WE were in a little village somewhere south of this country and it was night time. During the day, the village would be described as pretty; all the houses there had existed since the early 19th century. The gardens were neat and compact, and flowers and trees planted in them were lush. This is a Malaysia long gone.

The village we visited for our field work is renowned among the authorities, and has a rich history of Islamic movements. They, the community, had been demonised and terrorised by the authorities and the surrounding neighbourhoods for being Salafis for generations. The harassment by the surrounding neighbourhood and local authority figures has been non-stop as the village did not adhere to the Sunni Islam practised by others.

Herein lies the conundrum: being a strict, observant Muslim does not make a person a radical or terrorist.

But that was what these villagers were seen as. That was why the men there were wary of us. We had told them we were researchers, wanting to map out religious histories of the country. While they were cordial, they were circumspect with their words. The women played their roles well: they sat inside the surau, hidden from the world.

It had been a trying week for the community. That week itself, a renowned preacher had come by, looking for potential recruits.

They were in a pickle all right. Here they were, trying to get on with their lives, and like their great grandparents, grandparents and parents, they and their families were constantly being monitored for Salafi activities and teachings, when all they wanted to do was be good Muslims. Just like everyone else.

And then this “... had to turn up, looking for people to join.”

Who?

Tu. Them.

“Them” were the renegades – totally divorced from the villagers’ ideals of being Muslims and an Islamic Caliphate. They were the new kids on the block. The old guard – the villagers – were nonplussed by their presence.

“Them” was DAESH, the Arabic acronym for Islamic State.

The fact was that men and women of the village also had children and relatives who had or were participating in terrorist activities. A number of their sons were in the Philippines. They were not part of the DAESH network, but they were militants, nonetheless.

So while the village seeks to be left alone to practise their faith in peace, there is the indisputable fact that many of their own have turned to terrorist networks. So does that justify the heightened attention by religious authorities? 

Our research for IMAN Research (IMAN) has revealed that class, Malay social disenfranchisement, the NEP (New Economic Policy), the clash of the many Islams in Malaysia, have everything to do with radicalisation and the humanitarian cause.

And like this village, the answers and the way out, are rarely ever as straightforward as we hope it to be. – May 1, 2017.

* Dina Zaman left the media to found IMAN Research (IMAN) with her friends. IMAN is a research centre focusing on society, religion and perception.

* This is the opinion of the writer or publication and does not necessarily represent the views of The Malaysian Insight. Article may be edited for brevity and clarity.