Last Friday, the Pakistani Taliban revealed the identity of their new leader, a thirty-something militant named Maulana Fazlullah. On November 1st, the C.I.A. killed his predecessor, Hakimullah Mehsud, in a drone strike; the group’s founder died under similar circumstances, in 2009.
Fazlullah was an inspired choice, by the Taliban’s warped standards. He is young and ruthless, and has taken responsibility for a panoply of barbaric acts over the years: floggings, suicide bombings, even the attempted assassination of Malala Yousafzai, a teen-age girl who survived gunshots to the head and neck, and who has become an even more driven advocate for girls’ education. (She recently addressed the United Nations and appeared on “The Daily Show.”) Last summer, his men kidnapped and beheaded seventeen Pakistani soldiers.
But what distinguishes Fazlullah from his predecessors is his evangelism. He is as much a rebel and a crusader—bent on imposing his harsh interpretation of sharia on others—as he is a terrorist. He was perhaps the first militant leader to declare jihad against the Pakistani government. When the Pakistani Taliban announced their existence a month later, they turned their guns on the state, toppling a long-standing relationship between elements inside the Pakistani government and jihadists in Pakistan and Afghanistan. Compared to their Afghan counterparts, the Pakistani Taliban have turned into a sophisticated group with global reach—they planned the failed attack on Times Square, in 2010—as a result of their alliance with Al Qaeda. Still, some members are reportedly amenable to peace talks with officials in Islamabad. Fazlullah is not one of them. According to the Guardian, he won the top job inside the Taliban owing, in large part, to his opposition to any form of negotiations.
I met Fazlullah several years ago, in October, 2007, after he invited me and a Pashtun journalist to visit his compound in Swat, a lush, forested valley in the northwest province of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa. It was late morning on a busy Friday, with thousands of men—many in wool caps and shouldering weapons—waiting to witness Fazlullah deliver his weekly sermon. He had already attracted a cult-like following, riding a white horse around Swat and broadcasting speeches, twice a day, over a pirated radio station. Media outlets referred to him as “Mullah Radio.” I doubted anyone called him that to his face.
One of his deputies brought us to a small, cinderblock structure—sort of a Taliban green room. A local elected official was there to pay respects to Fazlullah, which was a wise move on his part, considering that the Taliban had murdered several politicians. Fazlullah’s lieutenants—some of them Uzbek fighters, all of them wearing black turbans and vests strapped with ammunition clips and walkie-talkies—loitered about. Finally, a phalanx of bodyguards pushed into the room, with Fazlullah at the center.
He cut an unremarkable figure: short, with hippo teeth, wavy tresses, and a bulky, black turban. But the attention others paid to his safety translated to charisma. He introduced himself, made small talk (“What newspaper do you work for?”), and encouraged me and my translator to roam the compound. He directed one of his bodyguards to protect us. Then he excused himself and went to preach.
Before long, his voice came over the P.A. system. “When I die, the angels will ask me about my actions. Will this government save me? No! I must act for myself and for my own salvation. You people have no rights here unless there is an Islamic system and government in place, based on rights and honor. Are you ready for an Islamic system?” Cheers went up. “Are you prepared to make the sacrifices?” More cheers.
He pivoted to the matter of the day: lashings. “The government says we shouldn’t go things like this public punishment, but we don’t follow their orders. We follow the orders of Allah!” When he finished speaking, the crowd migrated to a wooden platform erected along the bank of the Swat River. Three young men, accused of kidnapping, were marched onto the stage and whipped with a leather belt that, from a distance, resembled a beaver tail. (I wrote about the visit, and the lashing incident, in my book “To Live or To Perish Forever,” and in the Times Magazine.)
Two weeks later, Fazlullah’s men began to occupy police stations and take over intersections throughout Swat. In response, Pakistani Army units moved into the valley. Using artillery fire and close air support, they drove the Taliban out of several strongholds. Fazlullah slipped away.
A year went by. The Army lost focus. Fazlullah’s men crept back into Swat. The Taliban regained the upper hand. Fazlullah used his pulpit on the airwaves to ban polio vaccinations in Swat and prohibit female education. His men blew up dozens of schools for girls.
In February, 2009, the government signed a peace treaty with Fazlullah’s father-in-law, effectively handing the district over to Fazlullah; the Taliban pledged to stay in Swat. But Fazlullah’s ambitions extended beyond merely holding a sanctuary. By late April, truckloads of his fighters had conquered a pair of districts abutting Swat, lifting their flag above government buildings and placing the Taliban within sixty miles of the capital, Islamabad. The Army responded with another incursion, driving the Taliban back into the hills.
Since then, Fazlullah has reportedly floated between the northern reaches of Swat, the neighboring district of Dir, and Afghanistan, where he plans attacks on targets inside Pakistan. Meanwhile, Pakistan’s Taliban leadership has been holed up in North and South Waziristan, where they enjoy free rein on the ground but are surveilled day and night by missile-firing drones. Fazlullah has escaped death numerous times, always to pop up again. He recently took responsibility for a roadside bomb that killed a two-star Pakistani general; his men caught the episode on tape. A senior Taliban official has sworn to avenge Hakimullah Mehsud’s death by attacking “security forces, government installations, political leaders, and police,” all of whom work for the government in Islamabad, which he dubbed a “slave of America.”
Fazlullah’s selection, as one Pakistani official told the Times, “changes the whole equation.” The Pakistani Taliban’s center of power may well shift from Waziristan to the so-called settled areas of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, raising the prospect, once again, of pitched battles between the Army and the militants. And the C.I.A. may lose a crucial advantage that it has gained through its drone program; the agency is unlikely to fire missiles into settled areas of Pakistan with the same fervor as it has in Waziristan. But, most significant of all, the Pakistani Taliban has gained a new kind of leader, one who is as interested in territory as he is in terrorizing.
Video footage from 2008 shows Maulana Fazlullah speaking with journalists in Pakistan’s Swat valley. Image: STR/AFP/Getty.