Secrets of the Mosque

On a cold, wet Friday, afternoon, the Central Mosque in North London is crammed with nearly 1,500 men who fill four floors of prayer halls, spilling over into the corridors. There are more people than the mosque can accommodate. On the third floor, behind a large wooden rostrum flanked by several microphones and facing a television camera tripod, is Abu Hamza al-Masri, 43, wearing a long gray robe and a skullcap. The curtains on the windows are drawn to deter zoom lenses and sniper rifles. The first thing you notice about Abu Hamza is the metal hook on his right arm. The preacher lost both hands and an eye during a raid in Afghanistan eight years ago. Soft-spoken, but with a wry sense of humor, Abu Hamza is delivering his Friday lunchtime khutba (sermon), which is piped to other parts of the mosque — including a basement in an adjoining building where burka-clad women have gathered, segregated from the men. The small, redbrick mosque in the Finsbury Park neighborhood is ground zero for radical Muslims in Britain, and its imam, Abu Hamza, is as radical as they come.

His audience — mostly young, Middle Eastern men, with a sprinkling of South Asians and Afro-Caribbeans — sit cross-legged, with their heads down as they listen intently to the sermon. Obstructing the doorway is a bearded middle-aged man with two young sons. Many of the worshippers wear woolen hats or skullcaps. Others improvise with handkerchiefs tied over their heads. Egyptian-born Abu Hamza, who has lived in Britain since 1978, preaches fluently in English even though it isn't his native language. He laces his sermons with attacks on British foreign policy and Prime Minister Tony Blair, but reserves his most scathing comments for President George W. Bush and his "axis of evil." I am there to see for myself what is being preached in Britain's mosques, particularly the ones that promote jihad above everything else.

As a Muslim with family in the U.K., I was curious to see how — or if — the religion of my childhood could be interpreted as hateful and bellicose. When I lived in Britain as a student 20 years ago, jihad was something you only read about in history books. But Afghanistan brought jihad to life for all Muslim ummah (people), particularly those who had made Europe or America their home. European mosques and Islamic groups supported the foot soldiers in Afghanistan's holy war against the Russians. Now they seem unable or unwilling to disentangle themselves from the complex network of al-Qaeda and jihadist icon, Osama bin Laden. While he doesn't come across as a fiery speaker who can mesmerize a crowd, Abu Hamza's careful choice of words gives him away. He calls all non-Muslims kuffar (infidels), and repeatedly talks about the necessity and importance of jihad. "It is the duty of Muslims to fight all man-made laws that are being used to subjugate human beings," he says. Bush and Blair aren't the only kuffar against whom Abu Hamza wants to wage jihad. He is equally scathing when it comes to the governments of Saudi Arabia, Egypt, Yemen, Pakistan and Jordan. "Many of the rulers of Muslim countries have apostated or become disbelievers because they have made laws that either oppose or cancel the laws of God."

It's just that sort of talk that makes Abu Hamza the most watched Islamic preacher in Europe — watched not just by Western intelligence operators, but also by intelligence agencies of a half a dozen Muslim nations as well. Several Muslim countries have urged Britain to deny Abu Hamza his platform. When a young Saudi or Egyptian or Yemeni lands in London as a refugee or a student, one of the first things he hears about is Finsbury Park. Though mosques everywhere give temporary refuge to visitors, Abu Hamza's usually has several dozen men sleeping in the basement. The mosque is "a place of worship. It's a house of God," Abu Hamza says. "I welcome anyone from anywhere, especially refugees who have no place to go." Suspected shoe bomber Richard Reid stayed at Finsbury Park for several nights, as did many others now languishing in prisons around Europe charged with aiding or abetting terrorism.

Abu Hamza practices what he preaches. He lost his hands and eye in one holy war and sent his teenage son and stepson on another, to Yemen. He urges his congregation to do the same. "There is a special reward for those who go out to fight, and there is a special place for them in heaven and a lower place for those who receive no hurt and sit at home." By now the assembled crowd is nodding. At exactly 1:30 p.m. he abruptly ends his sermon and calls for Jumaa (Friday) prayers.

Ten minutes later, as the prayer group disperses, I approach two Arab men. They shake my hand but walk away saying "Sorry, sorry," as I start to talk to them. Many of the men huddle together to chat with each other and light up cigarettes. The only person willing to talk to me is a Bangladeshi shopkeeper who says his name is Basit. I tell him I am a newcomer to the mosque and wonder why people seem so unfriendly. "Since Sept. 11 everyone who has been inside the mosque has been filmed or approached by someone," Basit says. "We are fed up with being approached by all sorts of people." He advises me not to talk to anyone, and I walk quietly back to the underground station.

At Finsbury Park you get a sense that everybody is watching everybody else. Some in the congregation deliberately lean against a pillar or a wall with their heads buried in their hands, as if they don't want to be seen. There are others who constantly stare at people as if sizing them up. You stare back, wondering if this guy is Algerian security service or Jordanian security service or somebody connected to the imam or some other independent organization — or maybe just another innocent worshipper. At a dinner with a group of Muslim professionals over the weekend, I asked whether they would want to accompany me to the Finsbury Park mosque on Friday. "Are you crazy?" said an Indian Muslim banker. Author Ziauddin Sardar agrees: "I certainly wouldn't want to be seen there."