Outright Assassination Page 10

  66 Ahmad Asfahani, op. cit., 40–41.

  67 An-Nahar, Beirut, 16 June, 1949.

  68 See Asfahani, op. cit., 40–45.

  69 An-Nahar, Beirut, 21 June, 1949.

  70 An-Nahar, Beirut, 22 June, 1949.

  71 “Qubbani’s recollections.”

  72 Ibid.

  73 Ibid.

  74 A. Sa’adeh, al-Athar al-Kamilah (Complete Works). Vol. 16. Beirut: SSNP Cultural Bureau, n.d.: 161–163.

  75 See Nadhir Fansahh, Ayyam Husni Zaim: 137 Yawman Hazzat Suria (Days of Husni Zaim: 137 Days that Shook Syria). Beirut: Dar al-Afaq al-Jadidah, 1983.

  76 “Qubbani’s recollections.”

  77 Mohammad Fadhel Jamali, Experiences in Arab Affairs: 1943–1958 (Located in Widener Library, Harvard University under the title: Arab Struggle; Experiences of Mohammed Fadhel Jamali). Also at http://www.physics.harvard.edu/~wilson/Fadhel.html

  78 An-Nasr. Damascus, 22 June, 1949.

  79 “Qubbani’s recollections.”

  80 Ibid.

  81 Ibid.

  82 Ibid.

  83 An-Nahar, Beirut, 25 June, 1949.

  84 Patrick Seale, The Struggle for Syria: A Study of Post-War Diplomacy 1945–1958. Oxford University Press, 1965: 71.

  85 Andrew Rathmell, Secret War in the Middle East: The Covert Struggle for Syria, 1949–1961. London: I. B. Tauris, 1995: 49.

  86 “Qubbani’s recollections.”

  87 Ibid.

  88 Ibid.

  89 Ibid.

  90 Ibid.

  91 Ibid.

  92 Ibid.

  93 Ibid.

  94 Ibid.

  95 Details of the two plans are discussed in Nawaf Hardan, Ala Durub an-Nahda (On the Pathways of the Renaissance). Beirut: Dar Bissan, 1997: 245–255.

  96 Abdullah Qubarsi, Autobiography. Vol. 4. Beirut: Dar Al-Furat, 2004: 51.

  97 An English-language version of the communiqué can be found in Adel Beshara, Syrian Nationalism: An Inquiry into the Political Philosophy of Antun Sa’adeh. Beirut: Dar Bissan, 1995.

  98 A. Sa’adeh, al-Athar al-Kamilah (Complete Works). Vol. 16. Beirut: SSNP Cultural Bureau, n.d.: 169–171.

  99 Hisham Sharabi, al-Jamr wa al-Rimad (Embers and Ashes): 227.

  100 The first and only communiqué of the uprising reached comparatively few people in Lebanon because the local authorities were alerted to it by the Syrians and, thus, were able to confiscate most of it.

  101 Elias Jurgi Qneizeh, Ma’ather min Sa’adeh. Beirut: Dar Bissan, 1989: 207.

  102 Antoine Butrus, Qissat muhakamat Antun Sa’adeh was i’damehe (An Account of Antun Sa’adeh’s Trial and Execution). Beirut: Chemaly & Chemaly, 2002: 83.

  103 Ibid., 76.

  104 “Qubbani’s recollections.”

  105 Ibid.

  106 Nadhir Fansah, op. cit., 129.

  107 Ibid.

  108 Ibid.

  109 Ibid.

  110 Muti’e as-Samman, Watan wa Askar (Homeland and Soldiers). Beirut: Dar Bissan, 1995: 322–327.

  111 Abu-Riche was born in Acre, Palestine to a Palestinian mother and Syrian father. He received his educational upbringing in Syria and continued his tertiary studies at the University of Damascus. He also studied at the American University in Beirut in 1931, and later read chemistry at the University of Manchester. Returning to Syria, he produced literary works and attended to his duties as Librarian of Aleppo, Syria. In 1949, the Syrian government appointed him ambassador to Brazil. As a diplomat until 1964, he would also serve as ambassador to Argentina, Chile, India, Austria and finally the United States. See Sabry Hafez, “Obituary: Omar Abu-Riche”. The Independent, London, 19 July, 1990: 31.

  112 Hanna Toufiq Bashur, Min Dhakirat Abi, Major Toufiq Bashur (From my Father’s Recollections) (Damascus: Maktabat al-Sharq al-Jadid, 1998): 102.

  113 Ibid.

  114 Antoine Butrus, Qissat muhakamat Antun Sa’adeh was i’damehe (An Account of Antun Sa’adeh’s Trial and Execution). Beirut: Chemaly & Chemaly, 2002: 82.

  115 Ibid., 84–85.

  116 First, Sa’adeh did not mention to anyone that he was going to Jordan, not even to his chauffeur, or leave behind any instructions to indicate that he was escaping to the Kingdom. Second, it would not have been like Sa’adeh to leave in this manner without first ensuring the safety of his wife and three children who were cooped up in the northern Syrian city of Latakia.

  117 Antoine Butrus, Qissat muhakamat Antun Sa’adeh was i’damehe (An Account of Antun Sa’adeh’s Trial and Execution). Beirut: Chemaly & Chemaly, 2002: 86.

  118 Ibid.

  119 A Syrian bystander has related that that day Damascus “teemed with officers of the Lebanese General Security . . . we counted more than two hundred taxicabs and private cars zigzagging various parts of the city including designated areas where taxicabs were barred.”

  120 President Zaim was not present but, according to Adib Qaddura, he was listening to everything from a concealed corner in the Chamber.

  121 Antoine Butrus, Qissat muhakamat Antun Sa’adeh was i’damehe (An Account of Antun Sa’adeh’s Trial and Execution). Beirut: Chemaly & Chemaly, 2002: 88.

  122 Interview with Farid Chehab, former Chief of Lebanese General Security, Sabah el-Kheir, 7 July, 1980.

  123 Ibid.

  124 In Khoury’s words: When the meeting [between Sa’adeh and Zaim] ended and the guest bid farewell to his host, Sa’adeh walked out only to find the Presidential Palace encircled by a unit from the [Syrian] General Security account. The head of the unit then walked across and arrested him. Immediately after that the [Syrian] Chief of General Security called his Lebanese counterpart and asked him to bring along with him an armed unit to collect the detainee at midnight on the borders between the two countries, on the condition that Sa’adeh would be killed before he arrived in Beirut. The Damascene Chief of General Security was deadly serious about this condition. See his Haqa’iq Lubnaniyyah (Lebanese Truths), Vol. 3, Beirut: Awraq Labnaniyah, 1961: 240–241.

  125 Ibid.

  126 Walid al-Mouallim, Souria 1918–1958: al-Tahdi wa al-Muwajaha. Damascus: Babel Publications, 1985: 113.

  127 Nadhir Fansah, Ayyam Husni Zaim: 137 Yawman Hazzat Suria (Days of Husni Zaim: 137 Days that Shook Syria). Beirut: Dar al-Afaq al-Jadidah, 1983: 85.

  128 al-Dayar, Beirut, 1 March, 1991.

  3 THE TRIAL

  The Khoury regime decided to railroad Sa’adeh to trial with indecent haste and in total secrecy. Despite the lack of preparation and the complete exhaustion of the accused, who had had an average of no more than a few hours’ sleep over the previous two days and none the previous night, the government seemed under some fixation to wind up the case as quickly as possible. The investigation and prosecution team worked around the clock to have the case ready in just one day. In order for this to happen, several rules were relaxed, and though this was not exactly unprecedented, the rapidity of the relaxation was rather unusual. Thus, any semblance of judicial impartiality ended before the trial had even started.

  The trial itself fell outside the bounds of formal judicial fairness. It was rather unusual in that it happened at a time when large sectors of Lebanese society thoroughly disapproved of Sa’adeh’s desperate course and hoped that he would suffer the fullest penalty of the law. In another respect it defied the logic of the situation. With the regime’s legitimacy on a knife-edge and public concern for the country’s democratic institutions mounting following wide-scale allegations of corruption,1 a messy trial was hardly appropriate. The case offered the Khoury regime the chance to re-affirm its commitment to government transparency but, to Lebanon’s misfortune, it didn’t take it up.

  This chapter deals with the trial in both its procedural and substantive aspects. It addresses a number of fundamental questions relating to the political nature of the charges, the reasons for secrecy and speed, why the trial was held in a military tribunal, and several other aspects relating to the character of the evidence and motives of participants. A final evalu
ation of the trial’s overall fairness in light of domestic and international standards appears in the last section of the chapter.

  Preparations for Sa’adeh’s Trial

  The Khoury regime initiated legal proceedings against Sa’adeh without delay. In the early hours of July 7, Sa’adeh was removed to the Gendarme Barracks in Beirut where he was personally guarded by al-Rufae’ in the traditional manner of “placing his chair against the door.”2 At the same time the President and Prime Minister Solh, accompanied by his adviser Nazim Akkary, converged on the presidential palace and held a “full one hour” closed troika meeting.3 It was followed, at three in the morning, by a general assembly of the government and again by an extraordinary session of the Council of Ministers, attended by representatives from the Lebanese judiciary.

  The government made three crucial decisions during those meetings. First, it decided to try Sa’adeh under the Emergency Law introduced during the 1948 Palestine War. Originally drafted during the French mandate over Lebanon, the Emergency Law was intended for situations of grave public insecurity or disorder, whether by the threat or actuality of war, internal disturbances or by natural disasters. It provided for wide powers of arrest, detention and search, regardless of the protective provisions in the Criminal Procedures Code, and empowered the Lebanese military to detain and try in camera suspects considered a “danger to security and public order.”4 Arms smugglers and spies on the Israeli payroll were the primary targets when the law was invoked in 1948.

  Further, the Emergency Law authorized the creation of exceptional courts to hear matters arising during times of emergency.5 These were essentially military courts which were given wide jurisdictions: the accused had no right of appeal; the prosecutor had greater powers than in ordinary circumstances; and the Executive power played an important role in ratifying judgments and in the composition of the courts. The Law also gave the President the authority to delegate cases covered by general laws to the exceptional military courts. As elsewhere, it provided a list of guarantees required to satisfy fair trial standards in all cases tried in military courts. Thus, defendants were entitled to:

  be informed promptly and in a language he/she understands the nature of the charge against him/her;

  the necessary time and facilities required for preparing a defense and contacting a lawyer;

  be tried without undue delay;

  be present during the trial, and to be given the right to make a defense to the charges and to be provided with legal assistance;

  have a translator, if the trial is in a language that he/she does not understand;

  not be forced to testify against one’s self or to confess guilt.

  The Emergency Law remained active for the whole duration of the Palestine war. For incomprehensible reasons, it was not repealed at the end of hostilities or after the signing of the armistice with Israel on 23 March, 1949.6 In contrast, the state of emergency in both Syria and Egypt was lifted at war’s end and Jordan followed suit upon signing an armistice with Israel on 3 April, 1949.

  The second decision taken by the government that night resolved that Sa’adeh should be tried in camera and as quickly as possible. The government even reserved for itself the right not to broadcast this decision until after the trial. Both the place and time of the trial were to be kept confidential and the press was not to be allowed into the courtroom during proceedings. Speed meant the conduct of the trial in the shortest possible time and should not be confused with the standard right to a speedy trial. The decision to steamroll the trial was subsequently justified on the rather predictable ground of national security:

  We saved the country from plunging into a sea of blood. Had the Social Nationalists [i.e., Sa’adeh’s supporters] and their friends caught wind of the trial, sentence and implementation they would have re-grouped and stormed the jail or court to save Sa’adeh. Imagine how many people would have suffered in the process and who knows what would have happened to the country after that.7

  This explanation, however, does not comport with the facts: (1) the government had total control over the security situation in the country on the day of the trial; and (2) the SNP remnants that were at large had neither the resources nor the energy to challenge the regime. Therefore, one cannot look exclusively or even mainly inside the government excuse for an explanation. Even if the government explanation is partially true, there are other more cogent reasons for its behaviour. First was the concern of the Khoury regime about the potentially disruptive threat that a public trial could inflict on the brand of politics which it had carefully cultivated since 1943. An open trial could leave the government vulnerable to having the tables turned on it by an astute defense or by Sa’adeh himself. This occurred, for example, in 1936, when Sa’adeh was able to slice through the maze of court rules and turn the trial into a forum for his political views. As a non-lawyer, he could repeat the process and get his message across, whether or not it was relevant or admissible under normal court criteria, and without the legal constraints that lawyers are subject to. Moreover, such trials have a habit of revealing themselves as oppressive, even in circles that are not sympathetic to the views of the defendant. At Sa’adeh’s first trial in 1936, the French sought to discredit Sa’adeh as a potential threat to the Lebanese State, but the trial generated a great deal of publicity and public sympathy for the accused for the contradictory and oppressive nature of the conspiracy charges he faced.8 Another example: in 1882, the Egyptian leader Arabi Pasha became the object of increasing sympathy outside Egypt after reports of maltreatment surfaced in the press and at his trial. At one point, “the special correspondent of the New York Herald conceived a plan to purchase Arabi from Egypt with money supplied by Gordon Bennett and P. T. Barnum.”9

  Second was the need to circumvent judicial constraints under existing international and domestic laws. A year earlier, in 1948, Lebanon had been directly involved in the creation and adoption of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. The Declaration, proclaimed in a resolution of the General Assembly on 10 December, 1948, listed numerous civil, political, economic, legal, social and cultural rights to which people everywhere were entitled. Although originally conceived as a statement of objectives to be pursued by governments, and therefore not part of binding international law, nonetheless, the Universal Declaration was a potent instrument used to apply moral and diplomatic pressure on states that violated its principles. The domestic law was equally problematical in that like its French counterpart it was based on modern laws, including the rules governing judicial procedure10 and universal notions of individual rights and universal equality under the law. Under both conventions the conduct of a trial behind closed doors for the sake of “public security” or “national interest” was not entirely inadmissible, but the procedure was complex and subject to powerful prohibitions. Haste was also subject to certain restrictions and procedural requirements that could not be discarded without damage to a fair trial.

  Third was to prevent the case from flaring up into a political affair. A public trial could have loosed a flood of events which the government was ill-equipped to deal with. As the Dreyfus affair in France had earlier demonstrated,11 the passion, intensity and moral fervour that surface during such trials can be too powerful for any government to control. In the courtroom the case could easily develop into a legal tussle over Sa’adeh’s character and opinions and thus bring the government’s own loyalty into question. It was also risky because “to try a man’s character or his opinions flies in the face of due process itself. Neither good procedure nor unbiased judges can give sanctity to a character trial. Nothing deteriorates so rapidly as the quality of character trials once they are started.”12 Character trials almost always boomerang on those who attempt to use them. From Nuremberg, to the Soviet show trials of the 1930s to the Nazi mock tribunals of the same period, governments have done irreparable harm to themselves when they attempted to impose the penalty of disgrace by trial of a man’s opinions, beliefs, or
associations and, ultimately, they become the object of wide indignation.

  The third crucial decision made that night revolved around the political character of the case. Sa’adeh was to be tried not as a political criminal but as a common criminal. The reason is fundamentally that since the defendant had breached the Criminal Code, particularly the articles relating to public safety concerns, the designation of the case as a capital rather than political offense was within the bounds of the law. President Khoury paraphrased the issue as follows:

  The accused will not be tried on the basis of his political ideology despite its full negation of the Lebanese entity, in itself dangerous, but on the basis of actual deeds. He is accused of sedition and of taking direct part in it, of the murder of gendarmeries, and of other unlawful actions arising from his unruly behaviour. As to whether he is entitled to a secret or open trial, it is a matter reserved to the military tribunal to decide.13

  The government probably weighed its chances of success and concluded that a political trial or a public criminal trial involved significant risks. In any case, a public trial would require it to relinquish control of an explosive situation and to place it in the hands of a judiciary, who might be disposed to exercise their independence to the full. There was also the strong chance that the accused would use the courtroom as a stage to dramatize his views and in the process gain “attention, care, an immediate physical audience . . . notoriety, perhaps fame, perhaps immortality.”14 In court, wrote Father Philip Berrigan, “one does not look for justice; one hopes for a forum from which to communicate ideals, convictions, and anguish.”15 From this perspective, depriving Sa’adeh of the opportunity to repeat his early success in the courtroom was an astute tactical move by the government. However, it perverted the regular course of justice.

  Criminalizing the case was also crucial for the overall unity of the government’s legal strategy. Without a criminal tag the right to conduct the trial in a military tribunal and, conversely, to invoke the right of secrecy and speed would be annulled. Under the Lebanese penal code, the military tribunal does not have the right to deal with cases of a political or non-criminal character. Those are reserved strictly for the civil system, which precludes secrecy in any case that comes before it.16