Waco
– It's been a long war; it's a war that is carried out daily, now, on the
streets of our nation - at the gates of our forts.
The
war has been going on long enough that there are people rapidly
approaching young adulthood who don't remember anything else, young
people who can't recall any conditions other than the status quo.
Arriving
at the Federal Courthouse in this city, a yellow brick affair with
limestone trim, expansive north facing window lights, Spanish tile
accents, a study in faux Moorish architecture, one is confronted by the
latest security precaution.
No
visitors are allowed to carry a cell phone into the premises.
No
need asking why. There have been hundreds upon hundreds of
depredations worldwide that were provoked, provided or performed with
the use of a cell phone. The Federal Court Service guard, chipper and
cheerful in blue blazer and rep tie, is easily appeased with a
grateful attitude and a promise to return after stowing the phone in
the car.
On
return, he says, “Now, then, let's try this again,” in a hearty
tone of voice.
In
reply, The Legendary says, with a smile big as Dallas, “Some days,
the dragon wins, sir...” We both smile, then laugh it off.
We
both laughed, but underneath, the reality remains. When the enemy has
forced you to begin doing things differently than you had always done
them, back in a world we left far, far behind - many years ago - the
battle is not really going in the favor of one's side.
Not
really.
On
the witness stand in the U.S. District Court for the Western District
of Texas, FBI Special Agent Richard Stryker is going through that
peculiarly pettifogging formality known as cross examination.
Defense
Counsel Zachary Boyd is putting him through his paces, recalling his
previous testimony elicited by prosecutors about laboratory efforts
to replicate the construction and detonation of an improvised
explosive device by following the instructions provided in a magazine
article published by Al Qaida.
“Make
A Bomb In The Kitchen Of Your Mom” instructs would-be terrorists in
the construction of a deadly fragmentation device by using a 16-quart
aluminum pressure cooker coated on the inside with contact cement to
which BB's adhere, then stuffed with smokeless gun powder and
detonated with a Christmas tree bulb whose bare filaments are thrust
through a hole in the cooker's lid.
The
detonator is designed to be attached to the face of an alarm clock
whose hands are to be brought into contact with two nails to complete
an electrical circuit, thus detonating the highly volatile gunpowder.
The
two are involved in the rambling but always polite thrust and parry
of a skillful cross examiner putting question after question to an
expert witness, often the same question stated multiple ways, while
the opposing counsel objects frequently to leading the witness,
calling for a conclusion, or an argumentative style.
One
learns that the bomb was not constructed in exactly the way the
terrorists' magazine instructed, that putting an “electric match”
for purposes of safety in the bottom of the pressure cooker instead
of the top does not necessarily produce a shaped charge, and that
matters of common sense are not universal to all folks on the planet,
in the expert opinion of Agent Stryker, who remains courteous and
cheerful enough throughout the inquisitive onslaught.
At
one point, he answers his interlocutor by saying, “Regardless of
where it was, it would make it no less of a bomb.”
Onwards.
Police who apprehended Jason Naser Abdo to his hotel near the main
gate of Ft. Hood last July 27 recall that he was advised of his
rights under the Miranda decision, that he had a handgun in his
backpack, and that, yes, they isolated him immediaely, put him in
handcuffs and transported him to a secure law enforcement center in
order to better control the situation while they questioned him and
other investigators searched his room.
A
certain Lt. Boone is seen in a video drawing his pistol, pointing it
at Mr. Abdo and ordering him to assume a prone position face down
under the ramada of the motel where a taxi is waiting for him.
Detective
Willie Winfield is questioned extensively about whether the video
camera in the police car swiveled, and whether he read Mr. Abdo his
rights.
“Is
it true that you really didn't read that Miranda warning?” the
defense attorney asked the young detective.
“No,
sir, it is not,” he answered. At this point, the 5-man, 7-woman
jury panel began to fidget. They're the kind of middle-aged people
you see every day in the bank, the post office, the grocery story.
They clearly aren't the kind of people who are willing to put up with
a lot of this nonsense. In fact, a couple of the gentlemen's eyes
narrow to a squint; they run a protesting forefinger around their
collars, and snort in a subdued way. Several of the women heave a
sigh.
It's
a nasty story, and then the government rests, and the jurors are
removed from the courtroom while Judge Walter Smith considers Mr.
Boyd's Bill of Exceptions, 24 in number and offered under the terms
of Rule 29 of the Federal Rules of Criminal Procedure.
Under
that rule, after the close of evidnce, a defendant may move for a
judgment of acquittal for any offense for which the evidence is
insufficient to sustain a conviction.
The
highlights are provocative enough. Mr. Boyd asserts that the
conscientious objector packet Mr. Abdo filled out at his former duty
station, an Army fort in Kentucky that is the home of the 101st
Airborne, was deemed insufficient. A prosecutor immediately objects
that the matter is irrelevant.
It
was the reason Mr. Abdo gave investigators for his alleged plot to
detonate a bomb in a crowded restaurant that is popular with soldiers
at Ft. Hood. He objects to the conduct of his fellow soldiers toward
adherents of Islam, his chosen religious faith. It was for this
reason he joined the jihad, this simple one-word concept, which is Arabic for "peace.".
A
certain Lieutenant Colonel reviewed allegations that the soldier was
in possession of child pornography, charges which Mr. Boyd says were
“ultimately proved to be without probable cause.”
Playing
a video of the attempted detonation of an explosive device built by
the FBI “misleads jurors” because, he reminds the judge, “Mr.
Abdo did not buid a bomb.”
The
defense attorney objects to the way the federal statute against
making home made bombs is written; he asserts that it “allows Mr.
Abdo to be convicted for his mens rea alone, and not his mens rea and
actus rea together.”
In
effect, he implies, the government is trying to send a man to the
federal penitentiary to serve a potential life sentence for what he
was thinking, not for what he did.
In
asking for the acquittal, he said, “The government has failed to
prove its case in chief, Your Honor.”
At
this point, the gallery and officers of the court were treated to the
sight of the venerable white-headed judge throwing his hands up in
disgust and reverting to a hostile and abravise tone much unlike his
usual silky smooth affect and manner of speaking.
Judge
Smith thundered, “Do you have all that in writing so you could just
submit it without standing up there and reading all that nonsense?”
Most people looked at the floor, or at some point in mid-space,
somewhere about a thousand yards distant.
Clouds
whizzing along high above brought intense sunlight to the air shaft
outside the expansive windows of the courtroom, alternately throwing
its ornate study in beige, brown and walnut tones into shadow, then
the stark relief of intense sunshine bright enough to make the copper
nail heads in the ornately decorated hardwood doors shine with a
brilliant copper fire that diminshed, then blazed anew, over and
over, while Mr. Boyd stood at the lectern silently, looking at the
toes of his brightly polished dress shoes.
After
a long, rambling explanation, Judge Smith again threw up his hands in
capitulaton, exclaiming, “It would be quicker for you to just go
ahead, and just read what you're reading.”
After
some desultory questioning of a couple of witnesses, the defense
rested, and Judge Smith sent the jury to lunch while he prepared his
instructions for them, to be followed by the final arguments of
counsel.
All
the while, the Army deserter and conscientious objector, Jason Naser
Abdo, sat quietly, his facial expressions hidden by a surgical mask
he is forced to wear over a scraggly beard he has grown.
Its
purpose is simple enough. It is there to keep him from biting through
his lip or his tongue and spitting blood on the guards who lead him
in and out of court.
Somewhere,
an eagle screamed – out loud, and bold as ever.
We
The People all stood respectfully, as the jurors left the courtroom,
then waited while the elderly man of the law strode into his
chambers, his black robe trailing behind him.
What
was told, what was taught, what was learned - is simple enough. When
the chips are down – as they always are in love and war – you're
going to believe in something.
Believe
it.
The revolution never ended...Believe it.
The revolution never ended...Believe it.
No comments:
Post a Comment