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Tamim Abu Daqqa, Jordan
In 1990, while I was studying at the University of Aleppo in Syria, a wave of persecution against the Ahmadiyya Muslim Community erupted. This was incited by both internal and external forces. Security agencies launched a campaign of arrests, torture, and threats against Ahmadis. These events began in Damascus and soon spread. One day, I heard a knock at my door. It was a member of the Syrian intelligence services from the military security branch at the university. He told me that the head of military security wanted to meet with me the next day.
At that time, I was in my third year at the university. It was common for non-Syrian Arab students to obtain a transcript of their grades at the end of each term, just in case they were suddenly expelled from the country due to security-related suspicions. I, however, did not have such a transcript, as I shall explain: in my first year, I had applied for a room in the university dorms. They provided me with bedding and supplies and placed me in a large room with ten beds, saying the double rooms were all taken. I chose to rent accommodation off-campus instead and gave the supplies to a friend living in the dorms, asking him to return them at the end of the year. Unfortunately, he did not. As a result, I was required to pay their value in order to obtain a clearance certificate to receive my transcript. I didn’t have the money, nor any surplus beyond my monthly expenses, so I postponed payment until graduation.
Because I didn’t have a transcript, I faced the possibility that if I were deported from Syria, I would return to Jordan empty-handed, unable to resume my studies, and the years I had already invested would be wasted. And that’s if things went smoothly – which they rarely did, as arrest and detention often preceded deportation.
At that time, I was also feeling slightly ill. I reflected on my fragile condition and turned to God, praying:
‘O Lord, I know that I have followed the truth. I have believed in the Promised Messiah (as) foretold by the Prophet Muhammad (as), and joined his community. I know that You are the Master of all dominion and that no harm can reach me except by Your will. If You desire this sacrifice from me, then I am fully prepared to give everything for Your sake. And You will see from me what pleases You.’
Syrians commonly referred to intelligence branches as ‘security branches.’ The military security branch was considered the harshest and most feared, especially at the university. Students trembled just hearing its name. I recalled the horrifying stories of innocent students who were detained and tortured based on mere suspicion or false reports.
In this reflection, with a heart ready for sacrifice and resolve, I remembered that they called these branches ‘security,’ as if they held control over peace and safety. But only God holds that power. That’s when the words of the Holy Qur’an, spoken by Prophet Abraham (as), came vividly to my mind:
‘And how should I fear what you associate with Allah while you do not fear that you have associated with Allah that for which He has not sent down to you any authority? So which of the two parties has more right to security, if you only knew? It is those who believe and do not mix their faith with injustice – they will have security, and they are rightly guided.’[1]
These verses surged through me with majesty and power. I felt an overwhelming strength, calmness, and peace settle in my heart, banishing all fear and worry. I also prayed to God to heal me, so that I wouldn’t appear weak during the meeting.
The next day, I dressed and concealed a textbook under my clothes for a subject I had an exam in three days’ time. I thought: ‘If they arrest me and release me before the exam, I’ll study in prison. If not, so be it.’
I went to the military security branch on campus and told the guard at the door that I wished to meet the director. He entered, returned shortly, and said, ‘Come in, he’s expecting you.’
The officer was seated at his desk, looking over some documents. I greeted him with peace. He raised his head and looked at me – and immediately, I noticed fear in his face and eyes. I was only 22 years old and didn’t have an imposing appearance, so I was surprised. But I felt it was God who had cast awe into his heart. He stood up and shook my hand – highly unusual for intelligence officers, who were known to begin with insults and threats. He spoke to me with great respect, invited me to sit, and said:
‘You’re aware of what happened in Damascus. We’ve received orders to ask you to renounce your affiliation with the Ahmadiyya Community. Here’s the form. Please fill it out and sign your name.’
I replied, ‘I’m deeply astonished by this request. Am I really in Syria – a secular Arab nation where all religions coexist? Aren’t there churches throughout Aleppo? Don’t Jews live in the al-Jamiliyah neighbourhood not far from here? Is this the time of the Inquisition?’
He responded, ‘The religious scholars have declared you infidels.’
I said, ‘Since when do scholars decide for Syria?’
I explained how it was unworthy of the Syrian regime to be involved in such a matter.
He looked embarrassed and said, ‘Honestly, I’m just following orders. There’s no point in debating with me. Please just fill out the form so we can be done.’
I replied, ‘Here’s what I can do.’
I turned the paper over and wrote:
‘I, the undersigned – [my full name] – acknowledge that I am a member of the Ahmadiyya Muslim Community. When asked to disassociate myself from it, I refused. However, since Hazrat Amir al-Mu’minin, Mirza Tahir Ahmad, the Fourth Caliph (may God support him with His mighty help), has instructed us to suspend our community activities in light of current circumstances, I hereby declare my compliance with his directive and freeze my activities within the community for as long as I am in Syria. Accordingly, I sign.’
These were bold words. He looked at them and said, ‘This won’t work.’
I replied, ‘That’s all I have. I understand that you’re under orders, and I assume you’re also instructed to take certain actions if we refuse to sign. I respect your position, and I’m ready for whatever consequences follow.’
He looked at me in surprise – he wasn’t used to people refusing security demands. Then he said, ‘What?! …Well, one moment.’
He picked up the phone, called a higher authority, and said, ‘Sir, they’re refusing to sign the disavowal form.’ He listened to instructions, repeating, ‘Yes, sir…Yes, sir…’ until the call ended.
Then he turned to me and said, ‘You may go for now, but be prepared. We might come to arrest you, or deport you. We’re still awaiting a decision. But please inform the other Ahmadi students to come tomorrow as well.’
I said, ‘Very well,’ thanked him, and left.
As I stepped out, it felt as if angels were carrying me. A deep sense of calm, strength, and certainty filled me. This peace remained with me until I graduated and left the country years later.
The officer’s words were meant to leave me anxious, fearing their pending decision, but God’s tranquillity overpowered all such feelings. That was one of the first clear signs in my life of how God can intervene in the heart and dispel fear with serenity.
I returned home, where the Ahmadi youth were waiting. I told them what had happened. They rejoiced, and we shared dinner together. They were scheduled to meet the authorities the next day.
The following day, they went together. The officer met them as a group and told them they were required to disassociate themselves. They all refused. A Lebanese dental student named Sami (whose name has been changed to preserve his anonymity) spoke on their behalf. The officer said, ‘Do you think Tamim has escaped? Do as you please. You’ll face our response.’
They left and came to see me. We all rejoiced again and praised God.
That night, a Jordanian student came to me and said, ‘Please come. Brother Sami is very disturbed.’
I went to the house he shared with Sami and found him lying in bed, trembling. He said, ‘Brother, you know I’m in my fourth year of dental school. You know the regime’s cruelty. If I’m expelled, my future is lost. I only have one year left before I go and embrace the Caliph.’
I said, ‘What would you have me say? My only advice is that you remain patient and rely on God. He will not forsake His servants. This is your opportunity to demonstrate steadfastness.’
He replied, ‘I won’t be at peace until I’m safe from their harm. If I sign the form, that doesn’t mean I’m not an Ahmadi. My faith is firm in my heart.’
I said, ‘I can’t stop you. I’ve given my advice. The matter is between you and God.’
That night, he had a dream. He saw me standing on their balcony. Both the sun and the moon were visible in the sky at the same time. I looked up and said to them, ‘This is the sun, and this is the moon,’ then pointed toward the qiblah (towards which Muslims pray) and said, ‘And this is the direction of prayer.’ I stood to pray, and some brothers joined behind me, while others did not – including him and the other Jordanian brother.
The next day, Sami and some others returned to military security, requested the form, signed it, and left.
Strangely, those who did not sign were never harmed. They travelled in and out without issue. But those who did sign were later harassed by intelligence on both sides of the border – and over time, they drifted away from the community.
In the end, God blessed me with steadfastness in that moment, and this was by His grace, not by my strength. I have always felt that the seed of that moment, also planted by God, pleased Him. And since then, He has granted me blessings and enabled me to serve Islam and the Ahmadiyya community in ways I never imagined.
All praise belongs to Allah in abundance. And peace and blessings be upon our master Muhammad (sa) and his family and companions.
ENDNOTES
1. The Holy Qur’an, 6:82-83.
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