The Power Of Purpose
On the morning of October 30, 2015, the decapitated body of 21-year-old Ibrahim Abdel Qader was discovered hanging from a door frame in the foyer of a second-floor apartment in the Turkish city of Urfa. A few meters away, in the adjacent living room, Fares Hammadi dangled lifeless from a light fixture. The two had been brutally murdered hours earlier by four supporters of the terrorist group ISIS.
For police and neighbors, there was never any doubt about who committed the horror. All the tell-tale signs were there: the dozens of stab wounds, the beheadings, and of course, the callous exhibition of the victims, put proudly on display like trophies on a shelf. A video of the attack was released by ISIS later that day providing the graphic evidence of what authorities had already suspected. The two young men were betrayed by a friend whose loyalty to a cause far outweighed any personal affinity he had with them.
Tlas Surur was 19 years old when he joined ISIS in 2012, while living in the northern Syrian city of Raqqa. Like many young people of the region, Surur's activism began the previous year with peaceful protests opposing the Al-Assad government. He marched against the regime’s oppressive security forces and censorship of free speech and teamed with those calling for democratic reforms.
What started as a slow burn of political unrest, however, soon escalated into a firestorm of sectarian and ethnic violence throughout the country. Surur sided with the rebels and became consumed by the contagious revolutionary fervor that was spreading across the Middle East. This was no longer a movement motivated by concerns for freedom, dignity, social justice, and basic human rights. For Surur and many like him, this fight turned into something far greater than his friends, his community, or his country. This was about finding a purpose for his life. It was about finding his soul.
Ibrahim and Surur knew one other growing up in Raqqa. Both had participated in the anti-regime demonstrations, but as the revolution progressed, and ISIS took control of the city, they took different paths. While Surur was enlisting with the jihadists, Ibrahim joined a group of underground citizen journalists called “Raqqa Is Being Slaughtered Silently” (R.B.S.S.). The coalition of activists would secretly obtain evidence of the atrocities being committed by the Islamic State and share it with the world. Using social media, R.B.S.S. members, like Ibrahim, risked their lives to counteract and contradict the sophisticated propaganda that ISIS used to recruit new members, spread its ideology, and threaten all whom it saw as infidels.
In early 2015, Raqqa became too dangerous for Ibrahim and his R.B.S.S. cohorts as ISIS stepped up its efforts to seek out and squash the journalist network. He, along with Fares, and two other members of R.B.S.S. moved to Urfa where they would continue their clandestine work, compiling and publishing information about ISIS and Raqqa from what they believed would be a safe distance. It was in Urfa, where Ibrahim would become reacquainted with Tlas Surur.
As teenagers, Ibrahim Abdel Qader and Tlas Surur were merely acquaintances, but their reconnection in Ufra stoked a new-found and unexpected friendship. While Ibrahim sought refuge in Turkey to escape the threats of ISIS so, apparently, did Surur. After serving with the Islamist militants for years, Surur confided in Ibrahim how he now hated ISIS and defected in hopes of building a new life outside of their reach. He rented an apartment across the alley from where Ibrahim and his family lived, and began to assimilate into the community of other displaced Syrians.
Despite warnings from friends and colleagues who were suspicious of Surur, Ibrahim welcomed the former ISIS agent with open arms. Their closeness in age, the common history they shared growing up in Raqqa, their similar sense of humor, and the passionate enthusiasm they showed for most subjects - from sports to politics - created an indelible bond between the two men. They not only trusted one another, but felt a connection - a sense of belonging - that solidified their relationship. As Ibrahim would soon find out, however, when it comes to loyalty, those two conditions are not enough.
On the night Ibrahim and Feres were killed, Surur invited the two friends to his apartment to have dinner and hang out. It had become a common ritual for these men exiled from their native homeland, a way to find comfort in each other’s company. It was this close bond that Ibrahim and Feres had forged with Surer that most likely caused them to miss or ignore any signs of danger that night. Maybe they never noticed the cardboard and blankets that were covering the apartment windows, and perhaps they never gave a second thought to the unexpected knock heard at the door sometime after they arrived. They had no reason to believe they would be betrayed by their friend.
When Tlas Surur opened his apartment to three of his fellow ISIS combatants, he not only witnessed the butchering of his friends, he participated in the savagery. He inflicted several of the 83 stab wounds found on Ibrahim and the 67 delivered to Feres before standing idly by as their heads were cut off and their bodies disrespectfully hung in the air. It was an act that would be unthinkable to most, but not to Surur or his accomplices or other followers of ISIS. To them, this was merely a necessary step on their journey to salvation. The relationship they sought with their God and their beliefs about a Day of Judgment guided their actions and superseded any human acquaintances or social norms. Their lives were driven by a sense of Purpose and nothing and no one else mattered more.
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Some of society’s most vexing problems arise from our need for Purpose. The tragic story of friendship and betrayal is one example – but so are others we can find in groups of religious zealots of this century and centuries past. Gang violence happens for the same reason. ISIS and gangs recruit members by offering safety and belonging, but also because they fill a gaping hole we all have. We all need to feel like we are part of something greater than ourselves, and that’s a desire that can overcome even the bonds of friendship and family. In some cases of religious extremism, it can even overpower the impulse to stay alive.
It’s not a force to be taken lightly, but for those who use it to achieve positive change, it can offer a source of healing and comfort for the people who share in your journey. Answer this call for meaning for someone, and you’ll have forged a bond that fulfills one of our deepest human needs.