Review by ANDREA USEEM 

Daveed Gartenstein-Ross
[Jeremy P. Tarcher/Penguin, 293pp., 2007]

When John Walker Lindh appeared on CNN after his 2001 capture in Afghanistan looking unwashed and vaguely surprised, one of my first thoughts was: “I can’t wait to read his memoir.”

Because Walker Lindh is under a gag order until his release from federal prison in 2019, that’s going to be a long wait. Similarly, Adam Gadahn, another California-raised Al-Qaeda operative, now wanted in the United States for treason, is too busy making stagy propaganda videos to sign any publishing contracts just now.

Coming to the rescue of me and everyone else who wants to know how a smart American guy with every advantage could go the Muslim Dark Side is Daveed Gartenstein-Ross. His new memoir, My Year Inside Radical Islam, chronicles his religious journey, from child of hippie Jews to enthusiastic Sufi-flavored Muslim to brooding post-college Wahhabi to ex-Muslim FBI informant to his current incarnation, as a Christian working in the right-wing reaches of counter-terrorism blog-journalism. 

Given his current religious and ideological location, American Muslims have every reason to fear this memoir: Is it another Irshad Manji-type broadside against Islam? In addition to appearing on Pat Robertson’s “700 Club” – which showcases Christians who have left “false religions” – Gartenstein-Ross today shares online mastheads with Steven Emerson, the oft-discredited terrorism alarmist, and Charles Johnson, creator of “Little Green Footballs,” a web-site frequently condemned as racist and anti-Muslim. 

But those qualifications make it all the more surprising that Gartenstein-Ross’ book is so free of blame and judgment. The 30-year-old writes about his religious journey with the wondering curiosity of an observer: How, indeed, did he end up as a radical Muslim?

While an undergraduate at Wake Forest University in North Carolina, Gartenstein-Ross encountered al-Husein Madhany, a Sunni raised as an Ismaili who was active in campus politics. Madhany, currently Executive Editor of Islamica Magazine, introduced Gartenstein-Ross to exciting new ideas about racial awareness and liberal politics – along with an inquisitive, ecumenical version of Islam. While studying abroad in Venice, surrounded by welcoming Italian Naqshbandi converts, Gartenstein-Ross said his shahadah. Back on campus, Gartenstein-Ross and Madhany joined their religious enthusiasm to a thirst for social change – “the greater jihad” – and Gartenstein-Ross was pleased that his new beliefs harmonized with those of his Jewish parents, who practiced an Eastern-style New Age spirituality.

Looking back, one wants to freeze that frame, of Gartenstein-Ross, kufi on head, striding across campus, full of purpose and good intention. Is it possible to convert to Islam today without having to run across the hot coals of extremism? As with so many converts, that trial-by-fire began when he began to integrate himself at the local mosque.

As luck or fate would have it, the mosque in Gartenstein-Ross’ hometown of Ashland, Oregon, was run by a charismatic, slippery Iranian who called himself Pete Seda. Though out-going and well-loved by Ashland’s non-Muslims, Seda introduced Gartenstein-Ross to a radical version of Islam. At his first Jumah prayer, the author heard a Saudi sheikh insist all Muslims had a religious obligation to make hijrah from America, “a land ruled by the kufar.”

Though put off by these Wahhabi views, Gartenstein-Ross accepted a job offer from Seda to work at his Islamic information center, which was affiliated with the Saudi-based charity Al Haramain Islamic Foundation – a group later accused of being a conduit for Al-Qaeda funding. In the course of a year, Gartenstein-Ross gradually shut down his intellect to accept the two-dimensional worldview of the Wahhabis around him.

Gartenstein-Ross offers us small glimpses into this transformation that is the crux of the narrative. First, there were inner motivations: he was attracted to the black-and-white certainties of conservative religion. When he met a fellow American convert who now lived in Saudi, Gartenstein-Ross was impressed by the man’s thoughtful Salafism. “[His] ability to negate all that was inconsistent with his worldview was so different from the life I was living, a life full of uncertainty and compromises. … How could I not be drawn to this clarity?” writes Gartenstein-Ross.

Second, there were external forces. When Gartenstein-Ross went into work each day, his Wahhabi colleagues frequently criticized him: His pants were too long. He was engaged to a non-Muslim. He respected apostates like W.D. Muhammad. This peer pressure led him to change his behavior, and as Gartenstein-Ross learned as a campus activist, belief often follows behavior. He gradually internalized the beliefs around him, questioning his engagement, eschewing the music that he loved, and, finally, praying for mujahideen.