The 38 Hours: Trial by Terror

The heart of the capital was under siege. Everywhere, it seemed, was the wail of sirens, snarled traffic, milling crowds, police marksmen poised on rooftops, swarms of reporters interviewing one another in the glare of floodlights. Extra guards were posted at Government buildings; on the Hill each member of Congress was offered an armed police escort. The Washington Monument was temporarily closed to visitors: it was within the range of snipers. Affairs of state moved forward--cautiously. At the end of his visit with President Carter, Israeli Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin left quietly with no farewell ceremony; incoming British Prime Minister James Callaghan did not receive the traditional 19-gun salute, for fear it might trigger a slaughter. All this was the work of a mere dozen men who held 132 hostages in three Washington buildings for a chilling 38 hours. The terrorists made dramatically clear what has become all too obvious: anybody with a cause and a gun, be he mad or madcap, fanatic or eccentric, can seize and hold national attention by kidnaping and threatening to kill innocent victims.

The Washington assault was the culminating event of a spate of terrorist acts that have bedeviled the country. It proved again how vulnerable the society is to such attacks. Given the circumstances, it was wondrous that the drama ended with so little blood spilled: one dead and four wounded by gunfire, a dozen others cut and beaten. That the toll was not higher was in part a tribute to the primary tactic U.S. law enforcement officials are now using to thwart terrorists--patience (see box). But most of all, perhaps, it was due to the courageous intervention of three Muslim ambassadors, Egypt's Ashraf Ghorbal. Pakistan's Sahabzada Yaqub-Khan and Iran's Ardeshir Zahedi.

The Washington siege was an explosive mixture of gangsterism, revenge, racial hostility and religious bickering elevated, as the participants proclaimed, to the level of a holy war. The terrorists were members of a sliver-sized religious organization called the Hanafi--a rival of the much larger Black Muslims, a group that has been plagued with violence over the years but has recently become more subdued (TIME, March 14).

Grisly Deed. The Black Muslim religion strongly appealed to some blacks because of its denunciation of the evils of white society and its promise of a better life for individuals who strictly follow its commands. The Hanafis consider themselves more orthodox than the Black Muslims, now called Bilalians, whom they dismiss as political exploiters. The most famous Hanafi convert is Los Angeles Laker Basketball Star Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, who financed the purchase of a Washington house as Hanafi headquarters.

In 1973 the Black Muslim-Hanafi dispute boiled over into an appallingly grisly deed. Seven killers who were Black Muslims broke into the Washington home of Hanafi Leader Khalifa Hamaas Abdul Khaalis. They brutally murdered five of Khaalis' children, his nine-day-old grandson and a devoted follower. (Black Muslim officials have denied that their organization was in any way involved.) Khaalis swore revenge.

That had to be taken seriously. Born in Indiana as Ernest McGee, Khaalis, 54, was discharged from the Army in World War II on grounds of mental instability. While working as a jazz drummer in New York City, he switched from Roman Catholicism to the Nation of Islam and rose to a trusted position before he broke with the Black Muslims in 1958. In the mid-1960s he formed his own group, the Hanafi. In 1968, he was arrested for trying to extort money from a bank, but charges were dismissed after he was found to be mentally disturbed. In 1972 he attacked the Black Muslims in an open letter, an act that is thought to have led to the execution of his family.

The fact that five of the killers of his family were eventually convicted and given life sentences did not satisfy Khaalis. His religion, he felt, demanded justice in a jihad--a holy war. For years he brooded; then last week he struck.

Machete Drill. Some time Wednesday morning the terrorists left their headquarters, located in a quiet Washington neighborhood six miles north of the White House. They were armed with rifles, shotguns and machetes. A neighbor later told police that he had seen the group drilling with machetes in the yard.

The first assault occurred shortly after 11 a.m., when seven Hanafis, led by Khaalis himself, burst into the headquarters of B'nai B'rith, the world's largest and oldest Jewish service organization. Moving upward floor by floor, they seized dozens of hostages, shooting at some, slapping and cutting others, shouting that they were ready to die for Allah. The hostages were herded into a conference room, the windows of which were then painted over.

The second strike came just after 12 noon. Three terrorists entered the Islamic Center, a showcase for Muslim culture on Embassy Row, and rounded up eleven hostages, including both staff and visitors. As if to be in keeping with the elegant, hushed precincts, no shots were fired and nobody was injured. The last and bloodiest attack took place at 2:20 p.m., when a pair of trigger-happy gunmen invaded the District Building, two blocks from the White House and only 300 yards from the Washington Monument. They began shooting indiscriminately. A black radio newsman, Maurice Williams, 24, was hit and killed instantly. A city councilman, Marion Barry, was shot in the chest. Two other people were wounded.

The primary concern of police quickly became the B'nai B'rith Building. The Hanafis had chosen this target as a symbol of their grudge against Jews. Throughout the siege Khaalis denounced the Jewish judge who had presided at the trial of his family's killers. "The Jews control the courts and the press," he repeatedly charged.

The Hanafis imposed a harrowing routine on the hostages. They were forced to lie face down on the floor. "Don't talk, don't move," commanded Khaalis. "If you do, we'll kill you. I am not a bad man, but I am a mean man."

The demands of Khaalis and his followers were eventually pieced together. They wanted the Muslims convicted for the 1973 murders handed over to them, presumably for execution. They asked to have Wallace Muhammad, the Bilalian leader, and Heavyweight Champion Muhammad Ali, long an active Black Muslim supporter, brought to them. Khaalis also insisted that he be refunded $750 in legal fees caused by a contempt of court citation. During the trial of his family's killers, he had denounced them in court. He also wanted the recently released film Mohammad, Messenger of God, to be banned on the grounds that it is sacrilegious (see box). Khaalis' concern over the film was thought to have triggered the attack.

Khaalis got his $750 back and theaters stopped showing the movie--at least temporarily. But there was no possibility that his enemies would be delivered to him. If they were not, he insisted, the Hanafis would start beheading the hostages. After assembling a psychiatric profile of Khaalis, the FBI feared that he might do what he said. "It's the worst situation we've ever had," said an FBI official.

The effort to free the hostages was in the hands of the FBI and local police, under the command of Police Chief Maurice Cullinane. Attorney General Griffin Bell and FBI Director Clarence Kelley were kept briefed, but the night-and-day negotiations were conducted by seven men: Cullinane; Deputy Police Chief Robert Rabe; Nick Stames, chief of the FBI's Washington field office; FBI Agent Pat Mullany, the bureau's most skilled hostage negotiator; plus three diplomats whose admirable intervention may well have brought about the salvation of the hostages. It was, at first glance, an unlikely trio to be bargaining with American gunmen. The three:

> Zahedi, 48, escort of beautiful women--last year's favorite was Elizabeth Taylor--lavish dispenser of caviar, which he delivers to friends by liveried chauffeur, former husband of the daughter of the Shah of Iran and probably Washington's best-known diplomat and partygiver. Hidden by his playboy image is his tremendous competence as an ambassador. He is also the chairman of the board of governors of the Islamic Center.

> Ghorbal, 51, a physical Lilliputian at only inches over five feet but a man of imposing intelligence, wit and charm. One of Washington's most respected diplomats, he is a totally cosmopolitan figure; previous posts include Paris, London, Geneva and Ottawa. He holds both a master's and doctorate from Harvard.

> Yaqub-Khan, 56, a trim, ascetic retired lieutenant general in the Pakistan army and its former chief of staff. Familiar with battle scenes, he was twice captured while serving with the British Indian army in World War II--and escaped both times. He is a four-goal international polo player, and a formidable linguist, fluent in English, French, German, Italian, Russian and Urdu.

Ambassador Ghorbal was the first to volunteer help. Learning that Egyptians were among the hostages at the Islamic Center, he called the State Department and when asked, agreed to talk to Khaalis on the phone from the police command center. Ghorbal then called Yaqub-Khan, who joined him, and left a message for Zahedi, who at the moment was on a Concorde returning to Washington from Paris.

The ambassadors decided the proper approach was to appeal to Khaalis' faith. To brush up on the Koran, Ghorbal phoned his political counselor, who supplied him with some apt quotes. Said Ghorbal: "We decided to use the Koran to impress on him that Allah orders us to be merciful."

By Wednesday evening, Yaqub-Kahn made the first of many lengthy phone calls to Khaalis. He listened patiently to the terrorist's outpouring of grievances, then made a plea for compassion. Khaalis turned out to know his Koran. "Don't try to teach me," he said. "I know it better than you." But the Koranic verses began to move Khaalis. Said one: "O, ye who believe, forbid not to yourselves the good things that God hath made lawful for you and do not transgress the limits; verily, God loveth not the transgressors." Another was particularly effective: "And let not the hatred of some people in shutting you out of the Sacred Mosque lead you into transgression and hostility on your part; help ye one another in righteousness and piety, but judge ye not one another in sin and rancor." Says Yaqub-Khan: "The sentiments in that passage provided the central theme pervading all the talks."

At sunrise, Yaqub-Khan was on the phone again: "My comrade, it is the beginning of a new day," he said to Khaalis. "I would like you, my brother, to join in a prayer to Allah that it will be a day of compassion, honor and bravery." Khaalis protested that the place where he was appeared "unclean." This remark convinced the negotiators that Khaalis was a devout Muslim who would pray only in clean surroundings, as Islamic tradition prescribes. Now there was hope, for a source of leverage existed--the compassion cited in the Koran.

Through the day there were more phone calls, more verses. Khaalis seemed to be listening. Shortly after 6 p.m. Ambassador Ghorbal took the riskiest step. "Let us come to you, dear brother," he said, "and sit down and talk at a table of peace." Khaalis agreed.

There was no way to tell if the meeting would be a sitdown or a shootout when the group assembled at 8:10 p.m. in the lobby of the B'nai B'rith Building. With the ambassadors were Chiefs Cullinane and Rabe, and the police commander, Joseph O'Brien, who had investigated the murder of Khaalis' children and was trusted by Khaalis.

Armed with a knife, Khaalis emerged from an elevator. He shook hands, received the traditional Muslim hug from the ambassadors, and sat down. Not until the meeting passed its 15-minute mark did the police begin to relax. Speaking in a low, soothing voice, Zahedi brought up the deaths of Khaalis' children, and suddenly the terrorist broke into tears. Then Zahedi returned to the Koran. "You could see a rapport building," recalls Ghorbal. "Trust and confidence were sinking in." Finally after two hours, Khaalis blurted out what was most on his mind: he did not want to go to jail, he wanted to go home.

Uneasy Count. It was the face-saving opening the negotiators wanted. Yes, that might be possible if he agreed to free the hostages. He was willing. The ambassadors' work was done. Said Secretary of State Cyrus Vance later: "To these three ambassadors--humanitarians and diplomats in the highest sense--we offer the gratitude of the U.S."

The police took over to negotiate the details of the surrender and make arrests. Eight of the Hanafis were jailed on multiple charges and held on $50,000 to $75,000 bail; but the three who took over the Islamic Center, where no one was injured and no shot was fired, were charged and then freed under Washington's unusually liberal bail procedures. As part of the agreement with the negotiators, Khaalis was freed without bail on his own recognizance after being charged with only a single count of kidnaping (additional charges are expected to be lodged). Superior Court Judge Harold Greene was uneasy about the deal that had been made. "The court is not in a position to second-guess the Government authorities," he said. "So it will go along."

Many others were indignant that the leader of the bloody assault should be permitted to go free, however temporarily. Complained Senator Lloyd Bentsen, a Texas Democrat, "Khaalis was at liberty even before his hostages were home." A D.C. superior court judge called the releases "outrageous." But to many police and Justice Department officials, it seemed an appropriate price to pay to save the lives of the hostages.

Pealing Bells. Kahlis, a cigar in his mouth, two U.S. marshals at his side, was soon headed for his armed-camp home where his plot had been conceived. Until his preliminary hearing, he is confined to Washington. To reporters gathering beyond the fence, he said he felt "very good."

The victims of Khaalis did not feel quite so well as they emerged from the B'nai B'rith Building with cuts, bruises, shattered glasses and swollen eyes. They were greeted by the pealing of bells in a nearby church where many of their relatives had kept vigil. For these hostages, the ordeal had ended (see box).

Who will be the next to suffer, and how can these acts be stopped? The latest incidents have ended relatively successfully. Terrorists have not achieved their goals and most have been arrested, though many are free on bail. Yet the acts continue. Many law-enforcement authorities argue that because of civil-liberties protests there is too little surveillance of potentially dangerous groups. In reaction to such pressures, Washington police files on the Hanafis were destroyed in 1974, and police informants were withdrawn from the group. It is possible that with proper intelligence the police would have been tipped off to the Washington assault.

Beyond that, terrorists sometimes benefit from a peculiar sanction. If they justify kidnaping or murder in the name of social justice, there is a chance that they will be excused, or at least create confusion. Says David Rapoport, professor of political science at U.C.L.A.: "This country allows acts under the guise of politics and morality that it wouldn't otherwise accept."

A terrorist act is sure to receive the widest possible attention. There is no need to cry in the wilderness when anyone so inclined can plead his case on national television. Says Atlanta Psychiatrist Alfred Messer: "If someone has a latent wish to commit a criminal act, he can be galvanized by the media. He can act out any grandiose fantasies or make up for a sense of impotence."

Certainly the Hanafis had all the attention they could have asked for. At each of the buildings they seized, an outdoor television studio was created, and newsmen competed for telephone interviews with the gunmen. Dr. Harold Visotsky, chairman of the department of psychiatry at Northwestern University, believes that deranged persons have a passion for keeping up with the news and imitating it. "These crimes are highly contagious," he says. Today in the U.S. they are a virulent social illness.

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