Islamic State after the death of Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi

AS ITS SO-CALLED caliphate expanded across Syria and Iraq, Islamic State (IS) promised its followers an apocalyptic battle to come. Eager jihadist propagandists predicted that a final victory over the “crusader armies” would usher in the day of judgment and give birth to a new world. The man who was to lead that battle, the self-proclaimed caliph, Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi, instead blew himself up in a tunnel in Syria on October 26th, murdering two of his own children as he died.

His suicide, to avoid capture by American forces, marks the end of an era for IS. The group once held sway over millions of Syrians and Iraqis in an area the size of Britain. It had already lost its territory, clawed back at staggering cost by a mix of American air power, Syrian militiamen and Iraqi troops. Now it has lost its leader as well.

Yet this does not mark the end of IS. The group endures as a low-level insurgency in parts of Syria and Iraq, carrying out attacks (see map) and preying on civilians to fund its operations. It has also diversified, with a string of wilayats (provinces) around the world. Though it may never again hold so much territory, it will remain a threat. And the conditions that allowed it to rise—a region of corrupt, sectarian and ineffective governments that lord over poor, alienated populations—have, if anything, grown worse.

Mr Baghdadi kept a low profile (see Obituary). After he ascended the pulpit of a Mosul mosque in 2014 to declare a caliphate, he would not be seen in public for five years. Charisma mattered less than ambition. Even Osama bin Laden, the former leader of al-Qaeda, thought it premature to establish a caliphate. By taking advantage of the chaos of Syria’s civil war to seize territory, Mr Baghdadi made his movement influential enough to draw tens of thousands of followers from around the world (some of whom, allegedly, are pictured above in a Syrian prison).

His death will disrupt IS, but perhaps not for long. In a forthcoming book Jenna Jordan of the Georgia Institute of Technology examines over 1,000 cases involving the killing or capture of leaders of terrorist or insurgent groups. She says three factors contribute to a group’s resilience afterwards: its degree of bureaucracy, ability to draw on local resources and ideological zeal. These qualities ensure that its mission does not depend on a single leader.

IS ranks highly on all three. It has kept meticulous records and exported its procedures to international franchises that can apply them independently. Though it no longer pulls in $1m a day, as it once did, it still has deep pockets, and is likely to benefit from local Sunni disaffection in Syria, as Bashar al-Assad’s reviled forces fill the vacuum left by President Donald Trump’s retreat. Its ideological purity resonates independently of Mr Baghdadi. As a result, IS “should ultimately choose a successor easily and recover quickly,” says Ms Jordan. Indeed, it has proved its resilience before. Mr Baghdadi rose to the top because two predecessors were killed in American strikes in 2006 and 2010.

It is unclear who might succeed him. The group has yet to acknowledge his death on social-media channels used by followers. Most of his lieutenants are shrouded in secrecy. One of them, Abu al-Hassan al-Muhajir, the group’s spokesman, can be ruled out as a candidate: he was killed in a separate raid the following day.

Regardless of who leads it, IS is keen to rebuild, which might explain why Mr Baghdadi died in Idlib, far from his former redoubt in north-east Syria and western Iraq. In theory this was inhospitable ground. The province is a frequent target of Syrian and Russian air strikes and is dominated by Hayat Tahrir al-Sham (HTS), a former affiliate of al-Qaeda which is opposed to IS.

But Idlib is also home to Hurras al-Din, a more radical splinter of HTS still loyal to al-Qaeda. Mr Baghdadi was found in an area controlled by the group, in the house of one of its leaders. Some reports suggest that his host was an IS agent, but several experts raise another intriguing possibility: that Mr Baghdadi was exploring a rapprochement with al-Qaeda, from which IS acrimoniously split in 2013. A detente between the two titans of global terrorism would cause a serious headache for counter-terrorism officials around the world.

IS already has a presence far beyond Syria and Iraq. Its franchises remain a threat, despite a slowing in the pace of their attacks in 2018. Islamic State Khorasan has entrenched itself in eastern Afghanistan. It conducted more suicide-bombings than the Taliban in 2018, despite losing more than 50 senior leaders in the past few years. The IS branch in northern Nigeria, which split from Boko Haram, is becoming steadily more powerful. And since 2018 there have been 11 IS suicide bombings in Indonesia and six in the Philippines, including one that killed 23 worshippers in January.

Turkey fears it may be a target for immediate retaliation. This spring the interior minister remarked that IS activity was higher than at any time in nearly three years. “The longer they fail to stage attacks, the more desperate they are to do so,” says a security official. Within days of Mr Baghdadi’s death, dozens of alleged IS sympathisers were detained, including three men suspected of planning a big attack in Istanbul on October 29th, a national holiday.

Yet the raid that killed Mr Baghdadi took place just a few kilometres from the Turkish border, in a part of Syria crawling with Turkish informers and dotted with Turkish army posts. Mr Muhajir was found in Jarabulus, within a Syrian “safe zone” that Turkey established in 2016. The presence of IS leaders on Turkey’s doorstep points to an embarrassing lapse in intelligence.

Although Mr Trump thanked Turkey for its help, officials in Ankara made only a few vague statements about their role. A source close to the Turkish army says “no intelligence or military co-operation” took place between America and Turkey. The Americans gave notice only to avoid conflict with the Turkish army. That American commandos embarked from northern Iraq, 700km from their target, instead of an airbase in southern Turkey, is a sign of how frosty relations are between the two NATO allies.

The raid came just weeks after Mr Trump withdrew American troops from north-east Syria, clearing the way for Turkey to invade and rout the People’s Protection Units (YPG), a Kurdish-led militia that fought IS alongside the Americans. His order left the region to be carved up by Turkey, Russia, and Mr Assad’s regime. And it reportedly imperilled the Baghdadi operation, which relied on Kurdish assistance.

The withdrawal has since been partially reversed. America now says it will leave troops in eastern Syria and will even send tanks to prevent IS from seizing oilfields, once a key source of revenue. But the group is in no position to do so. More likely the Americans intend to stop Mr Assad from tapping his own oil, an objective that is both strategically and legally dubious.

It is confusion, not a successful commando raid, that will be Mr Trump’s legacy in Syria. The mission relied on having American troops in the region, which he is withdrawing; working with allies, whom he disparages; and relying on intelligence agencies, which he derides. When Mr Baghdadi’s successor emerges, America will be ill-placed to deal with him. ■

Update (October 31st 2019): Since the publication of this piece, IS has posted an audio recording on Telegram, a messaging service, in which it confirmed the death of Mr Baghdadi and named as its new leader and “caliph” Abu Ibrahim al-Hashemi al-Qurashi, a name unfamiliar to analysts. The group also vowed revenge against America.