But according to experts and two recent studies, Indonesia's deradicalization program -- a much smaller and less formalized affair than those run by its neighbors Singapore and Malaysia -- does not try to get the extremists to break with their radical, political interpretation of Islamic ideology, but rather to renounce violence, specifically suicide bombings and other mass casualty attacks on civilians.

The program "doesn't try to deradicalize them (in the sense of abandoning their interpretation of Islam) -- they're trying to get them to renounce violence," Zachary Abuza told United Press International.

Abuza, a professor at Simmons College in Boston, has long studied Islamic terrorism in the region and is the author of a forthcoming essay comparing all three nations' programs.

A study published last week by the Combating Terrorism Center at the U.S. Military Academy at West Point comes to a similar conclusion.

Kirsten Schulze, a senior lecturer in international history at the London School of Economics, writes in this month's edition of the center's publication, CTC Sentinel, that "there are two key issues that (the program's leaders) wanted to deradicalize in the jihadist mindset: the killing of civilians and the 'need' for an Islamic state."

The latter principle is at the root of the anti-state aspects of Indonesian jihadi ideology, which sees "everyone who works with or for the government" as an unbeliever.

Schulze writes that the Indonesian police believe "that if they could overcome this … then other deeply held jihadist tenets would also be questioned."

But the program, in Schulze's telling, does not seem to systematically challenge the basic justification of violent jihad.

"While the killing of civilians by suicide bombings is being challenged," she concludes in the study, "jihadist violence perpetrated in the Ambon and Poso conflicts has been condoned."

In both areas, armed Islamic militias took part in bitter and bloody religious conflict, but it was seen by radicals as part of a defensive jihad, a struggle for survival by the Muslim population -- in which it is legitimate to use violence.

Indonesia's biggest extremist network, Jemaah Islamiyah, was split by its leaders' decision to adopt al-Qaida type tactics and Western targets, and the program is able to exploit that, former senior Scotland Yard anti-terrorist policeman Nick O'Brien told UPI.

"There was a faction with JI which opposed that," he said of the group's suicide bombings in Bali and Jakarta. Some of those leaders gave evidence against the group's chief and have helped the police garner what he calls "an impressive tally" of arms seizures.

Some of them are now leading the program aiming to rehabilitate former radicals. "The leadership … really shot themselves in the foot," he said.

O'Brien, who was head of the Metropolitan Police Special Branch's international terrorism division until 2003, when he moved to Australia as a regional counter-terrorism liaison for the U.K. government, is also studying the Indonesian program.

In Poso, he says that the Indonesian government has "identified a number of root causes (of the violence) and addressed them" using a "multiagency approach" that promotes reforms in education and housing.

"They are addressing it systemically," he said of the violence there.

O'Brien, who now teaches at the Australian Graduate School of Policing, is a defender of the program. "Intuitively and historically, counter-radicalization and deradicalization are necessary components of any counter-terrorism strategy," he said.

In his experience of the program, "Violence is the bright line," he told UPI. "They are not trying to get people to turn away from political Islam."

All three experts commented on the specific, perhaps unique, history of Indonesia -- an Islamic nation with very tolerant traditions towards its non-Muslim minorities.

O'Brien said the program is based on "building a relationship, building trust" with the participants, and involves providing for the families of those who want to take part.

"It is difficult with people (directly) involved in killings," he said, adding the program was aimed primarily at people "on the periphery."

The intervention begins when the jihadis are in police custody, he said, and indeed, their participation in the program can result in their charges being lessened or dropped altogether.

"That's an option: charge them with a lesser (non-terrorist) offense or nothing," he said.

The program is also different from its counterparts in employing former radicals, rather than religious leaders as in Saudi Arabia, to talk to prisoners. "The belief that radicals will only listen to other radicals" is one of the "key premises" of the program, Schulze writes.

O'Brien said that Nasir Abas, one of the former radicals now leading the program, "expected to be beaten and killed" when he was arrested. "They didn't (beat him). They treated him well," O'Brien said of the Indonesian police.

"You change people's minds by meeting them on their level, by treating them as human beings," O'Brien said.

He noted the program was one prong of a two-part strategy of which the other half was more conventional intelligence-gathering and law enforcement, which had been aided by a downgrading of the role of the Indonesian military. "The army, although they have an intelligence role … are now playing a lesser role in domestic counter-terrorism," he said.

The program was "a strategic, long term proposition," he said. The metric for its success "will be a downturn in violence."

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