media – press, radio, TV – which support  Islamists by publishing their books, put-ting them   in the spotlight, and turning them into media  personalities. Terrorist attacks also receive   extensive publicity. In contrast, free-thinkers  in the Arab-Muslim world are largely ignored. 

It turns out that terrorism feeds on our  weaknesses, and everyone bears some responsibility   for what we are experiencing today. The populist  shift parallel to the terrorist wave is favoured   by the vicissitudes of international politics,  and behind it by major powers who exploit the  

Situation to serve their own interests. All  of this contributes to global in-security.  But it’s not too late to correct our mistakes.  With a clear awareness of the danger,   every state must optimize its legislative  apparatus, and every individual or organization  

Must contribute to the general awareness. This is  the responsibility of each and every one of us.   From Abandoning the Idea of God to Atheism I can say that, upon my return from Morocco,  

I had left Islam. I no longer believed in the  God of Islam, I was no longer a Sufi. After   deep reflection, I had decided to believe only in  my own God, the one who resided deep within me.   Over the following months, my eyes were grad-ually  opened. I was progressively discovering the extent  

Of the deception called religion, imposed in the  name of a supposed Creator God, when in reality,   it was a human creation. I eventually concluded  that religion, whatever it may be, is a diabolical   creation that hinders human pro-gress and  self-improvement. This lie that keeps individuals  

In bondage and under tutelage for life cannot  be a divine work. In my view, it would rather   be evidence of the existence of Satan. Of course, I kept this to myself because   the idea of God clung to me, and I couldn’t  completely get rid of it. While renouncing  

Dogma and religious control, I began to identify  myself to my friends and family as a deist. I had   come to the conviction that to eliminate Islamist  evil, a widespread movement had to oppose it from   within the Muslim com-munity. My experience was  just one example among millions of others. After  

My expulsion from Morocco, I tried to rebuild my  life in order to better combat this evil with full   awareness. It had become my primary reason  for being. If I were still among the living,   it was to devote myself to awakening the  unaware masses to the danger of political Islam. 

In Paris, for several months, I participated with  Samia in the creation of an association of former   orthodox Muslims called ‘D’ailleurs ou d’ici  mais ensemble’ (AIME). The basic objective was   to mobilize people against the rise of extremism  and terrorism. Our action was aimed at the Muslim  

Community, where political Islam was causing  the most damage. Faced with belligerent and   extremist Muslims, we wanted to create open,  generous, pacifist, and reformist Muslims,   as well as agnos-tics, atheists, and converts.  This association would have two poles, one in  

North Africa and the other in Europe, precisely  in Paris and Tunis. It would bring together,   without discrimination, all dogmas and modes of  thought – Muslims, Jews, Christians, Buddhists,   atheists, leftists, and rightists – as  long as everyone had one idea in mind:  

To fight against ter-rorism and build  peace in our societies. Already, we had   invited all or-ganizations to support our action  unequivocally and without diplomatic courtesies,   based on the following scheme: ‘Peace is a  tremendous politi-cal opportunity. Nurturing   our differences and fighting censorship is  the best way to achieve peace. From elsewhere  

Or from here but together, we can fight  against the scourge of political Islam.’  On July 4, 1998, on the day of my younger  brother’s wedding in Paris, my mother was rushed   to the emergency room after a cerebral incident  that, after multiple tests, was found to be due  

To brain cancer. She passed away five months  later at the age of sixty in the Ariana house,   surrounded by loved ones, on December 8, 1998. Unfortunately, I was in Paris at the time. I   immediately returned to attend the funeral. My mother’s passing in just five months was a  

Terrible shock for me. I had a hard time accepting  the weakness and helplessness of human be-ings in   the face of death. Feeling the need to turn  to the imaginary to cope with this death,   I embarked on writing a novel in  which the pro-tagonist, Mazel Azel,  

Stopped believing in a possible divine existence.  He understood that this was only a human creation,   that humans had created God to reassure themselves  and strive for a supreme ideal. ‘God is a human   dream that our ancestors tried to realize through  the gener-ations, but this dream has turned into  

A nightmare from which we find it difficult to  awaken,’ was the subject of this mystical tale.  My spiritual journey then led me to pure and  unadulterated atheism. I dismissed all religious   moral crutches. After years of questioning  and tumultuous searches, I finally reached my   equilibrium and my own phi-losophy. I was enraged, 

I picked up the phone to call a friend to console me.  He began to speak to calm me down.  He reminded me of distant years In my childhood,  people recognized me for my piety and I prayed every day in the mosque.  I memorized the Quran by heart and observed fasting day after day. 

In my adolescence, I travelled far and studied in Islamic schools  to become a renowned Imam and guide the lost.  Teaching them your sacred word. In my youth, I wanted to prove to you  my limitless love. My blood, I would offer to you.  My body, I would sacrifice to meet you. 

And one day, unlike the others, my eyes opened  and doubt overtook me. Now I am lost from you…  Now I am free from you. I refuse to believe in you.  You no longer exist for me. I refuse to prostrate myself again. 

I live my life as I see fit. You have no rights over me.  I have forgotten all my past. I live the present as it should be  and I will wait for the future. Until my death, I will confront you. 

It’s my choice, and I will continue. Since then, life has become a fantastic stroke   of luck for me, one to be fully cherished. I am  now the master of myself, free to pursue what I   deem right. I believe in the tangible, never again  in imposed dogma. I’ve come to the idea that each  

Of us is free to choose and follow the path that  suits them best, in accordance with their nature,   conscious-ness, and knowledge, without imposing  our beliefs and principles on others. Humanism   and pacifism allow for the exchange of ideas and  knowledge peacefully, without conflict. Discussion  

And dialogue become an inexhaustible source of  understanding where we can find answers to our   questions. Everyone has their own truths, but  the closer we come together through exchange,   the better we can understand and make the  right decisions. By listening to others,   regardless of their origins, skin colour,  or beliefs, we eliminate ignorance, racism,  

And mistreatment; we combat hatred.  Where humanism reigns, ideas can evolve,   and the concept of the sacred shifts towards  humanity and the earth that sus-tains life.  For me, religion is not the exclusive domain  of God, and certainly not the absolute truth  

For the human condition. I consider Buddha the  most humane among the great figures in history   because he understood that everything comes from  us, independently of any divine intervention. We   should believe in humanity, get to know it, and  help it think for itself in-stead of stifling it  

With dogmas. Theological discourses are  invented by humans to manipulate their   fellow beings for the purpose of exploita-tion.  Turning to the divine, an external entity whose   existence or non-existence no one can prove, is  the ultimate pretext for subjugating peo-ple. Yet,  

‘who makes an angel makes a beast.’ Religions  created by hu-man ingenuity have a more diabolical   than divine effect. They regress humanity  by preventing it from believing in itself.  It seems to me that a God worthy of the name  should watch over this world to make it better,  

Deserving of honour, and not just self-proclaim  as its creator. I cannot accept that a God would   demand that I believe in Him and make me  his slave. Faced with the dishonesty of   such con-trol, I tend to do everything to  break free from it. If this God existed,  

I would refuse to submit to Him because, until  proven otherwise, He would not deserve it.  As a Gnostic, my gnosis reduces God to  absolute neutrality, making Him a ‘neutral   zero’ with no influence on our individual  and collective existence. Nevertheless,  

This does not prevent me from respecting those  who believe in God, as long as they do not seek   to impose their personal belief and keep it in the  private sphere. Each of us is our own prophet and   conceives our own religion. No one should claim  dominance over another. I know that the process  

Of faith is inherent to the human being. I  do not renounce the other half of myself:   intuition and feelings play as big a role  in my reflection as concrete ideas. However,   in my view, faith in God is in no way superior to  belief in His non-existence. By embracing what I  

Call ‘atheistic faith,’ I reconcile the spiritual  and the material without grounding my thought in   the existence of a God. In fact, believing in  humanity alone is not enough to find oneself;   one must also renounce God to think for oneself. State Censorship of Atheism Under Ben Ali 

After the funeral, I announced to my family that I  had become an atheist. Some didn’t understand it,   others stopped talking to me, but many of the  younger ones tried to understand my decision.   I began to preach atheism to my cousins and  nieces and nephews. Many were convinced that  

Religion is nothing but a human creation. Some  came to support the associative work done with   my friends to raise awareness in our community and  counter the influence of Islamist extremism, which   was causing a moral decline among our people. Between 1998 and 2001, within my means and as part  

Of A.I.M.E France, I worked to sound the alarm and  dissuade young people from falling into the trap   of extremism, which was feeding the conflict in  Iraq. A new Shiite state had emerged there after   Iran, demonstrating the United States’ ignorance  of Islamism. With war and escalating vio-lence  

Only worsening an already critical situation, I  began to believe that the solution in the Middle   East lay in the hands of free-thinking  in-dividuals from the Muslim community.  The regained freedom of expression and conscience  by atheists, agnostics, reformist believers, and  

Secularists from this culture is an un-precedented  obstacle to the insidious return of the religious.   We must allow for constructive criticism of  religions, unveil the so-called sacred and   its sterile discourses that keep us stuck in the  Middle Ages. Islam, as a highly invasive religion,  

Is evidently a source of misery. How can  we expect progress in the Muslim world if   national constitutions continue to refer to it as  the state religion and prohibit any critique on   this basis? Where are the rights of conscience  and human rights that we cons-tantly refer to?  

Change must come from the grassroots. A government  cannot establish freedom of expression in a people   who live under their own self-imposed prohibitions  and censorship. The cultural revolution must start   with the individual, the family, the streets,  before reaching the highest level of the State,  

Which is nothing more than the executor of the  people’s will. Unfortunately, even though Islamism   has not taken hold in some countries with a  Muslim culture, it still succeeds in keeping   the population in ignorance. The Islamists,  realizing that they risk being attacked for  

Their outdated and indefensible ideas, opt for  camou-flage and present themselves as moderates   or as opposition to the exis-ting regime…  which changes nothing about their ultimate goal.  It is regrettable that this awareness is not yet  unanimous within Wes-tern intellectual circles.  

They continue to view Islamists as victims of  the powers that be and extend a hand to them,   enabling them to spread their deadly poison. It  is in no way legitimate to walk hand in hand with   fanatics who only reason through retrograde Islam  and personal interests. This alliance in the name  

Of human rights only tarnishes the image of  secular institutions. The Iranian experience   makes this abun-dantly clear: when leftist parties  allied with the opposition embodied by Khomeini,   he massacred them after the revolution. Today,  Iranian freethinkers regret this alliance,   but the damage is done. So, we must remain  vigilant and not fall for their deceitful  

Tactics. These criminals have no place in society;  we must combat them through every peaceful means,   marginalize them as the scum of humanity that they  are. Ins-tead of seeking to disrupt a country’s   political stability, it is better to work from the  ground up to change mindsets. Let us not mistake  

Our battle; in Muslim countries, dictatorship  exists within families and neighbourhoods. Those   who demand democracy in these countries do not  realize that this luxury is unknown in everyday   life. How can it be demanded at the state level? I tirelessly advocated for a secular state that  

Bans religious political parties, a state without  Islamic veils with political connotations, without   calls to prayer on television and in the streets,  without closing bars du-ring Ramadan, without   prohibiting alcohol consumption, homosexual  relationships, or premarital sex. I repeated   that the call to prayer should be made inside the  mosque without disturbing others. I said, practice  

Islam if you want, but do it at home, in private! Part of my family, especially the young ones,   sided with me to support this struggle  and raise awareness within our community.  After three years of relentless work around me, in  cafes, and on the Internet, especially on forums,  

I created a website and forum with friends under  the name of the AIME France association. In 2000,   I contemplated establishing a  branch of AIME France in Tunisia.  I realized, after consultations,  that I couldn’t do it. However,   I could create an independent association similar  to A.I.M.E, but adapted to Tunisian laws. So,  

I prepared everything necessary and submitted an  official request to the Ministry of the Interior.  My request was initially denied because  you couldn’t create an asso-ciation that   promotes atheism in a Muslim society;  it wasn’t allowed by Tunisian laws. So,   I submitted another request in the name of  A.I.M.E, an inter-Mediterranean association  

With the aim of spreading knowledge and exchange  between the two shores of the Mediterranean.  Acceptance only became effective after September  11, 2001. I was contacted by the Secretary-General   of the Ministry of the Interior to receive  approval for the establishment of the association,  

Where I held the position of Secretary-General.  On this occasion, he warned me that we should not   attempt to promote atheism. Firstly, the people  were too ignorant to assimilate these ideas,   and secondly, we ourselves would be  accused of atheism. According to him,  

If that happened, the minister would  be forced to shut down our association   to avoid being accused of combating Islam. – We can’t govern them with moderate Islam,   he told me. Imagine, with atheism, it would  become a real jungle! The people need belief  

To hope for a better life after death. Atheism  is for a cultivated and intelli-gent class.  – Why not work on educating people? The fight  against Islamism is an intellectual one,   so why not open public debates in the media so  that the people are informed and can choose? 

My host barely refrained from laughing. – You don’t know anything! You can’t   understand how much religious sentiment  is stronger than any logic. If we do that,   the Islamists will in-cite the people against us  and accuse us of fighting Islam. And believe me,  

The majority of the people will be with them.  Bourguiba tried to educate the people. Have you   seen how the Islamists have become in-creasingly  opposed to the state and progress? They are now   working to destroy all the cultural achievements  that Tunisia has made since inde-pendence! 

– I know, religious sentiment is stronger because  most people are very ignorant. But precisely! I   protested. We must open television studios to  public discussions and end censorship because   all this works for the Islamists: they function  through censorship and prohibition. We need to  

Express the problem, address it head-on, draw them  out of their holes, and expose them in public!  My interlocutor, with a stern face,  called his secretary to escort me out,   indicating that the interview was over. – If you want your association to function,  

I advise you to live your life and avoid  confrontation, he told me as he left.  I left that discussion content that I finally had  my authorization but aware of an indirect threat.  In the early years, things went as planned.  I worked on an association magazine called  

T’aime@tic, initially electronic but later in  print in France. I had the idea to publish it   in Tunisia, and I even managed to distribute  it in Morocco and France at newsstands. I   transformed my house into the association’s  headquarters. I organized meetings, de-bates,  

And parties there every Saturday. I even  organized cultural trips between Europe and   Tunisia and excursions within Tunisia. At that time, I had hope for change.   I believed in the Tunisian go-vernment’s  willingness to change mindsets. Unfortunately,   neither the government of Ben Ali nor the  West had the will to wage this battle. They  

Condemned Islamism in appearance, but deep down,  instability and ignorance suited their interests.  The association and its magazine were becoming  popular and uniting more and more people. The   state had adopted an active observer posi-tion.  I was summoned to the Ministry of the Interior  

Several times and subtly or directly  warned to be more discreet because I   clearly declared myself an atheist, and the  association was known on the internet and in   the field as an atheist association. It was  even frequently accused of being pro-Zionist.  Starting in 2003, I noticed that the  magazine was hidden in newsstands.  

Vendors did not display it for sale, and sales  were declining every month. I did not lose hope   and continued my action, but I began to  question: were we truly free in Tunisia?  In fact, censorship was not directed solely  against Islamists but against any opposing  

Ideological currents that contradicted the state’s  interests, whether they were nationalist, secular,   Islamist, or otherwise. You were free to express  yourself as long as you worked for the government!   The censorship that ostensibly protected Tunisian  society from Islamism ac-tually targeted all forms  

Of opposition, be it political or otherwise. The  government clung to power by all means without   regard for the people or future generations. This realization was a shock, but I continued   with my usual activities nonetheless. I noticed  plainclothes police officers following my every  

Move, but I was too focused on preparing issue  40 of T’aime@tic to pay much attention. At   the beginning of 2003, just after printing  issue 40, I saw the police raid my home and   confiscate everything. I contacted the  Ministry of the Interior several times  

Without receiving an explanation: my magazine had  been unofficially banned without valid reason!  So, I continued my work in the association  without the magazine. This did not discourage me   from organizing meetings and discussion circles.  However, I noticed over the days that the number  

Of interested people was dwindling. They stopped  coming. In fact, they were being arrested and   harassed by the police after leaving my place.  Activity in Tunisia came to a complete halt,   leaving only the association’s legal sta-tus. At this point, censorship tightened its grip,  

Demanding complete sub-mission from the media to  the government. Information became less and less   accessible. A climate of fear settled over  Tunisia. Protests against the government’s   restriction of freedom of expression were on the  rise. Opposition political parties denounced its   dictatorship. Ben Ali changed tactics. Supposedly  to combat the Muslim Brotherhood, he drew closer  

To Saudi Arabia, promoted Salafist and Wahhabi  Islam, built the largest mosque in Carthage,   and positioned himself as a mo-dern caliph  protecting Islam. Having shifted my focus to   the Internet with the AIME association from  France, I was advised several times to stop  

My activities, citing the well-being of the  country and my personal safety. I had lost   all trust in the Tunisian government.  I contemplated leaving the country.  The Paris conference and controversy  surrounding the book “Karim, my brother,   former fundamentalist terrorist”. In 2005, AIME France organized a  

Conference in Paris called “Islam vs. Islam.”  I was invited to participate. I went to the   French embassy to apply for a visa. I was told  that this request would only be accepted on the   condition that I sign a document obliging me to  return to Tunisia at the end of my visa rather  

Than stay in France. Surprised, I signed, as I  had no intention of staying in France anyway.  The conference went well, and I made a  presentation on the danger of Islamism, its   methods of infiltration, and its use of Taqiya.  Afterward, I had a meeting with the members of  

The association in France about the problems I  encountered in Tunisia due to state censorship,   the sabo-tage of the magazine, and indirect  threats from the Ministry of the In-terior.  At this point, my sister Samia shared her opinion. – It’s normal. It’s because you   threaten public order. – What public order? I asked,  

Surprised. I work day and night on  the magazine and for the association!  – Yes, but you shouldn’t cross the line. – What line? I work within the framework   of an association. Certain-ly, there are many  members who support the association and are  

Active. Myself, I never imagined things would  reach this point… When I return to Tunisia,   I will discuss this with our leaders.  I hope we can resolve the issue.  I began to question my fifth  sister’s new way of thinking.  Upon my return to Tunisia, I immediately  immersed myself in reading “Karim,  

Mon frère ex-intégriste terroriste,”  the translation she had made of my book.  I was shocked by what I found, especially when  I came across this sen-tence: “and yet, my   brother Karim lived, saw, and even read everything  reported in this book.” I had never read what she  

Had written in the book before its publication!  I was in Morocco, and I had trusted her to convey   my message as I had written it. After reading it  all, I began to better understand the behaviour  

Of people who, after reading the book, looked at  me as if I were a victim. I was sure of what I had   said in my testimony, where I had conveyed  my experience as I had lived it. But now,  

Years after the book’s release, I discovered that  these accusations were not so trivial. I’m not   saying that everything in this translation was  false or invented, but my sister had manipulated   the text for an ob-vious purpose: to incriminate  Salah Karkar and, in doing so, portray me in the  

Book as a simpleton, deluded victim of his dreams. In the original version I had written in Arabic, I   had not wanted to talk about myself or my life but  rather about my involvement in Isla-mism from a   young age, the role our brother-in-law had played  in it, my experience in the Islamist Shiite sect,  

And finally my doubts about political Islam. In  contrast, my sister drew from her own childhood   perspective, presenting imaginative events  as truths. She revelled in a psychological   construct reminiscent of fiction. It lacked  logic and made the narrative non-objective.  I couldn’t help but call her  immediately to ask for explanations. 

She didn’t want to answer me right away. She  told me she would ex-plain everything when she   came to Tunisia. She did come shortly after,  sent by the association, as I was concerned   about improving the maga-zine’s work: I needed  more resources and professionals to assist me. 

Samia was not against the idea,  but she repeated that I had to be   more moderate, not cross the line. Not knowing how to interpret this,   I asked her for an explanation, which she  delivered bluntly: if I wanted the association  

And the maga-zine to continue to exist, I had  two choices: either not expand the asso-ciation,   remain as discreet as possible, and be content  with what little we had, or change my discourse   according to Ben Ali’s political norm and  conform. Without one of these two choices,  

I risked having pro-blems. I could imagine the  worst if I didn’t follow the rules of the game.  Following the discussions I had with her, I  understood many things that had been confusing   to me in the history of my book’s release until  then: the fact that the text I entrusted to her in  

The early ‘90s did not come out until 1997 and the  accuracy of certain accusations made against it.  From Salah Karkar, I had always considered it  the height of cynicism that he would try to   downplay the role he played in the narrative  by convincing journalists that the book was  

Infiltrated by Ben Ali’s go-vernment.  A magazine close to the Islamists had   launched this accusa-tion against the book, but  I hadn’t paid much attention to it at the time,   knowing their habit of always portraying  themselves as victims. This was also the  

Thesis defended by Nicholas Beau of Le Canard  en-chaîné and Jean-Pierre Tuquoi of Le Monde,   who had dedicated a chapter of their book “Notre  ami Ben Ali” to one of the victims of this regime:   Salah Karkar himself. However, my brother-in-law  had only given these journalists the first part  

Of the information, carefully con-cealing the  epilogue of the story: his house arrest for   being an avowed Islamist and terrorist. Indeed,  some of the information I had included had been   manipulated and interpreted specifically against  my brother-in-law by Ben Ali’s secret service. 

To fully understand what had happened, and  what I only discovered in 2005, we need to   go back to 1990. When I had decided to publish  my book and entrusted the Arabic manuscript to   my fifth sister for her to translate, I had put  her in touch with the agent of the Bourguibist  

Tuni-sian secret service who had interrogated  and questioned me, so that he could lend a   hand if necessary. I was convinced that he had  understood the danger of the Islamists in the   country. After my departure to Mo-rocco, this  man had therefore read the book with my sister. 

Shortly after coming to power, Ben Ali had drawn  closer to the Gulf states and so-called moderate   Islam, presenting himself as the protector of  Arab-Muslim identity. Following this new policy,   the government had divided the Islamists into  two groups: the pro-Ghannouchi with whom it  

Could find common ground, and the pro-Karkar  with whom it refused to negotiate. As a result,   my manuscript was a windfall for our friend  in the secret service. Not content with using   all the detailed data inside to strike at  the hardline branch of the MTI, he closely  

Monitored the rewriting of the book from 1992 to  1997. He came to France several times to oversee   and direct the book’s writing with the aim of the  Tuni-sian government: to discredit Salah Karkar   and convince the French secret service of the  danger he posed. He also put my sister in contact  

With French personalities to help with publishing. Another family dynamic played a role in the story:   Samia had recon-nected with Samira. After all,  they were sisters! Cunningly informed by the   secret service guy, she didn’t let Samira remain  unaware that Salah Karkar had religiously married  

A second wife in Morocco, whom he saw during his  absences. She even provided evidence of this.  Samira obviously knew that Islamic law gave a man  the right to mar-ry a second, third, or fourth   wife without any obligation to inform the others  and also allowed him to lie to them. However,  

She completely re-fused to accept it. She saw her  sacrifices and support for her husband reduced to   nothing by him. Driven by anger, she searched  through Sa-lah Karkar’s belongings and found a   fake passport in his name filled with stamps  from various countries like Sudan, Algeria,  

And Morocco. She made a copy of it along with  other documents related to her hus-band’s illegal   activities within terrorist Islamist networks  and passed it all on to the secret services.  The French state took the content of the  manuscript seriously, as well as the information  

From the Tunisian government confirming what I  had reported about Salah Karkar’s connections   with terrorist groups in Iran, Sudan, and  Algeria. Despite this, they couldn’t do   anything as they had no concrete evidence of his  activities on their territory. With this latest  

Tangible proof that Salah Karkar was using his  political re-fugee status in France for unlawful   and dangerous activities, the case was now  complete. Salah Karkar was finished, destroyed.   His Islamist political life was shattered. Interior Minister Charles Pasqua signed an   expulsion order against Salah Karkar on October  11, 1993, based on suspicion of active support  

For a terrorist movement. An appeal filed by  Salah Karkar before the Administrative Court   of Paris was dismissed on December 16, 1994, with  the court stating that he had “maintained close   ties with Islamic organizations using violent  methods,” justifying the ministerial decision  

In the interest of public safety. Unable to be  sent back to Tunisia due to his refugee status,   he was placed under house arrest, awaiting a third  country to accept him. He stayed in Finistère,   Brest, Saint-Julien-Chapteuil, Cayres, and finally  Digne-les-Bains, where he was required to report  

To the police once a day. On January 15, 2005,  a cerebral he-morrhage left him in a long coma   from which he emerged diminished and aphasic. The  house arrest was finally lifted in October 2011   after Ben Ali’s escape, and he briefly returned  to Tunisia to attend En-nahdha’s congress,  

Where he was elected an honorary member of the  Shura Council on July 17, 2012. He passed away   on October 18th of the same year. The Scam and the Disappointment  In 2005, I finally understood the whole story:  my manuscript had been manipulated to serve  

The interests of the Tunisian government  and personal vendettas. The accusations of   collusion with the Tunisian go-vernment that the  book had sparked upon its release were due to the   in-terventions of the inspector who had helped  Samia write it. During the trial that followed,  

When I had to go to France to testify in court  after my return from Morocco, everything had been   facilitated for me. At that time, I had neither  an identity card nor a passport, but it had been  

Resolved within a few days, and I had obtained a  visa for France without any problems. I naively   believed that the Tunisian government was fi-nally  taking me seriously. I hadn’t thought that my   testimony was being used for political purposes. I  understood this belatedly when the Ministry of the  

Interior had reversed its refusal to authorize our  association in 2001, it was to improve Tunisia’s   image in the eyes of the international community,  to show that it was a free country participating   in the fight against Islamist terrorism.  They did not imagine that my work in the  

Association would be so successful. They did not  hesitate to put obstacles in my way afterward.  Now, I was faced with a fait accompli: if I wanted  the association to continue to operate, I had to   support Ben Ali and call for a moderate Islam. That, never! I refused the idea of being part of  

Ben Ali’s or the go-vernment’s machine. Furious,  I didn’t send this message to my sister: I had   gotten rid of Islamism to live freely without  depending on anyone, be it Ben Ali or anyone else!  I continued to work, waiting to see what  procedures would be used to silence me. 

Indeed, in 2003, when I started to be very active  on the Internet and on Tunisian forums and others   again, I was deprived of the Internet many  times and for days. This did not deter me,   on the contrary. I worked even harder without  forgetting to continue my social activities in the  

Association. I was summoned by the police, this  time in Ariana, where I was told that I was too   active and that it needed to stop, but I did not  lose courage. However, I noticed that there were   fewer and fe-wer active members, only the people  close to me remained loyal to the association. In  

The end, I decided to work alone: in February  2005, I created my own website and forum,   islamla.com. Pro-Islamists followed me on Islamla  and did everything to sabotage the website,   without suc-cess. Nevertheless, I continued to  criticize Islam and demand the right to speak  

In Tunisia for ex-Muslims. I wrote dozens of  articles denoun-cing the criminal principles   of Islam such as the prohibition of apostasy  or the non-recognition of individual rights,   including those of children and women. I warned of  the danger looming over Europe and our countries  

Due to the interference of Islamists in society  and their low methods of spreading their venom.   I was gagged and placed under house arrest,  but everything I had predicted happened: my   country was Islamized, and I was forced to leave. I still hoped that the Tunisian government would  

Understand that fighting Islamism is not done  through censorship. I had tried several times   to convince them that the middle classes needed  the means to participate in the fight against   this Islamist danger. Unfortunately, ac-cording  to them, the state had to fight the Islamists  

Alone by calling for a so-called moderate and  open Islam without touching the Islam of the   popular masses. Ben Ali had even gone on the  Hajj to present himself as a good Muslim and   defender of Islam. He allowed Saudi-style Islam  to spread in Tunisia. Criticizing Islam only  

Meant for him allowing the Islamists to turn the  people against him. That was the whole problem.  Nevertheless, I still believed in educating  the Tunisian people to de-bate and freedom   of expression. I thus addressed the  question on my website in May 2005: 

“The Tunisian mentality places great importance  on the head of the family, and by analogy, the   leader of the country. The leader embodies what  is known in Arabic as ‘el hayba,’ the prestige of   the leader. This prestige is essential for being  respected and feared, and therefore for exercising  

Power. In our culture, without prestige, there  is no respect, and when there is no respect,   there is disorder. The day when we can criticize  our fathers, elders, teachers, or business leaders   without being accused of disrespecting them, at  that moment, we can claim to criticize those who  

Govern us. To do that, we must learn to criticize  ideas wi-thout questioning the individuals. It’s   an art that Europeans have mas-tered but  didn’t acquire overnight. The struggle   for this freedom of thought was a long one. In Tunisia, it’s enough to visit a so-called  

Political opposition website to understand  that the people expressing themselves there   don’t unders-tand what ‘opposition’ or ‘freedom’  truly mean. In fact, they call for a freedom that   they themselves deny in the name of freedom! They  im-pose their ideas forcefully and don’t hesitate  

To insult anyone who di-sagrees with them. For  them, the righteous camp is the one that stands   against the current regime. Otherwise, you’re  not only a declared sup-porter of the government   but even paid by the state! As you can see, the  choices are limited. If these people who claim to  

Be ‘political opponents’ of the regime genuinely  want freedom for all, they must show more   dis-cernment and learn to listen to the viewpoints  of those who disagree with them. They are against   the government, which is their right, but they  should allow others to give their personal  

Opinions on the matter without showering them  with insults and launching ridiculous accusa-tions   against them. That’s where true freedom lies.  Shouldn’t you give to receive? If these people   were more open-minded, public opinion would  have sided with them a long time ago. Instead,  

They are enemies of freedom and humanity. What’s  the point of this so-called opposition if its goal   is to replace one dictatorship with another? I  am particularly targeting the Islamist opposition   here, which endlessly whines and shouts about  the lack of freedom it encounters in Tunisia. 

This criticism is directed 80% at individuals,  in most cases without providing evidence:   ‘This minister is a thief,’ ‘The president’s  wife did this,’ ‘His daughter was seen wearing   a miniskirt in a nightclub.’ This is  the kind of attack that these so-called  

Opponents engage in – what we call in Arabic  ‘takti wa taryich’ and in French, gossip.  Is this really criticism? Is it a valid way to  express one’s opposition? In these hateful rants,   do we see a political and social project? Islamist  op-ponents have the audacity to claim that there  

Is no freedom in Tunisia, but since when, in  any country, does defamation represent any   form of freedom? In Europe, people do not dare to  defame political leaders or ordinary citizens in   this way. Defamers face legal action. Even scandal  magazines are sometimes condemned! Unfortunately,  

At the same time, European media allows the same  opponents to defame everyone on their websites.   Due to ignorance of the reality on the ground or  ideo-logical interest, they do not hesitate to   call those who are, in fact, Isla-mist terrorists  ‘opponents.’ Some of these media outlets search  

For scan-dalous scoops to retain their audience,  thereby supporting these so-called opponents,   presenting their arbitrary conclusions as  an absolute truth, namely that freedom of   expression is being violated in Tunisia. The problem cannot be separated from its   context. We must take into account the  social factors and teach from an early age  

What the terms ‘critique’ and ‘freedom’  mean so that they can be used wisely.  The West, which considers itself so free,  must also engage in self-critique. In Tunis,   journalists are imprisoned or censored, that’s  true. But, not to mention the United States where  

They outright kill and bomb them, information in  Europe is distorted and/or minimized by the media   that present it – despite Europeans advocating  freedom of ex-pression and human rights. It’s   forgotten that after Saudi Arabia, Eu-rope  was the first to support and provide refuge  

To Islamist criminals. European intellectuals  also exhibit mistrust towards free thinkers from   the Arab-Muslim world – as if freedom can only be  seen through Euro-pean eyes, or if democracy can   only come from the West, or if the East can only  give rise to military or religious dictatorships.  

A country is ac-cused of being a dictatorship  because it fights armed opposition. On the other   hand, the United States arrogates the right to  assassinate fighters whose only fault is wanting   to free their country from foreign coloniza-tion.  Civilians are bombed, but they swear they’re doing  

It for the best cause: combating terrorism. Some  justify such acts with democracy and human rights!   What is the difference between Saddam, who fought  and assassinated his opponents, and the United   States, which fights and as-sassinates these same  opponents because they refuse a new dictatorship  

And foreign occupation? It’s difficult to assert  that there is one, especial-ly since, as we know,   the Americans were Saddam Hussein’s protectors  before becoming his staunch enemies. All of   this should make us think twice before launching  baseless accusations, and those who give lessons,  

Such as Europe and the United States, should  question themselves before judging other powers.  European-style freedom is but a vast lie that  makes citizens believe they are free when they   only have a very limited space of freedom.  They think they live in a democratic country  

When the truth is quite different. They  believe they choose their representatives   when they elect them fol-lowing a brainwashing  orchestrated by the media. However, in Europe,   things are done delicately to present  an appealing appearance. We are far from   mastering this art. Consequently, either we also  learn to excel in appearances to give the outside  

World the politically correct image expected,  or we become free by applying our own values.  The subject is complex. Nowhere in the  world is politics transparent. Populations,   religions, and sects are manipulated at  will to dominate, speeches are directed,   and culprits are arbitrarily designated.  Personally, I avoid getting into this  

Game. I don’t rely on just one source; I inform  myself and gather information, and above all,   I don’t make baseless ac-cusations. Everyone has  their own perspective, faults, and qualities.   Hence the need for discussion and, therefore,  freedom of expression, the only guarantors of  

Progress. Certainly, I don’t claim that Tunisia is  a free country, and Europe isn’t either. However,   European society has evolved a lot, especially  in the 18th century, and therefore, it manages   to form supposedly democratic governments.  In contrast, in Arab-Muslim countries,  

Our societies are far behind in terms of civic  educa-tion, and all the rulers take advantage of   the situation to maintain or even increase this  lag. Our societies do little to help the people   establish and maintain power built democratically.  This is very serious, both so-cially and  

Politically; it should not be taken lightly. Taking into account parameters such as the social   situation and poli-tical and economic stability  would help clean up the situation. Before accusing   any country of dictatorship or censorship, the  priority is to reach a consensus on what freedom  

Represents. We must stop conside-ring such  a precious commodity according to European,   American, or Saudi standards, definitively admit  universal norms, and grant each country the   freedom of its own thinking. Free minds from  the Arab-Muslim world alone know the terrain   well enough to propose suitable solutions. It’s  important that some revise their definition of  

The word ‘freedom.’ Freedom must extend everywhere  and to everyone, men, women, and children, except   towards those who contest the right to sexual,  ethnic, and religious differences, that is, the   Islamists and the majority of religious fanatics.” In the case of the Danish cartoon of the Prophet  

In September 2005, I supported the freedom to  criticize Islam through several of my articles.   I expressed my point of view on Tunisian  forums. As a result, I was ban-ned. My work   in the association was read and commented on less  and less. The agreement made by my sister Samia  

To undertake another edi-tion of my book was  nothing but empty words. Consequently, I cut   off all contact with her and with Aime from France  – which closed shortly after – and I submitted my   resignation to AIME from Tunisia. The Certainty 

My decision to leave my associative activities  and work independently, relying only on myself,   led me to a deep conviction: no one can be the  master of another, only of oneself. Until now,   I had no moral responsi-bility for the statements  made in my name. I felt solely responsible for  

What I personally expressed through my articles,  writings, and videos, whether on my websites,   social networks, or in my books. This approach gave me confidence and   encouraged me to take con-trol of my own destiny.  I realized that I could shape my future and make  

Decisions in line with my convictions and personal  integrity. This new approach allowed me to regain   my confidence and reaffirm my uni-queness as an  autonomous individual, capable of charting my   path with determination, while recognizing  that change is the only certainty in life.  In this quest for independence  and fulfillment, I learned that  

The abili-ty to adapt to change is essential  to evolve and fully realize my potential.   From House Arrest in Tunis to Exile In early 2006, I was no longer in contact with my   sister. I was beco-ming increasingly isolated, my  internet was constantly being cut off, my websites  

Were being censored, and every time I found a  proxy to partici-pate, it was censored a few   days later. I even faced censorship from Google,  which prevented me from advertising my website.  In February 2006, I launched a petition against  censorship in Tunisia on the websites islamla.com  

And labidikm.com. Here is a summary of it: “How much longer must we wait for the   establishment of freedom of expression as  a fundamental right in Tunisia? Freedom is   being trampled upon to please certain religions  or beliefs; let’s have the cou-rage to denounce  

It loudly and clearly! My website islamla.com and  my Arabic website labidikm.com, along with other   blogs, were censored on February 18, 2006,  following the Danish cartoon controversy,   which I mentioned in the context of my support  for freedom of expression. What is sacred, true,  

And untouchable for some is not necessarily so  for others. Words should be criticized with words,   not censorship. I created the website Islamla.com  under this right. This personal portal aims to   pro-mote and disseminate analyses and critiques  of orthodox Islam. This ini-tiative aims to enable  

Orthodox Muslims to review their cultural  heri-tage and free themselves from dogmatic   tutelage. Islamla.com offers a privileged space  for free minds of all origins and beliefs to   participate in collective reflection. It aspires  to be a database of constructive critiques from  

Reliable sources and people of interest. I live in  Tunisia, and this is where I launch this petition.   I ask the Tunisian authorities to lift this  censorship, which has lasted long enough. My   website has proven its tone of absolute freedom.  Never has an article or post been censored,  

And no one has been banned from my forum. I ask  you to sign this peti-tion to show the relevant   authorities that many of us defend freedom  of expression. I hope my call will be heard.”  This petition had little effect. Being deprived  of the internet and with my websites censored,  

I tried to continue my activities in  the cafes of Tunis, especially the   one in Etoile du Nord, frequented by atheists. In March 2006, plainclothes police officers came   to my home to deli-ver an official summons from  the chief of police of the Ariana governo-rate.  

When I presented myself, the commissioner politely  ordered me to stop all activities and stay at   home, claiming that I was endangering my life  by criticizing Islam and that the state had to   protect me. He asked me not to move without  informing them, to focus on my work, and to  

Cut off all contact with others except to earn a  living, nothing more, no-thing less. He even said   he could help me find a job to turn the page.  He spoke at length, emphasizing that Islamism   is the state’s battle and that ordinary citizens  cannot be allowed to touch Islamic principles.  

Al-though he himself did not believe in it, he  considered religion to be so-cially useful. The   state protected it so it could govern the people  and not be accused of being against Islam. He also   reminded me that Tunisian law punished anyone who  attacked or criticized Islam with imprison-ment. 

Starting in March 2006, a plainclothes  police officer was stationed near my home.   No one could visit me without verifying their  identity. I couldn’t even move without being   followed, and I had to report my eve-ry move. Between 2006 and 2011, I found myself isolated  

At home in unofficial house arrest. I accepted  this harsh reality and confined myself to my   home. I was summoned multiple times by the Ariana  police. Additional-ly, I no longer had the means   to sustain myself with what little I had. I took  on odd jobs to make a living. During this period  

Of physical and moral censorship, I once again  questioned my struggle and tried to live like   an ordinary individual, with no dreams or hopes  other than survi-val. It was a nightmare. During   this period, I laid down my weapons, abandoned all  my fights, and resigned myself to living a mundane  

Life. Throughout my life, I had changed my ideas  several times, and it was possible that I would   change them again because ideas are neither  sa-cred nor unique, and everything evolves in   this world. We judge based on who we are at the  moment, not who we were in the past. I had come  

To this conclusion: since we are all different, we  cannot all think alike; the only certainty was the   evolution of ideas. This conviction made me more  flexible while remaining very firm in my choice:   atheism or nothing. I contented myself with  writing without publishing, revisi-ting my life  

And reflecting on three subjects that seemed  essential to me: where Sunni Islamism leads;   where Shiite Islamism leads; where the po-licies  of the West and its allies lead – these three   international forces fighting to impose their  respective dogmas on the rest of the world. 

In early 2007, I was invited to an anti-Islamist  symposium, but my visa was denied. There,   I understood that I was in prison in my own  home. After this setback, in August 2007,   I tried to travel to Algeria. I was ar-rested at  the airport and detained in the Mornaguia prison  

Near Tunis on the pretext that I was wanted. I was  released after a few days of de-tention, claiming   there had been a mistake, but I understood  very well: it was a manoeuvre to dissuade me  

From leaving Tunisia and force me to stay at home. I had started a web design company that allowed me   to work from home. I withdrew into myself, waiting  for a solution to leave the coun-try. However,   during the popular uprising of 2011, I realized  that I could not continue to live like this. All  

Religions and beliefs had wi-thdrawn from the  political and social scene except for orthodox   Islam, which continued to thrive and would take  advantage of the opening to achieve its evil   goals. As long as this factor of imperialism,  injustice, cen-sorship, and lies persisted,  

There would be no peace, and we would lag  behind in terms of progress and dignity.   Most of those who called themselves Muslims did  not know anything; the truth had to be revealed   to them so that they would not fall into it. I started going out again and participated  

In protests for freedom and against Ben Ali.  After his escape, I continued to work with my   neigh-bours to protect our neighbourhood. For  almost fifteen days, we all worked together   side by side – Islamists, homosexuals,  atheists; there was no difference among us! 

However, after a few weeks of fraternity following  Ben Ali’s flight and the lifting of censorship   on January 14, 2011, things changed with the  return of Ennahdha’s Islamists from abroad. I   faced several strong en-couragements to return to  Islam, accompanied by death threats if I did not  

Comply. I continued to participate in protests  for freedom and secu-larism without losing hope,   but given the way things were going – the  resurgence of Islamists in Tunisia – I was   truly in danger. After a few months of freedom,  it became increasingly serious day by day.  

Islamists were staging demonstrations across  the country to demand the imple-mentation of   Sharia law. Violence was being committed  against any form of freedom, such as the   attack on Nadia El Fani’s film or the at-tack  on Nessma TV. I received serious and direct  

Threats from Islamists I knew well, and close  friends advised me to leave due to the climate   of insecurity caused by the absence of authority. This time, I seriously considered leaving Tunisia.   However, before making such a decision, I  wanted to wait for the elections. If things  

Im-proved and we could live in freedom and peace  in Tunisia, I had no de-sire to leave the country!  In early summer 2011, an inspector from the  Ministry of Interior came to my home several   times to ask me to work with them to combat  the Islamists because everything had to be  

Done to prevent them from seizing power. I told  him I wasn’t interested because I had no trust   in the former regime: for years, I had been  fighting for freedom in Tunisia, and no one   had taken my warnings seriously or helped me  at the Mi-nistry of Interior. On the contrary,  

I had been confined to my home! It was in the  ranks of political parties advocating secularism   that I actively participated in the elections.  Unfortunately, as we know, the Tunisian people,   too influenced by Islam, voted in favour of  Ennahdha, leaving me with no choice but to leave  

The country as soon as possible. Every-thing  I had predicted had come true: my country was   becoming Isla-mized, and I was forced to leave. At the end of 2011, I reluctantly decided to   leave for France via the Netherlands. I began the  procedure to obtain a visa for the Netherlands  

Following an invitation from a friend. I obtained  the visa without any problems after a month,   and I left Tunisia in January 2012,  before the Islamists came to power.  Upon arriving in the Netherlands, I stayed with  my friend for a pe-riod. I was preparing to go  

To France when I learned that, according to the  Dublin Regulation, I had to apply for asylum in   the first European country I reached. So,  I went to the asylum centre in Ter Apel,   in the north of the country, to officially  request political asylum. That’s how,  

After a little over a year, I finally  obtained refugee status in the Nether-lands.   Reconnecting with Amazigh Identity In June 2013, once I was well settled, I began   to organize myself and re-establish my contacts  through the Internet in Tunisia and France. I  

Resumed criticizing orthodox Islam through my  forum, my website, and social media. Finally,   I created a YouTube channel that I named: “Know Allah’s Religion.”  It was during these online discussions with  North African nationals that I realized the   importance of the Amazigh identity specific  to this region. This identity is based on a  

Millennia-old land and culture rather than on race  or belief. I understood that this identity alone   could save us from the impasse our people were  facing, burdened with an Arab-Muslim identity   that wasn’t their own. From there, I realized that  the myth of the Arab-Muslim identity was largely  

Responsible for our pro-blems because a people  without an identity cannot progress, evolve,   or contribute to the advancement of humanity. This reflection led me to discern that if   orthodox Islam fights against national identities  and Arabizes peoples, it is to forever bind their   fate to Islam. Consequently, I considered  that the identity crisis experienced by  

The North African people, both within their own  territory and abroad, is due to Islam’s efforts   to strip them of their identity. Deprived  of their true identity, they are forced to   embrace the Arab-Muslim identity along with  Islam. It goes without saying that a people  

Whose identity is imposed upon them is a people  without dignity, subjugated and kept in bondage.  Many political parties in Tunisia or Egypt  consider the Arab-Muslim identity as an   essential factor on which the constitution must be  based because it genuinely represents the people.  

Since independence and up to the present day,  the issue of the Arab-Muslim identity has been   a ge-neral demand, a sacred truth, the only way  to protect ourselves from any cultural erasure,   even after the uprisings against the  dictatorships. But are we truly Arab-Muslims?  

What if the idea of the Arab-Muslim identity is  nothing more than a lie perpetuated by pro-Arab   Islamists? The conspiracy of identity erasure  by Western Europe, denounced by Islamists,   can easily be turned against the Arab world. Before we can determine who we are, we must first  

Define the notion of identity. On what criteria  is a people’s identity based? Does it concern the   people, the group, the country, or individuals? Identity is what defines an individual or   a specific group and sets them apart  from others. It encompasses the ways  

In which an individual or group defines  itself and how it is defined by others.  Humans need to identify themselves individually  and socially in order to move forward; otherwise,   they experience an identity crisis  that blocks them in all aspects of  

Life. A people’s identification is similar to an  individual’s: a person who does not know their   gender cannot choose their sexual orientation,  and a people who do not know their identity   cannot choose their cultural orientation. Identity is not only what we claim or what is  

Imposed; it is an inhe-rent truth that emanates  from within and influences external beha-viour.   It is not enough to profess an identity; it  must be fully experienced in the present as   well as through the people’s history. A people or group is defined by several   criteria. Let’s consider the most  important ones mentioned in history: 

The criterion of blood or skin colour is  the oldest, dating back to prehistory,   like the differentiation between animal families.  It has been used in history to distinguish peoples   based on hereditary and physical characteristics.  This criterion is responsible for genocides,   slavery, and racist crimes. Today, due  to the evolution of human thinking,  

This crite-rion is considered inhumane. Anyone  or any group identifying solely ba-sed on   this criterion is condemned by civilized minds. The criterion of religious faith and ideological   affiliation is an evolu-tion from the previous  one. It opposes the racial criterion and defines  

A people’s identity based on their beliefs. This  can be observed among Christians and even more   clearly in Islam under the notion of El Oumma.  In history, this criterion has allowed for the   creation of despo-tic and imperial empires in  which religious or ideological minorities are  

Oppressed and silenced by the majority. This  criterion is to be considered as dangerous as   the racial criterion, even though it is  based on ideas ra-ther than appearance.  The criterion of language and culture emerged  later to distinguish between peoples. It does  

Not consider physical appearance or belief but  rather the spoken language and what that language   conveys in terms of social and cultural behaviour.  This cultural and linguistic preservation results   in the division into nations. Despite its  evolution compared to previous criteria,   this criterion remains imperfect as it creates  closed groups and limits individual freedom to  

Choose their identity. This leads to nationalist  states that reject cultural and linguistic   diversity. When a state enforces a single or  predominant cultural identity and an official   majority language, it tends to suppress cultural  and linguistic minorities, leading either to the   disappearance of languages and cultures  or the creation of explosive core groups,  

Which foresees a dead end for the fu-ture. The criterion of land and territory is more   advanced than the pre-vious ones. It is based on  the right of the land, regardless of a person’s   religion, language, or culture. The individual  is considered a full citizen in a country and  

A state that respects all cultures, languages,  dialects, and non-totalitarian ideologies. In this   diversified society, presence on the land is taken  as the criterion of identity. Ideologies, beliefs,   and people change throughout history, but the land  does not. According to Ivorian writer Jean-Marie  

Adiaffi, “nothing is as powerful as man’s love for  his land, his forest, his rivers, his mountains,   his rocks, his trees, his birds, his stones.” Based on this criterion of land, one can imagine   that civilized coun-tries accept the differences  born of multiculturalism, which is the real  

Richness of a country, and move towards a society  without discrimina-tion. Regardless of their   origin, belief, language, or culture, citizens  are recognized as full individuals in their   dignity on the land they have cho-sen to live on. In the example of Tunisia, it can be affirmed  

That every citizen consi-ders themselves a full  Tunisian and North African in flesh and spirit,   re-gardless of their origin and belief. Thus,  my grandparents felt like full Tunisians despite   their foreign origins. Contrary to the beliefs  of those lost in racism or nationalism, the  

Place and its culture shape us as much as our own  origins. It is the bridge between people. Culture   necessarily includes respect and understanding  of the places where it comes to life. It is   true that we are attached for the rest of our  lives to our childhood memories, our homeland,  

The place where we grew up. But my grand-parents  had perfectly integrated into their host country   because they felt love for that country. This plural identity, sometimes difficult   to grasp, is not foreign to the imprints  that mark our individual journeys. These   imprints are genetic and genealogical,  but also cultural, familial, and social,  

Which it is up to the individual to consider  in order to give meaning to their own story.   This identity is in the nature of the land,  this specificity is a wealth to preserve.  I believe in the power of the land on which  we live. Identity is ultima-tely linked to the  

Place of life, the local culture, the common  bond among the inhabitants. An individual’s   or group’s belonging to a place is recognized  by their respect, love, and intimate knowledge   of that place, which gives them their identity  and of which they are proud. Love for a country,  

A city, a village, a neighbourhood is not  just about getting along with one’s neighbour;   it requires dedication, a sense of responsibility,  and self-sacrifice. In return, the land teaches   us who we are and what we want to live for. Thus, the Phoenicians, Romans, Arabs, Turks,  

And even the French who decided to settle in  North Africa and have been living there for   ge-nerations are undoubtedly North Africans  today. An African who has lived in Europe or   America for several generations eventually  becomes European or American. Similarly,  

I believe that the inhabitants of North Africa  are Amazigh, regardless of their origins, colour,   race, lan-guage, religion, or doctrine, simply  because they have lived on this in-dependent   and proud land for centuries. The Punic or Roman  periods did not make us Phoenicians or Romans,  

Just as engagement with Islam does not make  us Arabs today. This is not a rejection,   but rather the search for an identity rooted in  this land, one that takes into account both the   reality of the past, that of the present,  and the shared societal project. Our duty  

Is to apprehend life in its entirety, not to  overly deve-lop our particularities. To claim   that North Africa is Arab would be to deny its  history before the arrival of the Arabs. North   Africa existed be-fore them and will remain  after them. Considering ourselves Arabs would  

Amount to denying the essence of our identity. Conversely, are the Arabs settled in North   Africa the same as those in the Arabian Peninsula?  Certainly not. They have mixed with Phoeni-cians,   Turks, Romans, French, in short, all those who  live on this land, to form the North African  

People. Logically, Maghrebis, Libyans, and  Mauritanians are not Arabs but North Africans:   although different in terms of race, colour,  language, religion, or beliefs, they live on   the same land and breathe the same air. We do not reject our origins; we do not   deny where we come from be-cause previous  civilizations deserve respect and recognition.  

But let’s al-so think about current life and  future generations who will interact with the   world without caring about borders and limits.  To say that North Africans are only Arabs or   Maghrebis would be to deny our history and  fall into the illusion of false identity. 

Today, the majority of inhabitants display a  single Arab-Muslim iden-tity due to ignorance,   religious dogmatism, or even nationalism. This  identity is a myth. It is an unjust discrimination   against the Amazigh who claim the older presence  of non-Muslims on this land. The values of  

Islam and Arab-Muslim identity erase our local  identity and prevent us from being proud of our   country beyond Islam. We have been Ara-bized and  Islamized without being given a choice. However,   the Tuni-sian people are diverse and varied in  their values, origins, and opinions. They want  

To feel legitimate through the rights of their  land without shame or fear. Tunisian citizens   want to be full citizens, individuals who  love this land, its air, and its soul,   without belonging to any particular majority.  Every person has the right to evolve with respect  

For others wi-thout being accused of betrayal. Our peoples need to be informed that we do not   owe everything to the East. We are not Arabs,  that is clear. Many of us are not Muslims,   and the majority has nothing to do with  orthodox Islam that came as a conqueror  

To occupy us almost 1,400 years ago. Everything  has been done to subjugate us. We were lied to,   claiming that we were barbarians without a  history, to whom the Arabs and Islam brought   civilization. We had a culture before the  Islamic occupation. To liberate ourselves,  

We must know who we are. The first thing to do is  to reconnect with the Amazigh past that Islam has   made us forget. That is where our identity lies. In the word “Amazigh,” meaning “free man,” I have   personally found the freedom I have been seeking  since childhood. It’s this thirst for freedom that  

Pulled me out of the clutches of Islam, that is,  submis-sion and conformity. Yes, freedom is our   identity. Throughout history and despite their  differences, the Amazigh have known how to live   toge-ther on this land, under these skies. I have  experienced this freedom in-tensely during brief  

Moments – before the arrival of Islamism in my  fa-mily, after the escape of Ben Ali, before the   return of the Islamists to once again subject our  country to this foreign Islam that is alien to our   North African nature. These moments are short,  but they are enough to mark my inner journey:  

The path of freedom. The Path of Freedom  For seventeen years, I have left Islam and freed  myself from Islamic influence, and I am still   convinced that freedom of thought is the num-ber  one enemy of Islam. Islam thrives in censorship  

And oppression from its very inception, as  we saw in Arabia, where Islam spread like a   virus once it was banned. It’s no coincidence  that Islamists portray themselves to the world   as victims and the oppressed. They lament the  lack of freedom, but once they come to power,  

They are the first to cen-sor criticism, kill  apostates, and refuse dialogue with non-Muslims.  In fact, Islamism hides behind civilized and  humanistic principles like freedom of thought   simply to gain power and subsequently restrict  that very freedom in the name of God. Mohammed  

Himself was tolerant and open in Mecca, but  he changed his tune once he seized power in   Medi-na. The difference between the Quranic verses  of Mecca and those of Medina is proof that Islam   uses double-speak to achieve its goals. This is a  characteristic of all dogmatic and authoritarian  

Movements – they put on a tolerant and altruistic  facade to convince the masses. We should not fall   into the trap of believing the Islamists’  speeches in the name of freedom. In reality,   Islam doesn’t understand what this word  means. This religion contains no freedom;   it implies complete submission. Unfortunately, the majority of the  

Islamic population is submissive and dominated  by religious sentiment. Islamists take advantage   of this to gain as many votes as possible by  playing on the emotional side of Muslims. These   individuals vote out of fear of incurring Allah’s  wrath and not going to heaven once they die,  

Rather than to establish a politi-cal or economic  program that meets their life expectations.  To counter this unfair indoctrination,  boundaries must be created and respected.   This must happen through legality. Clear and  defined laws are needed to punish defamation,   lies, exclusion, violence, or the inci-tement of  verbal and physical violence. Anyone who wants  

To restrict freedom of thought in the name  of any ideology should not find a place in a   civilized society. Those who do not respect these  rules, whether Islamist or not, will be punished   without discrimination for breaking the law. This  is how freedom will extend to everyone. Otherwise,  

Islamism will continue in the shadows to  keep the populace ignorant and submis-sive.  Freedom of expression is a right. Everyone  has the right to speak, cri-ticize,   and express their point of view through speech,  writing, art, or cinema… However, there is no  

Freedom for those who are against freedom or seek  to prohibit it in the name of something sacred.   Anyone opposing it through violence in the name  of their beliefs will be punis-hed by the law.  Censorship practiced worldwide to keep individuals  and peoples in ignorance, under the pretext of  

Preventing any slip-up, is not a solution.  Prohibiting speech does not prevent thinking   and opens the door to des-tructive impulses such  as intolerance, hatred, lies, and violence. It   seems to me that only total transparency, the  clash of ideas, and public debate can pave the  

Way for a humanistic evolution that eliminates all  vio-lence. This applies to all identities that the   system tries to erase in the name of artificial,  political, economic, or ideological boundaries.   Globa-lization must acknowledge human diversity.  Global dogmatism must take into account cultural   and genetic differences, such as the Basques,  Corsicans, Bretons, Catalans, Native Americans,  

Aborigines, Kurds, Amazighs, and everything that  defines an individual or group deman-ding the   right to exist. When a new world order tries to  erase them in the name of economics, politics,   or religion, humanism requires reco-gnition of  the disparities between independent identities. 

I hope that this dream becomes a reality. I  believe in the human in-dependence from any   divine intervention or unnatural force. I advocate  for freedom of conscience and expression within   a neutral framework. What is different from me  enriches me. Nearly fifty years of my exis-tence  

Have passed, and I have recounted my daily  struggle to find my dignity as a man. In the   words of Pericles, “There is no happiness wi-thout  freedom, nor freedom without courage.” This book   is a testimony brought to the attention of all  those tempted to follow the disastrous path of  

Fanaticism. A testimony to prevent the worst.  It is also an appeal to governments, political   actors, and ordinary citizens of the so-called  free world: misfortune crawls to our doors in   the form of a vermin with a thousand faces. I also emphasize the importance of the struggle  

Of women against or-thodox Islam, which deprives  them of their fundamental rights. Women may be   the strongest lever against orthodox Islam  and violence. Unfor-tunately, their presence   has been limited so far. It is necessary that  everywhere, in neighbourhoods, cities, villages,   and associations, they organize themselves  and fight for education, peace, and dignity.  

Saving North Africa Work in Europe is not enough; the free world   will not live in peace until its southern borders  are pacified. We must also work in North Afri-ca,   a close partner of Europe. Freedom of thought is  a right for every people, group, or human being,  

And when good comes, it comes for everyone. After more than two years of discussions and   analysis of the situation on the Internet, we,  along with a group of young people from North   Af-rica living on both sides of the Mediterranean,  created a movement for change in North Africa. We  

Began sharing our ideas based on our Amazigh  identity in early 2015. After several months   of work, on May 15, 2015, we published a founding  declaration of the Movement for Change in North   Africa (MCAN), addressed to all Amazighs or ‘free  men’ of North Africa and all free minds worldwide. 

Dear North Africans, dear free men, Anyone observing the events unfolding in the   countries of North Afri-ca knows the gravity  of the situation and the dangers facing this   region. They also know about the malicious  forces bent on destabilizing the autonomy,   security, and freedom of its inhabitants, who  consequently face unhappiness and despair. 

The North African region possesses an incredible  potential with its natural resources, climate,   strategic location, and breath-taking  land-scapes. Unfortunately, it is not   immune to ideological conflicts and re-peated  conspiracies. The media war also incites rebellion   and conflicts that do not benefit North Africa. Cultural decline began a long time ago, caused by  

Submission to ideo-logies from elsewhere, whether  from the East or the West. The extre-mism and   terrorism this has generated have led to economic  collapse. We have reached a point where our youth   risk their lives by crossing the sea to escape  this harsh reality or, even worse, join extremist  

Terrorist groups, unaware that their actions  will destroy them along with their homeland.   The intellectuals who are supposed to be our elite  and role models are focused on Western and Eastern   ideological conflicts, posing a leadership  problem in North African society and politics. 

This educated class forgets its duty to  guide North Africa towards an ideological   and scientific orientation that will lead to  progress. The re-sult is generations of graduates   who have proven their memorization abilities  but are, unfortunately, absent and unable to  

Contribute to change in their home environment or  assess the daily severity of the si-tuation. They   live off the remains of past colonizations,  which deprives them of the opportunity to   open their eyes to conceive a better future. This  situation has caused intellectual and ideological  

Recession in North Africa since the Middle Ages.  Worse yet, given the general dissatisfac-tion,   the university has become a bomb-making machine  that will ex-plode sooner or later. This alarming   situation, exacerbated by the igno-rance of the  rest of the population, results in the decline of  

Human rights, censorship, the absence of freedoms,  and a lack of investment in local skills.  As activists, advocates, and free citizens  of North Africa, we have uni-ted to discuss   solutions to counter this cultural and ideological  decline. On May 15, 2015, which corresponds to  

The 27th of the month of Tasra Temzwarut 2965 in  the Amazigh calendar, we announced the foun-ding   of the North African Change Movement. This is a  peaceful and independent movement that denounces   the sad reality our societies are living in and  seeks to remedy it by all means. This movement  

Is exclusive to the North African identity; it is  based on the cultural heritage of the Amazighs, or   ‘free men,’ and derives from a philosophy linked  to the land and the civilization of North Africa,   according to the following principles: 1. The North African identity is   based on the land. 2. Freedom is a right  

For every human being, regardless of  ethnicity, religion, gender, or custom.  3. Thought is alive; it must be able to  evolve and flourish. Confining it is a crime.  4. Human experience allows us to choose what suits  us to meet our needs, taking into account the  

Characteristics of the North African iden-tity. 5. Respect for the human being is the basis of   any project aimed at the prosperity  and progress of our civilization.  Based on these principles, the movement has  established goals and missions to accomplish:  1. Ensure the survival and continuity  of the North African nation. 

2. Defend its identity and authenticity. 3. Defend freedoms and human rights   against all forms of abuse. 4. Consolidate resources and skills   and support artistic and ideological production  to develop a modern and strong North Africa.  5. Adhere to the principles  of civility and defend them. 

6. Develop and refine the moral principles  and values of society by combating religious,   regional, and linguistic racism. 7. Reconsider the nature of political regimes in   North Africa and strive for a technocratic model. 8. Remove all kinds of borders between North   African countries, unify the customs  system and currency, and establish the  

Free movement of people and goods. 9. Sever all political, cultural,   ethnic, and ideological relations with  any region oppressing the North African   identity and re-establish inter-national political  relations based on mutual interest and respect.  10. Strengthen the role played by North  Africa in regional and inter-national  

Policies within the Mediterranean basin. Our movement embodies the will for change   of many young gra-duates who have taken on the  responsibility of building the future. A fu-ture   based on human dignity and no longer on the  whims of obscure political or religious entities.  

We firmly believe that this future is possible,  attainable through change and positive criticism,   so that the North African people can enter a  new era, a new stage of their civilization and   existence, avoiding the mistakes of our ancestors. We invite you to adopt this course of action to  

Rehabilitate our land. To build a nation  with real political and economic power,   which will have a modern and influential society  in the Mediterranean basin and the world. The   North African Movement for Change is determined to  combat the effects of decay and backwardness and  

To build a better fu-ture for future North African  generations. This movement is yours; it is your   platform, its success depends on you. Let us be a  single hand to break oppression and obscurantism!  Following the release of this statement, the  support and encourage-ment received in Europe and  

North Africa led us to initiate the registra-tion  process for our movement during a second plenary   meeting of the MCAN in September. The official  authorization for the North African Movement for   Change came on December 31, 2015. On January 13,  2016, which corresponds to the Amazigh New Year  

2966, we chose as our first focus to disseminate  knowledge within the North African com-munity,   both abroad and at home, to counter reactionary  ideologies. The short-term goal is to create a   space for debate, a platform free from racial  and extremist discrimination, capable of  

Promoting human prin-ciples and values as well  as advancements in knowledge to North Afri-cans.  I sincerely hope that each of us will do what is  necessary to counter war and economic recession,   that North Africa will integrate into the  civilized world, and that we will leave our  

Children a better world. In this life, the most  important thing is not to achieve our goals but to   strive for them. It is the path we trace toward a  goal that gives meaning to life, even if we do not  

Necessarily see the result of our efforts. As long  as each one works according to their abilities   towards the common goal, our children will  follow in our footsteps and complete our mission.  I warn individuals, groups, associations,  political parties, and govern-ments of the   danger of political Islam, of which  my family’s tyranny gives a taste. 

I dedicate this book and its  future proceeds to the MCAN,   with the hope that a North African federation  based on a humanitarian policy will liberate   our countries from Islamist interference and  contribute to building a more civilized future.   Copyright © My life, my Tunisia [publication  year: 2023] by Massin Kevin Labidi. 

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be  reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any   form or by any means, electronic, mechanical,  photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without   the prior written permission of the publisher,  except in cases permitted by copyright law. 

The names, characters, places, and events  described in this book are based on real   events and people who existed. The author has taken all necessary   precautions to ensure the accuracy of the  information contained in this book. However,   the publisher and the author disclaim  any liability for any loss or damage  

Resul-ting from the use of this information. This book is a work of the author’s biography.   Any unauthorized use of this work, including  repro-duction, distribution, or transmission,   may constitute a violation of copyright laws. Copyright 2023 by [Massin Kevin Labidi]  Book Title: “My life, my Tunisia” All rights of reproduction,  

Adaptation, and translation, in whole or  in part, are reserved for all coun-tries.  The author is the sole owner of the rights  and responsible for the content of this book.  Notes: The book was initially written in Arabic  as a draft in 1987, revised and rewritten between  

1990 and 1992. Published in French by my  sister under the title “Karim, mon frère,   Ex-intégriste et terroriste” in September 1997  by Flammarion, ISBN paper: 2-08-067462-5, France.  First Edition: Self-published in November 2023,   ISBN paper: 978-9-083-34682-3, Netherlands. We acknowledge and respect the moral rights   of the author as the creator of this work.

source