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The Kafir S Blood Is Halal For You The
The Kafir S Blood Is Halal For You The
The Kafir S Blood Is Halal For You The
Abstract
The Islamic State movement (IS, formerly ISIS) is widely denounced by both
Muslims and non-Muslims as ‘un-Islamic’, for, among other deeds, attacking
fellow Muslims, inciting international terrorism, and taking female captives
as sex slaves—all in the name of jihād. IS’s propaganda magazines Dabiq
(15 issues) and Rumiyah (13 issues), published between July 2014 and
September 2017, sought to justify and explain the movement’s ideology and
actions, presenting its credentials as an almost uniquely authentic expression
of current Sunnī Islam. Drawing on these magazines, this article constructs a
systematic overview of IS’s jihād doctrine, showing its indebtedness to both
traditional sources, the Qurʾān, sunna and fiqh, and to more recent Salafī-
Jihādī thought. IS aims to revive the genuine Islam of the Prophet and the
first generations of Muslims, rejecting the modernist view of military jihād
as purely defensive. While clearly Islamic and heavily indebted to tradi-
tional sources, IS’s jihād doctrine is anachronistic, apocalyptic, selective and
sectarian.
Keywords
Islamic State; ISIS; Dabiq; Rumiyah; jihād; Salafī-Jihādī.
Introduction
Between July 2014 and July 2016, the Islamic State (al-Dawla
al-Islāmiyya) movement (IS, often still known as ISIL or ISIS), published
© Equinox Publishing Ltd 2021, Office 415, The Workstation, 15 Paternoster Row, Sheffield S1 2BX.
312 JASR 33.3 (2020)
Hanbalīs such as Ibn Taymiyya (d. 1328) and Ibn ʿAbd al-Wahhāb (d.
1792). IS claimed to be founded upon the same principles as the state
created by the latter’s followers in Najd (Rumiyah 10:12), but also looked
back to earlier jihād movements such as the North African Almoravids of
the eleventh and twelfth centuries (Rumiyah 5:30–33).
This article answers two questions: what is the meaning of jihād as
presented in the two magazines, and where does this understanding
derive from? The article is structured as a systematic survey of jihād
doctrine under four headings: (1) justification for war (jus ad bellum),
especially its merits and aims, jihād as permanent war, and the identifi-
cation of the enemy; (2) the personnel involved, leadership, jihād as a
religious duty, the need for hijra, and the role of women; (3) conduct,
particularly military ethics (jus in bello), the idealisation of brutality, the
rejection of distinctions between belligerents and non-combatants, and
the use of terror and suicide; and (4) the intended consequences of war,
captives, spoils, and establishing sharīʿa rule.
Along the way, the sources of IS’s jihād doctrine, especially the Qurʾān,
sunna (Prophetic tradition expressed in reports called ahadīth, singular
hadīth), and premodern fiqh (Islamic jurisprudence, the human under-
standing of the sharīʿa) will be indicated. Traditional writers are cited
or quoted not to suggest that traditional jihād doctrine was uniform—
though there did develop a high degree of consensus on essentials—but
to illustrate how IS doctrine is continuous with a substantial body of ear-
lier writing. Adaptations of traditional jurisprudence, reflecting more
recent Islamist and Salafist jihādī thought will also be noted. As a sectar-
ian movement, IS arrogates exclusively to itself the status and respon-
sibilities, including the duty of jihād, traditionally claimed by all Sunnī
Muslims collectively. While adapted to the circumstances of a militant
twenty-first-century apocalyptic movement, IS’s understanding of jihād
is firmly grounded in the Islamic tradition and more recent Salafī-Jihādī
thinking.2
2. The words ‘Islam’ and ‘Islamic’ are used here to refer to the totality of Islam as
a cultural phenomenon; that is, whatever Muslims do in the name of their religion.
Aggressive jihād, in this sense, is just as Islamic as crusading was Christian even though
Muslims hold opposing positions on it (van der Krogt 2014a: 161–64, 168–69).
Qutb (d. 1966), according to which only Allah has the right to make laws
for humans to obey (Qutb 2006: 18, 67–68, 86, 106–107, 120). Secular
liberals have thus promoted such ‘filthy sins and vices’ as ‘alcohol, drugs,
fornication, gambling,… usury’—‘and even “gay rights”’. IS therefore
fought to prevent the spread of ‘disbelief… debauchery… secularism…
nationalism… perverted liberal values… Christianity and atheism—and
all the depravity and corruption they entail’ (Dabiq 15:32).
Just as Westerners claimed to liberate Muslim societies, ‘we’ve made
it our mission to fight off your influence and protect mankind from your
misguided concepts and your deviant way of life’ (Dabiq 15:31–32). IS
claimed to be fighting (Western) unbelievers
not simply to punish and deter you, but to bring you true freedom in this
life and salvation in the Hereafter, freedom from being enslaved to your
whims and desires as well as those of your clergy and legislatures, and
salvation by worshiping your Creator alone and following His messenger
(Dabiq 15:33).
This passage recalls Sayyid Qutb’s (2006: 81; cf. 93–94) understanding
that the purpose of jihād was ‘to secure complete freedom for every man
throughout the world by releasing him from servitude to other human
beings so that he may serve his Lord’. Qutb, moreover, quoted the histo-
rian al-Tabarī (d. 923), who recorded that the Arabs gave just this expla-
nation to the Persians before the battle of Qādisiyya in 636.
4. Actually, the French King who participated in the Third Crusade along with
Richard and Barbarossa was Philip II Augustus. Louis VII participated in the Second
Crusade, and Louis IX led two crusades of his own.
the dār al-harb (the region of war, counterpart to the dār al-Islām) were
expected to carry out acts of terror where they lived.
The mass migration of Muslims to Western countries and the adop-
tion of Islam by many Westerners are recent phenomena that provide
both personnel (Muslims by descent or conversion) and cover for terror-
ism in the West (where the presence of Muslims is now normal and not
inherently suspicious). While medieval Mālikī jurists tended to disap-
prove of Muslims living under non-Islamic rule, scholars of other schools
allowed Muslims to remain if they were able to practise their religion
(Abou El Fadl 1994: 157–61). Though not defined in detail, such prac-
tice did not include military jihād, for minority Muslims were assumed
to have an implicit or explicit safe-conduct (amān) according to which
they must obey the law and refrain from causing harm (Abou El Fadl
1994: 175–76). Rumiyah (11:36–38) argued otherwise, asserting that
holding a visa or residency permit did not constitute a promise to obey
the local law and therefore did not debar a Muslim from engaging in acts
of terror.
Like the Muslim women of Mecca after the hijra, women were
expected to migrate to the Islamic State (Dabiq 8:32–37), but IS maga-
zines discouraged them from fighting despite the view of ʿAzzām that
women should fight in the current global pan-Islamic defensive jihād
(Cook 2009: 183). Traditionally, women were expected to be support-
ive non-combatants, for example by providing water and caring for
the wounded (Rumiyah 3:40), and Dabiq (15:23) deemed it part of
the fitra (natural disposition) of women that they were not required
to fight. A well-known hadīth recalled that when some women sought
to participate in jihād the Prophet replied, ‘Your jihad is the pilgrim-
age to Mecca’. Addressing the women of IS, Umm Sumayyah described
herself as ‘the wife of a mujāhid and the mother of lion cubs’ (‘A Jihād
Without Fighting’, Dabiq 11:40–45). A woman’s role, she wrote, was
to wait patiently for the return of [her] husband, a mujāhid and poten-
tial shahīd. As a mujāhida herself, her weapon was ‘good behavior and
knowledge’ with which she could bring up her children with a correct
understanding of Islam, including ‘the fiqh of jihād’. Noting that women
were ‘excused from fighting’, Rumiyah (1:18–20) emphasised charity,
quoting a hadīth saying that they should ‘wage jihād with their wealth,
souls and tongues’. Non-belligerents, especially women, the sick, the
disabled, and prisoners should practise jihād with their tongues. This
included encouraging those who fought, disparaging those who did not,
ridiculing the enemy and, above all, praying (duʿāʾ; Rumiyah 3:32–33).
On the other hand, occasional female terrorists who operated beyond
non-combatants, and the Shāfiʿī Ibn Nahhās had no qualms about using
mangonels and fire despite the likelihood that women and children
would be killed (Cook 2015: 55–56). Such views provided a precedent
for terrorist tactics (Cook 2009: 185; Rumiyah 5:7). Any unbeliever in
the dār al-kufr (another name for the dār al-harb) was therefore vulner-
able, for killing unbelievers was ‘a form of worship to Allah’ (Rumiyah
1:36). Accordingly, after the Russian air force intervened in the Syrian
war, IS claimed responsibility for the October 2015 bombing of an Airbus
A321 leaving Sharm el-Sheikh International Airport, killing 224 people,
mostly Russian tourists (Dabiq 12:2, 43).
Since civilians were allegedly as guilty of attacking Muslims as their
governments and military forces, it became an obligation for Muslims ‘to
attack the Crusader nations and their citizens in their homelands’ (Dabiq
15:28; cf. 6:3, 4; 7:37). In the words of the convert Shane Crawford,
alias Abū Saʿd al-Trīnīdādī, ‘Due to their mere disbelief, their blood by
default is lawful to spill. How much more obligatory is it to do so after
they’ve waged war against the Muslims and killed their women and chil-
dren’ (Dabiq 15:69; Cottee 2019).5 Hostage-taking, such as occurred in
the Lindt café in Sydney in December 2014 and the Bataclan theatre in
Paris in November 2015, was highly recommended, and deception, such
as pretending to offer a property for rent, was proposed as a means to
achieve it (Dabiq 6:3; Rumiyah 9:46–51). In order to weaken the enemy
and finance jihād, Muslims were encouraged to take infidels’ property
‘by force or through theft and fraud’ and even to kidnap their children
(Rumiyah 11:38–39). Terrorist attacks far from IS territory have some-
times been directed against people ‘guilty’ of more than their govern-
ment’s attacks on Muslims. In June 2016, Omar Mateen, ‘one of the
soldiers of the Caliphate in America’, attacked ‘a nightclub for sodomites
in the city of Orlando, Florida’ (Dabiq 15:43).
Large-scale terrorist attacks on groups identified only as members of
a category such as Americans or homosexuals have only become pos-
sible through modern technology, especially in aviation, weaponry and
communication. For IS, such assaults drew inspiration from al-Qāʿida’s
‘blessed’ attacks of 9/11 (Dabiq 7:54; 15:37; Rumiyah 1:15).
One of the signature methods of IS and comparable Islamic groups
is the suicide mission, even though the Qurʾān (4:29) seems to forbid
suicide (Rumiyah 8:31). Rumiyah (4:24–25; cf. 29) featured an article
on ‘The Pledge to Fight to the Death’, which has some support in the
ahadīth although the Qurʾān (9:15–16) itself already threatened hellfire
5. Crawford’s assumed name reflects his place of origin, not his theology!
to those who retreated from battle without sufficient reason. This vow,
moreover, was not explicitly linked to intentionally seeking death.
Suicide attacks are not clearly supported in traditional fiqh, but they
have become increasingly used by Muslims since the 1980s, especially in
the context of the Palestinian struggle (Cook 2007: 146–53)—initially,
in an irony lost on IS, by Shīʿīs in Iran and Lebanon (Moghadam 2019:
218). For a time, the immensely influential Yūsuf al-Qaradāwī (b. 1926)
endorsed Palestinian suicide attacks (including by women) on the
grounds that Israel was ‘a military society’ having universal conscription
and disproportionate military resources (Bartal and Rubinstein-Shemer
2018: 32–33, 103–109, 194). Despite al-Qaradāwī’s rejection of such
methods in other contexts, IS, following al-Qāʿida, similarly sees itself
as attacked by far more powerful enemies while rejecting the distinction
between soldiers and civilians. A seeker of martyrdom (an istishhādī)
may wear an explosive vest or drive a truck laden with explosives (e.g.,
Dabiq 9:29–30; Rumiyah 9:56).
A fighter who plunges into the enemy, an inghimāsī, is prepared to die
but begins the attack using more conventional weapons, escaping alive
if possible (Dabiq 2:13). The technique may have been adopted from
al-Qāʿida (Colquhoun 2016; Hashim 2018: 212), but it was already
commended by Ibn Nahhās (n.d.: 84–93). Both istishhādī and inghimāsī
attacks were frequently reported in the magazines; for example, a Dabiq
(15:44–45) story described how inghimāsī soldiers attained martyrdom
by attacking ‘a gathering of Rafidah’ at their ‘pagan shrine’ (a Shīʿī mau-
soleum) in July 2016.
There could be only temporary interruptions to jihād (Ibn Rushd in
Peters 1996: 38–40). An enemy of the state could be given a covenant
of security as a muʿāhad (or muʿahd; Rumiyah 11:34–35) and, if its
enemies ceased fighting, IS could envision a temporary truce to focus
on more immediate threats ‘before eventually resuming our campaigns’
(Dabiq 15:31). Following the Prophet’s precedent in signing the Treaty
of al-Hudaybiyya with Mecca, IS, in accordance with traditional fiqh,
argued a temporary armistice could be agreed if it were ‘for a greater
shar’ī [sic, sharʿī, legitimate] interest’. Beyond that, ‘A halt of war
between the Muslims and the kuffār can never be permanent, as war
against the kuffār is the default obligation upon the Muslims’ (Dabiq
8:67). Thus, the editor of Dabiq (11:58) asserted that for America, the
war could only finally end with defeat, ‘accepting Islam or paying jizyah’.
Murad 2017: 129 and Roy 2017: 59–60). Because of its endorsement
by generations of Muslim scholars, the sexual enslavement of captured
women continues to be endorsed by conservative writers, for example
Yusuf al-Hajj Ahmad (2003: 3:80–81) in a legal compendium published
in Saudi Arabia this century.
For Dabiq (9:47), then, the revival of sexual slavery was the resto-
ration of ‘a Prophetic Sunnah’ (in effect, a legal precedent, even com-
mand) long in abeyance. This revival was a sign of the coming of the
Hour (Dabiq 4:14–16). Acknowledging that the sharīʿa requires kind-
ness towards slaves, Umm Sumayyah unconvincingly dismissed escaped
slaves’ accounts of ill-treatment as lies (Dabiq 9:48; cf. Khalaf 2016;
Murad 2017). The principal victims of sexual slavery under IS have been
Yazīdī women, regarded, despite centuries of tolerance by Muslim rul-
ers, as devil-worshippers ineligible for the status of People of the Book
(Dabiq 3:18; 4:14–15).
Medieval Muslim scholars wrote extensively on how to distribute
the spoils of war, which included slaves (al-Māwardī 1996: 140–57).
Muslims should fight for Allah not booty (Dabiq 4:30–34); nevertheless,
both the blood and the property of all mushrikūn who did not have a
treaty with the Muslims was permissible to them (Rumiyah 8:13–14;
11:29–30). The mujāhidīn were naturally warned not to take anything
for themselves from ghanīma (spoils captured in fighting) ahead of
lawful, proper distribution (Dabiq 3:29; 4:12; 6:14). One-fifth of the
plunder (the khums, discussed in Rumiyah 8:14; 11:33–34) was tradi-
tionally allocated to the leader for special purposes such as providing
for orphans (Dabiq 2:38). IS rejoiced in a particular variety of ghanīma:
weapons and other war materiel such as tanks and even planes seized
from the Americans and others (Dabiq 2:13, 37, 42; 3:3; 4:8, 23; 5:30;
15:40–42; Rumiyah 1:22; 3:44; 5:39; 6:36–37). It also made its own
weapons (Rumiyah 12:34). Dabiq (3:29; 4:10–11; 7:22) and Rumiyah
(11:38) quoted a hadīth approved by generations of scholars, in which
Muhammad declared his livelihood to be under the shadow of his spear
and that war spoils (understood by some as fayʾ, revenues from captured
territories) constituted the best and most lawful kind of income.
The most important consequence of victory in jihād was the imple-
mentation of the sharīʿa in the newly conquered territory: that is what it
meant to uphold the word of Allah and make his religion prevail. When
IS conquered Raqqah, it ‘spread the authority of the Sharīʿah over the
complete wilāyah’ (Dabiq 10:51). The IS wālī (governor) of Khurāsān
(Afghanistan and western Pakistan) told a Dabiq interviewer (13:49,
51) that, under his rule, courts applied the hudūd punishments (such
Conclusion
This detailed review of the justification, personnel, conduct and con-
sequences of jihād as expounded in Dabiq and Rumiyah confirms its
embeddedness in traditional Islamic jurisprudence (fiqh) drawing on
the Qurʾān and sunna. At the same time, IS ideology is an expression and
development of the Salafī-Jihādī trend within contemporary Islam. IS is
a sectarian group that, through its caliphal claimant, professes to hold
authority over all the world’s Muslims. Accusing other Muslims of apos-
tasy, and assuming unbelievers forfeit their lives unless they surrender
to Islamic rule, IS justifies waging jihād against them both. What makes
IS most distinctive, both in practice and on the pages of its magazines, is
the extremity of its violence and the range of its victims. While justified
by IS’s reading of the Islamic sources, such violence has only become
possible with modern weaponry and explosive devices.
In assessing IS’s jihād doctrine, it is important to remember that fiqh
is not a codified set of laws but a discourse—one in which the writers
of Dabiq and Rumiyah were thoroughly conversant. In keeping with
the Hanbalī tradition, they rejected both taqlīd (imitating previous rul-
ings) and bidʿa (legal or doctrinal innovation; Dabiq 11:10–12; 12:30)
in favour of ijtihād (using traditional sources to resolve current issues).
Of course, IS’s selection and reinterpretation of canonical texts and his-
torical precedents is sometimes tendentious (Jacoby 2019), but that is
commonly the way of living religious traditions responding to perceived
present needs. IS, as a militant movement, naturally draws upon and
reinterprets those parts of the Qurʾān, sunna and fiqh most germane to
its concerns, just as, say, an advocate of Sufism would do.
Indeed, ‘modernist’ Muslims have developed a reinterpretation of
jihād that is at least as innovative as that of any ‘fundamentalist’ or
‘reactivist’ movement like IS (for these labels, see van der Krogt 2014b:
30–32). It was only in the later nineteenth and early twentieth centu-
ries, after the establishment of British rule in India and Egypt, that the
idea of military jihād as solely defensive, based on novel readings of his-
tory and the Qurʾān, became widely accepted (Peters 1996: 6, 122–27;
Bonner 2006: 159–61; Brown 2014: 121–30; Cook 2015: 81, 94–97).
Writing just before the emergence of IS, Jonathan Brown (2014:
123–24) observed that movements like it, such as al-Qāʿida, anachro-
nistically interpret the contemporary world directly through the lens
of scripture, as though they were living in the time of the Prophet and
his Companions. IS denounces the modernist jihād-as-defence school,
while the latter, ignoring its own act of selectivity and reinterpretation,
repudiates the IS doctrine despite its strong pedigree (e.g., Keskin and
Tuncer 2019: 20–23; Ali 2019: 61–69). Thus, the editors of the recent
Contesting the Theological Foundations of Islamism and Violent Extremism
argue that groups like IS have ‘misrepresented and misused in an unprec-
edented way’ such concepts as jihād, hijra, takfīr and khilāfa (Mansouri
and Keskin 2019: 9).
Muslims’ criticisms of IS are part of an important intra-Islamic debate,
but academic scholars of religion simply evade their responsibilities
when they too dismiss IS as ‘un-Islamic’ (Hughes 2017). It is not the ‘cor-
rect’ interpretation of ancient authorities that ensures the Islamic char-
acter of a modern religious group; rather, it is the movement’s felt need
to invoke Islamic authorities that makes it Islamic. Disagreement about
doctrine and practice is normal in religion, but only Muslims would
appeal to the Qurʾān, ahādīth and medieval ʿulamāʾ, however embar-
rassing their conclusions may be to other Muslims. As Aaron Hughes
(2017: 90) argues, ‘The task for scholars of religion is to discuss the
rhetoric of authenticity, not what or whose Islam is more authentic’ (cf.
Roy 2017: 56–57).
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